Mission Iron Warrant | Republic Military

[Seldan Rourke]

​

Seldan gave a sharp nod to Shepherd's confirmation of the stairwell's security. He dropped into a ready stance, the signal a brief, flat sound in their comms. "Hold here," he commanded, his voice devoid of any unnecessary words. "Shephard, form up on me. Two wide."

They followed the grim trail of bodies, silent markers through the opulent surroundings, until the polished chrome gave way to rough concrete and the doorway led into the main bedroom. The General and a Recon Commando were already inside, weapons held low but their eyes scanning every detail. Seldan's visor caught a subtle movement at the edge of the room; a man, clearly on edge, muttering to himself, his hands restlessly fidgeting. Seldan noted the potential threat, but was this their inside man?

He pulled out his datapad with one hand, bringing up a bright, clear image of their target in the dim light. Mauve. Confirmed. Seldan's thumbs moved quickly, efficiently. "General, we're late," he stated, a simple fact rather than an accusation; the timeline was critical.

Seldan moved across the room with practiced speed, took the cuffs, and secured them on Mauve's wrists himself. His movements were firm, precise, and without any hesitation or ceremony. "Package secured," he announced, his voice even. He keyed his comm, his stance a defensive barrier between the room and the stairs. "Move. Covered extraction. Move now." He then turned to the General, waiting for the next order, his next actions already a certainty in his mind.

Cassian Abrantes | John Shepherd | Shade | Raylin Fall | Mauve du Vain | Fenn Stag | Arris Windrun | Quinn Varanin​

 

[John Shepherd]

SECURED

Tags: Seldan Rourke | Cassian Abrantes | Shade | Raylin Fall | Mauve du Vain | Fenn Stag | Arris Windrun | Quinn Varanin​

The moment Seldan’s voice cut through the comms, Shepherd was already moving. “Two wide” wasn’t a suggestion, it was muscle memory. He took position on the left flank, rifle low but ready, eyes tracing the arc of light spilling from the penthouse corridor. The contrast between the carnage behind them and the luxury ahead was almost obscene. Blood on marble, smoke twisting through air perfumed by imported incense. Black Sun always did love their trophies.

They advanced wordlessly, boots whispering against the polished floor. The bodies on the way up were quiet reminders of efficiency, not slaughter, each one dropped where they stood, clean hits, no wasted motion. Shepherd didn’t look too long. There was no time for respect, and the dead didn’t care for it anyway.

When they reached the main suite, the contrast hit harder. The room stretched wide, ceiling high, draped in the kind of luxury that made Shepherd’s skin itch. Chrome fixtures reflected muzzle flashes from the teams clearing adjacent halls. The light was low, just the cold blue wash from the skyline bleeding through tall transparisteel windows. The city outside pulsed with rain and neon, the sound faint but constant, a heartbeat against the glass.

Seldan and the General were already inside. Shepherd took up guard near the entry, rifle sighted down the corridor, watching for the first hint of movement. A Recon Commando swept through the corner, signal clear, no hostiles, not yet. Shepherd’s gaze flicked to Seldan just in time to see the image of Mauve projected from the datapad.

Shepherd shifted, eyes cutting back to the stairwell they’d just fought through. His finger hovered along the trigger guard, not tense, just waiting.

The floor below still echoed with faint movement, too rhythmic to be wind, too soft to be friendly. Shepherd toggled his comms with a quick tap. “Hearing boots two floors down. Could be stragglers or reinforcements,” he said, his voice gravelly and low. “If we’re moving, we move now.”

He stepped closer to the doorframe, posture tightening into readiness, every muscle balanced between forward momentum and the patience of a drawn blade. The air felt heavier here, like the room itself was holding its breath.

Seldan was the kind of leader who didn’t need speeches, and Shepherd was the kind of soldier who didn’t need one to follow. Orders were air, execution was bone.

As the others shifted Mauve toward the door, Shepherd caught one last look at the window beyond, the neon lights of New Vertica smearing through the rain. Down there, the city was still breathing, still moving, oblivious to the quiet war fought in its bones.

He turned back to the hall, rifle raised, voice calm.

“Lead the way. I’ll hold the rear.”

Outside, thunder rolled, low and distant.

It sounded like applause.​

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Seldan Rourke Raylin Fall John Shepherd Shade Mauve du Vain Fenn Stag Arris Windrun Quinn Varanin
​

Cassian's breath came steady through the helmet filter, each exhale fogging the inside of the visor for half a second before clearing again. The room was a blur of motion, Seldan binding Mauve's wrists. Cassian couldn't help but show the smallest of smirks on his face as he turned away.

He toggled his comm with a gloved thumb. "Shade," he said, voice clipped, breath steady despite the ringing in his ears. "Package secured. We're moving to the roof. Get the shuttle ready and on the rooftop asap."

The stairwell lights flickered in the half-dead power cycle, casting the descent in alternating stripes of shadow and pale gold. Every step echoed the rhythm of the operation. Timing was crucial as ever.

They cleared the final landing and stepped out into the cold night air of the roof terrace. Rain hissed against the permacrete, the city stretching below them in a field of neon and smoke. The shuttle's engines thrummed above the gale as it angled toward the pad, finally landing smoothly.

Cassian gave a small signal "Let's go, everyone on." Cassian would be the last one aboard.

 

[Mauve du Vain]

Mauve stood in cuffs on the shuttle, staring down at the landing pad as they started to depart.

No one was coming.

No one-

Wait.

A figure in the night, tall and blonde with movements robotic and precise.

“Arris?” Mauve breathed out the name.

They weren’t airborne yet. There was still a chance. Still a moment for her bodyguard to save her, like she always had in the past. Mauve remembered a time when they’d stood back to back over Quinn’s body, shooting Republic soldiers at the conference center on Wielu. Mauve let hope creep in.

Arris could save her.

Arris Windrun

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Mauve du Vain //: Arris Windrun //:
//: John Shepherd //: Cassian Abrantes //:

Instinct told her to burn it down, all of it, but that would only make her worse. Quinn knew she couldn't destroy all of New Verdica searching for Mauve, but she had no idea where she could be, where they would take her, or who was even taking her. Constant thoughts of dread bled from the woman as the Force continued to thicken in the area.

Each shift in her emotions began to burn the sky above the neon lights and the skyscrapers. This couldn't be happening again. Why couldn't anyone let her be happy? Quinn searched the Force, trying to find any thread that led to where they were taking her.

As she stood at the base level of the building, the sky above began to darken. Clouds formed and swirled into a spiral, and the sun over Nar Shadda faded. Lightning began coursing through the dark clouds, and thunder boomed angrily as the Echani below tirelessly tried to find the woman.

Why…?

What trouble did Mauve get into that she didn't bother telling Quinn until now?

Was that call even meant for her?

Almost as if the Force itself shouted at her, the sound of a shuttle, the tug of whatever connected the two pulled. Quinn stared and, through the Force, leapt and bounded against the sky scraper, each footstep cracking glass and stone as she made her way towards the shuttle.

How annoying all of this had become…

A military had come for Mauve, the Republic once more becoming a thorn in her side.

"Mauve!" her voice echoed, booming over the thunder and the lightning of the developing storm.

"Let her go!"

Lightning crashed, avoiding the shuttle. Quinn continued to make her way towards it; she had to get there, she needed to get there.

Was she too late?

 

[Arris Windrun]

Storm clouds rolled in overhead, delivering a torrent of rain, and trailing the storm and down towards the landing was the VAAT/e gunship, with a trail of smoke where one of the engines had blown out.

Arris rigged the pilot's console to maintain trajectory as she climbed into the back and looked down at the landing pad, where the shuttle waited to swallow her Vigo up and deliver her far from Nar Shaddaa.

The cyborg jumped from the ship and landed on the ground, just behind the troopers and Mauve. The gunship crashed and slid across the landing pad, well out of harm's way, but a fiery shipwreck may've been far more distracting to the enemy than a single woman on the ground. Arris marched towards them, a revolver in each hand; her targeting reticles fluttering among their faces and bodies.

"Not good. Not good!" Her artificial heart began to race, and stimulants flooded her system.

This was one of those moments where every split second mattered, where someone in her position had to come up with a critical solution before it all slipped through her grasp. She looked at Mauve; grey eyes filled with fear and cold realization. Little memories flashed through her head as outcomes dwindled towards oblivion.

“You… are exquisite. You’ve overcome every obstacle, every duel, every opponent with ingenuity and tenacity.”

Between snatched, sobbing breaths, "Arris, help. There's s-so much. So much blood."

Arris was a titan, even if she did not look it. Mauve had seen her fight in the arena, knew the horrific violence she was capable of, and her hand trembled on that cyborg’s arm.

"Do you hate me?"

Arris could save her.

"Arris. Kill them all."

Arris raised Out; every reticle floated past the faces of soldiers and commandos until they all lined up on a single individual in the crowd, and she fired...

...At Mauve du Vain .

The slug ripped through the air with a deafening roar and a killer's precision, traveling mere inches past some of them, like an omen deciding who it was that lived or died, until the heavy metal buried itself deep inside the Zeltron's gut.

After the Kaggath, there hardly seemed to be much human left of the woman.

Quinn Varanin | Seldan Rourke | Cassian Abrantes | John Shepherd | Raylin Fall | Fenn Stag | Shade

 

[Mauve du Vain]

Arris’ gun coughed flame in the night. Someone punched Mauve in the stomach and she nearly folded over, hunching, then falling to her knees. Why did they hit her? Mauve felt something wet on her stomach.

Was it raining?

She placed a hand to her belly. The fingers came away red.

Oh.

Arris?… Arris shot her.

And then a voice in the distance, Quinn’s voice. Desperate. Screaming. But no… if Quinn had been here she would have saved her.

Someone rolled Mauve onto her back and she looked up at the running lights inside the shuttle as the door swung closed. There was so much blood everywhere.

Her cuffed hands clutched at an arm of an officer who reached down, staining it crimson.

“Please,” she sobbed.

Then the pain hit her like a wall, white hot and searing, and she screamed until she passed out.

 

[Raylin Fall]

CRACK!


Death rang out, louder than thunder.​

Over the rain, over the shuttle engine, there was a sharp crack. Raylin knew immediately what it was- a weapon. Slugthrower, unsuppressed. Traveling nearer rather than further. If he heard the shot and didn't feel the impact, it was close but wasn't for him. He however, heard the whizzing of the bullet and the slamming of it into the fuselage of the shuttle. It bounced around until the slug landed on the floor.

He flipped up his night vision and saw the splatter first. The bullet had traveled through and impacted someone- throwing high-velocity bloodsplatter over the cabin. He looked over himself. Not a scratch, just wet from the rain outside. He looked over the team, starting with Cassian. The General was fine. The Republic was safe from giving him a medal.

Seldan was fine. The soldier was pristine. So was the other one- he couldn't remember his name. But he was okay. Raylin's hand, free of his combat gloves, trailed over the torso of each team member. His habits as a medic took over.

Then, the principle.

His answer came when her hand grasped at his arm, screamed, then passed out. The shuttle moved rapidly, low and flying just above rooftops to avoid detections. Raylin had better places to work on patients, but he also had worse. He looked up at the team, and instantly he understood: he was now in charge of her care. Sure, he might've been outranked (by quite a bit, to say the least), but none of them were medics.

No, Raylin was the pit boss of caring for their HVT. After all, they wanted her alive. Raylin ripped the IFAK off of his kit, hastily opening it. Nitrile gloves, pressure bandages. He pointed at Cassian, the man he trusted and knew the most, to put pressure down on the wound.

While the rest of the team found a job, he sealed the doors and leaned over the bleeding Zeltron, breathing deeply and calmly while he pulled the in-flight medical kit. He opened it up, laying the bag out flat along the floor of the shuttle. The first thing that was needed- she couldn't go into shock. She was a petite, small thing, and going into shock was something to avoid. He unfurled one of the Stim-Shots, used his teeth to uncap the plug-

And jammed it into her leg, the meatiest part he could find. The stim-shot would prevent her from going into shock, and have enough stimulants that there was a large chance she'd wake up, screaming, and, reportedly, sometimes hallucinating or incoherent. So, he looked up at the team.

"Hold her down."

The nearest surgical team was at least an hour away. Raylin eyed the in-flight kit. He'd have to push himself, remember everything he was taught and trained to do, in order to treat this woman. He turned his head towards her, prepping the scanner. He needed to know what kind of internal damage she suffered- if it had nicked anything important, and if he needed to reach inside the wound cavity and clamp off anything to prevent further internal bleeding. Sure, he could shove kolto and bacta and what have you until kingdom come- but that was a piece of tape on a dam breaking.

But he was a Pathfinder Recon Medic. He was a Commando. He was cool under pressure.

"I'll need help next few minutes if she's gonna make it."

And he wanted a drink.

Very subtly, in the most minor of ways, now that the shuttle was using no longer drawing in massive amounts of outside air- Raylin faintly smelled like cheap gin.

Faintly.

 

[Seldan Rourke]

​

Seldan felt the pressure first, that wrongness crawling down his spine before he understood it. The storm overhead wasn't just weather; it was will. Someone out there was bending the sky toward murder. His visor flickered with static as they pushed Mauve across the roof, the rain now feeling like needles under the weight of the darkening clouds.

"Move," he barked, sharper than he intended.

The shuttle was dropping in when a new sound split the storm: engines screaming, metal choking. Seldan's instincts hit faster than thought.

"Cover! Now!"

The VAAT/e gunship slammed onto the pad behind them in a shrieking arc of steel and sparks. The explosion kicked heat across the terrace, shrapnel tinkling off his armor. Seldan rose just enough to scan.

Then the slug shot cracked the night. One round. Clean. Close.

Mauve's blood hit his visor before her scream did.

"Contact... rear left!" Seldan roared, already moving.

He swung his rifle up and sighted the silhouette through rain blur and muzzle flash: the cyborg, guns up, eyes wrong. Seldan squeezed, sending controlled bursts back downrange, trying to keep her pinned. Every shot logged, the HUD tagging targets and broadcasting the data straight to Shade. They would have proof. They'd have everything.

Raylin was already on his knees with Mauve, hands slick, movements surgical and foul-mouthed. Good.

"General!" Seldan thundered over the storm as he laid suppressive fire, pushing the enemy's head down. "Get us airborne... now! Go!"

The storm above cracked again, closer this time. Whoever controlled it was coming.

John Shepherd | Cassian Abrantes | Shade | Mauve du Vain | Raylin Fall | Arris Windrun | Quinn Varanin​

 

[John Shepherd]

CONTROL

Tags: Seldan Rourke | Cassian Abrantes | Shade | Mauve du Vain | Raylin Fall | Arris Windrun | Quinn Varanin​

The storm was wrong the second it hit him, pressure rolling across the rooftop like a living thing. Shepherd had felt weather like that before, the kind that came with intent behind it, not nature. Thunder cracked overhead, vicious and sharp, as if the sky itself wanted blood.

Seldan’s order cut through the comms, crisp and unquestionable. Move.

Shepherd broke toward the ramp at a low sprint, planting himself at the mouth of the shuttle’s landing zone. The rain hammered off his armor, turning the surface beneath his boots slick, but he dug in, rifle raised. His HUD flickered with static for half a second, then stabilized just as the rooftop shook with a violent impact behind him.

Metal shrieked, something massive hitting the pad. Shepherd dropped to a knee, shoulder pressed hard against the ramp strut, and swept the far side of the terrace with his rifle.

Then the gunshot cracked.

A slug round, close, too clean to be random.

Shepherd tracked the direction instantly. A figure moved through the veil of rain, a hard silhouette, angled wrong for anything natural. He caught glimpses between lightning flashes, someone with precision, someone who had already chosen a target.

He braced his rifle tight into the pocket of his shoulder and opened up. Controlled bursts, patterned to push, not chase. Red light cut through the storm in sharp stabs, each one punching sparks from durasteel or sending bits of shattered stone into the air. His shots weren’t meant to kill, not yet. They were meant to force the enemy to stay low, stay distant, stay away from the ramp.

“Ramp’s covered,” he growled into the comm, voice steady despite the storm hammering down around him. “She pushes this side, she’s walking into a wall.”

Lightning tore across the sky, giving him a momentary, blinding silhouette of the Sith in the distance. Shepherd adjusted his aim, let out a long, slow breath, and fired again, three shots spaced evenly, each one calculated to keep her pinned.

He gritted his teeth, wiped rain from his visor with the back of his glove, and leaned out once more, firing hard and fast to buy space.

He didn’t look behind him. Didn’t check the shuttle. Didn’t check the wounded.

That wasn’t his job right now.

His job was simple:

Hold the line.

Control the field.

Stop whatever monster was stalking them through the storm from getting any closer.

Shepherd planted himself at the ramp, rifle locked in, boots braced, and dared the Sith to try him again.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed her, like a dark cloud coming towards the shuttle.

He felt the Sith that had shot at Mauve like a dull ache, but the cloud storming towards them felt like a sharp dagger.

His reaction was swift; there was no time to think.

It was time to do.

His blaster swung towards the Echani and let out a burst dead center.

They were moving too slow.​

 

[Shade]

The moment Shepherd's blaster cracked across the rooftop, Shade moved—not in front of him, not claiming the lane, but sliding into the left flank with the practiced ease of someone who had spent a lifetime reading angles rather than commanding them.

Rain sheeted across her armor, streaking over matte plates and soaking into the dark fabric between them. Every movement she made was controlled, quiet, economical. Her knives remained holstered, untouched; she wasn't here to escalate. She was here to make sure no one slipped through the lines.

Lightning split the clouds overhead, illuminating the approaching shape—fast, furious, and steeped in a Force presence so sharp it practically carved through the storm—the kind of rage born from fear.

Shade's breath left her in a slow exhale, steadying her pulse as she keyed into comms:

"…marking a second hostile. Force-user inbound."

Her voice was low, unshaken. Simply reporting.

She didn't glance back when Raylin's hand lifted blindly for supplies; instead, she reached back and pressed a stabilized ampoule into his palm without a word. Stronger than standard stock, designed for field extractions under fire.

Thunder rolled again. Shade sensed the intent behind the incoming figure—not the focused malice of an assassin, not the random aggression of a panicked civilian.

No. This woman wasn't here for them. She was aimed at Mauve.

Shade shifted her stance, covering the angle Shepherd couldn't see, anticipating Force-based displacement patterns, shockwaves, debris. She didn't rise to meet the threat—she quieted for it, centering herself. She keyed her comm once more:

"Hostile isn't slowing."

A beat. Her crimson eyes narrowed.

"…she's not here for us."

She held her position. Waiting. Ready.

John Shepherd Seldan Rourke Raylin Fall Mauve du Vain Arris Windrun Quinn Varanin Cassian Abrantes

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

Seldan Rourke John Shepherd Raylin Fall Shade Mauve du Vain Arris Windrun Quinn Varanin​

Well this went from okay to a complete cluster. Their target was now shot, by one of Black Sun's own. "Shade, do me a favor and make sure to log all of your HUD feeds, showing the truth of what happened here. "

Cassian gave the orders to move Mauve aboard, they were not gonna tarry here for medical care, they could do that on he way out of this hell-hole. They had one sith on their tail, causing some sort of thunderstorm and another individual whom had really bad aim or was just trying to end Mauve's life before they could leave.

Probably a wise choice from their perspective.

"Let's go, everyone now."

 

[Arris Windrun]

She should have expected the return fire, but the heat of her decision clouded her judgment. A round from the first burst hit her shoulder, tearing through synthflesh and cracking subdermal armor beneath.

The cyborg broke into a sprint for the ledge as more rounds flew past her, save for the one or two more that hit. She took a literal leap of faith, uncertain how far the next level was beneath; it could've been a balcony, a walkway, or several dozen meters of regret. Unreal then that she was forced to embrace all three.

First, she smashed off a balcony below, then into a maintenance catwalk after that. She grabbed the railing for a few seconds, but failed to secure her grip, and then proceeded to fall; quite luckily, into a derelict trash compactor below, where decades-old decay mixed with acidic rainwater. Gross. Arris climbed her way out and rolled onto the alley floor, much to the bemusement of a high Rodian who seemed entertained by her ordeal.

She was shaken. By the shots... by the fall.... mostly - by her choice.

"Shit!" Arris seethed as she shambled deeper into the alley.

It was the right move, she had to remind herself; it was the wisdom of the street, her lived experience, how she was raised. Whoever came for Mauve they were seriously equipped and had the whole thing planned out. The Vigo was practically in the shuttle by the time she arrived. In their hands, whoever they were, Mauve's life--everything she knew--was already compromised. Flipped from asset to liability.

"It was the right call..."

Call. She had to call someone, but who? Then it clicked. When Mauve hired her, she gave Arris contact info - emergencies only. Black Sun emergencies, to be more specific. Just call and leave a message; those were the Zeltron's instructions. The cyborg came well-equipped, with an implanted comlink that transcribed thoughts into audio.

Arris connected and left a message: <"Boss. It's Arris Windrun."> She was unsure if it went straight to him or a trusted lackey. They never even spoke before.

She continued, <"Black ops came for Mauve... too professional to be mercenaries, I think. Had her halfway into a shuttle before we knew anything was wrong.">

The cyborg looked over her shoulder, paranoid that anyone might be following her.

<"I..."> Arris hesitated. She needed to be tough on this one, own her judgment rather than regret it. <"She's bricked. No leaks, yeah? I did what needed to be done. Awaiting orders."> Her message ended there. Velzari Tharn

Mauve du Vain | Quinn Varanin | Cassian Abrantes | John Shepherd | Seldan Rourke | Raylin Fall | Fenn Stag | Shade

 

[Fenn Stag]

​

Fenn watched as the team expertly moved out of the apartment, leaving him alone with the weight of his betrayal, treachery and deceit. It was not a good feeling. No, he did not want to serve the Black Sun any longer. But still, he had mixed emotions about throwing Mauve to the maelstrom of a vengeful Republic. Yes, they had nice platitudes and wonderful slogans, banners, royalties- but they had just sent a kill team across the galaxy. Their honey-coated words could not hide their effectiveness and violence.

The long arm of the law had reached out and grabbed Mauve. Fenn mulled over the justification in his mind of his betrayal. Yes, it was the right thing to do. Mauve was responsible for many deaths, kidnappings, murders, enslavements, thefts- all manner of crimes, some worse than others. And yet he had been loyal to her out of a fear of not belonging. But the more he saw the Black Sun, the more he realized he was not a trusted companion. He was a wildcard, an asset, a tool to use.

Just as she was.

And eventually, tools dulled and lost their edge. And were disposed of. He knew that was coming to him, as evident more and more. The Black Sun was not an organization based upon loyalty and fealty, it was a profit-motivated machine. Profit for power, power for profit. Slaves, murder, corruption, control. It was not a means to control, to enact the changes they want. They wanted simply to control, to manipulate and to own as much of the galaxy as possible for their own financial benefit. It was an easy system to see through. But, even he, had to admire the depths of which the Black Sun had festered in the galaxy. They were a force to be reckoned with, a standing army, with a large navy now. And- a Star Destroyer, as he heard. A real power on the stage of the galaxy now.

But, Fenn could not justify himself any longer. The wages and paychecks weren't enough. The "belonging" wasn't enough. The mask slipped as soon as Mauve saw that it was him that betrayed her. He was simply a tool, plucked for his skills, out of necessity, out of a need for a man like him to do the things he did. He was not their friend. They were not his. They were not his family. They did not care for him, did not want to help him.

So, as soon as he saw it- with a help from wise words from a foe, Fenn set in motion his plan.

And still, in victory, he found himself with an air of defeatism, of sadness, regret. He looked at himself in the mirror, seeing not the reflection, but a vision of himself. The one that he spoke to often, the true self. The one that lingered with him since the Dark Harvest. In one of Mauve's many mirrors in her home, his face, covered in a mixture of blood and warpaint, smiled back at him. A cruel, wolfish smile. Fenn was wearing a helmet. His helmet. This was not. This was not real. It was not really there.

"You've been a bad boy, Fenn." It said at him. It. Not him. It was not real. He knew it was not real. It was not a real entity, it was a hallucination. He grabbed his head and wished it away, as he often did.

"I'm not going anywhere, Fenn."

"Leave me be, voice. You're unwelcome."

"Is that any way to talk to you?"​

REGRET
THE
WORDS
YOU
THINK
UNDO
THE
WORDS
YOU
SAID
​

"I do not need you nor are you wanted. You are a stain, a curse, an affliction. An amalgamation of myself that I wish free of." Then, the self in the mirror reached out, a hand escaping into reality, grabbing Fenn by the throat. Crushgaunt covered hands squeezed tightly on his exposed neck. He pushed back, as the figure terrifyingly crawled through the mirror, materializing into reality like he had never seen it do before. Always lingering on the edge of his mind, the voice would cry

"You don't deserve to think on your own. You have been pushing me away and away since time immemorial it feels like. And now that I'm here-"

A hand grasped further, tighter on Fenn's throat.

"You-

FIGHT BACK​

Are.... MY SON FIGHT BACK

Not...

Here."

The sudden push away, and the figure was gone- he was gone, and the hand around his throat, was his. He blinked rapidly, collecting himself. He had an escape to make. He quickly left the apartment, and hoped to avoid the incoming swath of Black Sun troops that were no doubt already coming to kill him, or find out what was going on with their boss. Infact, he imagined there quite a great many number of people in the Black Sun that were suddenly concerned with the idea that the Republic had done such a daring raid.

And how compromised the treachery had gone, outside of Fenn. Fenn would not give them the chance to ask. He had places to be.

We.