Freedom in the Outer Rim [ORC Dominion of Karazak Hex]

[Jin]

OBJECTIVE TWO: Smuggling contact​

LOCATION : Subterranean Hanger near the slave pens​

CONTACTS : [member="Dash Kessler"] | [member="Sortz"] | [member="Gray Venasir"]​

Opposition: [member="Yula Perl"] | [member="Dagon Perl"]​

​

Jin awoke from the sleep dart to find the situation had gone to all bloody hell. A massive explosion had rocked the area, though he had not heard or seen it while taking his "cat" nap, the aftermath was all around him. The giant horned woman and her captain were fleeing in one direction. Blaster and slug thrower fire came from another, the coalition had arrived in force and were overrunning there substantial but still limited forces. As the fog of the drugs lifted he quickly realized he needed the flee.

Slinking on all fours he began to craw back toward an area's of the hanger that had not fallen to the attacking coalition. Sliding his back against a near by wall he forced his way up onto shaking unsteady legs. An anger beginning to build in him as he fought his own body, trying to will it back to his control. If he ever found out who has darted him there would be hell to pay for that sneaky bastard.

 

[Gray Venasir]

Location: Hangar
Objective: Get out alive, free slaves, maybe capture slavers
Tags: [member="Jin"] | [member="The Prince"] | [member="Dagon Perl"] | [member="Yula Perl"] | [member="Sortz"] | [member="Kyle Farnes"] | [member="Ladro"] | [member="Dash Kessler"]

Gray turned to Dash right after he had said he was With the police as well. What the kriff was the meaning of this? Gray's head used a few Seconds to try to Draw a Connection, but it was all chaos now, With guards running around without any idea what to do. But he might as well get involved, so he began to say to Dash: "Wait, you're a wh…" He didn't get to say more bofore the explosion came.

Gray was thrown to the side. The blast hadn't been as strong as he first thought, and it wasn't hard to pull himself to a standing position again. There was a small buzzing in his ears, but he looked around. And saw even more chaos than before. The apparant police and his big, green Companion fled, while the Purple police officer was jumping after them. It looked like the other police man was trying to say something, but it was impossible to hear. The guards were still scattered around, and a New Group had arrived, who were now capturing the slaves.

But one thing was certain: Gray could not stay where he now stood. He saw that the cat-man who sold the slaves had crawled up to a nearby wall, which now seemed the safest and smartest approach. So Gray ran, keeping his head low, towards where the cat stood. Reaching the wall, he asked: "Some preffesionalism you've got here. What the Blazes is going on?" He almost shouted the last part. But With everything that was going on, Gray thought now could be a good time to blow his cover as well. He took a few steps away from the cat, barely dodging a shot , and fixed his blaster at him. "Sorry to burst Your bubble, but Your slaver days are gone. And before you ask, no I'm not With those police People back there. I'm just a guy With resentment for slavers. So, give me a reason not to blast Your head to peices."

 

[Kyle Farnes]

When the fire cleared, the Mandalorian let this rifle sling onto his back again, grabbing one of the DE-10s on his hip, he made his way up as the vessels were taking their time and carefully plotting the ascent into the camp. A few well placed shots and Kyle was dropping guards that were trying to heard some of the slaves that were moving in a panic. Yeah, ok, the Mandalorian did come in with more firepower than was typical with the Coalition, but he was not on a ship, he had the chance to use some of his toys. He was really going to have to revisit what he used, if he was going to apply to be a Coalition deputy.

“Slavers, stand down. This compound is now under ownership of the Outer Rim Coalition.” As he broadcast this over the local frequencies and his own amplifier, he was signaling whatever dropships could make their way here. The armored carriers were going to be good to get people out of here, but adding additional guns and some medical facilities was going to be needed. But for now, he’d take as many as he could hostage, and switching his pistol to stun where he had to actually stop an issue on this world.

Slavers really bothered him. Not all Mandalorians were trash people. Some were trash pandas.

[fin]

 

[Peyton Steele]

She was here for a certain task, and that meant a lot of listening. The blonde was hopeful that she could impress her handler, and maybe be able to get to choose some of her own missions. Or get out there and work the more front line missions. Not as a watcher, but as a combatant and listener. Keeping the Coalition in check, and doing what she could to support the Jedi, even if she was still saying that in hushed breaths. She had seen the destruction of Coruscant and knew her history. Where Jedi and Sith went, trouble was sure to follow. She still had some respect for the Jedi, there were the ones who she had seen first hand rescuing people.

But she knew that it was a slippery slope. Analytically, that was what happened. Death, destruction, mayhem. As a member of the intelligence community, she knew what actually mattered. Results. Data. And a nice smile.

She offered a wink at a passing by pilot and was about to get up to speak to him before she heard mention of an operation in the Dagobah system. First Order was moving that way? She’d have to let command know, but first things were first. The slaver pilot. Making a mental note to contact her handler on her way out of the system, she made her approach.

“So, I hear your people are looking for pilots, right?” She had a flight helmet under her arm, on her hip, and a blaster opposite of that. “Can help carry or fly escort. Ship is armed and fueled, just need someone to pay the next set of bills.” She was watching him, and feeling him out in the Force.

He passed her a datacard and nodded before turning back to his drink.

 

[Dash Kessler]

Location: Underground Hangar
Objective: Appreciate the genius that is Dash Kessler
Officer & A Gentlemountain: [member="Sortz"]
Primary Opposition: [member="Jin"] | [member="The Prince"] | [member="Gray Venasir"]?
Secondary Opposition: [member="Dagon Perl"] | [member="Yula Perl"]
Tertiary Opposition: [member="Ladro"]

It might have been the possible concussion talking, but Dash was fairly certain it was going pretty well all things considered. For an improvisational lie, it had come out a lot smoother and a lot more convincing than it had any right to. At the very least, one half of the dynamic duo seemed to at least take a second’s pause. A flicker of uncertainty crossing their face. A telltale opening he could exploit.

And then the hanger bay went and all but exploded.

Dumbly Dash scratched the side of his jaw with his thumb, half-blinking owlishly, half-winking unfocusedly at the clusterfeth unfolding before him. Yells, chaos, mayhem. Now that was a distraction. Trouble is, and he had to sideglance Sortz for confirmation on this one, he was fairly certain that this wasn’t part of his genius plan. Normally he preferred to err on the side of awe in the whole ‘shock and awe’ equation of a good distraction. This seemed a lot more… Brazen, even for him.

Well, kark, he must be pulling out his Aurek game.

And he was so busy congratulating himself on a clearly multi-tiered plan, he barely even registered being tucked under his green skinned companion’s arm and spirited away like a stolen parcel from a Concordian porch until it was well under way. The sudden adjustment in his orientation confusing him for a second before he resolved to just let it happen. Another facet of the plan, no doubt. Wheels within wheels.

Good on you, Other Dash. Good on you.

Of course, the only real nagging question seemed to be the rapidly approaching figure of the more feminine half of the law enforcement team that had so effectively screwed the akk dog on that bust. Much like the early explosion, he was pretty sure that drop kicking wasn’t included in his repertoire. And if it was, he was even more certain that it wouldn’t be aimed at him - or more accurately, the woman currently scurrying him to safety. With an uncoordinated hand, he tried to make a waving motion with his hand at the last possible moment. Attempting in vein to simply shoo the pink woman away.

For the life of him, he couldn't fathom why it didn't seem to work.

 

[Fulcrum]

Desmond's lip quirked into the ghost of a smile.

He'd been on her trail for days now. As far as he could tell the rebel operative was completely unaware of her shadow, but for all he knew [member="Peyton Steele"] could just be playing it real cool. It's what he would do after all, let the tail get comfortable and feel like they're in control. When they made their move, so would he. There was simply no way to know how she would react, Deacon wasn't in any databases and had no fool proof means of verifying his identity. He was a ghost, that had been the point at the time.

Soon the rebel's slaver contact rose from his seat, and just as Peyton was getting ready to leave as well the Hapan appeared across from her. He had perfectly blended with the cantina's passing crowd to approach hopefully undetected.

"Better hurry," he told her, shades gleaming in the phosphorescent light, "Your friends with the badges will be locking down the spaceport soon, I reckon."

It had meant tens of thousands in credits and tracking down the best slicer on Nar Shaddaa, but of all the regrets Agent Darksword thought he'd have about erasing himself, actually wanting to be properly identified hadn't crossed his mind. He had to find some kind of in with the blonde, this could be his best chance. A public place, and a lot of things that could go wrong for everyone if she decided to take a shot at him anyway. Maybe this was all the universe trying to tell him something, that it was finally time to move on and start a new life.

But someone was killing his old contacts, and back in the game or not Deacon wasn't leaving the Outer Rim until he found out why.

 

[Cathul Thuku]

Objective: Military action
Allies: ORC
Enemies: Cooperative

"Double top!"

The enemy changing the orientation to face Therapy Command would mean that their guns were also going to face her. And, as soon as the enemy shields of the surviving ships went down, they were vulnerable to firepower kills. And the Cooperative starts to be freaking out about firepower kills they have incurred, especially with the second and final volley of cluster missiles being aimed at the hardpoints. But with what weapons were left working on the enemy ships, Therapy Command also started to feel the heat. On the topside arc since the enemy didn't yet get to the underside. Sure, with double [arc] active, usually the shields were shunted to that arc, but they would be vulnerable later on if too much fire was taken. And also with hull pieces and hardpoints being torn off the enemy, the enemy flagship was also being dented by many hits from these debris, too. As much as ordering repeat may have been assumed when there were no changes in targeting, firepower kills may force such changes, and firepower kills would force her to change what's being focused on for what's left.

"Target the enemy batteries!"

 

[Peyton Steele]

It wasn’t going to take her long. She took the datacard and nodded. “I’ll meet where you guys need me. Ship is pretty quick, and I’m fair enough at avoiding entanglements.” All because of her droids and Alliance Intelligence technology, sure, but they didn’t need to know that. The woman was working as she always did, by trying to keep herself as distant from the Alliance as she could, while still serving their interests. But it was because she was a bit of a loyalist. She was one of the first to jump to D’Qar, and ensured that the Alliance had a place to go.

She was good at blending in. And mostly put her efforts towards that, rather than watching her tail. She had a small inkling something was amiss, but couldn’t quite put her finger on it. And looking too worried wasn’t good for her line of work, especially when she was trying to play the honeypot a little bit.

Turning and walking away, she was making her way to her to exit when she heard the voice. Quirking up an eyebrow, the blonde saw the man. “Badges, huh? Lucky for me they’re staggering the trip.” She stated, not really sure if she should trust the man who appeared. “Ship’s parked a ways off. But its not always polite to be listening in on others conversations.” She shook her head, putting her sunglasses on as she made her way outdoors. Was the Hapan to follow?

[member="Deacon"]

 

[Fulcrum]

"Lady, you came to the wrong planet if you're looking for polite."

Deacon leaned back in his seat, smirking. He seemed not at all concerned that everything was falling apart for the Slavers Cooperative. There were Coalition peacekeepers in the streets, and they were very much a stun first and ask questions later type of crowd. The Hapan scooped a glass of murky brown liquor up from a nearby abandoned table, downing the shot in one go. His discrete cognitive implants blocked the debilitating effects of the alcohol his bloodstream had just absorbed.

"Now I may be a pirate," Desmond followed her outside and drew his needler discretely, ready to tranq [member="Peyton Steele"] if things went sideways, "But I'm no slaver. And neither are you."

He let that revelation sink in with the Underground operative for a moment. When she continued to show no sign of hostility, the hapan holstered his holdout just as smoothly. He delicately removed a cigarra from its pack, left discarded in the rubble like so much other detritus. His hands fumbled through his pockets briefly, until Darksword gratefully accepted a light from Agent Steele.

"It just so happens I'm looking for a ride," he took a long drag of the cigarra, gesturing vaguely at the chaos unfolding all around them, "Something tells me I won't make it out of the spaceport, but you on the other hand...you look like you've got connections."

After a few more drags, he stubbed the cigarra out on his boot.

"I know people too. Could be useful, me owing you a favor," Deacon shrugged as if he didn't care one way or the other, "They call me Red Blade."

 

[Peyton Steele]

This was a slaver world, she figured that, yeah, probably not the most polite place to be. She was here as part of the hopeful solution to that storm of craziness. If Peyton could provide the Underground, or Alliance, or someone, with the right data here? She could get this slaver operation destroyed, and perhaps a few more operatives and agents sent out to infiltrate deeper until the Co-op was destroyed from within.

“Nah, ain’t a slaver at all. Opposite, try to bring some peace and comfort to this world where I can.” World here meaning galaxy. She wasn’t quite sure what Deacon was, but the way he was approaching and following, the least she could do was hear him out. She had her pistol on one hip, and stun batons weren’t too hard to reach. Maybe the Force would work the way it was supposed to.

And giving a light was one of those universal ‘I’m not here to mess with you’ signs, right? Same reason men did that head nod to one another even if they had no intention of talking. “I’ve got a few connections, depends where you lookin’ to go. I’ve got a job to do, and that may change when I check messages from the sub-space receiver…” Deliver the slaves to where they need to go by Slavers, deliver to the Coalition, or chase down the First Order.

“Who do you know?” She nodded to the hangar bay where her ship was parked. She was ready to get of this world.

[member="Deacon"]

 

[Fulcrum]

"A genuine good samaritan," the hapan gave her a crooked smile, his voice mocking, "Verse is short on em."

He knew exactly where she was going. Desmond had been listening to the same encrypted spynet channels that [member="Peyton Steele"] surely still had access to. He knew something was going down on Dagobah. They were not far from the Rimma Trade Route, if Peyton had a fast ship they could be on site in a few days. It was an interesting assignment, but not something a pirate like the Red Blade would be interested on merit alone. He needed to seem suitably reluctant.

"I'm not too particular about the destination, love," Deacon found flirting distasteful, but he fully inhabited his cover identities and showing no interest in Peyton would seem suspicious, "So long as you get me out of here, maybe I help you with that job of yours and we call it even."

A Coalition hovertank rolled by them, VTOL repulsors displacing rubble in its wake. On the other end of the spaceport, sounds of a pitched las fight could be heard. Slaver holdouts fighting to the last no doubt, everyone knew that Judges held a dim view of sentient trafficking. Many would rather die than surrender to the new 'authorities'. Darksword didn't seem particularly disturbed by any of his surroundings, it was easy to channel fearless pirate when he was so used to operating in warzones.

"You show me yours and I'll show you mine," he laughed in her face when she asked him to elaborate, but still he kept following her to the hangar she had indicated, "Didn't think so. I got a few friends here and there. Tell you this much, I'm your new good luck charm. Let me tag along, and I guarantee its smooth sailing from here to wherever's next. I can handle any...misunderstandings."

He hoped she said yes. Not just because it would leave him trapped on a collapsing slaver's world with no way out. Deacon had escaped from prisons before, but it had taken him a long time to track Agent Steele down. Finding another cell of the Underground would be a huge waste of time, and he needed their information network if he was going to find out who was hunting his people.

Finally Peyton nodded, and the 'Red Blade' let his lips curl into another violent grin.

"I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship..."