First Reply GIG: Artificial Red

[Amea Virou]

The heavy drone of a fan working overtime, a crowded bar on some backwater planet. The reek of sweat and worn down wooden floors stained with beer and liquor from across all corners of the universe and walks of life. There was nothing that could have made this entire set-up any less ideal for an Outer Rim noodle flick. All that was missing was the ponchos and nerf herder hats, a sum of money that would seem inconsequential these days, and people of different physical attractiveness.

The musk of day-old beer drowned out Amea’s senses by the time she found herself reacquainted with her booth again to enjoy the privacy that she needed for this one. Under most circumstance she preferred to be on the opposite side of these calls, but given recent events and promises made she had refrained from it. Instead, it was her turn to act Information Jockey, and some other poor fool’s turn to act her pawn.

The task had been simple. Find a location, find her item, and then get the hell out, hand it over to Amea, get paid. Simple work for a simple paycheck, nothing revolutionary for either party involved, but a fair sum to be shared nonetheless.

“Welcome to the team, Kiddo.” Amea chimed into her holodevice before she took a drink out of her poorly cleaned glass and looked at the one who had accepted the work. “The Hex is happy to have you— yadda, yadda— let’s go get paid. You ready?”

Ideally they would already be in position. Their target was a small-time warehouse owned by a big-time corporation that spanned a few other planets. No big player on the galactic market just yet, but an up-and-comer according to some. The object in question, an unmarked cigarra case in the warehouse manager’s desk. Security looked surprisingly tight given the size of the establishment, which if whoever had accepted this job was clever enough to realize, was not usually how these things worked. Something was up, and if they could find out what that was while they were at it, well, there might just have been a bonus involved for them.

“In and out, get me that case, and you get paid. The rest is up to you.”

 

[Sarvod Dravis]

The worst part was the smell. Not the muck and sweat of unwashed nerf herders as he'd initially expected, but rather the irregularity of it all. To someone used to inhaling air that'd been recycled a thousand thousand times over Force knew how many years it felt off, somehow.

Still, the money was good - and he needed good money to get off this chithole and back to civilisation without, ah, meeting customs.

"Yeah. In and out, try not to make a mess but the important part's finishing the job. Not my first rodeo."

Easier said than done, because whoever owned that glorified shack (proper warehouses were found on Denon or Coruscant and were the size of frontier cities, thank you very much) had decided to pad the place with goons and droids aplenty. Roughs and clankers... no one who would be missed?

"Don't suppose there's any alternate access points? Sewers, utility tunnels, that kind of thing."

He'd almost said "exhaust vents". Damn it Sarvod, get it together, you'll be back in the Core in no time.

Amea Virou​

 

[Amea Virou]

Sarvod Dravis

Not his first rodeo. Amea held back the urge to roll her eyes and merely settled for taking another sip of her drink. Eyes danced around the room to ensure that she was able to maintain her privacy. So far, so good. A few eyes returned the favor of looking at her, but none lingered.

“Let’s see.” Amea said and brought up a hologram of the building before her. The building spun around on top of her table. There were a few suitable candidates, but they were all nonoptimal. “There are exhaust vents that could take you inside, but the blueprints indicate they’d drop you into the warehouse proper. Big open space, you’re liable to get spotted. And that is if you survive the drop. You’d also need roof access for that.”

She exhaled with a quiet hum. “Sewer is more of a health hazard, liable to leave a stench that would lead them straight to you if you linger in there too long. Makes stealth difficult.”

“Full frontal assault… Possible, but foolish. I want you alive, and that case in hand before they day’s end.” Amea spun the map around again. “Check the perimeter. There might be some holes in their defenses I can’t see from here.”

 

[Sarvod Dravis]

"Copy that."

Falling into an ingrained routine as the operation commenced in truth, Sar surveyed the perimeter in that slow, meandering manner that made agents experienced in stealth operations drift into the background in favour of other, louder targets, while still remaining visible enough as to not provoke intense scrutiny. That only worked without armaments aplenty, of course, and so he'd been forced to leave his heavier gear behind.

"Roof's not off the table, some of these streets are tight enough to jump. No obvious gaps in security, but the clankers are military surplus, not dedicated security. I reckon I can get past if I cause a ruckus elsewhere, that model always goes for the flashy part." Unless they had received a major update, but he doubted it. Security was tight but ad hoc, whatever they were guarding wasn't staying for long.

Completing his irregular circuit at a point with multiple avenues of approach, the merc approached a street vendor for cover even as he continued his subvocal conversation. "Any intel on internal hard points? If the front is blind I'd rather risk a vent entrance. Thugs rarely look up."

Amea Virou​

 

[Amea Virou]

Sarvod Dravis

Military man, maybe? Amea had worked the intel before, but it had been a while ago. More often than not thought began to wander between the longer periods of silence. She followed the man’s feed and the way he approached things, her mind got to wandering. Methodical, precise in his observations… Ex-military? Or maybe he was just the lone mercenary type. Not that it mattered, he seemed to get results and that was all that mattered.

“Leaked flight details seem to indicate the muscle was brought in from across the old OPA and CIS territories. Tatooine, Terminus, hell, even Naboo.” Amea mused into her recorder. “Looks like a strength-based hierarchy… Expect the heavy-hitters to be inside.”

“If you go by vent there should be a drop point in the north-eastern corner. Wide open, but it lands you out of sight and out of mind from most of their huscle. Might give you some time to disappear before they spot you.” Not a problem for Sar if he was as capable as his current behaviour made him out to be. “Bring your gas mask? Readings indicate there might be something in the air.”

 

[Sarvod Dravis]

Raw muscle, then. Were these corpos prepping for a full-on assault or simply grabbing whichever bodies were on the market? If the former, there was a risk more people than his mysterious employer knew of... whatever it was he was "recovering". He would have to move quickly if matters escalated.

"Understood, proceeding with caution; I have implants to handle any toxins." Not the corrosive stuff, but the toughs weren't in hazmat.

Feigning a great deal of interest in the street meat he'd procured as a cover, he completed the transaction... and deposited a small device near the street vendor in the process. Ambling away from the compound, he slid into an alley when no one was looking, ditched the food (he wasn't taking his chances on what passed for health regulations in this place, thank you very much), and skittered up a greasy wall like a humanoid spider.

Inhalations measured and calm, belying his recent exertion, he activated the noisemaker he'd left behind, gave it half a second, then dashed across the room and jumped the gap to the warehouse while the crowd's attentions were directed squarely downwards.

Rolling behind a piece of protruding durasteel, cold eyes appraised the lone guard on the roof - as of yet unaware of his presence.

Good. He did not particularly mind dropping a few bodies, but it was better to minimise risks this early in an operation; besides, he did not personally know his operator - if his luck was shot she might be a bleeding heart of some sort. "No undue attention, I trust?"

Amea Virou​

 

[Amea Virou]

Sarvod Dravis

“Whatever gets the job done.” Amea muttered and took a sip from her drink. “It’s the Outer Rim, no-one respects rent-a-cop mall security anyway.”

It was a job, sure, but it was a job that stood in the way of Amea and furthering her own goals. There was a willing middle man, yes, but in the end she only really felt responsible for a single person’s well-being, that being the one she simply knew as ‘Sar’ right now. And even so, he was just one of many cogs. If he failed, she simply had to lay low, re-evaluate, and then try again.

Once inside Sar would find the room enveloped in a purple mist. Upon contact with skin it would slowly make the room light up just ever so slightly as the psychotropic effects of whatever had spilled into the warehouse took its effect. Sparkles would dance across a mere mortal’s periphery in a pattern that made them all too noticeable, and yet entirely out of sight. If he had been perceptive on the way in he would have noticed that the ventilation hadn’t been turned on in seemingly a long while. Someone had wanted this room to flood in this manner, but whatever the reason was unclear.

Inside the silence was almost deafening. Windows from up high shone three bright beacons of light into the otherwise dark room. With each breath the fog seemed to change color, and with each step forward it was as if the burden of whatever it was that lingered in the air was easier to manage.

A controlled high, an enjoyable experience.

“What do you see?” Amea spoke into her device for Sar to report back. “Have you figured out what’s in the air?”

Amea had her suspicions, but she had to make sure. Red spice, unrefined and most of all unclean. The stuff that a bad dealer sold for a dime on the corner and a good one sold for bigger bucks in high society.

 

[Sarvod Dravis]

His entrance was easy enough, with the sole guard on the roof having taken the chance to entertain himself with some sort of mobile device in the absence of supervision and the ventilation system having only a basic lock; despite the swarm of muscle, this place had not been built a fortress.

Once he reached the interior, however, things got complicated.

"Narcotics." Subvocalising a noise of disgust, Sar pulled on a pair of sleek gloves, raised his collar as much as possible, and wrapped a piece of cloth around part of his face. Even so, he could not help but receive a lesser dose - he'd just have to soldier through, no time to head back for the heavy gear.

Glancing at the high shelves that filled the warehouse, he saw nothing but silent ranks of unmarked crates. Through the haze a few forms moved about, but none had as of yet been alerted to his presence; scattered enough for a takedown or two obscured by the spice-mist? Perhaps.

Weapons at the ready, he began inching towards the other side of the warehouse, cybernetic eyes silently whirring.

Despite the inconvenience, he was feeling oddly cheerful. Damn it, the last thing he needed was chemical impairment.

Amea Virou​

 

[Amea Virou]

Sarvod Dravis

Prolonged, queasy groans began to echo around the warehouse. Feet dragged along the ground to give away the position of three different people. Every now and then they seemed to mutter something before they all erupted into an almost unison form of giggling. Whatever this stuff was, it had scrambled their minds a long time ago.

“Any update on when the bosses arrive?” A gruff voice called out from one of the shuffler’s radios. “Been eerily quiet ever since Jens’ little accident. Don't like it.”

“Yeah, well, he’s one of the shamblers right now. Just keep your eyes peeled for that man Hambo reported was casing the joint.” Another equally gruff voice called over the radio. “Now keep quiet, bosses will arrive when they arrive. We hold out like they told us to.”

The chatter went quiet. The walkers grunted in pain as the radio closed the channel and continued to broadcast white noise across the room. At least one of them was above Sar, on a walkway leading into the thick of the mist. The other seemed to be close-by, yet hidden behind a wall. Upon inspection he’d find a near-by office. The third and final piece of static couldn’t be seen, but it was somewhere around here.

“You’re telling me the whole room is thick with spice?” Amea groaned and shook her head with a long sigh. “Alright, keep your head in the game. And for the love of all that is holy, don’t breathe too much of it.”

It wasn’t any form of real, proper spice. This stuff hadn’t been excreted from a spider or mined in a cavem at least not directly. It was a cocktail of several other psychedelics mixed with Geonosian rocks and dirt to give it a rougher texture and red colorization. It was a cheap drug for a reason, and the lazy mismatch of ingredients was definitely a big part of it.

“I’d say you have about ten minutes before your lungs start to protest.”

 

[Sarvod Dravis]

"Twenty, at least." Not that he intended to stick around for that long unless something went wrong, doubly so since whoever was in charge might be inbound. Likely with a security detachment of their own. "My implants are helping, but they do little against skin absorption."

After a moment's consideration, Sar opted to sneak off towards the nearby office, carefully confirming that the door was unlocked and the guard... staring at the wall while giggling under his breath? Hit people differently, this thing. Likely mass-produced product, quantity over quality.

Carefully peeling the door open, he slid inside and up to the figure, then covered its mouth and nose with one hand while another jammed a stun baton into the back, keeping up the pressure until he was sure the man had fallen unconscious. Examining the communicator for a moment, he smiled coldly, attaching a small device... and promptly getting access to their network. Amateurs, never let the help bring their own tools, they're usually cheap.

"You should have their comms, at least the main unit. No guarantee these "bosses" are coordinating."

Better not stick around to find out. Leaving the unconscious thug out of view, uncaring that the heavier-than-air aerosol spice might damage the man in some way, he slid out of the office, skirting the shelves on by one on his way to the manager's office, pausing whenever he heard nearby motion.

He could probably gun his way through, but you didn't last long in this profession by being unnecessarily reckless.

Amea Virou​

 

[Amea Virou]

Sarvod Dravis

The flesh was weak, huh? Amea frowned and glanced at the feed coming through to her pad. If truth was to be told she had suddenly found herself more than thankful she had chosen to sit this one out and handle the intel. If the warmth of alcohol was enticing then she dreaded to think of what a room full of spice would be. Perhaps to some extent she even sympathized with the poor idiots stuck inside the warehouse, but then she also wasn’t paid for it.

The radio went quiet for a moment before it lit up with remarkable activity. Not so much sound but by connection. The man deliberated on what he had done, and Amea merely let on a very impressed nod. Not many she had worked with considered granting her access to communications. At this point she had almost come to expect those under her to be idiots. At least for milk runs like these.

“Very impressive, Operative Sar.” Amea seemed happy with his decision. “I can read about forty more signatures on the network, most of them outside.” She pulled up the blueprints of the warehouse again and spun it around. Dots for guards were added by the moment based on those she could triangulate. “For a warehouse with nothing but spice, they sure seem to treat it like a god’s damned fortress.”

Going shelf for shelf Sar would find that there were a dozen (minus one) at most guards inside the warehouse. Metallic clangs of boots sounded off from the catwalk above, thuds of concrete and leather from around him as the sounds seemed to echo around the warehouse with growing intensity. Most of them seemed centered around the bottom entrance to the manager’s office. One of them, a man of bigger build and rounder stature seemed to positively press against the door. His hands were opened with his palms pressed firm against the metal, the lights from inside forming a silhouette of his head as it bobbed in an irregular circle pattern accompanied by the squeak of a tongue dancing across the glass surface before him.

“Is he…” Amea grimaced at the footage and shook her head. “Of course he is.”

 

[Sarvod Dravis]

Firepower was all well and good, but his particular training had drilled the importance of solid intelligence into his head. Numbers mattered little in a well-planned ambush, artillery was useless without coordinates for targeting, and going in blind was reserved for the stupid or desperate.

He was good, but he was not forty armed men good - fortunately, he hardly had to be.

"If it truly is nothing but spice, it's a king's ransom," and, went the assumption, the package they seemed so determined to protect must be more valuable yet. Either that or they rather sensibly decided that it - being significantly more portable - was significantly more likely to be stolen.

"Unpredictable effects, definitely an impure substance. Good enough for the street, however."

Deciding that a direct assault was a recipe for disaster, he pulled back a bit then carefully climbed one of the high shelves, concealing his body beneath a walkway until someone crossed above. Quick as a snake, he grabbed a hold of the walkway, hefted himself up, and severed the guard's vocal chords with a deft slice of his vibrodagger even as his other hand covered his mouth and nose. In less than a second, he was lowering the body to the ground.

It was quick, clean, and utterly deprived of mercy or hesitation... and with more to come. Just like in the good old OSS days.

Amea Virou​

 

[Amea Virou]

Sarvod Dravis

Information brokering wasn’t just to do a HoloNet search. It might have seemed like the most obvious of statements, but it was true nonetheless. It was in finding the pieces others missed and giving them out for a price, staying ahead of the competition through having the information that was the most sought after while selling it to a precious few. It was quantity and quality wrapped into one neat package, and even though Amea’s pursuits had only just begun she prided herself on the ins and outs.

See, Sar was a pawn, but he was also a data stream. If one took a closer look at what he was giving Amea for free, one would be surprised at what they could learn. He was a man of method and precision as opposed to a man to bruteforce his way through forty men to retrieve a package that was unknown to him. He was skilled, extremely so, and put thought into action before Amea was any the wiser. What she had was not the lead on how to recruit him, but his value as a potential recruit for someone else to seek out, and that — now that, was the truest of value that the man had.

“Definitely good enough for the street.” Amea agreed and shuffled the map on her table around to try and track where Sar was. He seemed to disappear for a moment, climbed up to the walkways and dispatched of a shambler without a hint of mercy. Amea’s tooth sunk into her lip for a moment at the sight. Not out of any form of attraction — because that would be psychotic — but for the data he provided in doing so.

As the body hit the floor and as the man continued forward he’d find himself at a crossroads. One path led away from the office and circled back along the walls towards the mist but in the general direction where he had come from, and the other towards the sealed up door of the office that he had been sent to infiltrate. They had foregone technology on this one. A thick padlock hung like a noose that tied the door to its frame.

Amea’s eyes went wide with curiosity as she merely glanced down at the feed from Sar’s end. How would her agent handle this one, then? She had her suspicions, but it was too early to truly tell.

 

[Sarvod Dravis]

One down, eleven to go - if he wanted to clean house, anyway. With his assignment being a run-of-the-mill recovery, such a thing would have reeked of homicidal unprofessionalism, however. Better to take out those who might pose a threat while leaving the rest to their spice-fuelled confusion.

Speaking of confusion, he could feel it setting in. A sense of giddiness, a certain lightness of heart and body, overall an unacceptable reduction of his operational efficiency. With a complex neural command, a small stim dose was pumped directly into his veins, sharpening reality once more. For now.

Approaching the padlocked door with the utmost subtlety - for even in the spice-haze they might see him from below, if looking closely - he smoothly pulled off his left glove, examined the lock for potential traps, then stuck a finger into the keyhole. Or rather, the device he'd replaced his finger with; despite having his papers in order for bounty hunting and security contracts alike, customs tended to raise a fuss about that kind of equipment.

Oh well, what they don't know can't hurt their bureaucratic little brains.

Using his glove as an improvised noise dampener as the lock opened with a muted click, he pulled it back on then slowly removed the padlock, careful not to cause any further noises - however minor. Placing it on the walkway behind him (far enough that the door would not hit it if it was a pull), he inched the door open while keeping his body hidden behind the wall, just in case there was a jury-rigged trap or angry gunman behind it.

Amea Virou​

 

[Amea Virou]

Sarvod Dravis

It would be a lie to say that Amea hadn’t shuffled in her seat to get a better angle on the lock that was broadcast flat to her face from the device on her wrist. As the lock clicked open, she felt a frown grown on her lips and her eyebrows furrow. She had seen a glove come off, but that could have been a need for dexterity. Either that, or he had an implant to help him with this. Amea continued to frown at not knowing as the man got into the room and the door shut behind him.

In here, the drugs weren’t as thick in the air. The lights from inside bathed the outside with a sickening red light as the fog-like smoke kept pushing and dancing across the glass surface. The drugs were there, but then the ventilation shafts seemed to at the very least hum just the slightest in here.

On this level there were two directions to go. One was a thick metallic door, and the other was a staircase leading downstairs. The squeaking tongue of the shambler downstair echoed against the walls within the office along with the hum of fluorescent lights bathing the entire room with a bright light that was not only a stark contrast to the darkness outside, but also a very good source for the stars that danced across the periphery of the vision.

In this room was a set of consoles. Data streams were flowing across the surface of its screens, lights flickered on and off in accordance to which impulse of electrical current went. It formed a cascade of information that Amea puppy eyed for a moment before she cleared her throat and remembered that she was in public.

“That door.” She said in regards to the door on the very same level they were on now. “The case will be in there.”

But getting through that door, now… That wasn’t going to be easy.

 

[Sarvod Dravis]

Much like his operator, Sar glanced towards the data streams - though unlike her, it only held his attention for the moment it took him to confirm that they were not related to his current objective. Whatever the data was, it would not help her get through what looked like a solid turadium door.

Stepping closer, he quirked his head, ocular sensors working overtime as he analysed first the door then the keypad next to it.

Installed after the warehouse was built? Check. High-security? Check. Isolated system? Check. Designed to lock down and alert the owner if any mistake is made while opening it? Indubitably. For a moment, there was silence, then came a calm statement. "I can't slice that."

Hardly an excuse to give up, he began to scope out the walls, quickly confirming that they had been fortified too. Carefully glancing downstairs, a smile crossed his lips. There it was, the lucky break he needed - they had not expected that anyone would breach through the floor. "This package, do you know if it's fragile, or not? As in, liable to be damaged if someone was to... deconstruct the floor beneath it?"

A few well-placed baradium microcharges should take care of that nicely - and a few more should keep unwanted company otherwise indisposed.

Amea Virou​

 

[Amea Virou]

Sarvod Dravis

Turadium.

“Fierfek.” Amea cursed and shook her head. Her mind began to pour over the data, there had been no mention of just exactly what material the door had been made of, but it made sense. Thick door for a big secret, almost as if someone had something to hide.

“The package is a small metal case. Barely bigger than your hand, and it’s somewhere in that room.” Amea said and glanced at the image in her hand. “I’d say it’s more a question of if you can find it for me once you decide to blow a hole into that room.”

“If you think that’s a possibility, then by all means go for it.”

 

[Sarvod Dravis]

A small metal case? Oh, he would have no trouble finding that whatsoever.

"I'll manage, metal sensors are standard issue." From where he got his eyes, anyway; probably not for civilian models. Unless said civilians happened to have a fondness for hobbyistic treasure hunting. Scanning the downstairs part of the manager's office once more, he noted the slight mist, the fact that the lights were off, and the blank stare in the window-licker's eyes. Yeah, he should be fine.

Moving downstairs at a deliberate pace, he began to attach the requisite microcharges to the roof, using the furniture to reach it without making too much noise, then skittered back upstairs. Slowly peeling open the door, he flung a concussion grenade towards the largest group of guards...

... while at the same time flipping the switch for the charges below. In the instants he had before the detonations, he took cover as best he could, covering his vital parts with his less vital ones in the unlikely event shrapnel reached that far.

Reckless mercs rarely grew old - and he was older than he looked.

Amea Virou​

 

[Amea Virou]

Sarvod Dravis

Standard issue for who? Amea feasted her eyes upon the streams going in and out of their communications. The concussive blast went off and the entire system lit up like a hornet’s nest that was about to catch a beating. The soldiers outside cried out in surprise, the shamblers snarled and hissed at the unwelcome interruption. Hell, the windowlicker was even able to pry his attention away from the glass for a second to glance over his shoulder before he went right back to business.

While the one shambler wasn’t particularly invested, the rest had grown acutely aware that something was wrong. The hisses reverberated around the halls from all angles, a cacophony of haggard breaths made all too clear by the cheap spice’s effect on the mind.

From the moment that the charges had gone off, Sar would find that the desk on the second floor had been deposited to the first floor. Debris flew from the room like shrapnel in a mineshaft. The window with the shambler attached to it cracked with a sharp clank. There was a disappointed whine accompanied by a meaty thud as the spice slowly began to pour into the chamber that had been relatively safe from it. Sar would have a solid minute or two before the first floor had been shrouded in its mist.

Or perhaps more accurately, before it had completely intertwined with the dust-up from the ceiling giving in. If he turned his metal sensors on he’d find that underneath the concrete and wooden leftovers of the desk, a small shiny little case would be found. An untouched chromatic metal, sleek to the touch. On its front was the geometric shape of a nexu’s head, teeth painted silver to stand out from the golden finish of the head.

“That’s the case,” Amea exclaimed. “Now get the hell out of there!”

 

[Sarvod Dravis]

Most high-end contractors would've burst into action mere moments after the charges went off, but Sar knew enough about explosives and the dangers of compromised structural integrity to hold of for a long moment in order to observe the load-bearing walls - then dash forward. The time for subtlety being over, he leapt the debris like a professional acrobat, metal sensors zeroing in on the case mere instants before he grabbed it.

Producing a sleek pistol from inside his jacket, he spun around and melted a fist-sized hole in the head of a guard bold or stupid enough to close in on the aftermath, then skittered back up the steps. Within a second, the outer door was pulled open and his boots hit the walkway...

... cybernetic eyes whirring back and forth as he flagged combatants and promptly gunned the shell-shook buggers down in something resembling a series of executions more than a firefight; it was all about keeping up the momentum, he wanted them flat-footed as he made his escape.

"Coming out hot, path recommendations?"

With luck, his handler would be able to track any points of resistance so he could breeze through the gaps, preferably before the remaining guards at his back regained their senses, assuming they were paid well enough to keep going even after sudden fatalities.

Goodness knew the galaxy was full of "mercenaries" that broke contract the moment shit hit the fan.

Amea Virou​