Star Wars Roleplay: Chaos

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Private Sommer’s End Pt. 3-4

(Gilded Veil)- Founder / C.E.O.
Sommer smiled gently. "You don't have to glow, Aly. The Force doesn't announce itself with fireworks. It's a whisper. A current. Some people are born with just enough to feel the tide. At least that's what I've been told."
 
(Gilded Veil)- Founder / C.E.O.
Sommer looked toward the sealed containment chamber, where Zori Galea still sat in silence.


"It means," she said softly, "you might be the only one who understands what's coming. And the only one who can survive it."


Outside, Black Spine Station's docking lights turned green.


The hangar bay yawned wide like the jaws of a beast.


The galaxy wasn't done with them yet.


And Alyssa may have just heard its breath for the first time.
 
(Gilded Veil)- Founder / C.E.O.
Location: Black Spine Station, Docking Bay 12-F

The ramp of the Dusk Nocturne hissed open, releasing a thin curtain of mist from the ship's cooled core. The platform beneath their boots was worn durasteel, blackened by engine burns and streaked with graffiti sigils from fifty different crews.


Kael stepped out first, trench coat catching the air, his eyes scanning every corner like a wolf loose in a strange den.


Arq followed next, his demeanor calm and unreadable. In a place like this, not blinking was a currency.


Then came Sommer, dressed in layered black with a subtle armored weave beneath her coat. Her signature crimson-lined heels clicked softly as she walked — elegant, yet built for survival.


And beside her, the wildcard:


Alyssa , hair tied back, eyes sharp. Her flight jacket was zipped halfway and a concealed blaster hugged her hip, painted matte grey. She looked like trouble — and more than that, she looked like someone ready.


"Stay sharp," Sommer murmured. "This place is a scrapyard of loyalty."
 
As they entered the main hangar zone, the full chaos of Black Spine Station hit them:

Smugglers bartering over cryo-locked pelts. Modified assassin droids sparring in a ring for credits. A Bothan hawking fake holopasses out of his coat. Tech-priests chanting prayers to forgotten AIs.

And above them, suspended on pulsing neon wires, the central bazaar flickered like a shrine to corruption.

"Feels like Nar Shaddaa's bastard cousin," Alyssa whispered.
 
"Oh, it is," Arq said. "But with fewer rules and better liquor."
They moved quickly — past the eyes, the offers, the quiet threats disguised as compliments — until they reached a sealed customs alcove behind two shuttered blast doors. Painted above in flaking red:
 
(Gilded Veil)- Founder / C.E.O.
Sommer folded her arms. "Please don't."

A scrawny protocol droid pushed the doors open with a groan.

Inside sat a massive man, bald with a cybernetic jaw and a permanent scowl. Karn Veck, the Dockmaster. One of the only neutral parties on the station. Mostly because no one dared make him choose sides.

"You brought the parcel?" he asked without looking up.
Sommer answered. "Secured. Force-dampened. You'll get her once the route is confirmed and the payment lands."

Karn looked up slowly.
 
(Gilded Veil)- Founder / C.E.O.
Sommer approached the hovering cart that held Zori , still seated in the Force-dampening restraints. Her posture sagged from exhaustion… but her eyes, those glimmering serpentine orbs, were very much awake.
 
Queen Witch...Or...You know
And laughing.

At first, it was soft. A chuckle. Then louder.

Then she was crying — genuinely, uncontrollably — and laughing. The two bled together like toxins in a vial.

"You're really going through with it," Zori whispered, her voice cracked but soaked in venomous glee. "You think this stops the dream?"
 

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