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[nodistresshere]

"Any more bright ideas?!" Iella hollers, ducking back behind the stack of shipping crates as a volley of blaster bolts singes the hell out of the wall where her head was a second earlier.

The cavernous warehouse is lit by furious blaster fire; the sharp, acrid tang of ozone and burned flesh is in the air.

IELLA IS SHOOTING BAAAAAACK LALALA

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[corsec_jedi]

"No, I'm pretty sure it's your turn!" Corran scythes blaster fire back around the doorjamb through which he and Iella came several minutes ago. The metal doorjamb is melted and deformed from the sheer volume of energy that has been dispensed into it.

The younger CorSec agent slides down the wall to the floor and pulls out a new power pack. "Only one more left," he growls as he slaps the pack in. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but didn't all our research and records and everything show Lanesla as never having more than 4, maybe a half a dozen guards and other members of his entourage? Where'd the other half come from?"

Corran leans out briefly, aiming by feel as much as sight, and stitches one of the henchmen with multiple bolts at waist level and watches him drop. "Okay, four down." Still eight to go. I'll be stunned if we get out of this one.

[nodistresshere]

Iella provides covering fire as he reloads, popping up above the stack of crates with her blaster held in the familiar, practiced two-handed grip. They're surrounded, three inside the warehouse -- shooting into the crates -- and five outside, trying to come through the doors.

"No idea, but it'd be helpful if they went back where they came from!" she tosses over her shoulder. "There are at least eight left out there." Including Lanesla himself. She ducks, slams a new power pack into her blaster. It's just in time; red bolts rain down from above, in addition to the ones already coming at them from their own level.

A hiss, a slice of super-heated air by her face, and the smell of singed hair all herald a near-miss. She snaps her arm up and fires off several shots. The man up on the catwalk -- dammit, dammit, where'd he come from; they'd been trying to keep them from getting up there -- ducks away.

"Backup," she's snapping into her comlink. "Central, again, these are Agents Wessiri and Horn requesting immediate backup--"

[corsec_jedi]

"Stop requesting, start demanding, it might help!" Corran is Cranky. VERY Cranky.

He leans around the doorjamb again, spraying fire at one thug who dives back behind a speeder. This saves the crook from almost certain pain and or death. Corran, however, is not so lucky--one of a hail of red blaster bolts from above catches his arm, and he ducks back and hisses in pain. "Kriff, that bastard on the catwalk's trouble."

He crouches further back from the door this time as he switches the blaster to his healthy hand and pats a couple of his now-empty pockets. "I'm out of concussion grenades. You got any left?"

[nodistresshere]

"Last one; make it count." She tosses a grenade to him, underhand.

"If you want to try to break the jamming, be my guest!" she snaps, peppering the guys in the warehouse with some choice shots. One screams and goes flailing out from behind his cover to hit the floor; Iella nails him with another shot, just to be sure. "I think the first transmission might have gone out, but I don't know."

She whirls back and down just as another withering volley of blaster bolts is unleashed; for a second, she's facing Corran, her back against the stack of crates. Her face is set and her eyes are wild, her hair disheveled, but there's concern there, too; it's not top priority, since he's still on his feet and they're still being shot at, but it's genuine. "You okay?"

And then, a bad noise: the speeder's engine roaring to life.