The Major
M E M O R Y
Hex L-49 // Approaching the Hanger Bay // Daisya Infiltrator
Faction = First Order: [member="Therran Graush"] | [member="Asharad Graush"] | [member="Robogeber"] | [member="Cyrus Tregessar"] | [member="Kyrel Ren"] | [member="Sieger Ren"] | [member="Natasi Fortan"] | [member="Khonsu Amon"] | [member="Emilia Ravel"] | [member="Morro"] | [member="Ara Zambrano"] | [member="Samka Derith"]
Enemies: The Galactic Alliance: [member="Cathul Thuku"] | [member="Eralam"] and their compatriots
Status: Penetrating the flagship of [member="Lily Kuhn"]
Notable PCs in Vicinity: The merry cousins Graush
Summary of actions at bottom of post \\
It would be acceptable for one to mistake the dreadful quiet of the ride over to the Red Veil as peaceful. Operatives remained pensive, tense, and awaiting the inevitable explosion of action to come. For the Security Bureau agent, this silent trip was similar to a frantic Hell. Fear welled up in her throat as the prospect of being caught in the crossfire those massive turbolaser batteries streaking their hot energy across the starlight expanse. At least, she mused, it would be quick if they died now -vaporized like the insignificant clumps of dust and tissue they all inevitably would become. Seconds stretched on for what seemed like infinity. Fighting back an urge to squirm, the Hunter reviewed her equipment and various slicing tools that might come in use. While she certainly didn’t have enough gear to conduct some kind of ridiculous feat of shipwide control, which she imagined would take a highly specialized unit of cryptoanalysts no small amount of time, the Major would be able to bypass simple things like localized locked doors or basic turret configurations. Naturally, like all things it would be tentative. Other highlights of her compliment of tax funded killing potential included thermal imploders (a favorite) and flashbang grenades. Most training simulations showcased that ship boarding often included melee combat; with that in mind the woman had brought along what appeared to be a shiny ax. Who knows? Maybe it would sing before long. There was also of course the G-11F and the revolver -these she fiddled and fingered now, playing with adjustments to chew up more and more time.
An alert sounded that the assault boats filled with stormtroopers from the FIV Crimson Dawn were also along in course for the target. Her communication suite was still linked with ship wide system of the star destroyer. Another alert pinged that the enemy had boarded and were now progressing into the ship, cutting down security like the proverbial knife through cheese. Nobody aboard this vessel appeared to be plussed by the information. What else could be expected with so few left behind upon the Crimson Dawn? Unlike her stoic companions and hardened commanders, the Major felt a pang of sorrow for the security forces left behind and ordered to hold. She imagined their lives ended full of horror and pain. All that was left was to avenge those poor lads. Make the enemy pay in double for every soul taken. Besides, they all knew what they signed up for. Still, it was difficult to ignore the nagging foresight that it may very well be her ordered to stand ground and buy somebody more important a few minutes one day. Perhaps today. . .
The mental gymnastics had succeeded. A final alert resounded in the cabin, and all stood to and made peace, a swell of intensity seizing the heart and steeling it for the struggle to come.
They came down like the hammer of the very gods of time and space -craft sliding past bubbling shields and decloaking at the last possible moment before unloading upon one of the four larger hangar bay doors. Debris exploded inwards as the atmosphere containment projector worked its magic and kept the entire bay from spilling outwards into that grand abyss. Chaos erupted as the infiltrator unloaded its ordnance wantonly inside, blasting engineers and preparing pilots into smoldering afterthoughts, engulfing equipment, maintenance droids and containers in flame; lights, armor panels, and backup generators bursted -further compounding the madness as security personnel scrambled behind ruined gunships or were wounded by sprays of blaster fire. Screams and the cries for medical staff cut the concert of relentless thumps as smoke and flash shells obfuscated the exits of the invading shuttle. The doors dropped and out poured the sprinting figures clad in white and black. Like angry ants the troopers crawled for positions. . .
Chief among them was the Major herself, taking to the right flank out of instinctively gravitating to the highest concentration of shrieks from the bay. Adrenaline swelled, and she sprung in bounding leaps in a low, flat sprint: G-11 in trail carry to maximize her speed, red cape billowing ridiculously like an anachronistic glitch in reality. While making a beeline for a set of containers next to a parked Blue Jay Fighter -unscathed by the ravages of the force entry- the advancing infantry animal failed to notice the pilot writhing on the floor beneath his cherished starfighter. Motivated by that ephemeral drive of excellence that such training breeds, the wounded pilot levels his commando blaster at the figure in black and red, intent on taking at least one of the evil, faceless fascists with him to the netherworld.
!BAWWWAO!
From this range it was easy not to miss. The pilot’s fury struck the Major true, hitting her dead on upon the center chest plate.
“Auuugh!” She screamed, the sound crackling through her speakers and automatically lowering the volume -a standard trick of First Order helmets so that fellow combatants weren’t dissuaded by their fellow squadmates dying.
Heat sparkled and steamed off of the impact site; the concussive force delayed for but a moment as the protection did its job and absorbed some of the energy, but it was not full proof. Knocked off balance the operator slipped into an unintentional skid and tripped into the containers, bouncing the lightest off the pile and stumbling unto the deck. A sensation of extreme, scalding heat blossomed upon her chest, nearly shocking her into unconsciousness as it seared across her senses. The pilot fired again, this shot rippling just above the Major’s back and catching the armorweave cape. A neat burn circle charred crimson to black. Perhaps starving off the effects of shock himself, he levels at the next stormtrooper, eager to add to what he considers his killcount.
Somewhere in her confusing, tepid mire -in a world of hurt, an aura crosses the Major’s personal Hell, reaching across space like an ethereal angel, pinging and pinning her muscles and nerves into motion.
Fight.
Kill.
Maim.
Fight.Survive.
Aim.Fight.
It was a sour aura cloaked in darkness with a blue mass of hair, concealed by sweet smiles. Wretched as it was it inspired and pulled one from the comfortability of resignation. It offered release from the pain in the form of focus. Was this the end? The putrid light that all mentioned at the end of the metaphysical tunnel now enveloped the Major. But what is this? Commander Derith was extending her hand as though to offer helpful encouragement to rise up. Why would she be here at the end of it all -they weren’t close, and she was just another of the heroes of the Order. And suddenly it clicked: that old Vicar of the Ren, that blue haired, youthful face hiding wizen wickedness was using some sort of magical trick to push those caught in this mighty struggle ever forward. Thanks to the Major’s own aptitude in the Force, she now realized somehow the commander was with them all, pushing her strength into the rest of the warriors. Thankful, emboldened, and enraged by new purpose, the Security Bureau Spook slammed a clenched fist down upon the deck, grabbed her rifle in one hand, gritted her teeth through the pain and shimmied in order to bring the blaster to bear upon the pilot.
!PEW! !PEW! !PEW!
She fired upon him many times. High powered, shockingly hyper blue tibanna gas forming bolts of highest quality soared. It skewered the once proud pilot many times, passing cleanly through and bursting his limbs at articulation points due to her continued coup de grâce. Sixteen shots later a number of troopers had pushed past her prone figure -unable to stop for the ferocity of battle as reinforcements filled the hanger bay on both sides. It was in this brief respite that the Major stood with a single wheeze before walking in a crouch to the new line of battle. She took a covered firing position and began to fulfill an impromptu marksman role by picking off anything that looked, smelled, or sounded like noncommissioned officers, medics, and fleeing engineers. Her aim, usually perfection personified, was marred by the wound. And so it took some persuasion and suppressive fire to put down some of the faster moving combatants.
-Daisya Infiltrator enters Red Veil large hanger bay door.
-First wave engages defenders.
-Major is wounded in action.
-First wave fights for control of hanger bay.
-First wave engages defenders.
-Major is wounded in action.
-First wave fights for control of hanger bay.
eployed and firing upon the TU5Ks and fighters
