Log:Ko Hentota Nights 1: Mercs at Midnight
Ko Hentota Nights 1: Mercs at Midnight
OOC Date: September 29, 2022
Location: Ko Hentota, Nar Shaddaa
Participants: Pilha Aino (GM), Frexl, Mandl
The weather is filthy. Heavy rain lashes down on the Ko Hentota district of the Smugglers Moon. It washes the streets clean, but doesn't drive the denizens of Ko Hentota inside.
It was supposed to be a simply job, break in to a factory out of hours, access the data terminal, slice in and copy everything she can find. The factory is large, 100 square metres with a flat roof, loading bay at the back, alleys round the other sides. The factory floor is filled with complex machinery and conveyor belts. The office with the data terminal is accessible by a walkway.
So Pilha scoped the place and sliced her way in. She headed quietly to the office, and got to work while keeping an eye on the surveillane videos. Surveillance videos that should a speeder truck of mean-looking mercs pulling into the loading bay and getting out. Judging by the look and they waythey bristle with guns, they're not here to deliver food.
"Ah, frak," Pilha mutters as she checks the status of the datadump... still a while to go.
"Man... lookit those scabs over there... disgraceful."
A couple of relatively burly men, and one relatively burly Dug, have pretty much locked down the area surrounding the factory. Judging by the logo on the security guard uniforms they wear, they've been hired by 'Big Chudzo's Smiling Security.'
None of the guards are smiling. False advertising.
The Dug's ears perk up (not literally) at the suggestion from his companion, looking across the way at a loose collection of mercenaries, pulling into the loading bay. Just from looking at them, the Dug can tell that the company that THEY work for is non-union.
"Oh, yeah... those are scabs, big time. Just look how hard they're tryin'. Tryin' hard ain't cool."
"Bet they don't even got dental coverage! Lookit that one's teeth!"
The union mercenaries laugh a bit, before they realize that the Scab Mercs don't seem to be 'guarding' anything. No, they actually look like they're up to something... hostile.
Pilha crouches in the stark light of the data terminal, watching the time tick down on her datapad. Finally she's done. She unlinks her datapad and stows it in the toolbelt of her armour. She checks the CCTV again, briefly, to see another lot of mercs surrounding the building. "The frak?" The slicer asks. She has a strange accent, par Nar Shaddaa part Corellian. Either way, she needs to get out of here. She turns of the data terminal and heads out of the office, pulling out her blaster as she does so. She checks the charge on her weapon and keeps the barrel pointed at the floor.
The mercs who have pulled up in the speeder, a mix of Rodians and Duros, head for the loading bay door, which has a smaller access door cut in it. Seeing the union mercs, the leader growls and taps his blaster. "Nothing to see here," he says as they head for the door.
"Maaaan... we gotta get outta this fruggin' rain." The burliest of the human rent a cops ironically also has the highest-pitched voice, which he uses to complain about that universal source of discontent among mercenaries and professional soldiers: the weather.
But the less burly of the union guards cuts him off. "We ain't goin' NOWHERE, fruggin' scabs! Now either you shows us some identification, or else we start pluggin' you full of holes. We're UNION mercs, and we don't let scabs come in here and take our jobs without a fight!"
Reflexively, the Dug mercenary slinks away a bit, looking for some cover to get behind, while also putting a bit of space between him and his mouthy foreman. No reason for him to die over something so minor, right? However, he does flick the safety off on his N'Gant-Zarvel carbine, and bring it up closer to the ready, just as a show of solidarity.
"Uh... you tell 'em, Boss." The Dug finally pipes up, his sinister voice both growly and raspy, with a heavy accent of 'Nar Shaddaa Mook.'
The rain pelts down, obscuring vision and dulling sound. Frexl, slinks away from the rest of his crew. The mercs that have piled out of the speeder truck, which sits at the ferrocrete in front of the loading bay, idling quietly, barely break stride. They bring their weapons to bear and take down the rest of Frexl's crew with some well-aimed shots. Bodies land on the ground in the pouring rain. Lifeless and smoking blaster wounds in their bodies.
In the factory, Pilha is halfway down their interior stairs between the office and shop floor. At the sound of blaster fire, she ducks involuntarily. "Frak frak frak" So much for a quiet exit.
The poor rent a cops. They should have shot first and eulogized later. But as Frexl's co-workers are heartlessly gunned down, the Dug leaps toward some cover to avoid sharing their fate.
Sure, he's all for solidarity, but come on, there are reasonable limits.
Fortunately, the Apprentice Mercenary's forward thinking managed to give him just enough time to get behind cover, a blaster bolt landing right in the spot he was standing a fraction of a second before.
From his new vantage point, Frexl quickly returns fire, managing to hit the nearest mercenary with two hastily fired shots.
Mandl's chance brush with what appears to be a hit-squad doing, ehm, 'normal Nar Shaddaa things... ?' is proof they do, indeed, possess cardiac muscle. How many and where are up for debate, but a tug on the conscience pulls the technically-minded sentient toward their getaway vehicle. Perhaps they deserve to run a course that will spell 'M-A-N-D-L...' in Aurebesh to any aerial audiences? They proceed to work on that, surreptitiously.
The merc Frexl has targeted, the Rodian leader, is caught on the fly. He catches the movement out of the corner of his bulbous black eye and turns to bring his pistol to bear, but can't move quickly enough and shows a broad target for Frexl's skilful shot. Frexl gets in him the torso, twice, blasting through and knocking the merc flying. He lands, lifeless, in a pile of trash with a crash.
Pilha hears more fire, hurrying through the shop floor. Reaching the door, she slides it open and peaks outside, keeping most of her body in cover. She sees the getaway vehicle, the mercs, Frexl the Dug. She stays silent, watching the fight throught eh black orbs of her helmet. She holds fire till she's figured out what's going on.
Experience might allow them to make the car write 'MANDL IS AWESOME--' if time weren't a constraint. It'll be gibberish, probably, but the effect of a car whose doors auto-lock and take you on a confusing course at 100kph with lots of 90o turns ought to be ... enough. They're already checking to see how much trouble Pilha and Frexl are in, and which weapon to ready...
"You scutbags picked the WRONG day ta frutz with me! It's rainin', I ain't had my snack yet, and my girl just told me we should SEE OTHER PEOPLE!"
Continuing to fire off well-aimed rounds, Frexl almost seems happy for the chance to work some of his perpetual aggression out. Shame about his co-workers, of course, but the Galactic Mercenary Workers' union provides pretty good life insurance policies for its journeyman mercenaries.
"WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN? My mama was right about her, goes to---" He doesn't get to finish the rest of that sentence, as suddenly the scabs' vehicle has grown a mind of its own, and Frexl's main concern becomes staying out of the vehicle's path!
If Pilha wasn't sure what was going on, one mercs help her make a decision real quick by taking cover behind a packing crate and firing at her. The other take cover and fire at Frexl. Mandl appears to avoided notice so far.
Pilha doesn't need to duck as the shot goes wild, hitting the large door the the factory harmlessly in a red splash. The small figure wearing void armour doesn't hesitate. She tips her helmeted head to one side, and straightens. Silently, she brings her blaster up, aims and squeezes the trigger to fire.
Distracted by the precariously-careening truck, and also by his domestic issues, Frexl manages to avoid getting hit once again. He does not, however, manage to do much damage himself, but he DOES waste some ammo, which is a nice tax write-off.
Already he can taste the sweet, sweet, time and a half he'll be getting for this little firefight. As long as he can manage to live through it, that is.
Mandl's pistol comes out, having deduced a grenade would just result in glue-based tragedy. They take aim from a crouch, stun-bolts flying! Perhaps they're used to throwing rocks, or 'much deadlier up close with a rock-hammer.' No matter, they score once and the sibling-bolt spatters harmlessly in the shadows.
The mercs snarl and spit curses in a mixture of Huttese, Duro and Rodian. Pinned down, they're in what is casually known as a target rich environment. One fires at Frexl, the other Mandl being the two sentients that have hit their number.
Pilha says nothing as her shot goes wild. She visibly straightens her shoulders and fires at the merc again.
"That's enough outta YOUZE!"
There's another blast from Frexl's trusty, impeccably-maintained N'Gant Zarvel carbine (available nearly everywhere for the low low price of 8000 credits). One of the other mercs is put down, and Frexl most likely earns a Good Performance Review.
Unlike the rest of his team, because they're all dead.
Mandl calls out: "Surrender and you may live? Continue fighting and the gravel-maggots will merely have another day's meat."
