Murder in the Clouds (Open)

[punchsmith]

03:50 hours. An early night for a professional like Dev, who needed no glasses - just drank straight from the bottle. Truthfully, he'd been asleep since 23:00, hoping to make an investment to the department of sleep debt. He dreamed of the ocean, just off Coronet Harbor. Faces in the crashing waves. The pink sunset giving way to a red-curtained sky that enveloped him and shrunk to smother his form. He awakened without a gasp, just a headache. The familiar hum of his alarm rattled the glass top of his nightstand, and his eyes focused on the bars cast across the ceiling above him.

His comm sounded moments later. Raising a lazy arm, he tapped two fingers onto it.

"Bexel."

"Yeah, I know," a familiar laconic voice. "We got a live one -- well, he's a dead one -- but it's fresh. Zahn's Travel Agency, across from the --"

"-- Candy Store, N4 sector. Be right there."

The voice was P-A1, his floating security droid. Better known as Pal. He kept tabs on the goings on and gave his master the scoop before the proper authorities had a chance to intervene. The proper authorities, Dev shook his head at the thought. Nothing but a gang of regal crooks in black and red, he reckoned. As the Cloud City native rose to his feet, the sudden blood rush to his head made him buckle for a moment. He donned his traditional late evening "we gotta get out of here" garb -- black pants, gray t-shirt, and long burgundy armorweave trench coat. Hopping into his boots, the PI exited his sleeping quarters and made a break for his garage.

The cobalt blue room was, as its owner would have you believe, a purposeful mess of equipment. In the center of it all was his heavily modified burnt orange M-31 Airspeeder. Mounting his ride, the garage door leading out into the floating city raised and welcomed him into the violet sky.

Dev arrived on the scene mere minutes before the Cloud City PD got to see him kneeling over the corpse and speaking to Pal, who was scanning the crime scene.

"The victim -- N'ax Xevos, head of Xevos Exports. Devaronian. Male, Mid 40s. He died crumpled and bleeding in the alley outside Zahn's. Severe laceration ran from ear to ear. Missing his left horn. Do run some scans on that, I want to know how long it's been missing..."

"BEXEL!" Barked Sergeant Bransen, cigar hovering between his lips as if by magic.

"Sorry boys, not me this time," he smirked and stood up above the corpse.

Cloud City PD swarmed the scene. Dev felt a shoulder bump him as the cops combed the alleyway. Pure defiance and contempt for a man like him, he reckoned.

"Think you can finger this one out from under us? I don't see your badge, pal," Bransen continued his verbal offensive, heavy boots making their way towards Dev.

"Oh I'm not Pal, that's Pal," he pointed to his droid. "First Order's on the way too, methinks."

"They would be. This is our case -- "

"Until they decide otherwise," Dev offered. "I'm not so sure you're long for this investigation."

"It's a formality! Of course they'll be on their way as soon as they see we got this locked down. Bexel, don't think you can play both sides again. Not this time. You got here first - fair is fair - and now we're here to lift the burden of an honest day's work off your weary, alcoholic shoulders."

What they did not know is that Dev wasn't the first person here - Pal had picked up a heat signature moments before his master's arrival. Someone looted the corpse. Not well, but they still took something of value. Dev knew this, and he also had something of value on his person.

"Right. Well, you have fun with that. I'm going to leave before the Aristocrats get here, but tell them I said hi."

"Sure they'll be glad to hear it," Bransen muttered and threw his cigar down at the crime scene.

"Nice," Dev muttered and stalked off towards The Candy Store, a kitschy old cantina near the crime scene. He would keep an eye on the scene from a safe distance while Pal would scan for more info re: their early bird.

 

[punchsmith]

If you followed the smoke signals into the Candy Store, you'd find our man Dev. He had sequestered himself into the front corner of the Candy Store, his vantage point wide enough to spot the police goings on in the alley. In his left hand was a cigarette which he gingerly ashed out the Store's open window. In his other hand was a long flat datapad that he was studying on-and-off. The coffee at this place was battery acid, but it also did the trick to aid in his multi-faceted focus. Work was slow this month. Dev wasn't going to let this one slip by like a Quarren in the rain.

"Nother cup, Bex?" Jaana the Ugnaught waitress offered, her shoulders barely passing the table.

"Please," Bexel grabbed his mug and slid it over to her. "Bet you can dissolve a body in that pot."

"Yeah? Climb in and we'll see," She said, pouring just too much for him to sip without spilling.

They shared a mutual exhausted glare and he resumed his research. Turns out, N'ax Xevos was the foremost collector of Galactic Civil War mementos. A preternaturally gifted archaeologist, he later left academia and built an empire of antiquity. People loved the past. Xevos trafficked in it. To the surprise of no one, N'ax Xevos was involved in the local criminal element. He had tried to worm his way up the echelon of Exex, but the powers that be saw to it that a glorified historian would not share a seat at their table. He had a wife and two kids, but they lived closer to Port Town than the Concourse. To boot, his son was in First Order custody for vandalizing a plaque. N'ax had living quarters above his cavernous shoppe/exhibit which stood, a tall albino monolith, on the ritzier side of the Tourist District.

What was he doing on skid row?

Dev shook his head and flicked his cig out the window. He drew in one final chug of joe, flipped a few credits into the empty coffee mug and headed to his next stop: Xevos' Exports.

---

The persimmon sun crept across the Cloud City. The rounded skyscrapers of The Concourse stood bright and proud as the sun illuminated its noble crown of commerce - except for the lower levels. It always took a little bit longer to hit the lower levels. The less money'd didn't get the privilege of being the first to meet its glow.

Bexel caught the horizon through the haze of his cigarette, his burnt orange M-31 damn near camoflauge with the sunrise. His comm plinked on the patchpocket of his long coat.

"Pal calling," came the voice. "That missing horn was a fresh slice. Whoever got there before me, was the one who took it off. I pulled up recent security photos and it seems he had his left horn pierced and decorated with a green Corusca gem. I can confirm the gem was on his person before his death."

"But why go through all the trouble of sawing the damn thing off? And right at the stump, no less?" Dev scowled, keeping his eye on the sky.

"I'm afraid that is not for me to opine," Pal droned.

"Yeah, great. I'm heading to Xevos. Go home and back yourself up."

"Will do, sir. Over and out."

The orange speeder gently spun in a landing sequence around the corner from the big white building that was Xevos' Exports. The streets were barren but for the sweepers and the droid kiosks setting up shop. Dev hopped out and made a tentative path towards the front entrance. He could hear a consistent banging within ear shot. Turning the corner, he could see where it came from. A tall figure, Trandoshan, in a long black coat, banged - nay, punched - at the sealed durasteel door to Xevos'. Dev paused behind the bushes and studied the man. It did not take long for two things to happen: for Dev to decide he would not use the main door, and for the large dark-clad Trandoshan to notice a peeper in the bushes.

 

[punchsmith]

Trandoshan and Dev locked eyes. Dev remained, frozen in the bush. The Trandoshan's pupils narrowed to thin slits focused on Dev's form. He hissed and stalked the ten meter distance between himself and his prey, intent on something violent. In his mind Dev rifled through a million possible answers to throw at the towering beast before his claws reached his neck, and settled on the old chestnut of 'process server'. If it worked.

"Same team pal, same team!" Dev hollered, hands up in surrender as the big man grabbed him by the lapels.

"What kinda team?" the Trandoshan growled, his meaty paws pulling Dev close to his horrific-smelling maw.

"Subpoena! Tet Kova, process server! I'm after this guy for his wife! Guy's 30 days delinquent on child support! Put me down!" Dev continued the routine, talking at ninety miles a minute.

Raising a single eyebrow, the Trandoshan lowered Dev to the floor, brushing off his coat. Dev produced a datapad containing this phony ID - which he had at the ready for most occasions he was about to get mauled - and brought it up to meet the man's line of vision. The datapad contained a phony summons to Cloud City Superior Court. Needless to say, he used this one often. The beast looked at the pad, then to Dev aka Tet. Then back to the pad. He handed it back to Dev, who graciously yanked it back into his coat pocket.

"Now you tell me who you are or I'll have to lift you off your feet," Dev joked, the voice of Tet more of a nasally salesman vibe. "It's a joke."

The Trandoshan barely chuckled. "Zajak."

"Guy owe you money or something?"

"Not money. Heirloom. I come knockin', but no one answers. Next step, I try the wall. Stay out of my way or I'll use you as a battering ram."

"Hey buddy, you don't have to worry about me getting in your way. In fact -- I might be able to help you, if you can help me," Dev lowered his head at Zajak, hoping to register an accordance of complicity with the man.

"How can you help me?" Zajak scoffed and stalked back to his position as professional door knocker.

Dev sighed and err'd on the side of patience. Let him knock, let him beat the door -- and he did just that. Dev saw a path towards gaining a big ol' accomplice if he played his cards right. As Zajak continued his routine without missing a beat, Dev slinked off to his speeder. Popping open the trunk, he rifled through the detritus until stumbling across his pocket-sized slicer kit. And a Relby K-75 in its pistol setting. And the requisite stock and extra barrel, which he stuffed into his inner pockets. Just in case.

"Zajak," Dev called out, walking the distance between the bushes and the door. "Stop before the police come by - and they will, very shortly."

"Hrmph," he grunted -- but let up off the door. "How do you know that?"

"Just a hunch," Dev leaned over to the control panel and began to work his magic.

"You say you're a process server, huh?" Zajak crossed his arms and began to finally sense that something was amiss.

"Oh yeah, I do this stuff all the time!" He responded, matching just the right wires to open the door in broad daylight. "In you go, and hurry."

Both men huddled into the tiny doorway that led into a cavernous warehouse of ancient antiquity. Dev was focused on re-sealing the door, but his attention was being sapped by the sheer majesty of the artifacts on display. Zajak was less impressed, immediately canvasing the area like he already knew the place. Dev just shook his head and continued resealing the door. Breaking and entering? Without accepting payment from a client? With a Trandoshan heavy in tow? Am I crazy??

 

[Jaster Awaud]

Inside the room as [member="Bexel"] and his Transdoshian friend walked through the door they were greeted by a large Armored individual that was currently holding a blaster revolver at the doorway. His red glowing eyes light up the dark room as it would be the first thing the two saw ash they broke in. Other then that his body was covered in armor, there was no visible breaks where most armor held the body suit that was underneath. He was not expecting to see anyone after his friend was killed so when the door opened, he institutionally pulled the revolver out to protect himself. Once he realized it was not the person he feared he dropped the weapon to a non threatening position. "Well your not FO Police, how can we help you?"

It was easy to see that the room was being searched and the man in the head to toe armor was not alone. Beside him in the corner of the room still searching the room, it was a [member="H.A.R.D.L.I.N.E"] Droid. Paper and furniture was flipped and scattered across the floor as if they did not hold the info they were looking for. Jaster only held the pistol to the ground as his wrist was bent down and pointing the weapon down though still had his arm extended, ready to shoot if need be.

 

[H.A.R.D.L.I.N.E]

HARDLINE had been passing himself off as a droid mercenary in an attempt to get access to some much needed information in Cloud City, the opportunity to get this information was given to him when [member="Jaster of Clan Awaud"] hired him, and as if by magic they needed to hit the same place. The Artifact warehouse was full of ancient artifacts, but HARDLINE was not interested in artifacts unlike everyone else in the city, he was interested in information, documents, papers.

There was critical intel on a certain group of people that HARDLINE had a certain interest in located in this warehouse. So when given the opportunity to break in and loot the place with impunity he jumped at the chance. This was illegal, but HARDLINE did not care much about the legality of the actions, he had a mission and no laws were going to stop him from completing it. He rummaged through filing cabinets, taking images of each and every file he could,

He intentionally made it look like he wasn't actually locating anything of note, as what Jaster was looking for was much different than what he was looking for. Jaster was looking for dirt on the FO, that he would not find here. The group which operated this warehouse was at odds with the FO. However he was under the impression that there would be intelligence collected by this group here. There was not, that is not what this group did, they had much greater concerns than simply the FO.

As the two intruders entered, Hardline closed up the filing cabinets, before moving over to the group.

"I found nothing boss. We could try the larger archive in the back, but im not entirely sure we have the time. Your call." He said, using the voice of a man long dead, a sort of tribute to a man he greatly respected.

He then turned to [member="Bexel"] and his compatriot. Giving a simple nod in recognition.

 

[Jack-ei]

Jack-ei wasn't the usual sort to find themselves going near an antique warehouse. He cared very little for the past, as did his entire species. But, ultimately, that was why he was scoping the place out. This place, this "Cloud City" had people snooping around in places they had no business snooping. Artifacts from the Sociph's home planet were said to be stored in the warehouse that just got busier. Sociph artifacts were just a fancy way of saying weapons, dangerous ones at that. It wasn't that he much cared that someone had gotten hold of the things, he didn't use them often himself, but it was who had made them. His father forged the best weapons on his home planet of Antisoch, it was probably the only reason the old Sociph was still alive. It had taken a large amount of work for Jack-ei to get off Coruscant, even more to make it here. But through his travels he was leaving bread crumbs for someone special. That someone would eventually be led here, all he had to do was make sure there was something to find.

That's why the four figures in the warehouse annoyed him so. They got in the way, tremendously. He was quite sure one was a private investigator operating in the area. A serial killer should avoid those whenever possible, even if he was a few planets away from his crimes. He was fairly certain that the First Order didn't currently have a bounty out on him, just the Alliance. Or was it the Republic now? Whichever they called themselves. In any case it didn't much matter. What mattered was that there wasn't a chance of sneaking in through the front door that the Trandoshan had been hammering on for an hour or so. Vents? Maybe. All that really mattered was that he get in there before the authorities arrived. Sociph weapons were highly illegal, to those that even knew what they were. Most governments took one look at what they did to an individual and labeled them inhumane, whatever that meant. He wasn't certain, but he was fairly sure the First Order had been facilitating trade of the tools for some time, Cloud City was the exception.

With practiced grace and the fluidity of an acrobat he was up the side of the building swiftly. Just as he had expected there was a ventilation shaft on the roof of the building. Air was important to a city in the clouds, moving air kept it up. That didn't keep the air inside the shaft from being stale and musty. Not unexpected considering what was inside the warehouse. Old things smelled old, nature of the beast. Thankfully there was a grate directly overhead of the group, it provided a small amount of sight around them. At least he could learn a thing or two about why they were there and maybe get a little recon on the area.

[member="H.A.R.D.L.I.N.E"] | [member="Jaster of Clan Awaud"] | [member="Bexel"]

 

[punchsmith]

Dev had his back to the other two while he sealed the door, altering the lock sequence from the inside to buy them more time. The First Order was absolutely on the way -- that is if Bransen didn't get there first. All Dev knew was that between the two, he'd rather be dealing with his former boss. If there was some shred of smarts inside that old drunktank's brain, he would be buying Dev enough time to garner some level of perspective for both of them. Having sealed the door, he turned and - seeing the man with the glowing red eyes - abruptly raised his hands.

"Haha, ah, hah, hello there," Dev chuckled, feigned fright and continued the charade of Tet Kova. "Tet Kova, process server. Is Mr. Xevos in? Do you work here?"

Meanwhile, far in the depths of this museum/warehouse, Zajak could be heard making a large mess of things. Boxes of antique outfits, texts, weapons were spilling onto the ground - causing a sizable racket throughout the cavernous building that went more up than out. How did N'ax get this stuff in here? Surely not the door. There had to be a considerable loading bay below them. No doubt the levels underneath the Concourse were being used to facilitate his operations.

"That's my assistan.." Dev was interrupted by more crashing. "I don't know the man."

He was again interrupted by yet another figure, this time a droid. It was clear both the man with the glowing red eyes and said droid were not in fact housekeeping. There were now four of them, and Dev knew not one of them was going to invest in his services, so he was left with more questions than answers. And then, another interruption on Dev's wrist comm.

"Sir, I'm picking up five heat signatures in the building and no response. Are you all right?" Pal piped in.

At this point all Dev could do was sigh deep and respond in the affirmative.

"A-okay, pal. Back yourself up already and meet me at the office."

Turning back to the intruders:

"I trust you killed the security cameras before you decided to ransack the place."

Wait a second. Five?

[member="Jack-ei"] [member="H.A.R.D.L.I.N.E"] [member="Jaster of Clan Awaud"]

 

[Jaster Awaud]

The Mandalorain lowered his weapon as soon as he realized [member="Bexel"] was no more a threat then the paint on the wall. It will cause him a headache, but he will survive. It was at this point that [member="H.A.R.D.L.I.N.E"] spoke to him. The mechanical holster that was attached to his thigh cuddled the weapon as it was put away and the weapon disappeared into his thigh. "Damn, that man really knew how to hide his goods, he has to have the file somewhere."

It was at this point that Dev mentioned something about the security cameras, Jaster did not even look, he continued to lift up a heavy desk with ease. "First thing I did, even bypassed the Security Silent Alarm and Deadlocked the Security Matrix," He set down the desk and open the cabnet next to it before pointing to the door he came through, "The only thing we did not turn off was the Active Alarm, cuz you know, we were not going to use the front door."

He looked to Hardline, "Lets rap this up, the scaly Kark probably did not hide it here, and last thing I need is the FO on our tails."

[member="Jack-ei"]

 

[H.A.R.D.L.I.N.E]

"You got it." The droid said in reply.

Hardline had almost everything he needed, however he was disappointing that he could not get ahold of more information from the archive, however he had as much as he needed. There were documents a plenty on an ancient evil that could not be put into simple words. They were the object of legends, A legend Hardline was trying to kill. However he had not told anyone in this room of his plans, in fact he had pretended to be a dead man even to get into this building, calling in a favor the man whose murder [member="Bexel"] was investigating held with [member="Jaster of Clan Awaud"], faking some bantha poodoo about FO intel in this warehouse.

The droid sensed something strange in his sensors, he was able to detect life forms beyond just pure vision, and there was something amiss. The vent above them had a strange heat signature, the comment from Bexel confirmed his suspicions. Hardline used his grapple launcher to rip the vent from the ceiling, either the man would fall out or be revealed to the rest of them.

"Intruder detected, lets see what he has to say for himself." He said, faking an odd tic that is common on less advanced combat droids, in which low level system information is said in a basic highly robotic voice, before switching back to the voice he had been using. The initial switch was accompanied by a high pitched two tone chime similar to that used by short range radio communicators.

Hardline put a lot of effort into his cover stories, failure to do so could reveal him to any skilled observer. He had fake tics, behaviors, and quirks that could make him to appear to be almost any kind of droid should push come to shove, and his strange model allowed him to blend into thses positions with great effect. It was very difficult to figure out who he really was without prior knowledge of him and his purpose. He liked things that way.

[member="Jaster of Clan Awaud"] [member="Bexel"] [member="Jack-ei"]

 

[Jack-ei]

He was lucky he had good reflexes. If he didn't he would have gone tumbling down to the floor. Thankfully he was strong enough to hold himself in the vent as the grating underneath him was wrenched away. It was strenuous, this much was true.

"Evening." His voice was slightly ragged as he forced his breath out through a clenched body. Years of being an acrobat payed off as he was able to let go of his position in such a way that he allowed the momentum of his body and his core to twist himself into a roll. It was a staggered release, trade secret that wasn't a secret if someone knew the basics of gravity. You want to really spin in midair? Taper off your grips. Let your left side release slightly before your right. On top of the flair of a nice little spin it allowed him to hit the ground at more of an angle. He was good, but a straight drop would hurt no matter how good at falling he was.

He dispersed the shockwave of the fall by smacking the ground with his palms as he tucked into the roll. The little pop up at the end wasn't really intentional, he just had a large amount of momentum and he didn't want to sprawl forward. Throwing his hands to the side? Now that was a little something he did for himself. He gave the group a wide showman grin, most found it unnerving when he smiled. Individual's in the galaxy are hardwired to sense danger. Jack-ei was utterly unpredictable and people knew after taking one look at his toothy grin that it could just as easily change into something much more sinister.

"So. Looks like we're all breaking into the same place. That's always a fun time, joke worthy almost. You, droid, make sure you record this I have a feeling it's going to be a killer on Coruscant." Killer on Coruscant, funny, that was the article title posted about him awhile ago. What are the odds?

[member="H.A.R.D.L.I.N.E"] | [member="Jaster of Clan Awaud"] | [member="Bexel"]

 

[punchsmith]

This was getting confusing; now there were five of them. Frustrated, feeling adrift from his task at hand, and now facing an onslaught of possible suspects, Dev closed his eyes tight for a moment. The room was getting busy, and he was losing focus underneath the cacophony of events that continued to unfurl. And here he was -- a blue collar stiff playing at a blue collar stiff.

"Kriff this," he muttered and slapped a joint onto his dry lips. "I'm done with the games." His posture straightened and he threw off the nervous energy of Tet, returning to his natural attitude. Sparking the joint's activation tip with his fingers, he drew a long pull and exhaled the delicious green herb into the air.

"Alright boys, now we're all met I'm gonna get down to business before someone else decides they want to join the party. Whether any of you know it or not, N'ax Xevos is dead. Found throatslit in an alleyway this morning. Missing his left horn - an act of dishonor in Devaronian culture or some guff like that."

He took another deep pull: "And when the First Order comes sniffing with their tiny prim hairless noses, you can bet your asses that all this junk will be sitting pretty in the FO Palace, or worse, some food-shaped capital ship. Unless I can figure it out first. Now I have no stake in this, yet, but I been around enough to know he's been working this town as long as my family has been here and I'll be damned if those stuff-shirt cretinous xenophobes whitewash the hard work of Mr. Xevos."

He studied the droid - he was no mere droid. He was a terrific actor, though. The mannerisms, the demeanor that betrayed his subtext, was quite impressive. But there's an uncanney valley between labor or protocol droids and the hard traveled kind that a keen eye can spot a mile away. Fortunately, Dev had two of the keenest. White Zajak continued his curious rampage, Dev continued his verbal one.

"You're not finding what you need because you're not looking in the right place. He's got a second hidden office. Bottom floor, presumably with its own repulsor lift entry through Port Town. I don't know why I didn't think of that first, but we'll chalk it up to the hour of the day and, uh, this," he held up his joint.

"Now I'm done. Come with me or don't, I don't give a bantha's backside either way."

[member="Jack-ei"] [member="Jaster of Clan Awaud"] [member="H.A.R.D.L.I.N.E"]

 

[Jaster Awaud]

Jaster nearly dropped the object he was holding, mostly ignoring what [member="Bexel"] was saying. That was until the man stated there was another hiding place that slimy creature he called a Partner, was hiding stuff. At that point he quite literally pushed [member="H.A.R.D.L.I.N.E"] aside so he could get a better walking path as well as bumping into [member="Jack-ei"], a man he totally ignored and walked face to face with Bexel.

"I don't care if these trinkets get blown to high hell, this man had very delicate information about the First Order that I would very much enjoy getting my moneys worth," The pistol that retracted to his inner thigh popped back open and showed itself. "Now would you be kindly to show me this second hiding spot before the Police or First Order goons arrive by the alarm you and gymnast back there most likely activated, the man was a pragmatist, so assume the government goons already know."

He looked back to the droid and the crazed weirdo who tumbled in through a window, "Hardline lets go, its probably got a lock and your the fastest one here," he looked to Jack-ei, "Ballerina, you look good enough, don't make me drag you so follow up, we will probably need your help." The man looked strong enough to take on the killer, after all he was covered head to toe in armor with no gaps at a glimpses.

 

[Jack-ei]

He did so desperately want to kill that man. Quite some time had passed since he had been on his home planet where everyone smiled through their teeth and were hypervigilant. He couldn't help but think of the degradation of evolution that caused someone to both ignore and bump into someone. If one were going to engage in physical contact with someone, awareness was something that could very easily help keep them alive. Maybe Jack-ei had daggers hidden on his person that he could have taken out in a flash? Granted he did, but he chose not to as he did have a purpose for being here. This secondary area was a place he probably needed to get to. Better the man suited up in armor get in the way of any traps. Besides, once he found the weapons one could probably punch through it. It was worth a try at least. His brother favored armor, what better message than an armored dead body?

His smile maintained its cheerfulness, but his eyes were something he could never change adequately. There was a darkness in the eyes of the Sociph. A malevolence at worse and an empty void at best. For the life of him he could never change what people saw when they look him in the eye. So, more often than not he would squint when he smiled in an attempt to make the near black orbs as small as possible. Another thing he and his brother shared. The eyes of an entire species of killers.

Not wanting to let the offense go unmocked he lifted up one of his feet and slammed it back down next to the other one. It was the most flamboyant stand at attention that any would ever see. With his hand he waved it about and practically smacked his forehead with the back of it in a salute.

"Yes ser!" He wasn't one for taking orders. He fully planned on getting his pound of flesh for this embarrassment. The thought brought a smile to his face.

[member="Jaster of Clan Awaud"] | [member="Bexel"] | [member="H.A.R.D.L.I.N.E"]

 

[H.A.R.D.L.I.N.E]

There was apparently another office, if that actually had FO intel he would be impressed, he just made it up originally, but if this guy was doing that on the side that was even better. When stories lined up it made things so much easier, especially when they were unplanned. It gave him a bit of cover to hide behind in the event that these guys started to get suspicious that a dead man was calling in a favor. That would be less than optimal, he could not risk blowing his cover, if that were to happen bad things would have to happen. Very bad things.

"On it Boss." The droid said in response to Jasters command.

He began running downstairs into the warehouse, running faster than any normal man would have the right to, quickly running along the walls scanning them to find anything strange or out of the ordinary. Eventually he found something but he had no idea how to access it, there was a small recess in the wall, something was hidden behind it, it was probably the "office" that [member="Bexel"] had been talking about. He stood in front of it, inspecting it closely.

"I found something in the wall, cant find a way in though, I presume our new friend would know the way in?"

The man probably was not a process server as he said he was, he was probably something much more, his demeanor betrayed him, he was much more calm and controlled than the average process server, and he definitely knew more than one too. He also spent a longer than acceptable time inspecting HARDLINE ideally somebody would just accept that he was a mercenary droid, but this man was suspicious of something. Whether he knew his purpose or not was the real question in this case. He would have to keep an eye on him just in case he tried to do something stupid.

[member="Jaster of Clan Awaud"] [member="Jack-ei"]

 

[punchsmith]

"Oh hey look at that, a big man with a gun. That work for you often?" Dev scoffed, smirked and marched off to follow the mercenary droid. "If I had a credit for every time some punk Mando decided to flash his kriffing piece my way, I'd have enough to clear my rent for a whole cycle."

He was running at the mouth, feeling the usual undiagnosed morning headache from overstimulation, and had no more fracks left in his hidden pockets. Getting his lights knocked out would be a luxury. As the droid continued its pursuit, Dev followed as close behind as a tired human could -- about fifty feet away. If he was lucky, the keys he stole from the body would match up with the secret door. If not, he would just be charged with tampering with evidence. Zajak ran into the middle of the path, startling Dev and stopping him in his tracks.

"Find what you were looking for?" Dev asked. The Trandoshan proudly brandished an old rifle, riddled with dust: a Relby-v10 mortar gun. Surely it was only good for melting down and building a new rifle, but Zajak's smile was ear-to-ear. Dev had never seen a happy Trandoshan before, but today was all about surprises.

"Mm-hmm," The man grunted, his tongue hissing with delight as he cradled the antique. "A few tweaks, and I will make my family proud. Thank you, human. I will see myself out now."

And with that, Zajak stalked off past Jaster and Jack-ei. Dev shook his head. "He's gonna need more tweaks than that," he continued onward, down a repulsorlift and up to the small recess. Meeting Hardline at the door, he rifled through his inner coat pockets for the unusual set of magkeys he stole from the corpse of N'ax. He pressed the magkey into the recess and quickly pocketed the key once more. The wall chirped in the affirmative, but nothing happened. Suddenly, a book shelf at the far end of the basement lowered into the ground, revealing a darkened walkway that would no doubt lead to more secrets.

"Lando Calrissian's secret vault over here," Dev gestured, thumbing at the entrance.

Down the dark tunnel was another security access point, no doubt requiring more identification. Along the hallway, the dark gave way to low orange hued foot lamps. Framed holo art from across the galaxy sat on the walls. The pieces glowed a kaleidoscope of blues, reds, greens, giving the enclosure a psychedelic flavor.

 

[Jack-ei]

"I like it. It's homey." His grin came back. In the walk to the room he had allowed his mask to slip and his face to deaden. What he did to keep up appearances. Part of him was smiling in amusement at the Mandalorian with a gun line. He'd have to tell his brother that when he got the chance and they weren't trying to kill each other. This wasn't to say he didn't appreciate the Mandalorian culture, at least the ancient version. They were skilled warriors and kept the galaxy on its collective toes. He liked that. Then again, was the armor compensating for something? Another topic to bring up to his brother, though he probably wouldn't appreciate it. What's a little banter amongst family?

He let himself look at the art that lined the walls. His people didn't have anything like that. Art and the making of art was an emotional and passionate process. Something that the Sociph were incapable of. Jack-ei was forced to stop when he reached the far panel, lacking the drive to do anything constructive with it. Better he let his little tricks remain a secret. For now he was an eccentric acrobat in a place he wasn't supposed to be. If the weapons he was after were here they'd be as deep in the building as they could be placed. Which just so happened at the moment to be a secretive room hidden behind a bookshelf. Take it as it comes.

[member="Bexel"] | [member="H.A.R.D.L.I.N.E"] | [member="Jaster of Clan Awaud"]