Garqi's Open Terrain

Car 10

Pyro had used his plasma torch to cut an access to the breezeway between cars eleven and ten, finishing the job quickly and dropping down into the small connecting chamber between the cars. The hatch to car 11 was behind him, and he pulled out the plasma torch once more and ran a bead of weld down the hatch, effectively sealing it shut (to anyone who didn't feel like exerting explosive force.) Turning to face car ten, he loaded the BB-23, primed the first charge, and slung the big rifle around behind his back, instead drawing one of his two DD-6 blaster pistols. 

Pressing the 'disengage lock' button, the door to car ten slid open, and Pyro stepped inside. What happened next was not entirely unexpected. A wall of muscle who couldn't possibly look more like one who was bred for war, and loaded for bear, blotted out the opening to the door like an eclipse. Pyro took a sit-rep in half a heartbeat. He counted twenty warm bodies. The car was some sort of mess hall at this end, with other, smaller rooms twenty paces ahead. (mission briefing rooms? armoury? comms? mainframe? barracks?) The response from the first order soldiers was immediate (impressive...) and the effect it had upon Urgayle Pyro was instantaneous, and deadly. At the table closest to him, three smilies were chowing down. The one closest to Pyro faced away from him, and the Juicer put a burn through his throat, the blaster bolt destroying his larynx, preventing him from making any sound. His neighbor, in the midst of raising a forkful of salisbury steak to his lips, received the second third and fourth shots, angular tracks piercing both sides of his chest, and he exhaled peas and brown sauce all over the zabrak across from him as his corpse hit the wall of the train car and slid to the floor.

Shifting his focus to the back of the room, an enterprising Smilie had managed to pick up his blaster from the table where it lay, and Pyro's Juicer reflexes took over. Time slowed, and he could hear the man still chewing a mouthful of gristly meat as sweat stood out on his brow. The gun raised slowly, ever so slowly, and Pyro had time to decide whether he'd shoot the man in the throat, shoot the hand that held the weapon, or core out his eye socket. The man had nice, hazel eyes, filled with fear. The trooper's gun continued to raise to a firing position, and the Juicer shot another man, this one to his left, through one of the soft junctions in his armour breastplate. Drawing his second DD-6, he snapped off a shot that removed the jaw of an officer coming out from the servery, his tray discarded along with a spray of arterial blood as he spun and fell face-first into a protocol droid, sending both of them sprawling. 

Oh, right, the trooper with the blaster raised. The Smilie, Corellian, maybe, or Hapan? Hard to tell. Rugged, good looking fella, squeezed off a shot, and Pyro watched it explode from the barrel, watched the expanding blaster gasses vent from the barrel shroud, and then moved ever-so-slightly to allow the blaster bolt to impact the wall where his chest had been a moment before. 

He brought both pistols to bear on the shocked Smilie and snapped off three shots from each gun in unison, burning him down where he stood. 

Pyro kicked the bench out from under the two dead troopers to his right, and flipped metal the table over, shearing it's two mounts clear off the wall. Crouching behind the make-shift barricade, it seemed an eternity before the table-top was peppered by blaster-fire. 

Five dead in the first ten seconds. He keyed his comm-link.

Contact Car Ten. 

:: Garqi - Onboard the 3:10 to Depot #4 ::
Andrew, Arzia, et.al
"The true soldier fights not because he hates what is in front of him, but because he loves what is behind him" - Gilbert Keith Chesterton

---

Cars 28 - 22

The Echani rolled onto the flat, open surface of Car 22. As he looked up, he saw Rawkill jumping through the smoke and debris, apparently unharmed. Andrew stepped forward, to follow the Jedi forward and then fell to his knees.

His hands wrapped around his ears as his eyes slammed shut. A hundred voices silenced, and hundred fires extinguished. Behind his eyes and ears he felt their screaming, he felt the hot, red, plasma of blaster fire. The heat forced tears into his eyes, and he shuddered. No. No. No.

The Remnant had killed its own people. Had killed the men and women on this train who pledged their lives to it. It had cast away the lives of man for what, for security against a handful? Brazen, callous, and, sadly, Imperial.

Not one more life. Andrew felt a steady heat rising in his core and pools of water stinging his eyes as he shook off the weight of fear, death, and panic that erupted from the cars in front of him. Not one more innocent life. Tears fit both the young solider, who never believed how cruel men could be, and the old soldier, who knows cruelty intimately, and knows you cannot numb yourself to suffering and still remain human.

Andrew rises, almost hauling his body up from the crouch, head still cast down toward the floor as if the weight on his shoulders kept him from lifting it and steps onto one of the skylights above the car. From what he could see, it looked like a dining car, and the passengers, once calmly at their tables, eating, talking story, now on the verge of panic.

He takes a deep breath, and then raises his right arm as he bends into a crouch, pulling his elbow up to his shoulder. The heat in his chest, the warmth of the living force fanning, pushing vigor into his old arms. He breaths out suddenly, dropping down to his knee, and driving his fist against the tempered, reinforced, skylight.

As his naked hand connects, the glass cracks for a half-second, and then shatters into a hailstorm of green-blue droplets, shining in the afternoon sun. Andrew falls as the glass gives way, diving downward with the shattered glass, twenty feet into the rear third of Car 22.

A few moments earlier, James Falkirk had been shaking his head.

“No, Isabelle. We’re following protocol on this one. Citizens of the First Order do not panic.” He hung over each of the last three words. “The train is guarded, and quite heavily so from what I’ve seen. If there are intruders in the lower cars, the garrison there will deal with them before they pose any threat to us here.”

Isabelle pulled her hand down across her face in irritation. First Order or not, the train was clearly under attack, and that necessitated activing the car’s emergency protocols. Specifically, the train’s breaking system and notifying the nearby garrisons that something had gone wrong.

“First Order or no, Jim, you, as an officer, have a duty to ensure that we handle this situation in a calm, and…”

Whatever point Isabelle would have made, was lost in the shattering. All noise in the room turned to silence for a half second, as the skylight turned into a rainstorm, and a man dressed in worn black clothes fell through the ceiling.
James’ hand dropped for the blaster he kept inside his suit-jacket, as did the hands of several other officers.

Andrew landed on the floor in a crouch, dusty with bits of tempered glass. The subtle rush of Garqi wind against the mag-lev floated into the room as he stood.

“Don’t be afraid.”

The Echani moved his hands to his blasters, and without ceremony, dropped them on the shards of glass.

“There’s been enough death today. Please, your empire will be coming through that door momentarily. Leave through the back.”

James lowered his gun, briefly. “Why? Why leave?”

“Andrew shook his head, as he raised it, and looked out across the hundred or so faces in the dining car. The room was broad, broad enough to hold an array of tables comfortably, with tall ceilings. It looked like someone had repurposed an old bulk storage car into a place of respite. He still wasn’t sure why they were here, these men and women. The 3:10 hauled supplies, not people, at least, not until now.

“Your empire has failed you. Failed in its duties to its citizens, and failed as the empire always has. The passengers in Car 22 have been exterminated, by the government you trusted to guard you.”

Andrew paused for a moment.

“I know you’ve invested your wealth, your time, your trust, and your love, in this empire, in it’s promises of peace, justice, nobility, and order. At one time, it had these, and showed them to the world as small pocket of true, benevolent government.

I know. I stood for it, and stood with it.”

“But now, it’s fallen to the ways we had forgotten. Ways we had cast aside for “Victory without War”, cast aside in the name of winning our battles through mercy, through tending to the needs of the powerless. Now, we’ve killed our own people.”

“I am Andrew North, the Scarecrow, Jedi Knight, peacekeeper. I stood with the Remnant, I stood for it’s promise, and it’s nobility. And now, I am all that stands between you and a government who would murder its own people to stave off a few armed men.

I will not see another innocent life lost today. No one else dies. Not while I stand, not while I have breath in my lungs.”

“Get behind me!”

He steps forward, leaving the pool of afternoon light left open from the broken, tinted skylight, his boots crunching the bits of tempered glass into powder. Yet the sound was lost to his ears, the sound of the room, lost to his ears. How far have we fallen, how far have we, who claimed to be a place of order, of justice, a place of refuge for the weary in this galaxy, fallen.

We've killed our own. We've stained our hands with the same red that wrought the Galactic Empire, that destroyed us, and nearly everything else. We have the arrogance and the hubris, to do it again, we would stain our souls and continue suffering in the name of totality, of control, of order.

The grey-maned Echani kept his head down, and his eyes narrowed and mind falling back into the mists for a moment.

"You said we exist for justice Andrew, to keep the peace, and levy the scales against tyrants." She said, smirking in her usual, slightly holier-than-thou manner. He would learn something, whether he wanted to or not. “You think that avenging is the only way?’

"Hold out your hands."

She filled his palms with sand from the cavern floor

"Master Westrate?"

She smiled.

"Andrew, one of those piles is a little bit heavier than the other. Balance them."

He started, tipping one hand into the other. Sand spilled out through his fingers, hand over hand until just a few grains remained, stuck to his pale fingers. The rest lay pooling on the floor.

"North. This is what you don't understand. When try to balance the scales, to take eye for eye, we never do it right. We never can fully know;"

"What does your pursuit of justice and retribution leave you with?. Nothing. Andrew, it leaves you with nothing. Justice always evens itself out, the scales are perfectly balanced only where they're empty. If we live by justice alone, only by lex talionis, there will be nothing left."

He stopped, standing still in the center of the car. By this time, most of the passengers had started walking backward toward the gang-way between Cars 22 and 23 - maybe more out of fear than out of anything Andrew had said, or done. Their empire promised them protection, promised them, even on this short trip, safety. It failed, but not out of ineptitude, out of deliberate, calculated, efficiency.

The Echani's right hand slips behind his back, and his fingers pause as they press against the steel shaft of a lightsaber, the long blade of Westrate’s Desert Rose. Not another life.

"Are we to stay idle then, Master? To do nothing but tell the suffering ‘be well’, and let them suffer? Do we just sit here preaching mercy to a world crying out in pain?!" He didn’t understand it then, he couldn’t bear it, couldn’t bear thinking that pain would continue for so many, and that he would allow it.

"You’re an idiot Andrew, a heavy-handed, hot-headed idiot. You suggested we draw to strike down darkness, and evil. We will never strike it down, never defeat it by smiting it. You will not draw your blades because you, O holy and righteous man, judge of who lives and who dies, deem that someone needs slaying. “ She, Abigail Westrate, almost mocked him, mocked his desires. Her face, her eyes, hard, piercing, condemning. Then, she softened.

“Andrew. You’ll draw because you have a thousand lives, ten thousand heartbeats behind you. You have lives that depend on you standing between then, and what would harm them. You draw to protect, never to destroy. Violence appears to do good, but the good it does is fleeting. Temporary. The evil it does is permanent. Never forget that.

The Echani raised his eyes, the mourning silver tightening as his right hand removes the lightsaber from its sheath on his back. His thumb flicks the ignition switch of the saber as his hand drops the blade, leaving the standard-length saber angled forward at the ground. Not one more life. He pulls the living force to himself, flaming the heat in his core into a blaze, warm, and ready.

"Get behind me!"

Cars 26-22

---

"Clever, Fade," *Keith commented as the Imperial comm chatter entered his systems.*

"If we weren't looking at an AI who knew what he was doing, I could have probably gotten that to you sooner," *Corinne lamented.*

"You did fine, for now, just monitor the chatter, let us know if anything important comes up."

"Got it, Spartan," *Corinne acknowledged, seeming somewhat pleased at the new duty presented.

As the chatter went silent in his helmet, intercepted by Corinne, Keith gave a nod and prepared to follow Alpharius deeper into the cars, closer to their targets, closer to their goods. Smoke, then incapacitation. Already Keith worked with his HUD to scan for bio-signs, forming featureless blobs in his visor, allowing him a basic idea of where not to step lest he crush a civvie underfoot. It was this feature that allowed him to identify Alpharius, tagged as a blue friendly, as he seemingly tripped over something, falling to the ground.

Small mistake, but those added up. Keith had little reason to believe he would commit more, and simply turned to Morgan.* "Control your breathing and stay close to me. Watch your footing."

*Once she had acknowledged, he moved forward, stepping over the blobs in his visor, scanning for any conscious hostiles. Cars twenty-five and twenty-five proved easy to traverse, but it was car twenty-three where Alpharius stopped, creating a standoff with a woman manning the bar. The room was dark, so Keith triggered his HUD to return to normal as his helmet lamps activated, illuminating his vision. On the ground, unconscious, was a Nelvaanian. Their operative. So that hadn't worked out so well, it had seemed.

That was when the comm chatter came in. Not from the Imperials, but from Scarecrow. From the sound of things, the Jedi had entered the car ahead of them, pleading with the civilians inside to get to safety before they too were put to death. So, there had been some mass-murder involved; that now fully explained Morgan's moment from earlier. But if he was up there alone...*

"Sir, Avatar and I are moving ahead," *he commented to Alpharius, ignoring the barmaiden's pretentious rebuttal and the serving droids coming to life as he turned toward Morgan.* "With me, soldier." *He then moved past Alpharius, through the car, taking a clear path so that Morgan could easily follow. The passengers seemed more than a little shocked at the hulking, armored soldier swiftly moving past them without effort; perhaps a side effect of inebriation, or genuine fright.

Past car twenty-three, he found the crowd of civvies Scarecrow had ushered out of the car ahead of them. They didn't need instruction to part a way for him. Once past the crowd, he removed his left hand from his rifle, reaching for a table and very leisurely lifting it from the ground as he approached Scarecrow.* "That was almost foolish, Scarecrow," *he commented as he stepped up beside him.* "You're lucky we overheard you on the comm chatter and made our way up here; I've a feeling we're up against more than we realized." *Casually tossing the table to the ground so that it landed on his side, he gestured to it with his left index finger before gripping his gun once more.* "Avatar, use that for cover." *Keith checked his radar scanner, and it showed confirmed enemy tags awaiting them in the car ahead. Would they come after the merry band, or would they wait? "Let them come to us," Keith thought. "We'll buy time for the others to reach us."*

Cars 30-22


*The wind howled around Rik as the train lurched forward in a sudden buildup of speed. The mercenary stumbled a bit at the sudden movement combined with the increased pressure of the wind. His reinforced trench coat whipped and snapped behind him as Idannian struggled to fasten in at the front. He looked up and could see the mess of torn up, carbon scored metal that marked the remains of the auto turret defenses a few cars up. No doubt the handy work of the now distant freighter.

Looks Corellian, Rik thought.

He slung his rifle on his back, double checked his shoulder rig and triple checked the DL-44 on his hip, making sure his trench coat wouldn't be in the way for a quick draw.
I really need to get more information, he thought not for the first time. There's a whole different feel to this thing that just isn't as simple as that old Echani made it sound.
He sighed and took off at a jog headed up the train. The space was a little far in between the cars so it forced Rik to sprint a little before in order to stick the landing.

The things I do for a pay day.


Idannian's Knight informant had mentioned the train and the potential for a quick pay day. That coupled with the implied presence of a crate of cortosis and the other equally valuable commodities had the Corellian sold on the idea but he couldn't help shaking the feeling that there was more to it then a simple smash and grab. He landed poorly on top of car 23 and had to do a quick role to come back up to his feet. He keyed his com to Veep and the ship.

Hey. I'v got a bad feeling about this. Bring the ship around and have it on standby in case I need to get out of here fast.


The com double clicked Veep's acknowledgment. Rik spotted a few silhouettes a couple cars up. It didn't look like anything he would want to get involved in sense he couldn't tell who was who up here. He needed more information first. Not to mention the fact that two bars of light appeared in there hands marked them as very dangerous customers! Not that Idannian wasn't used to that sort of thing but it was generally wiser to not borrow trouble or pick fights one could avoid altogether. So, he decided to find a different route, the broken glass ceiling on car 22 seemed as good as any.
First, Rik readied his shatter rifle, the small bull pup looking firearm Veep had so graciously lent him, and then dropped form the sky onto a table facing the front of the car. There was just one figure up ahead and he immediately raised his gun to take aim....but then stopped.

North? Is that you? What in the blazes are you doing here?!

Car 21

Azria heard them long before she could even see them, dark troopers. She gave pause and simply stared as they lumbered into the car, more out of fascination and anticipation than anything else. It was about time they were activated. These Glory-class troopers made her feel as small as ever, towering over her as she looked upon them with satisfaction written across her face. Their physique, alone, was intimidating. Dark, hulking monsters. These were not your average monsters though, these were the stuff of nightmares, clad in obsidian armour and armed to the teeth. The Imperial was only glad that they were on her side for she had no desire to stand toe to toe with one of these monstrosities. Pity that there would not be much left of the trespassers on her train, after all, it would be their funeral if they refused to bend the knee.

Turning to Major Madine, the First Commissar’s eyes wander from him to the two Shadow Stormtroopers as she appraises them. “That is delightful to hear, Major. See to it that the remaining Dark Troopers are activated sooner rather than later.” As she says this, her eyes return to the Major, fixing him with her stare as she leaves the warning unspoken. Now, of all times, would she not tolerate failure. It was clear that she was not a woman easily pleased, an edge of irritation creeping into her expression. The time for patience had long passed up the First Commissar, her lips straightening into a thin line before her expression resumes a look of passivity. “The most recent report from my AI indicates that the trespassers are in car 26. Major, let us send these interlopers…” The small woman walked around the two Glory-class Dark Troopers, her lip curling upwards ever so slightly as her gaze wanders over the colossal machinations before her. If one did not know any better, they might have taken it as a sign of disgust, but it was more an expression of detached fascination as she imagined the fate that awaited those who did not yield. Leveling her gaze on the Major, Azria continues speaking. “…a message if they refuse to bend the knee..” Tucking her chromium blaster rifle in the crook of her elbow, the First Commissar turns her head to contemplate the unopened portal between their car and car 22.

“The actions of these terrorists cannot be allowed to go unpunished. I will see to it personally. Follow my lead and do not fire unless authorized or they make first contact.” These orders may appear strange coming from anyone else, but given that it was one of the Delvardus siblings communicating them, it was not too far-fetched to assume that Azria had a wild card up her sleeve. Then the First Commissar motions for the Major to follow her and her squad. Pausing about midway through crossing the car, Azria walks over to a terminal affixed to the outer wall of the car and taps a few buttons on it to bring it to life before wandering away and scanning the room afore her. “Pratts!” She shouted out into thin air, awaiting the Imperial AI’s response. It was then that a decent size explosion sounded a couple cars down and the floor of the train rattled only slightly in response, though it was enough for Azria to notice.

“Sir, I have determined that an electromagnetic pulse has disrupted my systems in car 26 and extended to part of car 25.” Azria looks up from the ground she had been examining for the duration of the AI’s report. “Reboot your systems then, I need to know what is happening on my train right now. Do I make myself clear?” Her eyes narrowed slightly, yet her voice remained firm and calm. It was a bit unnerving. “Crystal, Sir. I am taking care of it as we speak…..You should like to know that four of the trespassers are located in car 22 and another appears to be in car 23.” The Imperial merely nods in response to this information. “Put defensive protocols on standby then, prime the shield generator and emitters. I have no doubt these filthy creatures mean to strike us down. The moment anyone makes a move, I want those ray shields brought online without delay.” Pursing her lips, she turns back toward the aft of the car and continues her previous path toward car 22. “Yes, sir.” Pratts is quick to reply before disappearing once more.

As she stalks toward the portal between the cars, Azria slows to tap the bead in her ear, opening a comm channel to the Knight of Ren she suspected was still atop the roof of the train. :: Banshee, what is going on up there? Pratts is having trouble accessing some of the aft cars right now. He said something about an EMP disrupting the system back there. System reboot is incoming, but right now, I am flying blind. Sovereign, over. :: Receiving no immediate response, Azria moves to the side of the portal and looks to the two of her soldiers at the front of her squad. Waiting for them to nod in acknowledgement of their readiness, she slaps her balled fist into the control panel to open the portal between the two cars. Before they walk through, however, she is quick to take the lead, motioning with her free hand that they remain on alert as she slowly slinks forward across the gangway between the cars.

Car 22

Now, here was a woman who was more likely to lead from the front than direct from behind. She was unafraid of what awaited her and it was difficult for any other to ascertain whether her lack of fear came from an unparalleled mastery or just raw nerve. If she was honest with herself, it was a mixture of both. Nevertheless, she paints the picture of discipline and control in her stark black uniform. Pressed to perfection and boots polished to a shine, it is clear that she does not tolerate disorder.

It was silent following the Jedi’s declaration for everyone else to get behind him save for the sudden intrusion of slow clapping. As she stepped from the shadows, blaster rifle slung over her shoulder, the First Commissar slowly continued to clap. The sound muffled by the presence of her black leather gloves, but remained noticeable all the same. Her gait was casual, as she sauntered forward, absolutely no hint of hesitation. Stilling her hands, the left corner of her mouth curled up ever so slightly and she finally deigned to speak after what felt like minutes of silence as she simply stood there assessing those arrayed afore her. “I will not dispute you there, the Empire did fail, horrendously so. Lacking the discipline and military prowess to keep order as it did, this is unsurprising. However, before you begin leveling blame perhaps you might fancy examining the facts beforehand.” The Imperial’s boots clicked against the obsidian tile of the maglev’s flooring as she strode across it, clasping her hands behind her back as she came to a stop, still located at least six meters away from Andrew and the others.

“It was not I or anyone else on this maglev that ordered an extermination. It was merely a devastating glitch in the defensive systems coming online, which would not have been triggered had you and your filthy little band of terrorists decided not to trespass on a vehicle which is clearly not your own.” Her voice was steady, thick with an Imperial accent. Posture remaining tall and proud, the diminutive woman appeared the picture of calm, almost frighteningly so. “So you see, my dear Jedi, it is you and your friends that are responsible for the only death that has been dealt thus far on my train. Tell me then, who is the one at fault here?”

Her expression was one of casual indifference as she leveled her sapphire gaze on the motley crew assembled before her. “These people have invested nothing of monetary value. We ask nothing of them if only to contribute to investing in a more stable galaxy for the betterment and progress of tomorrow.” Nothing in her face betrayed the inner workings of her mind save for her cold, calculating stare. Otherwise, it was a mask of defiance and surety – this was precisely why she was the ranking officer here. “Our path to victory is paved through the downfall of your decadent Republic, of which we shall wisely correct the myriad errors and excesses that plagued it. As such, it is a great mercy that we bestow upon the galactic citizenry, to have taken upon our shoulders the burden, which your great democracy saw fit to shrug and shrink away from at the expense of the greater good. And for what? To serve the few such a body of power deemed worthy?” The First Commissar’s gaze rose, her scarlet lips pursing in arrogance – though not misplaced from her perspective. “If that is what you view as noble and just, then I pity you, Jedi. I pity you for harbouring such a weakness that forced you to succumb to the propaganda hand fed to you by a Jedi Order stalled in stagnation and a Republic mired in corruption.”

“The only lives lost today are those that you and your terrorist friends have taken. By all means, level unjust accusations at me if it suits you, but make no mistake – those you currently surround yourself with would love nothing more than to kill me and my men stationed here. And for what? I have committed no crime. Because we share different beliefs? Because we believe in the rule of a firm hand to guide the galaxy to order for its own good?” Shaking her head, Azria softly tsks him. “The stories those elitist Jedi have filled your head with are nothing more than that, stories. There is no great evil amongst us except that which you and your friends seek to perpetrate here. There is no great darkness threatening to engulf the galaxy other than that which your illustrious Order bestows upon us.”

There is a pause before a small, soft laugh fills the air as the Imperial's gaze is drawn to the Jedi's lightsaber. "No Jedi, I believe you are the aggressor here. You are the only one here attempting to incite violence. Tell me, who are you to decide what is just and who to draw arms against? Are you not doing the very thing your Order has so eschewed? And here I thought Jedi were supposed to be the bringers of peace, the harbingers of justice – noble and righteous. What I see before me is a terrorist, one who wishes to incite disorder and anarchy to attempt to disrupt the stable and unshakable foundation upon which we shall build our glorious future." Pausing once more, the First Commissar looks at each of the interlopers in turn, her lip curling slightly before she speaks again, to no one in particular. “Leave my train and all will be forgotten. I will not pursue you and I will not hold you responsible for that which has occurred here this day. Or remain here and be party to actions that are certain to place you on the road to becoming that which you claim to abhor. The choice is yours and yours alone.” She stands with an unshakeable confidence, her look knowing as she continues. “No one, man or woman, becomes what they despise all at once. It is through these small seemingly inconsequential actions that it shall occur little by little, through the smallest betrayals and abandonments. So slowly that you do not even realize you are a traitor to everything good and just until it is too late. Tell me, are you willing to take this chance?”

Pyro considered the Zabrak's statement of intent. It seemed above-board, though if the man was lying, he wouldn't hesitate to put him down.

There was the barest hint of movement beyond the Zabrak -- a Stormtrooper moving ever-so-slightly, painfully rolling onto his side. Not reaching for a weapon, or raising an alarm... just rolling onto his side to find a position less painful to die in. Pyro raised his weapon and fired three times, past the Zabrak though close enough to make the hairs on the back of the horned being's neck stand up.

The BB-23 fell silent once more, and something changed behind the soldier's eyes, like he was a snake uncoiling after a strike. The pent-up energy that was bubbling under the surface evaporated, and there was a calm to his demeanor that had previously been hard as steel.

I'm here to neutralize threats and secure the objective.

Retrieving his hand-blasters and reloading them, the big man moved forward, toward the sealed blast doors to Car Nine. Instead of running a bypass or slicing the system, he paused and sought out the officer he had killed in the doorway to the mess servery. Removing the man's security ident, he returned to the portal and inserted the sec card. The door slid aside, exposing the connecting access-way between the two cars. to the zabrak get behind me.

He swiped the card once more, and the door to car nine opened.

entry -- car nine.