Public District Nine: Cold Snap

[Skeevi Merrill]

DENON, District Nine — "once a flourishing district in the glory days of the post-gulag Galactic Republic. Now crime has returned...With resources moved to other districts, District 9 is largely left to decay, even its prominent Eden Megamall has been restored to a makeshift prison and now serves to process labor for exporting to other worlds."


Skeevi crammed their hands in their armpits and trudged down the sidewalk looking for the next place to keep warm. They kept their head down and bright yellow hood up to maximize the coat's limited warmth.

At least CorpSec kept to their speeders, thank feth itself, and sometimes the snow came down hard enough to blur security cams. That might let you loiter, and today loitering meant life. Skeevi flinched as one of those patrol speeders knocked over a trashcan fire and scattered the folks around it. Served them right for picking such a high-visibility way to fight to cold. All Skeevi's instincts recommended finding somewhere quiet, secure, and low-profile.

Problem was, half the district had the same idea. And the snow wasn't going away anytime soon.

Skeevi's usual resentment crystallized into sharp-edged anger, not that they knew what to do with it.


OOC/ The weather control systems are malfunctioning, and there's an awful lot of snow and ice on Denon right now. Some things you might do:

• Indulge in crime.
• Snowball fight.
• Blame the Corpos. (Heck, as Cassus Akovin pointed out, this might even be retaliation for the latest round of CorpSec brutality protests.
• Keep yourself and others warm.
• Fix the problem one way or another. Manage your expectations. A rapid thaw could flood half the district!
• Be cold.

 

[Doc Painless]

DISTRICT NINE - COLD SNAP
Tags: Skeevi Merrill | Open​

Spoiler: TL;DR

• The Doc sets up a tent outside District 9's Heritage Cemetery in East Palpamore
  • He's giving out blankets, fusion lanterns, and treatment for frostbite

Doc Painless had happy memories of snow.

Back when he'd been a kid, growing up on a planet he no longer liked to think about, the Doc had lived in a city not so tightly packed (or so artificially regulated) as Denon. He remembered snowball fights in the public park across the street from his family home, building forts and digging tunnels out of snowbanks, and sledding on garbage can lids down whatever hills he and his friends could find. He'd hardly seen snow since he'd left, since the first time his life had turned upside down; in fact, this might be the first time since then, here in District Nine. But the happy associations didn't last when the snow was falling on these ragged streets, a place it should not be.

It was a risk for the Doc to hang around anywhere near Eden in the wake of the prison break; he had a lot of guts coming here after what he'd pulled, he supposed. He hadn't bothered to hide his face on that gig. He'd already been wanted for terrorism and murder, the kind of charges that would get CorpSec to lock him up in a Black Site forever (or until his body gave out from the torture, anyway), so why not pile on some more? That was the thing about sentencing people to the harshest possible treatment; it made them more dangerous by ensuring they had nothing left to lose. But he was a fool to tempt fate, to prance around so close to the scene of his latest crime.

People were suffering, though, and he couldn't ignore that. Especially if it might be at least partly his fault.

Rumors were swirling - much like the descending snowflakes, buffeted by frigid currents of recycled air - that the "malfunction" in District 9's weather systems wasn't really a malfunction. Instead it was a thinly-veiled punishment for the large-scale, public forum defiance that the Eden jailbreak had represented... and a harsh reminder that, here on Denon, the CAD was god. One word from the planet's corporate overlords could make life a living hell for the people down on the lower levels, cutting off the things they depended on to survive. Don't feth with the people who own the utilities, the implied message went, or they'll feth with you right back, and much harder.

If it was true that the alterations to the weather system were a punishment (and the Doc suspected that it was), it was an indiscriminate one. The vast majority of the people it affected hadn't been involved in the mass escape in any way; they were just ordinary folks who happened to live nearby. The intended effect of this demonstration of power, then, was twofold. First, it would remind the locals that any resistance would be treated harshly. Second, it would embitter them against Darkwire, make them blame the "terrorists" and wish that they would just go away and stop causing trouble. Couldn't they just protest peacefully, and stop making life hard for decent citizens?

Some would think that way. Too many. But others would see that the true enemy was the one wielding the whip.

The Doc knew he shouldn't feel guilty for what had happened. He hadn't forced CorpSec to lash out at these people; they'd made that decision themselves, because that was what oppressive governments did when they began to feel their citizens slipping through the fingers of their iron fist. But when he'd begun seeing the images of shivering people in the streets, transients frozen half to death as the alleyways they slept in filled with snow, he'd known he had to do something. So he'd donned his hooded jacket, activated the facial implants that scrambled cam footage of his features, and headed on a quick shopping trip. Thanks to Xan Deesa , he had some credits to spare.

Not wanting to deplete the local stores, the Doc had bought all the blankets and fusion lanterns he could afford in District Four before he headed over to Nine. He'd set up an all-weather tent outside Heritage Cemetery in the East Palpamore neighborhood, mostly because it was a location that all the locals knew; word of mouth would spread quickly about the services he was providing, and he wanted people to be able to find him if they needed him. Within the small but sturdy tent he distributed blankets (one per person), fusion lanterns (one per group or family), and basic frostbite treatment. He was likely to run out of everything but the treatment pretty soon.

But at least he was trying to do something. He might make a difference, at least for a few.

 

[Skeevi Merrill]

Within the small but sturdy tent he distributed blankets (one per person), fusion lanterns (one per group or family), and basic frostbite treatment. He was likely to run out of everything but the treatment pretty soon.

But at least he was trying to do something. He might make a difference, at least for a few.

Or the one.

Once bundled up nearby in a nice new blanket, Skeevi smeared frostbite meds on their ears and the tip of their nose, and jammed what was left in their socks. Falling snow sizzled off the casing of the fusion lantern, which sparked ideas. Skeevi turned it off and fiddled with the internals. Any lantern — any light source, really — gave off some balance or imbalance of light and heat. This one was already toasty, but by the time Skeevi finished tweaking it, the light was a sullen little glow. The lantern's base promptly melted through a couple inches of hard-packed snow and settled against the permacrete.

"Taa baa, eyeta. Doc Painless , nyeta? Doc Painless tando yuyu."

Loosely translated from Jawaese — Thanks, bud. You're Doc Painless, no? 'Doc Painless will tune you up fine.'

 

[Eocin Chiyat]

One would assume the transition from an autocratic regime to unchecked capitalism to be a harsh one, but Rivwi had taken it in stride.

Towards the end, it had been clear that the Sith Empire was failing miserably in its (in his mind) primary purpose - maintaining order. When the Sith, in their folly, began focusing on theology over the solid foundation of militarism and paperwork that had made them a galactic superpower, he left.

His new supervisors were in all likelihood aware of his past, but it changed little. It would serve as potent blackmail if he ever betrayed them, of course, but Senior Administrator Zac Rivwi had never been one to cheat or steal like a common criminal, man of unflinching character that he was.

"This report indicates that the systems were already flawed, even before this issue." Glaring down at a datapad held in mittened hands, his tone was harsh. It seemed to the unlucky pair of Seccers accompanying him that he was taking it as a personal insult. "That simply will not do. Ensure that it is restored to within acceptable parameters. The regulations are clear, there will be no shoddy emergency solutions here. Not on my watch."

Regardless of the Corpos' guilt, they surely knew what they were doing when they sent him to fix the issue.​

[OPEN - Touring District Nine, glaring at nonstandard heating solutions.]​

 

[Skajin var Imret]

Senior Administrator Eocin Chiyat and his two CorpSec escorts took up a disproportionate portion of sidewalk.

Skajin var Imret, a frigid and solitary Kubaz, shuffled down the snowy sidewalk in question. He slid between them in a jostling kind of way without regard for their personal space. With his hands jammed in his armpits, he downright elbowed.

"Watch yourrszelvesz, humansz," he buzzed irritability, and kept walking. The sooner he connected with certain current and recent Kubaz incarcerees, the better.

 

[Mercy]

Doc Painless | Skeevi Merrill

Ashin Cardé Varanin tried to teach her tapas. It would be fething great right now. Sadly she couldn't get a hang of it. It needed tight internal focus and introspection. None of it came easy to Mercy. When she tried to raise her temperature, she shot up in a fever. When she tried to lower it, she got numb and freezing.

Instead she was burrowed in a thick stolen fur coat from some noble party.

Great coat.

Still cold as feth.

"Hey, this the 'give chit out for free'-tent?" One red-haired head stuck into the tent looking around. Yeah, it was filled with enough miserable but grateful people. In came the giant wearing a big fuzzy fur coat, mittens designed for shovels and a large tower-shaped hat that covered her ears snugly. This time Mercy wasn't here to lord it over people who had it worse than her though. Strictly speaking she wasn't sure they would even understand or recognize it through their misery.

Anyway.

Alongside the assortment of fur? She was carrying three heavy crates stapled on top of each other. It didn't prevent her from looking over it.

"Alichos the Hutt sends their regards." Mercy said as she plopped the crates near Doc's table. A moment of tension slipped into the air at those words. Until she ripped open and revealed heat patches, bacta vials and other chit. "Alichos is gravely concerned by the Corpos' ruthlessness an' hopes these crates will help to offload some of da strain."

She pulled open the tent's flap and revealed several more enforcers standing outside (with way less furring and far more freezing) with additional crates.

"We gots food, coverings, all da good chit."

The tent flap closed.

"The good people of District Nine dun' stand alone today." It was a bit of a rehearsed speech and Mercy forgot like half the flowery prose the Hutt had insisted on. But eh, these people wanted to stuff their mouth and heat their fingers, not hear an oversized humanoid wax-on poetically.

At least she was being paid for this.

 

[Doc Painless]

Every society Doc Painless had ever seen - and he'd seen more than a few in his travels across the galaxy before settling on Denon - had grappled with the problem of street people, folks who just fell through the cracks. How they handled those people was the key difference. The Doc had been places with extensive night shelters, soup kitchens, addiction counseling, job training, all the resources the government could muster to help transients move off the streets and into safer lives. It didn't work for everyone, because no solution ever did, but the street people on those planets and in those cities were generally few, and with low rates of crime both by and against them.

The Corporate Authorities of Denon didn't go that route. Around here, people who had been born into wealth talked a big game about pulling yourself up by your bootstraps, which seemed pretty impractical to the Doc given... y'know... gravity. Some folks rose from the middle class to fabulous wealth by ruthlessly exploiting other people, sure, but nobody from the street was going to end up a DireX. It was all just an excuse to ignore street people, to blame them for their problems and declare that they deserved what they got because of their assumed laziness and criminality. There were no homeless services on Denon, unless you counted press gangs and the ends of CorpSec batons.

So when a disaster like this hit, transient folks had nowhere to go and no one to turn to.

That was why the Doc had chosen East Palpamore, the rundown end of District 9 that had never quite been rebuilt from the huge syndicate wars some forty years earlier. There had been plans, sure, but that had been in the days of the Republic; when the CAD came to power, they'd found the cost-benefit analysis for the renovation plan unfavorable, and it'd been scrapped. The place had been left a tangle of cracked duracrete, broken windows, and carbon-scored walls, and the locals had just had to make do. The neighborhood had thinned out as everyone who could leave did, and street people had soon found that they could squat in the area without anyone bothering them.

And that was why the Doc wasn't surprised to see a street kid drifting into the tent, not the first that day and almost certainly not the last. What was different about this one was their clear adeptness with technology. Most folks grabbed their blanket and lantern and moved on, but not this kid. They tinkered with their lantern, adjusting the heating coils and power distribution until the thing radiated half again as much warmth. Given that everyone needed heat far more than light at the moment, it was a damn good idea, and proved it by melting the snow beneath it in seconds. The Doc offered them a little round of applause, his smile showing that it was genuine rather than mocking.

"That was impressive!" he told them, walking over to chat. There was a brief lull in the crowds coming through.

The Doc had expected street urchins, but he certainly hadn't expected the language that came out of this one's mouth. It took a second for his translation implant to kick in - where did a Denon kid learn Jawaese, anyway? - but when it did, he chuckled; they were quoting that limerick that the Bard of the Hyperlanes had written about him. Apparently his reputation preceded him. "Yeah, that's me," he replied. "And you're welcome." It hurt his heart to see the frostbite meds rubbed onto the cartilage of their face, the nose and ears that could all too easily turn blue and then necrotic black. So he made no issue of it when they tucked the rest of the tube into their sock. They'd need it.

But maybe he could keep them in the tent a little longer. Denon's street kids tended to value their independence, to hate being tied down anywhere for long, but he might be able to frame it a different way. "Don't suppose I could persuade you to boost the rest of my lanterns like you did with that one," the Doc said, his expression friendly and guileless. "I can give you thirty credits a lantern." That was 20% of their purchase price, so not a bad deal when there was no materials cost and relatively little labor in the modifications. He could spare the credits. Probably. Unless there was an emergency. Long-term planning was hard when the short term had so much need.

"Hey, this the 'give chit out for free'-tent?" Someone new stepped inside... clearly not someone in need.

The Doc's demeanor changed instantly, becoming guarded. He subtly stepped between Skeevi and the new arrival, shielding her with his body, and dropped a hand to the butt of his blaster. "Something like that," he cautiously replied, unsure of where the conversation was going. And then it got worse. "Alichos the Hutt sends their regards," the red-headed stranger told him, slamming down the three crates she was carrying on the table. The Doc's hand tightened on his gun. Was he trespassing on some syndicate's turf? Had they decided to take a cut of his supplies as payment? Did they expect him to load up those crates with the emergency supplies he'd bought?

But then the woman opened the crates, and his gun hand relaxed. They were full, not empty, and contained more medical supplies - along with food, something the Doc would have liked to give out but hadn't had the time or the hands to manage. A few more gangsters - or so the Doc assumed - came in as well, bearing more crates, and a cautious smile returned to the street medic's face. He was not too proud to take a gift from a Hutt, especially at a time like this. Sometimes gangsters just wanted to get the locals on their side; it helped with dodging law enforcement. He would just have to be careful to make sure that this was a gift, not a contract.

"Well, I'm grateful for Alichos's generosity," the Doc replied. "If you're sticking around, can you set up a food line?"

Skeevi Merrill | Mercy | Open​

 

[Eocin Chiyat]

Rivwi was in the process of deciding whether or not some sort of garbage-based heating solution was a first and foremost a fire hazard or a health and safety violation when he was viciously assaulted from behind - or rather, bumped into roughly by someone in a hurry.

As if to add insult to injury, his datapad slipped from his mittened hands and hit the snow. Intact, fortunately.

"What are you waiting for! Fine him or arrest him - do your jobs." Looking at each other then the masked being, the Seccers seemed a bit reluctant, no doubt due to the obvious logistical challenges in arresting someone in the middle of all this. If they started now, there was a decent chance desperate beings might line up to spend a cell in a CorpSec cell. Better than freezing to death - but potentially expensive for them.

"Hey you, freeze." Rolling his eyes at his partner, the older Seccer glared at both him and the departing alien. "Easier for everyone if you stop."

What he really meant was easier for him. Of course, there would be even less paperwork if the masked chap simply booked it - no one would blame a poor Seccer for giving up pursuit a bit earlier than normal if he was protecting someone. Even if that someone was downright obnoxious.​

Skajin var Imret​

 

[Skeevi Merrill]

"Don't suppose I could persuade you to boost the rest of my lanterns like you did with that one," the Doc said, his expression friendly and guileless. "I can give you thirty credits a lantern." That was 20% of their purchase price, so not a bad deal when there was no materials cost and relatively little labor in the modifications.

Skeevi accepted Doc's offer and was engaged in modding the lanterns when Mercy barged in. She had the look of a street enforcer, a breed Skeevi knew well. Carrying heavy things for a Hutt sounded about right for someone like that.

The goal here was simple enough: make the lanterns less efficient. Prone to burnout, frankly, even fire hazards. That was a medium-to-long-term problem, though. Right now the environment offered enough heat sink potential to balance it all out, keep it reasonably safe unless you let it short itself out in deep meltwater.

Keep the modded lanterns somewhere cold enough so they didn't melt their own internals. Not a hard balance to figure out, hopefully. Treat them like cooking hotplates. Be safe.

Skeevi didn't say any of this: Skeevi kept their mouth shut as a matter of basic prudence, and continued tweaking fusion lanterns.

 

[Skajin var Imret]

"Hey you, freeze."

Skajin stopped and turned around, offering the three humans a look at his ice-crusted eye protection, his hands jammed in his armpits, his snow-speckled balding head, his shivering proboscis halfway to frostbite.

"...are you serious."

 

[Mercy]

Doc Painless | Skeevi Merrill

Mercy snorted.

"What do I look like, boy, a nurs-"

One of the other gangsters- sorry, good Samaritans, stepped in quickly before Mercy could finish her rhetorical question. "Why, Alichos would not have it any other way, we will certainly distribute the goods among the poor sentients in need." Said Samaritan, a scarred Twi'lek, noticed Mercy taking a deep breathe to finish her own version of the event and elbowed her quickly in the side.

The kark ya doin, a personal touch is exactly what Alichos wanted. Yar being paid by the hour what do ya care how it's spent??

Few could argue with that logic. Mercy was certainly among them, but they were already taking up more time than the woman had wanted to spend here, so instead the walking mountain shrugged in annoyance.

"Fine. Sure. Yes, we will give away the food for ya, but dun' schutta around if folks start complaining they ain't being coddled at the same time."

Good ol' Mercy. Always graceful in defeat.

She sighed on top of that before sizing up Doc. "So, where ya wan' us, I figure ya dun' need a bunch a' gangsters right next to ya blanket-wrapping self, huh?"

 

[Hacks]

[ A M B I E N C E ]

Takayama Station Hotel,
Denon

Hacks escaped the bitter cold and found herself in the warm embrace of her local bar. The Takayama Station Hotel, or just the Taki to local barflies, was a second home for many punks, skins, mod junkies and endless other subculture freaks. Her eyes glanced out to the beer garden, awfully quiet out there in the snow bar the brave few who huddled by heat lamps to stay warm as they smoked death sticks. Hacks slipped her way through the crowd, giving a curt nod to those by the pool table she recognised by face but not by name. The locals knew each other here, perhaps not well, but well enough they spared respectful nods. A touring band from some backwater planet was playing on the stage. The singer, a tall and skinny man with a bright red mohawk, announced the next song was dedicated to the Corpos.

"We're sorry but you're no longer needed,
Or wanted or even cared about here
Machines can do a better job than you
This is what you get for asking questions

The unions agree
"Sacrifices must be made"
Computers never go on strike
To save the working man you've got to put him out to pasture

Looks like we'll have to let you go
Doesn't it feel fulfilling to know
That you, the sentient being, are now obsolete
And there's nothing in hell we'll let you do about it?"

"A pint of Death Brigade," Hacks asked the bartender, tossing a credit onto the counter. As the beer was passed into her hand she felt relaxed, she was safe here. This was where she belonged, in good company, with good music, and a nice, cold beer in hand. Her head glanced to the small crowd watching the band, a few heads bobbing to the music. The bassist' fingers dancing across his instrument. Hacks could feel the vibrations from the speakers wash over her, through her. She needed another beer or four before she could really get into the music. For now she fled towards the back of the bar where a gang of punks, skins and mod-junkies crowded around a single table. They all shouted as one as she arrived, "Hacks!"

"We're sorry
You'll just have to leave
Unemployment runs out after just six weeks
How does it feel to be a budget cut?
You're snipped
You no longer exist

Your number's been purged from our central computer
So we can rig the facts
And sweep you under the rug
See our chart?
Unemployment's going down
If that ruins your life, that's your problem"

"They new?" one of the mod-junkies said, elbowing her arms that had recently been replaced. The man was Zhui, a Denon local who had known Hacks for only a few months. The man was older but far less enhanced than the slicer. Like her, he was obsessed, even addicted, to replacing parts of his body with cybernetics. Blurring the line between what it was to be human and machine. "Yeah, I had a job on Coruscant and needed some improvements," she said, flexing her four robotic arms. She lowered them and returned the pint back to her lips to take another sip, savouring the flavour as the table was swept up in drunken talk among one another.

"We're sorry
We hate to interrupt
But it's against the law to jump off this bridge
You'll just have to kill yourself somewhere else
A tourist might see you
And we wouldn't want that

I'm just doing my job, you know
So say uncle
And we'll take you to the mental health zoo
Force feed you mind-melting chemicals
'Til even the outside world looks great

In hi-tech science research labs
It costs too much to bury all the dead
The mutilated disease-injected
Surplus rats who can't be used anymore

So they're dumped with no minister present
In a spiraling corkscrew disposal unit
Ground into sludge and flushed away"

"It was a real shitshow," she explained, "Had me flying direct from Coruscant to some middle-of-nowhere planet in the Unknown Regions, ended up in the middle of a fight between the Jedi and Sith." She detailed her fight with a Jedi woman, noting her horrible taste in fashion, and her weirdly small lightsabers. The woman had fled after Hacks had rained down a hellstorm of blasterfire on her. "I also recognised someone there, it's not good news for Darkwire," she said, not one to often speak to her friends outside of Darkwire about the shadowy organisation but she needed to tell someone she trusted, and someone that trusted her. "I think there's a Jedi spy in Darkwire."

"We know how much you'd like to die
We joke about it on our coffee breaks
But we're paid to force you to have a nice day
In the wonderful world we made just for you
"Poor rats," we human rodents chuckle

At least we get a dignified cremation
And yet at 6:00 tomorrow morning
It's time to get up and go to work"

Conversation around the table soon changed to better topics, something far less stressful. Hacks was glad for it, she didn't want to dwell on Yula's presence during the attack on the Sith, or her actions during the protest. How would she deal with that situation when Hacks was so far out of the loop in Darkwire, untrusted by a few influential shadowrunners. Who did she have? Enigma and Frankie were gone. She didn't have any true allies in the network anymore. She often felt alone, the powers shifting among the shadowrunners. She put the beer to her lips and took another sip.
​

 

[Doc Painless]

The kid was good, that much was clear. Skeevi was very skilled at tinkering, or at least jury-rigging; the Doc wasn't sure how well these modifications would hold up long-term. Hopefully that wouldn't matter, though. Either the Corpos would tire of punishing the locals, if that was what they were doing, or the weather systems would get fixed. At that point no one would need the lanterns anymore, and they'd probably end up resold or stripped for parts. If they ended up burning anyone's house down, then the Doc was going to have some serious regrets about what had seemed like a good idea at the time. But there was no use worrying about it now. They needed the warmth.

Skeevi wisely kept to themself as the street medic negotiated with the gangsters, an instinct that any Denon street kid who wanted to live long would rapidly develop. The Doc, on the other hand, held his ground. If the Hutt wanted to win local goodwill, then he could probably be pushed a little in what he was willing to offer. It was pretty funny to have the readheaded woman leading the crew call him boy - he was easily half again her age - but for a moment he thought she was going to blow him off, or even throw down. But cooler heads prevailed; whatever Alichos's game was, his thugs didn't intend to spoil it over something so minor. Which was good, because the Doc was already busy.

He didn't have enough hands to treat frostbite, hand out blankets, and serve food.

"No coddling expected," the Doc replied, smiling blandly. The locals who were lining up for supplies weren't people who expected kindness; they'd be more grateful for the food than for a polite word anyway. "Thank you for the help. Why don't you set up over here?" Taking a break from rubbing frostbite cream onto an elderly Duros man's stiff fingers, he pushed a large (but now empty) crate over to the opposite end of the tent. It could serve as a food service counter, and it would keep the folks serving indoors; even if the gangsters were probably just self-serving thugs, they were helping, and he didn't intend to leave them out in the cold. "Should keep you out of the snow."

The Doc looked over at Skeevi. "Could you grab them a lantern, please?"

Skeevi Merrill | Mercy | Open​

 

[Skeevi Merrill]

At Doc Painless ' request, Skeevi's breath caught. They double-checked the rig in the latest lantern's guts, sealed it all up, and got up still wrapped in their blanket.

They avoided eye contact with Mercy as a matter of basic prudence, even while handing over the lantern.

"Careful," they mumbled, already turning away, "it's hot when you turn it on."

 

[Mercy]

Doc Painless Skeevi Merrill

"Well..." Momentarily uncertain what to say next, because Mercy thrived on conflict, not helpfulness. "...okay then."

It was rather embarrassing.

She sighed and helped the Doc push the crate on over. In the meantime the other gangsters were just waiting, except for one of them. That one? Was focused pretty intensely on Skeevi. Lil' kid over there, look at her skills, could be useful to the Hutt, nah? Whispered yes, but it was a relatively small tent so not like whispers would be all that helpful.

"Thanks, kid. But I am sure I will be fine. Pain an' me are familiar friends." Accepting the lantern without taking much heed of the words. Instead... she was taking much more heed of the gangsters' worlds and her expression had darkened ever so slightly.

Before they could say more? She backhanded the offender on her way to the empty crate. "Little girl got more important chit to do than repair salvage for yar Hutt," By way of explanation as they all looked rather offended and shocked at her. None of them argued though. Much less the one currently on his arse and whimpering about the tooth she slapped out of his mouth. "Oh, stop cryin', not like ya had any need of it anyway."

Then as if nothing had happened she began pulling out goods of the crates. Soon enough the other gangsters were doing the same, doing their best not to look at their friend shooting eye-daggers at Mercy.

"So, robot-man, what made ya decide playin' good cop in a place covered by chit-lords?" Clearly aimed at Doc.

 

[Ivory Stroud]

Doc Painless Mercy Skeevi Merrill

From down the slick, snow-filled road, the sound of an approaching vehicle hummed closer. East Palpamore had a reputation for being a significant slum, so the transport may have seemed out-of-place; District 9 was not well-known for a significant amount of vehicle traffic. Most people simply used their own limbs to navigate.

It pulled up across the street from Doc Painless' small tent structure, the engine idling contentedly. The rear of the transport suddenly began to lower to the ground, crunching in the snow - and a half-dozen tough-looking heavies in black & white began to descend. Two of them were human, a third a Gammorean, a fourth a Zeltron, and two Rodians: each of them bundled for winter weather, and carrying themselves with an air of confidence and power.

Following them, a familiar face to a number of individuals assisting Doc Painless in his humanitarian effort stepped off the transport: Ivory Stroud. She was bundled up just as warmly as her companions, sporting her customary fur coat and a black beanie which protected her ears and partially-shaved head from the cold. The group of seven all seemed to be wearing similar colors: Black & White with some gray.

As Ivory crossed the street and joined the gathering of onlookers and those seeking help from the Doctor, her group of toughs began unloading crates of their own from the transport.

She swept open the tent flap, peering inside then stepping through the opening. A quick glance toward the opposite end of the tent, and she recognized Mercy (a familiar face) directing a few individuals who looked out of place, similar to her own, setting up what looked like a serving station. Ivory also recognized the yellow-jacketed form of the young girl she'd once met while getting a tattoo in an alleyway near Seven Corners.

But, she rested her eyes on Doc Painless himself. Offering the man a smile, she nodded a greeting.

"Hey Doc. It looks like we're not the only ones who wanted to help."

"I've got packets of soup, instant caff, and a few drums of water... I also figured you could use some more warm clothing. A box of space blankets. A few extra space heaters, and a generator... And..." She decided to save the best for last. At about that moment, the sounds of grunting and boxes being set down just outside the tent were audible. If anybody were paying attention, her six Family Goons would be busily hauling a number of crates and boxes, as well as three large drums of water, toward the tent.

Much of Denon would probably be unfamiliar with Ivory's own organization. The display of manpower might have seemed a little... unusual, and hopefully did not make The Doctor or those assembled seeking help nervous. The truth was, The Family's soldiers were professional and dedicated. And, they followed Ivory's orders to the letter.

"I hope you don't mind, but I brought you a little security. Just in case."

The last offer was whispered between herself and Doc Painless specifically. If any CorpSec officers or Gangsters showed up looking to squeeze the operation, they'd find a lot worse than frozen poor folk and a couple criminals-turned-humanitarians.

Ivory intended to ensure the operation had everything it needed to become a haven for people in need. When it was complete, she'd be taking to the streets on foot - likely accompanied by one or two of her people - to do some investigating of their own.

 

[Eocin Chiyat]

The younger Seccer smirked while the older one seemed more exasperated than anything else.

"Deathly. So what'll it be, you gonna hand over an ID and take a fine like a good boy, or are we gonna have to teach you some respect?" The man was downright eager for a confrontation, perhaps hoping it would earn him a commendation. Avenge one's supervisor's honour or something like that. He was not aware that Rivwi - having retrieved his datapad - had already begun typing up a scathing performance review.

Not because the man was harassing a freezing bystander over a minor matter, mind you, but because he had yet to reference any specific law or code of conduct. As far as the Mirialan was concerned, every good peacekeeper's duty was first and foremost to the letter of the law.

How could the unwashed masses know how to behave if the law was not repeatedly cited in their general direction?​

Skajin var Imret​

 

[Skajin var Imret]

Eocin Chiyat

Once upon a time, Skajin would have drawn himself up, invoked his rank of Sava — a senior research chair — at a highly ranked university, and made a call to someone who knew their supervisor's supervisor. Two factors stopped him: The University of Kubindi's destruction at the hands of the Bryn'adûl, rendering him a distinguished professor of nothing nowhere.

And the word boy.

The old Kubaz closed his eyes. Between one heartbeat and the next, both Seccers' weapons disappeared from their belts. Where the sidearms went, Skajin couldn't say: he'd traded precision for speed. A rooftop maybe, or a sewer line, or halfway through a wall.

 

[Eocin Chiyat]

The alien was silent, perhaps feigning stupidity. This antagonised the younger Seccer enough that he pointedly placed his hand on his sidearm.

Or rather, he would have, had it not been missing. As it was he fumbled for a moment, glanced down, and made a noise between panic and surprise. His older partner was about to sharply rebuke him for such a slip-up when he noticed that his was missing too. Both seemed a bit nervous.

"What the hell... it... it was just there, I swear." His partner was glancing around frantically, but the weapons were simply gone.

"This is highly irregular. Such lacking professionalism does not inspire confidence in your ability to keep me safe." Of the three, Rivwi was the only one to seem more or less unconcerned, enshrouded as he was in the comfortable blanket of the law. No one could shoot him without provoking CorpSec's retribution, or so he was convinced. "I will let this infraction slide..." The word seemed to bring him an almost spiritual pain.

"... if you show some discretion in regards to my subordinates' failings." His clipped tone made his annoyance clear.

However annoyed, even Rivwi did not want to arrest someone unarmed in a district that loathed his kind.

Skajin var Imret​

 

[Skajin var Imret]

Eocin Chiyat

"Czerrtainly, szirr," Skajin said, regaining some of his balance and goodwill toward men. "On a day thisz cold, a little mutual forrebearrancze goesz a long way. Sztay warrm, szirr."

He bowed slightly and turned to head back down the sznowy szidewalk, the better to put the three humans in the metaphorical rearview.

The dark side chewed away inside him, urged him to humble those CorpSec officers in ways they'd recognize and never forget. He declined.