Ballistic Builds
Mission 17.1: Riots on Corellia
Sgt. Weeper, command log:
Landing on Corellia would’ve been a nice change of pace from the swathes of snowy hills on Vandos Prime had it not been following on the aftermath of that ice block. We’d essentially been demoted to simple police work. Riots, not to mention the lack thereof violence, were nothing compared to a coordinated and sophisticated insurrection. The political climate was different this time. Mourning squad was on its way to do its duty but it all felt truly off.
Our modest force was placed in the parks outside of the noblemen’s places. Their homes were the most extravagant and ornate above the rest of the city growth. Many were simple workers on the shipping yards but now they were rioting in the streets, claiming ‘bad pay’ and ‘overworking’. If only they had an ounce of honor in their work it might’ve been justified. They seemed pitiful enough based on the briefings yet seeing them eye to eye was almost uncomfortable.
Then there was a breaking point in the tension. Voices began to rise and hands belonging to the blurry faces of the riot shook and jested at an individual. The movement seemed to be heading to the front. We thought that the non-lethal weapon outfitting was for looks. Now it was evident that there was and edge, waiting to be unsheathed.
“Do you know what it’s like to be worked?” The man started off on a rant or monologue of the sorts. “Do you even see the work that builds the galaxy for your war? Do you even know what it is to be human?” That was the sting that hit with a seething venom. Bearer had taken a particular liking to him.
“Just because I’m a lab rat doesn’t make me any less a rat!” Bearer was certainly throwing some fiery words for a man meant to perform basic crowd control. It was rather poetic for a clone admittedly.
“Oh, but I’m no rat. I’m guessing you don’t have an idea as to what these blood-stripes mean. They distinguish a man from his outfit. A soldier from his squad. A leader from his audience. It takes the most dedicated will from a Corellian soldier to get these! I’d even guess you have no idea what being a true soldier is!”
Bearer has enough and lit up his baton. Pall was gripping his shield so taught that the white was practically showing through the glove over his knuckles. A screaming match ensued where no one seemed to be getting anywhere. Someone from the crowd threw a glass and rioters we kicking trash up at us. I felt removed by an enigmatic enormity. Somehow, as the patriarchal brother of the squad, I found myself in the childish bickering. What did it mean to be a true soldier? Follow the orders to a T. Right? Now I thought back to my last minute call on Vandos Prime. That was blatant disregard to the given protocol. What was I thinking? Only now in the heat did I think of something so detrimental to myself. What did it mean to be a true soldier? These protesters did seem to display some honor.
Weeper, out.
Mission 17.1: Riots on Corellia
Sgt. Weeper, command log:
Landing on Corellia would’ve been a nice change of pace from the swathes of snowy hills on Vandos Prime had it not been following on the aftermath of that ice block. We’d essentially been demoted to simple police work. Riots, not to mention the lack thereof violence, were nothing compared to a coordinated and sophisticated insurrection. The political climate was different this time. Mourning squad was on its way to do its duty but it all felt truly off.
Our modest force was placed in the parks outside of the noblemen’s places. Their homes were the most extravagant and ornate above the rest of the city growth. Many were simple workers on the shipping yards but now they were rioting in the streets, claiming ‘bad pay’ and ‘overworking’. If only they had an ounce of honor in their work it might’ve been justified. They seemed pitiful enough based on the briefings yet seeing them eye to eye was almost uncomfortable.
Then there was a breaking point in the tension. Voices began to rise and hands belonging to the blurry faces of the riot shook and jested at an individual. The movement seemed to be heading to the front. We thought that the non-lethal weapon outfitting was for looks. Now it was evident that there was and edge, waiting to be unsheathed.
“Do you know what it’s like to be worked?” The man started off on a rant or monologue of the sorts. “Do you even see the work that builds the galaxy for your war? Do you even know what it is to be human?” That was the sting that hit with a seething venom. Bearer had taken a particular liking to him.
“Just because I’m a lab rat doesn’t make me any less a rat!” Bearer was certainly throwing some fiery words for a man meant to perform basic crowd control. It was rather poetic for a clone admittedly.
“Oh, but I’m no rat. I’m guessing you don’t have an idea as to what these blood-stripes mean. They distinguish a man from his outfit. A soldier from his squad. A leader from his audience. It takes the most dedicated will from a Corellian soldier to get these! I’d even guess you have no idea what being a true soldier is!”
Bearer has enough and lit up his baton. Pall was gripping his shield so taught that the white was practically showing through the glove over his knuckles. A screaming match ensued where no one seemed to be getting anywhere. Someone from the crowd threw a glass and rioters we kicking trash up at us. I felt removed by an enigmatic enormity. Somehow, as the patriarchal brother of the squad, I found myself in the childish bickering. What did it mean to be a true soldier? Follow the orders to a T. Right? Now I thought back to my last minute call on Vandos Prime. That was blatant disregard to the given protocol. What was I thinking? Only now in the heat did I think of something so detrimental to myself. What did it mean to be a true soldier? These protesters did seem to display some honor.
Weeper, out.