07-09-2017, 11:02 PM
Tier Four was, in a manner of words, the wet dream of a science fiction gangster.
The buildings were a little more cramped. The roads were a little more disheveled, and the store fronts a little sadder and downtrodden.
Yet it was the neon that really sold Seventeen on the place.
As they exited the landing craft, the cybernetic warrior paused to adjust the awkwardly formfitting armor he’d received from his senior sergeant. Unlike the shiny white plastic armor of the Stormtroopers, Trixie’s outfit wore something closer to a light tan, and to make matters more pleasant, it had lovely blue accent stripes. Unfortunately, it didn’t fit quite as evenly or cleanly as the man would have hoped for a future-tech military. Was he supposed to be naked under this armor?
Questions for another time.
Adjusting the forearm plates, Seventeen reached behind his back for his assault rifle. When she caught his motion, Trixie shook her head. “We’ll go in cold.” She spoke softly as their ride idled and came to rest on the ground behind them. Up ahead, he could spot the entrance to the prison, and in a twist from normal Coruscant flair, it was clearly a prison. There was a lovely mesh gate, sentry guns, and a pair of giant steel doors. “This should be routine. In and out. No need to draw any extra attention from the locals.”
“Not fans of your kind?” Seventeen asked as he glanced around. He could spot a few people glimpsing in on the scene from behind window curtains or down alleys.
“Fans of our kind,” Trixie corrected, although only an idiot wouldn’t be able to tell she experienced no joy in that statement. Even concealed behind the visor of her helmet, Seventeen could hear the undertones in her voice that hinted at something buried below the surface. Was Trixie a malcontent? Her cryptic remarks and her general attitude only augmented the aura of mystery around the woman.
And why the fuck does she look younger than she did when I met her? Don’t tell me that’s all makeup, bro.
“Ten-four,” Seventeen muttered beneath his breath as he followed the woman up to the fence.
Leaning toward a small callback, Trixie depressed the switch and spoke clearly to whoever worked the comm at the facility. “Staff Sergeant Beatrix Zulenka with the 13th Legion, ISF. They should have radioed ahead to notify you of my arrival.”
There were a few moments of static before a voice replied. “Who is that with you?”
Trixie’s features twisted up into a scowl behind her helmet as she thumbed the button. “That’s Sergeant Seventeen… 13th Legion, ISF. He was onboarded within the last thirty-six hours, but they said all his papers would be in order.”
Silence. “One second, Ma’am. We’ll need to call up to your HQ.”
The Staff Sergeant actually growled upon hearing that, and this time she nearly punched through the call button. “I’m running a squad that operates on fumes. My fucking bullets are recycled. My damned ship needed a fresh paint job three weeks back. Don’t fucking tell me to wait out in this fucking shithole. Opening the door before I tear it apart.”
Another linger pause filled with static.
Beep!
The gate in front of the pair of soldiers whirred and groaned as it rolled open for them. Trixie, smiling and feeling just the slightest bit of catharsis, motioned for her sergeant to follow her as they traversed the small ‘front yard’ on their way to the front door.
The twosome made it almost to the entrance when their transport ship was blown into forty-seven sizzling chunks by an improvised plasma rocket. Thrown to their faces by the shockwave, Trixie and Seventeen wrapped their arms over their heads as the quartet of sentry guns whirred to life and started to spew ionized, armor-piercing bullets at a rate of eighty rounds per minute.
“Keep your head low!” This time, Trixie’s voice exited from a speaker on the inside of Seventeen’s own helmet.
There was a whoosh of hot air that passed over Seventeen’s head and claimed the life of one of the guns, splashing the pair with fragments of shrapnel. Fortunately for them both, the heat had softened the metal, which clung to their armor rather than cut through. There would be scorch marks, but that was better than the alternative.
“Come on!” A voice screamed from the outside world as the pair lifted their heads to see that one of the giant metal doors had been swung open for them. A helmetless stormtrooper waved for them to get up off their asses and into the heavily fortified facility. “I can’t wait all fucking day, you know!”
“Go!” Trixie barked as she popped up off the ground just high enough to get her legs under her lithe body and spring forward into the prison. A little less graceful than his partner-slash-superior, Seventeen scraped his knee and one of his palms on some metal fragments before throwing himself over the threshold of the prison. The door slammed shut just as a second sentry gun was blown apart by artillery.
“Thank you,” Trixie had pulled her helmet off, but when she turned to thank the man, she realized that he was already gone from this world. Over a dozen bullets had left a diagonal trail of death across the man’s midsection. The eyes were empty, so he had been spared the agony by a few bullets crashing through his heart.
“Son of a bitch,” Trixie muttered as she slipped the helmet back over her head and tried to access the comm wavelength for the prison. Her sidearm was primed by the time she found the correct frequency. “Hello, is anyone there? Over.”
Seventeen, who had enough experience with HUDs from his lifetime of having a computer in his heart, joined her and waited for the panicked response that neither of them wanted to here.
“Prison has been compromised. Repeat. Prison has been compromised. Integrity has been lost in at least five different sectors.”
Trixie turned to her sergeant. “That means the outer walls have been breached in almost half a dozen different spots.” The woman glanced around the area and gestured Seventeen to follow her into a nearby guard room. She tried to speak to the man as she moved. “I’m with the 13th,” she barked as both of them heard gunshots and energy blasts on the other side of the comm. “Can you provide any other details? Are the prisoners secure?”
“Negative. Prisoners are being freed across the facility. The armor has fallen. Get the fuck out of her if you can. They will have to send in the heavies… it’s useless. I’m really scared. This was just supposed to be a desk job, you know?”
Trixie didn’t speak into the comm. “Send the heavies to Tier 4? Likely fucking story. They’ll just blame this on someone and sweep it under the rug.” She forced open the door and slipped into the guard checkpoint. “Can you give me more details? Where are they coming from?
“I-I-I don’t know… I’m just so scared. They didn’t prepare us for this in boot camp. My friends are dead. I just had breakfast with Johnny yesterday, and I watched a prisoner kill him with a metal bar. I j-j-just can’t handle this.”
Seventeen saw Trixie’s form actually twitch, so he beat her to the punch. “Hey, Pal, just relax, okay? My name is Seventeen, and that was Trix. You know, like the cereal?” There was silence, but that was better than the man having a panic attack. “We’re going to come and lend a hand, but we need you to calm down and help us, all right? You never told us your name?”
“Private Steven Jenson, Sir. I d-d-don’t know how I can help.”
Trixie, understanding the intention of the cyborg’s calm demeanor, took over. “Private Jenson, can you transfer schematics for this facility to me? We need to know what’s going on if we’re going to help out you and anyone else stuck in this hellhole.”
“Schematics?”
“And records,” Trixie asked. “Prison rosters. Cell assignments. Anything and everything.” It was then that Seventeen remembered they had their own reason for being in this place. They needed to make sure one of the criminals never saw the light of day again.
“Okay, I can forward you the encryption information, but you’ll need to find a terminal.”
Trixie, who was standing right next to a terminal, smiled behind her helmet. “Ready when you are, Private Jenson.”
The buildings were a little more cramped. The roads were a little more disheveled, and the store fronts a little sadder and downtrodden.
Yet it was the neon that really sold Seventeen on the place.
As they exited the landing craft, the cybernetic warrior paused to adjust the awkwardly formfitting armor he’d received from his senior sergeant. Unlike the shiny white plastic armor of the Stormtroopers, Trixie’s outfit wore something closer to a light tan, and to make matters more pleasant, it had lovely blue accent stripes. Unfortunately, it didn’t fit quite as evenly or cleanly as the man would have hoped for a future-tech military. Was he supposed to be naked under this armor?
Questions for another time.
Adjusting the forearm plates, Seventeen reached behind his back for his assault rifle. When she caught his motion, Trixie shook her head. “We’ll go in cold.” She spoke softly as their ride idled and came to rest on the ground behind them. Up ahead, he could spot the entrance to the prison, and in a twist from normal Coruscant flair, it was clearly a prison. There was a lovely mesh gate, sentry guns, and a pair of giant steel doors. “This should be routine. In and out. No need to draw any extra attention from the locals.”
“Not fans of your kind?” Seventeen asked as he glanced around. He could spot a few people glimpsing in on the scene from behind window curtains or down alleys.
“Fans of our kind,” Trixie corrected, although only an idiot wouldn’t be able to tell she experienced no joy in that statement. Even concealed behind the visor of her helmet, Seventeen could hear the undertones in her voice that hinted at something buried below the surface. Was Trixie a malcontent? Her cryptic remarks and her general attitude only augmented the aura of mystery around the woman.
And why the fuck does she look younger than she did when I met her? Don’t tell me that’s all makeup, bro.
“Ten-four,” Seventeen muttered beneath his breath as he followed the woman up to the fence.
Leaning toward a small callback, Trixie depressed the switch and spoke clearly to whoever worked the comm at the facility. “Staff Sergeant Beatrix Zulenka with the 13th Legion, ISF. They should have radioed ahead to notify you of my arrival.”
There were a few moments of static before a voice replied. “Who is that with you?”
Trixie’s features twisted up into a scowl behind her helmet as she thumbed the button. “That’s Sergeant Seventeen… 13th Legion, ISF. He was onboarded within the last thirty-six hours, but they said all his papers would be in order.”
Silence. “One second, Ma’am. We’ll need to call up to your HQ.”
The Staff Sergeant actually growled upon hearing that, and this time she nearly punched through the call button. “I’m running a squad that operates on fumes. My fucking bullets are recycled. My damned ship needed a fresh paint job three weeks back. Don’t fucking tell me to wait out in this fucking shithole. Opening the door before I tear it apart.”
Another linger pause filled with static.
Beep!
The gate in front of the pair of soldiers whirred and groaned as it rolled open for them. Trixie, smiling and feeling just the slightest bit of catharsis, motioned for her sergeant to follow her as they traversed the small ‘front yard’ on their way to the front door.
The twosome made it almost to the entrance when their transport ship was blown into forty-seven sizzling chunks by an improvised plasma rocket. Thrown to their faces by the shockwave, Trixie and Seventeen wrapped their arms over their heads as the quartet of sentry guns whirred to life and started to spew ionized, armor-piercing bullets at a rate of eighty rounds per minute.
“Keep your head low!” This time, Trixie’s voice exited from a speaker on the inside of Seventeen’s own helmet.
There was a whoosh of hot air that passed over Seventeen’s head and claimed the life of one of the guns, splashing the pair with fragments of shrapnel. Fortunately for them both, the heat had softened the metal, which clung to their armor rather than cut through. There would be scorch marks, but that was better than the alternative.
“Come on!” A voice screamed from the outside world as the pair lifted their heads to see that one of the giant metal doors had been swung open for them. A helmetless stormtrooper waved for them to get up off their asses and into the heavily fortified facility. “I can’t wait all fucking day, you know!”
“Go!” Trixie barked as she popped up off the ground just high enough to get her legs under her lithe body and spring forward into the prison. A little less graceful than his partner-slash-superior, Seventeen scraped his knee and one of his palms on some metal fragments before throwing himself over the threshold of the prison. The door slammed shut just as a second sentry gun was blown apart by artillery.
“Thank you,” Trixie had pulled her helmet off, but when she turned to thank the man, she realized that he was already gone from this world. Over a dozen bullets had left a diagonal trail of death across the man’s midsection. The eyes were empty, so he had been spared the agony by a few bullets crashing through his heart.
“Son of a bitch,” Trixie muttered as she slipped the helmet back over her head and tried to access the comm wavelength for the prison. Her sidearm was primed by the time she found the correct frequency. “Hello, is anyone there? Over.”
Seventeen, who had enough experience with HUDs from his lifetime of having a computer in his heart, joined her and waited for the panicked response that neither of them wanted to here.
“Prison has been compromised. Repeat. Prison has been compromised. Integrity has been lost in at least five different sectors.”
Trixie turned to her sergeant. “That means the outer walls have been breached in almost half a dozen different spots.” The woman glanced around the area and gestured Seventeen to follow her into a nearby guard room. She tried to speak to the man as she moved. “I’m with the 13th,” she barked as both of them heard gunshots and energy blasts on the other side of the comm. “Can you provide any other details? Are the prisoners secure?”
“Negative. Prisoners are being freed across the facility. The armor has fallen. Get the fuck out of her if you can. They will have to send in the heavies… it’s useless. I’m really scared. This was just supposed to be a desk job, you know?”
Trixie didn’t speak into the comm. “Send the heavies to Tier 4? Likely fucking story. They’ll just blame this on someone and sweep it under the rug.” She forced open the door and slipped into the guard checkpoint. “Can you give me more details? Where are they coming from?
“I-I-I don’t know… I’m just so scared. They didn’t prepare us for this in boot camp. My friends are dead. I just had breakfast with Johnny yesterday, and I watched a prisoner kill him with a metal bar. I j-j-just can’t handle this.”
Seventeen saw Trixie’s form actually twitch, so he beat her to the punch. “Hey, Pal, just relax, okay? My name is Seventeen, and that was Trix. You know, like the cereal?” There was silence, but that was better than the man having a panic attack. “We’re going to come and lend a hand, but we need you to calm down and help us, all right? You never told us your name?”
“Private Steven Jenson, Sir. I d-d-don’t know how I can help.”
Trixie, understanding the intention of the cyborg’s calm demeanor, took over. “Private Jenson, can you transfer schematics for this facility to me? We need to know what’s going on if we’re going to help out you and anyone else stuck in this hellhole.”
“Schematics?”
“And records,” Trixie asked. “Prison rosters. Cell assignments. Anything and everything.” It was then that Seventeen remembered they had their own reason for being in this place. They needed to make sure one of the criminals never saw the light of day again.
“Okay, I can forward you the encryption information, but you’ll need to find a terminal.”
Trixie, who was standing right next to a terminal, smiled behind her helmet. “Ready when you are, Private Jenson.”
![[Image: 17.jpg]](http://omniverse-rpg.com/images/17.jpg)