D I A B L O
[member="Curupira Hawk"] | [member="Lirka Ka"] | [member="Alora Fae"] | [member="Dalvas Stone"]
When he was a much younger soldier, Diablo cut through Hutt Space. He and his brothers, a legion of ten thousand, brought fire and
order to the criminalized systems. They executed many Hutts. Evicersated as many slavers as they could get their hands on. And above all, purged the region of the old Confederacy's enemies. During those days, the Cartels and Syndicates loved to arm themselves with rogues. Enforcers, trained in the Force. Most likely Sith who didn't want to brave the formerly powerful Republic of that time.
Diablo and his brothers had gotten used to mowing down scruffy looking forcies. They were the most bold of targets, as they felt they had a god in their back pocket. But steel rain had a real funny way of showing a man just how real their god was. And that was why Diablo did not flinch when [member="Tobias Dib"] continued his rush. By the sheer cahones it took to run towards an armored Heavy, the clone made the assumption that this man was the same as all those Enforcers they had burned.
And that was his first miscalculation.
The Enforcers of the good old days didn't have explosive rounds. They relied on slinging their god around and waving glow sticks. And so Diablo didn't move when the slugs
slammed into his armor. He thought they would be harmlessly deflected. He thought he had the best. A vicious combination of agonies ripped through him - the burning of flesh, the imbedding of metal. They were enough that the clone froze - his dominant hand going slack from the entry wound and dropping the Gatling gun.
And as he struggled to get his bearings, that scruffy bastard evangelized Diablo. His god sent a drop pod screaming into his body. There was a solid
crunch as CC-0666 was pulverized under the metal.
Diablo made good on his goal. There wasn't enough of him in one piece to be put into a body bag.
G O O S E
[member="Rylan Kordel"]
What made them strong was how they were
born. The longnecks on Kamino were commissioned to do more than copy and paste a genetic template ten thousand times. No, they were hired to give the old Confederacy an edge. In a Galaxy where the Sith and Jedi ran absolutely rampant, they needed something extra. Something that could give the people true peace of mind. So, the longnecks brought on a consultant. A disgraced Yuuzhan Vong shaper. They grafted all sorts of nastiness to the clones as they grew. And therefore, their first moments were
pain.
But it gave them the edge. It killed them. It made them Dead...to the Force.
And as the Sith ascended the building, he would learn firsthand that this trooper was unlike any other he'd ever seen. The shriek of telekinetic might that crossed the roof indeed had its intended affect. The mortar was broken and hurled over the side - the perilous thread upon the Complex was silenced for now. But the clone was unmoved. It was like a stiff breeze had blown over his picnic basket, but it was not enough to even make his body waver. He looked up, reaching immediately for his sidearm.
CC-0307's thoughts were frantic. He knew his flaws as they were always made painfully apparent during training. At range, he was an excellent marksman. But up close? He was shoddy at best. Against a Sith? It was a losing battle. He could try to run, but how far would that get him. He could try to fight, but how long would he last? He could surrender, but would the Sith spare him?
Your move...
Goose moved a few paces back as the scale tipped in his mind - Fight or Flight arguing one last time. Finally, he settled on one reality. One outcome. He wasn't leaving this roof alive. He knew it the second he saw the crimson saber. But what he
could do was make sure that Sith followed him to Hell. He made a gesture - throwing his firearm down to the roof's floor as if to say "I surrender." But in the beat of a heart, his hands gripped the gray spheres upon his belt. Thermal detonators were primed in his grasp. His HUD screamed a confirmation to the order given by his eyes - the pineal scanner identifying his command to kick on the thruster upon his back.
His form thundered forward - a mammoth jump to bring himself within the Sith's melee range. And with a battlecry filling his lungs, CC-0307 ceased to exist.
The explosion
rocked the roof.
M A V E R I C K
[member="Kylo Kyr'am"] | [member="Djonas Vile"]
He taught us the lyrics. Carved our names into his back. And here we were, biting the hand that birthed us yet again.
When a man nears the end of his life, he begins to question the biggest choices he made. He thinks about the girl who got away. He thinks about if he raised his children right. He thinks about if there was anything he could have done better. And as his eyes finally lull to a close, he ends this tyriad of thoughts with acceptance. To die without regret meant peace eternal.
Maverick's thoughts weren't wholly on the mission as he neared the Complex. His HUD was filled with the dying breaths of Diablo and the explosion that had taken Goose. They were among the last of the original Dreadguard - that superior fighting force of so long ago. And for just a moment, Maverick began to regret. He wished they hadn't stabbed their "father" in the back. He wished that, when Calico and Galaar said it was time to defect, he had raised his middle finger. Their "father" was not cruel, he was kind to them. Despite being one of those damn Sith, he was honorable.
And he remembered their names. He never mixed them up, even when their helmets were on. That Darth Metus wasn't the demon that his superiors made him out to be at the end. And Maverick regretted that he was now on the wrong side of the tracks. He worked as a soldier and hardened himself because guilt was a damning thing. He wanted to forget. He wanted to...bury his regret under a pile of kills and missions. And as he made the final turn and witnessed the battle which had spontaneously erupted in front of the Complex, he...He wished he was the one firing back at the Imperials.
But he had made a choice. He had to live with it. He had to face it all with no regrets. That was how a man died, right? That's what it meant to be Human?
Maverick dove into the fray - his Carbine sang a sweet melody of death as it rattled against the enemy line. He, like those Grim soldiers he now quarreled against, was a trained and hardened warrior. But his allies...they were mercenaries. Credit fueled blaster jockeys who cracked under the pressure of a real battlefield. They started to fall. Despite superior numbers, they began to be eaten alive by the soldiers within the Complex. He took a defensive position with his back against a pillar, panting as he attempted to gain his bearings.
He never had the chance. A wrist rocket from the Legion collapsed the pillar with a thunderous
boom. Maverick's spine popped into a million pieces as the stone crushed him. His body practically burst from the seams. One, last ragged breath fell from his lips.
It wouldn't be long before the Legion killed them all.
It wouldn't be long until Maverick had no regrets.
