Imperial Entanglements

[Fulcrum]

PROFILE // AGENT DARKSWORD, CODENAME DEACON​

COVER IDENTITY // RED BLADE, PIRATE CAPTAIN​

GEOTAG // PORT TOWN, CLOUD CITY​

PERSONS OF INTEREST // [member="The Major"]​

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"Fething gun runners."

The Red Blade scowled derisively, artificial eyes scanning his surroundings for any threats underneath the ever present shades. He wasn't impressed. So far he had only been in touch with this arms dealer through remote communiques, this was supposed to be their first face to face meeting and their last message had included instructions to meet in this dive bar. A live band was furiously playing Herglic rage-metal, and the hapan could not claim to be a fan.

There were better spots for sight seeing on Bespin, but Port Town made a certain kind of sense. It was nearly impossible to lock down, plenty of unused industrial space. As good a spot as any to conduct a high risk business transaction on the station. Desmond nodded imperceptibly at his crew mates concealed on the other side of the cantina, particularly his devaronian first mate Fang.

"We got your back, cap'n," Fang's voice crackled over his ear comm.

As far as his fellow pirates knew, Deacon was the real deal. He had certainly taken enough real prizes. Carefully chosen targets, means to his ends. The truth was, he couldn't afford to drop the facade. Someone was out there, hunting his people. Hunting him. So now he was the Red Blade, a pirate captain in dire need of some new weapons. He was the Red Blade.

He was the Red Blade.

 

[The Major]

A seedy bar somewhere deep within the wayward neighborhood of one City in the Clouds: what could be more atmospheric for yet another dirt deed. No, today didn’t have to do with securing another stash of illicit, mind altering psychopathics to numb the pain. Nor was there some secret mission to eliminate former traitors who abandoned their posts during the downfall of the nation that once managed this sector.

Today was something far simpler...

...making an honest credit.​

The way the Major figured, the work was honest because there was a need. Pirates, gangsters, cartel enforcers, and scoundrels needed blasters to do their dirty work. The woman currently scoping out the entrance of the trash bar had a surplus of those blasters. Not on her of course. Today was all about negotiating price since the crate of supply would be of better quality than anything done previously.

Dressed in a basic leather jacket and black from head to toe -matching the screeching aesthetic of the place- the Major chucked the cigarette tucked between her lips down the drain as she passed from the cover of her alleyway. Crossing the street with an expression that appeared to be designed to stop flung plasma in its tracks, she entered the bar and immediately moved to the counter in order to place an order for a drink -figuring the Buyer would have sense enough to realize what she was here to do.


[member="Deacon"]

 

[Fulcrum]

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Despite the colorful clientele, Desmond leaned back in his seat as if he were perfectly bored. His cybernetic optics cycled through a half dozen major criminal databases, automatically sorting data on most of the cantina patrons into overlays floating next to their outline. A steady barrage of concealed weapon pings bombarded him until finally the rogue agent was forced to deactivate his warning protocols via blink command. Nothing stood out to him as particularly unusual.

He almost didn't notice her at first. Now there was a trick, he noticed everything.

There wasn't anything extraordinary about the human woman except there wasn't anything about her at all. Nothing in any of the criminal databases, not even an accessible civilian identity code. Some worlds were negligent in their record keeping, but for a sentient to slip through the cracks into adulthood...unusual certainly qualified. It was either one hell of a coincidence or a professional scrub job, which meant that whoever he was dealing with was either a serious underworld player or worked for one.

"I'll have what she's having," he leaned against the bar next to her, having made no effort to disguise his approach. In fact the Red Blade's brow quirk and lecherous saunter towards an attractive new patron was thoroughly unremarkable behavior for a pirate, "Well, here I am. What are your other two wishes?"

Deacon tilted the shades down just long enough for her to catch the briefest glimpse at his winking artificial eyes. An ion concussion blaster and carbonite gun were clearly visible hanging from his belt underneath a slate duster, but concealed within there was also his stun baton and compact tranq pistol.

[member="The Major"]​