09-18-2015, 12:03 PM
As the dust settled from the Primes' retaliatory assault and subsequent escape, Boss and Fixer both sat up and gathered themselves. Fixer's leg was badly wounded, but luckily his suit's shielding had at least kept the limb intact. As for his own health, well, it would take more than a flying rock to take Three-Eight out of fight. Reaching into his field kit, Boss jabbed a bacta hypo into his suit's medical tap line. The the blue miracle gel quickly drifted through his veins, soldering shut the fractured ribs and bruised organs that he had sustained from the heavy blow. With a short cough, he hauled himself back to his feet and rushed over to Fixer, applying a similar treatment to the logistics specialist.
"Can you move?" Boss said, his voice focused and betraying nothing of the intense emotions he was feeling right now.
"Agh...yeah, but...I don't think I can fight." Fixer responded, grabbing Boss's offered hand and staggering back onto his feet. His injured leg was in agony, but the bacta treatment was at least addressing the worst of the damage. There would be scars...well...more scars, but the limb would make it. Scorch on the other hand. As they did so, they heard Scorch's forlorn message buzzing in over the comms.
"Get it together Four-Zero, we're not dead yet." Boss said in a harsh tone. Perhaps too harsh for a dying man, but softness and sentimentality would not drag the commando back from the jaws of death. Boss handed Fixer what was left of the field dressing kit and pointed over to where Scorch lay, his arm missing and mutilated chest bleeding weakly from the few places that hadn't been cauterized.
"Get him stabilized." Boss said, picking his rifle up from the ground and checking it for damage. Fixer was slow to respond.
"Boss, I don't know-"
"Fixer. Do what you can."
"...Yes sir."
With that, the green clad commando rushed over to Scorch and pried off the demolitionist's yellow helmet, revealing the foggy eyes that laid within. Even though he shared the same face as the rest of the team (aside from Wings), the man's features were easily recognizable. Clones could tell. In the dark, dusty remains of the warehouse's front room, the only illumination came from the wan blue light cast from the visors of the two other commandos. Scorch looked so distant, so cold from inside the confines of the standard commando helmets...but now was not the time for sentimentality. There was a job to finish. Seven's growling voice booming in over the radio was enough to remind Three-Eight of this.
"Boss. Sit rep."
"Scorch is down, Fixer is hurt. Don't worry about it now. Are you in position?"
"Always."
"Good."
With that, Boss slapped a new energy pack into his assault blaster and charged after the three Primes making their way down the alley. He peeked out the door they had exited through, and scowled at their retreat. No. There would be no escape. With a voice that betrayed only a hint of the emotional torment that Three-Eight was suppressing, he called out to the three convict, while simultaneously arming one of his thermal detonators.
"Hey! Ugly!" he shouted out. All three of the Primes turned around with wide eyes, which widened even further as they saw the brightly gleaming red grenade soaring at them through the air. The alley was cast in a dull grey light from a single lamp overhead, and the primes were backlit by the clearing behind the east side of the building beyond. Boss watched as their silhouettes turned and ran from the ordnance, and a moment later, they were obscured by a plume of violent, fiery destruction.
As Erik, Axorn and Triest dashed out into the open, they barely caught a glimpse of the blue light emanating from Seven's visor on the water cistern a few hundred yards away. In the next instant, there was a hole in Erik Vrell's chest. The psionic Prime fell to the ground, one hand clutching at the through-and-through blaster wound with heavy, wet gasps. His bleary eyes looked up at Triest and Axorn in a questioning manner, searching for a solution or answer to the question which hung in the pregnant silence. Another moment passed, and a blue line of light traced a path through the injured Prime's skull, whereupon he immediately slumped over without another noise. Axorn and Triest had little time to contemplate the gravity of the situation when a relentless hail of blaster fire from Three-Eight's weapon forbade them shelter back within the narrow walls of the alleyway. They needed to move to somewhere, anywhere safe, but cover was scarce and options were limited.
From his perch upon the distant, rusting superstructure of the ancient water tower, Seven refocused the optics on his rifle and began to lead a path on his next target. Primes. They never understood. They would never comprehend. Each trooper killed, every 'toady of the Emperor' slain was a comrade. Father. Mother. Sister...Brother. Seven had just lost a brother, or would very likely soon be without Scorch. The flippant clone had always had a knack for telling pointless jokes, and Seven always had a knack for pointing out the idiocy of such pervasive levity. This was their dynamic, and they had done this exchange since they could form the words to do so. Seven was now bereft of this place in his heart, and the only thing that could rush to fill the void was hatred that he could not yet allow himself to feel to its fullest. There would be a time and a place for that, and it would be after the other two walking punchlines hit the pavement.
"Can you move?" Boss said, his voice focused and betraying nothing of the intense emotions he was feeling right now.
"Agh...yeah, but...I don't think I can fight." Fixer responded, grabbing Boss's offered hand and staggering back onto his feet. His injured leg was in agony, but the bacta treatment was at least addressing the worst of the damage. There would be scars...well...more scars, but the limb would make it. Scorch on the other hand. As they did so, they heard Scorch's forlorn message buzzing in over the comms.
"Get it together Four-Zero, we're not dead yet." Boss said in a harsh tone. Perhaps too harsh for a dying man, but softness and sentimentality would not drag the commando back from the jaws of death. Boss handed Fixer what was left of the field dressing kit and pointed over to where Scorch lay, his arm missing and mutilated chest bleeding weakly from the few places that hadn't been cauterized.
"Get him stabilized." Boss said, picking his rifle up from the ground and checking it for damage. Fixer was slow to respond.
"Boss, I don't know-"
"Fixer. Do what you can."
"...Yes sir."
With that, the green clad commando rushed over to Scorch and pried off the demolitionist's yellow helmet, revealing the foggy eyes that laid within. Even though he shared the same face as the rest of the team (aside from Wings), the man's features were easily recognizable. Clones could tell. In the dark, dusty remains of the warehouse's front room, the only illumination came from the wan blue light cast from the visors of the two other commandos. Scorch looked so distant, so cold from inside the confines of the standard commando helmets...but now was not the time for sentimentality. There was a job to finish. Seven's growling voice booming in over the radio was enough to remind Three-Eight of this.
"Boss. Sit rep."
"Scorch is down, Fixer is hurt. Don't worry about it now. Are you in position?"
"Always."
"Good."
With that, Boss slapped a new energy pack into his assault blaster and charged after the three Primes making their way down the alley. He peeked out the door they had exited through, and scowled at their retreat. No. There would be no escape. With a voice that betrayed only a hint of the emotional torment that Three-Eight was suppressing, he called out to the three convict, while simultaneously arming one of his thermal detonators.
"Hey! Ugly!" he shouted out. All three of the Primes turned around with wide eyes, which widened even further as they saw the brightly gleaming red grenade soaring at them through the air. The alley was cast in a dull grey light from a single lamp overhead, and the primes were backlit by the clearing behind the east side of the building beyond. Boss watched as their silhouettes turned and ran from the ordnance, and a moment later, they were obscured by a plume of violent, fiery destruction.
As Erik, Axorn and Triest dashed out into the open, they barely caught a glimpse of the blue light emanating from Seven's visor on the water cistern a few hundred yards away. In the next instant, there was a hole in Erik Vrell's chest. The psionic Prime fell to the ground, one hand clutching at the through-and-through blaster wound with heavy, wet gasps. His bleary eyes looked up at Triest and Axorn in a questioning manner, searching for a solution or answer to the question which hung in the pregnant silence. Another moment passed, and a blue line of light traced a path through the injured Prime's skull, whereupon he immediately slumped over without another noise. Axorn and Triest had little time to contemplate the gravity of the situation when a relentless hail of blaster fire from Three-Eight's weapon forbade them shelter back within the narrow walls of the alleyway. They needed to move to somewhere, anywhere safe, but cover was scarce and options were limited.
From his perch upon the distant, rusting superstructure of the ancient water tower, Seven refocused the optics on his rifle and began to lead a path on his next target. Primes. They never understood. They would never comprehend. Each trooper killed, every 'toady of the Emperor' slain was a comrade. Father. Mother. Sister...Brother. Seven had just lost a brother, or would very likely soon be without Scorch. The flippant clone had always had a knack for telling pointless jokes, and Seven always had a knack for pointing out the idiocy of such pervasive levity. This was their dynamic, and they had done this exchange since they could form the words to do so. Seven was now bereft of this place in his heart, and the only thing that could rush to fill the void was hatred that he could not yet allow himself to feel to its fullest. There would be a time and a place for that, and it would be after the other two walking punchlines hit the pavement.
Quote:Erik Vrell has been killed and will reincarnate at the Fountain of Infinity in 3 OOC days