Populate The Fire Still Burns | SO Populate of Empty Hex

[The King in Red]

Objective II |

The unrelenting wind continues to batter the half-buried blast doors of the southeast teamster port, swirling powdered snow into frenetic spirals that cling to every piece of machinery. The storm-hazed sky makes it difficult to distinguish day from night; the cutting edge of cold gnaws at any exposed skin, and every breath hangs in the air in ragged plumes.

Despite the conditions, the progress on the door tracks is steady. Darth Strosius moves with a deliberate efficiency, carving away thick ice until great chunks clatter and crack beneath his heavy boots. Nearby, Ukvax's Geonosian crew shivers in the biting wind, their antennae twitching, their mechanical tools flashing arcs of heat that melt narrow channels of frost. Archduke or not, he works as tirelessly as his drones, determined to keep the path clear. Tamsin stands off to one side, peeling away her excess layers in frustration, each gust of wind both a relief against her sweat and a fresh bite of chill. Darth Anathemous channels fire across the last stubborn ridges, boiling and steaming them away into rivulets that pool in shimmering, half-frozen puddles.

When a faint power surge rattles through the control panel, a few sparks fly and the remnants of an automated broadcast crackle over the local comm. There is little more than half-garbled words—"dead… if… key…"—drifting into static that fades against the relentless growl of wind. A weak red glow stutters behind the seam in the door, hinting at power somewhere deeper inside the complex, though it's impossible to know if it is safe or if it might fail at any moment. The structure groans under its own weight, the partial clearing revealing old mechanical tracks still jammed with ice. Deeper inside, the motors remain sluggish, unresponsive until they can be fully thawed or repaired.

For now, the rush of wind carries an increasing bite, and small drifts of snow continue to pile up at the edges of the hangar mouth. There is no telling how much longer the metal rails will hold or when the next violent shift in the storm will threaten to seal everyone out—or in. All that remains is to make use of what little time and energy remain before the temperature plummets any further, and the port's only chance at restoration freezes over completely.

Darth Strosius // Ukvax the Gilded // Kaila Irons // Tamsin Graves // Quinn Varanin // Eira Dyn

 

[CT-312]

(All art on this bio/thread is made by me. The rights belong to myself. Please do not use the art without permission. Thank you.)
//: Jacen Breska 'TK-710' , Lord Nyeklas , Trayze Tesar , OPEN //:
//: Malgus, Arturius-023 //:
//: Attire //:
//: Weapons: DLT-19, EC-17 blaster, Vibroblade Knife //:
//: OBJECTIVE 1 : Find out what happened. //:

​

As CT-312 surveyed the location one last time before she made her way back to regroup. Zooming in closer at the snow covered security port. It seemed so peaceful. So Empty. The longer she stared at the port, the atmosphere around her began to feel heavy. Yet, nothing was out of place. It was off-putting. ‘The cold must be getting to me.' Increasing her zoom with her visor optics she noticed something unusual. ‘...Odd.’. Despite the heavy snowfall, she spotted some distortions in the snow. ‘Boot prints?’. There were too many in the snow and they only headed in one direction. In. 'What the…', She scanned around to make sure she wasn’t hallucinating. There were no other signs of life aside from the prints. A red flash appeared for a split moment on her HUD. Without hesitation she went into her ready stance, aiming down the sights of her weapon and faced towards the direction. Eyes scanning rapidly looking. She thought she saw something, but it vanished. ‘Maybe the snowstorm is messing around with the equipment?’ she wondered. As the winds howled around her, CT-312 thought she could hear something in the wind. Slowly standing up, making her way back to the group.

"Command to ground team. You are cleared for breach. Proceed. Report in every ten minutes. If we lose contact for longer than that..."

The message cut out.

Then the comms hissed again. Another voice.

But this one wasn’t from command.

It was faint, buried beneath static, almost sobbing—then rising into laughter.

"Don’t go… there…"

"...still hungry."

'Ten minutes?' Not liking the short check-in time. Especially with the potential interference coming from the snowstorm. Just means they need to be quick with what they're looking for. CT-312 stopped in her tracks. Tapping the outside of her helmet, where her receiver was located. ‘Another technical malfunction?’... it was barely a whisper, sounded like maybe someone accidentally tapped in their frequency and was hungry? Shaking her head, ‘Why can’t the missions ever be normal.’ Her thoughts were interrupted by TK-710’s private comms.

“TK-710 to CT-312. Y-you know. I actually kind of miss the bad drops. You know? They never told us anything about what we’d find. They told us our mission, dropped us where we didn’t really have time to think about it, and we either died or didn’t.”

Glad she wasn’t the only one thinking of the same. She replied “You mean to tell me you don’t want to build a snowman?” Chuckling. She agreed. “I do miss the ‘drops.'”. Switching her frequency to their Trooper squad, changing her tone. “Eyes up boys. Something ain’t right about this place. Have your heads on a swivel.”

Returning to base camp, she saw that TK-710 and their Troopers were no longer alone. The two figures that she saw just before she left were still there. She approached. Her helmet’s voice modulator let out a deep low tone. “Sir, CT-312, reporting. New updates of the security port. There’s signs of life. Just trails of footprints going in a singular direction…into the facility. The surrounding area was left undisturbed though. May I ask whom am I speaking to?” CT-312 looked at the figure in black robes, then turned her head to the figure dressed in a mix of robe and armor. She was unfamiliar with the both of them. She caught TK-710’s movement, signaling the rest of their Troopers to move ahead.

"CT-312." came the Kiffar's next set of orders. "Switch burst to narrow blowtorch, focus fire."

She smirked, liking this person’s style. CT-312 flipped the switch on her heavy blaster rifle. “Affirmative .” Making her way back to TK-710 and the others. She noticed the blast doors that were closed before were now open. It was pitch black looking in. Approaching her squad, she could faintly hear Jacen rambling again. He was smacked in the head by a Trooper, stopping him from spiraling. Jacen looked at her.

“Yeah fair play. Whatever let’s make it happen. Sooner it’s done, the sooner we’re done.” He shrugged and shivered, all in one, before keying his comm to the Team Frequency. “Alright let’s hit it Troopers we’re dead already. Signal your ready to begin.”

“Agreed.” The other Troopers nodded their heads in unison. CT-312 spoke loudly “TK-3232, Up In Front with me. CC-1441, TK710 Middle. MB-1782, RK-1001 in the back, watch our flank”

Changing her frequency to open and to the ‘Black Kahn’ command network “We’re in front of the blast doors. I repeat we are in front of the blast doors. We are about to make our way in. This is CT-312, Ready.”

“This is TK-710 reporting Trooper ready.”

“MB-1782, Ready”
“CC-1441, Trooper ready”
“RK-1001, Ready as I’ll ever be”
“TK-3232, Reporting ready”

CT-312 deeply inhaled. 'It's go time'. Focusing up, she tapped on the Flame Trooper's shoulder who was in front with her. Signaling to move. "Can't keep the 'Black Kahn' waiting now. Let's move out"

They entered in.

​

 

[Allyson Locke]

//: Frankie //:
//: BYOO //:

Allyson hated Hoth, or whatever the Sith called it. She had only been to the planet a handful of times, and every time, she found herself nearly dead. It was too cold, too barren, and the tauntaun stunk.

Still, when Taeli called - Allyson answered. The motherly lady of secrets knew how to draw the Corellian out of the shadows to take on missions that she found deplorable. At least on Hoth, there was nothing eldritch or close to whatever Darth Nefaron was. The thoughts of the Sith Lord's face still gave her the shivers. For the most part, the mission she was given seemed calm.

The sound of the wagon Allyson dragged behind her creaked against the hard floor of the abandoned academy. She followed behind Frankie as the woman suddenly started to talk. Allyson quickly snapped to the blonde before her, eyebrows threatening to crawl under her hairline. To her great surprise, the usually stoic and silent agent was talking, giving her a short history lesson and a briefing. Allyson pursed her lips together while her eyes looked around the area they were walking through.

Everything looked like it had already been purged, but if this was a First Order establishment, there would be things she could use. Suddenly, a little pep was in the Corellian's step as she caught up to Frankie and chirped happily, "You can have whatever you want - I just want a fully intact First Order uniform." Looking at the blonde beside her, there was a glint of mischief behind her eyes, "You think we'd be able to find one of those here?"

Allyson was now on the hunt for what she wanted. She slowly turned her head back to Frankie, "Wait—this is the most I've ever heard you speak? What?" Allyson squinted her eyes towards the woman; this had to be some fake someone masquerading as the real Frankie.

"Who are you, and what have you done to Agent Stone-Face?" Allyson smirked, "So this First Order stuff is pretty important to the Commonwealth?" She asked but knew that there were roots, having known a bit of the history of the Commonwealth's leadership. Kneeling, she picked up a bit of scrap, turning it over in her hands. As she looked at it, the hum of her eye echoed in her head.

The small data bank had a serial number known within the first Galactic Alliance—the same one that had recruited her originally when she was doing smuggling runs. "You know," she stood, dropping the empty data bank; it was obvious it had already been stripped. "I didn't fight for the First Order; I was actually fighting against them."

Allyson didn't understand why she was called to help; there had to be others who would have been a better choice. She went to rub her chin but was denied the gesture from the visor of the environmental suit that kept her warm and alive.

"So, why was I called to do this with you? I mean, I don't mind it, of course, especially because I was able to see a galactic phenomenon of Frankie talking." Allyson laughed and lightly kicked the debris and junk on the floor.

While Allyson remembered fighting the First Order, this battle, in particular, was a bit fuzzy. In quite the Allyson fashion, she nearly got herself killed when she was spaced.

 

[Frankie]

BYOO: Hoth Blooded

Frankie almost didn't register what Allyson had said at first—something about dressing the part. Her focus was on the device in her gloved hands, its screen blinking steadily as it swept through encrypted pings and frequency echoes buried beneath decades of snow and ruin. Still, she heard enough to offer a dry response, her voice low but cutting through the icy air.

"Fairly certain I could just requisition you a full First Order uniform, intact. Fewer corpses involved. Less snow," she added with a flick of her eyes toward the older woman, then back to the scanner without missing a beat.

Her boots crunched through the hardened ice crusting the floor as they moved deeper into the Academy of Bogan's half-collapsed interior. Jagged steel beams pierced the rubble at odd angles, jutting like bones from the body of the ruined structure. A low wind hissed through the gaps, whistling like the long breath of some ancient, dying beast.

"Then again," she muttered, "you might have to peel it off the original wearer."

She didn't bother to check if Allyson had caught the joke. Frankie wasn't there to entertain. Her duty was plain—secure the remains of the Academy, extract anything useful, and begin laying the groundwork for something far greater.

"I'm still the same agent you met on Varonat," she continued, her tone flat and laced with purposeful indifference. "Just slightly less annoyed this time."

Frankie came to a stop beside a collapsed doorway, her expression unreadable as she gestured toward the skeletal remains half-buried beneath a mound of snow and rusted durasteel. "Come along. Unless you'd prefer some quality time with your frozen admirers."

There was no true malice in her voice, but there was certainly judgment.

Moving into what was likely once a security control hub, Frankie slid a secondary holotape device from her coat and crouched beside a cracked server bank. She didn't hesitate, fingers working with efficient confidence as she began linking the tape to the archaic system, her scanner already filtering through corrupted logs and buried data archives. The smell of ozone and frost filled the room—old circuits sparking faintly as they warmed under her touch.

"It's our history," she said quietly, almost to herself. "You'll find few Imperials in the Commonwealth who don't see themselves as First Order descendants—or First Imperials."

Behind her, Allyson rattled on with some long-form anecdote, but Frankie didn't so much as glance back.

"Uh-huh. That's nice," she offered—not dismissively, but distracted, her focus buried in decoding a particularly stubborn access log from 856 ABY.

She paused as the drive engaged, her hand hovering just over the panel.

"I didn't ask for you," she said, matter-of-fact, turning her head just slightly to glance over her shoulder. "I asked my grandmother for assistance."

A beat.

"And here you are."

The holotape chimed softly, indicating the download had begun. Frankie turned back, her face impassive beneath the frost-rimmed hood of her cloak. Snow drifted lazily in from a shattered viewport, scattering across the ruined room like ash.

"It's less of a galactic phenomenon than you think," she added, eyes locked onto the data stream. "I assure you."

And with that, she said nothing more—her attention reclaimed by the ghostly whispers of a dead empire still humming through the wires.

Allyson Locke

 

[Commodore Helix]

Objective 1: Find out what happened
Equipment: Unchanged
Tags: Trayze Tesar / Lirka Ka / The Final Omen /OPEN​

As Trayze chatted with the local garrison, Helix turned his attention to his surroundings. He didn't quite have traditional senses anymore, rather interpreting data taken in by his billions of constituent nanocells. Such information-gathering capabilities were all but unrivaled in the galaxy, at least over short distance. He didn't like what they were telling him.

"I am detecting a number of anomalies in the locale." He murmured out loud. "Something is here, and it is watching us. It is unhappy about our presence. Reminds me of the thing in the tomb some time ago."

That thought gave him a brief flicker of apprehension, and his carapace rippled visibly as the nanites composing it readjusted themselves. Helix wasn't worried by much out there. As horrors went, he was certainly now one himself, a living cloud of flaying blades and remorseless malice. Still, he knew better now than to underestimate some of the things that slept in the old places of the galaxy. This, however, was a factory, and one not that ancient as he reckoned things.

Perhaps, then, something had crept into the site from somewhere else. Twice in one year. It almost suggested a pattern, but he dismissed the thought after a few nanoseconds' deliberation. Twice was a coincidence. Thrice was a pattern. Nonetheless, even a coincidence might merit analysis and countermeasures.

"Remaining on high alert." He said, one hand drawing his pistol while the other formed into a long, saw-edged blade. A third arm sprouted from underneath his left shoulder, sporting a scissor-bladed claw. A bit excessive for a mere feeling, perhaps, but as one only recently endowed with instincts and intuition, Helix had learned to trust them.

 

[Odrin Rath]

OBJ 3: SURVIVE

Equipment: Lightsaber & Armor
Assets: Starship
Tags:

This blasted planet should be glassed for its ecology alone. Or lack thereof. Everything about it pissed him off. The extreme cold with more approaching storms only served to increase his annoyance as his helmets HUD continued to flash a warning about the weather. His armor was holding up well in this shit storm but wouldn't for long. Not out in the open as he was. To make it worst, something had damaged the function of his suit stopping him from clearly the damn warning system.

So instead, he was hiking through knee high snow on a planet he could give less of a shit about while his suit constantly reminded him about the dangerous temperature. Warning. Warning. Warning. Blast it.

His crimson cloak was trailing in the snow as he made his way from the crash site. Odrin planned to search the other two crash sites before realizing he could care less about anyone else in this situation. Nor was he going to waste valuable energy carrying his heavy self to them.

A small trip almost sent him careening into the deep snow as he almost fell over yet another stone. A scream of frustration emanated from his helmets voice modulator as he reached into the snow and lifted the rock, spinning as he threw it far as a squishing sound could be heard from its impact.

Odrin, huffing in anger, looked over to where he had threw the rock. Indeed, it had impacted someone or something. Roaring in anger, a ten foot tall wampa was feeding on a bunch of Talz tribals. Now its attention was directed at the black clad Sith making his way through its domain. An attempt to make it back to the facility he was supposed to be at by now. No doubt already being beat to all the objectives by others.

This, mixed with his malfunctioning and battered armor, alongside his frustration at this complete bantha dung of a operation drove him to charge at the wampa. Seeing more potential prey, the wampa itself began running to meet the Sith. Right before his charge of courage and bravery met this indomitable but savage creature, Odrin found himself face first in the thick snow.

Another blasted rock.

Over the pinging of his helmets warning system, he could hear the loud roaring of the wampa as it grabbed him by his neck and waist, lifting him above its head before tossing him away. Odrin grunted as he landed with a heavy thump, snow flying up to mark his embarrassment. Naturally, this is the part where he would reach for his lightsaber and cut this thing to pieces.

Though his hand could not find it at the moment. Shit.

As the wampa once again charged to him, Odrin poured his emotions into a display of Force Lightning from his outstretched hand that sent the beast backwards onto its back, whimpering in agony. Odrins head fell back down into the snow, releasing another yell from his helmet.

"BLAST THIS PLANET!"

....

Another moment later, Odrin was standing above the injured wampa after having spent several minutes searching for his lightsaber. Igniting the red blade, the big guy went to work skinning this savage beast alive.

Hooking his lightsaber back onto his combat belt, Odrin pulled the wampa coat around his shoulders as he set off once more in the direction of the objective. Hopefully, the facility was still standing and he would still be able to contribute in some meaningful way outside fighting the locals.

 

[Lirka Ka]

OBJECTIVE 1
TAGS: Trayze Tesar Commodore Helix CT-312 Jacen Breska 'TK-710' Lord Nyeklas The Final Omen

Lirka enjoyed a nice frosty "paradise", and a new mystery to solve. The debacle near alakatha had been an enlightening experience of spirits, monsters, and the manipulations of the natural world. Some had quaked, shuddered, recoiled after the fact. Not Lirka, perhaps not inconsiderably because the Once-Sephi was already deranged before she ever set foot in that temple. Rhand had given her piecemeal understanding of such things already, and the quest for foul knowledge had only grown.

Yet, there was quest far more important. One born of pettiness, and the desire for general obnoxious amusement. Where Trayze Tesar Lirka was surely to be not too far behind to offer the nuisance of her own existence to the poor Kiffar. Even in an important endeavor like this. Immediately did she quip out at his first bout of dry humor.

“Mine are feeling plenty warm, Captain Tesar.”

While the trio moved, Lirka spent plenty more time focused on the machinations of Commodore Helix . From an outsider’s perspective they might have even looked familiar, the nanite mechanoid and the hulking power suit that Lirka wore over her person. After quipping with Tesar, she quickly bounced to “seriously” responding to the Commodore’s cold humor.

“Well, you see Commodore passion is a fundamental aspect of the Sith. If we went somewhere nice, they’d simply get nothing done. At least the cold makes a good distraction.”

The remainder of the team interested her little, and paid them no mind. Sith, troopers, all had yet to prove themselves interesting enough to earn the unfortunate thing that was Lirka’s attention or ire. Still, she continued on with the “dear Commodore”

“Commodore, I never got to ask. What did you end up seeing when our tomb-raiding went south?”

It was born of true curiosity, but no question from Lirka didn’t have at least a hint of sinister intent. Knowledge was power, it paid to know things about her fellows.

Yet, she was interrupted in her endeavors by the crackling communications from the Black Khan in orbit, beckoning the team forward into the breach. And the growing oddities, not entirely dissimilar to what had been seen on Alakatha’s
planetoid. This Galaxy was a strange place, and the Sith made it even stranger it seemed.

“Wise estimation, Commodore. Perhaps if we are lucky, we will have the chance to show this one our might.”

If Lirka had fear, she did not show it, and her concerns were kept only to whatever laid beneath those dark metal plates. She walked as she so often did, clawed hands clasped behind her back. Ready at a moment’s notice to explode into violence if the situation so demanded it. The Commodore may have allowed his form to erupt into weapons of great violence, Lirka intended to meet whatever oddity laid within this facility with a tempered edge, rather than the flaming rage and violence she had met the apparition in the tomb with.

 

[Trayze Tesar]

Objective 1: Figure Out What Happened

---

CURRENT MISSION - Cold Case
Immediate Goals -
1: Investigate Arcturus-028 (optional)

BLUFOR - Commodore Helix || Jacen Breska 'TK-710' || CT-312 || Lirka Ka (reluctantly) || Lord Nyeklas

OPFOR - @The Final Omen(?) || @The King in Red(?)

TARGETING ACTION(S) - BLUFOR || OPEN FREQUENCY

---

"Es-Ay-cee 814-oh-one, on bravo, moving up." Trayze concluded, echoing the callouts of the troopers and taking his spearheading a train of trained SWAT operatives that his compatriots may or may not emulate - discipline helped harden his face while the latest arrival made her presence unwelcomely known.

The crooning concession of Lirka Ka 's unmentionables being warmed, a refute of the rhetorical assuagement for the troopers, nearly caused the Kiffar to gag. While inexperienced in the ways of female physiology, especially whatever the hell the Once-Sephi is currently, he would have much preferred her to have kept that "witty quip" to herself - but alas, where Darth Carnifex went, his sycophants no doubt followed.

Their mention of their shared incident brought an uncomfortable light to a memory he wanted to forget - though aboard the less glorious endeavor of ascertaining the Kaiser, the comparisons between that op and this one were uncanny. But he needed to keep his mind open, focused, the moment he gave into fear, creatures that lurked and fed off of that fear would have him.

Work with what you know, remove the impossible, whatever is left - no matter how improbable, must be considered as true.

"Commodore? I may have use of your capacities." the Kiffar began, turning to the famed Helix that had long aided the Tsis'Kaar. "Troopers, we're going quiet. Standard stack movement."

Iciness accentuated the tension of going headfirst into a trap to spring it, and the chill was the familiar danger to the squadron. What lay inside Arcturus-028 may be far more dangerous...

 

[The Final Omen]

Darkness swallows you.
Not abruptly—no single flicker or moment. Rather, like a mouth closing slowly behind you.

The moment the last trooper crossed the threshold of the blast doors, the storm's howling was muffled into a low moan, as if the world outside sighed in relief at your departure. And inside, all sound flattened.

Not silence—pressure.
Every step echoed too long. Every breath fogged glass just a fraction too slow.

The corridor ahead was unnaturally intact. No signs of a firefight. No barricades. No bodies. Just sleek permacrete, faded crimson lights flickering behind grates in the walls like dying coals in a buried hearth. The security port was too clean—not pristine, but undisturbed. As if everything simply… stopped.

And that's when it began.

Jacen Breska 'TK-710'

The moment you step deeper into the hallway, you swear it gets colder, not warmer. Not in degrees, but in sensation. Your breath crystallizes more quickly. Your fingers ache. And your lamp—your single, precious lamp—flickers once… then stays on. For now.

As you sweep your light along the wall, you catch it:
Scratches. Dozens of them. Not markings—scratches. Hand-carved, desperate gouges. As if someone tried to claw their way out of this place. Some appear to be from metal, others… not.

A single phrase is barely legible above one airlock port, repeated in Basic:

"They weren't silent. We just stopped listening."

Then your comm picks up Trayze's call again—muffled. Garbled.

And for a moment, your visor fogs from the inside. You wipe it. Behind the blur of glass—was that a face?

Trayze Tesar

Detective. Captain. Inquisitor by another name. But today: witness.

You lead the stack through the first checkpoint—a sealed blast door now slightly ajar. On the other side, you find the security chamber.

And your eyes fall upon the monitors.

The main feed is looping a silent holovid. Playback timestamp: three weeks ago.
There's movement. Workers. Security. Technicians. A crew of twenty-eight, moving with routine efficiency.

Then, the screen shudders.
Frame skips.
Playback stutters.
And the room in the feed is suddenly… empty.

No cuts. No alarms.
Just gone.

No one reacts in the footage. The remaining workers continue for several minutes. Then, one by one, each stops, turns to the camera—
—and begins smiling.

No words. No gestures.
Just smiles. Far too wide. Far too long.
You kill the feed. It stays on for several seconds before finally shutting down.

CT-312

Your heads-up display recalibrates to interior lighting, and immediately you're bombarded with minor glitches: intermittent hollow silhouettes appear in your HUD for half-seconds—dozens of them, unmoving, standing against walls or slumped in corners. When you look directly at the locations, nothing is there. Just cold air. You cycle your helmet, check your connection—nothing's malfunctioning.

And then your shoulder feels warm.
A soft, human pressure. Like someone standing just behind you, touching your pauldron.
You turn. Nothing.

Your comms crackle—but this time, it's not a voice. It's breathing.

Inhale.
Hold.
Exhale.

Not yours. Not anyone's nearby. Just enough to raise the hairs on your neck.

Commodore Helix

The nanite swarm that composes your physicality is registering phenomena with no natural signature. Data feedback loops from your proximity sensors are spitting out impossibilities.

• Objects exist in places they physically cannot.
• Humidity levels suggest living breath in the walls.
• Light frequencies oscillate in patterns resembling brainwave signals.

Worse, your movement predictors—normally flawless for anticipating hostile motion—fail. There is something present ahead of you. Moving. Watching.

And yet, every scan reads null. Your nanite array pulses in minor syncopation—not fear, but calculated concern.

Somewhere behind the walls, you feel it: the faintest tremor. A rhythmic hum, like machinery buried too deep. Only…

It isn't mechanical.
It's biological.
A pulse.
A heartbeat.

Lirka Ka

Even behind your armor, the air tastes stale.
Ancient.
Not just age—but time itself feels brittle here, as though your very movement risks cracking something unseen.

The deeper you step, the more you feel the Dark Side—but not as power.
No, this is residue. A stain. A leftover scream echoing in the metal itself.

You see a side corridor marked Jin'Jsina Rites. A name familiar from your studies—rumored, whispered, but here, tangible.

Inside: chains. Not for machinery. For people.

You see restraints carved from darksteel, etched with symbols for "fear," "pain," and "binding." Faint streaks of blackened blood line the floor, but none of it is fresh.

There is a final workstation against the far wall. In its center lies a melted ingot—glowing faintly, vibrating with a low hum that resonates in your bones. A single word has been etched in it:

HUNGER

You do not need to be a master alchemist to know: this was not a successful forging.
This was something else.

Something that ate the ritual.



The ground shudders.
A low, drawn-out groan echoes through the sublevel.

Not machinery. Not tectonic. Not atmospheric.
Organic.

A sound like lungs inhaling for the first time in centuries.

The air warps. Lights dim. For a brief instant, gravity fluctuates.
Dust particles hang still.
And every lamp flares red for exactly two seconds.

Then all returns to stillness.

The voice comes again. Not over comms this time. Just a whisper in the mind.

"Come and see."

 

[Jacen Breska 'TK-710']

Find Out What Happened

(All art on this bio/thread is made by river23. The rights belong to them. Please do not use the art without permission. Thank you.)​

// Malgus- Arturius-023 \\​

WEAPON: DC-17m with Stimrifle attachment.
ARMOR: Second Legion Armor
NEARBY: CT-312 Trayze Tesar The Final Omen | OPEN!

"Troopers, we're going quiet. Standard stack movement."

“Copy.” He said quietly, stepping inside the facility. His team of troopers behind him advanced alongside him through the door, and broke off as they swept the entrance lobby. Immediately, Jacen noticed the chilled sensation. Less a physical coldness as it was outside the door, but the effects of the cold grew stronger. Shaking his hand out and squeezing it a few times, Jacen shuddered again. “No way it’s colder in here,” he said quietly to himself as he and the rest of the troopers finished their sweep of the room.

One by one, his team reported a single word.

“Clear.”

“Copy that. Lobby clear,” he reported, turning to Tesar, “We’re going advancing through first airlock. Same breach order as before, team. Stack up.” He approached the door, readying himself by the console, his hand ready to press the release as he waited for a series of taps to travel up the stack behind him. One by one, his troopers tapped the trooper ahead of them until finally his shoulder was tapped, signaling their ready. Jacen pressed the button, and the door groaned open to reveal a corridor. They shone their lights down the darkness, choosing not to rely on low-light vision modes yet as each trooper’s personal lamp illuminated them in a sphere of warm orange glow, and saw the walls covered in scratches. A sight only illuminated further as the lights of the facility warmed up to their arrival in a terrifyingly simple ‘welcome’.

Jacen exhaled softly, his team of troopers advancing down the hallway halfway, leaving a blaster on each closed door, and two troopers posted looking down into the dark hallway.

With his team in position, Jacen looked around, examining the markings. He turned to see TK-1982, the trooper who smacked him who went by the name ‘Marc’, staring at a marking above the door and Jacen could not help but look up at it as well.

"They weren't silent. We just stopped listening."

“What do you make of that, Jacen?”

Jacen stared, then turned to look at Marc.

“It’s karking terrifying Marc. What did you think I was gonna say?” Marc chuckled, turning away and joining the team in securing the hallway, leaving Jacen to look at the marking.

“Cryptic as all hell. I choose to continue being blissfully ignorant, is what that means.” He put an ear to his comm, “First Bulkhead Hallway secured–” His lamp flickered, “Nuh uh,” he muttered in a panic, transmitting accidentally before with amazingly quick lightning fast reflexes he smacked his heat lamp with the back of his hand, and it stayed on. For now.

Jacen cleared his throat, “Apologies, equipment malfunction. As I was saying… Reporting hallway secured, TK-1982 and I will advance further with the rest of the group. Team, maintain this hallway and our exit. You’re on rear guard.”

“Copy. Enjoy the haunted house,” another trooper, Luc, said with a salute, as he and the other troopers prepared to set up their defensive positions.

Jacen gave him a rude finger gesture, then keyed his comm, “312, I’m headed to you.”