Junction No Disintegrations | BSS & THR Junction of Nar Vaadu Super Hex and Bothawui

[Shego Striga]

RELEASE THE HOUNDS
Objective A1

Kito | Dominique Vexx | Xandyr Carrick | Sibylla Abrantes | Kalantha | OPEN

V.E.N.O.M | H.Y.D.R.A​

The Senate's great doors thundered under the Black Sun's assault, a cacophony of detonations and shouted orders that drew Jedi and guards like flies to a carcass. Perfect. Let them smash and roar—Shego had no need for spectacle. She found her own way in, quieter, sharper, inevitable.

An unlatched servant's window. A forgotten hall. A shadow behind the velvet curtains. The Serpent slipped in, her pupils reduced to fine needles as every detail sharpened in her vision. Crimson-armored guards patrolled ahead, their boots hammering the marble. She ducked into a sealed office, running gloved fingers across the door pad. With a subtle tug of the Force, the panel hissed open. She slid inside, silent as breath, closing the world behind her.

Their sweep drew nearer. She waited. A commotion further down the hall scattered them, their armored tread clattering away. Shego rose from her crouch, pulling free a vial of VENOM. The liquid churned restlessly, as if eager to be loosed. She armed the trigger, and the glow inside came alive.

"VENOM neurotoxin—field test one," she murmured into her recorder, her voice dry and amused. "Live deployment in...oh, call it a target-rich environment. Let's see what we catch in the net."

She slipped into the corridor, spotted the knot of prisoners downrange. Senators, aides, silken robes gathered like frightened livestock. A guard line braced in front of them, crimson helms gleaming. Shego's lips curved faintly.

The vial spun through the air, momentum igniting its volatile core. It gleamed brilliantly mid-arc, glowing like a shard of emerald lightning, then burst against the floor in silence.

The cloud came alive in its place. A fluorescent-green storm surged outward, curling tendrils racing into chambers, seeping under doors, smothering every breath.

The screams came almost instantly. Then the coughing. Guards staggered as their helmets fogged from within, filters overwhelmed by the compound. Senators' eyes bulged red as capillaries ruptured. Phase One took hold fast: sensory disruption. Their pupils dilated wide, swallowing what little light remained. Confusion fractured into terror—some swatted at things not there, others pawed desperately at their neighbors, choking on their own tongues. One aide shrieked as if on fire, clawing at her skin where no flame burned.

Shego stepped into the fog, voice low, recorder raised.

"Phase One confirmation: rapid ocular dilation, severe hallucinations, auditory distortion. Oh—lovely—one subject thinks his silk sleeves are covered in insects. Charming. Another is hearing phantom alarms. Hm. Note: terror compounds nicely with hypoxia."

A crimson guard staggered toward her, weapon raised, aim wild. He barked muffled nonsense through a choking rasp. She tilted her head, recording.

"Motor control failing, aggression response heightened. Helmet filters compromised in—what, thirty seconds? Pathetic engineering."

The weapon fired, bolt hissing past her shoulder. Shego didn't flinch. She placed three shots neat and clinical into his visor, then stepped aside as his body thudded to the floor.

She turned, recording again as the prisoners wheezed and flailed.

"Conclusion: Phase One effective for panic, containment, and disarmament. Efficiency rated... satisfactory."

She dropped a signal beacon with a clatter, summoning the crews who would clean up once the gas thinned. Another senator tried crawling toward her, eyes streaming, clutching at her boot. Shego looked down, smirked faintly behind the visor, then crushed his hand under her heel with a mechanical hiss before moving on.

Reloading with smooth precision, she mounted the staircase. The mist clung to her like a mantle, the glow rolling off her armor as she emerged from the storm.

"Proceeding to primary objective," she radioed, her tone almost playful now. "West wing secure. Senators are...marinated. Third floor has become a hazard zone. Proceed with caution~"

Behind her, the cloud thickened, swallowing the screams into wet silence. Ahead, the heart of the Senate waited.

 

[Tohu]

Tohu had never seen a place where you could just walk up and voice your concerns without repercussions. He’d mentioned it to a Rodian they called One-Eye, middle of a conversation One-eye was having with a few other talkative goons. Supposedly, this was it: marble floors, gilded walls, high ceilings, here where a few words spoken could change lives across a hundred stars. Without the stench of Klatooinian paddy frogs and damp hookahs, Tohu thought, it wasn’t any different than a Hutt’s palace on Nar Shadda. Hell, you could say the senators loved embellishing their places more than a Hutt.

Seems like it wasn’t just Shadaa – seems like the whole galaxy was a pyramid scheme, just dressed different.

Then, on cue, the lights went out. Tohu, the aspiring bounty hunter, stood among the great hunters: there was up ahead the Mandalorian number 1, Koda Fett , and then there was that cyberjunkie Arris Windrun , among others of similar stature. Even in the darkness, Tohu could feel he existed in the long shadows they cast; he was among them, alright, but he wasn’t part of them. Not yet.

He was told, along with the rest of the goons like One-Eye, “stay outta their way, distract, blow chit up, let ‘em get the Chancellor schutta”, but Tohu had other ideas. The great hunters would get their game, that was certain, so Tohu thought, I’m gonna get my own meal, even if it meant scavenging for the bits and pieces like a Tatooine hyena, bagging a senator was still a big thing.

And now he trotted away like one, saying “Follow me”, to One-Eye and the few others who scampered after him like a pack. Rocking night-vision lenses over his eyes that switched on and off depending on the outside brightness levels, some advanced tech someone had ‘procured’ outta a Denon warehouse just for this gig, they hurried down an empty service hallway that led them toward a T-intersection.

Tohu heard the sound of boots stomping the expensive carpet coming from the hall left of the T-intersection, and he gestured for the pack to stop. They weren’t soldiers, that was for sure, but they were rogues, and rogues could smell the enticing scent of an ambush going their way, and one by one, they tapped their belts, activating their personal energy shields before halting at the edge of their hall.

The sound of boots was growing louder and louder, booming now, and the pack didn’t wait any longer for an invitation. Bursting from the service corridor, grins flashing in the dark, and the whole hallway lit up like a Life Day tree. Someone from the pack called out, “Senators!”, and the sound of clicks switching weapons to stun echoed through the ruckus.

See, soldiers weren’t rogues, they might not have that same knack for the underhanded, but they sure as hell had dexterous hands. When the thugs realized they were endangering their ticket to higher places and switched to stun, the remaining guards were quick to exploit the mistake and cut them down. One-Eye was now Closed-Eye, and the rest followed his departure to the afterlife.

Tohu, ever-the-rogue, finally popped out from the service hallway and finished off the two remaining Royal Guards with an accurate salvo of his pistol. Now did he switch it to stun.

Arms thrown out his sides, grinning as he stepped over Closed-Eye toward the three ladies, Tohu said, “So how about a free trip to Nar Shaddaa?”, reveling in his victory.

This was too easy.

Sibylla Abrantes Liana Organa Decarii Tithe

Spoiler: sharing the gear only this one time

Vibrosword on his back
Personal energy shield
Heavy blaster pistol
Those stupid lenses I guess
Oh and a grappling hook launcher on his wrist too cause I forgot

​

 

[Xandyr Carrick]

1A

"Xandyr...what is going on?" He said into his comms unit while he made his way to the door. His hand hovered, preparing to lock them down.

Xandyr paused in what he was doing. His jacket had been thrown across a chair. He had rolled up his sleeves neatly.

The mercenary hadn't been forthcoming with information, but had just started to loosen up.

"If you would escuse me a moment," Xandyr asked politely. The mercenary - face bruised and bloody - looked utterly bewildered by his suddenly polite tone.

"Mr Praxon. The building is under assault. Don't wait for me if you can get to safety. I'll try and find out more and follow your comm signal. Are you alright?"

Once the conversation was over, Xandyr put down the comm. The backs of his knuckles were bloodied.

"Now... Where were we? Oh yes. You were going to fething talk."

Xandyr swung again, fisting connecting with ribs.

"How many are attacking the Senate?"

 

[Corazona von Ascania]

2A | Lorn Reingard Aiden Porte Sars Sarad Jerec Asyr

"Quickly!"

Evacuating younglings from a temple under siege was quickly becoming an old, tired song. The harsh staccato of blaster fire was a familiar melody, underscored by tremors of fear and uncertainty in the Force.

"Master von Ascania," one of the older children exclaimed. He'd approached from the opposite end of the hall, his cherubic face stricken with panic. "They've blocked off the eastern exit!"

Cora held one hand out, steadying the squirming crowd of younglings behind her. Blue eyes fell closed as her senses stretched out, rolling over the nearby corridors. Dark signatures approached from the west – the direction from which they'd come, slipping though the cracks in the chaos.

They were being hunted.

"Master," he tried, voice tight with nerves, "what are we going to do?"

Cora's eyes snapped open, and she threw her hand forward. The motion was so strong, so sudden that it nearly lifted the woman from her holochair as a telekinetic blast surged down the hall. It hit the pair of Bando Gora followers dead on and flung them into a wall.

"Go," she wheezed, gripping the boy tightly by his shoulder. The Force wound carved into her chest had substantially weakened her, but she could still touch the Force. "One of the...basement chambers. Shelter in place."

The youngling hesitated, concern shading the creases of his face. "But Master, what about-"

"You needn't worry about me." She gave the boy a tight, if encouraging smile. "Protect your brothers and sisters, now go – I'll be right behind you."

 

[Drystan Creed]

OBJECTIVE 1A

"Naboo isn't all it's cracked up to be."

A figure in black stood across from two royal guardsmen, curved blade at the hip, both blasters trained on him.

Drystan had his hands in his pockets, unimpressed. Beneath his visor, the exposed line of his mouth flattened. The job was simple, made even simpler with the associates tied to this operation.

Most men would sweat under twin barrels ready to fire. Drystan wasn't most men. He raised a hand, palm upward, voice calm—almost scolding.

"You might think you've got the drop on me. But even with just a single pull of the trigger, you're still too slow."

"Keep your mouth shut and put your weapon on the ground, now!" one guard barked.

Drystan sighed, looping his index finger into the air as if holding a trigger.

"I hate to say it, but from the electromechanical signal in your brain, to your hand, to the firing mechanism… and then the bolt traveling to me—" He smirked, stepping forward. "Frankly, it's all far too slow-paced for my liking. I'm no scientist, but your motor functions won't even process the command before I've already put you down."

"I said fre—" The guard never finished. His body lit with the neural impulse to fire, but before it reached his finger, Drystan was already there. A swipe to the chin, quick and precise, sent the man crumpling to the floor.

The second guard had no time to react. With a flick of his wrist, Drystan curled his index, delivering another chin strike that left the man unconscious in an instant.

A stretch. A yawn. And then his comm crackled to life.

"This is you-know-who. Hallway's secure. Moving to make sure the target's secured."

He walked deeper into the building, casual as if strolling through a park. While the official mission's goal was to secure the chancellor, Drystan's own personal motivation was to find a worthy challenge. Something he hoped was within this building.

Quinn Varanin Koda Fett Kalantha

 

[Dominique Vexx]

OBJECTIVE 1A: I AM THE SENATE

Dominique drew in several deep breaths as she drew near the Senate chambers in an effort to slow her heart rate and keep from collapsing after her sprint through the facility. It took effort to maintain her physique, but this was hardly her scheduled cardiovascular workout.

Four guards stood outside the large doors that'd been forced open with the power loss. They turned to face her and held up a hand. Dominique snorted in exasperation at formalities no matter how sensible. A card emerged between two gloved fingers. "Senator Vexx. Denon." Not that they could get the best look at her face under the emergency lighting, but it'd be enough. A savvy assassin could have slipped between them under these circumstances, but people rarely thought about such things in the heat of the moment. What were the chances?

"Why haven't you gotten these people to a Shelter already?" she snapped as her identification was pocketed.

One of the guards squinted, lips twisted, but his tone remain tolerantly patient, "We just got the doors open."

"Inform the High Chancellor we're under siege by a hostile force. We need to escort her and the Senators somewhere safe." Moving them was risky, but the Senate chamber wasn't designed to be a bunker. There were too many structural weaknesses a well-placed explosive could exploit, the countless ventilation ducts and electrical conduits made for a poor seal, and its size and location made it an easy target. In short, it was a poor place to make a last stand.

As one of the guards slipped inside to deliver the message to Kalantha , another turned and issued another verbal challenge to someone [ Shego Striga ?] approaching. It wasn't difficult to make out movement even in the shadows, just any defining characteristics. It was when they repeated the challenge that Dominique turned around.

Unlike her armed companions, Dominique didn't need to rely solely on her eyes. The loss of power severed her holonet and communication network connection, but not the glareshades' localized features. A little image enhancement revealed a humanoid figure down the hallway. "Gentlemen, we have a visitor."

Kalantha
Shego Striga | Drystan Creed
OPEN​

 

[Ravion Corvalis]

1A​

The Senator of Malastare’s office reeked of wealth and old ambition. Dark crimson Silk drapes spilled like rivers of color from the tall windows, and every available surface groaned under the weight of artifacts collected from half a dozen systems.

Ravion stood at ease before the desk, the faint smile of an indulgent guest across his lips. In his hands he cradled a cut glass tumbler, its contents glowing faintly blue. The Senator had insisted on a drink; the pride of his cellars, a brandy distilled from flowering reeds unique to Lake Paonga.

“It’s said to sharpen the tongue for debate,” the Senator declared, raising his own glass in salute.

Ravion let a low chuckle slip. “Or dull the ears, depending on how much is poured. I recall a collector on Chandrila who swore by the same vintage. He insisted it made his opponents sound brilliant, which, of course, knowing the Galactic Alliance sounds impossible.”

The Senator laughed, wheezing through his broad nostrils. “And did you sell this collector anything, Ravion?”

“Two entire shipments,” Ravion replied with a conspiratorial lean. “At double their worth. He never noticed.”

That drew another roar of laughter. The Senator slapped the arm of his chair, nearly spilling his drink. “Hah! The art world is no different from the Senate floor, then. Half of it is illusion, the other half is knowing when to smile.”

Ravion smiled back, but his eyes held that practiced glint of measurement, filled with that ever present calculation. He swirled the brandy in his glass, admiring the hue. “You have no idea how right you are. Perhaps that’s why we get along, Senator. We both deal in masks. You in politics, I in art. The trick is ensuring no one notices when one becomes the other.”

The Senator lifted his glass again. “To masks then.”

The clink of crystal sealed their easy camaraderie. Ravion lowered himself into the seat opposite the Senator, seemingly at ease. He allowed himself the indulgence of another sip, smooth and fragrant, just bitter enough to bite.

They shared a few minutes of light banter. The Senator recounted an anecdote of a fellow delegate whose toupee had once slipped mid-speech, sending the chamber into a ripple of suppressed mirth. Ravion played the perfect audience; laughing where he should, teasing in return with stories of eccentric collectors who paid fortunes for fakes they wanted to believe were real.

The warmth in the room was genuine enough, the Senator was a nice enough man and one that Ravion had shared a drink with at his Theed estate on more then one occasion. For Ravion however, it was a carefully woven curtain, the senator was a piece ready to be torn aside.

Just as the Senator leaned forward to refill their glasses, the tremor rolled through the office. A deep shudder, followed by the blare of alarms and crimson light washing over the gilt décor.

“What in the…” The Senator looked up from his drink and pressed the button on his desk to reach security. There was no answer. “Pardon me Ravion. This is most unusual. Allow me some patience while I sort this out.” He stood and started to move across the room towards the gold inlaid doors that led to the Senator office hallways.

Ravion’s hand lingered on the glass a moment longer, savoring the irony of the toast they had just shared. “Surely we should just stay here, they will be filming your offices it’s clearly the safest place to be.” Then the mask shifted seamlessly, fear and urgency painted across his features as he rose sharply, already sliding into the part he’d come here to play. “They do have surveillance in your offices don’t they?”

“Of course not Ravion. A Senator needs privacy for himself. No this is, it feels different.” The door opened loudly, and his face poked out into the hallway, clearly matching a bunch of others who had heard the ruckus. Then he came back in and shut the door. “No, this will not do. I’m sorry Ravion, we may have to cut our meeting short.”

“Hm, a shame.” Ravion answered, yet he still held that look of fear. “You don’t suppose its something dangerous? Should I be worried?” He stood and walked around to the senators side of the table, taking advantage of his distraction to slide a single data spike into the console near his knee and pushed it in with a quiet click. “Or shall I leave?” He was next to the senator in a heartbeat, who was pressing buttons on a wall mounted intercom.

“No, no stay here Ravion with me. That is the safest place. We can discuss that matter of getting you senatorial sponsorship while we wait for news."

“Thank you, hopefully it’s just a fusebox malfunction.” Then as if by magic the security doors opened. As did every other security door in the facility as the spike Ravion had placed did it’s work implanting a security virus across all security networks attached to the senatorial network. He didn’t want to do this. But the price of political power was an expensive one and this was just a percentage of what he owed those putting him where he had to be.

 

[Nero Drake]

SHIRAYA JEDI TEMPLE
NABOO
Ran Serys et al.

"To hell, dogs!"

Nero pointed his cortosis blade and pirates poured through the temple breach. Defense turrets cut down most of the first wave, but some made it far enough to toss thermal detonators and wreak havoc. Against trained Jedi they had no chance if not for the Bando Gora assassins who fought like demons swelling their ranks.

His bryar pistol added to the cacophony of blasters keeping each Jedi defender focused on deflecting with their blades instead of running Black Sun mercs through with them. Nero primed his own thermal detonator and threw it only for a Jedi Knight to grab the bomb with their mind and toss it right back. Pirates were lifted off their feet like ragdolls but there were more where they came from still surging onto sacred ground.

This attack was an essential distraction for Underlord Velzari's political machinations. Way above Nero's paygrade. His job was to keep the Jedi looking one way while The Madclaw broke into their vault with a team of specialists. Besides Black Sun offered enough hazard pay for attacking a temple to be worth a small fortune in spice and deathsticks. It dawned on Nero the syndicate could afford to offer so much because most wouldn't survive to collect.

Smoke began to obscure everything but lightsabers and muzzle flashes. Nero's blast helmet filtered out the worst of it. Trusting his instincts to guide him true before he knew it the Madclaw's first mate was crossing blades with a Jedi Knight.

 

[Lorn Reingard]

Objective 2A
Aiden Porte | Sars Sarad​

Lorn's golden blade cut a burning arc through the courtyard, its light painting his face in fleeting flashes. Sweat clung to his brow, streaking the dirt and ash smeared there, but his eyes, worn, sharp as a blade's edge, never wavered. His chest rose and fell with the steady rhythm of a soldier who had known too many sieges, too many broken walls.

He pivoted on his heel, cleaving down a mercenary's vibro-ax and driving a boot into the man's chest. Another blaster bolt shrieked for his heart, but his saber snapped back in time, the deflected bolt ricocheting into a second attacker's visor. Two down, three more already circling.

The Black Sun pressed him hard, and the Bando Gora harder still. One of the zealots lunged from the smoke, a mask of bone stretched over his face, twin daggers glistening with poison. Lorn caught him mid-air, their blades locking for a breathless second before he twisted his saber, letting the zealot's momentum carry him into the path of a turret's burst. The body crumpled, but another filled its place at once.

Through it all, he felt it: a cold ripple in the Force. Sarad.

His gaze cut across the chaos just in time to see the shockwave's aftermath, the crater yawning, Aiden standing at its edge with Sarad bearing down on him. Lorn's heart clenched, a vice tightening around his ribs. He had fought Sarad once; he knew the fire and the fury in that man, and what it meant for whoever faced him now.

"Aiden," he muttered under his breath, the name a prayer and a curse.

He fought harder. His saber blurred into a storm, each movement honed by scars both seen and unseen. He carved through a pair of mercenaries, then turned his free hand, hurling a third back into a column with a pulse of the Force. He tried to push toward Aiden, but another wave of zealots crashed into him, their blades clashing against his in a frenzy.

One scored a shallow cut across his forearm. He hissed, pain sharp but distant; he was used to pain. What rattled him was the sight of Aiden alone against Sarad.

The Force pressed against his chest with the weight of memory: betrayals, failures, the faces of those he had not saved. Was this to be another? He would not allow it.

With a roar that tore through his usual calm, Lorn surged forward. His saber punched through a zealot's guard, then swept in a wide, brilliant arc that seared through the press of bodies. For a heartbeat, the path ahead opened. He sprinted, boots pounding stone, golden blade burning like a beacon as he closed the distance to the crater.

Whatever it took, scar, wound, or sacrifice, he would not let Aiden stand alone against Sarad.

 

[Cassian Abrantes]

1A
Tags: Sibylla Abrantes Aurelian Veruna Dominique Vexx Decarii Tithe Tohu​

The grand stair of the Senate, normally gleaming, meant for dignitaries and procession, was now a warzone. Abrantes house guard sprinting up the steps following behind the Eldest son. Cassian's boots pounded against marble slick with smoke residue, scattered debris, and the still bodies of those who hadn't escaped the first wave. The vaulted windows above spilled only shards of sunlight through the haze. He had one thought anchoring him, cutting through the chaos like a blade: Sibylla.

He moved upward in bursts, two steps, crouch, fire. His rifle barked bright lines into the smoke, each bolt forcing Syndicate mercenaries to scatter from the columns they'd turned into barricades. A mercenary lunged in close, knife glinting in the dark. Cassian twisted, the blade grazing his side, then drove the butt of his rifle up under the man's chin with bone-cracking force. The merc crumpled; Cassian kept climbing.

His gut turned at the thought of his sister caught among them, sharp, clever, defiant Sibylla, who had always known how to cut with words, and now recently with weapons. While it wasn't just training she received from him, but from others as well. Despite that... She didn't belong in chains, or in the clutches of thugs. No one did.

Another squad tried to block the stair. These wore Syndicate insignia carved into their armor, each helmet visor glimmering red. They opened fire in unison, bolts raining down the steps. Cassian dove behind a toppled statue, the carved visage of some long-dead senator now cracked and headless. The scent of scorched stone filled his nose. He drew in a sharp breath, steadied his aim, and leaned out. Two quick bursts dropped the leftmost pair. Another fell when Cassian vaulted the statue, firing as he advanced. The stairwell was nearly clear.

He then tapped his comlink as he attempted to get in touch with Sibylla, Aurelian, Dominique, one of them.

At the final landing he paused only long enough to reload, listening, there were more Syndicate fighters above, more steel between him and his sister. Cassian gripped his rifle, jaw tight, and surged forward into the glow of blaster fire. The Syndicate fighters charged, they would meet with Abrantes Elite Forces and those High Republic soldiers that had arrived.

 

[Bodek Karsin]

Objective 1A
Secure Transport
__________________________________

​

Bodek Karsin's Ironclad had already been on the scene long before the operation was to be carried out.

With a superstructure attached using explosive bolts, the Ironclad held the appearance of the much-less threatening C-ROC freighter. Its weapon systems were buried under durasteel, and crates were mounted to the 'wings' of the ship. She had been conducting regular trade missions here, and there had been nothing to suggest that she was anything other than one of the tens of thousands of old C-ROCs still puttering around the galaxy, performing trade for independent operators and corporate interests.

In fact, the Ironclad was a Gozanti freighter, but she wasn't the inoffensive C-ROC type. No, she was a fighting freighter from the Imperial era, refurbished and up-armed by Second Life Astromotive. A product of a simpler time, before Madrus had been subsumed into Black Sun, its people forced to make a terrible choice: Fight an impossible battle against the criminal syndicate... or join them. One-hundred thousand Madrugar were now being re-trained as members of the Criminal Caste. Proverbial Sin Eaters who were willingly absorbing the corruption of the Syndicate to spare the rest of the system from such influence.

As soon as the attack started, Bodek took off from the rural outpost where he'd been delivering powered exoskeletons to field laborers in one of the communities that preferred to do things 'the old fashioned way.' The exoskeletons were a product that helped them multiply their strength and minimize their exhaustion. Old-fashioned enough, when the alternative was droids.

The ship flew directly towards the Senate building, its communications officer radioing local authorities.

"This is Jelka Nelv, communications officer of the Tit-for-Tat, a C-ROC freighter operating under Nubian license," she announced, "we have heard about the attack on the Senate building. We just unloaded our cargo at the Jintel outpost in the Decca lowlands.

We are going to try to land near the Senate building. We will evacuate as many officials as possible before these raiders seize them. We've had our own trouble with pirates. It's time for payback."

Bodek nodded approvingly at his comm officer. It was a convincing performance. It was not in the Madrugar psyche to deceive and lie. But deception was part of the new caste's requirements. And so they'd all thrust their hands into those murky waters.

The Ironclad soared at high speeds towards the Senate, looking for a place to set down near the administrative building.

"There," Bodek indicated, pointing. "That platform will do. It doesn't need to support our weight. We can hover. Lower the lift. I'll be disembarking with the Marauders."

Marauders. The fighting arm of the new Criminal Caste. The Marine Marauders would eventually be deployed in the thousands, but they were still being drilled into their new duties on Madrus. Bodek had the first ten. A taste of what was to come.

Bodek proceeded to the cargo lift, nodding to the ten Marauders who were joining him there. They had medium armor and blaster weapons. Gray armor that held none of the usual official Madrugar symbology. They looked like hired guards or mercenaries. The sorts who might protect a freighter's shipment from pirates.

The lift began to descend, and the chaos of the scene was gradually revealed to him.


Sibylla Abrantes Aurelian Veruna Dominique Vexx Decarii Tithe Tohu Quinn Varanin Koda Fett Kalantha Shego Striga Velzari Tharn

 

[Decarii Tithe]

High Assembly Convocation Hall
Theed, Naboo

Sibylla Abrantes | Liana Organa
Tohu

Today’s session in the High Assembly was shaping up to be bloody. Lives would be lost in the political cut and thrust as Senators battled to the death. Subterfuge and intimidation would be deployed against enemies. Groups would plot and strategise like battlefield generals, planning every movement to the very second. By day’s end, a clear victor would be decided, with their foes vanquished.

And then, Black Sun has decided to attack.

Decarii Tithe accepted the personal shield was Sibylla, the newly elected Voice of the Royal Houses, and tucked it into her jacket pocket. Royal Guards ushered them out of the office suite and into the hallways of the Convocation Hall toward the nearest safe exit.

“Stay close, don’t fall behind,” she explained to the young Junior Representative from Alderaan, who was on Theed as part of her diplomatic training. “If this is Black Sun, the last thing you want to do is get caught. Believe me, they’re some nasty sons of reeks.”

The trio and the Royal Guards rounded a corner straight into an ambush. While they went down shooting and took some of the criminals with them, the guards were no match for the tall, unkempt figure who emerged from a service corridor with a pair of blasters.

Decarii held her open hands behind, showing she carried no weapon. She took lives in the courtroom, not with an uncivilised firearm.

“Let's just think this through, yeah?” she explained, taking a step forward. The lawyer studied the assailant, trying to read him like she would a witness on the stand or a hostile juror. He seemed smart, letting his peers throw their lives away so he could claim the prize. Cunning, clearly. He didn’t seem distressed in the least at the death of his peers - a loner? Or at the very least, a being who saw the means as justifying the ends.

“Creds - we can pay, trust me, that won’t be an issue.” Decarii slowly reached into her pocket and produced a GatStick of Trade Federation credits and her Platinum Card. She threw the fiat items at the man’s feet, enough credits to buy a small moon. Her attackers' lowly attire would have received mockery in a room of Naboo royals, so maybe with enough credits, all could be forgotten.

“That’s yours, no questions asked. And we go our separate ways. Deal?”

 

[Bastila Sal-Soren]

1A​

The datapads weighed heavily in her arms as she wove through the Senate corridors, though it wasn’t the paperwork that unsettled her. The air itself felt thinner. Quiet where it should have been busy, watchful where it should have been guarded.

Bastila’s pace quickened. Twice she passed junctions that while manned, felt empty. Twice she forced herself not to frown.

The collision at the next corner jolted her from her thoughts. A young aide nearly toppled her, her arms full of flimsi sheets.

“Forgive me,” Bastila steadied her with one hand. “I should have been looking where I am going. Quick question? who’s in attendance today?”

The aide blinked, startled by the question. “Everyone. It’s a Full session, the High Chancellor herself presiding. The king is in residence as well.”

Everyone.

Bastila gave a curt nod, releasing the aide before her expression could betray the cold jolt that had burst inside her chest. She turned sharply, taking the hall that led toward the residential offices. Her stride was brisk, but not hurried. To run now would only draw eyes, spark questions, ignite panic before she was sure.

But she already was. Every step confirmed it. The force continued to fill her with a sense of dread. The knot in her gut she could no longer dismiss as nerves.

The tremor came first, deep in the stone, felt rather than heard. Then the alarms howled alive, their red strobe chasing away the building’s quiet dignity.

Bastila stopped.

The panic clawing up her spine was real. The dread of what it meant; Senators, the High Chancellor, the King. They were all here, all vulnerable. For half a breath, it almost broke through. Her mind rushed then stopped suddenly on one almost sickening conclusion. Dominic.

Then she exhaled.

And the shift came. Her face stilled. Her posture straightened. The Jedi training she had fought with, that she had doubted, in many ways resented; now it closed around her like armour. The fear remained, locked deep, but her hands were steady, her stride measured as she moved forward again.

There could be no hesitation. No weakness.

This was what she was trained for, and it seemed she was potentially the only one currently here who could do anything on behalf of the Jedi Order.

She tapped her vambrace, opening the secured channel to the Jedi Temple. A hiss of static filled her ear, nothing more. She tried again with a different frequency, this time with Briana’s clearance. She still hadn’t changed her passcodes. Still there was nothing. The void was louder than the alarms filling her ears. For something to be blocking the Jedi Temple frequencies, it meant they were all in trouble.

Jaw tight, she keyed a second code, one that they had only just set up ten minutes before she’d bumped into the aide. “Abrantes?” Her voice was clipped, urgent. “Sibylla? Come in.”

Only static answered.

Her stomach sank. It wasn’t just here. Someone had choked the lines.

A sudden chorus of metallic groans split through the corridor. Every door around her slammed open at once, metal shrieking as locks surrendered to some unseen hand. The noise reverberated through the halls, a wave of sound as much as panic.

Bastila didn’t break stride. She pressed on, heart hammering but head clear, until the polished sign of Dominic’s office rose before her. She palmed them open, stepping inside unannounced.

He was there with others, faces that she didn’t want to have to see, but the situation didn’t allow her the benefit of want. Seeing Dominic though allowed relief to flicker, even if only for a moment. The voice she threw at the room surprised occupants was sharp, decisive, the cadence of command leaving no room for doubt.

“We have to go. We don’t have much time.”

Dominic Praxon Loria Sorelle Xandyr Carrick | mentioned: Sibylla Abrantes​

 

[Ran Serys]

Objective: 2A
Opposition: Nero Drake

“Hold them back!” Several Jedi yelled. “Don’t let them reach the halls! Keep them confined to the courtyard!” Another shouted next to Ran, and she understood why. The courtyard was a kill box. Its somewhat narrow opening kept a tight target area for the temple’s defenses to aim for. Security turrets blasted in patterns between each other, with one cooling while another fired on the enemy. Theoretically a great set up, but while the temple defenses were well and cleverly armed, they could not permanently defend against the sheer number of scum and villainy that aimed at it. That was why the Jedi defended as well.

Ran Serys, herself, ignited her royal blue-white blade and dashed to meet the bando gora and the agents of the black sun syndicate head on. She batted their blaster fire back and pushed forward, getting in striking range. “Don’t just hold the line! Push them back!” Ran called out louder than those asking for a hold. Several bando gora assassins were felled by her lightsaber blade. Several more pirates suffered the shock of lost limb and life.

Ran held her saber high above her head and mightily wrenched it down bisecting an eyepatch wearing assault droid. As metal split, cooled, and clanged against the ground, Ran peered through the brief opening and laid her eyes on Nero Drake, first mate to the Madclaw. Leaders amongst the Black Sun forces, Ran assumed, she deemed it wise to take them off the battlefield.

With a force-enhanced leap, Ran sent herself across the courtyard. More pirates downed, and then she crossed saber and sword against Nero Drake. “Call your crew to retreat, Drake!” Ran yelled over the noise of the battle. “This will not end well for you or them!” She promised as her saber sounded a horrible pop-crack and its light fizzled under the touch of Nero’s sword.

“Cortosis!” Ran realized, keeping what was left of the fast retreating royal blue blade between them.

 

[Quinn Varanin]

//: Objective 1A //:
//: Drystan Creed //:
//: Attire //:
//: Gyðja //: Miritalmë //: Lightsaber //: Lightsaber //:

Naboo. It was a planet that had become such a current focal point for her. She would have instead visited the planet on a better note, not one of a criminal or a Sith, but as a daughter, a relative. From what she had learned after scouring her mother's old battleship was that she had an aunt or a distant cousin who was Nabooian nobility.

The keys jingled in her cloak as she moved through the hallways following Drystan. The man towered over many and allowed the smaller woman to step nearly in his shadow. He stopped as voices were heard. Quinn kept to herself, letting the former Jedi have his fill. She didn't flinch as he handled the issue at hand.

"Efficient." She chirped as she stepped out from behind a pillar, a dark cloak wrapping around the lithe frame.

Drystan had always been effective. Even during the war for Brosi, the man, while fighting for the enemy, had tested a Sith Lord. The data collected for his efforts had made him nearly favored with the Sith Princess. Though she highly doubted the man cared about such foolish things.

Brushing ashen strands from her face, she continued forward, past him, past the remnants of the interruption. Others could have handled this, but Quinn knew she needed to show her presence — to prove her devotion to the budding alliance between Sith and Black Sun.

She paused, glancing back over her shoulder at Drystan.

"If we run into the new King," she mused, voice casual despite the weight of her words, "make a proper mess of him. He's entertaining to stab." A slight nod. "I want him dead. If he crosses our path, he's yours."

Quinn left it at that. Though she wanted the pleasure of ripping his throat open herself, optics demanded otherwise. There was already a bounty on her head because of the little lordling, and she would not feed the fire further.

The thought of him still soured her mood. A boy playing at king, posturing before his people — when in truth, he had crouched like a vulture over a dying girl, thinking her an easy kill.

Quinn scoffed softly, her grip tightening at her side. It annoyed her more than she cared to admit that she hadn't slit his throat that day.

---

//: Aurelian Veruna //: Koda Fett //: Kalantha //: Dominique Vexx //: Shego Striga //:​

 

[Cali Ziiva]

Friends! Seldan Rourke
Not Friends? None
Objective: 1B: UNLIMITED POWER~
Location: The Depths, Backup Generators
Equipment of Note: Mobile Workshop, Lightsaber, Bubblegum Popper Gloves

​

"You know, when those Mangoes showed up and blew everything to pieces-- Okay, I mean, it was kind of the Confederate forces that blew up part of the city, but the Neo-Crusader types totally did the whole power generator bit. Actually, I think that was the Naboo forces. Come to think of it, Cutey, what did the Neo-Crusaders do again? I mean, besides illegally occupied Naboo in order to, uh, generate power?" Cali straightened up on her knees and squinted up at the ceiling. "I mean, seriously, who invaded Naboo for power? Like, I've built far larger and more powerful generators on other planets. This place isn't exactly an industrial lynch pin."

"Whatever," the Zeltron huffed as she poked her head back inside the access panel, "anyway, as I was saying, so they blew it up, right? I was right there. Could have turned it all off nice and gentle like, but no. Someone goes and makes a mess of the whole thing! Well, good thing they had me to sort it all out. But then," she cried, "I took it further. 'Cause, ya know, they never think ahead about this stuff. Just 'get it operational' for, like, the lowest cost." A pink hand emerged to snag a new tool from the kit on the floor.

"I built access tunnels! Yeah, proper ones. Secret ones. Reinforced with not-cheap metals and architectural designs. Some fancy security systems. Backup power sources. They wouldn't let me do half this to the rest of the city. Or their command center. I'm tellin' ya, Cutey, they got no sense! 'What's the chance they strike again soon?' they asked. Like this cutey can predict the future. Whelp, looks like the chance is every year!"

Suddenly Cali pulled her upper body back out and her bright eyes turned up to the cute droid that stood there listening the whole time. "You think they'll listen this time?" They stared at one another for a second. "Yeah, me neither."

Back in she went.

A minute later the pink woman straightened up with a sigh and a grease-smearing wipe of her forehead. "Okay. Okay, okay. Who knew these backups generators for the Senate had been neglected this long? Does no one understand the concept of preventative maintenance?" With another huff, she bounced back up to her full height. Tools set down on the nearby workbench, the Zeltron turned to the console. "Alright. Boot up the control system. Skip the full diagnostic startup."

As text scrolled across the screen, Cali turned to look at QT-800. "So, uh, how long you think it'll be before they maybe try blowing down that door, Cutey? You know, once they figure out what's happened."

The screen flashed to life with the full control interface, which drew Cali's attention without getting an answer. Her droid companion was monitoring that door to the generator chamber, prepared to hold it shut with their own inzeltron strength.

"Generator's spinning up. Everything's looking good. Temperature could be better, but there's no time to replace all that. Let's see here..." Cali flicked through a few pages. "I'll prioritize the communications arrays. Let's see if anyone's up there that can tell me where to redirect power." Probably best not to repower the doors and have the enemy slicing through them all or whatever before anyone was ready.

Power Restored: Comm System​

 

[Aiden Porte]

2A
Lorn Reingard Sars Sarad Jerec Asyr
​

Aiden felt it before he saw it, the ripple in the Force, that sharp displacement of intent as Sarad's hand flashed across his belt.

The air shrieked. Vibroblades tore through the space between them, their jagged energy fields distorting the currents of the Force as they spun toward him. For a heartbeat Aiden stilled, letting the torrent of fear and urgency wash past him. The hum of his saber rose as he pivoted into motion.

His blade became a wheeling arc of azure light. Three projectiles met its edge and were batted away in sparks, clattering off the stonework. Another he redirected with a flick of the wrist, angling it harmlessly into the dirt at his side. Two more came too fast, too tight an angle, so he shifted, drawing on the Force to guide his body. A vibroblade whistled past his shoulder close enough to sear the fabric of his tunic, the last grazing the armor that covered his forearm.

And then Sarad was upon him.

The ochre-eyed figure cut forward with probing precision, saber slashing diagonally, jabbing, forcing Aiden to yield space at the crater's lip. Each swing of Sarad's burning blade radiated heat that warped the air, threatening to smother. Aiden caught the strikes, one after another, his defense tight, economical, the Porte lineage etched in every parry.

Sarad wasn't seeking to kill yet, he was herding, testing, trying to bend Aiden's blade to his advantage.

Aiden let one diagonal cut press harder against his guard than he should have, grunting with effort as he gave ground. Then, instead of stepping back, he dropped low, pivoting his stance and angling his saber upward in a powerful thrust meant to surprise, an attempt to break Sarad's rhythm.

 

[Nala]

Location: Objective 2B - Grandmaster's Office

Tags: Briana Sal-Soren

Nala's boots barely scraped the polished stone as she slipped into the quieter halls, moving away from the blaster fire and the crackle of sabers echoing through the grand temple. Her crew could handle the archives, like rabid dogs let loose to snatch anything that glittered. The Bando Gora, half-mad zealots cloaked in their grotesque faith, would crash against the Jedi. That wasn't her problem. Nala had her own orders.

The Grandmaster's office loomed ahead. She shoved the doors wide and slipped inside. The chamber smelled of incense and old paper, peaceful and untouched by the violence raging outside. Not for long. Nala moved quickly, methodically, her presence as silent and precise as a blade's cut. Drawers were wrenched open, spilling contents across the floor. Scrolls and styluses were tossed like rubbish. Shelves were stripped bare, their contents dumped in untidy heaps. It had to look like simple looting, just another desecration in a night full of them. Nothing should betray she was hunting something far more valuable than old relics or books.

Ariadne . The name burned like a coal in her mind. The android had been taken on Sepan 8. Whispers claimed the Jedi Grandmaster spirited her away, perhaps hidden here under her watchful eye. Ariadne wasn't just property; she was leverage, a weapon Black Sun couldn't afford to lose. And when Black Sun wanted something, Nala delivered. It was that simple.

She reached the great desk in the chamber's center. Its surface, cleared for meditation or study, was meant to project calm, but it was just wood and stone to Nala. It meant nothing. She pressed her holotablet to its terminal port, code-slicers whirring to life. She began pulling every record, stripping names, schedules, inventories, anything that might hint at the android's location. Her eyes flicked across the chamber even as the download progressed, her hands restless.

A dagger caught her attention, laid out across the desk. It was ceremonial, at least from what she could discern. She picked it up, weighing it. Heavy, ornate, and impractical, it was useless for killing, and even worse for intimidation. "Ugly," she muttered, a thin sneer pulling at her lips. This was a trinket for a soft hand, entirely unsuited as a weapon for someone who fought with knuckles and bone. She set it back down with disdain.

Outside, the sounds of conflict thickened. The distant hum of sabers clashing, the shouted orders of Jedi, the shrieks of the dying Bando Gora. The storm was drawing closer. Nala's fingers danced across her holotablet, the download bar inching forward. She had no interest in the Jedi's vaunted sanctity or the blood spilled tonight. Her purpose was narrower, colder: find Ariadne, recover the Syndicate's asset, and vanish back into shadow. The rest could burn.

 

[Dominic Praxon]

The darkness pressed close, the alarms muffled for the moment by the heavy walls. Dominic's breath caught when the doors swept open, revealing Bastila. Her sudden presence sent a ripple through the room, her voice cutting clean through the chaos. She commanded attention.

For the briefest of moments, Dominic hesitated. Memories of her failed Monarch bid flashed, and even more...the night of the storm. He blinked it away, forcing focus. There was no time for this. Not now.

He turned to Marcellan, letting the Sorelle patriarch see his resolve as the dim emergency lighting cast an ambient glow across his tense expression. Then, as though steadying himself, his eyes sought Loria's. Even in the gloom, he found her there, and gave her a look of confidence meant to reassure.

The room was near-dark, and as he moved, his shin struck the edge of the table with a sharp crack. He hissed softly under his breath but pressed on with a limp, crossing toward Senator Vonn's old desk. Fingers found the recessed panel by touch, and with a muted click, the Naboo-style holdout blaster lifted into view. Its polished chrome caught what little light there was.

"Listen to the Jedi. Do as she says… and find cover if things fall apart," his words carried the calm authority of command, directed as much to Elenara and Marcellan as to Loria.

Blaster in hand, he turned to the door. One finger keyed the comm, sending a silent signal to Xandyr. His tracker pinged alive.

"The speeder hub will be overrun," he said to Bastila, his tone steady. He had been responsible for many of his previous bosses' security drills. "The best thing we can do is find somewhere safe to see this out. Some place defensible."

The words hung in the dark, a sudden steel in Dominic Praxon's voice. He nodded towards Bastila, to take the lead, and to the Sorelles' to follow. "I guess I'll be the rearguard."

Xandyr Carrick Bastila Sal-Soren Loria Sorelle Mercy​

 

[Sars Sarad]

2A
Aiden Porte | Lorn Reingard | Jerec Asyr | Black Sun​

---

The Energy crackling between lightsaber blows was audible.

Every blow made by Sarad was caught by Aiden Porte , blocked or deflected with the telltale sound of crackling energy that accompanied contact.

Heatwaves passed between the two men. Sarad appeared largely unaffected by them, the heat could be unbearable to some but fighting using this particular kind of lightsaber meant that he had adapted. Now he used the heat to his advantage, the distortions it caused in the atmosphere sometimes causing his strikes to blur into one another.

When their lightsabers clashed again and Aiden began to drop low rather than cede ground Sarad let his left foot slide to the outside of his opponents right. As Aiden pivoted he did likewise, his right side sweeping backwards like he was opening a door as his left foot turned inwards; a flourish of his lightsaber followed by a tight arc and vertical snap would let him block the thrust on the outside of the opponent to deflect it wide, across Aiden's body. Offsetting himself to the right of Aiden in the process with his footwork and pivot.

Now was the moment Sarad had seemingly been feeling out. A Jab was a noncommittal blow, something that was meant to recoil automatically. A Thrust by comparison was much more committal, much more diffcult to come out of due to the natural mechanics of the body.

As Sarad went to block and deflect Aiden's thrust his left hand lingered, low and near the waistline of his belt.

Once Sarad made contact the second of his Vibroblades found itself in the palm of his left hand. He'd fan it upward, towards the underside of Aiden's right arm; near the elbow where armor tended to be weak to accommodate movement. Quick, clean, possibly incapacitating for the limb.

Regardless of whether the blow struck cleanly he'd allow its forwards momentum to carry it higher...

"He's coming."

...he hadn't been speaking to Aiden, more just vocalizing what he felt in the force.

Without looking his left arm snapped outwards again, this time away from Aiden and outside of an arc of attack. The Vibroblade left his hand, flying across the courtyard unerringly in the direction of Lorn Reingard whose distant roar had prickled the back of Sarad's neck with familiarity.

Ochre filled his eyes, slowly building like a focal point as though it were leading up to something.