TheLastLine
SWRP Writer
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- Apr 18, 2011
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Like a predator, Atniir Vencu watched his prey; a man whose stride radiated dominance and whose smile represented the hopes of his people. He was perched precariously on a statue of Olderos The Great, a man whom through great personal sacrifice had given his people freedom (and ironically admitted them into the Repubic), a potent symbol, a simple target; however it wasn’t so simple, the man was ultimately irrelevant, the people were key.
No matter how sophisticated and ‘civilized’ people behave, it is a fact that we are all animals, and as animals we have retained a pack mentality that’s empowered with its size and revels in a chaotically unified spirit.
These conglomerates are as dangerous as they are temporary; for people with power are beasts with no temperance, who are more than willing to display their pseudo godhood before it dissipates like the pack, and sometimes, all that is needed is one straw, to break the camel’s back.
It had been deduced that this world, Kuat, was tearing at the seams, a third begging for independence, a third begging for continued submission and a third on the side lines, opportunists, waiting to see which way the wind blew.
It was a precarious situation and the air was filled with fear, excitement and anticipation on all sides; but it was a foolish assumption to believe that this affair was
one that could remain a domestic issue, there was a war going on, and that war was coming to Kuat.
The crowd roared, screamed insults, they wanted out, they wanted freedom.
What a foolish notion, ‘freedom for Kuat’, without the Reupblic they would be like lambs to the slaughter; but then again that is one of the outcomes the secretive elite Mandalorian unit was hoping for, that and strikes which would paralyze the centre of starship production in the Galaxy.
Atniir lay on the roof of a tall building, out of sight, out of mind. He lay camouflaged (not that it mattered) in his newly upgraded Beskar armour which had been shaped to look like a regular pattern of mercenary armour.
He was concentrating on his heartbeat as he looked down the scope. The angle was 32 degrees, and the point of impact had to be precise, just above the collarbone to sever the head completely off. Yet what Atniir had in his arms was not his beloved Mandalorian weapon, but a modified Nightstinger Blaster Rifle which fired invisible rounds; yet the cunning lay not in the invisible round, but in the small redirection crystals which would make it look like a shot came from the Republic security presence which kept order.
He waited for his brothers direction to shoot, as he waited he sat secure in the knowledge that there was no way they would be caught, for what they had prepared was inescapable.
No matter how sophisticated and ‘civilized’ people behave, it is a fact that we are all animals, and as animals we have retained a pack mentality that’s empowered with its size and revels in a chaotically unified spirit.
These conglomerates are as dangerous as they are temporary; for people with power are beasts with no temperance, who are more than willing to display their pseudo godhood before it dissipates like the pack, and sometimes, all that is needed is one straw, to break the camel’s back.
It had been deduced that this world, Kuat, was tearing at the seams, a third begging for independence, a third begging for continued submission and a third on the side lines, opportunists, waiting to see which way the wind blew.
It was a precarious situation and the air was filled with fear, excitement and anticipation on all sides; but it was a foolish assumption to believe that this affair was
one that could remain a domestic issue, there was a war going on, and that war was coming to Kuat.
The crowd roared, screamed insults, they wanted out, they wanted freedom.
What a foolish notion, ‘freedom for Kuat’, without the Reupblic they would be like lambs to the slaughter; but then again that is one of the outcomes the secretive elite Mandalorian unit was hoping for, that and strikes which would paralyze the centre of starship production in the Galaxy.
Atniir lay on the roof of a tall building, out of sight, out of mind. He lay camouflaged (not that it mattered) in his newly upgraded Beskar armour which had been shaped to look like a regular pattern of mercenary armour.
He was concentrating on his heartbeat as he looked down the scope. The angle was 32 degrees, and the point of impact had to be precise, just above the collarbone to sever the head completely off. Yet what Atniir had in his arms was not his beloved Mandalorian weapon, but a modified Nightstinger Blaster Rifle which fired invisible rounds; yet the cunning lay not in the invisible round, but in the small redirection crystals which would make it look like a shot came from the Republic security presence which kept order.
He waited for his brothers direction to shoot, as he waited he sat secure in the knowledge that there was no way they would be caught, for what they had prepared was inescapable.
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