Mission Rotten Core

[Zoar]

"Y'know, it's a better idea then trying to convince the town to fight for themselves. As much as it'd do them good, they've been fighting just to live all this time. It's our turn to help that burden."

//Okay. Yeah.// Zoar didn't seem entirely convinced that they could do it. His and Iris' last mission together had been successful, but only barely. Their first mission together had been successful, but only barely. If they kept their trajectory, things would get ugly.

The mech looked down at their new Mandalorian ally. A Mandalorian! Deadly warriors, ancient enemy of the Jedi, on-again, off-again friends of the Jedi these days. At the very least, that was kinda cool, right? //In that case, we will help you steal this freighter, and save these people.//

If they made the town fight, there was an enormous chance they would get hurt. This would be the best way to save the most people. //Aaaalright. Alright. Let's go over there now, then. Sooner the better.//

//Wh-what's your name, by the way? I'm Padawan Zoar.//

- Iris Arani -

 

[Osarla Ridor]

GENERAL RIDOR OF THE 222ND
CAMPAIGN TO CLOSE THE CORRIDOR || RELIEF RUN
XA FEL || GADF CAMP OUTSIDE SLAVE ENCAMPMENT
Adric Rocheford || Jem Fossk || OPEN

If the atmosphere was blue milk, it would have curdled.

<< Ridor, something is wrong. >>
<< Do your men have eyes on where the screaming is coming from? >>

Wilovi had split away, and was deeper into the camp itself. His task was independent of the distribution of supplies, he was to be subtly tampering with, and marking the water sources themselves.

He heard the communication chatter, but waited for the General’s go ahead. The Chain of command between the Jedi and The Defense Force had become much more official after the Great Battle of Coruscant. For obvious reasons.

It wasn’t uncommon for a Jedi, especially one of Rocheford’s…experience to expect to influence the actions of the Defense Force without any accountability or forbearance for the rules the rest of the galaxy had to live by — so it was nice that this Jedi acknowledged the processes in place at least.

When the General prompted one of them to respond with an update, he took over the channel immediately. By now, he was crouched on a raised platform that surrounded one of the water contaminants of the camp. It gave him a bit more of a bird’s eye view. But still not enough. He could hear the commotion, but not see any more than morphing shadows and bright lights and flames through the smog. The macrobinoculars on his hip, now raised to his eyes, gave him more information.

<It’s the western edge of the camp.> He murmured, still respecting the necessity to whisper. <Near where those Imperial-looking ships landed earlier. <It’s the..> he adjusted the zoom levels, the green silhouettes of strangers dying became clearer. <Slavers, Guards and…> he zoomed again. <I can’t make out the insignia on the uniforms of the third party.>

 

[Pyke Lazar]

______________________________________________________________
D E A D M A N
XA FEL | SLAVE CAMP PERIMETER
MISSION VIDE CONTINUUM SERVUS VERSO || TASK FORCE NULL
(all called shots written with express permission from the victim)
______________________________________________________________
​

"Try and karking stop me."

Pyke blinked, eyebrows raising as he met her challenging look with a suddenly hardened stare. Teal eyes scanned Xashe up and down, completely unphased by the ignition of plasma from her grip. Servos emitted hushed sibilations as Pyke's fingers twitched faintly down at his side, artificial nerves struggling to process the anticipation that surged surreptitiously down to his fingertips. "You really don't want that," he asserted with a tone that lacked the insouciance his voice had previously possessed.

The Jedi, seemingly unphased by his veiled warning, continued ahead anyway.

"Hey!" Pyke shouted irately. "You got shit for brains and in your ears or what!? I won't tell you again!"

An indignant scoff resonated from Pyke once Xashe disappeared through the breach and got herself tangled in the chaos beyond. Fine, have it your way he thought as components fired and buzzed in his right hand. Slots in the plating over the back of his hand and fingers opened to allow small duranex pockets to inflate outwards with an unseen gas until they ballooned to a few millimeters worth of padding over the striking surfaces of his fist. Turning over his shoulder to Cordé he said; "Call Control. Ask for authorization to retire this seraph."

Whether or not they approved the request, Pyke was going to do it anyway. His immediate departure toward where the Jedi had gotten off to lent immediate credence to this reality.

Ducking through the breach, Pyke marched a beeline directly toward Xashe. Unphased by the growing Chaos, he weaved through two struggling slaves and another assailing individual in dogged pursuit of making good on his earlier assertion. Approaching her turned back, he reached forward with his left hand to grasp the edge of her shoulder and spin her to face him with one vigorous yank. At the same time, his padded fist hurtled toward the equidistant space between itself and where her face was going to end up. Cheekbone and fist occupied the same space for a split second, their meeting announced by a muffled metallic clang. The impact was relieved of lethality by the duranex padding that he'd activated, though the strike had enough force to burst the smallest of the pockets over the outer surface of his little finger. Lack of resistance gave his last knuckle the leeway to strike unhindered and cut the green skin over Xashe's cheekbone.

"Tried to tell you," he gloated as Xashe's unconscious form sprawled onto the dirt.

Each section of the unruptured padding vacated their inflating gasses through fabricated drains and retreated back into the depths of his manus. Reaching down, he'd take one of Xashe's limp arms and hoist her upward and drape her over his shoulder, her hair and arms dangling at his back. One kick brought her lightsaber from the ground and into his opposite hand. At this point, it was too late to go unnoticed, and as he began to retreat for the breach once again he could already see the approaching rioters trying to close him off. For a second his pace slowed as he fidgeted with the lightsaber hilt before nearly dropping it once he managed to make it ignite. Wide swings and erratic points stopped the slaves in their tracks and parted their assault for his retreat.

Blaster fire whizzed past, the guards as well having noticed the intruding commotion. Pyke ran. Nearly tumbling as he came through the breach again, he'd make brief, serious eye contact with Cordé and conveniently not with the other Jedi. "We gotta get out of here. Now."

Weaving past his allies he'd begin to shove through the obstructing brush they'd been using to conceal themselves, trying to make as much space between himself and the camp as possible.

"Control, this is Flayer Two-Five Actual. Potential's status is fucked, and the AO ain't much better. Gonna need permission to crimson."

---

ALLIES | GADF | NJO | SLAVES | Xashe Tistya Cordé Sabo Nyla Ven | OPEN
ENEMIES | BROTHERHOOD OF THE MAW | Joseph Torson ​

 

[Adric Rocheford]

Osarla Ridor | Jem Fossk

It was as he had feared.

Part of him hoped - foolishly - that it was just a figment of his imagination. That the Darkside was so thick as fog here that it was influencing him. It would be disturbing, but at least it wouldn't mean innocent lives being lost right now. He nodded towards Fossk, before beginning to make his way towards the location that Wilovi highlighted.

<< I am moving closer. >>

Even as he said that and felt his legs pave forward Adric knew this was the wrong call. Wasn't it? He paused, taking some cover and trying to filter away the angry shouts.

<< Ridor, our mission was clear, we were not allowed to make the extent of our presence here known. >> The conclusion was simple. If they tried to intervene, one wisened Jedi Master wouldn't be enough. It would have to be with GADF troopers to support him or the fellow Jedi Master turned General would have to take the field with him.

The former put her soldiers in line and the latter breached their parameter.

What he wouldn't give to have his former mentor with him. But his Jedi Master had become one with the Force decades previously.

<< What are your actions? >> Ridor couldn't command him, he couldn't command her, but depending on moves Adric would know what his next step ought to be.

Hopefully.

 

[Osarla Ridor]

GENERAL RIDOR OF THE 222ND
CAMPAIGN TO CLOSE THE CORRIDOR || RELIEF RUN
XA FEL || GADF CAMP OUTSIDE SLAVE ENCAMPMENT
Adric Rocheford || Jem Fossk || OPEN

Palpable and dense, dread filled the air.

<Pull back.> Osarla heard herself say. The affirmation of orders received confirmed that it was truly her that had spoken.

The Jedi within her roiled.

On her vambrace, the confirmation of incoming evac stealth shuttles flashed subtly. The SIA had called in... the SIA was here?

Osarla frowned deeply and tapped confirmation of receipt. Coordinates were forwarded to her for herself and her squadron.