Brave The Whip And Brave The Stone [OS vs RA] [Coruscant Prison Break]

[Sannika Brynn]

"Sharps, this is Straw Hat, yo," Sannika called in, sitting in what was becoming the very familiar cockpit of her Nevermore by the name of Lonely Bird. Streaming behind the stealth bomber of her famous (or infamous) wingmate and leader, no one could have known by the undeterred and wispy contrails the black angel of death trailed that its pilot was far from fearless and stiff. With no infrequency, the sporty twi'lek betrayed her nervousness with each swivel of her head to check behind for bogeys. So far, the Rogues were clear. But the Sith had already issued their warnings. Apparently Sith never ever ever got Chiss visitors, despite holding an invisible fist on their world.

Also, it seemed like they really had to bring out the whole dance and parade to protect just one soldier. It was like the omniscient Sith were afraid of getting invaded by the Republic or something!

"That..." Rogue Three began, eyebrows rising and jaw dropping as she caught notice of the little, ancient fighter model buzzing gradually for their position. "Yeah, that is definitely a Headhunter, Sharps. You think it's local Resistance?" Rebels generally took what they could in many cases, so it would not be out-of-the-question that a local ally may have salvaged a rusty pair of wings to aid in battle. Rebels were known to be resolute despite the odds or equipment. It was not the brushes that made the painter, after all.

Suffice to say, the odd sight did ease up Sannika's apprehension a bit. Her bandaged foot tapped on the currently inactive rotor pedals below with excitement. "I'm hugging your six, buddy. Let's show 'em what we've got!" All they needed was the go-ahead from the Benefactor, and they would unleash hell.

Just like old times.

[member="Juwiela Melec"], [member="Thane Drexel"], [member="Animus Malgus"], [member="Reverance"]

 

[Matsu Xiangu]

[SIZE=9pt] As the clone in front of her convulsed, poison eating through his veins with the glee inherent to its purpose, she checked the small holo wrapped around her delicate wrist. [member="Reverance"] ’s message ticked across its interface and she wasn’t sure whether to be annoyed at a breach on her beloved planet, or happy to hear from him. (Too busy, both too busy. She would find them both the time to disappear somewhere for a while.) Settling on a mixture of both, she took the last moment or two of Oddball’s agony to type out a quick response.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt] :: Tending to that which made the herd so eager. I’ll join you soon. ::[/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt] As the interface darkened, [member="Oddball"] seemed to find his senses again. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt] She raised an eyebrow when he said he was ready to talk – so soon? He certainly sounded defeated. It was almost disappointing. But she should have known his seeming defeat would roll slowly in to more signature sarcasm, a loud laugh escaping her as she moved back to the cart full with lovely instruments of torture to toss the syringe somewhere off to the side. However, she didn’t pick anything else up. Not yet. Instead she strolled back towards him. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt] “Your father…Isley Verd. I knew him well. Something of a mentor before I found my true teacher halfway across the Galaxy. It’s a shame – you truly didn’t have a chance from the start with his pathetic influence in your creation. But you seem to have his penchant for antagonization.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt] Her right arm, a length of blackened plexisteel and phrik stronger than she could ever have been naturally, snapped up to wrap delicate fingers around his jaw.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt] “Now, if it’s not obvious from what I just gave you a shot of, I’m fond of science experiments – necromancy, vivisections, dissections, poisons. All very interesting. But the point is that I’m very good with anatomy, and I can keep you alive as long as I want. And, even better, I can raise you if you die. How much you’d remember is debatable but that sounds like an interesting experiment too.”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt] The sharp, knife-like claws hidden within her cybernetic fingers inched forward just slightly, the sound of them creeping towards his flesh enough for the moment. Trying to kick her would be a poor decision considering her grip, but she almost wished he’d try. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt] “The way I see it, I can shatter your jaw right now, maybe tear through some ligaments. We can spend a few wild weeks together while you eat through a straw with your mouth wired closed, maybe hang out in my labs and you can watch me vivisect any of your Rebel friends I can get my hands on. When you healed, we could try this conversation again and see if you’d warmed to the idea of chatting. If not we’d just rinse and repeat, but maybe this time I’d take an organ or rearrange a few things inside of you to see what would happen. That’d be interesting, wouldn’t it?”[/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt] She paused again, taking a breath. She rarely talked so much, but he had her thinking of all the possibilities! Tightening her grip, she smiled at him.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=9pt] “Or you could just tell me what you know.” [/SIZE]

[member="Juwiela Melec"] | [member="Thane Drexel"] | [member="Blane Nightfall"] | [member="Vrag"] | [member="Setzi Lunelle"] | [member="Darth Veles"] | [member="Darth Pyrrhus"] | [member="Sage Bane"] | [member="Animus Malgus"] | [member="Trystis Ray"]​

 

[Ras'kala'han]

Trystis walked down the long hallway. Part of him wished [member="Animus Malgus"] had lashed out at him, given him an excuse. One thing was a given, though - before the planet finished its rotation in the void, blood would be shed.

[member="Sage Bane"] waited in the prison control room. Trystis gazed at the Hand through the lens of the Force - it was breathtaking. The cityscapes of Coruscant were like gleaming edifices to the might of the Sith, but the true beauty a person could see was such a vista of darkness. The event horizon of the mind's eye.

I can't afford to show fear. He thought. Of course, fear gave way to jealousy as he heard [member="Oddball"]'s screaming coming from the computer terminal. He swallowed that too - emotions are strongest when one lets them stew and seethe for a while.

"My lord." He bowed curtly. The young Echani was dressed in a simple, grey One Sith military uniform, but his armband distinguished him as an acolyte. "You summoned me. I - "

The sound of an air raid siren cut him off.

 

[Oddball]

[member="Matsu Xiangu"]

Oddball's eyes welled up with tears and his body shook a little as the tiny knives lightly punctured his cheeks. Not quite piercing all the way through the man let out a few muffled grunts of pain as his eyes focused on the Sith Lord in front of him that went on her little spiel about how powerful and edgy her powers were, whatever happened to the basics?

But Oddball's eyes dropped and he squinted ever so slightly at the at the mention of his father. They were more than just Isley's creation, they were his children, and he was his son. But Oddball cleared that thought and his eyes winced again at the sharp pain of the knives.

"Thhoo noth thery gooth athh thisss arf thoo? Oddball said his cheeks clenched together to muffle his words.

"Firth tim?" Oddball said weakly still.

He wanted desperately to kick this woman in the groin, just to see what they were working with down there. Oddball was ninety five percent sure they were a small atrisian boy, but he could always be mistaken. But regardless of their gender the pain was quite real still, and he was running out of time. Bucking his head back the small blades dragged across his skin leaving small lacerations that poured a deep dark red blood that was horribly dehydrated.

But with his mouth free it was time for some more of that signature Oddball class.

Okay, I'll tell you. The leader of the Rebel Alliance. His name is Kahrk Yuu, he's Atrisian. We met three years ago on Zeltros after taking your mother out for a night in the town." Oddball said gasping for air, clearly tired and losing blood and strength.

"Question on you though." Oddball said looking at the woman.

"Do you purposely dress like teenager with massive levels of angst or do they force you to wear that? Is there some kind of dress code that requires you all to look like members of a goth band or do you guys just enjoy looking like idiots?" He said with his signature wit.

 

[Matthew Rei]

*Clack* *Clack* *Clack*

His wooden cane made a staccato rhythm on the sidewalk as Matthew Mar'Tin, the fresh lawyer in town, walked towards the prison. The sound waves from his cane washed the area in sound, producing a sonar effect for him. At least, he figured it was a matter of heightened hearing that painted the off-color picture of his surroundings in his head.

This part of the district had a lock-down sort of feeling, as though it would be a crime to even let out the sound of children laughing. He didn't even hear so much as a crook breathing heavily in an alleyway waiting to rob anyone. Many things could be said about the Sith, but at least they could run a tight ship...when they wanted to.

The GPS on his wrist communicator finally spoke out, saying, "YOU HAVE ARRIVED AT YOUR DESTINATION. TURN RIGHT AND HEAD INSIDE." It was a cheap model, but a necessary one. He walked inside wearing his formal attire

Spoiler

He had received an anonymous tip just recently about a man being held here by the name of Oddball. Supposedly, this Oddball was caught and turned into a Prisoner Of War, despite the fact that there was no true war. The real kicker was that there had been no trial, despite the fact that law demanded that a class one felon, such as this Oddball, be put on trial very soon after capture and incarceration.

The OS had a habit of making things nasty and public in hopes of making examples out of any who dared stand up to them. Matthew did not plan to make a habit out of defending terrorists, but this one in particular was recommended and had to do with the bombing and destruction of One Sith property. Besides, he needed money and even the guilty ones got a lawyer.

He swept his cane out before himself and sweeped the area while he stepped forward to where he could perceive the security man at the front desk. He could sense that this particular man was having a bad night. From what, Matt knew not. However, it suggested that something or somethings had been going down recently.

He asked the man, "Excuse me, but can you direct me to the prisoner Oddball? His trial is tomorrow and it's mandatory that I speak to him and fulfill my legal part of the pre-trial info gathering process within 12 hours before he's scheduled to be put on trial. My name is Matthew Mar'Tin."

[member="Matsu Xiangu"] | [member="Reverance"] | [member="Oddball"]

 

[Beowoof]

Suka led the pack with AR-47 in hand, as well as a secondary firearm and a pair of chemical load grenades filled with Drem-C concealed in her Viola Coat--worn in tradition of the First Benefactor. While there were many suspicions that the original Alliance leader was out of the job and had possibly moved on to 'bigger' things, it was yet unproven outside the upper echelons of the Rebellion and the ruse was generally still effective. Studies had shown that Rebel members wearing the black trenchcoat were five times more likely to be fired upon than most other Rebellion personnel. The blonde at least hoped that the spirit of the Benefactor--past or present--was with her troop as they clambered through the durasteel jungle that surrounded the Forty-Second Corrections Facility (also known derisively as the 'Ministry of Peace' to some).

Rebellion sympathizers were few and far between in this area. However, there was one old Bothan in particular who had been hanging around since before the Sith had even overtaken the Republic's defenses. Legend had it, he had provided shelter to the First Benefactor herself before she had even officially formed the Alliance. He was a great asset to the Resistance, and housed a plethora of outdated communications equipment used to coordinate maneuvers with other cells and units while circumventing modern intercepting technology the Sith might be utilizing. The old comms systems were untapped but had the drawback of being short-range in function. But their message would be relayed beyond reception point by foot anyway. The paradox of technological progress was the Rebellion's friend.

"Little Birdy Blue. The fox is outside the henhouse," Suka cryptically reported.

It took a moment of waiting for the response, but it eventually was provided in just as mysterious of language. "Rubber ducky. The chair is against the wall. Repeat--the chair is against the wall. Count your change."

"Credits are sixteen. Sixteen."

"The fish are fresh."

The unit leader nodded, as if the other conversant could see the motion over the radio. "Little Birdy Blue. Rooster crows." With that, she shut off the clunky comm device and departed the apartment, trekking down the street with her comrades falling in behind her as she passed by each of their temporary guard posts. Each had similar utility belts with DH-17s holstered and some also had Drem-C grenades on their persons, but their main arms varied somewhat. Three lugged Deck Sweepers, five Scrubbers, and the other seven the typical AR-47. They were largely 'urban camouflaged' and looked like an ordinary street gang, facemasks and all. Not unusual in the slightest. Like the Sith cared. But they would.

 

[Komo]

Greta was in the Sith Intelligence headquarters catching up with an old friend from her days as an military officer. She had an exemplary and distinguished military career before the 'incident' happened, transforming her into the Sith she was today. Although she missed the cordial conversations and interactions she used to have with her military friends, she did not regret being a Sith at all, not one bit.

The young girl then had always lamented on the lack of power required to achieve her objectives, and now she felt more power than she had ever felt before. And this was merely the start, there was more to come in the future. Her friend in the intelligence was pleasantly surprised to see her, but his interaction towards her was not as cordial as before, now observing the deserved respect as a Sith should.

The pair chatted well over an hour before they were rudely interrupted by klaxons and alarms sounding throughout the building. Her contact rushed into the command centre, and Greta followed suit, hot on his heels. As she entered, she noted the disarray as the intelligence officers attended to the beeping screens and communicated information to one another. Following her friend towards one of the main screens, it read,

.: Incoming unknown vessels tagged with prohibited IFF codes. :.

.: IFF Codes tagged as Chiss Ascendancy. Behaviour highly irregular. Advise Caution. :.

.: Situation Critical. Unknown vessels approaching capital city. Orbital defences deployed. :.

It then dawned onto her. Coruscant was under attack! Her thoughts were echoed by her friend out loud as he muttered incredulously "Coruscant is under attack!" Greta's anger began to bubble and boil within her. What force would have the audacity to launch such an attack on the Sith capital? Even the Republic would not plan such an attack without an immense force to back them up. Unfortunately their attackers would stay unknown for now.

She did have a clue as to who they might be though. Rebels. Insurgents. As a young officer back then, she had told her superiors countless of times about the need to weed out the rebels from their hidey holes once and for all. Her suggestions were subsequently ignored as her superiors deemed the rebels too few and inconsequential. But, of course the bright girl knew better, and that was why they were facing such a situation today. Incompetency. Greta would deploy six of her Sentinel drones into the city, in a bid to find and put down the rebels if possible. The loss of the droids was inconsequential. She could always manufacture more in the future.


[member=Reverance] [member="Matsu Xiangu"] [member=Vrag] [member="Setzi Lunelle"] [member="Darth Pyrrhus"] [member="Sage Bane"] [member="Darth Ferus"] [member="Animus Malgus"] [member="Darth Veles"]

 

[Darth Pyrrhus]

Still without a word, but determined to discover what was truly going on, the Shadow-class Corvette rose from planet's surface, and took to the air. From this view, the sight of the Sith temple looked magnificent. Through the lens of the Force it was magnificently dark. Dawn was piloting the ship, which reassured him. The Nautolan girl was a wild thing, but she excelled beyond all other pilots that the Nautolan military force had to offer. It was precisely for this reason that she had been drafted into The Nameless Ten, a unit that saw its first operation together on Ord Mirit. Starfighter, freighter or corvette - if it flew, she could fly it.

The officer confirmed that everyone were in position, and the ship was fully prepared for combat. Pyrrhus was not entirely convinced that they would need it, but the One Sith loyalist would not be found wanting, should combat become the next course of action. The ship specialized in stealth, and would likely not appear on any of their sensors, until it was right there, staring them in the face.

An incoming message distracted him and drew his notice. Normally, he would've dismissed it. Not this one, however. It was from [member=Setzi Lunelle]. In a way that only she was capable of, her message stopped his heart. She was... On Coruscant. And according to her, it was under attack. It would seem she knew more about this than he did. In that moment, he was furious. Not at her, but from knowledge of the fact that more than threaten Coruscant, whoever lay siege to it also threatened Setzi. "Get me in touch with the Coruscanti defensive fleet! Now" he demanded, his tone devoid of all patience. The sudden explosion of emotions frightened his crew, but they knew better than to oppose him. Instead they went hard at work. Their lives depended on it.

He took a moment to re-read Setzi's message, before writing his reply. It took much longer than it should have done. He wasn't mad because she hadn't told him where she was, although he found his ideology conflicted. As officially, his apprentice, he ought to throw her into combat, and keep her at all times at the very centre of conflict. She either proved herself worthy of the name Sith, or she became discarded, or dead. Both of the latter meant the same. However, he did not want to deal with a reality where Setzi was either discarded or dead. Though he knew her power, her potential, he feared harm would come to her. It was bizarre. Pain and harm only served to make one stronger, yet he was reluctant to deliver it to her.

//incoming transmission...

To: Setzi Lunelle
From: Tanek Santii

I am too. I'm bringing my corvette up above the Sith Temple now. What's the situation? I don't know who the enemy is or their position. Be strong, but be safe. Show no hesitation or mercy.

//outgoing transmission...

The message felt awkward and short, but it was all he could do for now. At least she'd know he was watching from the skies. Meanwhile, his ship constantly pushed higher, further towards the planet's atmosphere. What awaited him there, time would show. He tried to push the image of Setzi in her starfighter going down in a burning crash out of his mind, but it was no easy task, despite extensive training in the art of meditation. She would be fine. She was Sith. As was he. Instead of worrying about her, he would set fire to whoever threatened her.

[member=Vrag] | [member=Setzi Lunelle] | [member=Greta Kohler] | [member=Animus Malgus] | [member=J[/FONT]uwiela Melec] | [member=Blane Nightfall] | [member=Thane Drexel] | [member=Sannika Brynn]

 

[Sage Bane]

It was mildly entertaining it was to watch the torture of the Rebel terrorist [member="Oddball"], who despite being subjected to agonizing methods of interrogation happened to be able to yuck it up the whole time with the most dreadful jokes that Sage had ever heard. Seriously cringeworthy. In any case, it was worth it just to see the flush of enjoyment that [member="Matsu Xiangu"] got from wrapping her onyx claws around the arrogant whelp's throat. At least someone was having fun.

Annoyingly enough, there were other bothers for the youngest hand, for example the announcement over One Sith navy channels that told of a handful of Rebel ships approaching. Somehow these stealthed fighters had entered the space over the capital city using stolen CEDF tags. Sage seemed to remember Miles saying that all incoming approaches were blocked. The oddities continued.

The Rebel ships should really have been of no concern to anyone. With the best planetary defense shields in the galaxy, the city was practically immune to bombardment. Additionally, the encasing shields were curved specifically to protect orbiting objects, and would seriously damage the systems of craft that passed through them. It would be quite a phenomenon if the Nevermores somehow survived all these hazards. Be that as it may, Sage picked up his commlink and patched in to Captain Drea, the Chagrian commander of his Subjugator-Class Assault Corvette, the Arcanus Obscurus.

Sage might have been dirtside, but the Obscurus was up above, floating among the spray of stars over Coruscant. Sage relayed his orders to Captain Drea, who immediately complied. He ordered 24 Dart-class Interceptors to set upon the Nevermores. The rebels might have been a scrappy lot, but the Sith pilots of the One Sith Navy were born and bred to be the most skilled pilots in the galaxy. Their unofficial motto was "perfection or death." Compared to the rigorous training these pilots received, the rebel pilots were simply climbing into a cockpit and making engine noises.

On Captain Drea's command, 24 Dart-Class Interceptors would roar out of the sky, and tracking the stealthed Nevermores using the gravatational trails from the CGT array, fired all of their lasers at the paltry number of rebel ships. (att: [member="Juwiela Melec"], [member="Thane Drexel"] [member="Blane Nightfall"], [member="Sannika Brynn"])

It would be nothing short of a miracle if the Nevermores and their plucky pilots lived to see another day.

The last issue had almost slipped his mind, but as the grey-clad form of [member="Trystis Ray"] stood before him in the control room, Sage was reminded. He had an Acolyte to reprimand. A cold glint lingered in the eyes of the battle-hardened young Sith Lord. His pale hands twitched as the Dark Side of the Force gathered around him, swelling like a dark storm.

"What is the meaning of this prisoner transfer you ordered?" he snapped. "Explain yourself Acolyte."

[member="Juwiela Melec"] [member="Thane Drexel"] [member="Reverance"] [member="Blane Nightfall"] [member="Darth Veles"] [member="Darth Pyrrhus"] [member="Animus Malgus"] [member="Setzi Lunelle"] [member="Greta Kohler"] [member="Suka Pozhaluysta"] [member="Sannika Brynn"] [member="Vrag"] [member="Darth Ferus"]

 

[Vrag]

The chatter in her oggzil was frantic, but not panicked — no, that sentiment was all used up by the fools who dared attack Coruscant — and she listened to it patiently, long-trained to extract only the most vital of data out of the stream of reports and orders pouring into her ear. She didn't mind. While Vrag was firmly at the top of the food chain, she did not believe in dismissing everything that lay below, for that was, in essence, her foothold; without the grand foundations that lay in the roots of the war machine itself, all the power vested in her would be for naught.

It's why she kept her line open, discarding information only when it truly proved useless, and not when the rank preceding it would seek to force that presumption on her. It's also why she was often appraised of things before those who were, technically, below her in the chain of command.

"P-3, P-7," she addressed the pair of [REDACTED] accompanying her, "I hope you're ready to do this."

The two remained still as statues behind her, responding through oggzils of their own without giving the slightest indication that there was even life within those shells of armor adorning their bodies. In a certain sense, the question was moot, of course; they wouldn't even be here if they weren't prepared for the sort of life-and-death situation they would soon walk into. Then again, she wasn't referring to their combat expertise, or their censored personnel files sporting thick appendices surmising their kill counts, or even the fact that every trace of their existence had been stricken from all record.

When their answers still returned affirmative, Vrag gave them both a curt nod, then promptly let them go.

She would return to her office, assured that her personal gift of destruction and carnage was already en-route, and then the Hand of the Dark Lord would kick back, light one of those delicious cigars, and speak to the Sith planetside.

In the absence of Voices, it was only gracious that the one who'd heard them scream the most would step up to take their role, if only for a spell.

"As you probably know by now, we've something of a pest on our hands," she spoke easily, blue eyes following the plumes of smoke rising from the tip of [member="Reverance"]'s cigar. "Capture them if you can, but feel free to blast them to smithereens." She made a thoughtful pause then, which in truth served to hydrate her throat with a generous mouthful of aged whiskey; also borrowed from the Right Hand.

"Provided that the Coruscanti defenses don't do that first. A pity, I know," the woman finished with the least possible amount of pity she'd ever let bleed forth into her tone.

If, by some god-given miracle, those karkers still made it through everything the planet could throw at them, the firrerreo would watch — and with great fascination — as they were ground into meat paste by the war machine. This wasn't Csilla; this was home, and even the blessing of a dead deity would leave them hapless in the face of his wrath… and his Wrath.

Vrag suppressed the urge to snicker and took another sip from her tumbler instead. Exquisite.

[member="Thane Drexel"] | [member="Darth Veles"] | [member="Setzi Lunelle"] | [member="Darth Pyrrhus"] | [member="Animus Malgus"] | [member="Oddball"] | [member="Juwiela Melec"] |[member="Matsu Xiangu"] | [member="Trystis Ray"] | [member="Sage Bane"] | [member="Blane Nightfall"] | [member="Darth Ferus"] | [member="Greta Kohler"] | [member="Suka Pozhaluysta"] | [member="Matthew Mar'Tin"] | [member="Sannika Brynn"]​

 

[Mythos]

Animus began to get closer to the Ship in question.
A Z-95 headhunter was an old ship, an outdated one at that but to this day it could still do things that more modern fighters could simply not do, even against modern fighters he had outmaneuvered them, speed was not a headhunters strength.... Dogfighting was.

80 meters in distance Animus directed his fighter to their imminent six o'clock. Animus' Headhunter had been upgraded with modern blasters and Concussion missiles, this time thanks to T'zanith he packed one tracker missile.
"This is Specter one i al directly behind the vehicle in question, permission to engage in forceful landing in order for inspection"

Something nagged him, these ships were the same he had saw on Csilla, part of him wanted to avoid orders, blast the kark out of the ships and then face the wrath of his superiors... Animus would not succumb to such immature desires for wanton destruction.
Animus however did toggle on his targeting systems.
When Animus was in a Cockpit of a fighter, he was a completely different animal... He was not the best lightsaber duelist, or force user in the Sith... but if he wasn't the best pilot, he was at least among them. [member="Sannika Brynn"] @Vrag @Sage Bane [member="Darth Pyrrhus"]

 

[Roger Kranos]

Untz...untz...UNTZ!

Style, flavor, pizzazz...or is that panache? Doesn't matter, Kranos had it all and then some. His body was draped in lavish appeals, his head bobbing to the drug induced playlist that only he could fully appreciate. Glitter and red, sparkles and diamonds, he shined as he made his way slowly down the hallway towards front desk. Seems he was second line - didn't matter, Kranos comes first!

Scooting by the fellow with the odd walking stick and unusual penchant for asking for things he shouldn't, Kranos smiled at the security guard and rocked his hands back and forth. "Here for a pickup."

The security guarded diverted his gaze from the figure with the glasses long enough to stare into the majestic beard that wore Kranos like a meat decoration. Or fleshy head dress. Something like that. The Co-founder of the CRC smiled and pushed the note forward, written on sugar paper, to be eaten later. Yummy. "I've made arrangements for rehabilitation of 25 prisoners."

"Rehabilitation?"

Rehabilitation, slave trade. Tomaytoe, tomahtoe! Kranos laughed and shooed the man. "Go get my prisoners please, I have a transport nearby and they have appointments this afternoon." As the security guard got up, there were more where he came from with prying eyes, though hardly paid the wage to care about the rights of a random prisoner, especially one called such an absurd name as @Oddball. With that out of the way, he propped his arm against the desk and inspected [member="Matthew Mar'Tin"]. Waving his hand, Kranos announced his presence with a cup of his mouth. "HELLOO!" Was he deaf, was he blind, did he just like to wear sunglasses at night? Who knows, but these were the questions that demanded answers.

[member="Greta Kohler"] | [member="Matsu Xiangu"] | [member="Vrag"] | [member="Setzi Lunelle"] | [member="Darth Pyrrhus"] | [member="Sage Bane"] | [member="Darth Ferus"] | [member="Animus Malgus"] | [member="Darth Veles"] | [member="Cryax Bane"] | [member="Nergal"]

 

[Setzi Lunelle]

Location: Skies above the Temple
Engaging: [member="Juwiela Melec"]

There were a few minutes left before she would be called to the skies. Setzi checked her datapad and noticed a message back from [member="Darth Pyrrhus"]. He was also on Coruscant, and she panicked for a moment, scrambling around for a way to unbelt herself. Stay calm. You are going to do this. He will be fine. You will be fine. She typed furiously, but with her pilot gloves on, it was difficult and slow going:

//incoming transmission…

To Tanek Santi
From Setzi Lunelle

I’m in a Blade. Will try to meet you at the Temple once I’m done with this patrol. Be vigilant and be…

Oh feth, she heard the call over her commlink and pressed send on the message. //outgoing transmission...

Putting right and left hand on the controls, Setzi followed the squadron of 11 other Blades out of the upper level of the Galactic City garrison. Their formation had to be precise as these particular models had wings made of Mullinine which could slice through the hull of other fighters, even other Blades if the pilots weren’t careful.

Her mind kept drifting to Tanek, and knowing he was close by, just had her wishing for the patrol to end as soon as it had just begun. The Temple was a high value target, and she would probably pass by it on her route. Using the handgrips, she lifted the ship higher and checked her scanner for any visual signs of enemies, although the sensor would pick up incoming fire before her human eyes would. The CAP squad was specifically on the lookout for starships with prohibited IFF tags. And sure enough, as soon as they neared the Temple vicinity, she heard the Squad Leader’s voice through her commlink:

“Unidentified ships with illegal tags. Red alert and prepare to fire.”

The formation slowed, and she then heard the voice of the Squad Leader hailing the foreign starfighters:

“You are flying in restricted airspace. Identify yourself at once.”

His curt, deep voice said nothing more. There was no need to. It would be clear to all pilots within the radius of the temple. To not identify yourself was to die.

[member="Thane Drexel"] [member="Darth Veles"] [member="Animus Malgus"] [member="Oddball"] [member="Matsu Xiangu"] [member="Trystis Ray"] [member="Sage Bane"] [member="Blane Nightfall"] [member="Darth Ferus"] [member="Greta Kohler"] [member="Suka Pozhaluysta"] [member="Matthew Mar'Tin"] [member="Sannika Brynn"] [member="Vrag"] [member="Reverance"]

 

[Ras'kala'han]

Trystis Ray came dangerously close to flinching when [member="Sage Bane"] turned to him with a sudden harshness in his voice. Power gathered in the lord, swelling and threatening to take shape.

"My lord, protocol dictates that, barring those of extreme importance, important war prisoners captured on the worlds of the Outer Rim are to be detained on Stygeon." The acolyte said. His voice was devoid of any tone except professionalism. "In addition, the original plan was for him to be tried and executed in the Chiss Ascendancy's personal judicial system - a gesture that would allow them the illusion of sovereignty. This would be impossible if one of the Sith here decided to break their toy, like they do so often."

[member="Matsu Xiangu"] looked like she was edging closer and closer to that point as her prisoner, in spite of the enormous pain, continued to mock her.

"Of course, I do not presume to dictate how to do things to such powerful beings. Had I known he was so important to you, then I would have left well enough alone." The appeasing statement came out, and Trystis nearly choked on it. These necessary gestures of grovelling would, one day, no longer be necessary. Right now, that day felt like it couldn't be further away.

[member="Animus Malgus"], [member="Sannika Brynn"], [member="Suka Pozhaluysta"], [member="Vrag"], et al.

 

[Sage Bane]

If there was anything that Sage Bane had less patience for than stammering Apprentices, it was piles of red tape. The youngest Hand was a man who slaughtered an entire spaceport full of Kel'Dor on Dorin, who lead the purge of Jedi enclaves on Ruusan, killing elders and younglings alike, and who terrorized Republic stormtroopers using his mind-controlling Hadzuska Rowa on the battle fields of Ord Mirit. He was a man of agency and efficiency. Paperwork was for the rest of the galaxy. Sage was above the flimsiplast.

An angry vein bulged in the young Sith Lord's forehead. "Protocol?" hissed Bane. "The One Sith are the sovereign rulers of Csilla, and the Chiss need not be placated. The prisoner is currently in the hands of the Empress of Coruscant, and she will not be disturbed until she is finished with him."

Of course, incompetence was present in any political construct, but the autocracy of the One Sith ran a tight ship. None of it made any sense. Why would a prisoner apprehended on Csilla, be brought all the way to Coruscant for holding, then be sent to Stygeon? Then flown back to the Chiss Parliament on Csaplar for a trial? Acolyte Ray's pablum sounded so nonsensical, it had to be a ruse. Whether, it be stupidity or deceit, things were about to get a whole lot hairier for the unfortunate Acolyte.

"Apprehend the traitor," said Sage crisply.

On his command, two prison wardens stepped forward and attempted to place a Force containment collar around Acolyte Ray's throat. If successful they would attempt to imprison him in one of the empty cells. Perhaps one close enough to [member="Oddball"] that Trystis would learn to appreciate the music of the Rebel prisoner's screaming.

[member="Trystis Ray"] [member="Setzi Lunelle"] [member="Roger Kranos"] [member="Animus Malgus"] [member="Vrag"] [member="Darth Pyrrhus"] [member="Sannika Brynn"] [member="Juwiela Melec"]

 

[Mythos]

Animus smelled something... something amiss. He refused to fire, not daring Incident instead let go of his joystick and closed his eyes....
He ignited his focus, his eyes were alight with the force as he saw the force everywhere and began to scan the sky for with force sight. Suddenly... there it was, a signature in the air, at first he thought it a hallucination but it was a clear as daylight, the Signature of a pilot ( [member="Sannika Brynn"] )... Animus knew in a second it was cloaked although he could not see the ship, but he could make out the signature of the pilot. He banked his ship and fired at the signature, full blaster fire from tri linked blaster focused at the location of the pilot signature.

"We have bogies in the sky, repeat bogies using cloak devices scramble all fighters. Repeat Cloaked Bogies it's an attack! " Animus said through commlink as he blaster head on full thrusters as the signature of the pilot.

[member="Sage Bane"] [member="Setzi Lunelle"]

 

[Ras'kala'han]

"Apprehend the traitor."

"Traitor - " That was the last thing he expected to be called - what was the hole in his story? Csilla is close enough to Stygeon to justify him being brought there, I was the one who brought this bastard in - and why would a backwater rebel be so important to the Empress? Then, he realized that he may have just inadvertently slighted the Hand. Reason enough for a lord. "I'm anything but a - "

"Stay still." The warden was growing too close for comfort, collar in hand. The time for words was over. Fine.

He looked towards [member="Sage Bane"]. "A Sith won't go quietly. You should know that, my lord." The guard was sent stumbling into his colleague - an Echani throw, leaving them both on the ground. In his hands, he had the collar. It was time to unleash the emotions he had been swallowing.

He flicked his wrist, hoping to use his power to send the collar around the Hand's neck. When that was done, he might - might - be able to do something. At the same moment, the pair of guards lifted for a brief moment off the ground, then were downward with a pulse of the Dark Side. They were both unconscious within seconds of hitting the hard, metal floor.

He might not be able to get to [member="Oddball"], but he would not share his fate.

[member="Animus Malgus"], [member="Setzi Lunelle"], [member="Roger Kranos"], [member="Vrag"], et al

 

[Matthew Rei]

(You guys are really intense. I like it, despite having to sift through around 60 posts.)

You'd think that years in Hell's Kitchen would make you dead to the annoyances of the galaxy. But that's not true. Only you can kill your emotions, not the bad guys. As such, it riled him to listen to the socially uncouth hillbilly yell above conversationally acceptable levels. What he DID have, however, was a hell of a good poker face. Blindness made wearing kick ass shades acceptable anywhere you went.

He responded to the "used car salesman" looking man by turning in his direction, looking towards the source of his voice, and smirking with devilish charm. He leaned against the counter and held his cane in his left hand casually. He couldn't depict the man's glorious facial wear, so it didn't add charm to the bully demeanor he was sensing from this man.

"Hello to you too, sir."

On reflection, Matt knew that this man deserved to be called far worse, let alone "sir". Old habits die hard, though, as he had been used to calling his dad "sir". He tilted his head as he continued to speak.

"My name is Matthew Mar'Tin. I'm a lawyer. Recently graduated from Coruscant Prime Academy, but I managed to start my own business."

Not wanting to miss an opportunity, he slipped a business card out of his sleeve and offered it to him. This act didn't appeal to his innermost good-hearted nature, but sometimes you had to play the pragmatist. There was a saying, "Keep your friends close and your enemies closer".

"Just in case you want to get away with "defending" yourself from a "brutal" cop."

A little while later, he started talking again.

"You're picking up 25 prisoners from the Empress' high security federal prison? Ha. I'm already having a hard enough time getting my legal duties carried out here. You might want to take a number, 'cuz the red tape here is a load of shiaska."


[member="Sage Bane"] | [member="Roger Kranos"] | [member="Matsu Xiangu"] | [member="Oddball"]

 

[Juwiela Melec]

Directly engaging: [member="Setzi Lunelle"]

Oh, karking hell. Can't we just have one good day? Muttering a string of curses as a warning rang through the cockpit, signalling that a wealth of enemy ships were approaching, she stifled a frustrated sigh. It never seemed they could get off clean, not that she had expected much else. The Sith were ruthlessly efficient, but she was just as capable. Juking and jiving to avoid what laserfire she could, another blip sounded, warning her that hits had been taken to her shields. She would worry about that later. "We're doing a microjump so we're just before our drop zone. They won't be able to keep up." It would give them a lead, at least, on the interceptors. With a few minor adjustments, the jump was made, the fighters hopefully avoided.

A friendly face was always welcome, even if it only manifested itself as a voice through her comms this time around. It meant Juwiela was flying a little less alone this time, and with another Rogue nearby she was more confident in the capabilities of the Alliance pilots. After all, they were the best of the best, learning through experience rather than any stuffy military academy. Drills were nothing when compared to live combat. And right now, the nerves that such a thing brought on were lessened by the question [member="Sannika Brynn"] posed. "No, he's not Resistance. He's Sith. That much even I can see."

The demand that rang through the comms of her ship from the other squadron leader was largely ignored for the moment, their mission taking precedence over any other imminent threats. Right now they were above the Temple, which meant that it was showtime. The question of whether they were friend or foe to the Sith was about to answer itself within the next few seconds. And she had no doubt that the reception received would be less than pleasant. "Ready your payload, and drop on my mark." Flicking a switch, an affirmative ping rang through her cockpit. "Give 'em hell." With that, the proton four bombs, the entirety of her ships payload, were released.

The bombs themselves were plenty powerful in their own right, more than capable of decimating a large portion of the Sith Temple they now flew above. Certainly any active shields would be able to redirect a portion of the damage, but the chances of the entirety of it being avoided were slim to none. Something would be destroyed today, whether the Sith liked it or not. It was just a matter of watching and waiting.

Finally she formally acknowledged the other squadron of ships, having to stifle a laugh before she replied, "Does that answer your question, or do you need another demonstration? I still have six proton torpedoes, if you'd like further clarification." Alright, so maybe she was having too much fun with her trademark sarcasm, but these were the Sith. Any common courtesy was wasted on them, and she wouldn't have played nice even if that had been a requirement. This was war. Nothing was fair.

[member="Matthew Mar'Tin"], [member="Sage Bane"], [member="Roger Kranos"], [member="Matsu Xiangu"], [member="Oddball"], [member="Reverance"], [member="Trystis Ray"], [member="Animus Malgus"], [member="Vrag"], [member="Darth Pyrrhus"], [member="Greta Kohler"]

 

[Sage Bane]

What the impudent Acolyte did next was foolish beyond words. He threw one guard into the other, an admission of his guilt if Sage ever saw one. Then, somehow, he managed to the get the Force containment collar in his hot little hands. With a flick of his wrist, the apprentice sent the device flying towards Sage, who had no trouble yanking it right out of the air as soon as it entered his orbit. Next, the Acolyte used a violent Force slam to pound the guards down on the floor so hard that they fell unconscious. This was a surprisingly strong attack for a lowly pup such as Trystis, but no matter. Sage was faced with a more delicious choice. To throw the man in a cell to be tortured or experimented on? Or to simply execute him on the spot? Decisions, decisions.

There was the briefest of smiles on the Sith Lord's face as he gathered up the immense power of the Dark Side, letting it brew around him like a storm. This was power cultivated from years of diligent training and trials which left him scarred and Vong-formed. Bane had been taught by some of the very best among them: Xiangu, Venefica, his fellow Hand, Vrag. Presumably, Trystis would find fighting Sage to be a sisyphean task, and perhaps even a reason to seriously question his own life choices.

Sage's eyes flashed blood red as the locked on Trystis. One pale hand shot out, and with it came a blast of the Force that sought to pin Trystis to the durasteel wall behind him, rendering him completely immobile. As that was happening, the Sith Lord sent out a simultaneous mental assault, using his own mind to penetrate his foe's. If Trystis did not have a defense for the attack, Sage's Mind Shard would splinter his mind like glass, and the traitor would be racked with pain so intensely agonizing that he might even feel his consciousness slipping away.

[member="Trystis Ray"] [member="Reverance"] [member="Juwiela Melec"] [member="Matsu Xiangu"] [member="Vrag"] [member="Setzi Lunelle"] [member="Matthew Mar'Tin"] [member="Animus Malgus"] [member="Greta Kohler"] [member="Sannika Brynn"] [member="Darth Veles"] [member="Darth Ferus"] [member="Darth Pyrrhus"]