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Chapter 1

From Prologue to Planetside

The singer's cries echoed through the hull of the Ghost, full of trills and operatic flair. Accompanied by an eclectic mix of jingles and strums, the traditional music of Lothal was a very lively tune, made for dance and revelry.

Chopper hated it (his audio inputs mysteriously jammed around this hour). Zeb loathed it (rushing off to perform maintenance on the Phantom II). Kanan mediated through it (his true opinion of the genre unknown). Hera soldiered through it (the Ghost never flew straighter). Commander Rex wasn't even hearing it, covering for Zeb as Chief security officer at the base, along with Fenn Rau. The lucky ones.

Sabine just seethed. Ezra sung along to the music.

The padawan stood in the mess room, happily swaying to the discordant noise as he cleaned up the room - fastening the grill to the air ducts, tinkering with the Dejarik board's circuits, cleaning up what-ever dust or debris that might have existed after their latest planetside mission. Lothalian music was dancing music, and the crew had caught on to Ezra's spontaneity - nobody was in range for him to try and drag into a sudden dance or serenade to. He worked alone - worked hard, and worked smart: at times using The Force to aid him in his chores.

Then in the cockpit, a readout next to Hera chirped, and after a glance she put her hand on the intercom.

"News everyone - grab a seat at the rec room!"

Naturally, Ezra didn't hear it - too caught up with humming along to the beat. It took three people - (Zeb, Chopper and Hera) for him to realize something was up. That and Sabine turning off the radio in a huff.

"Hey now!" Ezra complained, in too much of a good mood to notice or really care about Sabine's exasperation.

"I was doing everyone a favor." Was the sharp response.

Ezra just shrugged with a small smile, acclimated to Sabine's expressive nature. An artist to the core, when it came to art Sabine was either incredibly enthusiastic… or incredibly heated. He let the Mandalorian cool off as he plopped down across from Captain Orrellios, who was admiring the polished desk.

"Heheh… Fixed the board, I see." Zeb stated happily as the Dejarik holograms appeared when he activated the device, flickering ever so slightly - but in harmony.

"You're welcome." Ezra responded smugly. "Do try to lose to Chopper less, ok? The metal is starting to dent."

"No promises. Someone's gotta help me with the Phantom." Zeb muttered, glaring at Chopper in a way that all but confirmed another match.

"How many hours of maintenance did you bet on those games?" Ezra asked, suddenly curious and slightly concerned.

Chopper wobbled and chuckled as Zeb responded with a strained growl.

"Too many."

The door to the residence hall slid open with a hiss - Kanan had arrived. Bearded and still sporting the Sabine-updated jedi visor, the Jedi calmly took authority.

"What's up, Hera?"

"HQ wants to chat. Looks like another mission."

The words gave the crew resolve. Missions meant justice - it meant action. Ezra leaned in whilst Zeb's ears fluttered slightly. Sabine, leaning on the wall, tried to hide an eager change in demeanor. Chopper even retracted one of his two "arms" for a more refined and dignified droid.

"Well, patch them through."

"Chopper?" Hera asked, and the droid wobbled and murmured, opening its antenna to connect with the ship's communication array. Soon enough, the blue lines of a hologram took shape, shot out from Chopper's holoprojector.

"Commander Sato." Hera greeted the sharpening image with her usual politeness.

"Captain Syndulla, Ghost Team." The commander announced formally as his form came into focus. "It's been scarcely 20 hours since our last communication, so I'm sure you understand that the matter at hand is incredibly fluid."

Commander Sato let the statement die, but there wasn't much reason to. Quick on his tongue, Kanan filled the void.

"But it's significant enough for the call - right?"

"Just so: Have you ever heard of the planet Shu-Torun?"

The crew of The Ghost looked at Kanan, the wise veteran of the clone wars - but he had nothing to say. Knowledge from Rex or Rau was sorely needed, veterans with much more on-hand experience with the planets of the galaxy.

"It definitely rings a bell, some mining planet... but… that's nowhere near here." Kanan admitted. "I'm out of my league."

"Well, to be brief, Shu-Torun is a Mid-Rim world - a planet rich with metal deposits and other resources, making it a valuable factory of imperial ships. Our rebel cells and Fulcrum agents near the system have indicated that there will be a meeting between the Imperial High Command on the planet - as well as rebellious stirrings within the Shu-Torun people."

"...This is all pretty general so far." Kanan replied, a tone both unimpressed and unnerved at the same time.

Commander Sato nodded. "Our thoughts exactly - Shu-Torun as a Mid-Rim planet is simply too close to the Empire for standard procedure - and our understanding of any rebel sentiments are vague at best. Yet two Fulcrum agents and a number of lesser informants have pointed to Shu-Torun as the location of an Imperial conference during the Pyytt Festival, two days from now. A reconnaissance mission during the festivities could deliver a better picture of both the Imperial's intentions and any information of Mid-Rim rebel cells. The Festival often encourages disguises and multiple masquerade balls - with an Imperial Academy in the capital city, it seems like the perfect mission for your two youngest members."

Hera looked at the two members in question.

"You two up for the task?"

Sabine shared a quizzical look with Ezra.

"Infiltrating a ball, an imperial academy and an imperial conference... in one night? Don't you think security will be... a bit rough?" Ezra announced, wary with experience.

"Very." Commander Sato affirmed. "Since Shu-Torun has seemingly no record of rebellion activity, security protocols may not be so tight, especially thanks to the festival. That doesn't change the fact that as a crucial Imperial factory, the Imperial presence is massive - heavier than you've ever seen."

Considering the fact that Ezra had infiltrated factories and Star Destroyers, the sharpness in Commander Sato's statement gave him a good understanding of how delicate this operation was.

"Well… we can't fly in on the Ghost or the Phantom - the Empire would identify us in a second. How are we even getting planet-side?" Sabine thought out loud.

"I've organized a veteran smuggler to deliver you into the capital and extract you back out to deep space." Sato answered, stepping away and letting the hologram fade into a neutral, static blue screen.

"2 hours on Hondo." Zeb muttered to the astromech droid. Chopper whirred as he agreed to the bet.

"It's not going to be Hondo, is it?" Sabine echoed in a rather horrified manner. After the events of Wynkahthu, Sabine and most of the crew were absolutely fed up with smugglers and pirates. Particularly Hondo… Especially Azmorrigan.

"Well, what could be worse?" Ezra offered happily.

"What's this about Ohnaka? More of a pirate than a smuggler, don't you think?" A loud and charming voice answered from light-years away. The scoundrel had been listening in off screen, speaking those words just as he stepped into the picture. Masterfully trimmed mustache and suave, billowing cape, the savant gave a casual salute to the members of Ghost Squad.

"...It's worse." Ezra concluded, deflating in spirit as the rest of the team brightened somewhat, save Zeb.

"I look forward working with you a second time, Phoenix Squadron!" Lando announced. "Let's have a smooth little sortie."

Star Wars Rebels

A day later and 24 hours before the festival, Ezra was still unconvinced. As he walked, Sabine worked, fabricating their disguises and inserting her own artistic visions to the metal and fabric.

"He's no different from Hondo."

"You can say that."

"He sold Hera!" Ezra continued as he walked into the hall, the hydraulic doors sliding shut behind him.

"As a ruse."

"Did we know that?" Ezra shot back as the hydraulic doors let him back in, as he continued to pace in and out of the Rec Room.

"Alright, point taken. He did say he was in Hera's debt."

"And then he discovered a missing a whole canister of starfighter-grade fuel." Ezra concluded, placing a hand on the table and resting his upper body on it.

Sabine sighed, looking up from her craft.

"We have to get to Shu-Torun somehow, Ezra. All things considered, Lando has been the best smuggler we've worked with - he did get us off of Lothal."

"He gave us used junk - Which you made into signal beacons. I'm not declining the mission, I just think there could be some other way…"

"There isn't."

"Ahhhhrgh! Why couldn't someone else do this?"

Sabine shrugged as Ezra continued to pace in the common room, counting down the seconds before the Ghost arrived at the rendezvous location.

"You did the research. The Imperial Academy is clearly a venue for the ball. Right above that that is the main Imperial Land and the regional Headquarters. Disguised as ball-goers, we'll make our way into the Imperial Sector, up to the Academy and through the dance, up to the landing pad..."

"...Because we're young enough to pull it off. " Ezra concluded sullenly, "Especially since Shu-Torun's Pyytt festival encourages kids and young adults to wear these masks."

"Durasteel masks. They're big on Durasteel." Sabine corrected, checking her art in contemplation. "And we're just barely going to get there, thanks to Lando. It was either us or nobody."

"Alright, alright. I got it..." The padawan conceded in a defeated matter, sitting down and watching Sabine weld away.

"A job's a job." Zeb admitted as he entered the room, walking past the two to get up to the Phantom. "Just... stay away from Sabacc cards."

With that remark, the intercom flared to life.

"Lando's here!"

In the void of space, a YT-1000 freighter de-accelerated out of hyperspace - it's engine ports still bright blue with power. Pulling alongside the Ghost, docking was quick and relatively uneventful.

Relatively, considering Ezra's pouting.

"Ezra! Sabine! It's such a pleasure to have the two of you on board!" The smuggler began as both rebels walked around him and surveyed the inner layout of the ship. Blaster marks dotted the walls, and empty crates stood stacked to one wall.

"Messy ship - I know." Lando exclaimed before anyone could make a statement, and expertly glossing over Sabine and Ezra's silent treatment. "But there's potential in this Corellian design - Looking forward to a future model."

"I expect them back in one piece and breathing, Lando." Hera spoke smoothly, sizing him up momentarily.

"Relax Hera," Lando laughed. "Your friend Sato's no fool: I only get my end of the bargain (save the collateral of course) when I bring your two cadets backs safe and sound!"

Hera nodded suspiciously as the rest of the team said their goodbyes. Kanan spoke words of wisdom to both Ezra and Sabine, Chopper rammed Ezra's leg in typical C1-10P fashion, Zeb shared a friendly fist bump.

Hera took a moment on her own to wish the two away.

"You two take care, alright?"

"Relax." Ezra assured the Twi'Lek. "We'll keep Lando in sight."

Hera sighed.

"Lando is just the first obstacle... This is big league stuff, you two. You know how much the rebellion is growing, and how the stakes are constantly rising... in order for us to withstand the likes of Thrawn - we need this knowledge in order to prepare our next move, to know what we're up against."

The mention of the ruthless general quieted Ezra's smile and good humor, bringing back memories of the near-disastrous assault on their rebel group, and the end to their rebel base on Atollon.

"We'll get it done."

And with that, Hera and their comrades disappeared. The airlock doors whirred as the air was cycled out and replaced with vacuum - the Ghost's landing hooks disconnected and the ship slowly drifted, then pulled away completely aft of Lando's freighter.

The mission had begun.

The big league. The thought was a seed - something that would bloom in the months to come, but it's mere presence in Ezra's mind unnerved him. The Padawan and Mandalorian stood behind Lando as he checked the hyperspace readings in the cockpit, zooming through the ethereal slipstream. As much as Ezra disliked Lando, he had to admit the gambler was very wise and experienced in all sorts of planets and customs, as well as an easy talker. They quizzed him to learn a bit more about the volcanic system, and what they would expect.

"So, Lando - ever been to this place? Any good deals you've made at Shu-Torun?"

"Sure! Most smugglers call this place "Mild-Mannered Mustafar". The Shu-Torun government is a monarchy - with one King or Queen and a whole army of dukes and duchesses who pay them tribute. Very… traditional in the upper levels of government - curtsies and bows and all of that cotillion."

"We know that." Sabine interjected in her typical impatient manner. "What about your experiences?"

"Well, with it's rich and pompous nobility, you can infer that Shu-Torun always has at least one prospective buyer. Lots of smugglers drop down for a barter - some exotic plant in exchange for some high-grade durasteel… among other things. A pretty healthy shipyard atmosphere - "

"For a smuggler." Ezra clarified.

"For an entrepreneur." Lando answered back. "Bit dicey when it comes to the populace - Welders and Bolters everywhere, tagging whatever they please…"

"Street art?" Sabine asked optimistically.

"You could say. Big on metal, these folks are. Any wall that has exposed steel is either welded or bolted into some design by street gangs. I feel they're a bit too romantic for my tastes… but you may get some inspiration from them. If you have a fusion cutter you could always just offer to add to their wall, and they'd be happy to oblige. They're ruthless, violent and intimidating, but if you can pull off some art they'll treat you nice."

Sabine brightened a bit with the news, eager to test something other than her combat skills.

Pulling out of hyperspace, the Corellian craft began to heavily break its velocity as it began to pass under the massive ships awaiting them high above Shu-Torun's orbit. Nine star destroyers with one imperial cruiser escorting each craft, save for the command ship, which proudly presented a Interdictor cruiser off of each wing. The incessant roar of tie-fighter engines suddenly shuddered through the craft as escorts gathered on each side of the YT-1000. Ezra could spy at least three tie defenders making the rounds on the perimeter of one of the rightmost destroyer.

"Karabast." Sabine grumbled, surveying the assembled ships. "It seems whoever gave us that information wasn't joking. Is this a conference or an all-out blockade?"

"YT-1000 frigate 'Hawk' - state your business." The radio squawked. Lando smiled and picked up the input mike.

"Simple merchandising, of course! Me and my two colleagues: Reference code A-2391."

A momentary pause as the Imperial checked his logbook.

"Standby for scan."

As the Hawk flew closer to the planet, more subtle differences between the Star Destroyers became noticeable - most especially that dark grey collage painted on the underside of one of the wing craft - the tentacles of the Chimaera. Sabine shared a look with Ezra, who gave her a nervous grin and a typical Ezra remark.

"Well… at least Lando isn't going to sell us?"

It was so much better once Sabine stepped off the craft and onto solid ground, not to see those behemoths drifting above them, turbolasers and turrets pointing precariously towards their insignificant starship. Still, it wasn't much of an improvement: nothing on the molten planet nothing seemed solid: The capital was comprised of roughly forty enormous artificial steel masts on a mound of rock adrift in a sea of lava. While that 'rock' was a continent-wide boulder - it spoke to the inhospitality of the natural terrain. Out of the mast radiated a number of circular platforms, miles wide and each of them supporting a city. Structures as much as 50 meters high dwarfing neighboring houses, residential blocks and skyscrapers and industrial centers all clinging and next to each other.

"Well... now I really get why welding and bolting is a past-time to these people." Sabine stated, surveying the grey collage that sat in front of them. "Everything here is metal."

"There is some greenery near the palace - before that you'll find the Imperial Academy" Lando answered, pointing up and over to the largest and most central of the steel pillars. "Those areas will be restricted and patrolled, though."

"Thanks, Lando." Sabine responded, before breathing to herself: "...for the obvious."

"Just get down here by 0100, alright? After that - no exit out of the planet, and the ship reference codes are checked for each ship."

There was a momentary pause.

"Your code will still work, right?" Ezra clarified.

Another one, this time with Lando shrugging… and Ezra groaned in realization.

"You've got to be kidding me."

"Hey, I know you two can do a lot in five hours…" Lando replied as the metal doors closed and he walked off to the customs booth. "... so just do it quick!"

"This place is like Coruscant, right?" Ezra asked as they had made their way into one of the many alleyways on the lower disk. Sabine was always on about Coruscant's music, fashion, art - even if the Empire had put a dent on artistic freedom, she was hopelessly in love with the capital planet.

"Not even close." Sabine huffed, putting on her mask. "The City Planet wasn't built on lava, you don't breath furnace air… and you can't see a horizon from Coruscant's streets - it's an endless maze."

"You say that like it's a good thing." Ezra chuckled as he put his own disguise on.

"There's always something new on the next block in Coruscant, always a reason to keep walking." Sabine explained, her voice suddenly full of longing. "If you want to see the horizon, just jump on an air-taxi or hover-car and take the high road. That's something I want to do someday. Best view in the galaxy."

Ezra nodded, trying to picture rising up from a maze of a city just for the chance to gaze down upon it and out until the curve of the Capital planet, with its luminous chrome skyscrapers in all their glory.

"That'd be a sight, I guess, but the best? Lothal has some pretty good landscapes."

Sabine shrugged. "See it for yourself. Someday the Ghost is going to dock on Coruscant, and we'll all see that I was right."

"I'll hold you to that promise, Spectre 5." Ezra smirked as he tightened his mask. They were both wearing casual grey gear, although Sabine had incorporated some of her armor into the getup, including her jetpack and vambraces. Sabine had done good work on both of their guises - phantom masks with personalized markings - large enough to cover most of their recognizable features. Ezra's was a callback to Kanan's visor, with a Loth-cat's eyes to give the mask a wide-eyed gaze, and Sabine's was Mandalorian through and through, with the sharp lines to proudly broadcast her heritage. Although the steel masks were typically plain grey and black, there were subtle streaks of warm color on hers - the ever-present artist. While her mask was smaller and more stylized, Sabine had colored her hair for the occasion, black at the roots with streaks of sun yellow and magma orange to help sell her disguise. The only thing that was recognizable was her smile, voice and biting wit.

"Is that some new style you're working on?"

"Yeah - just some contrast experimentation - using the shadows and ridges of the mask to accentuate the color, along with the hair."

"None on mine, though." Was Ezra's obvious follow-up.

"Can't rush art, Ezra. There was only so much time and all you told me was to 'make it look like Kanan's visor!' " Sabine grumbled back, along with a dullard's mocking impression of Ezra's voice. "...Not much to work with."

Ezra tapped into The Force as he leapt from the alleyway, all the way up to the roof of the adjacent building. He put his hand to his left ear to test their comm-set, surveying the rooftops and surrounding city around him as he spoke.

"No, no, it's ok. Let's get to business…"

Then the young Jedi raised his eyes and looked up to the metropolis that wafted above him.

"...How are we going to get up three miles and over four pillars?"

"Simple." Sabine's voice emanated up from his earpiece, before she appeared by his side. How she was able to vaulted up the steep walls of the building so quickly, Ezra would never know. "We take an elevator."

…

"You honestly think we can just do that? All the way to the top?"

"Maybe."

"I have my doubts."

"We'll cross that bridge when we reach it." Sabine chuckled as she started off towards the platform center.

The first elevator ride was a crowded one - fifty cubic feet all filled with masked civilians, all milling about and eager to partake in festivities. It gave Ezra an understanding of the typical Shu-Torun citizen: armored and bulky, like Mandalorians on adrenals but without any of their grace or precision. Even normal citizens had at least some sort of armor on them, metal tips to their sleeves or chest, making Sabine's leftover armor less noticeable. The guards that stood by the entrance utilized hip mounted guns that were connected to large energy reserves strapped to their back.

"Let's not get into a scuffle with the city guard." He muttered into his mouthpiece. "Not sure if I could deflect whatever those nozzles will spit out."

"Fine by me." Sabine muttered, more focused on the walls of the elevator. As they rose up through the metal shaft, art of the Welder and Bolter gangs panned downward, stubborn graffiti that sometimes broadcasted catchphrases or showed funny art. Some of them made a mockery of the Empire's sigil, a comforting and encouraging sign. Sabine took her time soaking it in, turning to and fro to appreciate the vision of the capitals' vandals.

They rode the elevator as high as it would go - but when they walked out into the new city level, there were clearly more miles to climb. Three, to be precise.

"So there is some restriction to each level, otherwise elevators would be all-access." Sabine deduced as they walked past pods and moving speeders as they made their way around the iron pillar, looking for another elevator to ride upwards.

"So we'll be breaking the law long before we start spying in on the Empire." Ezra warned.

"According to my highly outdated city map," Sabine continued. "There should be another lift around the corner that can take us up a couple more levels."

As they weaved through the crowd, Ezra spied the elevator in question up ahead - with a long line of partygoers waiting for the ride.

"Great. If the crowds are as heavy as they are up on the upper levels, we shouldn't have any problem with security."

"Yeah, but how long is that wait? Are all the elevators going to be like this? Time's an issue."

Ezra nodded, his eyes settling on something distant, far past the throngs of people and the buzzing hovercraft. Something at the edge.

"I think all of the civilian lifts are going to be clogged - but I think I know where we can get an turbolift without any crowds."

"Shoot."

Security Chief Rebarra yawned as he checked the gauge of his Turbo-rifle for the fortieth time this evening. It had slowly decayed to 98% charge, he already vented it twice in the past five hours. As much as he'd like to be celebrating with the rest of his planet, the Imperials had another thing in mind: The entire Imperial block was to be shut down, with the exception of the ball-goers - who could only enter from the metropolitan level.

Exceptions. The most dangerous flaws in any security protocols. Stretch a rule just a little bit and before you know it Welders would be swarming the dance floor.

That's why he was here, to somehow make the already insecure situation a bit more secure. About as smart or fun as being charged with making a sinking ship sink slower. It didn't help the fact that Imperial troops looked down on the capital's security force as if they were standing in bridges of their precious Star Destroyers orbiting the planet. The Toruns would keep order at the dance and check all of the entry points, do all of the heavy lifting, while the Stormtroopers would chew Luna-Weed and kriff around forty floors up.

Classic Empire protocol.

The bridges to the Imperial sector were large and small - some able to withstand the weight of an AT-ST, others simple maintenance bridges. The Imperials loved to nest in the most crucial sector of the city, and choosing the main power generator tower as their home gave them a symbolic and physical grasp of control over the city, but also a rather tremulous ability to repel trespassers. Especially since many were looking for a shortcut or empty turbolift to the party - more than seventy bridges to guard. Seventy weak-points!

Speaking of trespassers… Two new irritations had melted out from the crowd - which was strange. Just two? Most gangs who tried to get access to the Imperial levels were gangs of Welders and Bolters, artists looking to make the first big score to rub it in the faces of their rivals. Those stupid kids who lived in the dilapidated husks of crude iron ore in the poor sections of the city always tried to stick it to "The Chromies"... yet these two didn't carry arc welders, nor did they have bolt guns strapped to their sides. The male in front waved enthusiastically, making no attempt to catch the guard unawares, and ignorant of Rebarra's experience - the guard knew this was a distraction. A distraction is best addressed by crushing the deception outright: He would waste no words wasted on duplicitous conversations.

"Skrog off! This is a restricted zone!"

"Easy, sir. I was just wondering where the dance… was." The trespasser began, before backing away once he realized the turbo-rifle was pointed at his gut.

"You have 5 seconds to comply!"

"Woah!" The luckless and floundering citizen said as he panicked, waving his hands as he backed off, "You don't have to shoot me!"

Rebarra smiled at the quick retreat - this runt's cowardice was surprising - most rust-dwellers would at least throw a couple of expletives and dare him to take a shot. Maybe the fact that the odds were two to one turbo-laser changed things, maybe this kid was an amateur. Whatever the case, the strangeness of this situation cracked a smile in the weathered law-keeper.

"Keep backing off, and I don't have to shoot you... Now skrog off!"

The man cast a sidelong glance to his companion, then looked back as he continued to retreat step by step, holding out his hands in a diplomatic fashion.

"You… You're going to holster that weapon."

How would you like to guard a bridge for a whole night? Rebarra grumbled to thin air. There was no end to this disrespect: others always trying to tell him how to conduct himself, when they had no experience of enforcing peace themselves. It was true that these two weren't that much of a threat - but they could have been. How was he supposed to differentiate between law-abiders and criminals? The boy's nervous plea to put away the weapon was redundant and missing the point - he had to draw on them, to take preemptive measures, or else he was at risk for being rushed. Never mind that now, they were shouting from about 30 feet away - the situation had been successfully de-escalated, the bridge was secure.

He holstered his weapon.

"You know, we're supposed to be at that dance: Lots of business we have to discuss... You'll tell us where it's at."

The guard groaned, finally understanding the stupid situation- two stupid offworlders who slapped on some masks to appeal to some cultured ore-duke or ore-duchess at the ball. No wonder they were so gutless, or so utterly stupid enough to get so lost, or to forgo dresses and suites - though with the festival they may be able to pull it off. Really, though: who is stupid enough to miss an entire floor? The entrance to the venue just one city level above them, one hundred and fifty meters over their heads. Could these two business executives count, let alone read a map?

He told them where it was at.

"You'll let us pass, and forget about all of this nonsense."

"I'll let you pass, and forget about all of this nonsense."

Ezra grinned, Sabine frowned.

"Gotta trust me, Spectre 5."

"At gunpoint?" Sabine deadpanned. "Never."

Ezra shrugged as they continued over the bridge, its natural curve obscuring the clueless watchman from their sight, and vice versa.

"He was a tough guy - I warned you that he wouldn't be so simple. With a headstrong person you have to slowly, gently weasel it in."

"He didn't seem like a much of a challenge."

"That's because you didn't sense his tenacity. I could feel that guy was as stubborn and thickheaded as a Mandalorian."

"Ooooh," Sabine exclaimed. "What else did you feel, Spectre 6? Did you feel his rugged chin? His chiseled abs? His dreamy eyes-"

"-I felt your attraction to them, yeah." Ezra fired back.

"You're crinkin' right." Sabine smirked. "That hunk is so much more reliable than mysterious spooky force powers."

"You will sabotage power line." Ezra interrupted with a goofy smile and a mysterious voice, dramatically waving his hands in front of Sabine's face.

"..."

"Please?"

Sabine rolled her eyes, accepting Ezra's olive branch and laying off the arms race. For now.

"Alright, alright."

Ezra grinned even wider, even goofier, egging Sabine on.

"Oh sorry, my mistake, mystical force guy." Sabine replied sarcastically, before badly faking a disoriented, Mind-Tricked response, " 'I will sabotage the power line.' "

The beeping of Sabine's tool of sabotage was loud when held between the two Spectre agents, but once placed on the underbelly of the bridge, it was an inaudible blip. Remotely activated, the device would cause a controlled explosion that would spell a short-circuit: The entire electrical grid supported by this bridge would become unstable - a very large distraction that could easily passed off as an unlucky event. Textbook espionage. Not that Ezra read textbooks: Sabine did the explaining well enough.

"This'll provide good cover, but if we can I'd like to plant a few more on some other bridges, to guarantee we get some solid blackouts."

Ezra smiled at Sabine's enthusiasm for chaos and disruption.

"Sounds like a plan."

End Chapter