Hi again, everyone! Another chapter of introduction, and it won't be the last. There is a lot I have to get into prospective before I bring in the main plot.

Oh, and Foxmerc's Dagger squad makes another appearance here, although a smaller one. In my musing, it suddenly became apparent that Dagger, and Gage in particular, recieved a more important role than I originally realized when I made him Marcus' SpecOps CO. I won't spoil it, but suffice to say, you're going to be seeing plenty of them... so I just wanted to confirm again that they are indeed Foxmerc's creation. If you don't know them, read his stories. They're worlds better than mine anyway. Go on, now! Shoo!

Or continue reading. Enjoy.

Chapter Two: Karen O'Donnell

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June 6th, 34 PLW

Star Wolf Empire Flagship: Executor

Karen O'Donnell's Private Chambers

1013 Hours, Lylat Standard Time

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I was sixteen years old, and I hated being in space. What more was there to tell? My dad, the feared "Warlord O'Donnell", would take his ship, the Executor, out for business trips once every couple of weeks. I, unfortunately, always had to be dragged along. I could understand why he couldn't trust babysitters though. Any "baby sitter" could just as easily be a Kewian government assassin or an upstart mercenary looking to off me and my family. I would like to think that with all the combat training I go through I wouldn't have to be babysat at the age of sixteen, but a lot of people wanted us dead. If anyone heard that the young O'Donnell girl was on her own, I would have to be surrounded by a contingent of bodyguards at all times to stay alive... and that was before counting in snipers.

Such is the life of the rich daughter of a Warlord, lying on my big comfy king sized bed in my VIP suite aboard the Executor. Looking out the viewport covering the entire wall closest to my bed, I could see the planet under our dominion: Kew. It was a pathetic world, really. The lone planet was in such economic despair that the criminal underground almost completely took it over, offering cash flow through illegal drug and slave trades. The whole damn thing was already controlled by mob bosses and gangs even before my dad swooped in on the power vacuum created by the convenient deaths of several influencial crime lords. As a result, the whole damn rock pretty much belonged to him. It was hard to believe he was partially credited for saving the Lylat System the year before I was born... he was as ruthless as the next villian, knee deep in drug trading, gambling, prostitution and even a couple of slave operations.

There were so many technicalities and manners my dad would try to teach me about the empire that eventually would be passed down to me. Already bored to tears in that flying crate he called a ship, he liked to use these times to randomly ambush me in my room and start his speech about how everything he owned and built would be mine one day. Don't get me wrong; I was really looking forward to the day I get a pirate fleet at my command to do whateverthe fuck I wanted with. No matter how appealing the content of the speech, though, it was still a speech. I hated speeches.

I had a long sleep, and woke up at about ten in the morning to do the only thing I could while dad went about to talk to his "friends" about some business matter or another. I practiced my telekinesis. Mom, a pure Cerinian herself, told me about how telekinesis was a rare gift amongst our kind; even rarer amongst inpure Cerinians like me. I didn't have blue fur, and I couldn't read minds. I was just a normal, grey furred Wolf with long, black, naturally curly hair... but I have the awesomest eyes. As a result of my rare gift, my eyes were a deep, bloody crimson. It gave me this eerie aura that let me just look into a subordinates eyes and I could just smell his fear. They would look at me as though I was completely lacking in the slightest shred of conscience, and would tear the pitiful creature limb from limb if he got me angry.

Which wasn't far from the truth, now that I think about it.

The thing with my telekinesis though, as awesome as it sounds, it was pretty weak. Mom would always tell me how I have to use it a lot for it to finally manifest... so that's what I did on those boring business trips. I would try to use my mind to lift the different things around my room. The heaviest thing I could lift back then was a god damn teacup; and if I was going to become a scary supervillian that could throw cars at people with my head, I was gonna have to practice. I would focus on the object as hard as I could, and imagine it floating up in the air. Sometimes it would work, sometimes it wouldn't.

I would always warm up on smaller objects. Still in my pajamas, I sat up with a start and my eyes caught their first target as though I was ambushing my own abilities; scaring them into working properly that morning. It was a pen scattered randomly at the other side of the room.

I concentrated as hard as I could on it, wrapping my mind around its form; taking a grip around it with my imagination... just like Mom told me to. Just when I thought my focus was at its peak; I tried to move it. "Comon, you bastard...."

It didn't budge. "Fuck you." I groaned at it with finality.

I decided to take a walk around the ship. I needed to be more awake before I tried again. Shaking off my sleep, I rolled off of my bed onto my feet and slid open my walk in closet; looking for something suitable to wear. Not figuring I would be going anywhere special on such a boring day, I just picked out the most comfortable things on the tightly packed rack of clothes. Shedding my red striped pajamas, I replaced them with a pair of blue jeans and a black turtleneck. Then I grabbed my hairbrush and had a miniature war getting my hair all untangled before going out into the hallway. In my position, no matter what day it was, you had to look your best. Showing any sign of fatigue in front of your subordinates – or future business partners – was a sign of weakness, and damaged your credibility... even if only slightly.

So speaketh Warlord O'Donnell the Wise, anyway.

While I never had to use it, I also kept my Tyrael Mark-4 blaster pistol with me; even when I was that young. It was a lighter pistol that had a decently large clip, was plenty accurate, and had a pretty decent fire rate, although sacrificing the power of a bigger pistol. It was a good choice for my age and build at the time; and having a gun properly picked out for your abilities -rather than grabbing the meanest gun you could to be a show off- was a sign of , another tidbit from my dad. I strapped the holster around my right thigh and put my pistol in its rightful place before walking through the doorway that opened automatically for me, deciding to head to the bridge to see what dad was up to.

Being an old ship, the Executor didn't have all the eye-hurting sterile white surfaces of a modern ship of the line. Rather, she had been refitted with someone as rich as my father in mind; all of the hallways on the vessel carpeted red, the walls matching suit (except a bit lighter shade) minus a dark green stripe running lengthwise throughout the entire ship on the lower half of the walls. The paint job carried on across all of the doorways, too. The luxury betrayed it's true calling, though; first and foremost, the Executor was a battleship. While it's stock components were outdated decades ago, it was refitted all of the time with more modern shield, engine and weapons systems, and could still keep up with a Cornerian battle cruiser fresh out of the ship yards. As Dad would always say... "She's old, but she ain't out. Not even close."

If Dad was down in one of the meeting suites, I thought at least Halsey would be around on the bridge to keep me company... he was the captain of the Executor; a white cat even older than my parents. There's a short list of people in our empire that we can really trust, and Jacob Halsey was one of them. He served under the O'Donnell banner since the Aparoid conflict almost thirty years before I was born, and was like a godfather to me.

There was a pair of guards at every junction in the old ships halls, each would straighten their posture when I walked by. Just for fun, I would throw an accusing glance at one once in a while and the victims' eyes would practically pop out of his head... but not today. Heading towards the bridge, I walked by my first pair of victims. Typically, they both had eyes on me; a taller doberman and a skinner, shorter weakling of a husky. I gave the husky a glare that said "I don't like the way you're looking at me."

Rather than him suddenly looking the other way like I expected, he returned my look with a sarcastic gaze. I could read it; "What are you lookin' at me like that for, little girl?"

I was infuriated, but I knew dad would have been pissed off if I shot the scum bag right on the spot. Rather, I gave a puff of enraged disapproval and headed on my way. Had I been older, more mature... I would have taken that as a hint as to what was coming. They didn't react the same because they weren't the same... I still blamed myself to this day for what happened on the bridge.

Typically, there were two guards flanking the circular bridge doors. I just leisurely went for the doors without a care in the world, until one of the guards did something that no one had done to me before. He barred my way.

It was a duck. A green mallard. He was about to be a deep, crimson red mallard. "Sorry miss, can't let you go this way."

"Try again. This is my father's ship. I'll go wherever the fuck I want."

"Not today, little lady. I got orders to keep everyone out."

My patience snapped like a twig. I was going to teach this prick a lesson. If there's anything I don't regret about that day, it's what I did there. "Wrong answer." I pulled out my Tyrael Mark 4, pointed it at his kneecap, and fired. The pitiful avian fell down screaming in pain, and I swung the blaster towards his friend, a black labrador, before he could react.

"You wanna get in my way too?" I had to shout over the screams of his compatriot. To my amazement, the bastard dog actually tried to out-draw me when my blaster was already out. He tried to shoulder his assault blaster. Unfortunately for him, unlike every other sixteen year old girl in Lylat, I wasn't about to hesitate. He got a laser wound square in the chest. Just to punish by association, I brought the blaster back to the screaming mallard, who was lying in the fetal position on the floor, and put laser into his head. The cowering stopped, and I was left in silent hallways again.

Satisfied, I tried to walk through the bridge doors. They didn't open automatically for me. Checking the console on the side of the door, I found out it was not only closed off, but sealed with a god damn password. Dad didn't know I knew it; I quickly typed in F-R-E-E-D-O-M and the doors quickly slipped open without even a chime.

What I saw pissed me right off. It also explained the guards. There was seven people in the room; two of them dead... the first one I recognized as Halsey, lying bleeding in his captains chair with a smoking blaster hole in his head. The second dead one was one of Dad's personal body guards. The two survivors, facing me, were my Mom and Dad. Dad was holding a gaze of steel towards two mercenary gunmen that were pointing assault blasters at him in turn. Directly in front of me, and between his two mercs, was a black bat with a blood red lining around his wings. He was wearing a long black over coat; which was all I could see of his dress from the back. My mom was kneeling on the floor as though she just took a strong blow to the gut, the slow trickle of blood leaking from her muzzle onto the floor.

"Karen!" my dad barked. "Get the hell out of here!"

Apparently my flashy entrance caught a bit too much attention, because both of the shooters and the leader turned to face me. For the first time in my life, I directly disobeyed my father.

Stupid me.

"Ahhh... this must be the daughter I heard so much about..." the bat said to me. I knew the face... but at the time I couldn't place where I saw it before. All I know is that he was holding my parents at gunpoint. Here I was, this little sixteen year old girl thinking I could take down the three full grown men that put my parents into submission.

I didn't care about the odds at the time. Not wasting a second, I squeezed off a shot and dove to the my left behind one of the navigations console. With a crack, a yelp and a thump just a second after my own landing, I knew I killed one of the shooters.

Still behind the console, I heard a spirt of blaster fire that heralded a ton of sparks coming down above me. I didn't scream; O'Donnells don't feel fear. This was only doubly proven when I heard my dad's feral roar and someone getting knocked onto their ass. Since the shooting stopped, I could only surmise that it was the other merc.

Taking the chance dad gave me, I popped out of cover and took a pot shot at the leader, who side-stepped blindingly fast out of the way while pulling out his own blaster. I just barely got under cover again before he took the shot. More sparks above my head.

I heard another shot right after, and a yelp from my dad. I knew right there that it was too late for him. Another thump. Before I was ready to shoot again, I was grabbed by the collar of my shirt and hauled out above my cover. The bat's other grubby hand closed around my shooting wrist.

It all happened so fast... I looked into his eyes, a fury that made my own pale in comparison. Whoever the guy was, he was one sick fuck. His brown eyes didn't tell a tale of a mission I had just put in jeopardy, or an agenda I just tried to get in the way of... it was just a pure will for destruction. It was my turn to be scared. His hand was squeezing the air out of me. It was time to die. So much for never feeling fear. He spoke to me like a viper from hell. "You and your ilk were always so weak... I've waited for this moment for a long time... the beginning of the end."

Mom thought otherwise. "Put... her... down..." I heard her growl.

As suddenly as the monster gripped me, the familiar golden blur of Dawn O'Donnell's staff smashed into the skull of my father's murderer. I was dropped ontop of the navigation console again, my paw to my throat struggling for breath. There I writhed until I heard mom cry out in pain. I cursed myself for my weakness. Reaching for my weapon, I rolled off the table and pointed it at the direction I heard her.

It was too late. Mom and Dad were strewn on the floor together in pools of their own blood. I was next.

I swung the pistol around quickly, spotting the bat as he plunged towards me at blinding speed, but my reflexes served me well again. The loud report of my pistol sent the bastard sprawling to the floor mid dash, a splatter of blood on the floor behind him. I got a decent hit on his shoulder. His scream of pain was only half satisfying, though- considering what it had cost me.

I should have stayed. I should have finished him off then and there; his groans of pain beckoned for me to do it, but my nerves were shot to hell. With one last look at the bridge... the image of my dead parents that would haunt me for the rest of my life... I turned around and ran. I guess I figured blood loss would finish the bastard off... or more likely I probably didn't care. All that mattered was getting the fuck out of dodge.

Reason clicked back into place as I ran randomly down the halls. I couldn't escape him just by running; I needed to get off the Executor. That guy's goons would be all over the ship. My instinct for self preservation told me to get the hell on the nearest escape pod... so that's what I did. My two friends from earlier, the doberman and the husky, skidded around a corner and raised their rifles. Too late. Two quick snaps from my Tyrael and their hearts were smoking craters. I kept on the move, watching my surroundings, and checking the charge on my pistol. ¼ left and I didn't have a spare energy cell for it on hand.

I was lucky not to find any others before I got to the escape pods, which were thankfully near the bridge as opposed to having to run all the way to the stern to the hangar. I flung myself into one clumsily and sealed the door behind me, quickly turning around in the cramped, barrel-like chamber. I started the launch sequence that was programmed into my memory... one of the many useful things I learned from my father.

The father that was now a dead sack of meat on the bridge of his own flagship.

When the pod fired from the side of the ship, I was gratified to know that whoever took over the ship didn't have a man on the weapon controls yet... No ships guns fired after me as I plunged into the atmosphere.

As I descended, I had a moment to think. What did weakling me do instead? I cried like the little girl I was. I dropped the pistol on the empty seat beside me, and for the first time in my life, I sobbed. Tears ran down my cheeks like rivers and I outright wailed.

I never cried like that before, and I never would again. I burned out every tear I ever could for the rest of my life as the pod streaked through the Kewian skies. I was just a spoiled kid who never had anything go the wrong way... and who had it all taken away in the span of a couple minutes. My sorrow was quickly replaced by enough rage to make my blood boil, and I remembered where I saw the face... the face of my fathers murderer.

The face of my fathers former squad mate, Vincent Xavier. The one who disappeared just before I was born. Questions of how I was going to avenge my parents would wait. All I did then was burn the face into my mind... and the name. The heat of my anger was like a searing forge, welding his image permanently into the forefront of my mind.

My blubbering was interupted by the proximity alarm yelling at me to start landing procedures. My paws soaked with tears, I gripped the landing thruster controls, looked out the viewscreen, and almost broke my teeth clenching them together in realization. Like a moron, I didn't aim the pod, and now I was going to land right the middle of what looked like Lusterstone city... the only major government-held city on the planet. Just when I thought my luck couldn't get any worse.

I aimed the pod for an empty looking street... it was all I could do. The cops would be all over me in seconds after I crashed, and I was probably going to be taken into interrogative custody. Even though I had technically not committed a crime in my life, just being the daughter of Warlord O'Donnell would probably land me the death penalty. The polititians of the Kew Government remnant were ruthless in their punishment of those who took their ill-earned power out from under their boots like an unsecured carpet... even to the point of murdering teens that were known associates of powerful crime lords.

I didn't care at the time though, I was still reeling about the deaths of my parents. Another idiot move on the part of my past self.

The cheap G-Diffuser in the pod blew like a used fuse when I hit the ground, but thankfully it did it's job before dying and I could barely feel the impact. Not wasting a second, I picked up my mostly spent pistol and stumbled out of the broken open hatch onto the street. Suddenly blinded by the dust of impact, I stumbled forward clumsily through the rubble of the road I tore up on landing.

As if by some sick coincidence, the first thing I saw upon coming out of the sheath of dust was a cop. A fat looking dalmation in a black Lusterstone PD uniform was standing their wide legged pointing his shitty little C-Gear 20S blaster pistol at me like it would have sent him flying in recoil if he had the balls to pull the trigger.

I pointed my own blaster at him as he yelled "Freeze! Or... Or I'll shoot!" The weakling was intimidated by me, a sixteen year old girl. Maybe it was the fire in my eyes, or the pace that I walked towards him with my miltary grade pistol pointed at his ugly mug. Did I fire? Not yet. I thought maybe I could scare him into getting out of my way. I would never get out of prison if I killed anyone... at least I was capable of thinking that far.

In my blind marching I heard more cops pull up all around the pod, and I froze in my tracks. I didn't have to turn around to hear the shuffling of combat boots and the cocking of more powerful ballistic and laser assault rifles alike.

I heard a more confident voice behind me. He sounded like a middle aged man who had done his fair share of combat work. "Put the gun down, kid, and this doesn't have to get messy. You can come out of this in one piece... just drop it on the ground."

I obeyed. I raised my hands in the air while dropping my precious weapon, and the cops closed in on me like flies to shit. In seconds, I was face down on the dusty pavement and cuffed. The same voice spoke to me again, but I never saw the face. "You're under arrest for possesion of illegal weaponry, threatening an officer and flight in illegal airspace. Anything you.... holy shit."

I was saying the same thing in my head. He must have seen the O'Donnell clan symbol on the side of the dropship.

"That's the... Shit! This is O'Donnell's kid!" I always enjoyed how mere mention of my last name was enough to make a grown man shit himself.

An older man's voice, probably her commanding officer, spoke next. "We need to get her inside where her dad's goons can't get her out... and fast. This might be the leverage we need."

I finally spat out my thoughts on the matter. "You blind idiots... do you not stop to think for a second about why I would have been aboard an escape pod?" A condenscending reaction like that was only typical for me, despite the situation.

I was flipped over onto my back by one of my captives, and the two speaking voices were finally given an image to match. The one who was rough handling me was a younger racooon in a black combat suit holding a bigger assault blaster I didn't recognize off the top of my head. The elder, standing up straight in a brown overcoat, was an old golden furred bloodhound. Both wore golden badges as clear as day on their chests.

The elder shook his head. "You can tell us all about it from the other side of cell bars."

I wasn't going to tell those government pigs fuck all. Hell, the escape pod told them too much already.

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One Week Later, June 13th 34 PLW

Lusterstone Police Precinct 103

1620 Hours, Lusterstone City Time

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I laid back, relaxed, on the tiny, shitty "bed" that was standard to every jail cell. It was just one of the "one nighters" in the basement of the cop shop they brought me to, where I was supposed to be held before I could be transferred to a place with "more suitable security measures". I was only sixteen, and the cock suckers were so sure that I was a bloody murderer that they were going to throw me in a maximum security dog house so they could use me as a bargaining chip to blackmail my dad. Unfortunately for them, that plan wasn't going to work so well now that he was dead.

They had me there for a whole week, sending down crappy scrap food that was a huge drop from the lavish meals that I was used to aboard the Executor. Along with the food, they would always send down some cheap "negotiator" in a stupid looking suit to ask me questions that I wouldn't dare give him the answer to... things like account numbers, client names, Dad's current location (HA!), information about his slave trades, drug running routes and methods... I didn't even tell them my first name, although they were at least compotent enough to find that out on their own.

Like it was some victory worthy of a damn parade, my "capture" was all over the press. Apparently this was the biggest blow they had on my dad ever. Ironic, really. It took his untimely death for them to make any progress on his case. They still didn't even know that much.

Today was different though. It was almost four thirty; second meal time, and the time they sent the idiot suit down. What did I get instead? That pudgy dalmatian in full uniform with a look of defeat in his eyes.

Not even looking straight at him, I cracked a grin. "What's the matter, bacon bits? You look like you woke up on the wrong side of your mother this morning."

No stupid rebuke, no snappy comeback. Just a frown. "You've been released."

I didn't believe him at first, but he sounded so serious. "I thought your boys put such a big bail price on me that not even my dad would try to pay it? What happened to that?"

"Apparently someone who really likes you had five hundred grand to throw around."

I burst out laughing, almost rolling off the bed. "Five...only five hundred?" I rolled onto my stomach and onto the cold cement floor, laughing to hard too care that I hurt my arm a bit in the process. When I had enough laughs out of my system to sit up properly, I did, wiping a tear out of my eye. "You idiots thought that a paltry sum like that was going to keep me behind bars?"

"Well, apparently your daddy doesn't love you as much as you thought, because it wasn't him that paid it." The fat sack of shit had a grin on his face. Must have felt real smart.

"That's because he's dead, you pudgy twat..." I couldn't pass off the opportunity to rub their stupidity into his face, despite that I swore to myself not to tell a soul about my dad. I figured they would find out soon enough anyway.

Ahh, the look of genuine suprise he gave me. As stupid as he was a lardass. He had to shake his head to get back into the game. "Well, anyway, apparently you have one hell of a guardian angel because your parole was paid."

Then it came to me. This guy meant it... but my dad was dead, who would seriously think to release me? My family was a hated enemy of this entire city. The cop waddled his way over to the cell, pulled out a ring of keys, and opened the door for me. He even had the common sense to stand back a meter or so after opening it. I guess he wasn't all stupid.

My savior showed his face coming down the stairwell into the basement. The first thing I saw was the blue plumage of his legs when he descended which grew into one of the most famous pilots in Lylat history, and the only man other than my own parents I could relate to in his stupid "team reuinions" he dragged me to every year.

Falco Lombardi.

"I suppose I have you to thank for this timely release?" With thoughts of freedom scurrying around my mind, it suddenly occured to me that I had been in the same clothes for the past week. The first thing I needed upon getting out of there was a shower and a change of dress.

"Don't thank me, kid. I know you have the means to pay me back." Still the cocky, self righteous scoundrel I remembered him as. He was awesome. He was right, of course. Dad always kept an emergency bank account topped up with five million credits for me to use in emergencies just like this one. It would be enough for me to buy a place and get myself started again and last me at least ten years before I would have to find a way to scrape together my keep. I may have left my wallet on the Executor, but thankfully I knew the guy who kept our family's accounts and could make a withdrawl by going straight to him.

He beckoned me to follow him up the stairs into the precinct, and I followed. "I'm just suprised you of all people would care enough to bust me out. What's your deal?"

"I owed your dad that much, he saved my feathery ass a few times when he was still a pilot. He also showed me to that awesome banker of yours so I could start up my PMC... practically owe my whole business to him." Cops going about their business watched us as we leisurely walked our way down the precinct main hallway towards the front doorway; some of them stunned that I was on the loose. I ignored them outright.

Being out of prison finally gave me the peace of mind to let Dad's death catch up to me again. My expression dropped into one of sorrow. "So you heard, huh?" our conversation was kept ignorable by the hustle and bustle of animals carrying on with their business, none recognizing me or the legendary pilot leading me on as we made our way down the street.

"Yeah, the news was all ova' MercNet. "The Great Wolf O'Donnell, Killed!". I was as shocked as the next guy... worse is that no one knows who did it. A lot of guys are out right pissed off about it; he was a big source of cash flow and now all those guys that worked for him are freelancin' again. It's gonna be pretty hairy for a while until someone jumps up and takes his place." We were finally out the front doors, and I breathed in the only half-fresh city air like it was a strawberry smoothie. Still smelled like shit, but it was better then that damn prison. He started up the sidewalk, and I stayed close on his tail. Our conversation was kept ignorable by the hustle and bustle of animals carrying on with their business, none recognizing me or the legendary pilot leading me on as we made our way down the street. When his fingers reached into his pocket to pull out a set of keys, I knew he had a hovercar nearby. "Anyway, where should I be droppin' you off?"

I spotted the sports car that must have been his. It was a pitch black car that looks like it was pulled right off of a race track and given a more conventional paint job. The skirts around her were pretty low except where they raised a bit at the four hover-pad points where wheels usually were on ground-traction cars. The only things that weren't a sparking black were the mirror pylons and the big razor blade spoiler on the back, all of which were a shining silver. Falco headed over to the drivers side. A press of the little control pad attached to his keyring making both doors open up automatically. I set myself down in the refreshingly comfortable passengers seat. "Before I do anything, I need to stop by Bertino's to withdraw some of my dad's cash, not to mention have the five hundred grand transferred to your account. Then, I need to go buy a place out in the country side to chill at for a while until I can do something with myself... it's all I can do, really."

He started the hover car, and it raised about a foot off the ground, staying nice and stable while the repulsor-lift pads warmed up. "Good, your head's right in the game... your dad'd be proud, kiddo." He took us out of our parking spot, about thirty feet into the air, and we were off. Away we went weaving through skyscrapers on the way to my dad's finance office. I didn't give Falco a response, so he continued. "I know I might sound like a dick askin' this, Karen, but I gotta ask it anyway. Do you have any idea who did it? A lot of people are hunting the bastard, and we can have him dead by the end of the week... all we need is a name."

I considered telling him, but in the end, I wanted to keep the taste of revenge for myself. "I do know, but I want to be the one to pull the trigger... I'll find him myself."

I expected for him to nag me on, but he was suprisingly understanding. He gave me a brisk nod and returned his attention to the skies in front of him. "Alright, I get it. Really, I didn't think you'd want it any other way. If anyone deserves to put the bastard out of his misery, it's you, kid."

"Quit calling me 'kid'."

"Well, that's one thing you gotta remember though; you still are. Don't go trying anything stupid until your plenty ready for it. I know that sound's a bit messed coming from me, but you know I'm right." To my suprise, we were already descending. Looking out the car window, I could see that we were in the slummier sections of the city. It was the red light district, home of the night clubs and barely-legal operations right on the edge of government "territory". In one of the buildings below us, there resided a good family friend; Julian Bertino. As I said, he was our dad's main man when it came to managing his fortunes. They made eachother rich through mutually beneficial deals... Bertino said jump, Dad said asked how high.

Falco took us down nice and gently in front of a dilapidated looking two floor building on a quiet looking corner. A bright neon sign labeled the building as the "Bouncing Bunny Nightclub", but those who required the services of the Kew criminal underworlds most skilled banker knew that that saltry name was a cover for so much more.

When I opened the door, Falco stopped me, putting his wing on my shoulder. I turned to face him, and he gestured towards the building. "Hey, you gonna' need a ride when you're done in there?"

I shook my head earnestly for the first time in a while rather than condenscending on the avian. "Nah... I'll buy a vehicle and a place while I'm here and take the new car straight there..."

"Aight. Take it easy." He let me go, and he almost closed the door before I stopped him, holding it open.

"And Falco?"

"Hm?"

"Thanks. For everything." I never said thank you to anyone before and meant it as much as I did there. Probably the first time I said anything even remotely that considerate at all... and when I reminded myself of that, I also reminded myself that it would probably be the last.

"Don't mention it, Karen. If you need anythin', work or whateva, gimme a call. I'll set you up with what I can." He tossed a card at me which I caught absent-mindedly, presumably the business card for his "private military corporation" not so cleverly named the Lombardi PMC. Ingenious name or not, they were well known in this sector of space for getting the job done right. On the card was the logo - a blue arwing with the white letters LPMC encased in a black border – along with his name, address and phone number. I pocketed it.

I let him close his door, and he took off behind me as I wandered into the unlit side entrance of the building. I had to stop breathing through my nose upon entering, I forgot how much Bertino and his guards smoked... the stairwell and the cement walled hallway I walked into smelled heavily of tobacco. I was hardly in a position to complain, though. Not only was he not expecting my visit, I probably didn't smell much better.

Two guards in black suits, not suprisingly with cigarettes in their muzzles, just gave me a nod before I entered. Apparently I was wrong, and he was expecting me. Then again, news travels quickly in Lusterstone. He probably had an inside man at the police station give him a heads up that I was out of the can.

The old grizzly bear, in a beige tux behind a painted green wooden desk, leaned his head up from his computer when I entered his office. To no ones suprise, he practically wheezed when he spoke. He also spoke with a really strong accent irritatingly slowly, as though every word carried special significance. "Ahh! The young Karen O'Donnell... I would say this is a pleasant suprise, but then I would be lying! What can I do for the heir of the Warlord's fortune today?"

I couldn't help from cough from all the god damn smoke. I invited myself to the chair at my side of his desk. "I need to know a few things... like how much money is left in my father's accounts, and what I have access to. I also need to make a couple purchases while I'm here. I have to start from scratch and get out of dodge for a while."

"Hmmm. Yes, of course." He pulled his laptop closer to him, and got right to work, his fingers dancing across the keys. "I would offer you my advice, but it seems you already have a grasp on what needs to be done... yes?" he paused. "Ahh.. it appears I have some bad news for you. Your fathers accounts were hacked, somehow... most of his money is gone. I am afraid this is partly my fault, I didn't think past my nose when he was murdered... why wouldn't they be after his money?"

"You're saying there's nothing left for me to get started on?"

"Ah, but not everything is gone, young mistress O'Donnell... the emergency account that only yourself, your father and I have access to, is still safe. It appears he made a last minute transfer to your account, as well... perhaps in anticipation? Who can possibly know such things?"

"How much, then?"

"Right now your fortune amounts to twenty two million, six hundred and forty seven thousand, three hundred and twenty six credits... more than enough to get you moving again, yes?" he tried to laugh, but I instead recieved a wheezing cough. He seemed to enjoy himself anyway, regardless. I was of course, gratified... but the sudden deposit only raised more questions. Had Dad seen this coming? If he did, why didn't he mention it?

"And of course, you mentioned purchases... you'll be wanting a fully furnished home, a clean-and-cold vehicle, probably a grocery and supply delivery plan as well, hmm? I can supply all of these things, and you know I only supply them at the most competitive prices... Only the best for the daughter of my twenty year business partner. I owe him much of my success, and such is the least I can do to repay my long debt."

I nodded. "Thanks, Julian. I'll trust your judgement and leave the specifics to you... take any work charges you want. I need to buy some new clothes and get to a hotel for the night."

"Ahh, of course. It will be done. I'll have a driver come and bring you anywhere you need. Also..."

"Huh?"

"Should I be bringing up my stock of.... special tools to have delivered to your new place?" He of course was referring to weapons. As he rightly guessed, I wanted revenge pretty bad... but Falco was even more right. I was only sixteen. I wasn't about to go on a one man war. Not yet. For the time being, I would simply live peacefully in the country side and gather as much information on Vince Xavier as I could. I would strike when the time was right... oh how I longed to shed that bastard's blood.

"No... not yet. Don't be too dissapointed, though... I'll be taking a good look into your premium stock before long. I only hope that when that time comes, you're going to have all of the ammunition I'll want to buy."

The grizzly laughed again. "Ah! My child, that is what I like to hear! No call is as bittersweet as the call of revenge... and I haven't the slightest doubt that your father's murderer will be repaid in kind."

"More than that... He is going to die writhing in a pool of his own blood with nothing on his mind other than how his pathetic life was brought to an end by the last O'Donnell."

=-=-=-=

Six Years later, 40 PLW

September 8th

1022 Hours, Lusterstone City Time

Karen O'Donnell's Mansion

=-=-=-=

While over the past six years I tried several times to move on, I never gave up the chase. Of all of the things I learned, the most dominant fact was that Vincent Xavier was a damn ghost. He was as pro as they get. I had my eyes and ears on every source possible looking to hints as to his location or activities, and sometimes I got a snippet or two, but never enough to know where he was hiding...

Or why he was hiding, for that matter... other than the fact that I was going to tear his guts out, of course.

Outside the pursuit of my parents' murderer, I built a decent life for myself. A lonely one, but decent. Despite my surplus of cash, I signed up with Falco's mercenary shop for odd jobs to keep my edge sharp. I was already a good fighter, but I only got better as I went. Bounty hunting, drug runs, debt collection, competition elimination, I dug my bloody paws into it all. As a result, my fortune increased rather than shrunk.

Kew, being a predominantly grey, rocky world, the mansion I had been living in for the past six years was about the best I could get landscape-wise. It was a three floor place built into a steep mountain face. The driveway and the garage both were built right into the rock, leading to the road that ran on into the horizon for about twenty five kilometers before it hit the border of Lusterstone. It felt a bit odd at first, living with a spectacular view of the city I was trying to avoid, but after the first few months I got used to it. The house was a comfortable place with all the luxuries; a fitting place for someone of my position to grow up.

I was twenty two; and my transition into maturity treated me well. Working with the LPMC kept me in shape, and my efforts had granted me a stunning bod... not that I planned on letting anyone near it. I got hit on by some of the guys at Lombardi's base all of the time, and I turned them all down without a thought no matter how good looking they were. I couldn't imagine myself in a relationship; I was in the business of removing peoples heads, not making out with them. I had six years to calm down about my parents death but the grudge, and my cynicism, both remained. I was no less of a badass bitch I was then and I was damn proud of it.

If any things developed over time that I was really proud about, it was my hacking skills and my armory. Spending all that time alone on the search for a ghost enemy forced me to learn the tricks of the information retrieval trade; Falco and Julian both hooked me up with some people that could show me the ropes, and I got to the point where the worry was less whether I could crack a secure system, but whether it was worth my trouble. Probably the best example of my prowess was how I had checked the Kew Government's secure databases every day, remotely, without having been caught. Walking into their mainframe was as routine as putting the coffee replicator on in the morning.

As I said, my armory grew too. I had long since outgrown my little Tyreal Mark 4, and had bumped up to a monstrocity of a pistol; the Ulysses 24H. I never liked lasers, they were too weak, clean, and had very little stopping power... gentlemen weapons. The 24H was a big bore ballistic pistol, and the executioners gun of choice with its sixteen shot extended magazine, positively mammoth 12" long barrel and enough stopping power to not only stop a man that is running at full speed, but knock him backwards several feet, assuming the part of him I hit wasn't completely blown off. The first time I saw it in action in a video Julian showed me, I was almost dizzy with excitement. I kept it on me at all times, not only as a show of force, but a brilliantly intimidating playmate in a fight. The thing practically ignored cover. To top it off, I got it with a really cool shiny red and black finish that just screamed "Alert: violent tendancies." I eventually started nicknaming it the Demon.

Other than my trusty sidekick, I had a few other toys I kept laying around too for when the situation arose: assault rifles, assault blasters, sniper rifles, knives of varying lengths and edge types, shotguns, sub machine guns, a couple of chain guns when I needed a bit of extra anti-vehicular muscle, rocket launchers for the same reason, a mountable rail gun, and my personal favourite: a flamethrower. The list went on. Suffice to say, I was ready for any party, and was paid appropriately for my trouble.

Well, almost any party.

That night was just like any other that I had off. No contracts at the time, so I just bided my time digging through government files on my laptop. As always, I was dressed ready for combat, even though not once in that six years did I ever get someone try to breach my house. Maybe I just liked the weight of the Demon on my hip. Who knows? I was in a long pair of black cargos, a matching strapless top, and my cool black overcoat hanging on the back of my chair. The red and black Demon was in its holster on my belt, poking my leather office chair as I tapped my foot. As usual, nothing new.

Then I heard a noise. It wasn't the house heating system coming on, or any bells or whistles like that.

It was the door creaking open.

I guess whoever had the balls to come into my manor thought I was asleep, because only a moron comes through the front door otherwise. Still, the sound was so miniscule, my battle-hardened ears only barely picked it up. I started to worry; I thought an actual pro might have been trying to get inside.

When I heard a similar creak behind me from the back door, the entrance that led to a balcony that could only be reached if one climbed down from the cliff face fifty feet above. I knew my suspicions were correct. There was a fucking squad of trained soldiers in my house.

I quickly set my laptop to standby and silently closed it, pulling the Demon from it's holster. Making sure my back wasn't exposed, I backed into the bathroom directly behind me, and slowly closed the door. Then, I listened for footsteps.

After about a minute of waiting, I didn't hear anything. I started to think I was paranoid, but just to be safe, I slowly pushed the door open with the Demon leading the way. Starting from the right, my vision swept across to the left.

That was when I heard the footsteps. They were right around the corner. I froze like a statue, and watched as the leading end of an assault blaster I couldn't recognize in the dim light slowly crossed my view. That was the time to act.

Letting my left hand hold my gun, I swept around the corner to my left leading with my free fist, smashing it into the face of the intruder. With a fleshy impact noise he was dazed and fell to the ground, buying time I used to grab the assault blaster, pry it from his paws and smash the barrel end into the face of a comrade behind him. Neither of them reacted in time. The second dazed on the floor, I raised the Demon and pointed it at the head of the first one I hit, who froze on the spot.

As suddenly as I had subdued my targets, I felt the cold steel of a pistol suppressor on the back of my head. A confident male voice, around my age by my best guess, interupted my assault. "Stop. Cool it, and drop the gun."

I had no choice. The Demon fell to the tiled floor with a loud metallic clatter. Was that it? Did I just get ambushed by Vince's men and got caught with my pants down?

Not quite. "Turn around." the voice said again, and I complied; eager to get a look at my attacker.

Immediately I knew there was something odd with him. I had to squint in the reduced light, but his fur was...

Blue? "...Marcus?"

"Karen?" Marc's eyes grew wide. I hadn't seen him in years; not since the team reunion only days before my dad died. Questions sprang up in my mind. Who was he working for? What did he want? And most importantly, what the fuck was he doing pointing a gun at me in my own house?

He lowered his pistol. "Captain Ley! Target secured!"

"Good." The cool, female voice was soon joined by a body as she stepped out of a dark corner. She was an older looking leopardess, in a black combat suit holding a supressed sub machine gun with one paw. "Although, we could have gone without the two friendly casualties."

The first one that I hit, who I now identified as a brown furred lion, groaned. "Oh, comon, Cap! She totally knew we were coming. I heard Marc open the front door from the other side of the fucking house!"

The other one I hit, who I identified as a skinnier looking hare, kept his mouth shut. It looked like I hit him pretty hard. Good.

"No excuses, Sergeant." she shook her head. "Anyway, considering the fact she isn't tied up on the ground yet, I assume you know her?"

Marcus turned around to the one he called Captain Ley and nodded. "From my childhood, ma'am. She's a friend of the family. Her name's Karen O'Donnell."

"O'Donnell, huh? Tell me, kid, what's your take in Cornerian affairs? Why are you trying to track the tech thief so hard?"

Tech thief? I was boiling. What the fuck was this bitch talking about? Not to mention she called me kid. I hated that. "The only person I've been tracking is my fathers murderer. You're telling me he's been pissing around Corneria, too?"

Marcus and Ley exchanged looks of genuine worry, before he looked back at me again. "I think you better come with us. If what you say is true, and the same guy that attacked the CDF weapons lab on Titania was the same guy who stole the O'Donnell fortune, we have problems."

"Big problems..." the lion on the ground behind me said.

"And if I refuse?" I rebuked.

Ley tilted her SMG up, resting it on her shoulder. "We're not really giving you a choice."

I'm not sure why I asked, to tell the truth. I was intrigued; I hadn't heard about any attacks on military research bases. Then again, here I was out in the middle of nowhere. It never really occured to me that I might have found more leads on Vince if I went to the Lylat core worlds... maybe this was the one I was looking for for the past six years.

"Fine, but I'm bringing my gun. Period."