Mira's Marauders Base
In a room full to the brim with sophisticated comm and observation equipment, Mira Han stood like a sentinel. One arm rested over the gauss rifle slung across her front by a strap that went over her shoulder, while her free hand was poised over a button. She had left the Hyperion hours ago, angry and plotting.
Matthew had made no attempt to contact her since then, but that was not out of the ordinary- their marriage was a farce that she just enjoyed rubbing in his face for entertainment; her feelings for the man were much more real than that though, even if not mutual. Every practical business sense she had was ringing warning bells about the situation between James' men and Valerian.
Squaring her shoulders, she nodded to herself and punched the key. Almost without pause, a familiar smooth and low voice crackled into the room. "Mira Han? Normally I'm the one calling, what's the occasion?" Graven Hill questioned.
"Business, Mr. Hill." Her lip quirked into a half-smile at the thought.
Hyperion engineering hub
Lasarra was leaning over Jayce and watching the terran's work out of curiosity. Without prompting, she reached into a box of neatly organized tools and passed Jayce the one she thought she needed next.
"I could get used to this." Jayce took up the tool and adjusted the position of the small, high powered fan case. Slipping the needle-thin nozzle into a tiny niche, she started looking for the one ball bearing that was causing the fan to jam up.
While it is true that terran technology is very far behind that of the first born, it is still interesting to learn about it. Lasarra intoned, both watching the action physically and observing the method, goal and finer points of the reparation in Jayce's mind. This kind of work is also very far from my normal scholarly pursuits.
"More of a bookish type, eh?" Jayce smiled, adjusting the fan to another angle and resuming the poke-and-prod process.
The negative aspect of being considered bookish was not lost on Lasarra, and her voice tingled with amusement. All forms of learning are celebrated among the firstborn, Jayce. Tilting her head a degree, she grabbed a sealed package of ball bearings and placed it on the tabletop. But yes, a part of my duties were to collect data and help discern if we could change weather patterns to foster a less intolerant climate.
"Don't get me wrong, I read plenty." Lasarra had correctly anticipated that she found the faulty bearing, and with the press of a button on the small tool an impressive magnet grabbed the offending part; a quick expert jerk backwards and she deposited the heavily pitted bearing to the side and retrieved a new one from the packaging. "Just more slang, you understand. Though yes, there are plenty who look down on the people who keep everything running, for whatever reason."
Lasarra was about to respond when Swann's voice grumbled into Jayce's earbud. "Hey ace. I caught wind of a group of people heading out to Paradise for some R&R, if you wanted to get in on that. One of Mira's goons and some off-duty marines from the Bucephalus are going with them, should be pretty safe."
Pancakes, was the first thought that came to Jayce's mind, and Lasarra gave her confused silence in return. Quickly, Jayce pressed a finger to her ear. "You're a saint, boss."
"No." Swann chuckled in her ear. "I'm just going to fire you out of an airlock if I have to hear you complain about rations one more time."
"Fair enough." Jayce smirked and closed the comm, tossing the earbud down beside her project and standing up hastily. "You're on your own for a bit, Lasarra. I'm off to Paradise." The mental image Jayce was conjuring up of the place gave Lasarra pause. Nothing was going to stop her from getting a real meal and Jayce had developed a worrying lack of respect towards the dangers of her fellow terrans, given her situation.
Such a terrible place. Lasarra almost recoiled from the suffering and filth showcased. I understand there is no way to convince you to not go... She paused, thoughtful. Should you require aid, you need only call out to me. I will be listening. It was the best she could do.
"Noted, thanks!" With a smile, Jayce was off. It wasn't the first time she'd gone to Paradise, the Hyperion had come to Deadman's Rock to resupply plenty. With an armed group of people, even if they were Valerian's toadies, she was not worried.
Paradise
Gary Crane was used to getting shit details, but this took the cake; the tall, gangly mercenary was running point in front of a considerable sized group of far too well-dressed men and women from the Bucephalus. He kept his gauss rifle just a hair shy of full combat readiness, keenly returning the many hungry glares aimed towards himself and his charges. So long as they didn't do anything more than glare, this was acceptable.
The three off-duty marines from Valerian's ship had also brought their rifles, caging their less physically capable shipmates in on all sides and providing plenty more deterrent than the merc leading them. Jayce had slipped into an old, thick white t-shirt, kept her grease-stained work pants on and tossed a well-loved jacket on top of it; topping it all off with her Hyperion work hat, with its rodent-like emblem. Her gun was strapped on and featured prominently on her right thigh; in fact, every single person in this group was armed, whether they were proficient or not.
Having secured her portion of credits from Swann, who also apologized for scaring the hell out of her at the table, Jayce was going to get those pancakes. When she broke off from the group, who were headed to a bar instead, she slipped into a seedy diner; but what place wasn't seedy in Paradise?
Mindful of the time, she would have to get back to the system runner that bore them here before she was left behind, Jayce ordered herself a stack of pancakes and a mug of coffee so strong the spoon might get stuck in it; it was the best thing she'd ever tasted.
While her stomach attempted to recover from the attack, Jayce did some people watching. There was oddly few beggars, considering the amount of ragged and skeletal-looking people filling up seemingly every nook and cranny outside; she attributed this to the armed guards positioned throughout the room. Can't pay for your food? Eat a bullet. Traditional Paradise law practice.
Finishing off a final slosh of coffee, she ambled back outside. Determined not to idle, Jayce started on a beeline towards the meeting point, keeping a hand firmly on her gun. When a horde of kids flooded into the ramshackle path she was going down and pressed in on her, she flailed out with her left hand and snapped "Whoa! Back off! Back the hell off!"
The ratty children were begging for food and pleading, and it was all she could do to make sure her gun wasn't removed from her person. That was how she found herself expertly shoved into an alley and staring down a frighteningly familiar form; the realization of who it was hit like a bucket of ice water.
"Well now, it's been far too long." The man sounded smug and superior with his scratchy smoker voice.
From behind, a person much bigger than a kid swooped in and drove his fist into Jayce's guts; immediately she fell to her knees and violently ejected her coffee and pancakes to the ground in a wet chunky heap. Gasping for air as her hair was grabbed and head forcefully tilted upwards, Jayce cried in a brittle voice. "How?"
Yanked to her feet by her hair, Jayce was treated to another gut shot; if he answered, she couldn't hear it past the blood rushing to her head. Wild anger surged through her then, and she cried out in her mind. Lasarra! By instinct, she had begun to say the name verbally too, but a sharp slap cut her words short and her lip bloody.
The warm blanket of Lasarra's worried voice gave her comfort as she was shoved, dragged and kicked to whatever awaited her ahead. Jayce! You need assistance, I will inform the others.
No! Jayce thought sharply. If I don't get back before it's time for the Hyperion to leave- her thoughts were interrupted briefly as she dipped unconscious before coming back, determined to finish the message. You tell them to go without me. You hear me? No help.
I- Lasarra paused, digging into the woman's mind to try and determine the reasoning for this reaction. It was an easy discovery, and Lasarra reluctantly yielded. As you wish, Jayce. Be safe.
Jerked to a stop, Jayce returned Dago's glare as he crouched to eye level. "You've come here a few times, always kept an eye out for you after that shit you pulled." He smiled without kindness. "Was a real nice surprise when my boy, Crane, told me who was comin' to town."
Jayce growled hoarsely, "you shoulda stayed dead." Blood dripped from her torn lip as she let out a high, unhinged laugh. "Now you're gonna die screaming." The last thing she saw was a closed fist.
Hyperion
Swann was sitting in his control room, alternating between directing Mira's repair crew from afar and looking at the heavily dented door. He'd done his best to straighten it and bang the dents out, but it still didn't close smoothly and looked like hell; it even had Tychus' hand imprinted in it. Not being able to physically approach any of Mira's men to make sure they were doing their jobs correctly was also irksome.
Letting out a long-suffering sigh, Rory took a swig of completely unappealing coffee and eyed the time. Paradise group should be back soon, almost time for their shifts to start. Hopefully none of them were foolish enough to get plastered, or they were in for a bad night.
"Swann, how are those repairs coming along?" Jim's voice in his ear interrupted his mulling, crackling over the other channels he had been listening to.
"Going great cowboy, all things considered." An alert chimed as he was speaking, the Paradise group was checking back in. Pleased and relieved, Swann would not admit that he was worried for Jayce- she was a grown-ass adult after all; but privately, it was a load off his shoulders. "With groups running around the clock, the Hyperion should be fixed up early tomorrow."
"Best news I've heard in forever." Raynor sounded relieved, and Rory chuckled.
"You're telling me. Say, how did that meeting with prince charming go anyway?"
"Pretty good, we've got a solid plan laid out." Jim paused, thoughtful. "Few other things I want to talk to the others about, but later."
"Alright, get out of my hair Jim, I got work to do." Swann's voice was both teasing and serious, and Jim knew well enough to let the conversation end.
Hyperion engineering hub
Lasarra had remained in the small, part-filled room for lack of other places she needed to be; she'd become adept at touching the minds of all the infested on the ship wherever she was. Given that she learned as much as she could about the fan Jayce had been working on, she felt confident enough to finish the task. After some personal deliberation she took up the thin tool, which fit strangely in hand given her different digits and long claws, and began to fit the new ball bearing into place.
She was having severe misgivings about not simply alerting the infested men to Jayces situation in Paradise, and as she fiddled with the primitive piece of equipment Lasarra wondered what the consequences of Jayce not returning would be; Rory Swann was especially attached, and it could be said Tychus Findlay was in a similar camp. Her fingers faltered after the little sphere popped into place, the only door into the room hissing open and the chief engineer himself stomping in.
"Lasarra?" Genuinely confused, Rory looked at the queer sight of the protoss in the process of fixing a part and then at the earbud he'd been trying to get a hold of Jayce in for some time. "Where's Jayce?"
With a thought, Lasarra looked in on Jayce and her situation and gave the equivalent of a grimace with her limited facial features before refocusing on Swann. Jayce remained in Paradise.
"What?!" He blurted, stomping over and scooping the earbud off the table between his thick, chitinous fingers. "Why the hell didn't you say so sooner?"
Making a placating gesture with a hand, Lasarra put the small tool down and continued. She wished for you to go without her if she was not back in time for the Hyperion to leave. Softening, her voice seemed to mutter in his mind. I did not advise this choice, Rory Swann, but I respect her decision.
"Like hell we're leavin' without her!" Stuffing the earbud into a pocket, Swann did an about-face and stormed out of the room. He was livid, snarling about air-headed protoss nonsense.
Given the wild nature of terrans, Lasarra considered the conversation a success. Stepping away from the table, she settled into a meditative stance and reached out to the khala for reassurance; its warm glow was like an anchor, and she felt sorry for the lesser races that had to struggle through life without such a thing.
Hyperion armory
Swann was pacing anxiously, mentally berating himself for his negligence. The conversation with Jim had not gone the way he expected it to.
If Lasarra says Jayce didn't want to be chased after, then I believe her. Raynor had responded to Swann's call to arms without enthusiasm. We can't just charge into Paradise looking for her Swann, you know that; it would be catastrophic.
Running a hand through his pseudo-hair in frustration and grimacing at the feel, he looked at the gauss rifle he'd set up for himself with trepidation. Jim was right: they couldn't just go charging after Jayce, not this time. I'll give Mira a heads up to watch out for her if she doesn't come back in time, Swann, but that's the best we can do. Jim had spoken with finality.
Tychus' made no attempt to be subtle about his arrival, heavy footfalls approaching Swann as he stood there. The big mans anger had all but radiated like a warning light through the ship when he made his way over.
"How are you so fucking stupid?" Findlay snapped the moment he appeared, coming to a stop a few feet away; he'd picked up his own rifle and had it slung across his back already. "That girl gets into more trouble than anyone I ever saw and you let her go tromping off to Paradise, with Val's little goons?"
"Watch it, Findlay!" Swann snarled, rounding on him and pointing accusingly. His thoughts were a jumble—he'd thought more about Jayce's comfort than safety, trusting in her to not be foolish. "I was thinkin' about someone else for a change; not that you'd know what that's like!"
Lip curling, Tychus hefted a clenched fist in warning. "Careful now, people lose teeth talkin' to me like that, old man."
Raynor, your boys are about to get into it. Warfield cautioned, having been quietly observing.
What? Oh hell. Raynor focused on the two just as Swann snapped forwards and caught Findlay's clenched fist with his own.
Pain exploded from his fist as it was clenched in a crushing vice, Tychus let out a surprised grunt before slamming his free hand into the diminutive man's chest, gathering up his thick jacket and preparing to shake Swann like a bulldog. He had not been expecting that kind of strength from the engineer, and attributed it to thinking he was a weaker man when he threw him while in the hardskin forever ago.
Grabbed by his front and lifted, Swann clenched his other hand around Tychus' wrist and squeezed mercilessly. It was very satisfying to see surprise flit across Findlay's brutish features at the start, but the situation was quickly escalating. "Why don't you use that damn suit for somethin' useful and go find her!"
"I ain't getting myself, or all of us, killed just because she might be holed up somewhere!" Shaking Swann vigorously by his front, Tychus was privately concerned about the painful grip—Rory could crush his bones if he continued, he had no doubt. "This is your mess!"
No one's goin' after her. Jim spoke levelly, attempting to diffuse the situation as Rory dangled by Tychus' fist. Not by yourself. Not with your stupid suit. Not at all.
Since when do we leave people behind? Swann was clenching his teeth, taking his frustration out on the bones in his hands that creaked in warning. I didn't sign up for this!
None of us signed up for this and we leave 'em behind when they tell us they want to be! Rory's frustration was echoed by Raynor, and he continued to speak but it was cut off by the deafening crack of a gunshot.
Swann let out a surprised shout as a bullet connected with his shoulder and ricocheted off the heavy chitinous plating beneath its thick jacket covering; the cloth was sheared clean off. Tychus immediately dropped Rory and the two spun to look at the perpetrator, his own gauss rifle appearing in his hand.
A startled looking mercenary with the familiar bright pink emblem of Mira's Marauders was staring at them, gun still raised and barrel smoking. Several others stood beside him in the doorway while even more streamed past.
Jim! We're under attack! Swann's fury was smoothly redirected at the invaders, and as Tychus took on a bright red tinge and disappeared into thin air, Rory growled. "Crane? You got a lot to answer for." Indeed, the man who looked startled was, on further inspection, Gary Crane.
Shaken out of his reverie when the huge alien literally disappeared into thin air, Crane took aim and began to fire. "There's zerg on the ship!" He cried into his comm, backing out of the door as fast as he could—bullets were connecting with and bouncing off of the short monster, and he was approaching at a quick walk with his forearm protecting his face.
Jim, Warfield and Horner sprang to action immediately and warning klaxons began to howl all over the ship.
How many? Jim questioned as he darted down hallways, a spine in hand. He ran into a group of Valerian's men and, ignoring some scared shouts, jerked a thumb over his shoulder and spoke in a commanding tone. "Hole up in the bridge, go!"
Don't know, taking care of this group. Tychus muttered, slipping through the door as Swann drew the fire from three gauss rifles and seemed none the worse for wear for it. It was clear Rory knew the lanky merc who fired first, so he refrained from touching that one. The other two on either side of him were not so lucky, however.
Horner was on the bridge and attempting to establish contact with the Bucephalus and Mira, both to no avail. All our comms are down, can't contact the Bucephalus or Mira.
Warfield chimed in as he began to scout through his level of the ship; fully-armed and armored, he looked like a patchwork turtle. Get a hold of Lasarra, that protoss mind-nonsense might be able to reach Valerian at least.
Swann watched from under his newly-exposed forearm as the air rippled behind one of the invaders, followed by a spray of blood and the man falling heavily. Tychus swung a clenched fist down against the back of the man's neck and, with some satisfaction, knew he crumpled the man's spine like a beer can.
"It's here! It got Kepler!" Seeing his friend be mauled by an invisible monster, now painted with blood, sent the third lackey into an unhinged panic as he abandoned all pretense of professionalism and made to run.
This was supposed to be easy. Gary Crane lamented as he dashed over Kepler's cooling corpse and ran in the opposite direction of Lars. The Hyperion and the Bucephalus, both understaffed and war-weary? Emperor Mengsk would have paid vast fortunes just for Jim Raynor's corpse, never mind Valerian and a few of the other notable traitors. But there were monsters here, real ones, not men.
Vaguely, Crane registered the sound of Lars being bodily smashed into a wall and having his shattered bones blended neatly into his insides like a meat slushie. The invisible monster had gone for his subordinate, which was fortunate for him.
Swann was in pursuit of the merc but realized he would lose him in short order. I'm chasin' Crane right now, he's Mira's pet. Don't kill 'em if you see 'em!
Tychus ran ahead to swing down another corridor and head Crane off, but both he and Rory realized who the merc was about to run into. He quickened his pace just so he could see what was about to happen.
Jim neatly planted a spine between the shoulder blades of an armed merc who had been in the process of squeezing the trigger to fire at one of Valerian's crew members, which Jim considered just as much his own at this point. There was no time to register the grateful expression or hearty thank-yous, Raynor was one part angry and one part reveling in hunting down a tangible enemy; his own personal demons were ephemeral and infuriating in comparison. Did Mira betray us, Matt?
No. Matt responded firmly, in fact he was almost positive Mira had to be fighting for her own life just then as well. He had taken up a defensive position at the bridge door, alert for friends and foes.
Lasarra stood at the crossroads, serene amidst the chaos of red flashing lights and blaring klaxons. The thoughts of the invaders were clear as bells: thoughts of greed, power lust, self gratification... None shouted these louder than the man who was running towards her now.
Gary Crane. A greedy man by nature, who both submerged himself in the criminal underworld at a young age and began climbing to the top of its heap, stepping on and backstabbing anyone in his way. There were no redeeming qualities in this creature, and to compare his avarice and evil to an animal was an insult to the animal. All this and more Lasarra discerned before Crane had rounded the bend and came to see her.
Thundering down the steel hall, Crane stumbled and faltered to a stop at the sight of a protoss. He'd never seen one in person before, and it was both glorious and terrible. The creature was radiating a blue glow, covered in alien and beautiful armor that made the dark terran steel all around it seem cheap and dirty.
Confused, he raised his gun all the same. Why there was a protoss here, in his way, would just have to remain a mystery—he knew exactly what was behind him, after all. As his finger found the trigger, a terrible, piercing shriek of a voice knifed into his brain and made him cry out, nearly dropping the rifle.
You are antithesis of all that is good and right, Gary Crane. Lasarra had pitched her voice into a barely controlled shout, knowing full well protoss mental communications could be very painful if not properly modulated for the lesser mind. The justice that awaits you will not be kind, but you have worked hard to reach this end!
Swann and Tychus both ran into view as Crane collapsed to the ground, unconscious from the agony of Lasarra's mental bombardment. "Nice job." Findlay quirked a brow in approval as the bright blue fury that had encompassed the protoss died off, replaced by the familiar feeling of peace washing over the area.
There are more. Lasarra warned as Swann stripped Crane of his weapon, tossing it over his own shoulder and trussing the merc up.
"Jeeze, what'd you do to 'em?" Rory muttered, registering Crane's unconscious heartbeat as he slung the wiry man over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. His own jacket and shirt was in tatters from all the gauss fire and he keenly felt the exposure.
He is simply unconscious, Rory Swann. Lasarra fell into a quick step with the two men, guiding them towards more of their attackers. This Gary Crane was coordinating an attack on the Hyperion in order to kill Jim Raynor and collect currency for it; he has another group attacking the Bucephalus and Mira Han's base as we speak.
Recalling what Warfield said, Tychus muttered while keeping his rifle at the ready. "All our comms are down. If you can contact Val or Mira and warn them, do it."
Hyperion lab
Stetmann had immediately left the lab as soon as the klaxon sounded, seeking a safer place to be. Shlassa couldn't imagine why, the terrans who were creeping through the ship now would be nothing but corpses very soon; one of them was outside the lab right now, in fact. The broodmother let out a dark, echoing chuckle.
When the door to the lab slid open, Octavia was hoping to find some expensive lab equipment to steal and sell for some extra side profit—especially considering it sounded like everyone else was being murdered over the comm and they weren't going to get paid; instead, what she found was a nightmare.
Creep coating the floor, seeping up the walls and equipment, and an overpowering stench that made her take a half-step back by itself. Zerg on the ship! She vaguely registered the cry of Crane, that foolish sonofabitch. "Oh hell," she whispered, taking another long step back and reaching to close the door.
With an unnatural chittering snarl, Shlassa exploded from her hiding place and impaled the surprised terran clean through the torso with a long, spear-like limb. The merc's finger was on the trigger of her rifle and squeezed hard even as she was attempting to take another blood-filled breath, Shlassa ripped the squirming vermin's arm off and threw the body one way and the arm another; finally free of the lab, she clattered down a hallway to hunt more of the intruders.
Bucephalus
Valerian prowled, sword in hand, against the imaginary foes in his room. Ducking, slicing, impaling, parrying, all practiced moves a part of an equally practiced dance. Sweat beaded on his forehead as he imagined the scenario and how he'd deal with those who'd do him harm, all the pent up stress of the past days being worked out of his system with every precise, violent strike and motion.
Valerian Mengsk. He stopped abruptly, caught in the middle of what would have been a neat throat slice. The voice in his mind, only heard once before, was still familiar—Lasarra, the protoss. It had been fascinating to feel the alien's voice in his mind during the course of normal conversation, but he was immediately on guard by the sudden and unannounced nature of her mental visit.
The Hyperion has come under attack by rogue mercenaries, betrayers. Lasarra's message was delivered with clinical precision, lacking the kindness and warmth she conveyed normally. Warn your men, you may already be boarded.
Lasarra's words proved prophetic, as Valerian immediately sheathed his sword—forgoing the traditional bow in lieu of the potentially urgent nature of the situation. "Captain Vaughn," he called the captain as he calmly checked his pistol and adjusted the sword sheathed at his hip, ready for combat. "I have received word that we may be under attack, please alert your men and-" he paused. There was no familiar crackle of an established connection, shifting of cloth as the listener fidgeted, nothing.
"Very well," he muttered. Comms were down on the Bucephalus as well, which meant the wolves were already among the sheep. His men were not poorly trained however, and he expected a full resistance to be mounted as soon as word got out. Pistol appearing in his hand, Valerian left the security of his room and began making his way to the bridge; keeping control of the ship would be paramount, and it was very defensible.
"Sir?" A resocialized marine stationed outside his door called, immediately following.
A glance revealed the soldier's face and he was recognized, Valerian picked up his pace into a smooth run. "We're under attack, private Mornu. Alert your superiors immediately while I get to the bridge!"
Being that he was resocialized and Valerian was the utmost highest in command, private Mornu had no choice but to follow his orders. "Yes sir!" The sound of his powered armor clanking down another hallway reassured Valerian—his men had some of the best equipment known to the Dominion, these mercenaries wouldn't stand a chance.
Soon, the distant popping of gunfire could be heard. Every member of staff Valerian caught on his way to the bridge was informed of the situation and from there, they would spread the word further until the mercenaries offensive would be shut down cold. A warning klaxon sounded just as the prince rounded a corner and narrowly avoided being shot in the face, swinging backwards and watching in surprise as the neosteel where his head had been sparked—a gauss spike bouncing off it.
Pulled into combat, Valerian took a shot around the corner with his pistol and attempted to catch a glimpse of his assailant. His shot went wild, but apparently the gunman had been retreating and, having focused on the wily prince, was cut down in a hale of gunfire from behind. "Hold your fire!" He called, hiding around the corner to avoid stray spikes.
"State your rank!" A gruff voice barked in warning.
"Prince Valerian!" He almost rolled his eyes in annoyance, lack of communication equipment made everything difficult.
"Sir!" The rapid stomping of men in combat suits made a clatter as the unit approached, rounding the corner and saluting sharply. "Glad to see you're safe, Prince Valerian! We've established a perimeter and are already hunting down the attackers. Please come with me." The man beckoned, two chevrons on his suit shoulder indicating his status as a Corporal.
Relieved to hear the good news, Valerian complied and followed. The remaining men took up their defensive positions once again as the Corporal delivered his Prince to safety. "Do we have any idea how many there are, Corporal?" The fair haired prince questioned smoothly, keeping his pistol at the ready.
"No. We only realized something was amiss when our comms weren't working and gunfire started up." The man was reluctant to admit it, his tone made that clear.
"It seems we grew complacent." Valerian muttered, voice cold, but didn't blame the Corporal directly—his higher-ups would have to answer for such a bungle at a later date.
A single well-aimed gauss spike took the Corporal in the face, cutting off his reply forever. The ponderous hardskin and its deceased cargo crashed forwards heavily as Valerian darted behind it and made to fire at the new assailant; apparently the line broke somewhere. When six gauss rifles aimed at him as one, however, he grudgingly lowered his own gun and called out in a scared tone. "Wait! Don't shoot! I'm Prince Valerian, I'm valuable!"
One of the men snorted in disgust at his apparent cowardice, but no one fired. They were all dressed in the standard Mira's Marauder attire, with the usual mercenary unique additives to each suit. "Awesome. You think daddy will pay more for you alive or dead, kiddo?" Together, the group moved as one to cage their prey in.
As soon as one made to reach for Valerian's gun, the scared child demeanor melted away. Stormy gray eyes identified the moment to strike with precision—and he did. From its hilt his sword flew into his hand and neatly severed the offending limb reaching towards him, sweet chaos blooming instantly.
The combination of violence and speed to which Valerian attacked his foes was the making of years of intense practice being put to use. Behind one man he darted—letting his own allies cut him down with gunfire as he slipped to the next target and neatly impaled his heart from behind; shoving the offending body into his still-living cohorts, the prince exploded from one target to the next until it was just him standing in a hall of corpses and breathing raggedly.
"He would have preferred me dead." Valerian snarled.