The Chronicles of Salazar 1: Crash

The sound of coughing wakes me up. Ahhh my head. Goddamn it hurts. Cellmates tell me I got smashed on the ceiling when the ship crashed. I’m surprised the old man didn’t get broken in two. Definitely feels like it.

I lift myself up from the cold iron floor. Smells awful. Feces and urine smear the walls and bars. I guess the chamber pot couldn’t hang on anything during the crash. Shit aside, I need to focus on the main goal now: escape. I take the time to adjust to the flickering lights in the darkness, ready to fight to the bitter end and drag my cellmates with me if needs be. If this is our one chance, we better fucking seize it. I’ll show them how real men lead!

After a look around, I can see that we’re all fine, way too fine for my taste. Even the fucking cell is fine. My hands feel no twisted metal or broken lock, it’s fucking pristine. Slavers seem healthy enough too, I can hear them shouting at each others like dogs on a hunt. This doesn’t sound good, I can tell you. Instead of being in a flying ship, locked away in a metal cell watched by guards, we’re now in a crashed ship, locked away in a metal cell watched by guards. Back to the same shit. Sad fucking life. This was supposed to be the time, remember? “Freedom and bloody justice!” Guess not.

The only thing we can do now is wait. The window of opportunity has come and gone. I tried to make the best of it, put Grand’pa to use, told him to play sick so we could get an out, but the situation only got worse. Guards have their eyes on us now. Yeah they better watch it, ‘cause we are coming for them, with a slight delay. At some point they’ll slip up, make a mistake, and we’ll be there to take advantage.

Slaver quarters. I’m standing face to face with Rastar and his pilot, Zarukk. Rastar’s looking at us like we’re merchandise, from head to toe. I want to grab his fucking throat and squeeze ‘till his eyes pop. My failure to escape this situation has only made me angry. But it’s just not the right time. Too many slavers, too many guns. Still, there’s no way I’m going to let this go smoothly. Assholes dragged me there like a dog, along with my cellmates. They’ve been bringing other prisonners in throughout the day. Time to find out why.

Rastar opens with questions about our lives before he destroyed them, about our jobs, about lost tech. So this is his game plan, then? Ask his slaves for help? I’m relieved. The man must be desperate. Or just a fucking idiot I’d be happy to purge from the universe. I watch my cellmates suck it up to him in a degrading game of one-upmanship, thinking they’ll get ahead. “Mr. YourManlyness, I’m the bestest slave! I’ll accept anything!” said one. “No, please, I’m more elite, just pick me for the slave work!” said the others. Don’t know if I want to be mates anymore.

Just shows you how low man will go when it comes down to survival. I did that once, felt like puking my soul. Never again. When comes my turn, I tell him how it is. Fucker will get a knife in his throat before I lift a finger to help him. I spit on his face to show him he’s only as good as the floor I walk on. Then the guards drag me back to the cell.

Next day. The slavers seem to be making an exit. Rastar and a bunch of his men are gearing up with heavy armor and weaponry, obviously going to take a look at the area surrounding the crash. Me? I’d like to know the shithole I’m stuck in.

Later. I can’t believe Zarukk‘s opening our cells without forcing us to wear manacles. I mean, I made the math: half the men gone, more than half the weaponry by my estimations, perfect time for escape. But I didn’t expect them to open the door for us, I thought we’d have to make sacrifices to create a chance for ourselves. So when Rastar left, I made sure to motivate my cellmates. Everything depended on them working with me. I didn’t let them off easy, I said: “Do you want to live in this cell until they strip every ounce of individuality you have? Look at how he makes you beg to help him. Come on! Stand up, or see yourself be reduced to a shell!” Or something to that effect. I hoped it resonated with them, because any second now could be the time to stand up.

We ventured out of the cell, disguised as gentle slaves, biding our time, waiting for the appropriate moment to strike. There were 3 guards armed with stunguns, one of them outside the room. Only Zarukk carried a pistol. Our first target. Then, for a reason beyond my ability to comprehend, Zarukk ordered his men to proceed and open Padouk’s cell. The 250 pound gorilla. He lunged at them with the fury of an enraged beast. Thank god for idiots.

We rushed in as the sound of thunder resonated in the room. The guards were ready. The beast was stunned, the beast was felled. Our advantage seemed lost, but we were already in motion, unmasked for our seditious selves. Well, all but Vsevolod, who was puking his guts on the floor from the shock, poor sheltered baby. It was too late to back up now, we were all in.

Mere seconds later, I was running down the hallway towards the control room, chasing Zarukk. I held a firm grip on his gun. His time was counted. I was the master now.

We made it out pretty well in this fight, I thought as I ran. Ganging up on Zarukk was the right move. Gave us the gun thanks to Fat Guy Leon, who disarmed him of all things. I don’t know how he does it, but behind that fatty exterior lies a hard shell that will not give way. I mean, you have to respect a man that can take a stungun shot or two and stay up. It allowed me to hold the pistol to Zarukk’s head and make him understand I had every reason to shoot him right then and there unless he helped us out. I was out for blood. I got the men into dropping their stunguns, but somehow we got distracted and Zarukk weaseled out, running away like a coward. He has nowhere to go.

With the press of a button, the door to the control room slid open. Zarukk was going to send a message to the away team led by Rastar, but too late. I didn’t have to say a word, he lifted his hands in the air, knowing he had no chance. As I pointed the gun to his head, the guards were being locked up in our old cells. I loved the role reversal. Revenge. He was going to be at the other end of it.

1 Crash

Première entrée par Le Gros Leon

Je croupissais dans ma cellule du Triglote II depuis plus de 6 mois avec mes amis Vector Salazar, Vsevolod Kamenski et le vieux Jaspar. Jaspar était désagréable comme toujours et se plaignait de ses maux de dos et de ses démences séniles.

Au milieu de la journée, de la turbulence s’est fait sentir sur le vaisseau. Nous nous sommes énervés dans la cellule. Padouk s’est mis à faire du grabuge et demandait des explications à l’équipage. Un garde nous a menacés. Padouk l’a envoyé chier comme toujours. Sacré gaillard. L’équipage s’est énervé, le pilote a perdu le contrôle.

Black out

Nous nous sommes réveillés sonnés, les uns sur les autres. Vector Salazar était écrasé au plafond de la cellule. Padouk était incoscient. L’équipage criait. Un garde est venu inspecter la pièce où nous étions. Il a découvert une cellule (celle des putes) endommagée et a fait sortir les deux gonzesses. J’ai crié pour qu’elles s’échappent. Les salopes n’ont rien fait.

Le capitaine nous a questionnés pour connaître nos professions. Le vieux Japar était toujours aussi désagréable avec le capitaine. ‘’ Je suis un tireur d’élite’’ qu’il criait haut et fort. Pauvre vieux. Moi j’ai tout fait pour qu’on me choisisse pour les travaux sur le vaisseau. Je sais que je suis le plus costaud du groupe (et le plus beau).

Ils ont interrogé tous les autres prisonniers sauf Padouk. La nuit a passé.

Rastar et ses gardes équipés pour une sortie ’’hostile’’ sont venus chercher 6 des autres esclaves.

Environ une heure après, Zarukk et ses gardes sont venus nous chercher. Bande d’imbéciles.

Dès que les hommes de Zarukk ont ouverts la cellule de Padouk, il a foncé comme un taureau sur nos ravisseurs. Malheureusement pour lui, ils l’ont maîtrisé avec leurs armes. Je me suis lancé sur le capitaine et j’ai réussi à le désarmer. Vector Salazar et le vieux jaspar ont menacé les gardes avec leurs propres armes. En s’échangeant le fusil de Zarukk nous avons donné une sacrée raclée à cette bande de flancs mous.

Zarukk s’est enfui dans le corridor pour chercher de l’aide. Vector Salazar l’a menacé avec son propre pistolet et le capitaine s’est rendu comme un trouillard.

Fin de l’entrée


The Chronicles of Salazar 0: Prologue

From the mind of Vector Salazar.

87 days I’ve been on this ship. 87 days since I compromised my values to save my life. A choice I’ve regretted from the moment I sealed the deal with Rastar. Just seeing his face I knew something was off, but I put it aside, my hide was at stake. After all, my life was more important than all of theirs combined, I had to make sure I survived, for the cause. Well I was a fool. I should’ve known that flushing my integrity down the drain, if only once, would come back to fuck with my life tenfolds. Now I’m just a sad slave, wasting away like those morons with no morals, a sacrifice in vain. Never ask a slaver for help.

Still don’t know where we are, don’t know where they’re going to unload us. But those are worries of another time. Fuckers got me in a cage. I sacrificed my pride so they could take my freedom!? Someone’s gonna pay. I swear someone’s gonna die. Rastar, when I’m finished watching you bleed, I’ll chop off your head and shit down your fucking throat you double-crossing bastard! But before I can take it all back and savor my vengeance, I need a way outside those bars. Fucking guards don’t give us a moment. Fucking metal cell doesn’t give us any chance.

Situation is desperate. No escape in sight. No opportunities. I’m stuck with a bunch of useless blokes that are going to hold me back. I got Mr. StuffMyFace over there, hounding over every bit of the slimey grey paste they pass around for food here. One’s totally clueless, I bet he doesn’t even know we’re in space. And let’s not forget Grandpa and his throat-choking stories of war. The only useful guy, a huge ripped man, is in another cell further away. Can’t rely on any of them. They’re just gonna stand there and take it, as their lives switch hands. If I am to survive this, I got to put things in motion. Someone has to take charge, and who better than me? I’m a leader of men goddamn it! Injustice will not be tolerated! If the current situation is not in our favor, we have to change it.

Never got a chance to finish my escape plans. Situation changed. We’re falling. Some kind of failure, who cares. Lights are fading, chaos everywhere. A sign: this is the time. This is our opportunity. A time for freedom and bloody justice! I hope those guys with me in the cell will have the guts to though it out. Can’t make it on my own. Still, I’ve never led men who didn’t want to be led, men without a cause. But they better learn to like it, for the sake of their lives. Rastar, I’m coming to get back my hat, over your dead body!



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