Shakrin
Member
@[member="Galina"]
"What are you doing? Who are you?"
The voice belonged to a Weequay. It came from behind him, but he paid little attention to it as he continued rummaging through the storage unit. He was looking for a flight suit in the appropriate size, but he was having a difficult time of it. He shrugged and looked over his shoulder at the guard, who was holding a hand to the blaster that rested on his hip. He thinks it makes him look tough. The fact that he needs to do so tells me the exact opposite is true. He's just a pawn. He dismissed the being, largely, because he was busy. Much too busy to be paying attention to anything other than the task at hand. He'd been paid handsomely for this. Several rare written works and a painting worth a small fortune, though he would never sell it.
"I'm looking for a flight suit. Have you seen one that might fit me?" Shakrin asked. "Most of these seem to be for females."
"Most of the test pilots are female. Expendable. Who are you?"
"My name is of little consequence. You intend to draw your weapon. I must warn you that it will not end well for you if you do, however."
As soon as he said that, the Weequay went for his weapon. Shakrin slid across the space between them and knocked the weapon to the side, causing it to fire into a nearby wall. His other hand slid forward and slammed, palm first, into the alien's chest, knocking him back and sending a puff of air whooshing from his lungs. Instead of falling back, he pressed the advantage, delivering a short kick to the aliens knee, shattering it. A scream of pain ripped through the room, but there wasn't anyone else around to hear it. He'd felt no one else within the immediate vicinity, which was why he'd chosen to take the chance to make his move now instead of waiting.
The Weequay fell to his knees, dropping the blaster as his hands went to wrap around the shattered appendage. A boot collided with his head, forcefully snapping it to the side and knocking the being unconscious. Shakrin lowered his foot, and immediately turned back to searching through the storage units for an acceptable pilots outfit. Eventually he did manage to find one and started climbing into it. The ship he was stealing was one that did not come with its own life support system, which left him resorting to one of those old black things that most Tie pilots wore. They were rather hideous and often chafed his horns, but he had to do what he had to do. Stealing the prototype was easy enough, the hard part had been getting the plans off their systems, and scrubbing it completely clean. That had taken a little help from a slicer, who was already departed.
Once he was all suited up, and with the copy of the schematics in his hands, he left the room and walked down the halls, holding the helmet tucked under his arm. Even though he'd taken this contract on, and accepted the payment, from the very beginning he'd intended to betray his employer. When it came to weapons like these, no side deserved them. This fighter was much too powerful to be allowed into the hands of, well, anyone. Sometimes you have to add to the bounty on your head to do what is necessary. It was an acceptable risk, and one that he'd taken many times before. No one had claimed the bounty yet, so he wasn't worried about it.
When he rounded the corner and entered the hangar, he found there was a small guard in position around the fighter. They seemed more interested in whatever betting game they were playing than him, however. He slipped quietly around them and eased himself up into the fighter without them even noticing he was there. He slipped his helmet on and fastened it into place before briefly glancing down at the men. They were quite likely to be injured, but such was the way of life. These men had chosen a side in things and now they were going to suffer for it. That's why Shakrin never chose a side, but always did things so that no particular side would benefit. He enjoyed it because it proved that he was right about the nature of the galaxy.
He'd examined all of the schematics and such for the ship when the slicer had gotten him access to them, so he knew how to fly the thing. Looking around, he found the right switch and the cockpit descended. This drew the attention of the guards, and they all jumped up drawing weapons. A lesser man would have saluted them as a way of showing off. Shakrin did not. Instead, he powered up the engines and flipped the shields on before using the repulsors to lift the fighter from the ground. He turned the ship about and pushed it out of the hangar and into the space around the space station, jetting away from it and into the nearby gas nebula, navigating based on his feelings. Enemy fighters that had been on patrol began to follow him, some of them having pilots good enough to follow him in the nebula.
The fighter he was in, a new prototype, was much faster than the interceptors chasing him. He pushed the ship to its limits, and flew swiftly through the nebula and out the other side. Once there, he plotted a jump in his navigation computer to the planet he'd chosen as his final destination for this mission. It was an out of the way world, not inhabited, and perfect for what he needed to happen. Punching the ship into hyperspace, he sat back to wait even though he knew the ship had a tracking beacon in it. In fact, he was counting on the fact that it did. If it didn't, it would rather ruin my plans.
Several hours later, the ship came out of hyperspace and he piloted it towards the planet. It wasn't long before scanners picked up other ships following him. That was good. They'd figured out the only planet on his rather simple one shot trajectory. Not like I made it hard for them. Flying into the atmosphere, he deliberately made the ship begin to malfunction. Debris began to spin off of the vessel as it passed through the upper atmosphere. The ship was starting to break apart. He wanted it to break apart. It was all part of his plan. Once he was safely within the atmosphere, he jettisoned the canopy and climbed out. As he did so, he activated the small personal cloaking device on his arm and then jumped free of the vessel. As it flew off to crash in a fiery explosion, likely starting a fire that would burn for quite some time, he flitted towards the ground with rapid speed.
Most people would have been panicking, but he didn't. He fell until he reached the outer branch of trees, and reached out towards the limbs, grabbing hold of one. His arm jerked out of its socket, and he was forced to let go, but it had slowed his descent. He hit the next tree branch, cracking it completely, and fell downward with a thud onto the ground. It hurt like hell, to be sure, but he would survive. The Force ate some of the pain away, and had lessened his impact just slightly. He couldn't control it to do so, but he often found that if he thought about what he needed to happen, it sometimes actually worked out. This had been a huge risk, but sometimes life was about risks.
As he lay there on the forest floor, arm out of socket and broken, though not a compound fracture, he stared up at the sky above him as the cloaking device clicked off, it's small power supply depleted. The hope was that they would have seen the fighter go down, and would assume that he'd been killed in the fire, or jettisoned who knew where with all of the debris that had been coming off of the thing. He reached up with his good hand and removed his helmet, letting it roll away. There was time to rest here. It would be a while before he could use the homing beacon he'd installed in his Skipray to bring it to him. At least he didn't have to worry about the locals looking for him since there weren't any. It actually didn't feel horrid out either. He could maybe enjoy it as a little vacation. At least he slept peacefully.
"What are you doing? Who are you?"
The voice belonged to a Weequay. It came from behind him, but he paid little attention to it as he continued rummaging through the storage unit. He was looking for a flight suit in the appropriate size, but he was having a difficult time of it. He shrugged and looked over his shoulder at the guard, who was holding a hand to the blaster that rested on his hip. He thinks it makes him look tough. The fact that he needs to do so tells me the exact opposite is true. He's just a pawn. He dismissed the being, largely, because he was busy. Much too busy to be paying attention to anything other than the task at hand. He'd been paid handsomely for this. Several rare written works and a painting worth a small fortune, though he would never sell it.
"I'm looking for a flight suit. Have you seen one that might fit me?" Shakrin asked. "Most of these seem to be for females."
"Most of the test pilots are female. Expendable. Who are you?"
"My name is of little consequence. You intend to draw your weapon. I must warn you that it will not end well for you if you do, however."
As soon as he said that, the Weequay went for his weapon. Shakrin slid across the space between them and knocked the weapon to the side, causing it to fire into a nearby wall. His other hand slid forward and slammed, palm first, into the alien's chest, knocking him back and sending a puff of air whooshing from his lungs. Instead of falling back, he pressed the advantage, delivering a short kick to the aliens knee, shattering it. A scream of pain ripped through the room, but there wasn't anyone else around to hear it. He'd felt no one else within the immediate vicinity, which was why he'd chosen to take the chance to make his move now instead of waiting.
The Weequay fell to his knees, dropping the blaster as his hands went to wrap around the shattered appendage. A boot collided with his head, forcefully snapping it to the side and knocking the being unconscious. Shakrin lowered his foot, and immediately turned back to searching through the storage units for an acceptable pilots outfit. Eventually he did manage to find one and started climbing into it. The ship he was stealing was one that did not come with its own life support system, which left him resorting to one of those old black things that most Tie pilots wore. They were rather hideous and often chafed his horns, but he had to do what he had to do. Stealing the prototype was easy enough, the hard part had been getting the plans off their systems, and scrubbing it completely clean. That had taken a little help from a slicer, who was already departed.
Once he was all suited up, and with the copy of the schematics in his hands, he left the room and walked down the halls, holding the helmet tucked under his arm. Even though he'd taken this contract on, and accepted the payment, from the very beginning he'd intended to betray his employer. When it came to weapons like these, no side deserved them. This fighter was much too powerful to be allowed into the hands of, well, anyone. Sometimes you have to add to the bounty on your head to do what is necessary. It was an acceptable risk, and one that he'd taken many times before. No one had claimed the bounty yet, so he wasn't worried about it.
When he rounded the corner and entered the hangar, he found there was a small guard in position around the fighter. They seemed more interested in whatever betting game they were playing than him, however. He slipped quietly around them and eased himself up into the fighter without them even noticing he was there. He slipped his helmet on and fastened it into place before briefly glancing down at the men. They were quite likely to be injured, but such was the way of life. These men had chosen a side in things and now they were going to suffer for it. That's why Shakrin never chose a side, but always did things so that no particular side would benefit. He enjoyed it because it proved that he was right about the nature of the galaxy.
He'd examined all of the schematics and such for the ship when the slicer had gotten him access to them, so he knew how to fly the thing. Looking around, he found the right switch and the cockpit descended. This drew the attention of the guards, and they all jumped up drawing weapons. A lesser man would have saluted them as a way of showing off. Shakrin did not. Instead, he powered up the engines and flipped the shields on before using the repulsors to lift the fighter from the ground. He turned the ship about and pushed it out of the hangar and into the space around the space station, jetting away from it and into the nearby gas nebula, navigating based on his feelings. Enemy fighters that had been on patrol began to follow him, some of them having pilots good enough to follow him in the nebula.
The fighter he was in, a new prototype, was much faster than the interceptors chasing him. He pushed the ship to its limits, and flew swiftly through the nebula and out the other side. Once there, he plotted a jump in his navigation computer to the planet he'd chosen as his final destination for this mission. It was an out of the way world, not inhabited, and perfect for what he needed to happen. Punching the ship into hyperspace, he sat back to wait even though he knew the ship had a tracking beacon in it. In fact, he was counting on the fact that it did. If it didn't, it would rather ruin my plans.
Several hours later, the ship came out of hyperspace and he piloted it towards the planet. It wasn't long before scanners picked up other ships following him. That was good. They'd figured out the only planet on his rather simple one shot trajectory. Not like I made it hard for them. Flying into the atmosphere, he deliberately made the ship begin to malfunction. Debris began to spin off of the vessel as it passed through the upper atmosphere. The ship was starting to break apart. He wanted it to break apart. It was all part of his plan. Once he was safely within the atmosphere, he jettisoned the canopy and climbed out. As he did so, he activated the small personal cloaking device on his arm and then jumped free of the vessel. As it flew off to crash in a fiery explosion, likely starting a fire that would burn for quite some time, he flitted towards the ground with rapid speed.
Most people would have been panicking, but he didn't. He fell until he reached the outer branch of trees, and reached out towards the limbs, grabbing hold of one. His arm jerked out of its socket, and he was forced to let go, but it had slowed his descent. He hit the next tree branch, cracking it completely, and fell downward with a thud onto the ground. It hurt like hell, to be sure, but he would survive. The Force ate some of the pain away, and had lessened his impact just slightly. He couldn't control it to do so, but he often found that if he thought about what he needed to happen, it sometimes actually worked out. This had been a huge risk, but sometimes life was about risks.
As he lay there on the forest floor, arm out of socket and broken, though not a compound fracture, he stared up at the sky above him as the cloaking device clicked off, it's small power supply depleted. The hope was that they would have seen the fighter go down, and would assume that he'd been killed in the fire, or jettisoned who knew where with all of the debris that had been coming off of the thing. He reached up with his good hand and removed his helmet, letting it roll away. There was time to rest here. It would be a while before he could use the homing beacon he'd installed in his Skipray to bring it to him. At least he didn't have to worry about the locals looking for him since there weren't any. It actually didn't feel horrid out either. He could maybe enjoy it as a little vacation. At least he slept peacefully.