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[2374] Operation 'Spark' - Betazed

[ Cmdr. Brody Miller | Codename: Mason | Type-11 Shuttlecraft ‘Areion’ | 3rd Moon of Betazed | Betazed System ] Attn: @Swift
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Brody had sworn two years ago, that he was done with this life. The life of espionage, deceit and isolation. Even before he had met Sam, he had wanted to have a family, and that lifestyle had not been conducive to healthy relationships of any kind. It was a sacrifice, he was willing to make when he was younger, when his idealism outweighed his needs and wants as a human being. The three pips, that were resting on the dresser in the back of the shuttle, next to his neatly folded command uniform, at the mere age of twenty-seven, a stark reminder of the man he had been. There hadn’t been any opportunity, any mission, too dangerous or too difficult for him not to take it and excel at it. And while it had been about the grander good too, most importantly, it had been about proving and improving himself. Because he could feel that void inside of him that demanded … something. But he had not known, until growing older and wiser, what that really was.

So, even though he had said goodbye to that life, that man, a while ago, here he was now: In the cockpit of a Type-11 shuttle, the quietest in the fleet, watching his fifth Raktajino materialising, while the warp field distortions cast rays of blue light through the viewport. It would be his last replicated beverage for a while, he assumed. Sitting down in the pilot’s seat once more, resting the mug on the side of the console, the commander briefly checked the navigational readout. Samantha hated Klingon coffee … she always said a drink shouldn’t have to be a ritual of courage and virility. It made him smile. It was exactly why he was practically addicted to it. Ah … his beautiful wife. Left behind on the USS Poseidon, their home, together with the rest of the second fleet, a few lightyears outside the Betazed system.

It had been two days since the second attempt to take the planet back from the Dominion, to no avail. Their fleet had been diminished to a skeleton that was merely held together by the courage and perseverance of the Starfleet officers serving in it. Starfleet command had resumed strategising, building their last offence on a guerrilla campaign, that was brewing among the Betazoid citizens themselves. Hoping it would serve as a planetside backup for an orbital attack. But communication with the resistance cells was difficult. That was what he had known, as the XO of the Poseidon. That was until he had gotten an encoded communiqué from his mentor and former boss: Admiral Anderson.

As it had turned out, he hadn’t been able to shake Starfleet intelligence as easily, certainly not the part in him that had been groomed and forged into the perfect operative. They had apparently shared his worries about letting the Betazoid rebels fend for themselves and the struggles they faced getting into contact with them. They had sent an agent to the planet to make contact with the Rena Resistance Cell. To train and support them as well as coordinate back with Starfleet intelligence. But the contact had gone cold for 2 weeks now. Which was about the time since the first attempt at recapturing the system had failed. So anything could’ve happened. They could’ve been found out, executed or made prisoners of war. They could’ve perished as collateral damage in the bombardments. Among other possibilities there wasn’t really much hope. But even just a glimmer had always been enough for Brody.

Officially he’d joined the admiralty on the USS Hood, the second fleet’s flagship, to strategize and plan out their third and final attempt at liberating Betazed. It was the story he had also told his wife. Those four years at Starfleet intelligence were something he didn’t often talk about, so it almost felt second nature not to be open about this assignment as well. He had even missed the solitude for a while, alone in a shuttle with nothing but the sound of the warp engines and the electrical humming of the rest of the equipment. Hell, since he was alone, he could put his feet up on the adjacent seat and no one complained! Over time he’d even learned to distinguish the different components and their unique pitch of sound. The air conditioning, the capacitors in the consoles, the gravity generator, the warp coils … there was a lot to focus on. That was until the considerable silence was cut sharply by an audio alert. Pulling his feet back, downing the last of the Raktajino, the tall man leaned forward, studying the screen.

He was approaching his jump point and the auto pilot was about to disengage. Placing the mug aside, Brody erected himself fully in the seat and let his fingers dance skillfully across the controls. The shuttle came out of warp at the edge of the Betazoid system, in the shadow of its outermost planet. From here he had time to track Dominion movements within the system. As soon as he had their scout routes figured out, he charted a new course into low orbit of the third moon of Betazed, full warp. A tricky maneuver, but one that never failed to elude unsuspecting patrols. Plotting that last correction by hand, he engaged the engines and within a split second jumped across several millions of kilometers. Almost in an instance the viewport was filled with the dark, rugged surface of the uninhabited moon, as he had gotten out of warp so close, Jem’Hadar sensors could not possibly distinguish him at this distance.

Shifting to impulse engines, the commander steered the shuttle to the surface and set it down in a high rimmed crater, that would shield it even from visual inspections. Running his fingers further across the illuminated buttons, he shut one system after the other off, until only enough power for life-support and the transporter would emanate from the ship. This was it then … it was go-time. Rising from the chair in a swift move, Brody threw a jacket over his civilian attire, slipping his com-badge into an inside pocket. Shouldering the pre-packed backpack with small sidearms, med-kits, rations and additional communication devices, he stepped onto the transporter pad. Lastly grabbing a phaser rifle, painted in matt black, from the shelf and readying it. Prepared for whatever he could find at the beam-in point.

“Computer, energize.”

OUTFIT

Re: [2374] Operation 'Spark' - Betazed

Reply #1 –


[ Lt. Andrew Fisher | Codename: Bishop | Jem’Hadar Outpost Bravo-32 | Dalaria City | Betazed ] Attn: @stardust

It was raining again. It was always raining on Betazed. At least, it had started to appear that way, as over the course of the previous ten days it had heavily downpour on all of them. Fisher’s native betazoid companions in the Rena Resistance movement had explained that the rains of Betazed were on average fifty-percent greater than those of Earth. Further compounding the issue was the fact that they were in the midst of the rainiest season of the Betazed calendar year. Regardless of the more scientific explanations, he’d found the dreary weather to be absurdly appropriate from a poetic stand-point. For across the planet, hundreds of tragic events were unfolding daily. It had only been three weeks since Dominion forces, with little effort, had swept in and conquered the ‘jewel of the outer crown’ in a battle that had lasted mere hours. All while the Federation’s Tenth Fleet, Betazed’s dedicated defenders, had been distracted by an ill-timed training exercise. It was a monumental embarrassment to Starfleet and had come at the immense cost of tens of thousands of lost lives at the hands of an initial orbital bombardment. Worse still, in the days since the initial attack, even more innocent lives had been ended as Jem’Hadar troops had begun patrolling city streets, arresting, and summarily executing any and all whom they suspected as guilty of insurrection.

And as Fisher stepped out into the heavy rains at the behest of a Jem’Hadar disruptor rifle pressed against his back, his fellow prisoner and co-conspirator, Ebirone Elos, offered a somewhat spiritual observation. “The four deities are sobbing at what has happened to my home.” And as if it were divine punctuation, a sudden flash of lightning momentarily illuminated their surroundings, revealing that the courtyard they were being led to had lay at the base of a towering skyscraper devoid of all light. The power grid had yet to be restored in the wake of the initial attack, and save for a few fires that refused to surrender to the rains, and the occasional pinkish-purple hue of Dominion ships passing overhead, there was little ambient light.

“Quiet!” barked one of their guards, as it jabbed a rifle into the big Betazoid’s side in an effort to silence him, just as a cacophony of thunder erupted overhead. Rebounding against the cavernous city skyline, it had sounded like the beating of a dozen massive drums being struck in succession.

Fisher had only known Ebirone a few days now, but he’d come to respect, and even like him. He was quiet, most of the time at least, but there was a stoic charm and classic sense of bravery to him. Fisher suspected that this demeanor had come from years of service as a Starfleet Marine; a career Ebirone had since left behind in order to pursue a life as an agriculturalist here on his native home world. To anyone else, it might have seemed an odd choice for someone who had seen as much violent combat as Ebirone had, but Fisher figured the big man desired a more peaceful existence. Something he’d now been denied by the Dominion, and by all likelihood would never live to experience. He and Fisher had been caught in an act of sabotage; well, caught *AFTER* having committed their act of sabotage. A fact that had greatly annoyed the First in charge of the retinue of Jem’Hadar that had apprehended them.

“Vorta!” the disdain in the voice of the First was clear, as he called out to his overseer, his deep voice nearly drowned out entirely by the pitter-patter of rain cascading all around them. “I have two insurrectionists for judgement!” he declared. In fact, there had been three of them that had planted the explosives used to disable the industrial replicators, but said third co-conspirator, had managed to allude capture.

The Vorta, sheltered from the rain by a makeshift lean-to made of scraps of corrugated aluminum, looked up from whatever report he’d been reading on a Dominion computer tablet. With narrowed purple irises the leader of this contingent appraised both the prisoners, and the guards who had brought them before him. There was an obvious sense of disproval in the Vorta’s eyes, not just for Fisher and Ebirone. “State their crimes.” The apathy in the Vorta’s voice betrayed the reality of these judgements. The verdict was guilty. It was always guilty, and the sentence was always death. It didn’t matter what the infraction was, but for some reason, they still stuck to this strange tradition. Likely, that was one of the many reasons the First had disliked his overseer.

“They destroyed the isolinear banks of five industrial replicators.”

“Six.” Fisher corrected, grinning broadly.

“I said quiet!” barked the same guard that had warned them a moment earlier, and he stepped over to bash Fisher in the back of his skull with the butt of a rifle stock. The blow momentarily dropped the Intelligence Operative to his hands and knees, as a faint dizzying sense consumed his consciousness, and a dull ache began to emanate out from the back of his head. “Get up!” the guarded yelled as he grabbed Fisher’s arm, and violently hoisted him up until he was on his feet again. Shaking his head, Fisher felt throbbing and a faint wetness run down the back of his neck as blood began to seep from the bludgeoned wound.

The Vorta hadn’t seemed impressed by Fisher’s attempt at snarky bravado, though Ebirone grinned widely in approval.

With a sigh, the Vorta began to speak again. “Very well. In the name of the Founders, I find you both guilty of sabotage and insurrection. The penalty for your crimes against the Dominion is death.” With a simple wave of his hand, the Vorta turned away from Fisher and Ebirone as their guards stepped forward, once more taking a grasp of their arms in order to lead them over to a nearby wall at the base of the tower. As they grew nearer, Fisher could see that the face of the wall had been scorched by weapons blasts, as well as splattered with various hues of old dried blood that hadn’t yet entirely washed away. Just a few meters along the length of the wall, he observed a stack of rotting corpses that had been shot to a pulp by the Jem’Hadar. The faces of the victims were twisted and mutilated; they’d been left nearly unrecognizable from having been blasted so many times. Were it not for the rain keeping the stench somewhat at bay, he might’ve vomited.

As he and Ebirone were turned, their backs pressed against the wall, the big betazoid offered a token of solemn comradeship when their guards had moved out of an arms-reach. “Stirring shit up at your side, has been a pleasure.”

“Pleasure’s been mine.” Fisher responded.

The Jem’Hadar moved slowly away to about twenty paces distance, turning to face their prisoners. Three other Jem’Hadar who had been observing the summary sentencing also came to join the firing line, their wanton lust for the blood of the founders enemies coursing through their veins in conjunction with the ketrecel white that kept them alive.

“Make ready!” ordered the First.

Though faced with what was sure to be his end, a strange calmness came over Fisher as he stared into the faces of his executioners. For as much as he had complained about the ceaseless rain during his time planet side, he suddenly felt grateful for the torrential downpour, as he remembered the inspiringly beautiful words of a poet, that had been relayed to him by someone he’d profoundly loved. ‘Let the rain kiss you,’ The memory of her voice ran through his mind, as though she were standing just beside him. ‘Let the rain beat upon your head with silver liquid drops.’ Her words reverberating on as he gazed up into the darkness above. ‘Let the rain sing you a lullaby.’ He saw her graceful face, punctuated by teal eyes that pierced through the very depths of his being into his soul, and he felt every ounce of tension in his body ease at once.

He was ready and willing to surrender to death.

Re: [2374] Operation 'Spark' - Betazed

Reply #2 –
[ Cmdr. Brody Miller | Codename: Mason | Jem'Hadar Outpost Bravo-32 | Dalaria City | Betazed] Attn: @Swift 
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The contrast was a stark one. The gentle, comforting humming, making space for the rushing wind and the torrential splatter of rain. The dry, comfortable confines of the shuttlecraft switching to a cold and immediately wet environment. The bright, warm lighting turning into a darkness, only occasionally illuminated by lightning. It was only as his eyes slowly accustomed, that Brody could discern the gentle orange hues, radiating from the edges of the structures, as reflections of countless fires and explosions, scattered across the city like leaves from a bioluminescent tree.

He had beamed to the rooftop of a skyscraper in the district where the Rena Resistance Cell was established, according to the intel package he’d gotten. And he’d chosen higher ground as an entry point to get a quick lay of the land. Surrounded by sunchairs, tables and umbrellas. Some turned over, some scorched, the overflow of the pool cascading down the edge of the terrace and the side of the building. This was certainly not the Betazed he remembered. Furrowing his brows starkly, the droplets channeled through the pleads forming on his forehead, the officer swiftly moved under a nesting of chairs and umbrellas, by the edge of the building, evading a beam of investigative light from a Jem’Hadar scout ship, casually crossing the rooftop.

Pulling multi-spectral binoculars from a side pocket in his backpack, the man listened to the sounds of the city. The explosions, the engine noises, the gunfire. It was a warzone alright, not the first one he’d seen, but he had hoped not to once more. Confirming his position with a quick scan of nearby landmarks, Brody quickly devised his first approach in his mind. The Dominion didn’t have a great presence in the streets, their units were scattered in pockets throughout the district to provide strength in numbers. Which made it easy to plot a concealed course through the dark urban canyons. But as he scanned the area he stumbled upon something peculiar.

A courtyard to the south of his building, which was illuminated by mobile light emitters, a seemingly makeshift command post erected to its side. Originally he had no intent to smoke out a couple of Vorta commanders, even though the pleasure would’ve been all his. It would’ve been nothing but a barely noticeable sting in the side of the Dominion and he didn’t really do things small. But then a group of Jem’Hadar entered, driving forth two Betazoids, or Humans, seemingly. It was close enough to the path he had scouted out for himself, towards where the lair of the rebels was suspected. Worst case scenario he’d lose an hour and rescue a bunch of unfortunate civilians who wouldn’t be able to tell him anything about the Rena cell. But it was unlikely for civilians to scamper around on the streets, to be picked up by an occupation force. People were smarter than that, rebels, usually not.

Bagging his binoculars once more, the officer scrambled from his perch and crossed the roof in a crouched jog, towards the entrance into the stairwell. Since the power was out, turbolifts were obviously not an option, and he was much more inclined to rush down the 70 stories, rather than up. It took him a moment to get to street level, but not as long as one might’ve thought. Stepping out into the rain once more, after checking the length of the block, Brody made his way quickly and quietly through the next back alleys, towards the perimeter of the courtyard. He could see the lights illuminate the strings of rain, as they came down upon them, and the faint vapour that rose from the splatter.

Finding a half broken ladder on the side of the wall nearby, he managed to climb up to the first floor of the building, that the ramshackle command post was leaning against. Taking up position behind a windowsill, shards of glass barely crackling against his combat boots, the sound of rain covered everything. Still, he could hear the muffled voices of the two men, the Jem’Hadar and the disinterested lullaby of the Vorta. Well, he wouldn’t be so smug anymore minutes from now. Sizing up the situation carefully, the operative took down his backpack and leant it against the wall. Opening it up he pulled a fragmentation grenade and a carbon blade which he slipped into his boot. Leaving the rest of his stuff here for now, the man, dressed in all black, smoothly transitioned out onto the small ledge above the Vorta’s hideout. Even though he couldn’t see him, he could easily audio-locate his movements like a bat.

There were two groups of enemies, Brody had ascertained, not including the Vorta – who wasn’t really a threat unless he’d decided to lull him to death with his monotone voice. And as if by some sort of blessing of fate, the two groups of soldiers joined, as they took up firing positions a good safety distance away from the prisoners. How many Jem'Hadar did you need, to hit two guys, a mere  twenty paces away?! “You simple minded little armadillos.” he breathed to himself, moving to the side of the roof in a low crouch. Watching the shadow of the Vorta move beneath him, he used the opportunity to lower himself from the edge and right behind the commander, without a noise. Coming up behind him, Brody took a minute to soak in the sensation of superiority, if even just for a moment. He waited, a gambit, of sorts. Waited for a flash of light in the sky. Twenty-one, twenty-two …

Not wasting any more time, the only sound the Vorta could hear was the metallic swoosh of a blade being pulled from its sheath, as the Starfleet officer swiftly moved it to his neck from behind his back. Having the alien in a threatening grip now he manhandled him around, to face the firing squad. “You can squeal, if you want.” he hissed into the pointy, ornamental ear, before using his other hand to toss the grenade skillfully behind the feet of the Jem’Hadar. A short moment of perplexity and a bright flash later, muffled by the perfectly timed, deafening rolling of thunder, it was not only raining water for a moment, but also more or less disintegrated corpses. As the smoke cleared and the bodies came to a rest, the only ones left standing were the two men across the quad as well as the Vorta and Brody.

Pushing the man forward, away from him, but not without leaving a painful gash across his cheek as he pulled the knife back, the operative briefly brushed it against his thigh, before pushing it back into his boot, now cocking the black phaser rifle as added incentive. He had no intention of letting the sleazy little goon walk away to warn someone. But he also wanted to find out what had happened here first. Since he’d timed the explosion to the thunder, they would not have to worry about reinforcements just yet, not until they realized that one of their squads had gone silent. Which in his book was all the time in the world. Ushering the Vorta forward further, towards the other two men and into the smoldering midst of the courtyard, Brody made sure he also had a good aim at the other two, if things went sideways.

“Did these stragglers give you any trouble?!” he called out, his baritone voice carrying easy across the torrential rain. “We’re not all Betazoids here, I see.” His own, dark brown eyes, not giving his humanity away, but the murky green hue in the bearded man’s, was unmistakable. “Bishop, I presume.”

OUTFIT

Re: [2374] Operation 'Spark' - Betazed

Reply #3 –
[ Lt. Andrew Fisher | Codename: Bishop | Jem’Hadar Outpost Bravo-32 | Dalaria City | Betazed ] Attn: @stardust

Fisher had been expecting everything to fade away, giving heed to the eternal darkness that awaits everyone, and everything. He’d regarded it as a chance to finally escape the near-crippling emotional pain that had been with him ever since she’d died in his arms. No longer would his dreams be haunted by the visage of her beautiful face, eyes fixed wide in abject terror at the realization of her impending death. He would soon forget the memory of her precious life spilling out uncontrollably against his hands as they’d been pressed to the wound on her neck, a memory that had subsequently burdened him each and every time he’d run those hands under warm water. This was to be the release that he rather shamefully had been desiring, though was unwilling to admit. A release that had actually prompted his volunteering for this suicide mission when the call had been put out.

But that release was to be denied. He would not die today.

Years of arduous training and honing of the tradecraft of a spy had conditioned Fisher to react almost subconsciously to situations as they were unfolding around him, a sort of instinctual ability to make ready for any and all possible outcomes. And as something tumbled with a slightly audible clatter against wet pavement, he recognized by sound alone that someone had thrown a grenade to the feet of the Jem’Hadar. “Cover!” he barked out, as he was rather abruptly torn from the distracting anticipation of death by this instinctual ability. Grabbing the shoulder of his big betazoid comrade, they spun around so that their backs were to the explosion as it went off, lowering and shielding their heads from any potential shrapnel. Grenades could still be lethal at distances well beyond the twenty or so paces between him and their executioners, but the mysterious assailant had correctly gauged that the gathered Jem’Hadar would absorb most, if not all pieces of dangerous fragmentation with their bodies.

As the loud thump erupted behind him, immediately followed by the sound of six bodies crumpling to the water-socked ground in a series of splashes loud enough to be heard over the cascading rain, Fisher and Ebirone turned back to examine the strewn about bodies from afar. Together they watched their savior emerge from the improvised lean-to, standing behind the Vorta overseer. Gradually, as the ringing in their ears began to die down, the clatter of heavy rain re-staked its dominant claim over what was immediately audible. The man called out to them, his voice clear enough to be discerned, and cautiously they began to close the distance between them. While Ebirone’s black-irises focused on an immediate appraisal of him, Fisher’s own gaze strayed for a moment to take stock of the weapons that had just been discarded by their previous owners. Certain of the functionality of one disruptor rifle in particular, he made note in the back of his mind to grab it if necessary.

“Thanks, pal!” acknowledged Ebirone.

Fisher however, having dealt with the devious nature of Changelings in the past, was less willing to offer an immediate appreciation. He knew it wasn’t beyond the liquid beings to sacrifice a handful of their subservient solids in order to infiltrate a terror cell like the Rena Resistance movement, working to undo it from within. Sure, the man had seemingly known Fisher’s codename, but that could have been gleaned from intercepted progress reports, or misfiled documents that had been recovered or stolen by spies within Starfleet. Verification of the kind that he needed in order to trust this person, at least for the moment, demanded a practice that had been instilled in him, and anyone who might have been sent after him.

“Remember those who led you, who spoke the word of [the almighty] to you...” Fisher’s words would have appeared random to those without understanding of what he was doing, and indeed Ebirone regarded him with a slightly cocked eyebrow. But to those who did understand, and Fisher was betting this person did, it would have signaled the beginning of a pass phrase meant to establish trust. A pass phrase that would have been relayed to anyone that had been sent to find him. The phrase itself had been a deliberately mis-quoted text from an ancient religious book, speaking of the role in which Fisher’s codename had been derived. Either this newcomer would finish the phrase in similarly mis-quoted fashion, demonstrating his trustworthiness, or he would finish it exactly as it appeared in that book, revealing his deceitful nature.

All the while, Fisher continued to move ever so carefully toward the bodies, ready to retrieve a weapon and take aim at Brody if he failed.

A moment later, and with a somewhat relaxed sigh, Fisher felt his tension ease as the man had responded in accordance with the practice established by Admiral Anderson. Offering a simple nod to Ebirone, he then knelt down to retrieve a disruptor pistol from the waistline holster of one of the slumped over executioners. “Clean’em up.” He instructed simply as he stood again, stepping over the bodies in the direction of the Vorta and the man that had indeed just saved his life. “I wasn’t expecting anyone else. I take it my mission updates haven’t been getting through all of the Dominion signal jammers?” his gaze regarded the Vorta for a moment, as behind him there were a series of flashes accompanying the sound of energy dispersal as the big betazoid had started the process of double-tapping each of the Jem’Hadar. There simply wasn’t room to allow survivors the chance of relaying information about either of them to their superiors.

“We’ll take this one back with us. Try and squeeze what we can out of him.” Ebirone taunted grimly as he moved over to the Vorta, who threw up his hands in fright as the big betazoid slugged him with a single heavy right hook, knocking him cold.

Returning to the now confirmed lifeless Jem’Hadar, Fisher retrieved a disruptor rifle after pocketing the pistol in his jacket. Over his shoulder he tried to take a stock of the man who’d appeared just in time to halt their summary execution. He clearly had the bearing of a man who knew what he was doing, and given the fact that he’d answered in accordance with Anderson’s practices, it was likely he was just as skilled, if not even more so than Fisher. It was also an interesting thing about Intelligence services, where rank didn’t necessarily always demand announcing, or acknowledgment. Other Starfleet departments would have probably tried to establish a chain of command, but Intelligence operatives often understood that in the field, rank was a secondary matter, what was most important was who had the most relevant information to the situation. In this case, Fisher was betting he’d had the better immediate understanding.

“C’mon, we’re situated not too far from here. We can fill you in on the details as we move.” he explained as he began making his way toward the south-end of the courtyard, while in the back of his mind he tried to forget how much he'd truly been looking forward to death just moments earlier.

Re: [2374] Operation 'Spark' - Betazed

Reply #4 –
[ Cmdr. Brody Miller | Codename: Mason | Jem'Hadar Outpost Bravo-32 | Dalaria City | Betazed] Attn: @Swift 
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Frankly, Brody thought yelling out for 'cover' was a bit excessive, and potentially would’ve been quite disruptive to the whole surprise element of his attack, had he himself shouted the order. The blast radius had been taken well into consideration, as had the shielding effects of a lineup of Jem’Hadar warriors. But even with the chance element of miscalculation, a little shrapnel had never hurt anyone. He had one in his upper thigh for the better time of a year, which had sung a little serenade every time the Rhode Island had gone to warp. Of course, his nonchalance was not shared by many, which was why he’d been put on solitary missions more than not. There was a unique element of brashness to his approach that melded well with his former occupation and even lent a powerful motivator to his XO engagement. But it was in no means anywhere near the books it was supposed to go by.

Nodding casually, betrothing the assumed Betazoid with his own dark eyes, the officer could very easily discern the other man’s sizing glances just within the periphery of his own vision. He was holding them at gunpoint for now so it was only fair they would try to level the playing field in their advantage. There was no shame in that. He still had a drop on them and unless they had superhuman reflexes, they’d both hit the ground before getting their hands on any of the weapons. Yes, he would not give them the possibility to claim ignorance over the actions of the other. Cling together, swing together.

Looking over at whom he presumed to be Bishop, Brody furrowed a brow as the man started to speak. Dark brown eyes ultimately rolling to the low ridge of his brows, as his head dipped back into a half circle motion, broad shoulders dropping. “Do we really have to do this dance?!” he grunted reluctantly, sucking in a deep breath at the omnipotent revelation that the answer would be a resounding yes. Truth be told, he’d rather have slit his palm to show them his blood was still blood once it dripped to the floor and blended into the puddles of rain. But somehow, he believed it wouldn’t suffice, because it did not adhere to what the bearded man had been taught. Which now made him wonder how involved Anderson had been in grooming him and how much the different approaches between the two of them had varied. Or if it had merely been the recipients that had adopted the teachings differently.

„… and considering the result of their conduct, imitate their ..." he replied slightly disgruntled, taking in another deep and audible breath, looking around for a way to distort the rest of the quotation in a similarly deliberate fashion. Eyes crossing over the Jem’Hadar bodies, some heaping over one another, he looked back at Bishop with unwavering determination and seriousness. “… fall.” Raising his brows for assurance, ascertaining whether this would’ve satisfied the man, he gratified Bishop’s acceptance with a reassured and definitive nod. Admittedly, the commander had served intelligence in a different time, when they weren’t at war with shapeshifting impostors, who seemed to know more than they should’ve. So, he had been adept at taking people at face value and deducting their veracity from gut feelings, comprised of experiences and an innate perceptiveness. He, however, meant no ill-will or judgment on Bishop by scrutinising his conduct. He had a good deal of respect for him, if only for the sheer fact that he had still been alive when he'd found him - no matter how barely.

Ushering the Vorta over to the Betazoid, Brody lowered his rifle and let it hang loosely from his gloved grip, the tip a few inches off the ground still. The neat little rehearsed phrase didn’t do much in dissuading him of the potential that the bearded operative could've been a shapeshifter himself. But the way he conducted himself so formally, transmitting the chapters of his training paragraph by paragraph as he moved, there was no way for a shapeshifter to imitate that. No, this was the man Anderson had sent him to find. Irking a brow at the question, however, he wasn’t sure if it had been sarcastic, at first. But the missing switch in the man’s expression to a lighter tone, suggested he’d been serious.

Narrowing his eyes slightly at the revelation, shifting his pate slightly as he stared at Bishop, Brody swallowed some thick lump of spit … and indicator that he hadn’t hydrated in a while. Plus, the five Klingon coffees probably hadn’t helped. “You’re saying I caught you under the impression that everything was still going well?” Spreading his arms out to indicate the slew of Jem’Hadar body parts and scorched earth around them, Brody shook his head lightly. “Your communications seized two weeks ago. So, obviously, you had some people worried.” Feeling a little bit misplaced, unwarranted even, the commander had to admit he could feel his patience wearing thin and his reluctance bubbling up to even take this mission in the first place. He may not have been visibly the highest-ranking officer around, but he still held the same innate sense of entitlement. No matter how undeserved, given that he was on someone-else's professional turf. He hadn’t just flown lightyears from his wife to listen to a recent almost executee that everything had felt 'alright'.

Shaking his head once more, as Bishop invited him to tag along, Brody hadn’t moved a single inch, since letting go of the Vorta. “I did not come for a cup of hot tea, Bishop, my orders are to find and extract you.” Shifting his attention to the Betazoid without waiting for a reply he nodded at the man. “Didn’t catch your name, by the way.” He stated, nodding appreciatively as he got let in on that last mystery, demanding to be solved. Raising a hand for a greeting wave only slightly above his waist. “Ebirone, I like you, you’re not as tightly wound as this one.” A slight, knowing side-nod to Bishop, Brody took one step back, half turning towards the building he had come from. “He can take the Vorta back to the camp, I’m sure he’ll be cooperative. Now, come on, I’ve established a short-range subspace tether through the jammers to my shuttle, so we can beam up as long as the moon is in visual range.” Pointing at Betazed’s third moon, a mere finger above the horizon of the cityscape, the officer waited for Bishop to catch up, expectantly.

OUTFIT

Re: [2374] Operation 'Spark' - Betazed

Reply #5 –
[ Lt. Andrew Fisher | Codename: Bishop | Jem’Hadar Outpost Bravo-32 | Dalaria City | Betazed ] Attn: @stardust

The truth was, Fisher had himself also grown weary of the pass phrases and coded terminologies that he’d been forced to implement. Especially so, during the Dominion War, as ensuring trust in others had grown increasingly difficult thanks to changeling infiltrators. But there simply wasn’t any other mostly fool-proof way of verifying who someone was. Even the blood tests that had once proven to be effective, were now misleading at best, as the changelings had started to contain packets of blood within themselves. Blood they’d syphoned from the bodies of victims, whose identities they’d then assumed. Unfortunately for Fisher, and a lot of other Intelligence operatives, learning of that little changeling trick had come at a great cost. Though in retrospect, it should’ve been far more predictable in terms of a counter-measure. Arrogance had blinded Starfleet into thinking they’d gained an upper-hand over their adversary, but in reality, they’d only slightly inconvenienced them.

Plus, simpler methods of detection were often times far more difficult to fake your way through.

But as Brody stalled out of annoyance for even the briefest of moments, Fisher felt his nerves tense up in preparation of making a move against him. Likely he, or Ebirone would die in an exchange of fire, but he knew if it came to it, they’d take this newcomer with them in the process, and if he were indeed a changeling spy, then it almost made it worthwhile. Instead however, the man gave in, and answered in requisite manner, demonstrating at least in cursory, that he could be trusted by Fisher. That had prompted him enough to ease up and turn his back to the man as a sign of his own trust in order to retrieve one of the Jem’Hadar’s holstered weapons. In the back of Fisher’s mind however, he felt no small amount of annoyance in regard to the momentary hesitation of this person. As far as he was concerned, in an active warzone, it was beyond foolish for spies to play unnecessary games with one another, and he’d just initiated one because of the minor inconvenience of having to verify trust.

In those instances, one of, if not both parties often wound up dead.

As Ebirone went through the somewhat tedious process of double-tapping each of the fallen Jem’Hadar, Fisher had explained how he hadn’t been expecting anyone else from SFI, and that seemed to frustrate this new man immensely. Cocking an eyebrow of his own, Fisher regarded the other Intelligence operative with an air of confusion, as surely, he would’ve understood the reality of the situation. Fisher was cut off from Starfleet. He’d been sent here on a suicide mission in order to rally resistance movements for the day when Starfleet tried to retake the planet. He’d sent his progress reports, but heard nothing back, and could only assume that either the reports were being blocked by said jammers, or that Starfleet had gone quiet, and the war was unfolding in an even worse manner. If it had been the former, rather than the latter, then he just as well as figured that SFI would assume him dead, as it had likely done for those other operatives that had been eliminated or captured.

“Starfleet doesn’t generally make a habit of tracking down missing or overdue agents. Especially when those agents are on an enemy occupied world in the midst of a resistance campaign.” He explained to the other operative, surprised that he’d had to do it at all.

Stepping between him and Brody, Ebirone then one-punched the vorta unconscious, only to heft him up from where he’d slumped, throwing him over his left shoulder. Clearly, the big betazoid wanted nothing to do with the squabble unfolding between these two, as he stepped away with his unconscious prisoner hanging from him. He kept eyes on the raining sky, watching as in the distance, some five or so kilometers away, a flight of three Jem’Hadar attack craft flew in a patrolling pattern along the northern most edge of the city. Likely, they’d circle around over this position in a matter of minutes. Shaking his head as he could empathically sense the frustration in Brody, and the mounting confusion in Fisher, he knew the argument would likely continue to intensify in scope.

“Uhh... fellas?” he tried to interrupt.

“Extract with me?” Fisher said incredulously as he stopped moving toward the south-end of the courtyard, turning back to look the man over. The idea he was being pulled from this assignment lit a match in his mind, and he lost a bit of control. No doubt, the frustrations over having been pulled from Farius Prime in the wake of what happened with him, Hurley, and Nassyra still fresh in his mind. “Hate to break it to you, but I’m not done here yet.” He took a step to close the distance between them and pointed up into the sky at the hovering Jem’Hadar Battlecruiser in the way off distance. It had been there ever since the occupation began, as a sort of overbearing and oppressive threat to the population of Dalaria City. “That fucking thing is still there, which means this planet is still under Dominion control. My mission isn’t over until it, and they are all gone.” He regarded the strewn about Jem’Hadar bodies.

“It’s uhh... Ebirone Elos... but uhh... guys, can we continue this elsewh-” he had been about to plead for the two of them to continue this discussion some place less open, and less easy to be spotted by the trio of patrol ships that began to swoop around in their direction, but Brody cut him off to make a point about Fisher. A point that only further provoked Fisher, who wasn’t having any of it, and Ebirone could see the flash of anger starting to settle in the green-eyes of his resistance comrade. He knew just by the look, without having to empathically sense it, that Fisher was going to make things worse in a surprisingly short amount of time. Sometimes he hated being betazoid, with the ability to understand the emotions of those around him. For both Fisher and Brody seemed to have a somewhat righteous conviction to complete their respective missions. It made it difficult for him to just side with the man he’d been fighting with for the past ten days.

“I don’t give a damn about your orders. I’m alive. I’m still working. That should be good enough for Command!” Fisher snapped back at him with a dismissive wave as Brody attempted to steer him toward a nearby building, explaining that he’d had a shuttle ready to beam them out on command. “You can take your shuttle home safely back across the line. I’m staying here until my job is done.” There was an implicit and wholly unfair accusation that Fisher made in the first part of his comment; that Brody was only interested in running from the fight. It was further example of his misdirected anger and frustrations, but it only emphasized how adamant he was at staying the course on Betazed. That intention made clear, as he resumed moving south out of the courtyard, not in the direction that Brody had wanted.

Ebirone looked back and forth between the two of them, then up at the encroaching attack-ships. He had no real qualms with Brody, and in fact was very thankful to have been saved by him, but Fisher was heading in the direction that led to the Rena’s base of operations. So, with a rather apologetic shrug of his shoulders to Brody, he turned and followed after Fisher.

“Sorry pal. Welcome to Betazed, by the way.”

Re: [2374] Operation 'Spark' - Betazed

Reply #6 –
[ Cmdr. Brody Miller | Codename: Mason | Jem'Hadar Outpost Bravo-32 | Dalaria City | Betazed] Attn: @Swift 
[Show/Hide]

Obviously Brody was aware of the common sentiment among Starfleet Intelligence that operatives were expendable and even disposable if falling into the wrong hands. It was the common nature of the business, it seemed. But he had never been one to simply accept a state of things over what it was but rather drew an almost sadistic delight over ignoring or even opposing it. It was probably something Admiral Anderson and he shared, if even only in a fraction. For the simple fact that the man had sought the commander out, of all people, to mount this seemingly more and more pointless ‘rescue’ mission. They had both thought that Bishop could’ve been in trouble and had both put themselves in considerable risk, be it to life or reputation, to come to Betazed and figure out what had gone awry.

So, for the bearded man to turn downright prissy, over Brody not adhering to the standard operative code of conduct with the utmost enthusiasm, after kissing this life of sacrifice and torment goodbye almost 2 years ago, was surprising, to say the least. Even more so since the man seemed to double down on the sentiment, with his recitation of the general modus operandi, when a light went dark on the giant intel switchboard. At this point, he had half a mind to ask the guy straight out, if he had rather wanted to die right then, but he was also more than certain he would not appreciate the answer, so he did not make that query. A tool to personal peace of mind he had learned from his wife.

Letting the numb Vorta fall from his grip into the rough embrace of the burly Betazoid, Brody did not take his dark eyes off Bishop for one second. In due time he was privy to witnessing the best martyr act he had seen in a long time. So good, as a matter off act, he was hard pressed not to clap, as it seemed over. He had no use for such sentiments. A dead operative was one less asset in this war, no matter how significant their sacrifice would have been, it could never alleviate the loss of a lifetime of contribution to the cause. To put it in factual rather than emotional terms. But he too did not comment on it just yet. Obviously, he was still getting the tail end of what else was going on beneath the surface that had nothing to do with the current situation. The commander had slayed enough personal daemons in his time to recognize the struggle. Besides, he was more a man of action than debate and persuasion.

The flat out insubordination, however, made the hairs on the back of Brody’s neck stand alert. And he only ignored the urge to shoot Bishop just then and there because his back was turned toward him. He understood that the battlefield ran on different rules, no matter how much the mawkish notions of Starfleet and the Federation wanted everyone to believe otherwise. There had to be room for alternate approaches and quick decisions that did not always conform with the grander orders. But this wasn’t about that, this was about some kind of personal vendetta. And if he hadn’t even the smallest sense of respect – or even sympathy – for the man, he would’ve left him on the ground with a smoking hole in his back.

Eyes temporarily switching towards Ebirone as he tried one last time to defuse the tension and gave him an apologetic shrug, Brody validated it with a small nod. But he wasn’t done yet. Watching the Jem’Hadar fighters close in against the backdrop of a moon touching a skyscraper on the horizon he understood that he was running out of time. On more than one front. Pulling out a silver and red colored, little cylindrical device from his cargo pants, the commander pulled his arm back and skillfully threw the little ‘dart’ against Bishop’s back where it attached itself to the fabric of his clothes.

“Stop!” he yelled out, loud enough to convey a sense of urgency but with the emotional vigor of someone who was tired of this bullshit. Waiting just a second for the duo the pause in their tracks the man ultimately elaborated. “It’s an isolinear tag … so I could beam you up any time. Don’t be a fool trying to take it off. You’ll be on the shuttle before you can even reach it.” Brody explained calmly, waiting for the revelation to buy him a moment of the man’s attention. He couldn’t quite belief himself, that he was ready to make this concession, as was evident in the long sigh that followed. “Tell me you have a plan … a good one, that doesn't result in everyone dying … and make it quick.” He inquired, pointing his rifle casually at the nearing fighter crafts. He was ready to stay and see this through if he knew Bishop wasn’t just winging it. He had no intention to become an accessory to an ill-planned suicide run.

But, if he didn’t like what he’d hear, he was also prepared to use the last moments of his transport window to beam the man up against his will, stunning him if necessary. He hoped it wouldn’t come to that, for both their sakes. And the sake of this planet’s fate. Potentially the quadrant as a whole.

OUTFIT

Re: [2374] Operation 'Spark' - Betazed

Reply #7 –
[ Lt. Andrew Fisher | Codename: Bishop | Jem’Hadar Outpost Bravo-32 | Dalaria City | Betazed ] Attn: @stardust

While Ebirone might have been wary of the encroaching Jem’Hadar attack ships, Fisher seemed less motivated by them, than he was out of sheer defiance of the orders this unknown operative had just relayed to him. His progress reports had stopped ten days earlier, and in that time the brass at Starfleet Intelligence had apparently decided it prudent to pull him from the operation. It annoyed him immensely. The very fact that he’d managed to make it planet side alive, was in itself a miracle, as he’d heard rumors of at least a half-dozen of his fellows having been captured, and or killed within hours of their landing. He, and they all had volunteered to come to Betazed after it had fallen to the Dominion, with the understanding that most wouldn’t survive. The only reason he hadn’t joined them in death, was that he’d first been found by a rag-tag group of locals, already calling themselves a movement.

Fisher wondered; was his recall in response to how poorly the first few attempts to retake the planet had gone, or was there some other motivation at play?

Regardless, he had no intention of relenting before the completion this operation. After what happened on Farius Prime, he would either see this one all the way through or die trying. If anyone had known just how okay he was with either prospect, they likely would’ve ordered an immediate and mandatory evaluation of his mental stability.

As Fisher approached a large hole that had been blasted into the side of the retaining wall that ran along the southern-edge of the courtyard, he felt a strong gust of wind blowing in through it, kicking up heavy droplets of rain that stung his face. It was something of a tempering sensation, as he stopped moving and sunk his head low. He realized in the moment how unfairly he’d treated a man who had saved his life minutes earlier. Brody was just like Fisher, an operative sent on a mission, determined to complete said mission. Likely, he’d experienced his own failures during the war; his own losses too and had simply wanted to do what he thought was the right thing. In this case, it meant bringing out Fisher alive. But that sobering empathy he felt didn’t override his determination to succeed here on Betazed.

A slight grin began to cross his face as he heard his big betazoid companion offer a slightly sarcastic greeting, that was no doubt meant to alleviate the tension of the situation, but also in keeping with his sometimes-quirky sense of humor.

That grin vanished a split-second later.

“Are you fucking kidding me!?” he glanced back over his left shoulder, past Ebirone who had gone wide-eyed in surprise; a look which soon morphed into an apparent face of cautious pleading. Fisher had felt the ‘pluck’ of the dart strike him clean between his shoulder blades, attaching itself to the black fabric of his rain-soaked and torn jacket. It’d been years since he’d heard last the almost imperceptible yet unmistakable little chirp of an isolinear tag striking a target, and transfixing coordinates back to a transceiver of some kind, usually a tricorder or long-range sensor. In this case, his shuttlecraft’s sensor suite. Intelligence officers liked to use them as a means of abducting suspects from afar, and Fisher himself had used them plenty of times for that very purpose. Now, he had one planted firmly against his back, and was threatened with immediate beam-out if he tried to remove it.

“Easy partner! Take it easy.” Ebirone cautioned, as he’d seen his friend lose his temper on several occasions and as result was more than a little frightened by how methodically deadly he could be, when in the right frame of mind. Or wrong frame of mind, for that matter. Empathically he could feel the same sense of indignant rage building in his bearded companion, that he’d felt during prior violent episodes and feared what might come next.

With a deep breath, Fisher clenched the grip of his rifle even tighter, but he stifled the mounting urge to shoot the other man in his face, however pleasing the thought had seemed in the moment. Soon however, that thought faded into distant memory as he recognized the questioning tone in Brody’s voice; he was seeking a good reason to let Fisher indeed stay. Again, it bothered Fisher how much he had unfairly misjudged this new man. He wasn’t about to follow orders, simply for the sake of following orders. That was a commonality between them, and it immediately went a long way to turning Fisher away from making another mistake with regards to him. Easing off of the grip on his rifle, he deliberately, and very slowly adjusted so as to look back at Brody. He could see the Jem’Hadar fighters closing and knew he had little time to make a convincing argument.

“The isolinear banks we destroyed tonight.” Fisher was forced to yell in order to be heard as the rain again began to pick up, turning into an even heavier constant downpour. “The control banks for six industrial replicators located in the manufacturing district. The attack was a diversionary tactic, so that the other part of our group could break into another outpost and recover the locations of their signal jammers. With their locations in hand, we plan to implant a carrier recipient of our own, which would allow us to communicate with outside and also planet side sources.” Lowering his rifle, so as to reassure Brody of his cooperation, at least for now, Fisher watched as Ebirone turned back, the Vorta still slung over his shoulder in an unconscious state. “Our signal would piggy-back off of theirs. They’d think we’re still unable to communicate, when in reality, they’re literally delivering our messages for us.”

“Signal jammers become signal boosters. All without the Dominion ever realizing it.” Ebirone outlined, grinning in an obvious sign of pride in the plan.

Re: [2374] Operation 'Spark' - Betazed

Reply #8 –
[ Cmdr. Brody Miller | Codename: Mason | Jem'Hadar Outpost Bravo-32 | Dalaria City | Betazed] Attn: @Swift 
[Show/Hide]

Throughout his entire life, Brody had always been aware where every piece of the puzzle was, that pertained to the current situation. He had learned early on, as a child even, that the key to mastering a situation was to keep every eventuality in mind. And doing so, he found, had always given him a clarity of mind, unrivalled by much. For every eventuality you needed a plan, and a backup plan, and then a backup for that. Even before he was drafted into intelligence, he had been a master at gauging his surroundings to his advantage. It was, however, a skill that didn’t work well when he had to consider other players on his own side. Which hadn’t been a problem as a teen, fending for his own foot in the door to adulthood. But as a Starfleet officer, many times, he had been tasked to work together as a team. And while it had never been his strong suit, he had endured it, excelled at it even, to get to a level where that wasn’t really necessary anymore.

Now he was the first officer of one of the finest, newest Starships in the fleet, married to the hottest officer in all of the Federation. He didn’t have to play nice with the other kids in the sandbox anymore. Certainly not after traveling 50 lightyears to rescue this little spoilsport. But surely, a certain level of immaturity, still persistent at his young age of twenty-seven, the man was also not entirely prepared for the responsibilities, his posting entailed too. But he was astutely aware of the consequences a show of weakness could wield. So, he wasn’t backing down as Bishop spun around, fist gripped tightly to his weapon. He didn’t waver a single inch, even as Ebirone tried to intervene. What was he going to do?! Wrap insubordination and murder in one neat little package? A man couldn’t be lost in rage that entirely.

But as he remained, steady as a rock, his perseverance and calm demeanor ultimately prevailed. Okay, the Betazoid’s intervention also seemed to have gone a short way in defusing the tension, a little. He could see Bishop recollecting himself and wondered if there would be a pattern here. He certainly had no intention to follow a walking powder keg around. Often times ignoring his own temper, the officer was sometimes all too quick to find his own flaws in someone else much more easily than within himself. At this point, honestly, he could not tell, if he had gone through what Bishop had gone through, whatever traumatic experience that seemed to have been, that he would not be in the same dark place. Current surroundings included.

Letting the ‘plan’ wash over him, Brody refrained from digging into the small holes and prying them open with the crowbar of his inquisitive brashness. Narrowing his dark eyes slightly, he shifted his gaze to Ebirone as he … tried to give him the reader’s digest version? Nodding slowly, the man looked back at Bishop, letting one last contemplative breath heave his broad shoulders, followed by a conceding sigh. Tilting his head to the side slightly, watching the horizon through the rainy haze, water drops dangling from his brows, he could see the last shred of luminous white, vanishing behind the cityscape. That was their escape, for a while. Even if he still had lasting doubt at this point, it was entirely pointless.

“Looks like you bought yourself 32 hours.” for that was the rotational period of Betazed’s third moon. Probably a little less, since they didn’t need for it to complete a full orbit before coming back into view. Pulling the shoulder strap from his rifle he slipped it diagonally across his torso, before looking at the men again. They should probably get to cover. “I have some supplies left in that building. I’ll catch up with you around the side of the courtyard.” He explained, waiting for nothing more but a simple nod of compliance. Mirroring the sentiment, the tall man turned on his heel in a swift motion that seemed entirely uncharacteristic, now that he had been standing in the same place like a pillar, for what seemed like the entirety of their encounter. Jogging to the opposite side of the courtyard, with the ramshackle command post, he ran up one of the columns with two quick steps before jumping to the ledge. Pulling himself up shortly after.

Slipping into the building once more, finding familiar ground again, Brody clipped his backpack shut once more. Slipping the rifle off, laying it flat on the floor, he replaced it with the bag on his back, before picking I up again. Moving to the opposite end of the floor, away from the courtyard, he too found the broken ladder again. Giving the alley below a quick inspection from cover, he quickly swung onto the rungs and slid down the handholds. Ultimately landing in a freshly formed puddle he coked the rifle to his side before quickly moving down to the next corner. Clearing the area beyond, sprinting down the long wall to the diagonal exit the other men had taken, he quickly rounded also that corner to meet them. Ebirone seemed startled.

“Seriously?” he gave the man an expression caught between hidden amusement and truthful perplexity. Something probably hard to discern for someone that didn’t know him well. “Alright, lead the way, ranger.” As the small squad started to sneak down the next alley, they ducked under an overpass that muffled the torrential rain sound a little. "So, how long have you been having this plan?" Brody asked, in a slow minute. More precisely wanting to ask why the hell they hadn't been able to see it through yet, thus sparing him this entire ordeal.

Re: [2374] Operation 'Spark' - Betazed

Reply #9 –
[ Lt. Andrew Fisher | Codename: Bishop | Bayside District | Dalaria City | Betazed ] Attn: @stardust

There was a mounting reluctance in Fisher’s mind as he watched the unknown man consider the plan he’d just relayed to him. Although there was a still lingering remnant of the momentary intense rage he’d felt just seconds ago, Fisher had no real desire to fight one of his own. After all, that’s what this man was. He wasn’t just some Jem’Hadar sent to kill him. He was an SFI operative, just like Fisher; and he had risked his life to come here in the midst of an occupation to try and rescue him. He also recognized the likelihood that he’d been through the same training as Fisher, and as such wouldn’t back down in the event of a fight. That if pushed to it, they’d default to their respective instinctual skills and abilities, and be forced into trying to kill one another. Fisher didn’t want that and knew this man didn’t deserve it either. So, when an accord seemed to have been made, Fisher felt himself ease up tremendously. He’d managed to convince him, if even temporarily, that he wasn’t entirely reckless, and that there was a noble motivation to his deeds. If only he could convince himself of that same thing, he thought.

“Thank you.” Fisher offered as a simple conciliatory acknowledgement of the sacrifice made.

An additional nod followed as the man ran off to retrieve his supplies, Fisher turning back to the hole in the wall as it continued to spray up and into his face, and even against his narrowed green eyes. But he fought the urge to shield himself. There were likely other patrols within the vicinity, that would be moving back to the outpost now that it’d gone silent, thanks to a rather timely grenade.

“Hang on.” Ebirone stepped up behind Fisher, and with a swat of his hand, smacked the isolinear tag from his back.

Once through the hole, Fisher kept his disruptor rifle trained up the length of the street that led away from the courtyard. Behind him he heard the big betazoid grumble and grunt as he squeezed through, the Vorta still slung over his shoulder like a heavy sack of potatoes. With rapt attention Fisher moved down from the wall along a sidewalk that ran parallel with the street, approaching a series of massive jagged piles of debris. When the Dominion had invaded, they’d first bombarded the planet from orbit, and had severely scarred the skyline as a result. Great chunks of the buildings had been blasted free, falling down to the streets below, winding up as massive twisted piles of steel and concrete. They acted as boulders in a way, providing cover to anyone who knelt down beside or behind them. Though, some bore a gruesome surprise upon closer inspection, as the mutilated and rotting bodies of betazoids that had been crushed by the debris had yet to be reclaimed or removed.

Thankfully, the one Fisher knelt next to was devoid of any overt displays of gratuitous gore.

“That went better than I thought it would.” Ebirone commented as he dropped to a knee next to Fisher, taking a moment to gauge their surroundings, and catch his breath at the same time. In the time he’d gotten to know his high-strung companion, he’d empathically felt the surging overflow of rage within him. A rage that was fueled by deep loss, and guilt over something. On numerous occasions, he’d considered asking the man about it, but the right opportunity hadn’t presented itself just yet. Not to mention, Ebirone himself wasn’t exactly your typical example of a betazoid in harmony with their innate ability to understand and counsel others on their emotions. Sure, he could sense those emotions in others, and in Fisher’s case anyone with a functioning pair of eyes could make out the heaviness of the burden weighing down his heart; but he never knew the right things to say, and that would’ve been doubly as so with regard to him.

“Yeah. I guess so.” Fisher plainly admitted.

An instant later the streets became aglow with pinkish-purple light as the Jem’Hadar craft flew overhead at relative speed, spitting out an absolutely thunderous roar as they were powered on by atmospheric thrusters. It was utterly and completely deafening, drowning out even the loudest of noises made by the rain, wind, or lightning in the skies above. The commotion didn’t last long however, as the trio of ships moved off, patrolling further south along the shoreline of the bay. With haste, Fisher recognized the opportunity to advance a little more aggressively under the cover of the immense clamor. Taking cover by another large chunk of debris about the size of an average home, he peered about their surroundings for any signs of movement, other than that which was being caused by the gusting winds of the storm.

Prompted onward by a nod, Ebirone soon followed suit, moving along the opposite side of the street until he came at rest at the corner. Had he been able to hear, he would’ve recognized the sound of footsteps approaching, but instead he peeked around the corner just as Brody rounded it, and nearly raised his weapon to open fire due to the surprise. The big betazoid shook his head in apologetic fashion as he realized how closely he’d come to shooting an ally, and all he could hear in the back of his head was the screaming voice of his old Marine drill instructor at basic. ‘Always be mindful of friendlies, you jackasses!’ With a deep exhale in self-admonishment, Ebirone nodded to Brody. “Sorry, pal.”

Another minute later, and Fisher began moving up the street again, approaching the underpass of a skywalk that connected two buildings. Even being sheltered of the rain for even the briefest of moments was something to be thankful for, though Fisher used the opportunity to gauge the wound at the back of his head. It throbbed mightily so, but the bleeding had evidently subsided as he examined his hand for any traces of crimson. From over his shoulder he heard their new companion speak up again, raising a question in regard to the plan he’d been regaled with, and it moderately annoyed Fisher. Not the question itself, mind you, but rather the overt tone it conveyed. “We’ve been at it a few days now. Four maybe.” He admitted, moving cautiously over to examine a nearby adjacent alleyway.

“But hey... I guess there’s no good excuse for not having completed it thus far. I mean, we’re only in the middle of an active warzone, occupied, surrounded and hunted by thousands of soldiers, that’re literally bred only to kill; who I might add, have a serious penchant for attacking at any and all hours of the day, all while a kilometer long battlecruiser hovers menacingly overhead.” Fisher stopped a moment, looking sarcastically back at the man. “But yeah, I get your point.” He shook his head. Of course, he and the others had wanted to carry out their plan to hi-jack the signal jammers, the very instant they’d figured out the finer logistics of it. But plans under such conditions rarely went off without a hitch, or delays. Fisher reasoned that his newest companion likely understood all of that already but had simply used the opportunity to fulfill his need to bitch about the situation.

Taking a step back into the rain, Fisher resumed moving again, followed closely by Ebirone a second or so after. The big betazoid dropping to a knee next to a pile of debris, waiting for Brody to catch him up another second or so later. “Y’know... I used to eat lunch every day, right over there.” He pointed with his rifle out to a nearby café at the base of one of the grandiose buildings. “Pretty good noodles.” He added. “Damn shame.”

“Hey!” Fisher hissed out a caution to both of them for silence, as he looked back from the cover he’d settled behind, an index finger going to his lips to further emphasize the importance of quiet. As they regrouped, Fisher motioned down the street to a group of Jem’Hadar that were some two-hundred meters distance, making their way down the street toward them. They hadn’t yet been spotted. “No way around them.” Fisher quietly stated as a matter of fact, looking back up the street they’d come down. It would’ve added another three-kilometers distance to cover if they doubled back. “Can’t afford the time to double-back either. We’ll have to go through them.” He reasoned, taking a tactical appraisal of their surroundings. To the left he could see a high embankment that ran along the side of the street. It was high enough, and wide enough that one of them could traverse it, lay in ambush, and stay relatively obscured from detection.

At the same time, there was a second large pile of debris directly adjacent to the one they were behind now. If all three men could control all three positions, and let the patrol move deep enough toward them, they’d have the Jem’Hadar in a triangulated turkey-shoot.

“Eb... you’re staying put here. Drop that piece of shit for a moment.” He instructed, and carefully the betazoid lowered the unconscious vorta to the ground, so as to avoid stirring him from his state. Fisher looked to the other man and cocked his head for a moment.

“What do you want... left, or right?”

Re: [2374] Operation 'Spark' - Betazed

Reply #10 –
[ Cmdr. Brody Miller | Codename: Mason | Jem'Hadar Outpost Bravo-32 | Dalaria City | Betazed] Attn: @Swift 
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Brody had never been to Betazed before, something he felt regretful about now, watching it in such a dilapidated, violated state. The irony did not elude him one second, that Samantha and he had planned their honeymoon here. She had sought out this really cute, traditional hotel by the beach, not far from here, in the old part of town. It hadn’t really mattered to him, having been used to sleeping under makeshift tents, or alien accommodations of all kinds and comfort levels. But he had enjoyed her delight and some of that had rubbed off on him for certain. Now, he was glad she didn’t have to see this. None of it looked cute or placid. Much more gruesome and dark, truth be told. It would be a long time for the planet to recover, if ever. Her place was on a beautiful starship, up in the skies. Now more than ever, if he had anything to say about it.

As the group stopped under the skybridge, shielded from the rain for a moment, the commander noticed the red hue in the wet dark of Bishop’s head for the first time. It had just looked like water in the streaming rain until now. Frowning slightly, as long as he remained out of perceptive range of the man’s vision, he tried to ascertain the damage without seeming too concerned. He could obviously walk, wasn’t dizzy or showing any signs of extensive blood loss. So, a concussion was unlikely. And as he had posed his seemingly innocent question he was also greeted with the full force of the man’s astute sense of snippy comebacks. He was fine.

Giving him a curt nod, Brody contemplated the information. He didn’t yet manage to put together the ten days of radio silence and the mere four days of effort, that had gone into circumventing it. But he was also not going to make an effort to interrogate a fellow intelligence officer – former fellow, he supposed – to prolong the ultimate execution of the mission and their stay in the streets. The sooner they would get to the rebel compound the sooner Bishop would relax, hopefully. For the officer himself, he wasn’t so sure. That would entirely depend on whether he’d judge the other rebels to be trustworthy or not. There had been cases of collaborators throughout the entirety of this ongoing war, among all species. Betazoids would surely not be exempt.

So, it felt only natural, to give Ebirone a firm once over too, as he started to talk about the noodle place. It made his intentions a lot more real, though, as his words lined with the subtlety of painful memory. Least there was an angle Brody could readily understand. He was distraught by the fate of his home world, his people, intent on ridding them from the occupation. And while something similar could’ve been true for the bearded man at his side, there was something much deeper at play there. He hadn’t gotten the same idea of reckless sacrifice from the Betazoid, that he’d gotten from the human. Being drawn from the moment of tactical contemplation, the commander instinctively crouched lower at the tone of urgency, much more than the meaning of the word.

Following Bishop’s motions, dark brown eyes fixed on the squad of armadillos, loitering in the street ahead. Obviously just another small scout detachment. Gaze snapping back to the other officer with silent interjection, Brody shook his pate quietly at the – in his mind – hasty judgment. He wasn’t sure if it was a martyr thing or if he truly thought that conflict was always the best way. But he didn’t say anything because he did not have a lay of the land, not as these two had. When they said there was no way around then he’d have to take that at face value. A little trust, right? A little trust that was, however, weighed down by the leading man’s previous display of emotional instability. But if Ebirone was fine with this, then that was two for two and he’d concede, for now.

“I’ll take the high road.” Brody acknowledged, an unintentional pun ringing from his reply, that had not been intended. Slipping the backpack from his body, he settled it at the Vorta’s side, it would be better preserved here and not impair his agility up on the embankment. Flipping the lid up he pulled the additional drawstring open, revealing a small selection of stun and frag grenades, as well as the rest of his communications and supply equipment. “Go crazy.” He patted the Betazoid on the shoulder with a courteous nod and appreciative smile, before quietly crouch-running out of the rubble to the left side of the street. Quickly strapping the rifle back onto his back, the man skillfully climbed up a few pieces of a broken building to crouch down on the embankment, making his way low to the middle of it where the Jem’Hadar would ultimately walk into their ambush. Dropping down onto the dusty ground, pulling the black phaser rifle to his front, the former operative adjusted the scope to mark all individuals. They couldn’t let a single one escape.

Raising his hand for Bishop to see, out of eyesight of the scouts, he signaled readiness.

Re: [2374] Operation 'Spark' - Betazed

Reply #11 –
[ Lt. Andrew Fisher | Codename: Bishop | Bayside District | Dalaria City | Betazed ] Attn: @stardust

Just up the street, the Jem’Hadar patrol was encroaching ever closer to the duo of resistance fighters and their most recent friend. It was clear that the patrol was making its own way toward the same outpost that the trio had just come from a few minutes earlier. It was also exceedingly likely there were other patrols, spread throughout the immediate area of the Bayside District, each making their way back in order to check in. The reality was, the streets were a treacherous prospect to navigate safely, though it was the only option available to the resistance, as the Jem’Hadar had rather successfully mined entrances to the sewer system, in addition to locking down any and all entry points into the surrounding buildings. There were only a few relatively safe points for the resistance fighters to make use of, and the closest one to them was still another half-kilometer distance to go. Fortunately, detecting patrols like the one ahead of them had been made substantially easier by the intensity of the storm raging over head, as it prevented the Jem’Hadar from making use of their shrouds.

At least, that had been the case for Dalaria City, where they were in the midst of the rainy season. Fisher imagined other parts of Betazed were likely struggling with respect to those damnable personal cloaks.

“Copy.” Fisher acknowledged the man without further elaboration as he chose the embankment. He’d assumed the brash younger man would jump at the opportunity to put himself in the moderately difficult to get to position, and honestly Fisher appreciated that willingness. The relatively high vantage of the embankment left whoever chose it in the most exposed position, and also likely offered the most difficult shooting window in terms of laying down effective fire on the Jem’Hadar patrol. As that window was essentially split in two by a massive pile of debris in the middle of the street, giving the Jem’Hadar a modest amount of cover to their backs if they were smart enough, or fast enough to get into it. Either the man would have to make a series of incredible shots at almost the perfect moment, or he’d be forced into laying down a blanket of suppressive fire until Fisher or Ebirone could move in and finish them off. His selection of the position also meant Fisher could take the best shooting point available, as he could at least vouch for the steadiness of his own aim with a disruptor rifle.

“Oooh... you spoil me.” Ebirone amusingly remarked as Brody made the offering of explosives, the big betazoid opting for a fragmentation grenade after his high-strung comrade had taken one of the stun variety. It’d been at least a few years since Ebirone had been given access to ordinance of this caliber, and it brought back the same pleasant tingling sensations to the base of his neck as it always had before. Anticipation mounted, and he made ready to throw the deadly frag.

“Wait for my signal.” Fisher reminded the big betazoid as he patted his back scurrying by him, headed to take up position at the pile of debris laying at the far side of the street. Keeping his head low, Fisher slid up against an exposed steel buttress, and peaked out to see just how far the Jem’Hadar had managed to come. With a little surprise that they managed to close almost three-quarters of the distance between them in such a short time, Fisher primed the stun-grenade in his hands, ready to announce their ambush. Whatever skill the Jem’Hadar had demonstrated in the ability to move and clear the path down the street with such speed meant little in the moment, as they were all lined up perfectly within the trio’s kill-zone. It’d been of paramount importance to let the quintet in as deeply as possible before springing the trap, so that they had the best opportunity at eliminating them in short order. When he could confirm that the other man was in position with the raising of a hand, Fisher tossed the stun, and made ready his disruptor rifle to open fire.

Jem’Hadar had been bred to serve and die at the will of the Founders, and in a few hasty seconds, they’d live up to that purpose.

Almost in sync with a poetic flash of lightning overhead that illuminated the faces of the scaly warriors, Fisher heard an instantaneous high-pitched whine signify the detonation of the stun-grenade, and the combination of an ear-shattering bang and even brighter flash temporarily blinded and deafened the members of the patrol. Leaning out of his cover, Fisher started firing rapidly into the group of startled and disoriented Jem’Hadar; a series of the white-hot disruptor pulses flash-boiling rain drops into steam on their way to splashing against the abdomen of one of the Jem’Hadar, sending it in a tumble down to the soaked pavement. Fisher’s aim then shifted, and he fired at the next in line of the five.

Sprung into action by the burst of the stun-grenade, Ebirone threw his fragmentation offering into the fray before he started firing in rapid succession at the foremost Jem’Hadar. The grenade exploded an instant later, showering his target with deadly shrapnel that ripped and clawed away flesh, tearing fatal gashes into its abdomen that were soon accompanied by a series of disruptor bolts from his, and Fisher’s trained rifles.

In one fell swoop, Fisher and Ebirone had claimed three of five Jem’Hadar.

Re: [2374] Operation 'Spark' - Betazed

Reply #12 –
[ Cmdr. Brody Miller | Codename: Mason | Jem'Hadar Outpost Bravo-32 | Dalaria City | Betazed] Attn: @Swift
[Show/Hide]

Sure, Brody enjoyed the thrill, the adventure, the indulging of his ego with seemingly unmanageable tasks. Testing his luck and the skills of his guardian angel to the limits. Did that make him reckless? Maybe, a little bit, but even through his young years, he felt like he could skillfully gauge the potential of a situation to go south. That being said, he was hardly ever seen going the safe route, choosing the easiest, most obvious path. But he also had to admit, that he was lighting a fire in himself, that he hadn’t felt for a long time. Because in all honesty, that man which he’d just described to himself, had been a far cry, from a distant memory. Well, had been, until very recently.

The minute he had found himself alone in that shuttle, the former operative had felt like an amphibious life-form, dropped back into water. Like this was the element he’d been born into, but had subsequently grown out of. It was something he hadn’t know, or hadn’t admitted to himself, that he’d missed. Not until ending up in the thick of it. Seeing the Jem’Hadar in the street, devising a plan to lure them into an ambush, so they could fulfill their grander scheme. It was just like the good old times. Or a romanticized notion of what it had been. Granted, the Commander knew what his life was now, and he loved every minute of it, but this was a peak into a past that wasn’t all bad. A melancholic dabble into the memory of a life that had turned him to the man he was now.

Hearing Bishop, instructing Ebirone to wait for his signal, as Brody himself was just moving out of earshot, the officer cringed with a small chuckle to himself. If he had been on the receiving end of that order, then the bearded man would’ve ended up on the receiving end of his fist. Which was the notion that amused him, not the interaction between the two boyfriends. 

Taking up his position and marking his targets, sending a ready to the rest of the team, the man had spent a lot of time lying in waiting. This was nothing. He had once spent three nights on a rooftop, peeing into a bottle, waiting for a target to leave their safe compound. They had said it couldn’t be breached. So, he had cut off power and water and had just lain there in waiting, until the snake popped out its head … and off it was. Didn’t matter if they knew someone was waiting, eventually they had no choice. He had loved the poetry of the inevitable. Just like these poor armadillo fuckers.

Listening to the characteristic whistle through the air and subsequently watching the familiar outline of a stun grenade, from his backpack, sliding across the ground, as it landed, Brody turned his head away momentarily, clenching his dark eyes shut, at the flash and the immediately following bang. Looking back up he saw a few remaining sparks, raining down around the disoriented Jem’Hadar. Then another grenade, less bright, mostly throwing up a good bit of dust and silvery shrapnel. Which was then instantly diluted by white beams of light.

Focusing through his enhanced scope again, he could easily make out the shapes of the enemy through the obstructive smoke screen, as some of them fell to the ground like puppets. One of the remaining two attempted to take cover behind a beam of concrete, but only against the fire from his front and left. One precise gust of orange light and he fell into the shadow of the rock. The last one, attempting to retreat to a better position, was quickly culled in mid run, falling, and sliding into a puff of dust.

Skimming the street for stragglers, letting the auto-detection matrix of the scope rule out any abnormal readings, Brody ultimately shut the device off, jumping back to his feet. Sliding the rifle onto his back again, he placed both hands to his hip, pleasantly observing the dust settling on the dead bodies beneath. This had gone as smooth as imaginable. Waiting for the other two guys to come out of their respective covers, the commander jumped down to street level with ease. Or at the very least, made it seem easy.

Meeting the two men in the middle of the road, where the stench of burnt meat was the thickest, he shook his head lightly, dryly, at them. “TWO grenades guys, seriously.” he chuckled to himself, but not without poking fun at the two, as he took his backpack from Ebirone with a thankful nod. In his mind, and more precisely his ego, they could’ve gotten them with one. “I assume you have an ordinance replicator, back at base? Or do we have to figure out a restitution plan of some sort?!”

Re: [2374] Operation 'Spark' - Betazed

Reply #13 –
[ Lt. Andrew Fisher | Codename: Bishop | Bayside District | Dalaria City | Betazed ] Attn: @stardust

As the last of the Jem’Hadar had been dispatched by their new ‘friend’, Fisher and Ebirone emerged from their cover and approached the bodies as they lay motionless. Without hesitation, the big betazoid went about the standard procedure of double-tapping each of them. It was absolutely a necessary tactic, and thankfully Ebirone hadn’t fought Fisher when he’d suggested implementing it days earlier. That hadn’t been the case for the other members of the Rena Resistance, who were less than enthusiastic about eliminating the Jem’Hadar, after they’d been rendered somewhat less dangerous. Specifically, the other Starfleet Officers of the group had outright lobbied against it, siting a number of regulations and accords that the practice broke. To a point, Fisher understood their concerns, and had even agreed with them. But this was an instance when he’d been willing to break with some of those more humane institutions.

“Hey! You said, go crazy, pal!” Ebirone retorted, though there was clearly a hint of teasing in his voice.

“Nothing quite as official as those Starfleet offerings, but we’ve got a half decent stash of improvised explosives.” Fisher answered the question, and though they had indeed at one-point garnered access to such an ordinance replicator, they’d since had to sabotage and leave it behind during a previous raid of their hideout. “In a pinch, they’ll do just as well.” He added, his attention turning back down the street, from where the Jem’Hadar patrol had originated. It was another three blocks before they were within relative distance of the Rena base, though thankfully there was still another three hours of darkness before the betazed sun would try to peak through the soot fueled storm clouds. It wouldn’t necessarily be bright, but they’d still be far easier to detect with the naked eye. “We’ve got another--” Fisher stopped as he’d started to explain where they were heading, his attention caught by a noise somehow heard over the loud raining. It had come from behind them.

As he spun on his heel, he approached Brody and Ebirone, his eyes narrowing.

“Shit!” he exclaimed. “They’re on to us!” he began backing up the street, his eyes going to Ebirone and Brody as if to state the dire nature of their situation. If the two hadn’t immediately understood or seen what Fisher had, it soon became impossible to not notice as white disruptor bolts began to sizzle through the air in their direction. Dozens of shots fired at them, no doubt meant to drive the three men further up the street into whatever trap lay in wait. It’d been an ambush, and a rather cleverly guised one at that. “They must’ve been tracking each patrol, waiting for one to go dark, so that they could know where to strike!” Fisher explained, turning back down the street, and already he could see a number of scaly figures rapidly advancing on their position. Any minute they’d be overrun, pincered between two large groups of Jem’Hadar.

“Fuck!” Ebirone exclaimed as he ducked behind some cover, unsure what to do.

Fisher scanned their surroundings, for anything. There were the buildings but, they would’ve likely been crawling with Jem’Hadar too. No, Fisher realized as his gaze fell upon the street, and he spotted a nearby manhole cover. “You got any HE, or Thermite Plasma in that party bag of yours?” Fisher asked Brody as he ran up to him, looking back at the sewer entrance. As he’d explained earlier, the Jem’Hadar had rather successfully mined the entrances to the sewers, but if that mine was destroyed, then they could potentially brave the underground tunnels that ran through the city. It would give them an immediate option better than getting gunned down by two encroaching squads of soldiers. Only issue was, there was really only one sort of safe way to destroy the mines placed at the sewer entrances, and that was with some kind of ordinance that could eat through the dura-steel of the manholes, destroying said mines before they could detonate.

Otherwise they could only hope to trigger said mine, and risk killing themselves in the process.

“Wait, you want to go through the sewers?!” Ebirone asked incredulously, his attention turning back to the approaching group from behind. “Do you have any idea how much of a mess those will be with all this rain!?” he screamed, realizing just how shitty their situation had suddenly gotten. Dreading what was likely to be their next move, for a rather personal reason he cared not to admit in the moment.

Re: [2374] Operation 'Spark' - Betazed

Reply #14 –
[ Cmdr. Brody Miller | Codename: Mason | Jem'Hadar Outpost Bravo-32 | Dalaria City | Betazed] Attn: @Swift
[Show/Hide]

The former operative hadn’t cracked a single smile since he’d gotten to this god forsaken place, not even a sly grin. But he did convey a certain sense of brash humor and egocentric sense of levity, that was mostly just a matter of slight overconfidence. As Ebirone reacted in kind, the commander let his hand drop on the Betazoid’s shoulder with full force, transmitting a sense of agreement and convergence. He appreciated the guy, and how their interactions meshed like two cogs in unison. Squeezing the man’s shoulder with brute force, like the jaws of life, he knew he could take it. Just like he could take that dry sense of misplaced humour, when all Bishop seemed to dance around, was the fire of serious duty and self-sacrifice. Not really an act worthy any applause.

Improvised explosives, Brody’s dark eyes shifted to the bearded man, that sounded like fun – until one blew your right hand off. Which was alright, he was married now, so he didn’t really need it. Nodding gently, regardless, the conversation was cut short as Bishop froze dead in his elaborations. Following the general direction, he had heard it too. A pebble skidding across dusty pavement. Cocking his head, a little higher, he could not immediately see anything in the street, but gladly followed the man’s urgent prompts to get down low. Slipping onto his ass a little painfully, back against a large boulder in the direction that soon weapon’s fire came from, Brody let out a disgruntled groan, turning the power cell of his scope back on. The device charged up with an audible hiss, growing in pitch, until it faded into the sound of the rain and the disruptor discharges.

Spinning around onto one knee, the commander found a crevice in the debris, through which he could see the approaching squad of Jem’Hadar with one eye. It was just wide enough for his rifle. There wasn’t much room in terms of aiming sideways, but he was fortunate enough to get one right into his scope. Sending a pulse of orange light up the street, against the barrage of white rays like a single kamikaze warrior, the head of a Jem’Hadar exploded in a burst of ambers and bloody discharge, before he dropped down backwards, body stiffened in nervous shock. Hearing Bishop’s explanation, Brody gritted his teeth together, shooting him a serious glare. Trying to figure out if this was really a new tactic the man had never seen before. It was at any rate, quite a specific theory, to jump to so quickly.

Moving out of his position in a crouch-run, the former operative weaved through the labyrinth of debris and wrecked vehicles skillfully, following his retreating partners away from the encroaching troops. He was quite comfortable not having to turn his back on the two of them right now. Eventually, however, they ran out of places to hide, as the street turned into a far more open space, that they would never be able to cross. Bishop hinted at one of the nearby manhole-covers. Which he had previously alluded to were all rigged with explosives by now. Letting dark brown eyes flicker from the guy to the circular plate of metal-rimmed concrete, Brody ultimately slipped his backpack off in a swift move. “Lay down some delaying fire, will you.” He instructed, flicking the lid open and pulling out a replacement energy cell.

Looking around for a jagged surface he ultimately hit the device against the corner of a broken pillar once. A small shrapnel of duraplast breaking off. “Come on.” he hissed under his breath, hitting down a second, a third time. Each marked with increased, more desperate force, until a salvific cracking sound cut through the silence among the men. “Gotcha …” he whispered, watching the top end of the power cell falling to the ground, leaving a few drops of glowing blue gel on the concrete pillar, which soon started to smoke and gargle, as it ate away at the material. Unfortunately, a small amount had also clung to his left-hand glove. Feeling the heat seep through the fabric, he only realised what had happened, shaking the droplet off, but not before it had revealed his index finger and a portion of his thumb. Causing slight skin irritation in the process.

“Fucking shit.” he cursed under his breath, hobbling over to his backpack again, slipping it over one shoulder, while balancing the capped power cell carefully, so no further accidents could occur.  Getting ready by the manhole, Brody ultimately poured the corrosive gel carefully along the perimeter. It wasn’t quite enough, but he figured the triggered explosives would do the rest. Slowly backing away, the luminous compound sunk into the metal slowly, puffing bubbles of vapor into the air. “Guys, take cover.” After all, he wasn’t sure what kind of ordinance the Jem’Hadar had put beneath the streets and what kind of explosion that would create. Last thing he intended was to be sprayed with the rest of the power gel.

Sliding behind a burnt out antigrav vehicle, the commander joined his companions in a few long seconds of wait, while the enemy troops continued to converge relentlessly. Resting their backs until the battered chassis, he was almost touched by the sentiment of doubt, when suddenly a loud BAMM reignited his confidence, and a flash of adrenaline. The shockwave of the explosion washed over them and pushed one side of the vehicle, they were hiding behind, back, bringing Bishop to his knees. Brody had obviously overestimated the weight of such an automotive. Looking over his shoulder, through the blown-out windows, he could see the steaming hole that had been created. Flares of black cinder radiating from the rim across the pavement. Narrowing his eyes, he took a split second to gauge the surroundings of the manhole.

“Where’s the damn cover …” he pondered quietly, a disheartening revelation soon dawning on him. Mahogany eyes darting up, he could see the black lid, flipping through the air, as it came rushing down to the surface. “Fuck!” he hissed out, pushing Bishop out of the way before pulling himself back against Ebirone, just as the heavy manhole cover slammed down into the ground between them, sending small pebbles like shrapnel against them. Luckily that pain was superficial, the lid on their heads, however, would not have been. Letting out an almost disbelieving chortle, eyes pinned on the cover, half stuck in the pavement now, Brody shook his head. He was only then realizing that he basically had backed into the Betazoid’s lap. Clearing his throat, he quickly moved back to his feet, shouldering the backpack entirely once more.

“Just your knife, I know.” he briefly winked at the man, in casually jest that seemed to die hard, before diverting his attention through the burnt-out vehicle once more, towards their salvation. The Jem’Hadar would certainly realise their escape route and follow them into the canals. Given that he wasn’t sure if his companions knew which paths to take down there, he would welcome any kind of head start. “Guys, help me with this.” He instructed both men, pushing both hands against the vehicle, to move it over the few feet towards the manhole. Now, the underestimated levity in its construction, truly came in handy. The three guys managed to move it half across the hole easily and quickly, leaving just enough space for them to slip inside. Ebirone went first, followed by Bishop and lastly Brody, though the bearded man waited at the top of the ladder to help drag the disguise the rest of the way across their escape route. Just as the first Jem’Hadar jumped over the piles of rubble, they had so skilfully laced through, moments earlier.

Brody took the time to wait for a moment, watching more of the aliens to follow, as their boots shuffled across the pavement, past the vehicle and the entrance it concealed. Good. Subsequently making his way down the ladder quietly, the commander lowered himself into the knee-deep water without making any noise. Pointing at bishop he silently beckoned him to lead the way, using cover ops hand-signs only. If anyone was to know his way around the sewers, it was this potential little rat. Yes, Brody was not yet over the doubt that kept cropping up at the odd behavior of the man with the beard. That trust would still have to be earned.

Re: [2374] Operation 'Spark' - Betazed

Reply #15 –
[ Lt. Andrew Fisher | Codename: Bishop | Main Sewer Line | Dalaria City | Betazed ] Attn: @stardust

Thus far, the Dominion hadn’t seemed overly interested in tracking down the fringe elements that had preyed on their patrols throughout the city, as there were always more Jem’Hadar to send out in replacement. However, the fact that they’d now shown such an interest, meant that resistance cells were getting to them; no doubt starting to irritate like an old splinter that had begun to fester. However, in the moment, with white hot disruptor bolts streaming in over their heads, fired from what must’ve been a rather sizeable group of the scaly soldiers, Fisher couldn’t really afford to dwell on the evidence of their successes. Not unless he wanted to wind up being blasted into oblivion; and though he had been somewhat resigned to death a few minutes earlier, when lined up against a wall, he’d since returned to his senses for the time being, and wished again to stave off death.

At least until this new son-of-a-bitch, and the Jem’Hadar were off Betazed.

“Do your thing, we’ve got this!” Fisher hollered, patting Ebirone on his back to pull the big betazoid along with him. They took up a position against a stack of twisted and burned out durasteel framing, only to then began firing randomly into the distance. They needed to give some semblance of cover. He might not have particularly like this new guy, but he wasn’t in the business of letting him get killed either.

“You’re coming around on the guy, I can tell!” Ebirone teased Fisher in between shots, striking one of the encroaching Jem’Hadar center-mass.

A dismissive grunt was all that Fisher mustered in return, firing a barrage of disruptor blasts that struck a targeted Jem’Hadar of his own, sending it sprawling into a heavy heap on the rain-socked pavement. He followed down range with another trio of shots, the bolts singeing through the air, past a few Jem’Hadar that were charging in, forcing them to drop into cover. The energized plasma blasts again leaving little vapor-trails as they struck droplets of rain, and instantly flashed them into puffs of steam. The effect served the benefit of giving the men an idea of how close their shots were to striking true, though it did the same for the Jem’Hadar, as several bursts of super-heated vapor stung at Fisher’s neck. It signified just how close one bolt had come to striking him. He couldn’t help but flinch retroactively, something that Ebirone noticed and chuckled at in amusement.

“That close, bud!” he grinned, then resumed firing.

Fisher shrugged off another blast that came close and pointed passed Ebirone. “Your baggage has had it!” he hollered, referring to the unconscious Vorta that Ebirone had left leant up against a pile of debris, its body bloodied and pock-marked by impacts from Jem’Hadar disruptors. Either they’d taken it as the body of one of the resistance members, or they saw an opportunity to justify a little personal satisfaction; after all, the dislike between the Jem’Hadar and their Vorta overseers had been well documented.

“Well shit!” Ebirone exclaimed.

Fisher looked back for a moment, and watched the man fiddling with something before he began flapping his hand in an ounce of pain, only to then run for cover away from the manhole.

There was a delay, long enough to wonder what he was supposed to take cover from, other than the streams of disruptor blasts soaring in overhead; in fact, he’d considered raising hell with the man over his failure, when a booming thump sounded up from the manhole, blowing rather sizeable chunks of durasphalt, mud, and other debris high into the air. The shape of the manhole had acted as a sort of mortar, and instinctively, Fisher held a hand up to deflect some of the larger chunks from hitting him in his face and head. An instant later, he was shoved rather abruptly backward as a mostly in tact durasteel manhole cover fell from the sky, landing with a jarring shudder where he’d been kneeling a millisecond earlier. Wincing at the loud reverberation of ringing, Fisher saw the man laying atop Ebirone, and genuinely felt relieved that neither of them had been crushed by the heavy disc. Though he regarded them with a somewhat amused glance, before looking back over his shoulder and firing into a duo of Jem’Hadar that had continued to advance, cutting them down.

Ebirone blinked in awkward silence for a moment as Brody pushed off of him, helping with a bit of his own forceful shove.

“It’s alright Ebb, lots of guys get one in a firefight!” teased Fisher, grinning as he ducked and dived under a disruptor bolt, before turning to follow the other man’s lead.

He then charged at the burnt-out vehicle, understanding immediately what the plan was, and laying into it with his shoulder he felt it move slowly. A second later, it moved far further as Ebirone had joined in on the effort, grunting and shoving with all of his substantial size and might. There was then a moment’s hesitation from Ebirone before he squeezed down into the half-covered manhole, truly not liking where this whole thing was leading them. After the other man went, Fisher slipped in last, careful not to make much of a noise as he climbed down, just barely avoiding detection by the Jem’Hadar as they stormed in over their previous position. The subterfuge wouldn’t last forever, as eventually they would double-back up the street and figure out what the trio of men had resorted to in the spur of the moment. But it would give them enough time to make their way through the sewers far enough, that they would likely avoid detection.

That is, if they could successfully avoid all the other mines.

With a quiet nod, Fisher turned to his right and began wading through the knee-deep water, moving against the current as it rushed around them on the way to where it let out at the bay. Though, as they began moving, it became clear that direction he’d chosen, albeit correct, also seemed to move at an almost imperceptible yet gradual declination. Meaning the water that had started at their knees, was soon up to their thighs, and steadily rising as they continued to move silently through the tunnels. Behind him, he could hear Ebirone breathing nervously through his nostrils, and Fisher couldn’t help but grin in amusement again.

“He’s nervous about sewer leaches.” Fisher whispered in explanation to Brody as they moved ahead of the big betazoid. “Big guy had one attach itself to his... well... the last time we waded through water.”

“Yeah, real funny! You wouldn’t laugh if you’d felt the teeth of those things chomping onto your dick, the way I had!” Ebirone retorted, maybe a little louder than he should have, to which Fisher hushed him quieter. “Bite me!”

“Shhhh!” Fisher hushed him again, struggling to stifle a laugh in response to Ebirones choice of words. The big betazoid could only clench his jaw tightly, and silently suffer through the indignity of it all.

For another half-kilometer, the three of them waded through the surging waters, which had now risen up to the armpits of the two similarly sized humans, and to their great fortune, they’d somehow managed to not happen across another mine the entire distance. The fact of which made Fisher question the accuracy of the reports that had been relayed to him by other resistance cells in and around Dalaria City. Stopping before a ladder that went up almost fifty meters, Fisher shined the light of his disruptor rifle up it and could see something blinking back at him. Their luck had evidently run out, as there indeed had been another mine attached to the underside of the manhole. With an exhausted sigh, Fisher looked between the three of them a moment as he knew that this was their only way to get topside without going back the way they came or wading further into ever deepening water. The problem with the latter, was that there were no guarantees of them reaching another manhole before they were completely submerged.

“Well... I guess I’ll give it the old college try...” Fisher mused, as he began climbing up the long ladder, his intent to disarm the mine clear. He knew of course that the trigger would only go off if the manhole was accessed from the other side. Or if he futzed with it in an improper way. Why he had volunteered, wasn’t out of a deathwish, though he figured the other man might assume as much. Truth was, Fisher had rather extensive experience dealing with bombs, even those employed by the Dominion, as he’d been mired in operations against them for nearly a year now, albeit on another planet entirely. Still, all of the explosive devices he’d encountered that had been set by the Dominion, shared some commonality he was anticipating now.

Down below, Ebirone sunk a hand into the water to check something, his face contorting a moment, only to then seem more relaxed afterward.

In the vertical tunnel, Fisher could see that the underside of the panel was simple enough, and only contained three colored input keys. Previous examples had demanded four inputs, with two colors represented once, and the third color represented twice. Problem was, if he put the code in incorrectly, it would detonate the mine. Instead, he needed to figure out which of the three colors needed to be input twice, as by disabling it, he could then completely circumvent the need to input it. Carefully, he popped off the cover of the mine’s panel, and immediately saw that the green input was his double command. Running a finger along its edge, he found where it connected to the main board, and pulled the lead loose until it was disabled. Now, only two colors remained, but he couldn’t disable them, as there was often a programmed fail safe that would cause the mine to detonate. So, it came down to a fifty/fifty proposition.

“Red or blue?” Fisher asked aloud, his voice echoing down the tunnel to his compatriots below.

Re: [2374] Operation 'Spark' - Betazed

Reply #16 –
[ Cmdr. Brody Miller | Codename: Mason | Jem'Hadar Outpost Bravo-32 | Dalaria City | Betazed] Attn: @Swift
[Show/Hide]

Slowly accustoming to the fowl scent of decades of moisture and dirt baking across concrete walls, Brody’s dark irises also started to refocus against the dark. Switching the AR flashlight on his spec-ops rifle’s scope on, it started to illuminate edges and corners with an AI driven laser, as to not alert potential stragglers like a full-on flashlight. Looking down both ways the tunnel went, the former operative waited on valuable input from the locals, before proceeding. Only to then realize that they used to be four. Quite the momentary lapse of attention. “Hold on … where’s your date?!” he asked Ebirone in an urgent whisper, after drawing his attention with another squeeze to the man’s impressive shoulder. A short explanation later the commander let out a heavy breath of disapproval, giving the both of them a wtf look. As much as could be conveyed in the considerable dark anyways, before they moved on. “I could’ve done that, back in the courtyard …” he mumbled, mostly to himself, carrying on between them.

As they proceeded, either the water started to rise, or they went down an imperceptible decline. Both well within the realm of the possible, it was raining like crazy up there, after all. Noticing the growing sense of discomfort behind him, even compared to his own, Brody gave the Betazoid a quizzical look over his shoulder, before Bishop offered an explanation. Raising a brow momentarily, the man shrugged, keeping his attention back to the various – better uninterpreted – debris floating in the water. “Seems like either way, someone will.” He mused quietly, at the admittedly humorous interaction between the two. Whoever was going to do the biting in Ebirone’s private area was not really any of his concern or business. Slowly but steadily a sense of comradery became noticeable between the bearded human and the Betazoid. Or maybe he had not yet let himself see it before. It told a story of two men who had been in the thick of it for a long time and trusted each other explicitly. He had been in the field long enough to know the kind of comradery it could produce out of sheer necessity and human sentimentality.

After what seemed like an endless track, through a labyrinth of sewers and storm drains, they now seemed to almost float, which was becoming worrying. His backpack and rifle were waterproof, but the cold liquid hugged his body through the fabric of his clothes, in an uncomfortable way. As the quiet had ensued for a while, he started to think of a hot bath. Or a shower maybe. Oh man, he seriously hoped they had one at the compound they were heading fore. His mood would certainly not improve, if he would have to smell like a swamp monster, for the rest of the mission. But he also wondered about the Dominion strategy, a little bit. Clearly, mining the sewer entrances was a smart move, as to keep people from getting in. And even though someone could always find a way, mining the entire system, would’ve been a colossal undertaking, alongside securing the surface. So, he didn’t really see there any immediate danger in their path. However, if there were to be a tread mine under the water, they’d not know until one of them stepped onto it. Thankfully Bishop was the lead.

Eventually it seemed, like they would not be able to go any further and stopped at the last manhole that seemed reachable, before they would have to dive. Brody wasn’t sure if this was due to changing circumstances, aka the water rising, or because Bishop had lead them into the wrong, or simply an unknown direction. Holding on to one of the rungs, with his free hand, he shone the AR flashlight up the shaft, revealing all its minute details, including the mines at the top. But before he could do anything, Sargent Suicide had already clambered up a good portion of the way. The college try?! What the hell, there were no more than one try, with any kind of explosive! Shaking his head at the apparent ill-consideration, Brody’s glance ultimately trailed over to Ebirone again. Furrowing his brows as he tried to gauge the look on the other man’s face, he ultimately glared. “Dude! Could you, like, not look at me, while you’re feeling up your dick?!” he barked in a hissed quiet, that certainly echoed up the vertical shaft a good way.

It was in that moment, as the Betazoid wanted to reply something, that a heavy metallic clank travelled through the tunnels, in a low grumble of echoes. Both men looking in the direction it had come from, there seemed no apparent source right away. That was until the water they were to their necks in, started to pick up momentum. Tightening his grip to the first rung, sticking from the murky liquid, Brody nodded at Ebirone to get a hold too. “Fuck this, I think they opened a flood gate.” he explained curtly to the burly man, before looking up at Bishop, feet starting to slip in the increasing current. It too seemed as if the water was rising as well. Fuck, he was not going to pick a stupid color right now! “The jig is up, Bishop, we're not doing this! You can blow your own damn head off!” Within seconds, the two men below found themselves swept off their feet, merely hanging on to the ladder, as the water rose to just below the ceiling. “Get down a bit, I’ll shoot the thing out from here!” he offered a backup solution, starting to pull his other arm with the rifle from the strong current.

“You! Get up there!” he quickly instructed Ebirone, as there would soon be no more air in the tunnel below. However, the entrance to the ladder was already tight enough, without him hanging on there for dear life and the burly Betazoid trying to get past. Ultimately, one misstep and a slip of a hand, and the two men got pulled away and under, in a knot of limbs and equipment. Fuck, this was just fucking dire. Brody’s only instinct right then, since getting air was not an option, was to cling to Ebirone. At the very least they shouldn’t have gotten separated, since they were already only two, for the moment. And he knew nothing about this planet and its sewer system. The two men got dragged along by the current, pulled around a few corners into an ever-quicker flow. Ultimately the tunnel seemed to widen, and they managed to resurface in the violent stream, just in time.

“You alright?” he yelled out to the Betazoid, voice strained with the burn of his lungs. Drifting past a few overhead openings, where eerie rays of light broke through, Brody tried to catch a long enough look up the passing vertical shafts, to see if there were ladders in them. But no, just drains from the street. The tunnel seemed to continue for a while, down into the dark. “Fuck.” he hissed to himself, somehow imagining a giant blender at the end of this, as their luck went. Soon enough the tunnel at the end, seemed to channel into a bigger chamber. But it was not until they were much closer, that they realized it extend far below. “Oh sheeeeet …” the commander exclaimed, as they got washed out of the pipe and down, about 30 feet into the roaring depth of a cistern. Crossing both arms to his chest, around the rifle, the man stiffened his body, as he dove into the violent water feet first, like a knife. Going under for a moment he kicked strongly, to get back to the surface immediately. Breaking through, the two men had already drifted a good bit away from the waterfall, and ahead to a walkway, a mere 2 feet above the water, on the opposite side.

Throwing his rifle and backpack up first, Brody got aided by Ebirone to reach the metal grating, pulling himself up with a discernible sense of fatigue. Spinning around onto his stomach, he then reached his arm down to pull the behemoth from the waters. A moment later, they just both lied next to one another on their backs, catching a breath. This had been fantastic, not. Rolling onto his side eventually, the commander looked up at where the tunnel spew a roaring fountain of water into the cavern, the sound almost deafening, as they got covered in spray, that did very little to their already heightened discomfort. He still had no intention to swallow any more than he already had. “You reckon we should wait? Or you think he’s already halfway to that hot shower with my name on it, by now?” he queried, giving the Betazoid a critical look.

Re: [2374] Operation 'Spark' - Betazed

Reply #17 –
[ Lt. Andrew Fisher | Codename: Bishop | Main Sewer Line | Dalaria City | Betazed ] Attn: @stardust

There was a consideration in the decision that Fisher was faced with, which brought an oddly timed sense of amusement to him. He realized that either he would make the right choices when disarming the bomb, or he wouldn’t, and as result would never get a chance to recognize the mistake. Out of that sense of amusement, he’d posed the dilemma to the men below him, his sardonic sense of humor no doubt seeming ill advised to the new man. But there was a hidden truth that Fisher kept hidden from them both, as it really wasn’t a fifty-fifty option. In his extended experience with the Jem’Hadar and the explosive devices they liked to use, there was absolutely a preference to choose ‘red’ inputs over other colors when setting disarmament codes. It hadn’t failed yet, in fact, as every time ‘red’ was an input option for disarming, it was the first one selected. Maybe there was a reason behind it. Maybe it was conditioned into the Jem’Hadar as part of their training. Maybe even it had been a result of biases in their genetic coding, having been shared among their master template. Or, maybe it was just an odd coincidence. If that were the case, then eventually that pattern had to break, right?

Still, given the dire situation they faced as water levels were steadily rising, he had to go with the assumption that thus far, had proved right.

“Sorry... sorry...” Ebirone apologized down below, the gaze of his black eyes shifting away from where they’d been focused.

Figuring it was high-time to re-test the fortune favoring him, Fisher had been about to punch in ‘red-blue’ in order to hopefully disarm the weapon, when among the chatter down below, he heard the intensity of the rushing water pick up. Looking down, he saw his companions starting to bob up into the water as it forced them to float, and also threatening to drag and pull them free. There was a panic in them, as there also was in Fisher to be honest, but he hadn’t even remotely considered what the new guy was thinking, as he began working to unsling his weapon, apparently about to shoot the mine.

“No! What are you, nuts?!” Fisher retorted, knowing that the sudden overpressure caused by the explosion would rupture every organ in their bodies given the tight confines. He held down a hand so as to wave him off. “I’ve got this! Just hang on--” and though it was perfectly timed by fate, the big Betazoid lost his footing of a ladder rung, and fell into the other man, knocking them both free as they were swept down the tunnel by the heavy current of water. Fisher’s own eyes went wide in shock, not at the two of them having been swept off, but by the water level shooting up at him with surprising force, and though he tried to move so as to disarm the mine first, the water level met him with incredible vigor. The surge nearly dislodged him from the ladder, thrusting his back up against the wall of the access tunnel, and were it not for the topside of his boot catching onto a rung, he likely would have been pushed up into the manhole cover, triggering the explosion.

A moment later, the rush had subsided, leaving him floating at the top of the now entirely flooded vertical tunnel. Concerned for the two men that had been swept off, he considered swimming down after them, but knew he’d drown way before that. No, if he was going to be of any help to them, he needed to get out of the tunnel, get help from the others, and figure out where the water would drain off.

His attention turned back to the exposed board again, and he was ready to input the disarm code. Even if he hadn’t been forced to by the water, he would have been holding his breath.

‘red-blue’ he thought.

- - - - -

Ebirone felt the world turning upside down, and then tumbling about as he’d been carried off by the current. The rushing waters pushed them down and around a few bends in a myriad of directions, following a path that he couldn’t make sense of in the pitch black. His lungs soon began to burn, and he yearned for oxygen until finally, he was allowed to surface into a pocket of air when the tunnel widened. Gasping heavily, he felt the dizziness of deprivation fade ever so slightly. “Yeah!” he coughed in response to Brody’s status inquiry, though a moment later he felt everything drop, and his stomach turn queasy as they were deposited into some kind of chamber. Falling like an uncoordinated brick dropped from a substantial height, the big man splashed loudly onto his back into a reservoir beside Brody, who had knifed in like an Olympic diver. As his back rather painfully absorbed the brunt of the drop, he hadn’t sunk nearly as deeply as the covert operative, and emerged from the water a second earlier, though his back stung mightily as a result.

The two men treaded the water for a short while, until their eyes adjusted to the darkness enough to see a gantry way leading out over the great pool in which they’d been dumped. It was just out of both of their reaches, but Ebirone knew he could give Brody a boost to reach it, and so he did. Given a hand later, they both lay atop the gantry way, coughing out the water that had seeped into their lungs and stomach.

“I’d never been on a waterslide before. I don’t think I’ll particularly like them.” He admitted as he slowly sat upright, looking about the massive underground chamber for some sign of where they might be. Off in one direction there was an old emergency light attached to the wall, which was somehow still emitting the faintest amount of illumination. Clambering to his feet, he began to approach said wall, on which another ladder was attached, leading up to the light, where he could see a faded decal underneath.

“Knowing him...” he began to answer Brody’s question. “...he’s likely already through the manhole.” His eyes strained in the dim light, but he could make out a faint word ‘Bayside’. It was definitely an identification marker for this room. He’d need to check it, but first he went back to Brody to offer him a strong hand as he began to stand, only to heft him up rather easily. Even as big as Ebirone was, he was still surprisingly strong. With a wink, he went back to the ladder and begrudgingly attached himself to it. “And Pal...” he said, looking over his right shoulder to Brody. “I know he’s a bit of a strong case, but he’s also saved my ass, and the asses of all my friends at least a dozen times since dropping in for this nightmare scenario.” With that, he began to ascend the rungs carefully. “Believe it or not, I actually know why that stick is shoved so far up his ass.” He stopped just beneath the box of the dim light, and with a hand began to rub away at all the grime that covered the decal.

“Took a good half-bottle of Aldeberan Whisky.” He recalled the events of a few nights earlier, when the two of them watched polaron blasts stream in across the sky, battering a particular part of Dalaria City, off to the west. It was quite a sight, and also rather harrowing to know what it meant. “But now that I know, I don’t take his attitude so personally anymore.” He admitted, leaning in closer to try and make out the rest of it. “Bayside District. Storm drain reservoir tank, one-twenty east.” He announced aloud, climbing back down, having a rough idea where they were. He wished for a moment that he’d memorized the tunnel network beneath the city as well as Bishop had. With a grin he patted Brody on the shoulder as he moved passed him, across to the other side of the gantry way. He could see an old seized door and motioned for Brody to try cutting through it with his phaser.

“Fellah lost his girl a few weeks ago. Pretty fucked up way too.” He continued to explain, the difficult details of the story racing through his memory, and he couldn’t help but look away in an attempt to forget them. “And he still volunteered to come here. To try and save all our asses.” He said, stepping away from the door to give a clearer shot to Brody.

“So, it’s up to you, Pally; but you might consider cutting the guy just a little bit of slack.”

With a resigned sigh, he waved off the subject, not wanting to push the issue any further than it had already gone. It wasn’t his place to spill the beans on what was motivating his friend. But he could at least get this new guy to climb down off his back a little. “Once we’re through this door, I think it’ll take us up into an access corridor, that will in turn lead back to the surface. Should wind up just inside the base of one of the towers.” He tried to fashion together an idea of where they were, by the fact that the wall decal placed them somewhere on the east side of the city in a collection reservoir, which were meant to be kept full in the event of massive fire. The water would then be pumped up into the suppression systems of the massive buildings as a failsafe in the event of power loss, or other such catastrophes. Still, he wasn’t as overly confident in what would come next, lacking the natural instincts of his fellow resistance fighter. In fact, before Bishop had come, the Rena were somewhat disjointed. But since he’d come, they’d gradually climbed to the top of the list of annoyances facing the Dominion occupation forces.

“Up we go?” he asked, looking for input from Brody.

Re: [2374] Operation 'Spark' - Betazed

Reply #18 –
[ Cmdr. Brody Miller | Codename: Mason | Jem'Hadar Outpost Bravo-32 | Dalaria City | Betazed] Attn: @swift
[Show/Hide]

Brody would’ve been very much content, just lying there for a while longer as no imminent danger seemed to loom. Not for them, anyways, and Bishop seemed to be able to hold his own. Or even if he wouldn’t, the former operative could still feel solace in knowing that death was not exactly punishment for the bearded man, but rather some sick salvation. So no, he was not worried. Giving the Betazoid a quizzical look at his comment, the man was oddly reminded that he could not even remember when he had last enjoyed some unadulterated fun like a waterslide. Life just had gotten way too serious for that, but he wondered now, how exactly. What did stop him to just take his wife to a holodeck and slide down a crazy waterslide, keeping her safely wedged between his thighs?! And would he eventually regret not having done all these things when it was too late? Just because he felt like it had never been the right time? He really didn’t need any more regrets.

Pulling himself up into a seating position, rifle beside him, the commander hugged his strong arms around his knees for casual support. Looking up at Ebirone as he stood, with squinted eyes, still blinking away remains of water caught in his lashes. Listening to the man’s first argument, he nodded contemplatively, slowly shaking drops of water from his gloved hands. “Haven’t heard a loud bang yet, so …” he retorted dryly, watching his hands. So Bishops had either chosen to follow them, or had safely disarmed the mine. And given the amount of time passing, as they conversed there, the former became more and more unlikely. Unless, of course, he met his much-desired demise somewhere. Looking up once more, as the towering man approached, Brody contemplated the hand extended for a second, before tossing his own into it, aiding in the pull to a stand. He could now feel the cold water, running down the valley of his spine, which made him shiver with disgust ever so slightly. Double taking the wink sent his way, which seemed kind of unwarranted, it certainly helped taking his mind off one uncomfortable sentiment in favor of another.

Looking straight up at Ebirone, as he made a case for Bishop during his short climb, the former operative had to admit all the colorful embellishment did make a valid point. But there was really no point in broadcasting the thought process it had kicked off. “A little bit 'ass' fixated, if you ask me.” he commented quietly, rubbing the side of his nose coyly, but at the mere delivery, rather than the message. The location information relayed to him didn’t mean anything. He had not memorized the whole damn layout of Dalaria. But the bay was a good bit off east, from where he’d beamed down to, in any case. “Does that mean you know where we are, or were expecting some kind of input from me?” the man replied, somewhat disgruntled, as the Betazoid came back down. He got the whole speech, Bishop was a swell guy, he would not contest someone’s opinion who had been through the thick of it with the man. But he also had no intention to humanize and understand an asset he was supposed to evacuate.

Following the man’s motion dutifully, regardless of his personal mood, Brody cocked his rifle against his shoulder, setting it to continuous burst. That was until the pep talk continued, leaving him somewhat dumfounded and incredulous. Spreading both his arms apart, from the elbow down, he gave Ebirone an indignant look. “You mean, as opposed to those of us who still have someone, but decided to go on a suicide rescue mission regardless?!” he glared at him. Anger deliberately overcasting the turmoil of emotions stirred by the revelation. He could feel with Bishop, but right now, he chose not to. “So get out of the fucking way, or I’ll cut YOU something!” Bringing the rifle back to his shoulder, he aimed through the scope at the hinges, searing the metal clean off the frame, causing the bulkhead to dislodge and ultimately topple to the floor with a loud clank. Welcoming the waving off of the subject, the commander simply pushed past the Betazoid, into the access shaft. Listening to the elaborations he wasted no time and swung up onto the rugs of the ladder to ascend in the direction given. The only direction, really.

It was a long climb, so halfway through, Brody hooked an arm into the ladder, resting for a moment, looking down at the much larger, burlier comrade, to catch up. “Did you ever think that what happened is why he is here? Why he doesn’t care whether he lives or dies? How long until he doesn’t care who else lives or dies?” he said, a certain sense of anger still ringing in his voice. “He could’ve come with me, regroup, and come back in a better mindset. But now, with a little luck, he might get someone else to feel the loss of a loved one.” Brody could feel how he was fueling his own anger, and that was never a good thing, so he decided to just slam his foot against the next rung a little harder, sprinkling a slight dusting of concrete down the shaft. Not to take himself too serious, but he assumed Samantha would feel a little bit downtrodden for a while, if he were not to come back. Before eventually ending up with some boring schmuck from Operations. As far as calming down went, this was not it. “How much fucking longer does this ladder go?!”

Pulling up the rifle from his back, against the darkness into which the ladder vanished, he switched the AR flashlight on to have each step accentuated by the colourful laser, indicating at a near end some few dozen feet up. Pushing it back, dangling against the side of his backpack, he continued the climb in a swift pace. Ultimately slipping through an access point into a utility corridor, lined with cables and pipes. Letting the scope do another brief assessment of the surroundings, he did not see any immediate threats. Waiting for Ebirone to climb out, he made some space, rolling his shoulders a bit to get the fabrics from sticking to his muscular frame. “So, which two towers were you talking about? The Gateway Plaza?!” he inquired, alluding to one of the landmarks of the city’s oceanfront. Yet still, he had no idea where that was in relation to the rebel encampment. “How about you take the lead.” He pointed down the corridor with his rifle. The mood between them having somewhat deteriorated, from the light and humorous, they had shared earlier. What he had initially liked about the man, immensely.

Re: [2374] Operation 'Spark' - Betazed

Reply #19 –
[ Ebirone Elos | SDRT-120 | Dalaria City | Betazed ]

“Yeah. Roundabouts at least. We’re somewhere in the eastern most region of the main city. Probably just below a few of the bigger buildings. Most likely we’re just west of the shoreline that runs along the edge of the bay.” Granted, a lot of places he was describing covered some pretty large areas, meaning they could realistically be anywhere within a few square kilometers. But again, Ebirone wasn’t the planning guy when it came to the Rena Resistance, if anything he was the exact opposite most days. Usually it was Sariah, the founder of the movement, and whom it had been named for that had decided plans of action; often under the advisement of their resident SFI spook. With a sense of frustration, Ebirone had to accept the fact that there was only so much information that could be ascertained from the dark walls, and underground passages that ran under the city, especially if you hadn’t benefited from an eidetic memory as ‘Bishop’ seemed to.

Really though, all that mattered was getting to the surface first. Otherwise they might spend days, or weeks trying to trace some path back to the Rena base of operations.

As the big Betazoid side-stepped out of the way, giving the newcomer a clearer shot at the seized bulkhead door, he suddenly found himself a little surprised by a hesitance that followed. Though, he soon felt the frustrations of the man pouring out of him empathically, not that he couldn’t already see that frustration and anger evident in his face. He offered the man a somewhat skeptical gaze as he began to go-off on a tangent, venting about some of what was bothering him. He hadn’t necessarily expected the man to accede to a sense of sympathy at his urging, but he also hadn’t expected the man to react with such a vitriolic personal take on Bishop, a man he likely knew little of, given the nature of secrecy inherent with spies. It spoke to something deeper that was bothering the man, much like something had been bothering Bishop when he first arrived on Betazed. Of course, after a few days, and a bottle of some green whisky, Ebirone had managed to get that something out of him.

But now, here he was again with another headcase of a spy, who had harbored some other emotional baggage too. Were it not for the disrespectful threat that followed after the man’s need to bitch, something he’d clearly had a disposition toward, Ebirone might have let it go. But he could only take so much shit from someone before he returned fire. He was a Betazoid after all, but unlike most of his kind, he wasn’t as peacefully minded; hence why he’d enlisted with the Starfleet Marine Corps, instead of Counseling departments within the Academy, as was so common among Betazoids, As such, he wasn’t one to stand idly by and take abuse, even if that abuser held a phaser rifle. At least for the moment though, he stifled a need to retort; a deep breath serving as a hastily built damn to keep him in check. It simply wasn’t a good decision to correct this shitty attitude in the moment.

‘Are all Starfleet Intelligence Operatives this complicated?’ he wondered.

About to step through the whole in the bulkhead, after it had fallen with a loud metallic clank onto the gantry way, he was instead pushed aside rather rudely by the smaller man. If his eyes were lasers, they would have bore holes clean through the back of Brody’s head as he glared at him, clutching his rifle tightly so as to maintain composure. For the moment, he was done speaking. He could feel himself drifting closer to the brink of tolerance.

Yet as they began to climb the ladder, the smaller man pushed yet further, and that was it for Ebirone’s reserves of patience.

“You know what?” Ebirone spat back, his deep voice echoing up the vertical tunnel they were climbing as though it were the definitive voice of God, blaring out at Brody. “I’ve heard just about enough of you. I’ve had it with your constant bitching! What about you? Huh?” He prodded, letting his words echo just slightly before he continued, not giving the other man a chance to interject. “If you have someone waiting for you back home, then what are you even doing here on this suicide mission?” Ebirone kicked the rungs of the ladder himself, accentuating the anger in his words. “You could have gone a different way back there, pal! And you know it! You could have left. Could have taken Bishop with you. You chose to stay! I’m glad you did, and I’m grateful for what you’ve done so far to help my planet, but you are seriously pushing my patience! So, maybe shut up! Get over whatever mistakes you think you made and move forward already!” He urged as he climbed out of the tunnel after Brody, not giving him so much as a glance as he shoved past him in turn, returning the same rude sentiment that had been offered to him a minute earlier.

“I swear. Damn spies. All the same. They’re all assholes!” He blurted out, venting his own frustrations to no one in particular.

“Is it a result of the job? Or is it a requirement of it?” He further mused, remembering how annoying he found ‘Bishop’ to be over the first few days of working with the man. “Never could have made it in the Corps.” He added, as he started a series of stairs that led up into the base of one of the buildings. He didn’t know which of the two buildings they’d emerge into from the underground, but like the previous situation that had faced them, there was fifty/fifty chance of survival, depending on which one they did. If it were the Gateway, they were screwed, as it had become a stronghold of sorts for the Dominion. If it were the Orion Tower just adjacent, they were fine. But Ebirone was too pissed off to take even a moment to consider a slower approach, instead he kicked open a door with the heel of his boot, and made his way into the lobby of what was clearly the option that would allow them to keep on living. He was taking the lead, whether or not Brody had hinted at it now, as he had grown fed up with explaining, or even simply talking to the man.

Outside he could hear the loud clattering of rain as it continued to fall heavily from the skies, and Ebirone took just a moment to appraise his immediate surroundings. “Out into the crossroads, then west along the highway. If followed, it will lead right back to where Bishop emerged from. Maybe three or four kilometers.” He explained as he stepped over some broken and shattered glass, out from under the shelter of the building, he could feel the cold rain falling on his head and shoulders once more. Careful to watch for signs of activity from across the highway, Ebirone then descended a series of duracrete stairs that led down to the roadway. “I’m going this way.” He said simply, not really caring if Brody followed or not. At this point, and as far as he was concerned, he was on his own. If the new spy wished to follow, he could, but clearly the big Betazoid had heard enough of complaints, threats, and an unfair questioning of the character of a man that Ebirone had come to rely on, and even respect.

[ Lt. Andrew Fisher | Rena Resistance Bivouac | Dalaria City | Betazed ] Attn: @stardust

Fisher was doubled over on his hands and knees just outside of the manhole, gasping heavily for air in between coughs that felt as though they might tear the lining of his esophagus. His lungs burned, his head pounded, and his vision throbbed. All about him water was bubbling up to the surface as it flowed from the now open manhole, and Fisher fought the desire to give into hypoxia. He’d only just managed to dislodge the heavy manhole, as it had apparently been pinned in place by a scattering of debris that only seemed to triple its already impressive weight. Fisher had wanted to just stay knelt there, catching his breath, but he knew he didn’t have the luxury of time, or rather Ebirone and the other SFI Operative didn’t. They’d been washed away by a surge of water, no doubt caused by an opened flood gate from somewhere, and in his mind, Fisher could see the memorized map of the underground sewer systems, realizing that the two men had likely wound up in one of two possible places; both were emergency storm drains on the east side of the city skyline. To a point, they would be relatively free of Jem’Hadar patrols, as they generally stuck to the interior of the skyline at this point in the occupation. But still, they needed to travel a good distance in order to meet back up, and if they were discovered, they would likely be severely out manned.

Struggling to stand on wobbly burning legs, he forced himself into moving forward, trying to get his bearings on where he was. A moment later, he recognized his surroundings, and knew which direction he needed to head in, in order to make it back to the Rena Resistance’s Bivouac.

He would find them and bring a few of them with him down the highway. He knew that Ebirone would follow the highway, as it offered the most direct route back. It was one of the simpler routes, which meant there was less likely a chance he’d get turned around and lost in the process. However, the chances of happening across Dominion soldiers was also much higher along it, as it served as a major artery road. As such, it wasn’t a matter of if, but rather when, the two separated men would come across another group of enemies.

Stammering toward a massive heap of debris, that vaguely appeared to have once been a building, Fisher recognized it, and began searching along it’s periphery for the hidden entrance that would take him inside. Given the heavy rains however, and the relative darkness, it was a task easier said than done.

“Stop moving!” came a voice through the rain from behind him, and Fisher stopped. Carefully, slowly, he began to reach for the Jem’Hadar pistol he’d pocketed earlier, as he’d lost his rifle in the escape from the tunnel. “Don’t!” the voice commanded, and Fisher could tell it came from a woman.

“Turn around! Slowly!” it now ordered, and Fisher recognized it as he held his hands at shoulder height in front of him.

“Eb’s in trouble. I need two, to come with me down the highway.” He pleaded, dispensing with pleasantries.

Her rifle trained on ‘Bishop’s chest, Sariah Rena didn’t move, as another figure approached him from his left side.

“Don’t move!” her little brother, Aatrah reiterated as he moved in closely, while overhead thunder roared.

Re: [2374] Operation 'Spark' - Betazed

Reply #20 –
[ Cmdr. Brody Miller | Codename: Mason | Jem'Hadar Outpost Bravo-32 | Dalaria City | Betazed] Attn: @Swift
[Show/Hide]

Being stuck in that vertical access tube with the burly Betazoid temporarily, the other man’s basso profundo voice echoed up the shaft, like a runaway steam train, catching Brody slightly off guard. Weren’t his people supposed to be calm and collected? Listeners, if anything?! Now he felt like he was dealing with a rebellious teenager, who had heard one to many orders barked at him by his parents. At least to a certain extent, he could understand the frustration. The commander hadn’t exactly made the best of the situation and had let his disapproval potentially shown one too many times, instead of sucking it up and bringing the mission to a swift end. That was his bad. But some of the stuff barked his way, was just unreasonable bitching. Something he himself apparently was an expert on. Shrugging his shoulders in a bout of incredulousness and defiance, the man soon eased into a sense of acceptance towards the more reasonable accusations. Conceding with a quiet grunt, as he resumed to climb the ladder.

Being shoved aside, however, no matter whether he’d done the same, did spark another surge of adrenaline in the ex-spy, which threatened to break down all the silent agreements, he’d made towards Ebirone’s accusations, seconds ago. Dark eyes narrowing at the broad back of the man, as they passed out into a large entrance hall and the steps to the street beyond, every word further heated the pot that was already whistling with rage. Ultimately, it blew. Dashing forward with a quiet rush, Brody jumped into the Betazoid’s back and toppled him forward, onto the stairs. Intertwined in a bundle of limbs and bodies, the two men toppled down the flight of steps, onto the wide sidewalk below. Having come out on top, for the moment, the commander slung his arm around the larger man’s neck, squeezing, while trying to keep one of the other strong arms down, that threatened to constrict him too, like a boa. They struggled for dominance a good minute or so, the Betazoid simply exercising his right for self-defense, probably, while Brody’s intent was simply to teach him a lesson. And get some of his pent-up aggression out as well.

But ultimately, no matter the skill of the smaller man, the much larger and stronger prevailed. Ultimately pushing the officer against the pavement, face down. One arm pinned behind his back by the other man’s knee, the other held in place against the sidewalk by a strong grip. All the while Ebirone’s hand against Brody’s head threatened to crush him like a watermelon, potentially. “Alright, Mango … MANGO!” the commander blared out, using the term as a newly invented safe word. He knew the man wasn’t going to off him. That would’ve been a mistake of colossal proportions. Hell, it had been the only reason why he’d launched himself at the bigger guy in the first place! He knew he couldn’t lose, not really, even though now, pebbles were piercing into his cheek. Ultimately feeling the grip and weight on his back easing up, Brody pushed himself off the ground, a few small droplets of blood on the concrete, where his cheek had gotten punctured. Nothing he hadn’t deserved.

“Can we call a truth now?!” he asked, his voice still carrying quite a sense of agitation, as he went about to pick up his backpack and rifle once more, that had gotten thrown out of the little squabble. He was really in no position to negotiate an absolution, after just having pushed the man into a fight. The only leverage being, that he could become an even bigger ass – which wasn’t a strong position to bargain with. Running the back of his hand past his cheek, to ascertain how hard it was bleeding, the man was relieved it didn’t need any sort of immediate attention. A little bit of disinfectant at the compound would do and by the time he got back to his shuttle he’d simply regenerate the skin so his wife would be none the wiser. The fact that Ebirone than continued to narrate the directions to take to meet up with either Bishop or the rest of the cell was an indication at some sort of concession, or at least ignorance. He could live with ignorance. It would be like it never happened.

“Wait, if you’re going that way, does that mean it’s the way you just described? Or do you want me to follow your instructions, while you take another route?!” he inquired, while remaining standing where he’d just reattached all of his gear. However, there was no immediate confirmation or denial, from the burly Betazoid. “Dude, come on!” Brody called after Ebirone, a satisfying, pleading quality to his voice. Cursing to himself once more, the commander finally iced off the spot he stood on and jogged after his comrade, falling into the same pace, slightly behind him, to the side. For another few minutes, they walked on, in uncomfortable silence. The rain continuing to pelt down on them since they’d stepped from the building. At the very least, on the highway, they had a good field of vision and were able to secure the path ahead easily, As long as they didn’t encounter any hidden snipers. But the Jem’Hadar weren’t really known for such guerrilla tactics. They relied on their strength and brute force, rather choosing the frontal assault over good strategy. Probably more times than not, ignoring their Vorta superiors, who actually had a semblance of a plan.

As the path they were going seemed moderately safe, Brody found it was his duty to address another problem: The deafening silence. It wasn’t that he had the incessant need to socialise, but he was a little bit worried that, if they would get into another precarious situation, the big guy wouldn’t even let him know. “Listen, a truth usually implies moving on from the bad stuff …” he let out, in an exhaled huff. “So, tell me, in your other life, you run a noddle business?” the commander started off on a seemingly safe topic, making idle conversation. Which ran more or less smoothly, until they moved onto the last leg of their journey, towards the hideout. But at some point, he thought he heard voices, crackling through the splatter of rain drops, from a side street that would’ve been roughly in the direction of where they had originally come from, if he had retained any sense of direction. Jogging away from Ebirone, a few feet into the alley, the man held up his fist as a way of stopping the other man from calling after him. And as he stood there, for a few seconds, he could ultimately clearly discern at least two voices, talking to one another, in Federation standard.

Twirling his index finger around in a circular motion above his head, Brody slowly moved forward, cocking his rifle but not aiming through the scope yet. Slowly making his way in the direction of the voices, Ebirone in tow, he soon found himself behind a jagged wall of debris from a former building, easily seeing a woman and a young man, through some of the larger cracks. Adjusting his position and field of view slightly ... well bingo; there was their lost sheep. Waving his hand for the Betazoid’s attention, he vigorously pointed through one of the cracks at Bishop, for confirmation. Stepping back a little, so the bigger guy could get a clearer view of the situation, the commander quickly appraised the situation and their surroundings, they didn’t have much time. Things seemed tense on the other side of the wall.

Dark eyes falling onto a small restaurant to their right, which seemed to form the side of the little plaza beyond, that was cut off by the toppled building in their way, Brody tapped Ebirone on the shoulder, beckoning for him to follow him through the lower level of the business. Ironically, a noodle place. Crouch shuffling through the backdoor, into the kitchen and subsequently the bar area, both guys could quickly see the trio out in front of the place, their backs turned towards them. Taking another appraisal of the situation, the officer then pointed at Ebirone and the little guy, even though the Betazoid seemed to already have a different plan, at that point. “Woah, dude!” Brody hissed, as Ebirone skipped out of his cover. Following him in a crouched jog, lacing through the tables and chairs skillfully, he finally came up behind a boulder in front of the restaurant, aiming at the woman, who seemed a little more imposing. But from his position he’d be able to off the kid too, if necessary. Now, what the hell was the big guy up to?!

Re: [2374] Operation 'Spark' - Betazed

Reply #21 –
[ Ebirone Elos | Eastern Highway | Dalaria City | Betazed ]

Admittedly, Ebirone had been more or less content with leaving Brody behind, but he knew that when faced with no other options, the spy would conceivably fall in behind him, acquiescent to follow. Needless to say, he could empathically sense the mounting rage held within the smaller man but hadn’t figured it would erupt in the manner that it had. So, when something, or rather someone had lunged atop of his back, sending him scrawling forward down a set of duracrete stairs, he’d for the briefest of moments considered that perhaps a Jem’Hadar had found them. But as he heard the unmistakable grunts and groans of an angered human male, naturally mixing with his own grunts and groans, it all fit together and led to the realization that he’d struck a chord in Brody. Immediately, old bootcamp training and instincts kicked in for the brute of a Betazoid, and he lurched with all his considerable strength against the now furious Intelligence operative attached to his back. He was honestly surprised by how much of a fight there was being put up by Brody, as he was clearly stronger in ways that a man his size probably shouldn’t have been. It was as if he had an absolute mountain of rage suddenly coursing through his veins, feeding him with a stockpile of adrenaline.

Still, in the end, it didn’t matter, because Ebirone wasn’t just some random native of Betazed. No, he’d had training. He’d been through his own wars. He’d proven himself in the trenches time, and time again. He could well-enough handle one pissed-off spy.

An old human comrade of his had once used the term ‘Jarhead’ in reference to Starfleet Marines, and to an extent, Ebirone had appreciate the term, and subsequently adopted it for himself. There was even a tattoo of the word in native-batazed somewhere on his body, though he hadn’t been bold enough to reveal its location to anyone just yet.

His arms entangled with Brody’s own as they fought for control, Ebirone had to struggle mightily until he was just in a better, more leveraged position than Brody. And as he rose to his feet, Brody hung around his neck trying to apply a rear chokehold, he tossed the man up and over him with a loud grunt that honestly felt like it’d injured his voice box. As Brody flipped over and landed on his feet in front of Ebirone, the bigger man seized the immediate initiative, and took firm grasp of Brody’s left arm, levering it back behind him in an armbar, before then wrapping his own right arm under and around the smaller man’s right armpit, slipping behind his neck in a sleeper hold. At the same time, Ebirone jab-kicked at the back of Brody’s right knee, putting him down onto it as he pushed forward, and then the two of them fell into a heap on the wet-socked pavement. Ebirone couldn’t resist shoving Brody’s prettier face into the duracrete ground as a little sign of dominance. It’d been a long time since the big Betazoid had wrestled anyone; somewhat a tradition in the old corps, and in the moment, he was exhilarated at the development, grinning from ear to ear in a sense of aggressive satisfaction.

He then shoved his knee into the small of Brody’s back, and held a firm grasp against his head, letting a little chuckle echo out of him in appreciation of how this had all gone down.

And at the insistence of what he could only assume was some sort of safe word, he offered a little grunt before he torqued a little on the man’s still pinned left arm, just to emphasize who won the competition before he ultimately released him. Towering over Brody for a moment as the rains continued to cascade down over his head and shoulders, he breathed raggedly before reaching down to heft the smaller man back up to his feet by the scruff of his jacket. He even regarded the man with a somewhat approving glance before he scooped up his disruptor from where it had clattered to the pavement and began moving back down and around the corner. He would make for the Eastern Highway that would circle up and around the periphery of the city, which in turn would lead them back to the Rena’s temporary bivouac. It was an old blown out building that from the outside, appeared to be nothing more than a condensed toppled mass of debris, jagged steel and duracrete scorched by fire. But in actuality, contained within it were a surprising number of intact spaces and rooms.

There was a call for a truce from Brody who followed after, and rather strangely enough, Ebirone had already accepted their little scrum as one of sorts. But he hadn’t really offered much in the way of words, if any at all since deciding that he’d had enough of the smaller man’s need to bitch. But Ebirone was a social creature, and soon found himself swayed by Brody’s attempts to win him back.

“You’re strong for your size. Damn strong.” He admitted aloud, stopping beside a pile of debris along the highway, his face grinning as he couldn’t help but offer a hearty laugh at the absurdity of their fight a few minutes earlier as Brody settled in next to him. “If I were even a little smaller, you’d have had me dead to rights.” He shook his head as he peered about their position for a minute, affording them both a moment to catch their breath. Squinting a little, Ebirone observed what was a long stretch of unprotected roadway that was mostly exposed to the elements, and the surrounding buildings. There wasn’t much in the way of cover at all. “All the same, I appreciate that kind of pissed off. Not at all as quiet and brooding as Bishop, are ya? Guy’s wound up like a coil most of the time. Used to hate him way worse than you do.” But as he could sense a desire to switch topics from their wayward companion, Ebirone so indulged Brody in some lighter personal banter.

“Nah, I’m retired. Spend most of my days hounding the ladies down at the bay. It’s a killer beach when the weather’s right. And when there’s not a damned Dominion Battle Cruiser hovering overhead.” Standing from where he’d knelt, he jogged a little way up the highway again, covering the open distance with a little more haste. Of course, as he did this, the skies only seemed to open even further as big heavy globules of rain droplets began splashing down from above them. It was almost like walking through a steady waterfall, only the waterfall was everywhere you went. It was absolutely and utterly invading in terms of how deeply it soaked you through, and he stopped in his jog, realizing that he could barely see even two-meters ahead of him. As it was, it made it very unlikely that anyone else would see them from an even modest distance. Out in the open as they were, thanks to the incessant storm that never seemed to let up, they were surprisingly obscured from everyone, and everything.

“Though...” He hollered out a little louder in order to be heard through the cacophony of monsoon like rain, looking back over his right shoulder to ensure that Brody was still keeping up. “...you know you ask that, and the thought had crossed my mind recently. Chris; she’s one of the other Starfleeters in our group. Well anyway, I took her to the place I like to eat, before all this. She liked it. But later, I made her some ‘Rah-Man’ noodles from a recipe I found in an old data-log from Earth, and she said it was better. So good, she suggested I open a little place in town and sell it.” He slowed up a little so that Brody could settle in beside him as they continued to make up the distance along the road, and so he wouldn’t have to holler as loudly in order to be heard. “Anyways, I was thinking it might even be a good way to get her to stay on Betazed, when this whole shitting mess is over. Ask her to be my hostess, or something.” He shrugged his shoulders as he genuinely relished in the chance to speak of something other than the resistance, and it was clear that he had harbored some sort of personal sentiment for this woman he referred to. Though it was equally as clear he didn’t necessarily seem to know the key words or means of turning her into something more than just a friend, or casual romantic acquaintance.

“What about you, pally?” he probed, figuring it was time to get a bit out of Brody. “What do I even call you, for that matter?”

[ Lt. Andrew Fisher | Rena Resistance Bivouac | Dalaria City | Betazed ] Attn: @stardust

“Where are the others?”

With an exasperated sigh, Fisher’s green gaze swept from Aatrah to that of Sariah, who gradually began to close the distance between herself, and where Fisher was being held at by Aatrah’s disruptor-rifle. “I told you, they’re down the eastern highway probably. Making their way here by now!” he hollered out at her as globules of rain began to fall for them, splashing heavily against his already soaked through shoulders and head. He could barely even see the intense woman that served as the leader of the Rena Resistance Cell, even as she drew nearer, her rifle at the ready. Fisher had respected her greatly, as he’d seen the way she could lead, and inspire those around her to fight with bravery and courage. It almost seemed supernatural on her part, especially given the fact that prior to the invasion, she’d been nothing more than a school-teacher. Maybe that was why she was so good at this. She could lead children in learning, maybe that skill lent itself in leading adults in other ways. However, as much as he’d respected her, he didn’t necessarily get along with her particularly well. For as crazy as it sounded, Ebirone had rather succinctly, and colorfully pointed out that if there was one person on the entire planet with a stick shoved even further up their ass than Fisher, it was her.

“Sar... maybe he’s telling the truth?” her younger brother offered up pleadingly, his attention turning away just enough that if Fisher really wanted to, he could have easily disarmed him. “I mean, I know you tell me that we shouldn’t trust him. That he’s a spy. That spies shouldn’t be trusted, and all that. But maybe we should trust him just a little?” This had been an ongoing dispute between Aatrah and Sariah, as the younger Rena had somehow grown to appreciate Fisher. He assumed it was a result of the ‘allure’ of being a spy, that seemed to propagate among impressionable young-adults. The ‘James Bond’ complex, he’d heard it referred to once. But thus far, at his sister’s insistence, the kid had continued to treat him with a heavy dose of overt suspicion. It was all the result of distrust that had been bred in the Rena, some days earlier, when their previous Bivouac had been raided by Jem’Hadar forces. A raid which had resulted in the deaths of some twenty-three people within the group. In the aftermath of having fended off the attack, the Vorta that had been assigned as oversight was questioned while he bled out. And with abject scorn and an obvious taste for sewing discord, the Vorta had claimed that one of the Rena had betrayed them from within. That they had given the Dominion their location in exchange for considerations. As Sariah then tried to press on for which member of the group had betrayed them, the Vorta pointed out Fisher just before succumbing to his wounds.

In the moment, Sariah reacted with blind rage, almost killing Fisher then and there, but Ebirone had thankfully interceded on his behalf. The big Betazoid had seen through the Vorta’s game, just as Fisher and the others had. But anger, violence, and sorrow had blinded Sariah from that same rationale.

“Forget all that shit. I’m telling you where Ebirone is! I don’t know where Chris is, she got separated when Ebb and I got swarmed by Jem’Hadar. I’m certain she at least made it back to the canal.” Fisher tried to explain the whereabouts of their third party member, and in truth he was relatively certain that the small lithe red-head had managed to avoid capture. If so, she’d have recovered their canoe and was making her way back to the bivouac. The Jem’Hadar had been so focused on the fight with him and Ebirone, that they had simply ignored her. “Ebb then got washed out in the sewers, probably down to one of the emergency storm drains! If anything, he’s working his way up the highway right now!” Fisher kept his hands held at shoulder height as Sariah took another step toward him, her black eyes narrowed tightly as she appraised him with nothing but distrust, and distaste. Even before the events of a few days ago, she’d been critical of him and the way he’d approached the resistance. Fisher had figured she simply didn’t take to outsiders dictating how things were unfolding on Betazoid, especially humans, and especially if they were males.

“I should just shoot you!” she threatened, seeing the lack of reaction in Fisher’s face as a confession of guilt. “You sold us out! I can sense your guilt! The others might not be able to, but I can! And now you’ve sold out Ebb and Chris!”

Gritting his teeth as he felt betrayed by the accusation, Fisher let his eyes close for just an instant, and in that moment, he could still see the haunting images that were triggering that feeling of guilt within him. A feeling that she had then, and even now still mistook as guilt associated with betrayal. If the world around them weren’t so tense, and the pressure of the situation weren’t so high, she might’ve been able to feel more clearly with her empathic abilities. She might have been able to tell that his guilt came from a different emotional association. But as it was, given the condition of her surroundings, and the reality that had been imposed on her, it was easy to understand how she too had been compromised by emotion. How irrationality had so easily set up a foothold within her mind.

“Hey!” came a burly distant voice, and Fisher felt himself ease up in relief at the recognition of it.

“Would you two knock the shit out!” Ebirone called out aloud as he emerged from over a wall, grinning brightly at having reconnected with their lost companion, and having managed to make it back to the Bivouac unaccosted by the enemy. Looking back down over the wall, he made a ‘come-on’ motion with his head to Brody and clambered down until he stood on the pavement again. Immediately, Sariah and Aatrah eased up, the younger Rena even running over excitedly to welcome back his big friend with a friendly pat on the shoulder, to which Ebirone ruffled the young-man’s soaked hair, as though he were a faithful puppy. “When are you going to get it, that the Vorta was full of shit?” his words contained a substantially profound wisdom, and though it was clear that Sariah was happy to see him again, she still wasn’t ready to drop her suspicions of the man she knew only as ‘Bishop’.

“Chris made it back yet?” he asked, a sense of genuine concern evident in his voice.

“Not yet. Bishop was just telling us that he thinks she made to the canal.”

“If she did, then she should be due back soon. Hey!” Ebirone called out as he watched Brody climb over the wall. “Our pal’s still with us too. This is Mason.” He threw up a thumb back over his shoulder at Brody before continuing. “We got washed out into SDRT-120. Made our way up along the highway, just like Bishop told us to do if we ever got separated.” He nodded to the bearded man, before turning his attention back to Sariah. “I’m gonna take the runt down to the spillway, wait for Chris to arrive with the canoe. Give her a hand tying it off.” He shoved Aatrah ahead of him as they began to walk down a nearby road, away from Sariah before she had a chance to voice her protestation. With a broad grin that she couldn’t see, Ebirone knew he’d just ended whatever squabble was going on with a surprisingly deft approach, sensing the easing of tension in the high-strung Rena leader. It was a gift that had paid off in end some for the Rena Resistance Cell, time and time again. Whenever things seemed to get their lowest, the big Betazoid knew just the right thing to say, or do in order to lift their spirits, and break the tension.

“Fine. C’mon. Let’s get out of this rain.” She said as she regarded ‘Bishop’ and ‘Mason’ with narrowed eyes, though she at least lowered her rifle.

With that, Fisher appraised Brody for a brief moment, offering a single nod, before he began following after Sariah.

She led them down into the rubble, which soon gave way to an access corridor that had run the entire length of the building’s basement. There were rooms on either side of the long hallway, four on each to be exact, and at the end of the corridor there was a larger anteroom that contained what little supplies and weaponry the Rena Resistance had managed to get their hands on. There were close to a hundred or so civilians of all ages and genders, mostly Betazoids scattered throughout the tight confines, huddling into groups around small fires in an effort to stay warm. Some conversed verbally, while others were clearly engaged in telepathic conversations. There were children too, playing idly with each other with whatever toys they had managed to scrounge from the destroyed city scape. As Sariah led further onward to the anteroom which served as the main staging area, Fisher passed by the makeshift medical unit where there were still roughly two-dozen injured civilians in various states of distress. It was the very vision of every urban war that spilled out into the general civilian populace, and it sickened anyone with a heart who saw it.

“The other team hasn’t made it back yet.” She began to explain.

Re: [2374] Operation 'Spark' - Betazed

Reply #22 –
[ Cmdr. Brody Miller | Codename: Mason | Jem'Hadar Outpost Bravo-32 | Dalaria City | Betazed] Attn: @Swift
[Show/Hide]

Brody wasn’t sure if Ebirone merely intended to stroke his ego, out of a weird sense of compliance after their argument and subsequent scuffle, or if he truly meant his words. Either way, the smaller man could not deny himself that comfortable, honeylike sensation, covering his affectations towards superiority and power. It was a dangerous beast to stroke, certainly. But as he was compared to Bishop in an almost reverent light, the commander was convinced he was indeed being readily appraised. Still, he didn’t fully trust it. Thus, was simply his nature. “Well, if you want to spar again, just give me a head start.” he quipped quietly, raising a brow as a solitary indication of his covert, comedic nature. He certainly wasn’t going to ever defeat the burly Betazoid head on, with enough time for him to even mount a defense. Hell, even under the guise of surprise, he hadn’t managed to get a handle on him in the end. But now that he knew what brute force he was dealing with, maybe next time he could adjust his fighting style accordingly.

The mention of his former feelings towards the other operative, however, did not pass the man unnoticed, even though he chose not to react on it. The fact drew a better picture of the relationship he was dealing with, among the two other freedom fighters, and as that he was going to store it. Raising his brows, at the following revelation, as they passed a relatively open space of road with no obvious dangers, Brody was caught between an expression of revelation and awkwardness. Ebirone made himself sound like a Hemingway character. A retired sailor, sitting at the harbor, smoking his pipe, wolf-whistling after every young maiden that strolled by, telling his story of better times to everyone willing to listen. By now, he had spent way too much time in the realm of literary fiction, ever since pretending to be interested in such arts when meeting his wife, to not see some of those imaginary characters from history’s grand writers, in everyone he met. And as it so happened, Ebirone then continued to narrate a story of love and regret, like the best of them went.

He was a little bit hesitant, to walk by the side of the tall man, as he slowed down, giving more of his subtle facial expressions away. Sure, he was good at keeping things bottled up under that stern, dark façade, but given the time they had spent together and his nerves wearing thin, he was not so sure anymore, that his façade remained entirely intact. Because, while he could appreciate the sentiment, of keeping the one that completed you, by your side, he found the entire notion of living out their days in a little noodle shop, by the beach, to be mawkish and lacking any sense of ambition. Which was the fuel of his very existence. At this point, however, he had no intention to pass judgment on the man, that had opted to accept him more, instead of killing him, when he’d jumped his back. “If you find a girl that’s as much interested in ‘Ramen’ noodles as you, I’d say, never let her go.” The former operative shrugged idly, offering as much support for this crazy scheme as he could, without sounding insincere, or patronising.

As the conversation jumped to him, however, Brody regarded the Betazoid with dark, quizzical eyes. “Mason’s fine.” he retorted collectedly, pushing away the momentary notion of divulging his real name, the vowels and consonants having already lingered on the back of his tongue, when his conscience had jumped into action. Answering the second question first, by any means, had also given him time to evaluate his reply to the former. “I think Starfleet will be the end of the line for me, ‘pally’.” he snorted slightly, words lined with the almost incredulity of the moniker, though his face not betraying that stern, unbreakable look of his. Thus, he hadn’t divulged any information that hadn’t already been obvious, or previously established. But he realized then, that his curtness was slightly unwarranted, given how open his companion had been. So, with a theatrical sigh and slumped shoulders, the man let his eyes trail squinted through the lines of rain, hanging like strings from the sky. “Though I would not mind trying your ‘Rah-man’ when all of this is over.”

Patting the larger man encouragingly on his shoulder, Brody jogged into the direction of where he had heard the voices coming from. And after a brief lay of the land, and the discovery of their long lost missing brother, they had both skulked through the adjacent noodle place, only for Ebirone to break cover and inject himself into the situation entirely. Cringing at the loud introduction, the curt word cutting through the considerably complacent rushing of the rain like a machete, the commander remained behind the large boulder until he would either hear disruptor fire or someone cheering in joy. Neither of which really happened. But as he heard the Betazoid talk to the woman and kid in a rather acquainted manner, he was able to draw the obvious conclusion, that they had coincidentally stumbled across the resistance cell … and that they were just as reluctant to trusting Bishop as he was. He could feel the warmth of inter-disciplinary bonding already.

Slowly standing up out of his cover, letting the black phaser rifle hang loosely by his side, finger still flush against the trigger guard, Brody gave a brief, thin-lipped nod at the woman. The boy seemed of no importance or threat, at the moment. Acquitting the curt invitation with a slow nod, to mirror Bishop’s, as Ebirone took the kid to pick up his lover from some canoe trip, the man remained in his position for just a moment longer, letting Sariah and the bearded man lead the way. “A pleasure to meet you too! So glad you could join our little rascal rebellion. We appreciate all the sacrifice and bullshit you must’ve had to put up with … come in, come in! Enjoy the fabled Betazoid hospitality!” he muttered extensively under his breath, all the way down the rabbit-hole, disguised by the torrential rain, if only she hadn’t been telepathic too.

Arriving in some sort of unsealed corridor, or sub-basement, Brody was a little bit surprised at the lack of obvious defence precautions, safe the barely distinguishable entrance among the rubble. They passed a couple of civilians, close to the entrance, in makeshift ‘barracks’ installed into the subterranean rooms, huddling around small fires, that surely seeped their smoke through the crevices in the ceiling and out into the cityscape. He could feel the desperation ooze from every bad decision made in an effort to stay afloat in this mess. It both shocked and annoyed him. Finally, they came into a larger room that seemed to be some sort of armory, or fitting room … a command post perhaps, at the center of the structure. Placing his backpack and rifle down against a column, as they stopped in their tracks, making a mental note of where he’d left it, the man took off his waterproof jacket, revealing the Starfleet issue undershirt over his tense muscles, drenched everywhere, that the coat hadn’t covered.

[Show/Hide]

Rolling his shoulders, finally free of the restraining, non-elastic fabric, and the restrictions of the heavy backpack, the man let his dark eyes trail between the Starfleet agent and the Betazoid resistance leader for a moment, as they simply started to go about their daily business of passive aggressive cooperation, seemingly. He could understand her frustration with the foolish operative, but he also thought she was a trigger-happy egomaniac, so his sympathies for either side were limited. “I hate to be that douchebag, who comes in here and pisses on everyone’s feet, but … was that the only way in and out, that we came down? Is there an evacuation route in case we get bogged down from the front? Is that smoke filtered down somewhere? Are those vents even still functional and have you checked that none of this baseball field lighting seeps through the cracks of the building?!” he wiggled on his feet, looking at both of them expectantly, feeling the growing tension.

“I am sorry, but if I am going to be stuck in here for the next …” he pulled up his chronometer. “… 25 hours, then I want to know where the emergency exits are.” he stated, definitely, even reinforcing the urgency with raised brows and a conclusive nod, before taking in the momentary silence. He could just hang out in here for the time being, until the moon came back into view and he could transport Bishop off this planet, if he wanted to or not. So far, this little ‘plan’ of his had been derailed more times than not. And it had evidently been only 7 hours! Placing both hands on his hips, he evaded the stares subsequently, looking around to some of the other onlookers. “Also ... is that soup I smell?”

Re: [2374] Operation 'Spark' - Betazed

Reply #23 –
[ Lt. Andrew Fisher | Codename: Bishop | Rena Resistance Bivouac | Dalaria City | Betazed ] Attn: @stardust

As Fisher followed after Sariah, who led both him and ‘Mason’ further down the main access corridor of the current Rena Bivouac, he could hear some indistinguishable muttering from behind him, but didn’t feel the necessity to investigate what had been said. He’d simply figured that If it really mattered, then ‘Mason’ would have spoken more clearly, and made more a point of it. Clearly however, whatever sentiment that he’d missed, Sariah hadn’t as she looked coldly back over her right shoulder past Fisher with her enveloping black eyes that were a dominant trait of her species. Normally such a cold and contemptuous gaze had been reserved for him, and pretty much only him; and that was before the whole Vorta accusation thing. Now it seemed that ‘Mason’ would step forward and be someone else to invoke the ire of the leader of this resistance cell. In a way, Fisher found himself feeling a little sense of pre-emptive commiseration toward the newcomer. It was almost an unspoken bonding experience. Especially as he saw her gaze turn back up the corridor, and she held up her hands on either side of her in a most mocking display.

“Oh... I’m sorry. I guess we neglected to kiss your ass enough, eh ‘Mason’?” her voice echoed with surprising carry back down the corridor, as though she were deliberately trying to ensure that everyone could hear what she was on about. Of course, it was deliberate, Fisher knew. He’d experienced a similar drubbing in front of the others on more than a few occasions himself. “I’ll make sure to get one of the girls to come on over for that signature Betazoid welcome!” The abject sarcasm in her tone was so thick you could have cut it with a knife, and then spread it out over a piece of bread. “As soon as they get over their irrational fear of being put up against a wall and shot.”

‘Yeah, that’s about a PAR for the course welcoming.’ Fisher thought, and immediately regretted it as he knew she’d react to him too.

“PAR for what spies like you deserved, Bishop.” The manner in which she spat out ‘spies’ clearly evocative of how she felt. “Who is this guy anyway?”

“He’s another me.” Fisher answered her rather curtly, letting the vicious tone in Sariah’s voice fuel the often-sarcastic demeanor he offered her. And as she rolled her eyes as if to express her ‘joy’ at that revelation, Fisher allowed himself a grin of satisfaction. Whereas others might have let her get under their skin and would have grown frustrated by the way she seemed so intent on treating them with scorn, Fisher wasn’t so willing to relent. He knew that it would’ve been a surrendering on his part. No, he was more inclined to absorb whatever petty jibes she threw at him with great poise, and an ever-present shit-eating grin spread happily across his face. “Only he bitches more than me.” He soon added, finding it necessary to in a sense distance himself from the character of the other Intelligence Agent, while simultaneously recognizing a chance to make one of his own jibes at the newcomer’s expense. “In fact, I think you two might just get along.” He moved around to stand adjacent to Sariah as she’d come to stop before a beat-up aluminum table, on which an old paper map of the city was spread out, a number of markings drawn across it denoting the strong points from which the Dominion seemed to control much of the city. “I mean, you both share some relative commonality. For instance, you both blame all of your problems on me, and you both hate me because of it. In no time, I’m sure you’ll be sharing a moment in that commonality.” His green gaze moving from her to Bishop as he came to a stop before the table as well. “Roasting marshmallows. Telling stories. Playing truth-or-da--”

“I’m not amused, Bishop.”

The glare of her eyes casting over him combined with the manner in which she’d cut him off spoke to the effectiveness of his taunting, and he knew that for the moment he’d scored a minor and absolutely petty moral victory. “No, you wouldn’t be. Would you?” he admitted, sensing what his moral victory might mean in the grander scheme of things. A greater rift between him, and the leader of the resistance cell he was meant to coordinate and work with. Not exactly a recipe for success in any book that he’d ever read. In fact, he was certain he could already hear the admonishing appraisals of his demeanor during this operation, and how it hadn’t exactly served to facilitate any sense of trust within Sariah. He was all too certain that if he survived the war, and if the word of that demeanor ever made it back to his superiors, that he’d find himself sent to some kind of bullshit sensitivity training seminar hosted by any number of Starfleet Counseling Officers that sought to psycho-analyze everything and everyone in an unending circle jerk. The thought made his skin crawl, and he figured it might be best if he let the issue drop for now. Especially before she caught wind of that feeling with her damnable telepathic capabilities.

“Don’t worry, Bishop. I’ll be sure to put in a good word for you with your superiors, when this over.” She cruelly promised him, having indeed sensed his apprehension at the idea, and knowing she could score her own minor and equally as petty moral victory.

It was an interesting dynamic between Fisher and Sariah, who clearly didn’t hold a candle for each other on any kind of personal level. Fisher of course respected the elder Rena, though he hadn’t exactly made that abundantly clear to her. And to a modest degree Sariah held in reserve her own sense of respect for Fisher, spurred on by fact that he’d volunteered to come and fight for the liberation of Betazed. But trust was an aspect that only seemed to flow in one direction, as from the very onset Sariah had sensed some ulterior motive at-play within the sage-eyed Intelligence Operative, and she’d thus been unable to put an exact fix on what that motive was. It was the uncertainty of that motive that later combined with the accusation of betrayal, made from a dying Vorta no less, that had cemented her distrust of him in an essentially permanent manner. Were it not for Ebirone, whom Sariah did trust, explicitly so, she would have likely cast Fisher out, or even killed him herself. But the big Betazoid had evidently come to an understanding of Fisher, one that he hadn’t felt inclined to elaborate on for her behalf, but one that was still just barely enough to warrant a staying of her hand.

Now there was another Intelligence Operative that Sariah would have to contend with, she soon realized, and her eyes shifted from ‘Bishop’ to ‘Mason’ just as the latter began to voice a number of concerns he’d had. Concerns that immediately drew an overtly contemptuous reaction on her part as she rolled her eyes in apparent exhaustion of him. She even planted the flats of both hands against the table and leant over it as she struggled to stifle a growing desire to shut the man up.

Fisher however, appreciated Brody’s outward display of pragmatism, especially as it had clearly annoyed the woman standing across from him.

When ‘Mason’ had indeed finished spelling out his long list of concerns, and even though he wasn’t telepathic, Fisher could sense the Resistance leader gearing up to tell the man off. “Fair enough, concerns!” he quickly exclaimed, a little more energetically than he’d intended, but he knew he had to intercept her before she could bring form to her words, exacerbating the already tenuous relationship between her, him, and ‘Mason’. And people had said Fisher would make a terrible diplomat. “Aside from the entrance that you came through, there’s one just down that short left bend there.” He pointed to a side of the staging area, where a short corridor seemed to lead. “And another through the third room behind you, on the left. It leads up to the warehouse directly adjacent to his lot, though it’s currently barricaded to prevent anyone from venturing through from the other side.” Taking heed of the fact that the floor was his for the moment, he cleared his throat audibly before addressing the other voiced concerns. “The rainwater runs off into a sub-system of drains, which in turn feeds down into the primary sewers. The same sewers that washed out you an Ebb earlier. As for the smoke from the small fires, it wafts up into the above rubble, co-mingling with the still smoldering debris and gets blended in with the rest of the other equally as smoldering buildings around us. When those fires go out, ours will too.”

“But for now, these people could use a little warmth in their lives.” Sariah added afterward, her care for them evident by the tone of her voice, as it had shifted away from the disdain, she had held for the two of them.

There was a silence that lingered on afterward, as Fisher and Sariah seemed to appraise one another for a moment. As though they had re-discovered something redeemable within each other. A somewhat awkward silence that was thankfully broken when ‘Mason’ expressed an interest in the wafting smell of food that came from the nearby mess area.

“What’s the other team’s status?” Fisher raised his own concern.

“They’re not technically overdue for another hour or so. They had to cover three times the distance as your team. They’ll be back. They're not as prone to trouble as you and Ebb are.”

“Alright. Keep me appraised.”

“You’re a spy. Keep yourself appraised.” Sariah fired back as Fisher stepped away from the table, moving around to lead Brody off toward the mess area. Over his shoulder he cast her slightly bemused gaze as she glared over the two of them.

“C’mon. Cook manages to turn out some halfway decent chow, all things considered.” Fisher explained as he motioned for Brody to follow after him, hoping that the other man might actually heed his beckoning, rather than stay and stir things up, as to an extent things between himself and Sariah had settled in an amicable way. There was still a massive rift between them, of course. One that would take months, if not years to ever close. If that was even at all a possibility, and he was relatively certain it wasn’t. But they didn’t need to like each other, in order to work together. They only needed to have some kind of understanding of one another, and maybe even the tiniest shred of trust extended. It wasn’t the easiest working relationship that he’d ever dealt with, in fact it was likely the hardest of them all, but it did function, and at a level that made it well worth maintaining.

As he led ‘Mason’ back down the hall into one of the rooms that ran along it, Fisher stopped at the rear of a small crowd of the refugees huddled around an Andorian male that presided over a large cooking pot, which was suspended above a makeshift stove of bricks and grated metal. Flames of burning reclaimed wood licked over the bottom of the soot and scorched pot as ‘Cook’ ladled out what appeared to be some kind of meat-stew into the emergency mess-kit bowls that the Resistance had managed to recover from a storage depot some days earlier. Scooping up a pair of the stamped aluminum bowls, Fisher handed one off to Brody as they settled in line behind the others, making their way forward for a bit of food. “I know you likely won’t listen to a word I say. Probably because you have some undue reserved notions of who I am stuck in that thick skull of yours. Granted, maybe they aren’t entirely undue.” He admitted as they took a step closer to the front of the line. “But don’t let Sariah get to you. She hates my guts. Well... our guts. She hates spies.” He explained simply for Brody’s understanding, whether or not he needed it. “But she manages to keep these people going, and they trust her to make the right decisions.”

Offering up his bowl before ‘Cook’, the Andorian smiled brightly as he ladled a portion of the stew into it, before offering a similarly sized ladle of food to Brody.

“And for the most part, she’s proven their trust right.” He added as he stepped away, selecting an aluminum spoon from a stockpile of them resting atop a nearby table as he went over to stand in an emptier section of the mess area, so as not to disturb the others as they went about finding comfort and peace in something a simple as a shared meal.

“...and did I hear you right, back there?” he poised the question, before following it up with another as he scooped up some of the meat stew. “*BASEBALL* field lightning?”

Re: [2374] Operation 'Spark' - Betazed

Reply #24 –
[ Cmdr. Brody Miller | Codename: Mason | Jem'Hadar Outpost Bravo-32 | Dalaria City | Betazed] Attn: @Swift
[Show/Hide]

Sure, Brody had half expected his small, little rant to go unnoticed. It was a busy little ant hive they were venturing into, after all, and the Betazoid warrior princess seemed to be rather preoccupied with her animosity and disparaging of the bearded spy. Yet, he obviously had underestimated a woman’s potential for multi-task bitching, as the venom was suddenly sprayed his way too, though not directionally though. Opening his mouth after the first snide comment, the man quickly decided against mounting any immediate defence, else he would’ve had to fight a hundred little battles, until they were done. No, it was wiser to let her get all that shit out and then drop the bomb on her, that tilled all animosity. After all, he’d been married for a hot minute of learning all this shit. So, he just dutifully nodded at each line, with a noticeable ignorance, almost belied by the notion. The lengths she went to in order to bring a point across were slightly cringy, but truthful enough, he supposed. So at least that, he would not hold against her. Noting the other man’s subtle amusement and relief, at not being the target of her verbal artillery bombing, the commander gave a light huff.

“I think I’ll have to gratefully decline, due to prior commitments.” he replied vaguely, not mirroring the woman’s sharp tone in the slightest. He knew for a fact, he could be far more annoying if not showing any reaction, or remorse, for that matter. And it took far less effort than firing back each and every time. The situation then briefly turned into a little inside banter between the two potential odd-lovers, and Brody shuffled on his feet. Letting his eyes trail around to assess the rest of the room and the people within it, he noticed that they clearly did everything they could to seem as unaware of what was going on as they could. It was sort of amusing. But he hadn’t flown all this way to be the bystander to a little unresolved sexual tension. “Charming, bro.” he gave Bishop a cold smile, appraising him with his dark eyes through slotted lids. He actually liked the disillusioned, snide and rough man much better than the trying hard to be funny kind. If anything, THAT was the true commonality he shared with … what was her name? Sarah? He’d probably just refrain from addressing her by name, than endure the wrath of daring to ask again.

“Alright, you two, either get a room or let’s circle back to the facts here.” The former operative finally intervened, spinning his index finger downwards, in a circular motion. “And why would Starfleet care about your opinion? Not to rain on your parade any further, but your little rebellion wasn’t even on Command's map, until they sent him to coordinate with you!” A disgruntled sigh followed; he couldn’t believe he was actually making a case for the guy. But in a way, he was doing so for himself too, proving a point to Bishop just the same, in a way. “I know this might not bode with you well, but while you’re fighting for your little beachside resorts and noodle places, there’s an entire quadrant out there, Starfleet has to look after. We’ve lost half the 2nd fleet in our last two attempts to retake your planet. From the twenty-four operatives sent to help you, only one can be confirmed to still be alive, at this point.” he pointed casually past her at Fisher, dark eyes growing fiery with agitation and the stress and lack of gratitude, slowly bringing the kettle to a boil. “We’re not here to steal away what little semblance of power and control you need to bathe yourself in order to not feel useless.”

And he stopped, though he could’ve gone on a fair bit longer. Bishop had intervened before things could boil over. Well, good for him, Brody wouldn’t have minded making the little woman cry. He could feel his temper infect his every muscle with a burning vigor that numbed out his nerves and rationale. He hated this fucking place and he hated his own stupidity even more. That he once more let the allure of the spy-game tantalise him into a mission with the prospect of making a profound difference when, in fact, it was the same shit-show it always had been. The very reason why he’d quit. On a starship he gave the orders, and everyone followed them. He didn’t deal with renitent Amazons, who somehow thought that a class of Tae Bo and a Sunday course in home-management, made them exceptionally privy to being a leader. Oh, and he was not sorry if she could read his very thoughts. Actually, if anything, he made a point to think rather clearly, so she could get it all.

Shifting his attention to Bishop, nostrils still flaring with the exhale of a hot breath kept in way too long, the commander sucked his cheeks in between his teeth, appraising the facts laid out in return to his critique. “Finally, something one can work with.” He threw his hands in the air, frustration still gnawing on his every limb. Only to discredit the woman’s reply with a roll of his dark eyes. She just couldn’t restrain herself, could she. Well, he wasn’t going to make a case for it being a bad quality in a leader, since he’d shown similar shortcomings just seconds ago. Didn’t mean he was cutting her any slack for it. And just like that, Bishop had been demoted to a minor annoyance, as Sariah took the prime spot in his shit-book. “Well, since they’re obviously not getting it from you.” he looked away, shrugging in idle pettiness, letting the tip of his tongue hollow out an ‘O’ in his lips. Looking back at her, however, as she continued to embellish a simple answer with the vile bitterness of whatever it was that crawled up her ass, he simply didn’t say anything … but that already said enough. There was one word rolling around in his mind that described her rather aptly.

And even though Brody wasn’t really hungry, the distraction and change of place was a welcome one. He had no intent to mend things with the woman, no matter what mawkish hopes Bishop harbored. He wasn’t looking for a local guide to call upon, if he ever came back to Betazed, once all of this was over. To sit at the beach with a beer in their hands and reminisce on the times spent in the foxholes. Following the bearded man further back into the tunnels and caverns, following a stench of food mixed with … other scents, rather not to be identified in detail, the man’s stomach started to churn uncomfortably. Arriving in the ‘cantina’ where the ‘cook’ poured ‘stew’ on ‘plates’ … there wouldn’t have been enough air-quotes in the galaxy, to make any of this sound ‘normal’. Critically inspecting the pot, and more closely its contents, he simply took a deep breath and decided to simply try and sip the broth for sustenance. “Actually …” the man started out, watching the watery soup splash into his tin bowl. “… she made a pretty good case for you being the lesser asshole.” he stated, potentially as somewhat of a peace offering. His enemy’s enemy, and such.

Following Bishop into a quieter corner of the place, leaning his back against the wall before letting the spoon trail through the stew, unearthing all sorts of unidentifiable things, he still held out hope to be back on the shuttle in some twenty odd hours, replicating a proper beef goulash. “The quality of a leader is not measured by how much luck they have in making the right decisions.” he simply grumbled, bringing one spoon full of broth up to his lips, blowing a delicate breath across it, as to not spread it all over his companion. Painfully reminded that maybe he was not that dissimilar to the Betazoid resistance leader. Dark eyes resting on the people ahead, how they ministered over their meals, however, he was half intent to give his portion to someone who might’ve enjoyed it more. But ultimately, his visual attention was warranted by Bishop’s rather incredulous query. Narrowing his eyes slightly, to gauge the guy’s intent, the former operative decided to let the spoon chill on its own for a moment. “Yeah, a ball and a bat, three bases … commonly enjoyed by humans in the 21st century?!” he tried to prod for some sort of revelation, unaware of the other man’s deeper connection to the sport.

“Also, listen …” Brody cleared his throat, letting the spoon fall back into the bowl, which he was then placing on a nearby ledge. “… I don’t really care what her deal or her goal is, she does not concern me. I stayed because YOU said you had a plan. And while we’re sitting here chowing on this … dog food – no offense.” he raised a disarming hand to the Andorian, who might’ve been able to overhear his not exactly covert tone. “Time is running out. I told you, I will extract you whether you are willing to or not. Now, this is a fair warning, again.” He reassured, raising his brows to further the point as he nodded. “So, what is your plan, and how are we going to make it happen in the next twenty hours?”
 
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