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Starfox: Liberation

Chapter 1: Not All Beginnings Are Good Beginnings

Alaric Vladislav was not a good man, he wanted to be, but it would never happen. He was a killer, stolen from his family at birth and trained to be what the Sovereign Colonies desired, a butcher. He was conscripted to lead the fearsome 66th Black-Operations battalion identified as The Hydras's Fangs at the age of fifteen. They were solely responsible for the smothering of fifteen uprisings on humanities capital world of Terra and abroad during the final three years of the revolution. Their reputation was so infamous that even the Lylatians had heard of them, years after the war.

They were forced into finding and slaughtering the family members of the rebel leaders, so that they would crawl out of hiding in a blind rage, where they would be efficiently and ruthlessly gunned down, by the reluctant warriors of the 66th, the most famous of these horrors, which would earn Alaric his loathsome title, occurred on New Athens.

They had killed more people there then they would ever get credit for. The sad fact of it all was that he and his men never wanted to do any of the things they did, but they had been forced to by their battalion supervisors. Some men tried to rebel, resulting in their's and their friend's deaths. To spare them of the evil, Alaric became the monster, so his men never had to. He was the one who killed the families, who did all the dark deeds so that his men would not be burdened by the horror and shame.

Still, for all their forced brutality and unwanted expertise at dealing death, the Sovereign Colonies was overthrown and the UEG rose from the ashes. Yet, while the rest of Alaric's men had been put to death with public executions, despite his pleas for them to take his life instead, they let him live. It wasn't out of kindness, but rather a sick twisted vengeance.

He had been tortured for the last seven years, where people would pay top dollar to beat "The Butcher Of New Athens." And so, in the darkness of a hellish prison on terra, Alaric died, on the inside. The loss of his men and the atrocities he committed ravaging any good left in him. The now embittered and soulless man awaited for it all to end. And that's where the twenty five year old antihero found himself, inside a dark damp swampy hellhole, kilometers underground, in a five by five cell, chained to a wall.

"And THAT is for my brother!" An enraged male voice roared delivering a bone creaking uppercut to the ensnared and bearded Alaric. He could feel his teeth clatter from the force of the blow as his head reeled backwards, spraying blood and sweat. He readjusted his head, and spit bloody saliva onto his tormentors face, and grinned savagely with crimson stained teeth. He was unwilling to give the bastard hitting him anymore satisfaction then he had already smashed out of his body. The man wiped off the bloody spittle and reared back to deliver a mighty blow.

"Enough...we still need him alive!" A guard demanded, although he sounded aloof, and almost regretful of ending the abuse.

The meaty Caucasian blonde looked back to Alaric, and gave him one last hit to the kidney, making him cough up blood, and walked away. The guard smiled as he opened the cell door and let the man out, there was an exchange of credits before the blonde disappeared down the stone corridor.

Now alone, or at least as alone as one can get in a prison, Alaric could drop the act and slump in his chains. He heard a malicious chuckle as the guard laughed at the man laid low. With the tattered remains of his pride, he turned to the guard and said with a grim satisfaction and feral grin, "tell me sir-laughs-a-lot, would you like to know how many families squealed when I gutted them? Or how much they begged for mercy? Perhaps I even had a go at yours?"

He did this not because he enjoyed it, but because he hoped that the guard would knock him into blissful oblivion. So that maybe he could sleep without the nightmares, and get the rest that he had been denied for seven years.

The guard froze mid-chuckle. His face went from a pasty white to a flaming red. He ripped open the cell door and stormed in. He then proceeded to viciously pound the helpless man until his fists were raw and his arms were sore. He would have kept going if not for a commanding voice.

"STAND DOWN!" Instantly, the guard ceased his pummeling and stood to attention to the side, as a short, yet intimidating man in the grey trappings of a General sedately entered the cell, sidestepping pools of congealed and fresh blood with his pristine black boots. "As much as I would like you to finish the job, we have need of him." He turned to the semi-conscious Alaric. "Tell me butcher, how would you like to be pardoned?"

Alaric looked up, his red dyed eyes locked onto the General's pale blue ones. "What would I have to do?" He growled.

Several hours later, clean-shaven and made presentable, he found himself ushered inside a huge room with a semicircular table at the far end. To the left was a massive bay window over looking a sprawling metropolis. He could see skycars flying along the aerial highways as they zoomed around the forest of monolithic skyscrapers. It was amazing what they had accomplished in only seven years after the civil war. If only he had been born on the right side he mused sadly.

Throwing away those petty thoughts he finally noticed that the attendant who had shown him in vanished, leaving him to wait. So wait he did, standing a few feet away from the table. (They had not laid a chair out for him.) He willed the time away by observing the life outside the window, it had been a very long time since he saw the sky. He watched the golden morning air as the people went about their lives, far away from him. Then his eyes fell upon his reflection in the tempered transparent steel.

His raven black hair had been cut with a blade, making for a short and rough look. His face was covered in scars, from particularly high paying "customers" who had been allowed to take a knife to him. And those were only the visible ones, many more lay hidden below the collar of his plain clothes. But perhaps, the most visible irregularity was his eyes, they had painfully changed from their warm blue to the intimidating red that looked back into his scarred face now. He had vague memories of his old eyes, he missed them dearly, for when he looked in the mirror now, the crimson pupils reminded him of the blood he spilt for a corrupt regime all those years ago.

Five minutes later, the doors on the opposite side of the room opened, and three figures walked in to take seats at the broad oaken table. They were the heads of the EUG.

James Ackerman, head of the navy, and the youngest of the three. The Terran born South African man was famous for his brilliant strategic planning, winning the war for the rebels. His reputation for victory was so well known that Alaric had heard of it, even in the prison underground. One of the guards had been a kind soul, speaking with him and actually treating him like a human being, telling the connection starved man what was happening in the outside world. They had not liked that so he was transferred to god knows where.

Sara Parker was leader of the civil offices, and the only colored person on the board. She had been born and raised on the inner colony world of Rylinoth. Alaric did not know much about her besides that. He had heard rumors that she gained her position through blackmail, backstabbing, and piggybacking, but it was not any surprise to him. That is how most politicians ascend to the higher ranks.

Then there was Wallace Masterson, commander of the entire armed forces. He was the oldest individual, at eighty five. But, thanks to the advancements in the medical field, he appeared to be in his late forties. His age gave him a bit of an advantage over his fellows. The man had been raised on Arcadia, an outer colony, where he stood witness to, and truly understood, what atrocities the Sovereign Colonies had committed in their efforts to retain power. If Alaric would have any respect for the three it would be for him, ironic considering that he was the one who had captured him and his men. Wallace was an experienced, and therefore dangerous, individual.

These three were some of the most powerful people in the universe, and they wanted to see him, and he could care less. "Alaric Vladislav, do you know why you are here?" Ackerman demanded.

"No." He grunted, he was unimpressed by the pompous fools sitting before him, he only had respect for Wallace, and it was a grudging one. If they wanted to frighten him, they never would, he was afraid of nothing. All they could do now was kill him, and even that didn't phase him, death would be welcome.

Equally unimpressed, Ackerman resumed talking. "You are here because the UEG requires use of your...specific services." He phrased carefully.

Now that got Alaric's attention. "What could you possibly need a murderer for?"

It was the woman, Parker, who talked now. "We need a deniable asset to head into lylatian space, and investigate a lost...scout ship."

He had heard about these Lylatians, animal people from beyond the stars. He didn't give them much thought, he had more to worry about with all the painful torture and what not. But he did get one thing out of what she said. Alaric scoffed. "Scout? You mean infiltrator."

"We just wanted to look around a planet for something we heard about in a ruin on Talvinoth." She replied defensively.

"Sure, whatever." He grunted. It seemed that governments always devolve back to what they feared to become, cesspits of immorality and greed.

"This is not a debate Alaric!" Wallace shouted slamming a fist onto the table, making it quake. "The last thing we need is moral guidance from The Butcher Of New Athens!" He said the last part with fiery condemnation.

This somewhat subdued the confrontational man, as it revived long suppressed memories, making him tremble. Flashes, of screaming woman and children, the snarl of automatic weapons fire, the wet thud of bullet riddled bodies connecting with the pavement, and roars of his supervisor to "leave none alive". He was thrown back to the present by the loud voice of Wallace.

"ALARIC!" He jumped slightly and turned to look directly at the aged man. "We don't have time for your inane drivel. Do you accept the mission?"

"Why would I?" He retorted angrily, upset that he had appeared weak in front of them, and maybe more so at himself for what he did.

"If you do, your record will be wiped clean and you will be put back into society, and given a pension to live off of." Parker said diplomatically.

Honestly, the deal wasn't half bad, especially considering it was an easy task, recovering some lost spy ship and bringing it back. And, it was infinitely better then being tortured for the rest of his life. "...fine I'll do it." He relented.

"Excellent!" Ackerman said, happy that the mission could start. "You will be provided with a ship, supplies, and equipment, and before you get any ideas about escape, a beacon will be placed in your spine, through your RIG. If you don't report back in two months time, we will consider you an escaped convict and deal with the threat appropriately." He warned grimly.

"Understood." Alaric growled. "What is the name of the ship then?" He asked, ready to leave right then and there.

"Its called the Undying." Wallace replied.