Faction Guided Current | Crimson Dawn [ME]

[Jett Vox]

Jett ripped off her helmet, an ear piercing scream erupted from Jett suddenly and ferociously, splitting the momentary silence. "Is that an engagement ring?" She almost howled the last part, leaving no room for a misunderstanding this time. "Oh my gggg...." she never finished, just kind of trailing off after, a weak sound coming out of her throat. Omen walked away, and Jett hung back a moment, mouthing the obvious say yes! SAY YES! Before she left to join Omen in helping the wounded. Jett wasn't a doctor but she knew herbs and she knew triage. That was enough to help in a time of need.

She kneeled next to a boy who was probably only a couple years younger than her, and pulled a bandage and went to setting his broken leg bone. She gave him a small piece of wood to bite down on and pulled the fracture back into place. The boy screamed for a second and then breathed heavily as he recovered. A simple retractable splint and a wrapping later and he was back on his feet. A small bacta patch later and he was walking just fine.

She went a while, going from person to person and tending to minor wounds and fractures, until she ran out of supplies, making the mental note to be sure to get more when she had the chance. Once she was done, she went looking for Korda, seeing if he had any tasks left for her.

Aren D'Shade Korda Veydran Sergeant Omen

 

[Prisoner #36929]

Tags: Sidonia | Tessa Thayne
Equipment: X​

Cold sweat prickled the back of the Prisoner's neck as the realization hit. A smuggler's den. He wasn't just an escort or a luggage carrier, he was a participant, an accomplice. Memories of cold walls and heavy shackles flashed through his mind, a reminder of the prison he had only just escaped. There was no way he was going back to a cell, not for a suitcase full of whatever "outcome" the Warden was peddling. He threw back the rest of the amber liquid, the burn in his throat grounding him just enough to stop his hands from shaking too visibly.

The Warden's question about the case's contents hung in the air like a trap. He didn't want to guess. If he guessed right, he knew too much. If he guessed wrong, he was an accomplice. Either way, the weight of the durasteel box felt like an anchor pulling him back into the life he'd just fled. Panic flared in his chest, making the dim bar feel claustrophobic. Every low conversation in the room suddenly sounded like a plot to turn him in.

"I don't want to know anything else," he said, his voice tight as he pushed back from the bar. The stool scraped loudly against the floor, drawing a few brief glances from the shadows. He didn't care about looking natural anymore. Self-preservation took over, overriding any orders or sense of duty to the woman who had led him here. "I was never here. You two do your business."

Backing away, he kept his hands visible but ready to move. His eyes looked at the Warden one last time. "If you need... actually, forget it." He trailed off, the offer of further service dying in his throat. The Nagai wasn't a guard or a foundling today; he was just a young man who didn't want to be caught. Turning and headed for the exit, Prisoner was determined to put as much distance as possible between himself and that suitcase.

 

[Korda Veydran]

Objective 1

Korda didn't answer the comm right away.
He was still moving.
Not running anymore, just continuing down the corridor with that hard, clipped stride of someone refusing to admit anything had just tried to kill them. The Ashen Maw was still hot in his grip, barrel smoking faintly, each step echoing through the aftermath of the station's collapse into something resembling order.

Behind him, the droid lay where it had fallen.
Still twitching.
Barely.
Korda stopped.

He stared at it for a beat, then exhaled through his nose like he was personally offended by its existence. The Ashen Maw came up again.
THOOM.
A single round punched into the wrecked chassis, scattering sparks and warped plating.

He paused.
Then fired again.
THOOM.

And again.
Not panic. Not even anger now. Just a very deliberate decision that if something had the audacity to exist, it should at least have the courtesy to stay dead.
Only when the magazine clicked empty did he finally lower the weapon.

Silence settled in.
Then Aren's voice came through comms.
Korda. It's finished. You can stop running now.

He huffed once, almost a laugh, almost not.
"Yeah," he muttered, turning his head slightly like she could see him through the walls. "Bit late on the update, Aren."
He started walking back.

When he reached the main chamber again, the difference was immediate. The air had changed. Less pressure. Less threat. The system was still broken, but now it was broken in their favor.

Korda rolled his shoulder once, then finally holstered the Ashen Maw back onto its mount.

That's when he saw Jett.
He slowed.
Not because she looked injured.
Because she didn't.

He walked straight up to her and actually checked her like she was something fragile that had no business being in a firefight. Helmet was off now, clipped at his belt, revealing that weathered face properly for the first time since everything started going loud again. Red eyes scanned her quickly, precise, almost parental in a way he'd probably deny if anyone called it that out loud.

"You good?" he asked, blunt.
A beat.
Then his gaze flicked to the scorched marks on her armor, the way she was still standing like she hadn't just been in the middle of a warzone.
His shoulders eased slightly.

"Yeah. You're good."
He exhaled, then actually laughed under his breath.
"You did good out there, Jett."
Not loud praise. Not dramatic. Just matter-of-fact approval from someone who didn't hand it out casually.

He reached up, ruffled her hair for half a second like it was the most natural thing in the world, then immediately seemed to remember himself and dropped his hand like that never happened.
Without another word, he turned and started helping move survivors.
That was when things softened.
The shift wasn't sudden. Just gradual.

Korda moved through the aftermath like a wall that had decided to be useful instead of just destructive. Lifting debris, hauling injured workers into clearer spaces, clearing paths for Omen's supplies without saying much. When frightened kids were pulled free from the crowd, he crouched instead of towering over them, helmet off now completely, set aside like it didn't matter.

One of them stared at him like he was a monster.
He didn't flinch.
Just pulled a small ration pack from his belt and handed it over.
"Eat," he said simply.

Another child hesitated.
He paused, then added, a little gruffer:
"It's food. Not a test."
That got a shaky laugh.

He leaned back slightly, watching them for a moment, then glanced toward Jett again across the room as if silently confirming she was still there, still upright, still not bleeding out somewhere inconvenient.

Only then did he look back to the others, expression settling into something steadier.
Not softer.
Just… present.
And for someone like Korda, that was probably the closest thing to peace he ever allowed himself.

Aren D'Shade Sergeant Omen Jett Vox