Andora blinked, the dim pins of light filtering through her cell from the ship's antechamber kept flickering and it was rather odd. The vessel itself didn't seem to be losing momentum--or fighting turbulence, but the power cells that fed the lighting system appeared to be broken, or being tampered with. "Its amazing this thing hasn't fallen out of hyper space and killed us all yet." She groused to herself, before turning over in her bunk. The GIDEON was a prison rig, designed specifically to keep people of her ilk safely behind bars--so intergalactic mayhem didn't ensue.  The people who put her here--the Syndicate-- considered themselves peacekeepers; and innovators. Thanks to them--Andora had spent a healthy part of her adulthood staring at the same four walls of her cell--praying for an engine to spontaneously combust so she'd at least see the sky she'd been drifting in for so long.<br/><br/>It was the only thing on her bucket list before dying a horrible oxygen deprived death.<br/><br/>It didn't take much to be considered a threat to the Syndicate; Specifically if you were born on Terra like she was. There was nothing really desirable about her home. It was the least attractive member of the Alliance, led by an Elder  Councilman who was aching to retire. Big Corporations wanted to set most of the planet surface on fire and start over. Technically, if the Enforcers did any real investigating--they'd find Terra was a Class 1 violation, simply by existing. Her people were junkers --people who collected off world trash, and re-purposed it to be something useful.<br/><br/>It was galactic recycling--or the kindest version of theft-because they didn't lift it off anyone personally--<br/><br/>It just so happens that over the last several years, that the so called "Waste" from other planets--turned into a resource--and a highly coveted one at that. Renewable energy had fallen onto the shores of her home in the form of space debris. No one had thought anything of it but her nifty radar back home had gone wild at the energy signature coming off the fallen tech.  No one was sure where it came from but some experimenting proved that what they thought was trash was invaluable.<br/><br/>Her own personal digging tracked the tech back to the Syndicate--<br/><br/>Her own dumb assery--led her to raid their labs, break into their vaults, and steal more of their secrets...and money.<br/><br/>She was a tad impulsive-and had a touch of kleptomania.<br/><br/>She couldn't help it.<br/><br/>If they wanted to keep their stuff they should have locked it up better.<br/><br/>Grumbling inanely to herself she turned over on her side, brushing stray strands of brown from her eyes--The damnable lights flickered again--and she tried to will her body to ignore it and sleep. Before she could even consider fully drifting off though, the static that preluded someone speaking on the intercom crackled from above. "<br/><br/><i>“Ladies and germs! Can I please have your attention. Will Alliance citizen N238-451b please surrender and calmly make there way to the docking bay for transport.Failure to comply will result in a lot of dead people and grievous bodily harm. But, if you really want, you can try and run. Kind of turns me on when they run. Either way I’m coming for you babe. "<br/>
</i><br/>Andora sat up slowly, green eyes squinting as if she could see the person talking. "What the hell..."<br/><br/>That was her code--the code that had been tediously carved into her neck like a brand. However, she didn't recognize the speaker, and she certainly didn't comprehend the words being uttered. Where was she supposed to run too? She had been in solitary for as long as she could remember; but on the other hand how exactly was she supposed to comply to someone making<i><b> asinine</b></i>requests?<br/><br/>Time was not something she had an abundance of though, because before she could formulate a plan of action- she heard a loud yell, followed by the doors to the hallway blowing inward. On instinct she hit the ground, covering her head as bits of rubble showered the corridor. Whoever had been speaking waltzed in, laser pistol high like they owned the place, and she was graced with the sight of the strangest woman she'd ever seen. Andora slowly stood up, dusting herself off and gave the new arrival a once over; A Machiavellian rogue if there ever was one--from the tech to the arrogant grin. She arched one eyebrow imperiously at her, not impressed.<br/><br/>"You talk...alot. And your very loud. Are you gonna let me out, or shoot me through the bars? That's the only thing you didn't clarify over the intercom."