// Stardate 20130621
// Mias Orbital Base, NASA Third HQ

The team had been dismissed an hour ago after it became apparent “Blight” Squadron 24 was not returning home. The flight itself was routine, a pass-through of Jericho owned territory to rendezvous with hand-picked liaisons, yet the circumstances were far from ordinary. Three months had passed since a working relation was established between NASA Engineering and an R&D team comprised of five Jericho families codenamed Orca; between the two sides, plans for a dreadnought accelerated beyond the pace of any publically funded initiatives.

Naturally, the project had been kept behind layers upon layers of security clearance. Even the engineers, who already had limited means of space travel compared to the pilots that guarded them, were sworn to secrecy and remained sequestered from their families for the entirety of the developments. The conditions seemed daunting, though when one realized the potential consequences of an information leak, most were eager to sign the forms and shut up. What would the Emperor have said if he found out his vanguard was happily working with the Jericho heathens?

Zavreis sighed into her fist, fighting the mounting panic threatening to split her skull. The strength of their planning left no room for error, and the thought that the easiest part of their three-month journey would be where every contingency failed hit harder than she had been prepared to admit. Her best pilots, the most trustworthy of a crew good enough to finish the hardest tasks but quiet enough to not be recognized in public, were missing along with NASA’s only copy of those coveted dreadnought prints. Treachery was her first thought, but it was never that simple.

An urgent notice flashed on the terminal beside her, followed quickly by a sequence of updates calling in from as far as Toran on the Empire-Federation front. Zavreis didn’t need to open them to know what they said. WX-30 was lost. Casualties were high. Carrier “Havener” was forced to retreat into rival corporation territory for repairs. Assistance was highly unlikely. Did we at least manage to secure WX-6 from Jericho forces? No. Who had made the decision to split our fleet? High Command. Someone will answer for this!

Zavreis thanked her fortune that the CEO of NASA, call sign TacTicalWiZard, understood how difficult it was to gain trust as an ex-communicated Jericho living in the Empire. She could have felt guilty as he would ultimately take the fire for this colossal failure, but there was no time for sentiment. So long as no one learned it was on her call that both sectors were purposefully lost, Zavreis would have room to fix this.

With anger fueling her resolve, she stepped away from the terminals of Mias’s Signals Intelligence centre, straightening her uniform in the reflection of a dozen screens. Later today she would draft a statement for Tac and summon the media for a press conference tomorrow. Someone would have to appease the Emperor too, so perhaps it was time she combed the ranks for a particularly inoffensive soul to play messenger. And then the real planning would begin. The game was on.

Someone will answer for this!

Vengeance was, after all, the strength of Jericho.

Zavreis I.E. Kor
Intelligence Analyst
─ ─ ─ ─ ─
“Evil Tactician”
Covert Operations
by EvilTactician

[Out-of-Character.jpg](< base_url >/index.php?/topic/21534-%EF%BD%86%EF%BD%8C%EF%BD%81%EF%BD%93%EF%BD%88%EF%BD%90%EF%BD%8F%EF%BD%89%EF%BD%8E%EF%BD%94-out-of-character/)


FLASHPOINT is a forum RP – a thread devoted entirely to in-character interactions. Players create one character, a persona, that they write posts for. Every post is written as if you were that character, and the story line is episodic. The overarching plot is generally controlled by the OP (also known as a Threadmaster), though individual events and scenarios are dictated by the actions of the players.

There are only a few but necessary rules to ensure the RP runs smoothly. I have listed them below. But first, in case not many of you are familiar with the terms related to forum RPs, I will go over some points of etiquette briefly.

Since forum RPs are just chains of in-character posts, each player has to write enough for the next player to work with. As such, there will be a minimum post length of 200 words. More is fine with me, but please keep it under 1k. Leave some room for others to respond!

Guideline: ~200-500 words per post

Bedazzle your posts to your heart’s content. You can post in any font, any size, any colour, with any decorations; I do not mind. The only thing I ask is for players to use proper paragraphing. Please put a new line between each paragraph. Let’s stay away from those ginormous blocks of text.

This one’s the kicker. Along with following TOS, the rule against godmodding will be strictly enforced. Godmodding is described as controlling another person’s character either explicitly or implicitly. When writing posts, players must be mindful not to put words into someone else’s mouth. Using a name other than your own can also be considered godmodding – do not mention another character or a member of this community without explicit permission from the owner.


» Follow Star Conflict Forum TOS.
» All posts in this thread are made In-Character. Please do not post unless your name is on the roster.
» No godmodding.
» The word of the Threadmaster is law. I reserve the right to decline applicants.

Currently not accepting. Some foundation needs to be established first, though I welcome visitors to start brainstorming at their leisure should the idea of joining strike their fancy.

  1. Read the thread.
  2. Develop a character concept. I recommend focusing on one trait/event that will connect your character with what is established.
  3. Send a PM to ZEIK expressing your interest to join the RP. Include your character concept.
  4. We will discuss via PM and go from there.


[Foreboding News](< base_url >/index.php?/topic/20932-the-wolfpack-wpk-changing-allegiance-to-empire/?p=219496)

[Twin Coin Incident](< base_url >/index.php?/topic/21535-%EF%BD%86%EF%BD%8C%EF%BD%81%EF%BD%93%EF%BD%88%EF%BD%90%EF%BD%8F%EF%BD%89%EF%BD%8E%EF%BD%94-forum-rp/?p=232372)
[Divided Loyalties](< base_url >/index.php?/topic/21535-%EF%BD%86%EF%BD%8C%EF%BD%81%EF%BD%93%EF%BD%88%EF%BD%90%EF%BD%8F%EF%BD%89%EF%BD%8E%EF%BD%94-forum-rp/?p=232379)

[Death Matches](< base_url >/index.php?/topic/20255-saturday-june-29th-esb-vs-nasa-nasa-vs-sm/?p=205829)


All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

All references to members of the Star Conflict community are done with explicit permission from said members.


// Stardate 20130621
// WX-6 Sector, Empire-Jericho Border
// Black Omega Squadron

THE FLASHING of a warning sensor abruptly woke Evil Tactician from the shallow slumber that had overtaken him. xxxx, how long had it been? He slowly rubbed the stubble on his chin whilst briefly looking out of his cockpit to re-assure himself the autopilot had kept him on-course. He sighed in relief as he spotted the two slowly moving deep black silhouettes streaking across the stars just within visual range. If it wasn’t for the stars briefly disappearing from view as the ships moved in front of them, he wouldn’t know they were there at all.

His thoughts where quite different from the outward calm that anyone would have observed if they could have seen him. Thankfully, his wingmen did not know what their actual mission was. Black Omega pilots had always been renowned for following their instructions to the exact letter, without any remorse of emotional attachment. This time it was different. Officially, The WolfPack still owed allegiance to the Jericho families, but recent developments left a bitter taste in his mouth.

WPK had always prided itself in recruiting only those pilots with a specific set of standards, moral values, and piloting skills. Black Omega was an extension of this, an elite squad within an already elite group. That was the official story anyway. In reality, Black Omega was nothing more than a cover for intelligence gathering and black ops - essentially any kind of mission that involved operating deep behind enemy lines. This however, was a mission like never before, and this weighed heavily on Evil’s mind.

He sighed again. A brief thought crossed his mind: was he being selfish? Were his personal feelings affecting his judgment? He was almost certain this was the case, yet all his officers had been in unanimous agreement with his decision. But most of those were unaware of his personal attachment. He snapped out of it and returned his thoughts to the Jericho families that were still paying for his services. He knew that despite being mercenaries, the code of honor in WPK simply couldn’t let this slide.

The Jericho families had started being reckless with lives, throwing all caution and advice to the wind and had ordered Black Omega to assassinate some key figures on the Imperial side. Nothing new there, except that this initiative was meant to mark the beginning of a massive assault on Imperial territory - using the services of corporations which the WPK mercs had neither respect nor any love for. He had warned the Jericho families against this, but they wouldn’t listen. When the list of targets for their mission was presented to him, it took every last ounce of strength from Evil not to show any outward emotion to the Jericho officer presenting the orders. One name especially screamed in his mind: Zavreis.

His thoughts briefly ran back to the meeting in the bar just three days ago, for the briefest of moments revealing a smile on his face. Had it been three days? He deliberately pulled a small metal tube from the pocked of his flight suit and dropped a pill in his hands. He wasn’t a fan of stims, but they had been flying for nearly 3 days now and he desperately needed to be alert in the hours to come. They had only just crossed into WX-6, and this sector was buzzing with Jericho activity following the defeat and subsequent retreat of imperial forces.

The sudden awakening of the comm system brought him back to full alertness as Ravender’s voice broke the silence.
"Approaching Primary Objective."

xxxx. No turning back now.
"Copy Omega 2."

A quick flick of the button turned off the autopilot. Fully awake now, Evil barked a few quick orders.
"Omega 3, start jamming on all frequencies. Omega 2, follow my lead. Begin attack pattern."

Rav’s response was immediate and without any sign of hesitation.
"Roger Omega Leader. Warhead armed. Beginning attack run."

A feeling of unease crawled across Evil’s spine as he shivered briefly in his seat. May the gods forgive me.


// Stardate 20130622
// Mias Orbital Base, Conference Room

THIS DEEP into Empire territory, the citizens of Mias were far removed from the horrors of war. When Federation forces cut off Imperial supply lines and choked the Navy out of “mid-ground” sectors – those numbered 28 through 31 that formed a crescent on the standard control map and served to mark the intersect between the three factions – the people living within two jumps of the capital had very little to fear. It was with practiced regret that civilians would watch the news, shaking their heads at the futility of the seemingly endless conflict. Zavreis thought the notion was inane. If they truly wanted to stop the wars, they could start by refusing to pay the dozens of mercenary corps fighting these proxy battles.

But war was good business. Nothing like the threat of annihilation to get the cogs of society churning.

Zavreis sat a ways from the podium where Tac was giving his address. A partition shielded her from view, giving her the freedom to surf the net without having to answer questions on the state of developments. Her personal computer, an orb the size of her palm, rested on her knee as it spit out a ring of holograms. One projection off to her right kept a running database on media outlets covering military movements. Beside that floated a search engine window continuously refreshing in thirty second intervals, marking relevant queries and writing them onto her own network anchored to NASA Headquarters. Some would say it was too much work to be bothered with. Zavreis would return with the simple statement, that’s why we have computers.

Conversations generally ended pretty quickly after that. It was dangerous to get a Jericho started on the glories of technology, and most were unwilling to sit through what may or may not devolve into blasphemous ranting.

The growing voices from beyond the partition pulled Zavreis out of her distracted reverie. Was it already time for Tac to discuss why NASA split their resources between two sectors when we hardly had enough to fight for one? She looked at the small clock ticking at her side. Ah. So it is. With luck the public would buy his excuse that until recently both Jericho and Federation forces appeared uncoordinated, divided to the point where a split defence was considered reasonable.

Zavreis toyed with the edge of her sleeve. Nervous habit. How long would it take for Imperial brass to call them out on their bullshit? She had a few days, tops, before someone advised the Emperor on the inconsistencies of NASA’s public statement. Damn. There just wasn’t enough time.

As if the universe could understand her plight and took the opportunity to remind her the worst was yet to come, a little black icon blinked on her feed, just between two messages from a corporation officer. Usually she would be thrilled to find that welcome symbol, but circumstances were dire and she couldn’t possibly muster the energy to be excited. Aside from seeing him again, there was only one reason he would show up after their most recent meeting. Zavreis sighed.

What the xxxx am I going to do with Black Omega?


// Stardate 20130621
// WX-6 Sector, Jericho Forward HQ
// Black Omega Squadron

THE FORWARD HQ for the Jericho operations in the sector was bustling with activity, much like a beehive in the prime of the season. The sector had only just been conquered from the Empire and none of the civilians living on-board of the status had the chance to escape before Jericho forces took control and establish their command post.

The signs of fatigue and shock were clear on the faces of the inhabitants, a sharp contrast to the grim determined look on the faces of their oppressors. The large windows on the side of the corridors normally provided a great sense of comfort, with a beautiful view on the local nebulae, but not today. Large wrecks slowly floated past, the signs of recent battle evident anywhere you’d care to look.

A careful observer would have spotted the engine trails of a squad of interceptors rapidly approaching the station in tight formation. But not today. Nobody paid the outside any attention, the view an all too real reminder of the losses that were sustained on both sides of the conflict. The conference room near central command was the only exception to the gloomy atmosphere on the rest of the station. Large Jericho banners decorated the walls, a group of important looking figures the central point of focus.

“Were the orders delivered to Black Omega?” the highest ranking one asked in an authoritative voice clearly used to getting exactly what he asked for.

“Yes Sir, I saw to it personally” , the other responded in an over-eager voice.

“Excellent. She should be dead by now.”

“I still have doubts that he’ll do it…”

“Nonsense. He knows where his loyalties lie and who pays his rather steep fees.”

The other man nodded slowly to his superior, not looking overly convinced with the answer but too afraid to disagree openly. He slowly turned around to address another uniformed officer close by as a sudden flash of bright white light filled the room, immediately followed by a powerful shockwave. And then, silence as if the universe itself was holding its breath in anticipation of what was to come.

The light dimmed, revealing a circle completely empty of debris in the place the station was located only just a moment ago. The only trace of life left remaining – would there have been anyone to see it - three small engine trails, slowly disappearing into the vast darkness of space.

* * * * *

There was absolutely no trace of colour left on Evil’s face as he reached for the button which switched on the comm. system.


“Primary objective destroyed, estimated zero survivors”
Ravender’s voice was confident and calm, betraying a level of experience with similar missions which few men could match. A brief moment of silent before the radio activated again, semTex uttering the first words since the beginning of the mission.


“Hrm? Speak your mind”

“What… What if we were wrong? What if there were no dreadnought blueprints there? All those people… All those lives…”

A brief glimpse of sadness in his eyes betrayed Evil’s otherwise cold exterior as he looked down in what seemed a moment of shame.

“I’m sure sem. You have my word.”

“Affirmative, Sir.”

A quick flick of the switch turned off the comm. system altogether, returning to radio silence as the pack moved slowly across the vast ocean of dark space. Dropping his face into the palms of his hands, Evil started shaking softly - a barely audible sobbing the only noise that remained in the cockpit.