Log:Sith Empire: Consequences Don't Knock
The Sith Empire seems a sleeping giant when in truth it is a ravenous beast biding its time. When it moves, it is already too late to stop it.
Months ago, a high-ranking Admiral of the Sith Fleet was assassinated on Thyferra by an elite group of operatives. This lead to the escalation of the war there what saw the Republic and First Order both routed. The Sith dug their claws into the main bacta supply and solidified their control. Oh, but it's not over. There is still the matter of rooting out the mastermind that plotted and funded the assassination. Closer the shadow does creep upon the head of the man responsible.
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Consequences Don't Knock
OOC Date: December 18, 2022
Location: Halanit
Participants: Xavier Harcourt (GM), Tamsin Cas, Hadrix Kora (EX-5211), Kohnner (Cian McQwerty), Khalim (Juke Liral), Grafn Struss, Sith Empire
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Yan Zhu, the classy and compassionate man that he is, decided at some point to make one of his terrestrial strongholds on a forgotten, frozen moon in Halanit. Not an offense on the face of it until one realizes this is the solitary 'city' that colonists had managed to build before they were completely eradicated in the Bacta Wars. What remained was abandoned -- a tomb for the lives lost and the atrocities they suffered. Though some see gain and profit in all corners.
It is a cluster of buildings closest to the center that is now occupied by a small crew of hired guns and various contacts that use the place to lay low when the heat is on. One in particular has been reinforced with shield barriers, automatic turrets, and inches-thick blast doors. Even under the protection of the dome, it is frigid here. Steam from the thermal hear below the icy crust billows up from vents to help fend off the life-ending cold and no doubt this same steam energy powers the building soon to be set upon.
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--Xavier--
Halanit is a cold moon that orbits a minor, unnamed gas giant in the Colony region between the Core Worlds and the Inner Rim. Upon this frozen moon only made habitable by geothermal heat, they had build a single city under a transparisteel dome. Lacking any profitable natural recourses, the those who colonized this moon were left unmolested by the Alliance and Galactic Empire alike. It was durning the Bacta Wars when a disease spread throughout the colony that the residents sought aid from Rogue Squadron. Little did they know that accepting the bacta offered to them would seal their fate.
It has been over 25 years now since the colonists of Halanit were brutally utterly massacred and their achievements, not even three decades old, remained uninhabited. Until recent history. Beneath the frosted-over dome that once protected a population of 10,000 now has found a new purpose serving as a terrestial base for Yan Zhu. One of many. So why target this one in particular?
<<"Before we attack our primary target, we need to humble it first. That is where you all come in.">> It's Xavier's voice over the secured communication line though he is not physically present. <<"The facility you will be infiltrating was made to house families and community. A lot of good it did them. Mister Zhu has since modified it to suit his needs. You are to prove his efforts futile. The Councilor will be your team lead. They have the directions you need to go and what it is we're looking for. I recommend making sure you are not seen prior to attaining the information I need. Kill anyone that gets in your way.">>
There is the sound of a lighter flicking over the comms followed by a laugh. <<"Make sure Yan knows you were there on your way out.">> Wherever he is, Xavier is in good spirits. That does not bode well for others, but definitely isn't the present group's problem to deal with. <<"All yours, Councilor.">>
--Tamsin--
The Councilor stood still and silent for the entirety of the journey though sublight and hyperspace, not something those who and worked with them would find unfamiliar. A grim, dark presence at the shoulder of the transport's pilot, watching the play of space and something other than space flashing across the featureless face of their mask. It was only once the transport was inbound that the figure stepped away, moving towards the crew compartment where the strike team had been gathered. Even the communication from the cigarette smoking man did not elicit a reply until it was over.
"We will be moving under best covert cover until we arrive at the dome." A gloved hand rose, gesturing towards a MSE droid who began to project a topographical map of the environment surrounding the compound. "Based on prior reconnaissance, this," the display highlighted a series of shielded doors which were used to move supplies in and out, but was small and likely not nearly as well used as others which could be seen on the display, "is likely to be our best point of entry. However, we will evaluate once we are on the ground." Plans changed. Plans almost always changed.
--EX-5211 (Hadrix)--
Secondary utility belt checked, charges packed, spare power packs ready, Fifty-Two-Eleven listened to the brief. Expression hidden behind the crimson plastoid helmet, only the reflective black visor looking ahead blankly.
<"Doors are often more-reinforced than the walls alongside them, it could possibly serve to plant cutting charges next to the doors to make entry. It may also cause problems with their electric if the 'right' lines are cut in the process."> F-11 in its holster and the stormtrooper's hands rested on his knees.
<"As a suggestion.">
--Cian (Kohnner)--
Cian McQwerty, former SpecOps for the First Order turned Sith contractor and all around scum bag mercenary was everything to be expected from a blue collar family on Fondor. He had zero manners other than standard military etiquette. He swore like a sailor, and he had that rough and tumble sense about him. <<"Oi.">> He mouthed through the vocorder on the commando armor he wore. Something akin to standard trooper armor but black and with an equally impressive and swooshy bantha hide cape. <<"Lucky me nubs ant freezin' just yet, innit?">> This asked of no-one in particular more than likely just himself.
He looked to 'The Councilor' as they arrived from the cockpit, adjusting the A-280 resting in a quick response holster across his chest plate, gloved hand gripping the pistol grip. The comm instructions had been pretty simple.
<<"Quiet 'n deadly. Aye, si-ma-... Councilor.">> A look to the trooper, <<"Could work.">>
--Juke (Khalim)--
Cold. Juke Liral knew that grip of cold that played about his person, that tried to sneak past those thermally insulated layers that had the appearance of fashion yet the discrete function of polyweave armor. It was cousin to the cold that had long since gripped his heart, and squeezed into the hardened kernel that now occupied that deepest, coldest of his personal spaces.
A cold heart was conducive to cold deals, and the ethereal rime that crusted the edges of those piles of credits he'd accumulated doing jobs such as these had become a familiar, welcome reality. More often than not, these days, he'd become the one paying out the credits but some jobs, and some personalities, remained too lucrative, and too convincing, to ignore.
Juke leans in to examine the holographic map, ice blue eyes etching over that space identified by the counselor. "Plans do tend to dissapear when you're not looking, which is why it's always nice to carry extras." He taps thin air with a finger, a space near that lonely shielded door. "This is an inverse prison, essentially." A curt nod is sent to the large armored Hadrix-like Mandalorian. "Which means breaking things is only likely to help us, in the short term and long."
--Grafn--
Grafn was certainly clad in dark armour, adorned with Imperial decals that certainly harked back to the days when he actually wore those sigils with pride. Though back then he also fit into his armour somewhat better than he presently did. A snare gun was slung against his back, and an equally non-lethal pistol stowed and holstered at his side. A helmeted glance is given those in attendance, likewise so the grim and silent Councillor. Grafn cast his gaze towards the pilots bringing them in under the cover of darkness, impressed by their manner and professionalism. The old pilot quite enjoying the smooth ride for one as he adjusts his weight and position slightly, kicking out a leg and leaning forward as he waits for the inevitable. The Stormtroopers suggestions nodded at lightly, likewise their observations. "It'll be grand working with you all, truly. I'll be honoured to see you in action."
--Xavier--
Why target this one in particular? The answers will come as the team vetures forth, but of all of Yan's assets, this one is one of the most hidden. Buried on a frozen rock that no one knew before the Bacta Wars and has forgotten about since. Is the fat smuggler merely an avid fan of onsens and saunas? Probably. But there is more to it than the mental image of a portly man with nothing but a towel around his waist.
The building is heavily secured but the manpower patroling the area is minimum at best. It takes a considerable amount of money paid to hired gunmen to convince them to stay in a freezing location with it's only notable view is that of a gaseous planet no one bothered to name. So the outside of the building is instead guarded by an automated system of mounted turrets and the occasional ball droid swinging by in rotation. Any human resistance will only be found inside.
Thus making their approach all the easier. The ship lands a distance away, hidden behind a large wall of ice and rick forcing the troupe to make the trek on foot. Aside from testing the quality of their armor's thermal retainers, it allows them to slip in through a blindspot in the dome and navigate the haphazard city blocks until they close in on the main building.
--Tamsin--
Once the orders had been given, the Councilor had waited for the ship to touch down, and then, the journey began. They moved with a slow, deliberate pace, allowing more than enough time to get a sense of the environment. if that also meant that their thermal suits, or lack there of were pushed to the limit, well, welcome to the Sith Empire. Pain was beauty. So was suffering. The Councilor lifted a hand, gesturing for the group to slow, as they made their way into the city and approached the building that was their destination. Held at a place protected from view of the building, they stood in silence. Not awkward, only thoughtful. Finally, they spoke outlining the pattern they were reading from watching the movements of the guards. "Four, moving in tandem, following the same path. Movement time three minutes. We have a window, here, to get us to that access door." Six minutes to get to the door and inside. Plenty of time.
--EX-5211 (Hadrix)--
<"Copy."> the Sithtrooper nods, rifle out and held ready since they'd begun their approach, slipping through the window noted by Tamsin. Taking initiative to slip ahead, letting his rifle hang by its strap and pulling cutting charges from his equipment hangars when he is meters away.
Sliding to a stop EX-5211 is to work, fixing the primaries before demo-tape is unrolled between and keys are tapped to start them priming, <"Ready on your signal, three seconds for the cut, then charge it to force it down."> another pair of charges and a line of demolitions cord strung between finishing the outline before he steps back and to one side. Shape charges, yes. Meant to blow in a specific direction, but only an idiot stands directly in front assuming everything will work just fine.
--Cian (Kohnner)--
Despite his mouth, Cian McQwerty was astoundingly professional. He quieted as soon as the craft touched down. Stood with efficient movement and a matter of purpose, then raised his rifle and began down the boarding ramp to establish a defensive and LZ perimeter. He scans with the HUD in his helmet, keeping an eye in the distance.
When the order to move out is given, he keeps proper formation and pace, showing off his previous Imperial training and just how good that was. As they arrive at the door where EX begins to set a charge, Cian takes up a defensive post along the wall. As he's doing this he watches the turrets and the floating automation. <<"Well ant tha' suntin'.">>
He looks over his shoulder to Tamsin. <<"Ifinn' we remain covert. Gettin' outa this place might be a hassle.">> He points with gloved hands up towards the floating droid. <<"That there lil' bopper is targetin' fo' the turrets out here... damn near instant iffin' ya ask me.">> He makes a few tsk sounds with his mouth.
A nod to EX as he announces the charge being ready, then prepares himself for the blast.
--Grafn--
Grafn hangs back, he has faith in these slick and sleek youngsters in their dark armour and their efficient ways. Grafn's own ways were far from efficient, though when it came to piloting and driving, efficiency was indeed the thing! Swift and perilous descents and wild extractions were something that kept his heart pounding, that and brandy. A glance is given the surroundings, and a battered speeder is noted and tagged mentally. It looks like a mess of junk, but in a pinch, it would suffice. Turning his visored gaze to the charges, Grafn smiles a faint if Sarlaccian grin at what is to come.
<<"Received.">> That Coruscanti rumble thrums across the airwaves, short and sweet. He huddles back, feeling the chill slowly seeping into his old bones, but warmth is but a few paces away. That and possible death, but either is preferable to the cold.
--Juke (Khalim)--
Layers make the journey something almost tolerable, though its the form-fitting settle of concealed nano-latticed armor, light and flexible, that keeps that extra bit of warmth close at haned. A fleece balaclava has been pulled up, concealing Juke's face, though puffs of breath still produce little clouds as he maneuvers upon the small strike team's left side. A gloved hand had long since slipped an ol' reliable out of its bantha-hide holster, the short barelled PB-08, - a venerable, rare hand cannon - held at the low ready.
As the team begins to force entry into their targeted building Juke settles off to one side, a knee taken as he keeps watch. Though those rolling sentries seemed to adhere to an identifiable rhythm, all plans met their makers once boots were on the ground. <"No movers yet,"> he calls over their shared frequency.
--Xavier--
The charges set and several eyes and ears keeping aware of their surroundings, the main building is breeched with expert percision and one by one, the team slip inside the hole made only big enough for one person at time. As if they were not even there, the team has already disappeared into the depths of the building and a few minutes later, the next functional droid hovers over scanning for movement and finding none.
Inside the compound it is considerably warmer and well lit. As Xavier had mentioned, this building was confirmed a former community center for the doomed colonists that had lived here. The main entrance is a large room that had served as a public space for recreation, town meetings, celebrations, and when Ysanne Isard arrived to punish the colonist for imbedding the Rogue Squadron, this building served as their last chace at survival.
It failed.
Now it is in disarry. Clearly Yan saw no point in decorating the place at any point. A far cry from a summer home, it grows more and more apparant that this place isn't a base at all: it is a vault. One that is patrolled by pairs of human security guards haunting the various rooms on the main level. Or they should be. Everyone can immediate hear from a side room immediately to the right two voices casually bickering to each other over a hand of cards.
--Tamsin--
Once the team was inside, and gathered again, the Councilor's hand lifted once again, pulling the team to a hold, as they waited. Only for the space of enough time to take a breath or perhaps three, before they spoke, that vocorded voice made even more alien as it travelled over their shared comms. "Within my current field of reference, two life forms, likely guards to the right in the room beyond the storage crates. Two more to the left but further away. Four directly above us on the second level. Two more on the third directly above. Four are forward. We need to secure the data first, and then take care of eliminating the guards and others in the building. The stairs are forward of our position and to the right."
--EX-5211 (Hadrix)--
Steps turning into sharp turns with the barrel of the trooper's rifle sweeps to one side then another - checking corners and potential blind spots. Light steps gliding 5211 forward, keeping to poorly lit areas and slinking to the stairwell.
<"Moving down, watch your six and keep going."> rifle adjusted to hip fire if the need arises and another charge drawn from the bandolier, scanning surroundings on the descent for potential place to put it, should a more dynamic exit be required once the primary objective is handled.
--Cian (Kohnner)--
In a slight crouch, his rifle extended, Cian takes up position on the far side of the wall opposite of EX and just behind him. He keeps his tactical light off, instead using the low light scanner on his Augmented Reality System inside his helm. He gave a simple click in affirmation over the secure group comms to Tamsin.
He glanced to the room they moved past, slowly, one foot before the other balancing on the balls of his feet. Quiet and careful, not once drawing the attention of those in the room. At least not this Fondorian Operator. That might be the folly of others in the group.
--Juke (Khalim)--
Now surrounded by warmth, that cloth face covering is pulled down causing it to pool about Juke's neck. Each step from here on in is more careful, more certain, and involving much more in the way of carefully aimed pistol coverage. As the team briefly pauses to absorb the counselor's report, he sends a few extended looks towards the door beyond which apparently two guards are actively avoiding their assigned duty. Once the team steps back out he keeps to a wall, not quite disappearing within its shadows but quiet enough, and quick enough, to move beyond without incident. A moment's glance is shared with the team's guide and leader, before he says, <"Pretty good intel."> And it was. Remarkably good, almost as if whoever was behind that identity-concealing armor was tapped into the darkest corners of the building's comms network. Sure, that was it.
--Grafn--
Grafn's voice crackles over the comms. <<"Those holes in the walls, up by the ceiling... they look new.">> The voice low and rumbly, warm and tinged with the lingering remnants of the brandy that likely lubricated his vocal chords prior to setting off on this mission. Yet it is perhaps the noting of something that could be down to duracrete rats, or something else malicious that has Grafn stumble for a moment, a boot-shod foot scuffing the ground, and then another noise as he seeks to cover up the last. There's no denying that Grafn was heard, and indeed his mind races for an instant as he knows all too well that the enemies will likely be coming. Looking to those ahead he simply utters. <<"Continue onwards. Mission comes first. I've got this.">> And in plain view, for that is indeed where he is. He pauses, letting his darkly clad bulk conceal the sneaky efforts of those moving onwards with the mission in mind. One thing for sure, could Grafn be a threat? He has no weapon drawn after all.
--Xavier--
Two guards -- and I'm using that term liberally here -- are lounging on two fold out chairs at a table. Both have a hand of cards each and a pile in the middle, the corners bent and the edges stained with who-knows-what. Helmets are off yet laying nearby so that they can hear any comm chatter that may erupt, though given their bored expressions, that's not happened in.... ever.
"Yeah, my girlfriend is nagging me about getting some security job down in Coruscant. Says I need to get more serious about my future."
"Are you kiddin' me? What does she know?"
"Right?" Troubled Boyfriend throws his card onto the pile and sighs. "She wants me to meet her parents and said I can't do that working for some tubby smuggler on a frozen rock."
"Pffft. She even know how much we get paid for this gig? Ain't gonna get that on Coruscant." Supportive Friend sneers a bit at the pile in front of him and draws three from the deck. "Easiest credits I've ever made even if I'm freezin' the hair offa my--"
Both men stop and jerk their heads over towards the sound, seeing Grafn in all of his unarmed glory. Both furrow their brows, but it is Supportive Friend that is the first to rise and scold. "Who the hells are you?"
--Tamsin--
"Complete the mission. We will follow behind you." The Councilor stepped aside, allowing EX-5211 to take over temporary operational control of getting the team to the stairs, and with luck, down towards the basement. And as quick as the moment between one breath and the next, they were gone, disappearing into the darkness amongst the trash and detritus of the level, moving into option behind the two guards who were now moving to confront the old pilot. The Councilor was not there, and then, in a breath, the were, the familiar snap-hiss of a saber igniting heralding the end of such trivial problems as meeting parents. Two quick slashes and one man was now two parts, the other losing his head. "Move the bodies out of sight and continue on with the mission, pilot." Of course, there would be some force assistance. One did not tire out such a fine racing horse as one Grafn Strauss by assigning him to garbage detail.
--EX-5211 (Hadrix)--
Continuing on mission, trusting the Councilor to handle things behind, 5211 continues forward - stock to his shoulder and keeping attention focused. Steady going and letting his vision focus on all and nothing to keep aware of HUD readouts being displayed before him when brackets appear and guards are highlighted.
<<"Contact, eliminating.">>
The voice a whisper despite the use of closed circuit comms and a pair of crimson bolts trace locations. One guard is thrown back against the wall, smoke pouring out of their mouth, sliding down to the floor while the other strikes wide of the mark, blackening the wall and then adding flickering illumination with the small fire burning in the aftermath.
--Cian (Kohnner)--
<<"Proper distraction iffin' I ever saw one, innit?">> Cian quips as he moves a bit faster on his light feet, rounding the corner where the stairs are. He may not have ever left a man behind, but there were instances where those men were titled as a distraction or... a sacrifice. Yes, he was indeed a sniveling backstabber. Don't trust this Fondorian to carry you out of a burning building or a horribly outmatched gunfight. He will use you as a shield.
As him and Trooper EX come upon the two guards, they are quick to engage. Pressed against the wall and making himself as small as possible, the A280 roars to life. A red bolt zips past the remaining security member and slams into the wall behind leaving a smoking hole. <<"Stang.">>
--Juke (Khalim)--
The mission always came first. Well, sometimes revenge superceded, or unexpected profit motives manifesting an offramp. But now? In this moment? Mission. Juke had halted long enough to look back and see Grafn's recovery and their urging forward by the counselor and he complies. The strike team's forward trio continue to make their way, and the corridor's terminus is quickly before them. Of the pair of guards that block their way, one is immediately cut down, the other forced onto the defense by a fusilade of blaster fire.
That blunt-nosed pistol barks twice, Juke sending brilliant red lances of his own. One splashes harmlessly against the far bulkhead but the other... it catches the guard in the right arm, a wound that does not kill, but may as well have as it's very clearly the man's dominant and now far less useful for the impact. <"One down, one injured,"> Juke alerts over the team's shared comms.
--Grafn--
"Me?!" Grafn laughs brightly and warmly, a veritable rumble of Coruscanti warmth and friendliness. A promise of sweet delicious banter, the prospect of advice as to the woes of ones love life, the Uncle-esque cameraderie that would have likely seen a bond that spanned the ages formed in that very moment. "I'm the relief. I was sent here to make sure you glorious fellows weren't too encumbered with the cold, I have Coruscanti brandy and nerf jerky outside in dire need of unloading. I'll not tell of your gambling and ignorance of your duty, and you'll not tell of my smuggling contraband in here for us to enjoy! Eh?!" A wink is offered //JUST// as the Councillor moves into action, a whirling dervish of red energy and force. Why the two are cut down in their prime, slashed and cut asunder by powers beyond their ken.
And Grafn? He simply gestures warmly to the bodies as they topple and slump, charred and ruined, their lives forever changed in a most final manner. "I am the one who'll have to inform your dear partner that you are no more, I shall be sure to offer my condolences... my new dear friends." A nod to one, a nod to the other. Still no weapon drawn. "I would have recommended Coruscant in all honesty, at least the parts that aren't on fire." And indeed as so ordered, Grafn gently bows towards the Councillor. "As you command Councillor." Oh the bodies are dragged... dragged and artfully arranged to resume their game of cards. Propped up neatly. Cards positioned into dead curled fingers. Trunk of a body set back atop legs that had long departed their original task. If one ignores the cold dead stares, the unmoving game of poker, and the scent of death in the air, it could if you squint appear quite normal. In a creepy non-Taxidermy-esque way.
--Xavier--
A flash of red and two lives are extinguished like a match in a storm. Left behind to be posthumously humilated as Grafn sets them back up in their chairs, carefully placing the cauterized top half on atop the bottom half of Supportive Friend. Cards are placed into dead hands. Clouding eyes stare at nothing. It is rather horrific if also morbidly hilarious.
Down below, the trio have met against competeant guards that take their paychecks seriously. This goes about as well for them as it did for the card-players. One is immediately taken out, erased from his post standing next to his brother-in-arms whose first reaction is that of shock. He can barely register that his friend has fallen when a shot whizzes past him and hits the wall beyond.
"Who--!" He raises his pistol to fire down the corridor at Cian, but a shot from Juke pummels his shoulder and send the bolt up into the ceiling. He teeters back disoriented yet quickly rallies and fumbles to find the switch to his communicator.
--Tamsin--
Neither praise nor admonition came from the Councilor, though they did make minor adjustments to the bodies. More concern was with rejoining the team, and ensuring that the other guards, or at least those still living inside of the building were not converging on their location. "We will need to copy and then wipe all security tapes as part of the mission. I sense no alert from the other warm bodies moving through the building." While the Councilor was not concerned with being revealed, in so far as anything could be discerned about them, the same could not be said for other members of the team. The sound of muffled blaster fire only served to direct the Councilor's path towards the stairs.
--EX-5211 (Hadrix)--
A third blast from the F-11 stops the attempts to signal for aid, <<"Neutralized.">> provided by comms to The Councilor. 5211 continuing towards the door, rotating at his third step to check behind and then halting into position by the bodies - checking for any incoming additions to the small party the team on advance had run into.
The red armored soldier is quiet again, alert and watching with his blaster still raised - taking in all of the information that his suits sensors can feed to him.
--Cian (Kohnner)--
As the last sentry at the stairs goes down, Cian is already moving towards the lumped corpses. He kicks them lightly with his foot, keeping his rifle trained on them, checking if they were completely dead or not. A snarky little laugh is given. <<"Lesee wut you got, mate.">> He says, kneeling down and properly going through each body. He uses his rifle's stock as support. Pad pad pad, roll, pad pad dig. The first one had nothing. He waddles to the next. Same process. Pad Pad pad, roll, pad pad dig... <<"Oh wut do we 'ave 'ere.">>
He pulls out a key card and flashes it as he holds it delicately between two gloved fingers. Then, whistling he stands and moves to the door. Lifts his rifle with one hand and keeps his body behind the wall. Finally he swipes the key card and the door starts to open. He raises his rifle, unsure of any enemies ahead.
--Juke (Khalim)--
Barely a moment after that second guard is put to sleep Juke's past the newly emptied guard post and slipping into whatever bits of shadow that stairwell affords. <"Juke. Breaching stairwell."> His words come softly, an attempt to maintain as much stealth as he's able top maintain as he navigates downwards and then...
A basement. Exactly as one might expect a basement within a building such as this to look. Massive pillars supporting the weight of the structure above are surrounded by crates, supplies and contraband and whatever else might be hidden within closed containers. Surprisingly, at least to Juke, there are no /people/. No guards. <"I've arrived at the basement,"> he broadcasts, still nearly a whisper, <"Nobody down here, but..."> That single, thick door dominates the space. <"Found our room though, I think.">
He approaches the door, pistol held to fore, sighted on that reinforced portal.
--Grafn--
Grafn follows after Tamsin and the group, eying the dead bodies as he draws on along the latest firefight. They seem to have gone down quick, and Grafn nods approvingly having heard only the remnants of a swift and vicious firefight. The stairs ensure some measure of creaking and grinding of armour, it isn't stealthy. it isn't subtle. And Grafn's wheezing over the comms is vaguely annoying.But by the time he gets to the bottom of those stairs, the old pilot turns to eye the way back up with a glance that speaks of mild annoyance. Stairs. Bantha-damned stairs! Grafn leans against the wall at the bottom for a moment, armour scraping against the duracrete as he catches his breath. This was why he was a pilot, he got to sit down and be amazing! This involves standing! And movement! <<"I'm here!">>
--Xavier--
They regroup in the basement, carefully making their way towards their final goal. No detail is spared as they scope every nook and cranny as they go, straining eyes, ears, and other senses to make sure their approach is a smooth one. They reach the door and Cian tries the keycard, but -- huh. There's no terminal at all. No means whatsoever to even get this door open. No conventional means, anyways. A snap from Tamsin's saber, however, provides a rather speedy solution. The sinister crimson blade makes quick work of what turns out not to be a door at all but to be a complete seal. Whatever is inside of here, Yan did /not/ want it getting out.
Which would explain why the moment the seal of the barrier is broken, alarms start going off all throughout the the base. The light above the door turns a menacing red and in the floors above, the confused scuttling of feet can be heard rallying and making their way in the team's direction.
Ah, but inside is a small room. Unassuming, really. A few small boxes of datafiles surrounding a small terminal isolated from the compound's circuitry. It is this small nugget of information they had been seeking. One that everyone in this building was hired to protect.
--Tamsin--
As the group prepped for incoming, the Councilor looked inside to the data stored there. "Eliminate all enemy intruders." As this technically their space? No. But this was the Sith. They did not concern themselves with technicalities. For now, the team was in their place, and any comers were Not Supposed to Be Here (tm). The Councilor moved inside, beginning the work of gathering the information from the shielded computer, working quickly, with the need for speed that long experience has taught them. The datafiles were likewise collected, disappearing into various and sundry pockets inside those voluminous robes. Anything that was on the security tapes, those would come after the targeted prize.
--Cian (Kohnner)--
While Cian hadn't any technical ability outside of demolitions like his Trooper compatriot EX, he certainly knew to keep his wits about it. As soon as lights started to flash red and alarms blared, Cian was looking about for any kind of cover he could find. <<"We can funnel 'em through the stairs. Choke point.">> He says to the others, flipping over some dusty old piece of furniture (It's a basement) for cover and getting behind it.
As soon as Yan's security come through the entrance, Cian lights them up. The combined fire of his and EX's fire taring into one of them and sending them home early to their maker. <<"Gettin' outa 'ere with those turrets is guna be a blast, innit?">>
Cian starts to cackle at his own pun.
--Juke (Khalim)--
"Well kriff," Juke mutters, though it's to himself rather than transmitted. Likely a shared sentiment as that alarms begin alarming, and the remainder of the installation's guards suddenly become much more attentive. A hive of suddenly agitated hrelan bees, and the strike team at its heart.
Settling in on the other side of that broken seal, the job of securing that data is left to their enigmatic counselor as those bees start buzzing in. Shots ring out, and Juke's contribution is a trio of red splashes against the far wall. Sparks erupt, bright crimson illumination as each bolt takes a divot out of reinforced duracrete, but no responding guards are hit. Not by him, at least.
--Grafn--
Grafn having loitered at the base of the stairs is ideally placed to raise that snare pistol of his, take sweet sweet cover against the wall, and fire off a clunky dual-cannister towards the incoming enemies. The twin cannisters that are fired do two things, they erupt messily, with the snare goop of one splashing instantly upon hitting its target with a heavy thud! That goop hardening as the second cannister sparks a stun charge that erupts throughout the conductive mess that just splashed over the throng of guards all channeling themselves down towards the group! Non-lethal for sure! But boy does it inspire spasms aplenty and awkwardness as the snare hardens. Grafn merely glances across at Cian and smirks behind his mask, another heavy shot is taken...while the sparks dance about the splash zone up on the stairs the the awakened guards. <<"We're almost there!">>
--Xavier--
The nougaty center of this icecube of a base is now in the hands of the Sith Empire. Everything that sealed room had to offer is pilfered and plundered with much aplomb. Now all that remains is making their way back out and leaving a trail of notable destruction in their path. The orders were quite clear in that regard.
Tamsin has the fruit of their collective labors and now it is a mad-dash to the exit. Made all the easier for them when Grafn clears the way expertly! Barreling up the stairs, our intrepid infiltrators are met with more restistance; paid-guards who know the value of a hard-earned credit! They open fire as soon as they see the invaders, showing no mercy to those that have rendered their jobs moot.
--Tamsin--
With the information gathered, now as the time to make their escape. And so, the Councilor did, moving at speed as the saber returned to their hand, cutting down one of the guards as they moved to locate the closest security control terminal. That, also, took a saber to the metaphorical neck, so that, with luck, the turrets would not activate as they moved. As they moved, they called back, EX-5211, seal the doors. The fire team will come in and handle the razing of the building." The Councilor always, always had a fire team on standby. Call it a quirk. Call it...their ultimate insurance policy.
--Cian (Kohnner)--
Despite how much of a backstabbing coward Cian was. Self interested, narcissistic, and petty, he seemed to take offense to the act of cowardice that involved getting shot in the back. Twice.
He had just made it up the stairs and past the group of incapacitated hired guards when two bolts leaped out and bit him hard in the torso. He fell to the ground with a thug and a groan. It took a moment for him to pick himself up, his chest plate still smoldering and smoking, a bit of flame flicking in the impact points. He turned, his HUD targeting an individual who wanted to take another shot at him. <<"Oi ya Cu-">> He pulled the trigger, the blast of the A280 drowning out his expletive. One his people were very famous for using. The bolt sends the guard flying back and onto the ground dead in a smoldering head. Then, he ran, booking it towards the ex-filtration point. Not looking back for the others.
--Juke (Khalim)--
It becomes a test, this engagement, of destructive accuracy as outbound bolts begin dropping those angry bees. The hive quiets, little by little, save the light and sonic fury of those klaxons as the installation's defenders simply die. As the team begins pulling out Juke follows suit, lancing a pair of crimson bolts into the body of a Shadowport retainer that sends the hired gun sprawling backwards, and leaves him motionless. What follows is nothing less than a dash for freedom, and yet as luck always does, in its own time... Juke's runs out.
Two bolts hit home, searing through those out layers of fabric intended to fight off the cold waiting outside. The tightly woven nanofibers beneath, that body-conforming armor that serves as an underlayer, it manages to dissipate some of that heat and energy, but not all. Juke suddenly finds himself on one knee, forced to ground with a breathless grunt, but with a grit of teeth he pushes off and continues that dash to freedom. Freedom and pay, and now some guarantee of downtime.
Better downtime than permasleep.
--Grafn--
Grafn limps his way from the mission, firing off a shot that admittedly goes wide over the heads of those angry sorts that have taken a dislike to their presence. That speeder, noted earlier, is claimed in order to spare his leg. And a seat offered to anyone in dire need. It'll be a swift and smooth journey back to the ship. One thing for sure, Grafn aches. He aches good! But damn it's good to feel alive! The wind whipping about! Freedom! Service to the Sith! Creds! And glory! And more reasons to drink. Grafn makes good his escape!
--Xavier--
As misfortunate would have it, this base is not being guarded by a bunch of mall cops but rather a mix of slackers among a slew of ex-military mercenaries. Those are the ones that have stormed down to meet the agents as they race to the exit. Pistols and blasters at the ready, they effectively pepper the group with bolts before the courtesy is repaid in kind. The Sith agents quite literally cut a way through the guards and run back through the room with the two dead card players locked in their eteranl, silent game. So macabre.
On their way out, Juke spots a droid making its way towards them -- it's opics glowing red and buzzing with the same high alert from the alarms blaring inside. On instinct, the man takes a shot that brings the droid down; poking out the mounted turrets' eyes and giving them a temporary blindspot to their escape.
Grafn directs them to the hunk'o'junk speeder he had spied earlier on, guiding them to pile inside. With EX-5211 sliding behind the wheel, he races away from the base as Tamsin deflects more blaster bolts and Cian returns fire -- both taking out at least one guard each as they make their getaway. Later on, the base would be set upon again. This time by the fire crew who makes sure a message is sent in the language of ashes and burned corpses.
To Whom it May Concern: You will not have another restful sleep.
