No More[The Underworld]

[Subject 37]

Anonymity and independence.​

​

That was what was scrawled on top of the flyer that the little boy picked up off the ground. The Slums of Nar Shaddaa were often littered and strewn with bits of flimsy, ads for nightclubs, cantina’s, warehouses, sometimes even recruitment flyers were tossed into the refugee sector just for kicks and giggles. Most of the time people just ignored them, most of the time people didn’t even care, but the boy always picked them up.​

​

For him they were a tool. There was no school down here, no textbooks or datapads, nothing. The flyers offered him an opportunity to learn. It was hard, and his mother often didn’t know the words herself, but slowly he was becoming better and better at reading the words, though some still offered him quite a bit of trouble. He slowly wandered back towards the small alleyway where he made his home, reading to himself out loud.​

​

“Anonymity and Independence. They are what allows us to survive, but prevents us from thriving. The thief steals a painting, but must hide from the authorities for months. The Smuggler moves through customs unaware, but must scrounge for something worthwhile to move. The pirates steal, but must sell their wares at a fraction of their cost.”​

​

The boy stopped for a minute, sounding out a few words and scratching his head.​

​

“We acquiesce to powers greater than us. To Sith. To Jedi. To those who would seek to impose their laws. Why? Because we must. Anonymity and indep-”​

​

The boy was suddenly interrupted as a man tore the piece of flimsy from his grasp. He was tall, a Devaronian with bright red skin and horns as long as the boys forearms. The devil stared down at the boy and scowled, kicking him in his side. “Get out of here!”​

​

His voice rang and the boy scrambled off down the alleyway, running as fast as he could.​

​

The Devaronian smirked to himself, amused by the boys fear. He watched the human child for a moment more, and then turned his attention to the flyer in front of him. He scanned, then slowly began to speak the words he read, as though in disbelief.​

​

“No more shall we skulk and sneak. No more shall we hide and run. Find the mark; find a friend.”​

​

The Devaronian raised an eyebrow then scoffed, looking at the odd symbol that had been scrawled across the bottom of the paper. He licked his lips, chuckling slightly and thinking something to himself about how foolish this all was, probably some ruse by the local kids to mug someone. He shook his head and wandered towards one of the far cantina’s.​

He didn’t think anything else of the flyer. It was silly after all, a game being played by children. Yet, as he began to walk through the dirty, disgusting world of Nar Shadda, he could not help but see the symbol scrawled upon wall after wall, door after door.​

 

[Noire]

[member="Slevin Thawne"]

Up on the VIP area, a woman with legs as long as the Kessel Run lightly tapped her red sole heel to the beat of the music. A flash of fire, a deep drag and the cherry glow off the tip of her cigarillo made her coronea's seem to burn with an internal fire. Spicy white smoke went streaming from the corner of perfectly painted crimson lips, the deep set slanted eyes panning to skim across the various patrons.

There was much to be done. A movement per se. Slevin and she had gotten word of it, and it had tickled their fancy. By all intents and purposes, the two were working Coratanni Cartel well with the extortion and Spice trade. As always, they were seeking to do more. However, they were still at the bottom of the barrel so to speak. While they had managed to gather ground on Rishi and Nar Kreeta, there were still other far more powerful organizations out there. Learning who they were and what territories they lay claim to would help in distinguishing which would be best suited to be exploited in the now... before being torn down later.

Natalia and Slevin were an ambitious lot of course, there were many players in this game. This was just their own.

 

[Danny]

[ T H E M E ]

The Underworld was often known for its dark seemingly endless street corridors, where fires burned in the barrel hulls of deconstructed astromechs to keep the homeless warm. A place where criminals roamed freely without fear, squashed underneath thousands of years worth of decayed urban sprawls. Yet all was not so gloom and doom in the Underworld. A small cantina's fetish with bright luminescent lights had slowly spread across a sizable chunk of the Underworld, almost a sector in its own right.

Its streets were glossed in blue and pink neon. It was almost surreal. At the heart of it was Frida's Spaceport Cantina, a local bar who had changed the face of the galactic underworld forever. Although the Red Ravens didn't last long with their infighting, the impact they left was still felt to this day. The Black Suns were gone, a distant echo of their millennia-long empire. Danny didn't know it yet, but he was still under the sway of his former puppet master, Lysle of the Hydian Way. Some said he was dead and he believed it.

He was a tourist for the Mirage these days. He didn't know much about them. They produced premium spice for high end clientele, Danny was responsible for moving it. That was as much as he knew. He got a flimsiplast letter once a month with instructions, along with a nice paycheck, and he'd do as they wanted. At first he asked around what the Mirage was, no one really knew. He hit up old contacts from the Ravens, Svel Droma still frequented Frida's, he'd share a drink with her at the end of each week and hear the word on the street.

As far as Svel knew, Mirage was a pretty tight-lipped organization. No one knew who was running it, rumors said it was a bunch of Ravens who were smart enough to jump ship and start their own business before they sank with everyone else. Svel had also heard it was some Black Sun Vigos who branched off after the Black Suns crumbled. The only thing Svel had been sure about was that Mirage was associated with Neos City. Just about everyone this side of Little Coruscant dismissed the notion of Neos City as myth, so did Danny.

"But I got this," Svel whispered with those sweet lips of hers, placed delicately to his ears. Her hand had pushed a pamphlet across the table and into his hands, she curled them into a ball with her own. "My little birds tell me this is something you might want to look into." They departed shortly after. Frida closed early these days. Not as much clientele as she once had. Supposed that is the way the galaxy works, empires rise and fall quickly around here. He plucked a deathstick from his jacket pocket and pierced it between his lips.

It wasn't hard finding the nightclub, he just followed the trail of breadcrumbs. Danny was halfway home when he began to notice the insignia was planted all over the neighborhood. He didn't realize its connection till he had locked up his apartment for the night and unfolded the flimsiplast. "Svel. . ." Danny murmured quietly to himself, "What're you getting me into now." His datapad vibrated and he answered the call. "Danny, it's Svel, come around for after-hour drinks, it'll be worth your time." There was a hint of seduction in her tone.

An hour later and he was marching out of his local neighborhood, a farewell to the bright neon lights and respectable criminals. He rested his hands in his jacket pockets and kept his head hung low. Smoke drifted up from his deathstick, softly illuminating his face in an orange haze. When he arrived he couldn't see Svel in sight, but he saw the insignia again on the wall beside the entrance. It was a nightclub, that much he could deduce. Svel must be inside. He waited in line, put out his deathstick and was granted access when he gave over his name, "Danny."

 

[Darth Abyss]

The dirt of Nar Shaddaa had long become Abyss home, even before the empire he served had broke apart and died. A moon controlled by crime, yet the rules were the same as always: Those with money and power ruled over those without it, only with the difference that politics were more focused on violence and extortion than on corruption and actual politics. All in all it was the perfect world for a sith, especially one that had to hide from the curious eyes of many enemies that would more than like to either kill him or at least lock him away forever, after he had set fire to the core.

The other sith had began to reform, power was shifting and those who followed the same path he was on made their decisions. The first order, the New sith order and more small splitter groups formed because some deemed it necessary to show themselves openly. Abyss wasn't a coward, but if he learned anything from the war he fought, than that every group that openly claimed to be sith would become a target for the jedi very fast and therefore struggle and stumble like any sith empire before. They hadn't yet realised that the strongest the sith ever were had been the times the members of the order dissolved into the shadows, acting and planning unseen to the public, gathering power and influence from the inside and not by open combat.

He had followed the marks on the walls to a nightclub. At first he had his suspicions about the leaflet he picked up, as it was rather possible to be a trap by thugs on a world on Nar Shaddaa. Not that it mattered, really, if anyone would be dumb enough to attack him, he would show them why and how he became one of the leading officers for one of the biggest armies of their time.

One of the biggest advantages of the bars and nightclubs on the smuggler moon was the fact that a man in sith attire, with a mask and a cybernetic leg still wasn't under the strangest things that could be seen there, so he could get in and out without raising any suspicion. Time to see what this was all about ...

[member="Natalia Thawne"] [member="Slevin Thawne"] [member="Danny"]

 

[Thraxis]

A man in a deathly visage walked the streets of Nar Shadaa, a symbol of the Hutt Cartel painted large and boldly on his back, in hopes that he would get some recognition. He did not. But this was no ego trip, this was a mission, a mission with a singular purpose in all regards. To find this underground. He walked it's streets, his fingers tearing at clothes of paper strewn across the walls and reading it, all with the same scribble on it. Find a friend. It almost seemed mindless, but if this was what he had too do, he had no quarrels. He almost stalked the streets, following behind a deathly visage of people who walked to nightclubs, one after another he narrowed it down, he from what he knew had no friends in this place, but had full intention of finding it.

He sat in the corner of an alleyway, that same sign, he almost felt taunted by its allure. He was Thraxis dammit, one of the last remnants of the Hutt Cartel, he was there when it breathed its last breath, and he wasn't going to become a part of that. He wanted to find another empire, help build it from dirt into a powerhouse. Then watch that vicious cycle continue. Become powerful, then dissipate into the breeze, a tale told by drunkards in a bar to pass the flows of time.

This was the fifth nightclub he had encountered, he wasn't perceptive, he couldn't see the breadcrumbs laid before him, he didn't even look. Those same words had dominated his mind, that was what he followed, and for the past five days now, he had spent trying to find a friend. Only to spend the nights drinking himself half to death. Little too his knowledge this was the one. He waited as time passed by, the line dimming until he finally got in, the blaring noise echoing through his mask as he walked through its neon lights, the sight of spice and drugs seemed to plague this land, but not a bad plague. A plague of ecstasy and enjoyment, something he could on any other day engage in, but he had other things to deal with. He quickly hopped around, observing the walls, his digits running along its walls, hoping for anything, a sign that damn insignia. But all he found was spice and booze that had coated the walls over time, a sight not to uncommon at any self respecting business.
[member="Natalia Thawne"] [member="Slevin Thawne"]
[member="Danny"] [member="Darth Abyss"]

 

[Jaster Awaud]

Spoiler

[member="Slevin Thawne"] [member="Natalia Thawne"] [member="Danny"] [member="Darth Abyss"] [member="Thraxis"]

The lights of this accursed city was a bother to most, but the man in black wasn't like most people.

A shadowy allieway was always a bad place for people on Nar Shadaa, especially in the slums. As homeless roamed the streets and people wondered around avoiding them. Three men in all black Robes fell from the building tops, slowing very quickly before finally reaching the ground floor. No one noticed them and they didn't make a sound, except a lonely homeless person who nodded to these three individuals and said, "Cool."

The leading person didn't look at the homeless man, but nodded his head. The closest cloaked individual turned on a dime and brought down a Blacked Out Vibro-Blade down the mans throat and chest. It was so quick the Homeless man couldn't scream in shock, only choke. The cloaked man recovered and wait for further orders. Again the lead man looked to the cantina ahead of him and nodded. In the blink of an eyes the two figured behind him disappeared into the shadows without words. The leader just walked forward to the Cantina.

As he approached the place he took off the hood and revealed the machin-like faceplate. His cloak was covering the rest of his body, but no alarms stating he was a droid, just a Cyborg. He continued on his way to the counter where the bartender looked him over. Tydus said nothing and just sat down. He was here on a mission of his own, to look for the leader of a small cartel named, "Coratanni Cartel". Rumor has it they were a new power on the street, maybe they would buy weapons from the Shadow Legion. The Legion were a Secrete Syndicate of an assortment of people, mostly Spies and Assasins, they pretty much controlled the Arms Trafficking in the Core Worlds, but still only recently started out. He wanted to make it clear to these new Powers in play, the Core Worlds and what's left of the Black Suns were his. They owed him a Debt they would pay back, no matter how he got it.

He sad down lookin to the bartender, "I'm looking for a woman, a woman of VIP status."

 

[Zofia Marek]

"Yes, I'm well aware of your... group's hold on the upper quadrant docs at sector 12-3, but I'm afraid you're not the legal landowner. I owe you nothing," she sipped at the wine glass before setting it back on the table. "Which brings me to the dilemma we currently have and there's no use sugar coating it. You and your thugs are causing a problem for me and it's going to stop."

"An' who's gonna make me, kitty cat?" the Twi'lek demanded, his lekku twitching slightly. His tone was livid, but it didn't phase Marek at all. Between her ship's marines at the doors and her own martial skill, she doubted he would try anything. At least, not in the back room of one of the upper class cantinas. "Twelve-three is ours, don't need no landlord. I'm the landlord. Don't like it, too bad. You pay your rent or Bad Things gonna start happenin'."

"Always with the cat references," she mused as she uncrossed and crossed her legs once more. "Let me put it this way. Your people are swoop gangers, troublemakers, criminals, murderers, and all manner of unsavory and dangerous individuals. They're armed with the best gear and tools available, you make sure of that, correct?"

"Course I do," the gang leader spat, his arms crossed over his chest. Between the scars, tattoos, and the cybernetic arm he struck an intimidating figure... for some people. "The 'Cafa gang get the best blasters an' weapons. Get the best swoop bikes, too. No one here messes with the 'Cafas."

"Right, I'm sure. Here's the thing. Your 'best' equipment isn't even considered second-rate to the gear I issue my men, and that doesn't even touch on their training. You and your men would be foolish to attempt to cause... What was it you said? Bad Things? I don't suggest trying anything like that. It would look bad for your... ah, reputation for an offworlder to... What's the term people here like to use? 'Clean your chronometer'? I believe that's the term, yes," she spotted the muscles bunch a split second before the Twi'lek shot up out of his seat. Or, at least, before he tried to. Zofia had spotted the telltales a split second before. Her Marine sergeant saw it a week ago. Thankfully, the grip the big Korunnai had on the alien's throat was just enough that the gurgling was fairly quiet. "Case in point, I'd say. You can let him go now, Sgt. Hunlu. I think he understands the point now, thank you."

 

[Kenth Typho]

[member="Zofia Marek"] | [member="Tydus Wryeens"] | [member="Thraxis"] | [member="Darth Abyss"] | [member="Danny"] | [member="Natalia Thawne"] | [member="Slevin Thawne"]

Movers and the moved, shakers and shaked- ain't that the credo of the Underworld?​

There were those who wanted to tear down establishments. Their hunger, their desire and ambitions served them well, but they always wanted more. More, more and more, and they would never be sated, no matter how much they were fed. The Exchange knew this dogma well; it was the same hunger that kept the addicts coming back even while the loans kept pushing 'em down, kept the beaters bloodying their knuckles long after their fists were worn down and broken, kept the gamblers fixated on the board and the sharks gunning for a fresh body.

Ain't that different, that.

But the Exchange had never allowed that dogma to swallow it whole. Call it discipline or call it simple pragmatism, but they never tasted what they paddled and if that wasn't the number one rule of anything crime-related... than Griff didn't know what was.

He stood before a club. Beat-down boots, red smear cracked against the fabric, he stood but he also leaned. Griffin was waiting. See, the Exchange was never much about mindless expansion and they never claimed that which they couldn't hold. The Underlord had ruled Nar Shaddaa in the wake of Lysle's fall from grace, but there hadn't been much in the way of love for it.
Just a place, just another source, just another job.

And just as quickly as the Union reared its ugly head and forgot old bonds, was just as quickly they were gone again.

Never get to attached, Griff, no 2. rule.

Khal wasn't here- few people saw the Underlord these days, even fewer remembered his earlier beginnings. The Bartender. Powerful names to the right people, but most of 'em were dead. Another eternal rule; you didn't grow old in this business.

He waited.

"Griff." The dusty man from Tatooine didn't get shook, he kept looking at the club instead, but he did speak. Drawled with that low throaty husk. "Yeah?"

"They clean." It was a Regulator- you didn't see it, of course. She looked like any other broken face of 'Shaddaa, but Griff knew her. Taddy N'dlah... if he recalled correctly, crack-shot and even better slicer.

She would be one of his bodyguards, the other? Didn't know where Neal was, but knowing Neal? He was around somewhere.

"Aight." He mumbled out from under his cigarro. "Then we go. See what they about."

They walked.

Neal appeared from the shadows and Griff just snorted. The door was getting larger as they approached, a symbol etched gently in its side.

This was the place.

 

[Subject 37]

[member="Natalia Thawne"]

People really only ever saw what they wanted to see. It was an odd aspect of organic life. While droids took in and processed everything from visual to auditory data humans, and for that matter most aliens, chose to ignore half of what they could notice. Willful ignorance he supposed.

It was part of what had interested him about the odd Flyer that had made its way to their doors, first on Rishi then their new club here on Nar Shadda. He had to admit that even he had not noticed the odd symbols that seemed to flock all over place now, the simple U outlined by a line. No one would really think to look. There was so much trash and graffiti on the walls that no one particularly paid attention...but once you knew what to look for, you couldn’t help but notice it everywhere.

He was sure there was a term for it, some word that psychologists and scientists threw around as if they were clever. He wondered briefly, as he moved up the stairs of the club, who it was that began all of this.

It was clever really. The idea was simple enough, trust. There wasn’t much of that when it came to the criminal world, but it seemed that some had become a bit more...optimistic. Perhaps it was the increasing pressure of the Galaxies Governments, or perhaps some had finally grown tired of always having to look over their shoulders. Either way it didn’t really matter.

Slevin would support it, as long as it drew profit.

He had no issue sheltering thieves, hiding murderers, selling stolen goods from Pirates. He had no problem with any of it, hell, with enough of them working together...they could be bold. The crime lord smiled slightly, stepping into the VIP area and waving away one of the girls who was about to offer him a drink.

Without a word he sat himself down besides his Beloved.

There wasn’t much to say right now, with the new club here on Nar Shaddaa just having been opened they were still just waiting, watching.

 

[Flannigan Mcnash]

“What art thou Faustus, but a man condemned to die?” ​

― Christopher Marlowe, Doctor Faustus​

​

What art thou Flannigan, but a man condemned to live? Cast in iron shell, wrought in steely bars. Condemned to live, to watch a legacy die. He sat there on a bench, his pointed digits running the length of his face-guard, if he had skin to feel to move, the slack of it would've travelled under the pressure of his fingers, to know the warmth of skin, to know the feeling of self. Would you choose to live on without all earthly pleasures, to not feel a summers day, the hot wind in his face, a warm hand to hold."G-od!" he stood up slamming a thick metallic hand into the wall, a cavity exploding around the poor masonry as his living machine of an arm ate into the dry rock.

"[member="Cadan Tazi"]." he flipped open the comlink, holding it to the side of his head. "I want names, I want faces I can put to them. I want to know where they live, where their children go to school. Get with the god damn program!" he shouted into the link, his voice filled with the thunder of machinery the cold metallic edge of steel. Disturbing rumours filled the street, his stock and trade. He was here to pull some distant Hutt in line with the vision of the Cartel, their mad dog let loose to pull the herd back together, or at least turn them over to see the corruption beneath.

"What's this" he peeled the flyer from the wall with a slick sticky sound 'THOOP' "No more shall we skulk and sneak. No more shall we hide and run. Find the mark; find a friend. What a load of dross." he crunched it up in his hand, turning the paper to fragment in his power claws. "They'll put up anything up these days." he leaned down taking a fat cigar from his pocket, the light glow of embers as the alley was lit up, the illumination casting strange and alien shadow over him like malign hands of distant imps, ready to play.

"Maybe staring at a drink, will put me in the mood." he moved towards the club, his shoulder deflecting drunks off him like a tank through protesters. "Watch it slime, or I'll introduce your face to your colon. Permanently." What can you do when threaten by a moving train, get out of the way. "What a sh-it show."

---​

[member="Zofia Marek"], [member="Slevin Thawne"], [member="Griffin Coldwell"], [member="Tydus Wryeens"], [member="Thraxis"], [member="Darth Abyss"], [member="Danny"], [member="Natalia Thawne"]​

 

[Zofia Marek]

The female marine pushed the Twi'lek gang boss back into his chair. The ganger looked like he was about to shoot out of his chair again, but he saw Hunlu with her hand on the blade at her side and thought better of it. Instead, he glared daggers at the Cathar privateer, his expression sullen and angry.

"Now, aren't you glad you came here alone?" she asked politely, her tone never leaving the polite, semi-chipper inflection that had been there from the start of the meeting. "None of your people are here, so no loss of face. You see, that's the problem with gangs, you're only the boss until you show weakness. Once that happens you - Oh, where are my manners. Sergeant?"

"Yes, Captain?"

"Would you send on of your men to fetch a server droid? I completely forgot to offer our guest a drink. The usual tray of refreshments will suffice."

The dark-skinned woman nodded and quietly muttered into an earpiece while keeping a discrete eye on the Twi'lek. Marek sipped once at her wine before returning back to the discussion at hand.

"Anyways, back to the issue we're dealing with. Your thugs are trying to shake 'rent'... oh, we'll just call it what it is. You want protection money for my presence in the warehouses and docks where you assume that you hold power. Now, outright conflict is an option and one that I have no qualms undergoing. Veteran shipboard marines backed by trained soldiers of the RGTC against what really amounts to an irregular and motley force of criminals and thugs, none of which have had a day's worth of military training... I'd probably bet money it would take longer to mop up the remnants of your gang than it would to shatter any assault you make."

She couldn't help but laugh briefly at her own last sentence. The Twi'lek made to shoot up from his chair once more, but remembered a split second before he did that the big marine behind him was ever watching. Instead, he slammed a fist on the table, rattling the wooden surface and nearly spilling Zofia's wine glass.

"My gang is stronger than you think!" he half shouted before jabbing a metal finger at the Cathar. "Your marines and soldiers are nothing to the 'Cafa gang! If you refuse to pay, we'll burn the place down!"

At that point the server droid wordlessly entered and set a quietly clinking tray on the table before turning and leaving the same way he'd come. She took a moment to refill the wine glass before speaking again.

"Your people use the Industrial sector 15-9 sub 3 as their base, yes?" she spotted the confusion on his face followed by the flush of anger that told her the informant was correct. "Secret clubhouses aren't so secret the moment one person is a little strapped for cash and you wave enough of it in their face. Oh, yes, I know your people primarily focus on the tapcaf down the way, a sector over, but I know for a fact that your weapons, munitions, and swoop bikes are filtered through there and stockpiled on site. One word to my sergeant that you've... become so well acquainted with and my troops seize it. Now, I know you're a gang boss, but I'm assuming you're smart enough to understand what, precisely, that means for your gang?"

 

[Zef Halo]

Home.
Nar Shadaa.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=svTJVhnohCs


This time Zef was not in the usual loud and noisy cantinas but in those that were chill, those that he adored the most. The places where one could his peace of mind and enjoy his Corellian malt whiskey along with his cigarettes. Most would see him as just another typical patron in Nar Shadaa's establishment, a no one that barely managed to tie loose ends and make it for the month. Some would recognize him, the good ol' scoundrel. A well-known smuggler that was as capable with any ship as much as with his gun. Now age was catching up on him. Muscle and tendon once fresh now deteriorating. Bones which could hold the weight of the world once but not anymore.

Kark.

He cursed under his breath as a flyer nailed itself right into his cigarette due to the current that was brought in with the entrance of a few patrons. Hastily, Zef took it off and unwrinkled it to reveal a weird sign and some words on it. With another curse under his breath he smashed it into his fist and tossed it away turning back to enjoying his cigarette and whiskey. Half-raising his arm to signal the barman that more whiskey was necessary, Zef saw something that caught his eye. It never would before, despite being very perceptive usually, not unless he had just seen the same sign. The smuggler grimaced when his eyes caught the symbol on another place on the rather dirty and full of weird drawings walls. Slowly he scanned the area around him and noticed it a few more places. Even outside of the establishment on a railing just after having a moment's glimpse when patrons entered the cantina.

The scowl still painted on his face as he stood up and grabbed the flyer from the ground.

Find the mark; find a friend.






[member="Zofia Marek"] | [member="Flannigan Mcnash"] | [member="Slevin Thawne"] | [member="Griffin Coldwell"] | [member="Tydus Wryeens"] | [member="Thraxis"] | [member="Darth Abyss"] | [member="Natalia Thawne"] | [member="Danny"]

 

[Jaster Awaud]

The bartender was a rather annouing individural, he wasnt giving up the location of the woman he was looking for. He decided to be a little more forth right about how important this individual was, he reached into his pocket and brought out a credit chip with a little screen on the side. Tydus pulled out a cord from his cybernetic arm and downloaded something. He then disconnected from the chip and passed it over to the bartender. The man behind chucked a little with the thought of just entertain the stranger, but the smile was quickly washed away as he looked at the line of zeros that followed the one on the small screen. The bartender couldn't pass up the chance to gain that much in one day. Without words his eyes slide away from Tydus and looked over to the VIP stairway that lead to, [member="Slevin Thawne"], and [member="Natalia Thawne"]. The bartender then whispered, "I didn't send you though, and leave your weapons here, I'm not getting on my bosses bad side."

Tydus could understand that, this woman must be that scary to cross. Tydus stood and only said, "I don't carry weapons on me." He then made his way to the stairs.

 

[Cadan Tazi]

A bouncer tossed a Duros from an night club, this wasn't an unussal thing, just another alien thinking he is the top gun. Unbeknown to the bouncer he had justed tossed out the Spice Lord for the Hutt Cartel. Cadan now rolled around on the floor holding his gut trying to gasp for air. "Fleck you big guy." Cadan spat towards the bouncer. Cadan rolled onto his feet and began in the opposite direction mumbling on about how he could have fought the bouncer.

As he was on the way to the next club, Cadan's eyes locked onto a man down on his luck a wolfish grin spread across Cadan's face. From his coat he drew out a syringe and approached the man. "Ever 'ad some Collafa?"

The mans eyes lit up at the mention of spice. "H-h-how much? All I have is this?" The man thrust forward his shaking hand, in it was a collection of small bird bones, a few credits and a stick of gum.

Cadan's grin began to widen. "How about you give me your shirt aswell and you 'ave yourself a deal." The deal was struck and Cadan began to inject the syringe into the man's arm. At first the man felt the warmth and all the happiness begin spiced out of his mind brang. Then something went wrong, even in this state he knew Cadan was givng too much. He tried to push him away but he was too strong. Slowly his world began to faid to black as he fell to the floor spasaming and frothing at the mouth. Cadand left the syrine and picked up the stick of gum and credits, aswell as the shirt. Cadan threw the gum in his mouth, and chucked the shirt in the nearest fire barrel.

Suddenly a message came in from Flannigan ordering him about, Cadan's only reaction was to head to Flannigan location and try and do the best he could with the random orders he was just given.

[member="Flannigan Mcnash"] [member="Slevin Thawne"]

 

[Alleycat]

Nothing to see here…

 

[Zofia Marek]

The Twi'lek said nothing as he glared pure hatred at the woman before him. Marek knew the gang boss wanted so badly to simply rise out of his chair and lash out, to crush her for even daring to threaten his livelihood, his revenue, his power. Despite this, he stayed in his seat. At the very least, she figured he was smart enough to know that violence wasn't always the answer, or at least not the immediate answer in most cases.

"And now, Der'Cafa, we're on the same page," she stated with a grin. The Cathar gestured to tray of refreshments with a gloved hand and, after a moment, Der'Cafa grudgingly removed a glass and a bottle of liquor. Zofia couldn't blame him, he probably needed the alcoholic kick after having his entire power base threatened entirely. "Now, as I was saying, your people are becoming a problem for my employees in the area. This needs to stop."

"No," Der'Cafa stated stubbornly as he poured a tumbler full of amber liquid. He slugged back the liquid and went to pour another glass. "You're smart. The moment I tell my gang we get no money off some fat traders, someone else takes over. They kill me, then come after you. No money, no deal."

"Ah, and now we're back at square one," the Cathar stated, her tone still upbeat as ever. "It seems we're in a bind. Neither of us can budge, which means you've left me with no other alternative. Sergeant?"

"Yes, Captain?" the dark-skinned marine asked, moving to the table as the Twi'lek ganger tossed back another tumbler full of liquor.

"Would you please bring me the contract for Mister Der'Cafa?" Marek asked politely. "I believe I gave it to one of your men to look after when we arrived."

"Right away."

"What?" Der'Cafa asked suddenly, blinking once or twice as he set the tumbler on the table. "What contract? I told you, Kitty Cat. My gang wants that rent money and they ain't takin' no for an answer."

"Yes, I'm well aware," she replied, making a casual gesture of dismissal at the issue. "You can't go back without money or the order to attack, I don't want to waste the resources crushing your gang only to have the same pest problem coming back up in a month."

"The kark is this 'contract' then?" the Twi'lek demanded, thumping the table once with his prosthetic hand.

"This contract is Option C, if you will," she stated as the marine returned with a large envelope in her hand.

 

[Noire]

[member="Cadan Tazi"] [member="Tydus Wryeens"] [member="Zef Halo"] [member="Flannigan Mcnash"] [member="Slevin Thawne"] [member="Zofia Marek"]

While [member="Tydus Wryeens"] made his way up to the VIP area, Natalia caught sight of her beloved. Taking the cigarillo in between two fingers, the woman gave him a salicious smile.

"You're in rather deep thought," she'd murmur as she came alongside him. Full lips came round to press a light kiss against his mouth, pulling back just so only to offer him her vice for him to take a drag from.

"Thinking about that so-called mark again?" she asked him. It had been making the rounds, the so-called Ursk symbol. The Underground and what it meant.

 

[Subject 37]

[member="Natalia Thawne"]

"Mm." He didn't like mysteries, nor did he like secrets. He liked for things to be plain and laid out. Plots and manipulations were Natalia's game, not his own. This wasn't exactly something that he was familiar with. They didn't know who started this, they didn't know who was behind it, and they certainly didn't know who was participating in it.

That was of course the crux of it.

Anonymity seemed to the be the key of this, and it made sense. The Galaxy was growing larger and larger, and now becoming more dangerous for their kind. The Sith had fallen, and so had The Republic, but the Alliance and the Silver Jedi were growing larger and larger, and with them came law and order. That spelled disaster for the Coratanni Cartel, The Hutt's, anyone that tried to make a dishonest living. So why not create a structure of safety?

Some system where they could work together to further their own goals.

"I like it." He admitted quietly, almost as if he was ashamed of the fact. "I should have thought of it."

Humility was not his strong suit.

 

[Jaster Awaud]

Spoiler

[member="Slevin Thawne"] [member="Natalia Thawne"] [member="Zofia Marek"] [member="Rika Anor"] [member="Cadan Tazi"] [member="Zef Halo"] [member="Flannigan Mcnash"] [member="Griffin Coldwell"] [member="Thraxis"] [member="Darth Abyss"] @Danny

Tydus walked over to the VIP area, he was stopped by some guards but he did not stop. The guards fell before him as if they were touched by the bringer of death. The men were being dropped by small darts being shot by hidden members of the Shadow Legion that were near by. The darts were non-lethal, and would just induce the person targeted to be immediately nocked out. He was not here for a threatening reason, but he wanted answers. He had hear rumors that the Thrawn couple would hold these answers.

People for the last couple days had been showing up at his safe houses and locally controlled areas passing out flyers labeled with a "U" shaped figure. Meaning nothing to the Legion they shut their doors to everyone. Hearing through the grape vines that the Thrawns started this trend, and he wanted to know why they were showing up at Legion Holdings.

He approached the two sitting where they were and stood there, the guard at the entrance were nocked out and unconscious. He knew these people could rip him limb from limb, the guards were more for looks then real protection, or at least that's what his Intel stated. "Slevin, Natalia, what is the meaning of this?" As he said this he opened his robe to extend his arm where he slid a peice of paper across the table, it was a small poster with the "U" shaped figure.

Spoiler

OOC:Not sure if this is before or after the White Palace stuff.

 

[Zofia Marek]

"... What?" demanded the Twi'lek. His tone was still angry, but his face showed only confusion. Marek figured that was a good sign.

"Option C," she stated as she took the envelope from the sergeant. With a quiet word of thanks, she deftly opened the packet and removed the thin sheaf of flimsi from within. "I can't afford to have you causing problems and don't want to waste the resources wiping you out only to have another gang move in the next day, proverbially speaking."

She set the papers on the table and slid them lightly over to the gang boss who stared at them blankly. After a moment, he slowly pulled them closer, his eyes slowly tracking back and forth over the document as he read through it. If she was to be honest, she was mildly surprised he could read. That said, whether he could understand the document was another thing entirely.

"On the other hand, you can't exactly back down from the potential fight without losing your position," she stated, knowing full well that he'd also probably lose his life in the process. Gang leadership changes often became messy affairs. "Which means a new gang leader takes over and I'm dealing with the same process or you go through with the attack which makes a mess that I have to shell out credits to clean up. So, we go with the middle ground."

"You... want to... hire me?" the man asked slowly, his tone no longer angry, but equally as confused as his face. "I ain't no egghead, but I can understand some of this poodoo. The kark is going on?"

"What that document does is outline an agreement where you will receive a monthly payment to fulfill a set number of tasks outlined within the contract itself," she stated, pausing only to sip at her wine once more. "Primarily, you'll cease harassing my people and any damages caused by your people will be deducted from the monthly payments. In addition, your gang will be regarded as private... I guess the proper term would be contractors. Essentially, you'll mainly be keeping rival gangs out of the area by any means that you feel are necessary. Likewise, the area in question is detailed in the contract itself."

Der'Cafa flipped through the paperwork sheet by sheet, skimming each page bit by bit as she spoke. When she mentioned details he tried to find them, semi-frantically trying to find specific sections on corresponding pages. When the Cathar mentioned the area, he found the location detailed further back in the contract. As he found it fairly quickly she figured he had found the actual map rather than the indicated section of the contract.

"Wait," he started, jabbing a metal finger at the diagram in question. "This ain't just sector Twelve-three, this is the entire sector twelve. Twelve-one through Twelve-nine!"

"Yes, that's right. Is there a problem?"

"The 'Cafa gang only holds Twelve-Three and Twelve-Four," he explained, jabbing the same finger at the two areas on the map. He jabbed at a few more areas before stopping and turning the page around so Zofia could see the map a bit better. "Other gangs got territory in these other places. Twelve-one and two are Guncha's boys. Five through eight are Blood Rabbit's. Spirda the Hutt owns Nine. Took it from Blood Rabbit 'bout three months back. Ain't no one been able to take it from him since."

"Yes, I'm well aware," Marek stated bluntly. The Twi'lek's surprised expression told her he wasn't expecting she was so well informed. "Guncha, the Gamorrean gang leader, shouldn't be an issue. He's poorly equipped and most don't attack him because they don't want to leave themselves vulnerable to an attack of opportunity from someone else. Blood Rabbit, I believe he's called?"

"She," the gang boss corrected with a silent shudder.

"Quite. She has a problem of dissenters in her group and a grip on the deathsticks trade in the area. Addiction to narcotics and a cruel streak does that to people, I've found. Cut off the drug flow and her cruelty, and the dissent, will grow worse. The group should implode on its own. If it doesn't, they'll be fractured and easier to handle. Spirda we've looked into. Hutt that fancies himself a crime lord. He borrowed a bunch of money from what I can only assume is another Hutt and his only holdings are at 12-9 and a cantina nearby. Spirda is, to use an Atrisian phrase, a paper tiger. He and his people only look terrifying. I'm certain they'll be a non-issue."