Alora DeVeau

Welcome Seleya! Glad to have you!

Welcome! Glad to have you!

@Alix Harford's quick thinking and preparation has left a lasting impression! Gone, but not forgotten!

I couldn't help but think of this song.

On sale today!

That was my favourite part.

Uh oh.

You're in too deep. You're stuck now.

Yes, of COURSE that's why they do it!

Outgunned, outmanned, outnumbered outplanned... If you know, you know.

Trust me, you don't want to know.

Welcome! Glad to have you aboard!

YOU JINXED IT!

Kettick doesn't want to know.

Come on over!

Oh just wait...

Trust @Avander Promontory to make the Dad jokes.

Next time I need to do a pain scale, I am using this!

Because we all know how trigger happy @Kimonzi Lahl is.

Meanwhile...

Richards is trigger happy.

Hush you.

I was first. 😛

How'd you know?

[Prologue] LtCol Wes Greaves - Through the Lens of Resolve ((Backsim, Day Prior to Arrival at Koreli IV)) ((Wes Greaves’ Quarters, Deck 12, USS Octavie E. Butler)) :Wes Greaves leaned back in his chair, the faint hum of the starship’s engines filling the silence of his quarters. The PADD in his hand displayed lines of text, old mission logs he’d pulled from the Federation database. He’d been reading for hours, immersing himself in the details of past encounters with the Zet. Each entry reignited a quiet frustration that had taken years to build. He placed the PADD carefully onto the desk, his expression unreadable as he rubbed a hand over his face. Greaves: Computer, replay log entry 7264-A, USS Thor mission report. The PADD chirped, and a clipped recording began to play. It was a familiar voice, one that Wes had worked with before—Fleet Captain Aron Kells, recounting the horrors they’d witnessed during the Zet’s manipulative dealings. Wes’s jaw tightened ever so slightly as the details of commodified life and moral bankruptcy spilled from the tiny device. He folded his hands in front of him, the only outward sign of the emotions simmering beneath his calm facade. The Zet. A society so warped that every breath, every moment, carried a price tag. It wasn’t just abhorrent; it was a perversion of everything the Federation stood for. He let out a slow breath, quiet and controlled, before picking up the PADD again, scrolling through the detailed account of the USS Oumuamua’s disastrous encounter with the Zet. The logs spoke of captured Starfleet officers, manipulated through twisted contracts and overwhelming greed. He tapped a finger on the edge of the PADD, the only betrayal of his mounting distaste. His gaze drifted briefly to the viewport before refocusing on the logs. He remembered his first encounter with the Zet aboard the Endless Golden Penetrator. The ship had been a prototype, designed to escape a nebula surrounding the Zet homeworld—a feat that only underscored how primitive it was by Starfleet standards. It had been drifting, abandoned by its Zet owners after its usefulness had run out. He’d boarded it with an away team, finding the crew starving and desperate. They’d been left to die—just another line item written off in some Zet ledger. Wes had felt pity then, though he hadn’t allowed himself to show it. How could anyone… anything, treat sentient beings as disposable tools? The thought lingered, as bitter now as it had been then. He scrolled further through the logs, pausing as a familiar name appeared: Anroc. The memory returned with stark clarity. Meeting the Zet ruling caste for the first time had been like stepping into another universe. The opulence of their chambers had been grotesque—gold, jewels, and luxury so extravagant it bordered on the absurd. Yet outside, the working caste toiled in filth and squalor, eyes downcast and faces hollow. Wes had kept his voice steady, his face blank, but the contrast had churned his stomach. He’d watched Anroc and his peers, their smug indifference etched into their faces, and felt an icy revulsion he hadn’t dared to show. Wealth was their god, and morality had no place in their worship. He had no illusions about their kind. His grip on the PADD shifted as another entry caught his eye. Port Coray. The slave market. The images surfaced as vivid as ever. The market had been a sprawling labyrinth of misery, filled with faces—young and old, human and alien—all chained and waiting to be sold. The away team had moved in quietly at first, freeing as many as they could. Wes had led them, in no small part due to V’Len Kel’s reckless urging. When the Zet had discovered them, what followed was a running battle through the station. Phasers had burned the air, and his training had guided him like muscle memory. It was a memory that had stayed with him. Wes exhaled slowly and moved to the viewport, his hands clasped behind his back. The quiet darkness of space stretched out before him, vast and indifferent. Somewhere out there, the Zet were waiting, sharpening their metaphorical knives for the next deal. This mission would be no different. They’d try to twist the Danni—a race Wes had never even met—into servitude or worse. It was what they did. It was who they were. Greaves: Damn vultures. The words were quiet, almost inaudible. The Federation’s principles were a shield for the weak, but against the Zet, that shield was too often a fragile thing. They didn’t play by the same rules. The idea of meeting with the Zet again filled him with a calm but unshakable resolve. There was no avoiding it. Greaves: Not this time. Not again. He turned back to the desk, picking up the PADD with deliberate care. If they were going to face the Zet, then he’d be ready. Preparedness was one thing he could control. He’d study their tactics, their patterns, and he’d make sure the Butler and her crew wouldn’t be caught off guard. Not if he had anything to say about it. Greaves: Computer, queue all Zet-related reports from the last five years. Cross-reference with Federation economic intelligence. Prioritize anything involving the Danni. The computer chirped in acknowledgment, and Wes’s focus deepened. There was no room for error with the Zet. Not now, not ever. With a quiet sigh, he settled back into his chair and began reading again. The mission ahead promised to be messy, but if the Zet wanted a fight, they’d find one. He’d make sure of it. And if he could protect the Danni from the Zet’s insidious grasp, even a little, then maybe he’d sleep better once this was all over. ========================= Lieutenant Colonel Wes Greaves Marine Detachment Commander USS Octavia E. Butler NCC-82850 E239702WG0 =========================