The Rebel Faction

The man stayed in the shadows, observing those around him. A matte black coat caked with wind blown dust shrouded his body protectively. The only indication that he was alive was due to the darting of the orbs sunk into their sockets. For all his mystery and self-confidence, it was evident that the man was tired, intensely so as a matter of fact.

It had been days since he'd slept more than a few hours at best. He'd been running around Coalition and Commonwealth space, luring potential applicants into the shadowy world of wraiths. While not a resounding success, the recruitment drive had turned up several gems and overall, the man was pleased with the results.

Today, just hours ago, a beat up, old freighter had docked at the main Ilum spaceport, discharging its cargo of landspeeder parts as well as a single passenger. Having committed the city layout to memory, he'd threaded his way gamely through the confusing streets as if he'd lived there his entire life. Few officials gave him trouble as he flashed his clearance I.D. It was a rumored clearance level, one that few said actually existed...oh, but it did and it gave its bearer access to literally every aspect of the Commonwealth's government. No longer did he have to go through security, customs, nor answer to condescending officers and pompous asses. It was a power he wielded with relish but a slight tug in the back of his mind told him to use it with caution.

Now, as he stood in the back of the office and let the General in charge of the garrison chew over his credentials, he thought again about how easy it had been to gain entry.

"Well Colonel, I don't know how the Sith you're clearance is better than mine, but damn it! Orders are orders I suppose." The boisterous officer thumped his desk and glared at the darkened image of his visitor. "My garrison is your garrison...sir." He managed to chuck out through clenched teeth.

"Thank you." There was no emotion in the voice. It was utterly flat. No hint of smugness nor self-importance.

Bewildered, General Nuzack squared his jaw and refused to be intimidated.

With a slight bow, Colonel Oso drifted out of the office as quietly as he'd entered. He made his way towards the barracks, gained entry and located the man he had come to see. Lance McCallister.

Beckoning with his hand for the Major to follow, he led them outside to a waiting speeder driven by Adaki.

"If you will." His eyes bored into McCallister's, trying to gauge their reaction...

Climbing in after Lance, the Director closed the doors and listened for the audible hissing sound that indicated a solid seal had been made. They were now protected against chemical attacks. A slight rap on the privacy mirror separating the driver from the passengers alerted Adaki to activate the electronic jamming field that blanketed the speeder. Now that they were secure, he shifted the vehicle into drive and set off at a leisurely pace through the city. Picking a destination on the far side of the city, he wound their transport through the most congested of streets and took the round about route in an attempt to give the two men time to converse.

The silence was heavy in the speeder. It hung like a thick velvet blanket over the two men as they eyed each other warily. Xen made no attempt to hide the fact that he was studying the man. As his piercing gaze categorized each detail he saw, his mind was already reviewing the contents of the man's dossier. His decorations and awards were indeed impressive, as was his ability to follow orders without question; a trait he had already demonstrated admirably when Oso had first beckoned for him to follow.

From his personal files, Xen had surmised that this man would perhaps be a bit...unrestrained when it came to the Imperials, seeing as how they had killed his wife and unborn child. Fury, rage and passion were dangerous when left to roam on their own. Oso hoped to contain this man's emotions and direct them in a positive manner to further the cause of Section 8. He didn't give a Hutt's Spit about the Major's need for revenge, nor his emotional trauma. Like everyone else he associated with, he saw McCallister as a usuable tool that could benefit his unit.

It wasn't anything personal, it was just much simpler this way. One never knew when one had to assassinate their own co-workers and if one kept their distance from the onset, it was much easier to deal with the after effects later.

"Major Lance Thomas McCallister, also known as Knighthawk. Born in Coronet City, Corellia. Your mother passed away due to cardiac arrest and your life didn't improve when the Imps killed your wife and unborn child. Your 27 years of age, standing at an impressive height of 6' 4" with a healthy weight of 220 pounds. Body fat is at a minimal and it's obvious you keep yourself in shape." Xen paused, eyes carefully scrutinizing the man in front of him.

"Earned yourself a Bloodstripe...pretty impressive. You also have some cybernetic parts, blah blah blah and some of the shrinks think you're unfit for duty. Tell me, do you enjoy the condition and location you are currently in?"

Lance's reaction had no discernable effect on Oso. The man had a sabaac face that professional players would've died for. In fact, the young Major had more or less responded in the way the Colonel had predicted. It was hard to remain calm and composed when talking about such a subject. It would bring out the pain in even the most stoic of men.

"It's also not protocol to be conducting a meeting in an unmarked speeder armed to the gills with counter-intelligence hardware. Nothing about this meeting follows protocol. I am no ones superior and at the same time, I'm everyone's superior. Remember that."

Xen's face remained the same as his mind calmly went over each candidate for this position. So far, he only had one another hopeful and Lance was the last possible recruit. Of course, the position they were being asked to fill demanded perfection and performance of the highest calibre. Not to mention, you would disappear from the face of the galaxy. It wouldn't do to recruit someone with family or an ongoing romance. Sadly, that pretty much eliminated a good deal of the best candidates.

"Why am I asking you this? No reason. Just curious." Rapping twice on the privacy glass, Xen alerted Val to turn the speeder around and head back towards the base. The quick trip back was sheathed in silence and it wasn't until the speeder had stopped that Oso spoke up again.

"If you want to get out of this dead end location and lead an actual Special Operations team with an unlimited budget and unlimited access to tech. come see me." Handing the man an expensive looking business card, Xen gestured towards the door, a not so subtle indication to get the hell out.

When and if Lance looked at the card, he would find a single word scrawled on the front. Oso. The card itself was black and the words were printed in a light gray. On the back was a private number and a private frequency. If he had any gray matter, McCallister would figure it out.

The Sentinel was hidden in the blackness of space. It's stealth armour and XP5 jammers performed their jobs admirably. What few ships there were in the area suspected nothing. The Stealth Intruder certainly did live up to its name.

Onboard, Xen stood over a communications terminal. He was staring at the extremely bland face of one of his subordinates. The man he was communicating with was shrugging helplessly. "Sorry sir, the man wasn't cooperating. We gave him several opportunities."

"I suppose it can't be helped. Some men are just far too loyal."

"How is that a bad thing sir?"

"Loyalty blinds oneself and can lead to your self destruction."

"Don't you expect us to be loyal to you?"

"What do you think?"

"I think you walk a very fine line sir."

"Hmm...perhaps I do. It's in the job description. I assume the body has been carefully taken care of?"

"Yes sir. Local officials are already claiming his lover killed him then committed suicide. Would you care to know the details?"

"I'll go over them in the detailed report you'll be sending me."

"To the point as always sir."

"As always. Good job and I'll see you back home."

The man's unremarkable features contorted into a smile and he snapped off a sharp salute before the transmission fizzled out and Oso was left staring at a blank screen. Before he could do anything else, Adaki caught his attention with a slight tap on his shoulder.

"It's Major McCallister."

"Well, that didn't take long. Dispatch a shuttle to pick him up. Oh, and play the recorded message, just to humor him."

A chuckle escaped Val's lips. "Sounds good sir."

As Lance waited for a reply transmission, the Vice-Director of Section 8 activated a code that sent a standard recorded message heard by all their recruits when they called. At the same time, an ordinary shuttle was dispatched from a nearby location and ordered to pick up Lance; it would be there within the hour and was under express orders to take him through the normal procedure. Knock him out, test him for bugs, then bring him in. Half a dozen commandos, men part of the team Lance would be leading, were riding shotgun on the shuttle to make sure the Major cooperated.

Back on the planet, Section 8's reply came through.

"Hello and good day sir or ma'am! We are so happy you called us instead of us calling on you. That probably would have ended with you in a body bag." The voice was female, sultry and cheerful, totally out of character with the message it was delivering. "Anywho! A shuttle will be down to collect you and your belongings momentarily. Do not worry about the 'legal' junk, we'll be taking care of that for you. The shuttle will be docking in Bay 29 within the hour. Do not attempt to search for them, they will find you. Oh and I suggest you do not struggle. If you're a woman, then have a good day. If you're a man, then mwuaah!!! Kisses!" The transmission ended abruptly.

The shuttle flared its nose up as it came in for a quick landing. The pilot and co-pilot were both veterans of 'hot' insertions and exfiltrations, especially during BlackOps missions. They were used to piloting aggressively but carefully, staying on the fence between spinning out of control and maintaining order. Other pilots called them hotshots, pilots who were crazy, insane, just plain dumb. Perhaps they were right, perhaps not but in this case, these two men were the perfect duo for Oso's crazy assignments. Having them fly around the galaxy, dodging customs frigates, slipping past blockades and transporting live cargo that was always extremely dangerous. It was all in a day's work for these two.

The ground underneath the shuttle was blasted into a fine spray of ice and dirt as the pilot angled the nose towards the sky. The stinging mist obscured the view of everyone in the bay and made life miserable.

Silently, as if wraiths, six men rappelled down the sides of the Sentinel-class shuttle, each armed to the teeth. Boasting carbines tailored to their individual needs, plenty of grenades and thermal detonators, each commando could level an entire building with the explosives strapped to their bodies. Plenty of knives and other sharp objects adorned their bodies while thick body armor covered all their vulnerable areas. One man held a heavy repeater rifle while another carried a flame carbine.

As they touched ground, four men trained their sights on Lance and moved with lightning speed towards him. The other two watched their backs and guarded the shuttle. Switching to stun shots, they closed in without mercy.