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"This isn't politics," a cold voice murmured, it's owner staring out over the expansive city-planet of Denon. "It's a warzone."
Alicio's senses had been expanded as of late, as he grew into himself as a Force-User. He could taste the chaos from here, the fear, stinking the palate like a spritz of perfume to the mouth. He couldn't sense what was happening, nor were Holonet reports particularly forthcoming with info, but he could tell something was very wrong on Denon.
And, of course, Valery was missing, or worse.
The darkly-dressed Count felt a stab of pain in his heart, one he tried to suppress, realizing that Iris could likely see his mood regardless. She asked him what they should do. He tore his eyes away from an embattled Denon, turning around and gently picking up the microphone.
"We try again," Alicio said, with a dark determination.
He had been planning on playing either his royalty card, or leaning into his role as a diplomat, or even simply sabotaging their own ship, to force the Denonians to accept an emergency landing, but none of those things seemed to be necessary, as a voice came back from the spaceport. A quick change of heart, alongside a quick change of voice.
Strange, but not unwelcome. "Oh. Alright. Thank you," he replied, accepting the clearance and bringing the ship into Denon's orbit.
"We're going to have to move quietly, if they let us out of our ship at all," the senator noted, nervously gripping the thin profile of his lightsaber hilt in a gloved hand as the ship breached Denon's atmosphere. "The guidelines for Order 27-Grek are.. intense."
"If they don't let us out I'll kick every one of their asses. This isn't their jurisdiction anymore. The moment a Jedi went missing, the door for us opened." Silver linings, if anything could be. She let out a sigh as she settled in her seat. Either the person below recognized Alicio or something, or they weren't who denied her earlier. That wasn't a good sign at all. More trouble, if they weren't careful.
".. Tell me about the guidelines. I'll at least try to play by these dumb rules."
Objective 1: Survive the Crackdown
Location: Ito's Atrisian Cuisine Tags: Ruby Jaxx
| Open
Doc Painless was blissfully ignorant of the bombing plot until the moment the explosion shattered the pre-dawn quiet.
"Oh, feth me," he whispered, the words garbled by a mouthful of noodles. "What have they done now?"
Ever since the less-literal explosion at the Tatt-Chat, when Darkwire had divided itself along ethical lines that were not easily bridged, the Doc had been largely out of the loop. He had come down on - some might even say been the primary spokesperson of - the more restrained part of the faction. Although he advocated an overthrow of Denon's corporate masters, he wanted it done carefully, without resorting to the kind of brutal, bloody, amoral tactics that CorpSec themselves freely employed. But restraint wasn't a popular word among runners. Many of them, worryingly many, wanted to hit back in kind. They wanted to revenge themselves, an eye for an eye.
He hadn't been willing to go along with that. He wanted to see a rebellion built on hope, the chance to create something better.
So the revanchists had simply cut him out. They hatched their incendiary (often literally) plots without him.
Slurping down the last of his noodles - he had the feeling he was in for a long day, and would need the calories - the Doc rose and headed to the restaurant window. He was far from the only one. All the patrons in Ito's, a nice little Atrisian place he favored when making house calls in the district, were getting up from their tables and peering nervously out at the street. There was no way for them to see the ruined train from where they stood; the skyline was much too crowded. But in the age of personal datapads and ubiquitous holonet access, it didn't take long for the images to come flooding in. There was even video of the explosion from some hacked cam.
What was that supposed to prove?! The Doc silently raged. What kind of target is a commuter train?
How do you expect that to align with your call for ordinary folks to stand up with you, if they're ending up afraid of you?!
And then, all at once, all the holonet feeds suddenly blanked out. Vids cut short, news feeds halted, and calls dropped, all in a single instant. The low murmur of conversation got a lot louder and a lot more frantic. They didn't know what that flip of a switch meant, couldn't figure out what was happening... but the Doc knew. 27-Grek. Full lockdown. CorpSec was done playing around, and they were already forming the noose they'd use to strange any insurgents within the target area... along with anyone else who they thought was getting in their way. Heavy hands and itchy trigger fingers would be the order of the day, and a whole lot of folks were going to get hurt.
Probably including the Doc. He seemed to visit at the worst possible times.
"Okay," the street medic said, stepping onto a chair and addressing the panicking crowd of patrons. "Let's stay calm, folks. Let's just keep the doors shut and wait this out. We don't need to give CorpSec a reason to think we're trouble, so we'll just stay calm and stay indoors, and everything will be..." The discharges of sonic rifles in the street outside cut through his reassuring words like bullets through flesh. All around the restaurant people screamed, throwing themselves to the floor and scrambling behind whatever cover they could improvise. Yep, CorpSec was going hard, all right... and if they caught up to the Doc, he was in deep chit.
"We're all in deep chit tonight," he muttered, crouching by the door that led down to the basement apartment...
Tags: Darkwire Cultist
, @Any contractors/BH's, Open to CorpSec.
| "A good Hunter always comes prepared." |
The shuttle rumbled as there was a descent. Within the transport was a large, varied group of individuals - no two looked alike. There were no uniforms, standard-issue kit, and certainly no trained coherence that some groups might’ve held. Jeers were shared within the transport, chuckling and jesting to the other with grim and light-hearted tones alike. “Think this’ll be an easy one?” Quipped one. “It’s a bunch of upstarts. CorpSec’s been looking to put these dogs down for a long, long time. Seems t’me like easy creds.” “Hah! Don’t get’cha hopes up. Wouldn’t be surprised if those greaseballs try to pull one over us.” Came a jeering retort from someone else in the transport as it touched down on the landing pad. Globex and practically all other ports were closed down, but this was to be expressly delivered to CorpSec’s own pads. “If they don’t cough up the creds, we’ll make ‘em!” Boasted another cockily, though the rest only laughed at his impudence - especially with the terminology of ‘we.’ In their line of work, there was not really a ‘we,’ only an ever-shifting circle of preferred contacts.
Some were clad in armor that would make them seem akin to shock troops of some Empire, others bore slim bodysuits fit for stealth and assassinations. Weapons were of extremely varied assortment, of clashing fighting styles, methods, and lethalities. For they were not of CorpSec, Silver Shield, nor even Gellenbright. Not bound together here, in the atmosphere of Denon, by the threat of death, loyalty, or rigid procedure. Instead, all of the individuals here shared one, singular purpose.
Payday.
The Bounty Hunter’s Guild received a very important request, straight from one of CorpSec’s top, Captain Lonnie. It was to be immediate, summary, and throw in whoever’s worth their blaster - it was very open, and not kept secret in the slightest. And with such a contract, came attention of varying sorts. Bright-eyed, fresh recruits wanting to try their hand at an independent lifestyle. Grizzled individuals, of which saw the job as a way of life. Others, perhaps they were only in it because they enjoyed the thrill. ‘Gorian,’ a once somewhat infamous title within the Bounty Hunting community towards the Outer Rim, had resurfaced as of late. A brutal enforcer. Cold, unyielding, were the tales told of him within the community. Preference towards ‘freelance law enforcement,’ over standard Bounties. In which case, such an individual was perfect for the extreme variation of Martial Law being imposed on the world. Samuel Exel, the man behind the name, the armor, may not be as suited for that as he once was anymore. He held onto the railing at the top of the transport, systems performing a diagnostic whilst he watched whatever Live Feed he could get. But as he watched the holo-reports from the feed of his helmet on his way here, he was beginning to think he just might. These folk were, in the literal sense, terrorists. Bombings. One of which on a Delegate of the Alliance. The most recent of which was a Corpo shuttle, now sent barreling to who-knows-where. A couple news agencies were all over it, giving multiple points of views and angles of the carnage and billowing flames. He detested it. The Family, they could keep their allies. If Ivory were apart of this little shindig with them? Fine, he’ll ‘miss’ his shots. But he doubted such a woman, so seemingly engrossed by political schemes and (assumedly) manipulation, would participate in such a blatant, destructive form of action. No, he thinks that the real body of Darkwire was apart of this. Samuel was never one for the deeper maneuvering of politics, but credits often did more talking. In this case, where however many innocents were in danger because of an all-out war, he didn’t mind the swift suppression of those that threatened the peace.
He was silent throughout the whole trip, not wanting to attract too much attention as the rest of the Contractors were chatting noisily or similarly staying quiet. His alias wasn’t known around the Core, and he didn’t intend to become known. When the shuttle touched down, most of the Hunters sobered up, putting on their best stoic game-faces as they stalked out of the transport. All of them wanted to make good first impressions, because that meant the opportunity for more work in the future. Gorian didn’t feel the need - his equipment did the talking, and his helmet was his ‘game-face.’ CorpSec officers were rushing to and fro, readying up in squads and briskly marching to their summary deployment. Equipment was being distributed, and shouts of orders were being barked. From his perspective, it looked like the Logistics Headquarters of a soon-to-be-warfront. And frankly, from what he’s gleaned so far? It just might end up being that.
One of the officers caught the attention of the Hunters, striding up to the group and flagging them down; “You lot! Right this way for your jobs. Your timely arrival is appreciated. Captain Lonnie will be giving your briefing.” Curt and to-the-point, for there was far more to handle than credit-hunting contractors. With the armored individual among them, the group was led into the complex that was the CorpSec Captain’s barracks. There were some murmurs between the hunters. “Feth, looks like a war is brewing out here. Sure this is all over a couple of runts?” “CorpSec likes the policy of ‘swift and overwhelming.’ This whole mess’s given them the excuse to do just that.” An icy response from a more experienced veteran. “Sounds good t’me. I want this over with fast, I’ve got bills t’pay.” Grumbled another.
The crowd didn’t need to wait long before Captain Lonnie made her appearance, and gave her briefing through the Lieutenant. What intrigued many of the folk there, was the Deputization offer. The ones who preferred to remain independent, or just didn’t work in teams, would remain silent. The Bounties were all they came here for - either for the promise of credits they were used to, or for glory and fame. Many of the Hunters were not keen on being what sounded like a glorified police conscript, because that usually meant they were stuck in some boring corner watching over a checkpoint. There were a few, however, who did speak up and step forwards in order to take up on the offer. Perhaps it was from the promise of a higher payday, a more steady source of work, or that they championed a sense of justice. For Samuel, it might’ve been some strange mixture of all three.
“Consider it a paid internship. We’ll see where it takes us.” The modulated voice responded in kind as he stepped forwards from the crowd with a very few select others, gaze levied upon the Captain herself, rather than the translator. Armor systems were able to do such a job well enough on their own. His words were brief and curt - making it clear that he reserves the usual Bounty Hunter’s right to back out if driven to such a point. But, to the CorpSec guards, it didn’t really seem such an intimidating figure needed to. They were to mobilize immediately, so he would follow in suit when they did. “Now, ma'am, where’s the armory?”
As the CorpSec AV hurtled toward the site of the explosion, Zur was quickly connected with a Gellenbright Representative. The voice on the other end of the line was succinct & directly to-the-point... which would have made the Zabrak smile at the best of times.
"Commander," That was all the greeting Zur would get following the transition from the handler to the fixer. "I'm heading the team. Which little band of terrorists do you need handled?"
"There are at least 12 suspected, or known locations where Darkwire Operatives are known to gather; apartment complexes, bars, tattoo parlors, and warehouses in both Cheesker's End & Bakers Row. I am transmitting coordinates now. I want them scrubbed clean. No place to run. No place to hide. Follow whatever clues may lead you to other sites. CorpSec Counter-Intelligence will assist your team. I don't care what it costs. Flush them out, and kill them all."
Venom poured forth from his lips. Such an order might have, at any other time, been considered extreme... but today, the only thing on Zur's mind was punishing this band of outcasts & terrorists for every act of violence they'd committed in the past.
It was only a few minutes later that the AV swooped in low beneath a bridge, landing in a parking lot specifically designated as a Control Point by the first officers arriving on-scene. The large open space had been flooded with CorpSec officers, and nearly two dozen Emergency Vehicles had occupied the area. Nearly two dozen armored & heavily-armed Officers were present in the parking lot alone, with hundreds more already taking to the streets; CorpSec's iron fist was tightening stronger by the minute, and in the background, wailing sirens & warning broadcasts could be heard echoing from all directions. Silver Shield Group
had already been deployed to assist the hundreds of CorpSec agents combing the streets on-foot & in the air.
Zur dismounted from the AV, flanked on either side by two heavily-armed Deputies. The pilot had been instructed to stand by.
Quickly, the Commander for District 7 organized the ranking officers on-site, and began to obtain what intelligence the first-responders had already gathered. It was then, and only then, that he learned there were no reported civilian casualties from the blast. That fact brought a strange anxiety to the Commander's mind. Darkwire had apparently targeted a train who's sole occupant had been a Representative from the Senate?
The realization dawned on him that their foe had become far more dangerous than he'd anticipated. The lack of any other occupants on the train had been, strangely, left out in his briefing with the Planetary Commissioner.
"There's... another thing, chief." One of the Lieutenants offered, glancing nervously at the small group of men assembled in the now-completed Command Tent.
Three techs busily were erecting a trio of folding tables, and connecting a number of monitors through-which Zur & his team could monitor the surrounding area's camera feeds directly.
Hargo stared at the Lieutenant with a distinct lack of emotion.
"The bird they put in the air was, um... shot down. By an unknown entity in a junker."
The silence in the sparse tent was thick enough to cut with a vibroblade.
"Shot. Down." Zur repeated, attempting to process this new piece of information for a few heartbeats.
The lieutenant nodded, shuffling his feet.
"The wreckage, sir, it, um... came down only a a hundred meters or so from ground zero. No survivors."
Hargo shook his head and sighed, wiping his sweaty brow with the back of one tan-colored fist. The exasperation on the Zabrak's face was plainly evident, but instead of lapsing into a rage, he accepted the news with no small amount of grace.
"Is there anything else?" He asked after a long pause, glancing around the small semi-circle of uniformed Deputies.
"Yes, sir." Another Lieutenant spoke up, meeting the Commander's eyes directly. Zur turned to face him, the same impassive, emotionless look on his face; his eyes as dead as the depths of the darkest, loneliest patch of space in the Galaxy. He waited for the news.
"There's been reports of a possible disturbance at the Spaceport. Reports of possible blaster-fire. We've already deployed two dozen officers with air support to secure the landing pads, impound any ships they find, and detain all sentients until their identities can be verified. They should be arriving at any moment."
Zur's forehead furrowed as he considered the possible ramifications of this second strange development, but he nodded anyway. He swiveled at the hip, pointing a single finger with a wickedly sharp fingernail at one of the techs in the tent. "Get me comms with the Spaceport. I want a sitrep, immediately." The tech had stopped in the middle of connecting a portable keypad to one of the monitors, silently paying attention to the Commander's orders; with a nod, the man redoubled his efforts to finish the setup process for the hardware.
Hargo turned toward the small group of men, and dismissed them all with a wave of his hand.
"Secure the train. Find out if anyone remains on-board. Find the representative, and detain anyone else you find. In the meantime, the lockdown remains in-effect until the Senate Rep is located & in protective custody. Silver Shield Group
will assist. Do not harm them, under any circumstances; unless they resist."
He snarled, exposing a set of razor-sharp teeth built for rending flesh from bone.
The Lockdown is now in full-effect. Anyone caught outside is subject to search, arrest, and direct engagement by any CorpSec/Mercenary Entity. Hundreds of CorpSec Officers are now patrolling the streets & skies of District 7.
Mako was deep in holospace was someone snapped their fingers right in front of his face.
He blinked his eyes open.
"Wha..."
"Makko, we got corpos on the streets outside. Finish up quick. We can't get caught doing this run."
Makko was slow to respond. Most of his mind was still dedicated to a piece of corporate guardian software that had found the breach in their outer guards and was trying to find Makko in their servers before he caused harm.
"We're pulling the plug now!" shouted another voice. Jarrick, the man that ran this little corner of Fractal State. It was an offshoot of darkwire, more deeply involved with criminal activities.
They were usually a more violent arm than Darkwire. Not today, it seemed.
"No, no!" protested Makko. He knew instinctively that they were right. Danger was coming. Having the cable plugged whilst he was deep in a run was immensely painful. One strand at a time, he drew himself back from holospace.
He smirked to himself, having the time to leave behind a single line of code as a backdoor on the way out.
He felt the connection drop dead in an instant. Across the warehouse floor, Jarrick was holding a bundle of cables.
"They're at the fething door, get everyone and get armed!"
There was a network of tunnels below the warehouse. It was time to fight or flee.
Lossa kept the datapad close while Makko dealt with business his friends had set him up with. Her headphones on while he worked and she listened to music. Letting the mellow feeling finally take hold. Lost in her own feelings when the two had arrived, she'd been given something after they'd settled in.
Everyone present realizing she was the source of the tension that had come over the crew in the warehouse suddenly.
The Gala had been a chit-show. She could barely remember anything aside from her cousin remarking about her allergies and a sudden sense of dread that had flooded the room. Anger behind it, rage even, along with a great sadness.
Iris had run off after seeming to snap at Luric, and the small gathering around the two had dispersed just as quickly. Even being told that the reason for their departure was the event on Coruscant, Lossa couldn't shake the feeling she'd been a part of that reason.
Personal shame filled her mind as she leaned into the couch to stretch her back, letting the datapad settle against her thighs as she breathed in and out deeply. The satisfying pop of her back doing little to ease her mind as she pondered further.
She'd embarrassed her friend, her cousin, and probably others with her stupidity.
Fething bubbly water.
Pink hands covered crimson eyes, wanting to let out the frustration she was feeling. She wanted to scream, cry, break things, and hide in the same breath for being so ignorant of what she'd been drinking.
Someone had given her champagne. No. She had accepted champagne without asking. It was her fault. She couldn't push that off on anyone else. Probably a given with how fancy that whole event had been. Hoity-toity events were always laden with such beverages, and she should have known better to ask instead of blindly accepting.
She'd hid after the event, made easier by everyone scrambling to deal with Coruscant. Not wanting to show her face to anyone to deal with what she might have caused.
How could she be so stupid?
Embarrassing Iris and Luric. Making a fool of herself at a fething prominent event where the Queen of a planet had been present. She could have been staying at the temple doing something worthwhile. Or at least less...her.
But no.
Her eyes opened and stared into the palm of each hand as she tried to figure out how to apologize to each of them. Maybe write a letter of apology to the Queen of Hapes while she was at it. A sigh broke the train of thought as a wire of anxiety pierced the mellow she was situated in.
Her eyes narrowed as she turned her head to see Makko and others suddenly in a tizzy.
It took her a moment too long to realize that something to be worried about was happening as she pulled the headphones off with wide, curious eyes.
Pushing herself up and forward, she let the datapad slide off onto the couch.
"What's happening?" The mellow mood evaporating against the waves of anxiety. She blinked as she saw weapons being produced and Makko's friends scattering. Her gaze never settling long enough to see where they went as she nervously stepped toward Makko.
Her only link to the fleeting feeling of normal as the overwhelming sense of hatred blended with glee grew outside.
A good man might have voiced misgivings concerning an operation of this nature, might have been concerned about the extreme risk of collateral damage. Sar Dravis was not a good man, but he was a good soldier.
"Copy clear." As nothing further needed to be said, he terminated the link.
---
"Some of you will die. That is inevitable, but it will be largely painless due to your adrenal implants." The gunship's worth of Redhands listened in silence. "Cowards will die - and they will die screaming." There was no heat in his words; he did not even raise his voice. Instead, he gave off nothing but matter-of-fact ruthlessness. It was just business.
Reaching the destination, the group disembarked, made their way to two pre-planned locations, and planted breaching charges. A door - and a wall. Never give up the element of surprise without good reason.
For similar reasons, there would be no knocking or unnecessary posturing. Instead, the charges detonated, smoke billowed in, soldiers clad in red armour spilled in, and a single magnified shout was heard.
"Deputised security; surrender or die."
The Redhands would not wait for a response to start gunning down anyone who 'looked hostile'.
[OPEN] - Can be a warehouse, a flat, you name it. I'm coming for you (suspected) terrorist.
Dominique smiled as she lightly set a hand atop a tense shoulder. The liliac haired Senator slowly leaned down until her lips were level with the Operator's ear. "Sounds like this is a diplomatic situation. Why don't you let me handle this?" Her fingers curled inward ever so slightly. Not painfully by any means. Not yet. Refusal would result in more persuasive contact, but for now it was merely... a strong recommendation.
Her well-manicured hails carefully plucked the offered ear bud communicator from the Operator's palm. Vexx smiled down at the kind soul as she straightened up.
<"To the Jedi requesting permission to enter District 7 airspace,"> Dominique broadcast on a narrow-band frequency, but not with the highest of encryption algorithms, <"this is Senator Dominique Vexx."> They were 'requesting' permission to land as a rancor might 'permission' to swallow a person whole. Vexx knew how Jedi operated. They were all calm and rules until one of their own was in trouble, then you might as well be dealing with a less bloodthirsty Sith. <"Denon Security Forces are currently mobilized in the area in response to a terrorist attack against both of our parties. Your request was rejected was for your own safety. The DireX cannot be held responsible for your safety under these circumstances, and the concern of any more dutiful representatives of the Alliance being harmed by these scoundrels that seek to undermine the peace is unbearable.">
<"However,"> Vexx smiled to herself, <"despite what people would say, we are not heartless. One of your own may be injured, and you do possess a certain set of skills that could be useful in these circumstances."> Now for the carrot. <"If you constrain your activities to the immediate area surrounding the attack, or to the narrowest path leading from it to your V.I.P., I can inform the local security of your arrival. I cannot guarantee there might not still be misunderstandings, but so long as you are not mistaken as one of the terrorists -- one of Darkwire -- I'm sure we can satisfy both of our interests in these trying times.">
Now she would wait to see if the Jedi felt like playing along. Some were no doubt acting as rogue agents already. They had a reputation. There was little Vexx could do about those Jedi except hope Darkwire accidentally shot one of them to further the narrative. Yes, a terrible waste of potential, but when you were triaging a slow moving disaster you made do with what was on hand.
News of the bombing and Valery's disappearance hit Yula at the same time.
Roused from her sleep by an unusual—for this area, at this time—cacophony of voices and rabble, Yula groaned and rolled over in her bed. The sheets went with her, forming a pleasantly tight cocoon around the Zeltron.
A woman shrieked, a man yelled with authority, and glass shattered across the street.
That got her attention, and Yula was on her feet, blinking the sleep from her eyes while peering from the second-story window of her bedroom. One of the bakeries across the street, the one with the good crescent rolls, was being raided by a cadre of Corpsec officers. Confusion scrunched her already groggy features, and she finally reached for her holophone that had been pinging away all the time.
163 notifications
Yula nearly threw the device out the window. With any luck, it would bounce off of a seccer's skull. While pulling on some pants, she scrolled through the flood of messages and pings. Slowly, things started to make sense.
Fifteen minutes later she'd initiated lockdown.
While unassuming from the outside, Yula had been gradually building on what was once a rudimentary security system, courtesy of her paranoia. Miniature tractor beams were mounted at each entry way and along the wall of her garage, overlayed by a stun field. An old deflector shield generator whirred to life, fueled with just enough tibanna to spread a protective cover over the building. Her favorite piece was the optical shield—it didn't make her home disappear, but it did allow the building to lose any distinctive markings and blend into the background. Some of it was repetitive. Much of it was overkill.
She'd grown increasingly antsy after a swath of shadowrunners had spent the night in jail for participating in a protest turned riot. Yula had taken steps to livestream the event, which earned her an eerie stalker who'd forced their way past her own cybernetics at least once, and a CorpSec beating to top it all off.
Crouched in her living room among half a dozen unfinished projects and a disruptor rifle at her side, a wild-eyed Yula managed to fire off a hasty text to Daiya while attempting to get the distortion emitter online. To anyone who wasn't familiar with her home, it would be difficult to find—difficult, but not impossible. Even if you knew where to look, she changed the codes monthly.
Cassus heard the missile before he saw it but only because it was starting to turn around by the time he noticed. His brain didn't have the time to process that fact other than to think, Shit, missile! and subsequently, jump off the platform. It was an expensive piece of hardware to just leave sitting in the junkyard, but the Mother Relentless had done her job. The best CorpSec would be able to determine was that, yes, the train was decimated, and some of the shapes might vaguely match the profile of some of Darkwire's shadowrunners. They also knew, evidently from the missile, which seemed to change its mind, that the potential bombings wouldn't end with the train. Naturally, the Corpos wanting a monopoly on violence, were about to one-up his little pop-rocket and take out the neighborhood.
Tumbling rapidly down from the cloudcutter platform, the repulsors in his Hardpoint armor activated and took him gliding down to the "town center" of the Seven Corners, where each of the personalities of district 7 intermingled. Cassus didn't get a chance to see what came of the fireball he created, but now he had different concerns. Blending into the crowd and taking out as many CorpSec resources as he can get away with. As he landed, a gawking crowd was beginning to stampede away from the burning wreckage above them, seeking shelter. Regular beat cops were gawking in an almost mirror image of the crowd, and many of them were quickly contemplating whether or not they got paid enough to create a perimeter and enforce an orderly evacuation.
It only took a few minutes for the first gunship he shot down to arrive, and it wouldn't be long before better security arrived. It dawned on Cassus that he was at risk of losing his mother's ship despite his preparations. Well, the oldest one, anyway. If that missile changed its mind again, all that history and connection to his mother would be gone, never mind the gear still onboard. He'd have to cry about it later. There were heads to crack.
Racing to the nearest CorpSec patrolman, Cassus lowered his head and engaged the ALE field. The world swam slowly around like in a murky fluid as he was catapulted forward before the patrolman could fully raise his rifle. Sonic energy left the barrel pre-maturely and impacted Cassus, but the waves of energy were partially absorbed into his helmet and then counter-mitigated by his SAS attachment. Like a stone pitting the glass of an aircar, the sonic bolt left little impression on Cassus as he barreled forward. Finally, Cassus struck the patrolman with a headbutt, amplified by his velocity and the stored energy of his helmet; it wasn't likely they survived before they hit the adjacent building.
An older-looking Seccer looked on dumbfounded and looked like they tried to fire, but against most odds, the damn blaster failed to ignite the bolt. Cassus took that opportunity to reach out with his Carbonite Whipcord Launcher and immobilized them as cooling coils hardened around their body. Then, Cassus took off with his repulsor jets again, with Seccer trailing behind him, screaming in the air.
Cassus was going to take them somewhere, and he was going to tap into Seccer communications via their comlink. Just needed to find a place... just needed to find a place...
Anakin was returning from a grocery trip when the explosion rocked seven corners. He froze in the street, a thousand different thought churning through his head. This was obviously an attack, but by who? Shifting the groceries in his arms, he dug his phone out of his pocket. "Karking Echuta!" and let out a string of huttese curses. Someone had blown up a train. he had to get out of here before corpsec swarmed the streets.
Mismatched wings tucked close; Anakin took off for the nearest alley. There was an Amavikka safe house not far from here. He just had to make it in time. As he ran, he called up Bentu on his datapad.
"There's been an attack in Seven corners. Someone's blown up a train. Corpsec is gonna swarm this place in seconds."
"I'll contact the others. Warn them to lay low and stay out that area until this blows over." The twi-lek was one if his best friends, and well connected among the Amavikka. He could send out the warning when Anakin couldn't.
"Good. Stay safe."
Only silence answered him. A quick glance at his phone showed that the connection was cut. A little more digging showed that everything was shut down. All forms of communication. Chit. This was bad, very very bad. Anakin was as familiar with corpsec procedures as any shadowrunner, and even if he wasn't, every Amavikka could recognize Grek-27.
Taloned feet pounded the duracrete floor. No longer looking for the safe house, only somewhere safe to hide. He couldn't be seen. Even before he lost and subsequently replaced his left wing, Anakin was recognizable. Now, with one bright blue wing and another, artificial limb covered in a magpie's feathers of black and white and blue, he'd be recognized in an instant if seccers found him.
He refused to return to that black sight prison he'd been held in after his first capture. He refused to lose the other wing.
So he ran. He ran and he ran and he ran, weaving between alleys as he prayed to Ar-Amu to make him dust and light, unnoticed by everyone around him. Then he heard the blaster fire. It came from ahead of him. He had nowhere else to run. Anakin darted to the nearest door. Locked. Door after door, he tried, each one locked. Until finally, he pulled and the door last door, a graffitied metal thing, swung open.
Anakin found himself in a restaurant kitchen. The place was empty, but he could see greasy noodles sitting half made in the counter. Everywhere he looked showed signs of abrupt departure, and he could hear voices near the front.
Stalking closer to the front, he could see a small crowd of patrons and employees plastered to the window. And there, at the back of the crowd, was Doc. What was he doing here? Approaching the older man, Anakin let his prayer fade out, making himself visible to everyone there.
"Doc? Do you know what's caused this?" He must have looked a mess, red faced and breathing heavily, battered grocery bags clutched tight within his taloned hands. Nonetheless, he didn't- couldn't- care. Not when so many people's lives were on the line.
But they were here at this place, and that’s all they had. She’d tasted it, the savory broth and chewy noodles… but it didn’t quite hit the spot.
The teen slid from her stool and disappeared around the corner. She’d let the grown-ups talk. There was a machine that dispensed chocolate bars—and it had been calling her ever since they got here.
Now, she blended in with the crowd. Her hair had grown enough to make her look not as much like someone that had broken out of a top secret laboratory. She’d stuck with Impulse and Binary since then; she trusted them.
Cinder pressed the palm of her hand to the machine’s front panel. Her eyes focused on the candy she wanted, and she reached into the circuitry with her mind… convincing the candy machine to give up its secrets (and goods). It wasn’t long before she had a good haul. As she loaded up the pockets of her oversized plaid shirt, a display screen caught her eyes. On the screen, there was an explosion.
Her brows went up.
She walked back to Natsu’s, candy bar in hand. And she’d eye Impulse, as if to say ‘I know.’
Alicio was silent at Iris' outburst as he eased the ship down to the docking bay, flying over the city. He couldn't help but stare out the viewport at it all. Already, long columns of smoke could be see trailing into the sky, across the district.
Warzone, indeed.
"There is no 'playing' by these rules," Alicio noted, standing from his spot. "Essentially, the police are directed to arrest everyone they see." The Count's face held a bitter frown. "I'm sure you can see how that situation might escalate on Denon."
It was a good thing Iris, and by extent, Alicio, had juristiction. Otherwise, the situation would have been far more messy.
It was then that a refined voice found their comms system, one that Alicio recognized once she made her name known to the pair. Alicio's lip pursed as he listened to Senator Vexx, suddenly glad he still held the mic in his hands, so Iris couldn't send back a hasty reply. It seemed the senator from Denon was attempting to corral them.
That wouldn't do.
"I'll field this one, if you don't mind," he muttered to the Jedi, before setting his datapad to record, and sending a message back.
"Senator Vexx," his clipped voice returned, as he attempted not to betray any emotion across the line. "Thank you for your concern. As you have the ability, please inform local law enforcement that Jedi Knight Iris Arani and her attaché have been deployed in the area, and that they must act accordingly, observing Alliance laws and statutes." Alicio frowned. For their juristiction to work, he had to give out her name, even if he didn't want to.
"We will not require assistance at this time, however, we will be sure to contact you should the need arise. Thank you for your dilligence." Alicio turned off the mic, as the ship's landing gear kissed the ground of the spaceport. He found a small smirk as he looked at Iris.
Captain Lonnie was a young Trandoshan, but fully adult for her own species, and she respected the recognition the Bounty Hunter -no, this deputy- showed her. Quickly, Samuel Exel
was making a good impression on the lizard woman. Speaking in a lisped Trandoshan, and offering a few hand signs, she had what volunteer deputies she had acquired follow her to the armory. The rest left behind were presumably going to be briefed by Lieutenant Kyle on what they were permitted to do under Emergency Order Grek-27 once the bounties went live.
There were a few corners were rounded by the group, but eventually they came to a light streaming out of a corridor with a constant bustle of CorpSec troops having equipment being distributed to them, in which they’d then rush out double-time to return to their assigned company before deployment commenced. The Captain gestured for the Bounty Hunters - one of which was the newer sort, gazing at the very full armory in wonder - to take their pick. This was their last chance to make adjustments and prepare. So, Gorian took the liberty of being the first to briskly step forward from the crowd - his gaze settling upon what looked to be a nightmare in close quarters combat. Took a melee weapon too, for good measure - these were tight, urban streets he was working with. Not an unfamiliar environment, but he was used to the wide-open spaces and deserts of Tatooine as his usual playing field. The rest of the newly-deputized Bounty Hunters followed his example, only to reform again as they looked to the Captain for their assignments. Most of the rowdy ones have been left behind, and thus there was a stoic resolution in their contract, as unflinching gaze would look. Lonnie waited, before affirming a wrap-up, in which she stepped out with the Deputies in tow.
The next area they were brought to was chaotic. The roaring of engines were visible, cloaks and coats (of which included Gorian’s own) billowed as CorpSec officers rushed by, hopping onto impressive-looking Gunships before they took off to suppress and contain the threat that had been declared by Grek-27. Captain Lonnie had made her way over to where her company lay, rigid and awaiting her direction. And this was doled out, in kind - Samuel had to respect the Trandoshan woman for her seeming passion in wanting to contain the threat swiftly, and to limit the detriment to the whole. To his surprise, she seemed to truly hold some sort of care for her soldiers. That was a good sign, for him. Taking the time to glance through Translation settings, as they’ve been seemingly working overtime - the translations didn’t seem completely accurate. Odd, given how much they’ve been through. Perhaps it was the words themselves being spoken that were incorrect, though he couldn’t fathom why at the moment, as he secured a couple of chemical tanks for the Hellpyre to his rig. It was with her determined gesticulation, that he also noticed her arms didn’t seem fully there, wrought with scars - as hidden they may be. A wound of war, perhaps. Regardless, the man felt there was a story to be told here, but now was not the time, place, nor setting.
Orders were included, too, with the Deputies. Lieutenant Kyle had to work a tad bit harder than with her company to impart these to the group of mostly apathetic Hunters. Interestingly, some were tasked with heading the group with their transport. Included with this was Gorian himself - to which, he was frankly surprised by when he was given explicit permission from Captain Lonnie herself. First impressions meant a lot, he supposed - because clearly, whether by his intimidating visage and well-prepared equipment, or the due respect he showed his newfound superior, he managed to get enough respect to be trusted with lives. And whether he was a Bounty Hunter or not, he would look after those lives seriously. With the orders doled out, the company and newly-christened Deputies turned summarily, and loaded up onto multiple transports. They lifted into the air, wind billowing out from the force of the repulsorlifts as the pilots plotted a course to their location - District 7.
As soon as the Bounty Hunter boarded his transport, he stepped to the head of the transport, in front of the entrance to the cockpit with its pilot glancing backwards at the motion. With a hand reaching upward to clutch one of the handles so that he would not risk falling out, his modulated voice would speak clearly, “All right, folks.” Determined in his tone, “Captain Lonnie has placed me in command of this squadron. My name is Deputy Gorian. We are to mitigate what damage we can caused by the Terrorists. I will not see casualties under my command. Use me as a shield, if you must - there will be no man left behind, nor injured if I can help it. We are to be swift, and efficient in quelling those who think they can disturb the peace and get away with it.” A clenched fist raised, with the end of that statement, “If a Bounty shows, that means they are a priority target of the Corporate Authority of Denon, and you are to assist me in apprehending them to a reasonable degree as long as it does not interfere with our other duties. You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours. Is this understood?” Whether this earned respect from the CorpSec that were apart of Lonnie’s Company, or annoyance, it was met with a unanimous, “Yes, sir.” The helmeted figure, menacing with his armor and stature, would nod in satisfied response. He was never much of a commander, but he was experienced when it came to directing squads of Security Teams. Police Enforcers didn’t seem that much different. His head turns away from the main squad, to the cockpit behind him, “Pilot! Take us out.”
---
The thunderous hum of Fynock Gunships were abroad the city. Structures and colored lights of all sorts would rapidly pass by in a blur from what Samuel could see. In a way, it was beautiful. Reminded him a tad bit of Coruscant. Shame that it was being torn up like this. Comms had been exchanged with his new-found cadre of CorpSec officers, of which he appreciated. Systems in his suite had been updated to fit, registering new maps, uploading it to his HUD in the corner of his eye. Communication chatter - of which he previously couldn’t hear - was now able to be heard with clarity through his Helm. It was then there he got a priority order that was from Command, directed to any on-field teams. “Attention Ground Teams, sweep and clear. Priority redirection from District Commander Hargo Zur
. Cheesker’s End and Baker’s Row are to be searched for Terrorist activity. Reminder that summary judgment protocols are active with Grek-27. Command out.”
With the order, several gunships that were part of Lonnie’s company peel off, either to follow the order or to attend to reported disturbances, the communications of which were going frantically back and forth. It’d be a mess to try to sort through of all of it, so he chose to follow the priority signal. Hand went to his commlink, adjusted it for a moment so that it would connect on a high-security frequency. Seemed that it worked quick - Lonnie must’ve given his code access before departure. If he was not <“District Commander Hargo Zur.”> Came the modulated voice through the commlink. Certainly no typical ‘Deputy,’ that much would be apparent. <“This is Deputy Gorian, under Captain Lonnie’s company. My team is responding to your request to search Baker’s Row. Rest assured, it will be done.”> In which his hand fell away. Perhaps the Commander will be satisfied with the knowledge that more varied forces are being used in unison with CorpSec’s own.
Head turned some, “Pilot!” Calling over again, “Take a left here. We’re going to deal with Baker’s Row.”
---
It was a smooth approach, for the moment. The pilot was extra wary as they heard communications that a gunship had confirmed to be felled by an unknown assailant. The Fynock dipped low, close enough so that it wouldn’t be preposterous to try to reach the ground. The doors of the gunship opened - and the first one that rappled down the line was none other than the armored individual, clad in equipment atypical of standard issue Corpo kit. The rest of his squad followed in swift succession behind him, cords of metal making shrill noises as gloves and boots ran down their length. As he adjusted his stance, his systems immediately got to work assessing the area. “Stay on me, lads.” As he hefted his newfound weapon, “We’re to sweep this area.” Steps lead forwards, and the rest followed with wordless acknowledgement. Commlink automatically activated again, sending a brief, <“On site.”> Message to the District Commander. Their response time was good, but they were not the first team to arrive - with another menacing a bakery a mere street or so away. They were, however, certainly the oddest group that arrived for the moment, with a new player at the head rather than a standard CorpSec Officer.
“No stone is to be left unturned, for the good of the public.”
He sat there, quietly looking around him. He was in a room, if you could call it a room. It was more like three and three quarters of crumbling walls, and a ceiling with a tenuous grasp on the concept of cohesion. Held together with hopes, dreams, prayers, spit, and a LOT of duct tape. But, that's how he kept himself out of the spotlight, ye'see... Johnny made it a point to stay hidden away in holes in the walls, alleys within the alleys themselves, rooftop shacks hidden away by overly large communications antennas and equipment. The only luster you'd find on Johnny Diamonds was in the name, and not a single shiny cred more.
Most of the time, anyhow. He'd been hearing whispers ever since that damn pirate broadcast sliced into the main communications channels of the HoloNet, and did what it was designed to do. problem was, he wasn't sure who were stupider; Darkwire for bringing down this level of heat, or the Corpos for letting it go unabated for so long. When you live the live a guy like Johnny D does, you learn real quick that governments who play fast and loose always hit back the hardest. It was the same on every world like this. Maybe slightly different architecture, and a different coat of paint, but all still so painfully built the same. Coruscant, Nar Shaddaa, Corellia, and even here on Denon.
The more things change, the more they stay hopeless.
So, that's why Johnny was in yet another crumbling chithole. It was all the same to him, the ground he walked on just had a new name and a different pile of bathna poodoo "governing" them all. Typical, grade D womp-rat meat. The problem wasn't that people drank the poison because they were that thirsty, no... They drank it because they didn't know the difference anymore. Right and wrong, perspectives, even if he hated to admit it. But that's the cold, hard, uncaring facts of life for you. Facts don't give a womp-rat's ass about your feelings. Furrowing his brow under the dark, black hood of his ratty black jacket, he slide his datdeck from an inner pocket. Sliding a finger over the lock trigger, it slid open, the glasteel screen coming to life. His ocular implant interfaces with it automatically, going through various security and check protocol, all of it 'G3mCyph3r Original' code. Paranoid was just another way of saying prepared on Denon, he'd found.
"Lesee what's going on here..." he muttered, as he began to tap away on the screen, his hand almost a blur. Well, it would have been, had anyone been there near him to see it. He could do what he needed to when he was alone. Truth be told, he preferred it, even if it didn't seem like it. Then again, he'd been on one hell of an emotional rollercoaster as of late. Kept thinking about it, too. More often than the Corellian Slicer-Dicer wanted to admit. It was kinda nice, even if right now, he wasn't too sure where she was. He knew she was close, that much was certain. Yet, he didn't have time to dwell on it right this second, because what was coming through the CryptNet about the current situation was, well, not very encouraging.
Johnny damn well knew what this meant. Lockdown. Total & Complete. Knowing CorpSec, he had...fifteen, maybe twenty minutes before they were everywhere in the Seven Corners. He took 2 of those precious minutes to slice his way into the CCTV Sec/Sys, and was greeted by the image of an explosion, a few make their way to the now inoperable and nearly-destroyed train (too tiny on the screen to make out anything, unfortunately). Next, another alert flashed across the screen, apparently according to CorpSec's infobytes, someone had launched a...
"...Missle?! ...Kark." he said, finishing his thoughts out loud. He wasn't sure why, but he needed to find her. This was going to get real bloody, and damn fast. What truly didn't help was that damn feeling he had at the back of his head, at the base of his neck. He knew that feeling, didn't like it one damn bit. The Force. Looking at his deck, he tapped a few more times on it until his eyes went wide at what seemed to be flagged as a report for no-one's eyes, or so it would have been. This was the last fething he needed, and he didn't need to see a report about it to know at this point. He collapsed the datadeck, and slid it back into an inner pocket of his jacket. His railgun was tucked into it's holster under his left arm, but something made him stop before he moved a step further.
Closing his eyes, he began to concentrate upon the Force, reaching out within it. He could feel a disturbance, as if the Force was trying to gather itself, and all at one spot. Massive power within this filament of the Force, it seemed. Opening his eyes slowly, they moved toward the table he'd been sitting at, eyeing something sitting there. Looking to the door slowly, he reached out, and scooped it up without looking as he began to make his way out. He gripped it tightly as he stepped out into the cold night air.
Taking in a deep breath, he reached out once more, searching out through the tendrils of the Force, trying to determine not where this newly-discovered hot-spot of the Force was. No, He searched out for the only reason he'd actually decided to stick around this hellhole of a planet.
He whispered as he looked out toward the streets in front of him, "Hope you're ok, girl...". Then, he placed the cylindrical object into the holster under his right arm, making sure it was secure. Johnny was already in a foul sort of mood, wasn't really sure why. Maybe due to everything happening all at once? Was it that he knew he'd have to duck, fight off, and maybe even flat-line a CorpSec Officer or 3? Or was it due to something much more simple. He'd said it once already, and he'd say it again, at least in his head. Dammed emotional attachments...gonna be the death of you, Johnny. No, no, only if you let it get to you. Besides. Some things are worth the risk. Or some people. Funny, Johnny couldn't even say to himself in his own head. It was just a name, after all.
Pulse was never going to turn down a food bowl of noodles. They always seemed to hit the spot. Jackie thought so at least. He could tell Cinder did not always see eye to eye with him on that one. Everything was on lock down so it was not like they had anything better to do. Besides, going to the noodle bar was more about work than it was about the noodles. If Pulse really wanted a good bowl of his favorite dish, he could always make it. Binary and Cinder both knew he had several different recipes running through his mind at any given time.
“You sit, eat, and do not wander off. Just because you are the most powerful one here…”
Jackie trailed off as he shoved a decent sized bite into his mouth. It seemed Natsu had anticipated their arrival.
“Here about the lockdown, yes?”
Jackie nodded and looked to Binary to see if she wanted to take the lead on this one or not. They were still adjusting to their new dynamic. When Natsu had hired them for the job which led them to Cinder, they had not expected to make their partnership a trio. It was in the best interest of the girl however, provided she could keep a low profile. That was why Pulse did not want the young teen going off whenever she wanted. Truth be told, no one really knew if there were crews still out there looking for her.
Natsu had never mentioned anything about a bounty, but that did not mean one did not exist. They had stolen something many different factions had wanted to get their hands on. Between the greedy suits in the high towers of Denon, and the spy network Natsu worked for, they were all sitting in a very rotten position. A low profile was a must.
Pulse looked at Natsu and nodded.
“Perfect cover for a job if you know a way past the blockades.”
Natsu nodded.
“Perfect cover indeed. A job is what you all need, and I have one already lined up. An operative of mine is in another district, and I need you to get him out. Pay is good, and whatever you take while working, you get to keep.”
Eyes darted over to Binary.
“What do you think?”
That is when Cinder sat back down with a candy bar. Jackie shot her a look and then rolled his eyes in response to the silent, but definite, answer.
Hexes inner voices '...Neutral...' '...Doubt...' '...Anger...'
Coloured '.....' are also words that Hex can hear , but I decided not to write them to reduce clutter
Hex climbed into the driver unit of the train, just in time to be missed by the spotlight of a passing corpsec gunship, they were arriving quickly in the few minutes after her attack, and the place would be crawling with them very soon, amongst other types that might show. An explosion rocked the train as something smashed into it a few carriages away, far enough for Hex to be safe. She peered down into the depths of Denon from the train, she might need to jump in order to escape, hundreds of layers straight into the darkness where the authorities wouldn't dare follow.
'...You could die down there...' "But I'll certainly die if I stay up here."
She walked down the automated vehicle past a engineering droid who was still trying to get the damaged engine started and paid her no notice. Ahead of her she saw a leg sticking out from the cabin, wrecked in the blast. "Chit!" this train was meant to be droid only, it wasn't that she couldn't handle innocent casualties, but it was an unpleasant suprise she had hoped to avoid. She stepped over the leg and looked at the battered torso of a human, Albert Jaxon - service inspector category 3 she read his name card pinned to his ruined chest. "Sorry, Bert, looks like your last stop." Finally she came to the room containing the reactor. She opened the room and felt the warmth from it. Her suit's face shield automatically activated when it detected leaking radiation, that was a nice touch, she thought. She walked in and sent a quick encrypted text message to her friend Daiya
On board finishing the job, you've got 6 minutes. If I don't make it outta here, you gotta name your first kid after me.
Love you!
Hex x x x
She giggled and slid her communicator back into her waist pack and started looking around. "If I was a fuel intermix chamber, where would I hide?"
'...follow the red line from reactor to the big humming tank perhaps?...' "Gotcha!"
Walking over to the device plastered in warnings, still humming with power, she pulled out her Iadrium bricks and looked at them, they were stamped with corpsec branding, using stolen explosives would make it harder to trace it back to her if they were found. Two should be enough to rupture the armoured tank spilling anti-matter onto the.... well it didn't matter where it spilled, it was anti-matter, it would explode either way. The train was fully fueled too, plenty to take out the rest of the carriages and the nearby bridge support. Force, she was going to be in it deep after all this. She laughed a little before dialling in the timers and gently placing them on the weak point where the anti-matter injectors were situated. She would be very glad to get out of here.
These Vultures rob everything, leave nothing but chains
The fact that they were going straight for 27-Grek was… a bit intimidating. Peyton looked around. She was going to have to get off this rooftop. A train explosion was one thing, but if it was the corpos? Why'd they call Grek… Unless it was to spin the blame. She'd seen it in her time, many a politician would spin the tale. She didn't know why she was thinking that way. Peyton was always for the people. The way the Denon government worked was not the type of government she'd assist.
It was the type she'd overthrown in her tenure with the Sullust-based Galactic Alliance.
As she watched the scenes unfolding below her, she made a few quick call. Grabbing her rifle, she stated to break it down into its pieces. No shot was fired from it today, there was a full blaster pack attached to it. She would flag this rooftop for a pick up later on. It was a simple rifle, but it was hers… She wrapped it in the waterproof bag she carried it in and put it over underneath one of the vents. She had a bit of sticky tape to keep it up off the ground. The blonde pocketed the macromonocular in her front pocket of her long duster.
No cape. She wasn't a Jedi, or a fancy smuggler who pulled maneuvers over Tanaab. She was an agent, and her duster had a minor tech upgrade to allow the reflection on most security cams to come away scrambled. It helped under very specific circumstances, but it was enough for her. She didn't think that it was going to make much of a difference with the teams that were going to be out on the streets. Corpos and bounty hunters was what she expected.
What she needed to do was get down to the main levels and see what she could help Daiya with.
"Cuan, go dark. Keep an ear on the radio, see if you can rouse any of the Sub-ters. Keep the speeder out of the skies." Part of it was code, Sub-Ters for The Underground.
This second explosion was not going to be a good thing.
Turning her channel to contact her supplier "Gambit. Go dark, Keep the doors coded." She had the way to get in to the supplies, but…
All she could hope was what training she did give the Darkwire folks, that they learned. She had one small cache of explosives and other weapons. Her blaster was under her duster, but her two blackout batons were on the outside. Moving to the edge of the building, the blonde checked the street below. She had the path to the nearest cache on her mind.
But first she needed to link up with Darkwire.
The Tatt-Chat. That was the in. Taking a second to get her words together. "This is Trainer. Looking for some students. District 7, if anyone needs some lessons?"
She could only hope that someone would answer as she began to rappel down the building's face.
Denon set ablaze, on fire. CorpSec headhunters flooded the streets in some vain effort to catch the would-be terrorists of Denon - doubtless that some entered cells, fewer never made it so far, the rest left on the run; safe houses, tunnels, transit off-world. Good riddance. Corin cleaned out sections of the Suicide Slums, members of the CorpSec militia left with equal parts broken bones and ventilated corpses. The remnant of his Jedi self died with each act, even if there was such little time to dwell on that. It burdened, it bothered, as if a small and shrill voice thrust into the recesses of his mind continued to shout aloud. But these were slums, homes filled with the poor and downtrodden. The CorpSec soldiers that turned over tooth and nail in a bid to find the terrorists were as bad as those members of Darkwire that hid in them.
Corin peered out from underneath the whites of his crimson, helmeted head. The sky thundered, cracked and roared as it cried with intensive, excessive rains. It streaked down the helmet and over the leathers that otherwise concealed the thin armour underneath. His booted steps creaked the dimly lit ramshackle home, half torn apart and half torched with flame. In the quiet, the sounds of distant sirens softly blared while the sound of twisting fabric groaned as Corin grabbed the collar of a CorpSec officer with his gloved hand and pulled the slumped body from where the head had been thrown through a flimsy, wooden wall. It fell flat, onto the back. Closed eyes stared upwards into nothingness.
In the corner, a boy huddled. He shook, shaking more so with each second that passed. The self-determine dispensing of justice across Denon may very well have been born of good intentions, though in practice there was much to be desired. The child refused to look, cradling his head into his hands. Red looked on, staring while dumbfounded. A distant memory sparked, left to wonder if his child-self was to have much the same reaction to what Corin had since made himself into. He wanted to smile, to reassure, but the words never so much as rose into his throat. Corin only left, disappointed.
Iris Arani
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Raphael Gallustrade
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