Mission Aggressive Negotiations | THR . TIC

[Brendan Varko]

B R E N D A N
V A R K O

---

Imperial Secret Service




The Confederation's Dagger







External Security







Agent Varko

---

LOCATION: Lola Sayu, Citadel.







OBJECTIVE: ENSURE Cynan Obaith is under Imperial Custody




GEAR:







RK -3 Blaster Pistol



















Plasteel Bindings (3 pairs)















Imperial Wrist mounted Commlink















Medpac containing 3 Bacta and 3 Synthskin vials, 3 vials of Somniject. Each vial has 2 doses, (it might change for different targets.)















Vibro knife











Spun Durasteel Garrote











Standard Encrypted Security pad and Code cylinder for Authorization.




OUTFIT:



Tactical armorweave compression suit



Zeyd-cloth bandana



Tan neck-gaiter (conceals face)



Podracer goggles



Black Zeyd-cloth duster



Synthweave gloves



Sound dampener ear-plug

---

Halfway to the upper tiers, the power grid of the lift flickered, a victim of the heavy strain from the ongoing battle elsewhere in the fortress. With a violent, bone-jarring lurch, the lift seized. The safety clamps slammed into the guide rails with a shriek of tortured metal, bringing the lift to a dead stop between levels.



Brendan didn't waste a second cursing the machinery. He slides the RK-3 into the holster. With a predatory instinct, he springs towards the ceiling hatch, popping the manual release with his gloves hands before hauling his own weight upward to the roof of the lift with ease.


The heavy blast doors, which were an entrance to a floor a couple of meters above the stopped lift, had opened due to a faulty emergency sensor, with a loud mechanical hiss.


The sound had attracted a lone clone trooper, DC-15S raised infront of him as he approaches the noise.


Brendan yanks his RK-3 out from the holster with one swift motion, as a response to the noise of footsteps.


The clone's eyes sweep through the dark environment, his visor helping him with spotting any details.



Brendan tried staying in the shadows of the cables, but it was useless. The clone had already spotted him.

Brendan fires off a shot completely out of guessing and instinct instead of aiming properly.


"What the--?! END O' THE LINE, IMP!"


Brendan had his RK-3 levelled at the clone, but before he could fire off again, the current silence was shattered by the rhythmic, high-pitched cracks of the Clone's DC-15S spraying.


Each blue bolt from the clone's DC-15S screamed through the air with an electric whine, stray bolts slamming everywhere.


Brendan's Stava-conditioned reflexes only carried him so far, he pounce-rolled after coiling both his legs like springs and launching himself forward to temporarily break line of sight.



Despite Brendan's flawless execution of the pounce roll technique, a bolt still hits him at the right shoulder.


The Armorweave managed to dissipate the energy of the bolt, but it still couldn't minimize all the painful effects the bolt had.


The sheer kinetic energy of the shot threatened to pop the joint from the socket, Brendan was saved only by his conditioning, barely.


Brendan slides onto the blind spot, leaning his back against the wall of the shaft as his right arm involuntary spasms and he drops his RK-3, letting out a faint growl.




The lift's cables started fraying a little bit.

Brendan waits for the cables to transition into a more steadier state.

Both of them observed their surroundings and assessed the situation to make their next move, within a third of a moment.

Thermal detonator tapes. The Clone had Thermal Detonator tapes. Brendan's mind immediately came up with a plan. The tapes were at either side of the Clone's belt.


Both of the combatants had adapted a bladed stance to make themselves a smaller target. However, Brendan utilizes the advantage of the "lower ground", crouching to make himself a smaller target for a Clone looking from above in that position.


The clone had already consolidated to a different position on the doorframe to enter line of sight for spraying again, which was exactly what Brendan wanted.

Brendan's left hand tightens around the RK-3's frame

Brendan fires off a shot at the clone's previous position with the precision of his RK-3 Blaster pistol.


"KEEP SHOOTIN' THE AIR, IMP! It's the only thing you'll ever hit--!"

The control panel erupts into molten sparks as Brendan's shot strikes true. The circuit starts to fail as a result of the shot, the heavy blast doors started closing in on the Clone like the jaws of a trap.


The Clone was crushed and gored into 2 unequal halves by the heavy blast doors.


The half containing one of the tapes fell down on the shaft, on the lift's roof, beside Brendan.


Brendan started to unclip the tape from the Clone's belt, and inspects the design of the detonator directly attached to the tape.

Brendan pulls the collar of the duster and the compression suit away from specifically the anterior head of his shoulder, where the kinetic energy had the most impact.

Brendan injects himself with Bacta, on the shoulder. The hiss of the hypo syringe was the only sound inside the cramped shaft.


Hauling himself up the cable would be barely doable, or even easy now that he has injected himself with Bacta.


Brendan pulls his weight up, ascending to reach a specific height so that he can set the thermal detonator tape on the heavy blast door. He glanced at the gored remains of the Clone, almost with zero empathy.



He uses his legs to hang on the thick, industrial durasteel cable as he pulls out the polycarbonate reel. He pressed the end of the Flex-5 Detonite tape against the door's seam. The adhesive immediately bit into the cold metal.


Brendan ran the polycarbonate reel on the door in a vertical line.



He pressed the detonator on. There wasn't an explosion, there was only the sharp hiss and the sound of the heavy blast doors finally yielding to their own weight and falling at the catwalk with a very loud noise.


CLANG-THOOM!

As the frame of the blast doors fell, Brendan leapt onto the doorframe, his RK-3 held on his right hand, and the vibroknife on his left, with a reverse grip to ensure structure behind his stabs.


He was much closer than before, he began noticing faint traces.

---

 

[Prisoner #36929]

Tags: Kirae Orade​

She started to answer him, then her tone shifted. "Down." He felt it too. A tightening in the air. A split second later he dropped to his knees as blaster fire tore through the corridor. Bolts screamed overhead and slammed into her shield and armor in a shower of sparks.

The impact rattled his teeth even from the floor. He scrambled behind her as she stepped in front of him, shield raised. Shots hammered into it in rapid succession. Slugs rang against her chestplate. The armor held. It looked like it hurt, but she didn't falter.

What is that armor made of?

The shield left her arm in a violent arc, spinning down the hallway. It hit the first trooper center mass and kept going. Two more fell before the rest scattered.

"Shoot. Them." He was already up on one knee. The Nagai leaned out from behind her and fired. One shot, adjust, fire again. He didn't think. His hands corrected for recoil automatically. He led targets without effort. White armor sparked and dropped.

How do I know how to do this?

The shield tore through the line again before snapping back toward them. They began stepping backward together, her moving cover, him firing in bursts over the rim of the returning shield.

They worked cleanly. Though he supposed the massive shield and armor helped.

Blasterfire intensified from deeper in the hall. More troops were reinforcing. He ducked, popped up, fired again. A trooper spun and fell.

"Where are your friends?" he called over the noise, breathing hard but steady. Because if this was just the two of them, they weren't walking out of here alone.

 

[Searal Nis]

Searl's face twisted in disgust at the Mandalorian as he took off his helmet, revealing a patchwork of scars and blood. He smelt worse than he looked, a mixture of dirt and a coppery tang coming off him with such a pungent stench she felt like she could see faint ripples of air ooze out of his face. "You deserve to see what's killing you." He did not need to remove his helmet for Searl to know what he was, an animal. Whatever pretense of honour or glory the Mandalorians used to justify themselves rang hollow when it was carried by men like him. But suddenly, she spun her head to see another man die, a guard just behind her was trying to sneak in a shot through his monologue. But he was too slow as the Mandalorian returned fire, dropping him before she had the chance to deflect it away. That was more death he would pay for. "No interruptions." This was just a game to him. "Korda Veydran. Clan Veydran. The Majestic Flame of Manda."


"I don't care." Searal spat out at him, refusing to acknowledge him. He could have been Mandalore himself, and she still would have denied him that. He was just an animal in a beskar shell; whatever titles or honorifics he would smear himself with could not hide that. He was all theatrics, stowing away his vibrosword for his gauntlets. "It's been too long since I fought a Force wielder." She knew what this was; he was trying to impress his peers. Killing a force-sensetive, no matter how inexperienced, was an impressive feat, and doing so with only your barehands would be song-worthy. He didn't just want to kill her, but make her death humiliating. She might have been young and inexperienced, but she was still an Imperial Knight, and she would make him pay for his arrogance.


"Show me your openings." With that, he threw a fist, a heavy right. She remembered the sting of pain from his gloves and had no intention of blocking it. He may have been a brute, but she had her speed. She deftly weaved under his arm and, with a far more relaxed grip on her lightsaber, flicked her wrist up to decapitate his arm from off his shoulder. He had left himself widely exposed, in exactly the place his beskar would have been weakest. But he was quicker than he seemed, as she ducked down to weave under the strike, he hot out a kick, which bruised even beneath her armour, sending her inches back, inches that saved his arm as her lightsaber clashed against his armbrace instead, in a flash of sparks and a plasma. But she would not let him counterattack; she would keep the offensive on her side. She ignored the throbbing pain in her leg and stood up fully, following up her strike with a horizontal slash straight for his neck.
Korda Veydran

 

[The Lord of Hunger]

LOCATION: Naboo, Dominique Vexx' offices
OBJECTIVE: Offering a deal
IMPORTANT LINKS: Sword #1 | Sword #2 | Armor | Jewel | Ring | Necklace | Gauntlet | DIII Gluttoneria | The guards | KRONOS
TAG: Ronhar Tane | Joseph Torson | Rackham | Cynan Obaith | Barragh Nenn | Dominique Vexx

Are you willing to make a deal?


As he passed through the vortex he had created, the Dealmaker knew it best to no longer tally too much on Cynan Obaith 's freedom of movement, no longer utilizing the force to restrain him in any way, even making things more comfortable by removing the physical restraints that still remained from his time within the penal facility by simply snapping his fingers. The cold, inhuman crimson and golden eyes turned towards Dominique Vexx for a moment, before scanning the room and noticing the level of protection she had organized for herself. A chuckle escaped his lips as he made a dramatic bow, almost like a jester, yet with the added aura of someone who wouldn't even blink and eye about massacring every single being standing in said room without even a single emotional imbalance or moral apprehension within their very core to refrain from doing something like that.

Yet, here he was...doing perhaps the impossible and probably the most unexpected thing... hand delivering the person the High Republic had now effectively started a war for. With this one mere gesture, the Dealmaker was making a clear statement, 'She' had essentially approved the death of hundreds, if not thousands on a single day for the sake of one man. her government had chosen aggression and military action against an entire government and its people over the idea of seeking out the ones who already loudly objected the cause of this matter within said government. No dialogue, no commitment to peace, tranquility and reason.

"I really don't mind war... I don't mind a fight here and there once in a while," The masked man eyed the jedi present for a moment, letting out a soft chuckle, as if to indicate he was ready to go at any given moment if this jedi wished for it to be so. "But hypocrisy... lies and deceptions which serve little purpose and defy any common sense... Now you have to admit, that's just comedy gold, wouldn't you agree... Chancellor Vexx?"

Clapping his gloved hands and letting out a louder, somewhat more sinister chuckle, the Dealmaker tilted his head into an almost impossible, practically 'painful-to-watch' angle as he looked at her, then glanced at the ambassador, and returned his attention back to her. "It's almost baffling how not one, but two governments seem to rather burn entire star systems rather than choose dialogue... yet one is a warrior culture, one who in truth had some valid claims... they were easily manipulated, but still valid claims. The joke though, is that the 'other' government opting to burn star systems and wage war... had no such reasoning, no such valid concerns... they knew who wronged them, they knew which individual to target and they could've easily known how to deal with this through proper channels."

raising one hand and pointing his finger towards the Jedi, the masked man chuckled once again. "Does this follower of the Jedi scripture and tennets know what you have done, what you have allowed to happen...nay, sanctioned?"

"So let me offer you a deal... you nor the High Republic will escape the scrutiny and the damage this will inevitably cause... but I can give you a reprieve, an accord... I have offered you your diplomat as a sweetener to such a deal...and for now, everyone in this room is still alive...that's a two for one deal already. Now...do you want to hear your options?"

​

 

[Aiden Porte]

Joseph Torson
Indirect: Mao Dominique Vexx​

Torson's men answered Aiden's approach with disciplined fire, bolts stitching the air in tight patterns meant to pin him in the open. Aiden did not stop. He turned his blade in compact arcs, catching the first volley and sending it into the ceiling where it burst in a shower of sparks that dimmed the strobing lights. He drove forward through the smoke and glare, his presence pressing down like a steady weight.

A trooper stepped out to flank him. Aiden's free hand lifted and the Force snapped the man into the wall hard enough to end the attempt before it began. Another raised a rifle at close range and Aiden sheared the barrel away, then struck with the flat of the blade's motion, dropping him without lingering. The line around Torson thinned in seconds as Aiden split their angles and broke their rhythm, moving as if the corridor itself belonged to him.

He caught a glimpse past the elevator doors and felt it at the same time, the absence where the senator should have been. The extraction had already happened, fast and clean, guided by someone from within their enemy's own structure.

Aiden keyed his comm. "Senator is gone. Evacuated from the inside. Unknown asset, possibly a turncoat or a new ally. I do not have confirmation."

He advanced one more step, forcing Torson's remaining men to backpedal under the pressure of the Force and the threat of the blue blade. The purpose of the fight had shifted. The objective was no longer here.

"Fall back," Aiden ordered, voice calm and absolute. "Our task is complete."

He held his saber low as he turned, guarding the retreat with the same steadiness he had used to attack, and led his troopers away from the elevators and out of the kill zone.

Thread Exit​

 

[Korda Veydran]

The white blade came in fast.
Too fast for most men.
But Korda Veydran was not most men.

The instant the lightsaber swept for his neck, his vambrace snapped up in a brutal, practiced motion. Beskar caught the blade with a violent hiss, white plasma screaming across the metal as it scraped along the armored forearm. A fan of sparks burst outward, scattering across the smoke-filled corridor.

Korda leaned into the block instead of away from it.
Closing the distance.
"Not today."

His other arm drove forward immediately, armored fist punching toward Searal's gut with the weight of a man used to fighting inside beskar. The blow was meant to crash into the center of her torso and steal the breath from her lungs before she could flow into another strike.

"I didn't survive Battle of Yaga Minor just to die to some rookie saber jockey."
The words came out rough, half a growl through blood-split lips.

Behind them, the corridor echoed with distant blaster fire and shouting prisoners, but Korda barely heard it. The world had narrowed to the glow of that white blade and the young Knight holding it.
A voice crackled faintly from the comm unit resting against the collar of his armor.

Siv.
Korda's eyes flicked for only a fraction of a second toward the corridor behind Searal before he answered.
"Copy that, Siv."
His tone stayed steady despite the lightsaber grinding against his vambrace.

"If it gets ugly, I'll call."
He clicked his tongue.
A moment later something soft shifted across the plates along his back.
Oro slid down from where she'd been clinging to the ridges of his armor.

The two-foot fluffy hognose dropped to the floor with a small thump, thick body coiling instinctively before she began to slither and shuffle toward Siv. Her fuzzy body dragged lightly across the floor, little nose twitching as the battle noise echoed around her.

Korda didn't look back.
His eyes stayed locked on Searal.
"Keep her safe," he said toward Siv.
A pause.

The Mandalorian rolled his shoulders once, resetting his stance. The battered plates of his armor caught the cold glow of the Knight's white lightsaber. The jaig eyes painted across his left chestplate stared forward through the haze, and the four tally marks carved into his helmet hanging from his belt swayed slightly with the movement.

"And if I fall…"
His fingers curled slowly into fists.
"…watch after her."
Then his attention returned fully to Searal. Blood streaked down one side of his face, but the grin that followed was unmistakably amused.

A low chuckle rumbled out of him.
"Alright, saber jockey."
He shifted his footing, squaring up again as the white blade hummed between them.
"Show me what you've got."

Tags: Searal Nis Siv Kryze

 

[Dominique Vexx]

The Chancellor stood by patiently as the miasma formed into two people: Ambassador Obaith, and... someone else with a flare for the dramatic. And still, she listened as the man crowed about their circumstances. Jested about the fates of those dying on Loya Sayu. Bloviating about claiming that the tables had turned.

A moment passed after The Lord of Hunger made his 'offer.' Then another.

At last, the Chancellor spoke, "You people never learn."

"You started on the right foot returning the Ambassador," she extended a hand in Cynan Obaith 's direction. "You had my attention. Then you immediately started to flaunt your superiority and make demands of me believing yourself our betters." Her hand fell back to her side and disappeared behind her back.

"It might surprise you to learn, I have no interest in waging war on the Imperial Confederation. Our attention is better spent elsewhere. I even sought to hold discussions in spite of our differences, and the legal challenges that would be brought forward as a result. Because, in the end, despite our differences, a meaningful outcome can be reach in our cooperation." A humorless smile touched her painted lips.

The smile then vanished as swiftly as it had appeared. "That was before you abducted our Ambassador, demanded I all but turn Corellia over to you, and refused to return him when I asked politely. And whether you accept the responsibility or not, Supreme Commander Marlon Sularen of the Imperial Confederation does represent your government -- just as you are, now. You might think it looks like you hold the moral high ground here, but it only appears that way."

"Your kind thinks this Republic is a nation that strangles itself with morality and legalese. Constrained to do the 'right thing' at any cost. You think to take advantage of the good nature of people that only want to live in peace and prosperity -- goals that do not necessitate governments seek to annihilate one another. And, so, with negotiations at a stand still, and the continued flaunting of our good intentions, you have what you wanted. Not what you asked for, but what you wanted. An excuse. A justification."

"And, frankly, sir," the speed with which Dominique delivered the next words deliberately slowed, "I don't care if you feel justified in whatever you do next. I will not allow my people to be pawns in your games."

With a brief pause and a slight, unnecessary straightening of her posture, the Chancellor added, "So, if you have something you wish to discuss concerning our future... If the return of the Ambassador is a show of good faith... My advice is that you take this moment for what it is, and not what you wish it to be. Otherwise, please depart with the same speed and welcome in which you arrived. Alone."