Side by Side ... by Side [First Order Dominion of Anoat Sector Hex]

[Natasi Fortan]

Post 21
Bespin+

As her adrenaline returned to normal levels, Natasi turned to the window. If the Supreme Leader's private forces were handling security, she would have nothing to say about it. It seemed to be the story of her life -- having nothing to say about all manner of things. She stood, looking over the cityscape of Cloud City and felt herself getting hot. Not like a fever, but a frustration and anger that had been building a long time. Suddenly she hated Cloud City and would have been very pleased to see it burned to cinders. It was everything wrong with their society -- everything wrong with their galaxy. The worship of hedonism, of fame for the sake of it, of degenerate cultures that used sex to sell, that mocked morality, that allowed men to parade as paragons when the truth was anything but.

By the time she realized it, Natasi's fists had balled so hard that her fingernails dug into her palm hard enough to draw blood. She didn't flinch. She didn't blink. This was Sin City, and here they were, reveling in it. Bathing in it. Consuming it. She wanted to vomit.

"He implied ... something," Natasi muttered. "About the success of operations here, and elsewhere in the region, resulting in some sort of reward for me." She didn't look away from the window. "I believe he will ask me to serve as Grand Moff." Natasi's lips pressed together into a thin white line. "It will be rather a shame for me to have to refuse a man such as he. But I don't see a way around it."

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Post 22
Bespin

Sioux's eyes tracked over the colored symbols on the 3D map that overlaid the conference table. Grand Moff? That was a surprise, at least to Sioux. How had she missed something like this? The Supreme Leader's people had clearly kept things locked down tight for gossip not to have leaked out. And what was wrong with this woman, possibly on the brink of a stellar rise in her career, talking about turning it down? There was no logic to it.

"You cannot decline the Supreme Leader's offer, if indeed it is an offer he will make," Sioux said sharply. She glanced at Natasi's gin and cocktail, sitting on the table next to her own whiskey sour. Had someone spiked her drink? "Natasi. This is what you have worked so hard for, all these years. This is what you've been aiming for since I've known you." Her voice had risen now; she was irrationally angry, now. Perhaps rationally -- since as Natasi's clout had risen, so too had Sioux's. She was turning down a promotion for her employees as well -- the nerve! "Since before I've known you! What the hell is wrong with you?"

The secretary rounded the table, snatching the datapad out of the cradle, and seized Natasi by the shoulders, turning the Moff to face Sioux. "That was not rhetorical. What the hell is wrong with you?"

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Post 23
Bespin

Her fingers flexed, then relaxed when she felt warm liquid on her fingertips. She looked down, gazing dispassionately at her bleeding palms. When Sioux grabbed her, she did not react as she would have before Herevan, and before Hoth. She simply looked up and stared into her face, her eyes dull and distant. She was still thinking about shooting Cloud City out of its place with the First Order fleet. She rewound the conversation in her head and then nodded. "I can see why you might be confused," she said dully. "To tell the truth, I can scarcely believe it myself. I was born to do this. My father once told me that in order to change something you must lead it, and I want to change the First Order. I want to change the galaxy," she amended, a cinder sparked, an ember glowed, a small but tangible reminder of the fire that had once possessed her kindling in her spirit.

She looked up. Sioux was looking at her expectantly, as if to say ...so? DO IT!

"I have never been more unhappy in my life," Natasi said, her tone flat. "Never. Not when my mother died. Not when my father died. Not when my brother died. Not when I was strapped to a table in an icy hellscape and tortured until I was very nearly dead. The closer I get to the pinnacle of power in the First Order, the worse it becomes. I might have been able to sacrifice my own happiness for power before, but I don't know if I can anymore. I don't think I can." That glowing ember had died; it smoked pathetically within her now. Her face crumpled as she shook her head, and she raised a hand to brush tears away, managing only to smear blood on her cheek. "Can you understand that? Can you understand what it's like? Imagine holding something beautiful, so beautiful you can't bear to let it go, while it scalds your hands. That is it, exactly it. What can I do?"

Natasi looked back up to Sioux. "Tell me. What can I do?"

 

[Dunames Lopez]

Post: 22/38
Location: Bespin
Allies: First Order
Enemies: Unknown
Objective: 6 (build a ski resort on Mt. Ison)

But amid this conversation about the bread-and-circuses of the First Order, of which they are doing an expansion aimed at the population, rather than the elite, they come to the realization that they have no food left. The tauntaun may have possibly eaten them all. While Dunames is pondering whether to send the supplies, a snowstorm rages outside.

"We're running out of supplies, Dunames. Go get us the tauntaun stuff as well as the supplies"

"The weather is foul outside. It would be irresponsible to go back to Anoat in this snowstorm: the visibility is nonexistent"

 

[Micah tol Powl]

Post 9 of 30
Objective: Bring Your Own Objective (BYOO)
Location: Tropis-on-Varonat

The young Pantoran stood on the landing pad, watching the sun rise on a new day.

And it was. A new day for Varonat, and the First Order.

"Leaving so soon?"

Turning his head, the boy looked over at the approaching goliath that was Captain Kasshu. "You appear to have conditions here well in hand, Captain," the small Knight of Ren remarked simply. And that was an understatement.

In the wake of Rei Marlo's murder, the referendum offered by the local administrator had passed the popular vote. The First Order had been requested to formally assist the government of Varonat with securing their home space. As part of that, Captain Kasshu was now the provisional intendent of the star port. The stormtroopers that they had brought with them now formed the first garrison on the planet.

And this wasn't an iron fist, it was something that the people of Varonat had asked for.

Without a word, the boy turned and walked up the ramp into the Sith Infiltrator. As Kasshu watched, still uncertain of the boy's role in the unexpected sequence of events, the transport lifted off and became a spec in the sky above.

 

[Krayn]

Bespin

Baron-Administrator's Office

“Has she been taken care of?” Ileris requested of the Cloud Guard who was stood at the door of the Baron-Administrator’s office, as he himself took his seat back at his desk of deep wood.
“Yes Baron-Administrator.” The Cloud Guard said with no sign of remorse for the order that Ileris had given to him the moment after he had dismissed the Twi’lekk from his quarters. “As you instructed.”
Ileris tried not to smile, the idea of a Twi’lekk filled block of carbon falling to the core of the gas giant beneath them was far to amusing not to though. “Very good Captain. Now our other problem.”
“The noble houses?” The Captain moved forward to the desk and took his seat opposite the Baron-Administrator. “Are we continuing as planned sir?”
Ileris remained silent for a moment, the fingers on his left hand drumming against the desk in a symbol of his indecisiveness. On one hand he had his orders, on the other he had unlimited access to credits through blackmail, deceit and underhanded tactics. It was a cross-road of interests for him.
“Yes.” He finally said as he clenched his fist. “Initiate the order, as discussed.”
“Yes sir.” The Cloud Guard stood and exited the office to a trio of Stormtrooper officers that Ileris just glimpsed before the door closed.
The Baron-Administrator, Moff and business lord sighed as his hand took hold of the steaming tea that had been prepared for him. This was either the best or worst moment of his life, he just had to hope it went fully to either side.
He took a sip of his tea.

Administration Suites 12

“Is that someone at the door?” Reagan of House Rosterick, lord of the Anoat’s southern Industrial districts heard the tap behind the metal door that separated his room from the rest of the expensive administration suites.
“Must be your escort for the senate council?” His wife stated as she finished clasping the buttons on the burgundy chocker around her neck. “Open it up and say we will be five more minutes.”
“For your appearance anything my dear.” He hit the button to open the door and came face to face with the blasters of three Stormtroopers on the other side of the door. He heard his wife scream then with a flash of red that was it.

Corridor Thirty Four B

“I worry about the First Order being here father.” House Lemant’s heir and oldest child to Edgar Lemant, his father hushing him as they walked. “They just worry me that is all.”
“Be quiet on your worries boy. You don’t know who is listening.” Edgar said to his child as the pair continued down the corridor towards the senate hearing. “We are here as their guests and it would be unwise to upset that…ah…” Both looked up to the far side of the corridor in the direction where they were heading. Five Stormtroopers and a Cloud Guard had appeared from around the corner.
“Father?”
“Now would perhaps be the time to reconsider our stance.”
They turned to walk the other way only to be blocked by an additional five stormtroopers and another Cloud Guard.
“Well played would be my thoughts.”
“Exactly.” Said the Guard.
Laser blasts signalled the end of the Lemant line on Bespin as the group behind the pair opened fire with expert aim.

Apex Outlook

“The Supreme Leader of the First Order is a noble man, I just prefer to deal with less intense ideals.” Queen Sapphire of Anoat spoke openly to the council of thirteen around her, each a member of the Anoat royal family and noble houses of the planet. “However while they remain our neighbours we must deal with them openly and with welcome.”
A series of loud complaints kept the sound of Stormtrooper boots muffled as the platoon entered the Outlook with an entire platoon of Cloud Guard and the Captain from Ileris’ office.
“Queen Sapphire, you are under arrest.” The Captain claimed loudly causing sudden hush.
“Arrest? Under whose authority? The Baron-Administrator? He holds no legal authority over me or my subjects.” The Queen said as she spread her arms wide to indicate to the entire group around her. “So please return to you Administrator, thank him for the hospitality and we will be on our way.”
“I’m sorry.” The Captain said with a smirk. “This order doesn’t come from the Baron Ileris Sonn. This order comes from the authority of the Imperial First Order, direct from Moff Ileris Sonn, rightful Imperial governor of the entire Anoat sector and representative of the Supreme Leader Sieger Ren.”
“Moff Ileris Sonn? I don’t answer to a Moff, I am queen!?”
“Were.” The Captain raised his blaster. “Men they are resisting.”
Blaster fire erupted across the Outlook, bodies of Nobles falling in droves as the stormtroopers and guards continued to fire even once all the bodies were on the floor.

The Baron Administrator’s Office.

“It is done.”
The Hologram faded.
Ileris took another sip of his tea.

 

[Darth Veles]

Nothing in the galaxy had enough power to stop the amphibian’s advance through the frozen sea sprawled across the surface, his automatic moves producing subtle crunches that got hopelessly lost in the howling winds. Numerous questions concerning the acolyte’s state and location raced through the Sith Lord’s mind, but the stabbing daggers of cold had a way of erasing these thoughts, leaving the Mon Calamari with nothing but the sole focus on pushing forward, torturing his own body by the stubborn refusal to listen to its pain. This trip to Hoth had certainly revealed itself to be a load of unforeseeable incidents, starting with his unfortunate fall down an unstable shipwreck’s bowels, followed by Decima’s disappearance and now his own whiskers freezing off.

Something faint stirred in the crystal clear waters of the Force, sending ripples in all directions. Naturally, the Dark Side master noticed the call, shutting his amber suns closed and frantically tracking the presence back. He had recognized Decima’s signature, as tiny as it were, finally gaining back in strength as the woman’s consciousness no longer floated in the darkness of the Void. And another living energy seemed to be present. Not fully sentient. Predatory. Close.

Eyes snapped open, immediately darting in the disturbance’s direction and spying over the white cover. Using its fur as natural camouflage, the creature was rapidly closing in, and it would have undoubtedly surprised anyone without the Force doing their bidding. A distant cousin of the beast he had met on Dromund Vatsu, the wampa intended to turn the Mon Cal Sith into a snack, to which the Sith replied by summoning a lightsaber into his flippered hand and standing still. It would be a different story this time – no knights of Ren to stand by his side, no knee-deep mud to severely limit his mobility. Only him and his ferocious opponent, bound by the bone-chilling cold.

Snap-hiss!

Veles’ crimson flicked to life, illuminating the snow’s white blanket with a menacing red flash. He stood ready, blade pointed downwards, a typical Makashi opening stance. Leverage, position, advantage – one swift, sure motion, a blood-curling scream, and the beast fell, dead even before its gargantuan body hit the ground. A single black, smoking hole burned within its torso grimaced back at the Mon Cal, who placed the curved hilt back and frowned. The sudden realization he had lost the sense of touch in his left hand hit him – hypothermia knew no mercy and promised to do worse than any beast ever could least the Mon Cal found a source of heat soon.


[member="Decima Fortan"]

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Post 24
Bespin

"You're going to give up all of this because you're sad?" Sioux asked, her eyebrows furrowing. This was like watching a masterpiece by an ancient artist being defaced. She respected Natasi Fortan. They were friends, they were essentially master and servant, employer and employee, but most of all to Sioux they were mentor and mentee. She looked up to Fortan, recognizing her as the brilliant and capable mind that the media portrayed. This was not a snow-job like some of the other puff pieces the State Media put out. Sioux slumped into a chair around the conference table after spinning it to face her boss. "You're not thinking clearly, Natasi. I understand that you're depressed. God knows I went through a bout of it after my accident -- when I knew I would never skate again."

The woman sighed; the memories still pained her, and she felt a phantom throb in her left leg. "You need to see someone. A professional." When Natasi looked mildly over at her, she held up her hands. "No one would have to know. But, Natasi, you aren't just sad. You're sick. A healthy sad person would see this as an opportunity. You're willing to let it slip through your fingers. It's not right. And frankly, you have a responsibility. Not just to me -- I'm not after a better parking space, for heaven's sake -- but to the Supreme Leader. To the Supreme Commander. To the people in the First Order. You're not like the rest of them. That's why they need you."

Sioux fell silent; it was lucky they had swept the rooms for bugs before the event opened. Natasi was sailing perilously close to the wind, edging towards leaving the First Order -- treason under the best of circumstances. Sioux was doing the same by implying that Natasi's moderating influence on the First Order's more brutalist tactics was required. "Think about it before you make any decisions. Besides -- the offer may never come. It's just a rumor, right?"

 

[Natasi Fortan]

Post 25
Bespin

Natasi looked at Sioux for several long, silent moments.

Was she right? Natasi was not so conceited as to think that she was essential to anything. She had no family, no close friends. In her personal life she could disappear without a trace and it would be weeks before anyone noticed. In her professional life -- no, she decided. She wasn't essential there either, but she was good. She had a flair for public service. The government would carry on without her, no doubt, but it wouldn't be the same. The First Order wouldn't be the same. It would survive, but it would lose something, some level of conscience or moderation. How many lives might she save by having a guiding hand? How much good could she do, and how much evil could she prevent. Her hand reached up to clutch her Cosmic Balance pendant.

These were the considerations she needed to make. Not to dismiss her pain, but to put it on one side of the scales.

"I will think about it," Natasi quietly conceded, looking to Sioux with an apologetic look. "Sioux..." The woman looked up. "...why do we never talk about your career? You cannot want to remain my PPS forever. You have a real talent. I would hate to think I was keeping you back from your destiny." She paused; the notion of losing Sioux was unpleasant, but it would be wrong to place her comfort above Sioux's potential -- both for her own good and for the good of the First Order. But they were interrupted when the datapad chimed. Natasi's head jerked automatically, but Sioux snatched it up. Natasi held out her hand for it, but Sioux would not budge. Natasi finally wrenched the thing away from her and then did something rather surprising to both of them -- hurled it through the window she had just been looking at. "Enough!"

The window had shattered, but hung there in a perfect pane for a few moments before crashing to the ground. The Moff turned back to Sioux then glanced at her hands. "I need bandages. And I need a new datapad. Trigger the self-destruct on that one," she said, jerking her thumb back towards the window. "If they need to reach me, they have my comlink frequency. Now can you get someone to bring me bandages? I can't go back out there like this." Sioux shook herself free of her reverie and nodded.

Ten minutes later Sioux and Natasi re-entered the lobby, refreshed their drinks, and went back to mingling.

 

[Dunames Lopez]

Post: 23/38
Location: Bespin
Allies: First Order
Enemies: Unknown
Objective: 6 (build a ski resort on Mt. Ison)

Now that the snowstorm has subsided, Virginie and Frank go over the list of supplies that the manifest would say they are used for in this new resort so that the resort could be finished. The makeshift landing pad isn't large enough for anything more than an AT-AT barge so Dunames had to make sure that the supplies would all fit into one. The next batch of supplies would be mostly for tauntaun riding but also some food for both tauntaun and patrons. At first Virginie doesn't expect that much in terms of crowding even though she suspects the clients will be rather affluent. But Dunames wonders how she will make it so that she would respect the promise made by the First Order so that he could continue serving it, that is, on Lanteeb? Will the promised animal handlers actually come to Hoth? Nevertheless Virginie has one final piece of chatter for the other two before Virginie and Dunames depart for Anoat in search for the supplies. It pertained to how athletes were ranked for scouting in the First Order's sports systems.

"The First Order used a system ranking from zero to five stars for elementary-school scouting, where zero stars meant that the kid had no competitive athletic future and should play sports recreatively, one star meant that they would probably be limited to local-level competitions, with it being the ceiling, two and three stars would mean that planet-level competition would be the end of the road, with four stars meaning First Order-wide, and possibly competing at the galactic level, and five stars being the guys capable of being galactic contenders in their chosen sport. Generally only four and five-star athletes even get to the elite high schools in any given sport"

"I believe that, as a jockey, I was borderline-3-stars at the time. Clearly you were a five-star figure skater, since you sat on the Council of 22"

"Frank, stay on Hoth while Virginie and I go to Anoat to get the remaining supplies that will make the resort fully operational. The lockdown over Anoat is soon ending. We will get the supplies in order so that it can open shortly"

"Roger"

"The skies are mostly clear, clear enough to take an AT-AT barge off Hoth to Anoat. Initiating takeoff sequence"

 

[Ria Misrani]

Alles: The First Order; Ground Forces [member="Amin Garith"], [member="FN-1313"], [member="Darth Veles"], [member="Decima Fortan"], [member="Adalric Vastor"]
Enemies: Plebs, Peasants, and Not-First Order People.
Objective: Kill them all, with style of course.
Location: Rebel HQ.
Post: 5 // ??

Time was running against our agent, he'd taken a blaster bolt to his shoulder while setting down the second charge. He took a moment ducking behind the generator to squeeze off two more shots. One per customer must conserve ammunition after all. He looked behind him to where another generator laid. Looking forward toward the door he'd have to time this to avoid a blaster bolt to the back. Reloading on his power pack, Orentho counted and waited for the break when they too would have to reload.

Running toward the back generator he sorely wished he had been gifted with the force. This would make this task so much easier, but then he wouldn't be an agent if he didn't enjoy a challenge or six. Rifling through his bag he pulled out a grenade and launched it forward, "that should keep you lot occupied, while I set this up." A blaster bolt nicked at his hair on it's way to the wall. "Excuse you," he says firmly, "I've been kind enough to leave your faces well intact." He squeezes off a shot to one fellow's face, "that was rude."

One last generator and it was in the corner, he took aim over the generator and shot off two more bolts. Orentho then crouched his way forward to the last generator in this room. If he hadn't been looking between, the wires of the charges and the generator itself he might've missed a muzzle coming out from the grate just below him. Scooting back he rummages through and grabs at his last grenade, "going down." He pulls out the grate and drops the grenade, and rolls out of the way. Pulling out the last of the charges, he tucks it under his arm and shoots forward whilst walking toward the door he has the big generator to rig up and after that he'll be done.

 

[Tyger Tyger]

Epilogue.​

​

The falling action did just that. Hard, sudden, but unfortunately, however, without the radical conclusion anybody would hope for. No shoot out. No closure. In the end, an old morodin was lead from his hole; his sluggish moving much more slow than the young males who had defended him, who had died on his behalf. At each edge in a box, walked one of the four remaining of the First Order Death Squad, escorting Star Blossom, like pallbearers, to his final resting place.


If rest was, indeed, what the Knights of Ren would allow for an ally to the Resistance. Fat chance, really.

Before, the shaman had spoken of a unified organism. About the meaninglessness of Life and Death, for there was only the Force and its Manichean dichotomy of Good and Evil. The morodin he influenced were the Good, he had said. And so long as the Evil were in its minority, there live’s could be forfeit. This greater purpose was the only truth.

But after his children had been burned to bubbling sludge and their great works of agriculture made much less, Life and Death did, suddenly, have value – because it was His. A First Order shuttle descended upon the newly-razed land, a ramp descending from its rear to collect one geriatric monster, beaten, bloodied, in chains…but nonetheless…

Alive.

It was here that the news was broken to the four exhausted men that, due to a personnel shortage, as well as a still-stabilizing political issue over at Tropis-on-Varonat, they would be carrying their ashen and bruised bodies on through to a follow-on mission – acting as minders for a known local terrorist, recently apprehended from the Great Jungle. They shrugged their shoulders and boarded the shuttle, taking seats on either side of the cab. Here, they would return to the privacy of their own thoughts, their eyes fixated on the ground as they sat in the dark; a bunch of deactivated droids, waiting to be turned on again.

“When does it…stop?”

Milo opened one eye, rolling it to the side to examine the morodin behind bars; the morodin who thought he could talk his way out of them.

“You grind out all…alternative…perspectives….because yours is right,” the Star Blossom croaked, tears in his eyes. Apparently moved by his own righteousness. “What if you are wrong? What if we all bow to your will…and you fail us?”

He hesitated so as to let the moment land, suffering from delusions of audience.

“What…gives you….the authority to control the universe?”

Milo closed his eye, sighing back into his prior relaxed state. “You knowww,” the consonance was stretched, but still lazy, as if it were affixed to the tail of a yawn.

“…this ain’t the first time I’ve ‘quelled dissidence.’ I’ve done it with the Hegemony. I’ve done it for Omega Pyre. The Trader’s Union. The Sith’s Imperial Navy.” Milo had raised a hand, counting off on his fingers. He lifted additional digits for organizations he didn’t bother to name, as his point was already made.

“…And every karking time, after the smoke’s gone away, and we’ve cleared all the corpses, and there’s no one left to tell lies for nobody…We always pull out some old, worthless bastard…,” Again, with the lazy yawnspeak…”justttt likkeee you.”

His eyelids peeled back slightly, a byproduct of the involuntary disgust showing in his face as he examined the shaman.

“After all the blood’s been paid and all the ammo wasted, all anybody’s got to show for it…is some dried up, miserable has-been – ready to make a deal even though he no longer means a karking thing to anybody. Irrelevant. Obsolete. Nobody to cry for his useless, tired ass because all the children he had to weep for him are still smoking there on the karking ground.”

He watched the raisin collapse further onto itself, folding into nothing. Its speeches were useless here.

“What a goddamn waste…’Alternative perspectives.’ Hah. Good one.”

Closing his eyes, Milo could feel the delirium encroaching, bringing sleep with it.

“In case you missed it…nobody controls a karking thing.”

In the days that would follow, free of Morodin and Pirate influence, Varonat would become a veritable breadbasket for the First Order. Its resources far beyond bountiful, they served as much of a reward, if not moreso, than the well-sought and fought for stability in the Anoat Hex. Even with the death of the Minder, Watcher-Four would declare this Mission: Accomplished. Star Blossom was handed over to the Knights of Ren, where he was likely tortured for information regarding his contact within the Resistance.

The Stormtrooper Corps would seek to award its soldiers for their bravery and participation in the operation on Varonat. The Lieutenant wrote in their evaluations that the Private and the trooper in stripes were Stormtrooper material without question, and should be promoted before their peers. When Tyger Tyger was asked to validate these claims, he found that, despite their sinister origins, he could not disagree with the Lieutenant’s recommendation.

As for Tyger Tyger himself, he was paid for his participation. He received no official medals or thank yous, instead only receiving a quiet marking as a preferred vendor for ISB missions of this…sensitive nature. While departing from payroll, Milo took notice of the several confiscated crates of superfruits and vegetables, takin as contraband from Tropis-on-Varonat due their original shipping destinations being to Resistance and Alliance merchants. The mercenary would leverage his newfound privateer position to see these crates added this his owed pay.

Aboard the Far Star, Leia and Milo opened the cargo, examining the contents. What they found was unnamable, the produce subject to such rapid mutation and evolution that there was no sufficient means by which to document them. Many glowed with their health value added, radiating still colors only perceivable by tetrachromats and Force-sensitives – Natural treasures of which such bad people were unworthy.

But they would eat them anyway.

For Tyger Tyger was a vegetarian. Leia had seen to that.

"Varonat" 5 of 30​

Back| fin.​

 

[Retelii Feverun]

The coward would spit into the Rattataki's face. A small smirk would appear on his face, aswell. Wiping the spit and the smirk off with his right hand, he would kick the man in the face continuously leaving it in a blood mess under his boot. "This won't do." He said in a calm, sickening tone. He would drag the body once again across the snow into the personal dropship that had arrived after several minutes of calling it in with his personal device.

Tossing the still unconscious prisoner to the back of the ship, he would sit down in one of the seats taking a deep breath. He would meditate for a seemingly a few moments, but once his eyes had opened again the ship had arrived at the spacedock outside of the planet. The prisoner was awake and it was time to do some torturing.

"So, this is your last chance, before I start removing limbs." He would say quietly. The man's still bloody face would just look at Retelii as you couldn't tell any facial expression from it as it had been rearranged by his boot. "Urg, gha... The plan." The prisoner would barely make out.