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Cody Andersen, Bryan Banisaba, Brandon Derive, Teddy Gunther, and Thomas Rogers.

One year before the Battle of Yavin (34:4:11) in the Brentaal system: Brentaal IV (Cormond: The Speakeasy).


Lieutenant Valo Revan, Trooper Ravenor, Trooper Corbin Sloan, Lieutenant Targon, Sergeant Evan Teague, and Trooper Zeth Torg.


The desk jockey Lieutenant Targon was more than pleased with himself. Things had been moving along quite well since his initial contact. The first shipment of medical supplies had been delivered, making it past the Imperials without problem, just a check mark on a screen from the Imperial Security Bureau. Now he would finally get the names to show this new ISB sector commander. He could smell the new wooden desk and leather chair that he would acquire with his upcoming promotion. It had him whistling a nameless tune on his way to a local cantina for a meal, and then onto his apartment to end the day.

Trooper Ravenor cast a bored look around the area. By the Force he despised escort duty. His hand came up to adjust the helmet that clung to his head. Midnight black boots, which were polished to perfection, falling instep behind the desk jockey Targon. A scowl fixated on his rugged features. That chest armor clung to his tall and muscled frame as he adjusted the blaster rifle in his massive grip. The thing damned well looked like a child's toy that he was carrying. But the bodyguard was very accurate. Now just to get this whoreson home and he would be off to the cantina to watch the lovely Melina dance.

Lieutenant Valo Revan was indeed tired of constant escort assignments but he could not complain. Bringing his blaster rifle to his chest, he scoped out the area around him. The armor was grueling and he just wanted to get out of it. But he had to escort this jockey around like he was someone important. Even if he was, it did not matter to him for this assignment was just like the other previous ones. He looked to the other trooper who would be his support for the escorting of the desk jockey. At least he was not alone for this.

Sergeant Evan Teague found himself in another well crafted costume, courtesy of the folks in the espionage division, and on another extraction mission to kidnap a certain ISB officer. He was already at the bar when the trio arrived, dressed as the typical underpaid, overworked, and overall disgruntled employee common in these parts. He spared one look towards the bar at the tender and scratched the back of his head to signal the entrance of their target. Putting on his game face, he waited on the side for the men to be seated before edging towards them. He had a sweeper in one hand and casually cleaned the floor around them. It was always a waiting game, timing was everything.

Trooper Zeth Torg stood in relaxed form, washing and cleaning an empty glass from a previous order. His eyes gently glanced toward the cautioned sight of Evan. He did not wish  much attention to be forwarded toward behind the bar counter, Torg positioned himself closer toward the disclosed weaponry hidden under the cantina counter. Torg in a valid attempt to not reveal his true intentions for this night, turned his full attention to the ISB officer. Torg casually let the words escape past his cold lips, "a cold drink, Lace?"

Trooper Corbin Sloan took note of Evan's hand signal as well, seated in one of the tables as a very obvious and unhappy patron. It was then that Evan turned his sweeping towards Corbin, whose rather large mug of alcohol sat on the edge of his table. Using fine tuned acting skills, Evan tapped the mug over with the end of his broom and watched in horror as it splashed all over Corbin's clothes. Almost instantly, Corbin was on his feet, cussing loudly for everyone in the building to hear. "What in the hell?! You're going to pay for that," he yelled, showing Evan the two ruined datacards in his pocket. Gritting his teeth, Corbin continued his verbal onslaught, beginning the second part of their trap.

''Darius,'' Trooper Ravenor said reading his counterpart's nametag, ''guard Targon while I go take care of this trouble maker.'' The bodyguard who stood at nearly six foot seven and was massively muscled, usually made anyone quake in there boots. Lazily he glided over towards the man that was shouting. What could he say? The man had a very paranoid streak ... and had a high number of shootings on his record. A meaty fist grabbed the whoreson by his shirt and pushed him hard against the wall. ''Here is what your going to do, pilgrim,'' he said imitating the word pilgrim from some holovid he saw during his childhood. ''You're going to shut your fat hole in your face. Otherwise I am going to blow your reproduction organs off. You understand me?'' he said pressing the muzzle of the blaster in the general direction of the man's groin, ''now sit down and finish your drink.''

Torg saw the actions that were occurring in front of his counter, he hit the silent red switch under the bar counter that locked Cantina's doors shut.

Revan gave a nod to his trooper watching him go to stop the dispute. Standing behind Targon with his blaster rifle at this chest in a guarding formation. If a fight were to break out he had to make sure that Targon was not to be harmed.

Targon moved from his post at the door, and sat at the bar, ordering a strong drink to wash down his excitement. "What a grand day ... glory to the Empire!" he was not concerned in the least with his surroundings, only bubbling with the joy of what was moving in his life.

Corbin allowed himself to be pinned roughly to the wall, it was all part of the plan. Evan took a few steps back and apologized profusely as he hurried away from the scene in a brisk sprint. Boots still wet from Corbin's drink, he finished up the final touches on it and gently slide it down the counter toward the direction of Targon stumbled and collided directly into Darius, left shoulder first. Pressing all of his weight on that one shoulder, he had intentions on knocking the second guard over and pinning him to the floor. "Whoops," he declared half assed, weight still pressed firmly on the other guard. "Damn drink got me," nonchalantly, with his free hand, he reached into the back of his own uniform, hand settling on the barrel of a hidden blaster. He gave the sign, now it was show time.

Torg glanced back toward Targon as he prepared the Imperial's valued drink. Torg, quickly on his wits activates the door locks and drew out his blaster rifle from behind the bar counter ready for war, "yee hay!" Torg used the bar counter as quick cover, and quickly scanned the small bar for Targon.

Revan stood up from being knocked down looking around at the cantina. He brought his blaster rifle in front of him with the sights focusing at the different people surrounding him. Stopping at the one who knocked him down, he slowly squeezed the trigger which would send a bolt of laser towards Evan's torso.

Evan was up on his feet as soon as possible, but he was not fast enough as the bolt lanced into his side, sending him sprawling on the floor. He winced and rolled to one of the tables, kicking them over and using it as a makeshift shield.

The Lieutenant dove over the bar at the first shot, not so much from tactical savvy, but more concerned with keeping himself away from danger. And he fumbled with his blaster on the other side, peaked over the bar, and leveled the shaking weapon on the man his guard had already fired on. He did his best to fire his first round into the Evan's chest, seeing the damage already done.

By that time Evan had been tucked behind the stone table, using his feet to prop it up as the blaster bolt cut into the surface but harmlessly dissipated.

Corbin took this time to slam his head against the forehead of the distracted guard holding him and roll away. He drew his blaster and effortlessly fired a shot at the Ravenor's legs.

Sizzle! The wet smack of a blaster round striking Ravenor's leg guard, rang in his ears. ''Prick!'' he grumbled out towards his shooter.

Zeth Torg kneeled down behind the large bar counter, perfect for duck cover, run and gun tactics. Zeth scanned his green eyes back and forth across the bar. Finally Torg saw Targon with in sight of his vidroblade. Zeth Torg slashed upward at a sixty degree angle, as he slashed upward he thought to himself, "what a fool this man was."

The cut was deep, too deep. It turned into a stab, and into Targon's lung. No scream, no gurgle, and little blood. Only a sagging desk jockey, and a soundless death.

Evan gritted his teeth as the ISB officer hit the floor, dead as a doornail. Right, so much for their extraction. Now would be an ideal time to call it a day, he raised his hand and signaled towards the window, considering the doors were locked. Exit time.

Well, his career was in the toilet. Thanks to that fragger with the sword. It would be ironic if he met a similar fate. Ravenor slid the blaster back into its holster, the vibroblade screamed to life. He covered long strides in that moment as he headed for his target. He leapt over the barrier that separated him, the vibroblade hissed to life. He struck right towards Torg's skull, intent on splitting it like rotten fruit.

Zeth Torg saw the attack from the crazy loon charging at him with vidroblade. What a fool, with quick on his intents. Torg slid his legs almost completely flat into a split that resembled a butterfly.

''Grr!'' You gakking, fething, fragging bastard with no scrotum!'' he screamed. It was the only explanation a man could bust a move like that. Well whatever ... Ravenor chopped at Torg's head with the vibroblade again.

Zeth Torg's short life had finally came to terrible, fatal end at last. The fatal cut to the head caused death almost immediately. Torg slowly fell to his knees and slowly arched backward as his eye reflected that empty death look in his green eyes. Blankly staring upward to the ceiling of the cantina.

Raven watched the dead motionless desk jockey fall to the ground. He looked to his trooper kill the man with his vibroblade. There was one more target that needed to be dealt as his gaze was locked on the last person other than his trooper. "Screw this...," he said as he brought his rifle up to Corbin's head. His career was finished regardless since the jockey was dead. With a squeeze of the trigger, a laser bolt flew out of the rifles barrel flying towards the man's head.

Corbin recovered from the brutal death of his comrade, spinning to dodge the blaster bolt meant for his head. He took his commanding officer's orders without question, rushing towards the window to make a prompt exit. The damage had been done.

''Fething gakkers!'' Ravenor screamed after the retreat ambushers. He then glared at the lifeless corpse of the desk jockey. An insane light dancing within those twin brown pools. ''Fragging prick,'' he said kicking him. ''Do you know how much paperwork I'll have to fill out now?'' he yelled at the dead desk jockey. His blood began to pool around him as he gave another kick towards the corpse ... he needed a drink. Luckily he was in a Cantina, so he obliged himself.

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