Nar Shaddaa

[Wookiee Jedi]

Kirlocca kept his face looking at the Nar Shaddaa, completely ignoring the ignorance of the Sith and their... what must have been a taunt. He heard Dahar speak, but didn't acknowledge him at first. This brought up so many questions, to which left only one reasonable response. Kitt's plan had been turned upon itself, which would mean that the Jedi Order would have to make a quick response to such an act. The true test lay in what the Jedi leadership would do. On the one hand, they could strike back at the Sith. It wasn't very Jedi like, but it would quickly bring both sides out of the Galactic Alliance leaving both fully at ground zero. They could also pretend like nothing happened, to which would be the most stupidest thing the Order would ever do.

 

No, there were plenty options for the Jedi, but only one would work in their favor. The only problem was, no Jedi would commit to such an act. But if it could be done, the Sith would soon find themselves burning out faster then an Sith apprentice learns to sleep with their master. Realizing that he had left Dahar without an answer, Kirlocca spoke up.

 

<< We go to the surface and fully investigate. Then, we do what has to be done. >>

 

He didn't bother to explain what would have to be done, it wasn't needed. He nodded his head towards the pilot so that they could head to the surface. Part of him wanted to fight the Sith, but they would never enter on a level playing field, let alone when odds are against them. If your adversary refuses to go to ground, leave no ground to go to. The thought was quickly stopped by transmission that came to his comlink. Interestingly enough, it did catch his attention long enough to fully read it three times through. Clearly, the Force has a will of it's own.

[Dahar Raikanda]

Dahar nodded in response. His hand moved to his side, gently grasping his lightsaber. He would have to be careful not to let his emotions get the best of him. The Jedi could feel anger in the depths of his soul and knew this was the path to the Dark Side. He opened himself up to the Force and beckoned it to come into his being and provide him with the peace and serenity he so desperately needed.

[Wookiee Jedi]

The gunship landed on one of the many landing pads available on Nar Shaddaa. Kirlocca didn't waste too much time departing the ship as he could feel most of what happened. His once Sith Master Ar-Pharazon and the amount of death he reeked upon the place. Kitt's Force presence hung over the planet like a whisper. He could fully feel out what the whisper was, but it was there. Walking towards the strong death that overhauled a certain cantina, with each step the Wookiee could start to pick up familiar scent of thermal detonators and some projectile weapon filled the air. It instantly brought him back to his thousands of battles that he participated in. He couldn't focus on those battles right now, as he needed to find some sort of proof that Ar-Pharazon was indeed the one whom killed one of his friends and the Jedi Grandmaster.

 

Walking into the cantina, it was a bloody mess with bodies lying everywhere, the Grandmaster in the center. Or rather, his robe lay within the middle. Kirlocca walked up to the spot and picked up his friends robe, and as he did, he spoke in Xaczik. It was a rare language of the Wookiees, to which Kirlocca was sure only Aryian and Fett knew it outside of Wookiees. He lifted his head to see if any security cameras caught the action. Sadly, the power was knocked out, so there would be no way of seeing if such a thing happened. Walking out of the cantina and into the streets, it was the same effect... besides for the Spaceport. It made sense that a spaceport would be on a different grid, or else traffic would cease entirely. Kirlocca was about to walk in that direction, but he could feel eyes upon him. As he turned, a strange looking Rodian spoke.

 

"You're part of those evil Force users that came in here and killed people. You're kind isn't welcomed here."

 

It didn't surprise Kirlocca that Nar Shaddaa held anti-Force user feelings, as this planet was strongly controlled by the Hutts and all sorts of gangsters. With a wave of his paw, he spoke.

 

<< You want to sell your stuff to the poor and turn yourself in to the local authorities. >>

 

"I'm going to sell my stuff to the poor and turn myself in to the local authorities."

 

Kirlocca then continued on his way towards the spaceport as the Rodian turned around himself and walked off to do as Kirlocca had suggested. As he walked up, he asked to see the the security cameras recordings. The man who worked the station would only do so with the persuasion of credits, to which Kirlocca gave up. Once he spotted the time, he could also see Kitt's Jedi Ace landing. As he got everything he needed, he made a recording of everything as to not tamper with the recordings. Kirlocca then fully understood what had transpired and would make sure that the Senate got it's house in order. He then turned towards Dahar whom tagged along.

 

<< This is all we need. We're leaving. However, I have a... meeting that I need to attend. This will most likely take me on a dangerous mission and I do not wish to risk you during this process. This also means that I will be delayed in teaching you Wru'torr. The choice is up to you on whether or not you come along. >>

 

If Dahar decided not to come along, there would be a few tasks that Kirlocca would give him to do until he returned. The Jedi Order was about to get very busy, but they would continue to do so through the shadows. This attack would not provoke them.

 

*Edited as I missed things.*

[Dahar Raikanda]

The feeling of uncomfortability grew in the pit of Dahar's stomach as the gunship made it's way to the planet's surface and docked. He attempted to stay in touch with Master Kirlocca who was full of feelings. Something was amiss in the Jedi Master. He gave indication that he knew what was going on, and perhaps who was behind this. Dahar however could feel nothing but the Dark Side, and the faint glimmer of a dead Jedi. He knew it had to be Kitt, for it was him that they had come to rescue... and they were too late.

 

The two Jedi left their ship and headed out into the streets. It was getting late in the day and the buildings were noticeably dark. Dahar felt eerie and cold. Clearly the power had been knocked out. It must have been part of the demonic plot that took the Grandmaster's life.

 

As they made their way to the cantina the foul stench of death grew closer and closer. Stepping through the doors Dahar was aghast at the sites he saw. He knew the Sith were capable of untold evils but he simply could not wrap his head around WHY they would need to leave such destruction in their path. Perhaps there was no logic surrounding evil, it simply was. He felt an empathetic pain for what had happened here.

 

The Jedi knight watched as Master Kirlocca made his way to the fallen Grandmaster's robe. He heard him speak in a foreign tongue and then rise with a look of somber determination. They left the cantina to return to the ship. On the way the Wookiee Master had a short encounter with a weak minded Rodian who put up no defense to the Jedi's mind control suggestions.

 

When they arrived at the ship Master Kirlocca spoke to him. "This is all we need. We're leaving. However, I have a... meeting that I need to attend. This will most likely take me on a dangerous mission and I do not wish to risk you during this process. This also means that I will be delayed in teaching you Wru'torr. The choice is up to you on whether or not you come along."

 

Dahar replied, "Master Kirlocca, when it is time for me to learn your secrets I shall, I am not worried about controlling destiny. I fear no danger, only the untold destruction that the heinous persons whom we are tracking can create. They must be stopped and I will go to any lengths to aid in that task. I will follow you to the death if need be."

 

*Edited because what I had up here before was short and lame*

[Wookiee Jedi]

Kirlocca made an fully acknowledgement of what Dahar had said. It seemed to him like the man would be a good friend in the coming years. the thought both worried and lifted his heart, as most of his friends end up dead at some point. But he wasn't looking to control their fate, as much as he would like to prevent such things, he had to understand that some things are just beyond control. But now there was so much more to deal with. The killers were out and about roaming free. He was certain that Ar-Pharazon was involved. He had nothing more then his gut feeling, but it rarely let him down. And there was still the matter of the young girl whom had talked with Kitt on Gala. What role did she play into all of this if any at all? No, he had to respond to the call to help hunt down the murders whom destroyed Naboo and Bespin. They would now be his focus.

 

<< Then lets be on our way. >>

 

Kirlocca quickly pulled out his comlink and sent a message to both Scorp and the Jedi Temple on the recent events that he believed to have un-covered. He also let them know what he would be doing, as it was important now more then ever that the Jedi Order be fully aware of where each of it's members were at. As he finished, he put his comlink away and headed back to the Ranger-class gunship with Dahar. Soon, the two would be placed in a great many situations that would force the two to know each other very well.

[Fixer]

Fixer's Journal entry 2:

 

Corellia, Tatooine, Nar-shadaa. These are the three worlds left that I need to cleanse Barga the Hutt's influence from the galaxy. He himself has gone deep underground. Perhaps these actions will draw him out. If they do not I can rest well knowing that I have disrupted this spice ring that uses slave labor. The Slaves I saved on Sevarcos II have contacted me recently. Seems most of them are able to get back to a semblance of life. That's good to hear. Now all I need to do is put a few more scum bags six feet under and the galaxy becomes a little bit brighter.

 

The question I had at first is which world to tackle first. Do I go to Corellia, and take out the contact who is no doubt enjoying some fine dining, selling drugs to some rich kids? Do I visit that dust ball Tatooine and root out the contact out of all the scum who sleep there, or do I go to Nar-Shadaa. I choose Nar-Shadaa. I had never been there for starters and it seemed like the best place to start. Doing a wetjob on that world wouldn't alert the other two that their time was near. Even if it did they would be far easier to track then on Nar-Shadaa.

 

Now the question is when do I kill him? I tracked him down, he likes to hang out at a bar called the ”˜merry wrinkle'. I have no idea if that is suppose to be a joke. I took down the spice mines too early. Should have let the last transport slip off world. I can tell because this guy is getting antsy. Been watching him for a few days now, and I think I have it all planned out.

 

I had to at first get a lay of the land. Then I made a few contacts. Identified a few more folks, trying to gauge the situation before moving in. Gained some valuable information and I.Ded the Target.

 

Target is a trunsk named Roly. I was expecting guards of some sort given how he was a spice pusher, yet I guess being a furball of rage and anger makes people not want to cross you. Must save on expenses. I could take him in a fight but the claws look nasty. I am going to go for distance.

 

He will never see me coming.

 

Neon lights, gave the city an unhealthy glow long after night descended. He felt he could almost feel the filth of this world waking up to take part in some new illicit or illegal venture. It was a world of sin and decay. It made him understand why deathstars existed. After all the only way a world like this could be purged was through fire.

 

Though he was trained to see in the dark, he was dressed in his full kit. Mandalorians had some name for it, but such words were fuzzy to him now. He didn't hang out with his brothers, and so the language was beginning to fade. Not that it matter as he was only the clone of a wanna be mandalorian.

 

He was on a timer. Though the man was a bit”¦.liberal with his spirts, he always seemed to leave this bar at a certain time. He had picked up a flash grenade at a shop earlier, and his plan was simple. He was going to toss the flash grenade, and then gun him down mobster style.

 

”œTarget acquired”

[Ary the Grey]

Ares' hijacked shuttle pulled out of hyperspace, nimbly maneuvering the asteroid belt surrounding the thriving den of thieves and landing on the planet in an out of the way area. It was a simple matter to withdraw credits from Ares' personal account, covering the transaction of a slightly used Jedi shuttle for a older shuttle with no markings. Of course, the Jedi shuttle would probably be stripped for spare parts and never able to be traced again, the main components having all their data wiped and traded and sold in all manner of illicit deals that went on around the planet. It wasn't his concern anyways.

 

In his new shuttle, Ares promptly left. It was high time he attended to a summons he had received mid-transit.

[Handlebars]

You can't move. You can't see. You can't feel. You can't breath. While in the deathless stillness of cryogenic freeze you can't even think. But it isn't as if you're removed from time entirely. No, certainly there is still something going on in there, in that deep, dark chasm. Some dim spark of life tethered for so long by dubious machinations and the ill will to use them. Alone it stood, transfixed in essence for all eternity. The only perceivable sign of life came from a small panel on the lower side of the metal frame. One red light blinking ever so softly and a green line that crawled across the screen, occasionally raising for the slightest moment, only to return to its baseline. Negligible.

 

It would be easy to forget there was anyone in there, really, if it wasn't for the striking pose the young girl took just before the super cooled tibanna gas filled the chamber. Eyes fierce and full spite, mouth in a sort of shout baring elongated canines, it was clear why Imperial soldiers saw her as a prime candidate for freezing.

 

Time moves on, even for this poor removed girl, and over such the great slab finds itself in the galaxy again in the hands of scavengers picking the bones of the dead. Fates are weighed against profits, and aesthetics beat out slavery by a margin. Once all is verified and authenticated the statuesque girl turns heroine in the eyes of eclectic collectors. Truly a stirring piece. Rich men die, and possessions are auctioned off. Value is lost in a new generation's eyes, meaning is lost from tradition, and what was once beautiful becomes just another slab of something or another.

 

"Melt her."

[AVATAR Kain]

Nar Shaddaa.

 

The moon of Nal Hutta was constantly bustling with activity, being a major thoroughfare for trade and information. Nobody really controlled the place, though various criminal organizations exerted their muscle over most of the sectors, Black Sun being the most notorious of these by having ousted many of the Hutt families a while back. But the moon itself was home to one thing that now interested Kain, a major Holonet hub that processed information for an entire sector of the known galaxy. Few skilled slicers had ever attempted to hack this hub, as it was highly protected, and even fewer of those that attempted were successful, underground urban legends that nobody knew or had seen. Those people were the ghosts of the holonet, autistic savants that were brilliant with coding.

 

Kain was not an autistic savant. His coding had been compiled from the stuff those people dreamed of, an evolved artificial intelligence capable of things still thought impossible on a modern technological scale. Given enough time and equipment, Kain could have very likely hijacked the entire holonet, reaping chaos across the galaxy as he manipulated major exchange centers, banks, even linked environmental controls for key military facilities on Coruscant and elsewhere. It would cause panic, riots, bloodshed. But eventually, it would be traced back to him, and Kain had much grander plans afoot. The galaxy would kneel in due time, and those who would oppose him and his goals would be ground to ash underfoot as his schemes took hold.

 

But every plan, every scheme had to have a beginning. A seed, to grow and blossom into something both poetically beautiful and utterly lethal. And that was what he needed to do now, was plant that seed. Nothing happened in the galaxy without credits, it was the lubrication of society that allowed its wheels to continue chugging along in a sad dystopia. His shuttle sat on a nearby landing pad, but Kain already had electronic feelers digging into the mass of coding that was passing through the hub, slowly unlocking it layer by layer until he was at the level where he could influence what he needed to.

 

What seemed like an eternity passed before Kain finally had access, but it was enough. Five of the largest banks within the GA's reaches processed transactions through this hub, and now the processing program used by them each had a small unnoticeable virus piggybacked on them. It would take at least a year for them to realize that it was ever there, but in that time, many credits would be gleaned. Every time a transaction was processed, there were fractions of a credit that were left over, especially transactions dealing with the various planetary stock markets. Individually, these fractions were microscopic, but with the sheer number of transactions processed per minute, they added up quite quickly, skimming the leftovers and rerouting them to several other dummy bank accounts that periodically sent transactions through several smaller banks until finally collecting into three separate accounts held by the largest bank. This would provide the credits he needed, this would be the seed planted that would produce the change he wished to inflict.

 

The second thing he looked for was information. Information was a hard thing to glean, but Kain had an incredible amount of patience. Hours turned into a few days before he had the information he sought, soldier records of the Old Empire. He only had a few, but a few was all he needed. Specifically, the dossier on one Admiral Adam Jensen, who had gone MIA in one of the skirmishes over Coruscant. The body was never found.

 

It had been three standard galactic days by the time Kain had finished, and already the credits in his accounts were growing to a useful amount. Satisfied with his work, Kain paid his hangar fees remotely, then left the moon. It was high time he put his plan to action.

[Pinckz]

Embers fell and shattered on the ground. A figure all but unseen lay in the shadows… Grumbling.

 

He wasn’t a hero, he wasn’t a villain. In fact if it weren’t for this particular commotion, he wouldn’t even be here. He was busy getting thrown out of a bar and these fine upstanding gentlemen just happened to be smack in the middle of the whole thing… Well, not really in the middle, but close enough to where Malin’s trash covered form could get a look see.

 

His eyes weren’t really the best past a certain time of day, when he had a little more of the local flavor in his system than was customary, but his glazed blue eyes could still pick out shadowy figures through the crux of a nearby door. They were clearly man sized with he could only guess, were manlike priorities. Their clothes were fairly indiscriminate and their smell wasn’t a far cry from his own, but their business was wild as far as he knew.

 

Through the grime of his lot, he could hear their voices join that of the local color as they carried on the back of Nar Shadaa tradition, but these men weren't the same. He could hear the cries and screams of Nar Shadaa's night life, building to a crescendo in the distance, but these men created dissonance. The harmony, however melancholy, of Nar shadaa at night was spoiled by wordless discussion, echoing off hollow backstreets. They stacked their own deck; their sounds were all their own.

 

A few of the men turned to look out the door as Malin was tossed into the pile of trash he was now currently residing in, but their eyes weren’t particularly focused on a bum as his last call turned grizzly; even if his scent permeated the air like wet excrement on a hot day. No, their attention seemed to revolve around a moderately sized black-ish figure propped up against a wall of the warehouse proper. The figure was blurry from a distance and the darkness of the building it resided in was enough to keep most of it hidden, but Malin’s curiosity begged to question what a few of the Nar Shadaa locals were bothering with in an empty warehouse.

 

Not wanting to look any more conspicuous than he already did, Malin made to brush the trash off his body and stand up. His stupor made the gesture look a bit fancier than he cared to admit, but his eyes never left their post, a hint of lucidity hidden behind his greasy black hair. Stealth wasn’t really an option, given the hideous lack of subtlety he was already saddled with, but that didn’t mean he was without cards to play. His deck had only been reshuffled is all; he hadn’t even taken time to look at his hand yet.

 

Malin took a few steps forward, scuffling on the ground and flailing a bit like all drunks do. He clasped an empty bottle in one hand and made for the door. He had to make it convincing.

 

With a half-hearted gesture, he pulled himself inside, using his shoulders to provide momentum and slammed hard against the floor, immediately sticking the filthy bottle to his mouth. Dry air met his bearded chin and he began twitching, grabbing at things nearby. He let tears come to his eyes, followed by whimpers and moaning about a daughter he had, a woman he hadn’t seen in ten years and a dog that died when he was merely a boy. His tears bought him time to work his body into a seated position, because his mouth was the distraction. It was the bluff. He had a card tucked underneath his hand and got a better look at the pot, before casing out his next move. She was made of carbonite and was unlike anything Malin had ever seen before. She certainly was out of the league of every gentleman in the company, including him, but that didn’t mean she had any business being here. Rescue or not, Malin’s presence was a little too involved now to leave. The only choice now was to play the game with the cards he had.

 

It was up to his new friends to ante up…

[Gren Sairdonga]

As the RTB appeared from hyperspace above Nar Shaddaa Gren eyed the planet distastefully. Both of his halves did. The droid half disliking the crush of ridiculously weak fleshy inhabitants. The human side disliking everything this planet represented. Its greed, corruption, crime. The bigger back drop of Nal Hutta in the distance. Even worse than Nar Shaddaa in its grotesque fleshy inhabitants. The source of all the evil that plagued Nar Shaddaa. Gren hated everything about this sector. But when he had been human. In charge of soldiers he had sent two here. Intelligence Operatives who's goal it had been to get a ring running to funnel information and money through legitimate and front company enterprises to the Shadow Sentinels. Until they disbanded after the ambush by that filthy slug on Corella.

 

Bringing his ship down on a pad owned by his two former lads he and Mia strode down. Meeting their local counterparts on the ground.

 

"Welcome Sir. Its good to have you here alive and well."

 

"Not sir. Just Shadow. Lets go somewhere private. We have much to discuss.

 

Nodding the two men led the way. The girl and the HRD following on.

[Ary the Grey]

Two ships dropped from hyperspace, and docked at a nearby drydock. After selling the shuttle off for parts, confident it would be torn apart by unsavory types to be sold on the black market, Ares went shopping for goods from a nearby arms store. His allowance from the Sith Order was significant, and allowed him to procure repairs to his armor as well as a sensor mask for his ship, and a couple thermal shields and portable sensor scramblers. For himself, however, he picked up a belt of grenades which included three concussion grenades, three flash bangs, two cryo grenades, and two thermal detonators. He also picked up two carbine pistols, and ten concussion laser trip mines.

 

After several hours, all the preparations were complete and goods were loaded up into the Blur. The Starviper fired up its engines and flew away from the smuggler's moon, heading towards its true final destination.

[Onderin Starlisk]

-- Incoming recorded message for Gren Sairdonga from Onderin Starlisk (encrypted) --

 

"It's been awhile, Gren. I hope this message finds you well, wherever your travels have taken you.

 

"Something dangerous is stirring in the galaxy. If you watch the holonet, you'll see that Bothawui has seceded from the Galactic Alliance and is declaring war against the Imperial Remnant. What the news is not covering is that there is a... malevolent presence behind this. What I believe is a powerful practitioner of the dark side is influencing individuals and worlds in what seems to be an attempt to start a war. One of the members of the Jedi Council has foreseen this war and claims that it could poison the Force itself.

 

"As a result, he has requested that the Jedi not get involved at all, and therefore I may end sidelined. I know you are Force sensitive, and that I began to train you to command your potential, but I do not believe that you will be in danger if you were to involve yourself in this coming storm. I need someone I can trust inside this conflict. My feeling is that you are equipped to make a significant difference in the outcome of this war, and that we will both have an effect if we exchange insights as it evolves. We fought for a long time to bring the galaxy to the level of peace it has reached now, and we cannot allow that peace to be shattered in its infancy.

 

"Let's stay in touch. Good luck and, as always, may the Force be with you."

 

-- End of recorded message --

[Gren Sairdonga]

Striding through dank underground passageways and rooms of the temporary home of the Shadow Sentinels. Gren, former Rebel Alliance General and elite pilot of Sentinel Squadron was in a rush. It wasn't often the leader of the small group got a call from the communications centre but never with this much of a sense of urgency. Entering the impromptu command centre he spied Allin, working away. Moving up to his 2iC's side he nodded towards the holo-projector. "Let's have it mate." It had taken him months, years even to once again master the art of being human. The machine half of him still didn't understand his need to 'fit' in with the flesh beings but it had accepted it. His installation of Mother's subroutines into the AI had made it far more tolerant and familiar to him. As the message played he turned away. Why should he get involved, the galaxy had long since forgotten what he had done for it. Left him and his men to rot and die at the hand of their enemies. The Sith Order had been given free reign to maim and murder his people with no response from the Jedi, the Galactic Alliance or even CoreSec. Gren had hunted for revenge and found some. But not enough, not the slug. Now hidden away from the galaxy with the few of his men he trusted most, the rest scattered across a thousand worlds keeping an eye out for Slug Sith. He'd then spent the next few years in hiding, watching the galaxy, particularly the Imperial Remnant. Waiting for an excuse to fly again. It seems he found it too. "Allin. Pass the word to all the cells. The Shadow Sentinels are to start preparing for a war. In particular I want the Bothawui and Imperial units gathering intel on all military forces." Turning he left the HQ.

 

His AI swiftly prepping the installation for activity. Calling in agents from all over Nar Shaddaa and nearby systems. Striding to the hangar he spotted his old E-Wing, Clinga came to life! Whooping excitedly. Ready for action. 'Alright mate, lets get to going shall we." A few short minutes later his E-Wing disappeared into hyperspace.

[saberforce]

The Orar fell out of hyperspace in a vomit like actions towards the planet of decay and ruin almost as if it where a beautifully rehearsed motion. Tros, the pilot found the slight irony in him arriving to Nar Shaddaa only days after meeting with Mand'alor. It was something of a fresh breath of air to be able to take his sabbatical from the Tsad Droten. But it wasn't worth him spending much time focusing upon it, so be brought his ship down and landed in an open docking bay. From there, he made his way towards the local cantina where he would find his ge'ver'alor for the hunt. Typically, Riella was his go-to man when out in the open field, but when he was working as a beroya, Chalchiir the male Wookiee was his go to contact. Walking in, he found the Wookiee sitting in a booth, looking somewhat out of place as he was watching some sort of podrace on some ice looking planet, Tros didn't much care, so he sat down and stared at Chalchiir from behind his buy'ce until the Wookiee turned.

 

<< Ah, I was wondering if you would really come this time around. Riella hinted that you may have been preoccupied with other things. >>

 

"No need to worry about me Cal, I always arrive when you put an urgent tag on your messages. What's the word?"

 

The Wookiee now fully turned and faced Tros, ignoring the podrace and focusing for a bit on his drink. For some odd reason, Chalchiir never looked at Tros in the face if he could help it. It seemed odd, yet Tros felt a bit uncomfortable to even ask him why.

 

<< Larkin put out word to me directly that he needs help in hunting a Force User- >>

 

"Larkin is an or'dinii, and you know how I feel about jetiise and hunting them."

 

The look on Chalchiir's face hinted that he was half expecting Tros reaction, although without actually seeing his face directly on, it was hard to read the Wookiee.

 

<< Tros, you know that it's apart of the creed to give aid when it's asked for, regardless of your feelings over Larkin. The request was made for you to meet up on Coruscant. Details are here. >>

 

That seemed to be the end of it, as Chalchiir slid over a datapad with information on it, and turned back to both his drink and the podrace. It was always like that with the Wookiee. What little he could say, the better. So Tros followed suite, taking the datapad, and headed back for his ship. Shortly after leaving, he took off for Coruscant once more.

[Rookwood]

Breathe...

 

A world of corrupted rust, and feted rot. The air itself was alive with decay. The rushing wind wound itself between corroded towers, alight with neon, carrying the odor of a thousand bloated corpses, decomposing in the sewers where they had been strewn by murderers and thugs.

 

A smile alight the pale face of Rookwood, passing across ancient features etched with true evil. Teeth as white as Alusian marble were stained brown with the passing of years devoted to dark workings. In one Black-gloved hand, the man gripped the cologne stained hair of a decapitated human, young in years, face pockmarked with syphilis, and with the other, Rookwood brushed back his long, white hair as the wind swept up in flurry.

 

A small elder rodian wandered out of an alley-way, perhaps out on an evening stroll, or to head to a nearby liquor store to prepare for a visit from his normal prostitute, but either way, his footsteps faltered.

 

...Thrum...

 

Rookwood glanced down at the violet blade jutting from the Rodian's chest, held by his own hand. With a mocking laugh, he pulled it loose from the lifeless corpse, cutting it in two with a flourish. Reaching down, Rookwood slid a bottle of champagne from the Rodian's vest pocket, along with a small envelope. Opening it, Rookwood read its contents

 

• Dear Grandfather
   
  I wanted to send you a letter telling you this before you left Nar Shadda... I'm pregnant. The baby shower is tonight... I know we've been estranged, but I'd love if you could put our differences aside for long enough to meet my husband, and wish our new child the best of luck in these coming years. We changed addresses, to 3423 Admiral Ackbar Blvd.
   
  I hope to see you there...
   
  Paige.
  

A slow and evil laugh began to build in the darkness, like the rolling of thunder after a lightning strike has torn the life from a hapless farmer's daughter. He could hear the party in the distance, the joyous celebration of impending new life. It made him sick.

 

********

 

The champagne was flowing like a river, the joyous shouts and laughter befitting such a party. Pleasantries such as these were few and far between on such a planet as Nar Shadda, especially for a family so poor as these Rodians. From the sounds of laughter, there were plenty of children present, most likely making the party unbearable. The apartment was gaudily decorated, in the Rodian style for impending birth. The Huttese language grated on Rookwood's ears as he stood on the opposite side of the door, watching the party through the door's peephole.

 

Rookwood slowly pulled the black leather glove from his hand, feeling the warm air streaming from the heater above. He placed his palm against the wooden door, opened his mind, and pushed. The entire door splintered before him, sending shrapnel of wood like stakes and nails through the joyous crowd like it was a marathon in Boston. As his hand passed forward through the smoking air, to grasp onto the screeching face of the family matron, like a bird to its prey, he pressed his left boot-heel into the eyesocket of one of the wounded, driving down with his full power. The head beneath him split open, spilling brain-matter onto the polished, child-worn hardwood flooring. From the looks of the furniture and the floors, the apartment had seen several generations of this Rodian family raised and grown up. That would naturally stop.

 

Using simply the strength of his arm, Rookwood drove the head of the Rodian into the stimcaf-table, cutting short the muffled screeching with a sharp crack of fracturing bone and condensed brain matter. Dropping the convulsing corpse, he looked up at the rest of the party, his purple eyes glittering with an aura of dark flame. All that remained was the two newlyweds, one a lithe pregnant teenager, and the other a punkish Rodian gangster. The fork he was eating cake with dropped to the floor, the Rodian's hand shaking with fear. More noble than Rookwood expected, the gangster stepped in front of his wife, shielding her from the menace before them.

 

With a shattering cry, the Rodian glanced to his chest to see his wife's hand jutting from the reptilian hide, grasping the arteries bound to his heart. Within a second, the Rodian's entire body-volume of blood gushed forth onto the ground. As the Rodian's body fell to the blood-soaked wood, the girl looked in horror at her arm. Her mind was weak, and easy to mold. Pressing forth into the deepest pit of her mind, Rookwood elaborated her darkest thoughts, driving her further into despair.

 

With a small gesture, Rookwood extended one of his revolvers to her hand, which grasped it willingly. As she pressed it to the side of her scaled skull, she muttered forth thanks for the ability to end her suffering

 

-CRACK-

 

Rookwood's smile broadened as he fed upon her ebbing despair, ravishing the corpse's fleeting soul with dark power. It was good to eat again. Retrieving his pistol, he looked to the face of the last member of the party, a toddler who stood in shock, clinging to a small stuffed Han Solo doll. Rookwood leveled the muzzle to the child's face

 

“Never leave a survivor... They always grow up to take revenge...”

 

-CRACK-

 

As a small thud sounded hollow on the worn hardwood, Rookwood painted a message into the wall of the apartment before he left out a window in the toddler's room.

 

...Come to the Slaughter...

 

...Eat...

 

...Drink...

Below it, pinned to the wall with fragments of bone, hung the stuffed Han Solo doll, stained with its beloved owner's lifeblood.

[Sheog the Mad]

Garish lights marked the Lazy Rodian Casino in bright orange and neon blue against the darkened night of Nar Shaddaa. It was a chain of casinos and clubs that were scattered around Hutt Space, well-marked and known for its large winnings and ill-reputed business practices. Despite the possibility of being robbed blind by the slots or the card-sharks, catching various diseases from the well-used working girls, getting food poisoning or parasites from the buffet, every night the casino and its attached nightclub was packed with the denizens of a thousand different worlds. From the dining room, with its well-worn and rusted metallic seats and tattered tablecloths, stained brown from years of use, a customer (or a sucker) could feel the walls vibrate from the pounding music of the nightclub’s three different DJs, who played a mix of technofunk and pop, which was sure to annoy anyone over the age of twenty-four standard years of age enough to place a blaster pistol in their mouth or jump from the opulent veranda into the cold embrace of the dark abyss below, in an attempt to no longer live in a galaxy where that type of music could be considered popular.

 

Far above the rusting planet of vice and opulence, a dark craft exited from hyperspace; The Demented Madness, rebuilt after its violent end on Corellia at The Lord of the Krath’s hand, taking with it part of the Jedi Council, almost the entire investigative and intervention team of CorSec, and a rival Sith Master. At its helm, surrounded by a beautiful buffet, sat The Lord of Madness, in all his glorious gluttony and filth, Sheog the Mad, Lord of the Krath, and holder of many other countless and yet meaningless titles. At his right side stood Hayley Fieldgrey, his constant companion since he had become a Sith Master. She was around five feet in height, with her hair in long black braids, dressed in simple combat armor. A small smile played across her scarred face. Her countenance was dark, as was her gothic makeup, but unlike others of the Gothic subculture, she was neither a whiny imbecile, nor a drug using, self-hating asshat. She had been around the influence of the Dark Side for long enough to become corrupted and deviously twisted through her absolute loyalty to The Insatiable Lord.

 

Without a care lounged Sheog, one grubby hand on the overlarge and ornate eight-spoked wheel of lacquered mahogany, while the other shoved a full handful of wriggling white-worms into his monstrous gullet. He was impressed with the feast before him, all within a hand’s reach. The eight cooks aboard The Demented Madness had worked overtime to prepare the impressive display. With a gleeful smile Sheog dipped his grimy hand into a large cup of pudding and then brought the substance into his mouth. The smile on his dripping lips died and was replaced by a sneer. Instead of a burst of fine chocolate flavor, he had found a burnt and ashen taste. Hayley noticed the change in countenance, and quickly stepped back out of the way of her Master. With a roar of saddened rage, Sheog bellowed over the ship’s comlink

 

<<BRING ME THE COOKS. NOWWWWWWW!>

 

With a huff, Sheog crossed his chubby arms across his broad leathery chest. From his side, Hayley spoke, her voice gravely and dark

 

“Was the pudding not to your liking, master?”

 

Without a word Sheog grabbed a spoon and dipped it into the frothy brown goo and handed it to her. He watched with twisted pleasure as she tried it and then spit it onto the carpet of baby Ewok fur at her feet. Wiping her pale lips with the back of her leather glove she growled

 

“That was bloody terrible… I am truly sorry the cooks made such a terrible meal for you…”

 

She trailed off as the eight cooks were pulled into the onboard throne/helms-room, her dark green eyes staring across them all. All eight were black-skinned humans, four women, fat with perfectly white aprons, and four men similarly dressed in black with white aprons. The B-1 battle droids forced them onto their knees before the overlarge Hutt. Their groveling and prostrating began immediately. The fattest of the diabetic-ridden men spoke first, his accent disguising his words

 

“… Kay Massa, we all dus been cookin de food like me and we alway’ do, fine food massa some of dat frie-“

 

Hayley silenced him with a crack of her slugthrowing pistol. The largeness of the caliber had splattered the contents of his largely empty head all over the remaining seven cooks, but hadn’t hurt her hand due to the air brakes and her conditioning firing a .50 slug.

 

“I swear to whatever gods you all hold, if I hear one remark about ‘fried chicken’ or whatever by the Emperor’s black bones a watermelon is, I will kill you painfully! Anyone else want to talk?”

 

Another of the men removed his crying face from the carpeting and looked up into the eyes of Sheog. A bit of his multicolored sweater peaked through under his uniform

 

“Zippity Sqoo Woobily-“

 

Sheog cut him off with a shake of his large slimy head. Motioning to the guards, he pointed towards the airlock

 

<>

 

A small cough came from the co-pilot, and the Bothan raised a paw

 

<>

 

The Bothan cleared his throat uncomfortably spitting out a furball into his palm, which made Sheog rather queasy

 

“Yes… Well, we’ve actually landed at the casino you wanted to visit, my Lord. Throwing them out an airlock wouldn’t do much. Thought you should know…”

 

With a rising roar Sheog laughed, raising a chubby hand into the air.

 

<>

 

*********************

 

Within The Lazy Rodian, the bartender leaned heavily on the polished wood surface of the bar, scrubbing a glass as he watched the crowd before him. He was on break, thankfully, as there was almost a non-stop need for alcoholic beverages of every kind at a Casino that served all species. He placed a weathered hand onto his lower back and leaned back, cracking his spine, and sighed. Flipping open his wallet he looked at the moving holograms of his three children and four grandchildren, the youngest of which, (a crimson mop-headed young human girl) was turning six today. He waved over to the birthday party which was quietly taking place in a nearby booth. His family had always had parties here, the kids could have any type of food they wanted for cheap, and the adults could get plastered.

 

An older man with black skin caught his attention as he stumbled up to the bar. The man was dressed in a cook or a stewards outfit, which was odd, but what caught his attention was not that or the man’s protruding belly, but the strip of silver tape that was across his mouth. From the man’s eyes he could see terror and horror, which barely had time to register before the man detonated in a blossom of flame, tattered flesh, and ball-bearings. The bartender didn’t have time to move as before his eyes six other similarly dressed individuals all exploded, scattered around the crowded dining area. The horror of the situation didn’t have time to reach his brain as a ball bearing carved a bath through his eye socket and exploded out the back of his head.

 

About him the crowd was mowed down by nails and ball-bearings exploding forth from smoking flesh in a cacophony of death and evil. The screams of the wounded and dying joined the song, replacing the joyful laughter of children and drunken adults. The song was death and its conductor was the obese mountain of flesh that was Sheog the Mad. The Hutt was dressed in chainmail, with a helm of dark metal, and in his hands he wielded Armalite, the great bearded ax made from the remains of Uriel Stonedog, who had died at his hands on Hoth.

 

He drew upon the pain of the wounded and the fear of dying women and children to attune himself to the madness of The Force, letting it well up within him like the river Styx, laden with the dead and ferried by the insanity of Charon. With a thrust of his tale he pushed himself through the scattered corpses towards the lights and pounding music of the nightclub, a smile of insanity upon his dripping lips.

 

Hayley stayed behind, moving through the crowd and finishing off any still alive with her knives and pistol. She stepped over the partially incinerated corpse of a child and looked upon the wreck of a birthday party gone horribly wrong. The family was all dead, torn asunder by shrapnel, but at the back of the booth, she heard a sniveling cry. Reaching with an armored arm she hauled the child from her hiding spot, and flinched as the child screamed shrilly grasping at her broken arm, ivory bone jutting through the muscle, tendon, and flesh of her arm. Hayley rolled her eyes and slammed the child’s head into her own birthday cake. She pressed the head down until the struggling stopped and the body went limp. Flipping a knife on her fingers she laughed and moved on to assess the carnage,

 

“Enjoy your cake…”

 

With a can of spray paint she scrawled upon the wall a message that had once filled the galaxy with terror

 

SCORPIONS

 

*********

 

Sheog pushed himself back up the boarding ramp of The Demented Madness, followed by his companion Hayley, who was drenched in blood, and eight captured cooks from the Casino kitchens. Hayley leaned against her master as they made their way back to the helm.

 

“So, why did we do that?”

 

Sheog sighed and set The Demented Madness on a course into the Deep Core on the navicomputer. The ship tremored as it lifted from the landing pad

 

<>

 

As The Demented Madness left the atmosphere and shot into hyperspace, leaving a whole city block in flames below, Hayley and her master laughed joyously at the simple, good-hearted mistake.

[Mirdala Ad'Goran]

The clunker Jurgen had managed to hire to take him to Nar Shaddaa took much longer than expected to arrive. He only hoped that he hadn't missed Judyc.

[Judyc Viba]

In a room deep within his safehouse, sealed off even to his guest Jurgen Bialle, Judyc pulled himself out of a vat of bacta and nutrient fluids, draining the breathable liquid out of his lungs. This place was a last contingency, a way to cheat death and one that he had hoped to never use. But after the glimpse of what he had seen when Darkfire had invaded his mind, he knew that this wasn't over. For better or worse, he was going to stick this out.

 

The thing was, he still wasn't sure what had happened, and it bothered him. One moment he'd been scrambling clear of the thermal detonator and adding a concussion grenade to the mix, and the next he was here -- the last few seconds were a bit fuzzy. He supposed it was the way of things, though. A lucky shot from one of the gangers, a surprise suicide lunge from Darkfire, or some other factor and it had been over. He shrugged. It didn't matter. As long as Fieyr pulled through, his share of even one of the bounties they'd earned would be enough to replace the gear he'd lost with hundreds of thousands of credits leftover. It had been a good hunt.

 

Judyc put on his backup beskar'gam he'd had here, ret'lini. He'd never been hurting for credits, so he had backups of the rest of his gear, too, although it would take some time to get everything fully integrated again. A minor inconvenience.

 

As soon as he had his buy'ce on he recalled his ship from Triple Zero and sent a comm to Fieyr to see if he was in position to collect on the bounty. Then he slid open the secret panel and walked in on Jurgen, who was a bit surprised to see him not coming through the front door.

 

"I trust you took every precaution not to be followed?" he asked without preamble or explanation. "Here's how this works, Bialle. You tell me what's going on, I put you up here until it blows over, and we're even." He scowled at the other man. Honestly even this was too far, he'd paid Bialle for the job that he'd called this favor in on.

[Mirdala Ad'Goran]

Jurgen's brow furrowed as weighed how much to tell the bounty hunter. "If I was interested in being followed, Viba, do you honestly think I would have called you in the first place?"

 

He sat back down at the small table after fighting the chair he'd tooled over in his surprise at Judyc's sudden appearance. "I murdered another protector," he announced, deciding cutting to the heart of the matter was best, even if he was still attempting to process what he'd done.

 

Daennan had been a long-time friend and colleague who’d just happened to catch wind of what he’d been up to. Her death brought no joy, but it had to be done. Now he was looking at far worse coming at him from the other Protectors for his betrayal. While it was unlikely Taen himself would lead the charge, the Chief Sector Protector would no doubt send his best to make him suffer not only for Morveth’s death, but for the death of Taen’s father and his companions.

 

He met Judyc’s gaze, “You’re my handler so I figured you’d help me handle the situation as I was left with no choice since she’d caught on to me."

[Judyc Viba]

"Haar'chak," Judyc muttered. Jurgen wasn't going to be nearly as useful to his employers without his position inside the Journeyman Protectors -- he'd be a wanted man all over the Mandalore Sector since he had fled the scene of the crime. "Fine. This place is secure as long as you were as careful as you claim. Let me make some calls and figure out what happens next." Honestly, he wouldn't be surprised if Bialle was out of a job. The focus was very clearly on Concord Dawn and the surrounding systems, and an asset that was no good there wasn't much of an asset anymore.

 

He headed deeper into the safehouse to his secure comm system and found that he had a message waiting for him. It was a holo, picked up by one of his employer's other agents, reportedly set on Concord Dawn. It showed two Mando'ade embracing before the female departed on a transport. It took him only a second to recognize her. It was the Force sensitive empath that he'd been hunting on and off since she'd been a teenager, Mirdala Ad'Goran. Her beskar'gam hadn't stayed the same the whole time he'd been looking for her, but he knew some of the pieces and her stature helped solidify the theory. His employer was very interested in acquiring her, and though he hadn't gotten the whole story, he didn't need it to know that there were a lot of credits in it for him if he could bring her in alive. And he was in a rather unique position to do so -- as far as he knew, no one else had put together that she was in fact that lenedat.

 

Judyc turned his attention to the jag in the image. He hadn't seen that beksar'gam before, but on closer study, he noticed the crescent moon symbol emblazoned on the man's shoulder. He took a deep breath and let it out, digging into the computer system and bringing up the CoreSec presentation Ad'Goran had given on Triple Zero. Once he'd called it up, he zoomed in on ShadowFett standing silently behind her and, sure enough, the symbol on his usual black beskar'gam was a perfect match.

 

He growled in frustration. At least it cleared up a bit what had happened on Abraxos, not that it made this any better. "Osik." ShadowFett had gotten involved somehow with the one person that guaranteed he would be a part of this to the end. Judyc would have no choice but to abandon the sector and all he'd worked to achieve there or face the one man he'd hoped he'd never have to kill.

 

Looks like this doesn't work out after all, Ailyn... he thought.

[Moon Knight]

The T'ad Kebbur emerged out of hyperspace over Nar Shaddaa, one vessel in a vast fleet of civilian and paramilitary ships of all shapes and sizes that constituted ordinary hyperlane traffic making its way to and from the Hutt homeworld and its moon. Boasting a population of over 850 million, the city-satellite had nearly the population of Coruscant while being only a third the diameter, a statistic that alluded to just how densely populated it was. Unlike Coruscant, there was no formal police force here, and the planet was controlled by a complex arrangement of gangsters, cartels, and syndicates constantly vying for territory and credits. The resulting lawlessness had made the Smuggler's Moon a haven for criminals on the lam, bounty hunters, and mercenaries.

 

ShadowFett and his copilot, Briia Silvar, were here to find just one man, a Journeyman Protector turned traitor, and they had no jurisdiction and so were guaranteed no cooperation from any local authority.

 

Thankfully, Kandor wasn't doing this for the first time. He'd been an experienced beroya for years before getting involved in the war, and some of his numerous predecessors as Moon Knight had been even more accomplished at finding individuals on this particular world. Plus, he had a lead.

 

As they entered orbit he interfaced with the port authority -- in Nar Shaddaa's case, the enormous quantity of space traffic necessitated a sophisticated computer system which tracked all arriving and departing vehicles and registered them in a database by their transponder codes, make and model. It was also responsible for providing landing coordinates and approach vectors to keep craft from colliding every few seconds. This computer system was unaligned with any gangster, a supposedly nonpartisan system that wouldn't turn a blind eye to the comings and goings of certain vessels just because they belonged to whoever was in power.

 

In actuality, Kandor only needed to wire a bribe to the right account to get access to traffic data from the last 12 hours. He ran a scan on the database and cross-referenced it to the list of ships that had left Vorpa'ya during the window in which Bialle had fled, entering all the parameters he could to get the list as narrow as possible. There was one perfect match -- arriving from the direction of the Mandalore Sector at the right time for it to have made a direct trip with a standard class one hyperdrive and bearing the same make and model. "That should get us pretty close," Fett said aloud to Briia as he requested a landing as close to the other ship as the system could manage.

 

Soon they and Mica Ad'Selfort had cetare on the ground. "Trick is, pretty close isn't good enough. I'm going to start with the ship itself, see if it belonged to him or if he hired a crew who might know something," he informed the others. "Otherwise all we can do is have a look around, see if we can pick up the scent from eye witness accounts and camera footage."

 

((Will combine posts for Judyc and Fett on this account going forward while they are both here.))

[Mirdala Ad'Goran]

Briia’s lekku shifted slightly from beneath her helmet as she glanced around the port suddenly more than a little self-conscious as she felt an uncomfortable number of eyes on her. She hated going outside of the system where most other merely saw her for her species and not as a Mandalorian or law enforcement. While her mother and her had never come through Nar Shadaa in their past lives, she knew it was not a safe place for most Twi’leks.

 

Still, she was on a job and this was one of the times dealing with the narrow minds and bullies of the galaxy was part of it. Mentally, she shook herself and continued to take in their surroundings, scanning for anyone that might be showing more than an amount of casual interest in their trio.

 

Feeling a hand on her shoulder, she turned to face Mica’s blue T-visor. “Steady kid. You’re one of the most Mando’karla recruits I’ve ever trained. Doesn’t matter what the outsiders see. If they give you trouble, put ‘em in their place and move on. Got it?"

 

She nodded and followed Kandor towards the ship they’d suspected Baille had arrived on as she scanned for any cameras that were actually functioning instead of the dead-heads some of the more cheap proprietors put up as deterrents.

 

Mica split off and wandered the shops, flashing Jurgen’s picture and known armor variants to those too scared to run from the trio of Mandos that had dropped into the spaceport.

 

He was showing the image to one of the local food stall vendors, when a tall green Twi’lek male approached him and jerked his head back towards Kandor and Briia. “Never expected the infamous ShadowFett to take on partners,” he hissed in his accented Basic.

 

“He takes a contract like any of us, I suppose,” Mica responded carefully as thrust the holos into the man’s face. “You seen this off-worlder?”

 

The man glanced at the images, but pushed them away as he tried to guide the man towards his shop. “Perhaps. He might or might not have come this way. My memory is a bit fuzzy…"

 

“You really want to play this game with me scum?” Mica signaled Kandor and Briia to let them know about a possible lead. “I should warn you this piece of osik has already put me in a pretty foul mood. Care to take another look or do I break something?"

 

The shopkeep smiled toothily. “Mandalorians aren’t the authority here. Do you really want to upset the Hutts? We are under their protection…"

 

Mica rolled his eyes beneath his helmet, but held up a few credits jerking them back as the Twi’lek greedily reached for them. “Ah. If your information pans out, these are yours. If not, I break something of equal or greater value, got it?”

 

The man sneered at that, but held out his hand for the credits anyway. “Man you’re looking for was heard asking directions to the warehouse district about six streets over. Decent enough neighborhood, not much off-worlder traffic these days, though. Not like area used to be. Might be someone in the area can help you further…”

 

Mica said nothing, but dropped the credits into the shopkeep’s outstretched palm and departed the store. He filled in Kandor and Briia as the two of them returned from finding what they could from the ship and surveillance networks.

[Moon Knight]

ShadowFett was as stoic as his buy'ce, as he usually was on a hunt, and he nodded silently to Mica when he returned with his lead. Oftentimes a manhunt let to periods of waiting due to the need to stakeout an area or building, and unless they had a lucky break this one would end up the same way. But until such a period of waiting was necessary, it was a matter of policy for him to be relentless in his pursuit, not stopping until every conceivable lead was considered and pursued.

 

It was worth an extra minute to do things right, though. Returning to Bialle's ship he hid a homing device on its hull. If the rogue officer gave them the slip here, they would need a better way to get a lead on his next destination. No doubt the comm trick that got them here wouldn't work a second time. As soon as it was secure, they set off for the warehouse district.

 

The trio of Mando'ade made the walk in fifteen minutes, drawing some stares not because Mandalorian mercenaries were especially rare on Nar Shaddaa, but because a group of them walking with such purpose towards a destination usually meant bad news for someone. Hopefully Bialle and Viba haven't bought eyes on the street, Fett thought. Getting there quickly means nothing if they know we're coming. Still, in a place like this, the odds were very low that Bialle would get wind of them unless he'd bought off the very man who'd given them this tip.

 

The warehouse district did, in fact, feature many warehouses, but around them were apartment complexes housing over a thousand sentients. "Start asking around," Fett told the others. "I'm going to see if I can get access to some cameras."

 

--------------------------------

 

An hour later the inquiries hadn't turned up anything and ShadowFett hit what looked like a dead end on the camera front. It turned out a huge number of the warehouses and apartments both were owned by the same corporation, an entity called DoorbaCorp. Most of the tenants were similarly "owned" by the corp, wage slaves working either in the warehouses or in the security surrounding them. That meant that the cameras were all on one network, but they were locked down. Fett made inquiries at multiple security stations, only to find them run by droids who were immune to both bribes and threats.

 

Finally he got tired of talking and from another belt pouch he produced Flirt, his positronic processor. "You ready for a challenge, Flirt?" he asked the palm-sized beskar'ad.

 

"I'm ready for anything, Master," Flirt said provocatively.

 

"It seems the recurring theme is Hutt security systems," he said levelly, referring back to her last job on Corellia at the behest of Marc Spector and Emily. "I need camera feeds and anything else you can get me without tipping anyone off, specifically in the timeframe that we know Bialle was arriving."

 

"I'm on it," she said as he plugged her into an inconspicuous data jack partially obscured behind a bench sitting outside one of the warehouses.

 

For all her advanced hardware, Flirt wasn't the fastest slicer in the oyu'baat, but she always got the job done. Fett commed his traat'aliit to fill them in and set out for another patrol of the area, keeping his eyes open and hoping for a lucky break.

[Mirdala Ad'Goran]

Judyc's demeanor had improved little after disappearing to make whatever calls he'd deemed necessary. Jurgen took it as a good sign that the bounty hunter didn't immediately shoot him on his return. He’d left shortly afterwards with a casual, “Don’t do anything stupid,” admonition before the door slid shut behind his grumbling form.

 

The former Journeyman Protector shook his head at the other mercenary. Moving to the window to watch the man disappear down the street, it occurred to him that even if Judyc head been given the “kill” order, it was likely that he didn’t want to deal with the mess in his personal safe house and might be going to prepare an area for that now. Judyc held no illusions about his dramatic decrease in value to his paymasters, despite having wanted out for years now. One way or another, he sensed, he would soon be a free man.

 

He knew there were others like him within the ranks of Protectors, though he doubted that many had been as highly placed within the organization as he’d been. The blow to Taen Ad’Nort’s reputation alone might have been worth something to someone else, but Jurgen had respected the man.

 

He closed his eyes for a moment as he sat back down at the table. Daennan’s shocked face floated in the darkness causing him to snap them back open again as he pounded the table in frustration. He’d been able to fool himself in to believing that the little bits of information that he’d passed along, here and there, were small enough not to hurt anyone within the sector. He didn’t realize until he was in too deep and it was too late that those little bits of information had helped someone back up the chain piece together a bigger picture that had lead to the deaths of some good men and women.

 

If it falls to Judyc to kill me, I suppose it would be getting off easy. I’m doomed to a half-life anyway. Forever looking over my shoulder for men and women I’ve trained to come hunt me down…

 

He sighed and began rummaging around for something strong to drink but came upon a box of deathsticks instead. Shrugging, he went over to Judyc’s work bench and found a small hand torch and lit what was likely to be the first of many as he plotted his next move from beside the partially open window that overlooked the street below.

 

-------------------------

 

It had only taken going through a few of the more handsy denizens of the district before word spread it was best not to mess with the Twi’lek who was most definitely not playing dress-up as a Mandalorian. “Try to be polite,” Briia grumbled as she slammed the latest offender into the durasteel warehouse wall, “and they think it’s okay to grab your shebse. Stupid. Stupid. Stupid.”

 

He crumpled, head-tails and all and cowered away from the woman, obviously not used to females of his species who could or would hold their own in a fight.

 

Mica leaned casually against the same wall, his eyes scanning for any sign of their quarry or further trouble. “Some people are just lacking in basic niceties these days. Seems to be getting worse I’m afraid.”

 

Aside from the bit of catharsis Briia seemed to get from pummeling the more lecherous and puffed-up minions and parasites of the Nar Shadaa citizenry, their search turned up little in the way of new leads. Apparently being seen as a snitch was something that tended to shorten the already brusque lifespan of your average wage slave or dodgy mid-level management. Not even threat of violence from two Mandalorians could get them to admit to anything useful.

 

So the two of them returned to where Fett had been monitoring Flirt’s progress. Briia spoke up, “No one’s talking. Big surprise. If this place is anything like where I grew up, I think I’d have been worried if people had been too willing to spill the beans. That would have signaled a trap or ambush for certain.” Her lekku twitched slightly before she changed the subject. “So I gotta ask, why name that thing Flirt?"

[Moon Knight]

Judyc started doing his patrol. Jurgen Bialle had done good work for decades, and he probably knew how to make it to a safehouse without the Journeyman Protectors picking up his scent. But in his business, it paid to be paranoid. When he's set up shop in this particular neighborhood, he'd taken his time and gotten sniffers into the various security systems, installed backdoors that would get him quick access, and bought an informant or two with a small stipend to their warehouse wages. Now that they'd had a few hours to settle, it was time to see if they'd drawn any unwanted attention.

 

"Hey, Viba," the shifty-looking man he was approaching said to the Kyr'tsad. "You'll want to hear this."

 

Judyc sighed, but growled out a response. "Let me guess, my friend got followed."

 

"Dunno, but there are three Mandalorians like you poking around. Could be a coincidence," the man said. He paused. "And, uh, one of them's ShadowFett."

 

Judyc gritted his teeth. That removed any doubt... and it also made it complicated. Orders from above were to ditch Bialle, feed him to the JPs if they came looking. He was useless now. But his safehouse was on the line, too. If he could kill or scare them off, he could at least protect his investment. Otherwise, well, he could fry every bit of tech in the place and light it on fire remotely.

 

He gripped his beskar force pike. "Thanks for the tip," he said.

 

----------------------------------

 

Flirt made a giggling sound. "My, oh my, I knew you'd warm up to me," she said, apparently to the computer terminal.

 

ShadowFett's voice had a note of longsuffering in it. "No idea what was going through the kovid of whoever programmed her personality matrix," he said. "But that was her name when I recovered her from an old vault on Kashyyyk and no other seems to suit her better."

 

"Found them! Or close," the tiny beskar'ad announced. "Seems like there's a blind spot in the security matrix, but a human male matching Bialle's description was seen walking towards it and hasn't returned. Unless he was wearing red and orange Mandalorian armor."

 

Kandor cocked his head. He'd just run into a Kyr'tsad with a beskar'gam like that on Abraxos. Almost had to be the same one -- Judyc Viba, if Bialle's comm system had used his real name. "A Mandalorian left the safehouse? When?" he asked.

 

"Yes, Master--a big strong one," Flirt confirmed. "A few minutes ago. He hasn't returned, but the cameras show he's local."

 

Fett grabbed the positronic processor and dropped her back into his belt pouch. "Coordinates for both the blind spot and the Mandalorian," he ordered. Flirt dutifully transmitted them to Fett and the others' buy'cese. "Oya."

 

Two minutes later they were approaching an apartment that looked just like all the others around it except with two distinguishing features. First, it was the only one that didn't have a camera pointed at the door or the walkway leading up to it. And second, the trio quickly realized, this one had Jurgen Bialle just inside the window, smoking a deathstick.

 

ShadowFett crouched behind a crate. "Got him," he said. "You two can take him. I'm going to watch our shebse for Viba. Any sign that he's in there, call me in." The man was formidable given their last meeting. After Abraxos, we have a score to settle.

[Mirdala Ad'Goran]

Mica nodded at Kandor as he and Briia headed for the coordinates for the surveillance. From there it was a relatively simple matter to navigate the apartment complex to locate the door that belonged to the window where Jurgen had been spotted. Once they'd identified the proper point of entry, Briia began slicing the security systems, which proved to be fairly extensive for what an average apartment in this area would have typically possessed.

 

For his part, Mica took out a pair of small communications jammers that would prevent any non-authorized communications from entering an area of roughly twenty square meters each. He knew that Briia also carried some additional sets, but they held those in reserve for now since they wouldn't be needed until they needed to build out a bigger blackout-footprint. "Breach is imminent," the veteran constable relayed to Fett as Briia signaled him that her work was nearly completed.

 

Resting his hand on Briia's shoulder to get her attention, he indicated that there was a lone figure in the room beyond according to his helmet's penetrating radar. At her nod of acknowledgement he positioned himself to be the first through the door as she counted down on her fingers to keying the breach.

 

The door easily slid aside and the two of them made their entry into the small apartment to find Jurgen Baille standing before them in his Protector armor, weapons drawn. "If you shoot me first, I can't tell you what I know...Believe me, it was never my intention to kill another Protector, let alone Daennan..."

 

Neither Mica nor Briia lowered their assault rifles. "Looked pretty deliberate to me, traitor!" Briia spat, her finger tightening around her trigger. "Give us a good reason why we shouldn't shoot you where you stand?" Briia demanded, her weapon remaining trained on the former Protector.

 

"Because I can tell you who's behind this," He admitted, raising his duel pistols just in case the two of them decided not to hear him out.

[Moon Knight]

About twenty meters from the apartment, ShadowFett found a good place to keep watch on the neighborhood, his verpine shattergun in hand. On Abraxos Viba had managed to go one-on-one against TeVerd and get the better of the ancient Ageless, and even when Fett and Rhys had arrived he'd still make a clean getaway with help from his ship. Mand'alor would have to keep a sharp eye out in case Viba tried that particular trick again, but it would be much harder to do on Nar Shaddaa with all the air traffic and the unwanted attention shooting up an apartment complex would bring.

 

No sooner had Mica and Briia completed the breach than Fett's own target came into sight. There was no doubt that this was the Kyr'tsad from Abraxos, which likely meant that both he and Bialle had very good information for them if it could be extracted.

 

Moon Knight pulled the trigger, sending rounds with cores of explosive thermal well downrange.

 

-------------------

 

"Haar'chak," Judyc grunted as he spotted ShadowFett on his perch just before the shells started raining down. He pushed himself physically, dashing to the side as he activated his energy shield and returned fire with his assault rifle. The shells scattered around his feet and to the side, exploding with small but bright blasts that reminded him uncomfortably of baradium.

 

Still, his return fire was spot accurate, and he saw Fett duck behind cover, so he moved to close the distance. "You just couldn't stay away, could you Fett?" he growled, using his buy'ce to amplify his voice to be loud enough that the CoreSec cop would hear it.

 

-------------------

 

Kandor frowned. He holstered the shattergun, its limited magazine spent, and dropped off his ledge to be level with his opponent. He was surprised to see the man was closing rapidly, beskar force pike held parallel to the ground and ready to deliver a lethal thrust. Fett opened up with his assault rifle, but the blasts were absorbed harmlessly on the man's energy shield, although they did force him to slow down his charge to focus on catching the scattering of blasts.

 

"Do you have any idea what this is really about? You couldn't stay away from Mirdala Ad'Goran?" Judyc continued.

 

ShadowFett drew his beskad, realizing that he would have to outmaneuver the Deathwatch to get past his defenses. The two started to circle each other warily. "What is it to you? Who are you?" Fett asked, testing the waters.

 

Judyc lunged with the pike, but Kandor made a textbook parry and twisted around to Judyc's right, putting the shield on the far side of the extended spear before counter attacking. Only by dropping back a step did Judyc manage to avoid losing an arm. Without pause Fett followed up with a burst from his flamethrower, but by this time the older Mando'ad managed to bring his shield back around and crouch behind it, dispersing the stream of flame around it.

 

"I'm the one that's going to collect on the price on Ad'Goran's head," Judyc answered, his voice dead certain. "But you don't have to die for her."

[Mirdala Ad'Goran]

Briia scoffed at him. "You expect us to believe that you ran because you weren't behind Daennan's murder? Nice try."

 

"You empty tail-brained idiot. You really have no clue, do you?"

 

Mica looked at his old colleague and Briia could hear his teeth click through his helmet pick up as they stood in stand-off for several tense minutes. The sound of explosive gunfire from outside and the muffled sounds of a verbal exchange drew their attention briefly, before Mica recovered first and shot Jurgen in the thigh.

 

Jurgen got off a few shots of his own as he overturned and ducked behind the durasteel table. It was apparent that these two weren’t interested in figuring out the bigger picture, which didn’t bode well for him. Still, there weren’t many Twi’leks in the Protector Corps and fewer still that Taen would have trusted to send after his sorry hide. “Silvar?” he began grasping at anything to survive this just a bit longer. “I thought I trained you better to investigate. Wouldn’t your boss want to know more about what’s at play within his sector? You’re shooting at the only asset you have.”

 

Briia ignored his taunt as gritted her teeth against the pain in her arm from where one of his shots had just barely found a mark. Waving off Mica she checked herself both physically and mentally. Daennan had been one of the ones that had argued for another chance for her to remain in training. She’d once respected Jurgen as well, but his actions against his fellow Protectors was inexcusable and demanded swift justice.

 

Catching Mica’s attention, she held up a small EMP grenade from her utility belt and gestured for him to begin to flank Jurgen from around the table as she tossed it over and moved to flank from the opposite side. The grenade’s blast radius was only about three quarters of a meter and designed for targeted results in close quarters and the two of them maintained their distance outside of it’s effect area so their equipment was left unharmed as it went off.

 

Jurgen swore as the thing landed, quite literally, in his lap and detonated, rendering his suit’s systems in operable. He tore off his helmet just in time for Mica to slam him to the ground as Briia blocked his escape from the other end.

 

Being a bit bigger than Mica, Baille opted to break out of the man’s hold by jamming an armored elbow into the constable’s throat and easily maneuvered away with a couple of well placed kicks to Mica’s head with his good leg. He just managed to duck Briia’s kick, catching her ankle and jerking her on top of the two men and complicating the wrestling match for control further.

 

Mica found the blaster wound and dug his fingers in, causing Baille to howl in pain. He drew his side arm with his free hand and jammed it under the flailing man’s chin. “Investigation or not, murderous slag, resisting isn’t a case for us to keep you alive long enough to spill your guts,” Mica growled. He was beyond angry with the man before him - a former colleague that he’d trusted, that had been like family to him and his brother, one who he’d fought beside and had respected the hell out of - and was indeed finding fewer reasons to drag this fight out longer than it needed to be. He had no intention of bringing Baille in for tribunal and could tell from Briia’s body language as she restrained the fallen Protector’s arms in stun cuffs that she agreed.

 

“Then just kill me already and be done with it,” Jurgen said through gritted teeth as he spat into Mica’s visor. He slumped when Briia hit him the back of the head with the butt of her rifle.

 

“Death is too easy for you, coward,” she cooly stated as she looked down at his now unconscious form. Removing her helmet, she looked at Mica, who’d had to do the same in order to effectively clean the sputum so he could see out again. “Now what, sir?”

 

Mica looked up at her as he hauled Jurgen’s limp form over his shoulder before sitting him roughly in one of the still-intact chairs. “You’re the ranking officer here kid. Your call."

 

Briia weighed her choices, still well aware of the sounds of combat going on outside. “Secure him here and go help Fett. I can manage him on my own. If he gets to be too much trouble or pisses me off, I’ll just kill him and be done with it."

[Moon Knight]

What the haran is that about? ShadowFett thought. A bounty on Mirdala?

 

When Judyc advanced again he entered a half-crouch and triggered the tiny weapons that were built into his knee guards. A pair of thumb sized grenades ejected from the launchers there and crossed the gap between combatants in an instant. Once again the energy shield was there to intercept in an attempt to swat them away, but they detonated on impact, and the shockwave wrenched the barrier to the side, nearly out of Judyc's hand. Kandor took the opportunity to strike, lunging past the tip of the force pike so narrowly that it scraped a line across his chest plate.

 

Judyc realized he'd been caught out of position and dropped to one knee, not able to avoid the strike but positioning just well enough to take it on his beskar neckpiece, still nearly a fatal blow if not for a few spare centimeters of armor coverage. He then rolled onto his back and planted a kick on Fett's chest, pushing him back a meter or two and giving him the space to recover. His shield had held under the blasts, and now they resumed circling in another standoff, trying to invent a new way to penetrate the other man's defenses.

 

"Why the shab do you care who I fight and die for?" Kandor challenged him. "Or is the concept of loyalty too aruetyc to you to understand? You would hunt your own people?" Now he was just probing even as he continued to probe the man's physical defenses with a careful jab from his beskad.

 

The Kyr'tsad actually gave a short laugh even as he deflected another thrust off his shield. "Listen to yourself, ShadowFett. I suppose you think they're your people now, that you fell in love or some osik." His tone was mocking. "We're men of action. Do yourself a favor and go back to solo mercenary work. Ad'Goran will be dead within six months."

 

"Then I will die fighting beside her," Fett said, his voice remaining level. He threw himself at Judyc again, once again twisting past the force pike and throwing himself bodily at the shield. With his sword arm he tried a cut from the side but with his left he grabbed the edge of the barrier and with a command uttered inside his buy'ce he triggered his repulsor pack, bouncing himself up and over his opponent's head. The shield twisted and separated from Judyc's grip as he landed on the other side, deactivating in the process as it clattered to the ground. Judyc whirled, using the pike like a quarterstaff two-handed, thrusting it horizontally across his body and delivering a hit to Fett's chin.

 

When Kandor stumbled back a step, Judyc disengaged, producing a grenade from his belt and throwing it at Fett's feet, nearly at point-blank range. Just when Kandor thought he'd gone suicidal, it detonated and revealed itself to be a G-20 Glop Grenade. Instantly a blanket of hardening foam blasted out from a directional charge, engulfing Fett and working to immobilize him.

 

He was quick, though, and dropped to a crouch even as the substance enveloped his body. His free hand grabbed the discarded energy shield off the duracrete -- a cylinder not too unlike the hilt of a jetii'kad, and he thumbed the activation switch, laying it flat on the ground. The device sprung to life and the expanding edges of the shield sliced through the blanket of chemicals, then he triggered his repulsor pack again to send himself backwards and up off the ground for a short flight, hoping he was fast enough to get clear of his enemy before he could capitalize on the incapacitating mixture. When he landed, he shook off most of the remaining adhesive and prepared himself to defend using the energy shield... but found no sign of his assailant.

 

-------------------------

 

Judyc swore under his breath as he slipped down a side alley, produced a small device, and sent the signal that would immolate his safe house and anyone caught within it.

 

Like it or not, for whatever reasons he had, ShadowFett wasn't going to leave this one alone. It was time for Judyc to ask himself if he could kill the one person that linked him to the better man he had once been.