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Outer Heaven


Nikolai Kolchak

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The match between the two beings had turned into a pure slugfest. Despite having one of its arms laying on the floor three feet away, the Abyssan fought with a drive that would be commendable to even the most battle hardened species. However, Ruin continued to pay back each blow with one of his own, cracking bones and cartilage while tearing muscle and sinew. 

 

Eventually, the Abyssan fell over backwards, no longer able to keep fighting. Blood loss, blunt trauma, and exhaustion had finally taken its toll. Ruin rolled the body over and kicked it’s torn arm away. 

 

“Good job sir. But it appears some more forces are approaching our placement.” Fera commented, just disconnecting from the fleet command officer’s holopad. 

 

Ruin walked away from the body and leaned down. The sword the thing had carried was very deadly. The walls were covered in slash marks from the Abyssan’s  overpowered strikes, with more then a few computer screens completely destroyed. It was obvious that Ruin desired the weapon for itself.

 

“Good. We cut and dash. Slash and bash. Heheh, guts and swords now. Prefer guns, but swords get guts good.”

 

Fera shook its head violently. “Unfortunately, I am unsure how much time it will take for the admiral’s forces to get here. In order to maintain a path for you, I will remain and operate the systems here. I will update your target location now…”

 

As if by command, Ruin’s head gave a dinging sound. Ruin nodded and turned away to exit the room. 

 

“Guts and guns. Guts and guns…” Ruin commented, and then dashed forward. 

 

It wasn’t long until Ruin bumped into the Jedi. He nearly ran into the being, turning a corner sharply. 

 

“You! Jedi. “ Ruin said, pointing out his newly acquired black tinted vibrosword. It wasn’t caked in blood, but Ruin wasn’t making promises at the moment. “Now we fight together well.  Slash and dash.” 

 

Nearby, an elevator door dinged and opened up, revealing a small group of criminals. Before Ruin could react however, the elevator shook, then dropped violently out of sight, resounding with a crash a few moments later. 

 

“My apologies for that, I’m sure they are still alive…” Fera beeped through Ruin’s and the Jedi's comms (if he had any). “However, my readings tell me that a route to the main power core is five floors down. Expect heavy resistance on that floor, as there are criminals trying to kick me out of their system.”

 

“Ya, down we go. Down down, to the pain town. Spleens and swords. Heheh, you lead way Jedi. I want to see you slash and dash. Power core will be ours.” 

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“Lead, we’re in vacuum. You don’t need to use hand signals.”

 

The next gesture that passed from Captain Johanna Bryce was terse, immediately directed towards Corporal Vor, and was bluntly assertive in very certain terms that the speaker needed to cut the chatter, right now, and its vigorous motion gave it the air of an obscenity. But Bryce triggered her comms nonetheless and issued her orders.

 

“On three, breach. Three and Four to the right, Lead and Two to the left. Remember, Peth for Plenty.” The shock trooper intoned, receiving three repetitions in return. Those were blessed words, a reminder that there was no need to conserve ammunition, grenades, or explosive charges. A rough ovaloid ring of shaped charges had been placed in an airlock that was just barely enough to admit a single person--the yellow-and-black ribbon, even faded by age and exposure, suggested that it was an emergency maintenance portal. Bryce shifted away from the ring by a few centimeters with a light touch of her fingers.

 

“Three, two,” the shock trooper withdrew her fingertips and boots from the durasteel to avoid transmitting the deafening crash of the explosion through her armor. “One. Go-go-go.” A sharp flash of light and cloud of fragments burst from the ring of breaching charges--the plating of the airlock gave way and the entire assembly gave way, drifting into space on the air current of explosive decompression.

 

And then she was in, physically hauling herself into the dome-shaped power complex against the buffeting wind. The power core within was a roughly-cylindric construct of nearly two four stories, ringed by two levels of catwalks and consoles, power cables and conduits connecting from one module of the core to another seemingly at random. The technicians and sentries ringing the power core had all braced themselves against the unexpected blast of wind, clinging to their consoles and the catwalks for dear life.

 

“Up, up.” Bryce put on a blast of thrust from her jetpack, propelling her over the power core and across the complex to the other side of the catwalks. A pair of blaster bolts attempted to track her flight, first splashing the hull breach and then a conduit in the ceiling of the complex. And then she hit the deck with a heavy whump and a nearby screech. One of the technicians was cowering under her boots, hands raised in shaky supplication and his fleshy face quivering in terror. The shock trooper took cover behind his console, just in time for several blaster bolts to whine past her head and burst into sparks against the console.

 

A quick peek once the blaster bolts stopped whining over her head counted eight guards within the chamber, unsteadily advancing towards the Talons. Their fire was poorly aimed, their hands shaky from the surprise assault and the winds that were sucking the atmosphere out of the room. They weren’t even wearing plastoid. Bryce snapped up her carbine, firing off a burst of bolts that struck one of the guards in the neck. Another dove for cover, but the other two decided that their lives were not worth laying down for their contracts and fled. One even threw his sidearm away and bolted away from the power core.

 

And then, faintly due to the thinning atmosphere, alarm klaxons began to blare and vacuum-proof doors began to shut throughout the chamber. That proved to be too much for the surviving guards. The other squad--the two survivors, at least--decided not to experience vacuum exposure and ran for their lives, their plastoid boots trailed by a series of carefully-aimed blaster bolts. The yellow-clad technicians followed their retreat, sprinting for their lives with their hands, flippers, and other appendages held above their heads. At least, most of them retreated, for the cowering Mon Calamari at her boots was still quivering in terror.

 

“Four, glop us in. Everyone else, seal those blast doors. You,” Bryce triggered her helmet’s exterior speakers, her voice coming out as a dry growl to the insensate Mon Cal. “Get up. Against the wall! let me see your hands, I said hands! Oh, for Force’s sake, I’m not going to shoot you.” The shock trooper sighed as she felt befouled fabric when she began to pat the Mon Calamari down. She tossed away a hydrospanner and a long-shafted tool that she didn’t recognize, but nonetheless looked sharp. “Show me where the head engineer works.”

 

“Please don’t--”

 

“Not his office, you idiot,” Bryce growled and poked the Mon Calamari with her rifle when he hesitated and turned towards an office overlooking the entire complex. “His station. The controls.

 

“I just work here!”

 

“Good.” Prodded on by another encouraging tap from her carbine, the engineer picked over the bodies of two fallen guards with a whimper. Their path terminated at an enormous console at the center of the catwalk that overlooked the entire chamber, the console trailing with conduits that snaked towards the power core. It wasn’t the size of the console that frightened Bryce; it was the fact that it was strewn with pieces of colorful sticky-notes, switches and dials with hand-written labels, and one very large button that was labeled DO NOT PRESS in large, red letters. Some of the labels were not even written in standard Galactic Aurebesh. “Oh, pfask me…”

 

“Ah… command?” Bryce keyed a channel that communicated directly with their director within the fleet. “Talon Lead here. We’ve taken the power core. We’ve got the place locked down for the moment… but… honestly, I don’t know what we’re looking at here. Everything looks very nonstandard. If you can get one of the engies on, I might be able to get you a cam feed...”

 

“Lead! I see breaching torches! Upper level!”

 

“Oh, pfask. Command, we have incoming." Bryce nudged the remaining Mon Cal engineer with her boot and nodded. "You, stay down and try to not die. I'll be back.”

 

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Focus was the important factor in any combative situation, the ability to factor and friend from foe and foe from civilian. For Lok, both as a former Jedi and a current Imperial Knight, this decades old skill was a well tuned sense that he relied on more than any other. It kept his blade trained toward ill intent and away from fear and horror while recognizing team members that were separated from his usual sight. For most, the combative nature of this moment would leave them nerved and unprepared. But for Lok, it was as sharp as the silver blade he wielded.

 

His trek through Outer Haven's corridors had turned into a trot amidst the chaos as he discerned enemies and civilians alike beforehand, his senses stretched outward in all directions as he focused upon mounds of brief thoughts and glimpses of the hearts, the twirling of his blade and it's humming reverberating in the few moments he defended himself against minute onslaughts of crimson and emerald blaster bolts. This was his duty. This was his oath. But for Droids, it was a different atmosphere.

 

As he came toward the turn leading toward the control room, his senses were caught unaware of Ruin rounding the same one, and had it not been for his heightened vision and reaction, a friend would have became a casualty... Of sorts. Dropping to his knees in a skid, Lok barely held a breath of a second to deactivate his lightsaber and pass the Droid before the Droid turned his excited attentions toward him.

 

For Lok, and his descendence, such technology had always been a taboo in their eyes. Especially artificial intelligence. The Beast Riders of Onderon had long held a genetic disregard for anything unnatural and he was no exception. But his life had led him to have a more natural ease around such machinations, and in truth, Lok found a certain bewildering confusion with this one and it's compatriot. He knew droids held an affinity for crossed personalities if routine memory wipes weren't serviced, but this droid was one he had never encountered before, it's personality beyond crossed. It seemed his counterpart was more the reasonable one.

 

Or so he thought until the buzz droid dropped an elevator nearly seven stories before his eyes. Shaking his head in disbelief, he turned to Ruin. "No. No slash and dash. We leave alive as much as possible. Use fist or foot, no blade." He resounded, catching himself mimicking the droid's speech pattern without realizing. "Come."

 

Shaking his head, Lok darted toward the shaft and lept into the unforgiving darkness, a reoccurrence of late as memories of Mon Cal briefly replayed as his hands and feet caught footing opposite of the door. Springing off, he caught the next level and repeated until he was nearing the fifth level down. Gathering the Force that swirled around him, he lept toward the shaft entrance and leveled the durasteel frame it sat in, pushing both inward atop any resistance standing close enough to it's origins as he cleared the dust and debris as it settled, his lightsaber activated as crimson and emerald blaster bolts fired in their direction.

 

Now the real fun began. He was being forced into using the Force combatively.

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The old runner system was much larger than Zalis would have expected. Dropping into the fairly large tunnel, she could see how one might  never actually know of its existence, let alone be able to detect such large amounts of illegal materials getting moved. No wonder Calmin sought this place with such fervor. The thought was slightly lost as Balchi dropped into the tunnel system and took up the majority of the free flowing room. She watched as he pulled the grate over to hide their tracks. The Yarkora stood at the front of the group, hunched over slightly, attempting to read a datapad. After a few seconds he spoke rather loudly. “While good at moving things, the dense materials keep anything from getting a good signal down here.”

 

Zalis walked forward and looked at the datapad. “Is it going to be a problem?” With a quick glance back at her, he responded plainly. “No. It just makes it harder to get a signal. This way.” Without much of another word, he quickly began to move. The Shistavanen pushed past her to follow, and Balchi placed a hand upon her shoulder with a soft nod. He then began to move, but ushered Zalis to remain ahead of him. “You’ll have to excuse Romos and Ve. They both have spent so much time here that the choices before them of a better life is a lie. This place has done that to them. To so many here.” Zalis kept her eyes forward as she moved to follow the two before her. Her mind raced with questions, but nothing seemed like an appropriate thing to ask at such a time. 

 

The Herglic kept going to break the train of thought that she wasn’t able to find an exit for. “I know that Black Sun profits from the Republic striking at this place. But for everyone else here? They’ll fight to the death. Surrender isn’t an option for many. The lifestyle created at this place has been locked for decades now, and maintaining their way is the only freedom they know. The Republic will soon find that out. Many will attempt to kill themselves without their lifestyle being fed, others will die fighting to keep it from the Republic. And yet others like ourselves, will find a better pit to fall into.” The words stung slightly. She always knew that Black Sun created a culture within the underbellies of most civilizations that forced many to cling to the organization. She just didn’t realize that many couldn't find a way out if they were removed.  She wondered for a moment about Ord Mantell and what would ever happen if the Republic attempted to free that location. 

 

“Success always has a price. Very few see the true costs of it.” The Herglic laughed. “Spoken like a true leader of Black Sun. You understand, yet you do not care.” Zalis turned and looked at him for a second before turning her head back around. “Care is perspective. The Republic believes it cares for everyone here. They’ll do more damage through caring. I know what I want, and I don’t care what I have to do to gain it.” Balchi shrugged, a motion that Zalis didn’t see. “You mistake my tone. I am not insulting you. To have such callous convictions and aim, you actually set yourself apart. You are far more deadlier than anyone I can think of because of it. And if you are that convicted to hold to your purpose… few will ever be able to take you down.”

 

The words hung in the air for a second. She brushed a bit of her hair out of the way as she could see the Yarkora begin to slowly open a secret door panel. She quickly moved alongside him to see one of the hangars. Her ship, Supremacy, sat on the other side of the large hangar. “No troops visibly present.” "Doesn’t mean there aren’t any…” Zalis looked at the Yarkora. “Diplomacy has some merit once we get one my ship” She said as she pointed towards the Supremacy. “Until then, nothing should stand in our way. Shoot to kill and don’t let anyone report our position.” The Shistavanen pushed past all of them and began to run towards the ship. As Zalis went to follow, her shoulder was grabbed and was pulled backwards. There was a loud shout of something saying stop, followed by a few blaster fire. The Yarkora looked down at her. “My hearing is strong… There is still a presence of soldiers here. Move to the left and let's work our way towards the massive lift haulers.”

 

Feeling slightly grateful that the Yarkora saved her from a doom, she looked back at Balchi for a moment before stepping out and following carefully behind the Yarkora. As the group moved along the floor, six Gotals showed up at the other end of the hangar, began yelling and screaming and shooting at some of the Republic soldiers. They didn’t notice the small crew, nor did they seem to care for anything other than protecting whatever they wanted to protect. Because of it, it caused the perfect distraction for the three to move more openly towards Zalis’ ship. Upon arriving, Zalis took notice that there were docking clamps upon her ship. “The frak!” A blaster shoot went off almost immediately after she spoke. Balchi screamed at the other two. Get on the ship, I’ll deal with the docking clamps. There was no hesitation from Zalis, she quickly opened her ramp and up she went, and moved towards the cockpit of the Supremacy. As she sat down and began to power up the ship, the Yarkora sat next to her, amidst a few more blaster shoots could be heard outside of the ship. There was a very clear a distinct loud "GO!" from the back area followed by the sound of the ramp closing. She wasted little time in pulling away quickly. The blaster fire continued outside, and as the ship turned around for a better exit, both Zalis and the Yarkora, Ve Livan observed the massive Herglic using a blaster or two of his own, firing back at the Republic troops, attempting to keep their eyes from clearly identifying the ship. 

 

The Supremacy moved rapidly from the hangar and Zalis shouted at the Yarkora. "Switch to broadcast signal seven-five-one. It's a Czerka official beacon and under the business bureau, the Republic is forbidden from firing on a transporting class carrying medical goods." She saw the Yarkora do exactly as she asked, quickly moving towards the now massive size fleet beginning the process starting up it's gravity wells. "We're running out of time, pull up the coordinates for Grooming Station-STAT!" She watched to see when she had clearance for the jump, while at the same time eyeing the ships before them. While if they were caught, it wouldn't be the end, but it would complicate and slow things down. She wanted to clear the area cleaning if she could... and then she had permission. Here goes nothing. With that thought, she pulled the lever for hyperspace. To a smal relief, the hyperspace starlines streaked and reamined. It was a close escape. She figured they missed the gravity wells by a millisecond. 

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It was controlled chaos aboard the bridge of the Constantine. It always was in these types of deployments. Even with the added duties of fleet command, the crew worked together like a well oiled machine. Each piece in play moved as directed, a constantly swirling game of three dimensional dejarik. Comms continued to light up as pilots chattered back and forth on their assigned channels, onboard crews coordinated as needed, larger craft worked together seamlessly, ground forces were deployed and real time intelligence was updated.

 

Standing at the center of it all, letting it wash over him, Imperial Vice Admiral of Naval Intelligence Nikolai Kolchak stood. He took it all in. His crews flurried with machined precision on every side and even out of sight. The fleet commander did not need to move, to bark orders at every little thing. He had his place. His men had theirs. They knew them and adhered to them. Such was the way of true Imperial might. 
 

Kolchak’s one biologic eye remained fixed on the multidimensional battle display before him; his cybernetic eye scanned the readout before him, converting the data into knowledge. Seven different ships had made the jump to hyperspace before the gravity wells came to fruition. They were logged for future reference, follow up, and bounties. For now, the target remained the same, the securing of Outer Heaven.

______________________
 

Elsewhere aboard the bridge of the Constantine, a directing officer paused to scratch his head. The sight transmitted from the Talons was an interesting one. Not the power core or the personnel, those seemed standard enough for an unregulated non-Imperial disaster; it was the control panel. A hodge-podge of pieces cobbled together from different generations  of technology and at least four completely different technological systems. The presence of a Republic era fire corps suppressant key was one of the few recognizable pieces to Talon Command.

______________________

 

On the surface, columns of troops advanced forward. Urban warfare mixed with the dangers of a vacuum beyond the void; it was something that had been trained for. Buildings were cleared, sectors taken over, and defensive positions overrun with relative ease. It took less than 20 minutes for armored cavalry to come into play. Scout walkers, hover tanks, and speeder bikes soon were reinforcing infantry and securing forward waypoints as they closed on distant station defenses. Gangs and mercenaries presented the greatest challenges, aside from sealed reinforced doors and structures. Whereas local resistance was organized at points, the sheer chaos of a complete full-station  assault was overwhelming in it’s entirety.

 

As pockets of resistance were located, the simple tried-but-true theory of greater firepower was employed with dazzlingly explosive effect. 

______________________

 

“Constantine - Talon Leader. A company of scout armor is closing on your position. Once secured, surface command has tasked naval engineers to your position. Arrival time: 7 minutes. Over.”

______________________

 

Several Interceptors moved to cut off the escaping vessel. The broadcast medical business identity sparked a moment of confusion as pilots relayed the interesting change of events back to  the Phalanx. They still had their orders. They were all seasoned pilots and understood the deceptions of piracy. So even as they awaited specifics regarding their quarry, they relayed commands to divert and return to the quarantine area. Continued refusal was met with warning blasts until the ship leapt to hyperspace. Czerka would hear about this when the dust settled. 

______________________

 

“Constantine - Imperial Asset One and Two, Imperial Knight Leader. Be advised,  forces are in route to your position but are delayed. Hold your own and secure the power core for that area without delay.”

______________________

 

The corvettes and frigate began to fan out against the backdrop of the Star Destroyer Damascus and the cruisers Constantine and Phalanx. Still, they remained at the furthest difference from the station’s outstretched defenses, taking care to absorb the longest blasts and shoot down any wayward shots. Swarms of fighters streaked through space and overhead of the station pursuing craft that were attempting to escape. Some were successfully herded into the designated quarantine area, others erupted in plumes of flame as they sought to evade the rule of law. Each plume that erupted on Kolchak’s screen elicited a slight shake of the Vice Admiral’s head. Such a waste. Lives, ships, all of it gone in a flash. Such a waste. With the interdiction field in place, escape was highly unlikely for any other degenerates seeking to run from their lifetimes of wrongs.

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Ruin tilted his head slightly as the Jedi denied the droid’s idea of using the blade. Slowly, but surely, Ruin placed the blade on his backside, next to the flechette launcher that had gone unused so far in the assault. 

 

“Fist or foot. Bash and crash. Let’s go” Ruin stated and followed the Jedi into the empty elevator shaft. The sounds of groaning and sparks came from somewhere below. Where the jedi easily jumped down and maneuvered his way towards his destination, Ruin simply grabbed the elevator cables and slid his way down. Ruin stopped and watched the jedi fight. Blaster shots and a lightsaber illuminated the hallways, turning it into a kaleidoscope of energy that reflected off of the metal faceplate of the Terror Droid. 

 

Ruin nodded. “Good good. Bash and crash! Foot and fist all the way! Haha!” 

 

Ruin jumped from the shaft into the hallway and charged the first person in sight. Metal caused flesh and bones to crunch loudly as Ruin punched his way through one being and moved onto another. It was only after Ruin grabbed the second and bashed the head did he stop and look at the bloody skull he had created a hole in. 

    

“Gah! Screw foot and fist! Need a gun! No! Need to bash and crash!” 

 

Ruin turned to the wall and slammed his fists into one of the large panels. Metal groaned and screeched as exposed wires, tubes, and small computer components were revealed. A loud crash echoed through the hall when the droid nearly fell backwards from the sudden breaking of the quadanium steel plating from its restraints. 

 

Ruin adjusted slightly as he rearranged his handholds of the easily 200 lbs panel. “Haha! Bash and crash! Raaaaaaah!” Ruin bellowed. With the makeshift shield, the droid rushed forward after the jedi, running over and bashing any unfortunate soul who got in the way.  Just ahead Ruin could see the entrance to the main power core. There were at least ten guards at the sealed blast doors, ready to attempt to hold back the charging force.

 

“Heads up! I bash and I will crash!” Ruin warned the Jedi, fully intending to slam himself and his shield into as many guards as possible. 

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There was a name that Lok carried with him during his days as a Jedi Knight, a name given to him by his peers within his former Order that he shed when he followed Master Kyrie. And these poor sods were about to learn why he was once called the Drexl of Onderon. Of all the powers he had in his skill set, Telekinesis was his strongest. And like the Drexl, he could muster gusts of wind that were devastating. With strength and conviction pouring from his form in the Force, Lok stepped from the clearing dust with his lightsaber reversed in hand.

 

As his left hand met the onslaught of blaster bolts, scorch marks littering his wake both in material and some flesh, Lok met his opponents with the Force that flowed from his right hand. Now, without the mixture of civilians and misguided crooks, he could focus on what needed to be done, what he was ordered to do. His mindset had became stern and his gaze unmerciful as each kick, each punch, and even the occasional headbutts he inflicted were embued with the Force. And for those fortunate few that remained down, their unconscious bodies were slung aside of his walk.

 

Lok knew his Orders. He may not like this aspect of his life as an Imperial Knight in the services of Lady Raven Nasra, but he respected it. He would never take a life if he didn't have to, but as a Warden, he knew there would be times. He stretched out his senses, letting his mind wonder upon the flow of the Force in between fights, letting the intent and hearts of those he faced flow across his outreached mind before he reacted. But these were hardened criminals, their intent and hearts almost as black as the Sith some sympathized with. And that sickened his own.

 

Hearing the groaning of metal and the thumping of flesh before the call came, Lok was ready. And as Ruin came close to his rear, he jumped upward and back, letting the Force flow through and his command of it strengthen his arched form as he landed upright behind the droid. With a smile, he banged his fists together and pulled upon the Force with near Mastery command. "Indeed you will bash and crash."

 

With that spoken, Lok let loose a wave of the Force and propelled Ruin forward with the intensity of a podracer, and likely, the weight of one.

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“Boss, torches on the lower level!” Three shouted from the lower level of the catwalk. A quick glance at her helmet feed confirmed that the light of a second breaching torch had begun to pierce through the heavy durasteel doors--a slower and steadier pair of hands were manning the torch, probably had started about fifteen seconds slower than the breaching party on the upper level.

 

“Right, Talons, I want dets on both doorways. Pack yourselves behind something that looks important. Command, tell the scouts that they have four. Matching action to words, Bryce sprinted towards the portal on the upper level of the catwalk. A nervous glance estimated that the breaching torch next to her would require another sixty seconds before it completed its perimeter of the blast door and the counterattack began to bash the barrier in. Muttering quietly with her second-in-command, the two Talons set about thoroughly trapping the blast door.

 

The Duros officer set a laser flechette mine directly in front of the blast door, its curved front helpfully labeled FRONT TOWARDS ENEMY. That would buy them perhaps a second of hesitation. Bryce bashed in the control panel of the blast door and placed a small sequencer charge on a proximity fuse within the shattered panel.

 

Bryce gave the blast door another glance. The glowing column had inched up almost the entire way up down to the floor. It would be only ten seconds before their opposition began blasting their way inside.

 

The Republic Talon hopped behind another of the control consoles and watched in trepidation as the sparking line continued to inch downwards. The sparking abruptly ended, and the Talons ducked their heads down. A shriek of overstressed metal issued as the doors were torn from the walls--a pair of grenades bounced into the chamber--and Bryce’s hearing was stolen from her by the concussive blast of the flashbangs.

 

The marine lifted her head just in time to watch the mine detonate and spray crimson bolts into the corridor. A few seconds later, and the first wave of guards rushed in… only for the sequencer charge to blow up in their faces. Fire and shrapnel tore through their bodies--a steel ceiling panel caved in and pinned one of the plastoid-clad guards to the deck. Bryce hefted one of her grenades and tossed it into the corridor, only for it to be kicked back into the control room. Fragments riddled through the control console that she had ducked behind for cover, ripping through its interior wiring and denting the opposite wall from within.

 

When the Talon leveled her carbine and opened fire, thus began a desperate firefight, but one with an inevitable ending: four highly-trained, well-armed and motivated marines against a counterattack of nearly forty militia. Although deafened and outnumbered, the four Talons barely even needed to speak or use hand signals to coordinate. After firing a short burst and felling one of the attackers, Bryce popped down and shifted a meter behind her console; Sergeant Tros, on the opposite side of the room, answered the volley with his own carbine to keep up a nearly-constant stream of fire. Bryce answered that burst with her own after a few seconds.

 

And then something heavy, corpulent, and shaped vaguely like a piss-soaked Mon Calamari tackled her from the back, pitching the soldier to the ground and sending her carbine bouncing across the catwalk.

 

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The fleet maintained it’s distance as it continued to launch salvos at maximum range towards the station’s defenses. Even now, they were taking some fire as the same defenses retorted in fiery crescendos that peppered the sky. Their shields held. From here, their full power could not be felt, only imagined by those who knew what could be.
 

Packs of fighters moved as one as they streaked through the sky. Nothing escaped their screaming intercept. Pirate and trader, criminal and lawful entrepreneur alike were chased down by packs of howlrunner-minded assault craft, herding them or destroying them if they chose to not submit. The net of interdiction made sure that no one slipped away before they could be targeted by the packs of deft TIE Interceptors and Fighters.

 

Through it all, Kolchak watched, his right fist held firmly in his left in the small of his back. Reports and diagnostics scrolled through his cybernetic eye as live feeds played across the dimensional display and view screens about the bridge. All around, the chatter of battlefield command filled the room with the dull din of war. Voices were calm and calculated, decisions made with precision and calculation. Emotion had no place here. This was war, a dance of ancient calculations brought to life against a backdrop of stars. In his chest, the Intelligence man felt a sense of pride. The day would be theirs. 

_______________
 

 On the station, in the trenches of dirt and grit, soldiers, knights and pawns, moved as directed. They too were each a part of the intricate and preordained dance that Kolchak commanded.  These warriors went where the were ordered, the full force of their creative battlefield mindsets dedicated to securing their objectives, minimizing damage and loss of life and securing objectives with unmatched implementation and dedication. 
 

Columns of walkers bore down on entrenched gang and guerilla hideouts routing the enemy again and again until their will to fight was broken or their defenses destroyed. Hoover tanks brought planetary defenses down, enemy projectors and guns falling silent beneath their intense burning rays. Naval marines and Stormtroopers pierced the veil of inner darknesses within this refuge of anarchy, driving they that lurked in the shadows into the light.

 

Scouts on speeders expertly carved their way through the maze that was this planet. Hairpin turns, stairs, hallways and alleys never designed for such craft became a display of the skill and power of true Imperial might. These were the men and women who refused to leave anyone behind; their engines echoed deafeningly about them as they moved at breakneck speed to be the first to reinforce troubled comrades and the first to stand in the gap when reports of trapped locals or hostages became known. They were some of the best of the best of the Stormtrooper Corps and they knew it. Their swagger translated seamlessly to their skills in combat as they plucked life from the gnashing jaws of death. Those who were losing power could not bear it and they scrambled to hold onto whatever dregs of power they felt they had, forcing their will on those they felt beneath them. Even unto death. These scouts were skilled combatants with hair-trigger reflexes. Nothing would stand in their way. Nothing would stop them. When others felt hopeless, they carried hope into the blackness of the enemy’s heart.

_______________

 

And so the orders of the scouts responding to assist the Talons were updated. The urgency relayed to those responding until they were close enough to establish radio contact directly with the Talons. “Talon Leader, out arrival is imminent. Requesting permission for explosive breaching. KSB four sixty-three out.”

_______________

 

And so Outer Heaven was beginning to fall beneath the expanding forces of the rightful Empress. All that remained was the disabling of the remaining planetary defenses, by air, ground, and infiltration. Then would the full force of the Imperial hammer be brought to bear upon a ‘world’; a world already withering beneath the first waves of the Empress’ will.

 

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On Neimoidia,  there is a saying that states that when a a tax break comes and a Neimoidian sings, a droid is upgraded to have some wings. This saying is to point out how few Neimoidian droid models are unable to fly due to how expensive it can be, and only a tax break allows such upgrades.

 

Ironically, a Neimoidian was singing in glee somewhere on neimoidia, not understanding how a droid billions of miles away was achieving a form of flight with the help of a force user. 

 

The terror model droid crashed into a few different guards before fully connecting with the blast doors. While the doors were built to withstand most kinds of stress, the force of metal flying at the speed of a rocket was not the kind it was made for, as it buckled under the impact. 

 

The other guards had to stop, realizing what had just happened. Turning to face the lightsaber wielder,  the guards began to drop their weapons. This day was lost. 

 

Ruin stumbled out of the mess of wreckage and debris. For a moment he looked like he was about to say something, but instead only raised a hand and gave lok a thumbs up. 

 

"It appears you have the power core under control" Fera's binary beeping came through the comm system. "I'm sure that not too many people were killed in the process"

 

Ruin glanced at the wreckage. There was a slight dribble of red coming from it, remains of whatever paste that the improv battering ram had hit. 

 

"More or less," Ruin shrugged while kicking a piece of debris back to cover some of the blood paste . 

 

"Either way" Fera continued. "I believe the station is almost completely under imperial control. I will contact the admiral and let you know what he desires. "

 

As Fera communicated with the fleet for further instructions, Ruin walked over to the guards who had surrendered and kicked their weapons away. 

 

"You sith? You like the sith?" Ruin would begin to ask each one while kicking a gun away. When they shook their head or denied affiliation with the sith, Ruin moved on to the next one and repeated the process. 

 

The only one that was different was the final one. The human he paused before denying any fact the droid requested. The droids left arm began to go for his sidearm, which caused the man to quickly blurt out his denial of being involved with the sith. 

 

 Whether this was or wasn't the reason for what happened next was unclear, but Ruin reached and grabbed a cluster of items from the guards belt. 

 

"Heh, burn and learn. " Ruin commented, showing three bright orange cylinder pieces of metal. The dark red image of an X identified these grenades as X-pyre technology, a weapons manufacturer that was known for their specialized brand of pyrotechnic weaponry.

 

"I keep these and the sword. You get these beings. I didn't kill any of them after all. Heh. You agree jedi? "

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As Ruin made impact, Lok winced at the damage he had inflicted, raising his arms and hands up in front of his chest and face as the dust and debris buckled. His sliver blade laid in wait as the dust filled the air and began to settle in a matter of moments. As visuals began to return and the clatter of weapons began to signal surrender, Lok noticed Ruin resurface and a smirk crossed his human face. 

 

Comm chatter echoed in the silent room as Lok deactivated his blade and wiped the sweat from his face and brow, the Droid Fera signalling his contact with the Imperial Fleet Command. With a sigh of relief, Lok began to let his guard down slightly so. Their mission, for now, was over. As Ruin began his confiscation of weaponry, Lok moved toward the fallen blast doors and wreckage he had created, pulling forth a small piece of metal he found laying nearby and etching more lines across the braces of his Crimson Imperial Armor, each mark representing a death he had caused or life he had directly or indirectly taken.

 

"May your song be heard in the halls of the afterlife..." He spoke in prayer as he dipped his fingers into the leaking blood before wiping it into the etched markings he had just made. "... Or your screams of horror in the hell you deserve, whichever your life led you to."

 

With that said and his ritual done, he rose, wiping his gloves fingers upon the steel and tossing it aside. Returning to Ruin and the captives, Lok relieved them of their stun cuffs and placed them under arrest in the name of Empress Raven Nasra and reading them their rights under Imperial Law. With each in turn, his gaze was stern and unforgiving, his part over with and their part just beginning. For some, he was required to be judge, jury, and executioner. But for those who surrendered, their fate was far less severe. Turning his ear to the heavens, he heard the onslaught of the Imperial War machine above and the tide that covered Outer Haven. With all in custody, he turned to Ruin and gave a hearty smack on the shoulder.

 

"Bash and crash."

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Pfasking…” Bryce drew her sidearm and shifted her weight to try to roll onto her side, but the weight of a sedentary Mon Calamari held her pinned to the catwalk. Glancing upwards, the marine saw heavy plastoid boots approaching--she swung her sidearm up and took a series of unaimed potshots--two sapients fell to the ground, howling and reaching clutching at their ankles. Then there was a sudden shift in the weight that pinned her to the ground, and the Mon Calamari fell dead to the deckplates with his bulbous head nearly split open by a blaster bolt.

 

Rising to her feet, she saw Tros’ fire shift from her position back to the stream of militia attempting to pour in through the airlocks. Bryce took several sidesteps towards her fallen carbine, firing without much effect other than spraying sparks over the nearby consoles and forcing their attackers to keep their heads under cover. Heat rippled across her right thigh as a bolt grazed the plastoid plate and burned a hole in her belt-spat. Shifting her pistol over to her left hand, the shock trooper continued with the suppressive fire as she bent and retrieved her rifle, then shifted her weight in an attempt to take cover behind a bank of monitoring consoles that were affixed to the interior wall of the power core.

 

“Confirmed, move as quick as you can. Talons! Away from the walls!” Not waiting for confirmation from her fireteam, Bryce matched action to words and forced herself into the open spaces of the catwalk. Snapshots from the suppressed militia just within the power core tracked her movement; the answer of the shock trooper was to fire her carbine’s underslung launcher to spray their position with a canister of buckshot. Both of her attackers went down--whether struck by her counterfire or simply suppressed again, the marine never checked, as she shifted her fire towards a Twi’lek that was advancing dangerously close to Tros on the other side of the catwalk.

 

Then the entire room seemed to shift several millimeters to the right and her hearing was once again stolen away as the Imperial Scouts made their breach into the corridors just outside the power core.

 

_____

 

With the arrival of a full squad of Imperial soldiers and the confusion of having to press an assault on two sides, the local militia soon fell into disarray. Eyes that were previously fixed on the four Talons fighting desperately for their lives soon became distracted, shifting from their sights and towards the sounds of blaster fire at their rear. One very foolish soldier completely lost his head and charged Harlaa Rys while the shock trooper was reloading her carbine. Though knocked down by the tackle and her weapon sent swinging wildly on its sling, the Togruta managed to rise and cleave through the human’s shoulder and pistol with a single swing from her vibromachete.

 

And then, her leg having been broken from the awkward fall, she immediately collapsed with a yelp of pain.

 

That was the last confirmed “kill” of the Talons during that firefight. With twenty plastoid-clad Imperial Scouts scything through the rearguard of the assault, the remainder of the militia soon surrendered, either raising their weapons over their heads or throwing them to the ground.

 

When the firing finally quieted, Bryce reconvened with her Talons on the lower level of the power core, helmet removed to enjoy a few breaths of unfiltered air. “Command, we’re clear here,” she muttered into a tiny comlink. “Engies can have the run of the place now.”

 

She cast a critical eye over her fellow shocktroopers. All of them were exhausted, sweat pouring from their brows. Tros had removed his left pauldron and was applying a small bandage to a blaster burn with Jansen Vor’s help, but aside from the wincing on the Duros’ expression, he seemed otherwise fit. Harlaa Rys, the Togruta, seemed in worse condition; dazed, perhaps concussed from the conclusion of the engagement, and leaning heavily on the consoles to avoid putting weight on her left ankle.

 

“Three fit to fight. One to the aid station--

 

“The hell?”

 

“You move one more time, and I swear I will stun you,” admonished the medic of the Imperial Scouts, who was wrapping a field splint around the Togruta’s ankle and shin.


Nothing urgent. Broken leg. Where do you need us next?”

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It did not take long for Imperial troops to enter the base. Making their way to the Talons and scouts, they immediately set about trying to decipher, and even more so, disable and dismantle the helter-skeltered concoction that made up the power core and it’s control panel.

 

After ensuring that the injured members of all teams were cared for, and Imperial Marines were securing the area about them, the lead scot trooper offered Captain Bryce and her Talons a brisk salute. “We’ll be off then ma’am. Sounds like there is a bit of a frackas in Sector Seven that could use an immediate response. There’ll be a few bikes outside yet if you need them, just make sure you return them when you are done.” The cool voice advised before spinning on her heel, with a few brisk hand motions, and leading their detachment out the same ways they had entered. Moments later, the roar of the speeder bikes rattled the walls and faded off into the distant din of the siege beyond.

 

“Now let us see about this Outer Rim level of Jawa engineering” grunted an engineer as he hooked a rather intricate looking contraption into a tangle of wires falling from the back of the control panel. He only shook his head as the diagnostics began to flit across his view screen. With an audible sigh he waived over one of his fellow engineers. “Amazing the whole place didn’t go ain’t it?” 
 

“Oye! Gonna get dark in Five!” the mechanically minded soldier held up a handful of fingers and began to drop them one at a time in a countdown. When he hit three the generator shut down, the sudden lack of mechanical sounds clunking to an uncomfortable stillness.

__________________________________
 

Elsewhere, Imperial Marines, Stormtroopers, and other Imperial

forces continued to fight, pressing forward against the nonnative defense forces of Outer Heaven. There were still areas of fighting and hold outs of different gangs and cartels began to merge and resist together, putting aside old differences in the face of the onslaught. Bit by bit, the station fell to Imperial control. All the while, the strongholds of those that fought back grew in desperation and, at times, numbers.

__________________________________
 

“Shut the core down.” came the relayed order to Fera, and by the droid, Ruin and Lok. The added, “Not permanently” was almost an afterthought, but one command felt needed to be clarified lest they permanently dismantle the power core. 
 

Once that was done, the fleet could begin their final approach. The shutdown of several key power points and relays had caused a catastrophic failure in the station’s defensive measures, not to mention other key aspects that included lights, heat, gravity, and several life support facilities across a wide swath of the station. The timer had started and time was now of the essence.

__________________________________

As the fleet began to close on the defense-light station, orders were broadcast across all Imperial combat channels instructing ground and aerial assets to paint targets for aerial bombardment. They would be surgical. They would not rain wonton destruction down from above; yet no more Imperial lives would be risked or lost than absolutely necessary.

 

And so as targets were indicated, turbolaser fire from above began to scorch enemy strongholds, chokepoints, and defensive positions. The guns pounding into the surface and missiles boring deep when needed before detonating within the midst of the enemy.

__________________________________
 

The capture of Outer Haven was not yet over, but the tidal surge of Imperial might was now reaching it’s crescendo as exponentially more of the station was brought under control. It would only be a matter of an hour before the entire surface was contained. Deep within the darkest recesses of the station, specialized teams of intelligence operatives and veteran combat soldiers were tracking those who sought to hide and hunting their secret dens and lairs. To those qualified, this presented a challenge, and any unit or operative that had distinguished themselves in battle were welcome to request reassignment once their initial sector was secured by Naval troopers.

 

Above the station, droves of fighters still  patrolled, keeping quarantined vessels in check as they sought to board and inspect them or guide them to a secure landing zone for the same. Even so, it seemed some captains refused to comply; realizing that fighting or fleeing was a death sentence several opted to maintain radio silence and not comply with commands. Even now, boarding teams were being prepared.

__________________________________
 

Making landfall, Vice Admiral Nikolai Kolchak strode down the landing ramp of his Lambda shuttle within a secured landing zone on the planet. A takeover like this one was odd in that there was no one or two people that could sign any sort of surrender. On a base like this, each inch had to be taken and not until the entire station was controlled would total victory be achieved. Yet it was only a matter of time and there was nonsense in waiting until then to begin bringing the station back to life under the command of the Empress. And so, as areas were swept and secured, power and life was restored and the Imperial war machine set about minimizing the damage done to those

locals who remained; showing them the good that was intended for them

in place of the lives of fear they had been forced to contend with before.

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"Bash and crash."

 

Ruin nodded at the smack, and gave a thumbs up to the Jedi. “Bash and crash was good. You crash well. I like.” 

 

Ruin looked at the prisoners again and raised a hand to scratch a non-existent chin. 

 

“I think” Ruin declared, and for a moment, he seemed to do just that, pacing slightly, before turning back to Lok and pointed at the weapon Lok carried.   

 

“You like bash and crash? The slice and dice? Why you slice? You want to continue that? I have to. Kill Sith. Rip them apart and rip more apart. I have to kill. You have to? Or you want to?” 

 

Before a chance to answer was given, the power core in the background suddenly whirred to silence. The prisoners looked confused at the core, until, with a clinking and scratching, a small buzz droid came out of the room to the two. 

 

“The power core has now been temporarily powered down, as per the military’s orders. I hope this does not bother you, nor you master Jedi.” 

 

Ruin shrugged. “Where next?” 

 

Fera stopped and turned its sensors up to face the Terror Droid. “It seems that the saboteurs we dispatched only picked up their materials here. There is no evidence of Sith Forces being here, nor are there records where the Sith Saboteurs came from. It appears we have hit a dead end and must restart our query for Sith Forces.”

 

Suddenly, without a warning, Ruin turned and slammed a metal fist into a nearby wall, denting the plating violently. The slam made the prisoners jump in fright. Following this, Ruin grabbed his own head, almost as if he wanted to squeeze it in rage. 

 

“Got to kill. Kill Sith. Find Sith and kill. Where do we find Sith and kill?”

 

“Processing possible locations.” Fera beeped in reply, its tone unchanged by the display of anger. Even as Fera spoke, Ruin began to pace again, squeezing and releasing his fists over and over again, muttering about the need to miam Sith forces. “Possible actions include returning to Coruscant and continuing our previous actions, or returning home to Mechis III for  possible upgrades, repairs, and reconnection with other droids who may have more information.” 

 

 After a bit of Ruin continuing to pace, Fera looked up at the Jedi. 

 

“Designation RUIN was programmed to hunt the confederacy and the Sith forces who controlled it. However, since the wars that confederacy were involved in ended years ago, Designation RUIN struggles to find his targets, so he sometimes does this for a bit. Perhaps you have information where he could find Sith forces?" 
 

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A worrisome series of metallic chunks and the whine of cooling steel filled the air as the reactor was shut down. Then the lights within the chamber shut down, and Bryce instinctively braced herself against what she expected would be a loss of artificial gravity--maybe even life support. Bryce glanced towards her squadmates, who were illuminated only by the internal lights within their helmets. Armor plates clacked against each other as shrugs were exchanged.

 

“A bit slapdash, these Outer Rim bash jobs, innit?” Vor remarked as several seconds passed--

 

--and then with a second series of heavier slams, as though a massive breaker had just been flipped,the internal lights of the power core were re-ignited at a significantly dimmer setting.

 

“Right, Sector Seven. Rys, you’re sitting out on this one. You’re in no shape to ride, let alone a firefight. Ammo check,” her hands unthinkingly unclasped the pouches at the front of her armor. “Good. Fuel reserves low. We’ll be taking the bikes. Command, local telemetry on Sector Seven?

 

Holding out a miniature holoprojector in her palm, a blue-white image of the space station bloomed to life. The Alliance commander idly turned it about with practiced movements of her fingers. It was a depressingly flat region of Outer Heaven station with regularly-ordered, blocky buildings interspersed only by equally flat corridors of permacrete and the occasional starport that opened directly to cold vacuum. Icons indicated the likely presence of atmospheric scrubbers and power substations--there were considerably fewer of them than the residential districts identified in their briefings. The absence of storage tanks, however, excluded the possibility of an industrial center.

 

“Looks like warehouses, distro. Lots of wide-open streets, high windows.”

 

“Yuck.”

 

“Huh. Maybe they’re trying to move something out? Munitions? Illicits? Something else? Can’t think of anything else that would prioritize this sector for defense. A raid sounds just like the ticket, Talons. Mount up.”

 

Setting out at a fast stride, the three shock troopers departed for the landing bay just outside the corridor, where they found that the Imperial Engineers had left behind four of the sleek, twin-vaned airspeeder bikes for the Talons. They were of a standard but battle-tested design; fast, maneuverable, a potent threat in hit-and-run attacks but lacking the armor to withstand return fire from anything other than small arms. Mounting up on the bikes, the three shock troopers set out into the open air with a shrieking blast from their repulsor engines

 

Somewhat unused to the airspeeder bikes, the Talons whistled through the air at a relatively sedentary pace compared to the Imperial Scouts and were soon left breathing their exhaust fumes. Glancing about to avoid obstacles, Bryce finally had a chance to appreciate the progress of the Rebel assault. The nearby batteries had been silenced by the loss of local power; few sources of fire were continuing to respond to the advance of Damascus and Phalanx. A wing-pair of Imperial TIEs shrieked above their flight before veering off towards a laser cannon that was offering a few futile bursts of fire.

 

Further resistance appeared futile. However, as the sounds of blaster fire grew louder, someone had clearly decided that something within Sector Seven was more valuable than the lives of their men.

 

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Lok watched the exchange between the Droid RUIN and his smaller counterpart Fera with weary and bewildered eyes briefly before the Droid Fera explained Ruin's predicament more clearly. As much as Lok disliked AIs such as Ruin and Fera and the technology that created them, he knew the burden of one's inability to achieve one's goals. His own being his homeworld of Onderon and it's freedom from the oppression of the Sith.

 

"Onderon, my Homeworld, is one place." Lol replied with sorrowful eyes. "But that is a suicide mission with very little outcome, even for a droid."

 

Lok turned to Fera as Ruin paced back and forth. "What is his programming? Can it be changed?"

 

Lok turned quiet as he searched for the words he sought, his background into technology and it's technical terms about as deep as a Drexl's dropping. Finally he spoke, his words as frank as he could put them.

 

"I cannot stop him no more than I can liberate Onderon by sheer will. But Ruin has earned my respect, so I will be blunt. I was ordered to watch over him during this mission and prevent useless killings." His gaze shifted from Fera to Ruin and then back to Fera, his eyes cold and concerned. "I'm not sure if Imperial Command will allow his wandering without standard memory wipes or an Entourage to ensure he doesn't mistake civilians from Sith Sympathizers such as our mission here. I know I wouldn't."

 

Wiping the sweat from his brow, it's perspiration more due to the stress of what will happen to Ruin and Fera than the mission at hand. "His directive is going to have to change, either here and now, or by Command. I'd rather it be us, but it's up to him."

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Sector Seven: a sprawling expanse of industrial warehouses and storage facilities, a few small landing platofrms for localized transport dotted the area; but seemed relatively small for any meaningful off world transport. Any large shipments would need carted in from the more established landing zones and docking bays across the syndicated synth-world/station.

 

As the scout troopers tore into the area at breakneck speed, they were quickly joined by another unit of the same from elsewhere in the city. The sounds of gunfire echoed through the wide streets. Aside from some shells of old vehicles and the odd rusted groundbound transport, the streets were empty.

 

The two teams of scouts quickly added their versatility to the fray, attacking  without warning from unseen angles w rerouting and coming back moments later from another vector. Their sudden arrival was at least helping relieve some of the pressure on the pinned down recon team.


Radio chatter continued to request immediate backup and air support, although scans of the sector indicated a large enough gathering of life signatures that the possibilities of hostages negated bombing or precision orbital strikes. Armored cavalry were still a ways out and marine infantry were busy doing the brunt of grunt suppression and cleanup in the thicker parts of the city-station. Whoever was holed up in here had some heavy firepower and seemed unafraid to use it; and there were sure a lot of them. Any time an armed goon went down, it felt like three more took their place.

__________________________________

 

”Constantine-Any Available Units: Heavy munitions and possible hostages detected in Sector Seven, Block Twenty Three, Warehouses Two, Three and Five. Advanced Recon and Scouts are encountering heavier resistance than planned for. Any available units in the area not otherwise assigned are to divert and lend aid.”

__________________________________
 

Aboard the Constantine, Nikolai Kolchak had left the bridge, leaving command of the overall clean up of the assault to his seasoned commanders. Once the world was subdued, the difficult task of returning prosperity to it would begin. That too, would be left in the capable hands of the Imperial Navy. Reconstruction teams specially tasked and trained were even now beginning to prepare for the arduous task ahead. 

 

Kolchak and his entourage of season stormtroopers were aboard a Lambda shuttle and heading towards the secured staging area of Outer Heaven. Like a commander of yore, the Vice Admiral would take in the capture of the world personally. It was a delicate time and his history as an intelligence man within the Navy was ingrained at a cellular level. Such a time was golden for valued information to be gathered as it floated about in the chaos.

 

As they descended, the call for aid in Sector Seven was broadcast to all available units. A backwards glance from his pilot was all that the Vice Admiral needed. With a nod and a waved hand gesture, he affirmed what his men already knew; they would be going to aid. The shuttle diverted as the pilot’s chatter related their change in course. The pair of escorting Interceptors turned with the shuttle towards Sector Seven.

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"What is his programming? Can it be changed?"

 

Fera seemed to shake its body in an effort to communicate a no. Ruin stopped and listened to the two’s conversation when it turned to how Imperials would want a memory wipe and how Ruin would eventually need to change his directive. But instead of Ruin reacting, Fera was the one that got slightly heated. 

 

“Outcome: unacceptable.  As a developing sentience, any removal of any memory would be…” 

 

Fera stopped and crawled to Ruin and climbed the larger robot’s leg and rested on the shoulder. 

 

 “That bridge will be crossed when needed. We have other matters.” Fera seemed to look around as if to scan the area.  “Command states there is heavy resistance and possible hostages planet side. All help is desired. I have identified the most efficient route to target location. ”

 

“Heh, guts and guns! Guts and guns!” Ruin shouted and dashed down one of the hallways. Whether the Jedi would follow him or not did not seem to be his main concern. 

 

Fera’s directions led to a hangar where several impounded ships remained. Without waiting for permission or even acknowledgement, Ruin dashed into the closest one. Albeit it was obviously rusting in places, missing some panels and showing more wear and tear then most suitable ships, the bulky Crescent-Class Transport seemed to be operable.  

 

Ruin dropped at the pilot’s chair like a boulder and grabbed the controls. Fera’s beeps seemed to communicate some kind of a sigh as it clambered under the cockpit. Moments later, the ship started up.

 

“Fly and die. Fly and die. We fly, no one die” Ruin commented as the ship lifted off and exited the station. 

 

“Ruin and Fera to Command, we are on our way to Sector Seven.”  

 

“Slash and Dash! Guts and Guns!” Ruin shouted as he increased the speed of the vessel drastically. 

 

“Ruin will be making a drop entry over Sector Seven.” Fera commented as it nodded to the Terror Droid.  “I will keep the ship airborne. Coordinates for possible hostages would be advised.” 

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As Lok stood there with a cold and concerned look upon his face, Fera seemed to be the one to react more than Ruin in this case, which gave room for a pause in Lok's thinking. A developing sentience. So that was Ruin's designation, his purpose. Not simply to slaughter and kill Sith. There was more afoot here than generally realized. For a brief moment, Lok seemed to sympathize with the droids, something he had ever seldom done. But would Imperial Command allow it's growth? That was the true question. Along with, who would be it's greatest teacher?

 

"Understood." Lok responded after the small buzz droid scanned the comm chatter and relayed the messages, Lok not falling too far behind as Fera and Ruin took off in pursuit. "It's a matter for another time"

 

Lok's words trailed off in their joint dash as the trio made their way toward the impound, numerous ships lining the yard like graves of fallen eras. Though his thoughts still played upon Ruin's outcome, he didn't linger upon them long as Ruin took the seat of the ship and Fera communicated Orders. That was a topic for another day. Lives we're at stake.

 

"Skyshatter as well." Lok spoke as he took his place behind Ruin within the cockpit, holding himself in place by the cockpit's seats during liftoff, focusing on Fera as it spoke to Command. Slapping Ruin on the shoulder to get it's attention, Lok gave fair warning. "No bash and crash this time. Understand?"

 

Lightsaber still in hand, Lok prepared himself mentally. Whatever laid in Sector Seven below had beckoned a reckoning... As long as Ruin remembered he was only flesh and bone.

Edited by Skyshatter
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There were few bursts of emerald laser fire, a splash of red-orange and black smoke--and the crunch of overstressed steel and concussive wave that washed over Bryce’s shoulders. That was the trouble that had been brought on by the crew of that distant gunnery platform: a miserable, fiery death because they had stupidly decided to remain at their posts. Those two TIEs circled over the smoking ruin of that turret before returning to a patrol pattern over Sector Seven. Just far enough to watch the sad affair, three tiny speeder bikes zipped along the rooftops and towards the gentle sound of distant blaster fire.

 

“Cheers, lads.” Fifty meters behind her left shoulder and directly into her ear, Jansen Vor murmured his appreciation for the aerial cover.


“Chatter, Four.” Bryce responded. Ah, command, Fireteam Talon on the way. Estimate three minutes to the Aurek-Osk. Talons, course two-nine-zero. Maintain visual scanning.”

 

Travelling at the mortality-highlighting velocity of three hundred kilometers per hour, picking out distinct details in the scenery of Sector Seven--such as possible ambushes--seemed an impossible task. At this terrain-blurring speed, it seemed that this particular sector of Outer Heaven was one of the nondescript, mildly depressing mixed-commercial-mixed-industrial zones that inevitably sprung up at the outskirts of major cities. It was too distant from major spaceports to attract intensive industrialization or commercial development, yet too distant from residential zones to merit the development of sapient-friendly businesses. Its only merit was that the area was cheap, and as a result, a disturbing mix of enterprises shared space: within a single block, Bryce spotted a small-scale biotech firm, an “exotic” dance cabaret, a promising Twi’lek restaurant that must have closed up at the arrival of the Rebel fleet, and a warehouse that contained machinery of an unidentifiable nature.

 

At this speed, picking out infantry targets was an impossible task; millisecond-long glances into the exposed windows and fire-escape balconies had no hope of revealing any useful information. As the trio of speeder bikes zipped over a slightly taller block of warehouses, they passed over one of the running firefights between the Rebel Advance Recon and criminal groups.

 

Making hand signals, Bryce gained altitude and sent her speeder bike into a slow, wide turn that would bring the fireteam in line with the streets to begin a strafing. At the apex of this slow turn, the Talon turned her attention towards the distant rooftops--and spotted a glint of glass within one of the warehouse roofs.

 

“Movement, rooftop level, prox one-four-zero.”

 

And then the shooting started. A beam of crimson-something--definitely not a blaster bolt or slugthrower projectile, lanced upwards and threatened to take off one of Bryce’s steering veins. Shoving its controls forward, she traded altitude for speed and dove towards street level. Another pair of beams crackled through empty air--and then, visible only in the corner of her eye, a fourth found its mark. The rear section of one of her squads’ speeder bikes simply evaporated--that is, if evaporation of metal also resulted in a fiery explosion.

 

“Four hit--spast--bailing.” Somehow, Vor had survived the explosion of his bike’s engine block--he had thrown himself free of the plummeting wreck of his half-bike and was drifting downwards on the power of his armor’s repulsors. “Infantry target at your three, fourth window on the right. Oh, you stupid stang, I got you, I got you, yeah, no running now.”

 

“Two, hit street level, I’ll join Four.”

 

While the two mounted members of the Talon Fireteam began their controlled descent towards the level of the streets, Corporal Jansen Vor drifted from side to side on the artificial wind of Outer Heaven on his armor’s repulsorlifts. Another two beams of disruptor fire lanced upwards towards his squadmates, but Bryce and Tros had gained enough speed and descended so rapidly that the fire was more of a threat to Phalanx than the speeder bikes. The man hefting that disruptor rifle had tunnel-visioned on the larger, noisier targets so badly that it wasn’t until the Corellian’s boots had nearly hit the rooftop and he had lined up his carbine on the Duros’ position that the red eyes even glanced above the scope of the unwieldy rifle.

 

Vor allowed his forward momentum to carry him upon landing on the rooftop of the warehouse--a few steps forward took him into a supported kneeling position--an slow exhale and a gentle trigger pull--and a carefully aimed bolt transformed that Duros sniper into a pile of flashburned flesh and an expensive rifle.

 

Bryce landed next to him only a few seconds later and dismounted from her speeder bike.


“Nice shot, Vor. Command, Fireteam Talon on foot at Block Two-Three. ” Bryce glanced over the side of the warehouse and attracted a blaster bolt that sizzled past her left ear for her trouble. “On rooftop of Warehouse…  Four. We drew sniper fire from the rooftops, possible disruptor weapons. Watch yourselves.”

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“No bash and crash? Ha! Slash and dash!” Ruin chuckled at Lok’s warning. 

 

The ship was descending towards the station faster and faster now, with sector seven directly ahead. Two TIE fighters passed by on the right, followed with some comm chatter coming in on the ship’s radio. However, Fera simply silenced the comms with a couple of slicings from a buzz saw. 

 

It's not like they would approve of what Ruin intends to do. Nothing violent mind you, but definitely not procedure.”  Fera commented, climbing back onto Ruin’s shoulder. 

 

“Haha, they have boring talk! Violence is the way! I must slash and dash! They be bad! They be dead...” Ruin replied and began to level out the ship to the station. Fera seemed to give the binary equivalent of a sigh

 

The distance to sector 7 was relatively  a good distance away. The ships automatic systems kicked in to slow the ship as much as possible, despite Ruin's intentions.  The ground below became a blur of movement.

 

And the ship was still descending.

 

Without warning, Ruin stood up, wrested the chair from the floor, and shoved it into the pilot controls. After a moment of wedging it tightly into place, Ruin gave Lok a look and uttered something. 

 

"Landing too slow. We jump, heheh"

 

Without waiting for a response, Ruin moved past the Jedi and towards the ships rear. With a single slam, Ruin manually forced the ship's landing ramp to open up. The moment the ramp opened to the outside, all noise was impossible to hear due to the deafening air resistance  Ruin tried to say something to the Jedi, but when that proved impossible, he shrugged and moved onto the ramp. 

 

Fera thankfully was able to communicate through the Jedi's comms.  “We will be taking the quick route onto the building with the largest number of lives scanned from Imperial Ships. Looks like the warehouse nearby has Imperial Forces on it already, so we are support. This ship’s engine is set to overheat and explode, so you can’t stay here. Please lengthen your landing as much as possible to avoid broken bones.” 

 

“Haha! Crash and bash! Slash and dash and thrash! Make them afraid! Make them all afraid!” Ruin tried to scream in the screeching wind resistance, then turned and jumped off the landing ramp. 

 

The jump was a short one. Ruin’s flying had brought the ship dangerously low, viewable by anyone who could be looking in the general direction. The building in question had a number of criminals on the roof, opening fire at the ship that was passing by, the soldiers across the way, and now the descending object plummeting towards them.

 

Just as Fera had suggested to Lok, Ruin extended his landing as much as possible. The momentum from the ship already had him going forward, which he turned into a roll and quickly returned to his feet. The next moment was followed by gunfire, and Ruin dashing towards the nearest criminal as Fera jumped off and crawled to a safer spot. 

 

“Slash and Dash!” Ruin screamed as he pulled out and activated the vibrosword he had taken earlier. The first criminal fell quickly, and already Ruin was moving towards another. 

 

“Keep moving! Dash and Slash! Dont stop! Keep dashing, keep slashing! Hahaha yes! Slash and slash some more!” Ruin cheered himself as he brought the blade down on another criminal, cleaving between the neck and shoulder. His laughter and slaughter was so loud that the people on the warehouse could hear Ruin’s maniacal energy.

 

"Snipers are being taken care of over here" Fera communicated in binary to the soldiers at the warehouse while standing on the building's attanea. Hopefully their comms would pick up the Buzz Droid's chattering and beeping. ( @Johanna Bryce).  "We will be over to assist as soon as possible if needed." 

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Battle was not something that Lok was unfamiliar with, nor was jumping from ships into warzones. It was something he held a long history with both during his days as a Jedi Knight and as an Imperial Knight. Did he like it? No. But such was the way of combat both in the skies and on the surfaces. And Ruin's maneuver was not one he had not been a part of before. There was always a brash one on the field of battle. Only this time, they came as droids with upper class programming. With a hard swallow, Lok quickly followed Ruin and Fera to the rear as the boarding ramp lowered and the ground became a passing blur.

 

"But why..." Was all Lok managed to get out as the two disappeared into the blur of momentum as his gaze shifted toward the front of the ship and then back to it's exit. He always hated this part, even with the Force to aid him. With a deep sigh, and building his courage, he reached out into the Force and leap. "Ahhh."

 

His voice echoed his unintentional scream as he billowed from the rear into the draft of air that fell behind the ship's wake, wrapped up in a barrier of the Force as blaster fire ripped toward his location. In a twisting torrent of energy combined and focused at the bottom of the sphere of the Force, it was all Lok could muster to slow his descent while maintaining his defense until his feet could touch the sweet feeling of solid ground. And once he had, he would quickly roll out of his position with his silver blade ignited.

 

To be honest, for someone who had never seen a Jedi or Imperial Knight in combat, or a Sith for that matter, Lok likely seemed like a mesmerizing and intimidating sight to behold. A blur of a man with a silver laser sword traversing the terrain at Force embued speeds likely looked unnatural and demonic. Especially as beams of crimson and emerald darted in his direction only to be flicked away like child's play save for the disruptors that reserved caution and a sense that was beyond sentient thought. And yet, still, he drove on, his mission clear.

 

"Talon Squadron, this is Skyshatter." Talon Leader's @Johanna Brycecomm lit with chatter behind Fera's, Lok's voice heavy with exhaustive breath. "I'm at Block Two Eight headed west toward your location hot and heavy. Our automaton friends are taking care of the eyes in the skies."

 

With that said, he continued on course. It wouldn't be long before he would arrive on location with Captain Bryce and the others.

Edited by Skyshatter
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The Shuttle Hollinium swept overhead, her escort of Interceptors clearing a path for the craft. Although, airspace was relatively secured, there was protocol to follow. Below reinforcements appeared to be arriving, bringing a smile to Kolchak’s steely countenance. Wherever they went, an Imperial was never truly alone. He had the Empire at his back.

 

“Sir.” The pilot called out. “The enemy is utilizing disruptors, and in large numbers it would seem.”

 

That changed things. Kolchak’s face frowned. Disruptors were such a lethal and inhumane weapon that not even the Sith allowed their usage. Mere possession of one warranted death across the majority of the galaxy. These criminals would not go quietly. The ante had been upped. Any hostages were in greater danger, if there were hostages. At this point, nobody knew if there were hostages or massed mercenaries.

 

Turning to his crew and angling his head so the ship’s crew could hear as well, the Vice Admiral spoke. “Instruct our escort to break off and lend aid to our ground forces. Strafe enemy strongholds. Alert fleet command to divert fast response azzets to our location, protocol zirty-six.”

 

Eyes widened for a moment before affirmatives and understoods were given. The men and women turned to their tasks with zeal. Protocol thirty-six, scorched earth. Prisoners were to not be taken except for very specific circumstances.

 

”And captain, remind the men, hostage w iz first priority.”

 

“Aye sir.” he answered, as he turned and keyed his comms to all units in the area, “Attention all units in Sector Seven, Intel Prime,” Kolchak’s designation, “is in play. Protocol thirty-six is authorized. Hostage rescue is your primary goal. Determine if and where any hostages may be located. Air support is inbound. Paint targets for assistance.”

 

The two interceptors peeled away from the shuttle Hollinium and rocketed forward arcing back through the air towards the fray. L-s9.3 laser cannons flared to life as asteroid destroying bolts traced firey paths of destruction along the ground at nearly supersonic speeds sending external enemy assets diving for cover or ducking back inside. The howl of twin ion engines echoed across the battlefield.

 

A block away, the shuttle Hollinium landed with much less pomp and fanfare. The landing ramp lowered and Nikolai Kolchak’s personal guard, seasoned combat veterans and intelligence assets, members of the Imperial Stormtrooper corps, descended, their weapons held at the ready as they secured the landing zone with bursts of fire. When it was secured, Nikolai Kolchak descended, deactivated energy shield in one hand and unholstered sidearm in the other. His head surveyed the scene, his  cybernetic eye taking in every detail and analyzing it. Up ahead, laser fire could be heard beyond the din of the chaos created by the strafing interceptors. 

 

“Go. Help your comrades.” He instructed. The team of troopers set off at a crouched run, their ward returning to the shuttle. The ramp closing behind him. “Get us back into air captain.”

 

The team of eight troopers entered the fray, their pinpoint accuracy lending aid to the pinned naval ground troops. The sight of Imperial Stormtroopers on the field, by itself, had the demoralizing ability ro change the morale of a battle.  “Imperial Escort Team Four is on scene. Encountering limited resistance. Ground command, where are we required?”

Edited by Nikolai Kolchak

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The firefight that the Talon shock troopers had intruded upon was over within seconds. The criminal units on street level had been hard-pressed by a single squad of the fleet’s stormtroopers. Nonetheless, they managed to withdraw in good order using an imitation of a classic leapfrog maneuver; half of the unit would retreat for twenty or thirty meters while the other half stood their ground and fired back at the pursuing soldiers, then the positions were traded. That basic maneuver was thrown into chaos by the strafing run of Tros’ scout bike and the other two Talons that overlooked the retreating criminals from the rooftop. Standing almost heedless of the sparse return fire from the streets, Bryce calmly fired single rounds and bursts into the flamboyantly-dressed militia.

 

Bryce’s next round went low and ahead of one of the retreating militia. Sparks showering all over her target’s knee, the Twi’lek glanced up towards Bryce’s position and saw death behind the barrel of a rifle. That Twi’lek threw her carbine to the street. The shock trooper merely swept her aim towards one of the “stationary” element of the leapfrog. With a calm exhale, Bryce felled her target with a single round to the neck.

 

“Cease fire, cease fire!” came a frantic handwave at her side. The marine lifted her brown eyes from the sights of her carbine; the criminal militia were throwing down their weapons and raising their hands in surrender. As the stormtroopers caught up with the quarry, the tall marine visibly relaxed and slouched from her fighting crouch….

 

….and then another one of those crimson beams passed so closely to her helmet that the anti-flash visor turned opaque. Bryce threw herself to the ground and groped her way away from the edge of the rooftop, hoping that the sniper wouldn’t make use of the disruptor’s penetrative qualities by blasting the duracrete walls to atoms.

 

No follow-up shots ever came. Her comlink chattered with a monotone, robotic voice: “Snipers are being--” Then came a burst of static. “Over here.”

 

“Thank you. Thank you very much,” Bryce breathed a weary acknowledgement over the comms. Collecting herself and taking a glance along the path of the beam, the marine observed a distressing hole in the wall of a nearby tower. Nothing but dust remained of the building’s facade. “Confirmed disruptors.”

 

The two Talons marched towards the edge of the warehouse and crested the intersection with a single burst of their jetpacks. “Skyshatter, on the rooftop of number three now. Holding position for the stormies to catch up.” Blaster fire was continuing to echo down the streets from their previous position. Bryce frowned; the stormtroopers should have been able to just stun the militia and proceed. “Don’t you… Imperial Knights have some Force Sense-y sort of thing to let us know what we might find in there?”

 

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Four bodies laid on the floor bleeding out as Ruin pulled the blood-stained blade out of the fifth one. The vibrosword's battery had somehow died during the last slash and now was wedged in some tree tough bones of a Sylphes. Ruin had to put one foot on the corpse so the blade could come loose, now covered with acidic looking green blood. 

 

“Slash and Dash. Kill and crash. Good kill. Good kills.” 

 

Fera gave out a warning shriek from his perch. Ruin looked up just in time to dodge the incoming fire of several disruptors. Two gangsters had emerged from the stairs leading onto the roof, and had ambushed the two droids. They were too far away for Ruin to charge them, so instead he had dived for cover. 

 

The men shouted something non-basic. Perhaps a call for a surrender. Perhaps a threat. Either way, it was lost on the two droids. 

 

“Gah, slash and dash! No, guns and guts! Give me guts! Give me guns!”

 

One of the men screamed as Fera had landed on him. Instantly his eyes had caught on fire as Fera’s still functional plasma torch made its best efforts to perform eye surgery on the man. The man’s partner turned, shocked at seeing the buzz droid viciously attacking his comrade. The man with Fera on him stumbled and fell back down the stairs. His partner reached out to do something. Anything. Perhaps he could smack the buzz droid off, or pull his friend back from the stairs.

 

Instead however, he did nothing, as his entire body vaporized in an instant.  Ruin held the disruptor pistol in one hand and sword in the other. One of the dead corpses laid next to him with its holster opened and emptied. 

 

“Groovy” Ruin stated as he looked over the weapon. 

 

Fera scuttled over, his target now completely blind and falling down the stairs. 

 

“Ruin. Weapons known as disruptors are illegal in all known systems, with punishments up to and including dismantlement on sight. While these reasons are illogical at best, I recommend…"

 

Before Fera could finish, Ruin dismantles the pistol into two seperate pieces. The handle and the barrel were now completely separated, and only some quick welding would put these useless parts back together. 

 

“Tiny gun. Erases big guts. We keep.” As ruin talked he slipped the handle onto his side, clipping it to his own waist line. With the barrel, he tapped his own chest, which opened slightly, revealing wires and gears galore. The Terror droid slammed the barrel inside unceremoniously and closed himself back up, hiding the illicit part of the weapon away. For now, the weapon was hidden away, and only a thorough scan would find the parts,  identify them as pieces of a disruptor. 

 

“Very well sir. Let's keep moving then. I believe the Jedi is moving towards the warehouse. However this building still shows multiple life signs inside our building. I recommend we deal with any potential threats here first to help everyone else”

 

Ruin nodded and put away the rest of his gear. Now he equipped only his flechette launcher. “Guts and guns. Guns and guts. Lets make some guts with guns. Haha!”
 

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As the eight troopers advanced with caution, the sound of firefights and combat continued to play out around them. Between the warehouses, down devastated streets, they moved with speed, purpose, and cautious intent. Disruptors in the field meant that their armor was of little value against a direct shot. Rolling and ducking from cover to cover, the team ensured that no expanse of the ground they took was not covered by their E-11s and that the ground they passed through was not left unmonitored.

 

The street itself was quite. Too quiet given the sounds of battle in the vicinity. “Confirming Warehouse Three. Rendezvousing with Talon Team.”
 

With a sense of direction beyond suppressive aid, the eight white-clad Imperial troopers, began to move towards the end of the block, where they could turn towards Warehouse 3. Just before the end of the block, still enveloped in the shadows of the windowless buildings that pressed in on either side, where the ground became rough and uneven from the debris of the Interceptor strafing, the silence was broken. A single shot rang out and the debris one of the troopers had ducked behind vaporized. “Enemy! Twelve o’clock!” The cry came out as plasma-charged E-11s returned fire as the escort team fell into a habitually familiar scenario.  “Disruptors. Watch yourself.”

 

”Command. Escort Team Four is under fire. I.P. Is secure.” The words came across the radio waves, the voice in the other end escalated but sure.

 

Enemy fire rang out, several disruptor shots vaporizing whatever they struck. It was the limited range of the illegal weapons that would be their undoing. Forming up, two of the troopers quickly deployed the pods on their weapons, stabilizing them as they took  aim over top of their makeshift cover. Another lobbed a fragmentation grenade; an overhand toss that sent the spherical charge into the midst of the huddled enemy, driving them from cover. The remaining five troopers did as troopers do, slowly advancing, laying down a blaze of withering fire. Enemy militants dropped as the white signatures of the Empire drew attention to themselves, drawing more militants to venture from their positions to engage with whatever Imperial task force was advancing on them. 

 

“Requesting reinforcements to Escort Team Four. Look for smoke.” The same stormtrooper that had lobbed the frag now sent a canister, belching bright yellow smoke tumbling forward, bathing the alleyway in an ethereal aura as several rounds of enemy fire tore into him, a disruptor blast causing half of his chest to vanish. The man clattered to the ground, lifeless in an instant. “Man down!”

 

Overhead, the pair of Interceptors raced overhead, their cannons erupting to force roof-bound foes to cover or destruction. They moved in a  low twin ion screeching pass as they arced around to begin another run of withering fire directed towards the plumes of yellow smoke that rose between the buildings.

 

Aboard the Hollinium, Kolchak frowned, not much a difference from his usual dour expression. He listened to the comm chatter. This was going to be a test for the limited men on the ground. “How long until armor can arrive?” He inquired aloud. 
 

“Armored Transport Team Two has redirected, but it will be one-one minutes before they enter Sector Seven sir. Combat Assault Team One has redirected from the starport and are inbound as well. E.T.A. Six minutes.”

 

The TX-225 GAVr tanks, would be the first team of heavy support to arrive.  Other scouts might arrive sooner, their positioning more fluid across the surface of the station. Infantry forces were being delayed behind the armor, save for two Explosive Engineering teams and a scout sniper that were in the area and moving to rapidly deploy to assist. Overhead, a squadron of TIE fighters were screaming through the atmosphere.

 

 

((Any Imperials forces listed, or anything else you might justify in a justifiably timely manner, are free for usage by anyone in play))

Edited by Nikolai Kolchak

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Lok smirked briefly as Bryce's comm was received loud and clear. Running up a escalating stack of crates, Lok took to the roof tops of the warehouses with sweat beading down his brow before being wisked away into the streaming air. 

 

"Roger-Wilco." The Onderonian Imperial Knight responded mid leap as he cleared one roof to the other in bounds, a brief thought that he likely look rocketed in appearence. "I'll see if I can sense anything up ahead at your location."

 

The Force was beginning to take its toll upon the Knight as he delved even deeper into his reserves, expanding his mind across the battlefield to garner Intel. He could sense Talon Squadron, as well as Ruin and Fera, and even Escort Team Four. But the enemy felt blocked from his sight. Instinctually, he felt a coldness to the Force. And this didn't sit right with him.

 

Stopping briefly, Lok settled his gaze on the distant Talon Squadron across the rooftops, the distant sounds of battle drowning out the quiet of the night and the roar of the Interceptors twin engines filled the skies. It was hard to focus his mind, but he had to. He didn't like the feeling he felt within the Force, and he didn't want to barge in blind and put either him or Talon Squadron in harm's way. So he had to focus deeper.

 

Feeling his mind wander, he visually scoped the Force as his thoughts scanned the ground below and fought to see what his eyes could not. Something dark and sinister was present and it pulled at his thoughts and countered his focus. So Lok poured himself more into the Force, slowing his breathing and steading his heartbeat to tune his mind's eye. Warehouse Three was well warded, the intent of the Dark Side permeating like a fog rolling in over his eyes. He pushed farther, walking his mind within the dense fog and searching for answers. And that's where he saw it.

 

Almost all the hostages were dead, lifeless carcasses spread apart sporadically as the inhabitants within callously stood over them. There was fear within, most of the seven or so sentients housing knowledge of the Imperial hunt for them, but one stood atop and alone. That was the darkness he felt. A being with no care for life and no regard for self preservation. Lok could feel his intent permeating. He held no false hope of survival and held no care. He wanted death. And the Disruptors were his reasons. He intended on carrying out terrorist plots across the Galaxy and a few were already in place. 

 

Lok could feel his anger flared by the darkness he felt in the Shistavanien's heart. Could feel his disgust at the Alien's beastial nature of using a Non-Human's Rights Activists group as his personal excuse to slaughter and terrorize. And it was about to end. Comming @Johanna Bryce, the hatred was evident in his voice. "Skyshatter to Talon Leader. You've got seven plus hostiles within. Two Hostages breathing. Be careful. We've got one with a death wish. I'm going in hot. Use me as a distraction."

 

With no more words spoken, Lok, with determination in his eyes and fueled by anger, leap down from the rooftop and set his eyes toward the warehouse. Outside there was a small lift that sat alone. Whatever sentinels had once stood as guards had long taken refuge within, so Lok took the opportunity to make his approach in the darkness of the warehouse district. Mustering his strength, he sent the lift tearing through the side wall of the warehouse with enough force to shred steel framing as his lightsaber stayed silent. He had only one intent. Give the Shistavanien what he wanted. The rest were gifted to Talon Squadron.

 

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Blaster fire continued to echo as Rebel troops stormed through the remaining sources of resistance in Sector Seven, but from her perch on the top of Warehouse Three, Bryce could see that the advance had stopped. Eight white-clad stormtroopers maintained a loose perimeter around the warehouse, taking cover behind landspeeders and waiting for a signal to begin their assault. That signal came in the form of a crimson-clad Imperial Knight charging in. Johanna felt her jaw drop at the sight of the man charging in through a breach in a side-wall.

 

“That Jedi just went in. What in the Nine Hells…”

 

“Chatter, Four. Tros, how’s it look?”

 

The Duros jammed his vibromachete into the roofing material and used the blade as a lever. An entire block of the warehouse’s roof peeled away with ease, rust and lichen falling as splashes of color against the grey powdery dust that slipped through the shock trooper’s gauntlets. “Substandard duracrete mix. Ribbons, Vor?” A nod of assent came from the other Talon, and the two soldiers began to lay out strips of cloth that were packed with shaped charges. With only the occasional glance up at their compatriots, they soon created a tidy square in the roof.

 

“Alright, Talons.” Bryce transmitted the conversation on an open channel that the stormtroopers. “Vertical breach and entry in 30 seconds. We blow the roof, pop flashbangs and move in. Remember, these people are rocking disruptors. Bad rate of fire, limited ammo capacity, but they’ll be motivated. They know they’ve got a death sentence for using those things. Ready, stormies?”

 

Stormtrooper Scouts at the ready, Captain.” The clipped Caridian accent came with a hint of annoyance at the old Rebel term for the infamous white-clad soldiers.

 

“On my mark,” Bryce ticked down the seconds on her fingers and approached the square of ribbons. She took a deep breath, the sound of her own breath sounding unnaturally loud in the confines of her vacuum-proof helmet. “Three, two, one, mark.”

 

A deafening crack and a shriek issued as the charges detonated and cut a square of duracrete free from the roof, falling for nearly a second before it shattered with a crash that the deafened shock trooper could feel through her boots. Bryce and Tros tossed in their flashbangs underhanded--and Bryce jumped in, her armor’s repulsorlifts slowing her descent. That was fortunate--the Talon had misjudged the height of the warehouse, and the drop of nearly twenty meters would have shattered her legs, rather than merely staggering under the weight of a full combat load.

 

Visibility was reduced to vague outlines and lights in the choking dust of the shattered permacrete. She took a pair of steps forward and felt a light impact on her back--one of her Talons had just landed behind her. A vague shape was directly in front of her, only thirty meters away. No lightsaber--probably a shouldered rifle, and not one of the short-barreled carbines that the stormtroopers favored. Her carbine snapped up with a burst of three shots that struck the sapient in their foot, leg, and shoulders. They spun to the ground, hand squeezed around their weapon and triggering a single reflexive ground--

 

--and then all hell broke loose.

 

That stray round struck one of the many storage racks that filled the warehouse, causing it to sag and spill its burden to the ground. The collapsing strack began to lean precipitously towards one side and the entire structure collapsed onto its neighbor--which just happened to be the storage rack immediately adjacent to Bryce and her Talons. At the same moment that the shock troopers glanced upwards and realized that they were about to be buried under tons of who-knows-what, the Imperial Scout Stormtroopers burst in behind Skyshatter and began to press the criminals from the opposite direction. One of them fell to a disruptor that had been stabilized at their point of entry, his death avenged almost immediately by a well-aimed blaster that sent the Shistavenan plummeting from the ceiling.

 

The Talons, meanwhile, sprinted for the end of this corridor formed by the rows of storage racks. At least, their leader ran, closely followed by Jansen Vor. Her second-in-command, however, took note of an unoccupied gap on the collapsing rack and stepped through it, calmly allowing the entire structure to fall to ruin around him and emerging totally unscathed amidst the debris.

 

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“Click click…Boom!” Ruin muttered as he pumped the barrel of the flachette launcher, turned a corner and fired. The point-blank spread of metal shrapnel tore the human’s face and neck and upper chest  to shreds, leaving behind a flayed skull leaking blood and brains against a metal wall. 


“Click click…” Ruin muttered again as he pumped the barrel once more. Fera gave what sounded like a sigh. 


“While it pleases me that you have developed some kind of enjoyment from this activity…” Fera began, its binary clicking and clacks barely audible in an attempt to maintain some form of stealth.


“Boom boom!” Ruin roared as he clicked the gun trigger. The criminal screamed in pain, as the shot was a bit more aimed towards the groin area rather than the face. The man dropped his weapons and himself to the ground, most likely knowing these were his last moments.


“But perhaps there are more effective ways of dealing with these criminals? You are capable of higher cognition, and I believe you should utilize it as well as trying to stay within the parameters set by…


Fera didn’t finish. Turning around the corner, Ruin was met with a flurry of blaster fire. At the far end of the hallway, three more criminals had set up what looked like a smuggled repeating blaster turret, complete with its own generator. The criminals were scared. It was clear from their wide eyed faces that was the case, and they were getting desperate. 


Thankfully, scared meant inaccurate, and Ruin barely got behind the corner where the one dying criminal was losing blood. The hall lit up like Life day as the criminals at the far end yelled and screamed profanities at their attacker. 


Analyzing targets” Fera commented, having jumped off his carrier to peer around the corner. “Three targets. All human. Last ones in this building by my calculations


“Good, good! Brains and Burns! Burn their brains!!”  Ruin chuckled and roared.  Down went the flechette launcher. In his right, Ruin grabbed the X-Pyre grenade. And in his left…


“Get up! You gonna be the brains! Friends be the burn! Haha!” Ruin commented as the already bled-out corpse was hefted up by its shirt. Literally now holding a meat shield, Ruin dashed into the open, inviting the gunfire. 


The heat and the force of the shots hitting the corpse-shield made Ruin pause a moment, but barely. The sizzling of flesh was barely overheard over the laser fire and Ruin’s laughter. The droid pushed forward to get behind another wall corner, if only for a moment of respite. 


“Burn it up! Burn and Brains!” Ruin stepped back into the open and pushed the small button on top of the grenade. The small device locked into place and began a mechanical clicking of a timer, indicating how long it would be until detonation. Ruin threw the device and jumped back.


Moments later, the grenade erupted. The released  aerosol worm-spit  caught fire with a roar. The fireball consumed all, caring not for what life was in the way, nor what metal it destroyed. 


Several minutes later, Ruin finally stepped around the corner. Like candles, the now charred-black bodies were still burning, giving off a horrible odor. Bits of Worm-Spit scattered over the area continued to burn as well, melting through solid metal like a plasma torch. The gun and generator were completely melted into disuse by this point, but Ruin gave no indication of care.


“Heh, burns and brains. Lots of burns. No more brains.” Ruin commented. 


“Indeed” Fera commented. “I will radio the others, let them know that this building has been completely cleared out. Hopefully they won’t mind that we had to take such drastic actions, but given the weaponry these criminals were carrying…”  

 

Ruin only gave a shrug and moved towards to the nearest door to the outside streets. 

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Dust and debris erupted within the warehouse as the lift tore through it's exterior, the sentients within caught off guard and amidst confusion. Three of the immediate seven swung blasters and disruptors about in haste as fear consumed their minds and hearts while their leader stood with one of the hostages within his grasp. He quickly turned the human female into a shield as he sucked behind her covering as the air grew foggy and dense. 

 

"Our oppressors have came to claim our lives!" He shouted from behind his living shield toward the others, his intent to drive hatred into the hearts to counter the fear that enveloped them. "Do not go quietly. We will free our descendants from the human tyranny!"

 

But fear was a powerful oppressor in its own right and blaster bolts along with explosive disruptor rounds echoed toward the gaping hole through the fog of dust and duracrete powder only to be followed by silence as the unknowing played with the psyche. One, two, three, four, five... Seconds passed within the confines of the fog as the suspects pondered their accuracy. And then the ignition and glowing hum of a silver blade amidst the fog echoed in the center of the room. Lok had already entered into the fray.

 

Blasters and Disruptors turned inward upon each other as the scene became a torrent of friendly fire, the Imperial Warden amidst it's center as his form twisted and contoured. Disruptor blasts whizzed by in near misses and saber met blaster bolts in deflection as Lok's determination met vibrantly with his skill, and within moments, aid would drop from the heavens in a literal sense. Shifting from the center as the mass fell to the earth from it's explosive release, Lok came up from a forward roll as he sensed the flash bangs following in suit. With a little persuasion in the Force and a flick of his wrists, they found their targets lacking in a blinding revelation.

 

As the suspects wandered in blindness briefly and the Talons descended, Lok took the moment to counter his quarry. He drifted within the fog across the forms of both hostage and suspects alike as they laid upon the duracrete flooring and with a pull upon the Force, he tugged both hostage and capture to the floor before him. Before the Shistavanien even held a chance to recoil, Lok had pounced upon him like a Sand Panther upon its prey and his blade hummed closely against skin.

 

"Kill me human. Show the Galaxy your species' oppression." He spoke through spit and anger, his bloodied paw pointing toward a localized camera that was linked to the holonet nearby. "Do it."

 

Lok stood there, his gaze shifting from the Shistavanien and the camera. Anger boiled within as he remembered the intent he felt from the creature and the bodies he crossed due to its dark heart. His face flushed with his boiling blood and Lok struggled not to kill the creature instantly. But with a deep sigh, Lok smiled as the dust began to settle. Rearing his head back, he slammed his forehead hard against that of the Shistavanien's, knocking the creature unconscious as he released his grip. Turning toward the pirated broadcast, Lok approached, raising his blade high and striking the floating probe. As the holocast went dark, Lok turned to the settling scene.

 

It was over, for now....

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