Mon Oct 18, 2010 7:49 am by Lord Nexus
*As it had seemed, when all else failed, most sith would run. That was not the case for the revenant soldiers, who were in a bar with four mandalorians. They would fight, and make a statement to the mandalorians, not everyone on this rock was a coward.
In mere seconds, the room went from vacant and peaceful, to a microbattle field, a heated fire fight would break out, though it seemed to be awfully one sided. While the mandalorians were ready to strike, the were preparing to be struck. They were a scouting team, but still armed well in case of compromise. In case of a situation like this.*
*The light show created by muzzle flares ignited the room in a strangely beautiful location. Everything was so loud, so chaotic. Mandalorians were warriors, but they had no time for finess, they were rugged and straight to the point. Hypervelocity bolts sprayed the walls, faster than any sensor could detect. Three of the bolts caught one of the cloaked soldiers, the one nearest the door who had broken the glass.
Up went his body, lifted from the ground by the force of hypervelocity bolts. They shredded through his . The armor was not at full capacity, it was just a prototype, consisting of a 90/10 durasteel phrik combination. The bolts tore through it like bullets through plastic. The armored hulk of soldier was sent into the near by wall, colliding with a harsh crash. He slumped down, static crackled in the air as his cloaking systems were damaged, revealing the body of a supersoldier. He was slouched, but not dead. Blood was pumping out of his wound, though it had slowed down notably. The soldier looked up at his attackers, waiting for his fate, while hiding an inner smirk, for he knew theirs.
On the far side of the wall, one soldier had the fortune of being covered by a thick bar table, though few would recognize it for that now. The soldier remained behind the table, his hand slipping down to a holster, gripping his side arm, a . He waited, glancing from the edge of the table, waiting for the precise time to strike. When it came he would bring the pistol up and squeeze off 3 precise shots. The gun whispered as it spat its deadly payload, targeting the three nearest men who had discharged their weapons*