[IB] The Simple Matter of Regicide

[Slamdingo]

Hapes, the Hapes System

The Theme
___________________________________​

A near paradise world. Only a few tightly organized, well-kept cities. Miles and miles of verdant greenery. Oceans bluer than her hair with fresh dye - which reminded her, the bleach was showing and she needed redone - and air so clean that every breath felt revitalizing. It reminded Ishale of times surfing on the beach, sneaking out past curfew hours with a pretty young girl or boy, and going to open-air concerts that turned night into day and went well past when she should have been going to bed.

It was peaceful, calm compared to much of the rest of the galaxy, and Ishale could have seen she and Corric settling down here some day.

So she hated it.

When she'd taken this job from the Imperial bounty roster, she hadn't expected the last ten weeks of searching and tracking to lead her. She'd been given a lead that one skip-tracer had pulled up swearing individuals "suspected of involvement" with the former Archon of Hapes had been spotted on Tatooine. Raiders, handsy pod-racers, and farmers were all involved in that week. After that came up a dead end, she'd searched two different space stations from top to bottom until she found something actionable that found her on a tramp freighter running core-ward.

Planet to planet, station to station, city to city. Sometimes it was breaking in to a high-end apartment at a god-awful hour of the night. Sometimes it was rucking through country-side waist-deep in muddy water along the same kind of routes used by the less legal pharmaceutical practices.

And after a while she got an inkling, following these clues. A suspicion about just where it all was leading her. But she dismissed it, because the conclusion would be far too obvious - too simple. There was no way, she told herself, after going through places that all had their own unique miseries and losing three perfectly good pairs of pants that it was going to be that simple. She would strangle the first Hapan if it was that simple! And sure enough as evidence was compiled, Ishale found herself with an oath to strangle some poor Hapan - and a fifth pair of trousers, everything said and done.

She'd made her way to Hapan and rented an apartment at the edge of the city. The last three days had been slinking out into the more rural parts of the city, looking for the sorts of signs one found with military build-ups. That usually meant heavy duty vehicles, finding street corners that always had somebody "waiting for a friend" or something like that, and seeing certain areas of a town where the "normal" folk tended to travel through in more sparse numbers than usual. It would have all been very hush-hush and high-speed, low-drag secret-squirrel style business, Ishale suspected.

And then they went and invited her in.

Or near enough to it that they might as well have.

One day walking past one of the usual lookout points, the man holding the spot down had called her over when she'd stopped for a smoke. She looked tired, he'd said. Yes, she'd replied, it was five in the morning and she'd had a long night. No, he'd clarified, she looked tired of the world. He could recognize a former soldier, he assured her, and could see it in her gait and eyes. Now she'd always figured it was in the fact that her arms and legs had model numbers but she didn't argue about it. If she was a true lover of freedom and wanted to see a change for the better brought to the people of Hapes then she should meet some friends of his at a cantina called the 'Royal Lush'.

Go in back to the few rooms that the cantina had for rent, foond Room 7. Knock four times, and when prompted say, "She is my mother, as yours."

It was something straight out of a corny spy vid. But still Ishale returned to the apartment and fulfilled the next part of her contract - contacting her Imperial contact to let them know that she'd tracked her target down. They were going to send a small team for aid, they told her. A few Stormtroopers, members of the 501st. She just needed to give a rendezvous point to meet up with them in a few days time. And that was how Ishale got where she was now, in the near-daylight of a Hapes midnight.

The place she'd agreed upon with her handler was a parking garage roughly ten blocks away from the Royal Lush. Ishale had shown up an hour before the scheduled meeting time to give the place a quick sweep before heading up to park her speeder and finding a nice, surprisingly dark corner by a maintenance doorway to light up a smoke and wait for whoever it was her former superiors had deemed to help her.

 

[Tristar]

Clack

Clack

Clack

Holster. Don't pull it out again, hold the urge.

. . . .

Slip it out again, toss it in the air and catch it by the barrel. Toss it up. Snatch it. Twirl it. Slap it in. The rhythm of Corric's impatience jingled jangled in tandem with his tactical webbing, sometimes interrupted by the odd slithering sound of metal against leather. There was pacing, there was a steady line of pattern but most of all there was the unspoken vibe of energy in the operator who'd been kept out of it for far too long.

It was partly his fault, he knew. He needed a break or he'd be another one of the unfortunate nut cases in a white jacket with a full nursing team at hand. Worn fingers snaked up to the sticking singlet on his chest and fluffed it to let the cool breeze in. Hapes wasn't a hot planet by all means, but tonight the lack of winds meant that waiting in the parking garage was a stuffy affair. He needed a smoke badly.

Looking down at several of the pouches hanging from his waist, Corric fished out a thin stick marked with an orange tip at one end. It tasted stale but with a flick from his Zippo lighter it produced the same acrid taste that every working man would enjoy in his profession. He let the smoke fill his lungs before blowing it out, going for a ring of grey smoke that floated up to the dingy lightbulb. That felt good. There wasn't many of him. Just ol' Cor' and Shrap' the-dumbass-who-kissed-an-RPG. He absolutely refused to call him by a boot-as-frakk name as Blaze and left it to himself to come up with a respectable name.

Something that added character to the guy, you know? Not a name that felt as though he was trying too hard to be someone he clearly wasn't. Corric spoke a lot and spoke very harsh words- they called him Jabber, but because of his proficiency at disposing high value targets-deliberately or not- gave him a new moniker: Caboose. Some holovid character with a penchant for unwonted and extremely explosive behaviour. Here he thought it was Ishale who was in line for that name. Last he remember, she lost all of her bloody limbs and nearly died from a broken spine. Corric had all, and a perfectly healthy spine.

But it wasn't Ex-Private Ishale Caboose Ro-whatever her last name was- that was waiting in the garage. Corric gave a soft sigh, blowing more smoke as he did. He'd killed a few people in his lifetime that mattered a lot. Fragged two imperials, nearly fragged an admiral. A few scientists here and there, one in which didn't mention a giant. Oversized. Monstrosity. Underneath a medical facility. He was the type to forgive and forget- with a round to the head and a spit on the grave. Ishale wasn't here yet, or rather 'Carrion' as their briefing listed her. Bullsh*t. She was still the same elusive cockroach that could slither between the cracks and appear nibbling at your food when you come home back at night. That last part sounds- same difference really, he thought as he dropped the cigarette down to the floor and quenching it under his boots. Just the matter of size. Now that she's no longer tagged with a military serial number she's practically off the maps provided she's got proxies and a few fake ID cards. Sniffing the air, he smirked. And I don't doubt a few handy connections.

Snickering at his joke, Corric's ears pricked up at the sound of a speeder cruising in, the engines purring softly as the driver drove it to a small secluded corner by the maintenance door. His hands were in the process of retrieving his revolver, watching as the genderless driver step out and stood there for a silent moment when the spark of a lighter illuminated her face for a brief moment for him to recognize those sharp features. Carrion was waiting for them. She might think she was early, but Corric would highly doubt that she'd forget the one rule of the Imperial Army: When dealing with an unknown variable, there's no such thing as being overly cautious. He trusted her- at least, not to shoot him on sight. He wasn't too sure on Isaac's case, the younger having only met her once or twice under dire circumstances. Certainly not a way to introduce oneself. He stood a good 30-50 metres away hidden by under a small ramp leading upwards to the second floor of the garage with his go-to-buddy Isaac, masked in the dark.

His boots clacked loud- mostly to gain her attention at his direction. He paused when she turned her gaze at him. They didn't exactly tell her who or what her welcoming party would be, much less their garb. Corric was dressed up light- black tactical webbing over a grey white singlet and khaki trousers and Isaac...in whatever the hell he wanted. Satisfied that she wasn't going to mistake him for some low life punk, Corric walked slowly over to her and asked for a cigarette, although the meaning would be clear:

Mission so black it feels like the first time, huh?

 

[Chask274]

Being a liaison for an independent bounty hunter was definitely a bit new to Isaac, as was being on Hapes of all places while doing it. He'd never been to the Consortium before, but that wasn't really surprising given how busy he'd been as of late. The recent political instability of the sector didn't help much in that regard either. He was here now, though, and apparently in the business of killing royalty. To top it all off, Corric was working with him again. add in the fact that the two Troopers were doing this mission incognito, and this job was starting to shape up like their first one.

While Corric passed the time by pacing and doing flip tricks with his revolver, Isaac checked over his gear. Much like the mission to the spice mine, he was dressed in a grey t-shirt, black cargo pants, study combat boots, and a black plate carrier. His headgear consisted of a pair of sunglasses and a headset. Kneeling on the ground, Isaac was organizing the contents of an armorweave-lined backpack, which included five pounds of plastic explosive divided into single pound bricks, a spool of det-tape, a pair of satchel charges, and the miscellaneous fuses and detonators needed for the gear. In the pouches of his vest he carried half a dozen grenades of various types, a canteen, and the spare ammo for his CQC variant MS-1000 Battle Rifle and the DL-44 blaster pistol.

As the speeder pulled up, Isaac stood and put the backpack on, before turning and facing the new arrival. As the lighter briefly illuminated her face, Isaac recognized the hunter as none other than Ishale Rokahn, former IAF member and last he'd checked, Corric's girlfriend. This would certainly be an eventful day.

 

[Slamdingo]

Nicotine hit her system and gave a sweet little rush. The headache that had been building up behind her eyes was pushed away. It was a temporary cure in absence of the temporary cure - she never drank before an operation in the IAF and she wasn't going to start any time soon. But that didn't mean that the ghosts went away or that the dull throb would likely ever stop jogging happy little laps up and down her spine. She had enough metal in her to set off alarms in spaceport security and a manila envelope as thick as a star destroyer's hull from the IAF Medical Reviews board explaining why she usually always hurt or why she was never able to get a full night's uninterrupted sleep anymore. But in a show of pure brilliance, when told to stop breaking herself in the IAF for the Imperium - she'd started doing it in the private sector instead.

Her attire wouldn't be very new to Corric, tough Isaac had only ever seen her in usually bloody and ash-stained Centurion kit. While she could have gone barefoot anymore, she'd opted for the scuffed and well-worn safety boots she'd often worn around the armory when on secondary duty, faded and somewhat baggy denim jeans, and a sturdy black carpenter's belt that held a number of pouches for certain pieces of equipment. Of course those were partly hidden by her hoodie, forest green and free of any signature logos or marks. Of course a more astute eye at a closer range could have noted the bulk at the shoulders, the thickness of her chest, and the way the sleeves filled out before leading to a pair of gloves that she had more than just a t-shirt underneath. And her hair was stuffed underneath a khaki watch cap and a pair of ballistic glasses were hooked over a black and white shemagh around her neck.

When she'd heard the footfalls, Ishale's hand dipped for her belt-line, to the holdout blaster tucked away. The cherry of the cigarette hadn't even dulled its glow from her last breath before she was suddenly quite ready to burn a hole through somebody's chest. Of course when she saw who it was walking up, instead of drawing a blaster she stared in rather muted surprise. The 501st was a big unit, with a lot of specialists. She'd expected commando specialists or infantry from another company. But there was an intelligence specialist who'd read her service jacket and was laughing their ass off because of this.

A cigarette was asked for and given, the click of an offered lighter out of courtesy.

"F*ckin' ay. They didn't give me a single whisper that you were ma' back-up." She took a deep draw and her face was colored orange as she leaned to one side to look past him, "They wanted you to break in new blood?" She did her best to offer a laugh - but Ishale could remember being in his boots.

She didn't seem to very openly acknowledge, in their way, Corric's unspoken remark. She offered him a light one-armed hug and went no closer to breaking professionalism. She'd had trouble making friends in the service when they tended to die like flies and she was pulled away to have her dossier showered with that strangling black ink that never allowed her to explain medals and decorations on her record. Corric was the exception but even in his case she always had to wonder if some day his face would be on a memorial somewhere because he'd finally taken a load his shoulders just couldn't carry.

From where he stood over by their car she offered Isaac a smile. If he could see it under her hood even with the light of over seven moons. She'd only ever met him when people were trying to kill her so that spoke volumes about how this whole thing was likely to go. But that was fine, she was here to kill the Archon, and her handlers weren't too picky about the operational footprint. Isaac had proven he could handle himself and he had a decent enough pain tolerance. Of course his claim to demolitions expertise had her attention because she prided herself as an expert of her field meeting another prospective claimant to the title.

Plus as she always remembered, seemingly not too long ago she and Corric had been slick-sleeved Recruits - back when that was still a recognized service rank - following Major Rarda and the General into a hellish mess. Part of her thought this wasn't fair to Isaac. Part of her thought that if anybody could keep up and come out of the other end alive it was someone like Isaac.

She moved passed Corric and circled around her speeder to the trunk. She motioned for the two of them to come closer before "So what all did they tell ya' then? They tell you anything about what I've been digging up or just drop you in to meet up with me?""

The trunk popped with the press of a key fob hidden in a hoodie pocket and inside were her rifle and pistol cases, webbing, and sitting atop the rifle case was a rather unassuming datapad provided by her Imperial handlers with an intranet system more secure than she could ever hope to establish herself with her current resources. Because he was closest and the more familiar of the two, Ishale handed it to Corric first.

On the datapad was a simple file that was unsurprisingly curt given the content.

IMPERIAL INTELLIGENCE
CLASSIFIED - EYES ONLY
--------------------------------
ASSETS: Blue Sky, Carrion, Crow, Condor

Based on recent information provided by Carrion, Blue Sky has granted clearance for execution of the Siege mission package. Carrion and various secondary intelligence assets have determined an actionable lead on the location of Exile. Carrion established contact with Blue Sky to pass on information to appropriate sources and has established a RP with assets Crow and Condor. Once all three assets have established contact they are to proceed on known intel to converge on known leads and establish the final location of Exile.

With positive ID of Exile, full use of lethal force is authorized. All personnel associated with Exile expendable at asset discretion.

Make contact with Blue Sky upon completion to confirm completion of the operation.

@Tristar
@Chask274

 

[Tristar]

The second time around, the smoke didn't irritate his lungs so much- there had been barely five minutes between his last death stick so his breathing sacs still remembered how to handle the poison smoke. Ishale was still Ishale- that was to say, she still had that horrid accent of hers from a while back and though he had learned to learn and let live, it was a constant fuel for unnecessary images of farm houses in his mind. Yet in its own way her voice was soothing- that it wasn't raised and screeching harsh words.

Corric dragged in another wave of smoke, chewing on his end of the cigarette stick. Him and Isaac knew their hit and their job- the corporal had room left on his black book of important people he had killed before. Having an Archon on there would greatly increase his influence with certain good people and can be a very good incentive for a certain general to think twice with Corric. He let Ishale prattle on, reading the words on the screen with the dim light from the data pad itself. For all the fancy jargon, once you cut through the bureaucratic language the message was surprisingly clear:

Someone else found the Mark.
Dispose of the Mark.
Handle this Somebody.
​

Imperial military might have their reputation to take care off and since the disastrous breakout few months ago they had been under a lot of stress from the higher ups and preventing leakages to the public. Rumors flew around like free haywire bullets and the officers lost countless hours of beauty sleep putting effort to round them up. So when a lucky indie-hunter does their job better, quicker and with less resources than them it's bound to raise a few hackles. Ishale was caught in a little web of immature and wrongly placed frustration. Corric had a choice and an inkling with how to deal with this- but that was for later and he swept the thought process out of his mind.

Chewing on the remains of his cigarette, Corric spoke up. "We get to kill royalty. Queen, Archon- whatever. The rest of the layout we get from you. Compartmentalization, redundancies and bureaucratic red tape- my three favourite things."

 

[Chask274]

Isaac followed Corric over to the speeder. "No idea what they told Corric, but I was told we'd meet you here and then work with what you'd managed to dig up to hit the target." A quick scan of the datapad just reaffirmed what he'd been told, although he wondered if Corric had been told anything more, seeing as how he did have a higher rank. Only time would tell.

"So what leads have you got for us?"

 

[Slamdingo]

Ishale sighed and blow a ringlet of smoke up into the air, "Well that just figures, yeah?" Another sigh and she motioned to the speeder, "In."

She closed the trunk and quickly unlocked the doors before getting into the driver's seat. The interior was leather. Pleather, really. It was clearly a rental in the way that the whole thing was just too clean to have been used by any one person, with seats that smelled vaguely of some local type of flower and the lingering scent of Ishale's preferred brand of cigarette that not even the convenience store air freshener on the rear-view could mask entirely. In the back was a rather plain looking backpack that could have been seen on the back of any wayward college student, a pair of discarded pants lay on the floor, and some tennis shoes tucked under the back of the front passenger seat. Little touches that made it looked lived in enough it wouldn't draw notice parked somewhere in a stake-out.

The speeder was backed out of its spot and soon they were moving to leave the parking garage. Ishale was mostly silent until they were nearly out and then at first she only broke the silence to turn on the radio. Partly to break the silence and partly to disrupt laser mics for what came next. Call her paranoid but after breaking or losing nearly every bone in her body Ishale wasn't keen on gambling about such things. Besides, paranoia didn't mean somebody wasn't after you.

"Since I'm assuming they didn't tell you much, Exile is Bearta Thane. She was the former Archon of Hapes - their queen or some-such, yeah? The Chiss came in and wrecked the whole thing and the new bloke took her place. Spooks came along and scuttled her off to f*ck knows where - little hole in the wall called Reckoning. Lovely place I heard. She was set to rot away and be poked at by intelligence 'till rebels saw fit ta' blow the whole thing open wide. She slips out, goes to ground, we spend the better part of months trackin' after her."

The scenery was expected in terms of themes. They weren't quite in the heart of the capital but the towering skyscrapers and the glimmering lights of the spaceport were hardly out of sight. Most buildings were perhaps twenty stories tall at the largest, apartments and office buildings of one kind or another, and not a single private home anywhere in site. Between the mini giants were business tucked away - barbers and gunsmiths and bakers and more all up and down the streets on either end. Bars with the front lots filled with speeders and music turned up so loud in some it could be heard from the street. Most traffic was on foot, on the sidewalks, and overall nothing seemed out of place. Ishale certainly didn't notice anything.

"I dug around and found what I could. 'ventually a bloke came right up to me n' all. Damn near handed me a flyer. Told me to go to a place called the Royal Lush. All hush-hush n' that. Straight from a cheap vid. Its the closest lead we've had and turns out she was sittin' right under our noses the whole time." Ishale let out a tired grumble, something about good pants and Tusken raiders, "I doubt she'll be at the Lush. Be stupid to be that close. But I do think we can find somebody who knows where she is. So we go in, knock on the door, then knock on some drags skulls. Wall-to-wall questioning if it comes to that, yeah? Probably will."

The dialogue was short-lived, of course. There wasn't much to it. A black operation, a shadowy goal, and dark souls. Not to mention questionable legality.

Find the mark. Kill the mark. Go home for brew and chow.

Eventually she pulled into the lot of a two-story brick building. The sign on the second floor, emblazoned in neon, declared what the building was rather simply. The Royal Lush - 97 taps and live dancers. A sign posted in the window offered half-off domestic brands for college and IAF IDs. Ishale gave a grunted notice that they'd arrived before putting the car in park and stepping out. She made sure the parking lot was empty before heading for the door.

"Simple plan. One of you swing 'round back. There's a back-door they haul trash out every now and then. I wooh the bar girl. Easy enough then, she seems the type to like - my type. The other of you heads to open the back door. Find room seven - do not f*ck around with it till I get there. Then we go from there."

What followed next would be rather simple. Whoever slipped around back would find a totally empty back lot, no cameras, no loitering employees seeking a clandestine smoke, and not a soul out by the dumpsters. It'd be easy to get to the door unobserved and even peek in through poor quality frosted glass to the dark back hallway to see when their partner in crime would be coming.

The front room was rather tame and sparsely populated which made movement easier for Ishale, who ambled her way to the bar. The girl there was - more or less like a picture of Ishale in her Freshman year. Piercings and brightly colored hair and obviously all for the "alternative" look. The young girl would be busy enough leaning over the bar to chat with Ishale she wouldn't notice anybody slipping into the back hall and nobody in the main room seemed to either.

Upstairs was a somewhat U-shaped hall. The "bottom" of the U that the stairs came up to had a janitor's closet, a fire extinguisher, and a reading nook with nothing close to decent literature on the shelves between the two chairs. Down the left hall were rooms 1 through 4, down the right was 5 through 8. Quiet and still. Hardly a thing going on. By the time Isaac and Corric got upstairs and to the room, Ishale would be close behind them. Quietly she moved to stand in front of the door and waved them to stand beside it.

Near deathly quiet she whispered, "Soon as I clear the door - move, yeah?"

With that passed on she wrapped on the door four solid times. A moment of silence.

"My mother doesn't welcome strangers."

Ishale breathed out a sigh, "She is my mother, as yours."

The door swung out wide and from the spot hiding at its side Corric and Isaac wouldn't be able to see who it was in the doorway exactly. Though the blaster barrel poking out would probably be a good note that it wasn't somebody welcoming. Ishale found a blaster pistol leveled between her eyes and for a brief moment she didn't move. Either legitimately worried she was about to have her head turned into a canoe or perhaps looking past the woman to the room inside. But just as the shotgun seemed to lower, Ishale moved.

One hand snapped forward to the side of the pistol and with the sound of metal giving way the charge pack for the blaster went sailing free. Just as the trigger was squeezed. Nothing. Ishale grabbed the wrist with her other hand and pulled the defender out of the door - a young Hapan woman. Ishale turned on her heels inside the other woman's guard and pulled her all the more complete free of the doorway. She delivered a punishing elbow strike - one likely to break bone. And by that point the Hapan was so dazed she dropped the blaster before Ishale grabbed two handfuls of her shirt and threw her at the opposite wall. An end-table and flower with its vase were smashed from the impact.

The room inside was spacious enough - twin full-sized beds, a bathroom, a vid screen on the wall opposite the beds, and a mini fridge for personal food and snacks that the room's occupants might want to keep close at hand. But with slug-thrower ammo, blaster packs, and enough weapons that even with every one of the room's occupants reaching for one there were still ones left unclaimed. And Ishale was relying on Isaac and Corric to charge in and deal with it if the fight in the hall was any indication.




@Tristar
@Chask274

 

[Tristar]

The distance between here and there meant the ride should have taken them a shorter time than it took them but owing to bad traffic, Corric stewed in his own muted silence as he soaked up information from Ishale. No matter the details- names, origins and future plans the Archon was a Queen, and Corric had proven himself an effective choice for regicide. What's the difference between an Admiral and a Queen? Just a ship less, and a shiny crown. Stifling a yawn, Corric had to smirk as they drove closer into the parking spot: He technically hadn't killed the Admiral yet.

Just two blank names that after this, wouldn't even be acknowledged by ImpInt for a good long while. Sometimes the devil wasn't a mythological being conjured by mothers to scare their children to submission; Corric had met a few, killed a few and diced with a few. Now he was here under the paper work of a board of devils, paid for with a clean slate. He stepped out of the car, breathing in the air- reeked of alcohol, urine and smoke. Deciding that making a public entrance wasn't going to work out for him, he gave Isaac the go ahead to follow Ishale in with a waving motion with two fingers before slinking off into an alley way.

The backdoor would be somewhere around, he just had to look very hard for something that yelled, Not Inconspicuous At All. Of course, the problem was moving past the first few delinquents blocking his way not two minutes into his search. Two young punks, barely covering their faces. A knife. His fingers were gripped around a knife. It wasn't even held tight- cocky scum was confident Corric was just another passer by who made a really bad mistake. His comrade was the smoking one, threatening him. Corric had blanked them out from his hearing but even he could tell what the motion of her mouth was making: Money.

Coupled with an outstretched palm, these kids were f*ckin' brave- and way above their heads on this run. Mumbling an unheard apology, Corric raised both hands in mock surrender and started inching his way out from the alley. Knife-head decided to jump at him. Corric side stepped and tripped his legs with one swift sweeping kick that sent the rogue kissing the graveled surface of the road. Smoker shrieked and was in the process of pulling a blaster but Corric beat her to the draw- by the time she had yanked out her heavy blaster with some difficulty Corric's six-shot was aiming down between her eyes. Beads of perspiration trickled down to her lips and for a moment she felt fear.

* * * * *
​

There was blood on his grip. Clubbing the two of them to submission was messy work. Both would wake up with serious concussions- the male suspect would be a little worse off, a trade off for trying to shank him when he got back to his feet again. That guy would be needing dental work- contrary to popular belief, with enough brute force you could break in the front four teeth with your revolver.

He found the backdoor however, and slipping inside was hella easy- staff hadn't bothered locking the door, and most of them were out for a smoke break. The one cook left inside was on his phone, his back turned away from the door. Corric nearly had a heart attack when he noticed him, but after a minute he realized the cook was far too engrossed in his conversation to notice a man with a very big holster sneak in. Meeting up Ishale and Isaac on the inside took little effort. After a quick look-over, he felt satisfied that everyone hadn't completely effed up in a way and happily stood by and awaited Ishale's go ahead.

Which came in the form of completely sh*ttin' on the guard who thought it was wise to poke a barrel at her face. Pulling a balaclava over his face, Corric pulled out his revolver in a swift, fluid motion and stepped in after Ishale. There wasn't room to think- four targets out of five still capable of engaging them all reaching out for the nearest weapon. None wearing anything to stop a .357 though. On the far right was a shmuck who just got out of the toilet and dashing for a rifle leaning against the wall. Corric wasn't interested in that stuff- with a very loud boom he painted the wall behind the man with crimson. Not enough to kill the man. After all, the placement of the shot meant he'd just broken his shoulder and probably crippled his left hand. Nothing far too lethal, but the man would die very, excruciatingly slowly.

The other woman from across the room fired a shot that grazed his cheek, splattering a streak of red across the beige walls. Normally, someone would panic. Corric had learned the hard way panicking was a way to die quicker. Executing a quick switch of his revolver to his left, Corric let her have two bullets for her troubles. One smashed her pretty face in. The other missed completely, leaving a wound in the wall behind her and spattered flaked pieces of paint and drywall out, irritating the eyes of the last two defenders bunched up at that end of the room. With a sense of trust that came with working together, Corric lowered his gun with faith that either one of his teammates would handle the last two, dabbing a finger at the thin, warm line that cut his left cheek.

"Goddamn bitch's gonna give me a scar."

 

[Chask274]

Isaac thoughtfully listened as the situation was explained. It seemed pretty straightforward, just go into this meeting place and get information from one of the people there via any number of methods, taking care to not let any of them get away.

As the speeder pulled in and an entry plan was layed out, Isaac decided that it would be a good idea to leave his bag and rifle in the car. The fully-loaded plate carrier and pistol holster were already going to be a bit conspicuous, and the rifle and assault pack would only make that worse. Exiting the car, Isaac acknowledged Corric's signal with a nod, and after waiting a moment, followed Ishale through the front door. A few of the patrons raised a curious eyebrow at him as he entered the bar, but most were smart enough to turn a blind eye once they noticed the gear. Ishale was doing a good job of keeping the barkeep distracted and Isaac had no troubles getting to the staircase and meeting up with Corric. After Ishale arrived, Isaac followed the others to the room.

As Ishale knocked, Isaac pulled the grey bandana hanging around his neck up and over the lower half of his face, cowboy style, and drew his pistol. While Ishale beat the everliving s*** out of the door guard, Isaac followed Corric into the room as he messily dispatched the majority of the occupants. One of the two remaining defenders managed to raise and fire a shot from a slugthrower pistol at Isaac before a not so neat hole was blown in his chest. Half-stepping back from the force of the round harmlessly slamming into his armor, Isaac took care of the final defender with a shot to the gut.

"Clear. Let's get this wrapped up quick before the authorities get here."

 

[Slamdingo]

Three breaching. Five contacts met. Five bodies made. Maybe fifteen or twenty seconds - tops.

Somewhere an IAF combat instructor had the urge to nod approvingly, but they'd never know why.

Though "five bodies" was inaccurate if anybody bothered to do a count. Out in the hall lay the door-woman. She was against the wall, with her neck cocked at an odd angle, and there was a splash of deep crimson on the wall above her.

One of the only two among the five to get a shot off had a hole where his heart had been and the only thing active about him any longer was the lingering twitch in his fingers.

His companion lay out across one of the room's two beds, most likely irreparably staining the sheets with the steady river pouring from a gaping chest wound - hypovolemic shock had rendered him silent and his breathing was increasingly shallow and labored.

The second woman had smashed into the dresser behind her with much the same grace as the bullet had smashed into her face, dead before she even hit the ground, and thus certainly before the dresser had tipped over onto her.

The fifth body though, was quite alive. A shattered shoulder left one arm useless and he was still trying to grit his teeth through excruciating pain with such focus that he couldn't even think about still trying for the rifle. He was Hapan judging by his overall appearance and the fact that he was cursing "that worthless little steaming sh*t-pile" who had shot him in the native tongue. If the blood on the wall and staining the jacket he wore were any sign of things then he probably wasn't going to be of a mind enough to talk for much longer.

Between that and the commotion sounding from downstairs, time was getting precious for Ishale, Isaac, and Corric. Ishale wasn't fit to waste it judging by the way she moved across the room to the wounded man. She already had a rather utilitarian and sharp tanto blade in one hand before she came around the bed to stand near him. The rifle was fetched in one hand and tossed near blindly in Corric's vague direction just as the wounded man had begun to reach for it. And the man had a look in his eyes like a wounded gazelle watching a wolf now when he looked up at Ishale. She, on the other hand, had a rather neutral expression overall. The necessary kind of detachment for mercenary work.

"Simple question, mah friend. Where are ya' chums?"

He gave her a defiant glare. She stamped down on his still outstretched hand.

He screamed out a few curses and desperately tried to free his pinned hand, "Where are they, ya' f*ck?!"

Ishale moved her foot, freeing his hand to simply take a knee - at which point he saw fit to spit at her. He missed her face and it went clean over her shoulder but the insult was enough. She drove the blade she carried straight into the bullet wound, eliciting another scream, "Talk and maybe we'll lay off, yeah?!"

"T-t-the Una-Sovi Cannery!" He finally stammered out in accented Basic, "The old cannery! IN the industrial park!" The knife was pulled from his wound and as he was let go to fall flat on the ground he drew a withering breath, "No-not that it will help you. They - aren't like this place. Guns - lots of guns - and fighters. You t-three aren't enough. I p-promise it."

Ishale wiped her blade on the man's jeans before tucking it away in the sheath hidden beneath her hoodie. She rose up and turned away - motioning to Corric and Isaac that they could deal with the man however it suited them. The sounds of panic and confusion downstairs were growing louder so whatever they had in mind had best be done quickly. Ishale made her way out and downstairs at a fast clip, down the stairs and out the back door, and then immediately for the car after that.

However following her directly wouldn't be entirely possible as two rather stout-looking men clad in bikers' garb appeared at the bottom of the stairwell. They'd made a move for Ishale but once she'd slipped out the back both quickly took notice of the additional two strangers and turned their attention to Corric and Isaac with pissed off grimaces. Though thankfully neither was armed with any sort of blaster or blade. Outside the speeder could be heard starting up and Ishale was waiting for the other two to catch up.




@Tristar
@Chask274

 

[Tristar]

Corric snatched the rifle out of the air, one hand still tending to his graze wound. It was bleeding profusely much like every superficial wound he'd come to know. He wasn't hemophiliac, he messaged Isaac telepathically with his back turned around. There was a lot of spitting for the next few minutes while Ishale lead the interrogation process, the rifle tossed aside and forgotten. When the blood wouldn't stop on its own accord, Corric yanked the balaclava from his face and tossed it at Isaac, blindly yelling at him to catch.

A quick delving of hands into his many tactical pouches produced a small IFAK which he used to patch up his wound- mostly a strip of adhesive bandage that had the sting of anti-septic sterility to it. Turning back to the scene that unfolded behind him, Corric relieved Isaac of the bloody balaclava and wore it back again. With a slightly muffled voice behind them, Corric budged through Isaac and Ishale before angrily firing at the Hapan native now that they had extracted everything useful off of him. The man barely had time to register the shock of the massive iron punches blow through his guts and the expression was marked into his face, with a small teetering voice of pain. "You f*ckin'- cussing cuss word you son of a bitch!" he yelled angrily at the dead corpse, giving a swift kick between his legs for good measure, as though the mutilation of the corpse would heal his wound quicker.

"...f*ckin'.." his words trailed off behind Isaac as he stormed out of the room, his hand still massaging over his recent addition to his body's story when he nearly drove into two massive hunks of meat in his way, their putrid breath of alcohol burning his nose. Their scraggly beards and mean disposition was the last thing Corric needed for a bad evening as it was and he tried to shove his way past them.

Isaac would look out from the room to see Corric's legs fly past him as the soldier was flung to the end of the hallway with a dull thump! Nursing what felt like a concussion, Corric's sight was a blurry affair as the two bouncers advanced at him menacingly, one already pulling out a small baton that sparked in his hands. From the sparking noise alone he could tell the make was of the Humbler variant, a popular make with the Imperial interrogators. He'd seen what they could do to a man first hand and he personally didn't feel like puking his guts out. With trembling hands, the downed man pulled out his revolver and checked the cylinder- one round. Now that's a lucky shot, Corric drunkenly thought before slapping the cylinder back into the gun and spun it around.

They stepped closer, and Corric pulled the trigger. Empty. Step step step step. Click. Empty. Step step step. Click. Empty. Step step. Click. Empty. "Oi', Rufus- e's got a gun." Click. Empty. "Sounds like it ran em-" Click.

Rufus didn't have time to finish his sentence before half his face blew off, splattering into the ceiling above him. His partner stared in shock as slick blood dripped in between his eyes and slowly travelled downwards. Corric had to smile dangerously back at the man. "Condo'." he yelled for Isaac, his voice hoarse.

"Condor you sunuvabitch, get me up and mind the body. Housekeepin' rates are up this time o' the year. Condor! Condor!"

 

[Chask274]

Isaac kept an eye on the door while Ishale interogatted the survivor of their little raid and reluctantly complied when Corric needed him to hold his baclava. When things wrapped up, Isaac began to follow the others out the door, only to watch in a mixture of amusement and concern as the two bikers sent Corric flying into the wall. As Corric took his time dispatching the first goon, Isaac stepped up behind the second one, pressed the muzzle of his pistol into the man's back, and fired. At such a close range, the stun bolt dropped the hulking thug like a sack of potatoes.

Rolling his eyes at Corric's impatience, Isaac walked over and hauled him to his feet. "I'm right here, ya idiot, calm down." Keeping a hand on Corric's shoulder as they walked down the stairs and through the back door, Isaac kept the braver (or possibly just drunk) patrons at bay with his pistol. Once outside, he booked it to the speeder, making sure Corric kept up. "Let's get the hell outta here!"

 

[Slamdingo]

As they made their way for the speeder, several of the braver, or perhaps more inebriated and foolhardy members of the crowd were close on Isaac and Corric's heels. Some of them gave chase because they hadn't seen the gore painted ceiling and didn't realize just how dangerous the people they were chasing after could be. Others were giving chase for precisely the opposite reason, having seen the way both bouncers had been dropped and they were looking to bring down the two men responsible for the damage done.

But none of them would be given any vindication or justification. Corric and Isaac were just that much faster than a mostly drunken crowd. The doors were unlocked for the two men to pile in and they had barely settled in the seats before Ishale was pulling out of the lot. It was just a shame on some part, IShale thought, that speeders didn't have tires - it would have been that much more dramatic as the tail end swung out wide from over-steering and the rental shout out from the lot. Dust and loose debris was kicked up into a flurry and the crowd came to a stop at the edge of the lot.

As Ishale headed one way the store-fronts were lit up from the lights of police cruisers coming from the other way.

By the time that police had calmed the crowd, gotten informed of the situation, and put out an APB the suspects would be long gone.

"Ha!" Ishale's laughter was a sharp bark, "That was a frakkin' blast!" She slapped the steering wheel with another laugh, "Right though, Jabber?" Her driving was "graceful" as they moved through the streets in the sense that they didn't crash as she dipped through side-streets and back roads to lose any tails.

Once she was sure they weren't being followed she find a back road to pull to the side and park. Tapping the in-dash screen on the center console, she brought up the user interface for the rental's GPS, and began a quick search, "You two okay? All shiny n' that, yeah? Then let's find this cannery."

___________________________________

"Infiltration"​

In all the history of meteorology, there had never been a weatherman who was perfectly correct every time. And as lightning flared in the north, a storm front that had been predicted to break on the mountain ranges further to the north began to cross over. Thankfully the oily black clouds that carried the brunt of the storm were still several miles out, and it was only the leading edge of the storm that sat over the city now. But even that was growing bad enough with lances of lightning and the thunder was loud enough to deafen the unaware or inattentive. The speeder's wipers moved steadily to keep the windscreen clear. Ishale had a cigarette hanging lazily between her lips, unlit and chewing on the end.

"Well lads. There it is: the Una-Sovi cannery. It sure is - something."

The Una-Sovi compound was a victim of over-expansion. The overall compound easily took two city blocks by itself in the more run-down portion of the city's industrial park. A majority of it was walled off from back when the cannery owners had something to keep out. But the same grime that surrounded it had clearly gotten inside, staining the windows and the metal, discoloring the gate-arms, and giving everything a rather grimy and worn down appearance. It was surrounded on three sides by tall and imposing buildings that hemmed it in, while on the fourth side it had an interconnecting series of walkways and piers for transport ships to haul the cannery's shipments by water to either the open ocean or other cities further up-river.

There were two gates on the side opposite the ocean that could be seen from where the speeder was parked. One was clearly meant for larger trucks and led to a loading dock. The other was for smaller traffic like employees vehicles and a led to a parking lot immediately next to the loading dock. Two guards stood at the loading dock gate and one stood under the awning of the guard shack at the lot gate. They could have passed off as cannery security - even the tactical pants and combat boots that came out of the ponchos they wore could have been waved off. No the real tell-tale signs for Ishale were the total lack of identification or logos on their uniforms and the mismatched weapons. Guerrillas trying to pass as soldiers, and they were good enough at an unconcerned glance.

There were at least four major buildings to the compound that could be seen over the wall: a four story tall administration building, nestled into a corner opposite the waterfront. Across from it in the other corner was the loading dock, connected to the factory building - three stories tall at its tallest and easily taking up a majority of the compound. Two other buildings peaked up over those two though it would be hard to determine their original purpose and Ishale hadn't been able to get a good angle on what might be on the water-front itself without risking exposing them. Outside of the guards at the gates and the shadows of guards on the exterior walkways of each building, there didn't seem to be any excessive security, and didn't seem to be on edge.

"The way I see it, we've got a few options." Ishale began, plucking the cigarette from her own mouth, "We could go in the fun way n' all, yeah? Guns n' explosions - bodies fer' days. This far in the urban sticks, probably be a fair minute 'fore the light-bars show up to stop us. Not clean but between the three of us we could manage. Assuming they don't have anything heavy tucked away - damnedest thing, I left ma' rocket launcher in my spare trousers." The cigarette was replaced again, "Or," she shrugged. "we can try and be sneaky 'bout it. Split up for a smaller footprint n' that, or try and stick together. Either way works in the end, I suppose."

She looked between Isaac and Corric.

"A few ways to do it, too. Straight through the front - either their lil' parking lot or the loading bay. Either place is bound to lead somewhere important. Could skirt around and try to find a side entrance. Or take a dip in this weather to try for the shore." Finally she pointed to a nearby alley, and a fire escape in the shadows, "Or we could pop up onto the roof. Find a way over the wall that way - or the very least one of us could make sure there's no drag up there with a rifle and ill intentions. Fire inside the walls n' that, too."

She readjusted in her seat with a grunting sigh as she made herself comfortable, "So. Which'll it be, boys?"




@Tristar
@Chask274

 

[Chask274]

After a very interesting car ride, the ragtag team arrived at their destination. The cannery wasn't the most impressive structure in the galaxy, not by a long shot, but it was plenty imposing when one considered the fact that aside from the exterior guards, they had no clue about what to expect to find inside the compound. There could be an APC in there for all they knew, but it's a risk they'd have to take it the mission was to be completed.

Isaac considered the options Ishale presented before speaking up, "My rifle has a good bit of range, I'll hoof it up to the roof and see what I can do from there." Grabbing a poncho from his bag, Isaac slung the bag over his shoulders, put on the poncho, and left the speeder. Rifle tucked away under the poncho, Isaac crossed the street a block away from the cannery before doubling back and walking into the alley Ishale had pointed out. A few slips and a decent bit of cursing later, and Isaac made it to the top of the fire escape. Looking over, Isaac nearly had a heart attack as he noticed the sentry huddled under a makeshift lean-to at the corner of the roof. Suddenly very grateful for the noise of the storm, Isaac crept up on the man before burying his vibroblade into the clueless guard's neck.

After depositing the body at the far end of the roof, Isaac got into position under the lean-to before keying his comm earpiece. "Comm check, Condor set and ready to go."

 

[Tristar]

Corric had no intent on answering Ishale's poking, knowing full well that she knew that he wasn't having too much of a blast having his face mutilated without his consent. Not that Corric had given permission to any of the gunners who had taken potshots at him before- it felt better for him if he was in the position to afford getting shot at. If he was severely injured, he couldn't get his Queen, could he?

He gave her a huff for her efforts and continued nursing his wound, staring out of the speeder as the rain washed over their vehicle. He tuned out the radio, letting the music go past him as he used the lull to check his equipment. There really wasn't any particular reason for his choice of armament, other than it felt like a royal thing to kill royalty with. If he was going to use the queen as a stepping stone for Sev, the least he could do was give her the respect she somewhat deserved by birthright (However the Hapans chose their royalty.) by death with a stylish weapon. A six-shooter was nothing if stylish as hell.

* * * *
​

The cigarette's smoke trailed ever upwards as Corric surveyed the cannery. Isaac had left with a few words at Ishale. Moments later his radio picked up Isaac's curt transmission, and that was the end of the mystery to his whereabouts. And through that entire time, Corric hadn't left his eyes from the cannery, lighting his deathstick by guesswork. "Piss." he uttered defiantly, spitting the glowing stick to the ground and crunching it underfoot. He didn't like the looks of the dilapidated oversized shack one bit. The enemy had far too many eyes looking everywhere, some hidden and some way too obvious to be just them.

Given that they were given free reign on disposing the Queen, Corric had several alternatives at his disposal. They were in the middle of an industrial area, and chances were he could play it off as the drunk man, meandering to the first guard and stabbing the poor f*cker using the storm to cover up any excess noise before moving on to the other two. Corric could limber up and parkour his way over the walls, hoping that no one would notice his silhouette as he struggled over concrete walls. He could follow Isaac's method and strike from above but he didn't feel too safe, traversing the rooftops while it rained. Corric also had the option of smooth talking it and resorting to his revolver, using the thunder to mask the shots.

All of those methods were highly reliant on luck and there was also the element of getting close and personal with the guards, leaving no room for errors. But they didn't come with a speeder with Ishale in tow, which meant he had all the room to be ever resourceful.

He popped the trunk and nicked some of Ishale's explosives for his own use, mumbling a half-assed excuse to her for his sudden disappearance. They were somewhere in the middle of the city, so it wasn't very hard to look for- there! Corric had to look over his shoulder in case some schmuck saw him in the act. Dead alley, pretty much after standing there conspicuously for nearly two minutes. He slapped the thorium charges on the hood of the vehicle, fixed a little det tap over the bumper before taking a step back to admire his little handy work. Fishing out a small length of wire, Corric then set to fishing the damn lock, taking a little longer than usual because of the rain. When the door clicked open with a satisfying click, Corric ducked his head under the driver's seat, pulled out the panel and with his usual gusto set to work with the wires.

"F*ck!" he yelled, yanking his hand out from the jumbled mess, the smell of toastiness in the air- getting zapped wasn't part of his plan. Grumbling at the machine, Corric slapped the dashboard and continued working. Unbeknownst to him, he had been spotted- an elderly technician enroute home from work. The only thing that stopped him from yelling out was that it would involve the police department, which meant questioning and being held back- all of which translated to more time away from home and the latest match tonight. So Corric lucked out with an apathetic pedestrian, thus dooming the cannery to a vehicular surprise.

If Ishale was wondering where Corric had gotten to, she wouldn't have to look far- driving around the corner, Corric's repurposed speeder ambled by slowly with the driver's door wide open. He had to aim the VBIED where he wanted it exactly- to be precise, the main gate. "Far too much work for an 'effin' easy job..." he grumbled. Next came the dangerous part. With a little flick of the gears, a brick and a large chunk of ingenuity, the car set off to a measly pace, driverless.

"Just gotta wait...'n watch now, Roach." he whispered at her, beckoning at her silently to start moving forward under cover. Without a driver to respond to the guard's calls, the speeder simply crashed past into the gate, forcing the guard to jump out of the way. The angry rebuttals was very easy to be heard- the man was practically yelling and had drawn the attention of the other two guards at the docking gates. Eventually one or two of the sentries by the exterior catwalks even spared the man an eye. The man who'd been yelling at a car with its windows up.

The car with a ticking payload.

Corric squeezed and the earth rumbled- the car flew five, ten meters into the air as a burning wreck and landing over what used to be the metal gates. The guard himself was a splotch of red, chunky bits plastered by the walls of his little guard hut. The main entrance blown wide apart from the sheer force of the explosion, even causing a small section of the wall by the docking gates to crumble away. Satisfied that his little distraction had caused enough of the guards to turn their attention to the new scene, Corric kept his cool, stuck to the darkness and sprinted over to his newly made entrance. All thoughts of guarding whatever they had to guard went out of the guards's minds in a flash- now was the seizing of their hearts as they began to rifle through the possibilities- an attack? From whom?

Questions assailed the docking gate guards as they left their posts- they weren't the only ones either. More of them rushed to the front gate, some setting up defensive watch while the others went running for a fire extinguisher. None of them had left over eyes to spot out the dark figure slipping through the crumbled section of the wall, slinking away to the docks.

 

[Slamdingo]

The sentry's hide-site was rather simple. A lean-to not unlike a few others that could be seen on surrounding rooftops. Some were home to vagrants and the homeless, flimsy shelters against the coming storm, and with the glow of barrel fires to keep them warm dotting the skyline. A few were closer - on the same rooftops around the compound as Isaac. Though without bothering to look at them there would be no way to tell at a glance whether or not there were more rooftop sentries without taking the time and effort to investigate to some level.

A few guards could be seen on the roof of each of the buildings inside the compound - one to each of the four main buildings walking the rooftops. The factory and administrative building were the highest buildings in the immediate area with only a few Isaac might be able t climb a fire escape or get to an inner stairwell to access. The two shore-side buildings weren't entirely visible from his current spot but there were far more and much closer angles of fire to choose from if the need were to arise. If he were to watch them through optics and note differences in appearance - easy enough in the light of a Hapes night - then he'd see that the cannery and administrative buildings each had three different guards on the catwalks.

Add again three pairs of foot patrols between the two sets of buildings and the three guards at the gates, it totaled nearly twenty guards.

Work enough for the average squad of Stormtroopers. Let alone a ground team of three. Maybe, if they were lucky, the renowned discipline and skills instilled by the 501st would serve as enough to give them an edge they needed. They were in too deep to hope the police would be on their side and the simple fact that a technically independent mercenary had led off in the search it was clear just how much back-up they'd likely get in the worst case scenario.

The VBIED at the gate was rather ingenious. Ishale had snapped a foul word or two at Corric, mostly in jest, when he went and snatched away some of her explosives without asking her. But she didn't do anything more but set to retrieving her own gear. She stripped the hoodie, revealing the tactical gear she wore underneath, and the tank-top underneath it that was beginning to soak through with the very same rain that slicked her arms.

Minor field medical aids, more explosive hardware, and spare ammo in loose rounds and a few extra magazines and speed-loaders were stowed away in the pack from the back seat. With that she strapped on a drop-holster for her revolver. But beyond that she'd stayed out of view behind the speeder until Corric returned, at which point she retrieved her rifle. She double-checked the grenades she'd brought for it as well, just to be sure, and was just finished securing a suppressor when Corric motioned for her to follow. And it was about that time when she noticed a car - a rather plain and simple looking one for the most part. Except for the glowing orange disks of a pair of thorium breaching charges on the hood.

From across the street Ishale felt the vibrations up through her legs and she couldn't stop the grin that came at the fireball she saw. One guard was blasted away nearly into individual component atoms because he hadn't been perceptive enough to clear away. His partners by the loading dock gate were so concerned with what they'd just seen that they abandoned their post even as aging and unkept walls fell from the force. Ishale had served with Corric in enough hair-raising situations to know that he'd seen the opening too. She didn't need to wait to see what his plan was so much as she just needed to wait a few moments for him to take the lead before falling in behind him in a dash across the street.

The rest of the compound was coming alive. At least a squad's worth of fresh faces came from the administrative building and dashed across the mostly open lot. Some took cover behind the cars there, others spread out and hugged low to the ground if they couldn't find anything substantial to stay behind. After a few moments when they were becoming increasingly sure that secondaries weren't primed, some drew closer with the intent of stopping the fire if possible. More guards came to the rooftops and hand-held spotlights were clicked on from the rooftops and catwalks. Of the three Isaac had the best vantage point for a headcount of thirty total guards focused on the front gate from Corric's display.

Though not one of them looked to the side where two figures moved along the wall.

Ishale made her way for the loading docks when she took a look at the overhead doors. Without the perimeter wall in the way it was easy to see that most of them were down all the way. Most of them. But when the actual Una-Sovi employees had been told to find jobs elsewhere, they probably hadn't been the pickiest about securing the facility. At least one of the doors was open just enough that Ishale could slip under. So when she was satisfied that none of the guards present were looking her way, Ishale motioned for Corric to follow her to the dock. When she drew closer she dropped to her side in the prone with a grunt, to the side of the door so she could look under without exposing herself - wet ground be damned.

She could see a truck. Or rather the underside of a truck. A heavy one, she surmised, judging by the double-wide tires and the heavy-duty axles.

The area beyond the truck was dimly lit - by Hapan standards. Which meant it was easy to see there wasn't anybody around the truck or clear to the far corner that Ishale was facing. So Ishale rolled underneath the door before beginning to low-crawl across the loading dock floor to the back of the truck. Sweeping with her eyes to make sure there weren't any hidden guards inside. But it was about the time that she thought the area clear and was set to crawl out from under the truck that a set of double-doors on the opposite side came swinging open with a bang against the walls. A trio of Hapan led by an equally frightened and furious raven-haired woman came marching through together.

She barked orders to her compatriots, another dark-haired woman and an older-looking salt-and-pepper haired man. She made harsh hand-motions towards the truck but she was speaking Hapan so Ishale couldn't understand an actual word of it. But as far as she could tell by body language they hadn't seen her. They looked busy fetching things and carrying out whatever orders the woman had. Ishale waited, watching to see what they would do as they drew closer - and clicked her rifle's safety off just to be safe. But even when they got close enough that Ishale could have reached out and untied the man's laces, they didn't notice her. She heard the sound of locks being undone and doors swinging wide. They were unloading the back of the truck but for what?

The first rifle case was set on the ground. Something big judging by the way it had sounded against the concrete. Another joined it.

Ammo cans - for big ammo. 20x120mm according to the stenciling on the sides that Ishale could see.

The man hefted one case onto his shoulder, the apparent leader grabbed another, and the other woman somehow managed to hold two ammo cans to a hand - likely with a lot of pain in the fingers. They were starting for the door but Ishale could piece things together. A 501st strike operation spoiled early might do much the same. Pack up. Pull away. Try again from another angle. Whatever this group was planning to hit with that kind of firepower, even with the fact that most Imperial forces could shrug it off they'd still do damage to civilian targets. And if these were the exiled Archon's troops then there was no telling just what they were planning to hit. From under the truck, Ishale shouldered her rifle.

Two rounds to the young woman's back. She tried to cry out as she fell. Ammo cans were dropped and two of them busted open to let the shells roll around on the ground. The leader of the trio whirled around looking visibly confused and finally saw Ishale - but caught one to the chest and one to the neck as she tried to reach for a pistol. She fell to the ground hard. The man had dropped his case and it had popped open from the impact as he'd turned around, with a blaster that he'd actually managed to draw. One shot to the gut, another to the heart, and a third that went wide to end up shattering a wall light.

Waiting in the silence that followed, Ishale reached out to gather the spent brass close to her after it had bounced off the inner tire to her side. Her eyes stayed on the still open door the entire time. It wasn't until they brass had been tucked away in a spare pouch of her rigging. And when that was done she finally crawled out from under the truck and rose into a crouch. Rifle canted and using the back-up sights she swept the dock and turned around to clear the still open back of the truck until she was satisfied nobody was lurking in wait.

She keyed her radio as she approached the already opened case, "I have three down. It looks like they were getting ready to move some serious hardware n' that." She bent down and flipped open the lid, "Definitely plannin' to pop open domes."

The rifle wasn't the newest. Visible rusting on the frame betrayed poor care and a black market quality. But the ammo cans and the simple size of the magazines nestled in the case were a clear indicator of just how powerful the thing was regardless. Ishale took her pack off and took a knee to retrieve a camera from one of the side pouches. A few pictures for ImpInt when she reported in at the end of all this and then she was back on her feet and moving for the open door.

"This is Carrion. Moving further into the cannery."




@Tristar
@Chask274

 

[Chask274]

'Fekking hell, that's a lot of bad guys...'

Isaac scanned the complex through the scope of his rifle, having turned it's magnification up from 2x to 6x. When the speeder went up in an impressive fireball, Isaac nodded in appreciation, before shifting his attention to the newly arrived guards. With a guard count of at least thirty in all, this job just got a lot more complicated. Isaac sighted in the guards on the cannery's roof, and systematically took them all out, using the thunder and lightning of the oncoming storm to mask his shots. Shifting his aim, he repeated the process with the guards on the same building's catwalks.

The rooftop guards of the admin building unfortunately noticed that the spotlights from the cannery were no longer pointing where they should, and became concerned when their comrades failed to answer the radio. A moment later, and half a dozen of the guards that had taken position on the parking lot peeled off and began moving towards the cannery and loading dock.

"Watch your backs guys, you've got six hostiles moving in on your pos from the parking lot."

 

[Tristar]

Corric was the type that respected the privacy of others and knew how frustrating it could be when further complications arose- even though he had been the first to slip through the breach, he'd put several meters between him and Ishale, letting her take the role of the leading man. When she crawled under the doors Corric had been equally prepared to look stupid and do the same, except that his lagging behind allowed him to spot the small entourage headed Ishale's way. A quick flash of lightning illuminated the scene well enough for him to see that there was five of them striding excitedly on the slick pavement. Their rear man slipped in his excitement and landed on his rump; with the rain in full force it was easy for the other four to forget about him.

He had seen how this worked in the past- Ishale was more than capable of handling herself, there was no doubt about that. She was the Roach after all. Corric was the Crow, which meant he picked on the leftovers and couldn't complain. Isaac was Condor and had been picking on the carcass of the guard details. Whoever thought up of the name either must have had a damn good oracle or was completely oblivious to the heavy sense of poetic justice that hammered away at them. Corric blinked.

The young man had enough on his plate- soaking wet, yelled at for something that happened on his watch and now he had fallen on his arse and left behind. Grumbling to himself, the Hapan tried to get himself up on his feet but only succeeded in slipping again. Cursing the gods, his eyes was attracted to a running figure that was steadily approaching him. Feeling a little grateful, he allowed himself to be picked up, joking with the mute compatriot about cats and dogs when he heard the thunder.

Except thunders didn't sound so close by, and usually didn't precede the knee-shattering pain that he felt. Smoke rose from behind, he could smell it even with the smell of petrichor. His left leg was weak, very weak; something was oozing out from it, and his body was shaking. He was afraid, dreadfully afraid to look down. Mustering every bit of the fabled courage dead men was supposed to have, he looked downwards, and everything clicked to place. He tried to yell, but the unknown assailant had covered his mouth with a gloved hand. It smelled of gunpowder and cigarettes, the cheap ones that his father used to smoke at home. Now he was rambling at a psychiatric ward, fighting the eternal battle in his mind. A coarse voice slipped into his ear that sent shivers running down his spine. "Hurts doesn't it? Back on Anaxxes, you'd think the Imperial police would be a lot more kinder, being the last line of defense for the citizens living in the heart of the Imperium."

A shaky laugh came after that and he felt something very warm trickling down his legs. "They're picky bastards. If they like you, this is what they do- they shoot at the back of the knee. It wouldn't kill, but it hurt as hell and it'd cripple you good. It won't kill- if there was an infirmary ward nearby, which I'm assuming is a little too far for a crippled man to walk." The grip around his mouth tightened, and he felt himself dragged into a small room next to where his teammates had rushed into. There may have been a concrete wall and an additional room between him and them, but he had hope. So when he was tossed onto the cold ground he yelled. He yelled as loud as he could, both in fear and in pain of his lost leg. He must've yelled for a good minute or so until his voice was hoarse, all the while his captor was staring out past the rain-stained windows. He hadn't switched on the light and it was pitch black but even then he could tell that his captor- Corric- swung his gaze onto him with a satisfied grin.

"They're dead Jim. Must be a storage room for the maintenance guys, but it's far enough from the grounds that your friends won't hear you." Fear clutched his rapidly beating heart, and he spat out the next few words without considering his position. "N-n..next..door, Sheil-l-la..there. She m-must've...he-"

"Didn't I say they were dead?" Next thing he knew his felt the cold barrel slam unto his right leg. All his cries for mercy went unheard- another muted thunder from the outside followed by a muffled scream.

Corric was having the time of his life scaring the young boy shitless- well, he pissed himself at the very least. It wasn't his intention, but the rancid smell was really killing him as much as the lost of his two legs was killing his puppet. Standing over the weakened- 19 year old? Lighting was horrible, but the flash of lightning before showed somewhat baby features- it wouldn't do to call an old man Jim, but his voice was deep enough to pass off for a thirty year old. "All right then Jim, let's play a game. I call it, I-ask-you-and-you-tell-me-what-I-want-to-know. Can you play that Jim? Can you? Do I have to-" "N-no!"

Something dark slipped onto Corric's face as he holstered his revolver and pulled out a wickedly looking K-Bar in its place. "Good. Now..."

* * * * *
​

Corric strode into Ishale's room- it was the one with the blood stains on the walls and the crumpled bodies. He had just finished wiping the blood from his knife on his shirt. Jim had a happy smile- two, to be exact. Now he looked as though nothing had happened, him and his petrified smile and a red one under that. He saw Ishale standing there rummaging through their gear. A particularly nasty looking rifle stood out from the rest, and there was no qualms from its dead owner as he scavenged it for his own purpose, pocketing several magazines for later use. Base this big, there was bound to be some armor support even in the middle of an industrial park.

Glancing back at Ishale, he noticed for the first time in months how much she'd change outwardly, and inwardly- the additional metal on her wasn't what most people looked forward to, but Ishale was still kicking major A with them. She was still the loud sailor mouth he knew, but there was something more reserved in her nature, something more calculating. Something shot down his spine and he shivered for a little. "I got it from a little bird where their documents are stored, or at least where the head honchos go to once a while without the normal Joes." he said to her, standing up with the rifle slung across his back.

"I'll make a quick run for it, see what they have and then improvise from there...And Roac-" He caught himself before his next words came out. She would've heard and guessed the interjected word that flew out of his mouth. He must've looked a little off, gazing at her over his shoulder as he held the doorknob. Shaking his head, he clenched his teeth, knowing full well there was an additional pair of ears in the room at this current moment and until the last trigger had to be pulled. "Nothing, never mind. Just take care."

Stepping out into the room, he looked back at her as lightning struck once more, briefly illuminating his masked face as he offered her another piece of advice. "Don't go into the next room, yeah?" With that, he ran out, systematically avoiding as many puddles as he could.

 

[Slamdingo]

With the four cannery rooftop guards and their three companions on the catwalks dead, that in itself was a significant blow to the enemy forces. The radio clipped to the dead sniper's belt nearby was letting Isaac hear the back-and-forth of radio traffic. Of course the darkness of clouds starting to roll in overhead meant he would be hard-pressed to match up voices with figures - and to be honest unless he spoke Hapan then everybody on the radio probably sounded more or less the same. While Corric and Ishale would have to deal with six guards coming from their back, as well as anybody who might still be inside, Isaac still had his own serious opposition, and knowing the exact count probably didn't help much. The radio on the dead sniper's belt came to life again - a voice speaking in a harsh whisper in the native tongue. It said something that sounded a bit like a request or a question.

Silence.

Again, the voice. It sounded like it had the same message again.

Silence.

The voice, louder this time, and possibly a bit panicked.

Unless Isaac had suddenly picked up on how to speak Hapan in the last five minutes, he'd only have context clues to figure out that the voice at the other end of the radio was asking for somebody who wasn't responding. And that person wasn't responding because Isaac had seen fit to slice open the man's throat. And to make matter's worse even if Isaac deduced that was what was happening, which was more than possible, he couldn't exactly go picking up the radio and giving them the all-clear because that would expose him quicker than the silence.

But not as quickly as the spotlights. A pair of them from the administration rooftop, starting at opposite points on the surrounding rooftops.

Clearly they'd figured out their rooftop sentry wasn't able to respond. Isaac had a few options. He could hide behind one of the many rooftop outcroppings - while that wouldn't eliminate the problem then perhaps the security team might think that whoever had killed their sentry had moved elsewhere. He could take out one or both of the spotlight operators - that would eliminate two guards but then they'd be assured somebody hostile was out on the rooftops. Or perhaps he could think of something else on the fly. Because while he had the luxury of options, Isaac lacked the luxury of time. Those lights were closing in and soon there could be quite a few rifles pointed up to the rooftops.


In the cannery, Ishale bit down a harsh and likely profane word into little more than an irritated grunt when she heard Isaac's news over the radio. At least a few moments ago they'd had the seeming luxury of enemy attention focused elsewhere. As Corric had slipped off to deal with a fifth guard, Ishale set to work trying to find anything useful in their pockets. But that didn't come up with anything useful and so she set to work on the second of the cases, quickly unlatching it, and tossing open the lid as Corric came in - cleaning his blade from whatever nasty work he had been up to. Ishale spared him a glance and a small smirk.

Maybe if she'd been somebody else, or it had been in the past, the implication would have gotten to her.

But she had watched the man bludgeon somebody else to death with his helmet. She'd broken a man's neck with her legs.

A knife's work was simple by nature.

She rose up from picking over the bodies, "Course I will, Jabber. You too. Die n' I'll have to put a boot up yer' ass, yeah?"

She didn't notice the hitch. She told herself she didn't notice it. Ever since she'd seen him he'd been nothing but tense and part of Ishale could only guess why. Was it all the new metal attached to her? Had it been too long since they'd last seen each other? Just like that and she was committing the ultimate sin. In the field physically and somewhere else mentally - the surest way to get a bullet to the dome short of doing it yourself. So she stamped down on the thoughts and shot Corric a small smile of her own before setting eyes on the next doorway. Corric had his plan and she had her's.

She keyed the radio so Isaac could listen in, "This is Carrion. I'm gonna go n' see 'bout gettin' us a ride."

When Corric opened the side-door, Ishale focused her attention on the still open double-doors she'd originally set her eyes on. She swept her rifle over the doorway as she drew closer. On any other world to describe the hallway as "dark" would have been inaccurate but by the standards of Hapan night vision it must have been hard to see their hands in front of their faces going just by the bare bulbs hanging from the ceiling. But it was enough that as Ishale moved to stand in the doorway and enter the hall she could tell that she was alone in the hall itself - but presented with numerous doorways for somebody to be hiding inside. So it was with a careful and slow step that she moved forward, the suppressed muzzle of her rifle always sweeping from one side to the other.

One step after the other. Careful footfalls. Until she noticed it.

A shadow in one of the doorways further down the hall. Somebody inside the doorway, waiting. Ishale drew a sharp breath and leveled her rifle on the doorway just as the shadow dipped away further into the room. As quickly as she dared, she crossed the distance to close in. She "pied the corner" as she went, even if she did a sloppy job of it by some standards.

It looked like a locker room at first. Until she saw ammo boxes on the benches just inside. An armory - or perhaps a prep room for a strike team.

Coming to stand in front of the doorway showed it was entirely empty. And that there wasn't a single person from the door to the far side of the room.

That she could see, Ishale reminded herself.

Ishale fished a spare magazine from her webbing as she stepped just to the side of the door.

A gentle toss and it clattered to the ground in front of the door.

"Die you fekking . . . !"

The young woman stood in the doorway looking a bit bewildered. She'd brought the hatchet down expecting to meet a skull and instead just met air. So now she stood hanging from the door frame. She looked rather lost when she found herself staring at a rifle magazine where an intruder should have been. And the sudden horror that came over her features was obvious as she dared look up at Ishale standing across the hall. There were all different types of fear that could set into somebody's eyes, Ishale had found.

Fear of the unknown - of things hiding in the shadows.

Fear of the inevitable. Pain and sadness you couldn't avoid, even if you saw it coming.

And fear of death. Unique in how it showed itself in every person.

The woman's was cold. Suddenly focused. Ishale usually only saw it in zealots - people who on a level not even the most seasoned soldiers could understand had come completely to terms with the possibility of death. As much as she may not have wanted to die - because who did - she wasn't afraid of it.

She let out her own little battle-cry and charged forward.

A round buried between her eyes and knocked her back.

"This is Carrion. One hostile down and it looks like I found a prep room. Donna leave a surprise for the QRF and move on."" She stepped inside and swept over the room again to make sure it was actually clear this time.

A couple of ammo boxes were retrieved and set down near the dead body before she quickly kicked them over. The illusion of movement and being surprised. The hatchet was returned to its holder at the woman's belt help keep up the illusion. Ishale got a detonator from her webbing. Primed to respond to vibration after ten seconds and stuffed under the body to muffle its sensors until somebody decided to move it. With that done Ishale stepped back and continued to move through to start sweeping rooms on her way to what she could only hope was a boat prime for the taking. Otherwise they'd have to shoot their way back out and evade any of the security element and the local authorities.




@Tristar
@Chask274

 

[Tristar]

Guilt was a terrifying thing. It is an abstract concept, and yet it weighted a ton- you never take into account of the hidden feeling before every action, before every twist of the muscle. Yet even then the black stone was heavy in his heart as Corric slunk away into the rain, unable to look back at Ishale. All he had to do was tell her what he suspected- no, knew. For all their bureaucratic and political shenanigans, the Imperial Intelligence was very predictable. A mock facade built around a power hungry force-based organization, it was no wonder that sooner or later the Sith's influence would leak off to the Imperium.

The soldier snorted, sprinting with his head down and a rifle clutched in his hands. He skirted around the edges of the building, sticking to the shadows and avoiding the puddles. Lightning and thunder and the frantic yells of the firefighters would not mask the sound of a trampling intruder at close range, so Corric still had to be light on his feet. And there was another reason to why he wanted to be quiet still even with the commotion: Isaac had reported at least half a dozen guards headed their way. Intent unknown. Direction unclear. Possibly lethal.

A sigh escaped from him as he ducked into an alcove, hidden from view as two men came into his field of vision, lights from their weapons tracking the dark, their eyes judging their environment. There had been no doubt, they were already out for blood but it was the matter of finding them that still allowed Corric to not curse in despair. He estimated their distance to be roughly 50 meters, but with the lights hampering their vision, he had a sneaking suspicion that he could easily bypass the first 30 meters without breaking a sweat.

The initial problem would remain unresolved even if he managed to dispatch the two nuisances- there was four more still hunting for them, and Corric couldn't counter-hunt these guys while looking out for suspicious documents at the same time. The duo stopped for a moment, inspecting a small space behind several wooden crates. He bit his lips in frustration as he mulled over his decisions. ". . .damn it, I'm sorry Roach."

Even here, he had to flee instead of fight. The burden of his guilt increased as an unnoticed shadow disappeared from its hiding spot, and the hunting duo was none the wiser.

* * * * *
​

The latch slid in with a jittering thud! as Corric locked the door behind him. No one saw him, he was certain. Compared to his last spec-ops stint where he had to break a garrison out from a siege, this was a cake walk. Even then, his fingers was still shaking. He wasn't afraid, and if he was he would seriously consider seeing a psychologist. No, it wasn't fear that had him shaking. It was a sickening feeling in him that he didn't want to admit, and he would honestly rather bite a bullet than have to say it, even to himself.

The raven-haired man muttered a foreign curse and looked up at his surroundings. He ran into the first door of the aforementioned building that his bird told him about, but even then he didn't expect there to be an office section on the ground floor. Of for there to be office workers in the middle of torching the damn files that he wanted to see. There was a thick smog of silence as the workers stared at him in fear, one of them holding a piece of paper precariously over a shredder. Their movements were frozen, stuck in place as all their eyes seemed to be glued to his figure, and judging from their expressions, Corric gleaned two precious pieces of information:

1. They were afraid of him.

2. They knew he wasn't part of the security detail.

He acted out of sheer instinct- his right hand whipped out his revolver and pointed it at them as he crouched against the door and propped the rifle up with his left hand, flipping off the safeties. This dangerous firing position was stupid in a practical point of view, and would likely damage the rifle and his shoulder (braced as it was against the door.) if he tried to shoot. But the beauty of the ploy was that the civilian workers didn't know that, and thus he retained some of his initial advantage. They didn't drop their items all at once, but the message was clearly understood. Slowly, he motioned for them to get down on the floor. When the last worker was faced down with her over her head, Corric slung the rifle over his shoulders but kept his revolver out as he began to zip-tie his hostages.

Piled up against the furthermost corner of the dingy room, Corric left his hostages to whisper to themselves as he rifled through the remaining files, selecting only those marked as highly important or anything that had the word 'Mother'. Whatever names she took for herself, royalty was still royalty and Corric still wanted that glorious chalk up on the side of his pauldrons the next time he deployed on the field. No one else would know except those who understood how important the chalk ups on his pauldrons were- and they would respect him for that, even if it involved a crime.

With a sizable stack of documents with him, he dumped them into a plastic bag and tied them to his sides. There wasn't enough time to bother reading them one by one, and he had gathered as much information as they could garner within their short time window. Now they had to focus on getting out of there, and if Isaac was too caught up handling the worker ants then the team would be in a very tight spot indeed. The second floor of the building was more offices and storerooms, one of which became the new home for his hostages, under lock and key of course. Third floor was more of the same, but the fourth floor proved to be more interesting- not only was it tall enough for him to spot the scene of his explosive commotion, there was a single room that stood out. Empty except for chairs and a single oak table, the purpose of the room wasn't much of a mystery.

Yet he didn't expect to find much- the head honchos wouldn't be so stupid to leave files of sensitive nature lying around in a place where anyone could just stumble upon. Even the office workers were under orders to burn sensitive material when under attack, even if they didn't have a clue what was happening. A small computer terminal was resting by the head of the table, and naturally Corric gravitated to the little key pad and screen. To his luck, the terminal was still logged in under the name Sys_admin1, which almost made him laugh out. To think someone like a system administrator would be so careless as to not logout from the computer was something he wouldn't have imagined happening, not in a thousand years. Setting his revolver down, the soldier began to transfer as much files as he could fit into his datapad from the servers. Minutes, details of their plans, anything could be within the files. It was a goldmine for sure, except even with a cable between the two networks it would take at least nine minutes for a full transfer of the server. If he compressed the files it would only take six. "Condor, this is Crow- I need time. Six mikes for a transfer. I'll help from my end but my line of sight is very limited. Over."

The meeting room gave him a nice view of the burning mess and the scurrying figures that ran helter skelter. If he didn't know the situation any better, Corric might have laughed. Instead he slide the window open, letting in the cold wind and wet rain into the room. One end of the table so that it was as close as possible to the opened window, Corric flipped open the rifle's bipod and set it up on the table's top before assuming a prone position on the table. Three massive clips stood next to his left hand, the bullets shining in the dim light. He would need every round, because he was very certain there was going to be a lot of misses- the wind, rain and the natural darkness of night time meant he was at a serious disadvantage, even if the other guards hadn't noticed him. What a miserable position he was in that he didn't notice the timid foot steps of a certain system administrator that had recently rushed back into the building from another entrance, shivering from the cold and anxiety of what had to be done next.

There had never been such a major f*ck up from an IT worker's point of view that required the physical action of violence.