Our Darkest Days: Sacrifice

[Sanya Tagge]

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Our Darkest Days: Sacrifice



Senate Hall - Monument Plaza – Coruscant


"All rise for the honorable Procurator of Justice."

The sound of thousands of men and women rising to their feet filled the Senate Hall as a single figure dressed in immaculate white robes exited a tunnel at the center of the hall. All throughout the oval stadium, from the row upon row of seats, they watched as the Procurator of Justice began a slow and steady ascent up the staircase which wound around the speakers podium, some thirty feet high. At it's summit there was a lectern, whose stand looked to the northern most stand of the hall, where the highest ranking members of the government were seated. Amongst them was Minister Sanya Tagge.

Her eyes wandered upwards, to the domed ceiling and then to roaring flames of the purifying and ever-burning fire of justice whose huge cauldron sat between two equally monolithic statues of winged figures, prostrate in reverence. Stone columns whose size and construction defied imagination held the hall's roof aloft. It was a vast, cold space they found themselves – the old Senate Hall building having been constructed so long ago that it contained no artificial heating or lighting – yet this was not why gooseflesh rose on the back of Sanya Tagge's arms nor why she trembled, if only faintly, as she watched Procurator of Justice take his position at the center of the Senate Hall.

"You may be seated," a deep and disembodied voice decreed and there was another rush of air, the sound of thousands sitting down in unison. Only the legions of guardsmen, present to ensure the security of the ceremony, remained standing. Brushing her palms down from her thighs to her knees, Sanya smoothed away the slight wrinkles in the fabric of her pale uniform. She, like every other governmental representative present, wore the colors and markings befitting of her station. Everyone amongst them was recognizable for what they were, thanks to what they wore – from white-suited Admirals of the fleet to the gray-clad Moffs and Grand Moffs, their colored insignia pinned proudly to their breasts.

It was impressive, Minister Tagge thought - as she glimpsed represented in the crowd the many facets of the Galactic Empire – it was impressive, she thought with a smile, just how many of them had come to witness the death of one man.

[Dasquian Belargic]

There was no doubt in his mind.

It had been decided already, decided the moment they had been betrayed on Vjun (http://www.sw-fans.net/forum/showthread.php?t=16233). With a single, thankless gesture, Whill Shoashian had set into motion a chain of unstoppable events, beginning with his own death and ending in Monument Plaza with a trial only minutes away from starting yet whose outcome was a foregone conclusion. As he sat in the cold vaults beneath the Senate Hall – hands cuffed behind his head, eyes blindfolded – Dasquian Belargic found himself wondering how it had taken quite so long to come to this.

In the end, he thought, it had been a good run. Almost thirty years old, he had spent just under half of his life in the service of the so-called Rebel Alliance. He had given his life to the cause, sacrificing personal endeavor and aspiration in favor of something far greater. In return, it had given him so much. Scrapes and bruises and scars that would stay with him for a lifetime – but more than that, it had given him hope. Throughout the years, he had met men and women from all walks of life, from every strata of society, humans and aliens alike, and in them he had seen something monumentally important: a desire to change, to improve.

Hope. It was the one thing that kept the Galactic Empire from complete control of the galaxy, that held their near-ubiquitous tyranny at bay. So long as one person, no matter how near or far from the core, hoped – carried within them that desire to see an end to Imperial reign, the Rebellion would live on. Under the supervision of the Imperial Inquisitors, Dasquian had undergone torture and interrogation the likes of which could drive the strongest man to madness – yet he had never yielded, never surrendered.

There were thousands of others like him all throughout the Galaxy, prisoners whose bodies were bound and broken, whose very lives were destroyed with an unthinkably ruthless efficiency, and yet they persevered in the knowledge that though their time had come to an end, through their silence and dedication the collective dream of a restored Republic might yet be made a reality. For every moment of agony he felt, Dasquian remembered these people and their sacrifices, remember every one he had ever met who would be willing to endure the same thing if it meant the resistance could continue.

There was no doubt in his mind. He would die today, but his dying regret was not that he had joined the Rebel Alliance to begin with or that he had shown Whill Shoashian compassion or even that no help had been sent to retrieve him from captivity - only that he had just one life to give in the name of the Republic.

[Dashiel Starborn]

It was early in the day, early enough that the Biscuit Baron based in Monument Plaza was still serving Bantha Breakfast Biscuits. As he pushed his way out of the restaurant, back into the plaza proper, Dashiel Starborn balanced the cardboard boxes of his Jolly Meals - their sides emblazoned with a huge bold B - in the crook of his arm. The line coming out of the door was at least twenty minutes long and more people were joining by the second.

A short distance away, in the shadow of a statue, there was a woman watching him. He moved towards her and when he was close enough, jerked his chin upwards as if to acknowledge her.

“...I got you some extra blue sauce.”

Dash shuffled the boxes in his arms until he could lift one up and give it a little shake in her direction. She didn't look particularly impressed. With a shrug, he strode past her and sat down at the foot of the statue. It was much smaller than the other towering monuments which crowded the plaza and evidently wasn't one of the most popular attractions on show. Someone had sprayed some crude graffiti near its base and though efforts had been made to clean away the damage, Dash could still see faint traces of the words xeno scum.

Opening his meal bag, he pulled out the plastic-wrapped bantha burger inside and, after a glance at his wrist chrono, unwrapped it and took a big bite. It was a guilty pleasure on so many levels, but it tasted good and eating calmed him, giving his stomach something to do other than back flips and somersaults. Chewing hungrily, he glanced up at the woman. She was scanning the area, her eyes shifting from the Senate Hall to the center of the plaza, where a raised platform had been erected on top of the Umate peak and surrounded by deflector shield generators and Stormtroopers. It had all been put in place two days ago.

“Nothings changed,” Dash said finally, after swallowing down a mouthful and wiping a little blue sauce from the corner of his mouth. “Even I can see that.”

[Jane Starborn]

"Not quite true," Jane replied, accepting the burger and giving her cousin a half smile of thanks. Monument Plaza was reputedly the one place on the planet where you could touch the bare rock of Coruscant's surface. The peak of Umate, one of the highest peaks in the Manarai range, thrust up through the duracrete in the center of the bowl shaped arena.

Usually thousand of tourists flocked to the Plaza for that reason alone, but the crowds in the park seemed to have more than sightseeing on their minds. Jane squirted blue sauce onto her burger and took a bite. "The stormtroopers have changed their patrol today. Its running more often." She looked at Dashiel, "I already let Girlscout know. Shouldn't affect us that much."

[Rossos Atrapes]

The door to Belargic's vault opened loudly, with a clang and then a number of metallic screeches as the lock was moved and the hinges scraped together. Into the vault strode two Inquisitors, both wearing the traditional grey uniform with a maroon shoulder, and dark red capes. Behind them stood someone that Belargic would know as soon as he spoke. And he did.

"It is time, Director," Inquisitor Atrapes said as he stepped inside. After him came two stormtroopers, who unshackled his hands, and pulled him up. Then they placed his arms behind him, and placed the binders on his wrists. Obediently, the Trooper who had locked the binders placed the keystick in Atrapes' hand. He looked over the prisoner, remembering the moment he knew that the man wouldn't break, and seeing the scars that he himself had placed on the former Director of Rebel Intelligence. If there had been more time, perhaps... But now was not the time for what ifs.

"Now," he murmured, "do behave as we enter the Courtroom, as Minister Tagge wishes your death to be public and inspiring Imperial loyalty and warning of Imperial retribution." His voice carried a distinct sarcastic note. "And she would no doubt be very disappointed to find that I have struck you down before your sentencing."

[Kyran O'Hurn]

~30 hours before the trial~


It was definitely not traveling in style, but that didn't matter. In reality Ky was just another piece of cargo sitting in the hold of the beat up transport that was nearly done it's run to Coruscant. 12 hours ago he had been pulled out of a training mission suddenly and told by his CO that he was being Temporarily Assigned to Duty to the rebel intelligence agency and that he would receive more information on route. He was then stuffed into the back of a transport en route to meet up with the transport that he was now on. He was laying against what equipment he had brought, his eyes closed letting him fall into a trance like state. He wasn't quite sleeping, but close enough for his body to be able to store up energy that he would soon need. But that state was interrupted suddenly when the pilot came on the comm.

"Mr. Smith. We're exiting hyperspace. Entering the Coruscant atmosphere in 20 minutes and on the ground in 40."

Only the first number really mattered to Ky. Getting up he grabbed the pair of bags that he had been sitting on and leaning against and made his way toward the middle of the ship and stopped at the inner door of the airlock. Pulling a black jump suit and some other equipment from the smaller bag he put it on quickly and stuffed his civilian clothes back into the bag before grabbing the larger bag and slinging it onto his back before clipping the smaller one to the staps over his chest.

Just as he finished that he felt the transport shudder violently as it slammed into the atmosphere of the planet giving Ky his cue. Pushing the button to open the airlock Ky stepped in and closed the door behind him before reaching down to attach the straps between his legs to the rest of the harness of his backpack. By the time he had finished doing up the clasps it was time.

In the cockpit the only thing to alert the pilot that something was up was the light flashing to tell him that the airlock door had suddenly opened at 30,000 feet above the ground.

The distance to the ground was both the longest time anyone could imagine, but also the shortest. As Ky screamed through the sky at high speed he scanned in front of him through the goggles for any vehicle that might come into his flight path. After 10 minutes his altimiter began to beep in his helmet signaling that it was time to deploy his parachute, but instead Ky waited for almost another two minutes before finally pulling the cord, deploying the large black canopy above him and slowing him instantly as the atmosphere filled it. Beginning the slow descent Ky now began to scan the rooftops for the signal from his contact. Finally spotting the infrared strobe in his goggles Ky steared his rig toward the building and 5 minutes later he silently landed on a wide open rooftop.

Immediately he had pulled his chute down and gathered it up. He'd have to find someplace to dispose of it, but for now he turned looking for his contact.




~6 hours before trial~



Looking at his chrono Ky decided that it was time to don his urban ghillie suit and move out onto the rooftop from his hiding spot in the stairwell before the sun came up. It would still be a long wait, but it was far less risky to move before the sun came up then it would be once the sun rose and security began to tighten around the square.

Slowly moving out into the open Ky found the best spot on the roof to set up. Laying down his bag to use as a rifle rest he lay down behind it and popped open the sights and began to scan the high points around the square. It was too early to make radio contact with the rest of the team, but it was never too early to make sure that no counter-sniper teams had been deployed by the Imperials yet.

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

30 hours before the trial


"Flashy. You Pathies all like that?"

Way to go! Insult the man right off. Good job, Charles, good frakken job. Wonder if he's gone and read up on you. Doubt it, he'd probably have begged the gorram spooks to go along with them than deal with your- Gods, shut up already.

The voice came from O'Hurn's left side...and it certainly was not the best way to introduce yourself, nor start off a mission that was practically begging for some sort of hitch to throw it all off. At least everything on her end had gone exactly as planned. Maybe not quite as impressive as the entrance she'd just seen, but just as affective. After all, there was more than one way to get to the top of a building and she'd preferred the more practical approach rather than dropping out of the sky. A wonder what stairs could do for a person. Not that it'd been exactly easy gaining access to them, nor had it been fun attempting to convince someone that she was just a bored college student on vacation and she was just dying to get an awesome view of the buildings around there. Said she loved heights and so on and so forth. Being young, blond, and able to amazingly pull off that dazed look of delirious giddiness had paid off. Nope, it hadn't been fun at all standing there, twisting a strand of hair, chewing a piece of gum and pretending to - ugh - flirt. Not that she was against such things, but if the rest of her Reg had seen her...just ugh. Best they weren't there.

In fact she couldn't quite figure out why the frell SHE was there. Leave it to the folks in Intel to get themselves in this big of a mess. ....Okay that was a big laugh and the thought of it crossing her mind and being all serious about it made her smile and shake her head. Truth be told the rumors of what happened to the Director had been sketchy at best and it wasn't until the rather young Corellian had essentially been handed a datapad with a when, where, some overly basic info on who she was going to be working, along with a "It's bloody suicide." and she'd done the girlie squeal that always set her superior's teeth on edge and run off to prep. But that was how things always seemed to go with her and anyone that'd run into her had known it. Though it wasn't her ability to be cutesy and irritate her commanding officer that made her the choice. Nope, she knew why and apparently someone else did too and in the end that's all that mattered to her.

That was...until the birdy boy dropped down. Then all the musings over the past few days had to be stopped and it was time to move right on with everything.

"So you gotta be Archangel."

She didn't wait for a response, there was no point in it, it was more to just get the name out in the air and essentially signal her previous comment had been nothing but in jest rather than her actually looking to start something. She gave 'Archy' a few more moments to finish dealing with his gear before scooping up her bag which really was detestable in all its bright pink glory - but it had fit that bogus gig about being a student and somehow had managed to hold most of what she was going to need over the next day or so. Everything except the most important factor, the pair of DC-15Xs she'd been entrusted with and had gently shoved into another bag that was meant for the transport of a Quetarra. All in all, completely unconventional. But again, it got the job done.

And just to prove she wasn't a complete laser-brain the signal to move out was given in silence with what was probably a familiar hand gesture. Fun time was over, and while they had night to cover their movements the next few hours were still going to be hell. They'd be together until they reached the Plaza, then they'd be on their own, keeping total radio silence until in position. She wasn't too worried about getting to her place, but some part of her was wondering if her new cohort was going to be able to pull his weight. It was all risky. Almost too risky. Almost...which was just perfect in her mind.

30 minutes before the trial

'Ryschcate', as she'd amusingly dubbed herself, had been ready to go since before dawn, cursing the piece of dren rifle she'd gotten stuck with but thanking herself that it would at least do the job. The scope had been the worst though, but after fiddling with it for a good solid hour it was right where she wanted it to be, sighted in and gave her a grand view of the entire Plaza. Now all there was to do was wait for the dren to hit the fan. It was on the Intelligence folks to get the ball rolling, and her and 'Archy' would just have to sit tight until then. But gods was it a boring wait...and she was having to avoid every childish urge to start plinking off the noses on the statues down below.

[Dasquian Belargic]

Atrapes. The unseen yet ever-present voice inside his mind. The Inquisitor had been Belargic's constant company for the past week, whether in the flesh or otherwise, and so it did not surprise Dasquian to hear the man's voice calling him towards his fate. As he was pulled to his feet, his stiff legs ached, thanks to having spent the last... Force knew how long, shackled to a chair.

“You know me, Inquisitor,” he said quietly, the playful edge of his tone somewhat dulled. “By the book, well-behaved... no nonsense.”

One of the guards – Stormtroopers, judging by how rough they were being – nudged the prisoner forward a few stumbling steps. Over the past week, it had become apparent that what they desired wasn't execution, but to have Belargic readily on hand to act as a punching bag whenever a member of the Imperial Military had some aggression to vent.

After a few moments of silence with no further coercion from his keepers, Dasquian straightened his posture, looking to where he thought he had heard the Inquisitor's voice speaking from.

“Shall we get moving, then? Justice awaits.”

[Rossos Atrapes]

“Shall we get moving, then? Justice awaits.”

"Indeed," Atrapes' voice hummed through the air. "Justice awaits."

There was silence a moment, and then a sudden metallic smash. Sounds filtered through his ears, and the rough hands of the Stormtroopers were suddenly gone.

"Hand me the bag," Atrapes' voice rang out again. After that, there were a number of sounds: clicks, cloth rustling, and the soft tap of weapons swinging against leg armour. And then, silence.

The door opened again with a metallic screech, and hands roughly grabbed Belargic's arms again as they dragged him out of the cell, and into the hallway, and from there down to his end. Vaguely one could hear the sounds of shouting in the distance, the waves echoing in the enclosed space of the corridor; the sounds were getting louder with each passing second.

[Faris Cul'utaan]

The members of the Ministry of Truth sat arrayed around their leader. To the left of Minsiter Tagge was one of her foremost aides, a man whose pristine white attire mirrored that of his superior: Faris Cul'utaan. He glanced down at his wrist chrono and then out across the hall of the old Senate chamber once more. All eyes were drawn towards the tunnel from which Dasquian Belargic was soon to emerge to begin his sentencing, yet Faris did not share the vindication or relish that many of his peers felt. The ear-piece he wore - a discreet sliver of technology - was buzzing with noise. Something.. wasn't right.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

The crowd was gathering strength in numbers and voices, some fervent in their desire to see the traitor Belargic killed for high treason against their Empire. The Ministry of Propaganda had worked their magic in riling the people, making them desire bloodshed. Minister Tagge should be proud of herself, even though she lacked the delicate verbal spin that Tarkin used to tug at heartstrings.

Dasquian, the leader of Rebel Intel, rummaging through her kitchen! Please! What an idiot! Grace would love to really put at test to that Sub-Adult Group training if she ever had the pleasure of getting Sanya alone ...

She pushed her way through the mostly human crowd, though there were a smattering of curious aliens on the outskirts of the gathering, not wanting to be too close in case a riot broke out. The Empire had stepped up their patrols as well, ensuring a peaceful observance of the execution and deterring anyone from speaking out against the ruling. Everyone was either too scared to say anything or was in passionate agreement. The New Empress was working hard on increasing the later by making an example out of Dasquian.

Now she was elbowing her way closer to the front, trying to get into a good position to see the execution podium. Jane Starborn thought it suicide for her to be up front where the Troopers would be the heaviest, but that was before she had seen the transformed Grace Van-Derveld

http://i59.photobucket.com/albums/g311/dalethria/GraceUC.jpg

Make up had darkened her skin - making her look older as well, contacts changed her eyes from green to brown, and the wig she wore transformed her into someone completely new. Even one of the patrols had passed her by without a second look. Now she stared at one right in the helmet, finally making her way to the front, and looked passed him towards the center where the famous tip of Umate Mountain poked out. Millions visited this location just to touch it, but today they will watch as Dasquian Belargic is executed on top of it. They had built a platform over the monument, big enough to hold Belargic and the firing squad assigned to execute him. Currently it was barren, only Stormtroopers and uniformed Imperials making their rounds to ensure that everything was secured.

Arms crossed, Grace hugged herself to avoid knocking elbows with strangers. At least she told herself that. She was dreadfully nervous. Even the slightest miscalculation in the plan could find themselves captured or killed. Reluctantly, the new Director of Rebel Intel, had agreed to bring a small team to Coruscant for Belargic's extraction based upon the Intel of a man she had never met before: Faris Cul'utaan. He was so deep undercover that Grace had to weed her way through so much red tape, and burn through a few favors, to make sure he was legit. And he was. She had learned of Dasquian's execution before the Alliance did.

Her eyes drifted up to the Senate Hall, fighting back tears that had no place her, but the Rebel couldn't stop her heart from pounding in anticipation.

I'm coming for you, Dasq ...

[Kyran O'Hurn]

The audience had begun to gather. Men, women, even children. Who in their right mind brought a kid to an execution...? Only in the Empire. Ky would have shaken his head if he didn't think it would give him away.

He'd been stationary for several hours, almost in a meditative state until the sun had begun to rise and more and more people began to enter the square. It had been then when he had begun to scan the crowd and buildings looking for obvious threats. Nothing but the usual storm trooper guards jumped out at him, but he was sure that the unseen enemy was there, mingling with the crowd.

Slowly he moved his sight upwards. Their greatest threat was the scout trooper snipers that were no doubt deployed or soon to be deployed. Slowly he scanned the rooftops making sure not to miss any hidden troopers.

As he scanned he mentally made a note of all of the white armoured scout troopers he saw dotted along the roof. So far he had seen 4 sniper teams on the opposite side of the square keeping their eyes on the crowd... And then he saw it. Not much, but just enough movement to give the Imperial sniper away. He wasn't wearing the usual white scout trooper armour but dressed in black to help try and blend him into the shadows.

"Gotcha!" Ky said to himself. He wasn't surprised that the Imperials had deployed a counter sniper. There was probably another one or two hiding in the shadows too. For the time being though, the poor bastard on the other end of the scope that was looking for him and Ryschcate would be the first to die.

Talking softly he let his voice key the whisper mic around his neck.

"You awake over there Ryschcate?" He didn't stop long enough to allow her to answer. "Counter sniper located, I'll take him, but check the shadows, I'm sure he's got friends."

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

For frak's sake, Archy...scare me half to death why dontcha?

She wanted to blurt out the words, wanted to - but didn't. She held them much like she managed to keep still despite the sudden sound of someone essentially talking in her ear as if they were right by her. That was going to take some getting used to. Usually she was on her own on this sort of thing, maybe keeping an eye on her boys from afar but talking while completely getting into that zone where the rest of the world faded and all that was left was her and what she saw was just outright foreign. Damned Pathies. And what's worse it seemed this one had a gorram itchy trigger finger. Was he daft?

"Company, huh? Well now...isn't that just sweet of them?"

It wasn't quite the response to him so much as testing her own volume level in speaking through the comm. Yep...gonna take some getting used to.

"Don't go dropping the guy just yet. Keep an eye on him, but I wouldn't be surprised if his buddies on patrol have him wired up. He kicks the bucket and you'll be setting off alarms before the Intel folks even get a chance to cause a ruckus. He starts lookin like he's got a bead on one of us though, feel free to shut him down."

Great...just what they needed. She figured the Empire would have their own set of shooters. Something this big would no doubt have tons of unseen security. Some sort of action from the rebels must have been at least somewhat anticipated. But the longer they could keep themselves relatively unseen the better. No need to start the party without the guest of honor even being out in the open yet.

"Let the ground make the first move..."

She'd be damned if SpecForce would get called on mucking things up on this one. Whatever, Intel had things handled on their end for the moment, quiet as it was down there, and at least this new little epiphany gave her something new to do. There was some strange thrill in finding one of your own type on the other side and getting to them before they got to you. The living bit of that equation probably had a whole lot to do with it.

[Karl Valten]

Despite the Inquisitoriate’s reputation of ruthless wraiths that hunted mercilessly on prey in the night, Karl Valten along with many Inquisitors maintained an aura of serenity and reason. The search for knowledge and a clear mind in duty decreed that one remain free from the debilitating effects of rampant emotion. But this day, the Grand Inquisitor burned with rage.
“This is blasphemy!”
At current his vengeful eyes fixed upon a single figure amidst the holo-cast of a certain trial and execution of one of HIS. A trial and execution that he with no doubt did NOT authorize. But Valten’s gaze did not fall on Dasquian Belargic, no his wrath focused on someone else: Sonya Tagge in her pristine garb amongst the ranks of officers and nobility. The fool had known the Inquisitoriate would never willingly give up their greatest prisoner. So she used every aspect of her power as Minister of Truth to whisk him from under Valten’s nose and made certain that the Inquisitoriate would be unable to openly attend the proceedings.

An image of the woman burning alive within the Citadel played over and over in the Grand Inquisitor’s mind. Valten had not been this enraged in a very very long time.

He had only just found out hours ago and by then it had been to late to stop this idiocy.

“This is a mistake, that..(Valten burst into a tirade of Rodese, the only language he knew that could describe his anger at the Minister of Truth)..has gone over my head and yours.”

And there was nothing that Valten could do but watch. The Inquisitoriate could force their way into the hall and disrupt the trial, not with a public proceeding of the size or the attendance of so many government and military officials present.

[Miranda Tarkin]

Tarkin had been sitting behind her desk, rather relaxed and calm in a simple, but flattering, black suit while the proceedings played out before them on the holoscreen. She didn't need anything quite so formal since this was a private meeting between her and Valten. Of course the Inquisitor was quite colorful and creative with the use of Rodese to express his contempt for Tagge, unaware that his Empress was fluent in the language. She had learned it as Moff of Doldur, seeing as Rodia was nearby, she had thought it a prudent skill. Sorsha was the perfect teacher too, seeing as it was practically a second language for her.

"Are you finished?" she asked, not in annoyance or anger, just Tarkin wanted to make sure Valten was done venting his anger before speaking her peace.

He stiffened upon realizing with whom he was with! Such vulgarity, even spoken in another language, was not proper before his Empress and turned to face her. "Apologies, your Majesty, but I'm justified with how Tagge blatantly disregarded our positions," he said with focused rage, but the apology was sincere.

She could still sense him stewing, but at least Valten was in control and they could talk about this situation rationally. "To be honest, I'm unclear as to why Sanya failed to speak with me about this matter."

Valten could not mistaken the disappointment etched in Tarkin's voice. "I know she wanted to make an example of her capture, and by rights, she does have a claim. However, a week of interrogation is not enough time to break a man like Belargic. I don't care what stroke of planning and luck brought him into her lap, it is unacceptable to ensure an execution without talking to me first."

Unfortunately by the time Miranda had gotten wind of Belargic's execution, local and planetary officials were rejuvenated that their new Empress had authorized such a display of power so soon after her coronation. Yes there were some officials that thought this needlessly barbaric, but with her rousing public speech about punishing the Rebellion for their crimes against the Empire, how could she rescind the order and not made to look the fool?

When this was over, Sanya would have to explain herself quite well or there would be hell to pay.

[Dasquian Belargic]

They marched him onwards, from corridor to corridor, until at last only a stone tunnel way separated the prisoner from his fate. In his mind Dasquian had tried to assemble a floor-plan of the network of rooms and hallways beneath Senate Hall, but had his suspicions that his captors had been mindful of his efforts to map out an escape route and had compensated by using indirect and ever changing routes to lead their prisoner around the makeshift holding area. Now, however, they seemed confident that his fate was etched into stone and in pausing at the entryway to the main hall, removed his blindfold for the first time in what must have been days.

The light at the end of the tunnel hurt Belargic's eyes and when he paused to adjust to the sensory shift, a blaster muzzle nudged at the back of his neck, forcing him forwards. A whispering silence awaited him, a stillness only barely disturbed by voices in hushed speculation, yet as he emerged from the tunnel into the Senate Hall proper, every conversation became muted and every gaze shot towards him. Amongst the vastness of the chamber, he was a small thing. With a weeks worth of stubble on his chin, bruises on his temples, a black eye and a split lip, no attempt had been made to hide that he had suffered. The black clothing he wore was plain in style if a little large size, so that he hung around his elbows and ankles in broad cuffs, creating the impression that he was far too slim. Somewhere far above, sitting amongst her peers, Sanya Tagge thought how like a slave he looked: a desperate man about to face the trials of a gladiatorial ring, or be thrown to the lions.

“The Procurator of Justice summons the accused forward... let the judgment commence.”

[Rossos Atrapes]

"There he is."

A pair of eyes narrowed as they watched Belargic, flanked by two stormtroopers, was marched up to the proper position while the Procurator of Justice stood ready to pronounce his sentence.

"Do we take out the 'troopers?" came the sniper's voice through his earpiece. The leader of the operation nodded to a man on his right, and that man quickly shuffled off downstairs to make the others ready for his signal.

"No," he replied. "Orders were to make some noise and pick off a few around the perimeter, only kill those who try to stop the extraction physcially. I expect they're trying to take him back, and don't want anything to go wrong."

"I wouldn't miss." He grunted a laugh.

"I'm not saying you would. But orders are orders, hey?"

"Yeah." Durran's disappointed sigh filtered through the speaker and he grinned a bit wider. "I caught some movement on the far side of the plaza. Ain't Imperials by the look of 'em. 'Nother group, you think? A bit sloppy, but not bad."

"Where?" he asked, looking intently at the general area his sniper had indicated.

The sniper gave him a more detailed description of what and where he'd seen the movement.

"Ah," he murmured. "I see 'em now. They're well hid. Dressed like us, too. We weren't told that they'd gotten another group for this mission."

"Would they have told us?" another voice whispered. He grunted another laugh.

"Likely not," he replied. "Wait. We'll wait for this to carry on a bit longer, and then we'll make our move. Don't want the Imps knowin' anything 'til it's too late."


***


The Procurator of Justice stood proud and straight-backed while Belargic was led into position. This was a crowning achievement for the Empire; especially after the coronation of the new Empress. All would see this, and tremble.

"Dasquian Belargic," he intoned deeply, aware of the publicity of this moment, "You are charged with numerous crimes against the Empire and its Empress. Three charges of Murder in the First Degree; Two charges of Murder in the Second. You are also charged with Bearing Arms against Imperial Stormtroopers and Citizens of the Empire, Evasion of Arrest, and are an Accessory to Treason in the aiding and abetting of certain individuals, notably one Grace Van-Derveld, and the terrorist insurgent organization known as the Alliance to Restore the Republic. Lesser charges include Grand Theft of numerous starships and privately owned speeders, Arson, and Impersonating an Officer of the Imperial Navy. You have been found guilty on all charges."

He looked up from the flimsy he'd been reading from, and gave the accused man a solemn look; grave, but not one of sympathy, or disdain, but of professional disassociation and detachment though aware of the gravity of the situation.

"How do you plead?"


***


"We're in position. Awaiting your command." He replied his understanding.

"Find your mark, Durran," he ordered. The sniper didn't reply for a moment, but soon radioed his sights set on a patrolling Stormtrooper near the crowd. A good choice to get them all panicking and lowering anyone's ability to stop their own mission and escape.

It was even more of a waiting game now; only the tension had risen since the end of the waiting was in sight.

[Jane Starborn]

Jane finished off the burger, and burped. Dashiel laughed, and she threw the wadded up wrapper at him. "I hate waiting."

She looked at him, adding, "The longer I stare at monuments the more my headache grows."

[Dashiel Starborn]

Dash ducked to the side to dodge getting a greasy wrapper in the face. Truth of it was, he hated waiting too – but it was all they could do. Wait and watch. Jane was too restless to sit down so he stood up alongside. The area around the peak was getting crowded now. It was busy at the best of times but the difference between the idle curiosity of tourists and the barely restrained fury of an executioners audience was palpable.

“Something's gonna kick off with them,” Dashiel observed. Jane gave him a quizzical glance and he nodded towards a group of similarly dressed beings scattered around the edges of the crowd. They were jostling back and forth, trying to break through the wall of bodies, but having very little luck. Their outfits had an almost monastic look to them, limbs wrapped in dark orange cloth which was belted at the waist by a leather strip. They had hoods, but they were down on their shoulders instead of shrouding their unshaven faces. All in all, the Flames of Umate (http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Flames_of_Umate) – as they called themselves – looked as if they had just stepped off the last transport shuttle from back-rocket nowhere. That, however, was exactly what made such religious cults dangerous. They looked harmless enough, but if they didn't get what they wanted...

[Dasquian Belargic]

“You have been found guilty on all charges,” the Procurator proclaimed. “How do you plead?”

In reply, Dasquian could only smile and wonder if he was the only one who saw the farce in all of this. There was a white bantha in the room that no one was willing to acknowledge, and that was the fact that although the gathering was a trial in name, it certainly was not in practice. Imperial justice worked on the basis that it was best to kill a man first and then provide some conveniently placed evidence of his guilt later.

Then again, it was no secret that Belargic had committed many of the 'crimes' listed. Certainly, whether by his hand or another's beneath him, he had been the death of number Imperial soldiers. He recalled the precise number of those he had murdered himself; in many cases could bring to mind their names and faces. He was not proud of what he had done, but it was done and there was no changing it now. Truth be told, there was little of it he would have changed. Certainly, the account of treason was something he would never regret. For one, it was not treason in his mind so long as the Empire was in power, and for another, that treachery had brought Grace to the Alliance.

Gazing up at the featureless face of the Procurator, high high above, Dasquian smiled.

“I have already been deemed guilty, your honor,” he called out, his voice a very small thing, almost swallowed by the sheer size of the chamber. “So, shall we dispense with the formalities and proceed to the main attraction?”

[Rossos Atrapes]

In response to Belargic's cavalier attitude, the Procurator merely frowned. 'Main attraction indeed," he thought with disdain.

"Lead him to the platform," the procurator ordered, his voice booming in the chamber. The two stormtroopers on either side of him gripped his arms and began to drag him out to death and the roar of the crowds.


***


"Alright, our spotter says they're bringin' 'im out. Get ready!" the leader ordered into his headset. Numerous affirmatives were radioed back to him, from the sniper overhead, esconsed in a junction between two buildings, and the main strike team itself that would cause the disturbance necessary for their employers to conceivably grab Belargic and run.

[Dasquian Belargic]

From the stalls where they stood waiting to file out into the plaza with the rest of the spectators, Sanya Tagge and Faris Cul'utaan watched as the small silhouette of Dasquian Belargic became obscured and consumed by the light of the mid-day sun.

It was bright outside, the first real light he had seen in weeks. It stung his eyes and blinded him for a moment, and though he couldn't see what lay ahead, he could hear the crowds. They sounded like the wave of a tsunami, crashing inward upon itself. It washed over him, like a single colossal voice, roaring for vengeance and victory.

Slowly, the world before him began to gain clarity as he lifted his shackled wrists to shield the glare from his eyes. There were hundreds of people – thousands – spread like a sea before him. Armored soldiers of the Galactic Empire created a narrow walkway, a parting of the ocean, through which he would be lead from the Senate Hall to the platform built atop Umate's peak.

Their hands at his upperarms, they thrust him forward and he staggered, almost falling over, whilst in unison the roar of the crowd seemed to grow louder. Faces leered and jeered from the mob, furious fingers jabbed towards him, screaming bloody murder. They strained against the shielding which was keeping them in place, bodies almost crushing one another, open palms slamming against the transparisteel walls into a relentless drum beat.

“Don't stop!” a voice commanded – and on he marched.

[Sanya Tagge]

There were screens being hoisted aloft inside the Senate Hall, vast things which would transmit images from the Plaza directly to those seated within – but Sanya Tagge had no intention of waiting inside. She was not alone in her desire to see, with her own eyes, what was to come. All around the hall, members of the congregation had begun their exodus, to join the procession that followed Belargic. An armored escort flanked them on all sides, with the Minister's own must trusted soldiers – captained by TK-187 – tasked with seeing to their superiors safety.

Cul'utaan walked alongside her. “Minister... something isn't right.”

Sanya didn't look to him. Her eyes were fixed ahead, on the shadow of mount Umate rising from the center of Monument Plaza. There would be hundreds of holo-cameras outside, all waiting to catch a glimpse of those who had been orchestral in bringing out Dasquian Belargic's downfall. It would not do to present them with anything other than an image of rigid and dispassionate justice.

“Minister, I received word of a disturbance-” he began again, but Sanya cut him off as they emerged into the radiant daylight to the sound of thunderous approval. A heady rush of euphoria and adrenaline flooded through her veins.

“Don't ruin this moment for me, Faris. Don't.”

[Kyran O'Hurn]

He'd spotted two more of the black dressed counter-snipers. He'd prioritized them based on the risk to himself. If she hadn't done the same thing that was her problem. First rule was to keep yourself alive. You can't help anyone when your lying dead in your own blood.

Suddenly Ky was brought back to reality as the crowd started to buzz. Something was happening, and it didn't take a brain surgeon to figure out what.

Taking the cross hairs off the rooftops for the first time he sighted in on the exit from the judicial building just in time to see Dasquian exit. He had his hands up in front of his face at first, but the shackles on his wrists gave away the fact that the man walking out of the building under guard was the target.

But that was it. It was time to focus on the task at hand, and with a slight movement he was back on his first target. All that was needed now, was some sort of signal from the team on the ground.

"Show time." He whispered silently to himself.

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Grace groaned as she was pushed forward amidst the sea of observers. It was like a wave crashing down until it settled after storm as arms and hands found a rhythmic beat as Dasquian was marched to his fate. Once the crowd settled, Grace looked up to see her partner get shoved up the stairs and onto the platform.

Her hand slammed against the transparisteel barrier, but only once out of desperation. The guards that saw her face would easily mistake the sneer upon her face as one of disgust for this Rebel pig, but it was her own self-loathing that was etched forth at her own failure that led to Belargic's capture.

Reaching up to the flesh colored ear piece, she tapped in the go ahead sequence, a series of beeps that was part of the opera Squid Lake.

[Dashiel Starborn]

At a distance from the still growing crowd, the Starborn's had to rely on more than just sight to determine what was happening. It didn't take visual confirmation, however, to realize that their target had finally been brought out into the open. For Dash, who had begun to zone out as he scanned the edges of the crowd, the deafening roar of sound caused him to start and pulled him back into focus. Suddenly, his heart was thudding in his chest.

deep...dedeepdeep... dedededeepdedeep..

The faint sound in his ear-piece was unmistakable, even under the clamor. He had been humming the aria from Squid Lake all morning, to keep the piece in his mind. Shifting his footing, he felt the reassuring weight of the slim sidearm strapped to his calf. Silently, he wondered whether it had been wise to eat that burger just before everything was about to kick off...

[Faris Cul'utaan]

“Don't ruin this moment for me, Faris. Don't.”

Cut off, Faris followed in obedient silent as Sanya Tagge – now flanked on all sides by soldiers of the Stormtrooper Corps – followed in the footsteps of Dasquian Belargic. The stairs to the execution platform were numerous and steep, but they were climbed without incident, the procession rising to the top of Mount Umate to be greeted by a spectacular view of the Plaza below.

It was like looking... into some great abyss. Like some roiling pit of restless souls, their hands clawing at the air, grasping for something – anything – to satisfy. It thrilled and revolted him in the same breath, to see how slavish they were, how blind to anything except bloody justice.

Belargic stood front and center, whilst members of the Stormtrooper Corps formed a line behind him, in front of the Minister and her attendants. In a matter of moments, she would deliver a speech on behalf of the Galactic Empire, one which Cul'utaan had helped to write, though this was not the cause of the unease that was quickly rising within him...

[Sanya Tagge]

A microphone had been affixed to the Minister's jacket, its wireless transmitter connected to powerful speakers mounted upon the platform. One of the Stormtrooper guard took a step forward and struck Belargic hard with his rifle, dropping the Rebel to his knees. In unison, Sanya Tagge strode to stand parallel to the prisoner. Though she was no stranger to public address, there was something special about this occasion, something that made a brief fluttering of anxiety stir in her stomach. When she spoke, her voice echoed throughout Monument Plaza, above the din of the mob.

“People of Coruscant, loyal citizens of the Galactic Empire. We stand-”

fhwPEW!

The 'trooper who had moments ago hit Belargic suddenly crumpled to the ground, a smoking hole in the side of his helmet, his blaster rifle clattering off of the edge of the execution platform and spinning down into the crowd below. Two others surged forwards, seizing the Minister forcibly by the arms, dragging her backwards into the safety of the squadron as more blaster shots screamed over head. “Down, down, down!”

[Rossos Atrapes]

People began to scream as a number of dark garbed men toting blaster rifles emerged from one side of the plaza, spraying down blaster fire indiscriminately; not only targeting stormtroopers, but a number of civilians, including the bearded Flames of Umate.

"It's the rebels!" a stormtrooper nearby the Minister yelled, his orange pauldron denoting his status as an officer in the Stormtrooper Corps. The attackers were certainly garbed as the Rebel prisoners in the many propaganda vids the populace was shown on the holochannels. The stormtroopers fanned out across the platform, while reporting the locations of any attackers they saw to the snipers the Imperials had placed throughout the Plaza.

The stormtrooper officer rushed across the platform and grabbed Belargic, who looked at him in surprise.

"We're not done with you yet, Belargic," the stormtrooper said through the helmet's vocabulator. With that said, the officer threw him down off the platform into the crowd...


***


The leader winced as he saw the stormtrooper fall. "Durran!" he hissed.

"It wasn't me, boss!" the sniper replied through panting breath; he was obviously moving to another position after having taken his shot. The mercenary team's leader grunted.

"Apparently our employers are disguised as 'troopers, so unless they're firing on you, don't shoot them, or we could lose the rest of the payment, understood? We aren't supposed to be offering much in the way of resistance anyway."

Radioed affirmatives were replied, and the mercenary leader sighed, hoping that the first trooper shot wouldn't detract from their payment too badly.


***


...And Belargic fell into the waiting arms of two stormtroopers on the ground in front of the platform. The area immediately adjacent was already a bit sparse of living people not wearing the white armour of the Empire's enforcers, save for a few dead corpses on the ground.

The officer himself jumped from the platform, and landed somewhat lightly; no mean feat, if anyone had eyes to see it.

"Let's go," he said, and the other stormtroopers did not reply but grabbed the prisoner by the arms and began to drag him off to the side of the plaza. Oddly, they were largely ignored by the stormtroopers that were rushing to engage the Rebel attackers.

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

"What in the frakking HELL was THAT?" Normally quiet, normally reserved, and normally focused, that'd all been blasted to hell with the first toy solider to drop. She hadn't shot him, and she was damn well certain that Archy hadn't (at least that psycho better not have so help him...). And before you could even try and whisper a 'was that your doing?' or a 'since when was that part of the plan?' off to her fellow TK, the next thing she knew it looked like a group of their guys were running rampant down below. She didn't care if she shouted, no one was going to hear her over the damned screaming and gunfire that was filling the square in a right hurry.

Above all, she was livid. This wasn't part of the plan. Why couldn't anything ever go according to the frakking plan? And she was willing to bet her last breath that the trigger happy morons down below weren't any of their guys. "God damn Imperial cocksuckers...Arch! Snag those bastards up here waiting on finding us, I'm gonna see if I can't peg down a few of those we've been watching all day down there, thin their ranks a bit."

She turned off the mic after that. No one had to hear the slew of rather unfitting things that continued to leave her as she began to scan the riot down below for anything that she knew was safe to get rid of. She'd have to make the choices good before being forced to change position...shame she didn't have a clean bead on that Tagge bitch. That would have been one to write home to the boys about.

[Kyran O'Hurn]

He ignored the yelling and bitching in his ears and instead just focused on the task at hand. And it was a task that he could already see was going to hell faster then Palpatine.

Before Charles even finished talking Ky had taken out the three black dressed counter-sniper snipers and was now drawing a bead on the first of the actual white dressed Scout Trooper Snipers. Slowly he drew back on the trigger, but before he could fully depress the trigger he watched as the troopers head snapped back with the impact of a blaster bolt.

"What the...?"

The scene that had just played out in his scope surprised him enough to pull away from the scope and look over to where Charles was supposed to be. He could see the occasional blaster bolt leave her position, but they were all focused downward. It only took his instincts a second to put together the facts and what he came up with did not make him very comfortable.

"Shit!"

Ky immediately began to scan the crowd and any hiding places that could hide a shooter who could have taken out the Scout Trooper.

"Ryschcate. You know of any other friendly shooters? Cause if not, someone else is taking out the plastics."

[Jane Starborn]

"What the hell -?" Jane paused, eyes wide at the scene unfolding before them.

"We better hurry..." She pressed through the back of the crowd towards where Dasquian had fallen, the fighting at the front making it nearly impossible. "This isn't our diversion!"

[Sanya Tagge]

“No!”

Sanya struggled against the hands that were holding her down, desperate to see something – anything – other than the wall of white plastoid that surrounded her. Restrained, she could only watch in a disbelieving daze as one of the Stormtroopers hurled Dasquian Belargic over the edge of the platform.

“No, you fucking morons!” Thrashing impetously, she broke free of her captors for just long enough to make it to the platforms edge. What she looked down into, then, was nothing short of chaos. Belargic was gone, consumed by the mob. Within seconds, a pair of hands seized her upper-arms so tightly they would bruise and hauled her backwards to 'safety'.

[Dasquian Belargic]

”We're not done with you yet, Belargic.”

Pitched over the edge of Umate's peak, it felt as if he fell for only seconds before something intercepted his descent, bringing Belargic to a painful stop. Stormtroopers. One began to stalk ahead, whilst the other two hauled him along like a sack of grain, their arms hooked beneath his. Glancing back over his shoulder, he caught a brief glimpse of Sanya Tagge glaring down at him from above and knew in that moment that something had gone wrong. Deception was one of the Empire's most versatile tools, of that there was no doubt, but now who was deceiving who?

If he could get free now, there was a good chance he could escape. The crowd in the plaza was huge; getting lost in them, and then in the labyrinth of Coruscant, would be an excellent first step to securing his freedom – but there was no time to think with an indefinite timeframe, only time to act.

Without fear, Dasquian took a sudden jerking step backwards. One reacted by locking onto his arm even tighter – so tight that Belargic thought he felt the sudden pain of a bone popping out of its socket – whilst the other stumble, faltering thanks to his own relentless momentum. Teeth set hard against the pain, he managed to lay a hand on the base of the 'troopers helmet and with all the strength he could muster heaved towards the soldier who still had hold on him, hoping they would crash together like a pair of kinetic balls.

[Rossos Atrapes]

Belargic's desperate move wasn't completely successful, but it wasn't completely unsuccessful either. The Stormtrooper that held his arm didn't let go, though he'd lost his footing. He fell to his knees, bringing the Rebel prisoner down with him.

The other Stormtrooper sprawled, before picking himself back up. He proved the most unfortunate in the coming moments; the moment he stood up, a sniper's blaster bolt slammed right into his chest armour, almost searing totally through it. The Empire paid for top of the line in defencive wear for their soldiers, and the armour proved itself there. The bolt didn't kill the Stormtrooper, who was laid out on his back, but the white-clad enforcer was clearly out of the battle and unable to fight.

The Stormtrooper Officer turned his head back and spun to face the grappling Stormtrooper and Rebel. Lifting his own heavy blaster rifle (http://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/DLT-19_heavy_blaster_rifle) and aiming it at the Rebel, he shouted:

“Stop resisting, or I'll shoot you right now, Belargic!”


***


<style type="text/css"> <!-- @page { margin: 2cm } P { margin-bottom: 0.21cm } --> </style> “Boss, I think those are actual Rebels. Snipers too. Not too bad, by the looks of it.”

Durran had apparently found himself another place to hide. The mercenary leader grunted in apprehension. This was getting messy and very, very confusing.

“We can't get paid if our employers are dead,” he replied. “Take out the snipers if you can, but kills aren't priority. Make sure they don't pick off the guys around Belargic again, understood?”

“Affirmative. Drawing bead on female sniper now. She's a cute one, too. Drawing bead on her blaster rifle.”

“Good. Don't get killed out there, Durran. You're too valuable to lose.”

“Glad to know ya care, Boss. I won't be so sloppy as to get caught.”

[Grace Van-Derveld]

Everything went to hell. Shots had been fired but not from any known position that had been set up by the Rebels. A third party had intervened, but why?

Chaos was starting to ensue where Grace was positioned. The crowd was threatening to stampede those not fast enough to keep up with the frantic pounding of feet against the ground to get away from any stray blaster fire that might kill them. It afforded the Director a distraction.

As electronically enhanced orders were barked from under the helmets of the troopers, Grace heard the familiar sound of grenades being lobbed from behind her position. Several officers had donned gas masks, confirming her suspicion that the Empire was going to begin using tear gas to break up the crowd first, but if things continued to heat up, they might go for stun weapons and batons.

'Fleeing' for her own safety, Van-Derveld cracked an Imperial Officer in the knee cap and pulled off his gas mask. Fitting it over her face for protection, she punched the Imperial into unconsciousness and took his blaster rifle. In the chaos, no one was the wiser.

"Girlscout to Team. Have a clear shot." As she spoke, Grace lined up a bead on the Trooper that had Belargic in his sights and fired.

[Rossos Atrapes]

As focussed on Belargic as he was, the Officer shouldn't have had a chance. But somehow, without even glancing in Van-Derveld's position, the Officer began to throw himself to the side, out of the way of the bolt. Unfortunately, he moved too late, and the bolt singed into his shoulder armour. He tore off the helmet, revealing a bearded face and longer than regulation length hair.

By the time Inquisitor Atrapes (for that was who the Officer was), looked up, Belargic had shrugged off the now distracted Stormtrooper and began to make a run for his life. An ugly look stole over his face, and he turned to Van-Derveld's position.

“Get Belargic!” he commanded, and the stormtrooper ran off, not even wasting time to salute. He turned to see the woman still aiming at him while wearing a gas mask. However, due to the crowd's panic, her view was obstructed and she was unable to get a clear bead on the still breathing Officer.

“All available soldiers to me,” he commanded, and five soldiers rushing to the now fleeing mercenaries peeled off and stood at attention in front of him while he stood. “Follow me,” he said to two.

“You three are to capture that Rebel. Now.”

“Right away sir!” one said while Atrapes pulled out his pistol and stood up. The three ran straight toward Van-Derveld, while Atrapes and his two seemingly disappeared into the crowd.

[Kyran O'Hurn]

"Frak, frak, frak!"

They were all apparently in a very heavy hand basket because the mission was going to hell much to fast for his liking.

And then as he was sighting up the next Trooper he heard the sound of an explosion below and behind him. Something, or more likely someone had just tripped one of the booby-trap alarms that he had set up in the stairwell leading up to the roof. Pulling the trigger and dropping the stormtrooper Ky immediately pushed away from his rifle moved toward the entrance to the stairs pulling his DC-15s blaster pistol from its holster.

Moving around the corner from the door he crouched down and waited. He could hear the heavy footsteps of Imperial Troopers making their way up the stairs. His guess was 2 or maybe 3 troopers, but he wasn't going to take any chances. Pushing himself as flat against the wall as he could Ky waited. And it didn't take long before he heard the troopers stack up behind the door. Three seconds or so later the door slammed open as one of the troopers kicked it open. All three came pouring out in order the leader putting two blaster bolts into the pad where he had been laying moments before.

Not wasting any time he swung around the corner and put a pair of energy bolts into the chest of the trooper facing him followed by two more shots each into the backs of the troopers covering the rest of the roof. In less then a couple of seconds all three of the troopers were down. Holstering his weapon, Ky reached down and scooped up one of the troopers blaster rifles. Shouldering the unwieldy weapon he slowly moved into the stairwell making sure it was clear.

Peering over the edge he could see what remained of the trooper who had tripped the booby-trap.

Guess he shouldn't have expected an easy mission.

Starting to move down the stairs with cautious quickness he keyed his mic.

"Position compromised, I'm on the move. Archangel out."

His time as a sniper was over. It was now time to improvise.

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

It was an ugly sort of feeling that suddenly slammed itself into the forefront of her mind. Ugly and familiar and one of those things she flat out refused to talk about despite the number of times paying attention to that horrid sensation had saved her. It always started off the same, a slight prickling feeling at the back of her neck that washed into the front of her head like a bad sinus headache that usually started an internal dialogue telling her something was seriously wrong. This time it was frantically telling her to move. No specific direction, no other details just...move. And given all the chaos errupting she found herself more than happy to oblige the urging.

And another curse sprang forth as she found that once again following that instict paid off as a blaster bolt by just a fraction of a second crashed into the building where she'd just pulled herself and the rifle away from. The point of impact wasn't ignored, either. They were a rubbish shot or had been aiming to tag the DC-15X and neither idea really appealed. "Frink me..."

Cover was found in the form of one of the building's hubs for its air filtration systems. Wasn't a lot and she sure as frak wasn't about to try and make a run for it if someone already had her number. And there wasn't any time to let that usual slight freak out she always had after that ...whatever it was...prevented something from happening when Archy was reporting back in her ear. A deep breath was taken before forcing herself to reply. "Roger, Archangel. Stay safe." Tur'enne avoided the bit about how she was effectively trapped now.

And yet...she felt...giddiness building up over it all. There wasn't a damned thing she could do about what was going on downstairs for the moment. However...whoever the hell it was that thought it'd be cute to disable her from the fun...well she was probably taking it a bit too personal but reason stood that out of all the other problems out there, that one she could actually deal with. "Game's on, bucko."

[Karl Valten]

Valten promptly shut his mouth, cursing himself for such a slip in conduct. And before the Empress too? Under Palpatine the breach would have been unforgivable, and Karl was very nearly expecting a blaster bolt between the eyes. But despite the vulgarity, he was merely met with a resolute patience and calm and not even a hint of admonishment.

It would take some getting used this new era. Not that Karl could complain at all, change, even change that he helped instigate, would be difficult.

Anger, now reduced to a throbbing in his mind, still governed the Grand Inquisitor’s thoughts. Sanya’s blatant disregard both towards Empress and the Inquisitoriate would only serve as a precedent to disrupt the transition to a new Imperium. Vengeance rarely ever found it a home with Valten, but Tagge would pay dearly for her mistake, he would make sure of it. All was already in motion.

On the holo, the camera began zooming in as Dasquian emerged and was led soldiers to the proverbial noose. Amusing as the frenzy of the crowd was, with their jeers and shouting, and the reporter dutifully highlighting the details of the “…..crimes of terror which have caused so much fear and despair to all law-abiding citizens…….”, Valten took his gaze from the scene.

“Pride, pride and some notion glory is what’s driving her. She’ll be lauded as the hero who brought the feared Dasquian Belargic to Justice.” Sarcasm tangibly dripped from Valten’s tongue. “This idiocy is the same kind that has been pla…….”

Valten’s tirade cut short by a sharp gasp and wide-eyed look of shock on Miranda’s face. Confused, the Grand Inquisitor followed her gaze to the screen and fell witness to the carnage.

…


…



…


…


“This is what I was afraid of.”

[Miranda Tarkin]

Her surprise fell into a scowl of disappointment. Countless billions were watching the debacle unfold. A hand came to rest under her chin as she studied the monitor, a finger lightly brushing her lips in thought.

"The Rebels are quite arrogant but ..." she shook her head in mild confusion. "... something else is wrong. I'm not sure what."

There was something else pulling the strings of this fiasco. Miranda was sure of it, but Rebel involvement was certain. "But I agree with you. I had a feeling this might happen as well."

She hit a button on the panel of her desk which connected her to Ministry of Propaganda. A hologram of a young man flickered into life. The suit he wore was plain, but sewn into the outer pocket was the Ministry's logo and his rank as a field operative.

He bowed deeply, Your Majesty. I've been expecting your call unfortunately.

Miranda nodded curtly in agreement but was all business. "Cut the signal and go to a broadcast updating our citizens about the firefight. GNN should explain how Rebel insurgents are attempting to rescue their captured leader, but Imperial forces have surrounded the area to contain the threat and protect our citizens who were merely there to watch justice be served. I'm sure you'll be able to splice together appropriate images until we know how this plays out."

Of course, Ma'am. I'll set up direct communications with GNN so we can take care of any intricacies in real time as you relay orders to me."

"Excellent. Keep this line open."

He nodded and disappeared from the small holopad as Miranda turned the signal over to silence. A few adjustments on her desk and the monitor before her split into several images. One was of GNN beginning to broadcast the news about the attack with the sound off, but Valten and Tarkin could read what was being said as it scrolled under the reporter's chest. Next to that image was of the Ministry of Propaganda's headquarters; the rest of the monitor was broken up into various images of the firefight below.

With everything set up to her satisfaction, she hailed the security detail that were in charge of evacuating the important dignitaries down below. It only took a moment for the call to go through. The Captain addressing her was calm and cool.

Captain Latiek here, your Majesty. What can I assist you with?

"I want an update. Any of our people hurt?"

Nothing that they won't heal up from, Ma'am. Some bruises and scrapes from the general chaos. Happy to report no casualties.

"Excellent. What is the status of Minister Tagge?"

She's fine. A little ...

He couldn't every well say she was a rotten ungrateful little bitch who didn't appreciate that his men got her out of harms way. She was still ranting and raving about hauled off in an undignified manner.

She's frazzled. As most of the dignitaries are. She's just needs a bit of time to calm down.

"Well, she doesn't have that time. I want her escorted to my office immediately."

As you wish, Ma'am!

Miranda leaned back in her chair and tightened her lips. She wanted to hear it from her own dear friend's lips as to why the media won't be announcing that the Minister of Propaganda was sadly hurt during the firefight and due to health reasons, will be stepping down from her position. Valten could handle the rest in regards to reinforcements for the chaos on the monitors.

[Karl Valten]

Chaos, the only word to describe scenes of the firefight flashing across GNN. Chaos instigated once again by a disgruntled terrorist minority. Valten shock his head in disgust as the fighting continued to stalemate as stormtroopers, the supposed elite of the Imperial army, failed to quickly grind out this little act of defiance.

…And with no time to make it to the fracas himself, the debacle would well be finished by the time Valten could find transportation. So the Grand Inquisitor decided on the next best option.

“Half a legion stormtroopers and they can’t even deal with a few lack-luster terrorists.” Karl drew a holonet data-chord from his uniform. Approaching the nearest holonet port, the Grand Inquisitor turned towards his Empress. “If you will, highness, I have an insurrection to put down.”

Since the Valten’s Inquisitors first began backing the new Empress, she had been privy to many strange aspects of the Inquisitoriate. But this was something Miranda had not seen before.

Valten calmly pulled down the collar of his uniform and without any hesitation, plunged one end of the cable into a slot at the base of his skull; the other end he hooked directly into the holonet port.

And with that, Karl found himself in an entirely different world of awareness, his neural implants converting data to image in his mind. One second he was racing down incandescent tunnel and the next he was at the heart of the Inquisitorial Citadel.

"Captain Kiel, heavy disturbance at the Judiciary.”

Dozens of kilometers away, Valten’s voice rang in the headset of Captain Ze’eva Kiel of the Crimson Guard.

Gunships are already in the air, Sir. Agent Jerrard ordered squads out as soon as the firefight broke out.

Moments later, Valten saw the Coruscanti Skyline whizzing past below him from the bird’s eye view of an Inquisitorial gunship. Even if he could not be there in person, Valten would make sure this debacle would be over in short order.

[Rossos Atrapes]

"Frak!" Durran growled, lining up another shot but missing by a slim margin. "How in the hells did I miss?"

"Durran! You alright?"

"Yeah, boss. That chick has some good instincts," Durran sighed and sighted along the scope again. He fired, and missed. "I'll work on keeping her down and out of the fight so she can't be pickin' off our employers. I recommend that we start pullin' out, sir."

"Acknowledged, Durran. Make sure you come back too."


***


Inquisitoriate gunboat on the way.

Inquisitor Atrapes growled low in his throat as IMP relayed the information to him. It wasn't supposed to get this bad; but he'd not counted on Imperial Stormtroopers performing as badly as they were. These were garrison troops, he remembered, and swore silently to himself as he tracked the woman he knew to be Van-Derveld. One of them would be captured, and though Belargic hadn't cracked, Van-Derveld surely would... especially if confronted with the vids of Belargic's interrogations.

She was running into a building it seemed. He absently took command of a squad of four soldiers, bringing the men directly under his command to seven. Replacing his helmet, he motioned to the building.

"Surround the building," he ordered. "Make sure none get out. Sniper fire was detected from the roof of this building as well; start setting explosives along the walls, in case its not worth it to get them alive."

"Sir!" Under the command of a good enough leader, the Stormtroopers' discipline began to shine through as they were used well. Others, sensing the purpose behind the disguised Inquisitor and his squad, formed up with them as the supposed Rebels began to flee.

"There are three entrances to the building. Three squads of four will guard each entrance, and a team lead by myself will go in to capture or kill the Rebels. Understood."

"Yes sir!"

"Good."

[Jane Starborn]

"Well," said Jane, from her perch on the statue amidst what had been the fringe of the crowd, now a rushing mass of humanity flooding towards the exits. "Things never go according to plan."

She and Dash were about as far from the action as one could get, and the firefight had effectively marooned them for the time being. It was climb or be trampled. Pulling out a small set of macrobinoculars, she zeroed in on Van-Derveld's position, watching the Director run into a building, presumably after the troopers who'd snatched Belargic. None of it made sense at the moment, but everything was filed away for future pondering.

"Mother's going to have a field day with this debacle." She looked over at her cousin, and slid down the statue. "They're closing off the exits to that building: Archangel's on the roof on the move and Girlscout just ran in. We better make sure they have an out."

[Grace Van-Derveld]

"Frell!" she hissed and ran off into the increasingly frenzied crowd. The crowd stunk of alien sweat and general fear as every sentient being in the area was running for their lives. It took most of her concentration to keep her balance and not be knocked over. Taking a chance, she purposefully ducked into a thicker part of the crowd, crouching low to avoid microbinoculars.

She ripped off the yellow blouse and rubbed off her makeup with it. The wig camp off with a yelp as the hair clips ripped at her hair. It was a spectacular mess but quickly it was covered up by using a discarded shawl that had been lost in the chaos. It only took a few seconds for the quick disguise, but it was enough. She followed the crowd, acting like a frightened civilian as she got her bearings and realized she was close to Archangel's position. As the wave of stampeding citizens were being attacked by tear gas and tasers, Grace ducked into the building of his position and hoped she hadn't been tracked...

[Dasquian Belargic]

“Stop resisting, or I'll shoot you right now, Belargic!”

Ordinarily, Dasquian might have objected. Shooting a high-priority prisoner was not something that the ground-level grunts could get away with in ordinary circumstances, but for the time being ordinary had been thrown out the window. Today, he was supposed to die. Would it matter if the killing blow came without the ceremony Sanya Tagge had hoped to bestow upon the occasion?

A stray – or perhaps perfectly targetted – blaster shot provided distraction enough for Belargic to abandon that train of thought. He stole only a seconds glance back over his shoulder and saw a familiar face contorted, barking something after him. Wherever Rossos Atrapes was, Dasquian would be heading in the opposite direction!

Just about tripping over himself and the people around himself, Belargic ducked and shoved his way through the crowds. Some parted for him, as if he were a pebble striking the surface of a pond, ripples of panic spreading suddenly from his footsteps. There was only one public exit from the plaza and it was fast becoming a clogged bottleneck. He had to get to it before the crowds were pacified and the Imperial military began marshaling, searching and detaining...

[Dashiel Starborn]

In spite of it all, Dash hadn't drawn his gun. The sidearm remained firmly strapped in place, though ready to be drawn at a moments notice. In a matter of minutes, they had lost sight of Grace and their goals. Of course, it had never been the intention that the Starborn's should step in unless something went drastically wrong – but Dashiel couldn't even be certain that it had.

Sniper shots had been fired, but he was ninety-percent certain that they had come from sharpshooters other than Archangel and Ryschcate. If there were other eyes in the sky, it wouldn't pay to draw attention to themselves. With a gesture for Jane to follow, Dash drifted towards the crowd, following the wave that seemed to be pushing most of them onwards. A few stragglers had been left behind, but all around the plaza's perimeter cafes and shops were shutting up their entryways, regardless of any protests to the contrary. One old man rattled his knuckles against a shop window, yelling to be let inside, but the owners were taking no chances that they might accidentally take in and protect a wanted criminal.

“Shall I do the honours?” he asked, with a nod towards the entrance of the building that Jane thought she'd seen Van-Derveld vanish into. Cautiously, Dash's fingertips curled around the grip of his blaster. There were soldiers outside, hastily trying to secure the doorway. If it came down to one of them taking the heat whilst the other slipped inside, Dash knew that Jane would have a better chance of getting in and out of an unfamiliar building. With a memory like hers, it was difficult to get lost.

[Rossos Atrapes]

"Sir!"

Atrapes, still under guise as an officer in the Stormtrooper Corps., turned and returned the salute.

"We have reinforcements coming to block the entrance before anymore can get loose. However, the crowds are starting to push--"

"Have the stormtroopers at the entrance fire into the crowd, indiscriminately. That should cool their ardour. We must reestablish order so that the prisoner can be captured. Kill him, if necessary." Atrapes turned back to the building where the other had escaped into. Belargic, though a sore blemish on his personal interrogation record, was now farther from his thoughts as another plan seemed to be coming to fruition.

"Corporal, send your men inside. Have two from each team cover the exits and they are not to leave their posts under any circumstances. Understood?"

"Yes sir!"

"Good. One team is under my command. Go!"

With that, the Stormtroopers moved into the building quickly, with Inquisitor Atrapes leading the way.



***


"Things are gettin' pretty hairy out here, boss!" Durran's voice sounded slightly breathless. "I'm almost to the pickup point."

"Good. Get yourself on that ship and out of here as quick as possible." The team leader was stealthily making his way along the corridor that would lead to a service entrance, where a bulk speeder would be waiting to pick up him and the others who had been coordinating the battle. The Empire was known for pulling stunts like this on mercenary teams, but they were also known for paying the survivors handsomely if the objective was completed.

And it was completed, he thought to himself. My team provided the distraction that we were told to make. If the Empire fumbled this, its not on me and my team.

"We're at the service entrance!" the man on point whispered as shouts and blaster fire could still be heard out in the plaza itself. Likely, this building was already breached by Imperial soldiers too. They'd need to hurry.

"Code accepted. Door opening."

The door slid open, but slowly. This struck the leader as odd, but they were already so close that he shrugged the feeling off as anxiety over the possibility of fighting off Stormtroopers as they made their escape. Finally, the door let loose a hiss and hum as it opened completely, and they could see the bulk speeder waiting for them. The team leader grinned.

The six men let loose small exhalations of relief and stood upright. They began to make their way to the speeder, the end of this job in sight.

"Let's go," the leader said. He placed a finger at the earpiece, activating it. "Durran, we're at the pick-up point."

"I'm almost to mine. Bit of a tussle made me take a detour."

Before the leader could say anything, the hum changed pitch, and suddenly a red bar of light flashed in front of their team, killing the man on point before he could make a sound. Standing over the dead body was a man holding what looked like a glowing laser sword. The man turned to five remaining men and charged without a word.

"No..." the leader gasped as he watched the man kill two more in a second. He fired a shot, but it went wide.

"Boss? Boss? What's happened?"

"Durran, we've been--!" The pain was surprisingly intense, as the bar of superheated light cooked the flesh in his belly. His eyes focussed on the man who had killed him, and he saw, surprisingly, one of the most normal looking men he had ever seen. Even with the uniform on, the man put off a sense of unremarkableness that pervaded the air around him. The pain grew biting for a moment as the laser sword was pulled out of him, and he fell to his knees, feeling weaker than he ever had in his life. He didn't have the strength to even look up as the uniformed man lopped off his head.

"This is 2. Loose ends have been taken care of. Only a few more should remain," the ordinary looking man murmured into the air. He stood still for a moment, regarding the speeder, before nodding. "Very well. Making my way to the entrance to apprehend targets."

[Charlotte Tur'enne]

So long as a person had at least two braincells in their head that wasn't being occupied by all the rules and regulations that could be tossed at someone in SpecForce, it only took one maybe two times of being actually pinned down to learn how to avoid such a situation. For Charles, those had been in simulations and she had spent weeks analyzing what she had done wrong, how they had gotten the best of her. But in the end it all came down to one simple lesson: always leave yourself a way to keep aware of your surroundings, leave yourself a way out, and give yourself a way to knock out the person who might be on to you.

The improvised cover formed by the filtration unit wasn't a ton, but she was smaller than your average grunt and managed to at least adjust her position. Not a lot, but enough to at least get sights on where the shot should have come from. Hardly ideal... and made all the worse by the fact that when she finally thought she saw the culprit he just as suddenly moved out of position. Not an adjustment in his own situation, it looked more like he was fully bailing out. Now that didn't make sense... Damn frinking Imps should have been able to keep their goon in position until they sent a squad of their toy soldiers up to off her for good. Day just kept getting weirder and weirder.

All the noise coming from from the ground level was giving away the fact the situation down below certainly hadn't gotten any better, meaning attempting to thin the white hats' numbers a bit just wasn't an option. Heading down there to play with them on their level didn't seem like a great idea either if there actually was any sort of squad heading for her at that point in time. Not without a decent blaster to her name, at least.

Which basically left one thing left: get herself off that damn building and in a bit of a hurry. A glance was given to the neighboring one where her friend had just taken off from. They certainly wouldn't have expected her to move towards where shots had come from. And with that, her mind was made up. Time to move... and time to see if she couldn't at least reduce the Imps' sharpshooters numbers by one. With any luck she'd run into a few others along the way.

[Besh]

Durran pounded along the roof line, wincing as stray shots seared the air around him. A quick glance had him nearly at the building he needed to be at. Then he’d make a run down the stairwell, through a window onto a waiting speeder. They’d bug out, and he’d be clear as rain.

The sniper winced a bit as he remembered the last communication with his boss, but if all went belly up, it didn’t change the fact that he wanted to live through this day, paid or not. He’d probably have to get attached to another group though, considering most of the company had been with the Boss. At least, those that hadn’t gotten themselves killed by the Imps down in the fight below.

Never workin’ for the Imperials again, no matter how much they pay me, he thought.

Through the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of blonde. That chick was tailing him. With a quick dive and a roll, he settled behind some technical unit that was conveniently large enough to provide him some semblance of cover. Carefully, he moved to the edge of the building, and looked down and to the side. The speeder was there, but the driver was nowhere to seen. He swore, and measured the drop. Too far for him to jump safely when he made it to the building. A head poked out of the window, and his eyes widened. Instinctively, he pulled his rifle to bear and fired, luckily nailing the man in the head, killing him.

The damn bastards are wipin’ us out!

With as little movement as he could make, he moved back to the stairwell, hiding behind the outcropping and the dangerous blonde that was no doubt scoping the rooftop. He rolled to the side, keeping low and out of sight; he had to think of a way to make it to the speeder. It was his only viable means of escaping this situation. He’d never make it on foot. A glance to the roofs on either side of him had him swearing again. Stormtrooper snipers were being unloaded. He’d have to make his run for it soon. What with blondie having a chance to switch from her side of the plaza to roofs closer to his, and the encroaching Imps, this was turning FUBAR faster than any other operation he’d ever been in.

***

Two snipers. Roofs. One is from Loose Ends. Other is unknown from profile. Terminate both.

“2 intercepting snipers. Out,” he said. A sprint brought him from the front door of the building the mercenaries (the “loose ends”) had been using as a base, to a small restaurant across the way. The plaza was still aflame with fighting. Stormtroopers were opening fire on the panicked crowd at the entrance to the plaza. This was the building that the mercenary sniper was hiding out on top of. Or, had been. IMP was giving him detailed information on the surroundings, including combatants and non-combatants. The sniper had jumped from this building to the next. The unknown sniper was making her way closer as well.

He kicked open the door to the back stairwell, and ran up to the roof, intent on completing his mission.