Aver Brand
Mercicle
OUT OF CHARACTER INFORMATION
Intent: Further the reach of Nadir. No PC may be implanted with SA-I without their express permission.
Image Source: Xhttp://www.futuristspeaker.com/business-trends/creating-the-worlds-first-neural-lace-network/
Canon Link: /
Restricted Missions: /
Primary Source: Xhttp://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Emotional_regulator, X
Manufacturer: Nadir
Model: SA-I Chip
Affiliation: Nadir
Modularity: Programmable.
Production: Minor
Material: Biofiberhttp://starwars.wikia.com/wiki/Biofiber, Synthflesh, Synth-net, Circuitry
Manipulates memories, visual data, and emotions
Can be individually programmed
Remotely accessible via nNet
Sneaky McSneakyface: Smaller than a fingernail and manufactured without metals, the chip is extremely difficult to discover, because it mimics the density of bone against which it is implanted. The usage of synthflesh during surgery makes sure there’s no scarring left behind on the surface, and the biofiber that cradles the chip further obfuscates its presence.
Secure: Only accessible through nNet, heavily encrypted using a CPRNG rolling code and unique session identifiers. The chip also has a failsafe in place – should it ever be taken out of the brain of the host after initial implementation, contact with oxygen will cause it to catch fire. Due to the small size of the device, the chip becomes useless in a matter of moments.
Control: The main function of the SA-I is to manipulate the host. It achieves this through a combination of different methods – from agitating particular nerve clusters in the brain, through stimulating the release of various chemicals, to direct control via the synth-net.
Surgery: Implanting the chip is neither a quick nor a simple task. Yanking someone off the main street and trying to drill their skull in a side alley will only ever end badly. For this reason, and to avoid death by infection, the number of hosts is growing at a rather slow rate.
No loyalty: The people controlled by the chip are just that – controlled. Ideologically or financially, they don’t serve Nadir; hell, none of them even know it exists. When they’re not being directed by the SA-I, they don’t do anything to further the goals of the criminal enterprise, nor do they have any reason to do so if the chip is ever removed.
EMP/Ion: While a direct Ion or EMP hit will temporarily disrupt the activity of the SI-I, it enjoys a moderate amount of protection from such attacks. Part of it comes from the bone and flesh that surrounds it, and the rest from the hardened circuitry. Particularly powerful Ion blasts or sustained electrical current have the potential to fry the chip, but by then the host will likely be dead already.
Only human: Though it can influence a person's psyche, thoughts, and memories to a remarkable degree, it doesn’t impart any particular skills to the host. They do not gain any abilities they haven’t acquired on their own throughout their life.
Effectively an implant, the SA-I chip was designed with a single purpose – to create an unwitting network of sleeper agents. Most of them stem from poor neighborhoods and ‘ghost backgrounds’, ensuring that they are unlikely to have any family or friends that might miss them or notice the changes in behavior.
After the surgery – performed while they are unconscious, so they can’t remember anything – these hosts are released into the wild. Over time and gradual manipulation, they are urged to seek out positions in legitimate organisations all over the Galaxy. From companies to empires, from local governments to those spanning untold lightyears; they join their ranks as any other would. They become soldiers, traders, officials, politicians… and they remain utterly invisible.
Working as honest men and women, they hold steady jobs, go out with friends, get married, have kids. Over a nice weekend, they take trips, visit other planets, and partake in the beauty of the galaxy.
One sunny afternoon, they take one such trip again – the countryside of Naboo, of all places. Husband’s stuck at work, both daughters are in college. So they take a rifle, maybe bag themselves some game for a fine dinner. They drive out into the boondocks, and wouldn’t you know it – there’s a mafia funeral, looks like. A quiet gathering, black speeders, thousand-credit suits all around.
But they don’t see that. They see their worst fears; they see their nightmares; they see their hatred made flesh. So they grab that rifle, and they squeeze the trigger.
They don’t come home. Not that day, or any day after. The body, littered with holes like Emmenthaler, lies buried in some unmarked grave under the rolling green hills of Naboo.
But that mafia head and his sons? They’re dead, too.
And that’s what matters.