[center][h2]The Terms[/h2][/center] [center][img]https://i.imgur.com/59FbNjZ.jpg[/img] [/center] JP/collab from [@wanderingwolf] and [@sail3695] Rex Black is a character created by [@Psych0pomp]. The First Mate made all haste to join his Captain on the bridge. As he bounded up the stairs, Rex could hear Cal in earnest conversation with the mysterious Samantha AI. He’d never voiced curiosity over the oddity…over their years, Cal and Rex had learned the art of “some things better left unsaid,” As he stepped onto the bridge, he saw no need to go challenging that norm today. Cal was bent over the pilot’s console, palms resting on its’ surface as Sam captured the inbound transmission. “Hey…China Doll.” The face onscreen was that of a man in his middle forties. A chiseled countenance was made all the more daunting by a scar whose path from forehead to chin was broken only by a patch worn over the left eye. “You took two things from us. Now, we got something of yours.” The image shook, then whirled at a dizzying pace as the stranger redirected his capture. A compartment, dimly lit, scattered with refuse and various scrap parts, was the scene in which China Doll’s captain and first mate caught sight of their missing deckhand. Abby lay on one side, her head lolling to the deck. Arms pulled behind her back told of her bound wrists. The capture moved in, jittering slightly as her face was framed in the image. A large welt crept from beneath her hair and down her left cheek. The girl’s right eye was swollen shut, her face a macabre mask completed by tousled hair and a duct tape gag firmly over her mouth. Her open eye revealed both fear and fury as she offered a subtle shake of her head. “Damn, they really did a number on her,” Rex whispered to the stone-faced captain. Cal didn’t need the overture his first mate offered to cotton the twist of this particular knife. After a few moments of seeing red, Strand shook his head to square up to the man who held Abigail’s life in his grimy palm. “She’s alive,” the voice cut in as the vid jerked away toward her captor. “If you wanna get her back that way, here’s what you’re gonna do.” The erratic jittering of the image settled as the kidnapper seated himself at a table. “You poached the Osiris run from us. I’m pretty sure you don’t conjure just what you’re carrying, so you’re probably doing it on the cheap. You’re gonna load it up, and you’re gonna haul it all the way to the drop…just like you told Nadal you would. Couldn’t be simpler, right?” His face broke into a crooked leer. “We’ll be there, and so will she. You deliver without any Alliance or cops taggin’ along, and your little lost lamb will make it home. But we catch one whiff of tomfoolery…I conjure you know what happens next.” The capture whirled again to offer a glimpse of the deckhand. On a screen adjacent to the capture, a colon-backslash appeared in apple green with the words: “Probability of rape, loss of limb or life to Abigail Travis: 87.33%.” Cal’s eyes bounced from the grim cautioning of Sam to the capture of Abby’s stubborn expression, even beneath the duct tape and bloodshot eye. “One more thing.” The image lurched again. This time, a still capture swam into view. Joe Hooker was front and center, his face a mask of rage as he clutched a handful of another man’s blue polo shirt. The cook’s right fist was slightly blurred on it’s way to deliver the next blow to his opponent’s face. “That guy,” the kidnapper’s voice spoke once again. “Have him at the meet. He skips out, you can kiss your little girl goodbye.” Cal fixed Rex with a look which his first mate knew to mean ‘bring me the hide of Joseph Hooker.’ Without a word, the solemn-faced mate backed off from the capture into the inky, black bowels of the China Doll to deliver the cook to the captain. The grizzled face appeared once more. “We conjure you touch down in Capital City next Tuesday at midnight. Don’t be late.” He fumbled with his capture, palm covering the screen as he struggled to cut the feed. “Get the Angel ready. Tell C-mouth to…” As the feed died, Cal slammed a heavy fist onto the console, sending his tin cup to the floor of the deck, and with a swift kick, all the way down to the crew berths.