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The Last Armegedon

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About The Last Armegedon

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  1. Intrigue had bested the young Imperial Marine Corporal, and he could turn his gaze from the Sith Mistress before him. His questions had mostly went unanswered about the reasoning and why behind their invasion of the Prison Transport, and a part of him felt that the answers could lay within this Lady of the Dark, as fearful as he may have been of her after her display of Power. But what had drew his vision the most was the torment and pain that she had inflicted upon herself despite the Power that it drew upon her. Part of him understood it. Long had he relied on the infliction of pain and fear to motivate himself within the Arena of Krayis II. But never had he seen such intensity as the enhancement he saw her unfold upon herself as she withdrew herself. And so, in silence, Shiro followed. Despite the fear that dragged at the young Marine, he couldn't resist himself. She was Sith. Powerful and Dark. The very reason he had enlisted, to make his way through their Ranks and find his place amongst the Echelon, unbridled and free of his slaved and imprisioned past. It was because of this that he let his curiosity gain the upper hand in the battle waging within his mind. Tempted as he was to enlist the aid of their Medic as they passed his men, he waivered the call, knowing her to be Sith and possible of knowing a means to deal with her wounds, and so he continued to tail her. To understand her, it was possible he would in turn, understand himself and the power that laid in rest within him, dormant and stagnant. But that would have to wait, just as he would, as she turned into the refresher. Quickly his mind rushed with the possibility that she had caught wind of his following, a dangerous task in it's own right just as Dunstan had forewarned. But at this point, he did not care in the depth of his mind. Whether confronted or not, the answers needed answering and she was the first he had came across. So as she disappeared into the refresher, Shiro stepped aside and found his perch upon the durasteel halls amidst the shadows, his mind wandering in wonderment. What was it to be Sith? What was it truly like to wield this gift the Sith called 'The Force'? He played her actions aboard the ship through his mind again and again, his skin crawling each time, just as it did that day on Nar Shadaa when he was first captured and brought up for sale. And even then, his mind could not attempt to grasp an understanding at what the Force was and why he was sensitive. Sure, he knew the basics that all knew of the Force, the Jedi, the Sith, and it's tales of mysticism and magic. But even that was lost in translation, only false knowledge as evident in her plight aboard the death trap they had barely escaped. So what was it exactly? His thoughts were interrupted as four other women past, briefly causing his gaze to shift away from the refresher and his thoughts as they passed. Shifting his weight as they approached the refresher, Shiro's glowing crimson eyes illuminating his silver hair into a deep pink hue amidst the shadows of the bulkheads, his gaze focused upon them as the Sith and the new arrival met and conversed briefly before disappearing themselves into the refresher as well. Shiro's hair stood up on ends at the thought of having been caught, and he almost bolted. But something asked for him to stay, and without question, he did so. At least, until Dunstan showed up on crutches, his wounds patched and wrapped, looking a lot better. "You are playing with fire." He whispered, causing Shiro briefly to jump. "We are not welcomed in their world unless asked to lay our lives down for them." Shiro's gazed shifted to Dunstan. "Why is that?"
  2. Shiro boarded the ship with Dunstan on his shoulder, carrying his comrade up the ramp with haste, the others boarding behind them just as quickly. So many were lost upon this frigate, this deathtrap forged to keep the criminals within and yet unable to stop those outside from getting in. The horrors played back over and over in his mind as he sat Dunstan down, his gaze still fixated upon the Sith as she moved down the hall toward the cockpit and out of sight, the Imperial Marine unable to discern which of them were capable of more death, the Cabal or she. "Will you be alright Corporal?" Shiro inquired as his crimson gaze shifted away from the Trooper toward where the Sith had trekked, following the Pilot from before. "I want to find out what's going on exactly." "I will be now." He replied, placing a hand up on Shiro's shoulder, causing Shiro to gaze back at him and then to the others, only twelve members of the original assault remaining, the rest ghosts upon this ship now. "Be careful Shiro. The Sith are unpredictable, even under the leadership of the Dark King. Only his power binds them together." Shiro's gaze remained on Dustan and his warning resounded through his thoughts as he stood and headed toward the cockpit where he caught the form of the Sith huddled against the bulkhead and the pilot taking the helm. Cautiously he approached, unsure what to think of her or what she might do, too many questions for both swimming about in his mind to make sense of anything at this point. <<Will you ignore me...>> Shiro heard an otherworldly voice pierce his mind as his gaze briefly caught her form scramble for the nav-chair as his eyes ached to fade and his head ached to split for a simple second, his crimson eyes glowing as his form fell toward the bulkhead its self. Catching himself, the moment passed and Shiro shrugged it off, hoping whatever it was had passed and went unnoticed as he entered the cockpit. Catching her gaze upon his, he shifted them away as the pilot finished prepping the preflight check and offering his warnings when he heard the Sith speak, his attention turning back to her and Bakra. "Speaking of deathtraps..." Shiro spoke, his gaze fixated mostly upon the Sith's, but shifted toward the pilot as he finished his question. "What was the purpose of our mission here?" Shiro still held the missive that spoke of the Imperial Seal, but he felt that was just a secondary goal. If it was, then what was the true goal?
  3. "Understandable Petty Officer" Shiro spoke in jest, offering a hand up. "But given the hell hole that's pressing down upon us, retraining a Squadron are the least of my worries. Between the these feral beings and this cryptic vessel, I'll be happy to simply survive." Shiro left the words rest upon the air as the Petty Officer turned and disappeared into the fog of war as he turned to face the Sith before him, her movements almost as if not her own. Curious, he cautiously approached as his men continued their search, Dustan nearly completely patched up when he saw Shiro approaching the Sith. Barely able to move Dustan stood and rushed toward Shiro as best as his body could move, but Shiro could only see the milky white of her eyes as she fell forward, bile excreting from her foaming mouth as he reached out to aid her. And then came the shriek, Shiro unable to comprehend whether his form flew from Dustan's embrace or the power of her fury before he landed hard of what remained of the durasteel plating. Picking himself up and helping Dunstan stand, the white haired marine looked upon the display of power both in horror and confusion, Dustan's ineligible words garbled by the ringing that still stung at the Armegedian's ears. A few seconds passed before they finally able to reach the young Corporal. "Shiro! Shiro!" Dunstan yelled, Shiro flinching against his tone as his hand cupped his now bleeding ears. "Not so loud Dunstan." Shiro replied, his crimson gaze shifting to his comrade. "What was that?" He questioned. Dustan stared at the Sith with an all knowing look upon his face as he turned back to Shiro and only uttered what he knew. "The Power of a Sith Lord." Shiro's tanned face turned almost a ghostly complexion as he darted his gaze from the Sith to the missing deck plates to the revealed ship, and then back to the Sith all in a fluid motion as he tried to comprehend both its possibility as well as his own potential. After all, his whole purpose behind enlisting was his knowledge of his own sensitivity as well as his true heritage. But now, in this moment, he began to second guess it all. Was he truly capable of such actions? As the ship skidded across the floor toward the gathering group, all he could do was stare and hold Dustan on his feet. "Come on. Let's go" Dustan spoke, bringing Shiro back to reality. Aiding his comrade, Shiro began making his way toward the freighter just as the rest of crew began to return and board as well, all the while Shiro finding himself unable to take his gaze off the female Sith.
  4. The hall strobed with the flashes of crimson and emerald fire as Shiro and his men firmly stood their ground, some bolts recieved while most were given. Thankfully, none of the wounds gain were critical as the combination of adrenaline and determination boiled with them. Shiro stepped to the front, Dustan following his lead as they attempted to push forward through the flooding green of the Cabal and into the open, fire in their eyes mimicking Shiro's own crimson gaze. It was the field of battle and the drums echoed the pulse of their hastened hearts. And for Shiro, accompanied by Dustan, it was more than just life or death. They were the leaders of this marry band of brothers, chosen specifically by each of their comrades to replace what they had lost in this hopeless cause, not just to have orders given, but in the chance of survival even if it remained slim. And both chose to take it to heart, their men more important than themselves, and what they stood for in each of their eyes. They were to stand as examples, and truly lead by it. Step by step Shiro and Dustan began the push forward, their men guarding the rear as well as the front as they marched, a unit of few choosing to face death with a smile rather than a cowardly whimper. Their boots soaked in the blood of the Cabal and the green smoke that had settled upon their hidden forms twisting together beneath each step they made over the strewn bodies. Shiro felt the burning sting graze his cheek, and Dunstan nearly fell over as one tore into his calf, but neither of them faltered in their assault even as those behind him wrapped his arms around them and carried him forward out of the bottleneck. And in moments, the open arena welcomed them. Shiro's Z-6 whirled as the clip emptied, the young Armegedon stooping down as the two behind him continued their fire, giving him just the few spare seconds it took to eject the mag and clasp in another as they emerged from the hall and into the hangar, the group fanning out amidst the chaos that had ensued within the hangar. Unleashing the holy hell fire that rested in the new magazine, his gaze shifting toward the two combatants that the Cabal fiercely fought against ( @Fieldgrey, @Bakra). It was madness that he saw, the Force User ripping forms apart and reveling in its bath while the pilot looked to be nearly overcome by injury. And as the battle began to die down, Shiro glanced at Dustan and both gave a mutual nod toward the other. "Alright men, fan out. See if any of these ships are salvageable for our escape." Shiro ordered, his men quickly crossing the hangar to search the ships to see if any were worthy of flight. As the Sith rose from over the Pilot, Shiro approached alone, Dustan being tended to by the medic in his group. The white haired boy gave a subtle bow to the Sith, his crimson eyes glowing against his tanned skin even in the darkness of the hangar. "Ma'am. Corporal Seven of the 7th Marine Battalion. Are you two alright?"
  5. Turning another unknown corner, Shiro ordered a full halt to the team as his face went ghost white in comparison, the metallic plates beneath his feet echoing of a small tremor that rolled through the ship's vast form. He knew the concussion of explosives, felt them in the arena when those stupid enough to use them against an opponent did. Everyone knew. And those who didn't, didn't live long enough to learn such a mistake... if they were lucky. In the brief second, his memory turned back to a veteran he had befriended, legs lost to amateur who decided to use such a crude means of winning. But Cho was quicker, and managed to save most of his form in his escape. For the arena was large, but not for explosives. And by the way these felt, Shiro knew they were in tandem, rolling along in the belly of this beast they had found themselves upon. "Frek the Seal." Shiro mumbled under his breath, his words mainly aimed at Dunstan until he whistled and circled his hand in the air briefly as he called out to his group. "The ship is lost. Head to the hangar. Double time it!" And with that, the group spun around and headed down the opposing corner from wince they had came. Even as they ran, the rumbling of explosions and the heat of fire sifted upward from beneath them, Shiro himself stumbling a few times from the sheer force rolling levels below them. And to explain it in simplest terms, it could only be described as the ore beneath their feet rolling like waves. Shiro knew the importance that this Seal held for his superiors, but it was long lost to them now, even if they properly gave their lives to retrieve it. The Hexa was going down and there was no stopping it now. By now Shiro and Dunstan had taken the lead, the learing weariness of what laid behind them growing a distant memory as their survival Instincts kicked into overdrive and their determination grew tenfold. But as they neared the hangar, a ghastly sight forebod them. Piercing through the mixture of green gas and moving forms came a mask as it turned to meet their sight, the beastly Cabal turning his weapon to rain death upon the group. But this group had changed. Though most were considered fresh recruits, their hearts and minds echoed of hardened veterans as their will to survive overcame fear and doubt in a simultaneous bearing of arms. Before the other Cabals could even attempt to face them, a barrage of crimson bolts lit up the hall in a tandem unison. Confined and with little room to move against the squad of Imperial Marines and Troopers, they never stood a chance. Only those in the open that would use their comrades as meat shields would have time to react, but neither the Marines nor the Troopers would relent their pursuit of survival to even give them a chance. Time was of the essence and the explosions were growing near.
  6. Shiro's eyes burned with both anger and fear as he listened to the missive, his grip upon the datapad tightly squeezed as fractures began to cross into the video he gazed upon. Not only did the fear of the unknown set a weight within his heart, but the newly added weight of his comrades in arms now sat squarely upon his shoulders caused his neck to ache from the thought of their loves solely placed in his hands. He was a fresh recruit, barely out of basic training, and the only experience he had outside that was saving his own skin in the Arena on Krayiss II. This was a whole new league for him to be thrown into, and if the enemy contact they made previously was any suggestion of truth to the missive, things were about to get even more serious. But if it hadn't been for the anger boiling in his blood, Shiro's level of anxiety would have sent him straight into a hyperventilate state. Shiro was a descendant of a POW, political prisoners locked away for lifetimes and generations by an ancient Imperial order that died out long ago. And for him to be thrown into another prison as an enemy soldier of another faction that hid it away from public eyes, one who supposedly served its public, infuriated him beyond belief. He knew the truth of politics, but this was beyond that. This was the same devil his ancestors knew assuming a different name and persona. Perhaps Shaq'teel knew this when he sent Shiro to join the Imperial Legions, to discover this truth for himself and offer a way for him to change it. Shiro's mind was ablaze with the information and possibilities that now presented themselves. And despite the fear, he knew his purpose now. He was an Imperial Marine, and he would serve loyaly to change things. "Prepare to move out. We've got our orders. Dustan..." Shiro began to bark out orders, his blood boiling with anger and the missive fresh on his mind when he noticed Dustan messing with the terminal. "Its pointless. Comms are..." Was all he managed to mutter before an eerie message began bellowing across the ship, its automated voice repeating a cryptic sign. In a burst of anger, Shiro grabbed Dustan and shoved him against the wall near his men, rifles shouldered and at the ready by all. "What did you do?" Shiro blurted out, his glowing red gaze inflamed by the fire in his chest. "You've likely just alerted the entire enemy's army to our position." Shiro couldn't believe the stupidity, but at the same time, he couldn't help but understand that if the roles were reversed, he might have done the same thing. So he released the private and ordered all to lower their weapons. "What's done is done. Prepare yourselves and move out. We certainly cant stay put any longer. We continue forward and pray to whatever Gods we worship that we dont run into anything. Double time it men!" Turning back to Dunstan, Shiro dusted off his armor and handed him his weapon. "Forgive me. Tensions are high right now and this missive only confirms the worst. Let's go." Allowing Dunstan to follow his fellow Troopers and Shiro's Marines, Shiro took up the rear, his Z-6 at the ready. Turning right out the room, the group began their trek once again into the unknown, the cryptic and eerie message on a constant repeat as it bellowed across the ship, echoing in the darkness of its holds and around every corner. Turning his gaze to Dustan once again, Shiro spoke a simple question. "Where is the Seal located?"
  7. Shiro stared back at the injured man, his stance seemingly cold and calculated, despite the gaze of sorrow he felt as he watched one of them make the long approach. It felt like an eternity in the moment and a part of him wished it to be over. But Shiro had called for the best of actions, and because of it, he felt he shouldn't turn his gaze away. He could see the breathing shallow, notice the body tense and go limp as the mind fell in and out of consciousness, and he could see the movements of the man's comrades as they grew ready for the moment just as Shiro did. And then came the glow of crimson as the bolt buried its self just below the jawline, most everyone jumping including Shiro. And in that moment, Shiro heard the familiar gurgle of death as the former sentient was released from his pain eternally. It's only natural for anyone to second guess a suggestion or to wonder if they thought right along the process of logic and reality. And for Shiro, it was no different, his hands and body trembling as he watched the man expire. A part of him wondered if he could have been wrong and he just suggested a being's life to be taken. But there was also the half that knew better, knew the outcome no matter the routes taken and the luck granted. Shiro sighed and shook his head. He needed to think clearly and rational if he and the others were going to make it out of here alive, his glowing crimson eyes catching each of their stares as they began to look to him for guidence. And then the Trooper made his approach. "Please, its Shiro Seven." Shiro spoke in return to his question, his gaze shifting in sorrow toward the Trooper who still held the body of her fallen comrade. "New recruit in the Imperial Marines, Private rank as well. We got pinned down just down the corridor by a few green men and a rancor sized beast wielding a cleaver. This direction was our best retreat." Shiro pointed in the direction they had came from near the engine rooms where their Staff Sergeant intended to storm the bridge using the service lift, but before they could reach it, they were led into an ambush. And now, like these Troopers, they were leaderless and alone behind enemy lines. Not the best combination for fresh recruits. "Our Staff Sergeant was KIA'd and I've been doing my best to keep us alive."
  8. The hallway was long and dark, only the emergency lighting and visual capabilities of their HUDs giving any birth of sight for what remained of their group. Shiro ran at the front, the Z-6 gripped tightly in his hands, his gaze alert as they passed poor sods strewn about in a cadaver Station. Glancing at them here and there, he couldn't help but think back to the men that were lost and even farther back to the lives he claimed during his time in the Arena, the praise and glory he claimed seeming pointless and minute now. It felt as if it was all for not now, as if it was a fantasy one would grasp at in moments he found himself in now. Truly, despite the training he recieved, he was no where near ready for this moment. And he knew it. After passing a few doors, Shiro's ears caught a sudden sound echoing ahead, his finger growing ready beside the trigger of the Z-6 as his gaze shifted in its direction, a door spliced open just up ahead. It was a faint sound of white noise and squelched pitches, and it drowned out the near silent squeaking as his feet slid against the metallic durasteel flooring in his attempt to stop when he reached its frame. If Shiro's finger had been any faster than his perifial vision, he would have lit the mess hall up with a barrage of blaster fire before he noticed the group of Troopers laying within. "Might as well quit with the radio, Trooper." Shiro spoke as he entered the room, the others behind him save for the two who remained just outside on guard. "Comms are worthless. Can barely hear the man next to you expire through them" Shiro's gaze then followed the room until they fell upon the two injured, one in dire shape by the looks of it. It was a grizzly scene to look at, one of the legs so badly injured that bone stuck out the pastisteel of his armor. Shiro sighed. Even if they managed to get him out of here, by the time help arrived, infection would have likely set in, if he didnt bleed out first. There was no way to truly tell the extent of the injuries internally. Shiro looked at the others and shook his head. He wouldnt blame the man's fellow Troopers if they wanted to stay behind, but with the resistance they've ran into, their likelyhood of survival was slim to none. Shiro wasnt even sure of his own, and he had more men with him to watch his back. "Your best bet would be to follow us. The more men, the better. But the one wounded, for sure, won't be able to come." Shiro spoke with half a heart, his sorrowful gaze meeting the quick glances of his teammate's surely anger filled glances behind their helmets. "He'd only slow us down and even if we managed to reach a safe spot to bunker down in, his chances of making it are nearly non-existent. I'll leave the decisions to you, unless you'd rather me choose, but you better hurry. We move out in three." Shiro wasnt quite sure where this authority figure was coming from within himself, as it surprised even him. But he shrugged it off as being blunt and realistic. But as he recognized it, so too did his own men seem to see it. Because as he spoke, his men gathered at the door and outside of it in wait, their gazes fixated in both directions down the hall. With a large tug on the Z-6, Shiro moved and stationed himself near the exit. Three minutes and they would leave, with or without the Troopers.
  9. It was utter chaos and horror for Shiro and his unit as the onslaught began. They expected resistance, but not on such a well played out level. And with their Staff Sergeant now laying dead just a few yards away, the moment of victory soon turned dark and bleak. Death was consuming all around them, and they could only watch in perifial despair as they numbers began to drop like seconds upon a clock's hand. For now, all they could do was fall back and hold the line, dig their heels in, and pray. And Shiro found very little comfort in religion, as numerous as they may be. Shiro took cover to reload his E-11, taking a brief moment to observe and record the carnage to memory. Never had he ever seen such. Not even in the Arena on Krayiss II as the fights escalated and grew vicious. Sure, Death was a constant visitor, but never on such a scale. And they were trapped, bottlenecked in this blasted hallway with no means to move forward as bolts of plasma darted over their heads. At their twelve o'clock was a resistance he had never seen, a colossal beast surrounded by numerous masked fiends. To their three o'clock was a malfunctioned escape, the striped gears of the bulkhead grinding against the sparks of its counterpart. At their nine o'clock came a stomach wrenching scream Shiro had never heard, and at their six, retreat. All Shiro could do was stare at his rifle in disbelief. Trapped and leaderless, morale was beginning to wane quickly. Just as Shiro removed his helm and tossed it aside, sweat drenched white hair taping its self to his forehead, his crimson eyes glowing with devastation, Shiro heard a subtle thud before a scream echoed out. Jumping to his feet, a look of horror enveloped his face as he gazed upon the towering colossus grasping its Imperial prey in one hand and collapsing its frail form with very little resistance as those who remained went into full panic. His mind raced as fast as his heartbeat hastened in the moment, and survival Instincts took hold of his thoughts. Raising his E-11, Shiro took a calming breath as he flicked the rifle to full auto and let loose a volley of crimson bolts into the enemy at their front. "Fall back." Shiro shouted out orders to his comrades through the echoing sounds of constant barrage, his crimson eyes glowing with desperation and rage. "Take nine o'clock positions and we'll deal with whatever hell hole we fall into.... move now." Shiro's men began flanking to the left, the Imperial Marines following his suite exactly as each opened their own full volleys in retreat, unsure of what laid at their destination, only their urge to survive quelling their hearts and minds as they moved, with Shiro and two others finalizing their six. And had Shiro taken a second longer, he would have fallen to the cleaver's edge. Tossing aside his empty E-11, Shiro disappeared with the others down the left hallway, the young humanoid managing to gather up two vibro-knives and a Z-6 that laid strewn around the bodies that littered it. Whatever laid ahead, Shiro only hoped it was better than what they were leaving behind, horror still filling his thoughts as he acted on instincts enough to get away from the bloodbath they were facing. He was beginning to realize the uncertainty that was war.
  10. Darkness, t'was like a bitter old friend, wrapping you up in its warm protective embrace while it searched for a moment to stab you in the back. Such was the environment of the Dauntless as the transports found their mark and drove themselves into its the belly of the beast as if piercing its thick hide like lethal injections, releasing its compounds with the aim of stopping its heart. The crimson glow of Shiro's helm was about the only initial light that presented its self upon entrance, his white locks dyed maroon by its illumination as his crimson gaze glowed beneath. With a tap of his hand aside his head, his helm lit up his field of view as the others did before him, a stocky Staff Sergeant at the head of their group. "Alright men. Flank out." His voice echoed across the comms as each member loaded a magazine in their E-11s and twisted the fire rate to rapid. "If they dont know we're here yet, they soon will thanks to the Dark King." For Shiro, it was the waiting game that drove his nerves the worst. He could feel his accelerated heart rate pulsing through his entire form, hear his hastened breathing within his helmet as his gaze darted about in expectations, his finger hanging closely to its trigger. Five transports had made landfall, and in combination with each other, filled the Dauntless' belly full of Imperials. It was only a matter of time before contact was finally made and blaster fire ripped about like hellfire. And as it lit the hanger up, in a single fluid motion, all Imperials aboard shifted toward its direction, Shiro included. "Light em boys and girls" Shiro's CO let out shortly before the stocky man let his 11 loose into oncoming raiders, a sinister laughter erupting in the continuation that oddly gave Shiro a sense of ease as he followed in suite. "Give em hell or die trying!" Shiro brought the E-11 up to his gaze, letting the HUD's enhancements connect with it's own as each target came into view, a slow tempered exhale releasing as his finger squeezed its trigger and let crimson bolts fire in small yet controlled rapid fire bursts. Beneath his HUD, he grimaced. He didnt like the feeling he held in the pit of his stomach. It felt too easy, felt too controlled, despite it being his mission and his inexperience as both a foot soldier and as working as a part of a group. He couldn't help but feel this way. His opponents were outmaneuvered, pinned down in a hall, incapable of given them their all. But this was the mission and as the words Shaq'teel echoed in his mind, he knew it would have to be this way. As the gigantic wave pushed forward, swallowing up all that it encountered, the swarm of Imperial troops pushed farther in toward the Dauntless' core, Shiro included. But it soon found themselves facing the turning of the tides as the march of the Imperials became bottlenecked through a small hall that led from the beachhead into the engine room where more laid in wait. Before any of Shiro's company had a chance to advance into the open, blaster fire rang through the open comms channel and the rattling gasp of their Staff Sergeant echoed through their helms, the head of the snake cut off. Despite the numerous echoes of death that managed to ring through their comms, this was the first that caused Shiro to briefly second doubt himself. It was that of their leader's death that caused the group to seek refuge within the hall and hold back the wave that threatened to engulf the Dauntless into Imperial Control.
  11. War had began, its drums beating through the chests of men as much as the mechanics of machines, the throbbing effects of explosions matching the pace of the mortal hearts. Shiro could feel the durasteel beneath his feet shift and rattle as the ripples echoed within, sweat beading upon his brow as he and the rest of the company moved in fluid motion in their turn to exit, the sound of their shift and stomp briefly drowning out the outward noises. The moment of truth was upon them as the relieved themself from their previous stature and headed toward a new destination, the unknowing weighing upon their minds as much as the determination to not fall this day ached within their hearts. Even Shiro refused to perish without taking as many as he could with him. As the monumental march of the company barreled down the hall way adjacent to the hangar bay past Launch Bays 44-46, Helms managed to find their ways upon their heads and HUDS were brought online as they prepared themselves for what surely awaited most of them, if not all, as silent prayers were mumbled beneath hidden breaths in numerous religions. But for Shiro, his heart pounding so loudly that it resounded in his ears, found himself strangely calm. It was a normal occurrence for the young humanoid before battle that he displayed on numerous accounts in the Arena, an ability to grasp upon his fears and anxiety and use them to drive himself, evident in his knee bouncing as he sat within the shuttle during it's release into open space. He would pour all the doubt, all the fear, all the anxieties he felt into himself, using that energy to heighten his alertness and double down on his reactions, letting the rush of the adrenaline that was pumping throughout him to fuel his actions. It was how he survived in the Arena, it was how he had survived most of his life, and hopefully, here today, it would be what caused him to survive once again and even into the future. Outside he could see and hear the ongoing conflict as the escort of fighters barreled down on enemy attackers as well as the shuttle brushed against and by lingering debris, some of the foregoers never having made their destination as bodies floated by the view ports signaling the roughness of the terrain and the Dauntless Class that was their target. It was only a matter of making it there before the real threat began. And in a twisted sense of irony, Shiro welcomed it to the thought of being shot down here and now.
  12. "You understand, Private?" Shiro had sat in silence, his attention upon the Officer before him as his explaination resounded throughout the hangar and fell heavily upon each of their ears, some more than others as Shiro noticed a Twilek beside him, his teeth gritting with each voiced note. His gaze shifted across the rifle that he too held within his arms, taking note of each element that was pointed out, from the different firing settings to the scope's readout abilities, and even noticing the fold out stock as well as the power cells. "Yes sir." Shiro responded along with the others, his youth filled voice squeaking within the confines of lingering puberty, no longer a boy but neither a man as he felt the Officer's gaze and attention fall upon him. "Have you ever seen Coruscant like this? Are you ready for what comes next?" Unfortunately, Shiro could only nod his head in response to the first portion of his questions, the white hair and crimson eyes mirroring the visage of the Officer in a youthful manner outside the pale versus bronzed skin. He was present for Coruscant's initial blow, but was lucky enough, or unlucky of you prefer, to have managed escape. But if the Arena of House Zibeti had taught him anything, it was that luck played a part in everything, and until you ran out of it, it would continue to run the course of your life. The only doubt in this moment was whether or not this would be the day it ran out on Shiro, especially with such high odds stacked against him as a mere recruit within the mighty Sith Imperial Forces. For in the Arena it was a free for all fight, everyone your enemy and no one your friend during the matches. But here, and now, it would be a testament to his ability of adaptation if he survived this day. For Shiro had never fought beside anyone, let alone beings he would have to learn to trust with his life as much as watching his back and theirs. His hands finally settled, his throat parched from the unsettled nerves. Was he truly ready? "In all honesty, no. But who is ever truly ready to die?"
  13. Shiro stood there in line, adorning his silver plastoid armor with helmet caressed in arm as the ship he was aboard exited hyperspace. Coruscant. It was a planet he had briefly known when hell broke loose upon his first time arriving. His mind reverted to the chaos he saw, remembering the durasteel beneath his feet shifting and rising as the moon collided with the cityscape that day. It seemed so long ago, yet it still rang fresh in his mind as he gazed upon the debris of ships and rock that now floated in its orbit. He remembered his escape, shackles binding his hands before as he escaped his captors. But now his hands were free, tightly grasping the E-11 Blaster Rifle he held as he realised what laid before him. The last time he was here, he was a captured fugitive. But this time he came as a liberator. But there was a deep sense of fear shaking beneath his hardened exterior. Despite his time in the Arena of House Zibeti, standing here and now, he couldn't help but revert back to that scared child he once was as he gazes upon the destruction before him, his hands trembling and the rattle of his rifle echoing in the silent hanger. Sweat beads down his brow as he snaps to attention as his commanding Officer approaches and gauges the newest recruits, the smell of fear and doubt lingering in the air surrounding them. Shiro, in his silence, dives deep within himself and searches for the courage to overcome the fear, the fear of emanent death, the fear from the lack of training and being thrust into open warfare, and most importantly, the fear of letting down Shaq'teel who had seen so much promise in the young Armegedon. Shifting his gaze from the view of Coruscant for a brief second, he gauged his comrades in arms, beings of all races, and he could see himself in each and everyone of them. He could feel their fear, he could taste their doubt in themselves as firmly as he could taste his own. But mostly, despite the fear, he felt their diligence to survive no matter what was thrown at them. And in that moment, he felt one with them. Shifting his gaze forward, he awaited the Officer's speech.
  14. The Ship's innards were massive and exotic to the young humanoid as he disembarked the transport and first laid his feet upon Imperial Durasteel. His eyes wandered in both amazement and fear as he gazed around, feeling as if he could be sucked away in a mere fraction of a second. Only looking up at the stars had he ever seen such spacious holdings and he felt minute in comparison. Taking a deep inhalation of the recycled air, he followed his escort forward. "Next! Shiro heard from the corner of his gaze as his escort shifted him forward in line, his gaze shifting to meet that of a burly man that towered his own figure both in height and mass. With a chew of his sandwich that laid across his podium, he leaned his gaze in close to Shiro. "Name? "Shiro." Shiro replied, his crimson eyes gazing solidly back into that of the man's, a semblance of the glare he often gave in return in the Arena on Krayiss II. "Shiro what?" He questioned. Shiro stood briefly in disbelief as he shot a gaze toward his escorts in wonderment. Shaq'teel had told him they would be expecting him, yet this did not feel like the case. Fearful to reveal the name Shaq'teel had revealed to him, especially in Imperial territory incase some grudges were still harbored as apparent on his face when he gazed back toward the man, Shiro instead used the name he had always claimed. "Seven...Shiro Seven." "Like the number? Interesting" The man jested as he handed Shiro the enlistment forms, Shiro pointing toward the Imperial Prison number that laid tattooed to his face. "Ah. Imperial Penal Colony." He spoke as he took the signed forms back from Shiro and handed over an ID badge. "I heard rumors some descendants took up the numbers as names over the years on the older worlds. Either way, welcome to the Empire, Soldier. Step that way Private Seven." Without a word, Shiro stepped past the burly man where others had began to line up and receive their uniforms and hand over personal effects. With one last look behind him, Shiro noticed his escort departing and he turned back to the life that was beginning in front of him. Though he trusted Shaq'teel, he still doubted his purpose here. But either way, at least here with the Empire, he held a semblance of Freedom in his grasp.
  15. The transport ship from Krayiss II arrived in a fashionable time frame to the Kuat system, the emblem of the Spider adorning its hull and transponder codes identifying it sole purpose of arrival as it touched down with a comfortable squat. Shiro sat alone in its hold, the memories of Krayiss II playing over in his head as he thought back to Shaq'teel's words, the thought of true freedom being within a possible grasp if the Zibeti Elder was to be truly believed. He had heard whispers of the Sith Order before, but he couldn't fathom himself skilled enough to be counted among their elite no matter how sweet the words of his Master were to hear. "We've arrived," His escort spoke as he stood, ushering the young Shiro to follow. "It's time." Shiro stood upon an unknown precipice, adorning clothes he had not worn since he was condemned to slavery. His glowing crimson eyes looked out the small viewport as he stood, watching numerous Soldiers and Guards motioning about as the pit within his stomach turned into knots. Time was a relative matter, not only in practice, but in theory as well. To say it's time was to know it, and even Shiro doubted its authenticity. But still, he followed his escort onward and down the sloping ramp as his boots clanked beneath him. If it was truly time, only time would tell.
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