Public Behind the Walls

[Lumiya Dara]

I lowered my eyes once more, willing my attention back to the tiny components spread across the workbench. One connector. One housing. Turn it a quarter rotation. Secure the fitting. Repeat. The work demanded concentration, and I welcomed it. The steady rhythm gave my thoughts somewhere to settle, somewhere other than the towering prisoner whose gaze I had felt moments before. If I focused hard enough, perhaps I could simply disappear into the endless procession of identical parts passing beneath my hands.

The sharp screech of grinding metal shattered that hope. The conveyor line lurched violently before grinding to a complete stop. One machine farther down the row emitted a series of harsh metallic clanks before falling silent altogether. For the first time since entering the workshop, the constant drone of machinery gave way to an uneasy quiet.

Heads lifted. Workers paused. Several guards immediately turned toward the stalled machine, irritation already etched across their faces.

"What happened?" one barked.

"I don't know, sir."

"Then find out!"

Two prisoners nearest the machine quickly stepped back, wanting no part in whatever came next. A guard shoved past them and peered into the mechanism, fumbling with the housing before muttering a string of frustrated curses. The machine remained stubbornly silent. His eyes swept across the nearby prisoners before settling on me. "You."

I blinked before realizing that he was pointing directly at me.

"Come here."

For just a heartbeat, I wondered whether I had done something wrong. Carefully setting the unfinished component back into it's tray, I crossed the workshop floor. The broken machine towered over me, one of it's maintenance panels hanging open to expose a maze of gears and narrow passages far too small for most hands.

The guard looked from the mechanism to my fingers. "You're small enough." He jabbed a finger toward a narrow opening deep inside the machine. "Something's jammed in there. Get it out."

Before I could answer, another guard looked over my shoulder and pointed toward the neighboring workstation. "You!" he barked toward the towering Dashade. "Get over here." The heavy steel pressure lever beside the machine was nearly as tall as I was. "Hold that lever down while she clears the jam. If it slips..." He gave the exposed gears a meaningful glance before looking back at me. "...she won't be getting that arm back."

A ripple of uneasy laughter spread through a few nearby prisoners. I wasn't sure whether the guard had meant it as a joke, though.

The opening into the machine suddenly looked much smaller. I instinctively flexed my fingers before kneeling beside the exposed mechanism. My eyes drifted upward for only a moment, before settling on the towering prisoner who had been ordered to the opposite side of the machine.

Only when I was certain that he was in position, would I dare reach inside. Slowly, I drew a steadying breath while I waited.

Tag: Xur’kai Dren Tiber Fel Evander Thule Novac Lyrikal Roqar Zatt Aren D'Shade Makar Clyne

 

[Xur’kai Dren]

Xur'kai stretched, taking advantage of the unexpected break. Much of the stretching consisted of subtle flexing, an act done to provide an unconscious deterrent to those that may be interested in testing the newbie's strength to increase their own cred.

Rudely, one of the arriving guards interrupted him, ordering him to a nearby machine. He snorted in feigned annoyance, butmade his way over to join the small human prisoner that he had previously locked eyes with.

Per his instructions, the large Dashade grabbed the level and held it still rather effortlessly. He turned to the demanding guard, "She could find the problem faster if you stuck your head in and looked for it first." With a quick movement he acted as if he was about to intentionally raise the lever. The guard's instinctual flinch resulted in a bellowing laugh from Xur'kai.

Looking back to Lumiya Dara "It will not move, little one." He looked back at the guards, "And the faster you fix it the faster these fine upstanding gentlemen can return to their cuddle party in the break room." He bared his long sharp teeth, as if daring the guards to respond.

The head guard stepped closer to Xur'kai and spoke softly to the new arrival that continued to defy and question them, "When the time comes, and it will, I will be the one pulling the trigger that puts you in the ground. Disgusting beast." The man's large black moustache curled slightly, revealing the toothy smile hidden below it and spit on the floor at the Dashade's feet.

The guard turned and walked off, leaving his subordinates the handle the problem. Xur'kai looked back at the man, "I think he likes me."

 

[Lumiya Dara]

I couldn't help but glance up when the towering Dashade laughed. The sound echoed across the workshop, earning more than one disapproving glare from the guards. I wasn't sure whether he truly found any of this amusing or whether provoking them was simply his way of refusing to let them dictate every moment of his day.

Then his eyes met mine once more. "It will not move, little one." They were simple words, yet oddly reassuring.

I offered the faintest nod before lowering myself beside the open maintenance panel. The opening was barely wide enough for my forearm. Taking one slow breath, I eased my arm inside, careful not to brush against the waiting gears. Cool metal scraped softly against my sleeve as my fingertips searched through the cramped mechanism. There seemed to be nothing. Only smooth housing. There was a drive rod. Then another gear. I reached a little farther. Still nothing.

The guard sighed loudly behind me. "Well?"

"I'm trying," I answered quietly. My shoulder pressed against the edge of the housing as I stretched as far as I could. There....Just beyond the tips of my fingers, I felt something sharp. Something wedged firmly between two gear teeth. I strained, but it remained frustratingly out of reach. Almost without thinking, I closed my eyes.

For years, reaching beyond my hand had never truly meant reaching alone. I sought that familiar current. That quiet presence that had always flowed around and through every living thing. But there was nothing. Or....almost nothing. It was still there. But it was faint and distant, almost like trying to hear a whisper through thick durasteel walls.

A knot tightened in my chest. Whatever this place was, it somehow smothered the Force. Not completely. But enough that it felt as though part of me had fallen asleep.

I resisted the urge to panic. Instead, I let that tiny thread of connection settle around my awareness. Not enough to lift the broken fragment. Not enough for anyone to notice. Only enough to nudge it. With the smallest encouragement the shard shifted. Just enough so that my fingertips finally caught it's edge. "There..." Carefully twisting the fragment free, I eased it from between the gears until it slipped into my hand.

Only then did I slowly withdraw my arm from the machine, clutching the jagged piece of broken durasteel between grease-stained fingers. I held it out to the guard after I rose to my feet, unsure of what to do with it.

Tags: Xur’kai Dren Tiber Fel Evander Thule Novac Lyrikal Roqar Zatt Aren D'Shade Makar Clyne

 

[Novac Lyrikal]

Evander Thule

"It was surprisingly little. They finally got me in a transport after shocking me I forget how many times, took a couple hours to get here, i think at least. The process seemed kind of barebones, wouldn't be surprised if they didn't have enough money and care for proper orientation procedures. They took my things, checked me over, gave me a uniform, showed me to my cell and that was more or less it. Didn't tell me how things would go, what was expected of me, or anything really" The only thing they had told him was to not act up or else, that and when the next meal time was.

 

[Isolde Malthera]

[]

A Procissão dos Que Não Foram Chorados​

Site > Imperial Detention Center

The durasteel corridors of the Imperial Detention Center on Orinackra echoed with the measured cadence of armored boots as I strode from the landing bay, flanked by two stormtroopers whose white armor gleamed beneath the cold lumens overhead.

Between them shuffled the prisoner I had brought with me, his wrists and ankles bound in stun cuffs, a plasma-forged restraint chain linking the two sets and hanging tight before him.

Every movement he made caused the glowing links to sway and crackle faintly with contained energy.

The sterile air carried the scent of machine oil and recycled atmosphere as we entered the security station, where I found the duty officer seated comfortably behind his desk.

His attention was fixed on a holovid playing across a datapad on his lap, while his boots rested lazily atop the empty chair beside him.

I stopped before the desk and crossed my arms across my chest. “Comfortable, officer," I asked in irritated tones sharp enough to cut through durasteel.

The reaction was immediate. The officer nearly leapt from his chair as though struck by a blaster bolt. His boots vanished from the chair in an instant, and he scrambled to stand so quickly that the datapad slipped from his lap.

It struck the floor with a sharp crack, the display erupting into a shower of fractured light before dying completely. The stormtroopers remained motionless while the prisoner lowered his gaze, wisely choosing silence.

I allowed several seconds to pass as the officer stared in horror at the broken device lying at his feet. Then a faint smirk touched my lips. “That was impressive,” I said in openly mocking tones. My eyes drifted toward the ruined datapad.

“I certainly hope that wasn't too expensive, officer. It would be unfortunate if your lack of professionalism proved more costly than your equipment.”

Tag: Open / Visiting

​

 

[Roqar Zatt]

The Invisible Hand
Location: Undisclosed - Roqar Zatt's Secret VIP Viewing Lounge
Tags: Lumiya Dara Aren D'Shade Tiber Fel Evander Thule Xur’kai Dren Novac Lyrikal ​

The data pooling across the master displays confirmed a flawless initial launch. The high-roller lounge was thick with the scent of premium spice cigarras and heavy, unmonitored credits shifting across the relay network.

[REVENUE MATRIX: STABLE]
[ORINACKRA LIVE POOL: ACTIVE EXPLOITATION DETECTED].....

A subtle diagnostic alert flared across the inner lens of Roqar's cybernetic eyewear, sent directly from the data streams Aren was keeping pinned to the secondary monitors. The electronic ledger on Orinackra had just shifted. A high-priority Imperial shuttle had entered the prison's primary sector, carrying a black-armoured figure whose tactical footprint immediately registered on the old GADF threat rosters. Tiber Fel . The Regent had already taken possession of the command center, putting pressure on the Warden and demanding a full audit of the inmate logs. Worse, Evander Thule—the freelance cybernetic inspector—was actively interviewing the larger assets in the lower blocks.

Amateurs react to a security complication with panic; a seasoned logistician simply recalculates the margins to turn a deficit into a premium revenue stream.

Roqar hovered with a rhythmic, measured stillness, his spine locked straight in his tailored vest as he drifted an inch closer to Aren's tech console. The faint, sharp 'clink' of his heavy gemstone rings resonated softly against his glass of brandy as he eyed the cascading betting windows.

"The parameters of our little show have just become significantly more lucrative, my dear," Roqar murmured to Aren in a low, highly sophisticated cadence, ensuring his voice remained well beneath the ambient roar of the gamblers in the main lounge. He gestured with a ringed finger toward the secondary surveillance feed showing Fel's red-marked stormtroopers taking positions on the raised central walkways. "The Imperial Regency has officially arrived on the factory floor. They are auditing the mass-intake files, which means our 'cast members' are about to face a dramatic escalation in disciplinary pressure. And what's more, they have just arrived with a new prisoner. Please pull their file and send it to my screen."

He looked back toward the main floor where the wealthy syndicates were shouting over the survival pool odds for the Padawan, Lumiya Dara, and the massive Dashade, Xur'kai Dren.

"Our clientele loves a predictable bloodbath, but true profit lies in engineering a catastrophic upset," Roqar continued, a dangerous, professional warmth touching his snout. "We are going to manipulate the lines. I want you to artificially inflate the survival odds on the little human girl and the Dashade. Make them look like sure-fire liabilities and we'll be sure to draw the heaviest, most arrogant wagers from the Exchange brokers across the room. The betters will never know what hit them..."

He tilted his head, his cold eyes tracking the data packets EL-31 was routing through the sub-frequency relays.

"We need the environment to change dynamically to force those outcomes. If the local guards are already on our ledger, we can quietly feed them specific administrative orders through your mirrored routing network. We have them increase the fabrication hall quotas, isolate the high-value prisoners in the high-stress blocks, and explicitly stage a confrontation right along the blind spots Fel hasn't audited yet. The gamblers will bet millions on an immediate slaughter, entirely unaware that we hold the clearance codes to guide our favored assets through the crossfire when the margins peak."

Turning back toward the main lounge, Roqar signaled SE-4 "Lux" to begin distributing a fresh round of high-end vintages to the highest-bidding syndicates, disarming their caution just as the new betting pool flashed across their private terminals.

"Keep the data streams shielded, Miss D'shade. I am going to step onto the floor and personally convince these wealthy children to empty their accounts on a modern Imperial execution."

He raised his crystal glass to her terminal in a silent, icy toast before drifting toward the premier betting tables.

"May the Profit Favor Us."

 

[Xur’kai Dren]

Xur'kai released the lever once the small woman removed her hand from within. The release of the lever drew a long metallic groan from within the machinery, as if it had patiently been awaiting the removal of the tiny obstruction within itself.

"Good." The nearest guard quickly moved to snatch the metal piece from her hand, "Don't need you making weapons."

Xur'kai turned his massive frame to return to his workstation, his massive strides covering the distance in an instant.
Girl better stop bringing attention to herself or her bit'll be a long one. He glanced around and watched as most of the workers turned back to their workstations, the guards retreated back to the security station, and a claxon announced that the machinery was restarting.

He took advantage of the free moments to make his way to the refresher, using the walk to scan the massive room for surveillance, guards, and other prisoners. He locked eyes with one, a Gand with a face that pulled at long-forgotten memories that refused to show themselves. The older man bore a scarred face, eyes lightly clouding with age, and a prisoner jumpsuit that should have been traded into the quartermaster years ago. His three eyes focused on Xur'kai, as if acknowledging an unknown connection and gave him a barely perceptible nod.

Hope I wasn't the one that put that poor bastard in here.


The refresher door slid open as he walked in. It seems he wasn't the only one that took the brief downtime to relieve themselves. What appeared to be a confrontation over an unpaid spice debt ended abruptly as he walked in, the three men involved immediately left the room to ensure their business remained their own.

At the push of a button the refresher drained itself of the waste within. The slight vibration of it causing a slight rattle- a loose metal side panel lightly tapping the refresher's frame. A light pull shifted the panel enough that the remaining adhesive unseated from the refresher and came free.

Now, that's just dangerous.
Xur'kai admired his prize, now loose and roughly the length and width of his forearm.
He ran his finger along the sharpest edge to test it. Not happy with the result, he dragged the thin metal piece on an angle along the duracrete wall a few times to sharpen it further. Once he was happy with the blade, he tucked it into his boot before heading back to the factory floor and his workstation.

 

[Evander Thule]

Tag: Novac Lyrikal
​

Thule nodded, making a note of this statement. None of it was particularly shocking, only confirming what he'd already suspected.

Sometimes it was disheartening to be right, and this was certainly one of those times. Of course, many inmates were innocent in their own minds. That was the nature of prisons. Still, Thule was inclined to believe him, as much good as that did. The purpose of detention centers was to enclose the condemned, not to determine guilt. Righteousness wasn't much good if it could be caged behind iron and duracrete.

The rest was about as disheartening. If one was going to engage in totalitarian thuggery, one could at least do it with a degree of decorum.

The cyborg was beginning to realize that he'd really stepped in it by accepting this job. If the rest of his interviewees exposed this many issues, there was no telling how long it would take to compile this report. He'd be about as trapped here as the inmates were. The thought prompted a quiet, weary sigh that he couldn't quite stifle.

Still, it wasn't entirely his place to criticize the process, though he'd not been able to keep himself from doing it. His job was to analyze it, identify areas of inefficiency or potential room for improvement, and make it someone else's problem.

Who that "someone else" proved to be, he couldn't guess and didn't care to try. The less he was involved with that particular, entirely-separate trainwreck, the better.

"Duly noted. About as surprising as tomorrow's sunrise, but noted."

"I'm aware you've not been here long, but what are overall living conditions like? Are you fed adequately? Is your containment area relatively clean and spacious? Do you have your own cell, or is it shared by multiple inmates?"

As before, Thule knew some of these answers before he'd bothered asking them, but that just made things easier and smoother. What mattered were Lyrikal's observations and impressions, more than the raw facts.

After all, facts didn't start prison riots. Prisoners did.

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren's fingers continued moving across the console as Roqar stepped away to work the room. One display tracked the betting exchange. Another monitored network integrity. Half a dozen more cycled through the prison's security feeds.

Her eyes lingered briefly on the fabrication hall.

"Interesting..."

She enlarged the feed showing Lumiya and Xur'kai. The Dashade had turned what should have been a dangerous repair into a joke at the guards' expense, while the young woman had solved the problem without losing her composure. Neither had reacted the way the odds predicted.

A second monitor flashed. Tiber Fel was already tearing through the prison's records. Another showed Evander Thule conducting interviews. The variables inside the prison were multiplying faster than the betting models had anticipated.

Then another alert appeared.

The refresher camera caught Xur'kai prying loose a metal panel, sharpening it against the wall, and slipping the improvised blade into his boot.

Aren tagged the clip, linking it to his profile before the feed returned to normal.

"Your odds just changed," she murmured to herself.

By the time Roqar returned, the data would already be waiting for him.

Roqar Zatt Xur’kai Dren Evander Thule Isolde Malthera Novac Lyrikal Lumiya Dara

 

[Lumiya Dara]

The guard tossed the broken fragment into a nearby scrap bin before pointing back toward my workstation. "Back to work."

I nodded quietly and returned without argument.

The warning klaxon faded as the machinery slowly rumbled back to life around us. One by one, conveyor belts lurched into motion. Hydraulic presses resumed their relentless rhythm. Somewhere farther down the production line, a shower of sparks burst into the air as someone reignited a welding torch. Within moments it was as though the interruption had never happened at all.

I settled back onto the low stool before the half-disassembled actuator and rested my hands against the cool housing. Then very carefully, I reached inward once more. The Force answered, but only faintly. It was still there....just it seemed impossibly distant. Like trying to hear someone calling out my name from the far end of a long tunnel. The connection hadn't been severed. Only smothered beneath something I couldn't understand. I let the sensation fade before anyone could notice my distraction and returned to tightening the retaining collar.

Movement across the workshop caught my eye. The Dashade had returned from the refresher and was making his way back toward his workstation. As he passed another row of prisoners, one of them glanced down for only the briefest instant before looking back up again. The exchange lasted no more than a heartbeat. The older prisoner's expression didn't change. Neither did Xur'kai's. Yet....something about it felt deliberate. The man then lowered his eyes almost immediately and resumed his work as though nothing at all had happened.

I frowned to myself. Perhaps I was imagining things. This place had already taught me that people noticed far more than they were willing to acknowledge aloud. Deciding it was wiser not to stare, I lowered my own gaze back to the actuator. For now, I had enough trouble simply learning the rules of this place. Whatever silent conversation had just passed between those two; it clearly wasn't meant for me.

Tags: Xur’kai Dren Evander Thule Novac Lyrikal Tiber Fel Roqar Zatt Aren D'Shade

 

[Novac Lyrikal]

Evander Thule

Novac was somewhat glad that they where simple questions, however that meant they would go by quicker and he'd have to return to whatever the guards had in store for him.

"Overall? Could be worse. Could certainly be better, when i say could be worse i don't mean their close to ok that's for sure. At the very least the give us larger inmates a bit more food, they don't want their workers to die of starvation of course. The cells are individual, probably for the best. Cell cleanliness depends. They hand us a mop, bucket, and rag and have us clean them ourselves so that depends on how clean the individual wants it."

Taking a second he though out loud "Though the rust can't be cleaned by us of course. Which i imagine the fact that their rust will probably be annoying for you or whoever you give the report to. Though I wouldn't be surprised if nothing is done about it, until someone uses it to escape maybe if it gets that bad."