He stood upright and motionless. His limbs frozen solid in a position that akin to that of a mantis. He was the mantis, the guardian, the watcher, towering over all that surrounded him. His eye's fixed on a point far off in the distance, yet he was constantly aware of his surroundings. Nothing could escape him. Nothing dared try.

He was Jager Luth. War hero, symbol of Imperial might, the very epitome of a stormtrooper. Each muscle in peak condition. Each movement slow and calculating, but each strike imbued with the speed of the sand viper from his distant and barren home world. With a grace few could manage, let alone comprehend, he descended from his perch atop a small bedside table. Landing with a soft thud on the ball of his foot. His stance tight as he began stalking around the room, ready to strike any who lurked in the surrounding shadows. He was the living incarnation of death. All those who stood before him were felled with an unholy vengeance that separated muscle, fat and bone in a misty spray of protoplasm. The screams from his enemies like a chorus, exulting his deeds with their final breath. Many had heard the laments and tried to end his story, all meeting a similar fate. Be them man, beast or machine, his wrath did not judge.

With a surgically performed pirouette he turned to spun around and sent a balled fist forth into the darkness, retracting it almost instantaneously before lowering his stance again. His body bore the marks of each battle. Shrapnel scar's, knife wounds and an assortment of other injuries encompassed the majority of him. Each with its own story, a litany of his deeds, a living testament to the his actions. With another flawlessly executed turn he continued his sweep of his surroundings.

He had moved a dozen paces before what felt like a savage blow struck in the dead center of his torso, causing him to recoil in pain. Stumbling as his balance gave way, the attack bringing him low into the embrace of the floor.

For the briefest of moments he lay there, the silence of the room was deafening. The ceiling, bound in shadow, mimicked that of the heaven. It was as peaceful as it was disturbing. The once bright and vibrant sky cast into a permanent shadow by some unknown force.

Gradually his clouded senses returned. The surrounding room had grown much darker. His body was numb and stiff. With a deep grunt he rolled onto his stomach and lumbered to his feet, stumbling towards the bathroom.

A sickly, chunky colored liquid filled the sink almost immediately.

The taste of cheap alcohol coated his mouth and burnt his sinuses. He stared down at what once was the contents of his stomach for what felt like an eternity before raising his head to greet the figure in the mirror. A sickly looking, disfigured human stood before him. His face covered in a fine fuzz, his lifeless and cold eyes boring a hole through his observer. He seemed like a stranger but he felt as though he'd known him all his life.

He was Jager Luth. Traitor, vagabond, scoundrel. The black sheep of the Empire. The bastard son of a barren and distant home world, a product of the cold and impersonal galaxy that he inhabited. A galaxy where life was cheap but the drinks where cheaper. A galaxy where the great flourished off the misfortune and pain of the small, a galaxy devoid of hero's.

His empty stare at himself lingered on. A thick mist, a gift born of his recent indulgences, still clouded his thoughts. Any attempt to square things up was met with the passive haze, rendering it an exercise in futility. He needed a drink.

The bedroom was in tatters. Empty bottles containing barely a few drops of various darkly coloured liquids littered any flat surface that was available. Ashtrays were chocked with the long extinguished butts of cigarettes. Pulling a chair out from under a table that stood in the corner, he took a seat and still trying to gather his thoughts and take in his surroundings. Someone had been having themselves quite a party, though by the looks of things he had been the only one in the room.

Date and time were an abstract concept. A clock that adorned the far wall had , by the looks of things, taken a direct hit from something and was little more then a static-laden screen. Odds are he had destroyed it for a reason. There was little point in doubting his actions, especially while under the influence. Without due warning a sudden craving for nicotine presented itself, forcing him to scavenging around in his littered surroundings for a fix.

Salvation came in the form of a crumpled, half empty packet, tucked away under the bed. However relief was fleeting. For no sooner had he ignited the stick, taking a slow drag, letting the noxious mix of chemicals fill his lungs and throat, then a loud and abrupt knock emanated from the door.

No one was ever happy to see him, a fact which he had come to terms with a long time ago. No one was happy to see him because he was never happy to see anyone. Today was no different. A small panel near the door gave a live video feed of the hall. Two men, dressed in military uniforms stood a few paces back from the door. Imperial debt collectors sent to retrieve their property.

"Gunnery Sergeant Luth." One queried aloud, oblivious to the feed.

"He's not here" Jager replied, returning to his seat. He had been promoted. Promotions meant little to him, given as a consolation prize alongside useless medals for deeds that held little meaning to anyone. The pips and stripes on his slides serving as a less aggressive reminder to any who would doubt his prowess, at least to his face.

"Come on, Soldier. Open the door and come on out."

Unlike many of his comrades, he had no desire to return to the base. He had been through hell and back in the past few weeks, surely it wasn't too much to ask for some leave. His superiors and the two men outside had other ideas.

The door parted with a gentle Hiss, granting the access to the dilapidated hotel room. The ensuing struggle was both brief and pointless, a sad metaphor for his existence. He had spent years honing his bar fighting skills to the point where he was still a force to be reckoned with even when in the midst of a bender. A fact one of the eager MP's discovered as he attempted to restrain the resisting trooper. He had to hand it to , they learnt quickly. His partner, a hulk of a man, through up an almost impenetrable defence, catching the inebriated trooper off guard. From there things became a blur, his impact with the floor the only thing he could be certain of.

The shower head sent forth a torrent of steel-like water that caused Jager to curse and struggle to no real avail. The shame of it all. Of all the ways to treat a war hero, a man who saved countless lives and bested some of Thrawns finest men, held under a shower like a stubborn child. The wash clearing some of the haze away, driving his situation home. His vacation was over a few years too early.

-----------

Things had changed. The city, a once proud and prosperous place, still deeply reminiscent of the old empire, had been beaten like an unwanted ginger stepson. Its populous broken and demoralised. Many attempted to return things to what they once where, but destruction and desolation had always been a breeding ground for dissidence. Rioters, looters and all manner of scum had stepped up their game in a bid to ravage the city in its hour of need. But for all the chaos and uncertainty that had befallen them the people still had one last bastion of hope to turn to.

The vast empire.

But it to was not immune to change.

Jester. His Jester. Once a proud and noteworthy squad, its ranks filled with some of the best soldiers the empire could muster. Had been broken up. He  had been a Jester from his first day. He was there for the good times, the bad times and not once had he ever thought of leaving. He had seen it through dozens of assignments, troopers and almost as many leaders. And in a callous act of bureaucracy it was snuffed out. Its troopers, his squad mates, his fellow Jesters reassigned and scattered throughout the Corps.

He was still a Jester though, he always would be. Standing tall at the moment of his demise, ready to ask the question "Who's laughing now?, Bitch"

In an act of, what may have been ill humour, Jegora had placed him in an assault outfit, the shot first and check the bodies later group, designated 'Black Jack' and headed by a man named Solvona. The humor tagged on in a footnote, the Cathar would be joining him. Jager to see the smirk on his old squad leaders face as if it had been imprinted on the datapad itself. At least he wouldn't have to deal with the old bastard anymore.

---

The walk through sexton was as enjoyable as pulling teeth, thanks in part to his captors keeping his hands cuffed behind his back. The fort was a buzz with activity. All manner of people darting in and out of rooms and hurrying down corridors. Most didn't make eye contact. A gaggle of new recruits eyeballed him as they passed in a corridor. Fresh faced and eager to get some payback on those responsible for the attacks. More meat for the grinder and not a looker in the bunch. Jager shot them an icy glare but said nothing. He had made it a rule never to acknowledge the new blood until at least two missions in. Life expectancy for a fresh trooper was low at the best of times, and learning their names seemed pointless.

In a matter of minutes they reached the door to the squads ready room. His two captors eager to cut him loose though still throughly enjoying his predicament, the smaller of the two still clutching a wad of cloth to his nose.

None of the troopers present said anything as the trio entered. By the looks of things they had just finished a briefing and were readying themselves, stopping to gaze at the door on his arrival. There were some familiar faces, one to be precise. Her feline features showing their usual disdain towards him.

The two men, MP's at a guess though he never thought to ask, exchanged pleasantries with the squads leader, asking him to sign off on a slate before giving a salute and removing Jager's cuffs. Tanus stepped forward and offered his hand as a greeting.

"Jager Luth, I presume?"

Jager simply stared, sizing up the man. He reminded him too much of Jegora, though his hair style was more reminiscent of Angel. After a few moments his hand withdrew, being replaced by a queer look, a look mimicked by a few of his subordinates.

"Right..." the man continued abruptly. "Anyway, I won't bother asking why you're late. Don't make a habit of it. We're shipping out within the hour." Jager gave a sullen nod, taking another look at the others in the room. His new squad mates. For better or worse, he was now a member of BlackJack.

"I'm sure it'll be fine, sir." Corvin muttered, fiddling with his chestplate. It felt and handled differently from most of the other variants he'd used, and he glumly anticipated a very unpleasant time when the shooting started.

At least the tin cans were grey... These "improvements" had better be worth it, or I may as well paint targets on the plates.

There was a click as the chestplate came into place, magnetic seals activating and connecting it with the back piece and bodyglove.

Satisfied, Corvin turned back to the cart, removing a helmet from the section marked with his name. If nothing else, he mused as he turned the helmet over in his hands, the armour fit well. That alone made it better than the Katarn tin can he'd worn a few missions ago.

The world turned black for a moment as he pushed the helmet down, then green as the HUD started to power up. Lines of Aurabesh readouts flickered across Corvin's field of vision, far too fast to make out properly, let alone read, then vanished. Corvin slowly turned around, turning his head left and right as he did so.

"They've upgraded the caps a bit." he noted, more to himself than the other two Blackjacks. He glanced down at the rest of the suit.

"Still feel the urge to repaint this thing..."

"Look at it this way, Lance Corporal." Gates replied. "They'll probably be too surprised to do anything but gape."

"If you say so, sir." Corvin replied glumly.

"Relax." The third Blackjack, one Sergeant Helena, chided. "There's nothing you can do about it, so why worry?"

"Right you are, ma'am." Corvin replied, nodding as he spoke. Running through a mantra he'd thought of for these situations, the Private reached into the compartment and pulled out a bulky rifle.

Gates raised an eyebrow, pausing halfway through suiting up.

"Wasn't there something about minimal deadly force?"

Corvin blinked.

"It has a stun setting?" he hazarded.

The Platoon Sergeant shrugged.

"Fair enough." he said simply, then continued putting his armour on.

Satisfied that the rifle was acceptable, Corvin turned the DRB-8 over in his hands. Entering mass production early in the Rebellion, the weapon had quickly become popular among mercenaries. Corvin had tried it out on the firing range, and had been quite impressed.

"See you at the transport, sir." Corvin called as he left. Gates's reply was a lazy wave as he pulled another piece of armour from the trolley.

The trooper's footsteps echoed through the deserted corridors as he made his way through the complex. The occasional stormtrooper or Army trooper squad broke the silence, sprinting towards their own objectives, but on the whole, the base was a mausoleum. In the distance, sirens still blared, punctuated by the drone of repulsorcraft. The recent Vast Imperial victory had come at a terrible price.

Coming to a window, Corvin stopped, turning off his HUD as he looked through it at the scene beyond. Armoured troop transports and repulsortrucks rumbled through the dusty lanes, headed for the gates and the city beyond.

There seemed to be a disproportionate number of medics among the troops sitting in the open bays, and they were mostly armed with crowd control weaponry. Corvin had heard the stories of Wraith's last mission during the defense of Tadath, and how they had come under attack by an infuriated mob, driven into a frenzy by Thrawnist agitators.

Corvin still had the scar from an Hirasan's slug-rifle, inflicting during Nexu Squad's defense of the embassy there, and certainly had no wish to repeat the experience.

Individually or even in small groups, civilians were no match for a squad of properly armed and equipped stormtroopers, even if they were restrained from using lethal force, but if there were dozens or even hundreds of them...

Corvin shuddered at the memory of the Army trooper squad who'd accompanied the Nexus on that ill-fated mission; they'd been hacked and beaten to death before any of them could be pulled from the mob's clutches. Hiras had been a bloodbath, one Corvin never wanted to go through again, and certainly not here. Not on Tadath.

Shaking himself from his thoughts with an effort, Corvin glanced at his helmet chrono and cursed.

"Frak!"

Five minutes to departure. Frak, frak, frak...

OOC:

Short, I know, but I haven't written anything in a while. Trying to get back into the rhythm of things...

The old, heavy, stinking transport rattled to a halt. Gates clambered out, disgustingly wiping grimy paint off of his pristine chest plate.

“Why are we getting out?” Rogueboy asked. “We’re still in the suburbs. Main areas of contact aren’t for at least a half-klick.”

“Far as I can go,” the vehicle boss said, a man who looked even older than the vehicle he was driving.

The rest of the squad climbed out as well, stretching in the cool mid-morning air. Tanus waved them forwards, his trademark hammer slung over his shoulder.

“Watch your spacing, watch your team leader for signals, boys,” Gates ordered. “Keep an eye out for rioters, and yell if you see anything suspicious.”

A chorus of short “yes sirs” and “ayes” came across the comm. Jager grunted an affirmative sound. Rifles held casually, the troopers ambled off down the street.

As they went deeper into the city, Gates began to see what their driver had been talking about. Smashed buildings had fallen over many a street, and the road was torn apart by small arms, mortars, destroyed tanks and the occasional massive glass crater, sign of a loose turbolaser.

“It’s been a week,” muttered the Cathar, Mai. “And it still looks like this.”

“Welcome to the face of Hell,” Gates said emotionlessly. “The Thrawnist pigs landed here early, and VE forces had to clear ‘em out. It was quite the slog, every rat fighting tooth and nail against our search parties. I hear they’re still holding out in scattered pockets.

“So they’re relatively harmless, right?” Private Edge asked, gripping his rifle a bit tighter.

“Ever back an animal into a corner?” Tanus asked over his shoulder. “Well, this is survival of the fittest. Any Thrawnist left alive is one hell of a soldier, or at least idiotically lucky. And likely feral, on top of that.”

--- --- --- ---

Blackjack passed another squad of Stormtrooper Engineers. They were trying to evacuate a building full of refugees that was in danger of collapse from its neighbor, leaning heavily from a crashed tank. Just as they managed to get the last person out, it fell all at once, nearly crushing the engineer officer. The refugees wept and thanked the soldiers exhaustively.

“My home…” Gates murmured. “Beaten down like a dog. Like this.”

“Yeah,” Corvin said from his position ahead of Gates, the rear point man. “I know what you mean.”

“Contacts,” Tanus said. “No – wait. Civvies. In numbers, a crowd of ‘em. Get on guard, boys and girls.”

Blackjack was in a medium-width street, and lined up into a loose skirmish line across it. Thirty or so emaciated civilians, their work clothes hanging off them in tatters. Tanus took a step forward and raised his hand in the universal sign for “stop.”

“Halt, civilians,” he said, projected authority into his voice. “Sinat city is in a state of Martial Law. Return to your homes or the nearest military shelter and await the rising of Martial Law.”

“It’s Stormtroopers!” yelled one man, a tall fellow with the wasting look of deteriorated muscle. “Come to kill us like the Thrawnists!”

“No – return to you homes,” Tanus said, saying the words more forcefully. “We will not harm you.”

“Lyin’ bastard!” yelled one, and threw a piece of rubble. The throw was pitiful, and so was the rock, lamely bouncing off of Tanus’ helmet. Tanus raised his rifle and fired a shot into the air.

“This is your final warning. You have assaulted a Vast Empire Stormtrooper, and usually you’d be dead. However, you are civilians. Return to your homes.”

“Screw you, Stormie scum!” yelled the rock-thrower. “We’re goin’ this way!”

The crowd yelled its agreement, and suddenly, they charged.

Gates almost laughed. He’d faced down everything from Stormtrooper to Acklay bum rushes; a crowd this small could barely raise his pulse.

“Fire. Stun only, dammit,” Tanus sighed.

Blackjack fired a single barrage, a dozen or so blue-ringed stun rays, slapping into the civvies. They dropped, no body armor or anything. The still-standing ones stopped, then turned and ran away. Gates scowled at the unconscious bodies.

A clatter of boots came around the corner, and a squad of Army Troopers came onto the scene. “We heard shooting!” the leader said.

“Very good, Corporal,” Tanus said. “Take these civvies to the nearest shelter. They were in the midst of mobbing us, and we had to, unfortunately put a few out for a bit.”

“Yes sir,” the Army trooper said, and his squad picked up the limp civvies.

Gates swore. “That’s not something I want to repeat.”

Tanus’ visor looked right at him. “Me neither. But I’m feeling that we may have to do it many more times in the near future.”

He was happy when he heard he got into a better squad than his last. He was hoping to get to kill anyways, the other squad was going on a covert mission. He was ready, not long ago before he was sitting in his new room, waiting. He got the call and got ready, making sure he had his knives and his shotgun for the fight as well as a smaller pistol. His arm had a Scar which looked like a tattoo of something eil in nature and he made it himself. He also had a pack of smokes and a lighter for stress time. He was thinking of this when the shots all of a sudden started to fire

=Arok=
" oh kriff!"

He got behind a vehicle with his shotgun and was excited for a battle. The cigarette in his mouth burned as he waited for the men to come forwards and begin to fire.

=Arok=
The person who kills the least owes everyone a round at the bar!

He goes forward from behind the vehicle and starts to get near the buildings and turns to see a few men coming forward, so he waits for a second, and when they come beside them. he smiled and unloaded his shotgun, killing two of the and tackles the 3rd, dropping his gun, he grabs a knife and gets it in the mans throat. HE gets up as the man is choking on his own blood and picks up his gun and goes to the side of the building

=Arok=
:: Ya gonna come help me?::

“Where are they?!” screamed an engineer, blindly firing from his cover of a pile of rubbish.

“Keep shooting!” yelled another, a grizzled veteran. The engineer poked his head out to fire at where he suspected an ambusher to be. He scored a hit and was rewarded with a scream. The engineer smartly ducked down behind cover.

“Be advised!” Corvin’s voice panted across the link. “We will soon have a bead on the E-WEB, but Sergeant Luth is saying something about the RPG position.”

“Copy that,” the ASL replied. “Rogueboy!”

“Whatdya need?” asked the First Sergeant.

“See the rocket position?” Gates said, dodging over to his position and sliding down. He pointed at a window. “There. Can you get a ‘nade in there?”

He adjusted his grenade launcher and aimed it carefully, cranking it carefully up a few degrees. After a moment, he shook his head. “Too far; my range is limited. I can loft over anything, but it loses some distance.”

“Right,” Gates said, and turned back to the fight. “Where’s the other J-4?”

“It’s in the truck!” yelled Helena, firing a burst from her Stormtrooper-II.

“Cover me!” Gates yelled, and scrambled over to the truck. Laser bolts kicked up dirt into the air behind his feet, and he jumped into the truck. A barrage of laser fire pinged off of the outer shell of the truck. Gates looked quickly around, dropping he flamethrower from his back. Someone had thoughtfully brought it along, but it was useless in a long-range duel. His eyes fell onto the J-4 and he scooped it up, making sure it was loaded.

Composing himself, he hopped out of the truck’s rear and knelt, steadying the J-4 on his shoulder. The scope synched up with his HUD and he dragged it over the rocketeer’s last position. It found a hotspot of the recently-fired RPG, and locked the coordinates in.

“Fire in the hole!” he called into the link, and then fired. The rocket exploded out of the barrel, kicking heavily against his shoulder. The small missile corkscrewed towards the RPG’s position, and blew up when it got there, scattering shrapnel and rubble around its position.

“Problem solved,” Gates whistled. “Nothing a kilo of high explosives can’t fix.”

A sharpshooter nearly took his head off. As it was, it left a carbon score on the helmet and the overpressure made him stumble and trip over a cinder block. It saved him from the rather serious inconvenience of finding a prosthetic hand.

Gates flipped the safety and tossed the J-4 back into the truck. He drew his Stormtrooper-II and blasted at where he guessed the sniper had been. The storm of fire was intensifying as both sides began to grow more accurate. For now, the VE forces outnumbered the guerillas, but the E-WEB was beginning to move from ranging shots to aimed ones.

“Jager, any time now!” Tanus said calmly.

“Hold onto your panties,” the man replied. “I’m on it, dammit. Edge! Hurry up with the J-4, would you?”

Gates fired half a dozen ineffectual shots down range at the E-WEB. The carbine’s CQB design hindered long range shots, and they dissipated a few dozen meters ahead of the cannon. It, on the hand, was beginning to drop shots closer and closer to Blackjack’s and their engineer cohorts’ position.

A shot screamed overhead and slagged a tire of the truck. The hovervan carrying the supplies idled, its drivers firing frantically with a top-mounted turret at shooters’ positions. An engineer screamed as an E-WEB blast tore him apart.

“Jager…” someone muttered over the link. It was barely audible over the screaming, ricocheting blaster fire, solid slugs smashing against solid asphalt, and the heavy churning of the E-WEB down the street.

“Alright, alright. We’re on the roof. Happy now?” the FTC’s voice spat over the comm.

“Perfectly,” Gates said. “If you’d be so kind as to remove the teeny-tiny problem, now.”

“Whatever. Edge, I hope you can aim that thing.”

“Right sir,” the private replied, and Gates saw a flash of fire and then another rocket flew from the high ground and screamed straight at the E-WEB. It impacted, and the turret and its two operators disappeared in the flash of an explosion.

The small-arms fire increased to a virtual deluge, but it also began to move. Another rocket flew from the roof-team’s position, taking out a couple riflemen firing on full-auto at the pinned VE troops.

With that, the guerrillas lost heart, and pulled back hastily. Their shots decreased in frequency and accuracy, and the rout became complete when Blackjack chased them off with a few more laser bolts and rockets.

“That was a pleasant experience,” Gates said calmly, looking to make sure Blackjack didn’t have so much as a bloody nose. “Let’s not do it again for a little while, ‘kay?”

Corvin looked down at the squad leader's body, rifle held loosely in one hand. There was a blackenned, ash-ringed crater in the middle of the man's chestplate where the blaster shot had penetrated. His blaster shot.

Corvin tried to make himself feel some sympathy for the man, but found that he couldn't do it. Regardless of supposed allegiance, the Sergeant had more than deserved his fate. They had attacked, even murdered the civilians they had sworn to protect, something Corvin was still shocked by.

He'd seen that kind of behavior from mercs, and heard the stories of what the Thrawnists had done during their assaults, but he'd never heard of loyal Imperials sinking to such levels.

Corvin was shaken from his thoughts by a loud beep over the squad com as Edge finally managed to open a channel.

"Solvona here."

Jager spoke before either of the others could. Evidently, he didn't trust either Corvin or Edge to follow his orders.

"Ran into a few hostiles, neutralized same. Orders?" the Gunnery Sergeant said tonelessly.

There was a moment of silence, and Corvin considered speaking up. He started to take a half step forwards, but stopped abruptly when Jager raised the hand not holding a weapon, palm facing towards him in gesture with a very obvious meaning. A second later, Tanus spoke again.

"Move ahead to these coordinates. Report any contacts."

"Understood." Jager tersely said, then closed the channel with a click. As soon as the comlink had shut down, he spun towards Corvin and took an angry step forwards.

"I gave you an order." Jager said quietly, all the more menacing for his lack of apparent emotion.

"Sir, we can't just....cover it up." Corvin stuttered, shifting from foot to foot. Edge remained frozen, slightly too still to be at ease.

"We can and will." Jager replied, his voice as emotionless as ever. "What do you think would happen if word of this got out?"

"But..." Corvin started, hands waving helplessly.

"No buts. I dislike repeating myself, so this is the last time I'll say this. We are keeping this to ourselves. End of story. Understood?"

"Yes, sir." Corvin muttered.

"Good. We're going on patrol so get moving."

Jager turned away from Corvin, about to start walking down the street. It was that which saved his life.

There was a hiss, and a massive crater appeared in a duracrete wall, roughly at the height where Jager's head had been a moment earlier.

"Sniper!" Corvin yelled as he ducked behind the burned out shell of a speeder. Edge and Jager did the same, taking cover behind a street sweeper drone and doorway respectively. 

Corvin waited for another buzz, but none came. Tenatively, he started to peek out from behind the speeder...

Only to jerk his head back as another shot melted the durasteel less than an inch away, sending bits of molten metal flying into his faceplate and embedding themselves in his visor. His HUD crackled and filled with green lines as the sensors became confused.

"Frak!" Corvin swore.

"Keep your heads down." Jager ordered as emotionless as ever.

"What the hell is he using?" Edge yelled.

"Sniper rifle of some kind. Invisible bolts. Looks like our friend from earlier came back for seconds."

"Frak."

How in the Nine Corellian Hells did a crackpot civvie get his hands on that kind of tech?

There was a pause.

"Any ideas, sir?" Corvin asked, slamming a new power cell into his rifle as he did so. Another shot whistled through the air, shattering a transparisteel window.

"A few."

OOC:

Best I could do. If the sniper as enemy idea or characterization is off, PM me please.

Jager led his charges off of the bombed-out street. Tanus and Gates remained in close proximity, daring a sniper or RPG-wielding psycho to blow them both away.

“So Jager’s on patrol,” Gates said, fiddling with the heavy rubber feed hose of the flamethrower. “What do you want me to do?”

“Command’s got mercs in the area. The tattered remains of the rebel Moffs’ guards are raising hell for relief teams and even armed patrols. There’ve been sightings deeper in the city. Go through the area, and link up with us here after you make your run. Watch your back, and see if you can’t find some of ‘em and clear them out.”

“Got it,” Gates said, slinging the flamethrower easily. The full tanks sloshed quietly. “Helena, Abalar, on me!”

The two women peeled off from guard positions and walked over to the talking squad leaders. “What’dya need?” asked Hel.

“What I need and what we’re doing are two totally different things, but for now, just follow me,” he said, and checked his rifle. “Godspeed, sir.”

Tanus nodded and turned to the last two members of the squad, whilst Gates’ fireteam jogged easily down the street. Gates nodded to the Abalar, who had been bringing up the rear.

“First squad?” he asked.

“Served with Jester, but had to leave the military for personal reasons,” she said. “So no.”

“Good to have you with us,” Helena said.

“Alright, story time’s over. Watch your angles,” Gates ordered. They spread into a loose “delta” formation, one man on point, and the other two a few steps back. Gates took point.

The city wheezed. Usually, it breathed, a vibrant city full of life and people. They wandered through a deserted marketplace. Dead bodies were in the later stages of decomposition, and fruit and other fresh wares were raising an even larger stink.

“Geez,” Helena said, waving her hand in front of her face to ward off the stench. “What died?”

“Everything,” Gates said shortly, looking sadly at the destroyed marketplace. “This place must’ve used to be the center of a community…”

“But now, it’s a graveyard,” whispered Abalar.

“Dammit,” he swore, and opened his mouth to say something else. It was forgotten as a laser bolt tore into a decrepit seller’s stall. “Cover! Cover!”

The three Blackjacks scattered. Helena and Abalar dove into street-side stores and Gates hit the deck and rolled behind a crashed speeder. A dozen more laser blasts screamed down the street, slashing into the car and melting the rusting carcass.

“I’ve got ‘em in my sights! Firing!” Helena said into the link and soon, VE bolts were flying at the merc’s position. Abalar added her fire to the barrage, and the two female Stormtroopers began a firefight with some mercenaries in downtown Sinat.

“Moving! Cover me!” Gates yelled, and someone called an affirmative. He ducked low, keeping his profile tight to the ground, and sprinted to the next cover, a crashed TIE fighter. He peered over his new cover and saw the merc’s position, the second story of a once-vibrantly colored store, possibly an old-fashioned barber’s shop by the red-and-white pole outside. In the upper-story balcony, a man was blatantly, fearlessly standing, firing a powerful A-280 blaster rifle at Helena’s position. In a window, a man fiddled with a rapid-fire support weapon, and a third was firing a pistol while he tried to steady his aim with the stump of a hand.

Gates judged the distance quickly, and grinned when his estimates gave him the answer he wanted.

“On my mark, give me some covering fire on the two shooters with autos!” Gates barked into the link. “Three, two, one, Mark!”

Helena and Abalar aimed a flurry of shots at the two shooters’ positions, and they ducked automatically into cover. Gates stood fully and sprinted flat-out right into the barber’s shop. The old chairs and razors still sat in their last positions, awaiting customers and an owner who was either dead or in a shelter, by now. Gates hoped for the latter, but only let the thought wander for a couple seconds. Cautiously, he made his way to the rear staircase.

He mounted the stairs, rifle slung and flamethrower out. The blaster fire became more audible as he carefully opened the door at the top of the stairs. The three mercs were still firing non-stop.

He stepped over an empty can of beer, and saw that the mercs had made this place their hideout for the last few days. Datapads, weapons and discarded food wrappers littered the floor.

Gates looked away and focused on the task at hand: roasting the mercenary scum alive. He came up behind the man with the machine gun first, and flicked the forward lighter on. The tiny “fump” of a tiny feed of napalm lighting actually was enough to turn the man half around, and almost elicited a scream from him before an orange-and-blue tinged spear of flame caught him in the upper chest and blasted him out of the window, a burning, screaming torch.

“Jack! What the hell!” cried the one-handed pistol-wielder, running into the room. He spotted Gates with a lit flamer and yelled. “I’ll kill you!”

He leveled his pistol at Gates’ chest and pulled the trigger. Three shots burned from the barrel and smacked him in the chest. Gates dropped backwards a half-step.

“Oh shi-” was all the man got out before he, too was turned into well-done meat.

“Job well done,” crowed Gates, lowering the flamer.

“So you took out all three, then?” asked Helena.

“Yeah, all-” Gates began, until he was beat around the back of the head by the wire-stock of an A-280 rifle.

“I’ll kill you,” the rifleman said, his rifle inches away from Gates’ visor. “Any last words?”

“You are out of ammo.”

“Ha!” he pulled the trigger. It clicked loudly. “Oh shit.”

“See?” he said, and then took his knife out. “Dead as dead.”

He stabbed the backpedalling man in the throat, and a spray of arterial fluid splattered him in the helmet. The crimson blood didn’t even stain his armor.

“Oh yeah, now I’ve got ‘em all down,” Gates said, panting and sheathing his knife. “Hurry up and help me take a look at this stuff.”

"Well, this is going well." Corvin muttered as another shot flew past his helmet, coming close enough to leave a blackenned streak in the reinforced plastoid.

"What was that? Didn't copy." Edge said over the com. Corvin blinked, realizing the channel was open.

"I said I'm pinned down behind the wall."

"Copy that."

Listening, Corvin realized the blasterfire had stopped again. This time, however, he knew enough not to emerge from cover. With the sniper hidden, an eerie silence fell over the area.

There was a quiet whistling as a breeze passed through shattered windows and empty doorways, carrying with it the rapid whining of blasterfire. There would be no help from the others.

"Now what?" Edge asked, his breathing fast. "That kriffer's got us pinned down, and we've got no idea where he is."

"Quiet." Jager stated, his voice low. "I have a plan."

Well isn't that just frakking wonderful? Corvin thought sarcastically, then blinked. Forcing the uncharacteristic disrespect from his thoughts, he opened a channel to reply.

"Hope it's a good one, sir..."

"Of course." the fire-team leader replied, his voice still emotionless. Corvin couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

"If you say so, sir."

"On my order, run into the street. Don't open fire until I tell you too..."

====

Crouched beneath a camouflaged and dust-covered tarp, Ceran Yeris watched the empty streets. Behind her, an automatic defense turret hovered silently, sensors blinking on and off as it scanned the area. At her side, there was a neat stack of power cells and a canteen. In front of her, covered by the tarp with only the tip of its barrel protruding was her rifle.

It was a fine weapon, and felt cool to her grip. She turned, scanning the street through her scope. The world flickered as she changed the scope's settings. Infrared, night vision, normal...she flicked through each one in turn. Nothing.

"Come out, come out wherever you are..." she crooned quietly, tapping a finger against her rifle's barrel as she did so.

Nothing. No movement, no glint as sunlight caught the stormtroopers' red armour. Nothing.

"You don't want to play?"

Sighing in frustration, Ceran wondered if she should move again. That was one of the lessons her father, once a Republic Army soldier, had always taught her. Never stay put long enough for any of them to find you. Take your shot and move on.

Her father's lessons had served her well since the invasion. She'd tried to run, but been caught in one of the panicked mobs that had been trying to flee to a starport or public shelters.

Back then, her mind had been clouded, and she'd panicked, trying to get help from the enforcers and pushing through the crowd. Then the stormtroopers had come, many-armed devices strapped to their backs, and set the streets ablaze.

Panicked, she'd fled with the others, taking a blow to the head while running and losing consciousness. When she'd awoken, her mind had been cleared.

It  all made sense to her now. The stormtroopers were the enemy. They were trying to kill her. To survive, she'd have to kill them first.

She'd found an E-11 rifle on the body of a planetary security trooper, along with several power cells. The weapon was familiar to her from her childhood training with hunting weapons designed on the same frame.

She'd found a safe position, gathered supplies, and simply waited. The Thrawnist fireteam never had time to report in. Stripping the bodies and dragging them from sight, she'd waited. Two more groups had come, and she'd dispatched them all. The last one had proven more difficult: if she hadn't scavenged a frag grenade from the first group, they'd have emerged victorious.

It had been a member of the last fireteam who'd carried the rifle she now bore. Long and sleek, it was a sniper's weapon, capable of punching through most body armour and even durasteel plating. It had taken some practice, but after a week of use, she had become quite handy with the rifle.

The explosions had ended, and the people had flocked through the streets, but Ceran knew better. The stormtroopers still walked the streets, them and their green-uniformed lackeys. They were murderers, and she had to kill them all before they killed her.

She'd been forced to move from sector to sector as more troops arrived, far too many for her to handle. Twice, she'd made mistakes and almost been caught. She swore to herself that she'd never be taken alive: she'd seen what they did to captives. They were the enemy, and she would kill them all.

This group was proving problematic. Their white-armoured lackeys had gone down quickly enough, but these ones were smart, hiding in the buildings and no doubt trying to comlink their allies. Not that it would do them any good: the military signal jammer she'd salvaged hummed merrily next to her stack of power cells.

She'd take all the stormtroopers down or die trying. Starting with these.

She saw movement, and her finger tightened on the trigger.

"Got ya."

OOC:

A little background on the nutso sniper. Dunno how to get the fireteam out of this...

Tanus watched as Garryll ran off with the two women in toe, issuing orders and generally BSing. It was good to see the new squad members have good cohesion and a sense of compatibility. This is good. Now if we can just take care of the people that want us dead, we’ll be golden. The engineers slowly began to come out of hiding, looking around to make sure no one else was shooting them. Tanus looked up at the sun and sighed. He raised his hand and Rogue and Kovar came forth. Dust fell off of them as they returned from their hiding spots: Kovar held a blaster in his hand, while Rogue had his grenade launcher at the ready. Tanus looked over at the building that Jager and the others had entered.

“All right, so it looks like the rockets will leave us alone for a bit. That said, we should probably get to work. Tharq, you get your teams out and get started. We’ll assist in any way we can.”

Kovar nodded, holstering his blaster as he ran off to his now assembled engineers, who were picking up their equipment and turning back to the piles of rubble and defunct buildings that now lay before them. Rogue shook his head and gave a long slow whistle as the engineers began to set up explosives. Tanus nodded as he watched them work: They were methodic, practical and nearly flawless. We could use more men like them. Tanus turned back to Rogue, who was currently looking down at his grenade launcher.

“You may as well keep that thing handy.”

“Why? You thinking more attacks?”

“Well, that, and the fact that the engineers may be needing some extra help clearing out buildings of fallen debris and all that. I can almost guarantee that the interior of these buildings will be filled with it.”

“Or survivors.”

Tanus shuddered for some reason at that thought: What if they were taken out in the blast? What if they were wounded? What if there were children inside? Tanus ran over to Kovar, who was issuing orders to his underlings. Kovar turned to look at him, wary eyed.

“What’s wrong? Another attack?”

“No, no, not another attack. Do we know if there are any survivors in there?”

Kovar looked up at the building, sweeping his head around at the open windows with dust and smoke pouring out of the shattered outer walls. He nodded and looked back at Tanus, who was holding his EE-3 and looking at a few open doorways leading into the smoking tomb. Kavar called back to a group of engineers, requesting a bioscanner. Tanus help up his hand.

“No, don’t bother. That’s just a waste of time. Rogue and I will take care of it ourselves.”

“But what if the building collapses?”

“Well,” Tanus started as he started to walk towards the door, drawing his hammer as he did so. “I’m sure you’ll not have done it, and let’s just make sure we get as many people out as possible. When I send out the first round of people, call in some med-evac.”

Kovar nodded as he started to take out his comlink. Tanus walked over to Rogue, who was already shaking his head. He rested his grenade launcher on his shoulder as he looked out at the building, its shadow starting to envelop them under the beating rays of the sun. They walked up to the blocked entrance and looked around, hoping to find an easier point of entry. No dice.

“Well, Rogue, looks like we need a new door.”

“You want it clean or just ragtag?”

“Clean. I’d rather not have a building fall on us and kill us all.”

“You are NO fun. Where’s your sense of adventure?”

“I’m a soldier, and I’m with you. I’ve got plenty.”

“Touché.”

Rogue raised his grenade launcher to the door and pulled the trigger; Tanus watched as the projectile arced and hit the door, engulfing it in fire and dust. When it all cleared, the path was clear. The two soldiers looked at each other and nodded as the proceeded to enter the building, their crimson armor glinting in the sun. Upon entering the building, shadows group around them in a deep cloak, dust flying into the air as the footfalls of armor permeated the blanket of it on the ground. Tanus activated his headlamp and took a look around: Darkness swallowed up the interior rooms, and the objects that were once lights sparked menacingly in the dark, offering only a brief glimpse into the destruction that had occurred here. Rogueboy made whistled as he took a few steps further into the building.

“Thrawn certainly did number here.”

“Yeah, he did.”

“Total War’s a bitch, isn’t it, Tan-Tan?”

Tanus swung his hammer about, standing idly and waiting to get started into the building. The shadows seemed to be beckoning him closer and closer. There are people here. I just know it.

“Yeah, it is. Let’s get moving. Keep that ‘nade launcher at the ready.”

“Right-o. Lead the way, boss man.”

Rogue lifted his head up to look at the stair case in front of them. Dust fell out of cracks in the wall as low flying gunships flew in overhead, shaking the buildings beneath them with the rumble of their engines. Tanus cracked his neck as he walked forward and up the stairs, Rogue guarding the rear. Surprisingly, the stairwell wasn’t blocked and the trek up the flight of stairs was relatively calm. Up one floor the two men did a full sweep of the floor, and luckily found no one in sight. They moved up to the next floor, and the next one, and the next. For the first ten floors or so. Tanus shook his head as he looked up the stairs for the umpteenth time.

“Ya know, this isn’t a large building; there’s only another 3 or 4 stories to this complex, and the floors aren’t exactly spacious. What are the chances that everyone, if there’s anyone at all, is at the top floor, they can’t get out and the roof is blocked off?”

“Oh, you mean like in every bad army or action flick ever made?”

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I mean.”

“I’m going with a very high chance, at least in the upper 80 percentile.”

“Of course those are our chances. Now how about us getting shot at?”

“Maybe a 1 in 3. I’m a bit hazy on crazy siege survivors. I’m usually on the trigger side of the cannon.”

“Fair enough. Let’s finish this up then. How many more ‘nades have you got?”

“Another two frag, one concussion, one sonic and two tear.”

“Perfect. Let’s finish this up.”

Tanus arched his back and started up the stairs, hammer in one hand, the other part of the handle in the other. It made an effective mace, and the long spike at the end made for an excellent off hand weapon and parrying spike. One floor up and immediately the scene changed. The floor was in utter chaos, with rubble and entire pieces of ceiling missing from overhead. Tanus looked down both ends of the hall and then right in front of them. Hazy sunlight made its way through the dust and ragged curtains, and some brighter patches found their way through the ceiling and clear through the other floors above. Tanus looked up and smiled as the sun started to lighten up and reflect off his armor. He looked back at the stairs. He walked into the well and looked up; the stairs beyond this point were completely blocked off from where artillery had more than likely hit. Tanus sighed as he turned back to the open hall.

“Well, it looks like we’re stuck here for the nonce. If we want to take the upper floors, we’re gonna need to either make the holes bigger with a well placed ‘nade or test the durabiblity of the armor.”

Rogue looked up at the holes in the ceiling and cracked his knuckles. He looked back at Tanus and shrugged.

“Eh, I’m easy. I’ll take the left. You wanna go right?”

“May as well. We’re not doing anything standing here. We’ll take the center, one room a piece. That’ll cut down on time and let us get down to take on the final floors.”

Rogue gave a two finger salute and turned his back on Tanus, his weapon poised and ready to strike. Tanus turned around and walked down the hall, hammer and mace in hand. The first two doors yielded no success, but as he took a few steps deeper, Tanus heard the distinct sounds of crying, and a few muffled screams. Tanus opened up the squad channel to Rogueboy. He sounded a little tense as he answered.

“Rogue, it looks like I’ve got a few survivors on my end. How about you?”

“I dunno if I’ve got anything yet, at least not down on this end. I’m going to check the center corridor and see if anything’s down there. I’ll keep you posted.”

“All right, sounds good.”

“One more thing. You get the feeling we’re being watched? Something doesn’t feel right just now. I dunno. Maybe it’s just me.”

The channel closed with a shade of static, but Rogue wasn’t the only one with a bad feeling. There was definitely a sense of dread in the air, but that was the situation at hand more than anything else. Although, with the attack from earlier, Tanus was most definitely on his toes. Tanus looked back and forth between the rooms as he passed them, looking for the room that held survivors. He turned on the thermal imaging and swung his head in a wide arc, and was pleasantly surprised to see people waiting behind the walls. That surprise, however, soon faded to dismay and panic. They’ve got guns. This isn’t for survivors. This is for more people trying to kill us. Tanus opened up the channel to Rogue once more, and was met with a swear. Tanus feared the worst until the man on the other side of the channel began to chuckle.

“Well then, I guess you’ve met some of our friends too.”

“Yeah, a couple. It looks like I got the jump on one as I was blasting up. These Hushabouts are a godsend.”

“Yeah, no kidding. Let’s take care of them and get the hell out of here. I’d actually like to see more than this building today on our trip.”

“You got it. Let’s see if we can make ‘em shake.”

The channel closed just as Tanus was sure that Rogue was drawing his EE-3 from its holster. Tanus did the same and pulled a thermal detonator from his belt and primed it. Here’s how we say hello in the Stormtrooper Corps. Tanus tossed the grenade down the hall and fell back down to where the corners met. The explosion shook the entire building, blowing the walls to pieces and blasting a massive hole in the floor. Fire ate at the ceiling, and there too formed another large hole. Screams could be heard as the explosion died down and the flames began to recede. Three armed men ran out into the hall as Tanus stood up, his crimson armor sparkling in the fire from the explosion. Without a word, Tanus raised his rifle and opened fire, dropping the three men before they could pump off a shot. With a quick scan of the thermal imaging, Tanus soon saw the others to be dead. He looked up and saw Rogueboy already fighting a small group of his own; the others seemed to have been dispatched. Tanus took another look around. There weren’t any more on this floor, but the next few floors offered some targets. Time to get to work.

Tanus looked at where the sunlight was coming through the war torn ceiling. He holstered his EE-3 and drew his hammer once more, keeping the remaining length of the haft in his offhand. He blasted through the hole and up two floors, appearing in a small room in the midst of one man with a sniper rifle. Tanus took a look out the window and saw the engineers below them. The man stepped back from the rifle and drew a pistol and started to fire. One shot nicked Tanus’ shoulder. Through gritted teeth, Tanus charged, knocking the pistol out of the man’s hand with the hammer and jamming the spike into his stomach. As he curled in pain, Tanus lifted him over his head and slammed him into the ground, finishing him with a hammer blow to the skull. Another man ran into the room, his eyes wide. Tanus was across the room in three bounds, bringing the hammer hard across the man’s face. The man fell down, dead, and Tanus stepped over the body, looking for another target. Blaster fire filled the air as the two Blackjacks decimated the mercenary forces, bringing them down one by one. Tanus comm buzzed as a blaster bolt sailed past his head. He backed into the room and drew his EE-3 as he answered the call.

“Hello? Tanus speaking, purveyor of all things destructive.”

“What the hell are you doing up there?”

Kovar’s tone was less than amiable, and Tanus could understand – to an extent. I’m sorry my risking my life is slowing you down, Kovar, but I’m a bit busy with saving your skin too.

“Well, Kovar, I thought the mercs up here and I should have a little chat. We decided on tea and crumpets, and then play catch up and see how things are at home.”

“Do you know when you’ll be done?”

“Well, I appreciate your concern. I could get a paper cut up here.”

“We’re already behind schedule as it is! Just hurry up so we can blow this building.”

The line closed as another flurry of blaster bolts passed Tanus head. He pulled a grenade off of his belt and tossed it down the hall, listening to it hop and roll as it bounced along the wooden floor. The mercs screamed and ran for cover as the device went off, enveloping them in flames. Tanus took another look with his thermal imaging to see how may he had left. 5. It looks like two snipers and three riflemen. This should be fun. Wish I had that disruptor. Tanus ran down the hall and turned down the center corridor as the riflemen exited their respective rooms. They were dead as soon as they entered the hallway; Tanus looked at the other two snipers, who, instead of coming out to meet him head on, simply ended it themselves. Tanus’ comm buzzed again as he walked in to check on the bodies of the snipers; it was Rogue.

“I’m set down here. What about you?”

“I just finished up. These bastards sure aren’t happy with us; I can’t imagine why.”

“It must be that whole restoring civil order thing.”

“Must be it. So do you really want to deal with the other floors?”

“No, not in the slightest.”

“Well, we can’t leave till their dead and we know that the engineers are safe.”

“True. Can we ‘nade them?”

“Of course. I’m relying on you for that one buddy.”

“Of course you are. You think another 4 should do it?”

“Yeah, that should be fine. I’ll wait for you then we’ll bugger out of here.”

The channel closed with Rogue activating his jets and coming up to Tanus level, where he proceeded to launch grenade after grenade up into the floors above. When the rooms on the side of the building facing the engineers were clear, Rogue nodded. Tanus turned around and faced out the window. And then, without warning, he jumped through it. From below, the sight of a crimson armored soldier leaping headfirst out of a window must have been terrifying; for Tanus it was the greatest rush in the world. Rogue wasn’t far behind him as they plummeted towards the ground. When there was about 30 feet of sky left, the two troopers activated their jets to slow themselves and landed with grace befitting a ballerina. Kovar ran up to them and looked up through the window they had just leapt through.

“You flyboys are friggin’ insane.”

“No, we’re gorund pounders and we’re friggin’ insane. Now, you get on with your job and whatnot. We’re gonna head to a camp – somewhere.”

As the two troopers walked past him, Kovar started to splutter incoherent nonsense. Eventually Tanus turned to face the man; Rogue was stifling laughter.

“You’re just going to leave us? We could be killed.”

“No, I should think not. The ones agitating you are all dead, so there’s no reason for us to stay, and if you’re going to demolish the building you may as well get it over with. It’s starting to get late”

Before the engineer could utter a retort, Tanus held up his hand.

“I do have one more question before I leave you.”

Kovar sighed. Tanus imagined he was getting sick and tired of seeing crimson armor for the time being.

“What is it?”

“Where’s the nearest camp? I’d like to give my men a chance to relax.”

Kovar pulled out his datapad and started to flip through pages until he found what he was looking for. He handed the device to Tanus, who immediately began to record the directions and location of the camp.

“It’s about a kilometer and a half into the city. You can’t miss it.”

Tanus handed the datapad back to the engineer, who pocketed it and stared at the two soldiers for a long few seconds. Then Tanus looked up at the sun and sighed.

“Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but we must be going. Good luck blowing things apart.”

Without another word, the two turned on their heel and began to walk past the engineers now piling up explosives to bring the building down. When they were far enough away, Tanus sent the coordinates to his squadmates. Rogue only chuckled as they walked on, the sun absorbing them in its bright, golden light.

“Ya know, Tan-Tan, you’re a sick, sick man.”

“So they tell me.”

Taking time away from the army did nothing to help the humanitarian in Abalar. Serving with Jager again though would probably quickly erase those feelings. Being a soldier, Abalar knew that she’d have to change. It was going to be difficult, but she’d do it for her new squad.

Abalar and Helena followed Garryll into the room. What hit her first was the smell. Damn merc’s probably didn’t even know what a refresher was, let alone water and soap.

“I’ll take the back room first,” Abalar said, hoping that the smell dispersed farther away from the entrance.

Trying not to breathe through her nose, Abalar crept to the back room. She made a quick check in each room, just to make sure there were no merc’s left. All were clean, so Abalar continued to the back room.

As it turned out, the back room was a bedroom, of sorts. It was complete with a walk-in closet, bay window, and a huge bed. If she hadn’t known any better, then she would have guessed that this room had been untouched by the mercs. However, Abalar did know better, so she started searching. The first place she started looking was the bed, and in hindsight, that was the dumbest place to start looking. Abalar tackled the pillows and mattress, cutting them up and tearing them apart. Nothing was in them. Next, she turned to the bay window. No sooner had she turned to it, she felt a blaster barrel hit her helmet.

“On your knees,” a voice commanded.

Abalar did as she was bayed and knelt slowly, dropping to her knees.

“Hands where I can see them” the voice said again.

Slowly, Abalar raised her hands and placed them on her head.

“Good, now, are there others, is it just you?”

Abalar, who had her helmet still on, was still able to communicate to the other two via the helmet mic.

“It’s just me,” she said.

“Uh huh, sure you are.”

“No really, it’s just me.”

“Then why don’t I believe you? Keep in mind, I don’t like liars.”

“The rest of your party killed my two other comrades. I just couldn’t get a shot out in time to save one of them.”

The pressure Abalar felt from the barrel increased.

“Oh really? I still don’t believe you.”

“You’re right. You shouldn’t believe her,” came the oh so familiar voice of Garryll.

A single shot was fired, and Abalar heard a body hit the ground. Abalar didn’t need to turn around to know the look Garyll was giving her.

“I’ll check the closet first next time, sir,” Abalar said.

“Good. I don’t want to make a habit out of saving you.”

“Don’t worry sir, it won’t happen again.”

“Good. Did you find anything?”

“No sir, but I assume there will be something in the closet, considering there was one man guarding it.”

Garryll nodded. “Check it out. Report if you find anything. Helena found a bit of intel in the main room, so they’re a bit sloppy when it comes to hiding things.”

He turned and left the room, leaving Abalar to search the closet. With her blaster at the ready, Abalar entered the closet. There wasn’t anyone in there, but man, was there intel. Datapads littered the floor. Grinning, Abalar switched on her mic.

“Hey boss, it’s Abalar. Yeah, I’ve got stuff. I don’t how much is useful, but there is definitely intel in here.”

“I’m on my way,” Garryll said.

While she waited, Abalar examined one of the datapads. The screen was cracked, and the casing was deformed. She didn’t have to turn to know Garryll had just entered the closet. Fighting back the urge to make a joke about Garryll’s sexuality, Abalar waited for him to speak.

“Collect it all, then we’ll leave. All the other rooms are clean, and we’ve got to pick up someone.”

“Yes sir. Another recruit?”

As Garryll spoke, Abalar quickly grabbed all the datapads and placed them in her pack.

“Private First Class Mustang. Fresh, so be nice.”
“Always am sir,” Abalar said as innocently as she could.

True to his word, they left as soon as Abalar was finished gathering all she could.

“Where are we headed after we pick up the new guy?” Abalar asked as they left the building.

“We’re meeting up with the rest of them at a camp about three kilometres from here.”

Abalar nodded, and that was essentially the end of the conversations until they reached the new recruit.

She didn’t know what to think of the new recruit. There was something that bothered her about him. However, when Garryll and Helena didn’t seem to notice it, she ignored the uneasiness.

“Private Mustang. The name’s Garryll Gates. I’m your Assistant Squad Leader. This,” Garryll said motioning to Helena, “is Helena. The other is Abalar.”

Both nodded their greetings.

“Let’s head out.”

The time ticked by slowly for Abalar. The remaining two kilometres felt like two hundred kilometres. She was just glad her helmet was on. At least she was alone and could be left to her thoughts. However, the silence wouldn’t last forever. Soon, at least Abalar hoped it would be soon, they would arrive at the rendezvous point, and meet up with the rest of Blackjack. Then, the fun would begin.

Jager and the other two had left the office and were making their way through the twisted streets when the call came.

Jager came to an abrupt stop, raising one hand to the side of his helmet. A tap, and his comlink activated.

"Yes, sir?" he flatly stated, still showing about as much emotion as a droid. Since the incident with the sniper, he'd reverted to his usual attitude, showing no emotion beyond mild disdain.

Tanus's voice sounded slightly tired.

"Change of plans. We're meeting up at Aurek Base to reequip and do our part for morale there. Keep an eye out for trouble, though. Gates's group got singed near the main gates on their way there."

"Understood."

Closing the comlink, Jager jerked his head.

"What are you waiting for? Get moving."

"Yes, sir." Corvin muttered, walking through the debris-strewn streets as he quickly followed the fire team leader's order. Edge paused for a moment, then shrugged and did the same.

The three troopers walked in formation through the narrow, twisted alley, their shoulderplates all but scraping the walls. Even with the helmet filters, it still stank of vomit and other things.

Opening up a map of Tadath with a blink, Corvin scanned it until he found their current location. The base was less than a mile away, easily within a few minutes of walking. Once there, things would be a lot easier, frustration at being pulled off the tough job aside.

The fire team came to the end of the alley, only to find its path blocked by a wrecked civilian speeder, its bright red paint job scorched away in places. The vehicle's windows had been smashed and its interior was splattered with dark red. The top hatch had been pushed open from the inside, meaning at least a few of its occupants had escaped.

Jager sighed irritatedly, then clambered over the destroyed vehicle. Corvin and Edge followed suit, climbing over the top and jumping to the street on the other side.

The street was as deserted as most of the others in Sianat, coated with transparisteel from looted store windows  and lined by abandoned and broken-down repulsorcraft clogging both sides of the street. Some were scarred by blaster-bolts, while others had obviously taken hits from heavy weaponry and flamethrowers. Thrawn's "crowd control" arsonists had made no distinction between combatants and noncombatants.

Corvin clenched his fists at the thought. No matter what happened, the Vast Empire would never sink to such levels of depravity. To not only attack civilians, but to single them out as a target because of their inability to defend themselves...

He was abruptly brought back to reality by an alarm's starting to shriek a block down the road. The three troopers reacted more or less instantly, running to investigate, rifles raised and fingers in trigger guards.

The fire team reached the source of the alarm in moments. There were a dozen or so ragged figures milling around outside or scrabbling for objects from the display window. Said window had evidently been shattered by a burst from a blaster rifle.

One of the figures looked up as he heard the stormtroopers approaching, and started.

"Hey, boys!" the looter shouted. "Whitehats!"

As one, every looter in the group turned and stared at the group of stormtroopers, their faces malicious. A few were hefting E-11s or sporting blasters.

Corvin suddenly felt like a bantha steak in a pit of nexu.

"You're looters." Jager stated, quite flatly. The man who'd spoken earlier blinked, evidently taken by surprise. He hadn't been expecting that response. "Sianat City is under martial law. Until martial law is lifted, looting and destruction of property are capital offenses."

Many of the looters were looking distinctly uneasy, and a few were backing away. The man glared at Jager, a decidedly futile gesture both because of his nature and the stormtrooper's helmet.

"Yah gonna try and shoot me, stormie?"

"If you don't put your guns down. Put them down and we'll take you to the shelter for processing."

A nasty smirk appeared on the leader's face as he glanced around. The other looters had produced improvised weapons or knives from nowhere, and were slowly advancing.

"I got a better idea, stormie. How 'bout we kill you, take ye guns, then dump your bodies down the nearest sewer?"

Corvin decided to intervene at this point. Raising his blaster rifle, he pointed it squarely at the middle of the man's forehead.

"We can and will fire, citizen. Put the weapon down and accompany us to the nearest shelter."

"Kriff you." the man spat, then raised and fired his blaster in one swift motion. Corvin stumbled back as the energy bolt hit his chestplate dead centre, the energy dissipating against the plastoid composite and leaving a black scar in its surface.

He never got a second shot off, as most of his torso and face were reduced to a scorched mess by a burst of fire from Jager and Edge. Time seemed to slow for a moment as the man fell limply to the ground, then all hell broke loose.

It was, inevitably, a massacre. These were looters, the dregs of Sianat, and had lived from day to day before the invasion by stealing from those weaker than them. Some had never been able to obtain a blaster before the invasion. They were up against well-trained, heavily armoured troopers with better weapons. The result was predictable.

Corvin squeezed his DRB-8's trigger, and a charging looter with a broken bottle in one hand and a civilian pistol in the other fell in a smoking heap. Badly aimed shots flew through the air as the others belatedly remembered that they were carrying blasters. None of the shots hit as the troopers ducked behind the nearest cover, and their return fire cut down three of the looters.

That left five of them, only two of who had blasters. Two broke and ran, but the other three charged, yelling incoherently as they swung whatever weapons they'd been able to scavenge. Corvin sidestepped a man with a stolen combat knife and brought the butt of his rifle down on his head. The looter fell, stunned by the blow. Nearby, Jager stunned another one before slamming his shoulder into the last thug. The lowlife's head slammed against a wall, and he fell like a bag of ration bars.

The fight, if it could be called that, was over.

OOC:

Take survivors to the camp for processsing/summary execution? Depends on how grimdark you want it, though Corvin might be stupid enough to protest the second.

Corvin looked from side to side as he made his way through the camp, helmet tucked under one arm and rifle slung across his back. He didn't like what he saw.

On one side, groups of tired looking civilians wearing baggy, standard-issue bodysuits waited in line to receive ration bars. On the other, clumps of civilians escorted by armed stormtroopers were being herded into waiting areas, where they were pushed through checkpoints at gunpoint. From there, there were shuffled at random into tents designed for three or four at most, but more often filled with six refugees. The air stank of human waste.

Men and women looked up as Corvin passed, their expressions mostly weary. There were a few of exceptions however. Corvin saw several men stop putting up tents or laying prefab foundations to glare at him, and he heard several half-whispered curses spat in his direction.

Corvin did his best to ignore them, but he found it difficult. These were the Vast Empire's citizens, the men and women that kept it alive and that it had been formed to serve. Seeing what they'd been reduced to, and the hate some of them didn't even bother to hide.

He was relieved when his path passed out of the refugee section of Camp Alpha and into the area reserved for Army troopers. Some of the blocky barracks' permacrete walls were still drying, and green-armoured troopers were heading in and out by squad. There were a few odd glances, but no one commented or tried to stop him.

Corvin was splattered by muck as a repulsortruck rumbled down the main lane, heading for the vehicle gate. Two squads of curved-helmeted troopers were crammed in its back, clutching E-11s in their hands and looking from side to side, chatting with each other or running last-minute checks on their helmet systms and blasters. Green, newly-recruited troops, obviously.

Corvin watched the truck round the corner, then continued walking. Suddenly, he found his path blocked by a group of Army troopers. One, Corvin absently noted had the shoulder insignia of a Sergeant.

"What are you doing here, Corporal?' the Sergeant asked coldly, goggles obscuring his eyes.

Corvin blinked.

"Um...Just wandering around, sir."

"Just, wandering around, Corporal?" the Sergeant echoed. "I suggest you wander somewhere else. Some of the men don't take too kindly to you stormies, and might take offense."

"I see, sir." Corvin replied, biting back a retort. Different assignment or not, the Sergeant outranked him. He still couldn't stop himself from asking a question.

"Why's that, sir?"

The Sergeant simply stared at him for a long moment, his expression e eerily similar to that of the refugees Corvin had passed earlier. Finally, he spoke.

"You have any idea what my boys went through? Any idea at all, 'elite trooper'?"

He snorted at Corvin's obvious surprise.

"Yes, I know who you are. Blackjack Squad, Storm Platoon. Damn pics of you shiny-boys are plastered everywhere, 'long with the rest of your Storm Platoon."

The Sergeant snorted again, growing angrier by the moment.

"Heroes of Tadath, they're calling you. Kriffing Heroes. The saviors of Sianat.

That's a load of bantha poodoo. Want to know who pushed back Thrawn? We did. While you shiny-boys were off prancing doing Emperor-knows-what, we were keeping Thrawnists off the civvies. I lost 'most my squad trying to keep the Thrawnists back. We kept 'em back for three hours. They had infantry, speeders you name it, and we stopped 'em in their tracks. We pushed back everything he threw at us, and what happens? We're told 'our failure was unacceptable' and get shuffled here."

By the end of his rant, the man was all but screaming. Corvin was completely shocked, and even the two troopers on either side looked somewhat taken aback,.


"Just...get out." the man said quietly. Corvin nodded briskly.

"Yes, sir."

He waited until he was out of sight before breaking into a run. He wasn't sure where he was headed, but hoped it was somewhere he could just sit down and relax without someone wishing him dead or yelling. The mess hall sounded good.

OOC:

Not my best, but as good as it's going to get. If anything's unacceptable or needs work, let me know.

Loran watched as his squad leader left the ready room. He glanced around at the squad. They looked tired. He felt bad, knowing and hearing of what they had been through, coming into the squad after the fact. It angered him to know that nobody cared for what his squad had done. And all these nerf headed army soldiers were beginning to piss him off. Stormtroopers were the elite of the Imperial Army. They should be regarded and respected as such, regardless of what they had or had not done.

What’s the point of being Elite if people treat us like we’re useless conscripts? The next time one of those army guys tries to mess with me or anyone in my squad, I’ll make em’ wish they hadn’t!

His mind wandered back to that incident in the alleyway. The little girl was probably still scared. He had rescued her but her mother was dead. She’d probably still be alive if he hadn’t interfered. He pushed the thought from his mind. He had done the only right thing there was to do. He thought of his own daughter. Fresh tears welled in his eyes. He forced them back down.

Loran walked over to where his fire-team Platoon Sergeant was sitting, “Sergeant Gates sir”.

He turned to Loran, “What is it private?” he asked.

“Requesting permission to leave the barracks sir. I have something I need to take care of before we go on the patrol.”

“Is it important private? We roll out in less than two hours,” Garryll replied.

“It is to me sir.”

He smirked, “All right private. Make it fast though.”

“Yes sir” Loran replied. He turned and left the barracks and headed to the communications center.

He arrived to find an army Sergeant on duty, “Good evening Sir.” he saluted.

The Sergeant ignored his salute, “What do you want Stormie?” he snapped.

Loran lowered his hand and let the comment, and the retort, pass. “I need to send out a message sir”.

“I don’t have any time to waste on useless messages”.

Again Loran held his tongue and bit back the retort. He was just about to ask again when another army trooper spoke up, “I can take care of it sir. I finished sending out those assignments you ordered.” The corporal handed the Sergeant a datapad.

He glanced at it briefly and eyed Loran bitterly. “Fine! Make it fast Stormie. Don’t tie up my console for long or I’ll come run you off!” Lorans gaze drifted around the main room. He noticed the dozen or so empty consoles.

“This way private” said the corporal. He started walking down the hall. Loran followed.

When they were out of earshot down the hall, the corporal spoke up, “The usual, my friend?” he asked.

“You know me so well Rillo” Loran replied and pulled a hundred credit chit from his pocket and handed it to the trooper.

The trooper took the chit and placed it in his pocket, “Let’s get you set up in comm room 3. Nobody’s in there right now and you won’t be bothered.”

“I appreciate it to no end”

“Well, I hope you still do when I tell you our slicer contact just doubled his price.” responded the trooper.

“What?”

“Yeah, I had the same reaction. But after the Thrawnists invasion, it’s become even harder to send messages between here and Bastion.”

“I can understand that. But double”, replied Loran.

“It is what it is Loran.” he shrugged. “Here we are, comm room three. You know what to do.”

“Yeah thanks Rillo. Here’s another hundred. It’s good to know I still have friends” he pressed another chit into the troopers hand.

“No problem. But I heard you’re in an elite squad now. Those guys always get each others backs. That’s the ultimate friend. And I want you to know the sergeant’s attitude isn’t universal. A few of us know what you Stormtroopers did up there. Hopefully the others’ll come round’ soon”

“I doubt it, but one can always hope. I personally didn’t do much in the invasion”, Loran said.

“Well your squad did. That’s good enough in my book”, he tossed a salute and left.

Loran sat down in front of one of the screens and keyed in his slicer contact. He wrote instructions for the forwarding address to Bastion. His slicer contact, he knew, would encrypt the message for him:

Dearest Maleena,
    It has been some months since last we spoke. I imagine that is due to the recent invasion. Thrawn has been thwarted and The Vast Empire stands firm and strong. I miss you and my dear sweet Sola so much. I long for the day when we will be reunited and I can hold you both in my arms once again. There is a sad loneliness in my heart that only you can fill. One day we will be a family again and live in happiness. Until then I will dream of you my wife, and my beautiful daughter. I love you both so much.

End message

He finished the message and sent it off to his slicer contact. They had to remain short to escape notice from command. Loran keyed off and sighed. We’ll be together again. He left the communication center and headed back to his barracks.

On his way back he ran into his squad leader. He seemed to be making his way back to the barracks as well.

“Heading back sir?” he asked

Tanus nodded. ”And you private?” he asked.

“Just had to take care of some business sir. Had to send a message out is all. I’ll walk back with you, if you don’t mind sir.”

Tanus didn’t respond and Loran noticed the tired weariness in his eyes. He said nothing further and they walked back to the barracks in silence.

Corvin watched glumly as the pair of reporters continued to babble about local conditions and the situation in Sianat City, showing no signs of intending to stop any time in the near future.

"And things are definitely looking up here. The civilians are about as tired as you'd expect, the troopers too, but there's definitely a sense of unity here."

Corvin had to repress a snort at that one. A filter-distorted noise from behind him showed that Loran, the newest member of their happy little family, hadn't been quite as successful.

There was a pop as Jager opened a private channel to his helmet comlink.

"Private, tell those two idiots that they're leaving now or they're not leaving at all."

"Right away, sir." Corvin sighed. He paused, but couldn't resist a retort. His respect for the man was as low as it could get for a superior at the moment.

"I do have a name, sir."

Corvin heard some incoherent muttering before Jager replied, and was somewhat relieved he couldn't make anything out. Not clearly enough to be sure that the Sergeant was implying he had an amoral relationship with a bantha, anyway.

"Whatever." Luth finally replied. "Just do as I say."

"Right away, sir." Corvin repeated, walking over towards where the two were set up. The holocam man looked over his shoulder as Corvin approached. Corvin beckoned, then pointed to where the other two Blackjacks were waiting. The man nodded, then turned back to his holocam and made a cutting gesture with the hand not holding the holocam stand.

"And we've seen this scene repeated all over Tadath." the reporter concluded. "The traitors may have wounded the planet, but they haven't crushed its spirit. We're heading out now with a squad of stormtroopers out on patrol, and we'll bring you an update as soon as we can. This is Katie Coleman reporting from Tadath."

The holocam operator closed the holocam, and the reporter started jogging towards the Blackjacks. Her holocam man followed, slinging the stand over his back and picking up a bulging satchel as he did so.

"So." Katie said cheerfully, rubbing her hands together. "Let's get cracking, shall we?"

She was met by four amazed stares, one from her cameraman and three concealed by faceplates. Corvin sighed quietly, the noise morphed into a hiss by his helmet speaker and filters.

"Let's move." Jager said after a moment of awkward silence. The three stormtroopers walked in formation through the now-deserted street, the reporter and her holocam operator following in their wake a few seconds later.

Frakking wonderful. Corvin thought as he walked. I'm stuck with the psycho Gunnery Sergeant, the new guy, and a couple of idiot hacks.

Corvin hit the side of his helmet in exasperation a moment after the thought, ignoring a surprised glance from the holocam man. Ever since meeting Gunnery Sergeant Luth, he'd found himself behaving rather strangely, with his normal deference to those of higher rank stretched to its limit. To say the least.

Corvin was still in turmoil over the earlier incident with the stormtrooper squad. They'd been in violation of numerous directives, and rape was punishable by death by firing squad under the current regulations, but the way things had turned out left him uneasy. They should have persuaded the stormtroopers to stand down. They should have reported what had happened there.


It shouldn't have happened that way. If that idiot girl hadn't fired that shot...


Corvin had always tried to follow the rules to the letter. What was he if he couldn't follow that basic code, follow the regulations he'd sworn to uphold?

No point in reflected on could-have beens, Corvin thought grimly to himself. Far better to keep a watchful eye on the good Sergeant.

Higher-ranked or not, the man was off his rocker. Of that much, Corvin could be sure. He'd threatened his life twice so far, and he was convinced the man had meant every word. If he took it into his head that Corvin intended to tell Tanus the truth, and to be honest that was looking like a very real possiliblity, the results would be messy.

Looking around, Corvin did a quick appraisal. The newbie was just to his left, standard issue EE-3 still gleaming and apparently factory-fresh. (funny how he thought of Loran as the newbie; he himself hadn't been in the squad more than a few weeks) The two reporters were  just behind them, and struggling to keep up if the panting was any evidence. As for Jager, he had fallen slightly behind and was directly behind Corvin.

The Lance Corporal's lips curled in a sardonic smirk. Jager evidently was still prepared for bloodshed.

Abstractly, Corvin thought about the situation if Jager decided to take action. The reporters would probably stand around gaping like headless nuna or panic and run about wildly. Loran, Corvin wasn't sure about. He'd just met the man and had no idea how he'd react to an attempted murder by their fire team leader.

"Keep moving." Jager muttered over the squad com.

Corvin obeyed.

A happy little jaunt...

Abalar had easily shut out the reporters. However, she knew Jager wasn’t. The anger was basically rolling off him. She made a note to keep Mustang and Corvin as far away from Jager without drawing the reporter’s attention. It seemed to Abalar that Mustang was buttering the reporters up, but she kept her opinions to herself. Jager would most likely agree with her, and that wouldn’t end well at all.

Abalar had served long enough with Jager in Jester squad to know when to talk, and when not to. She didn’t expect Mustang to know the difference, since his EE-3 still shone. She shook her head every time he opened his mouth past the green zone. Typical newbie; Letter of Recommendation or not, he would fare better if he paid attention to the experienced. Jester specialized in going out of the “green zones”, often dropped in the midst of the enemy’s territory. One did not talk openly then, it obscured everyone’s hearing, and left them without a sense. Hearing was an important sense, and it often allowed for events such as those that were to follow to be avoided.

Abalar saw the movement from where she stood, second from the front in their loose formation. The explosion was a little more unexpected. Whatever it was launched Corvin backwards. That was why Jager rarely took point, and took the safety of last. Her mind flashed back to her first mission. However, the only positive about it was that she wasn’t killed, so Abalar quickly brought her mind back to the present.

After the initial burst of fire, Abalar and Jager quickly sought cover. Abalar glanced over her shoulder.

“Mustang, get those darn reporters behind some cover. I’ll deal with Corvin when things settle down,” Abalar said into her helmet mic.

She didn’t glance behind her to see if Mustang was doing what she told him to do. If it had been her choice, she would have sent Mustang back to the green zone with the reporters in tow. It didn’t matter though; at least they’d have something interesting to write about.

“I think there are five of them, at least out of the small group near us. My guess is a warning party, which means that there should be more on the way,” Abalar said to Jager.

Two appeared out of the brush and Jager and Abalar wordlessly picked them off, Abalar taking right and Jager taking left. It almost made her teary eyed. With one check over her shoulder, Abalar tore back to Corvin.

“You should be thankful that the elite armour’s so good,” Abalar said as she knelt beside him. She didn’t see any blood, which was always a good sign. However, she did run through the basics, getting him to move all his joints, just to make sure nothing was broken. “You’re good to go, just keep your eyes open next time. You might not be so lucky.”

“Yeah,” Corvin said sitting up.
Abalar wished he could see her smile under her helmet. It was one of reassurance. However, she did not linger, and soon moved back to support Jager.

“I don’t hear anything, but that usually means trouble,” Abalar said to Jager.

Jager didn’t say anything, but she did see him nod. She sighed. At least he was still the same Jager back in Jester. That was slightly reassuring.

“When this is done, I want to know what happened to Jester,” Abalar said to no one in particular.

“It’s nothing grand.”

“Still… I see movement.”

“Yeah, looks to be around twenty. Some reinforcements.”

“Makes our job easier doesn’t it,” Abalar said, realoading.

“You sure you haven’t been taking notes?”

She laughed slightly. “From you? No way.”

“You could learn a thing or two from me about shooting.”

Abalar didn’t respond, mainly because he was right. Curse his aim. Abalar had the steady hand, but some how Jager always out shot her.

“Here they come,” Jager said.

“Corvin, get ready. Mustang, get your butt over here. If the reporters are dumb enough to wander away from the shelter, I might just shoot them myself,” Abalar said into the mic.

“You sure you haven’t been taking notes?” Jager said before taking first kill.

Abalar joined in the shooting, followed eventually by Corvin and Mustang. They shot the ones in the open, but Abalar and Jager targeted the ones in the brush. For the elite troopers, the twenty some odd reinforcements was pretty easy. Abalar guessed that Jager and her took the most out, Jager obviously taking more than her. The reinforcements did get some good shots in though, often causing the Blackjack troopers to seek refuge.

Somewhere in the heat of the battle the reporters fled. No one noticed until after the shooting though. Jager just shook his head.

“Here’s to hoping they got shot,” he said.

Abalar rolled her eyes. She knew Jager, and she was used to his slightly less than pleasant comments. However, she didn’t doubt that Mustang and Corvin were wary of him. Corvin most likely had the most mistrust, because he was from a different squad and had things to compare Jager to. Mustang probably just thought Jager was crazy. At least Jager hadn’t tried to kill Abalar yet. That would earn him a swift kick to the crotch.

“Let’s sweep the area, check for stragglers. Ab’s you’re with me. You two, sweep right and meet us back here,” Jager said.

There was also that uncaring tone that Abalar had grown used to. Well, at least to her it sounded uncaring. Of course, to survive Jager often put others between himself and a shooter. It was a good survival tactic. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be here right now, leading Abalar off on what was most likely going to be a stupid idea.