MSNPC Dreva Nan - Shots Fired (FAO: Trel'lis/Ezo)
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Jamie LeBlanc
Oct 9, 2016, 10:14:11 PM10/9/16
to Sb118 Ops
((Beach - Raskor I))
::The Raskorian kids had cleared the beach. It was their time of reflection, a lovely cultural oddity that brought generations of Raskorians together to bond with the earth and reflect upon their place in the cosmos.
It also meant that the usually busy beach was nearly empty. All the better.
Dreva Nan liked empty beaches. She liked open areas and deserted buildings. This was partially because it helped her do her job better, and partially because she hated people.
People betrayed people. People smelled bad. People were loud and noisy and angry and disgusting. Nothing gave her more pleasure than eliminating one more smelly, disgusting person from the face of the universe.
And she was very good at her job - mostly because she enjoyed it so much. She took cold hard gold pressed latinum and turned it into a death sentence for a chosen few. This was an odd job as she had been contacted by the rival of her employer to conduct an assassination that would likely piss him off. It was dangerous and messy and deadly. And she loved all of those things.
Her usual employer was Nacien Rixx - the frequently presumed dead Nacien Rixx, who was never really dead. She would love to be the one who got to kill him. The real him, not one of his many dopplegangers. Not that she had ever met Rixx in person or had anything against him. He always paid her handsomely and on time - but it would be a trophy kill - a notch on her belt. Dreva Nan was as compelled by adrenaline as much as she was compelled by money.
So when one Oro-Saan contacted her on behalf of the Pirate Queen Chennel to take out one of Rixx's most favored contacts within Starfleet she didn't do the sane thing - hang up the call - but instead listened with glee.
Actually the job gave her much leeway. This Oro-Saan just wanted the whole deal messed up, and gave Dreva her choice of targets. They would pay her for any and all kills connected to the Starfleet staff on the base called 118 and/or the death of Allan Kinney. The more chaos she could cause the more handsomely she would be rewarded.
It was an insane gamble. Contracts on Starfleet officers were notoriously difficult and had long lasting consequences. High ranking officers all the more so. But Dreva never figured she would live to see her second cycle of life. She wanted to live fast and kill freely and die in a glorious wash of blood and fire. And so she started to piece together her illegal Antedean pulse rifle from her treetop perch as she took a bead on Commodore Kinney's office. Ah. There they were, four lovely targets each open for the slaughter.
She wasn't putting much thought into her strategy. She figured she would shoot whoever presented themselves first and keep shooting until things in the room stopped moving or the Starfleet defense grid compensated for the modulated shield-piercing frequency of her rifle. She guessed she would get three shots at most - and with four targets she had better make them count.
Oh look, the old geezer was at the window. Perfect. She couldn't ask for a better opening shot. She pulled the weapon up and aimed. Breathe in. Breathe out.
Something touched her mind.
Telepaths?! No one told her there would be telepaths in that room! Dreva swore internally, feeling her deadly intentions drain out to be read like an open book. That meant she had to shoot now. Shoot and pray and run.
She took the shot, watching the transparent aluminum shatter as it was superheated from both the pulse and the overcharged shield. Kinney jerked back and the people inside the room all moved. Dreva swore. She hated telepaths. Loathed them.
She took two more wild shots, before busting the rifle apart, jumping down from the tree and making a beeline towards the forest...::
~*~
tbc...
~*~
MSNPC Dreva Nan
Assassin For Hire
Orion Syndicate
"Why do we fly? Because we have dreamt of it for so long that we must"
~Julian Beck
E239010ST0
::The Raskorian kids had cleared the beach. It was their time of reflection, a lovely cultural oddity that brought generations of Raskorians together to bond with the earth and reflect upon their place in the cosmos.
It also meant that the usually busy beach was nearly empty. All the better.
Dreva Nan liked empty beaches. She liked open areas and deserted buildings. This was partially because it helped her do her job better, and partially because she hated people.
People betrayed people. People smelled bad. People were loud and noisy and angry and disgusting. Nothing gave her more pleasure than eliminating one more smelly, disgusting person from the face of the universe.
And she was very good at her job - mostly because she enjoyed it so much. She took cold hard gold pressed latinum and turned it into a death sentence for a chosen few. This was an odd job as she had been contacted by the rival of her employer to conduct an assassination that would likely piss him off. It was dangerous and messy and deadly. And she loved all of those things.
Her usual employer was Nacien Rixx - the frequently presumed dead Nacien Rixx, who was never really dead. She would love to be the one who got to kill him. The real him, not one of his many dopplegangers. Not that she had ever met Rixx in person or had anything against him. He always paid her handsomely and on time - but it would be a trophy kill - a notch on her belt. Dreva Nan was as compelled by adrenaline as much as she was compelled by money.
So when one Oro-Saan contacted her on behalf of the Pirate Queen Chennel to take out one of Rixx's most favored contacts within Starfleet she didn't do the sane thing - hang up the call - but instead listened with glee.
Actually the job gave her much leeway. This Oro-Saan just wanted the whole deal messed up, and gave Dreva her choice of targets. They would pay her for any and all kills connected to the Starfleet staff on the base called 118 and/or the death of Allan Kinney. The more chaos she could cause the more handsomely she would be rewarded.
It was an insane gamble. Contracts on Starfleet officers were notoriously difficult and had long lasting consequences. High ranking officers all the more so. But Dreva never figured she would live to see her second cycle of life. She wanted to live fast and kill freely and die in a glorious wash of blood and fire. And so she started to piece together her illegal Antedean pulse rifle from her treetop perch as she took a bead on Commodore Kinney's office. Ah. There they were, four lovely targets each open for the slaughter.
She wasn't putting much thought into her strategy. She figured she would shoot whoever presented themselves first and keep shooting until things in the room stopped moving or the Starfleet defense grid compensated for the modulated shield-piercing frequency of her rifle. She guessed she would get three shots at most - and with four targets she had better make them count.
Oh look, the old geezer was at the window. Perfect. She couldn't ask for a better opening shot. She pulled the weapon up and aimed. Breathe in. Breathe out.
Something touched her mind.
Telepaths?! No one told her there would be telepaths in that room! Dreva swore internally, feeling her deadly intentions drain out to be read like an open book. That meant she had to shoot now. Shoot and pray and run.
She took the shot, watching the transparent aluminum shatter as it was superheated from both the pulse and the overcharged shield. Kinney jerked back and the people inside the room all moved. Dreva swore. She hated telepaths. Loathed them.
She took two more wild shots, before busting the rifle apart, jumping down from the tree and making a beeline towards the forest...::
~*~
tbc...
~*~
MSNPC Dreva Nan
Assassin For Hire
Orion Syndicate
"Why do we fly? Because we have dreamt of it for so long that we must"
~Julian Beck
E239010ST0
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