I Have Sources

[Darth Osano]

BASTION

Pollux waited in the alleyway by himself, hands in his pockets. It was late at night and he had an appointment he intended to keep. Most people would have been antsy meeting someone of ill repute in this neck of town, but most people didn’t have a squad of Guavian Security Soldiers keeping a lookout from nearby. Most other people also didn’t keep a personal energy shield on their person, or have a hardened exoskeleton and a spooky, scary skeletal appearance that would dissuade most petty muggers.

A second figure, hooded and mask slipped silently into the alleyway. This one was a Nikto. Female. Late thirties. She looked tough, probably because one needed to be in order to get along on a world dominated by humanocentric ideologies. Pollux could sympathize at various points in his life, depending on… Well, that wasn’t important. She stared at him for a minute and decided that this must be her contact. There weren’t a lot of Givin on Bastion and the ones that were didn’t hang out in alleys.

“Got my money?”

Amusing as it might have been to kill her and take what he came for without paying, he knew if he did that he’d have a hard time finding other informants and footpads to work for him. So he nodded, reached into his coat, and pulled out a single credit chip. The coloration and markings indicated a tidy enough sum, a good and just reward for what he asked for.

She cleared her throat. “My price went up.”

If Pollux had any visible eyes, he would have rolled them. But he didn’t, so he couldn’t. Instead he stuffed the credit chip back into his jacket and made to leave.

“Oh, wait! Alright!!” She caved before he could pass her, digging through her satchel and retrieving a small datapad. Pollux hadn’t actually intended to leave without what he wanted. The Guavians would have seen to that, so it was in her favor to just acquiesce.

Pollux accepted the datapad and activated it. The photography he had asked for was already displayed, depicting a clandestine rendezvous between an older man and a younger one. They met, they kissed, had a lovely dinner, and then engaged in intercourse. It was all very clearly documented, no signs of forgery or manipulation that he could tell. The sheer volume of photos.

Oh, right. She was still standing there. Pollux produced the credit chip once again, handed it to her, and sent her on her way.

This transaction, despite that there would likely be juvenile assertions to the contrary, wasn’t for pleasure. The older man pictured was the CIO of Bastion’s planetary intelligence bureau, which happened to be one of the most robust in the sector. Was his flounce with a younger gentleman of any interest to Pollux? Not on its own, but it would be of great interest to his wife, as would the fact that it was her brother’s son he was seeing.

The divorce, the public shaming from Bastion’s general populace, the blow to the agency’s credibility, the younger gentleman being cast out of his considerably family. It’d all be very messy. So messy, in fact, that Pollux and the Guavian Death Gang had it on good authority that the CIO would do anything to avoid it all. Like feed information to Pollux and his associates, perhaps purposefully compromise the security of the massive data servers he oversaw so Pollux could readily access them.

Pollux placed the datapad in his coat pocket and exited the alleyway. There were more planets to visit.

 

[Darth Osano]

MUUNILINST

“Ugh, you’re finally here.” The Muun barked before Pollux even finished descending the descended loading ramp. This time the Givin’s escort was more visible, two heavily armed Guavian Security Soldiers. “I thought you’d never show up. You have any idea how much I risked getting this for you?.”

The Muun, Pors, was a low-ranking member of a well-connected IGBC branch. All Muuns looked old, but Pollux had it on good authority Pors was fairly young for his kind. But more importantly, he looked incredibly flustered. He was clearly not used to meeting out here in an isolated stretch of Muunilinst’s wilderness. It was mostly forest, but they had found clearing big enough to land their shuttles. Pors wanted privacy for this deal, but it hadn’t been his idea to meet in the wilderness.

Ever since the first time Mandalorians came to take over the financial capitol of the galaxy, security had been heightened. Pollux did not imagine he could get away with what he was about to do if it happened in Por’s home office. The Muun angrily strode over, clutching a folder filled with flimsiplast and a few data cards. The forest meeting wasn’t really why he was so angry.

He was angry because he had been snubbed for a promotion by his boss, Olen. Not once, not twice, not even three times. Seven times. And it made him furious, because he knew for a fact that the scumbag was laundering money it was going out of style. Even the seediest, most unscrupulous of bankers would have flinched at what Olen was funneling money to. Slavers, for the Force’s sake! Pors could do Olen’s job in his sleep, he was convinced, and didn’t need to be a crook about it either. That was why Olen kept passing him over.

Not that anyone would listen to him. Olen was too influential, too powerful here on Muunilinst to get investigated properly. If the feds got involved, he could flush the evidence before the feds even knew they were getting involved. Pors was mostly consigned to his fate at this point. Then these freaks showed up one day, contacting him off the record. The skeleton one said that if he could get some damning evidence, he could put Olen away. It had been risky, but the feds would have swept it under the rug themselves if they could. Pors did some digging. Mostly illegal digging, but what he dug up was far worse.

He had it all. It was like a road map to Olen’s off-the-wall-psychopathy. Account histories, correspondence, recorded holocalls. It was a gold mine. That freak of a banker thought he could just delete crap off his hard drive and it’d be gone, but Pors knew where to look, because Pors was smarter than him. The Givin pocketed the hard drives that were in the folder, gave the flimsiplasts a cursory leafing through. It was all here.

Pors did an obnoxious ahem, then got right back into it. “Well? Can you do it?”

Pollux shut the folder, not even looking at Pors. He nodded to one of the Guavians instead, who then raised his weapon at Pors in unions with the other.

“What are you-”

As it happened, Pollux had no interest in working with Pors. Pors realized this just as the first blaster bolts emerged from the rifles and smacked him in the chest. Pollux did, however, have a vested interest in working with Olen and his sizable network of contacts, not to mention his clout in Muunilinst’s social circles. This fancy bit of evidence would be good incentive for Olen to do so. Pollux trusted the subsequent law enforcement probes into Pors’ unfortunate death would be… Snuffed.

“Bury the body.” Pollux ordered, once it was done, heading back to his shuttle. “Scrap his ship on Raxus Prime.”

 

[Darth Osano]

ENTRALLA

The Guild of Interstellar Merchants had a lot of pull here on Entralla and elsewhere in the sector. Archmaster Rosby had a lot of pull in their executive council. He was a shrewd man accustomed to battling the whims of the market and safeguarding the Guild’s economic prosperity. Widely admired, very wealthy, beautiful wife, several children. Only one son, though, but he was healthy. Rosby’s dynasty was secure, his fortunes secure, and he was widely admired by many in the Guild. A man of his power and stature probably had little to fear.

Well, that he knew about.

Rosby scrunched his face in disgust, then threw the stapled flimsiplast document back onto the desk in front of Pollux. “Why in the name- why did you bring this filth to me?”

Pollux had not anticipated a positive reaction. That was why Eugene, the Guavian, was standing directly behind him. “Take a gander at the last few pages.”

“I’m not entertaining any more of your-”

“Really?” Eugene snickered. “But, y’know, this is your son we’re talkin’ about here.”

Sure enough, the chatlog excerpts gave way to the comprehensive profile assembled by agents of Bastion’s planetary intelligence bureau. It wasn’t flattering. What an Entrallan man, Rosby’s son specifically, did on the holonet didn’t become their concern until that Entrallan man was seeking out Bastionite minors to trade inappropriate messages with. They had been preparing to go to Entralla’s authorities with the report, but someone had stopped them.

Eugene kept talking, now that Rosby was going pale and horrified as he reviewed the aforementioned last page.

“Now, it ain’t your fault, an’ we’re understandin’ an all… You can probably get ‘im the help he needs, right? We’re not much lookin’ for anything in particular, y’know? We’re doin’ this ‘cause… ‘Cause we’re your friends, see. An’ friends to their friends favors.”

There could have been any number of reasons for Rosby’s son developing the bizarre predilections that he had. Maybe a chemical imbalance of the brain. Maybe something that happened when he was younger. In all likelihood it wasn’t his fault that he ended up this way. So often did the abused start to become the abuser. At the very least he so far hadn’t hurt anyone… Yet. But he was getting closer.

“So what me an’ my pal were thinkin’ was, y’know, since we’re doing you a pretty nice favor right here ‘an now...”

For some strange reason, the file that was building on Rosby’s son had vanished and the agents working his case abruptly reassigned. Must have been a glitch in the system. Or a shortage of manpower. Or perhaps the CIO had, after some enhanced persuasion, turned up some dirt on his superiors to Pollux so he could get some favors out of them as well. Really, it was anyone’s guess.

Rosby glared defiantly at Eugene, then looked back at Pollux. “What do you want?”

The Givin shrugged idly. “Your cooperation.”

 

[Darth Osano]

YAGA MINOR

This had to be the fattest Gran Pollux had ever met. Most Gran, in his experience, didn’t live long enough in their nasty and brutish lives to get fat. But this one had. That’s because this Gran was Bisks Hoegg, a major element in Yaga Minor’s criminal underground. He was in charge of this sector’s branch of the Osaji Syndicate.

Hoegg was a monster, barely fitting behind what passed for a desk in this ramshackle criminal hideout. Everyone who worked for him in the Osaji Syndicate tended to be horrifying in one way or another, successor included. The second in command hovered in the corner of the room. He was a Duros, tall and with an eyepatch. Scarred several times about the face. He had his fair share of atrocities under his belt, but he was quieter than Hoegg. Hoegg, meanwhile, had the habit of dispensing spittle along with his cacophonous laughter- a trait which Pollux did not find particularly enjoyable.

“The Osaji are paying me triple what you’re offering, you freakin’ ghoul.” He laughed, again, at Pollux. Flecks of food and spittle showering the desk and getting perilously close to the Givin. “This’s the worst joke I ever heard of. You’re gonna come in here, tell me I should give the Osaji the finger, and then offer me less? Freakin’, freakin’ stupid, is what that is. You’re a goon!”

He slammed a meaty hand on the table. “Bisk, get this karkin’ joker outta my office. Why’d you even let him in?”

In the room were a couple of other Osaji gangsters, plus Eugene on Pollux’s side of the table. If this had been anyone else, Bisk might have obliged Hoegg. However, Bisk had come to a previous arrangement with Pollux. Pollux was now really only here to make sure it was seen through. The Givin gave Bisk a little nod, then Bisk indicated that the two knuckleheads do what needed to be done next.

One held Hoegg by the shoulders, the other produced a knife. Not even a vibroknife, but a regular knife. The Osaji Syndicate didn’t like to get too fancy with their bladework. Then again, these guys were no longer with the Osaji Syndicate, were they? Hoegg managed to sputter a “what ar-” before his throat was opened up. Thus the gurgling commenced, and the Gran’s blood spilled out over the desk.

Everyone waited for him to die before continuing on, Hoegg’s fingers twitching helplessly at the gash in his throat, wild eyes searching around the room as if looking for a reprieve. All he saw was Pollux: grim faced and forbidding as always. Once that was settled, Pollux was free to talk business with Bisk. “Congratulations on your promotion.”

Bisk smiled, exposing teeth marred by drug use. “This gamble. Very large. Givin better keep word.”

“We’ll keep up our deal, don’t you worry ya little head about it.” Eugene said. “You give us th’ informants we need in this sector, we’ll keep covering your ass.”

 

[Darth Osano]

BOROSK

Maximum security prisons were, generally speaking, never very fun places to be. But a maximum security prison on not just a fortress world, but an old Imperial Remnant world? That was a whole other ballgame. But despite their banter to the otherwise, the beating heart of Pentastar space was just as susceptible to corruption and bribery as any other faux-Imperialist holdout that had been separated from a real Empire for over a decade.

Which was to say, very.

The warden was not a very popular man. He lacked even the slightest modicum of competence on top of that. Several longstanding officers in the prison had been passed over due to the nepotism that had placed the current warden in control.. A cabal of them decided that orchestrating a humiliating circumstance would be enough to get him ousted and someone better fit for the job could take over. “Decided” may be giving them too much credit, however, as it would be more accurate to say they were… Convinced. Convinced that the escape of a high-profile criminal in the middle of a basic exercise would be sufficient to get what they wanted.

The criminal in question was a mean-spirited Selkath. Borosk, like other stock Imperial worlds, had a remarkable prejudice towards aliens, especially the criminal ones. It should come as no surprise then that the majority of the prison’s population were aliens. In any rate, this Selkath, Ozan being his name, had not been imprisoned for murder, drug trafficking, or anything nearly so heinous. He was serving time for tax fraud, because this was all that the Imperial authorities could book him on.

And even then, they had probably had to fabricate most, if not all of it.

Ozan’s role in the criminal underground of the Prefsbet Sector was far larger than misreporting his income, however. Ozan was a facilitator, an infochant. He had a hand in almost every major criminal enterprise in the sector and owed allegiance to no one but himself. Ozan was, easily, the most well-connected individual in the sector… But that didn’t do him very much good when he was stuck in an isolation cell all the time.

At least, for a while. At which point his reputation as a highly prized informant would come to Pollux’s attention, and the Givin would spin his insidious webs to see that Ozan vanished in the middle of a routine fire drill. Obviously Pollux would not be participating directly. There was no need. These Imperial officers were professionals, there wouldn’t be any mix-ups.

Pollux waited in a warehouse for three, perhaps four, hours before a Stormtrooper kicked down the door. The Givin didn’t flinch, but rather waited patiently as two other Stormtroopers dragged in a Selkath with a bag over his head, threw him into the room’s solitary chair, and promptly left. As previously discussed: professionals.

Eugene stepped forward, ripping the bag off the Selkath’s head. Ozan blinked a few times as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. They unmistakably narrowed when he caught sight of Pollux.

“Who the hell are you?”

“Your new employer.”

 

[Darth Osano]

CADEMIMU V

I wonder, are you bored yet? I do not imagine that this thread has been terribly fun for you to read. In fact, the only reason I can imagine you would want to read any of this is to make sure that what the author promised you was in this thread IS actually in this thread and he isn’t trying to slip anything past you. I assure you, this is the case. You really do not need to go any further if you don’t need to.

It must be painful, reading this drivel; this monstrosity of literature that was crafted not to tell a specific story, but to fulfill a specific objective- to fulfill a certain criteria, an obligation, so that a claim to something meaningless and abstract can be backed up. Have you ever done that? And then lied to yourself about it, telling yourself that any writing is good writing? That even if it’s as shallow and hackneyed as what I’ve just described, that it still at least serves to hone the skills of the writer?

We’ll tell ourselves anything these days, won’t we?

When Regional Governor Victoria Isolde arrived at her office that, only a few weeks after she had been elected, she had been expecting it to be empty. So that was why she jumped nearly out of her skin when she saw that there was a Givin seated at her desk. His vacant eye sockets and void expression nearly caused her to cry out, but Isolde was a prideful woman. So what if he caught her off guard? She had gone up against that rat, Livingston, in so many televised debates she had lost track. Anything this creep had to say would be a cakewalk in comparison. She bit it back inside and glared at the interloper. “Who are you supposed to be?”

There was movement behind her, and Isolde turned her head to see its source. It was a Guavian, male. Despite his unnerving black-and-red bull’s eye helmet, she didn’t give any hint of fear. Visibly, anyway. Pollux had started to notice he could sense how people were really feeling. Most of the time. It wasn’t very useful as it currently stood, but was rather foreshadowing for some development in his character anyway. Are you still reading this? Lucky you.

“Take a seat, lady.” Eugene said, moving to guide her over to one of the chairs across from Pollux.

She yanked her arm away from him. “Just who do you think you are? Get out of here, or I’m calling the guards.”

Pollux was unconcerned about the guards. They were either on break or in his pocket- occasionally both. But even if they weren’t, there would be no need for them. If there were cause to kill the Regional Governor, Pollux wouldn’t have shown up himself. “Sheesh.” Eugene remarked. “Think she’d be a lil’ more respectful considering we rigged ‘er election...”

Isolde flushed with fury. How dare he! It had been a close election, to be sure, and of course some of Livingston’s more diehard supporters had run their mouths about voter fraud… But it was all nonsense! She had fought tooth and nail for this position. There was no way it had just been handed to her. She fought too hard and too long to be deprived of a real victory.

“What did you just say?”

Eugene cackled. “Sore spot, huh?”

Unfortunately for the Regional Governor, it had been voter fraud. An election rigged in her favor without her consent, because she never would have gave it. And now Pollux and the Helix Syndicate were in the position to expose the fraud. She could deny any involvement, certainly, but who would believe her? She’d be torn to shreds and her political career would be over. Unless, of course, she would simply act as a Syndicate asset...

 

[Darth Osano]

DUBRILLION

Dubrillion was a familiar locale to Pollux, although it had been… How many years? Longer than it should have been. Longer than most people went on for, probably. Pollux couldn’t give a number, but it had been a long time. It was business that brought him here, though. Not pleasure. Although in some grand respect, he did derive pleasure from what he was doing. It was the most profound sense of satisfaction, seeing things be built up over time…

Are you bored yet?

One of the Directors of Dubrillion’s intelligence agency was a man by the name of Fen Torlin. Yes, I’m running out of high profile officials for the Givin to hit up, so we’re returning to intelligence agency personnel. Fen Torlin was much higher ranked and better placed than the CIO he had already blackmailed into submission. Torlin’s crimes were also far more egregious: he was selling information to the Bastionites. It was a terrible, terrible crime, to be sure. Why would he sell to them when he should be selling information to Pollux?

Well, strictly speaking, there would be very little selling. Pollux intended to use the threat of revealing Torlin’s treasonous activities to get a better deal than the Bastionites were currently getting and then shut them out entirely. Maybe he could have forced a deal where Pollux wouldn’t have to pay a hot cent… But ensuring Torlin’s loyalty meant offering other incentives besides being threatened. Willing employees functioned better than unwilling employees. Eventually, Pollux hoped that Torlin would find his new arrangement so much more amicable that he forgot he had been blackmailed into it in the first place.

Do you see what’s happening here? Do you understand the shallowness of this entire written process? Pollux and another Sith I don’t care to name are, in that instant, almost completely ideologically similar. All I’ve done is exchange one gimmick for another, a bombastic Umbaran for a mute (purported) Givin. The differences end there. It’s disgusting. I’m disgusting. Why are you still reading this? Don’t you have anything else to do?

When Pollux and Eugene did eventually meet up with Torlin, he was not pleased. It took time to calm him down, and by time I do actually mean that Eugene did give him a swift uppercut and might have fractured the man’s jaw. It was a reasonable reaction- Torlin had taken to swinging the lid off a nearby trash can like an improvised weapon. After that, Torlin spoke a lot less, rubbing his jaw in agony and generally behaving more appropriately.

Torlin was an aggrieved man. Pollux could sympathize with him, almost. The Dubrillionese government did not take their intelligence services seriously. They were not aware how many terrorist attacks had been thwarted by Torlin and his tireless staff, even as the budget became smaller and smaller. Those Bastionites, though, they had the best service in the sector. Easily. They could appreciate the job he was doing, and they did! Which was why the paid him to siphon off information.

Who was going to report him, anyway? Himself? His coworkers? No, even if they had found out somehow, they’d probably just hop on the bandwagon rather than sell him out. Pollux found this all very remarkable. A government with no respect for its intelligence branch? However did they intend to function in this galaxy? It was no wonder they had been powerless to stop the Mandalorian Crusaders from setting up their disgusting shop.

There it is again. Umbaran.

 

[Darth Osano]

ORD BINIIR

I myself have come to doubt the worth of this thread. Really, I have. But here I am, eight posts in. Stopping now would result in a greater loss of prestige than finishing and posting it, even if it were really bad. The planet of Ord Biniir was not as populated as other worlds, but it still held a modest, productive population and a vibrant podracing circuit.

Industry wasn’t always as smooth and efficient as it was made out to be. There are always complications in big companies. Failures of bureaucracy, lack of communication, miscommunication, mismanagement, etc. Yet these are only the internal hiccups that might arise. This is to say nothing of external factors that could threaten a company’s productivity. For example, a union-organized protest. A conglomerate of Ord Biniir’s most prolific podracing manufacturers had essentially come under siege from a host of massive and coordinated union strikes.

Employees who weren’t members of the union were bullied into not working. Production was brought to a standstill. The conglomerate was hemorrhaging money. Many of the CEOs and board members, as with elsewhere in the galaxy, were very well connected gentle-beings. They had eyes and ears throughout the Pentastar Alignment. Pollux intended to make adequate use of those eyes and ears. All he had to do was make the union problem… Vanish.

How to do it, though? It was tempting to just mow down the ringleaders in a hail of blasterfire. Maybe a few car bombs for the stragglers. But these things had to be handled sensitively. Anything blatantly violent would just attract attention to the conglomerate. They were big in the government, of course, so they could have gotten away with it at the cost of inspiring a Selectivist uprising.

Too risky.

There were better ways to handle the situation, but they involved playing the long game. One by one, the ringleaders were arrested for heinous, fabricated crimes. Several were implicated as members of a child pornography ring, one for sexual assault, another for having ties to slave traffickers. Suspicious? Perhaps. But the common workers didn’t know enough about the shadowy underbelly of the galaxy to be suspicious. They were only demoralized. These were people they had believed in and they all turned out to be perverts of the worst caliber.

As it went on, the protests lost momentum and slowly dissolved. People returned to work, too busy gossiping to even remember what they had been striking for in the first place. The tremendous profit lost that resulted from these protests would be recovered and the status quo would continue on for decades to come. Once again, with the help of shady and amoral off-world forces, the capitalist oppressors of Ord Biniir were able to retain their position at the top of the social ladder. A greater blow to justice has never been dealt, truly.

As far as quid-pro-quo went, the conglomerate would continue to assist in the Helix Syndicate’s intelligence gathering activities on Ord Biniir so long as the Syndicate kept the workers nice and disorganized. Pollux agreed readily to this arrangement, but they neglected to realize that he had recorded most of his communications with them, and if they ever decided to welch on a deal, he would threaten to release these communications.

But let’s not get ahead of ourselves here.

Though, this reminds me. What am I doing here? What is the point of all of this? I don’t know any more. I can’t remember why I started in the first place. Everything was much easier when I just played as Cobra Commander with spooky technomancy space powers. But now here I am, busting my ass sowing the seeds of a vast and poorly-detailed intelligence network. Is this my fate? To be mediocre on the internet forever?

 

[Darth Osano]

SOL'NEGA

A den of pirates, smugglers, and thieves. It was like a discount version of Point Nadir, only more aesthetically pleasing to Pollux as far as he could be concerned. Still the same basket of deplorables, of course. This planet would actually make a fairly decent location for his headquarters, he realized. He would have to look into it later. For now, he was here for a different reason. Another very well connected infochant made his living here, but the rumor mill had it he had fallen lax in his duties as of lat, because he was being harassed by a pirate gang.

The bar was largely empty, save for an Arcona and two pirates… And only because the pirates prevented the rumor monger from leaving.

“Where’s the money, Festus?” Sniveled one pirate, slapping the Arcona across the back of his head. Festus reeled from the blow, eyelids fluttering. Festus was not a hardy man by any means, but he was resourceful.

The other pirate, a Gamorrean, grunted. “He ain’t got it. Let’s just ice ‘im.”

Pirates were often very shortsighted individuals. They were not fun to work with or for. Pollux often found that they were useful as tools and little else. They were easily directed, playing simply on their baser emotions. Loot and plunder, plunder and loot. Drugs, women, and so on. They lacked depth and ambition. Very easily directed. Pollux had not come here looking for that sort of tool, though.

“Yeah, ice ‘im.” The sniveling pirate echoed. The Gamorrean moved to unhook his axe...

They were too busy with Festus to notice that a trio of Guavians and Pollux had entered the bar. In fact, neither of them noticed until their stun batons crackled to life and a melee erupted. Guavian stun batons were turning out to be very, very painful things. The sniveling pirate was reduced to a convulsing, drooling heap right after the first blow smacked him across the face.

To his credit, the Gamorrean did better, managing to bowl over and wound one Guavian before being floored after three or four strikes. Hardy creatures, Gamorreans. And even then the Gamorrean seemed largely conscious. Festus wearily watched this unfold, confused and dazed. One Guavian tended to his wounded comrade while Pollux approached Festus.

“Festus.”

Festus nodded.

It was always strange that most of Pollux’s marks didn’t really want to talk to him or were to confused to do so. It was almost like the writer of these posts was too lazy to construct meaningful dialogue between characters. Or that he had only allocated one page in his google doc to each post and so was constrained on space, which begs the question of why he would go off on these tangents if space is an issue.

“You’re under my protection now, provided your services are rendered solely to me.”

The Gamorrean spat. “Captain Iron Hand will hunt you down, bones. He don’t take offenses kindly!”

Pollux reached into his coat pocket and retrieved what appeared to be someone’s severed, cybernetic iron hand. He tossed it over to the Gamorrean. It was true, Captain Iron Hand never took these sorts of wrongs laying down. That was why Pollux had taken the time to ensure his pacification before coming here. “He won’t be an issue.” Pollux flatly intoned. “I assume we have a deal.”

 

[Darth Osano]

ORD CANFRE

Tedious is probably the word best applied to this thread. Not meticulous. Meticulous would imply sincerity or worth, and as I draw closer and closer to the final conclusion of this journey I am increasingly doubtful that this thread contains either. Are you really still reading this? Have you actually come this far with me? Maybe you’re just looking for the tangents at this point, trying to get some laughs. Or worse, you’re just a masochist who’s going to read all this out loud on a Skype call, mocking me behind closed doors.

Fine. I suppose I deserve it.

Separatists had conquered Ord Canfre during those ancient Clone Wars people always heard so much about. They had not chosen this planet lightly. It was the only planet in the galaxy where the Canfreyan Moogoo Vine grew. Can you tell I’m making this up as I go? Because I am. I really am. I’m dead inside and the article for Ord Canfre is a stub, plus this thread about criminal underworlds still hasn’t included a drug dealer. Sue me. Kill me.

The Canfreyan Moogoo Vine was highly sought after in some circles of drug dealers due to its profound, powerful hallucinogenic properties. It was widely made illegal throughout the galaxy, but not on Ord Canfre. The Separatists had come looking to weaponize it but, as with most of their hair-brained schemes, had never seen completion. Nowadays, Ord Canfre was dominated solely by the cultivators of the Canfreyan Moogoo Vine. Huge plantations dominated by large mechanical processors and hordes upon hordes of slaves.

The Cultivators were, like everyone else in this long and winding story, well connected people. Information frequently passed through them as they marketed the Moogoo Vine to every planetary underground the galaxy over. It would be essential to Pollux’s initiative to recruit one of these Cultivators into his growing circle of contacts. The problem was that none of them were in a position that Pollux could leverage control over. By and large, they were too powerful.

Well, until now.

One such Cultivator was suffering from what was plainly known as a “slave revolt.” His rivals were content to allow the slaves to wipe out their competitor, not considering that the success of the slave revolt might have inspired similar tendencies in their own slaves. Slavers weren’t especially bright. Now who does that sound like? No one I’ve written before, that’s for sure. The cultivator in question was known as Smol Dedi, an Ugnaught with a foul temper and a formerly prosperous plantation. He suspected sabotage from his neighbors. Then again, he could suspect all he wanted from the panic room in his ransacked mansion.

After about two weeks in the cramped panic room, surviving on canned rations and sheer force of anger, he heard a ruckus. It carried on for an hour, maybe more, and then someone started slicing the controls of the door to his panic room. Ready for his final stand, Smol brandished his fancy rosewood cane and prepared to face his former servitors…

Yet when the doors slid open, it was only Pollux and a couple Guavians, all armed with sinister looking stun batons.

“Mr. Dedi-”

“I know what you want!” Smol yelled, small ugnaught Face bright with anger. “I know who you are. I’ve heard, you skeleton goddamn… Fine! It’s a deal! You just help me get this goddamn mess back together...”

Pollux had stopped listening after a few moments, overcome with the smug satisfaction that he had been heard of.

 

[Darth Osano]

ECHOY'LA

Furious and bewildered, the Alor of Clan Sharmat fumbled through the papers, sending them skittering across the desk. He was angry. He thought this was all behind him, but now it was all coming back. He glared at the skeleton, this spook calling himself Pollux. The Givin surmised that this was about as angry as a Mandalorian could get before furniture and people started getting broken.

“Why’re you showing me this?” The Alor snarled. “Come to insult me before you ruin me?”

We’re at the end of the thread now. This is the last post you’ll read, if you actually read any of it, before you go back to living your life productively. Did you learn anything? Did you feel anything? Laugh? Cry? Probably not. That’s why this thread fails. It accomplishes nothing. It speaks to no one. Lines of text have been conjured up, energy expended typing into a keyboard, for no higher purpose than to fulfill an abstract objective in the parameters of an equally abstract game we play. There’s a phrase for things like this: hack writing.

Eugene cleared his throat. “We’ve got no desire to ruin you, pal.”

“Then what?”

“We’re in a… Unique position, see?” Even though it was Eugene who was speaking, the Alor stared dead into Pollux’s vacant eye sockets. Pollux held his gaze. He had come too far and dealt with too many scarier individuals to be intimidated now. “Where we can either snuff this info, prevent it from ever getting out...”

“Or you can release it and ruin me.” The Alor finished.

Pollux nodded. “Depends on your cooperation.”

Being a former member of the formerly-infamous Deathwatch led by RC 212 was not exactly something any Mandalorian, this Alor’s clan included, would look favorably upon. Especially not his role in the nuking of Keldabe, or the fact that he had once been taken prisoner by Ewoks when they hijacked that outdated cruiser the Deathwatch used.

It was not an illustrious career. But Pollux had it all on file right here. Every little detail, every scrap of information that pointed to this man being involved in all of the above. Now, don’t be mistaken- this was not the ultimate purpose of Pollux’s unending quest to establish information networks on the previously mentioned planets. The information networks are all means to their own ends, to the vaguely known aims of the Helix Syndicate. It just so happened that they were extremely useful when it came to topping off this little pyramid.

The Mandalorian would ultimately cave. His reputation was to precious, what he built was too precious. He would become Pollux’s eyes and ears within the Crusaders.

Still, he wasn’t done being angry. “Why did you-... How did you-”

“I have sources.”

And so ends this thread, this meaningless diatribe, bombinating alone in the void of an internet forum. I even did the thing where the title shows up in the text itself. Wasn't that great? Some small attempt to pretend this was at all interesting. I don't imagine anyone of sound mind would read this whole thing in its entirity, merely skimming through to check that its described contents exist in the first place. To that end, the thread is remarkably similar to say… Tax code. Or a book of laws. No one reads such things cover to cover, they merely find what they are looking for and move on. You can go home now. We’re done here.