Rei had done nothing during the invasion of the resort planet. Nothing. It was like he'd frozen. He knew how to fight - albeit, he wasn't that good at it - and he'd always considered himself an altruist. When he was a boy, he used to pretend to fight off aliens and save the world, and yet he'd done nothing when it actually happened. He'd retreated.

The biggest problem, he reckoned, was that he didn't know how to react to something like this because he couldn't go forward or back into time and figure out what could happen, what shouldn't happen, what had to happen. When he watched Earth get conquered in a little under a week in the 24th century, he was able to stand back and let it happen, because he knew it would lead to a better planet. But he'd had no reason to stand back when fighting the Ohm... or to fight.

He wanted to shout at himself, to get angry at himself. This wasn't Earth. There are no Guardians here. The rules are different. He wanted to beat things up in the Sensoriums like he'd seen so many other people doing. But that wasn't him. He didn't get angry very much any more, and it usually didn't last long.

So instead of creating hordes of whatever to fight, he created Greece. The Acropolis of Athens, to be exact. He'd chosen to view it around the late 2000s. He'd already seen it when it was still in use, and now he wanted to see it after it had fallen. He'd been on a tour, once, but it had been hard to enjoy it, since tour guides always get things wrong. Besides, they rarely let him touch anything.

He walked throughout the empty ruins, thinking about his place on the ship, his place in the universe as a whole.

Wyn let out a deep breath and propped her feet up on the conference table, holding a mug of coffee in one hand. She had already sent out a message on the omnicoms and typed up a brief outline of the meeting for herself.

Now all she had to do was wait for her minions coworkers to arrive...

Evangeline had made her home on the ship at the Chateau d'If; not the dismal island fortress to which the name properly belonged but the private rooms of the author who had made it famous. Most important to the reclusive mage was the out-of-the-way location far from the most densely-populated parts of the city, but the history and style of the building appealed to her as well. It had a cute, compact appearance not unlike that of her residence on the Mahora grounds which, while in every way inappropriate to her fearsome reputation still suited her tastes just as well as the grand and imposing castles she had once raised.

But now the picturesque grounds were marred by the terrible light of her magic, flickering weirdly as it arced to and fro, and the air was filled with the strange keening wail of densely-accumulated magical power. And above that there was one more blatantly sinister sound: the recognizably human screams of the subject of the great spell, her luckless apprentice, Negi. The site of the ritual was no less alien; master and apprentice were both suspended in air above the great circle she had formed, Negi in his agonies and Evangeline in deep concentration.

She'd had ample time to consider her approach while the boy recovered to a state she thought sufficient to withstand the rigors she had most definitely intended to put him through, but she would not simply be implementing a preexisting design. She was dealing with a living system, in more senses than one, and though she was intimately familiar with the theory behind Magia Erebea she had never intended it for use by a human, or indeed anyone other than herself, and its expression in Negi was not something she understood in detail. She would still have to think on her feet, as it were... in fact, it would be as great a challenge as anything she'd done in decades, she expected. For that, the chance to revisit her greatest work, she could almost thank Negi.

[Though this is supposed to be somewhat out-of-the-way anyone who wants to come complain about Eva's less-than-stellar bedside manner/nuking small children is welcome]

Everyone had their secrets- that was part of life. Some were good, some were bad, and some were so out there that people generally seemed to ignore them. Growing up on Tatooine there had been many things people being raised on the dustball of a planet were expected to be. You were strong or you didn't survive for long. Work was always needed doing when it came to living in the more remote areas of the planet with the constant sand storms that sent people scattering for shelter and devastating the moisture vaporators. Gavin had been a kid when his parents moved their large family to the old Lars Homestead finding the freedom the space brought to them needed as well as doing right by the previous owner after the Lars' had died. Finding space to be himself was beyond possible at times unless the youth found the little nooks and crannies the homestead had to offer.

No one knew that he could draw. Being artistic wasn't something that the planet could offer anyone and his parents had never known their eldest child could do it. Well they had known when he was younger until Biggs had relentlessly teased him for having bigger dreams of doing something other than staying on Tatooine. That was the day Davin had stopped talking to people or showing them what he could do. You couldn't be tough and doodle sketches, his cousin had told him. Secretly he had kept it up though taking what chances or less hours of sleep he could just to capture those little moments that would make the day.

Gavin wasn't exactly sure how he had found the supplies in the city. Poking around enough empty buildings had given him a full sketch book, various colored pencils, and some charcoal sticks. With his old books being gone the memories since leaving Tatooine, even prior to joining the Rogues, were sketchy at best. Which was the reason the young man was curled up in one of the chairs in the observation deck in a back corner facing the stars where hopefully no one he knew could find him out. In only a few hours his fingers had turned black from smudging lines and shading, the book already near half full with things he wanted to remember and faces that he knew. Wes, Hobbie, Lujayne, Corran, Mirax, Ooryl, just to name a few who weren't there, even spreading out to previous planets or combat missions. Then people on the ship with happy expressions before the battle with the Ohm to the more sober looks of near defeated crew members who were just pleased to be alive. Yes, even the cake had made it in to one doodled corner with a knife sticking out of it. Raising his hand, Gavin rubbed at his cheek with his thumb leaving a trail of black that was sort of hard to miss. He was lost in his own little world and very prone to someone walking up on him.

Kyle paced as he waited for the new recruits to assemble. He'd had the Sensoriums replicate one of the old parade grounds at Carida for this introduction. It had been stripped of all the Imperial monuments of course. The academy had thousands of years of history long before the Empire so it was still a suitable place for inspiring young soldiers, or so he hoped.

Once the recruits had assembled they'd see a very different Kyle Katarn than they were used to. Gone was any of the relaxed mercenary clothing. Instead it had been replaced with the perfectly pressed uniform of an Academy instructor. Normally he'd never be caught dead in this thing, but he had a responsibility to the squadron to do this right. That meant standing on ceremony, and discipline including wearing of uniforms. Plus it was a classic image of Boot anywhere, and he didn't want them to feel they'd missed out somehow.

Once the recruits had arrived, and had managed to organize themselves into something resembling a formation Kyle began to pace in front of them. The heels of his perfectly spit-shined boots clicked against the stones of the parade ground. Finally he stopped, and faced them. "Welcome to Basic Training for Rogue Squadron. I am Drill Instructor Katarn for those of you who do not know me. Drill Instructor Chacon, and myself will be responsible for training all of you for the next six weeks. At all times you will address us as Sir, or Drill Instructor. If you do not there will be consequences. Just like there will be consequences for any other breach of military etiquette, or failure to live up to the standards we have set. Am I understood?"

"The following weeks are not going to be easy. Nothing worth doing is. You can look at as an opportunity to grow, and learn something, or you can complain endlessly. Either way I will make sure you graduate this course. I would like to take this opportunity to remind all of you that you are here by choice, and it is choice that is going to keep you here. You are free to step out that door, and quit at anytime. There is however no coming back. You wash out that's it. If you stick it out though, and push yourself to meet the standard you will become members of Rogue Squadron." He paused for a moment to look over all of them trying to lock eyes with as many as he could. They technically shouldn't be meeting his gaze right now being at attention, but if they were he wasn't going to say anything. It was a good sign he had their attention.

Stepping back he pointed to a pile of orange flightsuits. "You will form an orderly line, and each take ONE of these uniforms. You will wear it each, and every day you are in training. It will be clean each morning, but not pressed. It's a combat uniform, and I will not have any of you reducing it's effectiveness by doing that. After that you will see Drill Instructor Chacon to receive your blaster rifle. Don't touch the safety, or mess with it in any way unless told to. A negligent discharge will put you, and someone else in a world of hurt. Now fall out!"