Faction [Foundation] The Hakassi Prison Break

[The Burning Truth]

902 ABY: The Hakassi Prison Break

The first strike shook the Empire. Now, the next mission begins.

The Foundation’s assault on Kampe, Prakith, and Jerrilek sent shockwaves through the Core, crippling Imperial supply lines, igniting rebellion, and forcing the Dark Empire onto the defensive. But the fight is far from over. The next step isn’t about breaking supply chains—it’s about saving those who can help destroy the Empire from within.

Deep in the Hakassi System, hidden within the swirling storms of a barren world, lies Black Reach, one of the Dark Empire’s detention facilities in their core stronghold. It is a fortress designed to hold the kind of prisoners the Empire cannot afford to kill—but cannot risk setting free. Political dissidents, rogue officers, and those who dared to defy Imperial rule rot inside its cells, forgotten by the galaxy. Among them, a handful of former Alliance officers and personnel—now locked away. The Foundation has learned their names, their crimes, and their potential to turn the tide of their war. They were going to free them.

Now, a small strike team has been sent to do the impossible: break into Black Reach, extract the prisoners, and get out alive.

This isn’t an invasion. It’s precision. Speed. Chaos. The team will have only minutes between infiltration and all-out lockdown. Blasters will fire. Sirens will wail. Starfighters will scramble. And if they don’t move fast enough, the Dark Empire will bury the truth—and everyone inside—with them.

This is the kind of mission rebels don’t come back from. But if they pull it off? They’ll remind the Empire that no cage is strong enough to hold the fire of rebellion.

The facility is built deep into the rock, its spires barely visible beneath the perpetual storm that engulfs the planet. Lightning forks across the sky, illuminating the monolithic structure for only seconds at a time—an iron fortress swallowed by the dark.

Black Reach is not a prison meant for numbers. It is not a labor camp or a war-criminal processing center. It does not hold the masses. It holds the forgotten.

Carved into the bones of the planet itself, Black Reach is reinforced with a layered defense grid:

• Turbolaser emplacements are stationed across its jagged cliffs, ready to swat down anything attempting an approach.
• Ion storm disruptors make long-range scans nearly impossible, hiding the prison from all but the most determined seekers.
• A garrison of a few dozen Imperial shock troopers that patrol the inner sanctum, ensuring no one leaves Black Reach alive.

Deep within its maze of cold, durasteel corridors, the prisoners of Black Reach endure. Most are kept in individual confinement cells, suspended in anti-grav containment fields to limit movement and prevent escape. There is no daylight, no clocks, no concept of time—just the slow decay of will.

But tonight, something is different.

Through the storm, a chain reaction of explosions ripples across the lower levels. The first, then the second—detention blocks Epsilon and Theta are engulfed in flames. Sirens scream through the prison as Imperial officers scramble to contain the chaos. The prisoners have broken loose.

Through the smoke and fire, the strike team moves. The mission already seemed impossible. Now, it just became even harder. But that was nothing for the irregulars.
​

----

// Foundation Rebel Radio \\

​

​

 

[Mother Askani]

​

A small holoprojector flickers to life. A grainy blue image of Mother Askani, the enigmatic leader of the Foundation, takes shape before them. Her expression is calm, her voice measured, but there is iron beneath the words.

“You already know what this mission means,” she begins. “No speeches. No dramatics. Just truth.”

She folds her hands before her, looking into each of them as if she can see through the transmission. “Black Reach is a wound in the Force, a place where people go to disappear. The Empire thinks that by burying its enemies, it erases them. Tonight, we remind them that the forgotten are never truly lost. Not while we still fight.”

Her gaze sharpens. “Make no mistake—this is not an assault. This is an extraction. In and out, fast and quiet. You are not here to win a battle. You are here to pull three souls out of the abyss before the Empire can silence them forever.”

The holoprojector flickers slightly as the ship shakes from turbulence, but her voice remains steady. “Our three targets, A Commander Voss, An engineer by the name of Kazz Vurn, and a doctor, Dr. Veema Ral’vos. Each of them carries knowledge that can turn the tide of our war. Intel says they are being held on Detention Block Cresh-9, where the Empire holds prisoners for interrogation and forced research. We need them. But more than that—they deserve to be free.”

She pauses, her gaze sweeping across the team before settling on Trent Perris .

“Perris, this mission is yours. You are the commanding officer for this operation. I trust your judgment. Get them out—no matter what it takes.”

She leans in slightly. “Black Reach will not let them go easily. The riot gives you cover, but it also makes them more dangerous. If the Imperials realize what we're doing there, they will execute any high-value prisoners before they let them fall into our hands. That means you do not have time to hesitate. Every second you waste is a second closer to a blaster bolt to the skull.”

A beat of silence. Then, she raises her right hand—the three-finger salute.

“Bring them home.”

The transmission cuts out. The signal light above the loading ramp flicks from red to green. The mission begins.

-----

"What have I sacrificed? Everything..."
​

 

[Torn Eskol]

EVERYTHING I DO, IS MURDER, IS LIES.



​

SIA SPECDIV
AGENT ESKOL "JAYCE"

​

Slush funds.

Deniable operatives in allied territories.

Black operations.

Classified briefs.

Constant identity switching.

False flag operations.

Assassinations.

Espionage.

Corporate espionage.

Black-bag kidnappings.

Seek-and-destroy operations.

Reconnaissance.

Murder-for-hire.

All the things that made "Jayce" good at what he did, who he was, what he was trained to do- a prison break, that was child's play in terms of planning. Execution would be as difficult as it normally was, but hardly out of Jayce's capabilities. Jayce had a perfect cover story for the Foundation, and so far, nobody elected to dig into him too much. He was on paper as Jayce Fulin, former Alliance Marine-turned mercenary, that found work and purpose in the Foundation. Fortunately, a bit further alterations, and Jayce's skillset and training matched more closely to his own.

Jayce looked every bit the part of an Operator, one of the Alliance's best. Good physique, no tattoos, light scarring. His gear was non-standard, nothing traced back to him. Not even SIA equipment, as good as it was. A Verpine shatter-pistol, an old RS16 rifle, caseless, quiet, and suppressed. Hard-hitting and could more importantly, punch through Imperial armor. A vibroknife, garrote wire, grenades, a breach charge, a thermite charge, breaching tools, mask, a no-show.

Everything he carried with him was designed to kill quietly, efficiently, and quickly. Including him. He watched with passive interest at their leader, speaking through a holoprojector. Already, a file being built on her. Rebel factions tended to be light-sided enough, but there'd been instances where rebellion gave way to tyranny, or worse, infiltration from outside groups. Jayce smirked to himself as he pulled the balaclava over his face, preparing on the ride over.

Like him, for example. He looked over at Trent Perris .

"I can land on my own and knock out a few turbolaser emplacements quietly enough to give us a cap in their coverage for a successful extract. They won't know they're down until we make our escape."

​

 

[Trent Perris]

Protective Utility Clothing | Huckleberry Belt
Heavy Rifleman Gear | Helljumper Jetpack
Concealed Blaster | Blaster Pistol | Voxyn Rifle | Blackout Batons
Lodestone Devices | Descrambler | Scomp-Spiker |
Wristcomp | Wristband
The Harpy

6 Kilometers Above Hakassi Prison​

The Harpy was already on route. It's sensor jammers already firing to cover its slow crisscross pattern through the upper atmosphere where it hid amidst the ion storm.

The scheduled explosions on a different chronometer than the one that was warning of their imminent departure. The negative time already adding up at alarming speed as the shipboard A.I. kept the vessel barely within the storm and dodging strikes to keep the ship as dark as possible.

The details shared by the leader of the Foundation herself as she let her gaze settle on him eventually. Trust for this operation and it's success directly on him as a barely there nod was his only response to allow her to remain uninterrupted.

The transmission cut as the systems flickered and the engines sputtered briefly. His wristcomp flaring to life as the loading ramp switched from emergency red to mission green.

His eyes settling over the assorted members for the mission ahead.

The first to speak was Jayce, offering to make a hole for their safety later. An idea that hadn't occurred to him just yet with the severity of their mission briefing.

"Make it happen." Giving him a thumbs up before pointing to the rack of Helljumper Jetpack's. "Don't forget your pack. High altitudes and sudden stops don't mix well. Check in after completion. We will coordinate from there."

The Helljumper Jetpacks had additional harness rigging for each one in case the hard points did not mesh. Enough for everyone that had come along as the ship rocked slightly with another dazzling flash of light outside the ramp.

Turning to the rest of the assembled group, he began to run through the plan.

"Close quarters combatants take point on me. Tech's follow directly behind. Radio silence unless securing a VIP. If you get separated, consult your map and head for Detention Block Cresh-9. If you are separated after the VIP's are secure. Head topside and to the south end of the compound." Words harsh and loud as the howling wind tried to pull him down the loading ramp.

"We are ghosts and whispers. Meaning you engage only if you can do so silently. We are not here for everyone. Meaning we do not, under any circumstances, pick up extras. Unless they separated the targets, we stick together and watch each other's six. If we are clear, grab your pack and meet me on the ground." His words final as he moved to the ramp after donning his Jetpack.

"An' start using the thrusters around a'undred-sixty meters or you'll end up knowing what a bug feels taking on a viewport."

Hyping himself up as he watched the lightning zing past before leaping out of the vessel.


Twisting to share a wide grin as the Synthmesh mask slid down over his head. Plummeting down towards the prison with abandon.

Torn Eskol​

 

[Sharloe]

Sharloe sat silently while she prepared her mind for the hunt. A part of her was irritated with the mission she wanted to kill Neos, but even she acknowledged that was a petty side of her. Dark Empire did a lot of damage too, this was a worthy mission, a smart one too. Freeing innocents from prison, people who could be tactically useful to the Foundation. To the cause. Oppression should be fought wherever it was found, but as much as Sharloe wanted to fight, she wanted to win. It wouldn't be easy the odds were stacked against them and Sharloe knew that she probably wouldn't survive, but until then, until she fell in battle she was going to fight. Win or lose. Whatever she could do to help make the galaxy a better place, a safer place where people could work for a living, a good living, go to work, go home and relax, go travelling without fear. A better world.

Sharloe was willing to let others take the lead on this one. If this had been a mountain range, or a desert or a jungle she'd be front of the line cutting a path for the others, but a prison break? She knew her limits, she was good in a fight, but she was surrounded by special forces types. Some former GA from the smell of them. Sharloe ignored them she wasn't here to make friends.

She opened her eyes and got her gear ready. Helljumper Jetpack went first. Then her weapons her Custom Bowcaster Blaster Pistol and Vibro Knife. She was already wearing a set of Armor the Foundation gave her though she had painted it in dark mottled colours for camouflage.

 

[Yuri Maji]

HAKASSI | PRISON
ALLIES: FOUNDATION | Torn Eskol | Trent Perris | Sharloe
ENEMIES: DE
ENGAGING: N/A
GEAR: In bio

MONEY FOR NOTHING​

Yuri shuddered once more and tapped the durasteel hull of the ship behind him, dispelling some static electricity before taking a breath. He hated storms like this. The sheer amount of lightning always somehow managed to creep in and stick to his pelt. Helmet or not, he constantly felt as if he stuck his finger into a socket.

Personal experience confirmed it.

The Mutt turned to look at the rest of the team as he listened to the briefing. He didn’t know anything about the team he was rolling with, but if they were chosen for this, it meant they had some moves. They certainly looked the type. Either former military, or fellow scoundrels who proved resourceful and reliable enough for the Foundation.

Either way, he hoped they were up to the task. He looked down at the helmet in his lap, staring into his own reflection in the T-visor.

"Don't forget your pack. High altitudes and sudden stops don't mix well. Check in after completion. We will coordinate from there."

Yuri’s ears perked at the comment and a chuckle escaped him. He hadn’t heard the howl of another jetpack in quite some time. Not in this kind of situation, anyway. He wasn’t a soldier by any means, but hunting people and breaking into places was old practice for the Mandalorian.

The green light came on and the commander proceeded to leap out of the ship. CQB first. That was him. Tech support was his thing as well, but the armour could come in handy. ”All luck, no skill, schuttas!” He cackled as he slid his helmet on and leapt head first out of the ship. Lightning crackled around them as they descended, Yuri spared the occasional glance at the team to make sure they were good. An occasional vent from his jetpack kept him on target while his HUD displayed the path. In the midst of the soup of thunder and rain, he couldn’t help but think of what she would have to say of him now.

He finally had a good cause to work for. Blowing up prisons and shooting Imps was just the bonus.

 

[Torn Eskol]

​

SIA SPECDIV
AGENT ESKOL

​

Not another word. Jayce nodded, grabbing the jetpack and running a diagnostic on the thrusters. He listened intently to the speech and parameters set forth by Trent Perris . He knew the risks, he knew the mission. He wondered if everyone else gathered had the stomach just to rescue three prisoners. The reality was, that with the riot cover, more prisoners would die than they were saving.

So the Foundation, and the agents and specialists gathered, were dealing in lives, valuing lives against lives. While Jayce could make that call, he made it quite often actually- as a newer SIA operative, Darro Carden found out. He traded lives easily, supposedly for the greater good.

He slipped the jetpack on over his gray-and-black gear, but curiously, no night vision goggles. Nor any tech to help him see in the dark. Not a flashlight on his rifle, nothing. Not even a lighter on him. His slightly-glowing eyes in the dark gave it away as he stepped to the rear of their vessel, standing over one of the loading cargo bays. Designed for the ship to intake cargo quickly, and perhaps quietly- it was also handy to drop things out of.

Jayce shut the door behind him, blocking the cargo bay. He made sure that the rest of the bay was secure, nothing else but him was flying out. After doing so, he braced himself, standing over the bay as it lowered just enough. The rush of the system below him, the slowing of the vehicle. The droid pilot- or perhaps the real pilot, slowed enough for him to have a slightly safe enough leap of faith. He placed his feet backwards- took a deep breath, steeling himself as the wind howled below him, and fell backwards. The immediate jolt of being sucked out of a moving ship, even in-atmosphere, was not pleasant. Luckily, nothing changed and the pilot was good enough to maintain the course so Jayce wasn't sucked into the engine, smashed against the hull of the ship, or immediately smashing into a rock.

He flew through the air, too small for radar detection, and too fast. He rolled his body, to where his arms were spread wide, and he descended faster and faster towards the first turbolaser battery. He only had to knockout two, and that'd give the ship roughly a few hundred meters, if not more, to escape from.

The wind bit at his face, and he shut his eyes, counting instead. He opened them periodically, preventing himself from going off-course too much. Jayce pulled his abdomen in tight, and pushed his feet out under him, and crossed his arms over his rifle as he activated the jetpack to begin to slow his descent. The sharp, first burst went out, barely audible due to the wind. He slowed down gradually with this, the turbolaser battery looming closer and closer, the sheer size of the anti-ship platform more and more apparent.



One final burst from the jetpack allowed him to touch onto the cliffside, scouring the rocks with his boots, before he jumped a few times, bouncing on the ground, still slowing his descent with gradual uses of the jetpack. He took a deep breath once he lay still, breathing heavily from the adrenaline dump, and the exercise of fully-sprinting and leaping into the air over and over. He set the jetpack down, covering it with a few rocks on the barren landscape. He pulled his rifle to his chest, wiping some dust off of it. He did a functions check on the decades-old rifle. Hard-hitting, reliable, and quiet.

An assassin's friend, if one could have one in his line of work. He crouched near one of the protruding rocks, one of many on the barren landscape of the planet's rocky outcrop. The Imperials sure knew how to pick them- for sure. This place was good as any for a prison. Rocky, cold, terrible. His gloved hand touched the rock to pull himself up, after sensing no patrols had detected him, or any batteries or turrets locked onto him and blew him immediately away. No alarms, no patrols, no notices.

He pulled his wrist up, about to activate his no-show. A single line of data was sent back to the other team. After this, he'd activate his no-show device and began his evil work on the turbolaser crew and batteries.

MOVING TO TARGET. NO COMMS. WILL REPORT BACK WHEN COMPLETE. IF NO COMMS PRIOR TO TWENTY MINUTES, I AM KIA. DO NOT COME GET ME.​

And then, he turned on his No-show, pulled the rifle up to his cheek, and began to slowly creep towards the first Turbolaser battery, alone and unafraid.....

​

 

[Len Vert]

Torn Eskol | Trent Perris | Sharloe | Yuri Maji
​

A cheerful yell was shouted into the lightning filled air as the man fell backwards out of the ship.

While the jetpack strapped to his back was nothing compared to riding Duinuogwuins on the fringes of space, the cool air whipping across the man's face let him know that this mission could still be enjoyable. Most people typically did not like working with the aging pilot, as he had a way of joking around in situations where seriousness was of the upmost importance. Len only used his humor to help calm the nerves of his squadron, along with himself. But today he knew that the comedy would need to be dialed back.

This was his first major mission since his retirement from the Alliance Defense Force. He had found himself a happy life back on his home of Pamarthe, helping defend the nearby hyperlanes, along with work and racing part time at his local spaceport. Unfortunately, the ever-looming threat of the Sith Order led people to become fearful. No one wanted to mess with the Sith (a lesson he had learned himself some time ago.) That is why he decided to leave his home and find the Foundation. They were a group that promised change within the galaxy, something which other organizations had failed to do so thus far.

Another bolt of lightning crashed nearby as Len dove deeper towards the surface. He did not carry much gear with him, as he knew this was supposed to be a quick in and out recovery. A simple breathing mask was strapped around his head, accompanied by a pair of protective goggles. A rifle dangled in the wind behind him, held by a small leather loop. Upon his belt was a blaster pistol, a small medical kit, and a few other goodies in case they needed to make a quick escape.

"Woohoo!"

One final cry escaped the man's lips before the thrusters of the jetpack finally kicked on, slowing his descent. Following his team, Len used the rocks to help disguise his fall as well, avoiding any potential scanners the best he good. Landing behind a nearby rock formation, the man pulled up his wrist communicator, viewing the message. Looks like the mission was a go. Three high-value individuals that were apparently weren't eligible for parole anytime soon. But that is where they came in.

Time to get to work.

 

[Trent Perris]

Protective Utility Clothing | Huckleberry Belt
Heavy Rifleman Gear | Helljumper Jetpack (Surprises inside magnetically attached cases)
Concealed Blaster | Blaster Pistol | Voxyn Rifle | Blackout Batons
Lodestone Devices | Descrambler | Scomp-Spiker |
Wristcomp | Wristband
The Harpy

The descent was a rapid one, but no less fun for him.

A small chirp in his ear as the hud display from his shoulder shown scrawling text against the darkened sky ahead of him. Confirmation that Jayce was underway as his fingers slid to the belt around his waist and found the sequence of buttons he needed to shut off power to the power cell hidden inside of his clothing beneath the armor. The hud fizzling out as he began to adjust his trajectory with both his body and the assistance of the pack. Setting himself on a path through the spires that reached out towards them like waiting arms of over-eager family on lifeday.

The errant thought a reminder to check in after this task was put to bed with the jetpack flaring to life. Firing enough to slow his descent before solid ground welcomed him and the pack went silent.

Crouching low as the sirens and klaxons from the prison ahead wailed and sang their tune of displeasure as voices inside the compound blended together. The thruster ports hot against his heel and thigh as his eyes darted around in the dark, trying to spy the nearest guard station. Even with his glasses he needed to squint in the back and forth lighting before checking on his remaining team members. Motioning for them to form up as his rifle was nestled against his cheek. His legs protesting at the weight he wore along with the effort to move in a half-crouch forward.

Guiding them forward until reaching the lone egress point inside that was available without fully alerting those inside as he pointed to himself as they regrouped.

"Red-one." Pointing to Yuri Maji , "Red-two." then to Sharloe , "Red-three." And finally to Len Vert "Red-four." before gesturing to one of the turbolaser nests. "Sandman." for Torn Eskol as he glanced one last time at the outside world.

Shifting to have Yuri stack to his right while Sharloe and Len were placed to his left, he rested the rifle beside the double door as he produced the descrambler and a tiny pry-bar. Pulling open the cover panel of the security screen before jacking the descrambler in to an open port before beginning the sequencer. An overly tense few seconds of heavy breathing before the locks could be heard freeing themselves after another strike of lightning painted dark splotches against the wall. His hand carefully pulling the descrambler free and slapping the cover panel back on before retrieving his rifle to them inside before closing the door behind them.

"Red-four, watch six'o clock. Red-two, watch three'o clock. Red-three, watch nine'o clock. Red-one has front." Spoken just below normal volume to keep his words almost blended with the ambient noise as they moved inside.

Their first taste of the compound as they entered what he guessed was a staff hallway. Drab grey and featureless aside from the minimalist markings he could guess were staff known direction markers. The bright lights having been replaced with rotating red beacon-lights to ensure the guards were aware of the ongoing incident inside. Sounds of violence, general disorder, and harried voices no doubt barking orders carried over the resounding blare of klaxons.

His mind already processing the repeating pattern of the alarm as he moved towards the left end of the circular hallway. Viewports breaking up the seemingly endless hallway to scenes below as varying degrees of control and disorder played out in the surrounding areas below them.

Their first taste of combat approaching all too quickly as they came upon the door in time for it to hiss open with a surprised officer in plain uniform. His head snapping round as he halted mid step and made a startled gasp. Four more officers and two others in combat gear inside the room turning to examine the surprise in a split second of stunned stupor. Words failing the first officer in front of Trent as he stepped back while Trent rocketed forward.

"Go hot." The only order he could muster as the rifle butt made contact with the officers face. Sending the man backwards as Trent leveled his rifle with the armored trooper that began to take aim. Both seeming to stare at one another down the sights before bolts skittered through the air. Almost colliding as the incoming fire caught the shoulder armor of Trent's gear while the outgoing caught the Imp in the throat.

Torn Eskol | Yuri Maji | Sharloe | Len Vert​

​

 

[Torn Eskol]

​

SIA SPECDIV
AGENT ESKOL

I AM NO ONE, AND I AM EVERYONE. ​

He moved like the Grim Reaper. He was silent in his footsteps, accomplished by years of training to creep up on the enemy. The distribution of his weight, from the way he rolled his feet and balanced on his heels- he moved like death himself. He was, in fact, death itself. Jayce was not a soldier in the SIA. He was not an emissary, a diplomat. He was not a representative of the Alliance. He was the killing hand, the icy touch of death that the SIA extended it's hand. When someone needed to die, when someone needed to be removed, it was not the Jedi, it was not the Alliance Marines. It was an unannounced visitor, a gentle knock at your door.

There was no fanfare, there was no long speech. There was no grand entrance, grand exit, waxing poetic. Men like Jayce simply killed you. And that's what he was here to do. The removal of life from an otherwise uncaring galaxy. The deaths never bothered him. The murders, the removal of life, the most sacred of thing in every religion, every belief system in the galaxy. Even the Sith valued life, even if it was ultimately their own. They knew the value of it, preserving it.

Jayce had no such compunction, no such reservation. He simply didn't care.

So when that guard was on the catwalk of the first turbolaser, having a pleasant time, probably thinking about home, or the next time he called his mother, he found himself unable to breath, a searing pain in his chest. Even with a suppressed rifle, Jayce knew the value of the time-honored sentry removal training he received. On humans and near-humans, it was imperative to remove their ability to scream. Stabbing them in the chest was the preferred method to introduce negative pressure into their lungs, preventing them from screaming. He gasped, and Jayce pulled back on his head, pulled his head down-

And stuck the knife behind his ear, gently lowering his body down to the ground. He was dead instantaneously. Jayce didn't kill quickly out of mercy or a misguided sense of kindness. It was just simply efficient. He was a tool, and he needed to be efficient and fast, just like any other business in the galaxy. Jayce lowered his body onto the catwalk, before climbing further up, his rifle swinging around the catwalk. About a hundred meters away, another guard was taking the same route. They were lax in security here- this must have been a rather cushy assignment for them. Jayce speculated that they were outside their guard shack simply because they were bored.

Jayce braced himself on the side of the catwalk, stabilizing himself, taking a deep breath to prepare for the one-hundred-and-fifty meter shot. It needed to be perfect. Sure enough, it was. His rifle barely moved, and it was quiet enough that the weapon cycling was about the only sound. The caseless rifle made a quiet noise of a machine in motion, and the guard fell forwards. He aimed for the base of the skull, right at the connection of the spine to the brain. It was a perfect kill, and he dropped in a crumbling manner, unable to even process the pain. It was simply lights out.

Jayce pushed further ahead, into the command structure. Turbolaser batteries were generally setup the same. Catwalks and security positions outside, and two floors on the inside. The lower floor was the power area, ammunition and chargepack storage, and the upper floor was typically where the crew stayed, or where the guards had their rotating shack. Sure enough, this place was setup the same as most others he encountered. He didn't even need to swipe a card, or use the eyeball of one of the dead guards.

He was really in the presence of some of the Empire's worst and least disciplined- a farcry to the tight security he encountered usually, especially in Imperial facilities. He pushed on the upper floor, going to the breakroom first. Nobody there. Guards must've gone back to the main facility to help with the riot. Only a skeleton crew remained. He stepped inside, shut off the light, and turned on the caf machine. A grumbling voice down the hall confirmed there were still people inside. The caf machine whirred and lit up, all sorts of lights and sounds signaling it turning on.

"Hold on I'll turn that thing off, before it makes anymore-" The man opened the door to the break room, but found himself facing a dark, empty room. Jayce took the Verpine pistol, angled it upwards, and stuck it in the Turbolaser crewmembers' chest. He fired twice, the only sounds being the extremely small projectiles hitting the ceiling. They were covered up by the sound of the machine. He held him tightly, feeling him go limp as his body passed away after a brief moment. He let him fall down slowly, careful not to get blood on himself. He stepped around the hallway, the pistol raised as he entered the actual command section of the battery itself.

Three other crew members were inside, watching the riot on CCTV, providing commentary like it was a sports game. It was here that Jayce shined, his ruthless calculus paying off. He shot them all, six rounds in total. Twice in the head for each. They crumbled to the ground in record time, and only the third man even had a moment to process what might have been going on. The last thing he saw was the near-silent pistol having a very minor puff of smoke, and a man with glowing eyes staring at him.

He died thinking he'd met a demon, or a ghost.

Which, depending on who you asked, Jayce was one of the two, or both.

He still needed to ensure the auto-detection of the battery was disabled. He pushed aside hap-hazardly one of the dead bodies, leaning over the console, beginning the slow process of going through subsystem commands. He looked up and out a small window to the next turbolaser. With the chaos inside the prison, commchecks were unlikely, the radios and communication arrays focused on containing the chaos inside the prison itself.

One down, one to go.

He hoped the rest of the team was working quickly. Or, they were all dead and he wouldn't have to deal with going after them if they fucked up already and got seen and had to go loud.

​