This file does not appear on the audiolog, but is available ICly as rumor among Alliance personell, and record among some of the higher-ups.
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In an Alliance office, in an undisclosed location, Jerard Blaaq sits behind his desk, grimly reviewing a datapad. Court matialed. Stripped of rank. Dishonorably discharged. And for what? Being a responsable handler for that beast-woman experiment of that inquisitor's. He stashes the datapad in the desk drawer with an irritated grunt.
Before he can look up again, the high-pitched click and hum of a small issued pistol charging up for a shot cuts through the air. He finds himself staring down the barrel. Behind the weapon is a small woman decked out in makeshift combat gear, and a dark helmet with a bone-mask concealing her face. Her sightless eyes seem to peer out above the mask, cold emerald green, streaked and cracked with yellow veins.
"Consider this my resignation."
The man starts in his seat, half-standing behind the desk.
"Speak of the devil. You don't really want to kill me, Nyx-Warda.. not like this. I know there are so many more.. subtle.. means you could utilize if you did. You always were a fan of the underhanded."
"Maybe there are. Maybe I want the alliance to know who's hurting it... no... who's hurting you."
"Hurting me? What more could you want? You've taken my life already. You and your new.. handler.. have turned the alliance against me. You've taken my power. You've taken my honor. You've taken my work. Take the shell then, schutta."
The alarms sound begin to sound, and boots tramp through the halls. The lights of the siren flash red across the room.
"You'd like that wouldn't you. You'd like to prove your own sick little monster story right."
"What the hell... what does this mean? What could you possibly be after?"
"Your legacy."
The rebel troopers bust through the door, pointing carbines at the woman. She turns her own gun on the light that hangs overhead, firing, so that it bursts into a flash and a shower of sparks. Only the blazing red light of the screaming sirens streaks through the room, as the troopers sheild their eyes, and dodge the sparks and shrapnel. With the shattering of a glass bottle, the room fills with a misty grey smokescreen. Blaster-shots are fired where the woman once stood, but as the smoke clears, it's apperant she's dissapeared without a trace.
Jerard slams his fist on the desk, gritting his teeth. The damned fool got away this time... but she's got one less ally in the galaxy today. That woman.. his folly.. can't outrun her fate forever. It's only a matter of time now, he tells himself. It's only a matter of time.
Before he can look up again, the high-pitched click and hum of a small issued pistol charging up for a shot cuts through the air. He finds himself staring down the barrel. Behind the weapon is a small woman decked out in makeshift combat gear, and a dark helmet with a bone-mask concealing her face. Her sightless eyes seem to peer out above the mask, cold emerald green, streaked and cracked with yellow veins.
"Consider this my resignation."
The man starts in his seat, half-standing behind the desk.
"Speak of the devil. You don't really want to kill me, Nyx-Warda.. not like this. I know there are so many more.. subtle.. means you could utilize if you did. You always were a fan of the underhanded."
"Maybe there are. Maybe I want the alliance to know who's hurting it... no... who's hurting you."
"Hurting me? What more could you want? You've taken my life already. You and your new.. handler.. have turned the alliance against me. You've taken my power. You've taken my honor. You've taken my work. Take the shell then, schutta."
The alarms sound begin to sound, and boots tramp through the halls. The lights of the siren flash red across the room.
"You'd like that wouldn't you. You'd like to prove your own sick little monster story right."
"What the hell... what does this mean? What could you possibly be after?"
"Your legacy."
The rebel troopers bust through the door, pointing carbines at the woman. She turns her own gun on the light that hangs overhead, firing, so that it bursts into a flash and a shower of sparks. Only the blazing red light of the screaming sirens streaks through the room, as the troopers sheild their eyes, and dodge the sparks and shrapnel. With the shattering of a glass bottle, the room fills with a misty grey smokescreen. Blaster-shots are fired where the woman once stood, but as the smoke clears, it's apperant she's dissapeared without a trace.
Jerard slams his fist on the desk, gritting his teeth. The damned fool got away this time... but she's got one less ally in the galaxy today. That woman.. his folly.. can't outrun her fate forever. It's only a matter of time now, he tells himself. It's only a matter of time.
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