Dominion Operation Broken Helix ||DIA Dominion of Garqi

[Laphisto]

Prologue / Briefing

There are worlds that scream when they fall planets burned by fleets, shattered by war, or silenced by orbital fire. Garqi is not one of them. Garqi bends. It is an agriworld by design and by temperament. Endless fields, regimented production cycles, labor that begins before sunrise and ends long after dusk. The planet feeds others. It always has. Crops, processed rations, nutrient pastes Garqi's output moves quietly along supply lines, sustaining systems that never learn its name.

That quiet has become its weakness. Something has taken root in the industrial districts. Not through invasion, but through pressure through contracts rewritten at blasterpoint, through workers who do not go home, through factories that never stop running. Production continues. Exports flow. On the surface, Garqi appears stable.

It is not. Reports filtered through Diarchy trade auditors and displaced civilians tell the same story from different angles: armed overseers in factory colors, missing labor quotas replaced by "temporary work rotations," and entire neighborhoods emptied overnight. No banners. No declarations. Just compliance, enforced.

The Diarchy has seen this pattern before. It is how pirates become powers. A sanctioned operation has been authorized to intervene before Garqi's silence becomes permanent not to conquer, not to punish, but to break the machinery of exploitation before it spreads outward into the Diarchys agri-chain.

Garqi will not cry out for help. It will endure until it cannot. That is why the Diarchy is moving now.

---

Objective I – Cutting the Flow

Overview

The first phase of the operation focuses on containment. The affected industrial sector must be isolated before word spreads or reinforcements arrive. The target zone sits at the heart of Biitu's manufacturing district, where freight lanes intersect with worker housing and automated logistics corridors. This is not a battlefield built for armies. It is narrow streets, stacked structures, conveyor routes, and transit spines never meant to stop moving. Everything here is designed for throughput, not resistance.

That design will be turned against its occupiers. Diarchy-aligned forces are to establish control over access routes, shipping gates, and external infrastructure without triggering a sector-wide shutdown. The objective is dominance without disruption precision over spectacle. The population must see order return before fear has time to calcify.

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Mission Objectives

• Secure Access Points: Lock down freight gates, transit tunnels, and elevated cargo rails feeding the industrial complex. Control movement in and out without halting civilian evacuation routes.
  
  
• Neutralize External Security Assets: Disable patrol units and ad-hoc pirate checkpoints embedded into factory security frameworks. Priority is capture where feasible.
  
  
• Establish a Forward Command Zone: Convert a logistics hub or transit interchange into a hardened coordination node for follow-on operations.
  
  
• Optional Objective: Intercept outbound cargo shipments before they clear atmosphere to identify offworld beneficiaries.

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Objective II – Breaking the Hands That Work

Overview

With the perimeter stabilized, attention shifts inward into the places where labor is extracted and control is enforced. The Cannery on Garqi is not a prison by design. They have no bars, no walls meant to hold people in. Compliance is maintained through exhaustion, debt, and the simple fact that stopping work means starving entire districts. Armed overseers are present, but they are not the true mechanism of control.

The system itself is. This phase aims to dismantle the coercive structure from the inside: separating civilians from their overseers, severing command chains, and restoring agency to a workforce that has been reduced to output metrics. The operation must move quickly. The longer the system remains intact, the more likely it is that key figures disappear into the machinery or offworld.

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Mission Objectives

• Secure Production Zones: Clear factory floors, warehouses, and processing levels of hostile elements while maintaining life-support and safety systems.
  
  
• Extract and Protect Civilian Workers: Establish protected corridors for evacuation, medical triage, and debriefing. Expect resistance born of fear, not loyalty.
  
  
• Seize Administrative Control: Take command of internal oversight offices, data centers, and operational hubs coordinating labor and logistics.
  
  
• Optional Objective: Recover records detailing labor transfers, disappearances, and off-ledger production runs.

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Objective III – Exposing the Nerve

Overview

Every operation of this scale has a center a place where information flows, decisions are made, and leverage is applied. On Garqi, that center is buried. Beyond the production floors and administrative levels lies the true purpose behind the occupation: a concealed node designed to watch, listen, and predict. Trade data. Civilian comms. Planetary traffic. Patterns harvested and weaponized.

This is not simply about Garqi anymore. What is learned here will determine where pressure is applied next what worlds bend quietly, which ones break, and which are ready to be taken. This objective is surgical. Failure does not come from defeat in combat, but from delay.

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Mission Objectives

• Locate the Hidden Control Node: Identify non-registered sections or concealed infrastructure operating outside standard factory schematics.
  
  
• Secure or Destroy Intelligence Assets: Prevent data exfiltration. Capture systems intact where possible; deny access absolutely where not.
  
  
• Apprehend Command Personnel: Priority targets may attempt escape once the node is threatened. Containment is critical.
  
  
• Optional Objective: Extract autonomous systems or AI cores for Diarchy intelligence review.

 

[Diarch Rellik]

The deeper sections of the Cannery were quieter than the streets above.

Conveyors still hummed behind walls. Ventilation moved stale air through the corridors. Somewhere deeper in the structure, machinery continued to process food. Outside, the city was being brought to Order. The vibrations of Legionaries and Lilaste marching carried through the structure. Tanks rolled over debris. The movement rattled the Cannery.

Rellik moved through fallen rubble and makeshift barricades. There were no alarms. No guards at this entrance. The area appeared abandoned.

Then a scream echoed through the corridor.

It came from several halls ahead.

Rellik accelerated immediately, crossing the distance at inhuman speed. He rounded the final corner as a woman broke from a side hall and collided with him.

She was thin. Malnourished. Filthy. Her hands clawed at his armor until they caught in the cloak. She looked up at his visor and tried to speak.

"Please."

Her legs gave out.

Rellik caught her before she hit the floor. His gaze dropped, knees and head dipping to the ground as he gently placed her on the floor. Arms crossed and eyes closed. He saw the blaster wound burned clean through her back. The shot had been centered. Fired to kill.

Behind her, a barred industrial door hung half-open, bent outward from the pressure of bodies forcing against it. Hands gripped the trim, being broken against the force of guards trying to keep it closed. Some had their eyes fixed on what had just happened.

Among all of the guards holding the door shut there was one looking down the hallway, blaster barrel still smoking from his shot. The shot that killed the woman who just begged the Diarch for help before passing away.

The guard and Rellik locked eyes. Bolts struck the Diarch's armor and scattered in molten fragments across the walls. Another shot. And another. The surrounding guards started noticing. Turning to catch the armored warrior marching down the hall towards them.

More turned to fire, only for the Diarch to ignite his golden blade and reflect the bolts with ease. Two of the guards fell to returned fire before Rellik could grab his main target by the throat.

For simply a moment the two stared at each other with a cold, crisp, and distorted breathing filtered through Rellik's mask filling the gap between them.

"Your sentence is death."

Lightning poured from Rellik's outstretched hand and travelled through the guard entirely, crawling across armor, forcing its way through seams and joints. The man screamed once before the sound collapsed into a wet, choking noise as his body seized. Skin split. Armor sagged. The smell of burned flesh filled the corridor. His structure failed as bone softened and collapsed.

Rellik did not release him.

The current intensified until nothing remained but warped armor and fragments of bone. Rellik crushed what was left of the skull and spine and dispersed it with a final surge of energy.

He released the remains and turned toward the remaining guards and the door.

"Leave."

Reaching out he used the force and ripped the door off of its hinges. No command followed. No order. He stepped aside. The people hesitated only a second before breaking, flooding past him in a silent rush, some stumbling, some crying, some not looking at the floor at all.

One voice whispered as they passed, barely audible. "He shot her."

Rellik did not watch them go. As the last of them fled into the corridor behind him, he turned inward, toward the deeper levels of the Cannery.

@OPEN - Come do a righteous killing with me

 

[Caelus Vire // NIHIL]

Armor - Phantom Skin" Infiltration Armor - NIHIL

The administrative complex remained active. Power was stable. Emergency lighting had not engaged. Internal security protocols were inconsistent, some checkpoints manned, others abandoned. Fighting elsewhere in the district had disrupted command cohesion.

Caelus moved through the building without interception. The Networks deep intelligence web and un-usual methods combined to have doors unlocked and no alarms making a peep. By all reports and records Nihil was an agent of the enemy.

Without altering pace he made it to the sub floor. The server room was secured behind layered bulkheads, intact but no longer reinforced. The final door opened on command.

The server room was sterile and cold.

Racks lined both sides of the chamber, status lights blinking in steady patterns. Cooling units cycled at full capacity. The sound was constant and mechanical. No personnel were present.

At the center of the room stood the Oversight Access Terminal.

The terminal was active. Data streams flowed uninterrupted. External connections remained live.

Caelus stepped to the console.

All credentials cleared.
Override accepted.

Alloy trace reports were grouped under Mandalorian-adjacent material profiles already present in the system. Mercenary transit chatter and wire transfers were clustered into a single focal point. - Aether Verd

Caelus was one of the Diarchy's most trusted agents. This game was only going another level deeper. The one who would find blame for hidden caches and pirate funding would be Manda'lore. The Diarch's would see it no other way. What is one more rallying cry against the waves of beskar.

Garqi now registered as an agriworld subjected to external coercion consistent with Mandalorian-aligned pressure. Possibly using Black Sun Syndicate pirates to take over a border world.

One routing record was left imperfect. A minor inconsistency. Detectable under review. Sufficient to anchor future debate.

With a final click of the pad Caelus let out two high ranking pirate members names. Dondus and Baktee - a human and Yuuzhan Vong. Prime targets for other Network agents. The intel being differed to as a break in interrogations made in real time.

Caelus restored passive data flow and terminated his session.

Logged only under N

As he turned to leave, the terminal continued processing. Status indicators remained green. Systems returned to routine operation.

The record was complete.

Others would find it. All according to the grander scheme of the Diarchy. Death to Tyrants.

@OPEN! - Catch Nihil in the act or let him go and find the hidden notes later. Just a little extra spice for anyone wanting to do Objective three! Kill the leaders, get to the Control node through security and find the Mandalorian drop - or not! Have fun.

 

[Trace Xyston]

Obj 3

​

Spoiler: Equipment

Main weapon: LO-44 MKII
Secondary weapon: LO-12S
Tertiary weapon: LO-10M
Armor: LO-62C
Utilities: grappling hook 2x gas grenade 2x thermal detonators LO-HWB "Whisper

The quiet whine of repulsorlifts filled the night, a calm backdrop to the orderly chaos unfolding around the district as Diarchy forces secured checkpoints and cordoned off the cannery from the outside. Within the factory itself, Diarch Rellik was already at work freeing the overworked civilians from the grip of their overseers. But below the inconspicuous and bland appearance of the cannery was a node that weaponized the vast streams of data that it listened to. Trace's job was to secure the intel, capture enemy command, and extract. Lesser warriors focused only on the short term — the Lilaste commandos were of a higher caliber.

The transport slowed to a stop above their insertion zone. Trace grabbed the rope that was linked to the floor and tossed it out, giving it a sharp tug to make sure it was sturdy. He didn't look back at his squad before he leapt out to see if they were ready. Commandos were always ready.

The Twi'lek slid down the rope smoothly, grip just tight enough to avoid falling without sacrificing speed. His boots met the ground, and he immediately brought his rifle sights up to his visor, shuffling towards the door. Four more landings sounded behind him and the transport zipped away as fast as it came. Trace produced a keycard from his tactical vest, sliding it through the reader on the door. It opened with a creak to reveal an eerily lit corridor.

The commando squad filed in, rifles sweeping across every surface to search for traps, turrets, or sentry droids. They found none. Trace's eyes flicked to the upper right corner of his HUD, confirming his path through the cannery towards the suspected pathway to the listening node.

They moved through the factory silently and uncontested on the ground floor. Following the map, they moved down a dusty, neglected stairway, coming to a stop halfway down the stairwell. According to the holomap of the cannery, this level had autoturrets guarding a door to the armory, requiring an optical scan to get in. If an intruder was detected, the turrets would cut them down in short order. At least, that was the architect's intent. Commandos didn't often follow builder's dreams for impenetrable defenses. With a few quick taps on the LO-HWB, a green light appeared on the monitor and the commandos walked with confidence down the rest of the stairs. The turrets moved to track them, but did not fire. They were about as useful as muzzled dogs watching a burglar enter the house.

The LO-HWB bypassed the optical scanner too, and the door opened. The inside lounge was deserted, the Enforcers gone to deal with the Diarchy troops overtaking their checkpoints. Past the lounge was a wall with dozens of rifles and sidearms hung on racks. The marker on his map was here. His eyes scanned the floor and the walls for anything out of the ordinary. A tap on his shoulder from Rhomma alerted him to an indent in the floor, unnoticeable to someone not looking for it. A thorough inspection revealed a button matching the color of the floor. Trace pressed it, and the hatch opened.

 

[Ceres & Enel Kira]

Obj 2 : Open
We are on the side of the Diarchy, here to break the grip of a corrupt system. And more importantly, to unleash a beautiful kind of chaos aimed squarely at those who keep it alive. The system, yeah.
We are going to take care of those charming guards.

I move forward at a steady pace while my sister skips beside me, as she always does. It makes me sigh. Just a little.
But I let her be out of habit. Even when I complain, she never stops. It's simply who she is. I'll have to live with it.

"So, what's our target today?" she asks me completely carefree and utterly insouciant.

"Are you kidding me, Enel? Didn't you read the briefing? We're taking control of the security room and neutralizing the guards..."

Her eyes light up instantly.

"Neutralize the guards… permission to kill or not?"

"Yeah, I suppose. Spare the civilians though we're not here for them today...."

She raises a hand in mock solemnity.

"Message received, my sister! I'll only kill the bad gentlemen, I promise."

"Thanks. That would make the report to Lady Lyssara a lot cleaner."

"You're probably right."

For once, I say nothing when she ignites her crimson lightsaber. She is clearly determined to play a game of who has the biggest blade, and personally, I intend to follow her all the way.

The industrial corridors stretch out before us. What we want is one of those security rooms, a chance to have some fun with the defense systems — something we happen to be very good at.

Enel suddenly veers off into another corridor. She starts running, laughing, saber swinging in every direction. She must have spotted something.
I let her go. I'm not here to restrain her. If she wants to play, that's on her. A girl with a lightsaber running wild… what could possibly go wrong?

I should test one of my inventions while I'm at it a way to blow a door open, something nice and spectacular. Obviously not discreet, but discretion isn't the goal here.
I also noticed there aren't really any bars, no prisons, no cells. Everything is enforced through fear and repression, control rather than confinement.

I walk alone down the corridor, eyes fixed on my datapad. I can see Enel's position heading toward a red marker… and then it disappears.
Ah. Looks like she just killed her first guard. I grimace as her voice crackles over the comm.

"I think I took the wrong turn into an industrial corridor, but I killed my first guard!"

"Do you want a medal?"

"Oh, come on, stop sulking. I said I'd only attack enemies, not civilians!"

"You'd better."

 

[Dante Phantomhive]

The young duke enters the place stealthily, wearing clothing that covers his entire body and offers light protection. He takes advantage of his small size to pass through places considered dangerous by others, moving slowly and deliberately.

He has time, even if that time is increased by the distraction caused by other operations. He slides from one air vent to another duct, but stays outside, waiting for the guards to pass, while his HUD shows the position of the cameras.


He descends silently to the floor in the shadow of the wall, enters the first security room like the wind, and without being noticed, leaves a small device that will allow any Diarchy hacker to enter there and facilitate the operation of any group or agent. He then leaves, hiding again as he observes his next path.

 

[Sivra Kexane]

OBJECTIVE II - Proletariat Uprising
TAG: Diarch Rellik

The Diarch had a shadow following behind him. Albeit, it was not an unwelcomed one. A vaguely feminine figure dressed in pale mauve armor slinked at a militaristic pace behind the co-ruler of the Diarchy. A rifle was slung behind her back and a pistol drawn at the ready. Sivra Kexane, the latest bounty huntress and mercenary under the employ of the Diarchy.

The Weequay scanned the scene her employer had unleashed with helmeted eyes. Fresh blaster holes smoking from contact. The cooling, fatal wounds from Rellik's lightsaber. The warped husk of a guard, electricity still crackling in static like arcs. Carnage unrestrained and unchecked. Had she not seen worse, Sivra would almost have a chill run up her spine.

"Gotta say, Boss." Her voice quipped dryly, the gruff accent breaking through, "You pull chit like that and I question why you decided to bring me along."

The huntress kept her pistol at the ready. Her head tilted in the direction of the fleeing slaves that herded past her. Being here, however, was a bitter pill. Too much like home. Perhaps that's why her hunting instincts were in overdrive. A place ljke this meant being ready to fight to survive.

"But if you insist on paying me." She shrugged, "At least keep some around for entertainment."

The tone was less that of a military agent. Instead, one could confuse her for going on safari....

 

[Laphisto]

Objective II- Inner Factory workings Diarch Rellik Sivra Kexane
The inner factory was a cacophony of noise. Machinery thundered without rhythm or pause, conveyor belts grinding endlessly as crates of processed food vanished deeper into the facility or rolled outward toward shipment bays already queued for offworld departure. Production never hesitated. There was no sense of urgency, no alarms, no visible command presence only motion. Continuous. Indifferent. For all its scale, the factory's layout was deceptively simple. Wide corridors. Linear flow paths. Everything designed for throughput. Movement itself was not the challenge.

Visibility was. Steam vented constantly from ruptured pipes and overworked systems, hanging low and thick across the production levels. Chemical fog clung to the air not enough to trigger safety locks, but sufficient to reduce sightlines to silhouettes and shadows. Exhaust from heavy machinery pooled where ventilation should have been, burning the lungs with every breath. It coated the back of the throat, stuck to the inside of the nose like tar, and lingered long after inhalation. The factory did not choke its workers quickly. It did so over time.

Deeper within the Cannery, another disturbance bled through the constant roar of machinery. A man's voice rose above the industrial Noise, sharp and practiced, carrying with the authority of someone accustomed to being obeyed. It cut through the air not by volume alone, but by familiarity. This was not the first time the workers had heard it, and it would not be the last.

"Back to work. All of you," the voice barked. "If you don't work, your families don't eat."

The words were followed by a pause, deliberate and measured, long enough for the threat to sink in. Conveyor belts continued to drag their loads along steel tracks. Presses hissed and clanged. No one moved to disobey. Then the crack of a whip rang out, sharp and unmistakable even through the mechanical noise, immediately followed by a scream that broke and vanished as the factory swallowed it whole.

"Worker two-nine-seven," the man continued, his tone shifting from command to cold record-keeping. "For lack of professionalism, you will lose one ration for the next two weeks."

There was no protest. No response. The workers did not look up. They did not slow. They did not acknowledge what had just happened, because acknowledgment itself carried risk. "Does anyone else have complaints?" he asked, his voice level, almost bored.

The silence that followed was complete. "Good," he concluded. "Back to work." The Cannery never faltered. Production continued uninterrupted, its rhythm unchanged not because nothing had occurred, but because suffering had been engineered into the process itself, reduced to quotas, ration tallies, and compliance metrics that left no room for dissent.

A low rumble rose in the man's throat before he finally stepped into view. Boots struck the factory floor with unhurried confidence as the figure rounded the corner, cutting through drifting steam and chemical haze. In the poor visibility, he made no effort to raise his weapon. He did not slow. Whatever he saw ahead of him, he clearly assumed it belonged to him.

"These damned locals," the man muttered as he approached, his voice thick with irritation. "No appreciation for authority. Not the kind of workforce we're used to." He gestured vaguely behind him, back toward the production lines, as if the entire Cannery were an inconvenience rather than a conquest. "I don't get why the boss wanted us setting up shop in some old syndicate factory of all places. If it were up to me, we'd just rob and plunder like the good old days." His tone carried nostalgia rather than regret. "Back before the Royal Naboo Repub—"

The sentence faltered. He squinted, slowing at last as the silhouettes ahead resolved into something that did not fit his expectations. The steam thinned just enough. Armor lines sharpened. A lightsaber hilt caught the glow of industrial lighting. The confidence drained from his posture in an instant, replaced by recognition and panic in equal measure. He stopped speaking. Then, without another word, he turned and ran.

---

Ceres & Enel Kira Dante Phantomhive
The security systems of the Cannery were not a well-oiled machine. They were the opposite.

Dozens upon dozens of code revisions had been layered over one another, each rewrite hastily grafted onto whatever framework existed at the time. Security branches looped back into themselves, bypassing entire protocols while redundantly reinforcing others. Some permissions contradicted their own overrides. Others referenced systems that no longer existed. What remained was not architecture, but accumulation a rat's nest of legacy syndicate controls, pirate modifications, and half-implemented corporate compliance patches stacked without care or cohesion.

Untangling it would take time. More time than any single operator might have expected. The death of the guard triggered no alarm. No automated response followed. No alert propagated through the network. The system registered a brief anomaly biometric loss, signal interruption but the data routed itself into a dead branch, circled twice, and vanished into obsolete error handling. Somewhere deep in the code, the event was logged and immediately deprioritized.

The Cannery swallowed the absence. Between the thick chemical fog and the constant roar of machinery echoing through layered production floors, the sound of a body hitting the ground disappeared almost instantly. Visibility was already compromised. Movement blurred into shadows. If the body remained where it fell, unhidden and unattended, it would still take time before anyone noticed it was there at all.

If it were hidden— It might take much longer. This was not a system designed to protect its people. It was designed to keep output moving and to ignore everything else. there was a moment before then suddenly the womands datapad connected to a diarchy control node deeper int he facility giving her acess to the Control room remotly

---

Objective III Trace Xyston Dante Phantomhive
The deeper levels of the Cannery no longer felt inert.

The air was clean, but not neutral. Recycled circulation moved in slow, deliberate patterns, venting just enough to carry sound while stripping away scent. The ambient hum of power remained constant, yet its source was difficult to localize, as if the infrastructure itself had been designed to blur orientation. The factory above had been loud, punishing, overwhelming. This space was quiet by comparison and selective. Movement here left traces.

Not alarms. Not system responses. Physical signs. Scrape marks where access panels had been opened and resealed by hand. Pressure scuffs along the edges of maintenance walkways, too shallow to register on standard diagnostics but fresh enough to catch under enhanced optics. In one corridor, condensation had been disturbed against the wall at shoulder height, smeared as though someone had passed close enough to brush it away. The timing was wrong. These were not old signs, nor were they rushed. Whatever had moved through this section had done so recently and without urgency.

At several junctions, cameras embedded in the walls showed faint residual heat signatures despite being inactive. Not from operation, but from proximity. Someone had stood near them long enough to warm the housing, then moved on. Data lines feeding those cameras showed no outgoing traffic, no recorded footage, no errors. They had simply… not seen anything. The Cannery was not tracking intruders.

Someone else was. As the passages converged, the architecture opened into a circular maintenance cross-section where several corridors met. The space was dim, its walls layered with decades of industrial neglect old warning symbols, faded numbering, and gouges left by machinery long since removed. Amid that visual noise, one marking stood apart.

It was recent. Scratched directly into the metal plating, the grooves still bright and unoxidized, was a skull rendered in sharp, deliberate strokes. The elongated shape and heavy brow ridges marked it unmistakably as Tunroth. Beneath it, crossed bones completed the image in the unmistakable fashion of a jolly rodger

This was not graffiti. The lines were too controlled. Too intentional. Placed where all routes passed through, at eye level for anyone moving cautiously rather than quickly. A mark left to be found. Not as a warning but as confirmation. The Cannery was no longer just listening. Something within it was pacing its prey.

 

[Trace Xyston]

​

Spoiler: Equipment

Main weapon: LO-44 MKII
Secondary weapon: LO-12S
Tertiary weapon: LO-10M
Armor: LO-62C
Utilities: grappling hook 2x gas grenade 2x thermal detonators

The ladder had taken exactly one minute and ten seconds to climb down. Whoever built this place wanted a complete separation from the factory above. It was eerily quiet in the halls aside for the quiet hum of the ventilation system. The creaking and groaning of mechanical arms in the factory did not penetrate this deep into the abyss. Trace gestured forward and his team spread out in the corridor, rifles constantly sweeping for any threats.

Confident in his safety, Trace lowered his weapon just slightly, examining the space. Scratch marks on the walls. Inactive cameras. His helmet's infrared view highlighted the surveillance systems in light orange, perhaps indicating that they had been active before? He squinted, looking closer at the cameras. It didn't make sense for this model to produce that much heat. Whatever warmed them up was not normal procedure for normal cameras.

The commandos moved deeper into the underground complex, footsteps silent, presence unfelt. Trace held up a fist when he spotted something on the wall, a smear of dim green light amid the uniform blue heat signature of the wall. Someone had walked along the wall long enough for some heat to be transferred, indicating they must have been moving slowly. Not something one would do when the manufacturing district was under assault by the Diarchy.

Up ahead, the corridor culminated into a circular area with a bit more light. Trace turned off his infrared view and put up two hand signals rapidly. The commandos burst into the open space without so much as disturbing a speck of dust floating in the air. There was nothing, and then there was them.

Unfortunately, there was no one in the room to witness the entry and be afraid. The drone of the climate control continued steadily. Across the room, etched into the wall, was a symbol. Trace approached it slowly, rifle lowering imperceptibly. He raised a gloved hand to the imprint, tracing the edges slowly.

A face. Tunroth. One they knew. One they'd seen at night on New Cov. Underneath it, a jolly rodger.

Behind him, Rhomma shifted. Trace's trigger finger twitched slightly. He recognized the face too. All of them did. And they knew what the marking meant.

The Dusate Pirates were here. Involved in this somehow.

The air suddenly became heavy and cold, weighing down on them like added gravity. He swallowed, realizing his throat had become dry. Trace looked back at his four squadmates. They were looking to him for direction.

They were still composed soldiers, the best of the best. And they still had a mission to complete.

Trace nodded to himself, renewing his grip on his rifle. He looked into the darkness of the corridor ahead which would lead to the node, steeling himself for what lie ahead. He flicked a switch on his helmet, and the darkness was illuminated in green. Nothing could hide from them. Even in the days of the Elghaseki, they were feared by the Dusate Pirates. Today, they would tremble again.

 

[Morta Izanami]

​

[]

Heaven's a Lie - Lacuna Coil
​

Objective: Exposing the Nerve - Secure or Destroy Intelligence Assets
Tag: Open

Lady Izanami moved through the dockside zone fog as if it were a veil she had always worn, her presence barely disturbing the air. The area was a place of salt and rust, where the water lapped against durasteel hulls like a patient, hungry mouth; an industrial heartbeat echoing through the night.

She found a dock worker easily; the men here were always the same; tired, hungry, and eager to be seen as more than their station. His eyes followed her as she approached, drawn not by her beauty alone but by the way she carried herself; like someone who had never known fear and had no intention of learning it now.

She let her voice fall softly around him, a gentle melody that seemed to warm the cold air. "You work here often," she said, letting the words sound like a compliment. "You know these docks better than anyone. I need someone who understands the way the city breathes."

She leaned in, close enough that he could smell the faint sweetness of her skin, the iron of blood beneath it, a secret slight push with the Force and his pupils dilated with a mix of desire and dread. "Tell me," she whispered, "how do you get from the docks into the industrial zone? What paths do the workers take when they think no one is watching? Where are the hidden entrances, the maintenance corridors, the vents that lead inward?"

The man swallowed, his throat bobbing as if the words were lodged there like a stone. His gaze flicked to the shadows behind her, then back to her face, as though he could not decide whether she was a dream or a threat.

"There's… there's a service hatch near the old droid crane," he stammered, voice trembling. "You can get in through the maintenance tunnels, past the second generator room. The guards rotate every, uh, every thirty minutes. And there's a control hub in the center, where they keep the real data, but that's secured tight. You don't want to go there alone."

His mind, already softened by her presence, began to unravel further, each detail spilling out as if it had been waiting to be released. Lady Izanami's fingers brushed his arm, and he flinched; then relaxed, as if the touch had rewired his fear into obedience.

When he finished, she smiled, and it was the kind of smile that made the world feel smaller and more manageable. "Thank you," she said, voice warm and sincere, as if she truly meant it. The gratitude in her tone was a mask, but it was so well worn that it seemed real even to her. She stepped closer, and the dock worker's eyes widened with sudden comprehension, the horror dawning too late. She did not hesitate. She grabbed him, drawing him deeper into the shadows behind her.

Her lips parted, revealing teeth that glinted like white knives, and she sank them into his neck. The man gasped, then went still, his body shuddering as she drew his Anima into herself. His life essence flowed like warm blood, and she drank it with the slow, reverent patience of a predator tasting the last warmth of a dying star. When she released him, he collapsed into the fog, empty and silent.

Lady Izanami stepped out of the shadows, the layout of the industrial zone now etched into her mind, and the night continued on, indifferent to the theft that had just occurred.

​

Spoiler: Loadout

Coming Soon

 

[Diarch Rellik]

Machinery thundered on, conveyors dragging their loads through the warzone. Steam rolled in heavy waves across the production floor. Rellik's visor cycled through filters as chemical fog and heat distorted the space ahead.

A rasp of breath cut through his vox as he tilted his head slightly and looked back toward the hunter moving behind him.

"I apologize for the display," he said evenly. "I believe we are close."

He moved forward again, silhouette dissolving into the steam. Despite the weight of his armor, his steps were controlled and quiet, pace unbroken as he followed the sound deeper into the structure.

Pipes lined the corridor ahead, running along the walls and ceiling in layered bundles. A section of plating had been cut away near a junction, leaving a partial breach overlooking the factory floor below. Rellik slowed and approached without sound.

He looked through.

The overseer's voice carried again through the machinery. Rellik shifted back from the opening and turned his head slightly toward Sivra. "Can you ensure this one does not make it out. If possible bring him back to me alive. I will increase your reward if you can find whatever matters to him and either bring it or information on it to me. - if he attempts to flee, resists, or if anyone intervenes on his behalf, you have unlimited authority."
Rellik glanced upward toward the hanging walkways and suspended service rails crisscrossing the factory space.

"I'll be moving above and parallel. Rafters. Offices. Records." His gaze returned to her. "Good hunting."

He turned away from the breach and moved back into the steam, already angling toward a side access corridor marked with administrative identifiers. The steam swallowed him as he advanced toward the office levels.

Sivra Kexane Laphisto

 

[Morta Izanami]

​

[]

Heaven's a Lie - Lacuna Coil
​

Objective: Exposing the Nerve - Secure or Destroy Intelligence Assets
Tag: Open

Lady Izanami emerged into the shadowed perimeter of the building, where her objective laid housed, as if stepping across an unseen threshold, her senses attuning to the quiet rituals of security that governed the place. She lingered beyond the reach of light, watching the guards rotate in disciplined cycles, their patrols forming a predictable sigil of movement around the structure.

Employees spilled out in measured waves as shifts changed, their departures marked by the low murmur of routine and fatigue. Vehicles arrived and departed with ceremonial regularity, headlights flaring like brief conjurations before vanishing again, each motion contributing to a larger pattern that only one trained in hidden orders would recognize.

Patiently, Lady Izanami studied the flow until a single thread stood apart from the weave; a thin, nervous figure lingering too long near the entrance, clutching a bag as if it were a talisman. The man moved with the distracted reverence of one who communed more with machines than with people, his aura flickering erratically under the building's harsh lights.

A faint smile touched her lips as she marked him, already shaping the words and gestures that would turn his access into her own.

Lady Izanami closed the distance with practiced subtlety, her presence unfolding around the man like an unseen incense. Before he noticed her, she had already brushed his thoughts with the Force; light, exploratory, enough to soften the edges of his attention and draw his focus inward.

His posture shifted, shoulders loosening, eyes briefly unfocused as if he had forgotten what he was about to do. She let a faint smile curve her lips, her demeanor warm and inviting, disarming in its ease.

"Long night?" she spoke, her voice low and chocolate-soft, carrying just enough warmth to settle comfortably in his mind. He turned fully toward her now, attention captured, the world narrowing to the sound of her words.

As she spoke, she shaped her intentions carefully; visions of usefulness, trust, and quiet admiration threading themselves through his consciousness. He smiled without quite knowing why, unaware that while she held his gaze, the plan for him was already complete.

"No, not a long night. I'm just starting work," he stammered, voice trembling as his eyes flickered with unease at the building. "I'm actually nervous to go inside. I messed up yesterday and my boss is probably still mad at me."

He blinked, then hesitated, as if the air itself had shifted, and said, "My apologies, but I've never seen you before, are you one of newly hired interns?"

 

[Dante Phantomhive]

Dante watched the soldiers approaching. He would have to think fast; eliminating the soldiers would attract unwanted attention before it was time.

He closed his eyes and concentrated on the soldiers' minds. A mixture of illusion and mind tricks made the soldiers ignore him and also ignore his allies, at least for the time being.

The young duke moved quickly, looking for new ways to get ahead of his allies and facilitate their access.

Laphisto Trace Xyston Ceres & Enel Kira

 

[Sivra Kexane]

OBJECTIVE II - Proletariat Uprising
TAG: Diarch Rellik , Laphisto

The Weequay couldn't help but smile under her helmet when the Diarch gave her the go ahead. She gave a waved salute as she began her pursuit of the overseer. The steam and smog of the Cannery made it difficult for her track, even with all the sensors of her helmet. She kept herself light on her feet, trying not to make a sound. While her boss could use the Force to slap around and roast any opposition; all she had was her wits, her blasters, and a set of gadgets.

She kept her blaster drawn, following the path that her quarry had dashed toward. Yet, as she got closer, she could hear the sounds of toil and people at work. She hugged her body against the wall, taking cover behind a series of think pipes. Yet again, she could only make out vague figures in the middle of all this smog and vapor. But the sounds and movement were constant, unceasing.

"Little better than droids." She muttered to herself.

She could not see their eyes, but the movements of the workers spoke volumes to the bounty huntress. These were a people broken by a system that did not care two karks about their well being. For Sivra, it was much the chilling reminder. How long had her own people been under the fat thumbs of the Hutts? Shackled, bleeding, and dying for the Cartel. The thought boiled her blood.

"Stick to the mission, Siv." She reminded herself, "You left that long ago."

When she saw a clearing for her to move, she took it. She scanned with her helm's visor, following a recent heat trail along an adjacent corridor. It was hard to tell if it was her target's latent heat or someone else's. Blast it. She took the chance and began following along the track she found.

"Alright you sleemo..." She pondered, "Where'd ya go?"

 

[Morta Izanami]

​

[]

Heaven's a Lie - Lacuna Coil
​

Objective: Exposing the Nerve - Secure or Destroy Intelligence Assets
Tag: Open

Lady Izanami let her lips curl into a knowing smile, her voice lowering into a soft and soothing tone as she leaned closer, shadows clinging to her like incense smoke. "Yes, I'm new," she purred softly, feigning uncertainty, "and I seem to have no idea where I'm meant to go. I'm supposed to meet a Mr…" She allowed the name to trail off as her presence unfurled, the Force brushing the man's thoughts like cold fingers turning pages of a forbidden book. His eyes unfocused for a heartbeat before clarity dawned, and he answered without resistance, "You mean Mr. Hackney?"

Lady Izanami's fingers brushed his arm with deliberate lightness, a fleeting contact that lingered longer than it should have, as a soft, silken laugh slipped from her lips; practiced, effortless, and warm enough to disarm suspicion. "Yes," she said, eyes glinting with amused intrigue, "that's the man!" Her gaze held his as unseen currents coiled around his thoughts, subtle as aromatic smoke. "Would you be kind enough to help me find his office?"

The man straightened at once, eagerness blooming across his features as if the idea had been his all along. "Absolutely," he replied, lowering his voice as though sharing a confidential rite. "But I should warn you, he's always in a foul mood. Best not to take it personally if he chides you for being late, or early." He gestured for her to follow, already stepping forward with a confidence borrowed from her presence.

"Come along," he continued, offering a reassuring smile. "I'll vouch for you; we'll get through security much easier that way." He paused just long enough to add, with a hint of pride, "My name is Dr. Shol, by the way."

Lady Izanami inclined her head with a courteous grace that concealed far older hungers, her voice smooth as poured wine as she said, "Abigail Smares," offering the name as one might offer a charm laced with poison. She fell into step beside him, her footsteps soundless, her presence trailing a faint chill that dimmed the corridor lights as they moved. Behind her composed smile, a dark gleam kindled in her vampiric eyes, and a cold, knowing curve settled upon her lips.

 

[Diarch Rellik]

Tags: Sivra Kexane

Rellik moved through the administrative offices, checking the terminals that had been left running when the supervisors pulled out. Most still showed production routing and shift assignments. One console remained logged under active supervisor clearance. He forced access and pulled the deeper registry tied to it.

The worker list displayed as numbered entries only. Beneath it sat a second partition locked to a single biometric signature that was still active somewhere in the facility. The system flagged a purge condition linked directly to that signature. If the supervisor's vitals stopped, the partition erased itself. Real names. Home districts. Transfer logs. Records of who had been moved, reassigned, or disappeared. All of it stored behind that one living authorization.

He keyed his comm. "The man you're chasing is the key to the real roster," Rellik said. "Every worker in this place has a number. He's carrying the file that ties those numbers back to actual identities. If he dies, that file deletes. We lose the ability to tell who's a civilian, who's been reassigned, and who among them has been posing as one of the workers."

He stepped away from the console and moved back toward the service stairs. The supervisor's biometric tag was still active and moving through the production lanes.