Death troopers .pdf download

Please follow the article standards laid out in the Layout Guide and the Manual of Style and complete this article to the highest level of quality before continuing on other articles. Remove this message when finished. Aboard the Imperial prison barge Purge , Trig Longo and his older brother Kale Longo had just watched their father die at the hands of Jareth Sartoris.

Their father sold weapons to inmates. After their father's death, the Longo boys attempt to make a sale with Delphanian Face Gang leader Aur Myss , who had killed their previous contact and was planning to kill the Longo boys.

Predicting this, Kale tried to strike a deal with the Delphanian by giving him the weapons free of charge. Myss would not have this as he had promised his goons that they could kill the boys. Kale reacts by ripping the piercings out of Myss' face, and the Longo boys run back into their cell for safety from the prison gang. Jareth Sartoris, captain of the guard on the barge, is called into the warden's office.

Sartoris questions why the Empire would leave a Star Destroyer in the middle of space, but Kloth nonetheless orders Sartoris to retrieve spare parts from the Star Destroyer to fix the barge's engines.

Sartoris recommends that he cancels his duty on the Purge and then leaves to board the Star Destroyer. She is an outcast among the Imperial Personnel due to her daily interactions with inmates. She has attachments to some inmates and would rather be around them than the Empire.

She also had a connection to the Longo boys since she carried out their father's last request to bring them to him. Sartoris takes ten men aboard the Vector. They split up so Sartoris and his men can find the parts while the other group finds the medical bay.

In the medical bay, the men find lungs in tubes, breathing in unison, and the men realize they are not alone and are unable to escape. All of the guards are now coughing and vomiting, and then inmates and other guards begin coughing and vomiting. Soon the entire medical bay is full. Sartoris, however, is unaffected by the new virus. In the medical bay, Zahara works to deal with the illnesses.

Waste concludes that the virus only activates after there are enough infected cells that the body cannot defend against. Zahara realizes that their containment measures are useless and rips her isolation suit off. Knowing that everyone is going to die, she tries to make everyone comfortable before they succumb to their fate. Waste notes that Zahara has yet to be sick and that she must be immune. Using her blood, they attempt to create an anti-virus to stop the sickness.

But at this point, it is almost too late. The Longo boys are stuck in their cell watching everyone die around them. As the noises subside, they begin screaming to be let out. The cell doors open, and they walk out, forgetting Myss is in the next cell. Myss attacks Kale and is about to kill him when Trig jumps on his back and tries choking him. Myss flips Trig off of him and is about to kill Trig when a blade comes through Myss' mouth. Kale states that he was attacked with it and they both get up and run out of the cell block.

When they reach the end, they realize that their friend, Wembley, let them out but died shortly after. They start running for the escape pods. In the next cell block, they see a young Wookiee in a cell with his dead family around him. Trig insists they help the young one and unlocks the doors. They try to get the youngster to go with them but the little one stays with his family and holds them.

I actually painted half of the squad live at the recent Star Wars Celebration, and the remaining figures whilst preparing this guide. My aim was to get them painted pretty quickly less than an hour per figure but still achieve a striking look.

Things are therefor a little sketchy, but I think they still look pretty eye catching on the table! I must say I really love the poses on these figures; I feel that the sculptors nicely captured the look of a tactical squad in action! But Vesek had been less than forthcoming. Eventually Sartoris had lost patience with the guard-he could be forgiven for that, couldn't he?

Wouldn't it make sense that eventually he'd need to apply a bit more pressure, to help Vesek focus on what he was asking? He hadn't meant to pinch Vesek's nose shut for as long as he had.

If Vesek had cooperated, simply snapped out of it for a moment and given him the codes, none of that would have been necessary. All Sartoris had needed was information, the same way he'd wanted information from that old inmate Longo, but the old man hadn't been very forthcoming, either, and this was a prison barge, after all, wasn't it? Accidents happened. But Vesek wasn't an inmate, a voice inside Sartoris's head whispered.

Vesek was one of your own men, and you - "He was on his way out anyway," Sartoris muttered, and turned his attention back to the task at hand.

Warden Kloth was in there, and he needed to talk to him more urgently than ever. Sartoris was going to convince Kloth that they needed to get off the barge now if there was any chance of staying alive. There was plenty of room in the escape pod for both of them-or just himself, if Kloth didn't see things his way.

Still nothing from the other side of the door. It was probably blast-proof, and shooting his way in would only start a volley of ricocheting bolts that might end up killing him. But he needed to get the access codes, sooner rather than later, ifThen the door slid open, all by itself. At this point, Sartoris hadn't been expecting it, and he actually hesitated for a moment, peering inside the chamber. Kloth's office appeared empty-the holomural desert scene, an abandoned console, the view outside unobstructed.

Sartoris stepped inside, and the smell hit him hard. It was the same ammoniac odor that had accumulated in the corridors outside, only a more concentrated version, and he cupped his hand over his nose and mouth, laboring to suppress his gag reflex. Warden Kloth was lying on the floor below his console, curled on his side in the fetal position, in a pool of something grayish red. When he saw Sartoris standing over him, he lifted himself up on both elbows and took a raspy, shaking breath.

Webs of sticky fluid dribbled from his nose and chin. The sickness had stripped away any remaining affectation of toughness and cruelty, leaving only the trembling, skinned thing that Sartoris had known was inside him all along.

Would you agree? I'll make. Corrections won't question my decision-they can access all the data from the infirmary afterward-they'll see I had no choice Even in extremis, the man was still thinking about how to cover himself in front of his superiors. Kloth coughed and nodded, and coughed harder, the force of it making veins bulge like twisted blue worms in his temples. His eyes narrowed, then widened. Sartoris was pointing both of the E11s at Kloth's face, close enough that he knew Kloth would be able to smell the tinge of ozone that still clung to their barrels, and see that Sartoris had switched them back to kill.

You'll need both hands to help me to the pod. But I deal with liars and con artists every day, so under the circumstances I wouldn't recommend it. I couldn't alter them if I tried. It's specifically skewed to indicate any underlying psychopathological attitudes in the applicant. The effect at close range was nothing short of spectacular. Warden Kloth's entire cranial vault sheared away in a dense cloud of scarlet, gristle, and bone.

His neck and shoulders flopped sideways, torqued on some invisible axis with the leftover momentum of the energy blast, and then landed with a wet splat, skidding backward in the spattered reservoir of blood.

That was when he saw the young guard in the isolation suit standing out in the corridor, staring at him slack-jawed, his fever-blotched face gone abruptly pale so the blisters stood out like stars. When the guard realized that Sartoris was looking at him, he jerked both hands up and backed into the hallway behind him, his chin going up and down trying to yammer out words. You j-just shot Warden Kloth. Sartoris wished him well.

He went the other direction, and started making his way to the escape pod. Chapter 16 In the Cage Although there was no longer anyone alive to monitor it, the surveillance system of Imperial Prison Barge Purge did an excellent job relaying the conversation between Trig and Kale Longo in their cell in Detention Level Five. The screens, now playing to a retinue of Imperial guard corpses in the barge's main surveillance suite, showed the brothers' faces peering from between the bars.

And although the audio systems were perfectly calibrated to capture the slightest conspiratorial whisper, there was very little sound coming through the speakers. In fact, all throughout the detention level, it was quiet. The last of the screaming and coughing noises had already stopped, leaving only a vacant, sucked-out silence that went on and on.

Then, softly, the audio sensors picked up Trig's voice: "They're all dead. Aren't they? We're going to die in here, too. You understand? Not long ago, he had watched the Rodians die in the cell across from them.

Now the bodies had started to smell. Of course there was no way the surveillance system could capture that, just as there was no way for anyone who was actually in the area to avoid it. Trig told himself the decay process shouldn't be happening so quickly, but the smell was there just the same. Maybe it was how the sickness interacted with the individual alien chemistry.

It was everywhere, creeping up and down the corridors, trickling through the bars. He imagined rows of cells filled with corpses, dead inmates slumped on their bunks and sprawled on the floor, limp arms hanging through the bars, hundreds of them, gray and seeping, up and down the corridors of the different sublevels.

The barge had turned into an immense floating crypt. So why weren't he and Kale dead Trig wondered if they were destined to survive through some rare quirk of genetic immunity, only to die of starvation or dehydration like neglected animals, here in the cage. He thought of something his father had always said: The universe has a sense of humor, just not a nice one. Kale went to the bars, cupped both hands around his mouth. We're alive in here! Kale turned and glanced back at his brother.

Trig watched him. Whether or not Trig actually heard a noise from the cell next to theirs, he couldn't be sure-his imagination, always active, was now working overtime to pluck something of substance from the void. Then he gestured Trig forward. They went out together, Trig just half a pace behind Kale, and then he remembered"Wait! The figure in the next cell burst out at him, scrambling forward with a snarling howl of rage. Trig saw Aur Myss fall on top of his older brother and drive him into the opposite wall, limbs flailing, hands slashing, already going for Kale's eyes.

Kale collapsed, caught completely off-guard, and for an instant Myss's body covered his entirely, his entire torso struggling spastically for air. The Delphanian seemed to be laboring equally hard to rip Kale's face apart and draw in another breath.

He's sick. Now's your chance. Maybe your only one. Hardly thinking, he swung down and grabbed Myss's throat from the back, laced his fingers over the doughy wads of flesh surrounding his neck, and squeezed. Please, please, let me do this. But the attack brought a surge of strength through the Delphanian's body. Twisting around, Myss slashed free, the ragged up-and-down fissure of his mouth constricting into a grin.

Trig could feel blackness swarming in, eclipsing all reason. He wanted to scream but he couldn't open his mouth. Suddenly the hands fell slack.

Trig's vision cleared, and he saw Myss still staring at him. But shock had taken the place of rage. Through the thing's open mouth, a glint of steel shone like a sharp metallic tongue. Then Myss toppled forward, and Trig saw the handle of the blade that his brother had shoved through the back of the Delphanian's skull.

Trig found he couldn't speak. Kale said nothing. As much as Trig wanted to talk about what his brother had done-to thank him, to say something about it, to at least acknowledge the fact that it had happened-he didn't know where to start. So he, too, remained silent. Up at the end of the corridor, Trig saw another figure hunched in the control booth, this one wearing an orange isolation suit. The guard was hunched forward next to the release switch for the cells, the control he'd engaged to open up the wing.

Kale reached into the booth and touched his shoulder. His sagging lips hung open, encrusted with dried blood and mucus, and his upturned eyes were vacant.

Staring at him, Trig thought he saw a tremor, one last spasm passing through the shoulders and gut, but that, too, was probably just his imagination. Probably the last thing he did. They looked around to see Wembly's BLX unit standing in the corner of the booth.

The droid stood awkwardly with its arms at its sides, looking utterly lost without its master. I belong here. When we're rescued. The warden, or the guards?

So unless you've got a better idea, you can help me find a way up there. Made himself say, "Okay. Most of the bodies they ran across were like the inmates on his level, corpses in bunks, corpses on floors, corpses curled up in corners, arms already stiffening around their folded knees as if somehow balling themselves up could stave off the eventuality of death.

There were suicides-one inmate had hung himself from the bars, another had wrapped a bag around his head. Kale collected blasters from two of the bodies, but Trig could tell just by the way he carried them that he wasn't entirely comfortable with the weapons, although he tried to act casual about it. They saw other things as well. Outside one cell, a dead guard lay with his back against the bars. Trig saw that he'd been tied by the wrists and around the neck by the two dead inmates inside the cell.

The inmates had since died of the disease, but that hadn't been what killed the guard. The cons had somehow lured him close enough to bind him there and then tortured him to death, stabbing, slashing, and mutilating him with the crude, sharpened instruments that were still clutched in their dead hands. They saw an inmate, an alien species that Trig didn't recognize, comprising two conjoined bodies, one twice the size of the other. The smaller body had already died and fallen limp, while the larger one cradled it weakly like its own child, weeping and trying to breathe.

It didn't even look up at them as they walked by. They saw a maintenance droid carrying on a cheerful, one-sided conversation with a dead stormtrooper. They saw two Imperial guards slumped dead over a dejarik holo-chess table while the figures on the table lumbered aimlessly around the board awaiting instruction.

There was a pair of dead guards inside, both of them armed, slouched in opposite corners, their torsos torn apart and scorched by blaster bolts, as if, in the final throes of delirium, they'd turned against each other. Kale hoisted them by their biohazard suits and dragged them out of the lift, and Trig was glad his brother didn't ask him to help. Looking at the bodies was one thing but touching them, lifting them up. What if one of their cold dead hands was to reach up and grab hold of him?

Would he even be able to scream? There was a clicking sound behind them, and Trig glanced back over his shoulder. He thought about Myss in the cell next to theirs, the cell that had been empty when he'd looked. Myss must have run out immediately after Wembly had sprung open the doors for them.

Did that mean Myss was immune, too? Trig wondered if he was following them. Just because he didn't see anything didn't mean it wasn't there. On the uppermost level of detention they heard a faint mewling sound like something crying. It was plaintive and child-like, with a despondency all the more resonant to Trig because he recognized it in his own heart. He stopped and looked in the direction of the noise.

Kale kept the blasters half raised at his sides. The mewling noise grew louder until Trig stopped and stared into the final cell in the line. A young Wookiee was crouched inside the cell. He was much smaller than Trig, probably not much more than a toddler. He was crouched down over the bodies of what had to be his family, two adults and an older sibling, clutching their hands to his face and holding their arms around himself as if to simulate a hug.

Trig saw what his brother was pointing at. The sickness had affected the dead Wookiees differently. Their tongues had swollen until they dangled like grotesque, overripe fruit from their mouths, and their throats had ruptured completely, splitting open to expose deep red musculature within. When the young one looked up and saw Trig and Kale standing outside the cell, his blue eyes shone with fear and dread. The bars rattled open, and he went back to where his brother still stood, looking in at the young Wookiee.

It wasn't even making the crying sound anymore, but somehow its silence was worse. That was a lesson Trig was already learning-the silence was always worse. Trig waited to see if anything was going to happen.

In the end, though, the youngster just bent forward and picked up the slack arms of its parents and pressed them to either side of its small frame. It wouldn't look up at Kale and Trig again, not even when they turned and finally walked away.

They were at the far end of the corridor when they heard it start to scream. Trig froze, the fine hairs prickling all down his back. Just the sound made him feel as if his entire body had been coated with a layer of slick, half-melted ice. His breath lodged inside his lungs, caught just below his throat. The screams stopped, but the grunting eating sounds continued, greedy and breathless, slurping and crunching.

His mind flashed to Aur Myss in the cell next to theirs, the whispering and giggling and the sensation that it had been following them. But that's impossible. Myss is dead. You saw it yourself. In the end it happened very quickly. About half of them had been human, the others different alien species, but it didn't make a difference. In the last moments some of the nonhumans had reverted to their native languages, some had clutched her hand and talked to her passionately-if brokenly, through uncontrollable coughing-as if she were some family member or loved one, and she'd listened and nodded even if she didn't understand a word of it.

At Rhinnal they taught her death was something you got used to. Zahara had met plenty of physicians who claimed to have adjusted to it and they always seemed eerie to her somehow, more detached and mechanical than the droids that served alongside them. She tended to avoid such doctors and their cold, clinical eyes. Waste brought the news of the final deaths with a neutral tone that she'd never heard before, a lack of affect so peculiar that she wondered if it had been programmed for the worst eventualities.

Perhaps it was what passed for sympathy in the droid world. Then, in an almost apologetic voice, the B added: "I've finished the analysis of your own blood as well. What I meant was that I believe I've had some success in analyzing the immunity gene within your own chemical makeup and synthesizing it. She should have felt some kind of relief.

And later, perhaps, she might. But her first reaction to the news- if there are any survivors aboard the barge-was a profound sense of personal failure, manifesting itself as a sandbagged heaviness in the legs and belly.

The health of the barge and its inmates and staff had been her responsibility. What had happened here over the last few hours was unthinkable, a collapse of such glaring magnitude that she couldn't look at it except through the filter of her own personal culpability. Sartoris might have been taunting her, but he was right. She would never live this down. There's no time for self-pity, a voice inside her head said. You need to find out who's left, sooner rather than later.

As usual the voice was right. To her mild surprise, it collapsed, or rather burst like a bubble. I need to run a bioscan on the barge and locate any survivors. She stepped over and around the bodies, breathing through her mouth when the odor became too much.

Almost immediately she wished she'd allowed Waste to come with her. The droid's prattling would've made everything else easier to take. She arrived at the pilot station and slipped through the doors, braced for what she found there. The Purge's flight crew had not abandoned their posts, even in death.

The corpses of the pilot and copilot, a couple of rough-hewn Imperial lifers she'd never really gotten to know, slouched backward in their seats, mouths gaping, algae-gray flesh already beginning to sag from their bones. As Zahara approached them, the barge's instrumentation suite recognized her immediately, panels blinking, and a computerized voice cut in from some hidden speaker. Word was that on the longer flights, various guards had been caught up here after hours, chatting her up.

Awaiting orders. Running bioscan. Imperial Prison Barge Purge, previous inmate and administrative census five hundred twenty-two according to the Scan parameters are continuously recalibrated to incorporate the physiological traits of every member of the inmate population. In fact, current calibration standards reflect accurate life-form census with a point- zero-zero-one percent margin of It looked much cleaner in miniature, etched out with fine, straight lines, a drafter's dream of perfect geometry.

The pilot station occupied the uppermost level. On one end of it, rising like a periscope, stood the retractable docking shaft that still connected them to the Destroyer.

On the other end of the pilot station, a wide descending gangway lead downward to the conjoining administration level, flanked on port and starboard sides by the barge's escape pods. Any farther down, Zahara knew, and you'd find yourself amid a series of beveled hatches giving way to numberless sublevels, including the bottommost holding cells. In all she counted the six tiny blips of red light distributed throughout it.

She hadn't even thought about that until now. Reserved for the worst and most dangerous inmates on the barge, a haven for maniacs and extreme flight risks, it was the one place where the sickness might not have had an opportunity to spread.

The question was whether she should risk going down there alone. Of course there were plenty of weapons lying around, but she didn't relish the idea of letting two of Warden Kloth's worst inmates free only to blast them into oblivion when they attacked her. And the Emperor knows that only abject fear—and the ability to punish dissent with devastating consequences—can ensure his unchallenged control of the galaxy. From inception to completion, construction of the unprecedented Death Star is awash in the intrigues, hidden agendas, unexpected revelations, and daring gambits of those involved on every level.

The brightest minds and boldest egos, the most ambitious and corrupt, the desperate and the devious, all have a stake in the Death Star—and its potential to control the fate of the galaxy. Soldiers and slaves, loyalists and Rebels, spies and avengers, the innocent and the evil—all their paths and fates will cross and intertwine as the Death Star moves from its maiden voyage to its final showdown. And a shadowy chapter of Star Wars history is stunningly illuminated in a thrilling, unforgettable adventure.

Star Wars may have started out as a film about a Manichean battle between good and evil, but as countless filmmakers, novelists, animators, fan artists and even cosplayers have taken the opportunity to play in the fictional world George Lucas created, it has expanded into something far greater, resulting in a richly layered and diverse Star Wars multiverse.

He examines what they have to say about political oppression, authoritarianism, colonialism, discrimination, xenophobia, and perpetual war. Yet he also investigates subtler ways in which the personal is political within the multiverse, including its articulations of gender and sexuality, its cultural hierarchies of language use, and its complex relationships between humans, droids and myriad species.

This book demonstrates that the Star Wars multiverse is not just a stage for thrilling interstellar battles, but also an exciting space for interpretation and discovery. Featuring more than 1, stunning photographs of LEGO Star Wars sets and minifigures, fans can compare all versions of their favourite characters, creatures, vehicles and locations.

The definitive e-guide to more than heroes, villains, aliens, and droids of the Star Wars galaxy. The latest edition of this beloved title has been comprehensively updated to include new characters from Star Wars: The Rise of Skywalker and both seasons of Star Wars: The Mandalorian. Want to learn more about the Knights of Ren? Wonder how tall Grogu is? Written by Star Wars experts, the ebook is full of fun facts and intriguing information that's guaranteed to enthrall fans of all ages.

With plenty of lesser-known details, even die-hard fans will learn new facts about iconic characters. Follow along as a group of unlikely heroes band together on a mission to steal the plans to the Death Star, the Empire's ultimate weapon of destruction. This key event in the Star Wars timeline brings together ordinary people who choose to do extraordinary things, and in doing so, become part of something greater than themselves. Some of the techniques listed in Star Wars: Death Troopers may require a sound knowledge of Hypnosis, users are advised to either leave those sections or must have a basic understanding of the subject before practicing them.

DMCA and Copyright : The book is not hosted on our servers, to remove the file please contact the source url. If you see a Google Drive link instead of source url, means that the file witch you will get after approval is just a summary of original book or the file has been already removed.