The Major
M E M O R Y
Hex M, 50 GSM \\ Dagobah
Over Dagobah ground | Present Time | Objective Blue
First Order Security Bureau Operations Task Force
Allies: [member="FN-6767"], [member="Rexus Wenck"], [member="Kyrel Ren"], [member="Emilia Ravel"] and The First Order
Enemies: [member="Nuuc Lapt"], [member="Lyra Sunfell"], [member="Kip Hollaran"], [member="Sol Stazi"], [member="Lokthra Dawning"], [member="Airi Tobec"] ,[member="Qymaen sil Jurai"], [member="Stephanie Swail"], [member="Mathieu Bahreiko"] , [member="Tiland Kortun"] and the Galactic Alliance
Music: Death of Ase (Unfortunately it's the cleanest sounding version I can find, but I think you'll enjoy it while reading along.
I’m so stupid; why am I so stupid; who let me be this stupid? The thoughts playing in her head became less and less continuous or focused as dread pooled. Not for her own sake. As a very specific, specialized IFF tag went into a critical status it began to warble red upon the corner of the Major’s HUD while making a scantily detectable warning ping at a interval. It did nothing but cause her heart to pump that much faster, and so she squelched the function. According to the sensor the hunters were nigh upon the site. So engrossed was she in this task that all else was ignored, including what sounded like the rumbling of rich voice asking, “Are you hurt?” Something that could travel past the swamp at that distance could not be natural, and the hunters had no time for tricks or distractions. Frenzy just so barely touched upon her mind as the misshapen husks and the occasional corpse laying in water played upon primal fears. It was a dank, mysterious, and deceitful terrain, and the Major pushed herself to the pinnacle of speed in sprinting through treacherous boughs and crooked vines.
More bodies and stinking death ahead. This time they were interwoven with dew slicked chunks of sheared armor plating. Embers floated on and between the nooks or sizzled gracefully upon wet bark. Then she saw it. The hulking remains of a First Order gunship was being lifted off the ground before careening forward into some unknown target. Visually it looked like a phantasm with the eerie cloaking of the fog, but the lead Huntress was more than trained within the arts of the Force, or in her interpretation —the White Current. It flared with the barely contained power of a coming storm. Palpable in hatred, it most likely could be felt by force sensitives unlucky enough to be waddling upon this planet —if they were able to pinpoint such things when so close to a nexus of dark side energy. Regardless, the hunters happened upon the scene just as violent intentions tore the heavy craft up and out. Like leaving a telltale scar, a number of massive trees and vines were torn free from the muddy dirt. Collapsing, jagged, these husks of ancient life would pose a lethal propositions to those not quick enough to duck away. Leaves and vines fell with aplomb, a veritable quagmire as they whipped against fellow tree or trooper without distinction. But all this chaos had provided an unintended boon: the fallen Station Chief’s body was not directly struck by the cacophonous chaos. Instead, the wicked trucks tripped into such a way as to make an impromptu barrier between the casualty and the threatening disidens of the swamp —lucky roll of the galactic dice or subconscious machinations of the dark side: such were not determinable at this time. The Major, however, was not hindered by such silliness, for the mess only made a natural rampart for the crash site on (from the perspective of her approach coming from Imperial lines) on the far side of the crash site and its left flank which were impassable without going around and wading through deep swamp on either ends. The right and the approaching angle also had a number of shattered obstacles but they could be slid or crawled over. In this way the Ren and their enemy were separated from the wounded agent for but a moment. Calm could so briefly transpire before more violence or a mortar shell struck the meager clearing, which was only really a clearing thanks to the crushing element provided by the recently departed gunship as it crashed.
“Target sighted: cover me, comrades!” Boomed the red caped huntress, and her compatriots obliged by using their jump-jets to “pop” into positions just ahead of their leader. At the ready and frightened to the point of killing on sight for any hostile foolish enough to not stumble into the arena without lethal purpose, these deathtrooper looking specimens would first have to be dealt with as they covered the pitiful position. As for the chrome plated officer, she was already at the side of the crumpled Chief. Stabbing her parasol into the ashen ground just to her left, she nigh babbled a string of sequentially cutting combination: beginning with gasps, a child-like mumble, and self-targeted scoff. Eventually, as the Major fell to her knees she settled on what was frankly the most understandable reaction.
“Emilia! Emilia!” She begged, gabbing near the Chief’s chestplate where it latched on to the neck portion of the bodyglove and shook it as softly as she could manage, trying to rouse the operative’s attention.
“It's not bad —you're fine. Nothing a bacta tank can’t fix. We just have to get you there quickly.” Lied the Major. The biometric alerts were correct and already triple checked. Officer Ravel had lost too much blood and sustained too much internal organ damage from the sheer number of lacerations and various forms of trauma: including shattered wounds typical of slugthrowers, burn marks, blunt force damage, and what appeared to be a gash that most likely indicated a concussion. It must have caused immense pain, the sort only the most determined could survive.
“Major, there’a be’a storm coming. I can ‘ear thoonder distinct.” Murmured one of the hunters. He wasn’t wrong. Rain started to fall and now that it was mentioned the huntress could also catch the distinct chime of rumbling thunder spiking sharply at closing range. Thick, cold drops began to permeate the area, threatening to turn the firm dirt into even more mud. She chose to ignore that and aimed her helmet directly at the fallen.
“Emilia, I would have come sooner. . .but I was. . . I was ah-. I was afraid. You said never to buh-bu-bother you again. And I wanted to comply. I’m sorry.” Struggling to see as droplets streaked down the infamous helmet while feeling the pressure pushing like a vice on her own chest caused her to shudder uncontrollably. Everything suddenly became too claustrophobic. Grabbing unto the seals of her chrome dome, she pulled it free and laid it crown-down in a puddle. Sybil looked fraught, blue eyes looking so bright while spread wide in concern. It was strange to see her look at something without a hint of irony.
“You never belonged down here in the trash with garbage people or rubbish friends; you always did your best amongst the stars, soaring over the rubble below. Em. . . ever since that Primeday it’s been like a waking nightmare -living as a Walking Curse. I don’t what possessed me to get Ennike first before seeing you. I think I wanted to be your hero. Swoop in. Save you again. Seem like a good friend and helpful person. You were right about me. I’m just… awful.” Sybil wiped her at her cheeks with the back of a gauntlet, further turning them red. Which was odd, the rain kept streaming down her face regardless.
“But this time you’re getting out. I’m going to carry you out, and once you’re healed you’ll never see me again. You’ll resign with honors, or switch exclusively to running another ship like you were best at. You’ll be free.”
Rummaging in her belt, Sybil heaved as though choking up. She produced syrettes for use on the field with numbing, healing agents to stabilize a patient. These were not standard issue in the First Order, and the vials were filled with a substance of inky darkness.
“It’s ju-just like Naboo again, Emilia. The first one is similar to morphine, and it’ll whisk the pain far away.” Miss Ravel, unable to move enough at this point regardless, had no choice as the Fallanassi pushed the syringe into her fallen friend’s neck. Sybil bit her lip, bringing the second dose to her fingers and nearly dropping it as the hollowness within her heart grew to a measure so immense she did not even wince as lightning ripped across the foggy sky above them. The syringes were both filled with the same thing. Two doses would overdose and kill the recipient —especially when the one receiving was a lithe as the Chief was.
“Th-this one will put you to sssu--- sleeee… s-s-sleep and accelerate the coagulation process in your body for healing. Okay? And then I’ll carry you out.” She injected the second one now.
I’m so sorry I’m the last face you’ll see.
“Our technology is superior, Em. You’ve seen it yourself. You’ll be right as the rain in a few days.”
I’d pray to a God who’d listen, if only one lived. I’d give anything right now to save you, because you’re better than anything I’ll ever be.
“Once you’re free, you’ll never have to see me again. So before we get you evacuated, c-c-can you tell me something? Do you like flowers? I love them. D-d-do you have a f-f-fav -ah- *sob* favorite? It’s j-just something to remember you by when you’re living a swell life with a real family.”
Mercy. Sweet mercy. Let her see dreams.
Sybil waited for the end.
The frigates were going to be overwhelmed, and rather than maintain the ground they began to evade and maneuver to flee. So far only a company of Imperial stormtroopers had been recovered. Warning alerts were sent to the forces in the swamps to start bugging out. Meanwhile, a few of the TIE raptors detected and fired upon what appeared to be a deploying droid army. However, do the fast nature of their movements confirm kills or even damage could not be ascertained. The crash site where Blackhole 3-3 careened from hyperspace into Dagobah dirt was now lighting in a massive fire as fuel spread from the trees. Seeing as there were no survivors, it was probably for the best that they didn't personally have to experience the torment of burning alive.
Bleak was a perfect word to describe this day.
Over Dagobah ground | Present Time | Objective Blue
First Order Security Bureau Operations Task Force
Allies: [member="FN-6767"], [member="Rexus Wenck"], [member="Kyrel Ren"], [member="Emilia Ravel"] and The First Order
Enemies: [member="Nuuc Lapt"], [member="Lyra Sunfell"], [member="Kip Hollaran"], [member="Sol Stazi"], [member="Lokthra Dawning"], [member="Airi Tobec"] ,[member="Qymaen sil Jurai"], [member="Stephanie Swail"], [member="Mathieu Bahreiko"] , [member="Tiland Kortun"] and the Galactic Alliance
Music: Death of Ase (Unfortunately it's the cleanest sounding version I can find, but I think you'll enjoy it while reading along.
I’m so stupid; why am I so stupid; who let me be this stupid? The thoughts playing in her head became less and less continuous or focused as dread pooled. Not for her own sake. As a very specific, specialized IFF tag went into a critical status it began to warble red upon the corner of the Major’s HUD while making a scantily detectable warning ping at a interval. It did nothing but cause her heart to pump that much faster, and so she squelched the function. According to the sensor the hunters were nigh upon the site. So engrossed was she in this task that all else was ignored, including what sounded like the rumbling of rich voice asking, “Are you hurt?” Something that could travel past the swamp at that distance could not be natural, and the hunters had no time for tricks or distractions. Frenzy just so barely touched upon her mind as the misshapen husks and the occasional corpse laying in water played upon primal fears. It was a dank, mysterious, and deceitful terrain, and the Major pushed herself to the pinnacle of speed in sprinting through treacherous boughs and crooked vines.
More bodies and stinking death ahead. This time they were interwoven with dew slicked chunks of sheared armor plating. Embers floated on and between the nooks or sizzled gracefully upon wet bark. Then she saw it. The hulking remains of a First Order gunship was being lifted off the ground before careening forward into some unknown target. Visually it looked like a phantasm with the eerie cloaking of the fog, but the lead Huntress was more than trained within the arts of the Force, or in her interpretation —the White Current. It flared with the barely contained power of a coming storm. Palpable in hatred, it most likely could be felt by force sensitives unlucky enough to be waddling upon this planet —if they were able to pinpoint such things when so close to a nexus of dark side energy. Regardless, the hunters happened upon the scene just as violent intentions tore the heavy craft up and out. Like leaving a telltale scar, a number of massive trees and vines were torn free from the muddy dirt. Collapsing, jagged, these husks of ancient life would pose a lethal propositions to those not quick enough to duck away. Leaves and vines fell with aplomb, a veritable quagmire as they whipped against fellow tree or trooper without distinction. But all this chaos had provided an unintended boon: the fallen Station Chief’s body was not directly struck by the cacophonous chaos. Instead, the wicked trucks tripped into such a way as to make an impromptu barrier between the casualty and the threatening disidens of the swamp —lucky roll of the galactic dice or subconscious machinations of the dark side: such were not determinable at this time. The Major, however, was not hindered by such silliness, for the mess only made a natural rampart for the crash site on (from the perspective of her approach coming from Imperial lines) on the far side of the crash site and its left flank which were impassable without going around and wading through deep swamp on either ends. The right and the approaching angle also had a number of shattered obstacles but they could be slid or crawled over. In this way the Ren and their enemy were separated from the wounded agent for but a moment. Calm could so briefly transpire before more violence or a mortar shell struck the meager clearing, which was only really a clearing thanks to the crushing element provided by the recently departed gunship as it crashed.
“Target sighted: cover me, comrades!” Boomed the red caped huntress, and her compatriots obliged by using their jump-jets to “pop” into positions just ahead of their leader. At the ready and frightened to the point of killing on sight for any hostile foolish enough to not stumble into the arena without lethal purpose, these deathtrooper looking specimens would first have to be dealt with as they covered the pitiful position. As for the chrome plated officer, she was already at the side of the crumpled Chief. Stabbing her parasol into the ashen ground just to her left, she nigh babbled a string of sequentially cutting combination: beginning with gasps, a child-like mumble, and self-targeted scoff. Eventually, as the Major fell to her knees she settled on what was frankly the most understandable reaction.
“Emilia! Emilia!” She begged, gabbing near the Chief’s chestplate where it latched on to the neck portion of the bodyglove and shook it as softly as she could manage, trying to rouse the operative’s attention.
“It's not bad —you're fine. Nothing a bacta tank can’t fix. We just have to get you there quickly.” Lied the Major. The biometric alerts were correct and already triple checked. Officer Ravel had lost too much blood and sustained too much internal organ damage from the sheer number of lacerations and various forms of trauma: including shattered wounds typical of slugthrowers, burn marks, blunt force damage, and what appeared to be a gash that most likely indicated a concussion. It must have caused immense pain, the sort only the most determined could survive.
“Major, there’a be’a storm coming. I can ‘ear thoonder distinct.” Murmured one of the hunters. He wasn’t wrong. Rain started to fall and now that it was mentioned the huntress could also catch the distinct chime of rumbling thunder spiking sharply at closing range. Thick, cold drops began to permeate the area, threatening to turn the firm dirt into even more mud. She chose to ignore that and aimed her helmet directly at the fallen.
“Emilia, I would have come sooner. . .but I was. . . I was ah-. I was afraid. You said never to buh-bu-bother you again. And I wanted to comply. I’m sorry.” Struggling to see as droplets streaked down the infamous helmet while feeling the pressure pushing like a vice on her own chest caused her to shudder uncontrollably. Everything suddenly became too claustrophobic. Grabbing unto the seals of her chrome dome, she pulled it free and laid it crown-down in a puddle. Sybil looked fraught, blue eyes looking so bright while spread wide in concern. It was strange to see her look at something without a hint of irony.
“You never belonged down here in the trash with garbage people or rubbish friends; you always did your best amongst the stars, soaring over the rubble below. Em. . . ever since that Primeday it’s been like a waking nightmare -living as a Walking Curse. I don’t what possessed me to get Ennike first before seeing you. I think I wanted to be your hero. Swoop in. Save you again. Seem like a good friend and helpful person. You were right about me. I’m just… awful.” Sybil wiped her at her cheeks with the back of a gauntlet, further turning them red. Which was odd, the rain kept streaming down her face regardless.
“But this time you’re getting out. I’m going to carry you out, and once you’re healed you’ll never see me again. You’ll resign with honors, or switch exclusively to running another ship like you were best at. You’ll be free.”
Rummaging in her belt, Sybil heaved as though choking up. She produced syrettes for use on the field with numbing, healing agents to stabilize a patient. These were not standard issue in the First Order, and the vials were filled with a substance of inky darkness.
“It’s ju-just like Naboo again, Emilia. The first one is similar to morphine, and it’ll whisk the pain far away.” Miss Ravel, unable to move enough at this point regardless, had no choice as the Fallanassi pushed the syringe into her fallen friend’s neck. Sybil bit her lip, bringing the second dose to her fingers and nearly dropping it as the hollowness within her heart grew to a measure so immense she did not even wince as lightning ripped across the foggy sky above them. The syringes were both filled with the same thing. Two doses would overdose and kill the recipient —especially when the one receiving was a lithe as the Chief was.
“Th-this one will put you to sssu--- sleeee… s-s-sleep and accelerate the coagulation process in your body for healing. Okay? And then I’ll carry you out.” She injected the second one now.
I’m so sorry I’m the last face you’ll see.
“Our technology is superior, Em. You’ve seen it yourself. You’ll be right as the rain in a few days.”
I’d pray to a God who’d listen, if only one lived. I’d give anything right now to save you, because you’re better than anything I’ll ever be.
“Once you’re free, you’ll never have to see me again. So before we get you evacuated, c-c-can you tell me something? Do you like flowers? I love them. D-d-do you have a f-f-fav -ah- *sob* favorite? It’s j-just something to remember you by when you’re living a swell life with a real family.”
Mercy. Sweet mercy. Let her see dreams.
Sybil waited for the end.
Elsewhere
The frigates were going to be overwhelmed, and rather than maintain the ground they began to evade and maneuver to flee. So far only a company of Imperial stormtroopers had been recovered. Warning alerts were sent to the forces in the swamps to start bugging out. Meanwhile, a few of the TIE raptors detected and fired upon what appeared to be a deploying droid army. However, do the fast nature of their movements confirm kills or even damage could not be ascertained. The crash site where Blackhole 3-3 careened from hyperspace into Dagobah dirt was now lighting in a massive fire as fuel spread from the trees. Seeing as there were no survivors, it was probably for the best that they didn't personally have to experience the torment of burning alive.
Bleak was a perfect word to describe this day.
Please note that all ships are IN MOTION at high speed. -accuracy of fire +evasion
FOSB Operations Task Force:
FIV Tortuga
Nightgaunt Class Stealth Corvette(x)
Shields: 100/100
Hull: 100/100
Status: Scanning ships over sector in low orbit
FIV Tirade
Boneshatter Class Assault Frigate (x)
Shields: 97/100
Hull: 81/100
Status: Nominal, CAS
FIV Hemwick
Boneshatter Class Assault Frigate
Shields: 96/100
Hull: 99/100
Status: Nominal, CAS
FIV Carousel
Boneshatter Class Assault Frigate
Shields: 0/100
Hull: 0/100
Status: Destroyed, all hands lost
FIPV Beat Siren
Kerunos System Patrol Vessel (x)
Shields: 91/100
Hull: 90/100
Status: Nominal, Armed I&R
FIPV Blackhole 3-3
Kerunos System Patrol Vessel
Shields: 0/100
Hull: 0/100
Status: Destroyed, all hands lost
FOSB Operations Task Force:
FIV Tortuga
Nightgaunt Class Stealth Corvette(x)
Shields: 100/100
Hull: 100/100
Status: Scanning ships over sector in low orbit
FIV Tirade
Boneshatter Class Assault Frigate (x)
Shields: 97/100
Hull: 81/100
Status: Nominal, CAS
FIV Hemwick
Boneshatter Class Assault Frigate
Shields: 96/100
Hull: 99/100
Status: Nominal, CAS
FIV Carousel
Boneshatter Class Assault Frigate
Shields: 0/100
Hull: 0/100
Status: Destroyed, all hands lost
FIPV Beat Siren
Kerunos System Patrol Vessel (x)
Shields: 91/100
Hull: 90/100
Status: Nominal, Armed I&R
FIPV Blackhole 3-3
Kerunos System Patrol Vessel
Shields: 0/100
Hull: 0/100
Status: Destroyed, all hands lost