Faction Dude, Where's My Space Station

[Abraxas Colt]

​

Tags:

[FRENEMY] Pal Veda ​

Objective: Survive
Location: Portal Facility

​

Brax ducked his head to the right, dodging a bolt from the horde of infected troopers that were stumbling through the darkness. He sent a bolt back, scorching a hole through what was left of the creature’s skull. “Muscle memory,” Brax mused. As long as the zombies stuck to blasters instead of thermal detonators, he could deal with it.

With the lone trooper in tow, Brax pushed forward, dropping the infected just as fast as they appeared. The klaxon alarms flashed ominously, bathing the bloody hangar in crimson light before rhythmically plunging them into darkness again. “That one, there!” Brax called out. He ran at a sideways angle, firing at the TIE fighters and shuttles as he went; if the dead could shoot, he shuddered to find out if they could pilot.

Abraxas tapped a button on his comlink, remotely lowering the boarding ramp. He spun on his heels and dropped to a knee, stabilizing his aim for a trio of headshots on the incoming horde. His squadmate ran past a few meters and followed suit, laying down covering fire until a stray bolt caught him in the shin. He screamed but the sound vanished into the symphony of carnage that surrounded them. Brax pulled back, stepping backwards on his heels and reaching down for the back of the trooper’s armor to drag him once again.

“Veda!” he shouted. “Get the ship ready!” It was an extreme exercise of trust, but Abraxas knew it was that or die.

 

[Pal Veda]

Objective: Impersonate an Imperial Pilot . . . Except Good
Tags: Abraxas Colt

Pew! Pew! They were taking out the infected as fast as they came, but there seemed to be an unlimited supply. Pal hustled toward the shuttle, narrowly dodging plasma the whole way. At least these abominations had the same terrible aim as the classic Storm Troopers.

”On it!” he called back, too caught up in the moment to consider the irony of the lieutenant trusting him to bail them out, when he was holding Pal at gunpoint not that long ago. When he got to the landing ramp, he glanced over his shoulder to see the soldier drop from a blast to the shin. “Feth!”

He only had a second to act, but everything moved in slow motion with the adrenaline surging through is veins. “I hope that armor’s as good as I think it is.” Pal holstered his blaster and retrieved his last thermal. If he didn’t use it now, when would he? “Hey, Colt! Fire in the hole!” He chunked the grenade as far as he could throw it, watching it land in the middle of the zombie hoard. Abraxas and his amigo should have been just outside the blast radius. Should be. Hopefully.

BOOM! Rotting body parts covered in cheap white armor flew in every direction. But Pal didn’t wait around to see the smoke clear. He was already in the captain’s chair.

Now, Pal Veda is a pilot. No, Pal Veda is the pilot. He flew X-Wings in Rogue Squadron before becoming the galaxy’s most handsome smuggler and outlaw, flying the galaxy’s most beautiful YT-2400, the Rubicon. So it didn’t take long to figure out how the Imperial shuttle operated and fire up the engines. He opened a line to the Alliance fleet and transmitted a message.

Captain Pal Veda, clearance code R-E-B-E-L-6-9. Attempting departure from Tython orbital station in Imperial Shuttle E-V-1-L. No infected on board. Do not shoot. I repeat, do not fethin’ shoot!

That part was taken care of. But they couldn’t get out of the hangar until Abraxas entered his clearance codes. Hurry up, Colt! While he waited, Pal explored the weapons systems, hoping to find an automated undercarriage blaster similar to the AX-190-B on his own ship. But no such luck — just standard lasers. Well, at least it had a hyperdrive.