JolaEdana
Jola looked up just in time from her struggle with the limp bothan to see Tack's body hurtling towards her, a blinking red light arching away from him. She was glad now of all her Rebellion training, and twisted away from Tack as she threw herself and the bothan back towards the ground.

She tried to cushion the alien's fall with some of her own body, but didn't have time to process his yell as she felt Tack's heavily armored body slam into her own.

The breath wooshed out of her lungs like someone had opened a hatch to vaccume, and the bright flash of the explosion combined with the noise and the impact blurred her vision to near blackness. For a long moment, she just attempted to breath again and clear her sight. When she finally did, she found Tack looking down at her.

"Are you frelling CRAZY?" Jola knew she was probably shouting, as her ears were still ringing from the explosion.

Tack grunted and ignored her, rolling off her and getting to his feet to look around.

Jola turned and saw that the Bothan next to her was unconcious now, or close. "Frel," she muttered, quickly checking his eyes by shading them with her hand. Definitely out. There was no way he was walking out of here now, help or no. She did another quick body check- he didn't appear to have any further damage, aside from a few more bruises she was starting to feel herself.

The medic rolled away from Kral and pushed to her feet, scanning for Tack and the strange man who had caused events in the alleyway to- literally- explode. She'd had a feeling in her gut about him from the minute he showed up. He wasn't ... right. At least, not what he said. But he wasn't wrong either.

And his offer of help.... well, if Tack had killed him with that explosive, he was going to be in even more trouble than he already was as far as she was concerned.

Jola came up behind Tack, and was annoyed to find she had a slight limp. "The bothan's out cold. Where is he?" The redhead made an effort to keep her voice low, but it sounded loud to her in the sudden unnatural stillness in the alleyway.

RelFexive
Joak tumbled into the nearest cover, a mass of boxes and junk that clattered loudly. The pain in his shoulder was almost as bad as that in his ankle, but even through both of them he could feel warmth in his cheek.

I swear he almost hit me! he complained silently, reaching up for his face. There was no time to complete the manoeuvre, however, as suddenly the air beside him was filled with flame and fragments. The explosion deafened the man completely and threw him back against the wall, filling his vision with little sparkly spots.

He sat in a daze for... how long? The alley was wreathed in smoke and Joak's ears were ringing. Flashes of light might have been blaster bolts, or swinging lights. The explosion would attract even more attention than the blasters alone would.

He pulled his right leg up, knee to his chest, and manipulated his foot carefully with both hands. The usual clicking occured, made even worse by the fact that he could only really hear it as a vibration through his bones. It was only a matter of moments to set his foot straight again, and the pain in his ankle began to ebb.

Who knew dislocating an ankle could be so useful? he mused. At least I'll be able to actually run now...

Figures moved in the dissipating smoke.

Where to run to, that's the question...

Darth_Kuangduk
"Help me," Jola demanded. Tack hesitated. "Tack," She insisted, voice taking on an edge that would have been unpleasantly threatening had he not gotten used to it by now.

With a sigh at the futility of the universe, Tack removed his helmet. As he did so, he heard a noise nearby - a loud scraping as if somebody was dragging a trashcan lid across the ground. Tack looked, but saw nobody. Ignoring Jola's struggles in favor of this new development, he pointed his weapon in the general direction of the noise. He saw only shadows.

"Come out," Tack ordered. Just because he couldn't see anybody didn't mean there was nobody there. Slowly, cautiously, what appeared to be a vagrant stepped into view. He had his face hidden behind his hands and peered through partially spread fingers as if looking through cracks in a protective shield. The man was, Tack reflected, remarkably filthy. Yet even so, there was something about him that didn't seem to fit. Something wholly unvagrant like. He listened impassively to the vagrant as the man all but whined about how harmless he was, and tried to figure out the inconsistency.

He didn't have much time to wait. After a few more moments of professing his harmlessness, the vagrant gave Tack all the clues he needed. Standing straight, the man shed his vagrant persona as if it were an old coat, revealing himself as someone decidedly more professional. "I suspect," The man was saying, "we should all be on our way." He straightened up a little. "You need somewhere to lay low for a time, and I can provide just that."

The end of the monologue was accompanied by a particularly theatrical gesture, the likes of which Tack would have expected from a famed actor. The decision to shoot the man came barely a second before somebody else had the exact same idea. The menacingly subtle sound of a blaster charging up echoed down the ally, and Tack caught sight of a dark blue shadow behind the vagrant-turned-something-else. Light from a streetlamp illuminated a blaster pistol, aimed at the small of the former vagrant's back.

Not allied with the enemy, then. Tack reversed his decision to shoot the alleyway actor as quickly as he'd made it. For one thing, he might not have to. The newly arrived Imperial Commando would do it for him. For a second thing, Tack had always liked the saying "the enemy of my enemy is my friend"...

With the flick of his wrist Tack sent a blaster bold sizzling through the air beside the vagrant's head. It missed the commando behind him, but it made both men jump for cover. Tack himself was diving for Jola, aiming to cover her with himself. Before he landed a small, palm sized device with a red band was arcing through the air...

JerinPuck
Minutes passed. Ages passed.
Allie stared at nothing- didn't really see it.

Then, without warning, Allie's brain told her legs to move. Across the roof, on to the fire escape, down the stairs, running through streets and alleyways, distancing herself from the appartment building as fast as she could. When her lungs and muscles burned, Allie stopped and looked around. Her mental functioning was about on the same level it was right after being awakened.

Fuel station. She said to herself. Yes. Fuel station. Allie looked around. Where?

"Where" in both the sense, "Where am I?" and "Where is it?"

Allie was unquestionably lost, alone and half-lucid, at night in some force-forsaken alley on a crime ridden rim planet.

So?

Allie wandered for ages. minutes.

A loud crashing noise brought her to her senses; Allie became aware of her surroudings. She recognized where she was.

She could get to the fuel station from here. Without chaning pace, it became her destination.



Imperial Commando at the edge of an alley near the hotel.

Same destination.... new route.

RelFexive
The crash around the corner of the building had alerted him that whatever was going on, it was happening somewhere other than where he was. How typical Joak grumbled always missing out on the big scene. It took him a moment to get himself to his wonky feet, and then he got moving. It was hard to move urgently while keeping to the role of the filthy vagrant, but the human just managed to maintain his cover. It was not easy, there was a great deal of refuse to get by.

When he got to the corner he slowed, wincing as his foot caught on something and dragged whatever it was noisily along the ground. The conversation in the next alley stopped suddenly, and he could imagine heads turning at light speed in his direction. He waited.

"Come out," a voice ordered. Ah well...

Joak dragged himself out into view, hunched over and dragging his feet. His hands covered his face as he peeked out through his fingers at the group in the alley. Card 2 was in commando armour, which was a surprise. To Joak's eye it seemed to fit him too well... this wasn't a costume he had dragged off the peg, this was fitted to him. And he seemed comfortable in it as well. Interesting. Card 1, the trump, was trying to lift a battered Bothan, frell knew why. The still form of an actual commando lay on the floor at her feet.

The targets had blasters pointed at him, of course. Naturally.

"Please, man, don' hurt me," Joak whined, looking and sounding as ineffectual as possible. "I'm jus' here, y'know, don' mean no harm..."

The look in the woman's eye as she sighted down her blaster at him was disconcerting, but it was not as bad as the baleful gaze of her companion. It did not improve as Joak shambled a little closer, prompting the man to raise his weapon further, which somehow made him look even more threatening.

"I don' mean to cause no trouble, man," Joak continued in the same tone of voice. "I'll be on my way..." He coughed noisily, which sounded appropriately bad, and had the added bonus of clearing his throat so he could speak more clearly. "In fact," he continued in his normal, even baritone, "I suspect we should all be on our way." He straightened up a little. "You need somewhere to lay low for a time, and I-" Joak gestured to himself theatrically "-can provide just that."

There was the sound of a blaster charging behind him.

Oh, blast Joak complained silently. Just not my day.

JolaEdana
Jola's eyes locked on the bothan's, and something inside her shifted. "Wait!" she shouted, violet eyes wide. Time seemed to slow, and with a lurch she grabbed Tack's blaster arm and pulled him aside. The shot ricocheted against the wall.

Tack regained his balance and turned on Jola. "What the frell! This guy is one of your kidnappers, isn't he?"

The bothan sagged towards the ground, a growl that was more a groan escaping him. The smell of ozone filled the air. Suddenly the smell of blood and charred flesh filled Jola's senses, and she almost gagged. She could see the pain in the bothan's eyes, and it filled her with a nameless sense of urgency.

Jola swallowed hard, and moved forward to kneel by Kral. "Com'on," she threw over her shoulder. "What's he going to do to me like this? He's no more dangerous to me than you are at the moment. He might manage to kill you, but he couldn't kidnap me afterwards, that's for sure."

Kral remained silent, conserving strength. Jola approved. "I'm a medic," she murmured to the bothan. He nodded slightly. She was surveying the damage to the alien's body. The other man who had fallen under him was unconsious or dead, and Jola wasn't spending the time to find out which. The bothan's eyes went out of focus again. Probably going into shock. She shook her head, angry she had lost her medkit somewhere in the chaos since her kidnapping.

"You got a medpack hiding somewhere in that fancy suit of yours?" she asked as Tack came up beside her, blaster still in hand.

"We don't have time to play medic," Tack muttered, looking up and down the alley. "More of them are going to come any second."

Jola fixed Tack with a hard look. "If we leave him here," she hissed, "he'll die. He wanted to save me."

"So do I!" Tack snarled. "But that's getting less and less likely the longer we stay here."

Jola controlled her tone with an effort. "I understand the situation. I'm a combat medic, this is what I do." As she spoke, her fingers gently explored the bothan's prone form. Kral had broken his lower arm and a couple of ribs, and probably his collar bone in the fall- though none were bad breaks. His ankle was fractured rather badly, and he had a few blaster wounds. "It'll hurt like hell, but I think we can get him out of here."

She leaned over Kral, and lightly pinched the tips of his ears, hoping to bring him back to awareness. She tapped his cheeks sharply. He struggled for a minute before his eyes focused on her face. "I need you to help me get you out of here," she said.

Glancing over the more than likely dead trooper, she saw his blaster sticking out from underneath his body. She shoved him aside and stuffed it into her belt. Then she got into a crouch and got her shoulders under the tall Bothan's good arm. She wasn't going to be able to support him herself. She looked up at Tack. "Help me," she demanded.

Darth_Kuangduk
I saw your ID's, I know who you are.

The words echoed through Tack's mind as he pushed Jola into the stairway. After spending so long running from who he was, trying to forget and hope nobody ever found out... It was a shock to the spacer's system to know that somebody finally knew. Even so, shocked or not, Tack had a job to do.

Blaster pistol in one hand, helmit in the other, he looked down the stairwell. Footsteps echoed up at him... somebody was down there, either waiting for him or getting ready to come up after him. Tack refused to risk a firefight on the way out. He'd come in to make sure Jola stayed alive and kicking, he was damn well going to make sure she stayed that way. He swiveled his head until he was looking up the stairwell. It was crazy, but if Allie had taken out the sniper it just might work.

"Trust me," He repeated to Jola, making certain he looked her in the eyes as he said it. She accepted his words with a simple lack of resistance, moving unenthusiastically but purposefully up to the top floor of the hotel. As Tack followed he repositioned his helmet. The entire reason for wearing it was to give himself a few extra moments when he finally ran into enemy commandos. With any luck they would hesitate, believing him to be one of their own. That hesitation would cost them their life....

*************************************************************

Kral rolled onto his back, placed his blaster between his raised knees, and prepared to die. But the commando he faced at the end of the hall had been too quick on the trigger, and his shot thudded into the floor right where the Bothan had been before rolling over. Kral siezed his opportunity and opened fire, peppering the doorframe with energy blasts. The commando, despite the protection of his armor, stayed behind cover. Using this to his advantage, Kral levered himself unsteadily onto his feet. His broken ankle shrieked painfully in protest, and he shifted his weight onto the other foot. Still firing as fast as his finger could flex, Kral struggled backwards towards the intersection. If he could somehow catch up to Jola, maybe the two of them could-

A hail of energy peppered the hallway around Kral, striking his knee and grazing one hip. With a leap of surprising alacrity for one with a broken ankle, Kral tossed himself into the intersection and pulled himself around the corner. His new wounds burned, and the stink of burnt hair and seared flesh permeated the air. Chancing a look back into the hallway, Kral found that the commando was advancing, using his deluge of fire to make sure no return fire came his way. Kral wasn't inclined to let that go and, sticking his pistol blindly around the corner, began firing off random shots. The incoming fire ceased, then stopped.

Kral looked around the corner again. The commando saw him, and raised his blaster as if to fire. But nothing happened. Kral ducked anyway, then realized what had happened. Rolling out into the hallway he leveled his blaster at the commando. Time seemed to freeze as the two faced each other. Kral pulled the trigger.

Nothing happened.

There was a moment of stunned inaction as Kral and his adversary realized the ramifications of this. With incredible speed the commando recovered, drawing a wickedly serrated blade from his belt and charging forward. Kral, no stranger to hand to hand fighting, hauled himself up onto his broken ankle and drew his own blade. He planted his good foot behind him for support, and prepared to meet the charge.

*************************************************************

The door to the roof was, quite predictably, locked. This presented no challenge to somebody with a decent blaster, of course, and the lock was soon a smoking ruin of melted metal. Tack kicked the door open and swept out onto the roof, blaster searching back and forth for targets. None presented themselves. "Ok, this is where things get tricky." Tack said.

He crossed to the edge of the roof, examining the area. The next rooftop over was too far to jump, and the fire escape didn't reach as far up as the roof. It could be jumped to, certainly, through it was a small target and so rickety that Tack didn't particularly want to trust it. That left only one option.

Grabbing the grappling hook and rope from his utility belt, Tack anchored it to a sturdy looking air conditioning unit. "Ooookay," Tack muttered. "This oughta be fun. Ever been rapelling?" He asked Jola. She looked at him aghast, as if he'd just told her that Emperor Palpatine had personally invited her to a tea party with Vader. "Right..." He said after a moment. "Definately gonna be fun."

"You're frelling crazy," Jola declared. Tack wished she could have seen the look he gave her from under his helmet. Moments later, with Jola clinging to his back, the former Imperial was fast roping down the side of the hotel. It took only moments for them to make the descent, at which point Tack swept the alley for any threats. As on the rooftop, none presented themselves.

"Allright," Tack said, abandoning the rope he'd used to make the descent in favor of a quick getaway, "Let's get out of-" He was interrupted by a crashing noise from above. Looking up, he saw what looked for all the world like a flying Bothan.

*************************************************************

Kral and the commando he was grappling with passed through the previously borken window, knives flashing furiously. Close quarters knife fights were something you generally didn't do - especially when your oppnent was wearing ceramic armor which neutrilized knife strikes. Even so, Kral pressed in on his adversary with all his might. He'd already scored several hits - one where the armor plates joined at the elbow and one where the helmet joined the chestplate. Thus aware that Kral did in fact know what the hell he was doing, the commando was giving ground.

His foot caught on the edge of the broken window, and he pitched backwards onto the fire escape. His arms flaied about, trying in vain to restore his balance. Kral fell on him, eager to take advantage of his adversary's momentary lack of active defense. But the commando's back hit the edge of the fire escape, clanging heavily onto an old and rusted guard rail. Then Kral's weight added to that of the commando, and the guardrail broke free of the fire escape with a metallic crashing noise.

The commando pitched backwards off of the platform, summersaulting through the air. This would have made Kral very happy save for one small detail... the commando grabbed a fistfull of the Bothan's shirt before pitching backwards. The two combatants fell through the air, bound for a very painfull landing.

Tack watched in amazement as the two of them slammed into the floor of the alley with a sickening crunch. The commando landed first, Kral falling on top of him. Both bounced several inches. Kral sailed several inches further into the air before gravity took hold once more and forced him back onto the uncompromising ground.

Amazingly, Kral - who had landed face down on the ground - groaned and rolled over onto his back, knife still clutched in one hand. Blood ran from his nose, his mouth, and a number of different wounds about his person. His unfocussed violet eyes fixated on Jola, then seemed to snap back into focus. His gaze shifted to Tack. He raised his knife menacingly and lurched up onto one knee. "Let her go," he growled at Tack, a spasm racking his chest. "And I won't have to kill you."

"You have got to be kidding me," Tack said incredulously. Reflexively, he brought his blaster up to bear on the Bothan. For a moment, though, he wasn't sure if he would be shooting the guy because he was a threat, or because he needed to be put out of his misery...