Imperia blinked, uncomprehending, as she idly resumed scrolling through comms stations on her datapad. Then, a few seconds later, realization dawned, and she burst out in a fit of uncontrollable giggles. There was no way this was real - it was either a trap by one of the Empire's enemies, a test from Darth Ophidia, or some poor idiot's idea of a prank.
The Dame shrugged and hopped out of Sera's bed, throwing on her armorweave coat and summoning a pair of lightsabers to her hands, then strolled down the halls of the Maena Institute, humming a cheery little song. Not like she had anything better to do with her time, so why not go slaughter someone? She hadn't done that in ages.
Assuming this wasn't a trap or otherwise a total waste of time, then the man who sent that transmission was unbelievably dead - on the incredibly remote chance that he proved a match for Imperia (but how often did that happen?), one of the other Assassins would make quick work of him. Or the High Court. Or the Inquisition. Or, chit, the Imperial Armada could blow whatever backwater planet he was broadcasting from to smithereens.
Smiling to herself at that thought, Imperia punched the necessary Access Codes into the terminal next to the Hangar Bay's airlock, then scowled at the protocol droid tasked with logging her visit. Force, she hated that thing. Nothing she could do about it, though, short of slicing it in half. Which was tempting.
Maybe later. Right now, there was a job to do.
--
[member="Dyn Hela"]
