"Sir, Captain Jai'galaar has reported heavy losses. Their orbital support has been routed from the system, his forces are greatly out manned and surrounded." Aethyr was informed.

"I see, " the agent responded absent mindedly, brushing a clot of dust from the top of his obsessively tidy desk with the pad of his middle finger. "But, is that not what those of your. . kind. . . were made for?" His retort came moments later with those calm, green eyes focusing in on the same face he'd been staring it for the better part of a month now. "To fight, and ultimately die for this Empire that was kind enough to grant you life?"

"Sir, with all du--" Ne'tra sharply was cut off before the words breathed life through his lips.

"Do not speak! You inform Captain Jai'galaar that he is to hold the Communications Array at ALL costs."

"Perhaps this should be brought to Commander Merav's attention, Sir."

"Are you questioning my authority, -clone-?" Aethyr growled lowly, his body slowly rising from the chair he had been sat upon.

"Absolutely not, Agent Dakkari." Ne'tra replied coolly, unwavering at the entry of two Onyx Fist soldiers. "Commander Merav is rightfully in charge of this Unit though. And. ."

"I have taken over command of this unit, and until I see fit it is in my authority to control it for as long as I feel needed." Aethyr hastily interjected, there was not much that could unsettle his frighteningly calm demeanor. But insubordination from a Clone was one thing that would indeed send his highly racist sensibilities in to an uproar. "I suggest you make haste from my Office now, while I summon Commander Merav."

Aethyr:
The Legion's reputation for insubordination is well deserved, I suppose, Commander. [Aethyr breathed with utter disregard. His thoughts rapidly collecting themselves once again, although he was quite disappointed he let such a creature as this Clone dig itself so deeply in to the flesh. It was unbefitting of a Destab agent such as himself to allow such things.] If they were not such effective machines of warfare I'd see to it this entire Legion. . . and their General were decommissioned. . . if you understand what I'm saying. [He continued, curving slowly around his desk with sturdy, confident strides. His eyes never focusing on Fajra. Funny how he could speak to her as if nothing had ever happened.] To business though! [His words became almost enthusiastic.] I grow tired of this game with you, of this world. Of these. . clones. My job in this Empire, although not affording me the public admiration that you so thrive on and yearn for, is of an essential role in maintaining this complicated mechanism that keeps this gear turning. [He paused for a moment, taking in the pristine neatness of his office.] And as such, sometimes I am required to perform duties that, well, we'll say are better left out of the publics watchful eye. Do you understand?

Commander Merav
"The Legion..." she started to say as her body joined her head inside. There was a time when she would have spent hours in the refresher, getting dressed up for this man. Now, she stood in his office looking like a hot mess. She was pretty sure her hair was one big dreadlock. And the best part about it, she didn't care. She thought that seeing him would only bring her pain, that was why she had gone out of her way to avoid him. But now? She felt good. Really good. So much that laughter escaped her lips, lifting the malice within her amber eyes. But as soon as her laughter departed, that malice returned once more. The way he talked about the 13th, it sparked something inside of her. The anger she felt was almost as black as if he had personally caused her arm. "Don't speak of the 13th" she warned, it wasn't a threat, just a simple back off. "And...I understand perfectly well. That's why your here isn't it? Because you know above all else, that my loyalty to the Empire is not much different from your own."

Aethyr
[Responding with his own laughter, he came to stand directly in front of the girl whose innocence he had stolen and maimed so many years ago. One of the first acts of sickening defilement in a career that thrived on such monstrous behavior.] My Fajra, [It was the first time he'd responded to her by her name since he'd arrived.] You act as if you're actually a soldier, a comrade of these creatures. [He continued, brow perked curiously.] Surely you realize you are not. You understand that position in society has allowed you opportunity to mock lead a 'fabled' unit, correct? I mean, do you sincerely believe these things respect you? After all, what has the fabulous Fajra Merav accomplished in her life? What hardships has she known? [Glancing her up, then down he shook his head slowly. While his memory did still serve him quite well, and her curves which he recalled quite fondly, had only swelled to even greater perfection in the years that had passed. She did forget her place, it seemed.] I mean, look at you. You're sick, a filthy wreck. You should be ashamed and embarrassed. You'll be joining myself and the Oynx Fist this evening, I highly suggest you clean up before the briefing.

Adenn says:
Fire! [Aethyr shouted, a row of his deadly Onyx Fist soldiers responding in complete unison released single charges from their rifles. Blasting the grotesque wounds of certain death in to the brave, and loyal Imperial citizens that had unfortunately been called upon to sacrifice for the greater good of the Empire they so adored. The ruse had already been set, and the mission sprung. Aethyr and >
his men, faces hidden and bearing the unmistakable symbol of the Monnok upon the shoulder of the insurgent rags that draped their bodies had struck this village hours ago. Burning buildings, slaughtering men, women, and children. They executed and maimed all they came by without worry, without remoarse. But the job was not done, not yet. Turning on his heel from the shooting line Aethyr's green >
eyes lofted towards the villages centre time piece. And like proud father, smiled with great pride when he heard the rupture of automatic blaster fire several rows down from his location.] Right on time. [He breathed, turning towards his second-in-command.] I want the girl left alive, understood? [He said strictly.] Of course, sir. [The faceless man replied almost mechanically.] Lets, move!

Commander Merav says:
Her movements, despite her boots, were quiet and cautious. There were four others with her, but she hardly noticed them. She could barely draw her eyes away from the bodies that scattered the streets. "...children..." she whispered, but it sounded more like a question. It was all she managed to say before she heard it. Blaster fire. It wasn't too far away, and the location would mean that some >
of her men were involved. It didn't take her long to realize that they were out numbered. She could tell the difference just by the sounds of their weapons. Her first instinct was to help them, and against all rationality she broke out into a run...

Her breathing was heavy, and the shaking in her hands was so intense she could barely hold the carbine that weighted her arms down. Explosions echoed over the flickering crack of deathly flames that hungerily consumed the house to her right as her unsteady feet shuffled slowly across the debri laden ground. Although she knew they were greatly outnumbered, she could still hear the howls of gunfire strafe outwards from destinations she could not quite pinpoint.

"Come on, we need to get to the centre of town!" She huffed, turning her head over her shoulder she froze dead in her tracks. It was only at this point that she now realized she was alone out here. But this fact would not remain true for long.

She didn't know where the first blow came from, she didn't even know when the first enemy soldier had approached her. For all the great, and fabulous things Fajra Merav was, versed soldier was not one. She didn't know what to do, she didn't know what to look for, what to listen to.

"You going to surrender, Imperial dog?!" An unfamiliar voice asked harshly, booting her carbine out of reach with a swift kick.

"What ever do you mean?" She instinctively replied, trying to mask any type of fear that shook through her voice as she carefully rose back to her feet. Eyeing over the five men that stood around her in the ghoulish glow of healthy flames.

She knew there was no escape from this, and she couldn't surrender. Slowly she began to edge backwards, this was it. She knew she had to fight, she was as ready as she was going to be. Her amber eyes carefully sized each man up as they watched her. One let out a deep throaty chuckle, another nodded. Then the second strike violently fell upon left shoulder blade with the heavy butt of a rifle, stumbling her down to her knees.

The men pounced like rabid dogs, eight of them in total now. Hands grabbed all across her body, yanking and twistng her back and forth as she valiantly struggled against her attackers. Her command jacket was torn viciously from her frame, her arms snaked in and out of the hands of the disguised Onyx Fist. She pushed one man away with her legs, tumbling him over backwards as she continued to struggle.

"Noo!!" She inadvertantly yelped, before biting the forearm of another.

"Ahh!!" the man growled, yanking his arm free. Quickly he took her by hair, and with fist clenched he struck Fajra hatefully across the face once, then twice. . . and again.

Blood began to freely flow down her throat, her lips parted, those once brilliantly white teeth now red as the liquid spilt down the corner of her lips. Though dazed from the repeated blows to her head, she was frighteningly aware of everything that was happening to her. The taste of blood, the feeling of it's heat as it flowed over her face from a gash that yet another spiteful strike had opened. The fight in her was hastily vanishing.

Her undershirt finally could not hold on any longer, the threads ripped and the fabric tore off from her, her bra soon followed. Uncaringly pulled off from her, only to be replaced by the soiled hands of one of her unknown assailants. Reality began to fade around her. She listened only to the random explosions that broke the tormenting taunts of these eight monsters.

Completely bare, Fajra's small wrists and ankles were bound tight with chord. She struggled still, but hope was lost as the men parted her legs wide, and staked her tied limbs in to the world below her.

They assaulted her almost to her death, all night long they took turns. One after the other, no pity. No remorse. The ordeal seemed to last an eternity.

"You're going to be alright." a young Jon Davir assured her as he carefully removed a blanket from his pack and draped it over Fajra's beaten and abused body. Gently he and his squad mate began cutting the ropes that still bound the broken Commander. "Gortoz, we need an immediate medevac now." He tried to say calmly as he took Fajra's hand.

-

I wanted to die, because surely I couldn’t keep going on after this. Horror and shock consumed me, so much that I thought my soul would shrivel. I wanted to shriek my pain to the universe. I wanted to cry until I melted. I wanted to sink down beside those who had died and die with them. My world had slowed down, and through my hate-filled haze, I slipped out of my body. In this memory, I had been passing through Estalle city, when I had been approached by a man. He didn’t give his name, nor could I recall his features, for he kept them obscured by the hood of his cloak(it figured). He seemed to have known me, and not just known of me by way of name or title. It was known fact that I overdosed. Once it was out, the news spread like wildfire. What they didn’t know? Apparently my heart stopped beating. Apart from myself and my father, it was only known by those who brought me back. And because they were loyal to House Melantha, backed by the weight of my fathers position and wealth, word of it would never fall from their lips. So yeah I was a little surprised when this man approached me. He said my aura was surrounded by black shadows, and that I had a connection to the dead. I simply dismissed him as drunk. It wasn’t until my life was hanging by a thread that I remembered.

I became oblivious to everything: to the world around, to time itself. Minutes could have passed. Hours could have passed. I didn’t know. I existed in an altered state, one that barely kept the terror and grief at bay. Footsteps and voices eventually sounded. I couldn’t really make anyone out. I didn’t need to. They were threats. "Get away from me," I warned, not recognizing my own voice. They kept coming. "Stay back!" I yelled. They stopped, except for one. His voice was soft as he assured me I was going to be alright. Hesitantly, I let myself become aware of my surroundings. I let my eyes focus on the features of the man standing there. Jon Davir. He took my broken body and guided me out of there. My mind still refused to process what had happened. I couldn’t do much more than answer simple questions from those around me. I eventually ended up on a shuttle. Someone sat beside me and adjusted the canvas blanket. I didn’t notice until then how badly I was shivering. I tugged at the edges of the blanket. "I’m cold," I said. "How am I so cold?" "You’re in shock," Ne’tra answered. I turned and looked at him. Something about seeing him unleashed my memories. "They’re really gone?" Before I knew it, I was crying. The tears I’d held back poured down my face. The fear and guilt I’d refused to let myself feel finally burst free. I could barely breathe. "…they’re dead because of me…"