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

[Saeva]

With a sudden pull the Sith freighter entered into realspace. On all sides, as far as the eyes could see was space and nothing but. Dead ahead lay the Black Star Station, the great task for Arsaces today. Well he wouldn't tackle it alone.

As far as he knew, multiple battle groups had been sent and moved in ahead of them at multiple points of entry. Darth Voracitos held command. Arsaces and his team was to stand by for now and await further orders. From a distance they could survey the station, report on any anomalies from the groups who had entered, as well as provide reinforcements to the needed areas.

The eyes and ears, so to speak. And if needed be, the fist.

So far so quiet. It was too early for them to hear back from the other groups, or so he surmised. Arsaces' expectations was that this would be one long gig, staring at a whole lot of nothing.

Which gave him an idea.

Technically, and probably because of his particular group's simple and low priority within the empire, he had been given command of the squad. Presently they were spread out, at their posts. But it was time for a new briefing.

"Max, tell everyone to gather in the conference room. Yes, that means you too. Yes, now" Arsaces sounded more and more indignant with every breath he took.

Moments later the whole gang gathered. Pilot, couple of soldiers, a slicer and another Sith Acolyte like himself. The two Sith stood side-by-side, an obvious attempt of his subordinate companion to present himself an equal.

"You all know why I have gathered you here" Arsaces started, hands clasped firmly behind his back. They all stared emptily back at the man. None of them knew his face, and he imagined none of them would. After a sufficiently long pause, their resident slicer voiced in "...no?"

It was clear the other Sith wanted to chime in earlier, but didn't as it would suggest he did not already know the details of the plan. "No?" Arsaces replied, feigning surprise. "Oh, that's right. Suppose you don't. Well, what's that expression again? Show don't tell?"

Arsaces came for his Sith colleague first. In an instant the lightsaber flew up from his belt and landed in the palm of his left hand, immediately igniting into the man standing to his side. That was the biggest threat. Not wasting another moment he lept forwards, carving into two soldiers in rapid succession before sending their pilot flying into the wall.

 

[Saeva]

Silence. Dead silence and empty space.

The hum of his lightsaber had been called to an end. His job was done. It was all a bit of an impulse move, but one he felt confident he could easily cover up and wouldn't have to answer to.

The fight had been intense but brief, and now the corpses of his crew littered the floor. Idris took a moment to clear them all up and drag them to the same place. Escape pod? Airlift? He hadn't quite decided yet, but he was leaning on the latter.

Arsaces went to the cockpit to ensure that no new messages were pending. Satisfied that there weren't, and no transmissions or recordings of any kind were coming from the ship he allowed himself to take a breath of 'fresh' air without doing so through his helmet. How liberating.

A few moments later his transformation was complete. Now, emerging in an entirely different look, the Sith seemed less like a warrior and more like a businessman.

He took a seat in the conference room, glass of water neatly to his side and within reach. Then he waited, but not for long. A holographic image of an old man, silver-white beard and a long scar going vertically down his chin appeared.

"Ah, mister Kohde! A pleasure to finally be in your company." "Likewise, mister Voahan, likewise" Idris had nothing better to do. Might as well take the opportunity of some dead time in dead space to call up a business contact and make some credits.

 

[Saeva]

“Well, what can you offer me, really?” “Only the best medicine money can buy. And you don’t need much either!” They both shared a laugh. Idris was true to his word, and attempted to keep the product cheap, relatively.

“Jokes aside, I understand the climate of your planet makes things challenging. The cold gets to people, I understand. When it comes to beating cold, especially in areas with a pronounced poverty, we’re working on a few products right now actually.”

“So what you’re saying is that you don’t have those products available right now?” Idris paused, measuring his words “No, but-” he got caught off before he got very far. “Then let’s leave that for now. Tell me what OMI can do, today.”

“Of course” Idris said with a curt nod. “I’m sending you a list of our available products now. Under each name you’ll find a folder with added information, should you be interested. I’ve marked a few areas I think will be of interest to you. If you want to buy in bulk, we would be happy to-” again Idris didn’t get far before he got cut off.

“Indeed, I received it now. Give me and my people a few moments to look it over and we’ll get back to you” “Of coruse” Idris finished with a smile. He couldn’t help but feel that the man was a little unprepared. Idris had been ready to make the deal right then and there. Oh well, a long wait it was then.

 

[Elijah Beckett]

Vihaan wasn't paying any particular attention to anything than remaining 'above ground' with the mindless horde. It was easy for him to hop across their head's, although the drones didn't move in predictable patterns, some even falling from the sudden weight hitting their head. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard the sound of violence back in the room he had just left - of bodies being impaled and discarded across the room.

There was a flicker in his subconscious, that nagging little thought of whether he had been actually alone there. But it wasn't of much importance, not enough to shift to the surface and tug at his focus. Trying to get away from those wanting to eat him? That was at the top of the list right now.

But as he moved further down the hallway, the Amaran began to noticed the shift in the horde's attention. They began to shuffle their way back, towards the doorway he had passed through. That was when Vihaan caught sight of the commotion, the slightest flicker of blue flame that managed to slip out of the room.

What in the Force...

He recognized what it was, but hadn't the faintest clue of what had caused it. But the feeling of a hand trying to grab ahold of him pulled the Amaran's focus away. He had landed on one of the horde's head, and had forgot to move on. Thinking on his feet, Vihaan quickly called his weapon to hand, igniting it with a quick snap to severe the drone's forearm.

That caught the rests attention.

Vihaan saw the Togruta; Ferwin, as he pushed onwards and into the hallway. The man's eyes peered around until they settled on the Amaran, making it immediately clear what he was hunting. Vihaan cursed, quickly resuming his 'head hopping', disappearing around the corner. That was when he felt it...the sudden concentration of the Dark Side coming from somewhere behind him. He didn't dare to glance back, even as he felt something pull at him.

Then the voice echoed in his mind.

Weak...

It caused Vihaan to stumble, not expecting to hear that voice again. He slipped from his latest perch and hurtled towards the floor. Fortunately he managed to orient himself, land with both feet on the ground. But the Amaran knew he couldn't pause, and immediately began to run, threading between and around the horde's legs.

[member="Darth Voracitos"]​

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

Post: 2
Objective: Not dying

“Me, a zombie? What is he thinking? I haven't felt this good in days.”
— Zak

As Jantar’s ship approached the space station, she turned her head, and looking out the window, he saw the darkness of space, dotted with stars.

She still wondered why she was here. On the face of it, it was an obvious answer to a simple question — it was because she volunteered. But that wasn’t the root cause. Was she here as a test, as part of an experiment, as cannon-fodder or because somme, somewhere, thought she might actually be of value?

Tap. Tap. Tap.

She heard the sound of someone rapping at the transparisteel window. The window of her cockpit.

She wanted to turn to look at it, but something was stopping her. Not fear. She ate fear for breakfast. But something was stopping her.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

She looked around. A pale figure floated into the window's view. Whoever they were, they were dead. They weren’t so much tapping the window as knocking against it. Behind this loser another figure floated: their dead skin hung from their lifeless bones, but their mouths moved.

Clearly not dead, but nobody had bothered to tell them that in space no-one can hear you scream. And they certainly can’t hear you if you’re talking normally.

Tap! Tap! Tap!

Their arms banged against the windowpane until it shattered inward with a crash.

The two dead bodies floated through the opening. Jantar struggled to rise, but she was paralysed. Her nostrils filled with the smell of slowly decaying flesh. The corpses' skin was wrinkled and cracked from exposure to the icy cold of space. Their eyes were no more than black holes in their skulls.

“Join us,” the second undead corpse said. “Join us.” The figure bent close to her, whispering softly, “Join us.”

Jantar woke with a start. The image of the corpses vanished and she looked out of the window to see she was exiting hyperspace and closing in on the space station.

“Nothing but a dream,” she said quickly to herself. It was a decent way to make yourself feel better, except Jantar’s dreams typically came true. She pushed the thought from her mind. “Not farseeing, just a dream,” she said out loud, as the thought forced its way back into her consciousness.

Crash!

Jantar almost screamed as something banged against the cockpit window.

 

[Darth Bellum]

Kor Vexen

---

---

Aboard the Black Star Station
Purge the infection

The Sith Knight had awaited aboard his personal Star Destroyer The Gusion, standing in the hangar as transports were being loaded with 'Fang' wardroids. The station he had been sent to had gone dark and there were murmurs of an outbreak had taken the station in a deathly grasp. As a result, Vexen opted to take only his mechanical units onto the station to purge it of the infection that had come to spread. Bringing aboard his Legion troops, while they were skilled and capable, would only prove to be a liability if they became infected.

The Gusion would arrive as transports disembarked into the void, making their way to the station's hangars and landing. Once the doors opened, columns of droids would march out, given the singular objective of purging anything that showed signs of infection. The armored Sith would step off the transport, lightsaber in hand as it was ignited, casting an ominous red glow upon the surrounding area. His droids would scour every possible route and access point on the station to make sure everything would be cleansed.

Vexen wandered the halls of the station alone, his armor sealed to prevent the possibility of being infected in the event that it was a possible airborne infection. That gave him roughly thirty minutes to cut down anything that was a shambling husk before he needed to return back to the transport for a resupply. From the shadows a shambling corpse would shuffle over to him, moaning and groaning only to let out an abrupt screech as it was immediately bisected by the Sith's lightsaber, leaving a deader than dead corpse on the ground.

There would be no difficulty that Vexen would perceive in this operation, but there was always the possibility of something more sinister aboard the station. This station will be cleansed, and if their efforts proved to be useless, then the station would need to be destroyed. Or perhaps used as bait for anyone who was foolish to dock with it thinking it could be pillaged.

 

[Zef Halo]

Walking dead.

Again.

--

"What the kark is taking you so long, Tarsi?" Zef shouted through the booming roars of the encroaching horde of zombies and the raining fire of the heavy repeating blaster he held. The smuggler absolutely hated it. He was no good with such big fethin' weapon but right now it was doing the job. Or at least the choke point was but he didn't know till when would the freaking thing hold.

Why were the two old pensioners here? Black Star Station? Money. Surprisingly nothing to do with Daro's intense hatred to Hutts or Mandalorians.

They had to smuggle a valuable item worth thousands. Daro breaks it, Zef hauls it. Easy job for people of their caliber, right?

Well, not when the station ends up infested by an army of living dead. If he survived it, Zef would probably never sleep again. This was worse than that freaking ghost ship the Mandalorians explored decades ago.

"I ain't turnin' into no walkin' corpse for ya, boy!! Thought you was the best slicer around the galaxy. Heck, in the history of it as well. Lyin' son of a schutta." Sweat was pouring down his face from the intense heat of every blaster bolt that was let loose at the monsters.

Time was ticking away and the choke point was giving in.

Fethin' Daro Tarsi.

F-e-t-h-i-n' D-a-r-o T-a-r-s-i

[member="Daro Tarsi"]

 

[AMCO]

Objective: Discover the source of the fascinating horrifying infection and outscience [member="Farah"].

Infection. Disease. Death. How annoying.

The Acolyte much preferred to wear loose and flowing robes or other similar garments, and yet here he was, wearing a full-blown environmental suit. He supposed he should be grateful for the warning though, it simply would not do to get turned into one of the living dead because he was underprepared. Truth be told, he didn't really care about some trade station. No, he was here for the dead themselves. He wanted to know what was causing their little predicament. Was it medical? Alchemical? A curse run rampant? Whatever it was it intrigued him.

Looking around him at the tightly packed droids crowding the transport, he hoped he wouldn't be too late. He usually admired the efficiency of [member='Kor Vexen']'s mechanical legions, but it would be a damned shame if they wiped out the infestation before he got a conclusive answer as to the cause. Then all he would have left would be corpses. Useless corpses. Maybe not even that. No, that would not do. If it was caused by force powers, he wanted to learn about it. Perhaps even replicate it.

His thoughts were interrupted by the clang of metal on metal, as the transport landed in one of the hangars. Doors slamming open, the droids surged forth as one, concentrated blaster fire soaring out and striking the few undead that occupied the hangar, tearing them apart without much hassle. If it was going to be this easy, then he really did need to hurry up. Especially since he didn't have the authority to order anyone to, well, stop purging. That was the problem with droids. He couldn't finagle them into doing what he wanted, not like he could with Legionnaires.

Oh well, at least the station was big and the droids were slow. A natural reaction to their directives mandating extreme thoroughness, to be sure. It would give him time, though how much he didn't know. Breaking off from the advancing droids, he found a route of his own leading deeper into the station. As he crossed a corner he came upon two undead, which promptly rushed towards him. A concentrated burst of lightning from each hand brought them down before they even got close. How simple. This couldn't possibly go wrong.

Posts: 1

 

[Farah]

Post: #3
Objective: Clash of the Nerds
In area: [member="Adrian Vandiir"], second best nerd
Somewhere else: [member="Tryp West"], [member="Jackson Singh"]

Unlike Adrain, Farah practically lived in envirosuits. The focus of her work among the Sith was less about fighting and conquest and more about science and research, hence needing protective gear. It got to the point where she’d engineered a mesh specifically to create lighter, more breathable envirosuits.

Outside of the Sith, she was still no stranger to sterility. Cap and gown, gloves, booties, face mask and whatever else you needed after scrubbing in to the operating room.

“Careful with that!” She hissed to the aide at her side. She and the Acolyte she’d come along with had split up for the time being to explore different parts of the station. Farah would have preferred the extra muscle—she didn’t like being the only line of defense because it took away from her work.

Whatever reaction the aide had was obscured by the angle of his visor as he carefully sealed a ghostly pale severed arm inside a plastoid film. At their feet was a decapitated zombie sans blood, severed head and neck wounds cauterized by the heat of a lightsaber blade. The arm had been cut cleanly, of course. Farah didn’t make messy cuts.

“Stand watch.” She ordered, kneeling down to the corpsed’ corpse and removing a plasma scalpel from one of the pouches on her suit. With deft hands, she sliced vertically into the zombie’s thoracic cavity and began her work.

The aide seemed unsure about her decision. Especially as the crackling of lightning echoed from somewhere else in the corridor, bright flashes softened by the distance as they glared off the metal of the walls. “Perhaps we should—“

“Shut up.”

[member="Adrian Vandiir"]

 

[LT-137]

​

Aboard the Station; Designate: Black Star
Lower Decks // Unknown Location.

There was not a glint of recognition or life that dwelled within the figure’s eyes. In its place, they held only the glazed visage akin to those stricken with ravenous hunger. One that could, and would never be sated. The nameless creature’s milky-white orbs flicked from one angle to the next, as it sought to defy the unfortunate fate that it had befallen, and return to feasting on the being that lay just outside its taloned reach. Its fingers, once taut and well-kept, were subsumed by viral rot and scraped uselessly against the floor. The primal intelligence cared not for the boot that kept its body in place, nor the growing pressure that built around the hardened cartilage of its skull.

The clacking maw, rife with yellowed teeth, wanted nothing more than to feed.

Khonsu, whose boot began to shift ever-so-slightly against the cranium of the creature, found himself vaguely fascinated by its almost feral-like demeanour. This was the first time he encountered a being given unlife by some viral agent and decided to drink in the clawing mannerisms so that he might better understand his newfound prey. However, this wasn’t getting him anywhere. It was a simple beast, driven only by the supplanted instinct to feed, and thus warranted little attention. What more would he garner from watching it scrape rotted digits against the metallic floor? They were slow, shambling as they moved, and were attracted by sound and smell - rather than by sight.

So, with a snarl of frustration, the Sun Guard tensed the muscles in his leg and drove the armoured surface towards the deck. The creature’s skull caved in like a rotten fruit, before the despoiled remnants of what laid within spilled out onto the grated floor. He had learned all that he needed to hunt his prey throughout this installation and would see everything that he had acquired would be put to the test. Though he was alone, bereft of the Cohort that often accompanied him, the Thyrsian wasn’t concerned. His muscular figure was encapsulated within the golden shell of his mechanized armour, and the weaponized fury of the sun had resided within his golden grasp. He, alone, would be more than a match for this horde of esurient undead.

Shaking the cranial residue from his golden-shod boot, the Sun Guard slowly stalked the station’s barely-light corridors with his twin-pronged rifle shouldered. His eyes darted from shadow to shadow, as his suit’s sensors and integrated floodlights began scanning his surroundings for targets of opportunity -- or perhaps even signs of life if there were any left aboard. While it was unlikely that there would be any survivors, especially the female that had transmitted the distress call, the Sith Empire had carefully ensured that he was to secure any individuals that weren’t visibly infected and breathing. That they were to be escorted through the pseudo-darkness of the emergency lighting, returned to one of the newly established checkpoints, so that they could be tested and possibly cleansed of this corruption.

With only the sounds of his sensor’s metronomic pulse echoed within his helmet, and his plated feet kissing the deck, Khonsu progressed through the lower decks - clearing every room that he came across and marking his trail with a daub of fluorescent paint. Something that would help guide the living to his location, and deny the chance of re-checking rooms he had already cleared.

At the rate, he was going? It was going to be a long day. ​

 

[Six-O]

LOCATION: Black Star Station - Tower Cresh
OBJECTIVE: Investigate | Breach Connection Bridge
ALLIES: TSE | Sebestev | Belphaegor
GEAR: Cylix Pistol | HPB Pistols x 2 | Magnetic Reaper | CF6 Concussion Rifle | SIF-71 | YVHa-60 Chassis
POST: 1

"Loop around, I want to take a look at the Tower. " Said Sebestev, one hand on the back of the Pilots Chair, the other clenched around the handle of a Sword, just below the pommel.

He had been dispatched on this mission with five others from the Last Fathers, some Soldiers, and a very small number of Sith Students. According to the Intelligence Report; Black Star Station had gone mute several rotations back and preliminary Investigations in to the situation had yielded quite outlandish details. Outlandish. A word created by anemic Core Worlders that had hardly ever witnessed the actual things that go bump in the night.

"Not a spot of structural damage, at least, not that I can see. " Said the Pilot as he laggardly revolved around what was marked on the Tactical Map as Tower Cresh. "Computer Scan came back, they're on Auxiliary Power, place is pumpin' just enough energy to keep it's Life Support Systems active in this Sector, Grav' too. . . maybe their Emergency Lights. "

"Circle again, scan for Comms then Tag, Date and Time our arrival in to the Mission Log. Prep for Boarding Procedures once the Droid is finished. " The Sworn Sword of the Last Fathers said with absolute conviction, trying to hide the grave rasp of his voice. As Sebestev turned and ducked down below the lip of the door, exiting the Pilots Cabin, he heard the man obediently following the command he'd just given.

"Black Star Station, this is Taskforce Rancor, does anybody copy? "

The door sealed shut before the man clicked another frequency and attempted to hail the somber station again. As Sebestev moved through the narrow neck of their Boarding Craft his boots thudded heavily against the suspension grate below him, a drum of metal that eased his nerves against the tasks to come and that forsaken hum of the ships massive engines. Just seven years ago he'd never left Maena - look at him now.

He'd never even heard of the Corporate Sector prior to this Mission. Let alone Sith Space. Ossus. Or any of the other places he had been outside of the Unknown Regions.

"Belphaegor, when YVHa-60 connects the Magnetic Couplings, you and the other Students will head in to the Pilot's Cabin until after we've Breached the Connection Bridge. Understood? " The last thing he needed was some novice the Sith dumped on him getting in the way.

"We're here for a purpose, Sebestev. Not to be coddled by the likes of you. " Belphaegor's time learning the Magic and Alchemical secrets of the Sith had given the young man's tongue quite an edge, one he sometimes felt the need to cut his fellow Maenan's with. He may not be a Warrior, in fact most of his time in the company of the Sith had been spent mastering Rituals and things of a more mystic nature, but he and the others all knew what was expected of them.

 

[Shade of Decay]

Tsisaar peered around a corner, his eyes trying to cut through the dimly-lit halls of the lower decks. Thankfully, it was brighter here than underground on Gravlex Med, not that that amounted to much; Tsisaar's eyes were still straining - and having to look past the breath mask he wore didn't make things any easier. He was at the point of relying more on his senses in the Force than on his eyes to notice any shambling corpses trying to make a meal of him. Thankfully, the three no-longer-moving corpses behind him were testament to how well trained those senses were, and just how proficient Tsisaar had grown in the use of his lightsaber for self defense.

Albeit, he still didn't relish the thought of getting into combat with another person wielding a lightsaber. That might not go quite as well for him.

"Captured by Anx underground on Gravlex Med," he muttered, walking along further. Talking to himself seemed more enjoyable than not talking at all. "Fighting Starweirds on a science vessel, all because they wanted to take their stones." A stone which Tsisaar still had in a small pouch, sitting just on the inside of his garments. "And now I'm roaming around the lower levels of a space station infested entirely with zombies." His facial tendrils started to twitch and quiver in distaste within the breath mask, a gesture he'd picked up from some of the other facially-tentacled species he'd encountered. "I make wonderful decisions." However annoyed he might be, though, he had agreed to come and try to help clear out the station, and figure anything out he could about what had happened; he just hadn't expected that the few soldiers accompanying him would get killed as easily as they were by the reanimated corpses. Must've been new. He'd at least done them the courtesy of making sure they wouldn't get reanimated themselves, and taking their tags with him.

He punched in a command at a door console, opening up the small room just beyond it; inside, in the center of the room, he could see one of the zombies feasting quite happily on a somewhat more recent corpse. It slowly and jerkily turned to face him, a strip of skin hanging from its teeth. "Well, you don't have any table manners, do you?" Tsisaar jokingly asked the corpse, raising a hand slowly. The zombie screeched at him, before trying to launch forward into a pounce.

Only to find itself held aloft in the air by Tsisaar's will, leaving it free for him to observe. Walking around it while it struggled to free itself from his grasp, he was able to observe some of what had occurred to it. In numerous areas, there were bite marks, flesh having been rent from bone in some mad search for sustenance. "Oh, it looks like you were the meal at some other point, eh?" He walked further, calling his lightsaber to his hand...and make sure to stay away from the other, currently-not-yet-reanimated corpse in the room. "Well, I'm sorry, but you really shouldn't be taking out your frustrations for that on this poor fellow here." With a jerk of his arm, he called the zombie over to himself, his lightsaber activating and quickly shredding the corpse apart into a pile of useless detritus. He did the same to the other body in the room, making sure it wouldn't try to stand up and follow him out.

Once he was back outside the room, though, he heard the sound of more zombies shuffling in his direction. As he watched them start to come around a corner, his eyes widened, and he immediately began moving the other direction; he didn't much like his odds, one versus thirty of the undead. He found a door a short distance away, leading into another section of the ship; he frantically punched in the command to override the lockdown and open up the door, with the group behind him having only just started to speed up, their death-dulled senses taking a while to register his being there.

The door opened, Tsisaar jumping through and just as quickly closing it and destroying the controls with his lightsaber for good measure, while the horde behind him started bashing on and clawing at the door. Confident that that would buy him at least a little time, he turned around, only to see a bit of fresh fluorescent paint on the door of every room he could see along the other side of the hallway. Good to see I'm not alone in this section. Or at least, he hoped he wasn't alone. Lightsaber in hand, he followed the trail of paint, until eventually he could catch the reflection of gold armour in the dim distance, with the corpse of a freshly killed zombie just behind it on the floor. Tsisaar kept moving towards the figure, his quick strides closing the space between them carefully.

"You may want to move a bit more quickly soon," he said helpfully, taking care to only speak loudly enough for the other figure to hear him and nothing else. "There's a fairly large group I just left behind that might manage to break into this section at any..." The sound of the door he'd left behind grinding and creaking as it was forced open against the motors and locks that held it closed, followed by the shrieks of a group on the hunt, caused him to trail off, his face visibly paling. "...Moment." The group was a far distance away - in space station terms - but in the near-complete silence of the lifeless station, the sound they produced carred over to Tsisaar and [member="Khonsu Amon"] with no trouble. "That's not good."

 

[AMCO]

Post Number 2
Objective: Discover the source of the fascinating horrifying infection and outscience [member="Farah"].

Adrian walked over to the corpses, frowning slightly. Prodding them with the force, he tried to invoke a reaction in them, to no avail. "Huh, I must have gone a little overboard." He muttered to himself in a strangely cheerful tone. Oh well, there would certainly be more potential specimens around. It wouldn't be much of an infection if there weren't. Nevertheless, perhaps something could be learned from the remains. Lifting one of them up with the force, he moved it a short distance forward, before smashing it into the durasteel wall with a sickening crunch. Heh. That was just as fun as he had expected.

Walking over to the mangled remains and crouching down, he observed that the blood was blackened and sticky. Interesting. The muscle tissue didn't seem to have deteriorated much, at least to his novice eyes. Perhaps he could make one strike another. See how strong they were. That would give him a good indicator as to the origins of the fascinating little infection, after all, creatures born of the dark side tended to be surprisingly strong. He hoped it was caused by a rogue Sith or Dark Jedi. That would be so more interesting than some boring disease. He hadn't sensed any presence of blatantly dark side energy in the corpses, though they had registered as alive. Ish. From a certain point of view. Still, he wouldn't be deterred so easily; it could be that any force-based animating force was too subtle or small for him to uncover in such a short time. It could also be that they were merely symptoms of a greater problem, perhaps an artefact of some kind. Now that, was an interesting thought.

Rising to his feet, he turned to head further into the station. This was going well enough. Better than he had feared, at least. Smiling to himself inside the face-covering helmet, he began to whistle a merry tune. Yes, he was quite sure he would be able to uncover the truth of this little predicament. Quite sure indeed. Still whistling contently, he extended his senses further, stretching them outward like tendrils of invisible energy. A presence. Well, two. But only one was a Sith, so the other one didn't really count. The presence didn't feel like it was actively murdering something, so it probably wasn't Kor Vexen. That was probably for the best. He needed specimens. Lots of specimens. After all, he had a tendency to, err, expend them. Rapidly.

Striding forward towards his fellow Sith, he would introduce himself with his usual gusto; chipper voice seeming entirely out of place coming from the almost entirely black full-body suit, with its large and ominous-looking opaque transparisteel visor.

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

Post: Three
Objective: Not dying

“But you and Kairn look...”
“Alive? That is due to my genius. I’ve made improvements since my first experiments. My new zombies look a bit healthier, and they can talk. My tests indicate they even keep their old memories.”
– Evazan explaining to Zak about his experiment

Across the main hangar, Jantar watched dark figures moving toward her.

She’d seen them the moment that she landed. They’d established the rumours about the mission and they confirmed what she’d seen.

When her ship entered the hangar, she’d seen them. Only a couple at first, then more, now as many as a dozen – traveling en masse, like a single organism made up of countless smaller components.

They were close enough now that she could make out individual faces. But they travelled together, their swollen, disease-ravaged bodies pressing against one another.

Death was the final brotherhood.

And they were coming for her.

Behind her head, there was a sharp clank of metal on metal. A low, collective groan escaped the shadows, deep and ravenous, and Jantar looked up, and saw a flicker of movement above her canopy. Somehow they had slunk around behind her, too. How many were there, huddled out of view, watching her.

That was Lesson One from any playbook you care to reference, one you never forgot – never turn your back on the enemy.

Except she’d forgotten, and now, maybe it was too late. The likelihood of her death filled her stomach like a big gulp of contaminated ice water. Fear grabbed her and trickled down her spine, creeping between her shoulder blades and filing her every fibre.

And she loved it! Fear, for a Sith, could be their greatest ally, as long as they were prepared to admit it. Admit it and embrace it. For it fuelled the dark side like no other emotion. Her master had taught her that.

 

[Jantar Keltainen]

Post: Four
Objective: Don't die

“That's right. I died, Zak. I was dead.”
– Kairn

The figures in front of her had jerked closer, seeming to advance in the space between moments, like footage from which the transitions had been removed.

Their eyes were fixed on her fighter, and there was a slinking , primitive slyness to their movement. Jantar wondered if they were still sizing her up, or if they just derived some primeval pleasure watching their victims squirm.

Within seconds it wouldn’t matter – there were enough of them to launch themselves at the canopy and breach it. And once the transparisteel gave way, she would have no room with wich to defend herself.

Jantar cursed her luck. She had spent years deliberating if she was Force sensitive and when she’d finally found someone to both confirm the fact and teach her the ways of the Force, well they died moments later.

And no sooner had she found a second when she’d discovered her new Master was competent – but lacked the necessary knowledge and abilities to teach Jantar the one thing she innately desired – the secrets of Sith Magic.

And how useful would they be right now? Even as a lowly Acolyte, some of the abilities she’d heard whispers of would deal with this group swiftly. Her options, given the skills she had, were limited. She could throw a few against a wall – but killing them wasn’t an option, they were already dead. She had to destroy them.

And her only weapon was her borrowed saber. And her only strength with it was Soresu. And however good she thought she was with the blade, her tactic was to outlast her opponent. Some chance, given they had superior numbers and would be relentless.

But it was the only card she had in her hand. And if you’re dealt the four of Flasks, you just hope you can bluff your way into a winning position, even if you’re up against the Mistress of Staves.

So Jantar popped her canopy and simultaneously Force leaped from the pilot’s seat, performing a somersault and twist in mid-air, to land behind the zombies – who had yet to understand their quarry had gone.

And by the time her feet touched the ground, her saber was in her hand and activated with a snap-hiss, its crimson blade humming reassuringly.

Maybe the eight of Sabres plays Commander of Coins? The odds were creeping in her favour. Not that she was favourite, but she was no longer a rank outsider.

 

[Matsu Xiangu]

LOCATION: Black Star Station - Tower Cresh
OBJECTIVE: Board
ALLIES: TSE | Sebestev | Belphaegor | [member="Six-O"]
POST: 1

Adelric had changed more in the last twenty years than most men did in a lifetime. Like his fellow Last Fathers about the scouting vessel, the older man would have told you you were losing your mind if one brought up the idea of leaving Maena to see other things. What else was there to see? Maenan life was harsh by any standard but it had made him the man he was. He’d done things along the way he refused to think about. But the man he’d become...it would make up for his youth.

Even still, there he was, feeling much of that same quiet discomfort with the feel of a ship under his feet as Sebestev - though neither expressed it. Theirs was a strange relationship resting on equal measure of respect and disagreement, Adelric’s fundamental reliance on honor sometimes at odds with Maena as a whole.

He stood quietly, waiting for the pilot to be through with his orders.

Adelric, for his part, was one of the Last Fathers that had utterly devoted themselves to Matsu Xiangu after their battles with her came to an end. That one of her apprentices was among them on this mission did not bother him at all. In fact, he welcomed the chance to work closer with her, even in this distant capacity. Even still, the young man had a Maenan mouth on him.

“Peace, Belphaegor. It’s simply expedience, not coddling.”

He didn’t have time to see what the much younger man’s reaction was, as something crackled through after what was going to be the pilot’s last hail. They were closer to the station itself, picking up a weak signal perhaps that hadn’t appeared before.

“If you can hear this, DON’T come aboard this station! I repeat, do not come aboard this station! I don’t know what’s happening but something has gotten on board. It’s...doing things, to the crew. Changing them. We don’t have anything worth risking your life. Call for help, and then leave!”

The message repeated. Over and over and over. A loop replayed through space.

It was just as Adelric exchanged a glance with Sebestev that the signal came through from the droid, everything ready for attachment so they might connect to the station and board. It was going to be more interesting than initially assumed.

 

[Cassandra Paige]

Black Star Station was barely more than a shadow on the screen. With most of the internal systems powered down, and the system as dark as it was, there really wasn't much to look at from a distance.

Cassandra Paige and Itash Mecetti were a long, long way off from the mess currently happening on board the station. Settled comfortably on the observation deck of one of Didact's ships, things in fact were very quiet and relaxed for the pair. Didact was there in part as one of the representatives of the Corporate Sector (the same reason Cass was), but also to offer their particular expertise to the job going on inside. Cass couldn't tell from here which of the sectors Didact's soldiers were securing, but honestly, she didn't care over much anyway.

A droid wheeled off after leaving a pair of steaming tea cups for them, Cass lounging casually and tipping her head this way and that as she studied what little they could see of the station.

"It's rather a dump, isn't it?" She said at last, picking up the delicate porcelain cup. The steam from the tea (a gift from [member="Cerbera"], which Cass had thoroughly checked before anyone drank any of it) was thick and aromatic. Even Cass wouldn't pretend that in this as least, the woman had impeccable taste.

"Wouldn't it have simply made more sense to slag it and rebuild?"

[member="Itash Mecetti"]

 

[Itash Mecetti]

[member="Cassandra Paige"]

Tash sniffed slightly as he watched the station drift lazily in space before them.

It was a gargantuan shadow, all dark and bleak metal shapes shifting, Itash liked it if he was being honest. It reminded him of... things and they were pleasant memories. "Not very aesthetically pleasing, no." He finally added as he settled himself down again, accepting a cup for himself. It wasn't caf, but... suppose that was fine.

Couldn't have it all.

"But it is build into one of the richest asteroids of the system. If they slagged it, they'd risk crunching the asteroid too and letting its valuable cargo drift into the wind." Tash doubted it had anything to do with the potential of survivors.

This wasn't some kind of important research facility.

The people on it weren't even worth a scrap of the ores hiding in that asteroid.

"Hrm, the tea is actually quite alright." The muse came a touch surprised as he took another sip, shifting slightly in the seat. "Antigone stands to win plenty here though. Our assistance with the layout and infrastructure is invaluable."

 

[Carach]

"Oh, I wouldn't beg, darling. See-"

Cut.

"Begging has the potential..." and only a potential. "...of working against those that wish you harm. It works lovingly on their egos, but it leaves a very thin line where you can take advantage of it."

Slice.

"But this?" Rip. "Isn't personal whatsoever. I am just..." The green-skinned lady shrugged slightly, petting the crumbled woman on the shoulder as she lay curled up. "....so curious what you have for me." Cerbera studied the bloody knife in her hands for a bit, waiting for it, until a bright yellow light skirted past her and bathed the woman in its radiance.

"Hrm, ugly, you never told me why we are doing this...." Yemidan whispered into her voice with a scratch. "This all seems rather pointless."

Beneath them the woman moaned and then screeched.

Eyes turning blood red, gums bleeding too, nails scratching against the floor as the poison started working through her veins and shaping her. Sometimes it was pointless to argue with Yem.

It didn't see what Cerbera saw as the woman shifted into horror.

"...it's beautiful though."

 

[Joycelyn Zambrano]

KA-splat!
"Yeah, okay. I get it. The Minos is pretty good."

A piece of diseased and twice deceased brain matter dropped from the ceiling and onto the floor as Joycelyn turned the SIF-7 Minos from side to side with a critical eye. In the other hand she held her old SK2 Ripper.

"I'm telling you, Captain, give it a chance. You can't be sentimental in these things."

Joyce's eyes narrowed and her presence in the Force flared dangerously as her gaze turned from her new service firearm to the komodi lieutenant next to her. Sole's eyebrows raised, not in fear, but in encouragement for her to accept the logic he had just proposed. The vahlacanthix' head stretched a little higher in a mark of authority, but she nodded in the end.

"Fine, lieutenant. I will try it out over the course of this mission." "S' all I ask, sir."

Sole smiled a mischievous smile. Joycelyn checked their shoulder with her elbow and gestured for the troop to move. Five legionaries ran up ahead to the T-intersection while another five stayed behind. Further behind them was the second squad, lead by one of her sergeants, keeping the way clar, and a third kept the entry point clean. Joycelyn holstered her Ripper and kept the Minos in hand as she and Sole headed on into the interior of Black Star Station.

Sole watched Joycelyn's back, a power mace in hand and eyes sharp.