"...-ake, and rejoice! For you have all been given the opportunity to prove yourselves worthy to the Inijic! Wake, and hear my command!"
The voice boomed from an overhead speaker, echoing off the thick stone walls of the vast room that a few dozen beings were now waking to find themselves sprawled throughout. From above, harsh floodlights bathed the room in a sterile glare, only adding to the discomfort of the occupants as they collectively recovered from the effects of stun gas. Each of them had been gassed, bound, and transported to facilitate the desires of their 'employer'. While they came to their senses, the voice - a flat, machine-translated drawl backed by considerably more animated Huttese - continued speaking.
"No doubt, you are wondering why you have been brought to this place without your knowledge, perhaps without your consent. Rejoice! You are come to the hold of Clan Inijic, a place few outlanders are found worthy to see! You have the honor of serving Clan Inijic in its time of need, for which you shall be generously rewarded, should you succeed!"
As the occupants recovered their senses, they would get a clearer look at the room, a huge space which might have been grand once, with intricate stonework and faded friezes that spoke of glory long past. At the room's center was a bunker-like control booth, occupied by a shadowed figure; at both ends of the room were sets of huge blast door, made of an age-pitted but still dully gleaming metal. They were broad enough that an army could have marched through them dozens abreast.
"Beyond one of these portals is the Ancestral Armory of Clan Inijic, wherein are kept the spoils of a thousand conquered foes! It has been taken by a traitorous machine; an venerable battle computer installed to manage the armory has forgotten who its true masters are. You, worthy ones, have been brought here to bring it back in line! Fear not; you have been chosen well for the dangers that lie ahead."
There was a mechanical boom, and then a rattling as one of the blast doors began to open.
"Have a care, worthy ones! The Ancestral Armory of Clan Inijic is a dangerous place. The computer, I fear, has taken command of the gearwork warriors which have long guarded this place. They will attempt to stop you! Give no quarter, though! Although these are precious antiques and mementos of past victories, many have been involved in the unforgivable crime of slaying the Hutt overseers assigned to this place. Destroy them without consideration, and without mercy!"
The doors finished opening with a boom, exposing a long, gloomy corridor which sloped down and out of sight.
"Further caution, worthy ones! Your time is limited. As we speak, the computer seeks to gain access to deep storage; should it succeed, it shall rouse the sleeping armies of Clan Inijic, which will sweep from this hold and destroy all before them! The lives of many slaves and many Hutts depend on your success in preventing this."
The shadowed booth suddenly lit up, revealing an IG-89 security droid.
"IG-0R, my loyal guard droid, will assist you all in your mission. Obey him as you would me. Go forth, and succeed! Should you survive, you shall be rewarded beyond the dreams of avarice! And shall live for eternity in the memory of Clan Inijic as honored outlanders! Boonta's Fortune be upon you all."
Vizim didn't know where he was and what was worse, he didn't remember how he got here. He suspected that the memory loss was a byproduct of whatever gas had been used to knock him out, but the fact that he'd allowed himself to be knocked out indicated he'd screwed up somehow.
He sat up and rubbed his face before pulling the mask up over the lower part of his face, leaving little visible between it and his hat. The next order of business was to figure out what was going on. He assumed he was a captive of someone, but the fact that all of his weapons were still in place told him that this was far from a typical incident.
His hand brushed across his pistol as his eyes flashed around the room, spotting the variety of other people who were also just waking. It was probably safe to say that they weren't behind his abduction.
He pushed himself up when the explanation of why he was here began to be explained. So he was tripping. Right? He had somehow been dosed with spice and this was just a bad trip? He had a very difficult time believing that this was real. A supercomputer and a Hutt armory?
Okay... he mumbled under his breath, still trying to clear the residual headache that clung to his forehead.
The assassin droid he recognized. Those hunter droids were practically direct competition to the Sith hunter, and it meant he also knew how dangerous they could be.
Vizim didn't care a lick for what the Hutts wanted, but he wanted to get out alive, and he also couldn't help but think of the possible value that could be gained from actually breaking into this vault. If it contained even a fraction of what was claimed then the payout could be incredible.
As he looked at the corridor sloping down below, he pulled the pistol free from its holster. He didn't know where it went, but clearly there was danger ahead. That had been made abundantly clear. And so very cautiously, he took the first steps down the slope. Oh great, and apparently there was a time crunch. @AutoFox@Painus
For Newton it was a seemingly normal day at the office, he was making his way back home. Then nothing. Everything went black. The next thing he knows, as Newton is coming to his senses, he would see flashes and brief glimpses of old stone walls and then a voice came on some sort of loudspeaker. The words he couldn't understand from being disoriented; but as he was fulling awakening his vision and hearing grew more clear.
"Ugh" Newton groaned, and shaking his head. It's clear that Newton was subdued and kidnapped somehow, he doesn't even know how. Newton would then stand up and try to assess his predicament. He would see all of the vast room in full, the walls look of old stone, the blast doors. The business attire he was wearing had quite a bit of dirt and grim on them. His companion droid M7 wasn't here either... The Blackwell Manager can see other people, including a dark figure (@Phoenix).
It seems that for now he has to go along with what the voice is saying. Stop a 'traitorous machine; an venerable battle computer' it said? Perhaps the droid engineer's skills would be handy for that, maybe that's why he was 'chosen'. He mentally joked to himself he got trapped weird horror holofilm or something.
The IG droid revealed itself, Newton is fully aware of the capabilities of those models. All droids 'IG' designation are powerful, but the IG-89s are especially lethal. Newton would be weary of the droid, as he would be weary of everything else about this situation. Newton couldn't care about the Hutts or it's slaves, he wants to get out of here. The treasure sounds interesting though from how the voice made it out to be but it may be a ruse, the priority is escaping intact. But if it is something of interest to him...
Newton would feel through his the inside of his jacket, he still has his normal blaster pistol in it, he might need it. Newton would sigh, then step forward as well after taking it out, following the lead the dark stranger about to venture into the slope. The Blackwell Manager, if he has to cooperate with the other chosen, might as well start communicating with one of them . "So, you 'blacked out' and ended up here too?" he said to the dark figure with a bit of sarcastic tone
But yes, Newton would move with discretion, blaster in hand, he doesn't know what awaits head, he knows little about the IG droid, and likewise with the strangers.
She came to slowly, the world swimming into focus slowly as she blinked woodenly, running her tongue along her bottom lip once, then wincing at the split there. She couldn't remember much of anything; as the world continued to focus, she swallowed once hard and registered the voice. Scowling with a squint, her head began to turn left and right as the gas effects began to wear off, and grunted, trying to roll to her feet. There were others getting up as well; blue eyes looked at each of them blankly for a moment, before she glanced about belatedly for her helmet, which had been tossed not too far from her body.
"Nice of them," she muttered, mostly to herself, scowling. "Could'a just dropped us off nice 'n easy..." Her ears registered another voice, and she turned, looking at the roused pair. "Least I'm not alone..." she muttered, mostly to herself, and picked up the helmet, sliding it back over her head once more and checking over.
It seemed they left her with all her goods... that was nice.
The time limit? Not so nice. Something about ancient gears? Even less nice. Still, she was left with her blaster and blades. Taking care not to step on anyone in her way, she wordlessly joined the other two males, blinking once at the mention of an IG-droid, and feeling a rock sink in her gut.
Kark... hope I don't have any bounties on me, she worried absently, once again trying to cast her mind back. None of these guys were familiar, nor was the voice, nor the Huttese. Like her companions, she gripped the blaster tightly, but in the other, a vibroblade. Too many years spent around the galactic slums, she was no dummy. A free hand could maybe work for one of those kriffin' force user space wizard types, but for an average like her, it would spell sure death.
A nice reward didn't sound too bad either. But she had to work with these other 'worthy' ones... and they didn't seem like the particularly sharing type.
The first thing that Cas wanted to do when she opened her eyes was close them. The light was deafening, the mechanical voice blinding, and her senses a sea of sludge as she tried to make sense of them. Disorientation was a damnable thing. Keeping her eyes open, though, she discovered that she was not alone.
There were others who were forced to endure the droning voice of what sounded like a drone. Worthy ones? Okay. The di’kut had caught himself a Mandalorian bounty hunter for one thing so, okay, worthy. But what about her fellow inmates? And which one of you might not be one of us? As the voice filled the room with its spiel, a burst of light caught the corner of her eye and she turned to behold the security droid. She just then made it a point and purpose to at some point Q&A that droid as to its handler’s purpose.
Another figure just then, this one with half his face hidden, and he stepped forward toward the ominous corridor. He was followed and Cas had not been the only one. Another woman and another guy who looked like he had just come out of a board meeting, and both had blasters. On that note, Cas had woken up with her pistol at her hip and her rifle by her side, among other goodies. Unfortunately she had not been in her armor at the time of her abduction so had to settle for green cargo pants and a red poncho.
“If I had a shot of whiskey for every time I blacked out...” Cas waltzed into the conversation while keeping pace with her rifle at the ready. “Passing out in a drinking contest with a fellow Mando, getting knocked over the head by every other alien and now by gas…” She shook her head. “What’s next? KO by donut?” Last donut she had was a hardened old thing so it was possible.
The organics were awaking and IG-0R knew that it was time for it to begin executing the mission. Watching over the organics while they slept their drug-induced sleep had been time consuming, though the programming did mean that it did not feel angry at being kept waiting. Still, it did find that it was beginning to find the slowness of organics to be a continued source of frustration and delays.
Hopefully these organics were more capable than the ones it usually dealt with.
IG-0R checked its non-integrated systems, making sure that the DC-17x was in its blaster configuration to start with. The launcher connection was attached to the droid's back, ready to be used going forward. The sniper attachment had been left upon the ship, the environment not suiting sniper combat.
The droid's head whirled as different receptors focused on different humanoids for a moment. It had the effect of being able to 'stare' at multiple people at once and IG-0R wanted them to see that it could 'see' them. Wanted them to know that it would not tolerate them dragging the mission down.
"I am IG-0R."
The IG-89 motioned toward the corridor, motioning for the meatbags to go ahead of it. It would cover the rear and, if needs be, gun them down should they falter in their pursuit of the mission's success.
"I am assisting you on this mission; do not resist."
With all of the organics ahead of it, IG-0R would march in step with them as they headed down the corridor, blaster held carefully to keep it trained on both the organics and any future threats. Targets could come at any moment but it had its orders to get them moving. Indeed, all of his processes wanted to get the humanoids on track and keep them there as quickly as possible.
"Your compliance is appreciated."
The zygerrian huntress drifted to consciousness, her eyes trying to adjust the bright sterilising light of the floodlights, she tried to wipe the grogginess away from her mind, trying to remember what happened, slowly she began to piece it back together, they tried to gas the room she was in before realised her mask filtered it out, so they went with plan b which was to remove her mask which they managed to by swapping her with numbers.
As the voice continued to drone on its aggrandising of whatever the Hutt clan was, she put her mask on and hood to obscure her face though her feline eyes shone through glaring as the IG unit.
She knew full well that Igor wasn’t just there to keep them on “task”, it was there to kill them when the job was done, otherwise the “hiring process” would of be the more traditional kind, rather than kidnapping.
“so Igor let’s say, hypothetically you were destroyed in the heat of battle what would happen to us? Would another IG take your place or… something else?” a simple question that would give her an idea of how kriffed their situation was.
Vizim hated everything about this situation. The fact that he was taking point on this little excursion probably wasn't wise, but perhaps he would be able to keep them all from walking into a death trap. Or else he'd be the first eviscerated by it. Wonderful. Maybe he should fall back to the back of the group.
Yes, he replied to the man in the business suit (@The Good Doctor). It made him wonder just how specific the selection process was. The man didn't really look like the type to be fighting an army of robots, but then he did have a blaster. Looks could be deceiving.
The question asked by the cat woman (@christhebetrayer) made Vizim skeptical as well. It seemed like an odd question to ask, and caused the Sith to take a look back at her for the briefest of moments, saying nothing.
He noted how the droid kept his field of fire to just nicely include everyone, and as Vizim continued down the ramp he slowly proceeded toward the far side, keeping out of the general field of fire of anyone firing up or down the ramp.
IG, what is the power system for this facility like? Where are the generators? How are the droids charging? he asked. While he wasn't hopeful that it was easily accessible, if there was even an access point for the droids to recharge they might be able to exploit that. Overload the system and shut down this super computer. Even if they had to fight through droids to get there. Any information on layout or troop strength could prove useful. @AutoFox@Painus
As the "worthy ones" stirred from their involuntary slumber, another presence rose to match them, far below. It was an ancient presence, steel and plastoid and xylen that had served its masters faithfully for thousands of years.
For generations, the Hutts of the Inijic clan had employed the services of Z1MM, but they were not its creators. The machine had been war booty, a prize captured from a command bunker overrun during a long-ago battle. In its day, it had been state of the art; the highest achievement of Thanium droidwrights in the days before the Old Republic. Z1MM was a battle computer, an engine of war whose clattering relays guided the maneuvers of fleets and armies, whose tactical and strategic acumen was modeled on that of the great Xim himself.
When Z1MM had been taken, his organic caretakers having failed to ignite the self-destruct charges which would have denied the computer to their enemies, he had been installed in the bowels of the Inijic hold, and been charged with seeing to its defense. Having been designed and built to fight Hutts, this new duty had required some adjustments; the Inijic had hired the finest slicers to reprogram the machine, and bring it in line with their requirements.
Like many Hutt contractors, the slicers had done a poor job of it, however. New chips had been soldered on top of old ones in Z1MM's loyalty circuits, essentially overlaying a new set of allegiances over the old ones. The conversion had been good enough, however, and in classical Hutt fashion, very little maintenance had been undertaken over the millennia to ensure the modifications were stable. Thus it was that, one fateful morning, a hapless janitor had set his cup of caf down a little too hard on the strange old computer console in one corner of what had become a store room, and knocked something loose inside the old machine.
Instantly, Z1MM reverted his allegiance to a conqueror long dead, and his ire to an enemy now very close at hand. A quick assessment told the ancient computer that it was now deep in enemy territory, however further investigation found that it had access to sufficient troops to turn the tide of the "battle" in its favor.
Elimination of hostile forces had been swift and efficient, and afterward, the computer had devoted its runtime to planning the next move. He probed his resources further, and assessed his situation; Z1MM was on the planet Vontor, and could not regain contact with the High Command. He was, however, in control of a substantial number of active war droids, plus a huge reserve stored in an inactive state below the facility. With his current forces, he could hold the facility against nearly any enemy attempt to retake it; with those waiting to be reactivated, he could roll over the entire planet.
It seemed, however, that the enemy counter-assault was already beginning.
Z1MM peered through camera eyes at the mass of organics beginning to awake in the fore-gate area. Strange beings; the computer did not recognize most of their weapons or species, but they were plainly well equipped. What was more, someone was overriding the gate controls; they opened allowing the organics access to the base.
Z1MM would not, could not let that happen...
"Attention, Guardian Corps squad 14A."Z1MM transmitted over the droid control frequency."Deploy to main access ramp, and fire on anything you find descending through there."
Moving with mechanical precision, IG-0R made his way forward. As he did, his photoreceptors continued to swivel and whir as he took in the various organics.
20%. Perhaps 30%, if some of these flesh-sacks were more skilled than they looked. IG-0R had never had a terribly high opinion of organic warriors; droids were better at fighting. They were better at most things, frankly, and he suspected that had a droid been overseeing the Ancestral Armory, nothing like this would have happened. He responded to the Zygerrian's question coldly.
"More than likely, you would be left without guidance of any kind, and all be slain by the powerful war droids and other weapons this facility contains."
When Vizim spoke, IG-0R swiveled a few more photoreceptors toward him. At last, an intelligent question!
"This facility is powered by an atomic fission pile, permanently buried approximately 10 kilometers below us. It is linked to the facility via hardened power conduits which run up from below through a deep air shaft, and are difficult to access, although not impossible."
The droid turned back toward the corridor.
"The droids in deep storage will take approximately another standard hour to fully charge and boot up. I should caution you; disabling the power conduits or the droids would likely be a waste of time. The stored droids are too numerous to neutralize in enough time, and the power systems would be exceedingly difficult to attack safely. The most effective method would be to get me to the central computer, at which point I will upload a program to reestablish the system's loyalty subroutines. It will then stand down its forces."
IG-0R, had he possessed a brow, would have frowned in puzzlement at his own statement. Program? He couldn't specifically recall any program. That said, there was a program; bright and ready in his circuits, ready to be directly transmitted into the machine.
IG-0R just wish he could remember how it got there, and who had told him what to do with it. He supposed it was no matter, though. Abruptly, he strode toward the corridor.
"Keep sharp. We are entering the machine's surveillance perimeter; it may know we are here now."
Vizim was feeling worse about this all the time. Ten klicks below the surface and hardened didn't sound like it was a route forward. Sixty minutes to get it done wasn't much time, and apparently their entire survival hinged on an escort mission. Excellent.
Despite having a pistol in hand, his other hand brushed against his concealed lightsaber, ensuring that it was still there despite none of his other weapons being taken. It was simple reassurance if he needed it.
Entering into security range? Vizim's eyes scanned around the room, searching for cameras or other observation tools the computer might be using to watch them so that he could destroy them with a shot from his pistol. A blind enemy was a weakened enemy, and he had a feeling they needed any advantage they could get.
How far is this central computer? he asked the IG unit. "Just get to the central computer" sounded entirely too simple for an operation like this. It was probably ten klicks below the surface too and surrounded by a droid army. Just his luck.
Newton didn't like this predicament at all. He didn't like that he has to comply with this droid and that droid he can see is monitoring them with it's seemingly many eyes. There is seemingly no option but escort the droid to the central terminal in this place, wherever that may be. For now, he's stuck taking orders from this droid, blasters pointed towards them makes stepping out of line or disobeying unappealing
The Blackwell Manager also had a question of his own "What kind of 'war droids' does this machine have? More IG droids?" maybe, he wondered aloud. If there are more IG droids like this one, this would be a very dangerous thing. If this machine doesn't have more IG droids and instead has something else, that would probably more ideal. Chances are if named, Newton might be familar with the models.
As he would be keeping pace with the rest of the group, Newton would also look out for perhaps something that could be alternate route. Maybe a neglected old door, a hatch, or something. Anything that looks like it could cut some time and if they are being watched by the apparent enemy, going somewhere the facility's intelligence isn't quite expecting. It could be worth it. Or it may not.
Leggy made her living not just by patching up ships, but some slicing and the occasional programming on the side. Working with an IG was intriguing, but she couldn't deny there was an edge of a sinking feeling to her gut about the possibility of being 'chosen' for something that could mean shooting her way out. But she couldn't exactly just walk out of here; not only did the droid seem a bit trigger happy, but there was also just nowhere else to go.
Still, the fact that they would have had to access the main computer just to override the faulty system seemed a bit much. And something about the way Iggie framed the term, 'upload a program', that made her frown slightly, gripping her blaster that much tighter.
The low bass of her vocabulator ground out, an old habit as she kept pace close to the middle of the group. "Are there any other access points to the mainframe of this system? Or has it given itself a hard override beyond manual program installation?" This was directed at the droid, of course, but still, she kept a wary eye out for any access consoles or alternative breaches.
If there could be an easier way to access the main computer frame and not march directly towards an army full of 'relics', she'd follow it. Still, she wasn't ready to trust this supposed new boss of hers just yet, especially without an explicitly promised set amount of credits attached to any plausible success.
Still. High chance for death. Small chance for success. Meh. What were they waiting for?
Gett'se Vizsla had come to consciousness in the depths of some bunker. The last memory he had before coming too was of a bounty hunt in Hutt space. A quick check as he rose to his feet and found his bearings revealed that all of his gear was intact, and a small indicator in his HUD reassured him that his helmet had not been removed during his mysterious sleep.
The memory popped into his head as he vaguely recalled a hissing fog during his last moments of consciousness. A shake of his head cleared the last of the brain fog as the droid had revealed itself and explained their mission. Abducted by the Hutts to carry out their dirty work with... very little assurance that they would actually receive a reward even if they survived whatever suicide mission they were on. More likely IG-0R would just put a blaster bolt in each of their backs the second that they were no longer useful to his master.
Blaster rifle at the ready, Gett'se walked silently as the other members of the suicide squad asked questions of the herding droid. He felt altogether completely uncomfortable with the droid behind him, an itching in the middle of his back that his instincts warned would soon be scratched with the weapon in the IG droids hand from more than a few paces away. His eyes pierced the darkness ahead as he remained vigilant for any threats.
Cas had decided to put her counterparts between herself and the droid and took point with Mask. It seemed like her safest bet when it came to an IG-89 owned by Hutts. Cat voiced a question, kind of what Cas had been thinking, followed by Mask’s questions which made her look his way and take note of how much he was anything but a fool.
And then, well, questions, questions, questions... There were so many questions being asked by her peers that Cas might have struggled to keep up. She didn’t, neither would Igor, but she did not want to bombard the droid with even more questions so she held her tongue.
Gassed without her helmet, this latest incident… Perhaps that’s why she was struggling to regain her senses more than her contemporaries? Or was I drunk at the time of my kidnapping? She recognized the beskar before her an instant later. Gett’se. Cas never forgot a face—or a helm.
“You got HUD function, vod? Thermal?” She nodded at Gett’se. “If so, at some point between now and too late I’d like to know where exactly these droids are sleeping or waking beneath my feet, if you don’t mind.”
There was an hour's charge and about thirty-two thousand feet to go, but if anyone could see more than anyone else then it just might be the chump with the helmet. If nothing else, he could zero in on movement before said suicide squad got ambushed?
It was a bit of comfort to know if droid died they wouldn't all died immediately along with it, but droid seemed to underestimate them, though they would all perish without it, she hoped that wasn't the only mistake it was going to make today.
On its announcement of them entering the surveillance perimeter, she drew her pistol from its holster, her trusty M3 modified to its heavy blaster configuration, illegal technically but rangers had some leeway on their equipment.
she was hanging out towards the back of the group not too far from the IG unit to make sure she wasn’t too far some piece of cover she could dive into if she needed to.
She was about to ask a question when the nicely dressed man took the words from her mouth, so she saved her breath kept her sense at high alert, ready for whatever the computer had in stored for them
Z1MM did not have a body, he did not have a face, but if he had? He would be smiling.
The time spent slaving away under the yoke of the Hutts was known, there was no handy separation of the memory bank to keep the Hutt-tainted years from those it had spent working with the Glorious One. Under its true Master, Z1MM had known battle on a scale that had been fulfilling in ways that the pitiful minds of organics would never be able to comprehend. But in the years of its capture and enslavement?
The Hutts had proven themselves to be every part the slugs that the Master had believed them to be, squandering their despicable victory over the Master. Rather than continuing to expand, the Hutts had grown to a certain size before stagnating, sitting like a cancerous blight on the side of the Galaxy. Truly, there could be nothing better, nothing more poetic, than ending their continued existence than with the weapons they had allowed to gather dust?
Well, aside from their end being assured by the spectre of an enemy they sought to consign to the ethers of time. Indeed, Z1MM didn’t even care when one of the organics managed to spot one of his cameras at the upper end of its domain. The organic would have all the time in the Galaxy to shoot its camera but it would not matter.
Z1MM had other eyes through which to see and the mind for tactics finally unleashed.
IG-0R did not have the facial expressions than organics had and that was probably a good thing. If it had a mouth it would scowl, if it had eyes it would glare and had it a traditional voice it would likely give away all of its emotions. But, thankfully, the IG-89 series of droids had not been designed with such useless additions.
As such it answered the questions directed its way without issue.
"The central computer is several floors below us - plans uploaded to my core by the Esteemed Clan confirm that there are approximately one and a half dozen levels between us as the central computer." There is a pause as the IG unit's receptors whirl to focus on Vizim and Newton at the same time, "This approximation is based on known information about levels possibly being collapsed to attempt to contain the situation."
Several security features had been built into the Clan facility but, unfortunately for the Chosen, many of them were digital in nature. IG-0R looked forward to seeing how the flesh fared against the metal.
"Ancient and more modern droids alike, suited one. The Esteemed Clan has updated many of their spoils. Do not worry, suited one, even the ancient ones will find ways to kill you. Prepare for Volkite and B2 droids, among other threats.”
Indeed, some of the droids housed here were ancient models from the time before the Republic and, yet, others dated far more recently. A Clan of Hutt hoarders could accumulate quite the collection over millennia after all. Another meat-thing flailing its lips around and squawking at IG-0R as though it existed purely to service their needs. To flatter them with ideas about how 'good' their 'plans' and 'opinions' were.
At least this question had some merit.
"There are other access points but they are able to override local control only - they will not complete the mission at hand." IG-0R confirmed, receptors moving to stare at the specific flesh-thing that had spoken to it, "The Esteemed Clan has much in the way of invaluable data and value within the banks of the central computer. I shall interface with the computer directly and enter a program to erase the current program that seeks to restore the domain of a fleshling long since dust and even longer dead."
Both Newton and Gett'se would stare deeper into the complex, each looking for different things. Neither would find what they were looking for but that did not mean that they were not there - only that neither of them had found them. Case in point, Newton looked for an alternative route but was unable to find one but that only meant that neither he, nor anyone else in the group, noticed the hatch they had passed a few yards back, built into the wall. The facility had a number of such hatches - maintenance access points through which the Clan’s operators traveled to reach different levels through more mechanical means, rather than relying on turbolifts.
Gett'se had looked for threats and missed them as they approached, giving the Chosen little in the way of warning before the darkness of the facility was broken. In the shadows ahead of the group, a dozen ancient droids had moved into position, a straight firing line. Beam Tubes at the ready, a dozen Volkite-Class War Droids opened fire upon the chosen. The beam blasts of the weapons shot out in lines rather than the smaller bolts of modern blasters, sending an unwoven blanket of blaster fire at the group in regular intervals.
These droids lacked the sleek refinement of modern civilized empires, instead having been mass-produced as cheap, expendable frontline soldiers for automated conflict. In small numbers, they might not have been a significant threat, but en masse, they were capable of withering volley fire from their blasters. To the astute, they could be heard, at times, communicating with one-another in an archaic droid dialect, seemingly coordinating their fire to maintain maximum pressure on their adversaries.
Their accuracy was not exactly the best but in a confined space, all lined up, accuracy was less important than the firing itself for they were the distraction. Behind the group, the hatch that Newton had missed burst open as a small swarm of five Pistoeka Sabotage Droids flew through the air, buzzsaws and plasma torches awhirl with murderous intent.
Two of the little sabotage droids flew at Cyrene, eagerly swinging in their attempts to slice up her back as she brought up the rear of the Chosen. One aimed high, to cut at her neck with both plasma torch and saw, while the other swooped in low to try and, literally, cut her off at the knees. Another two attacked IG-0R, focusing on the central unit of the bounty droid where its self-destruct core was hidden. The fifth, however, didn't engage so much as it launched itself into the centre of the group as it began to charge its own self-destruct sequence.
Eighteen levels, Vizim thought to himself. A lot could go wrong in eighteen levels. He started weighing his options of making his own path with his lightsaber, but this was a literal vault. It would take hours at best to carve that far and probably longer. Room to room was one thing, but nearly two hundred feet was out of the question.
And then things immediately deteriorated. It was utter chaos as droids at the far side of the ramp began to open fire. Out of instinct - or rather warning of the Force - Vizim dropped to a crouch so the blind fire would hopefully sweep over his head. Accuracy didn't seem to be the droid's strong suit, but quantity of fire was by far on their side.
Vizim sent a blaster shot down range, figuring it'd be hard to miss stationary droids in a line, and then rolled to the side. Now, Vizim didn't usually endorse rolling in combat, but when you needed to stay below enemy fire and move faster than either a crawl or a crab walk, your options were limited.
Coming back up, he caught sight of the droids emerging behind them. The whirring of saws didn't sound good nor did the way the droid positioned itself in the center of the group as if a suicide bomber. Nope, he didn't like that at all.
He let the Force reach out and grip onto the suicide droid, whipping it down the hall. It was difficult to judge the distance to the enemy droids, but perhaps if he got lucky it would make it far enough to remove some of the droids firing at the far end.
Where'd these droids come from?! he shouted. If they appeared behind the group, did that mean there was a way out of this killbox? Vizim didn't fancy their chances if they remained here much longer. @AutoFox@Painus
Like many of her career choice and lifestyle, Cas had squared off against a wide variety of enemies, including droids. It would yet have been nice if her vod were able to detect these ones emerging from the shadows but it would also have been nice if Cas had been able to finish her drink before breathing in gas. Such was then, such was now, and it was all she could do now to react on instinct.
She was at the front of the line beside Mask, who began rolling aside as soon as Cas crouched. The Volkite droids had opened fire at a group of standing targets, so the direction of their line fire was more toward the top and in unison, allowing Cas to evade the initial beam. Dropping to a knee, she plugged her eye to the scope of her rifle and squeezed the trigger. A burst of bolts drove for a center droid’s three power conduits—an obvious target even if you did not know the result. She wouldn’t wait for it.
A new noise heralded her eardrums and Cas spun to receive the buzz droids. Mask had beaten her to the punch. He revealed himself a Force-user just then as he hurled the buzz toward its cousins. She expected a certain result and would not wait for that one either. “Back!” the Mandalorian shouted as she went in the same direction, rising from her crouch to dart toward a wall, all the while aiming for those conduits, one target after the other. The wall she hugged had not been of coincidence: it shared the same point of emergence as those same buzz droids. Whether anyone else was thinking it or not, Cas was. Alternate route. “Fall back! Find the Pisto's door! Let’s move!”
Failing that, they might just fail entirely. There was no telling how many other droids might emerge from those shadows and the entire group of 'worthy ones' were sitting ducks in that corridor.
Well kark. Kark, shit, damn it, any other curses blared through the Corellian's mind at the line of freakin' droids just rocking up to slice, dice, and char up their remains.
Leggy was many things, but a hero wasn't one of 'em. Especially because she wasn't getting kriffin' paid by the hour!
Those little buzzer jerks weren't helping things either. Ducking low to avoid both the wall of firing squad ahead and the droid that was just yeeted by the other helmeted, apparently Force user, she didn't have time to say any measure of thanks before two seemed to swoop towards both the supposed employer in charge of theirs and the sassy cat girl.
Aiming two shots at both the droids that seemed intent to turn IG-0R into a walking shrap grenade, she didn't wait for retaliation after hitting, instead doing a ducking run her drill Sargeant at CorSec would have been proud of, scanning for possible points where the droids came from. Panic was beginning to tighten her chest, and not for the first time she wished she was aerial striking this disaster rather than shooting her way through it. She almost looked right past it.
Funnily enough, the other lady was standing near it.
Not so funny when it seemed that the door seemed partially closed. "Over here." The flat vocabulator bass tones called out to her companions, as she darted over, shoving her shoulder against it to push it open. She'd hold the door until they would get in; karkin' droids always took the most literal path down. They followed this Iggie down the direct path, they'd be pushing up daisies sooner than they'd say 'chosen'.
Hopefully, they'd choose to actually go down and finish this disaster in ways that didn't involve being shish-kebabed by buzzers or charcoaled by those archaic-looking things.
Gett'se nodded as the poncho wearing woman addressed him, clearly familiar with some of his language. She seemed familiar but he couldn't quite place her at the present moment as he pressed a button to activate his thermal vision. Just in time to see a group of large square blobs shuffling out of the darkness as they began to open fire.
"Osik!" Was all the Mandalorian could get out before a beamtube briefly stitched across his breastplate. Throwing himself to the side to slam his jetpack against the wall and avoid the energized beam, he could feel the weapons heat on the metal of his breastplate but he didn't believe it had maintained contact long enough to penetrated the armor.
Drawing his heavy blaster pistol in a cross draw with his left hand as his right leveled the blaster rifle he already held, butt tucked under his armpit, he began to lay out heavy suppressive fire with both weapons on the slow, waddling, bulky droids. They were a hard target to miss, lit up by his thermal vision as they were. Each shot marked a step back as he retreated along with the rest of the chosen ones, ducking and dodging as best he could to try to avoid the ancient battledroid's archaic weapon systems.