Public Patched Up in Nar Shaddaa (Black Sun and open - spacers, refugees, cyborgs, injuries)

[Skeevi Merrill]

Skeevi's clinic, so to speak, was your bog-standard back-alley cybernetics joint, the kind of place you went for a new eye socket and/or forearm cannon and/or antibiotics. Skeevi and their old medical droids kept the tables clean, kept the laser scalpels sterile, mopped the floor with harsh stuff twice a day.

More often, lately. Busy times. Skeevi'd barely made it off Coruscant when the Empire moved in, and between that and the smaller, closer war in the Sepan system, plenty of people were coming in here for care of one kind or another. Cyborgs or people who needed or wanted implants or prostheses, but some just wanted to talk about the war and have someone listen.

There were other services around this alley. A talented local tattooist; a broker for the local sharks and bookies; a rep for the chop shops and trade-ins of Quekko's Choice; food trucks.


THIS THREAD IS INSTANCED.

DON'T BOTHER INTERACTING WITH OR WAITING FOR EACH OTHER.

JUST COME GET WHAT YOU NEED.

 

[Skeevi Merrill]

INSTANCE SPINOFF: Looped

---

CYBERNETICS THAT MIGHT BE AVAILABLE:

• Old gear from iBorg
• Historical cybernetic implants (see also)
• Pieces of existing droids
• Custom work

 

[Xalazar Krev]

The stench of scorched synthflesh and antiseptic chemical wash hit like a slap as the clinic door hissed open, but Xalazar Krev didn't flinch. He breathed it in like one might savor the first drag of a fine cigar. Truth lived in the cracks of this place, bloodstains beneath worn plating, rust streaks like old regrets all washed beneath the touch of a strained cleaner. It was a den of quick fixes and quiet failures, of making the impossible possible, and transfiguring what was into what could be, and tonight, it belonged to him.

The Jade Serpent stepped inside with the calm weight of inevitability, long strides slicing through the dimly lit corridor. He didn't walk like any crude thug. He walked with all the presence of someone who knew exactly who he was, what he owned, and just how many people had bled for less than offending him. The lights above flickered, catching the muted gold threading in his dark tailored coat. Subtle armor flexed beneath the fabric carefully woven through it seamlessly while never sacrificing comfort or style, and his emerald skin glistened like polished stone. Xalazar's long black hair was tied back in thick coils, clasped in rings of matte gold, matching the rings on his hands. The Falleen's collar bore the unmistakable sigil of the Black Sun, etched not for vanity, but a reminder to everyone who looked at him.

Behind him came Zarath Vex, the built figure was utterly silent and coiled like a serpent poised to strike, there was a certain edge about him. The Falleen bodyguard didn't speak as he moved, he scarcely blinked as his gaze swept the surroundings. He wore a set of black and gold phrik and cortosis weave armor, designed to drink in every ounce of attention that wasn't commanded by his boss. Outside more shadows loomed unseen but already well in place the moment he walked in, for Xalazar Krev never went anywhere alone, the rest of the serpent's fangs waited, all associates posted at alley corners, a slicer plugged into the area monitoring communications from the luxurious speeder as backup, and the Besalisk Grint Varrux tapping the accelerator just once every eight seconds to keep the engine humming hot. All of them were strategically picked as insurance, they were the certainty that eliminated risk before it even arrived.

The Enforcer didn't bother with greetings here. People who mattered already knew who he was, knew what he represented. People who didn't weren't worth remembering. A battered medical droid shuffled out of his path, its head low, mechanical servos whirring softly into the open air, but Xalazar didn't look at it. His crimson eyes scanned the room like targeting sensors, not with curiosity but with scrutiny. There was a gravitational pull around him when he walked into the clinic like he owned it. The surgical chamber buried at the rear was lit by a single harsh light suspended above a table stained with the many forgotten stories of those who were worked on here. He stepped into the room without slowing, his words came as he adjusted his sleeve, deliberate, smooth, final.

"I'm here for a gland enhancement. Permanent. Untouchable. Resilient. Not a stim or a booster or anything mainstream. Something special. I walk into a room, everyone shuts up. I breathe, they bend." He let the silence settle as heavy as iron bars. A pregnant pause drowned the empty space before he continued. "Pheromones so strong they ignore military grade blockers. That crack mental shields. Jedi? I want them dazed. Senators? Drunk on me. No resistance. No defense." Xalazar looked up then, crimson eyes steady as a death mark. In a day and age where many were accustomed to business dealings with Falleen and Zeltrons and utilized resistances, he needed something more to set everyone on the backfoot. To take advantage of in business dealings so everything bent to the will of Razmir Tezhyn . "Can you do that?" Zarath remained a silent shadow behind him, never once speaking out of turn. Simply by standing there was enough of a message conveyed to the room.

Skeevi Merrill​

 

[Skeevi Merrill]

INSTANCE: Xalazar Krev

In this business, picking around the edges of Black Sun, beholden to whomever, you absolutely showed your fear, just tempered by whatever competence made you valuable. As Falleen men came in, Skeevi pressed themself back behind the operating bed while trying not to look like they were hiding.

Fortunately the ask was within the realm of possible. Not every ask was.

"Think we can help with that," Skeevi said. "Think so." Pheromone implants had been around for fifty centuries, and there were good ones on the market. The trick would be getting one Falleen-compatible, settings and leads that didn't interfere with his natural output.

They got to rummaging in one of the overstuffed cabinets full of cybernetics and similar gear.

"How often you wanna be able to use it? At will like your naturals won't happen, but at manual recharge, or once every couple days...?"

 

[Xalazar Krev]

"Once every couple days? I need it more frequently than that. I want control. Not intervals. You said manual recharge? How long between cycles? What's the limiter? Power source? Tissue rejection? Give me the truth. Then tell me what it takes to push that limit. What's the best we can do?" Xalazar said smoothly, stepping closer as he spoke to the operating bed, not in any form of threat, but like a cold wind that just happened to shift direction. His crimson eyes tracked the rummaging tech like a predator sizing up tools for the kill. "I don't need to drown a room every time I breathe. Just…when it matters."

He turned slightly, his gaze sweeping the clinic with casual disdain, every crack, every cable stuffed wall, every flickering panel. It was the kind of place you didn't choose to visit, but you remembered it nonetheless. The desperation it wore like a second skin, it was the kind of place you left different than you came in. Everything was woven into the very fabric of the atmosphere of the clinic. "Subtle's the trick, anyway. A sharp edge you don't see coming 'til it's in your ribs." He smirked a faint, deadly, winning smile flashing across his face. "I don't want them running. I want them agreeing. Begging. Trusting." A beat. "Then regretting it."

Another glance toward Skeevi. Not sharp, but heavy with certainty. "I've got business deals to conduct. People to poison. Cowards to bury in compliments. So whatever you install? It needs to feel like faith when they smell it." He ran a hand up his collar, brushing the Black Sun sigil there with a flick of his thumb, an idle gesture that came like he was polishing the edge of a knife. "Do it for me, Skeevi… and you'll find my gratitude has its rewards." Xalazar clasped his hands together, patiently waiting.

Skeevi Merrill​

 

[Skeevi Merrill]

INSTANCE: Xalazar Krev

It had been a minute since Skeevi felt blood run cold from just hearing their name. So the Falleen knew in advance some part of who they were.

Even less ideal: this clearly wasn't someone in the habit of managing his expectations.

"Truth comes down to drugs an' specs." Skeevi tapped one of the stubby Zabrak horns protruding through their hair. "Most good gear's built for humans, they run everything. Zabrak and Falleen can be tricky off those baselines depending on the make. And if the gear was built to mimic what you do, there's whole functions need closing off. Then there's the rejection meds for the stress on the manual reload port. And bad drugs to protect that line into your head. And frell you gotta be so, so clean. Don't get nothin in it "

They dug out a blood-splattered container of decades-old new-in-box iBorg neural implants. That went on the operating bed as a token additional barrier of sorts. Skeevi alternated between sorting through those dusty boxes and priming a wasp-pump of iridescent orange liquid on a shelf.

"Plus side, the Iskalloni made art outta trans-species anti-rejection meds, and I've got their shavvit. Downside, you'll need to take an injection every...ehhh...year to couple months, depends how your body takes to it. But if you've got a taste for borging, that shot's good for everything."

They picked out the implant they'd been almost sure was there and fitted it into a jeweller's bracket, then started tinkering.

"iBorg punched above their weight with this one. They put out a pheromonal comms node way back, didn't make sales. Fold back the features you don't need and I can turbocharge what you're after. Every...three uses, yeah, this is five CC's, three...you gotta reload with a needle of blue right to the base of the skull. Keep it clean. And this is me making miracles."

 

[Xalazar Krev]

The Jade Serpent stood silent through the explanation, absorbing every jagged edge of it, not with complaint or disdain flashing across his face, but with the patience of a connoisseur, one willing to pay for the best, and nver settle for 'good enough', someone who wasn't used to hearing denials. He wasn't the kind of person to interrupt craftsmen at work. Especially not when they were stitching together something dangerous. As Skeevi laid out the limits, the drugs, everything he needed to know about the technology and the process, he nodded slowly, just once. Then again, when the words "miracle" and "turbocharge" hit the air. "Three uses between reloads. Skull port injection." He repeated softly, like memorizing the taste of a new beverage. "So long as it works when it matters, I'll take the price."

His gaze flicked to the iridescent liquid and then to the aged container, then finally to the jeweler's bracket in Skeevi's hands. "Old tech. Refined. Passed over by people who didn't know what it was worth. Just like most of this moon." He smiled faintly. Looks were certainly deceiving as it was anything but warm, rather it was approving. Then, he took one slow step forward and adjusted the cuff of his sleeve again. Not to display nerves. To display absolute calm. "I don't mind bleeding for what I want." Xalazar said. "Just make sure I bleed for something brilliant." He paused then, before continuing. "If this works the way you say it will…I may have further business for you." He said it like a promise, like a future there to be earned instead of given.

Xalazar held the silence for just a moment longer, letting the weight of his words linger in the air between them, letting them sink deep. Then with a smooth, unhurried motion, he reached up and began to unfasten the matte-gold clasps at his collar. The tailored coat slid off his shoulders like a shadow shedding skin, revealing the faint shimmer of armored weave beneath his impeccable, elegant, lethal outfit. He didn't fold the coat and hand it off, he laid it carefully across the back of the nearest clean chair with surgical precision, letting the Black Sun sigil on the collar catch the sterile light as it settled in place.

The Falleen's bare arms told their own story, sleeves rolled up to the elbow, muscles were taut with reptilian smoothness and power, the subtle shimmer of emerald skin broken only by the sweep of inked syndicate marks, and others telling the story of how he bled for his devotion. Xalazar's body was a weapon and a record, and tonight, he was signing it over to Skeevi's expertise. He looked back to her his crimson eyes steady, voice low and measured.

"Let's begin." Zarath shifted to the edge of the room, standing closer to the door so he could both respond to threats outside and swiftly reach Skeevi in equal measure, keeping a close watch.

Skeevi Merrill ​

 

[Skeevi Merrill]

"Right to it? Right to it. Alright, face down on the table, hands by butt."

Skeevi whistled for a pair of mismatched powder-blue medical droids from the back room. Both a little rusty, both former hospital property, one a surgeon and one a surgical nurse, neither anything like humanoid. Skeevi set them up with scalpels and flesh hooks and bone adjusters and slathered it all in sterilizer. One jabbed at Xalazar Krev with local anesthetic.

"Staying awake for this. Not a ton of pain but lots of buzz and grind. Conscious is good. Think about the first you're gonna dose. Tell me about it."

Skeevi finished washing up and ducked into a surgical apron hanging from a hook.

 

[Xalazar Krev]

Xalazar lowered himself onto the table with fluid grace, the kind that didn't waver even as he moved into a vulnerable position. The droids moved around him like vultures with purpose, but he didn't flinch when the needle hit, his breath remained steady and calculated. "Hands by your butt." He muttered with a faint curl of amusement in his voice, the joke rolling off his tongue like silk dipped in venom. "Charming bedside manner, Skeevi. I can see why your patients keep crawling back." There was a pause as the buzz of sterilizers and the soft whir of droid servos filled the space. His voice came again low, calm, drifting like a whisper through smoke. "The first hit?" A soft chuckle escaped him that was equal parts war, and cold at its core. It was spoken like the beginnings of a predator talking about his next victims "There's a councilman. Part of a zoning board. Self-righteous, corrupt, likes to pretend he's not on a leash." A beat.

"He'll be eating from my hand by the end of the week. I want him sweating in my presence, craving approval like air. One whiff, and he needs me to like him. Not for money. Not for power. Just because it feels good." Xalazar exhaled slowly, as if already savoring the memory of a moment that hadn't yet happened. "That's what this is for. Not lust. Not fear. Devotion. Chemical trust. A leash they don't see, around those who think themselves safe, until it's already tight around their throats." Another pause. Xalazar's tone never changed, but beneath it was something deeper, hungrier. "That's what you're building, Skeevi. Not a trick. Not a toy. A weapon." He closed his eyes, comfortable with the vulnerable state he left himself in. It was the absolute confidence even now, of someone in complete control. "So take your time."

Skeevi Merrill ​

 

[Skeevi Merrill]

INSTANCE: Xalazar Krev

Skeevi let their client fill the airtime. A chatty client was good at this stage and much as they didn't like the risk of knowing too much, that risk was absolutely already there.

Survival measures: a) utility, and b) if Xalazar knew their name he knew they were beholden to fellow Vigo Mercy, and c) a rugged old ACP energy shotgun under the operating table just in case. Skeevi was a terrible shot but the nurse droid wasn't bad.

Once the anesthesia took hold, double dose, the droids and Skeevi set about opening up the base of the skull.

"Might feel a liddle pinch."

 

[Xalazar Krev]

He didn't twitch as the first cut opened the base of his skull, the scent of antiseptic mingled with the faint, metallic tang of fresh incisions. Xalazar's breath remained even, his crimson eyes half-lidded beneath the low hum of sterile lights. Pain wasn't the enemy, it was a cost, an offering in exchange of something greater. The Falleen was no stranger to bleeding or spilling blood for his goals. He accepted it like a familiar weight, part of the price of becoming something more. "I don't want a room gasping every time I walk in." Xalazar said his voice dipped voice low and deliberate, like something exhaled through a grin that never quite reached the surface. "I want silence. I want uncertainty. That half-second before someone speaks, when they ask themselves if they should. To erode the confidence of those who feel safe, that their countermeasures would defend them become helpless."


The surgical whine rose behind him, a bone cutter beginning its work, but Xalazar lay still, entirely unbothered by the whole process while he was being sliced open. The Falleen's focus moved past the pain, past the clinic, far into the future among the many possibilities. "This is about command. The kind no blaster can buy. The kind no badge or credit chit can demand." A slow breath. "Influence that seeps into the spine. Makes people agree with you before they know why." Xalazar's fingers flexed once at his sides, claws emerged and swiftly retracted beneath the surface. Calm. A carefully controlled display. "Fear has its place. Its a valuable tool. But trust? Trust is addictive. You give them that…even for a moment…and you own them longer than a threat ever could." He fell quiet again, the smile playing faint at the edge of his mouth. It was the kind of expression that didn't need to shout to fill a room with dread. One where a careful word could shut down an assembly hall. This was the future it wasn't fire and blood. But breath and the spoken word. Even when everyone thought themselves safe.

Skeevi Merrill​

 

[Skeevi Merrill]

Skeevi paused with their laser scalpel over the hind end of Xalazar Krev 's pulsing brain.

"Yeh, I kinda see the appeal of this trust thing."

The modified iBorg pheromone package slotted neatly into place. Skeevi handed the finicky little connections over to the surgeon droid, who could do that with precision no mortal could fathom. The nurse droid occupied itself with the flesh hooks, keeping green skin taut and blood under control. Everything looked pretty sterile. Skeevi sneezed only once. Nerves. Shavvit, they'd forgotten to mask up. Ah well. Little something to remember them by.

"So here's the schedule." Implements clattered in the sink. Skeevi hung up the apron and scrubbed down. The droids would close up. "We'll flood ya with bacta but don't take any blows to the head for like a month. Don't even thunk y'head too hard on the headboard, feel me? You'll leave with the orange, that's the anti-rejection, and the blue, that's the recharges. You'll wanna start fast and enjoy yourself and push your limits. Don't fething do that for like two weeks." One week, really, but no way was he going to take two for a rule. "Or your hormones will go sideways an' you'll be weeping in public." Yeah, that'd do it.

 

[Arris Windrun]

A ghoul of a cyborg stood in the entryway.

She was missing enough parts to question if and how she was still alive. A missing right eye. One missing arm and a sword for the other. Body to beat to chit, with transdermal armor ripped right out.

Despite missing a lower jaw, too, she managed to speak without issue. "I need a new jaw."

Skeevi Merrill

 

[Skeevi Merrill]

INSTANCE: Arris Windrun

"Y'need a new you."

Skeevi had been mopping, always mopping. They hustled over to examine Arris from every angle, right there in the entryway.

"Up on the table, opakwa. Doc Merrill's gon fix you up. Saw you fight in the Kaggath on pay-per-view. Hellovit," Skeevi said complimentarily. "Hellovit."

Right eye. Arm, maybe two arms. Whole new armor solution, not just torso but everywhere maybe. Jaw of course. A good jaw was a tricky thing.

"While I go lookin for a jaw, lemme pitch you an eye. Got an old iBorg Postcog, mint in box, lets you see the past. What happened a day ago right there, clear. Fuzzier two or three days, and past that nothing, but seeing the past - go somewhere something big and secure happened, read some lips - good money in it."

 

[Arris Windrun]

She walked in, careful about the wet floor, and hopped onto the table.

Gave them a look. "Pay-per-view, huh?" She grumbled. Not that she or the other fighters got a cut of it.

Then she considered the pitch as they began to look for a jaw. "I want something pretty--needs to match the face." She instinctively reached up with a phantom arm to feel where her jaw had been, then remembered. Oh right...

"So uh, it's just one eye?" It felt a little weird, convenient, but weird. Usually, they came in sets if they're still boxed. Though it did sound quite useful. "I'm currently running third-gen Athakams... err, well, one of 'em anyway. Won't make my vision weird, will it?"

Skeevi Merrill

 

[Skeevi Merrill]

"Yeh, just the one eye. Because other than the past thing, doesn't have much going for it, it's just an eye. Most like to use the other eye for more functions, like the Athakam lines and all."

Rummaging, Skeevi tossed Arris Windrun the box.

"Only downside is the grain of hypermatter. Get shot in the eye, you die more than most people that get shot in the eye. Punch won't set it off. Here we go."

Skeevi hauled out a jaw, a low-profile pre-owned thing with a holo.

"Goes with a whole neck rig but...eh, maybe. Not erry likes a neck rig."

 

[Arris Windrun]

"Wait, like, head gone... or?"

The thought of her eye exploding, while exciting to some, was a no-go for even her. "How much is the eye?" She was curious, though.

Then came out the jaw. "Oh. I mean," she wished she could scratch her head right now. "Do you think it's hot?"

She looked at them as priorities were put on the table. That one eye was dead serious.

Skeevi Merrill