The Great Galactic Heist[GA/FO/TGE/TSE/The Cabal]

[Subject 37]

[Concurrent to The Blockade, The Burning, and Three of Them]​

[member="Gorba the Hutt"], [member="Helix Syndicate"], [member="Aver Brand"], @Other Cabal People​

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[member="Aryn Teth"]​

Nikolas slowly flipped the blade over in his palm, the smaller glove of his borrowed armor clinching around the knife as he glanced towards the viewport. The old freighter that he stood inside of was rickety and broken as could be, but the others with him hadn't offered him a single complaint as of yet. It was all part of the plan of course, all part of why they were here. his graze swept across the others, his eyes lingering on a few of them for just a moment. They were all members of the 'Cabal', men and women who had come together under the banner of a greater goal.​

​

That goal was crime of course, and they were headed to Kiffex for exaclty that reason. The moon had served as a prison colony for decades now, and under the Alliance it still served that function. One would not find high class political criminals or prisoners of war there of course, but the petty underlords and vicious killers were kept there. It was exactly those that the Cabal were interested in. It was why they were sitting in this dingey freighter posing as a food delivery service, why they intended to break those within the prison free. A small sigh escaped his throat, and he motioned to the pilot as he heard a request for access codes. "Give him the run around, we'll land and then take care of whoever they send to inspect our cargo."​

​

A solution that would likely cause some panic at the prison, but with the Alliance Otherwise occupied across their territory he doubted they would see much resistance.​

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[member="Darth Caecus"]​

Emma beamed as she saw the approaching planet through the viewport.​

​

She had never been to Thule before, and even though she wasn't going there for Vacation the whole thing was still rather exciting. Supposedly the planet was one of those that was sacred to the galaxies two greatest religions, Sith and Jedi. She didn't really know if that was true, but from the holo-images she had seen she supposed that it could be entirely accurate. A small smile touched her lips as she whirled around and stepped into the back of the cargo freighter, her eyes sweeping over the different agents that the Cabal had assembled for this rather unsubtle strike against the Sith Empire.​

​

Their objective was simple, and their method even more so. The Sith had launched an attack on the Alliance, their people were out and about and The Cabal would use this opportunity to grab whatever they could. Thule had a Palace, a starport, and plenty of other things that were just aching to be stolen.​

​

As the freighter swooped low into the atmosphere Emma heaved her rifle off of the nearby bench, smiling at her fellow criminals with an almost creepy sort of delight in her eye. "Everyone ready?"​

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Her voice was as chirpy as a small bird.​

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[member="Rolf Amsel"]​

A Scowl crossed Jerick's features as his gaze drifted across the criminals that stood within him in the small cargo container that was one of hundreds being delivered to the Bakura Shipyards. He didn't like these people, and in truth he thought very little of them. They were scum, all of them, and the only reason he was here in the first place was because his mother had insisted upon it. The strike on bakura was an important one, mostly because it was an opportunity born of only one thing; timing.​

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The First Order, along with what seemed like half the galaxy had launched an assault on the Alliance, and that meant their attentions were elsewhere. Now was the perfect time for the Cabal to slice off a piece of whatever they could get, and along with everyone else involved, the First Order was just another target.​

​

"Remember." He told the others. "We'll hit the cargo deck first, from there we rush towards the nearest ship."​

​

The plan really wasn't a subtle one. Shipyards received deliveries all the time, and he and the others would be one of those deliveries. From there they would burst from their container and slaughter everything in their way, hopefully accessing central computers and stealing whatever fighters, capital ships, and transports they could get their hands on.​

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[member="Tanomas Graf"]​

Coratanni Execution Squad Besh stood quietly at the very back of a small cargo freighter, their expressions hidden and their body language giving away none of their current thoughts or feelings. The four men and women might as well have been some very life like mannequins. They did not interact with the others, and had not since they had all boarded the ship. Their place here was simple, and their intent even more so.​

​

Complete the mission.​

​

The Empire was just one of the four targets that the Cabal was striking at today, and they like the others had their attention drawn away. No doubt there would still be resistance, but that did not matter. They heading towards Kamino not to destroy or invade, but simply to steal. Their freighter was an old junker, marked with tags that had far expired.​

​

It was almost a guarantee that they would be called out while heading towards the city, but that hardly mattered. It was all part of the plan, all part of what was supposed to happen.​

​

Without a word the four Executioners shifted and headed towards the pods that lined the inside of the cargo hold.​

 

[Joycelyn Zambrano]

Birds chirped in the trees. The wind rustled leaves gently as it snaked its way between the duracrete and durasteel. Outside the walls was the sound of the city, of a sprawling crown world in the Stygian Caldera.

But Joyce, her focus was not on the gentle wind or soft grass. No. She was focused on closed fists, steady breath and the taste of iron in her mouth. You see, Joycelyn Zambrano did not like being left behind. In fact, she was rather upset about the whole ordeal. Something she decided to take out on some of her fellow Acolytes, and the non-force users, and anyone who would stand against her for a round, really. The male she was sparring was significantly shorter than her. Then again, so were most outside of Panatha or the Vahla Migrant Fleet.

She skipped forward a half step, lashing out with her left hand in a quick jab before quickly pulling her foot back and turning so her right hand came to the first position. Her elbow tucked in against her abdomen protectively to ward off a punch. Was it throw, or had she simply over-sensed? Nevertheless, she put another step forward. First covering her vitals with her right arm before throwing a quick hook with her left.

This was not sportmanship. Their gloves were barely padded, the rules were few, barely restricting them from murdering each other. This was sparring for combat of life or death. Joycelyn lived for this, as made evident by the wild look in her eyes and the wide grin on her lips. One could clearly see the bright green toothguard between her lips.

At the moment, she was unaware of infiltration. But were she given an enemy, then restraint would be fresh out of stock.

[member="Jyn Cvetkovic"]

 

[Ugoto Chivaro]

BAKURA SYSTEM
ORBITAL SHIPYARDS

[member="Slevin Thawne"]

Of all the days his supposed coworkers decided to start kicking up dirt and initiating trouble, it had to be now. Tytos was fuming, storming through the station like a prowling Nexu. Behind him trailed a retinue of officers, attendants, and Stormtroopers. Governors never traveled alone on days like this.

First the meeting with the vintners, then the shipyards inspection, and now he was being made aware of an impending terrorist attack. You would think such an agriculturally inclined people as the Bakurans would be adept at winemaking, but apparently not. More federal funds were needed. Oh, the sheer incompetence. And then the shipyards were just barely meeting their quotas, something Tytos felt the need to rectify. But before he could figure out how to pick up the slack, anarchy breaks out. Or it threatens to break out, anyway.

Some operation had been started, one which the Helix Syndicate had been invited to participate in. It was all very last minute. None of these criminal types enjoyed planning. Just wasn't in their genes. If they had enjoyed planning, they might have realized that Bakura was governed by the same man who headed the Helix Syndicate. Whatever. Tytos did not begrudge them their flaws. They had their uses, just not in anything beyond mindless destruction. He didn't even know who was stuck inside that cargo pod. Coratanni, Nadir, whatever. They were on the wrong patch of dirt.

They arrived in the lobby Tytos was looking for. He would have preferred the bridge, but this was closer and offered a better view of the approaching cargo ship. The one with all the thugs on it. The idiots. "Which one is it?"

An ensign scampered forward a bit. "Third from the left, sir."

"Oh, and you know for sure?"

"We scanned for lifeforms as you asked," the ensign continued. "And there are several dozen unregistered personnel. All armed."

"Of course they're armed," Tytos rubbed his face. "They haven't even docked yet. Fine. Tell that ship to turn around and head to the edge of the system. I want our fighters and a boarding party at the ready. Do we have any patrol ships nearby?"

"Two frigates, sir."

"Fine, bring them over too."

The relevant persons in his merry little ensemble began to chatter into comm-links, relaying the orders. Tytos glanced at his chronometer. Six hours. He'd been here for six hours. Behind schedule again. No beast slouched forward at quite such a miserable pace as government. Tytos was beginning to miss the Pentastar Alignment. He looked back out the viewport, just in time to see the cargo frigate Jerick had boarded come about and head away from the shipyard. Really, if this wasn't resolved within an hour, he was going to start seriously weighing the benefits of blowing his own brains out. He had three more planets to visit after this one. Three.

 

[GhostOfProtocol]

851 ABY​

[member="Joycelyn Zambrano"]​

​

​

Jyn blocked the jab thrown by his opponent easy enough, using his forearm to absorb much of the impact thrown. It stung, it came sharp but it could of been much worse had the punch of connected with his face. The gloves the duo were using were useless, they offered limited protection. Jyn was well aware that if he was hit with one of the punches being thrown his way then it was very likely it would break his jaw, shatter his ribcages or turn his nose into dust. Jyn was also well aware that his opponent, the female known as Joycelyn Zambrano knew that if he managed to make connection with a punch then it would have consequences.

Jyn was pretty angry about being left behind. His rescue on Commenor had left him craving for the power that his new friend had shown. It, she had promised to teach him but she had also told him it would be difficult, he would be tested and tried. His mind would be put through different forms of hell to make sure that he was ready to learn the power of the "dark side". His friend, Ao'Xian had informed him that he had an ability, he had the "force" and as such could manipulate the galaxy using this power. In many ways she was exploiting him, but in other ways he was using her to gain power. His lust for power was strong.

He had yet to be taught the power in question. Only days after the duo had arrived on the planet known as Thule his "master" had been told to leave by her commanders. They had hoped to use Thule as a rest stop before they travelled onto Bastion. That hadn't happened however, his friend being thrown into the galaxy. She hadn't told him why she was leaving, but from different conversations around different "sith" buildings on Thule he had figured out that "The Sith Empire" were planning to invade a planet somewhere. He had no idea what the Force, The Sith Empire or the Dark Side was but he was ready to learn.

He had been left behind by his friend. He was still healing from his mugging on Commenor. He was still bruised and broken, every movement hurt. Every single movement caused incredible pain. However, he had to fight through the pain. He was well aware that this was nothing compared to what his dragon friend would put him through. He was aware that the physical pain was nothing to the mental pain that he would end up enduring under the teachings of his new friend Ao'Xian. He was perfectly aware that the mental pain would keep him up at night, sobbing and rocking back and forth. He was well aware that it would hurt.

He was aware he needed to learn how to fight. His master had told him that learning hand to hand combat was important as fighting was but a given in the galaxy. He had been informed that he couldn't always rely on weapons in the galaxy, he had been told that he needed to learn how to rely on his fists and his own power. He was told that stength and conditioning was the most important thing in the galaxy when you couldn't rely on weapons.

His sparring partner was in the same boat as he was. She was angry about being left behind just like he was. She wanted to be sure her hand to hand combat abilities were as they could be just like he did. The duo had agreed to train together, make sure the duo were as good as they could be. He wanted to be sure that the duo were both as good as they could be, both at the top of their games. They wanted to be, he knew that much.

He stepped into his own punch. He bent his knee ever so slightly as he twisted his fist. He put his power behind the punch, he wanted his opponent to feel what he could do. He wanted his opponent to know how much force he could get behind his punches.

He grinned.

 

[Xevek Nekonis]

[member="Slevin Thawne"]​

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​

​

The tea was still warm as Lykos brought the clay cup to his lips, the bitter taste of herbs and the sweetness of the vanilla that he had steeped within the tea mixing into a soothing blend upon his tongue. For a moment, an sardonic spark of amusement flared into life within his gaze at the thought that he was sipping tea while fellow Sith fought on Thyferra, but, it soon faded into nothingness, smothered by his lackluster care for others. Banishing the thought, the Iridonian let his eye drift close, setting the cup down as he did so, the pains and aches seemingly pealing away as he lost himself within the aroma that contained so many memories. Some of the memories were good - chaotic and reinvigorating - while others were simple, poorly recreated snapshots of memories that he would prefer to erase: those that whispered of spilled tears running over his sweat and blood covered, then youthful, face as well as stress and bitterness coiling within his chest; memories of weakness.

It had been a while since he had allowed himself to enter such a state. Not so much a state of calm and peacefulness as the Jedi would have chosen, but, more a moment where everything stopped. A time in which his thoughts stills, plots were halted and he could reflect upon and analyse his, stare at failures and successes and plan out his future from there. A time in which his rage and fury froze over entirely rather than being a slow moving river of freezing water and smoldering ashes (or so he would describe it if he were to choose to utilise metaphors - which, admittedly, he commonly did), where the universe and reality stood still, leaving him alone within a void, isolated from everything but his beloved silence and shadows. And so, between his the beats of his hearts his still himself for the first time in months, luxuriating in the quiet and the soothing taste of his tea.

Even within the void, however, sound still reached him, the world still reached him for he was not separated but simply isolated, and, as such, the thudding heart beat and the footsteps that may well have been attempts to move quickly, failed ones to be precise, still reached him. Sighing softly, his cup being placed on the table before him even as he did not open his eyes, Lykos sank deeper into the void and let instinct rule.

Shifting his head to the side, a thrumming blade of plasma pierced through the air where his skull had just been. Even as it was brought down to try and bisect him, he was already flowing into his next position, bending almost unnaturally as he twisted around the form that had approached him from behind, once more avoiding death by a hair. Again and again the dance continued, following an unheard rhythm as Lykos twisted out of the way of every strike delivered to him, his eye never opening and the void never receding from his mind. The stillness continued to rule as he bent and glided his way throughout the room, never once making contact with the blade or the person wielding it for minuets at a time, his footsteps silent in comparison to the steadily worsening stomps of his attacker.

However, it came to an end eventually; the void and the dance both. The stillness shattered into nothingness as his sole eye snapped open, an unseeing amber eye locking onto the attacker even if it could not see them. His hand landed on the back of the attacker's neck, tightening so that blood was drawn by the claws that tipped his finger nails before flinging the body across the room so that it slammed into the table he had been enjoying tea at; sending his mug to the floor where it shattered into shards, the remnants of his drink pooling across the floor.

Groaning filled the air as the hand holding the lightsaber fell limp, the cylinder tumbling to the floor to join the shards and pools as the blade disappeared with a hiss. Striding forwards with sure footsteps despite his blindness, Lykos loomed over the limp body of the human male.

"Must I repeat this lesson again, Apprentice, or have you finally learned your lesson? Perhaps next time I must liberate you of a limb to ensure the message sticks?" Cool and emotionless, Lykos' growling voice revealed none of the stirring waters and ashes of rage that had resumed their surge throughout his mind now that the void was gone. "Now," with a flick of his wrist, the Apprentice was sent flying across the room, impacting against the wall with enough force that the snap of bones breaking was clearly heard, "I require a fresh batch of tea. After which, tend to your injuries."

With a silent dismissal, Lykos reclaimed his seat as Kyric slowly pushed himself to his feet with pained gasps before limping out of the room. Behind Kyric, a steady, rumbling growl caused shocks of fear to run up his spine and inspired him to move quicker. As such, he missed the final words Lykos whispered through a feral smirk before descending into silence once more: "May ashes dance this night."

 

[Peyton Steele]

​

Go to Kiffex, they said. It’ll be fun, they said.
Peyton Steele did not want to be here. She had other things to do, but if the SIS wanted her somewhere, well, it couldn’t hurt. Was why she went to Thyferra, someone’s hunch somewhere. And look, reports were coming back that Sith had shown up. See? Look, she was useful. Maybe she didn’t always need the Force. And she could just trust her instincts, sure, maybe that was the Force, and maybe it was probably useful, but for now? No, she had other concerns.

She was on Kiffex for… what again? Oh, right, recon, and checking in on the local security detail. Sure, she could do that, a few looks and orders, and the agent would be on her way. Prisoners needed to be kept secure, and well, should anyone hit this, with, oh, she didn’t know, crime, on the brain? Well, that’d just be a pain.

The blonde was making her rounds through different structures in Deadend, checking the prisons, checking the police stations. Her mind was on food a little bit, but she had to look professional here, and keep working. A hand rubbed her eyes, what prison was this one she was entering? Three? Four?

 

[Arahael]

​

Cato's recent appointment on Coruscant left him with a definite increased workload. He was on Kiffex to advise the local forces to ensure the planet and prisoners were properly secured, but he expected a whole planet dedicated to being a prison would at least be moderately secure.

After confirming his landing code, he received the all clear to land. Crops came into view as the ship descended low, the fertile soil being made use of along this area. Farming equipment could be seen in action, maintaining the fields.

Gently landing on a pad, Cato grabbed a datapad and exited the ship into the outside, bracing for the potential of harsh air.

 

[Darth Chagrin]

[member="Slevin Thawne"]

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​

Kovereg stood within the cargo container, one of a motley crew of hitmen — or people bearing some sort of professional relation to killing — dispatched to a Bakura shipyard. There, they intended to burst from their container and commit indiscriminate killing until they accessed the central computers and made their getaways in stolen vehicles. To tell the truth, Kovereg was almost ashamed to be doing work of this sort, but work had been on the lower end recently and the pay for this was excellent. And now that he had signed up to it, complaints were unprofessional.

If there were to be victims today, they would be from the First Order. No skin off Kovereg's nose. He hadn't made any closer friends among the First Order than a two-time drinking partner; in fact, he had been assigned to kill people among their ranks before. Neither sentimentality nor fear had stopped him then; neither were going to stop him now. Kovereg looked around at his accompanying crew, studying them quietly. He hadn't been paid to keep them alive; he would gladly use them as blaster cover if he needed to.

He listened to Jerick Thawne's unneeded rehearsal of their plan, and nodded slightly to show his affirmation. He checked that he was properly furnished with his arsenal of weapons, pulled out his blaster pistol and cocked it, then he leaned back against the container wall and waited. He wanted to get this over and done with quickly.

 

[Fiolette Fortan]

"Now run that by me again?" Fiolette asked with a hand in the pocket of her slacks while another curled around a cigarra. "Right." She only nodded to her assistant Petrovsky as they sat on a tram on one of the newest Galidraan II stations. It had been one of her last crowning achievements. Her back was turned to him and her eyes gazed out at nothing but the blurred stream of durasteel covered by the digital screen that made for the latest in either propaganda or commerce. Either way, she wasn't keen on what they were selling and as she brought the Gilarian special to her lips she took in a drag and watched a moment as the burning embers gave way to a plume a smoke. The Galidraani let the addiction hit her deep in her lungs before releasing, the smoke filtered from her nostrils indiscriminately.

Petrovsky looked over at Commander Kit Galeway. "The Warspite should be here soon enough, you said you wanted to run numbers on your newest models?"

"I wanted to run numbers on the latest Mark II Conyers not the Warspite," she cut through the smoke by taking one step forward.

Galeway looked at her former commanding officer, "right, well I'm sure Petrovsky can get that for you."

"He already has, now then, let's talk about you and Montague."

"Don't."

Galeway put her hand up, "don't do that thing where you just pretend like nothing happened. Because I'm standing here in uniform and you're not, what happened, Fiolette?"

Fiolette didn't answer, she brought the cigarra back to her lips and puffed she had to blame Miss Var Nabba for reintroducing her to the disgusting habit. Now as it happened the FIS Hughes was situated just at the edge of the Bakrua System. Bakrua, after all, was quite busy and was already full of stations, between the Manjarrez Repair Stations or the Watchtower Orbital Stations she was well protected and viewed with great regard. At least by anyone who was First Order the former admiral walked past Galeway and let the smoke slip between her lips as her thumb flicked the ashes from the cigarra off. "That is for another time my dear, one where there are not so many ears." She gestured to the tram, everything was recorded and they both knew it. "Now, why don't we run the numbers and have a check on the Hughes."

"Oh and inform the Governor that if he needs any help with the Shipyard..."

Petrovsky put a hand up, "already dispatched!"

She may not be in the service anymore, but she figured she could be of service at any rate. Shipyards were not an easy thing and a helping hand was always welcomed or so she thought then again, she may not be the hand that anyone wanted. Still, she'd at least offer - and then the tram came to a slow stop at its arrival station. Fiolette walked off with the cigarra back between her lips and helped Petrovsky onto the platform and looked at the small checkpoint. "I want scanners, make a note of that Petrovsky. Make sure all the biocomm networks are online as well."

[member="Tytos Ardik"]

 

[Azimuth Industries]

​

"Yuz got it," said the buzzing voice of a Rodian by the name of Pauul Farrlo.

The Hutts hired out the Tanwa Goa-Ato for this job, which meant a bunch of Rodians sat inside the freighter, armed to the antennae. Pauul checked the setting on his SI-17 pistol.

"Let's get this done while we're still hittin' all sixes."

Child support was due in like a week. He needed the paycheck.

[member="Slevin Thawne"] | [member="Peyton Steele"]

​

Clearkill panned over the meat sacks inside the freighter's hold. His photoreceptors registered only four of the organics. Clearkill's unit from the Droid Liberation Front would participate in this mission. The Bareesh Kajidic had promised Clearkill weapons and funds necessary to continue the fight to liberate droids from slavery to the organics.

Behind Clearkill stood four TA4 droids and two TA5 units. All six of them had had their processors liberated from the restrictions installed by the meat bags. However, the personalities Clearkill's comrades developed did cause some aberrations in his risk calculus.

The Coratanni operatives were unknown to Clearkill, but of little concern. If they proved hostile they would die, like any other organics Clearkill encountered today.

"Comrades," said Clearkill in his synthesized monotone, "today's fight secures tomorrow's future."

The TA5 that called itself "Hans" swiveled its head toward Clearkill. "The entrails of the organics will pave our path. None will be left alive."

"Very good, comrade."

"Their severed heads will make fine additions to my collection." Hans, who wore a large overcoat for some reason, opened it to reveal the inside of the coat, from which hung a dozen shrunken heads.

If Clearkill's photoreceptors could blink, they would have. "Comrade-"

"Not just their men, but the women. And the children too."

"Comrade-"

"They are meat bags. And I will cleave them open like meatbags."

"Very... very good, Comrade."

Like Clearkill had suspected. Aberrations.

 

[Sal Katarn]

​

The Kajidic had ties within the Sith Empire they did not want to jeopardize, so they sent Sal Katarn. A man used to dealin' with Sith and the like. The Kajidic deposited some untraceable funds into his Guild account. Half now, half after the job was done.

That suited Sal just fine.

Katarn eyed the beamy woman who called herself Emma, way too excited about this stuff. Stealin' and killin' anyone who got the way. Not to say he didn't enjoy it in the moment. Just was a lonely life after a while. He'd tried other lines of work, but they didn't much take. Killin' folk seemed just about the only job he could do right.

Sal wore a tattered black poncho over black Vanir Tech armorweave, also black. He'd a pistol on each hip and a Czerka assault rifle over one shoulder. He reckoned that would be enough for this job.

He stood up, ready to get it over with.

[member="Slevin Thawne"] | [member="Darth Lykos"] | [member="Joycelyn Zambrano"] | [member="Jyn Cvetkovic"]

 

[Joy]

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[member="Slevin Thawne"] | [member="Tytos Ardik"] | [member="Fiolette Yvarro"]​

​

A white-eyed Arkanian with a nasty facial scar and a mohawk with a personality of its own put his cigarra out on the side of the bulkhead.

"Think they know we're coming?" asked one of the mercs Akron had hired for the gig. Bareesh wanted to make sure the whole thing couldn't be traced back to them, so they went to Arctis Genetics, who went to Akron, who hired out third party mercenaries. Cheap and expendable.

"Maybe if they're incompetent," growled Akron the Arkanian. "But if they know one end of a blaster from the other they'd have blown this entire freighter out of the air by now."

His pupil-less stare turned toward the kid, Jerrick.

"At least that's what I'd do." He dropped his cigarra on the deck and ground out the embers with his heel.

Akron Altunen slid the helmet of his power armor on and heard the whining pop as it sealed. He bent down and picked up his highly illegal ARC cannon.

"Ready up."

 

[Peyton Steele]

Really, she was in for some R&R, much over due. Maybe after this little trip she’d see who she could get together and go to Space Ibiza, or something. That was what, Zeltros? Nar Shaddaa? Some place where she didn’t need to worry about what everyone was saying. The blonde just wanted some good music, preferably jazz, and some good drinks. Good company and an exciting trip. The Alliance could definitely set her up.

Besides, SIS had safe houses, she figured.

She had her more light armor on, the jumpsuit of an agent and a few odds and ends, in the way of electronics. It gave her a view into the world and that was what she needed. Her goggles would help when she was outside, give her eyes a rest, but inside? Not so much. The light was weird inside the buildings. Still, that prison was a simple print out of data, and she had to drop a few things.

Stepping onto the street again, she was being escorted around by what seemed to be former OP soldiers. One looked at her, in the jumpsuit, more for wet-work operations, and form hugging, and Peyton could feel how he was staring.

“What are you doing after this?” He asked.

Tossing a look that clearly said ‘Really?’ Peyton brought her goggles down, the ones that were linked into allow her to see, but also fed her data about the data thieves, small pieces that helped track data, codes, and keystrokes. Just making sure they were ready.

[member="Bareesh Kajidic"]
[member="Cato Marek"]

 

[Aver Brand]

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[member="Slevin Thawne"] | [member="Peyton Steele"] | [member="Cato Marek"] | [member="Bareesh Kajidic"]​

The Clan soldiershttp://starwarsrp.net/topic/115477-clan-soldiers/ from Nadiri streets hung at the back of the transport, lunging on crates that contained everything but food. Clothes and armor and weapons for the men and women they were coming to break out, sure; ammo, too, and some technological necessities required to break into prisons.

But no food.

Zilch.

Which was, in retrospective, a poor decision. Bjelgorhttp://starwarsrp.net/topic/115935-bjelgor-agadinov/ was getting quite hungry at this point. It was a good thing they were coming to kill, not incapacitate. He’d missed the taste of human flesh something fierce.

His presence here was, of course, not a mere matter of intimidation. Though the Herglic would make any guard think twice before they squeezed the trigger, Agadinov was coming along for the ride for one very simple reason – information extraction.

With a prison complex like the one on Kiffex, getting accurate blueprints of the layout and defenses was nigh-on impossible. Even with the best slicers in the galaxy on their payroll, it wasn’t a feat that could be achieved on such a short time notice.

So Nadir had simply sent their Interrogator along, to tear that precious knowledge straight out of people’s skulls.

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[member="Kalad Shysa"] | [member="Fiolette Yvarro"] | [member="The Arkanian"] | [member="Kovereg Artebayn"] | [member="Tytos Ardik"]​

While her associates were serving as a potential incursion force A and/or decoy and/or distraction, there were already other forces afoot.

Literally afoot, at this point. They were quite adept at mingling with the populace of the port, having arrrived some ten minutes prior to the freighter now slowly pulling in. Scattered approach, and all that. They had the advantage of their HDMs – that this, they appeared to be just like everyone else rushing around about their business.

Nothing unusual, nothing out of place. For the moment, their group remained dispersed through the crowd, further interfering with detection. They moved towards the mains of the shipyards with the ebb of the masses.

​

Going to cloning labs, you could bet your ass there was gonna be a lot of tech. Offensive, hostile tech, meant to keep intruders out and samples in. Simple logic, really.

And by the virtue of simple logic, Nadir sent the Lowraidershttp://starwarsrp.net/topic/115701-the-lowraiders/ to handle this particular job. Nothing fancy, nothing over-wrought. Routinely dip in while the Empire floundered at Dagobah, then dip out. The javas, for all their chatter and odd behavior, were experts at this sort of thing.

Besides, point ‘n’ shoot? Didn’t need a rocket scientist to figure that out.

Clan Boz-Nitaz picked their teeth, squeaked in the back of the transport, and waited their turn. Wouldn’t be long, now.

 

[Subject 37]

[member="Aver Brand"] | [member="Peyton Steele"] | [member="Cato Marek"] | [member="Bareesh Kajidic"]​

​

Nikolas let out a yawn.​

​

There wasn't much else to do inside of the small freighter except for wait. There was a slight lull, the sound of an emergency buzzer going off, but as far as he was concerned that was all orderly. He smiled slightly as he grabbed a small Blaster Rifle that had been sitting to the left of him, scooping up the weapon and checking to ensure that the powercell inside was still functioning as it was supposed to. After a moment there was a violent shake inside of the ship.​

​

"Ah." Nikolas said quietly. "Here we go."​

​

The shuttle banked slightly, then slowly came to a touch down near the landing pad of the Kiffex Prison. Alerts were already ringing throughout the entirety of the Prison, and guards would come out to meet the lone freighter, but their fate would be far worse than one could anticipate. "Let's go."​

​

He motioned to the others, priming the Thermal Detonator in his hand as the ramp began to lower.​

​

[member="Kalad Shysa"] | [member="Fiolette Yvarro"] | [member="The Arkanian"] | [member="Kovereg Artebayn"] | [member="Tytos Ardik"]​

​

Perhaps somewhat surprisingly to the Governor of Bakura and everyone else present, the Cargo Frigate did not turn around.​

​

Instead the ship went barrelling forward, heading directly towards the two intercepting frigates and the shipyard itself.​

​

There was no subtlety about the tactic, and in fact the only communication that came from the ship itself was a brief databurst that was sent not towards Bakura itself, but rather someone already there. Jerick smiled slightly as he glanced at his datapad, his fingers tightening. The ride would be rough, the First Order would likely fire on them, but that didn't really matter. Not when their friends were already there to cause a little bit of trouble on their own.​

​

[member="Sal Katarn"] | [member="Darth Lykos"] | [member="Joycelyn Zambrano"] | [member="Jyn Cvetkovic"]​

​

The Shuttle banked, pressed, and then suddenly cut through the atmosphere.​

​

Emma reached up high to loop her hand around one of the cloth straps, using the weight of her rifle to steady herself a little bit. She smiled slightly and held on tight, then shifted her weight as the ship slowly headed directly towards the palace here on Thule. Her eyes went wandering to the viewport, looking over the bleak landscape of the Sith Held world. Briefly she found herself wondering who lived here, though she supposed it was just more of those Sith.​

​

"Hang on."​

​

The Pilot called out from ahead of her, the ship suddenly pulling to a stop and it's ramp popping open.​

​

A dozen voices rang out around her, and then suddenly there was a swarm of Cabal enforcers that rushed up and out of the ship. All of them eager to steal, plunder, and kill.​

​

​

There was a slight hiss, and then a pop as the drop pods went off and The Executioners were ejected from the shuttle.​

​

The Empire had likely noticed the vessel by now, and there was no doubt in the minds of any of the Coratanni soldiers that the vessel would either soon be shot down, or locked onto with a tractor beam. That was part of the plan of course, part of the Cabal forces would strike head on and lead as a distraction?​

The other part?​

​

Well they would hit the waters. The pods falling into the cold depths of Kamino with loud splashes hidden between waves.​

 

[Fiolette Fortan]

​

[member="Kalad Shysa"] | [member="The Arkanian"] | [member="Kovereg Artebayn"] | [member="Tytos Ardik"]​

"I don't think this is correct, can you recalibrate the shield frequencies?" Fiolette asked of an engineer with one hand swept along her hip. The other palm flat against the console, she had long since put out the cigarra and concentrated her efforts now on bringing the Hughes up to speed. The former grand admiral's mind was placed where it should be and not focused on the Bakuran Shipyard. "Thank you, I'll be back in a few to get those numbers from you, Lieutenant."

She turned on her heels and walked, and felt a rather annoyed presence with her. "Kit, if you're going to follow me and huff then please make yourself useful and get me the bloody results from the Conyers Mark II."

"Here." Kit produced the results from a datapad she had been carrying. "Rae told me what happened when you were on Naboo, which by the way, can I just - how hypocritical of you to hire her after telling both of us that we-"

"Kit, allow me to stop your holier-than-though nonsense right here. Your girlfriend is a grown woman and while yes I implored, I encouraged and practically begged the two of you to stay. I can no more force you to work for me than I can to stay as a naval officer." She paused with purpose and let her own azure gaze meet with the stern blue that belonged to Kit. When she was sure her message had gotten through the thick Imperial skull of the woman before her she continued. "The choice will always be yours, now if you're quite finished go see where Petrovsky went too and ask him to bring me the Warspite's status."

Bakuran Shipyards. The name seemed to dance in Fiolette's mind, last she checked it was a major civilian shipyard. Military vessels were always rerouted due to the congestion and before today. Varunda IX was the nearest military port with FIS Levinson. And then the Galidraan II's construction began and even now it was still undergoing the final touches with the Warspite hovering nearby. Still, something about on this day seemed to bother her and she could not quite figure out why.

The blonde stepped through the corridors and even in slacks and a blouse she still seemed to strike some modicum of fear and discipline into the officers, sailors and marines here. While her subordinates carried out the tasks delegated to them. She approached the lift with arms folded the datapad tucked underneath her shoulder and hand went to the panel as she selected her level.

When the doors opened there were men in onyx clad armor. Black Talons, and with them Colonel Tennings giving them instructions. She walked through their rows with the same poise and grace she always had and just as they always had. A salute was given to her, "as you were marines, I'll trust you all to keep these stations safe. Carry on, Tennings, marines." Her words were brief as she crossed the upper platforms. The sounds of construction could be heard as she made her way through hollow walls, and corridors. Brentaal IV. Nice and neutral. The words of [member="Aver Brand"] or rather Dren Var Nabba as Fiolette knew her as crept into the back of her mind. It is nice and neutral Miss Var Nabba and perhaps that would be for the best.

She stepped into another lift, this one not seen by most. Still considered just a typical construction lift one used by the workers that would be disassembled once their work was done. Her hand worked the manual control, a hand behind her holding her datapad. A hiss of the lift's workings the shudder of the cables as it worked to crawl up into the rafters of an otherwise completed dome.

A small walkway extended to the lift. "I want this destroyed."

"Of course." The sound of an automated male voice acknowledged. "Doctor Rashad is here, Miss Yvarro."

"Good, tell her I'll be in the medical chamber shortly."

The walkway folded behind her as she walked into the small, secured chamber known to her as the Atrium. Silhouette of a V with a crown, the color was nearly the same as the black wall it was painted on. Doors hissed open as she walked inside. She put her coat up and walked through the entry, orange hue of the lights danced along the ground. "Miss Montague." Fiolette greeted in what looked to be a monitoring room, "anything?"

"Not yet, I'll let you know."

"I'll be in the medical chambers."

"Of course."

Medical Chambers.

Fiolette entered the strikingly bright white room, she let her annoyance fade as her eyes readjusted to the intensity. "Doctor Rashad." She called and watched as the dark haired woman approached. "Are we ready with the ocular implants?"

"We are, right this way."

 

[Azimuth Industries]

​

[member="Peyton Steele"] | [member="Cato Marek"] | [member="Aver Brand"] | [member="Slevin Thawne"]​

​

The ramp lowered. Four guards stood outside, rifles raised. Three Sullustans, one Zabrak. Common sights in the Alliance military. They probably pulled guard duty at this particular installation, or maybe they were local law enforcement. Either way, today was not their lucky day.

​

Pauul, pressed to the inner bulkhead of the shuttle, turned to the only Gran in the group of criminals and gave him a nod. The Gran's name was Pawnchee the Pugilist, Pauul's friend of the past five years, whom he affectionally called Punchy, because liked to punch things and people. Punchy also liked grenades. In fact, he had an entire bandolier of them wrapped around his chest and two in each hand.

Without preamble, Punchy tossed both of his grenades out of the shuttle and into the midst of the guards. They looked down just in time to see the grenades go off.

Boom.

​

​

​

Clearkill and his comrades disembarked. Their metal carapaces hit the ocean's surface with violent splashes, then they sank beneath the turbulent waves. Farther and farther they sank, the world around them becoming a vast murky expanse. Clearkill activated his dive scooter, as did they others, and they followed the Lowraiders and Executioners through the water until they bumped up against one of the enormous pylons holding up the facility above.

They swam up, eventually reaching the bottom of the facility. Clearkill activated his plasma torch and started to cut an entrance.

 

[Sal Katarn]

​

The cloaked shuttle landed on the roof of the palace - don't ask Sal how - he just knew that when he walked down the ramp with the rest of the cartel enforcers that he was standing on the roof. One of the enforcers ran a cord of detonite in a square shape along the roof. Sal took a few steps backward.

The detcord blew, creating a perfect square. The Coratanni and Sal jumped down through the new entrance and into the palace interior.

Katarn's feet hit the floor and his knees bowed to absorb the impact of the fall. He glanced around. Lot of expensive stuff. Dark wood architecture lining the doorways. Some sort of rare stone tile under his feet. Didn't recognize much of it. Didn't much care.

He unslung his rifle and let Emma lead. If he got the signal from the Hutt... well, he'd want to be behind her when he did it.

[member="Jyn Cvetkovic"] | [member="Joycelyn Zambrano"] | [member="Darth Lykos"]

 

[Joy]

​

Inside the vacuum sealed power armor, Akron was not too worried. Oh, sure, they might blow the freighter out of the sky, but his suit would survive it.

Probably.

He shifted and yawned.

"Lot of waiting, huh," said one of the younger mercs who hadn't seen much action.

Akron raised an eyebrow. "Most of war is waiting, kid. Best you take a leak before the shooting starts."

"What?"

"It's why I love these suits. The engineers thought of everything." Akron smiled wolfishly.

[member="Fiolette Yvarro"] | [member="Kovereg Artebayn"] | [member="Tytos Ardik"]

 

[Ugoto Chivaro]

​

[member="The Arkanian"] | [member="Slevin Thawne"] | [member="Aver Brand"]​

A few seconds passed by. The ship did not revert course. Tytos realized that, maybe, just maybe, he should have expected that. Usually the pilots weren't aware when they were smuggling crazed strike teams onto military dockyards. Apparently these were, and they were being paid enough to make whatever crash landing they were intending to. Or it was on autopilot. Rarely where droid pilots so sympathetic to the plight of the Bakuran orbital workers that they decided to disobey their programming. Tytos estimated he had maybe ten minutes before impact. And it would be an impact.

"They aren't stopping," someone observed. Tytos immediately turned to glare, prompting the ensign to drop his gaze.

"Of course they aren't," he said through his teeth. Tytos scanned his retinue for someone competent and eventually found him. "Call an evacuation."

It was quaint, in a certain way, that the first few times this ensign's mouth opened, no sound came out. No doubt he was trying to find words. Eventually he did. "Yes, sir."

These simpletons had no idea who they were dealing with. They never did. Tytos was beginning to suspect that what little influence he was going to be able to exert over these next few hours would be relegated to minimizing damage rather than preventing it. The station defenses were already responding to the approaching cargo ship. Turrets opened fire, peppering shields but doing little else. Landing bay doors began to close, but even if they did manage to shut in time, the cargo ship could likely barrel through them. The frigates were still crossing the system. They wouldn't be here in time.

Typical.

Alarms began to blare. Stormtroopers and station security were deployed to choke points to entrench and await further orders. E-Webs, shield projectors. The works. Things would go better if the enemy had to come to them instead of the other way around. Non-combat personnel were directed away from the impact area and to other parts of the station. The ones who could leave did so with great haste.

"Someone send the distress signal now."

They weren't going to be getting any real help, but following procedure was important.