OOC: Alright. Time is starting to be on my side again. Expect my activity to increase in a fe-screw it. Expect it now.
IC (Coruscant, Night One, Police Forces)
If they were capable of it, the police droids would have reacted with shock and more then a little bit of awe. To attempt such a stunt was clearly a death sentence unless one had practiced for long hours and had modified their bike just so, it was a foolish risk. A risk that most beings would not take. The droids however, felt no emotions, no awe and no glimmer of respect for a skilled enemy. They set about responding to the assassin's stunt in the fashion as their programming demanded. It was a common mistake to think of droids as sentient, so effectively did they emulate it. In truth, very few droids achieved that status and most of them had to be designed in that fashion. Droids were highly advanced computers with bodies, running of their programming and any creativity simulacrums included in their processors. This distinction was important, a sentient would have felt fear, would have been wary of following the assassin on her daredevil stunt.
The blue-painted police droids manning the assorted speeders had no such feelings. Their coldly efficient programs told them that when a criminal runs, barring exceptionally hazardous circumstances (I.E a warzone) they were to pursue. Thus, as the daring assassins speeder completed it's flight, the assassin would hear the sound of sirens and, perhaps, glance back. She would see three speeder bikes sailing after her, their fearless metallic riders grasping the handlebars with one hand and reaching for their pistols with the other. Speeder bikes did carry some heavy weapons, but every little bit of firepower one put out there counted. It remained to be seen if all of the droids would have the same luck the assassin seemed to possess however. Statistically, the chances weren't good. Jumping over a gap was hardly a safe thing to do in any circumstances and attempting during the night on Coruscant was about as far from ideal condition as one could get without throwing a Rancor into the picture.
The heavier, less aerodynamic cruisers had peeled off from the speeders and were currently seeking safer routes to the assassins probable destination, a plan was already forming in their mind processors, if they could set up a roadblock and drive her into it, there was a 45.75% chance of capturing the assassin alive.
IC (Pre's Estate/Paranoid Fortress, Day One)
As the duo proceeded through the fortress, they might have noted the materials the walls were made off. Beneath the geometric designs and whatever sparse decoration Pre felt the hall warranted, was a tough and sturdy metal. It wasn't tough enough to completely shrug off a blaster bolt, but it could easily be described as "blast resistant", it was an old Mandalorian material, not seen outside of fortresses for some time. As they proceeded to the turbolift through these halls, they would note that many of the servants that would pass them in all the hallway sported a blaster pistol in addition to their uniform. In addition to all of these, camera droids had a constant buzzing presence in the hallways, evidently running through random patrol routines. Some of them were even armed with a light blaster.
It would rapidly become apparent that Pre Vizsla was a very careful man. If all that they would have seen was any indication of the man's character. What would likely cement it however, would be the turbolift itself. Instead of being built into the side of the building to offer a better view of the land surrounding it, it was built into the center, making it harder to access to any enemy force. The set of guards flanking it helped to confirm that notion quite nicely. The duo would be waved through with little difficulty, as the outer guards had been in communication with their fellows and a quick scan of their facial features would confirm their identity without any verbal input on their part. Then the hunters would encounter something that shocked them.
As they entered the turbolift, decorated only with blue carpeting, they would see a Dug flanked by two B1 battle droids. Judging from the Dug's uniform and his aristocratic bearing, he was a being of importance and if the hunters were wise to the powers of the universe, they would recognize the symbol on his purple dress uniform as that of the Trade Federation. For his part, the Dug wouldn't appear eager to make conversation, seemingly consumed with some readouts on his datapad.
IC (Kalee, Jungle, Day Eleven)
Chianu nodded to himself, already double checking the route they would take through the jungle. He turned to regard the hunters, casually crushing a wasp the size of his head that was getting a bit to close to him as he did so. "You will keep up with us. The jungle is treacherous and the Huk will not be long in coming. We cannot afford to stop." Such was the grim reality of the war they fought. The Huk could call down fire from their fleet in orbit if the Kaleesh lingered for too long. The only reason they did not do so against the very villages of the Kalee was because of the treaty. The infernal bugs were odd creatures, they had forced his people into small sections of their rightful territory. An action that was blatantly wicked.....and yet, they stuck to their treaty even as his warriors struck at them. Chianu was certain it couldn't last. The Huk were concerned with their own race and any compunctions they had about targeting civilians were certain to vanish.
In fairness to him, Chianu didn't know the whole picture. The Kaleesh had never shown much interest in the galaxy at large, keeping to their section of space and overseeing their own affairs. He didn't know of the rules of war the Republic had laid down or the horror with which mass bombardments of civilian targets inspired in most races. Chianu was a warrior and he would always think in those terms. It made for a good fighter and a lousy diplomat.
The jungle loomed before the group of Kaleesh and the varied assortment of Trade Federation hirelings. The calls of a hundred creatures drifted through it, the chirp of the bird, the buzzing of a thousand insects and the howls of some far-off predator. Chianu spoke one word and one word only. "Move." Then the Kaleesh were off, weaving through trees and the underbrush with the ease of long years of practice and natural instinct. They could have moved much faster, but some lingered, moving slightly slower then the others. Chianu was a good leader, these commandos were hope for an end to the war. Leaving them to die in the jungle was hardly ideal and despite his bluster he would ensure that hunters made it to the camp.