Black Sun Operative[s]

The Gholam's smirk stops as it steps through the droid arch, taking all of what its circuits called willpower to avoid reacting. A hand and a foot passed the threshhold, quickly withdrawing. The droid holds up its hand, which appeared fine, but it felt numb, as if it was somehow crystalized. Unable to move it, the droid steps back and massages it carefully till what passed for feeling in its sensors returned and it could move again, shedding the damaged flecks of nanites like a person would skin. Permitting only the briefest of frowns, it retreats back to its ship, a tattered X-wing with the air of someone who changed his mind. The ship lifts off and leaves, its not opaque hatch snapping shut, leaving only an oily stain to mark where it touched down.

Sometimes, plans changed. Other times, even when the people, the locations, and the shape of the galaxy all went to hell and back, the plan remained the same. Which of those it was did not concern the Gholam as he still was given orders that he had to fulfill, though its systems acknowledged things had changed somewhat. Loyalty in a droid, particularly a construct as singleminded as Aginor's Gholam was an iffy thing. Its "instincts" made it happy to kill, just as its instincts, its root level program made it subservient above all to Black Sun, even over its desire to kill. What it would feel about someone leaving the organization out of the blue, abandoning killing for Black Sun's cause for killing on his or her own or even at the beck of another might cause it come as close as it could feel to shock or the less murderous kind of outrage. That would be the kind of thing it would kill for. Of course, plans, can change. The Gholam thought about his orders and the minute changes that took place on its initial test run as he passed through security. No weapon was found on its being, though its body structure, appearing human for all intense and purposes was a weapon in its own right being able to loosen its form and move with a celerity and strength that was all but superhuman. Being able to choke the life from a man, or snap his neck, or give a chopping blow of the hand to the face, or should the occasion present itself, severe a head from the top of the spine with a pull and twist couldn't be taken away, not without disarming a creature such as this in the most literal sense of dis-arming. Not without a steely smirk, the plain looking human, still moving with its uncanny grace, moved into the Casino proper.

Aginor opens the paper and then takes a lighter to promptly burn it. "An excellent test Number One. I'll see to it at once, as well as having the heart plugs installed. I'll try to leave a few features that lead back to the Hutts." He states the last with a smirk, wadding up the bills and stuffing them in his pocket. Departing from Smash, Aginor awakens his creation in a distant part of the base, removing it from the stasis chamber where it "hybernated" until it was ready to be fully activated. Doing so, he looks at the monster with apprehension, and then briefs it on his target, using another holodisplay to do so. "This is the one marked for death," he states cooly. "See to it that it meets him. You have an unmarked shuttle from a smuggler waiting. Use the usual random jumps and clear the log so it cannot be traced back to us." The gholam stares unblinkingly at his creator, obedience bred into its very being. The clothes that were built into its form held a few essentials such as ID and credits, but nothing resembling a weapon. It was the weapon and was built to tear sentient beings apart with its bare hands. Compliant, it leaves the base to track down and eliminate its target.

A Black Sun scientist approaches Lord Daisaku, having taken the initiative to report on his own. This scientist, code named Aginor, had once accompanied Daisaku on the Golden Dawn to a meeting at the Spire. A former war criminal under his old name of Ishar Morrad Chuain during his time with the Empire, Aginor was a scholarly looking man, clad in a white lab coat with overly large, thick glasses. He was balding, and his remaining hair was as white as snow. "Number One," he stated formally. "I wanted to run by you a set of experimental droids to use in our dealings, particularly against CoreSec, but also in case any force users get in our path." Aginor holds up a disc showing what looked like a HRD-Human Replica Droid-very ordinary and unassuming, it took on an unnaturally fluid motion as the holovid showed it in action. "The entire thing is composed of nanites, an artifical human made that way. He's extremely fluid and can kill quickly, squeezing into tight spaces. Given the cost of making them, I figure at most we can make six- three males and three females, though for now, this prototype will have to do. I believe it will be good for espionage and assassination in particular. To that end, I've made it so it must feed off blood to replenish itself so it is forced to train and hunt. It's nano particles are made by false companies that lead back to the old Empire, so blame will fall to them if it's captured. A quick cut to rip out someone's throat and it can feed, though here, an artificial I.V. drip will keep staff fatalities to a minimum- unless you wish it otherwise to test or dispose of some of our lesser agents. Because it's a walking, viscious mass of nanites, it's also a bit more resistant to force tricks, though EMPs and force lightning can severely hurt it, causing burns and parts of it to solidify and break apart. I call it the HRD-Gholam." He leaves the holovid on Smash's desk, then produces a second one. It shows a slave with a peculiar looking device in his chest- like a simple stopper placed where the heart should be. "I call this the heartplug. It's a mildly invasive procedure that does what it says. A good yank and the heart pours its lifeblood out in a gorey mess. It's a bit messier than say a hidden bomb or an exploding collar for slaves, but it can be combined with an autonomous system that causes them to eject under certain conditions. If nothing else, it's visible and it generates fear, keeping our slaves in line. the downside is it is hard to reverse and could easily trace back to a line of slaves and possibly us if our business partners are careless." The vid shows a masked agent pulling the slaves plug with a casual yank and twist. The slave gasps as blood spurts out of his chest, his fingers reaching in to cover the wound. In less than a minute the slave lies motionless and lifeless in a red pool. "I await your approval, Number One."

Cham gives the matter thought, taking a seat across from the great lord of the dark underside of the galaxy. "It will be so," he states finally,helping himself to a decanter of brandy, which he pours into a small shot glass and drinks from gingerly. "I can send out represenatives and feelers for this new Academy of the Sun on Bespin to prestigious instutions across the galaxy. Coruscant, Naboo, Corellia, and the like have prestigious universities. I think with our resources, it would not be hard to poach away some of their star professors." Cham licks his lips, mind racing. "If we can turn this into the academic organization in the galaxy, I see a lot of benefit, particularly if we make this a home for the galaxy's up and coming elite. Bespin is still known for its gambling halls as well as its tibanna gas. If we can ensare the wealthy and idolant during their years of study to our vices, we can lay hooks into them early on and make them owe us so we own them utterly. Others can be turned to our side willingly. Others still, we can study and watch for opportune times to move on. Yes, this plan has great merit." Cham finishes his brandy and watches the other operative finish polishing Smash's shoes. "Lady Terra was last heard of on the Sith Temple, completely and utterly slaying some fool of a Jedi who bothered the great lords of the Sith who worked together to massacre him in ways that will haunt children for generations to come. Shall I fetch her for you?"

The plan was executed with a simple perfection, and with the timely aim of damaging two birds with one stone. Not hitting per say, but "winging" them both for a future take down. Milos Vahratan was a known weapons trader, a representative of BlasTech industries. Recent changes on Bespin had resulted in a rise in Tibanna gas and Milos looked to find buyers for his company's wares given the spike in prices. Ared Mosinel was his contact, a distinguished looking man with a bit of white hair streaking his temples, and had set up the meeting. Mosinel, or rather "R. Gaebril" as his papers and the transponders on his ship identified him as, claimed to be a representative of the Galactic Gunshop and invited Vahratan to the Resort for a business meeting. It would be Vahratan's last. The meeting started smoothly with "Gaebril" summoning one of the resort's prettiest waitresses over to serve the two of them as they went down to business. Beauitiful women were Mosinel's speciality and he practiced an underhanded form of compulsion, using Zeltron pheromones to seduce women. Today was no exception, but she was not for him. Midway through the meeting, he was giving a hesitant Vahratan details on an illicit way to bolster his company's profits by selling to the Gunshop in exchange for the Gunshop getting BlasTech in touch with illicit smugglers to lower their overhead on tibanna gas if an agreement was struck. The deal was, unknown to Vahratan, a rouse. The names of the smugglers were real though, though these were wilfull fools who elected to stay out of Black Sun's sphere of influence and do business on their own. As the BlasTech representative was looking over the datapad, Mosinel slipped something into his drink. It was part Zeltron pheromone and part of something else, something resembling a poison could lay dormant until certain bodily conditions were met. Mosinel watched Vahratan gulp down the drink, and using his pheromone dispenser, watched a second bout of chemistry happen with the waitress, the Resort's own employee, the pheromones, and the BlasTech representative. As the chemicals and emotions mixed, Mosinel took his leave of the two, asking Vahratan to just think about his offer and to contact Slicer at the gunshop directly. He departed as quietly as he left soon to ditch his assumed name and ship to cover his tracks. As it happened, the plan went off flawlessly about three hours after Mosinel departed. Vahratan would die in the throes of passion that night in his room at the resort, leaving his pheromone besotted waitress and lover of the night aghast as his heart gave out in a natural looking heart attack. Naturally both the media and police would be involved and would ask two questions that looked bad for both the Resort and the Gunshop: Why was the married high ranking BlasTech representative caught dead in bed with a Resort waitress in such a scandalous fashion? And why was he carrying documents all but outlining an illegal trade deal with his company, the Galactic Gunshop, and known smugglers?

Two Black Sun operatives enter into Smash's office. One immediately starts polishing Smash's boots with the utmost care and attention. The second stands ready and attentive. A former advocate, he was exceptional for what he did, at least until he decided to forsake his previous life and devote himself to the majesty of the great lord of the galaxy's dark underside- Smash Daisaku of Black Sun. "Agent Duram Laddel Cham reporting for duty, sir." The Black Sun operative gives a crisp salute right up against his close cropped silver hair. "You need me, sir?"

Receiving a communication from the Dark Lord of the Sith was not exactly something that happened every day on Dubrillion. A generic Black Sun lackey, who had spent his entire life murdering the innocent, for cash, for Smash Daisaku, was honored to handle such the transmission. As he received due authorization and confirmation from the masterful prince of the organization, he replied to the approaching spacecraft. ”œHonored Master of the Sith,”

A visually innocuous string of three dozen Lambda class shuttles soared across the merchant skies of Naboo, toward the capital municipality. That destination was Theed, the planetary seat of the Royal House and traditionally the human seat of power. Sending legitimate numeric codes to the local authorities, which were stolen and bribed away from key trading guilds, the spacecrafts continued their flight paths, which directly led to the Royal Palace ”“ the one where noted Queen and Senator Padme Amidala had ruled as a youthful monarch. The digital transmission created the faux intention that seemingly harmless ships would turn off before reaching the notable landmark, since it was just a merchant operation. Nothing more. ”œWe're looking for a good bongo salesman,”

OOC: This post is a revamped version of an earlier one in this thread. A massive courtyard, larger than most cities, covered in an enormous dome that comprised the majestic center of the Black Sun administrative district on Fondor. Atop the dome was featured the emblem of the Black Sun. A long, high scaffold stood in the middle of the yard. Three human women and over a dozen men filled the allotted spaces, with their ruined hands and tired feet bound, nooses snug around their worthless necks, with dingy, filth-caked sacks covering each worry-stricken face. Some wept piteously; most were only terrified, but all knew that death was on its way. The evil man who was called Avaraxus III, hailed from the bowels of Coruscant. His face was covered with an evil black mask, in order that he could breathe. His red eyes seemed to glow brighter as he was murdering. His lungs had been scarred from drugs. He was a staunchly racist assassin, who had engineered the deaths of millions and a loyal murderer of Smash Daisaku's Black Sun, fully tenured in making problems disappear. His new assistant was a young Corellian named Baalus, a once excited lad, eager to see the giant starships constructed in the shipyards of Fondor. Now all he cared about was killing. He was still fascinated with space-faring battle ships. He always had been. Now, Baalus was more fascinated with cashing Black Sun checks, and even more entranced with persecuting foreign races in the name of Smash Daisaku and his corporate crusades, and capitalism, and zealous greed, and a love for execution. Few ways were finer for exercising zealous militant power than ethnic cleansing and racial persecution. Baalus was new to such fierce things. He still had his wicked youth and great lust. ”œFor the Black Sun!”

The operatives responsible for the sudden cargo shipment that brough the Empire into the shipyards quietly dissapear amid this dispora of New Republic workers. A few valuable bits of data on Republic technology and some very small, but valuable items that were eyed for some time by the Ops dissapear as well. While they stayed entirely out of the fighting, simply as a matter of pragmatism, a couple Republic investigators who looked to be close to unmasking Black Sun itself ended up dead- one cut down by a blaster during the Imperial seige, the other somehow shooting off into space as if in an escape pod- sans the escape pod- to die a frozen, breathless death in the icy void of space. One operative remains behind to collect on additional payments- taken out of Republic funds and credits no less- for services the organization provided in aiding the seige and to ensure their tracks in this affair were thoroughly covered with few more systematic computer relays and another half-dozen murders of Republic personnel suspected of knowing too much. After that, the man was gone, and so apparently was the Black Sun presence. In the end, who could really say for sure if the Black Sun rose here? With that done, the criminal organization moves off the shipyards, aiming to establish a quiet presence on the many mining asteroids surrounding the shipyards, quietly making money off the miners and material wealth present.

Emboldened by past pilfery, as well as payments from interested parties, the score strong Black Sun Operatives begin stepping up their theft of ship parts for sale on the black market, removing a few choicer and rarer components for sale. As this goes on, orders are made for additional shipments of supplies and cargo to be delivered into the shipyard from interested parties and Black Sun affilitates.

The moment the Imperials "showed up in the skies" over Thyferra repeating Needa's infamous mistake over Hoth which now gave this planet advanced warning of the attack, orders were quickly passed to the two companies controlling bacta supplies for the galaxy, which were found to be agreeable by both parties realizing the gloomy reality of an Imperial takeover. This in turn was relayed to the various bacta production facilities and their guards. With everything in motion, a single comm line is opened locally to the Imperial commander, its message short, while ambassadors for the controlling party on the planet- its main two corporations, and by secret association, Black Sun- worked simply to stall until the above was absolutely in place. The message was short and as follows, with the means to carry out the threat in place and ready to go with four minutes and counting. Short and insolent, it spoke of a superior bargaining position, showing the firm control over the planet- especially given the prospect of Imperial disenfranchisement and slavery as the obvious alternative. To the esteemed Imperial commanders beseiging our planet. You are kindly being told to **** off and leave our space within the next three minutes. The moment you attack with one laser or even launch a single shuttle down to the planet, you lose your prize. If you don't comply and leave, you lose. It's a simple fact that he who controls a thing can destroy it, and we control bacta. We know of your hardline attempts to nationalize industries, and the instant you try to take what is ours, we will destroy it all. The people are in place and are all seperately monitoring the situation using groundline communications. The moment you fire a single shot, or launch a single troop, or try staying beyond the next 2:42 and counting means we torch our alazhi and kavam supplies, cutting bacta off at its source. We do that, and everyone cries. If you never learned anything from the Bacta war, you cannot take Thyferra with overwhelming force, which is why the New Republic never tried it that way. Now, kindly piss off. If you need bacta for your war efforts, licensed distributors will be ready to visit you and still sell you what you need despite this incident. You have 2:30 and counting to leave.

Black's operatives, already careful by hiding their ties to their parent organization just in case of a situation like this, took a hint when dealing with the Empire, or any other organization with similar values: when all your contacts start dying off, you cut your losses and leave quietly. After a few stealth shipments and last minute payments, the nameless operatives go completely underground, dissapearing from Ryloth's Imperial radar. It was, regrettably, the safe manuver. Of course, leaving a few clues behind linking the bribery ring to being the brain child of prominent Hutt Clan power holders on Nal Hutta operating in what was a normally Hutt territory like Ryloth didn't hurt either...

Working quietly, a few operatives, not calling themselves part of Black Sun to maintain the security of the parent organization, work to ingratiate themselves with the officers of the local garrison on Ryloth. Through offers of fine meals, exotics, and after careful measure, drugs and vices that some corrupt officers were prone to, they start the task of quietly lobbying the imperials towards giving them an exclusive edge on the drug and Twi'lek slave trades- both legal and illicit, operating on Ryloth. Kickbacks are given, mostly to dig the commanders into Black Sun's as of yet unnamed pockets.