Location: Overwatch
Equipment: Merr-Sonn Precision Sniper Rifle Series 1, heavy blaster pistol, backpack with assorted items, mix of civilian and tactical clothing
Distance... two hundred meters. A couple targets. Male, looked like a human. He moved better as he stalked back and forth through the ship. Female, human, or near enough. Blonde, young. The first guy drew close as they talked. Then she disappeared inside in a run. Hmmm.
Another figure approached. Warmer, but within norms. Pink skinned.
Zeltron, he guessed. Similar to Dash next to him. The way she walked looked like
Magena Dray. He'd remember that walk anywhere. Like she owned every single thing she looked at or touched. And she probably could have, if she wanted, and never paid a single credit out of her own pocket.
Another figure, male. Shouting. He could hear it in the distance over the traffic and noise pollution of the city. Blaster fire. Great. The first guy took cover and was moving to talk to the crowd of armed and riled up men. Zooming in, he recognized the features of Van-Derveld. The Mage was his, based on what he could slice out of the registry. So definitely the boss.
Swinging his heavy rifle just a bit, he sighted in on the leader of the rag-tag would be battle buddies of the first guy shooting. One shot through the back of the head or chest at this range would do the job. He'd be dead before anyone registered the light from the bolt. But that wasn't needed. A flick of a thumb set his Merr-Sonn precision rifle to stun. More blaster shots as a fourth person opened up on the raggedy mess. One hefted a slugthrower scattergun. He squeezed off a shot, sending a blue-white bolt, needle-thin, into his back. He staggered, dropping his weapon with nerveless fingers, and did not move again. The rest were down and either dead or writhing in pain as another figure gestured about.
Did she throw something? The troublemaker's weapon was out of his hand. Then she spoke to him, while Van-Derveld was yelling, then talking to the first shooter. It looked personal even from this distance, but not at Van-Derveld. The new girl looked like she might be Zeltron. Lightsaber on her leg. Jedi? She reminded him of someone... Reminded him of Mags.
A kid, a sister?
"
Great," he groused as things seemed to resolve. Putting his rifle back in the protective case, he activated his subvocal mic. "
Clear. Let's meet at the ramp. They look a little ratty but should do for now. They can handle themselves, so we don't have to babysit so much." He slung the case over his shoulder. Then lept, sliding down an angle of the building he had perched on. The slide dropped some thirty or forty meters until he fell into the open air, only to land on his feet. Rolling with the impact, he came up with a walk that turned into a limp. "
Ow... ow.. ow.." he muttered with every other step. It seemed he'd done something to his ankle in the tumble. Probably sprained, but it didn't feel like a third degree. Maaaaybe second degree.
A couple minutes later, he came through the main entryway to the bay. He wore black military style boots. Additionally, he had charcoal gray pants with several pockets. An olive-drab t-shirt tucked in, nerfhide jacket, heavy blaster strapped to his side, backpack on his back, large rifle case in hand, hobbling toward the ship. How many other weapons or items he had concealed on his person remained impossible to tell.
"
Well, that was a show," Liam spoke up, aware of the wary glances. He waved to
Dashara Horizon
who was bringing up the rear behind him. "
Hey doll, was he still screaming about 'don't kill me, don't kill me' when he passed you?"
