Public Rebuilding Hope | Agents of Chaos & Friends

[Muad Dib]

Manacles hugged his wrists as chains led to the ceiling of the cell, anchoring him from mobility. Again he pulled against the chains to either break free from the wall or rip his hands free from the cuffs. A struggle in vain. Blood ran in rivlets down from the torn flesh of his wrists where he savagely tried to break free. A sigh escaped as he sagged giving allowance for his legs to take a brief respite. Blue eyes looked to the holocams silently transmitting his image elsewhere. He was lean with short hair and without impressive height. Yet the face was easily recognizable to those who knew it.

The face belonged to Muad Dib.

The features were drawn, haggard, as though sustenance was denied for quite some time. Teeth were clenched tight, the muscles in his jaws trembling. Slowly his eyes closed and he considered what was happening outside the cell that was now his existence.

Agents of Chaos most likely found the troopers that came in, yet he was confident that there were at least a few that had gotten away. He had to believe that or else he was here for no reason.

A grunt escaped as he put weight back upon his bare feet giving his shoulders respite. The outside was in turmoil. Agents taking out troopers and citizens being blown into space for their unpleasant deaths. He imagined the returning fleets having to carefully navigate the minefields of bodies. Hundreds of smaller ships interspersed with the bodies of the dead, careful collection intended. More than likely there were military vessels dispersed around the spheres as the small ships followed distant trajectories each body followed after force venting. It would be a miracle if they found them all.

Hands clenched and opened, circulating blood to his hands and groaning at the needle like pins sticking his flesh into puckered goosebumps. He let his head fall forward with his chin resting in his chest as he waited. The immediate plan was for a remaining few troopers to break into where he was being held in an attempt to free him. The odds were against it.

Likelihood of the plan unfolding correctly?
73%
Likelihood that he would actually escape to be free of AoC space?
21%

Those were odds he could live with.

 

[Salem Norongachi]

Location: Aboard the Nocte Aranea, corridor outside the dining hall.

The cigarra rose to Salem Norongachi’s lips, the flare of embers at its end reflected back at him from the plexiglass. The waves of death rolled over him, playing across his sense of the Force with every corpse his green eyes fell upon. A plume of smoke slipped from between his lips and spread out across the viewport like an insubstantial meteor strike, its bluish-gray clouds flowing along its surface before giving in to dissipation and melding with the air.

His eyes unfocused for a moment and he saw the raw power of millions of final moments upon the Force, like a hot brand broiling skin. The space around HOPE radiated, it trembled with the terror of death on the unsuspecting. The corpses, each locked into the final expression of when their bodies finally succumbed to the void, gazed back at him. Sal had nothing to say to them, no tricks in his bag to bring any kind of reprieve to the trapped fragments crying out in the dark.

The minute you went to war, you threw a handful of razor blades into the web of fate. This would stand as a monument to that, a testament to the unpredictability that even the most righteous crusade could bring. Every Force User that came to this place, no matter how weak or powerful, would feel the consequences of the great galactic game.

A scream of the living joined those of the dead and he closed his eyes with a sigh, the cigarra burning in his fingers by his side while the ocean of the Force boiled under the storm of emotion. That was the truth of it right there, not a victorious cheer but a soul shattered by loss. Walking away from a battle was often worse than dying in it…

“I need a drink,” he said to no one in particular before giving the dead one last look and entering the dining hall.

 

[Sasmay Cull]

WIELDING: 4 Whimsy Knives, 1 Nastirci Combat Knife, 2 HG-88 ‘Big Iron’ Hand Cannons -(One is outfitted with Glitter Bullets), 1 R12 LMG, Half a belt (3) of Chaos Gas grenades, Half a belt (3) of Elemental Grenades
WEARING: Phase I Haywire Armor on top of UL-13 Corporis Skin Suit
LOCATION: Aboard the Junker in space, recovering the lost.

​

Sasmay was aboard the Junker, shaking away the odd sensation of whispers that made her skin crawl. A myriad of voices that gently brushed against her mind in a way that made her wonder if she was going insane at the site of so many bodies. The woman deftly unaware of the unease she felt being something more than her gut reaction to seeing so many dead. Her helmet was on, suit sealed as the cargo bay of the Junker was open and Sasmay connected to an inner latch by nylacord as she softly pushed out of the sectioned off cargo bay.

There was also that scream( Kyrinov ) that she had, well. Heard? Felt? Things were not making sense for the woman as she floated in space, the cord drawing taught as she eased her momentum with a solid grip on the leash. Her gloved hands closed around a body. Shaking her head, she turned them both around, a soft word of thanks whispered into her ear as she shuddered under the sudden feeling of scrutiny.

She turned as the pair of them floated back along the nylacord tether, watching ships appear from hyperspace as the very real chattering of her pilot called her over the comms. She listened for a minute, a heavy smile beneath the helmet as she clicked her comm towards the Nocte Aranea.

"Nocte, this is Sasmay Cull. Anyone aboard need urgent care? I have a line to the Scintilla and Kessel's. Trying to coordinate movements and sweep patterns if you could stay where you are for the time being." She called over the line, whispers like someone at the end of a long hall making noise creeping back into her helmet as she tried to focus on the comm line.

 

[Katrine Van-Derveld]

Aboard Nocte Aranea, Outside of Medbay | Wearing this | Aston Jacobs , +Open​

She felt them, reaching out to her in the moments the ship passed by each and every one of them. They called, they pleaded; but not a single word reached her ears. For a split second, her whole body begun to convulse, causing her knees to weaken under the burden of the souls. Her hands held tightly to Aston, feeling him hold her back. It had prevented her from falling but her body still shook, eyelids shutting against the pain she was feeling, pleading herself.

Aston Jacobs called to her, head rising again to look up at him. I'm right here, the Lupine heard him say, making her fingers tighten just a little tighter to his back. She didn't want to let go, as if letting go would make her lose herself altogether, disappear in the pain from the outside; as if she would float away with the lost souls herself, consumed. Aston kept her there, in place, safe.

Soft sensation swept over her, though it seemed somewhat weaker than necessary. It still had done her trick, helped her enough to regain her equilibrium. "Th...thank you," the Witch managed, still holding on to him as it lessened, allowing her a moment to breathe, cheek resting at his chest to regain herself further. Many times before had Katrine accepted the role she played in this galaxy, in her own life. She had always been a medium, who she was made it easy for spirits to reach her, and the stronger she grew; so did the skill yet she had never pleaded for it to end as she had now. The Witch had walked among spirits, Siths, who had been in pain but not even then had it seemed so horrible on her being as it had been today. He did this, Katrine heard Doashim whisper, she knew already who had caused this destruction. We feel him near.

"Don't let go," she whispered, with her hold on him lessening into a hug again as she felt the pain linger away slowly, though Katrine still couldn't feel like she could let go. Not really.

 

[Paragon of Patience]

The Scintilla opened another communication line aside from the vessel's that were moving about the field. When the line opened to Rashae , there was a distinct buzz of activity, a great number of voices hinted at in the background of the officer that spoke over the line to the communications officer aboard the vessel.

"Approaching Fleet, you are identifying as a neutral, medical aid group, correct?" The voice was bland as could be with a hint of sorrow and suspicion thrown in. With their affirmation of the facts, the voice eased back from the obvious tension that came over the line. "If you would, hold position and dispatch anything small enough to gather those we have lost." There was a deep sigh that followed the words, a steadying sound before they continued.

"We are currently attempting to go through records if anyone aboard your vessel could assist with identification of those brought aboard the Scintilla. We do ask that you take a moment before boarding to check in with the security team that is on high alert still and follow their instructions please." With the mention of security, a non-emergency alert was sent to the Silencers about possible assistance in the form of manpower coming from the fleet that had approached.

"The Scintilla has suffered from an unknown attacker using bombs. You can see...the damage." There was another steadying breath with a heavy sigh. "We are picking up the pieces and appreciate the assistance. Unless you need anything else at this time, I will patch you in to the recovery line to coordinate your vessel's in the sweep pattern. Scintilla control, over and out."

The line would switch to a dedicated group tasked with plotting the swept fields, scanners of all varieties and even manual telescopes being used to check the zones as the vessel's worked through zones. The officer in charge began to organize the external field sweep for the newly arrived aid fleet, directing their incoming vessels to a dock where Silencer's awaited for whatever screening they would perform with instructions of who to report to for details of the work to be done.

Kyrinov

 

[Aston Jacobs]

Location: Outside Medical Bay
Objective:????

The movements started and he then felt more pain than ever. No physical but on a mental level more than anything. He held on to his best friend as she convulsed against him. He didn't want to assume the pain that she was experiencing or what she was going through at the current moment. All he could do was be here and hold her as much as he could. Invisible tears rolled down Aston's cheeks as he let out a small labored breath. Aston didn't really cry much anymore, those days seemed to be long past. It was a time long since he learned he was incapable of such a thing anymore. Too much time on a transport ship from place to place instead of being where he was supposed to be. And of course, there was the other matter.

"You don't ever have to thank me." Aston breathed as he felt her grip loosen slightly and then he could sense the pain was lessening slightly. What he said he hoped she believed him. That was one of the truths in this world that he knew was that fact.

It didn't need to be said...

Not ever...

She was one of the strongest people he knew and to see her like this even though he had seen it before at times. It was something that he didn't enjoy seeing. Things seemed so easier at times many years ago when they first met. However the galaxy changed and in turn so did they have too. Aston just made a silent vow to himself as they were in one another's embrace that he would be ready for whatever was coming and that he would do whatever it took to make sure Katrine was always safe.

"Don't let go,"

"Wouldn't dream of it." Aston said with a small smile as he leaned in and kissed her forehead.

Katrine Van-Derveld

 

[Hanna]

Location: Nocte Aranea - Medical Bay
Objective: Pray
Wearing: Hanna’s Phase I Haywire Armor, Chaos Symbol Necklace
Madalena Antares Kyrinov Larentia

Hanna couldn’t hold the tears from her eyes when she felt Madalena’s presence in her mind.

While she was unable to answer the woman, the diminutive Huntress nonetheless felt a palpable sense of relief at hearing her voice, even if it was not with her own ears. Nevertheless, even hearing the Dark Paladin’s praise, she knew that the woman had paid the heaviest price of them all at the Altar of Spirits. Her features, once porcelain and beautiful, were beset with a myriad of burns and patchwork scars. For all her devotion to Discordia, Hanna knew that if a similar thing happened to her, she would be unwilling to leave her apartment for fear of showing her face, until the doctors managed to fix it. After all, she had already done that after returning home from her detention with the OPA, having not wanted anyone to see her with those ugly cybernetics and their associated scars until fresh organs, limbs, and skin were grown and transplanted into her broken body.

Nevertheless, Hanna did not judge Madalena for the scars that she wore. It was only when she saw Madalena’s features take on a pained aspect did she frown. Hanna felt the dark presence as well, and when she turned around, she could feel an overpowering darkness emanating from the towering Priest as he crumpled to the hard floor of the medical bay. At that moment, something within Hanna shifted, and she felt compelled to approach the man, in order to lend him some of the calm that Madalena had given to her.

Placing a small, gentle hand on his back, Hanna lowered herself onto her knees in front of the Silencer. In the moments that followed, the Aspect of Devotion closed her eyes and began to pray. Her words began as a soft invocation, before shifting into an aria of impassioned tongues. It was a prayer she had done many times before, but this time, something different happened that could only be explained through the power of Faith.

Manifesting from an outside influence, the Force began to flow around Hanna as she prayed, before gently embracing the priest with a revitalizing touch, in an unwitting attempt to push the chilling rage of Bogan out of the priest’s consciousness. All the while, the ardent tongues of prayer uttered from Hanna’s lips like a vigorous waterfall, never relenting in the face of darkness. Her faith, having already proven unshakable many times before, now served as a conduit of power that could only originate from an elusive, yet seemingly divine source.

Discordia.

 

[Katrine Van-Derveld]

Aboard Nocte Aranea, Outside of Medbay | Wearing this | Aston Jacobs , +Open​

That was hardly true, Katrine thought at the simple response. Aston claimed she didn't have to thank him but as long as she did, she wasn't taking him for granted; and Kat never wanted to take Aston for granted of all people. "It does," the blonde protested quietly, peeking to the side of his shoulder for a split second. She could feel the Force at a workaround, aware of others around them using. Two more minutes, she wished, still rebuilding her own strength in the safest arms she knew.

Every good fairy tale should start with murder. The memory popped into her head of times so long ago, perhaps because she had been in close proximity to Aston now. Or an explosion. I'm not picky, and in a heartbeat, Katrine giggled the way she has giggled the day she met Aston. It truly seemed like a lifetime ago now, she was so different. Avarisa was still influencing her, her hair was purple; Aston had been the very first person she had revealed she was Lupine. Katrine had a much different idea of what love was back then, just from the stories her parents and ancestors told her. It all seemed magical the way the stories had went. Murder for her parents, training for Aston's parents... and then there was a theory Aston had about attachments that he hadn't tested yet. The blonde wondered why she was thinking of it now when she hadn't thought of it for so long. Last time she has fallen in love, it had been on the back of her little sister; something she didn't understand in the slightest because of her own love, because of how she had felt and believed she was loved for in return. It hadn't been love at all, not the way Katrine had imagined because if it had been truly been the fairy tale of the ages; he would have followed her, they would have been together still, the spell wouldn't have been broken. Katrine wouldn't have been able to choose Scherezade over Gerwald.

There wouldn't have been anything to chose, it would have just been.

At least in the end, Katrine had Larentia whom she wouldn't have traded for nothing in the galaxy. She was a mother first now and everything else second; yet, there was a love that didn't come in face of choosing or hurting others because it was an entirely different love. "You anchor me," she whispered, remembering the stories Satara had told her plenty of times. Without Madoc, it would all be worthless. Without Madoc, she would fall. Satara admitted this only once, in response to Avarisa's words. Katrine would not fall, she had overcome yet her best friend anchored her, made her stronger even when she was in so much pain like she was today.

Just then, Aston kissed her forehead as she'd made her plea, bringing her the warmth and confirmation of what she had understood just moments ago. "When we're done here, come to The Schwartzweld with me. I want you to meet my daughter," the Lupine finally told him. Very few people knew of her existence. Scherezade knew now, as did Anesia. Curupira knew from the day she was born and finally, Larentia; the Lupine after whom her daughter had been named because the name sounded so strong. She had been in pain when she named the little one and when Curupira had asked for a name, only one presented itself. A name of strength, the name of a lioness among them. There was something about Larentia that Katrine could never put her finger on yet she trusted her since the day she had entered her life. And unlike some wolves that have done so, Larentia had earned her trust ten-fold afterward. Aston easily fell into a category such as that one, she trusted him from the very first day she met him and he'd earned it well enough afterward, never losing her trust or love.

 

[Aston Jacobs]

Hearing the small words that she said as small as they were, they carried the greatest of volumes to show how deeply someone cared for someone. Aston's hands raised as they caressed the sides of her face before he gently leaned in his forehead to touch hers. "I'm glad too, Katrine." He thought back to his mother and the father figure that raised him. For all intents and purpose he was his father. Aston grew up watching his mother and father's love and how they treated each other. He had longed to find something like that, something to hold on too like that.

While he knew he had family out there, he found it upon himself to figure his own problems out and to work them out themselves before anything else. His longing to see his family as well as be with them again is what drove him to come back.

His eyes widened a bit when she mentioned her daughter. It was a more surprised happy look than anything. It was stuff like this that he kicked himself for being away for so long. More than two years it was, too long.


"I can't wait." Aston glanced back to the medbay and let out a small sigh. "I should get back, and you have those that need you. I'll see you again soon." Aston gave her another hug before he reluctantly let her go.

Soon....

Katrine Van-Derveld

 

[Tarok Vassket]

Elise

This was a place of darkness now. A wound burned into the Force itself by the devastation and death. A place of the dark side. Azula hadn't wanted to come this close to it. Not again.

They had been brought in by a Oxen class freighter carrying supplies for the refugees. Now a series of Tofolk class rescue corvettes were working through the detritus and bodies. They sifted through the wreckage.

They also kept the medical bays stocked and ready. Azula doubted they would be needed. So few species could survive exposure to vacuum for this long.

Azula stood in the hangar bay. The doors were open. Reaching out with the Force she drew in the bodies. Teams were cataloguing them and arranging them in neat rows of black bags. It was the most macabre job she had ever done.

She felt deeply uneasy about doing this alongside another jedi master from the order. She did not fit in with them. Yet it seemed a small problem compared to the one massing around their feet.

 

[Elise]

Elise tried not to think about the task at hand. As the bodies piled in, the neat little lines growing longer-- single rowed, then doubled-- the task grew harder. Her stomach churned, the emotions she tried to release coiling tighter. How could this happen? The answer came unbidden to her as she gingerly lowered a young girl onto the station floor.

War. War was how they got here.

It was a concept she struggled with, the times of their era quickly becoming marked with one horror after another. Kintan, Artisia, Bryn, Velmor. And now this. And all eyes looked to her for a response. The concept was paralyzing. The frost over the girl's lips at her feet inflamed her further.

No amount of breath helped ground her. Instead she turned, looking away as two hands knelt down to bring the corpse into its place in line. There were more bodies lost-- more she could do to help. Instead she took a step away, seeking distance to ground her.

Why did this have to be?

Tarok Vassket

 

[Bella]

Location: SHC Unicorn - Bridge
Objective: Attend Miracle One
Wearing: Armada Uniform, X-8 Night Sniper
Dimitri Lindzinsky

Up until that point, when Dimitri pushed the man’s face up against the glasteel viewport, Bella had tried to stay optimistic about the situation. She had been deliberately avoiding looking out any of the viewports, until now, when the distressed argument in the room beckoned her attention. Like the man Dimitri had pushed up against the viewport, Bella took a long look at the macabre scene before her. It was an ocean of floating bodies, with most bearing expressions of naked terror, though a few others were seemingly calm, presumably having accepted their fate during the brief duration of time it took for an unprotected person to die in space.

Those were the ones that scared her the most.

Tears slipped from her eyes, and she could feel Miracle One’s pink hand resting against her shoulder. The Zeltron had always possessed a weakness regarding her emotions, to the point where she was almost completely unable to hide them from the sixteen pilots that flew under her command in Miracle Squadron. Sensing the woman’s fingers shaking on top of her shoulder, Bella placed her own hand on top of Miracle One’s. When she turned to look at the woman, Bella could see that she was crying as well. Nevertheless, Miracle One quickly turned her gaze away in a futile effort to hide the tears that stained her pulchritudinous pink features.

“Master Scrapper?” Bella said softly. The Togruta waited, but to no effect as Miracle One remained silent as she took in the morbid scene outside of the bridge.

“D-Dani?” She spoke again, at which point her squadron leader finally turned her tear-streaked visage towards the diminutive Togruta staring up at her. “I-I’m sorry, Master.” Bella continued shakily. “It was just, I was con-”

“It’ll be okay.” Dani interrupted as she wiped the tears from her cheeks. “You flew well, Bella. We all did. I’m just glad you made it back.” The Zeltron added before leaning down to give her pilot a long hug.

“I need you to take this to Dimitri.” Dani spoke as she took out a piece of flimsiplast, after pulling away from the embrace. “It’s the casualty report. I know it’s strange but...when I flew with the First Order, my squadron always delivered these in person. It was tradition. These pilots...they may or may not be dead, and for some of them, we may never find out. But, this was our way of honoring them.”

“I will, Master Scrapper. Thank you.” Bella answered dutifully as she took the offered sheet. Glancing down, Bella looked at the two names on the sheet which comprised the casualties Miracle squadron had sustained in the battle. The text included the pilot’s designation numbers and ranks, in addition to various pieces of personal information.

When she looked up, Dani was gone like a breeze in the wind.

With a deep intake of air, Bella wiped the tears from her eyes and turned to approach Dimitri.

 

[Katrine Van-Derveld]

Aboard Nocte Aranea, Moving through the Ship | Wearing this | Aston Jacobs , Scherezade deWinter +Open​

The Witch was still holding on, still building her strength from Aston being here when he spoke, a tiny smile appearing on her face. If there had been anyone in the galaxy to know its meaning, it would be the child of the woman that had mentored her. Especially on a day such as this, when so many souls were lost, so many lives extinguished and Katrine could hear them all calling out. They would have devasted her if she had been by herself today. Thankfully, she had not been.

Sometimes, we get what we need when we need it, Jart offered a whisper of wisdom into her as she held on, so easily admitting a singular truth only a few knew. Almost immediately, the Lupine felt a shift in the man holding her at her reveal, her head slowly peeking up to see his expression before he spoke. "She can't either," Katrine admitted then. Much like she had been raised with the stories, she chose to do the same with her own litter. Aston certainly held an important spot in her stories. Little Larentia would be excited to meet Aston, she knew this for sure.

Except, he was letting her go now, saying they should go back. It seemed almost selfish but she didn't want to let go at this moment. Aston was right, the blonde knew. There were things that needed attention still; he had to let her go for now. Katrine then embraced back for a quick hug before she felt it release her. She couldn't help but inhale a sharp breath, nodding against him as he let go. "Yeah, soon," Katrine agreed. "I have to...," she started, nodding her head as a small soft smile still escaped her before she left him there, leaving for the next corridor. There she inhaled another deep breath. She could still feel the souls, still calling out. This galaxy was already full of so much cry, the added pain was too much. "Captain," the Lupine found the nearest communication console, "gently." Silence followed for a quick second. "Yes, your Highness," the solemn response followed.

She wandered on from there, following another signature on the ship. Katrine would find Scherezade deWinter as a cheese cube entered her mouth. The Lupine said nothing as she walked over to her, taking a seat near her.

 

[Dasmi Lindervale]

Dimitri let loose of the man, Rimes watching silently as Bella approached the Fleet Admiral with what she guess was a list. Names, more names that the Admiral was going to copy down. More names he would learn and mourn in his own time. She knew Dimitri well enough how hard he took losses. Her red eyes did not betray the anger she had felt, nor the fading flames of it with his words. She did not intercede the pilot's approach, instead taking a moment to collect herself and school her expression to blankness once more.

Dimitri shuddered at the faces before him, staring for a long breath before hearing footsteps behind him. It took him a long second to turn, seeing the Togruta pilot before him. He could not muster a smile, seeing the item in her hand and guessing what it was. "Thank you for bringing this to me. I am sorry for the loss of your comrades, and friends. They will not be forgotten." He spoke quietly, weight behind his words as he accepted the list.

"Everyone will be given shore leave for some time. Do what you need to find your feet, and do not be ashamed to seek help if you need it." Dimitri remarked with equal soft tones, head twitching towards the view port to punctuate the point. "Someone will be checking in on everyone after a while."

Dimitri was running through automatic responses, eyes drifting to the woman's eyes, lip twitching before he spoke again. "How are you all holding up?"

 

[Salem Norongachi]

You could find a drink on any ship; Civilian or Military, it didn’t matter. Whether smuggled, distilled in an old boot or a scrap still in a janitorial cupboard, crewmen would find a way to get karkfaced while plying sails in the black. Sal had gone for smuggled, a hip flask appearing from the recesses of his flight suit.

He should probably have returned the uniform to Lash before he jumped ship but the urge to get home had taken precedence after the news broke. He didn’t own much in this world anymore and the thought of the great unwashed that were his customers catching a faceful of vacuum hadn’t sat well with him. It was only in hindsight, while the Nocte Aranea surged through hyperspace, that he remembered he wouldn’t be able to change what was anyway.

Thankfully the Kark Off had survived and so had the stab-happy residents of the Slums. Didn’t work out well for HOPE though, he took a swig to accompany that thought and leaned his elbows on the table. The dining area was sparsely populated, the crew probably aiding in the clean up going on outside. That suited him, he had no desire to look into any more haunted eyes than was absolutely necessary. It won’t be long, he lied to himself, pretty soon the whiskey will kick in and the ghosts will be little more than an annoying whisper in your head.

He drank half the flasks contents to speed up the process.

 

[Tarok Vassket]

Elise

Azula took two long steps back from the 'frontlines'. It was endless work. They had perhaps a thousand lines up across the cargo bay floor.

"Crap," she muttered, trying to picture the scale of the task. "They could have droids doing this."

A disdainful look crossed her blue and white features before it settled back into frustration. This was why she didn't like being around the other jedi masters. She was always reminded that she did not quite fit in with the rest of them.

 

[Aston Jacobs]

Location:Medical Bay
Objective:Tend to the Injured and Dead

She came in for a last hug before they finally broke and he watched as she turned away and down the next corridor. A smile still remained on his face as he he took a deep breath and glanced out through the glass for another brief moment. Aston glanced back towards the medical bay as he made his way back in. Those that had past were already being moved to the side unhindered so that proper burial and pyre arrangements could be set up upon arrival to their destination. He could hear small cries and even whimpers from those that were hurt and in pain. Aston wasn't quite sure what compelled him to stay their in that spot for what seemed like forever but perhaps it was something of the fact that he felt helpless. He could see their faces and the pain that was their plain as day. They were going through something much worse than that, a deepening pain.

It had been a long time since Aston had prayed to Allya. Given his heritage you would think he would do more of that sort of thing. However if she could hear him now, and perhaps ease at least some of the burden. That would've been the best thing in the world. Aston took a few steps forward as he knelt before those that were deceased and bowed his head slightly.

"Allya, ascolta le mie preghiere. Guida queste anime lungo il sentiero. In modo che conoscano la pace eterna."

Aston looked up slowly and he rose to his feet, it wasn't the greatest. But he hoped it would get the job done, perhaps he was requesting guidance too. Aston turned to the nearest medical bed and to the person that was there. They looked scared as they were being tended too. Aston walked over with a small smile. "Don't worry." He placed his hand upon the head of the young man. "Everything is going to be okay." The man used the force to give off a sense of relief and calmness, almost in the same way he had done with Katrine. Aston began to tell him a story while he was being check on by the medical staff. It was something funny and humorous from his many travels years ago across the core worlds.

A small yet weak chuckle escaped the young man injured in the bed. Aston smirked as he continued the story, if he could at least provide them with a little comfort, and hopefully they would take that and rise again.

(Allya, hear my prayer. Guide these souls along the path. So that they know everlasting peace.)

 

[Rashae]

Where: Fleet holding steady. Shintilla is a distant visable blob

Fleet: look in bio

Allies: free agent. AoC growing on Rashae

Reason: it was to see their operations and think about allying with Agents of Chaos in characterly. Now its not just possible its just a matter of time that she becomes the medical arm of Agents of Chaos.





This act of violence against refugees shook Rashae to the core. She had seen a lot of the violence of war, but this was just an atrocity. This was not just something that happens with war. The raven haired beauty was still trying to get herself together when Shintilla control answered their request. They sounded just as shook up as Rashae.

"Approaching Fleet, you are identifying as a neutral, medical aid group, correct?"

The Commander would go down the few steps to communications. Rashae got herself together and followed her Commander to where the tech boys and communications did their work. She could only give a somber nod to them at the moment. “This is Commander Stephen Cantalos Polaris. Minister Rashae Lovous is an acclaimed doctor and genetic scientist who routinely does humanitarian work across the galaxy. This fleet has been designed with that regard. “ the Commander's tone would be somber and respectful.

"If you would, hold position and dispatch anything small enough to gather those we have lost."

“Of course, we can do that. It is the least we can do. Orders are being submitted now to do so. If we may ask, what happened Shintilla control?” The Commander was ever urbane and polite despite being a rather decent tactical mind.

"We are currently attempting to go through records if anyone aboard your vessel could assist with identification of those brought aboard the Scintilla. We do ask that you take a moment before boarding to check in with the security team that is on high alert still and follow their instructions please."

“We have the facilities to hold the lost till we can board the shintilla, but we will do what is asked of us for security measures. “ Came the smooth soothing voice of the Commander. “Our social services department, make arrangements with that team of ours for identification and disposition of the lost for funerary rites. Will that suffice, Shintilla control?”

"The Scintilla has suffered from an unknown attacker using bombs. You can see...the damage."

There was a pause as that sunk in through out the whole of the command center. The whole of the command center settled into a somber atmosphere as if you was at a funeral. Rashae hung her head at hearing that. She looked at the team that did the scans as they nodded affirmation as to the damage. They were still a bit out to see it fully.

"We are picking up the pieces and appreciate the assistance. Unless you need anything else at this time, I will patch you in to the recovery line to coordinate your vessel's in the sweep pattern. Scintilla control, over and out."

Rashae herself decided to answer after lifting her palm to stay the Commander's voice. He nodded as considering the circumstances it would be good for her to be the voice of her fleet's assistance to recover the lost. “Shintilla control. This is Doctor Rashae Lovous, Minister of this medical and humanitarian fleet, we will do all that is possible to assist in this matter. Please contact our Social services and coordinate. We shall coordinate with you and who ever is overseeing the recovery. We express our profound condolences in compassion and camaraderie. At first I was to see your operations and see if I wanted to be a part of the Agents of Chaos mission. It is now clear where I stand. I will be a part of this mission. This was an abhorrent act against sentient life everywhere. Doctor Lovous, out. “

It seemed that they were to report to a Kyrinov. Rashae nor the commander knew this figure at all. That was not uncommon. Rashae tried to stay out of politics but it kept drawing her back in. Rashae took a moment to step aside and sit as her mind was still reeling from the atrocity she saw. Four medical corvettes would do the somber work of extracting the bodies carefully and bring them to one of four bulk freighters in their wake as it had the most room. Social services team would shuttle to the freighters to start organizing and keeping the environment cold so the bodies did not start decomposing. They didn't dare inject the bodies with anything to stop it till they got permission to do so.

The commander would start to organize with Kyrinov after been giving the communications to his main ship. “We are seeking to speak with Kyrinov. We are a medical and humanitarian small fleet under Doctor Rashae Lovous. I am Commander Stephen Cantalos Polaris. We are starting to extract the lost and position them in our bulk freighters with proper environments to maintain body composure. We wish to coordinate efforts. Doctor Rashae asks if it is permissible to inject the bodies with agents to prevent decay?”

The Commander was standing at Communications station on the Command deck. One communication's officer would be directing the coming and going of the medical corvettes as each corvette was assigned a bulk freighter. That could change if any other ships would be sent to their bulk freighters to hold bodies. Their three medical ships could also hold bodies just not as much as the bulk freighters. It was a balance. If Kyrinov scanned the ships he will find they were not military vessels at all. Very few armaments but had decent shields and shielding. They had very good scanners on the Padme. The Padme doubled as Rashae's research and development ship so had to have really good scanners and really good computers. If the scans were that deep, it would reflect above average computers with blanks within the ship noting closed networks.


Kyrinov and anyone else on the recovery team

or anyone recognize the Doctor Rashae Lovous and wish to .. talk.

 

[Muad Dib]

The shuttles and ships slowly eased through the graveyard of thousands of dead. It wouldn’t do to plaster the bodies of the fallen across the vessels retrieving the dead of H.O.P.E. in such an unceremonious and disrespectful manner. Crew operated tractor controls and carefully retrieved the empty shells that created the echoing wound in the force that reverberated around the entire interconnected spheres. Thousands of dead danced as macabre partners of the hundreds of vessels collecting them as ships intermingled amidst the chaos brought to Agents of Chaos.

It was a fearsome sight to behold.

On Scintilla two small teams of soldiers retrieved two ships inside the sphere, flying friendly transponders, as they headed for where their objective was, the prisoner located somewhere in the tower, with orders to retrieve him if possible. And if not, then to free him from his mortal coil. Targeting systems were not needed, line of sight was more than adequate, as weapon systems were powered up, missiles and flashes of lasers released to their target.

Inside the man sighed, the chains holding his body upright swaying lightly. Groaning once more he raised himself up with the strength in his shoulders, lifting his body up until his manacled arms were level with his waist. A short grunt and he released himself and dropped with the weight and manipulation of his unclenched fists narrowing his hand profile as his body fell. A slight tearing sound preceded the sound of his body slamming into the floor with a hollow thud.

Coughing out a short cry of pain, the man sprang forward as the doors of his cell flashed open so two guards could inspect the curious sound. Moments later the man limped down the hall cradling a blaster rifle as he left the dead guards in his wake. Movement drew his gaze and he turned to shoot out the holocam. Too late. The feed would reveal a bloodied but freed prisoner heading for the turbolift. The miniscule amount of recording would reveal Muad Dib, the doashim shaman, heading for escape in the lift.

Foolish if the Agents of Chaos believed what they saw, for it was a lie.

As soon as the holocam was destroyed the man backpedaled to instead head for the stairs. If he could climb the levels and find a floor with a window he would be that much closer to escape. He knew the echoes in the force from the dead and dying would create a type of static that would conceal some of his intentions and actions. Combined with the chaos in space and the current upheaval on the spheres and the chances of his escape climbed.

Slightly but, still, an improvement was an improvement.

 

[Muad Dib]

“Was this expected?”

The copilot questioned his partner as the small ship eased through the graveyard in the vacuum of space. The bay would open and another of the crew, geared up in a spacesuit, would use the repulse grappler and gently pull the next set of dead into their hold. It was slow, morbid work and everyone was pulling their weight. The hold doors closed once more as the ship gently maneuvered on thrusters to relocate to the next grouping of deceased.

It was a macabre duty, and more than one worker would most likely need a few sessions of counseling due to the tragic and traumatic responsibilities. Hundreds of small vessels mingled within the cloud of bodies, collecting a load to relocate within the vicinity of one of the medical frigates. There were a few within the multitudes of deceased who still retained the barest hint of life. Usually these cases were due to the luck of wearing something sealable. But those were few and far between. The pilot shook his head at the grand scale outside their viewport.

“I can’t imagine anyone ever expected this to happen …”

The space remained littered with the dead in an overwhelming display of loss of life. The crew of the ship continued regardless of the fracturing of their psyches at the hellish display. Death held no qualms for snuffing out life, nor was it persuaded by fancy title, lofty position, or wealth. All walks of life intermingled here in the unbiased embrace of death.

Aboard the Scintila …

The small ships continued in their approach toward the towers, one holding steady and firing without pause whilst the other rose upon thrusters in the direction of the upper floors for the escapee. Was this a suicide mission? Perhaps. However, they all had volunteered knowing that in this theatre of battle, fatality was almost assured. And still they clambered over one another in an attempt to secure a position on the teams. This mad dash for retrieval, damage, and escape may be their final stand, but it wasn’t all for naught. If the Mad Master survived then their lives would not be wasted for naught.

The man flew up the steps three at a time. Only once in his ascension did he come upon the enemy. Quick work ended it. Round and round, up and up, he climbed until reaching a certain height that was thankfully laid out in the stairwell for in case of emergencies. It helped. And this was an emergency. Shoving through the door he frantically searched for one of the floor to ceiling windows, finally finding one suitable for his needs.

A sustained fire upon the transparent windows quickly slagged a man sized hole. Stepping near his nose flared at the pungent odor of burned, melted window. Below he observed the rapidly rising ship. Preparing for a leap out the window to depart the building, he waited until the ship below closed the distance and oriented itself around while opening the bay doors. Without a moment’s notice he launched from his heights and fell straight into the hold. Quickly the vessel began immediate maneuvers while attempting to gain altitude for the escape. Below, the other ship locked onto a tower as it accelerated with the intent to drive deep into the archestructure and possible destruction of, if not both, one of the towers.