Star Trek: Starbase 777 - prison-perimeter

With the mission underway, the borrowed warbird began to dip below the clouds, towards Thieurrull. The prison loomed over the area around it, choking whatever life was once there in its dark shadow— the building a cold slab of metal and concrete, exactly as imposing as its name implied. The small dots of patrolling officers began to come into view.

Saith kept his gaze forward and expression unreadable, thumb taptaptapping against the side of his arm. The closer they got, the more dread that washed over him like a wave of cold water. No room for mistakes. No room for foolish sacrifice. Get in. Get your people. Get out. Was everyone still alive? What if all of this was for— well, not nothing, they could still aid their new friends in recovering the other prisoners, but.. Fuck. Fuck, he needed to breathe. It was fine. They would be fine. (edited)

Sinau shook silently. She was anxious. She had never really done anything like this before, sure she's been tossed in the center nest of wars but this felt just as terrifying. One mess up in her cover and everyone else's could be blown. She's just got to be quiet. If the Romulan talks she'll probably vomit or start hyperventilating. She kept her lips sealed and took long breaths through her nose, pinching her eyelids down to try and cover the vibrating irises. Just one thing at a time. Her PADD was stuffed quietly in a pocket she wore. Holding ciphers and keys of dozens of kinds to break through the security. Eighteen people had gone missing, and if the plan went well eighteen people would be found with their hearts and cores still pumping. Why had she agreed to this?

Aoife stood, in contrast to the other two looking completely unphased. This was just another day in the office. In a carefully practiced movement she checked over her rifle as if it was an extension of her own arm. Her bright orange ginger hair was suppressed in her disguise, that was by far the most disconcerting thing about the whole operation. It felt weird to not have red hair..

Four stared ahead at the prison. Their face tensed and the thin line that usually compromised their mouth had dropped slightly to a frown. It had been a long time since they had done something like this. The reminder of what fostered their hatred awoke as they saw the metallic prison. Aria was undergoing what they had undergone. Or some sort of version of it, along with Allan and Dr. Alin. They may not even be- no. They were alive. Envision success and it will follow. Four kept their equipment close and made sure to steel their expression. Forcing their mouth into a line. It was ironic. Right when they began to understand emotion they had to shun it to keep their cover. All they could do now was focus on the objective. Elements guide us all, and if there are some that have already joined the endless chorus may they lend their voices too.

Well, the plan had called for engineers and that had been all the excuse Garcia needed to be present. Other than that, two factors made it so she felt the need to be here: her years of experience and Tarsek, of course. If there had been no other reasons though, she would have stayed back. She was not exactly proficient with shooting and did not wish to be a dead weight. But since she could be useful, there she was, in all her glory and new pointy ears. Not particularly nervous about dying, she worried much more about finding others already dead. (edited)

For the first time in their life, Autumn was wearing Engineering-coloured tactical gear. Like their last away mission, Autumn was the designated 'mule' for lack of a better term. On their back was a hefty armoured container containing specialised engineering equipment and tools. 'Just in case' Autumn kept repeating that phrase in their head. Just in case. Their job? Help keep the warbird running until everyone got back, that was where they were specialised and Q willing, they were going to see it through. (edited)

The mission required Vesta to disguise herself as a romulan, a short procedure with medical later and her spots were gone, her ears pointed, and a general green tint given to her skin. Her hair had also been grown longer to fit romulan standards and died dark. Worst was that to keep the cover, her visor had to go, though she was able able to keep the hearing aids, which she switched on. She much preferred communication in her native language of TSL, but she wasn’t going to let her comfort get in the way of the mission. Her first mission back, at least she was on the rescue side instead of the victim side this time. She went through the people they needed to save, she recognized some of them, but she didn’t really know any of them. She could almost pretend that she was back on one of her previous postings and Starfleet commend had added her to a rescue that had nothing to do with her posting. It wasn’t, but she could pretend.

Silver, in heavy contrast to her usual cheerful demeanor, stood quietly and stiff, face more blank than anything. She had put in contact lenses, dulling her eyes to a dark brown and hiding their typical yellow-orange glow. And.. most of all, she’d cut off her hair. It was a liability, someone could pull it, or it could come undone, it just could not be there if she wanted to be most functional. So, she’d taken scissors to it, reducing it to the bob she had worn it in at the very beginning of her life. She had dyed it, too. No need to stand out with it being bright white. Now, it was black, and so were her eyelashes too. Ears molded to points, and her language settings switched to Rihannsu. For this mission, Silver was thankful that she looked completely biological. She would need it. She was also thankful that she could always choose to keep a blank face. She would also need that. She wanted her friends back, if that meant risking it all to get them, that was alright. She had been built to risk her life for others, and Silver was incredibly good at following through with what she had been built for.

Amber didn't really have any stake in all this. In it for the love of the game, as they said. She watched the rest of the group with slight interest, trudging forward and getting more annoyed with her disguise with every step she took. How did one even act Romulan, or fascist, enough?

As the bird swept low, following the flow of other supply ships, a scanner swept across them...

19:33

Only a moment later, an incoming hail popped up.

No going back now, on hearing the hail Autumn held their breath - almost anticipating it to all blow up in their faces.

She eyed the intelligence and tactical present. They would probably lie better?

Four waited for one of the higher ranking officers to take over the hail. If they required assistance they would grant it. They did have experience with this sort of thing, but there were more efficient probable options. (edited)

Vara'l had checked and double checked his equipment and everything he had elected to bring with him as the journey progressed. Checked it with a certain care and studiousness that was both something trained into him through years of time and also the only display of the anxiety and worry he harboured he allowed himself to show. Displayed in a way that ensured without a doubt anything he had elected to bring was ready. When the hail then sounded, Vara'l looked up and glanced around him then and returned his focus to the console. Checked the readings there, having positioned himself at Tactical and called. "Incoming hail." And inhaled before he tapped the button to accept the hail.

Ev'kor was here too, his hair pulled back in a slick ponytail, his features smoothed out, wrinkles hidden and freckles removed, wearing contacts to hide his eye colour. As a Romulan, he needed to do very little to disguise himself as one, just working to make himself less recognisable. Ironically, it made him look more like his father, the regal, statuesque man he'd once been as an officer, and he felt that was probably a good thing, if he was going to be impersonating Tal Shiar personnel. He breathed calmly, thinking of all the medical equipment he'd hidden on the inside of his padded uniform, and the phasers everyone was carrying. They were going to be okay. Everyone was going to come home, including any other prisoners inside, and they'd apprehend any officers and then blow this place the hell up. It was going to be fine.

The traffic controller was an older woman, gruff and broad-shouldered. She eyed the bridge with vague disinterest before mismatched green-brown eyes settled on Vara'l. The most senior of them all, even in disguise. "IRW Ganmadan, state your business and your clearance codes, " she said flatly.

The Romulan, shifting as he fixed mismatched eyes with storm grey Hara hued ones stepped slightly out from behind the console. Stood tall and proud as training grasped his limbs, the remembered yelling of this or that instructor from far back when. From when he'd served a different fleet under a different proverbial flag. "We are a supply ship here per orders on a delivery." He stated as he then smoothly launched into saying. "Sending clearance codes now." And reached out and tapped his console to send them off to the Traffic controller.

A moment of silent analysis... And she nodded, deeming it passable. "That'll do, Ganmadan. Proceed to docking zone five for inspection."

"Order acknowledged, proceeding as directed." Vara'l responded then before he checked and noted that the call was cut. He then looked to Helm control and ordered. "Helm, do as they ask." Inhaled softly as he looked down at what he currently wore, his expression briefly shadowed before he looked to his console again. "Lets keep up the preformance."

Autumn let go of their breathed and it turned into a sigh of relief. One hurdle down, only the rest of them to go.