Private Definitely Not a Trap

[Devin Virell]

Acier Moonbound

​

He didn’t need to be told twice! The moment Ace’s blade screamed to life and the warehouse detonated into chaos, he was already on the prowl. Crates crashing were but thunder in the ears, and he ducked and weaved to the best of his ability to dodge what he could of the spice dust raining down. Part of it stung his throat. The alien blue blow strobing across walls, shadows jerking like ghosts, it was plenty enough to have all the scrum present drawn to the Jedi.

There was no denying the thrill he felt in that moment. With boots whispering against the deck, and that familiar slugthrower weight pressing against him, he felt like more than a sneaky shadow. Devin was armed, dangerous, and very much alive now.

Another line carved.

Devin smirked to himself.

Subtle, huh?

The word tasted bitter and amused all at once.

He ghosted along the far wall, slipping past another stack of crates. Spice grit clung to his tongue, sweet and acrid, the smell of ambition and ruin. And well.. fun.

And by the time Ace had someone pinned, the pilot was already there, datapad scrooped up. The screen revealed cargo loads and displayed the same Imperial stencils. He wouldn’t read them just yet.

The Jedi was the storm. Devin would be the vibroscalpel.

The slugthrower came free, barrel pressed against his target's ribs, just under the glow of a saber.

“Here’s how this works,” he murmured, eyes sharp. “You talk, I listen. You stall, I get bored. And trust me.. when I get bored, things get messy.”

He let the datapad tilt in the other hand, screen casting a pale glow across his face. “So. You’re gonna tell me what’s in these crates, who you’re moving them for. Nice and clean. No lies, no stalling. Because between me and the wizard here..” he direction his chin toward Ace’s blade, “you’re running out of bad options.”

The man's breath hitched, sweat beading at the temple. “Spice. Just spice. That’s all. We move it, we sell it-”

He cut him off, pressing the barrel harder into his side. “Yeah, spice doesn’t get stamped with fresh Imperial stencils. Try again.”

The man swallowed hard. “Alright alright! It’s not spice. Not all of it. Some crates are… transfers. Off world shipments. The Imps pay us to move them quietly.”

The datapad was tilted so its glow washed across the man’s face. “Transfers of what? Weapons? Tech? …People?”

Hesitation followed before words spilled out. “We don’t open the crates, we don’t ask. Just load and ship, past the spice dens. Sector Twelve’s the funnel. That’s all I know, I swear.”

His jaw tightened. “Where the feth do they go once they leave here?”

Panic began rising. “Dock crews say… say they’re bound for some frigate in orbit. Imperial registry has been wiped. A ghost ship.”

Devin leaned in. “Last chance. What else?”

Words began tumbling out even faster. “There’s a mark.. two slashes through a circle. It’s on the crates, the walls. Not Imperial. Some gang.. some syndicate. They’re in on it. They get paid to keep the streets clear while the Imps move cargo. That’s all I know, I swear it!”

With the datapad flickering, it confirmed the symbol in the logs. He exhaled slowly, pulling back just enough to let their hostage breathe. “See? That wasn’t so hard. You talk, you live. Simple math.”

The barrel eased back. He flicked the screen shut, tucking it into his jacket as if sealing a confession. “We’ve got our funnel,” he suggested. A glance toward Ace was all it took. Storm and scalpel aligned. The smuggler was already forgotten, just another shadow now.

What mattered was east, past the dens, into the dark.

That was where the crates moved, where answers waited. Devin rolled his shoulders, that smirk sliding right back into place. “Time to cut to the source.”

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Ord Mantell

Equipment:
Field Gear | Lightsaber | Tic

Ace's free hand remained pressed against the man, lightsaber firmly hovering over his throat. His dark eyes pierced into the overseer's, faintly smirking as Devin conducted the interrogation.

When the pilot had gotten the information needed, Ace didn't speak right away. The hum of his lightsaber still burned faint between them, filling the silence the overseer's whimper left behind. The smell of scorched spice was thick in his nose. Then, he finally thumbed the blade off.

"Yeah." Ace muttered, voice low. "We cut to the source."

He turned, boots scuffing the deck as Tic hopped back onto his shoulder, chirping once like the droid had been holding his breath too. Ace's gaze swept the bay, datapads still sparking, cargo lifts stalled mid-cycle, a half-empty sled humming in standby.

If what the overseer said was true, then the crates heading east weren't the end of the route. They were the beginning.

Ace exhaled through his nose and started toward the open freight doors leading out of the bay. The night beyond glowed faint red where the spice dens burned. The further east they went, the heavier the air felt, heat, rot... and desperation.

He paused just before the threshold, glancing back over his shoulder. "Whatever's waiting past those dens, it's not spice. Imps don't hide freight this deep for nothing."

Then his gaze turned forward again, sharp, steady. He folded his arms, pondering for a moment - recalling the overseer's words. The frigate in orbit drew his immediate attention.

"The frigate. We're gonna have to deal with that too, eventually."

Ace glanced to Devin briefly, a silent understanding passing between them. Whatever came next, they were moving through it together.

As they continued on, they passed alleys slick with condensation, the hum of portable drives and vent fans layering into a constant, dull vibration. Voices carried from somewhere ahead... low, scattered, but tense. The kind of tone people used when money and danger mixed freely.

Ace slowed as the street began to dip toward the dens. The glow ahead wasn't just neon now; it pulsed from open doors and windows where haze poured into the air like steam. He lifted a hand slightly, signaling for Devin to hold for just a second, his voice a quiet thread between the noise.

He nodded toward the pulsing red light ahead - the dens, alive and waiting. He'd let Devin make the call on how they play this. Collaborative effort, after all.

Devin Virell​

 

[Devin Virell]

Acier Moonbound

​

Devin slowed whenever Ace’s hand lifted. The signal was enough, so he froze mid stride, eyes narrowing on the red haze pulsing ahead. The dens breathed like a living thing, doors yawning open, smoke curling out. Every sound here was heavier with the clink of credit chips, the rasp of laughter, and the shuffle of boots that marked the dens as a place for the wicked to congregate..

Rolling his shoulders once, slugthrower shifting in his grip, he smirked faintly.

“Subtle’s not exactly our forte,” he murmured. “But I say we ghost the first den. Eyes open, ears sharper. No noise unless we have to.”

His gaze flicked upward, past the haze, to where the frigate’s shadow still resided in his mind. The datapad hidden in his jacket burned like a secret against his ribs, just another reminder of their shared mission.

“That ship’s the artery. These streets? Just veins feeding it. We cut quiet, we follow the flow, we find the heart."

So he tilted his chin toward the glow ahead, a scalpel’s gesture to match the storm’s signal. The red light painted the pilot’s face, eyes catching the reflection like embers. “Your call if we go loud. But my plan? We slip in, bleed them for answers, and walk out before they know we were ever here.”

Devin’s smirk returned, sharper this time, as he glanced sidelong at Ace. “And if the Imps are hiding ghosts past spice, then we’re already late to the party. Let’s make sure we’re the ones writing the guest list.”

He shifted his stance, waiting for Ace’s move, but the intent was clear.. Devin had set the course. The dens were no longer just a wall of red haze.. they were the funnel, the artery, the next cut waiting to be made..

A burst of laughter cracked from deeper inside, followed by the scrape of chairs and the thump of music bleeding through walls. Shadows shifted in the haze, and two figures emerged from the nearest doorway, jackets marked with the same double-slash circle that Devin had seen on the datapad. One of them leaned out, scanning the street, before disappearing back inside.

"Looks like the syndicate’s already on watch.” His voice stayed low, threaded with dry amusement. “We ghost it, we catch their whispers. We storm it, we see who runs.”

The choice hung in the air, his finger loose on the trigger of his pistol, attention fixated on the haze..it rolled like the breath of a waiting beast, enticing them to step forward and enter the den..

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Ord Mantell

Equipment:
Field Gear | Lightsaber | Tic

Ace let Devin talk while he watched the den. Two figures had just peeled out of the nearest doorway, same double-slash circle on their jackets, and the way they scanned the street told him the syndicate wasn't blind. They were patient, practiced. Dangerous.

He slid a fingertip along the hilt at his side and felt the rhythm of the place: who moved like they belonged, who watched like they were waiting to be paid. No theatrics. No grand gestures. Devin's plan to ghost the first den fit; it was the smart way in.

"Okay." Ace said. He didn't need to shout. He only needed to be heard close. "We go quiet then."

Tic clicked once on his shoulder. Ace tapped the droid's headcase, thumbing a simple command the little unit knew well: light scatter, brief comm-scramble. No hacking the whole block, just enough to make a momentary blind spot at the doorway and garble any local mic chatter for a breath. The droid whirred and skittered toward a nearby service panel, disappearing into a rusted alcove.

Ace's gaze slid to the two watchmen who'd returned inside. He counted their angles, the way the doorway funneled sightlines, and picked the approach: close, single-file, shallow profile. He pointed once, a small, sharp motion toward the alley that ran along the building's flank.

"You take the front flank." He said. "I'll sweep the side and cut off the back if things go wrong. We keep comms hard and quiet."

He didn't say it for bravado; he said it because someone needed to be practical. If the Imps had ghosts past spice, they'd rather not be surprised by loud swords and blaster fire in crowded rooms.

Ace drew breath and tasted the spice haze, then stepped forward.. He moved slow, every step a small economy of sound. The den's doorway grew closer: a smear of red light, a half-heard laugh, a sliver of motion just beyond the threshold.

He crouched at the corner, and watched the rhythm of bodies inside. Tic's light blinked once, and the little droid extended his scomp link, jacking into a rusted port along the wall. For a moment, the panel lights flickered, and the faint hum of nearby receivers cut to static. Cameras glitched. Audio feeds dropped. Just enough noise in the system to make a blind spot.

Ace let the moment stretch long enough to feel it. Then he moved again, slipping toward the rear of the den. No lightsaber yet. No theatrics. Just precision, the quiet before a break.

He pressed into the shadow of a half-collapsed vent stack, peering toward the back entrance where faint light leaked through the cracks. The red haze from the front still bled through the walls, pulsing in time with the bass from inside. Reaching to his comm, Ace's voice came through.

"In position, Flyboy. On your mark."

Devin Virell ​

 

[Devin Virell]

Acier Moonbound

​

It didn’t take long for the comm to hiss in his ear, but Devin let it ride, thumb resting on the guard, running the cut through his head one more time. Red haze ahead, smoke and laughter bleeding together. His jaw was tight, then loose, grin sliding in crooked.

Same old dance.

His steps were soft, but the floor wasn’t giving him much. Sticky, tacky, like the place wanted to keep him. He trailed a finger along the wall, rust coming off in small flakes. The pistol hung low, casual, like a joke only he was in on.. the punchline being he got to walk out of this.

Heat and noise bled out the doorway, neon spilling across a puddle like the floor was lit from underneath. Devin slid along the wall, eyes cutting sideways, catching the rhythm inside. Didn’t need faces to know who was drunk, who was working, who was waiting on a payout. The air was thick with spice and sweat, sweet and sour, burning faint in his nostrils, sticking to his tongue.

He held at the door, head cocked. Laughter, scrape of chairs.. then the lull. That’s where the whispers lived. His finger tapped once against the grip, in time with the bass leaking through. He exhaled slowly and slipped inside like he’d been there all along.

Tapping the comm once, it was like their code for trouble. “Front’s breathing pretty heavy, wizard. You catch any twitches in the back?"

That datapad from earlier in his jacket still burned against his ribs, heavier than it should’ve been. Ghost ship.. artery.. veins. He carried the words like a map, and this place was just another cut waiting to be made..

He drifted deeper, shoulders loose, pistol hand easy, every move a scalpel’s edge. If anyone looked too long, he gave them the grin..sharp enough to pass for charm.. perhaps sharp enough to warn them off. Or so he hoped.

Then, between bursts of laughter, he caught it..two men at a side table, voices low, one leaning in too close: “…midnight run, Sector Twelve east…”

The words slid into his ears, and he let them ride the comm, flat and quiet.

One of the watchers finally looked up, eyes locking on him too long. Devin’s expression didn’t change, but his thumb brushed the trigger again.

The room was about to choose.

The watcher's stare was firm, and twitch of his hand towards the belt was plenty enough to shift the air.. a warning that need not be spoken.

Laughter from the corner faltered. A chair scraped against the floor, the sound sharp. The den was now on edge.

"Don't worry," his voice was almost playful, "I never overstay my welcome."

He let the grin linger, sharp as a blade, a warning to anyone who dared to make a move. "Relax. I’m just here for the music."

The grin, a darker promise, said otherwise.

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Ord Mantell

Equipment:
Field Gear | Lightsaber | Tic

The comm crackled in his hand, Devin's voice came through, low in the static. There was a lot of movement in the front.

Ace didn't answer right away. The den's wall still pulsed that faint red. The Force pressed against him like a panicked heartbeat, too fast, uneven. A crowd trying not to breathe too loud.

"Uh-huh." He finally answered, voice hushed. Confirming Devin's question.

He shifted closer to the back entrance. His head angled, eyes tracing faint silhouettes across the gaps. Two figures near the back corridor, one pacing like he was about to bolt. They weren't relaxed. They were calculating.

He crept closer to the back entrance, one hand brushing the cold frame of the durasteel door. Through the slit near the hinges, he could see movement, two figures, silhouettes shifting against the haze. One of them was pacing, hand twitching near his belt. The other kept glancing toward the front, waiting for a cue.

Ace didn't need the Force to read what that meant. Someone was about to panic.

"Got two near the rear corridor." He murmured into the comm. "If this tips, one's gonna bolt. I'll make sure he doesn't."

Ace sank lower, steadying his breathing, his fingers ghosting along the hilt at his hip. When a low burst of laughter came from the front, he moved with it, slipping through the narrow gap in the door and into the den.

He stayed low, weaving between stacked containers, sticking to the shadows. The rebel's dark eyes were locked on the pair near the back corridor. From this angle, he could see more: the tables up front, the haze thick enough to blur Devin into silhouette. The place had gone quiet in the wrong way, the kind of hush that meant someone had just noticed the wrong face.

Ace's jaw tightened. "It's about to get messy." He whispered, comm barely above static. "I'll keep the back sealed."

He pressed against the wall, every muscle coiled, ready to move. The hum of laughter had thinned into silence and then came the faintest sound: the click of a safety switch.

His thumb brushed the hilt of his lightsaber but didn't ignite it. He was already moving, silent, precise, slipping deeper into the den's shadow to cut off their escape the second things went loud.

Devin Virell​

 

[Devin Virell]

Acier Moonbound

​

The grin stayed, both crooked and sharp, jaw flexing once before loosening. Devin let their stare ride the way, eyes sliding past like he hadn’t noticed, still cataloguing the room. That scrape of a chair had been dragging too long. But it was that twitch of a hand near a belt, that lull between laughter and where whispers so lived. This den was breathing wrong now. Too shallow.

Oddly, the red neon bleeding across floors like puddles, perhaps some psychological effect in a sense, was equally unsettled. A color that had an entire meaning of its own. On that floor that appeared like it was lit from underneath now, Devin shifted his weight from one boot to another, his stance spring-loaded, ready to make a move when the time called.

“Funny thing about whispers,” he murmured, voice carrying enough to land at the table where two leaned in close. “They travel faster than slugs. If I hear one more, I might just follow it..”

That crooked line along his lips wasn’t for charm; it was a warning.

Ghost ship. Artery. Veins. He carried the words like a map.

One of the men at the side table flinched then, panic cracking composure. “..midnight run, Sector Twelve east..” Words spilled out too fast, too loud.

Silence followed, the kind that was dangerous.

“See, this is the part where someone gets stupid. Don’t be that someone.”

The scrape hadn’t even finished before the second man moved. He skidded across the sticky floor as he bolted for the back corridor. There was certainly going to be more than one runner, so maybe he’d save Acier the trouble of one.

Devin's pistol rose without hesitation. A slug tore through the air, a sharp and malicious note in the symphony of confusion now unfolding around them, and the runner's leg crumpled beneath him, his stride shattered mid step. His scream pierced through the haze before hitting the ground with a loud thud.

The problem was that single shot did more than just break the silence in the den; it echoed with the force of a thunderclap, ripping through the walls and spilling into the streets beyond. A sound that carried on the wind, promising trouble. The room erupted like a dam breaking, chairs tumbling and voices rising to match the chaos. Safeties clicked off with a finality. The watchers were no longer observers but participants, their fingers twitching towards weapons. Tension simmered to a boiling point, and Devin didn't need a connection to the Force to feel that one.

Shifting once more, he sprung forth from that lone boot, shoulders loose as if he’d been waiting for this exact moment. He stepped over the flinching man at the table, pistol still smoking, and let the grin cut even wider still.

“Guess someone had to be stupid. Now we’re all paying for it!”

The key to the artery was here. Part of him believed that the ghost frigate wasn't a rumor, it was waiting just beyond this mess..

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Ord Mantell

Equipment:
Field Gear | Lightsaber | Tic

The shot cracked through the den like thunder, and Ace was already moving before the echo faded. The den shuddered around him, chairs scraping, voices splintering into panic. He'd been waiting for this exact moment.

The first man at the back corridor bolted, shoulder clipping the frame as he ran. Ace met him halfway. With a flick of his fingers, the runner slammed against a stack of crates hard enough to rattle the hinges. Spice powder burst into the air, a glittering cloud that turned red in the light. The man crumpled with a wheeze before his hand even found his blaster.

The second one hesitated just long enough to make the mistake of drawing. Ace twisted with him, using the Force to jerk the pistol from his grip, and drove his knee into the man's ribs. A breath knocked out, a blaster clattered to the floor. The follow-through came easy, an elbow across the jaw. Both men were down, still breathing

The den up front was unraveling fast. Devin's voice carried sharp through the haze, somewhere near the bar.

"Right on cue." Ace muttered.

He thumbed his lightsaber's ignition and it's blue blade pulsed to life. The blue glow spilled through the red fog, cutting it in ribbons. Just enough to see.

He moved forward through the smok and when he reached the midpoint of the den, the haze thinned enough for silhouettes to take shape. Devin's was among them. Ace lifted his lightsaber slightly, silent signal through the chaos.

"Got your back, Flyboy." He called low, voice even under the hum.

Then he stepped forward again, blade angled down, ready to meet whatever line of smugglers still thought they could hold the floor. The blue glow washed over overturned tables and panicked faces, smoke catching in its light.

The storm had broken, and Ace was already moving through it, clearing the space, leaving room for Devin to strike from the other side.

Devin Virell​