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Republic Commando: Season 2: Together we stand|PG-16|Started|


Revan

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Blockade: C'mon.

 

They walked out into the hallway. It seemed darker than before, though it may just have been Block's imagination. He probably also imagined the droid ramming itself into a wall, but it was really there.

 

Blockade: What the hell is that thing's problem?? Haywire??

 

He walked up to it and slammed his hand on its lid. The droid stopped moving, BLock spun it in the other direction, and it started to roll down into the next corridor. At least, it did, until it stopped again.

 

Blockade: What the hell now?!

 

He walked up, jolted back, and fell on his ass. He tore off his helmet, sweat rolled down his cheeks, and fear coated his face. He panted and was about to scream, but nothing came out.

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"Damn it! Your not my Master, and you will never be, okay!! JUST LEAVE ME ALONE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Rokujo demanded as his temper got the better of him, disturbing the force so greatly that even most Sith and Jedi, including Wolfhound, would at least be worried...

Rokujo then used his lightsaber to cut through the exited he planned to go though, and exited the room, and created a door that blocked the exit that he destroyed...

Rokujo then walked over to Zero ship, and said, "Well, we going now?!"

 

Ooc: Ready...

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OoC: STAR WARS! 8D

 

Serial Code(ex. RC(Republic Commando)-1305)(If clone): Alpha-1779

Nickname(or if jedi, Name): John

Class(if clone): ARC Trooper (they're the fly-ey guys, right?)

Weapon: Blaster Pistol, Concussion Stick

Bio: Originally wanting to be a Jedi, John joined the Clones at the age of 19. He's one of the people who aren't actually one of the "Clone", per say, but more of a volunteer. He has three clones of himself in the army, working on his ship. He obtained his ship from his father, Timothy, called the Zero-Shot, a slight edit of the X-Wing that has a pilot and four other control areas for him and his team (excluding the un-used gun at the bottom, a remote missle launcher.). He doesn't remember much about his childhood as it was erased from his memory, but he can't remember why (obviously). He doesn't seek to learn what he wanted to forget, but it bothers him sometimes.

Appearance(Optional): N/A

 

Hope I'm accepted. ^^

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Blockade: Oh-oh my god...HUN?!?!

 

Hun was lying on the ground, a huge, burning gash in her right hip; the mark of a lightsaber wound. Blockade wiped his face and crawled over, feeling her pulse. It was faint; her life was hangiong on by the smallest thread.

 

Blockade: Zero, Goddammit!! Don't just stand there; get some clones to take her to the sick bay!! Now!!

 

A radio call later, six clone troopers (unarmored) were at Hun's side, getting her onto a stretcher, and weeling it to an elevator. Blockade sat head-in hands-in-kness, cursing himself.

 

BlockadE: How...why...?? How in God's name...dammit...i could've...i...*turning to Zero* How the hell did a lightsaber get on this piece of sh*t?! This is a clone ship, Zero, and no Jedi should take the life of a clone anyway!! What the hell is going on here?!

 

He pulled a pistol tied to his thigh, and aimed it at the forehead of Zero.

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Alpha-1779 stood on the deck, holding a strong salute his six officers newly under his command as they pulled the wounded Clone, on a stretcher, towards the medical bay of the ships deck. He sighed. Not only were we losing the war, but now we have men attacking each other as well? What next, our men just typically jumping straight off the ships?

 

He sighed, then stared at the group of troops discussing the accident. They were odd-looking, one of them seemed to be a Sith of some sort, and another a Jedi. He brushed the small specks of dust that had colonised his helmet and body suit, and began to step forward on the iron decking towards them.

 

Once he reached them, he could study them better, but he didn't really care about that. He wanted to do the best for this army they have, and try and beat that Empire. That was all that mattered.

 

"When the f*cking hell do we go?!" One of the group murmered, brushing past one that they others look toward in a leader-sort of fashion. One of them was panicking beside the leader, obviously distraught about something. 1779 figured it was the Clone on the stretcher. 1779 pulled up his hand in a formal fashion, letting it strike the tip of his helmet.

 

"Alpha 1779, John, sir, reporting for duty!"

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