Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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A Year in the Glasshouse

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Onderon High Security Detention Center
Lysle stripped down. He hadn't been in prison long and already he hardly resembled the man he was. The cool man who walked the streets of Antecedent with confidence and attitude, an air of sophistication, power and authority. His naturally dark-blonde hair, combed neatly to perfect, was now a shaggy bleach blonde. His impeccable style of a three-piece suit was nothing more than a pair of denim and tank-top.

He wrenched off the last of his clothes as the officers patted him down. His flesh marked with symbols, words and a variety of artworks that were inked into the skin. "Always in-and-out of confinement with you, isn't it?" one of the guards said to Lysle. "What can I say?" his steeled gaze looked into the guards eyes, "I get a craving for some me-time." The guard snarled, "That doesn't give you the right to shank an inmate."

They motioned him through the next room, and he was given his clothes back. He hurriedly put them on, but not a second longer were his legs half-way down his trousers that the guards began pushing him along. He hopped and skipped down the corridor, wiggling into his pants, and throwing his top over his head. While he had every guard on site bribed, there was only so much credits could buy him. He had to go into confinement, but he managed to get them to sneak in entertainment for him.

As he walked through the cell block, a roar filled the chamber. The entire building shook as the collective mass of prisoners gripped their cell-bars and violently pulled back and forth. Very few were cheering for him, the others wanted to get at him and rip out his throat. The name Lysle of the Hydian Way eluded these prisoners, he was far from Hutt Space and in the heart of the Republic Capital. No one in high-security cared who you were or what you did. They just wanted blood.

Some of them he had won, and Lysle had earned himself a reputation as a ruthless 'curb-stomper' a title he earned on his first day. He arrived looking to assert himself as an alpha, grabbed the closest inmate by the nape, slammed him onto the ground and kicked his head in so hard his skull cracked in three different places. That earned him four months in solitary confinement, once he was out he got himself another two for shanking a man. He spent more time by himself than he did in the cell block with the others.

He had achieved what he desired. People knew not to mess with him in prison, but he still had more enemies than he could count. They swore and spat, but he remained unphased. Stoic. The few that adored him would stop anyone from publicly beating him, but he still had to keep one eye open when he slept. He could take on three, maybe four if he was really lucky, but there is strength in numbers and no amount of professional shockboxing experience would save him from that.
 
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Broadlands Prison, Antar IV

"Hmpf"

Isaac sprang to his feet and began pacing around his cell. Push ups were one of the few things that kept a man sane inside this prison. The Antari summer suffocated his stone and rebar confinement, the tiny window, yellow from age, allowing in but a glimmer of precious sunlight. He took off his shirt and threw it to the corner. It had been 10 months in this hell hole, 10 months of confinement, 10 months of rotten slop for food, and 10 months of hopeless nights. But he had a plan.

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A guard walked by and rapped on the door with his baton. "Yard time, one hour." Isaac grinned as his cell door slid slid open with a high-pitched moan. Out in the yard, he walked with blind intent into a dimly-lit storage shed. "Hello boys" he said aloud, closing the shed door behind him. A few men turned to face him. "How much for those two? What are the odds?" Isaac shouted as he pointed towards a pair of men.

"Piss off you mad man," one of them replied.

Isaac sneered. "I wasn't talking to you, love. Right, how much for the two o' em at the same time?"

A voice piped up in the back. "I've got a tenner on the pair."

"I'll have 'at" came another voice. Soon, a small group of prisoners in the back were shouting bets at each other. Isaac cracked his neck and raised two clenched fists. The two men Isaac had singled out reluctantly squared up. Isaac wasn't fighting for money. He was fighting for reputation.

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The commotion could be heard across the cell block. A group of prison guards had Isaac hogtied, though it hadn't come without a few bloody lips and bruised ribs of their own. They threw the man, spitting and cursing the whole while, into his cell. A guard brought his baton down across Isaac's face, spinning the prisoner around and leaving him spitting up blood. Through the blood and the spit, Isaac grinned a big red half-moon. As it was said, push-ups were one of the few things that kept Isaac sane. Push-ups and a good brawl. And in the past ten months Isaac had done plenty of both-- so much as to earn the reputation as Broadlands' most violent prisoner.

It was just a little while longer, now...

[member="Lysle of the Hydian Way"] ; [member="Jen"]
 
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Broadlands Prison, Antar IV

It had been two weeks since he had seen another human. It turns out one of the poor fools who Isaac scrapped with in the shed had suffered a ruptured spleen while the other is still drinking his food through a straw, and the Warden was none too pleased. It was the sixth and seventh prisoner Isaac had sent to infirmary. This solitary confinement had given Isaac plenty of time to reminisce on everything that had led him to this very 2m x 4m plot of concrete and steel. He couldn't help but laugh at how his fortunes had changed. A year ago, he was a top cpatain in the most powerful crime syndicate in the galaxy. He had left on "unpleasant terms", and the following series of events saw his status plummet quite dramatically to that of a wanted man. Hubris and loyalty had led to his downfall, but he wasn't ready to die just yet.

He had a plan. He was going to escape. And how was he going to escape? Why, the warden would send him on his merry way-- right out the front gates, that's how.

Another rap at the door. "Lunch time, Ideus. And we've got new sheets for you. We're coming in." It was two prison guards this time, one with a tray of food and another carrying bed sheets. The plan was still in motion. Isaac leapt up from his bed and sparked out the guard holding the sheets-- he collapsed to the floor in convulsions . In a flash, Isaac turned to the other guard who had a expression of shock plastered on his face and grabbed him around the neck. Isaac kicked the door shut and threw the prisoner to the floor. "If you make one move, I'll pull your eyes out of their sockets and shove 'em down your throat!" he screamed. "Give me your radio." The guard was motionless, frozen in terror. "I said give it to me!" The guard quickly retrieved the radio and held it out. Isaac snatched it away and studied it. "Is it on?" The guard nodded in affirmation.

Isaac pressed the button on the radio and began talking. "Right, whoever is on the other end of this: you listen, and you listen close. You know who this is. Now, I've got two hostages in 'ere," Isaac glanced down towards the unconscious guard. Blood was beginning to pool around his head. "One of 'em is in a *lot* of trouble if you don't get to him quick. All I ask is that, in exchange for the safety of your two employees, you let me back into general population. I'll be waiting."

The next day

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"Lunch time, Ideus."

It was a guard at the door to his cell, if you would call it that. Apparently, they don't appreciate the kidnapping and attempted murder of prison staff, so they had thrown him in a cage, naked. He'd been given a right beating by about a dozen guards as well. "They say that guard you nearly killed will pull through. Oh-- Warden's granting your wish. You're leaving solitary tomorrow. In fact, you're leaving this prison."

Isaac smiled. The plan was still in motion.

[member="Jen"]
 
The slot machines in a place such as this smoke filled gaming center Jennifer sat in reminded her of home. The constant sounds from the wheels in the machines turning and flashing, joined by the occasional jingle and curse when someone lost. Even a somewhat happier tune was heard from time to time when someone won, even though that happened very rarely indeed and when it finally happened; it wasn’t the largest sums of credits in the world that poured from the rigged machines. Obviously however, the other patrons in the smoke choking room thought differently. At least judging from their clothes and hygiene they weren’t the best paid folks the galaxy had to offer.

Jennifer didn’t seem to mind terribly much though, blending into the crowd while still maintaining some of her punk glamor. She was sitting and absentmindedly staring onto the screen of the slot machine she sat in front of while simultaneously taking long drags from the home rolled cigarette that hung from her lips and besides her, a young couple sat. Obviously, she was not trying to pry on their conversation, but it proved difficult when the couple constantly talked rather loudly with each other and even more so when they suddenly broke into a cheerful whine that was quickly followed by the cheerful jingle from the slot machine they shared a spot in front of. It didn’t take a long time for them to scrape together the twenty or so credit chips they had just won in furious ecstasy as the chips with a clanging metallic sound fell out of the machine.

It was hard to gauge their age from their appearance alone, perhaps a bit older than Jennifer herself? It was hard to make out both due to the obscuring mist of tobacco and spice smoke that lured in the poor ventilated room, but also due to the fact that their faces carried glaring signs of previous, or still ongoing drug abuse. It aged and changed people. Unless of course you had regular checks at the Doctor….

“We can have a feast today!” The boy said with a satisfied grin as Jennifer almost unnoticed by even herself had turned in her chair to look towards the two. “Like what?” The girl who was now leaning in over the slot machine said, taking a drag from a deathstick afterwards as she counted the credits her and the boy had gathered “Coruscantian Barbecue? We haven’t had that in a long while.” “Nah not barbecue. Too greasy.” “Like what then?” “Well, think of something.” “Do the thinking yourself…”

Jennifer exhaled out through her nose in what could appear as a very mild chuckle, and a lazy one at that as she stood from her seat, her hand gripping tightly around a large amount credit chip in her pocket as she looked towards the two who had now also noticed her. They had started talking to her, a bit aggressively as well. Perhaps it was fear, or her stupid drowsy glance who knew, nonetheless Jen’s grip around the credit softened a bit as she turned on her feet, ignoring a cruel word or two from the couple as she slowly started to trudge out of room and out onto the busy streets of Taris’ underworld. For a moment, she had considered handing over the credit chip. But nah…. She would need an extra bottle of liquor to make it through tonight’s- no the next many month long mission. It was… Crucial. She for one had no intention of staying in a place such as this.

Since the accident had happened that had resulted in a hectic assault from various authorities, Jennifer had been stranded on Taris. Without direct and trust worthy connections, nor a way to securely track up her belongings or credits she was officially stuck here. From what Jennifer had gathered over the last months since the accident at least two of those she had been traveling with when it happened had been caught by the authorities and put into some sort of security installment. Lysle and Isaac, both captured and fact was from what she had gathered that they hadn’t been caught together. What had happened to Lurcano she did not know, but so far, she had caught no glimpses of him on the HoloNet. Which she supposed was a good thing, but soon he would need to reveal himself. Perhaps sooner than expected.

The creaking metal door to the apartment Jennifer had bought on Taris was heard sliding open, allowing the soulless light of the hallway to shine into it for just a second as she with haste made her way inside and secured the electronic lock behind her, turning on the dim greenish light the apartment had to offer a second after. She navigated her way past a large table upon where a small gathering of odd-looking droids sat. Some still missing components here and there and she continued her way past a large couch that seemed to double as a bed judging from the blankets and pillows in it. She tossed the backpack she had been carrying along onto a large and rather out of place wooden table. It was luxurious and perhaps even more expensive than the apartment itself, it was furniture fit for a luxurious hotel, that was certain. She booted up the gathering of various computer and data components that was wired onto the table in somewhat of a mess and opened the backpack.

Other than, the basic necessaries such as alcohol, some sort of food and impulsively bought snacks an I.D card of sorts were in the mix. Belonging to an officer of the law. Low ranking officer, sure, and the card was old as well, but it would serve its purpose just fine… Four months, Three days, two bottles of vodka and a poop load of cigarettes and soda later it was done and even though Jennifer didn’t knew the results of what she had done and probably wouldn’t until in a few months, she was sure, something had went right.

After having gained access to rudimentary functions on the Holo server through the illegally bought I.D card she had finally figured out which prisons Lysle and Isaac had been placed in. Through knowing this she had given each prison a few virtual jabs in order to try to gauge at their security and Jen found her target as the one Isaac had been placed in. Wasn’t as secure on the Holo as the other, that was certain. She had to play it careful, so even though it did sound lovely to just release Isaac through fake orders it wouldn’t hold up in theory, nor practice. So instead, she had attempted to establish contact with him. Simply messages from various guards around the complex that they had been told by other guards to deliver to Isaac. To the person who delivered it would make little sense, it would be incoherent and would probably even be funny. However, if all the messages were heard it would to a creative and perhaps just a bit abstract mind start to make somewhat sense.

Carefully Jennifer monitored their progress for months, finding the reports mentioning Isaac grow steadily in numbers on the Antar IV complex’s holo-server. And exactly as expected, soon proposals for how to handle the complications that this “new” prisoner constantly brought up was discussed and a few clicks, fake messages and impersonated accounts later the idea of transferring him to a higher security prison was brought up. It fitted perfectly since a prison carrier would pass the Broadlands Antar IV prison for the first time in twenty months. But a luck it would even land a day after the initial proposed day prison transfer day, it couldn’t fit better. Now could it?

So what part did Isaac play in this scheme that would allow him to join up with Lysle and thereby have a better chance of escaping the prisons? Well, he just had to make sure he came onto that transport, with the easiest way being to cause… Well, chaos.
 
Broadlands Prison, Antar IV

The ceiling lights that illuminated his holding cell nearly blinded Isaac. He had been in dark isolation for the past day. Through burning eyes, he saw the faint figure of a tall, thin man walk in. "Mr. Ideus," the man said in a droll and sarcastic manner, as if feigning disappointment. It was the warden. "You've been a bad boy. Your list of crimes within this facility is... impressive. You've given me quite a few headaches. But now you've given my boss one." He took a step closer. "You see, he prides himself on running efficient prisons, and it seems he's worried your... 'antics' might tarnish his reputation. You wanted out, and it appears your wish has been granted. His office has sent me transfer orders with your name on it. Now, go back to your cell, get dressed, and get ready to move. You're going Onderon." With that, the warden left the room, with a platoon of prison guards taking his place.

Isaac cooperated and within the hour he was leaving the prison. Some cursed him, others hollered his name in respect. He wasn't a free man, but it felt like a walk of freedom. His fate was now in the hands of Jen, the prodigal young slicer. The plan had been set in motion and it appeared to Isaac that Jen had been a good girl and accomplished everything without a hitch. He was headed to the high-security detention center on Onderon for a rendezvous with destiny.

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Onderon High Security Detention Center
Lysle was out in the courtyard, the first time in many months that he had the chance to gaze upon the sun, and breathe in the moderately fresh air. He lit up a deathstick and jammed it between his lips, and the guards made no move to rip it out from his mouth. They were illegal in the prison, but a little tip of credits could turn many-a-eye, but the other prisoners didn't like it one bit. With every day that passed, his fellow inmates grew more wild and riled up. He wanted them to explode, to cause chaos. But he needed that when Isaac arrived. If he was going too.

Lysle awoke in his cell one night with a datapad under his pillow, and the guard who had delivered it failed to bring a charger. Boy, this would be fun. The battery life would last a few weeks, but his stint was a few months. He had turned it on at regular intervals and only for a minute to check for a message, and still nothing. The battery was depleting, and it wouldn't be long before it was finally out. He slipped it into his palm, in sight of all. Some gawked, and others swore at guards to do something but they feigned disbelief.

He browsed the contacts, and information Jen had sent with it. While Jen's contact was on there, he did not dare to call in the event it was merely a tool used by the Warden to get his slicer in prison with him. So he resisted, but he checked the attachments; a document of every prisoner on site, and relatives. As Lysle perused his DNA checks, he noticed a relative had been assigned to his tree, and it certainly sparked interest. He knew he had family out there, heck, who didn't? everyone was distantly related somehow, but this woman was a first cousin, according to the DNA tests performed.

All the while sitting in the courtyard of the prison, in sight of all, he located the womans personal number, and called directly to her datapad. The number began to ring, over and over and over. He felt his chest tighten, and wondered if anyone would answer, and if it really was a member of his family. Nonetheless, this was not the only surprise to come to him today. The other woman, she would have to be dealt with later. Lysle needed to have a conversation with that white-haired Zeltron bounty hunter. But after this datacall.


[member="Nyx"]
 
Onderon High Security Detention Center

"Hurry up you scum!" Isaac received a sharp prod in the back from an overzealous prison guard. He stared back at the man, as if to say "If I weren't chained up". The sun was shining. What a lovely sight it was; and how did this beautiful scene betray the situation for these new arrivals. Onderon was a prison known by many throughout the system as housing some of the more extreme members of society. Life behind its bars was difficult for most. But for Isaac, he thought the shining sun was poetically apt.

After processing, he was assigned his cell. He paced around as a bundle of nervous energy. Jen had come through brilliantly, and now was time for his rendezvous with the man who would help him get out. A voice rang through the cell block, "Lights out on the block! Lights out!" The meeting would have to wait for tomorrow. Rest was impossible, of course. Every time Isaac closed his eyes, a thousand thoughts marauded through his mind. The past, the future, and the here and now-- but none of the questions he posed to himself could be answered until tomorrow.

Yard time. Isaac paced down the prison corridor with a sense of urgency, as though every minute gone was a chance for something to go wrong. A slide door opened to a courtyard full of inmates of all shapes, sizes, races, and species. He approached a rather wretched-looking Twi'lek, "Oy, I'm looking for someone. He's called Lysle, you heard of him?" The Twi'lek smirked and shook his head. "Steer clear of him. He does what he wants to prisoners here, he has that much power."

"Well where the fook is he? I'll square him away" replied Isaac.

The Twi'lek raised an arm and extended a finger. It pointed across the yard to a figure sitting by himself. It was him. He approached Lysle.

"Ya know, I once knew a man who looked just like you..."
 

Nyx

Insert Hilarious Title Here
Nyx was doing what she normally did; getting into fights with people she knew for a fact she couldn't beat. This time, it was a fairly large Trandoshan, to whom she had said a few choice words about his female relatives, and what they did when the lizard wasn't around.
Just a few minutes later, she was promptly getting her ass handed to her, much to the enjoyment of the other patrons of the establishment. They had put big money on the Trandoshan killing her, and it looked like they were going to keep that money.

Nyx spat out a mouthful of blood as she rose, wiping her mouth.
"That... All... You got?"
The Trandoshan roared as he charged her again, only to stop dead short as he got a blaster bolt to his face. Nyx stood above him, her blaster pistol still smoking, and a self-satisfied smirk on her face.
"Now, I believe you fine patrons owe me some money."

Later in her room, the scarred woman was counting out her money. She had got a few hundred from that little display, and decided it had been a good day.
Then she got a call on her datapad.
She glanced at the number, and didn't recognize it. She frowned, and debated on whether or not to answer.
After a minute of thought, she shrugged and answered.
"You have reached Nyx, the best merc in the galaxy."

[member="Lysle of the Hydian Way"]
 
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Onderon High Security Detention Center
The datacall was answered after what felt like hours, a voice spoke, "You have reached Nyx, the best merc in the galaxy." Lysle remained silent for a few brief moments, soaking in the voice on the other end. He smiled, and was about to speak when an approaching brute of a figure neared him. He was forced to cancel the call short, without a word spoken.

He looked up at a shaved head, and a rather neatly cared-for mustache. The man was indeed muscular, and Lysle almost didn't recognize him. Then again, Lysle may have been a bit harder to recognize to boot. "Ya know, I once knew a man who looked just like you..." Isaac said. "I'm sure you did," Lysle answered, "He was probably smart, successful, and women and men from all over the galaxy flocked to his room."

"It's good to see you again, mate," he said, and he offered his hand for him. Normally in such occasions as this Lysle would typically hug the other, but in a prison, that could be a sign of weakness. Not to mention Lysle wanted to keep his reputation until he broke out. "I'll get them to move you into my cell, that way we can talk in private. I've got most of these guards on my payroll, so it won't be hard."

He reached behind his back and pulled out another datapad that had been shoved down his trousers in an inner pocket. It was small and the size of a palm, but did just as much as any other datapad. Lysle's was still in his left hand, and offered the other to Isaac, "This is yours if you need to make a call. Keep it hidden, the guards will keep their eyes off of me but maybe not off of you."
 
Isaac aspirated a muffled laugh as he shook the hand of Lysle. "Good to see ya, you sunuvabitch." He ran his hand over his bald head and then twirled the ends of his mustache-- Isaac had quite an altered appearance since the last time the two had been together. "Ooh, I put on quite the act back on Antar, you would've loved it. Absolutely fahkin' Leary... I went fully spare on about half the prison." Isaac reached into his mouth and tapped on a tooth. "Took a set of brass knuckles across the lips, that prick. Knocked out muh teeth! Got a couple fakes now." He leaned in further, tracing a line over a faint scar on the top of his hairless head. "This one's from a baton. I forgot my own name for about a week." Isaac burst out laughing under his breath again.

Lysle held up a small datapad he had retrieved from behind his back. "This is yours if you need to make a call. Keep it hidden, the guards will keep their eyes off of me but maybe not off of you" he said as he handed it off. Isaac palmed the device and hid it against his ankle, under his sock. Isaac was a master of sleight of hand; the guards would be none the more clever.

Isaac looked around to see if this rendezvous had garnered any suspicion. It hadn't yet. "And you, what've you been up to the past year? Counting credits?" He shuffled closer, and with his voice lowered asked, "In all seriousness, what have you got in the chamber in terms of our escape? I reckon they won't let us walk out the front door."

[member="Nyx"]
 
. . . And the Horse You Rode In On
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Sprays of juice squirted around Lysle's lips. A few hours ago Isaac had asked Lysle of their plan to escape, and without word he brought him into the residing psychologists office. There was food the doctor had brought for lunch that day, and Lysle was making a luxury of it. He offered some to Isaac, a ham sandwich and an apple, but Lysle took the nectarine. The doctor was in the closet with Lysle's black jumper tied around his head and a sleeve jumbled into his mouth to keep him quiet.

The plan? The ship Isaac was transported on. Lysle was one heck of a flyer from his days along the Hydian Way. Flying it out of here was more dangerous than blind-jumping in the Chiloon Rift, but if they wanted an out, it was as best a chance as they had in the next 24 hours, unless they wanted to wait for many more months, countless time wasted in the glasshouse; trapped in and looking out. There were a poor assortment of small fire-arms, and a secret weapon Lysle had up his sleeve. The psychologists office was chosen for one specific reason; they had his armour. His alter-ego as The Upright Man.

They were studying it and why Lysle chose to hide his identity under this guise, and what the name mean't to him, when he falsified his death. They didn't get much out of him, and truthfully, there wasn't much to tell. Sometimes things happen, people do things, and you can't blame it on a poor relationship, or a video game, or a television show, sometimes people just did things because they can. Because they want to. Lysle was no different, after-all, he was human.

The other reason was that Lysle had been bribing the guards more than he wanted too, but it didn't put a dent in his funds. They conveniently had their weapons 'stolen' from an unknown inmate, and they couldn't explain when or how. Constant prison-wide searches, but the weapons would never turn up in a cell, because they were left inside the armour, in the psychologists office. Lysle looked at Isaac with a giddy expression on his face. It was almost child-like. Running large businesses and criminal operations left little time to actually participate in the fun - and that is ultimately why The Upright Man was born, the best reason as any if he gave one.


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"Cheers."

Isaac grabbed the sandwich on offer and bit in. "I sure hope you offered our guest something for tea" he said, alluding to the prison psychologist who had been unceremoniously bound and gagged in his own closet. Stepping into a back room, he looked over a small stash of weapons that Lysle had procured through precarious means. "I reckon this should suffice," he declared, taking a mental inventory of the assortment. Isaac picked up a carbine blaster rifle, staring down the sights and getting used to the weapons weight. "Pow."

Sitting down on the corner of a desk, Isaac looked up at Lysle. "I counted about three armed guards on the transport I came in on, along with one pilot." He continued, "They don't worry me. The problem is getting from *here* to *there*." He pointed at the floor, and then stretched his arm out towards the direction of the prison landing field. "Of course, we could sneak on the ship at night, but that poses an even greater number of questions." Isaac leaned back. "What I'm trying to say, ol' chap, is 'what's the plan'?" Isaac didn't ask this in an interrogative fashion. He knew full well that Lysle already had a plan. If one had to ascribe an aphorism to the guy, it would probably be "the man with the plan". You don't become one of the greatest crime bosses in the galaxy by shooting from the hip, if you will.

Regardless of the plan, Isaac was ready to execute it. Prison life tired him. He was an enterprising criminal, with a retinue of talent that few possessed. Freedom offered him the ability to practice his trade craft. He missed the gambling, he missed the women, he missed the food, and he especially missed the booze. That transport ship was the pair's way to restoration.
 

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