The Dead of Black Star Station [TSE Dom of Hex AM-18]

[Ao Xian]

Slightly off of the beaten trail between the Corporate Sector and the growing Sith Empire, a space station went silent.

Black Star Station was situated in an asteroid belt that turned slowly around a cold, dead star. Primarily a mining station, built to devour the ore rich asteroids and leave the debris behind, it also served as a way point between Etti IV and Dromund Kaas. While not as populated as something more central or on a hyperspace lane, it saw a steady stream of shipping interests and harmless rogues (as well as some not so harmless but generally disinclined to make trouble) but was otherwise ignored by the galaxy at large.

A month ago, the station went silent.

With increasing communication between the Corporate Sector and the Empire, a battle group has been sent to investigate as a show of good will toward the CS- it was only a matter of time before they were brought into the Imperial fold and being welcomed with open arms would make the process that much easier.

When the Sith arrived in system, all was dark and quiet. Small emergency lights only winked on the station- automated systems, chewing up asteroids and spitting them back out had continued, but several of the lines had ground to a halt as the station had stopped being tended.

A single distress call, a recording, echoed in the dark system.

The station manager hunched over the controls, looking up at them, weary. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it again, before finally starting. Her voice was tired. Strained. But resolute.

"They have broken past the last bulkheads. I fear we will be over run long before anyone comes to wonder. It's too late now to worry how the virus got here... some infected crew ship. Cargo that didn't go through proper protocols. That will be a problem for someone..... someone not us. I can hear them at the door..... not their voices- the dead are silent. But their hands on the durasteel. Some of them seem to retain a modicum of what they were. We decapitated the head of engineering, just to stop him from undoing all of our system blockades, but I'm sure we missed someone. We're down to five. I don't.... I don't know if there are other pockets of resistance."
The sound of something hitting metal reverberated in the background. The woman winced, the stood up straight.

"I've agreed to do my duty.... those with me will not be torn apart by the walking dead. And when that job is done, well."

She paused, eyes a little distant before looking back at the recording device.

"This is Station Manager Sarah Hold, signing off. May the Force have mercy on us."

*****

The Battle Group waited for confirmation from Bastion. When it came, the instructions were clear.
Find survivors, though it seemed unlikely. Discover which virus caused the outbreak. Ensure proper quarantine protocols.

Clear out Black Star station.

Don't die.

*****

ooc: This is a 'floating' dom, for using up our ability to submit a forth dom each month. This will be a slower paced dom than our main runners, letting our members who can't keep up with the speed of those sink their teeth (ha) into something. If it does not get completed in the month, that's okay! We can submit it for next month's forth dom. Have fun, write great stories, and most of all-

Don't. Get. Bitten.

 

[Delaney Wilder]

[member="Tryp West"]

Their approach was silent.

Throughout the month they had learned to stick to a routine, a method, it kept them sane and kept them focused. They had entered the cafeteria about five minutes ago, which gave them another ten, before they'd have to leave. Tryp was busy in the kitchen. He heard the muffled sound of her going through the cup boards, trying to find something to chow.

Jack's hold around the metal crowbar was loose, relaxed, the last thing he wanted was to get cramped up just as a zed jumped on top of him.

This... week? Two weeks?

He had lost track of time at this point, but he thought it was around that time for them. Either way... toughest time of his life and that was with the One Sith included. It had gone to shet fast, very fast. "Eight minutes, Tryp." Jack murmured in a hush over the counter, while keeping the crowbar trained.

There were rules to survive here.

One of them? Keep your eyes open.

Always.

 

[Tryp West]

Tryp moved quickly and lightly.

Eight minutes, but it'd be better if they were out of here in four. Give them a full buffer, and she acted with that in mind. Dark eyes scanned as she quickly opened a cabinet, then another, until she found one with something in it. She didn't care what was in the cans and packages. Just that it was food. She plucked indiscriminately, alternating cans and packages into the makeshift sack to keep the clatter to a minimum. Filling the sack gave them about four days, now that it was just the two of them, and they were careful. Could have used a bigger bag, but they'd found the clanking from more stuff shoved in was simply too much noise to risk.

He'd said eight, but she was ready to go in five. One more than she wanted, but still less time than they needed.

"Les' go," she murmured once she was right next to him again.

Once they were clear she'd share something she noticed, but it didn't matter now. Not until they were back at their bolt hole.

[member="Jackson Singh"]

 

[Delaney Wilder]

[member="Tryp West"]

He didn't ask to see her haul.

Didn't need to- either they had a full load or not, but right now they got an extra few minutes to get out there safely. Jack nodded, squeezing her hand for a bit, before starting to move through the cafeteria. They had learned to never take a moment for granted, always be sure to say everything they had to say, because right now? There was always the chance they wouldn't get that chance.

"Mhm." Without making any noise he slowly pushed open the door, peeking through left and right, before nodding to her.

It was still clear.

That's good- they had heard shambling two corridors further from a pair of locked doors, but had decided to take the risk. "Long route today." Jack murmured to her softly, before they turned left rather than right. It would involve climbing through three maintenance shafts, but it would be clear.

They had figured out his zeltron sense... was good at sniffing out trouble before it began.

It started as anticipation, a shiver down his spine. Thinking about going right gave him the mother of all shivers.

 

[Elijah Beckett]

Vihaan had always been the loner type. Sure, he had joined up with Kazmai's band of misfits for a mission here and there, but the Amaran was the lone wolf type. He had come to Black Star Station alone, and at this point he couldn't quite remember why.

Or care really, not with his current situation.

There were guns involved - or was it a weapon deal in general? Vihaan had come to the station with the intent of meeting up with someone from the Corporate Sector. Then everything went to chit, and the entire place was lost in space.

Right, that was why he couldn't recall it well.

He had tried forcing it out of his mind. The image of the human getting torn apart being stuck in there for far too long.

A chorus of groans drew Vihaan from his thoughts, and he peered down from his perch to see this small mass of mindlessly drones. Fingers reaching up, digging into the wall as they attempted to reach him. Unfortunately for them; but fortunately for Vihaan, the tallest of the group barely could get his fingertips close.

Still though, it wasn't the greatest situation to be in. Stuck up on a high shelf, with a small ravenous horde lingering below.

It was all very...unfortunate.

 

[Darth Voracitos]

The Corporate Sector Authority, was once his authority, Voracitos remembered, some twenty years ago. Perhaps more, it was difficult to remember spending so much time in the depths of the Netherworld. Though the Sith Lord now found little interest in such a mundane responsibility. He would accept now business any longer - only tribute to his power, and exchanges for one's services... or slavery from debts owed to him. It was of little interest to him what caused this "Black Star" Station to go dead... though it did come to interest his Coven of Gluttony. Some Hungered Vassals thought this strange outbreak, might be caused by an as of yet unknown artifact, one they would very much like to collect. One such Hungered Vassal in the service of Darth Voracitos, was none other than Rosalunn Javil, The Lady Envy.

"Docking secured, my lady." A starved subject reported to her as her shuttled docked with the station. This was certainly a dangerous operation, and one she did not take pleasure in. There was no beauty hidden within this dead station, no pretty thing which may catch her eye, to earn her destructive wrath. There was nothing envious at all about anything in this blaster corner of the galaxy. To her boredom and dismay, there was only putrid death, disease, and decay beyond the doors of her shuttles' airlock. To a certain extent this enraged her... but her fury was chilled cold by her blatant disinterest.

Another Hungered Vassal was by her side, one that went by Ferwin (a Togruta), moved to open the airlock with a vibrospear in hand ready to face whatever monstrosities might lay on the other side. The Lady Envy was equipped with no such weapon, as she was a woman of true power and had no need of such violently bloody ends. The door opened, and there was darkness. She had to admit, however, Ferwin was indeed a specimen to behold, a powerful hunter, and she found herself...


... envious.

 

[Tryp West]

She just nodded- long way around or short cut, it was the safety that mattered. They cut across to the right- he boosted her up into a ventilation shaft after she'd shifted the grill open, and she reached down to help him up in return. They moved mostly in silence- noise absolutely attracted them (one of the reasons the engine rooms that still functioned were always swarmed), her holding tight to the sack to keep things from clanking. At every turn they paused. The route couldn't have been traversed by one person, or even by two people unwilling to help each other. Fortunately, that wasn't a problem for Tryp and Jack and they shifted quickly through the route that was swiftly becoming second nature to the pair.

They hit the lift shaft about twenty minutes later. It would have taken less than five if they had taken a direct route. But then, if they'd taken the direct route, they might never have made it back. Jimmying open the lift doors, they entered, forcing them closed again behind them. Then once more with Jack boosting her up, Tryp went through the trap door at the top of the lift. After setting down the goods, she reached down, hands clasping his wrists and helping him up in turn.

The space above the lift was their hide away. The dead couldn't reach them from above or below, not at long as they were careful not the lead them back here (there had been one very close call since it all started). With goods taken from all over the station, they were as comfortable as it was possible to be, given the situation.

It wasn't until the trap door was closed again, and Tryp had plopped down to take a closer look at the stuff she'd shoved in the sack that she spoke up again.

"Someone else's alive on da station fer sure," she commented, tossing him a container- instant heating noodles, just pull the tab- before leaning over for one of the water containers. They'd share the meal (originally meant for one). While it could be worse (they could be dead and shuffling after all) both had lost weight over the last few weeks. It was inevitable, but also, unavoidable given the situation.

"Da cabinet I was gonna ransack was already empty- since da last time we were dere- was full den. Kin't tell when someone hit dat kitchen, but dey did. At least as o' fer, five-ish days ago, we ain't da only ones left."

It had been over two weeks since they'd seen other survivors, or any trace of them. So this was news indeed.

[member="Jackson Singh"]

 

[Delaney Wilder]

[member="Tryp West"]

That last time they had encountered survivors... hadn't been good.

Jack didn't blame them.

Not really.

It was in situations like these that your limits were stressed to the very core. The best could be broken, the worst? They got ugly. Whatever everyone was before stepping foot on this station it had all been wiped away by a few weeks of fighting for your survival with no salvation in front of you. "Best to avoid dat area for a while then." Jack murmured before pulling the tab and settling down next to her. He passed it over to her first, leaning his head back against one of the pillows they had taken from the residential sector.

Eyes closing for a bit.

"Might see if we can get some of dem feeds open there." It would be a bit of a challenge, but Jack thought he could figure it out with enough time. "Keep an eye out, see what they doin', who they are. Maybe make contact if they ain't... like the others."

Frenzied marauders only interested in killing, raiding, establishing their little kingdoms amidst the few safe-zones.

"Sound good?" They were a team. Only reason why they were still alive as far as Jack was concerned- they made sure both were good with something, then and only then execute it. His senses and Tryp's instincts? More often than not it had saved their arses from a particularly bad situation.

 

[Xavier Vi'dreya]

He'd been but a child during the Dark Harvest, a boy clutching at the legs of an elder Sith Lord on a battleship a youngling such as himself had no right to be on. Yet he still remembered the horrors he saw as he peeked over shoulders to see the footage captured by the troops of the Empire. Shambling corpses which tore men limb from limb and devoured them as they screamed, the nightmares still haunted him to this day.

Yet here he was aboard a vessel bound for a station crawling with the stuff of said nightmares crawling through the halls. Xavier, for all his bravado was afraid, but rather than cower he sought to use that fear, to subjugate it to his will. He would grow in power with each tattered corpse he cut down, he assured himself of as much.

Surrounded by a compliment of Sith Legionnaires, he ran his hand down the length of his spear, the weapon had become his identity so it seemed, it set him apart from the other acolytes and their varying degrees of excessively wicked looking saber hilts. Perhaps one day he would take up a saber again, if he were to come across a teacher in the ranks of the Sith, but for now the spear was almost sacred to him.

Even if it was going to spend the better part of this operation on his back whilst the rifle leaned against the crate he sat atop did most of the work. He wasn't stupid, getting close to the undead was the last thing he wanted to do, this mission would be carried about with the force, and the grace of an SIF-141.

 

[Farah]

Farah did not cut corners. Not when it came to measures of sterility or environmental protection. It took time for her to suit up, ensuring that the envirosuit she wore was pristine, the ducts and valves in working order and free of obstruction. She’d hate to die of a careless error.

The doctor found her way towards her assignment; a fellow Acolyte she was to accompany into the unknown. Shambling hordes of undead seemed to plague the fringes of galaxy in one way or another and it was to that effect she was prepared. She loved picking apart little puzzles and perhaps if she were lucky, she’d get a nice proliferative sample out of this.

Farah eyed the Sith legionnaires in passing curiosity. The properly enviro-suited figure that trailed behind her did not. Nurse Amelia, her stalwart aide, had her eyes fixed forward.

“You must be Acolyte Vi’dreya.” Her voice was slightly muffled, slightly modulated by the suit’s rebreather. She took a moment to examine him. Tall, blonde hair—almost white. Should be particularly easy to pick out in a zombie corpse line-up if necessary. The spear though, that was an interesting choice. “Doctor Zambrano. I’ll be joining you today.”

[member="Xavier Vi'dreya"]

 

[Xavier Vi'dreya]

He wasn't sure what surprised him more, that there was a Zeltron Zambrano, or that there weren't more of them. Carnifex's reputation for siring bastards at every available moment and Zeltron's natural inclination towards the act seemed like a match made in heaven, yet Farah was the first of the kind. She didn't look like a hybrid either, if he was being honest. None of that really mattered at the moment though.

Standing up from the crate, he faced the Zambrano and gave her a curt nod of greeting. Even with the Zambrano's being as plentiful as crimson bladed sabers in the Sith Empire, one did well to respect their name, and he'd do well to make sure she left the station alive. People might've respected his name once, but not now, and he didn't blame them. "We should be arriving shortly Doctor." He said, voice brimming with anticipation as he slung the spear over his back and grabbing his rifle by the barrel.

Xavier's objective had been vague, and he suspected that had been intentional now, guarding the Zambrano was his only real task. If she wanted to research the walking dead, then he let her do so and made sure she wasn't interrupted. Simple enough he supposed.

[member="Farah"]​

 

[Darth Voracitos]

Ferwin looked away as the rotten stench of the station filled the air around the pair, though The Lady Envy was not disturbed as her companion was. Her helm was more than ornamental, and additionally, the face of Envy was nothing to be envious of... hideous deformations took more away from her than just suitors and beauty - it had eaten her flesh and nerves, more bone than skin or muscle. The Togruta stepped forward first, as was appropriate for him to do, through the airlock.

"This station smells worse than an audience with the Lord..." With an arm over his mouth, Ferwin steps further into the station, as the Lady Envy follows behind.

"Silence is best around the dead that walks, lest you join them in eternal chatter." The Lady Envy chided her companion, watching carefully his rear. Her claws summoned to her hand a small crystal artifact, which glowed brightly blue across the many metallic walls, glittering in the places wherever the filth of the station had yet to claim. Ferwin made no notion on whether or not he took offense to her words, nor whether or not he agreed to her wisdom, he merely trudged forth and made no acknowledgment to the "woman" following in his midst.

They walked in silence for some time, until suddenly the Torgruta sensed something, and signaled a halt. The Lady Envy watched with care the various muscles the alien utilized as he prepared his spear to impale something in the darkness, low to the ground, ready to pounce on something... anything. There was a time when the Lady Envy might have wished him to pounce upon her, but now the only thing she would want more is the pounce upon him with a knife to a jugular. Nothing deserved that luxury of choice any more, not if she could help it.

There was a gurgling noise, echoing down the hall, confirming exactly what Ferwin's montrals and sensitivity in the force had anticipated far in advance. The dead were resting in the dark, doing little more than spreading their filth into the air through their agonal breathing. Wonderful. Rosalunn thought. The Togruta brought a hand over his head, and pulled it down in front of his face until the darkness clinging to the corners of the walls seemed to slip around him like a cloak, a hazy dark "fuzz" shifting in the air. The Lady Envy could sense the souls entitled to him by their Lord at work, the Nethermancy screaming whispers in the air as their will was made his.

She would wait for Ferwin to open up the extermination, and she would join his combat prowess with her influence in the force. In preparation, she floated scrolls to her left, and began conjuring in her right... a rich green blue ephemeral mist building her palm, waiting to be formed by her will.

 

[Elijah Beckett]

The Amaran brushed himself down before slowly standing up on the shelf he was currently on. It was one of the few times Vihaan was glad he didn't weigh much. The shelving barely budged beneath him, coupled with the rest of items that were occupying the space. For the past couple nights it had been a safe haven for him, a place he could sleep out of reach of those that wanted to eat him.

Fortunately Vihaan wasn't an active sleeper. No risk of accidentally rolling over and falling off the shelf. Although remembering there was a small horde waiting to catch you certainly kept one sleeping like you were in stasis. But an unintended insight was learned from it, the fact the drones were apparently unintelligent, at least the ones Vihaan had encountered. Not one had yet to attempt climbing something to reach his position. All they did was simply reach and claw up from the ground.

Didn't matter much either way, Vihaan knew he had to abandon this spot for good. It was just a matter of how. He knew he could avoid them if he reached the ground, moving between and around their legs before they could grab ahold of him. But it was still a risk even at his size. If he were a Nezumi it would've been a different matter, but Vihaan wasn't that small.

Instead he grabbed an empty container nearby, sizing up the room before he tossed it against the opposite wall. The metallic ring echoed across the space, drawing the attention of the mindless drones. Vihaan wasn't sure just what senses they still had, but a common trait was their apparent desire to follow the slightest noise. It was why the Amaran Sith had refrained from just killing them all with his lightsaber. The weapon was a source of constant noise, and each one he cut down another would simply replace it from following the hum of the blade. At first he had used it to defend himself, but it became quickly apparent how screwed he would be if he kept using it. So it was left as a last resort, only to be used if it was a dire situation.

Vihaan hoped it wouldn't come to that.

With a deep breath, the Amaran leaped off the shelf and began head hopping along the drones towards the doorway.

 

[Tryp West]

Tryp accepted the container without comment. Who ate first or second largely went on a turn basis, and it was her turn. This way one of them could respond immediately if something happened. And they both trusted each other to keep that eye out, even in their own 'space', as well as to not eat more than their share.

"Ah, ow, hot, 'ot!" she muttered, fingertips grabbing noodles out of the steaming disposal cup and dropping them again because they were too hot to actually pick up. She paused, blowing on it all for a second. Then tried again. She was honestly too hungry to wait and the broth coating the noodles burned her tongue as she sucked in air around the food.

Swallowing a moment later, she nodded.

"Yeh," she agreed before putting more noodles into her face. They'd stopped following the feeds in areas outside of their zone, only checking them if they knew they needed to head into an area in advance. Why monitor dead hallways, watching sometimes familiar faces shuffle around?

Wasn't good for the psyche, that.

Tryp and Jack were both pretty grounded, sensible individuals. But part of that was knowing what stuff to avoid because it didn't help anything and might in fact just make it all worse.

Wishing there was more, but no longer actively hungry, she passed the cup over to Jack- still hot but no longer scalding, and leaned back against the wall.

"Kin do a sweep a' all de sectors. If'n anyone else survives, dey musta found a good bolt 'ole. Meybe start from da outside an' spiral in." She didn't mean outside of the station, but the hangars. They'd considered that themselves, but ultimately opted for something more defensible and easier to keep warm as the station slowly lost power.

As he ate, she got to work- there were some sections they couldn't get eyes on, too much damage or power failing. But eventually she started to cycle through. It wasn't until she reached one hangar in particular that she stopped.

"Jack," she whispered.

There were ships.

[member="Jackson Singh"]

 

[Delaney Wilder]

[member="Tryp West"]

Yah?

That's what he was about to say until he caught her tone and that made him pause. He finished his mouthful of noodles, before carefully shuffling over next to her and taking a peek at the small monitor over her shoulder. It was clear what they were seeing, but Jack needed a moment to process it anyway, eyes lingering at the armored guards and frowning at what he saw.

"Sith." He declared after another moment. This... complicated things. They had known from the start that there had been some tension between the Empire and the CSA when it came to this portion of space, partially why it had probably taken them this long.

But... Jack had hoped it would be the CSA arriving here.

Then again, those corporate bastards might have just decided to glass the station from a distance rather than try and salvage their investment. "Could be good, could be..." he took another nom from the packaged noodles and then passed it over to her again.

Still plenty left.

Instead he took over at the feed and started tracking, trying to see if there was a clear path they were taking and what it could mean.

"...could try an' steal one of dem ships they left, while they exploring..." Jack mumbled softly while trying to puzzle out all their options. None of them were great, but he didn't like the idea of trying to trust the Sith, more often than not...

That brought problems.

"Whatcha think?"

 

[Farah]

She nodded in response, seeing no need to elaborate. Farah may have been a Zambrano but that was in name only—her blood had been derived elsewhere. From a prostitute and a smuggler specifically. In the end, she was synthesized into existence by Kaine as a clone of some woman she’d never met but was consistently mistaken for.

The rest was history.

“What do you know of Black Star station, Vi’dreya?”

Her tone was conversational but not exactly friendly. Farah didn’t really do friendly. She knew about as much as anyone else did at this point but scientist types were information seekers. She was curious to see if what he knew, if he’d heard anything different and how it compared with the information she had. That, and it was always good to get to know those you worked with. Their habits, specifically. How they worked, spoke, moved.

Idly she watched the visual map projected on her HUD. They were nearing the station, the bright dot representing their target pinging every so often as if to remind them of their location.

[member="Xavier Vi'dreya"]

 

[Darth Voracitos]

An empty container impacts Ferwin in the head, before tumbling across the floor and into an adjacent wall, the Togruta curses as the horde in the room begins to turn towards him. Then, Rosalunn observe some kind of rodent "head hopping" over the various deathly apparitions. Ferwin unleashes with his vibrospear, impaling the cranium of the nearest target and dragging it into an adjacent one to knock them both down before it became dislodged from the vibrations lacerating the hell out of its grey matter. The Lady Envy quickly counted something close to a dozen and half in the dim light of her floating blue crystal, now joined in a misty bath of her own force energy.

"What are you doing, you fool, chase that thing!" Ferwin could be heard over the din of more bodies clambering rather quickly to the shimmering form of the alien, he was losing focus over the shadow the concealed him, as the blade of his spear impaled and cut open another member of the walking dead. Dark sticky blood trickled in tiny droplets around them. It has been a long time since the blood has been liquid or oxygenated, perhaps even weeks, Rosalunn observed. Her steps were quite as she entered the room, and she stood a moment staring at the obscurity impaling members of the mass closing in on him.

More bodies dropped and still the witched hardly moved a muscle. It seemed the cretins relied almost entirely on sound, as the humming vibrospear impaled more and more of them... yet not one approached the silence of the Lady Envy. This was useful information, and as her noisy companion was approaching his wits end, she briefly contemplated whether she would let them kill him, or help them kill him. Two bodies were slammed into an adjacent wall, as the shimmering form of the Togruta once again came into full view, dropping any semblance of stealth. He was getting angrier, and calling upon his crude powers to subdue the tiny horde. Her opportunity vanished quickly, and thus settled to free him of this mild inconvenience.

"Stop standing there you insole-" Ferwin's words were cut off as streams of blue fiery will erupted from her now outstretched palm, connecting the back of the heads of the dead who shuttered in place, groaning quietly as whatever functions of "life" that allowed them to move were being snuffed out one by one... drained of the living force. Some of these flames scathed Ferwin, whose intense eyes gave away he was displeased. Once the threat of the dead were dropped to the floor, the large masculine Togruta approached her quickly with malicious intent.

"You dare use your hunger in my presence? You could have-" A single hand is raised to the aliens face, infuriating him more.

"You are pretty but stupid. Turn that infernal machine off, or you'll join what you have wrought." The Lady Envy turned to where the large rodent scurried off down the passageway. "I have an incantation to preform..." The incantation of a smoke demon of course, a weak one, not as powerful as it should be due to her incomplete knowledge of the ritual, but nonetheless, a hunting entity that was silent and unlikely to be detected. Though if it was detected, it would make finding the rodent easier.

She focused on a faint presence she felt on the ship, a fiery darkness surviving in the abyss of the walking dead...

One of the smoke demon scrolls on her left floated in front of her and unfolded itself as she centered her focus on its intended target. Then, when she was ready, she began to speak as a green flame ate at the edges of the alchemical parchment. She spoke the first line of the incantation,

"Woyunoks hadzuska koshûjontû..."

The parchment was burning rapidly as she went line after line, the smoke of the burning fire coagulating in the air. Ferwin, ever impatient and dismissive of the Lady Envy, began hunting ahead of her. That is dangerous, she thought between incantation lines, my smoke demons are not easily controlled... what's stopping them from... changing targets? She mused happily to herself as the last of the parchment is destroyed by the fire in the final line. The smoke from the incantation, a formless thing still settling in on its target, and likely ascertaining what fear to manifest as for the force-sensitive rat-thing it was intended to follow...

[member="Vihaan Sloan"]

 

[Tryp West]

"Well," Tryp said slowly, mulling.

"I dun recognize any a' dem," she said finally. She didn't know, couldn't know, that a familiar face in [member="Farah"] was on the horizon. That would ultimately change things. "I do business wit' da Sith-" he already knew that, she hadn't hidden it after all- "But I dun know any a' deez."

She inhaled deeply through her nose, then out again in a huff before taking another bit of noodles.

"Le's see what dey do- if'n dey were gonna slag da place dey woulda done dat by now. But I dunno if'n we kin trust *deez* ones in-par-tic'lar or nah. I'd rather not git black listed cause we steal a ship, but if it's dat or die 'ere? Well. Easy choice, Jacks."

Handing the last of the noodles back, she popped open another container. Seeing his look, she shrugged.

"Dis is it Jack. Either we git out now, or we're done. No reason not ta do it with a full belly."

[member="Jackson Singh"]

 

[Delaney Wilder]

[member="Tryp West"]

Jack mulled it himself.

Of course, it didn't matter to him as far as he was concerned. Blacklist or no, he wasn't doing any business with the Sith and probably never would (how wrong he would be on that last note), but this was Tryp's living. So that did matter to him. When she mentioned her resolve Jack just nodded with understanding, before accepting the last of the noodles.

"Ya, we been stuck 'ere a month, can stick 'round for a few hours an' see what they do for sure." There wasn't any... real rush Singh supposed. He started nomming at the last bits, before nodding again.

"Yah naw, eat up, if we gon' get busy, might as well have all our strength."

They had been saving it for potential rough times, but it was clear this was their ticket out.

One way or another. He scooted up closer next to her, hip by hip, humming softly to himself while doing the last feed they'd have for a while. "Ya know, I wouldn't recommend dis sorta relationship building exercise to others, but it worked well for us." Jack joked softly, before nuzzling the line of her ear. It were these kind of extreme situations that showed ya true face.

This had been... tough, rough and if possible Singh would have tried to make sure they would have avoided it.

But.

It had shown him her beauty.

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

Post: 1

"Mine is the face of blood and fire.”
―The Sickness, as experienced by Dail'Liss

Don’t die.

Don’t die!

These seemed to be the words of advice issued to anyone accepting the mission to the Black Star Station. Given to anyone who would listen, by anyone who could talk.

Well Jantar was listening, but her Master didn’t say the words. What she actually said was, “If you’re worthy, you’ll come back alive. Otherwise, I need a new apprentice.”

Apparently the problem was zombies. The undead. The corpse of a sentient or non-sentient creature that had been reanimated from the dead as a mindless and violent being.

Many things caused this phenomenon. Sith alchemy for one. The Rakghoul plague was another. The virus created by using the Murakami orchid to offer eternal life was yet another.

Jantar had done her homework. She also read about parasitic worms, energy vampires, NIghtsisters, the darkstaff, a resurrection serum, Blackwing, and of course the fable of the Great Interplanetary Ark.

The reason for the zombies was largely irrelevant to Jantar. Getting out alive was the most important thing.