Private Surprise?

[Darth Virelia]

"A contract of blood and sin."

Tags - Adelle Bastiel

The hangar lights hummed like captive insects. Cold illumination swept over the sleek obsidian hull of Virelia's shuttle, as it rested in the shadowed belly of an abandoned mining platform orbiting the red-lit asteroid field. Outside the durasteel viewports, fragments of rock drifted like the bones of a shattered world. Somewhere beyond them, an old pirate fortress awaited erasure.

Virelia stood at the edge of the docking ramp, motionless save for the faint, rhythmic pulse of violet light from the crystal at her chest. Her armor—Tyrant's Embrace—reflected the hangar's dim glow in sharp, predatory planes, casting violet and crimson reflections across the walls. The air around her was taut, like the moments before a storm. She had not brought soldiers, or acolytes, or the obedient machines that usually accompanied her. This time, she waited for one. A professional.

Who that would be, she did not yet know.

The contract had been deliberately anonymous: Clean out the pirate nest on asteroid MX-744. Good credits. No questions. Bring your own guns. It was bait dressed as opportunity. A test disguised as work.

Her claws traced an invisible pattern through the air, and the datapad before her flickered with the bounty's particulars—targets, defenses, expected resistance. All mundane. All beneath her, were it not for the hidden cargo the pirates had stolen from one of her shadow routes. A crate of sealed components—classified, alchemic, and far too dangerous to let the wrong hands keep.

She allowed herself a soft exhale, a near-purr through the modulator of her helm. "Let's see who answers greed first," she murmured.

Outside the hangar, the void was silent—until a faint thrumming began to echo through the docking corridor. A ship approaching. She felt the ripples of intent before she saw the lights.

Virelia straightened, every movement slow and deliberate, six violet eyes flaring awake. She adjusted her hood, her cape spilling down like liquid shadow, and waited—licentious calm wrapped in armor and corruption.

When the ramp finally hissed open, she didn't move to greet whoever came. She only smiled beneath the mask and whispered, almost tenderly,

"Come in, hunter. Let's see what kind of sinner you are."

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Ship: [Fang-class Protectorate] | Armor: [Durasteel beskar'gam] | Guns: [785MK Firepuncher] [SHUKUR-05 Light Repeater] [SM-10a]



Adelle stared at the datapad as the ship neared the end of its hyperspace jump, reading over the contract again.

Clean out the pirate nest on asteroid MX-744. Good credits. No questions. Bring your own guns.

And the creds were very good. In spite of the contract's anonymity, she'd taken it. There'd been more foundlings lately, and even though she herself was a foundling that hadn't yet taken the Verd'goten, she was an adult that could contribute to Clan Skirata's health. The anonymity gnawed at the back of her mind though. Despite anonymous contracts being almost nearly as numerous--if not more so--as non-anonymous, this one . . . this one bothered her. The amount of creds offered made it feel like a trap. It was certainly out of the way enough. An asteroid in a belt . . . be real easy to cause a starship to crash and call it an accident with no evidence to the contrary.

But foundlings, equipment, housing, food . . . all these required credits. This wasn't just going to help her out, it was helping her clan. At least, that's the thought she used to comfort the misgivings and unease she felt.

The Fang-class starfighter shuddered only slightly as it reverted to realspace, the belt hovering some klicks in front of her. More immediate was the mining platform, dark from abandonment. The coords matched with the platform. A meeting place then, to hash out details with the contracting party. Adelle's unease grew as she guided the ship to the platform's hangar, a chill slithering up her spine. A black shuttle waited inside in the intermittent flickering lights, a hooded figure in black standing below it. Adelle felt some measure of alarm and her mouth went dry although she couldn't place her finger on why.

But she had already committed to the landing procedure. She'd already accepted the contract--as "Senth" the aurebesh letter--and the clan needed the creds. It was too late to back out now.

The landing struts thumped against durasteel and a pressure, Dark and oily, started to weigh on her presence. Adelle clenched her jaw and braced herself. It had to be impossible. It should be impossible. But that presence, that pressure, she'd only felt once before. And the violet light pulsing through the black armor confirmed it.

Not again.

The cockpit hissed as it opened slowly, giving Adelle time to grab and holster her Westar-34 blaster pistol, and place her lightsaber hilt on the mag-plate at the back of her belt. If she was right, then Adelle had done this song and dance with this particular Dark Sider before and there was no way she was meeting with them unarmed. Or unhelmeted.

As soon as the cockpit fully opened, the full weight of the presence landed on her, trying to suffocate and smother. She took a deep breath then climbed out, hopping down from the wing to face the Dark Sider at the edge of the shuttle. Adelle could do this: get the details, get the job done, get paid, and get the hell out.

"Mission details?" she asked. The sooner she got this done, the better.

Darth Virelia

 

[Darth Virelia]

"A contract of blood and sin."

Tags - Adelle Bastiel

Virelia's gaze—six violet facets burning like fractured stars—followed the Mandalorian from the moment the Fang settled. The hiss of pressure equalizing, the snap of boots on durasteel, the low hum of a lightsaber's dormant song—each note composed the prelude she'd been expecting. When the figure stepped from the wing, clad in beskar and control, Virelia almost laughed. Of course it was her.

She didn't. She only tilted her head, the movement predatory and fluid, as if studying some exquisite specimen rediscovered.

"'Senth,'" she echoed, voice velvet and electric through her vocoder, drawing out the false name like an inside joke. "You wear your letters well. I was beginning to think I'd frightened you out of the galaxy for good."

A deliberate pause—long enough to let recognition crawl between them.

Virelia stepped forward, unhurried. Her armor caught the dying light of the hangar, scattering reflections of violet across Adelle's visor like tiny, shimmering sigils. The crystal at her sternum pulsed once, in time with her slow, measured tone.

"The mission," she said at last, as though the word itself amused her. "An asteroid outpost, MX-744. Pirates. Smugglers. Scavengers who took something that belongs to me. We will go together."

She stopped within arm's reach, the hum of her armor bleeding into the air. The scent of ozone and metal, faint spice and danger.

"I need the cargo retrieved intact. Not the crew, not their ships. The crate." Her claws traced a line in the air, like carving the shape of the object from memory. "You'll know it when you see it. It hums."

Her voice softened—warmer, darker. "You'll be paid triple your posted rate. Hazard bonus, of course." A faint tilt of the helm. "And perhaps something rarer, if you impress me."

Virelia leaned closer, the smooth mask mere inches from Adelle's visor. "Tell me, Mandalorian—why come back?" she whispered, silk and sin threaded through her tone. "Was it for the credits, or the part of you that wanted to see what might happen if you didn't run this time?"

 

[Adelle Bastiel]

Recognition and amusement rippled through the suffocating weight of the Dark Sider's presence. So much for trying to keep it professional, to treat it like just another CorSec briefing. Adelle hated the way the helmet moved, as if studying her. The barest hiss of sound came from her own helmet, the only sign of her exasperation. The Dark Sider was sure to turn this coincidence into something more.

"'Senth,'" she echoed, voice velvet and electric through her vocoder, drawing out the false name like an inside joke. "You wear your letters well. I was beginning to think I'd frightened you out of the galaxy for good."

Adelle snorted but bit back a retort. Krayt hadn't managed it and the Firrerreoan mad scientist and crime lord actually had broken her. A Dark Sider that refused to use logic unless it served her purposes and didn't take no for an answer was child's play in comparison. Not that she wanted to see what the Dark Sider would do to "remake" her. Getting broken twice was more than enough.

"The mission," she said at last, as though the word itself amused her. "An asteroid outpost, MX-744. Pirates. Smugglers. Scavengers who took something that belongs to me. We will go together."

Oh Hells no. She'd been hoping for a solo mission. Not... this. This was going to be unbearable.

"I need the cargo retrieved intact. Not the crew, not their ships. The crate." Her claws traced a line in the air, like carving the shape of the object from memory. "You'll know it when you see it. It hums."

So no explosives, no using the Fang-class fighter to soften up defenses, and she'd have to be careful with blasterfire. Probably leave the repeater behind, go in with the Firepuncher for long range, pistol for close to medium. Lightsaber and beskad as backup. Now if the Dark Sider had a layout or better yet, a schematic, infiltration could be planned and this could all be relatively painless.

Her voice softened—warmer, darker. "You'll be paid triple your posted rate. Hazard bonus, of course." A faint tilt of the helm. "And perhaps something rarer, if you impress me."

I'll be sure to disappoint. Adelle bit back the words, instead shifting her weight and moving to hook one thumb in her belt, relaxed and nonchalant. This felt like it was moving along the same lines their last conversation had. And she hated that. Hated how familiar this was starting to feel.

Virelia leaned closer, the smooth mask mere inches from Adelle's visor. "Tell me, Mandalorian—why come back?" she whispered, silk and sin threaded through her tone. "Was it for the credits, or the part of you that wanted to see what might happen if you didn't run this time?"

"Wouldn't you like to know," Adelle said. A response had been expected and of all the things that demanded to be said, she'd settled for this one. A non-answer the Dark Sider couldn't twist or flip, no logic to bend, no truth to warp. The six insectile-eyed helm was very close to her face and the temptation to headbutt, to violently keldabe kiss the Dark Sider was strong. Adelle flexed her left hand and started cracking the knuckles using the fingers while her right hand stayed hooked. Well she was stuck now. She doubted very much the Dark Sider would let her just walk away.

"Do you have schematics? A layout of their base? Or are we," she said with no small amount of distaste, "going in blind?"

Darth Virelia

 

[Darth Virelia]

"A contract of blood and sin."

Tags - Adelle Bastiel

Virelia's laughter was low and molten, a sound that purred from somewhere beneath the armor's modulation, rich and human in a way that unsettled precisely because it shouldn't have been.

"Blind?" she repeated, each syllable uncoiling like smoke. "Never."

Her claws folded behind her back as she began to circle Adelle, slow and deliberate, her cape whispering over the durasteel. The faint pulse of the crystal in her chest washed the Mandalorian's armor in violet rhythm, every heartbeat syncing just a fraction too close. She stopped just behind Adelle, close enough that the heat of her armor pressed faintly against durasteel.

"I have the schematics," she murmured, her voice brushing along the edges of Adelle's helmet, "but you wouldn't believe me if I told you how I acquired them. Let's just say the former owner was… persuasive once his lungs collapsed."

A datapad flickered to life between her claws, its light painting their reflections across her mask. Rows of diagrams—corridors, choke points, and marked energy signatures—glimmered in blue. She tilted the screen toward Adelle, her talon tracing one glowing line. "They've repurposed mining tunnels as habitation sectors. Airlocks here and here. Power conduits here. The central chamber—" a pause, the tone softening to a dark whisper, "—is where they keep my property."

She turned the datapad off, her helm lowering toward Adelle's. "You'll lead," Virelia said, her tone poised between order and promise. "You're quick, efficient. Practical. I prefer to watch the artistry of competence before I decide how best to… refine it."

Her talon lifted, this time to tap gently against Adelle's visor, the faint click of metal on durasteel reverberating in the tight air. "You could have ignored the contract, Senth. You could have stayed planets away and let your little clan scrape by. But you came. You chose to come. Don't lie to yourself and say it was only for credits."

The helm tilted, six eyes glowing brighter. "Some part of you wanted this. The challenge. The risk. The danger of being too close to the thing you swore you'd escaped."

She stepped back, the violet glow dimming to a soft, pulse-like thrum.

"Good," she said finally, smooth and cutting. "Keep that thrill alive, Mandalorian. It'll make you sharper—and I do so enjoy sharp things."