Saviour

[Omari Ngao]

It was towards the end of the day on Varonat. The sun had already set, but government officials that strode for more tended to work a little longer than the rest. Many were overworked due to their own work ethic, but they were ambitious, sought greatness, or what have you. Omari didn't have that luxury of grandiose wants. No. First he had been a trooper, then he transitioned out of that and into the Security Bureau.

Simple clothes. All black of course, he was something of a stealth operative or something. A great contrast between the white of the Stormtrooper Corps.

When he walked into the lobby, guards at the security station rose to stop him, but Omari was patient. Credentials had been supplied by the Bureau too. So he was all very official, at least in appearance, when the guards came up and the I.D was flashed.

Straightening himself out, he ascended to the Governor's Office.

Nowadays, it felt like there wasn't a soul that could stop him, and he just kept moving, until he realized someone was telling him to stop and then there was a secretary coming up from around a table in his peripherals and he came to a stop before reaching [member="Madelyn Lowe"]'s door.

"Tell the Governor she has a guest. DN-149. She'd recognize the name."

It was his designation for his whole life, up until the moment he had accepted the Director's offer of an Agent's position. Now, here he was waving credentials and getting access to almost whatever he could possibly want.

The life of a spook. It ain't too bad.

 

[Madelyn Lowe]

Overworked didn't begin to describe it. The woman who sat amid piles of documents at the polished desk was a wreck. Since her ascent to Commissioner. Edgefields-on-Varonat had steadily grown busier, more prosperous, growing with each economy drive. Now, a feverish storm brewed in the centre of the city. At its heart was Governor Madelyn Lowe. She'd taken the responsibility of representing the Foreign Office with enthusiasm, seeing it as what it was; a path to the Moff Council. But only days after her taking the position, a crisis with the ORC had emerged and rapidly escalated. Now, as the deadline for the ultimatum counted down, they made preparations for war.

She steepled her fingers and furrowed her brow at the pile of problems on her desk. There was still much to do, but it at least appeared that the majority of the day's preparations, which included mobilising the majority of the planet's VDF, navy and Imperial Army assets to assist with "border security," and drafting directives to primary industries to step up on production. There was no predicting how the conflict would resolve itself, but preparations had to be made in case of a long, drawn out campaign. It was a waiting game now. The only thing that was clear was that no side was backing down.

As the last meeting of the day wound down, and the various officials shuffled out of the room, some to grab their things and head home, and others to return back to their posts for several hours more work, an assistant poked their head inside.

"Madam Governor, their is an FOSB agent going by the designation DN-149 here to see you. Shall I send him in?"

"DN-149? I'm not..." She trailed off, and a slender hand rose to her face to run along a long, thin scar, still red and angry.

"Yes. Please send him through, and hold my calls."

[member="Omari Vyken"]​

 

[Omari Ngao]

The former trooper walked through the threshold and into the Governor's Office. He was tall mostly, that was likely the most immediate thing people noted when they saw him. Sure he was tall in the armour, but lots of people thought it was just a by product of being in the protective gear. The next was likely seeing how young he looked.

Bet she's thinking: "This is the guy who saved me?"

"Governor." He greets as he strode with a slow gait to her table, extending a hand out to the government official over the table. Thinking back to when he first saw her, splattered with the blood of one of her captors and barely managing to hold a blaster in her crippled hands. She decided to take her fate into her own hands. I can respect that. Spawning a smile across his dark complexion, when he spoke, the hardness that had been in his voice back on Lothal was gone, instead, it held a friendly, even jovial nature. "It truly is a pleasure to meet you in less... Stressful circumstances."

[member="Madelyn Lowe"]

 

[Madelyn Lowe]

"I assure you DN-149, the honour is mine."

She rapped her fingers once more on the hard wood of the desk, relishing in the sensation of the hard wood and lacquer on her flesh and bone. She pursed her lips and set upon the man before her a dark-rimmed gaze. He was something of an enigma, almost like a man out of a propaganda piece. Like Natasi Fortan was the symbol of the First Order's governance, so too was he the idyllic symbol of the Order's enlisted man. And yet, unlike the Grand Moff, he didn't appear embittered or dressed-up at all, at least not with a cursory glance.

She decided that of all the people to have risked his life to extricate her from that apartment, patrolled by stark raving mad rebels hopped up on narcotics and enemy propaganda, it was fortunate that it was him. As it was, she owed him her life, and though she was a woman who seldom allowed disturbances of any kind, she could not object to an audience.

Leaning back to pull closed the heavy red curtains that framed her office window, overlooking the courtyard in the Upper City, she cut off the stream of afternoon rays that lit up the specks of dust in the air and turned her hair into a shimmer of golden rays. With a flick of the wrist all that was hidden and the room brought back into a more comfortable and familiar gloom.

"So what can I do for you?"

[member="Omari Vyken"]​

 

[Omari Ngao]

Omari didn't open his mouth to respond this time, instead opting for a short lived "Mm," as his offered hand in greeting was rebuffed and the extended digits bent and were tucked back into his palm while the ebony skinned arm lowered, dropping back to his side. Reaching out, he pulled back the chair on his side of the table with a brief drag across the floor before he unbuttoned the front of his jacket and then took a seat into the chair.

Hand shake rebuffed, the Agent's hand traveled across the table as he watched the lights dim to a more natural setting per the hour of the day.

In his mind, there was a total of two ways this was going to go. There was a preferable way, and there was the less preferable way. The latter being the way he had been trained by the Security Bureau, which involved doing what you wanted regardless of what the other person wanted.

His early life suggested that that was wrong, but the military wasn't who he worked for anymore.

"I need your help in whitelisting shipments and the vessel carrying them."

Omari had never been big on too many words, and he wasn't keen on the explanation he'd have to give, but he didn't know how to do that without giving away his... Delicate ties. Best to keep it short, hm? His dark orbs leveled on her own gaze, as if weighing her response before it came.

[member="Madelyn Lowe"]

 

[Madelyn Lowe]

"So you have come to ask of me a favour, no doubt thinking I would simply acquiesce out of gratitude for your performance on Lothal."

Madelyn levelled a cool stare at the man across the desk. He was simply an ambitious underling like her, albeit a few ranks down in the pecking order. But if he was anything like her, he was shrewd and dangerous. He would manipulate the situation, twisting words around and casting out idle threats as if they were no big thing. Or, she was wrong, and he was merely a poor communicator making an innocuous attempt at getting some paperwork signed. Either way, she was under enough people's thumbs already.

"I'm going to be quite frank with you, DN-149, I am not simply going to approve these shipments no-questions-asked. Even if you saved my life, you are just a soldier, and while I consider myself a generous woman, I am not an idiot. You will explain what is contained in these shipments and who sent you, then we can talk about approval."

By the time the last word had fled her lips, she was sitting stiffly upright, her shoulders forwards, leaning across the desk to look into [member="Omari Vyken"]'s eyes, unwavering.

"Do I make myself clear, DN-149?"

 

[Omari Ngao]

The Specialist decided to not give her a vocal response in regards to her first inquiry. Instead, his shoulders raised slightly into a shrug as his hand raises to settle on the top of the desk. He was a quiet man. A relatively passive man his military files would've suggested. Dodging larger engagements, valuing the lives of his men, the thing that most ambitious soldiers didn't do. And yet, here he was about to make threats? That's what she thinks most likely. He had hours to think of the multiple ways her reaction could take them. She wouldn't outright kill him, he was sure of that much, but she'd want answers, and she'd get them. Albeit, not in the forthright manner she sought.

I didn't think you would.

The thought remained at the front of his mind. The first time she said 'DN-149' his lips stretched out into a smile. Even before he had become an Agent of the Bureau his background was unknown, blacklisted. He had a name, but all the soldiers in his class got new ones, just like him. Despite the forced smile, it bothered a part of him. The fact that it wasn't his designation anymore felt as if he had betrayed his brothers in the Corps. But he had no aspirations for rising through the ranks of the military. It just meant more men, and more to protect. He valued all their lives of course, but at some point, he had to put himself first.

And here I am.

"Governor Lowe." He started. "DN-149 is dead. And I am no soldier." His easy, casual demeanour transitioned into one of business, and his back straightened. Stormtroopers had regular lives. They were actual people. They worked shifts, got to have homes and families. Even so, chances were a regular member of the Corps likely wasn't going to have access to her building. She forgot while she let herself get offended. "It's simple: The Ison Corridor has natural resources used for the construction of weapons for the First Order. Your part in this is to supply unmarked shipments of specific metals." It had to be untraceable, or else the Order's enemies will trace it back to the Order that made him.

Now, he was never the sort to value authority. But he had followed orders as far as nobody needed to die needlessly. But there was a reason he didn't find himself in major engagements after the Siege of Dosuun. He was problematic and disrespected his betters by disregarding their orders. She thinks she's better than me. I doubt this will be entertained much longer. She's not a coward. Wary, cautious. There's more to her... I just don't know what. Don't need to know.

"You're curious and want answers. You think your... Station has given you the right to be afforded them. It is in our human nature to be curious, that much I have learned recently." On Skye no less. "But we are also Imperials. You being a Governor of an expanse of Space that has been a military target multiple times over likely affords you knowledge of things that others of similar station know nothing about."

There was a pause. He needed to formulate his thoughts. And once he was ready again, moments later, he spoke. He didn't want to forcibly take what he wanted. He wanted an agreement. But people were selfish. If he hadn't believed that what he was tasked with doing was for the right cause, he would have let himself die a long time ago.

"With your station, shouldn't one be adept at knowing when to not ask questions?"

It was less a threat, and more of a warning. A warning that he could do what he wanted. That he would. But he was giving her a chance. The underlying elements in his tone suggested as much. But he let her take whatever gravity she thought his words held.

[member="Madelyn Lowe"]

 

[Madelyn Lowe]

I am no soldier.

Madelyn's face contorted into a grimace. Those words meant trouble, and bigger trouble than she'd suspected before. It seemed that this man, whoever he was, was not some petty enlisted trying to get his criminal side gig off the ground. This was something else entirely.

Shouldn't one be adept at knowing when not to ask questions?

That was enough to make her crack a smile. Whoever this was, and more importantly, whoever was their upper, had clearly not done their research, or they'd be finding another Governor to try and bully into their business. For the moment, the man seemed confident and self-assured, but it was becoming abundantly more clear that he didn't understand exactly what he was dealing with.

It was a shame, really, that it had to go this way. She'd liked the man. Perhaps he could still make himself useful, but he would never be redeemed, not after he tried to pull the wool over her eyes. Gently, as if idly shifting in her seat, she pressed the top of her leg against a concealed button, that rung a buzzer to the security outside. One couldn't be too careful with these things. Not with times as they were.

"I'm not sure exactly how you though this was going to go, but I'm going to need a few answers from you, and I'm going to need you to stop wasting my time." She rose to her feet, now looking down on the man a few feet away.

"You will tell me your name, who sent you, and exactly what it is you plan to in my sector. And you will tell me now."

Almost on cue, a trio of men entered the room, each in modified VDF stormtrooper armour, with its characteristic orange stripe running down from the left shoulder.

"I am not a woman to be intimidated. If you can't learn that by the end of this little conversation, I'm sure that the VSIB can assist in reinforcing the lesson."

Again she affixed him with a cold glare, eager for his response.

"Tell me what I want to know. Spit it out."

[member="Omari Vyken"]​

 

[Omari Ngao]

"Mm."

The sound was simple, short, and showed the tiniest amount of interest flashed across his face when she continued to try to... Bully him? She wasn't nearly as frightening as the ones who trained him, or even a Ssi-Ruuk. Both whom he faced without cowering. This would be no different. She's too full of herself. But before his thoughts could continue the door behind him opened, and before he could turn his head all the way around, he counted the three pairs of steps as the troopers walked in.

I'm not good at this sort of thing yet.

Rotating his head back around to the Governor, his lips broke apart into a smile.

Let them feel like they're in charge. Manipulate 'em if you can.

The words echoed in his mind. There hadn't been ample opportunity to test that part of his training live in the field. This would have to do.

Raising both of his hands above his head and rising out of the chair, the Specialist's hands were produced together, offered to the trio of stormtroopers. He didn't answer any of her questions, he wasn't going to. She had to know by now that she was wasting her breath. Even so, the suspicion that he was working for someone would keep him alive. He was certain of that much.

"And here I was thinking we were getting along nicely."

[member="Madelyn Lowe"]

 

[Madelyn Lowe]

Work in the building was winding down, almost all staff except for the security personnel and a few department heads were already out the door and heading home. The sun was now below the horizon, and the sky was still light and tinged with pink. The only sources of tension were the confrontation in the Governor's office, and the security room, where the VSIB operatives had by now caught wind of the commotion and were monitoring the room.

She almost smiled at his snide remark. He had a sense of humour, but she was in no laughing mood. With every passing second her mind raced through possibilities of who might be behind this agent's appearance in her office. Was it a disgruntled former cabinet member, or a former political opponent? Doubtful, if they were involved it would not be a single agent with a dubious criminal plan, the entire building wouldn't be rubble. Likewise, if Calgar or that toad Shephard from the Bureau were involved, there would be no need for cloak-and-dagger, just a few papers flashed and quiet words exchanged.

No, this seemed more the work of either a reckless criminal syndicate, a foreign agent, or some mid-tier officer within the Bureau looking for few easy credits. What ever the truth was, they'd regret meddling with her. She was done with manipulating others, and she was very much finished with being a pawn herself.

"I don't play nice. Detain him."

She turned to leave, and the guard raised his arms to bring his rifle down on the criminal's back.

[member="Omari Vyken"]​

 

[Omari Ngao]

The trio fanned out around him. One in front and the other on his flanks. His head rotated around over his shoulder to glance to the Governor. His previous comment bringing the response that he imagined he'd get. Silence. To that, the faint smile that had been lingering on his lips straightened, flattening out into a determined line as the rest of his features settled into a grim understanding of his situation.

Private DN-149 doesn't fight for the First Order, or for himself. Only for his fellow stormtroopers. Without them, he lingers.

His dark gaze floated away from the Governor and to the trio of troopers.

Omari's jaw set.

I don't play nice.

Fists clenched.

Detain him.

The words replayed in his head. They pushed him into action, for Omari Vyken did not come here to become a prisoner. No. It was nice to visit the office where the Bloc Treaty was spawned, but his mission, was secret, even his former name as DN-149 had him listed as being on leave.

The sound of the trooper raising his arms was one Omari was familiar with. Weight, helmet, joints... Got it. Madelyn Lowe didn't play nice. If being in the Security Bureau taught him a valuable lesson, it was that fighting dirty was a good way to stay alive. And Omari's large frame, lowered, quickly as his elbow was brought backwards and into the groin of the trooper, hard.

The blaster dropped into Omari's view as the trooper behind him began to collapse.

Helmet.

His hand supported the midsection of the rifle, his other hand wrapped around the barrel as he twisted his body, raising the stock of the barrel to crash into the dark visor of the second trooper, while his leg lurched outwards to kick into the side of the knee of the third trooper. There was a sickening crack upon contact.

Joints.

There was a coarse scream from the last trooper as he collapsed under his own body's weight and the added weight of the armour as Omari vaulted over the Governor's table to the window and jumping into its curtains, covered his face with one hand while his hand dropped to his belt, as he crashed through its window frame and fell to the courtyard below.

[member="Madelyn Lowe"]