I don't own Galaxy Rogue.

Playlist, as unusual:

Cowboy Bebop OST1- Spokey Dokey

Cowboy Bebop OST1- Tank!

Cowboy Bebop OST3- See You Space Cowboy

(All found on Youtube, all not my property.)

You may notice that all of these are Cowboy Bebop songs. Blame the voice actor lineup—the same voice actor of Spike(Bebop) did Zegram. Their mentality is similar and it fucks with my mind. (Plus the sountrack of Bebop is f-ing amazing!)

Meanwhile… is all of the events with Zegram that we didn't see.

The events with him meeting Seed, as there had to have been at least one meeting for him to know who he was on-sight. There is slash in this—I'm not promising every chapter—but there is. (Zegram x Seed, not specifically in that order.)

These chapters are all related, some not so close, some completely, but they all are.

Meanwhile…

-beep-'Message alert!'-beep-

-click.-

Zegram snapped open the less than discrete communicator, Daytron-brand, and cursed it. The device was top-notch and of military level use, yet his 'partners'—his employers—still insisted on equipping him with it, no matter how suspicious it might be.

'A commoner with this thing?', he thought countless times, yet it seemed no one else on the hellhole of a ship did.

Then again, no one around him really seemed to think anyways. They were always rushing into battle and trying to play the hero. Zegram gave a soft, gleening smile and propped his elbow onto the wood table beneath him.

'Although, this time it wasn't their fault.' He idly opened up the message application and saw that the message was in text form, not hologram. 'It was Mio's fault, technically.'

Which was exactly what the message was about—kind of. Zegram, earlier in the day, had informed his superior that Jaster had been disposed of, sent to a level four in Rosencaster Prison. Honestly, he was delighted that the imposter was gone as well as the robot and archer woman, bodacious as she may be. The tablet and Eden were his problem on this ship and his only, even if the Captain thought otherwise; the less people involved, the better.

The message said pretty much the same thing.

'Zegram,

Good work, we'll have Rosencaster make sure that they stay there.

Head to the Vegas towers for a mandatory surprise. If you don't know where they are, ask around. If you can't find them, don't bother contacting us anymore. In case you don't know, there are two of them, hence the plurals. Make sure you choose the correct tower, or your surprise will become unpleasant.

Mandatory surprise, understand?

Don't pick up any more nuisances, or consider the deal off.

Also, the damage to the Galaxy Corporation will have to be paid for out of your wallet.'

The shifty bootlegger, as that was what he was in the end, smirked at the senders sense of humor. It wasn't alarming that there was no listed return address on the message, as it was a top-secret movement that he was assisting in. Most likely this was coming from the Daytron President's bodacious assistant—the one that had knockers like bullseyes. Zegram finished reading and deliberatly avoided word deal, casting it out of his mind. He sent back a simple message to the void sender that said, 'Understood.'

Before leaving the mess hall of the ship's lower half, Zegram bought himself a much needed bottle of vodka, as vodka was always needed as far as he was concerned. He left to do his business and didn't say where he was leaving to, or when he'd be back.

When he got to the deck and made his way to the 'moving stairs', he leaned against the sturdy rail and lifted the glass bottle to his mouth. The motion of falling through the air and the confusing warmth of alcohol made him able to take his mind off of the surrondings he was forced into during his spare time. Zerard's huge, open spaces full of sunlight and glammer made him want to take out a pistol and do what should be done to Jaster—one shot, right in the head.

The smoke-filled air and dark skies of Myna were much more at home with him than Zerard's rosey settings. Myna didn't hide it's whores, drugs, or it's poverty. At a glance one would think that Zerard didn't have any to hide, but Zegram knew that it did. He grew up in that setting, jaded bastard that he was.

He had already made his lanky way through the main doors of the Galaxy Corporation, noticing with a silly grin that one of the architects were distraught over the large hole he had blasted through a designer window. Up the stairs, around the circle, and down the opposite set of stairs—he took another swig.

Soon he was standing at the fork in the road—symmetrical towers on both sides with equally long, curved walkways. A scoff and another swig, and he let his reliable alcohol make the decision for him.

To the right it was.

Zegram instinctively had his free hand on the hilt of his sword, not wavering in his stride as he began approaching the inpenetrable barrier that belonged to Daytron and blocked his way. As he suspected, only a few steps away from it and the barrier vanished—was this the right way then?

He didn't get his hopes up and pulled the sword out fully, taking a small sip of the alcohol before activating the door into motion. The intense noise of blade slicing through air and overbearing taste of alcohol had his adrenaline kicking and ready for a fight.

Zegram didn't flinch when only a moment after stepping through and being locked in, the familiar sound of gunfire sung in his ears. He dove behind the staircase to his left after a quick pin-point of where the sound was coming from. Grinning, he quickly dropped his bottle and grabbed a shuriken instead, waiting for a right moment to hurl it.

By the sounds of it the gunner, and there was definatly only one, was on the opposite side of the room, on the same level as him. A plan coming to mind, he made his move and jumped over the rail and onto the stairs. It was risky but to counter-act it he threw a small grenade and it exploded before any fire could be aimed at him.

Zegram didn't expect for the attacker to get severaly injured from that explosion but it did surprise him when on his way bounding up the stairs, he tripped and nearly fell without catching himself. His curse was cut short when he was spun around by a grip on his arm that he hadn't noticed and met his attacker face to face—no, a mask covered his face, the bastard. By the time he was fully facing the masked man, his sword had already raised to block an attack and the grip on his arm was already shook off.

Zegram still grinned as he instantly used an attack to get back on his feet, continuously trying to get a slice in, only to have his masked enemy block it with ease. He couldn't read anything on the others state of health but his stanima didn't seem to be waning at all even though they had both been slicing with the full intent to kill.

The situation should have called for Zegram to be frustrated and wary, but it didn't. Maybe it was the alcohol that made him so persistant, or maybe it was the knowledge that he wasn't afraid to die. Whatever the factor was, it made him do the one thing that should never be done during a fight, guns or sword, which was—"What're you after me for—"

He landed on his arse at the edge of a stair, which made him yelp more than the burning pain he could still feel in his abdomen even though there was burning alcohol in him. The bastard had given him a flesh wound. He sneered up at the white and black mask that stared down at him, noticing that the grip on the blade's hilt in his enemies' hand was tight and strained.

"What're you after me for anyways?" The amusement in Zegram's voice was hard not to notice, and he honestly wanted to know. He hadn't had such a good fight since one of the bounties he'd taken down a while ago. "'re you the surprise? Did I take the wrong tower then?" He chuckled to himself, blaming the alcohol for his lousy choice even though he knew that his sense of direction and common sense was shot from the start.

"Instructions from Father to give you a taste of my blade, as you will be fighting me in the future." The voice that came from behind the mask was high-class and rich, and right from the first word Zegram knew that he was dealing with a pissy bitch.

"Should've known," He muttered to himself, slightly bitter but still kicking from the adrenaline. So Valkog had finally raised his son into the murder machine that he'd wanted him to be; That was dandy. "Seed, right?" He smirked and noticed Seed's grip on the hilt become tighter. "So how long until I can blow your face off for good?"

Zegram sincerely doubted such a egotistical, as one would be after being told they were practically a Messiah, person would be able to control themselves after being insulted.

"I surpass humanity." The word was spit out as an obscenity and Zegram had to comend Valkog on feeding his childs' ego. "Father should never have wasted his time on you. Resign from bothering him any further and forget your deal with him."

The command had grated down Zegram's amusement to nil and he didn't try to hide the resentment in his voice. "You deal with your business and I deal with mine." He stood without hesitation and gave a hard stare into the mask in front of him. "Got it?"

"Our business interferes with one another—" Seed carried on as if he hadn't heard, "Your looking to open Eden, and I am going to open Eden."

Zegram shook his head. "You know why I'm doing this, and that's not why." He sheathed his sword with a snap and let the hatred drip. "Leave me alone."

They both remained still, tension thick. A deep, familar sadness had grabbed hold of Zegram's heart and was relentlessly trying to drag him down into guilt and tears.

"You humans give into emotion so easily."

"Yeah," The crooked loner gave a bitter grin and walked away from the scene, "and you're the best example of that."

Down the stairs, through the barrier and along the long path in front of him. Along the way, he picked up his bottle and drank heavy gulps down, unable to tell if the burning in his throat came from alcohol or unshed sobs.

Midstep, he pulled out his beeping communicater and read the message that awaited him.

'Zegram,

Rosencaster security was breeched. They got out.

With your crew out we'll need you to continue your part on the deal.

Also, good job. You made the right choice.

Have faith, for a human your not a complete waste of time.'

The bottle was tossed to the ground and cracked. Zegram wished that was Seed's head and scolded himself for not doing the right thing—'Next time, one shot right in the head.'