Pit Fighter
(delete wrong place)
Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos
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Faction Guided Current | Crimson Dawn [ME]
- Thread starter Icy
- Start date
The Red Mando
She nodded, regarding Korda's words with cautious introspection. His consideration of her answers and his responses made her feel like she was a naturally gifted tactician, but the truth was she had failed the Verd'goten in her own mind, and although she had proved able in the hammer throw, and had performed in the spear throw, she still did not feel as though she was a true Mandalorian. It was almost her only single goal since her family had died, and the one thing that drove her to be better. One day, she fully intended to enact revenge against the Chistori pirates who had murdered them.
Then there was a moment of silence when the com clicked and buzzed with Aren's communication.
<bzzt> "Well, looks like the fun's over," <bzzt> she said, unclipping her helmet from her belt, twisting her hair in her fist and slipping it onto her head. She touched the side of her helmet, which turned the voice amplifier and the overhead readouts flickered on. She powered on her weapons, and checked her blaster-pistol, making sure it was fully powered. It was. She clipped it back to her hip, then she paused. <bzzt> "Should we go back to the ship and arm up first, or...?" <bzzt>
Jett glanced up at Korda inquisitively.
Aren D'Shade
Sergeant Omen
Korda Veydran
Then there was a moment of silence when the com clicked and buzzed with Aren's communication.
<bzzt> "Well, looks like the fun's over," <bzzt> she said, unclipping her helmet from her belt, twisting her hair in her fist and slipping it onto her head. She touched the side of her helmet, which turned the voice amplifier and the overhead readouts flickered on. She powered on her weapons, and checked her blaster-pistol, making sure it was fully powered. It was. She clipped it back to her hip, then she paused. <bzzt> "Should we go back to the ship and arm up first, or...?" <bzzt>
Jett glanced up at Korda inquisitively.
Aren D'Shade
Sergeant Omen
Korda Veydran
Korda the unyielding
BYYO: shopping (transitioning to objective 1 with
Aren D'Shade
)
Korda didn't answer her right away.
The moment Aren's transmission cut through the comms, something in him changed. Not visibly dramatic, not some theatrical shift, just a tightening. A sharpening. The marketplace noise seemed to fall away behind the weight of what had just been said.
Inventory.
His helmet came up from his belt in one smooth motion, the familiar weight settling over his head as the seals hissed shut. The world narrowed into readouts, targeting data, and the cold clarity of war.
He turned slightly, eyes tracking the marker Aren had sent.
"No," he said simply. "Takes too long."
Going back meant delay. Delay meant people stayed in chains longer. Or worse.
His hand moved without hesitation, drawing his sidearm and pressing it into Jett's hand.
"Use it if you have to."
By the time she could register the weight, his other hand had already reached back, pulling the Ashen Maw free from its maglock with a heavy metallic snap. He checked it by instinct, not sight, thumbing the chamber before seating a round with a solid, unmistakable clack.
HE (High Eplosive) slug.
Overkill for most things. Not for this.
His comm clicked open.
"Aren. We're moving to you now," Korda said, voice flat and controlled through the helmet. "We'll take a side route. Avoid the main corridor."
No wasted words. No questions.
The channel closed.
He looked down at Jett then, visor reflecting her smaller frame back at her in cold glass.
"Stay close," he said. "And keep up."
There was no edge of doubt in it. No hesitation. Just expectation.
Then he moved.
Not a sprint, not reckless, but a steady, ground-eating jog that cut through the crowd with purpose, one massive shoulder parting the flow of bodies as he angled toward the less-traveled corridors. Every step carried intent now, the earlier humor burned away into something harder.
Quieter.
Deadlier.
Somewhere ahead, people were being treated like cargo.
And Korda had already decided how this was going to end.
Sergeant Omen
Aren D'Shade
Jett Vox
Aren D'Shade
)Korda didn't answer her right away.
The moment Aren's transmission cut through the comms, something in him changed. Not visibly dramatic, not some theatrical shift, just a tightening. A sharpening. The marketplace noise seemed to fall away behind the weight of what had just been said.
Inventory.
His helmet came up from his belt in one smooth motion, the familiar weight settling over his head as the seals hissed shut. The world narrowed into readouts, targeting data, and the cold clarity of war.
He turned slightly, eyes tracking the marker Aren had sent.
"No," he said simply. "Takes too long."
Going back meant delay. Delay meant people stayed in chains longer. Or worse.
His hand moved without hesitation, drawing his sidearm and pressing it into Jett's hand.
"Use it if you have to."
By the time she could register the weight, his other hand had already reached back, pulling the Ashen Maw free from its maglock with a heavy metallic snap. He checked it by instinct, not sight, thumbing the chamber before seating a round with a solid, unmistakable clack.
HE (High Eplosive) slug.
Overkill for most things. Not for this.
His comm clicked open.
"Aren. We're moving to you now," Korda said, voice flat and controlled through the helmet. "We'll take a side route. Avoid the main corridor."
No wasted words. No questions.
The channel closed.
He looked down at Jett then, visor reflecting her smaller frame back at her in cold glass.
"Stay close," he said. "And keep up."
There was no edge of doubt in it. No hesitation. Just expectation.
Then he moved.
Not a sprint, not reckless, but a steady, ground-eating jog that cut through the crowd with purpose, one massive shoulder parting the flow of bodies as he angled toward the less-traveled corridors. Every step carried intent now, the earlier humor burned away into something harder.
Quieter.
Deadlier.
Somewhere ahead, people were being treated like cargo.
And Korda had already decided how this was going to end.
Sergeant Omen
Aren D'Shade
Jett Vox
Digital Shadow
Korda Veydran
Jett Vox
Sergeant Omen
Aren didn't answer immediately. Her attention shifted back to the man as Omen moved him, and for the briefest moment, her hand paused at his throat, feeling the shallow rhythm still there. Alive. The confirmation settled something small and quiet in her, not relief exactly, but a sense of alignment, as though the outcome matched what she would have chosen even if she hadn't been the one to act. Only once that internal note was resolved did she withdraw her hand and rise, her focus returning to the room beyond the doorway.
What she had seen in the system upstairs now had shape and texture. The entries, the movement cycles, the way people were reduced to data points, all of it mapped cleanly onto the space in front of her. Her gaze moved across the room again, slower this time, not with the confidence of someone planning an assault but with the instinct of someone trying to understand how the pieces connected. She tracked where the movement bottlenecked, where the oversight concentrated, and where the system relied on itself to keep functioning without interruption.
When Omen asked his question, she looked at him, her voice low and steady when she finally spoke.
"I don't know how you'd want to play it," she said, honest in a way that didn't diminish her certainty. "But if this works anything like the system upstairs…"
She gestured lightly toward the room, careful to keep their silhouettes hidden from view.
"The control here is layered. If something trips too hard, it probably locks down instead of breaking."
There was a small pause, her attention flicking briefly to the collars and the routing patterns before returning to him, her tone more thoughtful than directive.
"Those collars are part of it. And the routing. They're not just moving people, they're managing them."
Her gaze shifted to the overseers, reading their posture, their habits, the rhythm of their attention, before she continued.
"If it turns loud too fast, it might make things worse for them," she said quietly. "I just… don't know how fast it escalates."
She didn't pretend otherwise.
Her hand moved to her comm again, checking the signal more out of ingrained habit than urgency, noting the approach markers shifting closer on the display.
"They're on their way," she said. "Side route, like you thought."
Aren stepped slightly to the side of the doorway, giving Omen a clearer position without needing to be asked, her role settling naturally into support rather than lead. Her voice stayed calm, practical, grounded.
"I can keep working the system if we get access to anything in here," she added. "Doors, power, whatever they're using to control this."
Another brief pause, not hesitant, simply giving him space to choose.
"Or I stay out of your way."
There was no self-doubt in it, only the clarity of someone who understood her strengths and the situation well enough not to overstep.
Her gaze returned to the room, steady and attentive, ready to follow his lead rather than shape it.
"Just tell me what you need."
The Red Mando
Following Korda to transition to Objective 1;
Jett took the second weapon, and clipped it to her hip opposite her own powerful sidearm and turned to follow Korda. She kept her eyes on his back, keeping up with his pace. Then she pulled in close while he answered the com, following and maintaining her short distance, raising her hand to keep herself from crashing into him whenever he changed pace or stopped.
At least she still had her explosives, tripwires, and a few other tricks left over. Jett noticed that the path they had taken - the corridor - was clearly a less traveled, perhaps even abandoned. There were no maintenance droids or workers here, no stores or shops or carts or even the sense that there had been for ages. Her boots kicked up dust, even slipped slightly in a deposit of grease, oil, or something gross. She didn't consider what it was she'd stepped in for very long.
Her beskar soles scraped lightly on the metal flooring, and she continued to follow Korda, cautiously keeping one hand on her sidearm. Then at last she felt the pace slow down and realized they were nearing their destination - or at least their next hurdle.
She had no idea what she was in store for her at this point, she just kept herself at the ready. A light on her helmet turned on, illuminating the corridor and surprising her. She reached up, looking for a button that would turn off the floodlight, but she couldn't find one.
Learning her suit would have to be her first priority.
Aren D'Shade
Korda Veydran
Sergeant Omen
Jett took the second weapon, and clipped it to her hip opposite her own powerful sidearm and turned to follow Korda. She kept her eyes on his back, keeping up with his pace. Then she pulled in close while he answered the com, following and maintaining her short distance, raising her hand to keep herself from crashing into him whenever he changed pace or stopped.
At least she still had her explosives, tripwires, and a few other tricks left over. Jett noticed that the path they had taken - the corridor - was clearly a less traveled, perhaps even abandoned. There were no maintenance droids or workers here, no stores or shops or carts or even the sense that there had been for ages. Her boots kicked up dust, even slipped slightly in a deposit of grease, oil, or something gross. She didn't consider what it was she'd stepped in for very long.
Her beskar soles scraped lightly on the metal flooring, and she continued to follow Korda, cautiously keeping one hand on her sidearm. Then at last she felt the pace slow down and realized they were nearing their destination - or at least their next hurdle.
She had no idea what she was in store for her at this point, she just kept herself at the ready. A light on her helmet turned on, illuminating the corridor and surprising her. She reached up, looking for a button that would turn off the floodlight, but she couldn't find one.
Learning her suit would have to be her first priority.
Aren D'Shade
Korda Veydran
Sergeant OmenKorda the unyielding
Objective 1
Korda kept moving at a steady pace, boots pounding against neglected durasteel as he led them deeper into the station's forgotten maintenance arteries. His visor tracked the route marker while the Ashen Maw stayed low in his grip, muzzle angled down but ready.
Behind him, Jett's sudden floodlight burst to life.
The corridor lit up like a shuttle landing beacon.
Korda stopped so abruptly she nearly walked into him.
His helmet turned halfway back toward her.
"…Jett."
His tone carried the long-suffering weight of a man trying not to laugh and sigh at the same time.
"In your visor, upper right corner. You'll see a small dot if your HUD is active." He pointed toward his own temple. "Focus on it and blink twice."
He waited.
"That opens your interface. Light icon should appear near the bottom left. Blink once while focusing on it."
A pause.
"That disables your lamp."
Then, after a beat:
"Night vision is beside it. Crescent shape. Focus and blink once to cycle it on. Again to cycle thermal."
His voice lowered slightly as he resumed walking.
"Practice when we are not infiltrating a possible trafficking operation."
And then, naturally, the universe punished him for trying to teach.
His boot hit the grease patch.
The massive armored man lost traction instantly.
There was one brief, undignified moment of pinwheeling balance before seven feet of Mandalorian warrior abruptly vanished from vertical alignment and slammed flat onto his back with a metallic CRASH that echoed through the corridor.
The Ashen Maw clattered from his grip and skidded across the floor.
Silence.
Then a rough, strangled wheeze escaped his helmet as the air was violently forced from his lungs.
He lay there for one stunned second, staring at the ceiling.
Oro, somehow still clinging to him, looked equally offended by physics.
Then Korda rolled sharply onto one knee, grabbed the Ashen Maw from the floor, and pushed himself upright with what dignity remained.
A few coughs escaped him.
He trudged forward again like nothing had happened.
By the time they reached Aren and Omen, Korda leaned briefly against the wall, one hand braced there while catching his breath through the helmet. His other hand gave a firm thumbs up.
He was alive.
Just deeply betrayed by the floor.
After another breath, he straightened and looked between them.
"…Status," he rasped, voice still slightly winded through the vocoder, as though being body-checked by industrial lubricant was merely a minor inconvenience and not the most embarrassing thing to happen all day.
Aren D'Shade
Sergeant Omen
Jett Vox
Korda kept moving at a steady pace, boots pounding against neglected durasteel as he led them deeper into the station's forgotten maintenance arteries. His visor tracked the route marker while the Ashen Maw stayed low in his grip, muzzle angled down but ready.
Behind him, Jett's sudden floodlight burst to life.
The corridor lit up like a shuttle landing beacon.
Korda stopped so abruptly she nearly walked into him.
His helmet turned halfway back toward her.
"…Jett."
His tone carried the long-suffering weight of a man trying not to laugh and sigh at the same time.
"In your visor, upper right corner. You'll see a small dot if your HUD is active." He pointed toward his own temple. "Focus on it and blink twice."
He waited.
"That opens your interface. Light icon should appear near the bottom left. Blink once while focusing on it."
A pause.
"That disables your lamp."
Then, after a beat:
"Night vision is beside it. Crescent shape. Focus and blink once to cycle it on. Again to cycle thermal."
His voice lowered slightly as he resumed walking.
"Practice when we are not infiltrating a possible trafficking operation."
And then, naturally, the universe punished him for trying to teach.
His boot hit the grease patch.
The massive armored man lost traction instantly.
There was one brief, undignified moment of pinwheeling balance before seven feet of Mandalorian warrior abruptly vanished from vertical alignment and slammed flat onto his back with a metallic CRASH that echoed through the corridor.
The Ashen Maw clattered from his grip and skidded across the floor.
Silence.
Then a rough, strangled wheeze escaped his helmet as the air was violently forced from his lungs.
He lay there for one stunned second, staring at the ceiling.
Oro, somehow still clinging to him, looked equally offended by physics.
Then Korda rolled sharply onto one knee, grabbed the Ashen Maw from the floor, and pushed himself upright with what dignity remained.
A few coughs escaped him.
He trudged forward again like nothing had happened.
By the time they reached Aren and Omen, Korda leaned briefly against the wall, one hand braced there while catching his breath through the helmet. His other hand gave a firm thumbs up.
He was alive.
Just deeply betrayed by the floor.
After another breath, he straightened and looked between them.
"…Status," he rasped, voice still slightly winded through the vocoder, as though being body-checked by industrial lubricant was merely a minor inconvenience and not the most embarrassing thing to happen all day.
Aren D'Shade
Sergeant Omen
Jett Vox
Character
Tessa shifted her eyes forward, watching the bar instead of the woman, but she heard every word. Her fingers drummed lightly on her glass, thoughtful as she digested the offer, taking a small sip before answering, her eyes sliding first to Sidonia and then to her companion before settling on her drink.
“Sounds far too good to be true. Control over work? Yeah okay. Routes that don’t get flagged are typically a myth.”
Aether had been fast to use Dax and his unique position to gain an upper hand in the fight against Wildfire where all she had wanted was to kill the traitorous bastard. It wouldn’t be a large stretch to assume he would want a leash on the criminals in his own backyard.
“Cargo delays are part of the job, and something not passing through three hands? Sounds like a fairy tale.”
Her eyes flicked to the baggage handler on her other side as he asked his own questions, drawing a smile from her. She lifted her glass, tipping it briefly in his direction. “Good questions I would love to hear the answer to.”
Her eyes moved to Sidonia again. “I want the full story. No holes barred, no secrets. Just honesty. I want freedom to come and go as I please, pick up the jobs I want when I want.” she paused, head tilting, before she continued. “And I want to vet the others you’ve hired or any you’re hiring.”
Sidonia
Prisoner #36929
Sergeant Omen
Arc Trooper Sergeant of the 41st Elite Corps
"With an ass like yours, why would I want you to stay of my way? If anything, I want you in front of me always." Omen tried to get the grin out onto his face while he still had a chance. "But unfortunately, I need you to get those collars deactivated and get those people out of her. Once we do this, the entire station is going to go to hell... We need to get these people out and either onto our ships or in a safe place till this battle is over." Pulling out his hand blaster and setting it to stun, he was double and tripping checking his gear when Jett and Korda finally came. The Clone could hear Korda almost dry heaving over the comm line, or at least it seemed like it. "What's wrong Big Guy, thought you were in shape? Too many mugs of Tihaar?" No, Omen would never let the big man off the hook, just like Korda would do the same.
"Here's the plan, Korda and I will give the guard's something to worry about while Jett, you will be Aren's bodyguard while she does her work. If you have stun weapons, try to use them. I want these people to be in the slammer for a long time, not facing judgement in the afterlife right off. If that means you give to beat people down Korda, go for it. Grabbing two smoke grenades off his belt, Omen quickly popped the pins and threw them inside the room before closing the door back shut. Soon they were hearing the panicked calls as the minions tried to find out what was going on, Omen took a lightsaber of his belt and ignited it, its green blade shining as he kicked in the door and walked forward into the room. "Alright chumps, if you want to be smart, surrender now." He was rewarded by a light whip flashing as it zipped toward him through the smoke as one of the overseers decided to be stupid. With a flick of his wrist, he used his lightsaber to bat it away while he let off a stun round, thinking that he still had it as the guard hit the floor. "Bet I can get more then you Korda!" It was an open challenge to the big man, a request to make chaos together in a dance of mayhem. A dance that would keep Aren and Jett safe behind it.
Korda Veydran
,
Jett Vox
,
Aren D'Shade
"Here's the plan, Korda and I will give the guard's something to worry about while Jett, you will be Aren's bodyguard while she does her work. If you have stun weapons, try to use them. I want these people to be in the slammer for a long time, not facing judgement in the afterlife right off. If that means you give to beat people down Korda, go for it. Grabbing two smoke grenades off his belt, Omen quickly popped the pins and threw them inside the room before closing the door back shut. Soon they were hearing the panicked calls as the minions tried to find out what was going on, Omen took a lightsaber of his belt and ignited it, its green blade shining as he kicked in the door and walked forward into the room. "Alright chumps, if you want to be smart, surrender now." He was rewarded by a light whip flashing as it zipped toward him through the smoke as one of the overseers decided to be stupid. With a flick of his wrist, he used his lightsaber to bat it away while he let off a stun round, thinking that he still had it as the guard hit the floor. "Bet I can get more then you Korda!" It was an open challenge to the big man, a request to make chaos together in a dance of mayhem. A dance that would keep Aren and Jett safe behind it.
Korda Veydran
,
Jett Vox
,
Aren D'ShadeSidonia
Crimson Dawn Matriarch
O B J E C T I V E
Not because she didn’t have one; but because she chose not to rush it.
The boy’s question lingered at her shoulder, sharp in its simplicity. It was almost refreshing, just direct attempt to understand something that most people in this room would spend hours pretending they already did. She turned her head just slightly toward him, enough to acknowledge him without breaking the momentum of the conversation. “The kind that don’t come with uniforms,” she said quietly. “And don’t ask permission before they happen.” Her gaze held on him for a second longer, measuring that confusion rather than dismissing it.
“You don’t bring in people like her for influence,” she added, her tone lowering just a fraction. “You bring them in because influence has limits. People like her operate where that stops mattering.” Although she wasn't sure if her assumptions of Tessa were correct, nor did she have any substantial backing to all of this, there was a look to the woman that made Sidonia sure that even if she was wrong, she could still be partially right.
Only then did she turn her attention fully back to Tessa, not interrupting her as she spoke. She let every bit of skepticism land, let it breathe, let it exist without resistance. The faint tapping of fingers against glass, the careful word choice, Sidonia took it all in like everything else, with limited to no reaction. She had lived long enough in this world to know that there was no use giving reactions to people's words; that as much as it would give some sort of twisted satisfaction to win an argument of words, it was not words that true leaders were about. It was action; and tangible results.
When Tessa finished, Sidonia’s hand moved again, resting lightly against the bar, fingertips tracing an idle line through the condensation left behind. “It should sound too good to be true. If it didn’t, you wouldn’t be paying attention.” She deliberately paused, her eyes locked on Tessa now, “You’re right. Most routes get flagged. Most cargo gets delayed. Most jobs pass through too many hands. That’s because most people are working inside systems designed to catch them”
Her gaze didn't waver as she continued. “I’m not offering you a better version of that system. I’m offering you access to the parts of it that aren’t visible. The difference is simple. When something moves under my watch, it isn’t being hidden.” Her voice dropped just enough to carry weight without volume. “It’s being allowed.”
“Freedom?” Sidonia echoed, almost lightly. “You’ll have it. I don’t cage people who are useful.” A brief pause. “But understand this: freedom doesn’t mean absence of consequence. You take work, you finish it. You walk away mid-job, you don’t get asked again.” She smiled slightly at the mention of vetting others, “As for vetting others…You won’t get names. You won’t get full rosters. That’s not how this operates” Her eyes sharpened just slightly. “But you will get results. You’ll know who you’re working alongside by whether the job succeeds… and whether you’re still breathing at the end of it.”
“You want honesty,” she said, returning to Tessa. “Here it is.” Her voice settled into something quieter. "This isn’t a partnership. It’s an alignment. You take the work because it pays better, runs cleaner, and puts you in rooms you don’t get into on your own.” Sidonia let her words sink in for a bit. "With that said, loyalty in regards to protecting the initiatives of our organization is still a main priority. If that’s not what you want, you walk away now., there will be no hard feelings.”
She cleared her throat before continuing, “But if it is…” her eyes held Tessa’s, steady and unreadable, “…then stop looking for the catch and start asking the right question.” And as if to demonstrate, Sidonia asked her first question to Tessa, “What’s the first job you’d take… if failure wasn’t an option?”
Korda the unyielding
Objective 1
Korda straightened fully as Omen spoke, the last of the air returning to his lungs while the clone took his cheap shot.
"What's wrong, Big Guy, thought you were in shape? Too many mugs of Tihaar?"
Korda turned his helmet slowly toward him.
"Go blow a wampa."
His tone was perfectly flat.
"I slipped in a puddle of something that likely violates three sanitation codes."
At the plan, he gave a single nod.
Then he crouched slightly and tapped Jett's shoulder pauldron.
Oro lifted its head, then slithered from Korda's shoulder onto hers, coiling comfortably around her armor.
"Stay with her," he muttered.
Hearing Omen's stun-only order, Korda groaned.
"You are no fun."
The Ashen Maw locked back to its maglock with a metallic clack, blue arcs of energy instantly dancing across both gauntlets.
Then Omen made his challenge.
"Bet I can get more than you, Korda!"
Korda's helmet snapped toward him.
"You're on."
His voice carried a grin beneath it.
"Loser buys drinks."
The smoke rolled.
Omen moved first.
Korda hit the room behind him like a battering ram.
The first guard stumbled through the haze and barely had time to register him before Korda lowered his shoulder and slammed into him full force.
The man was lifted off his feet and driven into the wall with a deafening crash, pinned there for half a breath before Korda stepped away and let the unconscious body crumple to the floor.
A light-whip cracked through the smoke toward him.
Korda turned and caught it around his forearm, beskar alloy hissing under the lash.
He yanked.
The overseer screamed as he was ripped off his feet and dragged straight into Korda's waiting grasp.
Korda seized him by the collar, hoisting him into the air.
"You Mandalorian brute!" the man spat. "Pathetic savage!"
Korda's head tilted slightly.
"Omen," he said calmly over comms, "challenge starts now."
Then his right hook hit like a landspeeder.
The overseer flew sideways and crashed through stacked crates, vanishing in splintered wood and broken metal.
A heavy metallic stomp thundered through the room.
Korda turned.
A bulky riot-security droid emerged from the smoke, thick armored plating covering its frame as its optics locked onto him. It charged with mechanical precision, one heavy fist already cocked back.
The droid slammed into him hard enough to force Korda backward through a workstation, debris scattering under both of them.
Its fist hammered into his chest.
Then again.
Korda planted his feet.
"Better," he muttered.
The next swing came fast.
He caught it.
Servo motors screamed against his grip as he held the droid's arm in place.
Then twisted.
With a shriek of tearing metal, Korda ripped the limb free.
The droid staggered.
He swung the detached arm like a club and smashed it into the machine's head, shattering one optic in an explosion of sparks.
Before it could recover, Korda surged forward.
His crackling fist drove straight into the center of its torso.
Metal buckled inward.
His arm punched through its chassis in a shower of sparks and ruptured wiring.
The droid convulsed once before collapsing.
Korda tore his fist free and turned slowly toward the remaining guards.
Smoke curled around him.
Blue lightning danced over his gauntlets.
Droid oil dripped from his fist.
He lifted one armored hand and brought it to his chest.
Once.
Twice.
A third time.
A slow, deliberate gladiatorial beat, each strike echoing through his beskar like a war drum. Not rage. Not theatrics.
A challenge.
Then he lowered his hand.
The silence stretched just long enough to feel wrong.
Then he roared:
"GAR CUYIR NI KAR'TAAYL GAR, HUT'UUNE!"
Then in Basic:
"COME ON THEN!"
He pointed a crackling fist toward the room.
"SHOW ME IF ANY OF YOU HAVE A SPINE!"
And charged.
Sergeant Omen
Jett Vox
Aren D'Shade
Korda straightened fully as Omen spoke, the last of the air returning to his lungs while the clone took his cheap shot.
"What's wrong, Big Guy, thought you were in shape? Too many mugs of Tihaar?"
Korda turned his helmet slowly toward him.
"Go blow a wampa."
His tone was perfectly flat.
"I slipped in a puddle of something that likely violates three sanitation codes."
At the plan, he gave a single nod.
Then he crouched slightly and tapped Jett's shoulder pauldron.
Oro lifted its head, then slithered from Korda's shoulder onto hers, coiling comfortably around her armor.
"Stay with her," he muttered.
Hearing Omen's stun-only order, Korda groaned.
"You are no fun."
The Ashen Maw locked back to its maglock with a metallic clack, blue arcs of energy instantly dancing across both gauntlets.
Then Omen made his challenge.
"Bet I can get more than you, Korda!"
Korda's helmet snapped toward him.
"You're on."
His voice carried a grin beneath it.
"Loser buys drinks."
The smoke rolled.
Omen moved first.
Korda hit the room behind him like a battering ram.
The first guard stumbled through the haze and barely had time to register him before Korda lowered his shoulder and slammed into him full force.
The man was lifted off his feet and driven into the wall with a deafening crash, pinned there for half a breath before Korda stepped away and let the unconscious body crumple to the floor.
A light-whip cracked through the smoke toward him.
Korda turned and caught it around his forearm, beskar alloy hissing under the lash.
He yanked.
The overseer screamed as he was ripped off his feet and dragged straight into Korda's waiting grasp.
Korda seized him by the collar, hoisting him into the air.
"You Mandalorian brute!" the man spat. "Pathetic savage!"
Korda's head tilted slightly.
"Omen," he said calmly over comms, "challenge starts now."
Then his right hook hit like a landspeeder.
The overseer flew sideways and crashed through stacked crates, vanishing in splintered wood and broken metal.
A heavy metallic stomp thundered through the room.
Korda turned.
A bulky riot-security droid emerged from the smoke, thick armored plating covering its frame as its optics locked onto him. It charged with mechanical precision, one heavy fist already cocked back.
The droid slammed into him hard enough to force Korda backward through a workstation, debris scattering under both of them.
Its fist hammered into his chest.
Then again.
Korda planted his feet.
"Better," he muttered.
The next swing came fast.
He caught it.
Servo motors screamed against his grip as he held the droid's arm in place.
Then twisted.
With a shriek of tearing metal, Korda ripped the limb free.
The droid staggered.
He swung the detached arm like a club and smashed it into the machine's head, shattering one optic in an explosion of sparks.
Before it could recover, Korda surged forward.
His crackling fist drove straight into the center of its torso.
Metal buckled inward.
His arm punched through its chassis in a shower of sparks and ruptured wiring.
The droid convulsed once before collapsing.
Korda tore his fist free and turned slowly toward the remaining guards.
Smoke curled around him.
Blue lightning danced over his gauntlets.
Droid oil dripped from his fist.
He lifted one armored hand and brought it to his chest.
Once.
Twice.
A third time.
A slow, deliberate gladiatorial beat, each strike echoing through his beskar like a war drum. Not rage. Not theatrics.
A challenge.
Then he lowered his hand.
The silence stretched just long enough to feel wrong.
Then he roared:
"GAR CUYIR NI KAR'TAAYL GAR, HUT'UUNE!"
Then in Basic:
"COME ON THEN!"
He pointed a crackling fist toward the room.
"SHOW ME IF ANY OF YOU HAVE A SPINE!"
And charged.
Sergeant Omen
Jett Vox
Aren D'Shade
The Red Mando
Objective 1:
Jett immediately did as instructed, her helmet light flicking off leaving the dimly lit corridore. She didn't laugh at Korda's spill, but instead did her best to help him back to his feet. She followed instead, her display flickering with target information. As she and Korda joined Omen, they traded quips but Jett was busy focusing on the attackers. Jett drew her DL-44 and pulled the trigger, which charged a blaster bolt. Frustrated that they seemed to be putting themselves in the way of the attackers, Jett exclaimed; "Why train me if you're just gonna stand in the way?" She let loose a single shot, which caught one of the guards in the chest, knocking him down.
She strode forward, looking for another target as she pulled the blaster Korda had given her from the left side of her hip. She aimed and fired, her target practice with Omen paying off. Jett still thought of her Verd'goten as a failure, but she was clearly learning some tactical behavior from it. Each shot cascaded between her allies, and though she could only manage a couple shots without risking them, each blaster bolt found their mark.
Her antenna flipped up and her display flashed with more targets. "More incoming!" she warned and then reached into her pouch, drawing three small thermal detonators. Miniature explosives meant for blowing through walls or barricades. With all her strength she hurled them past Omen and Korda both, where they attached to the massive doorframe beyond. Just as a few more security forces were breaching it. The lights blinked rapidly and then exploded, rag-dolling them before they knew what had happened. Their bodies lay unmoving, and if they could see Jett's face behind her visor, they would see a smugly satisfied expression there.
"Got 'em." She said, triumphantly
Aren D'Shade
Sergeant Omen
Korda Veydran
Jett immediately did as instructed, her helmet light flicking off leaving the dimly lit corridore. She didn't laugh at Korda's spill, but instead did her best to help him back to his feet. She followed instead, her display flickering with target information. As she and Korda joined Omen, they traded quips but Jett was busy focusing on the attackers. Jett drew her DL-44 and pulled the trigger, which charged a blaster bolt. Frustrated that they seemed to be putting themselves in the way of the attackers, Jett exclaimed; "Why train me if you're just gonna stand in the way?" She let loose a single shot, which caught one of the guards in the chest, knocking him down.
She strode forward, looking for another target as she pulled the blaster Korda had given her from the left side of her hip. She aimed and fired, her target practice with Omen paying off. Jett still thought of her Verd'goten as a failure, but she was clearly learning some tactical behavior from it. Each shot cascaded between her allies, and though she could only manage a couple shots without risking them, each blaster bolt found their mark.
Her antenna flipped up and her display flashed with more targets. "More incoming!" she warned and then reached into her pouch, drawing three small thermal detonators. Miniature explosives meant for blowing through walls or barricades. With all her strength she hurled them past Omen and Korda both, where they attached to the massive doorframe beyond. Just as a few more security forces were breaching it. The lights blinked rapidly and then exploded, rag-dolling them before they knew what had happened. Their bodies lay unmoving, and if they could see Jett's face behind her visor, they would see a smugly satisfied expression there.
"Got 'em." She said, triumphantly
Aren D'Shade
Sergeant Omen
Korda Veydran
The Prisoner stared at the Warden as she explained things. He felt even more lost than before she opened her mouth. No uniforms and no asking for permission sounded like a recipe for a very short military career. If this woman operated outside the sphere of influence, he wondered if she was just some high-end beggar or a drifter. She certainly had the attitude for it. He kept his mouth shut, deciding it was safer to just watch how these two handled their business.
They started talking about cargo and shipping routes. He imagined they were space haulers, which seemed like an awfully boring reason to meet in a place like this. Maybe the heavy suitcase at his feet was just a delivery of engine parts or trade goods.
He didn't like the way the Warden talked about things being "allowed" rather than hidden. It sounded like they were some kind of galactic resellers, the type of people who bought low and sold high. He'd met those types before; they were usually boring and obsessed with credits.
His head started to ache from trying to piece the puzzle together. Then the Warden mentioned caging people and protecting an organization. Was this a zoo? A private security firm? He rubbed his temples, trying to find a logic that fit. He shifted his focus back to the amber liquid in his glass and took another slow sip. It was hot and bitter, but it gave him something to do with his hands while the women spoke in riddles.
He leaned in again, his expression one of genuine curiosity. He was completely oblivious to the dangerous weight of the conversation. "Okay," he said, breaking his silence. "What kind of organization are we talking about here? Is this a shipping guild or something? And what's in the case? Is it samples?"
Digital Shadow
Aren didn't move when the first wave of chaos broke. Not immediately. The smoke, the shouting, the sharp crack of impacts and energy discharges all collided at once, turning the room into something loud, violent, and unpredictable in a way that had nothing to do with code or systems. It wasn't her world, not when it moved this fast, not when it demanded instinct instead of calculation, but she did what she always did when something exceeded its surface complexity.
She found the structure inside it.
Her eyes tracked Korda first, not because he was the loudest presence in the room, but because he was the most stable. Every movement he made carried intent, even when it looked like brute force. He wasn't just hitting targets; he was shaping the battlefield, controlling space, drawing pressure toward himself so the others could move.
Omen moved differently, faster, looser, and more reactive in a way that still held precision. Where Korda anchored the chaos, Omen redirected it, pulling attention, splitting it, forcing the room to divide itself around him.
And Jett…
Aren's gaze shifted just in time to catch the rhythm of her shots threading between the others. Careful. Measured. Not perfect, but deliberate enough to matter. The frustration in her voice didn't escape Aren either; she heard it, filed it, understood it.
Still, she didn't step in.
She let the moment unfold, because this was the part Jett needed to learn, not the clean theory, not the controlled drills, but the way everything became crowded and messy and hard to read once people were moving and shouting and fighting instead of standing still.
The warning came, sharp and urgent, and Aren's attention snapped toward the doorway just before the detonators went off. The blast hit hard, the shockwave rippling through the room and knocking loose debris from the surrounding structure. She flinched at the impact, more from proximity than fear, then steadied again as the dust began to settle.
"Got 'em." Aren exhaled once, quiet and controlled, and for a moment, something like relief crossed her expression before smoothing out again. "Good," she said, not loudly, but clear enough to reach Jett through the noise.
Her focus widened again, pulling back from the immediate fight and returning to what actually mattered. The collars. The system.
Her hand moved to the nearest control panel along the wall, fingers already searching for an access port, a maintenance override, anything that would let her in without triggering a full lockdown. The interface wasn't clean like the upper levels, but it didn't need to be. She had already seen the architecture. She just needed a point of entry.
"I've got this part," she called out, her voice steady, not commanding, simply making sure she was heard. "Keep them off me for a minute."
There was no hesitation in the request, not because she thought she was in charge, but because she knew exactly what she could do here. Her fingers moved quickly now, connecting, tracing, slipping into the system through whatever gap it offered. The structure responded sluggishly compared to the Den, but it was familiar enough to navigate.
Her awareness split cleanly: one part inside the system, the other tracking the room through sound and movement.
Korda was holding the line. Omen was cutting down anything that got too close. Jett was finding her footing in the space between them. They had come when she called. That mattered more than she would ever say out loud.
Aren didn't look back at them, not because she wasn't aware of them, but because she trusted what she had already seen.
"Just a little longer," she murmured, quieter now, more to herself than to them as her fingers worked faster across the interface. "Then we break this."
Jett Vox
Korda Veydran
Sergeant Omen
She found the structure inside it.
Her eyes tracked Korda first, not because he was the loudest presence in the room, but because he was the most stable. Every movement he made carried intent, even when it looked like brute force. He wasn't just hitting targets; he was shaping the battlefield, controlling space, drawing pressure toward himself so the others could move.
Omen moved differently, faster, looser, and more reactive in a way that still held precision. Where Korda anchored the chaos, Omen redirected it, pulling attention, splitting it, forcing the room to divide itself around him.
And Jett…
Aren's gaze shifted just in time to catch the rhythm of her shots threading between the others. Careful. Measured. Not perfect, but deliberate enough to matter. The frustration in her voice didn't escape Aren either; she heard it, filed it, understood it.
Still, she didn't step in.
She let the moment unfold, because this was the part Jett needed to learn, not the clean theory, not the controlled drills, but the way everything became crowded and messy and hard to read once people were moving and shouting and fighting instead of standing still.
The warning came, sharp and urgent, and Aren's attention snapped toward the doorway just before the detonators went off. The blast hit hard, the shockwave rippling through the room and knocking loose debris from the surrounding structure. She flinched at the impact, more from proximity than fear, then steadied again as the dust began to settle.
"Got 'em." Aren exhaled once, quiet and controlled, and for a moment, something like relief crossed her expression before smoothing out again. "Good," she said, not loudly, but clear enough to reach Jett through the noise.
Her focus widened again, pulling back from the immediate fight and returning to what actually mattered. The collars. The system.
Her hand moved to the nearest control panel along the wall, fingers already searching for an access port, a maintenance override, anything that would let her in without triggering a full lockdown. The interface wasn't clean like the upper levels, but it didn't need to be. She had already seen the architecture. She just needed a point of entry.
"I've got this part," she called out, her voice steady, not commanding, simply making sure she was heard. "Keep them off me for a minute."
There was no hesitation in the request, not because she thought she was in charge, but because she knew exactly what she could do here. Her fingers moved quickly now, connecting, tracing, slipping into the system through whatever gap it offered. The structure responded sluggishly compared to the Den, but it was familiar enough to navigate.
Her awareness split cleanly: one part inside the system, the other tracking the room through sound and movement.
Korda was holding the line. Omen was cutting down anything that got too close. Jett was finding her footing in the space between them. They had come when she called. That mattered more than she would ever say out loud.
Aren didn't look back at them, not because she wasn't aware of them, but because she trusted what she had already seen.
"Just a little longer," she murmured, quieter now, more to herself than to them as her fingers worked faster across the interface. "Then we break this."
Jett Vox
Korda Veydran
Sergeant OmenSergeant Omen
Arc Trooper Sergeant of the 41st Elite Corps
The best thing about chaos is... its chaos. No one knows what's going to happen. Not you, not your enemies. And that rush that goes through you is something that you can never expect. And so here Omen was, waist-deep in it as he tried to focus on the things that mattered. And what mattered right now was getting these people out of here.
Korda's response made him chuckle in his help before they went to work. It was very Korda... And Omen let him down his thing, knowing the Big Man could probably kill these people with his hands about as much as he could with that beloved gun of his. As for Jett... "No explosives, getting these rattled people out of here is going to be hard enough without you adding to all the noise! Nice throw though, Kid. Good to know you can hold your own." She also didn't do what she was told by listening to him and covering Aren, but then again, who the hell did? He would leave that for the debriefing points. And he could hold his own, even when these goons seemed to be crawling out of every hatchway, wondering what was going on, only to get stun-blasted or hit so hard they wished they were stunned-blasted. He glanced over at Aren quickly, just as one of the guards tried to fire on her, before he was coated in blue light and slumped to the floor. "We're trying, but this isn't exactly easy! Jett, please, for the love of the Ones, help her and make sure we don't have to bring anyone home in a body bag tonight!" That would ruin the mood of the "We did good" party.
Most of the prisoners were still standing at their posts, completely in awe at what was happening. He needed to break them out of that spell. and so he fought forwards, punching, kicking, blasting, and redirecting these angry 'holes out of his way. Eventually, he got to the other end of the bay, where a closed hangar door was, and punched it open. On the other side was the hangar where the product was loaded onto various craft for export. And it was a space where he could keep people away from the cartel members."If you want to be free, you'd better come here because we can't save you if you stand in place." That was enough to make people start moving towards the hangar bay, but one massive armored Alien Overseerer in riot gear, holding up a buzzer. "Get back to your posts, or I'll give you all the juice you can....!" Thank the Ones that Omen had brought the armorer, piercing along. Putting his lightsaber (wonder why anyone hadn't asked about it) and Westar away, he quickly shouldered the Custom Verpine DMR, sighted in, and fired.
The bullet quickly sped through the air before connecting with the Cartel Leader's hand, ripping through any armor covering it and then through the hand itself. What looked like a Dowutin under the mask let out a horse scream and clutched his head before falling to the floor after her kneecaps were penetrated by two more. With the main threat in front of them vanquished, the "workers" surged forward, trying to get to safety as all hell broke loose, and Korda sent guards flying behind them as more tried to pin him down.
Korda Veydran
,
Aren D'Shade
,
Jett Vox
Korda's response made him chuckle in his help before they went to work. It was very Korda... And Omen let him down his thing, knowing the Big Man could probably kill these people with his hands about as much as he could with that beloved gun of his. As for Jett... "No explosives, getting these rattled people out of here is going to be hard enough without you adding to all the noise! Nice throw though, Kid. Good to know you can hold your own." She also didn't do what she was told by listening to him and covering Aren, but then again, who the hell did? He would leave that for the debriefing points. And he could hold his own, even when these goons seemed to be crawling out of every hatchway, wondering what was going on, only to get stun-blasted or hit so hard they wished they were stunned-blasted. He glanced over at Aren quickly, just as one of the guards tried to fire on her, before he was coated in blue light and slumped to the floor. "We're trying, but this isn't exactly easy! Jett, please, for the love of the Ones, help her and make sure we don't have to bring anyone home in a body bag tonight!" That would ruin the mood of the "We did good" party.
Most of the prisoners were still standing at their posts, completely in awe at what was happening. He needed to break them out of that spell. and so he fought forwards, punching, kicking, blasting, and redirecting these angry 'holes out of his way. Eventually, he got to the other end of the bay, where a closed hangar door was, and punched it open. On the other side was the hangar where the product was loaded onto various craft for export. And it was a space where he could keep people away from the cartel members."If you want to be free, you'd better come here because we can't save you if you stand in place." That was enough to make people start moving towards the hangar bay, but one massive armored Alien Overseerer in riot gear, holding up a buzzer. "Get back to your posts, or I'll give you all the juice you can....!" Thank the Ones that Omen had brought the armorer, piercing along. Putting his lightsaber (wonder why anyone hadn't asked about it) and Westar away, he quickly shouldered the Custom Verpine DMR, sighted in, and fired.
The bullet quickly sped through the air before connecting with the Cartel Leader's hand, ripping through any armor covering it and then through the hand itself. What looked like a Dowutin under the mask let out a horse scream and clutched his head before falling to the floor after her kneecaps were penetrated by two more. With the main threat in front of them vanquished, the "workers" surged forward, trying to get to safety as all hell broke loose, and Korda sent guards flying behind them as more tried to pin him down.
Korda Veydran
,
Aren D'Shade
,
Jett VoxCharacter
Working inside systems designed to catch them….it isn’t being hidden. Its being allowed.
So Aether did have a deal with Sidonia, an invisible hand controlling the shadows. She tore her gaze away, mulling that over and watching the patrons again as the rest of her words washed over her. No rosters, just working alongside people and hoping Sidonia’s selection of them made them worth working with. That was a lot of trust.
Tessa’s blue gaze, so like her mothers, settled back on her when she mentioned getting into rooms she wouldn’t normally get into. She chuckled. “There are not many of those, so I’d be surprised if that were true.” Not that she was inclined to start using the weight of her mother’s name anytime soon, but there weren’t many doors that the name Mia Monroe didn’t open. At least, not on this side of the galaxy.
Her fingers drummed again, only once, before she took another drink, mulling over her question. “I take jobs for more than just the money. I enjoy the challenge, and it sounds like you’re taking all the challenge out of it.”
Tessa wouldn’t be a smuggler, she’d just be a transport pilot. And she’d be bored out of her mind. That said, there was no reason to assume this operation didn’t reach beyond Empire space. Her gaze slid to the bag boy again, his question drawing another grin from her.
“You’re sitting in a smuggler's den, kid.” she chuckled and shook her head before meeting Sidonia’s gaze, measuring her carefully before answering her. “Whatever job offers the biggest challenge. The Imps are gone, the Diarchy’s gone, their space is now easy to move through. Which means for real challenges I’m looking at the core or even if I’m feeling particularly bold, getting through the Sith Orders Blackwall.”
Prisoner #36929
Sidonia
The Red Mando
<bzzt> "Sorry! Sorry!" <bzzt>
Just in time, Jett stepped in front, taking the blaster bolt in the beskar. The bolt left a smoking scorch mark on the paint, making her stumble, but she kept herself in between the blaster fire and managed to fire back. Another bolt struck her helmet, knocking her head to the side, and she snapped her DL-44 to her hip, then raised her right hand to blast a jet of flame at the attackers. It didn't do much. Almost everyone expected that from Mandalorians, but it did obscure their vision and keep them from attacking her or Aren again.
At least for however long her flamethrower lasted, which as soon as it went out, she fired with Korda's blaster pistol, mostly aimlessly, just in the general direction, mostly just trying to keep them busy. Jett backed towards Aren, just keeping herself between the blaster fire and the woman. She observed the targets in her visor display, which bettered her aim, but didn't make it perfect. She was just glad she didn't have one of those jet-packs.
It now looked like Korda and Omen were facing the boss, so she tilted her visor towards Aren, <bzzt> "Is this what this stuff is always like!?" <bzzt> Then, noticing she was busy, turned back and just kept her blasters outstretched waiting to see if any of the enemies would be able to breach Korda and Omen's onslaught.
Sergeant Omen
Korda Veydran
Aren D'Shade
Last edited:
Korda the unyielding
Objective 1
Korda barreled through another guard, his massive frame crashing into the man before hurling him bodily across the room. The unfortunate soul flew through the haze and barely missed colliding with Omen before slamming into the floor in a groaning heap.
Over comms, Korda barked toward Jett between blows.
"Jett, focus on Aren! We have the main crowd handled!"
His visor caught the flash of her explosives sailing overhead a moment later, followed by the sharp blast of detonation as reinforcements were hurled backward through the doorway.
A grunt of approval left him.
"Good throw!" he shouted over the chaos, before his tone sharpened. "Proud of the instinct, but Omen's right, no more explosives unless necessary! Too many civilians packed in here!"
Then his attention shifted just in time to see Omen's precise shots rip through the riot-clad overseer.
A laugh rumbled from Korda's chest.
"Should've worn thicker armor!"
He stepped forward, turning toward Omen with a grin in his voice.
"And since when do you have a kriffing li-"
Something hit him.
Hard.
A massive metal hand backhanded across the side of his torso and helmet with enough force to send the seven-foot Mandalorian airborne.
Korda flew across the room.
He slammed into the far wall with a deafening metallic crash, denting the plating inward around him before collapsing to the floor in a heap.
A sharp, involuntary yelp escaped him through gritted teeth.
For a moment he didn't move.
Then pain flared white-hot up his arm.
His wrist bent at a sickening angle.
Korda snarled, biting down hard on his lip until blood touched his tongue. Without hesitation he grabbed the twisted wrist in one gauntleted hand.
POP.
He shoved it back into place with a grunt of pain.
Slowly, Korda rose.
His hand reached up and removed his helmet, unclipping it and hooking it to his belt. Sweat clung lightly to his weathered skin, his short coarse brown hair matted from heat beneath the helm. His red eyes burned with fury as he scanned the smoke.
Then he saw it.
A security droid.
Or what had once been one.
Its original frame had been grotesquely overbuilt beyond factory specifications, armored in jagged slabs of mismatched durasteel and blackened riot plating welded crudely over nearly every inch of its chassis. Thick hydraulic pistons bulged from its limbs where aftermarket reinforcements had been bolted on, exposed and leaking faint hisses of steam. One shoulder sat unevenly higher than the other, as if the frame beneath had been forced to bear weight it was never designed for.
Its right arm ended in a brutal crackling shock-maul, the weapon clearly custom-mounted where a normal hand should have been, sparking violently from unstable wiring wrapped carelessly around the joint. Its left bore a riot shield nearly as tall as Jett, layered in scavenged armor plating and pocked with old bullet impacts, the mounting brackets visibly overengineered with military-grade servos no civilian station should legally possess.
Its optics burned an angry crimson.
Even its movement sounded wrong, grinding and shrieking with every step as overloaded servos screamed beneath the strain of its illegal enhancements.
It looked less like security equipment and more like someone had fed a combat droid spare parts, stimulants, and bad intentions until it became this.
And for the first time since entering the room, Korda's expression shifted.
The rage faded.
And beneath it, just briefly...
Fear.
His voice hit the comm low and serious.
"Heavy droid. Modified. Very modified."
He grabbed the Ashen Maw off his shoulder.
"I'm drawing it away."
The shock gauntlets died with a hiss as he deactivated them.
Then he leveled the Ashen Maw.
The massive hand-cannon roared.
THOOM.
The first round left the barrel in a burst of fire and smoke, the recoil kicking through Korda's entire arm as the oversized slug screamed across the room and smashed into the droid's shield hard enough to send sparks and fragments of plating flying.
THOOM.
Another shot thundered out, louder than most rifles, the sound cracking through the chamber like artillery in close quarters. The slug cratered against the reinforced shield, forcing the droid back half a step.
THOOM.
A third monstrous shot blasted free, muzzle flash illuminating the hallway in burning orange as the heavy round slammed home with enough force to shake the machine's entire frame.
Its shield snapped fully outward.
The droid locked onto him.
Korda's eyes narrowed.
"Yep. Still hate those."
Then he turned and ran.
Boots thundered against the metal flooring as he sprinted down a narrow adjoining hallway, Ashen Maw in hand, the monstrous droid stomping after him with murderous speed.
Its heavy footsteps shook the corridor behind him.
And Korda disappeared around the bend with death on his heels.
Sergeant Omen
Aren D'Shade
Jett Vox
Korda barreled through another guard, his massive frame crashing into the man before hurling him bodily across the room. The unfortunate soul flew through the haze and barely missed colliding with Omen before slamming into the floor in a groaning heap.
Over comms, Korda barked toward Jett between blows.
"Jett, focus on Aren! We have the main crowd handled!"
His visor caught the flash of her explosives sailing overhead a moment later, followed by the sharp blast of detonation as reinforcements were hurled backward through the doorway.
A grunt of approval left him.
"Good throw!" he shouted over the chaos, before his tone sharpened. "Proud of the instinct, but Omen's right, no more explosives unless necessary! Too many civilians packed in here!"
Then his attention shifted just in time to see Omen's precise shots rip through the riot-clad overseer.
A laugh rumbled from Korda's chest.
"Should've worn thicker armor!"
He stepped forward, turning toward Omen with a grin in his voice.
"And since when do you have a kriffing li-"
Something hit him.
Hard.
A massive metal hand backhanded across the side of his torso and helmet with enough force to send the seven-foot Mandalorian airborne.
Korda flew across the room.
He slammed into the far wall with a deafening metallic crash, denting the plating inward around him before collapsing to the floor in a heap.
A sharp, involuntary yelp escaped him through gritted teeth.
For a moment he didn't move.
Then pain flared white-hot up his arm.
His wrist bent at a sickening angle.
Korda snarled, biting down hard on his lip until blood touched his tongue. Without hesitation he grabbed the twisted wrist in one gauntleted hand.
POP.
He shoved it back into place with a grunt of pain.
Slowly, Korda rose.
His hand reached up and removed his helmet, unclipping it and hooking it to his belt. Sweat clung lightly to his weathered skin, his short coarse brown hair matted from heat beneath the helm. His red eyes burned with fury as he scanned the smoke.
Then he saw it.
A security droid.
Or what had once been one.
Its original frame had been grotesquely overbuilt beyond factory specifications, armored in jagged slabs of mismatched durasteel and blackened riot plating welded crudely over nearly every inch of its chassis. Thick hydraulic pistons bulged from its limbs where aftermarket reinforcements had been bolted on, exposed and leaking faint hisses of steam. One shoulder sat unevenly higher than the other, as if the frame beneath had been forced to bear weight it was never designed for.
Its right arm ended in a brutal crackling shock-maul, the weapon clearly custom-mounted where a normal hand should have been, sparking violently from unstable wiring wrapped carelessly around the joint. Its left bore a riot shield nearly as tall as Jett, layered in scavenged armor plating and pocked with old bullet impacts, the mounting brackets visibly overengineered with military-grade servos no civilian station should legally possess.
Its optics burned an angry crimson.
Even its movement sounded wrong, grinding and shrieking with every step as overloaded servos screamed beneath the strain of its illegal enhancements.
It looked less like security equipment and more like someone had fed a combat droid spare parts, stimulants, and bad intentions until it became this.
And for the first time since entering the room, Korda's expression shifted.
The rage faded.
And beneath it, just briefly...
Fear.
His voice hit the comm low and serious.
"Heavy droid. Modified. Very modified."
He grabbed the Ashen Maw off his shoulder.
"I'm drawing it away."
The shock gauntlets died with a hiss as he deactivated them.
Then he leveled the Ashen Maw.
The massive hand-cannon roared.
THOOM.
The first round left the barrel in a burst of fire and smoke, the recoil kicking through Korda's entire arm as the oversized slug screamed across the room and smashed into the droid's shield hard enough to send sparks and fragments of plating flying.
THOOM.
Another shot thundered out, louder than most rifles, the sound cracking through the chamber like artillery in close quarters. The slug cratered against the reinforced shield, forcing the droid back half a step.
THOOM.
A third monstrous shot blasted free, muzzle flash illuminating the hallway in burning orange as the heavy round slammed home with enough force to shake the machine's entire frame.
Its shield snapped fully outward.
The droid locked onto him.
Korda's eyes narrowed.
"Yep. Still hate those."
Then he turned and ran.
Boots thundered against the metal flooring as he sprinted down a narrow adjoining hallway, Ashen Maw in hand, the monstrous droid stomping after him with murderous speed.
Its heavy footsteps shook the corridor behind him.
And Korda disappeared around the bend with death on his heels.
Sergeant Omen
Aren D'Shade
Jett Vox
Digital Shadow
Aren had already been deep inside the collar network when the room truly came apart, her fingers moving across the control panel in quick, disciplined patterns that peeled back slave routines, stripped permissions, and forced the shock collars into harmless diagnostic loops one after another. Status lights along dozens of throats shifted from hostile red to inert amber as locks disengaged and control signals died. She barely needed to look at the screen anymore; by the second minute, she understood the system well enough to navigate it by instinct alone.
But awareness of code never meant she stopped noticing the world around her.
She felt Jett step in front of her before she fully saw it, the impact of a blaster bolt ringing off Beskar with a sharp metallic crack that cut through the noise. Aren's eyes flicked up just long enough to register the younger woman holding her ground, protective and stubborn, firing too quickly and too wide but refusing to move. A faint tightening touched Aren's expression, not irritation, not fear, simply the quiet acknowledgment of a variable she now needed to account for.
Then Korda was thrown across the chamber.
The crash of armored mass against the far wall shook dust loose from the ceiling supports, pulling Aren's attention fully from the terminal for the first time. Through the haze of smoke and sparks, she watched him rise and watched the shape that had hit him emerge with heavy, uneven steps.
The droid was wrong. Not merely modified, but overbuilt in the careless way desperate people "improved" machines they didn't understand. Too much weight, too much force, too many mismatched systems layered together without harmony. It moved on brute reinforcement and intimidation rather than design, which meant it had weaknesses everywhere.
When Korda fired and drew it away from the civilians, Aren understood his instinct immediately. Create distance. Contain the threat. But she also knew he was about to fight a machine that should have collapsed under its own bad engineering weeks ago.
"No," she said quietly. Not in alarm, but in decision.
Her left hand remained on the panel long enough to finish the final shutdown sequence, sending the last commands rippling through the network until every collar unlocked and every operator access point went dark. Workers were no longer inventory. Just frightened people.
Her right hand lifted.
Aren stepped away from the terminal and turned toward the corridor where Korda had vanished. She closed her eyes for a single steadying breath and reached not for metal, but for the structure beneath it. The circuitry, current, and the language machines spoke beneath plating and noise.
The Force moved through her fingers in silence.
She found the droid instantly. Every machine had a pattern, and this one was screaming its flaws: servo lag in the left hip, power bleed through the shield mount, instability in the shock‑maul couplings, heat spikes where illegal upgrades overdrew the core. She pressed inward with calm precision, not breaking anything, simply rewriting the logic that held it together.
Down the corridor, the droid staggered mid‑stride. Its shield arm locked at the elbow. Targeting optics flickered, then dimmed. Hydraulic pistons misfired out of sequence, turning its charge into a stumbling collapse that drove one knee into the floor. Aren tightened her hand slightly, guiding the failure rather than forcing it.
The maul overloaded first, discharging its stored current backward into its own armature. The right limb seized, then tore loose under its own strain. The droid tried to compensate, but she was already deeper, slipping through command loops and seizing the central governor. She fed it contradictory movement orders. Forward, brace, turn, halt, until the frame twisted against itself, joints locking and overextending, plating buckling under the stress of its own confused momentum.
Then she found the core relay. A small motion of her fingers. The machine went still. No explosion, no dramatic collapse. Just a sudden, absolute silence as seven tons of stolen armor and bad engineering surrendered to gravity and hit the floor with a final heavy crash.
Aren lowered her hand slowly, her breath steady though deeper than before. The effort had cost her focus, but not control. She glanced once toward Jett, her voice calm and unshaken.
"Stay behind cover." Then she opened comms, her tone returning to its usual practical steadiness. "Korda. It's finished." A brief pause, almost gentle. "You can stop running now."
Sergeant Omen
Jett Vox
Korda Veydran
But awareness of code never meant she stopped noticing the world around her.
She felt Jett step in front of her before she fully saw it, the impact of a blaster bolt ringing off Beskar with a sharp metallic crack that cut through the noise. Aren's eyes flicked up just long enough to register the younger woman holding her ground, protective and stubborn, firing too quickly and too wide but refusing to move. A faint tightening touched Aren's expression, not irritation, not fear, simply the quiet acknowledgment of a variable she now needed to account for.
Then Korda was thrown across the chamber.
The crash of armored mass against the far wall shook dust loose from the ceiling supports, pulling Aren's attention fully from the terminal for the first time. Through the haze of smoke and sparks, she watched him rise and watched the shape that had hit him emerge with heavy, uneven steps.
The droid was wrong. Not merely modified, but overbuilt in the careless way desperate people "improved" machines they didn't understand. Too much weight, too much force, too many mismatched systems layered together without harmony. It moved on brute reinforcement and intimidation rather than design, which meant it had weaknesses everywhere.
When Korda fired and drew it away from the civilians, Aren understood his instinct immediately. Create distance. Contain the threat. But she also knew he was about to fight a machine that should have collapsed under its own bad engineering weeks ago.
"No," she said quietly. Not in alarm, but in decision.
Her left hand remained on the panel long enough to finish the final shutdown sequence, sending the last commands rippling through the network until every collar unlocked and every operator access point went dark. Workers were no longer inventory. Just frightened people.
Her right hand lifted.
Aren stepped away from the terminal and turned toward the corridor where Korda had vanished. She closed her eyes for a single steadying breath and reached not for metal, but for the structure beneath it. The circuitry, current, and the language machines spoke beneath plating and noise.
The Force moved through her fingers in silence.
She found the droid instantly. Every machine had a pattern, and this one was screaming its flaws: servo lag in the left hip, power bleed through the shield mount, instability in the shock‑maul couplings, heat spikes where illegal upgrades overdrew the core. She pressed inward with calm precision, not breaking anything, simply rewriting the logic that held it together.
Down the corridor, the droid staggered mid‑stride. Its shield arm locked at the elbow. Targeting optics flickered, then dimmed. Hydraulic pistons misfired out of sequence, turning its charge into a stumbling collapse that drove one knee into the floor. Aren tightened her hand slightly, guiding the failure rather than forcing it.
The maul overloaded first, discharging its stored current backward into its own armature. The right limb seized, then tore loose under its own strain. The droid tried to compensate, but she was already deeper, slipping through command loops and seizing the central governor. She fed it contradictory movement orders. Forward, brace, turn, halt, until the frame twisted against itself, joints locking and overextending, plating buckling under the stress of its own confused momentum.
Then she found the core relay. A small motion of her fingers. The machine went still. No explosion, no dramatic collapse. Just a sudden, absolute silence as seven tons of stolen armor and bad engineering surrendered to gravity and hit the floor with a final heavy crash.
Aren lowered her hand slowly, her breath steady though deeper than before. The effort had cost her focus, but not control. She glanced once toward Jett, her voice calm and unshaken.
"Stay behind cover." Then she opened comms, her tone returning to its usual practical steadiness. "Korda. It's finished." A brief pause, almost gentle. "You can stop running now."
Sergeant Omen
Jett Vox
Korda VeydranSergeant Omen
Arc Trooper Sergeant of the 41st Elite Corps
Well, this had been an effort, but slowly, slowly, things were slowly growing under control. Those cartel members who weren't already fighting and getting taken care of were trying to squirm away from the fighting, going deeper into the station's corridors and hallways in an attempt to get away. Omen focused on the task at hand, keeping anyone who wanted to harm Aren and Jett on the floor, bleeding. And seeing Korda run away like a frightened child, with a droid behind him, wasn't a bad secondary objective either. At least they had gotten all those spice workers out without losing one. That was the main triumph.
About an hour later, Omen was handing out blankets, hot food, and water he had managed to scrounge up from the commercial shops above. All four of them had managed to hunt down the cartel's remaining footmen and reach the small station. He had alerted the Mando Empire Authorities about the situation, and soon, some investigators and civil authorities would come here to sort the mess out for themselves. Till then, they were on their own, trying to comfort people who had been under someone's thumb for months or years. He couldn't take away their torment. Glancing at Aren, who was probably doing the same, he commented. "Well... It could have gone better tactually, but at least we got everyone out in one piece. I'll count that as a win." Plus, their employers would get all the information to shut this network down, which meant more people would be freed, which would always be a good thing.
Taking the ring box out for a moment, he gave it a short once-over to see if it was damaged in any way. Satisfied, he reached over and slipped it into the pocket of her jumpsuit. "Oh, that's yours whenever you want to say yes." Giving her a small smile, he let her take in what he was saying before walking away to care of more survivors. And with that, the romantic moment was over as soon as it had begun. Hopefully, Aren didn't misunderstand what he was saying this time.
Aren D'Shade
Jett Vox
Korda Veydran
About an hour later, Omen was handing out blankets, hot food, and water he had managed to scrounge up from the commercial shops above. All four of them had managed to hunt down the cartel's remaining footmen and reach the small station. He had alerted the Mando Empire Authorities about the situation, and soon, some investigators and civil authorities would come here to sort the mess out for themselves. Till then, they were on their own, trying to comfort people who had been under someone's thumb for months or years. He couldn't take away their torment. Glancing at Aren, who was probably doing the same, he commented. "Well... It could have gone better tactually, but at least we got everyone out in one piece. I'll count that as a win." Plus, their employers would get all the information to shut this network down, which meant more people would be freed, which would always be a good thing.
Taking the ring box out for a moment, he gave it a short once-over to see if it was damaged in any way. Satisfied, he reached over and slipped it into the pocket of her jumpsuit. "Oh, that's yours whenever you want to say yes." Giving her a small smile, he let her take in what he was saying before walking away to care of more survivors. And with that, the romantic moment was over as soon as it had begun. Hopefully, Aren didn't misunderstand what he was saying this time.
Aren D'Shade
Jett Vox
Korda VeydranSidonia
Crimson Dawn Matriarch
Sidonia didn’t look at the case.
That, more than anything, was the answer to the boy’s question. Her attention stayed where it belonged; on the people in front of her. The ones who mattered. The ones making decisions. The rest… was secondary. Still, after a brief moment, her gaze shifted toward him again. “You ask a lot of direct questions,” she said quietly. “That’s not a bad thing. But you’re asking them in the wrong place.” Sidonia paused for a moment before continuing, "This isn’t a guild. And it’s not something you enlist in.” Her fingers tapped once against the bar, slow and controlled. “It’s something people either learn to navigate… or get caught in without realizing it.”
er eyes held his for a moment longer, studying that confusion rather than brushing past it.
“If you’re trying to understand it,” she added, quieter now, “stop thinking in terms of titles. Start thinking in terms of outcomes.” A slight tilt of her head followed. “Who profits, who moves freely, and who doesn’t.” Only then did she shift, just slightly, toward the case at her side, though she did not move to open it. “As for what’s inside…” she said, almost thoughtfully, “that depends on who’s asking; and why.”
Sidonia decided to ask the Prisoner, after thinking about it for a moment. “What do you think is worth carrying something like that into a place like this?” she asked him, not as a challenge, but as a genuine test of how he was starting to see things. “Engine parts? Credits? Or something people wouldn’t want seen at all?”
Then her attention moved back to
Tessa Thayne
, seamless, like the conversation had never split. “You think I remove the challenge,” Sidonia said, her tone almost conversational again. “That’s because you’re still looking at the surface of the work.” She leaned forward slightly this time, enough to ground the moment between them. “Moving cargo through open space isn’t difficult. That’s repetition. Anyone with a ship and patience can manage it. That’s not why you’re here.”
Tessa Thayne
, seamless, like the conversation had never split. “You think I remove the challenge,” Sidonia said, her tone almost conversational again. “That’s because you’re still looking at the surface of the work.” She leaned forward slightly this time, enough to ground the moment between them. “Moving cargo through open space isn’t difficult. That’s repetition. Anyone with a ship and patience can manage it. That’s not why you’re here.”
Her gaze sharpened just enough to matter. “What is difficult… is moving something that isn’t supposed to exist, through places that don’t acknowledge it, past people who are actively looking for reasons to stop you. You don’t lose the challenge,” she said quietly. “You lose the distractions that make lesser operators feel busy.” Her fingers stilled against the bar. “You’re not just reacting anymore. You’re making decisions that determine whether something moves at all. Who you trust to even know the job exists. And who might already be working against you before you ever launch.”
She leaned back again, giving the space room to breathe.
“You mentioned the Core....the Blackwall.” A small nod followed, acknowledging the ambition rather than questioning it. “Those are challenges, yes. Visible ones.” Her gaze held steady. “Everyone knows they’re difficult...everyone expects resistance. The kind of work I’m offering? You won’t always know where the resistance is coming from. Or if it’s already in motion before you arrive.” She leaned back again, letting the tension ease just slightly. “You won’t always know where the pressure is coming from. Or if it’s already been applied before you arrive. Sometimes the job isn’t getting through a blockade.” Her eyes didn’t leave Tessa’s. “It’s realizing the blockade was never the real obstacle.”
“If you want challenge,” Sidonia continued, “I’ll give you one.” She allowed a brief pause to follow yet again. “A shipment is due to move within the next cycle. Small. Unremarkable on paper.” Her fingers tapped once against the bar again. “It won’t be flagged. It won’t be announced. And yet… two different parties have already shown interest in it. One of them wants it rerouted. The other wants it to disappear entirely.” She let that sit between them.
“You don’t get a full briefing. You don’t get names. You get a departure window, a destination, and the understanding that if you choose wrong…” her tone remained even, “you won’t know it until it’s already cost you.” Sidonia tilted her head slightly. “That’s the kind of work I’m talking about.” She leaned back once more, completely at ease.
“So tell me,” Sidonia said calmly, her eyes steady on Tessa, though the question lingered just enough to catch
Prisoner #36929
as well...“Does that sound like something you’d walk away from…or something you’d want to take apart piece by piece and understand before anyone else does?”
Prisoner #36929
as well...“Does that sound like something you’d walk away from…or something you’d want to take apart piece by piece and understand before anyone else does?”