"Nay. I'm not putting illegal parts in your schooner, lad. I said I'd make it run like new not like a pirate ship. Magic and Oil Hybrid engines are banned." Isaac "Mack" Macintosh growled at his twenty-something customer. Just because he worked as a mechanic through Moran Station didn't mean he was a pushover. Mack slammed the small craft's engine compartment shut, then wiped his coal stained hands on his work jeans. His fiery hazel gaze never left his customer's ashen face. "You can either hand it over to the officers on duty and take your ship or have me turn you in and face charges. What's it gonna be?" Most men in the station hesitated to tangle with six feet of work-strengthened brawn with a fighter's reputation.<br/><br/>The aspiring sky pirate grabbed at Mack's grey button-down shirt. "You'll do it or I'll rip you apart. Don't you know the name of Morris the Black?" He growled. Admittedly this Morris fellow stood taller than him by several inches, but that never stopped Mack from delivering knockouts before. He deflected Morris's hand and stepped back. "Looks like Uncle Mack'll be turning you in then." The brunette unbuttoned his shirt and tied it around his waist, exposing his white sleeveless undershirt. Some of his nearby coworkers began circling around them, placing bets. "Never fails! Whenever I have to kick some idiot's arse I wear white! Ah well..."<br/><br/>Seven minutes later, Mack carried Morris's unconscious form over his shoulder. Time to deliver him to the station's police post. "Got another sky pirate for you! This one's a humdinger. He calls himself 'Morris the Hack' or was it 'Black'?" He tossed Morris onto the cool cobblestone ground. "Anyway, he's brought us another banned piece of hardware. Do what you will with him. He ain't dead, just counting sheep." The newer of the two officers gawked like a deer in headlights. The regular shook his head. "Blinkin' hell, Mack. Leave the policing to us next time, eh? I can't let some vigilante grease monkey put me out of work!"<br/><br/>Back at his repair station Mack managed to clean the cuts he'd received on his arms and chest. Compared to other marks he used to bear, these shallow slices would be no more visible than papercuts. He leaned against the wall and looked out into the bustling station. The tall brunette let his mind slip back into his memory banks...Nobles gathered around in gilded underground arenas, he and other young men raised to be like gladiators of old, fickle owners and brutal handlers...Mack much preferred fighting for noble causes than for noble entertainment.