[Open to Harpy Squadron members and any Seeker/Inquiry characters! Whoop whoop!]
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URGENT RESPONSE REQUIRED
As of 1822 today, a written threat has been made regarding several Pilots, most notably one of our own squadron members, Pilot Lladre Opielar. Present intelligence suggests a highly volatile target who will not be satisfied with simple threats for very long, and as such the unknown target is to be considered extremely dangerous.
Pilot Rook is in charge of safeguarding Pilot Opielar, as she is presently physically incapacitated. Commander Kiers and Pilot Hestersen are working with the Seeker and Inquiry departments to trace the source of the threats and will keep everyone updated as the situation develops.
Until this horseshit is resolved, I want a Harpy patrolling every last inch of Pilot Opielar's floor. No one reaches that level without us knowing about it, and I want any and all activity to be transmitted immediately to Commander Kiers. Pilot Voronin, you're in charge of coordinating patrols.
Until further notice, everyone is to be fully at arms at all times. This is not a drill.
-Squadron Leader Kiers
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Bracer, on. Suit, zipped. Chestpiece, locked in.
Gauntlet one, check. Gauntlet two, check. Fully loaded, safety on. Safety off. Safety on again.
Amp-feed, one, two, three. Blood conditions nominal. Pulse spiked, but that was to be expected given the circumstances. Adrenaline on standby. Spare ammo clips, check. Spare painkillers, double check.
Chance popped open the bottle, shook out a pair of chalk-white pills, and chewed them. The taste was horrendous, of course, but there wasn't anything close to the luxury of time here. Not for his knee, not for the pills, and not for this slimy sonofabitch who thought he could bring his backwater planet bullshit here.
To Aedolis. To Haviah. To his city. To his home. To his squad.
Chance's pulse spiked a little harder, his breathing hitched, and he fought the flare of rage down to a low simmer once more. Well, that was going to be corrected. Post-fucking-haste. The reports had already been filed away-- honestly, thank all the gods for Jon. Even relegated to Ministry deskwork, he still thought like a Seeker. One less thing for Chance to worry about. No doubt the traces were already underway, but considering the whole "system maintenance incident" Chance wasn't terribly sure about how accurate those would be.
Still, there was a very crucial aspect that couldn't be forgotten in this-- he did, after all, have two prime witnesses. Mohgran and Lladre, despite their protests that he needn't get involved (Really?
Really? He knew he was laud back but he wasn't so laid back that he didn't take physical threats to a fellow Pilot seriously), knew what this... Hunter fucker was. Or, at the very least, they knew who to ask.
Chance's own words came back to haunt him:
I'm not chasing after anyone's mother. He rolled his eyes at himself; if that's what it came down to, that's exactly what he'd be doing. Mohgran had mentioned his mother as knowing quite a bit more than he or Lladre, and if Chance had to go knocking on Mama Opielar's door to see this shit resolved, well. Chance was gonna be knocking on some doors.
Either way, it was more than enough information. Between the trace, between records from immigration, between all the little bits and bytes of data that made up every last waking instant of every last citizen's lives-- nothing escaped notice for long. Nothing escaped Chance for long.
A sudden, subtle pressure behind his eyes preluded the intruding thoughts he'd been expecting.
'Status.' It was always odd, knowing the difference between Izzy's internal voice versus her physical one. The former was always higher, softer somehow, and yet as rigid as the steel beams that made up the entire skeletal system of the Citadel itself. Chance paused in checking his equipment. He'd never been good enough to focus on telepathy and whatever else he was doing at once-- it always came out in a mad mixture of physical speech and thoughts.
'Locked and loaded. Lladre is secured with Pilot Rook, the other Harpies have been notified. Orders?''Get to Mohgran. Lladre is physically compromised with her wings coming in, so it'll be down to him. I'm still waiting on trace, I'll have Hestersen patch it through once it's clear. You find him before we do, make it painful.''Understood.' One final check, and Chance was out the door. A slight limp was all that betrayed him, but the urgency in his step and something far colder in his eyes made sure that not a single person stopped him on his way to Mohgran's quarters. Or at least, he hoped. He genuinely would not be responsible for his actions if anyone bothered him with unimportant bullshit right that moment.