Post by Janos Galfridian on Oct 27, 2017 18:11:21 GMT -8
Chaos. Prisoners ran free, and Janos stuck to the side of the halls, darting from door to door, shadow to shadow. In the confusion that now wracked the base, he had slipped down the halls - out of sight, out of mind, and as far away from the Warden's office as he could get. Elsewhere in the complex, he heard screaming and shouting - the sound of battle accompanied it, the sound of blasters reverberating down the halls. Peeking around a corner, he saw a squad of troopers run past, the sergeant at the front shouting at the rest of his men.
"We have spiders in zones three, seven, and nine! Prisoners are loose in all sectors!" Shouted the sergeant. Pulling short, the trooper lifted up his rifle and started firing wildly. "Spiders! Weapons free!"
He didn't have to say it twice. The troopers behind him immediately pulled up short, falling into combat positions, they opened fire - all of them showing impressive marksmanship and grouping; each and every one pouring bolts into...completely empty air.
"...What the hell?" Muttered Janos, spying on the group from his vantage point around the corner. Squinting his eyes, trying to make out what they were shooting at, he could just barely see a tell-tale shimmer of...something. At first, Janos thought that perhaps something was cloaked there. But, as bolts poured through the shimmering form, he discarded the idea.
Suddenly, one of the troopers became distracted, whipping himself around and firing back down the hall towards Janos. Jerking his head back, Janos had thought he'd been spotted, until the trooper began screaming. "Spiders! Behind us! They're surrounding us!"
"What the actual kark." Said Janos, no longer attempting to hide his voice. In front of him, several shimmering shapes moved in front of him, then completely ignored him as they moved down the hall. Screaming the troopers fired at the shapes - until the shapes converged on the troopers, who one by one fell to the ground, quite dead. Slowly, the shapes seemed to pause, before slowly roving up the hall towards Janos. Startled, Janos slapped a hand down to his weapon, but then paused, sudden comprehension dawning. "Spiders. They're spiders." Vaguely, he could make out spindly legs and bulbous bodies. It had taken him a while to understand, primarily because - given his species - he had never experienced it before. Illusions. Powerful ones by the look of it, given that their mere appearance had been able to kill the guards. His hand slipping off his pistol, Janos snickered at the shapes as they moved closer - idly slashing a hand through one as it moved within range. "Piss off. I don't have time for phantoms." And, just like that, they evaporated into smoke before completely disappearing.
They must have been powerful indeed to have affected even him, however slight in nature. Shaking his head, muttering under his breath, he continued on his way. This would prove fortuitous in his escape, but, simultaneously, it would make the prisoners and troopers all the more unpredictable. He would have to be careful.
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Messing with the lights had really helped expedite his escape. The darkness, combined with his No-Show and his light absorbing shadowsilk cloak, virtually guaranteed his ability to move undetected. Already several groups of prisoners and a single squad of riot troopers had roved past him in the quasi half-light, seeing him as nothing more than an exceptionally black shadow among other shadows.
Up ahead, a security door was half ajar, and Janos sucked in his stomach to slip through it. Before him a long hallway stretched ahead, littered with gasping troopers and prisoners. It appeared this had been one of the areas the enviro-systems had shut off - either one of the prisoners or troopers had crawled to the door, trying to open it, or by some chance the door systems had chosen to malfunction just then. Either way, the opened door had allowed atmosphere back into the room, saving them all.
Well, they would have been saved if not for the six foot six humanoid lizard standing over them, finishing them off one by one.
T'doshok in Dosh, but better known as a Trandoshan, this particular specimen was particularly massive and muscled, armored impromptu in pilfered riot trooper armor, even now swinging a megablaster about like it was nothing. But it was the creatures color that made Janos' blood run cold; a bright red crimson in color, the result of a genetic deformity, Janos had only ever met a single Trandoshan with that color.
He had to get out of here. He had to get out of here right now.
Slowly stepping backward, a cold sweat on his brow - Janos prayed to the very few Gods he believed in, thanking them for his No-Show, and the shielding it gave against the Trandoshan's sight. Seeing into the infrared spectrum, the electromagnetic sheath generated around his body essentially rendered the Trandoshan blind to his presence. Now, if he could just get out of here before the creature's sense of smell kicked in, he would be home free.
It as of course, at that moment, that a system further into the base failed, the enviro-filter shutting off, creating a sudden yet brief influx of air to be sucked through the room and the door. Like a lightening bolt, the Trandoshan straightened from one of the prone bodies he was looting, swinging his blaster towards the door. Narrowing its eyes, the lizard eventually closed them, inhaling deeply. "Lorgan...here of all placesss...how....fortuitousss."
Licking his lips, Janos slowly deactivated the No-Show. The Trandoshan's sense of smell was augmented by cybernetics; now that he knew Janos was here, there was no point to hiding. "Gargosk." Janos said flatly, his stun pistol quickly in hand. "And it's Janos now."
"Janosss?" Gardosk inquired, lizard mouth widening in a strange approximation of a human smile. "Ssso long sssince I've ssseen you. Lassst I remember it wasss...well, I forget."
"Jabiim." Janos said, hand shaking, bile rising in his throat. "It was Jabiim you son of a kath hound! Don't you dare forget!"
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Years ago - Jabiim
Rain poured from above, lightning spiderwebbing across the gray expanse of the sky - splitting the air in a thunderous cacophony that was lost in the sounds of battle. Below, trenches crisscrossed a battlefield pockmarked by craters and small fires. In some areas, crashed TIE fighters littered the ground in smoldering wrecks, interspersed with the wreckage of X-wings and high-altitude speeders. The largest wreck of them all was that of a massive AT-AT, even now burning, around which the battle was still waging.
"Charge! Charge you cowardsss!" Screamed Gargosk from the rebel lines, hunkered down with his rebel forces in deep and muddy trenches. "Attack!" Only a hand on the Trandoshan's shoulder held the lizard back from leaping out of the trench and running towards the AT-AT, inside of which some-odd thirty First Order troopers were holed up in. Dressed in heavy combat armor, and handling a DLT-19 Heavy blaster rifle that was nearly as long as he was tall - the crimson Trandsoahan's blood lust was as high as it could possibly go.
"Gargosk! Not yet! We haven't been cleared by Command! Even we can't survive an airstrike. We have to know what they want to do!" Lorgan, trying to hold the Trandoshan back, practically had to scream the words into Gargosk's ear-holes. To the side, several worried looking Resistance soldiers looked at each other uneasily, apparently not used to alien battle rage. "He'll be fine. Berserk, you know? Like a Wookie." Lorgan said to them. The comparison seemed to reassure the men slightly; it also served to shift Gargosk's ire away from the enemy, and squarely onto Lorgan.
"Did you jussst compare me to a wookie!?" Bellowed Gargosk, taking a slash at Lorgan with his clawed forearm.
Easily dodging the slash, Lorgan held up his hand defensively. "Well stop acting like one!"
Whatever fight that was about to start between the two was suddenly cut short as a Resistance Officer ran up, holding out a dataplaque. "Sirs! Orders from Command!" Giving Gargosk a meaningful look, Lorgan took the plaque, reading the orders before cursing low under his breath.
"Well? Out with it!" Demanded Gargosk, unable to read the screen due to his alien sight.
"Mercenary battalion Besh and Cresh, ordered to maintain position. Air fleet thirty-two unavailable for bombing run due to flack batteries." Replied Lorgan, reading aloud from the plaque. "Mercenary assets and their troops are ordered to withdraw from trench-front to regroup with regular battalions Aurek and Dorn."
"Sssithssspit! We've held here for thirty daysss on thisss ssscorekeeper forsssaken mudball!" Roared Gargosk, swiping the dataplaque out of Lorgan' hands to shatter into pieces on the ground. "Thisss isss not battle! Thisss isss hiding in mud!"
"Credits are credits. This is what we do." Replied Lorgan, calmly. Stalking the ground in front of him, Lorgan could tell Gargosk was nearing the end of his rope; motioning for the soldiers nearest to them to backup a little, Lorgan raised his hands, approaching the temperamental alien. "We regroup with the main force, regather, then strike again. We can break their line."
"NO!" Bellowed Gargosk defiantly. "Thirty daysss. Thirty daysss of slogging through mud; following orders from thisss idiotic Resssistance Command! Tell me, following their ordersss...how much ground have we covered?" Demanded Gargosk.
"..." Uncomfortably, Lorgan looked about in the trench. Taking in the muddy faces of exhausted troops, the hundreds of spent power packs on the muddy ground, the multitude of dead bodies. Unable to reply, Lorgan only pursed his lips together tighter - a thin and grim line.
To Gargosk's credit, he was able to read the humanoid expression for what it was. "Exxxactly! You dare not utter it! Three meters. Three meters in thirty daysss! And to show for it, five hundred dead men, one squadron destroyed starfighters, seven disabled artillery piecesss...should I go on?" Dropping his weapon, and lowering his claws - a sign of great trust in Trandoshan culture - Gargosk followed the gesture with a very human one - holding his claws out to Lorgan. "Pleassse! We are warriorsss. Mercenariesss. We are not troop Commandersss, sending othersss to glory for the Ssscorekeeper. We have followed ordersss. We have made no progresss. It isss time to handle thisss our way."
Silence. The troops eyed the pair, too tired and too dead inside to care one way or another. Low on food, low on ammunition, low on hope - there was either Gargosk's way, or to retreat and regroup with Command. But, then, it would mean that all the fighting, all the death, would have been for absolutely nothing. Even Gargosk, in his own alien way, could not stand the thought of that. Relenting, Lorgan gave a single nod. Bending down, he picked up his A310 Custom Rifle, checking the charge on it, before picking up his blast helmet and bringing it down over his head. With a whir of electronics, the HUD came alive - displaying biometrics and weapon systems across the interior of the helmet's slit visor. A cross between something Ubese and a standard blast helmet, the headgear was essentially a slit visor and a grilled vox-box at the mouth, with a high-gain antenna at the side. Nothing more, not like those Mandolorian helmets.
"YESSS." Roared Gargosk triumphantly. Similarly bending down and picking up his weapon, Gargosk checked the charge - along with his store of grenades. "Plan of attack? I sugessst an Ackbar slash."
"An Ackbar Slash combined with a modified Bothan Fade." Corrected Lorgan. "We'll hit them hard on the rebound. Smoke or artillery screen?"
"Artillery. We want them to think it'sss real." Replied Gargosk.
"I concur. Are we in agreement?"
"Yesss. We begin."
Turning to the nearby Resistance Officer, Lorgan issued commands to the human. "Use the rest of our artillery shells. I want a line of fire a hundred meters wide directly in front of the AT-AT. I don't want them to be able to see us. After ten seconds of artillery, I want wide dispersal ion flares to screw up their sensors and comms - upon firing, immediately sound retreat. You will take what remains of our men, and take them over the ridge - out of line of sight. Split into two units, circle around, and attack their flank. Is that understood?"
"I...but...they'll see us coming on the flank! That's suicide!" Stuttered the Officer.
"You leave that to us. They will be disrupted too much to respond. Now, I've given you your orders, and you will follow them, soldier." Lorgan said, his tone brokering no room for negotiation. Snapping to attention, the Officer saluted, shouting orders, troops began to scurry about, reading mortar tubes and their last artillery pieces for battle.
Turning, rejoining Gargosk, Lorgan checked his jetpack and gauntlet weapons in a time-practiced tradition. Similarly Gargosk knelt and prayed to the Scorekeeper - the Trandoshan God of hunting and war. Finally, when both were done, Lorgan held up a hand - artillery and mortar crews shouting their ready status. "...Ready Gargosk?" Asked Lorgan, surveying the battlefield. Ahead of them was a hundred meter stretch littered with craters and fighter wreckage; beyond that was a wide trench, behind which was the downed AT-AT. Beyond even that, far in the distance, was Jarenth Base, a small outpost that their battalions had been sent to capture in the first place.
"Been ready. For thirty daysss." Gargosk replied, a slight hint of sarcasm in his voice.
"I know, I know. Well, then...operation start." With a sudden slash of his hand, Lorgan signaled the crews - and as one, mortars and artillery pieces rained fire and death in a line in front of the trench and walker; just out of range, the trench had been constructed just a mere twenty meters away from the mortars and artillery maximum range.
And then they were running. Up and out of the trench, Lorgan and Gargosk ran across the ground, darting from wreckage to wreckage. Through the smoke and upturned dirt of the artillery explosions, blaster fire - from rifles and emplacements - poured out blindly, unable to see through the screen. Ninety meters...seventy...fifty...thirty. Within twenty meters, and exactly ten seconds later - the artillery strike stopped, followed by ion flares shot up into the sky. Costly and only containing one use, the flares were typically used in retreat due to their ability to disrupt targeting sensors and comms. And, as the smoke cleared, the FO forces would see nothing but retreat on the part of the Resistance - prompting the FO troops to rise out of their trenches and emplacements as orders were given to chase them down.
Too late did they see the two forms of Lorgan and Gargosk running across the battlefield - not until they were practically on top of them; after all, it was practically suicide for a mere two soldiers to rush the trench. And indeed it would have been, for anyone but the two mercenaries - or, perhaps, a force user. Closing in, Lorgan activated his jetpack, launching himself into the sky - activating his nerve-implant at the same moment, time slowed down to molasses; combined with the targeting computer in his rifle and helmet, it allowed him all the time in the world to place twenty pinpoint shots with supernatural precision. By the time Lorgan fell back to the ground, twenty troopers were in the process of falling to the ground with neat holes in their helmets.
Trailing behind, Gargosk waged his own war - activating the micro-grenade launcher under his DLT-19, the magnetic rings flung out a thin stream of tiny spheres in a perfect line across the interior of the trench; for but a second there was silence as the spheres arced through the air, followed by a line of fire and explosions and a concussive wave as the micro-grenades traced death along the trench line. Another twenty soldiers fell to the ground, screaming and on fire - if not outright dead. Following along the tail of the barrage, Gargosk jumped into the trench - the DLT-19 laying down a withering barrage of blaster fire on a group of five troopers, who died screaming. Unclipping a thermal detonator, Gargosk casually tossed the grenade into a side passage of the trench, hunkering down briefly as the grenade detonated in a incandescent fireball of plasma, incinerating another seven troopers.
Lorgan, in the trench now, ejected his right vambrace blade and ran it through a screaming trooper's throat, before turning on his heel and firing a line of blaster fire through another trooper's torso. Wrenching the blade out of the trooper's throat, he took aim briefly, before sending a micro-rocket into an artillery emplacement, that, even now, was being turned his way in a misguided attempt to destroy the two mercenaries. Exploding violently, the rocket also detonated the oversized blastergas canisters used to arm the artillery cannon - the ensuing explosion killed another ten troopers, with the concussive wave flattening another five nearby. Quickly aiming, a cluster of five bolts killed those five troopers as they tried to pick themselves up off the ground.
Gargosk, meanwhile, was clubbing a FO officer over the head - who went down like a sack of bricks, his neck quite broken - before ejected the spent barrel magazine under his rifle to the ground. Slapping a new magazine into the weapon, he primed the micro-launcher once more; taking aim, he fired a single grenade into a squad of troopers hiding under cover.
And then, just like that...there was no one left. Tensely, Lorgan and Gargosk paused on the field, scanning with alien sight and helmet optics respectively. Once both were satisfied, they met each other under the cover of the trench.
"Thirty-seven. Maybe one or two more in the artillery explosion." Said Lorgan, fitting a new micro-rocket into his vambrace launcher.
"Thirty-eight. Maybe one or two more in the grenade barrage." Said Gargosk grudgingly.
"We're on point." Lorgan paused to peak over the edge of the trench at the downed AT-AT. When the ground exploded just in front of him, the work of a sniper's blaster bolt, he yanked his head back below the trench line. "Element of surprise is over."
"Should be. Artillery strike isss over, and the Ion-flares have disssipated." Gargosk, a little more wary than Lorgan, took the shattered mirror-reflective piece of a dead trooper's helmet visor, and held it up, looking in the reflection at the AT-AT. Similarly, a sniper's bolt blaster the visor to bits. "He'sss got sharp eyesss..."
"AT-AT that size...what, about forty troopers?"Inquired Lorgan, suddenly wary of looking over the trench once more.
"About. Plusss command crew. That armor isss thick, though. We were fortunate to dessstroy the legsss. We will not be ssso lucky in breaching the main body." Replied Gargosk. Eyeing Lorgan for a long moment, he eventually shrugged stiffly in his Trandoshan way. "The plan?"
"...We go in there, we're dead. Tight spaces and choke points will kill us. We can't use our heavy weaponry in confined spaces; and that will be how they get us." Said Lorgan grimly.
"Agreed. We need ssspace. Draw them out?" Inquired Gargosk.
"How?" Lorgan asked, deadpan.
"Gasss Nadesss." Replied Gargosk, holding up a pair of cylindrical grenades - on their side, the universal symbol for chemical danger.
"I like it. FO armor only filters smoke - not toxins. But we have to get them inside; that AT-AT is locked up air-tight I'd wager." Thinking for a moment, Lorgan slid the micro-rocket out of his vambrace launcher. Unscrewing the explosive tip off the main body, he rummaged around in an armored compartment on his utility belt, taking out a similar tip; this one pointed and jagged. "...Armor-piercing head. On a small vehicle, it would obliterate it; but on a machine as large as that AT-AT, it'll only make a hole maybe...quarter meter wide? Can you throw one with that much accuracy?"
"Won't need to." Gargosk replied. Taking off his micro-launcher attachement from his rifle, he ejected the barrel magazine, and set the internal rails to be wider than normal - apparently able to fire regular grenades now. "Launch mechanisssm can fire regular grenadesss. But, must be reloaded one at a time. Very inconvenient; but can fire with great accuracccy."
"Alright then. Ready?"
"We begin."
With a jerk of his hand, Gargosk tossed a frag grenade up and over the trench, which exploded violently - obscuring the sniper's vision. Simultaneously, Lorgan took aim over the side of the trench, firing the rocket at the side of the AT-AT - and then the sniper, lying prone atop the AT-AT's armored hull, with his rifle. The rocket, soaring forward, seemingly disappeared with a small puff of flame against the side of the AT-AT - the result of its thermite head penetrating the armor. A split-second later, a dull thump and a small explosion split a miniscule hole in the side of the AT-AT. Like Lorgan had said, it was very effective - but the hole was more than wide enough for Gargosk. Taking aim, using alien vision and precision coils to fire the grenade, the weapon slung the grenade through the air soundlessly, depositing the gad grenade through the hole with a dull clang.
Nearly instantly, a sickening green gas began pouring out of the both the hole, and unseen fissures in the AT-AT's metal body; the armored door fell to the ground with a metallic groan; and scores of FO troopers poured out, weapons blazing - the two mercenaries location apparently well known. Among their number, a few dropped to the ground, quite dead, while still others vomited profusely, bile and vomit staining the front of their helmets and uniforms.
Pinned down, Gargosk and Lorgan eyed each other. "...They'll be here. Any moment they'll be -" Lorgan was cut off as battle yells echoed out across the trenches; and, in unison, the pair looked over the edge. The Resistance forces, splitting and doubling back to the enemies flanks, in unison struck from the sides - mowing down FO troopers in the way. Absolutely crushed, the few that remained put down there weapons, surrendering.
"See? All according to plan." Said Lorgan in relief, removing his helmet. When Gargosk didn't reply, Lorgan furrowed his brow, putting a hand on the Trandoshan's shoulder and yanking him around. "Hey, what's the matt - AGH."
The last thing Lorgan saw, was the butt of Gargosk's rifle smacking him in the forehead.
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Blinding pain, a throbbing in his temple, slowly, Janos opened his eyes - the interior of his helmet bathed in red. Every sensor readout had some kind of warning on it. Blinking, his eyes still blurry, his mind still fuzzy, he tried to piece together where he was, and what had happened. He remembered...the battle. The trench, the AT-AT; he remembered Gargosk...
Gargosk.
Snapping upward, Lorgan winced and stifled a groan of pain as his head pounded in response. Betrayal. That lying, thieving, backstabbing lizard!Reaching up to take his helmet off, he stopped as his internal alarms blared - informing him of radiation. "R-radiation? What the hell..." Groaned Lorgan, lowering his hands. Grasping the side of the trench, he hauled himself up over it, and then froze, taking in the scene that had been veiled not moments before.
Desolation. As far as the eye could see, from horizon to horizon, was nothing but ash and glass. Craters, varying in size to minuscule to positively gargantuan pockmarked the surface of the crusty desiccated ground - the once wet and muddy landscape now I barren desert of cracked and ashen ground. But it was the bodies, the bodies, that burned themselves into Lorgan's brain. Thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of bodies - resistance soldier and stormtrooper alike - were strewn across the battleground as far as the eye could see. Locked in various battle poses, their flesh and armor had been burned and seared away in but a single instant, leaving nothing but a facsimile of ash and carbon in its place.Above, the sky cracked, lightning and thunder heralding the rain that began but moments later. From high above, rain drops fell, gouging out holes in the ashen corpses; one by one, silently, the whole of the scene of battle dissolved in the downpour.
"Beautiful...isssn't it?" Came Gargosk's voice from behind him.
Lorgan didn't answer. He had killed a menagerie of sentient species in nearly every possible way imaginable. But this? This wasn't war. Falling to his knees, Lorgan stared at the slowly dissolving face of a stormtrooper - the screaming visage slowly distorting horrifically, before dissolving completely away.
"A new weapon. Classsified. I'm sssorry I did not tell you. But I knew you would not approve." Said Gargosk, trying to explain - rationalize in whatever thin and brittle terms - the absolute and utter devastation before them.
"...What was the point?" Mumbled Lorgan.
"What?" Asked Gargosk.
"I asked how many died. How many died, to test this weapon?" Asked Lorgan a little clearer.
"One hundred thousssand. All deceasssed in exactly one eighth of a sssecond. It isss a combination particle / irradiation weapon. Remarkable, it...Lorgan, where are you going?" Gargosk was cut off as Lorgan suddenly stood, slowly walking forward.
"I'm done. I'm just...done." Replied Lorgan hollowly. He didn't care. He didn't care what the reason was. He didn't care that Gargosk had betrayed him in this farce of a battle. He didn't care that this entire campaign, this entire thirty days, had been a setup to draw the main resistance force out for this field test. He didn't care.
Walking into the distance, ignoring the calls of Gargosk behind him, Lorgan walked. He didn't know what else to do.
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Present day
Janos, formerly Lorgan, stood with blaster outstretched. Hand trembling, the muzzle traced circles on Gargosk's chest. "Don't you dare forget!"
Gargosk laughed, a low steady chuckle - shaking his head. "What isss that? A ssstun blassster? How far you've fallen..." Lowering his own blaster, Gargosk turned away from Janos. Walking away from the broken man behind him.
"Don't you walk away from me!" Spat Janos, the stun blaster firing - the stun bolt hitting Gargosk in the back, before dissipating harmlessly. The lizard's pilfered armor combined with scales and cybernetic armor.
"You're afraid, Janosss." Said Gargosk, using the new and unfamiliar name. "Ssso weak. Ssso disappointing. Killing you would not earn me a sssingle point with the Ssscorekeeper. No. I'll leave you alive." Continuing on his way, Gargosk paused in the doorway, turning his head but slightly to the side to eye Janos directly. "Your new name fitsss you. In my culture, the broken ghostsss of tortured souls forget their namesss, and gain new onesss...it seemsss fitting you should do thisss as well." And then he was gone.
Slowly, Janos sunk to the ground, his back to the security door, the blaster in hand. He needed to move. He HAD to move. But he couldn't - he was stuck, his mind too far in the past. He remembered the faces. Remembered the dissolving bodies.[/span]
He remembered, and he despaired.
"We have spiders in zones three, seven, and nine! Prisoners are loose in all sectors!" Shouted the sergeant. Pulling short, the trooper lifted up his rifle and started firing wildly. "Spiders! Weapons free!"
He didn't have to say it twice. The troopers behind him immediately pulled up short, falling into combat positions, they opened fire - all of them showing impressive marksmanship and grouping; each and every one pouring bolts into...completely empty air.
"...What the hell?" Muttered Janos, spying on the group from his vantage point around the corner. Squinting his eyes, trying to make out what they were shooting at, he could just barely see a tell-tale shimmer of...something. At first, Janos thought that perhaps something was cloaked there. But, as bolts poured through the shimmering form, he discarded the idea.
Suddenly, one of the troopers became distracted, whipping himself around and firing back down the hall towards Janos. Jerking his head back, Janos had thought he'd been spotted, until the trooper began screaming. "Spiders! Behind us! They're surrounding us!"
"What the actual kark." Said Janos, no longer attempting to hide his voice. In front of him, several shimmering shapes moved in front of him, then completely ignored him as they moved down the hall. Screaming the troopers fired at the shapes - until the shapes converged on the troopers, who one by one fell to the ground, quite dead. Slowly, the shapes seemed to pause, before slowly roving up the hall towards Janos. Startled, Janos slapped a hand down to his weapon, but then paused, sudden comprehension dawning. "Spiders. They're spiders." Vaguely, he could make out spindly legs and bulbous bodies. It had taken him a while to understand, primarily because - given his species - he had never experienced it before. Illusions. Powerful ones by the look of it, given that their mere appearance had been able to kill the guards. His hand slipping off his pistol, Janos snickered at the shapes as they moved closer - idly slashing a hand through one as it moved within range. "Piss off. I don't have time for phantoms." And, just like that, they evaporated into smoke before completely disappearing.
They must have been powerful indeed to have affected even him, however slight in nature. Shaking his head, muttering under his breath, he continued on his way. This would prove fortuitous in his escape, but, simultaneously, it would make the prisoners and troopers all the more unpredictable. He would have to be careful.
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Messing with the lights had really helped expedite his escape. The darkness, combined with his No-Show and his light absorbing shadowsilk cloak, virtually guaranteed his ability to move undetected. Already several groups of prisoners and a single squad of riot troopers had roved past him in the quasi half-light, seeing him as nothing more than an exceptionally black shadow among other shadows.
Up ahead, a security door was half ajar, and Janos sucked in his stomach to slip through it. Before him a long hallway stretched ahead, littered with gasping troopers and prisoners. It appeared this had been one of the areas the enviro-systems had shut off - either one of the prisoners or troopers had crawled to the door, trying to open it, or by some chance the door systems had chosen to malfunction just then. Either way, the opened door had allowed atmosphere back into the room, saving them all.
Well, they would have been saved if not for the six foot six humanoid lizard standing over them, finishing them off one by one.
T'doshok in Dosh, but better known as a Trandoshan, this particular specimen was particularly massive and muscled, armored impromptu in pilfered riot trooper armor, even now swinging a megablaster about like it was nothing. But it was the creatures color that made Janos' blood run cold; a bright red crimson in color, the result of a genetic deformity, Janos had only ever met a single Trandoshan with that color.
He had to get out of here. He had to get out of here right now.
Slowly stepping backward, a cold sweat on his brow - Janos prayed to the very few Gods he believed in, thanking them for his No-Show, and the shielding it gave against the Trandoshan's sight. Seeing into the infrared spectrum, the electromagnetic sheath generated around his body essentially rendered the Trandoshan blind to his presence. Now, if he could just get out of here before the creature's sense of smell kicked in, he would be home free.
It as of course, at that moment, that a system further into the base failed, the enviro-filter shutting off, creating a sudden yet brief influx of air to be sucked through the room and the door. Like a lightening bolt, the Trandoshan straightened from one of the prone bodies he was looting, swinging his blaster towards the door. Narrowing its eyes, the lizard eventually closed them, inhaling deeply. "Lorgan...here of all placesss...how....fortuitousss."
Licking his lips, Janos slowly deactivated the No-Show. The Trandoshan's sense of smell was augmented by cybernetics; now that he knew Janos was here, there was no point to hiding. "Gargosk." Janos said flatly, his stun pistol quickly in hand. "And it's Janos now."
"Janosss?" Gardosk inquired, lizard mouth widening in a strange approximation of a human smile. "Ssso long sssince I've ssseen you. Lassst I remember it wasss...well, I forget."
"Jabiim." Janos said, hand shaking, bile rising in his throat. "It was Jabiim you son of a kath hound! Don't you dare forget!"
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Years ago - Jabiim
Rain poured from above, lightning spiderwebbing across the gray expanse of the sky - splitting the air in a thunderous cacophony that was lost in the sounds of battle. Below, trenches crisscrossed a battlefield pockmarked by craters and small fires. In some areas, crashed TIE fighters littered the ground in smoldering wrecks, interspersed with the wreckage of X-wings and high-altitude speeders. The largest wreck of them all was that of a massive AT-AT, even now burning, around which the battle was still waging.
"Charge! Charge you cowardsss!" Screamed Gargosk from the rebel lines, hunkered down with his rebel forces in deep and muddy trenches. "Attack!" Only a hand on the Trandoshan's shoulder held the lizard back from leaping out of the trench and running towards the AT-AT, inside of which some-odd thirty First Order troopers were holed up in. Dressed in heavy combat armor, and handling a DLT-19 Heavy blaster rifle that was nearly as long as he was tall - the crimson Trandsoahan's blood lust was as high as it could possibly go.
"Gargosk! Not yet! We haven't been cleared by Command! Even we can't survive an airstrike. We have to know what they want to do!" Lorgan, trying to hold the Trandoshan back, practically had to scream the words into Gargosk's ear-holes. To the side, several worried looking Resistance soldiers looked at each other uneasily, apparently not used to alien battle rage. "He'll be fine. Berserk, you know? Like a Wookie." Lorgan said to them. The comparison seemed to reassure the men slightly; it also served to shift Gargosk's ire away from the enemy, and squarely onto Lorgan.
"Did you jussst compare me to a wookie!?" Bellowed Gargosk, taking a slash at Lorgan with his clawed forearm.
Easily dodging the slash, Lorgan held up his hand defensively. "Well stop acting like one!"
Whatever fight that was about to start between the two was suddenly cut short as a Resistance Officer ran up, holding out a dataplaque. "Sirs! Orders from Command!" Giving Gargosk a meaningful look, Lorgan took the plaque, reading the orders before cursing low under his breath.
"Well? Out with it!" Demanded Gargosk, unable to read the screen due to his alien sight.
"Mercenary battalion Besh and Cresh, ordered to maintain position. Air fleet thirty-two unavailable for bombing run due to flack batteries." Replied Lorgan, reading aloud from the plaque. "Mercenary assets and their troops are ordered to withdraw from trench-front to regroup with regular battalions Aurek and Dorn."
"Sssithssspit! We've held here for thirty daysss on thisss ssscorekeeper forsssaken mudball!" Roared Gargosk, swiping the dataplaque out of Lorgan' hands to shatter into pieces on the ground. "Thisss isss not battle! Thisss isss hiding in mud!"
"Credits are credits. This is what we do." Replied Lorgan, calmly. Stalking the ground in front of him, Lorgan could tell Gargosk was nearing the end of his rope; motioning for the soldiers nearest to them to backup a little, Lorgan raised his hands, approaching the temperamental alien. "We regroup with the main force, regather, then strike again. We can break their line."
"NO!" Bellowed Gargosk defiantly. "Thirty daysss. Thirty daysss of slogging through mud; following orders from thisss idiotic Resssistance Command! Tell me, following their ordersss...how much ground have we covered?" Demanded Gargosk.
"..." Uncomfortably, Lorgan looked about in the trench. Taking in the muddy faces of exhausted troops, the hundreds of spent power packs on the muddy ground, the multitude of dead bodies. Unable to reply, Lorgan only pursed his lips together tighter - a thin and grim line.
To Gargosk's credit, he was able to read the humanoid expression for what it was. "Exxxactly! You dare not utter it! Three meters. Three meters in thirty daysss! And to show for it, five hundred dead men, one squadron destroyed starfighters, seven disabled artillery piecesss...should I go on?" Dropping his weapon, and lowering his claws - a sign of great trust in Trandoshan culture - Gargosk followed the gesture with a very human one - holding his claws out to Lorgan. "Pleassse! We are warriorsss. Mercenariesss. We are not troop Commandersss, sending othersss to glory for the Ssscorekeeper. We have followed ordersss. We have made no progresss. It isss time to handle thisss our way."
Silence. The troops eyed the pair, too tired and too dead inside to care one way or another. Low on food, low on ammunition, low on hope - there was either Gargosk's way, or to retreat and regroup with Command. But, then, it would mean that all the fighting, all the death, would have been for absolutely nothing. Even Gargosk, in his own alien way, could not stand the thought of that. Relenting, Lorgan gave a single nod. Bending down, he picked up his A310 Custom Rifle, checking the charge on it, before picking up his blast helmet and bringing it down over his head. With a whir of electronics, the HUD came alive - displaying biometrics and weapon systems across the interior of the helmet's slit visor. A cross between something Ubese and a standard blast helmet, the headgear was essentially a slit visor and a grilled vox-box at the mouth, with a high-gain antenna at the side. Nothing more, not like those Mandolorian helmets.
"YESSS." Roared Gargosk triumphantly. Similarly bending down and picking up his weapon, Gargosk checked the charge - along with his store of grenades. "Plan of attack? I sugessst an Ackbar slash."
"An Ackbar Slash combined with a modified Bothan Fade." Corrected Lorgan. "We'll hit them hard on the rebound. Smoke or artillery screen?"
"Artillery. We want them to think it'sss real." Replied Gargosk.
"I concur. Are we in agreement?"
"Yesss. We begin."
Turning to the nearby Resistance Officer, Lorgan issued commands to the human. "Use the rest of our artillery shells. I want a line of fire a hundred meters wide directly in front of the AT-AT. I don't want them to be able to see us. After ten seconds of artillery, I want wide dispersal ion flares to screw up their sensors and comms - upon firing, immediately sound retreat. You will take what remains of our men, and take them over the ridge - out of line of sight. Split into two units, circle around, and attack their flank. Is that understood?"
"I...but...they'll see us coming on the flank! That's suicide!" Stuttered the Officer.
"You leave that to us. They will be disrupted too much to respond. Now, I've given you your orders, and you will follow them, soldier." Lorgan said, his tone brokering no room for negotiation. Snapping to attention, the Officer saluted, shouting orders, troops began to scurry about, reading mortar tubes and their last artillery pieces for battle.
Turning, rejoining Gargosk, Lorgan checked his jetpack and gauntlet weapons in a time-practiced tradition. Similarly Gargosk knelt and prayed to the Scorekeeper - the Trandoshan God of hunting and war. Finally, when both were done, Lorgan held up a hand - artillery and mortar crews shouting their ready status. "...Ready Gargosk?" Asked Lorgan, surveying the battlefield. Ahead of them was a hundred meter stretch littered with craters and fighter wreckage; beyond that was a wide trench, behind which was the downed AT-AT. Beyond even that, far in the distance, was Jarenth Base, a small outpost that their battalions had been sent to capture in the first place.
"Been ready. For thirty daysss." Gargosk replied, a slight hint of sarcasm in his voice.
"I know, I know. Well, then...operation start." With a sudden slash of his hand, Lorgan signaled the crews - and as one, mortars and artillery pieces rained fire and death in a line in front of the trench and walker; just out of range, the trench had been constructed just a mere twenty meters away from the mortars and artillery maximum range.
And then they were running. Up and out of the trench, Lorgan and Gargosk ran across the ground, darting from wreckage to wreckage. Through the smoke and upturned dirt of the artillery explosions, blaster fire - from rifles and emplacements - poured out blindly, unable to see through the screen. Ninety meters...seventy...fifty...thirty. Within twenty meters, and exactly ten seconds later - the artillery strike stopped, followed by ion flares shot up into the sky. Costly and only containing one use, the flares were typically used in retreat due to their ability to disrupt targeting sensors and comms. And, as the smoke cleared, the FO forces would see nothing but retreat on the part of the Resistance - prompting the FO troops to rise out of their trenches and emplacements as orders were given to chase them down.
Too late did they see the two forms of Lorgan and Gargosk running across the battlefield - not until they were practically on top of them; after all, it was practically suicide for a mere two soldiers to rush the trench. And indeed it would have been, for anyone but the two mercenaries - or, perhaps, a force user. Closing in, Lorgan activated his jetpack, launching himself into the sky - activating his nerve-implant at the same moment, time slowed down to molasses; combined with the targeting computer in his rifle and helmet, it allowed him all the time in the world to place twenty pinpoint shots with supernatural precision. By the time Lorgan fell back to the ground, twenty troopers were in the process of falling to the ground with neat holes in their helmets.
Trailing behind, Gargosk waged his own war - activating the micro-grenade launcher under his DLT-19, the magnetic rings flung out a thin stream of tiny spheres in a perfect line across the interior of the trench; for but a second there was silence as the spheres arced through the air, followed by a line of fire and explosions and a concussive wave as the micro-grenades traced death along the trench line. Another twenty soldiers fell to the ground, screaming and on fire - if not outright dead. Following along the tail of the barrage, Gargosk jumped into the trench - the DLT-19 laying down a withering barrage of blaster fire on a group of five troopers, who died screaming. Unclipping a thermal detonator, Gargosk casually tossed the grenade into a side passage of the trench, hunkering down briefly as the grenade detonated in a incandescent fireball of plasma, incinerating another seven troopers.
Lorgan, in the trench now, ejected his right vambrace blade and ran it through a screaming trooper's throat, before turning on his heel and firing a line of blaster fire through another trooper's torso. Wrenching the blade out of the trooper's throat, he took aim briefly, before sending a micro-rocket into an artillery emplacement, that, even now, was being turned his way in a misguided attempt to destroy the two mercenaries. Exploding violently, the rocket also detonated the oversized blastergas canisters used to arm the artillery cannon - the ensuing explosion killed another ten troopers, with the concussive wave flattening another five nearby. Quickly aiming, a cluster of five bolts killed those five troopers as they tried to pick themselves up off the ground.
Gargosk, meanwhile, was clubbing a FO officer over the head - who went down like a sack of bricks, his neck quite broken - before ejected the spent barrel magazine under his rifle to the ground. Slapping a new magazine into the weapon, he primed the micro-launcher once more; taking aim, he fired a single grenade into a squad of troopers hiding under cover.
And then, just like that...there was no one left. Tensely, Lorgan and Gargosk paused on the field, scanning with alien sight and helmet optics respectively. Once both were satisfied, they met each other under the cover of the trench.
"Thirty-seven. Maybe one or two more in the artillery explosion." Said Lorgan, fitting a new micro-rocket into his vambrace launcher.
"Thirty-eight. Maybe one or two more in the grenade barrage." Said Gargosk grudgingly.
"We're on point." Lorgan paused to peak over the edge of the trench at the downed AT-AT. When the ground exploded just in front of him, the work of a sniper's blaster bolt, he yanked his head back below the trench line. "Element of surprise is over."
"Should be. Artillery strike isss over, and the Ion-flares have disssipated." Gargosk, a little more wary than Lorgan, took the shattered mirror-reflective piece of a dead trooper's helmet visor, and held it up, looking in the reflection at the AT-AT. Similarly, a sniper's bolt blaster the visor to bits. "He'sss got sharp eyesss..."
"AT-AT that size...what, about forty troopers?"Inquired Lorgan, suddenly wary of looking over the trench once more.
"About. Plusss command crew. That armor isss thick, though. We were fortunate to dessstroy the legsss. We will not be ssso lucky in breaching the main body." Replied Gargosk. Eyeing Lorgan for a long moment, he eventually shrugged stiffly in his Trandoshan way. "The plan?"
"...We go in there, we're dead. Tight spaces and choke points will kill us. We can't use our heavy weaponry in confined spaces; and that will be how they get us." Said Lorgan grimly.
"Agreed. We need ssspace. Draw them out?" Inquired Gargosk.
"How?" Lorgan asked, deadpan.
"Gasss Nadesss." Replied Gargosk, holding up a pair of cylindrical grenades - on their side, the universal symbol for chemical danger.
"I like it. FO armor only filters smoke - not toxins. But we have to get them inside; that AT-AT is locked up air-tight I'd wager." Thinking for a moment, Lorgan slid the micro-rocket out of his vambrace launcher. Unscrewing the explosive tip off the main body, he rummaged around in an armored compartment on his utility belt, taking out a similar tip; this one pointed and jagged. "...Armor-piercing head. On a small vehicle, it would obliterate it; but on a machine as large as that AT-AT, it'll only make a hole maybe...quarter meter wide? Can you throw one with that much accuracy?"
"Won't need to." Gargosk replied. Taking off his micro-launcher attachement from his rifle, he ejected the barrel magazine, and set the internal rails to be wider than normal - apparently able to fire regular grenades now. "Launch mechanisssm can fire regular grenadesss. But, must be reloaded one at a time. Very inconvenient; but can fire with great accuracccy."
"Alright then. Ready?"
"We begin."
With a jerk of his hand, Gargosk tossed a frag grenade up and over the trench, which exploded violently - obscuring the sniper's vision. Simultaneously, Lorgan took aim over the side of the trench, firing the rocket at the side of the AT-AT - and then the sniper, lying prone atop the AT-AT's armored hull, with his rifle. The rocket, soaring forward, seemingly disappeared with a small puff of flame against the side of the AT-AT - the result of its thermite head penetrating the armor. A split-second later, a dull thump and a small explosion split a miniscule hole in the side of the AT-AT. Like Lorgan had said, it was very effective - but the hole was more than wide enough for Gargosk. Taking aim, using alien vision and precision coils to fire the grenade, the weapon slung the grenade through the air soundlessly, depositing the gad grenade through the hole with a dull clang.
Nearly instantly, a sickening green gas began pouring out of the both the hole, and unseen fissures in the AT-AT's metal body; the armored door fell to the ground with a metallic groan; and scores of FO troopers poured out, weapons blazing - the two mercenaries location apparently well known. Among their number, a few dropped to the ground, quite dead, while still others vomited profusely, bile and vomit staining the front of their helmets and uniforms.
Pinned down, Gargosk and Lorgan eyed each other. "...They'll be here. Any moment they'll be -" Lorgan was cut off as battle yells echoed out across the trenches; and, in unison, the pair looked over the edge. The Resistance forces, splitting and doubling back to the enemies flanks, in unison struck from the sides - mowing down FO troopers in the way. Absolutely crushed, the few that remained put down there weapons, surrendering.
"See? All according to plan." Said Lorgan in relief, removing his helmet. When Gargosk didn't reply, Lorgan furrowed his brow, putting a hand on the Trandoshan's shoulder and yanking him around. "Hey, what's the matt - AGH."
The last thing Lorgan saw, was the butt of Gargosk's rifle smacking him in the forehead.
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Blinding pain, a throbbing in his temple, slowly, Janos opened his eyes - the interior of his helmet bathed in red. Every sensor readout had some kind of warning on it. Blinking, his eyes still blurry, his mind still fuzzy, he tried to piece together where he was, and what had happened. He remembered...the battle. The trench, the AT-AT; he remembered Gargosk...
Gargosk.
Snapping upward, Lorgan winced and stifled a groan of pain as his head pounded in response. Betrayal. That lying, thieving, backstabbing lizard!Reaching up to take his helmet off, he stopped as his internal alarms blared - informing him of radiation. "R-radiation? What the hell..." Groaned Lorgan, lowering his hands. Grasping the side of the trench, he hauled himself up over it, and then froze, taking in the scene that had been veiled not moments before.
Desolation. As far as the eye could see, from horizon to horizon, was nothing but ash and glass. Craters, varying in size to minuscule to positively gargantuan pockmarked the surface of the crusty desiccated ground - the once wet and muddy landscape now I barren desert of cracked and ashen ground. But it was the bodies, the bodies, that burned themselves into Lorgan's brain. Thousands, perhaps tens of thousands of bodies - resistance soldier and stormtrooper alike - were strewn across the battleground as far as the eye could see. Locked in various battle poses, their flesh and armor had been burned and seared away in but a single instant, leaving nothing but a facsimile of ash and carbon in its place.Above, the sky cracked, lightning and thunder heralding the rain that began but moments later. From high above, rain drops fell, gouging out holes in the ashen corpses; one by one, silently, the whole of the scene of battle dissolved in the downpour.
"Beautiful...isssn't it?" Came Gargosk's voice from behind him.
Lorgan didn't answer. He had killed a menagerie of sentient species in nearly every possible way imaginable. But this? This wasn't war. Falling to his knees, Lorgan stared at the slowly dissolving face of a stormtrooper - the screaming visage slowly distorting horrifically, before dissolving completely away.
"A new weapon. Classsified. I'm sssorry I did not tell you. But I knew you would not approve." Said Gargosk, trying to explain - rationalize in whatever thin and brittle terms - the absolute and utter devastation before them.
"...What was the point?" Mumbled Lorgan.
"What?" Asked Gargosk.
"I asked how many died. How many died, to test this weapon?" Asked Lorgan a little clearer.
"One hundred thousssand. All deceasssed in exactly one eighth of a sssecond. It isss a combination particle / irradiation weapon. Remarkable, it...Lorgan, where are you going?" Gargosk was cut off as Lorgan suddenly stood, slowly walking forward.
"I'm done. I'm just...done." Replied Lorgan hollowly. He didn't care. He didn't care what the reason was. He didn't care that Gargosk had betrayed him in this farce of a battle. He didn't care that this entire campaign, this entire thirty days, had been a setup to draw the main resistance force out for this field test. He didn't care.
Walking into the distance, ignoring the calls of Gargosk behind him, Lorgan walked. He didn't know what else to do.
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Present day
Janos, formerly Lorgan, stood with blaster outstretched. Hand trembling, the muzzle traced circles on Gargosk's chest. "Don't you dare forget!"
Gargosk laughed, a low steady chuckle - shaking his head. "What isss that? A ssstun blassster? How far you've fallen..." Lowering his own blaster, Gargosk turned away from Janos. Walking away from the broken man behind him.
"Don't you walk away from me!" Spat Janos, the stun blaster firing - the stun bolt hitting Gargosk in the back, before dissipating harmlessly. The lizard's pilfered armor combined with scales and cybernetic armor.
"You're afraid, Janosss." Said Gargosk, using the new and unfamiliar name. "Ssso weak. Ssso disappointing. Killing you would not earn me a sssingle point with the Ssscorekeeper. No. I'll leave you alive." Continuing on his way, Gargosk paused in the doorway, turning his head but slightly to the side to eye Janos directly. "Your new name fitsss you. In my culture, the broken ghostsss of tortured souls forget their namesss, and gain new onesss...it seemsss fitting you should do thisss as well." And then he was gone.
Slowly, Janos sunk to the ground, his back to the security door, the blaster in hand. He needed to move. He HAD to move. But he couldn't - he was stuck, his mind too far in the past. He remembered the faces. Remembered the dissolving bodies.[/span]
He remembered, and he despaired.
