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10Tickler
Should probably be stopped sometime soon
1,569 posts
7 likes
Entropic Overload
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last online Sept 25, 2023 19:53:30 GMT -5
Master
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Aug 2, 2009 22:51:39 GMT -5
Post by 10Tickler on Aug 2, 2009 22:51:39 GMT -5
As the Briefing ended around Damien, the Tall, Immaculately clean man nodded and sighed, letting the others file out. He had his orders, and it didn't help to try and think about them. Instead, when he finally stood, he walked out, into the Hall and Triggered the Red Button on his Commlink. Across the Ship, in the Mess hall, and H.A.L.O.A.T.W's Barracks, In the Weight Room and the Showers, An Alarm went off on The Comms of his Squad. Their orders had been given, and the Signal sent. They had Five Minutes to Report in.
Moving into one of the Turbolifts, the Master Sergeant inhaled deeply. It was time for his men to Shine, to show these Suitpukes and the various officers why you didn't send Children to do a Man's job. It took a few minutes, but when he finally reached the Assigned deck, a grin crossed his face. Standing At attention, Their Armor on and Helmets Powered up, his men were ready, Standing around the Circular Devices that would Send them Down into the Depths of hell.
Listen up Damien said, Securing his helmet. This is why we're here, why we exist. We will strike fear into the Hearts of the Enemy, and Sever their head from their body. Our orders are to Take out as many Morons as we can that Stand in our way, however, we're commanded to Capture the Head Idiots, those that thought they could get away with threatening the Republic. AM I CLEAR?
All around him, a Resounding cheer filled the Room, Men and women alike Slapping their Chests. Grinning like a Fiend, he turned and Moved to the pod that he would be fired from, Sitting on his seat and Looking over the weapon that hung, ready for him. Nodding to his Squad, they all sat in their Assigned Spots, Some Meditating, some Praying. A Few checked their weapons and Ellemaiare and he just Looked at one another and nodded...when this mission was over, they were getting married.
The Cry of General Quarters soon Rang through the Ship, resounding like the Klaxon that came with it, Shrieking and Hurting the Squad's ears. With a Simple motion, Damien Tapped the Side of his Pod Door, Causing the Doors on all of them to Close Quickly, sealing, becoming Airtight. They weren't opening again until they hit the Ground, and that was fine with him. With the seals, the Sounds outside were Dulled mostly, and hitting his comm, he Gave a Thumbs-up to his Squad.
H.A.L.O.A.T.W. Locked, Load now he told the "Gunner" that would be Firing the pods from the ship, like a Giant Cannon. A sliding noise came from beneath Damien's feet. The Tubes that The Pods were Sitting on were opening...
It only took a Minute, but it Felt like forever...
3
2
1
A Resounding Crack filled the Halls of the Levels below the Pod's Firing Mechanisms as the Soldier-Filled Bullets were Fired, launched. The sudden Acceleration caused Damien to Sit up slightly, but then he Relaxed again. It was only going to be a short ride down.
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Dutch
Darth Awesome, Specialist at Everything
4,164 posts
372 likes
King All the Easy
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last online Apr 30, 2020 12:47:50 GMT -5
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Aug 3, 2009 20:30:47 GMT -5
Post by Dutch on Aug 3, 2009 20:30:47 GMT -5
An earthy, metallic, dusty smell wafted in the air, mingled with the smell of sweat from various sentients, even some pheromones from the more sexually active species. The occasional waft of drugs or alcohol would touch every now and then, and the smell of blood would often soon follow. Voices of all sorts of dialect and tone echoed all over, words of trade, love and anger most common. Footsteps were everywhere, some heavy and trotting, others light and flinty, even heard some non footstep motion sounds, wings flapping or bodies slithering. Music could be heard as well from all the cantinas, a particularly talented Bith band taking front stage. The air tasted almost nearly as it smelt, though this time the biological tastes stood out supreme. Genders were now recognizable, an almost completely even split between males and females- though a few were a mixture of the two in one, some even completely different from either gender.
The air itself was very muggy and humid, making every breath feel harder to take than it should, as well as dampening everything to the touch. From what could be seen, the city itself was a slum- large mostly abandoned buildings surrounded by clutters of smaller buildings, tents and even some salvaged ships made up the town. All seemed to be set up in waves around a central compound. A large base resembling a Republic Army base from during the Jedi Civil War, surrounded by a very thick, very tall wall standing well above the compound itself in a semi ciricle-the cave wall itself forming the main part of its security. Two sniper towers were clearly visible- from what had been observed, at least one armed guard keeping an eye on the area. Above, massive stalactites reached down towards the city, the sheer magnitude of the cave that sheltered the city however, didn’t allow them to come anywhere near the city itself. The streetlights and lighting from the various buildings provided the “daylight” for the city, dim probably for most beings, but not this one.
Crouched low atop a high building sat Republic Army Specialist Vangar Slihm- a brute of a Barabel even by their standards, his rusted-red scales gleamed damply in the dim light as the reptile shifted his position, dark black eyes scanning the area as his tongue occasionally slipped out to taste the air. He stood to his full height and stretched, large sinewy muscles shifting the gleam on his scales. Clad in his usual gear consisting of a black leather battle harness crossing his chest, black leather pants that cut off at his knees, as well as black leather wrist/arm guards. A large rifle sat strapped to his back, its cool metal comforting to the Barabel’s scales. Three weeks he had passed since his arrival on this wretched, underground world. Nothing felt or seemed right to Slihm- the lack of natural daylight irritating the reptile.
He had been the advanced “party” of Operation Infinite Horizon, the former gladiator working best alone in these types of situations. His mission was a multiple objective one- first, he had to scout the area, learn who’s who, where key spots where, and most importantly, exactly what his allies were about to face. Secondly, he had to find an entrance so that they could get in without getting harmed, and also to find an emergency exit if needed. His third objective was optional- take out as many members of this private army, but without seeming suspicious.
The first part of the mission was very easy for the seasoned tracker, utilizing his expert hunting skills to even sneak past the wall of the compound a few times. And getting to know the town was as simple as Slihm just wandering the area, meeting folk and tipping particularly generously to some bartenders for information. Luckily, Slihm’s frightening visage and unorthodox behavior lead to the belief he was a mercenary just staying here for a safe haven. Getting info on the interior of the base however was more difficult, but far more satisfying, the Rodian’s every scream, every break, every ooze of blood pleasing to the hunter. During his time scouting, Slihm bunked up at a seedy tavern where he spent any “free” time playing pazaak, or arm wrestling. This was more than just mere folly, the Barabel soon building a reputation around town as a great challenge, with great rewards- but if the loser couldn’t pay up, Slihm was known to severely injure, even kill the deadbeat. However, he made sure not to harm anyone that was well intentioned, their smells and tastes giving away why they really played. And by “accident”, this tavern also happened to be the main hangout of the private army. As he got to know some of the soldiers, it became apparent that there was but one entrance and exit in the entire place- the massive gated walls. This pleased the Barabel, and yet seeped of dread at the thought of one exit, however, the one entrance would work for him, it was always easier to subdue one gundark than a group.
And so with that, along with nightly scouting runs, Slihm’s plans were set in carbonite. While he waited for contact though, each night he played as many gambling games with private army soldiers as he could, getting his fill of broken limbs, cracked ribs, and even the occasional dismemberment or beheading by the “disgruntled” Barabel. His body count at three weeks was at twenty-two crippled or killed soldiers- not bad considering. Then, three days ago, Slihm cut off all contacts from the tavern, as well as any other “friends” he had met, and kept to the rooftops, and only moving at night- making sure that the rumor of his departure from the planet was known. This night however, should mark the third standard week mark of his arrival, and he was ready for some real action- the simple bar fights not quenching the predator’s thirst.
He stepped away from the edge of the building he had been staying atop, the tallest building in town, even taller than the two sniper towers on the compound. A small lean-to had been set up by him, not for shelter, but for him to store the equipment sent with him. A jet-black sphere with a single antenna, a small sack of grenades, and a whet stone he had been using to sharpen the claws on his hands and feet. It was time, and Slihm knew it, he had scouted, prepared, and thinned the ranks of the enemy, even if by a little. He knelt down to the sphere and grabbed it with one hand, the ball sitting heavy in his palm. Slihm tapped the very top of it and grinned toothily as the sphere lifted off his palm antennae up and floated just in front of his face, its repulsors just barely audible, even to the Barabel.
“Thissss isss Specialist Vangar Ssslihm. The pregame is ssset, I await your arrival- thisss droid will pick up your message and relay it to me. I will be ssstationed at the rendezvous point asss commanded sssir. Ssslihm, out.” Rasped the Barabel before making a shooing motion to the droid.
Without a moments hesitation the droid shot towards the cave entrance, if done right, the droid should breach the most acidic part of the atmosphere, and relay the message to his allies. After the droid was out of sight, the Barabel turned back to the compound, a hungry, and adrenaline filled rush sending a chill through the massive reptile. “Time to hunt…” Whispered the antsy hunter before he hopped off the edge of the building, the claws on his hands and feet extending out and grabbing the permacrete edges of it and began quickly hopping down the building, the end goal to make his way towards the compound. Now it was the start of the real mission. Objective one: Take out the wall.
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Latus
May the Quartz be with you.
850 posts
0 likes
Ain't got time for this. (?°?°??? ???
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last online Jun 27, 2014 19:37:36 GMT -5
Guardian
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Aug 3, 2009 20:43:07 GMT -5
Post by Latus on Aug 3, 2009 20:43:07 GMT -5
The call was out, the resounding commotion could almost be felt throughout the Ascension as tens, if not hundreds of souls ran for their stations. Pandemonium is what Sev observed as he gazed through the transparent canopy of the lone Firehawk. Pilots ran for their fighters, support crews commenced and ended fueling; it was something of a nostalgic moment for the Sergeant. It reminded him of the squat hangars he called home back on Corellia before a mission. Running his hands over the readouts before him, Sev sighed with contentment; everything checked out, a good sign. Looking up and into the hangar again his eyes passed over Archer and Trigger both in the process of readying for combat; their movements were excited and sharp. As they worked he couldn't help but wonder if they would have rather stayed on Corellia, as they only shipped out with the Ascension on Sev's specific request. The Sergeant needed good wingmen and there were none better. If only the' could 'ave kept their Hawks... That particular thought gave Sev an idea.
Putting a finger to his ear Sev pressed the power on his helmet transceiver. Sev watched as Archer, who was just settling into the pilot's seat, paused at what he was doing and put his finger to his helmet. A beep from his headset signaled that his wingmate had connected.
What's up Six-Lead... Boss?
I ain't Six-Lead anymore, lad. Unass tha' thing, double time. You're ridin' shotgun w' me!
Sir!
Sev smirked as he watched Archer nearly trip over himself climbing out of his assigned Venom. Checking the readouts again Sev noticed something was certainly wrong. In their haste to get the Hawk ready it seems Jennings had forgotten to install anything on the wing mounts. Pressing his headset again Sev watched as Archer dodged past the manned venoms as they began to lift from the hangar floor.
What's up Sarge? Home sick already?
Very funneh. Get those LRAAMs loaded up, I cannae be going in there withoot some sort of firepow'r.
On it, sir. Six solid fuel, tracking missiles coming up. Just make sure to be careful where you aim in those tunnels, cave ins could give everyone a very, very bad day.
Clicking off the headset Sev reached up, pulled the release to the canopy and shoved it open. The plane dipped slightly one direction as Archer put his weight on the wing and pulled himself up, a smile still quite evident on his face. Grunting, Archer dropped into the seat directly behind Sev and began buckling the myriad of belts associated with the design of the Firehawk. He was excited, Sev could tell it in the way he slammed the canopy closed. How long had it been since the Corporal had even sat in a hawk? However long it was, the Sergeant knew he was doing his wingmate a favor. The plane shuddered as the automated loaders clamped entry-shielded bundles of missiles on the two dorsal mounts; they were ready.
Thanks Jennings. We're takin' off now, lad. I hope yer modifications work.
Well if they don't I wont have to worry about you yelling at me...
The humor wasn't lost on the Sergeant and he gave a sharp laugh drawing an odd look from Archer. Sev shot his own glare back at his partner and grasped the control stick in his right hand, the throttle in his left. Pushing his left up, the plane's engines burst to life creating a dull roar in the cavernous hangar. Pulling back on the control stick the small craft lifted from the deck and hovered steadily higher until it was a few feet from the ceiling. Twisting the top of the control stick it clicked sharply and the tips of the wings folded flat, the engines shifting from repulsors to primary engines. As Sev jammed the throttle foreword, the Firehawk accelerated rapidly, white flames shooting from the engine nacelles. As the Ascension's atmo-shield came into view, Sev pressed a small button on the end of the throttle and the craft shot foreword, the flames changing to bright blue.
And then, there was nothing. The engines died without so much as a cough and the two friends hurtled into the blackness of space, protected my little more than a steel coffin. The planet came up fast and the plane rocked as it broke atmosphere. Using the natural drag, the pair spun the craft until it descended canopy first. Giving the control of the plane to Archer, Sev closed his eyes and sat back. Reentry always gave him problems, especially in something so small and flimsy. He couldn't even look out the plastisteel canopy at the brilliant blue and red flames that spontaneously ignited against the brown and green paint, coating it with a layer of ash. Breathing heavily, Sev's vision slowly faded to white. From space, the small craft must have looked like a meteorite, burning as it fell into the thick Subterrel atmosphere. If they made it through reentry, the real danger would not be far behind.
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last online Jun 4, 2023 4:58:38 GMT -5
Master
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Aug 14, 2009 20:10:31 GMT -5
Post by Talau the Ever-Lurking on Aug 14, 2009 20:10:31 GMT -5
(Tango would like Axle to know that it's the soft, shiny, feathers that are attractive about them)
Rah spun about just as Sean knocked on the door and peeked into her room, the letter vanishing swiftly into oblivion (aka, Sender’s chest cavity) as she nodded to him once. Allowing the man to say his piece, she sighed and folded her arms across her chest, the leather armor binding her body letting out a soft creaking sound that was barely audible even to her. He had a point at least. It would be best if the two snipers stuck together on the way down at least. Rahja had been about to reply when Sender prodded her arm roughly and pulled out a measure of ticker tape that she swiftly took from him.
One moment please, Sean.
She gazed down at the paper and let out a soft grunt of displeasure. How did they expect her to perform TWO missions at one time?! Especially with such a small window of time? Noting the information on the slip of paper, she reached into her belt and pulled a small lighter from a belt pouch as she took the letter from Sender (as well as the slip of paper) and walked over to the waste basket.
I think that would be a good idea, Sean. At least that way we can watch each other’s backs. Subterrel is no place for snipers and we might need an extra set of eyes before the end of this.
Rahja stated coolly as she lit the two pieces of paper on fire and watched the ashes drop into the previously empty basket below. At the sound of her name, she looked up at Sean once again and raised an eyebrow curiously as she pulled her head back away from him as he leaned in closer to whisper to her. The question that he posed made her blink a few times before a slight smile formed on her face. A snicker escaped her as she shook her head and dropped the rest of the letter and slip of paper into the basket.
What am I? Well…I don’t suppose you would be expected to know, my people tend to keep to themselves.
I’m a Chiss, Sean.
All personnel…battle stations.
Rah’s head snapped up toward the com and she spun on her heel, snatching her cloak off the bed and twirling it about her, fastening it with a swift click of metal about her neck. With another fluid motion, her rifle was slung across her back, and she’d brushed past Sean and into the hall, Sender following after.
Hurry up Mu’haro or you’ll be left behind.
She called as long legs took her swiftly along the halls toward the drop capsules. If Rahja was afraid, she certainly didn’t show it. Red eyes gazed intently at the drop pod she’d been assigned and she strapped herself in, settling her rifle in the carrier and double checking it was fitted in properly. Sender was far from anxious to enter the pod, but with a slight narrowing of her eyes, the AER resigned himself to his fate and found a place to settle himself as Rahja strapped him down as well before tapping his head reassuringly. The chiss woman nodded to Sean as he passed by her to his own capsule, and a slight smirk formed on her face as the door to the pod snapped shut.
This was going to be a hell of a ride.
The count down sequence started up and she felt the familiar twisting of her gut in anticipation. Crimson eyes gazed intently at the screen as she fixed her communicator into her ear. A series of clicks and a blast of motion and she grinned devilishly as she felt some of the air pushed out of her from the force of the launch, her muscles clenching as the pods hurtled through space and into the atmosphere of the planet below.
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Mara
nothing worth anything ever goes down easy
9,275 posts
55 likes
the one and only
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last online May 2, 2022 22:30:17 GMT -5
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Aug 20, 2009 18:27:01 GMT -5
Post by Mara on Aug 20, 2009 18:27:01 GMT -5
Pak was bored. Bored out of his disheveled brown-haired skull. He wondered when the real action would start. But for now all the 'real action' was going on below him, down on the planet of Subterrel. Trying to stay awake, he double-checked his sensors and shields. All was quiet. Again.
After departing the Ascension with the rest of his squadron, he had laid off the port of one of the dropships, guarding its entry through the atmosphere, making sure no enemy fighters or anti-aircraft weaponry took out his comrades before they could even think about getting their job done. The task had been a lot less eventful than he had hoped it would be. He had kept close beside his chosen dropship, guarding it with the rest of his flight--a total of four Venom fighters filled with crack Republic pilots surrounding the vessel filled with soldiers.
But, nothing. The people below must be sleeping. Or ignorant. Or both. And so Pak hung there in the high atmosphere of Subterrel with the other eleven Venom pilots, including Shenhua, the commander. Waiting for the second half of their duty, the return trip. The Balosar ran a hand over his control stick, wishing for another chance to let it go all out, almost feeling the rush of stars flow past him. The feeling he had had when he first got to know the Venom starfighter, back when he was joining up with the Aegis on Kuat.
Since those first orgasmic-inducing moments of flight, most of his time with the beautiful ship had been spent doing what he was doing now. Patrolling. Watching. Doing absolutely nothing. Pak sighed. If nothing exciting happened soon, he'd start to get seriously worried about losing his skill as a pilot.
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Dire Wolf
So who's ready to help me sock ol Adolf on the jaw?!
2,894 posts
49 likes
Have dakka will travel
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last online May 6, 2020 18:55:51 GMT -5
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Aug 20, 2009 19:02:24 GMT -5
Post by Dire Wolf on Aug 20, 2009 19:02:24 GMT -5
((Sorry, again, for the outrageous wait. I've just been waiting for the final person to post. So yeah, posting now... it isn't long, but it doesn't really have to be *shrugs*))
Crassus stood on the bridge of the Ascension as it slipped back out from the higher atmosphere of Subterrel with his hands behind his back and eyes scanning the void that hung around his ship. The corsair fleet was well out of visual range, thank the Force, and everything was green across the bored (save the shields)... yet he couldn't help but feel a gnawing in his gut.
His eyes fluttered down to the console that stood before him as he planted his hands on the safety bar that rimmed the little computer stand. The little holographic readouts told him that everything was normal, well, and good... yet he still had a gnawing in his gut. The man keyed the operational comm unit that would connect him with the comm piece on every single unit in and off of the field. This channel was so encrypted that it would take nothing short of a super computer to decrypt... let alone detect.
"Irene... I say again, Irene."
The operation's go-word. Irene. This gave the operational unit one hundred percent conformation that the operation. It may not have been covered in the briefing, but it didn't necessarily have to be... they all knew the go-code. Crass sighed once more before turning to his bridge hands, each one looking as if they were completely focused on their job.
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Dutch
Darth Awesome, Specialist at Everything
4,164 posts
372 likes
King All the Easy
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last online Apr 30, 2020 12:47:50 GMT -5
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Aug 21, 2009 18:07:49 GMT -5
Post by Dutch on Aug 21, 2009 18:07:49 GMT -5
The air tasted of sweat, metal, and booze. Luckily for Slihm, it seemed that some of the guards had been sharing a canteen of some sort of alcohol- whiskey by the smell of it. A crooked toothy grin slid over his lips at this, impaired men meant easier men to kill. The guards couldn't see the large reptile, as he sat perfectly still in the shadows between the cave wall and the artificial wall around the compound. Fourteen guards to be exact- ten on the ground and one in each sniper tower. The snipers would have to go first- if he tried for the ground troops with them still up there, they'd have a clean shot on him quickly. His tail swished once as he planned, his muscles tense and claws itching for blood.
The Barabel moved smoothly and swiftly, his claws digging deep in the wall as he scaled it on all fours- tongue slipping from his mouth occasionally, tasting his prey. It wasn't long before he grasped the first sniper tower's blindside and slowly crawled towards the top of the tower. He could hear their conversation, an ignorant, bigamist, foolish banter. Eyes narrowed in annoyance, Slihm wasted no time. He propelled himself up the last of the tower, scrambling over the edge to see the two snipers. Without a moments hesitation he lunged forward, one hand going right at the first man's throat, claws digging deep into his spine as Slihm's grip closed completely around the sniper's throat. As the reptile did this, his tail snaked forward to shove itself into the other man's mouth and down his throat, his jaw dislocating with a gentle pop. Slihm forced his two victims down to the floor, holding them down until they stopped struggling, their bodies limp. Sissing gently, Slihm grabbed one of the sniper's rifles and made his way to the edge. He peered out, pleased that no one seemed to notice his attack so far. Slihm held up the rifle, and took aim, adjusting some nobs on the rifle until the sights were calibrated to him. Just when the moment was right, Slihm squeezed off two shots, each one forming a perfect hole in the other snipers heads. Slihm's cover was blown- but that didn't matter, the most dangerous of the guards were already taken care of.
Leaping to the edge of the tower, Slihm looked down and roared with all his might, lips stretched back and teeth fully bared, his massive arms rippling as his hands formed claws, tail swishing violently with anticipation. The guards looked up, most of them with startled or fearful expressions. Slihm took their moment of shock to jump off the tower, his right arm's claws racking the permacrete as he fell, carving massive gouges in it as he did. When he reached the wall Slihm jumped off the tower, gripping the wall with his feet's claws and running towards the guards horizontally at top speed. As soon as the Barabel reached one of the guards, he pounced, arms spread wide with another roar released from his chest. Two of Slihm's claws found eye sockets, his thumb digging into the man's throat as the reptile spun and threw the now dead guard at another, spinning and tripping a guard with his tail as he did. The next few minutes were filled with the same routine- dodge, duck, claw, rip, tear, gouge and bite. The reptile was merciless in his assault, almost every blow a killing one, spreading blood and chunks of flesh all over the dirt ground. Vangar reveled in the battle, his muscles burning and his blood hot from the hunt, he stood and looked around at the carnage, his bulk heaving slowly from labored breath. There were ten guards, but now there were only ten corpses scattered among the former gladiator. Black eyes scanned the area- nothing could be seen, it seemed that all was clear.
But Slihm was wrong. Just as the Barabel moved to go open the gate door, a shuddering thud sounded from behind the reptile. A sneak attack? How? Thought the reptile. To be able to sneak up on the honed hunter was a feat indeed, for any different smell, sound, or taste would have been immediately noticed by the reptile. Slihm spun and roared with all his might, claws ready for more. The Barabel's battle cry quickly died at what he saw. A tank of some sort- a make he didn't recognize- sat not far from the lizard, it's main turret turned to face him. Slihm didn't have time to wonder where it came from, leaping away just as the tank fired. A small crater was left when the dust cleared, the Barabel lay on the ground, coughing from the dust. He slowly clambered to his feet and winced, a chunk of metal from one of the guards armor had been thrown from the blast and now sat dug into Slihm's left pectoral muscle. Snarling at the wound, the reptile growled and began to trot towards the machine as he wretched the metal shard from his chest.
Slihm jumped forward, rolling to the side of the tank and clambering onto it. His dark eyes scanned the metal bulk for some sort of entrance, or some sort of weakness. He snarled fiercely in frustration, not able to see anything from the side of the tank. He knew he'd have to go for the top of it- still out of the way of the turret, but right in the line of sight of the Gatling laser perched next to the main turret.
"Blight of Barabel!" Spat Slihm, the familiar Barab curse slipping from him easily. He waited for a second before praying that the Force was with him in this. The reptile flung himself up and over the side of the tank, the Gatling laser instantly on him and firing. Slihm roared with pain as two shots singed his flesh, leaving two open burn marks on his left arm. But Van was no stranger to pain, he had sustain worse injuries in less dire moments. Wasting no time, Slihm delivered an open palm blow with his right hand to the bottom of the turret, the hot metal singeing his palm. The turret continued to fire, laser pelting the cave ceiling making small rocks and dust rain over the area around the compound. Slihm took a brief second to breath before inhaling deeply and roaring louder than ever, both hands gripping the rapid firing weapon and wrenching it with all his might.
With a metallic SCREEEECH! the turret rose from its mount, the massive Barabel successfully pulled the turret from its base. The turret continued to fire rapidly, Slihm using this to his advantage. Teeth gritted and eyes ablaze with rage, he turned the cannon down, facing right at the very hole it once sat in. Smoke billowed, sparks flew, and chunks of metal and wiring jumped out of the hole. Several loud clicks followed by a shrieking whir sounded from the tank. Slihm knew the sound of trouble when he heard it, and leaped off the tank. He ran in a zig-zag away from the tank, a pair of explosions rocked near him- but not near enough to cause harm. That was all the tank could get off before it whirred even louder, just before exploding. The sheer force from the blast shook the ground and sent shards of metal and stone everywhere.
Slihm could not help but get caught up in this one, the Barabel thrown into the back of the wall. His breath was knocked from his chest, the reptile lay on the ground gasping for air, several new wounds now trickling reddish purple blood- but nothing life threatening. Vangar slowly slid to his feet, snarling as he looked down at several new pieces of metal stuck in his flesh. Just another day on the job... Thought Slihm with a slight sissing at his own joke. His sissing got louder as he looked at the wreckage of the tank, it was nothing more than a shell now, two pilots lay in pieces around the tank, and one whole one slowly was getting to his feet, somehow surviving. Slihm growled and marched towards the pilot, the man not yet noticing the approaching Barabel. Slihm made this quick, he raised a leg and grabbed the man's head with his claws then stomped viciously, crushing the man's skull.
Growling and rumbling, the hulking reptile strode to the gate's door, punching in the panel and pulling out the wiring. The door made a loud thud before slowly whirring open. Slihm looked outside the compound wall to see several large boulders had crashed from the ceiling, and that the tussle had scared away any locals around the base- something Vangar was grateful for. It was one thing to take out a group of thugs and lowlifes, but the locals didn't deserve any harm. Slihm slouched against the spot where the door was stowed, his breathing somewhat labored and his wounds still bleeding. He prayed that his allies would get here soon, for he knew that if they didn't, reinforcements would be sent out, and Slihm would likely not be able to handle all of them.
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A®heim
One does not just make a dreadnought.
3,801 posts
6 likes
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last online Sept 16, 2018 19:37:00 GMT -5
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Aug 30, 2009 3:01:17 GMT -5
Post by A®heim on Aug 30, 2009 3:01:17 GMT -5
The allies were on the way.
Sean stepped into his assigned drop pod thinking about what had just occurred. The "Chiss" had been a new one, Sean couldn't say he recognized the name from any of his studies, but then space is very VERY big so it didn't perturb him for long. She was an ally and a friend, what did it matter if her skin was blue...and her eyes were red...and her species kept to itself...ah well. There was also the letter. He hadn't missed the swift motion Rahja had made to conceal the piece of paper, and though he hadn't seen enough to be absolutely sure, he could make a fair guess as to what it pertained to.
Sender was a Familiar after all. And all that that entails.
When the alarm for battle stations was sounded, Sean had to jump aside to avoid being plowed over by the woman as she bolted out in a heartbeat. The motivation and work ethic of some people was beyond Sean. Not moving much quicker than taking his time, he returned to his quarters to gather his supplies.
Rifle, check. Pack with rations and communication device, check. Ammunition belt minus 1 literal pain in the ass, check. Annoying avian companion....right.
Sean sighed once more, but it was short felt. He had long kindled that spark of hope that Ayer was still out there somewhere, and now it had finally taken on the twigs and was growing into a warming flame. Ayer's a tricksy little seagull, he could pull through. Besides, many questions would find answers once they got to PF.
He pulled the letter from his pocket and unfolded it. Such a mystery, this whole thing. But for now, there's a mission to be accomplished. Sean muttered as he crumpled up up the letter and tossed it in the wastebasket. What? Some people take the destruction of secret messages more seriously than others, besides, nobody in their right mind would go through THAT trash can (which was still giving off small wisps of smoke from the discarded Wildfire shell discarded in it).
Back in the present, Sean tightened the straps over his shoulder and prepared to have his stomach and his tonsils do a tango. While that didn't quite happen, when the countdown reached zero he was deftly uppercutted by the floor and then the pod turned sideways for a little while. Ding ding. Knockout. Blasted overcomplicated seat belts. He strained against the G forces to rub his nice, new black eye. He had always had mixed feelings about this method of transportation: on one hand, it was quick, efficient, and left them open to minimal fire from the target (which was always a plus in Sean's book) but on the other it made the hard durasteel benches on the landing crafts feel like a first class yahct cruise.
The pod shook and rumbled and Sean really began to wish he hadn't been the only one in this capsule when it began threatening to go into a tumble due to the uneven weight plus the lighter than usual load. Thankfully, the simple stabilizers that lined the outer hull did their job, and while it did nothing to make the ride any more comfortable, it at least kept it from becoming a death trap.Deployment would be a little different than usual, however, due to the rather...corrosive nature of the atmosphere. There would no jumping for this sniper. So Sean just held his breath as the rumble terminated in a whoosh followed by a deafening roar as the pod began its decent through the surface of Subterrel itself via one of the many large craters dotting its surface.
If the parachutes on this thing don't work, and I get to see what hitting a rock at mach 8,000 feels like, I'm suing somebody, Right after I get compensation for those seat belts. They worked. Very well. NOW his stomach and his tonsils did a tango, though this instead took place somewhere in the proximity of his large intestine. Sometimes he wondered why he ever joined the military...
It was dark now. Well, duh. He was underground of course, but the imaging screens left him to float downwards in ignorance. It would take a minute or so for the thermal imaging to warm up: many electronic systems have issues with sudden, unnatural acceleration. Go figure. So Sean sat rocking in the pitch black of the pod, eyes focused on the where he was fairly sure the imaging display was waiting for either the thermal to come up or the pod to hit- THUD! ...something.
Sean rubbed the top of his head where it had hit the storage boxes above his head. In the whole decent he still hadn't readjusted the straps.
...ow.
The thermal imaging came on. Sean just stared at it for what felt like 10 minutes. Rocks. Awesome. He pulled out a penlight and opened up a map he had been given of the caverns. Normally he would just use Ayer or even Ishtar if he was with the rest of the squad, but seeing that he wasn't Familiar with the area (buhdum bum *crash*) it was back to the charts for him. Somewhere in these caverns was a fortress and somewhere in that fortress were some people he was responsible to bring in, quietly if possible. Right. Whining time is over, time to go into elite soldier of doom mode.
With rifle slung over his shoulder and his large pack across his back, Sean set out through the vast cave network. There was only one memorable detail about the entire trip: dark. Yep, lots of dark. And rocks. Actually, there was a moment when he stepped into a puddle of liquid that nearly burned the sole of his shoe off, but it didn't and thus wasn't really given any more thought than, Bloody people making a damn civilization on poisonous planet with acidic water and *grumble* *mutter*. And even that only lasted until his foot stopped smoking.
Sean heard his destination before he saw it. The echoes carries through the tunnels and assaulted his eardrums with its din. Had the attack begun already? If so, he had better hurry it up if he was going to be of any use. For some reason, this really bothered Sean, the thought that it would all be done, win or lose, without him struck his heart and soul hard. It would be dishonorable, demeaning, embarrassing, and horrendously boring. The echoes of his foot steps increased in speed.
According to the map, he was to follow this tunnel until he was approximately 200 meters from the fortress perimeter. From there he would navigate his way up through a smaller route that would place him amongst the crags to the Southeast of the main gate. Once he had established a base(s) of operations (aka shadowy place to shoot stuff from), he would mostly be covering the advance and retreat of the assault teams until the HVTs could be identified and located. This Intel was extensive and incredibly accurate and detailed. He couldn't help but wonder who had retrieved it...
...until Sean watched him rip a tank apart. He had emerged from the secondary tunnel (which the Intel DIDN'T mention was about 2 feet wide in most places) onto the crags just as the Barabel leapt from the tank. The blast only ruffled his hair a bit from his vantage point, but it was still one of the more impressive things Sean had seen in his career. If he had come a bit earlier and seen the whole scene, he probably would've been dumbfounded, but he had had one other little chore to take care of.
The Intel had also mentioned a possible escape route that the HVTs may try to...well...escape through. It was another small, secondary tunnel inside a large rock formation just East of the fortress. It was meant to be inconspicuous so as to go unnoticed by any Republic spies (ha) and it's only defense liability was a blast door over the entrance. A VERY thick one apparently. Which is why Sean lovingly deposited his last Wildfire next to it and set it to go off when the door was opened. Nothin' like a good trap.
Note to self: build more frankenades. Oh, and setup the communications network and put your rifle together. Though those last two are more of an agenda than notes. An agenda that really needs to be completed ASAP. Ugh, I'm like my own evil boss...why am I thinking to myself like this? Who in the name of the Force thinks like this to themselves? [/i] Sean shrugged it off and got to setting up the communication network and putting his rifle together.
The network had to be erected, set to a higher-than-usual power level, calibrated to compensate for the interference of the cave walls, interlaced, dropped, encrypted, shifted for best receiving position while still remaining unseen, sketched, eaten, recalibrated to make up for an incorrect variable in the first calibration, integrated, segregated, dropped again, secured, updated, patched, repaired, shipped to Corellia, repaired better, shipped back, shoved off the crag, fetched, bolted to the rock, turned on, turned off, plugged in, turned on, lathered, rinsed, and repeated.
The rifle had four pieces. Chunk, chunk, chunk, slide, chunk, done. Sean could do it in his sleep...and has...a couple times...often to his roommate's terror.
Armed and readyfraction, he eased up to his rifle, placed his hand on the cool, familiar grip, and turned on the comm network. Reaper here. I'm in position, requesting directives.
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Squee
The Keeper
2,286 posts
95 likes
I am Deception, and I defy your holiest moralities.
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last online Oct 24, 2016 0:33:56 GMT -5
Master
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Sept 9, 2009 1:50:33 GMT -5
Post by Squee on Sept 9, 2009 1:50:33 GMT -5
The most amusing part of this mission was Cersa was supposed to wander in right through the front door. She would never make it striding boldly in the middle of the unorthodox civilization while showing off her Republican colors. That was a call for suicide, assuming the force couldn’t slash and shoot their way through hordes of rather hostile people. Hence why Cersa had made sure that she led her team through the necessary path to as to not be injured or killed, any more than they had to be, before plowing through the front gate. Once they were through there would be no slowing down. It was a timing thing. When those bloody pirates got a whiff of the word and understood exactly that the Republic was invading their bubble, the escape plan would be activated. Cersa hoped to intercept and detain as quickly as possible. Which meant the cathar was going to be sprinting and bulldozing anyone in her way. She had chosen the athletic sprinters of the volunteers back on Ascension as her crew for this particular mission.
Cersa cocked her head at the map on her datapad, her stride fast enough that her heart was already picking up pace and her skin was beginning to warm. The painkillers were doing their chore nicely in keeping her discomfort at bay and allowing her to flex her muscles with much freedom. One never knew just how often or how much they used each muscle until one was aching or torn or worse. Her team hovered just after each footstep, already being able to keep pace with the over-sized feline as she led them through the tunnel of solid stone. Her ears were flattened to her head. Cersa disliked tunnels. There was the usual two ways and then there were tunnels that branched from the “main” tunnel. That’s when she felt like a lost rodent. Tunnels took away her sense of direction and security. Behind her always had to be covered and she had to be wary at point. Tunnels, to Cersa, were recipes for fateful disaster.
The air was stinging her nose. She wanted nothing more than to cover it or have a wet cloth slapped over it. The air was sharp to the smell, dank, and humid. She thought there were hints of musk, but the natural chemicals put a damper on her sense of smell. Her eyes could cut through the dim better than the rest of her team members. The slits were dilated to the dim and her eyesight was naturally stronger due to her species, which were used to hunting in the night, especially during blood hunts. Her eyesight and muffled hearing kept her alertness high and her instincts cliffhanging. While not scanning the passage ahead or avoiding obstructions on the ground, Cersa was staring down at her datapad trying to commit the fort’s internal map to memory.
“Oh, that’s phenomenally perrrrfect!” spat the cathar as she emerged from the passage she had been instructed to take. She had been praying that they would avoid all stretches of the civilization. She had been very much wrong. There was a very shallow strip of the “city” between her and the enemy base. “Oh, well, team, bigger field trip. Hurry, let’s go.”
She took off at just under a jog. The near silent footsteps were better heard now, but as devoid of life this little part of the slum city seemed, Cersa wasn’t too surprised. She did her absolute best in skirting any signs of life, helping her team remain melted and one with the shadows as they had been practiced to do. The main compound she headed for remained relatively in her sights. Her directional sense was much better in this larger cavern which aided her in navigating around the abandoned buildings and shards of tent and ship. The force found themselves soon wandering the sides of the base, circling around to where Cersa believed the entrance would be. For one of the few times of her life, Cersa had read a map correctly and been able to draw it from memory. Her lips curled back in pleasure when she noticed the gate door she was supposed to enter through. She motioned for her team to relax and sit in the shadows as they awaited their go-status, after communicating in.
Irene was given. Cersa was leaning on her toes, her brown eyes glaring at the gate door as if she could will it to melt. Her claws slid in and out of their sheathes in excitement and anticipation, her muscles clenching and relaxing in a repeated procedure as her toes kneaded the bottom of her boots. Several minutes passed and Cersa heard her heart hammering and her breath was quick. Waiting… waiting… Her ears, leaning forward to the gate, twitched subtly when she heard the sound of the whirring. And then the gate began to retract. Cersa breathed out and then rallied her force. They took off, cutting a corner and sprinting forward, their black uniforms waving in the dimmed light and hard shadows made by the compound wall. The team kept up well, one of the men actually half a step behind her right shoulder. Grinning madly, Cersa dropped to all fours. Then length of her body provided distance on the ground, half flying, half racing. She kept her claws sheathed to avoid snagging them on the rock ground. Muscle rippled across arms, thighs and torso to accommodate the change from two feet to four limbs. This was the quiet moment, when she only heard her blood rushing and the smell of instinct stimulated blood filled her nose. Delightful adrenaline swallowed the cathar woman from head to toe. She bounded forward at medium speed for a just a yard in front of the rest of her team for that was all the distance she wanted.
She swerved her body as she reached the gate to make an acute turn, her claws scraping across stone to create piercing sound that shocked her own hearing. Boots smacked the ground as she launched herself just into the gate. Cat-like eyes darted around, looking for their informer. Nothing was arriving just yet and the quiet continued to surround her. Still on all fours, Cersa’s fur bristled at first when she could not see the advance party soldier, but then she turned to regard her team and then she saw the slumped barabel. A low growl elicited from her throat as she trotted over to barabel and sat up, crouched. “You, Slihm?” She could only imagine since he was sitting beside the gate, wounded, and the only thing remotely alive.
“Staff Sergeant! Hostile!”
“Oh really?” Cersa’s head swiveled, spotting the moving body. She snorted once, sounding like a sneeze, and then turned eyes on Slihm. “Porell, throw him a med-kit. We gotta go! Triggs, shoot that fool! Move it!” Cersa stood to her feet, watching as Triggs shot the contact and then she was moving forward again, at the head of her team. She had covered a couple of feet before the next face showed, and before him his eyes revealed his fate. The lioness let out a challenging roar, launching strongly with her legs and unsheathing her claws. She tackled the person, nails sinking in at the twist of muscle at the shoulder and neck. The reverse swipe of her claws left the man’s head lolling on a strip of flesh, blood gurgling as the life was stolen from his eyes. “Onward!” she commanded as a burst from a rifle soared just over her head and into the next enemy. “The building, get in it!” Cersa remained on her two legs, half a step in front of the rest of her force, trusting the marksmanship of her companions to make up for her lack. Bodies hit the floor and moments later Cersa led her task force through the halls of the base on all fours...
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Latus
May the Quartz be with you.
850 posts
0 likes
Ain't got time for this. (?°?°??? ???
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last online Jun 27, 2014 19:37:36 GMT -5
Guardian
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Sept 25, 2009 23:56:37 GMT -5
Post by Latus on Sept 25, 2009 23:56:37 GMT -5
Due to Subterrel's thicker acidic atmosphere, anything from sand to large boulders and starships created impressive showers burning thick trails across the sky. To say that the small, lone trail of fire blazing across the sky appeared innocuous would be an understatement. It drew no heavenward glances, no gazes of those hoping to look to the sky for there were no onlookers to be had. A persistent onlooker may have noticed something different, the flame lasted for a great deal longer. The density of the Subterrel atmosphere coupled with the smaller window of entry made entry just a tiny bit faster than usual. In this case, a tiny bit meant more than standard technology could handle. The question arose then; was this fireball, this one tiny craft really normal? *********** Passing four-hundred thousand altitude, adjust intakes. Readouts...! By the force we miscalculated, we're coming in way too hot. At these levels... *pause* Jennings, you quack, if you're wrong about this I'll haunt you... haunt you.Sweat ran in streams down Archer's face, the temperature in the cockpit exceeding comfortable levels and still rising. The small craft had been coated in a fire retardant layer of primer standard issue on every Republic fighter, however it wasn't meant to handle such intense entries. The corporal glared back down at the readouts, his normally calm demeanor ebbing as a wave of worry washed over him; worry or heat, he couldn't tell at this point. The altimeter, speed, and temperature were higher than the dials could read. One shining light was that the Firehawk was on course. Wake up... Gorram it Sarge, wake the hell up!************ He had not blacked out in a very long time. It had been a training exercise on Corellia, flying with Archer no less, back when there had been at least fifty times more Firehawks in existence. The Sergeant had told the then private to take the 'hawk as high as it was able, stall the craft, and recover from it without engaging the repulsors. The young gun private had engaged the after-burners early, carrying the 'hawk much higher than its customary ceiling and the air got thin. Despite the O2 mask, Sev blacked out waking up at about three thousand feet with the private crying out for joy. Archer had recovered from the stall without any help from Sev, hence Archer's involvement in his mission. His consciousness returned quickly. First sounds, then tastes and touch, then his vision as both eyes swam back into focus. Still burnin' in? Tha' cannae be good. He would have loved to see Archer's face as his voice boomed over their com link. Pull us ground parallel an' get ready tae engage thrusters. We're goin tae be burnin' brighter than the sun in those tunnels, lad; the last light some of them will ever see!Sir!There was no hiding the relief in Archers' voice as the small craft swung around and began to shudder, the atmosphere taking hold in earnest. Taking a deep breath Sev glanced out the canopy at the world below, the supposedly rough surface looking far too flat to contain such a vast mining and manufacturing center. The green paint on the wings was certainly visible but buried beneath a constant dull yellow glow and spontaneous flames scorching the hull. All of a sudden it was over. The flames died and the small craft lurched violently before smoothing out into a gravity assisted glide. To Sev, the vertigo at terminal velocity was the best type of stimulant. Op'n all engine intakes and exhaust ports an' fire 'er up. Its time tae have some fun!An uncharacteristic smile crept across Sev's face. Yes, it would be a fun time. Sev's hand closed around the control stick. *********** Vertigo replaced with thrust, the glowing yellow-green fighter plunged deeper into the Subterrelian atmosphere. Getting his feel for the cockpit again Sev rolled the Firehawk several times and the world spun much to Sev's delight. His heart rose even farther as his target came into sight, the fog of acidic haze pierced by panel readouts and a swimming HUD icon. The heavy steel doors weren't open yet meaning that the pilots were on schedule. Horizon on target, Sev. Airlock doors at twenty kilos, coming up fast.Roger. Repulsors on my mark, dial in 180 the moment we pass those doors.Wilco.Indeed the sub-atmosphere doors did come up fast. They were both sweating as the temperature in the cabin reached a new height, concentration added to the wet matte beneath each of their helmets. Seconds passed before Sev was mere moments from ramming the small craft into said doors. In that instant, the doors cracked mere meters open bringing a great gust of wind with them causing the 'hawk to shudder violently. As if nothing were wrong, Sev tipped the wings and slipped vertically between them, several meters to spare. It had just passed into blackness when the nose of the craft swung level. Mark!A deafening rush of air and whine of turbine engines filled the pitch black cavern, the only light leaping from the still active nacelles at the back of the aircraft; the glow from re entry had already died out. In the same instant, the tips of the wings swung open accompanied by a high mechanical wailing and multiple retro thrusters activated, bringing the Firehawk to a soft and stable hover. It was no surprise as both men within breathed an audible sigh of relief. Even as Sevens neither of the two men had attempted a HALO drop in a hovercraft. Reaching down Archer flipped a small switch. Nothing happened. He repeated several times to no additional success. Tha' close, eh? Private, how 'bout we ge' some light in 'ere.Affirmative... and its Corporal.Sliding the control stick back the Firehawk back and slid smoothly away from the wall. Just like that the cavern was suddenly brightly lit, small floodlights on the nose made sure of that. A rock wall filled Sev's vision bringing another smile to his face. Spinning the small craft around he looked down the tunnel, off into the haze of the subterrel underground. It took but a reach and the Firehawk was nimbly moving over, under, and around the many formations cluttering the tunnel. It was slow going but he began to see a small amount of light between the rocks. Moving his hand to the console, Sev opened a secure channel to the Ascension and any possible ground forces. He was sure they would have to be his eyes for this op. Foxtrot Hotel, call-sign Gilder, on station. Awaitin' orders.
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Mara
nothing worth anything ever goes down easy
9,275 posts
55 likes
the one and only
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last online May 2, 2022 22:30:17 GMT -5
Master
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Nov 30, 2009 3:11:29 GMT -5
Post by Mara on Nov 30, 2009 3:11:29 GMT -5
Jealousy Pak watched the Firehawks depart and start towards the planet of Subterrel, entering its atmosphere. It wasn't that he didn't love his Venom--he did, almost like a lover--but he couldn't help but feel a little useless floating up above a few klicks from the Ascension with the rest of the squadron. But the Balosar pilot had his orders. From supreme commander Crassus "Pants-in-a-bunch" Vossk, no less. A pilot who had been an equal the mission before but had been promoted up to command by some error, no doubt, at least in his mind.
Pak sighed and scanned his monitors again, hoping and praying that the forces down below would send up some fighters. He was itching for a dogfight. Hell, he'd be happy with just doing a barrelroll in the sleek Venom fighter. The Balosar thought about opening a comm line to Shen but thought against it. He didn't want to disturb her concentration.
He'd have to settle with just thinking about her, as he settle against the back of his seat, knowing that if something happened, an alarm would go up, waking him from his sure-to-be-erotic daydream...
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