What's New
Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

Register a free account today to become a member! Once signed in, you'll be able to participate on this site by adding your own topics and posts, as well as connect with other members through your own private inbox!

Private Tegaanalir

Ruus Kote

Strill Securities Alor'akaatse
Ruus Kote

Strill-Post-Banner.png

​
Friendly Units:
'Mirshir'verd'jurkad'gam'-M and Ysalamiri Birikad have been issued force wide.
  • Command company from Strill Securities Jurkad Verde Shere'shoy Mechanized Infantry Battalion
Units in Reserve:
Tag(s): Alexandros Alexandros

Equipment

Armor Implant(s) Equipment Melee Sidearm(s) Rifle(s) Explosives

[/slide]


Buy'ce gal, buy'ce tal
Verbor'ad ures aliit
Mhi draar baat'i meg'parjii'se
Kote lo'shebs'ul narit.
​

Temporary Assembly Point, Roche

They were supposed to be on standby deployment alert after what seemed like months of no action. What the shab was the point of being the company's premier regiment when there was no shabla work for you to do? Sure, the paycheck kept coming in, but there was nothing to justify it, basic work that amounted to glorifies police work; putting down small rebellions and knocking over the odd self-styled warlord. If Ruus had a credit for every self-satisfied shabuire who he had to knock some sense into, he would be a rich man indeed.

The potential action the company had been preparing for was this whole affair with the Nemoidians. They had in no uncertain terms told the Naboo to go and usenye. That was, as far as he was concerned, the right shabla move to do. Very mandokarla. Certainly helped that it had the strong potential to require his intervention, hopefully wouldn't just be the Navy or the Tra'verde.

So naturally on the cusp of the biggest operation they were likely to see in a while, he was both confused and upset when he heard that one of his best scouts had missed role call. "And you're sure this isn't our tech messing up?" asked Ruus as he glanced at the datapad with the battalions' role call data scrawling across it.

"Elek, alor. I checked for the ad'ika myself. He's not here," came the thorough response from Jor Kyrr, Alexandros Alexandros ' direct boss. Jor wasn't one for practical jokes either, and this would have been the wrong shabla time for both him to start and for

He was never even shabla late. Not 'not usually', not ever. This was an odd time to shabla disappear was all. Ruus glanced down at the datapad, he always preferred them to reading data scrawling across his HUD. All the kit was loaded, the regiment could do their job if he disappeared for a bit, Mirta, Aamer and Fenn would be fine without him if it came down to it. "Jor, grab your rifle and come with me, we're making a little detour."

"Never leave home without it," he scoffed. "You get the crew's permission for this?" he asked. That was one part of this pl;an that Ruus hadn't sorted yet, but one thing at a time.

"Last favor," he lied. "I'm sure Dinua won't mind," he lied again. Truth was there were few in Strill who wouldn't help a friend out of a bind, and how did that old saying go? Burc'ya vaal burk'yc, burc'ya vemanBurc'ya vaal burk'yc, burc'ya veman.

It was short order and a lot of yelling before they were on their way to Alex's company registered permanent address. A dropship designed to transport a company ferrying only two men made that journey feel awkward, but thank the Manda that it was in the very least quiet. Jor wasn't a man big on conversation, but his body language said enough: he also hoped that Alex was alright. "We're here, I'll hold fire till your life signs drop off the tac display." intoned Dinua a moment later.

"Comforting," scoffed Ruus before he made his way to the end of the cargo bay.

"That's what they pay me the big bucks for, 'alor," responded Dinua without missing a beat.

"And here I thought there was more to being a pilot," he muttered under his breath, eliciting an amused scoff from Jor who joined him just as the ramp began to lower with the hum of hydraulics. The both of them made their way to Alex's domicile, weapons up without any notable resistance. Ruus quickly tooj up the primary breaching position while Jor fell in behind him.

"I don't have any, mind doing the honors?" he asked Jor as he double checked his webbring. Jor nodded and went to work affixing TWT-01 Thermal Well Tape to the door with Ruus covering him. It was barely a moment later that the latter triggered the detonation signal burning the door right off its track. Ruus and Jor swept into the building, weapons up, eyes open for any obvious traps, sensor-fused HUDs giving them a combined readout of the room and adjacent rooms.
 
Major Faction

Alexandros

Murder Kitten
Alexandros
Character Bio


TAGS: Ruus Kote Ruus Kote

Alex had taken a domicile on Roche, not in any polished quarter worth naming, but in a repurposed worker's unit tucked into the service annex. It sat above a low commercial structure as a small two level cargo hab of metal and duracrete, all hard angles and weathered seams, with only a few narrow windows and one obvious way in. The place rested along one of the work routes, close enough to a medical supply house that a run there could be made in minutes, and near enough to the dockyards that the groan of engines and the thrum of departing ships still carried through the walls at the right hour. Off to one side, it even had its own cramped open berth, little more than a modest access port where a small ship could set down without drawing too much notice.

The front door looked like it had been chosen with care. It was Heavy and reinforced set with thick mechanical locks and a secondary mag-lock besides. Outside, motion sensors had been fixed beneath the overhang and along the approach in small, easily missed places, scavenged pieces wired back into the hab's internal alert board. Nothing elegant… just practical. The sort of measures put in place by someone who expected trouble sooner or later and meant to know of it before trouble reached the threshold.


By the time they blew the door open, they would find the hab already roused into a frightened little war party.

The common room beyond no longer looked lived in so much as hastily fortified. A table had been dragged over on its side to break the line of sight from the entry, crates shoved in behind it, chairs overturned wherever small hands had thought they might serve as cover. The interior lights had been cut, leaving only the dim bleed of status panels and the thin, warning glow from the alert board near the wall. Somewhere deeper in the unit, a cabinet door stood open where supplies had been snatched in a hurry. Alex had not come home when he was meant to, and the boys had clearly felt the danger of that absence.

One of the older boys, Hunter had taken up position where he could watch the breach from behind cover,, weapon gripped in unsteady hands that still knew where to point it. Another, Tracer would have pulled the younger ones back toward the inner rooms or the safer corner of the hab, where bunks and narrow walls offered some poor imitation of shelter. Stitch and Dash were on opposite side of Hunter's flank further back behind cover in the kitchen.

A set of small glop grenade's were tossed at the door way along with a singular smoke granade in tow to try and deter the home invaders. It would seem that the house was filled with... 'Smaller Alex's all ready to attack the pair.
 

Ruus Kote

Strill Securities Alor'akaatse
Ruus Kote

Strill-Post-Banner.png

​
Friendly Units:
'Mirshir'verd'jurkad'gam'-M and Ysalamiri Birikad have been issued force wide.
  • Command company from Strill Securities Jurkad Verde Shere'shoy Mechanized Infantry Battalion
Units in Reserve:
Tag(s): Alexandros Alexandros

Equipment

Armor Implant(s) Equipment Melee Sidearm(s) Rifle(s) Explosives

[/slide]


Buy'ce gal, buy'ce tal
Verbor'ad ures aliit
Mhi draar baat'i meg'parjii'se
Kote lo'shebs'ul narit.
​

Alexandros' apartment, Roche

Ruus' HUD highlighted the grenades about the same time as his trained and enhanced senses did. The two veteran Mirshir'verd let more than a two decades of combined experience take over. Two TBP-01V tractor-pressor beam projectors warmed to life fractions of a second later, their operators using them to the two glop grenades outside like they were merely minor inconveniences. Any neighbors still di'kutla enough to watch were either caught in the ensuing detonation or were fast enough to get the shab out of the way."Shabla gev," commanded Ruus, using the voice he usually reserved for errant recruits. "We're trying to help your vod. Your brother." Ruus made a point of lowering his rifle to a low alert carry, as did Jor, taking his cue. That didn't mean he wasn't going to cue up a firing solution for the nearest piece of cover wit h guided flechette rounds in the privacy of his own helmet, ret'lini.

He finally take a moment to look at their diminutive assailants. He had no DNA sample and the ID scanner in his armor wasn't doing too much except telling him he was looking at his missing employee with a fair degree of accuracy. They all looked like Alexandros Alexandros , just....a lot younger. Children? Siblings? Either way, now he knew what he was spending the majority of his paycheck on. Shab, he remembered having kids that age. Alex wasn't much older than his own eldest son, if at all, how the shab did he have kids that age already? No, siblings was the likely answer. Ruus studied the kids, their rudimentary concealment couldn't hide them from his beskar'gam once it a moment to calibrate to the room that it found itself in. "Just... start at the beginning, one of you. I'm his alor, his boss, I want to find him."

That's when he remembered dealing with his own children at that age and an idea hit him like a runaway repulsor train. "First person to throw their weapon over the barricade and tell me something gets cake." He prayed to the manda that was actually going to work, this whole situation left more questions than it did answers at the moment, and he sure as shab wasn't carrying much if anything in the way of non-lethal weapons on him. Jor in the meanwhile was fixing the children with an inquisitive look from behind his buy'ce, evidently eager to see if this attempted bribe would work. With no kids of his own he more at home with being the ba'vodu showering his vod's ad'ike with gifts than raising his own.
 
Last edited:
Major Faction

Alexandros

Murder Kitten
Alexandros
Character Bio

Ruus Kote Ruus Kote

Hunter was not certain he trusted them… but certainty had very little place in all of this now. The two men stood there in armor and weapons the boys could not hope to match, and if they had truly wanted blood, they could have done far worse the moment the door came down. They had caught the grenades, turned them aside with ease, AND kept the room from becoming a slaughterhouse. The breach itself, followed by the thunder of the front door giving way, had been what sent the hab into its frantic little panicked response.

He drew in a breath, held it, then let it leave him slow and heavy through his nose.

"Stand down," he said at last.

Hunter rose just enough from behind cover to be seen, lifting his weapon first rather than aiming it. He knew who Maverick worked for. These two matched the descriptions too closely to ignore that fact.

Across from him, Stitch sagged with visible relief, the tightness in his shoulders loosening all at once. "Can we all get cake?" he asked, hope breaking through the fear.

Even with Hunter stepping out, Stitch did not leave his cover. He only shifted enough to peer around it, medkit still close at hand.

"The cake is a lie!" Talon shouted back at once, voice sharp with disbelief. He stayed low, white-knuckled around his weapon, eyes hot with suspicion. "They just blew off the front door. Do you really think they want to give us cake?" He asked as the typical arguments of young boys broke out among their 'ranks'.

"No…" Kestrel murmured from his place nearer the rear, still watching Ruus with unnerving focus. His gaze moved over the man's posture, the lowered rifle, the way the other one held back instead of pressing forward. "I think it's a genuine bribe."

That earned the faintest pause from the group as a whole.

Hunter let out another breath, slower this time, and lowered his blaster toward the floor before setting it down with deliberate care. The motion was born of a calm sort of calculation… and exhaustion. "Maverick said if Strill ever came looking, they'd come armed..." His eyes stayed on Ruus. "So far, that sounds about right."

From behind the barricade, Stitch looked between them with growing concern. "He was supposed to be back already," he said, smaller now. "He's late.... he's never late. "

Talon's jaw tightened, though he did not argue this time. Kestrel's expression narrowed at the strangers in their home. Hunter straightened a little more, he was young still, but trying very hard not to look it, like perhaps he'd been the one left 'in charge' of this group since Maverick was gone.

"If you're really here to help..." Hunter said, "then how about you start talking.... and maybe fix our door..."
 

Ruus Kote

Strill Securities Alor'akaatse
Ruus Kote

Strill-Post-Banner.png

​
Friendly Units:
'Mirshir'verd'jurkad'gam'-M and Ysalamiri Birikad have been issued force wide.
  • Command company from Strill Securities Jurkad Verde Shere'shoy Mechanized Infantry Battalion
Units in Reserve:
Tag(s): Alexandros Alexandros

Equipment

Armor Implant(s) Equipment Melee Sidearm(s) Rifle(s) Explosives

[/slide]


Buy'ce gal, buy'ce tal
Verbor'ad ures aliit
Mhi draar baat'i meg'parjii'se
Kote lo'shebs'ul narit.
​

Alexandros' apartment, Roche

Ruus let out an audible sigh of relief via his buy'ce's annunciator. "Ad'ika. if either of us knew how the shab to repair your door we'd be gotabore, engineers. Just how many Mandalorians do you know with sub-human reaction times that want you dead that don't lead with worse anyhow?" he asked, out equal parts genuine curiosity and incredulity. "'Lek, yeah, we work for Strill."

"Have for a long time," half-muttered Jor from beside him in agreement as Ruus fished the small vacuum-sealed parcel out of his pack. Putting his rifle on his back magnetic-mount with his spare hand, Ruus carefully opened the package.

"I should shabla hope this isn't a lie, I had hoped to eat this later, but its yours," he said, holding out the unwrapped Uj'alayi. "Late? What do you mean late?" he asked, looking from Hunter to Stitch. "Where did he go?" Ruus realized he would have to pull some favors, get some engineers, maybe a squad down here to watch over these kids till this whole thing could be sorted out.

One thing was for sure, he hoped to the Manda that this whole thing between the Trade Federation and the High Republic didn't kick off before then. Not only were the amount of resources available to him going to nose dive, he was never going to hear the end of it from command and from his men. He had no idea yet how he was going to solve this, let alone how he was going to have to pull off explaining all this if he had to.
 
Major Faction

Alexandros

Murder Kitten
Alexandros
Character Bio

Ruus Kote Ruus Kote
None of them seemed especially interested in the cake… except Stitch. He abandoned his 'post' the moment it appeared, crossing the room to fetch it with open curiosity. He turned the sticky little morsel over in his hands as though trying to decide what exactly it was meant to be before finally taking a cautious bite, to see if it really was cake, claiming the sweet for his own.

A few of the others crept closer after that, drawn less by the food and more by the Mandalorians standing in their dining room. Small faces peeked out from behind corners and doorframes, each boy trying to steal a better look without coming too near the men. They were still wary of the men who had blown open their front door and forced their way into the habitation block. Even with the danger passed, that kind of entrance was not the sort one forgot quickly.

Hunter looked like a young man balanced on the edge of exhaustion and paranoia. He rubbed at his eyes as he listened to them, dark circles staining the skin beneath. It was no wonder he looked so tiered; With this many boys under one roof, keeping the habitation from burning down, or keeping them from killing one another, must have been a relentless task for one so young. He had the look of someone who had not slept properly in days and no longer trusted silence when it came.

Rook tilted his head slightly at that. "I do not think any of us would really take the time to measure your reaction speed and weigh that against reasoning," he murmured.

"Maverick usually comes home between missives and checks on us," Hunter said. "He gave us a call about a week ago, and he should have shown up by now, but he hasn't." He hesitated, frowning as though reaching for something half-buried beneath too many other worries. "He mentioned needing to make one stop first. Said he needed fuel, maybe coolant too… something about the ship acting up again."

One of the younger boys looked up from behind the corner then, speaking only after a pause. "Nickel One," he said quietly. "I heard him say it. He said there was a little service dock there he used sometimes because they were fast, even if they overcharged."

Hunter glanced toward him, then nodded once. "That sounds right. He said he wanted to top off, check the ship over, and pull any waiting courier traffic before coming back. If he was delayed anywhere, that would be the place."
 

Ruus Kote

Strill Securities Alor'akaatse
Ruus Kote

Strill-Post-Banner.png

​
Friendly Units:
'Mirshir'verd'jurkad'gam'-M and Ysalamiri Birikad have been issued force wide.
  • Command company from Strill Securities Jurkad Verde Shere'shoy Mechanized Infantry Battalion
Units in Reserve:
Tag(s): Alexandros Alexandros

Equipment

Armor Implant(s) Equipment Melee Sidearm(s) Rifle(s) Explosives

[/slide]


Buy'ce gal, buy'ce tal
Verbor'ad ures aliit
Mhi draar baat'i meg'parjii'se
Kote lo'shebs'ul narit.
​

Alexandros' apartment, Roche

Ruus tossed his head to both sides as he considered the argument made. "'Lekl, that's fair. I wouldn't be doing that either if I was in your place." Come to think of it, like them, he wouldn't have opened the door either were he in their place, but what was done was done. No point being too upset over it now. Though it was his mistake to fix and fix it he would.

"Nickel One? That's the capital," mused Jor out loud in response to what Alex's vode said about where he had gone to last.

"I live here too, di'kut," he muttered in response. That wasn't strictly true, but they were stationed at Roche at a lot. It was true enough. Ruus quietened his thoughts and went back to listening. "Har'chaak, I told him to let me take a look at it. Where's this service station?" Ruus took a breath once they were done speaking, "Alright, you kids have done what you can. Who's in charge here?" he asked as he drew his sidearm, switching his grip almost effortlessly from grip to barrel.

He then held out two qui8ckly retrieved magazines as well, "Just in case." Without a moment's hesitation, he muted his helmet's external mic and got on the command frequency, "This is Kal 6, requesting a gotabor squad at my location."

"Alor, where the shab are you? We're due to ship out any moment now," demanded Mirta, his mechanized battalion commander, over the comms. Ruus winced a little from the force the request that carried even over the comms.

"Chasing down our missing trooper, there seems to be more to it," he responded casually, knowing Mirta would catch his meaning. "I'll call for gaanir if I need it, 'lek?

"I don't like this, alor," spat Mirta after a moment's pause.

"You and me both, Jor too, but since when the shab do we get consulted on what we do and don't like?" he asked rhetorically.

"I'm deadly shabla serious, alor, could be a trap," she persisted. Truth be told he agreed with her, he just didn't see what kind of choice they had in the matter.

"So am I, we don't have a choice though, do we? I'm not leaving him, not unless we absolutely shabla have to, and we don't. If this all goes to haran, I'll take the blame," he added.

"The haran you will, when Ori'akaan'ade'alor Netra comes knocking, we'll all face him together, like we face everything," she insisted emphatically.

"When she's right, she's right, alor," chimed in Aamer Kyrdol. his armored battalion commander. "Finish it, alor, we're right behind you if you need us."

"That's all I can ask for," he said, sincerely conceding the point as he stopped transmitting. A green acknowledgement signal came from Shereshoy's engineering company lead. "Well Jor, you no doubt heard that, what the shab do you say?" he asked over hhelmet-to-helmet comms to the other Strill Officer with him.

"Let's get our vod back," Jor said without even a fraction of a second's hesitation.

"Abso-shabla-lutely," he agreed. "Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur," he added, quoting the now often quoted adage that Breshig's alor oft said when leading troops into battle. He turned to look at the ad'ike before him, "Alright, I've called for a squad of engineers to help with the door," he started. "I'm sure you know what our transponder beacon looks like," he said, turning to the one adorned with various bits of tech he didn't understand even once identified by his HUD. "Anyone else remotely threatening tries to approach, give them another hole to breathe out of."

"Here's a thousand credits if you need anything," he said, tossing them a thousand cred chip he used for daily transactions. "The rest goes to Ale-Maverick, when I bring him back. And clean this shabla place up, I don't want to hear a single complaint from the engineers when they get here," he added in a firm 'dad' voice with some 'drill sergeant' thrown in for good measure.
 
Major Faction

Alexandros

Murder Kitten
Alexandros
Character Bio


TAGS: Ruus Kote Ruus Kote

dgxmq14-4d2aaa93-542a-4548-a4d5-8abe8fb38b16.png

dgxmmvv-a37f840b-d383-4727-8658-db139c0bb7ca.png

Ruus Kote said:
"Alright, you kids have done what you can. Who's in charge here?"
Click to expand...

Hunter blinked, then slowly raised his hand before settling it gently against his chest. "I was left in charge, sir," he offered softly, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

Stitch was happily picking at the cake, devouring the sticky morsel piece by piece. "There's some Weequay who owns it named Gusk," he said between bites, fingers glistening with frosting. He licked the sweetness from his thumb before finishing, "I think the shop was called… Gear Grinders?"

Rook nearly bopped him on the back of the head. "You ain't supposed to know that," he huffed, shooting the younger boy a warning glare.

Gear Grinders was an odd sort of establishment — half back-alley mechanic shop, half dimly lit cantina. Out front, battered starships and speeders sat in various states of repair, tools scattered across duracrete pads. But once you stepped through the side door, the place opened up into a smoky, low-ceilinged watering hole where seedy spacers and freight haulers liked to kill time. The real draw wasn't the watered-down drinks or the greasy food. It was the stage in the back where pretty dancing girls, scantily clad in glittering outfits, moved under colored lights, hips swaying to thumping bass while the patrons nursed their glasses and stared.

— Three Days Earlier —
Gear Grinders Cantina & Repair Bay, Nickel One​

The repair bay out front smelled of scorched wiring and cheap coolant. Maverick's battered courier ship sat on the cracked duracrete pad under the harsh white lights, hood panels peeled open like a gutted animal. The Weequay mechanic had grunted, "Two, maybe three hours. Go get a drink inside. Girls are on shift."

Maverick had only wanted tea — something hot to soothe his weary bones. He'd left the boys back on Roche with strict orders to keep the hab locked down. The last thing he needed was another delay.

He pushed through the side door.

The air inside was thick with smoke, cheap spice, and the heavy thump of bass. Colored lights swept across a low stage where two pretty Twi'lek dancers moved in sync, hips rolling slow and deliberate. Patrons stared openly, drinks mostly forgotten. No one noticed the young man in the worn flight jacket who slid onto a stool at the far end and muttered, "Hot tea please… plain."

The bartender slid a steaming chipped mug across.

Maverick wrapped both hands around it, letting the heat sink into his palms. He was halfway through the first sip when the voice came from the stool beside him — far too close.

"Well, well. Look who finally crawled out of his little hidey-hole."

Maverick froze. His turquoise eyes widened as a cold spike of dread punched straight through his gut. That voice… He hadn't heard it in years, but it still made his stomach twist with old, familiar fear.

Ace leaned one elbow on the bar, long auburn hair tucked behind one ear, turquoise eyes half-lidded in that same lazy smirk. A thin silver lighter clicked open and shut between his fingers, the flame dancing each time.

"You know," Ace continued, voice low and conversational, "I was starting to think you'd actually made it clean. Then your ship started coughing up coolant about three parsecs back. Funny how that happens." He flicked the lighter again. "Almost like someone might've… encouraged it. Just a little. Enough to make a certain ill-behaved stray limp into the only decent stop on this stretch of the Rim."

Maverick set the mug down slowly. His pulse hammered hard against his ribs, a bitter taste rising in the back of his throat — half nausea, half buried rage.

Ace's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Maverick, my boy…" he drawled, stretching the name like a disappointed sigh. "Still running, huh? After everything I did for you."

He clicked the lighter once.

"I gave them my own DNA to make you. I vouched for the batch. I told them you and your little brothers would be worth the investment. You were supposed to be my payment, kid… my cut for helping them build something 'beautiful'. Instead you bolt on your very first real missive like some scared little foundling." He shook his head, almost rueful. "Guess my tough love wasn't hard enough on you after all."

Ace leaned in, voice dropping to that sickeningly sweet register that always crawled under Maverick's skin.

"Lady Seraphine's out of the game. No more crime queen, no more steady contracts. I'm between jobs, Maverick. And I've got a score lined up that needs a second set of eyes. High-value target. Quiet extraction. I do the wet work up close — you sit pretty on overwatch. Sniper support, watch my back, maybe help lure the mark into the open if he gets skittish. Simple. You owe me that much after the mess you left me holding."

Ace's fingers paused on the lighter. The flame reflected in his cold turquoise eyes as he stared directly at the younger man.

Ace's smile stayed soft, almost paternal, but his eyes were ice cold.

"You run again," he said quietly, clicking the lighter shut with a snap, "and I'll make sure the next 'mechanical failure' leaves you drifting in hard vacuum. Nice and slow… Plenty of time to think about the boys you left behind."

He let the silence stretch, then leaned in closer.

"Or maybe I won't touch you at all. Maybe I'll just go back to Roche and have a long talk with Hunter. He's what… the next oldest now?" Ace's lips curved with dark amusement. "Poor kid's already running on fumes trying to keep the rest of them in line. Be a real shame if I had to get… stricter with him. Clearly I wasn't hard enough on you, Maverick. You never did learn how to behave. So this time I'll make sure the lesson sticks for the whole pack."

Ace gave a small, almost regretful sigh and reached over, gripping Maverick's shoulder — firm, lingering, possessive.

"But you behave yourself and do as you're told like a good boy… and come through for me this once…" He shrugged, the gesture deceptively affectionate. "Help me bag this target… be a good lad and do overwatch like I taught you, offer clean sniper support, and maybe… just maybe help lure the mark into position if he gets twitchy… and then… I'll consider the debt paid. Who knows? Maybe I'll even leave the rest of your little brothers alone for a while."

The scar-faced man picked up his own untouched drink and took a slow sip, never breaking eye contact.

"Drink your tea, kid. Ship won't be ready for hours anyway." His smirk sharpened. "Plenty of time to remember who taught you how to shoot in the first place… and what happens to the ones who disappoint me."

He kept his hand on Maverick's shoulder, the grip tightening just enough to remind him exactly who was in control.

 
Last edited:

Ruus Kote

Strill Securities Alor'akaatse
Ruus Kote

Strill-Post-Banner.png

​
Friendly Units:
'Mirshir'verd'jurkad'gam'-M and Ysalamiri Birikad have been issued force wide.
  • Command company from Strill Securities Jurkad Verde Shere'shoy Mechanized Infantry Battalion
Units in Reserve:
Tag(s): Alexandros Alexandros

Equipment

Armor Implant(s) Equipment Melee Sidearm(s) Rifle(s) Explosives

[/slide]


Buy'ce gal, buy'ce tal
Verbor'ad ures aliit
Mhi draar baat'i meg'parjii'se
Kote lo'shebs'ul narit.
​

Alexandros' apartment, Roche

It had been a long time since Ruus had seen someone eat Uj'alayi that fast. He would be lying if he said his eyes hadn't widened a little under hisbuy'ce. "Slow down, adf'ika, it's dense, you'll feel that later," he cautioned gently. Though he would he lying if he said the sight hadn't brought him some amusement and joy. Reminded him of when times were simpler. Not that he regretted the way things were.

Alexandros said:
Stitch was happily picking at the cake, devouring the sticky morsel piece by piece. "There's some Weequay who owns it named Gusk," he said between bites, fingers glistening with frosting. He licked the sweetness from his thumb before finishing, "I think the shop was called… Gear Grinders?"

Rook nearly bopped him on the back of the head. "You ain't supposed to know that," he huffed, shooting the younger boy a warning glare.
Click to expand...

"Maverick's safety is the priority here, let's worry about op sec later," he said trying not to seem to take sides in the matter. "Gear Grinders?" he asked, the name rolling unfamiliarly off his tongue.

"I know where it is, alor," chimed Jor in his buy'ce a moment later. As the battalion's head scout, Ruus fully expected this to be the case. Expected it even. "That's the one attached to a cantina, yeah?" he asked to confirm. "You think we'll need backup?" he asked Ruus over short-range helrmet-to-helmet laser comms.

"I intend to choke the life out of this shabuir myself, vod," he half-growled in response. "On your lead."

Jor glanced back for a sign of confirmation before he walked out the now open doorway with Ruus in return as they both boarded the transport. "Took you shabla long enough," came the response over the ship's intercom before they had even entered in earnest. "Strap in, I'm going to make a hard burn. Mark it, no need to invade the cockpit and stand around."

"Good to see you again too, vod," snorted Ruus in amused response as he found his seat aboard the transport. That was Dinua for you.

"Straight to, alor?" asked Jor as he found his seat next to his. A map marker appeared where this establishment was supposed to be according the map in any case. If Jor was insulted, he didn't show it.

"We'll have to do some digging, I doubt this place is in on it," mused Ruus as the gunship lifted off, the front ramp they had boarded through closing with the accompanying drone of hydraulics and the hiss of atmosphere escaping as the entrance sealed.
 
Major Faction

Alexandros

Murder Kitten
Alexandros
Character Bio




Tags: Ruus Kote Ruus Kote




Three days without proper sleep had narrowed the world to the circular view of Maverick's scope.

Beyond its blackened rim, Bonadan rose in layers of smoke-stained metal and furnace haze blotting out the view and making the smoggy image hard to determine shape and form. Freight lanes threaded between the towers, as swollen transports lumbered through the evening murk while warning lights burned red along the industrial causeways. Far below, the executive concourse cut across the district like a polished blade, its pale surface scrubbed clean of the soot that clung to everything surrounding it.

His target would cross that causeway in eleven minutes; Maverick knew the schedule well enough to recite it without looking.

The transport would settle upon Landing Platform Aurek-3 at nineteen hundred. Corporate security would disembark first, in the form of two officers taking the forward position while another pair secured the rear. The target would emerge last, remain beneath the platform awning for approximately twenty seconds, then proceed west toward the enclosed lift.

Ace had made him study the route until the figures followed him whenever his eyes closed....Not that Ace had permitted them to remain closed for long.

Maverick eased his cheek against the rifle stock pressing the cold materials against the warmth of his face. The weapon in his arms had been assembled from pieces smuggled inside industrial casings, its barrel disguised as coolant piping, its power assembly carried through customs beneath the stamped seal of a refinery surveyor. Every component had been cleaned, calibrated, and placed before him with deliberate care and consideration.

Ace had made certain Maverick understood that none of this was to be improvised. He had to stick to the plan... or else.

The rifle rested upon a collapsed control console near the fractured transparisteel window. Wind entered through the cracks, carrying the torrid breath of the refineries with it: heated metal, chemical rain, and burnt lubricant all melding in to a distinct nauseating scent. It left a bitter film along his tongue he couldn't quite get rid of no matter how many mouthfuls of water he took form his canteen.

A thin restraint encircled his left wrist securely locked in place. It appeared almost harmless, a narrow band of dark alloy pressed close to the skin. The display it linked to showed his pulse, position, and the distance between him and the firing point Ace had selected. Stray more than twelve meters from the rifle and the band would signal him. Attempt to remove it and the charge seated against the artery beneath would answer first.

Ace had demonstrated the trigger without activating it, and that threat alone had been enough.

Beside Maverick's elbow, a portable monitor displayed a silent image of Hunter leaving their present residence earlier that morning with a small timestamp glowing in the corner that changed whenever Maverick looked away.

"You should drink something."

Ace's voice reached him through the receiver tucked inside his ear, smooth and close despite the vast city yawning between them.

Maverick did not touch the water flask at his neck, instead keeping his gaze settled upon the concourse. "You worried I'll miss?"

"I'm worried exhaustion may encourage poor judgment."

A humorless breath left Maverick's nose. Ace had allowed him two hours of sleep upon the first night, perhaps one on the second. The third had passed beneath white lights while Maverick reviewed security rotations and memorized the faces of people Ace claimed might interfere.

Most of those faces belonged to guards whilst some precious few belonged to civilians.

"Security team just changed positions," Maverick murmured. "West entrance has three now."

"I can see them."

Through the scope, Maverick searched the lower levels.

Ace was somewhere beneath the concourse, dressed in the charcoal uniform of a corporate transit officer. Maverick had watched him apply the disguise that morning, covering the scar along his cheek and fitting a false identification plate against his chest. By now he would be moving among the station personnel, as just another clipped silhouette passing through doors opened by borrowed authority.

Maverick could not find him under the view of his scope.... for some reason that frightened him more than seeing him would have.

His finger rested along the rifle housing, outside the trigger guard. The position had been chosen carefully. From here, he could watch the landing platform, the western lift, and the exposed stretch of concourse between them....He could also see the crowded freight crossing below.

Workers passed beneath hanging lamps in dense, slow-moving lines. A maintenance crew occupied the nearest roof. Two cargo skiffs hovered beside the eastern tower, their pilots guiding machinery through open service bays.... There was no clean angle on Ace's approach; Not without sending a shot through glass, steel, or somebody who had never heard Maverick's name.

The receiver gave a soft click.

"When I move," Ace said, "you watch the north rail. Anyone reaches for a weapon, you put them down."

Maverick adjusted the scope by half a degree, though it was a small movement, no greater than the width of a fingernail against the dial. The reticle shifted from the center of the concourse to the fastening bracket beneath its outer railing.

"I heard you."

"That wasn't an acknowledgment."

Maverick let the silence stretch… though not long enough to become defiance.

"North rail," he repeated. "Security only."

"Anyone who interferes."

His jaw tightened against the rifle stock as he let out a breath.

On the monitor beside him, Hunter's image paused mid-step. The picture broke into blocks of color, then returned with Hunter farther down the street. Ace had chosen the screen's position well. Maverick could not look through the scope without seeing its pale glow at the edge of his vision.

Far across the district, the landing platform lights changed from amber to white. Maverick watched the approach corridor as a dark transport emerged from the smoke, descending between the towers with its running lamps dimmed against the thickening rain... Eleven minutes had soon become three.

His heartbeat climbed upon the restraint's display, and Ace noticed immediately.

"Steady," he murmured.

Maverick slid his finger inside the trigger guard as he drew a heavy breath letting it out slowly and trying to calm his nerves...

Through the scope, the transport lowered toward the platform. Security personnel gathered beneath the awning while transit workers cleared the concourse. Somewhere below them, hidden beneath another man's uniform, Ace moved into position.

Maverick drew one slow breath, then another....He couldn't run, and he couldn't shoot Ace... And Yet he couldn't just allow the assassination to unfold exactly as planned.

The transport's landing struts touched the platform and it's passenger ramp began to descend. Maverick settled the reticle upon the north rail…and began searching for something else worth shooting.




GEAR GRINDERS — NICKEL ONE​

Gear Grinders sat beneath the refinery haze, its bent neon sign bleeding green through the smoke gathered along the street. Exhaust rolled from the repair bays in heavy coils, clinging to the stained walls and half-dismantled speeders scattered beneath the awning. Somewhere inside, grinding metal shrieked beneath a cutting torch; the sound carried through the open bay and vanished beneath the ceaseless thunder of freight traffic overhead.

Maverick's courier remained where he had left it.

The vessel sat within the far repair berth beneath a skin of soot, its coolant housing newly sealed and its fuel cells charged. Tools had been cleared from beneath the hull. The maintenance invoice had been closed three days earlier… yet no one had come to claim the ship.

Inside the adjoining cantina, smoke hung low beneath the lights. Half-finished drinks crowded the tables, and every conversation seemed to soften when strangers entered. The booth Maverick had occupied had already been wiped clean.

Whatever had happened here, the station had swallowed it quickly. Only the abandoned ship remained to suggest that Maverick had never intended to leave.
 
You must log in or register to reply here.

Users who are viewing this thread

Total: 2 (members: 0, guests: 2)
Top Bottom