Junction IXION'S WAKE | GA + NIO Junction of Trevura and Ingo

[Spirit of Judgement]

​

LIES ARE RUST ON IRON, A BLEMISH ON POWER
A SECOND GREAT HYPERSPACE WAR STORY
FOLLOWING THE EVENTS OF WATCH YOUR BACK
CENTARES | MURACIE

​

The original course of action, as proposed by the defected ISB Agent Ruswal, had a much more generous timeline. The bombing of the Imperial Embassy was supposed to be the first of many smaller-scale attacks, enough to give the people of Centares examples of courage and a call to action for them to follow, to grow the fire of rebellion with sparks and kindling.

But the New Imperial Order overstepped its boundaries and executed Martial Law on imperial citizens. This added fuel to the flame and accelerated the original timeline dramatically. It drew the attention of the Rebel Alliance, and encouraged their involvement.

That the Centarian Rebellion Movement had ambitious goals was clear, but they lacked principles, ideals, and guidance. Their act of rebellion erred on the side of terrorism and not freedom fighting. The involvement of the Rebel Alliance had become critical if their movement was to succeed without falling into more extreme measures. Seeking through the chain of command, the Rebels seek to establish a partnership wherein the rules of engagement could be set by the RA’s guiding principles.

Keiran Varn and Fynn Dayemi, along with companion insurgents placed on Centares, had been helping coordinate the relocation of part of the 72nd Stormtrooper company when the Imperials initiated Martial Law on the citizens. This stopped their efforts, and those that had not made it to the scheduled shuttles out of the city needed to be concealed from their oppressors.

With the Rebel Alliance establishing leaders within the rebel cell on Centares, in conjunction with the former ISB Agent Ruswall, codenamed ‘Foxdie’, they reworked his original plans and organized a grand insurgency in Muracie to take back the city from Imperial tyrrany.

Two — Rules of Engagement || Issued to all Rebel Alliance personnel, the 72nd Stormtrooper Corps, and the Centarian Rebellion Movement representatives prior to engagement:

1. All targets distributed to task forces are military. Avoid civilian locations at all costs.
2. When possible, set weapons to stun. Lethal engagements are discouraged.
3. Only open fire or overtly discriminate as a last resort against military targets.
4. No civilian casualties, under any circumstances.

​

STEALING IRON | ARMOURY
Rebel task forces are deployed to the armoury stationed within the outskirts of the city to steal Imperial inventory for the cause. Equipment ranging from average blasters to weaponized vehicles is subject to be taken. Assets that aren’t liberated for the freedom-fighting cause are to be destroyed — even if that means the destruction of the entire armoury.

REBEL YELL | COMMAND CENTRE
Other task forces of the rebellion are charged with seeking out the relocated command centre (after the destruction of the embassy) to overwhelm, jam, or dismantle any communications shared within the Empire. No outbound imperial transmissions should get through! Rebels are encouraged to download as much data as possible and broadcast a message of rebellion.

Within the command centre, a group of rebels are tasked with a tertiary objective to release and arm all recent political prisoners taken in for questioning after the bombing. Fynn Dayemi, captain of Twilight Company, is one of the convicted on a long list of rebel assets and citizens to liberate.

---

---

Relevant links:

1. Centares
2. Message from defected agent Aggrius to unknown leader
3. Muracie
4. Watch your back campaign
5. Imperial Communique

 

[Valery Noble]

​

Location: Centares​

Appearance: Shadow Gear​

Objective: Stealing Iron​

Tag: Gau ​

​

With a deep breath taken, Valery lifted herself back into her old Jedi Shadow gear, and finally raised the mask that tightly sealed itself around her face. The voice modulator activated, the respiratory filter was tested and with a transfer of her lightsaber crystals, she picked up the two lightsaber hilts she used whenever her identity had to remain secret. ​

​

The current objectives the rebels had on Centares were all highly valued by the woman who now moved as Aurora, a code name she was given back when she first became a Shadow. But especially with her position in the NJO, she could not be found assisting the rebels directly, so she decided to utilize her old Shadow identity, even though she wasn't quite serving as one. These days, there was no existing record that even mentioned the code name, nor was anything tied to her real identity in any way. So as long as she wasn't captured or killed, nobody would ever know.​

​

From within her Cloak, Aurora looked down on the streets below in Muracie's outskirts. She had gotten a position on one of the rooftops, and completely invisible to the eye or ear, she watched as rebels were preparing their move against the weapon's facility. She had no interest in capturing any weapons or using them, but she was here to destroy anything they couldn't carry back or left behind for other reasons.​

​

One way or another, the NIO was going to lose weapons for their war machine today, she was determined about that.​

​

 

[Thane]

P A G A N
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
IMPERIAL SECURITY BUREAU
FIELD OPERATIONS GROUP
Rika Hiro

Rebellion. It was acting like a virus reaping upon the uncleaned gutters and street paths of unwashed peasantry. Spreading into every corner and residence unfettered. Thane like the rest of the ISB was in hopeless pursuit of its trail, hoping to snuff out sedition at every angle to little fruits of their labor.

Thane was one of the first on the ground from the Empire at Centares, the very man who uncovered 'FOXDIE' and his conspiracy to siphon Imperial funds and manpower to help the terrorist cause. Naturally, when the spark of sedition sparked into civil unrest, the ISB pulled him from his ongoing assignment to fix the problem he'd originally uncovered on Centares.

The Empire had already resorted to its more traditional means of solving problems. Military force. It'd make any hope of covertly finding and eliminating the nodes of rebelliousness more difficult, but at the very least, it drew the traitors into the open. He grew used to operating within the chaos that the Imperial military would often create in the hopes of drawing out all of its enemies at once.

As they say, when you're a hammer, every problem looks like a nail.

Embarking into the makeshift Imperial command center on Centares, Thane looked over a mountain of problems that stacked higher than he'd originally imagined.

He swallowed the fact that after all, the military might be the best means of solving the brewing crisis on Centares.

Regardless, he had to play is role in insuring all Imperial intelligence assets present at this command center were secured and kept out of rebel hands before briefing a report on the crisis to ISB once more.

They'd be as satisfied now as they were then to find a prospective Imperial world was out of their grasp.

"Whatever is left of the garrison put this command center on lockdown, freeze any external transfer of data until it can all be backed up on ISB data spikes, am I understood?" He asked the way of the Imperial Army Officer who nodded once in affirmation.

"Yes, sir. This is the directive from ISB?" He asked to confirm.

"I said it and so it shall be, Commander. If you wish to inquire more I'm sure the ISB will be open to take your comms, until then, you answer to me." Thane said before his eyes looked over the ongoing data collection streams pulling from the command center's data chips and unto an ISB data spike. Once anything of value was ripped from Centares, he could move from the defensive to the offensive, transmit the data back to the ISB which would ideally be able to relay it to its own resources and Imperial Special Operations to be able to snuff out these terrorists once and for all.

At least, as they were, on this world. He wasn't so delusional to think this would be the end of sedition.

 

[DECEASED Erskine Barran]

wrong account

 

[Jordi Massad]

1st post

IXION'S WAKE
STEALING IRON | ARMOURY

KANDARAN_SHADOW
COMPNOR

NIO: Don Belkora

GA: Valery Noble

Jordi's Loadout
Rucksack
Disruptor Pistol
Kandaran-Durasteel Switchblade
Garotte Wire
Camcorder
Wall-Piercing Vocoder
Burner Datapad
Surveillance-Camera Jammer
Cigarettes
X3 Bacta-Patches

Briefcase
High-Powered Slug Sniper-Rifle
Adjustable Bipod
X4 Ammunition Clips
Long-Distance Binoculars
Night-vision/Thermal Goggles
X8 Sticky-Charges
X8 Detonators

ART OF THE SCIMITAR: STRIKING FROM THE SHADOWS - PROLOGUE

NIA-3K-9726 (Armoury_Installation#002)
Muracie, Centares (Fall of 874 ABY)

'Diz'Ahm, I'm getting quite bored of this inactivity now.... Tell me a story, one that might help pass the time a little.'

Jordi was sitting where he had been sitting for hours by then, almost halfway through his watch-shift in a bid to contribute to rotations of more-prominent regularity and belonging, sharing the shift with two COMPFORCE troopers who had been there for at least four months prior for the purpose of manning the surveillance equipment to a well-trained standard. Besides this, their roles within the organisation meant being privy to the same sources of information as their temporary handler, and like their new Kandaran acquaintance, were also likely to drop masking exteriors around other COMPNOR elements. Times had been rather testing of late, especially for the Empire's clandestine community, but that wouldn't stop Massad from attempting to increase cohesion, and getting to know his face-covered colleagues would certainly help in this regard.

'Wait, first time I ever address you directly, and it's requesting confirmation on whether you want me to tell you a story or not.... What? Are you for real, sir?'

Unclipping the locks on his briefcase, Scimitar flipped open the life and grabbed his cigarettes as he responded,'For as long as I remain bored, I remain a nuisance.', trailing off to light his cigarette and enjoy a few silent draws to himself as he closed the briefcase and locked it again with his free hand. There would be plenty time between then and the expected first hostile engagements, and adding to this need for boredom-death was the fact this order, like all the others Jordi had issued in his tenure with COMPNOR's upper-echelons, wasn't even remotely negotiable from a trooper's rung in the career-ladder. Then, with the exhalation of the third draw, Massad smiled wryly as he continued,'And for as long as I remain a nuisance, your life-expectancy diminishes - and quickly.... So you had better think of something worth my time, something I couldn't possibly know.', with eyes darting back and forth between COMPFORCE garrison-troopers in a near-goading sense of brazen defiance.

'Alright then, Massad. I think I might have just the tale for the occasion, though I might be a tad hazier on details than the one who told it to me.... Ever heard of the Scar Hounds?'

With a simple flick of his cigarette, Jordi's gaze then crossed that of his colleague, shrugging as he waited for the trooper to continue. Imperial matters were always COMPNOR's business, but in matters he knew nothing about, the information-gathering approach was almost always prevalent as Scimitar's means of staying ahead of the curve. Matters of the Maw were never Scimitar's forte, but he knew enough to discern that such names for contingents were often attributed to tribes of Mawite origin, giving Massad quite the magnetising subject-matter to enjoy on that occasion, for topics such as these always interested Jordi from an objective standpoint. Perhaps one day the Kandaran Shadow would face off against a Mawite or two, but for the time-being, the struggle with the Galactic Alliance would take up the most of his early tenure, a thought he still enjoyed - though to a much lesser degree.

'Good, looks like I'll be surviving this one then.... Anyway, about these Scar Hounds; out of all the Mawite tribes, among all the powerful, evil folk who count themselves as Mawites, the tribe in question causes far more damage than it has any right to. In comparison to other contingents, they seem the weakest from an objective standpoint, but somehow end up packing the biggest punch of all.'

As he leaned back into his seat, the Kandaran quietly sniggered at the COMPFORCE trooper, though in appreciative sincerity for Corporal Diz'Ahm's sake as he kindly nodded with his real thoughts on the matter, happy to stay silent so his colleague could continue uninterrupted. Any information that got his hairs standing on end was enough to consider it pertinent, and in this particular case, Massad's goosebumps were going to work in seemingly rhythmic rushes that rolled back and forth - already inducing chills that were almost impossible to control.

'All owed to their warlord, a man who answers proudly to the name,"The Mongrel.", though designating him,"Demon", might have been closer to the mark.... No Force abilities to speak of, but still manages to kill his first Jedi within the first year of his reindoctrination - unprecedented.'

ART OF THE SCIMITAR: STRIKING FROM THE SHADOWS - PART ONE

NIA-3K-9726 (Armoury_Installation#002)
Muracie, Centares (Fall of 874 ABY)

'Expecting company, Massad?'

Diz'Ahm was watching the security monitors at the time, drawing the Kandaran's attention to CAM-004 as the silent trooper remained seemingly devoid of productive input to offer, springing up from his half-conscious, bleary-eyed state to slap Jordi on the shoulder as the ground-floor entrance was pinging up to the monitors with entry-requests. With a simple shake of his head to confirm his choice, Massad then sat himself up and took a look at the entrance display-feed to see who had arrived; however, much to Scimitar's chagrin, the gloomy shadows of the world outside were obscuring the faces of the two new arrivals, though their presence on the holographic displays had them marked as Imperials. Reaching into his rucksack, Jordi then pulled out a disruptor pistol and it's accompanying silencer, twisting the latter on as he muttered,'Stay here, at least until I call you down.... Imperials, but that could also be a ruse.', stepping out from behind the console and walking out with right-eye firmly aligned with the pistol's iron sights.

'As you may be able to tell already, the game of Cloak-and-Dagger has been getting quite intense of late, but either way - I'm quite certain I'll be back before you know it.'

Both troopers nodded affirmation when Scimitar turned his head to make one last brief glance at his colleagues, though the moment would find a shocking revelation when the silent one finally spoke, gruffly responding,'Of this I have no doubt, Jordi. Just keep your head in the game for now, plenty to think about as it is.', whilst Diz'Ahm opened the door for Massad and offered cover as soon as there was room to move. From there, Diz'Ahm shut the door behind him, letting the comm-link do it's job as he walked down the dim-lit hallway towards the entrance stairwell, keeping his strides as compact as possible to eliminate any potential errors on approach; he was hearing nothing but his own boot treads on the flooring, his breathing and the data-bleeping of every Holonet monitor he passed, but the silence never worried Scimitar - his ears liked it more than most.

<"After all,"The one whose hand is in fire is not like the one whose hand is in water.", this is known by our kind everywhere. But still we should be safe as long as we keep our focus tonight.... We'll be watching. Shield One out!">​

There was excitement in the air, thinking he would encounter people he'd seen in the field before, but Massad's heart was racing with adrenal wariness at the fact the individuals at the entrance could've just as easily been opposing spies masking their pings as Imperial; but despite this, Scimitar's footsteps remained compact, his breathing steady, continuing on as any operative would in Jordi's shoes. However, when he reached the front entrance and opened up from within, the Kandaran would find nothing but disappointment rising up from within as a result. 'In! Head to the security-room.', Jordi started, clenching his jaw in the attempt to quell the rising anger at the fact he had nothing but rookies to back him up, and on an op that was already set to be his most-dangerous yet. Closing the door behind them, Scimitar then came to a decision, muttering,'We won't be here long anyway, nor will this damned armoury for that matter.', before locking his pistol into safety and following the new arrivals upstairs.

<"Diz'Ahm, we're getting ready to head out. I'm done with this armoury, but nobody else is claiming it.... I want this place blown sky-high, and the new arrivals are helping.">

<"Diz'Ahm to Scimitar! Happy with this news, but you do realise it's gonna take us a while, even with a couple extra pairs of hands.... Lucky it's COMPNOR, Massad. Very lucky, but not that fortunate either. I want to be there when you try to explain this away to Belkora.">

<"Belkora's going to be a tad busy in this one I think, as is by design though, hence why I'm granted operational autonomy these days. And I'll be exerting it over the entire defence operation tonight, pure dominance with nothing but a rag-tag as always.... Imperials will need to work harder, Rebels will need to hide. Scimitar Out!">​

Nothing else would be said until all three plain-clothes operatives joined the COMPFORCE-Troopers, taken in silently with cover to Jordi's six every step of the Kandaran's slowed approach to the open security-room door, made easier by Jordi's conscientious decision to aid in covering the door to the stairwell as he said,'We'll need to move the more-expensive ordnance to an undisclosed safehouse, and we have a few in the area.... I'll leave that to you as the other Kandaran keeps watch over the whole process, sound like a plan?', ending on his question as he passed over the entryway's threshold and closed the door. Diz'Ahm would delay his answer in the effort to remember his task, as he wanted to be sure the door was properly locked before they continued in their planning efforts, a telling but fortunate sign that, like Scimitar, none there were willing to take any chances.

'Sounds like a plan to me, and my apologies for not making the introduction.... This is Private Ayad, a recruit but faaaar from raw. His placement here is probably the wisest play you're going to make tonight.'

 

[Hal Vaiken]

S A R G E
501st LEGION
IMPERIAL SPECIAL FORCES
SCAR SQUADRON
Atticus Draco | Volgin Alto | Kelinna Tryn
Jordi Massad | Valery Noble | To engage: WARHOGS

A lot of what had really gone down on Centares for STORMCOMM to deploy its key assets - SCAR Squadron - on the world had finally filtered through the iron seams ISB held over information channels. Apparently, an interagency rivalry within COMPNOR had gone sour to the point it spilled over into a planetary crisis that had dragged the Imperial's diplomatic efforts and even its Armed Forces into the mud. Everyone pointed fingers at each other until the order had come for the Stormtrooper Corps to intervene in the mess, take responsibility along with large swathes of operational command over the local garrison and its counter-insurgency efforts.

After all -- this was personal. A company of their own brothers -- the 72nd Stormtrooper Company -- had gone rogue. Treason was no faint blemish upon the Corps' reputation of iron loyalty. It was cancer that festered, eroding the Corps' honor, and like cancer, it had to be forcefully removed by any means necessary.

They were not here to win the hearts and minds of people.

They were here to eradicate terrorists.

With his helmet clipped to his utility belt and arms crossed, Sarge observed stormtroopers of the platoon they had yesterday been training in countering-insurgency operations aid with the loading of various war materials on Logistics transports. In the menial task, they had been joined by a number of COMPFORCE soldiers. The SCAR Squadron commander hadn't been too happy knowing the oversight of the armory had also been delegated to COMPNOR; not because he had anything against the Commission -- his COMPNOR membership card could be found in his inventory and it dated way back to his early days as a green recruit -- but rather he preferred full authority to be retained by Stormtroopers instead. Call it a veteran's gut talking.

If it was up to him, Sarge would've preferred SCAR be deployed liquidating the rebel cell first and then providing training to the local garrison. Not the other way around.

But orders were orders.​

 

[Gau]

​

Objective: Stealing Iron
Location: New Imperial Base
Equipment: Knight Armor | Lightlance
Theme: Elessar
Tags: Valery Noble

During the height of her Golden Age, the Republic claimed systems as far as distant Dromund Kaas, from Tython to Tatooine, a galactic community was formed under democratic rite. The letters were typed into wood forged paper, spun from the outermost layers of a fallen Wroshyr tree. This wasn’t told anywhere in the pages of the novel. It was something one had to feel within the grain of the parchment. It settled just behind the aurebesh and spine, occupying the background space that the book took up. The memory within the Force. The creation of all things left echoes inside of the cosmic pulls. For the briefest moments, Gau could understand. They came as sparks, enlightenment that shot him all the way back to the primordial novas that forged the virgining galaxy. These were fleeting. Always a moment away and hours long past. The pages of the history breathed their storied life into him as much as the sentences upon paragraphs of Galactic Basic did. They had seen much of the stories and legends contained within the chapters. A primary witness account slaughtered to serve as the steeple for it’s own message.

The novel, dated by modern standards, was one Burning Stars: A History of the Galactic Republic, from Revan to Chancellor Valorum. Seized by New Imperial Authorities during their crackdown on Rebellious thought throughout the planet. Gau saved the novel from incineration, citing the need of evidence for the terrorists motivations. In part, he was telling the truth. After all, this specific volume was said to be in the personal collection of a suspected sympathizer. The patriotic language enshrining the legacy of the Old Republic found between the covers could give assistance in identifying factionalist divides within the Centarian Rebellion Movement. Something the New Imperial Order could exploit, something the Empire could use to divide and conquer, something that could be used to bring peace to this corner of the galaxy once more.

Gau found himself deployed to this world by decree of his Chapter due to his innate understanding of the deviant. The Force Corps had plenty of willing people to die in the name of the Imperator… Emperor Fel, but they had so few willing to understand the enemy. Putting every last soul to the blade was an admittedly inefficient way of combating internal strife and insurrection. The body still moved without the head, and sever as many limbs as you wished, the heart still drummed away deep within it’s chest. Given enough time, like an Abyssin the extremities would grow back, it’s lumber to it’s feet, and the threat would be all too real once more.

At least, that was the analogies his fellow knights preferred to use. Those were the terms that Imperial Intelligence and propaganda holos demanded all servants of the Imperial State use. They were blunting elements. It was something meant to help you forget that these are your countrymen, at the end of the day. The more you othered them, the more their beliefs and ideas seemed to be that of the foreign, the more association one could make with the death of the Late Imperator, the easier it was to kill.

It was so easy to kill. Much harder to stay the saber.

Perhaps that’s why he was here. People found it easier to talk to him. Despite his alienoid appearance, his voice had a calming effect on sentients. The promise of fair trials and due processes, something Gau never could one-hundred percent assure, despite his best efforts, went a long way too. The Force Corps, the New Imperial Order, even Fel himself were more than willing to weaponize the kindness and compassion in men like him, though the thought of that always died a few miles before the finish line in Gau’s mind. A circuit that refused to complete. Lest his entire world become shattered at the revelation.

Though, to suppress something you already know, you already have to know it.

He sighed, a low humming noise that fluttered out of his proboscis. A good read, however, pointless in telling the future. There simply wasn’t anything within the pages, no notes, no underlined phrases, no dogeared chapters that would indicate anything of the thinking of these Rebels. Only the context of the book, which all in all, was a straightforward patriotic message, though layered with militant praise and uncompromising patriotism, could tell him anything of the previous owner. The attachment to the cell was dubious at best. He was lying to himself. He lied to the troopers in charge of this operation. It was nothing more than an old text owned by an even older man in an ancient bookshop. Self-serving heroism for the corpse of a tree. Nothing more.

He shut the book. The maw of a supernova stared back at him. An artistic depiction of a blue supernova forming the center eye of the Republic roundel. The symbol predated democracy in the galaxy beyond knowing, but it’s association with the movement had fallen by the wayside. What had the Rebels left behind with the emblem of old? The New Firebird of the Alliance, while respectable in it’s own rights, symbolized a breaking of tradition and association. There was something so inherently… cosmopolitan and galactic about the roundel. Something greater than Imperialism, than Rebellion, than Sith or Jedi. Something that harkened back to the true roots of transgalactic nationalism. A torch the NIO carried proudly… as perverted as the message may be.

He tapped the center of the cover. He was in the void. The stark nothingness between the formation of suns and planets, the distant nothing that dots the lands between galaxies and universes. His physical form left so far behind yet so close. There were conflagrations dancing in a warm breeze, sparks of energy dancing upon predetermined roots through the abyss. He flowed with them for a moment, reaching out, as if to seize them, before they all faded away back into the blackness. The sunless solar winds shifted him to face the eternity of the lightless sky, and within the sheer nothingness, the flickering of purple sprite. A wisp. Nothing more than a whisper within the fabric of the force. He reached out, and it shrunk away from his grasp. He reached out in another way. He sensed no malice as he breathed in the aura of the spark. No hatred, no despair, nothing of the sort. A more cautious man would assume whatever this could be was attempting to seclude it’s real feelings underneath a layer of something more inconspicuous.

Gau was an optimist by trade.

He blinked, and the gentle glow that had overtaken his eyes faded. He was back in the armory, standing in the stark grey alone among racks and racks of confiscated Rebel tools and Imperial make weaponry. He breathed deep. Letting the Force settle around him. The warmth of the wisp still hung in the air. A curiosity he could not place besides a general proximity. It was on the planet, certainly. Perhaps even closer than that, though he could not be certain.

He opened the messenger bag at his side and settled the novel within it. Picking his saberpike off of the wall, having left his shield on his vessel, no need for something that bulky during a simple investigation operation, he turned away from the hallway of weapons and began to set off. Not exactly sure where he was intending to go, but following the will of the Force regardless, letting the Force carry his feet and his mind.

Afterall, this operation was quiet so far.

No one expected a Rebel assault on a fortified Imperial base.

 

[Monos]

IXION'S WAKE
STEALING IRON

CENTARES MURACIE

THE BLACK VULKARS

SCAR SQUADRON | Kelinna Tryn Hal Vaiken Volgin Alto Atticus Draco
WARHOGS | Traden Avarice Keiran Varn Phaineve Halseigh Dagmar Kortu Zav Traros Mela Keldar Saarkis
Sry tagged all the hogs not sure how many of us are participating.
TAGS: Valery Noble Gau Jordi Massad

Equipment in bio.
​

TLDR Mox observes the armory, checks in with his squad, and begins infiltrating the amory through the sewers.​

Wind-blown dust coated the tiny hooded figure in a shade of pale brown, his lips chapped, his eyes tired. Complex logistics and careful planning were the operative expressions during the period leading up to this moment. A bombing followed by iron retaliation, which, in turn gave birth to the Centarian Rebellion Movement. Lots of things to sort out, never enough time. The loneliness of the covert operative was one of poetic magnitude – a weight that at this moment at least felt somewhat lifted. Agent Ruswall's original insurrectionist plan provided a solid groundwork for what the heads of the Rebel Alliance will ultimately see through on this day from behind the curtains.
​

For the Warhogs, it all boiled down to one building, about two clicks from here.​

Magnetized firmly at the top of a towering crane, the Anzellan rebel observed the designated deployment spot, namely the well-stocked armory through his macrobinoculars. On the surface the target building seemed as tense as expected, but due to his past experiences with imperial soldiers and agents, he never trusted the disciples of Rurik at face value. There was always more going on in the background.

Mox fastened the farseeing tool back onto his body after dusting it off, and looked deep down at the abandoned, advantageously located construction site now busy with the set of rebels that have been dispatched to take over the armory. – It's time. – He said curtly into his comm device, and without hesitation, stepped over the edge, falling toward the ground with a million thoughts running through his … honestly rather small head.

A puff of his jetpack was enough to prevent others from bearing witness to a gruesome death scene right off the bat, and Mox jogged up to his fellow teammates. Leaning heads and hushed whispers revolved around the premises as previously vetted insurrectionists have been allowed to participate in the operation, but only following a signal from a member of the secretive black ops, the Hogs of War, are they allowed to join them on their mission of infiltration and tactical procurement.

– Nothing new. Sorry. But it's time to go. – And so he slid on his welding goggles, set his weapons on stun mode, and patted down his torso for all the necessary tools. – I'm happy to say … this time you have two options. You come sewers with me, the map of which I uploaded to your datapads already… Or knock on door. – Mox spat on a crinkled tissue and cleaned his goggle's lenses with it as he spoke. – Your choice! – And with an all-too familiar half-smile on his face, he saluted them as friends, span around on his heel and disappeared under the legs of all the others around him. He soon hopped down through the sewer entrance located at the centre of the construction site, and quietly began sneaking toward the armory. The sewers were thankfully also abandoned, and more importantly they were dry, but utterly claustrophobic at the same time. Forlorn echoes were their only company down there.

Mox looks back toward those that decided to follow him into the sewers. – Once we breach the compound, the real fun begins. Although… Do the imps have sniper rifles in size S?​

​

 

[Rika Hiro]

Rika Hiro|SIA?|Centares
Tags:// Thane Jordi Massad Monos Gau Hal Vaiken Valery Noble IVI

Vibes
Rika craves the familiar urge. The warmth, she supposes, that injects straight to the back of her throat. Warmth so quick and sharp that she could even feel it simmer down her lungs. It's not good. She knows that. And it doesn't give a good taste either.She wasn't a true smoker, but she did smoke now and then, socially or as a guard against her nerves while out in the field. Soothing in a harsh way, she both hated and loved the smell. She associated it with the hazy markets back on Atrisia where local shop owners and noodle bar tenants would smoke like a chimney while going about their business. But that was a long time ago when she was young and carefree and whose only problem was getting bad grades in school. A brief reminder of what was and what once was, lost in time like smoke in the air.

It was soothing, with the way she lit the tip, smolder the end away in the darkness. Soothing because it's the only thing in her life that wasn't overly analysed by her superiors. Rika had been waiting for hours now, hours that painfully stalled and left her constantly looking at the time and her data pad for reassurance. In reality, Rika knew what was to come, and had entered the world under an alias and a plausible work ID provided by the SIA, posing as an Imperial administrative worker complete with the uniform and badge denoting her as such.

They were to hit the central command center hard and fast, providing logistical support and technical expertise to the 'rebels' who'd give the bulk of the manpower in the operation. Better than the SIA agents on the ground, way more plausible either way regardless of its amateur nature. She'd found herself a nice little spot in a dive bar a block away from the target location, waving away the bar tender as she pulled herself away from the bar side and out into the streets just as the first signs of trouble followed. Shut down the command center and take any valuable intel for the cause, but she had other plans in mind.​

 

[Jack/bounty hunter/ traveler]

Name: Jack drake
Location:new imperial base
Objective:help protect the base
Is out side watching for any signs of enemies

 

[FN-999]

TASK FORCE I​

ALLIES: NIO | In relative proximity of: | Gau | Thane
ENEMIES: GA | Monos | Valery Noble
UNIT: The Ninety-Nine (90/90)

"Out of all the places to garrison, this isn't too bad."

FN-0078, better known as "Bigmouth" due to his loud and energetic nature, stood at attention.
​

As a captain among the Stormtrooper Corps, he was the highest-ranking officer in Task Force I of the 19th Stormtrooper Assault Company and would have normally been the CO of the entire company. However, it seemed as if Nines, now a lieutenant legion commander, had taken renewed interest in the company he had led in his first months in the NIO. Consequently, Bigmouth would be subordinate to Nines, who was kilometers away leading Task Force II, for as long as he was on this planet.

However, Bigmouth had no complaints about Nines's presence.

The two were relatively close friends, having served in the same squadron with each other for years while they were both First Order stormtroopers. Even if they were on this planet for strict official business, Bigmouth knew that he could get away with having some fun and soften Nines up with a little banter.

Bigmouth reached down for a long-range portable radio on his waist belt and activated it, opening to his commander's personal frequency.

"Hey, Nines. How are the girls over at the ol' command center? Any you'd recommend to me?"

A few seconds passed, and then an audible sigh rang through the radio.

[You and I both know that the hottest stuff out here is the temperature. Bigmouth, please give me one reason not to report you for harassment.]

[Geez, you always take this stuff too seriously! No wonder you don't have a girlfriend!]

[You know that I hav-]

[Yes, I know, I know. You have bigger issues to deal with than finding a freaking girlfriend. Can't you just loosen up for once? I get that you've been a soldier for as long as you can remember, but don't you want real relationships with people who aren't directly under your command?]

[In case you haven't noticed, I'm a lieutenant legion commander, so I'm responsible for about twenty-five hundred soldiers. I don't think a date would be the best use of my time. Now that you're done distracting me, could you please update me on the condition of your task force?]

[Okay, give me just a minute.]

Bigmouth turned from where he stood, leaning against the wall of a second-floor alcove in the armory, and walked towards a door leading to an outdoor balcony. Opening the door and entering the open space, he peered out into the immediate surroundings of the building. Complying with the recent ISB lockdown order, pairs of 19th stormtroopers neatly marched around the building, and heavy footsteps indicated that indoor patrols were also uninterrupted. In fact, Bigmouth noticed that he appeared to be the only one in the building slacking off.

Normally, he'd idle for a little while longer, enjoying the downtime before diligently returning to his duties. However, he knew that the ISB personnel were a strict and grumpy bunch, so he returned inside to make his report.

[All clear. Everyone's in place on my end.]

TASK FORCE II
​

ALLIES: NIO | In relative proximity of: SCAR Squad | Interacting with Atticus Draco | Hal Vaiken | Kelinna Tryn | Volgin Alto
ENEMIES: GA | Rika Hiro
UNIT: The Ninety-Nine (110/110)

For the first time in what felt like a decade, FN-999 had a moment to breathe.
​

The lieutenant legion commander and his 454th Regiment had been placed in the thick of the early stages of Operation Winter Contingency, the smell of mud and smoke in the trenches they had dug in Csilla a not-so-distant memory. Fortunately, the higher-ups of the 908th and the Stormtrooper Corps administration had called for troop rotations to keep the vanguard filled with fresh soldiers, and the 454th as a whole was on temporary reserve. Its battalions and companies had promptly scattered with the wind, garrisoning Imperial worlds of varying degrees of importance to the Order. Given the option of joining any of his 454th subdivisions, FN-999 had decided to join his former command, the 19th Assault Company.

Centares was a temperate planet, warm enough to break a full body sweat after morning and evening drills but not quite hot enough to warrant shoretrooper gear. While FN-999 had experienced worse in his long career, some of his juniors were hardly seen without complaining about the heat. In return, the lieutenant legion commander had requested additional shipments of bottled water from his task force's quartermaster. He was told that he would have to wait for the task force quartermaster to consult the planetary operations quartermaster, and that if approved, a larger water shipment would likely arrive within 48 hours. The complainers had noticeably cheered up since, though some lamented on the "inefficiency of the bureaucracy".

[All clear. Everyone's in place on my end.]

I wonder how long THAT took him.

Though he tended to aggressively shoot back at Captain Bigmouth's teasing, truthfully, FN-999 didn't dislike it. Both men enjoyed each other's company, their shared battlefield experiences only deepening their bonds of comradery. Though Bigmouth's insistence on the lieutenant legion commander finding a girlfriend was starting to get on his nerves a little bit. As he had told the persistent teaser so many times, his responsibilities were too numerous to afford a relationship. Even now, he had two garrison task forces to look over and the competing interests of the ISB, COMPNOR, and even Imperial special forces to balance while himself indirectly representing the Stormtrooper Corps.

However, an even greater aura of doubt loomed over FN-999. He was a career killer, the blood of countless hundreds over twenty years of active duty on his hands. If he included those killed by troopers under his command, he was responsible for the deaths of tens of thousands. Even if a vast majority of the casualties he had inflicted had been military, even if he knew they would have killed him or his troopers had he not fired first, the numbing guilt still led to the occasional sleepless night. Did someone like him really deserve love?

FN-999's somber thoughts were interrupted as he observed the ruckus caused by a group of trainees performing menial loading tasks. As he observed more closely, he noticed one trooper that stood out from the rest. The trooper's helmet was clipped to his belt, revealing the face of a human male who appeared to in his thirties. He stood apart from the trainees, appearing to passively observe them as they continued their diligent work. A brief glance at the insignia on his armor revealed that he was a SCAR squadron trooper, one of many forces at play on Centares.

Perhaps engaging with him would be a prime opportunity to clear his head both and his agenda.

Taking off his own helmet in courtesy to reveal his bald-cut face, FN-999 addressed the trooper.

"Good day to you, sir. I'm Lieutenant Legion Commander FN-999, commander of the main Stormtrooper Corps garrisons in the armory and command center. Please, feel free to call me Nines. I admit, I didn't expect special forces here. Still, if it's a surprise, it's a pleasant one."

"So, how can my company and I assist you?"

​

 

[Volgin Alto]

M A U L E R
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
501st STORMTROOPER LEGION
SCAR SQUADRON
Armor [Modified] | Heavy Repeater | Pistol
Atticus Draco | Hal Vaiken | Kelinna Tryn | FN-999 | Jordi Massad
Traden Avarice | Monos | Phaineve Halseigh | Dagmar Kortu | Zav Traros | Keiran Varn | Mela | Keldar Saarkis

Each passing day was another deployment briefing and readout shoved in front of him. There was no respite, no reprieve from the needs of the Empire. Vaiken, Lily and Draco all seemed to have lives all their own outside of service. Well, maybe not Draco, but the other two certainly. Volgin? He knew nothing but the slaughter. Were it not for the cold, argent betaplast exterior, Volgin would be little more than a thug, a murderer. But service gave a breath of clean air over Volgin's activities. What would've otherwise been criminal brutality, was now heroic service and dutiful sacrifice.

As they say, if the skin fits, wear it.

But today, a different assignment.

Training. He was confident these trooper's should've known all they needed to out of Adumar, not that he'd ever been there. Volgin was pressed into service from Ord Mantell's planetary defense force and funneled right to special operations when word of his exploits funneled up to higher command.

He made his way to Hal who looked over the formation of troopers in training and spoke in a hushed voice to his commander.

<"It is almost wrapped up isn't it? They say when we'd get to the ki-"> And then another trooper, nay, a legend arrived to greet them.

FN-999.

Even Volgin respected the name...or...designation, either one.

<"Commander. Well- I'll let Vaiken handle that. I'm going on patrol or- inspection."> Volgin said in reply to Nines, offering a nod in the man's direction before eventually, he split off from the training yard alone, walking down the clear halls of the armory as a means to clear his thoughts. It was quiet here, quiet on a world command had sworn was mired in rebelliousness. But here? He hardly felt it.

For now, at least. He hoped that was soon to change.

He managed to find quiet corner and slowly lift the helmet from his head, the pressure seal breaking with a low hiss before he sparked a cigara alight and stuck it between his lips in a long draw of the seasoned herb. Either he was going to get to killing again soon or he was going to die of boredom on this damn rock.

 

[Phaineve Halseigh]

Stealing Iron
In the sewers of Centares
WarHogs: Traden Avarice , Keiran Varn , Dagmar Kortu , Zav Traros , Mela , Keldar Saarkis , And I think that's all of us...
SCAR Squadron: Hal Vaiken , Kelinna Tryn , Volgin Alto , Atticus Draco
Dirty Imps: FN-999 , Gau
Let's dance.
​

---

​

– Once we breach the compound, the real fun begins. Although… Do the imps have sniper rifles in size S?

"That's called a pistol, Mox." The Corellian's soft, distracted whisper descended faintly into the sewers, hugging the grime-coated walls as it traveled past the small Rebel group. Her eyes were narrowed, peering at the HUD of a cluttered datapad and reading from a set of scrolling characters as updates came in from a scattered network of teams.

She hovered a few meters from the vanguard, held behind the trekking squad in a slow, distracted walk, mud-stained boots colliding with desolate duracrete. The flurry of reports being compiled onto the screen quieted her mind, quelled the erratic race of thoughts that had occupied her mind before the War Hogs made landfall. Now there was only a clear, sharp stream of observations.

The comms chatter of the Rebel Alliance's scattered Centarian resistance informants made for good company. Something about the genuineness in their voices served to remind Phaineve exactly why either party was risking their lives for the other.

Both the RA and the Centarians wanted freedom-- to see the New Imperial Order finally pay for misdeed after misdeed, for incursion after incursion on the rights and lives of innocents, for having the audacity to claim they were any better than the Empire of old.

"Fifty meters," she felt the need to parrot the contents of a flashing GUI. "Weapons tight. Word is the Imps are sending spec ops..."

Be quick. Be neat. Four words loomed over the heads of the task force as they crept toward the storehouse. Crates fixed to repulsor sleds trailed behind the team, empty containers waiting to receive the Rebellion's looted Imperial weapons. Like an old lullaby, the gentle hum of the machinery wafted through the tunnels, its idle rhythm punctuated by the light taps of metal soles against the sewer pathway.

Then it stopped. The faint hum... the percussive footsteps. Light peaked from the rows of a lone sewer gate, bounding from the floor directly beneath. Slung from overhead, linked to the grate, was the grimy metal ladder that would take them into the Weapon Room. A short walk's distance from the exit point, a team could handle the security office. With eyes guided away from the Rebels' activities, accumulating equipment would be the easiest of their concerns.

As quickly as they had darted to the ladder, Phaineve's eyes returned to her datapad, thumb hovering over a red switch welded just off its right side.

"Sensor blackout in 3... 2..." her gloved finger collided with the lever, "Now."

 

[Traden Avarice]

I: STEALING IRON
WAR HOGS

Currently wearing this awful armor:

Location: Weapons Cache inside Armory
Attire: Stolen Stormtrooper Armor
Loadout: Standard Trooper Blaster, Hidden Lightsaber
HOGS: Phaineve Halseigh Keiran Varn Dagmar Kortu Zav Traros Mela Keldar Saarkis
SCAR: Hal Vaiken Kelinna Tryn Volgin Alto Atticus Draco
IMPS: FN-999 Gau and others...


The War Hogs had been thrust into a world that was much more… nuanced than their previous occupation. It had been a rocky transition to say the least, but thankfully none of the squad had been killed yet, and they had proven themselves to be quite effective assets, gaining high praise from their recent acquisition of an Imperial Star Destroyer. But Traden knew that they needed more rounded training if they were going to continue to survive… they could not simply rely on the way they had operated in the past. And so the War Hogs had all been going through extensive training in a variety of skill sets… from espionage, to weapons training, to sabotage, and the list goes on. Everyone needed to be able to stand on their own two feet if the going got tough.

Traden scratched irritably at his crotch, the storm trooper armor causing quite some discomfort for the Rebel Force Master. He was not use to being so terribly confined. He had infiltrated the Trooper regiment a few days earlier, which had proved to be rather seamless due to the fact that there seemed to be a lot of fresh blood being brought in, so he was just one of many new helmets occupying the Armory. There had been a couple of close calls, but thankfully he had been able to keep his head down and blend in.

"Why do you keep doing that." A fellow trooper commented at his discomfort. Traden turned his head towards him, straightening awkwardly, "I didn't pack enough underwear." The other trooper just stared at him, then chuckled as he focused his attention back down the hallway. They were guarding one of the storage rooms, but this was not where Traden needed to be… he needed to make his way within the next five minutes to the Weapons room, where he could secure it quietly and give the other Hogs access through the sewage access.

Traden shifted his hips again, letting out an irritated growl. "Listen… this is embarrassing but… I really need to go take care of this" The trooper looked back at him in disbelief, "For real?" Traden shrugged his shoulders. "Can you cover me? This is terrible." The trooper let out a slow and labored sigh before nodding begrudgingly, "Make it quick." Traden nodded as he awkwardly waddled down the hallway and headed around the corner, causing the trooper behind him to chuckle in amusement. As soon as he rounded the corner, he straightened and began to walk briskly towards the Weapons room. As he approached, there were two stormtroopers stationed outside. He walked up to them and stood straight, "So much bloody confusion with COMPNOR being here, wish they would just figure out what they want us to do."

They looked inquisitively at him, "What's changing? I haven't heard anything." One said. Traden pulled out a camera from his bag, "They want me to install this inside the Weapons room. Apparently there is a blind spot they want to be covered." The trooper shrugged, then asked to see his identification. After being vetted, they let him inside. As the doors closed, he looked around to see where the cameras were positioned. It was going to be tricky, but hopefully Phaineve Halseigh was in position. He walked over to the gate and stood on top of it, remaining as still as possible. If all went according to plan, Ladybird would create a feedback loop for the video feeds, allowing for them to take as much out of the room as possible without being noticed… at least… in theory.

And so he held extremely still, so that he would simply appear to be standing guard in the room to anyone viewing the feeds. And once the feedback loop occurred, Traden would open up the crate and let the rest of them up into the room.

"Fucking stupid armor…" He grumbled as he quickly reached down and pulled on his crotch again.

 

[Valery Noble]

​

Location: Centares​

Appearance: Shadow Gear​

Objective: Stealing Iron​

Tag: Gau ​

​

There they go.​

​

From above, Aurora watched as the rebels began to execute their plan to infiltrate the armory and steal the weapons they were after. With the perimeter defenses it had, they were forced to take out sensors first, and it seemed they were trying to get inside with stolen uniforms as well. Risky tactics but certainly not uncommon for rebel groups, considering they often lacked the numbers for direct confrontations. But Aurora wasn't here to wait for the moment the first blasters were fired — it was time to move now.​

​

Jumping down from her position, she made a completely silent landing on the street below and maintained her Cloak, as she approached the armory from one of its sides. Walls, fences, and guards still remained between her and her target, but she had no plans of drawing attention to herself at all.​

​

The moment she reached the first physical barrier, Aurora briefly paused and allowed the Force to alter the bonds that tied her physical form to the environment. With a step or two forward, she phased through the wall and ended up on the other side, still invisible to the naked eye. These skills she learned as a Jedi Shadow were incredibly useful for infiltration, but she knew that the moment she ignited a weapon or had to fight, they would no longer be an option.​

​

But for now, she began to move quietly through the facility, trying her best to find a suitable target. She knew the rebels would want to take blasters and other equipment they could carry, but it was likely that there would be plenty of weapons they couldn't bring back with them.​

​

However, as she moved through the building, something else caught her attention. Through the Force, she could feel the connection of another within the same facility. It wasn't one of the rebels, nor was it tainted by the Dark Side in any way. Her lack of experience dealing with the NIO wasn't exactly helpful in trying to figure out who it could be, but she assumed that of all defenders within the building, this presence was likely the most problematic for the rebels to deal with.​

​

So as a response, she began to make her way into this person's general direction, her eyes open for weapons she could destroy once the rebels finally engaged.​

​

 

[Dagmar Kortu]

Of all the places that Dagmar had sniped from, a crane was the most unusual one. He took that back, there was that time where he sniped upside down from cord back at Cato Nemodia but Dagmar doesn't like to talk about that. The Sniper was next to Monos as he observed the rest of the Warhogs getting into position. Dagmar found it hard to believe that the GA was fighting a war on two fronts, a Cold War against the New Imperial Order and an all out war against the Brotherhood.

Dagmar was always wary of the NIO, any faction that proudly placed their roots in the Galactic Empire would be someone to be weary of. The moment the GA aligned with them to destroy the Sith, Dagmar knew it would eventually blow up in their face. Just as he predicted, the NIO slowly turned against the GA and now here they are locking horns against one another. "I'm in position," Dagmar said to Mox and the rest of the team. "Standing by for orders."

Traden Avarice , Mela , Phaineve Halseigh , Keiran Varn , Zav Traros , Keldar Saarkis

 

[Atticus Draco]

KNIGHT-COLONEL | 501st ATTACHE
IMP.KNIGHT PATTERN ARMOUR | LIGHTSABERS
SCAR SQUADRON Hal Vaiken Volgin Alto Kelinna Tryn
+ Thane + Jordi Massad + FN-999
War Hogs Traden Avarice Monos Phaineve Halseigh Dagmar Kortu

​

From the front lines to clean up, the Young Knight couldn't fathom as to how SCAR, under his command, had merited such a posting. The unit was slated for extermination of Rebels, they'd proven to be good at it. Hostile mortality rates numbered high in the last missions they'd been on.

And yet, the unit's new duty was training. Training instead of hunting. The rebels, and the Imperial traitors that had become turncoats.

"Tch," he sucked his teeth, grumbling, in a rare shattering of his placid visage.

The way he heard it, Centares had been the sight of multiple mistakes. Both by stormtrooper command, and COMPNOR. As such, it begged the question as to why the Inquisition wasn't sent in SCAR's place. If the situation was so dire to deem the necessity of fast-tracked training of bucketheads, the Inquisition was far better conditioned for the rooting out and security of the Empire.

On account of the nature of the task, the Knight-Colonel hadn't been planetside the past days. As far as stormtrooper training went, Sarge was better slated, and needn't the Knight's direction as a guiding hand. These were no Sith they were fighting, no Maw Sorcerors that required a special kind of touch. In truth, he saw it as pointless. The members of SCAR required a special kind of mind. Critical, yet obedient. Anticipatory, but somehow accurate. It was a way of being that could not be trained in a number of days.

As loyal as he was, as obedient as he'd proven himself to be. He refused to believe SCAR was here for such a menial assignment.

"Fly over the city," Atticus directed to the pilot.

He felt the shuttle shift, and he patched into SCAR's secure comms.

<"Vaiken. Marshal the Garrison and prep them for deployment. Standby for following Orders.">

The time for idling had past. If he had to swap mission priorities, then he would.

The ISB and Army Command had failed on Centares. Independent warlord forces ran amuck, rogue agents, defections. The Knights of the Empire were not infallible, but when the other branches of the Empire failed, it was up to them to be the beacon.

At his beckoning, a secured channel was opened to the command centre.

<"This is Knight Draco. I am assuming command of Centares. The Rebellion has gone to ground and has vanished for weeks. The status quo will no longer be accepted -- and no longer shall it be maintained. This operation is to root out the enemy and see them eliminated.

In the time of the Civil War, the Sith were acclimated to the shadows of the underground."> Underneath Bastion it had been like an entire city could be hidden below the Imperial Capitol. He'd seen it when the Sith had attacked. They'd be thwarted then. The search had to begin somewhere, and where better than below the earth. Where scanners and the mighty could not and did not deign to look. <"SCAR Squadron is taking point on subterranean deployment. Transfer all maps on Centares' tunnel and sewer systems in and nearby the city to SCAR designated equipment.">

 

[Melvain Braxis]

Thane

White Kyber
​

"That dire?" Melvain asked, stepping up beside Thane. The ISB generally made his skin crawl but it seemed like both he and Thane had been given similar directives and the more he bumped into the Devil Eyed agent the more he just seemed like a person rather than the boogeyman that the ISB was always portrayed as. While he didn't know Thane's directive exactly, he knew his own. The military on Centares had proven to be utterly incompetent and lax in its defense of Imperial citizens from rebels. He would bring the iron hammer of Imperial Justice to this world.

"I'd heard we caught some of the ones involved. Have the interrogators gotten anything out of them yet?"

 

[Jordi Massad]

2nd post

IXION'S WAKE
STEALING IRON | ARMOURY

KANDARAN_SHADOW
COMPNOR

NIO: Hal Vaiken Atticus Draco Volgin Alto Kelinna Tryn
Don Belkora Gau FN-999 Rika Hiro Thane

GA: Valery Noble Traden Avarice Monos Phaineve Halseigh Dagmar Kortu

Jordi's Loadout
Rucksack
Disruptor Pistol
Kandaran-Durasteel Switchblade
Garotte Wire
Camcorder
Wall-Piercing Vocoder
Burner Datapad
Surveillance-Camera Jammer
Cigarettes
X3 Bacta-Patches

Briefcase
High-Powered Slug Sniper-Rifle
Adjustable Bipod
X4 Ammunition Clips
Long-Distance Binoculars
Night-vision/Thermal Goggles
X8 Sticky-Charges
X8 Detonators

ART OF THE SCIMITAR: STRIKING FROM THE SHADOWS - PART TWO

NIA-3K-9726 (Armoury_Installation#002)
Muracie, Centares (Fall of 874 ABY)

'...And when you're done loading the transport speeder, you're going to climb underneath and rig it with this charge and receiver. And before you ask why, lets put it simply; I don't trust a single adversary in this universe, reason enough but still, that distrust feels heightened whenever I'm deployed to fight the Rebel Alliance.... Just be careful down there, understood?'

Massad was leaving nothing to chance on this one, and for as long as his gut kept telling him something wasn't right, Scimitar would work within the confines of his means to make a fundamentally sound strategy for the others to follow. Everything else would be down to his team for the rest of the operation, or at least, for the rest of their short time in the armoury, and in the case of Diz'Ahm - his part may have been the most intricate of methods within the comprehensive framework they were working with at the time. Nodding agreement, the trooper of ambiguous origins removed his helmet to reveal a rather shady-looking Arkanian's face beneath as he responded,'Enough to know I'm going to be doing a lot of running tonight, and I'll be damned if its all to be done in my armour-suit array.', taking his armour off to reveal light khaki clothing beneath, though he made a point of leaving his knee-pads, shin-guards and boots for add protection from non-lethal incapacitation.

'Good....'

'Now, as for you two - you're both sticking with me.', Jordi then drawled in his near-breathy tone as he turned to the latest arrivals, lifting up one of the detonator charges he intended to litter the entire armoury complex with, putting that particular plastic charge in the hands of the nearest of the two. Continuing on after his pause for effect, Massad briefly looked to the monitors before turning back to say,'Just like I want every explosive charge in the armoury stuck to something supremely combustible, important or helpful to the Rebels' efforts in any way.... If the Empire can't have it, no-one can. No exceptions, understood?', stepping forth to get in their faces, testing their resolve and their sincerity in the process of checking for any slight hint of fearfulness or guilt in their eyes. No chances could be taken, and if even just the slightest hint of disloyalty was to be seen, Scimitar would be given no other choice but to kill the hired help and rely solely on the two troopers he brought with him.

'Understood, sir!'
'Understood, sir!'

Fortunately, the fire was there to see in the eyes of both the plain-clothes operatives, a stalwart's fire that Massad recognised with noticeable ease, a familiarity learned from his time working on two-man operations with his only true friend in the Empire. Relaxing posture, Jordi then took the charge from the nearest operative's hands, reached for his briefcase and then continued,'I brought charges with me, but you'll need to find your own. And in this regard, I'm pleased to report the obvious in saying you'll find plenty of that here - rest assured on that matter.', opening up the briefcase once more to put the lecture-piece back with the other explosive charges. Then, with one last look at the monitors, Scimitar closed his briefcase and picked it up with his left hand before even considering the pistol he then picked up with his right.

'These charges have purpose already, the ones you need to find do not.... Shall we, gentlemen?'

ART OF THE SCIMITAR: STRIKING FROM THE SHADOWS - PART THREE

NIA-3K-9726 (Armoury_Installation#002)
Muracie, Centares (Fall of 874 ABY)

Keeping his exact position a secret to all but Private Ayad, trusting in the blood of his people to keep betrayal at bay, Jordi would need to trust in one who seemed all too quiet for one of his race, even if these silences merely turned out to be the most innocuous of factors throughout the course of the Centares affair. However, Jordi also know it was still better than nothing at that point, as time was of the essence, and Massad was still making a point of wasting none of it.

<"Scimitar - this is Asset I-9. We've located the explosives,"Room".... Turns out to be an entire wing of the complex, sir. So I ask, how much fun are we allowed to have with all this stuff?">​

'My young friend, it wouldn't matter - we'll be having more fun than our enemies either way.'

<"Massad to Asset I-9! As much fun as you please, but do be sure to rig whatever you can in that part of the armour too. Bigger explosions make grander statements after all.">

<"Copy that, sir. Asset I-9 out!">​

Wherever Jordi was at the time, it was cramped, surrounded by Duracrete, and as far from the reach of potential infiltrators and saboteurs alike - placing explosives in a spot that was impossible for others to find. Carrying no scent, no force-signature or audible bleep to mark it from the surrounded by cabling and power-sources with outputs that vastly exceeded that of the IED he was setting up. And like the others, this device was set in a position to provide the biggest structural impact possible, hoping that when it's shockwave rattled off the surrounding walls, the pressure it was expected to build up would be enough to throw everything outwards at brutalising velocity. But there, in that exact enclosed spot where Jordi had cramped himself up to work, this would be the spot where the hardest impact would hit the structure, this was the spot where the entire structure would start tumbling down as a result of the blast.

'Alright, this looks alright to me-'

<"Ayad to Scimitar! We got company, tags register as both Imperial and Rebel, closing in on each other as we speak so I'm assuming this problem may just solve itself.... Neither retain the right clearances to be here anyway, and as far as I'm aware - COMPNOR sites retain the same policy across the Empire, unchaging since '64.">​

'Hah! That so?'

<"Alright then, just keep tracking them and run it by the others. Keep them out of harm's way if it can be avoided.... My mark is to be left on this city, but carefully.">​

If there really was hostilities in the armoury, Massad realised he would need to find a way to notify the unauthorized personnel of their impending doom, and give them enough time to escape in the process; but if Scimitar's comm-link signal ended up being tracked by the Galactic Alliance's assets in the area, then there was a chance his explosives wouldn't be taking any rebels down with them at all, forcing his hand before the explosives could serve any possible secondary function. If his plan had any hope of success, the correspondence would need to be timed perfectly, and delivered quickly; a quandary that was seemingly solving itself, but as the urge to keep from making false steps was perpetually present, not leaving it to chance was beginning to look more like a viable tactic with every passing minute.

'Alright, looks like we're done here.'

<"C-F Two, this is Scimitar! Order the others to leave in ten minutes, we're getting out of here.... I wish to hunt some rebel troopers and leave my mark on this city!">

<"Ayad to Scimitar! Good news, as there are more enemy hostiles making their entrance as we speak.... Ave Rurik, sir!">

<"Ave Rurik, Private. Scimitar out!">​

This would be the first time he ever gleefully ran from an objective, though it would be the first time Massad would ever have the pleasure of seeing it all explode from a safe distance in contrast. There would be no shame in it, not whilst there was still violent, horrifying intent waiting behind to enact his will, not whilst Scimitar himself had the detonator in his possession.

Not whilst the sneering, near-snarling grin was still impossible to wipe from his face.

 

[Zav Traros]

He'd thought his elbow had remained intact after that injury in Kuat, but it turns out shrapnel can dig pretty far. A painful truth he'd learned once the adrenaline from the injury had worn off. It was a gruelling trek back to the ship, and even on arrival the situation was shaky. Once they'd taken off though, the ride was comfortable – largely from the copious amount of painkillers he'd found among the medical supplies.

Amputated above the elbow, they'd attached the cybernetic straight to his upper arm. Having a mechanical joint was still a bit of an adjustment. It was sort of like he had his arm back, but not quite as it was. The uncanny conflict between what he was used to and this new cybernetic extension was a bit disorienting at times, and caused nimble motion to be taxing as he relearned how to make them.

Still, getting used to that seemed much easier than getting used to the stench waiting in the sewers.

I'm happy to say … this time you have two options. You come sewers with me, the map of which I uploaded to your datapads already… Or knock on door. –

"I'd make a door, but yeah, point made." Zav quipped in reply to Mox's jesting suggestion. He'd brought plenty of explosive ordinance, like he always did. But there were much better and appropriate uses for that.

"Fifty meters," she felt the need to parrot the contents of a flashing GUI. "Weapons tight. Word is the Imps are sending spec ops..."

Zav nodded at the warning. Confined spaces and combustible gas made grenades a poor choice. Given that the sewer had both, he had his grenade launcher slung over his back, with a blaster rifle wielded in hand. It was a lot bulkier than his carbine, but it was down to either that or a pistol. Better the bigger one; he'd rather not use an Anzellan sized rifle.

"Sensor blackout in 3... 2..." her gloved finger collided with the lever, "Now."

On the mark, Zav shut off his sensors and prepared to enter the sewers. Begrudgingly, but obligingly. The sooner they could get this part done, the better.