as written by Calcos and Saarai
They huddled up around a large, oaken table, a holomap at the center plotting out the area they were going to assault. They ran through the plan over and over until everyone had it right. Thalgan was looking from person to person, establishing hardened eye contact to ensure everyone knew their role. Arrora stood perched against the wall, her face unsmiling; she didn't much like the idea of being involved in wholesale slaughter, but it paid the bills. Still, she wished she could score a job that didn't involve the deaths of who-knows-how-many people.
The attack on Volary hurt to think about.
Looking about, she saw crates all over the hotel suite, all of them being full of weapons, supplies, and various other equipment. If it looked like they were going to war, it was because they were. The Jupiter Corporation was ambitious, and highly resourceful, able to provide only the best for its operatives; and it helped that they tended to hire the best.
Thalgan reiterated the importance of their success, dismissing the group to get ready for the attack. He strode across the room, exiting through the sliding glass door that lead to the balcony. He leaned forward with his arms over the railing, hands clasped before him and contemplation flooding his mind. Arrora took the opportunity to walk over, joining him outside. She was silent for a moment, placing her hands on her hips as she looked at the mercenary. The Mandalorian didn't bother to look back at her, his face straight as an arrow.
"You think these people are as bad as the JC says?" she asked. Thalgan shifted his gaze for a moment, inhaling a deep breath. He read the tone in her voice; she wasn't happy. She never was with these missions, but she did them out of necessity. She was, after all, a smuggler by trade, not a chauffeur for bands of guns for hire. Still, he looked up at her, his answer quite brutally honest.
"It's not my job to know that, or to care. I get paid to do a job, and I go through with it. What I think, how I feel, none of that is of any consequence. as long as my pockets are lined I'll do what I have to." His response was unsurprising to hear, but it still caused her to furrow her brow a bit further. "But doesn't it bother you to have to ruin so many lives, to have to cause all this chaos? Don't you ever feel guilty about what you do?" Her voice was beginning to raise a bit, her frustration becoming apparent.
Thalgan turned to her, leaning against the rail as he took her in. She gave him a cold stare. "Sometimes I think you enjoy hurting people. A little too much." He didn't move, and his expression remained stagnant as he continued to look at her. His intake was long, giving him time enough to carefully select his next words.
"I do what I have to in order to cope. If I let my work affect me personally, then I might as well not do it at all. I'm a warrior, Arrora, fighting is what I do; it's what I'm good at. And so, I decided to make money off of what I'm good at. You're asking if I feel remorse for following through with my contracts, if I feel sorrow for taking lives and fracturing livelihoods..." he paused, a weighted sigh overtaking him as he turned back to face the city below from so high above it.
"I can see their faces when I close my eyes, hear their screams when I sleep. Men, women, children; the innocent people I've killed. I'll be haunted by them forever, and there's no stopping that. But if you were ask me if I would do it again?" He looked up into the sky, his eyes gleaming as he stared. "For the right pay, I'd do it a thousand times more." Arrora shook her head, her mouth agape in disbelief. "There's got to be something more important to you than money, Thalgan," she said, "Is that how you measure life? By the number of zeroes on your paycheck?" He turned sharply, pointing a finger at her.
"You took this job too, the same as me. So don't even begin to think about lecturing me on what's more important. We've all got a price, smuggler. Don't forget that." She retorted, "I didn't sign up to perpetuate a chain of massacres. And I sure as shit didn't sign up to slaughter innocent people-"
"Neither did I!" Thalgan exploded, his heart thundering in his chest, fists clenched into perfect clumps of rage. He took a minute to regain his nerve, his eyes cast off to the left a bit to see if anyone inside had heard him lose it; they hadn't. Finally, he was calm enough to speak again, "But it's what I'm stuck with. It's what I have to do to make my way in the world. To survive. If you don't want any part in this, then go. Save yourself before you become something you hate. Before you become a monster."
She held her gaze firm. "This'll be our last job together, Mandalorian. Afterwards, I'm gone." She turned on her heel, opening the door leading inside. She turned her head back towards him. "Maybe someday you'll find something worth fighting for." With that, she left him, moving out of the way for Veshi to join him outside. "It's almost time, Thalgan," he said. The Mandalorian nodded, taking a purposeful breath.
"Let me get my things."
____
The streets of Aether City were starting to clear the closer it got to night. Night for Hera Prime meaning late. One of it's two suns hadn't set, leaving the city lit up even as people went to bed or began their festivities.
A Heran soldier stood at the front gates, stopping men and women who were entering. Asking for identification and what business they had in the city before turning them away or allowing them in.
He turned toward the palace-like structures in the northern part of the city that held the city's infamous aristocrats, a slight twinge of disgust finding it's way onto the soldier's face.
"Identification?" He asked over and over, at least until he rested his eyes on a man clad in black duster and hood. A scarf over his mouth to protect from the sand, and goggles over his eyes to protect them from the same.
"Identification?" The soldier asked, gripping his sidearm. The man extended his hand out, showing off a bounty hunter license. The soldier grabbed it, quickly sliding it through a device on his belt.
There was a loud 'ding', letting him know everything checked out. "Have a good day, hunter." The soldier said, handing the license back.
The bounty hunter continued on his way, sauntering towards the aristocracy's home.
Inside of which stood Fortis and his Rogues. In the middle of a large hall decorated for a party, he looked around at the depraved, sleazy, wealthy idiots he was charged to protect.
"The people will turn on us if you do not take charge. We can not be the only ones out there representing this government." Fortis told them, "And, why is that, Quartermaster?" An aristocrat asked, his body covered in a fine golden toga.
"Because," Fortis began, "there are elements out there that would seek to wrestle control from us, from you, and put you to death. They can't do such a thing without an army, and even then we have the advantage of our own being extremely knowledgeable about warfare here." Fortis explained.
"But, if they turn our own people against us, they can crush us." Fortis added.
The aristocrats seemed as if they were barely listening, which might have been true. It frustrated Fortis and the other Rogues immensely.
"Give the people reasons not to turn. For now, you must leave. We have other matters to attend to." Another aristocrat said. "You disgusting, inbred, degenerates will be the downfall of my home and you don't care." Fortis snarled.
"Quartermaster?"
"Fortis, I suggest you mind your tongue. Otherwise, I will order your comrades to remove it." The first aristocrat threatened.
Pacha stepped up and grabbed Fortis, guiding him towards the exit away from the hall. "In due time, Quartermaster." Pacha said to Fortis, gesturing the other Rogues to follow.
"Soon, I hope." Fortis said, "Let's grab a drink."
"A drink it is." Pacha told him.
____
The approached the main gate, a group of six men, including the armor-clad Mandalorian. All of them were fully equipped, bearing weaponry and fitted armor; they looked as if they were ready for battle. As they neared the entrance, the guard stood firm, ready to confront them should they be looking for a confrontation. Thalgan took the lead, his pulse rifle pointed upward as he pressed it against his shoulder, the grip clenched in his right hand.
As they came upon the gateway, the guard held up a hand. "Identification; and I'm going to need to see permits for all of your weapons," he said, making a point to keep a firm grasp on his own weapon. Thalgan looked about the gate, looking at the sentry posts about the perimeter. They'd be no trouble. Finally, the Mandalorian looked back at the guard through the visor of his helmet.
"Identification," the guard said more pointedly. Thalgan held out a card, passing it over to the guard. "We're here as Crowley's representatives, and were told we wouldn't be bothered by such trifling matters," the mercenary let that sink in a moment before leaning towards the guardsman. "Unless you've got a problem with that?" he said gruffly. The guard shook his head nervously. "N-no! not at all! by all means!" he said, gesturing for the others to open the gates.
Thalgan took the card back, between his index and middle fingers, before slipping it back into the pouch he had procured it from. "Thanks for seeing it our way," he said, brushing past the guard, signaling for the others to follow.
____
A Heran man dressed in an elegant cloak jogged towards Thalgan and his group, he seemed to be nearly out of a breath. A side effect of not being ready for when Crowley's people were supposed to arrive.
"This way." He said, "We've been expecting you. Everyone is ready up in the hall. We are glad you could make it for the party." He continued, gesturing for the group to follow him.
"We have heard great things about Crowley. We do hope we can prosper together."
____
Thalgan regarded the man with a look that seemed a mixture of amusement and contempt; not that the other man would be able to see beyond the dark-tinted visor that covered the mercenary's face. He paused to allow the man to usher them onward, leading them further up the hill and towards the palace.
"Don't hold your breath," Thalgan said under his own, letting the robed figure lead on.
____
"You'll love it here." The welcoming party said, "Aether City is the hub of activity here on Hera Prime. The center of art on the planet." He continued, "And home to some of the best nightlife outside of Hanzai."
He droned on and on about how great Aether City was as they walked, up until they finally arrived at the palace. Several soldiers stood outside the doors. They opened up to reveal the elegant palace. A staircase smack dab in the middle.
"Up the stairs, down the hall. All the way down." The greeter told Thalgan and company, "Unfortunately, I am not allowed inside to join the party."
____
"Excellent," Thalgan responded, shouldering his pulse rifle as he ascended the stairs, the mercenaries following close behind. 'Would probably be for the best if you weren't here anyway,' he thought. As he walked, he glanced about, admiring the various paintings and sculptures that adorned the corridor, the rug under his feet soft; even in his beskar-plated boots he could feel how comfortable it was to stand on.
Reaching the end of the hallway, he stopped short of the doorway leading inside of where the festivities were taking place, taking a moment to compose himself. With a deep breath, he rapped his armored knuckles on the door, thrice in a row, preparing for what was to come next.
____
The doors swung open, revealing a grand hall filled to the brim with the wealthy ruling class of Hera Prime, their servants, delicacies, and drinks. The occasion? Nothing really, they partied hard because they could afford to.
"Welcome!" An aristocrat shouted at Thalgan, "Crowley's people. I thought they would have told you to dress for a party. But, what you have on now will do." He continued, gesturing one of the servants towards the new guests.
"Drink up."
____
As one of the servants made his rounds, Thalgan made a move to swipe one of the cocktails that had been served to him off of an honest-to-God silver platter, the mercenary taking a moment to swirl the drink in his hand, gesturing for the others to fan out. Their weapons at rest, they spread around the room, Veshi being the first to depart, acting as if they were mingling with the crowd.
They were meant to be scouting out the exits, and covering them once they were all located.
The Mandalorian stared into his drink a few more moments before smashing the glass on the ground, taking a few steps forward and scanning the room; the grandiose ballroom was a breeding ground for debauchery and vice, all perpetrated by a population of self-important, pompous bastards who would love nothing more than to fester in a literal stew of their own arrogance and sense of entitlement. The mercenary scowled at the thought of it all, hoping to get this over with as quickly as possible so as to wash his hands of all the filth that permeated in the room.
The idea of slaughtering these people, however, did not itself make him happy; although, he'd probably be doing several hundred thousand people a great service in doing so, which he supposed he could chalk up as a charitable act. However, it was how well the job would line his pockets that made him eager
to pull the trigger. First, however, he had to make an entrance. Glancing about, he noticed his men posted about the area, nonchalant in their collective demeanor, making sure no one got in the room.
Or out.
"Ladies and gentlemen," his voice rang out through the speech module in his helmet, "We have come to you tonight, not only as your most gracious guests of honor, but also as your entertainment." This statement seemed to light up a few faces in the room. Some of the mercs smiled, while the others kept their faces straight, Veshi himself wearing an expression that was heard to read as displeasure or just a sheer act of stoicism. "Allow us to start this night with a bang!" With that, he trained his pulse rifle on the nearest servant, gripping the weapon in one hand, the barrel inches away from the frightened geriatric's face. The Mandalorian pulled the trigger, the gun hurling an ion beam that ripped into the elderly gentleman's visage, sending charred bits of his face and dark-colored blood spattering to the floor. The man's death was not a proud moment, but he had been given explicit orders to leave no witnesses.
The more affluent attendants of the party seemed unperturbed, and eventually took to clapping and cheering. They truly were a band of wicked souls. Their revelry, however, would be cut short once the Mandalorian's weapon turned in their direction.
"You had this coming."
____
"W-what?" One of the aristocrats asked, he and the others raising their hands above their heads. They weren't stupid, despite being cowardly. Maybe they should have asked for help from Fortis and the Rogues. Protection at the very least.
"You're not one of Crowley's, are you?" Another asked, "Crowley would never betray us this way." He said to Thalgan, challenging him.
"Terrorists." He said loudly, "Imposters."
____
The Mandalorian was unsmiling, keeping his gun trained on the guests, both hands firm on his pulse rifle. "Terrorists? Hardly. Just men paid to do a job..." he trailed off, his eyes scanning the room before coming to rest again on the man who had proclaimed them impostors. "Just as well, Crowley's involvement doesn't concern you. All that matters is that your life doesn't."
With that, he unleashed another blast from his rifle, aimed straight at the man's chest, seeking to burn a hole through him, and possibly anyone else standing immediately behind.
____
The death that had come from Thalgan's rifle had done well at causing panic, the dead were barely that way for a second when the others in the room began to rush for every exit and every hiding place they could find.
Unfortunately it was their own design that would trap them. No windows, no big vents, few closed off rooms, and easily secured exits.
The sound of military men rushing to help could be heard, they were stacking up on the doors and preparing to head in. They were waiting for a cue, or the right tools to make an explosive entry.
"Surrender yourselves!" One of the Heran soldiers shouted, "We have you surrounded at this point."
____
The party goers had started to scramble like frightened swine, each of them seeking to make an escape from the nightmare that had just descended upon them, or at the very least attempt to hide from it. All of their efforts proved fruitless, however, as they were met by the various mercenaries posted about the room, each of them covering the exits and residing in the very nooks and crannies the aristocrats had sought for solace.
Rifles trained on the well-dressed inhabitants of the ballroom, the wealthy denizens were rounded up on Thalgan's orders, and brought to the center of the room. It was around this time that other voices had erupted from outside the doors, demanding that the mercenaries cease their attack and surrender themselves to the soldiers outside. Thalgan had ordered a few of the mercenaries to make cover, the men toppling tables and ducking behind them.
It was here that the Mandalorian once again took to grandstanding. Placing his shoulder against the wall nearby the door the soldiers were hailing from, he retorted. "Come now; the lives of these degenerates can't be worth risking your own. And for what? They don't appreciate you, they don't respect you, and they certainly can't be paying very well." As he said this, he readied a thermal detonator for use against his combatants, just in case things got heated.
"What could you possibly have to gain from defending them?"
____
"Quiet!" The lead Heran soldier shouted, looking back at his men to see where their heads were. Everyone knew that the man on the other side of the door had a point. The ruling class was probably dead, so that meant the soldiers were without a government entity.
There were the Rogues, but they were a police force at best. They couldn't run a nation, especially one where they were loathed by many of the common people.
Behind them stood the mysterious bounty hunter, one of the soldiers catching sight of him and turning. The others raised their weapons at the man, unsure of who he was or which side of the conflict he was on.
"You can't win." He said, a chill inexplicably finding it's way around the palace. The soldiers began to lower their weapons one by one, their leader approaching the door again.
"We're laying down our weapons. Open the door."
____
Thalgan turned to Veshi, the silence behind his helmet saying everything it needed to: 'Should we trust them?' Veshi nodded, but kept his own rifle trained on the door, alongside the other mercs. Thalgan took a moment to shoulder his pulse rifle, slinging it onto himself in order to acquire a free hand. Using it to open the door, he took a step back, drawing one of his DE-10 blasters and holding it by his side, and continued to hold the thermal detonator in his right, his arm cocked at a ninety-degree angle. He stepped away from the door, allowing the Heran soldiers to make their next move.
Carefully.
____
The aristocracy's soldiers stepped through the doors, weapons at their sides and hands up as they moved. Maybe they weren't going to fight for their rulers, but they would have fought to make sure someone much worse didn't take control.
These terrorists could have been much worse.
And maybe they were.
"You did well." The bounty hunter said, seemingly speaking to Thalgan and his band as he slipped through the Heran soldiers. He removed his hood and his goggles, revealing short hair and blue eyes. The scarf came next.
Beneath it was the man that sent Thalgan on this job in the first place.
The enigmatic Lochlyn Haley in all his glory walked towards the group of aristocrats that were herded to the center of the room. He was silent as he regarded them, pacing around them slowly like an animal ready to pounce on their prey.
"Elias Crowley rules from now on." He said simply, "Leave his palace and spread word, or join the others in death." He threatened, gesturing for everyone to clear a path towards the exits.
More and more soldiers were arriving, including the Rogues, confused by what they were seeing unfold.
____
Veshi perked up as the mysterious stranger revealed himself to be none other than his boss, Lochlyn. Immediately after seeing his employer's face, he held out his left arm to the side, palm of his hand facing downward. "Hold," he said calmly, prompting the other mercenaries to lower their weapons.
Thalgan kept his blaster pistol by his side, but slowly placed the thermal detonator back into one of the pouches suspended from his belt. Afterward, he looked over at the aristocrats as they began to ease themselves up, shakily, onto their own feet. They tentatively started to make their exit, the full comprehension of the situation unmistakable; they weren't in charge anymore, and any foolish would-be stragglers who thought otherwise would die.
When the pompous ingrates who called themselves the rulers of the city no longer interested him, Thalgan turned his attention to his employer. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" he said, "You don't want me to kill them?"
____
Lochlyn turned to the exit, "Come." He said as he began to walk behind the disposed rulers of Aether City. The soldiers began to follow behind him, some out of curiosity, others out of confusion, and even some because they believed that Elias Crowley was a better leader.
The people of Hera Prime could be heard out in the streets, talking and yelling among themselves in an effort to figure out what was happening. Vehicles and aircraft nearly drowned them out, the sounds of an occupation taking place.
Or a liberation, if they were lucky.
Lochlyn began on his way up more stairs, then down a hallway into a large audience chamber holding dozens of thrones. He strolled by them and pushed open a set of double doors that exposed the city from a balcony.
"Their tyranny has already killed them." He said, pointing down to the streets just outside of the palace. The citizens were taking their chance at revenge, pelting the aristocrats with rocks, pushing them, kicking them, spitting on them.
"They'll be lucky if they make it another block alive."
____
Without a word, the Mandalorian finally holstered his weapon, following his employer through the grand palace that had served as the home to a corrupt ruling elite for far too long. Strolling through the spacious hallways, he looked around in awe at the ornate tapestries and other luxury items that decorated the grandiose pathways.
Stepping into the throne room, he was truly taken aback by just how expensive the construction and furnishing of the entire hall must have cost. Truly, the entire display had been a symbol of the aristocracy's power over the common people, a show of how affluent and how much larger they were than the peasants that existed to serve under their heels.
It was also a symbol of their decadence.
Lochlyn lead the mercenary through the throne room, to a passageway towards the back. Fluidly, the door opened, leading to a balcony that overlooked the mass of Aether City, towering far above the rest of the common rabble. Lochlyn beckoned his employee to cast his gaze towards the crowds below, who were busying themselves with unleashing all of their anger, frustration and dissatisfaction upon their former tormentors. Thalgan looked onward, steeled in the wake of the brutality being carried out against the now-dethroned rulers of Hera Prime. "How the mighty have fallen..." he said humorlessly. He continued to stand by Lochlyn, unsure of why he felt so compelled towards dread; a sinking feeling at the pit of his stomach. He turned towards Lochlyn, who merely held a look on his face that the Mandalorian couldn't quite decide was one of pleasure or contempt, his eyes cast towards the scene below.
"Is watching this part of the job?" he asked rather abruptly.
____
"Watching this is history." Lochlyn told Thalgan, but he figured Thalgan didn't care. Half the men and women in Lochlyn's organization were mercenaries who couldn't care less about what he had to say.
"You may go." Lochlyn said, turning to head back into the throne room. "Andarta will be back within a day with payment. Take this downtime to relax." He said.
Lochlyn sat in one of the thrones, slouching slightly in it as he leaned on it's armrest. "Let the people know that I speak for Crowley. I am Lochlyn Haley." He ordered one of his people, "I'll listen to them all, just make a queue."
____
It was with a peculiar feeling of uneasiness that Thalgan left his employer to his own devices; things were going to be different here now, thanks to Lochlyn. The man was ambitious, and hell-bent on accomplishing any goal he set his mind to.
The Mandalorian couldn't help but wonder where else his ambitions allowed his sights to settle.
Descending the stairs, Thalgan met with Veshi and the rest of the team, all of them watching him expectantly. "How did it go?" the large, enigmatic man asked. Thalgan looked over each of them, the eyes behind his helmet weary and full of doubt. It was lucky for him that none of them could see it. "Prepare to move out. Let's go get paid, gentlemen."
