M E A T B A G
Location: Unknown, Last Sighted Above the Palace District.
Mission: Survive
Allies: The Galactic Alliance, Rogue Squadron, BB-24 'Buttercup'
Enemies: The One Sith
Equipment: DL-44 Heavy Blaster Pistol
Standing within the sundered tenement, I watched on with baited breath as the arc torch had eclipsed the header of the piston-driven door. It would be only a matter of time until the men on the other side had torn the door free from it's housing and entered this shattered chamber with little opposition. I had to admit; there wasn't much my Peashooter could do against fully armed and armored Enemy Combatants. Now if only I had my Scattergun, then the odds would've been in my favor. Tight quarters and a large spread equal an every growing tally with every roaring discharge. However, like my copilot, the devastating weapon had passed on into whatever afterlife awaited it, leaving me terribly alone and outmatched. My comrades would believe me dead, and any available, friendly units nearby were dealing with their problems, abandoning me to the mercy of those that were nearly finished slicing through the door.
So much for the unofficial Squadron motto of leaving no sibling-in-arms behind!
No. I couldn't think like that. I wasn't alone, in the beginning, and though it was painfully clear that the truth was opposite of what my mind had decided to accept, I wasn't alone now. Rogue Four was merely sleeping, and it was my watch. She depended on me for protection, and that's exactly what I would do until my last breath. Fear had no place in my thoughts. Thus I lied to myself to keep a steady grip on my sidearm. Taking comfort in my mental fabrication, I felt the end come long before my gaze had registered what would happen. The sudden rush of fire caressing my exposed flesh. The scent of seared ozone pervading the air. My wordless cries of agony echoing between the deadly exchange. What I had seen in vivid flashes, was my future, and by the grace of whatever power flowed through my cursed veins, I was granted a vision of my own death.
The experience had taken me by surprise, and as the door was wrenched from its housing, I fell to the rubble-strewn floor with my violet eyes wide in shock. The sensation was, well, fatalistic and was something I'd never wish to endure again, but as the Stormtroopers began filing into the room with their weapons raised - I knew all too well that this time might be real, rather than a construct of my malignant gifts. In the moments that followed their explosive entrance, I could scarcely recall had what transpired. My weapon, though I had fallen prone, was still raised as they made their cautious advance. I remember the sounds of blaster fire and the cauterizing sting of their deadly kiss rending my flesh asunder. But, despite all my efforts to draw upon what had taken place - I was bereft of answers.
Duraplast-armored corpses had crumbled to their knees, ringing me with the billowing stench of their decaying bodies. My pistol, lay lifelessly in the growing pool of their blood, soon to be drenched in the crimson waters of life. The hand, which looked like my own, but felt detached from the whole, was outstretched like a carrion's talon. Had I unwittingly given into my curse, and allowed such evils to be wrought upon those that sought to claim my life? I couldn't say. Hell, I didn't even know what happened. It was like one moment blurred into the next, and time had finally restored my perception of events without the recollection. An oddity, that perhaps one day I would pursue; but as I was alone behind enemy lines - there was much I needed to do.
Slipping in the gathering pool of blood as I sought to rise, my body had smashed into the duracrete debris and sent shivers of agony down my wounded form. I was made painfully aware that, in my haste to rouse myself from this depressing mirage, it led only towards the worsening of my injuries. Trying to stifle a soured laugh, I made the attempt again - though this time having learned from my mistake and placing my weight upon the more stable sections of the floor and a nearby corpse. Now situated upon my knees and able to breathe, albeit more freely than before, I began to police the bodies of their usable arms and kit. The thermal detonators and grenades would've come in handy, but seeing as they were biometrically linked to their bearers, they would do me little good - unless I desecrated the bodies of the fallen and fashioned myself a pagan necklace of severed hands. Wouldn't that be a sight to see, I chided myself. A bloody avenger, stalking the war-torn streets of Coruscant, with his neck ringed by the hands of his fallen victims.
Tossing those useless trinkets aside, I searched for something more worth my while, and after what seemed like an age - I had come across a veritable gold mine. Fresh, and unmolested Rations, alongside a cannibalized Survival kit pieced together by the various items that each slain Soldier had on their person. While these were more cosmetic items that would keep me alive, should the One Sith push the Alliance out of the system, what I was more concerned with was the wealth of power packs and weapons I now had at my disposal. True, it was a shame that their medkits were destroyed when I had somehow pulped their bodies, but what did that matter now that my blood-soaked hands held onto a rifle that could be used to slay more of their ilk, allowing me to pick apart their butchered figures.
Such was War. They had no more need of it when they were dead, and it was only right that I took what was required. Let others judge me harshly for such callous acts of scavenging. My life was on the line, and I had to do whatever was necessary in order to survive.
Mission: Survive
Allies: The Galactic Alliance, Rogue Squadron, BB-24 'Buttercup'
Enemies: The One Sith
Equipment: DL-44 Heavy Blaster Pistol
Standing within the sundered tenement, I watched on with baited breath as the arc torch had eclipsed the header of the piston-driven door. It would be only a matter of time until the men on the other side had torn the door free from it's housing and entered this shattered chamber with little opposition. I had to admit; there wasn't much my Peashooter could do against fully armed and armored Enemy Combatants. Now if only I had my Scattergun, then the odds would've been in my favor. Tight quarters and a large spread equal an every growing tally with every roaring discharge. However, like my copilot, the devastating weapon had passed on into whatever afterlife awaited it, leaving me terribly alone and outmatched. My comrades would believe me dead, and any available, friendly units nearby were dealing with their problems, abandoning me to the mercy of those that were nearly finished slicing through the door.
So much for the unofficial Squadron motto of leaving no sibling-in-arms behind!
No. I couldn't think like that. I wasn't alone, in the beginning, and though it was painfully clear that the truth was opposite of what my mind had decided to accept, I wasn't alone now. Rogue Four was merely sleeping, and it was my watch. She depended on me for protection, and that's exactly what I would do until my last breath. Fear had no place in my thoughts. Thus I lied to myself to keep a steady grip on my sidearm. Taking comfort in my mental fabrication, I felt the end come long before my gaze had registered what would happen. The sudden rush of fire caressing my exposed flesh. The scent of seared ozone pervading the air. My wordless cries of agony echoing between the deadly exchange. What I had seen in vivid flashes, was my future, and by the grace of whatever power flowed through my cursed veins, I was granted a vision of my own death.
The experience had taken me by surprise, and as the door was wrenched from its housing, I fell to the rubble-strewn floor with my violet eyes wide in shock. The sensation was, well, fatalistic and was something I'd never wish to endure again, but as the Stormtroopers began filing into the room with their weapons raised - I knew all too well that this time might be real, rather than a construct of my malignant gifts. In the moments that followed their explosive entrance, I could scarcely recall had what transpired. My weapon, though I had fallen prone, was still raised as they made their cautious advance. I remember the sounds of blaster fire and the cauterizing sting of their deadly kiss rending my flesh asunder. But, despite all my efforts to draw upon what had taken place - I was bereft of answers.
Duraplast-armored corpses had crumbled to their knees, ringing me with the billowing stench of their decaying bodies. My pistol, lay lifelessly in the growing pool of their blood, soon to be drenched in the crimson waters of life. The hand, which looked like my own, but felt detached from the whole, was outstretched like a carrion's talon. Had I unwittingly given into my curse, and allowed such evils to be wrought upon those that sought to claim my life? I couldn't say. Hell, I didn't even know what happened. It was like one moment blurred into the next, and time had finally restored my perception of events without the recollection. An oddity, that perhaps one day I would pursue; but as I was alone behind enemy lines - there was much I needed to do.
Slipping in the gathering pool of blood as I sought to rise, my body had smashed into the duracrete debris and sent shivers of agony down my wounded form. I was made painfully aware that, in my haste to rouse myself from this depressing mirage, it led only towards the worsening of my injuries. Trying to stifle a soured laugh, I made the attempt again - though this time having learned from my mistake and placing my weight upon the more stable sections of the floor and a nearby corpse. Now situated upon my knees and able to breathe, albeit more freely than before, I began to police the bodies of their usable arms and kit. The thermal detonators and grenades would've come in handy, but seeing as they were biometrically linked to their bearers, they would do me little good - unless I desecrated the bodies of the fallen and fashioned myself a pagan necklace of severed hands. Wouldn't that be a sight to see, I chided myself. A bloody avenger, stalking the war-torn streets of Coruscant, with his neck ringed by the hands of his fallen victims.
Tossing those useless trinkets aside, I searched for something more worth my while, and after what seemed like an age - I had come across a veritable gold mine. Fresh, and unmolested Rations, alongside a cannibalized Survival kit pieced together by the various items that each slain Soldier had on their person. While these were more cosmetic items that would keep me alive, should the One Sith push the Alliance out of the system, what I was more concerned with was the wealth of power packs and weapons I now had at my disposal. True, it was a shame that their medkits were destroyed when I had somehow pulped their bodies, but what did that matter now that my blood-soaked hands held onto a rifle that could be used to slay more of their ilk, allowing me to pick apart their butchered figures.
Such was War. They had no more need of it when they were dead, and it was only right that I took what was required. Let others judge me harshly for such callous acts of scavenging. My life was on the line, and I had to do whatever was necessary in order to survive.
