Dominion Hyperlane Harmonics | First Order Dominion of Terminus & Saijo

[Resurgent Narrative]

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Terminus is advantageously placed at the apex of two hyperlanes, making it a jewel in any government’s crown. Long plagued by the criminal element that defines its underworld, the ecumenopolis of Terminus has something for everyone: luxury high-rises, gritty warehouses, backroom casinos, shady speakeasies, and everything in between. ​

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Following Ariel Yvarro’s meeting with Cotan Sar’andor, the First Order extends an olive branch to the Judges of the Outer Rim and their followers. Given the Judges history in the Outer Rim, it only made sense to work together in an effort to keep the peace and enforce the law in an otherwise lawless territory. The First Order in return would work to modernize what it could within Terminal City. First Imperial Knights, Engineers, and Medical personnel from the First Order have agreed to meet with any of the Judges or their colleagues at the Terminus Space Central to discuss the aforementioned modernization. This objective is open to the Judges of the Outer Rim.​

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Cierrol Harlow is a crime lord of the most threatening degree and has a long history with the First Order. Moff Graham has personally requested that members of the intelligence community draw Harlow out of his hiding spot so that he can be apprehended by the First Order. To do so, she has orchestrated a scheme to lure him out. Operatives in deep cover will board the Equatorial Express, a luxury magtrain, and locate Harlow’s private carriages. Harlow has been known to keep incriminating documents in his carriage’s safe which, given the mobile nature and the Equatorial Express line’s strong protections for patrons’ privacy, are often safer than a traditional safe deposit box that is subject to such pedestrian challenges as search warrants. The train is fully booked with innocent civilians, so a frontal assault is not possible. Obtain the evidence to give the First Order leverage over Harlow. Collateral damage is not authorized. ​

In the seedy underbelly of Terminus, where law and order is whatever the local crime boss says it is, a particularly recalcitrant boss has declared his territory off-limits to government personnel. He has a surprisingly sophisticated approximation of the legal system, with local hard cases serving as police, his loyal enforcers as judges, and even a legislature made of smaller crime bosses within his territory. There are just two problems: firstly, he’s a tyrannical madman who oppresses his subjects with shocking brutality, and two, he’s placed a bounty on any and all First Order personnel on Terminus. ​

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Dealing with him openly is right out. Negotiating with a despotic crime lord would make the First Order look weak. Direct military intervention would cause countless civilian casualties. Economic sanctions would eventually work, but would both make the First Order look weak and cause countless civilian casualties. ​

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Enter the FOSB. Two teams of agents will infiltrate the crime boss’s territory. The first will enter his personal establishment, and, through whatever means they deem fit, cause a scene. The boss loves a good bar brawl, so long as he doesn’t lose too much money on damages, or on the inevitable betting. Once the boss shows his face, the second team has to take him out, while the first tries to escape in the ensuing mayhem. ​

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The power vacuum that results can benefit the First Order in any number of ways, but only if the agents can pull it off. The fate of Terminus’s underworld rides on this mission. ​

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Reports of strange activity in the sector have been reported. Someone has been killing, dismembering, and eating members of organized crime syndicates in the area. Not any big loss by any stretch, but the brutal nature of the killings has security officials nervous. ​

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Additionally, the killer is reportedly spreading anti-government collectivist propaganda, and early indications are that he’s gaining an audience. Since local governments have had little luck in quelling criminal activity in the area, people are starting to look at him as a savior. ​

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Oh, and he’s a giant, sapient bear with a thick accent and lots of guns. Unconfirmed reports state that he may be a Force user as well. ​

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Locate, confront, and if possible, apprehend the killer. If necessary, kill him. This objective is open to the Judges of the Outer Rim.​

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On Saijo, at the fortress of Ust Natha, there is an annual festival celebrating Nagai culture. As their lightning fast reflexes gave rise to their becoming highly disciplined warriors, they take every opportunity available to display their superiority to one another, and to whomever might be within viewing distance. The highlight of the festival is a dueling tournament, which admits only the best of the Nagai warriors that have proven themselves. Come watch the duels, participate in the skills trials, or challenge one another or even one of the Nagai duelists in the open battle arena. But beware...honor is everything to the Nagai...wound their honor, and you risk fighting for more than just bragging rights. ​

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Bring your own objective!​

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[Delilah Graham]

"Good evening, agents," said Delilah Graham. Onetime intelligence analyst, she still came to the role of handler very naturally. As Moff Graham, she took an interest in this operation because of who it involved: Cierrol Harlow. He had a long history with the Bureau and with some of its agents in particular. He had killed two, tortured and abused another, and nearly disgraced an entire Bureau station. Now it was time to bring Harlow in. Intelligence reported that he had transferred his operations to Terminus, so to Terminus they would go.

"First Order operations on Terminus are under threat from the presence of Cierrol Harlow, a kingpin in the criminal underworld. After a long and distinguished career on Yag'dhul, he moved his operations to Terminus where he quickly became a large fish in a large pond. It's time to bring Harlow in, but he has a tendency to remain out of the limelight. He's been smart so far, keeping to himself and keeping his nose clean while letting his underlings do the dirty work, which is why we haven't been able to nab him yet. But we've developed a plan to bring him into the light -- and First Order custody."

"Thanks in large part to Agent Queen and Agent Frost, we have a safe house on Terminus. Agent Crane and Agent Nightshade will monitor operations from there until we learn that Harlow is on the move. Agents Queen, Frost, and Dash, as well as special asset Gainsboro, have been booked under aliases aboard the Equatorial Express, a luxury magtrain aboard which Harlow maintains several private carriages. While Harlow is not aboard, we have reason to suspect that he keeps some incriminating evidence in the safes in these carriages, in addition to several priceless pieces of art. While normally Her Majesty's Government does not endorse theft, in this case, we are willing to make an exception. We expect these pieces and safes are secured in some way to alert Harlow of any tampering. This is the mechanism by which we will get him to show himself."

She paused, her voice dropping a few notes to intone the gravity of the situation. "Agents, the Equatorial Express is fully booked with civilians passengers who are, as far as we know, unassociated with Harlow. Collateral damage is not authorized unless absolutely necessary to save the operation. Your objective is to identify which carriages aboard the train are Harlow's, infiltrate them, and trigger Harlow to leave hiding so that our agents can apprehend him. Should you uncover any valuable intelligence, bring it in with you. There is armed security on the train and Equatorial Express is known to be a subsidiary of the Harlow criminal enterprise, so if necessary, these guards can be neutralized. I encourage you to avoid starting a panic aboard the train, however, I will leave the hows and whens up to your discretion. The Equatorial Express will be leaving the station in one hour, so you haven't much time. You should have collected your cover stories and falsified identities by now. If you have any questions, now is the time. Otherwise, I will leave you to prepare."

Val Pellian | Isobel Nakano | Aurelian Dash | Auld | Virginia Schnapp | Adrian Cassidy​

 

[The Major]

“Right. A screaming bear, you say?” Sybil used a stylus to scribble a note down on her datapad, questioning both her own lucidity and that of the interviewee with an askance gaze that called into question her belief in this assignment.

“Aye, Lass. Large as a freighter with claws long as a man. Longer than you, even.” Gesticulating with menace, the old coot became quite animated during his impression. Sybil blinked once. Slowly.

"Their heads ended up where?” This detail was notated with an asterisk, but the autofill annoyingly attempted to place a blue heart symbol instead. Shaking her head, the Investigator ignored the typo and stowed the device. Following this Nagai’s direction, she carefully approached the indicated room and was met with a certain kind of stink.

Lunch time. A fishmonger offered the platoon a fresh meal in exchange for removing the managed remnant corpse bits of a low level ring leader and his thugs. Due to the nature of their investigation this troop would have done it anyway. Better to make it seem like an act of charity. Besides, grilled like this the meat made for a fine sandwich. As the Major broke her fast, she mused on how much of her clue sleuthing was being impeded by the locals. Maybe marching about with a platoon of Her Majesty’s finest First Order Stormtroopers threw off the wrong vibe, what with their stark white and frowning helmets; maybe her black Agency attire with its Imperial cut, and jet black armor accents gave her the cold look of the classic villain.

Who’s to say?​

APROACHING OBJECTIVE
MORALE: NEUTRAL
Grigory the Bear | Daal ​

Hours later, as the dusk cast colors of red and purple above —criss crossed with gashes of white puffy clouds, bruises and scars all set upon the sky— she refrained from running her fingers through the surgical lines upon her face. Instead the reminder to be vigilant and cautious filled her thoughts. There was no doubt that locals would have reported her queries to this vigilante, so it was likely that the creature was already waiting for this kind of harassment. Hence why, in her mind, the best way to gain an interview was to leave the platoon minding the store by the shuttles and approach alone. Sybil’s target seemed to be versed in brutality and showmanship. No doubt this was to send a message. Logic would dictate that this message needed the largest audience possible; ergo, they would want a foreign agent to understand their motivations, desires, and whatever other tidbits rebel savages needed to make their war on crime with more crime valid.

Maybe calling would have been safer. But it wasn’t as stylish. ​

A chill wind rushed through the trees, causing the Major to catch the flowing collars of her matching cloak and draw the ends closer to her jaw. Not one to be an utter fool, specifically after the debacle on Hoth, she made this approach with a number of scanners active.

After all, investigators are not always welcome.​

 

[Isobel Nakano]

Isobel stood under the shower in the hotel suite rented for the operation. She didn't know who had managed it, but it was a hell of a lot better than she expected. The shower, for instance, used water. Fresh water, not greywater. And it was hot. Her theory had been that the hot shower would loosen some of the knots in her neck and shoulders, but so far, no dice. It had started when Graham had announced the plan to nab Harlow, and only gotten worse. They had one shot; if Harlow got away now, he'd be that much harder to catch the next time. The thought of him getting away made Isobel's stomach sink like a stone.

She stood under the water a few minutes more, considering. Remembering.

Isobel Nakano had seen some terrible things in her career. The fall of the First Order. The burning of Dosuun. The undead inflicted with the Blackwing Virus. Ssi-Ruuk entechment facilities. Still, the thing that most often startled her awake in the dead of night was Cierrol Harlow. The way he had talked to her. The way he had looked at her. The things he had done to her. But most often it was the things he hadn't had a chance to inflict upon her before Val Pellian had freed her from Harlow's clutches. Sometimes she jolted awake feeling the phantom pain of a cigarette he had put out on her neck, or the sound of her collarbone fracturing under his attack, or the searing shock of the taser, or the sharp scent of smelling salts as he revived her for more of his idea of fun.

Even now, as she stood in front of the broad mirror, toweling off, Isobel could see the scars left on her by Harlow on Yag'dhul. Others had joined in the intervening years, but they seemed to fade. She sighed, examining her appearance in the mirror before putting the towel on the rack and dressing herself. She wore comfortable, casual clothes. For once, she was not on the infiltration part of the op; the theory being that if Harlow caught sight of Isobel or Val in the surveillance cameras, he would know something was up and dig in deeper. So she was able to wear something comfortable: a pair of reinforced leggings and a sweater, both black.

Hairbrush in hand, Isobel went back to the sitting room. "Thinking about room service," she told her fellow agent, trying not to sound as bothered as she was. Stay casual. Stay cool. "Anything on the menu catch your fancy?" She perched on the desk next to Val and set about to brush her hair.

 

[Auld]

Isobel Nakano | Val Pellian
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Miss G sat languidly on top of a toilet lid, toying with a pair of headphones wired rather archaically to a datapad, scowl plastered upon her face like a oozing scar —some of her holdings on the Interstellar Exchange were plastered as market volatility soared: another planet was under the brunt of invasion. She shook off that annoyance and returned focus to the mission at hand: help Imperial pigs knock out a crime boss.

Working in concert with the First Order was a new low for Auld, but the facts of their latest type of cancer spreading throughout the Outer Rim was that this version of imperialism was a lot more diplomatic in its endeavors. No doubt their haughty leaders of the past had been laid low by the collective power of Rim and its way of tearing down empires in detail. Namely, their focus had been on stamping out crime and developing trade. At least that is how the media was spinning it.

As something of a low tier criminal herself, this was very bad for business. Thus, new low. Getting in bed with the enemy. Seeing if this new color they projected was the real deal or just greedy oppression with more fancy embossed oak leaves was something best done in person. Plus, they paid well, even if the currency was second rate as of now. Best to speculate. One never knew, after all.

Damn it, she was rambling to herself again.

Focus, Kiddo. ​

Auld produced a specialized commlink specifically for the assets on tap for this gig, and clicked a simple status update. Best to make sure everyone was ready to move and make the magic happen.

 

[Grigory the Bear]

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"You are very brave, coming here alone. Very brave, or very foolish."

The voice came from the shadows, and belonged to a mammoth shaggy form that seemed to congeal out of the murk. It was a neat trick, something that humans were ill equipped for. A predator could sit motionless for hours on end, waiting for prey to come along. Grigory was nothing if not a predator, but unlike his wild kin, he knew enough to be keenly aware of how damnably uncomfortable sitting in the same place without moving a muscle was.

The bear stood on his hind legs and stretched, the gesture surprisingly humanoid, as he groaned with relief. His bladder ached, and his head hurt abominably.

"One second," he grunted, as he stepped out of sight to relieve himself a polite distance away. When he returned, he was dousing his paws in copious amounts of hand sanitizer. He was a bear, but that didn't mean he was an animal.

"Sorry. Stakeouts are the worst, da?"

The giant bear sat on his haunches in front of the newcomer. She was tall, for a human, nearly tall enough to look him in the eye on all fours. Sturdy too, though in his experience, bipedal concepts of sturdiness were relative. She smelled military, which meant she could probably put up a fight. If that's what she was here for, Grigory would happily obliged.

How had he known she would look for him here? He hadn't. It was a guess, backed by gut feeling. There were only so many spots around town with enough shadow and real estate for him to hide, so he picked the one that seemed the most likely, and waited. If no one turned up, oh well. It wasn't like he wanted to meet with the investigator sniffing around the area, and if she hadn't been clever enough to put two and two together, that was her own fault.

Seemingly of its own volition, a massive flask of vodka lifted itself from his hip. Flask was, perhaps, a bit of an understatement. The damn thing was the size of a jerry can. From his cargo harness, the bear unlimbered a pair of collapsible shot glasses. Well, they were shot glasses to him. For a human, the telescoping tin camping cups would have made for an oversized coffee mug.

The bear poured a measure of vodka in each, then set both the cups on the ground, equidistant between him and the investigator. If she was properly paranoid, she might suspect poison. Letting her choose the cup was a concession. Poisoning one cup and offering it was one thing. Letting her choose meant that the only feasible way to kill her with poison was to taint both cups.

"If you are here for talk, we talk. If you are here for fight, we fight. Either way, share a drink with old Grigory before we begin. Am much thirsty after waiting all afternoon. Is only polite."

The Major Daal

 

[Val Pellian]

Isobel Nakano Auld
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Val still wasn't sure how he felt about this.

Harlow was dangerous.

His years tangling with him in Yag'Dhul had made that much clear. Always careful, cautious, never overstepping the mark if he could help it. A man entirely in control of himself and his passions. Made it even more frightening when he let loose. The way he had with Lotus before. Would those two newbies really have been able to set things up in a way to draw him out?

No, he wasn't sure.

But Graham had told him not to worry. They'd get the job done. They were professional. Well, Cassidy was a ponce and Schnapp was little more than a secretary. It should have been Nightshade and him tying it up. Every part of it. This was personal. A grunt there, shaking his head at that. Maybe that's why Graham hadn't wanted them on the prep squad.

Maybe he'd have gone too far.

"Get a whole crab with caviar- was my thought." He grinned up towards Isobel. "If she is making us stay put, might as well make her pay for it, no?" A yawn there, stretching lightly as he glanced over his shoulder down the corridor.

"Is that Auld person still on the toilet? How long does it take." A beep sounded right next. Commlink on the table. Val frowned at it, glancing at Isobel before picking it up and realizing it was Auld. "Um. Yeah? You good in there? Or did you forget the toilet paper..." When had they moved from working with professionals to working with secretaries, ponces and outright criminals.

He sighed and lit up a cigarette.

"You want one?"

 

[Daal]

Someone's coming, pay attention stupid girl.

Daal was close to dozing off, when she sensed the bear beginning to stir. This had become a common practice for the two of them during their travels as of late, to have these stakeouts. The bear would normally handle matters of violence, but it made her feel better to be close by. Object permanence was something she often struggled with, and she often felt anxious when left to her own devices. Of course she could meditate in his absence, and if she knew he would return soon, she would. This time, he had assured her that he would likely not return for awhile, so she came along under the agreement that she would stick to the shadows. It was far easier for her to remain out of sight than the bear, as she watched the newcomer approach.

This one is different.

"Metal?"

She whispered to herself.

No, living, but strong. You can't hear anything either, have you noticed?

Individuals who were of a lesser caliber were often easy to detect. Their thoughts bled into her own head, as though the wind hated them enough to give them to her. This one was different. She could hear no thoughts, or at the very least they carried themselves with a clear mind. It was never easy for her to tell, but she knew it meant one thing.

"Strong."

Don't be too hasty, stupid girl. The bear always says to stay put unless you absolutely can't.

"I don't like this."

She tugged her hood down, making sure it was still covering her head, and pulled on the ends of her burnt orange scarf in order to make sure it was tightly covering the lower half of her face.

"I don't like this."

Calm down, stupid girl, they'll hear you.

"She."

Are you sure?

"Not a man. Not this time."

She was more inclined to trust someone coming to talk, so long as they more no resemblance to those who always sought to hurt her.

Don't let your guard down. This one is still different.

"I don't like this. Something feels wrong."

She's wearing armor on her clothes. She's smarter than you, too.

Daal wore nothing but her usual thin gray attire beneath a thick, black robe. There were no hard layers underneath aside from the occasional blade, stashed into a fold of her clothing.

"What if she's here to fight?"

Haven't you learned by now? They almost always are, stupid girl.

She felt the rush of adrenaline pulse through her body, it made her feel more anxious as her breathing quickened. For now, she would try to stay out of sight as the bear greeted his guest.

The Major Grigory the Bear

 

[The Major]

FIRST CONTACT
MORALE: NEUTRAL
Grigory the Bear | Daal ​

The active scanners weren’t bob-a-job toys or discount brand second hand junk. Heart beats, especially of huge creatures, pumped and throbbed on her radar. It wasn’t perfect, activity in the forest being what it was, but the important thing was that nothing she did while on the job was anything less than deliberate. Revival had left her an eager novice once upon a time, but since Hoth and its shock. . . well, the universe just seemed to spin more slowly to her perceptions. As the suspect (no way to know who this was yet; Sybil wasn’t magic) spoke his opening line, rumble in his chest, ambush spot all meted out and angled for maximum effect— the Major walked another stride or so past a tree root. The cover it might provide could maybe, maybe, block a blaster bolt, but that was tenuous at best. Plus, if this was Big Bad Bear, then it wouldn’t probably make a difference.

Shepard turned, striking an anachronistic pose of vulnerability: a damsel with hand clutched to the level of her neck, still holding the cloak closed as the wind whipped this way and that. Or at least, she would have maybe seemed that damsel out of time and space if not for the uniform, accoutrements, gear, and deep blue eyes which lingered unblinking.

“I’m neither brave nor fool. . .” This trailed off in the wind as the creature moved off to relieve itself. Sybil blinked once. Slowly.

Thus began the Great Investigation of Saijo’s Rogue Knight. A career defining case for most agents; potentially a fine mission if Sybil could walk the tightrope carefully, with professional deliberation.

It, they, for the Agent found it best not to assume how this creature presented itself —investigation best unimpeded by assumption, sat down upon their haunches and produced a flask. They handled the pouring of drinks well for a being without proper opposable thumbs. Or maybe this one was special. Traditionally bears did not grow to this size. Nor did they speak Basic. Interesting. So far so good.

“If I were here to fight I wouldn’t be here alone, nor would I try to engage with you on any fair terms. Local testimony and your handiwork proves honorable attacks to be. . . well, pointless.” Her eyebrows raised at the smell of the vodka, perceivable even from this range and outdoors. What a brew it must have been. Homemade, definitely. Possibly enough to induce hallucinations.

“I’m sorry. I can’t drink alcohol right now. Medications,” explained She. Sybil looked briefly to her left and upwards, detecting something on the wind, nostrils flaring once as she inhaled like a beast catching something new. Her attention returned back to the Bear. Either indifferent to another presence or unable to pinpoint its source.

“Forgive me. I am quite cold. May we take shelter indoors? Should this be an imposition I will proceed to town for the night. Oh! Perhaps there’s a cantina or eatery you may join me at?” Her voice turned more conversational as her string of words continued, but the facial expression plastered upon that face gave away nothing.

 

[Grigory the Bear]

Grigory sniffed, trying not to be offended that his offer of drink had been rejected. He made good vodka, but who was he to say that this investigator wasn't telling the truth? Humans and their medications. Bah. Good vodka would cure anything short of death, or at least render you unable to care.

He downed both "shots" of the distilled liquor in quick succession, savoring the cleansing burn. For a being of his body mass, he was something of a lightweight, not having evolved from a branch of life that regularly consumed ethanol, but by his standards, the drinks he had poured were barely a pittance. His metabolism being what it was, he required enough calories in the average day to feed a human for a week. It was hard to beat liquor for its combination of calorie density and its ability to stay fresh for long periods of time, and his blend was especially hearty. The ABV was comparatively low, but it was well fortified with carbohydrates and essential nutrients. In short, the liter or so of vodka consumed was barely enough to get him tipsy, but it was more than enough to take the edge of his ravenous hunger.

Matryoshka wasn't a fan of it either, come to think of it. The cub was more than willing to eat his cooking, but not his choice in libations. He'd taken to supplying her with tea leaves. Whether she enjoyed the flavor or the ritual of preparation more was hard to say, but either way, it kept her happy. Grigory liked when his friends were happy. He had few enough of them these days.

"I would do the same in your shoes," he said. "Fair fight is one you failed to prepare for. As for warmth..."

He shrugged, his massive shoulders rising and falling like the tide.

"Not many cantinas will serve me. I don't fit through doors. I have shelter in the woods. Big and warm, homestyle cooking. My home away from home."

The warm part was true enough. His thick pelt meant that he couldn't handle much in the way of heat, but the cub was skinny and furless. She tended to shiver uncomfortably in temperatures that were comfortable to him, so he'd constructed a portable shelter on their last planet. The prefab structure was light enough that he could carry it from his ship on his cargo harness. It had sturdy plastoid paneling for walls, and a thick, waterproofed canvas roof to hold in heat and keep out rain. The floor was lined with carpets the pair had liberated from a previous target's safehouse: absurdly thick shag that felt almost like he was walking on his own pelt. A tarp protected them from the bare dirt, and they, in turn, protected the cub from the chill of the forest floor. It had all the amenities of home: heating, running water thanks to a portable bladder and a silent pump, comfortable furniture purchased from a local secondhand store, electricity, thanks to a generator, even a portable kitchen. Well, it was portable if you were a 5 meter tall bear that weighed nearly a tonne and a half. The range, table, and refrigerator were also purchases from the secondhand shop. They would probably have to be left behind when they picked up camp, but such things were always available if you knew where to look.

The shelter was a lot of work to set up, and keeping it hidden from overhead surveillance was a right pain in the ass. The cub also kept the inside uncomfortably warm, by his standards, but he preferred to sleep under the stars anyway. There was only so much you could do to civilize a bear, after all.

"If you come, I promise truce for the next twelve hours, at least. I make dinner for everyone. No long pork for you, mind. I have nerf steaks saved for visitors and special occasion. Some freshwater trout, caught only this morning, too. 'Surf and turf,' da? Believe it or not, old Grigory is excellent cook. You can keep your weapons, if it makes you feel better"

The bear didn't invite just anyone to supper. The way he saw it, this investigator was looking into his handiwork. It was only a matter of time before she found him, unless he and the cub left for a new hunting ground, and he still had work to do here on Saijo. Killing her was one way to handle the problem, but he disliked killing without a good reason. The cub wasn't especially fond of preemptive murder, either. Oh, he knew she could handle herself in a fight, especially once the red one came out, but she always felt bad about it, and that made him sad.

On top of that, he didn't hate the First Order. Oh, the corrupt bourgeoise at the top were fair game, just like all the others, but their mission, as near as he could tell, was to make lives better for people. They might not agree with his methods, but in the end, that was his mission as well.

Since this investigator was willing to talk, he was willing to listen. That didn't mean they wouldn't come to blows at some point, but he was a bear of his word. Twelve hours, no fighting, so long as she didn't break the truce. Longer, if they came to an agreement. And if not, dinner with an interesting guest was always an adventure worth having,

The Major | Daal

 

[Daal]

It's a ruse.

An act.

"She's trying to trick us?"

You don't know her.

"I don't like this."

Daal did not like the idea of sharing their home with a stranger, especially a stranger who intimidated her so, even as her panicked whispers escaped her lips. She had never felt security in her choice of shelter before she began traveling with the bear, and had become quite possessive of the idea of their warm place to sleep. Warm for her, at least. The bear would frequently lay outside, she suspected the fur made it difficult for him to stay cool in almost any climate, but she was oblivious to subtleties and would not ask if it was not brought up.

To the bear now, girl.

"Quickly."

Don't draw attention, move quietly.

Carefully, she slipped from behind her cover and strafed toward the bear, moving quickly and quietly along the narrow path they had rehearsed earlier in the day. It was dark, and she could not see the woman who had approached them. Dark clothing seemed to be the preferred attire for such gatherings.

It doesn't feel right.

"I don't like this."

She was not used to anticipation, it made her overwhelmingly anxious. Encounters were typically brief, where boastful men would show up with their flashy weapons and make pompous threats. It was satisfying to watch them paint the ground, more so when she got to watch the bear work. He had taught her the value of channeling her skillset into the right direction by this point, as long as she knew she wasn't hurting people who were innocent, she could close her eyes without seeing their gasping faces staring back at her. This new woman, however, was an unknown variable in this chaotic equation that had become her new life.

Stop here.

She took refuge behind a tree, six meters from the bear. Close enough her voice would carry, if she wanted to be heard by him, and positioned so she could be seen by him. The anxiety was quickly tearing her nerves apart, and her knees gave out beneath her as her scarf began to feel damp from her rapid, shallow breaths. If only she could calm her nerves with some of the leaves he had given her. Tea, he called it, and the fragrant aroma alone was enough to settle her mind during times like this. Anything to remind her that she wasn't where she used to be.

Calm down or you'll pass out, stupid girl. You don't want to lose control at a time like this.

"I'm fine. I-I'm okay."

Her lies to herself were hushed, but her mind was screaming.

Settle this.

"No h-he said not to--"

Slow your breathing, like he taught you.

"I--"

Don't act like you have a choice, here.

She quickly closed her eyes, and focused on her tea. The ritual of preparation, the aroma of the leaves, the patterns her eyes would curiously search for in the bottom of her empty cup. She liked to find meaning in the messy, scattered clumps of ground leaves, after the last of the satisfying brew had passed her lips.

Good girl, you're doing well this time.

Her breathing slowing, she inhaled deeply and let it out slowly.

"I'm okay now. I'm okay."

The Major Grigory the Bear

 

[Auld]

Isobel Nakano | Val Pellian | Aurelian Dash
​

“Pfft,” puffed Auld at the refresher door knocking. She burst out, leering at Val with the corners of her mouth twisted upwards in a disturbing rendition of a smile. These agents were a riot, not like the Sith intel elements back east. No humor. No mirth. But these guys out west. Well, something about the Rim made them seem more sly. As A.G figured this all out she started to bob in a silent laugh that neither touched that ugly grin or those copper eyes while approaching the pair.

“Making sure it works.” She hefted the device and suddenly plucked the cigarette from the First Order Agent’s mouth, placing it on her lips and taking a drag.

The plume of smoke wafted out in a manner as foul as her demeanor. “Wow. Lit and all. Cheers.” Pushing forward through the suite abruptly, Auld made herself comfortable on an armchair.

“So why this guy anyway. He, what, killed some agents and tortured one too slow on the draw. So what? Who hasn’t? You’d think you guys were used to buying it after the lizards gave you what for. And on top of that, you want to do this job while keeping the locals happy. What: imperials give a damn now?”

 

[Virginia Schnapp]

EQUATORIAL EXPRESS TERMINAL
FIRST CLASS BOARDING PLATFORM
Aurelian Dash | Adrian Cassidy | Auld | Val Pellian | Isobel Nakano | Delilah Graham
​

The evening air was chilly, almost biting. Virginia Schnapp, under the alias of Margaret "Margot" Shepard, stood a few meters away from the entrance to the first class boarding lounge in the smoking section, her elegant coat draped around her slender frame. For her first field operation, first class accommodations aboard a luxury magtrain and a wardrobe to match was not much to sneeze at. She had memorized her brief: Margot was a Coruscanti socialite with a family in the luxury textile industry, newly wed to John Shepard, with whom she was traveling aboard the Equatorial Express.

As she put out her cigarette in the ashtray, someone cleared his throat behind her. She turned to see a luggage porter. "Mrs. Shepard, " he said. "You and Mr. Shepard can board at your leisure. Your luggage has been loaded into your suite. At your request, we have not unpacked it." He offered her a key.

"Thank you," said Virginia. "My husband is very particular about how he hangs his shirts."

"I understand, madam," he said, bowing slightly. Virginia reached into her handbag and took a crisp, folded bill from her wallet and pressed into the porter's discreetly-waiting hand.

"I'll just go on board, then," said Virginia.

"You wouldn't like to wait for Mr. Shepard?"

Virginia flicked her cigarette butt into the disposal can and smiled broadly at the porter. "He's a big boy. He can find his own way. Do let him know where I've gone, would you please?" She gathered her coat collar around her throat and sashayed towards the train, where she was helped aboard by a member of staff. She boarded at the lounge car and took the glass of champagne that was offered. Other passengers had gathered and were in various stages of settling in. Isobel didn't know which, aside from Cassidy, were part of the First Order team, so she didn't linger and went directly through the car towards the passenger cabins until she found the Lapis Lazuli suite, so named for the deep blue linens on the large bed and the wall coverings. "Beautiful," she murmured.

She set the drink down on the dresser, untouched, and went to her suitcase which the porter had placed helpfully on one of the luggage holders at the foot of the bed. She unlocked the case and flipped the lid open, then carefully flopped her clothing from the bottom of the case to the top. Virginia's fingers traced along the bottom of the case until she found the tag, then she carefully pulled it along the tiny track, which after a moment clicked and released the false bottom of the case. She lifted the false bottom, verified that all her equipment was still there, and then took one of the devices and activated it. She traced around the room, scanning for listening devices, bugs, hidden cameras, and other surveillance devices.

When she was satisfied that the room was clear, she tucked the device away, secured the secret compartment, and unpacked her clothes into half the wardrobe before tucking her suitcase into the closet. Virginia drew her datapad and sent a message back to the suite: FROST. ARRIVED AT SUITE. NO LISTENING DEVICES. SAFE TO MEET IN CABIN.

 

[The Major]

FIRST CONTACT
MORALE: NEUTRAL
Grigory the Bear | Daal ​

The details were most fascinating. Illuminating, really. Sybil pondered the dichotomy of a people willing to profit from the work of a “savior,” as an occasional local referred to the Bear as, and yet they didn’t seem fit to offer him a place in their society. Not a single one modified their entrances or even set up a common area to applaud his effort. A pity. Nevertheless, she did not let this morsel of information color her thoughts. Perhaps the Bear had misspoke, or was humble, or would rather fight in his private shed away from the locals than attack a non criminal in the street. They seemed intent on continuously referring to a fight —specifically with this mention of a truce. Maybe that was their only means of understanding this world. Fight, kill, rip, tear. Why not for a creature that has made meat of so many. Only problem with his worldview was that he had no means to make the Major meat as well. Unfair assumption, she stowed that thought. Until she witnessed whatever the Bear had to show and listen to what the hunter of crime said, there was simply no point in deduction so early.

“Truce? I don’t understand why it’s needed seeing that I’m here solely to look around and ask questions; but yes, let us ‘truce’ if it makes you feel better. I’ve imposed upon you; it’s only fair that you impose upon me as befits your custom. Meter for meter, fair is fair, blood for blood.” Sybil would have finally broken a smile and taken a step forward to join the mysterious crime eater because, frankly, some more fresh fish sounded capital.

Then it came out of the woods —a spooky interloper determined not to be seen or heard. Naturally the sensors made short work of that intent. Audio receptors managed to catch some words as well. Not enough to judge any which way, however.

The Major expected there to be an entire platoon of followers of the Bear to be hiding in the woods, so another person being present wasn’t entirely unexpected. The heavy breathing being sensed wasn’t exactly a confidence booster however, because anyone that uncareful was clearly stressed; potentially stressed enough to do some rash. To acknowledge it aloud now could be folly: destroying that infernal tightrope Sybil was keen to make a success.

“Ah, one more thing: my name is ‘S.’ However, please feel free to use any moniker that is natural to you, Grigory.” It wasn’t a complete stall. Names could be useful. Names built trust. More importantly, the Bear might shed some light on whatever was happening six meters to his front.

 

[Isobel Nakano]

Isobel smirked. "Crab with caviar? My, do you have expensive tastes. Don't suppose you'd like a bottle or three of champagne with that." She picked up the menu book but, instead of looking through it, her eyes followed his gaze down the hallway towards one of the bathrooms in the suite. Their comlinks chimed in unison. "Maybe she's shy," she whispered, but the door down the hall opened. Isobel fell silent, flipped open the menu, and only looked up when the woman they only knew as Auld came padding back down the hallway.

Not for the first time, Isobel wondered what Auld was going here. She was an outsider, and although Graham had privately assured the team of her bona fides, Isobel thought she was a little strange. She felt a pang of irritation when she plucked Val's cigarette from his lips and took a drag. She couldn't quite put her finger on why other than that it was an intimate motion, startlingly intimate from a total stranger. She felt her stomach clench and she got off the desk and settled on a sofa opposite Auld .

She bristled at the woman's description of her compatriots and of her. She, Isobel, was the agent that was too slow on the draw. Perhaps this bizarre, copper-eyed woman thought Isobel deserved what she got. Her jaw tightened but she didn't reply at first. Instead, she flipped through the menu. "It's not personal," she said: a flat lie. "He runs a criminal enterprise that traffics in drugs and slaves and black market weapons. His removal from play will improve countless lives. And don't believe the press, Auld, the First Order has always given a damn, even if it's in fashion to pretend they used to be brutal thugs."

Isobel fell silent when her datapad chimed. She picked it up and examined it. "Frost has arrived to their suite. Still no word on the others." She set the datapad to the side. "We're ordering room service," she told Auld flatly. "Do you want something?" Isobel held the menu out to her and half-turned to look at Val. "I'm thinking waffles."

Val Pellian | Auld | Aurelian Dash | Virginia Schnapp | Adrian Cassidy | Delilah Graham​

 

[Grigory the Bear]

​

Grigory let out a longsuffering sigh.

Whoever this S was, it was clear she either didn't understand, or didn't appreciate, the unwritten laws of hospitality. And honestly? He wasn't all that inclined to teach her. When he gave his word of hospitality, the vilest of crime lords knew that it was more binding than the strictest of legal contracts. They were similarly bound by their word of good conduct in turn. That was just how things worked. To break one's word was to announce to all interested parties that you were not to be trusted. Sure, there were plenty of bosses who thought such anachronistic courtesies were beneath them, but for the most part, even the foulest of foes could meet safely under the banner of hospitality. It might not be a pleasant meeting, but it probably wouldn't come to blows.

Probably.

If this one didn't know or didn't care about the rules, her word could not be trusted. And if her word could not be trusted, then he wasn't about to bring her under his roof.

On top of that, Matryoshka was on the verge of acting rashly. He could feel the anxiety radiating off the cub; her instincts for such matters were perhaps a little oversensitive, but not without reason. That was one of the reasons he brought her along, after all. He expected the cub's initial reaction, but if she calmed down and come into the open, that meant their potential guest was probably safe. Instead, the red one spoke, and that was never a good thing. The red one did not care for little things like hospitality. Her sole purpose was to eliminate threats in the most efficient way possible.

No, this was not going to go well.

"Apologies, Ess," he said with a slight bow. "Things have come up. I keep my word on the twelve hours, but after that, do not come look for me again. Best for all."

He kept his tone as polite and formal as he was capable of, but what he wanted to do was spit into the dirt in disgust. Not at the investigator, necessarily, although she hadn't done anything to improve his mood. No, Grigory was annoyed that he would have to leave Saijo before his work was done. He hated leaving work unfinished, but it wasn't worth the risk to all future work to elsewhere to try to tie up a few loose ends here. There would always be more planets, more places to ply his trade. More cubs that needed his help.

Daal | The Major

 

[Daal]

Her initial anxiety had slowed, but her nerves were shot by the time the next exchange of word began. It was often like this, only so much stressful interaction was within her allowance for a single day.

You're still too worked up, just focus on your breathing, girl.

"Sh-should I-I stand up?"

I'll deal with this.

"No. Shut up--"

It seems he's going to leave.

"He sounds mad."

You're making a scene, can you blame him?

"I wasn't trying to--"

You never do.

"She sounded mad too--"

Everyone sounds mad to you, stupid girl.

I'll deal with this.

"No--!"

You won't get out of this easily if you do--

"Shut up!"

You're outmatched and you know it.

I'll deal with this.

"NO! STOP IT JUST SHUT UP!--"

She didn't even realize she had begun screaming from her own mouth. She was calm, then she wasn't, then she was, now she isn't. She cover her ears, hoping to drown everything out as she fell over from behind her cover, landing on her shoulder. She cried out in pain for a brief second, and quickly tried to recover as she haphazardly stumbled to her feet. The orange scarf had fallen from her face, the black hood had slid off of her head. Her realization was overwhelming, and her senses had already overloaded themselves. Looking to the direction of their guest, one last petty declaration left her lips. She had the resolve of a pouting child, with the voice of an adult.

"I-I don't like you!"

With that out of her system, she seemed to feel her head become light as her body became numb, and her vision darkened. As if it were happening in slow motion, her body fell to the ground with a dainty thud.

She had stood up too fast, and fainted.

The Major Grigory the Bear

 

[The Major]

DUSK ON SAIJO
MORALE: STRESSED
Grigory the Bear | Daal ​

A lot happened in quick sequence: not unlike when one was in the deep throes of a pitched battle. What did training and operation manuals dictate when under this kind of strain? Winging it. Too much information too quickly: exasperation, a sharp spike of pain spiraling in the Current, a scream, and now the dusk was something quite different.

"I-I don't like you!"​

Fair assessment. ​

Sybil didn’t rightfully know if she liked herself either. With how rapidly things were changing, the Investigator did not connect that the new interloper could be referring to themselves. Any epiphany on that would have to come during a quiet moment later.

Regardless of that, the moment this person’s body thudded upon the forest floor, Major Shepard considered her mission to be completed. Dead. At the very least, the phase in which she questioned the perpetrator was over. Good riddance. The report would be whatever it would be. At least now she could drop the cold veneer of Imperial stoicism and get down to the dirty business of using emotions to intuit a solution. Sybil’s mental defenses dropped, not anticipating that this could be a secondary trap, and she rushed over to the fallen person. Stopping a meter away since that might be a little too close without permission, the Investigator raised her hands towards Sir Bear to show that they were empty.

“Stars, are they critical?! Do they require professional medical help?” A pang of regret tickled in her head. “I feel responsible. My presence must have caused this disturbance. . .”

 

[Grigory the Bear]

​

Have you ever seen a giant sapient grizzly bear with an eye twitch? If so, please seek medical attention. The doctors in the clean white coats will be happy to take you away to the funny farm, where life is happy all the time.

In the meantime, Grigory was trying very, very hard to decide whether to laugh, cry, or throw up his paws in exasperation as his left eye began to tic madly. He wasn't frustrated with Matryoshka. She was a darling cub with a number of extant issues that he knew, deep down, he was sorely ill equipped to handle. Nursing her back to some semblance of health, both mental and physical, was a chore, but one he relished. Cubs like her needed help, and by the hammer and sickle of his forebears, he was going to give it.

It was this investigator that he didn't know how to handle. One minute, she was cold, calculating, and woefully ignorant of the customs and courtesies of the world she seemed to move through. The next, she was practically melting with concern for a stranger. He was reasonably concerned she was playacting, but the question was, which version was the act?

He pulled another, smaller flask from his cargo harness. This was the one he didn't share with strangers. This was the one filled with vodka that could pass for paint thinner, for those moments when he really needed a karking drink. He drained it in one long pull, liquid fire scorching his goozle on the way down. Bipeds were far too complicated for his tastes, once they grew up. He couldn't make heads or tails of this one, and he was far too sober to try.

What the hell. Might as well roll with it, see what happens.

"Yes, help," he said woodenly. He was as bad an actor as he was a liar, and on both fronts, there were kitchen appliances with more talent. "Please, save her. Oh, the ursanity. Er, the humanity."

The Major | Daal

 

[Aurelian Dash]

Magrail Train | Aft Refreshment Car
-
​

Aurelian sighed inwardly. These sorts of rigs always made him feel out of place, a street rat among the upper class. It wasn't that he didn't clean up well of course, he'd received numerous passing glances by those of the fairer sex on his way through the passenger cabins. More was the fact that it was so far from the streets he knew. A field agent first, Agent Dash had been well embedded in the underworld of Terminus. Thankfully for this operation there was hardly a possibility of being recognized, at least by those in the cabins he currently occupied. Security was another matter. It's why the thick rimmed glasses rest on the bridge of his nose.

Looking over them, he nodded at the barman. "Whisky, whatever you've got that isn't bottom shelf." A brief moment passed, the barman looking confused as he glanced between Aurelian and the offerings which rest behind the bar. Taking a brief look himself, Aurelian realized his mistake. This was a luxury Magtrain. There was no bottom shelf whisky. "Uh, let's go with that one." he pointed. The bottle retrieved was a dark one, the bounty within barely visible through the tinted glass. "Rocks?" A shake of his head indicated in the negative. A deep amber liquid poured forth into the large tumbler, resting with subtle smell of wood and leather as the oils slipped slowly down the glass' curved walls. Offering a datachit, a quick transaction was made and Agent Dash left the bar with drink in hand. He'd arrived by a different way, boarding the train almost a full day and a half prior. A Mister Rogavald according to his cooked documentation. Brushing down the front of his suit, Agent Dash made steps towards the train platform. Afterall, they weren't quite ready to depart this layover. A quick look at his wrist chrono told him it was time to disembark anyway.

A few minutes later he'd disembarked the train and wandered through the halls of the adjacent hotel. Less wandered. The room he was looking for in particular wasn't difficult to find. Raising his hand to the door, he knocked firmly. Two sharp raps followed by a third, softly. If the others had managed to arrive already they'd know who was knocking.

Auld | Isobel Nakano | Val Pellian​