Faction Explosive Investments [ RNR & Corpos ]

[Makai Dashiell]

ALASSA MAJOR

Wearing | Gear : X | X | X | X | X | L3-37 | Interacting With : Balun Dashiell , Emilia Locke , Dominique Vexx , OPEN


“....that drive was thanks to dad strength. Couldn’t have done that two years ago.”

“Dad strength.” Harlon deadpanned, looking at his closest friend. The Umbaran was walking along the path with Makai, looking skeptical as they headed towards the clubhouse. Round of gravgolf over, they had other business to discuss.

With Phoebe perched on his shoulders, Makai couldn’t really nod the way he wanted to. The young girl had joined them, strategically after her nap and just before lunch, taking part in playing as well, which had just been letting her putt at every hole.

“Dad strength. It builds up over time. First you’re carrying the kid around because your wife did it for over nine months, right? Next thing you know you’ve got the diaper bag, the kid on your shoulders, carrying two flats of berries through the farmers market because your wife wants to make homemade jam because the kid eats jam sandwiches like crazy.”

“This sounds like less of an example and more of a true story…”

“It may be based on a true story. I should have brought you a jar of the jam.” Makai chuckled and shook his head, reaching up to grab Phoebe's ankle to keep her steady as they went up a small hill. “Next time you and Gaia come over…maybe when all this hyperspace craziness is settled. We’d love to have you two.”

“It may have to wait, two is about to become three.”

“No way! Congrats man.” Reaching out, Makai clasped Harlon’s shoulder and gave him a little shake. “Welcome to the club.”

Talk continued as they entered the clubhouse and through lunch.Towards the end though, while Phoebe was eating her ice cream, did things turn serious. It wasn’t just the hyperlanes, it seemed other issues were occurring. Issues that couldn’t be attributed to a changing galaxy.

“...you’re not supposed to know this but there’s rumors going around Cortessan Finance Group is not what it seems. Credit laundering is the rumor. I talked to father about it, there’s not enough evidence - yet. More whispered rumors on business lunches.” Harlon motioned around. “ Than anything solid.”

Beside him, Phoebe seemed riveted as she carefully spooned her desert, looking between the two men.

“I spoke to Casteel nearly a month ago when I got a loan for Aina Holdings. He didn’t mention this.”

“Casteel isn’t going to mention this. One, he’s in massively deep from the Empress Teta occupation and trying to drum up business. Two, you know his brother is friends with Sion Eres of, you guessed it, Cortessan Finance Group. Sion was two years up from us in the fraternity, he had a meteoric rise over the past six years. A little too meteoric for my taste. Even family connections can go so far, and Cortessan Finance Group isn’t his family’s company. I don’t even know much about Cortessan Finance Group and I own a rival finance organization.”

Makai absorbed the information, mulling it over.

“I think DRF contracted with Cortessan for loans and investment management. Not quite sure, DRF is more Dad and Bale’s pet project than mine.”

“I can say with confidence Mak ; any company who has done business with Cortessan is bound to have a data breach. Don’t underestimate how many associates they have and how far they will go.”

FARSTINE'S ORBIT

In orbit above Farstine, a space station suddenly explodes. A space station that had been contracted by the likes of Rachne Industries, Elatar Enterprises, Aina Holdings, Dashiell Relief Fund, Arceneau Trade, and more. Thousands of lives are lost. Research, financial files, proprietary equipment are burned or tossed into the vast reaches of space.

Owner of the space station? Cortessan Finance Group.

On the surface of Farstine, an investigation has been called by the corporations. By the families of workers. By those who depended on the space station for their livelihood in one form or another.

A crowd gathers outside the Cortessan Finance Group building, yet the silence of the group is overwhelming.

 

[Balun Dashiell]

EXPLOSIVE INVESTMENTS
INVENTORY: Spacer Apparel, Lightsaber & K-16 Bryar Pistol.
TAGS: Makai Dashiell | Emilia Locke | Dominique Vexx | Open

Farstine, Orbit.

The Nomad, a hulking Commercial Heavy Freighter, drifted silently through the void at low impulse, its hull reflecting the dim glimmers of distant starlight and the smoldering remnants of disaster. All around them floated the twisted wreckage of what was once a space station—now reduced to drifting debris and scorched fragments, slowly spinning in the vacuum like gravestones in the black.

Balun Dashiell sat at the helm, his jaw tense, eyes scanning the scattered ruin ahead. In the co-pilot's chair beside him, Vesha Daruun held his infant son, Kellan, gently nestled in her arms. The baby stirred but didn't cry, as if sensing the tension. Behind them, the squat form of 'Chip', a BB-model astromech, remained docked at one of the freighter's droid ports, its dome swiveling slightly as it monitored comms traffic across the sector, recording every stray signal or fluctuation.

Balun's voice broke the stillness, tight with conviction as he spoke into his headset. "No, Dad. You don't need to come here. I told you already—I've got this. It's not my first investigation," he said, directing the message across the stars to Judah Dashiell. There was a firm edge in his tone, though beneath it lay a quiet plea to be trusted. "As much as you don't like the Jedi, this is what we do, remember?"

Both men had poured heart and credits into the Dashiell Relief Fund—an idealistic pursuit meant to bring aid where war and politics had failed. But now, that same vision had suffered a devastating blow. The loss of the orbital station had cost lives—engineers, medics, and volunteers alike—and Balun knew that the burden of accountability fell squarely on the shoulders of those in charge. Someone had to investigate, to make sense of the senseless. And if foul play was involved, they would have to answer for it.

"I know," Balun continued, rubbing his temple as Judah's voice crackled over the comm, "and I will meet with their CEO planetside. But you've got your hands full with this whole Hyperlane crisis and the missing freighters. Dashiell Incorporated is stretched thin. I don't need to remind you that some of our ships are still unaccounted for."

He paused, his voice softening. "Just trust me with this. Let me handle it. You deal with your end, alright?"

The silence that followed was louder than the static.

Though his father rarely intended it that way, Balun always felt like he was trying to measure up—constantly defending his choices, explaining his intentions. Judah seemed untouchable, always composed, always capable. In comparison, Balun often felt like he was stumbling through the galaxy on uncertain footing, unsure whether the path he walked was noble or naïve, right or ruinous.

And yet, here he was. Doing what had to be done.

"Speech".
'Thought'.

 

[Dominique Vexx]

"Show me."

Dominique Vexx sat back in her leather seat with her burning, golden eyes fixed in space where the hologram would appear. An assistant gave a brief bow and then toggled the projector on. Laid out before them was a depiction of the debris field created by the destruction of the space station formerly in orbit of Farstine.

"It's estimated nearly a third of the station's mass has already entered Farstine's orbit." He dutifully had a wire-framing version of the station in its original form appear with the portion closest to the planet highlighted. "From the wreckage, it is believed the explosion originated somewhere near the center of the station."

"The energy core?" Vexx asked as the fingers of her right hand began to slowly drum atop a lacquered wooden arm rest.

A nod accompanied her words. "Or somewhere in the vicinity causing catastrophic failure. Another fifth of the station was blown in vectors that reduced their orbital velocity; some of which has or will enter orbit due to the planet's gravitational pull. The rest..." The hologram shifted to highlight how spreadout the debris had become due to the delta in velocity, trajectories, and gravitational influences. It was growing. "We predict this will pose an indefinite, considerable navigation hazard along the station's original orbital path. No vessel should approach Farstine without effective orbital kinetic shielding."

"The large debris will need to be dealt with."

"Immediate danger of collision aside that is true, Miss Vexx. They could disintegrate or fall into the planet's atmospehre raining matter and toxic materials on the people below, resulting in prolonged legal and public relations fallout."

Vexx's fingers stopped their drumming. "And the owners and operators of this station? Cortessan Finance Group."

Her assistant paused and made a show of shuffling the three datapads in their hands. A frivolous move. Only one of those pads was needed. "They have not responded to our requests."

Of course they hadn't. Vexx turned to gaze out of the viewport to her left at the planet below, and the debris field that marred the view. "Take us down. Inform them that Dominique Vexx, CEO of Rachne Industries and Executive Officer of Denon will see them presently." She paused just long enough for them to nod, not giving him a chance to reach for the control panel. "And D'chen, make sure they understand that is not a request." Her golden eyes peered over the tops of her glasses.

The sound of boots hitting the deck and rifles being checked sounded from the back half of the fuselage. Dominique hadn't come all this way alone, and the MPC 25HD could carry a pleasant assortment of enforcement personnel when the situation called for it.

Makai Dashiell | Balun Dashiell | Emilia Locke | Open​

 

[Lyra Scarlet]

Location: Alastair Major
Tags: Open
Gear:
Mask: on

Lyra was making maximum hypercritical speed to get to the planet's coordinates, she knew something was going to happen to the station, she didn't know what but she had been informed by her contacts that anything she had on that station soon wouldn't exist. Breaking from hyperspace her worst fears were confirmed that she was almost too late. Several pieces of the station were already falling into the atmosphere.

The Crimson Shadow moved past several cargo vessels and made to approach the station. The schematics came up on her HUD to tell her where to go. A stroke of luck, the compartment holding her cache was still intact, she could be in and out in no time. But there was a ping on her dash.

"Unidentified craft, this is restricted space, there is an ongoing emergency, please proceed to the established perimeter." There was a small yellow and chrome fighter behind her, N-1 on her scans.

"I'm on a rescue and retrieval mission, mission status is critical. Sorry." she smirked under her mask.

"Negative, please leave the area or be considered hostile."

Lyra casually flipped on her targeting. Her twin heavy cannons rotated behind her, proton torpedo racks extended and her mine launcher opened. "You can be a hero, maybe stop me from making the station even more fucked, but you are in a mid-890s N-1, how do you think this goes?" She had full locks and the security services fighter would have it all over his deck.

The fighter decided discretion was key but immediately radioed for backup, hoping someone was flying something bigger and more threatening might respond.

Scarlet took no time to act, she wouldn't have long. Her cannons flipped back and opened up, cutting into the beleaguered station's hull. Blowing through compartment after compartment. A concussion missile joined the fray as she hit a bulkhead, causing a large explosion and finally popping the cork that led to her cache. A large phrik safe containing a large amount in physical currencies and several documents that she couldn't really afford to let fall into anyone else's hands. Her tractor beam activated as soon as the guns cooled and pulled the safe from its mounting and slowly towards the void.

 

[Emilia Locke]

//: Makai Dashiell //: Dominique Vexx //: Balun Dashiell //: Lyra Scarlet //:

​

The stars parted as the Elaris Dawn dropped from hyperspace in a ripple of blue, the sleek cruiser immediately flanked by two escort corvettes bearing the Locke family sigill. It was a quiet show of force measured, deliberate, and unmistakably corporate. In the void beyond, Farstine glimmered below. Above it, the remnants of a once-thriving orbital station drifted in slow, tragic silence.

From the command deck, Emilia Locke surveyed the wreckage. The forward viewport was awash with debris: shattered hull plating, collapsed cargo modules, and scorched support beams spinning in the cold dark. The destruction wasn’t just material, it was symbolic. That station had hosted critical infrastructure, experimental research, and the livelihoods of thousands.

Her reflection in the glass was still. Composed. But her eyes burned.

“Drop to one-quarter. Keep formation,” she instructed. “Deploy probes to map the field. Dispatch a recovery team to search for survivors or recoverable assets. Every second counts.”

“Aye, ma’am.”

Without waiting for acknowledgement, Emilia crossed to the operations alcove where Leida Tannis, her chief of staff, waited with a secure datapad. Behind them, analysts whispered. Holo-displays flickered with preliminary casualty projections. She didn't look at them.

“What’s the status of Cortessan?” she asked.

“Radio silent,” Leida replied. “No public statement. No response to formal queries. Their last traffic was routine status reports from five days ago.”

Emilia’s jaw tightened slightly. “Has anyone else initiated sanctions?”

“Not yet. But Rachne and Dashiell are circling. Vexx has boots on the ground. We expect movement within the next day.”

Emilia nodded once and took the datapad.

“This is Emilia Locke. Executive authorization code nine-zero-seven-six-four. Enact a provisional asset freeze on all Cortessan Finance Group holdings, effective immediately. Citing failure to respond to priority-level breach protocols and pending inquiry.”

“Flag the action as non-punitive. This is a protective freeze only. We are not making accusations. But I will not leave our accounts exposed to uncertainty. Notify all relevant partners. Tell them we will lift the freeze when Cortessan initiates formal communication.”

Emilia turned from the window, the wreckage still drifting like a broken crown around Farstine. Dozens of sublight pings echoed faintly through the bridge, a chorus of responding transponders from recovery vessels, orbital patrols, and search drones. The chaos had form now, but not meaning. Not yet.

She tapped the edge of the datapad in her hand, satisfied as the final confirmation code blinked green.

› Cortessan Finance Group Account Access: Temporarily Frozen.
› Awaiting Executive Response.

It wasn’t an accusation. Not yet. But it was pressure controlled, precise, and undeniable. Emilia Locke never raised her voice when a written order would do. And now, the silence from Cortessan would cost them something tangible.

Next to her, Leida spoke up. “The shuttle’s ready.”

Emilia gave one last look at the field of debris beyond the glass before turning away.

“Prep my escort.”

---

The Vanguard descended through the atmosphere like a silver needle threading a storm. Turbulence nudged it gently as it cut through the sky. Inside, the cabin was calm, the low hum of engines a familiar undercurrent beneath Emilia’s thoughts.

She sat with perfect posture, her eyes not on the datapad in her hands, but on the surface of Farstine rising to meet them. The Cortessan complex was already coming into view—a pristine spire at the heart of a gleaming district, untouched by the destruction it had financed above.

Her personal security detail rode in silence beside her, their armor formal but unmistakably functional. No insignias. No bravado. Just precision and presence.

Emilia spoke without looking up. “When we land, I’ll go forward with four. Keep the others with the shuttle. We’re not here to posture only to make clear that we want answers.”

Leida, seated across from her, gave a single nod. “We’ve confirmed the others are already on the surface.”

That was enough. Emilia didn’t ask who. She already knew.

The shuttle made its final descent toward the landing platform with the smooth confidence only a corporate vessel could afford. As the landing struts touched down and the ramp extended, Emilia stood and adjusted the cuffs of her jacket, brushing away a nonexistent crease.

This wasn’t a press event. It wasn’t a photo opportunity. It was presence, plain and simple.

Emilia descended first, her polished boots touching down against the smooth, pale stone of the Cortessan corporate plaza. The sky above was overcast, streaked with high-altitude ash trails faint remnants of orbital debris still burning through the atmosphere.

Emilia’s personal security agents stepped with her, one at each side and a half-step behind and two behind. The rest remained by the shuttle as instructed, visible on the edge of the landing platform in a discreet but unmistakable perimeter.

The wind picked up as she crossed the plaza, and with it came the voices.

“Mrs. Locke! Emilia do you have a statement on the station loss?”

“Can you confirm that Elatar Enterprises is freezing Cortessan accounts?”

“Will Elatar be seeking restitution or is this a show of solidarity with the other corporations affected?”

They came from a line of reporters corralled behind a modular barrier, holocams hovering just overhead. Some had credentials from Core Worlds media houses; others were local or independent, their mics patched together with ambition and hope.

Emilia didn’t so much as glance in their direction.

Her stride remained smooth, measured, heels clicking softly in even rhythm as she approached the building’s steps. Her expression was unreadable composed but unreadable. Not aloof, not angry. Simply… focused. Every inch the executive: elegant, prepared, and deliberately unswayed by noise.

One of the holocams swooped closer to frame her from the side. Her lead escort raised a hand subtle, non-confrontational and the droid retreated without incident.

The reporters quieted somewhat as she mounted the steps, the sheer lack of reaction from Emilia unnerving in its own right. This wasn’t a woman coming for a soundbite or a press opportunity.

This was presence quiet, unmistakable, and calculated.

At the landing above the steps, Emilia came to a stop. The great entry doors of Cortessan Tower loomed ahead, shut tight and framed by pillars that had once been a symbol of stability.

Now they were a wall.

She didn’t knock.

She didn’t ask.

She simply waited.

They would open.

Or they would learn what it meant to keep the wrong people waiting.

 

[Makai Dashiell]

FARSTINE

Wearing | Gear : X | X | X | X | X | L3-37 | Interacting With : Balun Dashiell , Emilia Locke , Lyra Scarlet , Dominique Vexx

Striding up to the Cortessan Finance Group, Makai was unaware of the freeze placed on the CFG accounts. Thirty-Seven was not with him, instead his droid was off handling a collapsing hyperlane issue in the Pacanth Reach, well in Sith Order territory. Communication was spotty due to their Black Wall but lucky for him his late father-in-law had laid down a network of DarkNet communication buoys. Makai had wisely ensured every valuable asset in his companies could access the DarkNet, including his trusted personal assistant droid. It was easier for him to navigate this situation alone and let Thirty-Seven take on the dangerous work of travelling through potentially unfriendly territory.

"Mister Dashiell! Do you have an update on the station? What did any of your companies lose?"

"Is it true you're using your Jedi brother to investigate and bypass local law enforcement?"

"Do you think the Crimson Dawn terrorist organization is behind the attack given your support of a matriarchal Hapes Consortium?"

"Can you give an update on your advancement to acquire property from Drey Industries?"

Ignoring the press for now, Makai quickly entered the building, security quickly closing the door behind him. A turbolift ride to the top and he was deposited onto the floor where the most in-charge were. The C Suite. It seemed he wasn't the only one who had an idea to come to get answers for himself. He was greeted with the sight of one familiar face : Miss Locke. The other he didn't recognize, perhaps their paths had not crossed until now.

Double doors were shut. Not surprising.

"Miss Locke, a pleasure." He paused, nodding to the other woman. "Miss."

Hand reached out and pulled on the door. Locked. He knew the room was occupied. Yet knocking down the door was unwise. At least right now. It would only play into the narrative of CFG.

"Has their been any word?"

 

[Dominique Vexx]

The transport swept down into the heart of the storm. Its quad engines rotated into position to scrub a wide swath of space open in the plaza in front of the CFG's command and control. Reporters and gawkers alike were forced to step back and cover their eyes from the sudden tempest of wind stirred up by the ship's descent that only arrested when it was just over a foot off the ground. There was no need to demand people make room when gusts of air would handle such details for you.

The port side door slid open and a step flipped out from the ship to provide a graceful and comfortable departure for those inside. The two figures visible was adorned in armor with a blaster clipped to the front of their vest. Their helmet scanned the area outside of the ship before they stepped down and took hold of their weapon. Behind him stepped forward Dominique Vexx herself, dressed in her customary white with her lilac hair and shades. She didn't pause at the threshold, or for a single moment once she made planetfall; instead, the next two guards had to keep up with her and the first had to take point before being out maneuvered by their charge.

Package delivered, the transport lifted off once more; this time relying more heavily on the repulsorlift so as not to disturb Vexx's precisely trimmed hair. Those still on board had their own task to fulfill. Dominique had no illusions what awaited her ahead. Well, the Cortessan Finance Group was welcome to their games; she knew how to play corporate games. The question was whether they had truly prepared to deal with someone like herself -- someone that didn't wait to see what Cortessan Finance Group's move would be before making her own. Namely, infiltrating their facilities and securing as much personnel, material, and information possible.

"Director!"

"Director Vexx!"

"Does Rachne Industries have any statement about the recent tragedy?"

"Will the Corporate Authorities hold Cortessan responsible?"

"Do you have anything you'd like to say to the families of the lost?"

Vexx's bodyguards aside anyone that was too slow or deliberately in their way as she strode toward the building. She didn't so much as glance at all the reporters buzzing around. Corpse flies. Useful, in a fashion, but not worth standing around surrounded by their ilk pestered with a chaotic amalgamation of questions in the hopes for stellar ratings.

Once they'd pushed through the crowd, the small group did stop. Hopes were renewed for a statement. When Dominique turned around and a portable broadcast station unfolded into existence, they surged forward until the four guards simultaneously shrugged with their weapons to temper that enthusiasm. And Jedi said CorpSec's reputation for ruthlessness had no purpose.

"Ladies. Gentlemen. Concerned citizens of all worlds, thank you for your attention," Dominique's voice carried across the crowd as Reporters tried stretching their recording devices higher and closer over one anothers' heads. "A horrific tragedy has befallen not only the people of Farstine, but countless family units of hard working, productive members of society. People that secured a brighter and better future for their families, and all families. I know there are many questions that grip us all in these times. How did this happen? Who is responsible? What will be done for those that survived the passing of their loved ones?" Dominique lifted both hands as she nodded slightly. "Rest assured, the answers are coming, but the investigation -- and the response -- has only just begun. You want answers. We want answers. They will be found and those responsible will be held to account. Thank you."

The makeshift, hovering podium folded back up and was pocketed by one of her guards as Vexx turned to leave the reporters in her wake. There was a loud cacophony of sound as questions roared over one another, but she couldn't be bothered to hear them. They'd simply have to live with that public statement until there was something actually worth saying.

As they moved, Vexx reached up and adjusted the outside opacity of her shades so they concealed nearly all of her eyes except for a sliver of a glow. All the better to intimidate people with. Similarly, the smile and cheer on display a moment ago was no longer found on her lips as they ascended the stairs. Matters had shifted from public relations to corporate warfare.

A short while later they found themselves "waiting" outside the double doors that were sealed tightly. Dominique's lips pursed for just a moment. So, despite her generous advance they thought to stonewall even further did they? That would only end up costing them more in the long-run, she thought, with the strike group not waiting on the outcome of hostile boardroom negotiations. Perhaps they hoped to destroy all of the evidence before the first word was exchanged; that was not something Vexx was prepared to let happen. She was all too familiar with this game, but unlike people concerned with decorum and procedure, Dominique was going to secure the scene and deal with the apologies afterward.

Dominique turned her head aside at Emilia Locke's arrival. Word of the Elaris Dawn's -- and its escorts -- arrival had reached her as they'd been moving. There were already reports she'd taken some proactive moves of her own in an arena suited for a banker. A shadow of a smirk graced her painted lips in approval. "Mistress Locke." Their security teams eyed one another in case it turned out their leaders ended up on different sides.

Then a Dashiell joined them. Vexx watched silently as he strode forward to try the door himself and found it still securely locked. Didn't want to be faked out by two lovely ladies loitering in the lobby while their betters entered into closed-door negotiations? Smart, except for the whole 'betters' aspect of such a scenario. Dominique no longer believed in anyone being better than her. As a Senator of the Galactic Alliance she'd been content in her role with the DireX above her; that was no longer the case and she'd seized a means of directly influencing Denon's future rather than cleaning up messes.

"None," Dominique replied brusquely. A moment later a small smile suddenly bloomed beneath her glareshades. "And if they persist, I have ways of stirring them into action." She turned her gaze on Makai. "Dominique Vexx of Rachne Industries and Denon Corporate Authorities. Are you here on behalf of Arceneau Trade Company?" Perhaps Dashiell Relief Funds as well? They were of interest to Denon and Vexx personally.

Makai Dashiell | Emilia Locke | Lyra Scarlet | Balun Dashiell​

 

[Emilia Locke]

//: Makai Dashiell //: Dominique Vexx //: Balun Dashiell //: Lyra Scarlet //:

​

The double doors ahead remained closed—still. Emilia had stopped watching the time several minutes ago; there was no point in measuring silence.

She heard the footsteps before she saw them. Precise. Sharp. Purposeful. When Dominique Vexx entered the hallway flanked by her security detail, Emilia didn't turn to face her immediately—she finished scanning a datapad in her hand, tapped the display once, then looked up.

"Director Vexx," Emilia said evenly, offering a nod. "I had a feeling you'd be just behind me."

Her tone was measured, but not cold—more a statement of inevitability than competition. She took in the subtle tilt of the other woman's shades, the unreadable expression beneath them, and let it sit.

"I imagine the reception outside was, lively."

Then came the second arrival.

Makai Dashiell stepped into the hall with a confident pace, brushing past a line of subdued Cortessan security and straight toward the sealed doors. The brief exchange of nods followed.

"Mr. Dashiell," Emilia greeted, a touch more familiarity in her voice. "Quite the turnout today."

She raised a brow subtly when he tried the door, unsurprised when it didn't budge.

"I wouldn't waste the effort. They've been locked since before I arrived. No word, no acknowledgment, just silence."

At his question, she turned slightly, shifting the datapad under one arm.

"No contact. No movement. No willingness to communicate. Which is precisely why I issued a full freeze on Cortessan's financial interactions until I receive a direct response."

She didn't say it for effect just stated it like an item on a report. Then, more casually:

"I'm not pointing fingers yet. But I am protecting our position. And if that makes them uncomfortable?" She glanced back at the doors. "Good."

"I suspect if we wait much longer, the room behind that door's going to be a lot quieter than they want us to think. And I'm not sure about you, two… but I didn't come all this way to loiter in a hallway." She let the words hang.

 

[Balun Dashiell]

EXPLOSIVE INVESTMENTS
INVENTORY: Spacer Apparel, Lightsaber & K-16 Bryar Pistol.
TAGS: Makai Dashiell | Emilia Locke | Dominique Vexx | Lyra Scarlet | @

"Balun," Vesha Daruun's voice cut through the soft hum of the freighter's systems, her tone cool but alert. From the co-pilot's seat, she leaned forward, golden eyes narrowing against the glare through the transparisteel viewport. "I believe another vessel is out there—someone's tampering with the station wreckage."

Her words immediately sharpened Balun's focus. Vesha, ever perceptive and precise, was a Sasori-model biot with optics far keener than his own. As she adjusted the Nomad's sensor array, her fingers swept expertly across the console, redirecting their scanners toward the silhouette of a ship lingering near the debris field. The readout flickered uncertainly—this far out and with civilian-grade systems, they couldn't pull detailed ID tags. What appeared on-screen was only a name: The Crimson Shadow. Unknown registry. Unknown pilot.

What neither of them knew, however, was that the ship belonged to Lyra Scarlet .

"Chit," Balun muttered under his breath, his eyes darting across the sensor data. "They're going to get themselves killed if they keep poking around out there. Hold on, Vesh."

Without hesitation, Balun angled the Nomad in closer, banking the heavy freighter around the burnt-out husk of the station. The engines groaned at the sudden maneuver, but the ship responded—barely nimble enough to make the arc. As they cleared the bulk of floating debris, the unfolding chaos came into view.

A lone N1 Naboo Starfighter was retreating, its sleek frame flashing in and out of the starlight as it banked hard away from the engagement zone. And then—

A brilliant burst lit up space as an enemy vessel fired, a trailing concussion missile breaking off in hot pursuit of the fleeing fighter.

"Kark," Balun hissed. "Strap in, Vesha! Hold on to Kellan—tight!"

He didn't wait for confirmation. His hands slammed the throttle to full, the Nomad lurching forward under maximum thrust. The cockpit vibrated with intensity as Balun routed power to forward shields and flipped the targeting system into manual override. He didn't need a lock. He didn't have time for one.

The targeting reticle danced over the tracking missile. Balun quieted his thoughts, letting instinct take hold—letting the Force guide him.

The Tomral RM-76 heavy laser cannons roared to life, their red streaks slicing through space. Most of the shots missed, burning uselessly into the void—but one found its mark. The concussion missile erupted in a ball of flame, shrapnel dispersing in a sharp halo just shy of the N1's tail. The starfighter rocked from the pressure wave but escaped undamaged.

Balun exhaled sharply, adrenaline finally loosening its grip on his chest. He leaned back in his seat, sweat slicking his brow as he turned the Nomad in a wide, deliberate arc.

"Let's find out who the hell that was," he muttered, eyes narrowing on the still-unidentified ship ahead. "And why they just tried to blow a law officer out of the stars."

His hands moved smoothly across the controls as the freighter realigned, intent now on intercepting the Crimson Shadow and getting answers. Whether friend or foe, whoever was at the helm had just earned his full attention.

"Speech".
'Thought'.