Dominion Gotta Be Sumpthing | First Order Dominion of Sump

[Resurgent Narrative]

​

Sump isn’t exactly new to the First Order. The Free Imperial Nation once occupied the planet and had studied its swamp to some extent, however; as the nation grows and looks to bring Sump back in the fold. There are a few things that need to be taken care of. Once these items are taken care of, the First Order can move in and get to work on sumpthing special... ​

​

Warlord Sokolov is at it again. Determined to claim any and all technology for his own purposes, and to develop weapons for his goals, he stumbled upon the planet Sump. A toxic world devoid of life, save for the local population of Nuknog aliens. Those same locals are stuck on their homeworld, very eager to escape, and even sell themselves into slavery to do so.​

Sokolov saw the opportunity. He approached the Nuknog natives, and has bartered freedom, for one simple price: experimentation. Using stolen tech, Sokolov has had his people establish a small lab in the northern mountains, where any willing Nuknog can be taken off-world once they are processed through whatever technological, biological or chemical terror Sokolov’s people inflict on them - assuming they survive.​

Now, some months later, the northern lab and mountains have become home to some fierce mutations and damned creations. Once Nuknog natives, all that remains of whatever the aliens once were is gone, replaced with a rage and want for destruction - and a need to spread across the planet and beyond.​

Our objective is clear: Stop the mutated Nuknog horde, before they can escape the mountains and do more harm to the locals, by any means necessary.​

​

Several years ago Arceneau Trading Company arrived on Sump to conduct research regarding the planet’s toxic wasteland. More importantly, it had been PharmaTech that had arrived to research the flora and fauna that survived, and how. Going as in-depth as to look into the metabolic rates, acidity, and the impact thereof. Dr. Vekshi of the First Order Department of Science, as well as members of the First Imperial Medical Services, will arrive with survey teams from FOCIE to continue the research started by ATC and PharmaTech. ​

Please be advised that there is word of Sokolov’s presence on Sump. Security teams will be dispatched to keep our researchers safe from either Sokolov’s forces or the local wildlife. ​

Objective: Researchers and surveyors get to studying the ins and outs of the swamp itself while security forces keep them safe from either Sokolov or the local wildlife.​

​

A clever bit of subterfuge among the old First Order was that the worst of the worst recruits were sent to Sump, but it was quite the opposite: the First Order maintained a Dark Ops training facility on Sump where elite operatives were trained for clandestine operations. The facility went dark following the splintering of the First Order’s communications network. With the resurgent First Order’s hands full with battling the Ssi-Ruuk and high-priority civilian and refugee crises, they were content to let sleeping dogs lie. Now that the First Order will be operating in the area, the Home Secretary has requested that the facility be secured and any intelligence or other assets be recovered or destroyed before it can fall into the wrong hands.

Objective: Secure the Dark Ops facility and any existing intelligent databases or material caches (including weapons, technology, currency, etc.).

​

A curious sort of humanitarian crisis has arisen from the swamps of Sump: someone has figured out that the sediment from a particular area can be dried out, processed on the cheap, and be used as the active ingredient in a newer, more potent, and more deadly form of death stick. So far, the problem hasn’t spread beyond the borders of the First Order, but word is, an Inner Rim cartel is looking to get in on the action. Rather than allow a cheap and plentiful supply of a dangerous new drug that can be traced back to First Order borders to hit the market, the main processing facility must be found, eliminated, and erased from existence, before the cartel has a chance to learn the truth. ​

Objective: Find the main processing facility, and destroy it before the cartel can do anything about it.

Bring your own objective! ​

 

[Ariel Yvarro]

​

Matidia arrived on Sump with only one goal - and that was to find a way to get closer to Sokolov. He had been a thorn in the First Order's side for long enough. The Mandalorian had arrived ahead of the Stormtroopers, quietly observing the natives. It wasn't often that the Grand Moff Ariel Yvarro got to get out of her office and spend time suited up in her Beskargam. Sump was a chitehole if she'd ever seen one, the toxic swamp and the sheer humidity did not help matters. ​

​

The Mandalorian had settled far enough east of where the northern lab had been detailed. She looked through her binocs and surveyed the Nuknog horde. While she hadn't said anything, she certainly thought a few things, kriffing eggheads, what in the Nether is he paying you lot? She continued to survey the area and attempted to get an idea of what she would be up against. Might be best to wait for the bucketheads. At the very least the Stormtroopers would make a fine enough distraction for Matidia to get inside the labs.​

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Calran Bard | Lucius Vinticus | Vakim Duval ​

 

[Calran Bard]

The pair of AAL Troop Transport cut through the atmosphere, free from the hangar bay of the Star Destroyer overhead, as the pilots wrestled the bulky vessels down to the landing point. The Stormtroopers in the front transport were strapped in, the soldiers all seated twenty in total, as the two squads of the 105th prepared for what was sure to be a challenging task. There had been a quick briefing aboard the warship in space overhead, but now was the opportunity to expand on the objectives the squad faced, as Lt. Bard stood at the front of the troop area, arm wrapped through a holding strap.

<"...when we touch down, I want a wide spread LZ securing formation,"> Bard said through his helmet speaker. He looked at the arrayed Stormtroopers under his command. He had another two squads in the second transport, also. <"We will be facing a number of messed up experiments, each mutated and possessing unnatural biology, from the standard native Nuknogs. Intel is minimal on specifics, so we're bringing all the weaponry options. Hold the big guns in reserve until we need them.">

The transport bucked and leveled out, as Bard gritted his teeth. He wasn't a fan of rapid deployment. Overhead, the pilot spoke through the comm system to announce arrival in fifteen seconds. That was the cue for the Lieutenant to wrap up the speech and get the men ready.

<"When we secure the LZ, we will start to move into enemy territory. I want staggered formations, squads one and two - Alpha - work along with squads three and four - Beta. If you see or recognize anything that will help us defeat whatever crazy we're running into, shout it out. Now, let's show 'em how the 105th own the day!">

The pair of AALs touched down with thuds, as they slid across the ground and kicked up a mass of dust and dirt with whining engines. The front ramp lowered, as the Stormtroopers unbuckled with slaps to the belt locks, and started to rush down en masse. Once everyone was out of his transport, Lt. Bard started down the ramp, blaster rifle in hands, as he touched ground and took stock of the situation. The platoons worth of Stormtroopers had spread out, adopting defensive formation, until the transports were away.

<"Eyes open, blasters ready, we move once the LZ is clear!"> Bard shouted over the AAL engines as they powered up and roared. <"Tars, you're in charge of Beta's movements when we're separated.">

Across the way, the young Stormtrooper reached up and slapped the top of her helmet in confirmation. Then the transports took to the skies, and left the troopers in white armor alone for the mission to begin. Bard didn't like the mission, but it wasn't his job to question, only to get it done. Still, the idea of facing a bunch of half-sized aliens with additional monster limbs and abilities would have sounded terrible to most, he figured...

<"Let's move, 105th, blasters at the ready - go, go, go!">

______________________________

Ariel Yvarro | Lucius Vinticus | Vakim Duval​

 

[Caio]

The patrol moved through stinking marsh, knee deep in the mess. Miserable and twisted trees clumped together in patches along with other types of scrub life that eked out an existence in the toxic soil. The whole planet seemed to be dying which is why Caio wondered what was even the point of being there. He'd been able to view the other transports and ships from the portholes, a substantial military force had been brought to Sump and they weren't all here to destroy drug labs.

Caio wasn't to know but there were a lot more higher priority targets on the planet than a drugs processing facility. It was one reason the Coilltean contingent had been given the job. Others were going to be riding right to their objective in nice dry transports, the barbarians were going to have to slog through the muck. Still, they didn't mind so much. It meant they were finally starting to get their abilities recognised.

Intelligence had been scanty with orbital imaging hampered by the planet's geography. The spooks had managed to narrow it down to a certain area but recce teams were going to have to scope it out on foot to confirm it was there before the main assault went in. They'd only get one shot at this so surprise was essential.

The rebreathers they'd been issued might have filtered out the toxins in the air but the smell still managed to get through. Caio was certain he'd need a half dozen showers before he went back to smelling somewhat normal. What was worse was that he was starting to get used to it. No wonder the cartel had built a processing facility here, who in their right mind would go hunting for it?

Somhairle's hand came up and the patrol halted. Caio eased onto his haunches, eyes and ears open. They'd be moving at the same slow steady pace since they'd landed. He doubted they'd even covered two kilometres in the last hour. He bit back his impatience, knowing Somhairle would signal them if something was happening.

"Contact ahead" came the radio whisper. Caio tensed and waited for Kaza's response. Their Lt. wasn't Coilltean but she was starting to get grudging respect for their wilderness skills. "Estimated number?" "We count five ma'am. Permission to engage?" "Granted" was the curt response. Kaza said nothing more, trusting them to deal with it. She was a half kilometre back with the rest of the platoon. Elements from the rest of the company were on either flank. Somhairle looked back, pointing at Caio before indicating the left. He did the same with Jalik, then the others. Caio crept forward, slinging his rifle and drawing his knife.

++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Caio was wiping his knife on his trousers when Kaza arrived with her platoon HQ. The bodies had been dragged off the hillock and dumped into the swamp. The officer looked at them before back to the forward patrol. Something about her eyes made Caio think she was smiling but he'd never seen it happen. "Any trouble?". Caio shook his head "No Ma'am, it was all over in a minute".

She looked around. The hillock wasn't much but it was out of the swamp so that was why the sentries had picked it. Nodding, she gestured forward "I'll bring up the rest of the platoon. Keep pushing on". Caio nodded and headed forward. One thing he'd say for Kaza was that she was a professional. He'd heard of some horror stories of officers insisting on salutes even in combat.

He'd only to move another couple of hundred metres to catch them. Somhairle was crouched by a gnarled tree root, the others had just disappeared into the undergrowth. He motioned Caio forward and the soldier automatically dropped, crawling up by him and risking a peek over.

The outlines of buildings could be seen through the murky haze and the sound of activity. Caio smirked and keyed the comm "One to Sunray, we have confirmed visual on the target".

 

[Orentho]

Mr. Orentho landed the stealth ship not too far from the objective, the objective was quite clear - secure the facility and any data or material that it might hold. Sump might have been a backwater toxic marshland of a planet but it was still valuable to the First Order. He checked his black suit over and made sure he had everything necessary to complete the mission. There was no word formal or otherwise to indicate that he would have any backup on the mission. He took it then to mean that he might be on his own for the entirety of the mission and that was just as well with him as it would have been with backup. ​

​

He gave a small indication on the dash of his ship, with a simple press of a bleeping white button that he had landed. Home Secretary Delilah Graham would get the indicator on her end. Shutting the ship down he activated its stealth protocols and disembarked. Orentho headed for the facility's coordinates as mapped by a small embedded guide on his left gauntlet. Hair slicked back, Mr. Orentho quietly proceeded onward with his mission as he activated his own optical camouflage, blending into his surroundings with relative ease. ​

​

 

[The Major]

Purification Plant 1019K
MORALE: HIGH
Virginia Schnapp | Robin Wednesbury | Orentho | Resurgent Narrative

If the Home Secretary was running the reclamation effort with a scalpel and hammer, then the Director would channel her own interpretation of the path forward as a restorative shield. Renovate. Reinvigorate. Recycle. That kind of split affinity might lead to a muddled sense of purpose, but unlike the kriff show at Hoth, this very similar style of mission would go over so much more smoothly. Shepard would borrow that metaphorical hammer —or gavel—Graham seemed to like, and bang out her own vibe check. Imagined rivalries and their intoxicating fuel that it could provide aside, the Major had to admit that there could be nothing amiss between the two parties. Which would simply be grand, since technically one reported to the other. That’s the rub, however, this False Fallanassi mused. A second journey to the frozen wastes a few light skips away had really assisted in recontextualizing her perspective: most bosses could be worked around. Better yet, convinced.

To begin this grand task the Major ushered forth her team of guards and agents who had just landed planetside. A First Order IFF tracker on her person was activated now as opposed to after muck had hit the fan. The logic was simple: if any other operatives of Her Majesty’s Order were sent here to secure the facility, they could declare themselves, fall in, and prepare the safe securement of the facility in a large collaborative effort. Perhaps they were sworn to utter secrecy or were bad faith actors which would make self declaration impossible. No problem, the Bureau’s team could engage anyone unannounced, kill them, claim self defense and move on with a couple of loose tendrils effectively burnt away. Sump sludge was highly corrosive, after all.

The deployment of the FOSB detachment mustered all necessary equipment in a boisterous manner, projecting a sense of power and entitlement to the structure. And why not? The key to the front door was walking around amongst the detachment. Her biometrics were tied to the facility by design —a backup security check just in case, and although the credentials hadn’t been flexed in a long old time, it’s not like there was an army waiting inside.

At least, there shouldn’t be.

Hm.

Better let another agent open or kick in the door first. ​

::Any volunteer wants to crack open the front gate.:: Important that this wasn’t formed as a question. Someone would elect themselves. The front of the “Orphanage” as it was called in its heyday, now messed up and tangled with swamp vines and overflowed sewage, didn’t really seem to invite the theory of repair. The Major didn’t rush the detachment members to action; it was essential to give any other members of the First Order a little time to either present themselves or go ‘rogue.’

 

[Robin Wednesbury]

​

This was all very action movie. Not Robin's preferred genre at all, really. The Special Agent (Infiltration) was accustomed to the glitz and glam of high society. Toxic swamps that smelled like something a Hutt would produce after a bout of food poisoning were not her thing. Nor was the unfamiliar weight of the blaster on her hip, or the shapeless black jumpsuit that ostensibly helped her blend into the shadows. But, that was the nature of governmental work. When a Special Agent had nothing Special pressing on the agenda, they were just an Agent, a body to throw at a problem. Robin had been in the sector, Sump had needed Agents, and thus, here she was.

She wasn't quite sure what to make of her comrades in arms. It took all sorts, she supposed, and no mistake, all sorts were present and accounted for. In the grand scheme of things, Sump was no one's idea of a crown jewel, but there must have been something here worth the effort, because quite a lot of it was being expended.

That shouldn't have bothered her, but it did. What could possibly make this place so valuable? She'd listened to the mission briefing, same as everyone else. Black ops training facility on an otherwise unremarkable planet known only for its desire to make humans miserable? That made sense, sure. And she supposed that black ops training centers might have valuable information and records lost in the oft mentioned but never explained Fall. Okay, fine. Send a couple of folks, have them smash their way in, grab the important stuff, and burn the place down on the way out.

So why in the hell am I using the Director as a seeing eye dog?

That last thought would have been "audible" to anyone within twenty feet or so, if not for the device attached to Robin's temple like a barnacle. She had no idea how the thing worked, but it did a good job preventing unwanted broadcasts. When she was nervous, or annoyed, or angry, or afraid (and she was a bit of all of them at the moment,) her telesending took on a life of its own. It wouldn't do for everyone within mindshot to pick up on all her stray anxious musings. She could feel it vibrating a bit as it locked down the errant transmission. As the Special Agent understood it, someone with an affinity for the Force might still be able to pick up on a stray thought if they tried, but otherwise, the little device did its job.

As the Director asked for volunteers, Robin swallowed, hard. She had a sinking suspicion that she'd just found out why she was summoned.

Of course. Don't send a sighted asset into a dark room when you've got a blind girl on hand.

"Could be hard to see on the other side," she said quietly. "I'll go."

Now wasn't the time to let her anxiety show. Robin padded up to the door, navigating as much by feel as anything else, and drew the sword at her side from its scabbard. The estoc was a custom design: a meter of edgeless durasteel that came to a needle tip. It was a surprisingly versatile weapon; the heavy shaft was great at blocking and parrying, and could be used as a club if necessary, but the point could punch through a body or even light armor with little effort. Like most of Robin's weapons, it was a functional version of the sporting tools she loved so much, and the familiar weight in her palm went a long way towards easing her fears.

The Special Agent ran her hand along the edges of the door, feeling for any signs of booby traps or trip wires. Nothing. Satisfied that she probably wasn't going to blow herself up, she placed a hand on the surface and gave an experimental push. Much to her surprise, it opened without resistance.

Kark, she swore, and rushed through the gap, lest she get caught in the fatal funnel it presented to anyone waiting on the other side with automatic weaponry. And then, she just felt foolish. The room was indeed dark, illuminated only by a few stray glowpanels that had survived the elements. There were no sounds of scurrying feet, no changes of air pressure that spoke of large objects moving about, no scent of machine oil or ozone.

Robin pressed a fingertip to the mute on her temple, temporarily deactivating its suppression function.

Clear, she broadcast towards the rest of the team. Or at least, the foyer is.

Virginia Schnapp | The Major | Orentho | Resurgent Narrative​

 

[Calran Bard]

The two sections of Stormtroopers moved through the area, as both squads split down the middle and covered their respective side, though the closer they got to the source of the mutated natives the worse the footing conditions got. In fact, the solid ground had started to give way to trampled mud, though Bard didn't even want to consider what might have caused the compacted dirt to become that. He could see dozens of footprints, all scattered throughout the area in front of the experiment facility, as he raised a fist and used the internal helmet comlink to call a stop.

Looks like the trail leads to the west, the Lieutenant thought to himself as he narrowed his eyes under the helmet. Are they... going out, then coming back?

The intel had suggested the mutated Nuknogs were spreading out from the medical facility, and rampaging across the nearby region, unstoppable. But if that was the case, why were there just as many indications of movement headed back into the facility? It was a head scratcher, at least without more information, so the best the section of forty Stormtroopers could do was prepare for what they did know - that the mutated natives were hostile and needed to be put down, to stop danger to others nearby.

<"Hold here, 105th,"> Bard said aloud as he scanned the area. Something didn't feel right. The Stormtroopers remained amid the rocks and bushes, before they had stepped into a large open space ahead of the building they were tasked to assault. <"Rickens, Dev'ri, head west and give me an update on those tracks leaving the area. Double-time.">

Two troopers nearby confirmed then started off, as they ran away from the section of like white-armored soldiers. They were some of the best scouts the 105th had, so Bard had no concerns about their ability to do the task. Still, the Lieutenant had reservations, he didn't want to blindly rush into the facility, something didn't feel right.

The tracks looked very fresh.

<"What are you thinking, sir?"> Tars spoke up through the comlink from across the gap between Alpha and Beta. <"It looks clear..."

<"Not sure yet, Tars,"> Bard replied, as he took a crouched position, but remained with his blaster rifle in ready position. <"That's a large open area between here and the building. Too large, too clean and flat.">

<"Kill zone.">

<"Mhm.">

<"And you're thinking a group of muties might have flanked?">

<"That's what I'm thinking, yeah.">

<"Sho--">

A sudden roar from inside the facility made the section of Stormtroopers aim blasters and shift into combat stances. A few moments went by that were silent, then a rolling crescendo of feet could be heard from inside the darkness of the building across the flat, muddy ground. Bard and the others prepared, as the two squads watched a large group of dozens and dozens mutated Nuknogs erupt from the facility in a shouting, slathering and clawing horde!

<"All units, open fire!">

Bard grimaced in his helmet, as he started to pull the trigger of his rifle, sending deadly blaster bolts across the open space between the Stormtroopers and charging Nuknogs. They were just... running at the soldiers, all feral-like, without any seeming thought to it all. But, the Lieutenant supposed it wouldn't make sense to stare a gift Bantha in the mouth, so it would be a case of mowing down the enemy by using their own kill zone against them. Across the rows of Stormtroopers, a literal hail fire of blaster fire started, as the Nuknogs began to fall in droves, even as more started to rush out of the building behind the feral mutants...

______________________________

Ariel Yvarro | Lucius Vinticus | Vakim Duval​

 

[Ariel Yvarro]

Matidia watched from a distance the Nuknogs were smart, she'd give them that. Now of course there was the idea of simply rushing into the facility and she could probably do so while the Nuknogs were busy with the bucketheads. Kriff. The Mandalorian thought to herself if she left them out here knowing what these Nuknogs had been corrupted with - or at least by whom they had been corrupted. Wrist-rockets away, I guess. The creatures moved to flank the Stormtroopers and so Matidia quietly went around to draw the Nuknogs attention.​

​

Nothing like a well-placed rocket to do that sort of thing, admittedly, Matidia chuckled when she saw at least one Nuknog get tossed into the air. Yeet. Not much time to enjoy the moment, the Mandalorian went to work picking off the mutated beasts with just enough precision to get a clear line to the facility. Help the bucketheads, and help herself right to where she needed to go. Matidia had to know for sure just where Sokolov was - the mad man had escaped her at least once already. ​

​

Calran Bard | Lucius Vinticus | Vakim Duval ​

​

 

[Orentho]

​

By the time assistance arrived by any make or shape, Mr. Orentho was well on his way toward the facility. The only way to know he was there, was the indicator on his ship. Orentho was an old hat at this sort of intrigue, which wasn't intrigue at all. It was a rather laid out plan to get what was necessary and get out, but he did know of the old FOSB. He knew their schemes, and their games, and how well they loved to keep their secrets. Secrets that at any cost would be kept hidden from the galaxy, but then that FOSB hadn't the faintest idea of just how the end would arrive.​

​

Nor how swiftly that end would sweep across the known empire.​

​

He noted there was no resistance on his way toward the facility, and at first glance, one might not have thought there was anything more there than a run-down, dilapidated outpost. If people had lived there once they didn't now and it felt more as if a nuclear war had descended upon this region of Sump. The training facility could have taken the guise of just about anything. Orentho had arrived in what looked to be a fallen town, there was a cracked open solar glasteel dome above them and it made him wonder if this was some sort of social experiment gone terribly wrong before the Ssi-Ruuk arrived.​

​

Orentho did not disengage his stealth suit and instead walked the streets carefully, looking for any sign of where the FOSB might have planted this particular facility. He happened by a small college with a statue of man out front and as Orentho looked at the statue - there was something odd about it. Walking around it he found a plaque that held a small riddle within its own dedication. The game is a foot...​

​

Roughly ten to twenty minutes had gone by since he found the first clue and was led to a small pub near the college. He entered the pub, which looked about as deserted and destroyed as anything else in the town. Skeletal frames lay where they had been before whatever had taken their lives arrived. Orentho managed to find a secret passage behind one of the pub's walk-in freezers. The door behind him shut as he descended the set of stairs and came to a hallway that led him to a lobby?​

​

Something was very, very strange here.​

​

Still. Orentho proceeded, he had a job to do - and he aimed to get it done in an efficient manner.​

​

Virginia Schnapp | The Major | Robin Wednesbury ​

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[Calran Bard]

Lieutenant Bard slapped a powerpack home, as he re-energized his blaster rifle. He took aim, fired off several shots, as several mutated Nuknogs fell dead to the mud. The mad charge by the aliens, each of them clearly feral and driven to insanity, seemed unrelenting. Not far away, the bipod mounted heavy repeating blasters had been setup, as small teams of the gunners loaded and began to spray incredibly rapid hails of blaster fire across the horde. Screams, roars, claws and energy filled the area, as the thick mud in front of the facility only thickened from all the clawed feet and bodies that had started to pile through the area.

For his part, Bard was convinced something still wasn't quite right, as he had Alpha squad maintain observation of the west flank. It was only a moment later that an explosion sounded, like a small explosive, as Bard quickly spun and aimed his blaster rifle. He saw a stranger in what appeared to be Mandalorian armor, who had approached from the flank, and started firing at what seemed to be a Nuknog group. The same group that had left the facility earlier, Bard was willing to bet, and likely a pincer attempt to trap the Stormtroopers in that kill zone.

<"Beta, start moving forward along the east side,"> Bard said through his comlink as he opened fire on the flanking Nuknogs. Thankfully there weren't too many, so with the rest of his squad the aliens started to drop quickly. Clearly surprise had been their weapon, which they lost. <"We've got an unknown in Mando armor heading to the facility. Whoever it is caught the natives flanking group.">

With a grimace under his helmet, Bard watched the unknown Mando. He would have to push into the facility after whoever it was, to catch up and find out what the kriff they planned or wanted. Last thing the 105th needed was some random mercenary sort interrupting progress for the mission. Still, so long as those explosives were aimed at the enemy...

<"Copy that, sir, pushing the east side now.">

<"Finish off the flank,"> Bard raised his arm and spun his forearm to alert his squad. <"Then we move along the west side, keep the heavy blaster lines clear. We are pushing into that facility, stat!">

With a renewed focus, Bard pulled the trigger on his blaster rifle and dropped some more mutated Nuknogs, as he started to move forward step by step through the thick mud toward the building to the north...

______________________________

Ariel Yvarro​

 

[Caio]

Caio was sprawled on his stomach, camo cloak draped over him. Insects buzzed him incessantly but he remained motionless, hands gripping the magnoculars that studied the processing facility. Others were spread out along the treeline, watchful wraiths scanning for targets while the main force was brought up.

Swamps back home had been bad but at least there he wasn't going to die in a few minutes after breathing in the air, spores clogging up his lungs. The respirator was a necessary evil here. He hated wearing helmets at the best of times, let alone a face covering. He just felt shut off, senses dulled. The STC had the fancy enhancement kit but he preferred leaving it to himself, letting his own instincts guide him.

Security was medium to heavy, about what they expected if this was the main structure for it on the planet. Guards patrolling the perimeter while industrial sounds came from the larger buildings. The whole planet was a deathtrap, who in their right mind would make a drug from here? He'd enjoyed the odd bit of dagga back home but that was a plant, it wasn't something that was going to kill him.

"Recce teams hold, snipers and heavy weapons moving into position". Kaza's voice was calm but no surprise, she'd done things like this a score of times before. Even she seemed out of her depth in this quagmire when seeing the stealth qualities of her Coilltean troops. Caio heard movement and then a familiar voice "Well how are we now?" "Not bad Dai" Caio whispered back, eyes not moving from the facility.

The sniper began to set up. Dai wasn't quiet enough to be a scout but he had the best eyes in the company. He flopped down by Caio and held out his hand "Do you mind?". Caio gave the magnoculars wordlessly, giving his eyes a break. The sniper scanned the facility slowly, making an occasional grunt or mutter. Caio took the opportunity of the break to grab some food, squirting an energy gel into his mouth. The respirator had a way to do it but it was needlessly complicated, he was looking forward to solids once this was over.

Dai's spotter came up a couple of minutes later, huffing and puffing under his pack. "Ye're back into yer sections" he told Caio, "They're doing the briefing". Dai rolled onto his back and handed back the magnoculars. "Good luck" "See ye after" Caio said in return, moving at a crouch deeper into the undergrowth.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

The attack went in twenty five standard minutes later.

The Navy had rejected the request for air support, citing too much fog and atmospherics. The Army was forced to rely on whatever was man-portable, their mortars and other heavy weapons. Fire erupted from the treeline, the higher pitched whine of sniper rifles joining in with the heavier thuds of the E-webs and blasters. Camouflaged figures emerged from the swamp, firing as they went. They moved in sections, one firing while the other surged ahead. To the defenders, it was like ghosts had materialised out of nowhere.

Caio's lungs burned from the effort, the adrenaline slow to kick in. Shaky legs propelled him forward, he nearly collided with the wall he was aiming for. Looking around, he saw everyone else in his section had made it. His respirator made raspy sounds as he took in heavy lungfuls of the stale filtered air. The treeline was a mess of blaster fire, the supporting platoon giving it everything they had.

Things weren't going all their way though. The defenders had rallied from their initial shock and were not firing back with everything they had. Doors were barricaded shut and fields of fire hurriedly cleared. They were going to have to be dug out like ticks. Somhairle risked a look around the corner and nearly had his face taken off by the streak of blaster fire sent his way.

 

[Ariel Yvarro]

​

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Matidia was met by silence, she adjusted her hud for thermal imagery. At first, there was nothing out of the ordinary, no prints - no heat. She stepped further into the facility. The entrance rounded inward like in the shape of an S. Then there was a small security alcove and a gate that normally would have had the door closed but this one was open, if only because it was dilapidated. Matidia inspected the door and determined that it had been forced open. The grip marks on the door were enough to say that whatever forced it open - was large, or very, very strong.​

​

She was careful whilst gingerly pushing the door open so that she could squeeze through it. The floor plan opened up, on either side of her an office layout, and then she could see through the thermal imagery the footsteps of whoever had come through here. There was something else here too, and from the prints? Matidia didn't really want to fight that thing. The Mandalorian pressed forward, consoles on the left and right were quiet, nothing for her to deal with - her goal wasn't whatever was in here. It was finding Sokolov. The outline of Matidia's form disappeared down the hall as her pursuit continued.​

​

​

Calran Bard ​

 

[Virginia Schnapp]

Purification Plant 1019K
MORALE: HIGH
The Major | Robin Wednesbury | Orentho | Resurgent Narrative

Virginia had never heard of their objective before the briefing earlier that day. The terms used, spoken in the cool gravitas that was Delilah Graham's voice, continued to echo in her consciousness: crucial intelligence... critical to obtain... top priority. It was a clever ruse, allowing for the rumors to persist that the facility on Sump was for the First Order's screw-ups. No one really knew anyone that had been sent there, but from her experience it hung over the heads of new recruits as a sort of bogeyman. Genius.

On the trip and since they'd landed, Virginia had stayed close to The Major . Her onetime partner, Adrian Cassidy (codename Queen, inexplicably) was not involved, and she didn't know many others on the team. Things seemed tense since Terminus, although she couldn't identify why or how exactly. Just different. Off. Strained. She wanted to ask Shepard, but she daren't. It wouldn't do to get a reputation as a gossip.

Instead, she stayed focused on the mission. Virginia wasn't wild about having a stranger's voice broadcast into her head, but operationally it made sense. The less communication that could be overheard, the better. When Robin Wednesbury announced that the entrance was cleared, Virginia gave her blaster one last check and was ready to move whenever Shepard gave the order.

 

[Caio]

Caio swore.

They were pinned down behind the wall with an E-Web steadily chipping away at what cover they had. They could jab their rifles out and fire wildly but it was like spitting into a fire. "We're pinned down!" he shrieked at their sister fireteam. They were fifty metres away down in a defile but it might as well have been fifty kilometres for all the good they could do.

Kaza's voice came in clear. "Situation Two?". Caio's response was drowned out by the sound of a thermal detonator going off. "We're pinned down Six" he said, his voice sounding calmer than he felt. Kaza replied in the same unnervingly calm tone. "Understood Two. Hold position. Help is on the way".

+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++

Private First Class Hywel Diez. or “Skidz”as he was better known to his squadmates, hated walking point. He'd never shaken the feeling, not since basic training, that he was just a walking target. The sacrificial lamb or forlorn hope whose noble end would act as a warning for the others. And he sincerely doubted he'd get much satisfaction from knowing that he'd be avenged.

Third squad had fanned out to cut right through the brush, keeping loose contact with their comrades in fourth. Their buddies in second were currently pinned down by one of the warehouse buildings so they were moving to outflank the weapons position.. But the growth was so dense they'd found themselves being channelled in, struggling to force a path towards their target. The fighting just a couple hundred metres away was oddly muffled in the undergrowth. He stayed crouched as the next trooper, Kmoch, moved up to take his place in the line. “I need to take a piss” he muttered. “Just count yourself lucky it's not number two then Skidz” the other retorted. Inside his helmet, Skidz grimaced, one unlucky incident and a nickname stuck to you like a bad smell. He waited for Kmoch to move on a bit further before following him, keeping his finger just off the trigger and his eyes roving left and right. Frackin' junkies, they hadn't even set up decent pic-

The shockwave knocked him off his feet and sent him sprawling. It saved his life. Skidz was rolling onto his back when the spring mine went off and decapitated the new guy next in line. His body crumpled like a puppet whose strings had been cut. A shredder blew out like a massive shotgun blast, sending flechettes and slivers of metal into the formation, screams following the detonation. Streams of blaster fire began to sweep the ambush zone, red bolts flashing in at waist height. Rory made a break for the left flank, made it two steps and was scythed down by the intersecting fire. “Forward element, report over!” it was Kaza, screaming bloody murder over the comm, no doubt praying to whatever he held dear that someone, something had survived. “Corporal, respond!”. Skidz gaze flashed to the right where he'd last seen the NCO. A smell of cooked meat was overwhelming his helmet filters, a limb blackened and burnt was draped on a branch, a perfect scorched circle marking where the plasma mine had immolated him. “Six, this is Three, we're pinned down sir, they're dug in” he was shocked how calm his voice sounded “Hold on Three, Four is moving to help” came the grim response “Recommend popping smoke”.

 

[The Major]

Purification Plant 1019K
MORALE: HIGH
Virginia Schnapp | Robin Wednesbury | Orentho | Resurgent Narrative

Point for Agent Wednesbury —initiative should be applauded, if that sort of thing was being monitored while on the mission itself. Truth be told the newly appointed Director was a little too minty fresh to be concerned with weighing the worth of her compatriots. Mostly. At this juncture Sybil was still trying to determine who were some agents that she could rely on: who was trustworthy, who could be molded, who to kneecap, that kind of thing. For example, the point agent’s one way telepathy had to be something far more useful than the dossier suggested. Beyond simple and private one way communication there was always some deeper, unseen angle to play.

What was slightly gristly about the process was how quickly the ReMajor became adept at its mechanics. Like slipping into a comfortable pair of boots, she both was paradoxically pleased to find something to excel at, but disturbed with its ease —as though the Other entity was really rewiring the systems inside, using optimization as an excuse to justify some sinister end.

Strolling into the foyer and connecting lobby would give anyone acquainted with these Prefall facilities a good dosage of deja vu. For good reason as well: the general architecture was as close to identical as possible from building to building whenever prefabricated structures could be used. Again, like the Hoth structure, there was a handy dandy panel against the wall just about where a forward guard would sit. Shepard stuck her fingers deep within the grove meant for such abuse and pulled it open. Inside, instead of some conduits or something you’d tighten with a spanner there was an ocular scanner.

Sybil, as cocksure as could be, instinctively knew that this panel would enable complete access to the plant, making their mission little more than a milk run. The scanner buzzed, weak from dereliction but still lasting through the neglectful years, running its process against the Major’s left eye.

A low alert whinged out, then a speaker somewhere above cracked out:

::E-e-error. Corrupted biometric. Security brRrRreach detec~~~ dot.:: ​

“Damn.” Croaked the False Amalgamate, the expression on her face about as close as a woman got to successfully impersonating shattered glass.

Red emergency lights filled the lobby, throbbing the entryway in shades of black and harsh crimson. It wasn’t exactly clear where the next series of noises came from, but anyone inside would immediately recognize the sound of passages opening, and others rumbling shut.

Turning to Agent Schnapp, the Director ripped out an order.

“Buy some time!” With that, she produced a datapad, pulled out a cord from the device, and tried to slot into a dataport under the scanner. This took three attempts, infernal lighting be damned.

 

[Caio]

Still lying on his back, Skidz felt his blood run cold as he saw dim figures moving on the flank. He fired wildly, not sure if he'd clipped one or they'd just gone into cover. He rolled onto his front and shoving his rifle forward, began to shoot into the brush. Ahead of him Kmoch was working his way slowly forward, right to a tree. Rising up to his knees, he primed and lobbed a grenade. A figure emerged from the undergrowth ahead of them a second before a blast removed the body from view. On the other side Maike had made it into cover and was firing in bursts with her repeating blaster. The heavier weapons fire had set small parts of the brush alight, she was firing just as wild as the ambushers. The suppression had some effect, it made it possible for Skidz to move. Crawling, Skidz began to make his way forward again, encouraged by the covering fire. Kmoch risked a look back at him. “I think if we-” his thought never finished as a blaster bolt blasted right into his respirator. Skidz tried to worm his way into the earth as bolts singed the air above him. One kissed the top of his helmet, the sudden jolt of heat making him yelp. He primed a detonater and lobbed it ahead. The blast might have been wide but it did a lot for his comfort. And it fought off that animal desire to dig a burrow and never emerge into the daylight again. A young tree groaned in sympathy as yet another bolt hit it head on. Weakened from explosions and repeated hits, it teetered, wailed and hit the ground hard enough that Skidz felt it.

It was a chance gifted by the stars and he took it, half crawling and half scrambling for the flank, using the fallen trunk for cover. He moved on all fours, rifle abandoned, like an animal, just wanting to get away from the noise, the smell. He'd lost his helmet somewhere, he didn't know where. He didn't care. He tripped and sprawled across a corpse. One of his squad, he couldn't make out the insignia. Robotically, his hands began to pry at the harness on the dead soldier, taking two or three attempts, his entire body shaking. He wasn't quite aware of what he was doing as he lurched through the trees, the weapons fire and chaos seeming far off in his mind. There! A loader moved to a crouch to pick up a fresh power pack for their heavy repeater, she froze as she spotted the dishevelled soldier emerging from the trees.

It wasn't his wild eyed look that gave her pause, it was the flamethrower gripped firmly in his hands. Skidz burnt both the loader and her gunner. He ran forward and burnt a pirate who was emerging from a shell scrape. He held the trigger down and burned. The flamethrower howling a hot wind of death as he washed bright orange and red flame across everything in his path. Gouts of cleansing fury overwhelmed the ambushers as Skidz howled along with the sound of the flames. Skidz was at the centre of an inferno, tongues of fire caressing everything with its deadly kiss. He ignored the shouts, the panic, the blaster shots. He just burnt whatever he could, the cone of flames dancing wherever he aimed it. With a sob, he turned and played the flames across the corpses, cackling and screaming. The attackers had already broken, fleeing to regroup, pulling back into the brush. He stood alone in the charred, blackened undergrowth watching as flames licked along dead wood or burnt themselves on green leaves. By then the flamethrower was empty, Caio had to pry it from his hands.

"Gods above" Caio said, looking at the carnage in shock. Skidz' one man charge had broken the enemy flank and opened a hole in their position a hundred metres wide. Kaza saw it too and already had fresh sections moving through to exploit it.

 

[Calran Bard]

Lieutenant Bard pushed forward through the mud, the other Stormtroopers maintained formation, and before long the section of soldiers had reached the entry to the facility. Ahead, within, was the stranger in the armor. Whether friend or foe, it was hard to say exactly, but Bard couldn't deny there had been some assistance offered by the individual against the mutated aliens.

Enemy of my enemy?

<"Move, move,"> Bard called, as he slammed against the facility outer wall, before he peered through the doors with his helmet lenses activating low-light mode. <"Something big went through here. Check the marks on the door and ground.">

Across the other side of the doors, Tars and Beta reached the same position, opposite.

<"Copy that, sir. Going in?">

Bard nodded as he held up his hand and then angled it toward the door three times.

<"Push in, spread out, secure the foyer!">

The Stormtroopers rushed in, as Bard and Tars reached out and tore the doors open. The white armored filled the foyer, as the soldiers spread out and took up defensive positions. Once everyone was inside, Bard stepped inside with his blaster rifle aimed, as he looked around. Nothing. Not even the stranger in the armor. But there was a karking lot of prints - heavy ones - and that was cause for some concern...

<"Demo team, I want some det-charges on our flank to the west, in case more of the mutant Nuknogs come knocking,"> The Lieutenant had to make a call on the direction the Stormtroopers would go, but ultimately the building was a square and most passageways crossed, so he picked one of the corridors and pointed. <"We're headed this way. Let's move, blasters ready, call out movement if you see it.">

The section of troopers, minus the demo team as they rushed out the front doors to lay det-charges, affirmed and started to move in staggered formations. As a quick afterthought, Bard added:

<"Don't fire on the Mando, unless fired upon.">

______________________________

Ariel Yvarro​

 

[Ariel Yvarro]

The light hairs on the back of Matidia's neck stood up, her body shivered as she followed the prints and got a look around the area. She had walked into a monitoring station with two paths, her thermal imagery told her where the prints went and as she looked down the empty hall she stared at it. The Mandalorian chewed on the inside of her cheek, she looked up and got a look at the monitoring station. She approached the large consoles that lined the corner of the room. She got a look at the controls and then looked to see if the power was still going to it.​

​

When confirmed, she flipped the monitoring station's console/control panels on and took a few step backs. The Mandalorian studied what was presented before her, the mutated Nuknogs were still being experimented on. Stepping up toward the controls she manipulated them in an attempt to locate any signs of Sokolov. At present nothing showed itself, however; as she moved to look back at the labs holding the Nuknogs. The Mandalorian thought of something, and thusly left the monitors on as she headed in the opposite direction of where the mutated Nukogs were being held.​

​

​

Calran Bard ​

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[Robin Wednesbury]

​

Robin was both quick on her feet enough to realize that she wasn't the one supposed to buy time, and slow enough that she didn't realize she was being shot at until a bolt whizzed past her face, close enough to burn skin and hair.

"Karking hell!" she yelped, out loud for once, and dove behind the desk as a flurry of followup bolts singed the air where she'd been standing a mere moment before.

The air positively reeked with the smell of scorched hair and flesh, not to mention to ozone of the blaster bolts. But there were none of the sounds that usually came with getting shot at: breathing, footfalls, the distinctive metallic rattling of ranged weapons knocking into things, and so on. There wasn't much that could be heard over the roar of discharging weapons and whirring machinery. But then again, that was, in and of itself, a clue.

Automated systems! she called to her teammates, mentally this time. At least two turrets, maybe some droids. They're poorly calibrated though, or I'd be dead.

That much was gospel truth. With the fingers of her left hand, Robin gingerly probed the side of her face. They came away sticky and wet, but there was no pain. That could happen with third degree burns, and you had to be extremely luck (or unlucky, depending on your point of view) to get anything less severe from a blaster bolt. The line of the burn traced from her left cheek all the way back below the ear, getting wider and narrower as the trajectory followed the contours of her face. Another centimeter or so to the right and it would have impacted on her cheekbone, probably taking off a good portion of her face as the water within the skin and fat of her cheek flashed to vapor in a fair approximation of an explosion. Instead, it "only" burned her badly enough to kill the nerve endings.

Good news, bad news. The good news was, it wouldn't hurt for several hours, maybe even days, if she couldn't get to bacta. The bad news was, her body was already starting to freak out. If she didn't treat for shock, now, she'd be a stretcher case once the adrenaline wore off. Third degree burns played merry hell with the body's various regulatory systems, especially when they occurred in places with lots of nerves and lots of blood flow. Action movies be damned, there weren't many worse places to catch a bolt like that, save for maybe the perineum. Now that would require extremely bad luck, but it happened fairly often in landmine and IED blasts, when the thermal bloom traveled up the pants leg. If the shock didn't get you, the wound could turn septic in a matter of hours. Hour, singular, in a fetid swamp like this.

Focus, girl, you were hit in the face, not the taint.

The first stage of treatment was to fetch a stim injector from a pocket on her ankle. The jumpsuit Robin wore was based on Army issue combat fatigues, and had specialized pockets all over the place. She placed the tip against the inside of her thigh and hit the trigger button. Now that hurt like a sonofabitch. The needle was a thick gauge, to allow the medicine to inject quickly, and was coated in some sort of antimicrobial that burned like the dickens. And the less said about the stim itself, a cocktail of vasodilator, epinephrine, immune system booster, analgesic, and anti-inflammatory drugs designed to let the average soldier walk off a sucking chest wound, the better. Liquid fire spread through the muscle as it was absorbed by the myriad blood vessels in the region, causing her leg to twitch and spasm in agony for several long, breathless moments.

There was nothing to do about the wound itself but slap a couple of bacta patches over the worst parts. That didn't hurt, exactly, but once the bacta restored perfusion, that would change. If it happened before the stim wore off, no biggie. No one with the contents of one of those damnable happy sticks in their system could truly be said to be in pain. After the fact, when her system was crashing, well, all she knew was, they better have this thing wrapped up in the next four hours or so. It was either that or risk another stim, and from what they'd said in training about the crash from a second one, she'd probably be better off chewing on the next blaster bolt.

Virginia Schnapp | The Major | Orentho | Resurgent Narrative