The jedi—what the fuck is a jedi?—was dead.
In fact, she was extremely dead, since the cyborg’s noncom had shoved some kind of weird teleporter down the convict’s throat. With their target dead, the 13th Legion had taken that moment to swoop down from the shattered roof of the facility like the awful and terrible cavalry that they were.
With two of the transporters crashing down through what was left of the roof, the largest one dropped down a few yards away from Seventeen. A group of stormtroopers marched out from the ramp, and behind them, the familiar armored figure of Lieutenant Skleros materialized. The commanding officer, her yellow paint accents looking fresh amid all the drab of the prison, turned to Seventeen. “Where is Staff Sergeant Zulenka?”
Was this the part where he saluted?
I’m awful at this gig.
“She’s over there,” he muttered as he jerked his head toward the collapsed wall. “I mean… over there, Ma’am!” At that, the raven-haired warrior stamped his boots onto the ground and snapped off the meanest salute he could muster. Although she was wrapped in armor that concealed her actual physical features, the cyborg could almost feel the woman’s eyes burning holes through him as he stared at her with a goofy grin smeared on his dirty face.
Stepping passed the sergeant, the lieutenant took a few steps toward the rubble just as it toppled to the side to reveal a scowling Beatrix Zulenka. “Got your call, Staff Sergeant Zulenka.”
“Yea,” Trixie muttered as she brushed some dust and particulate from her arms and chest. “A bit fucking late with your arrival… Ma’am.”
Bianca Skleros popped her helmet off and handed it to one of her adjuncts. Without the plastic stormtrooper face, her very clear discomfort was laid bare for the pair of primes. “We’re dealing with some shit, Trixie.” She turned to glance at Seventeen, who had taken that moment to remove his helmet and dangle it at his waist. “You and the activities of your new friend over there attracted you some attention.”
“What kind of attention?” Trixie inquired.
“I don’t know if one of you had a tracker left on you, or if these people were just that good.”
“What went down?” The staff sergeant demanded, her already low reserves of patience running on little more than fumes.
“They hit your home,” Lieutenant Skerlos responded. “Not sure if they were Rebels, run-of-the-mill thugs, or some upstart terrorism cell. Either way, they ransacked the place. Not only did they destroy much of it, but they also infected your system. The whole thing was corrupted—the AI and everything. What wasn’t completely ravaged had to be destroyed by our sweep team.”
“Nova? Aisha?” Trixie’s voice had lost some of its fervor, and Seventeen noticed that his nomcom’s shoulders seemed to sag a little.
“They’re okay. We’ve secured the place, and they are being treated by medical staff. You should come with us, we’ll take you there.”
Peeling off her damaged helmet, Trixie jogged toward the transport. After dumping the expensive piece of tech on the floor of the vessel, she dropped into one of the seats and slipped the harness over her body. From the faraway look in her eye and the mechanical nature of her movements, it was obvious that the woman’s body was running more on muscle memory. For her part, Lieutenant Skleros had flashes of concern on her face as she turned back to face the sergeant.
“I know now is probably not the opportune time, but the two of you are receiving commendation medals from High Command. I’m not really sure how you got wind that this raid was about to happen, but you saved lives here. A lot of these criminals had links to gangs on Tier 4 and black market ops on Tier 5.”
“I think Trixie has a contact or something,” Seventeen lied. The woman had told him this was a ‘mission,’ but who the hell had sent her on it if not her command officer?
In silence, Seventeen boarded the armored transport and strapped himself into a seat across from his noncom. The woman glanced up from the floor and gave him a simple nod—a silent acclamation for a job well down.
“Who’s Nova? She’s the blond lady, right? A friend?” The cyborg asked, hoping to prevent Trixie from drifting into a state of complete shellshock.
“A very close friend,” the redhead replied as she momentarily glanced up at her companion. The look on the woman’s face and the tone of her voice relayed the true closeness of her friendship with Nova.
Ahhh. That revelation brought a frown to Seventeen’s face. It was hard to have a loved one suffer and nearly die. In his old world, he had watched the mother of his children die not once, twice, but three fucking times. Each of those times, she had died in his arms, her eyes pleading with him to save her. After her last ‘recovery’ from death, Paige had become pregnant, and the entire relationship had gone to hell after that. A unique and beautiful creature imbued with powers beyond her born facilities, normal human hormones served as the tipping point.
It got better after the twins were born, but even then, Seventeen had noticed something different in the eyes of his children’s mother. The tension at the mansion was still there, and they struggled to stay madly in love with the wail of children and the scent of soiled diapers.
In many ways, that had been the closest to a normal life that Seventeen had ever known.
Who would have thought that glimpse at normality would have broken him so thoroughly? He went off at the first sign of galactic attacks and died. He came back, masquerading as a living person, for a few more months before he ran off to die in one of Karl Jak’s freak show contests. He’d spent four years drowning himself in training regimens, content to watch the world spin on its own. If not for the Stallions, he probably would still be alternating his time between the Kai’s dojo and the golf course.
Minoshia probably still sucks at golf.
With a sigh, Seventeen rested his hands on his knees. This place ain’t all that different from home…
Glancing out a small window on the side of the transport, Seventeen watched the neon lights of Tier 4 faded into the haze of the city as they made their way up toward the next level of the city. An eta on the cockpit told him they’d be at their destination in under ten minutes. While he had very little actual investment in the woman’s base of operations, he understood the pain she had to feel at knowing that what she had built up had been broken to pieces.
That was a familiar pain for the machine-hybrid—one that even a few years of fighting cosmic martial artists couldn’t satiate.
In fact, she was extremely dead, since the cyborg’s noncom had shoved some kind of weird teleporter down the convict’s throat. With their target dead, the 13th Legion had taken that moment to swoop down from the shattered roof of the facility like the awful and terrible cavalry that they were.
With two of the transporters crashing down through what was left of the roof, the largest one dropped down a few yards away from Seventeen. A group of stormtroopers marched out from the ramp, and behind them, the familiar armored figure of Lieutenant Skleros materialized. The commanding officer, her yellow paint accents looking fresh amid all the drab of the prison, turned to Seventeen. “Where is Staff Sergeant Zulenka?”
Was this the part where he saluted?
I’m awful at this gig.
“She’s over there,” he muttered as he jerked his head toward the collapsed wall. “I mean… over there, Ma’am!” At that, the raven-haired warrior stamped his boots onto the ground and snapped off the meanest salute he could muster. Although she was wrapped in armor that concealed her actual physical features, the cyborg could almost feel the woman’s eyes burning holes through him as he stared at her with a goofy grin smeared on his dirty face.
Stepping passed the sergeant, the lieutenant took a few steps toward the rubble just as it toppled to the side to reveal a scowling Beatrix Zulenka. “Got your call, Staff Sergeant Zulenka.”
“Yea,” Trixie muttered as she brushed some dust and particulate from her arms and chest. “A bit fucking late with your arrival… Ma’am.”
Bianca Skleros popped her helmet off and handed it to one of her adjuncts. Without the plastic stormtrooper face, her very clear discomfort was laid bare for the pair of primes. “We’re dealing with some shit, Trixie.” She turned to glance at Seventeen, who had taken that moment to remove his helmet and dangle it at his waist. “You and the activities of your new friend over there attracted you some attention.”
“What kind of attention?” Trixie inquired.
“I don’t know if one of you had a tracker left on you, or if these people were just that good.”
“What went down?” The staff sergeant demanded, her already low reserves of patience running on little more than fumes.
“They hit your home,” Lieutenant Skerlos responded. “Not sure if they were Rebels, run-of-the-mill thugs, or some upstart terrorism cell. Either way, they ransacked the place. Not only did they destroy much of it, but they also infected your system. The whole thing was corrupted—the AI and everything. What wasn’t completely ravaged had to be destroyed by our sweep team.”
“Nova? Aisha?” Trixie’s voice had lost some of its fervor, and Seventeen noticed that his nomcom’s shoulders seemed to sag a little.
“They’re okay. We’ve secured the place, and they are being treated by medical staff. You should come with us, we’ll take you there.”
Peeling off her damaged helmet, Trixie jogged toward the transport. After dumping the expensive piece of tech on the floor of the vessel, she dropped into one of the seats and slipped the harness over her body. From the faraway look in her eye and the mechanical nature of her movements, it was obvious that the woman’s body was running more on muscle memory. For her part, Lieutenant Skleros had flashes of concern on her face as she turned back to face the sergeant.
“I know now is probably not the opportune time, but the two of you are receiving commendation medals from High Command. I’m not really sure how you got wind that this raid was about to happen, but you saved lives here. A lot of these criminals had links to gangs on Tier 4 and black market ops on Tier 5.”
“I think Trixie has a contact or something,” Seventeen lied. The woman had told him this was a ‘mission,’ but who the hell had sent her on it if not her command officer?
In silence, Seventeen boarded the armored transport and strapped himself into a seat across from his noncom. The woman glanced up from the floor and gave him a simple nod—a silent acclamation for a job well down.
“Who’s Nova? She’s the blond lady, right? A friend?” The cyborg asked, hoping to prevent Trixie from drifting into a state of complete shellshock.
“A very close friend,” the redhead replied as she momentarily glanced up at her companion. The look on the woman’s face and the tone of her voice relayed the true closeness of her friendship with Nova.
Ahhh. That revelation brought a frown to Seventeen’s face. It was hard to have a loved one suffer and nearly die. In his old world, he had watched the mother of his children die not once, twice, but three fucking times. Each of those times, she had died in his arms, her eyes pleading with him to save her. After her last ‘recovery’ from death, Paige had become pregnant, and the entire relationship had gone to hell after that. A unique and beautiful creature imbued with powers beyond her born facilities, normal human hormones served as the tipping point.
It got better after the twins were born, but even then, Seventeen had noticed something different in the eyes of his children’s mother. The tension at the mansion was still there, and they struggled to stay madly in love with the wail of children and the scent of soiled diapers.
In many ways, that had been the closest to a normal life that Seventeen had ever known.
Who would have thought that glimpse at normality would have broken him so thoroughly? He went off at the first sign of galactic attacks and died. He came back, masquerading as a living person, for a few more months before he ran off to die in one of Karl Jak’s freak show contests. He’d spent four years drowning himself in training regimens, content to watch the world spin on its own. If not for the Stallions, he probably would still be alternating his time between the Kai’s dojo and the golf course.
Minoshia probably still sucks at golf.
With a sigh, Seventeen rested his hands on his knees. This place ain’t all that different from home…
Glancing out a small window on the side of the transport, Seventeen watched the neon lights of Tier 4 faded into the haze of the city as they made their way up toward the next level of the city. An eta on the cockpit told him they’d be at their destination in under ten minutes. While he had very little actual investment in the woman’s base of operations, he understood the pain she had to feel at knowing that what she had built up had been broken to pieces.
That was a familiar pain for the machine-hybrid—one that even a few years of fighting cosmic martial artists couldn’t satiate.
![[Image: 17.jpg]](http://omniverse-rpg.com/images/17.jpg)