Fort (and Not Fort) | The First Order

[Delilah Graham]

Since the fall of Dosuun, life had been a blur for Delilah Graham. She had been bundled into one of the last ships that had left the capital, and one of the last to board the shuttle at that. She had a first-row seat to watch the devastation of the metropolis. Ironically, it had been the very act that had saved the First Order that indirectly destroyed Dosuun. The destruction of the SRI mother ship -- for lack of better term -- that had been interdicting Dosuun's space, locking fleeing civilian ships around the planet while preventing First Order military forces and their allies from getting close enough to help, had rained down destructive debris across the planet, and the resulting space battle had made more than its fair share of devastation as chunks of capital ships, not fully disintegrated in the atmosphere, impacted the surface.

Delilah watched it all from the small viewport of the shuttle door against which she was crammed with two dozen or so other Security Bureau and other government officials. They had boarded the shuttle almost as the Ministry of Defense building collapsed beneath its landing pad. The eerie silence in the shuttle, Delilah would never forget. But their troubles hadn't been over; the shuttle was badly damaged in the evacuation, and the hard landing had injured most everyone on board. Delilah spent time in overwhelmed hospital transports and medical bays of First Order naval vessels, in and out of consciousness as she went from one surgery to the next. Her recuperation had been long, but finally she was checked out. She collected her security pass, her cane, and the several metal plates and rods that held her together, and boarded the next transport for Pa'Desh.

There weren't enough uniforms to go around, so when she emerged into the humidity of the Pa'Deshi atmosphere, she wore a denuded First Order Navy jumpsuit with her security badge pinned to the breast pocket. She strolled to the security checkpoint, leaning against her cane for support as she did. The auburn-haired intelligence analyst handed over her ID badge and asked where she should be going. The guard swiped the card into the security computer, then handed it back as her assignment came up. "We weren't expecting you so soon, Ms. Graham. I don't have your room assignment. I'll escalate to logistics. For the meantime, I suggest you head for the central keep." He gestured with his finger to a route. "Uh -- there are stairs, will you -- ?"

"I'll manage," Delilah said with a tight smile. "This way?"

"Yes. Keep right and take the stairs up. You'll encounter another security checkpoint before you can go in. I'll let command know you're coming."

"Can you tell me -- who -- is Director Shepard here?"

The guard shrugged. "Not sure, honestly. I don't have access to the full roster, and nothing beyond director level. Sorry."

"Quite right. Thank you," Delilah said. She clipped her badge back to her uniform jumpsuit and set off, making reasonably good clip even with her reliance on the cane. She was itching to get down to work, but first she had to get an idea of what there was that needed doing.

[member="Robogeber"] | [member="The Major"] | [member="Amadeus Ren"] | [member="Kyrel Ren"] | First Order​

 

[Robogeber]

THE OLD FORT
Pa'Desh, The Central Keep

The Grand Admiral stood behind the security checkpoint at the top of the stairs, flanked by two veritable titans, in the form of Death Troopers. Both attired in their traditional power armour. The officer stood tall, and to attention, watching the interaction between a warden and the FOSB agent. He cut a striking figure. His holographic disguise module configured to display the white officers robes and military regalia he was famous for wearing. Hair was trimmed, speckled deliberately with flecks of grey, and a clean cut, albeit aged face. Professional, yet at the same time, also displaying symptoms of fatigue almost all had within the confines of the Old Fort.

He approached, pace brisk and extended a leather gloved hand. "Miss Graham, a pleasure." He politely drawled, bowing his head. "I do trust your travel to Pa'Desh was not too inconvenienced?" He inquired, before taking a glance at her cane, and then up at her. "Would you like me to perhaps book you a sitting with one of our cybernetics professionals?" he inquired, "We could have your leg fixed in a matter of days." he paused, and then a stern look came across his features.

"But of course such talk must wait after a briefing," He gestured on wards down the passage, and to a distant antechamber. "Given your file and career experience, I think it would be prudent to discuss current affairs." He drawled, "We are of course fighting a war here, are we not?"

 

[Delilah Graham]

Delilah had not quite been sure what to expect on her arrival to the Old Fort. It was certainly no Avalonia; it looked primitive by comparison -- spartan, perhaps. And she had not been expecting to find herself immediately in the presence of Grand Admiral Rausgeber. She had heard, through the grapevine, that he was the closest thing the First Order had to leadership after the supposed disappearance of Sieger Ren and the rumored death of Natasi Fortan, along with the lion's share of her cabinet, during the Sack of Dosuun. As an intelligence woman, Delilah had an inherent distrust for Military Men -- not soldiers or naval officers generally, but the kind of management types that saw Star Destroyers and blasters as the only way to solve problems. A military junta was not an ideal form of government, to Delilah's thinking, but a military junta was the best type of government if that was the only type of government that was possible.

Still, nothing had been confirmed; Delilah hadn't been kept up to date beyond snippets of rumors.

"Grand Admiral," Delilah said, somewhat taken aback by his greeting. She had not expected that. She leaned on her cane, circling both hands around its head and looked up at him as he spoke, then silently agreed, signaling her assent by inclining her head and followed his direction down the passage. Despite her limp she moved with a decent clip, keeping pace with [member="Robogeber"]. "I appreciate the offer. The field medics did their best, but I'm sure you're aware of what things are like in occupied space. But you're right. We have business."

Delilah continued along the walkway with the hologram-cloaked Grand Admiral, glancing sidelong at him. "I couldn't say for sure, but I rather thing we are. But I'm afraid I haven't been briefed -- security protocols, you understand, since I haven't been out of a field hospital since Dosuun. But I have heard rumors. Is it true that the Supreme Leader and the Grand Moff -- the whole government -- is gone?"

[member="Robogeber"]​

 

[Robogeber]

There was a sullen pause from the Grand Admiral, before he nodded. "Unfortunately, yes." Rausgeber coolly replied, "Unless by some miracle, they survived, I doubt they would not have contacted us."He gestured further in, "We have however acquired a number of governmental personnel, who managed to escape the collapse." He paused, "You've undoubtedly seen the tents within the courtyard?" he added. "But none of them are of any real regional and political authority. Bureaucrats they are. Useful to administer systems, but less so during our current predicament."

The Grand Admiral lead the FOSB officer into a grand stone hall. One now filled with haphazardly hung computer and data terminals. With bedraggled personnel attired either in casual clothing or bare FOSB uniforms. "This is the communications centre Miss Graham." He paused, "From what we've ascertained, the FOSB and its wide network of associates and contacts remain in tact." He then allowed a small smile to purse his lips, "And I wish for you to help organise it."

[member="Delilah Graham"]

 

[Delilah Graham]

Delilah followed along, absorbing the confirmation of Sieger and Fortan's deaths with a thoughtful stoicism for which she was known among her colleagues. Or she would have been, if any of them had survived. "It's good that they're here," said Delilah gravely. "They may not be of much use currently, but the fact that we're still willing to feed and house them -- such as we are -- sends a message that our current status is... temporary. If you'll forgive my rampant speculation and what you've no doubt already considered, it's best to give them something to do. Something to pull towards, together. Left to stagnate, the ambition inherent in these types can lead to -- shall we say -- unhealthy power struggles. And if I may further advise... perhaps they shouldn't be kept so close to where the actual power is." A faint smile crossed her weary face. "In case they get any funny ideas."

She lofted her brows and finished her spiel, then followed Rausgeber into the hall. Her eyes widened; compared to what they had once had, this wasn't terribly impressive, but when consider what might have been, this was magnificent. "Of course, Grand Admiral. I'll do anything I can." She looked around, leaning on her cane as she scanned the room, her eyes getting beedy. It wasn't quite clear whether she was looking for someone she knew and had hoped survived, someone she hated and hoped had not survived, or was just looking for the best place to claim as her workstation.

"I understand Minister Calgar is -- well," she quickly amended herself. "That he has not checked in since Dosuun. What about Director Shepard?" She gave one last look around the room as if to confirm Sybil's absence, then turned her gaze back to Rausgeber. "Not to be blunt, and please understand that I'm not gunning for a promotion, but who exactly is in charge of Bureau operations?"

[member="Robogeber"]​

 

[Kyrel Ren]

With an Upsilon class Shuttle entering the humid atmosphere of Pa'desh. Kyrel thought of himself the last one to be summoned to what could be the capitol of the First Order, what remained of yet a scattered and broken nation. In the aftermath of the Ssi-Ruuk's attack, An Admiral and Kyrel himself formed an uneasy alliance to retreat deep into the Outer Rim, with a group of what remained of the First Imperial Fleet and Civilians who were on the run. Taking control of Mustafar, on the very borders of the First Order, he had formed his own Holdout, the Crimson Hand as he called it, repainting the First Imperial flag with the rising fist of it's citizen, no longer seeking order but strength and protection through a rigid and more militarized way of thinking. Once there he had mustered the industrial capacity, making anything from Starships to even Battle Droids.

Was it control of the Industrial sector that brought him here, perhaps to use the resources in breathing new life into a fallen empire. Even Kyrel could not know, as he stood aboard the shuttle as it landed. It was on the very outskirts of the Fort itself. As the landing ramp opened, Kyrel was not alone accompanied by what looked to be Stormtroopers encased in full Crimson armor, as if a new breed of trooper made from the harsh conditions the enemy placed upon them. Kyrel had come alone of course his apprentice was still conducting her own studies while he was away on business

Stepping out, having instructed the troopers to remain with the ship. He slowly ventured towards the old fortress. His answers was what lied beyond, approaching the doors, he was stopped by the Stormtroopers guarding one of the entrances, the troopers getting a vague idea of who Kyrel was allowed him to pass. he wandered the stone halls in a slow walk, curious as to find who summoned him from his dark citadel, be it Rausgeber, or someone else entirely. Following through the halls, he heard the sound of voices, as he passed troopers and officers of all sorts.

Stepping into a room, to find the droid Grand Admiral, and someone who he had not recognized, a woman that looked to be an officer, an agent perhaps. And even relying on a cane to support her as she might have been injured recently, Kyrel himself was fully encased in his Raiment of the Vigilant. His blood red cloak draped around him by a pendant from the neck to keep it together. His mask concealing his dark side corrupted face, and distorting his voice. He looked at them both in curiosity before finally speaking. "I was summoned?"

[member="Delilah Graham"] [member="Robogeber"]

 

[Robogeber]

The Grand Admiral gave a cursorary nod to the FOSB handler. "If I had such political options, I suppose I would." He paused, "However, the realities of our circumstance don't oblige us." he then allowed a smirk to purse his lips, "Yet another reason most command has been delegated to my subordinates." He mused, "Less competition, more loyalty." Rausgeber however allowed the woman to continue. "Calgar is presumed dead. But Director Shepard surfaced quite recently." Carlyle informed the agent. "She is now presently conduction operations to secure ourselves a sensor network, to prevent an assault without our knowledge." He paused, "But in the interim, all military and security operations are to be considered by Colonel Cryxe, and by extension, myself."

The Knight of Ren's sudden appearance caught the Grand Admiral off guard. He was not meant to be here. At least not yet. However, he would oblige the force user. "Yes." he glumly mused. His Death Troopers glared at the newcomers. "I was hoping to have done this later, but now is better than nothing." He gestured to the Ren, "This is Agent Graham of the FOSB." The Grand Admiral gestured to her, "I intend for her to collaborate with you and your cohorts, in order to locate fellow members of your..." he paused, face curling in contempt, "Group." he then looked at the Ren, "Collect, coalesce, counterattack will be our stratagem."

[member="Kyrel Ren"] | [member="Delilah Graham"]

 

[Vonnegut Pyre]

~​

Weapons: Offline​

Shields: Minimal​

Life Support: Minimal​

Propulsion: Online​

Communications: Active​

~​

​

The message repeated on loop. A coded SOS. Its origin? A First Order vessel.

A decoding of the encrypted message would reveal the source to be a Chasseur-Class Pack Corvette, FIV Falcata. Further investigation would show that it had been marked MIA since the collapse of Dosuun. Since the sundering. Perhaps it hadn't been lost afterall. The Falcata had seen better days, in fact many of the outermost corridors along the hull had been sealed. Battle damage had torn apart the hull in numerous places, curved and shattered metal sticking up at foreign angles, carbon deposits littered the thin armor plating. Healthy, she was not.

"Comm Officer, Report!" An accented voice broke the relative silence of the bridge. The man who had spoken wore the uniform of the First Order Navy but his insignia was torn, indistinguishable in the dim aura of the emergency lights. "Aye, Lieutenant Commander." A few moments later the communications officer spoke up again. "Sir, the message is broadcasting but we have yet to receive a response. Indications suggest we are within range of the fallback site." The fallback site. Little more than a rocky crag on the edge of the galaxy, at least by comparison to Dosuun. It was hardly a speck on the charts, precisely why it had been chosen in secret to be the final hold fast - at least that seemed to be the pervading theory aboard the Falcata. The Lieutenant Commander had even been taken aback when the final orders went out.

Beside the Lieutenant Commander stood his XO, Lieutenant Pyre. Bordering on tall, the man cut a trim figure, near gaunt at this late stage of their survival trek across the galaxy. Pale flesh and sunken eyes only further provided contrast with the dark uniform resting on his shoulders. "We need this to work." the Second in Command whispered to their commander. A silent nod was all Lt. Pyre received in return. It was far from their final moments but the thought that perhaps no one had made it out alive was foremost on their minds. All of their minds. The crewmen, the officers, and while the human mind was resilient there was only so much one could take before giving in to despair. Hobbled during the initial conflict the FIV Falcata had ducked and weaved across what had been First Order space, Ssi-Ruuvi at every turn. Chased the entire way the crew now had gained a moment of respite as they approached their target. To call them beleaguered would have been an understatement. They desperately needed hope, perhaps even moreso than sustenance.

"Send an ammended transmission, point to point." A quick acknowledgement saw the Comm Officer move at the controls of his station before nodding in the affirmative at the Lieutenant Commander. "Ready Sir."

:: This is Lieutenant Commander Valencia of the FIV Falcata, any station, do you read? ::​

 

[The Major]

♪Yes, all must meet its end​

Can't you just relax​

Don’t look back♫​

Above, through a thick glass of a composite material she never bothered to learn the name of, the shadow of the woman once formerly known as Sybil stared blankly upon the stars -winking knowingly, mockingly, threateningly, against troublesome memories which bored deep. Each rumination drilled a tunnel of cancerous poison, cracking the once impenetrable wall which protected the universe from the most extreme portions of the Director’s dangerous psyche.

Faces formed in the stars. Their mouths took shape, working as her mind connected reminiscence to reality. Against the black and speckled field whispers meandered from her left and right, cheerful at first. Then stern. Suddenly urgent.

Twisting maliciously.​

Maybe they were music in a way. She could rationalize it as a good thing. Each hiss or sneer from those bad moments that each fallen person brought to this budding movement added another complex, rich layer of intricacy. If only the timing was a little more consistent. Sybil might even wave a hand in tune to this orchestra of venom like a fool playing conductor. But it was not to be, and the plethora of noise ended being just that: imagined noise of people she had failed to protect.

It had to be wrong, she knew it couldn’t continue. It wouldn’t have continued. It still may cease -but she did find one faint glimmer of sunshine in the mangled, writhing maw of fingertip split claws and splintering teeth: a secret uncovered that could potentially set correct at least some of what went amiss.

Reaching from the cot to the desk which flanked her temporary quarters found her grasping at a tiny case filled a number of vials, a bag with some form of powder, and a selection of tablets in a number of colors. Sybil popped two of the pills as easily as a child inhaling candy, before producing a needle which collected a bit of serum from one of the vials. The ichor inside appeared sickly, amber to that degree in which one knew the substance was sticky to touch. This she injected into her bare thigh.

In a few minutes the medley of the damned drowned out to throbbing drone, before her vision blurred while accompanied to the spinning of the ceiling -sending the stars in a disco spin in longer and brighter hues of friendly pink and hot purple. Reality tilted and whirled until it could not be perceived any longer, and she passed out in a cloudy pool of cold darkness.

♪Still reminiscing the day when ​

you left me all on my own, then.​

I walked away from any daylight, ​

instead of dawn it was twilight.​

Underneath the stars in space​

breaks the spell that holds you in place.​

Though I used to follow you, ​

Now I’m through♫​

When Sybil awoke an alert played out through the ship’s comm, relaying that they had arrived. Although her head buzzed uncomfortably she was aware that in a few moments some adjutants would arrive to escort her to the Fort. She dressed quickly as the burn out of chemicals dyeing her brain slowly faded away, peeling back the sleepy happiness of her acid hued dreams to some level of reality.

There was little point in bothering with appearance, and Sybil had abandoned trying for some time now. Her outfit consisted of the same clothes worn during the defense and subsequent failure at Dosuun. She almost seemed like a parody of her old self reflecting a dusty, worn, scorched joke of an aristocrat in First Order markings. One would have been right to assume that coat that she once carefully tailored and cleaned meticulously had not been washed in months. It had not. Buttons that had once shone in polished brilliance were missing, threads popped out here and there, and any tear in the fabric was left as it was suffered. These were not superficial either: the Director had spent months fighting in more places that she could even remember. Fighting against pockets of the Imperium all across the former sector. However, the hardest fights came from the imperials themselves. Some of which had decided to carve out their own futures free of the military junta on Pa’desh. Naturally, diplomacy by bayonet was required to set those records straight. Sybil, finishing a sloppy knot on her charred ascot, reached instinctively for the Almanian feathered cap she was more or less known for carrying, but she instead was reminded that it was lost during a breakout on Halm. Like most of what she lost throughout the years: such loss only perpetuated itself again and again through old habits -each occurrence causing a faulty spark of current between the broken wires still tenuously binding her soul to this existence.

Running on empty, the next few procedures escaped her active awareness. Needless to say, at some point the ship she was travelling on reported to a dock. Overpacked with more refugees and recovered troops from a score of worlds near Takodona streamed out to their new base of operation as valuable equipment was unloaded to aid the cause.

She walked without really seeing, failing to notice how the tent city on the edges of the Fort had grown since her last visit. So and so, in such and such rank, doing this or that attempted to stop her during unscheduled arrival to the Old Fort. Not concerned too terribly the Major nodded and kept pace. Eventually someone of higher import approached the Director with some manner of urgency regarding a private meeting that currently engaged the Grand Admiral. She again nodded in such a way to imply that she was not listening, and kept pace.

[member="Kyrel Ren"] | [member="Delilah Graham"] | [member="Robogeber"] | [member="Vonnegut Pyre"]​

 

[Delilah Graham]

Delilah maintained a straight face as [member="Kyrel Ren"] approached. Was it just her, or did Ren always have a face like they'd been stabbed in the groin? She turned her attention back to the Grand Admiral [member="Robogeber"] and offered a curt nod. "Very good, Grand Admiral," she said, her voice adorned by its usual gravitas. "And if I should require operational support, do I go directly to Colonel Cryxe, or is there an aide to whom you prefer correspondence to be run?"

Before there was an opportunity to further the discussion, an man in a naval officer's uniform -- shoulder bearing the patch of the 6th Fleet -- hurried up to the hologram-shrouded Grand Admiral and executed a perfunctory bow. "Apologies to interrupt, sir," he said, before glancing at the two assembled around Robogeber. His brow furrowed; apparently between the Special Agent and the Master of Ren, this officer felt they were rather a shifty looking bunch, and he turned his back to them, leaning closer to whisper something Rausgeber. Delilah glanced at Kyrel, offering a confidential smile of greeting, but her real motivation was to turn her head so that her ear was facing the Admiral and his lackey without arousing suspicion.

The ruse paid off. As she arranged herself, leaning on the cane, she heard snippets of the whispered report; that an apparently battered First Order vessel had arrived in the system and was broadcasting. Delilah assumed this would draw Rausgeber's attention, but she remained in place to await his further instruction. It seemed Robogeber was quite popular, for another man approached -- this one appearing to be in civilian clothing -- and muttered something. Again, Delilah caught something of the discussion; it seemed that Director Shepard had been spotted disembarking a ship in the outskirts of the Fort.

Oh dear, Delilah thought. Caught with her hand in the cookie jar, so to speak.

[member="The Major"] | [member="Kyrel Ren"] | [member="Robogeber"] | [member="Vonnegut Pyre"]​

 

[Robogeber]

"I authorise most meetings Ms Graham." The Grand Admiral warmly offered. "However," he paused at the approach of an ensign. He frowned but waved him over, "Apologies." He gave a short nod to both the Ren and the agent. A scowl formed on his features. "What is it ensign?" He tersely glowered. The Grand Admiral paused, and then smirked at the report. Reinforcements. But also more mouths to feed and ships to fuel. Still, they needed all hands on deck. The second man approached suddenly, and informed him that the esteemed Director had returned. Perhaps a little too quickly for his liking.

"Seems we have some updates." he turned to the Ren, "I'll be conducting an executive debrief. Send for me if you wish, but I dare say this'll be a covert affair." The Grand Admiral gestured to his Death Troopers and the Special Agent. "Follow me." His attentions turned to the ensign, "Order the vessels to dock, and get their crews relieved here." He added. "I want a full data list and crew set once we get names." Seems things had become interesting.

[member="Delilah Graham"] | [member="The Major"] | [member="Vonnegut Pyre"]