Sabosen'tir'inrokini
***
ATTN: [member="Karacan Rigten"]
Despite not having true physical forms, every "wave" sent through one of the humanoid-projections did the appropriate damage, even if it could not be felt. Blood dripped from wounds, limbs were severed, and pain streaked the faces of the wounded. The cantina erupted in a frenzy of panic. Most of the patrons had been miners, not the scum and villainy that filled the majority of spaceports or criminal outposts, just simple working people trying to make a living. A shoot-out was not something they saw often, nor was it something that they had any interest in sticking around to see. The drone-filtered projections rush and scream their way out until only the bartender remained, crouching down in fear behind his bar, hoping that no stray bolt would find its way to him.
With a few men down, their weapons scattered across the floor, and Bolan quite trapped beneath the perceived weight of Karacan, the commander's tune took on a different key... almost. His voice was more rushed, more uneven, yet he still held on to his defiance. "I couldn't care less what opinion you have of me or my men," he spat out, shapeless hands pinned but obviously resisting to try and free himself. Of course, while the drones could easily pop out at any time, the projection seemed to take into account the weight and force applied by Karacan as well as Bolan's implied physical characteristics, even without there being a solid form.
"They're my family, and I won't abandon them to the fate that awaits them on the battlefield." Though he had been trembling and wriggling the whole time, Bolan's attitude changed then. He suddenly stiffens and sticks his chin out. "I'll tell you nothing!"
