A Turncoat's Reward (CONTINUED)

[Master Buggie]

((OOC: Ben, you're up! Bring it home.))

Continued from:
https://www.tapatalk.com/groups/sithlor ... html#p9682

Where we last left off:

Null hadn't followed him, and so be it, as far as Buggie was concerned. The Zabrak was reckless, and there was no room in a fluid mission such as this for his recklessness. As Buggie furtively emerged from the underground, his eyes took a brief moment to adjust to the light-- but when they did, he couldn't believe what they beheld.

The Imperial forces had pinpointed their location, that much was certain. An assault transport hovered over the buildings, having just disgorged its complement of soldiers in the streets. Black smoke rose from the streets, and Buggie realized that the pounding he had heard while beneath the canal system had been heavy laser fire. For all he knew, the Admiral had been terminated right there, but then, if that was what had happened, why send off troops. No, Buggie realized, it was that the Empire wished to capture the Admiral and bring him back to stand public trial.

By the time that Buggie had come to that realization, the sound of several dozen boots hitting the street at once caught his attention. Alliance troopers had arrived on the scene and were positioning themselves around where the black smoke was rising from the street level. From what Buggie knew, there was no indication that the Galactic Alliance would be sending reinforcements, and the troopers had seemingly appeared from the ether. It was after close examination that Buggie realized the truth. The similar footsteps, the mirrored gait of the troopers-- these stood out to Buggie's trained eye. To a casual observer, the dress and uniform of a Galactic Alliance trooper was the perfect illusion. Military personnel all looked relatively similar in dress, but the patterns that repeated themselves in each of the troopers made Buggie realize that a powerful Force user was manipulating the situation. Who could it be?

Deciding that he needed to seize the opportunity, Buggie crept along the paths that the Alliance troops made through the streets. If the Admiral was still in play-- and the Empire appeared to be under the impression that he was-- Buggie needed to try to get his hands on him for the benefit of the Alliance.

[Ben Kenobi]

***Abregado-rae - L-13***

An Imperial Navy Vice Admiral seeking refuge with the Galactic Alliance.
Hunted by a team of elite Imperial Special Forces and a city Garrison closing in on him.
Assisted by an unlikely Mandalorian and a certain Zabrak of infamous strength.
The final showdown is at hand and one last card has yet to be played…

Blaster fire peppered the narrow avenue, sparks and smoke blew apart nearby huts while makeshift plastiboard shops were splintered to pieces. Civilians were long gone at this point and this was force on force, infantry style combat. Small unit tactics at its finest. A full squad of Omega Stormtroopers, having fast-roped onto the scene had been assaulted by what was suggested to be a full sized platoon of Alliance Marines. The ensuing chaos was a furious wave of red angry bolts flying back and forth.

The developing situation happened too fast and it was far too intense to properly react. The Omegas hunkered down behind what cover they could find and they began doing what they were trained to do; eliminate the enemy with extreme prejudice. Such lethality unleashed upon a foe, it was near savagery yet, war was not meant to be a thing easily approached nor executed. People died. This was no exception.

The Imperial Officer, the turncoat, raced off the street just a flicker of a moment before the combat began… as if this ambush had been planned. Argus’ teeth were grinding as he visually tracked the Vice Admiral. His own BlasTech E-11 Rifle snapped up and barked at the enemy, his shots went wide but were close enough to put one of the Marines into a more profile stance and with that he sprinted to the east of the street, leaping and crashing through a shop stall of fruit. The resulting colorful disaster spoiled his white and orange armor with reds and blues… nevertheless it was unable to stop him as he bounded to his feet and up the staircase before him.

Live feeds of the battle from the aerial support displayed a footmobile heading further east along the canals and Argus Kraiov was fast in pursuit. He found himself atop a roof where he leapt over the tall edge of a building and plummeted into the belly of a wooden cart that failed to support his daunting weight, what with his armor and militarized gear. The right wheel snapped and the cart crashed in a dramatic display while the owners cried out in dismay, yet Argus was on his feet and sprinting again.

Only a block from the majority of the fighting, Argus’ trajectory managed to cut off the target’s hopeful escape and as Argus slid to a stop in front of the ‘Vice Admiral’ and he leveled his rifle towards center mass… he knew that he was about to be made privy to a ruse, one that would see the real suspect either long gone, or well in hand.

For the truth of the matter was that the real Vice Admiral was in disguise as a red clad Mandalorian, currently heading up the steps of the starport in the midst of Imperial Army Soldiers. Once Argus found this truth, all it would take was a call from him to the orbiting Hunter and the Vice Admiral would be grounded… permanently.

[Kyramur Null]

Kyr growled as he trailed behind, following barely out of sight. He hated to break his cover, but weighing risks and benefits, he judged that Argus's life was more important to the Imperial Cause than his status as a deep cover agent. If it came down to it, he would fight at Argus' side.

He didn't want to kill the Jedi, though.

Not to say he wouldn't-his Oath to the Empire didn't allow for exceptions. But he respected him as a friend and as a warrior.

And because of that respect, he would show no mercy. If blood there must be, he would spill it forth like a dam bursting at the seams.

As was his habit, he mentally and physically checked his weapons and armor-no scrapes, no cracks. He felt no pain in his body, only the drumming of his twin hearts.

As much as he disliked to admit it, somewhere, deep down in the heart of his being, he enjoyed war and battle, relished the kick of a gun, the feel of a blade, the sensation of flesh and bone crumbling under his fists.

He was no fool. He knew that a lifetime spent at war and chaos had left him with a battle-scarred moral compass.

But if he had to, he would use his love of war to end this mission. And he would do so with lethal intentions.