Private Space Wolves, Assemble!

[Ova Ziss]

Image Credits: WallpaperSafari

Objective: Plan a Sith Bank Robbery
Location: Diarchy VIP Getaway Estate, Artorias, Diarchy Space
Tags: Glade | Open to Space Wolves, Diarchists, and any vigilante character who doesn't like the Sith.

Spoiler: Flavor music

In a quiet area of Diarchy's private Getaway Estate on the beach planet of Artorias, Ova Ziss eagerly awaited guests, potentially many of them. He had prepared "deathcigars" (or that's what he thought they were called). He only smoked cigars when he was about to do clandestine business for the Diarchy military, the navy, and/or the vigilante group that he called the Space Wolves. This was one such meeting.

Ova Ziss felt compelled to travel outside of the Dantooine system to make sure that nobody from Dantooine, the N&Z, the Diarchy, The Lost, The Dark Empire, or anyone else knew about this mission. It was his mission, and that of the guests. Unless, of course, Ova wanted them to know. That is why Ova traveled to Artorias, the beach planet.

The meeting was at night, when the usual diplomats and Brotherhood bodyguards would be sleeping. Although he was well-recognized as Governor of Dantooine, the usual escorts that Ova Ziss knew personally would've retired for the night. He would be accompanied by escorts that he didn't know.

The visitors were outside of a highly private, VIP seating room. It was decorated with purple, gold, orange and pink. There were six chairs there, and more collapsible chairs in the maintenance closet for anyone else who showed up. It was perfect - the escorts had no reason to enter inside.

It was to be the very first meeting...of the Space Wolves.

"Please wait outside for me, Gentleman and Lady", Ova said to the Brotherhood's two Justicar escorts who had accompanied him this far. They knew that guests would be entering the room late. Diarchs Reign and Rellik ordered the Sayu Ni Diarch Enclave to watch Ova Ziss at all times, as he was suffering from a serious force-induced illness. It was irritating at moments like now, when Ova Ziss needed discretion to complete an important mission, that he was followed everywhere he went. This mission would stick it to the Warlord Marlen Sularon and the Dark Empire for good, but Ova felt that the Diarchs would not ever condone this mission.

Unsurprisingly, the High Council ejected Ova from his position for even suggesting committing a bank robbery.

It would destroy the Diarchy's reputation, if the galaxy knew that they had plundered a Sith bank.

But if an enemy's bank were plundered by pirates - much like Dantooine's kyber crystal caves were plundered by pirates - then the Diarchs could simply deny knowledge of anything.

When the guests arrived, one by one, he offered them all a death cigar.

The room was soundproof when the window was closed. It would be the perfect meeting place.

"Right. You know why you're here. We're robbing a Sith bank." Ova lit the cigar, and then offered a light to the others in the room, one at a time. "Then, we're turning part of the money over to The Foundation to rebuild Csilla."

"Before we talk, let me tell you why I'm doing this. Can I do that?" If given permission, Ova would get right into it. "Dantooine became an independent planet when the New Imperial Order hit the dust, right? - Well, now we're dealing with more piracy than we've ever dealt with in Dantooine's history." Ova takes a drag, and then slowly blows it out, thinking of how to word the next part: the taking action part. He gazes at the mountain peaks in the distance. "We did some research, right?" He took another drag. Ova was clearly nervous. "We had to take out a whole industrial facility down in Asation to find this out. I take no pride in that." Another small drag. Ova chuckles. "What these karking Sith have been doing is creating the piracy, and then manufacturing the solutions to it by offering us security contracts. We've been funding...their karking Dark Empire military. The Trade Federation helped them do that by laundering their money away for them. And nobody karking knew."

"In short, they robbed Dantooine blind, so we are robbing them back. And I don't give a kark what the Hutts have to say about that. They aren't getting a cut. We are."

"Now, I got two questions for all of you". Ova gestured to the guest(s) in the room. "Why are you doing this, and which bank are we robbing? My vote goes to a Dark Empire bank or a Hutt Cartel vault, but I'd like to hear what you think."

Ova leaned forward, holding the deathcigar in his hand, genuinely curious what his guest(s) had to say.

Image Credit: Hotpot.Ai
Space Wolves, Assemble!​

 

[Glade]

Tags: Ova Ziss

Wearing neon and purple, same as always in her circular hoverchair. Been a nano since she'd seen a beach—Denon's skies were all smog and rain. Probably needed a month's worth of sun just to look normal, same as the other two with her.

Wait. Serious face, Glay-Glay.

Except—kriff, this was the best room in the galaxy. So much purple. Dumb girly grin under her visor. Fyor Droid's silent judgment rolled off her hoverchair like static.

Ova started talking. Glade snapped back, cigars between her fingers, trying to flex on Sickle. She'd never chuffed one before, but no way she'd let herself get outclassed. Lit it up—bigger than her nose.

Chronicle, all business. "I'd need schematics to pick." Walking clock, always ticking.

Glade, innocently-not-so-innocent: "Sooo, what'd'ya think 'bout, dunno, robbin' both? Framin' the other." Side-eye from Sickle. "Kinda got um… debts." Truth in her tone. Memory vaults weren't cheap. Neither were stim habits the size of a house, or her medtech treatments to keep her ticking.

"Same backburn schutta, different day. Corps, Sith, Hutts. Step on the little guy, squeeze 'em dry." Sickle's frown became a smirk. "What about those feds? High, mighty, untouchable." Less blowback too. Glade nodded, Sickle was more direct than her.

Now that? That was a Rogue Protocol kinda job, but Ova had them at bank.

 

[Ova Ziss]

Objective: Plan a Sith Bank Heist
Location: Diarchy Vacation Estate, Artorias
Tags: Glade | Open to Space Wolves and Vigilantes

Spoiler: Flavor music

"Oh, I assure you, this is gonna pay your debts and everybody else's."

"That's the best part of this mission. The feds approve." Ova winks at sickle. "The feds here in the Diarchy want us to get back at the other feds, the one in the Dark Empire."

At the mention of schematics, Ova pulls out a map on his holopad. He lays it out on the table in front of the other Space Wolves.

Spoiler: The ICBC Banking Clan Headquarters Schematics

Red dots designate gun placements.
Green dots designate CCTV or drone placements.
* Not all environmental risks are captured by the map. *

"I hacked this from the Asation servers, with Grenz's help", he adds with a wicked grin. "These are the full and complete schematics of the IGBC First Bank Headquarters on the planet of Scipio. Every fault location. Every vault. Every egress. Hell, I even got their risk assessment plan from four years ago."

"There's a few different ways we can go in, and I was hoping to discuss all of them."

"We could go underground, using Scorpion Walkers."

"We could bombard them, and raid every last office building from the skylights to the basement. That would be the heavy approach."

"We could go undercover, get inside, and get out like nothing happened."

Ova pauses for a moment to puff on his death cigar.

"Of course, I'm always open to a different plan."

"Sooo, what'd'ya think 'bout, dunno, robbin' both? Framin' the other."

"What we could do--" Ova said, stroking his goatee. "--is make it look like the Trade Federation did it. We have to make sure that they never see our faces. And perhaps we could leave some sort of Trade Federation calling card behind: fake evidence for those fools to trace to someone else."

 

[Glade]

Tag: Ova Ziss

Everyone agreed—the plans were solid. Detailed. Impressive. Nods and murmurs of approval passed around the room. "Bomb 'em from orbit. Frame the Feds." Sickle's speech had her anarchist tendencies running hot.

Yeah, alright, revolution and all that, but let's not go detonite before breakfast. Give Glade a dilemma, and she'd usually smash the pieces together 'til they fit. Learned that from a friend. "Well," she stretched the word, tapping her fingers against the side of her visor, "I mean, I can pull us some real old battle clankers topside while we ghost in all cloaks'n'daggers through'a backdoor." Apex Holdings had some dusty-looking models locked in their vaults—never did ask where Mr. Black got 'em. Rusty, busted-up excuses for droids, but hey, the Feds did love their calling cards.

She popped her visor up, giving Sickle a look. A don't-go-chucking-us-into-the-deep-end-before-we-get-wet kind of look. First time Ova might've seen her eyes—always bright, even when they were tired and worn.

Chronicle, ever the steady one, studied the schematics. He liked things clean, a rarity from Denon streetrunners. "Unnoticed. Off radar. Seven minutes in and out. I'll need Ibis to confirm." Their architect.

From under Glade's chair, Fyor beeped—the voice of a dead friend cutting through the room.

<Miss Natoline and Company, due to extensive security checkpoints, I calculate the best course would be assuming the identities of vault employees or security staff—an inspection, a delivery. With placed charges as an exit strategy should things go awry. Pause. …And battle droids.>

He added that last part just for her. He knew she was waiting for it. Not that he thought they needed them.

Glade rested her elbow on the arm of her chair, chin in palm, just listening. Fyor always overanalyzed, always waffled, but—forcegods—she loved hearing him talk. A ghost that hadn't left her yet, one she'd never let go.

Oh, right—focus. She snapped back, grinning up at Ova Ziss

"I never said it, Ova, but—kinda thanks. Y'know, for takin' a chance. On me. Us." Her lips curled into a smirkled—half-smirk, half-smile, fully her. Not everyone got her at first glance. The loud neon, the street slang, the odd tech and weirder customs. She'd always been a bit of an odd—glitch in the system? Spark in the wire? Too much speechifying Nato, Whatever.

"Won't let'cha down."

She'd done too much of that already.

 

[Ova Ziss]

Objective: Plan a Sith Bank Heist
Location: Diarchy Vacation Estate, Artorias
Tags: Glade | Open to Space Wolves and Vigilantes

Spoiler: Flavor music

Ova considers the words of everyone on the team. They all had a similar idea, they just had different means to get there.

Glade and Sickle wanted to go in there all-guns blazing topside, sending old Trade Federation tech to attack the IGBC offices, while sending a clandestine team through the vault. It was objectively a great idea. The impact of such a perceived betrayal would send shockwaves through the Imperials' Dark Empire.

"Glade. Sickle. If you can get a hold of those Trade Federation junkers - then do it. Our personal ships shouldn't be seen anywhere near the Scipio system." He nodded with satisfaction at their idea.

​

"The Intergalactic Banking Clan and the Trade Federation rely on each other. Fracturing the IGBC and the Trade Federation's relationship would do more damage than even the bank robbery. The Trade Federation loves to blockade, tax, and stop trade when someone betrays them. It could edge the Imperials out of the Braxant Run."

The droid Fyor added onto the idea, with the suggestion of dressing up as bank employees, or delivery spacers with a package. "Hey, hey, yeah!" Ova sat up in his chair, gesticulating with the cigar in his hands. "And if the delivery came from a Trade Federation business, a legitimate delivery, it would place even more suspicion on them."

"So...we use Trade Federation droids, while putting in a Trade Federation delivery that isn't gonna make it there, and dressing up as Trade Federation spacers and security. Heh, we can even have the droids call out that the Feds are stopping the delivery. If that doesn't scream out that the Trade Federation did the attack, then I don't know what will."

"Now then. I wanna talk about what we're taking once we get there. The credits are only part of things."

"Fyor, this might be your area of expertise. What else can we take, other than the credits in the vault? If we could get a hold of schematics of other structure for example, we could hit those too. And perhaps we can dig up some old messages between the Banking Clan and the Diarchy's enemies. We ought to make it a priority to splice the IGBC computer before we start the 'blockade'".

When Glade thanks Ova for giving him a chance, Ova smiles and claps her on the shoulder in a friendly way.

"Don't mention it. We need all the help we can get around the Braxant. Consider yourself a Spacewolf, Glade. All of you." Ova gestured to the room. "Even sitting here and planning this puts us all at risk."

 

[Glade]

Tag: Ova Ziss

Glade was technically thrown out on sight at Apex warehouses—a smidge too many debts, thefts, legal gymnastics, and Sithy contract loopholes keeping her out. Long story. But she still owned a chunk of the corp, and more importantly, she had connections. Fyor's old clan, the Nayus family? Def's get in with them.

Not that you'd guess any of that sticky situation from the way she practically vibrated in her seat.

"Oh, easy-mode. Ghost it clean. Blink and nobody knew we were there." Glade smirkled and gave an exaggerated bob of her head, like she was convincing herself as much as the others. Sickle arched a brow. Half of Apex's bottom line was tech reclamation and recycling—plenty of history, plenty of old tech.

Fyor-droid processed the request, its voice a crisp echo of the long-dead genius Jedi engineer.

<The vault holds credits, but assuredly our payload is in data. I would heartily suggest the primary target be encrypted transmission codes and structural schematics of key facilities. Suggested secondary targets would include false transactions to implicate rival factions, destabilization of market records to induce trading chaos. Random looting of safety deposit boxes is a wildcard, but access to personal accounts and trading records will grant us deeper infiltration potential. With the right credentials, our future forged identities could bypass even the Trade Federation's deepest firewalls.>

Chronicle looked intrigued, Glade looked reminiscent, and Sickle tapped her deck. If Fyor—or worse, the Scylla AI —could dig deep enough with the right credentials, even a temporary crack in IGBC's security could mean little was off-limits.

Glade beamed. "Aww, thanks," genuinely buzzing. "Risk's kinda where I used'ta live. Revolutions, explosions, n'stuff." She'd missed it—not so much the bad parts, but y'know. Her hand finding a discarded spoon on the side that looked like it was forgotten, "can I umm, keep this?"

Sickle leaned on her arm. "Team knows the stakes. They'll be in." They'd all pick and choose for themselves, but on a gig like this, there wasn't much of a choice.

Some of the team were too young to really grasp it, but Denon street kids grew up fast or not at all. Every day was a risk. Chronicle just agreed, already syncing the timing in his head, slotting every moving piece into place.

 

[Ova Ziss]

Objective: Plan a Sith Bank Heist
Location: Diarchy Vacation Estate, Artorias
Tags: Glade | Open to Space Wolves and Vigilantes

Spoiler: Flavor music

"[...] "With the right credentials, our future forged identities could bypass even the Trade Federation's deepest firewalls."

"That's right. HA!" Ova slaps his leg. "Then, if we hit the Trade Federation as the IGBC, once again, nobody would expect anything! We could hack ourselves real credentials: no droids needed. We can get back all of that stolen money in no time."

"I have to stress that these...'pirates'--" Ova deployed bunny ears using his fingers, as he really meant the Trade Federation "--have been plundering Dantooine for...good grief, it must be going on fifty years now. They deserve all of this."

Ova notices a logo on one of the holopads that the crew is using. He points and draws attention to it. "Apex Holdings, huh? Is that your company?"

"can I umm, keep this?"

"Ah, uh, yeah, but...why would you want to?" Ova tilted his head, puzzling at Glade, who kept the discarded spoon.

"I can see just how much debt you're really in. I promised to wipe it clean. Do you believe I'll keep that promise?"

Ova walked over to the liquor cabinet now. He was drawing out shot glasses for each member of Rogue Protocol. It would be hard to look at them as he made this next request: it could destroy a major faction's economy, possibly irreparably. Ova produces a large bottle of vintage Nar Shaddaa whiskey. The Governor was known to be something of a heavy drinker, which was one of his greatest weaknesses. However, since there was nobody except Rogue Protocol to see him drink, Ova was fine with it.

As Ova poured whiskey into the shot glasses, he spoke to the team. "There is a large computer archive inside of the vault called the Debtor Registry. It marks all of the debts and bounties set on every person the Trade Federation and IGBC does business with. It includes quite a few companies from the corporate sector, too." He nods to the group, Fyor and the Fyor Droid in particular. "Splice it. You can wipe your debts away, but you can also splice in new debts and bounties. Of course, not every faction uses this Debtor Registry. Some will not accept this next suggestion."

Ova was distributing shots to interested people.

"I need the Mandalorian Crusaders to own your debt instead. In fact, I need the Crusaders to own the debts and bounties of every single person and government entity in the Diarchy." Ova smirks as he sat down in his chair. Everyone now had a shot of Nar Shaddaa whiskey. "The Mandalorians waged war on Kashyyyk recently. They're blocking off the Braxant Run from our Alliance customers in Taris. They're playing a sneaky game, and I want them to pay for it. They need to learn that indiscriminate war has a price."

 

[Glade]

Ova Ziss

Nato... Glade was vibing. Ova clicking with Fyor had her beaming still, eyes sparking brighter than a slicer on a hot streak, riding a club wave till 3am, a rare flash of something warm beneath the synthcoolin' their lives.

Big corps preying on the broke and busted? "Let's smoke them." Sickle spat, anarchistic fire in her veins. Glade bobbed her head, casual but locked in.

Apex yours? Ova asked "Erm. Bits n' pieces. Complicated." Glade's hands twisted together like a messy bundle of wires. "Like that." Apex Holdings was a tangled glitch—Uos family drama, dead patriarch, power struggles that didn't even involve her! Bleh. Hitting banks was way waaay easier than untangling that mess.

Spoons abound in memory hoards, scavenged whispers of memories cast aside. Like some of her Kiffar kin, she could pull echoes from objects, trace the ghosts of their past. Running her many cluttered vaults kept her accounts red, debts stacking like an endless backed-up queue in the undernet.

"Wiping our debts. Where you can." Chronicle cut in, tone level but cautious. Some debts? A little nudge of creds could clear them. Others? No amount of money could touch. Denon had other currencies—favors, grid-lock-chains keeping runners locked in a never-ending hustle, undernet tags, or just old-school family blood-markers that ran deeper than credchits.

Ova laid it out—be a temporary reprieve, enough to exhale for a minute. Sickle's mouth opened, probably about to ask if they could just blow the whole damn registry, but then Kashyyyk got dropped into their convo and Glade's vibe shifted. Eyes misted like she was glitching raw, past surging up into a bad boot cycle.

"Y.yeah. Let's do that." Voice soft, tremor threading through. Then she slammed back her whiskey, nose scrunching at the burn. Bleh. Hand out for another. Better than double-tapping stims. Dulling the edges, keeping her ghosts at bay. Another good memory burning again. That's why she had the vaults.

Sickle tossed back a shot with a muttered thanks. Chronicle, though, waved his off. "This all sounds good. But what's the guaranteed payout?" Practical. Always. He had to sell it to the crew. A few hundred creds each? A few thousand split? If it smelled too sweet, he'd know something was off. Not if they failed, nobody expected handouts, but if there was nothing worth taking the risk had to payout.

Glade squidged forward, words slipping out a conspiratorial whisper. "Umm Ova… like, why are you for reals doin' this. You kinda care and um, well its nice." Nice a distant memory recall, a snippet of code she'd lost along her way.

 

[Ova Ziss]

​

Objective: Plan a Sith Bank Heist
Location: Diarchy Vacation Estate, Artorias
Tags: Glade | Open to Diarchy, Space Wolves, and Vigilantes.

Spoiler: Flavor Music

"Y.yeah. Let's do that."

"Let's smoke them."

"Let's smoke them. Smoke them like an Artorian Halibut", Ova repeated, looking into Sickle's eyes. He could see a passion within them to burn the IGBC and the Trade Federation for what they had done to Dantooine.

These actions by the IGBC - this 'security scam' - it wasn't an accident.

It was a business strategy by the Bank and the 'Feds.

When Glade explained that Apex Holdings was a complicated ball of stress, frustration, and equity battles, Ova nodded his head immediately. He understood now. The little guy had to split itself into pieces, while the Trade Federation remained large and capable. The enemy was cunning, but he would destroy them. Ova waves his hand at her, his expression apologetic. "Say no more, my friend. I did the research well in advance. I just wanted to see if you would tell the truth."

"Hundreds of companies...to be responsible for all of that...I must say, even if you do have debts, I am impressed."

Ova looked towards the doors, where Grenz the bodyguard was surely waiting outside; Ova Ziss's covert eyes and ears; his son in law; his protege. Grenz processed a background check on Rogue Protocol, as he did with everybody who did business with the UTA. Rogue Protocol was particularly hard to find. They had shells hidden inside of shells, to the point where it felt like a strange Russian Doll game to unravel their identities. Even then, the identities that Grenz found were shells, too. Grenz was an expert-level computer technician, even moreso than Ova. When it came to Rogue Protocol, Grenz was the best of the best. But the greatest Rogue Protocol member of all was the one in the shadows; the one which truly called the shots.

That person, the one who called the shots, was unknown to Ova Ziss. And, perhaps, to all of Rogue Protocol.

"Wiping our debts. Where you can."

"I can't make it all go away--", Ova began, again being apologetic to their situation "--but I can help. You'll be paid well, too." Ova paused. He considered talking about the payments, but it may've been rude.

"My business, the UTA, it is the same way as Apex. We united dozens of engineering, mining, navy, logistics and land management companies on Dantooine into the United Trade Authority. We even have a great distribution contract with the N&Z Corporation. But, the Board meetings have been rough lately." Ova downs his shot and places the empty shot glass over-turned on the table, a habit from his biker days. His death cigar went out, so Ova relights it slowly.

"The Board don't like how our government and private business is intertwining. They preferred to stay private and deal just with the Trade Fed folks. They want to kick me off the Board. That way, they can continue doing the chit that I don't like. Slavery. Terrorism. Etcetera."

The team would later discover - through some cooperative hacking and evidence sharing - that, in fact, the IGBC was doing this 'security scam' to every planet that they could reach in the Braxant Run.

"This all sounds good. But what's the guaranteed payout?"

Ova spoke the answer just as plainly as Chronicle had asked for it. "Twenty thousand credits. However..." He smiled, stopping the team before they could respond. Ova loved revealing surprises. He allowed the team to wonder about what he was going to say next, relishing the tension. Then, he dropped the surprise like a dubstep beat.

"Diarchs Reign and Rellik strongly approve of what we're doing here. They are prepared to top you up with a...let's call it, a 'corporate subsidy'."

"That would make the share 40,000 credits each. Worth every karking cent, far as I'm concerned!"

"Umm Ova… like, why are you for reals doin' this. You kinda care and um, well its nice."

Glade whispered it to him, but Ova took the question and answered it for the whole group.

Ova leaned back, puffed on his cigar and allowing the smoke to fill the room above him.

"Glade asked why I care. - Storytime", Ova said jokingly. He took one last puff, and then spoke in a low voice.

"When I was ten years old, the Sith invaded Dantooine. It was two Sith Factions. The New Imperial Order, which at the time was a Jedi and Sith joint strike force, invaded Dantooine and Garang City. The Sith Empire was in its ninth or tenth 'restoration'--" Ova used sarcastic bunny ear hands, to identify the Sith Order's downwards spiral. "--and the Sith were responsible for keeping us safe and evacuating us. People who couldn't give less of a 'Sith' about human life, responsible for human life. You can only imagine the devastation."

Ova took a puff on his cigar. He hesitated, considering self-censorship, but then decided to tell them how he truly felt.

"Nothing in this entire galaxy can be so educational as seeing both the Jedi and Sith, failing to help people at the same time. In their moment of greatest need, when Dantari people became refugees, these worthless trashbags fought to see who would look better in the media."

Ova nodded, staring through the window at the mountain, his expression very intense. A pregnant pause filled the air: a moment of silence for his friends and neighbors who did not make it during the evacuations.

Ova got up to pour himself another shot, and then poured one for Glade too. She looked like she had seen a ghost when Ova brought up Kashyyyk. Ova placed the liquor bottle in the center of the room, so the rest of the team could take it as they wanted. Ova downed another shot.

"My father Raiyan Ziss spent his entire life building up a little tiny business: a group of a dozen of his engineering buddies. He called it United Industrial - the precursor to the UTA. My father 'gave a Sith'. He employed people. He made consumer electronics. He bettered people's lives. All I did was continue what he started."

"Caring does make a difference. It's that type of callous disregard for human life by the Sith and the Jedi that gets people karking killed. It gets worlds blown up."

"The Diarchy are the only ones who will stick up for Dantooine. The Lost came here to the Braxant Run to take Bastion and Dantooine, and my bosses told them to stick it up their starship and fly home."

"We need a bit of defiance against these Jedi and Sith. Because they don't care about people. That's why I care. Because if I don't care, and the Diarchy doesn't care, then nobody else in this sector karking will. The Braxant Run will go back to being owned by parasites."

"So I ask of you to rise up in defiance of these parasites and rip them from your world"

Ova thought to the words spoken to him from the P.A. system of that big, giant ship: the one that came with the military when he was ten.

Ova got up and got closer to the window. He tried to hide the tears that were forming in his eyes.

"So yeah. That's why I'm doing this. In memory of my pops."

Ova raised the shot glass to the mountains far in the distance, where he spread Raiyan's ashes, and Ova took a drink.

 

[Glade]

Tag: Ova Ziss

Been a nano since she'd been responsible—more like treading very careful not to get tossed into boardroom scheming. Her shares stacked as insurance against debt, wrapped in red tape. "I'm kinda small fry," she whispered. Losing her mum's legal army had locked her out of that life a looong time ago.

"Yep, board meetin's are a'lil more dangerous than podracin'." Less buzz, more paper cuts—though usually later with blasters, bombs, or meh, lawyers when someone read somethin' they really didn't like.

Glade chuffed on her cigar, comically oversized for her small face, that's why she loved it. Odd things, odd sights, they always made her smile. Like his bunny ear signs, she full-giggled.

Savouring his cigar, Chronicle thought twenty per head was high, but forty each? You could see disbelief hit him. "Each or total?"

Glade just saw credit-signs, or more like, four sweet new high-tech vaults to build, eyes glazed, she never learned. Sickle, she was tangled in three different favor-traps, too caught up in the jobs to care. Whatever creds came-came. She'd likely drop it all on one of a thousand different street communities back home, and a new second-hand deck.

Storytime.

If there was ever a time for Glade to squidge comfy and listen, it was at that word. They listened right to the end. Ova's hospitality had been generous, and this was their biggest employer yet, but more importantly:

Galactic politics was lost on Sickle. Her struggles were local, but she felt what he was saying. Hard nod, "Same story. Little guy left behind." Meaning Dantooine. "Wrong place, wrong time, wrong face, or name." Basically describing her life and those she knew.

Chronicle knew just enough to navigate the next job. He nodded. "You do what you can." Put his cigar down. "Got heart, Ova." Yep. Chronicle getting all mushy. You knew it was about to go down.

Natoline... Glade of all people knew a little more. Wow. Where to even start her mess of a story? Did she want to? Drink was flowing. Stims still moving. Lips unlocking.

"First lotta Jedi kinda kicked us out," she shrugged. "When we tried to fight Sith." Long story. Army of Light broke the Jedi Order—not into two, but several smaller factions. "Then they said we couldn't date, marry, or somethin'? I dunno." She waved a hand. "Lot of speechifyin'". Lot of shoutin'. That was Kei's thing. Long time ago, before the Alliance, and before the alliance before that. Ancient Republic. "Kinda loooong time ago." The guy sounded like a younger Kei. Spike-her-code. Hadn't thought about him in a cycle or ten. Wondered how Taiden was. Not so much Sera.

Throwing back her new drink, she blehhhh'd, stub-stub-stubbing her cigar to get it right. "Okaies," she said softly, voice trailing off, misty-eyed again. Probs boring the poor guy. But she was a sucker for a story. Could listen forever. Been a long time since she met someone outside their crew who cared, or stuck around long enough to tell her.

She missed it. Glade smiled, eyes sparking, extending her little hand for a shake. "Help ya for free." Then her eyes went wide. No, she didn't mean free-free. "But, umm, I mean, creds are nice too…"

 

[Ova Ziss]

​

Objective: Plan a Sith Bank Heist
Location: Diarchy Vacation Estate, Artorias
Tags: Glade | Open to Diarchy, Space Wolves, and Vigilantes.

"I'm kinda small fry,"

Ova chuckled. A holding company with hundreds of outfits wasn't exactly small time. Glade's joke immediately broke up the sad tension in the room over Raiyan Ziss's memory, and those of others lost to the Jedi and Sith.

The room of Rogue Protocol hackers was not large by any means. But, the people in the room were passionate, skilled, and they cared genuinely about the missions they sent themselves on.

"Yep, board meetin's are a'lil more dangerous than podracin'."

Ova chuckled even more. His laughter sent a bushy cloud of cigar smoke forward. Glade's sarcastic humor tickled his funny bone.

"Eh, how 'bout that board meeting?", Ova said in a joking, loud voice. There were a few chuckles from his protective detail. They knew what was up, too, and so did Grenz the bodyguard. The Dantooine planetary security forces had raided the Banking Cartel's location on Ova's home planet of Dantooine numerous times, but each time, they seemed to have received advanced notice of the inspections. The only people who wouldn't be laughing at the joke would be the Banking Cartel members, who were about to experience an unexpectedly large withdrawal.

"Same story. Little guy left behind. Wrong place, wrong time, wrong face, or name."

"The wrong place, at the wrong time. Ah yes. A planetary refugee, right? - I've heard your story hundreds of times."

Ova puffed the cigar, looking at the ground for a moment, and then up at Sickle.

"I've been pouring over their history books during my exile. The Jedi and Sith committed war crimes together during the Dantooine Invasion, did you know that? Dozens of war crimes. False-flag attacks. Bombing civilians. Killing soldiers who had their hands up in the air. I got access to that information when I got voted into office. They did it all to get back at us - the people - because we have our own way of doing things. It wasn't an invasion of Dantooine. It was an invasion of THE PEOPLE of Dantooine."

Ova pointed down towards the docks, at the imaginary Jedi and Sith. "And that's THEIR OWN REPORTS saying this - not me."

"There's only one thing that the Sith and Jedi agree on. War. If they want a war, we'll give them one."

Ova had an intense, passionate, serious expression on his face. He tapped the cigar, in part to get his anger out.

"You do what you can. Got heart, Ova."

"Thanks, Chronicle. Oh, and...you'll all be happy to know--" Ova said, lowering his brow at Rogue Protocol, a smirk on his face. "--that the Jedi and Sith both deposit funds with this Banking Cartel. Some Jedi Enclave near Prakith is going to be mighty angry with us!" He snickers.

"First lotta Jedi kinda kicked us out, when we tried to fight Sith. Then they said we couldn't date, marry, or somethin'? I dunno. Lot of speechifyin'. Kinda loooong time ago."

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but...isn't the Grandmaster of the Jedi married?", Ova pondered. "I saw a wedding ring on her finger during the swoop races." Ova sat back in the chair, rolling his eyes. "Karking hypocrites. Can't even follow their own codes. Nyva told me all about this."

 

[Glade]

Ova Ziss

Ova's laugh at her boardroom joke had Glade grinning, all bright eyes and mischief. So he got it. Boardrooms were o'so tricky, just a different kind of danger. She gave a definite bob of her head, distant reflections dancing in her gaze.

Meanwhile, Sick's sickle-green clothing almost flared brighter at the mention of orders crushing the little guy, just enough to fire her up.

"Forcers acting like Corpo vultures." Sick muttered, pressing a hand to the table, spinning a data shard against her knuckles. The glow caught the edges of her fist, gleaming like something dangerous waiting to happen. "Virus bomb all the bastards—turn their empires into slush-tech." Perma-glitched. Nobody survived without their networks these days, never happen but she could dream.

Chronicle exhaled slow, smoke curling up from his mouth after a long drag of his cigar. "We'll need a shell account. Credits are only good if they hold, and we don't need them getting reversed mid transfer. Any friendly banks in mind?" Local might do just as well, something to mask where any credits really went. The real question was, would they stay friendly after hearing about a major institution getting ripped off? Debts were easier to transfer, but anything outgoing should be double or triple secured.

Glade listened, head almost in a permanent bobbing to nod, but more caught up in just living in her moment. Sitting, talking. Rare and precious, she looked around for another item to remember it by.

"Oh nope, not alliance. Republic." She pulled a face, dragging out her word. "Waaay back, before all the Nethers stuff." She flicked her fingers in a freezing motion. "When things kinda got iced." Netherworld time was messy. A lot of people got caught in some weird stasis, once, twice, she'd forgotten how many times. Not many left who remembered it; explaining was harder; she could just say Sithy nonsense.

"Kinda didn't take it personal," , she shrugged lightly, she'd not taken people kicking her out much to heart, she never did, not unless they were all red-faced shouting at her, then she'd just scooted off and left them to it.

Nato leaned back, balancing her shot glass between her fingers. "Found Firemane. Good crew." Crew and so much more. Dangerous luxury, high-stakes plays, her mother's world. She hesitated, then tossed back her second shot. The warmth hit quick to mark a reminder. Killer parties, dangerous missions, less hesitation, strong family and love. And no speechifying! "You would have liked 'em, they thought a'bit like you do." Definitely about the orders, not so much the bank heists.

Her fingers wandered toward where she kept her stims—habit—but she pulled back, hand resting on chair console instead. Firemane a chapter that never fully closed, but then came the bad times. After that Darkwire. Rogue Protocol. Denon. A messy story, with a lot of life lived.

 

[Ova Ziss]

Glade

---

"Forcers acting like Corpo vultures. Virus bomb all the bastards—turn their empires into slush-tech."

"Let's focus on taking the credits and the data for this mission", Ova said to Sickle, channeling her anger into the bank raid at hand. "Remind me about this later. I have a mission you'd love involving those Lost Empire boys and girls. They love their techno-toys..." He smirks. "...but they don't know how to use them."

"We'll need a shell account. Credits are only good if they hold, and we don't need them getting reversed mid transfer. Any friendly banks in mind?"

Ova sighed, exhaling the smoke in a wide line. "Friendly banks. Yeah. That's a bit of a problem. The Trade 'Feds blacklisted me on Dantooine."

Ova hesitated, thinking carefully before he answered Chronicle's question. The question was timely, and important.

"The United Trade Authority is too small to explain away the money going into our account. This is going to be a massive deposit. Private banking won't be an option. It's going to have to go through a government. A government like mine."

Ova leaned forward, impressing the seriousness of this mission through his tone and demeanor.

"Even if you are not discovered, the consequences for me will be, severe. I must impress on you the seriousness of this mission for the future of Dantooine, Denon, and all of us. You've told me a lot about your plans, and so I will tell you about my plans with the money. You see, apart from charity causes, I'm consolidating every part of the government of Dantooine into an independent re--" Ova pauses. He was about to use the word republic. He points at Glade knowingly with the cigar, and then corrects himself. "...an independent dominion", he finishes. "As part of my efforts, your money will be going through Dantooine's newest bank, 'The Intergalactic Star Bank'. ISB. Whatever."

"In short, if this hacking is ever uncovered - and that is, granted, unlikely - then it will look like a military action...by me."

Money laundering wasn't really his thing, but he was familiar with accounting and business. Ova knew that a planetary bank had a great deal of leniency when they report their accounts. The Jedi and Sith hacked people all of the time, didn't they? Did they not plunder the places they conquered? It would be...a war chest...and it would be taken in a way that, all things considered, was fairly legal.

For all intents and purposes, the Banking Cartel hacking was a military action by a government - albeit a rogue action.

Ova's eyes shined. He smiled and nodded. His ideals were so beautiful. "The money is going to everybody - to the people. We're gonna fund a brand new government with all this money. Put Csilla back in order. Make Dantoo Town more than a shack museum. Fix up Dantooine Military Base! Give you folks a safe quarters to work out of on Dantooine. A brand new Republic. One that doesn't make you ashamed, Glade."

Ova abruptly realizes that he's definitely been speechifying. But, at least it has meant something!

"Found Firemane. Good crew. You would have liked 'em, they thought a'bit like you do."

"Firemane? Who is that? What happened to Firemane? - Maybe I could get in touch with them, and help to smooth thing over."

 

[Glade]

Tag: Ova Ziss

Sick dropped into a seat, stopping herself from pacing, arms draped over her knees. Short, spiky green hair bounced back up as soon as he mentioned techno-toys, a lopsided grin flashing an implanted silver tooth.

Nato's mum was the anti-speechifier; Glade loved stories, all reminding her of Fyor. So when Ova started she had this nostalgic expression twinkling away in her smirkle. She felt at home at moments like these, and that was rare, so rare. Propping herself up on her elbows and eyes blinking happily while he passionately gave his reasons, she could see why he was a leader.

"Credits don't have to stay liquid," Chronicle suggested; there were a lot of ways to clean credits, and not all needed a bank.

Serious, yes and important to say to the client, a potential keyrunner, fixer and mission giver in their future. "We're running light now Ova, but locked in. Chill here, but on our job, no static, no ghosting, just the work." Sick said, having another glass of liquid comfort.

He wanted a freedom they all craved. "Maybe you, yeah. Or, y'know, a million others movin' creds 'round." Glade half-shrugged; spread creds wide enough, and suspicion blurred. He was his people's leader, but that didn't hardwire him to every move or credit flow. Still, if they failed, his people could get burned. Risky, "always gonna be fallout, ruffled feathers, red faces, and fun." She bobbed her head, trying to offer heartfelt care, a nervous tap on her console before patting his arm. Bold moves got bold responses—Taiden would say, or maybe something wiser, whatever, stupid echani.

"Firemane blazed kinda bright," A corporate phoenix, wings of ambition, light in a dark galaxy soaring too close to their sun, and asteroids. "Dunno. Lost contact. Jus'... explosions." Her voice trailed off again, fingers twitching toward stim-relief... but Sick caught her hand and held it in hers.

A soft breeze ghosted through their room, just a whisper at ankle height. Window open? Maybe. Maybe not.

"Mu.. their gone now," she'd paid her respect on their planet for her mum's passing, put down a simple beloved grave, "but thanks would'a been nice", nice, what a stupid word. Everything. Years too late, and a tornado too many. A sort of happy, sad, regretful, caring smile crossed her face, and then she bleeeeehhhhh it'd away in her mind, bouncing her head back up. Were they gone? Everyone? She didn't know. Just knew things were tangled back there, painful, and complicated. And coming from Nato... Glade, that was saying something.

"Quarters soundin' spire Ova, anything with um, storage and a city view?" Memory vaults, memory vaults, memory vaults, innocently whistling away in her mind's eye. Hoarders forever unite!