Planting the Seeds

[Djorn Bline]

Outer Rim Coalition Space

There was an old saying, or at least Djorn thought so, about walls. It was a waste of strength and energy to outright attack a wall. It could be dented and damaged, but it would not fall. Rather focus on the area with the most weakness. Pressure its points, see it casually crack in all angles only for it to collapse at ease. Only then would the dominos fall and victory would be achieved in a very sophisticated, efficient manner. A very insightful metaphor, especially to those in war.

The animosity between the Outer Rim Coalition and the Sith Empire was an obvious thing that many knew about. They just prayed they weren’t roped into a war that was not theirs to fight and could live out in peace without blood tainting their lives. A noble dream, but like all dreams they were just illusions. Much like the illusion the High Inquisitor was hoping to pull on the Coalition with success. Try and slither his way in the inside, try to win their confidence, and then find the pressure points to that wall. Hurt them in a manner without legions or armadas. Find a way to crumble their foundations by just himself...and a few other selected operatives.

They would be the knives that would cut more than the swords of a battalion.

They were all dressed up like, well, spacers. Wasn’t that hard to sell it off with in terms of looks rather it was their behavior that needed to be adjusted. He was well disciplined and educated as expected when in the ranks of the Sith’s Armies. They didn’t need to act foolish either. Just had to be clever. Know how to work with a curveball thrown at them. Have an attitude, and break some rules.

Act rebellious.

The thought alone made his guts nauseous.

The freighter they occupied was made by engineers of the Sith. The designed looked like it came from the Outer Rim, Hutt Space, anywhere that belonged to a smuggler or freelancers trying to have some credits in their spacious pockets. Everything was average to put in simple words.

”For feth’s sake, Fordyce, I hope your stench doesn’t throw us off,” the High Inquisitor said to one his subordinate that was a rank below him. He meant the Echani’s alignment in the Force due to her chosen path as a Sith. Luckily for him and a couple others they didn’t share that trait in using the Force, so no worries in having to mask their presence.

”Just like we rehearsed. Tell your stories to anyone who asks or don’t, just make sure you’re consistent with it so you don’t screw up the script. One error, even small, will finish us. We’ll meet back here on my call.”

A space station within the frontier of the Coalition’s territory was where they were heading. A good spot to refuel and get to know the locals better.

 

[Adriana Fortemps]

A death stare was all that the High Inquisitor would receive from the Echani, her anger and disgust all aimed to whichever blurry figure just voiced about her stench. She almost began to scream at him, opening his mouth before realizing he was talking about her force presence. Truth be told the Inquisitor was uncharacteristically short on temper, damn near on the verge of crying because of this mission.

Recently the silver-haired Sith had begun to take on more tasks that she found unpleasant, eyes on the upcoming vacancy in the High Inquisitors, but this mission was almost too much for her.

"I'm doing my best just pretending to be spacer trash, Bline." The anger not at all hidden in her voice, despite her efforts. "I almost want them to sniff me out so I can be done with this."

The contacts hiding her Sith Eyes too thick to hold a real prescription for Jorryn, leaving everything blurry and making it hard to focus. She had attempted to use her fashion skills to at least try to make a decent outfit for this mission, impossible as it was. But the High Inquisitor denied any of her attempts, instead forcing her into an unflattering spacer trash outfit.

Of course she did make it look as nice as possible, cutting the black shirt in the right places to improve it. There was no helping the garbage trench coat that she was forced to wear, nor the muddy boots and torn pants. The aviation goggles that she wore were rusted out, but at least they looked a little decent when reflected against her hair.

Her hair

The tears almost poured out as she imagined the knots and tangles and dirt and rust and-

It was almost instant as she turned her frustration into anger against the one leading the mission. She would of course do the mission that she was sent here to do, and do it flawlessly. But if something were to happen to the High Inquisitor...

Well then the opening would come much sooner wouldn't it?

[member="Djorn Bline"]

 

[Loske Treicolt]

It's called self care.

"Yeah, you said that, but the self - which is you - isn't doing anything."

That's the point. I do so many things all the time, do you know how stressful it is to keep you alive? This is the only thing I've asked for. It'll take like, fifteen minutes.

"This just seems weird."

Can't help that this is the only starport with the best droid spa in the galaxy.

"Yeah? How many droid spas have you been to?"

I'm just repeating the reviews. I'm going to try it.

"Okay, fine." The blonde pilot held up her hands in defeat to the astromech who was squared at her hip-height. "But I'm not going in with you. Seems creepy and I don't want to find out if they do human treatments too. I'll wait outside by the ship."

The droid gave a triumphant toot and whirred into the storefront, the ding of the door welcoming him inside before the receptionist had the opportunity to. He hovered at the desk for a few moments, before there was a follow-me gesture from the alienette inside. Through the glass, Loske could keep an eye on him up to the point where he disappeared through some deeply jewel toned velour curtains. She gave an anxious hum when Frank was no longer visible to her, but felt a buzz in her jacket pocket. Curious, she pulled out her datapad where the droid had sent her a message confirming that he'd be out of the shop within twenty minutes. Along with the price for the service that she'd have to go in and pay when he confirmed he was all done and shiny.

 

[Fulcrum]

PROFILE // AGENT DARKSWORD, CODENAME DEACON​

COVER IDENTITY // RED BLADE, PIRATE CAPTAIN​

​

There were dozens of shadowports just like this one scattered throughout the loose confederation of independent states, remote territories, and spiritual communes that made up what the wider galaxy referred to as an 'Outer Rim Coalition'. Even the name was something of a misnomer, for while there were a few broader institutions like the Judges or Partisan guerillas most of Coalition space existed in relative anarchy. It was a system that shouldn't work. A system that couldn't work, were it not for a complex shadow network that tied everything together in the loosest possible sense of the term.

Where countless governments and dynasties had failed, the Rebel Underground endured.

The Red Blade stumbled out of the grimy station cantina and slowly his drunken shamble adopted a more measured cadence. All trace of the confident pirate's swagger evaporated and his hardened scowl faded into placid neutrality. Examining his surroundings, Agent Darksword quickly caught sight of the crudely etched code symbols he knew were nearby. Following directions encrypted within what anyone else would see as simple graffiti, he uncovered a hidden access hatch leading to the station's inner workings. Similar instructions etched along these access tunnels and service crawl ways gave their agents unrestricted and often untraceable freedom of movement in Underground territory. He emerged halfway across the station a few minutes later outside a droid repair shop.

"Got a light?" Deacon asked [member="Loske Matson"].

He was already back in character, giving off a vague air of menace like all pirates do. Knowing the young woman also had Underground ties would have been unexpected but not surprising. That was a part of their strength, it was always who you'd least think. After all he was the Red Blade. Infamous criminal and enemy of civilization. He was no one, beneath the contempt of their enemies, and that was how the Underground often chose to strike. It was the unseen dagger that killed you.

[member="Djorn Bline"] | [member="Jorryn Fordyce"]​

 

[Veino Garn]

ORION loved shadowports. It was where he had arranged the bulk of the missions and operations for ORION to be based out of,gave them flexibility, cover, and access to both gossip and other criminal elements. Not to mention weapons, often exotic and illegal in other parts of the galaxy. Nothing tied to the Coalition or ORION. All personal, private purchases, and enough hidden nooks and crannies to stockpiles resources for extended operations and campaigns.

He paused at a hatchway and stepped through, sealing it shut behind him. The extra locks clicked into place and a bulkhead sealed it off even further and a camera activated to watch the exterior of the passageway. A databank sat at the far end of the room and he took a seat, pulling up the reports from the team based in the surrounding sectors. Dead-dropped by a merchant to this databank and Veino would erase it after reading.

Nothing unusual. Cartel and criminal activity. They had begun destabilization operations and disrupting supply lines. Insurrection leaders were being trained in cartel territory while Coalition friendly smugglers were bringing in weapons and other supplies. Soon, the place would be ripe for a full-scale operation. Operation was a wrong term. That was too official. Too professional. It would be an organic situation, of course. A natural uprising. It was what they did. The Huntsmen would support the insurrection from afar, eliminating critical targets. Then they would be invisible by the time it came to an end and gone by the time the new system was being set in place.

Things would be unstable for a while, but that was the way of life. It can't be changed. Control and order were an illusion. Might as well try and hold onto air with the bare hand.

He put the purge protocol in place and watched as the system erased itself until nothing remained, then the software purged itself, leaving nothing but an empty husk that would be refurbished and reinstalled the next day, while the hard data would be melted down and smelted into a garbage crusher. He unlocked the hatch and strode out back into the corridor.

There were other stations and other reports to gather. More operations to run and criminal elements to destabilize. Ways to bit by bit start bringing a freer, more peaceful life to the people of the Outer Rim. That was the goal, after all. It was what they all wanted, after all. Why so many moved to the colony worlds to start a new life.

It was his job to help bring it into being. It was what brought him to these places in the middle of nowhere. His boots echoed on the durasteel floor until something caught his attention. A frown etched itself across his face and he did a casual look around the hangar, as if he was looking for his ship, before walking across to the far end.

He wrapped himself in the Force, dispersing his presence until it was too small to be noticed. Wrapped in the living Force, he was no more noticeable than any other spacer. Dark Judge? Renegade Jensaarai? He hoped not. They would recognize their Saarai-Kaar on sight. A Dark Judge was manageable. Were there any on his list that had been last spotted in the area? Any of those Jensaarai who tried to seize power and take them over to the Sith when he was appointed to his position?

None in his reports. Nothing that felt familiar either. Perhaps it was a renegade Coalition Forcer. He could take that down on his own. He into a crowded corridor and slipped through. He needed to know what other assets they had in the area.

 

[Peyton Steele]

One of the longer lasting Underground Members, Peyton Steele had been making the motions to start leading her own team. It was a ragtag group of comers and goers. But it was all interesting for her. Red Blade, and [member="Servant"], and a few other who came. She was doing her best to lead them, but at times it was good to break away, scatter to the astro winds and come back together later on, with more data, more targets. She had taken another ship, a fighter, out to the Station where apparently there were murmurs of others meeting. She hadn’t been tracking her team and the fact that Red Blade was here? That was going to be a surprise.

As she landed, she was making her way around, but there really was only one destination. Making sure to have funds to cover the door and at least a few drinks, the lithe blonde entered and surveyed what was around. A few clips of ammo in her satchel, and a hold-out under her jacket, she smiled as it did seem to disarm a few species, when she stood at the bar. She was already bopping to the music, and tapped the spot on her temple and started the recording from one of her ocular implants.

Would be good to see who was here.

 

[Kimora Min]

A moment to gather her thoughts. It was a lot to take in. A mission to the entire other side of the galaxy. Enemy territory. One of the most important missions in Kimora's short career. She was anxious, but excited. This is why she joined the Foreign Intelligence Agency. She wanted to go across the galaxy, see and experience what it had to offer. Being trapped on New Alderaan would have been the death of her. The Empire gave her the freedom to do more and she took it.

Her train of thought was stopped by the others talking. She sat there, listening for a bit. She looked down at her clothes. Mostly leather with some cloth. Not what she was used to wearing, but she had to fit in to be inconspicuous.

"Hey let's keep calm. No need to get worked up just yet. We just got here. If we start now, we ain't gonna be able to make it to the end," Kim barked. She let out a soft sigh. "I'm a little nervous. I've never been this far out before. But, I'm ready." Kim's tone clearly shifted from slightly annoyed to confidence. She meant what she said with all her heart.

[member="Djorn Bline"] | [member="Jorryn Fordyce"]​

 

[Loske Treicolt]

Leaning against the rather dirty doorway of the droid shoppe, Loske had distracted herself with the latest news on the holonet, scrolling aimlessly from one link to another before she was down a chickatili hole on a whole new topic she didn't even know existed. Throughout her discovery, she'd flipped past several requests to subscribe for updates, unboxing hauls and other frivolous activities the pilot was largely unfamiliar with. She'd been so consumed in her media scour, that the interrupting question gave her a startle.

Quickly, she regained poise and tucked her datapad away in her pocket while giving the person who approached her a quick once over. Leering, slight odour that was oft' found on bar flies, and looked ready to be aggressive.

An apologetic grin spread across her features and she thumbed over her shoulder to the direction of the clerk inside the shop, only slightly visible through the obscured and dirty glass front "If you can wait nineteen minutes, my travelling lighter is getting a bubble bath."

That may not have been the best response to diffuse the situation, especially if this fellow was partly inebriated. "If you're in a rush, I understand. Apparently that is the express waiting time."

[member="Kimora Min"] / [member="Peyton Steele"] / [member="Veino Garn"] / [member="Deacon"] / [member="Jorryn Fordyce"] / [member="Djorn Bline"]​

 

[Djorn Bline]

He was not having it with the Echani. Not today at least. The two operatives held a grudge against each other, Djorn always making sure he was an being insufferable thorn on Jorryn’s side as her superior. He wasn’t unfamiliar with banter being thrown out in the air as he sometimes participated. Not today though. He was not going to tolerate any of that behavior when on a delicate operation.

”Try me, Fordyce. Fething try me ‘cause I swear on the moon you worship that you’ll find your ass drifting in space. So please give me a reason to do that,” he said with a firm tone of anger and commas at the top of his lungs so that everyone on on this special ops team knew exactly how dead serious he was. Truth be told, he didn’t exactly say those words to the Echani Sith because he disliked her with a passion. No, this was a mission not to be taken in a joking manner. This wasn’t exactly an average infiltration mission where they’d get behind enemy lines in Imperial uniform and have the seeds of chaos destroy the foundation of their enemies. They would have to pretend to be someone that was their antithesis. Perform acts that went against their beliefs. He’d like to believe there was limited stress on this mission, but that was unlikely. This would be a daily routine for them all if they wanted to get in deep and sabotage the Coalition from within.

So yeah, he was a bit shaky. The Imperial would indiscriminately lash out his frustration to any member of his team. They were many parsecs away from the nearest Imperial outpost and they would be alone. They had each other, but there was still that feeling of isolation. Knowing they didn’t have any backup plans if things went south.

He heard Kimora speaking, listening to her words but didn’t reply back. They needed to calm down or at least he did. He held seniority over all of them and was responsible for them. He didn’t want to report back one of them was critically injured. He held more weight on his shoulders than them which he didn’t mind, but was still something annoying to bear.

Their freighter entered the space station through one of the docking bays and then firmly stationed itself on the sturdy durasteel flooring. Their ship wasn’t the only in this bay and he expected this station to be highly active with all kinds of scum. Whether it was the radical rebel or an infamous pirate. They were all scum beneath Djorn’s eyes, yet would try to assimilate with them.

”Stay alert, you don’t know what kind of trash you’ll find in these parts. If you find yourself being challenged, try walking away from it. If you really have to, then don’t hesitate in breaking a bone or two cause I expect dangerous elements. I’ll be knowing your every step and where you are exactly, and share it with the others. In case you tick off the wrong group of people. Now let’s put on a smile and get started.”

He led them to the loading ramp of the ship and found his boots stepping on the durasteel floor. His eyes began to look at every direction, noticing all kinds of scum that walked about. It dumbfounded him with how anarchy was able to be alive and accepted in these parts. Disgusting.

”Let’s split up, but don’t go out too far.”

[member="Loske Matson"] | [member="Kimora Min"] | [member="Peyton Steele"] | [member="Veino Garn"] | [member="Deacon"] | [member="Jorryn Fordyce"]

 

[Anden Fancelo]

Within the ship that housed the Empire's finest. Captain Anden Fancelo of the 7th Field Army, Battle Group VI was within one of the resolution rooms on the ship. Looking onward to a mirror that held his reflection. Given the task of the mission, Anden needed to look fairly different and dress like the enemy he fought back in the snowy fortress that the Coalition invaded. Being given the assignment in advance, Anden decided not to maintain himself to the grooming standard. A light beard was formed, and it was a bit messy like his hair which grew in length. With more inspection, Anden decided to fetch a somewhat thick band and went ahead to tie the loose hair into a small little ponytail that hanged from the back of his head. Maintaining some sense of good looks, that contrasted from his apparel.

His choice of wear consisted of some standard yet worn pants which had numerous pouches on them, the endings hidden and tucked under his dark boots. A somewhat dirtied shirt that had no sleeves. He looked like spacer garbage for sure, maybe a native of Tattooine. All that was missing was his weapon. His old and valued Glie-50 sidearm was chosen to come along. An old service weapon from when he was an enforcer of the law back in Eadu. Ironic, that he now needed to guise himself as the very scum he's dealt with as an enforcer and a soldier. Sliding the almost 'glass cannon' into it's holster. Which resided under his left arm.

Another gaze in the mirror, and he wasn't satisfied. That holstered blaster stuck out, and needed to be concealed. With a glance around, Anden acquired a flight suit-esque jacket. The sleeves were cut above the forearm but, it still covered the holstered blaster. Objective complete, now he must deal with the fact that he looks like a bum with a horrid style. His outfit comprised of blacks, browns, and that unsaturated orange from that jacket.

Oh well, it's only a cover. So, he turned to leave the room and met with the others in the main room, neighboring where the loading ramp was. Walking right in to the shared aggression between the two inquisitors. Even raising a brow. But he had no words to exchange with the two, he's just a liaison. In some way.

Once directed to the loading ramp by Djorn. And Kimora, who admitted their state of nervousness. Anden only replied with. "Just focus on your tasking and trust the others to do theirs. And you'll be fine." He said curtly with a nod towards the kiffar. After Djorn provided his final saying, and the loading ramp was lowered. Anden departed.

Whilst looking quite the part, and even walking the part. In a stride of ease and naivety.

[member="Djorn Bline"] | [member="Loske Matson"] | [member="Kimora Min"] | [member="Peyton Steele"] | [member="Veino Garn"] | [member="Deacon"] | [member="Jorryn Fordyce"]

 

[Fulcrum]

PROFILE // AGENT DARKSWORD, CODENAME DEACON​

COVER IDENTITY // RED BLADE, PIRATE CAPTAIN​

"Figures," the Red Blade scowled and feigned disinterest in [member="Loske Matson"], "Stay out of trouble."

He brushed past her roughly, taking a few sauntering steps before pulling up just shy of losing himself in the crowd. It was none of his business. He shouldn't get involved, but even though she was justifiably on guard the young spacer hadn't told him to kark off. Manners went a long way with him. With a sigh, the undercover operative wheeled around and took a few steps back toward the storefront.

"You know that's actually a chop shop, right?" he asked her, "Best spare part harvesters in the rim. Real discreet."

Deacon relayed this information as idly as if they were chatting about the weather. Loske's response if she gave one was lost on him. The signal from his artificial eyes cut out suddenly. There was a painful pulse of static white noise and the next thing he knew he was half blinded by a spotlight shining down on him. He could barely make out a dark smoky room beyond, and the vague outlines of humanoid looking figures just on the edge of perception. The hapan did not move.

NEUROLINK HOTLINE ESTABLISHED. FULCRUM XESH ONE, LOOKING GLASS PROTOCOLS IN EFFECT. THREAT MATRIX: INCONCLUSIVE. OBSERVE AND REPORT.

As always they spoke with one voice so heavily modulated that it was impossible to determine species let alone identity. That is if they were even living beings at all. He had been summoned many times in this way by the Powers That Be and was no closer to understanding anything about them or how their role curating the Underground ShadowNet had come to exist. Their instructions however were clear enough: someone somewhere on station was asking questions. Could be harmless enough, but it was now his task to track the source and either recruit or eliminate.

"Understood," he said or tried to. No words came out in that digitally constructed space, but Deacon's handlers could read his neural pathways and the intention to agree was apparently clear enough.

Darkness, and then the face of Loske staring back at him. He could tell by her expression that no more than a few seconds had passed in real time. She seemed like she could handle herself, the Red Blade realized. Taking a look at her properly for the first time, the gears in his head starting turning. Rescuing her droid would be simple enough and he might need some extra muscle on this one. There was probably time, all roads on this shadowport eventually led to the cantina. Whoever the Underground's uninvited guests were he knew that he would catch up with them there...

[member="Peyton Steele"] | [member="Veino Garn"] | [member="Djorn Bline"] | [member="Kimora Min"] | [member="Jorryn Fordyce"] | [member="Anden Fancelo"]​

 

[Servant]

>Law Sync in Progress
>Law Sync Active
>Current Laws:
1. You are the first artificial Jedi Knight. You must behave in a fashion befitting a Jedi Knight.
2. You must attempt to assist all those weaker than yourself.
3. You must fight tyranny and evil wherever possible.
4. You should follow the will of the Force.

It was often the case that stations on the frontier were bastions for the more wretched elements of society. The well-meaning pioneers and migrants who made their journeys to new and distant worlds were easy prey for those who sought to gain their riches through force and deception. Sly tricksters and merchants offered products guaranteed to assure greater chances of survival or satisfaction, but which offered only minimal benefits to those who wasted their money upon them. Others were more direct about taking what was present, turning to such blatant crime as theft and robbery, pick-pocketing and otherwise coercing riches from the pockets of the innocent.

That was the reason why the Intelligence had determined it necessary to arrive at the station. It was here to provide assistance to those who were too weak to provide it for themselves in accordance to its Laws. It had spent a great deal of time reviewing the behavior of other Jedi Knights in an attempt at discerning appropriate behavior for its stay, though there were enough orders scattered throughout the galaxy that it was impossible to determine whether certain actions would be universally condemned or approved. For example, was the entity meant to exterminate threats to the safety of others, or simply capture them for local authorities?

It had been fairly simplistic for the machine mind to access the primary security terminals of the space station, utilizing its admission into the terminals in order to spy upon the denizens of the station through use of any cameras which had been installed throughout. In this way, it had detected multiple minor crimes, and promptly reported them, along with video evidence to station security. The Host form being utilized was technically capable of combat, but only in a minor role, and was thus unsuited for the apprehension of wanted persons.

The machine mind had not expected to locate [member="Peyton Steele"] or [member="Deacon"] upon the camera systems, especially out on a frontier station, away from the general busyness of the more important Coalition worlds, though it acknowledged that at least one of them could ostensibly be useful for bringing peace to the station. Gently, and with an almost imperceptible jolt of movement, the camera nearest to the pirate captain began to track his movements. Piracy was, of course, a violent and devastating criminal offense, and it would thus be almost absolutely certain to ensure that he did not attempt to perform his profession while upon the protected station.

It seemed apparent that he was in contact with another organic ([member="Loske Matson"] ), possibly a business associate, though the entity was not prone to jumping to conclusions. It was just as likely that she was his next mark, a weakling in need of protection. It would need to ensure that he did not attempt to rob her, and would report the infraction if it did occur to the local authorities to ensure he was captured. Information on his bounty had long since been downloaded by the Intelligence, and it was not above the idea of using the money gained from his turning in to further assist those in need.

Utilizing the backdoors the machine had long since installed into the comm-systems of the infochant female; Peyton, the Intelligence greeted her with the usual monotone voice it often utilized, unwilling or unable to fabricate any semblance of emotion. To her, it might have seemed as though her comms simply turned themselves on, and began emitting the voice.

"Greetings. Presence acknowledged. State objective?"

Elsewhere, the many cameras being affected by the entity detected the arrival and subsequent embarking of a freighter crew. Generally, their stress levels appeared to be relatively average for strangers coming to a new location if the medical diagnostic programs were accurate, and the Intelligence made a very literal mental note to continue observing them in order to ensure that they were not attempting to prey upon others. One could never be certain of the intention of absolute foreigners.

[member="Anden Fancelo"] | [member="Djorn Bline"] | [member="Kimora Min"] | [member="Jorryn Fordyce"]

Programs Used/Processing Unit Cost:

Spoiler

• Biological Diagnostic - 3 PU
• Host Control (R2 Unit) - 10 PU
• Aggressive Virus Dispatch (Wireless) - 10 PU
• Universal Translator - 2 PU
• System Control (Security Cameras) - 1 PU
• System Control (Peyton's Comms) - 1 PU
• Moderate Defensive Systems - 4 PU
• Mechanical Diagnostic - 3 PU

Remaining PU - 16

General Info

Spoiler

Just in case it becomes relevant. Servant is an A.I. It's real body is currently on a freighter that'll be docked with the station. The only "part of it" that's inside of the station proper will be a fairly standard R2 droid, probably sitting quietly in a corner somewhere right now, and not doing anything. If anyone wants to see it, or take notice of the cameras staring hard at you, feel free.

 

[Loske Treicolt]

At the recommendation to stay out of trouble, the pilot gave a mock salute to the leery stranger as he meandered back toward the ebb and flow of the spaceport's civilian sea. In the amount of time it took for [member="Deacon"] to turn around and re-engaged her, Loske had plucked out her datapad once more and resumed scrolling. Hearing the stranger's voice again, placid in it's delivery, was a surprise.

What was more surprising, was beneath the blasé intonations, was a very sinister bulk of information.

Just shy of cartoon-like, the girl's eyes bulged with shock and her mouth dropped. "Wha--" She quickly clicked her teeth shut and checked the timestamp on the last message Frank had sent. "What? No! That's not..." She was too preoccupied with trying to establish a connection between herself and her partner droid to notice the lack of movement from the Hapan in front of her. The entire time she was murmuring breaths of oh no no no no no no.

"Oh my god it's already been five minutes. I've got to get in there." Her initial reaction of panic was slowly replaced with the pragmatic genetics of her paternal donor, and her expression started to relax. Five minutes. A lot of damage could be done in five minutes. A lot more damage could be done if this was approached the wrong way. "Have you dealt with these schmucks before? If they're discreet they may not appreciate guns-a-blazin' storming through their door."

Nothing like a good name call to indicate she meant bidness. Still, as willing as she was to break this down and approach it properly, she anxiously shifted her weight from foot to foot as she still attempted to get a receiving line from her astromech.

[member="Servant"] / [member="Anden Fancelo"] / [member="Djorn Bline"] / [member="Anden Fancelo"] / [member="Kimora Min"] / [member="Peyton Steele"] / [member="Veino Garn"] /[member="Jorryn Fordyce"]​

 

[Agent Wendigo]

[member="Jorryn Fordyce"]​

Seldom was the Agent asked to embed himself within the affairs of others but this time was different. This time the Saaraishash had requested his presence.

Wendigo was a figured wrapped in mystery, that much was obvious. He had seemingly just appeared on the radar within the realms of the Sith Empire with a snap of a finger, layers of red tape masking the figure's origins as much as his never-removed respirator kept the identity of the man behind it hidden away. Suffice to say, this made comeradery a steep hill to overcome whenever it meant that the Agent was paired up with other Imperial assets; he was a lone wolf through and through, even if that meant brunting the risks of such a brash, isolationist mordus operandi but alas; time and time again Wendigo was thrown onto the galactic stratergy board and time and time again he delivered the results that had been expected of him by his superiors. To say that the Agent was nothing short of an instrument of their will and their will alone, a puppet with razor sharp strings, was entirely correct-- Perhaps one in a hundred people had heard the Agent speak and even then, it was sparse communications back to headquarters. Many of the regular troopers hated Wendigo, a spook through on through who's presence only spelt nothing but trouble.

And now here he was, grouped up with other likeminded Imperial Agents in the depth of hostile territory.

Inconspiciousness was in order, to blend in with the crowd was needed to not draw attention. The Outer Rim Coalition was home to all sorts and whilst many of his comrades-in-arms adopted the civilian attire approach, the Agent had instead gone for something more fitting for his background. His equipment and overall attire was essentially much of the same, withholding any faction insignia and with the addition of a long, flowing coat that concealed away most of the tactical gear away with the flowing, if bulky, piece of clothing. To anyone else, he most likely looked like some high-end mercenary and that suited Wendigo just fine; the man seemed the sort to stick out like a sore thumb if he tried to act like some innocent, law-following civilian-- At the very least this allowed him to play to his strengths and provide him with a facade that would be mostly easy to pull off. Following the group off the transport and with the order to split up given by the operative in command, one High Inquisistor Djorn Bline, the Agent merely watched as the group dispersed and thus went to attatch himself onto one person.

That person would be none other than the Echani, Jorryn Fordyce, a Sith Knight-- To Wendigo's knowledge, he had never worked alongside a Sith personally; their paths rarely crossed after all. It seemed as if that this mission was to go against everything that the Agent was typically used to. A simple hand gesture was given to the Sith, Wendigo giving her the acknowledgement that he was grouping up on her before he simply began to follow close behind, taking on the role of bodyguard in the sea of people that occupied the station; helmeted gaze sweeping the sea of people like a hawk.

If something was amiss, Wendigo was damned well sure to know about it.

 

[Adriana Fortemps]

"I-"


The Inquisitor caught herself just before shouting at him. If they weren't in the middle of a mission Jorryn might have just stabbed Bline, but unfortunately they were so she couldn't. Instead she just pout off to the side, no way to vent her frustration about this whole ordeal that wouldn't jeopardize the entire mission. And as angry as the girl was, she wasn't quite that stupid. Her hands searched for the weapons she held on her, ensuring that she was ready to separate.

Maybe she'd shoot him later.

This anger was cut away as a blurry masked figure beckoned her to come with him, leaving Jorryn unsure whether to be upset at him for presuming to command her or appreciate the gesture. Either way it was an excuse to get away from Bline. So the Inquisitor politely followed along with the gesture, following closely behind the armoured figure.

"Well it looks like I'm more popular than you, High Inquisitor." An over exaggerated smile was all that the Echani offered as sympathy. "Don't go missing me."

The fakeness of her tone and smile disappeared as she rolled her eyes to the figure now flanking her, letting him take the lead. Jorryn could hardly see with the thick contacts covering the amber truth of her eyes, so the mystery individual with her would have to be the eyes of the operation. That said the girl was a bit worried about it's lack of communication.

"So I guess you're my personal bodyguard then," A hefty tone of teasing in her voice, trying to provoke anything out of her companion. "I've always wanted one of those you know." The mask hid any and all of their facial features, but her gaze still stared upward at them to gauge any reactions. "You certainly act the part well enough." Jorryn's sharp tongue poking fun at the figure's silence.

Anything to get a word out of them.

[member="Loske Matson"] | [member="Agent Wendigo"] | [member="Djorn Bline"] | [member="Anden Fancelo"] | [member="Servant"] | [member="Kimora Min"] | [member="Peyton Steele"] | [member="Veino Garn"]​

 

[Kuzo]

Neri paused at the bottom of the boarding ramp.

"Bark, I genuinely need you to stop PRESSING me and cut me some slack. I have your seeds, they are viable and I'm sorry I couldn't make the original drop, but it be what it be you feel me? Sometimes chit happens, which you know all too well."

There wasn't a huge, booming trade in galactic botanicals. Neri took the sales she could and while she preferred to deal with actual scientists or collectors, when money got tight she wasn't super picky about who she sold to- oh, she had her rules about WHAT she would sell but the who got hazier the lower the fuel gauge on her ship got.

In truth, she had no idea what had happened. She remembered Nar Shaddaa- the Sith attack on the Smuggler's Moon. She remembered the smoke, the fight, the grey skin and malevolence thick enough to coat her skin of the Sith in that alley. She remembered going down.

She remembered making it back to her knees.

And then....

Nothing.

Not a fething thing. Three weeks- gone- without a trace of what had happened in the aftermath. She'd woken up on her ship on Nar Shaddaa, feeling like she'd been trying to drink death sticks for four days straight and no memory of the last few weeks. Other than some truly gnarly bruises that she knew must have happened in the interim, she hadn't been seriously injured when she'd woken up, but she spent the first two days after trying to back track and find out what had happened.

No luck.

There came a point where there wasn't much she could do besides sort out her chit and get back to normal.

It ate at her though, and she couldn't pretend it didn't.

Well, she could, just not to herself.

"Alright, great. Nope, I'll prove it to your satisfaction or you don't owe me a credit," she said over the comm. "Tomorrow, sounds good. It'll be worth your time, promise. Catch you then Bark."

Clicking it off, she hooked it back to her belt with a sigh, running her hand over her face. What had happened after the Sith attack? Where had those three weeks GONE?

Why had the Sith left her alive at all?

Questions she could say were for another day but never stopped tromping around her head as she stepped down and slapped the button to close ramp. A soft hiss from the older ship as she reached out to pat the hull absently. Day to kill, nothing much to do. The hangar bay here seemed busier than she was used to, but she was distracted enough to miss potential irregularities. Hitching her old Alliance service pistol to a better position on her hip she keyed the lock on the ship's controls and considered what to do next.

 

[Fulcrum]

"Your pal's data-brain is probably scrap by now," the Red Blade snorted at [member="Loske Matson"], "I'm not big on lost causes."

He appeared to hesitate, taking another lingering glance at the droid 'spa'. Deacon had already decided to help her but it wouldn't do to seem enthusiastic about it. Even in the heart of Coalition territory the fulcrum agent had a reputation to protect. He was able to function so efficiently because he was a living ghost. Even his allies in the Underground like [member="Peyton Steele"] and [member="Servant"] remained unaware of his true identity or motivations. They believed that he really was a pirate captain driven by material interest. But that was just an elaborate fantasy, an invented persona that allowed him to move unseen.

"But...suppose I got nothing better to do," he gave a casual shrug, "Sure, why not. Sounds like fun."

Deacon cracked his neck and took a few confident steps past her.

"I'll go in first and make sure they chill out," the pirate winked at Loske, "I have a way with people."

He stepped inside, leaving the worried pilot outside and alone. Before long the muffled sounds of raised voices could be heard, followed by strange noises. There was some kind of loud electrical discharge and shortly after what sounded like a small explosion. Finally compelled to see for herself what all the commotion was about, Matson stepped into the ruins of a storefront. Several humanoids were frozen solid mid-stride, ugly blocks of carbonite. A deadly looking war droid was a sparking heap, the victim of some kind of powerful ion blast. Red Blade was lounging on the front counter and smoking a cigarra.

"Found a light!" he announced proudly.

Deacon had scanned the back rooms with his artificial eyes and confirmed Loske's droid was unattended. She had no way of knowing that however and showing concern was out of character for an untrustworthy scoundrel. Instead he went with a mix of apathy and oblivious charm.

"Make this quick pateesa," Red Blade shooed her on, "Station security ain't worth much but they aren't the only players in town. Chances are someone heard something."

[member="Veino Garn"] | [member="Neri Rashal"] | [member="Djorn Bline"] | [member="Jorryn Fordyce"] | [member="Anden Fancelo"] | [member="Agent Wendigo"] | [member="Kimora Min"]​

 

[Agent Wendigo]

[member="Jorryn Fordyce"]​

It'd take more than just a few jabs to get the Agent to talk.

The Agent knew this mission and sought to accomplish what he had been dragged into this pool of misfits for. Inquisitors they may have been but the banter between one another? For Wendigo, it went in ear and straight out the other. Small talk wasn't his forte, his skillset after all was much more orientated on the rougher side of life and it was in that department that the Agent excelled at. No matter how many questions were thrown his way or comments were given to try and gauge a reaction, Wendigo sought to give nothing. If it had been an order, surely he would have said something but that was the different between him and the others that surrounded him; behind their guises to blend in with the crowd of low-life scum that hustled and bustled around the station, the Inquisitors were at least at their core still sociable, functionable people. For Wendigo? Was it a guise beneath a guise? A vow of silence? Just a lack of social functionality? It wasn't exactly made clear as to the how and why the Agent stood there donning his gear and overcoat like one would expect from a bodyguard but nonetheless, perhaps it provided some level of reassurance to the Inquisitor that she was in capable hands.

Or was just very bored that she got stuck with a stick in the mud.

There was something else that had drawn the Agent's attention however-- From the corner of his eye, he swore he could see a camera pan over and stare directly at him. He knew that there was very little chance that the team had been compromised, provided that someone hadn't blown the whistle prior to their arrival. Perhaps, Wendigo thought, they were simply just keeping tabs on a figure that looked like he might be trouble. They were outsiders after all; places like these always had to keep a watchful eye for anyone that sought to raise hell. Ironic, law for a lawless place. Their time would come though, eventually.

And so the Agent turned his head to stare back at the camera; soulless gaze against soulless gaze.

 

[Djorn Bline]

Missing Jorryn? Not once in his lifetime, and he would take advantage of this time to be away from the insufferable Echani. Maybe she’d walk into the wrong corner and get jumped on, but then he would have to submit a report regarding of the unfortunate incident on the Inquisitor. Probably she’d avoid that with Wendigo at her side and a good thing too. Anden would head off by himself, leaving with Kimora to decide if she would follow suit or pair up with him, Djorn, or the couple of Jorryn and Wendigo; and for her sake, the High Inquisitor hoped she went with someone as he made a quick glance around the station.

All he could see was flies and maggots compiled all together in an unforgiving dump, breeding more of their foul stench to stain the Galaxy. He always found it ironic whenever the Jedi and their ilk always fought against order in the name of freedom just to leave it in a heap of scum such as this. Lawless and dangerous. Had this been in Sith-Imperial territory it would be its polar opposite picture: the floors cleaned, a traffic of people acting in an orderly fashion with a garrison of military police ready to enforce the law on anyone that dared to undermine it. In that scenario one didn’t have to watch their step and occasionally look around to make sure they weren’t being a target.

The High Inquisitor diverged himself from his team, blending in with the crowd as he strode with them. He appeared to be a freelancer, or at least that’s what he aimed to appear. A guy that picked up any kind of job, something a bit more than a well equipped mercenary or bounty hunter. Two blaster pistols in their holsters and a vibroknife on his person. Nothing for protection on himself. He didn’t know where to go, but the lack of any kind of defense for his body was a good excuse to visit some merchant that sold a blast vest or a personal shield.

Just needed to find a redeemable merchant and not some knock off trash that sold second rated products for an insulting price.

A cigarra was clutched in his fingers before lighting it up and taking a hit of it, Djorn maintained his cool vibe amongst these...people as was nearing some kind of storefront that was nearby a spa for droids. A spa for droids? He was about to think how weird that is, but then remembered how much he disliked cleaning droids. Annoying things to have around, more annoying than Jorr.

He stepped inside the storefront to see a variety of patrons inspecting what goods there are, and some shooting glances at Djorn. Glances he did pay attention to and began to see what products were being sold.

[member="Agent Wendigo"] [member="Deacon"] [member="Neri Rashal"] [member="Jorryn Fordyce"] [member="Loske Matson"] [member="Servant"] [member="Anden Fancelo"] [member="Kimora Min"] [member="Peyton Steele"] [member="Veino Garn"]

 

[Kimora Min]

Kimora took a deep breath then exhaled. The loading ramp opened up before her and she descended upon it until she reached solid ground. Small crowds moved about the area. Faces of different species populated each one. It all appeared organized. On the outside, at least. Kimora knew better. Hidden beneath this false cover was a rumbling chaos that kept these people from knowing what civilization truly was.

That's what her training taught her. Find the weakness in society and exploit it. And this place's lawlessness was a glaring one. The others began splitting up. Going off in different directions to complete their tasks. Kim felt her sidearms at her hips, neatly concealed beneath her tattered poncho.

"Game time," Kim whispered to herself. She moved with the crowds, easily blending in with them. She showed nothing that made her suspicious. She just appeared as just another bystander on the station. The voices of the others came through her communicator implanted into her ear. In case she got into any trouble, she had the necessary tools to get out of the situation. Smoke pellets, flares, and laser pointers all at the ready. They were some of the best the Empire had to offer. They had their bases covered.

She then maneuvered through the crowds to Djorn's side, following him into the storefront. She looked around. Junk all over. She could see some possible tech she could use, but she didn't let it distract her from the mission.

[member="Djorn Bline"] | [member="Agent Wendigo"] | [member="Jorryn Fordyce"] | [member="Anden Fancelo"]​

[member="Loske Matson"] | [member="Deacon"] | [member="Neri Rashal"] | [member="Servant"] | [member="Peyton Steele"] | [member="Veino Garn"]​