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Thread: Ol'averde be Haar Mav [Popsicles]

  1. #1
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    Closed Ol'averde be Haar Mav [Popsicles]

    Lilaena stood on the bridge of the Haran, letting Bretak captain the ship out of hyperspace while she watched, the rest of the fleet dropping out in formation around the large ship. In truth, she was distracted, her thoughts on the apprentices who had joined her, the adepts in need of teaching. There were more than she had time to devote the needed attention to, yet she felt uncomfortable letting any of the others take over as masters. She would have to, of course. She already trusted those around her as much as she could trust anyone, which is to say, not very much. Zereth would be a fine teacher, though he topped the list of those who were likely to challenge her authority. Coupled with his unusual bond to Tyber, the volatile refugee from the Mandalorian Wars of four thousand years ago...? Who could say what would happen? Lyydea, Ireen, Torgeir - De'Ville was loathe to entrust their formative experiences with the Force to another.

    "Mand'alor?"

    She looked at Bretak, suddenly aware he'd been talking to her. "Yes?"

    "Would you like to take the call in the captain's office?" He was wearing his full armor, considering himself to be on duty and thus needing to be prepared. She was not wearing armor, preferring to wear it only for special occasions or missions, but her jumpsuit and cloak were embroidered with Mandalorian text and in the white, black, and red colors of Mand'alor. The white cloak trimmed in red and black swept around her ankles as she nodded and turned toward the office.

    De'Ville studied the information on the incoming transmission before pressing accept. It was routed through the usual back channels, making its origin difficult to trace, and it was directed toward their fully anonymized comm number. The one they used for the mercenary company, the one they called Ol'averde be Haar Mav. Company of the Free. They took work through word of mouth only, keeping their options open and taking only the jobs they wanted to do. Some of Kazaar's old associates had apparently passed on their information to a potential new client.

    She declined holographic connection, accepting a voice call only. Her own voice would be subtly modulated through the comms, keeping her identity carefully anonymous.

    "You have work for me?"
    Last edited by Lilaena De'Ville; Mar 3rd, 2019 at 12:16:51 PM. Reason: ttt



    oh what a tangled web I weave


  2. #2
    The droid IMP flew from one corner of the small room to the other. The mainframe AI of the now disbanded Imperial organization, the Nightmares, had been reduced to a shell of its former self. Subroutines of IMP lay dormant throughout remains of the Imperial Inquisitoriate's network infrastructure but every day other AI systems and mainframes cleaned and purged pieces away and newer levels were built on top with varying degrees of classification under new protocols that IMP no longer had authorization to.

    It had been impossible odds under the query that Inquisitor Victor Crestmere had set IMP to continue an unending search across the breadth of the Empire for any sign of the target. Statistically impossible. IMP had explained that to Inquisitor Crestmere in hopes that the human in whatever schizophrenic personality he had assumed would be able to grasp. But the endstate offered by the information was worth trying as it came to virtually no cost to Crestmere, IMP, or the ongoing operations.

    Since reduced to a droid, and Crestmere being the last member that IMP had been able to associate with, the AI had been assisting Crestmere conduct a passive insurgency and information operations at the fringes of Alliance and Imperial space for several years now. Crestmere had been operating as an information broker, Milliardo Kah'neh'dah, that mostly supported Alliance operations. Years of information and data had been stored in anticipation that Crestmere would one day reconnect with the Inquisitoriate, but no contact had been made. IMP did not have a recommendation either way. IMP could not conclusively determine the certificates of any Imperial Organization except for perhaps the internal revenue algorithm that collected taxes to an exacting degree.

    SIR. HOLOGRAPHIC CONNECTION DECLINED. COMM CHANNEL WITH COMPANY OF THE FREE ESTABLISHED. FOUR SECOND DELAY. VOICE MODULATION IDENTIFIED. VOICE MODULATION ENGAGED.

    The droid hovered around the sole inhabitant of the room. The Company of the Free had been the organization provided them as the best avenue to securing the target. The contact that had provided the information had made it clear that the Company of the Free would be interested under the premise that they were rescuing the imprisoned force adepts at the Liberty Resort, an Imperial Black Site, on the planet of Hoth.

  3. #3
    You know this isn't going to work.

    Victor ignored the shrill voice inside his head. Too much was on the line at this moment for distractions. Months of planning had led up to the moment. Not to mention countless man hours, forgotten favors called in, and one destroyed Republic Corvette later, Victor finally felt like all the pieces were in place. Now came the hard part...

    They'll know you're lying and then what?

    Milliardo Kah'Neh'Dah. The voice currently blabbing resided deep within the codex that was Victor's schizophrenic mind. Years ago Victor had been on Naboo impersonating a slythmonger when he was contacted by the aforementioned underling who was in possession of various types of information. An Alliance sympathizer himself, Milliardo dispensed information pertaining to Imperial armaments in neighboring star systems, a secret rendezvous of subversive senators plotting against a rival office, secret trade routes in the Outter Rim, and then, almost as an after thought, he dropped information about a rumored, off the books Imperial blacksite. He didn't know much else, but that didn't matter. Victor was intrigued. The how or the why this man had this type of information were naturally at the forefront of his mind, but the normal level of caution typically adopted by Victor in this situations was cast the wayside. Victor couldn't help himself. He longed for the deep dark secrets of the Empire. The line had been cast and like an Naboo Opee Sea Killer, Crestmere bit. Milliardo was scooped up and thrown into one of Victor's special holding cells and weeks later, Victor had added another persona to his vast repertoire.

    With the help of IMP and other various contacts Victor had made over the years as well as contacts of Milliardo, he finally tracked the the location of the blacksite to the planet Hoth. Fragments of classified documents hinted at some sort of facility that was specifically built to house force adepts that the Empire deemed too unpredictable, but Victor was never able to find much more. Whoever had sealed these documents, did so with the intentions of burying this place and those who resided in it...however, they didn't anticipate a former Nightmare getting his hands on this information.

    Victor needed access to the facility to ascertain just what was inside. A force adept had its uses if properly motivated with an explosive collar... Realizing that this was now a recon mission, discretion would be key but he couldn't actually be on site to access the facility. Instead, Victor would use several DRK-1 probe droids to do all the leg work. Using Milliardo's republic corvette, Victor programmed the ship crash land on the planets surface. After crashing, the probe droids set out under cover of darkness ( and a snow storm) to gather what they could about the blacksite. The droids were able to make access and relaid all information through Victors personal secret channels. It was hours later that IMP would tell Victor of the facilities VIP prisoner and their new target.

    "Maybe. Maybe not..."

    Before Victor could finish, the door to his quarters opened with a hiss and hovering ever so quietly outside the door was IMP. Victor had a soft spot for that droid. To say it reminded him of better days was an understatement, but what it lacked in tact, it made up with complete and total loyalty to the former Inquisitor. Granted, several of its previous functions have long been erased or rewritten, mainly by the will of the droid itself, IMP still played a large role in Crestmere's overall function.

    "IMP. Have you made contact?"

    SIR. HOLOGRAPHIC CONNECTION DECLINED. COMM CHANNEL WITH COMPANY OF THE FREE ESTABLISHED. FOUR SECOND DELAY. VOICE MODULATION IDENTIFIED. VOICE MODULATION ENGAGED.

    Four seconds may have caused a sense of dread and panic for some, but not for Victor. This is what he did. This is who he was and this is what he lived for, deception.

    "Greeeetings Company of the Free!" Victor said in a shrill voice. "My name is Milliardo Kah'Neh'Dah. You can call me Mill."

    My voice isn't that high ya know...

    "Let me start by saying, I loooove what you guys do!"

    Stop elongating my words...

    "Freeeeeing all those peoples and what not. Reeeeal deeeeeal life changers you guys are!"

    Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!

    "Wiiith that said, I don't suppose you guys would be interested in trading for some information? Ya know, of the secretive kind and what not."

    I hate you...

  4. #4
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    The voice coming through the comms was high pitched and instantly grating. Milliardo Canehda? She'd have to look up the spelling later. "It depends on the information. And what you want in trade." De'Ville was careful to inflect her vowel sounds with a Mandalorian accent as she spoke.

    She had precious little to barter with, except for the skill and expertise of her Mando'ade. They were still adjusting to their life in the stars, as opposed to their life on Onderon surrounded by constant death. Their colony on a remote part of Dantooine was already having something of a baby boom, now that the plants themselves were not trying to kill them.

  5. #5
    What!? Depends on the information my...

    Victor allowed himself a quick smile. While Milliardo went on about the credibility of his information, Victor instantly picked up on the inflection used by the other's voice. Mandalorian? Perhaps. When Victor first learned of the Company of the Free, he had heard rumors about their being Mandolarians within their ranks, but like most information these days, it was all rumors. Nothing concrete. Making a mental note to look into this more at a later date, Victor composed himself and continued.

    "I can assure you, this is geeeenuine, reeeeal deeeal, leeeegimate, information of the life saaaving kind! Riiight up your ally...that is, if what I heard about you is true and all?"

    In all honesty, it was a mixture of curiosity and fascination that provoked his current line of questioning. If this lady was truly of Mandalore decent, Victor needed to know which type: the new age, peace loving kind or the Death Watch (shoot first and never ask questions. Glory to the old days) type. What better way to get a quick response out of someone than to question their integrity? Victor quickly continued so as not to give her the option of replying right away. He wanted to poke the bear a little more.

    "Some peeeople say that you're only in it for the moneeey. Some peeeople say its about notorieeeety. Meee? I like to think its about saviiing folks, but what do I know? "

    I swear, when I get out...

    You don't "get out" moron.


    The others were beginning to stir and would do their best to make things difficult for Victor. He would have to remember to IMP check and tweak his neural implant after this.

  6. #6
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    The information broker was trolling for more information, and De'Ville wasn't about to give it to him. "Tell me what you have to sell, or this call is over." He seemed happy to beat around the bush but she'd spent too much time listening to his elongated words already. "Do you want to hire the Company, or do you know someone who does?"

  7. #7
    Well that didn't work now did it? Should have let me handles this.

    What part of this dont you understand? That is "you" handling this...Where do you find these people?

    My guess is that she didn't like to share with the class

    Even a broken clock is sometimes right... Victor thought to himself as the voices rambled on.

    "Now now, no neeeed to be seeensitive. Of course I want to hire you. I just neeeed to know that you can do the job... I am in posseeession of some ratheeer seeensitive Impeeerial infomation. The "how" and the "why" I have it, doeeesn't matter. What does matter, is that I want to beee rid of it."

    Victor was sure he had her attention at this point.

    "As far as my compeeensation, how about you owe meee a favor down the road? As this is someeething I am sure you won't want to pass up."

    Victor allowed for a dramatic pause, if only to irritate the caller a little more.

    "On the planeeet Hoth, theeere is a seeecrete Imperial black-site called Haveeen. It was built with the soul purpose of imprisoning those the Empire thought too... uncontrollable. Prisoneeers of war, political figureees, and force seeensitiveees alike. These poor souls are dropped off and never heeeard from again. I neeed you to do your thang and get them out. It's that simple."

  8. #8
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    She grunted, a sound somewhere between interest and disinterest. "Seems like if we do 'our thang' and get them out, that's the favor. Information on the location of the black-site, in exchange for us checking it out and breaking out the prisoners.

    "Simple enough for you?" De'Ville was already bringing up the Anoat Sector on her starcharts, selecting the Hoth System and enlarging it.

  9. #9
    Victor waved his hand in the air as if swatting a fly... "Bah, worth a shot! Theee coordinates aree as follows: 4124'12.2"N 210'26.5"E"

    Victor rubbed his temple. The voices were growing louder as time went by, making concentration even more difficult.

    "I am unsure about deeefeeenses as I have not verified theee information with my own eeyes, but I can asssure you that I got it from a veeery creeedible source. Howeeeveeer, given your your level of expeeertiseee, I'm sure you'll verify all this yourseeelf."

  10. #10
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    "We will." De'Ville input the coordinates into her holographic map of Hoth as he said them. Hoth was mapped fairly well, if you had the right security clearances. The Alliance had used the ice planet for a base years ago while they were solidly the Rebellion, and the Empire had proceeded to conduct a major ground battle to root them out from under their planetside shields. Both governments had high resolution scans of the planet, and while the Alliance had been forced to abandon their position in the Hoth system, it appeared the Empire had kept a finger on the planet.

    It was an ideal place to have a secret base, after all.

    The map of Hoth that she currently had in her ship's systems was one she had sliced out of the Alliance mainframe back when she was in SpecOps, in a package that had included almost all of the Rebellion's former bases. The intrusion into the system had never been traced back to her, if it had been discovered at all, but it was still out of date. The location of the abandoned Echo Base and the immediate fortifications were clearly marked, and kilometers of the planet were painstakingly mapped ...but the coordinates Milliardo had just given her were on the other hemisphere of the globe in a spot of irritating blank white.

    "If it is as you say, but not feasible for us to attack this so-called black site, then we will contact you on the number you are calling from. We will owe you a different favor."

  11. #11
    IMP cut the feed as soon as the voice finished.

    SIR. CONNECTION LOST. YOUR SHIP IS PREPARED FOR DEPARTURE.

    The sphere that housed IMP flitted about the room as if impatient. IMP had begun a number of anticipatory count downs based upon current factors and contributing circumstances.

    ==========

    "Hey. Wake up, Rook."

    The soldier stood up suddenly, brushing the ice off, startled and put off.

    "That's the kind of sleep you don't wake up from, new guy. This kind of cold, around here, we'd just as likely find your corpse tucked away like that."

    The Sergeant continued to scold the newcomer about the dangers of such negligence but the soldier quickly turned the noise off and drifted off as many were want to do whenever such invaluable mentors felt the need to impart more than 30 seconds of their wisdom. The soldier was not sure what he had done to be sent to Outpost Haven but he was sure that some great entity among the stars hated him sincerely. No one signed up thinking that they would be fresh out the gate, sent to Hoth on security detail. Security detail for what? He was constantly reminded that he did not have the adequate clearance to know what was going on here but what few things he had noted, still did not satisfy any of his major questions. No one ever went into the Black Turbo Lift. Things went into the lift, but no one from up here ever went down where ever the lift went. And the Black Turbo Lift did not go higher than the first floor as far as the soldier could tell of the five storied compound they operated out of. Large containers were delivered on an infrequent basis, and then the guards would put these containers unattended in the turbo lift. The black doors closed and that was it. Magic trick, the containers would disappear. Nothing came out though. The soldier never saw people or any containers ever return. 'Why' was his most frequent question, and higher ups just continued to remind him that questions like 'Why' were dangerous to say the least.

  12. #12
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    It was a door built into the side of an icy mountain. There was surely more to it than that, but the probe droid had only returned the images of a set of large doors. Analysis revealed the doors were big enough to admit a Lambda-class shuttle, but there were no ships in orbit. Hoth was, for all intents and purposes, an uninhabited world who's system was bordered by an imposing asteroid field.

    There could be anything hiding in the asteroid field, of course. Listening posts attached to the rocks, droid ships on standby hidden inside a bigger 'roid... The approach to the system would be done from the other side.

    The Aranar, an Interceptor-class frigate, was small enough to slip into the system relatively unnoticed - keeping the planet between itself and the black-site. De'Ville stood in the hold, the largest space on the ship, surrounded by cold-shielded speeders and bes'uliik. Basilisk War Droids. The droids, after centuries of refurbishing, resembled the muscular, panther-like bomas and deadly drexls from the Demon moon Dxun and it's planet, Onderon.

    The Mandalorians were experimenting with returning the battle droids to their space-faring capabilities, but so far they remained solely land based instruments of war. They also each had personalities of their own, much more like barely tamed beasts than droids. She placed a hand on the back of her mount, a boma patterned droid called Buruk, as Jeng spoke to her. "The buurenaar is developing around the site as predicted. Te buyacir cuyir kovid luubid at disrupt val munit chaaj transmissions."

    She nodded. The storm would keep the facility quiet and mask their approach, but it meant they would be traveling through a deadly blizzard. The armored verda around her were as prepared as they could be - warming suits on under the traditional Mandalorian plate armor, their distinct colors painted over with a dull white. They stood quietly as the ship descended roughly through the atmosphere of Hoth to their rendezvous point. "Gar kar'taylir te dajun. Gar cuir slanar at te top be te cerar, hiibir dayn te antenna while vi assault te Kurshok. Once bic cuyir tenn vi slanar o'r, kyr'amur anay imperial vi haa'taylir.

    "Meh bic goes dush, vi yaimpar olar at te Aranar. Ra, vi jor'chaajir te Aranar at mhi, bal load te prisoners onto bic. Bic Kelir cuyir crowded, a shi akay vi c'ogir te Haran. Suvarir
    ?"

    "We are tsikala," said Jeng, and the others agree. They were prepared, ready, and deadly silent as the ship hovered above the snowy plain they'd chosen, the bay doors opening. The force field flickered out, and the group of thirty Mando'ade were blasted with an icy wind, snow swirling into the ship as they mounted up. The bes'uliik, all eight of them, leapt out of the Aranar. The feet of the droids had been retrofitted to make traveling over the snow easier, and De'Ville grinned underneath her whitened helmet as Buruk bounded toward the horizon.

    The speeders whined through the air behind the bes'uliik, and the small group headed directly for the wall of storm clouds that they would travel beneath as it approached the black site. Behind them the Aranar lifted ponderously out of the atmosphere to maintain a low stationary orbit.



    *"You know the plan. You four go to the top of the mountain, take out the antenna while we assault the door. Once it is open we go in, kill every Imperial we see.

    If it goes bad, we return here to the Aranar. Or, we call the Aranar to us, and load the prisoners onto it. It will be crowded, but only until we reach the Haran. Understand?"
    Last edited by Lilaena De'Ville; Jul 20th, 2016 at 12:58:41 PM.

  13. #13
    The sergeant left the soldier after giving him the official tear down on both ears and a firm slap up the side of the newbie's helmet. He walked to the other side of the hangar, the largest room and the only room that led to the sub-levels below. The sergeant had been here since they first built this drenhole five years ago. All he needed was another dead newbie. They always stuck him with the daft ones. Then they always stuck him with a mediocre performance review for it. He half thought they had engineered some scheme that kept him on permanent guard duty there at Outpost Haven. And he'd still never seen anything past those turbolift doors.

    The sergeant did his rounds, checking on his charges, less the physical security and more the welfare and vigilance of the ten troopers underneath him. The hangar opened to the south, away from the mountain that the compound was backed up against. A corridor branched out to the east with the headquarters, comms, and the base defense and operations center (BDOC) and the corridor to the west led to the dining facility (DFAC), barracks, and the basic infrastructure to make the top level barely livable.

    Two more soldiers found sleeping, one he thought he'd nearly lost but with the kid's helmet off and some salts under his nose, the kid was up and about, waving his arms, snot and tears dripping from his face. That'll teach 'em. Not like anything was coming this way, but the boys needed to work to earn that pay. Anything else was stealing from the hardworking citizens of the Empire.

  14. #14
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    The storm howled around the Mandalorian warriors, but their pace barely slowed. The speeders were adequately protected from the bitter cold, and afforded their occupants some protection from the elements, but could be blown off course when the wind gusted strongly. They had fallen behind the basilisks, but were still near enough to show up on her armor's scanner. De'Ville had settled into a semi-comfortable position on the droid's back, her boots locked in as she crouched low on Buruk. The basilisk droid had enough weaponry on it to take on a squad of AT-STs, as did all of it's kin.

    The doors of the hangar would not last long against the assault of seven basilisks. A warning chime sounded in her ear, and De'Ville focused on her HUD, bringing Buruk to a halt where they were still out of sight from the doors, even if they had not been riding inside a blizzard. The droid paced a little, a quirk of it's animal-like programming, as the other Mando'ade gathered around her. The storm had strengthened to whiteout conditions, and they were relying completely on their electronic links to stay together. Speaking of - one of the speeders was missing. De'Ville pressed her lips into a line. They would either find their way out of the storm, or they would not. The loss of five warriors was not one she took lightly, but they were committed to their plan, and would have to make do. "We will remain here until you signal their comms are cut."

    Aang, the Mando'ade leading the assault on the communications array that was cleverly disguised on the top of the mountain, nodded. Not that anyone could really see it - with everyone in white against a white background, it was like being surrounded by ghosts. Only her HUD, and the Force, was not fooled, telling her where everyone was. A Mando'ade from a speeder climbed onto the back of Aang's basilisk, and they bounded off.

  15. #15
    ===== 24:00 =====

    "Ey, did you find him yet?"

    The sergeant walked down the hallway, slinging his rifle, checking his commlink.

    "Ey, hey! Respond already!"

    The sergeant found one of his subordinates with his helmet off, checking the commlink.

    "Sarge, you're voice cut off mid transmission."

    The sergeant shook his head and sighed.

    "Great... Great. Go find Corporal Ferden, go check the comm array status. Bet a chunk of the hillside took it out again. The whole network is likely down if that's the case... I better head to the lift. The supervisor'll be up here any second to ask what we're doing about it."

    The sergeant shook his head, sighing, turning back the way he had come towards the hangar and where the lift would soon be opening up with one of his least favorite people this side of the galaxy.

    ===== 23:53 =====

    "Madame Supervisor. The comms are out."

    The trooper in black metallic armor stood off to the side of the room. The woman sat in a black leather chair, the dark room cast in the dim blue glow from the cylinder in the middle of the room. The glass of wine in her hand caught the reflection as much as the metallic sheen of her hand.

    "And captain?"

    She could sense the man's impatience and she'd let him marinate in it. Stupid dog, wasting her time with trivialities.

    "Protocol requires that I notify the supervisor in case of lost connection with the reserve forces positioned at the sigma vector. We currently have 23 hours and 51 minutes to re-establish the connection before they arrive en masse with the purge directive, Madame Supervisor."

    Oh that. Supervisor Llawl pursed her lips in frustration. She rose, straightening her black officer's uniform before sipping the wine, breathing it in, closing her eyes.

    "Two guards, two minutes, at the lift ready to go up. Don't make me wait for it either..."

    As she walked away, her cybernetic fingers slid across the surface of the massive glass cylinder in the middle of the room, ice flaking from it's surface. She smiled grimly as her fingers trailed by the shadow of the hand within. She stepped out of the lounge that had once been the place where they froze the first round of prisoners. They had not had to freeze any prisoners for some time; for the most part they arrived already prepackaged of which the supervisor had no complaints. The man in the tube that she had just left had been the last supervisor. He had been trouble, not fit for this kind of isolation. Plus he'd made for a poor husband after all was said and done.

    Leaving the lounge led her out into the storage area of sub level 7, the second deepest where most of the staff remained. The storage area was a massive sprawl, row after row of cylinders similar to that in her lounge. Row after row of prisoner, dissidents, trouble makers, and the unwanted of the Empire. There was a groan that made her turn her head sharply as if the noise was unfamiliar. Even after the last few years, she never really grew used to the groans of the metal compound in the dark, as if the mountain was leaning against the walls. And the noise seemed even worse on the level below. Most of the guards, elite storm troopers, would not even remain down on sub level 8 for long. Sub level 8 harbored the true dangers to the Empire, Force Adepts of all sorts, and even Supervisor Llawl had suspicions that some of them were not truly capable of true captivity while cryo-frozen.

  16. #16
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    The cluster shockwave generator rods in the nose of Buruk hummed with energy as she pointed the big droid's head toward the thick durasteel hangar doors. Jeng and Vason activated the rods in their basilisks as well, and the shockwave generators fired in unison, the sonic waves tearing through the doors while Choruk, Teroch, and Granoi stood ready on their own war droids.

    As the doors exploded into the space behind them, the three Mando'ade and their huge basilisks bounded through the hole, laser cannons firing at any thing that moved. Shoot first, ask questions never. Lilaena nudged Buruk with her knees, and the three meters tall droid leapt into the facility. "Guard the exit," she commanded it, standing up on it's back and jumping off, turning a neat somersault in the air and landing lightly. The speeders had been left outside the doors, the Mandalorian Acolytes flying in through the hole with their jetpacks as the blizzard swirled in behind them.

  17. #17
    ===== 23:50 =====

    The sergeant was idly standing beside the lift, waiting for his inevitable pain of the day. The wind sounded something fierce outside, like it was so strong that the hangar doors themselves were bending inwards. He had just glanced in that direction when the hangar exploded. He scrambled behind some storage containers, heart pounding as he brought his EL-11 rifle up and over the container.

    "Contact! We've got contact in the hangar-"

    He stopped himself short, remembering that comms were down. Through his shock, it clicked that maybe the comms going out and the metal monstrosities walking through the hole in the front doors were likely connected.

    "Frak."

    Corporal Ferden and the other trooper from before came running into the hangar, firing wildly as they tried to get to some cover. The sleepy troopers from the other wing came in at the same time, half dodging the random shots from the other two.

    "Frakking frak."

    ===== 23:47 =====

    COMPOUND ACCESS COMPROMISED, MAIN LEVEL. BLASTER FIRE DETECTED.

    The turbo lift came to a halt as the black armored trooper immediately redirected the lift back down.

    "Show me..."

    The metal bracelet on her organic arm extended, uncoiling, and the holoscreen appeared, displaying the security cams. Mandolorians? And war droids? She chewed on her tongue in frustration. What were a bunch of scavenging raiders doing out here? Likely they had no idea what they were after, just that while living in whatever drenhole they lived in, they'd seen a shuttle stop by now and then and figured they would finally take the opportunity.

    "Captain."

    "Madame Supervisor."

    "Muster your men. We have unwanted visitors."

    "Roger, I see them. We're positioning ourselves at sub levels 6 through 8."

    "No, put some on all levels, they're only scavengers and they're going to take the path of least resistance."

    "Madame, they have war droids that will fit on that lift you're currently standing in. I need to mass what firepower I have. We're not equipped to fight one of those... things."

    The lift reached sub level 7, doors opening to reveal a squad of troopers standing by waiting to get on board themselves and reinforce according to the Captain.

    "Do as you're ordered, Captain."

    "Madame, you have the run of things but quite frankly, I have matters of security. I understand the purge protocol is underway. We'll funnel them into the automated defenses first and then I'll handle them from there. Sub levels 1 through 5 are acceptable losses in this case. We will drop the fail safes if they hit those levels first. Captain Aveedes out."

    The audible click of the channel meant that her command channel was her alone. Storm troopers, even the elite... The supervisor headed for her main offices, troopers avoiding her like she was one of those lumbering war droids herself.
    Last edited by Y'roth Helghast; Jul 21st, 2016 at 12:10:25 PM.

  18. #18
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    ==23:45==

    Buruk's laser cannon took a snowtrooper's legs off before the man even realized he'd been hit, his blaster rifle splattering bolts up the wall and into the ceiling of the hangar as he fell back to the ground in a screaming pool of red. The bes'uliiks held back, however, content to guard the new entrance they'd created while the Mando'ade streamed inside. De'Ville had run at the first two snowtroopers who'd challenged them, using the Force to enhance her speed so she was on them before they realized she'd closed the distance. She jammed her blaster under one's helmet at the chin, pulled the trigger. He dropped to the ground as she turned on the second trooper, flicking her fingers and yanking his EL-11 to the side with the Force, sending his shot off course as Jeng leveled his Mandalorian disintegrator at him, a white bolt taking the trooper in the chest and blowing a hole through him.

    There were two snowtroopers still firing, from the back of the hangar behind some storage containers. One was yelling something, maybe orders, maybe a last prayer to whatever deity he worshiped. De'Ville gestured toward the east and west passages, and ten Acolytes split off to clear the area, five down each side. The remaining troopers kept firing at the Mando'ade, and it was tempting to use Buruk to blast the containers to smithereens, but she didn't want to risk destroying the turbolift behind them.

    Lilaena raised her arm and fired a grappling hook from her gauntlet into the ceiling above the sergeant while Choruk and Granoi kept him occupied by returning fire. She lifted off from the ground at speed, flying through the air at an angle until she released the high tensile wire, dropping down behind him, in front of the large turbolift. To his credit, the sergeant tracked what was happening and nearly caught her with a bolt when she landed, but she ignited her lightsaber and deflected the bolt harmlessly away.

  19. #19
    The sergeant kicked himself backwards into the corner of the storage crater against the wall. Mandolorians, war droids, lightsabers. It was all too much. Too much for him and his sleepy squad. The poor boys, they had not stood a chance. Where were the reinforcements? Where were all those people that disappeared down below? Would they come? Would they save them? He leveled his rifle at the warrior with the lightsaber approaching him, thinking back to his thoughts only an hour or so ago. What had he done to deserve this? His finger pulled the trigger in a burst of defiant futility.

    ===== 23:42 =====

    "I count 21, Sir."

    "Count again... Look there, at the one with the lightsaber."

    Captain Aveedes pointed at the screen, tapping at the image of the warrior that deflected the blaster fire with a lightsaber. The guards, insignificants that maintained the mundane top level were being massacred. From inside his helmet, Aveedes could feel his skin press against the inside as he grinned. Finally.

    "Lieutenant. We need to rethink this. These are not simple raiders."

    "Agreed, Sir. Speculation, war droids, all well equipped and relatively uniform, and a lightsaber. They're here to rescue a prisoner likely."

    "Rescue, revenge, extraction. One of those are likely. We can deny all of it to them and still weather this. Blow level one, send a message. Let them stew over it."

    "Roger that, for the Empress."

    "For the Empress."

  20. #20
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    The sergeant's head rolled away from his body as Lilaena whirled her lightsaber in an arc, ending the flourish by burying it to the hilt in the chest of the other trooper. The hangar became quiet as the defenders were silenced, and she turned her attention toward the turbolift as some of her Acolytes mapped the rest of the ground floor, destroying without mercy whatever resistance they uncovered.

    There was none. For an Imperial facility it seemed to rely a bit too much on it's secrecy to keep it safe. The wind howled across the ragged opening in the doors, and the basilisk droids paced to and fro while Lilaena studied the door. She stared at it intently, delving into it's electronic structures with the Force, finding the soft areas that she could manipulate.

    The ground shook beneath their feet, and Teroch cursed loudly as ice fell from the high ceiling to smash on the duracrete ground. "Seismic activity below, Manda'lor," he said, and she nodded. The lift shaft went down, not up. The real guardians of this place were below. She made a fist, and the turbolift doors opened, revealing a freight-sized lift that even the war droids could fit inside.

    It was the obvious way down, and she disliked using the obvious way. "Look for vents," she ordered, stalking into the 'lift with Buruk by her side.

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