Ha'rangirs Fun House

[Loco]

(Open to Death Watch)​

Mikha'el Atin'al sipped at his hot cup of caf as he strolled casually down the dura-steel reinforced stone corridors of Ha'rangirs fortress. The Death Watch had been spending so much time operating of the hidden installation on Roon and consolidating their new acquisitions on Rodia and Geonosis, he'd hardly had time to visit the old mountain redoubt. The remote and heavily defended fortress in the northern mountains, surrounded by dense forests and volcano ranges, was home to a growing contingent of warriors, weapons, and heavy equipment. The barracks bustled with activity, and the hangars and workshops were filled with the sound of arc welders and machinery work. Technically here on Mandalore they were still "Ha'rangirs Chosen", a legally registered military contractor, and their contract activities off world were protected under Mandalorian law from being investigated or prosecuted here on their homeworld. They were safe here, for now, so long as they kept their heads down. Even if they weren't, Mik thought as he paused to gaze out a blaster slat in the wall at one of the towering air-defense turbolasers on the outer wall, it would be a hell of a good fight to oust them.

The Warpriest looked down as he felt something bump into his foot. Prudii Kyramud had thought it endlessly hilarious to tamper with the cleaning droid Mik had recently brought back and let loose in his office, thereby limiting the number of people that ha access to his personal spaces. Now, it trailed him around everywhere he went in the fortress, quietly vacuuming in his immediate wake. He had his suspicions it was Jemma's idea, and he would bide his time until he had calculated his revenge. Until then at least he wouldn't have to clean up after himself. He continued his way down corridors and stairwells, taking his time and eschewing the use of the turbolifts. He was enjoying his caf. He nodded to warriors he recognized, and returned the reverent greetings of those who recognized him. The Death Watch was much closer knit than the Chosen had been, he thought- they all had a common goal and interest now beyond fortune and fame. They also loved to party.

Finally, he arrived at his destination- The Fun House. Formerly an ancient dungeon- that had been moved deeper underground during remodeling a century ago- the space was wide with high ceilings and recessed lighting. Work benches and tools filled the central space, while weapons racks and cages lined the walls. The back of the room was full of shelves and crates of spare parts, broken down droids (assassin, battle, astromech, and even more cleaning droids) explosives, accessories, and other assorted aids for inventive methods of causing death and destruction. Normally bustling with creative young warriors tricking out their favorite weapons, Mik had reserved the space for himself and a short list of trusted Death Watch associates- though getting an RSVP from this lot of hooligans was a difficult task, so there was never any telling who would show up.

Mik made his way to a large work bench in the center that had been prepared for the occasion and sat in a comfortable rolling chair. He drained the last of his caf and refilled the designer durasteel mug with a smoky dark tihaar bottle that was sitting next to the corpse on the table. Kick for kick. Kyramud had his spices- Mikha'el had more refined vices. One hand on his mug, one hand in his pocket, Mik sighed and looked over the work table, figuring out how he was going to work this.

 

[Kal Hra'ne]

Kal had gotten the invite although he wasn't quite sure what this project was. He came in through the door and immediately felt an atmosphere of grunge. He noticed Mik seated at a table with mug in hand. He made his way to the table and removed his helmet. Kal remembered their recent activitied on Roon and how fun he thought that was. Kal enjoyed this line of work so far. He sat down across from Mik.

"What's new boss man?"

The swoon of Kal's voice was agressuve yet soft. Something that almost everyone would be comfortable hearing. It was where all of his charisma came from...well that and his long luscious locks. But even without his hair. Kal's presence would prove soothing while not on the battlefield. This was one of the reasons he knew he'd make it in Death Watch. He brushed some hair out of his face and looked at Mik as he hammered down his drink.

 

[Thoz Bristlebeard]

Thoz stomped his way down the halls of the mountain fortress, scowl abundant on his face. He'd been asked to come and help with something, but had no idea what it was or why it was so important. He'd only come because the message had mentioned his expertise in weaponsmithing. He figured a change of pace might help get him out of the funk he'd recently been in, even though he normally wouldn't use his smithing skills for a merc faction.

He was getting older, but was still screwing around doing the same old junk he'd always done. Bristlebeard was beginning to think he had to find some kind of meaning for his life, or something. That sounded like a load of crap even in his head, but it still rang true in his heart. His heavy Abritrator boots clanged loudly on the floor as he entered the work space, to see two others there already. One was the big shot who'd sent the request.

"Well, what's it ta be then?" he asked with hands on his hips.

@Loco

 

[Loco]

"Morning, Kal," Mik didn't shift his gaze from the dead Rodian on the table. He reached over and slowly pushed the bottle toward the younger Mandalorian, "Have some- it helps with the smell."

And the smell was awful. Live Rodian's didn't smell great to begin with, and the corpses didn't get better with age. Unfortunately, Rodian biology had some helpful quirks for this particular experiment. They also kept longer, and were readily available for some unexplainable reason. The unmistakable stomp of Thoz Bristlebeard could be heard long before he was seen. Mikha'el had never commisioned something from him, but his reputation preceded him and this was something he might be able to help with.

"Morning Thoz. I was just about to begin discussing with Kal here various methods of turning this-" Mik motioned towards the body "-into an undetectable, or, as close as we can get to such at least, body bomb... Hmmm, Body Bomb. I may copyright that."

Mikha'el grinned at his own joke and took a sip from his mug.

@Lord_Liam @RedneckLoves

 

[Sammothy]

(( Just thought I would join as I saw it in the inbox ))
Tsasomin carefully parked his ship alongside the other few. He was hoping to do something to pass some time but as he didn't really know how to read, all he got was the destination. He whistled for his Monkey-Lizard companion to follow him before pressing a button to turn all the lights off. He silently stepped off the ship before pressing another button on his remote control to close the door. Tsasomin was wearing his standard 'Red and Black' jawa outfit. With his sniper slung around his back. He hadn't bothered to take his stun gun, thinking it would only slow him down. Tsasomin quickly patted himself down, checking he had suitable equipment with him. As he did so, his pet clambered onto his shoulder like a parrot. For some reason it really liked that spot rather than anywhere else.

Tsasomin eventually reached the other group, he heard something about a 'Copyright' and was instantly confused. Not knowing what it meant and not knowing what he was talking about. The Jawa whistled for his companion to start walking again as he approached the others. He started to speak in his nasally voice,
"Decided to come along, know if anyone else is coming?" He really didn't enjoy company and the less people the better.

 

[Thoz Bristlebeard]

A disgruntled grunt was the only verbal response Bristlebeard gave to the Death Watch leader. He'd never put bombs inside a dead body before, but it wasn't like such a thing was unheard of in the merc business. This bunch must have some target where a body could get into easier than spies to plant the bombs.

Ignoring the others completely, the stout Bimm set to work. First he had to cut open the creature's shirt and then his chest. Thoz didn't even bother to find an apron or anything to keep the gore off him, just went in all business like. He cut a Y in the Rodian's chest and then had to saw through the rib bones. When that was finally done, he started scooping out organs. He didn't pay much attention to where they were landing, just got them out of his way. Had to make room if they were going to fill the cavity with explosives.

 

[Jatt Bralor]

The chirping of a puny, disposable, flying, annoying droid perched up and constantly repeated a summons. Jatt Bralor, irritated and angry, was being irritated by the annoying message. And getting angry. Grumbling and mumbling about the death and destruction of all droids, the hulking mando brute marched down the hallway of the fortress he called "huge farken place". The room he was going, the room to be in if you were anyone, wasn't too far away from the dank and dark hole where he slept. Only women, grog or blood could drag the titan out of his lair. Or Mando making a dented droid with a busted voice recorder send him a wicked headache.

"I will dent you more, droid." Jatt growled as he entered the room.

When the message repeated once more, Jatt grabbed the droid with a big, meaty, claw and threw the mechanical devil at a wall. The wretched machine devil bounced off the wall, flying into pieces, and left the raging hulk not satisfied at all.

"You!" Jatt pointed his finger at Bristlebeard. "Next time we battle anything together, I will throw you at the enemy. Bring a big axe."

Then the giant turned, crossed his arms and leaned into a corner, glaring at anything and everything. Face punching might be on the menu. Breakfast, lunch and dinner.

 

[Sam Kryze]

Sam was leaning against the wall in the funhouse, sipping on a mojito and just enjoying the utter batshit of his fellow members. The larger Mando, Jatt Bralor, was talking about throwing Thoz like a flying axe. Thoz, meanwhile, was dissecting a Rodian in order to make some kind of body bomb. He just shook his head, but that triggered a thought in the back of his head. He held onto the thought for a moment, while he took a long swig of his Mojito.

Looking over he saw Saviin and just shook his head. Apparently the Mand'alor had a daughter? How runt of a kid he'd grown up knowing had turned into such a brutal killer, and such a psychopath, Prudii had no idea. Furthermore, he had no idea how something so normal looking had ever come from him. Saviin was a miracle to not have turned into an absolute basket case by now. Or perhaps she was? Maybe she was just that good at hiding it.

"Prud'ika" Sam said, tilting a head at Saviin. The word, in Mando'a, would mean "little Prudii", and would probably elicit him the finger from Saviin - considering her daddy issues. "Are you busy? Or perhaps we could take a walk?"

 

[Jason Vaiken]

Like he didn't expect this, without further ado Saviin flipped him off with a smile as she walked over, "What do you need pops, I got time if you need me."

Things have been getting better between them, after all, there's no point holding a grudge. The dinosaur is probably going to kick the bucket soon and hopefully she'll get all his money. Or perhaps it's because maybe she does actually love him, who knows?

But, let's just say she really doesn't expect much from the old man.

 

[Sam Kryze]

Sam gave a dramatic rolling of his eyes when Saviin flipped him off. Motioning down the hall as he pushed off of the wall, the older man began walking away from the group. Sam hoped she didn't have some poor idea of what he wanted. At 28 years older than the young girl, Sam was not interested in some kind of illicit relationship with the young girl. That was a quick way to get Prudii to give him the pink slip, at best case scenario. At worst, he might get the knife.

"I've got an idea, and I could use some help getting it all worked out."

He walked down the hall, assuming she would follow, and then ducked to the left - opening up a door and stepping inside. Clicking a light on he found himself in the Fortress's morgue.

 

[Jason Vaiken]

She chuckles at the eyeroll and then follows him, "So, why are we in the morgue and what's the idea boss?"

She can't help but be curious at this, why do they need a body, especially one in the morgue, I mean if they wanted a body, why not get a warm one?

 

[Sam Kryze]

Sam ignored her comment for now, choosing instead to explore the walls of the morgue, his eyes scanning. Most of the shelves around him were just ordinary, non-refrigerated units. They would hold the bodies of men and women who had fallen in recent Death Watch operations around the galaxy, or those killed by Death Watch whom the organization found that they needed to keep for one reason or another - be it fear of espionage or otherwise.

Finally he found the deep-freeze uni, and opened it up. The wave of absolutely freezing temperatures, and the slight smell that greeted him, was unpleasant and Sam wrinkled his nose. Glad that he had worn his armor, he pulled his helmet on to filter out the hint of the smell, and grabbed the table - pulling it out. His gloves protected him from what would have been immediate tissue damage at touching the cold metal. Sam lifted the body bag off of the tray and carried it to an operating table. Laying the bag down he unzipped it and grimaced at the disfigured, burned off face.

"Meet the poor Jedi that Jemma axed on Tatooine during the battle."

Sam shook his head at the amount of damage that Jemma had unleashed upon the man, and then unzipped the rest of the bag. "Saviin, get me a knife and a saw."

 

[Jason Vaiken]

Saviin grimaced a bit as the smell and temperature hit her and she walked to the autopsy area and grabbed a surgical knife and saw and hands them off to Sam.

"Step-mom clearly did a number on the Jedi, I hope that pops doesn't piss her off."

This is certainly not fun she thought as she tries to ignore the crappy smell.

 

[Sam Kryze]

Sam took the tools that Saviin handed him and grimaced. When he had agreed to serve in Prudii's regime he hadn't expected this. He was a trained soldier, a professional, and a rational being. Why was he now cutting up a corpse? He already knew the answer to that, for the cause. Sam was a good soldier, and a man that knew how to follow orders, even when those orders seemed so horrible. With that, he fired up the electric saw.

~~~

Sam finished, after several minutes of work, and slid the body back into its space in the deep freezer. He set the tools down on a table, and began to use a nearby damp cloth to wipe off his armor. Shivering internally, Sam hoped to Ha'rangir that he would never have to do something like that again. He set off towards the door to the morgue, and motioned for Saviin to follow him. Opening the door long enough for them exit, he shut it back and locked the dark deeds back into the morgue. Sam had bisected the artificial eye that the man had possessed, and had loaded it with explosives, primed to a datapad. He'd bisected both of the man's artificial legs too, loading them down with explosive as well, and also nestled some explosives within the man's chest cavity. The explosives were high yield, and when detonated would incinerate everything within 10 meters of them. Together, though, the explosives may even prove more lethal, as the combined explosives could likely exceed the 10 meter range. All the explosives and detonators that Sam had nestled with the former Jedi had been specifically chosen so that they were resistant to the cold temperatures of the freezer, and wouldn't fail because of it, and all of them had been rigged to blow when signaled from any of the Mand'alor's datapads.

Sam turned back to look at Saviin and gave her a nod, "I'm returning to my quarters. I'll see you later."

 

[Jason Vaiken]

Saviin made it two steps outside the door before running to a wastebin and heaving out her lunch.

With a shaky hand she wiped away the vomit and walked to her quarters and brushed her teeth to get the taste out and then gargled mouth-wash and repeated the cycle a few times.

Well, I hope it's worth it. I rather enjoyed that lunch...

 

[Loco]

Mik grimaced at the sploosh of guts hitting the floor as Thoz went to work. Quiet unpleasant. The priest decided on the spot that he would make himself unavailable the next time this needed to get done. If this test went well, he was prepared to organize a string of tasks for the Death Watchs minions, which would require a number of these traps to be made and delivered or strategically place. Along with whatever explosive concoction Thoz dreamed up and stuffed inside the Rodian, Mik had worked with some engineers to create a small “spoof box”, that would simply detect cursory scans of the body, and respond to the scanning device saying whatever it was programmed to- “hello, I’m a corpse” or droid, or whatever else Mik wanted. It wouldn’t pass any more strenuous inspection, but nothing was perfect. The point was always to not be searched at all. He had minions for that. Speaking of minions….

“Jatt, when master Bristlebeard finishes his work and gets this box installed, I’ll have some work for you. The first item will be easy- take this Rodian somewhere and blow him up. A test, of sorts. After that, gather some of the men, follow Thoz’s instructions on producing a few dozen versions of this weapon using the… uh, supplies, from some of our recent battles, and start staging equipment. I’ll get you a datapad later with a list of facilities I want you to stock.”

Straightforward instructions, for a rather simple set of plans. Simple was always good- much less to go wrong- and so was being prepared. Sam had already begun taking care take care of another of the gifts, and he would soon round up another agent to continue the work. The Death Watch had a lot to accomplish in its future, and it was very near future at that. Mikha’el took another sip of his tihaar as he watched the weapons master work… Yep, this is disgusting… Mik thought as his vacuum droid bumped repeatedly into his foot trying to clean up the mess spreading across the floor…

 

[Jatt Bralor]

Grimacing at the fact that grunt work had to be done, the long term promise of large explosions kept the large man in check. Shrugging off the wall, Jatt headed for the door after getting bored with all the waiting. And the sound of organs getting stuff jammed in them. "When ya' ready for me, I'll be fightin' somethen. Usual spot." Heading down the fortress into the fight pits, the mountain of the mountain spent another day throwing scrubs around and punishing cocky challengers.