Dominion [Black Sun] The Imperial Connection | BSS Dominion of Lexrul

[Parvati]

​

OBJECTIVE III- BYOO

LEXRUL — SATIVRAN CITY, LOWER SPRAWL

ABANDONED BIOTECH WARD, SECTOR 12​

The pod hovered behind her like a second shadow.

Suspended by whispering repulsors, it followed Parvati down the corridor like a casket mid-procession. Inside, the dancer floated in delicate stillness, arms adrift, mouth slightly parted, lost in some narcotic sleep. No cords, no instruments. Not yet. She was pure. Unspoiled. And yet the ward reacted to her all the same.

The lights above flickered as she passed beneath them, not in failure, but in interest. As though the structure itself was tasting her, molecule by molecule. The conduits above the walls throbbed softly. Pressure vents exhaled in short, wet sighs. Every panel, every pipe, every shadow seemed to lean inward.

The place was not alive.
But it remembered being touched.

Parvati moved without hesitation, her heels tapping out a steady rhythm against the floor, boots against bone, echoing off walls too warped to be called straight anymore. The scent of antiseptic clashed with something older. Metallic. Sweet. Rancid beneath its polish.

Ahead, The Red Wire led with the grace of a corpse mid-dance. Her robes dragged behind her like molt, stitched from oxidized gauze and surgical mesh. The rot of synthflesh mingled with the raw gleam of metal in her joints, and her voice, when it came, spilled through the corridor like blood through a cracked seal.

"Mmm... she floats, doesn't she? Pretty little wombfruit…" Her words unfurled with a breathy, necrotic cadence. "Unpierced. Unbled. Not long now…"

Parvati said nothing.

"Do you hear it?" Val whispered, tilting her head toward the walls as they passed. "The old breath? Still in the pipes. They sang once, in pulses and pumps… but now they hunger. Oooohhh, yes. They do not forget what passed through them."

The dancer's pod chimed. A quiet tone, yet it seemed to carry, for a moment, the lights dimmed in response. The sound passed like a ripple through the air.

"She brings it with her," Val cooed, circling one of the bulkheads with a fingertip. "The quickening. You've brought me such promise, mmm. Like laying a lamb on a black mirror."

They entered the sanctum.

A chamber wide and circular, where light ceased to behave. It slanted strangely- bent toward the center, where a single altar waited. Surgical arms loomed overhead like eviscerated angels, their tips twitching as if tasting the air. The walls pulsed, barely perceptible, as if the room had taken a breath and hadn't exhaled yet.

Val stopped just shy of the slab and turned slowly, reverent.

"This is the cradle," she murmured, voice like oil slicking down a drain. "This is where bones weave and wires nest. She will be stripped. Emptied. Risen."

Behind Parvati, the dancer drifted, eyes closed.

"She will not scream," Val said, smiling with cracked lips and teeth like tiny knives. "They never scream at first. The pain is too holy."

Still, Parvati did not flinch.

Let the dead croon. Let the walls sweat.

She had come to see a god work.

 

[K4-ZAN]

[Obj 3] BYOO | Hostile Takeover
Undercity, Lexrul
Tags: Morex

There was a roll of the receptor in its socket, as gaze tilted elsewhere. If it was going to be like that, then it would not bother, either. Meathead would do fine until then. The other man was a brawler, through and through. It was not hard to glean such information, as they answered his question with such crass glee. “Good. Then there is no issue.”

Kayfour’s head tilted upon the ‘advice’ of the other—he would’ve liked to hear the end of that. Art was meant to be appreciated by a wide audience, after all. Unfortunately, they were interrupted before judgements could be impaired in full. A bunch of rabble-rousers, they were, far from either other their skills more than likely. Oh well. More for the slaughter.

It shifted its grip to a low stance, just as Morex dove into the frame. The droid wasted little time in joining them with a sprint forwards, blade arcing upwards to cleave through the first limb that intended to drive down upon him with a vibrodagger. A scream of pain filled the air just as it fell into proper step—a twist to cleave across another’s torso to spill guts, carried through to twist back down through a third’s throat.

A blaster snuck through the crowd, and shot him square in the chest with a sharp pang of metal. There was only so long before they got involved—it was fairly obvious trying to come at the pair with mere street weapons was looking to be near suicidal. If the Enforcer was enjoying fisticuffs, then it would take initiative against that particular crowd. A backhand batted aside another thug coming at him with a stun-baton, only to rise to the kasa atop it, wrenching it off with a click and throwing it. With a stride forwards, it sent it like a frisbee through the air, the bladed edge sailing and burying itself directly into the chest of the offender with an immediate splice of flesh to end them.

A few more motions of steps and the hat was reclaimed viciously with a spray of viscera, blade raising to deflect another blow. “They will not last long if they continue like this.” It commented lightly, “I thought organics had a stronger sense of self-preservation. Perhaps these are defects.”

 

[IG-44]

O B J E C T I V E - 2
B O T T O M - C R E D I T​

​

Luckily for the Black Sun crew, the bank teller scrambled to deliver the codes he was demanded. IG moved without hesitation toward the control panel that connected to the vault door. He connected to it with his scomp link, twisting the tool to move the concentric circles within. After a brief moment, there was a metallic click, followed by the hiss of pressure valves releasing. Then, the maglocks slid back, allowing the heavy metal door to open.

“Success,” the assassin droid said in as excited a voice as he could manage. His droid brain was clearly suited for delivering death, not expressing joy, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t attempt it once in a blue moon.

IG-44 turned to face Nero Drake and Ka'Ahs'Ruk then, perfectly content to watch the vault while the organics did the plundering. He meant to tell them so, but his scanners picked up local chatter that indicated a complication was on the way.

Imperials, and not the flavor that Black Sun was enjoying elsewhere in the city’s rusty high rises. These were a local band, not allegiant to the Confederation.

“The garrison has been alerted,” IG informed the others. His photoreceptors twisted between them, then focused on the hostages. There was no way any of them could have tipped off the stormtroopers, so it must have been a report made about the shots he fired earlier.

He eyed the hostages carefully, wondering how much of a boon they’d be if the troopers arrived before Black Sun was free and clear.

“Bargaining chips,” he remarked grimly, nodding to the bankers as he cocked his scatter gun.

Tags:​

[Black Sun]

Nero Drake | Ka'Ahs'Ruk​

[Imperials]

Legion of Fortune | Tyber Terell​

​

 

[Marlon Sularen]

T H E_I M P E R I A L_C O N N E C T I O N
Objective I : Mutual Interests

IMPERIAL CONFEDERATION
LEXRUL, MID RIM

"Mutual satisfaction..." Sularen repeated as he took a sip of Corellian whiskey. "It's quite rare to see people who share such mindset these days. Most of the time they hold on to past grudges or simply seek to screw over the other party." he added. The Supreme Commander had always found the Underworld more pleasant to deal with then most other groups in the galaxy due to their flexible nature, open to working with any type of faction in the galaxy as long as they could benefit from such cooperation, and this meeting with the Confederation would be no different.

The Black Sun had invited the Confederation with the intention of reaching an arrangement that would benefit both parties, already speaking of mutual satisfaction and potential control of the Confederation's Underworld. Regardless of the specifics, as long as they ensured the long-term survival of the Confederation without fatally compromising it's core values, Sularen was willing to work with the Black Sun. Afterall leaving the Underworld to them whilst maintaining a working relationship would free up vast amounts of resources for the Imperial Military that could be better spent elsewhere.

"Control is indeed rare, but it is not absolute. Although i presume you speak of control of the Underworld within our borders. Afterall the rise of new galactic governments brings a variety of new opportunities for the Underworld depending on it's policies, and it would be extremely profitable if the Black Sun were to gain a full monopoly over these booming sectors in the Underworld." Sularen stated. "From there it's just a matter of a simple exchange between the Confederation and the Black Sun. We turn a blind eye to Black Sun activates within our borders as long it doesn't undermine Imperial authority and in exchange the Black Sun provides us with vital services that would advance our galactic agenda."

Tags [ImpCon] | Karl Von Strauss | Imperius Indomitus
Tags [Black Sun] | Velzari Tharn | Hakar Scaleback | Jerec Asyr ​

 

[Velzari Tharn]

O B J E C T I V E - 1
M U T U A L - I N T E R E S T S​

​

Velzari grinned, bringing his newly refreshed glass to his lips to sip the spirits within. He nodded his thanks to Jerec Asyr before turning his gaze to Marlon Sularen from the ImpCon delegation.

"That is precisely my intent, Supreme Commander. The Underworld is a wily beast, refusing to be tamed and lashing out against order. It senses opportunity, exploits weaknesses, and undermines authority. It bites the hand that feeds, when the hand is robed in Imperial uniforms... but the hand of the Underlord? That is a hand it will eat from happily."

The Prince took another slow drag from his cigarra, ruminating on the pleasant blend of herbs for a moment as if it were a fond memory. He blew the smoke away from the table, sending a lazy plume into a far corner. There was much that could be accomplished from a symbiotic relationship with the Imperials. Their voluntary ignorance would open many doors, and in return, Velzari could practically guarantee a tight ship in the Underworld... and if there were any dissidents, his enforcers were more than capable of removing them.

"Black Sun can be the authority in your Underworld, the bridle that keeps it under control. The gangs, the pirates, the slavers - they will refuse your imposition of will, but Black Sun? They will work for us without question. Your blind eye turned on our enterprises will make our profitable markets that much more so, and in return, Black Sun can surely handle any... problems, that may arise for the Confederation. External, or otherwise."

Black Sun: Hakar Scaleback | Jerec Asyr
Imperials: Karl Von Strauss | Imperius Indomitus
​

 

[Imperius Indomitus]

W A R M A S T E R
LORD INDOMITUS
Through war, we bring order.
Through strength, we bring unity.

The Iron March
Order. Strength. Discipline.

Velzari Tharn | Karl Von Strauss | Marlon Sularen | Hakar Scaleback | Jerec Asyr

HONOUR AMONG THIEVES​

Lexrul | Sativran City | Meeting Room

Imperius did not consider this an opportunity to compete with the Confederates, he did not have the same to offer nor would he offer the same. What they described as control, was influence and a far cry from what he considered control. The criminal scum could swear this one day and the next, when another internal coup had played out, the next boss became big, it could be undone. It was in a sense less reliable than dealing with Sith.

So it was not his intention to create a lasting cooperation with these folks. May the Confederation have them all over themselves once they have given up their soft underbelly to a stab that might come, sooner or later. It would do the Galaxy no harm to see them both go down in a war that destroyed both their ideals and visions for their worth was not measurable.

"I have a more concrete proposal for your syndicate and one that offers a more immediate benefit and time limited cooperation between your organisation and our state."

"You have a planet on your borders, one which was under Hutt control every now and then except for when it was fought over by Republic and Sith: Makeb. I want to offer you the almost unlimited support in securing this planet under your influence and prepare its most noteworthy resource, Isotope-5 for extraction. In exchange for us doing that, we merely ask for one yearly output of the Isotope exclusively for us. Conquest, setup of high quality mining operations in exchange for the product, time and amount limited, after that it is all yours."

"We have an operation already being planned for it to happen, including the Black Sun at this stage would offer a mutual benefit in the end while not relying too heavily on extensive and lasting trust between two in its core different ideologies. This offer naturally does not extend to the Confederates."

 

[Parvati]

OBJECTIVE III- BYOO​

LEXRUL — SATIVRAN CITY, LOWER SPRAWL​

ABANDONED BIOTECH WARD, SECTOR 12​

The light above the slab was no longer a fixture. It was an eye.

Not a warm sun or sterile flood, but a single, glaring pupil of amber, watching. Judging. Its glow stretched down in a cone, spilling over the altar like the sun filtering into a pit, illuminating only what it was meant to bless… or consume.

Parvati did not step into that light. Not yet.

The sanctum had a pulse to it now, faint and arrhythmic. The kind of rhythm one might feel in the bones of a derelict starship long after its crew had vanished, too subtle to be called vibration, but present enough to suggest that something was stirring below. Not machine. Not ghost. Merely memory, twitching through the dead nerves of a place that once cut, burned, and remade the body as offering.

Tessh Val moved ahead with newfound purpose. The fervor in her steps was quiet but absolute, like a priestess approaching the font before the first scream of a newborn. Her hand reached for a control station built into the sanctum wall, its surface pitted and scarred like the face of some forgotten god. She did not touch buttons. She traced runes.

With every motion of her cracked fingertip, the system sighed awake. Lights embedded in the floor rimmed the altar with a sickly gold, casting elongated shadows behind Parvati that shifted and bent like figures in prayer. Something deep beneath the glass plating let out a mechanical groan- slow and slithering. A breath caught in metal lungs.

"She hears," Val whispered, eyes half-lidded, voice thick with something like awe. "Even in her sleep. She listens with her marrow, not her ears. The little lamb knows the hush before the cutting."

Parvati stood silent, poised near the center of the sanctum. Her posture, as always, was impeccable: chin lifted, shoulders back, one gloved hand resting lightly on the curve of her hip. Every inch of her was still. Watching. Assessing.

The pod behind her gave a low, obedient hum.

Slowly, it began to glide forward. Suspended on quiet repulsors, it moved not like cargo but like a cradle pushed by unseen hands. The dancer inside remained motionless, arms weightless at her sides, head tilted slightly as if lost in some other life. Her lips were parted in the faintest suggestion of wonder or fear, but no breath fogged the glass. If not for the subtle rise and fall of her chest, she could have passed for a statue sealed in amber.

As the pod reached the altar, the atmosphere thickened. Not temperature- pressure. As if the room itself was growing heavier, its attention more focused. The walls didn't move, and yet they seemed to curl inward. Lights dimmed around the perimeter. The edges of reality here became soft.

The air tasted like burned silk and copper.

Beneath the floor, something clicked. No single sound, but a cascade, like a thousand surgical limbs adjusting position, their joints reborn into motion after decades of stillness. Parvati didn't flinch. She simply turned her head slightly, her gaze tracking the pod as it descended the final inch onto the surgical slab.

The chamber settled.

Steam uncoiled from the pod's edges, venting slowly into the sanctum like incense. The hiss was delicate, almost reverent. A final exhale before revelation. The slab received the offering without clamps or bindings. There was no need. Parvati understood the language here: this was not imprisonment. It was submission. A willing body offered to something higher.

The Red Wire took a single step closer to the altar, her fingers twitching at her sides like antennae drinking in unseen frequencies.

"She will bloom here," Val crooned, her voice unraveling into breath and thread. "Not as she was. Not with bones alone. But sung anew- through wire and hunger and the grace of opening flesh."

The dancer stirred.

Not fully. Not yet. Just a flicker. The shift of a finger. The slow roll of her head as her breath deepened.

Parvati's eyes narrowed slightly. Just enough to register interest. To confirm life.

The chamber responded in kind. Somewhere behind her, the distant scream of a cooling vent cut off mid-cycle. Shadows froze. The soft hum of repulsors died as the pod completed its purpose.

"She does not yet know what she is," Val whispered. "But she will. They always do, when the bones are told the truth." Parvati could see the tendrils at the side of her mouth start to extend, like she was hungering for the dancer, to consume her even.

The dancer's eyelids fluttered.

Somewhere deep within the sanctum, something moved, and the light above the altar grew brighter.

 

[Tamna Korvan]

F O X
OUTPOST | LEXRUL
TAG: Open

APOCALYPSE​

Hunting her own kind.

That's what it felt like deep down to Tamna. Despite her alias, she will always remain Tamna Korvan, daughter of Varos Ignacious Korvan and granddaughter of the once-great now-dead as a doornail Ignacious Korvan . She was Imperial in blood, even if she was no longer one in practice.

She always hated taking jobs against Imperials.

When will the next target be her father? And no one around her now knew who she really was. If they did, there'd be a bounty on her own head. The Hellions may shield her, but the Syndicate never will.

Tamna stalked through the grass, Alfie and his small frame hiding quite well beside her as they scoped out the compound before them. One of the last New-Imperial holdouts from their time scoping out the Southern Systems to take on the Mandalorian Enclave. That was just before her time in the New-Imperial military, but she did read the released reports.

These poor sods either didn't get the memo that the Empire fell or they just didn't care and decided to take fate in their own hands. Either way, that compound could hold some info or tech that'll fetch her some good credits with the Syndicate. She hated to do in her own people, but a girl had to eat.

Tamna drew in a breath and slowly exhaled before looking at Alfie.
"Anything? Are we clear?" she whispered to him.
The astromech warbled lowly back at her.
"All right, let's do this then."

With that, the two of them crept closer to the compound, Alfie's sensors continuously scanning for both organics and technological.

 

[Nero Drake]

OBJ 2 - BANK JOB
IG-44 Ka'Ahs'Ruk Legion of Fortune Tyber Terell

“Success,” the assassin droid said in as excited a voice as he could manage.

Cold hard credits bathed Nero's mask in their golden radiance. He'd plundered valuable cargo before, but this was the young pirate's first time gazing upon so much raw wealth collected into one place.

"Emperor's iron bones..."

Nero squeezed past the vault door and wasted little time making a mess of tumbled credits as he tried to fill camtonos in a desperate rush. Once a container was more or less filled the pirate tossed it out to his waiting Ssi-ruu accomplice. Each second stretched with the tension of a stormtrooper garrison on their heels.

"We can still make it mates!" his voice echoed strangely off the bank vault's magnetic seal.

Even Nero was beginning to have doubts though. They all heard the sirens distant at first but growing louder far too quickly. Just a few more camtonos and they could make a run for the speeder. Credit fever overruled common sense as each chit sparkled like grains of sand in his palm.

 

[Zahran Khaldun]

Objective 3
Razzia - Daalang

Daalang - Upper Atmosphere
A few days ago...

A shadow fell across the thriving town of Tavira. It was not the shadow of war, nor that of battle. No warning came—no sirens, no thunderous blasts, no trembling of the earth.

It began at first light. The copper sun had just begun to crest above the horizon. Children played in the dusty streets, the market bustled, and farmers tended to their crops and carts of goods. Herders led their flocks to water-filled troughs. Between the sun-baked domes of the homes and the shoppers carrying baskets of freshly purchased goods, one thing was clear: this town lay far beyond the reach of empires and bureaucrats.

First came the sudden and unnatural stillness. The birds stopped singing. The shaaks froze mid-step and let out low, mournful brays. The breeze died down. Even the morning rays of light seemed to go still, no longer shifting with the currents of the new day.

Near the well at the town center, the old widow Mahla, who had lived through three wars and many more droughts, suddenly dropped her water pail. Her withered hand rose in warning, trembling as it pointed toward the horizon.

"The Black Sky." She whispered.

Then, from the heavens, descended the Dark Crescent. It was dark, rusted, and ancient in design. There was no insignia, no Alliance beacon—only the sudden snuffing out of the comm buoys. All at once, every holotable, every frequency screen, every security relay turned to static. No help would come. From the belly of the massive frigate emerged dark, sleek vessels—dropcraft. They descended in an almost rehearsed dispersal pattern, silent and swift.

The elders and women murmured in groups, a local crier shouted for people to remain calm, and children were pulled inside by their parents.

The dropcraft drew closer, leaving behind trails of thick black smoke. As the ships came closer into view, they could see the cage models on the back of the craft. Cages coming to collect.

Suddenly, the town erupted in panic.

Screams erupted in the streets. Carts and stalls were overturned in the chaos. Many ran, while others simply froze, unable to cope with the dread falling from the skies. They had no defenses. No Jedi would come to save them. From the dropships, slavers and corsairs emerged—humans, Trandoshans, Gand, all clad in mismatched armor. Their weapons were set to stun. They would make quick work of the helpless townsfolk.

From the throne-like command chair at the center of the Dark Crescent's elevated bridge, Zahran Khaldun watched as the dropships touched down planetside. He could already see the first smoke rise from the town, curling up into the atmosphere like ink in water.

"Status of the first wave?" he asked softly.

A nearby officer stepped up, delivering a quick report. "All dropships have landed, my lord. Resistance is minimal. Local authorities are not equipped to deal with our men or the Labor Alliance slavers."

Zahran nodded. "Let's not waste time. We are on the clock and expected to meet certain quotas."

"Yes, my lord." The officer said, stepping away.

Zahran stood unmoving, hands clasped behind his back, his silhouette framed by the void.

 

[Ave Jathassa]

THE IMPERIAL
CONNECTION
Devil in a New Dress - Chapter 1
———
TAG: Tamna Korvan

LEXRUL

Dusty wind had welcomed Ave and her squad of enforcers, slicers, and engineers when they touched down in Lexrul 13 hours ago. The speeder ride at night only makes it worse; the sand is everywhere and the cold night of Lexrul only invites even worse wind.

That’s how they emerged from the dune, unheard and unseen, at least until it was too late for the Imperials guarding the outpost. It was a clean job, no transmission were made outside to other outposts. Lexul will not be her domain once it falls to the Black Sun Syndicate, but it’s a sphere of influence Ave wants for her operation, so a quick work needs to be done.

Her slicers and engineers quickly got to work, while her enforcers dumped the poor Imperials bodies, and took their gear to disguise themselves. You never know if a patrol is coming to check, or even just visiting. It was a boring wait at first, a good sign that everything’s going well. However, hours in, the cctv shows two of her enforcers dropping, followed after with another one.

What a surprise, Ave murmured to herself.

With two of her elite guards, and another two snipers aiming towards the door, the Sith Vigo welcomes the intruders, dual blaster pistols in hand and metallic black armor adding to her intimidating 6’5” stature.

“Not another single step, love.”​

 

[Karl Von Strauss]

Outfit: Uniform
Equipment: Relby k-23 mod. E, NZ PEG
Entourage: C1RC3 [Cloaked], 4x KXU Droids [Outside]
Objective: I - Mutual Interests
Tags: Velzari Tharn | Marlon Sularen | Imperius Indomitus | Hakar Scaleback

Karl had remained silent thus far, he merely observed each exchange with measured poise. He traced the rim of his nursed Corellian Brandy with his finger. After Velzari's proposed dominion of the Confederation's underworld and Imperius' sharp pivot to Isotope-5, he finally spoke.

"As Exarch, I am not blind to the value that is a strong and loyal underworld. Pirates and gangs obeying a single banner is preferable to fractured mayhem. A bridle, as you say, would serve us both, provided it is guided by Imperial hands. Not controlled, or even strictly overseen, but merely guided by the alignment of interests between our collaboration."

He allowed a beat to pass before pivoting into Imperius' point. "Now, Makeb, is interesting..."

He looked towards the Warmaster, then back towards the Prince. "Isotope-5 is no ordinary commodity. The Hutts squandered its potential; they lacked vision. But you possess both ambition and infrastructure that vastly outweigh the Hutts of the past, Prince Velzari. And the Warmaster offers the force of will and resources to see the operation secured, the Imperial Confederation would like to provide equal support in this endeavor."

He raised his glass, not to drink but to gesture.

"So, allow me to propose a mutually enriching compromise. The Iron Empire and the Imperial Confederation will help take control of Makeb from the Hutts and place the Black Sun rightfully in charge. I would also send some of our engineers from the Nucleus to assist in setting up your mining apparatus. And in return, the Confederation would only ask for a preferential rate on the purchase of the isotope. And then, perhaps down the line, a technological exchange?"

He paused and gently set the glass down, "This preserves the Black Sun's profit and influence. It also ensures that we Imperials do not fight over spoils, but prosper together. It also avoids the inelegance of disputes that might otherwise arise." With sharp precision, he concluded: "In essence, two Imperials, one syndicate, and a treasure trove of opportunity."

As the room settled into brief contemplation, Karl allowed his expression to remain placid, but his mind churned beneath the surface. Isotope-5. The mere mention of it stirred dormant calculations: projected power yields, fuel-to-output ratios, theoretical advances in naval shielding, even applications in stealth propulsion. Yes... it could accelerate half a dozen black-budget initiatives overnight, he thought. But he knew better than to appear too eager. Karl had no intention of creating a rift to form between the two Imperial machines; he merely saw an opportunity and reached for it.

 

[Parvati]

OBJECTIVE III- BYOO

LEXRUL — SATIVRAN CITY, LOWER SPRAWL

ABANDONED BIOTECH WARD, SECTOR 12​

There was no command. No countdown. No sterile warning chime.

Only the shift in light.

The sanctum dimmed in one collective breath, then bathed the altar in a deep, saturated red, less illumination, more a pulse. It coated the dancer's skin like syrup, clinging in strange, uneven patterns. The shadows along the walls leaned forward, sharpening at the edges, as if whatever force haunted this place wanted a closer look.

Parvati stood just beyond the circle of that glow, composed as ever. She did not flinch. Did not interrupt. There was power here. Not hers, but she would own it, in time.

The Red Wire approached the slab like a lover returning to the grave of an old obsession. Her robes dragged across the floor with a whisper, the soft scrape of metal mesh brushing metal. Her fingers trembled, delicate, expectant.

"Look at her," Val whispered, voice cracked from reverence. "Sleeping, shivering… listening to the blade before it sings."

The dancer stirred, eyes fluttering open. There was no comprehension in them. Just sensation. Raw, unfocused. Her mouth opened in a breath, shallow and voiceless.

Val raised her hands above the girl's body like a conductor invoking an orchestra. At the tips of her fingers, the skin retracted with a wet hiss. Beneath it, syringes bloomed, needle-thin, segmented, and disturbingly organic. Some pulsed gently with fluid. Others quivered, eager to bite.

"I made these," Val cooed, gazing at her own outstretched hands. "Not given. Not born. Chosen. Blessed are the tools that bleed and feed…"

She extended her index finger downward. The syringe at the tip twitched, then pierced the dancer's flesh at the base of her neck- slow and unhurried. The girl spasmed. Not a scream, not yet. Just tension, clawing up her spine.

The mechanical limbs above responded like obedient disciples. They descended, slender, sleek, and many-jointed, bristling with blades that shimmered not with polish, but purpose. One hovered just above the sternum, a mirror's breath from the skin. Another angled to the hip.

The first cut came not from steel, but light. A fine laser traced her abdomen, leaving no blood- only a glowing seam, like the shell of something waiting to hatch.

"She doesn't know," Val whispered, her tendrils twitching with anticipation. "But the marrow remembers. The marrow wants this."

Another syringe finger slid into place, just below the rib. This time, the dancer exhaled a sound. Barely audible, but sharp. A gasp, caught mid-birth.

The slab did not restrain her. It accepted her. Muscles relaxed, joints went soft. Not from peace, but from inevitability.

Parvati said nothing.

She watched with the same stillness she offered all beautiful things, appreciation laced with control. This was art. But it was also an abomination.

The dancer's hands twitched as more fingers found purchase- into her shoulder, her thigh, her temple. Each injection carried something: sedatives, nanogels, perhaps something older. There was no announcement. No readout.

Only the work.

"She is ready," Val said, smiling with her mouth and her syringes alike. "Now… we begin the confession."

Beneath the slab, something whirred to life.

The sanctum pulsed once more.

And the cutting truly began.

 

[V1-L8]

Tags: Tyber Terell IG-44 Nero Drake Morex

The doors slam behind him with a hiss of pneumatic finality. V1-L8 "VIOLATE" steps forward, a towering silhouette carved in matte black plating, the red glow of his photoreceptors pulsing with mechanical hatred. Behind his tattered cloak, weapons hum softly—predatory. Tension thickens like wet cement. No one breathes.

Then, a desperate man, panting and pale, makes a run for the side exit.
Two more follow, tattered suits, half-buttoned collars, still stained with the sweat of their crimes. "Don't—" someone whispers. Too late.

V1-L8 turned. Slowly. One by one, his disruptor rifle rises to shoulder height. Each shot expressed as cold precise. A muted thrum, like an ancient machine exhaling rage.

ZHRRAAAK.

The first man is hit mid-step. The beam snakes across his torso in agonizing slow-motion, limbs curling, mouth open in a scream that fractures into sobs—
Then silence.

ZHRRAAAK.

The second explodes into a burst of atomized vapor. His scream is swallowed by his own melting face, his knees disintegrating before the rest of him follows.

ZHRRAAAK.

The third doesn't even scream. He just weeps. Then vanishesbones, blood, and suit, all reduced to a smear of shadow ash etched into the floor. All that remains are the burn prints. Human-shaped echoes in soot.

V1-L8 lowers his weapon, smoke curling from the barrel like incense. He turns to the hostages, who cower behind scattered credits and datapads. His voice rumbles low, synthesized, and brutal: "The exit is no longer a variable. Your fear was...momentarily interesting. Please return to your positions. Now."

 

[Hakar Scaleback]

Velzari Tharn Jerec Asyr Karl Von Strauss Imperius Indomitus Marlon Sularen

"Black Sssun treatsss our friendsss with ressspect, Grand Admiral. Your reputation isss of no concern to usss. Your methodsss are of no concern to usss. Only one thing concernsss the Black Sssun."

Just like that the credit chit reappeared in between Hakar's claws from nowhere. He held it up for Sularen and the other Imperials to see he meant profit. Jerec nudged his freshly grown arm while taking a seat and the trandoshan snarled in pain.

"Makeb isss a world of great value to our sssyndicate."

Hakar's pointy smile curdled into a grimace as suspicious thoughts inflamed his brain's aggression center. Violent urges were barely suppressed by the cold rational part of him still weighing their unexpected offer.

"But perhapsss the Underlord would be willing to dissscusss a contract if Imperial ssscience can perfect our efffortsss to enrich weaponsss grade material," he said after an uncomfortable pause, "I would not object to sssuch an arrangement provided the Confederation promisssess not to interfere with our hunting campsss on Akiva."

 

[Zahran Khaldun]

Objective 3
Razzia - Daalang

Daalang - Upper Atmosphere
A few days ago...

By the end of the first day, three villages had fallen.

By the second, nine.

By the third, the map of Daalang's southern continent looked like a withered fruit, blackened and bruised by the fires of Khaldun's Razzia. Where once there had been green farmlands, orchards, and terraced vineyards, now there lay smoking craters, sun-cracked ruins, and the hollowed remains of market squares stripped bare of life, of resistance, of future.

And aboard the Dark Crescent, Zahran Khaldun's slave pens began to swell.

Row after row of containment fields now glowed along the starboard hull. Old cargo bays, once filled with the forgotten engines of war, had been refitted into pens, sectioned by age, sex, health, and market value. The air inside them grew thick with sweat, fear, and the sterile tang of stun gas. Children huddled in corners. Mothers rocked themselves to sleep. Elders stared blankly at the walls, the hope finally leaving their eyes.

The pens groaned beneath the weight of more than a thousand souls.

The Dark Crescent was heavy now, not with weaponry or treasure, but with lives.

In the dim red corridors of the ship, the air was thick with containment fields, the whisper of ventilation fans, and the soft weeping of those who no longer knew how to fight. The ship's internal gravity groaned beneath the weight of it. The guards walked the halls in pairs. Tranquilizer gas was vented every three hours.

By the fourth day, the pens were full.


Nar Shadda - Upper Atmosphere

Today.

Zahran Khaldun stood at the center of the bridge beneath the vaulted glow of stained transparisteel windows, his coat draped like a monarch's mantle across one shoulder. The dim lighting haloed his features, casting long shadows over his high cheekbones and the cold gleam of the goldenmedallion at his throat.

"Secure the manifest," he said softly, eyes fixed on the holographic projection before him. "Standard segmentation, labor tier, domestic tier, specialty tier. Annotate all minors for the syndicate protocol. And flag twenty-seven for prestige allocation."

"Yes, my Lord," replied the logistics officer, who bowed and vanished into the comm-pit haze.

"Open the link to Nar Shaddaa," he said. "Encrypted channel. Labor Alliance contact. Use the Black Sun Syndicate queue."

"Lord Khaldun." The voice oozed pleasantries, but no warmth. It was none other than his old friend, Mister Varnout.

Zahran smiled politely, but his eyes remained hollow.

"No," Zahran said simply. "This is notification."

He turned, gesturing toward the updated slave manifest projected beside him: over a thousand biometric pings, each tagged, bound, sorted, scanned. Ages. Physiologies. Known mutations. Genetic heritage. Education levels. Market value overlays glowed green beside each grouping.

"One thousand, one hundred and eighty-three assets," Zahran recited, each word clean, exact, as though reading from scripture. "Segregated by function and yield. Seventy-two prime-labor class. Sixty-four domestic-caliber females, aged eighteen to forty-two. A dozen preconditioned protocolists. One untrained Force-sensitive youth, tagged and sealed. No deaths in containment. Minimal injury."

He let the weight of it settle.

The man on the other end of the holo inclined his head, slowly. "Impressive. Your… efficiency remains consistent."

Zahran accepted the praise with the faintest nod. "Prepare your docks. I'm inbound to Nar Shaddaa, Dock Seventeen-Gamma. Full delivery protocol, three-day handling window. Also, contact Prince Velzari Tharn . He is on Lexrul, inform him the Labor Alliance has a large hull, and is willing to sell to the local Imperial government."

"You presume to dictate terms?" Said, anger creeping into Varnout's voice.

"No," Zahran said, his voice cooling. "Nar Shadda is Prince Tharn's and Black Sun's turf now. They dictate terms on the Planet we operate out of."

There was a long pause. The representative grinned, thin and sharp. "As ever, Lord Khaldun… you are a man who knows how to make history profitable."

The transmission ended.

Zahran exhaled slowly, rolling the stiffness from his shoulders. He turned to one of his senior officers.

"Prepare my Suite mooside, I will not arrive on Nar Shaddaa smelling like livestock."

[Thread Exit]

 

[Jerec Asyr]

Jerec kept his mouths shut. The senior Vigos and the Underlord had their priority asks. Jerec mostly kept an eye on the drinks and tried not to bump the Trandoshan's sensitive arm again.

He found himself scrutinizing Karl Von Strauss 's beautiful and heavily modded Relby blaster pistol, the custom optics, the Gription, the leather holster, and what looked like an overclocked xciter. It wouldn't have been out of place on the belt of one of the Underlord's personal guards. For a dry-looking Imperial type, that was one feth of a gun. Jerec ogled shamelessly.

 

[Velzari Tharn]

O B J E C T I V E - 1
M U T U A L - I N T E R E S T S​

​

Velzari looked from Imperius Indomitus to Karl Von Strauss and back again. A humored chuckle slipped from his lips, amused by the precariousness of the Iron Empire’s offer.

“You speak openly of undercutting the Confederation, in front of them, with the help of any ally they’ve only just made. What if I do extend shipments to them? Or better yet, what if I ask them to kill your men and give us ownership of the mines, in exchange for an even better deal?”

Naturally, it was more beneficial to play both sides. Undermining the exclusivity of Indomitus’ arrangement to sell materials to the Confederation was the most profitable move, and surely the one Black Sun would take, but proving this point was not an opportunity he wanted to miss.

“Black Sun sells to the highest bidder. That could be you, the Iron Empire, or the fething Royals. Whoever pays, gets. I’d make sure the Iron Empire has deeper coffers than the Confederation before stipulating a monogamous relationship.”

Black Sun: Hakar Scaleback | Jerec Asyr
Imperials: Karl Von Strauss | Imperius Indomitus | Marlon Sularen
​