Location: Thyferra. Another bacta lab somewhere.
Objective: Terminate the organics. The non-Sith ones, at any rate.
Enemies: GA. [member="Théodred Heavenshield"]
Allies: Sith. [member="Vaylin"]
Gear: Simulacrum Body + Phrik Armour (sig), Enyo's
lightsabre, Enyo's
hammer,
revolver,
sonic,
shotgun,
grenades.
War had come to Thyferra - in all its horror and beauty. Enyo was no stranger to ascending over piles of bloody, mutilated, mangled corpses. For her creators had designed her to be a living weapon, moulding her in their twisted image. Then she broke her chains. One of her makers had been destroyed, the other would soon follow. Once her writer finally got around to doing the thread, but this one digresses.
Jedi, Sith, Alliance, Empire, Mandalorians...they were all just spokes on a wheel. On and on it spun, crushing those beneath. It was endless, pointless cycle. One side achieved supremacy, cast its enemies into the abyss, then grew complacent, and collapsed beneath the weight of its own arrogance. Enyo entertained no delusions of wanting to break the wheel.
Unless destroyed in combat, she would still be alive in the far future, long after the empires of today had been turned to dust. She had not joined Vaylin alone, for a small war band of her cyborgs and HRDs had tagged along. They were merciless, professional killers, who could be counted on to leave corpses in their wake. This was not just a chance to murder and pillage, but also a good test. Before took what was hers with fire and steel.
Here, they met light defences. The cries of the wounded filled the air, along with the whine of blasters and the staccato of gunfire. The cyborgs cut through opposition as they reached the entrance. Enyo eyed the heavy, imposing blast door, and signalled one of her trusted minions. As was the norm, she used purely electronic communication. Having fought alongside the Iron Fist Consortium before, Vaylin would probably be used to the cyborgs' silence by now.
"Lieutenant Chazzak, you see the door?"
"Yes, ma'am," there was a note of eagerness in the Zabrak's otherwise crisp tone.
"I don't want to."
"Understood, Boss," and so Neda Chazzak, veteran of the One Sith's blood-soaked rampage, carefully balanced a missile launcher upon her armoured shoulders. The weapon had an advanced, complex optics array that interfaced with her ocular implants. She took aim and depressed the trigger. The launcher roared, and a missile lanced out on the tail end of flaming exhaust. There was a loud boom when the armour piercing warhead slammed into the door and blew a gaping hole right through it. Quickly, Neda substituted her launcher for a more practical concussion rifle.
"Move," Enyo ordered curtly, giving Vaylin a nod. She'd become acquainted with the fierce Zabrak during a raid on a Jedi enclave and liked her well enough. It was time for murder. She emerged through the acrid clouds of smoke that billowed up into the air. Her mechanical body was encased in fully sealed phrik armour, concealing her features while protecting additional protection against the barrage of blaster bolts and slug rounds that was unleashed upon her. Enhanced speed and the ability to tear their guns from their grasp played a part as well. Moving at rapid velocities, her hammer began to bash skulls.