Sector 339 Incident: Breed of War

[Demiurge]

Sector 339 Incident

It has been months since the terrorist attacks on the DSC Daedalus. The towers of the Presidium have been rebuilt, order within the prisons of CoreGuard restored, and foreign relations with the Alliance and Imperials are mending. But the cascade effects of the momentary chaos and hysteria induced in a sheltered world have left their damaging marks, and deep scars slow to heal. While the illustrious levels of Caelum have returned to peace, and contentment has again surfaced with Centerpoint City, the fragile illusions of stability within areas of the Bowels have shattered asunder. With mass-scaled fear, discontent and ire attaining critical mass, the Bowels have dissolved into a state of uproar, chaos and tumult. Among the governmental and law enforcement divisions of Daedalus, this outbreak has become known as the Sector 339 Incident, and as the Rattataki Sector Riots amongst the residents.

As the first mass scale occurrence of civil deconstruction in centuries, the Sector 339 Incident was one of the most prominent cases of social unrest and turmoil ever to occur upon the DSC Daedalus in the station's long history. Although identified as the Sector 339 Incident, the rioting actually encompassed multiple levels and sectors, roughly ranging from sectors 330 to 347 and levels 5028 to 5759, thus descending into the Crypts. Level 5540 of Sector 339 however received the namesake due to being identified as the origin area of the upheaval. For nearly four galactic standard months, all levels and sectors pertaining to the Rattataki Sector Riots have been sealed off from the higher levels as 339 descended into total anarchy.

The allusion and naming of the Sector 339 Incident also shadowed the deeper core and seriousness of the situation and the very cause of the riots; the deconstruction of the fragile peace that existed between the most powerful gangs of Daedalus. Beneath the cover of the riots, a volitle gang war waged between the Ghost Reavers, the Legionnaires, and the Ksz'kask. As consequence, to the residents of the Bowels, the Sector 339 Incident is known as the Crypt War, as the Crypts has been where most of the open conflict has taken place. As the special forces of Zruger/Saythe, Daedalus' commando task force, have taken to the scene to quell the source of the riots, Sector 339 and the Crypts have evolved into a four-way warzone, with no conceivable end in sight.

---

Breed of War

DAEDALUS IS AT WAR! Recovering from a series of crippling terrorist attacks in the wake of a still unknown enemy entity, the former galactic icon of peace and stability, immunized and isolated from the major galactic affairs around it, has began to crumble at its very foundations. Within the deepest parts of the massive space station, desperate living, fear, and culminated embitterment has cascaded into a series of devestating riots, civil insurgencies and the volatile demonstrations of discontent. At the core of the social unrest and upheaval, it has been discovered that the spark that ignited the unfolding discord has been the shattered remains of an uneasy truce among the Daedalus underworld's most powerful criminal elements.

Although publicly acknowledged as the Sector 339 Incident, the undercities of the Bowels are embroiled in a state of conflict. With the hellionic Ghost Reavers, the relentless Legionnaires, and the ruthless Ksz'kask vying for dominance, the Crypts below have become the site of battlegrounds and mass slaughter. Unable to ignore the dooming situation beneath the glittering towers any longer, CoreGuard has dispatched the station's most elite special commandos, Z/S, to fight for what can no longer be dismissed as a lost cause, and unwittingly escalated the situation into a four-way warzone. With little hope of keeping the situation contained, let alone secret from the public, for much longer, CoreGuard has contracted freelancers - from Jedi Knights to grizzled mercenaries - to aid in the struggle for the supremacy of order over chaos in this new breed of warfare....

BRAABB-BTOOOM!!!

"Fourth company! Flank the Western courts! Reroute the Sixteenth Battalion to hold the line at the CrossGates to protect our reinforcement positions! Repe--"

"DEBRIS INCOMING!! COMMANDER, GET DOWN!!"

The whirring engines of a burning repulsorcraft spiraled through the air as it descended down over a company of military forces. The night "skies", or rather the darkness of the depths of the Bowels, concealed from any light of the fauxsphere of Caelum, were aglow with the scarlet red of fires and blackened with looming clouds of ascending smoke. Missiles flew overhead, leaving brilliant streaks behind them as they sailed, exploding in fantastic displays of fission, like fire and brimstone from the heavens. From above, a repulsor gunships not unlike a levitated with their cannons overhead pointed at the congestion of the battlefield. And just as surely, rainstorms of missiles and blaster cannon bolts came down, unleashing a barrage of firepower, while setting the duracrete ablaze. Sonic booms from heavy sonic cannons rippled through the heavy dry air as it burned from the fires blanketing the steel underfoot. Through the chaos of the battle, in the thick of the turmoil upon surface below, were the elite soldiers, guardians and protectors - the best of the best, known as Zruger/Saythe - were waging the all out attack against marauding bands of vile scum and mongers. Corpses riddles the once sterile iron halls and concrete floots, and blood soaked the coulombs and poisoned the already toxic air round about. Large repulsor tanks tearing through the urban terrain trailed over the upheaval of the tattered landscape, firing relentlessly before communications with them disappeared, and their explosive destruction resonated throughout the levels of the Bowels.

The haze of fire and scorching carbon resonated overheard as the ZS Regiment Commander, Qataq Irattu, slowly got up, tearing off a shattered helmet, the transparisteel of which fractured from the concussive impact. His vision was distorted from the blast, throwing off his equilibrium as he stood erect. But even in that state, he could still focus well enough to see the charging men in ghostly white masks, wailing their filthy war cries. Reaching to his back as he dropped his now broken blaster rifle, the commander pulled put a long thin sword, holding down as he inhaled deeply in closing his eyes. He could still hear the battle around him raging, even feeling the slight impressions from his Tantalus armor being struck by stray blaster bolts. And then, releasing the breath in his lungs, the Turian warrior let out a cry that sounded like the wrathful undead.

Several masked men turned to the charging Turian, firing their weapons in futility as the blasts dissipated against his body armor. Raising his blade to his side as his charge took him within range, the Reavers firing upon him began to turn and take to flight as they equally attempted to slay him. And with a swift motions smooth as water, Qataq's finished his charge with a low roundabout slash of his blade, cleaving through the knees of the Ghost Reaver ahead of him, while finishing the attack with a stab through his spine. Simultaneously to this, the Turian commander brought his powerful leg upwards to the other Reaver by the first one's side, landing a kicking blow so powerful blood instantly spattered from the Reaver's mouth. Using the momentum, the Turian commander executed another roundabout swipe, cutting clean through the torso of a retreating Reaver.

As he did, the Turian veteran reached behind him, clamping his hand at the throat of another Reaver attempting to flank him. And as the Turian commander turned to the Reaver, who himself was gasping for breath, the Reaver then rose his gun, blasting Qataq at point-blank range. The smoke from the carbon cleared, revealing the Turian commander unscathed. The Reaver had just enough time to look Qataq in the eye before the Turian commander's blade pierced his heart, and then as it was pulled out, was cleaved down between his neck and shoulder. Now holding a lifeless corpse, the Turian commander tossed the body, searching for his next target.

"Commander Irattu! Your respiratory system is compromised, you must return to base!" yelled a corporal, catching up to Irattu.

"I'm fine corporal, the air here won't kill anyone from a few mere moments of exposure," Qataq said, not even turning to his subordinate.

"But sir, it is regulation. Contingency executive order 14 for the operation," he said, as Irattu slowly turned back to the corporal, "You wrote them, sir."

A moment of silence followed as explosions continued to flare behind him. A commander he was in rank, but a foot soldier in heart. And his pride and self respect would never allow him to simply ignore regulation, especially one written by him.

"It's fine sir!" yelled a sergeant, leading a fireteam to reinforce the commander's position as he issued hand commands to them, "We'll hold them here, push them back. TACCOM reported a few moments ago Legionnaire attacks are diluting Ghost Reaver lines. Entrenchment is holding here."

Commander Irattu closed his eyes tightly, taking in what was said as he heard the screams of the dying around him, "A damned massacre. This isn't warfare. This is just violence."

"Yes sir," the corporal said, reloading his rifle, "That's why we're here, sir."

"Indeed..," Qataq said, placing his hand on the corporal's back as he walked behind entrenchment lines, with the corporal behind him. "Alright, relay these orders. Get the tanks to the entrenchment lines and have someone call in the dammed artillery support. We need cannons now - the CrossGates cannot under any circumstances fall. If we lose the CrossGates, we lose the war."

"Understood sir," the corporal said, racing off to a different command outpost.

The commander entered into a repulsor gunship headed toward the HQ, arriving some time later, within a habitable 'safe-zone'. Hundreds of soldiers rapidly bustled about, some arming, others restocking, everyone busy.

"Lieutenant K'var," the commander said, gaining the attention of the the female Echani, "I need a situations report on all critical defense positions, logistics and the most recent TACCOM assessments. This 'war' has been dragging on long enough as is."

"I think the Core agrees with you, sir," the lieutenant said, somewhat hesitantly to her bewildered superior, "We'd received a line from the Executor. The Commissioner has enacted Contingency-01.9/A."

The Turian's expression fell into one of distaste and annoyance, "You mean damned mercenaries."

"Freelancers, sir," she said, "In fact, they should be reporting in any time now."

"Wonderful..," Qataq said resentfully, walking past the lieutenant as he continued to the OPS room.​

 

[Chairdor]

Jazal Nak's mind was as sharp as his blades, both he still sharpened as he scrapped again the fine blade against his whet stone searching the edge of the sword twice then thrice for any imperfections. A sword needed to be clean its purpose the same. As for the Nagai's mind Jazal also listened to the auditory logs given to him by his current employer for the last few months, The Legion leader Kasche Mashayekhi. Twin sounds vied for his attention each equally important, both potentially fatal if misinterpreted. For as the swordsman heard the compiled force compositions of the various armed groups in this place called 'The Bowels' he also listened to the song of the whet stone, it's shrill cry telling of any hint of a knick or slight dullness that might prevent the severing of foes life. As the song fell into tune on one blade the Nagai delicately placed it into the sheath upon his back and produced the other one a repetition and routine he had now performed countless times on the vessel transporting him to the battle. As he did so he changed the audio file to the specific log about Ghosts. Jazal feared no phantom, especially ones of flesh, but he listened to the stories of their wandering, their fighting. It reminded the Nagai of himself in a way and like him when they had settled onto their new home their new identity they were stronger for it, an ideal. Then he heard again their falling, their pathetic failure of falling to the levels of their foes. No Jazal was not like these Reavers, he would not fall, not to any foe, especially time.

As time passed Jazal rose from his seated position on the vessel and moved to another haunt of his, the large bay side windows. From there the Nagai watched the stars move by as if shooting from their speed, relativity was strange like they, Jazal saw everything as moving, but it was merely because he himself was not still. At least physically, mentally Jazal attempted to center himself, losing his conscious concerns in the black void of space, the Nagai had heard the accounts on The Bowels it was said it was as black as the night sky save the stars, Jazal was fine with this, in fact he looked forward to being in an element he so admired, pure darkness. It was written in the words of his great ancestor Arak Ki 'Trust not the light for it only reflects what you wish to see, seek the darkness for truth as it is pure.' Jazal thought on this saying as the stars continued to enter and leave his sight. He hated them, they seemed so powerful yet even that was a deception as the continuous illuminated explosions pointlessly shed their power until spent in final hellfire. With the thought the Nagai gripped his blades and swiftly made his way to yet another place of comfort.

THRASH SCHUCK KSH KSH KSH

Sung the furious blades as they came into contact with cloths and steel in equal measure. Jazal bore his teeth and the full brunt of his force in his next strike as the metal plate gave way just enough, for a brevity he could see the blood flow, the fear in his enemy's eye, he had seen death and it was Nagai. Instead it was sand that poured from the dummy and it looked forward eyes black and blank. Jazal paced after this flitting his sight to the dummy then to the floor, keenly watching his shadow, such a paradox, pure darkness yet made possible by light, stronger by light. Jazal did not believe in duality, he believed in strength still it seemed interesting to see his shadow grow strong yet still be completely surrounded by the torch light flickering, dancing, prodding the Nagai. Jazal gritted his teeth and activated the audio fiel on his calm again as he practiced a traditional Nagai charge back and forth across the training area, his breath calm and paced. As he moved he heard of the recorded incidents performed by a gang ironically known as the Legionaries. They were deserters that was all the Nagai had to hear, the Reavers failed in their honor by forsaking their ideals, but to not honor ones agreement was a cardinal sin in the swordsman's' eyes, as a warrior he would give any Legionnaire a slow death so that their pain in the after life might be lessened, this was his only mercy.

As he continued his stylistic slashing and cutting adding foot work to the repetitive progress across the ground Jazal again checked his breathing, feeling the familiar burning as his old scars ached from the torment of hundreds of days of choking hellish labor. He served the Imperials once, as an indentured servant, he had many opportunities to escape in body or through death, but he took neither opportunity, truly these Legionaries knew nothing of honor. disgusted the sweating warrior tapped his ear shifting to a new subject. A foe the Nagai was far more familiar with as its ilk were found in every world in the galaxy, a criminal gang known simply as the Rattataki Mob. One thing that caught his attention in their profile was their history of gladiatorial combat. To find the strongest through blood sport, this was Jazals goal, he would find that the strongest was himself or die trying, he listened to the description of this group ceasing his rushing for a moment as he absorbed every word. His thoughts lingered on this Desidian, there leader and a powerful psionic, he seemed a worthy foe and as leader he seemed the strongest de-facto, if he had any opportunity Jazal swore to himself to attempt to kill this foe. Once deep into statistics the nagai swordsman continued his routines ending with a series of free form slices and jabs calling out in order to stress his weakened lungs until at last he collapsed, exhausted. To be close to death was where the swordsman strove to live, for in this state of weakness he would burn away that flesh which could not survive, those thoughts of despair, and emerge stronger from it.

When he could at last rise, the Nagai walked into the locker area and prepared his effects, washing himself and meditating for the remainder of the journey, only rising when he felt they were nearly to the station. Not seeking Kasche as he knew the Legion leader had other logistics to worry about Jazal watched as the vessel docked and swiftly exited it moving his way disdainfully through the collective of weaker warriors. Cowards with long guns to fire from a distance and engineers who had automated mechs and turrets do their fighting. He shook his head aggressively at these so called warriors and moved on to the Central Command building seeing the bustle of activity and listening in to the frank exchanges between rushed warriors and commanders gave Jazal the general idea that the battle had begun, he was not worried, from what he had heard on the ride over there was a great deal of fighting to be done, his blades would gain their fill, assuredly.

 

[Gaja]

Behind his visor his eyes were closed, as the transport took him where he needed to go. And even before his closed eyes he saw images. Images of past experiences, of conflict, of blood and of death. He remembered Geonosis and Cato Neimoidia, he remembered Nar Shaddaa, Csilla, Coruscant, Mettelos, he remembered Kamino. He remembered his time as a gladiator fighting for his life and honor inside various arenas, and one match in particular. He remembered how bloody and beat up he was, and how despite all that, in the end he won. He remembered Raptos' words to him, the feeling of surviving, the rush, joy and excitement of it all.

His thoughts gave him a little ride through his life when he tried to realize how he got where he was today. His heavy power armor shielded his body, heavy rifles attached to the back were ready to fire and some weapons for cutting and gutting opponents were also there. Truth be told he would have proffered to just step in a cage, or a ring, and do battle with nothing more than his fists, like he used to when he was younger. But who knew, maybe those days would return, but right now his services were requested by a different employer, the Daedalus itself.

The transport rocked slightly as it came to a stop. Their pilot wasn't particularly skilled but at least he didn't crash the shuttle. The mass of gun metal gray stood up and along with several other men he walked out of the transport. He was a soldier, skilled in one art. Killing. The man was Yuri Sharp. The heads-up display of his helmet showed various functions and data as Yuri looked around for a few seconds, taking it all in. "Reminds me of Nar Shaddaa. Smells better though..." The last part was more or less a joke to himself as the SPAM-01 filtered the air Yuri was breathing.

The thick plating of the armor showed how high end it was, Yuri paid a small fortune for it, and even then it was a bargain as far as he was concerned. The suit served him well, thick plating, power armor, the ability to fly and wrist rocket launchers along with big guns, what's not to like? Finally deciding to join the others that had been summoned Yuri readied himself for the chaos that reigned all around them. The massive individual was calm now, he would do what needs to be done...

His walk wasn't terribly eventful, it was quiet, but he still didn't for one second take it for anything else but the calm before the storm.

 

[Lavi]

Every explosion felt like an earthquake. The dust assailed the nostrils and the shafts of light flickered, making the dark corridor ever more menacing. A war on Daedalus was the last thing Marisa expected; she could feel her heart racing as she navigated the isolated area. Marisa kept her holdout blaster, a wimpy looking weapon in the face of all of the assault weapons that were carried around like suitcases, at hand. Close encounters were a given: she could hear Reavers shouting to each other in the distance as they fought the ZS. Directing troops, cautioning for danger, crying for help.

With all of this chaos, it was difficult to recognize where everything is, especially being a non-native to the massive starbase. The Legionnaires based themselves in the Deadlands, which was where she was supposed to go. The locals tell her that none have been able to escape the incredibly high security measures that the Legionnaires placed. But, Marisa was willing to bet none of those intruders had her skill set or affiliations with Imperial rebel elements. Well, the latter might not help at all if the Legionnaires were not interested in the conflict against the Imperium anymore.

Marisa pulled out her datapad, which contained a map of Daedalus, flipping on the switch, but the pad did not respond. A few flips of the switch and reattachment of the battery confirmed that her pad was dead. Relief and nervousness washed over; although Marisa found where she wanted to go, she encountered none of the activity that she would expect from a sector essentially under martial law. The Deadlands seems to live up to its namesake, although that could be blamed on the probable early curfew.

Deciding that it was best to find some place to hide until the curfew is over, Marisa headed off, deeper into the Deadlands.

 

[Lupe]

The DSC Daedalus, the premier place for Sith and Jedi to meet without ripping each other's hearts and throats out, since it remained one of the few neutral places in the galaxy that had not chosen a side and was actually adamant in keeping it that way. Though to flirt with the Jedi was not why one Sith was on the massive space station. No, instead he was here as a liaison to the The Galactic Traders Coalition in order to ensure relations their relations with the Sith remained favorable. In fact this Sith had already protected the fragile relationship the two factions held in the Veritas Conspiracy, thus he was revered by his superiors even though they did not know the full story of what happened that day.

His name was Brelin, a Sith Crusader known for his killer attitude, and once again he was on Daedalus in order to better relations between the two factions. He peered down onto District Three Sector 339 as the shuttle he was on rumbled towards the Command Center. "Kriffing Hell....." commented one the CoreGuards that was riding in the same shuttle as Brelin, as he peered down with him, the whole Sector was alight with blaster fire and explosions, the stench of charred and burnt flesh was prominent in the air, causing some of the other passengers to cringe and cough, but not Brelin for he has on his mask which even though it made him appear non-human it protected him from the pungent odors that laid within the very air of the Sector much like his plated, black and red robe protected him from attacks. Still even with his attire that covered most of his body, it was obvious that the Sith Warrior was excited over the action to come.

Eventually the transport passed over the combat zone, and most of the blaster fire disappeared, except for a few isolated incidents that were probably the result patrols taking down stragglers from the battles further inside the Sector. Silently most of the men thanked their makers, or the Force, for their fortune since they had seen various shot down shuttles on the way over and were thankful for their safe arrival. Meanwhile, Brelin was rather unmolested by the sights of war, for he had seen them before, instead he fiddled with his lightsaber hilt in pure excitement for some killing to be done. Why he was so excited really wasn't a question of him being a Sith as much as it is a question of genetics. It is in his very blood as an Rattataki/Echani/Human hybrid to have a certain bloodlust about him that made him anxious for the fight rather than cower from it.

This was probably why he couldn't wait to get briefing over so he can get to killing, but then again he did have control over himself and knew better than to be all gun ho about things. So when the transport finally arrived at the Headquarters of the Zruger/Saythe he calmly exited the shuttle onto the platform and walked towards the meeting room, letting his robe cover up his weapons, while he entered the building and made it to the meeting room, making his way through the mass of messengers, soldiers, and medics who were treating wounded soldiers right in the hallway. All this activity reminded Brelin, that soon he would be able to sate the bloodlust that continuously nagged him ever since he had got to District Three.

 

[Praetor]

A tingling sensation began to take effect on his neck as he was sitting aboard a shuttle craft fully loaded with other Zruger/Saythe troops. Roland, not being able to take it any longer, tried to quell the irritating feeling by scratching at it. His attempt to relieve the itchy feeling on his neck was met with limited success due to his armor. "Damn it all," Roland mumbled to himself. He'd gladly take off his helmet and scratch his neck, but wasn't to embarrass himself in front of the other troops aboard the shuttle.

Roland came to the Daedalus as a mercenary, to put a stop to the outbreak of violence that had broken out. His other reason for travelling to this hell-hole was in the hopes that he could get a chance to speak with the leader of the Legionnaires. He knew that there was a higher chance of him being forced to blast her or missing the opportunity to speak with her all together, but he felt compelled to do what he could to revive the anti-Sith cause. That was what he'd spent the majority of his adult life doing ever since he broke away from them and joined the Imperial Rebels so long ago. For all he knew, this would be his last chance to make any sort of difference in the galaxy. He'd be damned if he didn't give it his all.

But first thing's first. Gotta blast some scumbags.

Roland made on last gear check as he noticed his shuttle approaching the landing zone. He was armed with his KX-80 heavy assault rifle, a few plasma and flashbang grenades, and a number of other tools and weaponry he deemed necessary to fulfill his contract here. Along with that, he was protected by medium-grade full body armor equipped with an HUD and an intelligent computer system that gives him all the data and assistance he needs in battle.

Roland hopped off the edge of the troop transport as it firmly landed on the ground. The constant sound of explosions, screams, blaster fire, and vehicle engines along with the acrid smell would have been overwhelming if Roland's helmet had not protected him from the discomfort. After taking a couple of seconds to get his bearings, Roland jogged off in the direction of where he was told to report in to his "commanding officer".

 

[Demiurge]

"ATTENTION TO ALL FREELANCE SERVICEMEN; PLEASE REPORT TO BATTLE-OPS ROOM ONE-ONE-NINE-FOUR FOLLOWING IDENTIFICATION SCANS AND DOSSIER EVALUATIONS"

A repeating message resounded within the Zruger/Saythe outpost, echoing from the influx of freelancers contracted by CoreGuard to assist in the increasingly destabilizing situation. For the majority, the title of freelancer was simply a modest courtesy; mercenaries hired from various outlets easily made up the bulk forces. However, other groups were contacted as well. Via ambassadors and legal representatives of various governments in partnership with the Galactic Traders Coalition, CoreGuard silently enacted Emergency Order 485.18/C, which called upon the GTC's legal allies to load military strength in the event of a DSC's threatened or jeopardized safety from an internal matter. Jedi Knights and fully fledged Sith were among those in attendance, as were a few spare soldiers of the Imperium and Alliance. Within the Bowels however, there were no Jedi or Sith, no soldiers nor mercenaries. In ZS's eyes, they were all freelancers; outsiders assigned to help them because the men on high thrones above frowned at their seeming lack of progress. Every freelancer walking about was like a proverbial spit in the face, and the ZS commandos made little effort to conceal their repulsion.

As the freelancers gathered, first proceeding through routine checks and confirmations, the Battle-Ops meeting room filled to the brink, with those attending later having to stand alongside the walls. Men and women from all walks of life, of all professions. As the room darkened, the front view-screen lit brilliantly as the ZS strategist approached the front.

"I am Lieutenant Crast. You all know why you're here, so these are the facts and the situation. Approximately three months, twenty-two days ago, the region of District Three known as Sector 339 became the epicenter for a series of riots, spreading through the levels locally identified as the Bowels. So far as we know, the situation had festered unconstrained and unnoticed, allowing the civil unrest to spread out beyond Sector 339. The official story is that the previous terrorist attacks in the Presidium of District One shook the less stabilized residential levels, which brought about the chaos and disorder that Zruger/Saythe was sent in to restore."

At that, Lieutenant Crast activated a series of recordings onto the large screen, depicting several battles among various factions.

"Unofficially, what we've discovered to be the cause of the outbreak of the riots was the result of a dissolved stalemate between Daedalus' underground factions. No doubt, you've noticed the conflicts in the distant areas during your descent via the CrossGates. Because the area we are in now easily and quickly provides transport conduits to multiple areas of the Bowels, the vast majority of the open warfare has occurred within the bottom one thousand levels, called the Crypts. So far as we know, the Crypts have been a warzone well before ZS restoration units ever arrived here, which no individual factions gaining the significant upper hand. We've identified them as the Ghost Reavers, the Legionnaires, and the Ksz'kask."

Lieutenant Crast then filtered the screen, showing several captured images of members of the Ghost Reavers.

"The Ghost Reavers are by far the most violent and unpredictable of the three. In addition, they are the most numerous; the majority of hard contact situations has been because of Ghost Reaver opposition. The Ghost Reavers are the least organized, formalized and trained of the three criminal organizations, but this is part of what makes them dangerous and chaotic, as they are armed nearly as potently as the Legionnaires. We've encountered light and medium war vehicle opposition and a degree of aerial recon units, but thus far that has been the extent. We do not currently know if these are the extent of their forces of if they simply haven't hit us with everything they've got. Either way, they are dangerous, well armed and heavily dependent on surplus of munitions to accommodate their manner of warfare."

The screen then changed again to depict several captured of armored soldiers wearing armor easily resembling Imperial soldiers.

"The Legionnaires have been quickly and easily established as the most dangerous opposition to be faced within the Crypts, despite being the least numerous. Only recently discovered by our intelligence, the Legionnaires were once a rebel detachment of the Imperial Stormtrooper Corps during the Imperial Rebellions, and were one of the more long-lived and effective resistance movements. As of now, it is unknown exactly when they'd even arrived upon Daedalus, although they are now deeply entrenched. As former elite forces of the Sith Imperium, the Legionnaires are extremely well trained, adapt rapidly to changing situations, and thus far possess a strategic and tactical prowess that surpasses our own. The only significant weakness discovered thus far is their apparent lack of working mechanized war machines, although this is only confirmed by incidents of hard contact on record thus far. Besides us, the Legionnaires and Ghost Reavers have had the most conflict with one another, although from our statistic records, only one Legionnaire will fall to every fifteen-to-twenty Ghost Reavers."

Crast then turned his arm to the screen, revealing a new set of images of various sentients, starkly different in appearances.

"The Ksz'kask, or Rattataki Mob, is the most difficult enemy we've contended with in the Crypts yet. They are not as numerous as the Ghost Reavers nor as disciplined as the Legionnaires, but they fight in a much more sophisticated manner. Although they have their fair share of foot soldiers, the Ksz'kask dually join the battlefield with electronic and information warfare. Within our first month, ZS operations were nearly crippled by infiltrators within our own detachment. The Ksz'kask induct members from virtually all species, and their members come from all levels of society, making them excruciatingly difficult to weed out - frankly, we do not expect the war against them on Daedalus itself to end for years now. In addition, the Ksz'kask employ many fully-fledged psions as lieutenants in their organization, which makes battle against them a tactical nightmare to say the least. Ordinarily, Anti-Force would supplement our forces against this kind of opposition, but for reasons they cannot disclose, we're on our own. Our databases are constantly subjected to hacking attempts and information leaks have been a bane to our operations since day one, and we've still yet to find a way to fully counteract them."

"He means we're a byte away from total electronic exposure and deconstruction," Irattu said, entering the room as he began approaching the front.

"Ten-hut!" Lieutenant Crast said, as he and the other ZS sentinels in the room saluted the Regiment Commander.

"At ease," the Turian said, coming to the front, "Right now there are over 67 active battlefields in the Crypts alone. Your job is the eliminate those battlefield by any means necessary according to the plan laid out by Lieutenant Crast. We don't need you on the battlefront, not yet and not ever if I have anything to say about it. Frankly, I neither want your assistance nor believe we need it, but I follow my orders, as you will yours."

At that, Qataq shot a glance at Crast to update the view screen, displaying three faces.

"You don't need minced words, and you won't find them with me. These three are the known operational heads of the war efforts in the Crypts; the idiot in the yellow face mask is known as Hydra of the Ghost Reavers. Captain Bizea is the armored soldier with the three Imperial insignias over his visor. Geol "Kath Hound" Czarvi is the Rattataki Mob head."

At that, the Turian commander stood straight with his hands behind his back in formal manner.

"You will kill these three with extreme prejudice. There is no exception to his and no alternative solution. Even if you'd attempted such, they were placed here for the reason that they would not break to the enemy - you won't have much choice. Prior to their elimination however, there are prime objectives that much be reached and accomplished beforehand. While ZS continues the battles on the front, several surgical strike teams will infiltrate enemy lines and take out pivotal targets to force all sides into a tactical retreat, mainly by cutting off each respective faction's main strength and head of operations."

The screen changed again, Qataq did not even have to glance a look to signal it as images of crates, a transport system and a series of mainframes popped to the view screen.

"The first strike team will hit the Reavers' munitions supply cashes. Explosives will be supplied to those undertaking that objective and intel has confirmed that they've horded their supplies in one location. Strategically foolish, but at the heart of their operations, their arrogance is understandable. Educate them. The second strike team will hit the Legionnaires' transit hub to cut off their flow of reinforcements. Although still deadly in small numbers, the loss of their sole reinforcement line will mean continued battle would be strategic suicide. They are soldiers. They'll fall in line to the letter. The final strike team will hit the Ksz'kask's mobile mainframe. ZS will provide the virus, all you need to do is splice it into the data stream and it will auto-execute. The virus unfortunately will not yield to us information, but it will cut off the relays attacking our databanks and will cut off their communications with New Cauldron. It's a strategic deadening, and cut off from their high command, the Rattataki Mob will be forced to regroup outside the Crypts. In all honesty, these are minor victories, but that is all we need to turn the tide."

---

"ALERT TO ALL SENTIENTS, RETURN TO YOUR RESIDENCES. THE NIGHTWATCH CURFEW IS IN EFFECT. ANY SENTIENTS DISCOVERED OUTSIDE THEIR PLACES OF RESIDENCE WILL BE SUBJECT TO THE FULL PENALTY OF DISCIPLINARY ACTION ALIGNED WITH SUSPENDED RIGHTS. ACCOMPANYING VIOLATIONS WILL RESULT IN INCARCERATION, REHABILITATION OR FURTHER ACTIONS PER THE INCIDENTAL SITUATION."

"ALERT TO ALL SENTIENTS, RETURN TO YOUR RESIDENCES. THE NIGHTWATCH CURFEW IS IN EFFECT. ANY SENTIENTS DISCOVERED OUTSIDE THEIR PLACES OF RESIDENCE WILL BE SUBJECT TO THE FULL PENALTY OF DISCIPLINARY ACTION ALIGNED WITH SUSPENDED RIGHTS. ACCOMPANYING VIOLATIONS WILL RESULT IN INCARCERATION, REHABILITATION OR FURTHER ACTIONS PER THE INCIDENTAL SITUATION."

"ALERT TO ALL SENTIENTS, RETURN TO YOUR RESIDENCES. THE NIGHTWATCH CURFEW IS IN EFFECT. ANY SENTIENTS DISCOVERED OUTSIDE THEIR PLACES OF RESIDENCE WILL BE SUBJECT TO THE FULL PENALTY OF DISCIPLINARY ACTION ALIGNED WITH SUSPENDED RIGHTS. ACCOMPANYING VIOLATIONS WILL RESULT IN INCARCERATION, REHABILITATION OR FURTHER ACTIONS PER THE INCIDENTAL SITUATION."

Barren streets echoed an emotionless repeating message transmitting over a networked communication system. Durasteel bars and titanium chains melded with large barb-wired fences of tempered iron stretched across decameter by decameter, segregating one area from another like a military installation. By any outside peering eyes, it was as a vault... or a prison. But none of the sort; these were the homes of the frightened, the broken and fearful, and the isolated. Such was the domination by the Legionnaires. The undeniable aura of martial law, the lights of probe droids hovering high above, shining beams of illuminations down as search lights seeking those of the damned - nothing to escape the celestial eyes. There was no crime. No violence. No riots. No protests. There was only the law. There was only the Legionnaires.

Not a sound or a whisper resonated against the cold steel of the grounds. No ripples of movement through the air. But the woman marching into the Deadlands, into the pride of the Imperial rebels, was as subtle to them as a rancor on rampage through the streets of Coruscant itself. The woman Marisa would not walk for more than a few moments before a red light would find its epicenter at the center-mass of her torso, only to be reinforced with several more pointer lasers focusing onto various other areas of her body, from head to heart - there was no way for her not to have noticed the sheer quantity. Clanking and whirring from above marked the descent of nine men and women clad in armor. Although modified, specialized and individualized, none could mistake its Imperial origins. Nor could one mistake the sounds the armor made against a weapon as the clacks of the rifles and carbines powering up and as they were cocked and pointed toward the woman.

One woman stood out amongst the group, walking from the team that descended overhead as she removed her helmet, revealing a Zabrak woman with a scarred forehead and torn earlobe. But even as she approached Marisa, her words were preceded by the raising of a blaster pistol toward the stranger.

"Welcome to the Deadlands," she said, narrowing her eyes with an ill-disposition. She didn't have to tell Marisa she was surrounded, anyone with common sense would have already come to such a conclusion and the Zabrak woman was not one for redundancy, "ID-Bio scans ran up nothing as you came through the sixth Omega checkpoint, which means you're an outsider. Hell, I can tell just from the way you're dressed that you're not even from the Bowels. And yet, you're here, and you're armed. So I'm going to ask this once and only once."

At that, the Zabrak Legionnaire brought her opposite hand to the pistol, cocking it as it whirred, fully charged and ready to fire, "Who are you, and why are you here?"

---

Outside the Battle-Ops room, TACCOM operatives were busy at work; between constant communications with the other Zruger/Saythe outposts, updates to CoreGuard, monitoring and gathering intel from the criminal factions while staving off hacking attempts and interferences, one could argue they were all that kept ZS operations alive as long as it has been.

"Um.. Lieutenant K'var?" an operator said to the Echani, "I think we may have a situation."

The white haired woman approached the operator, observing the monitor which displayed a signal analysis.

"Read me in, what's the situation, Sergeant?"

"Well, it's this signal. We'd detected it early on, and have had the programmed subroutines fighting it off. From all outward appearances, it's just another hacking attempt."

"...But?" K'var said, glancing over to the sergeant.

"It's the most brazen and obvious signal on record. The Ksz'kask? They're the best at this. It's why we've had hell with them for so long. This signal bears all their marks, but there's something off about it. It's like a parade - you couldn't miss it if you'd tried."

"It could have been the start of a brute-force attack," K'var said, examining the analysis logs, "Those are anything but subtle. Or they could have just been throwing everything at us they could think of, hope maybe one of their hacks would get lucky and bypass our server blocks."

"I thought that too, Lieutenant," the sergeant said, showing another log on the screen, "So I ran a secondary encryption scan to see if it was meant to relay an electronic cascade effect. After all, even if it was stopped, it'd still be a ticking time bomb."

"Good move," K'var said, then sidetracked by another soldier handing her an update of information, "What'd you find?"

"That's just it, ma'am. Nothing," he said, turning to see her facing him with suspicion in her eyes. "No embedded virus, no signal subroutines, not even a secondary backup file. In fact, I'm not even sure what this is or what it was suppose to do. There's no message here, no alert, just a typical Ksz'kask electronic transmission into our databanks. So far as we can tell... it doesn't serve any purpose."

At that, Lieutenant K'var dropped her datapad and tied into the ZS com system.

"Attention to all operatives of the Electronic Defense Unit, begin emergency examination on this signal until you find something," she said, nodding to the sergeant to begin another encryption attempt with the help of the others, "I want to know what this signal is and what it's for asap."

"Wait! Wait, Lieutenant!" the sergeant said, showing a new screen on his monitor, "I... I think I know what this is."

"Speak to me -- Now!"

"I think we're not finding anything because there's really nothing to find," the sergeant said, turning to show his superior the analysis.

"So you're telling me the Rattataki just sent a blank, meaningless and purposeless signal for the hell of it? You truly expect me to believe that?" K'var said, with irritation in her voice.

"No ma'am, but I think we've been looking at this all wrong from the start," the sergeant said, pulling up other identical signals, "These are signals on record, downloaded from CoreGuard's database. The signal imprints are obviously ours but the nature of the transmissions, from the synchronizations and electronic patters, are virtually identical."

Lieutenant K'var's expression dropped into one of sheer bewilderment as she turned back to the sergeant, then to the screen.

"It's... a beacon?" she said, confused.

"Yes ma'am," the sergeant confirmed, "A Ksk'kask neutral-beacon. And it's been transmitting for almost three days now."

"But to what end?" she said, under her breath, "Go, get Commander Irattu. He needs to hear this immediately."

"Yes ma'am!" the sergeant said, getting up.

The sergeant walked no more than two steps before a golden stream of plasma burned through his back, spattering blood as it seared through his spine and out of his abdomen. The Lieutenant looked up just in time to see the light of the blast come from the barrel of a heavily armored man standing high over the base as he descended from a cord. The design of the armor, the accuracy of the shot, the precision of the moment... it was unmistakable.

"AMBUSH!! LEGIONNAIRES INCOMING!!"

No sooner had Lieutenant K'var sounded the alarm did the Zruger/Saythe base burn ablaze as a series of explosions detonated around the exterior perimeter, breaking down the defensive fortification walls as Legionnaire troops stormed into the outpost from the ground and via jet packs. Alarms blared like deafening sirens as the one place ZS could not afford to lose, the once seemingly impregnable CrossGates, was under the gravest of attacks. The War had finally reached home.
​

 

[Chairdor]

Walking along the rushing troops, all heavily equipped, many haggard from intensive combat, the looks on their faces as telling as the scorch marks on their armor, Jazal sighed, so many of these fools called themselves soldiers, but when their day was through they expected to go home to wives, to husbands, to children and pretend they were normal, that they didn't end peoples lives for their own living. The Nagai knew better, to be a soldier, a warrior, a servant of the blade meant an absolution of the soul, a martial religious fervor nearing an insanity. For on the edge of obsession, like the edge of a blade, the barrel of a blaster, you knew what death was and what it meant. Death was a means to an end as much as an end itself. Now innocent people were dieing so terrorists, criminals, and filthy betrayers could further their own goals so the response was to send soldiers to kill them, justice. This is what civilized people did, train people for war, pay them well, let them have families, then kill them to preserve that civilized way of life. Was it ironic...the Nagai had always struggled with the term.

One thing was for certain about these fighters, they seemed liable to forget who their enemy was if opportunity was presented. Jazal felt the heavy mark of a target upon his back as soon as he entered the general body of them, the stench of charred steel mixed in with an oppressive hatred, it made the Nagai's nostrils flare, but nothing more. He was above these troops, these waves of martial beings throwing themselves against the stones of a system built to inflict agony on the common rabble, seeing the cracks they made as progress, when in truth if they succeeded they would only accomplish complete anarchy as entire peoples worlds came crashing down. Right. Upon. Them. Jazal was nothing but a mercenary in this fight, his blades were an extension of him, not the other way around, but his dismissive opinions would fall on less than deaf ears here he knew that, so he kept silent as he looked about for others like him.

They were not hard to spot, a sea of steel and visor-covered faces gave the Nagai a general idea of who didn't belong. One walked with a stride that would assuredly alert everyone in whatever sector he was in that he was coming, a massive hulk of a man in armor that most likely cost more than the equipment of then of these 'elite' troopers. While the Nagai could appreciate assets of war of great quality, he was more on the side of offensive weapons, feeling the polished hilts of his own tested blades, remembering that they were forged in blood as much as metal. While this warrior would be slow yet true, Jazal meant to be swift and prove his enemies' aim false instead. Still he understood that whoever this individual was, he had fought many battles, one doesn't buy such a piece of equipment for a weekend, and the Nagai felt you could hardly rent such a piece. Insurance alone. Then another passed, a sight the Nagai instantly recognized as he caught the glint of a saber on his belt. He dared not think of this individual as the light pats on his blades began fearsome grips, his lust to prove himself, to consume and become strong arising. He coughed instead the very idea of battle inflaming his lungs. After that set of coughs he saw a uniform unlike the rest of the collective of one that reminded him of the Black Legion he had arrived with, whether this warrior was here for pay or for glory was yet to be seen by the Nagai.

What Jazal did not see was any sign of Kasche, but he frankly wasn't worried, if opportunity arose the Nagai intended to escape his employers eye and seek his fill of blood. He would fulfill his obligations assuredly, but while many in war believed the support of others made one strong, Jazal knew that as soon as that support was lost, all held up by it would crumble. He would not be weakened by others. Jazal didn't even know Kasche that well, the legends of the Mercenary leader only lightly touching his ears, boasting assuredly, he had heard his voice only twice, as the instructor in the cave he was abandoned in and forced to survive within for as long as he could, and in a message when he was selected for that task. The Nagai didn't know why he was selected for this particular task, he was newly recruited and the cave had all but destroyed him, his lungs empty, and his body flowing blood from nearly every limb. That had been months ago though, bacta did a blaster wound good, and like all wounds that healed upon the Nagai, Jazal was stronger for it, for every drop of blood he spilled, he grew thirsty for more.

All at once the flow around him centered and headed into a planning room. Jazal followed on the fringe of the group, never comfortable in tight groups, tight places. Sufficiently spaced from the collective he stood in the back of the room looking at the group set before him, sitting, resting. Seated the group was not alert, not ready, if enemies came upon them right now at this moment for five seconds these fools would fumble to stand to draw their weapon, but the Nagai warrior would be ready, cutting down the foe en masse, growing stronger with every cut. This disdain causing him to fume, the Nagai looked up as a soldier named Lieutenant Crast sent the group through the mission specifics. He had heard the details, read them, studied them countless times, a sharp mind beats a sharp blade as his people would say. Still he listened intently to the speaker to make a mistake, to let a crucial detail slip through the cracks, would be a death sentence, he was more than aware of that. As the images of his foe crossed the screen the Nagai began imagining all the ways he would kill them, a blade seems to provide such a straightforward means of execution, but their was variation. Some species had pitiful immune systems, one might cut their tanks of life giving oxygen, others could be bled like a stuck Gammorean , decapitation, a stab through the heart. In theory every foe the Nagai came across in this fight might suffer a different demise, but all the same fate. Death.

Eventually a Turian arrived, Jazal had never seen a member of the race, but he wasn't impressed, skinny bodies, limp looking arms, a genetic mistake and somehow this one had come to lead this collective of strength. Jazal knew then that his beliefs were well supported, he had only himself in this fight, his allies were shields of steel and meat, his foes cutting boards and obstacles. Three particular foes however rose above that status, the targets of this entire group. In particular the nagai focused his attention on the woman who lead the Legionaires, she was the strongest, he determined, the best trained, the one with the greatest knowledge of tactics and the subtleties of combat, he would find her and kill her. There was no question to it. As he heard the assignments he was determined to be a part of the second strike force, to face these Legionaires in direct combat to see how their training matched with his.

Just as he began moving to achieve that designation the Nagai warrior heard the sirens. War had already been declared and was being fought deep in the Crypt, yet now they had the idea to sound a general alarm. Jazal knew immediately that the attack had arrived somewhere the Daedulus security forces' could never have expected. He instinctively grabbed his blades and rushed from the command room scanning for anything seeing smoke and fire of both varieties the Nagai moved back quite neutered by his lack of intelligence, there was no briefing for emergency, no data pad for sudden danger, for his reluctance the warrior admonished himself, he had to be strong, looking for Kasche he gripped his blades, there was bravery and stupidity he would await the face of his foes before he began his attack.

 

[Gaja]

Walking inside the outpost, after he heard the call, the former gladiator saw his HUD show that the air was good so the man removed his helmet, not only for that reason but for ID purposes as well. Revealing his face to everyone around the person underneath the helmet matched the exterior, Rugged and tough, his dark hair was short and he was quiet. He appeared calm and composed, it wasn't like anyone would attack them here!

All the formalities took a few minutes but they were necessary, and Yuri honored them. Giving his dossier to the man he was told to the ZS man saw that Yuri was a private military contractor, or more simply a mercenary. And a decorated one no less, having received two medals from the Chiss Ascendancy for his efforts during the Rakghoul plague outbreak. His ID chip checked out as well and after a few more minutes the rugged human entered Battle ops room 1194 along with a few other people that checked out as well.

There were a lot of people in the Zruger/Saythe outpost and by the looks of things a solid number of them was in the room, but it still came as a bit of a surprise to Yuri when he spotted a familiar face inside the jam packed room. Roland, who apparently upgraded his gear a little was here for the party, along with a couple other noteworthy individuals. As they were on the opposite sides of the room Yuri merely offered Roland a nod, greeting him before he found a spot to stand where he could lean against the wall. He checked out his 'co-workers' and found a few of them quite interesting, until Lieutenant Crast took center stage and had everyone' attention. As everyone was updated on the situation in the Bowels a lot of new information was given out, some of it surprising to say the least.

Crossing his hands as he attached his helmet on to his belt the man observed the Turian that had just entered the room. He had heard good things about the race, Turians were regarded as loyal and capable soldiers as far as Yuri had been told, though he hadn't really met any up until this point. The good Regiment Commander seemed capable, and battle scared. "Probably tough too, though I guess he hates my guts right about now." It was a safe assumption, after all few of the ZS folks tried to hide their annoyance with the "freelancers" showing up, and in a way Yuri completely understood it. But they'd just have to get over it.

It didn't show on Yuri's face but when he heard that they wanted all three gang leaders dead, the man was taken by surprise. He simply didn't expect it, though in a way it made sense. Kill the leaders and the gangs will fall into chaos and be a much smaller and less organized threat. Still though that Legionnaires leader chick was pretty...

The briefing was interesting, that much was a given but it came to a very unusual end as sounds of shots being fired, explosions and sirens signaled the end of the briefing and the start of combat. Yuri didn't waste time, his helmet immediately was put back on and he exited the room among the first. An imposing battle rifle, dubbed, L.A.W.S. was drawn by the man as he exited the hall and proceeded outside.

He wasn't stupid of course and didn't run out in to the line of fire but rather reached the entrance and dropped down on one knee and took aim. Ferocious armor piercing rounds left his rifle and with extreme precision and prejudice targeted the attacking gang. Providing cover fire for anyone that wanted to run outside and do battle at close quarters the man was a true team player. He had no problem exiting and getting his hands dirty himself, but so far he was content with doing this first and joining the fight up close once he saw who actually had the balls to step it up in this place.

His L.A.W.S. rifle roared as it released bullet after bullet and the man that carried the rank of Commander inside the Ona'bak Retrade was glad that he purchased it. Big powers, lots of setting, lots of ammo and range, different types of ammo and customization options as well. Yuri opted for an under barrel grenade launcher, you know just in case. Though he didn't use it just yet.

 

[Lupe]

Great, briefing time, thought the Sith Crusader who had entered the Head Quarters after passing through several Identification checks just to make sure that he was him. They let him through quickly however, once they realized he had been one of the people involved in preventing a political fallout between Daedalus and the Sith Imperium. The incident had made Brelin a name on Daedalus, at least known name if not a popular one, even though they did not know the whole story on what transpired that day. Still there were those that didn't like what Brelin did, nor who he was, but of course they didn't speak out publicly against the Sith for that will result in a lopped off head and other extremities.

In the end, despite his status, he still had to go to briefing, which perturbed him in every manner. He had always been a man of passion, of action, it just wasn't him to sit around and listen people drone about things that were unimportant, for instance he did not need to know what type of cereal a criminal ate in the morning, all he needed was the important details and most of the time briefings spent one minute out of thirty minutes on the important facts. This belief was reaffirmed during the Veritas Conspiracy, where his briefing was short, to the point, and skipped all the bull, thus he and his companions were able to complete their mission successively, preventing a fallout between the major powers and Daedalus.

The Sith Warrior slowly began walking to the Battle-Ops Room 1-1-9-4 after being checked for his identification. He walked with a cold and calculated step, something akin to how a psychopath walked when he found a victim. Still he carried himself with confidence, and anyone that saw him would think of him as a smug killer. Someone that was utterly confident in his ability to kill someone else, someone that actually enjoyed every part of the killing, everything from the slashing sound of the lightsaber as it traveled through flesh and bone to the extinguishing of life in the victim's eyes, the last hope of their survival, gone. If he hadn't had his mask on, this side of Brelin would have been more prevalent and noticeable. Luckily for Brelin, he was known around Daedalus and wasn't bound to get stopped by a random guard who consider him threat that he was.

Eventually he reached the Ops Room and entered, among one of the last to arrive, but he could care less for untimely arrival. By the time he had entered the room, an Officer was already briefing the freelancers on the Ghost Reavers. Brelin stood in a corner of the room as he watched the images pop up of captured Ghost Reavers. To a normal person they would appear like a bunch of hooligans, but Brelin knew that a bunch of hooligans was probably one of the worst fighting forces to fight, because they acted unpredictably, without organization, so there was no real tactical way to defeat them in battle without eliminating every single one, because routing them simply would not do the job.

Once he analyzed the images enough to satisfy his curiosity, he glanced around the room, observing what would be his comrade in arms. Some of them, he could tell, were simply not cut out for this sort of thing, they were simply in it for the prospect of money and they were probably going to be the first to die, but Brelin didn't care, he simply thought of them as meat shields that would absorb the incoming blaster fire while those with more experience finished the job. Luckily, there was experienced veterans among the freelancers, they were armed to the teeth, or not since some preferred lighter gear like Brelin. The one who caught his eye was Yuri, even though Brelin had never personally met the man, he had heard of his deeds during Rakghoul Plague Outbreak in the Chiss Ascendancy. At least someone capable is here, Brelin thought, as a Nagai also caught his observant eye, the dark-skinned freelancer appeared to be skillful in a more psychopathic way, but only time would tell if this was true.

Brelin then glanced back to the Officer, whom he had failed to get a name for due to his late arrival, he didn't even know his rank, but he still didn't care simply because he didn't need to know, all he needed to know was who he was fighting and how best to beat them. Which is exactly what the Officer was doing, speaking about the Legionnaires and how to defeat them. Again appearances were deceiving, while they simply looked like military troopers with advanced knowledge of tactics, Brelin knew that no one is that smart without having a few tricks up their sleeves, but then again he could be wrong, he had been before. What he did enjoy however, was the prospect of killing Imperial Rebels, even though he himself believed that the Imperials should be the governmental force in the Sith Imperium, since Sith were so much better at killing than presiding over a government, but still Rebels only destabilized the Imperium and weakened it, which was something Brelin could not allow. He glanced once more at the woman who led the Legionnaires, while he did find her attractive, as pretty much everybody else the room did, if his ability in sensing people's emotions through the force was to be deemed trustworthy.

Next, the Officer began to speak about the last group of organized, or semi-organized, enemies that they would face. They were called the Ksz'kask, or Rattataki Mob, and they were deemed the most cunning out of the bunch with their clever hacking and infiltration skills. Brelin simply looked at the images and shrugged, not much was really to be determined about the Rattataki Mob, at least not without facing them in combat first. All the Sith Warrior did know was that they seemed to be specialists, both in computer skills and in the Force, which would make them interesting opponents in battle.

The Crusader was about to walk out the room, thinking that the Officer was done with the briefing, but then out of no where came a second voice, a Turian. During his last visit to the Daedalus he had heard of the species, but never got to seem them, though now that he had he wish he didn't get to because they were ugly, but then again being ugly had nothing to do with their skill in combat which Brelin had heard was great. Still this particular Turian had a stick up his ass long enough to put him on the top of the universe so that he could spit on freelances like Brelin. Then again, Brelin did appreciate the fact that the Commander was honest in his view of the freelancers, rather than be cowards about it like the rest of the ZS.

The Commander then droned on about killing the leaders of each hostile group, as if they had not already guessed or at least Brelin hoped that they weren't that stupid. It was not until the Turian began speaking about strike teams, and each strike teams missions did Brelin actually become interested in what he had to say. He listened intently to each plan, weighing the pros and cons of each, and slowly choosing which one he would want to do in his head. Brelin eventually came to the conclusion that he would join the assault on the Ghost Reavers' munitions supply, considering that it would be a bit more fun for him due to the Revers' sheer number and firepower.

Eventually the Commander finished with his words, but by then Brelin had been getting strange feeling in the back of his head. He had been feeling it since he had walked into the room, but he had shrugged it off, thinking it was simply because he hated briefings, but now the feeling was getting stronger. He just knew something bad was about to happen, and almost immediately after he thought that he heard it, gunfire in the distance. Seconds later, explosions, going off all around the head quarters, in fact one of them was close to where Brelin was standing, causing him to stumble forward a little.

Still after that it did not take him much time to react as Legionnaires stormed the building, he immediately pulled back his rope, unveiling two lightsaber hilts, and called one of his lightsabers to his hand using the force, igniting its crimson blade, foreshadowing the blood that he was about to spill. The Sith watched as the veteran mercenaries quickly began reacting to the attack, setting up makeshift defenses as they returned fire. Meanwhile, the newer and less experienced mercenaries fell dead, one of them had their brain splattered all over Brelin's robe, causing the Crusader to frown under his mask as he used his lightsaber to deflect incoming blaster bolts as Yuri moved and covered the entrance.

Positively, Brelin nodded, applauding Yuri's decision mentally, knowing that they would need to cover their flanks as well if they wanted to win. In fact, the Sith decided to join him in protecting the entrance, he ran to Yuri and brought his lightsaber to bare, deflecting incoming fire while the mercenary fired towards the Legionnaires.

 

[Praetor]

Roland sat down in the first seat that was available and waited for the debriefing to begin. After about ten minutes of waiting, the Lieutenant began the debriefing, filling in what little Roland had not already found out himself. He knew about the three factions they were up against, how they fought, and who their leaders were. But he continued to give the speaker his full attention so that he would definitely understand how they were going to take these factions down.

He turned his head towards the back of the room as he sensed someone arriving late. He froze, as he instantly recognized the tardy person as a Sith. Mixed emotions of rage, fear, and doubt rushed through him. He would have loved to stand up right then and there to unload on the scumbag, but he knew all too well that the attempt would fail and he would be killed. Roland forced his head back in the direction of the new speaker, a major. Roland had a good feeling about this man, he seemed confident and wise, something he rarely found in a leader. His thoughts trailed back towards the Sith. He knew staring would only attract the Sith man's attention, and wouldn't help anything. Finally, he decided it would be best to keep his distance for the duration of the contract, otherwise he might end up sliced in half before he could finish the job he was hired to complete.

As vibrations suddenly shook the building, Roland stood up immediately. He smiled as he heard the comm announcement, of course it was the Legionnaires. Despite their current predicament, they were the best of the best in Roland's opinion. It was a shame he was going to have to fight them, but Roland had to make a living somehow. As he filed out of the room with the other mercs, Roland headed towards the nearest window to check outside the building. He could see gunfire pouring into the base from almost every direction. Roland ran to another window area near the exit and took up a position there. Propping his elbow on the ledge, he began laying down burst fire on the Legionnaires coming down by jetpack.

 

[Lavi]

The moment she saw one laser cross her face, Marisa tensed. She instinctively took a step back, raising a hand to shield her eyes from the glaring red light. Before, laser light usually meant she was too slow in running. But this was not a heist or a cash grab. Marisa might not look like it, but underneath, she felt terrified. The feeling of being unable to control her fate, with ten fingers pressed against ten triggers, each capable of ending her life if they so chose. Marisa evaded guards and mercenaries in her time, not soldiers.

"Imperial Knights associate, Marisa Serek," she greeted, peering through the cracks between her fingers. Her voice shook a little as she kept her eyes trained on the Zabrak.

A part of her wanted to ask the Legionnaires to lower the lights, though Marisa reminded herself that they had no reason to trust anything she said. They could very well shoot her and be done with it.

"Wan'ta talk with Colonel Aadeas," Marisa continued. "Can hor?"

 

[Demiurge]

Dust clouds and smoke of carbon scarring rose from the grounds like walls of turbid haze. Cries of the thrall of war and the echo of crumbling duracrete were as the song of the battlefield, consuming and entombing the Legionnaires and ZS commandos into a deadlocked engagement. A merciless scene of carnage, blaster bolts of photons and plasma seared through the air as telltale emanations, spelling the warzone of extreme prejudice. Armor melted to wax, flesh burned and burst, weapons charred and the very grounds trampled underfoot had scorched and burned like a field of fires dropping upon it.

"Fires and explosions in levels Two, Nine and Six! Hostile infiltration detected throughout sections Lambda and Delta! Extrasector communications are being disrupted!" cried out a technician as he attempted to operate under fire, "Ma'am, we have to order a tactical retreat!"

"Negative!" yelled Lieutenant K'var, taking cover behind sections of the mainframes as she returned fire to the invading Legionnaires, "We're in an entrenched position, we'd lose any chance of pushing the enemy back in this situation! Hold the line, defend your positions!"

The Battle-Ops room was isolated from direct exposure of the initiated attack, but the room flooded to the exterior outpost just as surely. Flying Legionnaires soared ahead of the ground troops as they made hard contact with ZS, with both sides refusing to give ground to the other. As the Ops room cleared, with ZS and freelancers alike joining in the fight, Commander Irattu emerged from the room walking, staring slowing at the escalating battle around him as his teeth grinded. This was the reality of Daedalus, one the surface had kept hidden away, pretending it wasn't there.

And only now, when the cancer reared its ugly head, did any action finally get taken against it. Except now even he, a veteran of the Voidfire War, could not help but wonder if there was any possibility for salvation here. It was as if the Crypts and the Bowels weren't even a part of Daedalus anymore, but cities unto themselves. And at that, the Turian reached to his back, and pulled out his molecular katana, charging into the fray of blasterfire and turmoil.

From the skies above, two Legionnaires with jetpacks fired fibercords Jazal as they encircled him, with another on the ground charging toward him as he prepared to unleash a spray of fire from a back-mounted plasma-thrower.

Two Legionnaires moved to flank the man called Yuri as both detonated smoke grenades and charged their heavy blaster cannons as they fired into the haze.

Three heavily armored Legionnaires fell down from the skies as their jetpacks detached, being designed to land them as opposed to being for aerial combat. Their exoskeletons rose them to almost ten meters tall with turrets built into their suits, and all aimed their weapons toward the Sith Crusader, Brelin; one firing a shoulder-mounted rocket, with the other two unleashing a barrage of blaster fire.

And as two Legionnaires flew in overhead, both tossed grenades from above at Roland, with a third doubling back to attack him from the back.

---

The Zabrak Legionnaire narrowed her glare as the woman at gunpoint tensed, and showed it. In all honesty, she'd assumed the worst with someone blatantly walking into the Deadlands, perhaps a recon unit from ZS or a ploy by a Ksz'kask infiltrator. But the Zabrak Legionnaire knew fear, real fear, when she saw it. Even if it was somewhat melodramatic. However, at the mention of Marisa's connection to the Knights of the Empire, the Zabrak Legionnaire wasn't sure whether to keep her finger on the trigger or not. Although technically 'kin' from both origins and their choice to rebel, the Imperial Knights and Imperial Rebels revolted for different reasons, which was sometimes a dividing factor between them.

But even then, she couldn't tell if the girl in front of her was actually an Imperial Knight herself. And either way, the Zabrak was a soldier, not an executioner. Even if this Marisa were hostile, it'd be tactically unsound to execute a potential information resource, regardless if she were ZS, the Mob, or who she said she was. For a time, the Zabrak Legionnaire simply continued to glare, not moving even the slightest or wavering from her finger's position on the trigger.

"Take her," she said, as a whirring sound signified the depowering of her blaster pistol, "Standard binding, keep tags on her until we bypass Checkpoint-10."

Several of the Legionnaires grabbed Marisa's arms and clamped energy-shackled onto her. Whether she knew it or not - which she'd at least have to had suspected would happen, Marisa was now effectively a prisoner. And in all honesty, the Zabrak woman - while regulation forced her to report in to her commanding officer - sincerely doubted Marisa would ever see anyone besides a Legionnaire interrogator.

A black-light visor was fitted to Marisa's temples, preventing her from seeing where she was being led, though after some time and it eventually was removed, all that she would see was an open area - not unlike a scrapyard of sorts - with patrolling aerial gunships and ground troops. It was the definition of military security, with many thousands of Legionnaires marching in units and armed and armored to the teeth. This was the Vault; the heart of the Deadlands where no one could enter or even find without the Legionnaires themselves allowing it. This was ground zero, where the first Legionnaires had arrived when seeking refuge upon Daedalus, only to be forced into a war for control.

The Zabrak Legionnaire spoke into her comlink in a battle language, and within moments, the ground before them opened up like a chasm, revealing a brightly lit descending staircase. Leading her down through the jaws and into the belly of the beast, Marisa was brought into the cell block, and thrown into an already occupied cell, with her shackles only deactivating after the energy field trapping her within activated. A Sephi woman sat in the corner of the cell, wrapped in a blanket, as she looked to see her new cellmate. The woman stared hard at Marisa, immediately noticing that she was certainly not a native to the Deadlands.

"So, they're kidnapping from outside the Deadlands now?" she asked weakly, "Things... they must be worse than ever, then.."
​

 

[Chairdor]

Jazal fell into a sort of battle meditation seconds passing like hours as his mind slept and dreamed of victory. In his visions the Nagai remembered a story his people had described. It was written by the blind warrior Irandel in the Scroll of the Tempest made out in his own blood, the visions he saw that others could not were ones of mystical and unbelievable nature. One vision was said to be a place of eternal war, where no reason or peace could be gleaned not even the thinnest amount of rest could be taken as the dead fought on in foolish self preservation. It was a desert ever shifting but never changing in its heat and deadliness to all those caught in its coarse grasp. It was said there was a lord of this anarchy so consumed by self loathing he could only achieve some small demented feeling of happiness by acting as ring leader for this circus of the damned. That world described aptly in words made by blood was called Israhol. Today Jazal found it had a new name, Daedulus, as a little bit of hell came to the world of the living, though considering the circumstances many wouldn't call that world home for much longer.

Falling out of his reverie the Nagai swiftly produced his blades, finely sharpened the blade became an instrument of history which would document the songs of his battle. Today he was Irandel, for he too would write his verse in blood. Around him various warriors had taken up positions, the vast metallic warrior firing wildly in a covering pattern, placing a burning brand upon the cattle-like Legionaires, forcing them to cower behind cover and await luck to win them the shots they needed for victory. Alongside him was the dark presence of the Sith, an aura of cool pervading the heated battle, he seemed concerned with merely deflecting the bolts who came his way, but Jazal had no such ability and no such handicap in defense, his only protection was to be stronger than his foes. His means of survival was to kill before he could be killed. Moving forward the bold Nagai was assaulted from above by two Legionaires, their bodies swathed in the swaddling clothes of armor. They had superior maneverability with their jetpacks and used it cunningly to hem the quick-footed swordsman into a pocket of fire. Surrounded on all sides by the overlapping fire, the Nagai faced his hawkish foes with grim determinations, blades spinning with immaculate control, each turn an image of him slitting their throats running through Jazals mind, the only thing running at all.

Simultaneously the well trained traitors produced a flash of refined steel in the form of a sinister cord. Jazal had seen these before when fighting Mandalorian raiders and knew their intent. He was to be corralled and bound like a pig for slaughter, the ultimate disgrace and not a fitting warriors death. He would remember their cowardice when he pulled them down by their wires and strangled the life from their traitor's lungs. One fibercord by benefit of angle arrived just before the other and the Nagai disdainfully snapped it down, severing it cleanly his blade grating as the two metals met in a deadly kiss. His other hand prepared to sever the next incoming wire but the Legionaire changed its course at the last second to account for this. It seemed the pair intended to come one at a time so that they might learn of the Nagai's defenses, but as a caged animal would fight no matter the odds, a restrained Jazal became only more deadly from the restraint.

At that time he looked to see the approaching warrior, his weapon spitting the hellfire of his vision, for a moment the battle flashed and Jazal was transported to hell, the flame bearing Legionaire twisting into a gruesome corpse butchered and sewn shut a thousand times over. It was at that moment that the Nagai knew know fear, this warrior was already dead, he just didn't know it. Going the only direction he could, Jazal ran towards his captor, the Legionaire reeling in his fiber as with every step, but just as the fiery tongue of the pyro sought to lick the hem of Jazal's robe, he turned upon his own arm, slicing along it to get underneath the well coiled fiber, cutting himself loose along with a great deal of skin. Falling deeply into his spin Jazal danced on the edge of a volcano as he felt the heat of the Legionaire's plasma spitter upon the nape of his neck, his eyes angled just enough to see the cord of his foes insidious weapon he threw his sword swiftly and severed the flow of plasma to the Legionaires gun. Not content with merely disarming his foe, the Nagai fell into a swift crouch to strike the steel of the stations floor to bring a great deal of sparks to bear, mixing with the air now fill with volatile plasma, Jazal rushed with all his might as the cellular structures collasped upon themselves and the pyromaniac was consumed by his own hell in a fiery roar.

Upon his knees, the edge of his cloak lightly smoking Jazal kept moving, he too unable to glean a moments respite. Already feeling the press of his lungs giving way to the stress of so many years of forced labor the Nagai rolled as the jet troopers kept up their heavy fire upon him. Scooping up his blade he found a small bench and pressed himself against the steel, the cool touch like ice against his heavily sweating skin. Breathing labored and bleeding across the whole of his left arm, the Nagai turned as one of the jet troopers landed nearby. Sheathing his swords and producing a knife Jazal knew that he was the one above this warrior. Leaping across the bench bending the entirety of his being wildly as the warrior produced a fiber steel whip. Jazal dodged this metallic snake which thrust in every direction around the swordsman seeking sweet flesh to bite and poison with weakness, the Nagai closed the gap between the two and just as the Legionaire sought to whisk himself off with his jet pack, Jazal plunged a dagger he produced from his boot into one of the packs engines, flying wildly and without control the Nagai watched as the warrior smashed into a wall, his body breaking inside the shell of his armor. Producing his blades again and watching the remaining warrior fly off seek easier prey, Jazal let out a warrior's shout as he ran to battle, seeking a new verse for his blades to sing.

 

[Lavi]

Marisa understood that she would be taken into custody upon meeting the Legionnaires, but she didn't think, perhaps naively, that she would be energy cuffed. When one of the Legionnaires grabbed her shoulder tightly, Marisa shook back to demonstrate how much she appreciated it. But she didn't resist the cuffs themselves being latched onto her wrists or complain when the black visor blotted out her vision. They did, at least, let her walk on her own (for the most part). Of course, Marisa had no idea when she had to take steps up or down, so stops were taken when she had to be lifted to navigate elevations.

When she first laid her eyes on the Vault, the woman couldn't help but gawk at the scale at which the Legionnaires' military prowess could be seen. Being a civilian, seeing such a scene was an incredibly rare occurrence for her. It gave the Zabrak officer time to open the way to the cell rooms, which threw Marisa off-guard. Even moreso was the realization that she wasn't alone in her cell.

"Kid... nap... ping?" Marisa slowly repeated. She didn't entirely comprehend what the Sephi said as she patted herself down to check what she still kept after her guided tour of the Vault.

Her blaster was obviously taken, as well as her datapad and utility belt. Thankfully, the Legionnaires didn't thoroughly search her for hidden items; her retractable dagger, hidden in the toe of her boot, was still available. She also had a handkerchief and a blunt durasteel needle.

'Hardly my choice of tools,' she quietly lamented, looking around to see what else is in the room.

There was no furniture aside from what was attached to the floor or walls: a motion-sensor sink and toilet in particular. The Sephi's blanket probably was the Legionnaire-supplied bed coverings.

The fact that the cells were operated by energy shields, obviously particle shields, already supplied Marisa with basic knowledge of how the prison room would be set up. There would have to be a power generator nearby, most likely isolated from the rest of the power network, to ensure that prisoners would not break out in the case of a blackout. The generator's rough location is easy to pick out by the occasional loud humming it makes (which Marisa picked out as she looked around). The generator's position by the entrance indicates that it most likely powers the entrance too. In this case, the main entrance has safeguards in place in the case of the prison power generator failing, primarily heavy locks that is only operated by the power generator, with a much smaller opening so that crowd control equipment, such as sleeping gas, could be used to subdue inmates before the entrance opens.

She turned her attention towards the Sephi huddling with the blanket with a quizative gaze, then finally realized what the Sephi was talking about.

"Oh, never kidnapped. Chose come one," Marisa explained.

She turned to the sink, waving her hand over the motion sensor to see if the faucet still ran water.

"You kidnapped?" she asked. It seemed like an obvious conclusion, but seeing what this Sephi thought about the Legionnaires could be helpful.

 

[Lupe]

Quickly the scene around Brelin became a war zone, everywhere you could see Legionnaires engage Z/S soldiers in combat and blaster fire was ample for as far as the eyes could see. Throughout this war zone, the Sith could smell fear as he saw one of the mercenaries cower under a desk, crying and clearly in shock, only for a wandering bolt to pierce his temple and cause his whole body to go limp almost immediately. Brelin simply scoffed, while most people would be terrified of being in the middle of this chaos, even some of the veteran soldiers seemed to be stressed about the situation, but not Brelin. No, he was something else, he didn't feel the fear that his comrades did, instead he cherished the chaos of battle, he enjoyed it. He never felt at a loss in battle, instead he felt completely at home for battle came natural to him as eating was natural to humans. The one thing he did feel however, was anticipation, he couldn't wait to feel his lightsaber course through flesh and bone, couldn't wait to see his foes last breath escape them. The feeling was just like before, during the briefing, but only more prevalent, it could be seen in Brelin's very eyes which shone with a bloodlust that couldn't be rivaled by a beserking Wookie.

Still for a moment he was oblivious of the three Legionnaires that had positioned themselves strategically behind the Sith as he was preoccupied in assisting Yuri in covering one of the entrances into the Op room. It was only when that first barrel lit up, sending a bolt flying directly to Brelin's back, that the Sith realized what was happening. Despite being taken by surprise, Brelin did not miss a beat as he called his second lightsaber to his left hand and spun out the way using the move to evade the first few bolts headed in his direction. As he spun, he ignited his lightsaber on his left and brought its crimson red blade to bear as he threw it at one of the blaster wielding Legionnaires with such force and direction that impalement was the only option for the foe. Once Brelin completed his spin, he then sent threw his second lightsaber at the second blaster wielding Legionnaire with the same force and direction, before directing his attention to the one who fired a shoulder mounted rocket. He was to late to actually do anything except roll out the way as the missile exploded behind him, sending him forward and scorching part of his robe. Still, Brelin was relatively unscratched from the event, with the exception that he felt a slight pain all over his body, but then again it was nothing crippling. So he was able to gather his thoughts and his strength as he rose from the ground, shrugging off a bit of dust, before calling his lightsabers back to his hands. Once with weapons back in hand, Brelin was able to deflect the subsequent blaster fire from the remaining Legionnaire with relative ease as he slowly moved in his direction. The Sith waited until he was close enough so he could commit a Sun Djem, a disarmament that involved destroying a foe's weapon, which was what Brelin did by cutting each one of the Legionnaire's blasters in half in one smooth and elegant move once he had recognized an opening in his enemies assault, something called a contentious opportunity to Makashi users, before finishing the soldier off with a quick Shiak, or stab, to the chest and then moving the lightsaber up the legionnaire's chest, cutting him in half from the chest up as his body fell backwards unto the floor.

While Brelin could have killed his assailants with more class, such as jumping around before slicing all the legionnaire's heads with one swift move, it was very unlike him to do so. He was not an Ataru user, he did not focus on giant leaps or front flips to get around his opponent. No, Brelin simply relied on his superiority in swordsmanship to get the job done, since he was in truth a Makashi user. Thus he also focused on confusing and distracting his enemies while keeping his energy expenditure at a very low level which is why he responded to the blaster fire by spinning away from it rather than blocking it like a Soresu user, since Makashi was not meant to deflect blaster fire much less sustained blaster fire, or flipping around like an Ataru user, since one of the main points of Makashi was to avoid using to much energy in one's attacks and dodges. Still he did deviate from the usual Makashi stance by flinging his lightsabers at his enemies, but this all due to one of Makashi's teachings which was that enslavement to the form would eventually result in defeat due to unpredictable tactics, or as Count Dooku would call it, the unforeseen. Then again, perhaps Brelin had become a bit brash when he threw his weapons in that manner, when he had several other options available to him, but, on the flip side, Brelin wasn't much into using the Force too much which was why he went with the less-taxing ability of throwing his lightsaber at his enemies rather than redirect their fire. Despite his seemingly failure in taking a full account of his surroundings, Brelin was still able to evade the missile fired at him through a classic roll, before truly showing off his mastery of the Makashi form by facing off the Legionnaire, blaster versus lighter. The Sith's mastery allowed him to deflect a continued onslaught of blaster fire before closing in enough to commit very Makashi like cuts, quick but deadly, which disabled the Legionnaire's weapons in a move called Sun Djem, and then finishing off the foe with a move called Shiak instead of being fancy and trying to do more than what was necessary like some overzealous Sith would sometimes do, only later realizing their fatal mistake.

After the defeat of his attackers, Brelin stood over the dead bodies slumped around, consisting of Legionnaires, mercenaries and Z/S soldiers, though it was obvious that the mercenaries were the weaker end of the stick, simply due to the sheer amount of dead mercenaries lying around. Still the fight was not over and Brelin's bloodlust was not sated, not yet, thus he had no time to waste and simply dusted off his shoulder in a smug move before entering the fray once more, but using a reserved stance that avoided the expenditure of too much energy for that would be folly since Brelin did not know when his next break would come, if there was even a next break.

 

[Praetor]

Grenade explosions, blaster fire, and the cries of soldiers in battle rang across the scene as Roland did his best to fend off the invading Legionnaires. He gritted his teeth as he fired each burst of shots at his targets and flicked his eyes left and right, looking for anyone coming too close for comfort. The sound of the Sith's lightsaber came from somewhere nearby as it whirred through the air batting shots away and slicing at the Legionnaires. The sound sent chills down his spine, so he tried his best to push the noise out of his mind.

In the midst of that distraction, Roland barely noticed the three Legionnaires flying overhead. He saw the grenades hurtling towards him and decided to run a few feet away, diving into a somersault behind some nearby cover. From behind that cover Roland brought his rifle up and fired several bursts at the lone Legionnaire trying flank him. He would then return his attention to the other Legionnaires and unload several bursts of fire on them, aiming for the head.

 

[Gaja]

By now he was fully used to having the power armor around his body. In the past there were times where his movements were sluggish, inefficient even, due to him still getting used to the piece of armor and its advanced functions. Such as the HUD, the radar and the build in aim function that synced with his weapon. Firing two armor piercing rounds the rugged human saw Brelin move away as he suit's AI warned him that two men were approaching him. As if he had the force at his disposal the man, at the very same moment the smoke grenade hit the ground jumped up and his flight system took him away from the cloud of smoke as bullets pierced the smoke and made their way towards his former position.

The man didn't however fly way up in the air as that would expose him to the other enemies lurking the field of battle, instead he simply made a "jump" back to hide further inside the building as he prepared to return fire the very moment the Legionnaire onslaught stopped. His breathing was calm, almost non-existant for a moment as if he waited for a sign and looked at the two men through his HUD, their forms the only thing visible as he looked at them through infrared.

And then as the two men stopped shooting at him the rugged human that was Yuri Sharp made several steps forward, unleashing one projectile only, from his under-barrel attachment. The result was nothing short of devastating as the projectile struck only a foot away from each enemy and exploded. Yuri wasn't done there however, as he immediately sought out cover and made sure his enemies were out. In case either of them moved he'd send two or three precise shots their way, armor piercing rounds from hell, designed to tear through pretty much any armor out there. Expensive as hell too...

 

[Demiurge]

Blood gushed as a Legionnaire's body fell limp as a Tantalus blade cleaved clean through the armor protecting his neck, utterly decapitating him. The Turian commander may have been aging, but he was a warrior through and through - it burned in his blood. Missiles flew overhead from both sides, striking either armies with enough collateral damage to sink the station itself ten times over. And in the thick of the firefight, a missile struck the ceiling of the Crypts, bursting a torrent valve and causing it to "rain" over the warzone. The sight of it all, the fury of the battle, it was almost surreal as the Irattu's teeth grinded at the sight of ZS being pushed back.

"All units, this is Regiment Commander Irattu! Regroup! Battle formation Z-1099 immediately!" the Turian yelled into his communication unit.

With the men and woman of Zruger/Saythe under fire, the reformation came slow, and not unnoticed by the equally disciplined Legionnaires. Nonetheless, preliminary tactics into the full formation came unsuspected, like a hidden torrent in an ocean. The darkness was ignited by the sheer array of endless blasterfire and explosions as the battle became a stalemate. And by the time the Legionnares had adapted their tactics to resume their dominance, ZS had come to the full circle, full battle formation. The element of surprise and shock were exhausted. The Turian commander's arms became numb from the recoil of his blaster firing relentlessly. The ZS commandos had taken the Legionnaires' best hit and come out standing. Now, it was their turn.

"Battle units one through eight, lay the screen fire! Don't give them a chance to hit us back! Nine through fifteen, fall back and bring the rain! Flank from positions four, six and twelve! The rest of you - ZS and freelancers - push these bastards back! We dig our heels in here and go forward! Give no more ground - that's an order!! Now move!!"

Morale restored and with vengeance at the ends of their blaster's sights, the ZS commandos struck back in a rage like a wounded rancor. With the Legionnaires fortifying themselves in deep, the tactical charge and maneuvers said all that needed to be said, to either side; the counter-attack had begun. And it was this which would determine the victor. Who would retreat, and who would bear the worst of it. Who would fall, and who would still be left standing as the dust cleared and the blood ran dry and cold.

"Squads nine through fifteen, in position!" yelled Lieutenant K'var, charging her sniper rifle as her crosshairs fell over a Legionnaire jet trooper, "Recon and special weapons teams, lay it on them!!"

From the backward "fields" on either sides of the base, a downpour of sniper fire and missiles showered Legionnaire support ranks, like fire and brimstone from above. With the Legionnaire troops entrenching themselves and giving no ground for anything, their solid positions became a death-dealing inferno and dervish of precision fire.

"Squads one through eight, on me!" yelled out Lieutenant Crast, polarizing his visor as he mounted his helmet, "Cover your vectors!! Don't even give the karkers time to breathe!!"

From the frontal positions against the Legionnaires, a fantastic spray of luminous bolts of plasma and photons screeched through the battlefield. With the brightness and intensity as heights that even their soldiers themselves could scarcely stand. Their fingers never left the triggers, their arms never wavered as they lined to their marks. They simply aimed, and unleashed the waves of destruction to cover their comrades. And at the front of the remaining troops, those in the charge forward, the Turian Regiment Commander, Irattu, wielding a Tantalus katana in one hands and a plasma carbine in the other, charged forward to make the push that would decide the battle.

Grenades flew overhead as the ZS commandos moved to either scatter or soften the retaliation for the assault. And true to form, the retaliation came. ZS soldiers fell in instantaneous deaths, as Legionnaire troops fired back. Gunships flew over in the skies, with many falling to the Legionnaire heavy weapons squads, and many more laying rotary blasterfire cover as the initial assault lines made hard contact with the Legionnaire forces; the next attack had begun.

From behind the cover of a demolished wall, a Legionnare sprung out and rose his arm forward, firing a wrist mounted sonic-wavelength blaster toward Jazal, rippling the dirt and debris in its path as another Legionnaire tossed a gas grenade into the sonic wave's path, scarcely a meter before Jazal.

Launching up from the cover fire of ZS, a Legionnaire jet trooper rose from the debris to the side of the charging ZS assault, firing his wrist mounted flamethrower at Brelin as he fired a semi-automatic ripper pistol in his other hand, with a Legionnaire nearby mounting a heavy weapon platform and firing a guiding missile at the Sith Crusader as well.

At a mostly intact wall, a Legionnaire burst through a glass screen, emerging to the side of the ZS assault forces, and without a word, threw a plasma grenade toward Yuri while simultaneously taking his blaster and, aiming it at the detonator, firing a single bolt toward it.

As the other Legionnaires met the ZS assault head on, two Legionnaires ran to flank Roland, firing cables that flashed blue with electrical currents as they both aimed their respective cords at Roland's legs and upper torso.

---

The faint clanks of metal against the durasteel grounds was the ominous premonition of the patrolling guards. Distant cries echoed from various cells, some pleading for freedom, some wailing of despair, but all were aimed at the same source, the jailers. The oppressors. The Legionnaires.

"Chose... come? One?" the Sephi girl said, bewildered at the structured sentence, and simply assumed Basic was not her first language.

"You actually came here.. by choice?" the Sephi woman said, with an almost dreary laugh, "By the Goddess' embrace, you're either a fool or born under the stars of misfortune."

The Sephi woman re-wrapped herself in the blanket and laid against the wall, obviously attempting to get as much comfort as she could in her situation.

"Kidnapped.. that's why I'm here. That's why anyone is here, all of us," the Sephi woman said, coughing slightly as if to clear her lungs, "Some were taken during raids, some for breaking curfew or law.. some for resisting, some were former gangsters... the only ones that actually deserve to be in this man-made hell.."

At that, the woman paused, forcing her head erect toward the ceiling as she began gasping deeply, like she was struggling to gain each breath for a few moments. A few moments passed of calm, easy breathing, and the woman lowered her head and looked toward Marisa.

"But now... I've got to ask. Just... why?" the Sephi woman asked with intrigue and curiosity, "No one comes to the Deadlands without knowing about them... the Legionnaires.. so why would you come here?" ​

 

[Chairdor]

Jazal could fall into a rhythm in a fight, a singular opponent, a focus, a style. In battle however there was no such option, everything was improvisation if not downright luck. Jazal had read of his peoples battles with the Tof who stole Nagi from them so many years ago. Before that time the Nagai knew of the purity of honor, of a devotion to the respect that taking a life required. It was even custom in the earliest days of his peoples warrior clans for a warrior who had slain another in a duel, to take that soldiers wives and children not as his property, but his responsibility. It was humbling and spoke of lives as if they had worth in themselves. This was before the Tof's, this was before their planet and their ideals were stolen from them. From then on the beautiful illuminated tapestries and scrolls carefully dictated and crafted by aging Nagai warlords in their final days, were replaced by frigid mass produced holocrons that demanded a singular obedience, not a code of honor, but a plan of survival. That was why Jazal hated the Tof, and he hated battle, for in it there was no honor as honor demands control. As much as he hated battle though, the Nagai hated those who caused it all the more and paid them in kind with agonizing death so that at least, they may enjoy a warriors death.

Now in this battlefield, his breath ragged and riddled with coughs, Jazal moved on his steps stuttering, but his blades ringing true as he corned a Legionaire not swift enough to escape his deathly embrace. Like the jagged teeth of a reaper, the Nagai bit into his hard shell to break through the tender flesh beneath and release the soldiers flavor onto the earth. Kneeling amidst the chaos Jazal reached into the mortal wound and removed a finger length of blood, the ferryman's tax for sending him to hell. Taking the still warm blood the pale faced swordsmen swiftly drew a circle with three triangles, a rune symbolizing the three states of life, the born, the living, and the dying and an existence which demands harmony of all. Wetting his unused blade with the warriors blood tax Jazal gave out a war cry only rivaled by the crashing of the stations ceiling above. For a moment he was with his ancestors blade in hand his hair flowing freely in the Nagi wind. Thousands crossed the plains with swords and knives against an entrenched force, guns, tanks, never for a moment it was written did a single Nagai think of defeat. All died and joined the circle to be born again as war gods, the fearless and great. Jazal was a war god now, encased in a shell of blood lust he felt no agony from his lungs any longer, only the thirst of his swords for more.

Jazal turned to the fortifications of his cowardly foe, using walls to stiffen their resolve as they lacked the spine to do it themselves. One warrior proved himself an exception though as he emerged and fired a wave of sonic energy that the enraged warrior would have gladly taken to prove his strength, death would not be his failing only his proving of Nagai superiority in the warrior spirit. However another force tugged at the strings in the swordsman's mind, a young creature who knew the inner workings well, who had pushed them to their limits and knew that survival was the only way to maintain an ideal Jazal had nearly forgotten, hope. Falling to the earth, the Nagai warrior felt the sonic blast ring through his swords like a lightning rod into his hands. They shook with violence and chaos on a cellular level, but years of honing his discipline in ancient temples as a man and the Imperium furnaces as a boy had taught him to keep his grip, to let go was to fall. To fall was to die.

Ka kunk -Chiiiiiiiiiiiiiissssss

A grenade went as it released its deadly fumes near the Nagai swordsman. Instinctively ceasing his breath as he tasted the first deadly molecules, Jazal rose to attempt to get above the cloud but only managed to sting his eyes weeping with the tears of a sandstorms agony. His world blurred by the noxious gas as well as his own restrained lungs Jazal nearly fell and sucked in a mortal swallow, the Siren's call of natural instinct begging him to give in. Instead he went boldly and blindly, the final bits of oxygen in his hellish lungs clouding with recycled use as Jazal closed his eyes, the sense nearly useless. Slowly the battled returned to view as an image his other senses gathered, moving quickly, stumbling with exhaustion, Jazal felt the heat of the gas slip behind him. Opening his eyes he looked at the two Legionaires before him and the world slowed as they fired. Using the little momentum his stumbling legs had given him, the Nagai fell into a slide his still weeping eyes viewing the infrared spectrum a thousand times over as it refracted in his agonized tears. Catching his ankle on a broken piece of flooring the swordsman went into a roll just escaping the follow up blasts of his foes. Eventually the Nagai came to another bench and screamed just as his agonized lungs did, his battle cry filling the closest foe with his final thought, fear, and his blade filling that foe with his final sensation, warmth dripping away from his neck.

Falling unable to move a muscle the Nagai leaned against the fallen Legionaire using his body to shield his from the blasts his comrade fired his way. The heat from the shots grew greater and greater as the Legionaire began to sear through his fellow soldiers very flesh. Breathing in in agonized quick repetitions Jazal let one of his blades fall to wipe his eyes, so that he might see his final moments clearly. It was said that a Nagai warrior receiving a mortal wound would behold a brevity of beauty, a flash so brilliant it would blind him to all other things forever, burning into him a perfect world and personal heaven. What Jazal saw though was hope in the form of a wrist blaster on the Legionaire, once again the young slave in him tugged and the swordsman found himself lifting the blaster and firing it. Not expecting the retaliation, the Legionaire felt his body spread as if his very soul had left him and a moment later it did as his heart instantly shattered. Lifting himself from the smoking ruin of a corpse he had used as a shield Jazal retrieved his blade and breathed deeply, a small meditation, a moments respite. Then without a word sought more souls to tax.