The Wicked

[Astoach]

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More often than not, Astoach had the tendency to slip away from progress. Not so much as in direction relation to a simple matter of repressed fear, or perchance laziness, but rather from simply habit and not so much as in personal progress, but progress as a whole, mainly in regards to the Triumvirate. So far he had done his best to introduce himself in classic manner, by terrorizing its members in the classically carnal position to establish fierce dominance, despite his distinct lack of sensitivity in the Force and has since then overseen numerous projects. Now, he was tired of the political banter and the constant wishy-washy slush of shoving about a legion of subordinates all too hesitant in their work, so now he sought an escape, a vacation should you will it and having borrowed one of the Order’s dropships, he took a short hyperjump to the floating cities of Bespin, Cloud City in particular, a classic local with its name firmly established in the lore of the Galaxy for its brief, yet outstanding part played in the midst of the ancient Galactic Civil War.

Yet, as he touched down upon the circular platform, sending packs of ugnaughts scattering like roaches before a blaring light, he felt no such magic, no sense of adventure or relief. He simply smelled tibanna gas, a glaring scent, like sulfur and a major natural resource of Bespin, for which Cloud City was established as a mining colony. There was no grace to his vision; no sense of power or pride, there was simply minute disgust for the colors and aromas. He sought pleasure and, provided his deep recess into the Hoth system, he could not afford to journey further, lest his fellow Paragons claim his head for being a bothersome mate in their accord of conquest. So here he was, prepared to establish himself further upon the approach of numerous security officers marching on his position, to explain that indeed, he was not chitting them when he insisted that he was on vacation.

Astoach had a very specific complex about consistent cooperation and, in the midst of his frustrated musings, would often act out, like a spoiled child throwing a tantrum. For this particular moment he had refused open communication with Bespin security, which stood on edge as his dropship, designed for war, closed in on the planet’s surface. It was surprising to even one such as Astoach he was not initially blown out of orbit with the disregard of an annoying gnat and, perhaps deep down, was a little bit frustrated the situation would be further complicated by a personal confrontation. Dressed in slim suits and swirling gowns, these men approached, blasters drawn upon him and caps tilted low, to pass out the gas giant’s glaring sunrays, cascaded and reflected by the highblown clouds of crimson and auburn. They flooded onto the platform quick, storming from the pale doorway situated at the entrance to the vast, ballooning complex and swarmed about the ship. As Astoach stepped free they were quick to swallow him into their mass, sinking in behind him to explore the ship while the remainder confiscated him, blasters drawn and motioning his hands above his head.

In a rather uncharacteristic display of compliance, Astoach obliged, pale hands exposed from the dark confines of his black officer’s coat raised overhead and in short process he was patted down vigorously. “Name and business,” inquired and officer, to which Astoach bit down a retort. “Astoach, Grand Protector of the Tenebris Triumvirate, here on vacation.”

“Vacation,” repeated the officer, his voice drowned in a tone of doubt.

“Well it sure as hell isn’t a bathroom break.”

“I see,” drawled the captain in return, motioning to security with a wave of a flexing hand. “Take him away to the brig; we’ll have his ship searched and a trial situated soon. We won’t have foreign military activity consuming Bespin as well!”

[member="Jack Ross"]

 

[Jack Ross]

Jack hated Cloud City. He had only been here a day and he was already sick of it. Sick of the people, who he found to be stuck up, and sick of the atmosphere, which was literally just atmosphere in this particular case. He hadn't been here before, this was his first visit. But the entire time he had a smug on his face and was ready to shoot the next local to try and sell how grand and beautiful this city was. City. Loose term, according to Jack at least.

He spent his day strolling around the space port. He studied the various individuals that came and went, along with the ships they used. He wasn't here looking for anyone in particular, he was just here examining. What exactly was something only he knew. He had the growing urge to continue his dangerous trial against the force-users of the galaxy, Jedi and Sith alike. It wasn't anything personal, it was simply because they had more power. He despised them for it. He would purge the galaxy of the force just so no one was above him with power. He chuckled at the thought- these force-users couldn't use a blaster like he could. He wanted to prove that with all their power, they could still fall with a few bullets in the back. And an extra in the head, for good measure.

As he casually walked about, hands in his pockets and hair slicked back, someone caught his eye. A pale man being escorted by security. He stopped and watched them slowly move towards him. He examined them, quite openly in fact. It was obvious he was watching them, and he didn't care. He stood right in their path, a small grin on his face. In his coat was his blaster which he was ready to grab and use. But he didn't. Not yet.

As they got close he purposely stood in front of one of the four guards, the one leading the small group. He didn't say anything. He just smirked as they stopped dead in their tracks.

[member="Astoach"]

 

[Vinskk Revamp]

As The Broken Talon's rusty landing gear touched down on a Bespin landing pad, Vinskk admired the view of the cloud covered city. It was a far cry from his home world of Trandosha, but different, in a good way. Feeling the ship touch down and creak, the Trandoshan got up and climbed down the ladder exiting the cockpit, nearly slipping on the way down. He walked past rows and rows of cages, some containing Wookiees, while others held Humans. They looked down as he walked by, afraid to look up at the person who had taken their freedom away. Disembarking the Broken Talon, Vinskk strutted down the faded platform of his barge and nearly stumbled on a group of Ugnaughts, who scrambled at the sight of the towering figure looming over them. A Bespin security officer, standing with a datapad at the ready, contained a slight chuckle and cleared his throat. "Name and business?", the officer enquired. Turning slightly and looking down at the man, Vinskk hissed at him with barely held back contempt and hatred, "Vinskk. Vinskk has been called to trade cargo. Live cargo for credits. Heavy lifters needed. Humans too puny." The officer's eyes went wide as he grew noticeably pale and swallowed hard before saying, "The slaver? We-we have been expecting you. Please. Follow me, please." The Trandoshan clicked at the man's fear as he followed him into a corridor, heading into the administrator's office.

 

[Vinskk Revamp]

OOC:
How do you guys want to incorporate me into this?

 

[Astoach]

Astoach had a rather fine pair of durasteel cuffs planted upon his wrists, tightly clamping down along the slender bone and taught muscle, digging into his flesh relatively painfully. Yet that was not the grabber of attention, for as the guards pulled him down the hall, flanking hands from a rather touchy pair firmly grasping the underneath of his armpits, a man blockaded their path. It was truly awe-inspiring the display, one that most certainly caught Astoach’s attention not to mention the officers, who swished about upon polished shoes to eye the ambushed in all of his sleek, suave glory. Yet, he only stood, waiting, watching. It was a silence Astoach recognized, a taste in sound that flooded his mouth with acknowledgement, with relevance. He was of his own kind, a man after his own philosophies, pain and pleasure. That was the will of the Force, perhaps, yet Astoach chose not to muse on such mystical chances and simply shot the man a glance.

From the confines of his mask, a rather crude one to replace his gift to Sempra, formed of various stitching of rudimentary cloth scraps reinforced by rubber insulation, scraped from a winterized jumpsuit pant leg, his eyes glittered with light, reflected with a vague sense of sentience beneath the black depths of his sockets. It was a deathly gaze, one void of emotion, a visage from beyond the grave, yet, in it remained a symbol of relation, a glimmer of madness. He raised his hands, shackled in chained fetters, glistening in the pale corridor light and rattling with the motion, and with subtle grace, pointed both to his flanking guards, curling his digits into finger guns and bouncing them up and down, as if igniting imaginary caps into their spinal cords. He proceeded to wink and lower his head, cascading his head in a veil of shadow, obscured beneath that hood of long brown hair, matted by blood and calloused in dirt. “Astoach,” he said, breaking the sullen silence with a solemnly voiced introduction. “Grand Protector of the Tenebris Triumvirate at your service.”

"Also once known as the Goblin of the Core, now titled the Dark Comedy by associates, ex-Force Hunter, murderer of Jedi and Sith. Slayer of Younglings. Also, purveyor of favors and rewards to those who provide generous assistance."

[member="Revamp"]
[member="Jack Ross"]

 

[Jack Ross]

Jack gave a small chuckle as he watched the man proceeded with his introduction. He wasn't shocked, or rather taken off guard, by the man. He had the eye for talent, and this 'dark comedy' was something that he could just smell. He quickly reached in his coat and pulled out his blaster and, in one swift motion, raised it and fired at the remaining guards. He lowered his blaster but didn't conceal it. "Mister Pink," Jack introduced himself as his alter ego, stepping past him to ensure the guards were dead. He fired a round into each head.

Turning around, he walked past Astoach. "We'd better get moving, more will be on their way."

[member="Astoach"]

 

[Astoach]

Astoach knelt, fingers plummeting into the pocket of his deceased guard, whose head now split in a mass of smoking meat, charred by the blaster bolt of the esteemed Mister Pink, and retrieved a small card. He twisted his wrist, angling the smooth chip against a slit on his cuffs and with a haughty beep, they released him, leaving only chaffed marks of restraint from where they clamped. "Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mister Pink," totted Astoach as he confiscated a blaster pistol from the corpse of yet another officer, whose hands twisted stiffly into the air, like wild roots of defiant pain, desperate to ward of the assault even in the midst of death, with glossy eyes of the corpse pleading for mercy. Astoach only shot him a small glance, through the black cloth folds of his mask, and turned the weapon upon it, firing into the skull until all that remained was the scorch upon the plastoid floor. "Now I'm certain professionalism calls for terms to be discussed before the initiation of an operation, but I'm also certain we can both conclude now is not the proper moment for us to cock our heads and shake hands, discussing the fine political matters of a job well done. Just, once we're out, name it and it will be yours."

Astoach's cloak fluttered vehemently as he approached the corridor, the officer's badges shimmering the faint light cascaded by the overhead lamps. "I have a ship, but they've likely requisitioned it. That's bad," he concluded, toiling himself upon a swift gate as he crossed the spanning hall, reaching a distant window, shimmering in the bright light of midday. "They'll be able to check my flight records and recognize that I'm with the Triumvirate, meaning they might try to cut off our escape once word catches aflame. We'll need to hurry and hit hyperspace before they start locking down the docks and blockading our escape to orbit with security." His eyes filtered back upon the mysterious Mr. Pink, whose uneasy willingness to assist had caught a rather stern poise of respect from the grudging and homicidal commander. "I hope you're ready to use that blaster a lot more on the way out than you did in, Mr. Pink. This is going to be one hell of a target practice."

[member="Jack Ross"]
[member="Revamp"]

 

[Jack Ross]

Jack casually walked with Astoach. He was slightly caught off guard at his tone and language. He had met only so many professionals, and he was a proper one indeed. But he didn't let this small note show, still keeping the same stoned face and blaster lowered in his hand. He walked over to the nearby door leading into the massive space port. Civilians were unaware, perfect.

He turned his face to Astoach. "We can cause chaos or try and walk our way as far as we can before they catch us." He reached into his jacket and pulled out a death stick and lit it. As he inhaled and exhaled a large dose and leaned back out again, looking for any guard signs. Non so far. "We are looking good on guards right now." He again looked at Astoach, "You call it."

[member="Astoach"]

 

[Astoach]

[member="Jack Ross"]
[member="Revamp"]

Astoach slunk against the frame of a blastdoor, firmly resting at the dead end of the hall, his blaster grip grasped between both hands and head tilted into the sealed entryway. "I'm not sure how the security works here, but regardless if they have cameras smothering the walls or no, we have about five minutes until they realize that group showed up late. Worse, a party was left behind to search my ship and, once they find out that I'm with the Triumvirate, they'll be storming back here. We won't be able to take them all off guard provided that they see their allies' corpses first, so our best bet will be to hide." He rapped taught knuckles against the durasteel door. "We're going to rouse the beast with this and you can sure as hell bet they're going to be launching a rather massive chase. Our best bet is to lead them through the network of ventilation and freezing chambers, we can lose them or pick them off in there and, if we survive this nightmare, we can circle out with them left in tangles behind throughout their own core -- or better yet, dead -- and from there we can hijack a ship that might provide a better-"

Bang! A crimson bolt of plasma echoed from across the hall, slamming into the steel lining of the entrance, just above Astoach's head, and unleashing a downpour of sparks. Astoach was quick to react, dodging into the depression of the door for cover. "Okay, so let's go with Plan B! Can you open this door?" Bang! Another bolt echoed too close for comfort, irking Astoach into the open and unleashing a rapid hailfire that took down two security officers. He nodded to the sign resting above the ingress, firmly titled [DROID MAINTENANCE]. "I'm not sure what we're going to find in there, but it's sure as hell better than being out in the open like-" Bang! Another near miss. "Like this!" Bang!

 

[Jack Ross]

Jack firmly gripped the death stick with his teeth and ducked beside Astoach. He took one last inhale then threw the stick aside and firmly gripped his blaster. He crouched and started messing with the door controls just next to them. After several moments he cursed beneath his breath. Sitting back with Astoach he shook his head. "They know we're here. They cut me off before I could get the door."

He stood up and shot several shots off, hitting there marks and killing three more guards. "Let's move!" He start slowly moving forward. For a short moment there were no guards. Jack sprinted over to a large pillar and slid into cover, just as several more guards entered and started firing more shots. He loaded another clip into his blaster and stretched, cracking his neck in the process. He waited a moment and then leaned down. He slowly stuck his head out, around the back of where he sat. He got a look, four guards. They noticed him and shot off a few shots.

He slid back and sat against the large pillar.

[member="Astoach"]

 

[Vinskk Revamp]

Vinskk was sitting patiently, trying to remail calm and not strangle the various Ugnaughts that gaped at him as they passed him. Just as his temper was reaching it's boiling point, the administrator, a young, handsome man wearing the clothing of a noble. Vinskk remained seated, expecting an apology. The man, flanked by several heavily armed security officers, said to him, "Forgive me, sir. There's currently a situation happening in Cloud City. I'm afraid your business will have to be conducted another day." Vinskk silently pondered this before rising to his feet, towering over the man and his soldiers. "Vinskk is...displeased." , the Trandoshan hissed and clicked out in his native tongue. The administrator swallowed and the guards around him grew uneasy, switching the safeties of their rifles to stun. A tense standoff ensued, neither party saying a word. Suddenly, without warning, the Trandoshan made a 180° and stormed off, stepping on a few Ugnaughts in the way. He heard an audible sigh of relief and the sound of the rifles being switched back to safety. How dare they do this to me, Vinskk thought. Do they know who I am? Fuming, Vinskk reached a metal maintenance corridor and reached for the switch at the door, but he stopped himself. Was that plasma and scorched metal he smelled? Furrowing his scaly brow, the Trandoshan opened the door to find the remains of a shootout. Several corpses of security personnel were strewn throughout the hall, visibly burnt from shots to the torso and head, while still alive members of the military ran around, weapons live and ready for action. Was this the situation the administrator spoke of? Just as he mused and took the scene in, an officer approached Vinskk and told him in an authoritative tone, despite having to look up, "Return to your ship at once. We are getting everyone off the streets and corridors. Comply, or be arrested." Hissing at disappointment and anger that he could not weather out this business deal gone bad in a cantina, the Trandoshan turned down the opposite way of the shootout and made his way to the Broken Talon.

 

[Astoach]

Astoach hit the ground on all fours, chugging himself forward with a leaping push to his feet as blasterfire erupted about him like fireworks, slamming against adjacent architecture and annihilating chunks of the structure in flame and sparks. As he joined Mr. Pink at an adjacent pillar, flanking the hallway, he briefly exposed his head for a more prominent visage, only to be nearly decapitated in an unleashed hurricane of the continued assault. "Well, I don't think they want to take us alive," he commented sourly, easing the edge of his pistol around the cylindrical column and squeezing the trigger, forcing the Bespin security to briefly take cover under the blind enemy fire. "So we have two options; we either manage to kill every single guard in the complex or, perchance we find an opening, we escape." He shot again, this time nailing a guard in the leg, who went down screaming bloody mercy as he squirmed about the floor, calling the remnant, curtailed forces to his aid. As one particularly lanky fellow, with cap tugged low over his brow, attempted to retrieve his friend from the open, Astoach leaned forward and took the shot, blasting that hat clean from his head along with all remainder of brain matter.

"Or," he said. "If you got a suggestion now's the time, more are bound to show up soon with the amount of noise we're making!"

[member="Jack Ross"]

[member="Revamp"]

 

[Jack Ross]

As Astoach got another kill, Jack leaned out and got a kill of his own landing a round in the neck of another guard. He was nearly hit as he leaned back into his cover and took a breath from the sudden burst of adrenaline. He looked over at Astoach, who was covering himself as well. He thought for a moment. There were still three guards left standing, all ready to blast either of them if they emerged. Astoach was right, more guards would surely be on the way in just mere moments.

One long hall way, one exit, four guards with more on the way, and only Astoach and Jack. Jack reached into his coat and pulled out a thermal detonator. "I got two of these!" he yelled over to his partner. Without saying another word he pressed the small button and leaned out of cover to launch it towards the guards. Just as the grenade left his hand a plasma bold landed in his shoulder, causing him to fall onto his back. Looking up he noticed the detonator landed at the feet of the guards. He quickly flipped onto his back and covered his face.

The explosion was quick and decent sized. He looked up and found the three remaining guards dead. He stood, grabbing hold of his shoulder as he did so. "Let's get moving," he said as he started moving towards the exit.

[member="Astoach"]
[member="Revamp"]

 

[Astoach]

Flames licked and spit upon the edge of the column, with intense waves of heat wafting from the elongated, slender corridor which raced upon the Gate of Hell. Astoach's shoulder became a ball of raging fire, but was quickly snuffed and asphyxiated by his dashing hands, brushing away the torrent and sinking further into concealment. Screams of lives drowned in the roar of heat radiated like Christmas chimes as the thunder of detonated rocketed throughout the building, melting away thin walls and scorching the surface of those stalwart against its bastion of wrath. Yet, in the brief moment it ignited, it suffocated, silenced and patiently expiring, leaving a beaten path exposed to the pair. Astoach stumbled from cover, ears still ringing like a bad hangover as his eyes lazily drifted over the destruction and the swell of heat returned, yet rather through embrace of death, it was through a swelling pride and reverence for his partner, Mr. Pink.

"Swell job," applauded Astoach, stepping over the shattered black bones of one unfortunate member of the security force, foot stepping through the ashen skull, collapsing it, with a deafening crunch. "I mean, they're going to be busting the poor ass of a Saint to get to us before we can escape, now that we've evidently established ourselves as a dangerous crew. Yet, I feel it is all the more appropriate this way. No false pretenses." He vanished into the cloud of black, fleshblown smoke, littering the corridor in ash, and he stepped into the abyss, blaster raised with careful precision and accurate intent to kill. "We need to be strategic and watch our movements, there is going to be one hell of a feedback and we need to watch, so that we aren't caught out in the open. We'll be solid, we'll be swift and above all, we must be accurate, a penetrating force that can crush the opposition as both a sentinel bastion in defense and a piercing spear in offense. It's a good trick for killing people, knowing when to move and when to stay still."

[member="Jack Ross"]
[member="Revamp"]

 

[Jack Ross]

Jack waited for Astoach to catch up. His blaster was firmly in his hand and his eyes stayed forward the entire time, looking down the hallway they entered. He didn't know the city all that well but he knew that they were close to ships that could be used. He steadily made his way down the corridor to the door at the end. He stopped and turned to his associate. "They'll be waiting," he informed him, "They aren't here so they are waiting ahead to cut us off."

He eyed the door and thought for a moment. He knew that they were at a major city, and the space port of that city no less. It wouldn't be easy fighting through every single guard waiting. There would be considerable amount, more than he had ammo for at least. He again turned to Astoach. "We need to steal a ship and use it to distract the guards so you can get to your ship."

[member="Astoach"]
[member="Revamp"]

 

[Astoach]

[member="Jack Ross"]
[member="Vinskk Revamp"]

"To be rather frank, I'd enjoy the challenge," Astoach soothed, approaching the door with equal caution. He snapped his thumb at a button, located on the back brace of his weapon and releasing the gas canister, which clunked to the ground lifelessly. His grip lessened, allowing his fingers to slacken and the weapon, now empty, to fall heavily upon the durasteel floor, clattering with thunder which struck the fragile silence. He approached another guard, form sheered away beneath the heat and now naught but a blackened husk, and retrieved the curled remnants of his gun from the mummified casket of the cadaver's hand, breaking back fingers as he pulled it free and began unhooking its intact gas canister. "I'm a bit pissed off by their etiquette, so if it's all the same to you, Mr. Pink, I wouldn't mind teaching them a lesson whilst I leave. In the good old fashion, mind you, not through bombastic stunts, but rather through a colossal body count."

Snap.

The magazine fell into place before the trigger, hissing as it sealed, pressurized, into the blaster, which Astoach rose, aiming down its iron sights towards the door in practice of his precision. "The space port I docked at is near, so we can still go with your plan, but considering the sheer potential for damage we could deal along the way, it would be shameful not to leave a reminder. We'll hijack a ship and commit ourselves to old fashioned tactics of terrorism, methods I believe commonplace among the Ewoks of Endor's forested moon. Guerilla warfare they call it, I have come to believe through studies, wherein the use of environment and constant retreat to outmaneuver and flank opponents is key when the enemy possesses all advantages. What we do is up to our creativity but it would be a shame for them not to shudder for the next millennia at the mention of Mr. Pink and the Astoach." He stepped forward, hand lovingly caressing the door panel rested upon the wall, its blue buttons alight in the dim corridor, whose lights were shattered in the midst of the detonation. "The ports rest externally, resting outstretched, far above the treacherous atmosphere of Bespin. With those detonators and some constructive application, I believe we have a recipe for life-lasting memories. It would certainly garner respect from the slugs at Bogan."

Flick.

Astoach activated the door, whose metal shells peeled away, revealing the elongated, open bridge, cascading above wild winds and shifting clouds. The wind was swift to roll into their own hallway, blasting loose limbs of cloth and flaking flesh from the smoldering carrion. Yet, the Grand Protector only smirked and entered beneath the arch, exiting into the wild outdoors of Bespin and into what would, undoubtedly be, a true hairy adventure. "Note the layout, Mr. Pink. It is all that holds us an advantage, between our mobility and our strategic positioning. We are at war with a city and its protectors, as well as its citizens, will undoubtedly come upon us in untold legion, not to mention whatever starcraft may bombard us should we prove too dangerous." Yet, as he spoke, guards already spanned the perimeter, as of yet unaware of their presence, but obviously bristled by the past explosions. Ships littered the docks, civilians being forcefully evacuated to shelter. It would be only a matter of picking now.

"You may have the honors."