Rolling in the 'Deep [Exemplary]

[Kenpachi Zaraki]

“Intruders cornered in storage bay 8C,” Duro's communicator squawked.

“Good.” Duro replied, a smirk crossing his face. “Shouldn't be long, then. Looks like we'll be adding another prisoner to our roster, Smee. Make the required edits to the logs; Dredd should be quite pleased with my handiwork.”

“Y-yes Mr. Duro, sir,” Smee replied, stumbling across the ship's deck as fast as his legs could carry him.

Duro grabbed the communicator from his chest and lifted it to his mouth. “All Vultures converge on 8C. Verify all exits are locked down and report ANY suspicious activity.” Replacing the device, he stepped to the edge of the deck, peering out over the moonlit waves. From his pockets he produced a lighter and cigar, remnants from his past life. He smiled and brought the bundle to his lips, flicking his lighter open. As if in response, the ship shook violently; Duro's treasures falling into the sea below. Rage filled his veins as a plume of smoke pouring from the hull below swallowed up the tumbling trinkets.

- - -

“Holy shit; that oughta do it!” Tal yelled, coughing loudly through the smoke billowing from the hull. “Maybe even over-did it a little!”

With precious few seconds to admire his work, Vincent quickly stepped to the newly-reformed porthole. As the issuing smoke cleared, he started to make out the rolling waves, crashing against the ship just a few yards below.

“Where's Ral?” The elder Sola yelled, stepping away from the barricade.

The ex-Turk didn't respond, straining his eyes for any sign of their escape vessel. Without the time required to summon a new craft, he was their only hope. He briefly considered plunging into the sea and swimming to shore, though a dozen or so mercenaries shooting at a pair of bobbing heads didn't seem like a very good game plan.

Tal stepped quickly to the edge beside Vincent, craning his neck as he searched for his younger brother. Frowning, he brought two fingers to his lips and blew, producing a sharp, rhythmic tune. Some fifty feet in the distance an engine roared to life, the tiny speeder suddenly racing toward them. “Cloaked!” he whooped, beaming with pride. “That's my little bro for ya'!”

Their celebration was cut short as the vault door behind them began to creak open, various junk items tumbling from the makeshift barricade. The rabble of angry mercenaries became louder, hands reaching through the gap. Vincent shot a look back out at Ral, the craft still too far to reach from their location. In a moment, though, it wouldn't matter. Shaking his head, he grabbed a handful of Tal's prison uniform and leapt into the sea, dragging his vagabond companion along with him.