Vizsla Red Team Four
Zoron posted up behind a dilapidated shell of a cleaner droid a dozen yards short of the darkened intersection, wincing slightly at the crunching sounds from his heavy armoured boots. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t be perfectly silent on the metal decking and he was worried that the noise would draw enemy attention sooner than later. He just hoped that he could make it to the network node beforehand.
He scanned ahead carefully as other members of his team took up similar positions of cover behind whatever debris they could find as well. He took a long breath and waited. He hated moving through intersections with a passion - there was always a risk of an ambush, especially in an enemy-controlled area. Because of that, he was taking it slowly as they reached each crossing.
One of his scouts carefully pushed a small rod forward into the intersection as a second scout watched a shrouded viewscreen intently. It was an old technique, but an effective one: a sensor was jury-rigged onto the end of a rod and the images were streamed onto a screen. Simple. Safe.
A quiet whisper came across the unit’s comms. “Mr Zoron, sir, there’s two thermals showing down the left corridor. Looks like a small patrol team. It’s pretty dark though, but I’ll patch your helmet to the feed.”
A small window appeared in the side of Zoron’s helmet visor. He saw a split-feed showing the thermal readings and a mostly-black video. The thermals stood out brightly, showing two humanoid shapes moving slowly up the corridor. The dark contrast of unmistakable weaponry could be seen obscuring parts of their bodies intermittently as they moved. No doubt about it, this was a patrol team.
“Alright, keep the sensor there. We need to get the jump on these two.” Zoron whispered back across the comms. “I want them dead before they can blink - no blasters, no noise.” He glanced over at the scouts at the corner and saw them both motion affirmatively before silently pulling blades.
Zoron shivered at the disconnection between the scouts’ movements and the utter lack of noise from them. The men and women in his team, as well as the rest of their company spread across the other Vizsla teams, were utterly professional killers. They had been hand-picked and poached from military special forces - allowed to put their special talents to use in completing contracts and earning significantly larger sums of money than they ever would have with their home governments.
As the patrol got nearer, he started to hear their conversation.
“… so, I told her, you should see my rancor!”
“What did she do?”
“She said I’d have better luck with a Gamorrean and threw her drink in my face.”
“Tough luck, man - I can’t imagine why that line didn’t work. Maybe you should set your bar lower - like someone with the IQ of a blurrg.”
“Hey! That’s -”
Zoron never got to hear the rest of the man’s protest as his words cut off abruptly. A brief blur in the shadows was all the man likely would have seen before the scout ended his life. The other one barely had a chance to flinch before he too was forever silenced.
Two other scouts quickly raced up and helped pull the corpses out of the corridor. They piled some loose debris on top of them and retook their positions.
“Corridor is clear now, Mr Zoron. Looks like another few hundred meters to the target.”
“Carry on - same plan and tactics. Move.”