Public She Works Hard for the Money

[Kinley Pryse]

You've been hit by... you've been struck by...

Some people make their own luck. Kinley just steals it from those people​

The first blaster shot came from the catwalks. The second shattered a crate beside them. The third sent the entire warehouse into chaos. "Contact!" somebody yelled over the comms. As if the blaster fire hadn't already made that obvious. Mercenaries appeared from behind stacks of cargo containers and loading machinery, red bolts flashing through the dim warehouse. What was supposed to be a quick grab-and-go had become a firefight in less than thirty seconds.

A crate exploded. Someone cursed. Someone else started shooting back. Pryse slid behind a stack of durasteel containers as bolts screamed overhead. Her blaster was already in hand before she'd fully reached cover. Across the warehouse, their objective sat atop a loading platform, a small data core locked inside a transport case. Only now there were armed guards standing between them and a very profitable payday.

"Tell me again how this place was supposed to be abandoned," one of her teammates growled.

A hail of blaster fire answered for them. Kinley leaned out, fired twice, and dropped a mercenary trying to flank their position. Another appeared. She dropped him too. The others were still trading shots when she spotted movement high above. More mercenaries were spilling onto the catwalks.

Wonderful.

The warehouse wasn't abandoned. It was occupied. Heavily. "More coming," one of the pirates said calmly into the comm. A moment later a grenade bounced across the floor. Everyone scattered. The explosion rocked the warehouse, rattling cargo containers and filling the air with smoke and sparks.

The team's formation broke apart instantly. One member was pinned down near a loader. Another had taken cover behind a stack of shipping crates. The mercenaries pushed forward. Kinley's eyes flicked from the advancing gunmen to the objective. Then to the support struts holding up the catwalks.

An idea formed.

Usually a bad sign.

A Smooth Criminal

 

[The Iron Ronin]

Darkness. Not the darkness of fear. Not the darkness of uncertainty. Simply the absence of light. IG-100-47 sat motionless within the shipping container. Legs crossed. Hands resting upon the hilt of the sheathed vibro-katana laid across his lap.
The container's manifest identified its contents as agricultural processing equipment. This was technically inaccurate. The droid's photoreceptors remained dormant while his auditory sensors monitored the world beyond steel walls. The rhythmic vibration of repulsorlifts. Cargo handlers. Dock workers. The endless mechanical heartbeat of galactic commerce.
A practical method of transportation.
No fuel costs.
No docking fees.
No maintenance schedules.
Only patience.
IG-100-47 had been inside the crate for three days. It was much cheaper than buying a ticket on a transport.

A sudden impact reverberated through the container. The droid's photoreceptors flickered to life. Twin crimson lights pierced the darkness. IG-100-47 remained motionless as it surveyed its surroundings. There was little to see within the confines of the shipping crate, forcing it to piece together events from the information available to it.
An explosion.
Blaster fire.
Multiple firing positions.
The sounds echoed through the durasteel walls from several directions at once. Combat. The conclusion was immediate. Not ideal.
The MagnaGuard had selected this particular mode of transportation for its simplicity. A quiet journey from one world to the next, undisturbed by docking fees, customs inspections, or unnecessary conversation.
Another explosion rattled the container. That expectation had evidently become obsolete. IG-100-47 rose slowly from where it had been seated. Its internal processors began calculating trajectories, structural weaknesses, and probable outcomes.
The container offered concealment. Concealment was only valuable while it remained intact. Given the volume of incoming fire and the frequency of nearby detonations, the probability of a grenade, missile, or stray blaster bolt compromising his position was steadily increasing. Remaining inside was no longer the safest course of action. The droid's hand settled upon the hilt of the sheathed vibro-katana.

Outside, the battle continued to rage. Inside, a decision had been reached. IG-100-47 moved toward the container doors.

 

[Tibera Jessen]

Crawl with me into tomorrow, or I'll drag you to your grave...

The mission was simple, they all started that way, lead a team of mercs on a raid against some pirates. Criminals were usually pretty easy to put down, nothing out of the ordinary. There was always some kind of complication, so Tibera walked towards the warehouse expecting another shoe to drop. Whenever that feeling crept up, they were very rarely disappointed.

Like a heavily armored juggernaut, Tibera kicked in the back door of the warehouse. A steady rat-a-tat of rounds filled the air, with the clinking of shell casings hitting the duracrete floor followed shortly behind. Slugthrowers like Tibera's were unmistakable for their intimidating noise. It was part of the reason the mercenary used them.

As the team moved into the warehouse, criminal scumbags quickly returned blaster fire. If nothing else, this was going to be fun. The fight in the warehouse was starting strong, a grenade explosion underlining the advance towards the enemy.

"Keep the exits cut off! Don't let 'em escape, boss wants no loose ends!" Tibera barked, shouting into the helmet mounted comms.

One of the thugs, a large rodian who'd taken some shrapnel in the blast, was grabbing for his blaster to try and fight back. In a moment an armored foot came down on his back, and he was filled with lead. A cold reminder to those who served with Tibera that there was to be nothing left of the crew inside the objective.

It was hard to keep track of everything, even with the equipment in the helmets of the mercs. Momentum had to be maintained, and if they needed to Tibera would keep these thugs moving. Many deployments for on many worlds had taught them that even common crooks were dangerous.

Blaster fire came from all sides, filling the scene with red and blue blurs of hot plasma. Just a glancing hit from those could be deadly, thankfully the armor they wore made the mercs more resilient to blaster fire. It wasn't invulnerable, but it'd allow them to close distance without being torn to shreds.

"Get one of the heavy blasters set up and catch these bastards in the crossfire! Move sharpshooters to the upper deck, I want every angle covered!"

Tags: Kinley Pryse , The Iron Ronin

 

[Keys]

Kinley Pryse | The Iron Ronin | Tibera Jessen ​

Dammit.

Blasterfire poured overhead as the Zeltron ducked behind the large container. One knee was dropped as he took a second to regain his breath. Moments early he was diving behind the Durasteel wall, trying his best to dodge the grenade explosion. In his left hand was his trusty DG-29, fresh with a few enhancements. On his right hip was a small carrying pouch, packed with a few goodies that may be utilized within the next few minutes.

The datacore was still far away and heavily guarded. Keys signed onto this job in order to build some connections. As new Quartermaster of The Exchange, part of his duty was to recruit mercenaries to help them on their own raids. However, the reputation for the syndicate had diminished quite a bit after the death of their captain, Pyrrah Tae. In order for profit to be made again, respect had to be rebuilt.

And that is why the Zeltron found himself evading blasterfire. That, and the loot on the other side of the facility could catch a pretty credit, whether being sold on the Black Market, or the money that was being made from this job.

Either way, the crew had to focus in if they wanted to make it out of here.

 

[Kinley Pryse]

You've been hit by... you've been struck by...

Kinley Pryse treats arrest warrants like achievement badges.​

Bad ideas had made Kinley Pryse a lot of money over the years. They had also gotten her shot, stabbed, arrested, stranded, and technically married for almost three weeks.

The success rate was admittedly mixed.

Another volley of blaster fire chewed through the cargo containers above her head. Kinley ducked lower behind cover and glanced toward the catwalks. More mercenaries were pouring onto them by the second. Tibera's people were spreading out exactly the way trained professionals were supposed to, making it more difficult to steal things.

Which was rude, honestly.

"Got a little problem," Kinley spoke into her comm as she ejected a power pack and slammed in a fresh one. "Turns out the abandoned warehouse ain't abandoned."

A pirate nearby barked a laugh. "Helpful observation. Wish you could have made it before we walked into this palce!"

"This mess ain't fault darlin."

Kinley leaned out long enough to put a pair of shots toward the upper catwalk. The mercs ducked back, buying her a second. That was all she needed. Her eyes found the support struts again. The heavy blaster team was setting up beneath the catwalk exactly where Tibera had ordered. Good position. Good field of fire. Terrible place to be if the entire structure came down on top of them.

A grin spread across her face.

Yep.

Definitely a bad idea.

She holstered her pistol and reached into her jacket, producing a small cylindrical charge. Not enough to level the warehouse. She wasn't trying to kill everybody.

Just inconvenience them, with enthusiasm.

The charge sailed through the smoke and attached itself to the nearest support beam. A second followed. Then a third. Kinley tapped the detonator. The explosions weren't large, but they didn't need to be. Metal screamed. One of the support struts buckled. The catwalk above lurched violently.

Mercenaries scrambled for footing as the entire structure shifted several feet to one side. Crates, tools, and loose equipment rained from above. One heavy blaster emplacement toppled before it could fully deploy.

The warehouse shook again. Unfortunately, the collapsing support didn't stop with the catwalk.A nearby cargo container shifted. Then another. Then an entire stack began tipping like a line of oversized sabacc tiles.

Kinley's smile slowly disappeared.

"...Huh."

The first container slammed into the floor with enough force to rattle the building. The second crashed directly into another stack. Somewhere in the warehouse alarms suddenly began screaming.

"Okay," Kinley muttered, backing away from the growing chain reaction. "That part might've been my fault."

She glanced toward the transport case containing the datacore.

Still there.

Still valuable.

Still worth all this trouble.

Or at least it better be.

Keys Tibera Jessen The Iron Ronin

A Smooth Criminal

 

[Keys]

Kinley Pryse | The Iron Ronin | Tibera Jessen ​

Metallic shrapnel soared passed his head from the explosion.

Containers shifted in every which way, some only slightly misplaced, others full falling from the stacks. The container above the man was sent flying back and toppling down. Keys rolled out of way just in the nick of time. The Sabat mercenary next to him was not as lucky, managing to only let out a yelp of fear before being crushed. Turning back to the initiator of the blast, he shot Kinley Pryse an annoyed and somewhat dreadful look, realizing that it could have been him squished by the crate.

Nevertheless, there was money to be made.

Pulling out a small datapad from his pouch, clicking a few buttons, a droid soon rolled up alongside the Zeltron. He could not help but smirk. This little unit happened to be outfitted with a glop grenade. Pressing a few buttons once more, the droid scurried over to the group of protectors. Zigging and zagging through the blasterfire. Eventually, the Firecracker stopped right in the middle of all the men, detonating. A sticky adhesive would coat a small number of the men, trapping them to the floor.

At this sight, Keys once again raised his DG-29, beginning to pick them off with ease. One step closer to the prize.