Ratchet looked up from the carefully laid out tarp with slightly widened eyes at the mention of the Captain’s rather odd nature. His cheeks flushed slightly and he stumbled over his words for a moment, “St-strange? Strange you say? I haven’t the faintest idea what you could mean! Captain Dirk Man…Steele…erm…uhm…is as normal a man as there is! Well for a human I mean. I know he is a bit over charismatic but he is absolutely…um…brave and daring…and…everything a captain should be, yes that’s it. He is completely...” his eyes averted, much the way someone trying to fib their way out of a situation would do, “…one hundred percent everything he is said to be. Without a doubt I can say that Captain…is completely legit. Totally. He’s a…hero.”<br/><br/>Inwardly, Ratchet was near vomiting. Lying this much was killing him.<br/><br/>Quickly he changed the subject to steer any attention away from the captain and hopefully any suspicion with it.<br/><br/>“Y’know I better get dinner cooking, I’m on galley duty this week. If I don’t have the food prepped in an hour, our ever patient pilot Crash Graves will set my laboratory on fire again. He does that sort of thing from time to time. It’s a sort of therapy for him.” The engineer explained, turning off the workbench lights and guiding Meg and Zal both out of the workshop. He locked the door behind him with a key code by punching in a few numbers on the security panel before showing Meg along until they reached the kitchen galley, where the engineer set about to cooking.<br/><br/>Crash Graves was lounging in the adjoining room, stretched out in a chair with his boots up and resting atop another chair. His arms crossed behind his head, eyes closed and chewing on a wooden toothpick. His shaggy crimson hair was still damp from the recent shower, but he was otherwise dressed back into his custom attire, combat pants and a loose fitting sleeveless tan leather vest. A digital holocron hovered not far from him, playing a set playlist of musical tones and songs, most befitting of his personality. Grungy and hard hitting. He opened an eye and watched Ratchet and Meg from across the hall, letting out a simple “Hmph…” before closing it and bobbing his head to the music.<br/><br/>~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~<br/><br/>Nero let the droplets of sweat trickle from the tip of his nose. His breath was heavy but his eyes were set as stone as he stared at the rocky ground. His ears were tipped upward, listening intently. One move and it could all be over. He knew this opponent well. His hands trembled as they gripped the pistols in his hands tensely. Not from fear but fatigue. Bodies were spilled about the ground about his feet. He’d lost count already. Their blood was worn on his face and hands. He began to exhale a slow breath when his senses alerted him to a danger at seven o’clock. Spinning around swiftly and bringing the gun up in time he ripped metal through the shadowed figure, dropping it in a hail of bullets before executing a drop and roll to the left, deftly dodging a swiping slash from his previous position. The second assailant chased after him with another lunging strike. Nero parried with his pistols and threw a heel kick, missing by a mere fraction of an inch. The shadowed opponent came at him with a set of blades in each hands. Sparks flashed from the collision of each parry as blades clanged off pistols. Nero caught an arm and drove his knee in to the back, feeling the spine crunch in half from his attack. The opponent managed a painful groan before Nero pulled the figure back across the knee, striking at the exposed throat with the handle of his pistol and feeling the neck break under the force. Nero held the opponent in his arm and pushed the visor helmet open, gazing into the grayed feminine eyes he knew all too well.<br/><br/>A pebble bounced behind him along the stone ground.<br/><br/>He spun and pressed the muzzle to the forehead of his neck attacker and pulled the trigger once. The bullet did as the master commanded, firing from the end at point blank range, entering and exiting the skull cleanly. Nero lowered the pistol and looked on with shock. The young child in front of him stared up at the heavily armored ghost with questioning eyes before she collapsed in a heap. Nero dropped the body he was holding and sank to his knees, his eyes misting under his visor. He swallowed down the lump in his throat and spoke clearly so the computer would hear him, “End simulation.”<br/><br/>The very environment hummed a gentle sound of muffled thunder, an engine winding down, and the scenery disappeared in a matter of seconds. Now he was kneeling alone in an empty room, no longer in his ghostly armor nor carrying any weaponry. He was back on the Condor, alone and catching his breath.<br/><br/><em>“Subject: Nero,”</em>the computerized AI spoke aloud, narrating the results,<em>“Scenario Alpha. Accuracy: 98 percent. Time: Ten minutes. Objective A: All enemy hostiles eliminated, Complete. Objective B: Safeguard all civilians, Failed. Objective C: Classified, Failed.”</em><br/><br/>Nero picked himself up slowly and dusted his long coat off, catching his breath and wiping away the mist from his eyes with the back of his hand, taking a breath to steady his nerves and put on his cheerful face. No one would ever see him like this. Not even his most trusted allies.<br/><br/><em>“Better luck next time, Vice Captain Nero.”</em>The computer chimed with its feminine vocal recording.<br/><br/>“Of course,” Nero muttered under his breath, heading out the exit, “<em>17th</em>time might be the charm…”<br/>