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<span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-weight: 400">NRPG: Keeping a promise from a while ago, for your pleasure, a grisly end for a special character and redemption. </span></p>
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<span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-weight: 400">RPG:</span></p>
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<span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-weight: 400">Mission: Death in the Shadows</span></p>
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<span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-weight: 400">Day: 3</span></p>
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<span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-weight: 400">Stardate: 2446.02.03</span></p>
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<span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-weight: 400">(Freighter Edmund Fitzgerald- Cargo Bay – EO Ensign Matrix, SO Ensign Francois Picard –1920)</span></p>
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<span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-weight: 400">The trip to the cargo bay had been uneventful. If you consider following a trail of dead bodies uneventful. They were still unable to get any life signs of the marauders as
they were all inside the influence of the dampening field. The team had reached the edge of the field’s range. One step further and the Illuminar would no longer be able to see where they were of their status… as long as the dampening field was on.</span></p>
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<span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-weight: 400">Picard raised a hand to get the team’s attention. They all gathered around him. “First order of business is that damned dampening field. Once that is down we might be able
to get some help. But once we step over this line we are on our own people. Second order of business is to save as many of the freighter crew as possible. We are going to save them… with extreme prejudice, if you catch my meaning.”</span></p>
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<span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-weight: 400">There was a resounding chorus of affirmations. Picard stood up and stepped across the invisible line of the field’s influence. Suddenly his own HUD sensors on his helmet showed
eighteen life signs. At this time he could not definitively tell which were crewmen and which were marauders. This was going to be tricky.</span></p>
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<span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-weight: 400">With a silent hand motion Oucard told the team to spread out and watch their backs. They came upon the door to the cargo hold. He pointed to Simmons to open the door. The
man went till a panel and hit a button with his palm. The slid open </span></p>
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<span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-weight: 400">Immediately they were met by several Marauders, weapons drawn. As they began to fire the team all dove in separate directions. Picard pulled a sonic grenade from his belt and
sent a message through his helmet for the team to cover their ears. </span></p>
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<span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-weight: 400">He tossed the Grenache and even through his muted helmet he could still hear the high pitch off the synaptic disruptive explosion. When the whine dissipated he stepped around
the corner and fired his phaser rifle into the group of combatants that had tried to ambush them. </span></p>
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<span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-weight: 400">He moved into the cargo hold, the sound of phaser fire intermixed with other energy weapons rang through the containment area. He could no longer visually see his team, but
he was able to monitor their positions. Three of them had found a place to get her and seemed to be holding off a force of five pirates. The other two were moving within the hold freely, as was Picard. </span></p>
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<span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-weight: 400">There was a group of six lifesigns grouped together in the center of the hold. They were being contained there by four life signs that he assumed were marauders. That was
all the lifesigns accounted for. Picard started to scan for the dampening field generator. It didn’t take long. There was a fairly sizable energy output in the far corner that could only be what he was looking for. </span></p>
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<span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-weight: 400">He skirted around the activity certain that his team was taking care of business. As he moved he tried to scan the containers. He frowned not being able to get readings. What
could the freighter be hauling that required such high levels of security that each container had their own individual dampening device? </span></p>
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<span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-weight: 400">He came around a container to see the open space between it and a control panel. He smiled as he walked towards the controller. Already he could see that to turn off the field
was a simple pull of a lever. This mission was going much better than planned. Finally he’d be able to redeem himself in the eyes of his superior officers. All he wanted was for Lt. Lee to respect him. For the men of security to respect him. </span></p>
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<span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-weight: 400">But what he hadn’t figured out was that while inside the dampening field he wouldn’t be able to see the lifesigns of anyone outside. That was until two lifesigns suddenly appeared
behind him. Picard ran towards the panel. He had to bring that field down. </span></p>
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<span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-weight: 400">A silent whirl of something went by him. He looked at the container and saw hundreds of long, thin, metallic needles were sticking in the metal. Picard instantly knew what
the weapon was. A Pneumatic Needle Gun. A grisly weapon indeed. But he was almost there. </span></p>
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<span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-weight: 400">Another burst of air and pain shot through his left leg, or at least what was left of it. He stumbled to the floor and began desperately crawling toward the control panel.
He arrived at it in time to see his assailant running towards him, reloading. He saw the trail of blood that was following him. </span></p>
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<span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-weight: 400">He thrust himself up onto his one leg and reached for the switch to turn off the field. The sound of rushing air and the pain of hundreds of needles taking off his right hand.
Picard screamed. </span></p>
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<span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-weight: 400">He spun his body around, threw out his left arm and grabbed hold of the leaver as the next round of needles went through the center of his chest, through his body armor, digging
a grisly hole through his chest, eating his heart. He slid to the floor still hold the leaver. </span></p>
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<span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-weight: 400">As he sat on the floor, his blood pooling around him he could feel the vibration of the field stop. Two of his team came round firing and dropping the surprise guests. His eyes
began to close and he smiled. </span></p>
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<span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-weight: 400">He nodded, realizing he completed his goal. Then his eyes closed. </span></p>
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<span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-weight: 400">The last sound he heard was a voice calling into a comm channel. </span></p>
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<span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-weight: 400">“Illuminar, we have a man down. Emergency evacuation now. I repeat Picard is …”</span></p>
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<span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-weight: 400">(reply any)</span></p>
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<span style="font-size: 10.5pt; font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-weight: 400">(posted by Al Muir)</span></p>
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