Log:Sith Empire: Coruscant - First Strike

Sith Empire: Coruscant - First Strike

OOC Date: October 20, 2021
Location: Coruscant
Participants: Sith Empire: Tamsin Cas, ST-K7020, Xavier Harcourt, Tarq Najjic, Imani, Anlace

The guns on Coruscant are firing.

A pair of massive cannons erected by the First Order stand near the Citadel, an emplacement mounted on a swivel contructed in place in the time since the Order's invasion over a year ago. The size of a small cruiser, the guns operate in tandem, one barrel recovering from the heat and strain of venting the sheer amount of energy each blast requires while the other fires. The blasts soar up into the outer atmosphere, blazing out into space to wash the shields of the Sith Empire Bloodmoon destroyers hanging above the planet in cloudy blue, preventing any nearer approach.

It is against this backdrop that swarms of TIEs have spewed from the bellies of those destroyers, fencing with the First Order's own starfighter fleet while the Resurgent-class Order capital ships move in slow, wary courses around the perimeter, cautious of the cannons aboard the Sith's red fleet.

Among the chaos, a small unit of troop carriers jettison down from the Harbinger, the shuttle called Grimoire centered among them. Darth Ferren stands in the middle of the passenger bay as the ship hurtles towards the landing point, viewports showing the frantic aerial combat occurring around them. "The guns are our target," he explains succinctly. "Stop them firing so the fleet can move in closer at worst, take control and use them ourselves at best. Use any force necessary, and do not hesitate to destroy them completely. We land in a moment. Prepare yourselves."

With no medical bay to pass the time in as they waited for departure, waited through the trip down, hopefully to avoid being fired on, and waited for landing, Tamsin sit at whatever seat she had been able to find that was free in the passenger cabin of the Grimoire. Robed, helmed, masked, armed. All of the things that were necessary for any successful operation in the doctor's mind. Even her medical supplies has been squirrelled away on her person. She offered neither witty commentary or pithy reassurances. She simply waited, in silence, for the mission to come. As soon as Darth Ferren began to outline the mission objectives, she laid a hand on the release for the belt that kept her secured to the bench, ready to move out as soon as the ramp was lowered.

<"For the Empire, my Lord."> ST-K7020 acknowledges and expresses her compliance with Darth Ferren's given orders in one succinct statement. The Sith Trooper has her blaster rifle held ready against her torso, barrel angled down to avoid flagging any friendly targets within the hold of the ship. The interior lights shimmer against the shining red gammaplast of her armor, while the corrugated black bodyglove beneath shifts and stretches against her figure as the jostling of atmospheric flight rattles through the passenger compartment. Her face is the mixed scowling and impassive front of the helmet. There are no checks being performed. Telemetry pod is online, helmet suite is online, and K7 is ready to deploy into the heat of combat with no questions.

And thus it officially begins. Once again a soldier in someone's war. Ah, but isn't that always the way. You're either the weapon or the victim. There is no in between and Xavier had determined his place on that scale. Motivations have changed, but old habits rarely do.

Strapped in one of the seats of the Grimoire, Xavier is preparing himself the way he always does: enjoying a casual cigarette. The ship has a decent enough filtration system and he is ever-so kind enough to sit directly below one of the intake vents. Mainly to spare himself having to put the cigarette out prematurely which often seems to be the case when on the ships and shuttles. Beyond that, he's watching the others in the hold; eyes passing from one to the next as Ferren explains their objective. A smoky exhale serves as confirmation.

Eyes half-closed, a man you'd call slim if not for his gymnast's shoulders stands with his hands at his side, thumbs hooked behind a black leather belt. In no seat and holding no restraints, he is nevertheless steady. Each time the shuttle turns hard enough that the inertial compensators can't keep up, each time it dives, and each time it shudders as a bolt manages to connect with the shield or scorch the hull, he shifts his weight, adjusting to changes before they happen. The only movements are his cape. At their master's words, his eyes open, his left hand rises up behind the leather harness on his back that supports his cape. When it returns to his side, an ornate chromed lightsaber is in it. "Tarq Najjic hears and obeys."

Helmet off and tucked beneath one arm, Imani listens to the plans that Ferren lays out while idly taking inventory of her chosen weapons. They're all still there, but it would be a surprise if they weren't since it's at least the third check she's made since arriving for this mission. "Get control of the guns. We can do that. Right?" She glances around at the others, force users and not, and smiles a cheerful smile for the lot of them. "Right. We definitely can." With that she slides the helmet into place on her head, and settles a hand on her weapon of choice.

ST-A1025 stands near K7, her own rifle at the alert with the muzzle angled down. She rocks with the rest of the ship, adjusting slightly to keep from losing balance or just wiping out completely. With the mission stated plainly, the trooper nods, replying just as concise as her peer. <"It shall be done, my Lord."> Her weapon's safety was switched off and fire selector oriented toward kill. No questions, no anticipation, just total devotion to the task at hand. Anlace turns her scowling helmet toward the door, gaze locked ahead and waiting.

The shuttle comes in hot, under fire, the small arms on the ground peppering its shields and setting the passenger bay ashuffle as the ship rocks under the impacts. Two pilots, helmeted as always, do their best to keep things steady, but the landing zone is anything but peaceful and speed is of the essence. The shuttle rears back as it reaches the destination, rapidly decelerating, and with a quick 180 degree spin, lurches down to the ground, its landing ramp already extending towards the guns, and by extension, the enemy.

Ferren walks quickly down the ramp, his cape hanging heavily from his shoulders, boots thudding softly on the metal, his hand reaching back behind his hip for the silver cylinder there and pulling it free.

Waiting for the Sith strike squad are the First Order's finest, white-armored stormtroopers moving through the rubble and burnt-out buildings in the surrounding area to engage the shuttle and other troop landers currently emptying red boots onto the ground. Blaster fire is already thick, the constant report of rifles firing and the scent of burnt ozone filling the air.

The cannons rise in the distance, looming over the battlefield, a grim monument to their mission, one barrel fallow while the other charges another blast. A clutch of First Order troops picks their way around cover towards them, angling to lay down suppressive fire.

Tamsin's hand unfastened her belt just a moment before the ramp began to lower, rising to her feet and taking the hilt of her saber in hand. As she moved out in Ferren's wake, the blade ignited, Tamsin's masked gaze picking out, if she could, the white-armored figured closing in on their position. She made no attempt to charge, simply allowing a steady advance, as she narrowed her focus onto one stormtrooper in particular, a flick of her fingers sending her will where her reach could not yet go. Perhaps the good doctor turned Sith was feeling particularly indignant tonight, as she did not bother to try to choke the man into submission. Instead, the bones of his spine simply snapped like dry kindling, the body dropping like a marionette with its strings cut. She continued the advance.

ST-K7020 begins to descend the ramp behind and above the Dark Lord, weapon shouldered in the low ready and helmet sensors feeding her a rapid stream of information. Origins of blaster fire start marking targets with a reticle, removing the need to carefully scan the battlefield for hostiles. The sensors do the work for her. Command is given an immediate relay of information thanks to the recording and telemetry pod on her shoulder, but it's not command she's speaking to on the internal battle net. <"Six targets."> She halts there, on the outside slope of the ramp so there's plenty of space to disembark down its center, and begins opening fire to give the descending Sith some semblance of covering fire against the onslaught from stormtroopers.

A squeeze of the trigger and her blaster rifle barks. The smouldering, twisted plasteel of white armor shows exactly where on the enemy stormtrooper's center mass her blaster bolt punctured through. The stormtrooper collapses, dead and weapon scattering, leaving two less targets to deal with right out of the gate.

The shuttle is coming in hot with a fanfare of cannon fire welcoming them home. One more long drag of his cig brings the cinders nearly to the tips of two fingers holding it before what remains is flicked to the floor and snuffed out under his boot. "I would say so," he answers Imani's rhetorical question in case no one else does and supplies a slight grin to go with it. "Collateral damage is a fine option when the chips are down. Works in war and casinos."

After the ship completes its one-eighty spin, Xavier unclips himself and rises to his feet. An unadorned sword is drawn from his hip, hidden in the depths of his robe. Down the ramp and unhurried at the moment, Xavier locks on the first white armour he sees and immediately grasps the empty air in front of him. The trooper is suffering a seriously sore throat as Xavier draws closer.

Tarq Najjic descends the ramp at a swift walk at Ferren's right. His gaze swings across the squad of soldiers until he finds what he's looking for: a trooper motioning to advance with his arm. He leans forward, kicking up dust as he sprints towards the enemy who has betrayed their leadership role, the hilt held next to him and behind him. When he reaches the soldier, coming among the enemy cohort, he ignites the saber and swings it out and around, skidding to a stop just past his target. For a moment the trooper is still standing - then the white armor and flesh alike split cleanly, the top slipping to the side and the legs crumbling. He turns his head slowly to look at the next closest trooper, raising an eyebrow.

Imani is no stranger to being on a ship coming in hot in the midst of combat, so she braces herself for the less than ideal landing conditions. The moment they touch down she is unfastened and on the move, on the heels of the their dark clad fearless leader. She hasn't any visible distance weapons on her which means getting closer to those white armored soldiers she was on the side of not so long ago. The galaxy is a strange place, but she hasn't much time to reflect on just how strange, or how quickly things can change on you, she's too busy dashing and taking cover from blaster fire to worry about these things.

Down the ramp goes, and the personnel follow. Anlace was not able to sustain her balance for long because the terrain changed a bit after transitioning from the ramp to the surface. She wipes out in a clatter of armor. No sound comes from the trooper as she scrambles to recover by reaching a high kneeling stance. It's no use though, her shot goes awry and sparks off the surface of some sort of debris. Frustration colors her cheeks red, but she IS wearing her red armor! Grunting, Anlace rises back up and moves carefully forward to find cover and maintain an aggressive approach.

The battle is quickly joined, and it doesn't take long to turn bloody. Stormtroopers crumple from invisible attacks, one is shot down cleanly through the center, lightsabers emerge and it generally goes poorly for those in white armor. Tarq raises a brow at one, who raises his rifle in return and blasts back, while the others select various targets. A lucky shot grazes K7, having drawn the ire of the troopers in white for displaying excellent aim.

Darth Ferren continues his forward march, walking calmly across the battlefield as the blaster fire continues and more stormtroopers move into defensive positions, intent on repelling the Sith Empire's incursion. He raises a hand, tosses it dismissively, and one of the opponents mirrors the motion, cracking into a chunk of fallen building with a plastoid rattle.

Still moving in complete silence, Tamsin's gaze looked away from the trooper who was no longer a problem, and towards the trooper who either had the misfortune of having fired at her, or, the possibly further misfortune of being close enough to the trooper who had fired at her to be able to be blamed for the offense. Just as she turned to show the trooper the error of his ways, the sea of white blossomed, and she stepped into a armored figure who while not her original target was simply //a// target. Tamsin clearly held neither grudges nor played favourites. She swung once, and was only just repelled, as the trooper bunny hopped back, but not far enough to evade the second strike. And then she was on, moving towards the first trooper who had attacked her. She swung, but did not connect. Ah well, the night was still young.

Letting ST-A1025 and the Sith advance forward farther, K7 maintains her firing position on the ramp to engage with the remaining stormtroopers. She sights down the blaster rifle a second time, synchronizing between the targeting reticle on her heads up display and the sensors in the F-11D to attempt to get an accurate shot on the center mass of her chosen target. Return fire from the stormtroopers catches her in the right arm, forcing a buck of her right shoulder back as nerve endings response to the bright, hot flash of pain. K7 returns to her firing position without hesitation, once more lining up to try to take the shot that she was just about to make. The retaliatory fire kills the stormtrooper that shot her while others rush to engage. K7020 slips down the ramp to advance forward to join the rest of the strike team.

"Flashy," Xavier says casually to Najjic who is further ahead and deeper in the fray. "I'd expect nothing less." As Xavier slowly chokes the life out of the prey he has captured, the trooper takes a shot. Brown eyes flick towards the bolt's trajectory out of instinct. Seeing the elite Mark trooper Xavier has dubbed 'Kay' -- don't tell her that -- take the hit, Xavier answers in kind. The remaining distance between him and the stormtrooper is closed with rush; hand still gripping the throat, but before he can move his blade, the trooper's life force evaporates between his fingers.

Looking over to Kay, Xavier smirks a bit and salutes her with a raise of his blade... and then is imemediately turning to the next stormtrooper with a trio of swings. The white armour turns red but the fool is still standing. Barely.

Tarq just smiles and takes a step to the side as the stormtrooper fires at him, and then, in a flagrant display of disrespect, he simply turns his back to the trooper and lunges right into the reinforcements. That first stab hits no one, but the followup slash as he spins forward catches the troopers to either side. He gives an upnod in K7's direction as she calmly shoots down the one who shot her. The comlink at his throat turns on without him touching it: <"Nice - vengeance, K7.">

Imani's trek over to the enemy isn't as quick as others, but that isn't unexpected, not when you mingle with force users. She won't ever be as fast, or as quick to react, but she's still fast enough to be dangerous. Which one white clad trooper discovers in the most unfortunate way possible, which is to find the tip of her weapon driving in to a weak point on the armor with enough force to do serious harm. It's yanked back, and she drives the chain-whip home again, finishing off the trooper. Did she ever know this one in particular? Maybe. She had spent a fair amount of time on Coruscant in the past several months. That is another subject she adds to the list of things not to think about right now.

Anlace moves forward and away from K7, who has elected to cover their advance. ST-A1025 observes Darth Ferren's influence upon her intended target (SF-1205). They go flying, smashing against one of the debris chunks and clatter to the ground. Anlace moves toward them, letting them have the dignity of rising again only to be shot in the face when they managed to find their feet. Their helmet shatters into a thin cloud of white and they fall back down, a portion of their face revealed and mauled. ST-A1025 spares a brief look, then moves on, stalking forward with every intent on blasting whatever's ahead of her.

The Sith strike force rapidly advances with force towards their objective, clearing the First Order troopers from their path with remarkable efficiency, but it's not without injury. K7 took a hit, and now as Imani makes herself visible as a threat, one of the stragglers draws a bead on the helmeted woman and blasts at her too.

The red blade appears from its hilt a moment later as Darth Ferren reaches that lone trooper from the first wave, his methodical walk forward barely diverting as it reaches out to carve effortlessly through the plastoid armor and leave the body inside smoking on the ground.

With every step, the group draws nearer to their objective, the looming cannons firing a staccato one-two, one-two punch up into the tarry sky.

The path ahead narrows. Barricades have been set here, prefabricated armored wall segments deployed in a line across the street to funnel the approach down to a chokepoint only narrow enough to fit a troop transport through one vehicle at a time. In the gap, a row of riot control troopers fans out, each wielding a Z6 stun baton and a betaplast shield, locked into a defensive row. <"COME ON AND TRY IT, SITH SCUM!"> a vocoded voice shouts defiantly from the line.

Tamsin, if it were possible to catch sight of her face behind the mask, would not have looked any different now than she ever did. She was not angry, or incensed by insult or opposition, she was simply a force, moving to clear the road. The riot control troopers had other ideas, and the message was clear. 'You shall not pass.' Tamsin, however, was not given to reacting well to being told no, not when she could see her objective ahead, and she continued on, moving to engage one of the troopers, stun baton and lightsaber clashing as she worked to draw down their guard.

K7 passes crumpled up, white-armored bodies while her visor and telemetry pod register more ahead. Every shot from the opposing targets marks more on her HUD. She blocks out all but the forward advance. The whining of ion engines and pitched sounds of laser cannon fire threaten to provoke her attention upwards, if only because of the morbid wonder if one of the TIEs is going to turn into a hulking, spinning wreck that plummets to the ground and destroys them all. Doing so provides more opportunities for the stormtroopers to fight back, though, and K7 is disciplined enough to ignore the nagging sensations trying to divide her attention from the battle at hand. Targets are standing. They shouldn't be. K7 shifts her blaster rifle barrel towards one.

The stormtrooper is cleaved through by a lightsaber before she can commit to pulling the trigger, leaving only one immediate target in their vicinity that has a blaster rifle drawn. The rest are deployed in riot formation against the oncoming lightsabers and troopers. K7 handles the last blaster wielder and the white armored soldier crumples into a heap on the ground to join the rest the Sith have killed.

Advancing with his party, Xavier notes the new threat and these ones actually look like a threat. Stun batons and betaplast shields: he'd be a fool to disregard them. With his own saber still lost in the tangled mess that is the Sith Citadel on Exegol, the sword in his hand is not going to do him much good under he can get around the barricades, the shields, and into a good flanking position.

A curse under his breath and Xavier shifts his weight, veering off his direct path and towards the side looking for a place to breach the defenses. Wrapping the tendrils of the Force around the vocal chords of the one he /thinks/ had yelled out the nasty challenge, Xavier hisses sharply through his teeth; his concentration broken by a mental war.

"Well since you ask so-very-/nicely/." Tarq looks at the barriers next to the riot troopers. Flanking, that's a neat trick. With a moment's concentration, the Force surges through him, his feet push into the ground with unnatural strength, and he ascends - roughly half the height of the duracrete and rebar blocking his way. Arms and legs scrabble desperately against the wall, finding no purchase as he instead succumbs to the siren song of gravity. It turns from a slide into a straight-up fall, and as he lands on his back, there is a decided whooshing sound over the comms. His lightsaber is still in his hand, ultimately having done nothing but leave glowing red marks along the wall. He winces at the pain to his most precious of organs: his pride. He glances over at the riot troops. "You - saw - /nothing," he gasps, as he pushes himself back to his feet. "Is good thing Tarq Najjic had dignity surgically removed at young age."

Imani has tried so hard to be careful as she ducks in and out of cover, but any kind of up close attack means risking being targeted. And she is. The blaster bolt hits her square in the chest and she's thrown back, a hiss of pain emitting from the vocoder in her helmet. Her head turns to try and get a sight on the First Order trooper that would dare, affording her a nice view of Ferren as he carves that ominous red bade through the offending trooper. Her injury has been avenged, nice. She braces herself for pain and then rolls onto her side, over, then pushes herself onto her feet. It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, and she's up. It might not be the smartest thing to do, but she doesn't allow herself the time to think about how hurt she might be, she's able to move and so she does, onward toward those cannons for their soon to be hostile acquisition.

Close quarters is the name of the game now and a rifle isn't going to cut it for ST-A1025. This was just like the simulations, and she was /never/ shy about a good, close quarters FIGHT. Squaring up with one of the baton wielding troopers from the First Order, she lowers her weapon to hang by sling and extends her own riot baton, twisting it to generate the crackling electric current that pulses through its blunted edge. <"FOR THE EMPIRE!"> She cries out in delight, raising her weapon and fearlessly leaping toward her foe!

Tamsin lunges in amongst the riot troopers, and they close ranks around her, the shields proving little use against the lightsaber she wields but the batons they bludgeon and block with holding up to the fearsome weapon. Still, they just can't seem to land a solid hit on her, as even those that do make an impact fail to cause any real harm. <"Stand still and DIE! For the Order!"> That same voice shouts out again, coming from the riot trooper whose swing goes totally wide.

At least one on the opposite end of the formation stares directly at Tarq. He saw everything.

The others maintain ranks, resisting the temptation to split off and charge the attackers one-on-one, bracing their shields together as Anlace launches herself towards them with an identical weapon brandished high.

To the rear, Ferren continues forward at the same walking pace with which he exited the shuttle, unhurried but inevitably advancing.

The upside to engaging the enemy, what with the bright red lightsaber, robes, and general air of distemper, was that you were likely to garden the undivided attention of whomever you were attacking. The downside, was that you were likely to garner far more attention than you might have liked. And so, Tamsin, rather than being assaulted on only one front, found herself attacked on three, and it was a dance to avoid the the sizzle of stun batons as she continued the press on her chosen foe. If she had, in this moment, embraced more of the mad Falleen, she might have cried out for them to do their worst. But, alas, she had not, not yet, and so, she simply danced, attack, danced again. Her blade followed in perfect time to her movements, as she cut through shield and armor on her initial partner, before she spun, striking once, twice, and not again at the second of the three who had cornered her. She swung around to face the third.

The riot troopers challenge the Sith. K7 watches A1025 draw her own riot baton. She does no such thing. The damage to her right arm makes wielding the weapon a liability in close range combat. Burned muscles and damaged nerve endings would put her at a severe disadvantage. What K7 can do is provide covering fire and interference to the riot troopers while they try to engage, necessitating that they use their shields to defend themselves and putting them on the back foot while they're fighting for their lives. She takes a knee and braces the edge of her left elbow just beyond her left knee. Her right is angled behind her, top of her foot and its gammaplast cover grinding against the duracrete its settled against. Her first shot does nothing but put a carbon scored pockmark against one of the checkpoint barriers.

Finding no other breach in the barricade, a grim-faced Xavier turns toward the chokepoint. Knuckles whiten as his right hand grips the hilt of his sword tighter; the left one hangs at his side, fingers twitching as if dozens of small electrical currents were running through them.

The yelling gentleman yells again, flaunting his uncollapsed trachea in Xavier's face. The man moves in with a flash of his blade catching the various beams of red blaster fire and crackling blue of the stun battons before ramming his shoulder into yabber-mouthed Captain's shield; breaking his guard and getting a pair of cuts in a criss-cross deep into the armour to rend flesh.

Tarq locks eyes with the First Order stormtrooper who saw everything. All fanciness and pretension and cleverness tossed aside, he charges him and impales him upon his lightsaber, shoving the trooper off of it and revealing the smoking hole through the middle of the armor and person within.

Then he notices all the riot batons swinging at Tamsin. With a scowl, he engages with the soldier shouting at her, but the shield catches his wrist, sending the swing wide, and then lightsaber and stun baton meet in a clash as they push back and forth, angry face close to the white First Order mask. "You, you are good." He is keeping RC-6969 occupied and distracted. "But /we/ are better."

There might not be a lot of honor in murdering a distracted foe, but this is war and Imani isn't here to be honorable. She's here to bring peace to the galaxy, and she'll do that one murder at a time. Tarq engages in conversation, Imani doesn't bother, the opportunity to strike the greatest numbered trooper down, and she stabs, doing just that. Just one strike and the trooper is dead, weapon yanked back as the body falls to the floor.

The fight between ST-A1025 is short. There's two hits: Anlace hitting this poor sod, and them hitting the far off wall some ten meters back from where they once stood. The hit registers to Anlace, but she's not taking ANY chances. Like a thin Banshee, she subsequently swings after expelling her target from this world; once to the right and hitting nothing but air; then to the left, revealing no target there either! WHERE DID THEY GO? Turning in a small circle, electricity crackling from her weapon, she searches for more eligible targets and finds only K7 near her. Anlace shrugs.

The riot control troopers hold the line... until they don't. Once they start to fall, it's like white-armored dominoes, and the line topples one by one until Anlace launches the last of them at the prefab wall with a brutal crack of her Z6 baton.

Darth Ferren arrives in the gap as the trooper in red is shrugging, and steps through to the other side. The cannons are within reach, now, and a haphazard chop of the red lightsaber in his hand sends up a shower of sparks from a control panel set next to the door that leads into the round base of the cannon.

Inside, quarters are tight, with the dull grey walls covered in readouts, terminals, and glowing buttons. A row of technicians in smart grey uniforms look sharply towards the door, panic in their eyes as they see the caped silhouette standing in the gap, holding a humming red sword. Then, with commendable bravery, they grab for blaster pistols and scatter to the corners of the chamber, posting up behind consoles and anything else they can find for cover.

Tamsin, as they stepped into the control room, likely did more than a few mental calculations. Possibility of great success versus only success. And, given that their objective was not only to win the battle but to win the war, she did not simply barrel in, hacking and slashing for all she was worth. Instead, she selected a single target, and as she moved, calculated the best angle of attack to avoid injury to herself, damage to the console, and //not// leave the technician standing. Some precise blade work was required here. And then there was one less technician, and, hopefully, one more step closer to victory.

The stormtroopers fail to halt the strike team advance in almost spectacular fashion. Their attempts to gang up on a single of the Sith don't weigh the odds in their favor, and the riot baton-wielding hostiles soon find themselves cut down or on the other end of a riot baton as A1025 punches one almost six feet with the electrical discharge from the weapon striking them straight in the chest. K7 rises from her crouched position and joins the others in the continued forward advance, blaster rifle in the low ready and helmet scanning for any indication of targets ahead of them. The dead lay strewn across the battlefield in a sorely one-sided victory against the First Order's forces. Now the battle moves inside and First Order technicians attempt a last stand around the consoles that control the cannons. <"LAY DOWN YOUR WEAPONS AND SURRENDER OR DIE!"> One of the technicians dies from a lightsaber. The other almost takes a hit to the dome, but the blank space of a wall behind the technician is scoured.

The mission is to stop the cannons. Only secondary is keeping them functional enough to use for their own means. Collaterial damage: always an option. Especially when the screaming in one's head is getting too loud.

Inside the cannon's base, it is too personal for Xavier's tastes but there's blood on his sword and mayhem on his mind. Entering, Xavier's steps to the side to keep the way clear; left hand lifting in a blur of black robes. Face contorted into a mixture of strained concentration and pure annoyance, an invisible wave slams Doogan into the wall behind him and then he goes flying into one of the blinking console across the room. Sparks fly and most of the blinking buttons keep blinking. Most.

In Tarq charges. Tamsin may trust to careful calculation; Tarq prefers relying on intuition and agility. With careful strikes that hit no consoles at all - one might suspect him a console sympathizer, in fact - he also hits no Tech Officer Shay, whose own nimbleness and tactical avoidance should earn them a medal, if there were any chance at all of Shay leaving this room.

All the flashy slashes, no flashes from the screens and dials, and no scorched Shay. "Performance-enhancing drugs," Tarq accuses. "Must be."

Things are going great. Just as planned. Well, not exactly as planned, and the scorch marks on the front of Imani's armor are evidence of that. But its close. The others charge into the room with the techs and the consoles, and she doesn't hesitate to follow, once again charging in to assist Tarq in attacking a particularly wily technician. So wily that he manages to dodge not just one swipe of her weapon, but two, putting the consoles at risk of damage. There maaaay be a grimace as her chain-whip connects with equipment, but the benefit of helmets is that no one can see said grimace and she can appear completely cool with it. Everything is fine.

Anlace follows the rest of the unit into the control room and pairs off with Councilor Harcourt to engage with Tech Officer Doogan. The fight begins with an impressive display of sorcery that sends Doogan toppling over a distant console and colliding with one of the walls. Anlace closes the distance to Doogan, back-hand swinging her baton to strike them across the face and send them sprawling to the deck in a clatter of noise. Doogan is rendered unconscious and saved from the brutality of his fate; Anlace brings the baton down on their head and smashes it between the baton and the decking. It makes a mess. Anlace isn't done though, she swings again for good measure, but her weapon sparks off the flooring and she stumbles to one side.

She slips on the gore and lands on her knee, losing her helmet, which appended and spun out of the way to hit the distant wall, idly spinning from all its momentum. Anlace rose up with her youthful face revealed, bright blonde hair pulled tightly back into a bun leaving her face and all its features visible. Her nostrils flared and the color left her face in a moment of fear and confusion, yet her eyes held the same fire and hatred she had intended for her enemy. Wiping her arm over her cheek, she smudged the bright red blood of her foe there and began to look around for her helmet.

The other technicians are taken down one and then the other, the Sith strike force being careful not to damage the delicate machinery inside. Then Darth Ferren enters the room.

The red lightsaber lashes out with reckless abandon, drawing long lines of glowing, smoking orange in the metal consoles, sending up a cloud of electrical sparks and filling the air with the scent of burnt silicon.

The last technician, a wiry woman with her dark hair pulled back in a tight bun, dodges and ducks, throwing herself from corner to console, tossing herself bodily over a row of low workstations to avoid one of the swings of the many weapons directed at her.

Ferren's lightsaber stabs down through the workstations, emerging near her ear and dragging slowly towards the spot where she huddles beneath it.

"WAIT! Stop, stop, I surrender! Stop, stop, stop, stop-"

The humming blade halts.

Tech officer Shay's eyes, squeezed shut, slowly open, peering left. A sigh of relief leaks out when the red glow recedes entirely. "Thank you, thank you." She crawls out on hands and knees, remaining in that posture. "I can- I know how to use it."

"I know," Darth Ferren replies, looking down at her for a long moment, weighing the lightsaber in his hand before finally turning his dark gaze to the others as more red troopers slowly filter into the area outside the control room. He nods at the kneeling woman. "Have her teach our techs how to use it, then I want her far away from it. I don't care what that looks like, but don't let her touch anything. We have more work to do."

And so the Sith established a foothold on Coruscant for the first time in over thirty years.