Break the Rules

[I'nu]

Break the Rules

Brown walls caged him in. Windows were barred. Beyond dust panned over. This was a basement. Outside the heavens were cold and gray. Darkness spread about, but the overlight tried to illuminate. Nothing could be seen. In the corner sat the bar. Behind it was metallic - a droid. The mechanically lit eyes stood out in that dim chamber. Chairs and tables were placed throughout. A locked door was off to the left. Brick tiled the floor and was shivering cold. Under his worn-down wear he could feel it. He leaned against the counter and waited.

The droid didn't speak. Up his leg wrapped a holster. He was adorn with a Rebel Squadron jumpsuit. Orange in color, bright in the dark, but it was comfortable. Space was beyond these large walls and sad skies. Only seconds removed a possible traveler from such a place. Without the flight helmet it would be hard to find one's way though. This man didn't have a helmet. He had wild hair to protect. White and black locks, strands, and braids spiralling all over his head. And he had these snake-like hazel eyes staring at the door. His face was schoolboy and weary.

A smirk rolled up his lips. He licked at his chops. By him rested a shot of ice. At the bottom waited a bit of drink. No telling what it was. The droid kept whiping down the counter.

The man blinked.

"I'nu - what are you waiting for?" The droid asked, still cleaning.

No answer. The man didn't even move. Echos of footsteps could be heard down the way. Out of the oblivion beyond that door there was something coming. His eyes kept focused. He continued to stare.

1...

2...

3...


...boom!

[Stormtrooper]

Dark silence led them down the hall. Old walls kept the place standing. Old gray walls, marred by blaster fire and stinking of bombing fluid, made them breathe harder. The platoon surrounded the place. Orders had been sent out over the comm. links. All the troops knew what they needed to do. Blasters had been check twice. Ammo checked thrice. Everyone knew what they needed to do; just another bag-and-tag mission. But still the men's hearts beat and thumped with fright.

Weeks earlier they had learned of the target's whereabouts. He was located in the Illium system. Why? Only their superios knew. The business wasn't worth prying. TK-323 asked question. He inquired. He disappeared. At least that was what they men were chatting about in the mess hall.

Wasn't worth it.

Better off shutting your mouth. And just do the job.

O', and thats what they did. Some felt it was overkill. One target wasn't worth the amount of men sent off. That was some, though. Most were wary of the mission's file. Many had died trying to capture this man. Even a bounty had been put on his head. There was no telling who else tracked the target. One of the mercenary's could be flying in, or hunters trying to intercept their attack. Plus, the mystery around the man was worth noting. No one knew his name. No one even knew his race, or gender - it was all assumption.

They were going in blind. Behind those white mask was sweat and flashbacks. Memories of better days, where a dark night meant sleeping in with a Zeltron planetside near a fire place or drinking with the buddies - not possible death.

War, it was a mess.

The man was a Rebel. That was duly noted. At the door, one of the leaders made that clear. With a press to his helm, he sent a message out to the platoon. No sweat was trickling off this squad leader's face. He was calm. He was certain. Head barely tilted to look over his should, he stood stout, and strong. There was no doubt he deserved his rank.

"Lets kill this Rebel scum! Blast this door on my count." Their blasters pointed at the door. The squad surrounding the house waited with their rifles drawn.

1...

2...

3...


...boom!

[Zephyr]

It sizzled.

It popped.

A JT-12 jetpack came to a halt. On the dune's floor stopped those brown, heavy boots. Dust blew in the wind. A night chill wisped about, but the owner of the jetpack felt nothing. The owner was Zephyr. There was no denying the trademark glare of his golden helm. Or the near-Ubese wear. He was a rare sight in this side of the galaxy, but business called.

"Case 45-J," the synthesized voice barked from the helmet. At his wrist came alive a hologram. The anonymous human swivel around, data swarming; all the information he gathered and was given.

Apparently the target had been bombing factories in the Inner and Mid-Rim. Key plants that's disruption was crippling surges in the Outer Rim. It was a Rebel. But not simply any revolting scum - he was a vigilante. After a quick search, Zephyr had received word that the Alliance had no direct affilation with the attacks. There had been no signs of any Rebel crafts involved, or key members in the plants bombing.

Plus, the enemy was slicing his way through all this. Credits within the Empire's own treasury were being moved around, and used to purchase the very bombs for their plants. At first glance, the acts almost seemed like an inside job. The frustration was evident back in the Core. All the high officals were at a clamor. They knew no one would dare sabotage the Outer Rim moves, but quietly some had been investigated.

Yet, first the cause had to be handled.

They had no names. They had no contacts. All they had were computers, stray ships, and a bundle of slices with programs. Zephyr tracked the ISB's survey of the case like a hawk. It was a sensitive issue. He couldn't be a step ahead of them, but he could shadow them.

And surely he did. The bounty was placed by a Hutt. Word had traveled fast. If the Hutts could grab up this prize, they could interrogate and sell the target's info on the accounts back to the Empire. Zephyr would be their upper hand. This could be a win-win for everybody, if they played their cards right.

Only problem was, Zephyr duly noted the Lambda shuttles landing earlier. The troops were here. Hunched over, he perched at the hill. Through the black visor, he stared down at the squad. They flanked. They surrounded the run-down building. He had to act fast. So, he bent over, clicked the button on his pack and ready himself for the explosion - his rocket was targeted and would going off in...

1....

2...

3...


...boom!