Fate Beckons [Midnight]

[Nomad]

Things couldn't have happened at a worse time.

This was supposed to be an easy mission. It was supposed to be a quick mission. So far, it was turning out to be neither. Assigned to an unmarked Republic freighter, Nomad had been tasked with protecting valuable cargo while the ship was en route. It was supposed to be a one-and-done type of mission, but then things got complicated. While patrolling the freighter suddenly the engines failed. Next thing Nomad knew, the whole ship was dark, and everything but life support stopped working. Clutching his rifle, Nomad floated down one of the hallways leading to the bridge, hoping that he'd get some answers from the captain himself.

Did the engines fail? Was this sabotage? He couldn't be sure. Right now his priority was intel, and from there, figuring out how best to protect the cargo. The way he saw it, though, they were floating, dead in the middle of no where, with no way to physically keep the cargo out of the wrong hands. Though he wasn't supposed to know what they were carrying, he had caught a glimpse in one of the several large crates that had been loaded on. Paintings, statues, priceless works of art. If Nomad could hazard a guess, they were moving works of art that had probably been donated to a Republic institution. Whomever got their hands on this collection would be extremely, extremely rich.

Which meant this was most likely no accident. Quickening his pace in the zero-gravity, Nomad moved forward.

 

[Midnight Rapture]

What the frack was this?

Pieces of paper. Paintings that look like they were done by a two year old. Sculptures of people who she cared little about. Fiction works too old to even opened. She was promised treasure. Well...not actually promised. More like she overheard talk about a huge treasure heist, and so in all her infinite wisdom decided to jump the gun on those thieves, swoop in early, take the riches and get out before the competition even knew.

But come on, this was not treasure! Precious metals, weapons, fun stuff like that--easily turned around into much dough. That was treasure. This junk would take forever to find a buyer--and then she would have to deal with some artsy pansy who would probably try and undercut her pay. Plus she couldn't move all these things by herself, in all their delicate oldness.

And to make things worse? The so called security must have been alerted (not that that was surprising. She sorta stuck a wrench in their engines, blowing them out, rendering the ship a flying heap of uselessness. Sorta like the 'art' it carried). But now she had to deal with some over eager second rate security guard AND get at least some of these paintings out (had to pay for gas after all) AND time was ticking till the other thieves would come...

Things were definitely not going her way.

 

[Nomad]

The freighter was larger than most. In fact, Nomad would probably classify it as a small capital ship. The hallways never ended, and it was just as confusing as any Star Destroyer he had traveled on. The long list of reasons he hated space travel just kept getting longer and longer...

The cargo hold was his next stop. He had already secured several rooms, and now it was time to actually check what he was guarding. As much as he wanted to follow orders, the fact that he needed to protect artwork over actual lives rubbed him the wrong way. He felt naked without his normal commando armor, only opting for a combat vest and and a smaller carbine, Nomad slowed as he approached the cargo bay doors. Like the others, it refused to automatically open, forcing Nomad to release his rifle as he dug his fingers into the manual release. Placing his feet on the wall, he pulled at the edge of the door, forcing the screeching metal to move. It took several loud seconds, but Nomad finally made a space big enough to fit through. Taking a deep breath and shouldering his weapon, he moved in.

The first thing he noticed was the lack of emergency lights. The ship, when it lost power, had switched to red emergency lighting, giving Nomad at least some way to see. The cargo hold seemed to lack that feature, forcing Nomad to use the flashlight that was attached to his weapon. He hadn't seen any signs of intruders yet, but the clone knew better than to let his guard down. He moved quietly towards the crates, keeping his eyes open, scanning the room. He couldn't see anyone, but little did he know that trouble was in there with him...

 

[Midnight Rapture]

Dark clothes that go perfect in stalking. 50 Creds.

Face paint to streak black lines on cheeks to blend in well with shadows. 7 Creds.

Shoes that did not squeak when she walked. 22 Creds.

Priceless statue in hand. 250 Credits. 'Priceless' never is actually priceless.

The reaction when she slammed that statue over this security guard's head? Now that would be Priceless.

That is if she could pull it off. Quietly she tried to stay in the shadows, trying to avoid the flashlight that swung back and forth. The statue looked like the size of a flower vase, but boy was it heavy. She should've took the ewok porcelain figurine...it was smaller, but big enough to get a guy unconscious. But it entirely creeped her out too much to even go near it. And so she ended up with the carved stone figure of Jango Fett. It weighed a ton, but she had to admit was really cute. Too bad it would be smashed soon enough.

Two more steps. She was behind him, just out of reach. One more step. She held it high above her head and...oh damn. He shined the flashlight right on her, she paused like a deer in lights.

"Um...hi," she said, completely off guard and halfway apologetically. Then she started to bring the statue the rest of the way down, hoping to knock this guard out and make her escape with some abstract paintings of Endor (or at least she thought that was what the paper with several green splotches was).

 

[Nomad]

He wasn't sure what surprised him more. The fact that there was a person in there in the hangar with him, or that the person was holding a statue...of him. Either way, it caused Nomad to hesitate before actually dodging the statue, which he managed to do...kinda. The good news was that Nomad's head wasn't in danger, because he got that out of the way of the statue. The bad news was that his right shoulder fell victim to his stony face, causing him to shout in pain and release the grip he had on his weapon. He stumbled back as the blaster carbine clattered to the ground along with his flashlight. His right hand instinctively went for his sidearm, but unfortunately the arm was still numb from the powerful blow to the shoulder.

"Stop!" he shouted, hoping that the woman (assuming this was an actual woman and not a male with a very high pitched voice) wouldn't' see him trying to reach around his hip with his left hand to draw his weapon.

Wait, why would shouting stop actually work? Did that ever work?

It took several seconds but he managed to draw his blaster, but by then he was still blinded by the pure fact that it was so damn dark in the cargo bay. How was she seeing in the dark?