Chaos Choreography [CIS Dominion | S-38]

[Vera Mina]

Objective: BYOO (Kill Howard The Pirate at all fething cost and get out of this one alive)



"Howard?" coughed his mother on her deathbed in their log cabin on Alderaan.

"Yes Momma?" Howard said solemnly, knowing this was the end for the gray haired, wrinkled old woman. He was a well built man with very brown hair in military dress from Commenor, wearing a emerald green beret.

"I ain't got much time left, son."

"I know, Momma...." Howard replied, clasping her hand. She returned the grasp, feebly. She had a pretty green left eye, the right being covered by an eyepatch and the quilt covering her was pink with a black polka dot scheme.

"I've raised you best I can since your daddy died punching out that rancor on Dathomir. Taught you to shoot, taught you all the lethal areas on a humanoid, taught you to eat things that would make a granite slug vomit. I taught you all I knew about booby traps, survival, thinking ten steps, twenty steps, eighty steps ahead if you have to. But now, my time is done. And I have only a little bit of advice left..."

"I'm all ears, Momma..."

"Never...stop being badass...even in the face of death. Your daddy may have died punching out that rancor...you saw it...but never forget...he still killed that damn thing. Never stop being badass, Howard. Promise me!" Howard's mother begged him.

"I will Momma!" Howard swore, clasping her hand, preparing to leave for his first assignment for special forces.

His mother nodded in approval. "Don't forget to set the charges, Son. I love you. Now go. All my old enemies will be here in a few minutes."

Howard nodded, kissed his mother on the forehead and flicked a switch under her bed post, activating the charges so his mother, Carol The Mercenary, could detonate them from her bedside. Carol took out her last cigar, tossing him the engraved gold lighter as she puffed away.

Howard took his bug-out bag, opened the hidden trap door on her side, and headed into the escape tunnel underneath the house. Before he closed the hatch, he looked at her one more time.

"Goodbye, Mom. I love you."

"Love you too Howard. You got three minutes."

As soon as he closed the door shut on the floor, he broke into a run. It would have been pitch black if he hadn't brought that flashlight. He had three minutes...

He made good time, coming out to a clearing in the woods, the trap door concealed by bushes.

He stopped, watching multiple mercenary and First Order special forces come out of their ships with imperial heavy repeaters and blaster rifles. They surrounded it the simple little log cabin while others stormed the inside. His heart caught in his throat, yet swelled with pride as blaster fire echoed throughout the cabin for a solid seven minutes straight...and more and more had to be sent in. One wall exploded outward, the corpses of multiple soldiers flying out in mid air and on fire. But the reinforcements seemed endless. Finally Carol popped out of the front entrance, horribly burned and cut, but still chewing on the cigar as she hefted a six-barrel rotary blaster and emptied blood red bolts into the crowd of solidiers using their own vessels for cover, tearing people in half as she fired.

Eventually though, she ran out. The thirty remaining, heavily wounded soldiers didn't hesitate and opened fire.

The old woman held out her arms one bolt hitting her stomach than another. She dropped to her knees, the trigger in hand. She pressed it as she fell, and a sobbing Howard covered his ears.

The cabin erupted in a ball of fire, that engulfed every ship beside it in the quaint countryside. The blast was so powerful Howard was knocked to the ground, even though he was at a safe distance...




Howard snapped to the present, limping from the grazing blaster wounds he had gotten from Vera as he ran through the mall like area, anther rumble shaking the entire station. His shotgun was still jammed and he was desperately trying to fix it, because the damn lamprey's were bursting through the floor and he only had six rounds left.

But he had to stick to the plan. It was key to survival.

Howard dodged a lamprey monster in the wall like area, his limp aggravated by the lightsaber injury to the left thigh that he had gotten from The Amalgam. It had barely healed. He was lucky they'd managed to save it.

Howard ducked into a food court, posters from the dance competition plastered throughout. It was part of the plan. He'd come here after hours, stashed stuff throughout in case he needed to use one of a hundred back-up plans.

He used the heavy grip of his shotgun to bash open some floor tiles, pulling out a light machinegun and a blaster pistol. He spotted Vera, or rather, heard her shooting up the lampreys.

"HOWARD!!!" Vera roared out in a darker than normal voice after the cries and squeals of the lampreys had fallen silent, half her face still burned off, though the burns were quickly fading, blue tissue regrowing over milky white muscles underneath.

"You cannot hide forever, Howard..." the Biot taunted in the darkness of the abandoned food court, tracking his foot prints to one stall. She approached...cautiously...he had surprised her too many times for her comfort.

Howard, sweat running down his forehead knew she had to be tracking his heat...it was the only way she could have figured out where he was hiding...he activated a fail safe. He flicked a switch in the hole he had made behind a food counter and hidden tanks began spraying smoke that contained particles that frustrated thermal tracking. Hidden cannisters hidden else where through out the mall area began spraying thick gray smoke. Howard reached into the hole again as he heard Vera curse in the distance, pulling out a jury-rigged, mechanized tripod, that he attached as quietly as possible to his machinegun, setting a timer on it as a mechanical tendril snaked into the trigger ring.

"Impressive...most Impressive, Howard...but you are only delaying the inevitable..." the biot called out menacingly as smoke engulfed the area. Howard set the tripod on the floor next to an opening in the counter he was behind.

"I'm going to take you apart with a razor, Howard, nice and slow, so I can savor your every scream..." Vera said, maybe thirty meters away now.

He drew his pistol, deciding to get her attention. He opened fire in her general direction, nearly failing to get behind cover as she whipped her pistols towards him. She--it--had very fast reflexes. Her foot steps were growing closer, automatic fire from her blaster pistols peppering and destroying the counter as he kept his head down, counting down.

"You obviously. Do not. Know. Who you are FETHING WITH!" Vera snarled as she at last closed in on him.

At the last moment, the timer emitted a pitch on the tripod, and three vibro tips sprang into the ground, digging in as the tendril in the trigger ring opened fire in Vera's direction. One bullet went solidly into her abdomen and another demolished her left hand. And she was forced to drop behind cover, the underlay stopping more bleedout as Howard opened fire in her direction with the pistol, though the smoke was a double edge sword...it prevented him from spotting her easily.

"Oh where, oh where has muh cute biot gone?" Howard sang out as he shot at her cover...

"Oh where, oh where can she be?!"

 

[Luca Donskoi]

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[SIZE=12pt]Wearing: [/SIZE]Attire​

[SIZE=12pt]Armament: [/SIZE][SIZE=12pt]None[/SIZE]​

[SIZE=12pt]Tags: [/SIZE][member="Kas Varad"] | [member="Scherezade deWinter"] | [member="Muad Dib"] | [member="Veronika Fleischer"] | [member="Valencia Hadley"] | [member="Darth Metus"]​

[SIZE=12pt]Location: [/SIZE][SIZE=12pt]Dance Floor[/SIZE]​

[SIZE=12pt]Post: [/SIZE][SIZE=12pt]3[/SIZE]​

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[SIZE=12pt]Everything was going great so far. The nerves had not hit him, not that he really ever got nervous in front of crowds. And when Madalena responded again through the force, Calum couldn’t help but release a lighthearted chuckle. He looked to her again, allowing a warm smile to come over his face and offered his hand as they stepped out onto the stage. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]The lights were bright and the crowd was roaring with thunderous applause; apparently the act before the two of them had really set the tone for the finale and done so in an extraordinary way. Good. It was always easier to perform in front of crowd that was already in high spirits. It meant half the battle was already done.[/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]Calum let loose a long exhale as he and Madalena hit center stage and smiled one of the largest smiles he had in some time, as the cameras panned around to capture every bit of the excitement. It was time for the two of them to begin and within seconds, one of the judges made a small gesture with a hand and the music began to play. They were off and everything was running smoothly. Hell, for the limited time they’d both been given to commit the routine to memory, they were executing a near flawless recital. He hadn’t expected her to be this good nor himself to execute the routine so seamlessly given the inadequate time they been given to at least develop some form a chemistry together. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]But then it all seemed to shift. It went from good to bad and then from bad to worse. Someone entered his mind and broke some terrible news. It caught him off guard and he missed a few steps. He managed to recover, but he noticed that the same had happened to his partner, only she had nearly sent herself tumbling off the stage. But what was the terrible news? Jackelina had died. She had been murdered by someone. Or something. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]He missed another step as the news swirled around in his head. This wasn’t good and he didn’t have his firearm on hand, being in this wardrobe. He grimaced through his frustration and stopped with the dance. There was no use in continuing as it was evident panic had sunk in all around and the worm-like creatures with mouths like a dentist’s worst nightmare appeared as though they’d been conjured from thin air. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=12pt]He fell to a knee as the station rattled and shook as though an earthquake had hit, throwing violent tremors this way and that. A moment more passed before a vile beast, something one might expect a Sith alchemist to have concocted, sprang upward through the center of the stage. What was this thing? Calum had never seen anything like it before. His heart raced and he looked to Madalena with worry, but could see she was handling the situation better than he was. “We need to get the civilians out of here. Now. The CIS can handle that - thing - until we can get non-combatants away from here.” He looked as second longer before exiting stage right toward the dressing rooms.[/SIZE]

 

[Daxton Bane]

Despite the rumbling, Daxton kept his balance, mainly thanks to the magnetic soles at the bottom of his boots which were designed to cling to the metal surface of a starship. Whatever it was clearly not coming over to dance in front of the cameras and that brought a smile to the Sith Lord’s lips, after all what better way to grab the spotlight than to do the Zabrak tango of death before billions of entralled viewers.

Slipping on signature crimson and gold reflective helmet on, he patiently waited for the pale blue holographic displays populate with combat data before his eyes. Activating his secure comm link, he advised central combat of his situation. “Central this Yellow One proceeding to source of disturbance, requesting support to converge at my location.”

Then he was off at a dead run towards the source of the commotion, three sabers igniting like hungry snakes, circling in orbit around him.

 

[Malok]

Location: Media Station, Neutral Space​

Objective: Monster Hunter​

Tag: [member="Valencia Hadley"], [member="Daxton Bane"], [member="Scherezade deWinter"], [member="Veronika Fleischer"], [member="Kas Varad"], @Calum Keth​

When the tremors took hold of the stage, Darth Metus nearly sank to one knee.

It was bad enough that he was attempting to dance - despite his two left feet - yet now there was a new wrench thrown in the mix? For but a millisecond, the expression that was extended to his lovely dancing partner was one of exasperation. However, when the floorboards gave way to reveal a rather terrifying site, pure instinct burned within his sulfuric gaze. At first, Darth Metus steadied his footing and stepped in front of Valencia, shielding her with his dominant arm whilst assessing the threat before him. Already, his bolder compatriots were running towards the danger - which was a testament to how mighty the forces of the Confederacy were. However, the remainder of the set was in utter mayhem. Screams and mass attempts at evacuating the area immediately transpired; but Darth Metus did not have the luxury of fretting over the stampede.

He had to address the slithering elephant in the room. Quite literally.

"Valencia!" he bellowed over the havoc occurring all around them. "Go! Get to safety, now!" Over the course of their comradeship, he had never once raised his voice at the Viceroy. Nor given her any sort of command for that matter. Frankly, if he had a few seconds to process, he might have spared a hope that she did not hold this against him. After all, there was not a tulip in sight to utilize in mending a damaged bridge with the Viceroy. However, given the circumstances, perhaps she would just trust him and get outta dodge. That would be the most preferably course of action, as Darth Metus couldn't devote his full focus to the monstrosity whilst also covering his dance partner. The demon serpent...thing...needed every shred of focus that the Sith had to offer.

And in the next instant, it began to receive just that. Darth Metus lifted both of his hands and uttered a savage growl, prompting a torrent of lightning to explode forth from his fingertips. The forceborn electricity carried with it a kinetic edge; and therefore impact would feel much more than just a savage shock to the create. Upon contact, the beast would be subjected to the might of an airspeeder crashing into its midsection; coupled with a storm of electricity. The Sith knew nothing of the beast's composition, but this was always a solid place to begin. After all, even the Force Dead were subject to being roasted alive by this kind of lightning.

The Sith just hoped it was enough to, at the very least, give his dancer partner and the fleeing civilians room to escape.

 

[Alexander]

Location: Media Station, Neutral Space​

Objective: Dancing in the Streets!​

Wearing: The Usual​

Tag: [member="Shakti Sweet"]​

Odd.

The Ghost of Endelaan was no stranger to grit. After all, some of his earliest memories featured warriors that were committed to beating the hell out of each other without wincing. However, despite their best efforts, they still uttered sound when their fists collided with one another. Whether it be a grunt, or a gasp, or something. There was some audible testament to the fact that they felt impact. That they knew pain. But not this girl. Even though some of his best lightning was blazing a bloody trail through the face-suckers - and by extension giving her legs quite a shock - not an audible sound erupted from her lips. This, certainly, did not match the expression which claimed her feature, complete with the occasional parting of primrose lips.

If he didn't know any better, she would have been screaming. Hell, it looked like she was, but not a sound came out. Nonetheless, once the face-suckers were well and truly deceased, Ephraim ceased his assault by simply closing his fingers into a fist. His gaze once more returned to the woman who struggled underneath the fallen locker. "What are ya, mute?" he said, cocking an eyebrow. This would have been the part where he resumed an attempt at interrogating the woman - especially considering [member="Lirka Ka"] 's contribution to the comm channel...but a shudder caused him to stop in his tracks. It was big, as if the ship had been hit by an asteroid or something.

"What the-?" he began, before an alert blared upon his HUD. He winced against the noise, blinking rapidly to silence the warning as a visual appeared before his gaze. Big. Scaly. Monstrous. It was like one of those face-suckers had been juiced up to its final form. The Ghost grit his teeth from behind his visor before he knelt down before the woman. Wordlessly, he hearkened to the messages which went back and forth over the comm. Decisions from high command of the Knighthood. Decisions which would ultimately lead to this station becoming the next Melida/Daan. "Feth. Feth." he breathed.

Reaching, he pried his visor off in a fit of frustration, leveling his gaze upon the fallen assailant. This time, given her perpetual silence, he opted to straight up invade her privacy. His fingertips extended and thrust forward, as if to direct the flow of the Force directly into her brow. And through this act, a temporary bridge was formed. If the cat truly had her tongue, this would remedy the issue for a little while. If you can't talk it, think it. he began brusquely. I'll be frank, you're going to talk. Now. Reason being? There's a defoliator inbound for this place. Now, you don't know what that is, but let me explain. It's a Confederate special: a bomb that burns everything organic but leaves behind the metal unphased. It's a dream for when the droids go marchin' in. So. Whatever you know about these face-sucking-karks, you're going to spill. Now. If you do, I might carry you to the nearest escape pod.

He paused, narrowing his eyes. And don't you lie to me.

 

[Daxton Bane]

[member="Darth Metus"]

The stream of fleeing civilians indicated to Daxton that he was getting closer to the target, that howl coming from the studio ahead followed the smell of roasting meat. Time for him to join, after all why let them have all the fun.

Leaping over the panicked civilians he spotted Metus throwing bolts of thunder like a freaking lightning rod on steroids. Without so much as word, he send the three blades spinning forward in a tight arc, a trio of light and pain to cut flesh and bone like a bone saw through a nice rack of ribs.

 

[Kasca Fen]

Objective: Dance! Everyone is watching!​

Location: Media Station, Neutral Space​

Wearing: Backless Dress with a side slit that is almost indecent and these shoes​

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Kasca finally gave up on being nice to the backstage guy. She flicked her hand in the direction of his face. From her position, she couldn't actually slap him. He held her other arm too captive for her to maneuver to do so, but she wasn't just a woman. She was a Force User and a Mandragora and her extra special talent was Telekinesis. He might as well been slapped for her powers mimicked her hand movement. She was not gentle. He staggered, letting her go out of sheer surprise and finally got his mind right.

There was nothing she could do in the back stage and decided to go to the stage to see if she could find a partner to dance the Tango with. When she got to the edge of the stage however... everything was chaos. A man she had never met ([member="Muad Dib"]) was flying around with wings and swords, the dancing had been interrupted by a gigantic creature with a significant mouth full of teeth, it had apparently come up through the floor of the station, and [member="Darth Metus"] was fighting it with lightning. She stood for a moment, in her killer hot dress and amazing shoes and looked rather bewildered. Then with a shake of her head, she tried to figure out what she should do about it.

People were running everywhere and she heard from somewhere, "Any ideas? Be a good thing about now." ([member="Kas Varad"]) She laughed and pointed to the mouth. "I would suggest going in there and giving it indigestion?"

The thing wasn't yet at the stage. While Kasca didn't have her lightsaber on her, she wasn't unarmed. With a calmness that belied the chaos around her, she let the Force flow through her. Creating fire was a basic spell for the Mandragora. She did so now, holding it in her hand. Then with her ability of telekinesis, she moved to keep the creatures mouth open while the ball of fire was shot inside it. Kasca threw the ball of fire hard, with an "UMF." of effort.


Veronika Fleischer | Calum Neth| Scherezade deWinter | Valencia Hadley

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[Valencia Hadley]

Location: Dance or Die Studios in S-38
Objective: Reduce Civilian Casualties
Tags: [member="Darth Metus"] | [member="Veronika Fleischer"] | [member="Kasca Fen"] | [member="Dawn Moor"]

She had turned her back on Metus to make her way back to the dressing room when the first rumbles began. She stood stark still in those ridiculous heels as the entire station shuddered and quaked, her eyes widening as the first sounds of rending and tearing metal began below the stage. She spun in place as the largest shudder of them all announced the entrance of the massive work-like creature aboard the ship.

She was momentarily stunned, between the image of the angel-winged figure surrounded by a shower of flaming worm things, and then this massive monstrosity... There certainly was a bit to look at. It was as she stood there, her lips parted and eyes wide that the thundering voice of the Vicelord came to her, startling her into action as she took one hesitant step back. She blinked a few times and frowned as she watched dancers and audience members alike begin to scatter through any and all available exits.

"Feth..." Her voice was barely above a whisper but there was a heat to it. She quickly turned and instead of running like the others she began shouting to those who were making for dead ends down the backstage areas, her heels click-clacking angrily along the metal catwalks as she darted after them.

"No! Back this way! All of you!" Watching in dismay as their panic left them unhearing, she scrunched up her nose a fraction and reached for that power she now knew to reside along the back of her throat. She tried again, this time her voice carrying with it a weight that it had not before, "Stop! Everyone back this way!" She watched with a small amount of concealed shock as they all did as they were instructed, almost as one turning to head back towards the way she motioned... Interesting.

With that sorted, she turned and ran back towards the dance floor, skirting wide around the carnage that had begun, trying not to audibly scream as the lightning cracked along the beast. She instead doubled down on her speed and booked it along the edge of the stage in those heels, her hands bunching up in the skirts of her dress to keep from trampling on it. Making it clear of the madness that had consumed the dance floor, she booked it down one of the audience entrances and started hustling people back towards the commissary and where she knew the launch bay was. They needed everyone off this station now.

 

[Kas Varad]

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Objective: Chair Tango with ​[member="Kasca Fen"]
Location: Media Station, Neutral Space, Dance Floor
Tags: [member="Kasca Fen"] | [member="Veronika Fleischer"] | [member="Muad Dib"] | [member="Scherezade deWinter"] | [member="Valencia Hadley"] | [member="Calum Neth"] | [member="Daxton Bane"]
@All active in the room.



I would suggest going in there and giving in digestion.
There was a belly laugh from behind the table. “I’ll get right on that lady.”

[member="Darth Metus"]
The Vicelord hit it with lightening. Kas had the sass. Then it got a fire lunch from a bombshell in a dress.

Its body flailing around. A chair was thrown by his head and he kept low, breathing out. One. Two. Three. Out the young Mandalorian walked. Reckless and no fear, showing his youth, he might learn one day or not.

What did Kas do?

He gave it a damn good kick.

Varads and their boots. Looking pretty smugly at [member="Kasca Fen"] and crossing his arms with a nod, till its tail smashed up through the floor following it, and was looking to smash the both of them to pieces. He grabbed Kasca Fen whether she wanted it or not, and tried to pull her out the way. Not exactly the dance he had planned, but, “nice dress.” Chairs flying about, tables, and people running for their lives, he had to duck again with another chair headed their way.

“Any more advice,” he took the splinters of a broken table on the back this time for them both with a sting, moving around her, pistol drawn. One step two step. Chair. One step two step. Chair. That one's going to hurt tomorrow.

 

[Shakti Sweet]

Location: Trapped under some lockers in outer space
Objective: To amend the location she's currently in
Tag: [member="Ephraim"] | [member="Lirka Ka"]


As he came within spitting distance he would be able to pick up on the tremors that had started across her body, her muscles protesting quite loudly against the pain that had been rocketed up from where her legs were still pinned beneath the lockers. Her teeth were bared to him in a snarl as he got himself concerned with whatever was happening behind his visor, her fingers itching to have him come just a few inches closer so she could grab hold of that stupid collar of his and wring his ridiculous neck!

It was as she tried to shake the image of his face turning blue while she wrung the life from him that the station shook violently. The lockers shuddered over her once more and those pearly whites of hers made another appearance as she screamed silently. Her hands pounding at the metal that kept her in place, the bones she knew to be injured in her ankle grinding in a way that made her feel ill.

Her breathing was a ragged mess by the time he peeled that visor back and leveled his gaze on hers. The piercing green eyes that glared out from the deep cowled hood were vibrant and bright with rage. It wasn't difficult to determine how she was feeling, but when he opened that connection into her mind the sound that reached back across that little bridge was... Unpleasant.

Like the sound of metal warping and scraping in a high impact accident, her voice returned with every ounce of the heat that was bleeding from her eyes. "NO! RELEASE ME! IDIOT!" There was something terribly wrong with that voice, like a hundred tiny shards of glass, all sharp edges and unsafe to get too close to.

She reached out with one of her hands to take a swipe at him, fingers outstretched in an attempt to grab onto that hand he was using to project his voice into her mind.

 

[Vera Mina]

Objective: BYOO (Survive Howard and the lampreys)

Vera crawled through the smoke, her blown off hand barely leaking blood, the smoke obscuring both her thermal and X-Ray also, though she was aware of where Howard was as he searched for her.

With the faintest amount of disappointment in her performance, she realized the old Pirate had outsmarted her. Plus more of the Lamprey monsters had entered the area and had honed in on her.

A high pitched whine began to disrupt her attempts to hear Howard's now deliberately faint footsteps, she realized that this was not Howard's first brush with death.

It also called into question just how many times someone had tried to kill Howard if he was this prepared.

The Lamprey's sped towards her, and blaster bolts immediately started falling on her general direction as Howard realized they honed in on what they wanted to kill. Vera was forced to draw her remaining pistol, set to full auto, and return fire blindly, Forcing Howard to retreat back behind the food stall, unhooking the machinegun from its tripod.

Howard opened fire with it. And Vera snarled in irritation as her vision cut off for a second as one armor piercing round punched through her torso, leaving a gaping wound and partly translucent white entrails sparking and leaking more white blood. The lampreys came closer and she fired at Howard still, managing to glimpse him for one second through the smoke and grazing the feed system on his machine gun, which sent splinters into his right hand and arm. Howard yelled in agony and fled, grabbing the tripod. The underlay stopped the blood loss, but Vera still had to hold her own delicate, sparking innards in as she opened fire on the Lamprey's as by this point they were nearly on top of her, and the loss of proper blood flow to her muscles prevented her from standing properly. She kept shooting them, even as she crawled away with her bad arm. The sounds of Howard's pistol and the squeals of the creatures in the distance told her he wasn't going anywhere in the dark, abandoned mall.

Vera's glitching, now unsteady hand barely managed to finish off the last lamprey in her immediate vicinity, and the Biot had no choice but to wait for the underlay to kick in.

She wondered if it was some defect in her design. No that wasn't it. Her design had to be worked with, adapted to.

It was her bloodlust.

She indulged in whenever possible, however possible...and for the first time, only now, was she starting to question it's merit.

Perhaps if she had used a more subtle method, a less obvious one other than what would sate her thirst the quickest, she might have actually succeeded on getting the drop on her prey. Instead she had gone in impulsively, looking only for the pleasure of seeing gore spray on the walls.

Strangely, the notion of attempting to find someway to limit her aggression when necessary crossed her, but the Biot wondered what the point would be, if she could not enjoy a slaughter to the fullest?

Still, becoming aware of the limits of her personality matrix in such a stark fashion was...slightly unsettling to the Biot.

Finally, the underlay kicked in, the wounds rapidly disappearing in a span of three minutes, her rapidly blown off hand regenerating.

Vera felt hungry, knowing she had to feed on organic blood after taxing the underlay so heavily. She decided Howard would make an excellent dinner.

Vera rose, drawing her sword, hearing Howard's blaster fire, the smoke still obscuring her vision, but his blaster fire was none stop. Strangely, she heard no more monsters.

Vera went as quietly as possible, katana and dagger at the ready. As she spotted the bolts traveling from the smoke away from she sprinted forward, shrieking with bloodlust as her katana came down...

Only to hit the tripod the pistol had been mounted on, its mechanical tendril firing in place of Howard.

Vera blinked turned, faced a grinning Howard with a large case, which he opened immediately as she advanced, the large shock to the station causing explosions.

Vera stepped back in shock as a sensation she had never truly experienced played out.

Pain. Howard had an Unmasquer. He had guessed correctly that she was disguised. How had he hidden the creature here for so long without anyone noticing?

What he that badass?!

Her underlay, which also had safety measures against anti-Vong attacks, took the worst of it. But the underlay itself had been damaged, earlier from when Howard burned her dress.

Thus, not only did she experience all of the nigh incapacitating pain of exposure...for all her inability to feel normal pain, the unmasquer was one of the few exceptions...the underlay did not do what it was supposed to do.

An inhuman squealing sound came from her as she vomited blood, her face literally ripping away from her, instinctively afraid of the creature in Howard's case. The muscles and skull underneath were exposed, sparking badly as she shook, forcing herself to stagger forward in spite of the pain out of nothing more than raw hatred.

"Are you kidding me?!" Howard whined, backing away as the flesh that had ripped away continued to flop and wriggle violently around her neck. Eventually though that rage failed her, and she collapsed to her knees, exposed flesh on her arms and thighs, causing more sparks, as the exposed skull, slick with white blood, squealed and shook violently, struggling to find the will to continue.

Vera, amidst her agony, actually began to wonder if this was the end...

She had never actually considered what that would be like, until now. Was there anything afterward? The Vong liked to think their work had spirits. Did she have one?

If she did, there was no question where it would go upon death. Frustratingly, she wasn't sure how to feel about that, though in an instant and no more, as her visual systems were disrupted and her agony reached a crescendo as her skin tried to literally rip itself off.

Howard placed the case on the ground, reaching into a raised structure of square bricks where potted plants lay, pulling out his shotgun. He aimed right at her skull and pulled the trigger.

The shell stuck out, jamming again. Not breaking stride for a moment and inverted the weapon, intending to simply club her to death.

Just as he raised his swing for a hammer blow that would have punched through her exposed, muscle and membrane covered malfunctiong skull, a large part of the ceiling came down around them with a few other large chunks down to the smoke, one of which hit and killed the unmasquer on impact.

Her hands shot up to catch the improved club, cracking Howard hard across the jaw as the large piece of ceiling came crashing down close by, throwing them both to the ground.

Howard got up but the still squealing, shrieking biot tackled him, punching him as hard as it could. Since it could not feel pain it was able to put more Force into its blows, before its malfunctioning eyes focused on it long enough to try and strangle him.

Howard felt his windpipe close as the shrieking biot coughed blood and throttled him, bent on revenge for the evening's various humiliations. He started to black out and resorted to his final defense.

He tugged at his lace crevat, revealing a garrote which he wrapped around her muscle exposed neck, she felt the blood flow interrupt and her vision cut, along with experiencing loss of control of her right arm, which went slack, leaving her remaining arm to try desperately to tear the garrote away, gagging and shrieking as its other arm started to get weak. Its neck started to bleed.

Vera's hand in the struggle, her good arm brushed against Howard's pistol. She picked it up and fired below, but because she was malfunctioning, her shot went wide of where she believed her his heart was and instead, hit him in the arm with the shrapnel, forcing him to disengage, throwing the sparking, spasming sociopath off, running as more of the ceiling came down.

Vera, still twitching, her vision clearing in her left eye, fired at a fleeing Howard who not only dodged the shots but also the lampreys, being crushed by falling debris from the ceiling due to the battle with the largest of them.

The Biot then felt joy, one bolt finally finding its mark and hitting him square in the back. He fell flat forward as the ceiling continued to collapse around him.

The Biot struggled to even crawl, trailing white blood behind her as she struggled into an open port store built into the structure itself...

There she lay, fifteen minutes passing, the underlay working slower than usual to fix the normally devastating damage, though even it could not fix the blow to her pride.

Her hunger grew ravenous, her systems needing actual blood due to being overtaxed. There was a nutrient underlay, but that only kicked in after about a day without nutrient. She needed food now.

The flesh repaired itself around the skull, its processors, which had threatened to overheat, returning to normal as it was forced to contemplate its mortality for the first time.

Vera was just barely able to think as she staggered out of the store, fully repaired, though the skin bore scars for the moment when the ceiling stopped falling, Howard's pistol clutched in her hand. She needed food. She needed blood to fix the rest, as the underlay had been overtaxed from repeat repairs.

The Biot staggered towards his last known position. If he was still alive, she would drink every last drop. Vera tore away the wreckage with a homicidal frenzy, looking for his flesh, desiring it more than anything...just to bleed it dry...

Vera, still twitching and malfunctioning, finally reached the last piece of wreckage, tearing it away and pointing a shaking hand holding the pistol inside.

The space where Howard had fallen was empty. Only the thin duraplast armor that had stopped her pistol shot remained...

Vera's face contorted in rage as she switched her plans to finding a civilian to feed on...

Meanwhile...

(Howard's Survival Theme plays)

Theme: "Extreme Ways" by Moby

Spoiler

https://youtu.be/ftm1hiXgYsA

Howard had torn off his armor after being hit, back still burned.

But he was alive. He had just barely cleared the wreckage as it fell in front of Vera before it hit him.

The station had escape pods, and he headed into the one he had fitted with a transmitter. He would be picked up in a few minutes...his ship had left from another hangar in the station already. That had been too close though...he was getting old. Wasn't sure how many more fights he had left like that in him.

But no matter how close it had gotten...it wasn't close enough, he thought with a smile as he closed the hatch on the pod, ejecting it...

"Nice try robot..." he said to himself with a grin as he ejected into space...

(Exit post)

 

[Alexander]

Location: Media Station, Neutral Space​

Objective: Dancing in the Streets!​

Wearing: The Usual​

Tag: [member="Shakti Sweet"]​

The Ghost recoiled.

As the ancient expression went, one should not judge a book by its cover. And frankly, Ephraim had made the mistake of doing just that. When he infringed upon the sovereignty of the woman's mind, he expected to find...well...a woman's voice in response. He expected to find some semblance of cooperation as well - information that could be used to figure out just what the actual kark was going on. However, what erupted within his psyche was ridiculous enough that his eyebrows hit the ceiling and his expression tightened. Despite this...the biggest take away was that the woman had refused to cooperate. Yet again. But now, time was not on either of their sides.

He had explained what was coming as clear as crystal. And though she had a locker on her legs - in a painful spot if he had to guess - the assailant was no closer to spilling the intel than when their chase first began. Therefore, a scowl of pure frustration replaced the tightness upon the man's face. A portion of his teeth were bared as his fingertips once more jutted towards the woman's skull. This time, there was a malevolent edge to his presence. The invasion would not be cozy. It would be cold. When the technique was performed upon him ages ago, the best way he could put it to words was like an icy centipede being dropped upon his head and being allowed to roam free.

Not fun in the slightest.

Yet this Forceborn intrusion was designed with one purpose in mind: cut out the middle man. He had given her enough chances, now he was going to rip the truth out of her one way or another. It took a few seconds of poking around for him to hmm and haw at a few scraps of info - namely how she got aboard in the first place. Yet, he paused upon digging a few paces beyond that. She was innocent. Well. As innocent as she could be that is. The Ghost couldn't find hide nor hair of the face-huggers that he they had been faced with; and upon that realization the intrusion stopped immediately. "You karking dumb ass!" he seethed aloud, before lowering himself to one knee. "Why didn't you just say...Okay, fine, got it, but come on, you ran off and didn't cooperate? The kark you think was going to happen, a hug?!"

With no further ado, Ephraim hoisted the locker up and over her legs, giving her freedom of movement once more. But, given how the last tremor had sounded on top of her ankle, he doubted she would be running away any time soon. "Look. And listen this time. Everything that is alive down here is going to die in a few minutes, got it? Everything. You aren't apart of this...kark fest we've got going on here, so I'm bailing you out. And I'll see to getting those legs mended proper - my way of apologizing."

He turned to face the woman, offering his arms. At this angle she would be able to drape her own arms over his shoulder so that he could hoist her into a carry. Or, based upon the glimpses of her frustration he saw, she could get a few swipes in or even a strangle. However, if she had working ears, she might decide against it and cover her own hide. Only time and his ability to breathe would tell.

 

[Shakti Sweet]

Location: Still trapped under lockers in outer space
Objective: Cause physical harm to one [member="Ephraim"]

She watched as her fingers swung just short of his hand, his arm pulling back abruptly as he got a taste of what it was to live inside her head for a moment. The tirade continued in her mind without him there to catch any of it, keeping herself still as she watched him, intent on getting another chance to rip at his stunned, stupid face. It was with that same heat in her eyes, her muscles tensed, that she watched him reach forward again. Her body sprung into action, those blunted nails of hers coming within a scant inch of his hand before she felt the cold.

The heat died in her eyes as all she was became cold. The frozen pain of it was staggering, much as she assumed her voice had been to him. A soft gasp escaped her lips, though it was only the passage of air, her vocal cords unable to resonate to mimic the cliche sound to accompany it. A shudder started at the base of her neck and rippled down her spine, and left Shakti nearly immobilized as she felt him reach into her mind. She couldn't manage to keep up that same molten hot rage as he sorted through the last hour of her life...

She'd purchased herself passage on one of the many transports that brought the audience to the studio while filming. Once inside she'd snuck backstage and intended to locate whatever was causing all the deaths that had been rumored to be plaguing the show - and hopefully make a few credits in the finding. And then some worthless, fething man in a goofy visor had thrown a set of lockers on her and then electrocuted her for her trouble.

As he recoiled once more she shuddered visibly, her eyes fluttering closed a moment as that familiar warmth flooded back into her mind. That liquid rage she so often wrapped around herself had been cooled considerably and she was left visibly calmer as her eyes slowly opened once more. When they met his they were much less hostile, though based on what he could see, it was unlikely there was ever a total lack of heat there. She kept a steady and unblinking lock on his eyes as he spoke next, and gave no indication of whether she'd heard or not. However, when he moved to remove the lockers from her legs she didn't make any move to strangle him once he was in reach... So that was a marked improvement, right?

As the metal lifted off her legs there was another fresh wash of agony as blood flow returned to her crushed extremities. Perhaps it was best that he wasn't inside of her head as he did this, because the storm that brewed there was... Beautiful. Like a tornado sweeping through a scrapyard. It took a moment or two for her mind to come back from that place where there was only noise and pain - but when she did she found his arm offered before her. She blinked in a way that suggested she may have still been a little out of it before she lifted her own arms, wrapping them around that offered limb. Her arms were well muscled and lean, like steel wrapped in flesh, and she used that offered arm to attempt to stand.

With another of those soundless screams she confirmed a few things: first) that ankle was done. It was a total mess and putting even an ounce of weight on it wasn't going to be an option, and second) though the thigh of her other leg hadn't snapped, the muscles were in bad shape. She bit down sharply on her tongue as she nearly collapsed back to the floor, but instead clung to his arm as tightly as she dared.

 

[Daxton Bane]

Objective: put the hurt on the big bad thing
Tags [member="Darth Metus"], [member="Kas Varad"]

One of these days, Daxton would need to work on his survival instinct and stop trying to hunt large things that could squish or chomp him in bits. It wasn’t as if Daxton was going out of his way to look for trouble......ok who are we trying to kid, after all Daxton could probably get into trouble in a sealed room under lock and key. One of the drawbacks of being a Harbringer of Chaos. But at least life wasn’t boring.

Without pausing to see how much damage his blades were doing, he channeled his Force Tentacles to grab any loose metal structure and used them as bludgeons, twacking the beast in a wild, almost frenzied glee.

 

[Veronika Fleischer]

Location: Media Station, Judge Table
Objective: Increase show rating by being a judge Telling people that Jackelina died!!!
Wearing: Dress designed by fashion designer Jilles Kendel
Tag: [member="Valencia Hadley"], [member="Daxton Bane"], [member="Scherezade deWinter"], [member="Darth Metus"], [member="Kas Varad"], [member="Calum Neth"], [member="Kasca Fen"], [member="Muad Dib"]

The spell broke when the worm emerged from the depths of nowhere. Veronika was no longer able to control the judges' reactions, allowing them to scream their heads off and ran off with the rest of the panicked crowd. Meanwhile, the stage was still making a grand performance for the rest of the people glued on holo TV. The camera crew had ran off, leaving no one to capture the exciting moments.

"Darn it. Gotta make us look good..." the blonde stood up from the judges' panel and raced over to the nearest abandoned camera, lifting it upright to capture the glorious moment of their Vicelord blasting lightning bolts at the slimy horror. Not a bad shot, she told herself and shifted the camera towards the direction of Daxton Bane who had summoned blades of fury to his aid. Another shout came from Kasca, who shot a fancy looking fireball into the creature's mouth. Veronika swung the camera around, making sure that the camera zoomed into the right angle where the fireball looked the most beautiful.

"Great job, everyone! We are looking so fabulous!"

As she finished her words, Kas strolled up and rewarded the worm with a good kick that barely scratched the worm. In fact, it got angrier and started thrashing the furniture below the stage.

"Um... any way to cut off the unglamorous kicking scene? Oh nevermind, we are live..." she muttered to herself and positioned the camera to be located at the spot where she would come in. Veronika needed to be in the set, to show that she was more than just a celebrity. Imagine the number of new fans she would win over. With that decision made, she pulled off her limited edition heels that cost a mere two thousand credits. They were designed after Captain Phasma's silvery armour, perfect to be spotted immediately by home viewers as she leapt into the air.

The camera rolled and captured her in slow motion, just like what she wanted. The celebrity summoned the Force to imbue her stilettos with extra kinetic power, making the pretty looking kyber crystals sewn onto the leather flaps glow in reaction to the power of the Force. Off they went, sailing through the air as her heels of doom slammed against the worm with its electricity charged stiletto phrik stems. With luck, it should stun the creature for a moment or two and allowed the blonde to run around easier in her bare feet.

"Let's kill this worm in style!"

 

[Muad Dib]

The massive creature rose from the flooring, ripping the dance stage to shreds and sending people, chairs, and struts flying in several directions. Where Muad was circling in the air he frowned as he swatted another of the smaller creatures from the air, slicing it in twain. The other members of the Confederacy we're attacking the massive, monstrous form nearly in concert. Yet it seemed that it just wasn't enough.

"When all else fails ...."

He laughed and activated the thrusters of the jetpack, launching it toward the 'nose' of the creature. Popping the straps that secured him to the pack he continued on his trajectory as the pack with the wings of durasteel blades collided with the forehead of the creature. Between that and the attacks from the others below the creature opened it's maw with a roar.

According to plan.

With a roaring laugh Muad flew into the maw avoiding the teeth and slipped down the gullet of the worm. Swords lashed out as he slid down the inside of it's throat, carving and opening vertical cuts that nearly drowned him in the worm's own fluids. Feet hit something and he found a purchase within. Then the fury of Muad lashed out with blades and swirling pyrokinesis.

 

[Paragon of Virtue]

Chad's jaw was scratching the floor. There was nothing he could do to pick it up again, even if he'd wanted to. He had a full view of what was happening on stage. On his stage! LIVE!

It was bad enough that he'd had to accept the Confederate's people as dancers. He'd seen what the cameras had captured; fat people, unattractive people, people who thought their position within a neighboring government meant they could dictate to hair & make up what they wanted to. It looked bad on holovision. It looked like the absolute worse. This was not the brand shiny finale that he had promised the audience that had grown up with his show.

And the talkbacks… He only dared glance for three seconds, but the comments petty much supported his own opinion.

It was a travesty.

And of course, there was the worm. Chad was going to nope out of this to the maximum. Not even he half naked man with angel wings that fed himself as offering to the worm could make him change his mind.

Sighing, he did away with the business suit he was wearing in favor of sweatpants and a hoodie, put a cap on, and pulled a small backpack from under the table. A small backpack that held a few million worth of chips. He was off. He was going to buy a new identity. He was getting the krak away from all of this.

Glancing at his shiny executive office for the final time, Chad left, head down.

​

​

As the stage opened and erupted thanks to the worm, the three other finalists just. Died. There was nothing anyone could've done about it short of ushering them away before any of the worm stuff happened.

Rest in Peace and Dance on Heaven's Wings.

 

[Malok]

Location: The Dance Floor, Media Station​

Tag: [member="Valencia Hadley"], [member="Muad Dib"], [member="Eternal Virtue"], [member="Veronika Fleischer"], [member="Daxton Bane"], @All Nearby​

Much to the Viceroy of Manda's credit, she worked well when chit hit the literal fan.

In this case, when the Vicelord barked for her to get out of harm's way - she did so. But not before taking steps to herd those in danger towards freedom. But with her clear and the stage clearing out of non-combat personnel, the Sith was feeling confident in bringing out some of the bigger guns to deal with the monstrosity. And, as if he was reading the Sith's mind, [member="Muad Dib"] sprang into action and hurled himself into the gullet of the beast. At face value, a man allowing himself to be eaten was utter madness...but for anyone who had worked with the crazed Mandalorian, this was just another day in the neighborhood. Darth Metus took it was a valuable opportunity to center himself and to blow a gorram hole in that karking thing.

The taste of blood filled his mouth.

When the Sith was but a young practitioner of the Dark Side, the spontaneous sensation was jarring. It made him fearful and wary, as if he were tampering with something very wrong. Yet with time and experience, the Sith came to welcome the rush of warmth underneath his tongue. It was a sign that he was not alone - for the Darkness was his greatest ally. He leveled his burning gaze upon the monstrosity once more, gritting his teeth as his left leg slid forward ever so slightly. Bracing as the Darkness began to channel through its chosen like a mighty tide. The Sith angled his hands back, as it to cup and hold a precious gift from the shadows.

His lips formed and fell in the form of an incantation. Ancient Sith lyrics urged the Darkness to take form as literal wrath between his palms. He felt a searing heat - enough so that the smell of his own skin burning quickly reached his nostrils. There was a searing agony, but the pain quickly became fuel to the roaring inferno of the Dark Side. Seconds rolled by and the intensity within his hands magnified in power. Doubled. Tripled. Quadrupled. The heat got to the point where medical attention would surely be the result of this tactic, for droplets of blood began to spill forth and splatter upon the dance floor.

And as the beast began to recoil from its innards being torn apart by the crazed Mandalorian, the vicious Dar'manda had his turn. His body shifted forward, his stance propelling his hands forward as they expelled the mighty Force Blast. The literal wave of Dark Side energies tore through the air and ripped into the exposed underbelly of the worm. While the lightning before indeed had kinetic force behind it, this assault would be much akin to being struck by a freight train. What's more, if the average man were exposed to the sheer intensity, they would be reduced to literal ash. How well the worm would fare remained to be seen.

Spoiler

 

[Alexander]

Location: Media Station, Neutral Space​

Objective: Dancing in the Streets!​

Wearing: The Usual​

Tag: [member="Shakti Sweet"]​

The firecracker was in rough shape.

But, given the fact that she was a victim of circumstance, the Ghost of Endelaan wasted not a second in doing his best to rectify that situation. Once the locker was hoisted off of her form, she did not react with the same viciousness as before. There were no attempts to swipe at his form, nor possibly claw his eyes out. And, her telepathic voice did not grate into his psyche as it had before. All was calm and quiet; and frankly Ephraim could work with that. Thus, when she clutched onto his form as tightly as he could, he swiftly scooped her legs onto his off-arm and took a tentative step forward.

Given the circumstances, he figured that keeping as much weight or stress off of her broken ankle was the best course of action. So, he carried her like the good guys did the princesses in all of the Holo-flicks. Not that the Wildling needed a good guy; it was the current year and she was a strong, independent firecracker who don't need no Ghost. Anyway. Jests aside, his footsteps were as gentle - but expedient - as possible, for he did not know much time he had until the majority of the station was purged. As he walked, the comm notifications would continue to rattle off inside his helm. Loud enough that the wounded woman clutched close to his chest would be able to overhear.

Reports of a massive worm in the stage.
The main cast was dead.
Chad was nowhere to be found.
The Confederates were fighting the worm.
Defoliator being prepped.

The Ghost swore under his breath as he quickened his pace. There was not much time to get back to his ship, but given the nature of Defoliation he was fortunate. A Defoliator was a very nasty piece of ordnance that would burn away organic material - but would leave his ship just as fine as the day he bought it. So, he would simply have to come back for it another day. Their best bet was an escape pod and heading for the nearest Obsidian vessel. Ephraim found just what he was looking for a few paces away from the Armory's entrance. It was sad that he had to turn his back on all sorts of potential loot, but he felt obligated to get this firecracker out of harm's way.

After all, it wasn't her fault. She was in the wrong place, wrong time. Fortunately, her luck was turning up somewhat - for he telekinetically engaged the adjacent escape pod. Its doors hissed upon to admit them, and a quick thermal scan revealed that it was devoid of the nasty monsters that were plaguing everything. A gingerly as possible, he laid her down in a sitting position with in the pod, before closing the doors behind them. "We're heading to one of the nearby cap ships, we'll get you some medical attention." he began, He kept his tone gentle - apologetic even. "Just hang in there for a few more minutes. You're going to be fine."

Reaching, he gave the release switch a pull and jettisoned them into the black. The pod then shuttered as the maneuvering jets engaged, hurtling them towards the Confederate forces. He announced their presence and a brief rundown of the situation as quickly as he could, before returning to his wounded "comrade." "You got a name?"

 

[Valencia Hadley]

Location: Dance or Die Studios in S-38
Objective: Reduce Civilian Casualties
Tags: [member="Darth Metus"] | [member="Dawn Moor"]



She could feel more than hear the escalating violence that had encompassed the stage at her back, the station shuttering and groaning from the increased damage that was being reaped just beyond the stage doors behind her. What a mess. She didn't have time to worry about it now though - these were all trained Confederacy agents who were chosen for this mission knowing full well they were likely to find death and danger here... Perhaps not to this extent, but none of them had appeared to be unarmed or helpless when she'd fled to assist with the evacuation.

She continued down along the hall, but she now took her time, ensuring that there were no civilians left behind her as she walked her way towards the escape pods and launch bay. The sounds coming from the stage were... Worrisome. The shouts and shuddering explosions were nearly deafening, and she was quite a distance from them now. It was with that worry on her mind that she rounded a corner and nearly walked directly into a calm looking figure she did not recognize. She was stunned for a moment to find anyone wandering around the station calm, but she offered [member="Dawn Moor"] a warm, hopefully comforting, smile and motioned back down the hall towards the launch bay.

"So sorry, miss - there's been an emergency on set and we're asking that everyone please evacuate the building. I'm heading to the evac pods myself if you'd be so kind as to join me." She did her best to keep her voice even and kind as the loudest bang yet erupted from behind the pair. She forced every ounce of polite kindness into her eyes and smile as she motioned once more down the hall to the pods, "Please, won't you join me?"

There was a feeling in the pit of her stomach as the station finished shuttering from whatever had just happened back on the stage; that worry that played at the edges of her mind began to show her a steady stream of possibilities... Those she cared for and worked with, crushed or devoured by whatever that thing back there was... She felt a momentary sense of panic and felt herself take one small step backward before she steeled herself and took one quick and deep breath. No. She had no weapons, no ability to channel the Force over and above what minimal skill she'd obtained already... No. She needed to get these people to safety.