Djak Mikos
SWRP Writer
- Joined
- Nov 19, 2010
- Messages
- 262
- Reaction score
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Jarek Marone
Age: 29
Imperial Stormtrooper #52045
No, ma’am, I really am a soldier. I’ve got the ID to prove it. See? IS-52045. The prefix, in case you didn’t know, stands for Imperial Stormtrooper. That’s right, I’m even a commando.
What, you got something against military men having long hair? Listen, fancypants, just cause you’re a navy woman doesn’t mean you know everything. You’ve never heard of the 221th Legion? Good—I’d have to shoot you if you had. Joking!
No, at Captain you’ve got the security clearances to know about us. Yeah, we’re the covert ops. The guys who work light-years behind enemy lines, or at the desk beside you. We’re invisible till we want to be seen. That’s our job.
Yeah, I’ve got security clearances like you won’t believe. And some of the reports I’ve read… well, let’s just say some officers will fall for anything! I can go anywhere I want, do anything I want, and order about any officers who aren’t in my direct chain of command. Didn’t know that either, did you? It’s kind of a pain, convincing brown-nosed Colonels that I really am who I say I am, but they always jump after they’ve confirmed it. As a member of Covert Ops, I can run Internal Affairs stings as well as long-range infiltrations, and no one wants me messing around with their business. There’s always dirt.
I’m a Captain as well, actually, but there’s no need to salute. No one ever does. We’re just faceless stormies, muddling about like the meat-heads in the five-oh-first. It’s surprising how much I overhear when wearing the armor. People tend to forget that, far from impeding my hearing, it actually comes with audio enhancers that allow me to eavesdrop like nothing. So the next time you’re dictating a sordid love letter to your boyfriend dirtside, make sure there’s no Shiny Boy in the vicinity. Better yet, learn to type.
How’d I get started? Well, I liked acting as a kid. Really enjoyed the power of wearing a different face every minute. Never grew out of it, just got a bigger need for thrills. Tell you what, there’s no feeling like watching some Republic fool believe your lies. It’s almost intoxicating.
Anyway, I’d better get back to the squad, we’ve got to leave in twenty minutes. That reminds me why I came up here in the first place—you need to drop out of hyperspace so we can exit. You won’t record the event in the log, and right after you resume travel you’re going to need to run the program on this datachip. It’ll erase all evidence that you deviated from the flight schedule. Cool?
All right. Hey, we’re doing the exfil with you as well—I’ll buy you a drink when I come back. Maybe I’ll even be allowed to tell you what went down.
See you around, beautiful.
Age: 29
Imperial Stormtrooper #52045
No, ma’am, I really am a soldier. I’ve got the ID to prove it. See? IS-52045. The prefix, in case you didn’t know, stands for Imperial Stormtrooper. That’s right, I’m even a commando.
What, you got something against military men having long hair? Listen, fancypants, just cause you’re a navy woman doesn’t mean you know everything. You’ve never heard of the 221th Legion? Good—I’d have to shoot you if you had. Joking!
No, at Captain you’ve got the security clearances to know about us. Yeah, we’re the covert ops. The guys who work light-years behind enemy lines, or at the desk beside you. We’re invisible till we want to be seen. That’s our job.
Yeah, I’ve got security clearances like you won’t believe. And some of the reports I’ve read… well, let’s just say some officers will fall for anything! I can go anywhere I want, do anything I want, and order about any officers who aren’t in my direct chain of command. Didn’t know that either, did you? It’s kind of a pain, convincing brown-nosed Colonels that I really am who I say I am, but they always jump after they’ve confirmed it. As a member of Covert Ops, I can run Internal Affairs stings as well as long-range infiltrations, and no one wants me messing around with their business. There’s always dirt.
I’m a Captain as well, actually, but there’s no need to salute. No one ever does. We’re just faceless stormies, muddling about like the meat-heads in the five-oh-first. It’s surprising how much I overhear when wearing the armor. People tend to forget that, far from impeding my hearing, it actually comes with audio enhancers that allow me to eavesdrop like nothing. So the next time you’re dictating a sordid love letter to your boyfriend dirtside, make sure there’s no Shiny Boy in the vicinity. Better yet, learn to type.
How’d I get started? Well, I liked acting as a kid. Really enjoyed the power of wearing a different face every minute. Never grew out of it, just got a bigger need for thrills. Tell you what, there’s no feeling like watching some Republic fool believe your lies. It’s almost intoxicating.
Anyway, I’d better get back to the squad, we’ve got to leave in twenty minutes. That reminds me why I came up here in the first place—you need to drop out of hyperspace so we can exit. You won’t record the event in the log, and right after you resume travel you’re going to need to run the program on this datachip. It’ll erase all evidence that you deviated from the flight schedule. Cool?
All right. Hey, we’re doing the exfil with you as well—I’ll buy you a drink when I come back. Maybe I’ll even be allowed to tell you what went down.
See you around, beautiful.