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Not the burning of Mandalore. Not the concentration camps meant to render their people extinct. Not the generations of grief carved into Mandalorian bone by Sith hands. The ledger is old, and it is long, and every strike since has been another line of reckoning.
Two weeks ago, the Covenant sent ghosts into Humbarine for this purpose alone. The world sits deep in the Core beneath the Imperial Banner: effectively a gateway into the Core and the Empire of Darth Solipsis. A fortress-world by design, shipyards and garrisons woven into its bones. Vital, yet exposed. Noticing its value, the Iron Covenant dared. Covert teams slipped in under false signal, moving through industrial districts and military sectors, pulling data caches, mapping patrol routes, and planting charges in the dark.
Then, 24 hours ago, Humbarine closed its fist. Somehow, Sith forces uncovered them. Planetwide lockdown ensued. Civilians, herded like chattel, evacuated to security zones. The Mandalorian forces were cornered, isolated, with nowhere to run. In a matter of hours, what had been a silent operation became a fighting retreat through collapsing corridors and burning shipyard blocks. And when the walls finished closing, the only thing that made it out was a transmission:
A Covenant bounds the Mando'ade. The Iron Covenant is coming back for its people. Every approach is seeded with resistance. The Empire knows what is coming and has had time to prepare. The Mythos Fleet enters contested space against a battle-hardened enemy lying in wait. Somewhere on the ground below, scattered across burning corridors and hunted through sector after sector, Mandalorian warriors are still fighting to survive long enough to be reached. The Sith are ready to extinguish the Mandalorians who dare challenge them.
But the Covenant does not fear the fire.
It answers it in kind.
For Duels, Warposting
Mandalorian Goal: Survive and extract.
Humbarine's surface is a sealed kill-ground. Civilians have been evacuated. Lines are drawn. Imperial forces somehow knew this was coming and had time to prepare, while scattered Mandalorian recon teams fought sector by sector to stay alive long enough to be found. The Covenant makes planetfall, entering a warzone designed to swallow them. Push through fortified checkpoints, collapsing corridors, and garrison blocks crawling with soldiers and Sith who know exactly what was discovered before the walls came down. Every meter costs something. The intel buried in this city is still worth recovering.
The vode still breathing in its ruins is worth more.
Warpost here to fight on the Ground. Duels welcomed.
Sith Goal:Neutralize all hostiles.
The trap has been sprung, and the prey has been caught. Bloodied, cornered, yet still baring its fangs. Deliver the killing blow. Let none of the Mandalorians escape!
For Duels, Fleeting
Mandalorian Goal: Establish orbital supremacy for the extraction of Mandalorian forces. Board the Star Destroyer and retrieve intelligence.
The Mythos Fleet did not arrive quietly. It arrived as judgment. A suppressive cruiser cast a shroud over the system as Mandalorian warships opened with sudden penetrating fire. Humbarine was not unprepared; Imperial cruisers returned in kind, and the orbit of the world has descended into chaotic naval warfare. A crippled Star Destroyer has begun to descend in orbital decay, inevitably towards the city below; seizing the opportunity, Mandalorian strike teams have been dispatched to board the ship and retrieve valuable intel before impact.
Warpost here to fight in high orbit. Fleeters & Pilots welcomed.
Sith Goal:Establish orbital supremacy and counter Mandalorian boarding.
That was all Mercy
told him and, like a good dog, the Emperor of Coruscant obeyed. The local Humbariners told him where some of the Mandalorians were laying low, waiting for extraction. Warehouses, usually. There were a lot of those.
Meliant brought a couple maniples of the Red Banner with him, and they brought arc casters, and soon enough the less fortunate of the forward scouts were in terrible trouble. Meliant sent the fodder in first, allowing them to die in droves. Once their prey was tuckered out and low on ammo, Meliant's Night Legionaries went in and cooked them alive.
Do you know what an arc caster does to a human being? Typically, a direct hit will boil them to death in their own guts. It's not a nice way to go just on its face, but the beskar made it worse. Beskar doesn't deflect arc casts. It just heats up - almost to glowing. So in addition to boiling the trapped Mandalorians in the usual-way, it left a nice, crispy sear on the outside. How about that? Original recipe.
The first time around, once the commotion had ended, Meliant entered to review the carnage and sniggered. "Strip them of their armor. I think I'll have it melted down for a statue." His sword was still sheathed, and he didn't much feel like dulling it on nameless lemmings.
Once the Mandalorians had been field stripped, the dead were abandoned and the maniples kept moving.
This went on for some hours.
---
By the time Meliant got bored, they had accumulated a transport tank's worth of beskar chestplates, helmets, pauldrons, whatever. More than enough for a statue or three. They hauled it back to the spaceport and started getting everything inventoried and loaded. That was when the captain of the Maniple, Laramée Lovejoy, approached Meliant and kneeled.
Captain Lovejoy was, in many ways, an exemplary Night Legionnaire: notoriously reliable, fastidiously disciplined. His jet-black armor was always polished to an immaculate shine. But the thing everyone noticed first about him was the necklace he wore, which was threaded with severed ears and fingers.
From each person he killed, Lovejoy took a trophy: an ear from each man, a finger from each woman. There were more than Meliant could count at a glance. He was fuzzy on what motivated the particularity of this habit, but assumed it was broadly because Captain Lovejoy was fucked-up in the skull. He didn't really care either way. It seemed bad practice to refuse the services of a man who so easily accumulated fresh trophies.
"Yes, captain?" Meliant inclined his head only slightly towards the man.
"Your Majesty, the planet is under attack."
Meliant looked up and noted the angular shapes of capital ships in low orbit, blasting away at one another. Dramatic explosions rippled across burgeoning hulls. It'd be raining steel and corpses in no time. Also, there were klaxons going off. Crazy what you can tune out when your mind is on other things.
"So it is."
"Will we be joining the defense?"
There was an eager tension to Lovejoy's voice - one that Meliant did not share. He sighed airily and was looking for the right words to say, "I really can't be arsed right now," when another Night Legionnaire came sprinting over and took a hasty (practically falling) knee.
His armor was considerably more scuffed, but for real personality, "FORGIVE ME, MAMA" had been carved over his right breast. Maybe that was supposed to be ironic.
"Your Majesty, word from the Triumvirate," he paused to catch a breath, "The governor is dead. You have been appointed to lead the planet's defense. They want you at the command complex."
There was a moment of silence as the Emperor of Coruscant, Hasuras Na-Amoun, Meliant, digested this information.
"Oh... You can't be..." he hissed, then screamed: "Fuck! FUCK!"
Lovejoy and the lieutenant glanced warily at one another. Meliant yelled at them to stand, and they snapped quickly to attention.
"Finish loading the shuttle and tell them I'll be there... Shortly."
Blood. Blood and bone. He had taken plenty in his life thus far. He knew that the Sith here- had plenty left to give.
Somewhere below on that battlefield, mystics, warriors, demigods would clash. Feydrik held tightly in his hands his helmet, staring briefly at his reflection. His dropship’s lights turned to amber. He secured his helmet and his gear-
Then stood over the drop bay. The pilot turned and gave them all a salute. Not all of them would be coming home. But they would all be going home. Some just made the trip sooner. Feydrik felt the floor give way and he screamed out of the dropship, the pilot peeling off and to the left as the Mandalorians descended down, aided by their jetpacks. He was first to land, and first to engage the Sith lines. His carbine barked and howled, the defenders flak cannons and machine gun fire returning the kindness.
With a twist of his body and a drive of his crushgaunt-adorned fist, a Sith warrior fell to the ground, broken in every single way. He caved in his skull with a single hit. His crushgaunts whirred with hate. He was here to kill, to rescue, and to make the Sith understand their veracity, their vitriol. The Sith preached hate. The Mandalorians would show them it.
His troops began to assault a Sith position, an anti-aircraft battery that was firing on friendly air support. If successful, there’d be a large gap in the Sith air defenses that could even mean that the Mandalorians could escape far more easily! Feydrik held his carbine tightly, pushing forward. He found himself in an entrenched area, littered with defensive positions across a contested area. Buildings, bunkers, trenches. It was truly a remarkable thing how much the Sith had accomplished in such little time. They were not fools. They were not an easy fight.
The Sith were warriors, and the Mandalorians were war incarnate. They made no attempt at peace, at talks, negotiations like their cousins in the Empire. Perhaps that was more than enough for the Sith, perhaps it was even welcome. The Jedi talked. The Empires talked. Imperials talked. Bowed at the feet of the Sith, postured as to not suffer the wrath of war. The Covenant made no such claim, and truthfully- respected their enemies too much to bear false claims of wanting peace.
Feydrik was honored to fight a great foe. And all of his men shared such a notion. Feydrik himself-
His colossal claws gouged trenches in the ruined ferrocrete, heavy tail flattening abandoned repulsorcraft as it swayed back and forth in wide lazy arcs. The massive leviathan trudged through burst open arcologies and empty thoroughfares, crashing through anything left standing in its path. Astride the Great Beast Xorvyrnog, Darth Carnifex silently scanned the horizon. He needed nothing except a riding harness lashed around the Great Beast's midsection, He commanded the leviathan through the power of the Dark Side and their unbreakable connection rather than whip or reins.
For Xorvyrnog was no mere mindless beast, but a creature of ever-expanding intelligence. His golden reptilian eyes were ever vigilant, sensitive to the slightest movement amongst the rubble. A long, forked tongue slipped out from between his fanged maw, tasting the air and the living that yet breathed it. He raised one of his fore-claws, and slammed it down on a nearby domicile. A Mandalorian dashed out just as the building collapsed, twin pistols firing rapidly towards the monstrous leviathan and its rider.
Xorvyrnog tracked the Mandalorian's movement, showing no signs of discomfort as the blaster bolts pinged off of his armored scales. Just as the Mandalorian was about to duck behind new cover, he made eye contact with Xorvyrnog for the first time.
And ground to a sudden stop.
A deep rumble emanated from within Xorvyrnog's gullet as he slowly stalked closer, the Mandalorian rooted in place as he kept staring straight into the leviathan's eyes. Then, piece by piece, the Mandalorian began removing his helmet, his vambraces, and even his chestplate. He discarded them as he began to walk closer towards Xorvyrnog, who had lowered himself down and opened his maw. Wordlessly and in a dazed stupor, the undressed Mandalorian walked right into the leviathan's mouth, and disappeared as the jaws snapped shut. What was left of the Mandalorians armor was left where it had fallen, to inevitably be recovered by the Dark Lord's scavengers.
Darth Carnifex willed the Great Beast forward, crushing several smaller structures as Xorvyrnog scrambled over them. Reaching down, Carnifex pressed a button on a holo-communicator built into the riding harness. "Lord Lysander, come in. I am advancing further. Relay rendezvous coordinates."
THE ARKANIAN LANDING ZONE | HUMBARINE
TAG: Isobel Serraris
GEAR: See Bio
The hangar bay was crowded.
"THE RALLYMASTERS HAVE CALLED FOR AN IRON RAIN ON HUMBARINE!" snarled the Alor'aan.
"OYA!" A shout from a hundred throats, deafening and the slamming of fists on beskar breastplates.
"-TO SAVE OUR TRAPPED BROTHERS AND SISTERS."
CLANG CLANG CLANG.
"WILL WE LET THEM DIE ALONE?"
"OYACYIR!"
"WILL YOU FIGHT LIKE VORNSKRS?"
"OYA'KARIR!"
"WE ARE THE BLOOD OF KESTRI. WE ARE THE BLOOD OF MANDA. WE DO NOT BEND."
"OYA!"
"WE DO NOT BOW!"
"OYA!"
"WE HUNT!"
"OYA MANDA! OYA MANDA! OYA MANDA!"
Then hundreds of Mandalorian supercommandos of the Mythos Fleet piled into their drop pods and fell like spears from the heavens.
The drop pod shivered down through atmosphere like a meteorite. The Arkanian rocked inside, fully suited up in heavy supercommando armor. He ticked by the seconds in his head, then impact came with a lurch that sent his stomach into his mouth.
The door blew open and the Arkanian ripped off his crash webbing, grabbed his Stouker concussion rifle, and stumbled into the chaos of a hot LZ.
The back hatch of the pod opened and an enormous reptilian creature leaped out with horrifying alacrity. The creature slithered over to The Arkanian and blinked a nictating membrane over one of its three eyeballs, completely oblivious to the blasterfire and explosions tearing everything around them.
“There there, mate.” He patted the reptile’s snout. “Who’s a good Terror?”
The Arkanian's helmet swiveled round and he hefted his concussion rifle.
“Listen up, Strill Squadron. We are inbound to atmosphere to provide close air support for the landing zone to get our vod off this rock. Stay together, don’t get separated or hare off doing your own thing,” said Strill 2, “I’m talking to you Strill 6.”
Six jai’galaar starfighters screamed through atmosphere, accompanied by two basilisks.
Iris Beroya aka Strill 6 grimaced under her helmet and muttered, “Killjoy.”
“Uh huh. We are breaking into low orbit now. Their AA will be all over us. Good hunting.”
Sure enough, no sooner did Strill 2 stop talking then the skies lit up with anti-aircraft barrages, beams and lancets in greens and reds and blues cross crossing the skies. Squadrons from the Mythos Fleet’s Starfang Wing rolled into the atmosphere of Humbarine like a swarm of hornets - intent on protecting the descent of their brothers and sisters in the landing craft.
A loud droid whistle sounded in Iris’ cockpit. Her astromech, R9-C4.
“We’ll be fine,” she replied.
A series of beeps answered her.
“You’re cheeky. Who taught you to talk like that?”
A low whistle.
“Oh yeah. Me. Hold onto your sockets, Ar-Nine.”
Strill squadron went into a combat dive, targeting solutions seeking out nearby Humbarine battery emplacements and spattering the Heads Up Display in glowing red dots.
"Strill 1 to Dagger Actual, cavalry is here. Tell us where you want to bring the rain."
On the ground below, surviving recon mandos would be able to aid Strill Squadron by designating targets to enable extract.
When it came to their enemies, Carduul had come to learn over the years that a wide-sweeping, direct approach was the only solution to stave off the rot. In this matter, the Sith were no exception. Every single one of them, wretched be their orders, deserved nothing short of death. And even then, that was a merciful fate for the untold years of Mandalorians put under their thrall and tormented. So it was in Mandalorian nature, sooner or later, that this conflict be returned.
Yet, truthfully, the Crusader could not be more delighted that their target lay near the very thing his original string of conquests had sought to claim—the core worlds. The Galaxy’s beating heart. Something that, when secured, offered a plethora of industrial options and routes to nearly anywhere in the galaxy. Still, he couldn’t focus on that right now. Instead, he had been placed at the
“We can land on the outskirts, start by securing our landing zone?” Proposed Garrus Bralor. “It’d be a difficult fight…but it would be our best shot and establishing a place for evacuation.”
“No—they will want us on the backfoot.” Was Carduul’s assertion. The helm tilted sidelong, looking back over his shoulder where many of his kin, both those armored in Neo-Crusader uniform or without, ran in and out in bustling invasion preparations. “...We shall make a diversionary strike at the head; that shall hopefully divert their attention long enough for those in need. Find their command center, their nervous system, whatever it may be, and prepare a raiding party. A separate team shall deal with the extraction efforts.” With a raise and slam back of his weapon, words projecting across the breadth of the vessel he captained. “My brethren: tonight, we shall save our kin, and claim a fraction of our vengeance to boot. We shall strike at the rotted heart of this world, and carve into it so that our vode may live another day!” He boldly proclaimed as the visor swept over the gathered mandalorians at the bridge, inciting a rallied cry in response from those gathered around him. “Now, to your stations! Par kyr'am bal kote!”
As his gaze turned back towards the viewport, as the stars lengthened and brightened into fluorescent streaks from a hyperspace jump.
“Feet-first into hell, then…”
…
It was not difficult when activity upsurged planetside, conglomerated with the hurried reports from the teams in distress, to find where their target was. Humbarine’s command complex. Unfortunately, nothing was as simple as getting to their destination. The moment the landing craft had begun to make its way down, they had been assailed by terrible amounts of anti-air emplacements. Several strike teams forgoed it utterly- favoring quick drop pods that were far less likely to be destroyed before having the chance to deliver their troops.
But Carduul’s squadron had opted for a far more bold approach.
“Wait for it! We’ll have the fight we are owed, warriors!” He barked as warning alarms blared. Flak bombarded the sky. Only for the doors to open, and all of the occupants stepped out with a flare of jetpacks. They had gotten close enough not to be picked off- but any further, and the dropship would certainly be lost. This was their moment. There had already been some fighting near the Command Center—his goal was to rally them to a more fortified position, and push back. With the contents of the Center itself, they would no doubt have to divert more forces to respond to the threatening position.
“To the brave souls who had called for aid- gather upon my coordinates, and take the fight back to them!”
Immediately upon closing towards the ground, blaster fire from emerging firefights had erupted. The defenses, perhaps believing the fighting would not close on them for some time if at all, had woken up like a kicked hornet’s nest. Where his troops had begun to form a
The smell of fire, ash, carbon scoring- it was all abundantly apparent now. In some ways, it felt like a refreshing spring breeze for his ilk. Perhaps that was simply his lot in life; to forever be bound to war and conflict. After all, that was merely the Mandalorian’s Way. Their ever-present cycle.
“This is Carduul Akahl—my forces have landed and are beginning an assault upon the Command Center to buy time for extraction. Make haste, and good hunting.”
It had been more than a month since stealth freighters began their regular runs to Humbarine, landing at sanctioned black sites known only to the Imperial Governor and his inner circle of corrupt sychopants. The Sith had told the Moff this was to help his rule... All he had to do was cooperate; keep the secret. And like a good boy, he kept his eyes shut to thelie he paid for.
Had he looked, the Governor would've realized the truth. That the Sith he paid in tribute were offloading soldiers and materiel. That their operatives were infiltrating the underground, stoking the bleeding hearts of a coming resistance. That every promise the Sith Covenant fed him would turn to ash in his mouth. But was it so shocking that the Triumvirate meant to undermine Moff Warren’s rule? He was a groveling fool who backstabbed his way to the top, and poorly believed that payments were enough to satisfy the Covenant, who already had the Moff’s family under lock and key. What use was a man so compromised in success as he was in failure?
The Sith Covenant meant to pit the Governorate and the Resistance against each other. Weakening them down to the man, planting seeds of doubt to shake their convictions, and invoking enough chaos that it would be utterly too late when finally the boot came down.
That plan was underway when word broke through secret channels: Mandalorians of provenance unknown were infiltrating imperial facilities, and small fights had broken out across Humbarine City. And then, long-range sensors meant to monitor activity deep within the High Republic had caught a large fleet on approach. Whoever these Mandalorians were, it was obvious they meant to come in force.
The Sith Covenant's operative teams would just have to include this emerging threat in their active plans...
This sudden attack cannot go unpunished. Engage the enemy and cut off all avenues of retreat. Humbarine is ours, and if they wish to be here, they will just have to learn to be part of it.
Martial Law is in effect all across Humbarine City. Citizens have been corralled at temporary holding areas across the city, at points near and surrounding the various military installations belonging to the Governorate. The Imperial Garrison, led by the Home Guard, was already activated to suppress the growing resistance as part of the Sith Covenant's plans. They have fortified the city to the best of their ability in the short period of time since becoming aware of the impending fleet's invasion. Troops loyal to the Triumvirate, meanwhile, are holed up in the polluted wastes that lie just outside the city. Their command has graciously been placed under the Sith Knight, Lysander von Ascania.
This unknown armada cannot be allowed to press its advantages. The Humbarine Defense Fleet has moved into position, maintaining flexible formations as they assess this sudden incursion and safeguard their support infrastructure and the flight paths between city and orbit.
A star destroyer, Spirit Breaker, foolishly strayed out of formation and was quickly assaulted by enemy fire. Naturally, protocols were followed as the capital ship began to collapse towards Humbarine's atmosphere. It could not be allowed to impact the city. Loyal imperial marines retreated into the reactor room, where technicians disabled manual safety locks and engaged supercriticality - this could not be controlled remotely. It wouldn't be long until the reactor consumed the ship in starfire, while the rest of the crew scrambled to secure core systems and evacuate. If the boarders wished to seize valuable intel? They'd have to race against the clock.
Elsewhere, civilian and commercial vessels were being organized into a hasty retreat. Elements of the Defense Fleet, supported by freelance pilots, were responsible for their security. If these vessels had any hope of escape, these brave defenders would have to fight to keep the lanes open.
It had been just under two days since Nodak
had levelled a town block trying to eliminate her, and most of the area was still closed off to the public who wanted to rebuild their shattered homes. The fact that he had been so fixated on violence probably helped her. He wasn't going to be looking for her, or rooting around for loot or evidence of her connections. When there was nothing left to blow up, he had likely gotten bored and wandered off to kill something else.
Signy had been wounded in the exchange, her arm broken and her stomach seared. Luckily, she had Bacta-H in her fighter, so while things were painful, she could feel everything knitting back together. It would leave a scar on her abdomen, though. She had heard stories of ancient warriors who would tattoo their scars as a reminder of a score to be settled, which was something she would discuss with Kjartan Hammer-Hand
when she returned home.
As she approached the site where she was found, she kicked a doll. It had belonged to the little girl, Alys, who had sold her out. She hated the girl for it, but she understood how poor and scared these people were. After what had happened to Alys’ brother because of her misguided aiding of the Sith, she had no inclination to punish the little girl further.
”There you are.” She found it. Her armour was still in the metal case she had left it in, buried in the rubble of the apartment building that had collapsed around it. The crate was busted open, but the armor was all there intact, including her spear and shield. She wished that Nodak had not destroyed her backpack; lacking her jetpack and the other kit it provided made her feel vulnerable. She quickly started stripping off her burnt civilian clothes, leaving them in a heap on the floor nearby. It took her about fifteen minutes to fully undress, redress in her armour, and run a check of its systems. As her helmet hissed and clicked into place, she felt safe again. She looked down at the pile of clothes soaked in her dried blood and, with a quick burst of her flame projectors, she ignited them, adding an extra plume of smoke to the numerous plumes that already filled these ruins. They wouldn't burn completely, but it would be enough to remove too much evidence of her presence here. The fleet was on its way, and soon she would be able to return home to her father.
INSIDE A GOVERNORATE ARMORY Attempting to secure access codes and weapons for the waiting Resistance. That is to say - it's judgment day.
Red lights flashed. Alarms blared at deafening volume, like a shrieking whistle. In front of them, two sets of blast doors slammed shut, blocking their path. From behind, a squad of death troopers closed in fast. Autoturrets descended from the ceiling - armed with light repeaters.
‘This was supposed to be a stealth mission!’ Arris lamented to herself.
The cyborg fired stray rounds towards the flood of black armor. One shredded clean through a trooper, dropping him in a second, but their onslaught of suppressive fire was too much for an open fight, and she couldn’t get reckless with her crew in proximity; there was no way she’d avoid collateral. So, she threw herself behind a metal dumpster on wheels, left behind by the custodial droid which had been reduced to a smoldering pile of metal just moments ago.
She sensed Ace through the wall via his Beskar arm and hoped he, Varin, and Tamsin fared better than her group.
Looking at Lily, Arris barked. “Okay, little miss infiltrator. You and your girlfriend,” (an unintentional bit of teasing brought on by stress, rather than a read) “better open that fuckin’ door!”
She fired a few more blind rounds while the enemy melted her dumpster away with return fire.
EARLIER THAT DAY…
In the cargo yard just outside of Humbarine City's busiest spaceport, an inconspicuous cargo container sat among many others like it.
Arris Windrun - flanked by Varin Mortifer and Tamsin Starfall - threw open the doors, which hissed, releasing sterile air generated from the small life support system within. The light of this industrial world shone not on cargo, but three individuals.
"Welcome to Humbarine!"
Acier Moonbound, her apprentice and a Sith Knight in the making. Even without the title, he was a formidable warrior. Next to him, Lily Rhodes - a thief not too shabby in a fight, whom Arris selected personally for this job. And then there was... There was...
She scrutinized the woman standing beside Lily. "Wait, who is this?"
Anet turned away from the window when the choking sounds finally stopped. She eyed the governor’s body, now lifeless on the polished floor, and brought a comlink to her lips.
“Kill all but one.”
The answer was faint blaster fire on the other end before it disconnected.
It was a gift, Anet believed - the start of a beautiful hatred that might push the sole survivor to make something of themself.
She stepped over the governor’s corpse on her way out of the office. When she crossed the threshold, the acolyte stopped and looked sidelong at Nilira, then waved her along as she restarted her march down the open hall, towards the observation area on the other side, where the Neti, Madrona A’Mia, carried out her work.
Anet knelt before her Sith Master. “It is done.”
Already, treacherous thoughts flourished in her head and filled her stomach with giddiness. She couldn’t help but imagine the day when it was Kirie who took that role in her life.
That happiness sputtered, however, when the urgency of their work reseated at the forefront of her mind.
“A warfleet is moments away. It seems these Mandalorians brought friends.”
For an invasion to occur on the cusp of their intended coup? Only the Force could have fated it. But it wasn’t entirely unanticipated.
THE PRESENT…
A flash of light emerged in the corner of Anet’s eye, an explosion beyond the glass, somewhere deeper within the city. Distant fighters danced like little black bugs, ever defiant of nature’s forces.
This was to be a very big day for the acolyte on the cusp of her ascension. The Triumvirate had graciously bestowed upon her the burden of seizing the central administration. Inside the building, where the Governor’s corpse grew colder at the very top, Sith operatives breached the doors below. They poured in, scouring rooms and apprehending the civilian staff who remained. A token security force was quickly overwhelmed. However, even as A’Mia’s plan unfolded, a handful of defiant officers held resistance throughout the complex. To them, unaware of the Sith Covenant’s plans, this was a hostile takeover clear as day. They would die before surrendering their charge.
The half-pantoran sighed when she received word and looked to Nilira at her side.
“When will people learn?” Each word stretched lazily, dripping with sarcasm.
They had fought for a day and a night with little rest and no sleep. Always there was the firing and the moving and the turning aside before the enemy could close about them. They were but five now from the ten who had first regrouped after the order was given and they fought as men fight who know there is no safety except in movement and no mercy to be had.
In the first hours they had fought with the joy of battle upon them and with the great strength that comes when a man is fresh and full of hatred for his enemy. Then the truth had come upon them coldly when five were gone and the ammunition ran low and each burst from the rifle became a thing to be counted and weighed before it was spent. After that they moved more than they fought and chose carefully where they would strike.
As the hours passed Darion of Myrkr felt the combat stims leaving his blood and the weariness entering into him. His limbs were stiff and his eyes burned beneath the visor and all the hurts from his fight with the Sith Firelord had begun to awaken again. Only the nearness of death kept him sharp.
The aruetiise had a saying that there was no rest for the wicked.
Darion of Myrkr had welcomed it. For the fighting kept his thoughts from turning to rage against the coward who had called the fleet before the hour and the fool who had answered him. Weeks of scouting and preparation had been thrown away and with them the promise of a glorious battle. It should have been a great assault upon the heart of the world. Instead they ran through alleys like hunted beasts.
Still, the fighting kept his mind clear.
Now they were pinned behind the corner of a shattered avenue while heavy repeating blasters hammered the street before them without pause. The stone around the corner burst and spat dust with every impact.
"We are trapped here, brother," said Varo from beside him. "They have sealed the whole cursed street."
"Aye," Darion of Myrkr said.
"They have guns enough for an army."
"Then we shall kill the guns."
Varo laughed shortly. "Thou speakest as though it were simple."
"It is simple," Darion said. "One only dies once."
Then the comm crackled in his helmet.
<<This is Carduul Akahl. My forces have made planetfall and strike now at the Command Center to buy time for extraction. Make haste, and good hunting.>>
Darion ground his teeth together at the sound of the voice.
Another transmission came quickly after.
<<Darion, this is Golz. The wings are above thy quarter now. Soon thou shalt have thy contact, child.>>
<<That is where I should have been, Golz. With Akahl at the center of the fight and not skulking through these streets like a thief.>>
<<Keep thy ears open for close support, Darion. Golz out.>>
The signal died. Darion of Myrkr struck the wall beside him with the butt of his rifle and cracked the stone.
Then another voice came over the comms.
<<Strill 1 to Dagger Actual, cavalry is here. Tell us where you want to bring the rain.>>
Darion drew a long breath and leaned from the corner just far enough to sight the checkpoint through the smoke and sparks. Heavy blaster fire swept toward him from the fortified heavy blaster repeater nests and struck the walls about his head while he painted their position with the laser designator.
Then he pulled back into cover.
<<Strill One, this is Dagger Twelve. The target is marked. Bring now thy fire upon that accursed strongpoint and strike it hard. We are close beneath it.>>
Romul Saxon stood firm, a red fury encased in beskar'gam, behind the pilots at the cockpit of the dropship as it descended through Humbarine's lower atmosphere. The dropship swayed left to right as turbulence battered against its hull, while explosions from anti-air emplacements on the ground below began to crash all in the space around them. A glancing shot hit the starboard wing of the dropship, enveloping it in flame, but the strike was not direct; shields held. For now. One of the pilots cursed in Mando'a as they corrected the ship's angle.
The Alor, Flameward, watched as clouds receded behind them to reveal Humbarine city below. Already, fires raged, and explosions rippled throughout the air. The Iron Covenant had only just begun its onslaught, but the chaos of battle had been quick to follow. Romul observed their ever-closer approaching target silently. In his mind, he was transported forty years ago to a similar scene, except it was not this insignificant Core world, drunk on security and prosperity, a glutton of constant manufactured conflict, and no doubt having profited off of Mandalorian plight; it was Mandalore, Manda'yaim, his home, burning. Some scars did not heal easily.
He breathed in deeply through his nostrils. There was a fire in his eyes. Humbarine burned, yet Romul sensed that it would not be enough.
Romul left the cockpit for the main compartment of the ship, where 19 other Clan Saxon commandos stood. Armor was on, blasters ready, and they were completely silent, ready for the carnage that would await them in moments. "Oya Manda," he said gravely.
"OYA MANDA!"Every commando beat their breastplate once with a closed fist and repeated the phrase, the noise echoing through the dropship's hull.
"No vod dies alone," Romul thundered as the dropship swayed. "Our first objective is to establish a landing zone. Carduul Akahl
will strike the command center. We will overwhelm and divert their forces--"
"Alor," his comm blinked, interrupting him. The cockpit. Romul paused, then turned and walked up the three steps to where the pilots sat.
"Vod?" He asked, placing a massive gauntleted hand on the headrest of the pilot's chair. The Saxon pilot merely pointed forward through the cockpit, and Romul looked out. A massive beast, gargantuan in proportions, was tearing through the city. From this high up, the beast appeared as a strill playing with children's dolls in its slow rampage through the city. "What monstrousity is that?" Romul uttered.
"Its current location is the coordinates we had pre-determined for the landing," Jilis Saxon, the pilot, reported. They were drawing closer to the city at every second, details on the rooftops of skyscrapers coming into view. The megacity was huge, sprawling, with residential sectors and industrial cores. Reconnaissance was supposed to have highlighted Humbarine's military installations, its weak points, but that had been interrupted. The Iron Covenant had jumped in almost blind in response to the distress beacon and they were only working with what intel they could surmise as they went.
"Haatyc or'arue jate'shya ori'sol aru'ike nuhaatyc," Romul muttered as he watched the beast from the transparisteel cockpit, an old Mandalorian proverb. He was calculating how to proceed. "Bring us down a quarter-kilometer from the beast. Keep circling if you can; if we need to reposition ourselves."
"Jor'lek,"the pilot confirmed and began to steer the dropship away, off its current trajectory towards where Romul had indicated.
Romul moved back to where his commandos waited for him. He gave a nod to Dragus, Alor'itsad of the attachment. It was a simple gesture, but full of understanding. Then Romul moved to address the commandos, opening his comms system so the entire fleet of dropships, three whole complements from the Ha'rangir Star Destroyers of the warfleet, ferrying around 480 commandos in total, could hear him. "We step in facing the unknown," Romul rumbled. "There is a beast the size of a corvette, of what provenance I do not know. But know this, verde of Clan Saxon: songs will be sung of today, no matter what fate the Manda has declared for us." The dropship bay doors opened on either side, about a hundred meters above ground. He thumped his breastplate with his gauntlet, the crash echoing through the dropship. "BRING ME DEATH!" He roared. The commandos roared in unison as all disembarked, dropping from the sky.
Jetpacks ignited, and death descended on the defenders below. Suddenly, as if caught off guard, blaster fire began to respond as the Mandalorians dropped onto their foes, but it was too little too late. The initial landing zone fell swiftly, Romul himself landing on a stormtrooper, crushing its white plastoid armor between his heavy boot. Suddenly, rapid fire impacted him, causing him to step back as the sheer kinetic impact pushed him backwards. He looked upwards as his beskar'gam tanked the fire. A rotating cannon in a hidden embankment. Rena at his side did not even need to be commanded; she fired a missile from her jetpack's launcher, which spun up in a trail of smoke before homing in on the target. The nest exploded in a ball of fire, and two more commandos moved in to clear out anyone who had survived.
"Alor, the block is secured," Dragus's voice crackled through his comms.
The massive Alor straightened, heaving his war hammer as he did so. "Jor'lek," he confirmed. In the distance, he could see rumbling and smoke. "Alor'ad Rena, remain on the ground with forty. Clear the perimeter and determine where we should advance. Alor'ad Hectur, take another forty and move to the sky; establish overwatch on the surrounding skyscrapers. Dragus, with me. This beast must be confronted and slain," he ordered, his voice thundering on the battlefield. All elements confirmed, and with rapid efficiency, the commandos deployed to their various tasks. Romul watched as the rumbling grew even closer. "Clear away from the path of the beast," he added into the comms. "Maintain positions on either side. Be aware that there may be Imperial armed forces present with the beast."
Then he stepped forward. "Al'verde Celt, do you copy?" he spoke into his comms.
Gallius Saxon stood in command of the Saxon warfleet, the bridge of the Gra'tua Dral in the place of his Alor. Behind him, Ignus Saxon commanded the helm of the Star Destroyer itself. The warfleet had reverted alongside the rest of the Mythos Fleet to find a flotilla prepared and waiting for them. Unfortunately for the Imperials, their archaic ships were not impervious to Mandalorian firepower. Already a Star Destroyer had been disabled by concentrated Mandalorian fire; caught out of formation, it was the unfortunate victim of the fleet's sudden hyperspace reversion and broadside from three Ha'rangir Star Destroyers. The rest of the Mandalorian and Imperial forces were engaged in an explosive exchange of firepower and starfighters.
"Alor'aan Gallius, we have identified three orbital platforms and a shipyard facility," Ignus reported, walking up to Gallius at the helm of the bridge. His beskar'gam clanged against the metal flooring of the bridge. "We can draw out the Imperial fleet and open a direct path to strike their facilities. Scanners indicate that the orbital emplacements are not more technologically advanced than these relics," he emphasized the word derisively, gesturing towards the Imperial warships the Mandalorian fleet now bore down on. "We will send them burning down to their planet."
Gallius nodded. "Hammer-hand, Beroya," he commed over to the other leaders of the assembled Mythos fleet. "We must draw the Imperial fleet out of position to expose their orbital facilities. The Saxon warfleet will provide all firepower capable while protecting the Akior." The suppressive cruiser was a key component of the Mandalorian fleet, facilitating Mandalorian communications while blocking outside communication. "Alor'ad Caecila, me'vaar ti gar? What is the status of orbital relay satellites?" he asked, switching over to the communication channel with the Akior.
"Seventeen minutes until lagrange point," was the report. Once the satellites were fully extended, amplifying the jamming capabilities of the cruiser, they would have complete suppression of anything relatively near Humbarine. Effectively, they would blackout the system.
"Good," Gallius assented. Then, to Ignus. "Prepare the siege emitters of the Gra'tua Dral,Haran, and Kalden. Begin charging up the solar ionization batteries. We will disrupt the Imperial formation in the manner they least expect."
"Jor'lek,"Ignus affirmed. The Mandalorian warships began to maneuver into formation, where their siege arrays would be able to emit a massive gravitational shear, technology that the Imperials would be unaware of and unprepared to counter. Once in disarray, the solar ionization batteries could target and hopefully cripple the orbital facilities.
The cargo doors hissed as the seal was broken, upon the doors opening. The little witch in her war paint looked to her left and up. As Arris welcomed three newcomers to Humbarine, of them, the only one Tamsin knew of was Acier. Though she didn't know much about the man just his name and that he was a battle buddy of Lysander and the Dummy.
Her strange orange burning eyes looked over each of them. Compared to even the shortest one in the bunch Lily, Tamsin stood half a foot shorter. She had been told that one of the women was sort of a thief kind of specialist. A confused look crossed her face as Arris asked who the other woman was?
Indeed? She wasn't supposed to be here but here she was an extra on the team. It wasn't a good idea to spring someone new on team out of the blue. Especially given that they were all sith, it was a good way to get a friend an early grave.
"Mando'ad draar digu. meg darjetii ganar narir."
A small calm voice spoke out to the woman, Arris was asking about. Her piercing orange eyes staring right through Vess's Hazels eyes. Her painted face trying to see if there was understanding of the words she spoke in Vess's eyes and body language. It had worked on another Mandalorian once it might work a second time if Vess was indeed one.
THE GOVERNORATE ARMORY
Alarms began to blare around them, As Tamsin was knelt down her hand placed upon the ground. Violet Ichor wisped around her arm and hand that was placed on the ground. As the ichor poured into the ground it began to invisibly spiral out like a spider web being spun. Her web had been cast, and it was beginning to grow and spread. Everything the web touched Tamsin could start to feel; soon she could feel her team and then the death troopers.
So much for stealth she thought to herself, though instinctively her first thought was actually what the hell had Varin done to screw this up this early. She quickly stood up from her kneeling position. A mask now covering her painted face. Her Orange eyes darted around looking for a pathway forward. Her height was a advantage here she was easily hidden behind crates. Still as she heard a firefight start, she had to think fast, she couldn't let herself get caught or be noticed.
She crouched down and began to move along a line of crates, her eyes scanning each crate as she passed. This was an armory after all it had to have something useful in it.
Acier had risked everything to get her off Coruscant, to get her away from the Covenant, and yet here she was. Why? Because she was getting paid. Yes she could have found work in the outer rim far away from the conflict brewing in the core and far from the sith, but Arris paid well. And despite everything she represented, Lily kinda liked her. Not that she would tell her as much, the cyborg didn’t need an ego boost.
Her gaze moved from the door over Acier before settling on Vess, giving her the smallest of smiles, only to have her attention snapped away by Arris’s grand entrance. Lily slid off her perch on a crate, stepping close to Vess knuckles brushing hers as she passed her, not hiding her, but putting herself in the way of whatever might come.
After all, Arris was a wildcard, and she had not asked permission to bring Vess.
“This is Vess, my…”shit friend wasn’t the right word, but neither was girlfriend. She faltered and shook her head, skipping over it hoping no one would notice the burn in her cheeks.
“She’s the best slicer I know. If you want this to go without a hitch, I need her with me.”
He eyes shifted to the painted woman who spoke a language she didn't understand. "Uhh...what?"
NOW
The sirens were loud enough that they made Lily’s bones vibrate, her jaw tight as she pulled Vess into an alcove, tucking the slicer behind her as the auto turrets descended. Blaster fire ripped through the corridor in front of her. What part of this was stealthy?
“Shit!” she swore as a stray bolt ricocheted off the wall in front of her. “Please tell me you’ve found the mainframe?” she pleaded over her shoulder at the dark haired woman.
If she could get Vess to the mainframe and get her hardwired, it would be over for the imperials. That was why she had brought her after all, and having someone that she trusted outside of Arris’s merry band of Sith made her feel a whole lot better about working for them on this.
She had not expected having her in the line of fire like this would make her as anxious as it did.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” she snapped back at Arris “Don’t get your wires in a twist.”
If she had even had the space to think about what she’d just called Vess, she might’ve had time to blush.
The quiet whir of machinery echoed into the industrial corridors; a small and confined space, not yet complete and supported by scaffold supports. A droplet of leaking coolant fluid slipped through a panel, fizzling at the touch of frayed wires. Briefly, the only source of light flickering to life. Without it, only a grim, low red. With the system under siege, power became scarce amid all the fighting.
Fett crept through the old tunnels beneath the surface, the very place he scurried down to at the onset of the invasion.
A door creaked open, groaning. The flash of colour and a barrel peaked through the gap, sending Fett's trigger finger slamming down. Three heavy thuds followed, collapsing in on one another with quiet wheezes of finality. Crouching by their steaming corpses and rifling through their belongings. Days underground left his resources low, though the orders to flush out the Mandalorian presence in the undercity tunnels was of greater interest.
"Hrn," he sighed. The Imperials weren't paying and with the Sith mistaking him for a member of the Iron Covenant, those zealots were all he had left.
The Sith Covenant had been goading factions into an inevitable conflict. A softening technique that belied thoughtfulness and restraint that hadn't been at the forefront of the Covenant's repertoire until recently. Astra was pleased to see it. There was a time for restraint, and a time to let loose. Obviously her relations with Lysander weren't going to be for naught; the man must have had pull to prevent an all-out invasion with orbital bombardment.
So, while they tended business nearby in the gilded places of power, Astra took to settling matters in the shadows of society. Where hard looks and even harder expressions were turned in her direction as they mulled her recent proposal. Stares she met with a slightly raised chin as the heat of the cigarra was drawn through the long stem of the holder cradled between two fingers. Burnt golden eyes sparkled behind ruby glareshades on the verge of laughter.
If they thought they could get away with it, at least one of them would have tried to kill her. Ultimatums would do that. They would all giving what she said the serious consideration it deserved. After all, obey or die was no hollow threat when it was backed by people known for their dramatic annihilation of people, cities, and planets.
Not that they should balk too much. What they had they got to keep. They just needed to do as Astra told them. And today's first item on the Agenda was... stay out of the way. No taking advantage of the chaos and trying to kill their rival. No mass murders because no one would know in all the chaos. Keep their people out of the way and their cargo secure as things on Humbarine became increasingly... interesting.
* * * AND NOW, the conclusion...
Astra plucked the cigarra out from the holder, dropped it, and ground it under the heel of her boot for a second. The holder was tossed to one of the two guards that flanked her for them to stow it. At least the Underworld wouldn't diminish the effectiveness of the Covenant's work on Humbarine now. Their illicit means of distribution could come in use as well. Even Sanguine Enterprises didn't rely solely on official channels to conduct business.
She could hear the din of disquiet even in the walled-off courtyard of the small palace they'd used for their meeting. This close to the governor it was no surprise. Guards had been monitoring the situation ready to get the attendees of this Syndicate Symposium to safety had the unwashed masses thought to lay siege to the building.
A datapad was extended out to her from the right. After casually accepting it, she reviewed the situation report and upcoming schedule. Another meeting with choice Corporations on Humbarine. Not crucial for today's events, but important for the long-term stability and profitability of the planet. The longer they dithered or waited the harder it would be for them to be among those that survived. Not that it was Astra's problem if they died. Just a needless waste of resources because the wrong person was in the wrong position. Of course, she could always remove problematic people; perhaps free-up the position for someone more... forward thinking.
They would need the right people positioned for the clean-up. Not half-hearted, timid souls that couldn't bring themselves to do what was necessary. Problem was even some Corpo leaders merely inherited a system they'd benefited from. Some lacked the stomach to refashion a new one of a kind, but under different management. Pathetic. They'd fall in line and help their people -- against their own, better judgment -- or they'd die. The ultimatum was the same, the reasons were the same, but the outcome could be different with intelligent leadership. It was so difficult to find good leaders these days.
"Mandalorians?" Astra expression darkened as she looked over at the messenger for confirmation. What were Mandalorians doing on Humbarine? Didn't matter which Clan they hailed from. They always had the same purpose when it came to planets like Humbarine. Purge the criminal element. Impose order. Astra hated the Mandalorian concept of order. It was far too clinical. Lifeless. A corpse wrapped in beskar -- an apt description of the Mandalorian soul in her opinion. To think people called the Sith necromancers when the dead shambled about in their metal suits every day.
Astra threw her jacket back to draw the commlink from her belt. "Shadow to Spartan, mission status?" Given this turn, she'd at least try to validate the mission remain on course with Lysander von Ascania
. If it all fell apart now... then Astra would simply have to find some way to creatively express her displeasure.
The Xorvyrnog was a sight to behold. The Great Beast of the Eternal Father trudged its way through the city with thunderous steps, flattening speeders, smashing through buildings, and carving swathes of destruction with slow, yet powerful swipes of its heavy tail. For Aistrella, witnessing her God astride such a massive leviathan sent a surge of devotion racing up her spine. Had she been less disciplined, she would have fallen into a frenzy on the spot. Even now, she felt the urge to slash her vibroblade across her throat so that she could feel the hot spill of her vitae across her palms, for surely there could not be any sensation greater than to die in His presence!
In that, Aistrella almost envied those who she had been sent to kill. The savage children of ruined Moridinae— Mandalorians—who had been caught exposed in the midst of a presumably disastrous infiltration attempt. Now, they scattered like startled rats through the ferrocrete canyons of the planetary megacity, fleeing in a futile effort to escape a predestined fate that no amount of their sacred beskar could forestall.
And for the group of Mandalorians she was closing in towards, that fate had finally arrived.
Aistrella swept her arm out wide and fast. A blade of the Midnight Harmony answered, lashing out in a violent, blurry aerial arc as it slashed through the necks of a pair of Mandalorians. Helmeted heads tumbled from shoulders in a spray of crimson, before their bodies collapsed in heavy, disjointed heaps. The distinct whine of a rotary blaster spinning up cut through the cacophony of violence, but the elfin blade dancer was already in motion. A flying lateral pirouette carried her out of the trajectories of the ensuing flurry of blaster bolts, hot air brushing against her skin in the process.
She landed in a graceful plié and dropped into a deep side lunge, her body low enough to graze the ferrocrete. Another sweep of her arm sent a blade shooting from her back before slicing through the space at calf height, clearing the rotary blaster-wielding Mandalorian from his feet. She came up then, her left leg sweeping out with a pointed toe. A blade darted towards the now-collapsing rotary gunner and staked him through the chest, the Class-D disruptor field vaporizing his chest cavity from within as the wet hiss of flash-boiled blood sounded out.
Aistrella rose to her full diminutive height then, her blades returning to hover at her back as steam rose from the broken Mandalorian bodies. The air thickened with the copper-sweet scent of blood and the faint, acrid tang of vaporized metal.
However, there was one more. Her main target. The Forgemaster. And he was not far.
<<Strill One, this is Dagger Twelve. The target is marked. Bring now thy fire upon that accursed strongpoint and strike it hard. We are close beneath it.>>
“Copy, target confirmed,” replied Strill 1, “Strill 3 and 4, execute. The rest of you, show of force.”
The six starfighters came in low, barely skimming the surface a few hundred feet off the ground. Iris tightened her grip on the yoke, ion engines roaring.
The shockwave as the starfighters passed so close overhead, breaking the sound barrier, rattled buildings, blew out windows, and kicked up clouds of dust in their wake.
As they neared the objective, Iris pulled up and banked right to clear out for the lead fighters to deploy their weapons envelopes. She threw a quick glance out the side of her canopy and saw the telltale contrails streaking out from under the wings of Strills 3 and 4.
"Missiles away," Jyn and Akk said in unison.
Two KXM-114 bunker busters penetrated the strongpoint. For a moment, nothing. Then came the rippling shockwave as the thermobaric payload ignited, sucking all the oxygen out of the blaster turret nests in a thundering explosion. The blast overpressure would have pulped the innards of those inside, while leaving the structure itself mostly intact.
"Target struck, Dagger 12. How effects?" said Strill 1.
Iris looked back at her heads up display and her eyes suddenly widened as she saw a colossal beast in the distance shuffling along the skyline.
Fur bristling faintly, one long pointed ear flicking occasionally, the ranat was doing a poor job of hiding her discomfort with the academic setting. From the outside looking in, it might seem to be normal pre-job jitters or perhaps could be mistaken for her usual grouchy temperament. Efret and Riffraff weren't exactly familiar with each other — paired up more out of shared objective than any earned commaraderie.
Carrying a big tool bag in one clawed fist, the ranat fidgeted with the vibrodagger tucked in one of her overall pockets as if to reassure herself it was there. To the hells with anyone who looked at her funny about it; academies, labs and their like gave her major bad volts. Like a live wire was loose in her chest and the only way to ground out was to leave the damn place or light it up with particle beams till it was nothing but rubble.
Get a hold'a yourself Riff, you're a bloody damn professional, she thought with a scowl.
It didn't help that she was hungover from rubbing elbows with some of the local blue collar lads and lasses the night before. It was just after all those evacuation warnings tore through the place and turned it upside-down. Cogs in the machine that they were, working class folk were often essential and many of them were still required to help manage their posts despite brewing trouble.
Riffraff always made sure to have her finger on the pulse of the working class anywhere she was going to operate for this reason, and with a bit of forewarning that things were about to get hairy, she made sure their groundwork was laid.
More to the point, she always had several plausible aliases maintained on janitorial and system maintenance employee accounts in a handful of important establishments in any given sector. The grifter was always ready to work some kind of angle to slip under the noses of whichever "powers that be" so she could act quickly and strike where it was least expected.
Today was no different, but this time she actually had an in. The boss lady Arris Windrun
had set Riffraff up with a contact who had a legitimate in. So rather than blending in and working in the shadows, hoping no one would notice she didn't actually work there, Riffraff was walking right in the front door and headed toward the rooms which would house communication and broadcasting equipment. All while being guided and legitimized by the presence of a bonafide academic.
"So uh… You known the bosses long?" Riffraff hazarded as they approached their target.
She was abysmal at small talk in situations like this, far too gruff, attention warring between too many upcoming tasks.
"Theuh," Riffraff lowered her scratchy voice and opted not to utter the name of Mercy
in case prying ears were near, "Big woman, and the cyborg? I've been with the organization a solid few months now."
Her datapad began to ping and various alerts started to sound. Riffraff fished it out of her pocket, fuzzy brows raising as she let out a low whistle. Her large orange eyes rose sidelong to regard her companion in full.
"Plan's been accelerated, and… well we might need to pivot a bit."
Her step picked up and a plan for incensing the resistance whilst also thickening the fog of war began to form in her devious mind.
