Some Hellhole, Ryloth
The order of society was one seemingly thought to be absolute; yet every decision made in the light had opposition veiled in the shadows. In this modern era, the sordid act known as slavery was one outlawed across the Galaxy. However, despite this fact, there were those bold enough to spit in the face of the established laws...and as such, innocent men, women, and children were subjected to the hellish reality that was forced servitude at the hands of merciless masters. Enter the Phantom Corps: dedicated warriors whose hands were steeped in blood...and as such had no reason to stay them for any reason. This day, their mission rested on the shoulders of one known as Isley Verd: a Mandalorian by birth and a warrior by trade.
The target was a slaver ring located on Ryloth, the home of the Twi'lek race. For centuries, slavery had been the driving economy of the planet; and ever since its being outlawed, the Confederacy had done everything in its power to bolster its economy with other services. However, dramatically changing an entire planet's way of life due to morality...was easier said than done. As such, operations such as this needed to happen; operations that were off the books and off the radar. Missions where slavers would die, painfully, and their wares liberated. As such, the armored warrior found himself crouched outside the entrance to a rather shady warehouse; one "said" to be purposed for the packaging and shipping of military rations.
The Confederacy's intelligence knew better. Hell, everyone knew better. And as such, damn near everyone inside was going to die...and Isley didn't have an issue with that. From his utility belt, he drew forth his disruptor pistol and held it at the ready, then waited for the opportune moment to strike. That opportunity came when a large, brutish guard decided to abandon his post in order to relieve himself on the side of the building. This disgusted the Mandalorian, and as such he lodged a disruptor bolt in the back of the man's skull. There was an intense flaying of flesh and bone in response to the immense heat and energy shot by the pistol, and as such the guard's head damn near disintegrated. Isley didn't even flinch. He simply opened the abandoned door and stepped within the darkness.
Instead of crates of rations, there were cages. Hundreds. They were cramped spaces, some rusty, and most soiled. The smell of the warehouse was absolutely disgusting, so much so that the guards wore masks in order to prevent themselves from smelling how deplorable their wares smelt. Isley, fortunately enough, had his helmet on; but he was no stranger to being kept in a cage. Hell, that was his life for three years...and as such, it infuriated him to see such treatment of another living being. To this end, he reached within his utility belt, produced a pair of flashbang grenades, and hurled them into the midst of the guards. The blinding light illuminated the warehouse and the Mandalorian drew forth his second disruptor pistol.
The shootout had begun...and Isley had the element of surprise.