Log:Shadowport: Come On And Slam
It's a prison break!
OOC Date: July 8, 2021
Location: G258-A
Participants: Zhu Yan (Himself/GM), Amal Jha, Sar Yavok, Tarion Tavers, Xyomara, Zyrette, The Shadowport
You would think that, with seventy percent of a galaxy explored, that all of the little worlds along the Outer Rim had been catalogued and at least sent to some Jedi database deep on Coruscant with only one dangerous glaring omission. You would of course be wrong, much like Zhu Yan is all the time, because the Republic at the time wasn't interested in dead worlds orbiting dying stars, and so the G-258 system only ever earned a designation that never got replaced with an awesome name like Thyferra or Yanopolis or Nichts Hier. The barren rock sitting just close enough to the sun to give any native inhabitants (of which there were zero) a nasty case of 'scorched to cinders instantly' also lacked a proper name, instead sporting the peppy designation of G258-A.
But we're not here for astronomy lessons.
Sitting in the helpful and protective shadow of Lagrange point 2 in orbit around G258-A was Republic Prison Station XT-99947. It was a textbook case of security by obscurity, and Yan had only learned about it from plying the right person with the wrong drugs and then selling all of their furniture (but NOT the contents) to loan sharks. Don't ask. It was, in a word, a brick. One big floating grey rectangle with a docking bay on one end, another docking bay on the other, and hatches that would pop open to reveal guns the size of Yan's ego and just as nasty.
So without air support, a shooting match would be... inadvisable.
"Make sure your disguises are all up to date. Last thing we need is someone wiping away paint to reveal green skin, or something." Zhu Yan, he of the Jacket and the Dadbod, was once again the dropship pilot for this particular event. "I've made sure all of your paperwork is in order, so it's up to you to play it properly." The old former Imperial Troop Transport slowly drifted into the cavernous docking bay and moored against one of the hatches. There was a hiss of equalizing pressure, and then a *CLUNK* of deadbolts loosening. Then the hatch opened, revealing Prisoner Processing to the crew. "Remember, don't really care how you do it, just get Dhent Gagen back here so we can escape."
Time to steal a slicer.
Ah, space. Full of nothing, spotted here and there with insignificant things that, of course, have no names. It would be silly to try to define something like a place where gravity just happens to keep things there in the same spot, no one would ever bother to invent a term for that. Tarion Tavers, rogue bounty hunter and prolific entrepreneur, reflected on the view set out before them through the windows in the transport, a phrase which here means 'the view reflected in his vacant eyes'. When Yan finally gives them their last words of instruction, he perks up, like a dog hearing the jangle of the leash, eyes quickening and face settling into an easy, lop-sided grin.
"You people have nothing to worry about," the man assures the others, popping up from his seat and adjusting the rifle on his back with the only hand he has. "I'm the best bounty hunter in the galaxy" -he's not- "and this is just bounty hunting in reverse. You leave it up to ol' Lieutenant Figgins. I'll save you."
With a swaggering strut that threatens to pop his hips from their joints, he heads for the door, chest slightly puffed out, the New Republic military uniform he's wearing slightly out of date with the latest regulations, but who will be paying attention to those out here?
Were they supposed to be in disguise? Well, it was hardly possible for the Echani to mask what she was. And so, she had thrown on some sort of passingly grey jumpsuit, pulled a spacer's jacket on rather than her usual white duster overtop, and made certain that she had all of her paperwork in order. Supply delivery, and who didn't need steady diet of supplies out in the back of beyond? And with deliveries came the plebes who were required to haul it. Anything else, she would simply have to roll with, as she unbuckled herself from where she had secured herself against the bulkhead. Odd duck, never sitting down if she could help it. She did take the time to study a datapad she pulled out of a hidden pocket, "We are certain that the current routes to the holding units are up to date?"
<<"How's it going over there?">> commed The Sar Yavok from the relative safety of his ship where he was currently standing in front of a mirror in the very cramped fresher trying on a fake mustache that is doing very little to obfuscate the fact the he is Sar Yavok, a man who often sports a mustache.
The Shiny Jawa, a Firespray-31, is magged to an asteroid not overly far away from the prison ship, the systems all cued up for silent running as to keep its heat signature hidden for as long as possible.
"This is hopeless," the man admits, pulling the fauxcial hair from his upper lip and tossing it into a small bin to the side of his sink. He slaps a button and the doors hiss open so he can wander into the cramped central corridor so he can walk towards the ladder up to the pilot capsule.
Well, this should be easy, to pretend for humans she were human herself. It might be lowering herself, but.... she might manage. Especially in a blue jumpsuit. Maintenance. Now, Xyo's job would be easy. She wouldn't bother finding out where the slicer is. No, her job is diverting attention. A smoke bomb here and there, maybe a fire alert... should be easy enough to do, preferably without getting too much blood on her hands. It would be a pity to kill a competent workforce, staying silent about Tarion's bravado while already working on her battle plan. "You worry about the rosters, I certainly hope that nobody involved mixed the plans up." she offers in monotone
Oddly enough, Zyrette had a prepared identity already to go that needed very little updating on Yan's part. Clean, pristine, prepared months ago and never really used except for the odd purchase of iced space macchiato on her cred account to keep it active. When she stepped out to join the others, her skin was still green. But an auburn wig, a little make-up silly-putty, and some very authentic looking lick-n-stick face tattoos changes her from Falleen, to Mirialan. "Our cover story is we are bounty hunting in reverse? I think we -might- want to fill that in a bit more." She said in a playful tone, and smiled. An honest to goodness, cheerful smile. She was already in character.
"<<To be honest I'm certain of nothing, White,>>" answered Yan over the comm pieces that he had clearly handed out earlier and there was absolutely no mistake about that, no sir-ee. "<<They should be fine, but cross-check them if you can.>>"
A long walk across a narrow catwalk with a great view out the docking bay of the one place that hasn't been corrupted by capitalism led the assembled person-robbery-crew into the next room, small, grey, dreary, and full of guards. "Prisoners, left queue. Visitors, right queue. Prisoners, left queue..." etc, one of them was saying. "You will be searched and relieved of dangerous items before entering the facility. Failure to comply will result in incarceration. Please have your reason for visit ready."
The queues branched out to separate paths, split by those annoying pole things with the weird seatbelt-style ribbon that one usually sees at the holocinemas to make people take weird serpentine paths when no one is present. At the end of each was a guard, allowing for every member to pass through once searching and intake had been completed.
"That's not the plan, it's the concept!" Tarion declares loudly before exiting their transport and entering the dreary processing area where they are directed to form orderly lines. Anyone watching closely can almost see his eyes cross as the gears in his head start to turn, realizing that his disguise is not adequate to the task and that he has, in fact, made a glaring mistake by bringing the wrong sort of arms. IRONY.
"No," he mutters to himself, straightening his spine. "It's the prison that is wrong."
He steps to the right, firmly clutching the sling of the rifle on his shoulder and obstinately makes his way through the queue, making his way up to the checker man. The bounty hunter presents no luggage, but there is the actual weapon on his shoulder. He snaps to a surprisingly professional attention. "Greetings. Lt. Figgins, reporting under orders from the fleet to relieve Aleph platoon commander. I am to take command of the platoon in six cycles, so it is imperative that I get in and begin the changeover procedure as soon as possible."
"Understood," was Amal's easy reply to Zhu Yan's confirmation...of nothing. Queueing up for inspection might have been a more enjoyable task, if it was a pleasure liner on its way to a pleasant resort planet. But, alas, while one could vacation in such a place as this, with a few rare exceptions, this would never be a much lauded place for relaxation and recreation. And so, Amal followed in with the rest, waiting as they plied their serpentine way through the poles, taking her time as she stepped up for inspection. She did have a small knife, just a thing for utility, standard issue for a working crew. It wasn't even all that sharp you know? "You never know when a lashing wants to talk back to you." Freight was so inconvenient that way.
<<"Eh. They know how to reach me if they need me. Hoping I'm just a formality,">> Sar says, having decided not to climb into his pilot's seat and instead begin work on making a pot of caff. With his Naboo press pulled out of the cabinet, Yavok gets busy. <<"Who's on the team for this one? Anyone I know?">> Sar asks, plucking a black cigarillo out from behind his ear as he waits for his water to heat up. His eyes flit over to a small systems readout as he lights his smoke and he reaches out to tap a few commands into it. <<"Internal heatsinks are doing their jobs, though. I can sit here all day. Well...less I missed something and the whole ship gets too hot and starts a fire in the magazine.">>
Xyomara looks over, lifting her toolkit "Sandro Calderian's Vent repairs. I am here to check the ventilation system." she offers, brief, to hide her monotone, just lifting her toollkit as she steps towards inspection. Nobody will search the kit. "Quarterly maintenance. Shold be on the files."
Zee gets in line. She smiles, she chit chats with the Rodian woman behind her in the queue. They exchange life stories and cookie recipes. When she finally gets up to have her turn to get checked in she starts telling her life story to the guard as well. "Oh, I'm just here to visit my brother." A young Mirilan man in a cell rather close to their target's. Wasn't that conveniiiieent. "I have no fruits or vegetables to declare." She offers with a grin, and then saunters through. Not before waving to the Rodian however.
<<"Only one you know is Tarion. Zee is one of mine. Rest are mercs,>>" explained Yan to Sar over the comms. <<You'd be doing us all a favour by broiling yourself buuuuuuut you're more useful up there if we need to cause havoc. Hell, might even be faster.>>"
LT. FIGGINS: Tarion got a look. "Good to see you Lieutenant," explained the congenial guy without a shred of hair on his head behind the terminal. "I need a copy of your transfer orders so we can put them into the system."
AMAL JHA: "Even so," said the dour intake guard, reviewing Amal's paperwork to ensure everything's in order, "we still need to confiscate it. It wouldn't be the first time a prisoner has been able to snatch one. Do you have anything else to declare?"
XYOMARA: "Quarterly maintenance?" The young, pimply-faced guard with the flaxen hair tapped a few things on his terminal, with a scrunched up expression on his face. "Welllll, we're getting to that time, I suppose. I'll make a note that you've arrived. We need repairs done on plasma vents A-23 and A-24, they've been misbehaving a bit lately." There was a DING from the terminal, and a maintenance pass was handed to the... Pantoran? Chiss? Whatever, she was blue. "Follow the yellow line to Maint and you can take care of it from there."
ZYRETTE: "Understood, head on through." Zee was so fast through the line there was no real way to see what the guy looked like on her end. The beauty of keeping it simple, right? DING! "Green line leads to visitation rooms, a guard will be present when you meet him."
The guard's response gains him a dark, authoritative glower from the one-armed bounty hunter known locally as Lieutenant Figgins. "What was your name and rank? These orders come straight from the top. Unless you would like to explain to General Dameron himself why you... what was your name and rank again? took it upon yourself to stymie his agenda." He draws himself up imperiously, voice taking on a note of rancor. "Perhaps you would also like to accompany me back to Chandrila to explain personally. Perhaps you would also like to stop him from taking a sitdown in the refresher as well, since it seems you enjoy blocking the general's actions."
Tarion can't point, not with his only hand stuck tight to his rifle sling, but he does nod indicatively along the passage. "Now, I have urgent matters to attend to. Stand inside. Aside. Get out of my way."
Amal's expression was entirely placid, made easier by the fact that face has sort of stuck that way. Someone had not listened to that old wife's tale. "Not at all. Would you mind very much making certain to set it aside? It was a graduation gift from training school, and I would hate to lose it." Amal did hand over the small knife, before she waited to be allowed through to the visitor's side of the queue. "And if we need equipment, I assume we'll have tools ready for us? I really don't want to take up more time than I have to getting everything offloaded."
<<"Tavers is still alive? There really is no justice in this cold cold Galaxy,">> Sar muses, scratching his beard as he tries to remember how to use a Naboo press. "Where's that damn...the damn manual?" Yavok grunts, slamming cabinet doors open and closed in his likely ill-fated search. Giving up, the man just cuts the hotplate off and pours the water down a small drain before hanging the pot up on a rack and walking over to a wall panel that he pops open and rummages around in for a time.
Eventually he produces a hand-held injector and a small cartridge charge that are tucked into his belt before he makes the short climb up to his cockpit. Untucking injector and the combat stim, the man holds the latter up to the light as he moves to have a seat in his chair.
<<"I mean, if you want this to go loud, it can go loud.">>
Xyomara nods, taking her tools again "Certainly." she offers "I promise it won't take too long and they'll work like new." she continues, turning serious and stepping forward, friendly nod to the Mirialan, before she heads down the yellow line... she'll wing something. As if she ever dealt with vents
Zee smiles her best Mirialan southern belle smile. "Thank you, thank you so much." And is on her way. As she pauses the Blue member of work crew, she gives a cheerful wave. The 'Mirialan' follows the green line until it is safe to deviate, and cuts around a corner. Over their private comms link that Yann so carefully handed out before hand, she says, <"This is Green, just passed Blue, both in."> Because those were subtle code names, right?
LT. FIGGINS: Tarion was the conversational equivalent of a rushdown, baiting the guard into a bad mix-up and then juggling him until he was metaphorically knocked out. There would not be a round two for this fella. Instead there was a DING and a, "Uh, follow the red line, Lieutenant, that will take you to Command."
What have we thus wrought, giving Tarion Tavers a conversational victory?
AMAL JHA: "Don't worry, we'll keep it safe. Follow the blue line, tools are provided," instructed the intake guard as Amal was also DINGed through.
And that was it, all four of them were in. "<<Excellent. Blue, go and fiddle about with the wiring around the slicer's cell, we want it accessible if a lockdown happens. Green, White, be in position to recover him when things start to go to hell. Figgins,>>" Yan was starting to come around, "<<get up high, you may need to start shooting. And... y'know what, Guy In Ship, I don't even have a name for you. Warm up the engines, I'd like for you to buzz the station, please, in five minutes.>>"
Far be it for Zhu Yan to ever have a plan, but it sounded like a decent one. They just needed to force panic and or lockdown, and get Dhent out in the confusion.
"I should have your name and serial number, but I'm in a generous mood," Tarion announces archly, strutting down the hallway once more and following the red line at least until he rounds the first corner out of sight. "The /fool,/" Tarion near-cackles gleefully, before Yan's voice buzzes in his ear, bringing him back to reality. "Up high. Up high. The ceiling is not that high. This is a hallway. How am I supposed to know where this guy is going to need to come in from?" It's all to himself, he doesn't know how to turn the return signal on.
Blue eyes, clever as a weasel and with similar IQ behind them, scan the area as he moves deeper into the prison ship thing. A terminal, a harmless little terminal, sticks out to him, and like a remora attaching to the underside of a creature of the deep, he sticks to the keys, tapping woodpeckerishly with his one hand's outstretched finger, looking for hints.
"That'll work."
Gathering his rifle again, he turns and hustles towards the guard catwalks that crisscross the main prison 'yard'.
"I appreciate that." And then Amal was through, and making her way down along the corridor that lead, ostensibly, towards the supply depot. As she walked, she withdrew her datapad, looking a bit lost, as though the directions she had been given did not match what she had been shown during her briefing. And that meant trying to figure this out. So off she went to the visitor's terminal, bringing up whatever map she could find that the facility made available for the general public. <<Checking to see how well our information matches what's available.>> A second or two of silence, before she came back on the line, <<Close enough.>> Unhooking herself, with her new map downloaded to her pad, Amal now set about the task of moseying in that general direction, without, she hoped, making it seem too obvious.
<<"Yep,">> Sar says, slotting the capsule into the injector and holding it up to his neck. There's a quick trigger pull and a hiss and the contents of the stim container are emptied into the Corellian's bloodstream. His pupils dilate wildly before constricting back to normal almost immediately after.
Slapping his restraints on, Yavok pivots a control panel closer to him and executes a few quick commands. Outside of the ship, a hatch pops open revealing a white-hot heatsink. Another keystroke and the heatsink is ejected from the ship and sent hurtling through space, very likely showing up on just about everybody's scanners as a Big Concern.
Decoy launched, Sar begins warming up those engines. And those missiles.
Wiring. Should be easy. Screwdriver, open the box... pretend to work on it. Now, cut this wire, keep that open.... should be easy, even if she's not an electrician. Humans...
Zee had out her datapad as well. <"Confirmed."> She said simply. Whether at Yan's instructions, or Amal's confirmation of the map, or yes? Either way She and the other woman had separated slightly, having needed to follow different markers into the facility. <Will rendezvous with White at cell.> Or if they ran into one another before hand. She couldn't hide, or sneak especially well, but she could move quietly so as not to attract further notice onto herself. If she did run into a guard, she was prepared to strike a selfie pose with her datapad.
Big Concern indeed. The Firespray's heatsink floated past the station like a minature sun, catching the attention of sensors and the few lucky staff who had windows. As news was communicated through internal channels, most guards stiffened, aware that they might be in the sithspit very soon. "<<Reading plenty of radio chatter, Old Man.>>" Yan had settled on a name for Sar. "<<Whatever you've done has got their attention.>>"
The map Amal downloaded matched up with the map Yan provided, god forbid that ever happened. Xyomara's work on the circuitry near Dhent's cell was subtly disconnecting it from any approaching lockdown order. That would clear the way out for the team if everyone else was in their cells. Meanwhile, the guards ignored the women, because clearly they were all here for the right purpose. They'd gotten through intake, right?
The man sitting in the cell reading a some sort of holonovela on his extremely restricted datapad was human, wiry, balding, and perhaps not in the best of health. The passage of guards and visitors didn't even get his attention. This was Just Another Day in prison life.
Tarion is settled in nice and cozy on his balcony-like affair, loitering against a railing with an off-handed air which is effortless for him for obvious reasons. He watches the yard below, curious as to what the others are up to. Maybe he'll see them, if he can remember what they look like.
As for Amal, she continued along her way, looking entirely nonplussed, reading over her datapad as though she were just moving along, passing through on her way to work. There was something to be said for dressing like the help. People around you tended to ignore you. No one ever suspected the help. Unless you happened to be in the dining room with the pipe wrench. Amal, keeping a good pace, radioed again, <<"I am almost to the prisoner holding area.">>
<<"It's a good trick,">> Sar admits, detaching the Jawa from the asteroid as the shields finally blip to full strength. The half steering wheel half yoke is gripped firmly and the Firespray begins its approach, engines thrumming along like they've just been serviced. It's not an overly quick ship or one that's exceedingly slippery, but it's well-built and has enough armor plating that it could effectively keep Yan away from an all-you-can-eat buffet. For a time.
With his decoy hopefully giving him a little bit of a drop on them, Sar begins working out a firing solution to knock out those shields as quick as he can. It'd make the rest of this way easier, after all.
No joy. The loosed missiles manage to slip right through the shields, but they impact a few meters off to the side of the generator, exploding in a beautiful display of that famous space fire.
Zee checked her data pad from time to time, making sure she was on the right track.<"Almost there."> She chimed in simply. At the final turn, the 'Mirialan' paused, listening before continuing down the last corridor, assuming all was clear. Once at the cell, she stopped and eyed the unassuming man with in. Still in character, she smiled brightly. "Good morning, this is your rescue."
A lot of things happened at once.
Inside the station, an earthquake took place. Well, I say that, but really the impact against the side of the station from Sar Yavok's assault everyone got jostled to one side like in one of those old-timey sci fi serials. Guards, prisoners, anyone not of stable footing or holding on to something came clattering to the ground. Including Dhent the Slicer who fell off his bed and hit the floor with an "ow!"
Then the klaxons went off. Red lights, warning sirens, and doors started SLAMMING shut with alarming frequency. BOOM BOOM BOOM they went, slamming down in front of cells, in front of exits, in fact, in front of everything that wasn't Dhent the Slicer's cell and the door connecting to Intake. Convenient, that. The cell forcefield fizzled and died, and left the gangly balding fellow picking himself up off the floor in confusion. "Uh... hi?"
And then there were the guards. "Lock the place down!" was a vague shouty noise from below. "Do not let any prisoners escape!" From Tarion's vantage point, a riot was breaking out down in the courtyard. It was far from quiet. Guards were starting to lean over catwalks to fire into the din, while the ones from Intake streamed out to join them on balconies. The way was... well it wasn't clear, there were at least three guys hanging over balconies shooting stun shots down at the chaos below. Stun. Pah. It's like the time Defiance robbed a laundromat.
"<<That's your cue, guys! Get him to the shuttle and take out anyone between you and it!>>"
Tarion falls over.
He's got two legs to stand on and half as many arms; this is basically abusing someone with a disability, as he will loudly protest in court if this results in a trial. "I'm DISABLED!" he yells from the floor, scrambling back up on the railing with the help of his one arm, the rifle on his back swinging pendulously. The words 'do' 'not' 'let' 'escape' filter through the clamor to him, and dots connect: these are the guards.
"By ORDER of CHANCELLOR of the NEW REPUBLIC!" Tarion shouts down at them, leaning over the railing so that he can point effectively, threatening to fall over it in the process, "These prisoners are hereby exonerated! You're all free! It's LIBERATION DAY!"
What in the name of the Six Sisters? The sudden rocking of the station sent Amal tumbling, rather conveniently, right onto one of the guards who was jumping to alert as the warning claxons went off. She was not a small woman, being fully man-sized, and they both took a tumble, Amal trying to twist so that she did not end up getting his blaster rifle in the stomach. And if she happened to end up tangled with him long enough to manage to slip his vibroknife free of its sheath, well, what a coincidence. That, she managed to hide beneath herself, tucking it into a pocket on the inside of her jacket as she freed herself and tried to scramble closer to the wall. Clearly, she was just a plebe trying to get away from all those running feet, right? Right. Oh look, there was Green, right by the door that led to the not-so-secret treasure. Amal was soon back up against the wall and on her way.
"Getting rusty," Sar remarks of his own performance, speeding away from the point of the impact so he can flip around and try another run. Tapping wildly at one of his panels, Yavok tries a different angle this time, one that seems like it should be entirely too shallow. Luck is on the Old Man's side, though, and the pair of missiles dig into their intended target, causing the shields to waver and pulse before eventually relenting and disappearing entirely. With that taken care of, Sar flips a switch on his firing nub, priming the dual lasers for work.
Only as the percussive force of the first detonation rock the station, did Zee subtly break character. She wobbled on her feet, but managed to keep to them, and dryly under her breath, mutter "things, I see are going according as well as planned..." She didn't want for anything further. She stepped into the now open cell and pulled the Slicer to his feet. "Now it's time to run. I suggest you don't get shot." She slide her arm around his and pulled him, darting towards Amal, visible ahead of them.
The riot was breaking out in full force, interrupted solely by the shaking of the station and the WWWHHHHHHMMMMMmmmmmmmnnn... of a shield system dying. Uh oh. Speaking of uh oh, the loud proclamation of Tarion Tavers and his SPECIAL ORDER FROM THE CHANCELLOR got the attention of a couple of the guys shooting down into the riot. That was followed by one word.
"Contact!"
Stun bolts lanced out, smashing impolitely into Tarion's frame. The shout caught the attention of one of the obstructing guards, who turned and found himself face-to-face with the collected escapees in surprise. Oh no!
"The New Republic stands for FRE-" POW, Tarion takes a stun bolt to the chest and another grazes his leg. The stalwart Lt. Figgins stumbles back against the railing, swinging the rifle that by rights he shouldn't have been allowed to bring in here outside of citing General Dameron's bowel movements down into a ready position, which in this case means ready to miss. The bounty hunter grabs the pistol grip, pays his respects to the idea of aiming, and pulls the trigger. "FREEDOM!"
He believes in the cause so much, in fact, that he's already started to hobble on stinging feet back the way he came.
<<"Go!">> Amal said nothing else, as she darted ahead, moving to engage the guard who was standing between then and the exit, stage left. If nothing else, she could keep his focus on her and not on the pair trying to scoot scoot while the getting was good. Alas, but guard had such things as armor, and as the pair clashed, it took a bit of finagling for Amal to find the weak points in the guard armor, while also trying to avoid a blaster in the face. It was the worst sort of dance, but, for the Echani, well, it was the dance she as best at, as she finally found an opening, slipping the blade into a chink between the shoulder plate of the guard, sinking it into the space below his collarbone before she tugged it out again.
Taking a handsfree drag from his ciggie, Sar whips the heavy fighter around and does his best to line up those cannons with stuff that looks important. Pressing down on the nubs, the lasers bark to life send a deluge of plasma to pepper at the station's plating to varying degrees of success.
<"Big Poppa, we have the package."> Zee spoke calmly into the comms as sh pulled her cargo along with her. Fortunately, they both managed to keep to their feet as another shudder rocked the station. Tugging Dhent along beside her, she didn't look twice as the Echani bid her to go. Doing just that, she retraced her steps from before, slowly only at intersections to listen for guards. Or, knots of righting. What have you. Whatever was going to block her, and her escape. Their escape.
Not every prison station expects to be attacked. I mean, they /should/, because people sometimes really want to escape. But complacency is a thing, and rust needs to be shaken off, and now hatches were opening and turrets were popping out to try and track that fast-moving Firespray. Cyclic lasers blatted into the stars, cleanly missing the ethereally moving heavy fighter gunship thing clearly being flown by some sort of Ace Combat protagonist.
The catwalk guards sank bolt after bolt into Lt. Figgins' hiding place, nevermind that he was already retreating. Maybe it was just out of anger, than anything else.
With the two other obstructing guards occupied with absolute bedlam down below, that left Amal vs... y'know what, no one cares what his name is. With a mighty cry of pain, the guard took his own dagger in the shoulder blade and gripped it in pain, slinking to the floor. Alive, but in need of help. That left the way clear for the escape.
Except for the big lockdown door blocking access to the shuttle. Siiiiiiitttthhhhsssppppiiiiitttt.
Tarion is not one to break character in the depths of a lie, and as he feels the feeling slowly returning to his legs, he yells, "General Dameron will not be happy!" over his shoulder while he runs. His missing arm gets in on the action, phantom tinglngs in his absent fingertips creeping in and telling him that yes, they too are regaining sensation.
Rounding the corner to where the checkpoint was, he can't help but notice the very large door locked down blocking their escape to the shuttle.
A sensible person would simply ask the slicer they just rescued to do what they just rescued him to do.
A sensible person would immediately reach this conclusion and handle the matter quickly and efficiently.
Sadly, they brought Tarion instead of that person, and he swings his rifle up, squeezing off a wild shot at the barrier that ricochets dangerously off of it. "Open this door immediately, by order of the Chancellor!" he shouts, casting around for a guard to bully.
Amal, leaving the sliver to Green, headed for one of the terminals. She was a smuggler, damnit, not a-- you know what? Nevermind. She could at least give it a shot. And if all else failed, brute force would have to win the day. And then, she was at work, trying to brute force her way into the system, paying no mind to the guns that were likely pointed at her back. She was used to that sort of distraction.
With that heavy fighter moving with uncharacteristic grace, Sar's got a big ol' grin on his face as he sits snugly in the cockpit, rillo still smouldering away between his lips. Throttling all the way up, the Jawa speeds away from the station before it seemingly spins on a dime and begins heading back, ruddering around the incoming turret fire.
Those dual cannons spark up again and start hammering away at the station defenses, tearing apart the unshielded turrets. <<"Path out should be clear, I'm jetting out,>> Sar comms to the bus driver, whipping beneath the station and spearing into the void on the other side.
With that heavy fighter moving with uncharacteristic grace, Sar's got a big ol' grin on his face as he sits snugly in the cockpit, rillo still smouldering away between his lips. Throttling all the way up, the Jawa speeds away from the station before it seemingly spins on a dime and begins heading back, ruddering around the incoming turret fire.
Those dual cannons spark up again and start hammering away at the station defenses, tearing apart the unshielded turrets. <<"Path out should be clear, I'm jetting out,">> Sar comms to the bus driver, whipping beneath the station and spearing into the void on the other side.
At the sealed final door, thank goodness. Wait, sealed? She's a bit behind Amal, dragging the poor beleaguered Slicer behind her. Apparently, he was not accustomed to combat slicing. More the 'sit at home and slice from a safe distance' sort. Either way, she shuffled the poor fellow towards Amal as it looked like she was about to start pummeling the thing with her vibro dagger. "If I might have a look?" She asks, calm and sweet as you please. She then hooked up her datapad, she still managed to keep in hand, and worked a little door disabling magic.
As the final lockdown door creaked open symbolizing Zhu Yan's escape from the draconian governmental restrictions currently keeping him under metaphorical house arrest as coronavirus ravages his city, the path to escape was clear. The station rocked and shuddered under its own weight, the damage being substantial and the chaos within meaning any attempt to track escapees was going to take time that they did not have.
When the team scurried up the ramp, Zhu Yan was there to meet them. "Hi, I'm Yan," he introduced himself. "Now strap yourself in, we have a job to do."
The troop transport jetted out of the prison and into hyperspace, leaving the stricken station behind.
