“We all knew it was going to happen sooner or later. The whole planet was a mess to begin with. Governor Sidarm, with all respect to his memory, only delayed the inevitable”

–Anonymous refugee, on the subject of the destruction of Serrell


One Day Earlier


The land was dead. One could tell that simply by looking at it. Everything and everyone that had once been alive there had left hours before, leaving field thick with death and decay. Large, plumed columns of smoke rose into the air, weeping from the multitudes of fires blazing on the ground. The ground itself was shattered, deformed, and broken apart. Artillery had accounted for that. They’d also accounted for the dozens of craters that now sat where the once proud “Bastion Hill” had been. They accounted for the stagant, blood soaked pools, seeping into the craters in the lowest part of the field. It had once been the Berrell River. Without the smoke, one would’ve been able to see for miles, clear across the barren wasteland to either side of the battlefield. With the smoke, at least on the ground, one would be lucky to see his own hand in front of his face.

Small, broken, burnt-out husks of armor and grav tanks dotted the flat landscape, as if daring something to bring them down to the level with the rest of the land. Bodies lay everywhere, wrapped around each other, flung beside each other, locked in the agonizing forms of their final moments. They were caked in mud, so much so that one could hardly tell which side they were from. And most, now, despite whether they had been on the winning or losing side, were very well dead. Save one.


One soldier was different than the rest, though. His eyes didn’t hold the same lifelessness as the others. His chest rose and fell. Trooper Kall was alive. Of course, Kall, PFC trooper, third squad of the Ninety-Seventh platoon, couldn’t see any of the battlefield from his vantage point on the ground, where he lay sprawled on his back. He couldn’t feel anything below his waist, couldn’t stand, could barely manage to breathe, much less call for help. Not there was anyone around to hear him anyway. He coughed up a bit of blood and stared vacantly above him.

He stared, unmoving save for his chest, at the dark clouds gathering above him and wondered whether it might rain. His memories were hazy; he couldn’t remember much past the last five seconds. So, despite the state of his body, he stared at the clouds and wondered for rain.

Slowly his memory returned. He was Jennell Kall, Ninety-Seventh platoon of the Royal Army of Serrell. He was twenty-two, male, born and raised in the suburbs of Kallall, the capital city. He’d been enlisted a year ago, part of the Governments planet-wide recruitment campaign, and one of thousands. One by one the memories returned, each bringing back startling clear images of his life. It was almost like watching a movie. His first year in the Royalist army had been uneventful. He’d been assigned to twenty-two separate peace-keeping operations, all of them small. He remembered longing for some real action, the type of stuff in stories rotated around in the billets at night between soldiers. And then this battle had come.

Rumors of a large group of dissenters had spread quickly through the ranks of troops. It had seemed like the perfect opportunity to get some real field action. Join an epic battle, become heroes, return home triumphant. Morale improved dramatically. Until the troops actually got the field, that was.

The Royalist army was designed to take out badly organized, simple rebellions. Their strategies involved placing a nice forward line out front while two groups went around from the sides, in a Pincer move, and flanked the enemy. And with the mobs that usually sprung up on the planet, the tactics worked quite well.

No one had expected this group to be so well organized, so efficient, so…devastating. The artillery tore through the ranks before anyone knew what was happening. Frenzied reports came of small engagements between scouts and armor units on the flanks. They weren’t supposed to have artillery or armor. They couldn’t have those. The recon had said… The first push of the grav tanks had sliced the Royalist Army in two. Thirtieth and thirty-first platoon had been virtually wiped out, and the Thirty-third, the Illustrious Thirty-third, the ones who had conquered over Arellius the Traitor in one of the larger rebellions of the planet just ten years before, had turned tail and ran. And from there it was a massacre.

The seven platoons to either side, which had once made of the pincer of the Army, were destroyed shortly afterward, despite the care they had had to conceal themselves prior to the battle. Heavy shelling took out their positions, and the very few soldiers who had miraculously survived the sustained artillery attack turned and fled. It was almost like the enemy had known they’d been there the entire time.

The Ninety-Seventh, Kall’s platoon, had been caught on the outer side of the Royalists, not dead yet, but milling in confusion. It was confusion. Utter confusion. Until the one brief moment of hope. One of the Royalist troopers, a sergeant by his pins, rallied together the remaining elements of seventy-first, one of the platoons assisting Kall’s. Kall remembered thinking that, if he could rally his platoon together like that, they would have a fighting chance. And then the unthinkable: the seventy-first started firing into their ranks. With grim faces, they’d moved through the shattered remains of the Royalist army, cutting down their own men as they went. And they weren’t the only ones. Before Kall had taken the hit in the back, he counted at least twelve other platoon’s banners accompanying the seventy-first’s.

And so Kall had been cut down by his own brethren, forgotten and left for dead on that forsaken battlefield. His chest rose and fell as he tried to take another breath, but all he got was another coughing fit of blood. They’d been betrayed. That much he knew. But why, he kept wondering. Why had they been betrayed? And by who?

He groped for answers in his mind as slowly, darkness started to creep into his vision. They’d been betrayed, betrayed, why had they been betrayed, why? Who could’ve done this? They’d been betrayed, they’d been betrayed…

His chest rose, and fell, and did not rise again. The light slowly faded from his eyes. The rains finally came down and washed through the broken land.

* * *

Outside lightning flashed. The acidic rain drummed against the window, sizzling as it touched the exposed stonework. Planetary Governor Sidarm shuffled the stacks of papers on his desk. His somewhat graying hair framed a stern, age-worn face that had seen its fair share of troubles. His term as Governor of Serrell had been marked by a series of rebellions, each one larger than the last. He had ruled with an iron fist, inheriting his position after the last Governor had been killed in a civilian uprising right in the capital.

In his abnormally long, fifty-two years, reign he had controlled one of the strictest regimes of any planet in the sector. And he needed to. Their sector, lying just beyond Imperial space, was rife with division. In order to find the planet’s allegiance, the census officials had to survey each region separately. Even amongst the armed forces and the political hierarchy, there was unrest, sometimes degenerating into full blown fighting.

And so, through force of will alone, Sidarm crushed uprisings, quelled squalor, and brought the planet to heel. He was hated by some, quite a bit, but in the end he got the job done. And that’s what he cared about. No Republic, no Empire. Just a unified Serrell.

The door hissed open and he looked up from his work to see a very familiar face. Major Andareem Talos was one of his primary and most trusted military officials, surprising since he was one of the newest additions to the military staff. He’d proved quite essential in keeping the peace. He had a knack for knowing where uprisings would start before the fact. Sidarm opened his arms wide and grinned.

“Major Talos, what brings you at this late hour to my office?”

Major Talos said nothing, his face stern, but instead pulled out a pistol and shot Sidarm through the forehead. The old man was still grinning when his body hit the floor. And thus began the bloodiest rebellion the planet had ever seen.

* * *

Present

Arnaut looked at his datapad and smiled. Finally. Arnaut sent out messages to all Wraiths. They had clearance. Army High Command had granted them permission. They were going hunting.

By 0200 hours, just twenty minutes later, the Wraiths were all assembled around the briefing table. They were excited and expectant, but they still feared what this next mission was going to be like.  Arnaut gazed at them confidently. He knew they could handle whatever was coming. Ever since their ill-fated mission to Phu, they’d been waiting for their chance to track down the traitor that had sent them on that wild nuna chase. And now…now they finally could.

“I would like to—“ Arnaut began. His datapad beeped twice. Annoyed, he glanced down and gasped a little when he saw who the message was from.

“I would like to adjourn this meeting until further notice. Plan on fifteen minutes. Dismissed.”

“Sir?” Tnepres asked as the squad shuffled for the door.

“Something’s…wrong,” Arnaut replied hesitantly to the implied question. Tnepres simply nodded and left. Arnaut took out the datapad, set it down on the table, and stared at it for a long while. Finally, he took a deep breath, picked it up, and flicked it on.



“Change of plans, Wraiths,” Arnaut said. It was fifteen minutes later and all the Wraiths had come back in the briefing room. There was no cheer in Arnaut’s voice. There was no longer and cheer in the Wraiths eyes either. They had been set. Ready to go. They had been so focused on tracking the traitor down.

“We’re…under new orders. Very different orders.” There were groans and muttered oaths from around the table.

“I know, I know. This is not what we’d planned. But as of yesterday, the neutral world of Serrell broke into civil war after the planetary Governor was assassinated. The Army needs us to go there and help get it under control. If we succeed here, this could mean a large gain of territory for the Vast Empire.”

Arnaut brought up a map of the planet of Serrell. Dense, noxious clouds covered the surface. They were part of the value of the planet as well as the problem. Some of the gases found in the upper atmosphere were especially useful in large munitions, such as starships and artillery. However, they made orbital actions, like bombardments or spying impossible. What was hidden on the surface stayed hidden.

“The planet has fractured into many small groups, based on natural and political territories. Almost all of them have some claim to the planet now that the Governor has been assassinated. Two of these, two allies, are openly Imperial. We’re going to assist them. High Command believes that by providing our infiltration skills and special operation skills, we might be of some use to them in gaining the planet. We’ll be leaving in two days.”

“And that’s it? Our other mission gets sidelined like that?” Snipes asked angrily.

“Yes, for now. Now sit down. We have a lot to go over yet. Such as our allies.”

“Goodie,” Snipes muttered and took a seat.

OOC:

Alright, here it is. Finally. At last. And yes, we will be taking along an NPC squad, one that will meet us when we arrive on the planet. I’ll talk more in depth about that later. So for now, just talk about getting ready. I’ll be back Sunday, and we can pick it up.

Arnaut stirred. It was three in the morning. Light had not even begun to touch the horizon. Outside, precious few people were awake. Just the guards doing night rounds. Virtually no sound. But something had awoken him. Arnaut got out of bed. His eyes were bleary, but thankfully there was no light in the room to burn at him. Well, almost no light.

There was a buzzing sound, the sound of something small, heavy, and plastic vibrating against the table. Arnaut almost immediately saw his datapad light up for the second time, indicating he had just received a message. Tiredly, and not just a little angry at having been woken up, Arnaut stalked over to the table and snatched the datapad off. He didn’t even bother turning on a light, but instead flicked the small computer on and read what it had to say.

Halfway through the one sentence it showed, Arnaut tossed the datapad back onto the table and went back to bed. Right before the screen flicked off, the words could be picked out quite clearly:

We would like to inform you that, as of 03:05:06 this morning, Imperial Standard Time, the Special Operations team Derrond, Liberator Seventh Platoon, jumped out of the Sian system en route to the planet of Serrell, where they will await your arrival for the continuation of the mission.



Nearly six hours later, fully dressed and combat equipped, Arnaut stood ready next to the shuttle that would soon bear them out of the system as well. He was still tired; he hadn’t gotten much sleep after being woken. But he bore it incredibly well. Even if his eyes did sometimes wander with his attention and his smile was a bit feeble.

The Wraiths gathered around, sitting on crates, bags, the floor of the hangar, or anything else that was a suitable place to rest. Kanderin came in carrying a tray laden down with battered mess cups, steam rising as the hot brew inside bubbled and frothed. Arnaut took his cup and took a long sip of the hot caf as Kanderin passed out cups.

“Well, here we are. This is probably the first time we’ve had a good sit down before a mission that doesn’t involve beer and dancing of some kind.” The squad chuckled. “This mission we are about to embark on,” Arnaut continued, taking on a more serious tone, “might be one of the harder missions we’ve encountered before. This planet we are travelling to…no place is safe.

“There will be no nice and tidy urban crowds to blend in with, no organization provided safe houses, probably not even a definitive enemy. This world is in flames. It’s dead; it just doesn’t know it yet. I’m not sure if what we do can bring the planet into Imperial rule or even keep the planet from disaster at all, but at the very least it can buy some time for the real, true Imperial citizens to leave. It’s going to be messy, confusing, and taxing. This mission will expect the best of yourselves and will accept no less.”

He looked around at the faces before him. Grim. Set. Determined. Ready as always. The Wraiths, ever ready for the next challenge. Arnaut hoped there would be a next challenge. If they made it out of the hell-hole that was Serrell intact, Arnaut would be surprised. The state on the surface of the planet was getting so bad, from recent strangled reports coming through, that Arnaut wasn’t even sure how the majority of the planets inhabitants still resided there. Too much money to be lost, he guessed. The planet and its economy and its people were built around its exported gas. It was a very wealthy business. No one wanted to part from that treasure trove.

“Well, now that I’ve sufficiently dampened all of your spirits,” Arnaut said, provoking a few grins from the squad, “let’s get out there and win back a planet.” There was a loud ‘oo-rah’ from the squad, and then they bagan moving onto the shuttle. Arnaut was the last on.

Standing in the doorway of the shuttle, Arnaut took another sip from his caf and gazed out at the Imperial hangar for what he hoped would not be the last time. Finishing off his cup, he turned around and entered the shuttle, closing the door behind him. He didn’t look back again.

OOC:

Enjoy, write your comments on the squad topic.

Jenny looked at Talstorin while sitting down next to Kanderin, watching him with interest and wonder as he drank that wine down and fell into an almost deep slumber, until not long after, he snapped awake in horror and tiredness, his head slowly rising to face Jenny, the terrified look still lingering in his eyes. Since the hostage takeover of Didium, a small town in Corescant, Jenny had been able to tell the ghastfulness then, upon the terrorist's eyes, rescue her sister Freje, from his evil grasp.

Looking upon Talstorin, Jenny had obviously felt the same with him, a nightmare that creeped upon him in when his guard was at its lowest, it shook him awake, but it didn't end his endless silence. She turned to Kand and asked:

"Has he always been like that?" Kanderin seemed alarmed at Jenny's curiosity and got up, gesturing her to come to a nearby bunk. She did so, and asked again, while Kanderin said, closing the topic:

"Jenny, Talstorin went to Tatooine for vacation, something happened during that time, but we have no idea what." There was the one instant tense look in his eyes that Jenny could tell that some of those words he said was a lie, but she put that thought down and decided to tell Kand about Ella. She explained, looking him straight in the eyes:

"I know you've probably haven’t heard of Senator Cornek, the new leading senator of the New Republic, who enacted a lot of actions that was pointing the galaxy's restlessness' fault on the Imperials, assassinating and murdering those who wanted only peace and prosperity for the galaxy.

"Well, my dad, Senator Nottak, is a very respected and important man in the Galactic Senate, if it wasn’t for him, we wouldn’t have all those planets out there in the galaxy allied with us. But Cornek hated Nottak, the ‘Betrayal’, a plan to kill Nottak, because of his peaceful policies, as Cornek said: ‘toying with the enemies when you could just kill them all, drive them to extinction.’ He went too far with it; I mean the planet we’re going to on this mission, Serrell, if it wasn’t for him butting in, this planet wouldn’t be so scattered in belief, shattered in hope. He destroyed everything that he thought were signs or signals of a change against the imperial tradition, everything, including those who only wanted the planets to be joined peacefully, so that the Imperials don’t have to keep looking over their shoulders for mercs who want them dead, but focus themselves upon the rebels, their main enemy. I mean, the planets out there aren’t all rebel, some of them are loyal to the imperial, yet in their own way.

    “Ella, was Cornek’s right hand in the group that Cornek calls the Black Commandos, gathering followers, spreading their cult out in the announcer, in one of the secret radio channels that require a password, and of course, assassination. She’s the working brain of the cult, she has a wild side, an evil side, I mean, there’s no end to this girl, she comes back to haunt you when you least expect it.”

    “Like when your parents were assassinated twice, the second time, ending up dead?” Kand said smartly as she nodded, responded in amazement:

    “That’s good, so you figured out that Cornek want Nottak dead, along with his family, which is true. Unfortunately though, the original intention wasn’t the whole family, until it got personal in school with Freje and her bully, Ella’s younger sister, Shina Tarcin, they had a fight over their fathers, Shina took out a knife to stab Freje, Freje saw it coming, she wanted to knock the knife out of Shina’s hand, but used more strength than she needed to, the knife comes stabbing down upon her hand, the protégé’s hand is wasted, and it was her work hand, she had to use it, plus she ended up dead the next day, Freje’s tendril bands planted at the scene of the crime, the motive being that Shina threatened Freje that she would kill Freje’s father unless she told her that her father’s ideals were stupid and should be left behind, clearly that was a mistake. Though the motive was inspiring, ---Jenny faked a puking motion on that word--- the truth came out at the sentencing in the trial, a rebel scumbag, Shina’s boyfriend killed her, and plus the judge even said she deserves it, for trusting the unworthy.”

    “That’s what your father is, right? That’s why your whole family was killed, because of his daughter’s mistake, added onto Nottak’s soft heart?” Arnaut finished, apparently listening in on their conversation.

    “Something like that, me, mom and Leia was framed too by Cornek, killing Ella’s entire family, just for her to come as his right hand, for her to kill my mother. But she accepted it, to my disgust, demonstrating to me what my father’s been always fighting against, like having a bully whisper bad things in my ear, I had to listen. Her belief changed from all the things that she was shown by Cornek, Nottak’s speeches vs the reality; she was once against him, now she’s with him. I still don’t know why she changed her views.” Jenny replied, surprisingly, now sitting herself upon the bed.

Arnaut yawned tiredly as he sat on the edge of his bed. It really wasn’t his bed, but it felt comfortable. And it allowed him to sleep. That was a plus in his book. Abandoning his pack to the corner, Arnaut tested the springs on the bed with a little bounce and then proceeded to pass out into deep sleep.

It wasn’t the soundest sleep he’d ever had. His dreams were plagued by visions of mysterious people he didn’t even know, popping out of Jennabelle’s story, all trying to kill him. Well, him and Jennabelle. He rolled and sweated and moaned on his bed until suddenly he jerked upright again. The bed chamber was dark and, for a brief horrifying second, he thought he had missed the shuttle and was still in his bed on Tadath. But then he saw the room that he occupied was much smaller, much less homely. Swinging his legs over the side of the bed he slid into his boots and wearily went out into the lounge section of the shuttle.

The squad members he encountered looked up at him dejectedly and then went back to staring at the floor. None of them were in a good mood. No one felt like talking. Morale was still vaguely low. They were glad to have a mission just…it wasn’t the one they’d wanted. Sighing irritably, Arnaut trudged back to his quarters and began to review the known material for the mission, instead.

There wasn’t much. The small holoprojector flipped into his palm with a deft motion of the hand. Arnaut had grown rather fond of being able to do that. Now if he could just do it and turn it on at the same time… He shook away the idle thoughts and flipped the small, round disc on. The holographic world popped into view.

There were roughly twenty-eight or so territories, claiming most of the landmasses on the surface and even parts of the ocean. Each one was outlined making the surface of the planet look like a puzzle. On the larger of the two major landmasses, there were two particular territories that were shaded, along with a small pinprick of light, stabbing through the heart of the planet. The two Imperial territories and the Wraith’s landing site. Arnaut enlarged the image in that area.

They were landing in the first territory, Herrell’s, capital city. It was quite an immense city, sprawling around, a large acidic lake. All the water on Serrell was acidic. The vast, domed structures of the purifiers rose to the east of the city. To the west were mountains. To the north and south: plains. The city itself was a jumble of buildings, intertwining and intermingling, reaching ever higher into the sky, the only thing breaking them apart being the vast, flat plazas, and of course, the main Territory Governor’s palace. The city looked defensible enough, but, hopefully, Arnaut and the Wraiths wouldn’t have to do any such thing. Hopefully.

The ship rocked and the holoprojector went skidding to the other side of the room. Arnaut cursed fluently, just at the time his door slid open.

“Sarge!” Kanderin gasped in mock offense. “My ears are bleeding!”

Arnaut stood up, still a bit grumpy, and retrieved his holoprojector.

“Keep up with that tone, and your ears won’t be the only thing bleeding,” Arnaut growled. Kanderin barked out a small laugh, and then, a bit nervously, asked, “Really?” Arnaut, already past Kanderin and into the hall, whirled suddenly and quickly, bringing himself eye to eye with his ASL. Or, would’ve brought himself eye to eye with him had the other man not jumped back.

“No. But you should’ve seen the look on your face.” Arnaut grinned and headed for the cockpit.

Outside, what he saw wasn’t exactly what he had expected.

“Um…where are we? Where’s the planet?” Arnaut asked the pilot. Kanderin sprang up at his side, huffing from the mad dash he’d made to the cockpit in Arnaut’s wake.

“That’s…what I…came to tell…you,” he choked out. “We can’t get near the planet yet…some type of…aerial battle…or something.” Arnaut frowned. “We got a message urging us to come out of the jump early and wait for it to end.”

Two wearying, interminable hours later, the ship finally jumped again. When they got to the planet an additional hour and a half later, the sight of the brown-gray, mottled orb hanging in space before the ship was greeted with cheers from the squad.

The cloud surface, as the shuttle got closer, could be seen in more detail. Dark patches of smoke lingered on top of the clouds, rising from wreckage that seemed suspended in air.

“What are those?” Carnon asked, looking out the window.

“Gas processors and miners,” Snipes whispered back. “They’re on fire.” Neither of their eyes left the scene. Looking out the adjacent window, Arnaut whistled softly under his breath. The stations looked small from how far away he was in the shuttle, but he could tell they were massive. And most definitely on fire. It must’ve been some battle, Arnaut reckoned.

Soon clouds engulfed the shuttle, and their lovely view was obscured. Arnaut began to review the intel again when his datapad beeped. He had a message. A very short message.

Meet us at the Tarkin Plaza, north of the palace.

It was signed by none other than Gregor Villman, Squad leader of the Derrond Special Operations Squad, of the Liberator Sevenths. Villman made sure to include all of that in his signature. Typical Villman.

Arnaut’s history with Villman went back to the Imperial academy. Not a very good history. They’d been more of…enemies, than anything else. Far past rivals. Villman had made sure Arnaut knew when he made squad leader of Derrond. Arnaut had made sure that Villman had known when he’d made squad leader of Wraith.

And now they were expected to work together. Arnaut set back his head and sighed. This would be one mission that he wouldn’t relish.

OOC:

Okay, sho…here’s the sitch. Dang, I hate that ‘word’. Anyway, yes, Derrond is the NPC squad we’ll be working with. Villman (the SL) and Arnaut have had…feuds…in the past, so there’ll be some animosity between the two squads, especially between me and him. So, right now, all you have to really be doing (besides posting) is thinking of a cool NPC character name and backstory to go with your NPC character from the other squad. What’s that? I didn’t mention having NPC character? Go check out my post on the Wraithnet. I’ll explain betterly.

Their shuttle came down hard on the landing pad, bouncing in a bone-jarring bounce that made Arnaut wish the Empire had sent a more capable pilot to bear the squad to the planet. Outside, cabs and airspeeders zipped around the city at varying altitudes, going about daily business despite the war that was going on.  Arnaut took a long look out the window, and then popped the door and walked outside.

The air was surprisingly cool, blowing crisply against Arnaut’s exposed face. It wasn’t very bright out as the clouds blocked out the system’s sunlight from reaching the planet most of the time. The whole city was bathed in a subdued gray-blue glow from the feeble light that the cloud cover let through. Overall, it was a pretty calming. Arnaut took small step forward, and instantly regretted it. A small, unnoticed puddle from a recent rain splashed up against his shin armor and sizzled as it made contact. Arnaut had to remember that the environment was acidic; that might prove useful for not getting himself and the squad killed.

He took another, if more hesitant step forward, and continued on to the edge of the landing pad. He was roughly sixty feet up from the ground, he guessed, peering down on the crowded streets below. Specially favricated awnings covered either side of the street, protecting the milling, jostling crowds from being exposed to the planet’s hash climate. No one left the cover of it. Standing out, without an awning overhead, Arnaut felt exposed. He looked up at the sky for a small, frightening second, and then shook the feeling off. He was wearing some of the best armor the Empire could buy; it was enough to stand a little acid.  Hopefully.

Back at the shuttle, the squad was finally disembarking. With them came droids and crew members, all carrying numerous crates, bags, gear, and field supplies; just about everything they might need ever to do any job. Arnaut thought that High Command had been doing a bit of overkill, sending them with all the stuff, but then again, they still didn’t know what their missions would be.

“Think we got enough stuff, sarge?” Kanderin asked, waving his hand generally at the mounds of supplies still being taken off the shuttle. Arnaut laughed.

“We’ll see soon enough.” Overhead, thunder boomed. Klaxons around the city started to blare as the first drops of rain started to patter down. “Let’s meet up with Derrond first though,” Arnaut said, already moving toward the stairs and the safety of the street below.



“They want us to do what?” Arnaut repeated, staring at the occupant of the chair on the other side of the small table. They were in a small café, just off the side of the plaza they were to meet Derrond in, not a half hour after leaving the landing pad. Villman and Arnaut both sat at the same table, a dog-eared, paper map spread out between them and a cup of caf next to each man. Both Wraiths and Derronds milled in separate corners of the café while the two squad leaders had their chat. There wasn’t much intermingling. Villman took a long sip of his drink before looking up at Arnaut and replying.

“They want us to travel there,” he began slowly, indicating to a city denoted by a red circle on his paper, “and assassinate the rival governor of that province.”

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

“Did they…did they give us any parameters? Directions? Inside support from the city? Intel, for Emperor’s sake?” Villman shook his head sadly.

“Well, that’s it then. I guess we’re…just going to have to get over there. Somehow. With no…resources. At all.” Arnaut paused. “What the hell is wrong with them?”

“You haven’t been spending the last day and a half trying to get their help,” Villman said bitterly.

“Or else we would actually have some by now,” Arnaut muttered. Villman shot him an acid glare.

“We’ll leave within the day, if we can. We’ll work out positions and plans after we arrive at the city. I managed to procur some independent speeders that will take us over there, but there’s a short window in which he can leave. Will you and your drunks sober enough to leave by then.” The Wraiths drunken status was truly golden. Arnaut just shook his head and motioned the Wraiths toward the door.

“So…what’s going on?” Tnepres asked as the Wraiths moved out into the cover of the awnings. It was raining again, and the klaxons were blaring again.

“Oh, if you thought this rain was bad…” Arnaut ventured.

OOC:

Let's get thise characters written up. We'll be using them soon enough. Just PM them over to me, have them include the information I listed in our squad topic, and you'll be set. They don't have to be as long as a normal bio, just enough to base a small, temporary character off of.

The general sizzle and patter of the rain, combined with the monotonous blaring of the city’s klaxons, began to really grind on Arnaut’s nerves. The noise wasn’t immense so much as it was aggravating. No one else in the crowd seemed to notice though. They didn’t notice anything. Drab, soot smudged faces averted their eyes as the squad came through. They were beaten, wearied gas processors coming down out of the upper atmosphere at the end of their shift. The only thing they saw ahead of them was a cold dinner in a cramped apartment with a few hours of sleep before the next shift.

Even so, the crowd seemed to part around them as the nine, fully-armored troopers came walking through. Arnaut had to push a few people out of his way roughly as they moved through, but they largely had their own space to themselves. The squad made good time going down the crowded streets. Even so, they didn’t arrive at their hotel until late, thus shattering Villman’s hopes of leaving within the day.

The hotel they were at was a nondescript building, run-down, acid-eaten, and nine stories high. That was tall, especially in this neighborhood, compared to the buildings around it. Arnaut took a second to gaze up the height of the building, and then stepped in. The lobby was dimly lit and smelled faintly of smoke. Blue clouds wafted out of the lounge, connecting the lobby, along with the sound of men’s laughter. Arnaut ignored it and went straight for the counter. Snipes ignored the counter and went straight for the lounge and a sure bottle of Corellian whiskey. Arnaut let him go. They wouldn’t be leaving for a while yet.

The lobby-keep looked up as soon as Arnaut approached the desk. His snowy-white hair was combed over his apparently balding head, and he grinned with an elderly, gap-toothed smile once he saw Arnaut.

“You must be the Wraiths. I have your room cards here somewhere, let me just fetch them out,” he grinned. Arnaut was shocked.

“You…you know who we are? You know we’re the Wraiths?” Arnaut asked incredulously. The government should’ve at least provided a cover story, something not involving a military squad on a special operations mission. The old man stood up abruptly and turned his gaze toward Arnaut.

“Why, yes,” he said, as if it was the most obvious thing in the universe. “Everyone knows you!”

It took fifteen minutes for Arnaut to find out just who everyone was. When he did, he practically threw his datapad through the telescreen in his room. The news was running, a gibbering mash of propaganda and demands for support in the war. And picture of the Wraiths. Shots of them leaving the shuttle, shots of them traversing the streets, shots of them entering the hotel, only a few minutes ago. They were described as heroes from the Empire, named as super-troopers coming to help liberate the world, and they were most definitely being used as propaganda by the government. Arnaut was disgusted.

“Who knew they could sink so low,” Arnaut muttered, kicking his pack into the corner and laying out his personal effects on his bed.

“Who could sink so low?” Jan’re asked, coming out of the bathroom. He had been assigned the same room as Arnaut, his belongings carted to the room like everyone else’s, long before Wraith squad had come to dispute it. Assigned. Whoever was doing this was intentionally trying to piss of the Wraiths, it seemed to Arnaut. It really didn’t seem to matter too much. The only change had been moving Fraot out of Carnon’s room and into Kanderin’s. That had only one that really needed to change. The point still stood that they had been assigned rooms, though, and Arnaut didn’t like it.

Arnaut pointed to the screen, in response to Jan’re’s question. Jan’re chuckled ruefully and stared for a moment.

“I think I look rather dashing in that one,” he said, pointing out a picture of them moving down one of the streets. Arnaut groaned and flopped down on his bed to catch a little bit of sleep.

When he came to, little over seven hours later, the room was still dark. Sunrise wasn’t for another two hours, he guessed by his chronometer, and on a planet covered by constant cloud cover, night always seemed darker. The citylights didn’t do much to push back the overall sense of mute silence and blackness. Arnaut rolled out of bed and made his way over to the room’s one, lone desk. His datapd was buzzing. A cursory glance told him that he’d already missed four messages. All of them were from Villman. Arnaut sighed and picked up the pad, deleted the messages, and turned on the lights. Jan’re blinked awake in the sudden light.

“Hey, what gives?”

“Rise and shine. It’s a new day, with things to see, places to go, and people to assassinate.”

“I’m rising, but it sure isn’t shining,” Jan’re grumbled, pulling himself out of his bed. Arnaut grinned maliciously, threw on a jacket, and went out of the room.

Each Wraith was ordered to pack light and for stealth. Knives, silenced pistols, glass-cutters, compact body armor – the works. Kanderin was bringing along a collapsible auto-turret, one that just barely fit in his pack. Just in case they needed some heavy support, or needed to make a clean getaway. Arnaut put Snipes on the Whisper sniper rifle, only because, without Virius, they had to have someone as their marksman. Snipes had the self-proclaimed ‘steadiest hand’, and therefore got the rifle. Arnaut loaded Dixon with the comm, recon, and surveillance supplies, once again allocating one of Virius’ former roles out to another person. Arnaut did kind of miss Vee.

Once the squad was ready to go, bleary eyed as they may have been, Arnaut led them out and to the landing pad where no doubt Villman had been angrily waiting for the past four hours. And, indeed, that was what they found. Arnaut apologized, citing a distant, and crummy hotel as the cause for delay. Villman muttered something about having a distant, older relative who could go faster, but Arnaut decided to ignore the comment. After a small debate on how to separate the squads supplies and troopers - eighteen of the Vast Empire’s best special forces troopers loaded onto the large, waiting transport - they made there way out of Imperial territory. Even before they entered the target city of Marrus, Arnaut had a bad feeling about the way the mission was going to turn out.

OOC:

Let's get rolling. We're just going to pop into this city for the small side-mission of assassinating this guy. I don't plan to spend too long on it, but this requires all of you to actually post on the story. Please? I have cookies...

“Heh, looks like our squads are going along well,” Talstorin chuckled from his seat.  It was near the back, his whole weight was rested on the back of the seat, his feet tapping on the horizontal portion of the seat.  The girl that was seated next to him, snapped her head up in surprise, letting out a small yelp.

“Hey, Sirena,” the trooper said as he smiled, turning his glance downwards at her.

“Oh, I didn’t notice you.  Shouldn’t you be with the rest of your squad?”  She looked up at him, obviously still a bit shaken. 

“Nope,” answered Talstorin quickly, hopping off the back and falling into the seat, positioned quite comfortably.  “I’m not really in the mood to talk with them.  I haven’t been lately, anyways.”

“Why not?” Sirena asked, suddenly seeming concerned.

“Eh? Don’t worry about.” 

The shuttle door closed as he said the last line.  By then, most of the two squads were seated.  From the looks of it, it didn’t seem the two squads would get along.  Each squad sat on opposite sides, sitting in pairs.  Of course, out of 9 members, 1 was left.  Then again, Talstorin never really minded sitting alone.

Soon after, the shuttle engines bursted to life as the ship started to vibrate and hum.  As the awkward silence was broken, Kanderin muttered something to Fraot and then suddenly, as if it were the cue to start talking, everyone bursted into conversation.

Talstorin looked around, a bit tired from the lack of sleep.  All throughout the night, he had been getting nightmare after nightmare.  Deciding to see what was outside the window, he noticed that Sirena was staring outside also. 

“So what’s your excuse for being so quiet with your squad?” he asked.

Sirena didn’t answer at first but turned back when she realized the question was directed to her.  “Oh, I’m always like that.  I’m not really a talker.”  As if to prove that, she turned back towards the window again.  Talstorin frowned.  What a boring person.  Staring at his own squad, he found them laughing, probably at some joke that wasn’t even funny.  A sudden anger boiled in his chest but it was quickly suppressed.  Giving a heavy sigh, Talstorin figured it was best to get some sleep.

A hand tapped his shoulder a couple of hours later.  Talstorin grumbled, flailing his right hand in the air before waking up.  Kanderin had a strange grin on his face, his datapad at hand.

“Guess what they named you in the papers?” the assistant squad leader asked.

“What…?” Talstorin mumbled in reply, hardly in the mood.

The stretched out star field of hyperspace flooded the front viewports of a old space beaten Feeg Liat-Class Transport, even though it had been modified years ago to carry cargo and not people. Sti