Phasmatis Imperium (Tear, Project Nightmare)- Finished, see end note

[Karl Valten]

Coruscant, most likely the most populous planet in the galaxy, has always had an air of uneasy tension about it. Strange, considering that it is the one symbol of absolute power in the Universe. For countless millennia billions upon billions of sentients have called this place home…..so why there constant anxiety. Perhaps because of the racial differences of thousands of different species, maybe it’s the crowded living, after all, only so many people can live in close proximity before taking out their frustrations on others, even in a planet-wide city with buildings kilometers high.

In the long run, all that matters is keeping them all under control, even the Old Republic before Palpatine kept guarded its heart with an iron fist. Has no one thought of what would happen if the dissention went too far, if citizens grew too rebellious…..if they all rose up as one? The answer is simple: Chaos, death, anarchy. And if Coruscant were to crumble, the rest of the galaxy would follow suit, perhaps not quickly, but in the end, everything would collapse. It has always been the greatest fear of all of those who dwell in the Imperial Palace, that the people could see the strength they possessed.

No army would be able to stop the revolution.

Standing high in the towering building, Karl Valten gazed out over the chaotic cityscape. For once the planet seemed dark. Even trillions of lights couldn’t brighten a twisting sky. Angry storm clouds clashed over head, thunder drowning out the constant noise that normally filtered up from below. Violent lightning bolts illuminated skyscrapers in rapid sequence, turning towering marble sentinels, effigies of long forgotten heroes into angry gods ready to crush every living being. It seemed the weather mirrored the tension of all inhabitants.

Karl silently twirled an ornate dagger, covered with etchings depicting ancient battles, between his fingers. In the dark of the apartment, wrapped in a crimson robe, the Inquisitor waited, contemplating, wondering, how the Empire would keep them at bay. Now that the public had been made aware of the Emperor’s death and the failure at Endor, the already fragile anxiety was escalating. The Chancellor had made a gamble by announcing the disaster publicly, a gamble the wouldn’t pay off. Without a doubt, the Inquisitoriate would have to act before the people finally grew a backbone.

And so Karl waited in the suite of the Grand Inquisitor. Dagger twirling in one hand and a glass of Tear’s own Emerald M’haeli Wine.

A chuckle escaped his lips, low, barely audible and laced with contempt. The kind of laugh that would raise the hair on a mere mortal’s neck, or whatever body part non-humans substituted. A flash of lightning cast jagged spears of light through the panoramic window. For a brief instant Valten’s face was highlighted, pale ghost-like flesh clashed with smoothed jet black hair, piercing dark brown eyes, almost the same color as the pupils, laughed in their own twisted way. Beneath the traditional crimson cape of an Inquisitor, a dull-gray armored battlesuit made the gaunt man look as bulky as a full-grown wookie. A forceblade, a relic from the Jedi hunting days, hung from one side of his waist, a highly illegal disrupter pistol in a holster on his other side.

Taking a sip of the exotic wine, Valten thought back to the Battle of Endor with amusement. The Emperor and Lord Vader, for all the power and intelligence they were credited, had been the biggest fools in existence. They had brought death on themselves by committing an unforgivable crime, underestimating the enemy and doing nothing to stop them sooner. Both had been so sure that their strength was absolute…that nothing could stop them.

Valten had seen it coming long before. The Inquisitoriate should have been sent to stamp out the rebel scum before they could organize, to prevent systems from falling to their side by showing the price of treason. Instead, the fools had waited and waited and of course set a trap that backfired.

Did anyone beside Valten see how close Coruscant was to open rebellion? A scapegoat would have to be found and order up held; and the only people who could do it were the secretive fanatic warriors of the Inquisitoriate.

[Tear]

They were weapons. The skeletons that kept the nasty little secrets every man of true power held in his closet. Men of no conscious, no love, no mercy or forgiveness they were Inquisitors.

Tear stood behind Valten, probably two or three feet away, his arms folded as he stared at the man. Stroking his chin lightly, his thoughts faded to past times of missions, assassinations, battles they had shared in. He trusted the man as much as any Inquisitor could trust another living being, which wasnt much.

The Grand Inquisitors eyes glanced out the window to the storm that was in full swing outside. "Damn atmospheric satellites must be malfuctioning."

It happened once in a while when a maintenance team forgot to program the droids who's job it was to maintain the satellite. The work crews were probably too overcome with sorrow after hearing news of the Emperors death to come into work, least that was probably their excuse. They were more likely part of the mobs that paraded the streets protesting against the Empire. More and more were beginning to gather with each passing day.

"Sorry for keeping you waiting Karl. I was just conducting business. Actually the same business we have to discuss." Tear outstretched a hand, offering him a seat as he took his own.

"The Emperors is dead. Vader is dead. The Battle of Endor was a catastrophe. The Death star is disabled and we took heavy casualties." Tear paused, letting what Karl already knew to sink in before he continued.

"The people are demanding answers." The Inquisitor leaned back swiping a data pad off a nearby desk and placed it on the small coffee table between them. The pad gave a small beep as it landed, and a holographic representation of Grand Moff Lorbar appeared.

Tear smiled devlishly when Karl leaned forward to inspect the hologram. He probably knew what Tear was thinking of before his opened his mouth. . "A few days after my return I was confronted with this...fat idiot. Grand Moff Lorbar, not one of the most powerful men out there but he has his power or more accurately his connections to power."

The Grand Inquisitors body tensed under the fine fabric of his black and white suit. "He knew I would be coming to claim the position of Grand Inquisitor after Vaders death, which I did. Much to the objections of most he was the only one to voice his disapproval." Tear sneared at the memory of this exact fat oaf who had marched up to him and began spitting his 'promises'.

"He let me know that force sensitive fodder like me no longer have a place in the Empire. Especially a place of power and since Vader and Emperor were gone he could finally do something about it." Laughter erupted from Tear's bitter face as he swatted the data pad across the room.

Tear cleared his throat casually as a wave of calmness washed over his features. "I think we found the answer the people of the Empire are looking for," A small smile tugged the corner of Tears lips as they spat out the poisonous words, "We have a traitor."

[Karl Valten]

Valten was silent while Tear spoke, the Grand Inquisitor’s shifty personality didn’t bother him in the slightest. Karl was used to it; he’d served with Tear before as well as other Inquisitors who acted similarly. Over time many Inquisitors slowly lost their grip on sanity, years of repressed emotion and what other people thought of as appalling and cruel, would eventually break the hardest mind. In the Grand Inquisitor’s case, perhaps the dormant personality hidden beneath the calm façade caused the hint of madness. Of course Valten himself skirted on the verge of insanity himself, in his own twisted ways.

He tipped back his glass of wine and downed the rest of the emerald liquid in a single gulp, as if it were nothing more than a shot of Correlian Whiskey. Karl savored the slight tingling as the drink washed down his throat for a moment before lowering the glass to the table.

“Traitor.” The Inquisitor’s lips pulled back into a perverse grin. The man probably only had a few petty crimes on him, possibly dappling into the black-market business as many other Moffs did. But, the Empire needed someone to blame and, after all, the fool did personally insult the Grand Inquisitor of the Empire. No scorned the Inquisitoriate and got away with it. “What exact charges did you want to pin on him? Our dear Chancellor will want answers once this is done.”

The Inquisitoriate frequently altered files of personnel and planted false information to incriminate a threat to the Empire. Or in the case, a body to satisfy the public.

[Tear]

"Betrayel of the Empire, the butching of thousands of loyal Imperial men and women ." A toothy smiled appeared between the Inquisitors pinks lips. Tear clasped his fingers together his eyes glazed over while his mind worked over the scenario.

"They will want proof of course, something to confess his guilt making it so even if he protests the accusations no one will listen." Tear scraped the ridge of his nose with both thumb nails before pausing, his eyes snapped to Valtens. "Just before Vaders death he informed me he had captured a force user on the surface of Endor."


"Later, after the battle an old lamba class shuttle was discovered a few clicks from the shield generators. We now know the failure of the Death stars shield generators allowed the rebel ships to attack the death star's vital and now vulnerable systems." Most intelligence files relating to the battle of Endor had crossed over Tears desk several times he knew the exact reasons why the clearance codes for the shuttle were leaked to the rebels. The Emperor had leaked them in order to ambush the rebels and destroy them once and for all. But the public didnt know that...

Tears cold blue eyes studied Karl for a moment, he knew Valten was the right man for this job. If he succeded he would become Tears strong right arm in the Empire. His face will be known quickly by those with power and respected justly. The Grand Inquisitor smiled grimly at Valten, "You see where im going with this? We create a trace from the rebels straight to that Bantha eating Moff. They where his command codes that sealed the fate of those at Endor.

[Y'roth Helghast]

* * * Far below in the Deep Basement Levels of the Inquisitoriate * * *

The light flickered on and off in the small room, faulty wiring or something else. Chains rattled and shook as a man struggled with all his effort to find some comfort. His arms were hanging above his head and his knees were on the ground. The bare chest could be seen between the flickering of light to have enough scars to surprise someone his skin was still clinging to his body. His mouth was wrapped closed and his eyes were blindfolded; the chain wrapped about his neck as well to keep his head from hanging. Several pins protruded from his back and arms and the puddle of blood on the ground was drying and clinging to his legs.

How does one go from a Military Intelligence Officer of the Imperial Navy to this? Betrayal. Betrayal to one's friends, betrayal to one's Navy, and betrayal to one's Empire. For what? Rebels? How can one man choose which side deserves the best of his skills? And even then, choose the side not of his origins. The man was wishing at this point that he had never made that choice. Never.

The door opened and closed without any other sound. The man's head jerked roughly to the side, trying to follow the noise of any foot steps but none could be detected. His breathing picked up in quick shallow breaths. It was happening again. Like it did before, and before that, and before that. Time was a lost concept in this flickering Hell and regardless of MI training, this officer was disoreintated beyond human limits.

"Prisoner 024378520... Your release papers have finally arrived. You have served your term. Are you prepared to leave?"

The man's shoulders shuddered and his head nodded as much as possible, which was not much.

"Remove his chains. Place him on the conveyor."

The voice seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. The man felt himself being lifted and the chains and binders around his arms being removed. The chain was delicately undone from his neck and he felt cold metal hands lifting his body up as he was placed on his stomach onto a freezing table.

"Inject it."

His head turned sharply at that but he never felt anything. Inject what?

"Remove the pins."

Still blindfolded, the traitor had no idea what was going on as he could not feel anything being removed or injected for that matter. He was soon flipped over onto his back and the cold metal hands began removing the gag and blindfold.

"Do not speak Prisoner 024378520. You may open your eyes now."

The voice was too ominous. The man had to see who could actually speak like that. He felt his eyelids open but it was still all dark.

"Answer when asked a question. What do you see?"

"Nuh-anring."

"Why?"

"Ra rites are off?"

"No, Prisoner 024378520. The lights are not off."

The man's breathing picked back up.

"Your eyes have been removed. You were not aware of this because the narcotics are that efficient. Why can you not speak correctly?"

The man started blubbering and moaning.

"Correct. We removed your tongue as well. Spray him down and send him to the lower levels. Then release him."

"Yes sir."

The man's blubbering slowly came to a stop as the tranquilizer kicked in. Y'roth, in full Nightmare Gear but for his helmet, took one last look as the Inquisitoriate troopers carried the body out on the table. Good men, it took hard stomachs to carry out some of Y'roth's orders and even tighter lips to not face the same fate later.

The man would be sprayed down with a biotox agent and released into the slums of Coruscant. He would die in his sedated sleep due to the overdose of the sedative given to him but his body would carry a viral agent that would kill any that came in contact with the body later. Not to mention the method of torture was done with the exact style of a specific bounty hunter that Project Nightmare had orders to remove. One enemy led to another enemy that led to another.

Y'roth stared into the room, hitting a switch on the wall that made the lights cease to flicker. The flickering had a drastic effect on a broken mind after a long enough time period. It had not mattered much for Prisoner 024378520 due to no eyes but the noise had continued the illusion. A spherical droid entered the room after Y'roth and floated to his side.

"Sir, shall we decontaminize the room now and prep it for the next prisoner? The clean up crew is standing by as you ordered."

IMP-IPN-X7 was Y'roth's personal droid, specializing as his interrogation assistant, smaller than the usual interrogation droid but designed far more efficient. It was directly linked to Y'roth at all times and acted as his avatar, allowing him to be issuing orders in two places at once. A very helpful function for the Squad leader of Project Nightmare, the taboo shadow unit of the Empire.

"Yes. Has Inquisitor Valten returned?"

"Yes Sir, Inquisitor Valten arrived approximately three standard hours ago with the new Grand Inquisitor. They are currently located in the Grand Inquisitor's suite."

Imp also held a sophisticated wireless connection with all Imperial computer systems, allowing the droid to maintain the level of information that Y'roth constantly demanded.

"Very good Imp. Update our completed and pending objectives and notify Inquisitor Valten of it when he is through with the Grand Inquisitor. Also bring the Squad to up to Code Yellow, we need to be prepared to Green when Valten has new orders. I'm expecting some since his return was a bit sudden. Bring up all files on the Grand Inquisitor as well, I have no doubt he will be an honor to follow under but I would not wish to be ignorant of him. Name?"

"Yes Sir, the Grand Inquisitor Tear."

Y'roth knew the name and face only by reputation. In all respects, Y'roth was relieved. The Moffs were far too weak and it was good to know that a man who, from what Y'roth knew, had a proper standing was taking the reign of Grand Inquisitor.

Scanning the room again and taking in a deep breath, inhaling the rank stench of an efficient torture. He closed eyes and smiled. Y'roth was more than sound of mind. He was institutionalized from youth and his views on morals and ethics were strictly of Imperial design. Those morals and ethics revolved around Loyalty, Efficiency, Power, Knowledge, and Deception/Truth, however one chose to look at it. There was little room for anything else to Y'roth. Madness is lack of control and irrational decisions. All of Y'roth's efforts were concentrated with rational purpose with which extreme amounts of self discipline and control were used.

Imp floated away and the clean up crew silently entered the room, beginning the decontamination process. Y'roth turned and quickly left, joining his droid that was waiting outside as they headed to the turbolift. They had nearly 150 stories to acsend before they were out of the lower levels. The Nightmare Complex was near the center of the Inquisitoriate and Y'roth needed to follow his own orders and make sure he was ready to deploy as soon as possible.

[Karl Valten]

Proof, the only thing that will sway the people. Karl scoffed at the thought, proof was unnecessary, it bogged down procedure. The Inquisitors rarely ever used evidence to convict the accused, in fact, trials themselves slowed efficiency. Most people simply disappeared. But in this case, the people have to be reassured of the Empire’s strength.

Valten to the Coruscant skyline, taking in the chaotic vista. A slow smile crept across his lips. He glanced down at the dagger still twirling between pale fingers. Hopefully he'd be able to put the weapon to use soon.

“So, break into the Moff’s estate, sneak past the guards, upload data concerning the rebels into his personal computer, and bring Lorbar in. Quickly and quietly” Valten licked his lips in anticipation, his mind running through the possible scenarios. A short laugh. “Of course there would be witnesses we have to get rid of: Soldiers aiding a traitor, family members for not speaking out…a few bodies of couriers.” Valten turned back with a cold smile. “Finish it off with a public execution. Or do you want some publicity." Gunsblazing wasn't typical Inquisitoriate behavoir, but it would do in a nutshell.

This would be the perfect test run with Project Nightmare, one of the Inquisitor’s side little side-projects, not to mention give him a high authority within the Inquisitoriate. Perhaps now would be a good time to show Tear his work. Working in secret was a bit of a hindrance, one could only skim so many funds before someone in the Treasury Department noticed.

"Do you happen to know when and where our friend will be?"

[Tear]

"Here, actually." Tear grinned to himself because what he was about to say was a little radical and very unorthadox for such an organization as the Inquisitoriate.

"The fat little man will be taking a meeting in the old senate chambers. Most men of power will be there discussing the do's and dont's of what to do when the leader of your faction dies." The grand Inquisitors words became more sarcastic as the sentance went on. Standing, Tear stretched lazily and walked toward his liquer cabinet.

"I want you to take your team in and abduct him from the meeting infront of everyone. Then take him to..." Tear's thoughts trailed off to the most public of places on Coruscant between which he couldnt decide over. "I dont know somewhere popular but where people of power enjoy to walk and talk." The entire action was one of bravado. Tear was making a very large statement to those in the Empire that would dare cross him. It doesnt matter where you are, what time of day it is or how many people are around. If I want you dead...you will be.

Tear turned to face Karl a small tomboy of Do'lierian whiskey was cupped in his left hand. "Then execute him." It was if the words that slipped from Tears lips had been as sweet as the whiskey that was just washed down his palate.

[Karl Valten]

(ooc: Sorry about keeping you guys waiting. So to make up for it, here's a novel. This is split into to posts to keep things organized.)


Far below the upper city levels, the light noise of bare feet hitting cold durasteel echoed softly through the training center. Lieutenant Ylor Jerrard, second-in-command of the elite commando team known only as Project Nightmare, lazily walked his way along the wall of what was simply called the ‘coliseum’. On the other side of the circular pit Master Sergeant Bren’lar Scothis circled the opposite direction.

The coliseum was aptly named; the entire room looked like an ancient gladiatorial arena. A dozen tiers of synthetic marble benches rose a few meters above a sunken pit that was perhaps 20 meters in diameter, giving spectators a clear view of the center from wherever they chose to sit. The arena center itself looked more modern. Three meter tall seamless durasteel walls ringed the entire perimeter. Both the floor and walls were highly polished and free of any marring. The amphitheater could be used for whatever the Inquisitoriate needed. Instructors would hold combat practices here, both martial arts and ranged. Every once in a while tournaments would be held; new technologies would be tested, even gladiatorial fights with captured criminals happened here. When large scale missions were scheduled, the floor could be raised and a panel in the room’s center would retract to allow a holoprojector to be installed; the entire place could be turned into a briefing room.

At the moment only two combatants faced each other in the pit. Overlooking them were about two dozen of Inquisitoriate regulars eager to see the pair of elites in combat, of course they hadn’t been told both Ylor and Bren’lar were Nightmare agents.

Ylor Jerrard, thirty-two years old and a veteran of battles, stood 178 centimeters tall and weighed about 91 kilos. Short sandy brown hair, slightly spiked in the front and mid length side-burns covered a rather unimposing face. In street dress the man would hardly stick out, he looked the part of an average citizen. But in the tight-fitting military tank-top and sparring shorts he wore at the moment showed off his well sculpted muscles, he was far from bulky, but it was easy to see the man worked out often.

At age of 19 Ylor was first introduced to the rigors of war as a field medic in the Imperial Guard during the early stages of rebellion. After being in the thick of fighting during an intense urban battle and taking a vibroknife wound, Ylor took up martial arts and heavy weightlifting so that he could stand on his own in combat. His skills and determination had eventually caught the eye of Inquisitorial Special Forces. Once he had completed several months of rigorous training, Ylor was assigned to a commando squad under the command of a Colonel Tear. The squad had lasted five years before finally breaking up when the CO was promoted to Inquisitor. And know here he was, another squad but the same life, only this time he had partial command as well as three members from his old squad.

“You all know that the Empire has the best equipment available to it, the best weaponry, the best armor, the best gear.” Ylor looked up at the prospects as they listened with rapt attention. “However, what most of the armed forces fail to realize is that reliance on technology will always lead to failure. For example, perhaps the biggest mistake made by the Emperor himself, was the ill fated death star. He counted that his battle station was invulnerable, that even the largest rebel fleet could not bring it down. If any thing went sour a massive fleet of few dozen star destroyers would protect him. Look at him now, there is absolutely nothing left of him, as powerful as he was, the Emperor was a fool.” The Nightmare officer laughed quietly at the gasps of shock coming from his audience. No one in the Inquisitoriate had so bluntly admonished the Emperor openly like that.

Master Sergeant Scothis moved towards the center of the circular arena and the focus switched to him. Ben’lar stood a few centimeters taller than Ylor and his body was much lankier and slightly less muscular and at the age of 27, one of the younger Special Forces agents. His strides had a subtle grace, if it could be called that, to it, as if he were an acrobat or a gymnast of some kind.

“There is always a way to disable any kind of technology be it electronic scramblers, ion weapons, or the force.” Several onlookers hissed at the mention of Jedi. “In the long run all the matters is what you are physically capable of, you can only rely on your own intuition skills. Technology should be used to enhance and compliment your abilities. Do not rely on armor, weapons, implants, or cyber-grafts.”

Bren’lar had been the typical enthusiastic young man wishing to join the army. Brash and in search, of adventure, only out to make a name for himself. Early on only disappointment greeted him. Graduating in the lower end of his class, Bren’lar only barely managed to make it into the army regulars. The only high grades received where in marksmanship and only average marks in hand-to-hand combat. Every chance he had, Bren’lar would practice, slowly getting better each passing year until he was inducted into the Stormtrooper Corp. Making it into the commando squad had been a lucky streak. While enroute to a distant battle aboard a Star Destroyer, he and six other troopers had been allowed to train with Inquisitorial elites. The day had ended in a spar with the seven troopers against three blindfolded commandos. Despite the handicap, the stormies had their rear-ends handed to them on a silver platter. Bren’lar had been chosen to serve with the squad on the sole account that he had survived the longest.

Ylor took his que when Bren’lar stopped talking and slid forward, bringing his right hand in slow semi-circle over his head before coming parallel with his right, which he stretch forward into a ready position. He brought left foot forward, resting it lightly on the ground while he bent his right knee low, ready to spring at a moments notice. Two meters away, Bren’lar got into a similar ready pose.

“We do not have any extra equipment and our implants or deactivated.”

Ylor snapped his right arm back quickly with an open palm into a strike position. Silence filled amphitheater as the two combatants faced off. The spectating troopers leaned forward in anticipation. At an unheard signal, both the commandos burst into motion.

Ylor struck first, leaping forward with a lightning fast right handed strike heading for Bren’lar’s sternum and followed up with an equally fast punch aimed towards his opponent’s kidneys. The sergeant warded of the higher ranking man’s first blow with his fore-arm and spun away from the second. Using the momentum from his evasion maneuver, Bren’lar lashed out with a round-house kick to Ylor’s head. Ylor quickly hopped out of range and instantly crossed his arms in front as a second kick came flying, easily catching Bren’lar’s foot with both arms. Releasing his grip with one arm, Ylor spun towards Bren’lar, slamming an open palm into the sergeant’s chest. For a second there was a cease in motion as Bren’lar stumbled back from the blow. Both fighters locked eyes and once again launched into a flurry of punches and kicks.

During the length of the fight, the fighting styles each used slowly came into light. Ylor’s was the easiest to determine, savage jabs, chops, and kick combined with brutal relentlessness marked Echani martial arts. A skill taught to a Royal Guard, Echani combines some of the most savage hand-to-hand combat techniques with maneuvers designed to drop potential threats to the Emperor to the ground in seconds, focusing on deadliness over finesse. Though usually used in conjunction with a force pike or double-bladed vibrostave, Ylor showed that weapons were unnecessary.


Bren’lar’s fought was less flashy K’tara, a fairly well-balanced style, with slight emphasis on quieter and more efficient attacks, used by the Special Forces. It is less flashy than other martial arts styles, and is primarily functional and efficient. It uses both hands and feet, but since a SpecForce trooper typically carries a weapon, the kicks and leg maneuvers saw the most action.

Both fighters held their own, neither giving in to the other. Ylor blinked through the sweat pouring down his forehead and grinned at Bren’lar as he blocked a quick volley of light jabs. Bren’lar, chest nearly heaving from the effort of holding his secondary leader off glared back. “What’s so funny?” Ylor’s grin just grew wider. “You’re getting better, my friend…” Suddenly, Ylor cut his savage attacks in favor of more calculated maneuvers. Caught off guard by the quick change in fighting styles, Bren’lar hesitated for the barest of instants, giving Ylor enough time to slip through his defense.

“Oof…” Bren’lar’s breath was knocked out of him from an iron hard punch to the solar plexus, the young Nightmare soldier didn’t even have enough time to take a breath before an uppercut snapped back and finally being knocked back by a solid kick to the chest. Bren’lar flopped backwards groaning in pain. Ylor, still grinning, crossed his arms over his chest. “…but still not good enough.” Around the amphitheater came an enthusiastic applause from the spectators.

The Lieutenant looked up. “Any questions.” Before any of the troopers could raise a hand, another loud groan came from Bren’lar as he struggled into a sitting position “Ow. Frell….I got two. Where the frak does a medic learn Teräs Käsi and why isn’t there anything about that on your record.”

Ylor laughed as he pulled Bren’lar to his feet. “I knew you’d take a look at my record so I purposely left that piece of information off. That’s lesson two for the day: expect anything.”

Hissssssssss A section of the pit wall slid open and out stepped a dark haired woman with lightly tanned skin. Every piece of clothing was black, a pair of dress uniform shoes, tight-fitting pants that halted above the ankle, a looser fitting tank-top. She stopped just inside, resting a hand on her hip and ignoring the stares of the others in the room.

“Ylor, this is supposed to be a Teaching session, not an excuse to beat the tar of Bren’lar. You could have taken him down in ten seconds easy” Ylor smiled back innocently. “I have no idea what you’re talking about Naomi.” Bren’lar limped his way to the side and leaned against a wall. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

Naomi walked past the Nightmare marksman, gently running a finger beneath his chin with a sweet smile on her face. “Just speaking the truth, love” Scothis didn’t react to her at all, it was just the way Lieutenant Naomi Land acted towards everyone.

“And you, just because Tear isn’t using you as a punching bag anymore doesn’t mean you can abuse the kid the same you were. Look up there.” Naomi gestured towards the confused troopers. “They didn’t learn a frelling thing from that ego show.”

Ylor just grinned back. “Well if you’re such a great instructor, why don’t you show us how it’s done?” Naomi just huffed at him and strode to the center of the room. “Fine then, let’s get this done with already.”

Once again two fighters from Nightmare positioned themselves in the pit. Everyone present tensed as Ylor lunged forward. Naomi sung to the side at the last moment, grabbed his shoulders from behind and--with a cry--shot her knee straight up into the rear of his crotch.

WHUMP! "NGGH!!" Ylor immediately fell to the mat, down for the count. Everyone's jaws dropped. Naomi brushed herself off, cleared her throat, and addressed the shocked-silent crowd, "What Lieutenant Jerrard flippantly forgets to tell you is that the most important thing in combating someone hand-to-hand is to search for your opponent's weakness. The first step in doing so is knowing the definition of whom you’re fighting. In small words, I'd describe Ylor as a pumped up, over-macho male who has nothing better to do but drag us out here to sweat. Out of all that, the only thing that counts is that he's male, and the best place to strike him would be where his ego is....figuratively speaking. Any questions?"

Utter reverence.

"Good. That will be all, students," Naomi flipped a strand of hair out from over her forehead, and walked toward the door. “Oh, Ylor, Bren’lar, Inquisitor Valten is back. At the moment he’s up in the suite with the new Grand Inquisitor.” Naomi turned back to Ylor, blowing a kiss in his direction. “Bren’lar get the poor man some ice, he seems to have hurt himself” And without further adieu, she exited the door.

As soon as the door his shut again, everyone, except the unfortunate Ylor, burst out laugh. Bren’lar almost fell over due to his chortling. “Damn, that woman knows how to make an exit.” Ylor rolled over, grimacing, and stared at the ceiling. “That’s why she handles the explosives….now help me out of here. I don’t think I’ll be able to walk for a week.”

Bren’lar put one of Ylor’s arms of his shoulder and hauled him to his feet. Bren’lar, still chuckling, started laughing again when Jerrard winced at the movement. “I’d call the medic, but he seems to be indisposed at the moment.” Ylor glared ion beams at Scothis. “Very funny, you’re cleaning gear for a week and you’re going to work mule duty on the next op.” The sergeant kept on smiling, never once complaining about the extra work as he carried Ylor through the door.

In the seats one soldier turned to his friend, complete bewilderment on his face. “I think the brass is pulling a joke, there’s no way they could have been special ops.”

“I know, I don’t think they're even Inquisitoriate. They’re totally fraked…that woman was pretty damn hot though.”

[Karl Valten]

Valten liked the idea of doing this mission publicly, but this was pretty bold, even for the Inquisitoriate. He thought to the team he had assembled over the last couple of months. They would get the job done no problem; however, there was still the concern of secrecy. The individual’s identities wouldn’t be revealed, but there would be no turning back to scratch the program once this was done.

“We’ll get it done, but there is a matter to take care of first. I believe you should take a look at the team I’ve assembled; the whole affair is a bit...” Valten searched for the right word. “..unorthodox”

Karl stood up and made his way to the door. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll introduce you to Project Nightmare. He he, you might recognize some of the members.”

[Victor Crestmere]

Victor had spent most of his morning training and talking with Sergeant-Major Horus. Talking mostly about the specifics of their jobs, like they usually did, and whose was better, it was a conversation that always ended the same.

"Well, beat this. I can hack into a companies mainframe and steal whatever information about them that I want. I have bank codes, company projects, and depending on what company I happen to hack myself into, weapons systems." Victor laughed. The idea of all that work and for what? A little bit of information? Resting his elbow on his leg and pointing his finger towards Horus, Victor said, "Well my friend, you may be able to do all that with a computer, but I can do all that in person. I can get myself into any place I want and be who ever I want to be. The senate, a high ranking Imperial Officer, makes no difference to me. It's easy flying. Besides," He paused for a moment to take a breath, " where's the rush of hacking a computer? At least I can be captured, possibly tortured, and killed. You on the other hand, you're safe 100 kilos away, in some whore ridden bar behind your computer."

Victor was of course, just joking, but he couldn't help but laugh at Horus. "Exactly Crestmere! At the end of the day, I'm still alive." Victor just laughed again. "Say what you want Horus, you know I'm right. Did I ever tell you about the time I had to be you for a day?" Victor stood up and started making his way towards the door. Horus, with a confused look on his face turned and said, "Wait, what!?" Victor laughed once again, "Yeah, and the worst part about it was having to pretend to suck in bed." Victor burst into laughter as Horus started cursing at him. "You son of a bantha! I swear..." Victor just shook his head as Horus continued. And the last thing Victor happened to hear as he made his out the door and down the hall was Horus saying, "…I happen to be quite good in bed!” Victor just shook his head and smiled as he walked down the hall. He had never posed as Horus nor would he want to, but if a mission called for it one day, he would have to.

For the most part, Victor was a very sociable person. Always talking, regardless of the topic, Victor found it to be necessary. Not only did it help him by keeping him in check, it was his job. To get into the minds of others, to figure out their thought processes, to learn their ways, in short, to become them. It was a job that Victor loved to do and it paid well, but it had its price. Over the many years of assuming identities, Victor had developed a, sometimes serious, case of schizophrenia. Finding it difficult let go of the role he had assumed. Which is why Victor talks as much as he does. It helped him reconnect and get back to normal.

Finally stepping back into his own room, Victor made his way to the shower. A training session of hand-to-hand combat and defensive positions, while not the most exhausting or strenuous workout, would give you a little sweat. Turning on the water and resting his head against the wall, Victor took a moment to relax. He hadn’t got the best night of sleep last night, so a little relaxation wouldn’t hurt. After about 10 minutes, Victor stepped out of the shower. Wrapping a towel around his waist and walking back into his room while running his hand through what little hair he had, Victor noticed the alert to Code Yellow. Wondering what was up, Victor, without hesitation, began pulling out his Nightmare equipment. The squad was to be ready, for whatever reason, to mobilize and move out at any given time and Victor was going to be sure he was ready when that call came through.

[Y'roth Helghast]

Y'roth slid the helmet on, his neural implant linking with the computer as he ran a systems check. Standing in the middle of his small room, he tested the flexibility of the CMC, insuring that everything was performing above and beyond its general expectations. Of course pushing the suit to its limits in training and drills generally meant far more maintenance than usual.

Each member of Project Nightmare had their own specifications modified into their gear. Y'roth's modifications involved wrist blades similar to those in Mandalorian battle gear, another link in his neural implant system allowing him to maintain constant communication with IMP, and his own interrogation tools which were kept in a compartment located on his back. Making sure that all of these were maintained took only a few more moments before IMP came rushing into the room.

"Sir! Sir! Master Helghast, Sir! The Grand Inquisitor and Inquisitor Valten have just entered the code for accessing this floor in turbolift 5723a, Sir. ETA is three minutes, Sir, the squad is currently equipping themselves in their barracks below."

"Notify them that we are having visitors. The good kind."

"Yes Sir, Master Helghast, Sir."

Thankfully, IMP finished speaking and the black sphere sped out of the room. Y'roth pulled the helmet off and then moved to the console across the room from the door. Accessing the files retrieved by IMP, he began to scan over the Grand Inquisitor's files. Impressive to say the least. Y'roth agreed again with what he had thought earlier, Tear would prove a very welcome commander.

A floor below, the intercom blared to life.

"Attention, Project Nightmare, Grand Inquisitor Tear and Inquisitor Valten are in route to the Nightmare Complex. Fall in the briefing room ASAP."

[Victor Crestmere]

Victor had just finished gearing up as the intercom blared it's message.

"Attention, Project Nightmare, Grand Inquisitor Tear and Inquisitor Valten are in route to the Nightmare Complex. Fall in the briefing room ASAP."

Picking up his C-14, holstering his blaster pistol, and securing the vibrodaggers he had on the sides of his legs, Victor put on his helmet as he started making his way to the briefing room.

Victor hadn’t heard much, if anything, about the new Grand Inquisitor. All he knew was what he looked like and his name, Tear. If that wasn’t clear by the announcement that was just made. But Victor was relieved by the fact that it wasn’t another Moff. They lacked the quality needed to lead as Grand Inquisitor and were far to weak, as everyone else would say. Walking up to the briefing room, as he finally finished navigating his way there, Victor entered. Looking around the room, he noticed Scothis seating in his usual chair and nodded as him. “Morning Scothis.“ Even if it wasn’t morning, that was still how Victor would great people. It was an old habit that he still hadn’t shaken yet. Cracking his neck as he made his way over to his usual seat, Victor sat down and waited on the arrival of the others.

[Tear]

Tears shoes padded lightly over the polished durasteel floor that sprawled out over corridor after corridor. Polished black Da'lorian hide leather shoes they were almost impossible to come by in this section of the galaxy and probably Illegal being it came from a sentient species. Tear undid the cuff buttons on his shirt as he walked beside Karl.

"So any rhyme or reason you chose these people to compose your team?" Tear asked simply as he concentrated on rolling his sleeves up to his elbows while following Karl into an Elevator. The Elevator paused after Karl had typed an access code, a soft hum filled the room followed by a neon blue light that washed over the two occupants. Another pause, then swiftly and almost unnoticed the lift began to move.

[Karl Valten]

Karl stared at the hypnotic blue light, allowing himself to sink into a deeper state of thought. Why had he chosen these people for the job? He could have found the skills that all of them had elsewhere. Hell, most ranking officers would think any other choice would have been better in the case of many of the squad.

Y’roth Helghast, an institutionalized near drone and perfect cookie cutter soldier, probably was the one choice that the brass would have approved of. The man was cold, calculating, focused purely on his job and his Empire. He his entire ‘manufactured’ soul into missions. Try to hold a conversation with him though and it’d be like talking to a droid with freshly wiped memory.

Lang, Jerrard, and Scothis, the three former special forces and once squadmates of the Grand Inquisitor himself. Experienced and extremely effective, they were not the type of people the military wanted to deal with. They had too much…..personality. Most officers couldn’t stand their almost constant laid-back, casual attitude and lip.

Victor Crestmere the schizophrenic Alderaanian would definitely be considered a liability, however loyal the man seemed. No military background what-so-ever and on his own since the age of fifteen, he had been plucked from streets a group of con-artists where he had picked up his deception skills. ImpSec had picked him up while impersonating on of the senators and had been impressed enough to offer him a job in lieu of prison time. The man’s so social that he could easily hold a conversation with himself…literally, considering the different personas he created.

Nathaniel Horus, just the opposite of Crestmere, anti-social an introvert and loner, his job fits his personality. Horus, probably one of the best slicers and infiltration artists, usually deploys ahead of the squad to prepare the way for the rest or stays behind to provide tech. support. While all the other members of the squad rely on each other, he relies on himself.

Valten smiled a rare respectful smile, besides their personality quirks there was one main thing that set these individuals apart from others.

“They know when to disobey an order.”

With that, the Inquisitor exited the turbolift, heading in the direction of the barracks.

[Tear]

Tear followed almost blindly, vaguely aware of his surroundings as the both of them made their way down a few corridors most of which looked exactly the same.

The Grand Inquisitor merely nodded in response to Karl's explanations. They knew when to disobey orders. The thought brough a defiant smirk to his lips. Tear had never directly disobeyed an order from either the Emperor or Vader but he had acted without orders. Taking initiative he called it, commiting horrific acts in without cause is what the more enlightened would dub it.

Tear had destroyed entire cities, burned them to the ground sparing no one. Not even the mothers who screamed to spare the dying children they held in their arms. Not the Jedi, who were only trying to live a life

For a moment Tear walked the hallways along Valten wondering if his team could perform the same tasks, no, they werent tasks. He wondered if they could live with the sins they will have to commit. The sins he would order them to commit.

"Karl i've been walking through this complex for far too long. Where are they already?" Tear smiled playfully trying to hide his recent thoughts.

[Karl Valten]

Karl didn’t answer the Grand Inquisitor as the pair turned and trudged down a darkened hallway. Project Nightmare was a secret even to the vast majority of the Inquisitoriate, only a select few knew of them. It was prudent to keep them hidden and for this reason, the Nightmare Complex was located deep within the Inquisitoriate headquarters. If there were any windows along the seamless walls, only the twisted wreckage of the undercity would be seen.

Valten didn’t need to be an empath to sense what Tear was thinking. He smiled, stopping to punch in a final access code leading to the barracks, the Nightmare soldiers would stand up to any task given to them.

He stepped aside to let Tear pass. “Let me introduce you to Project Nightmare.” Standing in the center of the room, armed to the teeth and in full CMC-400 Power Suits stood the six members of the squad. Phantom gray face-plates coupled with glowing eyepieces gave each the appearance of a wraith ready to strike from the shadows. Ghost gray battle plate protected every surface of their bodies as well as shielding the delicate two inner layers the armor.

Except for their weapon choices, each one of them looked identical. Valten could easily tell them apart.

“Major Helghast.” Valten pointed to soldier in the center, the one holding a standard C-14 Gauss Rifle, a deadly projectile weapon similar to a railgun.

“Sergeant-Major Crestmere.” The next in line also held a Gauss Rifle and at his feet lay the so-called ‘Pandora’s Box’, the set of tools that Crestmere could use to turn himself into almost anyone.

“Sergeant-Major Horus” Horus carried a rather bulky three-barreled weapon, the ‘Jackhammer’ assault shotgun.

Valten grinned leaving purposely leaving the next three for last.

“Lieutenant Jerrard, Lieutenant Lang, and Sergeant-Major Scothis” All three carrier a C-14, but each had a different module. Jerrard’s weapon contained a riot-suppression mod, Lang’s had a grenade/rocket launcher mod, and Scothis’s carried a sniper mod.

[Tear]

Tear nodded slowly noting each of their names which was the only clear difference in their appearance aside from their choice in weaponry.

He was surprised at the mention of Naomi, Bren'lar and Ylor. It had been a long time since he last saw them. Tear had half expected to see their names on a casualty report or even a court martial. If those three...weapons were serving in this unit the rest of them must be just as sharp and deadly.

"Haha Naomi haven't you learned better then to hang around with those knuckle heads?" Tear chuckled to himself as he strode over to his former squad mates. Reaching out he clunked both Ylor and Bren'lar's helmets together. "How goes it?"

A chirp from a communication relay sounding off meant one of them was about to respond but didn't finish...for a very good reason. Tear's fist had struck out slamming into Ylors armored breastplate sending him skidding back over the ground.

A normal humans reaction time is roughly around three hundred milliseconds. These troopers may be human but they were far above normal. Ylor hadn't hit the ground before Naomi and Bren'lar erupted into motion. Force infused strength screamed through Tear's muscles as his body twisted sending a kick crushing into Naomi's mid section. She lifted straight into the air before falling flat onto her face. A second strike was sent in Bren'lar's direction but flew through empty air.

Click. Bren'lar had ducked and drawn his weapon, which was aimed conviently at Tears..."goods". "Gotcha."

Tear a surprised smile caught his features. They were fast, abnormally so even for trained special forces. The suit must enhance their nervous system response.

"You've gotten faster."

"We all have." Groan Ylor as he picked himself up off the ground trying to wipe away the noticeable dent in his chest armor. "Ah frell. Your paying for the repairs."

"Ah huh..." Tear knelt over lending a hand to Naomi's armored body, she didn't move for a moment before weakly rolling over.

"You'd hit a pregnant woman?" Her voice sobbed through the electrical microphone.

"What? Your...Oh Naomi im so so-hrk!" An armored boot kicked Tear's feet from under him sending him crumbling to the ground next to Naomi. "That was dirty..." Tear winced painfully as he stared up at the ceiling half elipsed by Bren'lar's grinning face.

His now sore body rose from the ground guided by curious blue eyes that scanned over the three unknown to him. They looked the same. "Take your helmets off and tell me something worthy of my memory."

[Karl Valten]

Karl ignored the short-lived duel, in truth, he had expected as much. Dealing with the “terrible trio”, as Naomi, Ylor, and Bren’lar were know to several Army officers to have been graced by their presence, for the past five months had gotten him used to such outbursts. The Inquisitor was much more interested in the reactions of the others.

They had been only here for three months, or less in the case of Horus. In that time Karl had only begun to scratch the surface of their minds.

He knew that Helghast would be wearing a disgusted frown at such antics, his psycodoctrinated personality refused to try to find anything save for selfless service to the Empire as acceptable behavior.

Horus would look on in apprehension; the man had been in the company of similar camaraderie several times in the past, all ending quite violently. Most of the friends he had ever made were now dead, corpses on distant battlefields. Hours had turned into somewhat of an introvert; silently dread the possibility of losing even more.

Crestmere was the biggest enigma of all the people he had worked with, no other person had so many dormant personalities, hell, Karl didn’t even know which persona actually was Victor Crestmere. For once, the Inquisitor had no tangible grasp on whom he was dealing with…and for once, he accepted being in the dark about the mentality of someone so controversial.

But previous knowledge could only yield only speculation, and the face-plates hid the most direct route into a person’s mind, the eyes. Valten prided himself on being able to read the inner workings of someone’s mind in an almost Jedi-like fashion by looking someone in the eye, each time he did so, he gleaned something new.

Horus was the first to remove his helm, exposing a gaunt face, no more than thirty or so years old, but the rigors of war had hardened his features casting the image of a veteran years past his age.

“Nathaniel Horus, infiltration specialist, formerly part of the 105th ODST. It is a pleasure to meet you, sir.”

“Helljumpers”, the infamous 105th Orbital Drop Shock Troopers Corp, an elite group of assault troops, known for brutality, even amongst their own. Named after their creed: “Feet first into Hell”, these insanely courageous soldiers led planetary assaults in which traditional landing craft weren’t an option. They would freefall from high orbit in a husk of a compartment, feet first into the blazing inferno created by the friction of their rickety craft and a planet’s atmosphere.

The former shock trooper stepped forward his, hand extended, and showing all the enthusiasm of meeting one of the most powerful men of the Imperium.

Karl, however, saw the shadow in the man’s green eyes, a shadow of doubt and distrust. The faintest twitch of the Inquisitor’s lips, betrayed the frown wanting to creep out. He had seen the look before, but only among the higher officer’s, as if Horus held lingering contempt for those who had sent him and his comrades on their suicide missions.

Valten filed the thought away for later analysis, more important topics where at hand.


(OOC: I encourage those who have yet to tie up to post, but for all intents and purposes, this thread is finished, as several people involved in this thread have been out of contact for well over a month. For the storyline’s sake, I want to move on. I realize this may not be fair people who have been tied up IRL, but there are other people waiting on us to wrap things up.


The actual assassination of the Moff will take place in a separate thread. Anyone whishing to be involved, please send my a PM or IM on Yahoo Messenger (Hockeyman506) /OOC)

[Y'roth Helghast]

Comrades... The Nightmare's cohesion was inseperable, but discipline alone could do this. Comradery only led to weakness in the most critical moments. A soldier is merely a part, a unit, an extension of the greater whole, the Empire. Jerrard, Lang, and Scothis had developed this unity before now but Helghast had no reserve for such... humanities.

Tear looked to Helghast and Y'roth promptly removed his helmet. His black hair was slicked back, a few strands loose before his face. His eyes were hollow and focused, bearing the intensity of a mission that never ended. His face was chiseled and his features were solid, unable to express emotions to even a decimal of what Crestmere could accomplish. In every facet of demand, Helghast was the perfect soldier, institutionalized for the most extreme of the Empire's needs.

When he spoke, he stood at rigid attention, eyes seeming to gaze a thousand clicks away.

"Major Y'roth Helghast, Squad Leader of Project Nightmare and interrogation specialist, the First of the Emperor's Children."

He saluted with a fist to his chest and an inclination to his head.

Emperor's Children was a top secret program, using a darker and more rigorous version of the program used to train the special forces during the Clone Wars. Children were institutionalized from a young age, participating in actual solo and squad missions from the age of 16 and up. Y'roth had not been the actual first, but had earned his rank in the final stage of the program, the Emperor's Gauntlet. It was designed to cull the weak, only one could lead the Emperor's Children.

And then Project Nightmare had been devised. Higher powers, namely Inquisitor Karl Valten, decided that the First would instead be the leader of Project Nightmare. Valten had not actually seen Helghast at work but everything that an Emperor's Child could accomplish was listed in the Inquisitoriate's archives, it was an impressive list to say the least.

Leading to the more prominent appearance of the Rebel Alliance, the Emperor's Children were dispersed amongst the ranks of the Empire, a decision that would hopefully bolster efficiency on average. Nonetheless, for those who knew of it, mentioning the Emperor's Children bore weight.

Victor Crestmere casually removed his helmet, as if with a grace unknown to any human, that is to say, in a heavily armored power suit. Crestmere's face was smooth, healthy, perfect. All but that it was seemingly unnoticable. It was hard to make sense when one glanced at him but it became near impossible to distinguish any markable features about Crestmere unless he intended for one to remember them.

He was human no doubt, but he was better at disguise than any changeling. His eyes gleamed with calculating precision as he viewed Tear without his HUD.

"And I am Seargent Major Crestmere, disguise and counterintelligence specialist. Former operative for Emperial Intelligence, a Judas of Alderaan."

His voice was hard to place as the pitch and tone seemed to change after every syllable. Truly a master of disguise, Crestmere had lost his own self a long time ago amidst the multitude of personalities he had undertaken while on the job. Formerly a con artist on Alderaan, the Empire had put him in a position of either working for them or dying. As skilled at staying alive as he was at stealing other's identities, Crestmere easily adapted to the Imperial Intelligence and committing the same crimes he had but with permission and a purpose that he generally was not concerned with.

A Judas of Alderaan, referring to those Imperials responsible, even if somewhat, for the destruction of Alderaan. Those publicly responsible were the Rebellion for being there in the first place, but other opinions laid blame on the former Grand Moff Tarkin and the Sith Lord, Darth Vader. No, many Imperials had been involved in the discovery of the strong Rebellion presence on Alderaan, and even as little as it might have been, Crestmere played a part that had been stripped from all but the darkest of records and even then he was only mentioned to have appeared.