Ballistic Builds
Mission 17.4: Riots on Corellia
Sgt. Weeper, command log:
Durge. What an abomination. A 1500 year old, unyielding hulk of a muscle mass that took pleasure in killing Mando’s. Please, this was a walk in the park for everyone here in the GAR. At least that’s what some of the squads who went in before us legitimately thought. All along the sewer access tunnels, we were met with bits of plastoid armor and flesh. Whether it was clone flesh or Durge’s we didn’t know yet, that was until we came across an old Alpha class ARC trooper.
“It’s an honor Alpha, but no time for pleasantries, we’ve got-,” and before I mentioned the devil, he had appeared. His deep and gargling voice made itself at home in the humid air then hanging with the stench of death.
“Even with his final breath,” Durge approached while hunched in the cramped tunnel and gestured to the gray haired Fett clone, “this old clone couldn’t muster the guts to tell you what little he could do. You’re going to find it’s a lot harder to kill me-“ The enclosing pitter patter of my squad; Bearer and Pall cut him off. “Well now we’ve got something to play with,” in a motion as beastly as an Acklay’s, Durge surged at us with all of his armored berth. I quickly motioned to Bearer and Pall to take the adjacent tunnel while I’d stand my ground. I pulled my vibro blade and in the instant that Durge lunged his broad hands at my throat I dropped into the sludge. Squatting in filth and waste, I jabbed at the bounty hunter’s face plate. A whirling screech filled the tunnels as he flew over my head and crumpled meters away. Immediately, I flicked my range finding/night vision goggles over my T-visor and silently motioned to the men across the main section of sewage runway. The plan was to take the parallel tunnels as we could easily meet up at the next main junction - which turned out to have been a maintenance overlook. It was a matter of throwing Durge off while he was stunned. As I made for the junction, I heard a slosh and a pound. A slosh and a pound. It was picking up. He was on all fours. I dashed to my right with my back still turned. I pivoted and the moment was there. I latched onto an electrical pole running along the hallway, made it fulcrum, and sprung myself above Durge’s back and between the ceiling. Like staking a flag, I punched my knife right into his right shoulder and pulled using my whole weight. His armored arm was nearly severed. I clambered between his legs as he examined my handiwork. “Not a bad cut, for a droid!” He finished his sentence in bold. He was fuming and he was forcing me onto the maintenance overlook. There, he’d have more space. As I backed and he advanced, I caught a glimpse of Durge’s face. I had cut his face plate clean off and left a gash along his face where he could’ve had a cleft chin. His near tusks of teeth were baring sludge mixed with saliva as he reveled in my killing. The more I damaged him, the more satisfied he’d be. Eventually I was against the railing of the overlook. He consumed the threshold that led into the comparatively cathedral sized maintenance room.
I comm’d in, “Bearer, where are you?” Durge recoiled and made motion to crush my every fiber. I dashed and cut at his right thigh then finished my cut at his shoulder. The bulky arm - with blaster in hand - fell to a thud on the ground below. He spun and gnashed his saber-like fangs. He realized I was simply de-armoring him as I prepared to give him onslaught. He prepared first. He pulled his second blaster and I dove off the overlook. I vaulted the fast current of sewer sludge as Durge made his drunken way off the overlook. As he jumped down, he seemed to have staggered.
“Need fire power!” Pall came to the overlook and a grappling wire flung to life from Bearer’s long rifle. I had Durge’s whole right side torn up and his focus up to this point. Durge was considering just blasting them, but he wanted me gone first. I jumped as high and far as I could at him as Pall opened fire and Bearer rode the grappling line with charges in hand. The charges landed on this back. The fresh muscle of his regenerative arm and leg were writhing in the pelting of plasma blots. His head was adorned with my blade and he staggered away. He fell into the current and into the tunnel. The last thing he did as he drifted was throw my knife back at me, landing in my foot. The pain was numbed with adrenaline and if anything, his Gen’Dai blood was healing the wound. The charges had blown and he was dressed with rubble. With too much to regenerate, and too much weight to lift, he drowned in the waste of a people terrorized by his own treachery.
Weeper, out.
Mission 17.4: Riots on Corellia
Sgt. Weeper, command log:
Durge. What an abomination. A 1500 year old, unyielding hulk of a muscle mass that took pleasure in killing Mando’s. Please, this was a walk in the park for everyone here in the GAR. At least that’s what some of the squads who went in before us legitimately thought. All along the sewer access tunnels, we were met with bits of plastoid armor and flesh. Whether it was clone flesh or Durge’s we didn’t know yet, that was until we came across an old Alpha class ARC trooper.
“It’s an honor Alpha, but no time for pleasantries, we’ve got-,” and before I mentioned the devil, he had appeared. His deep and gargling voice made itself at home in the humid air then hanging with the stench of death.
“Even with his final breath,” Durge approached while hunched in the cramped tunnel and gestured to the gray haired Fett clone, “this old clone couldn’t muster the guts to tell you what little he could do. You’re going to find it’s a lot harder to kill me-“ The enclosing pitter patter of my squad; Bearer and Pall cut him off. “Well now we’ve got something to play with,” in a motion as beastly as an Acklay’s, Durge surged at us with all of his armored berth. I quickly motioned to Bearer and Pall to take the adjacent tunnel while I’d stand my ground. I pulled my vibro blade and in the instant that Durge lunged his broad hands at my throat I dropped into the sludge. Squatting in filth and waste, I jabbed at the bounty hunter’s face plate. A whirling screech filled the tunnels as he flew over my head and crumpled meters away. Immediately, I flicked my range finding/night vision goggles over my T-visor and silently motioned to the men across the main section of sewage runway. The plan was to take the parallel tunnels as we could easily meet up at the next main junction - which turned out to have been a maintenance overlook. It was a matter of throwing Durge off while he was stunned. As I made for the junction, I heard a slosh and a pound. A slosh and a pound. It was picking up. He was on all fours. I dashed to my right with my back still turned. I pivoted and the moment was there. I latched onto an electrical pole running along the hallway, made it fulcrum, and sprung myself above Durge’s back and between the ceiling. Like staking a flag, I punched my knife right into his right shoulder and pulled using my whole weight. His armored arm was nearly severed. I clambered between his legs as he examined my handiwork. “Not a bad cut, for a droid!” He finished his sentence in bold. He was fuming and he was forcing me onto the maintenance overlook. There, he’d have more space. As I backed and he advanced, I caught a glimpse of Durge’s face. I had cut his face plate clean off and left a gash along his face where he could’ve had a cleft chin. His near tusks of teeth were baring sludge mixed with saliva as he reveled in my killing. The more I damaged him, the more satisfied he’d be. Eventually I was against the railing of the overlook. He consumed the threshold that led into the comparatively cathedral sized maintenance room.
I comm’d in, “Bearer, where are you?” Durge recoiled and made motion to crush my every fiber. I dashed and cut at his right thigh then finished my cut at his shoulder. The bulky arm - with blaster in hand - fell to a thud on the ground below. He spun and gnashed his saber-like fangs. He realized I was simply de-armoring him as I prepared to give him onslaught. He prepared first. He pulled his second blaster and I dove off the overlook. I vaulted the fast current of sewer sludge as Durge made his drunken way off the overlook. As he jumped down, he seemed to have staggered.
“Need fire power!” Pall came to the overlook and a grappling wire flung to life from Bearer’s long rifle. I had Durge’s whole right side torn up and his focus up to this point. Durge was considering just blasting them, but he wanted me gone first. I jumped as high and far as I could at him as Pall opened fire and Bearer rode the grappling line with charges in hand. The charges landed on this back. The fresh muscle of his regenerative arm and leg were writhing in the pelting of plasma blots. His head was adorned with my blade and he staggered away. He fell into the current and into the tunnel. The last thing he did as he drifted was throw my knife back at me, landing in my foot. The pain was numbed with adrenaline and if anything, his Gen’Dai blood was healing the wound. The charges had blown and he was dressed with rubble. With too much to regenerate, and too much weight to lift, he drowned in the waste of a people terrorized by his own treachery.
Weeper, out.