Junction Episode I: Shadows of The Mara Corridor | RNR & BSS Junction of Mara Mega Hex & Drogheda

[Victra Rinnel]

CIB Operative Victra Rinnel
Objective I
Mos Algo | Tatooine
TAG: Eight | Ferren Vaal | Agent Damocles
GEAR: X | X

The hologram shimmered, Nihil's silhouette glitched in and out, but the menace in his voice was crystalline. Victra stood in the hold of the unmarked transport, armored shoulders squared, head tilted slightly in acknowledgment. No salute, no words. Just that slow, still nod that said: understood. burned in. sealed shut.

She didn't need to speak. He'd already said it all, and besides, Victra rarely wasted breath.

The air around her hummed with the muffled throb of repulsorlifts, and she turned away before the hologram faded, metal boots echoing as she stepped out into the Tatooine light like a shadow daring the suns to see her.

------

Now, deep beneath Mos Algo, inside the bare-bones data vault that pretended to be an office, Victra moved like a razor through silk. Her gauntlet interfaced with the mining operation's terminal, fingers moving with the detached precision of a mortician. The phrik deposits might've been buried under sand and bureaucracy, but the data that linked them to Grell Noba, and thus the Confederacy, was not nearly as well hidden.

She tore it out, root and stem. Audit logs: rewritten. Courier records: ghosted. Subterranean scans: noise-filtered and falsified. The local slicer responsible for backups? Already dead. Sloppy, but effective. Victra would've done it quieter. A static ping hit her comm. It was the external alert node, dust clouds kicked up at the edge of the compound. Incoming vessel, Naboo design. She checked her chrono.

"Eight," she hissed, her voice more blade than breath. "Party's early. Clock just jumped forward."

She glanced toward the stairwell, then back to the last few strings of exposed metadata. Still too much here. Still bleeding risk. She muttered under her breath in code-speak, a string of expletives that only slicers would find poetic. Her fingers never stopped. Neither did her paranoia.

"We need to move," Victra snapped, louder this time. "Clock's done. If we're not wheels-up in twenty, we're hitching a ride on the wrong side of a diplomatic incident."

She sealed the system with a kill-command, scorched the biosig trail with a final sweep, and turned, already walking, not looking back. Shadows don't linger.

Let the Royals dig. Let Arcadian smile and lie through his teeth. By the time they figured out where to look, she'd be halfway across the stars.
​

 

[Kesh Hevro]

SHADOWS OF THE MARA CORRIDOR
Wayward Son - Chapter 1
———
GEAR: Customized Type 76 Covert Armour | Type 73 Compact Pistol | Type 74 Assault Rifle
TAG: D-M0N | General Xor | Open

TURN ON THE LIGHTS​

GEONOSIS

The civil war has been brewing and ongoing for a while. The Stalgasin Archduke, for all the hubris that has been pouring out of that pouty mouth, hasn’t been able to end the war despite the resources advantage. The Confederacy has been called; the first stage being the droid army deployed in the trenches. The addition of Confederacy forces helped the advance tremendously. What was a stalemate is now looking like a decisive victory for the Stalgasin Hive.

That’s where Kesh and the Hellions Commando is called; to close off the war, capture or kill the leaders of the rebellion, get those insects to fly off their nest or die inside. It is as simple as it sounds, as the front has been pushed closer and closer to the rivals’ hives, the battleground is getting mapped clearer.

Right outside of Geonosis atmospheres, a single Hellions Light Cruiser entered the fray, it’s missile launchers pointed at the planet. <Smash the entire area, kill everything that looks like a bug,> the Pyke Captain wrapped up his speech in front of the Hellions Commando, those who will go with him to incapacitate the rebellious hives. As the commandos positioned themselves in their respective orbital drop pod, all they need to wait is the confirmation from the battlefield that the air cavs support has put some work on the hive’s ceiling.​

​

 

[V01D Ω (Void Omega)]

Ticket to Ride​

---

V01D Ω​

---

The being who went by Void Omega (or just "V" in some circles) lounged lazily inside the magnarail as he waited for the wannabe law enforcers to jump the train.

They approach. Scanning.

Tapping into their comms. A Jedi Master and her Padawan.

Void did not respond to the droid brains. He could hear the comms as well as they could, and he could also feel the Jedi. Jedi always made him feel... almost nostalgic, though he was not sure why. Like there were old memories tickling at the back of his mind that had been erased. He disregarded it like always. There was no use trying to remember who he had been centuries before he had awakened in the Library on Woostri. Those memories would never return. And he was quite content with who he was now.

He began nodding his head as some heavy metal began blasting through the speakers. "Hell yeah! Time to jam!" He patched into the speaker network as well, in addition into the comms of these enforcers. He certainly had a surprise for them. He climbed up to the hatch, raising his right hand. This Jedi Master would get a face full of blaster fire from his palm when she opened it.

After that, whether she was blasted back or managed to react quickly enough to get out of the way, Void would jump up from the hatchway and begin blasting the music from both his own integrated sound system and their comms as loud as possible.

He scanned their faces. "Welcome, Master Ala Quin and Apprentice Balun Dashiell. May I call you Curly and Bushy Brow? Either way, let's have some fun." He reached down with his right index finger and welded the hatch shut. "Can't have the game be too easy for you. Gotta give you a bit of a challenge." He grinned at them. He loved being able to do that.

If they scanned him with tech or used the Force, all he would show up as was a human-looking droid, a completely unregistered on at that. He had no real identity.

---

TAGS: OPEN
Ala Quin Balun Dashiell ​

 

[Avari II Avaricious]

Rik Perris Sera Rosh

The rhythmic clatter and distant hum of the magrail train, barreling through the dense, Force-saturated jungle of Monastery, was a dull, almost irritating vibration beneath Avari's custom-built seat. He sat in a luxuriously appointed carriage, specifically repurposed for the transport of the "Sacred Circle" relics a collection he found profoundly quaint.

His three ID10 Seeker Droids, circled around him, allowing him to check his appearance and ensure that not even a single strand of hair was out of place atop his perfectly round head. He tilted his head, admiring how the ambient light highlighted the intricate embroidery of his ornate armor and flowing cape on the seat.

Even on a crude rumbling voyage through the landscape, his perfection remained absolute and no Royal Nabooer would take that away from him so says Avari, Second of his Name, Prince of Ruusan and Creator of all Things.

"Such common methods," he murmured, his voice barely audible above the train's high speed, directed more at his reflection than anyone. "These 'relics,' mere fragments of the cosmic energies I wove into this very galaxy, shuttled about like common cargo." He ran a manicured finger over a particularly beautiful vein in his marble-smooth skin.

The Temple of the Sacred Circle, a minor detail in his grand design, had been plundered by the Black Sun Syndicate, and these so called "artifacts" were being relocated. A simple necessity, he mused, for lesser beings who could not simply will them into existence.

He checked his side profile, then the sweep of his golden blonde hair. The galaxy, including this rattling train, was merely a stage, and he, its divine creator, was always the star.

 

[Kudau]

Objective 3 Bastila Sal-Soren

(Dank Farrik...) He had made too much noise, and now he had company...

He heard someone talking to their communicator, but they were quiet enough that he couldn't make out what it was. Whoever was in there with him was likely someone who wanted him gone, or worse, dead. He hid in the shadows, using his dark colored fur to blend in with the shadows of the gunmetal crates. He tried to calm himself down enough to try dowsing with the force again, seeing if it could help him determine the intentions of the other person in the train car.

What he felt was someone strong in the force, and very on-edge. He managed to stalk a bit closer, utilizing the hunting techniques he had learned with his family on Uneva, and getting a glimpse at the woman in the car with him. He watched as her hand reached for her lightsaber. She was ready for an attack, and he had to be quick and unnoticeable. He knew he likely wouldn't last long in a physical altercation, and he couldn't risk her beginning the fight. His attack had to be quick, and it had to be now.

He calmed down, focusing on his emotions as one of his daggers lifted from its holster. He raised his hand with it, pulled it back, and by thrusting his palm forward, the blade rocketed towards the nape of her neck...

In a flash, the woman drew her lightsaber and sliced the blade right in half, sending a wave of panic through Kudau. He had to get rid of that feeling fast before the woman found his hiding spot. Running from his hiding spot, Kudau began to refocus himself, getting ready to try and catch her off guard again, before noticing another presence in the force on the car with them. This one was different... inanimate... he shook his head as he tried to find another spot to ambush the woman.

 

[Ferren Vaal]

​

OBJ 1
Agent Damocles | Victra Rinnel | Eight
​

The heat didn’t bother Ferren. He actually quite like it, something different then the usual sweaty interiors and cold stone walls of the inner-city underworlds. What did bother him was how quiet the mine site was. They had been assigned it as a backdoor switch group, use the diplomatic talks to get in have a proper look around and then get back out again. It just felt too quiet for this type of mission.

He stood at the edge of the operation zone, one boot up on a rust-stained outcrop of duracrete, visor tilted to block the glare of Tatooine’s suns. His assigned double was nearby, probably thinking the same thing. From this distance, the phrik extraction pit looked like nothing more than what it advertised on the tin. They had both made not of the droids moving down there. Some workers. Still it felt like too few.

Too orderly.

He adjusted the settings on his scanner, letting it hum against his hands. Vibration signatures were consistent with light excavation. But phrik veins ran deeper, and the Republic’s geological survey had flagged this spot months ago as promising enough to rival the Orvax deposits. So why wasn’t anyone digging deeper?

Ferren tapped his finger against the scanner and then spoke to the blue skinned agent, voice low and even.

“Minimal activity. No heavy drills, no deep-core rigs. Surface scrape job at best.” He sighed, “Are they sure this is the one?”

A ping in his ear made him turn his attention to a deeply distorted and clipped voice, “Team Blue. You are cleared to strike.”

“Copy Central. Team Blue moving to infil.” He put his scanner back in the pouch at his belt and gave a long glance over to Damocles. “You ready?”

It was time to see what the real deal with this mining operation was, it could indeed be legit, but Ferren doubted it. Either way, it smelled.

The wind kicked up a curl of hot dust around his boots. “Alright,” he muttered, mostly to himself.

He adjusted the holosat uplink on his belt and started moving, careful footsteps along the ridge, heading for the access in the fence they had mapped the night before, they had been told to stay away from the site until today, but Ferren had learned not to wait on paperwork when the stakes involved phrik.

Especially out here, where secrets buried in sand tended to stay buried.


The fence was an old patchwork of junk making a perimeter that felt entirely thrown up to look secure without actually keeping anyone out. Ferren crouched behind a broken sandcrawler axle half-buried in the slope, studying for motion sensors strung along the fencing, or anything to be honest. The fact that they had found none was almost disappointing.

Ferren slid through the gap first, hoping he’d be followed quickly after.

“Blue Team is in the site.”