Baby, Make me Sick | First Order Dominion of Ketal Hex

[Dirk Bannahan]

Ketal
Callsign Rook,
Landing “Pad” at Waypoint Nine,
Two weeks after “Bloody Primeday”

It was a poor excuse for a landing pad -filled with strewn trash eager to float and catch on fire along with a splattering of broken crates. Rusting durasteel pipes, freighter viscera, moribund scraps of rotted rags: all impressed upon Agent Rook and gave him a firm impression of the dirty soil crunching beneath his boots. He wasn’t dressed like an offcomer, instead adopting the manner of the typical Ketalian. Wide brimmed hat, sturdy boots, thick gloves, and a ragged duster to block out what looked like eons worth of irradiated sand. This was the exaggeration of the Rougher -a term for the outcasts who made hand over fist carting specific bacta chemicals from the ancient salt deserts across unyielding terrain to the civilized population centers away from this hostile climate. The truth of the matter was one of convenience. Most large ships and vehicles quickly deteriorate and become clogged as the salt was pushed around thanks to the cold prevailing winds typical of this area of the planet. Instead, donning a thick pair of goggles and a few backpacks was the easiest way to get this stuff out of the mines. And Ketal never had enough resources to justify a full blown corporate dig. All that was left were dregs. It was speculated by archaeologists that once upon a time there were vast reserves before some event depleted anything of value.

All of it meant nothing more than absolute garbage to Rook.​

He went over his assignment -all centered around the little black case about the size of a datapad cover currently tucked away in his pocket. Somewhere in that chaotic sea of salt was a small town of around 400 lives huddled around junk craft and scrap buildings. They had been deemed as unwanted. In but a few short hours the agent will have posted up in a dump-inn with the cover of being a Galactic Alliance defector running after the Blockade Battle. Once that was accomplished he would unleash Hell on those repulsive, degenerate folk.

Rook fastened his belts and made his way down the slopes, knowing fully well that he wasn’t even the point operative being deployed to this rock. He imagined the First Order had saturated the planet with vectors of transmission and assigned appropriate personnel to manipulate the right kind of audience. It was to be the quietest planetary invasion undertaken in recorded history -or at least that’s what the higher ups wanted to believe. All he could do was pray that the damn vaccine was going to work, because according to this timetable he would be patient zero in this town...

[member="Rolf Amsel"] | [member="Ara Zambrano"] | [member="Miriamel Arleen"] | [member="Kyrel Ren"] | [member="Varas Kyrel"] |[member="Krayn Ren"] ​

OOC notes (mission parameters):
-Use modified bio-chemical toxin to poison population centers and cause outbreak upon said centers. Allow these centers to lose a significant portion of their citizens. A vaccine prepared in advance can cure disease.
-Use agents to sway key influencers to request assistance from the First Order while encouraging refugees to escape to First Order medical centers already prepared with vaccine.
-Purge any mutations or infected that are not compliant.
-Send a strike team to Old Base to detain and execute any defectors found.
-Establish long term medical centers and use toxins to purge home-worlders in favor of First Order colonizers over time.
-(Optional) Set up advanced listening post.
-(Optional) Set up military base and assembly effort in support of war effort.

While this may be a FOSB operation, feel free to use your First Order characters and develop them so long as IC justifications are maintained. Subtlety is key here, so keep deployments to bodyguard NPCs if you feel you need them. Using legions of troops or spec groups are out of this operation's scope. Mission parameters may change at faction leaderships's discretion.

Finally, please tag my main account (The Major) going forward. Have fun!

 

[Samka Derith]

Post 1​

Location: Defector Shanty Town​

Objective: Somebody's poisoned the waterhole​

Ordinarily Samka wouldn't take part in this sort of operation anymore. It was just a little too low brow for her these days, the girl preferred to attend other matters but today, the First Order's objectives on Ketal aligned so very well with her own.

The young Ren had been experimenting with toxins lately and this was the very best practical assessment she could hope for. A way to see how the poison would spread, how fast, the effects on species to species and how painful the final death would be.

Hopefully she'd see that anyway.

A few of the more soft-hearted members of their empire had aimed to vaccinate the world before any truly terrible effects could be had as a part of the First Order's Hearts and Minds program, winning over the locals with good deeds.

But these people weren't locals, not the camp she stood in today. It was solely a refugee camp for defectors of the war from both sides. The poorest and most desperate of defectors had established their own shanty town. They were worthless, all of them. No one would mourn their loss. They gave nothing to this world and had offered only treason to their nations. While the former Alliance personnel may have a small glimmer of hope inside themselves that perhaps the First Order might make merciful overlords considering they shed the uniform which opposed them, the defectors from the First Order would be under no such belief. Oddly enough, it was those who had once served the First Order who would be a greater obstacle than those who had once served the Galactic Alliance.

Samka whistled joyfully as she carried bed sheets through the camp, she wore a uniform of the Order of the Sacred Lotus, the galactic peacekeeping and medical group who had begun to fade into history, the galaxy clearly too bloodthirsty for such an organisation to exist. It provided enough goodwill, however, to pass as a concerned volunteer touched by a plight of these refugees, a cover which had been in place for a little over a week now.

Soon however, she reflected as she passed the sentient filth all around her, she'd be an instrument of their suffering, not their aid.

 

[Progflaw99]

​

​

Inner Rim \\ Ketal \\ Waterpoint Alpha​

Callsign Roughneck \\ Operation Well Water​

Phase I | Initiation​

​

The sun had come up early today, casting a near orange light over the barren landscape of Ketal. Dry. Dirty. Hot. At least this part of the planet. Regardless, Malcolm had seen worse parts of the galaxy. Even now he could feel the temperature beginning to rise. The FOSB Agent had spent the morning acquiring a handful of local garb, ragged jacket and some ratty cargo pants painting him as a refugee of the war - Alliance or Imperial it wasn't descript - though it looked like at one point a handful of patches had been ripped off the jacket. He would have preferred to liberate them from one of the local refugees but instead he'd gone about, managing to scrounge up enough bartering currency to trade. It hadn't been anything significant, a few ration bars and a small knife ensured the tightly laced boots on his feet were of some quality. Everything else he'd had to either steal or manufacture himself. Drawing on the vast resources of the First Order, he'd managed to secure himself an equipment drop however - in the form of an attache of the Order of Ren.

He didn't know much about his contact, though he was assured she'd reach him when the time to initiate Operation Well Water. He'd read the intel reports, studied the diagrams - he was ready, but until the time came he was to blend in. *Blend in.. eugh.* He wasn't thrilled. Aside from smelling like bantha poodoo, the people here didn't do much beyond drink, repair various speeders and machines, and salvage junk. The most precious commodity here wasn't the miscellaneous hardware salvaged from any number of vessels, Alliance or Imperial, but information. Thankfully, Malcolm wouldn't have to stick around the shantytown too long. An outsider like himself could probably be picked out of a crowd relatively easy - which is why he was exactly why he was doing what he was about to do. Covering his hands in a small can of grease, Malcolm smeared the thick and gritty compound across his clothes, marking up his exposed flesh with a handful of sand atop the grease. *Dirty.* It was the look of everything out here, covered in dirt and grime.

Malcolm had been planetside for nearly a week, securing himself as a displaced maintenance worker. It wasn't terribly difficult, his handling on mechanics enough to get by the casual gazes of the transients now living here on Ketal. He'd initially proved his worth by "repairing" a malfunction of the local well. Of course there hadn't been a malfunction to begin with, that was where his contact had come in handy, sabotaging the shantytown's primary source of water. He'd volunteered to take a look, and a little to his surprise the town had agreed. Needless to say, the pump was fixed - at least temporarily. It wouldn't hold forever. As if to punctuate that fact, Malcolm heard a frustrated sigh from outside the tent he was in followed by a stream of curses. *And there it goes.* Grabbing his toolkit, he finished grubbing his hands before stepping out into the morning sun. *Off to the well.* If everything went according to plan, he'd go check out the pump, excuse himself to get a replacement part, pick up the toxin via his contact, and then the plan would escalate to phase II. Implementation.

[member="Varas Kyrel"] | [member="The Major"] | [member="Samka Derith"]​

 

[Rhia Novatinsky]

Post 1​

Objective: Oversee release of bio toxin, gather data on the dead, curb the release of the anti-toxin​

Location: First Order Safe House​

​

Wearing nothing that could be traced back to the First Order, Rhia hid in a rented appartment complex watching the two chemists she pulled out of her prison on Endor do their work with making deployment devices for the FOSB' Bio toxin. The city she was in was one of the more populated areas, but things had to be not traced back to the First Order, so she only took two of her trusted security forces with her. The chemists were nearly done with the first batch of the toxin, so with it close to being ready, Rhia sent out her two guards to scout out a location perfect for deployment.​

​

"Is everything like I wanted it to be Dr.?"​

​

"Out of the two only one could talk as the other had be subject to an "accident" at the prison. The one that could though had a mask on at all time also due to an "accident" so his voice sounded mechanical.​

​

"Ye..Ye...Yes Warden Novatinsky."​

​

"Not trying to make a commotion now are you Dr.? I made it very clear I am just to be call Novatinsky here."​

​

"Ye..yes understood."​

​

The Doctor was clearly nervous with being this close to Rhia, as he knew her reputation. As did most prisoners on Endor, but this wasn't Endor though she did control their movements and what they did, this wasn't First Order space....yet​

 

[Sara Lee Jones]

Post 1
Objective-oversee release of toxins. Primary objective parameters, security detail for [redacted].

She didn't like any of this, releasing a toxin into a populated area full of innocent people who just wanted to live? Even it was pushing what she believed in...but she had to bite her tongue and just soldier on....which made her question just one thing

Why was she chosen for security detail for the same warden who she greatly despised? One she has the lovely honor of seeing for nearly a year and a half, she had hoped to not see her ever again...however fate obviously wasn't done putting these two together

Dressed in simple clothing armor underneath and a blaster pistol on her side she peeked out the window then walked around to check the room a few times

You know, times like this I really prefer the air

She said to herself as she adjusted her armor and looked to the warden and the two chemist, she had seen them briefly fearing her stay on endor but nothing more...they were scum

She waited...thinking and over thinking, she just had to remind herself this was for the first order, for a better future, for peace

AT ANY COST

 

[The Major]

Ketal, the verge of a new era,
Callsign Spider,
Lagrange Point L3,
a Star, proud, burns between them and the point,

Thus sat the Major, meditation taking the form of simple weapon's maintenance. The old stories often told of Mandolorian warriors who would tinker with their various tools of killing with machine precision and unrivaled perfectionism. She wondered briefly if such honorable chaps still had kin who strode upon the fields of battle: merciless, tactile, and stalwart. Perhaps in a past life the Major had been like one of those mighty warriors: barking like mad and laughing at death and flame. Probably not. The past was a grave -rubble and ash to be forgotten. In most cases what remained was a scummy film and facsimile of the real thing. Sometimes, the past persisted and refined itself -growing ever bolder and stronger. Such was the First Order. Stronger. Bolder. Victorious. Glorious. The morbid four eyed operator had to rationalize it in this way. These last few weeks had been nothing but absolute chaos, bringing the woman to a shaky precipice of self doubt. In her eyes, this was the very last chance this organization had to prove itself worthy of her loyalty. An operation so cruel and manipulative if everyone was playing their utmost to one side. If they could not prove such here, then the First Order never would.

Such treacherous thoughts meandered through her mind as she pondered this: seeing that powerlessness aboard the Red Veil from the former Empress of Teta served as a slate mirror reflecting her own weakness. What would Sybil find upon the planet just a zip and hop around this sun? She could not pin it down, but it was felt in the form of a coming answer. For now concentration and longsuffering were the reality. To silence that nagging consciousness the best result was a simple motion: a cloth wiping up and down upon the sharpened edge of a songsteel ax.

​

[member="Sara Lee Jones"] | [member="Rhia Novatinsky"] | [member="Malcolm Denwich"] | [member="Samka Derith"]​

 

[Graf's Archive Account]

AVALONIA, DOSUUN​

Home Office Headquarters - 15:49​

​

"Still, it cannot be denied that there are some advantages to releasing the piece near-simultaneously with the arrival of the military."

"Like what, letting every tabloid have a story that makes one lick of sense? 'Diseased Diplomacy; Cure or Conspiracy?' I can already see that headline blazing through the HoloNet, the Alliance eating it up like a health-nut after a juice cleanse."

"Perhaps, but there's also the chance that the government will be praised for its fast resp-"

"Oi, how's it going for you lot?"

The two disgruntled civil servants glanced up from their gaggle of datapads, each displaying some form of a half-typed story or unrevised propaganda piece, as one of their bosses strolled into the conference room. A slight twinge of fear could be observed in the eyes of both workers when they were alerted to his presence.

"Fine. We were just talking about why Nalah shouldn't try for a release of the publication on the Ketal Operation as soon as the aid arrives..."

The young man trailed off at the uncharacteristically delighted smile on the media official's features. "Oh, I don't know. Maybe she should! Good idea!" Rhan informed, before moving as if to leave the room, suddenly turning to face the two "Oh, wait a minute! I know why she shouldn't! Because, you know, if she did that, she'd be dead. To me, to this department, to the government."

The female worker straightened up, fright beginning to form. "And she'll never get another story, or even a fething whiff of a story as long as she kept her sorry, hack schutta face lingering around Avalonia, because I would call every editor, informant, and minister I know within her clearance - " The middle-aged man paused for effect " - which, obviously, that's all of them - and I'd tell them to gouge her name out of their address books so she'd never even get a job on hospital radio where the sad sack belongs. That's what I'd tell her."

"But maybe you should instead."

 

[Armand Temi]

Inner Rim \\ Ketal \\ Waterpoint Alpha​

Callsign Roughneck \\ Operation Well Water​

Phase I | Initiation​

Ezra found himself on Ketal in a begrudged state of mind. The Deputy Director of Operations had interrupted his work on Skye as he oversaw the completion of the Sten-kytri Colony, his pet project since deployed on Ossus to discuss an interbreeding program with the Stenax. What better way to ensure the success of it, than to live among both species, studying their culture and identifying commonalities which could be nurtured and blended? Yet with one curt and cryptic holocall, the Staff Officer was whisked away to another more pressing mission.

But why, when he was on the precipice of not just one, but several breakthroughs in the breeding and population program? Ezra was above hacking into headquarter data to find out, so he did the next best thing - took the DDOO’s administrative assistant out for drinks where she proceeded to imbibe just enough to spill the beans.

“You were getting too close to a female S'kytri,” she admitted with a grimace of disdain. But then Amakai, suddenly more interested in the salacious details, asked, “What do you think he meant by that?” Arching a dark eyebrow and finishing his whiskey, Ezra changed the subject, not wanting to entertain her need for libertine gossip.

“I have no idea.”

Needless to say he was highly annoyed, but vowed to not take it out on his partner today, though his indignation was quite palpable. Yet ever the professional, like Malcom, Ezra looked the part. He’d grown a grizzled, salt and pepper beard and adopted the same ragged clothing of his companion. His first stop was the local well.

“Your Ren couldn’t make it,” the agent said, sidling up to Malcom with a bit of hip swagger, only adopted for his persona. “They sent me instead.” This was said with as much disappointment as he could only imagine his colleague was feeling. Or not. He cared little for interpersonal exchanges unless he had something to gain or to study.

His brow furrowed over how greasy the man was. Did Ezra go to such lengths as well? He caught sight of himself in a reflection and with his tanned, weathered face, slovenly beard and disheveled clothing, he reasoned he appeared “transient” enough that he did not need to cover himself with an additional layer of grime.

[member="Malcolm Denwich"] | [member="The Major"] | [member="Samka Derith"]​

 

[Miriamel Arleen]

Governor Arleen had received a most irregular report from Black Hole Laboratories. A package had been delivered to the institution containing and envelope marked with exhortations to exercise the greatest care. The scientists, intrigued as they were, were paralysed, uncertain how to proceed under unknown political and bureaucratic constraints.

Oddly marked things in First Order space usually originated with either the First Order Security Bureau or a madman - not that the two possibilities were considered mutually exclusive. The FOSB appeared to have a special talent for putting the most unusual minds to work in the service of civilisation, turning them from agents of chaos into a force for good.

Opened under the strictest precautions, the envelope revealed a small vial containing a sample of something or other. Upon application of a minuscule amount to a guinea pig (bearing, according to the certificate of its decease, brown and white spots), the substance turned out to be an extraordinarily potent pathogen.

The natural thing to do when a pathogen was encountered in a populated are was indisputably to seek a cure. An appearance inside a laboratory located near a major population centre was sufficiently close to that scenario to instantly trigger the same response.

Some less worldly individuals were surprised many months later when the FOSB eventually deigned to request to be informed of the progress that had been made in the development of a vaccine. Black Hole Laboratories were delighted to profess to be in possession of what, according to them, was a perfectly effective counteragent.

***
​

Although her presence could hardly be called an operational necessity, it was not only for curiosity's sake that Miriamel was standing on the bridge of a First Order medical frigate. It had been ordained that the planet Ketal's fate was to be to be cleansed of its undesirable population and subsequently be transformed into a civilised First Order world that would eventually contribute to the nation. As an experienced administrator of a developing bacta-producing realm that could serve as a model for Ketal, Miriamel had been tasked with supervising the recolonisation effort, beginning with the establishment of medical centres that would orchestrate population replacement in the medium term.

And so, while the First Order Security Bureau's agents were engaged setting the stage and introducing the novel pathogen to the target world, Miriamel had a watchful eye on the final preparations of the small pioneer fleet.

 

[Rhia Novatinsky]

Post 2​

Objective: Oversee release of bio toxin, gather data on the dead, curb the release of the anti-toxin​

Location: First Order Safe House​

​

Rhia never really made eye contact with Sara, as to her, Sara was still or should still be in the Prison. The chemists were still busy at work with the toxin, Rhia would just sit in her chair patiently waiting for the entire batch to be finished. Not saying a word, just thinking on how she could keep this operation silent after it was done. The two guards she brought with her would keep their mouths shut, the wild cards however were Sara and the two chemists. Her solution to the chemists was easy once back at the prison they would meet an "unfortunate accident" to gang violence. Sara however was more a concern, Rhia didn't want anyone outside the operation knowing of what happened. Being here alone could possibly threaten her position as a governor, but it was something she wanted to see first hand as something like this could have uses later on in the First Order's future. She couldn't force Sara to keep her mouth shut, or make her disappear either, as Sara wasn't an inmate anymore. Rhia would have to find something Sara held dear and squeeze it to make sure this operation stayed quiet.​

​

[member="Sara Lee Jones"] | [member="The Major"]​

 

[Sara Lee Jones]

Post 2
Objective- watch the release of toxins, guard data gatherers, stop all anti toxins

She glanced over to the warden and frowned as she moved about the room looking at the chemist making sure they weren't trying anything stupid. She still didn't like this while mission...however she knew it was for peace....

Someone had to do the dirty work! Someone had to get blood on their hands, blood of the innocent to forge the way for others. That how it always was right? She shook her head and sighed as she looked outside again seeing people walking about

must be different seeing me outside a cell eh warden?

She hated the woman, but she had to make conversation rather then listening to the mumbling of the chemist....


[member="Rhia Novatinsky"] [member="The Major"]

 

[Luther Lewis]

Location: Ketal - Medical Frigate.
Equipment: Concealed Hold-out blaster.
Objective: Travel to the planet's surface and assemble listening post.

- - - - -​

"Okay, let's run this one more time" the FOSB agent said wearily. "Give me your name, occupation and brief account of your arrival on Ketal" Luther cleared his throat and slouched to fit more into character. "I'm Timothy Matare, though most folk call me Tim". The agent nodded. "As for what I do, well I am a farmer you see. Now, 'fore you start thinking, no I don't plan on growing crops an' such. Naw, I farm bantha, see. My Ma used to have a huge herd back on Tatooine, and I thought I'd try to get 'em started here. So, I arrive at Ketal-" The agent cuts him off. "Mr Ando, remember, I said not to exaggerate your story". He pinched the bridge of his nose. "Speaking of which, your accent is far too cliché. No one planet-side talks like that. Keep the intonation, but drop all those colloquialisms." He paused, ticking off boxes on a sheet of paper. "NEXT!" he shouted, and Luther was bundled out of the room.

- - - - -​

He felt naked without his armour, even though he was very much the opposite. He wore garb much like salvagers and farmers alike wore on hot, desert planets. Lots of loose cloth to protect them from the sun. His large backpack held animal feed on top, to hide the medical kits underneath. He felt like a fool standing in the cold sterile ship dressed as a scavenger. No one payed him any mind though, everyone was far too busy to care it seemed. He walked away from the room, shivering despite his warm garb.

He was wary of the Bureau. The army liked to spread horror stories about them, but then again, they spread stories about every single branch. In fact, he had started to revise his opinion about them. He'd trained briefly under Emilia Ravel, and the woman had seemed rather placid, nothing like the horrible rumors had suggested.

But now he had doubts. A small part of it was the mission itself. It made him sick to think of it, but he saw the necessity of what they were doing. No, the most disturbing part was the apathy, the disregard for the lives on surface. He always thought that it was important to care in battle, to feel at least a small pull of emotion. It was the least you could do to honor your opponent. The FOSB were nothing like that. That were cold, calculated and ruthless. He remembered back to the first interview for the mission. He remembered [member="The Major"]'s eyes. "Dark blue; as blue as the ocean" he whispered unconsciously. "And deep enough to drown in".

- - - - -​

He was stepping off the transport, having arrived on the surface. He'd finally shaken off his nerves. He rented a speeder to take him to the plot of land that was his 'farm'. The vehicle was essentially a floating piece of scrap, but it worked. Somehow.

The other residents payed him no mind, so he supposed his disguise worked. It was a short trip to the farm. He stepped off his speeder and entered the ramshackle house. Two men in ragged clothing were sitting at the counter, causing Luther to freeze and unconsciously reach under his coat, towards were his gun was hidden. They turned and the tall one said: "Ando, about time. Have a seat and we'll begin briefing". He groaned inwardly. More agents.

They were quick, stating that they didn't want to be seen here. Luther was to maintain this position until the First Order were ready to vaccinate. Once they were, Luther would be directing medical teams around town and identifying key areas for setting up medical tents/centres. "Until that order goes though, you'll be working to turn this farm into a listening post. There is a sizable basement to hide machinery and it should be easy to set up a concealed antenna in the windmill". He went on to explain that he would receive 'farming supplies' (which was really machinery for the listen post) and 'farm hands' (who were just radio techs) over the next couple of weeks, including today.

When they were done, Luther ushered them out like he really was a grumpy old farmer. He then unpacked his meagre equipment and collapsed onto the moldy bed.

This was going to be a long operation...

[member="Samka Derith"] ~ [member="Malcolm Denwich"] ~ [member="Rhia Novatinsky"] ~ [member="Sara Lee Jones"] ~ [member="Rhan Elysar"] ~ [member="Ezra Klev"] ~ [member="Miriamel Arleen"] ~​

 

[Samka Derith]

Post 2​

Location: Defector Shanty Town​

Objective: Somebodys poisoned the waterhole​

​

The tune the girl hummed became brighter as she crisscrossed her way through the makeshift settlement, overhearing a variety of conversations as she did so.

"Had a buddy blown away at Rutan, I wasn't going to be next. Not me."

"When I had him there, right in my crosshairs, I couldn't pull that trigger..."

"How was I supposed to go home and face my family after that?"

It only reinforced the young girl's belief that she strode within a nest of cowards and traitors, none of whom deserved sympathy.

She entered a hut, built mostly of makeshift metals, wood and even dirt to create some sort of shelter and offered a greeting to the Ithorian Doctor working within.

"Clean bed sheets for your unlucky customers, Doctor!" She announced brightly.

The alien made a noise which would be a chuckle in his own language. "<<Patients, not customers, my friend. These people own so little, it would be morally ill for me to charge for my services.>>"

"Oh I do know," she said, her tone remaining bright and lively and she paced over to a cluster of unused beds and began to unfold the sheets, setting the beds up for the next group of sick people to inhabit the makeshift clinic, Samka knew it wouldn't be enough. "Just a little jest on my part!"

The Ithorian, Doctor Nelbo, chuckled again. He was from a distant world, near the edge of what was once Hutt space. The doctors on his world were stereotyped as greedy thanks to abnormally high charges for healthcare access and no state welfare program whatsoever. The citizens of his world had to pay exorbitant sums to visit a doctor at any time. While Nelbo was far from the greedy doctor many would portray him as, Samka had settled into lightly teasing the alien who'd become her closest contact on the ground since she arrived just over a week ago.

"<<Child, I never asked...>>" the Doctor reclined in a chair watching her work tidying the beds, "<<your uniform, it's Sacred Lotus, isn't it?>>"

"Oh yes," she nodded, sparing the alien a quick smile, "I was working as an apprentice with them. I still feel their beliefs are worth fighting for so I wear the uniform they gave me with pride, sir!"

"<<An apprentice of the Force or of medicine?>>" The Doctor quizzed.

"Both, sir. But let's not spread that around so much, shall we? A few people here tend to be jittery of Force Users."

"<<Of course,>>" Doctor Nelbo agreed, nodding gently, apparently deep in thought.

It was a few minutes later before he spoke again, Samka sensing a slight change in the atmosphere as he did. There was something less welcoming... more suspicious.

"<<You realise, child... I too served within the Order of the Sacred Lotus... I don't recall you being there. Who did you serve under?>>"

Samke turned to face him, surprise etched onto her youthful face. "Doctor Nelbo? It was a large group, I'm sorry we simply must not have met. I worked beneath [member="Hazel Zanteres"]," she explained, naming one of the doctors she had met there.

"<<Did you?>>" The Ithorian seemed to growl. "<<I took copies of the records of patients when I left, just in case any of them fell back into my hands, I'd know what to do with them. I thought I recognised you when we met but I couldn't place it...>>"

"We must have passed each other while we were both working for the Sacred Lotus, Nelbo. It's what makes sense," Samka protested softly.

Doctor Nelbo withdraw his holopad and flicked through it. "<<Unknown human female found within a cavern collapse on Mustafar. Serious damage by blunt force objects to skull and body, minor burns across body. Found in First Order uniform - strong Dark Side signature. She looks very familiar, doesn't she?>>"

Nelbo threw his holopad to her, Samka caught it in one hand, a quick reflex on her part. Sure enough, her face was on this very medical record. She sighed dramatically.

"<<These people have suffered enough. I won't let you harm them any further, if that is what you have come to do,>>" the Ithorian's voice resonated with determination but there was nothing he could do to stop her poisoning this settlement.

Because she'd already done it yesterday.

[member="Luther Ando"] | [member="The Major"] | [member="Ezra Klev"] | [member="Malcolm Denwich"]​

 

[Progflaw99]

Inner Rim \\ Ketal \\ Waterpoint Alpha​

Callsign Roughneck \\ Operation Well Water​

Phase II | Delivery​

​

Malcolm's footsteps had taken him swiftly towards the well. By the time he arrived there was already a queue of frustrated people huddling beneath the canopy of a nearby stall to avoid the already rising heat. Agent Denwich grunted quietly as he manhandled the larger components of the pump. He already knew what was wrong with it, but he needed to make a show of it, for the local's sake. Giving the large pump a few solid whacks with a spanner, he nestled it back into place. He had yet to meet his contact - or so he'd thought.

"Your Ren couldn't make it." A brief pause. "They sent me instead."​

Malcolm eyeballed the man who'd saddled up next to him at the well. He should have been contacted well previous had the plan changed, then again, he supposed who they sent wasn't really his concern. Only that they'd brought the drop. Slowly removing his gloves and placing them at the edge of the well, he took a moment. "So, you have it then?" Subtly his eyes flicked to the gloves and the opening facing the new arrival. All it would take was a quick brush of his arm to send the gloves spinning into the well below. Everything was prepped, they just needed to finish executing the plan.

[member="Ezra Klev"] | [member="Samka Derith"] | [member="The Major"]​

 

[The Major]

Ketal /
Cold Dust and Broken Steel -Boiling /
Callsign Spider moves to engage /

“Remain on the shuttle and neutralize any who attempt to escape, understood?”​

The trooper spoken to bristled and confirmed the order before relaying that his squad should prepare disruptors for any vehicles if encountered. In these kind of conditions it was unlikely that a speeder could get far but anticipating anything was key to success. Remembering the destructive nature of the salt prone to flying about, this stormtrooper NCO ordered the pilot to close all engine ports and secure all access points -the last thing they would need is a fiasco involving wrecked components.

“Sir…” Cooed another of those FOSB wackos from a rear compartment as he moved forward -his gait and flowing hands moving in effeminate, mocking waves as he addressed the Major. “ Why don’t we accompany you? It’ll be faster than letting you handle all the… eheh… work.” The agent smiled sweetly upon his technical supervisor.

A heavy silence followed, or it would have been, if one of the other heavy troopers didn’t adjust his white armor plate to diffuse the hush which befell the shuttle. The Station Chief approached, eyes and face concealed in inexplicable and frankly impossible shadows which only magnified a gleam of light reflecting off the frames of her glasses. She advanced to a point about a hand’s length away from the junior agent and then pushed her face nearly touch his nose with her own.

“Did you just say something?”​

Agent Nillks survived that day on Ketal, and the one thing he specifically remembered before that fateful night fell upon them all was her breath. It was so cold. He could to this day remember his suddenly parched, tightened throat -or the way that his face felt as though frozen rods of iron had been forcibly shoved into his cheeks. That voice too; so cold, ice itself shoved into his ears. Instinctively, understandably, he shrank away from her implied reproach. Nillks knew that the troopers flanking his sides would most likely do little if he suddenly ran into an “accident.” Simple was the process to list him as another KIA during the great war. Grotesque imagery of his demise began to flow through his mind. Nearly stuttering, he corrected himself quickly: “N-n-no…. Sir!”

A continuous black face of ink nodded. Ridiculous. A child’s nightmare on display to dredge up the old fears. It turned away and punched a control which operated the hatch of this First Order shuttle. Like a cloud passing, she was gone -and they had their orders to wait.

They had been comrades on missions before; Agent Nillks had been assigned to her station since the annexation of Panatha. Rank being what it was he never could tell her how comfortable under her command. Chief Shepard always did everything with a dramatic flair and smile which was infectious -which spread an attracted the more atypical of the Security Bureau’s offerings. It was a great gimmick in a field as pompous and quite lethal as this. Now? He couldn’t say he recognized the frightful leader marching away without backup.

A strange, bitter presence seemed to cling to the Victorian styled woman as she approached the outpost -her garb even more out of place in a sandy biome such as this. The Major’s boots crunched upon the cold, salty surface; the bizarre tricorn hat was pulled low upon her forehead, and save for the plumage of a few wrinkled, withered white feathers her outfit subtly presented predatory angles and frenetic sharpness. As the Ketal sun began to dip beneath the horizon a gentle breeze picked up. In the distance one could spy a sandstorm rage like so much murk against the reddening sky. Ahead of the Station Chief a trio of ragtag sentries emerged from the two dome structures of trash and broken bulkheads in the form of challenge. From the improvised tower on the rightmost structure a guard casually readied a marksman’s blaster and took her place as overwatch on the affair.

“Tha’s close enough!” Yelled the tallest of the trio. “You’re no Rougher -state yer business or prepare to get blasted, Stranger!” The woman in the overcoat compiled by standing still. Since the sentries were focused by this seemingly lone intruder they failed to notice dark motes and twirling black dust formulating behind their position. Dreadful seconds passed as they started to grip their weapons more tightly before she explained her intrusion into their noble sanctuary.

“Traitors! You may run; you may hide. The First Order will always, inevitably, find you. From the highest admiral to the lowest sanitation worker —treason will be rewarded with death. Your families and assets have been seized by the state as per law. Any last words for the record? Final pleas or repentance?” Her voice boomed throughout the outpost, falling like a thunderous gavel with each syllable. As if this entire process was nonsensical enough by its own right, the young woman with auburn hair spread her white-leather gloved hands palms outward to the guards, embracing the only rational response a group of cornered defectors itching to escape the warmongering empire could muster. The Major’s eyes closed as she tucked her head downwards. A restful smile touched the corner of her lips. Finally. The end. Suicide politely assisted.

“Blast’er!” Screeched the lead agent.

And they did.

!BAM BAM BAM BAM!

!PEW PEW PEW PEW!​

!WOW WOW WOW WOW!
​

A dozen blaster bolts streaked across the space in tantalizing colors. Some missed. The ones that didn't pounded against her chest and stomach -each a mighty shove which twisted her this way first then that way next. The energy burst as striking, causing her body to jerk backwards like a repeatedly flicked paper marionette. Smoke released in dissipating clouds as material vaporized in flecks. Now on the back boot the outpost’s sniper finished off the target with a sizzling beam of green which sliced the air and punched into the Hunter’s hip, rocking her off her feet and making her land face down in a steaming heap. All remained still: a reflective calm in the light of such violence. Eventually one of the trio on the ground tried his commlink in order to call the fiasco in to the village a few kilometers away where Commander Derith was slated to play her own games. No doubt the jig was up if a First Order operative was confronting defectors so boldly. A wave of static caused him to flinch.

“Oy! What’s the story? Nothing but static on my radio. How about you up there?”

The sniper checked to the same result. “No, I’m down as well.”

“Same!” Confirmed the third.

“Oy, Rosie. The Freak over there must’ve jammed our signal. Go an’ check’er.”

A nod later Rosie proceeded as requested. Walking over to the figure laying face down, she considered where to start digging. So many pockets to peruse. Something about it the whole affair felt disturbing but she reckoned it was the residual adrenaline speaking. Ozone reeked, and she could swear there was a faint scent of lemon as she kneeled to grab at the trenchcoat. The woman selected a pocket at random and began to rummage about through its depths, surprised by feeling a soft petal inside. Curious, she pulled out what proved to be a blue rose. Peering more closely upon it, she attempted to smell it since it felt so real. As touched the shockingly blue petals on the tip of her nose there was------

“We should get the speeders ready just in case. No doubt there’s trouble afoot.” He tried his comm expecting whatever blocker in place to be disabled, and then is when he turned to curse out Rosie for taking her sweet time in killing that signal jammer.

Rosie was convulsing. She appeared to be choking on 3 pounds of songsteel spear which had found itself shoved through the side of her neck. Gurgling transpired as her lifeforce streamed down the curves of a halberd tip before leaking upon the shaft of the weapon itself. It was healthy blood to be sure -it had already dribbled down the white gloved hand holding fast, twisting the hilt to tear a more neat hole into tense meat. At the end of that hand and arm was a grin. Slowly, the rebel collapsed to her knees before falling into what looked like toxic shock. Her friends could only watch for a sinister, all consuming fear froze their limbs into place. The dark side of the Force was mysterious, unnatural boon for eons innumerable, and as its repulsive presence flared up like broken sore waves of ice flowed like a beacon.

They would have fought if they could; they would have fled if they could. Instead, the last intelligible words before the screaming began would come from the rising Major. Her Sunday Coat had proven enough to dispel these bolts although the wool looked a little more crispy where each shot had connected. As the smoke rolled off her tongue, as her hand pulled the ax free from another dying defector, as her head tilted up to reveal a terrible set of opalescent teeth baring like so many fangs, Sybil said:

“In the next life choose better friends.”​

A bubbled area of miasma descended. Alone. Closed off and frozen.​

[member="Samka Derith"] | [member="Malcolm Denwich"] | [member="Luther Ando"] | [member="Rhia Novatinsky"] | [member="Miriamel Arleen"] | [member="Ezra Klev"] | [member="Rhan Elysar"]​

 

[Armand Temi]

Inner Rim \\ Ketal \\ Waterpoint Alpha​

Callsign Roughneck \\ Operation Well Water​

Phase II | Delivery​

​

But there would be a Ren during this operation - nearer than one would think. Ezra had no knowledge that the individual who would make the drop was indeed a Knight and again at the last minute there had been a change in personnel, maybe to throw off any counter intelligence that had caught wind of the sabotage.

Either way the huddled masses didn’t care or even question why yet another mechanic had shown up to fix the infrastructure. Typical of government, they might think, to send in an army of inept workers to stand around hiking up their belts, drinking stimcaf and fething around on the taxpayer’s dime.

Dressed in a khaki fatigues and mud-stomping boots which came in handy as she walked up, her footsteps making a sploosh, sploosh sound in the thick sludge that lined parts of the less-paved ground of the well, Varas dug into her satchel after hearing Agent Denwich ask for the drop.

“Here,” she said, handing him a pair of black gloves - brand new ones with the smoky aroma of fresh leather - containing the toxin in a small capsule inside. He could either pretend to replace his worn gloves and put them on, or like he’d postulated, drop them in the well under the guise of a clumsy mechanic. The brunette Knight’s heart pounded in her chest, with not fear, but adrenaline and excitement. This FOSB operation was the very antithesis of what she was used to and she welcomed the new experience, also hoping not to bungle anything as they went.

[member="Malcolm Denwich"] | [member="Samka Derith"] | [member="The Major"]​

 

[Luther Lewis]

Location: Ketal - Farm/FO Listening Post.
Equipment: Concealed Hold-out blaster.
Objective: Travel to the planet's surface and assemble listening post.

​

Luther teetered and wind-milled his arms as he narrowly avoided what would be a painful and humiliating death. He had foolishly walked without abandon on top of the rusted windmill. He had thought he was a man of poise and precision, capable of walking with care. He was very much wrong and now hung suspended over empty space. With a little more effort, he managed to throw himself backwards. He grabbed onto a support, ignoring the sharp press on rusty metal into his palm. He breathed great deep gasping breaths. "I hope the spy-boys didn't see that" he muttered. He doubted he had such good luck however. Moving much more carefully now, he finished installing the antenna.

​

- - - - -​

​

Luther poured himself a large glass of water and went to check up on the men inside the listening post. The process was not undertaken lightly, for it was laborious task. It involved moving three chairs, a coffee table and rug to reveal a small trapdoor. You then had to unlock eight bolts in a specific order or the trap would detonate, fusing the locks (and possibly killing the intruder, Luther supposed). Once that was done, the spy-boys inside had enough time to grab blasters and fry you if weren't FO.

They damn nearly shot him this time, the trigger-happy private in charge of watching the door didn't recognize him under the grime and stuck the blaster in Luther's face. He was appropriately embarrassed for his mistake but Luther, who had dodged death twice in a matter of hours, wasn't so amused. He approached the two men in charge. From what Luther could tell, they were some sort of supervisory pair for the group. He didn't know much more, as he wasn't allowed to talk to the operators of the post. The two of them were insufferable, and prone to such strange leaps of logic that Luther had started to think of them as 'Tweedledee' and 'Tweedledum'. The distinction was based off a half-remembered children's story he had heard; the characters were idiotic twins.

"About time FN-4742!" Dee exclaimed, using Luther FN number. "You took far too much time setting up the antenna. Such exposure is an operational risk!" Finished Dum. Luther wasn't so sure that a man almost falling off a windmill was especially suspicious, but he decided not to argue. "But never mind that. Now that we have the network set up, we've encountered a problem. Follow". Luther frowned and accompanied them to one of the terminals. Dum nodded to the operator and the man played back a sound from his terminal. "We received this from the eastern fence" Dee said, his face particularly sweaty. "What is your assessment?" Luther shrugged. "Sounds like an old speeder" Luther replied "probably a farmer". "Exactly! A speeder! Maybe carrying dissidents! Or..." Dee searched for the word. "Alliance spies!" added Dum. Luther looked at both with an expression of open disbelief. He shook his head and started to walk away. "Errr...." intoned Dum, unsure what to say. "Yes! Go sort it out Sergeant! That is an order!" Dee shouted in a strangled voice.

Luther approached the exit, noticing the gung-ho private had been replaced by a level-headed corporal. "Please clear something up with me" Luther asked. "Why are those two idiots in charge?". Luther expected the woman to look hostile, but instead she let out a heavy sigh. "They're mathematical wizzes, and masters at code" the dismayed Corporal replied. "But this is their first time in command. It may... have gone to their heads a bit." Luther gave her a look that seemed to say: "good luck" and climbed out of the basement.

- - - - -​

​

Luther prepared the house for guests, sure that the farmer he heard was headed here to meet the new neighbor. He covered the basement entry up again and went about in messing up the house. First Order troopers were a naturally clean breed of people and so the house had been tidied up while Luther was out working. He kicked over a few boxes and covered up some furniture to make it look like he had only just arrived at the house. He took his water, half empty, and took a seat on the porch. Time to meet his guest.

[member="The Major"]​

 

[Progflaw99]

Inner Rim \\ Ketal \\ Waterpoint Alpha​

Callsign Roughneck \\ Operation Well Water​

Phase II | Delivery​

​

And there it was. Just as surprised as the man beside him, Malcolm raised an eyebrow in disbelief. This was one of their agents? *Fair enough.* he thought. Nodding, he took the gloves, setting them gently on the edge of the well. "Glad you could make it." he muttered, turning his attention back to the pump. *A right turn here, a left turn there. Loosen up the valve...* Thinking quietly to himself, he went back to work on the pump. "Stick around for a while?" he spoke to the woman, his eyes firmly planted on the pump before him.

It wasn't often he had company on ops, besides, if everything went off as planned, they were going to need all the help they could get. It wouldn't be long before the first cases of infection began to crop up. Reaching for a spanner, Malcolm gave the pump a few hard knocks, dust rattling free of the device. "That should do it." he said, matter of factly. Replacing the pump on its housing, he reached for the gloves, subtly palming the small container as it slipped from within. Placing his hands inside, he rapidly unscrewed the lid, leaning against the edge of the well. "So, how long you been planet side?" he asked the woman.

[member="Varas Kyrel"]​

 

[The Major]

Ketal,
At a camp,
Dusk approaches,
Agent Nillks investigates...
[member="Malcolm Denwich"] | [member="Luther Ando"] | [member="Varas Kyrel"] | [member="Samka Derith"]

It's not that he cared to know; he had to know what happened. Terribly tempered commanders fueled by youthful arrogance was more or less a running theme within the First Order, and it was something he could distinctly recall as a member of the army regulars in what felt like another lifetime before his civilian work within the rather unambiguously pragmatic Security Bureau. Nillks was ill suited for the scrappy life of a trooper, deemed to unaggressive for open warfare. After a stint on the typical rotation which saw him deal with some ill attempted insurrection at Bespin, he managed to get a cushy position as military police for the duration of his conscription. His effectiveness was. . . so-so.

Why was he so reflective as he struggled to firmly put boot in front of boot to approach the last location his Station Chief marched off towards?

Fear? Apprehension? He wasn't alone. He could sense the stormtroopers to his left and right reluctantly inching ever closer to the cold fog separating them from the camp. Bold in their white armor, and elite, even they knew this was a bad setup. Only a fool wouldn't hesitate.

He drew his sidearm while squinting into the infernal, persistent obfuscation of milky billows, double checking his reality. Something stopped him from walking head first forward.

"!AAAAAOOOOOOOOWWWWLLL!" ​

A howl pierced the air. The squad froze, perhaps stricken by its awful reverberation. A note of exasperation clung to the note, and urged forward by both the desperation left in its wake and their own hearts, the squad jumped through the nigh protoplasmic conjury of smoke. Perhaps the sight therein was a relief; perhaps it would be an image that would haunt them again and again.

"Hah..... Hah..."

Their officer towered askance over a twitching sod unidentifiable due to its mauling. Wheezing, the Major lifted the axe over her head. It appeared slicked with giblets or other sinister bits of pink persuasion. Down it went.

*!SCCCHPLURT!* "....Hah."

She lifted again and came down to the same sickening effect -this time accompanied by the crunch of skull impacting away uselessly.

"Hah..."

She lifted again. Wobbled but a moment. And came down upon the body with yet another strike. And again. Again.

Again.​

They stood agape at the scene. The agent couldn't move or make his stupid mouth flap. Eventually one of the guards mana---

*!SPLUSH!-gurgle-gugle* ".... Heh..."

---managed to open his gob. "Sir! Sector looks secure!"

The woman paused just as she raised her weapon, instead doggedly resting it upon her shoulder before turning to slowly face her compatriots. "Hah... Aye." Her front side appeared to have been doused no differently than her weapon, as though the very blood of her foes had sunken into her pores for seeping out like open sores. She took a moment to wipe away the viscera pockmarking her lips using the shoulder cape so gently catching the mysterious evening breeze. Sighing, the Major uttered,

"The First Order. . . is One, ey?" And she chuckled while motioned to the former imperials currently arrayed in pieces about the camp.

Nobody laughed along.

 

[Progflaw99]

Inner Rim \\ Ketal \\ Waterpoint Alpha​

Callsign Roughneck \\ Operation Well Water​

Phase II | Delivery​

​

Not waiting for an answer he shifted, eyes peering deep into the well as he sent the now open capsule tumbling along with the gloves. "Oops." he muttered, obviously unconcerned. With a raised eyebrow, Malcolm turned back to the woman, eyes meeting hers. "So, looks like the well should be up and running. All's left is to notify the elders and exfil. You've got a plan for that?" Taking a step away from the well, he looked back for a moment. "You comin'?" The walk wasn't a long one, but it was a winding path that would take them through the small tent city. Malcolm had arranged the infiltration, but he had been left in the dark about exfil. A common occurrence when working for an agency such as the FOSB. You came when they asked, you left when they told you. It was far from a luxurious life but it was a rewarding one. The things they could achieve when not bound by the laws of the military, or beneath the veil of night - it was impressive if you asked him.

In all honesty, he was used to the grit, used to the life in the gutter, but even he was ready to change out of these dungarees and get back into a comfortable set of clothes. Long hours in the sun had left his skin tanned, dry and cracked. It was time for a vacation. Maybe to somewhere... tropical? No, he wasn't much a fan of bugs. It wasn't so much the sun that bothered him. Maybe Halm? He'd heard there was quite the oasis there. It was something he was going to to have to revisit later, at the moment, he'd caught sight of one of the elders ahead. They would be pleased to know the well was operating once more. It might have been morally questionable, but progress didn't wait for the weak.

[member="Varas Kyrel"]​