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."

 

[Lumiya Dara]

The afternoon slowly settled back into it's familiar rhythm. The endless hum of machinery filled the workshop once more as conveyor belts carried unfinished components from one workstation to the next. Hydraulic presses groaned with every cycle, punctuated by the occasional hiss of escaping steam or the bright shower of sparks from a welding torch somewhere farther down the line.

Around me, dozens of prisoners continued their work in near silence. Conversations were scarce. The guards had made certain of that.

I lowered my attention back to the actuator resting before me, carefully tightening another retaining collar. The repetitive motions demanded little thought, and perhaps that was a blessing. They left little room for dwelling on questions that had no answers. How long would I be here? Would anyone ever realize I had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time? Would anyone even come looking for me? The thoughts lingered only briefly before I gently pushed them aside. Worry would not open my cell door, nor would it shorten my sentence.

Then a violent crack split the air. The explosion wasn't enormous, but it was more than enough to shake the entire workshop. The floor lurched beneath my boots. A harsh wave of pressure rolled through the enormous room. Tools clattered from nearby workbenches. And for a heartbeat, every machine fell silent. No one moved.

Then came the alarms. Not the ordinary warning klaxons we had already grown accustomed to. These were sharper. Urgent. Red emergency lights burst to life along the ceiling, washing the workshop in a pulsing crimson glow.

The transformation was immediate. Guards who moments earlier had looked half-asleep suddenly drew their blasters. "DOWN!"

"Nobody move!"

"Hands where I can see them!" The shouted commands overlapped one another until they became little more than noise.

Some prisoners instinctively dropped to one knee. Others froze where they stood. A few looked toward the far end of the workshop, searching for answers no one seemed willing to provide.

Another alarm echoed somewhere beyond the walls. Then another. The prison intercom crackled overhead through a burst of static. "Security breach in Industrial Block Four. All workshops entering immediate lockdown." The message repeated. Heavy blast doors began sliding shut somewhere deep within the facility. Their immense weight echoed through the walls like distant thunder.

I swallowed. Industrial Block Four? Wasn't that somewhere beyond this workshop?

The guards wasted no time. "Single file!"

"Move!"

"Back to your cells!"

"No talking!"

A baton struck the edge of a nearby workbench with a deafening clang, sending everyone within earshot scrambling into line.

The workshop that had been filled with prisoners only moments before dissolved into ordered chaos. We were herded together with practiced efficiency, blasters trained upon us as though every one of us had been responsible for whatever had happened.

I found myself swept along with the others toward the exit. As we rounded the corner leading from the workshop, I couldn't help but glance toward the distant corridor where the explosion had originated. Dark smoke curled lazily from beneath a set of reinforced blast doors left partially open by emergency crews. The acrid smell of scorched wiring and burned insulation drifted through the air, catching in the back of my throat. Figures moved beyond the haze. Guards. Prisoners. Even medics, perhaps. It was difficult to tell through the confusion.

Then I saw them. Four prisoners emerged from the smoke carrying an improvised stretcher fashioned from a dismantled workbench. Someone lay upon it, completely still beneath a soot-stained blanket. One arm slipped free as they hurried past, hanging limply over the edge. I couldn't tell who it was. I couldn't even tell whether they were alive.

Instinct urged me to step forward. To help. To ask if anyone needed medical assistance. But before I had taken so much as a single pace, a guard's hand struck the middle of my back hard enough to propel me forward. "Eyes ahead!"

I stumbled, catching myself before falling.

"Keep moving."

I lowered my gaze immediately. There was nothing that I could do. Nothing that I was allowed to do. So I continued walking with the rest of the prisoners as the heavy security doors sealed behind us one after another, cutting off every glimpse of the smoke, the stretcher, and whatever had happened beyond it. Only the echo of the alarms followed us back toward the cell blocks.

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

 

[Isolde Malthera]

[]

A Procissão dos Que Não Foram Chorados​

Site > Imperial Detention Center

I finally escorted my prisoner through the reinforced corridors of the Imperial Detention Center after dealing with the previous guard, whose lack of enthusiasm for his job was duly noted, with the same measured pace I had maintained since his capture.

The booking section awaited us ahead, bathed in the sterile glow of efficiency and order.

Then, without warning, the facility awakened with violence. Alarms erupted through the chamber, their mechanical screams echoing against the walls as scarlet emergency lights flooded the room. I stopped, my hand resting near my weapon, and studied the two booking guards.

One merely glanced upward at the holovid screens with the detached boredom of someone watching an outdated broadcast.

The other continued speaking into the com system as if the entire detention center had not just announced a potential catastrophe.

Then, as quickly as it began, the chaos ended. The klaxons fell silent. The red emergency lighting faded, replaced by the familiar white illumination of normal operations.

The prisoner shifted uneasily beside me, but the guards remained almost entirely unchanged. The one holding the comlink finally lowered it and looked in our direction.

"There was an explosion somewhere in the detention center," he said, his tone carrying the same enthusiasm as someone reporting a minor scheduling delay. "The static interrupted the transmission, but I think it was very contained."

I stared at him for a moment, then slowly turned my gaze toward the other guard, who had already returned his attention to the holovid screens.

"Your lack of urgency is fascinating," I said coldly. "Because it suggests only two possibilities. Either you have no proper protocol for handling an incident of this nature, or explosions within this detention center have become so common that they are simply another inconvenience of the workday."

My voice carried through the booking chamber like a blade drawn across steel. "Neither possibility reflects particularly well on Imperial security."

Tag: Lumiya Dara / Visiting

​

 

[Tiber Fel]

TIBER FEL

Regent · General · Architect of Obedience

:: Transmission Classification: Dorn-Obsidian // Authority Confirmed // Compliance Expected ::
:: Objective: Inspection // Interrogation ::
:: Targets: Evander Thule // Lumiya Dara // Novac Lyrikal // Xur’kai Dren ::

The name on the screen remained there longer than the others had.

Evander Thule.

Tiber Fel did not immediately speak. The command center continued its work around him, terminals shifting files under Lieutenant Hark's direction while the warden stood with the strained stillness of a man trying to appear useful without drawing further attention to himself. The name, however, had changed the shape of the inspection. It did not belong here. Not in this prison. Not buried among administrative correspondence, performance reviews, and remedial oversight logs.

Fel had met Thule at Carida.

That alone made the matter worth attention.

He had no particular interest in the man's report. Reports could be copied, falsified, diluted, or dressed in enough bureaucratic language to conceal failure beneath recommendation. Thule himself was another matter. His presence suggested either competence had been invited into a place that lacked it, or that someone had believed a useful outsider might lend credibility to decay.

Neither possibility satisfied him.

"Evander Thule is on-site?" Fel asked.

The warden's answer came a fraction too late. "Yes, my lord. He was assigned as an external reviewer to assist with institutional performance improvements. Intake efficiency, security culture, resource allocation, staff discipline-"

"I did not ask for the abstract."

The interruption cut cleanly through the warden's explanation.

Fel turned his visor toward Hark. "Locate him. I will speak with him directly."

Hark's fingers moved across the terminal. The command center's central display shifted from transfer logs to personnel overlays, contractor access, visitor routing, and temporary authorization paths. Thule's last recorded movement began to resolve across the facility grid.

Then the prison shook.

It was not enough to throw the room into ruin, but it was enough to make the metal beneath them tremble and the lights gutter in a hard, uneven flicker. A dull concussion rolled through the walls a heartbeat later, deep and ugly, followed by a bloom of red alerts across half the command center's displays. Sirens screamed to life across the facility, layered one over another until the room filled with their mechanical panic.

Industrial Block Four flashed on the main board.

Fire containment warnings followed. Pressure loss in two subsections. Internal door failures. Emergency medical response requested. Prisoner casualty indicator confirmed at least one death, with further statuses unresolved.

For several seconds, the command center did not become efficient.

It became noisy.

Voices rose. One guard demanded confirmation from another station already displaying the answer. A supervisor shouted for a damage report without assigning anyone to compile it. Two staff members stared at conflicting alerts as if the system's insistence might clarify itself out of embarrassment. The warden turned toward the main display, pale and blinking under the strobing red light, while the facility's own emergency protocol remained a list of neglected habits rather than a living mechanism.

Tiber did not move from the central walkway.

That made his stillness worse.

"Silence."

The word struck the room harder than the explosion had.

Not by volume alone. By command.

The scattered voices died unevenly. The alarms continued, screaming through the walls, but the human disorder in the chamber collapsed beneath the weight of the black figure standing at its center. Fel's visor moved slowly across the control pits, over the guards, the officers, the scrambling technicians, the warden, and the command consoles that had just exposed the full poverty of their discipline.

"Industrial Block Four has suffered an explosion," he said, each word forced into the room with cold precision. "Your own system reports containment failures, confirmed prisoner death, unresolved casualty status, and compromised internal doors. Yet no officer has assumed emergency control. No lockdown sequence has been confirmed. No medical corridor has been opened. No roll-call has begun. No isolation perimeter has been established."

His voice lowered.

"You are looking at the alarms instead of obeying them."

The warden tried to speak. "My lord, we are assessing-"

"You are hesitating."

The correction came without anger in its sound. That made the fury beneath it far more dangerous.

Fel turned slightly, enough for the red hint of his visor to cut through the emergency gloom. "Lieutenant Hark."

"Sir."

"Take emergency command of this center until a competent prison officer can be identified."

Hark did not ask permission from the warden. He stepped to the nearest primary station and began issuing orders with clipped, administrative brutality. "Lock down Industrial Block Four. Seal adjacent corridors. Confirm fire suppression status. Medical response through Corridor Aurek-Three only. Security teams to secondary containment points, not the blast site. I want prisoner counts from every block in three-minute intervals. Communications, restrict outbound traffic and log all internal transmissions from the last ten minutes."

The room began to move again. This time, not as noise, but as function imposed from outside.

Tiber remained where he was, the alarms casting red across the black planes of his armour. His gauntleted hands did not reach for his weapon. He did not turn toward the exit. Whatever had happened in Industrial Block Four would not be solved by the Lord Regent charging through smoke and debris like a common assault trooper. The prison had organs for that. Security. Medical. Containment. Command.

The failure was that none of them had remembered how to act as one.

His visor returned to the warden.

"One prisoner is dead. Possibly more. A controlled facility under Imperial authority has suffered an internal detonation while under inspection, and your command staff required instruction to begin the first sentence of its own emergency protocol."

He stepped closer, enough that the warden no longer had the protection of distance or bureaucracy.

"When this is contained, you will provide me with the name of every officer responsible for Industrial Block Four, every maintenance exemption signed in the last six months, every transfer routed through that block, and every security deviation authorized under the language of performance improvement."

The main display flickered again. Thule's location marker remained suspended near the facility grid, partially obscured beneath the emergency overlays.

Fel looked back to it.

"And you will get Evander Thule here and out of those interviews."

A pause followed, measured and lethal beneath the alarms.

"Alive, if this prison is still capable of that much."

Order is not negotiated. It is enforced.

 

[Evander Thule]

Tag: Novac Lyrikal / Lumiya Dara / Tiber Fel / Roqar Zatt / Aren D'Shade / Xur’kai Dren / Isolde Malthera
​

Thule nodded along with this explanation, inclining his soulless metal stare directly at his visitor.

As before, most of this was already well-known information, but the bit about corrosion got his attention.

"Rust. Hmm." He made a note of that on his datapad. Probably not a major cause for concern (at least given some of the other issues herein highlighted), but it was likely worth pointing out anyway. "Unsurprising." Maintenance budgets tended to be one of the first things to get skimmed in times like these. That in mind, it was remarkable that they'd found the money to hire him at all. Perhaps the need to display competence had outstripped the need to actually, well, be competent.

Thule was not immune to the need to keep up appearances, and could understand it to a degree. Generally speaking, however, his appearance and demeanor prevented too much scrutiny. Few people would talk to him willingly. Still, if he was here to take notes, he might as well take them.

"Would you-" his next question was interrupted as the room shuddered slightly, shaking duracrete dust from the ceiling. The muffled whump of a distant explosion was audible.

Unbelievable.

Underneath his grim artificial visage, Thule couldn't quite restrain a roll of his milky-white, shrapnel-ruined eyes. A pointless gesture, as his interviewee couldn't see it, but there it was. "Looks like it's your lucky day, Mr. Lyrikal. We'll have to terminate today's session a bit earlier than I'd like. Even so, that's not your fault. You kept up your end of the bargain, and I'll keep mine."

He plucked a pair of small plastic tags from a pocket at his belt. "Show this at the mess hall tomorrow. Double rations, as promised. And a little bonus for the day after, since you were so helpful." He stood up, rapping on the door behind them to notify the guards. "We're done here. I'd better go see what's getting blown up, and how much it's going to ruin my day."

 

[Lumiya Dara]

The alarm continued long after the shouting had faded. By the time we were herded back through the corridors, the prison no longer felt like the same place. Heavy blast doors sealed behind us one after another. Boots struck durasteel in hurried rhythms. Guards spoke in clipped orders over crackling comlinks while red emergency lights washed every corridor in the same uneasy crimson. No one explained anything. They simply counted us. Again. And again.

I stood where they directed me, waited when they ordered me to wait, and followed the line of prisoners toward the detention block without resisting. There was little point. Whatever had happened in the factory had frightened the guards far more than it had frightened the prisoners.

Cell doors slammed shut one after another. Mine followed with a heavy metallic clang. For a moment I simply stood there, listening. The alarms. The distant voices. The occasional hiss of another security door sealing somewhere deeper within the prison. Someone had died. The thought settled heavily in my chest. Whoever they had been; they had mattered to someone.

I lowered myself onto the narrow bunk but found that I couldn't remain seated for long. Instead I drifted back toward the bars as another pair of guards hurried past. "I'm a medic," I called after them, keeping my voice calm and clear. "If anyone is injured, I can help."

Neither slowed. One didn't even glance in my direction. Instead they just disappeared around the corner.

I waited a few more moments before another patrol approached. "I'm trained as a healer," I tried again. "If you're short on medical staff, I'd be happy to assist."

This time one guard looked toward me. Only for a heartbeat. "Stay in your cell." The reply was automatic, as though he had already forgotten I'd spoken before he'd finished saying it.

"...All right," I answered quietly.

They continued on their way.

I rested one hand lightly against the cold bars, watching them disappear into the flashing red light. Maybe they already had enough medics. Maybe they didn't trust a prisoner. Maybe they simply had too much happening to hear me at all. Whatever the reason, I couldn't simply stop asking.

The next time footsteps echoed through the corridor, I straightened once more. "I'm a medic," I called gently. "If someone needs help; please tell them I'm here."

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

 

[Roqar Zatt]

The House Advantage
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 streaming data rolling across the master displays inside the luxury salon confirmed a massive, frantic spike in network volume. The high-roller lounge was thick with the heavy haze of premium rolled cigarras, the clinking of crystal glasses, and the low, tense murmurs of criminal syndicate brokers throwing millions of credits into the Orinackra survival pools.

[REVENUE MATRIX: ACCELERATING]
[BETTING WINDOWS: HIGHLY OPTIMIZED]
[ALERT: IMPERIAL REGENCY INTRUSION IN BLOCK-ALPHA]

A sharp diagnostic ping flared across the inner lens of Roqar's cybernetic eyewear, sent directly from the systems Aren D'Shade was keeping flawlessly shielded. The tactical footprint on the prison monitors had just evolved. Tiber Fel's red-marked stormtroopers had officially taken the command pits, and the Sith Regent's administrative audit had just flagged the exact civilian overflow files Roqar's agents had padding the system. Down on the workshop floor, the sudden, cold-blooded stabbing of an inmate had left a fresh crimson streak across the duracrete, drawing the sharp, calculating focus of the massive Dashade, Xur'kai Dren.

Amateurs react to an Imperial inspection with panic; a seasoned logician simply shifts the odds to engineer a catastrophic financial house edge.
Roqar hovered with a rhythmic, measured stillness, his posture carrying the unblemished poise of his former military career as he drifted a foot closer to Aren's console nest. He adjusted his dark Corellian velvet vest, the heavy gold chains draped across his chest catching the amber glow of the cascading betting windows.

"The odds on our little theater have just become significantly more lucrative, my dear," Roqar murmured to Aren in a low, highly sophisticated cadence, his voice well beneath the ambient roar of the gamblers. He gestured with a ringed finger toward the split-screen surveillance displaying Fel's severe lieutenant taking possession of the warden's files. "The Imperial Regency is hunting for inconsistencies, and Evander Thule is currently locked in an isolation block interviewing the snake. The script is writing itself."

He turned back toward the main floor where the wealthy gamblers were shouting over the live pool adjustments for the Padawan, Lumiya Dara.

"The clients love a predictable slaughter, which means they are hopefully about to bury their accounts under safe, short-sighted bets," Roqar continued, a dangerous, professional warmth touching his snout. "I need you to help me to smudge the betting lines right before these wealthy children realize the house is rigging the margins. I want to launch a brand-new, time-locked prop-pool on the master display. Call it 'The Regency Audit Directive.' We are going to offer astronomical, intoxicating payouts on the little human girl surviving the next shift, while heavily tanking the payout value on the Dashade."

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. But keep a sharp eye on our localized transactional traffic, Miss D'shade. That damned Lieutenant Hark is currently ripping through the prison's maintenance reports and transfer logs line-by-line. While our mirrored accounts are encrypted through the syndicate routing grids, a sudden, unexplained surge of credits landing in a low ranking guard's personal account is a definite red flag. If Hark and his bean counters squeeze on those discrepancies, I doubt our "cast members" are going to be able to keep from panic-sweating under the pressure."

He offered a faint, knowing smirk, his eyes reflecting the blue light of her corporate monitors.

"Let them sweat. The threat of an Imperial firing squad will only make the guards more desperate to keep the show entertaining on the factory floor to earn their keeps. If Fel's audit forces a sudden facility lockdown, we can quietly feed those compromised guards an administrative counter-order to protect our stakes. We let these arrogant brokers bankrupt themselves on an 'inevitable' execution, while we retain the clearing keys to guide our favored assets through the crossfire when the pool peaks."

Turning toward the main salon, Roqar signaled SE-4 "Lux" to begin distributing a fresh round of rare, custom-tailored liquors to the highest-bidding syndicates, disarming their caution just as the new, high-risk survival pool flashed across their private terminals.

"Do whatever you have to to keep the data streams completely masked, Aren dear. I am going to step into the lounge and personally convince these fools to double their wagers."

He raised his glass to her console in a silent, icy toast before drifting out into the light of the betting tables.

"May the Profit Favor Us."

 

[Xur’kai Dren]

The sound of the klaxon and the accompanying strobing red lights pulled Xur'kai back to reality following the blast felt from elsewhere in the facility.
Well. This certainly changes things.

His head began to throb with increased intensity until he managed to push the blaring noise to the back of his mind.
Calm returned to him just as disorganized groups of guards rushed in and began attempting to secure the working prisoners on the work floor.
He dropped to the ground as blasters were unholstered and waved around wildly.

The yelling, the screaming klaxons, the flickering white lights and flashing red ones all contributed to the chaos.
Once prone, Xur'kai rolled his large but nimble frame to his left- underneath a small conveyor belt that had just moments ago been moving freshly stamped durasteel frames to the workers installing their more delicate components. He slid himself further along the bottom of the conveyor until several crates of scrap hid him.

He watched boots approach the small human woman that he had locked eyes with earlier, then the wearer of said boots quickly ushered her out with other nearby workers.
The Dashade waited as guards hurried everyone out of the immense room. He waited as half a dozen other guards came and cleared the area, ensuring no one had been left behind. He waited as they found a large human male atop a guard platform in the process of ransacking what appeared to be their lunches. He watched as they beat him with stun clubs and four guards dragged him feetfirst back to his cell.
Xur'kai waited until the last guard did a final sweep along the same conveyor that he hid beneath.

The guard's communicator must have gone off, as he stopped and began to respond to a message Xur'kai never heard, the man's voice barely audible to him over the relentless klaxon, "Copy. 7-A is clear. Reporting to 11-Alpha to help secure incident site."
He did a 180 and the slight squeak of his boots on the polished floor was cut short as his quick turn revealed Xur'kai standing immediately behind him.
"WHAT THE-," the guard managed, now face-to-face with the Dashade that he had threatened not long before.

"You better pull that trigger now if you still mean to." Xur'kai's hand swiped the guard's blaster to the side as it rose. A look of terror crossed the once arrogant guard's face as the prisoner's massive hand thrust forward and forced one of the small girl's recently assembled electrical components into his mouth. A hammer fist to the top of his head crushed the thing, muffled screaming, a spurt of smoke, and slight sizzle ended the man's life as his teeth pierced the miniature power cell within.

Oops. Maybe they'll think it was an accident. Probably not...
Xur'kai grabbed the guard's blaster, an identification badge for a Gurth Barthakin that operated as a security keycard, and a communicator. Rifling through his pockets quickly, he pulled out an expired nutrient bar and a dataslate showing an image of the now deceased guard standing on a beach with eleven smiling children. Unusual. Must be a- His thought was interrupted by a scrolling caption along the bottom- "We love you daddy!"
Oh... The Dashade stood and looked down at the body quickly. Well, that certainly doesn't look like an accident. He shrugged. Trip and fall. Someone will buy it, even if just to avoid the paperwork.

Leaving the dead man in the empty room, Xur'kai headed through the door the other guards had used to carry out the beaten human.

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren's fingers moved almost continuously across the console as Roqar disappeared into the lounge, the betting pools and encrypted traffic giving way to something she found far more interesting. Every camera in the prison updated across her displays, each one competing for priority as emergency protocols rerouted security feeds throughout the facility. She watched them in silence, sorting through dozens of angles until the larger picture began assembling itself.

"That wasn't random."

The words were spoken only to herself.

She replayed the workshop feed, slowing it until individual frames advanced one at a time. The explosion had certainly drawn everyone's attention, but it wasn't what happened afterward that interested her. It was what happened during the confusion. Guards abandoned positions they ordinarily would have held. Cameras shifted to emergency coverage. Entire corridors briefly lost direct supervision. Enough tiny gaps aligned to create opportunities that hadn't existed moments before.

Another alert quietly appeared in the corner of her display.

The fabrication hall.

Aren enlarged the feed just in time to watch the Dashade disappear beneath the conveyor before the guards completed their sweep. She followed his progress through overlapping cameras, saying nothing as he waited with remarkable patience for the room to empty. A minute later another monitor came alive. One guard entered. One guard never left. She watched the Dashade relieve the body of a blaster, identification badge, communicator, and whatever else might prove useful before disappearing into the corridor.

She leaned back slightly.

"Well..."

A few keystrokes tagged the footage and attached it to the prison's live movement map. A new route began projecting itself from the stolen keycard's authorization level, estimating where someone carrying that clearance could realistically travel before attracting attention.

When Roqar returned, the analysis would already be waiting beside his betting data.

Without taking her eyes from the monitors, Aren spoke quietly enough that only the nearest microphone picked it up for his private channel.

"The odds have changed."

Her fingers danced across the keyboard once more as another window opened, tracking Tiber Fel's command decisions against the Dashade's projected path.

"The explosion created an escape opportunity."

A faint smile touched her lips.

"And someone clever noticed before anyone else did."

Lumiya Dara Novac Lyrikal Isolde Malthera Tiber Fel Evander Thule

 

[Lumiya Dara]

The corridor slowly fell quiet. Not silent. It never truly became silent here. Somewhere beyond the detention block, alarms still echoed through the prison. Boots continued to pound across distant walkways. Voices barked hurried orders that blurred together before fading once more into the constant hum of machinery hidden within the walls. No one came.

I remained beside the bars for several long minutes, hoping another patrol might pass. Hoping that someone would finally listen. "I'm a medic," I called one last time, my voice softer now. "If anyone is hurt....I can help."

Nothing. No reply. Only the empty corridor answered.

I lowered my head. If there truly had been an explosion, if people had been injured, then every passing minute mattered.

I looked toward the reinforced door at the front of my cell. The electronic locking mechanism sat recessed within the frame, little more than a narrow access panel and a magnetic bolt hidden somewhere beyond the durasteel. Under ordinary circumstances, I never would have considered tampering with it. But today; well nothing about this place felt ordinary anymore.

My heart began to beat a little faster. If I was caught, the consequences would almost certainly be severe. I closed my eyes. Slowly. Carefully. I reached for the Force. The familiar current answered, though only as that faint, distant whisper I had begun to recognize since arriving on Orinackra. It was still there; muffled beneath whatever unseen weight hung over this prison.

I resisted the urge to force it. That wasn't how healing worked. When setting a broken bone, brute strength only caused more damage. Patience. Precision. Gentle guidance. That was what restored things. This would be no different.

Beyond the door, I could almost picture the tiny components hidden within the lock. A latch. A retaining pin. A magnetic catch holding everything firmly in place. One piece at a time. Ever so slightly. The effort left a faint ache behind my eyes. The connection wavered. Then I heard a soft click. The sound was so quiet that I almost thought I had imagined it. My eyes opened. For a long moment I simply stared at the door. It hadn't moved. Neither had I, really. I reached forward cautiously and rested my hand against the release handle, took another deep breath. Then I pressed.

With a soft hiss, the door slid open only far enough to admit a single person. I froze. There were no new alarms. No shouting. No blaster fire. Only the empty corridor beyond. "...I'm sorry," I whispered, though I wasn't entirely sure whether I was apologizing to the guards, or to the principles I had just bent.

Stepping across the threshold felt strangely unnatural. Only hours earlier, I would never have imagined leaving my cell without permission. Now each careful footstep carried me farther from it. The corridor stretched in both directions beneath the pulsing crimson emergency lights. Most of the prison staff had evidently been drawn toward the disturbance, leaving this section almost deserted. I kept close to the wall, moving as quietly as I could. Every intersection looked identical to the last. Every blast door seemed to lead toward another maze of sterile corridors and harsh lighting. I had no map. No plan. Only the hope that somewhere ahead, someone might need help.

I rounded another corner and nearly collided with a figure coming the opposite way. The sudden movement stole the breath from my lungs. I stopped short, my eyes lifting instinctively to meet whoever stood before me.

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