Location: En-route to the Orbital Salvage Platform.
Allies: The First Order, [member="Ara Ren"], [member="Asharad Graush"], [member="Nils Brenner"]
Enemies: The Galactic Alliance - No Enemy Combatants in the Immediate Vicinity.
Personal Loadout: See Signature and Squad Loadout Below.
Squad Loadout: FO-02 Stormtrooper Armour,
Z6 Riot Control Baton,
SE-44c Blaster Pistol,
Charric/
Maser Rifle,
FWMB-10 Repeating Blaster,
Concussion Grenade(s),
Thermal Detonator,
G-20 Glop Grenade, Combat Vibroknife, Jetpack(s).
“I always get the shakes before a drop. I had the injections... hypnotic prep... The Federation shrinks scanned my brainwaves. Everything checked out. The Doc says it wasn't fear. I could've told him that. A horse locked in the starting gate isn't afraid. He's just ready to run...”
- General Johnny Rico, Starship Troopers: Invasion.
______________________________________________________________________________
He could feel it. Though his muscular frame was bound by the pale casing of his armour and denied him the pleasure of true sensation, the Stormtrooper felt the nigh-imperceptible shift that permeated the vessel. The man had felt it countless times before and knew from muscle memory that he would have to brace himself - lest he be unceremoniously thrown from his feet as they made the translation from the swirling tides of hyperspace. His gauntleted fingers surged towards the iron-bound heavens and snaked between the cargo netting of the shuttle’s troop compartment. He felt his body react of its own accord, subtly shifting his balance to account for the flicker of pseudomotion that would herald their return into the realm of reality. When it came, the ripple of the relativistic shields collapsing had fluttered through his armoured core, causing his heart to beat ever faster. The man knew that his time was fast approaching, that this world - like the many that had preceded it - held the chances of becoming his grave. He relished the thought. Perhaps, there would be one amongst the mighty throng that had risen to challenge the might of the First Order whom would best him in combat. Fighting back the urge to grin, the Veteran Sergeant pulled himself back into the present, mimicking the path that the shuttle had taken.
His rage-sharpened eyes, hewn from organic jade, narrowed as his gaze fell upon those that dwelled within the near-cavernous chamber beside him. They were a motley band of soldiers and agents alike - all who had sworn their respective oaths either to the Supreme Leader himself or the ideals he embodied. He could see that they were eager to carry out his will. To snuff out the fires of hope, and bring down the festering edifice of hypocrisy that the Galactic Alliance had slowly become. Nine Stormtroopers, each armed with a diverse array of weapons, wordlessly began their preparations for battle, either fitting one another with Jetpacks or passing around charged plasma cartridges. They knew their duty, and what was expected of them. For they were the fighting Elite of the First Order, the true sons of the lost empire. His gaze had moved on from the remainder of his squad, slowly passing towards those obsidian clad agents that found themselves shacked up with his men and women. He had seen their kind before and had almost made the same mistake in calling them Sith - a religious sect of fanatics that had once held his leash. They weren’t Sith, bound by some code that spurned oneself to live selfishly, and enslaved to their own emotions. They weren’t Dark Jedi either.
They were something… more. Something he couldn’t place.
That was when he had drawn their gaze, and felt his body act once again of its own accord. His smiling death masque dipped ever so slightly, granting them the respect that their position had afforded. Bowing before such mighty creatures would’ve been perceived as a sign of weakness, and had revealed a flaw within his Re-Education therapy. No, he had told himself, the nod would suffice. Forcibly pulling his gaze away from his newfound companions, the Veteran Sergeant found his eyes drawn towards a heavy chain - coiled about itself and bound to the nearby wall. With his interest piqued and the foreknowledge of their chosen arena replaying at the forefront of his thoughts, the Stormtrooper broke away from the gathering and withdrew the hammer-forged links from its housing. As his pale, gauntleted fingers wrapped around the heavy metallic loops, the remaining chain spilled from his grasp and clattered against the deck - drawing the eyes of several Stormtroopers.
“Sergeant?” One of them asked. His youthful tone and pulsating name rune had marked him out as Amon Tekal - one of the newer recruits that Squad Pierce had gathered in the aftermath of the Mustafar Invasion. He was known to many by his serial designation, but to those within the Unit - he was known by the warname of ‘Bishop.’
“To your duties, Trooper.” The Veteran replied, before summarily dismissing the inquisitive stares leveled in his direction. He could care less. His heart began to thunder within his chest as he started coiling the length of heavy chain about his wrist. Enthralled by the metronomic tone of his veins, the Stormtrooper began to wreathe his arm with the metallic tether - tightening it with every snaking pass. Once the entirety of his pale vambrace had been shrouded, the Sergeant roused his mighty axe from it’s resting place and began the act of lashing anew. Precious seconds had faded into minutes before the deed was done, leaving the Stormtrooper with little more to do. He was already dressed in the vestments of his trade and armed for battle. While he could’ve taken the time to inspect his Squad, to ensure that they were on par - the man had already known that had been done by his second. She was more than capable of leading the Squad, in both piety and battle, but what she lacked was the spine to see the deed through to the end. She had frozen in their last fight, costing Squad Pierce dearly. Three of their number were lost, and their souls consigned to whatever afterlife they held dear. No matter. She would learn, or she would die. That was their way, and until whatever God’s this universe holds true, descend from their basalt thrones and decree otherwise, the cycle would carry on. Such was the grim, and uncaring truth about reality. He had accepted that ages ago - knowing that his life would one day be taken, and the rest of the galaxy would move on.
He would not become a legend. There would be no-one to carry on his wretched name. He would be nothing more than a man - fighting against the ideals of the lost and the damned. They would know his fury. The rage of a man whose life was stolen upon the fleeting whims of another. The rage of a man, reforged upon the altar of war and born anew as the avatar of vengeance. They would know his pain. They would understand his rage. None would stand before him and live. Not while his chances at a brighter future were taken. Woe betides those who seek to stay his righteous fury. His blood began to boil, as he rejoined his Squad’s formation. Like the chain that bound his heavy weapon to his gloved palm, the Veteran’s fingers began to tighten. He needed to kill, to unleash the stoked fires within his breast before they consumed him whole. That was when the pilot’s voice echoed within his helmet, and again throughout the shuttle’s troop compartment. They would reach their destination soon. That was good. Yes. That was very good. As his flesh began to burn from the foundry boiling within his breast, the man’s lips slowly began to peel back into a snarling - almost feral grin. He felt the shiver of anticipation take hold, causing the Stormtrooper’s unbound hand to shake with the static purr of active armour. The man had always gotten the shakes, as they were so lovingly labeled before the assault ramp slammed down. At first, when he was younger, he had taken himself in to get checked out, thinking that something was wrong. That was when he learned that it wasn’t fear that caused his limbs to unconsciously twitch, for it was his body - telling him that it too was eager to rush forward into the fray.
“Squad Pierce,” Torian intoned, allowing the sonorous tones of his voice to ring across their shared network.
“You know your mission. Subdue any non-combatants and ensure they’re taken away from the firefight. There is no such thing as Innocence amongst the stars, but we’re not monsters. If I see anyone of you fire on non-combatants, your skulls will hang from my axe.” He could hear their hushed whisperings over the connection, causing his grin to split his patrician features ever wider.
“Slay any Jedi scum or Alliance soldier in our path. We’re at war, and they’ve dug their graves. Show them the way, by any means necessary.”
