Private Operation: Glasslight

[Cato Demora]

Location | Forward Command Deck // 'Khan' Class Star Destroyer 'SIN Nihil' // Firefist Frontline Orbit

MISSION DESIGNATION: OPERATION GLASSLIGHT
TARGET: N'vhaar | Designation 2178-Beta | Firefist Sector
OBJECTIVE: Political Destabilization, Asset Liquidation, Controlled Collapse

"Good morning, operatives."


"You are being deployed to N'vhaar—a frontier world under nominal Republic alignment. Its leadership council has recently denied Sith diplomatic presence, citing 'moral incompatibility' with Eternalist doctrine. Their mistake."


The projection shifted. Wireframes of government buildings. A flag. Civilian densities. Maps that bled red at the edges.


"Glasslight is a precision destabilization campaign. You will be inserted under diplomatic pretense. Your primary mission is to fracture local authority and eliminate keystone figures. A mix of insurgency encouragement, infrastructure sabotage, and information warfare will be used to force collapse from within."

"You are authorized to:

• Arm separatist factions.
• Frame Republic-aligned politicians for acts of terrorism.
• Leak falsified communiques suggesting corruption, treason, or subversion.
• Deploy Project Bleaklight if all other options fail."

A faint flicker of unease among the junior officers at the term. No elaboration was given.

Personnel assigned:

• Cato Demora – PRAETORIAN Class-V | Lead Operator
• CT-312 "Leftovers" – Command Trooper, Infiltration-certified | Support & Field Oversight
• 2x Auxiliary Commandos – Heavy Assault / Saboteur Roles
• 1x Signal Officer – Embedded Observer for Tactical Adjustments

"This is not a warzone—yet. Your job is to make it one. The civilian population must believe the collapse comes from within, or from Republic failure. Discretion is critical. Collateral damage is regrettable, but permissible within mission bounds."

"You have 48 standard hours to break the back of N'vhaar's resistance."

"Do not disappoint the Empire."

 

[Cato Demora]

Cato hefted his rifle sling until it neatly clipped to its mag-slot on his shoulder. He sighed as he picked up his helmet and strode over to the rest of the squad he had been assigned. Cato stood much taller than them, and his mix of both surgical and war scars made him an altogether unruly picture beneath the helmet. He looked between them, but did not smile in greeting.

"Congrats, Soldiers. The Emperor has ordained you the righteous privilege of dying today. Lets not disappoint him.", Cato said flatly, despite the slight humor in his tone. A PRAETORIAN was rarely known to be human, but at least Cato could jest.

"We fly out five minutes ago. Lets get down to the Apollo, Hanger Bay 3. Any questions?"

CT-312

 

[CT-312]

//: Cato Demora //:
//: Forward Command Deck // 'Khan' Class Star Destroyer 'SIN Nihil' // Firefist Frontline Orbit//:
//: Attire //:
//: Weapons: IQA-11 & Vibroblade Knife//:
//: OPERATION GLASSLIGHT //:​

Listening to the briefing, watching the projection of the objectives, ‘Well this is new’, taking in and memorizing the information that was being shown. CT-312 was summoned to the first legion, assigned to a squad with a Praetorian. It was something she'd never thought possible. Not only that, but this mission needed a gentler approach. Not the usual run and gun infiltration that Scout Trooper was used to. A covert type mission. Something CT-312 had never done before. ‘48 hours to break the back of N’vhaar’s resistance’, both brows raised in amusement beneath her helmet. A first for everything.

Double checking her equipment, CT-312 opted out of bringing her LO-18D Assault Rifle. Instead bringing a simpler weapon, the IQA-11. Patting herself down, specifically making sure the vibroblade knife was secured at the back of her belt. As the rest of the assigned personnel finished checking their weapons and equipment, their Squad Captain—the Praetorian—stood towering over them.

"Congrats, Soldiers. The Emperor has ordained you the righteous privilege of dying today. Lets not disappoint him."

Visor turned, facing the giant. A small smirk appeared on CT-312’s face from the Praetorian’s words. His humor, subtle as it was, did not go underappreciated.

"We fly out five minutes ago. Lets get down to the Apollo, Hanger Bay 3. Any questions?"

A nod was given in acknowledgement. Slinging the sniper rifle on her back, "What’s our first objective, Captain?"

 

[Cato Demora]

"We need domestic support.", Cato said as they walked towards the lift that would take them to their insertion transport.

"Chances are we can't false flag if we're dressed in our Empire's Best. More like, we need to learn the landscape of the political underdogs then wear their colors."

The lift was quick, and on it was enough firepower and weaponry to wage a war - but given it was only five of them, this seemed like overkill. Cato walked over and set his helmet down the second he had the chance, quickly going over the requisition and marking it off on his holopad. The dataslate chimed to life for confirmation when he was done, then he turned to the others, just in time for the lift to finish. He alone hefted two boxes, motioning for the others to grab one. These things were heavier than he made them look.

"We don't have the luxury of time here - normally I'd say we'd train and fund insurgents, but 48 hours isn't enough time to do that. So instead, we're going to dress up like our friends-in-the-slums, then strike right where the chain is weakest. The planet isn't as stable as the government makes it look, and one good firestorm should allow us a clear path to Sith incursion."

"Got any plans for sight seeing?", he asked as he placed the two crates he carried into the Apollo.

CT-312

 

[CT-312]

//: Cato Demora //:
//: Forward Command Deck // 'Khan' Class Star Destroyer 'SIN Nihil' // Firefist Frontline Orbit//:
//: Attire //:
//: Weapons: IQA-11 & Vibroblade Knife//:
//: OPERATION GLASSLIGHT //:​

Following Captain Cato, listening to him explain the plan of attack strategically. CT-312 mentally agreed. Sometimes all it needed was a little encouraging push and the cards would just fall in place.

CT-312 gripped one of the boxes, raising her brow at its weight. Not expecting the box to be that heavy–and how effortlessly the Praetorian carried two. Lifting the two of them like no big deal. Suggesting, “A few hidden tactically placed remote thermal detonators on both sides could be of use during the firestorm.” Bracing herself, the Scout Trooper gave the heavy box a slight upward toss. Redistributing the weight and securing her hold as she followed Captain Cato to the Apollo. “I hear explosions make for a great Holocard”

"Got any plans for sight seeing?"

She arched a brow, clearly entertained, a smirk tugging at her lips—amused that a Preatrium would even bother asking.

"Ha. Funny, Captain. No sightseeing, just targets. Only sightseeing worth doing is watching them tear each other apart from the inside out. If time permits and if there’s a bar left standing when we’re done, might take a couple of drinks afterward—drink in the ashes. First round’s on their governor's expense account. How about you—planning to bring any souvenirs back?"

As the lift hissed opened. They made their way into the awaiting Apollo ship. Setting the heavy box down inside, the other squad members placed their boxes inside as they entered the ship. Strapping themselves in their seats, ready for what’s to come. CT-312 inhaled deeply, no more time for jokes. Securing herself inside the ship. The real sightseeing was about to begin.

 

[Cato Demora]

The ship began to lift off just as they set their final things into their cargo-mag-locks. Cato quietly allowed his armors boots to seal him to the floor while the others strapped themselves in for the ride. He glanced over to CT-312 just as he put his helmet back on - never did like how dark it got on these rides through space, and the helmet alleviated that with some infra.

"Me? No souvenirs. I always preferred seeing nature.", he said flatly. Without his face to guide her, it was hard to tell if he was joking anymore.

"Typhojem, uplink the others to the game plan."

After a moment, each of their helmets would begin to show the data, a holo-feed of the locale they intended to land on first. It was a major political wing of the planet's leading party conglomerate. They were notoriously pro-Republic, and they weren't shy about how much they enjoyed licking Jedi boots. This was clear by the secondary flagpole carrying just that flag.

"This is our cover. Kard'uk Internationale.", Cato said through his microphone as the ship left the greater vessel.

"They like the Republic, and they aren't shy. Clearly. They've made overtures to the administration over the last year hoping to bring the planet into the Republic - but they got stonewalled recently by isolationism. We're going to pretend to be them, and attack the headquarters in a false flag."

Typhojem interjected then, the scene changing before them to a distant map coordinate.

"Captain Cato and team will deploy two clicks from this locale. Speeders have been acquired along with uniforms you will wear accordingly. No Sith Callsigns are permitted on this mission - you will each take an alias of your choosing for the duration of the operation. Emperor's blessing - you are considered killed in action until you return. Know this means you will be disavowed and all Sith tracking or knowledge will be erased should you be captured."

"Thank you for the kind reminder, Typhojem.", Cato sighed.

"Don't worry kids, if you get captured - I'll put a bullet in you before the Emperor's Corpse Priests get a chance to blow up your head from a galaxy away. Any questions?"

 

[CT-312]

//: Cato Demora //:
//: On the Apollo // Firefist Frontline Orbit//:
//: Attire //:
//: Weapons: IQA-11 & Vibroblade Knife//:
//: OPERATION GLASSLIGHT //:​

Watching Captain Cato not bother to strap himself in as the ship took off, any jostling or turbulence felt didn’t affect the Praetorian. Or at least it seemed like it didn’t bother him. CT-312 couldn’t tell if he was joking or serious with his response, but nonetheless found it humoring. ‘Nature. Huh. Well, what do you know’

In the darkness of the ship’s hull, her internal helmet’s HUD started to display data. Their drop zone of the local area, clearly showed a pro-Republic group waving around a flag for the Jedi’s. CT-312 could only roll her eyes on the foolishness of this planet’s political party. ‘Idiots.’, the Political Party didn’t even bother to try and be humble with the fact that they were pro-Republic. Whoever was leading that party, clearly didn’t bother to think of the consequences nor care for their people’s lives from these actions. The Scout Trooper remained indifferent to both the Empire and the Republic. Driven by duty, loyal to the mission above all else. It was a shame the people had to suffer for their leaders’ mistakes. They’d had a chance to submit, and now they would pay the price for refusing.

"This is our cover. Kard'uk Internationale.", Cato said through his microphone as the ship left the greater vessel.

‘Kard'uk Internationale’ , CT-312 had to give it to the Sith Empire to handle this discreetly rather than to come in with brute force. It was tactful and smart, a controlled collapse that minimizes the collateral damages compared to just wiping out everything. ‘Guess the truth’s just another uniform, these days.’ The Scout’s gaze stayed fixed on the halo-feed. Not a word or shift. A steady hum of her respirator and the soft ping of data scrolling past her HUD as the information switched to a distant map coordinate.

Typhojem gave the final part of the plan, the halo-feed from her helmet’s HUD cut off. CT-312’s mind struggled with an alias. Creating a false identity was something she’d never done before. It never had arisen for her. Even if it were just only a name to be used, the Trooper had always been a number. 312. Or, for lack of a better term ‘Leftovers’ from her origin. Letting out a barely audible sigh, at least she had the time till they got there to figure it out.

Hearing Captain Cato’s words despite the grim truth of what would happen to them if they were caught. Gave a weird sense of comfort if her Alias was that bad and she was captured. CT-312 couldn’t help, but let out a tiny smirk as her eyes narrowed slightly. Silently amused by the potential grim situation.

“Would this disguised assault alone be enough to achieve the overall objectives? Or should we still need to frame and leak falsified data for added touch and precaution?” It would be great if they could simply hit all the birds with one stone. Easily completing this mission less than the given 48 hours. Before her thoughts drifted on coming up with an identity, CT-312 teased.

"Ah. Just don’t miss when you do, Captain." as if the skills of the infamous Preaturim were ever in question.

Leaning forward with her elbows resting on her knees. Fingers curled under her chin as the Scout’s gaze drifted inward. Her mind in deep thought, trying to come up with an Alias for the remainder of the flight.

 

[Cato Demora]

CT-312

"I don't miss.", he offered her in return. A threat, or a promise to be quick - who knew what he meant.

"We will leak a manifesto recorded by a Jedi we've blackmailed. They think their pride is worth a planet, so we better put it to use. Once that goes viral on local networks, the attack will happen. Heavy blasters have been welded to the rear of each, and civilian targets are not off limits - they're actually secondary objectives, if not primary. The more destruction, the better."

"Our real main objective, however, is killing what remains of local leadership. A world without its head, and it won't matter how small our assault team is, we just need to set off a civil war for the Sith to put an end to."

 

[CT-312]

//: Cato Demora //:
//: On the Apollo // Firefist Frontline Orbit//:
//: Attire //:
//: Weapons: IQA-11 & Vibroblade Knife//:
//: OPERATION GLASSLIGHT //:​

Nodding in acknowledgement of the Praetorian’s response. For the remainder of the flight, no one spoke. All that could be heard was the low thrum of repulsors and the occasional creak of armored plating. The Scout Trooper mulled over the alias. Thinking of names, but none would come. Her mind drifted to the overall mission. Specifically the type of mission. A covert type. Everything had strategical thoughts and actions behind it. Like a game of chess. CT-312 was just a piece on the board. She had her name.

Soon, the ship began to rattle and dip down as the Apollo broke through the atmosphere. It banked low, slipping beneath the radar nets. Arriving at the two clicks out from the locale. Engines whining down as the ship’s ramp began to drop down with a hydraulic hiss. Dust curled outwards as the ship finally settled down on the ground. CT-312 and the squad picked up the boxes that they carried into the Apollo, following Captain Cato’s lead as they all disembarked into the night. The moonlight was the only source of light as it caught on the edges of the grass in the area.

Putting down the boxes by the awaited parked speeders. Each was lined up under a thermal tarp with a duffle bag on the seat. Inside had uniforms and armor that were clean but worn–just enough to sell the story. Patches of Kard’uk Internationale adorned the sleeves and spray painted on. The rest were fake IDs, local ration packs, tactical comlink, and datapads loaded with forged manifestos and route maps. Matching the aesthetic was easy.

Pulling the thermal tarp off, CT-312 stood by her speeder. Unzipping the duffle bag, pulling out the garments and armor pieces that would be her new identity for the next forty eight hours. “What should we do with these?”, her head cocked sideways toward the boxes they brought. As the Scout Trooper began taking off her current gear down to her undersuit. The other squad members began doing the same. Working swiftly under the cover of night.

It did feel odd for CT-312 to not be in her usual gear. Her outfit was more layers of fabric and a few armor pieces. A chest guard over her heart, a singular shoulder pad on her left, with only knee and elbow pads, sprayed with the colors of the Kard’uk. But inside, she felt the same silence: sharp, cold, and watchful. The Scout took one of the clothes, ripping a makeshift bandage roll. Meticulously wrapping it around her sniper rifle’s stock and body to complete the look.

The illusion was perfect. Disgustingly perfect.

Grabbing the rest of the contents inside the duffle bag and putting it on her person. Coming across a few remote thermal detonators, both her brow raised. ‘Oh?’, the Captain did say the more destruction, the better. CT-312 would put these to use. Grabbing the fake ID, she entered her alias and slipped it into her pocket. Mounting her speeder, she slid her rifle into the side holster, scanning the horizon. Her gaze went up as the Scout took in the starry night sky. There was something calming about looking at it before the mission began. The sound of a zipper snapped her attention back to the group. Some of the squad was still finishing up. Activating the comlink through an encrypted channel.

“Rook Talver, locked in and ready.”

Expendable, but always the first to cut through a line.

 

[Cato Demora]

"Good choice, Leftovers.", Cato said with a shrug of his own chest plate. He was not built like the others, he suit was high tech and directly embedded in the skin in multiple places. The pure quantity of cybernetic hookups in his skin made it hard to look at him for a moment, but he quickly covered up with a variety of smugglers gear. His face, also carved with scars and cybernetics, was wrapped in a dark shemagh also in the colors of the Kard'uk.

"Load the boxes in the speeders - as much as we can carry. We might get locked in a siege, and I want to be prepared for that if we are. We move in, kill what we can, and take hostages inside before killing leadership. I want you on the turret, 'Rook'. That understood?", he said as he lifted the boxes and loaded them. One was filled with their old gear and loaded into a nearby dumpster - locked, then booby trapped before moving on.

"We'll need them on the way back. Sith Fleets will arrive in 48 hours, and we are to join the initial assaults.", he said as he entered the first speeder. The other two that came with them entered the other, quickly doing gun checks on the turret before giving them the thumbs up. With a nod, Cato ignited the engines and began to lift off - only a few minutes and miles to go before hell broke loose.

CT-312

 

[CT-312]

//: Cato Demora //:
//: Firefist Sector //:
//: Attire //:
//: Weapons: IQA-11 & Vibroblade Knife//:
//: OPERATION GLASSLIGHT //:​

"Load the boxes in the speeders - as much as we can carry. We might get locked in a siege, and I want to be prepared for that if we are. We move in, kill what we can, and take hostages inside before killing leadership. I want you on the turret, 'Rook'. That understood?"

“Affirmative.” giving a nod towards Cato.

Turret Duty.

Rook’s gaze flicked towards the mounted weapon. Being behind the turret meant she’d be exposed. First to get fired on, but first to punch through. Loud, Exposed, Obvious. Expendable. ‘Perfect.’ A flicker of amusement can be heard in her tone “Guess I’m the distraction now”

The metal creaked under her weight as Rook pushed herself out of the passenger seat. Slinging her sniper rifle over her back as the strap slid snug into place. With one fluid motion, she grabbed the side rail, hoisting herself up. Boots thudded against the steel bed of the speeder. The whole thing was barebones, a repulsor-lifted war truck. Rear turret mounted on a rusted patched swivel with ammo crates bolted down. It was ugly, effective, and disposable. No one would think twice about them being with the Empire.

Boxes that were brought with them were handed to her. Placing them off to the side, thudding into the cargo holds one after another. The speeder creaked under the weight as if it didn’t like what was being asked to carry. She bent down, popping one of the latches of the boxes. Grabbing a bandolier of thermal detonators. ‘Three, four, five.’ Clipping them into her belt in practiced rhythm. The weight familiar, comforting in a strange grim sort of way. ‘Just in case. Always in case.’ She always told herself.

One of the operatives, “Vekk”, took notice of Rook strapping a belt of thermal detonators, after hoisting up the last box. Deciding to be cheeky, “We gift-wrapping explosives now? Or is this your idea of being subtle?”

Moving herself to the gunner rig. “Subtle gets you missed. Explosions get results.” Rook grabbed the harness, tightening it around her torso with a click. Locking her into place “Either way, everyone is getting a gift.”

Vekk gave her a questioning look.

“Thermal.” Rook’s smirk was covered as she pulled up her scarf over her nose, covering half her face. Shaking his head with a dry chuckle, Vekk walked towards his speeder. Settling himself in the driver's seat while his squadmate mounted their rear turret.

"We'll need them on the way back. Sith Fleets will arrive in 48 hours, and we are to join the initial assaults."

"Locked in." Giving a silent thumbs-up as Vekk keyed his comm to Cato, “All-clear” The speeders roared to life as they sped toward the city. Dust kicked into the air. Low, fast, and loud. Less than 48 hours to be a hit amongst the locals.

As they entered the city limits, banners on flag poles and buildings fluttered with Republic colors. It was quiet as the city slept in peace. For now. Grabbing two thermal detonators off the bandolier, setting the timer. “Rook to Cato. Turret is hot” She threw each one to both sides. One, breaking into a glass fronted building and the other vanished underneath some parked vehicles. “Activating turret now.” She didn’t hesitate. Pulling down the trigger, the mounted heavy blaster came to life. Bolt blasters raked across the parked vehicles and along the building’s walls and glass. Across from them the other speeders mirrored the assault. Turrets blazing as the other squadmates howled curses and cheers of the destruction.

Moments later, the thermal detonators went off. The explosion and turrets woke up the whole city. Civilians poured out of the buildings, confused and panicked. Rook swung the turret mid-spin, arming more thermals. Hurling them into the crowd of people. Her trigger finger hesitated for a split second, before letting the turret rip into the crowd. Rook didn’t flinch when the thermals denoted in the crowd or the bolt blasters shredded the line of civilians who were trying to flee. But she felt it. Her jaw clenched, a reflex. Death wasn’t new to her, neither was war. But killing innocents? A handful made sense. But by the masses of this magnitude? Shaking her head, there was no room for whatever feeling was trying to creep into her.

Rook. No. CT-312 kept telling herself, they were necessary casualties. It was for the mission. Sacrifice the few for the many of this planet. This was a better option for the people in the long run. It doesn’t change when she is Rook. Swinging the turret facing back to the front, her eyes glared as she focused on targets. "Cato, How long until we reach the building with the leadership?" Pulling the trigger again, shooting with precision. Hating the brief feeling of hesitation she felt from before.

Fire spread throughout the city. Some buildings toppled over as banners that once fluttered in the wind proudly were now torn and burning. Caught in the destruction and chaos. The air was covered in smoke and scorched metal as screams echoed through the streets. Panic and disbelief of the growing horror that the Kard’uk was behind the attack. Local comms and media stations crackled with confusion and shock. Explosions continued, bodies littered the streets. Within moments the local law enforcement came to greet them. Firing back at their speeders. “Looks like they finally sent us a welcome party to greet us."

 

[Cato Demora]

"ETA: Now.", he said as he took a hard right down an alley. Vekk followed quickly behind, and the two speeders narrowly glided through a space barely a few feet wider than their trucks. Smoke and fire behind them echoed their assault, but before them stood the Citadel they were truly after.

Flags fluttered in the breeze, and Cato pointed a two finger salute to them before marking them as targets. He wanted to see them burn, because the imagery of it on fire would make for a good news story. There were, unfortunately however, security personnel and droids waiting for them.

Cato was something not of this world when it came to war, something deeply foreign and alien to these people. He was a man crafted from marble and wrought iron, forged by fire in the pressure of battle. When his speeder took a few rounds, he didn't swerve or hesitate. He sped through them, and drifted the speeder to a halt before stepping out.

The rifle slung to his chest entered his hand all in one fluid movement. The door swung out as protection from the stray blaster bolts, and within three second he had put five shots into the nearest security members heads. Two droids and three soldiers fell to the floor before another turned the heavy gun on their technical. Cato fired one more round with his rifle, and the holo repulsor for the turret went limp, falling to its default position.

"We need to move. Vekk, Nurn, grab a case from the trucks. Rook - you're breaching point. Lets get inside.", he said as he himself grabbed a larger of the cases and hefted it on his shoulder. In his other hand remained the rifle, stabilized by the tightness of his sling and the iron grip he held on its handle.

"We make this quick. Anyone tries to leave, you gun them down."

CT-312

 

[The King in Red]

The red lights hit first.

Not the slow pulse of an exercise. Not the amber flicker of a perimeter ping. This was full-spectrum, hardcoded red—combat alert. The kind that came with no preamble and no political insulation. When that light hit, you were a weapon. Not a citizen. Not a soldier. A weapon.

"Trident Actual, we've got a break."

The voice in the comms was static-laced, clipped—planetary liaison. No formality. No apologies. Just panic.

"Repeat, break. The Capitol Complex is under live assault. Unmarked speeders. Heavy weapons. Flagged as Kard'uk. They're inside the Citadel—how the kriff did they even—"

The signal cut out mid-sentence.

Sergeant Kavos Dain pulled his chestplate tight with a mechanical snap. The old Clone Wars armor he wore had been re-ceramicked and painted matte grey, but the scoring along its ribs told stories the polish couldn't. He turned to his squad—three others, each already in motion.

Corporal Yera Tonn, their field engineer, was muttering over her tablet, decrypting whatever half-garbled files were being transmitted from local defense. Her left eye glowed faintly—Augmetic. Surveillance-grade.

"They hit the flagpoles," she muttered. "Torched them. Broadcast the whole thing. Someone wants a narrative."

"Someone's gonna get it," Dain said, locking the suppressor to his DC-17x rifle. "Boots in two. Loadout Echo-Four."

"Echo-Four?" asked Tyrin Vos, the unit's close-quarters bruiser. His voice cracked through the helmet's modulation. "We use that on insurgent cleanups. This is worse than that?"

Dain's tone didn't change. "This is an insurgency cleanup. They just haven't figured it out yet."

A low hiss as the drop pod bay depressurized. Outside the window, the upper atmosphere of N'vhaar rippled with storm cover—ash and smoke blooming where the Citadel was, a dark bruise on the planet's surface.

"We are green for direct insertion," came the voice of the platform AI. Emotionless. Timed. Final.
"Combat authority granted under Article 7-Delta. All responsibility deferred to orbital judiciary review."

Translation: shoot to kill, and we'll talk later.

Yera slid her datapad into its lock-mount. Vos cracked his knuckles over his vibroblade gauntlets. The fourth—Ralen Feris, designated marksman—was already inside the pod, rifle folded in a custom carbon cradle, muttering a prayer to a god no one else believed in.

Dain stood last. Turned to face the sealed entry hatch. The Citadel was below them. The smoke would be choking the corridors by the time they landed. Civilians would be screaming. Politicians hiding. Blood already on the marble steps.

He clicked his helmet into place and spoke into the fireteam channel:

"No prisoners unless they're screaming for a deal. No names unless they're wearing one. We drop, we breach, we cut the head off."

The hatch opened.

Red lights. Blue planet. Gray armor.

The fall began.

CT-312