𝚌𝚘𝚍𝚎𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚖𝚘𝚗 𝚑𝚎𝚛𝚎.
Rylann Tetra, Shaak Ti's padawan, is stationed on Kamino to her disliking. Ry, taken from her home when she was only two, is upset that she didn't get a choice to become a jedi, wishing she was never discover...
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Getting into the warehouse was easy, but trying to be quiet was a whole different story. Wrecker couldn't stop himself from giggling in anticipation of possibly blowing something up, and Hunter had to silence him multiple times.
Once again Wrecker giggled under his breath, rubbing his hands together. "Any moment now."
Crosshair gave him the side eye. "Are you trying to get us killed?" he asked, venom dripping from his voice.
"I'm just trying to get something blown up," Wrecker said, a chuckle rumbling in his chest.
"We have to first find out the recipient of the smuggled bombs before we blow them up," Tech muttered, twisting a knob at the side of his goggles. "Ah, I see a few heat signatures in the main hangar."
Sil hovered over Tech's shoulder to look in the direction he was gazing. She clicked a button on the side of her Mandalorian helmet, the rangefinder flicking down. She hummed to herself. "Yep, there they are." She did a hand motion much like Hunter always did. "Let's move in."
Crosshair forgot how skilled Sil was when it came to traversing unnoticed. She slunk into the shadows silently, and if one was not paying attention, she would have disappeared from sight completely. Her dark armor definitely helped. It was reminiscent of Jango's armor, yet the coloring was a dark black which absorbed light rather than deflected it. She had a few grey and red markings across it, but the dark coloring was what gave her the title "Black Venom." She was a gentle person, though in her armor and on missions, she was known as the ruthless mercenary. She always talked to Cross about how she carried on the legacy of her donor, though she never delved into who that was. Though Sil had similarities between Jango, she looked vastly different in many ways.
"Can you see them?" Wrecker asked, snapping Crosshair from his thoughts. He glanced over the hulking figure of his brother to spot a bunch of crates in the center of the hangar, a group of armored men talking to smugglers. Death Watch.
"What are they doing here?" Sil asked, lifting her rangefinder back up, tapping the chin of her helmet in thought. "I thought—nevermind. Crosshair, shoot a bug on one of the crates. I want to listen in."
With a nod, Crosshair unshouldered his rifle, loading in a bug-shot before he raised the scope to his eye. And he shot. Perfect.
He tapped a button on his wristcomm, before connecting the line to the comms in the frequency of their helmets.
"We hope these are up to your standard, sir," a reptilian smuggler said, rubbing his hands together. "You won't find any higher-caliber explosives around."
Wrecker scoffed. "Except for me," he whispered. Crosshair fought a grin, turning back to the conversation below them.
"I think these will suffice," a gruff man's voice answered. One of the Death Watchers. Something about him was familiar. "This will help justice prevail. Our people will no longer be looked down upon."
