Superlative

EPISODE ONE

{ THE CONFEDERATE | DIVISION ALPHA, THE STREETS | 9TH OF JUNE | 11:42PM }

IT STARTED WITH A BANG.

Not The Big Bang, mind you, but still a pretty loud, resounding BANG! from a highly classified and extremely rare plasma revolver. The energy blasted through the air with force, passing through the men in the narrow alley and throwing them against the wall. It scorched its target -- a large space patroller across the street -- and left a faint blue glow in its trail, shot still ringing in the night's otherwise dead air.

"Fuck me," Chief Officer Wyatt cursed. His night was clearly about to get much worse. First he managed to let half his target slave trade smugglers get away, and now he had to deal with this.

He pushed himself upright, leaning heavily on the wall he had smacked against. His vision blurred, and his ears pounded with white noise. Nasty side-effect of a plasma gun, which was exactly why it was only given to higher ranking Space Officers in the Galactic Army.

Legally, at least.

The chief eyed the fading blue trail as his vision started to clear, tracing it back to the biggest pain in his ass that he had ever had the displeasure of handling. "We can pacify this situation ourselves, Nightshade," he bit out, spitting out said pain in the ass' name with disdain.

The cocky son-of-a-gun stood on the signature hoverboard, tossing the plasma revolver around the air and catching it repeatedly like it weighed nothing. Wyatt grimaced at the modified Galactic Army uniform the vigilante wore; the standard army-issued uniforms were white, but this was ebony black. His anger sparked whenever he saw the Commander badge of five stars around the sun pinned on the lapel of the fake, bulky uniform, and this time wasn't an exception. This ingrate was mocking the Galactic Army, had been doing so for the past years, and it was Wyatt's personal mission to uncover the identity of the infamous Nightshade once and for all. Illegal weapon, fake uniform, and stolen badge were just some of the charges the Confederate Government had on the vigilante, and Wyatt was highly looking forward to the day that he can put the troublemaker behind bars.

Nightshade laughed, voice distorted and choppy like a digital tape that had seen better days. "Like you handled that other case, officer?"

The hoverboard drifted closer, until Nightshade's dark helmet was all up in Wyatt's face. The chief officer's breath fogged the tinted glass, and Wyatt resisted the urge to rip the damn helmet off. The last time he had tried hadn't ended so well, and he'd rather save the humiliation for some other time. Preferably when the young privates weren't around.

"Chief, we need to call for reinforcements, sir!" one of the privates called out from down the alley. The young man was wrestling with a slave trade smuggler the space patrol was tasked to round up, while the other privates were sprawled on the ground, rendered incapacitated by the smugglers. Half of the smugglers have already long escaped, while the remaining ones were in various states of consciousness -- thanks (or no thanks) to Nightshade's plasma shot. The smuggling clean-up should have been a quick, easy job -- child's play, really -- but unidentified weapons were brought into the equation.

Things went downhill real fast from there.

"Reinforcement, reporting for duty!" Nightshade threw a mocking salute. In the same motion, a stun dart was withdrawn from the vigilante's belt and aimed at a fleeing smuggler. It hit the slave trader behind the knee, and he fell to the ground with a pained cry. "Looks like I'm here to save your ass again, Wyatt."

The Chief Officer growled, pushing past the hovering Nightshade to bark at his men. "Get up, we have work to do!"

"I don't think your men can handle much more, Chief," Nightshade teased, gesturing to the delirious patrollers. The smugglers' weapons were highly effective and that pissed Wyatt off, much to Nightshade's delight.