Raise Hell In Heaven [alliance Mission], attn: Wes

Bespin was an interesting place. It reminded Molly of home. Not the planet of her birth, but the city ship that she had spent the most important years of her life; the place where she was born anew. It was the reverberating vibrations from gigantic engines and the movements of the superstructure that made one realize that they were not standing on solid ground. Sleeping had been difficult the first few weeks aboard the city ship and her first few weeks after her ascension. She missed the noises and the vibrations that she cursed violently the first few nights. A smile warming to her lips, she threw a glance to the man walking beside her.

"Still no frelling luck. You'd think this frelling place would be swarming with the frellers." The woman grumbled colourfully after their fifth bar with barely a handful of Confederates for company. They needed a crowd, loud and boisterous and certainly drunk, for their plan to work. Besides, Molly wanted a drink, she wanted a couple. She pulled at the tight collar of the starched Confederation uniform. The colour matched her style but the cut did not. She was used to more freedom and felt constricted in the creased trousers and polished black shoes.

Muffled sounds of irritation accompanied the popping of her top button. Molly seemed a little happier after that. Still, she wore the uniform well and it could do little to obscure her obvious curves. There was an unwavering confidence in each step she took, bolstered by training and weapons. A twenty inch serrated vibroblade ran the length of her spine and a commando pistol nestled next to her right breast in a shoulder rig beneath the black jacket.

Pulling hands along her hair, she played with the ponytail and adjusted the band securing it. Green eyes fell upon the next bar on their quest to getting drunk with their fellow Confederates. The neon in the window flashed CLOUD NINE.
"Sixths time a charm as they say," Molly smirked, throwing a glance to Loran. She hoped they'd get lucky. Dry bar hopping seemed very wrong, almost sacrilegious.

Passing through the automatic doors and into dimness beyond, Molly stood on her tiptoes and strained to see over crowd. She moved forward, shifting from side to side. The music was loud, but she picked out familiar sounds and soon found about a dozen or so familiarly uniformed sentients having a damn good time. Her arm threw back and struck Loran in the shoulder, she leaned in, pointing towards them.
"We have a winner."

Despite the Beryl authorities claim that their venture with the floating city was completely legal, there was no lack of criminal activities. Like any port that thrived off the import/export business, there was a fair amount of smuggling going on behind the scenes. None of it conducted by the Beryl authorities themselves, but for Wes it was fairly easy to understand that most of these ventures happened to be backed by Beraal, who was the main investor in Beryl. The Hutt more or less controlled Beryl from his luxurious palace on the Hutt homeworld of Nal Hutta, the Glorious Jewel if one was to translate the Huttese to basic. Very few other criminal activities could grow a hold if they intended to use Beryl as a main hub, Beraal’s influences ensured that. He was quite vicious with keeping anyone unsavoury off his assets, unless they happened to be unsavoury individuals hired by the Hutt himself.

Beraal’s wish to keep Beryl in his own hands would work in favour for the Alliance. Beraal had no loyalties; he merely went where the profits were. If Bespin saw in the future a change of government, Beraal would be the first to make a deal to ensure Beryl itself was not hijacked. Wes could work with that, in fact, a preliminary deal would be the best course of action. Nothing binding, because he knew the Hutt wouldn’t favour such a thing.

As it was, due to the unofficial neutral status of the floating city, it was fairly easy to insert Alliance agents on Bespin. However, getting into the Confederation controlled airspace made up for the apparent ease of traversing Beryl. Ever since the Mandalorian attack, the security had spiked for the Confederation, but Beryl remained somewhat untouched still. That was why inserting himself and another agent on the floating city had gone without a hitch. He’d scrounged up some Confederation uniforms along with the proper paperwork to accompany them as they traversed the dangerous Confederation den.

Their plan was simple enough. Pose as officers of the Confederation military and board a shuttle bringing officers on leave back to the local military base. Their papers were fresh and would hold up to investigation at least in the beginning. If they sparked suspicions, the protection the paperwork gave would not hold up to thorough scrutiny. It would get them in, which was enough for Wes.

“… swarming with the frellers."

“Beryl is Beraal’s city,” he murmured, paying no mind to her excessive cursing. “The fish like to believe they control it, but they don’t. It makes sense they’d keep to themselves. They haven’t got the upper hand.” He could of course understand her frustration. They’d gone by five bars with no luck at all and with no reason to stay there was no reason to buy drinks. While Wes was far from the compulsive drinker most Corellians seemed to be, he didn’t like passing the opportunity.

Listening to her sounds of discomfort, his eyes were averted briefly from their surroundings to land on the woman walking next to him. His eyes instinctively took in the subtle signs her body language was telling him, despite the fact that the discomfort directed at her manner of dress was quite apparent with or without the ability to gauge feelings and emotions from her body language. He was also uncomfortable in the uniform, not because of the clothing itself, but rather because of the symbol it represented. He felt a tingling in his skin as his mind reacted in disgust to the attire, but he knew there was no way of avoiding it.

“… charm as they say,"

Flashing her a grin, he heartily agreed with her sentiment of hope. If they turned up empty handed again, he was sorely tempted to put further investigation into the search and merely ask someone where the local fish tank was. With a last look around them, he followed her into the establishment, his eyes continuing to scrutinise the people and things around them as they entered the new atmosphere.

Unlike his associate, he had no need to stretch himself to see over the heads of the crowd, and so he easily spotted what they were looking for. A crowd of black clad officers of various species and genders, catching their last moments of fun before they had to catch the shuttle back to the drab life of a working officer. They were clearly having a fun time, both outwardly and inwardly. It would be a simple matter to insert themselves into the group.

"We have a winner."

As she nudged him, he threw her a smirk, communicating his satisfaction at their discovery. Throwing an arm over the woman’s shoulders, he communicated to those around them a scene of camaraderie. Then he sauntered forward, modifying his body language to match that of most of the human males in the group, simulating faint intoxication despite the fact that he hadn’t had a drop of alcohol all day. He led the two of them towards the crowd of officers, subtly inserting them among the fish.

Relinquishing his hold on Grimm, he settled heavily on a barstool and ordered a drink, mindful to order one more befitting of a Confederation officer, i.e. not Corellian. He merged easily in with the rest of his ‘peers’, a man catching a last drink before a long period of being sober.

((Do the fish react to the new arrivals? What sort of conversation do they hear?))

((The fish don't pay too much mind to the new arrivals, though Molly draws some male attention. One 'fed even attempts to hit on her with a cheesy pickup line, while a female fish tries to strike up a conversation with Wes. With the majority of the Confederation officers heavily inebriated, the conversations range from the inappropriate to the boring with nothing particularly interesting and much of it incomprehensible.))

"Beryl is Beraal’s city. The fish like to believe they control it, but they don’t. It makes sense they’d keep to themselves. They haven’t got the upper hand."

Molly listened to the Director, keeping in step beside him. It made sense and she shrugged a little, guessing it didn't really matter. However, she thought it wise to remember whose city they were marching through in Confederate uniforms. Walking in the wrong place at the wrong time could get one killed. Molly fancied that they could deal with pretty much anything the criminal city could throw at them. If anything, the unpleasant elements of Beryl would keep out of sight from the faux Confederates. No one wanted to bring the fish down on their business.

The company they were keeping wasn't lost on Molly. Although she denied it and strove to be a better person, these were her people and they always would be. The killers, the murderers, the thieves, she recognised pieces of herself in every one of them. Smiling absently, she pushed the thoughts to the recesses of her genehanced mind. Molly wasn't here for a reunion.

Loran threw an arm around her. Molly moved in with a smile, adjusting her footing so they were walking in unison. The crowd of the bar wasn't too dense and the pair moved easily through to the fish at the back. A hand casually popped another button on the black uniform. There wasn't any harm in showing a little cleavage. It'd probably help in giving the boys a little motivation to let them join without a fuss.

Removing the arm from her shoulders, he guided her into the table. Molly waited a few minutes, gauging the Confederates and eavesdropping on their conversations before she slid in and made her presence known. She laughed as one told a joke about how to vent an Alliance cruiser by knocking on the airlock and waiting for someone to open the hatch. As she laughed, Molly glanced to Loran and thanked her lucky stars that Taridon hadn't been around to hear that. Grinning, she laughed at the conjured image.

Molly had noticed one of the boys stealing glances. She hadn't said anything. But now he was staring. She met his gaze and smiled, trying not to look bored or dismissive. The last thing she wanted to do was piss the fish off and screw their chances of tagging along. He was trying to speak, but the ambience of the bar wasn't easy. Molly leaned towards him and not so subtly gave him a better view.
"Did it hurt?" He asked loudly above the din. There was alcohol on his breath and his eyes could barely keep on her face, which was perhaps for the best. Her eyebrow twitched and her expression darkened briefly.

"S-sorry?" Molly asked innocently confused.
"The fall. I mean, when you fell from heaven."
Smiling tightly, Molly kept her true feelings from surfacing. It was a lame, but she wasn't about to tell him that. Instead, her grin widened and she shook her head, the brunette pony tail swishing in the warm air. She had to play along like a good girl.
"Not really. You gonna buy me a drink or what? I'll have what you're having." Straight to the point, as usual. Molly wasn't about to spend the Alliance credit when this gullible fool thought he was getting lucky. Loran would be proud of her penny pinching.

Taking a deep swig of some god awful local brew that had to have been fermented in the Hutt's fresher, she struggled to keep a look of disgust from her face. How he drunk this stuff willingly was beyond her. Hopefully they wouldn't be here for too long.

Inserting themselves into the Confederate group seemed to go smoothly. None reacted outwardly to their arrival and none seemed to give them much scrutiny, leaving Wes and Molly to integrate easily. The tender arrived with Wes’ drink, and a ‘fellow’ Confederate of the female persuasion decided to strike up a conversation with him. He played along, throwing her a charming smile and responding to her words. His body language continued to communicate the camaraderie he’d started with when they’d first entered, indicating to all who cared to look that he was in fact a man having a great time among allies. The woman was easily fooled, as the alcohol consumed would scramble any skill she had in guessing lies.

The conversation was mundane, to say the least, ranging from popular culture from Dolomar or Coruscant and a popular holodrama actor’s latest fluke or the newest top of the line entertainment unit from the corporations that ran everything. They spoke of all the luxuries most in the Alliance couldn’t afford, being truly gifted in their freedom to live their lives as lawful beings instead of the terrorists the Alliance had been labelled as. It was unfortunate, considering the Confederation was the party committing the most heinous of crimes.

These dark thoughts made no mark on Wes outwardly, as he eagerly spoke to the female about the merits of the latest top of the line speeders from the industries, lamenting the high prices of the sports editions and gushing over the engine output of the best model. It was all too casual, a sort of casual that Wes was efficiently pulling off like the old spy he was. At the same time, there was little that avoided his attention in the den of lions.

He kept a subtle eye on the table Molly had settled down on, listening in on their conversation as he continued his despite the sound that seemed to be reverberating everywhere. His hearing had remained sharp, even in old age, but he was finding it easier to pick up on it with his fresh ears, not being plagued of wear and tear. He heard the lame joke about venting an Alliance cruiser and experienced a mental grimace at it. No class at all, he’d heard better jabs at the Alliance from meandering drunks who had really no beef with the organisation. The Confederation cannon fodder was lacking in imaginations, this could work in their favour.

A stroke of luck came by when the female he was conversing with told a joke just when the fish talking to Molly came with his pickup line. Wes gave the first honest laugh of the day, although not one for the joke the fish in front of him had told. The whole scenario was ridiculous, and Wes wished he hadn’t thought of it. But taking one for the team was most likely what happened often on Alliance operations. He would have to suffer for the betterment of the galaxy, even if it would be a long time coming.

((Does the group of fishes amble off towards their scheduled shuttle soon, or are they forced to endure a longer time with the stinky fish?))

((The fish are not eager to be put back into their alcohol-free tank and so they take their sweet time returning to the base, hanging out at the cantina for a good hour or so more. Finally, they begin to head to the shuttle that will take them to the base. Most are drunk out of their minds and barely able to stand upright so the trip to the shuttle proves interesting as the 'feds try not to fall over the Bespin guard rails.))

Molly was enjoying herself as much as could be expected considering the prospect of a messy death if she was to slip up. Although outwardly she was having a good time, it never slipped her mind the true nature of those she was drinking with. She could have felt guilt at the deception if it wasn't an everyday occurrence for her. This was all business for Molly; she didn't hold a grudge against the masses of soldiers and pilots that filled the Confederation's ranks. The Confederation hadn't taken her family or bombed her homeworld into submission. Compared to many within the Alliance, Molly was just a mercenary.

The previously atrocious beer had grown on her after the first few swigs. In fact, it wasn't half bad. She studied the bottle, committing the name to memory. Maybe she could find it back on Corellia. The jokes continued on a similar theme; the ineptitude of the Alliance. Molly laughed at each one. Some of it forced while others genuinely funny. She even threw her own into the ring, reciting an Alliance barb and reversed the names. It worked pretty well.

Taking another swig, Molly watched Loran getting friendly with a female fish. Yup, the infiltration had gone pretty well. They were both blending in and making friends. The hours passed quite quickly for Molly. She had put back a few of the beers in the spirit of solidarity. She could have been one of them if life had dealt her a better hand. Molly didn't play her cards well the first time round.

Finally they were moving. Molly downed the rest of her bottle and staggered out of the bar with the rest. The fish Molly had been getting friendly with had his hand on her hip. She may have seemed pretty out of it, but she was in full command of her faculties. The Reapers had blessed Molly with an excellent liver and it took a lot to truly get her drunk.

They staggered at a feeble pace through the streets high above the gas giant. Spirits were high, some were signing, others laughing. Molly joined in a few bars, slurring and mumbling through songs that she had never heard before. They seemed to be Confederate anthems and ballads. Grinning, she could only thank frell that everyone was off their faces.

After a long and arduous walk, the fish arrived at the small landing pad where a surly and unimpressed Confederate stood beside a Theta class shuttle. He glowered at the drunks, tapping the dataslate in the palm of his hand. He ushered the rabble aboard, checking the identification chips in each ID as he went.

((Did Wes and Molly pass without issue? Does the shuttle depart on schedule? If so, what is the scene when they land?))

((After a brief glance at the identification, the steel-faced Confederate ushers Molly and Wes through as well. He obviously isn't expecting much in the way of trouble, especially from his own people. The shuttle departs on schedule and arrives as planned at the Confederation base. Boring is really the only way to describe the scene as they arrive with soldiers milling about here and there, going about their assigned duties and tasks. It seems to be just another day at the office for most everyone.))

The ordeal dragged on, the merry atmosphere among the cutthroat fish continuing as they shared copious amounts of alcohol. It was the palpable sort of joy and merriment, the things that Wes thrived on when he was among his own, but now it did little more than make him sick to the stomach. A small portion of his mind started wondering how much Alliancer blood they had on their hands, how many they’d deprived of lives as they fought to further the cause of a government rotten to the core. Another part of his mind was telling the other part to stop thinking about it. As much as being among the group of Confederates made him want to retch, he couldn’t let it interfere.

Wes had spent enough decades in the espionage and infiltration business to know how to put a solid lid on such emotions. To defeat the opposition you sometimes had no choice but to join the opposition, however briefly. This was just another job, another way to get back at the Confederation for all the lives they’d taken above the skies of Corellia all those years ago. All personal feelings and connections, practically anything that had shaped Wes as he was today, was forced into a bundle in his mind and locked away somewhere safe and secure until he could afford to bring it back out. This moment wouldn’t be for a long while; he had to keep his wits about him and his eyes sharp.

Of course, despite needing to be alert, his affinity towards body languages tempered his output as to not make it appear as if he was as alert as he really was. For anyone looking, Wes, slightly drunk, was having the time of his life. Any barriers he would’ve had appeared to be down and he was receptive to those around him, even flirting with the women. Indulging in another drink, he laughed at a joke, the sound coming across as genuine, but filled with the falsehood Wes dealt with in his work.

The hours were slow and brutal, every second passing being a palpable moment for Wes where he checked his motions and checked the motions of those around him, kept tabs on his partner in the work and keeping himself ever mindful of the available exits and eventual ways to outrun, outmanoeuvre and outsmart any potential pursuit. Wes had long ago stopped drinking; instead merely giving them the illusion he was consuming his many drinks and his level of inebriation increasing to match outwardly. He was perfectly sober, however, not that the amount of drinks would’ve affected his performance any. Alcohol was an old friend of his.

Then the crowd finally moved. Like a flock of sheep, they left the cantina behind them and swerved through the walkways towards the landing pad their shuttle was supposed to be arriving on. It was an interesting trip, anyone sober enough did their best to keep the drunkards on the right track. One of those Wes was close to almost took a dive over the railing, but Wes, mindful of the fact that he was supposed to be one of them, grabbed a fistful of cloth and dragged him upright again.

It took everything he had to not push the man over the railing himself, it would’ve been easy to act horrified and claim it was an accident. The man was drunk, suspicion was more or less eliminated, but it would hinder their progress, a half hearted investigation would happen, they would be detained, questioned. Too much work.

The fish would live for now, but Wes would come back for him.

When they arrived at the landing pad, Wes was in the middle of the group, keeping the man that had almost fallen over the railing steady. The man was slurring his words, incapable of much, and so Wes took the liberty to show both their credentials to the officer in charge as it was clear the man wouldn’t be able to do it without holding them up for ten minutes at least. They seated themselves, buckling in for the short flight, Wes once again being required to make sure the unsteady and confused drunk was secured. It was ironic of him to be babysitting the fish.

Minutes passed and then they arrived. Wes took his leave of the unsteady fish, leaving others to take care of the man, instead settling in beside Molly and starting off in the direction of the hangar exit, following the others in their group. Their surroundings weren’t different from any other generic hangar, nothing particular was happening, merely routine maintenance and work. Keen eyes took in the vessels docked, noting their type and make, as well as their capabilities when they were fresh off the assembly line. This could potentially be their exit.

As they left the hangar behind, it was replaced by white halls, decorated with the occasional black of the Confederation. He gave no outward motion towards Molly as far as his intentions went, but he fully expected her to follow him when they eventually split off from the main group. It didn’t take long, once they met a fork in the hall; he went down the opposite hall that most of the shore leave party went down.

((What sort of vessels can be found in the hangar? As Wes and Molly split off from the shore leave group, are they able to find a hall with a terminal, preferably a fairly deserted one?))

((The majority of the ships found in the hangar are transportation ones, small shuttles of varying types. There's also quite a few fighters and bombers, but no really large ships. Splitting off from the main group, they have to wander around for some time before finding a viable terminal in a remote location of the base. There's still the risk of getting caught even though the halls are empty; cameras are everywhere.))

The ride in the transport felt longer than expected. Molly was eager to get on with the mission now their socialising and insertion was complete. If everything went according to Loran's plan, this was an in and out job. That was fine for her. The less time she had to spend standing around being a target the better. Soon they were landing.

Molly shielded her eyes with a hand as they departed the shuttle. The superheated backwash from the engines burnt at her face. The drunken fish staggered quickly through a door at the back of the hangar. She kept pace, letting the fish lead the way. She too had separated from her Confederate cover and Loran fell in step beside Molly. She gave the director a quick look. Now they were deep in enemy territory. Slipups were fatal. Molly felt naked without her armour and she would have really enjoyed its protection if things got ugly.

After a brief tour courtesy of their drunkard buddies, Loran separated from the pack and Molly followed. She gave them a farewell glance, imagining either the barracks or officer housing as their final destination. If things took a turn for the worse, Molly made a mental note in which direction not to run. Her gait had changed since their departure. The drunken stagger and lurch were absent. Her eyes were wide and expression serious. Molly re-buttoned her shirt, not wanting to look a complete tramp. That would draw more attention now they weren't in the laidback confines of the bar.

Walking through the deserted halls of the Confederate base, Molly felt a creeping suspicion that it was too quiet. She kept her worry from surfacing and kept a keen watch on their surroundings. For all anyone knew, there hadn't been a breach of security. Molly was confident of that and used the knowledge to steel her nerves. The pair of Alliance agents eventually found what they were looking for; a remote terminal. In seclusion, the agents approached. Molly slid a hand into her jacket and popped the clasp on the Commando pistol.

The room was dark and had a freshly cleaned office smell. She kept the light off, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention. The terminal screen glowed against the far wall and Molly made her way across to it, checking angles and other entrances. There only seemed to be one. That was a blessing and a curse. Molly clenched her jaw as she sunk against the wall, taking stock of the cover.

With relative safety and privacy, Molly glanced to Loran.
"Let's get this shit done quick." she whispered, sliding along the wall and moving back to the door to keep watch. She became one with the shadow, crouched and waited for Loran to do what he needed to do.

((Are they interrupted while Wes accesses their system? If so, is Molly able to deal with the interruption before any alarms are raised?))

(( The two Alliance agents are granted the grace of a few minutes peace and quiet for Wes to work his magic on the terminal. No obvious alarms are tripped as they enter the office, or when the Intelligence Director starts slicing into the base's mainframe. While the Confederates may have become more cautious since the Mandalorian attack, obviously they've spent a lot more effort securing themselves from an outside assault than an inside job.

As Wes taps away on the keypad, Molly spots a shadow approaching from the far end of the corridor. Its owner appears next, a single Confederate MP going through a routine security check of all the offices in this section of the base. Each door is checked in turn, as well as the contents of the offices to make sure no unauthorized activities are going on. While the MP appears relatively alert, he's probably expecting to find something during his rounds along the lines of unapproved extranet access or 'fraternization' to be going on than anything truly dangerous. ))

Walking down the deserted hall, Wes appeared as if he was merely passing through with a real goal in mind, not that he was actively searching for a way to go other than straight forward. Should someone come upon them, it would merely appear as if they were making their way to a goal found at the other end of the hall, whatever that may be. As it was, the guise wasn’t necessary in the end, as they found an office room with a remote terminal plugged in. With a brief check of the hall, Wes followed Molly in, mindful of the sounds around them.

Neither of them touched the light controls as they entered the office and the screen of a terminal that was online glowed against the dark wall. Molly took point, investigating the landscape further into the room; Wes remained behind to keep an eye and ear on the hall. Rather than being a solid wall, the office had a view into the hall through a glass wall, giving Wes a nice view of anyone approaching, but also giving anyone passing a nice view into the office. Not a good place to be, in the tactical sense.

"Let's get this shit done quick."

Nodding at her invitation, he approached the terminal, crouching in front of it and tapping a key to bring it out of the dormant status. The screen light up brighter, a string of data crossing the screen telling Wes various forms of mundane information that had to do with the status of the network as well as the latest propaganda from the throne world of Dolomar. It was all very interesting information for anyone who actually believed it to be true, but Wes knew better than to put any real faith that truth lay behind anything the Confederation said unless he had the proof in his hands.

Wes ignored it, instead opening up programmes and letting his fingers tap away on the keypad with the speed of a well experienced hacker. His eyes took in the information passing before his eyes as he worked to dig up files that would be useful for their cause and other anomalies that seemed to strike his interest. Information gathering was the step they were taking, the type of gathering carried some risk, but it was the most accurate manner of acquiring it, one free of the natural occurrence of human error, which tended to be quite pesky when dealing with Intelligence issues. If information wasn’t accurate, lives were lost.

As he worked, he heard the warning from Molly, and was quick to cancel his search and clear any potential trail he’d made, shutting off the terminal screen as he did so, leaving with the information he’d gleaned thus far, he hoped it would be enough, if not, he’d merely attempt to make a repeat attempt when the danger had passed.

A quick look around confirmed the fact he’d known all along, with the light coming from the hall, there was no cover to be had, no cover that would help them. Taking a choice, he approached Molly and gained the tactical information of the man approaching. His mind raced forward, trying to find a solution. No doubt unless they could find an excuse for being there, the MP would deal with them in his own manner. Wes had a feeling he wouldn’t like it.

“I’ll buy you dinner after this,” he quipped gently, as he pulled her up straight. Leaning towards her, he settled a long kiss on her lips, altering his body language to make it appear as if what he’d just initiated had been going on for a few minutes. To enhance the vision of two individuals quite taken with each other, his arms came around her waist, and he hoped that she’d respond suitably to the ruse.

((What does Wes get from the terminal? Blueprints? Any information? How does the MP react to their “fraternization”?))

((Wes' experience with hacking serves him well as he manages to get a good look at the blueprints for the layout of this particular Confederation base as well as some information on other Bespin bases such as maintenance schedules and lists of Confederates stationed there.

Lucky for Wes and Molly, this sort of things seems to be a common occurrence around here. The MP moves towards them with a disapproving expression, telling them both to "break it up and get back to work". He threatens to tell their commanding officer about this if he catches them slacking off again.))

Molly grumbled at the defensive possibilities of the room. Too many angles made her jittery. If this did degenerate into a fire fight, this was the last place she wished to be. They'd get slaughtered. She glanced around, swearing under her breath as Loran began hacking the terminal. It was tempting to drag him away and try to find a more secure location to access the Confederation network. She felt her body move back towards him, but she swayed back into the wall. He was her superior and she couldn't take him by the scruff of his neck like a private. She grinned, rubbing her nose with the back of her hand.

Someone was approaching. Her body tightened and Molly held her breath as her eyes narrowed. The killer inside her was growing impatient. Clicking her fingers twice to warn him, Loran acted quickly. Hiding their illicit activity, he joined her. In a hushed voice, Molly briefed Loran of the situation and awaited his instruction. Her hand rested on her exposed neck, dangerously close to the vibroblade running her spine. If she had any say in the matter, the MP wouldn't raise the alarm. He wouldn't even be breathing.

"I’ll buy you dinner after this."

Wait, what? Her brow furrowed and her neck snapped around. Before she could voice a question, Loran was pulling her close and their lips locked. It took about half a second for Molly to get what was going on and even less to play along. Though just playing along was the last thing on her mind. She closed her eyes and kissed Loran back. She kissed him back hard. Her hand slid from the hilt of the vibroblade and gripped the back of his neck, pulling him closer. Molly twisted their bodies, and pushed the director against the wall with a thud. That was probably the first sign to the MP that something devious was happening in the room.

Molly heard the door open and her body twitched, being so exposed wasn't something she enjoyed. But she had to play her part. Her free hand groped down his chest when a loud harrumph broke the pair from their session. Molly froze, her eyes fluttered open and slowly panned towards the door and onto the displeased MP. She grinned, their lips still pressed together. Ashamed at being caught, Molly backed away from Loran and fixed her eyes upon the floor.

"Come on...break it up and get back to your posts." He chided with an icy stare on the pair. This isn’t the first pair he's caught fraternising in the office block and it won't be the last. He knows this. Molly licked her lips. She could still taste him. Drawing her hand to her mouth, she wiped the saliva with her thumb. "Get out of here, both of you. If I catch either of you in here again, your superiors will be informed. Got it?" He barked at the pair.

Molly winced, drawing back. She shot a look to Loran, their eyes met briefly.
"Sir, yes sir. Thank you, sir." Molly responded like a good Confederate and rushed from the room with Loran. He grumbled something. They walked quickly down the corridor, the MP watching them from the doorway.
"Dinner sounds nice," she said once they were far enough and out of earshot, "So'd you frelling get it?"