Sense and Sensibility and Stormtroopers (PvP)

[Handsome Jack]

Fuck that hurt! Little bastard has more life in him than I thought. I push myself from the now quite toasty concrete floor and peer about through the smoke and flame, scanning for my target. Doesn't take me long to spot him over by the elevator, and he just as quickly locks onto me.

Guy's got a lot of life in him for a dude who just got done fighting someone. He immediately dashes forward, his sword held ready to skewer me like a bug kabob. And with all the damage I took during our last scuffle, I REALLY ain't feeling getting in too close with the guy. Unfortunately, the alternative is losing him in this haze, so I grit my beak and strengthen my arms with some ki just in time to deflect a thrust which woulda gave me a little more than a belly button.

Goddamn, the guy’s strong. If I wasn't so damn quick, I'd be skewered already. As it is, I'm barely keeping his blade away with my hardened carapace. Hell, Seventeen’s tougher than me too. STILL don't know how he managed to tank my Kamehameha withouta damn scratch; gonna hafta look into THAT later. But unfortunately for him… five weapons beat one.

Ducking under a powerful slash, I raise my hands in front of me and shout those timeless words: “WOLF FANG FIST!”

Oh, the dude tries to fend me off: I'll give him that. But his mistake was trying to take me in close combat. I ‘learned’ from the best. Goku. Vegeta. Piccolo. And, in this case, it was Yamcha giving me the upperhand. Seventeen manages to avoid a few hits here and there, but my lightning quick flurry of blows is just too much for him to handle. I finish it off with a kick to his gut that sends him staggering back.

“You might ass well jusst let me eatcha,” I say condescendingly as I approach the wary Seventeen. The bastard really WAS tough. My attack had barely left him winded. “Cuz even if you beat me… even if you manage to esscape, thiss won't be the end.”

The Android's eyes light up in realization as I speak. There's no fear in those eyes, just a sort of weary resignation.

“That'ss right, brother,” I cackle sinisterly, hands held to my sides. “I won't resst until you've become a part of me. And, therefore, YOU won't resst. Well… not ssoundly anyway… You'll alwayss hafta wonder whether I'm nearby… whether I'm gonna sstrike ass ssoon ass you drop your guard. Let me eatcha now and it'ss all over. Quick and painlesss.”

With a feigned sigh of regret, I continue, “But keep sstruggling againsst fate… well, in the end I'll sstill get what I want and all you'll get iss ssome ssleeplesss nightss and a whole lot of unnecccesssary sstresss. Sso… whaddya ssay, pal? Quick and eassy, or sslow and painful. It'ss up to you.”

Taking his blade in both hands, Seventeen slides his feet apart and fixes me with a steely glare.

“You know,” he begins. “As much as that whole scenario would suck, I'm going to have to decline again. Sorry, Celly, but getting eaten just ain't my style.”

My exasperated sigh isn't feigned this time, a scowl pulling down my beak.

“That'ss it then. I TRIED to give ya a chancce, but you jusst HAFTA be difficult, don'tcha? Well, no more Misster Nicce Ccell! Drinkss are off, and I ain't coming to your birthday party no more!”

A ball of ki forms in each of my palms, and I point them at my target as Seventeen makes a sarcastic comment about how he's devastated that we're not friends anymore. Damn, the guy is infuriating…

With a shout, I launch a volley of ki blasts at the Android. Fire. Explosions. All that cool jazz. My rapid fire attack left him no room to evade, and I can't help but to grin as I cease my attack. I don't care HOW tough the guy is, he's gonna be feeling… that… one….

As the smoke clears, I catch sight of Seventeen. And his green bubble of energy. Not a single blast got through. A fiery rage bubbles up from my gut and my shout drowns out the sound of fire and his wry snickering. I force the last dregs of my energy to my hands and snarl, “Nicce trick, but let'ss ssee how it handless THISS!”

As the last word leaves my beak, I launch a molten beam of ki at Seventeen and his shield.

760 according to Google Docs
Seventeen attacked with Power Sword. I blocked with Deflection
I used Wolf Fang Fist on Seventeen followed by a monologue.
Used Rapid Fire Ki Blasts, which Seventeen blocked with his Ki Barrier.
Finished off with a T1 Super Attack: Super Ki Beam(Nameless).
0/3 SP remaining.
3/3 Posts complete.

[Android 17]

The initial onslaught had caused the walls of the barrier to waver, but they held strong after the peppering of ki blasts.  When the haze had settled enough for Seventeen to see that the bio-android was charging another attack, he felt something in his stomach twist up as the sparkling beam screamed across the grayscale hanger.

Slamming into the shield, the beam met a flicker of resistance.  It was just enough for the cyborg to crisscross his forearms in front of his face and tense as the barrier failed.  A moment later, he was slammed through the thin steel wall at the rear of the hanger and discarded onto the floor of the machine shop like last year’s engine model.  The smell of his singed flesh tickled at his nostrils as the cyborg used his elbows rather than his hands to help push up off the metal surface.  Every part of his body hurt.  The adrenaline that had burned and surged through his system during and after his fight with Might had long since dried up.  Whatever reserves he may have had were likewise expended.

With a sense that the end was drawing closer, Cell casually strode across the hanger and stepped up onto the ruined chunk of the wall.  Clutching at the ceiling with one of his hands, he narrowed his eyes and smirked at the skinny little pale man struggling to remain upright.  “Sseventeen, thiss iss the end, can’t you ssee?  You jusst don’t have it in you to sstand in the path of perfection.”

Extending a trembling hand, the cyborg willed an I-beam into his hand, but instead of holding it as a weapon, he used it like a cane to allow him the support he needed to glare defiantly at his adversary.

“Sso sscary,” Cell snickered as he held out his free hand and charged a ki blast.  “You gonna tell me to get off your lawn?  Maybe call me a gook while you’re at it?”

Seventeen laughed just a little bit—enough to cause the bio-android to tilt his head.

“You’re a lot more convincing when you’re not st-st-stuttering like the kid in the back of the classroom.”  With that, the machine-hybrid jerked a hand forward and tossed the beam at Cell, who scowled before blasting the four-foot shaft of metal into a few dozen pieces.  As the smoldering metal pieces struck the ground with wet thumps, Seventeen reached out a hand and willed his sword back to him from the adjacent room.  He and Cell exchanged another salvo that left both of them diving to the wayside to avoid shots to the face.

Landing a little too awkwardly against a wing and his shoulder, Cell winced but ignored the pain.  He was so close to taking that first step toward perfection.  Nothing would deter the tunnel vision he had set upon his target.  Rising to his feet, he caught Seventeen lurching toward the opposing wall.  There was clear and distinct laboriousness to the cyborg’s movements that made him seem much like a wounded gazelle trying to flee from the pride of lions steadily encircling him.

“Not sso fasst,” Cell barked as he jumped forward and rushed his prey.  A blast caught Seventeen in the back of the foot, but as the cyborg fell, he maintained the force of will to release a quick burst that caught his foe in the left shoulder.  More stunned than scorched, Cell glared at the pillars of smoke that curled up from his shoulder and managed to charge half of a stronger attack before Seventeen teleported through the wall.  “Sson of a…”

Although he was favoring his left leg, Seventeen grabbed hold of the railing and managed to descend the stairwell without losing his balance and landing headfirst on the landing down below.  Like a shark who smelled blood in the ocean, Cell was quickly upon him, even if the damaged door provided a momentary delay in the bio-android’s pursuit.  By the time Seventeen had forced his way through the door at the bottom of the stairwell, Cell came crashing through to the top of the landing.  He screeched some form of insult or witty comment on the situation, but the machine-hybrid blocked it from his mind as he stumbled into an office complex.

With the Power Sword as his final lifeline, the cyborg glance at the sea of cubicles.  They were higher than your standard office—nearly reaching the ceiling in most places.  At this level of bureaucracy, the empire didn’t want to risk productivity by letting people easily share memes or funny videos over short office barriers.  Unlike the fabric panels of Earth’s cube farms, the dividers were steel.

Cell kicked open the formerly locked stairwell door and glanced over at the cyborg.  “You didn’t get far, did you?”

Seventeen threw out a hand and fired a quick beam of energy.  The bio-android scowled as he beat aside the attack, and although he tensed at the sight of his opponent tossing forward his other hand, the second scintillating sphere soared high.  It soared so high it exploded against one of the sprinkler heads and set off the entire floor’s fire deterrent systems.  In rapid succession, the overhead sprinklers sputtered once or twice before they opened up with a steady deluge.

“All thosse poor computers.  What will happen to the TPS reportss?”  Cell sneered as the cyborg moved into attack him.  A few glancing blows caught the insectoid here and there, but he was quickly able to send Seventeen wobbling backwards with an errant palm to the chest.  Instead of moving in to attack once more, Seventeen took a few steps back into the downpour, and it was then that Cell realized the intention of the sprinkler system.

The water muddled what was already a drab and barely discernable grayscale world.  Seventeen, with his ki sense, moved seamlessly through the obscuring haze behind his adversary and caught Cell in the shoulder blades with a concentrated blast of ki.

1000 words according to MS Word

[Android 17]

Cell absorbed the blast and staggered forward.  He threw out a hand to catch himself before he crashed against one of the cubicle walls.  Spinning around, the bio-android ducked as a sword blade swung over his crouched head and scrapped against the steel barrier.  A beat later, he sprung up and smacked his face into his adversary’s nose.

Seventeen, blood dribbling down his face, dropped back into the haze as his opponent stepped forward and snickered.  The insect held out a hand and started to charge an energy attack.  As his palm started to glow yellow, he clenched his fingers and continued to focus additional ki between his fingers. Before a retaliatory strike from the waterlogged cyborg could unfold against him, Cell chucked the blast and pursued it as it streamed through the room.

The machine-hybrid, essentially following through on the script, avoided the initial attack but quickly realized that he had shifted right into the path on the on-coming Cell.  With a dull thud, the green insect slammed into the scrawny, blood-stained man and pinned him up against a wall.  “I caught the fly,” he whispered as his tail shot forward.  Seventeen swallowed a scream as the blade-like tip of Cell’s tail buried itself into his side.  “Normally, thiss iss the drinking part, but I’m not here for drinking.  Yourss is a finer meal than that.”

“Lovely,” the cyborg groaned as he pressed a palm against his attacker’s face to try and shove him away.  His other hand, still gripping the sword, angled the blade at Cell’s shoulder and managed to catch a chunk of his foe’s chitin-like hide.  With a growl, the insect wrenched his weaponized tail out and latched both his hands around Seventeen’s throat in an attempt to squeeze the life from his adversary.  The cyborg, who didn’t really need to breath, played along in the act for just a few seconds until he found the window he needed to drive the sword up into Cell’s armpit.

Unable to slice through much of the monster’s insides, Seventeen had to remain satisfied with only the twisted expression of shock on Cell’s countenance.  The six digits clenched around the cyborg’s neck relaxed their grip as the wiry man pointed a finger gun at his foe’s face.  There was a flash, and then Cell found himself stumbling backwards and clasping his palm over a neat hole in his left cheek.  Despite his injuries, this Seventeen failed to give up and resign himself to his fate.  Instead, the scrawny cyborg threw himself at the bio-android, and after freeing his sword, he tried to bring it to bear on Cell’s face—his face!

Slipping free as the Power Sword clashed angrily with the steel floor of the office, Cell made eye contact with Seventeen just before the rain obscured the space between the two of them.  There was a mad desperation in those eyes.  The gazelle had gone rapid, it seemed.

With his tail poised above his head and ready to intercept any attacks on his flanks, the green monster paced backwards and glanced up at the ceiling.  How much water could they hold in those tanks?  Wouldn’t this nonsense have to be over soon?

With the squelch of wet boots from his right, Cell turned and threw out a blast of ki.  He heard the huff of a man throwing himself free, but a few seconds later, Seventeen crashed into him from the opposite side and took him to the floor.  Not one to be surprised for long, the downed insect grabbed a handful of black hair and yanked.  Before he could be peeled off like a tick, the machine-hybrid drove the Power Sword into Cell’s chest, hoping that his assailant had a human anatomy.

Thrown by his hair, Seventeen rolled across the wet steel floor and crashed through a pair of office chairs.  After a few final sputters of water, the sprinkler system fell silent and the cyborg found himself breathing heavily into a puddle.  Somewhere out ahead, he could hear Cell mumbling something, but the words were unintelligible amidst the ringing in the cyborg’s skull.  As Seventeen, clutching at the wet wall of a cubicle, brought himself up to his feet, he watched Cell do the same a few yards away.  With the Power Sword still lodged into his chest, the insect turned to face his would-be victim.  Initially, Seventeen was certain that he’d just lost his last lifeline to the armored hide of his alternate universe nemesis.

Cell managed to take a few steps before he lost his balance and fell to a knee.  “I should be able to regenerate thiss,” he rasped in labored tones as Seventeen lurched toward him.

“Fucking Omniverse, am I right?”  The cyborg muttered as he came to a stop a few feet away from Cell and held out a hand.  The hilt of the sword jiggled in the bio-android’s chest for a couple of moments before Cell clamped a trio of fingers around it.

“There’ss… ssomething to be ssaid about thiss moment.”

“Give up chasing me,” Seventeen replied as he let his hand drop down to his side.

“I’ll take a detour, but I’ll be back,” Cell answered, looking up from the sword in his chest.  “You haven’t stopped me from being perfect.  You’ve jusst prolonged my journey, but I’ll never sstop.”  The bio-android tapped his chest.  “Ssaiyan DNA, after all.  I’ll just get sstronger.  Eat the other one firsst, perhapss.”

Seventeen scowled as he held out a clenched fist and extended the index finger.  There was a delay before the beam of energy punched through Cell’s chest to the left of the sword, but it took a second gunshot to cause the insect to slump to the ground and start to snicker as his foe approached.  “Why are you laughing?”  He muttered as he held out a hand and managed to telekinetically liberate the blade from Cell’s chest.

“Jusst imagining the look on your face when I eat you.”

The cyborg reached into his pocket.  “Eat this,” he muttered as he hurtled the banishment ircle at Cell.  The object hit the insect on the side of the chest.  In an instant, Seventeen’s adversary knew what was going on, and he simply shook his head.

“It’ss inevitable, Mr. Andersson.  Inevitable.”

With that, Cell was gone, and the walls of the isoverse faded, leaving a bloodied Seventeen standing at the center of a circle of stormtroopers and Trixie Zulenka.

“I need a fucking vacation,” Seventeen muttered as he collapsed on the spot.

Seventeen used x1 Banishment Circle on Cell.

[Android 17]

He woke up in a bright, white room.

For a brief moment – in that dumbounded haze that exists between REM sleep and being awake – he thought that he was back home. Then his vision cleared and his nose alerted him to the fact that his current quarters smelled faintly of too much bleach.

That fact, couple with the lack of posters detailing penises or the digestive system, made it clear to Seventeen that he was in a military hospital or clinic. If this were a pedestrian clinic, there would have to be some sort of plastic model of an organ system somewhere.  The cyborg was certain a law existed that enforced such things.

“Heaven doesn’t smell like ammonia,” the raven-haired man groaned as he rolled onto his side and glanced at the white brick wall.  Bare.  Completely barren. “The South City Clinic had these great signs warning against drinking too much.”

Someone who loved booze, Seventeen was happy he was blessed with a cybernetically augmented liver. Even better, he’d been physically dead for most of the last five years, which only made the boozing more carefree. Who cared about trivial stuff when your body would never fail you? On Sundays, he and Minoshia used to kill kegs of vodka by the time they finished their eighteen holes.

From the other side of the room, Seventeen heard the pneumatic whoosh as a door slid open. Heavy soles hit the tiled floor as rhythmic claps until a uniformed woman was staring at the man.  The machine-hybrid gave her a weak smile and gestured to the IV in his left arm. “You here to give me the goods, Nurse? I’ve always been partial to opiates.”

The woman scowled—her entire face seeming to twist up in disdain as she glanced at a clipboard in her hand. “Doctor.”  She replied sternly. “And you already know that there is nothing but saline solution in that IV drip. Your unique biochemistry renders traditional painkillers mostly moot.”

“Yea, but the wires can get all fritzy… it’s a bitch of a thing, Nurse,” Seventeen shot back as he blinked a few times and sat up from the barely cushioned cot. “Where am I at? Coruscant General? Shiny City Memorial?”

The Doctor Nurse continued to wear that face-scrunching scowl. From her nametag and the insignia on her shoulders, the cybernetic warrior could identify her as Major Everett, but for the moment, he’d keep playing with the buttons tilled he found the one that worked. If anyone gave him flak, he could just blame it on the brain trauma. He probably had endured a solid three concussions amidst all that mouth-punching and gut-kicking.

“This is Military Medical Station One.”

“Very original.”

“Since you are upright and lucid, I am discharging you immediately, Mr. Seventeen.”

The cyborg hid a smirk as the woman scribbled something on a piece of paper. “Just like that? Did you dirty business and decided to throw me out to the streets? You at least giving me taxi fare?”

Major Everett tore off a slip of paper and pushed it into the cyborg’s gown-covered chest. “You’ll find new issue fatigues and armor down the hallway. You are you CO’s business now.  Good day.”

The woman was gone in a heartbeat, leaving the raven-haired fighter to chuckle as he watched her depart with rapid, thunder-like claps of her boots on the floor. The departure was more pleasant than the conversation that preceded it.

Ah well, I’m still spoken for. Seventeen swung his legs over the side of the cot. But maybe the good Nurse would prefer hot coffee with someone more along the lines of Trixie’s description?

“No, wait… the blonde.”

The man’s head was jumbled up something fierce, but the little patches of gray were starting to clear.

His boots were somewhere, so when Seventeen slipped off the cot, he landed on cold, naked feet. In a weird way, the sensation was pleasant, because it was a reminder that he was conscious and cognizant of the world around him. Given the nature of time in the Omniverse, he would have to talk to someone to know how long he’d been unconscious. Common sense made it only feel like a few hours—the marks on his sides indicated some extensive triage to repair lacerations.

But in this place? Who the fuck knows.

He would have to find Trixie. Hopefully, the sullen redheaded soldier would be somewhere nearby. If she wasn’t, the cyborg would have to exchange some unpleasant words with the Nurse’s superior.

Before he could find Beatrix Zulenka, Seventeen was ushered into a supply depot. He was issued some standard fatigues and a set of blue-tinted armor devoid of any rank or unit insignias. What the man at the requisition desk told him was that they didn’t issue any personalized attire. That stuff would have to wait until he returned to his unit or shuffled elsewhere in ‘the service.’

“Do you know where I can find Staff Sergeant Zulenka?” Seventeen asked, hoping the man behind the desk would be a little more helpful than the Good Nurse.

“That’s the redhead?” The quartermaster asked before waiting for a nod of confirmation. “She stops by for a few hours a day. I would try the office on the third floor. They’ve had her working on some accounts the last few weeks.”

“Thank you,” Seventeen said before snapping off a salute (you know, just in case the bored-looking man was technically his superior).

Without waiting for a response, the cyborg had spun around and made for the elevator. In his head, the reality was uncomfortable.

Weeks. Fucking weeks. Green dude put me in a coma for weeks.

“Not just the green dude,” Seventeen corrected himself. “Didn’t help tussling with that colossus.”

Although he wanted to mull over things in his head more, Seventeen made his way to where Beatrix Zulenka was supposed to be working today. He found her seated behind a desk staring intently at a sea of numbers. When the shadow fell over her face, her features initially twisted into ire, but upon seeing her visitor, they quickly softened.  She stood up, and although it seemed like she was initially going in for a hug, she seemed to catch herself and extend a hand.

“Hello, Staff Sergeant,” Seventeen spoke in his fakest, proudest soldier voice as he shook her hand.

Beatrix shook her head and gestured with her other hand to her shoulder plates. “Sergeant First Class Zulenka now,” she muttered with something that didn’t seem like absolute enthusiasm.

“Congra—”

“Glad to see you’re awake, Staff Sergeant Seventeen,” she replied with a smug grin on her face.

Seventeen’s smile dropped. “Well fuck,” he muttered before they both started to laugh.

[Trixie]

The Sith Empire had finally secured the capital of Ziost. Even though Trixie had suffered some losses while taking her objective, Able Company had been called to the front once again to finalize the dominance of the Empire and finish the conflict. Desperate to get revenge for the death of Sergeant Masters, the newly promoted Master Sergeant Beatrix Zulenka and the 15th Infanty Division was thrust to the front of a huge column of invasion craft. As the thousands of drop ships came within range of the shore that their target sat on the sky lit up with anti-aircraft fire. The professional soldier eyed their drop zone in the distance and gripped the weapon slung around her torso. The rage she felt for the natives of Ziost was white hot. Adrenaline poured through her veins as the floor dropped out from their landing craft and the company was dropped onto the front line amidst heavy artillery fire. The moment Beatrix’s feet hit dirt she was sprinting. Sprinting through enemy ranks, killing anyone in her vision with her company right behind her slaughtering everyone they could see.

***

Trixie could hear the screams of that battle as she feinted left, away from a hay-maker. Master-at-Arms Chun Li had been assigned to their detachment to provide specific martial training to the soldiers under Zulenka, but specifically to keep the Mistress’ edge razor sharp. High Command had finally taken notice of how overworked she had been and shuffled their priorities elsewhere. With the hearing for Victor Morrigan finished and his execution having been passed, the transgressions Nova had made against Imperial Intelligence while the redhead was stuck in the Underverse had been found in favor of the Special Forces squad. A formal apology from King Bradley had been delivered via writ to Nova directly along with Morrigan’s seized wealth. Luna had been posthumously recruited and promoted to Special Agent of Imperial Intelligence. The remnants of her work on the hack that had provided Nova with the information to take on Morrigan was being reworked and applied to strengthening the Empire’s computer network.

A leg sweep brought Trixie out of deep thought forcing her to throw a palm down to catch herself. Rolling left she pulled her legs from the ground and into a one-armed hand stand, floating herself back down to her feet with a graceful flip.

“Something the matter, Sergeant?” Li asked. “You’re supposed to be focused on this fight.”

Beatrix pulled the hair tie keeping her pony tail up and let her long red hair fall to her shoulders. Putting her left shoulder to inward toward Chun Li she crept toward the woman, her arms positioned strategically and ready to strike. Juyo was a very aggressive stance meant to be used with a sabre, but one could adapt it to an unarmed fighting style with practice. Chun Li sprung forward with her dominant leg, rotating her core inward bringing a powerful roundhouse to bear upon the Mistress’ forearm. A slap of skin on skin contact filled the room. Pushing her sparring partners’ leg, Trixie struck it with an open palm and pushed left. Winding up with her left arm she met nothing but air as Chun Li side stepped the blow. Still on one leg she snapped her free leg forward striking the redhead in the chest. As Trixie stumbled backward, Li bounced to her other foot and in one swift, powerful motion brought her opposite foot towards the Sith Warrior. Trixie growled and embraced the blow with her entire torso, lifting Chun Li off the sparring mat, throwing her into the opposite wall.  

Miss Li hit the padded wall and slid down, landing on her feet.

“Not exactly how I would have countered, but effective nonetheless.”

“Yeah well.  Your opponent never expects you to take a hit to produce an attack of opportunity.” The mistress replied, blowing strands of her red hair from her mouth.

“Who said that?”

Trixie didn't know. It was just innate information she had thought of. There wasn't an origin she could place. For some reason her doppelganger came to mind, but she quickly dismissed it and unzipped her jacket exposing her toned upper body and naked bosom.

“I’m going to grab a shower and get some of the paperwork Skleros threw at me finished.”

“Very well, Sergeant. Before you go I’ve been told that you and your compatriot, Seventeen, are to receive promotions. He’s becoming your Staff Sergeant and you’ll be moved to Sergeant First Class. With the reorganization going on it shouldn’t be long until you’re a commissioned officer again.”

“You don’t say.” Trixie replied with snark in her voice.

“Watch it. They’ve been grooming Bianca for Morrigan’s position for quite some time. Now that he’s being shit out of a rancor it’s just a matter of time they move her up to Colonel of the 13th and put you in her place, with Seventeen as your lead non-com.” Chun Li, explained as she took a towel from a bench and wrapped it around her sweat moistened neck.

“I’ll believe it when it happens, Li.”

With their words exchanged Trixie took her leave to shower and head upstairs.

***

Trixie shuffled for a piece of paper on the desk she was sitting at eventually coming up with a folder.

“Finally got us a requisition order for new supplies. No more second-hand garbage. We’ve been escalated to near Marine level priority for equipment. Just below Stormtrooper veterans.”

Seventeen smiled and took the piece of paper with his name on it from the folder. It contained a categorized list of new equipment he was going to receive. Everything from new armor, high end grenades, state of the art weapons, to surgical grade medical supplies.

“They’re really going to give us all of this? It seems like they’re trying to outfit an entire battalion.”

“They are.” Trixie replied, handing her Staff Sergeant another piece of paper.

“I got the approval a few minutes ago. There is a Venator Class Star Destroyer parked in the capital landing bays on the other side of Tier 1. It’s ours to use as a base and it’s going to house the entire 13th Legion plus Able through Easy of the 501st Clone Trooper Division, once they’re done being trained, to serve the Special Forces personally.” The redhead explained.

“We’re going to have five companies of Clone Troopers just to ourselves?” Seventeen asked, reading over the paper before looking at his superior.

“Indeed. We’ll be able to deploy to any section of the city with our own fighting force if needed.”

“Christ. What brought this on?” Seventeen said, leaning against the wall next to Trixie’s desk.

As Trixie picked up her helmet and threw it under her arm she grinned. “A high-ranking position has been vacated. They’re going to move Skleros up and put me in her place. If that wasn't enough, with all of the unrest going on in Coruscant lately, what with the Marines being dispatched twice in the past two months to kill and banish some miscreants, High Command feels that we should have more of a presence in order to keep Dredd from having to take direct control of the situation. No one wants that.”

“Martial Law? Fuck that.” The raven-haired warrior said, following his superior to a transport waiting outside.

"So everyone is getting more funding to strengthen the overall presence of Imperial Authority where it matters." Trixie explained as they walked out of the building. 

On board the duo met up with Nova and Aisha. Both saluted their superior officers and took their seats. As soon as Trixie and Seventeen were strapped in they were ferried off to the Supply Depot where their gear was being loaded onto a massive convoy to be shipped to Landing Pad 47 where their ship was parked.

[Android 17]

“So, they want us to haul out and ‘deal with’ any more ‘situations’?”  Seventeen asked as the pair strapped themselves into the mobile transport.

The redhead stifled a smirk—the twitch in the right corner of her mouth was an easy tell.  “As far as I know, we’re on standby.”

“That’s not leave.”

She nodded her head.  “They were clear not to use that language in the official order reports they sent me.  ‘Officially on standby, pending review of citywide troop deployments and incidents management.’  Which means that they can buzz as at any moment to pack up everything we own and haul our asses down to Tier 3 or something.”

Seventeen didn’t bother to stifle his own smirk.  “Lovely.”

Trixie glanced at him from the corner of her eye before speaking again in more hushed tones.  “I’m surprised they didn’t send us out the moment you woke up from that little nap of yours.  You read the recent incident reports?”

“More prison riots.  A felon on Tier 5.  More wayward primes trying to have a go at the Empire?”

I mean, do you blame ‘em? Seventeen shrugged in response to his own question. They should just avoid this place.  Morons.

The man’s newly minted Sergeant First Class caught his weird internal musings but didn’t raise any question about it.  She’d already been acquainted with his quirky inclination to zone out from time to time, and it didn’t bother her.  “The incident down on Five was ugly.  Real ugly.  Marine hit squads.  They usually don’t deploy down on Five.”

“This was one of the same primes that was involved in that prison riot on Two, right?”

Once again, Trixie nodded her head as the transport jiggled around them.  Even with shiny new medals and insignia, they were still relegated to an escort vessel on the verge of decommission.  In her head, Trixie told herself that, if the Empire didn’t hold true to its promise to prioritize them for new equipment once they were established at their new BOO, she was going to flay someone.  “Yea.  I don’t know why you’d come back, but it looks like she did.  Empire was quick to make an example.”

Again, Seventeen wasn’t quite sure why the fuck someone would willing return to Coruscant of their own free will. Death wish? Had he been killed instead of left in a comatose state, he would have been gone from this place, Trixie or no Trixie alongside him.  “Banished, right?  They banished this person?”

The Sergeant First Class bobbed her head up and down before pointing with a hand to the metal floor of the craft.  “Down south, where they belonged for opposing the Empire.”  After that remark, Trixie leaned close enough that she could whisper into her companion’s ear.  “I pity that poor idiot.”

He wanted to smile, but Seventeen didn’t know how that exchange might appear if anyone decided to review the surveillance feed from this transport.  The two of them were certainly in the ‘good’ bin in the Imperial hierarchy, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t find themselves in the doghouse in the blink of an eye.  The cyborg was certain that the Empire probably had a dozen or so other ‘up and coming’ soldiers that they could use to replace the two of them.  

“So, you mentioned they’re giving us a space ship?  Is there even space here?”

Sergeant First Class Zulenka did smirk at that remark.  “No space.  I read the reports, and it’s incapable of flight, as far as I know.  Even if it could, there would be nowhere for it to go and even less space for it to navigate among the cityscape.”

“You just have a soft spot for ships or something?”

Trixie suppressed the urge to punch the skinny man in his shoulder.  “In my world, space is the battle field tactician’s tabula rasa.  Out there in the dark nothing is where the heroes and villains were born.  In space, no one can you scream, but in space, you don’t need to hear to appreciate the beauty.  Crisscrossing turbolaster bursts.  The silent, deadly march of photon torpedoes.  The distinct scent of Thorilide in the bays of your ship after hours of battle.  Or the sight of an enemy ship buckling as its shields failed and its hull broke apart.  A simple flash most times… a simple flash and the deaths of millions.  I saw an orbital station fail and take a torpedo to its reactor core, and that was the greatest fireworks display I have ever seen in my existence.”

Seventeen, who had seen his fair share of space battles, simply nodded along with the woman’s story.  He had some fond memories of the Nirvana, but that was the greatest extent of his forays into captaining in space.  “This is mostly a status thing, then?  Part of some quid pro quo between you and the people higher up on the food chain?”

His senior noncom nodded her head.  “I was told that the vessel needs some repairs, but if we can get it up and running, we’ll be able a very relaxing life while on standby.  Venators have amenities like medical bays, callback stations, and enough living space to house a nice complement of stormtroopers.  We may be able to get the permits to use the teleporters to deploy that way throughout Coruscant.”

Teleporters? The machine-hybrid made a mental note.  Even if they were programmed to only a certain range, he was certain that teleporters were machines that could be… convinced to operate outside their factory settings.

“How long do you think they give us before they ship us off somewhere?”  Seventeen asked as the transport came to a stop.  A moment later, the droning of its engines died down to a steady hum.

“Not long,” Trixie whispered as the background noise faded.  “Whenever that comes, I know we’ll all be ready, so let’s not fret over details.”  She spoke with a little too much extra volume.

It was Seventeen’s turn to stifle a smirk as he unbuckled his harness and followed his noncom out of the transport and back into the city proper.  He hadn’t bothered to use any of his systems to track their journey, but he knew how fast the transports traveled.  They were probably a few dozen miles from the center of the city, and a quick glimpse revealed the glimmering downtown skyline.  From this distance, the heart of Tier One looked like something out a celestial dream.

If only Coruscant wasn’t a living nightmare…

Seventeen scowled and turned to look at the ‘parked’ vessel that would serve as their headquarters for the foreseeable future.  Despite being permanently dry docked by nature of the Omniverse, the Venator was still pretty impressive.  Flanked by what seemed to be office buildings, the vessel stood out by nature of what appeared to be a fresh paintjob and even a small degree of shine in some of its more chrome-heavy regions.  He couldn’t see to the end of it, but he spotted what appeared to be a command bridge poking up into the skyline.  If the command bridge was the end of the ship, then the vessel-turned-base was in the nature of six city blocks.  Since the nose was about two blocks wide, Seventeen imagined that it could house far more soldiers than Trixie had at her disposal, even given her recent promotion.

“PepsiCola,” Trixie muttered as she pointed to one of the office buildings that hugged the Venator.  “You have to wonder what the point of it was if they were just going to have her as some glorified landmark.”

“I mean,” Seventeen muttered as he pointed to the cone of the ship that hung in the air fifty meters overhead.  “If those cannons could be brought online.”  Trixie glanced up and nodded at the presence of the point-defense turrets.  They were the Venator’s anti-air cannons, but she understood her ally’s remarks nevertheless.  “Essentially, the Empire built a fancy-looking nuclear device in this nice ‘suburban’ neighborhood.  Not only is it a magnificent example of what the Empire can build, but it’s also a magnificent example of what the Empire can do to you if you start making silly decisions.”

“I suppose this means we can also get PepsiCola at distributor costs…”

Seventeen tried, but he couldn’t hold in the laugh.  When he started to laugh, Trixie’s expression cracked and then she joined him.

[Android 17]

Some more time had passed.

A few weeks? A month?

Whatever it was, Seventeen had lost track. He was fairly certain that his body here was no different from his body in his home world. His body there had been rendered ageless by the wonderful institute of death. In the Omniverse, he was certain that his body, made as it was out of magic rainbows, would age only if he willed it to do so. Had he tested that theory?

Hell no.

The last thing the cyborg wanted was to wind up with gray hair or wrinkled skin with zero way to go back to normal. He had already flirted with grayscale highlights once before in his life, and he didn’t desire a flashback to more than a decade ago.

A decade? Had he really only aged the equivalent of less than two years despite the fact that he had swiveled around the sun or some stand-in nearly a dozen times since waking up in the snow? If he ever made it out of the Omniverse, would he be spit back to some point in time before his departure? Or would he wind up a few years passed his perceived demise, only to find his loved ones another decade or so grayer?

Oh, Piper, you’re gonna be forty by the time I see you next.

But then, she’ll also be in her twenties.

Despite all the shenanigans of his life, the machine-hybrid lacked a temporally-displaced future self.

What if… Seventeen took a swig from the can of PepsiCola before staring hard at the steel wall opposite his bed. I get out of this place, but then I return to discover that there’s been an evil clone of me living my afterlife in my absence?!

“Bastardo!” The cyborg crumpled the can in his hand and chucked it into the trash receptacle near the door.

A knock came from the open doorframe before Trixie poked her head into the room.

“How many of those telenovelas have you been watching?” The woman inquired with that goofy little half smirk she put on when she was trying to subtly roast people.

“Not enough, pendeja,” Seventeen replied with his own tiny grin. “I need to know whether or not the President of Ecuador and his jaguar make it to safety or if they fall prey to his brother-slash-father-slash-evil twin.”

Trixie returned to her normal stone-face. “None of what you said makes any sense.”

“This morning, I held out my hand and willed a cheeseburger into existence from a bunch of rainbow jelly. And you have the audacity to question my telenovela plots?”

The redhead shook her head but couldn’t come up with an appropriate rebuttal. “We have a debriefing up on the bridge. I need you up there.”

With a nod, Seventeen slipped off of his bed. He made it halfway across the room before he noticed that Trixie was still perched in the doorway and glancing toward something behind her compatriot’s shoulder. The cyborg spun around and realized she was trying to unsubtly remind him to wear his dress attire. In silence, he leaned and snatched the olive jacket from the wall and slipped it over his standard dual layer of black tee and white, long-sleeved undershirt.

He followed the woman and buttoned up the jacket while she gave him to rundown.

“Routine stuff from HQ,” Trixie muttered. Her tone made it hard to tell whether she was aggravated or disappointed. “Collection of local businessmen are… chaffing under the tariffs they have to pay to maintain their licenses.”

Seventeen stopped and lifted an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me they’re whoring us out as part of some imperial protection racket?”

At that, the woman stifled a small laugh and shook her head. She hadn’t stopped walking, so Seventeen had to double-step to catch up to her right before the lift access. “No, they have uniformed EPD for stuff like that. The two businesses that the Empire has their eyes on are supposedly smuggling up from lower tiers. If you can’t land in the black being reputable, there’s always smuggling to make an easy buck, after all.”

The pair boarded the elevator, and Trixie thumbed the ‘B’ button.

“So,” Seventeen whispered. “Smugglers? We gonna raid some illicit opium dens? Perhaps a black-market pyramid scheme?”

Trixie shrugged her shoulders as the elevator came to a stop. “Something like that.” She stepped forward before pausing and glancing back at her ally. “By the way, you know we have full-sized rooms available for you. You’re near the top of the list when it comes to the allocation of living quarters. You don’t need to sleep in that glorified dorm room.”

“No worries, I like it a little snug,” the machine-hybrid replied as Trixie led him down the connecting hallway and into the bridge. From up here, they had some nice views of the surrounding neighborhoods, with only a few obnoxious billboards to really obscure the distant skylines of Tier 1’s downtown area.

“Good afternoon,” Trixie said in her senior noncom voice as she walked to the front of the bridge. Behind the woman was a pair of inactive computer screens. Although most of its systems functioned, they tended to only use the climate control and PA systems in the Venator. Apparently, the engines were still operable, despite being partially decommissioned. Seventeen had mentioned to Trixie that they probably wanted to make sure that the high-tech propulsion devices weren’t leeching any chemicals into the air or ground, and she told him she had filed a requisitioning request for an engineer ‘days ago.’

#BureaucracyInAction

The raven-haired warrior smiled at the thought as he watched Trixie pull out a handheld and project an image on the inert screens.

“Reports indicate that a collection of about six local businesses in the neighboring Argent District have been smuggling up from the bottom tiers. All six business owners have had run-ins with the Empire in the recent months over tariff and tax rates. In that time, the Empire has also reported an increase in the presence of contraband in Argent and the surrounding neighborhoods. Some intel also communicates that narcotics are filtering near to the downtown.”

Tier 1’s downtown was the shining city on a hill for Coruscant. Unless some prime was being stupid and running afoul of the Empire, the place was designed to look, smell, a sound like a shimmering, future-tech utopia. Even the cars that fly through the air streets there were banned from producing a single iota of engine emissions. If anything illicit was going on there, the Empire wouldn’t let it breathe for long.

“Needless to say,” Trixie pulled up the information on the businesses and their owners. “The Empire wants the situation dealt with in an orderly and timely fashion.”

Seventeen laughed under his breath as his superior started to run through the files of the establishments and their owners.

[Android 17]

The fifteen-minute presentation had been surprisingly quick. By the time Trixie had finished disseminating the intelligence on the potentially nefarious business owners, Seventeen had a filled a handful of pages in his notebook.

As he finished a final sentence, he glanced up to see that his First Sergeant had killed one of the live feeds and switched to one of the maps she had shown earlier in the debriefing. “That’s every piece of intel that central has passed on down to us.”

“What’s the call, First Sergeant Zulenka?”

Seventeen glanced over to the speaker. It was one of the new soldiers issued to their unit—a corporal by the name of… Harbaugh?

Trixie turned to address the young woman, who was looking exceptionally fresh in what had to be a new set of formal attire. “Obviously, we won’t have everyone out on this mission, Corporal Harbaugh,” the woman paused for a moment when she saw Seventeen pump his fist at seemingly nothing. He didn’t make eye contact with her, but she saw him mumble something under his breath. Yes? Shaking her head at the man’s continued goofiness, Trixie turned and pointed to one of their destinations. “Select groups of three or four will be dispatched to assess each situation and act accordingly.”

“What’s to assess?” Another soldier asked.

The First Sergeant stared at the man for a few minutes before scowling and gesturing to something on the screen. Seventeen noted it was just a bunch of number that probably had a deeper meaning that he hadn’t parsed together quite yet. “All we have is revenue figures and some news feeds that show a few of these individuals engaged in possibly illegal activities. We’re not going to go in gun’s blazing, even if this is Tier 1. I want this to be as by the books as possible, am I understood? Reconnaissance first. Then I want field reports. Then I will decide on a course of action, understood?”

A chorus of ‘Sir, Yes, Sirs!’ filled the bridge of the permanently drydocked spaceship before the collected soldiers fell silent to await further instructions. After allowing them to stew in silence for a little bit, the First Sergeant cleared her throat and addressed them.

“Return to your quarters and change. This is a recon mission, so any armor you decide to wear needs to be able to fit underneath a civilian outfit. Conceal and carry at all times. Blaster pistols and nothing more. If this becomes a hot mission, they don’t want any shell casings left behind.”

A private took that moment to interject. “Then they can spin it as some kind of grudge hit?”

“Or perhaps they tried to stiff their black-market supplier and got taken out,” Seventeen added before a look from Trixie killed the chatter.

“Get changed.” She instructed. “You’ll be receiving your team placements by the digital, so keep an eye on your tablet or your handheld. Lieutenant wants me back here,” the woman’s facial features made it clear how enthused she would be leading a mission from their base of operations. “I need to ‘acquire experience leading from behind the front’.”

If this was a situation with just Trixie and him, Seventeen would have taken this moment to throw his head back and laugh. Instead, he swallowed a grin, gave a quick salute, and slipped out from the bridge.

[Android 17]

The cyborg ran a hand down the front of his coat. He’d summoned the trench coat just a few days ago, because the weather reporters had mentioned the possibility of some more rain-filled days up on Tier 1. The rain had been the result of some inept weather forecasts, but Seventeen had kept the piece of outerwear nevertheless. After all, it was the same coat he’d worn for years during the interstellar swashbuckling phase of his life. All he was missing now was a scouter and a pair of epaulette-less Saiyan battle armor.

About five minutes ago, a notification had arrived from Trixie informing him that he would be placed in the leadership role for fireteam Alpha. Which meant he was responsible for making sure a pair of rookies didn’t get themselves blown to piece or thrown in the gulag for accidentally knifing someone in the field. Furthermore, he would also be the senior noncom in the field, which would make him responsible for coordinating with the other teams.

While it was only a text message, Seventeen couldn’t help but feel like Trixie had amused herself by making him the team leader.

As top-ranking noncommissioned officer on this mission, you are also to coordinate with other fire teams for non-mission essential inquiries and field responses.

It wasn’t a grotesque amount of additional duties, but in the worst case it meant that Trixie could opt to have him run the whole thing if she felt like watching him squirm. If the operation went south, he could be thrown into that position regardless of her intentions—it’s harder to lead from the office than the front. Best-case scenario was that this whole field operation went over without a hitch and all of them could celebrate in the Venator’s cantina later this evening.

As he tightened the katchin bracers beneath his long white sleeves, Seventeen glanced over at the Power Sword. The weapon was upright and leaned against the wall of his quarters. While he would normally have it with him, he had nowhere to properly conceal the weapon, and if he wanted to pass himself off as a civilian of Tier 1, he wasn’t going to stroll around with a sword on his shoulder or dangling from his waist.

So, with a faint scowl on his face, he slipped the blaster pistol into its holster and eased it into place. The trooper greaves were many things, but the model designed for field recon was excellent in that they provided a spot to perfectly conceal one of the smaller side arms. He’d cut a hole in the right pocket of his jeans to make it easy enough to quickdraw the weapon and put a few rounds into anyone who got too frisky with him.

On his way out of the room, Seventeen snatched his bandana off its little hanger near the front door. By the time he reached his destination, he had tied it snug against his neck and managed to press out the wrinkles in his ‘civvies.’ When he finally reached the hanger bay that served as a glorified garage for the unit’s vehicles, he caught sight of his two team members standing silently near the exit. Their target was less than a mile away, which meant they weren’t able to take transit. As Trixie had explained, the only way they would have to travel at least 10 miles before command would reimburse them for fuel expenditures.

Without bothering for an icebreaker, Seventeen walked over to Private Stone and Corporal Harbaugh. “Ready?”

Corporal Harbaugh snapped off a quick salute. “Sir, yes, sir!” A beat later, Stone repeated the gesture and the shout, perhaps not wanting to feel inferior after his partner’s exuberance.

“This is covert ops recon,” Seventeen muttered, his expression about as neutral as he could muster. He had wanted to laugh in the young woman’s face given how ridiculous her serious face made her look. From a glimpse at her file, he knew she was one of those by-the-books military lifers. She was one of the types who had already laid out a five-year plan that would end with a senior commission in an office somewhere, likely some cushy job on Tier 2. While Tier 1 was the opulent gemstone of Coruscant, Tier 2 was the quietest part of the verse, because no renegade or freshly arrived primes ever went bonkers on the second level.

“We’re going to be looking into Jagiellonian Pharmaceuticals. It’s not a terrible distance from here, but the intel is that they may be selling a little more than just headache medicine to their patrons.”

Harbaugh lifted a hand.

Seventeen gestured for them to follow him, and the woman started to speak once they were at the bottom of the ramp. “Any idea what they are smuggling up here?”

“Slo-Mo,” the cyborg replied after glancing at the screen of his Capsulebook. “It’s a narcotic that supposedly slows your perception of time.”

It was then that Private Heinrich interjected his first words of the afternoon. “So, it’s like super speed?”

The cyborg shrugged his shoulders before giving a more authoritative nod of his head. “Seems like most people who take it experience the opposite. Stoned out of their ever-loving minds.”

Corporal Harbaugh’s disdain was thick in her voice. “Who would ever want to do something like that to their bodies?”

“Everyone has their vices, Corporal,” Seventeen replied. The cyborg wasn’t huge into drugs, but he sure as hell could sling back shots of vodka and down snifters of scotch with the best of them. Corporal Harbaugh probably saw sleeping in until 0600 hours as ‘a vice,’ let alone taking a hit off of synthetic narcotics.

“I… see,” she muttered before falling silent.

[Android 17]

They made it to Jagiellonian Pharmaceuticals after a twenty-minute walk down a few side streets. The stroll had been silent, with the three soldiers taking the time to enjoy the sights and smells of the Tier 1 community nestled far from the skylines of downtown. The sky streets here were less clogged with cars, but there were more than enough trucks and cargo vehicles to still fill the empty spaces that hung between the collection of steel structures.

“This is it,” Seventeen spoke softly as he gestured toward a building at the end of their block. Jagiellonian Pharmaceuticals was a large, three-story business with whitewashed walls and large, glittering windows. It looked like the type of storefront you would find a few blocks from the Nexus gate. “I’ll go in and speak with the people inside.”

“What is our cover?” Corporal Harbaugh inquired. “Inspectors? Contractors?”

Seventeen furrowed his brow. “Imma be a guy,” he responded matter-of-factly as he tapped a finger to the side of his head. “If there’s anything in there that shouldn’t be there, I ought to be able to pick it up with my noggin.” He left out the fact that Trixie had outfitted his Capsulebook with an app to detect traces of Slo-mo. Apparently, the drug, which was utilized via an inhaler, left trace particles of Freon and a few other chemicals that you normally wouldn’t find lingering in the atmosphere of a pharmacy. If the tablet pinged positive, the man at the desk would have a lot of explaining to do.

“So, do we keep point? Guns ready? Will you signal? Or wi—”

The cyborg cut the woman off by lifting a hand. “One of you wait at the bus stop, and I want the other one of you…” He looked over at Harbaugh. “I want you to go up into that hotel and make your way up to the roof.”

“Sentry,” she muttered, nodding her head.

Her noncom nodded back, even though the order was simply to get her as far away from the situation as he could. He had never watched her hold a weapon, and the last thing he needed was for her by-the-brains book to implode if anything went south. She would do best as an eye from up above, where she could watch the situation unfold and log the hours she needed before being reassigned to a different group.

“Wait for my signal,” Seventeen instructed as he lifted his wrist. While he wore nothing atop his bony white skin, the two soldiers both had the newest computer watches. At a moment’s notice, he could send an alarm to the pair and have them rushing in to cover his flanks. With any luck, it wouldn’t come to that, but he couldn’t be sure.

With his two team members off to their posts, the machine-hybrid adjusted his bandana and made his way inside Jagiellonian Pharmaceuticals. The stroll through the entryway went off without a hitch, but by the time he had made it halfway down the center of the store, he felt a few too many eyes lingering on him. A glance revealed a few well-bearded men in the suppository aisle staring at him and whispering to one another.

Lovely.

Even so, Seventeen pressed on to the checkout area. The young woman at the front desk wore the same plastic grin that most pharmacy techs wore, but the moment her eyes met those of her raven-haired visitor, the saccharine smile melted.

“Hello,” the cyborg spoke when he was close enough to address her without talking too loudly. “My buddy is suffering from some congestion, and I’d like to get something to help him clear out his system.”

Instead of offering feigned happiness at the prospect of a customer, the pharmacy tech scowled and leaned a little closer to her desk. Her skinny, well-manicured fingers vanished beneath the countertop—something that a less trained eye might fail to notice.

“You do anything with those hands, and you won’t have them anymore.” Seventeen spoke softly as he crossed his hands in front of his chest. With any luck, he’d come off as a little unimposing, since he had no visible weapons and clearly wouldn’t be reaching them anytime soon.

The young woman’s expression hardened. “You aren’t welcome here, Imperial. We pay the taxes.”

Seventeen nodded his head. “Yes, but they’ve gone up in the last six months, and an audit of your finances here shows that this company isn’t bringing in any additional revenue… that’s on the books, at least.”

“What are you implying?”

“This is above you pay-grade, Ma’am,” the cyborg replied. “Why don’t you call the boss down, because…” The Capsulebook thrummed inside his pocket, which meant it’s chemical scans had come up positive. “Now I definitely need to speak with the man in charge.”

“He’s above your paygrade,” the pharmacy tech rasped before hopping back. As she cleared the desk, Seventeen saw the handheld blaster in her left hand, but before she could swing it to bear, she had a hole through her skull.

Hand smoking from the freshly discharged ki burst, the cyborg turned around just in time to see the two men from the suppository aisle.

“Coppers think they can give us the shakedown!” One of them barked as a few more men and women started to filter in from around the large store.

“Copper?” Seventeen groaned as he stepped back toward the pharmacy desk. He slipped a hand into his pocket and flashed a wide smile. “What bargain bin for thugs did they buy you from?”

The big man’s expression turned sour as he drew a pistol from behind his back and opened fire. By the time the first bullets came crashing into the pharmacy, Seventeen had already leapt backwards through the glass divided and hunkered down behind the reinforced counter.

In his pocket, the Capsulebook thrummed several times in quick succession, which meant that either of his partners was trying to get a hold of him. Either that, or Trixie had been given access to a hell of a lot of CCTV feeds for the purposes of this mission.

Just stay put. Seventeen thought as he glanced up at a security camera in the corner of the far wall. I can handle this. Best case scenario, the gunshots would bring the suited troopers, and this whole situation could be resolved in short order.

The spray of energized bullets died down, and the machine-hybrid heard the crunch of boots against litter-strewn aisles. With a faint grin, the raven-haired fighter vanished in a swirl of blue and white light particles. When the hired guns reached the pharmacy counter, they found only the corpse of the dead tech, scattered glass, and shell casings.

Seventeen reappeared behind them and even went so far as to lean forward to look in as well. “Doesn’t look like anything,” he whispered to the two men, who turned to him with wide eyes. Before they could react, the man was gone.

A beat later, the quartet of additional hired guns gathered behind the pair with the strange accents opened fire. They had hoped to hit the skinny Imperial agent, but instead, they wound up reducing the two men near the counter to shuddering corpses slumped over the pharmacy counter. The four barely had time to react to their deeds before the cyborg rematerialized and retaliated.

A quick one-two burst took down two of the hired guns.

A third turned and ran, leaving the fourth to ponder her options before a hole opened up in the center of her forehead.

With the problem dealt with, Seventeen went chasing after the last man. “Surrender in the name of the law!” The cyborg barked as he took down a mental note to high-five himself for managing to use that line.

The man crashed through the glass doors of the pharmacy and made it six more steps before he ate half a dozen bullets. His body managed a few more steps before tilting and crashing into an ensanguined heap near the edge of the sidewalk. On the other side of the street, Private Heinrich lifted a hand and smiled faintly. A few steps away from the man, a grinning Corporal Harbaugh was also showing something that bordered on emotion. There was a short moment when Seventeen thought about buying the man a drink when this was all finished.

That moment came to a screeching halt when the private’s head exploded like a watermelon stuffed with a gallon of plastic explosives.

Corporal Harbaugh, who likely hadn’t witnessed an actual murder from such short range, went wide in the eyes and shaky in the knees. A hand clamped down over her mouth, possibly a reflex to try and maintain her composure.

Before the cyborg had a chance to react, a red dot appeared on the center of Corporal Harbaugh’s chest. It took the distraught woman a moment to notice it, but when she did, she almost lost her balance. The color drained from her features, and it became evident that the corporal was on the verge of a breakdown.

Shortly thereafter, the pay phone next to the entrance of the pharmacy started to ring. Seventeen let it ring two times before the realization set in that it was probably for him, so with slow steps, he edged his way over to the device and pluck it off its receiver.

“Hello?”

“Good afternoon, Imperial,” the voice was distorted by some sort of technology. “You do anything stupid, and your friend over there dies. Understood?”

“Ten-four,” Seventeen replied as he glanced around the surrounding buildings. Jagiellonian Pharmaceuticals was a big building, which meant their sniper was likely either somewhere on the top floors or on the rooftop of one of the adjacent structures. If Seventeen could just pinpoint his location…

“Stop looking around,” the man—if the synthetic voice was from someone with a y chromosome—barked. “Eyes on your friend.”

Damn it. Seventeen shifted his focus to the panicked face of Corporal Harbaugh. Would today’s events shatter the young woman’s resolve to pursue a career in the Empire?

More importantly, why the hell was Seventeen calling people young who were probably barely two years his junior?

“You know how much those hired guns cost?”

Seventeen grinned. “I hope not much. They were awful.”

“Funny guy, eh? You gonna be funny when I put a hole in your chest? Or her chest?”

“Do you plan to spend this entire time sweettalking me, or you got a point to all this?”

The man on the other end laughed—a somewhat unsettling robot chuckle. “Who are you, Imperial?”

“Seventeen.”

“That’s a number.”

“Yea, and it’s my number, Mister…?”

“Just call me B-Money.”

“That’s a dumb name.”

“Well, Mr. Number, I’m the god damn baron of Slo-mo, and your little shit show here just cost me a few easy mil in omnilium. You plan to pay me back for that?”

The machine-hybrid smirked. “I’m sure you’ll make up for it someway.”

“Just be aware, Mr. Number, that you and I will be talking again sometime soon.”

With that, Jagiellonian Pharmaceuticals exploded.

[Android 17]

Since the incident at Jagiellonian Pharmaceuticals, the cybernetic warrior had kept a relatively low profile.  Of all the teams sent out, his had been the only one to experience any ‘action,’ with the others relegated to simple shakedowns and a handful of arrests.  The operation had gone off without a hitch on all fronts, but the obliteration of a Tier 2 office building had raised a lot of alarms.

Coruscant officials had done their part to disseminate the information, but the death of Private Stone had cast a dark pale over the aftermath.  Despite the fact that the office had been manufacturing and selling drugs, elements still wanted to cast the whole thing as part of the Empire ‘flexing its muscle.’  For the first time since he’d been unwillingly conscripted into this operation, Seventeen found himself siding with the people in charge.  Even so, they’d relegated him to the Venator for a couple weeks after the incident.  Trixie had used the time to coordinate a few more field ops, which had unearthed a few more places where cons were producing Slo-Mo.  

Even with the downtime, the machine-hybrid hadn’t anticipated being summoned to one of the field offices in downtown Tier 2.  The woman at the front desk had been kind enough, but they had sent him to a small room and left him there for nearly an hour without any input or logic.  After the first twenty minutes, he figured this was some sort of psychological trickery, and he filled his time playing a match-three game on his cellphone.  Even so, he was a bit startled when a harsh series of knocks struck the door.  A duo of troopers entered a beat later, and without so much as a howdy doody, they gestured with their helmeted skulls for him to follow them.  

Feigning a look of indifference, Seventeen allowed the pair of stormtroopers to lead him out into the hallway.  Free from the noise, he was able to clear his thoughts a little.  “So, you gentlemen are taking me where?”

The only response that the cyborg received was the rhythmic thump of the soldiers’ boots on the metal floors.  

Lovely. The machine-hybrid eyed his surroundings and plotted out a handful of responses in the event that this little tryst went south.  He wasn’t as strong as he had once been, but that didn’t mean he would fold like a house of cards if confronted with some impossibly odds.  Since being jumped by Cell a few months back, he had been able to orb at will, and while the range was nowhere near as extensive as before, it was more than enough to service his needs.

Before it came to that point, Seventeen was led into an elevator.  One of the troopers tapped an id card against a pad on the controls, and a beat later, his partner inserted a key into the other panel and gave it a gentle twist.  Once the lift was on its way to its destination, the stormtroopers stepped back and one of them glanced at the raven-haired warrior.

“You have a meeting scheduled.”  He spoke in such a bland, matter-of-fact tone that it almost convinced Seventeen that he had set something up for today.  

“I’m afraid I don’t remember setting anything up in my agenda,” Seventeen replied dryly.

The stormtrooper nodded its helmeted head.  “Correct.  This meeting was arranged for you.”

Lovely.

Seventeen shuffled as the elevator continued to ascend to their destination.  “Can you lemme know who or what I am meeting with?”

“Negative.”  At that, the elevator let out a jovial ding and came to a stop.  The doors slid open, and both stormtroopers pointed into the ill-light chamber that lay before them.  “You exit here.  You will be attended to shortly.”

“Thanks,” Seventeen muttered as he stepped out from the lift and ran a hand down the front of his clothes.  Behind him, the doors shut and the elevator descended back into a building beneath them.  A quick glance over his shoulder showed a wall with no indication that it opened up into an elevator shaft.  Given other circumstances, the cybernetic warrior would have snickered and thought of his home.  Instead, he felt a slight knot in his stomach as he glanced around the poorly lit ‘waiting’ room.  On the cream-colored walls were portraits of scowling men in giant suits of armor.  They were fighting space monsters and aliens and ripping their guts apart.

All very manly stuff.  

If not for the hum of the fluorescent lights, it would have been silent.  Seventeen wondered if there was some hidden psychology behind the design of this room.

On the other side of the room, a previously dormant light flashed to life—bathing the room in a yellow glow as the door beneath the caged bulb slid open.  Behind that doorway, Seventeen could spot what seemed to be a conference room.

“I’m waiting,” a gruff voice barked from inside the room, prompting the cyborg to jog forward out of the unnerving waiting room.  

When he entered what was certainly a conference room, the doorway slipped shut behind Seventeen.  He paid it a passing glance before he shifted his focus to the figure at the far end of the room.  While there were plenty of chairs laid out around the central table, the individual was standing at the window and glancing out at the skyline of Tier 2.  When he heard the click of the automated door, he turned his head toward the cybernetic warrior.

“Everyone they send to me is skinny.”  He spoke, his voice barely a few octaves above a growl.  “All those armored marines, and I get a bunch of…” he lifted one of his oversized hands and gestured in Seventeen’s direction.  “Skin and bones.”

Oh, that’s how you gonna play it?

Seventeen smiled.  “And what are you supposed to be?”  He replied with a cock of his eyebrow.

The entity that stood by the window was certainly bizarre.  His body had the same shape as a candy gumdrop, and his oversized feet and legs were tethered to him by very skinny arms that somehow didn’t snap apart from the weight.  Despite that, his head seemed mostly human, with a long white beard, a pair of angry white eyebrows, and a golden crown.  A red cloak hung from its back and almost touched the floor.  As Seventeen stepped closer, it became clearer to him that the gruff entity’s skin was reflecting a bit of the ambient light.  

He’s made of metal or something… Huh.

“I am Smithy,” the figure replied as he turned to face the cyborg, revealing a chest adorned with an ornamental star decoration.  He strode forward, his gait amusingly like that of a penguin.  

For his part, Seventeen suppressed what would have been his normal response—a full-body snicker.  Instead, he watched silently as Smithy stopped at the other end of the table.  From this distance, it was clear that the ‘man’ (if such a word was even applicable) was certifiably made of steel.  Even his eyebrows and beard were metal.

Must.  Suppress.  Heavy metal joke.

“Do you intend to stare?”  Smithy barked as he leaned forward and lifted his hands up onto the conference table.

“I’m Seventeen.”

“I know.  I read your folder.”

The cyborg scowled at the thought of the Empire keeping notes on him.  Hell, they probably had every square inch of the Venator outfitted with surveillance bugs.  “Anything good in there?”

Smithy shrugged—an amusing gesture given he lacked actual shoulders.  “Pedestrian, for the most part.”  The man of steel saw his guest’s expression contort, and try as hard as he could, a smirk spread across his metal features.  “The only thing that was worthwhile to me was the reports from when you first came here.  You were detained by the authorities at the Gate, weren’t you?”

You know what?  Fuck this gestapo crap.

“You already know that.”  Seventeen rebutted.  “Is there something else I can help you with… Sir?”

“Not an officer,” Smithy sneered.  “Consultant is a better word.”

Seventeen walked forward, pulled out a chair, and slipped down into it.  “And what do you consult, Mr. Smithy?”  

The metallic man started down the side of the table.  The machine-hybrid spun to face him and crossed his legs.  Smithy got close enough that Seventeen could see his new friend’s metal chompers.  “We don’t need to spend all afternoon sassing each other.  Did you or did you not discover an artefact in the Ashen Steppes?”

“Of course, I most certainly did,” the cyborg replied without skipping a beat.  “Which is why they… detained me at the Gate.”

Smithy smiled.  “Do you have it with you?  The Star Piece?”

Fascinating. Now it was the machine-hybrid’s time to smirk.  “Nah, I got it locked up, which I’m sure means nothing here in Coruscant.”

“Correct,” the metal man replied as he glanced out the window in the direction of the Venator.  “There are seven of them in total.  Seven Star Pieces.”

Seventeen gave a quick nod as he swiveled the office chair to partake in the staring of downtown Tier 2.  “And they do…”

“Heh,” Smithy glanced briefly at the skinny fighter before turning away.  “Unknown.  In my world, they could grant wishes.”

Are you fucking … The cybernetic warrior didn’t roll his eyes for fear they would come spiraling from his skull.  “Do they summon a dragon?”

Smithy turned and tilted his giant, metal cranium to the side.  “No but there were talking puppets involved last time.”

Fucking Omniverse…

“I don’t believe these are the same exact items as they were in my world,” the man of metal spoke as he glanced up at the synthetic skyline.  There was a roof up there—the floor of Tier 1—but technology had made it look like a beautiful, cloud-filled sky.  “Even if they are not duplicates, there’s no denying that they contain great power.  What that power will do in this… place, I do not know.”

Seventeen smirked.  “But you wanna find out?”

Smithy glanced over his shoulder and smiled his metal smirk.  “Reports are coming in more frequently about similar artefacts appearing with primes.”  Turning one of his massive palms toward the sky, the walking metal man continued to grin as a little holographic image appeared.  It was a dour-looking little girl with a simple dress and pink hair.  The machine-hybrid recognized the individual as a fanfiction author whose writing made him feel uncomfortable.  After a moment, another hologram appeared—a woman with glasses, dark hair, and animal ears.  Then there was a red-skinned robot with a super serious look on his face.    “These are confirmed through intelligence from field agents.”

“Doesn’t that one rule her own personal little fiefdom in the forest verse?”  The cyborg remarked.

“The Tangled Green, and yes, you are correct.  If it’s any consolation, we know that another Star Piece is in the hands of the Camelot Astronomers’ Guild.  Any guesses to where they are headquartered?”

“The middle of nowhere?”  Seventeen replied with a smile, knowing that he didn’t have a snowballs chance in hell of being correct.

“Dalaran.  The wizard’s capital of the Omniverse.”

“Whelp, that sounds like a fun task you got there,” the machine-hybrid spoke with a laugh.

“Fun task that we have,” Smithy shot back with a serpentine grin.

Seventeen scowled.  “This is one of those instances where someone pokes a gun against my back and has me execute minorities, isn’t it?”

The machine-man rolled his metal eyes and let his hand swing back down to his nonexistent waistline.  “I do not work for the Empire, at least not in any official capacity.  That doesn’t mean I lack the necessary ‘pull’ to clear you for any variety of fieldwork.  And I don’t mean ‘fieldwork’ in the Imperial sense, where they’ll assign you to some pissant post.”

“I’d hope so,” Seventeen replied.  “You gonna gift me seventy-two virgins when I get merc’d going after any of these people?  Isn’t that red-faced dude the leader of a good guy hit squad?”

“The Avengers,” Smithy answered.  Something in the metal creature’s tone made the cyborg believe that such information was freely available to the public.  That was probably accurate, but the last time Seventeen had sat down to pursue the not-internet had been a few weeks ago.  Or was it months?  Days?  Had a few weeks passed while he was talking to the angry-faced metal Santa Claus?  Before the haze could settle over the cybernetic warrior’s mind, he heard the harsh sound of a metal throat being cleared.  “Are you still concussed?”

The head shake was immediate.  “Just a lot of stuff in the head,” Seventeen answered as he reached up and tapped a finger to the side of his head.  “Hard to keep track of all the crap in this world.”

Smithy sneered.  “You have a machine wired into your skull.”

A valid point. In response, the pale cyborg shrugged his shoulders.  “I stopped relying on that stuff back before I died.  Whole ‘machine versus man’ thing usually wound up with the former winning and the latter burning down orphanages and decapitating orphans.”

“Colorful,” the metal creature answered as he started toward the far side of the room.  “It is important that we acquire the Star Pieces.  They need to stay out of the hands of the Kingdom, Ambrosia, the Avengers, or any of the other factions that may vie for them.  That power needs to be ours.”  Smithy clenched his giant, gauntleted fist and left the cybernetic warrior wondering whether the machine meant the Empire, the two of them, or some collection of Smithy alter-egos.”

“Because…?”

The metal construct rolled his eyes.  “Because power, Seventeen.  I don’t care what morality you have, but when it comes to power, do you want it or would you rather let someone else take it from you?”

Silence.

Smithy smiled, understanding that the quiet in this moment meant he had made the valid point.

“Take care of business.  I know that you have Imperial work, but I’ll get you the clearances.  If you have an opportunity to acquire an additional Star Piece, you must take it.  Safeguard the one you own, wherever it may be.  Others will come sooner or later.”

“What will you be doing?”

“I’ll do my best to keep you updated.  I have an additional field agent as well.”

Competition or cooperation?

Seventeen kept the question to himself and gave a slow nod.  He opened his mouth to speak, but before the words could form, Smithy had already stepped up to the far wall and placed a giant hand against a wall sconce.  With a fluid motion, the bearded metal giant vanished as the section of wall swiveled to reveal a carbon copy.  For a few moments, the cyborg simply stared at the wall, unable to determine if he should feel dumbfounded or confounded.  In the end, he shook his head.  “You could have at least said goodbye.  That’s just proper manners.”

The air around the cyborg started to glitter, and before he knew it, he was standing back in the lobby of the building.

[Android 17]

“Internet is a savage place,” Seventeen muttered as he scanned through a message board. Were people this savage in his world?

Probably not. Internet wasn’t a big deal there.

Ever since his meeting with Smithy, Seventeen had tried to strike a balance between research the stars and being a productive number two for Trixie. They had just celebrated four months of work in their new assignments, and the woman still seemed to spend most days on her last nerves. They rarely bumped into each other in the halls of the Venator, and her work often required Trixie to take all of her meals in her office or the command bridge.

For his part, Seventeen quickly realized something that hadn’t been true in his home world: This wasn’t his operation. So many years of his life had been spent scampering around beautiful, Victorian-era hallways rounding up a motley crew of warriors. When he wasn’t doing that, he was underground arguing semantics with an almost sentient supercomputer. Now that he was in the Omniverse, he was little more than a second fiddle, if that. The incident at Jagiellonian Pharmaceuticals had put, as he figured it eventually would, an end to his role as field operative for the foreseeable future. An official memo had come last night notifying him:

Effective immediately, you are to be removed from all active field muster logs. You are to be reassigned to security measures indefinitely. Your Commanding Officer has been notified. Any change in your status will be transmitted to you.

‘Security’ in the context of the Imperial missive meant ‘housekeeping’ duties. While he didn’t have to mop floors, they had tried to get Seventeen to complete some of the inanest tasks around the Venator. Because he had respect for Trixie, he had complied for a short while, but when someone wanted him to help clean the engines, he broke their nose. After some time in his room to essentially ‘think about what he had done’, he found himself excuse from most duties.

The last time he saw Trixie, she had been yelling at some corporals for screwing up reports about criminal activity in the surrounding suburban districts.

Over the last three weeks, Seventeen had been hoping to receive some sort of correspondence from Smithy. Failing that, he was hoping that something about stars would pop up somewhere on the Dataverse. He needed to get away from this ship before he went bonkers, and since he was probably close to five years sober when it came to insanity, he didn’t feel like falling off the horse again. Last time he’d did that, he wound up bashing in an acquaintance’s skull with a baseball bat and going on picnic dates with his nemesis.

Still can golf circles around you, you jagoff.

Seventeen smirked at the image of his mohawked nemesis-turned-golf partner snapping yet another putter in half. Some people just weren’t good at the short game.

With the dataverse no help, the cyborg stood up from his ‘workstation’ and ran a hand through his hair. He always had the option to get clearance to leave the Venator, but what sort of loopholes would he have to jump through? He had put in for leave shortly before ‘broken nose-gate’ and been denied by the ship’s staffing officer. At the time, he had decided not to play the Trixie card, and now he regretted it, because his CO was essentially a ghost to him.

Fucking Omniverse.

Sliding his chair under the horizontal sheet of metal that served as his desk, the machine-hybrid undid his belt and pushed his pants to the ground. Turning to the corner of his room, he skimmed through the open closet doors for the pair of pajamas he wanted. He found them by the time he was within arm’s reach, and a beat later, he was pulling the drawstring of the flannel bottoms right around his bony waist. Sweats locked and loaded, he tugged off his socks and promptly dropped back onto his bed. After his debacle with the Koopas, he had summoned his own sleeping arrangements. Since his quarters wasn’t spacious—a fact that didn’t bother him, despite Trixie’s initial apprehensions—it was a full-sized version of his old home’s bed.

Even so, the coziness was ingrained into his memories, and that was what counted in the long run.

Removing his shirts and chucking them onto his pants, Seventeen crossed his hands behind his head and stared up at the metal ceiling of his room.

[i]Day at a time. It’s all we can do, for now. [i]

[Trixie]

Trixie pressed down on the strike wheel of her lighter forcing the steel to collide with the flint beneath it. Hovering the newly formed flame to the tip of her cigarette the Mistress took a puff. Flicking the lighter closed she returned it to her pocket. Tilting her head back, Beatrix closed her eyes and let the nicostick hang gently between her lips. The leather couch that the Sergeant was situated in the middle of was comfortable, and for the first time in a long time she had gotten a chance to think. Trixie was a professional soldier, she had been formally educated at Sith High Command on Dromund Kaas. Despite all her knowledge the redheaded woman had her shortcomings. She was Infantry through and through. Leading missions from behind the lines was something she did not enjoy.

While High Command hadn’t considered an entire pharmaceutical building exploding a failure on Trixie’s part, as a combat leader she felt responsible. Had Nova and Aisha been deployed as well, things might have gone radically different. The Corporal and the Specialist had been called to assist with some Ultramarine business. The dark commander’s quarters aboard the Venator Class Star Destroyer lit up with flashes of lightning as the storm system that had currently settled over Tier 1 continued to pound the area. 

***

Judge Dredd had requested her presence at Imperial Command near the senate building on Tier One. It had been a setup. Upon entering the room Trixie was ambushed by several Sith Assassin’s sent by Dredd to take her into custody. Swiftly rendering the redhead unconscious they stripped her of clothing and stuffed her naked body into a corpse bag. Wheeling her out on a gurney the capture team handed their mark off to the transport team who were standing by with a shuttle.

[Trixie]

Trixie came crashing into consciousness as she wretched a mouth full of blood onto the floor below her. Almost immediately her head was ripped back by her hair and a fist met the bridge of her nose. To her surprise the blood from her shattered nose trickled upward into her eyes. As her inner ear began to comprehend her orientation the redhead realized that she was bound by both hands and feet and being suspended from the ceiling by her ankles. As her regenerative abilities snapped her nose back into place she emptied the contents of her stomach once again. Judge Dredd had planted a gloved fist square to her abdomen leaving a bruise that immediately rose to the surface. Grabbing his captive by the pony tail he pulled her head back and arc’d her back. Two stormtroopers dressed in black armor wheeled over a tub of water and without hesitation the leader of the Empire’s military shoved Trixie’s head into the water and forcefully kept her submerged. 

Even as the redheaded mistress began to twitch and writhe against her bindings, Dredd kept her head under. Only at the last second did he lift her head from the liquid. As the tub was rolled away he released he grip and let her swing. On the back stroke the second Stormtrooper tee’d off on her ribs with a piece of rebar. Trixie cried out in pain as her bones were shattered. Even as her abilities began to repair the damage the initial damage still held onto it’s world shattering pain. What was even more frightening was that they seemed to be timing their assault based on her ability to heal the damage. When one bone would mend they’d break another. This went on for hours until Trixie could barely breathe without wheezing. 

“You have been accused of being a spy, Sergeant. What do you say to these allegations?”  Dredd said, washing the blood from his hands in the tub. 

Trixie could barely stop herself from acting surprised. 

Do they know?

 “I am no spy.” She replied the best she could. 

Blood had stained her teeth red and she could barely swallow. Dredd looked to his right at one of the stormtroopers who wheeled over the tub. He took hold of his prisoners hair once again and lifted her over the water, but instead of immediately plunging her into it’s depths he held his grip. 

“I am no spy.” Trixie repeated. 

As the words escaped her lips she was submerged once again into the now dirty water. Any amount of torture was bad, but having been put through Jorgen’s initiation and the Underverse, Trixie was hanging on. She actually began to feel thankful that Dredd wasn’t Jorgen. That is, until he rammed a piece of rebar through her right shoulder and forcefully dislocated it from the socket. The pain was absolutely blinding, causing the Sith Mistress to black out, to which one of the black armored Stormtroopers emptied a bucket of ice cold water onto her body. Trixie came-to screaming in pain as Dredd removed the rebar and jammed it through her left shoulder, proceeding to dislocate that arm as well. 

“That’s enough, Dredd.” A voice said from the shadows of the room.  “We musn’t kill her if we want her to tell us anything.” 

Dredd removed the durasteel rebar from Trixie’s left shoulder in one quick motion spraying blood onto the floor. Snapping his fingers the two Stormtroopers sprung into action, untying the redhead from ceiling and injecting her with a bacta shot. 

“Bring her to me.” The disembodied voice echoed once more. 

Nodding to his lackeys, Dredd threw the unconscious Zulenka over his shoulder and headed out of the interrogation room they were in inside Imperial Command. Arriving at the personal elevator for Emperor Palpatine the Royal Guard stepped aside and let him onto the lift with his prisoner. Exiting the elevator minutes later he proceeded into the throne room where Emperor Palpatine was sitting. 

“Drop her there and leave us.” He said, standing from his chair. 

With a bow Judge Dredd tossed his quarry to the floor and left with the remaining guards in the room. As if he took offence to Trixie still being groggy the Emperor of the Empire unleashed a violent cascade of force lightning that lit up the mistress’ body and made her scream and writhe in pain. 

“You were asked a question, citizen. About your loyalties. I expect you to answer.” Palpatine said as he circled around his prey. 

“I am loyal only to the Empire.” Trixie wheezed. She could barely speak. 

“Liar!” The Emperor said as he extended one hand and electrocuted the woman lying before him once more. 

First Sergeant Zulenka clenched her jaw in pain as the intense electricity coursed through her body. She could feel Palpatine trying to invade her mind and so far her attempts to fend him off had proven successful, but with each electrocution she lost more control. Palpatine lifted his hand and forced Trixie into the air with the force. Constricting her movement he placed a hand on her bare stomach and grinned. 

“I’ll ask you one more time before I break you. You tell me who you’re spying for and I’ll spare you.” He offered. 

Unfortunately the fear of failing Diablo was winning inside Trixie’s mind and all she could do was shake her head in denial. Palpatine made good on his promise. The pain that followed was worse than anything she had ever felt and on top of it all she felt as though someone was scraping a metal pick along her brain. It lasted for several minutes before abruptly ending.

“Hmmm. So a servant of Diablo has managed to infiltrate my ranks.” Palpatine said, hand outstretched, using the force to slowly crush the neck of Beatrix. 

As the mistress grabbed at her neck and gasped for air, tears began to stream down her face. All she had ever wanted to do was serve the Empire and love November. Somehow the Emperor had become privy to her secret affiliation and took it upon himself to extract the information personally. After what seemed like an eternity Emperor Palpatine released his grip and dropped the Sith Warrior to the floor. She began coughing and sputtering for air, smoke still rising from her burnt flesh.  

“I’ve just had a brilliant idea. You’ll become my double agent. You will report to me on everything you do for Diablo. In return I won’t expel you from the Empire, banish you, and permanently keep re-banishing you upon your return. You’ll keep your current position and only me and Dredd will be privy to this arrangement. Do we have a deal?” Palpatine’s words were terrifying to hear. 

Trixie didn’t even know if he had the capability to continually re-banish her, but she wasn’t about to take that risk. The only path she saw before her was the one that kept her within arms reach of Nova. Fighting back tears she nodded. 

“I am at your service, my Emperor.” Trixie said as she dropped to all fours and began to grovel, her body trembling. 

“Good. If you perform well you’ll need not worry about punishment from the Empire. I reward those who serve me well. You’ll receive more information at a later date. Now begone.” The Emperor waved his head and turned back to his throne. 

As if on queue two Royal Guards entered the throne room and dragged the naked Sith Warrior out. Tossing her onto the elevator one of them struck her square in the jaw knocking Trixie out. When she awoke the mistress was in a prison cell inside Imperial Command. A note slid under her door as she sat up. Leaning over she picked up the piece of paper and read it. 

Sergeant, 

You have been placed on ice until further notice.

Beatrix sighed and slumped back against the metal wall of her cell. 

Wonderful.

[Android 17]

For the first time in a very long time, Seventeen didn’t feel like the world had become a blur around him.  In fact, the nap he took ended after a brief period of ninety minutes, when he was stirred from his sleep by a solid rap at his door.  At first, he planned to ignore whoever needed him and return to his dreams.  In his dreams, he was chasing his twins around the second-floor halls of their home, and his girlfriend was smiling to herself as she made them snacks in the kitchen down below.  In this world, he hadn’t died, and Paige hadn’t gone AWOL.  In this world, the twins and their parents were all happy, well-adjusted people who just happened to have magical superpowers.

Seventeen had nearly caught up to Piper and Cole when that quick succession of thuds on his steel door shattered the false reality of his dreams.  Groaning, the cyborg clutched at the quilt and rolled away from the entrance with the vain hope that his interloper would give up their mission.  Instead, a more feverish succession of smacks struck his door and resonated through his personal chambers.

“I’ll be there in a moment,” the cyborg groaned as he tossed off the covers and slid his legs over the side of the bed.  After steeling himself for whatever new business had unfurled over the last two hours, he exited the comfort of his bed.  His feet touched down onto the cold metal floors, and the sensation was more than enough to shock away the remaining stupor of a disturbed nap.  Seventeen was one of the only crew members who kept their floors bare.  As far back as he could remember, he enjoyed the morning shock of bare feet on cold stone or steel.  It was a nice prelude to a fresh cup of coffee or an equally refreshing shot of vodka.

Haphazardly slipping back into his clothes, Seventeen made for the door.  Before his finger found the button, he ran his hands through his hair to sort out any madness.

Once activated, the door slid into the wall to reveal a characteristically unsettled November Terra.  Without bothering for the normal pleasantries, she crossed the threshold, shut the door behind herself, and then promptly began to pace in a tight circle in the cyborg’s private quarters.  She performed all of this without eye contact or even a terse greeting of some sort.

While he was tempted to see how long the woman’s batteries would last, Seventeen quickly saw that his fellow soldier was genuinely upset.  “What’s the matter, November?”

At the sound of her name, the woman paused and twisted her head toward the cyborg.  For a brief moment, her expression conveyed some confusion, as if she didn’t realize where she was or who was talking to her.  That initial appearance quickly melted as the grief that underlay it bubbled back to the surface.  “Have you seen Trixie?”

“The head honcho?”  Seventeen chuckled.  “Nah, I haven’t seen here in a while.”

Terra’s entire body tensed at the sound of humor.  She took a pair of steps toward the cyborg as her expression hardened.  “When was the last time you saw her.  Tell me, how long ago?”

Fuck.

The cyborg chewed his lower lip for a handful of moments as he tried to sort through the last few months.  It was such a blur, and not the fun type brought about by one too many fifths of vodka.  It was the bad blur that usually came with an unpleasant diagnosis from a doctor with terrible bedside manner.  After churning through the haze of hallways and mess hall meals, Seventeen stumbled upon the best answer he could locate.  “Maybe three weeks?  Twenty days?  Something like that.  Why?”

The woman’s body remained tense, but the hostility that had flared up faded.  “Because no one has seen here since then.”

“She works all those long hours, up in the command booth.  You sure she hasn’t just vanished into her work?”

Once the words were out of his mouth, Seventeen almost regretted them, and he half-expected Terra to flare up once again.  Instead, she seemed to almost deflate.  “She wouldn’t cut off contact with me, even if she was busy with the task of running this place.  We had that talk months ago.  She wouldn’t do that to me a second time.”

Seventeen frowned.  He didn’t bring up the fact that he had secretly harbored a little spite toward the redhead for being a no-show over the last few weeks.  In his head, he had created all these humors cartoons about commandant Trixie sitting in her private lounge and sipping wine while all the ants toiled around the ship.  All the while, Seventeen had been banished from field work.  If something had actually happened to his friend-turned-invisible commander, he was going to feel like a grade-A asshole.

“We need to go,” the machine-hybrid spoke after a pregnant pause.  He turned to his closet to retrieve his essentials.

“Go where?  I’ve already been to her office and her private quarters.  Nothing.  It’s like no one has lived there.”

The knot in Seventeen’s stomach tightened.

I am a terrible friend.  The fucking worst, holy shit.

Once he had everything he might need, he turned back to face Terra.  “This is a bureaucratic police state, Nova.  We’re just going to do the bureaucratic thing and find her superior.”

“Captain Skleros?”  

The cybernetic warrior nodded his head and made for the door.  “That’s the one.  Let’s go.  If she can’t help us, we’ll head all the way up to the big man.  What’s the worst that can happen?”

Nova paused a few steps behind her fellow soldier.  “They could disappear us too, you know.”

Seventeen smiled as he turned back to face his commanding officer’s consort.  “You know how much red tape that’d be for them?  They’d be swimming in the stuff.”

He quickly turned to lead the woman out on their journey to Captain Skleros’ downtown office.  In his head, Seventeen knew that they could easily wind up joining Trixie, wherever she may be.  The cyborg just hoped the redhead was in a jail cell and not the proverbial ditch on the side of the road.