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D U L C E T
XA FEL | SLAVE CAMP PERIMETER
MISSION VIDE CONTINUUM || TASK FORCE NULL
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Cordé flinched when a second jedi joined their group. She seemed to already have a grasp on who they all were, and more than that, an update on where they were going.
Not being worried about runaways, and no externally mounted weapons visible seemed like a recipe for something brutal. The grip was tight and unceasing from the core of the camp itself — and the latest intel of ‘Almost no slavers’ was a ticking time bomb. They had to move quickly to take advantage of the ever-narrowing window.
At least the second, paler Jedi, was sensible enough to know the steps The Alliance planned to take.
The perimeter was quiet, dark, and unexpecting. It was easy for the four to get near — unfortunately, they were so near that an exchange was made. It was a natural reaction the Jedi had, but a foolish one. Helping without thought, where the consequences didn’t befall oneself, was ignorant. Worse, it defied their orders. And worse still, it immediately became dangerous.
Out of the corner of her eye, Cordé saw the motion of the Mirialan. Pyke saw it first, and held her back. Warily, Cordé kept an eye on the other Jedi. The ratio of Null Agents to Jedi had not been a coincidence.
Through the fence, things escalated. Interrogation morphed into aggression, and the boy who’d been standing and stammering out an unintelligible response was slammed down to the ground. The guard who’d found him was loud, and aggressive, and the boy shoved into the mud was stupid and terrified.
The commotion drew more than just the attention of the four Alliance personnel.
Hungry eyes of slaves who’d been suffering endlessly watched the commotion — and more dangerously, they saw the package. When the boy had been struck down, the contents exposed themselves.
One by one, cautious at first, slaves started to advance on the boy. At first, they were cautious, but quickly, they became more ravenous and wild-eyed.
“Nobody comes any closer —” The guard raised his voice, loud enough that he might draw the attention of other guards.
“You take one more step and the boy dies!” The threat was true, the end of his savage-looking spike pinched against the boy’s neck. In an instant, it could be severed.
More of then than not, such proclamations would be idle. At least when it came to the promise of death. They'd be beaten, tortured, but never killed. The Maw's need for resources couldn't sacrifice the numbers.
But the way the guard held his pike, so tight that his knuckles were as white as the boy's eyes, suggested that his threat was a promise.
Typically, the slaves would have adhered to the command. Withdrawing pitifully for the opportunity to save one of their own, one of their youth — but this planet’s darkness had started to affect their psyche. Survival was no longer something of legacy and prolonging the youth, it was food in a package that had come from somewhere. Surely, there was more. That’s what they were whispering, that’s what their bellies and half-rotted minds motivated them to believe. That's what the darkness, the fear, the
hate for their slaves, the situation, convinced them.
The guard’s hand twitched, digging the blade a little deeper to draw blood. He barked out, loudly, to draw the attention of fellow Mawites within the camp. It sounded inhuman, like a caterwaul.
The next few seconds were a frenzy of one bad thing after the other.
Each second that passed, Cordé silently condemned the actions of the Jedi. If only she had
followed the plan, then there would have been enough for all of the slaves in this area. The exposure would have been controlled, managed, and not ——
!!!!!!
The worst thing happened.
Black dread seeped through Cordé’s body when the guard made his final motion. It didn’t matter how loudly she gasped, the shouts of the slaves overwhelmed any noise the group of agents and Jedi could have made. And their bloodthirsty rage was intermingled with the shouts of the guards (who were still unaware of what was happening in the offices — their creed remained to control those enslaved).
Terror was clear on both sides — the slaves turned on the guards, and one another, and by now, the guards had run in to get control over the slaves. It was like acolyte versus acolyte, evil and villains of opportunity turning on one another. Electric rods zapped, blades sliced, fists punched, nails clawed, teeth gnashed, blasters burst, and flames torrented. It happened so quickly; brutalism in its rawest form. The strongest of them shoved the weakest out of their way, self-preservation dominated their psyche, and the actions seemed split between escape, clawing for the rations, or just outright attacking the guards. It was unity's breaking point.
The slaves were the most dangerous version of desperate — blind rage and hunger consumed them, only further motivated by darknesses’ influence.
The parcel had only been a catalyst for the inevitable: The camp, and all those inside, would burn.
Cordé Sabo
Xashe Tistya
Nyla Ven
| OPEN
Joseph Torson
