The research for this is so much fun. Playing FTL and taking notes on my gameplay styles is quite enjoyable. Sometimes, I'll forget the note-taking part, and just play.
For this story, I used DryEagle's Descent Into Darkness mod, a near-complete overhaul of FTL. An amazing mod, all things said.
I don't own FTL, FTL:AE, DryEagle's Descent Into Darkness mod, or anything else mentioned.
Prologue
-/-
The view from the space station told a tale of horror, a tale of death. The planet below was being bombed out by the Rebels, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. A lone figure at the window watched, trying to keep his cool. After a bit, the orange and blue spaceships turned from their attackers and aimed towards the planet adjacent.
The man watched in silence as the small planet took the bombing. The ships then turned in the direction of the space station, but kept turning. Soon afterwards, they jumped out of the system. Thank the gods for the system's cloak. The man kept looking out the window, hands in his coat pockets. His family was on that planet. His livelihood was on that planet. All gone, bombed to bits. The Rebels were going to pay.
But how? He turned away from the window and brought up his datapad, showing a current scan of his ship, the CSS (Civilian Space Ship) Delta. It was made for luxury cruises, not fighting. However, it did have four weapon slots and space for a drone bay. It was more than enough. He went to the nearest bank on the station and withdrew his savings. Armed with scrap, and ill-will towards the Rebels, he then set out to one of the more reputable weapons dealers.
"Howdy! How can I help you?" The man drawled, "I'm this here shop's owner. You can call me Tanner. Can I interest you in a brand new Flak Cannon?"
The man in the coat coolly ignored him and browsed the store. Two weapons caught his eye, each as equally devastating as the other.
"Ah, that one'd be a special type of railgun. It pierces all shields and causes system damage and hull breaches, but no hull damage. It's a military grade-weapon, however, so you'll need to be extra careful handling it," The shop owner then turned to the other weapon, "This here's a beam weapon. It's quite popular with salvagers cutting apart ship hulls. It's quite a handy weapon if I say so myself."
The choice was stark.
"I'll take the Ultrasonic Cannon, please."
"You want me to ring you up, then?"
The man thought for a second, "No. I think I have another item in mind."
The two walked over to the Plasma Cannon section, and stood there, looking at the overcharged weapons in their display cases.
"So what you see here are cannons that shoot superheated plasma. This one here comes with the added bonus of ionizing systems, and the other will light a fire in any room. Have a preference?"
"Yeah. I'll take the Ion Plasma Cannon. That'll be all."
The shop owner was delighted, "Is this your first time?" The question elicited a nod from the customer, "Then I'll give you a deal of 80 scrap for both."
The man's eyes lit up slightly at the offer.
"Deal."
"Deal it is, then! I'll ring you up and let you be in your merry way."
The process took less than five minutes, but as the shopkeep transferred the goods to the cargo hold, (With the man right behind him.) the conversation turned to the recently bombed-out planet.
"My family was on there." He said simply, not wanting to talk about it anymore. The silence that followed was the indication that the weapons dealer understood, not just of his clipped speech, but why the weapons were being installed.
It took them no time in installing the two weapons. After a handshake, the man left to the bar, not only for a drink, but for a crew.
"What can I get for you?" The bartender asked, wiping down the counter with a worn rag.
The man took a bit of time checking the holographic menu, and then decided, "I'll take a Nephrarian Gin, on the rocks. I have a question for you."
"What's on your mind, friend?" The bartender leaned forward, expecting a sad story.
"Who's the most trustworthy boarding party here in this bar?"
The bartender was taken aback, "Oh, well… Probably those two there," He pointed to a Mantis and a Crystal, "Their names put off a few people, but otherwise, they're the best in this bar right here. No one's complained about them yet, either."
"Thank you." The man said as he took his drink and tapped the Crystal on the shoulder.
The Crystal turned, "Hi. Can I help you?" There was a polite disinterest at first, like how one would shoo away the door-to-door salesman selling his wares.
"The bartender said that you're quite adept at boarding."
The Crystal being bobbed his head, thinking. He looked back and forth, before answering,
"I'd guess he's right." The Mantis looked on with regarding eyes, "Depending on how you pay us."
The man opened his wallet, "Take all but 30 scrap. And the route I plan on taking, you'll be much richer than you'll expect."
"What… Route?"
"I plan on taking down the Rebels."
The Crystal turned to the Mantis and started conferring in hushed whispers. Gestures were made, and every so often, the Mantis would glance at the man. He half-expected them to tell him he was crazy and run him out of the bar, but they didn't. Finally, the Mantis spoke aloud.
"We'll do it. We've always hated those Rebels. It's why we're here, and not out doing what we do best." The Crystal nodded, finished his drink and got up.
"My name's Shiny. He's Stabber," He nodded his head behind him, "What's you name?"
"You can… Just call me Capitan." The man shrugged.
Stabber nodded, "When do we start?"
The man looked at his watch, thought for a moment, and looked back up at him,
"Whenever you pack your bags. My ship's the CSS Delta."
"Aw, that's not a proper name for a ship that's going to kick a bunch of Rebel ass. You need to rename your ship." Shiny gave a hearty laugh, "A civilian ship ain't going to get you anywhere."
"I do like Delta." The Mantis added, "You should keep it."
"Well… What should it be then?" The man was confused, but went along with it anyways.
"If you're going to be killing Rebels, you'll need a heavy ship. Heavy weapons, heavy armor, heavy shields… How's the Delta Heavy?" Stabber said.
The Crystal was all over the name. "I like it. I like it a lot."
The man nodded, smiled and shook their hands, (In Stabber's case, his sharp appendage.) and set off towards his newly christened ship.
After performing his pre-flight check, he set off for the guest rooms, making sure everything was in order. Beds were made, and the small kitchen was stocked. He went up to the primary deck, and made sure that the medical bay was working, and the auto-repair was up to speed.
It was his last hour to watch the once-beautiful planet that he called home smolder and glow with the embers that he could see through the atmosphere. Nothing survived. He let it fuel him.
He was going to make the Rebels pay.