In the military back home there were strict protocols in place when a squad went in to breech any potentially hostile environment. While he'd broken the initial rule of thumb on handling an unknown foreign payload by blindly bringing one aboard; he was in fact not so dumb as to assume it completely inert of danger. There were few life lessons he took from his rather tumultuous upbringing, but the importance of numerous safeguards to protect oneself from harm was put into practice on a daily basis.
Childhood reminiscing aside, Zasz made a lap around the perimeter of the vessel exactly twice. Once to assess the structural integrity and in turn ball park whether or not it was safe or worth the effort to even attempt clearing the inside. The second trip was to burn time to see if anyone that might have been alive got the bright idea in their silly head to peek their face out and say hello. If the latter had held true, he had a scatter gun on his back with enough shock pellets to take down a Gamoran Rockjaw, and those bastards could bite straight through the hull of a tank. Back where he originally started, the slaver couldn't help but shake his helm and tap a button on his gauntlet. What exactly had happened to this ship boggled him, other than a catastrophic system failure or assault from some kind of enemy few things did such a number to subspace grade metal. How he was going to make sense of the structure never the less determine an appropriate method to board it was a mystery.
One just had to go at it, and from his waist a line with a clamp at the end of it fired off towards the top of the mangled mess. Magnetically securing to whatever made first contact, Zasz cut off the slack with a tug and was pulled rather suddenly forward. Feet easily keeping up with the velocity he reached the vessel an vertically scaled it with surprising grace, kicking his way off the hull as he traveled. Once he was staring down at where he had been but a hop and skip away, the device sliding back into its slot at his hip. Sensors in his helmet went about analyzing what might have been the topside of the craft to see if there had been a more accessible entrance than the one he had decided on before. It did not take long for his reading to bring back an answer, and putting it rather bluntly; there was not. If anything this ship had better armor plating scattered around it than your average fighter. There was no consistency to it though, it was if they were covering up specific areas. Perhaps there were sensitive materials in those compartments? Walking over to an edge he'd turn his back to it and jump back over the precipice. His first ideas were usually best, and not letting himself fall too far, he'd catch himself with a steel crunching grip against a jutting plate. This segment had been blown out entirely; likely it was where a connecting corridor had simply been torn in half as one half of the ship had been removed from itself.
With a swing, Zasz footed himself on less than stable flooring, but thankfully it did not give even under his substantial mass. Here was to the situation turning out better than he perceived. From within his thick, winter style jacket, a stun stick was retrieved and elongated to its two foot length. As much as he wanted to put down whatever might come at him, he'd need the free hand to maneuver around. "Uggh." Quietly, but still an audible groan, the hunter let out a gut reaction of not even disgust, but disappointment. The first sight to for him to lay eyes upon was a bisected individual strewn unabashedly across the path in front of him. What had done this to the man could have been any possible scenario. In the end, his cause of death did not matter. What did was the basic truth that he had indeed grabbed a pain in the ass salvage. Zasz saw enough ruthless behavior and cruelty to even the most innocent souls while traveling the void of space to grind his emotions to a dull edge. Stepping through pools of stagnant blood, which he'd have to remember to clean later, did he cautiously wander the halls.
If there were parts to be had, he was not finding them in here. Each panel he came across was fired, the rooms they'd allow passage to barred behind doors he would not even bother attempting to open. Zasz was here for a brief inspection of his haul, and to clear out any unwanted guests that might still be around. While he could jack into the systems to reroute power to any of the airlocks or cargo holds, or the goddamn lights, a man like him hadn't the patience to do so. Low light optics and thermals would be all he needed to navigate, that and a swift batting arm. Coming to a recreational room of sorts yielded several more of what could have been the crew. These ones were in better shape, as in not brutally mutilated, though still clearly deceased since their heat signatures were long since cold. Silent steps around projecting girders over to a console that still had life in it despite a smashed interface screen, Zasz plugged a data stick into a generic access port. An expensive little number that had a suite of useful programs written onto it. In time it would try--and typically succeed--to repeatedly to brute force its way into the Diem Vuong's central grid in order to data mine whatever had not been corrupted in the wreck, sending any information gathered to a drive in his suit. If there was a command line to controls on the ship he'd have them too eventually, but right now a manifest would be right up his alley. Then he'd have better than a vague guess of the contents of what was on board by running names.
Eerie silence left Zasz to focus primarily on the slow and steady breaths from within his confined domain. Now that the vessel was in controlled gravity once more one did not have to listen hard to hear devastated walls struggling not to collapse in on themselves. A saving grace was that the engines, or at least the core had not hit critical failure and sent the entirety of the Diem Vuong into the slipstream to be ripped apart at an atomic level. There was money to be had in them regardless of whatever else might be damaged. Down another sector of the interior that he could reach without struggling to fit his form through rubble, did he find his first bit of intrigue. A set of doors lined this hallway, but unlike before several of them were not shut tight. Curiosity overcoming him, he brought his back against the wall of one entryway before turning rapidly to get a jump on nothing, because at this point even he had to figure this was a nigh dead ship.
What he was treated to nearly gave cause for another low volume exclamation. Zasz managed to contain himself this time around, for the sake of his own pride. Strapped to a blood soaked cushion was the form of an emaciated woman bared nude to his intrusion. So badly beaten was her face that his facial recognition software couldn't even determine a race. Like every other being that he'd discovered she too was stone cold. Obviously she had not been killed by whatever had gone down, and that made his grip on the rod tighten. Now, regardless of his profession, Zasz had standards in how he treated others. Even a glimpse of her figure showed repeated torture methods, scars overlapping themselves from wounds that never had a chance to heal. Her struggle fruitless despite attempts at freedom; under bindings her wrists had been worn to where he was sure he could see bone. If the Diem Vuong was a slave ship, they were the worst kind, a dark mark against the practice. Funny considering how he considered himself in relation.
He'd pass by the remaining open hatches, only giving brief glances inside to check for signs of movement or warmth on the thermal scanner, in each instance he was either given an empty space in similar design to the initial room, or a repeat instance of the broken captive. One room stood out, an impaled man marking the sight. A heat signature, above anything encountered so far. Standing out in the hall his visuals rested on the mattress, missing what he would guess had a poor soul strapped into it. This might have been the last vanguard that struggled against their captors at the moment of climax. A nice thought, even if there was little evidence to back it up. While the heat signature was surprising, it was still faint. They could be lost along with other parts of the vessel, or one of the many corpses he had yet to come across. With a click, his stun stick collapsed and was safely tucked away. "I might as well dump this back the way it came. I don't think even Rocket wants to take a crack at this mess. I have more than had my fill." Zasz would then start backtracking his steps to leave this tomb undisturbed.
Childhood reminiscing aside, Zasz made a lap around the perimeter of the vessel exactly twice. Once to assess the structural integrity and in turn ball park whether or not it was safe or worth the effort to even attempt clearing the inside. The second trip was to burn time to see if anyone that might have been alive got the bright idea in their silly head to peek their face out and say hello. If the latter had held true, he had a scatter gun on his back with enough shock pellets to take down a Gamoran Rockjaw, and those bastards could bite straight through the hull of a tank. Back where he originally started, the slaver couldn't help but shake his helm and tap a button on his gauntlet. What exactly had happened to this ship boggled him, other than a catastrophic system failure or assault from some kind of enemy few things did such a number to subspace grade metal. How he was going to make sense of the structure never the less determine an appropriate method to board it was a mystery.
One just had to go at it, and from his waist a line with a clamp at the end of it fired off towards the top of the mangled mess. Magnetically securing to whatever made first contact, Zasz cut off the slack with a tug and was pulled rather suddenly forward. Feet easily keeping up with the velocity he reached the vessel an vertically scaled it with surprising grace, kicking his way off the hull as he traveled. Once he was staring down at where he had been but a hop and skip away, the device sliding back into its slot at his hip. Sensors in his helmet went about analyzing what might have been the topside of the craft to see if there had been a more accessible entrance than the one he had decided on before. It did not take long for his reading to bring back an answer, and putting it rather bluntly; there was not. If anything this ship had better armor plating scattered around it than your average fighter. There was no consistency to it though, it was if they were covering up specific areas. Perhaps there were sensitive materials in those compartments? Walking over to an edge he'd turn his back to it and jump back over the precipice. His first ideas were usually best, and not letting himself fall too far, he'd catch himself with a steel crunching grip against a jutting plate. This segment had been blown out entirely; likely it was where a connecting corridor had simply been torn in half as one half of the ship had been removed from itself.
With a swing, Zasz footed himself on less than stable flooring, but thankfully it did not give even under his substantial mass. Here was to the situation turning out better than he perceived. From within his thick, winter style jacket, a stun stick was retrieved and elongated to its two foot length. As much as he wanted to put down whatever might come at him, he'd need the free hand to maneuver around. "Uggh." Quietly, but still an audible groan, the hunter let out a gut reaction of not even disgust, but disappointment. The first sight to for him to lay eyes upon was a bisected individual strewn unabashedly across the path in front of him. What had done this to the man could have been any possible scenario. In the end, his cause of death did not matter. What did was the basic truth that he had indeed grabbed a pain in the ass salvage. Zasz saw enough ruthless behavior and cruelty to even the most innocent souls while traveling the void of space to grind his emotions to a dull edge. Stepping through pools of stagnant blood, which he'd have to remember to clean later, did he cautiously wander the halls.
If there were parts to be had, he was not finding them in here. Each panel he came across was fired, the rooms they'd allow passage to barred behind doors he would not even bother attempting to open. Zasz was here for a brief inspection of his haul, and to clear out any unwanted guests that might still be around. While he could jack into the systems to reroute power to any of the airlocks or cargo holds, or the goddamn lights, a man like him hadn't the patience to do so. Low light optics and thermals would be all he needed to navigate, that and a swift batting arm. Coming to a recreational room of sorts yielded several more of what could have been the crew. These ones were in better shape, as in not brutally mutilated, though still clearly deceased since their heat signatures were long since cold. Silent steps around projecting girders over to a console that still had life in it despite a smashed interface screen, Zasz plugged a data stick into a generic access port. An expensive little number that had a suite of useful programs written onto it. In time it would try--and typically succeed--to repeatedly to brute force its way into the Diem Vuong's central grid in order to data mine whatever had not been corrupted in the wreck, sending any information gathered to a drive in his suit. If there was a command line to controls on the ship he'd have them too eventually, but right now a manifest would be right up his alley. Then he'd have better than a vague guess of the contents of what was on board by running names.
Eerie silence left Zasz to focus primarily on the slow and steady breaths from within his confined domain. Now that the vessel was in controlled gravity once more one did not have to listen hard to hear devastated walls struggling not to collapse in on themselves. A saving grace was that the engines, or at least the core had not hit critical failure and sent the entirety of the Diem Vuong into the slipstream to be ripped apart at an atomic level. There was money to be had in them regardless of whatever else might be damaged. Down another sector of the interior that he could reach without struggling to fit his form through rubble, did he find his first bit of intrigue. A set of doors lined this hallway, but unlike before several of them were not shut tight. Curiosity overcoming him, he brought his back against the wall of one entryway before turning rapidly to get a jump on nothing, because at this point even he had to figure this was a nigh dead ship.
What he was treated to nearly gave cause for another low volume exclamation. Zasz managed to contain himself this time around, for the sake of his own pride. Strapped to a blood soaked cushion was the form of an emaciated woman bared nude to his intrusion. So badly beaten was her face that his facial recognition software couldn't even determine a race. Like every other being that he'd discovered she too was stone cold. Obviously she had not been killed by whatever had gone down, and that made his grip on the rod tighten. Now, regardless of his profession, Zasz had standards in how he treated others. Even a glimpse of her figure showed repeated torture methods, scars overlapping themselves from wounds that never had a chance to heal. Her struggle fruitless despite attempts at freedom; under bindings her wrists had been worn to where he was sure he could see bone. If the Diem Vuong was a slave ship, they were the worst kind, a dark mark against the practice. Funny considering how he considered himself in relation.
He'd pass by the remaining open hatches, only giving brief glances inside to check for signs of movement or warmth on the thermal scanner, in each instance he was either given an empty space in similar design to the initial room, or a repeat instance of the broken captive. One room stood out, an impaled man marking the sight. A heat signature, above anything encountered so far. Standing out in the hall his visuals rested on the mattress, missing what he would guess had a poor soul strapped into it. This might have been the last vanguard that struggled against their captors at the moment of climax. A nice thought, even if there was little evidence to back it up. While the heat signature was surprising, it was still faint. They could be lost along with other parts of the vessel, or one of the many corpses he had yet to come across. With a click, his stun stick collapsed and was safely tucked away. "I might as well dump this back the way it came. I don't think even Rocket wants to take a crack at this mess. I have more than had my fill." Zasz would then start backtracking his steps to leave this tomb undisturbed.
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