Faction Nationalistic Ambitions [SO]

[Aspect of Passion]

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Unknown Location
875 ABY

Having sparsed the details of the political climate of Ominov, the Sith Order has begun its efforts to manipulate the politics of the world. Their angle? The deeply seeded nationalism present in the unruly peasantry, the victimhood they have been forced into - and the potential of their people given a few arms, a few weapons, and minds of the Sith Order. With the Dark Lord's permission, the Dark Council and the Sith Lords begin to enact the first stages of their plan.​

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With the promise of selling them arms, the upper echelons of the National Ominov Front have agreed to meet with a Sith liason. Their order has had years of hardship - turning from a full revolutionary entity to little more than criminals with ideals. The Sith have seen this, and intend to remove the corruption of their organization from the head down - while also implementing their own efforts to transform the organization into something far better for their eventual goals.​

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While the assassinations occur - the Sith gather to discuss which of the Sith should lead such an endeavor. The power given to any individual ideal is great, and would secure their mandate for years to come as the primary arm of the Sith's extent into the galactic underworld. Arguably on par with the control of the Asha'kurat, Sith have begun to strike deals in back rooms, kill potential candidates, and strive for their own mandates to take control.​

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Meanwhile, with the control of the NOF essentially certain - Sith have been deployed into an Ominov Slum occupied by the NOF to secure its control entirely. Months prior, foreign syndicates loyal to the presiding spy master have pushed into their bastion with greater and greater efforts. Now, a full on gang war has broken out in the streets as families hide and others fight for their lives. The Sith deployed will enter the area, destroy all opposition to their new found organization - and remove any evidence of their interference.​

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Objective I: The Next Daimyo​

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Gathered in the dark confines of the Worm Emperor's throne room, Sith of every level of influence have gathered to begin the game of political influence. Backing neutral entitites as to make friends, tearing down opposition - the Sith have begun their time honored tradition of mongering for power. With the assassination of the NOF's leadership well under way, the Sith need to determine who among their Order would best serve as the new Daimyo of the Organization. Many have their own vested interest in its control, some even proposing themselves as leaders - but many more have moved to support other nuetral parties to ensure no single entity has too much control.​

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One of the greatest threats many Sith gathered have realized is that with the Asha'kurat currently under control by the Kainite, and the Sepulchral entirely under the thumb of the Eternalists - the control of the NOF could tilt their powerbases into either direction in a way that may not benefit the more simple Sith. As of yet, the Frumentarii has proven neutral under the control of Darth Ophidia - so now more than ever it is important to secure their own power base.​

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Objective II: The Snake's Head​

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An arms deal was proposed to the NOF some months prior - and after much work, they finally agreed. One of the stipulations to the record breaking arms trade was that the entire NOF leadership appear; which in itself was the biggest hold up of the entire situation. Weeks of back and forth, about security and concerns - of choosing the location and who set up the initial sniffing efforts. In the end, the Sith allowed the NOF whatever it needed to feel secure - so the deal could be implemented.​

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Now, the deal is taking place in a high end hotel on Ominov - with security supplied exclusively by the NOF. The Sith liason was given minimal security to find his room - and is currently pressing for time under the guise of sickness. Sith agents deployed to the area are given a simple task; kill the NOF leadership, and ensure that noone is aware the Sith were ever there. Clean up duties, destroying evidence, all important to secure our anonymity in the area.​

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But more than that, the death of the NOF league's leadership is paramount. They hide behind great forces in the conference room on floor 312 - and the Sith must end them. Do what you must, and see the enemy destroyed.​

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Objective III: From the Block​

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Knowing the control of the NOF is almost assured, the Sith have deployed assets prematurely to secure our control over one of the primary bastions of influence the NOF still hold. Another syndicate, the Corellian Disciples, have pushed into the area time and time again; but now it seems they intend to fully take it. Roaming bands of gangs in speeders lash out at any NOF personell present on the ground; and the Sith must stop them from destroying what control the NOF have left.​

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Go out and decimate those who seek the downfall of our new organization, secure the neighborhood for our own control - and begin to rebuild the failing NOF before it is too late.​

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Objective IV: BYOO​

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Ominov is a big place, and its criminal underworld almost as large. Do whatever it is you can to bring Sith ideals forward - or strike out and secure your own mandate's influence.​

 

[Darth Empyrean]

Objective I: The Next Daimyo​

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Maliphant had found his seat at the table amidst the greatest Sith of the Order. His legs crossed, he motioned for one of the servants to pour him a drink - and so they did. A deep red wine from the Core - likely Empress Teta from his quick glance at the bottle. When it was full he waved them off and took a drink - savoring the taste of fermented berries, and the soft hint of mango.​

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How delicious, he thought to himself as he set the glass back down.​

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Today however was not simply for over the top displays of grandeur and hedonism - but rather the decision on the future of a new wing of the Sith Order. Long have the Sith strived for control of the Underworld, and Darth Carnifex had done well for years to bring the Hutt's into the fold of the Sith Empire's ambition. Thus far, they have escaped the consequences of such, but losing them during the imperial civil war was a big hit to the overall economy of the Sith Empire.​

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The Sith Order would not make the same mistake of relying on others to control its underworld ambitions. The issue now was who among them would control the organization as its singular voice and mind. Maliphant once was a terroristic underworld cretin under no name at all, but his ambition and demeanor had long surpassed that. Instead, he'd lobby for control of it to one of his underlings;​

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Arcturus Dinn or Venn Kolis - both highly skilled, both good candidates to lead an underworld empire at the behest of the Sith Order.​

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More importantly, however, it would shore up his own lack of influence in major ways. The Sith Order would bend to his will, or it would break under his ire; so his efforts here were paramount to ensuring his success.​

 

[Darth Malcharion]

Objective Three
Post: One

Darth Malcharion was enjoying his first visit to another world. He had been born on Myrios, and spent his entire life up until now on that isolated rock in space. The closest he had come to visiting another world had been during the Outer Rim Crusade started by his predecessor, the Grand Lord when Malcharion was young. The troop ship Malcharion had been in had been shot down meters away from the surface of the planet. He supposed by technicality he had been on that planet the Emrick Dynasty had invaded briefly, but he did not recall anything besides the fire and pain.

"Tell me, what is the purpose of this article of clothing." Malcharion's words were neutral of emotion as he held up the thing, green cloth in his free hand. His words were addressed to the Corellian Syndicate perimeter guard, held nearly a foot off the ground by Malcharion's other hand grasped firmly around his throat. The young man kicked weakly at the Sith, though his strength had long since left him, the feint purple tint to his skin evidence enough of that. The guard had been easy enough to take by surprise, consumed as he was by watching a digital recording of some kind of sporting event. Rather sloppy work if this was the kind of warrior the syndicate had protecting it.

"I suppose it matters little." Malcharion let go of the cloth, letting it float away in the breeze as he turned his full attention to the guard. "Which way is it to your encampment, I need to speak with your officers." His words were accented by a slow tightening of his hand around the man's neck. What little breathing room the man had was rapidly lost, and in a panic, he turned to point off into the distance. Following the direction, Malcharion could see the feint outline of what could possibly be structures against a series of hills, almost perfectly blocking them. The Corellian Syndicate were not entirely idiots it seemed.

"I thank you for your aid, soldier. You may be at ease now." The man's eyes widened as small tendrils of Sith Lightning began to travel up his fingers and pour into the man's skin. His eyes rolled up into the back of his head as his body spasmed, the minor channeling of the Dark Side enough to disrupt his normal bodily functions and electrical currents. It took only a few seconds for the man to become comatose in Malcharion's hands, his spasms and kicks finally ceasing. Dropping the body, Malcharion began the slow trek across the landscape of Ominov, intent to speak with the Syndicate that was giving the Sith Order's goals on the world such problems.

 

[Darth Strosius]

Objective 2: Slay the NOF leadership
Location: Floor 312 Air Ducts
Equipment: Lightsaber
Tags:
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Crawling through tight enclosed spaces was hardly a favorite pastime for Alisteri, even on a good day. Crawling through them in a quiet manner as to not found was even worse. He gritted his teeth to silence a pained exhale and a curse as he accidentally slammed his elbow into the side of the duct, again, as he crawled forward. They couldn't make these things a little bit wider? You'd almost think they didn't want people climbing up into these things. He mused as he glanced down to peer through a vent that he had finally arrived at. It wasn't his target however, merely a hallway. With a small sigh he ventured onward, intent on finding the room that would allow him to leave the cramped ducts.

Evidently he was looking for some form of conference room occupied by the entire leadership of the National Ominov Front, which he assumed would be hard to miss. Thankfully once he did manage to locate them and get out of the cramped air ducts, the mission was simple. No witnesses, no evidence, no survivors. Of all the orders that he received over the years, he loved these missions the most. They were simple in their goal and usually somewhat entertaining as long as one had the proper planning and equipment.

All he had to do now was find the conference room in question without making too much noise and drawing attention to himself. A task that would be abundantly easier if he could reach back to his pocket and pull out the holoprojector with a map of the building's layout on it. The mere thought made him glare at the walls of the ventilation shaft that lay before him as he pressed forward through the small metal corridor. I can't wait to get out of this Force forsaken vent.

 

[Darth Ophidia]

Objective 2: The Snake's Head.​

"My Lord, our agents are on the move."

The ember-like eyes of Darth Ophidia rested on a gathering of darkened clouds in the distance as she listened to the report of the plainly clad agent. She could see his reflection in the transparisteel: He stood behind her, head bowed and hands behind his back, as was the custom.

"There will be others, but I have no fear that they will be a match for ours"

A flash of lightning lit the far sky, and Ophidia's eyes snapped to focus on his reflection.

"Pride makes you blind to potential, agent Ives"

the thunder finally reached their ears in a low rumble, barely perceptible.

"Consider this a test."

Objective 1: The New Daimyo.
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Darth Ophidia had long since forsaken the trappings of pomp and circumstance. Though she had surrounded herself with fine things when she was a young woman, she had since come to find beauty in other things. In above all, she had come to find a desire for power. While the Queen of Shadows had a long arm indeed, its reach was often hard to perceive. The Asha'kurat and the Eternalists seemed to think themselves the only players on the board, steering the will of the order.

But they did not see the way the serpent coiled in the grass, ready to strike. The careful balance of the two presumed powers had served the Frumentarii well, and they were not about to allow that balance to shift too far one way or the other. And if she could not place a Daimyo of her choosing?

Well then she would surround him.

While not yet present at the table, she was observing. From the windowed halls, she strode seemingly alone, eyes fixed ahead - Hands clasped behind her back. No wine, not yet. No polite conversations at the present time. There was work to be done.

Blood-work.

 

[Aleksander Tornicov]

Objective 4
Post One

Aleksander jerked slightly as someone knocked on the door to his office. Glancing up from the datapad in his hand, he let out an aggravated sigh as he placed it down on his desk. It joined one of many on his rather cluttered desk, several piles of papers strewn around with the datapads, creating a collage of new and old. In the end it was all the same, paperwork that had to get done. When he had joined the Ominov Military so long ago, he would have never guessed that he would spend almost every day doing nothing but paperwork.

Granted, there was not much of a military anymore to work with.

"Enter."

Corporal Varro Allen entered the office, stepping past the two bookshelves flanking the simple metal door. His crisp, freshly ironed uniform seemed to gleam in the sunlight coming through the small window of Aleksander's office, and his blonde hair took on an almost white color. He gave Aleksander a quick, formal salute, coming to attention before the desk. Aleksander waved the youth to rest, rising on tired knees. "Corporal, I was hoping you would be bringing me lunch." The General's deep baritone words seemed to shock Varro, and he fumbled for a few seconds. "My apologies sir, I can go order something to be brought up! It won't be..."

The resonating chuckle from Aleksander silenced the man, and his face flushed. "A joke, Corporal, just a joke. I find taking meals to be the best indicator of time these days. What have you to report." Straightening, Corporal Allen handed Aleksander yet another datapad. Sighing, he reached out to take the datapad when a small, gleaming symbol at the top drew his attention. Glancing up at Varro, Aleksander narrowed his eyes. A small blue sigil topped the datapad, a symbol that everyone on Ominov knew. It was on every thing from household appliances to luxury vehicles. Even military assets were labeled with the karking thing.

Everest Shipping. Aleksander loathed the company for the grip it held over Ominov. It provided jobs and resources to the world, and helped fuel a boom in the entertainment industry. But that was decades ago, when Ominov had been going through some of its darkest days. A golden age, some had called it, lifting so many from poverty. Now though, they had begun to hinder further growth. Using their monopoly on the world, and with the support of members of the government and royal family itself, Everest Shipping had prevented Ominov from growing its economy without its tight control. Offworld interests were hindered, and every attempt to become self sufficient met with 'accidents'.

Only one person would be using their symbol on official datapads within the royal palace. "What is it that Cylene wants..."

 

[Darth Empyrean]

Darth Ophidia entered in her brooding manner - her presence like a thick oil on the skin. Maliphant cringed at it, but kept his outward expression neutral - no reason to offend to openly when there was politics to be played. Other Lords entered into the hall, and eventually the Worm; his presence overpowering all others, like a cloud of necrosis filling the nostrils with venom. The Sith Lord almost visible shuddered, but again restrained himself before readjusting. The Worm's guard, Mordecai Zambrano announced the meeting coming to order, and the first of the Lords began to speak.​

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All demanded they themselves gain control over the NOF, but few had the backing to do it. Maliphant assumed, at present, more than likely they were hedging on luck to get their way - but luck would not gain the ear of the Dark Lord, nor the other's in the room. Maliphant let them praddle, and slowly brought up his holocommunicator; sending a message to one of the only present Sith he cared to speak to in this moment.​

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... Message Sent.​

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//... "Snake. It would seem the Sith Order's overbearing nuetrality is coming to an end."​

//... "I propose an alliance. Back my proposal for Daimyo, and we can continue operating under an alliance."​

//... "Infact, it'd serve us both well - since I wouldn't stop the Frumentarii from breaching it's organization."​

//... "Additionally, we are the two most suited for running it. My funds, your information networks. We'd be unstoppable."​

//... "What say you?"​

 

[Venn Kolis]

Darth Empyrean Darth Strosius Darth Malcharion
Nationalistic Ambitions
Objective 3: From the Block
Location: The Corellian Disciples' hideout in the foothills​

"I say we waste this farrik right here and now."

There were murmurings of assent from the gathered thugs and bikers. The few punks who'd been listening to Venn with attentive ears turned their faces in shame. Venn, for his part, appeared entirely unconcerned, the visage of his new helmet betraying no emotion. He sat calmly in the dim light of the radial heater, looking up at the flickering stars overhead. An exasperated sigh escaped him. Any moment now...

"Killing me won't help you against what's coming. Very soon, the Ominov Front will be an altogether different beast than you're familiar with. If you are still their enemy when change rolls in, things will end very badly for you. But there is still profit to be made, and a difference to make. With us."

More than a few hands had wandered to the grip of a blaster pistol, hovering at the sides of their belts as one Twi'lek spat out "Yeh? 'Join or Die', is that it?"

"Well, that's not my favorite wording." Venn stood and stretched, and the jumpy bikers shifted, the tension in the air a hair's width from snapping. "I'd call it more.... Join or Be Eaten."

It crashed down out of the sky without warning, claws and writhing muscle and teeth. An unholy shriek filled the air as its huge wings beat at the sky, banners of leathery purple skin and violet scales. The Corellian Disciples yelled out in fear and scattered to put some distance between themselves and the Drexl. One Devaronian drew his blaster and managed to get a shot off at the animal. The Drexl ate his entire head for his trouble. Panicked profanity filled the air as the decapitated corpse slumped over beside the radial heater. Venn only laughed. "Speaking of beasts you're unfamiliar with..."

Two more shapes winged down out of the darkened sky: Rupings that bore riders. They alighted on the rooftop of the Disciple's hideout, their masters each leveling a blaster carbine at the crowd below. They covered Venn as he walked amongst the terrified speedbikers. The young Sith could practically smell the division within the group. The Disciples were made up of several distinct gangs, and the internal power struggle was complicated. No one man held sway over the whole syndicate. Venn could use that. He laced his voice with arrogance, his words purring from the speakers of his helmet, laden with the darkside.

"Did my pet scare you? No, don't look at his body. He was useless anyways, you all knew that long before I relieved him of his head." There was actually nervous laughter at this, and Venn continued on, emboldened. "If I thought all of you were like him, I could have just sent my pet here alone. There would have been no need for me to come. But I know there is ambition here. Fearlessness. A love of freedom."

The tone of the gathering was beginning to shift. This could work. Venn could bring them around. He was about to have the Corellian Disciples in the palm of his hand, at his beck and call....

And then gravity increased tenfold.

The heavy pressure emanated through the air, unfelt by all gathered save Venn and his Drexl, who raised his hackles and hissed like an overheated blaster cannon. Someone was coming. Boy and beast knew it. Every step closer it took to him sent a shockwave through Venn's spine and the deep bones of his legs. This was not a presence that moved with the flow of destiny's current. This was something that stood firm and let the waves break against him.

A Sith was approaching.

Venn swore under his breath. If he'd had more time, maybe he could have turned even the more hesitant. For a moment, he'd been certain the entire syndicate had been his for the taking. But though the being approaching felt not quite as strong as his master, he was certainly more than enough to crush Venn like a Pikobi underfoot. Perhaps, if he attacked from above with the Drexl.... no. He couldn't risk the warbeast now, he needed it. Time to cut losses and fly.

Venn turned and leapt atop his Drexl, which let out a defiant shriek. The Sith apprentice pulled the helmet from his head, freeing his dark tousled hair and sulphur eyes. The assembled thugs gaped openly at the boy's obvious youth, as he gestured about him at the clearing outside the ramshackle hideout. "If this is as far as your ambition takes you, you're welcome to stay. Everyone else? Fire up your ride, and follow me. I won't just make you rich. I will make you legends. But if you ignore me, don't expect to stay as you are. A friend of mine is nearly here with his own offer of employment, and he takes 'no' quite a bit worse than I do."

As Venn saddled up, a handful of the bandits began to dash about the space to collect their things. As Venn had planned, revealing his face had won the loyalty of the youngest in their number, while raising the suspicion of the older veteran Disciples. When some of the men saw their fellows trying to follow after Venn, they moved to intercept, and a fight nearly broke out as several blasters were drawn. Venn's riders on the roof let off a pair of warning shots, and the Drexl made a noise like a huge evil mynock. The older raiders backed down, and the bright-eyed recruits made it to their speeders with their gear in tow.

They started their engines, and the Rupings on the roof shrieked with the speederbikes, which got the Drexl all riled up. With an alien roar, it launched itself into the sky, and Venn felt the wind comb back his hair before he fastened his helmet into place again. Looking behind him, he saw the trails of eleven- oh, twelve bikes speeding across the dark Ominovian foothills after his flightpath.

Compared to his master's vast resources, twelve hired guns were not much at all. But Venn had made so much progress with so much less. Time to stir up some real trouble. He switched on his comlink. "Eslo, get on coms with the biker in front. Tell the new meat we're heading to the City Center. We have a big meeting in a hotel there; conference room, floor 312. We can't be late."

OBJECTIVE 2: THE SNAKE'S HEAD​

 

[Lirka Ka]

Objective 3
Tags: N/A, open to interaction

Asset. They called her asset now; it was enough to almost make Lirka's blood boil. She had been a Grand Moff once, where the stupid may have found the title reassuring: a punction on ones' continued usefulness to the Sith, Lirka was not dumb. She knew that it meant she was just another instrument in their collection of cultists, fools, and chaff now. The disrespect was frankly enough to take her aback.

Almost.

Really, she couldn't blame the Sith this time. She was a mercenary after all, and the Sith had lined her pockets with credits and ever-important Bacta once again. At the end of the day, payment was everything after all. So she returned to the Sith's pet project once again after they massacred so many in the void, what did they call it again, Omnoriv, Oniov? The planet felt utterly unimportant in the Sephi's eyes, just another play at Sith power...poor sods. Now in the streets she had made camp, implanted among a cluster of the NOF scoundrels, now those were the truly poor bastards. They were almost repulsive to her, useless in her own machinations, and if they limited info the Sith had given her about the job was true they weren't even powerful enough to push back a measly swoop gang. While they rummaged around the beastly woman, who sat nigh motionless with nothing but the soft whirring of her powersuit to mark her presence. Beneath that blank helm, Lirka's eyes followed oozing with contempt.

And that was how it had been since she landed here, just waiting, waiting for something to happen. She wanted a brawl, the swoops to come in and bring her wrath down upon the NOF's would-be-killers. But no, she was here...waiting.

And Lirka hated guard duty.

 

[Darth Strosius]

Objective 2: Slay the NOF leadership
Location: Floor 312 Air Ducts
Equipment: Lightsaber
Tags: Venn Kolis
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"-And so then I tell the guy, 'Now you were the one going to some chop shop in the lower districts of your own volition' and then he gets all aggressive on me. Am I the bad guy?" There was a pause as the other guard seemed to think for a moment, even going so far as to reach up to tap on his chin before shaking his head. "Nah, dude sounds like a piece of chit." "I know right?! So then he says-" The conversation was interrupted by the sound of a thump. A very close thump. Both of the guards turned to face the other end of the corridor that they had been patrolling down, seeing the third member of their patrol lying dead on the ground with a burned neck stump in place of his head.

They looked to each other, then the body, then back to each other. "Uh...I-I'll call and get some reinforcements." "Where is Jarval's head?" As the guard began to reach for his commlink, the question from his companion was answered as something landed in front of him and distracted him. The look of horror on the severed head of their friend kept the two guards from noticing the origin of it's drop, the now open air vent above them. "By Ominov's gleaming palace what the feth is going on?!"

That question would also be answered subsequently, as the guard turned to look back at his friend just in time to see the other guard be pounced upon from above. Before either could scream out in surprise the dark, red cloaked figure snapped the neck of the guard that he had knocked to the ground and quickly kicked the other into the nearby wall with enough force to crack the man's ribs upon impact.

Gasping and wounded, the guard reached out to try and grab his commlink or even see if he could retrieve the blaster pistol holstered at his hip but his hand never made it. A red blade of a lightsaber ignited and cut his hand off at the wrist, the howl of pain muffled as the masked Sith slammed his free hand against the guard's mouth. "For the record." Alisteri noted as he plunged his weapon straight through the guard's chest. "I do agree, that guy was in the wrong."

The Acolyte pulled away from the body, deactivating his weapon and clipping it back onto his side as he observed his handiwork. Three dead guards, no signs of an alarm raised just yet, minimal cleanup. Always glad to see that the lull in the Sith's operations didn't dull me too much. He mused with a measure of pride as he quickly pulled the guards up into the vents and closed the entrance that he had used. More importantly, he now had ample time to retrieve their commlinks.

Getting a sense of the NOF's activity outside of the meeting room would be integral to keeping his incursion quiet and unseen. The opportunity to stretch a bit before he had to continue crawling through the vents was merely an advantage of stopping to wipe out a patrol. He was lucky enough to find a patrol that he could intercept at all, let alone one small and somewhat easy to ambush like this one had been.

He doubted the rest of the guards would be as simple minded and fearful. But, that just adds to the thrill of it all. The dark thought brought a small smirk to his face, but it was washed away as he continued his crawling in search of the meeting room, all the while listening to the guard's commlink to try and find the main event through their chatter.

 

[Darth Ophidia]

The Next Daimyo
Darth Empyrean
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... Message received.

Sometimes, matters such as these came down to who sent the first message, and who held out for a better option. As the message was sent, Darth Ophidia did not pull up any devices or seclude herself from the Lords around her. In fact, one could easily think she had not received a message at all. The pale assassin exchanged shallow and venomous pleasantries with those who wished to gleam information from her. Yet, between two such encounters there was an abnormality in her behaviour; For once, the unblinking eyes of the Queen of Shadows closed and remained closed for a handful of seconds.

One could dismiss such a strange occurrence by ascribing it to her age, or perhaps a sudden tremor in a force bond. Perhaps some would see it as a burgeoning chip of weakness, or perhaps some would even see it as a ruse to flush out would-be betrayers. No, perhaps only Maliphant would get the right of it.

Her eyes closed, and a lens on her retina displayed the message from Darth Maliphant. With motions of her eye, she silently composed an answer visible only to her.

... Message sent
//... "Neutrality is a lie, and the time has come for each to play their hand."
//... "I would be willing to support your candidate, but I require assurance."
//... "The Daimyo's Majordomo and the captain of the guard will be of my choosing."
//... "Your candidate will be safe in their hands, so long as our goals align."
//... "Do you find these terms acceptable, my Lord?"

 

[Venn Kolis]

Darth Empyrean Darth Strosius
Nationalistic Ambitions

Objective 2: The Snake's Head
Location: Lobby of the 'Proud Crown' hotel; ground floor.​

The wide and opulent hotel lobby was empty, save for a few bored looking hotel staff.... and 30-ish jumpy men from the National Ominov Front who were hardly even bothering to hide the blasters in their jackets.

"Hey so, boss? Why're we on a roof?"

Venn ignored the nervous question, continuing to survey the hotel's ground floor through his binocs. A cold wind whipped around the assembled gangsters at this height, the lights of the city below glaring into the night like unblinking eyes of fire. The speedbiker beside Venn looked around at his friends, who all just shrugged or shook their heads. Still. the young man persisted. "It's uh, not that we don't trust those friends of yours to watch our bikes, we're just all wonderin'-?"

"Thirty-four."

The biker was taken aback. "Sir?"

"Thirty-four NOF goons in the lobby. Now, normally I'd leave the grunt-types alive, and just assimilate them later. But if their bosses trusted them to run security tonight, then I'm betting those are seasoned family types, and stubborn. So we're gonna send a message. You twelve are gonna take 'em out."

There was some appreciative scoffing from these punks who'd only just met Venn. Their leader scratched the back of his head with a funny smile on his face. "And uh, how're we gonna do that?"

"It's Bor, right?"
"Yessir."
"You're polite Bor. That's a good trait, hone in on that. I appreciate manners, respect even. But what I value even more is trust in me." And Venn moved to click open the large black case he'd lugged up here on the back of his Drexl.

Bor chuckled a bit. "You mean, same way you trust the twelve of us up here, without your pet or guards, not to throw you off this roof?"

Venn grinned back. "Well I mean, I trust you not to try, but yeah, you're catching on."

Then Bor recognized what was in that black case, and pulled a reflective uniform from it incredulously. "You crazy son-of-a-lothrat... you wanna run a Burning Bantha?!"

Venn was the one chuckling now. "I have no idea what that means, but judging from your reaction, I'm gonna say yes."

"You're crazy! What'chu think we are, sleemo, idiots?"
"Shut up now, Unilok." And Bor turned from glaring at his friend to stare at the uniform in his hands, before looking up at Venn with proud eyes. "Use mine."

Venn nodded solemnly. "I won't forget this, Bor. You have my word."

There was a silent moment of consideration from the other bikers. Then....

"You can use mine."
"Mine, too!"
"It's a pile of junk, anyway."
"Hey I'm in."
"Let's do this."

Venn was laughing heartily now. "For the love of Ommin, how many bikes d'you guys wanna hit them with?!"

Easy-listening music filled the lobby of the Proud Crown, the triggermen inside fidgeting and making quiet small-talk.

"Yep. Not his fault at all."
"Right?! I mean, if he's gonna go to some chop-shop-"
"Would you two give that story a rest? It's all we've heard today."
"Hey, Jarval isn't picking up, anyone heard from him?"
"Guy's probably emptying the airlock. Fethin' piece of... what in the-?!"
"HOLY CHIT! DOWN, GET DOW-"

And that was all the warning they got. Three speeder bikes came crashing into the lobby at fullspeed from the street outside, busting through reinforced glasteel windows and ornate doorways. There was a screeching of metal on metal, then all three bikes went off like firebombs.

The explosion rattled the Proud Crown Hotel's very foundation, blowing the lobby straight to hell. Agonizing minutes passed for the survivors, who lay wounded or trapped by rubble, waiting for the inevitable attack that was surely coming. Coughing in the still-settling dustcloud, they gripped their blasters and kept them leveled at the crater that had been the front wall until just recently.

But the attack never came. The minutes stretched on and on, and then there were flashing colored lights outside, and a voice on a loudspeaker was asking onlookers to please, stand back, this area was unsafe, there'd been a terrible accident.

It was the Feds. The triggermen hid their blasters or chucked them as far as they could. The authorities began to pick their way carefully through the wreckage of the lobby, marking bodies and searching for the grateful survivors, who were quick to assure their saviors that they had had nothing to do with this, that they were here on legitimate business, and that the government ought to be investigating whether the crash had been an attack.

The lead field officer nodded thoughtfully as he listened to the National Front man's theory. "Can you think why someone would want to attack you and your friends?"

The man shifted uncomfortably. "We're in a... competitive industry. Things get rough. Look, I really think me and my boys should get to a hospital, can't you ask my bosses these questions?"

Pulling his plasteel civil servant helmet from his head, the questioning officer smiled. His eyes burned with a bright yellow sulfur. "Oh, don't worry. I intend to."

And he snapped his fingers. The National Front man screamed, as all at once his entire body burst into flames from the inside.

At that signal, all other rescue personnel drew blasters and summarily executed the men that, seconds ago, they'd been wrapping blankets around and treating with first aid. Venn stood wearily, stumbling a little before catching himself. His vision blurred for just a moment, and his head hurt. Bor walked up in his shiny civil servant uniform, concerned. "You alright, boss?"

"Never better." The apprentice Sith shook his head, as if trying to awake from a dream. "That little trick just took a lot out of me."

Bor cocked his head to the side. "Then why not just shoot him?"

Venn could only smirk, "It was a cool-looking move. Wanted to see if I could do it." He stretched tiredly and let out a yawn; it had been a long night already. "I'm gonna go peel this first responder costume off. Make sure Unilok stays outside on that loudspeaker and keeps those lights going; we don't need civilians in here. I have it on good authority that the real police force will not be answering any calls out here tonight, so no worries on that end. Pick 4 guys to stay with you and Unilok to hold this lobby. The rest are coming with me to floor 312."