Faction Day After Tomorrow | Agents of Chaos

[Paragon of Virtue]

Somewhere in the Unknown Regions…

They had ventured outside of their corner of the galaxy and this time not just to vandalize someone else's shipyard, but to try to remove a larger government off a planet that was a touch more than this or other kingdom that nobody cared about, tucked away in the Unknown Regions. They had thought that they would be win. They were wrong. The defeat was bitter, and the Outer Rim Coalition had succeeded in pushing the Agents of Chaos off the planet.

In the mayhem that had ensued after the crash on the palace, the retreat sirens had been sounded. Some of the Agents had left on their own. Others dragged others with them, whether said individuals were injured or were otherwise trying to be incredibly stubborn for no good reason. The palace and the streets lay in large scope destruction, and more chaos than they had bargained for swept through their ranks as they came face to face with defeat for the first time since they had formed.

The bridge was full of people running back and forth, running communications with the non-combatant fleet and there ships that had picked Agents up. Droids were walking between the people, taking ID's and names, making sure every single person was accounted for.

Not all were.

And now, those who were alive and free and had left Zonju, could mostly be found aboard the Anath, a Destroyer ship that for the moment being was being used to take their people home.

This is the Agents of Chaos' post-Rebellion thread. We have lost the rebellion for Zonju V and must now recollect ourselves. This thread is a chance for character development, for your characters to find (or not be able to find) those they care about, and later, we will discuss our next step in-character. You can choose how your character made it off Zonju V, however, please remember that you cannot dictate what happened to the ORC characters or to the planet there, unless it was written in that thread or you were given explicit permission.

Spoiler: Agents of Chaos Tag List

[member="Aoife Ironborne"]
[member="Alex Tanis"]
[member="Alwine Lechner"]
[member="Angelo Cavataio"]
[member="A'Runda"]
[member="Børre Drage"]
[member="Bacu Topol"]
[member="Bedrovelse Hevn"]
[member="Briggs Fett"]
[member="Celestine deWinter"]
[member="Celiana"]
[member="Custani Valcho"]
[member="Darren Shaw"]
[member="Darth Kentarch"]
[member="Darth Tacitus"]
[member="Deviant Val"]
[member="Eli-Mae Forrest"]
[member="Elias Logain"]
[member="Eternal Cyan"]
[member="Hanna"]
[member="Ingrid L'lerim"]
[member="Jai'galaar Gred"]
[member="James Cerensp "]
[member="Jaranamo Sal"]
[member="Jin"]
[member="Judas Foster"]
[member="Kamyrin Gyvolis"]
[member="Karlie Lynn Destat"]
[member="Karma Jayne"]
[member="Katerina Vaden"]
[member="Kyrinov"]
[member="Larentia"]
[member="Lieutenant Walsh"]
[member="Leeroy"]
[member="Madalena Antares"]
[member="Mint"]
[member="Moe"]
[member="Nighthaunter"]
[member="Niysha"]
[member="Nix Scamandros"]
[member="Nyree Justice"]
[member="Petra Cavataio"]
[member="Pom Stych Tivé"]
[member="PrincessNatalie"]
[member="Qaheesh the Scorned"]
[member="Renn Garrick"]
[member="Reyn Australis"]
@Rikadon
[member="Ruby Sky"]
[member="Scherezade deWinter"]
[member="Seraph Sin"]
[member="Sor-Jan Xantha"]
[member="Sussh"]
[member="Tae-Rai"]
[member="Tanno Rand"]
[member="Thalliesin Bard"]
[member="The Bridesmaid"]
[member="The Maverick"]
[member="Tobias Dib"]
[member="Valrayne"]
[member="Vaulkhar"]
[member="Wegli Jinrang"]
[member="Wilhelm von Reinhardt"]
[member="William the Bloody"]
[member="Wonderworker"]
[member="Yeetus Deletus"]
[member="Zel Nar"]
[member="Zenva Vrotoa"]

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Tags: Open

She had been screaming when they tried to get her out of the ruins of the castle. She had been screaming when they'd dragged her aboard, kicking and fighting every inch along the way. She had been screaming when they'd eventually shot her with a stun dart filled with enough chit to put a rancor in a coma. And still she woke up shortly after that, screaming again.

It was not the loss. No. She remembered those final moments vividly, talking to that… Jedi, as it? She wasn't sure. If not a Jedi then definitely not a Sith. There were cheese cubes. Pleasant conversation? Well, there was a conversation, even if it wasn't entirely pleasant. And then there was supposed to be a fight, but instead of a fight everything had come crashing.

But she didn't care about any of that.

What she cared about was that fraction of a breath just before the palace was hit, that less than a second in which her eyes had widened. That moment in which she knew, something was wrong with her sister. It was thin thread that connected them, so narrow that it could not be seen, could barely be felt, but Scherezade had felt it snap. She didn't know what was wrong, but she knew everything was.

And when her eyes opened again after that stun dart, Madalena wasn't there.

Her armor split and ripped in many places, she paid it no mind as she got off the infirmary bed and marched outside, sniffing the air noisily, trying to catch a scent of her sister. Where was she? Where was Madalena? Scherezade's heart beat so hard in worry that she could hear the thumping of it inside of her ears.

"MADDY!" she screamed, almost folding in the middle, trying to scent her sister's presence, both through the blood and the Force, and finding nothing. "Madalena…" Jumping almost ten feet into the corner, the Sithling grabbed one of the droids, doing her best to ignore that her cheeks were getting wet with tears, "Madalena Antares," she almost barked at him, "Head of the Wild Hunt. Did you find her?!"

"Negative," the droid replied emotionlessly, "We have surveyed 62% of population on board. Please be patient."

 

[Sor-Jan Xantha]

Location: Star Defender Anath, Medical Bay
Tags: Open

[ the last jedi ]​

​

"Please..."

When he'd been a child, Sor-Jan had been afraid of letting people down.

He was still a child. But, when he was actually thirteen and not nearly a hundred years old, Sor-Jan had been told that a group of the most learned and respected monks in his religion had determined that he was to become the padawan learner to a Jedi Knight. And, while the Jedi forbade such thoughts, the truth was that Sor-Jan had been deeply afraid when he'd been old enough to understand the scope of responsibility.

The Jedi Knights were the guardians of peace and order in the Republic.

"Don't let me die."

For fifteen years, he served one of the Masters of the Order. A Thispiasian named Azul Gol, who had been the padawan to the Wookie Jedi, Tyvokka. The lessons that Tyvokka and Azul Gol had imparted to the young Anzat had prepared him for many aspects of Jedi life. The harsh realities of war. The strength to wield his lightsaber against another living being. And the good sense to avoid using violence at all costs.

One thing that the Jedi did a poor job of preparing their students for was failure.

"I don't want to die."

The young Anzat was in the infirmary. He had never been a Jedi Healer -- that had been the mantle taken up by his padawan, Dilandau -- but Sor-Jan was no stranger to the evils and atrocities of war. During the Stark Hyperspace War, the shortage of kolto had been a major concern, prompting the young padawan to visit to infirmary in order to understand the state of their medical supplies and the limits of what their medical personnel were prepared to cope.

When he had become a knight, and later a Jedi General of the Clone Wars, those habits remained. Upon leaving the battlefield, his first stop would be the infirmary, so that he might assess for himself the capabilities and limitations inherent.

It seemed that the forces of [member="Scherezade deWinter"] were rather thin on medical personnel. There were droids milling about, coldly calculating their triage and dispensing of patients with an entirely inhuman manner. Rolling up his sleeves, the Corellian tencho-czar did as he'd been trained to do. "No one's going to die," the boy said tersely, finding it shocking at how easily he could lie to a man's face like that.

Lying was something that the Jedi did, in fact, prepare their students for.

Amazing how the giants of moral superiority could so readily defend the practice. In truth, it was eye-opening to realize that nothing had prepared him for this moment. The parliament of 'if'.

If he could control the bleeding.

If he could alleviate the respiratory distress.

If he could get a plasma transfusion going...

A burst of blood shot up, nailing the boy in the eye as it squirted up from the wound. The dam having earlier been broken, a litany of colorful metaphors and euphemisms were strung in rapid fire stucco from a respectable cross-section of languages. For this kind of operation, he needed four more hands and two assistants. Instead, he was doing the best he could to juggle the various instruments he was wielding with as much precision as he could with the time constraints he was under.

With one eye, the boy was trying to monitor the state of the man's vitals. They were crashing. Bad. Risking the pause necessary to snatch a hand back to snare the medical cart, the boy plucked a vial from the tray. Popping that into his mouth, he held it between his teeth as he grabbed the injector with his free hand and adjusted the setting. Facing the open end toward his face, the boy held firm with his teeth as he jammed the hypo back to load it in a non-traditional method that would have instantly failed him were this a graded evolution in the Circle of Healers.

The man wasn't pleading for his life now. As his blood volume trickled out, the loss of circulation had triggered a seizure and unconsciousness. This was beyond Sor-Jan's skill, but the surgical droids were busy with the patients that they had deemed higher priority than this... William Bagley of Ord Mantell.

So Sor-Jan had done what the Jedi had taught him. He'd taken up the lost cause.

William Bagley was dead. He would have died were it not for Sor-Jan's attempt at intervention. And still the man was dead still.

As the droids wheeled the body away to the morgue, the youth looked out over the infirmary. The ship was filled with the Agents that they could collect from Zonju, willing or otherwise. Many had injuries or wounds sustained from the fighting. Other, such as Scherezade, had them from the retreat.

The woman had resisted, even when it was clear that her Agents were fighting a losing battle against the Coalition. Which was when the boy had stepped in. Scherezade was a powerful Force User, but then so was Sor-Jan. In the end, he had managed to restrain the woman enough that someone was able to hit her with a tranquilizer.

There was no telling how she would feel toward him for that decision. Perhaps it had been as futile as his choice to try and save William Bagley, but he had grown weary of standing by and doing nothing.

Accepting a rag from a medical droid, the boy wiped the blood from his face and then traded the cloth for a patient chart for the next in the triage queue.

The Agents of Chaos had a long night in front of them. He didn't know what the inevitable dawn might bring, but in the interim he would do what he could with his knowledge of the Force to try and alleviate what pain that he could.

 

[Jai'galaar Gred]

Jai sat down calmly. This wasn't new to him. He looked over everyone, particularly [member="Scherezade deWinter"] and [member="Sor-Jan Xantha"] . He.... He honestly didn't know what to tell them. It was.... It felt like Concord Dawn all over again. He just stayed there, letting his helmet hide his face. He finally couldn't take it though, and punched the table he was sitting at before shaking his head. He hadn't been able to save Celiana, and who knew what was happening to her now. He finally grabbed the slugthrower he'd picked up, checking it, but it was pretty clear it was just a diversion.

It took him a second before finally go to Sor-Jan, speaking up. "You can't always save everyone," he simply said before walking over to deWinter. She wasn't exactly the warmest person for a Mando to be around, but she was hurting, and it was something Jai could at least understand. His voice gave away just how close to home it hit for him. "If she's a strong fighter, she'll have survived." He honestly had trouble believing that now. He just.... He'd seen friends and family fall already. It was hard to believe now.

 

[Nyree Justice]

Tags: Finette Frai

The brunette's eyes stared out, unfeeling, unseeing. The cold durasteel hull before her and the dozens of sentients scurrying in front of her could have been thousands of lightyears away for all she knew. It was over. She had failed. She had--more than that--almost died. Out of the dozen of soldiers in their latex pink shirts only four came back. The image flashed through her eyes again of Stu one of the four survivors limping on what remained of his one bloodied stump between Craig and Evans half dragging, half-carrying him onboard. Their pink latex was splattered with blood. Even Nyree found herself shooting into the fray. The Gucci fur coat she had gained in the whole venture was no soaked with the blood of one of the soldiers she had held as he died. The blood showered from his severed artery in the back seat, dried droplets now coated her cheeks and forehead. He had--he had wanted her to tell.... Someone.... that he loved them. Who was it?

Nyree squeezed her eyes shut, trying to block his dying eyes out of her head. They had been so blue, so beautiful and blue like a clear sky with white crystal clouds lacing along it. He had taken the blast for her. He didn't have to. She would have died from the frag grenade if he had jumped in the way. And she couldn't even remember his name. Or his last words.

A tear slid down her tightly shut eyes. A sob escaped her lips. It was for nothing now. Just a few credits and maybe a cheap thrill. How things had devolved so quickly, she wouldn't ever know.

Evans lowered himself to sit by her, leaning back against the cold bulkhead with a sigh. He set one fresh paper cup of caf between them and sipped from the other. "Good news, kiddo, they are sayin' Stu should live." He paused, taking a second sip from his cup. Nyree didn't dare open her eyes. Not now, she could almost sort of hear him, pulling her back to this moment. Away from the man dying in her arms on the planet now light years away.

"He will need a few implants, but that is doable. And thank god our HMO covers those," Evans continued, "Granted, the surgery itself isn't covered, but that's a lot cheaper than the actual robotic arm and leg at this point. And, hell he will get to keep working, so that's a plus. The long term disability will kick in with week two, so his husband and kids won't be thrown out of their home." Evans paused to give Nyree a chance to say something. Silence loomed over the two of them, only punctured by the sounds of lives going on all around them. He lowered his voice to a softer tone, "Its not your fault, Nyree. Who sends a kid into a war zone like that, anyway? You had no hope of anything. You should be out thinking about boys or girls and the latest fashion, not making a hot exit dodging grenades."

Nyree took the cup tenatively, wiping her face clean of the tears. Streaks of semi-dried blood crossed her face from the movement. "That's the problem. I was. That's why they caught us." She took a sip of caf, not daring to look Evans in the face.

"Not your fault, kiddo. How could you know what you were doing?"

He was right. How could she? She was just a girl. She was tough, smart, strong, wise, and business savvy. She could buy low, sell high, and turn profits like no other 16-year old in the smuggling business. But apparently that wasn't enough these days. She needed more.

Nyree set the paper cup down and cleared her throat. "Thank you, Evans." She rose, "Tell the medical staff to send me all of Stu's expenses that aren't covered by his HMO."

The teen could barely feel herself as she made her way back to her quarters. The door closed and locked behind her carefully. She scanned the room for listening or recording devices. Satisfied, she pulled a a stuffed pink unicorn off her equally plush and pink bed spread. With a flick of her wrist she undid the velcro on its underbelly and retrieved an antiquated but functional Comm. Her thumb dialed out, calling across the galaxy on a secure line. Nyree held her breath, all she could do is hope for an answer.....

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Sor-Jan Xantha Jai'galaar Gred Nyree Justice Finette Frai​

"We have surveyed 64% of population on board. Please be patient."

She wanted to break the damned droid. Find another one that would give her the answers she sought. But she knew it wouldn't really help. Besides, she would probably end up bleeding because of it and that would make things worse. She couldn't smell her own blood on top of everything else that was going on.

And then that Mandalorian approached her. Said if. Scherezade almost let a knife slide into her hands. How dared anyone suggest that Madalena was anything less than that?"

"She was the Head of the Wild Hunt," she damn well nearly screamed. "She led… leads, all our combatants!"

And now she was gone. Scherezade couldn't feel her anywhere, not through the Force, not by the blood… Led or leads? Alive or dead? Biting her lower lip hard enough to break the skin, Scherezade folded at the knees and went into a crouch, her arms wrapping around her legs.

A few breaths, before she looked up. "If my sister is dead I will massacre Coalition planets, one by one, until the entire Outer Rim is nothing but a giant graveyard."

 

[Vale Vynar]

Location: Star Defender Anath Bridge
-----


The Force was roiling with pain and loss with such strength that it was giving Vale a headache as he stood on the bridge of the Anath.

The Rebellion for Zonju V had been a disaster and a decided failure, at least for the most part. Vale had accomplished his mission. Failure was not something he was accustomed to accepting as a member of the highest ranks of the Silencers. Despite the overall results of the operation at least he could report success for his own task.

The tall, pale skinned Kiffar stood there with his arms crossed over the soot covered beskar chestplate that he wore under his long armored trench coat. He was one of the lucky ones who'd been relatively unharmed in the combat on Zonju. He operated alone the majority of the time and had no real connections to anyone on the ship, so he hadn't lost any friends in the fighting either.

To be a Reaper of the Silencers was a solitary lifestyle, it didn't pay to become attached to people. Which was all well and good because that wasn't really in Vale's personality, not with the way he'd been brought up. His parents couldn't control his Force tantrums as a child and had pawned him off on a cruel Force user, a disillusioned member of the Sith Empire, that raised him in an environment of hate and anger.

The training had been excruciating and were always near suicide missions. He'd been tossed into a Dathomiri pit fighting arena to face a rabid Rancor at only eight years old with nothing but his bare hands and the raw power of the Force to combat it with. Now one of the Rancor's incisors formed the hilt of his lightsaber.

The end result of the training was the cold, humorless, calculating and deadly Kiffar warrior standing on the bridge now. Metallic footsteps echoed up behind him accompanied by a cold and lifeless presence in the Force. “Master Vynar, I'm sorry to disturb you but all Force-sensitive personnel have been ordered to the medical bay to help treat the injured.” The synthesized voice of a protocol droid chirped in it's oblivious tone.

Vale didn't even open his eyes. “I take lives, I don't save them.” He said without thought.

“I'm well aware of that sir, but orders are orderzzzt--” the Protocol droid gripped at its throat as sparks showered out from the crushed vocabulator it now had thanks to a subtle hand gesture from the dark Force user.

“I don't take orders from droids either.” He said turning his head towards the droid and opening his eyes and setting his bright gold eyes on the panicking droid as it backpedaled away with an impressive speed given it's limited mobility.



Sor-Jan Xantha , Scherezade deWinter , Jai'galaar Gred , Nyree Justice

 

[BB-610]

Loss wasn't exactly something BB-610 was familiar with - at least, not in the traditional sense. It wasn't that the droid had never lost before, no, it was the fact that the droid had spent a majority of his life with daily memory wipes. Any critical losses, feelings of inadequacy, had all been systematically removed from his memory banks and he was none the wiser.

It wasn't until his abandonment that the messed up code that ran throughout him had finally began to create any semblance of feelings. When he toured lifeless planets by himself, he felt, and when he realised that nobody cared enough to search for him, he felt. Years of constant neglect had gradually shaped BB-610 into being a droid of little trust despite the constant need for compassion. That wasn't his function, of course. His function was to repair starships and, occasionally, pilot them. He wasn't supposed to feel. But a droid with years without memory wipes could slowly grow to be worryingly human.

All of his losses? Had been psychological. When he was replaced by "better" astromechs, that was a loss. When he was hated by his "family" when he briefly reverted to his old programming, that was a loss. It wasn't until he had been adopted under the Agents of Chaos that BB-610 could finally experience what losing a literal battle truly meant.

[PROCESSING... | CRITICAL ERROR. FAILURE. FAILURE. Bzzt- DOES NOT-DOES NOT C-C-C-...]

The droid's mind, if you could even call it that, whirrs as it ran with a variety of 'thoughts', mismatched code that struggles to cope with experiences he's never felt before yet feel so familiar. It doesn't take much to recognise the aura of dread and sorrow that echoes across the ship. He was incredibly new to the organisation, so to see the first people in years to even give him an opportunity feel so helpless and defeated, it makes him wonder if exile was better than watching those around you suffer.

It was a disturbing sight to see so many mistreated droids. Was he supposed to feel that? It wasn't in his original programming. Watching as Vale Vynar crushes the protocol droid with a sickening crunch, BB-610 decides to simply roll past him without any risk of acknowledgement.

A low beep as he instead settles on checking up on Scherezade deWinter and Jai'galaar Gred . Cyan optic stares, focusing in mild concern.

 

[Jai'galaar Gred]

Jai gave deWinter a somber look. One that screamed that he knew what she was going through. His mind went back to Concord Dawn for a moment, flashes of the battle and the aftermath. Of what had been lost there. Jai.... He couldn't.... He shook his head. No.... He couldn't let his mind go there right now. At the same time, the feeling deWinter seemed to just bleed was synonym with his feelings on the Sith Empire. He wanted them to feel what he did, but he knew it'd never happen. If anything, they'd revel in it. He sighed, pulling down his cloaks hood, and removing his helmet to be sure deWinter could see that he understood.

"Many times.... Many times the best of.... You'd think I'd know something to say by now." Jai then heard something roll up, and turned to find a BB-unit. He smiled slightly, crouching down. "Hey there little guy. Who's this droid here?"

Scherezade deWinter BB-610

 

[Scherezade deWinter]

Jai'galaar Gred BB-610 Vale Vynar Sor-Jan Xantha Nyree Justice Finette Frai​

Anger. Fury. How often had she let these feelings flow through her, dominate her. Every single time she had been betrayed or had lost something, it had been pain and hurt that had taken the lead, decreed what and how Scherezade would do. But no longer. There were a precious few people in the Sithling's life that she could not see her life without, and her sister was the top among them. She could have handled her sister being hurt, she could have handled her sister lying here on a bed, unconscious. That way she would at least know what was happening. This state of things… It was unbearable.

And she refused to cry about it. She refused to cry about it. If the Coalition killed her sister, Scherezade would give her tears and blood. But until then, she would give into the fury, into the rage.

There was a droid beeping next to her, and somewhere in the back of her mind she registered that Jai was trying to say something as well, but they would have to wait. Scherezade had a message. Up until now, she had gone along with this entire Agents of Chaos thing because that was where the people she cared about were. Just like before that, she had been in the Southern Systems because that was all she had.

No more.

It was time to make choices.

Marching to the entrance of the room, she glared at the droid who had given her the list of those who were thus accounted for. Her sister was still not among them. It would be hours before the count was complete. But Scherezade knew, down to her very bones, that Madalena Antares would be announced as MIA by the end of the day.

"Agents of Chaos," she had to keep herself from yelling into the commsystem, her voice carrying over, herad in ever corner of the flagship, "Today, we lost. We brought everything we had to Zonju, and we could not keep the Coalition off it. Worse, we could not stay on it ourselves. And now the Coalition has our Head of the Hunt, and it might be holding more of us.

Because that it what happens. That is what happens too many worlds around this galaxy. We did not go to Zonju to kill those of the Coalition. We went to Zonju to keep its king safe from them. We paid the price of blood and sweat. How often have you paid that price? How many lives have you given up so that other large governments or organizations could profit off the backs of those you call family and friends?

No more. Our defeat was a lesson. We lost the battle but we will never lose the war! We will get our people back! We will train harder, add resources, and be better. We will let the Coalition and all those who watched us lose grow fat and placid thinking we can be easily beaten, and we will push them back and make them regret they ever dared to look down on us!

AGENTS! We will burn this galaxy down! WHO IS WITH ME?!"