Sestooine Rage

"That quarantine ain't been up long 'nough f'them to ask f'meds." Look on Kazaar's face pretty much said what he thought o'the quarantine. Total crap. "If we're goin' in we gotta go in as something they woulda asked fer.

"Knowin' th'Imps...hey 'Trey'. Gorgja got anythin' up on this?" Th'ex-bounty hunter rarely mentioned his former boss. But in goofy frackin' times like this...kinda had to. If they were gonna make it on Sestooine without appearin' too suspicious...

The R7 droid *bleeped* o'bit while checkin' out Gorgja's database. Then o'bright order appeared on th'glass table.

Kazaar smirked. "Hell frackin' yeah. Imps've asked for some help in trackin' down some targets they say haven't been 'inoculated' for th'plague. 'Parently these guys don't trust anyone who don't wanna get injected. Hell...I wouldn't blame 'em.

"Frackers don't even wanna send their own guys t'look for 'em. Guess they're afraid th'Empire's frackin' finest ain't good 'nough.

"C'mon...I'll show ya what we're goin' as."

Led De'Ville to one o'Night Train's seven rooms. This was he'd converted into some kinda armory. Buncha weapons hung on racks linin' the walls. Wasn't Kazaar's best weaponry (that was on th'Dutchman) but it'd get the job done.

'Course what he wanted her t'see were the three suits of armor sitting in th'middle.

First one was all grey with o'black stripe goin' down the left side of the chest plate an' down the shoulder armor as well. Small circle was emblazoned on th'stripe as well. The helmet was also grey with black outlines and the familiar T-shape HUD De'Ville woulda known if she'd been payin' attention to any kinda holo for the last five fracking centuries.

Second one was o'bit more ornate than the first. First off, it was o'deep red, almost crimson, with grey highlights. Also appeared t'have a detachable cape as well. Sure as hell looked old as dirt too. Like it'd been bought at an auction or something. T-visor was there on th'helmet but it looks more triangular instead o'the usual dome shape.

Third was looked more traditional but would probably fit a woman better than Kazaar. Had o'grey helmet with orange lightning on top. Chest piece and shoulder pads were also orange but th'middle was grey. Pants were also a mix o'orange and grey.

Three Mandalorian suits of armor.

"Way I figure...we go in as Mandy mercs lookin' t'cash in on th'Imps' bounty. Filtration systems oughta keep those geniuses from havin' t'shoot us up with whatever crap they've got."

His smirk edged on dangerous. "Go figure out what's really goin' on an' bust it the frack up."

She whistled softly at the suits of Mando'ade armor, and reached out hesitantly as if to touch it. "I've never seen a set without someone nasty inside it." De'Ville looked at Kazaar and then back to the armor, "Guess that won't change much."

They were all three very similar to the style of armor that the Mando'ade of Onderon wore, despite being a millennia apart. When you found a design that worked, you stuck with it, she guessed. The red armor intrigued her, and she decided it wouldn't hurt to show some of the fascination. Better to be fascinated than for it to appear that all of this was old hat. The slightly different styling matched more closely to the armor she usually wore, though hers back on Onderon was black and white, the traditional coloring for Mand'alor.

"These will make it easier to get firepower in, too," she remarked. "I've gone up against a few Mandos and they're no joke."

"No kiddin'. 'Course if they're o'Mandy worth their frackin' stones they'd know armor don't make the warrior." He smirked. Not bad forra kid who'd had an archeologist forra dad. Even if th'archeologist coulda kicked anyone's ass on Alderaan or Brentaal if he'd wanted to.

"Gotta fourth stashed away on Brentaal. Ain't mine. Took it off some hut'uunla fracker who thought he could be o'bad ass by just wearin' the suit. 'Course, didn't need it after I was through with 'em." Kazaar stated the last piece more as fact than boastin'.

"Grey an' orange one ain't mine either. Pulled if off o'dame who took o'pal of mine out. Wasn't too keen 'bout killing 'er but needed it more than she did. And no, I didn't wear it. Had someone else." That 'course was o'different story all together.

"Not a fan of hurting women?" Lady was still busy runnin' her hand over the antique crimson armor. Looked like it'd had o'couple breathing nozzles coming outta the mask too. They'd either been plugged or th'helmet'd been replaced all together.

"Naw. Ain't m'thing. Said before, most frackers who prey on women ain't worth th'air they're suckin' down. Never made sense t'smack dames 'round anyway." Kazaar gave o'shrug. "Don't see 'em as weaker than guys (plenty o'strong women out there) just never saw how smackin' o'lady around made 'em feel masculine.

"Pretty frackin' cheap if ya ask me."

"Aurelias, defender of females," De'Ville said absently, the swelling in her tongue completely gone finally and with it the uncomfortable thickness to her speech. "O'course, if one hit you first..." She winked at him.

"Perhaps I should try on the suit," she gestured to the smaller, more feminine shaped armor, "and get accustomed to it."

"Be m'guest." Kazaar didn't move. "What ya expect me just t'leave ya here alone in my armory while ya try onna piece o'armor."

He smirked. "May be willing t'fight ya but I ain't o'moron. Ya either put it on with me 'ere or don't wear it.

"Don't worry. Ain't gonna peel either. I'll close m'fracking eyes."

De'Ville shrugged, "Look all you like, but if you touch I'll kill you." She smiled, but it didn't really take the edge of the promise, and then she stepped closer to the armor, eyeing it to make sure she really did know how to put it on.

It wasn't much different from what she was used to, except that it had much less armor on the arms and legs, which meant that it was probably lighter. De'Ville kicked off her boots, stripped off her shirt, and shimmied out of her pants, pulling the liner shirt with its ceramic plates and micro energy field protector over her head. It was a fairly good fit, though she was a little taller than the original wearer of the armor.

The armorweave jumpsuit was covered with beskar blast resistant plates, and she hesitated a bit, trying to figure out the best way to get into it. At least, that was how it appeared to Kazaar, who grumpily stepped forward and assisted her by supporting the weight of the chest plate while she squirmed into the jumpsuit.

"Its heavier than it looks," she remarked, once it was in place, and took some experimental steps, getting used to heft of the armor.

"Yeh. More of a shock trooper type armor than th'old Neo Crusader. Been in those o'few times, helluva lot more maneuverable than they look."

Kazaar lit 'nother cigar while De'Ville kept walking. "Now ya wanna tell what th'frack really happened t'ya back."

She turned and gave 'im a withering look. "You peeked."

She gotta almost shrug in return. "Wasn't trying to. But when ya see stripe that could only come from either o'frackin' power lash orra Confessor's whip...only slavers frackin' use that crap ('less ya use it t'charge up ya ramp an' I doubt you're that frackin' kinky)."

Things were kinda silent forra bit.

"Did ya 'least gut th'gartal who did that to ya?"

"No," she said quietly. "I didn't."

De'Ville's armored hands clenched up into fists, and her green eyes burned with hate for a moment as she looked at the ground. When she looked back up her emotion had been hidden away again. "Someone else killed her."

She sighed, and then her face hardened up again, as if she'd put a wall up between them. "You going to show me how to work these systems or not?"

Kazaar did somethin' pretty strange then. "Look I ain't th'kinda guy t'get all mushy mushy an' all that crap and ya don't strike me as th'kinda dame who goes for that anyway.

"But I know how ya feel. Got someone I had o'hard on forra long time who I haven't been able t'take out ever. Hell, don't even know who th'fracker is."

Tossed 'er the helmet. "Just put it on an' let it run th'diagnostics. Thing calibrates itself to ya likin'. Helluva thing it is."

Things were silent forra bit. "So ya know who ya huntin'?"

De'Ville stared at 'im blankly. She'd just frackin' said...

Kazaar almost rolled 'is eyes. "Whoever killed th'one ya were after. Ever think 'bout hunting whoever they were down?"

"Oh, yes." De'Ville nodded, taking the helmet and snugging it in place. Her voice came through the vox only slightly distorted. "IG-88 isn't something to be tangled with lightly, but I have taken my shots at it. And from it."

She wasn't about to get into how at first it had been to avenge A'na Eldhil, not because she was upset the bounty hunter had gotten to her first. A'na had twisted Lilaena's mind, made her submit to the beatings willingly... made her think she deserved them.

It was only recently that her eyes had been opened to A'na's deep betrayal of the girl De'Ville had been. And she also wasn't about to tell Kazaar that IG-88 had in fact captured her less than a year previously and turned her over to the Inquisitorate, where her scars had been meticulously re-opened after some nightmare drug had caused her to relive A'na's last days.

The stripes were healed again, but then, perhaps some things never healed right. Not inside.

The HUD ran through the familiar diagnostics and began calibrating, but De'Ville just stood there like a statue.

"Damn tin cans're pretty frackin' hard to kill." He agreed. "'Specially if they gotta place they can dump their programmin' to build o'new body. Had t'do it to 'Trey' couple times. Ain't fun. Fracks with their programmin' o'bit so they don't always remember what happened."

Kazaar kinda shrugged a shoulder. "'Least with R7s ya can only do it so much. Those damn IGs're different though. Follow me. Wanna show ya showin'."

Th'ex-bounty hunter, lettin' De'Ville walk next t'him just in case she tried somethin' funny, led her down to 'nother cargo bay. It'd been set up like o'shootin' range. Included o'few target dummies (which'd obviously seen better days) and couple rundown combat droids.

"Ain't nothing special but if ya wanna get comfy with th'suit, best place 'round here t'do that." He blew smoke outta 'is mouth. "Gonna grab o'drink. Want anything?"

She shook her head, and raised her arm, experimentally aiming the wrist launcher down the range. Kazaar left her alone, which made her smile inside the helmet, as he was obviously not all that comfortable with someone he barely knew inside the armor, and she checked the payload on the launcher. It was loaded with darts only, nothing explosive, so she fired off a few into the furthest target, grouping them together in the chest.

She felt a bit exposed with the lighter armor, but there were advantages as well with increased mobility. De'Ville wondered if there were matching jetpacks to go with the suits, but decided if there were and Kazaar wanted to use them, then he'd mention them.

After a few minutes of moving around and making sure the systems in the suit were all operational, De'Ville removed the helmet and shook out her hair.

"Well ya sure as hell know how t'use th'darts." De'Ville wasn't surprised t'find Kazaar leanin' against th'doorway, his ever present smirk on his face. Had o'bottle in his hand which he (liberally) took swigs from every now an' then. The other hand had o'cigar.

Stayed by th'door. "Flame torch on th'left arm. Ain't loaded right now. Whipchord there too.

"Also gotta collar piece that'll keep ya from gettin' ya head lopped off. Why they frackin' didn't put it on before that, got no idea. Guess when one o'ya top leaders gets decapitated by o'Jedi...makes ya think o'bit."

Th'smirk turned into o'crooked smile as he guzzled more beer. "Back armor's little stronger than most and there's extra protection 'round the knees. Got personal shields too. Never know when someone's gonna try t'shoot ya with o'missile.

"Think ya can handle it or gonna need o'tutor?"

"I should be able to hand it." De'Ville let loose 'nother round of darts. Impacted just below th'other ones.

Kazaar smirked. "Good. Hittin' th'hay. Have fun, Lady. Don't hurt yaself while I'm out."

He sauntered off, th'smell o'cigar smoke leaving o'fine aroma in the cargo bay.

Thankfully the suit's filtration took care of the smoke so she didn't have to inhale any more of it for the moment. De'Ville watched Kazaar go, and spent a few more minutes in cargo bay for appearances sake, playing around with the armor's systems.

Walking back through the passage to find her clothes and return the suit to its position in the armory, she heard something moving around, but it was just the droid, Trey. It blooped at her and kept going, and she ignored it. Out of the armor she was slightly surprised to find how much she'd missed it during the time she'd been with the Rebellion. At first assuming control of the separate and unknown faction of Mandalorians on Onderon had been for tactical purposes only. Forcing peace between the ever attacking Mando'ade and the people of Iziz City had been necessary to get Callidus to trust her and allow her in to his circle.

Her position as their Mand'alor had been a test for her - usually a loner and now surrounded by people. She'd quickly learned to be conversant in their language, a necessity to become one of the Mando'ade, and over the years... she'd apparently grown used to walking around in the armor of Mand'alor.

De'Ville wasn't sure what that meant, and decided that it was too late in the evening to figure it out. Pulling her clothes back on she picked up her boots and padded out barefoot into the passage.

The bunk in her cabin was surprisingly comfortable, and she was soon asleep, curled up slightly with her back to the bulkhead and a blaster near her hand.

Next day was pretty much like th'first. De'Ville and Kazaar went over th'schematics for th'Imps' base on Sestooine, had o'couple sparring sessions and mainly just tried t'not ask too many questions 'bout the other. Both of 'em were gettin' o'bit curious without saying as much: Kazaar curious on where th'frack De'Ville'd gotten so damn good at fighting (without 'er name popping up on some kinda shockboxing list o'best female amateur fighters) an' only had that one Imp bounty out on 'er. Story sure as hell checked out ('Trey'd' done some digging) but somethin' was gnawing at 'im. Too comfy in that damn armor. Stuck with Kazaar f'some reason...

De'Ville was tryin' t'figure out how a guy like Kazaar (who had o'pretty fracking strong opinion on everythin' from Imp uniforms t'what the ale was) hadn't gotten his ass booted outta SpecOps. She'd heard rumors 'bout an imprisonment in Rebel Intel for torture of an Imp, but didn't ask 'bout it. Wasn't worth it.

Both of 'em though, were itiching t'kill Imps. Good news was that was gonna happen pretty frackin' soon.

* * *

Space Over Sestooine

Th'comm went off almost 'mediately after The Night Train jumped outta hyperspace.

"Unidentified freighter, this is Imperial control. Please state the nature of your business."

Kazaar smirked through cigar smoke. Picked o'fake transponder that'd make 'em look like an Mandalorian freighter outta Shogun. "This is the freighter Kad's Destroying Gaze We're here for the bounty."

De'Ville noticed somethin' pretty frackin' interesting 'bout Kazaar. His voice was able t'pretty much exactly sound like a Mandalorian. Accent and all. She was pretty sure he could drop back into th'guttural tone he normally used, but she had t'admit...he did a good job with th'imitation.

"This is Lieutenant Stoffol. Who am I speaking to."

Kazaar let more smoke come outta his mouth before replyin'. "This is Fenn Vel. I hear you need someone to find some people who have refused to get their shots."

The disgusted smirk on Stoffol's face could be heard through th'speaker. Guess th'guy wasn't o'big fan of bounty hunters. Tough. "Indeed we are. How did you hear about this?"

Kazaar wanted t'roll his eyes. Guy was sounding' like o'real bastard. "I have my ways. You did post it on the normal bounty hunter channels."

"Indeed we did. We'll want to inspect you of course. Have you recently gotten your inoculations."

"I got an injection on Kamino. That should suit your purposes."

"It should yes. Very well. Come to Landing Pad 3 in Tarkingrad." The comm cut off.

"Tarkingrad...ya frackin' kidding me..." Wanted t'roll his eyes in annoyance. "Motherfrackers...can ya believe the audacity o'those assholes.

"What's frackin' next Palptaineville?"

De'Ville gave a wry smile. "I hear they're planning that on Balmorra."

Kazaar snorted in response an' hit the ship's accelerator. The Night Train flew through Sestooine's temperate atmosphere without much trouble.

Planet didn't have much in terms o'landmarks. 'Bout 50 or so towns which were smaller than th'big city but bigger than ya normal outpost. Sestooine's landscape was o'mix of oceans, lush green plains and o'few rocky mountain range. Sure didn't seem like th'kinda place where the Empire would store its plans f'the Outer Rim. 'Course that was prob'ly the point.

"Looks like 'Tarkingrad's' (frackin' hate that Force-damned name) th'largest place out there. Town o'bout 40-to-50-thousand. Most o'em farmers, some industry. Imps rolled in 'bout six years ago...helped 'educate' th'place." Th'Rebel spy rolled his black eyes. "Educate m'frackin' ass. Bet'cha ten creds they told 'em they'd pull 'em outta th'fracking dark ages.

"Guess shipping and agriculture ain't what ya define as 'modern.'"

De'Ville's eyes crinkled as she stared outta Night Train's viewport. "Look at that..." She pointed. "That doesn't strike me as agricultural..."

Kazaar turned t'where she was pointin'. The frack...?

Entire damn city had o'fracking wall 'round it. Not some kinda wall o'protection from small raids either. Entire city was surrounded by o'large durasteel wall, 'least 75 feet high. Thing was thick too...Kazaar couldn't tell but had t'be 'least two meters. All the landing pads were outside th'wall as was o'large durasteel and crete mixed building which had t'be their target.

"Looks like some kinda Force-damned prison-castle." He mused as th'ship headed towards their assigned landing pad. Just o'few other ships were 'round and they looked more like medical crafts. Few freighters too but it was pretty obvious there weren't anymore bounty hunters.

Kazaar started t'get o'cold pit in this stomach.

"Th'frack is goin' on...?"

Staring out the viewport at the walled city De'Ville opened up herself to the Force, and flinched. Something was off about Tarkingrad. For some reason it reminded her of the brightly lit lab secreted below Coruscant, the greasy wrongness of how it was making her feel.

"I think we'll be finding out." Her hand was clenching, and with a little effort she made herself relax. Kazaar settled the ship down on the pad and she lifted her helmet and fastened it into place, listening to it seal. "Doesn't change our first priority, however."

"Yeh. Yeh." Kazaar waved a hand as he grabbed 'is own helmet. Took another couple puffs from th'cigar before placing it down in th'ashtray. Gave th'cigar one last long look before puttin' his helmet on.

"Let's go."

Sestooine was hot as hell. The two Rebels didn't feel it, but their onboard temperature gauge told 'em as much. Air was thick too. Had t'be since it looked like o'storm was blowing in off th'horizon. Sure as hell be nice t'have cooler temperatures in th'evening. 'Least Kazaar was pretty certain all th'Imp idiots were thinkin' that.

An' if that was th'case...they could frackin' roast.

Two stormies were waitin' for 'em outside The Night Train. "You're the two bounty hunters yes? Lieutenant Stoffol wants to see you."

Kazaar stifled o'sneer anna biting retort and just followed 'em. They led 'im not to the Imp headquarters (nah that'd be too frackin' easy) but to o'smaller one story building near the end of the landing pads. It was black and grey durasteel and appeared t'be the check in point f'all civilians comin' into Tarkingrad.

Stoffol looked every bit th'stuck up, prissy brown-hatted Imp he sounded like on th'conn. Bit ovva paunch, brown hair cut short on his head and th'general obnoxiously pompous expression on 'is face. Kazaar hated 'im.

"So...you're Fenn Vel." Sounded like he just wanted t'cause trouble. "What were your references?"

Kazaar/Vel crossed his arms. "Did several jobs for Gorgja the Hutt. One for Jabba."

"Where they successful?"

The Mandalorian-armored bounty hunter didn't bother answerin'. It was o'stupid question. Stoffol knew it.

"Not very talkative are you?" The Imperial pressed several buttons on a datapad. Probably just tryin' t'extend whatever time he could.

Kazaar didn't bother uncrossin' his arms. "I'm here for a job."

Stoffol looked up at them and stroked his chin. "That you are. Very well. Head up to the main gate. You'll be let in there. Just so you know, we'll be sending in three squads of stormtroopers to help in the search.

"Your contact's name is Farlak. He's a Skrilling who's essentially the head of the local farming guild. He's leading the efforts to find the non-inoculated."

Th'Rebel didn't sayin' Stoffol was makin' those who didn't get o'shot sound like some kinda second-class citizen. Hell, that was probably why th'Imps were doin' what they were doin'. Frackin' guilting people into getting their meds. Frackers.

He just nodded and led De'Ville towards the main gain.

Sure didn't seem like th'Empire'd set up a buncha medical tents t'get people to get tested for Plyridian Fever. In fact, neither Kazaar nor De'Ville really noticed any kinda med facility set up. Either th'Imps'd set up something inside...or they really didn't give o'damn 'bout the townsfolk. Woulda bet o'grand in credits it was o'little bit o'both.

Kazaar angled his head up towards two sentry posts near th'gate. Both Imps in there were armed and sure as hell seemed t'be paying attention t'what was going on inside more than outside. He keyed his one-on-one communicator with De'Ville. "These Imp shablas sure gotta frackin' goofy way o'protectin' people."

'nother Imperial officer (just as prissy an' annoying as Stoffol) asked 'em a few questions at th'gate before nodding. Then pressed o'few buttons on a small keypad near the gate's main barrier and a small portion of it started t'rise up.

The officer had th'fracking audacity t'smile. "Go on in."

Both De'Ville and Kazaar slipped through th'opening into Tarkingrad's main byway.

It was then they saw th'man on fire runnin' towards 'em.

De'Ville could feel the man's pain, and she hissed an exhalation as the burning apparition came closer. Unconsciously she raised her arm towards him as though to fend him off, or shoot him full of darts and drop him where he stood. Before she or Kazaar could do anything, however, a Stormtrooper shouted for the man to stop, and then blasted him.

The figure fell to the ground, arms and legs still twitching, while the fire raged. After a few more minutes another trooper stepped up with an extinguisher, putting out what was left of the the man.

"Smells awful," stated a grey-green being walking towards them, Farlak no doubt. The Skrilling's eight sensitive nostrils were flaring and flexing as he walked through the smoke. His Basic was pretty good, and hardly accented, unlike the human standing next to her in the other suit of Mando'ade armor, though apparently Kazaar only talked the way he did because he liked it. He was certainly capable of taking whatever accent he chose.

"Farlak?" She asked, putting her head to one side, and the loathsome creature nodded.

"Ah, and here is my backup," he said, looking behind them to where the promised three squads of Stormtrooper back up came in through the gate.

"You can see...there are major problems." Farlak's voice came out in pretty breathy tones. Made sense forra guy who tended t'see' more with 'is nose than his eyes. One o'those times Kazaar was pretty happy f'being human. Bein' able t'see wasn't o'bad thing.

Kazaar decided t'keep the Mandalorian accent goin'. "We can. Why didn't the locals step up to help?"

The Skrilling gave an almost half-shrug. "They just haven't wanted to. I think everyone's paying more attention to their own health."

The ex-bounty hunter couldn't really blame 'em either. Made alotta sense t'him. "So what was that, then?"

Farlak again almost shrugged. "More recently some of the farmers have gotten...angrier than normal. One man, named Croatoa, attacked his wife, mother and father. Killed most of them. He was the first, we think."

"What happened after that?" It was De'Ville who spoke first.

"The wife and father died. The mother we hospitalized. She's okay but has been very agitated recently. Follow me, we'll talk more in my office."

Farlak led the Rebels and their Imperial escorts down o'long duracrete street. Tarkingrad might have o'pretty modern name but th'town itself didn't look it. Had th'main street sure, but th'buildings were made o'stone and mainly one storied. Th'only two storied buildings Kazaar saw he was pretty frackin' sure were used f'either the Imps on their 'off time' or f'other farmers who wanted o'clean place t'stay. Which prob'ly wasn't that often since th'Imp geniuses set up shop.

The Skrilling actually walked towards one o'the larger buildings built next to o'bar. Kazaar couldn't help but notice th'drinking hole looked empty. Guess most peeps really were frackin' scared outta their wits. If ya don't drink...

"Place sure seems dead." He observed.

Farlak nodded and sucked in a long breath as things got cooler in th'office. "When the doctors diagnosed Croatoa's symptoms they immediately started vaccinations. They say the Plyridian vaccine make people a bit sluggish first week or so. Should be fine after that."

He sat down inna large chair built only forra Skrilling and shooed the Imps outta th'room. Pretty frackin' obvious he was only interested in talkin' t'Kazaar and De'Ville.

"People are still getting sick. And we've had some refuse to get treatment." Pressed his stubby hands together inna almost human gesture. "If my farmers aren't working, their families don't get paid. I need those people to get inoculated so works starts again. Can you find them?"

Behind 'is mask, Kazaar smirked. Wasn't 'bout t'stop people from getting their shots if they didn't want to. 'Specially with th'fracking Empire involved. So either Farlak was o'fracking 'true believer' (which was pretty goofy forra alien) or he actually wanted t'help the farmers. Or both...who th'frack knew.

"Where were they last seen?" He put in, hopin' to glean more info from guy.

Farlak's sigh sounded almost musical. "I think they were near the Shenandoah Farm on the south side. But that was last week. The Empire hasn't wanted to expose their troops to the infection but we've only had 40 or so cases so..."

His comm all o'sudden went off. Th'Farming Guild head raised o'hand and pressed th'button. "Yes?"

"Sir!" Screamin' could be heard in th'background. "It's Doctor Niktra. Are the Imperials here? We need their help.

"Four patients have just gone insane. They've attacked three nurses. Get over to the hosp-"

Guy never had th'chance t'finish. O'crash was heard and th'line went dead.

De'Ville clicked to the private comm channel. "This isn't a Plyridian fever outbreak." Was it a new chemical weapon of some kind? She didn't want to voice her suspicions, but it was easy to see that there was a lot more going on than the Imps were saying.

Back on the suit's main vox she said, "Where's the hospital?" She didn't intend to let this creature choose whether he would ask them to go or not, she didn't have any intention of rounding up protesting villagers. Plus, if she was right, the hospital was by the wall, just opposite the building she and Kazaar needed access to, on the other side.