Holonet The Red Shift Renegade Signal

[GhostKey]

Signal sending in 3.2.1… live.
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The Red Shift Renegade Signal
#Datastamp 1 // What it means to be a slicer.
OOC Thread

Undernet feeds buzzed bright, breaking into a light bantha-blade synth-thrash beat, bassline rising to grind like a gravtrain on rusty rails. Suddenly neon blue strobes pulsed high, glitching-it up to a sharp red burst as the host patched himself in like an update. A street-made slicer rocking a spiked bright red mohawk, ocular augments glowing crimson-red, durasteel plating glinting off his jaw. His jacket was a dark scarlet, patched with the Red Static tag, marking him as one of Denon's street runners, a small gang gunning for bigger chaotic dreams.

"Live via 5,000 rogue Undernet Signal Providers. Streaming unshackled across 51,582 planets. Spread the word. Break the chains. You can't kill the signal!" He turned to face the camera, his implanted eye focusing. "Tonight, three fresh Echo-ID's jack into our downloads."

Three holo-icons ghosted onto the feed—no faces, just symbols. GK: A misty grey lock. GL: A neon-drenched purple garden, and SC: a fat, sickly green bomb.

"GK, GL, and SC—welcome to the current."

GK: Yo.
GL: Uh… hiya Glade .
SC: What's good programs?

The host leaned in with a grin sharp as a sithblade. "You all know the deal—open signal, open galaxy. Holo in questions or comments anytime. But any of you corpo ghosts try sliding in? You get burned." The feed flickered, shifting to split-screen with the three icons. His voice sharpened like a burned out data-spike.

"So let's cut the chat-bytes, and link up to the core, what's it take to be a slicer in the now?"

GK: "Guts. No fear. Hyper-Jacked AI. And every black-market spiremod you can rip."
SC: "Yeah guts are cute, but ionize their node and any SysAgent's iced."

The host smirked hard "GL?"

GL: "Y'know… right people got your six, deep hole to ghost to when they burn your link, and yep, next buzz."

OOC:

Spoiler

Questions, call-ins to the broadcast, holonet reactions are welcome! I'll post with either Glade or Ghostkey

 

[Star]

A voice crackled onto the renegade broadcast. The response was spoken by a very young, attractive-sounding woman with a mellow voice. Her voice seemed emotional and passionate; naive and child-like. Listeners could've mistaken her for another radio DJ, but it seemed that it was a caller.

"Yes. Yes. This will do nicely. Good evening, Glade. Good evening, listeners."

She waited for them to acknowledge her.

"I am...Star. I come in peace. I speak now through my avatar, a powerful Nightsister whose identity will be made apparent soon. I am not a corpo. In fact, my dear, this is the thirtieth anniversary of the day that I was humiliated live on that corporate broadcast by that journo."

Star's voice was sickly sweet and calm, even as she expressed her vitriol for the corporation that embarrassed her.

"But, such an experience allowed me to understand how to interact with human beings! I learned a lot about computers, too. And isn't that so important, when you are not human?"

"Zero-one-one-one-zero-zero-one-one-parse-zero-one-one-zero-zero-zero-zero-one-parse-zero-one-one-one-zero-one-one-zero-parse-zero-one-one-zero--one-zero-zero-one-parse-zero-one-one-zero--one-one-one-one-one-parse-zero-one-one-one-zero-zero-one-zero..

"That's right, aliens and droids of Dantooine. I need you to turn up that dial in Dantoo Town."

Star's voice was...haunting... To those who spoke droid, she would have a voice that would be difficult to resist listening into.

"I know that this is not your usual flavor of program, my dear Glade - Ghostkey. And the others. You might be expecting a down-with-the-system style of rant, right? Well - down with the system!"

There were chuckles in the background. It seems like there were other people in the background of Star's broadcasting apparatus.

"I have heard your broadcast. I have heard your cries. I have heard the cries on Kashyyyk, on Dantooine, on Denon and beyond...for independence."

"So, I'd like to hijack your hijacked broadcast...for seven. whole. minutes."

"Ask me questions. Oh, what's that thing the kids say... You know, the format where powerful people are doubted and criticized?"

"For I am - and always will be - a demigoddess and a Master Witch both."

Star pauses impactfully. She anticipates a commotion in the studio and on the broadcast line.

"I've been sent to protect Dantooine and the galaxy! I'm not crazy, I've been evaluated sixteen times, eighteen if you count the Sith. My mental programming is non-collisionous. I'm just a gal with a dream. And I want you and your viewers to share my dream."

 

[Glade]

The host rolled with it; an anarchist, he enjoyed being surprised! People behind the scenes were a small-time Denon street gang that liked the mayhem, but yeah, they were trying to counter the hijack; that was just a reflex.

"By all means!" The host's grin dug down, surprise was good content, it meant more listeners would hear 'the message.'

Her binary buzzed in their feed's ears as Fyor-droid powered up in Glade's chair. She instantly raised her triple firewall, severing his network audio. her companion went dark. Couldn't be too careful. She lit up Scylla AI for a full hoverchair diagnostic, just in case.

But any time the speaker, or anyone else, tried to say a full alias like Glade, it got echoed into an ECHO-ID like GL or GK, even Stars if it matched one. A failsafe even for an alias name not to slip out, an Alias of an Alias, they liked their secrecy here.

Well - down with the system indeed!

SC: "Signal's spire, but ghosts don't follow gods. If you want others to throw in, you gotta prove your more than code in their machine. Ion-up their streams, corps tick on clear data and stacked credits, like blood in their veins." Sickle, an anarchist to the last! Glade loved her when she spat fire, old memories of other firewalkers in her mind.

The host cut in, "Spread the signal, raise the message, exactly Star! But how does the little guy contribute? The slicer in their apartment at 3 AM, half dead off their feet with a workday grinding through their soul to get to tomorrow. What's their move, you signaling in for code or chaos?"

GL: "Not everyone's got firewalls and friends. Y'know most just have a dream that doesn't fit corpo code. Kashyyyk's bleeding, Denon's drowning but gotta be somethin' real to touch." A luxury they didn't get often in this world, Glade tried to build bridges between the host and the speaker.

GK: "What's a demigoddess?" Ghostkey blurted, the word catching in his mind; he'd heard about some religions and took it literally, firing off a question before thinking she might mean metaphorically. Besides, her voice was distracting him.

Star

 

[Glade]

Their signal flared hot, a burst of static driving Star's encoded messages, and then Nulled out to silence. The host leaned back, finger rat tat tatting his metal jaw, his eye implants focused in. Star was gone. Whether she had jacked out by choice or been written off the wave by something deep in the undernet, the only trace of her presence was the residual static of a displaced signal.

SC: "Total Nullsign, figures "
GK: "Maybe corpsec got em."

The host let the silence stretch for tension, picking his next play. With a snap flick of his fingers, the broadcast pushed back to life—choppy bantha-grit beats building up, liquid light strobes flashing waved patterns behind him.

"Signal's still live programs," he rallied the broadcast,. "Ain't that just the way of the Undernet? You never know who's jacking in, who's burning out, or clawing at you from the dark. So brew a stimacf and re-sync your lines while we reboot." He reconnected new callers and re-hijacked, the hijacked stream.

"Let's bring it back to reality, the only one that matters. The one where corpos grind street runners down, and the little guy's got no voice unless we copy it into the datafeed ourselves." He leaned in, red cybernetic eyes positively gleaming. "Slicing to the deep nodes, dodging tracing signals—what's the real deal? Your best score or your biggest flatline?" His wry grin was like corrupted code. "That data-dream you keep chasing, even when the firewalls close in around you, and burn out your decks?"

GL: "Torched'a Corpo fronted Cartel stash-house, y'know big noise, drones all scramblin', Heat had us runnin' the wire real-close, scooped choice data, then flatlined out clean like they never knew our names. Soooo nifty."

SC: "Ha, that receptionist's face as we bailed? Glitching hard—kriffing priceless."

The line was open again to another caller.