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Morad was slowly cushioned with the force as he flew into some kind of grocery kart. Covered in something very wet, he waited as the sound of plasma fire and ingniting sabers filled the air. After a while the storm of fire stopped, and he felt the jedi jump over across, and away.

The sound of footsteps, the troopers were moving hopefully away. Even so, Morad thought it best to stay put until he was certain they were gone.

Alright, I've gotta try that last lesson. Focus, concentrate, trust in the force. Let the force by my eyes.

Slowly an image of outside the mass of muck assumed itself in Morad's eyes. Although it was quite blurry, it was indeed enough to see the large mass of troops exiting the scene. It seemed something else had caught their attention.

Not wanting to wait, Morad quickly jumped out of the large pile of whatever he was laying in. Finding a quick hiding spot around the corner, he looked around for the others. He couldn't see that one jedi anywhere, guess he ran off.

Maybe if I look for the force, I can find Lortan.

So he did, and he found the presence of the force. But, there was no telling who it was, and when he opened his eyes, he couldn't find the person anywhere. Maybe if he tried calling out with it instead of just looking with the force.

"Lortan? Hey, is anyone there?"

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You read it, you can't unread it.

((Yes, that was better, thank you. Now s'cuse the mess while I try to squeaze Kal back in here... Gaz, if you're still in this, Cyphor is more'n welcome.))

Things had gotten out of control. Kal had been handling it fine, at first, but then the Jedi had lept whole buildings, and troopers had flooded the area with Katarn armor.

The commando fought to reach on foot the new battlegrounds; fortunately the majority of his former brothers were too concerned with attacking the Jedi. There had been dust and blasters in the air, explosions and collapses, chaos of which Kal was only half-aware.

For him, it'd ended with the fall of a building as the Sith made his escape. Kal had felt, more then heared, the crack of the structure. There was no superspeed, no inhuman leap, no force shield. The clone could only tuck into a crouch and shield his head with his raised arm.

Darkness and pain greet him a few moments later. His Deece was digging painfully into his side, nearly strangling him with its sling around his neck. Plaster dust seared his lungs, and a warm wetness seeped out of stinging wounds. For a moment, he's confused. Where was this? Dantooine? Had the tunnels collapsed? The Killing Room? Was his instructor about to dig him out, cursing his carelessness?

'Two-nine, get moving before the pile shifts. You need to move, Kal.' Feirfek. Chief only sounded concerned when they were really slagged. He grunts a response to a voice that isnt there and twists. Something in his shoulder pops, bringing new pain, as he reaches up to begin the long process of digging himself out.

'Sithspit. Where's a hand when you need it?'

'Yeah, belay that, Twitch. The only hand we're likely to see'll be in Trooper armor.'

"Shut up, Boomer. I hear them moving." And so he could. They were noisy; in persuit of something. Still worked up. That was good; the Jedi, at least one of them, had to be still alive. Then he still had a mission.

His hand breaks through into cold, open air, and slowly the Commando crawls from the rubble. His eyes stung with debris and sweat, but fortunately the growing darkness and his black clothes kept him sheilded. They werent looking for him, not here. He staggers off of the pile and into an alleyway, away from the shattered district.

He wouldnt have a 'presence' in the Force; he had no talent for it. The only lead he has is the memory of the Bothan's words. He recalls the adress and instructions flawlessly; Clones dont forget.

Belial limped a few streets down and leaned against a wall. He sighed as he stared back down the street. He glared for a moment focusing the force and healing his wounds slightly, the woman hiding next too him groaned as her energy was absorbed to heal him. Lines and wrinkles etched slightly in her face as she weakened. He smild as he strode back off towards the landing pad.

I can't fight them all in one place, I need to get them in smaller groups,

With that he flew off in his ship, the whole time he's talking into his communicator, he didn't want any ships leaving the area without him knowing who was in it and where.

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I'm losing my mind, and you just stand there and stare as my world collides.

As Razre cruised, he heard a low hum. he casually looked to his left and was dismayed to see a Clone Trooper dropship. the clones aimed their blasters from the interior as the side shields were raised, but Razre had alrealy thrown one of his lightsabers. it sliced the heck out of both engines and the dropship went down hard, impacting the side of a skyscraper. Razre decided now was the time to get out of the air, and parked the speeder he had hijacked at the nearby spaceport. there were no outgoing flights, so he blended in with the crowd.

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Quote: Im a GAMER. I have a PLETHORA of lives!

WHAT DO YOU MEAN,"THERE WERENT ANY MINIGUNS IN THE DARK AGES?!"

After a couple of minutes, Morad was fed up trying to call out with the force. Besides that, he accepted that nobody was going to answer. So with one large step he tried to reinvigorate his journey, and wouldn't you know it, he bumped (or rather crashed) his face right in the renigade commando's chest. Morad let out a muffled "Ow!" and proceeded to rub his nose.

"What took you so long?" he tried to whisper, not knowing if the other clones had gone yet.

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You read it, you can't unread it.

Still wired, Kal is only aware of movement and an impact.

His hand rises as Morad bounces back, uppercut-style, stopping just beneath the soft flesh of the chin. Only a twitch would send the concealed vibroblade into the possible threat's neck.

"What took you so long?"

He snaps his hand down again. The Jedi.

'Fierfek, is he going to do that -every- time we meet? I'm having a heart attack over here!'

'We can only hope.'

Kal frowns silently, ignoring the familiar quarreling of his brothers. He really didnt have an answer for the Jedi, so he didnt give one. How long had he been out of the fight? It was a blur of noise and movement.

"We need to move." He insists instead, moving around the Jedi to do just that; leading them off into the twisted backalleys of Corellia. He does so with a distinct sway, and his left boot was leaving a bloody print in its wake, but he moves.

"And for void's sake keep the kriffing saber in your shirt, this time."

Morad accepted his reply and began following the clone with wholeheartedness that he might lead them to safety. As they left the old allyway in which dust was still settling, the clone gave Morad a rude remark on his stealth skills with the saber. Of course being the age he was, Morad automatically resented the clone for his critisizm, but thought it best to survive and seek some refuge.

"By the way," he said as they strode farther through the backalleys, beginning to notice a small red footprint, "I don't beleive we've been properly introduced, Morad Aaray."

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You read it, you can't unread it.

Belial blazed into the mother battle cruiser in orbit away from the planet. He strode down the halls, his obvious fury bombarding off the walls and scattering various officers and troopers. With a fury he blazed into the bridge, the commander turned in suprise at him, "Belial, sir, what is the meaning of this?" he asked.

Belila gazed right at him, his fury blazing in his eyes, "You heard my broadcasts I assume? Good, make sure no one leaves that planet without being searched by dependable people, and second of all...well that's of no matter, I will take a private quarter and I will require a slave in that quarter in no more than half of an hour!" he blazed out of the room leaving the commander sputtering and confused.

Within the time set a servant came in and succumbed to every need and whim of Belial. Within no time he was relaxed and deep in thought. His wounds almost healed he called the slave in one more time. The slave stuttered his response and stared at the Sith, with quick movement Belial had the poor man by his throat and lifted him up, within no time the man's face creased and wrinkled, grey shot through his hair as his bone became brittle. The man's eyes rolled back as his body became as gaunt as his face, and then stopped moving as life drained from him.

Belial dropped the man and proceeded out to the hall, his wounds healed and his power back to normal. He strode back to the bridge and gazed at the commander, "Commander...I need you to trace a few people, two Jedi's as a matter of fact, find them, I'm sure you have the recordings of our battles, find them, and keep track of them, I'll expect a report in an hour..." With that he was gone, the slave's body gone from his quarter and he began to meditate.

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I'm losing my mind, and you just stand there and stare as my world collides.

"RCC-1129. Talon Squad." Kal's response was immediate, reflex. Like blinking. Morad would probably accept that and move on, he didnt look like the type to 'know' clones, know that some of them were more human then the credit given them.

Names were sacred, secret things to Commandos, almost treated like contraband. He bristled every time he was forced to give it to maintain his guise as a civilian. The commando supposed he would, eventualy, have to give his name to this one, too, lest he be called by a number in public.

"....Kal." The word comes begrudgingly, but it comes. The clone stops at the end of the alley, waits for a rush of people being evacuated from the area, and joins the flood of humanity with the Jedi in tow. He's dropped his DC-17 to his side again to avoid immediate recognition of the weapon. Dark liquid occasionaly gathers at the tip of the barrel before dropping to the filthy street, lost as Kal drives them swiftly foreward within the crowd and out of the area as Troopers file in from all directions.

Morad was suprised to hear that the clone gave a bombardment of letters and numbers, and then waited for his 'name' name. After a few moments it was given, Kal, and Morad seemed to relax a little bit. He wasn't exactly sure why, but the thought of being able to call him by his name comforted him like a master's encouragement.

As the two of them strode into the mass of civilians, escaping the scene they had caused back there, Morad's mind tried to find some conversation. Sadly, they were surrounded by the clones shepparding the innocent bistanders, there was no way of making any relavent communication.

After a while of quick walking, Morad noticed a tall, lanky, hooded man standing just inside the shadow of an ally. Luckily, he was a ways away, so he had time to watch what the man did. Another man, this one well built, walked up to the man and gave him some money. After they both stepped farther into the ally, they reamerged, the 'customer' walking along while pushing a speeder bike out. Morad had earlier nudged Kal and nodded in the direction.

God I hope he saw that.

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You read it, you can't unread it.