You figure that this shuttle has outlived its usefulness. A few quick button presses, and the core overload alarm starts up. A few seconds of searching, and you find a gravchute. You sprint out to the cargo bay, and open the door, against the protests of the ship's computer.

You are... really, really high up. Almost stratospheric. What little wind there is whips into the bay, almost taking you off your feet. Crates rip free of their holds and fly out into the sky.

You steel yourself, and leap.

>Roll 1d100

Rolled 84 (1d100)

>>1192699

Rolled 34 (1d100)

>>1192699

Rolled 87 (1d100)

>>1192699

The wind screams past your face, its bite blocked out by the visor of your helmet. You pass through the upper cloud layer, and catch sight of the ground below.

Green and yellow fields stretch across the expanse, interspersed with blue lakes and rivers. On the far horizon, lights sparkle from the mountain range where the miners make their home. One of Anobis' moons hangs over the range, the pale crescent gazing down from above.

You angle your body back towards the combat, easily picked out by the flashing laser blasts. Rocketing downwards, you feel the tug of gravity battle air resistance.

+20 seconds to impact.+

Just a few more seconds...

+15 seconds to impact.+

+10+

+9+

+8+

+7+

+6+

+5+

Now.

You rip the pull-tab on the gravchute a bare 100 meters above the ground. The pack strains to stop your descent, slowing you down to a manageable 20 meters a second. The impact hurts, but you aren't a high-ranking stain on the ground, so...

The Rebels noticed you, but are too busy fighting the WRFs to make much of it. You spotted scattered bodies on your way down, most Rebel, some Imperial. You crouch down in a horseshoe of some crates, and catch your breath.

>Request enemy surrender
>Wipe them out, personally
>Enter the house
>Other? (Please mark your write-in with greentexted >Other)

>>1192810
>Wipe them out, personally
>Leave two alive. Kill the rest.

>>1192810
>Request enemy surrender

Order the enemy surrender, they are surrounded and have no transport off world. They will be well treated as POW's. (We could definitely use some information here)

>>1192810

>Request enemy surrender

if they refuse

>Take the ones who look like leaders alive, kill the rest.

>>1192810
>Request enemy surrender

>roll 1d100+10

Rolled 64 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>1193166

Rolled 80 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>1193166

Rolled 77 (1d100)

>>1193166

You route your vox through the speakers of the orbiting dropship. Your words boom across the battlefield:

"This is Admiral Janus Cain. You are outnumbered, outgunned, and without an escape. Surrender now, and you will be spared on my order. You will have the option of service or incarceration." Standard Imperial spiel, tried and true.

The gunfire stops.

"Well, I for one welcome our new Impy overlords," comes one voice.

The dropship lands, and begins taking on your new prisoners. After the battle, only 6 remain.

>Into the house
>Into the ship
>Other?

>>1193222
Additional option:

>Request report from all WRF squads

>>1193222
>Into the ship

>>1193222
>Into this ship.
>Other. Have the teams inside the house tear it apart, look for anything Rebely. Have some grunts put it back togeather when they are done.
>Request report from all squads.

>>1193222
>Into the ship
>Request report from all WRF squads

>>1193222
>Into the house

Need to ontinue our investigation

>Request report from all WRF squads

You follow into the ship, turning your voxcaster to radio only.

"All squads, report."

"Alpha, one injured."

"Beta, two injuries. Nothing serious."

"Charlie and Gamma. House is clear. We tore it up, no occupants 'cept some terrified droid. Garage is open, and empty. Droid says that there should be a speeder - looks like Silaf slipped away. Our slicer is checking his datapad no-"

The Charlie team lead is cut off by a detonation from inside the house! A plume of smoke rises into the air. Class I explosive, IED. Fuck.

"This is Darkeye Actual to Gambit bridge. Requesting medevac ASAP. Class I IED detonation."

You run for the house, joined by Mort. Instead of ringing the doorbell, you knock. With your left arm.

The door goes flying, and you rush into the foyer. It's a respectable house, which translates to a manor among the farmers here on Anobis. You wonder where Silaf got the funds...

You run through the kitchen, crossing into Silaf's personal quarters... which are blocked by rubble. Mynock droppings.

>Punch through
>Blast through
>Wait for medevac's specialized equipment
>Other? (Please mark)

>>1193478
>>Punch through

>>1193478
>puuch through and keeps moving.

>>1193478
>Punch through

Clear carefully but we need to get some stabilizing medicines too them so they can hang on until medivac

Also make a mental note to ask the prisoners if they knew anything about this IED, if they did then they will be punished. Severely.

>>1193478

>Punch through

>Roll 1d100 - 5

I'm so sorry for the delay, I had to scream at my grandparent's router for a couple hours.

>>1193478
>>Punch through

Rolled 49 + 5 (1d100 + 5)

>>1194199

Rolled 50 - 5 (1d100 - 5)

>>1194199

Rolled 30 - 5 (1d100 - 5)

>>1194199

Rolled 71 - 5 (1d100 - 5)

>>1194199

Did it scream back?

>>1194250
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=gsNaR6FRuO0
Yes.

>45, minor failure

You twist back, and slam your fist into the rubble. The shock carries up your arm, and a sharp jab of pain makes you wince under your visor. A few more hits, and you clear away enough of the rubble to get through with a tight squeeze. (-3 health, at 22/25)

In the personal quarters, 8 of the 12 members of Gamma-Charlie work on keeping their comrades alive. In the case of one Charlie member, they're just closing his eyes.

>Words of encouragement
>Situation report, now
>Help the wounded
>Start to get them outta there
>Other?

>>1194351
>Start to get them outta there

>>1194351
>Help the wounded

>>1194351
>Help the wounded

>Roll 1d100-20

It seems the internet was not as fixed as I thought it was.

Rolled 18 - 20 (1d100 - 20)

>>1194653

>>1194653

Rolled 23 - 20 (1d100 - 20)

>>1194653

Rolled 60 - 20 (1d100 - 20)

>>1194653

You attempt to help, but only manage getting in the way of one of the medics. The patient eventually gets stabilized, but definitely not as quickly as she should have been.

It isn't long before the lasercutters of the medevac team clear the rubble you didn't punch through. EOD and Forensics come through the aperture as the medevacs leave. Their examination reveals that the protocol droid was rigged to blow using methods previously used by Rebel sabotage teams, including farmers here on Anobis; no other IEDs were found. Forensics discovers a repulsorlift signature heading to the mountains, of all places.

After the commotion settles a little, you have time to rest for a moment. A fresh, undamaged shuttle is being brought in, and wounded are clearing out. All in all, the WRFs are down to three-quarters strength, if that. Mortician is hunched in the corner, blood streaking his armor. His foot taps rhythmically, in the cadence of a heartbeat. Pixie and Tearer are exchanging marksmanship tips against a wall. Hitscan... is sleeping on Silaf's desk. Jetpack work takes a lot out of a man.

You consider your next move...

>Chase down the signature immediately
>Regroup and re-arm
>Darkeyes chase the sig, WRFs get some rest
>Other?

>>1194795
>Chase down the signature immediately

>>1194795
>>Darkeyes chase the sig, WRFs get some rest

>>1194795
>>Darkeyes chase the sig, WRFs get some rest

File: allhail.gif (38 KB, 500x500)

38 KB GIF

After a few more minutes of R&R, you muster the Darkeyes. With a few choice words, they stumble into the shuttle. You can feel the wear of fatigue yourself... (no bonuses to any physical rolls.)

The shuttle skims Anobis' rolling hills, tracing the the repulsorlift signature. Before long, the shuttle comes up on a speedertruck, racing along at 300 km/hr. You have but a few minutes until it reaches the mountain pass, beyond the reach of your shuttle.

>Fastrope onto it
>Shoot at it
>Demand surrender
>Other?
>ALL HAIL THE 8BALL

>>1195087
>Fastrope onto it

>>1195087

>Fastrope onto it

>>1195087
>>Fastrope onto it

My madness has subsided... for now.

>Roll 5d100-10

Rolled 73, 52, 16, 16, 39 + 10 = 206 (5d100 + 10)

>>1195168

Rolled 76, 94, 58, 47, 52 - 10 = 317 (5d100 - 10)

>>1195168

Rolled 40, 88, 59, 72, 49 - 10 = 298 (5d100 - 10)

>>1195168

Rolled 65, 65, 15, 73, 22 + 10 = 250 (5d100 + 10)

>>1195168

66.84.49.62.42

The fastropes drop, and all of you slide down them, the wind blowing you back slightly. At the last moment, Silaf pulls some fancy shit, yanking his truck to the right and back. Hitscan compensates with a burst from his jetpack. You take a light tumble, catching yourself with your arm. Mortician catches himself with his vibroblade on the side. Breeze and Tearer get slammed (-5 health each) and go down in the truck's bed (stunned for 2 turns).

You clench the mechanical muscles in your arm, digging into the metal of the truck's side. It's rather large, think of a hovering UPS delivery van, that has an open back and low cab so you and Mortician are effectively hanging off a big metal wall. Mort's about halfway down, and you're grabbing the top port corner of the craft's raised bed. You could get into the bed, or you could crawl sideways to the cab. Hitscan's crouching on top of the cab, holding on for dear life against Silaf's insane driving - he's veering to and fro with such violence you'd swear he was trying to knock you off.

Unstable ground - every movement action requires a 40DC roll to go through.

>Get to the cab
>Get in the bed
>Other?

Rolled 42 (1d100)

>>1196809
>Get in the bed

Rolled 85 (1d100)

>>1196809
>>Get to the cab
You aren't supposed to roll yet. right?

>>1196809
>Get in the bed

And start getting the other Darkeyes there as well, give them a hand in

"Mort! Move to the truckbed!" Even that small phrase almost winds you with exertion, as you haul yourself over the edge of the bed's wall. Dropping in, you feel the weak metal bend beneath you ever so slightly. Things you aren't so good at: extreme acrobatics.

Tearer and Breezer are still picking themselves up. (1 more turn). You are now situated in the bed; it's more stable here. You have a few options - the back of the cab connects directly to the bed. You could wait for Hitscan to do his thing, or punch through with the saber or your arm.

>Punch through
>Just wait for Hitscan
>Other

>>1198631
>>Punch through with saber, wave it around inside the cab.

>>1198631
>Just wait for Hitscan

>>1198631
>>Punch through with saber, wave it around inside the cab.

>Roll 1d100, DC 70

Rolled 64 (1d100)

>>1198711

Rolled 79 (1d100)

>>1198711

Rolled 52 (1d100)

>>1198711

>79

You ignite the blade, reel back your arm, and punch through the back of the cab. The shriek of metal - and the occupant - fills the air as your arm and saber twist, melt, and rend the steel out of the way. Eventually, you can actually see the back of Silaf's head - so you press your pistol to his head.

"You know what this is. Stop the vehicle, traitor."

Obediently, Silaf slows and stops the speeder.

In the pass, you can get a good look at the now bound Silaf.

A pudgy (horrendously overweight, by Anobis farmer standards) 60ish year old man with thinning hair. He's garbed in a worn travel cloak, under which he has some pretty standard civilian clothing. His eyes and hands constantly skitter, looking for something to do - a nervous response to stress? - and he occasionally glances at the cliffs surrounding you, as if looking for something.

"We just need a few answers, and then we'll let you go," coaxes Breeze. "We aren't Imperial anymore."

Mortician is playing the bad cop by existing in Silaf's line of sight.

With some more furtive glances, Silaf sighs, and gives in. "What do you want to know?" His voice is reedy, the sort of thing you got used to hearing giving stupid orders. It's the voice that anyone in a position of power they don't deserve seems required to have.

>What *do* you want to know? (write in)

>New feature: DESCRIBE! Write ">Desc <character name> and I'll give you a full description of the character based on what you see at that given moment.

>>1198761
Everything. and why he keeps looking at the cliffs.

>>1198765
The cliffs first though, and as a precaution lets have our bros scan the cliff

>>1198761
>Desc <Morticain>

Ask him who was supplying the weapons to both sides and who his contact is.

Rolled 69 + 30 (1d100 + 30)

>>1199125
>Desc
Mortician is standing in front of Silaf, about 4 meters to your left. He's ~2.3 ISM tall (6'4"), holding a vibrosword, with a shock blaster slung over his shoulder. His standard Imperial Stormtrooper armor (Medical variant) is splattered with blood, of several different colors. You can't see his face, but his Stormtrooper helmet is painted with the stylized design of the Darkeyes - an eye with a cross-hair running through, with the lines meeting at the pupil. From his body language, he looks both exhausted and nervous.

"For starters," you begin, "I'd like to know why you keep looking at those cliffs like they're gonna sprout barbettes and blast you."

He scoffs, and speaks in a tone befitting of a father coaching an idiot child on basic math. "I'm a famous figure for the farmers. We're in miner territory. They don't like me." He seems to realize you are not idiot children, and are, in fact, an elite Imperial squadron *very* capable of torturing him to death. "Ah.. sorry."

You aren't assuaged, but the only scanners you have are on the shuttle, which couldn't follow you into the narrow pass.

"Who was supplying the weapons?"

"The weapons were sourced from black market dealers all over the galaxy."

"I meant who's credits /payed/ for the weapons?"

"Oh, well-"

The crack of a laser rifle echoes through the pass. Silaf's head, heated past its tolerance point, explodes, splattering a 2-meter area in front of him with skull fragments and brain matter. You duck and whirl, dropping behind the truck. You spied a scope's glint about 200 meters out, above you, on a clifftop. Small, twisted trees, sprouting there from the mountainside, would give a sniper ample cover.

"Seems the Rebel presence here wasn't limited to Silaf's recovery team," you growl over the comm.

"I could duel it out with that motherfucker," says Breeze, her rifle already swinging up.

"I vote we just make for the end of the pass, get the fuck outta here," suggests Hitscan. "That assassin will have faded already, and we control the voidspace over Anobis. He can't get anywhere we can't."

Tearer just sends a wall of lasers back towards the sniper.

>Evac
>Sniper duel!
>Other?

>>1199237
>>Sniper duel!

>>1199237
>Sniper duel!

>>1199237
>Sniper duel!

>>1199309
We have a discord, if you aren't already in it. We would love it if you joined in! https://discord.gg/FgWFz

"Breeze, duke it out! Hitscan, see if you can move on the sniper. Tearer, covering fire! Mort, into the truck. We're gonna run 'em down!"

>Roll 4d100

Rolled 42, 81, 89, 95 = 307 (4d100)

>>1199512

70 DC

Rolled 96, 61, 33, 96 = 286 (4d100)

>>1199512

Rolled 56, 92, 35, 28 = 211 (4d100)

>>1199512

96.92.89.96
In case you didn't know, you always come first in group rolls, followed by the chronology of actions mentioned in the last post. In this case, Mort's action is linked to yours, so he doesn't roll. >EXP <Rule> for more explanations.

Breeze takes her shot. You can't see if it hit - the engagement's at too long of a range - but she looks to be on target. Hitscan's jetpack flares, right as another shot lands from a different angle! It's a team, not a lone assassin! Hitscan takes the initiative, jetting off in the direction of that last shot. Whoever fired it is probably regretting it, as Tearer performs a surprisingly competent impersonation of a fire suppression droid. With his laser.

The doors on the speedertruck slam closed, and you take the controls. As you start it up, a shot comes through the windshield, passing through the hole you made earlier. You slam on the gas, in the direction of the hill.

<This is Eyedropper-221,> rings a message over your radio. <We're seeing an incoming GR-45. Should we call in support?>

>Yes (calls in a TIE wing)
>No (let the GR do its thing)
>Other?

Three turns until you arrive at the sniper's location.

>>1200109
>>No (let the GR do its thing)

>>1200109
>No (let the GR do its thing)

>>1200109
>No (let the GR do its thing)

>>1200109
>No

"No, let it through. But keep watch on i-"

You're cut off by another sniper round, this one uncomfortably close to your left ear.

"SHIT! We gotta do something about that!"

This sniper is unnaturally good. You've heard horror stories about Rebel commandos, but this is taking it to a whole new level!

>Try some fancy driving
>You've heard stories about lightsabers and lasers...
>Just keep swimming
>Other?

>>1200182
>You've heard stories about lightsabers and lasers...

>>1200182
>>You've heard stories about lightsabers and lasers...

>>1200182
>Fancy driving

>>1200182
>>You've heard stories about lightsabers and lasers...

>Roll 1d100 DC90

Rolled 9 (1d100)

>>1200478

Rolled 62 (1d100)

>>1200478

Rolled 81 (1d100)

>>1200478

Rolled 75 (1d100)

>>1200478

Your saber ignites, causing Mort to duck out of the way. You watch for the glint of the sniper's scope - there!

Your arm flicks out, attempting to intercept the shot,but you miss it by a hair's breadth. It cracks into the seat behind you, leaving a smoking hole.

You see another stream of shots from Tearer's cannon go flying, and a lightning-flash shot by Breeze streak toward the shooter. The glint vanishes.

The GR model your dropship warned you about rumbles overhead. It can't fit into the narrow pass, but you see it's heading for a wider portion of the valley network.

>Start chasing the GR
>Keep hounding the sniper
As well as
>Fancy driving
>Second time's the charm?
>Potshots with the sidearm
>Other

Every time you fail a roll or don't take an evasion action, the sniper gets a chance to hit you, DC 90.

Rolled 96 (1d100)

Forgot the fucking roll, sigh.

>>1200617
>Start chasing the GR

>Second time's the charm?

Well alrighty then.

Another shot - this one's on target. The bolt slices through your shoulder.

"FUCKING HELL, that STINGS!" you roar.

(-5 health. 17/25)

>>1200617
>>Keep hounding the sniper
This bitch is dead.
>Potshots with the sidearm

>>1200672
I can support this

>>1200617
>>Keep hounding the sniper
>Potshots with the sidearm

>>1200672

Seconding this

>roll 1d100 DC 70 to not get shot, 90 to supress

Rolled 49 (1d100)

>>1202220

Rolled 28 (1d100)

>>1202220

Rolled 67 (1d100)

>>1202220

Rolled 82 (1d100)

>>1202220

Rolled 45 (1d100)

You fire some shots, but at this speed, you can't hit the broad side of a barn! They go wide. The sniper's rifle flashes -

- and misses you. Whew.

The truck barrels into the side of the hill, and you set it into a drift, fishtailing it clockwise. You and Mort both jump out, following the van as cover. You crouch down behind it.

The incline before you is steep. Almost vertical, it leads up to a small terrace, where some trees and shrubs are clinging. You catch your first glimpse of the sniper.

Mort brings out his climbing blades. You could follow him that way, or you could use the grappling hook...

>Grapple
>Climb
>Other

>>1202393
>Climb

>>1202393
>Grapple
Big Imperial Balls

>>1202393
>>Grapple

You fire your grapple...
>1d100

Rolled 53 (1d100)

>>1203130

forgot DC
>70

Rolled 79 (1d100)

>>1203130

Rolled 9 (1d100)

>>1203130

The hook catches on the side of the ledge, sunk into the stone. You reel the line, rapidly ascending to the ledge.

The ledge is small, maybe 6x2 meters. Behind an Anobisan tree crouches the sniper, who's whirling to face you!

They're a slight being, dressed in random rags, as Rebels are wont to do. A sidearm is holstered at their hip, and a hood and scarf masks their face. You've caught them off-guard.

>Blast her
>Close to melee
>Stun blast
>Other?

>>1208680
>grappling hook her or stun her. Whicever is easier

>>1208680
>Stun blast

They're good, hopefully they also know some good tidbits of information

>>1208680
>>Stun blast

>>1208688
>>1208680
This

Rolled 5 (1d100)

>>1202220

>>1208680
>Stun blast
what the fuck

>>1208680
>All that effort on saying 'their' to disguise gender.
>Adds the option "Blast her"

Whoops m80 ;^)

Rolled 18 + 10 (1d100 + 10)

>>1210971
I KNOW I FUCKING HATE MYSELF REEEEEEEEEE

>Roll 1d100 to beat my roll

Rolled 79 (1d100)

>>1212231
I dunno man. Seems hard.

Rolled 74 (1d100)

>>1212231

They seem like they're pretty flustured being found out so quickly

Rolled 46 (1d100)

>>1212231

Rolled 28 (1d100)

>>1212231

The close quarters and cumbersome nature of the rifle makes them sloppy, your arrival shocks them, and they just aren't that well trained. As they swing their weapon up, you see why they only landed one hit on you - as they drop the rifle. Scrambling for it, before remembering they have a sidearm, going for that, getting out of its holster, which is the point you've decided you've had enough of the show, and stun them. They crumple to the ground.

Hefting the actually quite light Rebel with your cybernetic, you drop down a few ledges back to the truck, past an implacable (though obviously annoyed) Mortician, who wordlessly takes the sniper and slings them in the back, where he performs a cursory medical check.

"Human female, roughly fifteen years of age, heavy surgical scarring above left ear. Hair is red, eyes are blue. Laser burn, recent, on left shoulder. Breeze gets to keep her sniper cert."

You smile wanly at his rare humor, and hop in the back with the KO'd Reb. Mort slips into the front, and begins the short drive back to where Tearer and Breeze are checking their gear. You motion for them to hop in. Breeze takes the "seat" opposite from you, and Tearer hops in the front with Mort. You poke your head through the hole to the cab.

"Take us over to the other sniper's nest. I want to check on Hitscan."

"That one was definitely better. I had some trouble with him - almost took my head off, couple of times," mentions Breeze.

The truck hums over to the ledge, where you just catch the red flash of a laser. A few seconds later, a body comes tumbling off. It isn't Hitscan's - he lands next to it, feathering his jetpack.

"Bastard almost killed me. I had no choice. Sorry, boss."

>That's fine. (Reassuring)
>Do better next time. (Reprimand)
>Other

AND

>Wake the girl to ID the body
>Get a move on to the plains (get picked up by the shuttle) or the Miners' complex.
>Other

>>1213398
>thats fine

>get the girl up to id the body and move.

>>1213417
>>1213398
This.

>>1213398
>That's fine. (Reassuring)
>Get a move on to the plains (get picked up by the shuttle) or the Miners' complex.
>Other
Just get her in a carry and move on

I REQUIRE SPECIFICATION:

>Miners' complex
>Plains for shuttle
>Other (specify)

>>1213442
>>Miners' complex

>>1213442
>>Miners' complex

>>1213442

> Miners' complex

>>1213442
>>Miners' complex

As Hitscan hops in the bed with you, Breeze, and the Rebel, you tell Mort to take you in the direction of the Miners' complex, which your maps say is about a twenty-minute drive through the winding mountain passes. On the way, you grab the sniper's shoulder, trying to shake her awake.

Her eyes snap open, and she starts screaming. You recoil, as does she - you, back onto your bench, she into the restraining arms of Hitscan.

"STAYAWAYAWAYFROMME-" Hitscan stuns her again.

"We're gonna fry her brain," says Breeze.

"If it isn't already fried," you quip, a little disturbed. What could've caused that reaction? She'd looked like a cornered animal - you'd seen nothing in her eyes except blank terror.

The rest of the ride passes in silence, excepting the muted humming of the truck's repulsorlifts. Anobis' mountains were stark, but beautiful - it was winter in this hemisphere, and the pale light of its blue sun shone against the snow-covered tops. Down in the valleys, it wasn't too cold - the wind was broken by the surrounding mountains.

You begin to notice a grinding sound, reverberating all around you. It comes from inside the mountains, occasionally punctuated by a detonation. Soon, as the sun is disappearing to the south, you come to what you assume is the valley entrance to the Miners' complex.

Guarded by a nasty looking turbolaser, the closed doors are large enough to accommodate an AT-AT, and look sturdy enough to survive an attack by one. The turbolaser tracks your truck, and Mort calls through the hole:

"We're receiving a request for identification from the complex!"

>Tell them who we are.
>Tell them we're farmers with wounded.
>Tell them we're offworlders with wounded.
>Other?

>>1214178
>Tell them who we are.

>>1214178
>>Tell them who we are.

>>1214178
>>Tell them who we are.

>>1214178
>Tell them who we are.

>>1214178
>>Tell them who we are.
"Bring more dissidents to us."

I get the feeling that she had a bad experience with the empire at some point.

"Admiral Janus Cain, delivering a wounded prisoner for treatment and interrogation."

A few long seconds pass. The turbolaser turns back out to face the valley corridor. You breath out, a breath you didn't know you'd been holding.

"Confirmed. Welcome to Dewcot, Admiral."

The doors grind open, exposing a two-lane road. Mortician eases the truck back into motion.

The road travels about 100 meters before the walls open up, and you enter a cavern the size of a starship. Artificial constructions climb the walls, hang from the ceiling, and rise from the ground. Tunnels bore into the sides of the mountain, rails for trams running through them. People hurry across closed suspension walkways, rushing from module to module. In the streets, automated cargo trucks (all terrain tracked vehicles) rumble along, carrying loads of ore rumble along, coming from the tunnels to the depots. You see pitted craters and broken, hanging suspension bridges - evidence of the civil war. Suspicious faces watch from the windows as Mortician steers you to a garage full of assorted landspeeders, most simple transports, one heavily armed and armored - an old model of Imperial troop transport. You can definitely see the favoritism.

As the transport comes to a stop, you cough slightly as the dust and fuel-choked air stops moving relative to you. Having Mort and Tearer grab the Reb, you step through an airlock into a heavy-duty, industrial looking corridor. Harsh lights burn from corner strips as you hurry on. Following the signs, you rush into the infirmary. The medical droid glides over, sensors already scanning the prostrate girl.

+Detected: Multiple cranial implants. Detected: laser burn. Detected: stun blaster shock.+

It picks her up, gently, and sets her on a medical bed, where she's restrained.

+Special orders: all visitors are to route through main security. Please follow the signs.+

>Demand to stay with the patient
>Go to security
>Other?

>>1218394
>Demand to stay with the patient
No chance for spies to off her

>>1218394
>Demand to stay with the patient

>>1218394
>>Demand to stay with the patient

>>1218394
>Strip nude and start rapping.

>>1218632
>>1218394
I'll back this.

>>1218394
>Demand to stay with the patient

>>1218394
>stay with the patient

>>1218394
Don't waifu the cyborg child soldier. We can always get better ones to choose from.

File: Shelke-saber_FF7_DoC.png (195 KB, 627x591)

195 KB PNG

>>1225524

I put my saber in my ass and spark it up up up!