PROCESSING...
PROCESSING...
INITIALIZING...
[INITIALIZATION AND ARCHIVE RETRIEVAL COMPLETE.]
"A DARK PILGRIMAGE" RECORD 06: FUNDRAISER
[BEGINNING PLAYBACK]
Wild Space
12:00 (Shipboard Time)
[ERROR] / [ERROR] / 876 ABY
The mood was a hectic one, to say the least. "Multiple confirmed boarding parties sir! Airlocks across the station are on lockdown and all defenses are offline, no response from the security stations!" It had seemingly been a normal day at first, routine even. "Hangars just lost power, everyone left inside them were spaced when the shields went down. Emergency airlocks are not responding." The smuggling station hadn't seen much action recently, surprising given the war going on, but being out in Wild Space and away from conflict did have some perks. "The frigate is circling back around, it's guns are aiming towards the escape pod bay!" Like the fact that no one was within range to hear an emergency transmission. "Reserve power just came online, we've got reports of firefights breaking out on all levels and sections but armory access is still being denied." Just the way that they liked it, right up until they were the ones having to call for help. "It's unconfirmed but we've got reports of movement heading towards our way!"
But just like with the previous station's owners when they themselves boarded and claimed the station, no help came.
The station's de facto leader barely had time to comprehend all of the information that his subordinates were shouting out by the time a knock on the door of the control center silenced them all. A second, much louder knock, came shortly after. Quickly scrambling for cover and for whatever weapons they had on them, the control station crew and their leader all aimed towards the door as they awaited a third knock. It never came, instead a glowing red blade pierced through the door and began carving a hole. "Son of a-" "Sith?!?" The remaining smugglers and pirates soon found their resolve failing and by the time the door was finally cut open only the leader still held his blaster in shaking hands. A masked, red cloaked figure wielding the red lightsaber that had cut through their last defense stepped into the room and regarded the surrendering control crew silently. Unfortunately the leader decided to doom all his remaining allies, and fired off a bolt intent on killing the Sith.
The next thing he knew an invisible yet uncompromising force wrapped around his throat and nearly crushed his windpipe as it squeezed down, making him drop his weapon out of sheer shock. Holding one hand up in a choking motion, Alisteri effortlessly deflected the bolt into one of the nearby crew and all froze as the body of their crewmate fell to the ground while their leader grasped his neck in an attempt to relieve the pressure around his throat. He watched helplessly as the Sith then made short work of the rest of the control crew, cutting down each and everyone of them. Some tried to fight back, others kept attempting to surrender, and some even tried to make a dash for the door, but regardless soon they were all put to the blade and only their choking leader remained.
"Now, I understand that you have a lot of business contacts. Other smugglers, merchants, dealers, whatever you want to call them." By now the station's leader had fallen to his knees as he tried in vain to breath steadily, the grip of the Force allowing him just barely enough air to keep him coherent as the masked Acolyte stared down at him. "I'd like you to call a little meeting with the richest ones, as many as you can if you wouldn't mind. Make up an auction, a deal, I don't really care what you tell them. Just get them here as soon as possible. Do you understand me, pirate?"
Wild Space
15:00 (Shipboard Time)
[ERROR] / [ERROR] / 876 ABY
It had taken nearly a week to assemble the five most wealthy clients together for his little "auction." Even then said clients weren't much, most of them were independent small-time crime lords or sketchy merchants much like the smugglers that the station used to belong to. They weren't worth much alone, but combined they could give the Altorius and his cult a nice little repository of credits to rely on. Not to mention the supplies and assets that they could acquire from said clients. Alisteri watched from above the meeting room, sat upon one of the structural supports that held up the asteroid's natural rock from the rest of the station.
The clients didn't seem to notice all of the apparently new staff, nor did they notice how much their host was sweating or how pale with sheer dread he was. They were far too busy with their drinks and drugs after all. The leader trembled in his seat at the head of the meeting table, not partaking in the small feast that the rest of the table's guests were indulging in. He knew better than to trust anything the cultists had prepared by now. Alisteri shifted his gaze from the sight of the guests to the datapad in his hand, waiting for when access to their financial accounts and assets had been gained. Hiring outside slicers admittedly hadn't been his first choice, but no one in the cult knew how to do such a job and his own skills in such matters were nonexistent. Soon though, the cost would pay off. The last slicer sent in their confirmation, as well as the new password for the account, and Alisteri cracked a smile.
Now he could stop entertaining this little charade. He wasted no time in tapping his communicator and issuing a single word into it, watching as the doors around the meeting room suddenly all opened up at once. The guests finally looked away from their banquet and one another as Sith Legionnaires stepped into the room, their blasters trained on the table. Before the leader, or anyone else for that matter, realized what was happening, the shooting started. Alisteri merely watched the display and transferred the slicers their payment as his Legionnaires kept firing into the backs of the station's clientele.
The splicers were the last loose end but Alisteri saw little point in hunting them down. They could prove useful later on after all. He hopped down from his perch and landed on the meeting table, the guests and their host still sitting in their chairs even in death. He bent down and plucked a half-drunken glass of wine from the table before holding it up like he was making a toast. "Ladies and gentlemen, our heist was a success. Drinks are on me."
Wild Space
15:35 (Shipboard Time)
[ERROR] / [ERROR] / 876 ABY
[ENDING RECORD PLAYBACK]
