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  1. Mythos stood upon the precipice of his freedom, the Shistavanen looking over his shoulder toward the mental ward he had spent the several last months confined within after his break at Chandrila. The Imperial Knight that had guided him out of the darkness stood beside him, a smile gracing his face as he turned to look up upon the scarred face he aided. And all Mythos could do was stare down upon the ground. "Is everything alright, Mythos?" He questioned sincerely, placing a friendly hand upon the Shistavanen's armored shoulder, the metallic limb flexing out of reflex against the subtle touch. Mythos' ears recoiled. "You've come a long way my friend. The nightmares and visions are long gone." "I know..." Mythos replied, his ears perking up as he adorned his durasteel visage again, his bipedal legs shifting across the threshold and into the light of Nar Shadaa's looming sun across Nal Hutta's atmosphere. "But it still broke me. I still fell to the power of that Sith. I'm not even sure if my men can respect me after such an event, let alone trust me to lead them again after being away so long." "Trust in yourself and in your men." The Knight spoke softly with understanding, his gaze shifted forward with full knowledge of Mythos' psyche and recovery as the two stared at a potential new horizon for Mythos. Time heals all wounds, but the ones that cut the deepest are never the visible ones. "The rest will follow in time." Mythos remained silent for a moment, then treaded away in thought. So much had happened, and even now, it was hard for the Shistavanen to wrap his mind around. The Sith he encountered and dueled so long ago had poisoned his mind with false memories, impregnating his psyche with inevitable collapse due to the collision of the two adjacent dominions. And when it happened, it left Mythos a empty shell, void of consciousness and spirit. And yet thanks to the aid of the mystical Jedi and Imperial Knights, he was able to retain himself and the Magics rejected. Still, because of it, he felt fragile and incompetent. Only time would tell whether this was true or not. Beginning his long walk to the Rebel Alliance Headquarters, Mythos shot a simple comm ahead of him, inciting his return.
  2. Mythos heard the familiar voice cross the comms, but his body froze, his form unable to move, unable to speak, simply as if time halted for him in outward appearance with only his gaze able to shift. His men looked upon him curiously, waiting for him to respond until they saw the look of horror in his eyes and knew something was amiss. Almost as if he looked into the abyss and found himself to be claimed by it. Or he had been a victim of a micro-stroke before their very eyes. But for Mythos, it was a deeper horror than any of them could imagine. For Mythos, it was utter possession, his mind on the very of breaking as his eyes rolled into the back of his head after gazing upon the souls of those the Sith had placed to haunt him and the souls it collected after with each battle he partook in. And now, as his exhaustion took complete hold of his psyche, it shattered and the voices screamed deep in his soul until he collapsed before all, fading into the abyss that Nyrys had laid within him, a prison of the mind. As Mythos collapsed, his men filed in rank to aid the Marshal, but found there was nothing physically wrong with him. Smelling salts could not resurrect him, nor could adrenaline awaken him. He simply fell deep into a comatose state as the medics arrived. Lt. Ronson and his men quickly rushed the large Shistavanen to a shuttle, calling ahead to the fleet for a medical team to remain on standby for their arrival. But for Mythos, locked away in his mind filled with horrifying nightmares and wraiths, there felt no escape.
  3. The clanking of durasteel rolled past Mythos from behind, the Shistavanen closing his eyes briefly as the flash bangs ignited, blinded fire finding aim above his head. Opening his eyes as the flash dissipated, Mythos let his rifle open its volley once again, stepping into the Chandrilan House in their final wave against the Mandalorian final defenses. The City was all but won, leaving this final task to be the most gruesome. Stepping into the ground floor's center and gazing up, anger buckled in the pit of his stomach as he gazed upon the strung up form forms that made the House Council. "Cut them down." Mythos ordered, taking to the stairs of the spiraling tower. "Let them rest in peace knowing that we are here to liberate what remain of their people." Atop the spiraling tower sat the House Council Chamber, the likely place of the Mandalorian Commander and his men, as well as the House Chamber's head Councilman, a last ditch prisoner should they have made it this far. And Mythos was intent on doing just that. Wrapping his rifle across his shoulders and to his rear, Mythos crouched to all fours, and charged up the spiral stairs, a blooded glaze over his eyes as he sought to end this before any more blood was shed upon this nearly peaceful planet. "Die Rebel Scum" Mythos heard as crimson bolts lashed out at his form, singeing his fur as he dove behind the duracrete and brought his rifle up to meet the opposition, the men behind him doing the same as they caught up to him. Moments passed, the staircase riddled with crimson and emerald bolts lashing out in both directions before a single smoke grenade draped their forms behind the veil of a thick screen, the Shistavanen taking this moment to attack, his clawed hands and fearsome bite ripping apart the men he encountered, the blooded glaze only thickening. And then silence rang true as the veil of smoke cleared, the enormous Shistavanen standing tall at the top of the stairs, licking clean the blood upon his fur and gaunleted hands before he reached forward to open the Council Chambers and reveal the Mandalorian's within. His gaze locked eyes quickly with the Mandalorian Commander, and as the man reached for his weapon, the others standing around the room's center doing the same, the holdout pistols hidden beneath his coat brandished quicker as he dropped the Commander with two shots to the face, his eyes steaming with blood as his pistols found aim at his Lieutenant and the others just as Mythos's men reached the top. Raising their hands and tossing their weapons aside, Mythos lowered his and stepped forward toward the cowering Councilor laying sprawled in the center. "You're safe." Mythos's gruesome tone voiced as his men began to cuff the remaining Mandalorians, Mythos turning toward the Mandalorian Lieutenant. "Order the remaining to stand down and retreat. Enough blood has been shed and the living can leave. You have my word." With a nod, the Lieutenant issued the stand down and retreat orders as cuffs were placed upon him and his hands bound, his own gaze glaring at Mythos from behind the T-Visor he proudly wore. Before he was taken out, he voiced. "You were a worthy advisory Shistavanen. Kad Ha'rangir is pleased." Mythos gazed down upon the Commander's lifeless form and replied. "Only Cowards kill the innocent." With that, Mythos tapped his comm to those above in the Fleet. "Hannah City is free, Chandrila is free."
  4. Urban warfare was alot different than fighting upon an open battlefield. Where he could once see his enemy many yards ahead, he now hid in wait as did the enemy. Block by block, both hiding the shadows and behind cover, the Mandalorians and the Alliance moved secretively about, every now and then the sound of blaster fire or explosions rippling throughout Hannah City as one or the other managed to find themselves unlucky enough to be spotted. Mythos hated this aspect. It felt cowardly. But war was war, and the only victor would be found through luck and determination no matter the landscape. Mythos licked at his wound through the bandage, the taste of his blood upon his tongue bitter and the pain in leg slowly subsiding despite the roughness of his leathered tongue. The small group, like so many spread throughout the city had found themselves briefly hunkered down for a breather as they watched for unlucky patrols or other allies as they made their way toward the final target. A snap rang through Mythos's senstive hearing, his ears twitching in its direction as he honed in on the sound of a unmanned gun being stepped upon before silence fell behind it. Letting his breath out slowly, the Shistavanen rose his massive form up and as he stepped out from around the corner, brought the gun's scope up to eye level and took aim. More shots resounded as he laid down heavy fire, his men moving to the next point, two hit as they moved, forcing their forms to be dragged behind cover as the rest laid down fire into the opposing unit. And then silence once again, the two medics assigned having the roughest days of all as they took shelter with the wounded. Just a few more blocks and their target would be in view. Mythos gazed at the wounded, one terminal and the other merely grazed. There was sadness in his eyes as his gaze fell upon the terminal one, the distant sounds of shells exploding in the distance. He sighed and nodded to the medic who removed the tags from around the marine's neck. Another casualty in a baseless war. As the breath left him, they moved on. Just a few more blocks. And just a few more blocks indeed. Horrific scenes of Citizens, Mandalorians, Converts, and Alliance filling the streets in near genocide. It was almost picturesque of the history holos, of both war and religion and the many routes it took and intertwined. But as Mythos gazed upon the Chandrilan House, his eyes spoke of not wanting to fight no more forever despite his mind knowing the next battle was just around the corner if he even survived this one. Such was the constant conflict amidst the Galaxy, and had been that way for thousands of millennia. Shifting his gaze around, he began to see the other units finally converging upon the final target as well, his keen sight and smell giving away their positions to him as the subtle breezes shifted. Some still remained in battle, that much could be heard. But there was enough here for the final push. Stepping out of the shadows, the others followed as well. The Mandalorians had fought well this day, but their leader and his company sat just inside, outnumbered and surrounded. It was just one final fight to end this. Stepping up the stairs, Mythos sighed, and placed his large foot squarely into the door, causing the doors to swing wide as his rifle fell to his forward. This was the final push indeed.
  5. Hanna City.... It used to a wonderous city of politics and education, overlooking the Silver Sea and the sitting Arena of Chandrilan House. Sure, like any capital on any world, it may have held a small handful of villainous subjects, but far less than any world that Mythos knew of. He had always found Chandrila to be a planet of tranquility and serenity for the most part, where crime was nearly nonexistent. In truth, it kinda made his stomach churn just to think of it. But the system here worked, and had since the original formation of the Republic, and likely the only one who had. But now, it swarmed with destruction and malicious intent, most of its inhabitants laying dead upon its streets and the rest likely captive or converted. In one aspect, Mythos held a sincere respect for the Mandalorians and their wars of honor and simplicity. But at the same time, this visage he gazed upon, spoke no honor nor symbolism. This was downright war and they had invaded a planet with little to do with the bigger scheme they sought. As a medic bandaged his leg, Mythos waited for the right moment, his forces beginning to surround the large city more and more by the moment. This battle may be won, but the cost for booths sides were too great to ever truly be called a victory. And the saddest truth was that the fight had only passed the first stage. Now came the urban warfare, where meeting an enemy face to face was as likely as meeting the Dark Lord himself upon this battlefield. Once he was ready, he drew his rifle, refilling the emptied gas cartridge with a fresh one. There were many leaders this day across the entire taskforce, the plans laid out by the higher ups with intent to do far less damage as possible to regain control. But these Mandalorians knew better and the damage was far greater, countless forms littering the city's walls and entrances as warnings to those who dared to oppose or deny conversion. And yet, he dared with all his heart. With a shove up, placing pressure upon his wounded leg despite the pain, he continued. He would free this city even if it cost him his life. And with that, Mythos and the others began their assualt upon Hanna City. Only time would tell if it was worth saving now....
  6. It was a fire fight.... Echoed by the large singular shot from his black powdered rifle as soon as his boot treaded upon Chandrilan soil, the balls of durasteel tearing through armor and flesh with disregard. Slinging the rifle across his back as his men fell in behind, Mythos caught a blaster rifle tossed his way and joined in the ensuing fray, crimson and emerald bolts crossing paths as the rest of the Armada began to slowly set down and more men poured from the angelic breasts that held the Rebel Alliance, a hailstorm of dust and rock erupting from their settling. It was as if this was the defining moment of the Alliance, the moment where the final line had been crossed and judgement day had befell the Mandalorian forces. Echoes of hearts beating as one, vengeance filling their souls in memorial of Coruscant and after as they treaded forward in conviction. Mythos led the first assualt aimed at the capital city, the outskirts meant to be the beach head of it all, his aim true and his heart filled with sorrow. For several of their opposing numbers had grown, likely rose by those they came to save. Such was the way of the Mandalorian Crusaders... convert or die. Alas, he understood their choice, but it was still a choice made, as as he lapped at his chops, staring down the barrel of his blaster, he made peace with each soul he released from bondage, from slavery in its purest form. Calming his breath and slowing his heart, he fired again, emerald bolts true to their targets. His gaze shifted briefly about, careful to discern friend from foe as he took aim toward another, and pulled again, releasing more. War he may have been newly appointed to, but fire fights he was not. Not just because of the world he came from, but because of the life he chose. Life was full of them, and his sorrow fell upon those who chose to stand against his cause. Losses could be seen and felt on both sides, the Mandalorians giving as good as they got, something he had long came to expect and respect. But they held the might of the Zinthos Empire and Galactic Alliance in full, and together made the heart and soul of the Rebel Alliance, protectors of all basic rights and keepers of order. The fists of Good would always triumph over the clutches of evil, and Mythos knew this well. And so as they neared the capital, a wake of fallen comrades and enemies alike, Mythos knew the battle was won even before it began. As he shifted his gaze once more, however, the haunting memory of Dark Sun plagued his mind and sight briefly, causing the Shistavanen to lose sight of his task briefly and receive a blow to his thigh. Buckling down, he grimaced, landing one more blow across his back before someone took out the sharpshooter and drug him to cover despite his size. Shaking his mind clear, Mythos focused. Now that they had reached the city, it was more imperative that he remained here and now than to let his curse become his downfall. Shoving the medic that rushed to his aid to the side, his glare shouted the words that followed. "Don't worry about me. I will heal."
  7. War.... Its scent was always the same. The smell of fire and carnage, the percussion of lives ended in misery, and the ever forward flight of pushing forward. Mythos stood at the forefront of his vessel, the two squads at the helm of a might filled Armada headed to liberate this world known as Chandrila, sitting in silence behind the Shistavanen as the newly established comrades gaze fell upon each other. Death... It was an inevitability they all faced each time they chose to step forward in the name of liberty and life, carefree in the views of their enemies, and standing tall in their convictions. But the fear still lingered the moments before touchdown, where in any given moment, fate could intervene and all would be taken from their control. As the thoughts crossed their minds, some gripped the barrels of their guns in anticipation while others prayed to their gods in silence that they would be seen through unscathed. Battle... It erupted all around them, their faith in those who stood with them flinching with every explosion as the vessel traced forward evermore, their enemies relentless in their own beliefs as ever warrior knew that in battle, luck was everything until the moment skill came into play. Mythos only gazed forward, watching the onslaught of Mandalorian Forces that drew to attack, the massive beast licking his chops in the moment and knowing full well that those behind him, like those aboard the bridges and within the starships, all flew one banner now, and what that singular individual banner meant for them all. A banner forged in blood, sweat, tears, and lives. It stood for everything they held dear to their hearts. And as their hearts beat to the drums of war, they were here to answer its call. Silence.... It was the moment of landing, the moment of know what to expect but never what to expect. It was the moment before the boarding ramp lowered and the Armada stormed the beach heads in full might. It was the moment before a singular foot stepped upon the soil they were there liberate and cleanse of the darkness and corruption they were there to rid the world of in a singular fight. And it was the moment before a single life was lost upon it. Grabbing his gear and heading to the rear, Mythos stood ready in that moment, his massive paw angling for the ramp's release. He grinned massively as best he could, but it was more fearsome than welcoming as his paw slammed against the release and with a hiss, the boarding ramp began its descent. He would always lead the charge, his men ready in waiting, and as the first of many enemies came visible, his gun roared with its singular explosive destruction. Chandrila... Help had arrived.
  8. Even though a response never came, Mythos enjoyed his meal rather lavishly. He may have looked like a wild animal, but his manners were well behaved as he cut the steak into small morsels and ate the potatoes with a spoon. When he finally sat back and let his full stomach press hard against his clothes, he let out a satisfied sigh before encircling his stomach with his paw, his long tongue licking the small portions that remained between his maw and gums. But today would not stay all calm, cozy, and collected as his comm unit blared out loud and briefly interrupted other patrons, Mythos apologizing as he scooped up what remained of the credstick and made his way out the door. Looking at the comm unit with slight despair, he sighed, and put the unit away. It was back to active duty, only a shifting moment of relaxation enjoyed. Gathering his equipment and finding a quick restroom to use, it wouldn't be long before he was aboard the Misericordia. He only hoped his mind would not end with his derelict of duty this day.
  9. Mythos's brow furrowed as she spoke, his tail shifting in his displeasure. The young Imperialist called his survival a blessing, which, in the usual context, he could see. But in truth, it now felt like a curse. Not in the sense that he had survived, but the darkness he felt she had placed upon him, the visions of spirits and the dead, her trickery to haunt his mind. He was doing all he could to hold it together. Taking another lap of his drink, he sat it down and opened his own menu. "Didn't know that such services were offered." Mythos spoke with surprise, the veteran of the Alliance Marshals having never really heard of post mission therapy, but the days of old had long changed since he was truly active. He was the last of a dying breed, from an era where emotional syndromes weren't openly talked about except over a few alcoholic beverages. "What do these services entail exactly?" As the Marshal awaited her reply, he shifted his hand toward a waiter and began making his order; a large steak, medium rare with a portion of potatoes and a small fist sized yeast bun off to the side. Handing over the cred stick to pay for the Meals, Mythos turned back to the young Imperialist. "Truth be told, I'm beginning to believe she hexed me. Or that I'm simply going crazy. I see the spirits she rose that day everywhere I turn lately in my perifial, only to look and not see anything there. They invade my mind even in my dreams, and I'm exhausted."
  10. "Liquor helps..." Mythos spoke in response to her comment about his anger toward her kin, the Shistavanen smiling a gruesome attempt that just ended up looking more fierce some than friendly as he withdrew his refiled mug and sat it down upon the table. "I suppose that I've always viewed any user of the Force as a nuisance, more bothersome than actual help in any given situation. But I supposed you're just as fallible as the rest of us, and maybe I shouldn't be so stubborn to the ideals behind your aid." Mythos leaned back against the metallic chair, his tail slipping off to the side as he crossed his legs and cradled his mug upon his stomach. He was beginning to notice his biased outlook, having harbored ill will toward them all due to the select few, mainly the Sith. As Vox sat down and poised his question in a dialect Mythos was slightly familiar in, yet butchered when he spoke it, he chose to reply in basic instead. "Never been here before myself, but they've got good Yelp reviews. Order whatever you like. It's on me." With that said, Mythos turned back to the younger of the Knights and the questioned she asked. Although her wording was off, he knew what she wanted to know. His brow furrowed a bit, his tongue licking his canines as he thought back to his encounter with the Sith Lord. "It was weird to be honest. A mist that appeared from nowhere clouded my vision before we even got into the fight, and where she remained for most of the battle, striking at me in between the phantoms she had conjured, showing me her painful past and trying to justify her darkness." As Mythos recalled the duel, he caught a glimpse of the shadows that had been haunting him sitting over in the corner, causing his gaze to shift toward it rather quickly, but it was gone as quick as it came and he turned back to Ivanov. "I lost my arm to her cursed blade, and yet, she allowed me to live, leaving me in agony as the wounds I recieved festered, almost as if she knew I would be rescued." With that said, Mythos took another few laps of the mug as he pondered the reasons why and tried to forget the spirits that seemed to plague his mind.
  11. Mythos followed their lead toward a little restuarant near the Imperial Base, a well known establishment for the middle class who preferred better tastes for a smaller credstick, as well as Officers and Higher Clientele whom preferred a more low key locale. As the shop keeper lead them to their table, Mythos removed his mask in the darker lighting, exposing his true visage and the scars he bore across his experienced face. As the two Knights ordered their drink preferences, Mythos ordered a round of Corellian Whiskey for the three with a Tarisian Ale for a chaser. "Its not you or your Order personally." Mythos began, his grumbled voice revealing the hidden incorrect healing of his once sliced vocal cords. "But more toward the ideology and standing that comes with any Empire, especially those before your's." Mythos had just turned back the larger shot of Corellian Whiskey when he saw @Vox enter the establishment, the Shistavanen taking a drink from the pitcher sized mug the owner had brought for him as he stood and waved the Trandoshan over. Setting the mug down, he looked back toward Ryzhkov, the maw scar draping his eye apparent even in the dimmed lighting. "That, and I dont care much for the mystic energy you call the Force or those who use it." As Vox began to head in their direction, Mythos sat back down, pulled a unoccupied chair from another table, and made room for the new arrival, taking another large gulp from his mug and licking away the access and foam from his own jaws. "As a former Alliance Marshal, its left a certain disdained taste in my mouth, and after the recent skirmish at Dark Sun Station, it hasn't gotten any sweeter. It may have not been my first encounter with a Sith," Mythos cringed slightly as the hairless scar across his back burned in memory as he mentioned his first encounter as well as his own mind wondering across the recent plaguing of memories belonging to the last encounter, causing his gaze to shift to his artificial replaced arm at the hands of the Knight Sandy as he balled its metallic fist up and released it. "But this last encounter was unlike any other before." Shifting his eyes from Ryzhkov to his mug, Mythos tipped up to finish it off and held it up for a refill.
  12. As Mythos felt the shuttle land, he removed his arm and stood up, stretching his gigantic form as he did, his fur ruffling in response. He had caught a brief amount of sleep on the ride down, and while it may not have been enough, it would sustain him until he could properly catch up. Looking around for the apparitions and seeing none, he disembarked. Just as he turned and started making his way to the medical ward, he smelt the approach of two Imperial Knights, the littlest of the two finishing it. Personally, he'd rather steer clear of the Imperial personnel as much as he could. But given the recent mission and Admiral Slaughter's own attempt to find a middle ground with them, he figured what harm could come of it. "Sure little one." He spoke, leaning his gaze down toward her as his eyes shifted toward her compatriot. "I suppose a bite to eat before our debriefing wouldn't hurt." Nor would it hurt to show the others the means of narrowing the gap between former Alliance members who still held grudges toward their Imperial counterparts now that the Rebel Alliance was beginning to come to fruition. He needed to set an example if this Alliance was going to truly work. Reaching into his pocket, Mythos pulled out a Golden Credit Stick and held it between his index and middle fingers of the artificial arm that Sandy had attached for him as he smiled a bit forcefully. "But please, allow it to be my treat" Mythos voice strained as he bowed properly and offered her to take the lead, the Shistavanen's real arm extended.
  13. As the Montjoie exited hyperspace above Nar Shadaa, the secured members of the College and the acquired Doctrines aboard, as well as the rescued Ships in tow, Mythos sighed a sigh of relief. The mission to Anaxes was completed without a single hitch. Gathering his things, he left the bridge and after sending his report to @Sgt. Slaughter, made his way to shuttle bay of the drydocks where @Voxand @ISB Officer(s) were to meet and head to their debriefing. "Job well done men." Mythos spoke in a congratulatory tone, patting Vox and the others upon the backs as he pulled his duster onto him form and made his way to the shuttle that would bring them to Headquarters for the debrief. Within eye shot of the Imperial Knight that had brought back the commissioned ships, Mythos stopped dead, the flickering of the forms plaguing his vision and dreams being caught out the corner of his dilated eyes. His breath grew heavy as the fear sat in, similar to what those with PTSD would display, only this was a different form. It was her memories, that of the Sith's, converging into his reality that he displayed, and it was beginning to only get worse as time went on. Especially in moments of dire duress or fatigue, both of which was beginning to set themselves upon him after such a worrisome mission. Shaking his head, shifting his gaze to see if anyone saw him or the figure save for the Imperial Knight he seemingly missed observing him, Mythos dusted the collar of his duster and climbed aboard, closing his eyes as he sat down upon the bench and awaited to the ride planetside. For Mythos, this was an unnatural occurrence, part of him wanting to blame PTSD or perhaps a repercussion of his near death experience at Dark Sun on a scientific level. But the other half felt and knew that the Sith's mystical power had something to do with this, whether lingering from the fight or a curse placed upon him after. He wasn't completely sure. All he was sure about was that it was beginning to get to him and that could pose a problem in future missions. Perhaps one of the medics could provide a stimulant after the debriefing, or perhaps something to help him sleep it off since he hadn't gotten much sleep since. Either way, something had to be done. Crossing his remaining arm across his eyes, he stayed in that position until he felt the transport land planetside.
  14. Looking at Vox as the last of the men boarded and the shuttle began to lift off, he nodded to the Trandoshan as he pulled the trigger on the remote, detonations exploding with roaring galore as the transport shut its ramp and headed for space. Only the College and its ties were destroyed, surrounding buildings, warehouses, and dorms left untouched save the minute particles of dust that settled upon their forms as the structures erupted and fell like a stack of pizzak cards. The mission to Anaxes was a success and now it was time to head home. Mythos stepped the front, opening a comm. "Evac successful." His mangled voice expressed as his artificial finger tapped the earwig, a sense of relief emanating from within him. "Prepare for hyperspace once we arrive Montjoie" Just as Mythos finished his words, the Shistavanen had to rub his eyes briefly, the apparatus of a dark figure creeping up in the corner of his eye, only no one seemed to notice it. Worry sat within his mind, the visage a remnant of what he saw during his duel with the Sith at Dark Sun. His gigantic paw slapped the side of his head quickly, playing it off as the earwig bothering his sensitive hearing. But in truth, Mythos just wanted the figures to go away. As the episode subsided, Mythos looked ahead. As the transport sat down in the hangar, the Montjoie sat front and center of the fleet that Mythos had assigned the Imperial Agent. In unison, all ships jumped into hyperspace and headed straight to Nar Shadaa. Anaxes was complete. (Next post is at Nar Shadaa)
  15. "On me." Mythos' garbled voice pronounced as he turned and started toward the library, briefly turning to give Vox a nod. He had no worries that the Trandoshan and McAllister would complete their mission successfully. But on the other hand, his own was what worried him. These doctrines he was supposed to retrieve, he held no clue as to what they would be or how to recover them. He considered flash drives, and even brought a handful to be sure. But he wouldnt know the full scope until he got there. "Damnron, you lead the way. You know this college better than any of us here. Men, gather up a few lifts just incase we need more than flashdrives." "Sir." Damron voiced, a hesitation in her voice as she stood squarely in an official salute. "Yes, Damron? You dont have to salute. Just spit it out." Mythos spoke, the large Shistavanen turning his head back toward her. "Yes sir." She quickly approached him. "The doctrines are easy to move as a whole, and even with explosives, we can't ensure complete destruction." Mythos scratched at his chin briefly the spoke. "Very well then. You heard her men. Get those lifts." As the men gathered the lifts, Mythos and Damron went on ahead. It wasn't much of a trek where they had landed, just opposite the plaza, and when they entered, Mythos saw why Damron suggested as she did. These drives were state of the art, even on Imperial levels, and there was no way a handful of flashdrives could contain every byte of information stored within. As the lifts arrived, Mythos spun his hand in a circular motion, giving signals to collect the drives, before he and Damron started on their first one. It would take them roughly thirty minutes to collect the drives and set charges, making sure to get every one before they began the heavy trek back. Despite the lifts aid, it was still a large load to move, and it took another fifteen just to clear the plaza. Once loaded, Mythos gave Damron and the men orders to lift off and head back to the Montjoie as he stayed behind to check on Vox and McAllister. Mythos was never one to leave before the last. With fifteen minutes remaining to spare, he stayed with the last ship and awaited Vox. They would blow these charges together.
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