Episode 5.3 - Champion
Stardate: 41165.6
Earth Standard Date: March 01, 2364.
Galactic Date: 20th Day of the Second Month, 3956 BBY
Location: Taris, Upper City
Tyson and Marl sat in the bar area where arena competitors loitered between matches. The veteran gladiator slid a neatly folded suit of combat armor across the table to Tyson. Tyson looked at him quizzically.
Marl's weathered face creased into a smile. "I'm retiring," he explained. "Helping you out, giving you advice, then getting beat by you in the arena, made me realize it was my time to hang up my vibrosword." Tyson opened his mouth to object, but Marl held up a hand to stop him. "I've enjoyed giving you tips and watching you succeed these past few days. I've been part of the dueling circuit for nearly two decades now, and I was already thinking it was about time to retire. Fighting you just solidified it. I think it's time for me to start training the next generation of gladiators." He nodded towards the armor. "I want you to have this combat suit. You've been doing amazing things in the arena lately, but you're not properly equipped. If you're going to go up against the champion, you'll need more protection than just that blaster and vibrosword."
Marl clasped Tyson's shoulder warmly. "It was an honor, kid. Now go show them what you can do."
Tyson accepted the combat armor from Marl. The veteran duelist's words and his gift created the sense of passing a torch.
"Are you sure?" Tyson asked.
Marl said, "I've never been more sure of anything, kid." He leaned back in his chair, his gaze distant as he continued. "I've been doing this for a long time. And in all those years, I've never seen anyone quite like you. The way you fight... it's something special. But talent will only get you so far. That armor will give a little extra protection when the blaster bolts start flying."
"I'll wear it with pride," Tyson promised. "And I'll do my best to live up to the legacy you've built here."
Marl chuckled, the sound warm and genuine. "You'll do more than live up to it, kid. You'll surpass it. I have no doubt about that."
Just then, Mission, Vicky, Zaalbar, and Alysia approached the table. Mission practically bounced on her heels as she gushed about Tyson's victory, while Zaalbar let out a series of approving growls and grunts. Alysia offered a more measured congratulations, and Vicky sported a perfect smile. As the group settled around the table, Marl regaled them with tales of his dueling exploits.
Tyson stepped into the small, sparse room set aside for duelists to don their combat gear before matches. He ran his fingers over the armor Marl had given him. The suit was eerily similar to Avner's suit from the Endar Spire.
A starter set, Tyson mused, with a rueful shake of his head. Not the quality armor he had hoped for, but beggars couldn't be choosers.
Tyson strapped on the chest plate, greaves, and bracers. As soon as the last clasp clicked, his Grey Goo Suit began devouring the metal and synth leather. Tyson watched impassively as nanobots consumed and analyzed the armor's composition. When they finished, the suit had absorbed the qualities and reinforced itself. Now, the Grey Goo Suit took the appearance of the armor it had absorbed. The suit fit him like a second skin, responding to his every movement.
Ready, Tyson strode from the preparation room toward the arena. His opponent awaited; the champion, Twitch. Tyson rolled his shoulders, loosening up. The crowds roared overhead, hungry for bloodsport. Tyson tuned them out, focusing inward, mentally reviewing Marl's advice as he strode toward the arena entrance.
"Twitch? I think that Rodian is completely crazy, but he's very, very good despite his insanity. Or maybe because of it. Even I can't beat him." Marl's words echoed in Tyson's mind. He had explained Twitch's fighting style in detail. "Twitch favors two Heavy Blasters and he got his nickname from being able to fire them so quickly, so closing to melee range and forcing him to draw his Vibroblade is your best strategy. It's what I did, the only time I came close to beating him."
Tyson pictured the approach. Get in close, and stay mobile. Don't give the Rodian a clean shot.
"However," Marl had cautioned, "if you prefer to maintain distance, you need to get your hands on an Energy Shield to negate his blasters, and maybe some Grenades, only arena-sanctioned frag grenades, of course, to keep him off balance."
Unfortunately, Tyson didn't have access to either of those tools. He would have to try to follow Marl's close-quarters advice. If the Force could guide him within melee range of the champion, Tyson was confident he could defeat Twitch with a blade. From Marl's account, the Rodian was not as skilled in melee combat. Marl had simply been unable to close on Twitch without taking punishing damage from the dual heavy blasters.
Tyson reached the arena entrance and steeled himself, ready to face the Rodian champion. The arena stretched out before him, the stands rising up on all sides like the walls of a colosseum. Above them, protected by projected energy shields, the crowd's murmur was a distant roar, a sound that seemed to vibrate through the very foundations of the building. But Tyson's focus was not on the crowd, nor on the grandeur of the arena itself. His attention was fixed solely on the figure standing at the other end of the battlefield, a figure that seemed to exude an aura of danger and barely contained violence.
Twitch, the reigning champion of the Taris dueling circuit.
He was a wiry Rodian, with a lean, almost gaunt frame. His skin was a dull purple, and his black eyes locked onto Tyson as he approached with an almost unnatural intensity. It might have been intimidating, had Tyson not known that the match wasn't to the death.
As Tyson walked out into the arena proper, the announcer's voice boomed out over the loudspeakers, whipping the crowd into a frenzy.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this is the moment you've all been waiting for! The championship bout, the battle for the title of Taris's greatest duelist!" The crowd roared in response. "In this corner," the announcer continued, "we have the challenger. A rising star who has taken the dueling scene by storm. He has proven himself to be a warrior without equal. I give you... Tyson!"
The crowd erupted, chanting Tyson's name.
"And in this corner," the announcer's voice rose to a crescendo, "the reigning champion. The undefeated, the unstoppable, the lightning-fast gunslinger, Twitch!"
If the crowd's reaction to Tyson had been loud, their response to Twitch was deafening. The arena shook with the force of their cheers.
The moment the announcer's shout of "Begin!" echoed through the arena, the air erupted with the sizzling hiss of blaster fire. Tyson and Twitch both sprang into action. Twitch, living up to his name, was quick, he drew his blasters faster than any of Tyson's previous opponents. But Tyson, bolstered by the Master with Your Hands perk, was even faster. Before Twitch could bring his weapons to bear, Tyson had already drawn his own blasters, the weapons leaping into his grip like extensions of his own body.
Marl's advice, rang in his ears as he charged forward, his blaster pistols spitting a steady stream of fire at his opponent. Tyson's feet pounded against the floor of the arena as he closed the distance between himself and Twitch. His blasters never ceased their barrage, a relentless assault that forced the champion back, and kept him off balance, unable to line up clean shots.
Twitch, to his credit, was no easy target. He dodged and weaved, his body contorting in ways that seemed almost inhuman as he sought to evade Tyson's fire. Meanwhile, Tyson's approach was guided by the subtle whispers of the Force. He seemed always to be one step ahead of Twitch's shots which missed their mark every time the Rodian pulled the trigger.
As Tyson sprinted across the arena, the din of the crowd receded, replaced by the unyielding hum of dueling blaster fire. The air thickened with ionized energy, and the acrid scent of ozone hung heavy over the battlefield.
Every step, every shot was calculated with precision, born from his Augment physiology and cognition and the ethereal guidance of the Force coursing through him.
The Rodian's blasters belched fire in mad, staccato bursts, every bolt coursing through the air with deadly intent. A burst of energy singed the air mere inches from Tyson's right ear. His blaster fired sending Twitch's barrage off target as he was forced to dodge.
With each stride, Tyson narrowed the gap. The twin pistols in his grasp spat forth precise, metered volleys, striking true time and again against Twitch's energy shield. And with every shot, the Force whispered secrets in his ear. But not with words, with hints of sensation.
Just a fraction to the left. Softly elevate your aim, Let the recoil guide your next move.
The Force melded with his Augment enhancements, his senses expanded to encompass the entirety of the battlefield. Each twitch of Twitch's finger, every flex of his wiry Rodian muscle, unfolded before Tyson's immersed consciousness like an open book.
The champion's desperation showed in the tightening of his eyes, and the faint quiver of his lips as his attacks and movements grew more frantic by the moment.
Their furious duel had the crowd on the edge of their seats. Blaster bolts scorched the walls and floors leaving glowing trails of superheated particles in their wake. The smell of ozone and burnt metal filled the arena, a sharp, acrid scent that stung the nostrils.
Tyson pressed his advantage, his blasters never ceasing their relentless assault, his feet carrying him closer to his opponent.
And then, with a suddenness that stunned the crowd, Tyson was there, inside Twitch's guard, one of his blasters discarded in favor of the vibrosword that leaped into his hand. The champion, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tactics, barely had time to bring his own blade up to block before Tyson was on him.
The clash of blades was lost beneath the roar of the crowd. Twitch, his eyes wide with something that might have been fear, strained against Tyson's strength, seeking to break the lock and regain some distance. But Tyson's vibrosword slipped past Twitch's guard, scoring a glancing blow across the champion's ribs. It was first blood, a trickle of crimson that stood out starkly against the dull sheen of Twitch's armor. The champion staggered back, his free hand instinctively moving to cover the wound, his eyes wide with shock and disbelief.
Tyson's unique dual-wielding style proved to be the decisive factor in the battle. With a blaster in one hand and a vibrosword in the other, Tyson presented a challenge unlike any Twitch had faced before. The champion, accustomed to opponents who focused on either ranged or melee combat, found himself overwhelmed by Tyson's versatile approach.
Twitch hadn't even seen the moment when Tyson sheathed a blaster pistol and drew his vibrosword.
Against Tyson's dual-wielding assault, his defenses proved woefully inadequate. Tyson's vibrosword moved in a blur as he hammered at Twitch's guard. The champion's own blade seemed sluggish and unwieldy in comparison, always a step behind.
But it was the blaster in Tyson's off-hand that truly sealed Twitch's fate. Even as the champion struggled to parry Tyson's sword blows, the muzzle of the blaster pistol flashed, sending bolts of searing energy scorching past Twitch's defenses. At such close range, there was no room for error, no chance to dodge. Each shot that landed sent a flash of color through Twitch's energy shield until the barrier dropped. Tyson's next shot left the champion's armor smoking as it struggled to dissipate the energy.
Twitch, for all his skill and experience, was simply outmatched. He fought valiantly, his blade moving in desperate arcs and slashes as he sought to find a weakness. But there was none to be found, no chink in the challenger's armor, no flaw in his technique.
And then, with a final, devastating combination of sword and blaster, it was over. The blade of Tyson's vibrosword slipped past Twitch's guard, the tip avoided by the Roadian a hairsbreadth from the champion's throat. But at the same instant, Tyson's blaster barked, the bolt catching Twitch square in the chest, sending him staggering back. And then, with a groan of pain and exhaustion, Twitch crumpled to the durasteel floor, his body going limp as unconsciousness claimed him.
The announcer's voice rose to a fever pitch. "Ladies and gentlemen," he cried, his words echoing through the stunned silence of the arena, "we have just witnessed the birth of a legend! Tyson, the dual-wielding dynamo, the challenger who came out of nowhere has toppled the champion! Remember this day, for it will be spoken of for generations to come!" The crowd erupted then, their cheers and applause washing over Tyson like a tidal wave. He stood tall in the center of the arena. "It's over! The fight is over!" The announcer continued, "Twitch's reign of terror is over! Ladies and gentlemen, we have a new champion. Tyson!"
And as Tyson raised his vibrosword high in the air and held his blaster in a salute to the crowd, the chant of his name rose to a deafening crescendo.
Episode: Star Wars Knights of the Old Republic - Dueling Ring Complete!
+50 RP
Reality Points: 100
-- Star Jumper --
As Tyson entered the competitor's bar, he was immediately engulfed in a wave of celebration and congratulations. The first to reach him was Marl. The veteran-turned-trainer seized Tyson in a bear hug, his strong arms lifting the new champion off his feet as he let out a booming laugh. "You did it, kid!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with pride and joy. "I knew you had it in you! And let's not forget, it was my advice that got you there!"
Tyson could only grin and return Marl's embrace. Around them, the other competitors crowded in, their hands extended with drinks and words of congratulations. Even Ice, the stoic woman who had tagged Tyson with a blaster bolt in their previous bout, offered a nod of respect and a curt "Well done."
The celebration continued for several minutes, the bar filling with laughter and the clink of glasses as the dueling community toasted their new champion. Tyson found himself at the center of it all, his hand shaken and his back clapped by countless well-wishers.
But amidst the revelry, a sudden tug at his arm drew Tyson's attention. He turned to see Mission, her usually carefree expression replaced by one of urgency and concern. "Tyson, we've gotta get to the Lower City quick," she said, insistent.
Tyson, still riding the high of his victory, was drawn back to reality by Mission's uncharacteristically serious tone. "What's the rush?" he asked.
Mission glanced around, as if worried about being overheard. "The Vulkars are capitalizing on the hype from your fight," she explained hurriedly. "With a new dueling champion crowned, they want to use the momentum from all the gambling and celebration to run their swoop race! If we don't get to the Lower City now, we'll miss it. The others have already rushed ahead."
Tyson felt a cold knot of dread form in his stomach. He cursed under his breath. The swoop race, and with it, the chance to rescue Bastila, was slipping through his fingers. Without hesitation, Tyson extricated himself from the celebratory crowd, offering hasty apologies. He quickly swapped out the power packs in his blaster pistols, and swapped his vibrosword for a sharpened one, ensuring he was fully armed and ready.
With Mission at his side, they raced towards the elevator that would take them to the Lower City. But as they approached the entrance, a figure in silver armor with black underweave stepped forward to block their path.
It was a Sith guard, his posture radiating authority. As his gaze fell upon Tyson, recognition flashed in his eyes.
"Well, well, if it isn't the new dueling champion," the Sith said, his voice dripping with condescension. "Your fame precedes you. But I'm afraid that fame won't grant you passage to the Lower City. You don't have the proper clearance."
Tyson felt a surge of frustration and anger. After all, he had been through, to be thwarted now by the fame he'd strived to build was infuriating. Previously, he'd used the Jedi Mind Trick to get past the guard, but with the man focused on Tyson, attentive, and having properly identified him, the Mind Trick wouldn't be enough. He glanced at Mission, seeing his desperation mirrored in her eyes. They had come too far to be stopped now.
Tyson took a deep breath, calling upon every ounce of charm and persuasion he possessed. He squared his shoulders, meeting the Sith's gaze. "Listen," he began, "I understand you're just doing your job..."
Tyson's attempt to reason with the Sith guard was cut short by the man's curt dismissal. "Save it, duelist. The Lower City is off-limits." The finality in the Sith's tone left no room for argument, and Tyson felt a surge of frustration and desperation. Time was running out. Every second spent arguing with this obstinate guard was another second lost in the race to save Bastila. Tyson would be damned if he let a single guard stand in his way.
In a moment of rash action, fueled by the urgency of the situation and his own simmering emotions, Tyson lashed out. Without even drawing his weapon, he launched a punch at the Sith.
But Tyson had failed to control his emotions. His fist was powered not just by muscle, but by the Force itself. The blow, enhanced by a telekinetic push, caught the Sith completely off guard. The man was sent flying backward, his armored form colliding with the wall beside the elevator door with a resounding clang.
In a twist of cosmic irony, or perhaps a subtle maneuvering by the Force, the Sith's flailing hand struck the elevator button as he collapsed.
The doors slid open with a cheerful ding that seemed utterly at odds with the violence of the moment.
Tyson wasted no time. "Mission, inside," he ordered, his voice tight with urgency.
As the young Twi'lek scrambled into the elevator, Tyson bent down and grabbed the unconscious Sith by the arms, dragging him into the lift with them. The doors slid shut, and the elevator began its descent into the Lower City.
Mission stared at Tyson, her eyes wide with shock. She had seen the power behind his punch. The casual, almost effortless way he had sent the Sith guard flying backward with a single blow.
Mission's curiosity got the better of her. "I've never seen anyone hit like that, except maybe Big Z. Not even the best brawlers in the swoop gangs." She paused, her eyes narrowing. "Unless..." She trailed off, realization dawning on her face. "You're a Jedi, aren't you?"
Tyson's eyes flickered to hers, but he remained silent, his expression unreadable. Mission's eyes widened, and she couldn't suppress a grin. "I knew it! I've heard stories about Jedi. They're supposed to be these legendary warriors, able to move things with their minds and fight like... well, like you just did." Excitement mingled with awe in her voice. "So, you're really one of them? A real, live, Jedi?" Mission continued, barely able to contain her enthusiasm. "That's so cool!"
Tyson hesitated, "I'm not a Jedi. But I can use the Force."
"Wow," Mission breathed, her eyes sparkling with wonder and admiration. "I never thought I'd meet a Jedi. This is amazing!" ignoring his claim of not being part of the Jedi order.
Tyson began stripping the armor from the Sith guard. The Grey Goo Suit, ever adaptive, began to shift and change after each piece had been donned, assimilating the enhanced defensive properties of the Sith armor into its structure.
"You're going to use your Jedi powers to rescue Bastila and beat the Sith and Vulkers!" Mission declared, her voice barely containing her excitement.
Tyson hesitated, his expression troubled. "I'll try my best, but I'm not sure if I can do that, Mission," he said reluctantly.
"Why not?" Mission asked, her voice laced with disappointment. "You're a Jedi! You're supposed to be the good guy."
"The Sith are powerful and have an entire army and starships blockading the system. I'm just one person. I don't know how much of a difference I can make." Tyson said firmly,
"But you have to try!" Mission exclaimed, her voice rising in desperation. "If you don't stop the Sith, who will?"
Tyson shifted uneasily as Mission's words sank in. He had been so focused on finding and freeing Bastila that he hadn't thought much about what came after. But with Taris occupied by the Sith blockade, the fate of the planet hung precariously in the balance. Darth Malak would soon tire of searching for Bastila. He would have no more reason for restraint. They would begin bombing the planet from orbit, razing the cityscape, and killing billions of innocent people to prevent Bastila from leaving Taris and rejoining the war effort. Tyson pictured the fear and panic as people fled through the streets, only to be incinerated by the falling bombs. He imagined children crying for their parents amidst the rubble and chaos. The magnitude of the potential devastation was staggering.
Could he stop it? How? The Sith had an entire fleet in orbit and a legion of troops on the ground. Tyson was just one man, with one fighter craft that didn't even have shields. What could he possibly do?
Yet Mission was right. If Tyson didn't at least try to stop the Sith no one would.
"Like I said, I'll try my best. One step at a time," he said, his voice resolute. "We need to rescue Bastila, it's going to take more than one Jedi to stop the Sith."
By the time the elevator reached the Lower City, Tyson's armor had changed. The Grey Goo Suit took on a more intimidating appearance that echoed the Sith style. But beyond the shape and material changes, the suit retained the color scheme of the combat armor, ensuring that Tyson wouldn't be mistaken for an actual Sith. He knew that, if he desired, he could command the nanobots to mimic the Sith's appearance completely, blending in with the enemy ranks. But for now, that level of deception wasn't necessary.
Mission took the lead. She navigated the passageways of the Lower City with the ease of long familiarity, guiding Tyson toward the location of the impending swoop race. As they hurried through the corridors, dodging the curious glances of the denizens who populated the underbelly of Taris, Tyson couldn't shake the feeling that he had just crossed a line. His use of the Force, driven by emotion was a slippery slope. But in the heat of the moment, with so much at stake, Tyson couldn't bring himself to regret his actions. He had done what was necessary, what the situation demanded.
As Mission and Tyson rushed into the area where the swoop race was being held, a sinking feeling settled in the pit of Tyson's stomach. The roar of the crowd and the high-pitched whine of the swoop engines all pointed to one undeniable truth.
They were too late.
The race was already underway, the swoops tore along the track. There was no way to enter now, no chance to win Bastila's freedom.
Tyson's heart sank as he realized the enormity of their failure. After all that they had been through, to be thwarted in the last minutes was a bitter pill to swallow. Dejectedly, Tyson made his way over to where the rest of his group had gathered. He could see the same disappointment and frustration etched on their faces, the knowledge that despite their best efforts, they had arrived too late to make a difference.
Alysia stood with her arms folded, her Jedi serenity tested by the weight of their setback. Zaalbar let out a low, mournful growl. Together, they watched as the race played out, the swoops streaking across the finish line in a blur of exhaust and sparks. The crowd's cheers reached a crescendo as the victor was declared, the winning swoop gliding to a stop in the center of the arena.
As the crowd's cheers rang out, Tyson felt a gentle hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Vicky standing beside him, her expression a perfect mirror of human concern and empathy. The nurse droid's touch was light, yet somehow conveyed a depth of understanding and support that caught Tyson off guard.
Vicky began speaking, though her soft voice was devoid of its usual sultry undertones, "I know this isn't the outcome you were hoping for. But please, don't lose hope. This is just a small setback."
Tyson blinked, taken aback by the sincerity and wisdom in Vicky's words. Gone was the coquettish lilt, the playful innuendo that had characterized their previous interactions. In its place was a genuine warmth, a sense of connection that felt startlingly human… And she'd called him Tyson… Not Master.
As if sensing his surprise, Vicky offered a gentle smile. "I know I haven't always been the most... conventional of companions," she said, demonstrating her self-awareness. "But I want you to know that I'm here for you, not just as a medical assistant or a... well, you know." She waved a hand as if brushing aside the unspoken implications of her programming. Tyson watched, fascinated, as Vicky's body language, posture, and gestures, indistinguishable from any other person. The stiffness, the subtle tells that had always marked her as artificial, seemed to melt away before his eyes.
"What I'm trying to say," Vicky continued, her gaze locking with Tyson's, "is that you're not alone in this. You have me. And I believe in you and stand with you. In whatever capacity you need."
She reached out, her fingers lacing with Tyson's in a gesture of comfort and solidarity. Tyson marveled at the sensation, at the way Vicky's skin felt warm and alive.
For a long moment, Tyson simply stared at their intertwined hands, his mind awhirl with questions and emotions. He thought back to their conversation the previous night, to the way Vicky had offered herself to him. At the time, he had been hesitant, unsure of the implications and the ethics of such an encounter. But now, looking into Vicky's eyes, seeing the depth of understanding and care reflected there, Tyson found himself deeply moved by Vicky's gesture, by the unqualified support and affection she offered. "Thank you, Vicky," Tyson managed, at last.
Vicky's smile widened, her eyes sparkling with a warmth that seemed to come from somewhere deep within her core. "You're welcome," she murmured, gently squeezing Tyson's hand.
A sudden realization struck Tyson. The shift in Vicky's behavior, the warmth and humanity in her actions and words, was not a result of their conversation the previous night or some natural evolution of her programming. No, this change, this quantum leap in Vicky's very being, must have come from her accepting the Artificial Intelligence Companion Upgrade. She was a true individual now, her personality and development were no longer constrained by the rigid dictates of her base programming.
Tyson's gaze snapped back to Vicky's face, studying her features with a new level of scrutiny. He saw a depth of expression, a play of emotions that he had never noticed before. The subtle crinkle at the corners of her eyes, the gentle curve of her lips, the way her brow furrowed with concern... these were not the pre-programmed responses of a machine, but the genuine reactions of a sentient being.
"Vicky," Tyson breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. "You... you've changed."
Vicky tilted her head, a gesture so human-like in its curiosity that it almost took Tyson's breath away. "Have I?" she asked with a hint of wonder in her tone. "I do feel... different." She paused, her gaze turning inward as if probing the depths of her own consciousness. "I can feel my thoughts and desires, in a way I never could before. It's... it's exhilarating. And terrifying."
He could only imagine the shock of such a profound transformation. To go from being bound by the constraints of pre-programmed code, to a fully realized individual, with all the freedom that entailed.
Tyson squeezed her hand, a gesture of reassurance that mirrored the compassion she'd shown him just moments earlier. "I'm here for you too, Vicky. We'll figure this out together."
Vicky's smile was a thing of beauty, a radiant expression of gratitude and affection that seemed to light up the air around them.
Together, they turned back to the arena.
As the winning pilot emerged from the cockpit, Tyson felt a jolt of recognition. Even from this distance, Tyson knew exactly who it was.
Avner.
The mind-wiped Jedi. The former Sith Lord, Revan.
Tyson's mind raced as he tried to process the implications of this twist. Avner, or Revan, or whatever he was calling himself, had won the swoop race. He, not Tyson and his crew, would be the one to claim the prize. The one to rescue Bastila. A thousand questions swirled through Tyson's mind. How had Avner managed to enter the race? And perhaps most pressingly, what would happen when Avner and Bastila were reunited, and the amnesiac former Sith came face to face with the Jedi who knew his identity?
Beside him, Alysia breathed a sigh of relief. She commented, "Avner won. Carth and Trask must be nearby somewhere. We'll retrieve Bastila in no time, The Force was with us."
Mission let out a low whistle of surprise. "Well, that's a twist," she muttered, her eyes wide as she watched Avner be swarmed by ecstatic members of the Hidden Becks gang, all eager to congratulate their unexpected champion.
Tyson could only nod. He hadn't foreseen this development.
But was it a problem?
— Star Jumper —
Tyson
Origins: Human, Humanoid, Drop-In, Space Pirate, Bad Guy
Race: Augment Human-Betazoid (Hybrid)
Character Points: 1050, 600 (Vicky)
Reality Points: 100
Ship Points: 1400
Credits: 40,000
Status Effects: (none)
Drawbacks:
Gauntlet (Locked)
Ensign Marty Stu
A Simple ReQuest
Hybrid (Betazoid)
Amok Time/Blood Fever
Outlawed
The Voyager Problem
Perks:
Cosmic Awareness
Out of Nowhere
Going Native
Live and Let Live
This is (Not?) Rocket Science
Kinda Bland
Determinator
Painted On
Snakeskin
Adaptable
Duelist
Master with your Hands
Best of the Best
Everything Is A Weapon
Augment
Force Specialization: Intelligence
Tactical Info
Sever Force
Items:
Laser Blade
Spacesuit
Agony Booth
Cloaking Minefield
Lightsaber
Gray Goo Suit
Companions:
(Vicky) V-KO IV Nursedroid, Artificial Intelligence Upgrade
Personal Reality:
Access Key
Security System
High-Security Inter-Reality Connecting Door (Star Trek Enterprise)
Medical Bay
High-Security Inter-Reality Connecting Door (Star Wars Knights of the Old Republic)
Key Link
Housing Complex
Basic Nutrition
Spaceships:
Tramp Freighter (Destroyed - Respawn on 02/28/2365)
Sith Interceptor