Ezekiel

[Coruscant, 6 ATC 4] A House Divided II: A Little Wrong

Name: Aylara Tewoe

Occupation and Affiliation: Journalist. 'Lead Procurement Specialist' for The Galactic Times.

Description:


Tall, but not 'too' tall, with a frankly enormous cascade of hair, Aylara is hardly the 'blend in' sort of journalist, she's the type that could have looked the perfect princess if she'd allowed it. Instead, stints reporting in the nastier districts of Coruscant, time spent in the gym and a penchant for hobbies more than a little on the side of dangerous, has built her into the kind of girl that turns heads for more than one reason. Despite sometimes going for the 'tough girl' look, there's more than a side of vanity and pride to her appearance, a smootheness and blemishfree-ness of skin that pertains to actively caring for such, and well-kept features aside. Whether this is purely due to the nature of her work or her own personal choice is something that she never quite confirms or denies.

Background:

Aylara has always been something of a rebel, at least for one who grew up in the sparkling heights of Coruscant. She fell in with the wrong crowds, but without letting them drag her down, made the wrong friends, raced speeder-bikes, generally made her well-to-do family's life a misery, in all ways except her Academic record. She was unapologetically bright and unapologetically interested in how the world she had grown up on worked, not just how it was meant to work. She blew through school and university, although the latter she didn't quite ace to the same extent as the former, not adjusting so well to her own freedoms. It didn't truly matter, by that point she had already impressed the right people and earned herself a place at The Galactic Times.

At first, she was writing at a desk, researching leads in a sterile way, about sterile subjects. She put up with that for a few months, swearing to herself it would be worth it. She didn't last quite as long as most before she was banging on the doors of Senior Leadership asking for something else. It came out of wanting to do what the rest of her peers didn't want to. The Times has always taken itself seriously, to challenge the mindsets of both readers and those it reports on. When gang violence increased dramatically in several of Coruscants lower levels, they didn't want to toe the line or report through intermediaries, they wanted to send someone down. of all their best and brightest graduates, only one had any contacts down that lower, only one had made friends with the 'wrong crowd' and the wrong crowd hadn't forgotten her. When the Times' scope on the troubles ultimately blew their competition out of the water, Aylara had secured her place and she never got put back on that damn desk.

[ASOIAF]: Before the Dragons Danced

@Shizuochan @Dusty

You're both approved :) feel free to post those up.

[Coruscant, 6 ATC 4] A House Divided II: A Little Wrong

Much interest.

I was originally going to play this as Theron Shan, but he's been sent to Corellia itself, so I'll have to rustle up a different character.

[ASOIAF]: Before the Dragons Danced

<Snipped quote by Ezekiel>

So basically sister to Celena I guess?

Also. According to lore Brightroar, the Valyrian Sword of the main branch House Lannister was lost King Tommen II of the Rock. Namely before Aegon' Conquest.

awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Tommen_…
awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/Brightroar

@NecroKnight

Oh yup, that is correct, not sure why I'd mixed that one up. Still, I'd rather if someone were to reclaim something as major as Brightroar that they do that in the course of the RP rather than just have it as a part of their background.

You'd have to talk to Ruby about the specifics of any family bonds.

[ASOIAF]: Before the Dragons Danced

Joanna Lannister

Name: Joanna Lannister, "Lion Cub of Casterly Rock"
Age: 27
House/Affilitation: House Lannister

Appearance:

Biography: Joanna Lannister in many ways hadn't expected to partake in the life she had - as born a woman and though first-child for the seat of Casterly Rock - she was behind inheritance to her brothers Tyland and Jason Lannister.

Thus while she was the eldest, she mostly partook in the different life of House Lannister - far from becoming a lady or handmaiden, she instead used her fame and fortune to train. Already born young and with a higher vitality than even her brothers Joanna played in the same games as her brothers. As her dreams too were to become like Rhaenys Targaryen, a warrior and a woman at that. This was aided by Joanna being born stronger and taller than most women.

Still life for Joanna wasn't sunshine, as numerous times she denied and refused any courtship that her father had engaged her in - so much so, that some rumored her of liking only women and other whispers. So much so, that when Joanna was twenty years old - she was given a choice of 'doing her duty' and stopping her foolish dreams or being banished. While the threat had been more of a way to get her daughter in line than actually go through with it - Joanna for her part, took the second option and would be gone the day after; taking with her coin, clothing and armor she had made customary for herself.

For seven years, Joanna would spend time in Essos - fighting, drinking and adventuring. Still in some ways, Joanna was still drawn back to the life of home and while she had left House Lannister on bitter terms, she still missed her brothers. Thus, on the seventh year - she gathered what coin she had and sailed for Valyria. Nobody knows what happened there and Joanna hasn't been eager to share either - but of her small company, only she returned - bearing with her, Brightroar - the ancestral sword of House Lannister.

It was that same day, that Joanna heard her father dying and she would return home to Westeros.

Is it possible to have Joanna as head of House Lannister? Or would that be too much, during this time?

@NecroKnight

There's a fair few issues with the sheet but I'm sure these changes can be made. I'd suggest making her a Lannisport Lannister rather than from the main family if you want to play an adventurer. I'd highly doubt the Casterly Rock Lannisters would accept their only daughter training like this, let alone allowed back after running off. She also has two brothers so she wouldn't ever be head of the household.

Finally, Brightroar hasn't yet been lost in this time period, so she can't have found it in Valyria/Volantis.

[ASOIAF]: Before the Dragons Danced

@Ruby @Jorick

A cousin for you both to add to the sheet!

Ser Ronnel

Name: Ser Ronnel Arryn
Age: 27
House/Affilitation: House Arryn

Appearance:


Ronnel Arryn strikes a figure that is truly one of two continents. The man was once the very nature of Vale Knighthood itself, aquiline features with a nobility that was only part arrogance with golden blonde hair styled short for both use and fashion. The man's time in exile has changed this, his skin has burned and tanned countless times beneath the Essosi heat, his hair a darker, dirtier, blonde. Previously airy features have hardened beneath strain and training and a beard now obscures much. One would still consider him handsome, but there is an exotic, rogue streak to both his appearance and personality which the Knight from before did not possess.

Biography:

There was a time when Ser Ronnel Arryn was synonymous with nobility and knighthood. He earned his spurs fighting against the Mountain Clans of the Vale alongside his Household knights of far greater years and was the talk of any melee or tournament hosted in the earlier years of King Viserys' reign. The man tended to be close to the 'main' Arryn line, although he spent increasingly little time in the Vale, mixed up in the travels and adventures of his family, while finding time for his own. Such were his knightly exploits several songs, some rather more bawdy than the others, were sung in regards to his career, the most acceptable among the nobility being 'Let the Eagle Soar,' A tune that was said to please both King Viserys and his Arryn Queen greatly.

The death of Aemma Arryn spelt the end of this hay-day of Valeman nobility, in the end it was not anything Ronnel did that sent the Knight, apple of the eye of both court and peasantry, into exile, but his father. Rymond Arryn had never been the most tactful of souls. When Aemma died after yet another difficult pregnancy, her unlce (Rymond) was so bold as to claim, while drunk, that his grace should be tried for her murder, after all, it was him that had put yet another cursed child in the Queen's belly. Both the Targaryens and Arryns were grieving for their lost Queen, it was not a time for easy forgiveness. Ronnel followed his father into exile despite the sentence not passing to the son, many a peasant girl and noble maid grieved for the loss of their favoured knight among the lists, but soon the tale of Ser Ronnel Arryn was forgotten.

Rymond Arryn did not survive long into his exile, a tongue that had ensured his punishment did little to ingratiate him to the politics of cut-throats and warlords. His body was never found, one day he simply did not return to the apartments he and his son lived out of in the city of Pentos. Grieving but not surprised, Ser Ronnel set out on the first of many travels which would define his time in the East. He left for Andalos, for the heartlands of his dynasty. Seven times Ser Ronnel made his way to the hills of Andalos, the first six to different ancient shrines of the six openly worshipped of the Seven. The final time, he knelt in prayer atop the rolling hills of the Andals. What words the Stranger spoke to the exiled knight, one can never say, but when Ser Ronnel returned to the Free Cities afterwards, his legend had been made. Already a renown warrior and combatent, he soon became a leader of men. Those he had met among the Andals, alongside other exiles and travellers from Westeros, knights and commoners alike, found common cause with the Knight of the Vale. The Swords of the Seven were unlike most mercenary companies, they were hardly militant monks the like of which had been seen during the reign of Maegor the Cruel, but they avoided the worst of the politics of Essos, keeping their faith, and the ways of their homeland on these foreign shores.

Many might consider what would have become of the Swords and Ser Ronnel, had he not then encountered Celena Lannister. Just as much as he keeps his final journey to Andalos a private matter, so too does he never quite explain what the pair spoke of, all that is known comes from his public deeds. Estates and offices in Pentos were sold, those men among the Swords who could not, or would not, return to Westeros were paid their final wages and dispersed. The rest, alongside their Commander, set out for the Vale.

Ser Ronnel Arryn had returned.

Coruscant

As Jace continued to follow the presence of what he presumed had been the attacker, further warning signals flared up across the holographic display of his helm.

Warning: Temple Breach Detected

The Supreme Commander cursed silently, but in a way, this likely confirmed much of what he expected. Few groups truly cared for what might remain in the ruins of the Jedi temple other than the Sith or the Jedi, and while matters had become strained between the Republic and the Order, he highly doubted even the most extreme offshoots of the Jedi would resort to terrorism to steal away their old secrets.

Response times were slow, much of the emergency services and military responders had yet to properly react. He may have been named Supreme Commander this very day, but they were still not used to receiving direct orders in the manner he had intended to give them. This would have to change, but right now wasn't the time for reform, he had to act before more bombs went off.

Beneath his armour, Jace rolled his shoulders, before with a steady release of breath, he ran forwards, throwing himself back out the shattered window from which he had arrived. He fell for half a second before with a slow blink, he triggered the jets on his suit. While the Havoc Armour had been based of the Mandalorians, to avoid the structural weakness of the external jetpack, the Havoc armour instead relied on a series of small jets that were more designed to direct falling or for the vacuum of space. He had to fire every single one and burn out their fuel supplies to propel him the distance he needed, and even then, it was hardly a fine art. Maybe not fine, but it was fast.

Jace Maclom burned through the air in a streak of igniting fuel, white and orange. The distance blurred away, only slowing when his suit accounted for the fact he had to survive the landing. With a heavy crash, he connected with the roof upon which his target had been spotted, coming to a crashing halt in what was definitely an emergency landing, rolling several times before he sprang up, pistol at the ready. The indirect form of flight had meant he had more distance than he would have liked between his target and him, but it was better than being several blocks away with a sidearm.

"Drop your weapons, down on the ground." Jace's voice carried 'loud' over the external speakers of his armoured suit, to be heard easily over even the noise of traffic and disaster around them, steadily pacing towards the unidentified target.

[Jedi] Tython

In the absence of Theron, there was only silence. To call it awkward wouldn't be accurate, the pair simply had nothing to say. Nothing to say to each other, or to themselves that might make light or salvage the situation. It had been inevitable, but it hurt all the same for reasons that were both different and alike.

Satele moved first, and Jace allowed her the escape of a few steps of space before following her. Anyone else, well, maybe apart from those Jedi who could sense such things, might not note the change to Satele. It wasn't just from this momentary clash, it was something she'd been carrying this entire time. Theron, if anything, had given her a momentary outlet, a new reason. It was some time before she spoke. Perhaps she was away with her thoughts and hadn't noticed him, or perhaps it had taken her this long to remember his presence wasn't normal anymore.

"Non-Force Sen--"

"Satele, I'm going with you."

"Jace, it's not a matter of-"

"Unless you're going to push me away and bury 'me' under a mountain, I'm going."

He was determined, but not to the point of cornering her, keeping the distance he had maintained throughout their short walk from the meeting chamber. Her eyes narrowed at him for a moment, as if she might really be considering it. He hadn't truly been joking either. She didn't visibly give in, but she turned to carry on walking and he didn't immediately feel a wall of force preventing him from proceeding.

There was a time when the Jedi Order had been fitted with the finest the Republic Civilian and Military industries could provide, but since the growing rift between the Senate and the Order, no doubt fueled by some of his predecessors, those days had passed. The shuttles that ferried individuals down to the surface were, of course, serviceable, but Jace certainly noted that certain military stations had received substantial upgrades in recent years.

Yet more divides to mend

The craft moved easily through the void of space, and Jace used the time to study the view, at least, something that wasn't Satele. He had seen images of Tython, Satele had also described it to him before, even from a vision she once had, before they had even known the place existed. This was not the sight that greeted him. The craft descended towards a world clearly in the throes of trauma. The skies were a swirling mass of storms, some in colours he had rarely seen in weather patterns before. He exhaled steadily, a few moments of apprehension before the adrenaline came rushing in to replace it. He turned to face Satele again and found her eyes on him. Their eyes locked for several long moments, and they saw the same in each other. The thrill. It never went away.

The moment passed and in the next moment, it felt like the entire weight of a world slammed into the small shuttle craft. The pilot, no doubt a skilled Jedi or attache to the order, manoeuvred the craft as best they could, no doubt better than most pilots in the galaxy could, but they could not shield their passengers from the storm. Jace watched the view again, and from what little bearing he could make as they hit the atmosphere and thus the storms, they were thrown about like a ragdoll. Powerful thrusters strained and failed to account for the force of the storm, at one point, they were even moving backwards. The shuttle groaned in such a way that revealed the shielding had failed to entirely account for the storm, it was beginning to physically pull at the craft. Jace knitted his fingers together and looked forwards, studying the far side of the craft. His form tensed and relaxed, tensed and relaxed. A powerful man, in terms of physicality, ability and politics, he did not enjoy such situations where he could not be a part of the solution. Instead, he resorted to his own form of meditation, awaiting the moment he could spring into action in some way or another.

This meditation consisted of assembling his combat armour, loaded into the compartment with him. Each segment was slotted into place over his body, forming the protective shell a piece at a time. The white and orange plate, known the Galaxy over, gradually taking form. It could be done faster, or with aid, but there was a slight ritual to the way he did so, when he had the time, that helped focused the thrill-seeking element of his mind into a useful tool. Once the set was complete, he sat back down, still holding his helmet. Then, he waited.

In the end, the moment didn't come. The craft touched down with a thump that, after the storm, barely registered for those within. The craft's landing doors opened and the interior was immediately assailed with the force of the wind. Jace stood and pressed his helm over his features all in the same motion. He didn't know if the Jedi had some trick against the storm, but he did not, besides, the armour provided some further sense of command. He looked towards Satele, nodding to her.

"Lead on."

[ASOIAF]: Before the Dragons Danced

House Grazadan of New Ghis

Recent History: Many say that the Ghiscari are a broken and decadent people, playing at the glories of Empire while not lifting a finger to make good on their claims of superiority. Those people have not been to New Ghis, where the spirit of the Old Empire still beats strong. Founded by more martial Ghiscari disgusted by the increasing sloth of their brethren, New Ghis is the most dynamic of the cities of Slaver's Bay, able to deal with Astapor, Yunkai, and even Mereen as equals despite its relative youth. And behind this dynamism is House Grazdan, which presents itself as the descendants of the Imperial Line of Old Ghis, whether by blood or by achievement.

House Grazadan was founded by Grazdan the Renewer, who claimed to be the descendant of a survivor of Old Valyria's purge of the original bloodlines of Old Ghis. Before making this claim, however, he was a son of a Mereenese aristocrat who preferred fighting above lounging and commanding free men to slave soldiers. Eventually, Grazdan tired of the decadent ways of Mereen, and left for the island that New Ghis would be founded on with many among Mereen's elite who shared the same sentiments. Once the city was founded, martially-inclined Ghiscari from Astapor and Yunkai would later follow, putting themselves under Grazadan's command in order to refound the glories of the Ghiscari Empire.

But it was not just aristocrats seeking nostalgia that followed, but also pirates, mercenaries, and of course, slaves. New Ghis quickly became infamous for its raids on the Summer Islands, the Qartheen, and even other Ghiscari when the leadership can get away with it. Over time, even ships from Volantis were preyed on, although only when the New Ghiscari can get away with it. And New Ghis grew rich as well as resented.

Now, New Ghis reigns under a new King, Grazadan the Chainbringer, so-called because of his participation in slave raids and campaigns of conquest in his youth, where several cities and outposts on the mainland were forced to acknowledge the rule of New Ghis. But the Chainbringer desires more - His brethren in the Slaver Cities do not acknowledge the need to reform the Ghiscari Empire, and they must be made to.

And no cost will be too high.

Family Members:

Grazadan the Chainbringer

Name: Grazadan the Chainbringer

Age: 36

Appearance: A tall, muscular man with a heavy build, Grazadan the Chainbringer is not an ordinary Ghiscari, with his only concession to traditional custom being the spiking of his hair into horns. Unlike other Ghiscari, he eschews the traditional tokar in favor of full armor, or even just more practical clothing. Face-wise, he keeps a thin beard and mustache, while his broad features are neither ugly or handsome, but more average-looking.

Biography: Grazadan the Chainbringer was the firstborn son of Grazadan the Blademaster, a formidable warrior of New Ghis and grandson of its founder, making Chainbringer himself the great-grandson of Grazadan the Renewer himself. Raised with a high sense of entitlement and desire for glory, Grazdan the Chainbringer soon became a formidable fighter and warrior who had memorized a few military texts as well and desired to use all of those to glorify New Ghis. He would later get the opportunity to do so on a raid against the Summer Isles, where many Summer Islanders were enslaved and brought to New Ghis in chains.

Grazadan would later venture out onto the mainland, subjugating many settlements there and regaining much land that belonged to Old Ghis. One of his greatest achievements was the defeat of a Yunkai-led force of slave-soldiers trying to retake lost ground, and in a touch of irony, enslaving the commanders while freeing their troops, many of whom joined him in many later battles. This was an unprecedented move in Ghiscari culture, and Grazadan was only saved from accusations of being a traitor to custom because he took slaves from other sources and showed no other signs of radical emancipatory urges.

Nevertheless, Grazadan the Chainbringer saw the efficacy of a 'join-or-die' strategy once he became ruler of New Ghis. Not just that, but due to the Unsullied from Astapor being one of the few forces who can match or exceed New Ghis' 'Iron Legions', he has decided to try and get into the Good Masters' good graces by marrying his sister to one of their most influential members, as well as cooperating with them on missions of enslavement. He has also bought Unsullied in increasing numbers, with most of New Ghis' surplus wealth spent in buying these Eunuch-soldiers to supplement the Iron Legions...

@Letter Bee

Looks good to me. Feel free to drop it in the character tab.

Coruscant

Heat and Ezekiel

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Chaos and Chrome

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It had been a long day.

He had expected no less. You can hardly expect to be named the Supreme Commander of a Galactic nation’s military and not have a busy time of it. It was officially peacetime, and so it might have been expected that most of that were pomp and circumstance. This was not the case, Jace had spent the day being informed to a detail even the previously high ranking officer had been unaware of. Within his mind now rested the beating heart of the Republic grand war machine, at least, he hoped to make it grand again.

That had not been the only matter keeping him occupied. At the same time as he was being named Supreme Commander, the Senate was in flux. New factions of senators had risen to prominence and a vote of no confidence had been floored. It was a tense time on Coruscant, and, Jace, being the individual he was, had thrown himself into the security measures required to make sure anyone key to the proceedings, on either side, didn’t end up dead before matters could be concluded. Of course, most feared the internal politics of the Senate. Jace, instead, was on the watch for the Sith. How they would love to extend this period of doubt at the heart of the Republic’s politics.

The apartment assigned to him was the height of luxury by his standards, and he quickly made his way to the living area, pouring himself a shot-glass of whichever bottle they had left out for him as something of a gift. He took a long gulp, before admiring the view. Even if he preferred less built up worlds, from above, Coruscant was unmistakenly beautiful. The vast glass display that made up one wall of the room gave a commanding view of much of the urban sprawl below, and the Senate in the distance. Had it been restored properly, he was sure he would have been able to spy the Jedi Temple. The thought soured his mood, and he turned from the view.

He was in his armour. It had been suggested that he might wear something more...civilian, for his swearing-in, but, he wished to treat this as a wartime position. The white and orange battle armour was an image known across the galaxy, especially with the Havoc decals beside the rank markings. He’d long refused to have them removed. Jace moved his wrist up, the action immediately bringing up a holographic display. When Jace had set out to turn Havoc Squad into the most capable sith-killers he could, they had been granted the finest in technology the Republic could afford to spare. Each feature of the Havoc Battle armour could be brought online, activated, targeted, with the barest of movements. Weapons could be fired with the literal blink of an eye. When you fought against an enemy capable of the impossible, your every action had to count and had to deliver a payload. Thankfully, for now, he was just seeking updates.

His eyes tracked through updates from the security teams, the Supreme Chancellor, their rivals, any political staff and senator who’s death or disappearance would disrupt manners. He looked again and again for the weak point. The weak point he couldn’t find.

Or could he.

Supreme Commander.

That would be a real punch in the gut.

Jace had time to turn, detaching his helmet from his belt and ramming it over his features before the first strike hit. He didn’t see the munitions, or indeed, if there was one, all he knew was that he had turned, and suddenly he was pushed from his feet by the force. That, and now the window was gone.

It was another moment before the hazard alerts along the suit informed him of the depressurisation. He didn’t need the alert, he could see everything around him being sucked towards the abyss. Another moment passed, and suddenly his view was spinning. The lights of Coruscant again, although this time they were rushing towards him. His suit automatically triggered his distress and warning systems, but everything else was left to his own activation. His suit would suppress his life signs for now, he didn’t want to fire the jets or any other feature that might save him, less he reveal himself to anyone watching the cloud of destruction from what had been his apartment.

Instead, he grit his teeth, turning in the air to face the building he was falling from, counting down the moments.

Make the window as small as possible

As he drifted closer to the building, he finally acted. Jets along his armoured fired, not an instant stop, but even still the suit had to project a field across his body to stop his form disintegrating from the GeForce. He continued to descend down several more levels of the sky rise, before his suit punched through another of the windows, bringing him to crashing stop among what had been another living area, thankfully vacant. His side arm was pulled from his thigh. No rifle, this would have to do.

All available units, there has been an incident at Hab-Block 2X-12. Designated Military Apartments. Incident believed to be coming from-

He heard the alert start to come over the military and emergency services ‘frequencies’ but he cut them off with his own override before they could finish.

“This is Commander Jace Malcom. Hab-Block 2X-12 is under attack, all available units, converge. Tighten the guard on the Senators.”

Whoever had attacked him would know their window was closing, if they already knew he had survived, they would strike again soon if they hoped to put him down. The next few minutes would be critical.

A smirk slinked its way across the Falleen’s defined jawline at the sight of the explosion. Clad in an intricate brown robe he seemed like a simple drifter. Just another wanderer on the galactic capital. His narrow, orange eyes blinked slowly before he started to move. A proper assassin always took a moment to appreciate their handiwork. His initial target being the pompous Supreme Commander Malcolm. The soldier’s apartment was now but a blaze, an endlessly pleasing sight to the undercover Sith. Still, his work on Coruscant was not done yet.

In truth, he hated this world, so rife with corruption and two-faced politicians hiding behind pleasing smiles. Elected senators that stabbed the idiots that voted for them in the back. Such problems did not exist in the Empire. Malcolm’s death was a needed one, the man had been a thorn in the back of the Sith Empire for decades. It was only right he perished in such a final manner. From his vantage point across from the now wrecked apartment, the Sith watched through macrobinoculars. His hood was raised over his head, long hair tied firmly in a tight ponytail. As he scanned around, his eyes through the macrobinoculars caught sight of an armor clad man, in another living room far below the one he had fallen from.

Damn it.

Zes’ hands clenched tightly at the sight of the Supreme Commander of the Republic military alive and breathing. Not a smouldering corpse melted into the ground. The fool was tough, he had to give him that. But that wasn’t his only trick today. The Sith assassin’s visit to this decadent world was not as simple as that. He watched from his perched position far above Malcolm, taking notes of the panicking crowds of people in the urban streets. Their screams sounded like the most pleasant of music to him. The lights of the grand city shined in his view as he flicked another switch on his wrist, igniting another set of explosives. In a building adjacent to Malcolm’s apartment, he’d level the entire complex if he had to. If it meant sending the message he had been told to send.

The secondary explosion passed in shockwave form across to Jace’s new perch in the lower portion of the building, but his armour easily dampened the impact on his person. This meant little to the Supreme Commander as he watched yet another building become partially engulfed in flame. Wordlessly, he turned his vision towards the surrounding buildings, the automated systems already scanning for further incoming threats, picking out anything that might be deemed unusual from the chaos gathering all round him.

There

What appeared to be a drifter, watching the destruction through macrobinoculars, either part of the effort of someone with a particularly morbid fascination. Jace was willing to take the risk.

“Republic Forces, patching through a location and identity now. Consider them an active target. I want them brought in alive.” His voice resounded across his communications system, what with only a pistol, he had little chance of striking a blow from this range, but he could still begin to coordinate efforts.

Just another day at the office.