Faction Guided Current | Crimson Dawn [ME]

[Icy]

OPERATION: GUIDEDD CURRENT
OPEN TO ALL CRIMSON DAWN ASSOCIATES, OPPORTUNISTS AND EVERYONE IN-BETWEEN​

Helix Station - Auric Exchange

Helix Station is a major Mid Rim trade hub operating beyond formal oversight, where legitimate commerce and criminal enterprise exist side by side. Smuggling routes, black market trade, narcotics distribution, protection rackets, and discreet credit markets all thrive within its docks and commercial sectors, each quietly controlled by competing interests.​

​

At the center of this network is the Auric Exchange, a financial institution that records cargo movements, trade routes, and merchant debts across multiple systems. These records expose the flow of goods, the structure of illicit operations, and the vulnerabilities of those involved.​

​

Crimson Dawn’s objective is not to disrupt Helix Station, but to control it from within. By gaining access to the Exchange’s data and leveraging the station’s existing systems, operatives can influence trade, dominate criminal activity, and establish quiet authority over the station’s economy.​

Spoiler: Operational Objectives

SEIZE CONTROL OF INFORMATION (AURIC EXCHANGE)

Infiltrate the Auric Exchange and gain access to its financial records. These ledgers contain detailed intelligence on cargo shipments, smuggling routes, merchant debts, and trade dependencies across the region.

Operatives may extract, alter, or leverage this data in different ways depending on their interests. Some may act directly on behalf of Crimson Dawn, while others may pursue personal profit, sell information, or trade favors; so long as their actions contribute to expanding Crimson Dawn’s reach.

Control of information is control of Helix Station. How that control is used may vary.

EXPAND UNDERWORLD INFLUENCE

Helix Station’s criminal ecosystem is already active, but fragmented. Smuggling corridors, black market trade, narcotics distribution, and territorial control are all open to influence.

Operatives; whether aligned with Crimson Dawn or working alongside it—may choose how they engage. Some may build alliances, others may take over operations, and some may simply carve out their own space under Crimson Dawn’s growing shadow.

Not every participant needs to act as an enforcer of the syndicate. Influence can be established through cooperation, opportunism, or quiet integration into existing systems.

LEVERAGE POWER AND PROFIT

The station runs on credits, risk, and obligation. Discreet lending, debt enforcement, protection agreements, and high-value cargo all present opportunities for those willing to act.

Participants may collect debts, strike deals, secure shipments, or establish protection networks; either in direct service to Crimson Dawn or in pursuit of their own gain. Independent operators are free to profit, provided their actions do not undermine the broader operation.

Loyalty may be optional. Consequences are not.

BYOO: THE STATION IS YOURS

Helix Station is a crossroads of ambition, where thousands pass through with their own goals, secrets, and agendas. Between the flow of commerce, the presence of criminal networks, and the opportunities hidden within its decks, there is no shortage of stories waiting to unfold.

Smugglers may pursue independent runs. Bounty hunters may track targets through crowded corridors. Slicers may chase hidden data caches. Crews may settle debts, forge rivalries, or capitalize on unexpected opportunities. Some may align with Crimson Dawn, others may work around it; or against it.

If your objective does not fit neatly within the operation, pursue it anyway.

Helix Station rewards initiative. Small actions can shift power, and a single decision can ripple across trade routes, alliances, and fortunes.
The structure is in place.

What you do within it is up to you.

Spoiler: Tag

Kurayami Bloodborn
Alden Akaran
Kael Varr
Hrist
Vael Saren
Elian Abrantes
Serrik Skirata
Quinn Varanin
Ivalyn Yvarro
Rowyna Galeway
Xerxes Verd
Tessa Thayne
Mia Monroe
Azen Kast
Cyran Vaas
Cabur Nau'ur
Avast Verd
Pal Veda
Dral Kar'taal
Reina Daival
Eenia Vahn
Adelle Bastiel
Nianuke cyt
Zurak Bruul
Vantis Saxon
Edward Ashcard
Persephone Halcyon
Inez
Mar Skirata
Korda Veydran
Sula Skirata
Sidonia
Maur
Ferris Skirata
Veyla Krinn
Renn Vizsla
Perseus
Hubert Starhopper
erida Lok
Drexan Ordo
Ryzen Vord
Amelia von Sorenn
Zet Reav
Acier Moonbound
Shot Sutaz
Drystan Creed
Kyor "Mute" Jaeirr
Brent Warnel
Vahlika Velhaari
Hilal Vizsla
Sibylla Abrantes
Alyvia Toss
Vanadium
Platinum
Electrum
Elira Verd
Nando
Tin
Ranna Sejast
Aiden Wolf
Palladium
Songsteel
Alara Ordo
Minerva Fhirdiad
Aadihr Lidos
Azurine Varek
Kayte Toss
Lynn Caromed
Fabula Caromed
Is'ekapi Rex
Dreidi Xeraic
Grym Lok
Skye Mertaal
Zee Caromed
Rheyla Tann
Haken Ralo Bolt
Ginjako Brorai
Maiz Tor'val
Xasin Dyst
Sanguina Krev
Svidur Galaar
Vaux Gred
Mig Gred
Edrick Aethelred
Tarre Priest
Cerar Vizsla
Kassandra Beskar'ad
Kad'irk'Ra
Janous Ryss
Liorra
Tyr Mereel
Conrad
Aren D'Shade
Zel Sharratt
Korra Kast
Whottoomuzz Chantin
Reshim
Red Mobius
Emilia Locke
Athena Faar
Thalira Kiing
Vulcan Krayt
Delsin Shaw
Montello Deshra
Adonis Angelis IV
Siv Kryze
Jaikell Wyrvhor
Itzhal Volkihar
Valah Hagen
Vytal Noctura
Suleiman Lok
Jiriad Galaar
Kandosii Ka'rta
Manti Wyrvhor
Mia Monroe
Ladante Mamba
raef Malstadt
Ciri Jade
Lunara Azure
Kirae Orade
Ro'talius Emanti
Alora Vizsla
Zhulghua
Kalðr Ísbjørn
Cordelia Malkavian
Drego Ruus
"Templar"
CT-312
Tomaj Eldar
Rhys Swynol
Lysara Rynn
Nephthys Nardithi-Verd
Hanna
Siae Andronike
Zlova Rue
Runi Kuryida
Aliza Vale
Thram Drokor
Sagan Verd
Ze'bast Verd
Vyse de Valorous
Kuben Woods
Valeria de la Vallée
Lyra Scarlet
Talohn Atar
Incitrix
Klavatora Verd
Aselia Verd

 

[Sidonia]

O B J E C T I V E 3​

Tag: @Open​

Sidonia did not arrive on Helix Station with ceremony. There was no big announcement; nothing that would draw attention to her beyond what the station already consumed by the hour. She stepped off the transport like anyone else, just another passenger among hundreds, letting the noise and movement close around her until she disappeared into it completely.

The docking ring was alive in that constant, grinding way unique to places that never truly slept. Cargo cranes groaned overhead, hauling massive containers through the air while crews shouted over manifests and missed deadlines. Arguments flared and faded in the same breath; over lost shipments, delayed clearances, credits that hadn’t yet cleared. It all blended into something relentless.

Sidonia wasn’t watching the noise; she was watching what slipped through it.

A dockmaster waved through a shipment too quickly. A crew moved with just a little too much confidence for people supposedly following protocol. A sealed container passed without inspection because someone, somewhere, had already been paid to look the other way.

The station wasn’t neutral. It was simply very good at pretending.

Her movements flowed like that of time, seamless and unbothered. Her clothing helped with that; deliberately chosen to belong anywhere on the station without ever standing out. A fitted, dark-toned travel coat draped cleanly over her frame, practical enough for the docks, refined enough for the concourse. Beneath it, tailored layers struck the same balance: well-made, understated, expensive without being obvious. The kind of look that suggested she had credits, but not enough to invite attention. Her gloves remained on, thin and precise, as common here as they were useful. A subtle band rested at her wrist, easy to dismiss as decoration, while the clasp at her collar held just a little more weight than it should have.

Nothing about her invited a second look.

By the time she moved inward, the atmosphere shifted almost imperceptibly. The harsh noise of the docks softened into conversation, into negotiation.Sidonia stepped into one of the upper lounges without hesitation, as if she had every reason to be there; and in practice, she did.

It didn’t take long to find what she was looking for.

Three merchants sat near the edge of the room, locked in a discussion that had gone on just a little too long. Their voices were low, but the tension sat plainly in their posture. A contract dispute. The kind that lingered until it started costing more than it was worth. She approached without asking, resting a hand lightly against the back of an empty chair as their conversation faltered. One of them looked up, ready to dismiss her; only to hesitate, something instinctive cutting through his reaction.

“You’re negotiating insurance terms through the Exchange,” Sidonia said, her tone calm, almost conversational.

She took the seat before they could object, folding into the space as though she had always been part of the discussion. “The route you’re arguing over will be flagged within the next cycle,” she continued, her gaze shifting between them. “Increased inspections. Delays. You’ll lose more time fighting that than you will adjusting now.”

A frown formed. “And you are—?”

Sidonia didn’t answer directly. Instead, she reached for the problem itself, guiding the conversation with small, deliberate shifts. A rerouted lane. A different carrier. A minor adjustment in timing that would avoid attention entirely. Nothing dramatic. Nothing that would raise suspicion. Just enough to turn a losing position into something workable.

It didn’t take long.

Tension gave way to reluctant agreement, the kind born not from trust, but from recognizing a better option when it was placed directly in front of you. By the time Sidonia stood, they were already recalculating, already committed to decisions they hadn’t intended to make when they sat down. “Pleasure doing business,” she said lightly, though no names had been exchanged.

She left them there before the questions could catch up, before curiosity became inconvenient. Behind her, the conversation resumed—quieter now, but moving along the path she had set.

That was all it ever took.

Sidonia continued through the concourse at an easy pace, her attention drifting but never unfocused. Around her, Helix Station carried on exactly as it always had. Deals were struck, credits moved. Alliances formed and fractured within the span of a conversation.

A route had shifted. A shipment would move differently. A decision made at one table would ripple outward into others, touching people who would never know where it began. That was how control worked here; not through force, not through declarations, but through accumulation. Small changes, layered carefully until they became something impossible to trace.

Her gaze lifted briefly toward the distant structure of the Auric Exchange, its polished surface reflecting a version of order the station didn’t truly possess. That would come later.

“Let them keep their records,” she murmured to herself, a faint trace of amusement in her voice. “For now.”

She moved on, blending once more into the flow of bodies as easily as she had entered it. A broker, perhaps. A negotiator. Someone who dealt in routes and numbers and quiet conversations.

There were still debts to uncover, routes to shape, and people who had not yet realized they were about to become useful. And Sidonia had never been one to stand above an operation when she could be inside it, guiding it with her own hands.

On Helix Station, power didn’t announce itself. It settled in until everything began to move around it.

And by the time anyone noticed, it would already too late.​

 

[Juniper Le Fey]

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━⛧━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

BYOO

"Debt doesn't disappear… it just changes who holds the leash." -Juniper Le Fey​

Helix Station had hosted Juniper before, long before her time with Crimson Dawn, dating back even before her stay with the The Black Sun Syndicate. She had been a different person the last time she stepped foot here. Literally. Undercover as someone else entirely. The reason, however, remained the same: hunting. This time, it wasn't a person, but information she was after.

Juniper had worked with Crimson Dawn long enough by now to know they were exceptional opportunists. With the fall of the Suns, the Mandalorians had so kindly offered to take them in- on the condition that they steered the ship. Or at least, that's how Juniper saw it. They were the best option for now, and they had given her plenty of opportunities to make credits. This time was no different. She just intended to do it her own way.

When she learned they were hitting the Exchange, she started formulating a plan. She had come into contact with the Exchange years prior, around the last time she'd been on the station, and, as it often did, it ended poorly. She still carried a debt she couldn't escape, one that had made her a person of interest. Not enough to be hunted, but enough to know better than to linger where the Exchange had a presence.

Juniper had never been particularly good at staying away... Which was how she found herself in the ventilation system.

She had already mapped out the rough location of the central data hub and worked out a path to get there. Crimson Dawn's preparation had given her the time she needed to plan something of her own. A small side venture. The sorceress had commissioned a virus from a former fling on Nar Shaddaa- someone who specialized in financial crimes. He agreed to build the software on one condition: that Juniper erase the debts of him and a few of his associates.

Looking down through the vent, Le Fey could see she was exactly where she needed to be. Just a few rooms from her target. Pathbreaker rested at her side, and an array of Hexfangs, each carrying its own payload, were within easy reach. She was here for stealth, not spectacle. But if it came to a fight, it came to a fight. Juniper had never been one to hesitate.

She reached out with the Force, carefully lifting the grate and setting it aside without a sound. Leaning forward, she scanned the room below.

Perfect.

Ten rooms out.

Juniper lowered herself slowly, holding her weight at the edge of the vent before extending down into the room beneath. When she finally let go, she landed in silence.

So far, so good.

She took a moment to steady herself, then started forward- toward the Exchange, and everything it owed her.

 

[Aren D'Shade]

SEIZE CONTROL OF INFORMATION (AURIC EXCHANGE)

Helix Station didn't pretend to be anything other than what it was, and the moment Aren stepped off the transport into the Auric Exchange sector, the shift settled around her with a density that had nothing to do with noise or light. The air carried the weight of constant movement, credits shifting hands, information traded in half-finished conversations, and deals layered so tightly over one another that the surface barely hinted at the machinery beneath. It wasn't chaos. It was a structure most people never learned to see.

She moved through it without slowing, her attention settling not on the crowd but on the space itself. She read the entry points and sightlines, the rhythm of bodies weaving through the sector, the places where attention gathered, and the pockets where it slipped away. She noted what was being watched and, more importantly, what wasn't.

The Exchange rose ahead, built into the station rather than placed on it, its polished surfaces concealing something older beneath. It wasn't simply a financial hub. It was a system designed to record, to track, to remember. Aren paused just long enough to take in the layers.

"Layered," she murmured, and the word fit the place as neatly as it fit her expectations.

Inside, the transition was subtle but deliberate. The lighting cooled, and the ambient sound softened, just enough to blur conversations unless you were close. Terminals lined the walls in clean, continuous rows, each one either occupied or recently vacated, the flow steady and controlled.

Efficient, at least on the surface.

Aren chose one of the outer terminals, avoiding the center for now. Her fingers rested lightly on the interface before activating it, feeling the system respond even before the display resolved into clean lines of data. Transactions, routes, permissions, everything arranged with a precision that bordered on performative.

Too clean.

She scanned the information, not reading it in the traditional sense but mapping it, tracing where connections held, where they drifted, and where something had been smoothed just enough to avoid drawing attention. Systems like this rarely hid their problems in obvious failures. They hid them in the seams.

"Not built all at once," she said quietly, already narrowing her focus.

Her input remained minimal and precise, a small probe rather than a push, just enough to see how the system reacted. The response came back clean and, as expected, only confirmed her suspicion and guided her deeper as she slipped beneath the surface rather than pressing against it.

"Let's see what you do when you're not being watched."

The system didn't resist, not yet, and that was fine. She wasn't in a hurry.

Around her, the Exchange continued its steady rhythm, people passing, transactions closing, the station breathing through circuits and currency. Somewhere behind her, the others settled into place, their presence familiar and steady even without looking.

Aren didn't turn. Her attention stayed where it belonged, on the system, on the pattern forming beneath the surface, and on the first thread worth pulling.

Sergeant Omen Korda Veydran Jett Vox

 

[Korda Veydran]

BYYO: shopping

Helix Station vibrated underfoot, a constant hum of engines, shifting cargo, and countless voices overlapping in trade dialects, underworld slang, and clipped corporate Basic. Deals were struck in shadowed corners, and the faint metallic scent of illegally modified weapons hung in the air.

Korda moved through it like he owned every shadow he passed. Helmet sealed, visor black and unreadable, the four tally marks etched into his right temple caught glimmers of neon before vanishing again. The jaig eyes on his chestplate seemed to watch the crowd as carefully as he did.

Oro, the two-foot-long fluffnose hognose, coiled snugly around his shoulder, tongue flicking at the air in quiet curiosity. Every so often, the little creature nudged his helmet or the edge of his armor, a soft reminder that even predators could carry warmth.

He paused in a darker stretch of the promenade, where signage was dim and displays unpolished. The air smelled of gun oil and scorched metal. Here, vendors offered what the station officially didn't, armor plating with hidden hardpoints, gauntlet housings with unregistered servo-motors, and cartridges with experimental ammunition.

Korda's gloved hand hovered over a rack of micro-concussive flechettes, the cartridges dull gray but deadly in design. He didn't immediately pick anything. Instead, he tilted his helmet slightly toward Jett, letting the edge of the visor catch her reflection.

"You see the difference?" he asked, voice flat through the helmet but inclusive. "Half of this is designed to look dangerous. The rest… is designed to end a fight before the other person realizes it began."

Oro twined tighter around him, flicking its tongue at a passing crate as if giving silent approval, or warning. Korda's gloved hand shifted to gently steady it, the smallest acknowledgment of their bond.

"I am not here to arm myself for spectacle," he continued, stepping aside to give Jett a better look. "You choose one. For my left gauntlet. Something subtle."

His tone was flat. No softness, no expression. But he had brought her here, not to instruct, not to evaluate, but to include.
Oro shifted, nuzzling his cheekplate and hissing softly, as if protesting the exposure of its master to the bustle of strangers. Korda's head tilted slightly toward the little creature.

"If she bites a Crimson Dawn quartermaster, we leave immediately," he said. A faint trace of humor hovered beneath the words, sharp and dry.

The station pulsed around them. Deals, secrets, power shifting quietly. But here, in this brief moment, Korda wasn't hunting. He was building trust, layering in quiet lessons not of combat, but of family. Oro remained wrapped around him, a small, living anchor, flicking its tongue and soft scales as though marking the start of something steadier, something slower, something that would outlast any fight.


And Korda did not rush it.

Aren D'Shade Sergeant Omen Jett Vox

 

[Jett Vox]

​

BYYO: shopping


The building was a whole artificial landscape, with the industry of war seeming to be the major theme. Each item looked as deadly as the last, until they reached a set that looked like it was made to be subtly hidden and carefully sequestered. Clandestine. Korda spoke and Jett listened, their browsing more or less a lesson in itself on weaponry. Something that would come in handy to the young Mandalorian, even if she wasn't picking up anything for herself. She noticed a series of small darts, each about half a meter long sitting on a table. Their points were broad, colored purple for a reason she was not aware of. Her eyes were drawn to them though, and she couldn't take her eyes off of them.

"Don't worry, she won't," Jett reassured Korda. Oro only seemed to strike out when Korda's own instincts were primed. Now, they both actually seemed pretty calm as Korda was in his element.

"What about these?" She asked sincerely, reaching over absently and without thought to scratch the top of Oro's head, and withdrew her fingers before the odd creature could snap at her. Not that Oro ever did, but Jett wasn't willing to take the risk yet, not so soon after getting to know Korda and his pet. "These look... functional." Then she paused and saw a collection of small flat metal disks. "Or these? I'm not sure what these are though. The darts look more... obvious than these."

Jett continued walking, looking for something that might stand out, catch her eye, something that screamed 'small but dangerous' like she hoped someday she would. "Or..." She leaned down over a plate that had two slender rods extended from it. It looked like it was made for a glove. Attachable to the knuckles. "...Not this," she decided. It looked too obviously or tricky to be a usable weapon. Maybe a kind of shock lance. Then she saw something she'd never seen before. A diode that was attached to a simple glove. "This?" Jett didn't know it but this was a shock-glove, made to debilitate someone in order to capture them.
They were popular with bounty-hunters and kidnappers. Not exactly an honorable weapon, but useful in a pinch or when you needed to surprise insta-debilitate someone.

Korda Veydran Aren D'Shade Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Or at least Aren's attention stayed on the screen till a figure in a gray suit of Mandalorian armor that blended into the equally grey scenery commented "You are so sexy when you talk to yourself." Omen leaned against one of the pillars of the Exchange, drumming his fingers absentmindly against the wall as he tried to stand out more than the women hacking into the station's mainframe. With Jett around, this was probably the most of a "date" the clone was going to get and he was going to take full advantage of it. Besides, how often did Aren let him tag along on one of her jobs?

As Aren did her work, Omen causally looked through his helmet's heat vision lenses at the various pilots, smugglers, pickpockets and mechanics as they all strolled through the station. So far, no one had caught on to them yet. He even saw Jett and Korda spending some intimate time going shopping of all things. Maybe he should text Korda if he was looking for a new dress.

Glancing over at Aren as she engrossed herself with the Station's data, he ask the same thing their employers would. "Find anything concrete?" He was certain they would. Stations like these lived of smuggler funds in the form of docking fees and payment for repairs and fuel. Omen wouldn't be surprised if this station had an entire spice processing center built-in deep inside. Now all there was to do was prove it and if there was anyone to do it, it was his partner.

Direct: Aren D'Shade
Around: Jett Vox , Korda Veydran

 

[Korda Veydran]

BYYO: Shopping

Korda did not answer immediately.
His visor followed her gaze to the purple-tipped darts. Half a meter in length. Broad heads. Subtle reinforcement ridges along the shaft. Clean machining. No ornamentation.

Purpose-built.
Oro shifted along his shoulder as Jett's fingers brushed lightly over the fluffnose's head. The small serpent's tongue flicked once against her knuckles, testing scent, then withdrew. No strike. No warning hiss.

Acceptance.
Korda noticed.
"Those," he said at last, stepping closer to the darts, "are not subtle."

He lifted one from the table and rotated it slowly between gloved fingers. The purple tip caught the dim light of the stall.
"Hollow core," he continued. "Payload delivery. Tranquilizer. Neurotoxin. Tracking compound." A small pause. "Even microdroids, if someone wished to be creative."

He returned it to the display with measured care and shifted his attention to the flat metal discs she had indicated.
"These are mag-disruptors. Thrown or planted. Short-range pulse. Disable unsecured electronics for several seconds."
A faint tilt of his helmet.
"Long enough."
His gaze moved to the twin rods mounted to the plate.

"Extendable shock lances. Compact housing. They can be installed inside a vambrace and deployed with a wrist flick." He mimed the motion subtly. "Close-quarters. Quiet. Efficient."

He looked back to her.
"Not a poor choice."
Then he took the glove she had picked up.

"This is a shock glove," he said evenly. "Commercial grade. Favored by bounty hunters. Designed for capture."
He reached to his own left gauntlet.
"What I carry is not."

A low mechanical hum built beneath the beskar. Then blue energy erupted across the entire surface of his gauntlet, arcing between each armored finger in sharp, snapping strands of contained lightning. It crawled from knuckle to knuckle, across the back of his hand, pooling in the palm.

The air crackled.
If he struck with it, the impact would deliver both crushing force and violent current in the same breath.
Oro tightened instinctively around his shoulder at the sound, scales lifting slightly, but the serpent did not recoil. It knew him. Trusted the rhythm.

Korda held the charge just long enough for her to see the difference.
Then the energy collapsed inward and vanished.
"Integrated capacitor system," he said. "Full-surface conduction. One strike disrupts muscle control."
No pride. No flourish. Just fact.

He returned his attention to the darts and lifted one again.
"They are obvious," he admitted. "But obvious is not weakness. Fear shapes behavior before a weapon is ever deployed."
He turned his helmet slightly toward the vendor.

"How much for the set?"
The price came low and cautious.
Korda did not react. Instead, he angled his visor toward Jett, letting the black surface reflect her in its curve.

"If you carried these," he asked, not testing, not correcting, "what would you load them with?"
It was not a lesson in lethality.
It was a lesson in judgment.

Oro's small head lifted between them, tongue flicking once more, as if the little fluffnose also waited for her answer.
Around them, Helix Station continued its restless hum of commerce and criminal ambition.
But in this narrow pocket of shadowed innovation and quiet instruction, something steadier was forming.
And Korda was listening.


Sergeant Omen Jett Vox Aren D'Shade

 

[Prisoner #36929]

Tags: Sidonia​

Escort the Warden of Thule. That was the assignment. Simple on paper, which usually meant it wasn't.

The Prisoner didn't know what a warden actually did. Authority, probably. Important enough that people didn't ask questions. Same with "Foundling." He'd been given the label and expected to grow into it, like a coat that didn't quite fit yet. So he followed orders. That was the part he understood.

He hadn't expected the luggage.

The case dug into his hands as he hauled it through the docking ring, shoulders tightening with every step. It was massive. He shifted his grip, jaw tightening. What did she put in here, durasteel? His eyes flicked toward a passing cargo sled, then away. No time. She hadn't even slowed when they disembarked.

By the time he reached the meeting point, breath pulling sharp in his chest, she was already gone.

He stopped just long enough to look around, scanning faces, movement, exits. Good start. Lose the person you're assigned to follow. Exceptional work. His grip tightened on the handle before he spotted her again, farther down the concourse, already cutting through another stream of traffic.

"Of course," he muttered under his breath, dragging the case forward again.

Each step felt slower now. The station pressed in around him, noise stacking on noise, but his focus stayed locked ahead. He didn't know where she was going. That didn't matter. The job was to follow. To keep up.

He adjusted his grip again, shoulders burning. Be useful. That's the job.

The Warden didn't look back. Not once. The Prisoner kept moving anyway.

 

[Jett Vox]

BYYO: Shopping
​

Jett listened intently and nodded as he described each weapon and what it could be used for. She jerked back when he demonstrated his shock-gauntlets, clearly impressed and a little uneasy. That kind of thing seemed unfair in a normal fight, but Jett had been part of a fight where people summoned storms and shot lightning from their fingertips. She knew how useful something like that could be at ending a fight before it began. She nodded again, and then to his question, responded hesitantly;

"Poison gas maybe, or a concussive explosive. Something small, but useful. Simple. Wouldn't want to use anything too complicated. Too much can go wrong with something with too many moving parts."

She thought of the net-throwers she'd seen. They could get tangled or deploy improperly. The one most effective bomb she'd seen to most fighters was -- "A shrapnel bomb. At close range, it's too dangerous to employ, but at a distance - which ideally you'd have if you fired off something like that - you would be delivering a payload of something capable of disabling or distracting a large group or a single opponent equally." She added as an afterthought, "Otherwise you may as well just use a blaster or a slug... thrower?" She hesitated a little at the last part. She'd just learned about the traditional Mandalorian weapon against Jedi and how hot metal projectiles couldn't be easily blocked by their powerful laser-swords.

"The smaller the better. If you use a lightweight, but penetrative material, you can even disable an armored enemy. You don't have to aim for joints or be particularly accurate if you're hitting them on their whole body."

Korda Veydran

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Objective: 1

Sergeant Omen Korda Veydran Jett Vox

Aren didn't look up when he spoke, her attention still anchored to the interface as her fingers moved steadily across it with the kind of practiced precision that made every adjustment feel intentional. She threaded through layers of the system without hesitation, shifting a query here, redirecting a pathway there, slipping in a bypass subtle enough that it never announced itself as one. It was the sort of work that drew no attention because it never created disruption in the first place.

"You'll have to be more specific," she said, her tone even but carrying the faintest trace of dry acknowledgment beneath it. "I talk to myself a lot."

A new layer resolved across the display, and she paused just long enough to take in the pattern before adding, quieter, "And I don't usually have an audience."

Her eyes tracked a subtle shift in the data, not in the numbers themselves, but in the way they aligned. Transactions that should have overlapped cleanly didn't. Routing paths that appeared legitimate fell apart the moment you followed them one step further than most people bothered to. She found the inconsistency almost the way someone might catch a flicker in their peripheral vision: not obvious, but unmistakable once seen.

Her input slowed, becoming more deliberate as she followed the thread.

"Nothing obvious," she answered, though the words didn't quite match the focus settling into her expression. "And that is the problem."

She leaned forward slightly, attention narrowing as she slipped beneath another layer, not forcing access so much as letting the system reveal the shape of its own structure. "They've cleaned the surface," she continued. "Standard traffic looks legitimate. Fees, cargo logs, fuel exchanges. Everything balances."

With a small shift of her hand, she isolated a cluster of entries that behaved just differently enough to stand out when viewed together.

"But underneath that…"

She didn't finish immediately. Instead, she ran a quiet cross-reference, linking routes to timing rather than declared cargo, watching how things moved when no one was meant to notice. The pattern sharpened, and so did her gaze.

"…they're double-booking lanes," she said at last. "Same routes, same windows, but only one set shows up in the official records."

Which meant the other set existed somewhere else, or it was being hidden so thoroughly it might as well not exist at all.

Aren sat back just enough to glance sideways at him, her expression calm but more engaged now, the puzzle beginning to take shape. "If I had to guess," she said, "the visible system is the ledger they show people."

A beat passed before she added, "The real one is either segmented… or buried."

Her fingers returned to the terminal, already adjusting her approach with quiet certainty.

"I'm not going to brute force it," she said. "If it's hidden properly, that just tells them we're here."

Another small pause, thoughtful rather than hesitant. "I'd rather see where it leaks."

 

[Juniper Le Fey]

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━⛧━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

BYOO

"Debt doesn't disappear… it just changes who holds the leash." -Juniper Le Fey​

Juniper moved with purpose, each step equal part stealth and precision. The hum of where she found herself now was different than the rest of the station, quieter. Not silent, but controlled. The air seemed recycled, lacking the same smell as the rest of the station, and the lights were a bit less fluorescent. With each door Juniper passed, she could tell she was getting closer to her destination.

As she walked, however, in the corner of her eye she spotted a terminal on the wall. Nothing fancy, just a regular terminal. As she passed it, it flashed quickly, like someone had just logged out and back in again. To an untrained passerby, it would appear as nothing more than a flicker, but to Juniper, it meant someone else had the same idea she did. With the Crimson Dawn making their move on the station, it was inevitable that others would find their way into the databases. Juniper just needed to ensure that the information she was looking for was still intact when she got to it.

As she continued through, she noticed more and more. Small things, it felt less like a presence and more like a lack of friction. Doors opened before she approached, systems responded as they should: no delays, no hesitation. It was the kind of efficiency that came from heavy maintenance or recent interference. Either way, it made Juniper hyper-vigilant of her surroundings, even more so than before.

Her body tensed slightly as she turned the corner and realized she was nearing her destination- the hub. She didn't need to see a sign or follow a map. She could feel the gravity of it. This was where everything felt heaviest. The Force pressed against her as she approached. Something was going to happen… or it already had, and she would soon find out what.

With a subtle flick of her wrist, she withdrew the datacard containing the virus. Juniper would need to make her way through any outer security systems before she could unleash it on The Exchange's records. It wouldn't take long. The debts would be erased, the bounty collected, and Juniper would be free of both The Exchange and the man who made the virus.

What he didn't know, however, was that Juniper had made a few adjustments of her own to the code.

 

[Korda Veydran]

BYYO: Shopping

Good. She's thinking. Not posturing. Not trying to sound clever. Just working the problem.
Korda listened without interrupting.
When she flinched at the gauntlet earlier, he had noticed. Noted it. Filed it away. Now he watched the way she reasoned instead.
"Poison gas maybe, or a concussive explosive…"

He gave a slow nod.
"Controlled. Simple. Fewer failure points."
Approval. Quiet, but real.
When she mentioned a shrapnel bomb, something low and rough escaped him. Not loud. Not mocking.

A chuckle.
It vibrated faintly through the helmet.
"I use those often."

His head tilted slightly toward the weapon holstered across his back, the heavy silhouette visible over his shoulder.
"The Ashen Maw is a slugthrower."
He reached back and rested a hand briefly against it, almost absentmindedly.
"Large-caliber. High-mass rounds. If I am too injured to rely on precision, it ensures the shot still matters."

A slight shift of his helmet.
"It does not ask for elegance."
His visor returned to her.
"Hot metal cannot be deflected easily. And when it impacts…" He let that hang. She understood.

He lifted one of the purple-tipped darts again, weighing it in his hand.
"Your assessment is sound," he continued. "Gas dispersal is unpredictable in enclosed systems. Concussive charges are clean but limited. Shrapnel…" another small nod, "…is adaptable."

Oro shifted slightly, coiling tighter along his collar as if reacting to the subtle energy in Korda's tone.
"At range, fragmentation equalizes the field," he said. "Against armor, lightweight penetrative material increases probability of breach without precision targeting."

He angled the dart slightly toward her.
"You are correct. You do not need to strike a joint if you are striking everything."
A brief pause.
"However."
There it was.

"Shrapnel is indiscriminate. In crowded environments, collateral becomes a variable. Always account for that."
Not a rebuke. Just refinement.
He set the dart back down and folded his arms loosely.

"You think tactically. You prefer reliability over theatrics."
A small tilt of his helmet.
"That is good."
The vendor shifted awkwardly, sensing this was less a sale and more a private evaluation.
Korda finally looked at him.

"I will take the darts," he said calmly. "Unloaded."
His visor angled back toward Jett.
"You will choose the payload later. After you decide what kind of fight you are preparing for."
Oro's tongue flicked between them again, soft and curious.

Korda remained still for a moment longer before adding, quieter,
"You are not wrong to favor simplicity. Complicated weapons fail. Discipline does not."
The station continued its restless hum around them.
But in that dimly lit stall, beneath the scent of oil and ozone, something shifted.

Not instructor to student.
Not commander to subordinate.
Something steadier than that.
And he did not look away from her when he said it.

Jett Vox Sergeant Omen Aren D'Shade

 

[Sergeant Omen]

Omen walked up close enough that their sides touched as she worked. If this was all the comfort he could give, he would happily give it to the love of his life. "It's why you are sexy all the time. The costume doesn't hurt either." He would play her Mando Bodyguard with her in that slimming pantsuit any day of the week. Hell, she would have felt his eyes on of her since they got of the freighter.

The Clone let out a sigh as she said that the Station Manager's had covered their tracks. The station wouldn't have been successful if all of its dirty Landry could be aired out so easily. But he knew his Aren and she wouldn't stop until she found something. And find something she did. "Yeah, they are something..." the Clone whispered softly as he glanced over the data himself. "Think you could access it from the stationmaster's office? I think that where all the important information is stored if there was on." It was the only possibility there could be. He only hoped that he was right and the cargo that was getting shipped out was material and not living beings.

If they decided to go in direction of the stationmaster's office, they would end up in a hallway that a door labeled "Station Manager's Office" connected to the main promenade. Inside was an elevator with a key card access panel. Omen looked at Aren expectantly before turning to guard the door, gripping the Battle Rifle strapped to his chest under the gray cloak he had picked out for this occasion. Like he said before, if there was anyone that could get to the bottom of this, it was Aren and a little key card reader wasn't going to stop her.

Direct: Aren D'Shade
Around: Korda Veydran , Jett Vox

 

[Tessa Thayne]

The smugglers hub was a quiet bar a stones throw away from the docks, modest and respectable as drifter bars went and perfectly unassuming if you had no idea what you were looking for. Tessa sat at the end of the long bar, her back resting against the wall, whisky on the rocks pooling condensation around it on the bar next to her as her finger idly traced the rim.

She was watching the booths on the opposite walls where smugglers held audience for prospective clients, their conversations held in low tones as they discussed parameters for the shipments in question. How big? How valuable? How illegal? To where and for whom? Routes were never discussed, because sharing smuggling route with your clients was giving them the intel they needed to do the job themselves.

“You leave that drink any longer, it’s gonna be more water than whisky.”

Tess smiled at the besalisks amused tone, not taking her eyes off the deal closing opposite her, a credit chip sliding unsubtly across the table into a ship captain's hand.

“I paid for it already, Jorr, you don’t need to worry about me refusing to pay when I realise it tastes like shit.”

The chuckle was deep and throaty as he moved to rest a hand on the bartop beside her. “You been watching those booths like a hawk, you got cargo to move? Or are you just looking for a fight?”

Tess looked at him then, a look of mock offense on her face. “I would never dare to disrupt such a respectable establishment.”

Jorr did not look like he believed her, grunting and shaking his head. ”What do you want, woman?”

Tess shifted, swinging herself around to face him fully, picking the glass up finally and taking a contemplative sip before setting it back down again.

“I want a booth, and I want dibs on the best jobs.”

Tags: OPEN​

 

[Sidonia]

O B J E C T I V E 3​

Tag: Prisoner #36929 & Tessa Thayne // Open​

​

Sidonia did not slow as she moved through the concourse, but she did notice him. It was difficult not to.​

​

The case alone made sure of that; large, heavy, carried with the kind of effort that turned heads even in a place like Helix Station, where people tried very hard not to notice anything at all. More than that, though, was the way he moved; not wandering like most who passed through these corridors, but fixed on a point ahead of him.​

​

She let him follow for a time.​

​

Through one stream of traffic and into another, past a cluster of merchants arguing over docking priority, down a corridor where the lighting dimmed just enough to soften faces into anonymity. She didn’t look back. There was no need to. If he lost her, then he wasn’t worth the effort. If he kept up… then he might be. Eventually, she turned, slipping into a quieter side passage that branched off from the main concourse. The kind of place where conversations carried a little further and interruptions were easier to control.​

​

Only then would she stop.​

​

Sidonia turned just as he closed the distance, if he chose to, her gaze settling on him with a calm, measured weight. For a brief moment, she said nothing, letting the silence stretch just enough to make the situation clear.​

​

“You’re late,” she would say at last, her eyes flickering to the case. “You kept it,” she added, almost as an afterthought. A small pause followed before she stepped closer, closing the space between them without hesitation. “That's good,” Sidonia said quietly.​

​

She reached for the handle of the case; not to take it from him, but to adjust his hold, shifting his grip just enough to ease the strain without making a show of it. "You look like you're in pain from this, which might put you under the radar under trained eyes..." she spoke quietly. Then she let go. “Stay close and pay attention...” Sidonia said, already turning away, her pace resuming as if the interruption had never happened.​

​

The route curved, pulling them away from the open concourse and toward a lower tier where the atmosphere shifted again; into something more quiet still. The kind of place where conversations weren’t meant to be overheard, and deals were made without the pretense of legitimacy. A bar sat tucked just off the corridor ahead, unremarkable at a glance, easy to miss if you weren’t looking for it.​

​

She stepped inside without hesitation, the change in lighting washing over her as her eyes adjusted. Conversations murmured low across the room, deals forming and dissolving in the shadows of booth seating. Her gaze did a once over the area, settling on a particular woman who took a seat at the bar. She chose to take a seat one seat away from Tessa, signaling to the bartender for a drink. If her escort chose to follow, she would look towards him and signal with her eyes to take a seat on the other side of her.​

​

"A whiskey on the rocks..." she ordered, glancing towards her escort to wait for him to order.​

 

[Jett Vox]

​

Jett took the lesson in stride, not arguing nor complaining but rather, absorbing everything she was told. She had learned that Korda knew exactly what he was talking about, and her best bet was to listen to every word. Omen was a good shot, Aren was a practical thinker and very intelligent, but Korda was a career warrior. A Mandalorian by trade, not merely as a hobby. He lived and breathed war.

She took the darts and slipped them into an empty pouch, one of many where she kept her explosives, small thermal detonators made to breach walls and cause damage and distraction, a few survival tools, and her extra cartridges. Jett was familiar with these things. She didn't need many lessons on these.

She had come armored, wearing her father's Beskar, a breastplate, helmet and grieves that protected the most vulnerable parts, but she had left her weapons aboard Korda's ship. They would not be needed here. All except for the blaster which was ever-present at her thigh.

Inside, she felt a little pride at Korda's approval, but she didn't show it.

She didn't need to. She was learning the basics, and pride at the basics was unnecessary to the goal. "What's next?" She asked simply, looking up at Korda's visor through her own.

The reason behind their trip was assuredly unfulfilled. Korda had brought her here for a reason, one that obviously included arming her with a new weapon, but that was not the only reason. They wouldn't have flown out that far for just these darts.

This was Jett's first trip alone with the experienced Mando, and she didn't intend to waste it.

Korda Veydran Aren D'Shade Sergeant Omen

 

[Korda Veydran]

BYYO:shopping

Korda saw the way she absorbed the lesson without posturing, without celebrating herself for reaching baseline competence. That mattered more than enthusiasm ever would.
When she asked, What's next? he didn't answer immediately.

Instead, he turned.
Not back toward the main promenade. Not toward ship docks.
Deeper.

Past the polished contraband and into a narrower stretch of the station where the lighting thinned and the vendors stopped pretending to be legitimate. Here, the air smelled sharper. Ozone. Sharpening stones. Polymer sealants.

Bladed weapons hung openly. Vibro-edges hummed faintly on racks. Ammunition sat in organized rows, sorted by caliber and cruelty.
Korda raised two fingers slightly without looking back.
A silent gesture.
Follow.

Oro shifted along his shoulder as he approached a long table layered with munitions and melee weapons alike. Caseless rounds. Heavy slugs. Armor-piercing variants. Shock batons. Compact axes.
His visor scanned the layout while his hand hovered just above the display, not touching yet. He cataloged weight distribution. Balance. Craftsmanship.
Then he picked up a small tactical vibro-axe.

Compact. Single edge. Reinforced spine. Grip wrapped in textured synth-hide for stability in blood or rain.
He activated it.
A low, predatory hum vibrated through the air as the edge shimmered faintly with vibro-energy.
He twirled it once in his hand, smooth and economical, testing balance rather than showing off. The movement was efficient. No wasted motion.

Oro lifted its head slightly, watching the blade pass with calm familiarity.
"Blades do not jam," Korda said evenly. "They do not run out of charge cells mid-fight."
He deactivated the axe and handed it toward her, handle first.
"What melee weapons are you trained with?"

Not accusatory.
Not doubtful.
Evaluating.
His visor drifted briefly toward the ammunition laid out nearby. Heavy slugs in matte black casings. Fragmentation loads. Dense penetrators.

He picked up one of the larger rounds between two fingers, rolling it thoughtfully.
"At range, you think tactically," he continued. "Good."
The round clicked softly back into its tray.
"Close range is different. There is no distance to manage. Only timing."

His visor settled back on her helmet.
"If someone is inside your guard… what do you rely on?"
Around them, Helix Station pulsed on. Deals whispered. Credits transferred. Criminal ambitions quietly advanced.
But here, between racks of humming blades and rows of ammunition, the lesson was shifting.

From payloads.
To proximity.
And Korda was watching not her weapons.
But her instincts.

Jett Vox Sergeant Omen Aren D'Shade

 

[Aren D'Shade]

Aren didn't react to the contact at first.

Not because she missed it, but because she registered it fully and chose not to break her concentration for something that wasn't a threat. Her attention stayed on the terminal for a few seconds longer, finishing the sequence she had already committed to. Only then did she shift just enough to acknowledge him without pulling away.

"You're distracting," she said quietly, the words steady rather than sharp. "Not effectively. Just… consistently."

Her eyes stayed on the data as his suggestion settled beside the pattern she was already following.

"The stationmaster's office would have access," she said. "But not necessarily the source."

Her fingers moved again, this time tracing permissions rather than transactions, mapping who could see what rather than what was shown. The structure revealed itself in layers, each one more intentional than the last.

"If they segmented it properly, the visible system won't point anywhere near the real one. It'll route through something that looks incidental."

A brief pause followed, not hesitation but confirmation.

"Which means the office isn't where it's stored," she said, stepping back from the terminal. "It's where it's controlled."

That was enough. She turned toward the corridor and started walking, her pace unhurried but carrying purpose.

"Let Korda and Jett know we're shifting," Aren said as they moved. "Same channel. No detail, just location." She didn't check whether he would do it. She didn't need to.

By the time they reached the door and the elevator beyond it, her focus had already shifted to the access panel. She stepped closer, lowering her gaze not just to look at it, but to feel the system beneath the surface.

The circuitry hummed quietly. Layered. Shielded. Not overly complex, but precise in how it recognized input.

Aren didn't touch it right away.
Instead, she let her awareness settle through the interface, not forcing entry, not probing in any way that would register as intrusion. She simply listened to the current running through it, to the pattern of recognition, to the moment where authorization translated into action.

There. Her fingers rose to the panel, but the motion was secondary, a physical echo of something she had already aligned beneath the surface. The system responded. Not because it had been broken. Because it had been persuaded.

A soft flicker passed through the interface, subtle enough that most would miss it. The lock cycled, hesitation barely a fraction of a second before resolving.

Click. Aren exhaled quietly, more habit than effort, and stepped into the elevator without looking back. "If this is where they manage it," she said, her voice even, "then we're about to see how careful they actually are." Only then did she glance toward Omen, her expression calm but intent. "Stay sharp."

Korda Veydran Jett Vox Sergeant Omen

 

[Sergeant Omen]

"Yeah, I should just do a strip show right now in front of everyone right now. That would be effective." The whispered words in her ear probably wouldn't bother her. Aren had learned to push him into the back of her mind. His little bards were just for fun, telling her he was still there.

Omen tried his best to follow her fingers as they danced across the display, glad he at least had one good idea. As they moved, a comm channel would open up in Korda's HUD. "Hey, we are following up on a lead. If you hear shooting, it's probably about us. Hope Jett is finding some good lipstick that goes with your eyes." That should do for now. Shutting the channel down before Korda could reply, he kept Aren covered as she did her magic on the key card detector. It was time to see what wonders she could do.

As expected, that lightning through her hands worked its charm, and both got the elevator without tripping any alarms. Quietly, Omen pulled the Verpine Battlerifle from across his chest and cocked it, clearing the room as soon as the elevator opened again. Thankfully, the room they walked into was clear of people. Everything seemed normal, with filing cabinets surrounding the room, while a desk with a computer display on top filled the immediate view. "You do your thing. I'll go through the filing cabinets and see if I can grab anything interesting." And so the great info race had begun. Let's see who could come up with something first.

Aren D'Shade , Korda Veydran , Jett Vox