Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

Register a free account today to become a member! Once signed in, you'll be able to participate on this site by adding your own topics and posts, as well as connect with other members through your own private inbox!

Private Audition

Dreighton Nebula
Enroute to the Imdaar System, Vyraal-class Stealth Transport

It was a motley crew that had been gathered into the transport heading into the Dreighton Nebula. Some of the northern Rim's best mercenaries, assassins, and bounty hunters had all received notification of a job that would take them into the Dreighton Triangle for a mission, the employer anonymous, but acceptance of the job had meant half of their pay upfront, the other half upon completion. Two Trandoshan hunters, decked out in knives and blasters. A Kaleesh slowly sharpening his bone spear. A masked female figure, wearing gray and white armor. An assassin droid of some unknown, possibly Gree design, and its Human companion. A shifty-looking Devaronian with a slicer glove was nervously tapping on a datapad. Two more armored Humans, one male and one female, toting heavy weapons. And the younger woman, the last-minute addition to the team.

At the front of the ship, a well-dressed man who had only introduced himself as an intermediary for their employer, was speaking. "We are a few minutes out from the Imdaar system. The target for your mission is believed to be a facility constructed by the now-defunct Diarchy's Internal Security Forces or their Network. It has become a base for a remnant of the Diarchy's armed forces under the command of a Tribune. Your objectives are twofold: Obtain any data on what project might have been contained within the facility and to eliminate the Tribune and their staff. Expect heavy resistance from whatever troops they have gathered here. When the objectives are achieved, activate the provided beacons for pickup."
 
4CL0iSw.png




Armour had been forgone on this occasion. It left Indra in just her black bodysuit, the one she had worn as Lordsblade for Diarch Rellik. Once, it was a uniform worn with pride. Now, it was as good as rags. As soon as she had the credits for a more protective weave, she would ditch it in the nearest trash receptacle.

The mission, and its hired crew, was just another drop in a steady stream of jobs. Her reputation in former Black Sun space was rising, but she felt nothing for it. She cared nothing for those present. Let them look at her with disdain, discontent, or lechery. They did not matter. None of this did, save for the credits that made her meaningless existence a fraction more comfortable.

Around her, the crew traded logistics. They argued over expected resistance and facility layouts. Indra let them talk. She preferred to let the Force lead, leaving the tedious thinking to others. If she died today, what of it?

Yet, one detail lingered as she lifted her old Diarchy helmet. This facility was formerly of the Diarchy. The realisation sparked a cold, unfamiliar friction against her numbness. It was a single glimmer of purpose in the abyss of space.

Servos whirred. Her red visor shifted from the back of her helmet, clicking into place over her face. Indra locked herself into the task at hand.



 

Users who are viewing this thread

Top Bottom