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29-04-2023, 01:56 PM
City of Soldiers
Th’asidra - Years Ago…
Two Neophytes and an Apprentice stood looking out through the wide viewport. In orbit beneath them, Dubrillion burned with the nuclear fire of multiple orbital strikes. The three were an odd collection - two of average height for Sith, the third stood between them far taller.
“All those people…” the tallest said - her voice is not sad exactly, but heavy with the weight of what was happening below.
“They deserved it,” the man to her left said; his own voice is cold, flat with anger.
The third didn’t say anything for the time being, simply winding a finger through a lock of long and silky black hair by his shoulder - his corrupted yellow eyes peering unflinchingly at the devastation playing out below them.
“Could you do it, do you think?” the woman asked again, glancing right then left at the two.
“Do what?” asked the one to her right; his tone is light and conversational, unbothered.
The woman heaves out a sigh, chewing her lower lip as she finds the words. “Could you press the button? Annihilate an entire planet like that?”
“Yes,” said the man to her right.
“Without hesitation,” said the man to her left.
Beneath them, Dubrillion burned…
Anx Minor - Now…
“Control, stat one, confirm?”
“Stat one confirmed, batch in position.”
“In position, confirmed. Control, stat two, confirm?”
“Stat two confirmed, squad is primed.”
“Squad primed, confirmed. Awaiting go/no-go.”
There was a pregnant pause. The cramped control room fell to a deathly quiet as the handful of Imperial officers waited for the final signal to proceed. Only the sound of humming machinery and occasional chimes from their equipment broke the quiet, like every officer was holding their breath at once.
From the doorway, booted footsteps drew them to attention as a Sith entered the room; clad in black armour and a red cape, his crimson eyes swept around the room until he found the control console he was looking for.
Sat at the station was a young female officer, her gaze fixed straight ahead and trying to ignore the sweat pouring down from beneath her fitted cap.
“Awaiting order to proceed, my Lord,” she said, hating the way her voice cracked under the weight of her responsibilities. Directly in front of her, under a glass cover, was a single illuminated button.
“The order is given. Begin the executions.” His voice was cold, devoid of any feeling one way or the other towards what they were about to do. Somehow that lack of passion made it so much worse - if there had been anger, even, it would have at least made sense.
The officer swallowed and nodded, not trusting her voice to respond as she opened the glass case that covered the activation button. Her hand hovered over that single red key, trembling visibly.
She felt like there was a hand slowly constricting around her heart. Every breath becoming more and more difficult; as though it were her in the execution chamber. As though pushing that button would kill some small, vital part of her.
“The order is given,” the Sith repeated, leaning forward slightly. She could see his bearded face in the corner of her vision now, but couldn’t take her eyes away from the button beneath her trembling hand.
“M-my Lord,” she swallowed, fighting back tears threatening to seep from between her eyes. “I don’t know that I can. I- I’m sorry.”
Sith Zevasa looked down at her coldly. He knew this woman; she was one of the Propaganda Officers, clad in their signature grey uniform. She looked so young, though he had to remind himself that she was only a few years younger than he himself was. She was freshly graduated from the Kaas Imperial Academy. She had majored in communications sciences and minored in Propaganda. She was an excellent officer.
Slowly, Zevasa reached past her without hesitation to the button.
Click.
The microphone turned on.
“Open fire.”
Somewhere unseen by the control room, a group of Anx died.
“You are relieved of duty, Officer,” Sith Zevasa said, his voice still icy cold. “Someone more capable, take her post. We have a schedule to meet.”
Without waiting to see if his orders were followed through - knowing that even in his absence, they would be - the Envoy swept from the room in a fluttering motion of his crimson cape.
In ten days, Mosila would be a city of soldiers.
Only soldiers.
Th’asidra - Years Ago…
Two Neophytes and an Apprentice stood looking out through the wide viewport. In orbit beneath them, Dubrillion burned with the nuclear fire of multiple orbital strikes. The three were an odd collection - two of average height for Sith, the third stood between them far taller.
“All those people…” the tallest said - her voice is not sad exactly, but heavy with the weight of what was happening below.
“They deserved it,” the man to her left said; his own voice is cold, flat with anger.
The third didn’t say anything for the time being, simply winding a finger through a lock of long and silky black hair by his shoulder - his corrupted yellow eyes peering unflinchingly at the devastation playing out below them.
“Could you do it, do you think?” the woman asked again, glancing right then left at the two.
“Do what?” asked the one to her right; his tone is light and conversational, unbothered.
The woman heaves out a sigh, chewing her lower lip as she finds the words. “Could you press the button? Annihilate an entire planet like that?”
“Yes,” said the man to her right.
“Without hesitation,” said the man to her left.
Beneath them, Dubrillion burned…
Anx Minor - Now…
“Control, stat one, confirm?”
“Stat one confirmed, batch in position.”
“In position, confirmed. Control, stat two, confirm?”
“Stat two confirmed, squad is primed.”
“Squad primed, confirmed. Awaiting go/no-go.”
There was a pregnant pause. The cramped control room fell to a deathly quiet as the handful of Imperial officers waited for the final signal to proceed. Only the sound of humming machinery and occasional chimes from their equipment broke the quiet, like every officer was holding their breath at once.
From the doorway, booted footsteps drew them to attention as a Sith entered the room; clad in black armour and a red cape, his crimson eyes swept around the room until he found the control console he was looking for.
Sat at the station was a young female officer, her gaze fixed straight ahead and trying to ignore the sweat pouring down from beneath her fitted cap.
“Awaiting order to proceed, my Lord,” she said, hating the way her voice cracked under the weight of her responsibilities. Directly in front of her, under a glass cover, was a single illuminated button.
“The order is given. Begin the executions.” His voice was cold, devoid of any feeling one way or the other towards what they were about to do. Somehow that lack of passion made it so much worse - if there had been anger, even, it would have at least made sense.
The officer swallowed and nodded, not trusting her voice to respond as she opened the glass case that covered the activation button. Her hand hovered over that single red key, trembling visibly.
She felt like there was a hand slowly constricting around her heart. Every breath becoming more and more difficult; as though it were her in the execution chamber. As though pushing that button would kill some small, vital part of her.
“The order is given,” the Sith repeated, leaning forward slightly. She could see his bearded face in the corner of her vision now, but couldn’t take her eyes away from the button beneath her trembling hand.
“M-my Lord,” she swallowed, fighting back tears threatening to seep from between her eyes. “I don’t know that I can. I- I’m sorry.”
Sith Zevasa looked down at her coldly. He knew this woman; she was one of the Propaganda Officers, clad in their signature grey uniform. She looked so young, though he had to remind himself that she was only a few years younger than he himself was. She was freshly graduated from the Kaas Imperial Academy. She had majored in communications sciences and minored in Propaganda. She was an excellent officer.
Slowly, Zevasa reached past her without hesitation to the button.
Click.
The microphone turned on.
“Open fire.”
Somewhere unseen by the control room, a group of Anx died.
“You are relieved of duty, Officer,” Sith Zevasa said, his voice still icy cold. “Someone more capable, take her post. We have a schedule to meet.”
Without waiting to see if his orders were followed through - knowing that even in his absence, they would be - the Envoy swept from the room in a fluttering motion of his crimson cape.
In ten days, Mosila would be a city of soldiers.
Only soldiers.
