The Battle of Coruscant -- Level 1313: A Burning Hive of Scum and Villany

[Rom]

Level 1313: Burning a Hive of Scum and Villainy

Level 1313; One thousand three hundred and thirteen levels from the planetary core, it was but one of the many districts overrun with crime and corruption in the Underworld of Coruscant. While home to down-on-their-luck sentients as much as any other place like it, 1313 had a specific purpose for many in the criminal element; massive warehouses said to store some of the finest glitterstim, piles of credit chits, and even the personal ships of some of the most notorious members of the criminal sphere. Guarded day and night by a legion of mercenaries, any attempt to attack the warehouse district or break in was swiftly met with a hail of blasterfire.

But not anymore.

With the chaos engulfing the Upperworld, many of the mercenaries had abandoned their posts with their patrons, leaving the warehouses unguarded and forgotten as most of the criminal kingpins fled the dying world. But not forgotten by you. A small band of independents; pirates, spacers, guns for hire have gathered to storm the warehouses, and make off with the prize before the Sith burn the city-world to ash. For the small-time spacer, this is the opportunity to join the big leagues... and for the established criminal, the chance to join the upper echelon of the criminal empire sprawling the galaxy.

But time is against you; for the Empire knows the danger of leaving the underbelly exposed, and plans to stamp out every trace of the Underworld. When they come, they will bring fire and death with them, to crush your aspirations for power and burn your dreams to the ground.

 

[Tajuu the Hutt]

A cloud of compressed air hits everything in the surroundings of the Ootman-class Shuttle as it hovers above the hole on the ground that gave entrance to the Coruscant Underworld. The lowest region of the city-dominated, galactic-capital world of Coruscant, laid with a mixture of ancient and forgotten ruins from the planet's prehistory along with modern-looking, crime-ridden venues and clubs containing different regions and levels ranged from the merely seedy, progressively worsening as one descended, ending in areas of unending darkness populated solely by hypertrophied vermin and troglodytes. The solar sails of the shuttle opened sideways as the ramp to the cargo bay lowered. Ten men of the Nikto species flagging under symbol of the Basidii kajidic on their tabards hooked the grappling hooks on the ends of their aerial ropeslides against the edge of the ramp, descending in a special operations rappel style onto the lifts that gave access to the various sectors and levels in the underworld. The men were poorly equipped armor-wise for the benefit of carrying weight and moving in unfair situations.

As soon as the men set afoot on the top of one of the lifts, they unhooked the rappel lines connected to their utility belts and proceeded their operation by having one of the Basidii kajidic loyalist solely equipped for slicing, melt a vent grid on the surface of the roof of the lift with a cutting torch. The Basidii kajidic loyalists entered the interior of the lift and quickly got to work on the mechanics, accessing the control panel to move the lift as they wished. Each of the soldiers were equipped with a comlink with a default connection to the shuttle, where Tajuu the Hutt could be located, giving orders alongside his trusted circle of advisers. Meanwhile, the Ootman-class Shuttle ascended in the air, disappearing from the vision of others by entering stealth mode whilst the carbo bay gate slowly closed. The hull armor that the ship was composed of was handcrafted by Mandalorian armorsmiths, created in the same way that Mandalorians forged beskar, meaning that the ship can shrug off several direct hits by a turbolaser before sustaining heavy damage.

One of the ten soldiers held his right hand adjacent to the comlink on his respective ear, entering in contact with the Hutt and his advisers that rested in the ship, “We're inside, we're going to make our way to Level 1313.” The soldiers had finally deciphered how to work the lift and overrode the system using disruptors and power calibrators. Whilst five of the soldiers manually worked the lift, the remaining were attaching baradium explosives in the interior of the lift in cunning places regardless of deactivating the function of calling the lift to the surface. Once the lift had reached Level 1313, the power calibrators were withdrawn from the power cells to prevent the lift from functioning. Although this lift was out of use for other people above the Underworld, there was still another platform remaining and nothing was stopping anyone from entering the hole via jetpacks or small spacecraft.

All of the men exited the lift, taking cover behind metal crates and sleight boxes on the hall that led to the Warehouse District, the Terminal 24, with their EE-3 carbine rifles. All of the men were away from the explosion radius of the lift in case one of the explosives was to be detonated accidentally. Five men shot any hostile creatures or soldiers present in the hall whilst the other five covered them with a rain of blaster bolts. The group proceeded into the Warehouse District, targeting the J22 Club, a criminal front for a credit laundering operation. Five men took cover by the entrance of the club in defensive posts whilst the other five pillaged the establishment for credits by uploading them into an offshore HoloNet account under Tajuu the Hutt's name with credit-swiping devices.

 

[Silver Cutlass]

Oh, what an unruly place the underworld of Coruscant was. Wasn't near as swampy or muggy as Nal Hutta, but was just as seedy. It was unusual for Gorba to be out in the open where one could see him, but this was a special occasion. Though many of the vagrants that still lay out in the streets were still here, the men and women who Gorba regarded as his rivals in the criminal underworld of the galaxy had high-tailed it out of here. Several of his pestulent enemies made themselves at home here on Level 1313, but with the impending threat of a Sith takeover, they had no choice but to leave.

And with them were the mercenary forces they had to guard their storehouses. Though there were several to choose from, one in particular drew Gorba out of the Former Glory. The Crime Kingpin of Coruscant, Jorus 'Shiv' Stallacky, had left in a big hurry, too busy showering himself in credit chits to notice the Sith Fleet rampaging through the Core Worlds. Packing his bags in a hurry, Shiv took only his clothes, his mercenaries, and a measly bulk freighter, which one of his mercs had already warmed up to go. Gorba had done some prying on Shiv's Storehouse for a while now, and with the Shiv gone and his many valuables left behind, the ol' Hutt would be a fool not to take a crack at the place!

Surrounding Gorba as he slithered along the streets of Level 1313 were four of the best mercenaries money could hire. Grodo, an Ithorian Mercenary with some powerful lungs; Wilson, a Human Merc from Corellia who was nicknamed by many people the 'Merc with a Mouth'; Numa, a female Zeltros who made an effort to wear skimy clothing at all times to 'distract' her opponents; and Borchest, an Ugnaught from Bespin who was both a master at slicing and one of the most trigger happy mercenaries one could find. The five of them together were a motley crew, but a damn good one too.

Looking over to an alley way, Gorba saw an old homeless Human along with a scarred, one-eyed Rodian, the both of them gathered around what used to be an Astromech droid, but was now being used as a fire place to keep them warm. Gorba scoffed at the two men, wondering why they were here rather than off-planet, but then he remembered the two were homeless. [Accursed vagrants.] He remarked to himself silently in Huttese. The sooner he got off this planet, the better. The Sith were bearing down on them, and he did not feel like being thrown into an Imperial penetentary.

Looking over to Borchest, walking behind and to the left of Gorba, the Hutt motioned to him and got the pig-faced humanoid's attention. [Yes, mighty Gorba?] He spoke in that dreadful sounding language native to the Ugnaughts, a sound that made Gorba want to rip out his tounge at the moment. [How much farther?] Gorba asked, his tone deep and impatient. The porcine man pulled a datapad off his belt, and took a look at it. [We have a few more city blocks to go.] There he went again with that painful screeching sound.

Out of the corner of his eye, Gorba saw Wilson, in front and to the right of the Hutt, turn and raise an eyebrow at Borchest. He listened in as Wilsom turned to Numa, who was walking behind him. "Umm, what did Pideous just say?" He asked the Zeltron. The pink-skinned beaut raised an eyebrow to the human. "What did you just call him?" Wilson coughed. "Pideous. Its a combination of 'Porky' and 'Hideous'. Pideous." He said with a big grin on his face. Numa rolled her eyes at the man. "Two things. One, you're an idiot Wilson." She paused, causing the Merc with a Mouth to raise his eyebrow again.

"And?" He asked. "Two, stop staring at my breasts if you want those eyes to stay in your head." Numa stated, her tone as flat and cold as ever. Gorba chuckled a bit at Wilson and Numa. How could the man help himself? After all, Numa was the one wearing what could only be described as a 'Combat Bikini'. The big Hutt laughed deeply as the five of them continued along.

 

[Phil]

This place was a festering hell hole, no denying that. Some would probably call it a land of opportunity, no doubt. With news from above eventually reaching his ears, Andre figured now was the time to leave. He was living down in 1313 for nearly a year, to escape from the world above and to ponder on his future. He had abandoned his last name, to hopefully distant himself further from his old lines, in favor for a new one, a name no one down there would know. He left the apartment he had been renting out, wearing his mercenary outfit with his mask concealing his face and the hood up, scoping the area before he went to leave. His pistols and lightsabers were concealed inside his coat, with his sniper rifle and shotgun not so easily concealed on his back, being held by rifle straps over each arm of his.

There was nothing else left for him here, or up on the surface, but he knew it had to be better then staying down here with all the scum piling up. He decided to leave as he walked down a street, hands in his pockets as he tried to turn his focus away from the sounds of violence, desperation and the other horrors that were unfolding. Soon, the Sith would eventually come here and all the madness would boil right out of the hole that 1313 was inside. Andre was so focused on getting away from the apartment he had once called home he almost did not notice the Zeltron arguing with the other human infront of the large Hutt as he took some side steps away from the small group, not wanting to get trampled down by them

 

[Wanderer]

An explosion rocked the area as the front of a building went up in flames. Local vagrants started to run. The fire would attract thugs and lowlifes to come scavenge whatever was worth taking. There was no law here, there was no safety. Everything and everyone was fair game. The Imperium had come to Coruscant. Of course they hadn't made it this far yet, the fire had been started by the local populace. In fact it was surprising it had remained this call for as long as it had. Riots would soon break out, thugs and bounty hunters would have firefights in the streets, and it would be utter chaos as people tried to steal whatever they could and get the hell outta dodge. This explosion had been orchestrated by a man named Kiriki Dankaal, a notorious bounty hunter from the Outer Rim. He had become famous for killing a supposedly unstoppable Mandalorian criminal at the young age of twelve. He didn't live here, not with the money he made. But he liked it.

He enjoyed the underworld, the places like this. The seedy and dark side of civilization, that was his home. He smiled behind his helmet as he stood atop a pile of rubble, the flames at his back silhouetting his figure. Wearing his signature silver and crimson armor with a red cape he stood holding his two Mandalorian heavy pistols. Fun is fun after all, he had not had a good explosion or fight in weeks. But he needed to remember why he was here. He had been hired by a very important client to secure several objectives while the Imperium attacked. This battle provided the perfect opportunity for them and they had hired the best to do it. A rodian holding a dirty blaster walked forward saying something like, "Oh, big bad human. Why don't you give me all your-"

Before Kirik fired a single shot and killed him. He shook his head laughing. "Why do only the fools and the weak try and fight me? Where's a real fight when I need one? Oh well. Place to be, things to steal, people to kill, stuff to blow up."

He was just getting started. There was a group nearby that had to have heard or seen the explosion and him gun down the thug. A Hutt, a human, and a Zeltron. Sounded like the setup to a joke. As fun as it would have been to pick a fight, he pressed a few buttons on his gauntlet to check out his map. He had just killed Drethar and taken the Spice Trade Agreement. His client would now have access to this trade now and make a killing with the middleman dead and now that they held the agreement. Next he needed to make his way to the warehouses and see if the next target was still there in all this chaos.

 

[Tajuu the Hutt]

Tajuu the Exalted's adviser circle was present around him in the Ootman-class shuttle. Tajuu the remained in the large bed designed specially for his corpulent body whilst his fellow councilmen had to remained stood. Tajuu the Hutt had entered in contact with one of his ten minions present in Level 1313 via comlink, the Hutt held his left hand against the left armrest of his power chair whilst his right remained pressed against the communicative device. “Che mi bako da opa. Ateema azalus, chess ko. No chuba da wanga, da wanga! Nudd chaa.” Down in Level 1313, the same loyal Nikto received the message and replied, “I'm guarding a club's door with Djutba and some others. Kraylen and his brothers just finished transferring some credits into your HoloNet account. We're about to target some kingpin's warehouse. The pillaging team found some tabs under his name, this guy seems like he's loaded. Over.”

Whilst five of the Nikto soldiers protected the entrance of the J22 Club, the second Nikto team had been investigating the private rooms of the club, uploading credits into Tajuu's HoloNet bank account and looking for leads to other potential worthy targets. An individual by the name of Romo Romo had an extensive tab under his name with the value of eighty thousand credits on the club's computer database. The first intuition of the team was that this person could potentially be a local crime lord. Thirty thousand credits on strippers and the remaining fifty thousand on drinks, it seemed about right. He probably brought his whole team down to the club for a good time.

The whole team was ready to exit the club, however, with their acute hearing the team soon realized that someone was coming in their way. The Warehouse District was literally a ghost town, everything echoed on the streets. Kraylen, one of the most experienced Nikto soldiers held his left palm to the team, ordering them to stay put whilst having his EE-3 carbine rifle adjacent to his right leg. The remaining soldiers quickly lifted their identical rifles around their shoulder's height, steadily aiming into the exterior of the club from the door where they were located. Kraylen wafted his hand in a backwards motion, the soldiers stepped back into the club, they did not want to risk their lives. Kraylen aimed his rifle at one of the club's ceiling lights, shooting it down with a single bolt. The team did the same to the other lights. They now had the element of stealth in case the club was to be targeted by the bounty hunter. The team's slicer vaulted the club's bar counter whilst the rest of the team took defensive positions behind tables and walls. The slicer withdrew his cutting torch and proceeded to melt a hole in the draining grid on the floor, covered by the height of the counter. The hole looked big enough for the men to crawl around in and the fact that their attire consisted of leathers and 0.5cm thin metal plates made it possible for them to move somewhat freely in small isolated structures. The slicer continued to melt a hole for their covert escape whilst his torch made an infernal scratching noise. It was a waiting game now, hopefully the bounty hunter would not run into the club.

 

[Kaeb]

Smuggler's Wake - Level 1313
One hour before the rain...​

There was a strange beauty contained within the gruesome environment found far down in the deep. It was a place unlike any other, a fact both cherished and neglected by it's many denizens. A haven for the bold, the crippled and the dark. A home for the abandoned. The final resting place of the damned. However, there were others who operated throughout it's many narrow paths, others who stayed no longer than needed, wanderers who utilized the deep jungle for their own needs and desires. It has been said by many, that should one seek something beyond their means, they may find it in the deep. Be it their own end, or the end of another. Those who adhere to that sentiment, probably haven't spent much time at the bottom. The bowels of the world, the guts of the city, the foundations of fortune. Those who find themselves there, usually aren't seeking anything, nor are they looking to be found, for in truth they are lost. In truth, they are forgotten.

The midnight air stank of machine oil and desperation, riddled with the underlying scent of charred leather and puddles of old urine, kindly donated by the many honourable occupants of the revered Smuggler's Wake. A location not well known for it's sense of manners, nor it's levels of sanitation. It's decor was of particular note, it's walls adorned with the work of various 'freelance artists' wandering it's poorly lit streets. The graffiti contained within it's many alleyways were surely a sight to behold, thousands of crude depictions of genitals from a thousand different species, from a thousand other genders. The crude anatomic diagrams littered throughout the bowels of the earth, usually flanked similar fare. Ancient posters from forgotten political campaigns, seemingly nonsensical markings most likely tied to drug trades and hot spots for black market arms deals, stains left behind from all manner of bodily fluids and countless other motifs, every last one of them a mark of the cities history. To look into an alley of the deep, was to look into it's history, each one a window in time. Thoughts like these rarely occurred to the men and women that wandered without cause in the Wake. Few cared for existential thought, never mind waxing poetic about ancient and forgotten histories. Survival was the only culture of the Underworld, but survival was second nature to Whisper. Death was her culture.

Sparks flickered suddenly from exposed wiring as oil and filthy water descended from rooftops over a nearby alley, reflected in deep, piercing sapphire eyes. Whisper licked her pale blue lips with anticipation, wary of her opponents next move. Her hands hovered gracefully above her weapons, ready to pounce at a moment's notice. Having arrived in Smuggler's Wake months ago, the young woman had remained under the radar of various potential enemies in order to operate without any fear of interference. Her work demanded isolation, concentration and above all it required secrecy. This meant sleeping in alleys instead of bunks, and eating boiled rats instead of fruit, luxuries she had grown accustomed to over the course of her career as an accomplished mercenary. The stalking of prey sometimes required that a predator adapt to the prey's environment, immersing ones self in their thought process, in order to terminate that prey or capture it. The stalking had taken months, because of annoyances and obstacles beyond counting, but such was the nature of the deep. Through the torture of a one-eyed Toydarian with particularly noteworthy bowel problems, she was led back to a place she had become all too familiar with, the Wake. A series of slums, drug dens and nightclubs located directly parallel to the Warehouse Districts occupying level 1289 up into level 1347. The warehouses containing the most valuable assets to the criminal underworld, were located deep in the dark of level 1313, a fact few were familiar with and one few acted on for fear of death, but death was the culture which Whisper adhered to, a culture which she would honour before the sun rose over the surface above them.

''Aces high, Kings low.
Fastest hand takes the pot.
Any takers?''

''I'll bite.''​

Her opponent was about to make their next move, the stakes were set and her weapons were ready, a Full House. The target was blank, never revealing any intentions, nor any tells. She admired that, despite her distaste for gambling, she had a taste for people and her target was certainly a unique flavour. A good gambler didn't belong in the Wake, nothing good belonged there. The white eyed Zabrak did not belong, hiding in the city's bowels to avoid charges of sexually harassing a minor, a minor who happened to be the child of a high ranking officer within the Coruscanti police force, one who wanted to avoid the typical channels in order to enact what they had referred to as 'true justice', an unsubtle synonym for revenge, which was for her, a synonym for profit. The molester's blank stare was sliced open by a mischievous smile as he looked Whisper over from head to naval, her legs obscured by their makeshift 'table'. Her raven black hair was cut slightly below the length of her shoulders, framing her long pale neck, which led into her full curvaceous, yet athletic build. Her eyes were framed by thick eyelashes, which flickered above her full lips, painted cobalt blue by her design. Although her skin was pale, she was warmed by nearby garbage fires, revealing her self made clothing. A short blue jacket which hung just above her naval, her chest clad in a ratty white shirt. Beneath their makeshift poker table, her long legs clad in tight, brown military issued slacks would be found, blasters holstered to her rounded thighs, which led down to her black, thin combat boots. The Zabrak's smile changed suddenly, from a simple grin, to a look of perversion. Whisper did not react, she remained focused, placing her hand on the pile of corpses they were using as a makeshift table, she revealed her cards. The two men on the right and left side of the poker pile sighed openly, but the Zabrak did nothing of the sort, his laugh erased their sighs. He kicked one of the corpses as he spoke.

''My my my...
...ain't that a kick?
If only I could...oh wait,
Royal flush.
Toss over the cred's and get lost bitch.''​

His insult was a kind motivation for her next move as she reached for blasters, ready to end life in short order, she had never been a very good poker player, she had never needed to be anything but what she was. A killer in a den of pigs, and a queen among insects. As his death was imminent, a half smirk pierced her lips, before a rupture was suddenly heard far off in the distance. For the first time in years, she had been completely caught off guard. She shot straight up, as did the others, knocking over some of the long dead bodies they'd been leaning on for their impromptu game for transit papers Whisper had put on the table. She needed to make sure she knew her target was truly her target, a fact ensured after careful and subtle interrogation, but the rupture had altered her plans. She didn't like that. Calculation, preparation and assurance were everything. It was in her short lived confusion, that she quickly gathered her thoughts and came out of her sudden reverie. She realized that this had not been a simple power malfunction, nor one of countless explosions that had become the norm in the Underworld as of late, given rumours that a military force was approaching the Core Worlds, paranoia usually led to explosions, at least in Whisper's experience. This was different.

''What was that? Thunder?''

''Not thunder. Rain.''

''..wh-what are you talking about?''

''When rain falls on a hive of insects, how do they react?''

''...they...they grow agitated...scared....angry. They lash out.''

''Someone just rattled the hive.''​

The scared bees seemed to understand her meaning, the rumours were true, and the Alliance's enemies had finally arrived on the doorstep of the underworld. She knew the sound of orbital bombardment all too well, and had even been a victim of it's onslaught on more than one unfortunate occasion. She quickly gathered her wits, and began to advance away from Poker Alley, into the main center of Level 1313, her former opponents appeared to be following her, confused and unsure where they should be heading. They appeared to almost pass out when another thunderous explosion erupted in the distance, but this was one much closer, a faint echo of the power erupting on the surface over a thousand levels above them. As she turned another corner, heading towards the warehouse district she witnessed firsthand the origin of the last sound, what looked like a fellow mercenary framed by fire and plumes of dark smoke. Nearby was a gathering of others, she spied a Zeltron and even a Hutt among the forming crowd, all of them acting far more determined and focused compared to the petrified insects that clung to her. She decided it was in her best interest to approach these wayward wanderers of the deep, perhaps they held intel she could use to her advantage, if not, she already had over a dozen escape plans she was prepared to set in motion. She unholstered her blasters, and approached them cautiously, ready to react at a moment's notice as chaos began to spread like a wildfire all around them. The Underworld had become an all encompassing oblivion. There was a strange beauty to the chaos, she enjoyed it.

 

[Wanderer]

"What do I have to blow up next? Is it a left or is it a right? And what are those mercenaries doing shooting out the lights at J22? Don't they know my visor has thermal imaging?" Kirik shrugged. If he wanted to kill them it wouldn't be much of a fight. But the bounty hunter had other things to do. Two Rodians were coming up behind him, probably friends of the one he had gunned down. He quickly turned, fired off two shots, and went back to looking at his datapad as their bodies hit the ground. "I swear, what's with all the weaklings? Not a set of balls between the lot of them. Right! Next stop, Smuggler's Wake and...well damn, guess I do need to go kill those guys in the J22 Club."

He saw a woman with a small group of people approaching in the distance, the Hutt was long gone. He raised an eyebrow, not that anyone could tell behind his silver helm, and turned to face her as she closed the distance. He was still holding one of his dual custom heavy blasters and drew the other one as well. He really didn't have time to deal with every thug, mercenary, or annoyance down here in 1313. He would see what she wanted then he had to get moving. If she wanted a fight, she get one. If...well, he hadn't thought about anything else. He usually just assumed most people wanted him dead and gunned them down. The again he killed people for talking to him when he didn't want to talk. He had more chaos to sow and things to destroy, two of his favorite things to do. He called to her as she got closer, "What do you want? You got a minute before I get bored. I've still got a lot of people to kill, some stuff to steal, and two-no, three buildings left to blow. Also I gotta go kill those guys hiding out in the J22 Club."

 

[Rom]

The Service Shaft seemed to shudder from the turbolaser batteries that were pounding the surface above them, lights flickering and the lifts falling silent. Slowly descending down the shaft, bristling with weaponry all aimed on the various openings out into each level, was an Imperial transport barge, heralding the Armageddon that was beginning up above. According to various sources within Ubiqtorate and the Retrade, Level 1313 was one of the most corrupt and bloodthirsty of the levels beneath the Upper City of Coruscant. It was here that the drug rings held court, where slavers peddled there wares without fear of reprisal, and where deadly lances of blaster fire carving through crowds was more common than a solid meal. The people who inhabited the level were the wretches of society... but also deadly and possibly willing to fight back against the Imperials... something the Dark Lord was not willing to allow.

Standing on the bridge of the bulky transport and keeping a cool eye on every instrument panel, a human figure stood; an older man, black hair peppered with grey in a a crisp military haircut, wearing a set of centurion armor without the helmet; his orange pauldron decorating him as a Major of the Stormtrooper Corp. A pair of pistols were holstered at his thighs and a blaster rifle with a scope attachment was slung over his back. He appeared for all the world to be nothing more than your average military man nearing his retirement... but Major Vilkas Serenno was not your average man.

His scorched earth policy during the holding action on Brentaal was infamous, having left a trail of cities burning in his wake. He did not believe in giving your enemy any ground to stand on in a fight; remove their ability to eat or run, and they usually die much quicker. It was for this philosophy that he had been sent with a small army of soldiers and supporting Stormtroopers, along with two pairs of AT-STs and a team of swoop bike scouts to clear our the underbelly of Coruscant and prevent it from being a staging area for any guerrilla attacks against the Imperium.

"Ensign Alkhest... how long until we reach 1313?"

"Not long now sir, we've just passed level 1250... we are making excellent time, and the only contact has been a pair of light freighters fleeing to the surface."

"....they were destroyed, I trust?"

"I didn't give the order sir, I didnt see the har... *grrk*"

Major Serenno removed his knife from the young Imperial's throat without comment, waving a dismissive hand towards two of his men to remove the body. The only sound was the light stomping of boots and the dragging of a corpse out of the bridge, followed by the sound of retching in the corner.

"The next time someone believes that there is no harm in letting these alliance dogs escape, please let me know. I'm always happy to deal with traitors... though next time you may find yourself knocked from the edge down into the service shaft to fall until you see the Core, just like Ensign Alkhest. Such a tragic accident. Order the men to prepare their weapons and get the ground vehicles ready for departure, I want to be on the ground and moving through 1313 within the next ten minutes."

 

[Nor'baal]

Private Muular Diopis jolted upright as he heard the order to ready up for combat. Ensign Alkhest had been....removed from his position, meaning that Muular was next up. He was terrified but made his way along the line, ensuring every troop was equipped with standard equipment, as per the orders. He estimated they would be ready in 7 minutes at the max.


As he approached Major Vilkas Serenno he ensured that his AFSAU 5.v4 ‘Legionnaire’ Armor was in perfect form, and his K938 ‘Canine’ Heavy Blaster Pistol was well and truly in it's Holster as per regulations, before he snapped to attention, performing a sharp and perfectly executed Imperial salute saying:

''Private Muular Diopis Sir. I wish to report that, following Ensign Alkhest's poor performance, I have placed the men back on track. All non-storm-troopers will be ready for deployment in seven minutes sir.''

 

[Silver Cutlass]

As the five miss-matched outlaws moved on through the streets of the Underworld, a strange noise rumbled high above them, to Gorba it sounded like a ways off. All four of the mercs turned their heads and ears upward, their attention captured by the rumble. Grodo was the first to speak. [What the kark was that? Thunder?] He asked in Ithorese, the speech pattern very sterophonic with its tunes, but the words were clear to Gorba, one of the few non-Ithorians who understood the complicated language. Gorba grumbled at the noise, his eyes upwards, trying to wrap his head over what it could be.

Numa spoke next, clarifying the inquiries of the noise. "Not thunder. That would be the Imperial Orbital Bombardment." Gorba lowered his head and turned back to Numa, but then he noticed Borchest acting very antsy, with his body turned backwards and his blaster carbine up and ready. [What it is, Borchest? We have a problem?" The little Ugnaught was very jumpy and true to his nature, he had his finger already putting a little bit of pressure on his blaster's trigger, not enough to fire it, but enough to shoot within a split-second's notice.

The little porcine male jabbed his carbine's muzzle towards a back alley, where it seemed a few people were grouped. [We got some shadows, mighty Gorba. And one of 'em has a blaster.] He said, his squelish voice hurting Gorba's ears further. The sooner this job was done, the sooner he wouldn't have to listen to this annoyance any longer. With Borchest's words, all the other three mercs snapped to attention, Grodo readying his Light Repeating Blaster, Wilson drawing his LSG-11 Vulcan Scatter Gun, and Numa raising her dual blaster pistols.

Just as it seemed Borchest was about to fully let loose on the group, Gorba waved his hands, and motioned for his soldiers to wait. [No need for wasting power packs on current non-hostiles.] The gastropod stated, nodding to the group of men and women, curious to see what they wanted, but out of the corner of his eyes Gorba made sure that while they weren't shooting, all four of his mercs had their guns ready and trained, in case the Hutt's statement about non-hostiles proved to be wrong.

 

[Phil]

He was now in the middle of something big. Both his pistols shot into his hands, but he was not aiming them at anyone or anything, but instead rested at his side. Already there were explosions going off, bigger ones then normal as dust fell down upon all from the vibrations around them, weak supports and buildings rattled with signs of neglect. Others were approaching the Hutt's group it seemed, one seemed a female who had a mysterious aura to her, but it was telling Andre that she was more then met the eye. The other looked like a typical run of the mill 1313 resident who thought he was a hot shot and talked too much.

It was not just the gangs and 1313 that was causing the mayhem though, it was also something else. Something was fast approaching the cesspit so many were living in, and Andre didn't need long to realize who it was. While he did try to stay off the radar and out of other's business, he had been keeping up with some events, and he knew that 1313 may or may not soon be a memory and a new site for bigger plans.

Keeping his silence, he turned his attention away from the woman, the hotshot, and the Hutt and his entourage, and focused towards the explosions that were erupting, near club J22 that Hotshot called out. He knew others had to know what was going on above, and desperation and greed were kicking into the others.

 

[Kaeb]

Warehouse District - Level 1313
One hour after the rain...​

No flies gathered over the bodies that littered the streets, the choking towers of black smoke made sure of that. The stench of gutters overflowing with urine and garbage had slowly been replaced with the miasma of death. The pandemic of chaos had spread through the deep like a plague, touching the hearts and minds of all who wandered it's many corridors. The streets were torn asunder by devastation, wrought by it's own people. The war which had brought this freedom, would perhaps not even reach the depths of the world before it ate itself, becoming the Ouroboros of it's own demise. This autosarcophagy had become the norm for any world touched by the onslaught of political subterfuge, it was a sad and essential truth for all not directly involved in such conflicts. For one to partake in such a war, they must first acknowledge the inevitability of their death and the death of their people, but not a soul on the surface cared for the souls below. As they rose to the clear safety of the sky, the others would suffocate in anarchy below. And yet, those who delivered this indulgence of entropy unto the vagrants of the Underworld, would not suffer the possibility that those of the deep would climb upon the corpses of others, to reach the surface of their nightmare in the hopes of escaping it. They would arrive within moments to ensure that the nightmare would be the final resting place of all who crawled desperately below, clinging to hope like lost children.

The heat of the flames licked Whisper's pale face, and yet an icy shiver riddled through her body. Nothing could shake the cold from her flesh. It was difficult for anything to pass through a person such as her unnoticed, a fact too many had become all too familiar with in the past. She was an insulator of thought and feeling, an ice sculpture incapable of melting under pressure. And yet, despite her history of efficiency and endurance, she found herself locked in the cage of Level 1313 with petrified insects, vindictive tyrants, hungry slaves and avaricious souls. There was a reason this level had earned it's title of 'the Hive', as it encompassed a network of agents all directed towards a single cause, their own survival by means of inherently meretricious activity. Some of these souls had inevitably gathered together, either out of fear, curiosity or simple coincidence. Whisper knew from experience, that any person you encountered out in the black, was likely to know something you did not. This knowledge was the fuel that urged her towards a gathering just outside of the Wake, inside the realm of the otherwise deserted Warehouse District, an area that housed seemingly endless structures owned and operated by countless criminal entities from throughout the deep. As a Hutt fit with an entourage and various other men and women of the mercenary ilk gathered, Whisper scanned them with cold stares and determined precision, taking heed of their inventory, and the likelihood that they could make attempts at foolish violence. One man in particular displayed himself so openly and with such reckless abandon, that he may as well have been displayed naked on a pike for all to see his arrogance and transparency. A typically reckless hunter with no concern for stealth or preparation, he spoke only in bullets and bravado. She ignored him with a degree of pleasure. The others were looking above them, towards the origin of the rupture that had taken place only moments ago. Some appeared confused, others perfectly aware, she decided a test of their experience was in order.

''Have you ever witnessed lightning strike sand?''

''...No.''

''The grains are united. Fused together into a new, stronger form.
Destruction is the catalyst for their union.''

''What are you saying?''

''A storm has arrived, whether we would allow it or not.
If we are to survive, those willing should unite.
Either to defeat it, or to endure it.
The lone grains should make for the wind,
perhaps you can still make it to safety.''​

Her pistols were still raised in front of her, her stance unchanged from the moment they had all gathered in the street, urged there by thunder and curiosity. Flakes of ash rolled off of her finely crafted weapons, as rubble and dust clung to her clothing. She knew that in times of war, one was likely to encounter unlikely allies for the assurance of their own survival. Her test would determine a great many things, be it where these souls were heading, what they wanted from the chaos that was engulfing them, and whether or not they were willing to cooperate in order to achieve mutual goals. She knew some of them were killers, others thieves, their histories rolled off of them like smoke. She too had killed, but knew all to well that life would made corpses of everyone, she simply lent a helping hand towards the process. The outcome of this meeting would determine where they all went from there, a future none of them were capable of seeing given the random nature of their circumstances. A testament to which was the fact that her bounty still hid behind her, ironically aware that should he survive, it would be under her guidance, someone clearly more capable than he was when it came to basic survival. She would kill him before the nightmare was over, she would not fail a mission because of a war.

As she dwelt on their circumstances and as she awaited answers from these strangers in the deep, she drifted towards deciding where her own heading should be from there, and in doing so, realized where these men were likely headed. In every single warehouse from level 1289 all the way down into level 1347, there were bounties and prizes ripe for the taking, the contents of each and every warehouse even more valuable than the last. This was information that some who operated in illegal circles were privy to, but only a select few were aware of even more valuable and likely more important information. Every single one of these locations through every single level and area, was likely rigged with countless traps in the event that their owners were incapable of retrieving their own property. This was likely in an attempt to avoid competitors stealing their possessions, or avoiding the reach of the law should they discover their whereabouts, or their plans. She wondered for the most infinitesimal of moments, if these opportunistic strangers were aware of this intelligence, not out of fear for their safety, but out of pure unabated curiosity. Should one of them trigger one of the more sophisticated traps, they might bring down every level from there to the surface, crashing down into the center of the world, exploding in on itself on a biblical scale. Part of her wondered whether not she would like to witness such an event, but then part of her thought that they could also be successful, ensuring that they would probably become the richest souls in all of the stars that littered the black. She admired the prospect of such a tale, before reflecting once again on the likelihood of shear and utter destruction. A half-smile pierced her blue lips, when something else finally occurred to her. She had a plan.

 

[Phil]

The woman spoke, and spoke true she did. No one was going to survive this alone if they intended to grab all they could get and escape while fighting or escaping The Sith. He had no interest in looting or grabbing what he could take, but he did not like the Sith, or what they had planned. There was no saving 1313, not that it could be saved or needed to be saved. One may as well try to put a bandage over a dismembered limb.

"The Sith have already won if they got this far."

He spoke loud enough, his voice coming through his mask as he was facing away from the Woman, the Hotshot and the Hutt's group. It wasn't a cry of despair, it was a fact. He would kill any Sith who got in his way, but there would be nothing to gain from fighting them all to keep them out of 1313. Eventually they would pour into here like an army of ants, destroying and devouring all in their path.

"Whatever your plans are for here, finish them. The Sith will not wait."

Andre spoke, for anyone who was interested in his words. He intended on leaving this place behind, but that was only the blueprints of his plan. His ship would probably not make it far without getting shot down, meaning he would have to try this with others, and no doubt they wouldn't do that from the bottom of their heart. He would have to go and work with one or more of them if he was going to make it out of here alive, as the woman had stated. No one was going to survive as a Lone Wolf and become famous for it.

 

[Wanderer]

Kirik snorted. "Lightning and sand eh? When the grains are all fused together, perhaps they are stronger. But when the rains come...individuals grains can float, while the heavy glass sinks. As for the Sith? I'm not really favorable to one side or the other, but we all know who's going to win here today. I left a few surprises to slow their advance into 1313; some explosives, a few hacked turrets. But it will probably only buy us a few hours at most. Now, I don't trust anyone especially anyone I meet in this cesspit. Don't get me wrong, this is my kind of place but there's not an honest face anywhere. I'm headed for the warehouse district. I have business to take care of, but feel free to tag along."

" I willing to try out the lady's strength in numbers approach. But only if there's something in it for me. After all," said Kirik with a smile behind his silver mask. "No ship is fast enough to get you off this planet and past the blockade. You'd be turned to space junk before you left the atmosphere. I've got a way off world and...I might just be willing to share a few of the life rafts. In return for a favor of course. Help me complete my missions in the warehouse district and I'll make sure you get of this doomed world. Of course, you could always try to go your own way. But while it works for me. I wouldn't recommend it for any of you."

He crossed his arms and leaned against a building. He turned to face them woman who suggested they all work together. "Well if we are going to work together like one big happy family, I assume the lady has a plan?"

 

[Silver Cutlass]

Gorba listened to the woman, the bounty hunter, and the mysterious man as they spoke, taking in their words. The woman was right, the only way to get past the Sith and through their blockade would be strength in numbers. Individually, they could only do so much, but together, there was a chance that they might be able to beat the odds. The Hutt nodded. [You speak wise words. My entourage and I will join this little group, as long as I get my cut of the Warehouses' spoils and get off this planet. If you all play nice, we'll play nice.] He spoke deeply, waving his hands out to his four mercenary guards.

Wilson raised an eyebrow, and lowered his scattergun. "Alright, let me get this straight: We all don't shoot each other, we help everyone get in the warehouses, and we get off-planet together? Where's the fun in that?" The hotshot stated impatiently. Grodo growled and snapped his head over to the Merc with a Mouth. [Quiet, you meathead. I'm fine with this plan.] The Ugnaught and Zeltron both nodded in agreeance, pleasing Gorba. With any luck, growing their numbers would increase their chances to make it off Coruscant with the goods.

Gorba smirked at the others in the group, raising an eyebrow. [If we are to work together, we need a plan. So, do we find the largest warehouse in the area and break in, or do we takeover as much as we can and make off with as much as possible?] He spoke, his deep tone menacing and impatient. Originally, the latter was all Gorba had planned to do, but with their numbers increased, they had the potential to do much more.

 

[Kaeb]

Level 1313
During the Silence...​

The fires were fading in the underworld, residual flames still flickered and burned but the initial chaos had faded. The silence was deafening, but represented an experience known intimately by anyone unfortunate enough to have experienced war among populated areas. It was the shock beyond the storm, when rats and insects scurried away into the framework of a city, hiding behind fear and concrete to escape their approaching tormentors. The shock and awe of the orbital bombardments had shaken them from their homes, their work, their streets. Nothing remained but garbage, rubble and the quiet wind. It smelled of steam, sweat and molasses, nauseating in it's sensation. The thunder rumbled above them once again, reminding the fearful of it's constant presence, it loomed like a dark cloud over a quiet ocean, directly affecting it's elements, it brought chaos to a place already chaotic. The alarming nature of this new thunder however, was that it had become even louder than before. The Sith were descending into the deep with haste, intent on removing the roots embedded in the world. Their tenacity would be devastating, few if any would survive the coming storm. The sheep would lay down for the slaughter, while the wolves ran for their lives. The strangers had spoken in boastful yet hushed tones, wary of the approaching threat and skeptical of their abilities to survive in a furnace set to explode, they had heeded Whisper's warning with understandable alacrity and clarity. She became aware of many things in that moment, but one thing in particular required her immediate attention. Someone was watching them.

''Silence.''​

Every man and beast gave her a look of pure unabated perplexity and alarm, these were not men accustomed to receiving orders, let alone with such brazen bluntness and complacent attitude. She payed no attention to their bruised egos, as she stepped slowly backwards towards an overfilled dumpster that lay behind them, it's stink threatening to overwhelm anyone who approached it, bringing them to the point of incapacity or severe sickness. Whisper had smelled worse. She graced her last few spaces without lifting her feet from the ground, sweeping them quietly against the cracked earth as she pressed herself against rusted metal, leaning in with a curious ear. She heard the scurrying of something much larger than a mouse or a cat, but no less quiet, she hoped her suspicions were untrue, as she slid backwards onto it's precipice, lifting one of it's lids as she did so. There was nothing of note beyond shredded paper and rotten food stuffs, but the sound persisted, causing her to suddenly strike her hand directly into the garbage heap, an act that was met with a shrill cry for help. Whisper had the little girl by the hair, and without warning she yanked her from the dumpster and threw her to the ground beneath it, she landed directly on her bottom, in front of a bunch of mercenaries and a menacing Hutt. Her hollow scream became terrified silence, a silence echoed with stunned faces by the rag tag group with which she had become allied. Whisper's laugh seemed to echo throughout the underworld. Her dark sense of humour lasted for a few awkward minutes, before her mood suddenly changed yet again. As she remembered the words of the arrogant mercenary, who stupidly intended to attack the warehouse district in the hopes of stealing spoils of war from criminal thresholds.

''Any soul foolish enough to enter the warehouse domain possessed of the notion that they will leave it richer than when they entered, will die a sudden and painful death.
Explosives powerful enough to send the surface crashing down upon us will be activated instantly.
Your funerals will hold empty coffins.''

''Without those riches, what hope does any one here have for a future beyond this war?''​

Whisper's warped sense of humour seemed to return for a moment, as her crooked half-smile pierced her blue painted lips once again. Given the amount of time she had spent tracking targets throughout the Underworld during galactic wartime, she had long been aware that every time she touched down on a world under threat, she needed a plan of escape should things turn sour without warning. The escape from the Coruscanti Underworld was the one plan she hoped she would never have to undertake, given the fact that it rested on a fool's hope wrapped in the blanket of old rumours. Long had denizens of the deep spoken of what lay even further below, beyond the casinos, criminal entities and rotting slums, they spoke of the bottom of the world, the end of the deep. That end would be their destination, should she be able to find it. It was her understanding, that fear of the unknown had led many unfortunate souls to move further and further from the deep up towards the surface, fearing the horrors that lay in the shadows. This meant in many respects that these souls had left behind countless possessions, not necessarily as valuable as the rigged warehouses the mercenary had planned on raiding, but possibly more useful to their survival. She had thought that she would descend towards these horrors on her own, but now she had a company of misfits, and potentially a guide. The runaways and thieves that called the deep home were the most valuable sources of information that the underworld had. The girl looked no more older than a toddler, it was the youngest that visitors of the deep had to watch out for, anything that small that survived the deep chaos, was a force to be reckoned with, or at least one to be respected. Whisper turned towards the crowd before her, unsure as to who had spoken, but intent on addressing them nonetheless. She motioned her head towards the child as she spoke.

''Are children not the future after all?
That is the only thing that will ensure our survival.
We must descend further to avoid the thunder.
No one here is likely to guide us there intact....but she...she will ensure that we meet our future.
Your wealth will be your life, I can promise you no more than that.
Those that have fled the end of the deep, will have left their lives behind.
We will find ships and we will escape this world,
or at the very least, it's ashes.''​

She launched herself gracefully from the dumpster to land quietly next to the scared young runaway, hers was a story familiar to the deep and one it had witnessed countless times before her. Was it society that had abandoned this young fair-haired soul? Was it her parents? Or was she, like many that wandered the underworld, simply lost? Whisper might never know her true origins, her forceful antics may have scared her beyond words, but she knew how to handle a young girl, she had been one herself, ableit in very different circumstances. But she had also cared for a young girl not unlike the one that now sat before her, framed by a world her eyes should never of had to witness. The young girl she had cared for was something she had forced herself not to think of until now, she had to remain cold among the pack of wolves she had just now encountered. Everyone fashions walls of glass around their minds, to deflect the advances of others, to separate themselves from all around them. Whisper had fashioned mirrors in her mind, constantly reflecting on both herself and those around her. The mirrors in her mind could reflect the best of herself, and the worst of someone else. What she see saw and what she learned touched everything else in her mind. Her values, her skills, her history and decency were present yet shocked at her associations, appalled by her dreams. There were no forts in the bone arena of her skull for the things she loved. They were exposed, like wounds in her mind. Hiding her wounds so as not to forge scars became paramount to her survival. She would not reveal her wounds now, the wolves might pick up her scent. Instead, she reached out to the little girl, who pulled back for a brief moment, before allowing fingerless gloved hands to caress her filthy face. Whisper's hands were cold, while the girls skin was sickly warm, clammy and rough to the touch, the youngling hadn't showered in weeks, a fact she seemed perfectly content with, as many children her age would be. Whisper found herself forming a full smile beneath eyes filling with tears, but before she could wipe them away, the young girl did it for her, with a ragged brown sleeve, dirtying Whisper's own face.

''I won't tell.''

''Thank you.
Tell me little one, what is your name?''

''Th...Thea.''

''Thea.
That's a pretty name. My name is Whisper
Tell me Thea, did you get here through the Sinders?''

''Y-Yes. It's the only way to be...to be safe.''

''Good girl, you're doing so well.
Now tell me, could you take us there?
We need to go all the way down, where it's safe,
do you understand?''​

The little girl of the streets nodded her understanding, either out of fear of what these strangers might do to her, or out of a desire not to be alone any longer. Whisper could empathize with either possibility where she in her shoes, if Thea had been wearing any shoes. Following the young girls agreement to guide them through the Sinders, secret sanitation piping grids that led deeper and deeper through every level of the planet, utilized by those who knew how to find them, Whisper stood up and looked to her new found associates. They appeared to understand her intentions, but with a degree of understandable hesitation. For these men and women of crime and subterfuge, to trust their lives to the guidance of a child might seem absurd, desperate even. Their was a duality to their concerns however, as they also realized that these were desperate times, that called for ridiculous measures. It wasn't perfect, but it was a plan, which was more than anyone else had in the chaos of the deep. Whisper thought for a brief moment, that the only beings on Coruscant other than her that actually had a plan, were probably the Sith. They had clearly orchestrated their tactics with meticulous detail, given how long it had been since the Core Worlds, let alone Coruscant had suffered an all out attack. The Alliance, if it should ever return, would have a hard time assuring it's people that they could protect them, after losing their last symbol of hope to such a malevolent and vindictive entity such as the Sith. Whisper made no qualms about it, she feared the Sith, anyone who did not, surely hadn't met them face to face.

Whisper looked from her untrustworthy allies to the pale shaking face of young Thea, her amber eyes wide with wariness and fear. Hesitating for a moment, she stepped towards Whisper, before resting her fair haired head against her thigh and placing one arm around her leg. Had Whisper not spent years honing her abilities to control her emotions, given the nature of her work, she would have melted instantly, her icy facade would have been unmade. The little girl missed her mother, that was all. She probably had no idea what was happening above, all she cared for was food, shelter and the whereabouts of whatever parents she may have had before she lost herself to the dark halls of the deep. Whisper wished she could of taken her up in her arms right there and then, run to the nearest lift towards the surface and brave the raging fires, just to shelter this stranger so that she might have a future, but she stopped herself before her thoughts could persist, before she let herself fall down that downward spiral. Her empathy was becoming her weakness, she would have to put it aside to focus on the task at hand. With a reassuring pat on the back, she urged the young girl forward towards the eerily silent streets ahead of them. The mercenaries kept their hands hovered over the various weapons, as did Whisper, but it seemed that they had a silent agreement among them. They would follow this wayward soul into the dark, find a ship capable of getting them out of the black and then beyond the harsh blinding light of the fires that likely raged above them. The murderers, thieves and tyrants came to a trust, an accord based on pure survival, one they likely would never share with anyone in such circumstances ever again. Whisper slipped a deathstick from out of her belt, sparked it off her jacket and took a brief inhale, hovering one hand over the blaster that clung to her right thigh. She nodded nonchalantly towards her fellow mercenaries, before taking the first steps to follow the little girl into the depths of the underworld.

 

[Rom]

Major Vilkas Serenno looked around Level 1313 with disgust, his eyes narrowing at the sight of graffiti, refuse, and bodies lying where they had fallen in the squalor. Taking a deep breath and immediately choking, the Major scowled; even the air here was unclean, stinking of death and garbage and scum. This place wasn't suitable for anyone to live in, and the fact that the "good and just Alliance" allowed it's people to live in such squalor only reinforced his belief that the Imperium was in the right to fight this war... and that his actions towards these people were better than the life they had been living.

"Private, get these men going - I want to see the Flamethrower Soldiers marching at the front with a constant escort! We are not leaving a single building between here and the end of the level unburned... and I swear if even one of you hesitates in gunning down anyone who comes out of those deathtraps, you will be joining them in the Inferno... is that clear?!"

The soldiers all dutifully echoed their agreement and began their last minute preparations before heading out. Moving towards the back of the column, Major Serenno quickly climped up the awkward limps of one of the three AT-STs he had been granted for this mission and set himself atop the walker, knocking on it to let the pilot inside to get them moving. As the Imperials began to move deeper into the city, fires ravaging everything in their wake, Serenno unslung his sniper rifle and laid down atop the roof, his scope easily lining up on the back of a Togrutan child fleeing up the street away from a burning home. The sharp whine of the blaster bolt split the air followed by a sudden keening scream of grief.

"You'll thank me for this someday.... You all will."

 

[Nor'baal]

Muular looked around at his men and saw that some of them where balking with shock at the callous brutality of their Commander. Muular's thin mouth spread into a wry smile. This is what he had signed up for, putting the masses, the rabble beneath the heel of the Sith Legions. He readied his own weapons, and finished strapping on his flamer rack.

''Flame regiment, form line! Support Regiment 1 through 6 to positions!'' he called out in his usual harsh voice. ''Fix masks!'' he cried as the Imperial's put on their flame masks.

Taking the leader's position behind the main line with a small cadre of personal guard's Muular readied himself. He could smell the slight smoke fuming off the started burners of the flamers as he looked down the line. From the leader's position in the rear, he had perfect panoramic vision of the field, combined with the safety of his own person.

''ADVANCE!'' he cried, and as one, the line began the carnage.

In seconds flames licked out from across the flamer line, the support squads taking flanking positions, squads 1-3 on the left, 4-6 on the right. Flames licked into the windows of buildings, causing bewildered and terrified civilians to come staggering out, where they were arrested, bound and thrown to the floor by the flanking support squads. Dozens and Dozens of people ran away from the front flaming line, desperately trying to escape the lick of the fire. The smell of burning flesh, mingling with the hideous and pained screams of the incinerated, it was like music the Muulars ears.

The line continued it's advance, as Muular passed the small group of bound civilians who had been aprehended trying to crawl from the burning buildings. A trooper approached Muular, saluting and said ''Sir, what to do with these ones?''

Muular did not even deign to give an answer, and activated his flamer. He laughed as the fires washed over the bound innocents, the smell of death causing the trooper to look away. Muular never even flinched.

This, was what he had signed up for.

 

[Wanderer]

"Gah!" Kirik said with a scowl behind his helmet. "The warehouses were just going to be a bonus. I've pretty much down what I needed to here; targets dead and information sent to the client. But just because I'm done with the job doesn't mean my time isn't valuable. I mean are we really going to follow some sewer rat into the dank, dark of Coruscant's underbelly? Pftt. If you fools want to follow some brat that would as soon as steal from you as call you daddy. Be my guest. I can always leave on my own. Like I said I got a way offworld."

He shrugged, "So I'll be seeing you."

"What the-?" He suddenly flipped open a flashing communicator. "Son of a whore! Those Imps managed to find the shuttle I, uh, liberated from a few of their officers. Damn, they shouldn't have moved that quickly yet. Are the Jedi and Alliance just rolling out the welcome mat or what? Useless dogs."

He turned back to the group. He threw up his hands. "I suppose I'm in, though I question your brain at going down when we are trying to get the hell of this planet. Let's see if the snot-nosed kid can actually contribute to our escape shall we? But I'll let you know now...I'm not fond of sewers, kids, or people who generally mess up what I have going."