Faction DISASTER ON DENON! Shattered Homes, Lives, and Profits [Darkwire]

[Cato Fett]

OBJECTIVE: 4/1 - En Route
TAGS: Cartri Keswoll​

Quekko’s Emporium was emptied and the glowlamps dark. Cato’s boots squeaked wetly in the shop’s reception, stepping past where the linoleum peeled underfoot and discarded receipts collected in the creases of exposed flooring. The custodial track-droid idled near the transaction counter, powered down and plugged into a protruding outlet. Jerec had been in haste, he noted; datapad ledgers left strewn on the counterspace, a half-devoured breakfast now cold and gelatinous quickly scooped and dashed into the wasted receptacle, scribbled holo-notes written to remind himself when, or maybe if, he returned. Business brochures, sheets of old flimsiplast, scattered chunks of crashed ceramics were trashed across the flooring, upset from when the first quake-shocks had begun. There was enough reserve power eked from the Emporium’s backup generators to operate the digital keylock securing the front doors. He passed inside, into soft shadows floating with velvet dust motes, where the thicker shop walls muffled the outside chaos to a mute groan. The sudden quiet was unnerving.

Beside the custodial droid was the door to the Emporium’s janitorial supplies. Cato brute-forced the keylock, wrapping his hand in rending Force-power and slicing his hand like a blade through the jamb. Shunted the door aside and slipped in, kneeling before a long, shallow footlocker kept blanketed under ragged tarpaulin. Within was a curated ensemble of various counter-security gear and electronic counter-measures, some standard and otherwise exotic bounty-killing kit that Cato carefully purchased and maintained over the years. Besides a small trove of lethal and non-lethal ordnance; grenades, sticky-bombs, det-packs. He was apprehensive against weighing himself with too much gear but given the host of unknown factors doubtlessly prevailing at the First Bank, he’d need every edge to beat the odds.

With his carbine slagged and lacking anything beyond the range offered by his gauntlet armaments, any engagement would come down to close-quarters. Cato checked over his Asahi katana, replaced the lost shortsword, mended the grip to his tanto knife and replenished his guantlets’ spent shuriken, grapnel lines, and micro-fuel cells. Little could be done for his armour; repairs required a proper armourer. He yanked the tarpaulin into strips of hank, tying it off over the worst of the underarmour tears and gaps poked in the ruined fabric. Leaving a somewhat cheeky IOU on the counter, Cato cannibalized various shop electronics and fitted an ad-hoc comm-unit in under the lining of his helm. In the gloss of a displaced flimsplast magazine, he briefly caught his own reflection; ragged, blood-crusted, scored with carbon burns, knotted together with tarp rags and re-stringed sections of panelled armour. He jutted his longsword from its scabbard and smiled lowly at the silver shimmer that mirrored back.

Outside, the swarms of riot and emergency klaxons, gas-line detonations and the screams of people and buildings alike still coming apart washed over him in a gust of discordant sound. Cato shrugged into the headwinds gusting down the avenue, returning to the still-flying CorpSec cruiser. Its ‘pulsors purred alive and sang with engine yowls. He yanked the steerage joysticks about and depressed the accelerator triggers, peeling away from Quekko’s into the dark sky still mottled and ruddy with ash and still-aglow embers.

 

[Landon]

CORE BANK
SAKEDO TOWER WARD​

The swoop bike had been stolen a few sectors over. And Landon wholey agreed with the man's compliment. It was karking nice. Of course he'd had to re-wire the interface and scrub it clean so there could be no trace that it had, indeed, been stolen.

"Yeah," Landon huffed, pulling out his databad from one jacket pocket. Wires and outputs attached to feed and tap into a whole bunch of inputs. "Course I am." He clarified. Just great, someone else treating him like a kid. Used to getting all the chit jobs cause that's all they thought he could handle. At least now Darkwire had finally given him some kark-for-sake credit. Maybe it was the run-in with Daiya at that bar. Maybe she'd had his back afterall. Or maybe he had Jerec Asyr to thank? Or maybe folk were just finally starting to recognize his own talent as a slicer.

Landon couldn't help his eyes slide back over Reave . So this was the legendary smuggler? A man Landon didn't want to find himself on the other side of a blaster to. The streets shifted and rumbled beneath their feet. Most folks had cleared this area. Some still ran from the aftermath of the first few quakes. Landon knew there'd be aftershocks.

"So what's the basic plan? Clear the security, get in, transfer the money, get out?"

Landon tried to seem cool, calm, and collected even though he was geeking out inside.

 

[Reave]

CORE BANK
SAKEDO TOWER WARD
​

"Quake just blasted the basic plan into stardust."

Mynock scowled. All this calamity was certainly a great distraction. Corpo patrols would be bound elsewhere for now. Bank of the Core looked like a different story. Some patrons were still sheltering inside from aftershocks. He took another long drag on his death stick. Offering one to Landon crossed his mind but he quickly thought better of it. Better at least one of them kept a clear head.

"Even if we knock out the security bank already knows something's up," the smuggler considered their odds, "So we pose like we're looking for shelter. Figure something else out once we're inside."

He drew the DL-44 heavy blaster from its holster on his hip with a practiced twirl and offered it to the kid.

"You know how to use one of these?" Gyasi asked.

 

[Daiya]

OBJECTIVE 4 (Hirani Surool ally)
Location: The 301, Sakedo Tower
Tags: Cyran Vaas

[Post Soundtrack: "Amaryllis" by Shinedown]​

Four storefronts in, and the punky teen was getting kind of tired of painting out #EatTheCorpos, or FETH THE CORPOS, or GREED IS A DISEASE, and other such bite-sized aphorism. It was time to start workshopping a new phrase, maybe something related to Belazura?

BET ON BELAZURA

No, that was a little too wholesome.

CORPOS BOTCHED BELAZURA

No, that one sounded like she hated the planet.

Daiya coughed a little, the paint's fumes were starting to get to her. Now she could see why Xan and others wore masks when they did this kind of work. Holding up her free hand, the girl used the sleeve to cover her mouth while she worked, sucking in sweet, clean air again. It was a little hard to think, but the young shadowrunner hadn't need much thinking for this job until now.

In actuality, she was really only unhappy by the way the lines were coming out, the phrases didn't matter as much to the job. The teen wasn't as used to the imprecision of spray paint, she kept making splotches of color in places that faded out too soon in others. And to go back over them in outline threatened to make it too broad, starting her process all over again. Maybe she did need a set of those caps that other taggers talked about, because she wasn't doing well with the stock version. It was frustrating, and the fumes were causing her to fumble a little more than usual.

So when she heard a voice call out to her, the teen squinted at the figure with bleary confusion. She coughed again, the figure stood clothed in a half-colorful set of armor. The orange tones stood out, but they were muddled by various layers of gray and browns underneath. At the same time, a beep sounded from her datapad, letting the girl know she had a message waiting. Daiya frowned at both interruptions, and shook her fuzzy head, "No, I don't think so, I'm not even done with my work. And you...you—you're just another canvas begging for more art."

The girl gave her red spray can a shake, and started toward the figure. He just needed a little splash of color, maybe across the chest instead of all that grey. She coughed once more, and a little too hard, it drooped her hood down past her eyes. The girl tossed her head to shake it back, and it pulled back too far, exposing her blonde, very Human, hair.

 

[NAKAIOMA]

OBJECTIVE 1: Humanitarian Relief​

Arden emerged from the elongated side door of the AV86, alongside the rest of his team. Not assuming an immediately on-edge posture, the armed first responders did informally establish a perimeter around their landing zone regardless. Their vigilant glances surveying the ruined urban landscape that surrounded them not being visible from behind their full-face concealing helmets. From almost the moment they'd landed, he could feel countless pairs of eyes land onto them, the majority of which undoubtedly belonging to the hordes of desperate and impoverished masses that once occupied this now barely recognizable environment. For him, personally, it was hard to imagine anyone had ever lived here to begin with. Hard to imagine a life where he'd never managed to work his way off-world, where he was one of the many now looking for some form of relief from this group of intimidating paramedics, that in this reality he belonged to.​

To their side, a small team of casually, but practically clad GalactiCom personnel, wielding with their recording equipment had arrived who knows when. Already, they had begun filming the team, the paramedics spreading out around their shuttle as the Team Leader made his way towards what appeared to be some kind of hastily established medical facility. A stark reminder of how not everyone had the luxury of preparing their tools in the safety of a groundquake resistant corporate headquarters. Their Team Leader; an older man by the name of Knox took point as the lead representative of the newly arrived responders, stretching an arm out to greet the man who'd left the cover of his operating theatre to welcome them. Knox tapped a button on the side of his helmet, opening the front-facing section of it up to show his face to the man, giving a polite smile as they introduced one another. He was a no-nonsense figure, a veteran of several wars and now a long-serving member of the corporation.​

"I'm Captain Knox, Nakaioma Medical Rescue-Recovery. We've been dispatched to assist you guys in the treatment of wounded civilians here, and the relocation of the severely injured." He begun. Noise coming from their far left attracted some of the team's attention, to where a gathering of who looked to be miners in exoskeletal suits were searching through the rubble. For now, at least, Rescue-Recovery's assignment was strictly to treat those who had already been found, despite their name, corporate was apparently unwilling to risk the lives of their personnel for what was essentially a PR stunt. Searching through dangerous rubble, live wires, gas explosions and chemical leaks? If they had a card membership for NKMedical insurance, sure. But for these people? The impoverished, uneducated and sickly? No such luck.​

Making a quick gesture with his hand, the team behind Knox began to make their way towards the Doc's medical theatre, several of them having already started the process of unloading the shuttle of its supplies. Large, secured creates with the NKMedical logo very clearly emblazoned on each one, being carried towards the haphazardly established medical center by both the paramedics, and increasingly those street docs who'd been organized here already. Within each crate sat dozens of Bacta Sprays, Applicators, LifeScans, Fluid Synthesizers and Respirators, all courtesy of the corporation as well. From what the team had heard prior to their departure from their base of operations, NKMedical's medcenters throughout the affected area of Denon were being overwhelmed with patients. Office gossip, if one wished to call it such was also circling of additional reinforcements and resources being dispatched from Regional Headquarters Commenor, or even Naboo.​

Doc Painless Jocelyn Pavaliah Anakin Stormrunner ​

​

​

​

OBJECTIVE 3: Public Relations​

Nakaioma Denon Regional Headquarters continued to be abash with activity. Seiji Uyeda, Director of Nakaioma Denon Counterintelligence sat behind his desk, his comfortable, exotic black chair swivelled in the direction of the large trio of window panels that stretched from wall to wall. Located in Tower Beta, his office had an ordinarily pleasant view of Sakedo Tower, and the rest of the high-rise district. The fact that this view was now obscured by smoke and ash told the man all he needed to know. One leg crossed over the other, he turned to face the front of his office once more, the sound of his automated doors drew his attention to the figure who had just entered his domain. Ryota Ike, his assistant and a fast-rising star in the planetary division's rank and file. He greeted the much younger man with an affirming nod and gestured with his arm for him to have one of the two seats on the opposite side of the Director's absurdly large desk.​

"You called me, sir?" Ryota questioned, the agent resting his hands in his lap as he patiently--or perhaps impatiently awaited his superior's response. Tapping his fingers along the edge of his Chandrila-style marble desk, the short black haired man simply nodded once more. Expression telling of his contemplation for what he was about to say. "What's the situation on the ground, Ike. Summarize it for me." He eventually ordered, temporarily deciding to behave in an act as if he didn't already know, an act that his subordinate clearly knew was false, given the look of open confusion crossing his face. He would answer regardless, though, as talking back to your direct superior was not something to be tolerated. "Mass causalities, failure of basic utilities, rampant outbreaks of crime--" The Director stopped the agent with only the slight raise of a hand. "Politically speaking, Agent Ike." It would have been obvious to anyone with half a brain that an ecumonpolis of any kind would not fair a groundquake well, after all.​

"The response of the Corporate Authorities has thus far been.. Subpar with our projections, sir." The end of Uyeda's lips curled at that observation, pleased to hear it, and to see the real meaning behind his question answered. A prison break, and from what he had been hearing, a bank robbery in Sakedo Tower, not too far a walk from their own regional headquarters, the reliance on local and civilian medical and rescue personnel had only furthered added to the higher ups' sense of elation. "Good, Agent." Without another word, Uyeda rolled his chair back from the desk, and stood up, patting down his suit as he done so. Gesturing once more, the younger agent got up from his own seat, and followed the Director once he began making his way to the corner of his office, where a collection of fine drinks awaited. "If there was ever a time for.. Career advancement, Ike. This would be it." He remarked, lifting a well-molded glass from the Kashyyyk-wooden table, and pouring a gold, sparkling substance into it.​

"However, that statement doesn't only apply to ourselves." He continued, taking a sip from the glass. Ryota watched as his superior moved from the table, and descended onto a far more comfortable looking couch, than even his desk chair, though this time he did not gesture for his subordinate to follow. "I'm sure you've heard by now that Kawabata is being invited to Coruscant next week.." There was a unique hint of controlled disdain hidden in the ordinarily collected director's tone. He enjoyed another sip, before carrying on. "That imbecile would be lucky to manage his way out of a wet paper bag." His gaze rose from the glass in hand to the agent standing a few steps before him, hands held behind his back formally. The Director crossed his legs. "I'm sending you to Nakaioma Security. They're working to establish a number of significant contracts on-world, thanks to this uptick in lawlessness, and I want you there, so we can say our department played a key role." Ike gave a short bow. "Understood, sir."​

The conversation ended as quickly as it had begun.​

 

[Cyran Vaas]

Daiya

Objective: #4
​

She said something, a horrible something. Cyran didn't consider himself a very sensitive person but it seems like she just insulted him on a deeply personal level. Did she really think that the drip he was rocking was that lacking in color?

Under his helmet he frowned. But watched with wide eyes behind his visor. Was she really planning on ruining his armor with that dirty spray can? He nearly panicked as she approached her with it. This twi'lek is crazy. Then he saw her hair. Wait? Twi'leks don't have hair, she was tricking him and had the audacity to attempt to ruin his armor, his beautiful, colorful, personal armor?

Clenching his fist he extended his arm and vambrace out as a thin fiber cord shot out from the piece of duraplast armor. The smarth whip rapidly wrapped around the can as he yanked it out of her hand and into his own. Looking at the color she was planning to use he shook his head. This girl knew nothing of fashion he felt, and it insulted him that she though she could "fix" his own.

Tossing the can off to the side he stomped towards her before reaching out to grab her by the collar of her hoodie. He was surprisingly strong as well. If he managed to keep her still he looked down at her behind his helm and spoke. "You little poodoo... first you trick me than try to ruin my armor?" He asked before tossing her back with a swift extension of his arm. He really didn't have time dealing with pesky kids.

 

[Th'edar Kolbert]

Objestive 3: Public Relations

Location: K Corp Denon Headquarters

Jabh still stood near his great office's grand windows, looking at the city, thinking, drinking that expensive liquid, finally someone came in to his office, it was a security director.
"Sir, we got reports that there is a bank heist going on in Sakedo Tower, and local criminal activities are through the sky, so we had to increase security, especially in the bank."
"Oh, that is "great". Thank you."
"With pleasure Sir."
"One more thing, bring the K statute in front of the building inside the main hall and activate the holographic K letter instead. We don't want it to be damaged by some hooligans."
"Right away Sir!"
"Thank you."

Then Jabh had to finally get back to reality from his thoughts and attend a meeting with the PR department. PR dep was a curious beast inside K Corp, they carefully created and managed a very good reputation for the corporation, sometimes this image was really catchy, but mostly it was modern and clean, the people working on PR were professionals but after working for such a long time on this grand project, they got attached, so they wouldn't let anyone destroy this image, not even their boss, which was funny to Jabh. He sat at the head of the table, listening to the PR guys. He heard some rumours about "the big guys" coming to Denon, he hoped these were false, if one of the C-levels would show up with a friendly face here, his nice blue pants would be full. It was time, back to work.
"We can say the Corporate Authorities of Denon is doing a terrible job dealing with this catastrophe. Locals and other corporations have to do their work. Wonderful. We will run a campaign on that, pointing out their shortcomings. You know... why is that, that in most parts of the galaxy the local government is doing a subpar job? You would think a Coporate Authority is more efficient, but apparently it is not. Do you know some ultra-militarist factions out there have no idea how the banking sector works? They just ask us for more money, and when we increase rates, they get angry and try they luck with the competition, then they get surprised when they find out their rates are even worse than ours. It's a shame. Anyway, how about that PR campaign?"
"So, it have to be clean, not very direct, just objectively reporting on their mistakes, then tell how us and others do the holy work. We can make separate content pieces on that agenda, even some ads."
"K Media Group won't be enough coverage for that, we need to buy some ads for this."
"Great. You are authorized to do that. What's next?"
"We also want to give something tangible to the people in need. Giving a Datapad to the people would be nice, preinstalled with K Corp software and a Bank of K account, they can easily request a loan from us through their new datapad and boom, we have a new customer."
"Keep that in mind, that the people you are talking about just lost everything, they are not the best group give loans to."
"But spreading our hardware and software is a key, that is why we are here on Denon, to get people in our system, so we will do that. Maybe a datapad for every person would be too expensive, but one per family should be doable. The higher-ups gave the permission on that, so I would like to use the opportunity."
"Of course, we will get to it."
"Also keep that in mind, that the number of dead is through the roof, there may be not as many people to give datapads to anymore."
"We can also offer and advertise insurences on Denon, life and home insurances, the demand should increase greatly. No one knows when will the next quake hit, the planet is clearly not dead yet, it is better to be safe."
"Great idea. Get everything ready by tomorrow."
"Wait, and if a quake strikes again we will pay?"
"Yes. This is how insurance works, get a lot of people to pay you, and when finally a disaster happens, you can easily pay the few who need it."
"It is great to see you again Sakk. How are things going."
"Oh aside from the catastrophe out there, it is going great. Refined ore shipments are on the way."
"Good. It may seem risky to order the resources this early, but being first with fine resources and materials in the hand is so much easier than being late when trying to convince someone you are the best for the contract. This bet will pay off, I'm sure of it."
"Have you heard the chit-chat?"
"Yeah... I have..."
Jabh sighed.

 

[Doc Painless]

Objective: 1 (Humanitarian Relief)
Location: Seven Corners, Volgho Hollows
Tags: Jerec Asyr , NAKAIOMA , Jocelyn Pavaliah , Muk Moadda, Anakin Stormrunner

A sour look crawled over the Doc's face as the Nakaioma personnel "secured the landing zone", or whatever they wanted to call it. To him, it was the way the "haves" up above always treated the "have-nots": assuming bad intentions. He didn't doubt that, if some desperate individual ran at the shuttle in a way those armed men felt was threatening, they wouldn't hesitate for a second before gunning him down. They were there to protect corporate assets, operating under the assumption that the poor and deprived would try to take their resources.

With the Corpos, it was always the same policy: "now that you are in crisis, we will deploy a tiny amount of the riches we have extracted from you to provide relief, if and only if you comply with our every order and procedure." The people in their silver towers up above got to look like benevolent gods when, as far as the Doc was concerned, they were merely allowing a trickle of what they'd stolen to flow back to the people they'd taken it from. He would love to spit in the face-plates of these corporate goons... but he couldn't turn down their help.

Saving lives in this crisis was more important than his outrage or his pride, so he kept both in check.

Naturally, the camera crews were deployed almost immediately, second only to the security forces. The Doc gritted his teeth as he watched them following the armored first responders; he could already hear the swelling, emotional music that would play over this footage in the next Nakaioma advert. He offered Captain Knox a nod, though he did not return the other man's smile. "We appreciate your help," he ground out, certain that whatever he said would also end up in the inevitable "look what great humanitarians we Corpos are!" holovid.

Predictably, none of the Nakaioma personnel made any move to help search through the ruins. If anyone in Volgho Hollows had been in possession of a Nakaioma insurance package, they would have been rescued in an immediate shuttle extraction by armed guards hours ago. But the Doc couldn't deny that the medical supplies the Corpos were deploying in his little slapdash medical station, branded with massive logos though they might be, would make a huge difference. So he kept his mouth shut about that, too, and accepted the reality of the situation.

He hoped to hear from some of his Darkwire people soon. For now, he would help make sure some good came from this PR stunt.

 

[Landon]

CORE BANK


SAKEDO TOWER WARD​

Reave

Landon eyed that death-stick. Coveting it. He even held his breath wondering if...

Pale blue eyes snapped back to Mynock. That offered blaster. "Course I do," back of his hand cuffed across his freckled-nose and he took the balster. Thumb flicked the safety off as he tested the weight, then flicked the safety back on, offering it back to the smuggler.

He'd rather not but wasn't about to admit that.

Landon always preferred jobs unseen. In and out with the payload without the violence. Perhaps it was because of that one time...

A shiver ran through his spine and his teeth grit as he buried any discomfort.

"Let's do it then," squatting down, his fingers wiped across the dirt on the rubbed and cracked ground, swiping it across his face and clothes. Then he got some more on his fingers and stepped forward attempting to swipe the dust and dirt along his partner's jacket.

"Gotta look the part," Landon grimaced.

 

[Cassus Akovin]

OBJECTIVE: 4/2​

Former Judge Begnen Ribona was now an official Direx Board member, CEO of Covet & Saeco LLP, a bloated company "focusing" broadly on litigation services, providing intra-corporate legal advice and laying down statutes lower companies must abide by or be fined by the collective might of CAD. In other words, a relative of CorpSec in the sense they helped allowed the governing apparatus of CAD through brute force and deception. There were no laws to cite except to obey CAD, and this LLP was one of several in the Direx Board competing for "legal" supremacy in a ostensibly non-legal environment.

Cassus was frankly disgusted reading about it, trying to figure out how a company could make money making paralegal statements without the backing of legitimate law. It was just an empty document with employees who knew who to cozy up to in the elite mansion-towers of Denon. This Dug "Judge" was no different, and he didn't blame Tioerwa wanting to kill him.

It wasn't difficult really to track down his residence, which meant that the Assassin likely knew where it was already too. If she was already here, she was being remarkably stealthy as he observed a "normal" state from the security surrounding the building. It was probably more likely finding a way out of the Seven Corners District that was slowing her down. Between the disaster zone, and increased CorpSec presence across the region, finding transportation out was going to be difficult, though not impossible. He was able to manage it, though he was probably more well connected than the stand alone criminal fresh out of prison.

Which was why he set up a trail for her leading directly to Ribona's residence. He had contacts from the Freeport Club working to disseminate information she could pick up on to take a path of least resistance through the disaster area. It wasn't cheap, and he made sure his damnedest to ensure the people he was entrusting the info with weren't going to spoil his quarry to anyone else. Otherwise, they were going to have a very unhappy lifetime member to the club with a number of friends he could use to cause quite the mess.

Eventually, he found himself at the front entrance. He could have stealthed his way in, or fought his way through the guards, but he was saving his energy in case the wookiee wasn't amenable to his proposition. For all the CAD knew, aside from the very highest authorities, he was just a Bounty Hunter. Ergo, he felt like he had an opening here.

"Halt, this is a private residence. State your business this close to the gate or you will be shot and prosecuted." One of the goons stated with a forceful, but unemotional tone.

"I'm with the Guild." Cassus lifted his credentials up to be observed. "A rather nasty Assassin is on her way to this establishment with a grudge against your boss. I figured he'd like protection from one of the hunters that locked away the Silver Jedi Order's Grandmaster." The guards remained dubious and didn't betray any sense of being impressed, which was a normal reaction for guards. The galaxy was a big place, and to many on Denon, it didn't matter.

"His Honor Ribona has enough hired protection to-"

"She's a wookiee you know." The guard was clearly not used to being interrupted, and his face betrayed some emotion, but before he could say anything Cassus continued. "An assassin that prefers unarmed techniques of assassination. Something of a gymnast from what I hear, too. Hanging from fixtures hidden in shadows, before using her arms to rip off the heads of anyone unfortunate enough to pass under her. They don't even get a chance to scream, her hands are so large, she only needs one around the entire throat. Sometimes the spine goes with it. There's a reason her bounty is so high to capture her after her escape... she makes collections of skulls, and the Gray Ghost is fresh out tonight."

Something about Cassus' level voice and unbreaking eye contact, coupled with his still outstretched credentials must have done something for the gate guard, as eventually the gate opened for the boy without another word. Tall tales were one thing, but it would be a surprise if the security guards of the judge that locked her away didn't know about the Gray Ghost, and it was very clear from their demeanor now that they knew he wasn't bluffing.

"Good call." He spoke loud enough for them to hear as he walked towards the building with an escort noticeably behind him... to avoid being the first ones under any archways...

 

[Daiya]

OBJECTIVE 4 (Moving to OBJECTIVE 1)
Location: Seven Corners
Tags: Cyran Vaas Doc Painless

[Post Soundtrack: "Rock and Roll Thugs" by Icon for Hire]​

"Hey!" the girl cried as the paint can was ripped from her hands. The armored figure had it in his gloved hand now, studying it as he made an assessment. Her hands free now, Daiya folded them across the chest of her hoodie, the lumpy fabric deflating where she pressed up against it. She still wasn't keen on the costume for today, and every move reminded her of that fact, compounding her irritation every moment that the Mandalorian-armored thug stood in judgement over her.

She gaped in horror as he tossed aside her can of paint, reaching out a hand as if she could call it back to her by sheer force of will alone. It remained empty. Daiya fixed her eyes back on the figure, who had finally reached his warped conclusion about her, and she squinted at him. The paint fumes still kept her vision a little hazy, and her thoughts a bit fuzzy as she spat back at him, "Ruin what? Orange and grey do not go together! Complimentary colors, buckethead, ever he—eyyyyy!"

Her tone stretched out as the young shadowrunner found herself suspended in the air, and then flung to the side like a piece of garbage. The stubborn wall of a storefront brought her inaugural flight to an unceremonious end just a meter away, and the teen crumpled to a heap on the ground with only a small sound. The floor of the 301 was cool, and the softness of her hoodie was, for once, a comfort to her today. Daiya whimpered slightly as she tried to move, and felt pain coupled with the responses from her limbs.

It would be easier just to spend her time on the floor today. She watched the armored figure, already starting to move off from her. Discarding her, like the Corpos were discarding the beings of Seven Corners today. Daiya managed to prop herself up as the figure retreated off to some new part of the mall. "Yeah, you'd better run!" The girl called after him, but her heart was barely in it now. With no one else around, she dropped her voice so only she could hear, adding sarcastically, "Run away from the problems, that's right. Definitely don't stay to fix anything real."

The girl complained some more to herself as she managed to stand up, hurt but still able to move. A limping step and a few deep breaths seemed to restore her body to working order, any reminder of her injury retreating to a dull throb instead. What remained in its absence was an intractable anguish that permeated her mind, clearing it of the remaining fog from her paint fumes. The figure was gone now, but rather than go back to her graffiti work, Daiya only gave it a forlorn look instead.

What was the point? The thought rattled through the young shadowrunner's head as her feet dragged her towards the lift again. She wasn't helping anything by being here, and as she passed the designs by other taggers, Daiya felt more and more like she didn't belong. Their skill was lightyears ahead of her own, with intricate shadows, borders, and color blending that made her attempt look like a portrait done in stick figure. She set her cans of paint down by one of them, someone who didn't have quite the palette she had seen from others, and climbed back on the lift to take her down to the ground floor.

For the second time that day, Daiya was grateful for the hoodie. It was easy to loose herself in its voluminous folds, and its fabric was soft against her abashed face. It was hard for her to work out how exactly she felt, besides a persistent urge to hurt something. The girl frowned at that, her throat welling with frustration. At the cryptic nature of the job she had abandoned, at the other taggers for making her feel unwelcome, at the Corpos for giving up on anyone who didn't make them an obvious profit, at herself for wanting to just burn it all down. Once more she snuggled against the hoodie, knowing it was the only thing that kept her from screaming her head off, or shooting something.

Even among the city crowds and walkways full of beings, the teen felt alone as she made her way through the Sakedo Tower ward. Growling to herself, she ripped the hoodie off to leave her with only the Hello Micah t-shirt she wore underneath. The girl felt cooler, both her body as she was reacquainted with the breeze again, and her mind as if the soft, lumpy sweatshirt was part of the problem it raged against. Unsure of what to do with it at the moment, Daiya tied it around her waist, pulling out her datapad instead.

She spied the notification from Landon calling her princess, and swiped to dismiss it, feeling too out of sorts to respond to anything needed of her. The teen needed her own time to decompress and get out of whatever the funk this was.

Against her gut feeling, Daiya opened up the holojournal app and pulled out the stylus. The artwork the young shadowrunner kept here might not meet the same artistic standards she had just witnessed, but it was hers all the same. And no one was going to stop her from drawing it now, something the girl managed idly as she wandered along. Daiya had no idea where she was going, only that she felt there was somewhere better to be.

The girl's path took her through walkways and streets twisted by the groundquake, which had upended more than just pavement, speeders, or water mains. The haunted faces of beings she passed, wandering with even less purpose than hers, and the meager belongings they carried told a truer story than they could speak aloud. The urgency of those who rushed past, anxious responders trying to help anyone they could, or eager crooks and conbeings willing to take advantage for themselves, were other parts of the story to tell. They all made it into her sketches. Not a very picturesque menagerie, but Daiya could feel her anguish ebbing as she drew, while the lines on the faces around her deepened with every stroke of her stylus.

Daiya hadn't meant to head towards Volgho Heights, yet she found herself there anyway. Arriving in the middle of some kind of concentrated relief effort, the teen was jostled around as uniformed security —not CorpSec yet Corpo all the same— hastened about with deliveries in hand or cordoned off areas so those more destitute could no longer cross. She shook her head as a pained expression crossed it once more, and surprised herself again by stopping in front of a tent where bustling medical personnel streamed in and out of it, including a figure she recognized.

Approaching the doctor, Daiya tried to catch his attention and ask, "Hi Doc, I—" The words felt strange to her as they came, but they were the right words to describe it. "I felt like I should be here. Is there anything I can do to help?"

There had been enough destruction for today, the girl decided, and she was done adding to it.

 

[Doc Painless]

Objective: 1 (Humanitarian Relief)
Location: Seven Corners, Volgho Hollows

The Doc's gaze snapped up as he heard his name, and he turned away from the little Nakaioma photo op to face the newcomer. He recognized the girl - Daiya , wasn't it? They'd run in the same circles for a while; she'd been at the Cryptnet meeting, and on Wann Tsir, and even at the brawl in the Blue Flame. They hadn't really formally met, but they knew each other by reputation, and they knew they were on the same side. At the moment, the Doc was just happy to see someone he could really trust. If he had to keep playing nice with corpos, he might just explode.

"Good to see you," he said, offering up a tired but genuine smile. "We'd be glad to have your help." The Doc knew the feeling she was describing well. It was the reason he'd come here, not just the Hollows today but Denon all that time ago. It was a place where so much was going wrong, and one where he had the necessary talents to make a difference. He couldn't just ignore that. This was a place where what he did could really matter, where he felt his life had meaning. It pulled him out of the sea of regrets that otherwise threatened to drag him under every day.

The Doc frowned as she drew closer, though. It was slight, but she was favoring one leg. Bruised? He wondered if it had happened in the quake, or if there had been some other incident. He wouldn't ask. Even if Nakaioma goons hadn't been nearby, he wouldn't have pried; the people he worked with had a right to their own secret lives, especially given their line of work. The Doc knew that plenty of rumors swirled around about him and his past. None of them came close to the truth, and he was glad for it. He wished that one of them could be true, instead of the grim reality.

"Are you hurt?" He asked it gently, with a practiced bedside manner. "We should get you patched up first. It'll be much easier on you in the long run, and we've got the supplies for it." Thankfully, his stocks from Wann Tsir were not yet exhausted, and Daiya's injuries were almost certainly minor; bruising, perhaps a sprain, though it was hard to tell just at a glance. "Here, come on in." The Doc beckoned the girl inside the bustling tent, holding the flap open for her. Inside, half a dozen surgical assistants moved between the closely-packed cots, checking patients.

"We're a little overcrowded," the Doc explained, picking his way through the maze of beds and equipment crates, "and a little understaffed, so we could certainly use you. Do you have any first aid training? If not, don't sweat it, we can still find something for you." There was always a need for runners, transporting equipment to whichever medic needed it, and for people to simply sit with some of the patients, monitoring them and speaking to them; it was a guard against shock, and a check to make sure that more severe systems didn't suddenly arise.

They reached the back of the tent, and the Doc turned to the girl. "Do you want me to see if I can do anything for you before we start?"

 

[Daiya]

OBJECTIVE 1
Location: Volgho Hollows, Seven Corners
Tags: Doc Painless

[Post Soundtrack: "Black Water" by Of Monsters and Men]​

When the cybernetic doc smiled at her, Daiya felt her body tense. Maybe this approach had been the wrong idea after all. The girl still didn't know why she was here, nor did she have any idea of how she could help. She didn't have any medical skills or much training in anything, outside of shooting someone or being convincing. Her eyes cast downward, and she caught a glimpse of the scenes she had drawn on her holojournal. The vivid, if crude, imagery of other responses to the disaster, of the depravity and greed and tragedy she had passed on her way here, reminded the girl of what Doc Painless' smile meant. For the first time that day, it meant someone who not only had the means, but also the genuine intentions, to help others that day.

Kindness. It meant kindness.

It was a strange feeling to experience today, after everything she had witnessed and all the antagonism she had been subjected to already. The young shadowrunner could be forgiven for believing there was no kindness left on this planet for a moment, until the shimmering grey-metallic eyes of the doctor lit up in response to her offer to help. Daiya returned it as best she could, with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes. Too much suspicion and skepticism had worn her down today, but the girl at least let her body relax and approach the Doc for his inspection.

He didn't seem to like what he saw in her. Daiya almost hadn't realized how much she was still sore from being flung aside like a ragdoll. Her left hip ached from where it had hit the wall, and a dull pain moved up that side whenever she walked or shifted her weight. "I guess so," the girl offered in explanation, and that seemed enough for Doc. She was drawn inside the medical tent, which was full of other patients and crates of materials, but at least a meager voice in her recognized what he was offering, "Thanks."

Daiya shook her head as she followed Doc, but he was busy leading as they wended a way through the beds and equipment, so didn't see her response. It still didn't make sense to her why she was here, what it was that had drawn her to this place. The girl wasn't exactly the poster child for compassion, she had seen the consequences of that at a young age. Those who spent their own creds or time to help others usually didn't earn them back, and there was no such thing as a benevolent loan on Denon. There were few moments where kindness could be earned back in turn, unrequited kindness was a dangerous thing. Yet here was Doc and a whole host of medics doing that very thing. As odd as she found it all, Daiya couldn't help but feel inspired.

Reaching the back of the tent, Doc looked to her with expectation at his questions. Glancing back at those lying in the beds, far worse off than her, she gave the doc a skeptical look. As loud as her mind was screaming at her that his kindness was genuine, her instincts drowned it out. No one gave away something for nothing. That didn't mean the girl couldn't appreciate the kind of relief she could get out of having Doc look at her injuries. "Umm, sure," Daiya told him, finding a crate to hop up on and let him examine her. "Is it going to cost a lot? I don't have many creds on me today..."

The teen thought about his earlier question as he looked her over. She explained her left hip to him, and lifted the bottom of her shirt as she ran a hand up her left side, surprised to find that it was already turning a purplish-blue color from the bruise. Daiya wasn't keen on exploring anything unnecessary, just the immediate injuries, and she tried to hide the gnarly scar she had acquired a while ago, keeping her right palm facing her as used it to demonstrate the other wounds and scrapes today. The girl talked as she pointed them out, "I guess I could do some jobs for you. I don't have the first aid training, but I could try to help get people out of buildings, or keep away the dangerous sorts. I'm pretty good with a blaster," she said. Though she had only brought along her holdout blaster today, sometimes the threat of it was enough. "Or, if you need a courier?"

 

[Doc Painless]

Objective: 1 (Humanitarian Relief)
Location: Seven Corners, Volgho Hollows

Doc Painless had dealt with a lot of people over the years; thanks to his small but perpetually bustling clinic, combined with the conversations he'd struck up and friendships he'd begun at various bars, he was a contender for the title of "person who has met the most individual citizens of Seven Corners". And that was just his new life; there had been an old life before it, a time he drank to forget, many star systems away. The end result was that he was pretty good at reading people. He'd seen every emotion there was to see, every mannerism, every attitude. Little was new to him.

All that made it easy to detect the cynicism behind Daiya 's forced smile, the one that never reached her eyes. It weighed heavy on his heart to see such world-weariness in someone so young; she couldn't be more than half his age, and already she assumed that every hand extended to help concealed grasping, greedy fingers or a clenched fist. But then, if he'd grown up in the poorer parts of Denon, wouldn't he have turned out the same? The desperate locals ran cons and committed petty crimes just to survive, while the Corpos up above lied and stole at an unimaginable scale.

And they did it with smiles on their faces, boasting of their good works. It was no wonder that no one here trusted kindness.

The Doc got her to the back of the tent, where the chaos of the makeshift med-center was a little more subdued - though volunteer nurses still shuffled through with some frequency, looking through supply crates for whatever their patients needed. The Doc frowned as he saw the state of the supplies. They were dwindling rapidly, far more rapidly than he could sustain. He had felt so powerful back on Wann Tsir, buying whatever he wanted with wild abandon for the first time in his life. He would not have that luxury ever again, he knew. Replacing all this would be hard work.

Daiya hopped up on a crate, which was just as well since all the cots were full, and the Doc sat on another one in front of her. He cycled his eyes through their various modes, a few rapid blinks moving him to the setting he wanted, then paused. He felt his heart sinking as the girl asked him how much this was going to cost. He expected the cynicism from her now, but her words were a stark reminder of the reality for most people living beneath Sakedo Tower's long shadow: if the treatment you needed was expensive, then you didn't need it, no matter how bad things got.

After all, why would the Corporate Authority provide universal healthcare? They'd just force people to become wageslaves so they could get insurance. The corporations running Denon had no interest in helping anyone who wasn't working to boost their profits.

"Tell you what," the Doc said, knowing by now that Daiya would be suspicious of any apparent charity, "give me a couple hours' worth of help, and we'll call it even." He listened carefully as she explained her injured hip, nodding along to show that he was paying attention. It fit the symptoms he'd noticed. Sure enough, when she lifted the corner of her shirt, she revealed one hell of a bruise. "Ouch!" the Doc exclaimed, sucking breath in through his teeth. "Must've been quite a fall." Turning to the nearby crates, he rifled through them for the supplies he would need.

"Easy fix, though," he said, turning back to her with a few items in hand. He squeezed the chill pac between his mechanical fingers until he felt the inner pouch pop, releasing the cooling chemicals. "This will help with the pain and swelling." He carefully peeled a geltab off of its backing, then gently stuck it to the side of the chill pac. "And this will get rid of the bruising if you leave it on for a few hours." Microdoses of bacta were amazing. The Doc offered the items to Daiya, holding them out in one hand. He never touched a patient without explicit permission.

"I can wrap it to keep it in place if you'd like," he told her, "but if you'd rather just tuck it into your pants over your hip, that'll work fine." For the rest of her cuts and scrapes, none of which looked deep, the Doc produced a spray applicator and gently moved it over each injury she indicated. The cooling mist contained a blend of antiseptic, topical painkiller, bacta, and liquid synthskin, easily soothing and closing the minor wounds without risk of infection. The Doc's medscan eyes could easily see the scar on the hand she was cradling, but he decided not to pry yet.

Although they worked for the same side, this was their first one on one meeting, and they were still building trust. He didn't want to push it.

"I'm hoping we won't have to shoot anyone today," the Doc replied when Daiya mentioned her blaster. "I'd rather not add to the quake's tally." He smiled as he said it, but it was a sad smile, one that acknowledged the possibility that they would have to shoot someone. It was a dilemma he'd faced many times before: if looters came after his medical supplies, should he fight them off? They might need them for themselves or their families, or they might just want to sell them... but what if they were selling them to buy food, or pay rent? Was it justified to fight them then?

And did their need outweigh the needs of others who might be treated with the supplies? There were never easy answers.

The Doc hated the idea of putting Daiya in harm's way, though he knew from her reputation - and her injuries today - that she had lived in harm's way most of her life. He had to remember that, although she was young, she was also capable, and she would be rightfully insulted if he treated her as less than that. "How about this," he finally said, leaning back as he finished up with the spray applicator. "I need someone to get out there and take a head count, tell me how many more people we've got coming our way. And to help them get here, if they need it."

He looked at her and smiled again, if tiredly. "A little bit of courier, and a little bit of helping people. Does that work?"

 

[Hawthorn]

Location: Crumbled Nondescript tower near Sakedo Tower, Denon
Objective: 1 & 4
Post Sound Track
Tags: Daiya & Anyone interested



A crimson glow engulfed the remains of many buildings after the earthquake. Some were low and slow smolders, others raging infernos that could cook you a hundred meters away. On lower levels broken water mains, and damaged reservoirs flooded the streets, hallways, and houses. The wails of the dying mixed with the sobs of the survivors all punctuated by blaster shots and screams. It was a melody of carnage. It was beautiful in its own macabre way.


In a trench coat of brown and wearing an untouched black suit, a figure crunched through the debris of a non-descript level of a now defunct tower. A black gloved hand touched the wide brown brim of his hat, before it dove into a breast pocket, and pulled out a crumpled cartoon of mostly finished cigarettes. Nimble fingers pulled out the second to last one, and a gravely voice cursed under its breath. “Druk.” He would have to get more, and soon.


The figure moved towards a doorway that was still on fire, the light illuminated his ashen alien face. No eyes, or nose graced his visage, yet he seemed to have no trouble navigating the tight corridors. Gloved hand reached the cigarette out and lit the end in a weaker part of the fire, before he pulled it to his tough, rubbery lips and took a deep puff. Better, it was always better after he did. After he had held the breath for a time, he slowly released it, allowing the smoke to rise towards the ceiling with the rest.

In that moment, the comm unit attached to his wrist went off. He tucked the cigarette between his lips and pressed the flashing button. “Talk to me Sparks.” Hawthorn muttered around the blunt. The voice of the Investigators young assistant crackled into the alien’s brain. The cybernetics were useful for many things. “Hey Boss, the scans showed three survivors on your level. Along with several bodies. Sending you the coordinates now. Haven’t found the targets yet.”


If he had eyes, he would have closed them. Instead, the Mushroom took a step away from the raging fires, and down a flight of stairs. Information flooded the implants, and he could see where the living and bodies were in comparison to himself. In times of crisis, people flooded disaster zones like vultures, looking for scraps to feed themselves: he was no different.


Try and find a rich mans daughter alive or dead and destroy any evidence she had been there, find any bodies and identify them if removal wasn’t possible, and to dispose of one body so it could never be found, and the cause of death never determined. A helpless accident was all, not the botched assassination of a powerful off-worlder. Debts had to be paid off no matter the price sometimes. At least this time the target was already dead.


He took a few calculated puffs from his cigarette, inhaling through one corner of his mouth and exhaling through the other as he came upon a pile of bodies, crushed under some rubble in the stair way. He reached down, so that the cybernetic in his arm could scan and catalogue the bodies he found and add it to the register of the dead. The Corpos were paying him well for the info, under the guise of common decency at that. How could he complain? “Sparks, sending two more your way. Give me an update on the survivors. I need to get them out quick. And no, I'm not forgetting my jobs. Just shut up.” Sparks hadn’t even said anything yet. Once more a ping went off on his implant, and the man moved into the next lower level proper. Water had begun to pool on the floor causing little splashes as he moved. He had to be quick.

 

[Daiya]

OBJECTIVE 1
Location: Seven Corners
Tags: Doc Painless Hawthorn

[Post Soundtrack: "Red Water Dreams" by Aviators]​

A couple hours of help sounded like a reasonable trade for medical services. It might even give her some time to make a few credits later on, since the girl had already missed out on payment for the job she abandoned earlier. If anything, the doc was probably getting the worse end of this deal, but Daiya wasn't about to complain about that. There was a difference between integrity and a good opportunity, and as much as she admired Doc Painless and his integrity, she wasn't about to make such a sacrifice on principle alone.

Daiya nodded her agreement, to that and the doc's assessment of her injuries. She took his offered treated bandage, following the instructions on how to affix the chill pac so it would stay in place. She considered his offer while Doc Painless lived up to his name, administering a spray to the other abrasions and cuts that made the everpresent dull throbbing fade away. That only left her with the odd sensation when her clothes moved or her skin stretched over that area, reminding her that something had been hurt today. That was a fair compromise to accept, and now she spoke up to one of the doc's other suggested compromises, "No, wrap it, that'll be easier."

The last time she had a bandage fall off, it produced the visible scar on the wrist she was hiding.

"Hope is in pretty short supply out there today," the girl remarked, tossing her blonde curls toward the tent flap leading outside. She knew that tone of hesitation well, it had come often enough from her erstwhile Wookiee partner that it hardly bothered Daiya anymore. It had been far more strange coming from an old soldier, the consternation fit Doc Painless better. She looked into the cyborg's eyes, focusing on the way she spoke to make her sound genuine, "I promise, I won't actually shoot anybody unless they were about to add to the tally themselves."

That should be enough to settle an old doctor's fears, she figured. Daiya didn't know Doc Painless well, or much at all really, but she could hazard a guess from experience. And experience told her that the doc was a much bigger target than he wanted to admit to anyone, especially for those with far fewer principles.

Doc nodded, satisfied with her answer. "That's all I can ask. With any luck, it won't come to that." He paused a moment, considering what else she had said. Finally, he offered up that smile of his again, weary but determined. "Hope is in short supply out there. But of all the things wrong with Denon today, a lack of hope is one we can actually start doing something about."

Another nod came from the young shadowrunner as the words rattled around her brain. That odd feeling from before had chosen that moment to resurface, a voiceless cry calling out to her to do something. She still couldn't figure out what. If it wanted her to help the doc, that was easy enough to accomplish, but nothing in her was certain. Daiya couldn't help but wish for the muddy clarity of an actual vision, giving some direction where she could point herself or something recognizable to find. "Finding anyone who needs medical help and send them your way," the girl repeated back to him. She flashed him a grin, a little warmer this time, "That works. That's easy, just be sure you're ready."

From the number of cots already occupied, it didn't seem like the doc had a lot of resources left to work with. As the young shadowrunner hopped off the crate and started back toward the exit, her shoulder gave a small shrug after another glance around the room. That was a problem for Doc Painless to figure out, not her. She left the stuffy tent, back into the dusty haze of the outdoors again, more eager for a task to perform than she was to be back in such close proximity of such visible reminders of pain and suffering.

It was all around her, and felt like re-treading the torments of her day as the girl went forth. The same haunting scenes she had witnessed —and drawn— earlier repeated themselves all over again. Re-cast, re-framed, but all the same in truth. Daiya couldn't do much alone, not against the figures lurking in shadowed alleys, not against the fire blazing out of an apartment building, but she could do some things. Approaching a man bearing a tender limp, the teen told him about Doc Painless and the medical tent, and he turned back the way she came. Sitting down next to a haggard woman and her small, soot-faced youngling, wearing the extent of their worldy possessions wrapped between the two, Daiya shared her experience and encouraged them to visit the tent.

The woman refused, staying fixed to the spot with her child. Daiya didn't know why. Whether it was pride or suspicion or fear, the young shadowrunner couldn't tell. She only knew that the woman needed help, even if she wouldn't make the effort herself. Unwilling to scare her child any further, Daiya just untied the hoodie from around her waist and handed it to the woman, aware that it was the only thing that would give her warmth and comfort while she slept that night. With eyes that looked right past the girl, the woman took the hoodie, donning it while she wrapped the blanket around her only remaining care in the world.

Daiya found others to direct back to the doc, and others who refused. She couldn't help them all, as much as they needed it, as much as something inside her yearned to, so the girl merely shrugged as she moved on.

As she made her way across the city district, keeping her eyes peeled for those in need, and her ears open for dangers afoot, the girl came across a crumbled building. She had avoided others, warned away or satisfied by the haphazard gatherings of residents or rescuers still milling about outside of them. This one seemed different, still in need somehow. Calling her inside, as if that made any sense at all. Daiya wasn't about to worry about the source of it anymore, or the reasoning. It was just automatic by this part of the day, the girl simply acted and hoped it was the right thing to do.

She passed a few on their way out, trudging up more stairs to get to higher levels. They were unsteady, yet she pressed on. Some of the walls were missing, and a few of the apartments on the floors looked like they had simply...vanished. There was nothing left to do for them. Or for the bodies of those who had managed to make it out of their apartments, crawling to hallways or stairwells, before they died. Daiya pressed on, certain that there was something, or someone, still left to find.

The girl paused, taking note of a new sensation. A smell, smoke that wasn't from a fire or something toxic. Someone else here, perhaps, on the same trail as she was. For whatever purpose. Daiya kept her blaster at the ready as she ventured forward, still looking for beings in need, and wishing that circumstances hadn't made them so.

Daiya stopped, uncertain of what she was seeing ahead of her. It smelled of the new smoke she had picked up, and was wearing a trench coat. Her eyes said it was just another being of the world, but her feelings said otherwise. She was trusting those more today than other days, with nothing, and no one, else to rely on. Nothing but her feelings and a blaster, which she raised toward the odd figure, "What the feth are you?"

(Permission given from Doc Painless for the use of his character.)

 

[Hawthorn]

Objective: 1
Location: Ruined Tower
Tags: Daiya & Anyone else
Thread Music


As he stepped off the stairs into the lower, he stepped into a small stream of water. This was bad, very bad, for many reasons. Stray electrical currents, more obstacles, could be deeper pools. Worst of all, was the fact the bodies would decompose in this, it would take weeks, if not months to get them all out, all while in running water, or at least pools of water. Disease would run rampant. He couldn’t save the world, but the former Security Force member in him couldn’t allow him to stay still either.


Corpses were strewn about; this area had gotten hit hard. His hand touched each one, scanning and tagging for identification into the database of the deceased, and he would drag the corpses into a pile. When the pile got big enough, a small yield self-made disintegration bomb was added into the mix and put on a remote switch. It worked like standard disintegrators, eating away biological material…and then some, but shouldn’t further along the destruction of the building. He was glad he had brought many for his mission, otherwise…


Sure, the families may want the bodies, but there was just no way to get these many out in time. This was the best he could do. “Hey, Boss, down the hall to your left. One of our targets is there, according to the drones.” With a sigh, black gloved hands tucked the half-burned cigarette into his lips. There was no way he was letting this go to waste down here. Feet fell into the water, but there was no real struggle. It seemed the Authority was beginning to shut down water to the area. Probably planned to let the whole area burn to the ground if they could, honestly.


He turned into a room, small with a flashing light as electricity intermittently came back on. In the middle of the floor, was a more dry spot, where a man had clearly been stabbed multiple times. It wasn’t like any of the other bodies. Hawthorn leaned down and took a sample. “Anything Sparks?” It took a few moments, but the voice came back. “That’s the one.” Out from his jacket, the mushroom pulled another detonator. “Don’t upload this one. Erase all trace. We never found him.” Once the detonator had been placed, he stood up, and it was then, that fate decided to play a wonderful joke. “What the Feth are you?”


Hawthorn had no eyes, no need to turn his head to glance behind him to confirm what was going on. His natural abilities mixed with the cybernetics told him more than enough. Black gloved hands went into the air, away from the body, away from possible weapons. Ever so slowly, he stood up and turned to face the girl. She could see his eyeless face, no real nose to speak of, and thin lips which held a lit cigarette. His wide brimmed hat did little to truly hide the bizarreness of the cap on his head. She was being scanned the moment she entered, and Sparks would analyze for a possible match. “I’m an Agarian, Little Mouse. I know there aren’t many of us walking the galaxy, but hey! I doubt I’m so much more hideous than something like a Wookiee. Ehh, I take that back, that fur is something else. I’m Hawthorn, lead PI of the Hawthorn detective agency, Little Mouse. Now, if you are going to shoot me, don’t be stupid like so many others. Don’t aim for my head, it’s mostly just for show anyway. The chest, that’s where most of my important things are located. Otherwise, if you want to be useful, I think this was the last body to be identified, but I can sense three people with heartbeats down the hall. Would you be a dear and help me get them out of here before it’s too late?” During all of this, his gruff voice sounded amused. This was not the first time a young lady had pulled a gun on him. It wouldn’t be the last time either, he suspected. Now, it was time for her to make her move, and see what she was about.

 

[Doc Painless]

Objective: 1 (Humanitarian Relief)
Location: Seven Corners, Volgho Hollows

It was good to see Daiya return his smile in a way that just began to reach her eyes. She'd been through a lot, that much was clear, and the Doc considered any hope or levity she showed in this situation to be a win. He knew from long years of personal experience just how easy it was to become isolated, overwhelmed, and discouraged in a crisis. There had been many times he'd needed someone to reassure him, to help him keep going. He'd rarely had that person, and it had taken its toll; anyone who'd seen how much he drank could tell that much. So he tried to be that person as much as he possibly could.

Daiya headed out into the disaster zone, and the Doc turned back to his work. It was, as always, without end. Most of the stable patients had been moved out, taken to the volunteer freighter that had arrived to transport them to safety, so those that were left were the critical cases. Broken necks and backs, ruptured arteries, crushed windpipes, these were all life-threatening - and life-changing even if the victims did pull through. The road to recovery would be long, if it were possible at all, and it would often involve metal and circuitry in place of flesh and blood. The Doc knew that feeling well, too.

He moved among the surgical assistants, all the street docs he'd managed to recruit with an hour's notice, giving guidance or distributing medicine or helping with procedures. It blended together in his mind, becoming a sort of flow time where he was in the zone, operating more on instinct and experience than conscious thought. It was one way he staved off exhaustion, only truly conscious when he absolutely needed to be - usually to make a critical or final call. Those were the hardest moments, when he had to come back to himself and make a decision that would shape the rest of someone's life... or end it.

The Doc had never fired a blaster. He had seldom lashed out in anger, and never while armed. He moved bugs outside instead of squashing them. But somehow, in some perverse way, he had held more lives in the palms of his durasteel hands than Denon's most prolific serial killers. People came to him broken, all too often beyond his ability to fix, and he was left to decide how to do something with the pieces he had. It wasn't right or fair. They all should've had a fully-staffed, fully-equipped, fully-qualified doctor from one of the upper level hospitals. Instead, they had what was available and affordable.

They had him, and he had to do whatever he could to make things as close to right as he could manage.

The Doc knew he would have no conception of how long Daiya was gone. He would keep working like this until there was another interruption, like the young runner or the Nakaioma shuttle, or until he quite literally dropped. Despite his exhaustion, the latter would take time; his muscles, heart, and respiratory system were heavily augmented to see him through times like this, giving him what seemed from the outside like boundless energy. But any physician knew that pushing one's body like that always came with a price. He could already tell that he would be paying this one for weeks.

But what else could he do? How could he tell any of these people, his people, no?