The Queen's Festering Heart. [ Open to Alliance Heroes and SIS Operatives. ]

[LT-137]

Artwork Sourced From SW 1313 via the Verge.​

In the act of pushing back the One Sith from Coruscant, the Galactic Alliance had only driven their enemy further to ground. Like rats, they burrowed into the depths of the city-world, hiding in every shadowy alcove that could be found. They wore the faces of friends, and of enemies, each stalking through the artificially illuminated streets in the hopes of one day reclaiming what they rightfully believed was theirs. Thus, from the shadows, they would strike, slay those that they could to reap a bloody toll upon the occupying forces, to force their hand or abandon the world they fought so hard to 'liberate'. Those that had stayed behind when the bulk of the Army had left became recruiters, trainers, and double agents. They would ignite the fires that would once again consume the battle-scarred levels of Coruscant - unless brave Heroes of the Alliance and their shadowy counterparts in the Strategic Intelligence Service snuff out their vile spark... ​

In the waking hours after the Alliance had claimed Victory over the One Sith, thousands of the displaced had flocked to newly established aid stations in the hope of finding their loved ones, or some semblance of peace. Within hours, the facilities were overwhelmed with a staggering number of petitions - each crying out for help. Though the supplies were scarce, as the request for more had been made long before the swelling tidal waves of flesh and fear smashed into the pre-fabricated dispensaries, those that manned their posts did what they could to soothe their charge's worries. Through bandages, bacta, and discharged reports, the overworked Alliance Medics, Jedi Healers, and Considerate Volunteers had begun their arduous tasks anew.

As their wounded bodies were mended, the people of Coruscant beggared their saviors to find those that were lost. Be they among the living or not, they could no longer live with the agony of not knowing. Thus, in taking down their beloved's information and anything they could offer in the terms of when they had last been seen, report after report was sent to the myriad outposts dotting the world so that they could be processed by any available unit. With much of the previous administration's enforcement officers behind bars, due to the crimes they had committed against the people they were supposedly sworn to serve, the Coruscant Security Force was stretched unbelievably thin.

Sent in to bolster the ranks of the CSF, nearly a dozen fireteams of Strategic Intelligence Service Agents had been deployed into the lower levels of aptly renamed Galactic City. Each was tasked with various objectives to stem the tide of worrisome Missing Person(s) reports and to snuff out the Spark of Rebellion festering within the breasts of those swayed by the lies of the embedded Sith Soldiery. With this two-fold purpose in hand, the SIS began it's operation in tandem with the vetted, and proven loyal Officers of the CSF that could be spared.

Objectives:​

One: Provide Aid to the Denizens of Coruscant​

Though they are few, handfuls of Volunteers have arrived at the various pre-fabricated installations established on the surface - Alliance Command has asked that they are made useful by training them in the ways of the Healer or the Law. Through whatever means you can muster, help these disparate people reclaim their world.​

Two: Spark of Rebellion.​

During the twilight hours of the Invasion, many Soldiers of the One Sith Army had discarded their colors and began operating in the shadows. Flush them out before they can threaten the fragile stability the Alliance has been able to restore.​

[Relevant Link]​

Three: False Promises​

A slew of Missing Person(s) reports has garnered the attention of high-ranking officials in both the Galactic Alliance and the SIS. Concentrated within a several block radius of District 42 of the Underworld, Fireteam Aeacus has been dispatched to investigate. Assist the SIS Operatives as they seek the answer to this puzzling question.​

[Relevant Link]​

 

[Noah Corek]

Coruscant Lower Levels
Level 1313

Noah sighed as he, Ilona, Gideon and a DART member with the code name Worm, sat in a speeder in the lower levels. The lower levels were notorious for being one of, if not the most, corrupt and dangerous places in the galaxy. This of course made it one of the best places for One Sith stragglers and agents to linger in. Which was currently Noah's job to root them out.

Since the end of the Battle for Coruscant, the fourth in recent history, two battalions from the Galactic Alliance Marine Corps 1st Direct Action, Reconnaissance and Training Regiment, often shortened to the 1st DART Regiment, had been deployed to deal with these threats. The 1st, from Dulvoyinn, and the 6th, from Sullust, Battalion were deployed shortly after Coruscant had been retaken and so far they had been doing ALOT. They had been getting constant intel from SIS on where stragglers were being held at and usually a strike team of eight were sent out to neutralize each threat.

"Gideon, are you sure that SIS said that a high value target was here?" Noah asked as he took of his blast helmet and wiped his forehead. They were all basically dressed the same, short sleeved shirts, cargo pants, thigh holsters, tactical boots, tactical webbing over tactical blast vests with ceramic plate insertsto help stop slugs and tactical blast helmets to top it off. Gideon looked up from inspecting his new CCR-1 which all of them were armed with as well as his Tenloss M9-T11 that all of them were using as sidearms and snorted. "That's what the spooks said. Though you know what military intelligence is like." To this all the operators in the speeder chuckled and sat and waited for the action.

 

[Sal Katarn]

District 42
0900

"And who are you again?" croaked the Bladds the Gabdorin, ridge nostrils flaring.

The humanoid he spoke to, a male of about average height with long, unkempt dirty blond hair, shoved a badge in his face. Bladds went cross-eyed trying to look at it.

"Special Investigator. SIS," rasped the man, who sounded like he'd swallowed glass a few years back and his throat hadn't healed right - which wasn't far from the truth. He stuffed the badge back in his jacket and looked around Bladd's apartment with a peculiar set of amber eyes, though those were hardly as odd as the enormous shrike perched on his shoulder. "Neighbor's missing. What do you know?"

Bladds blinked. "You mean Vas? Not much. Nice kinda guy, kept mostly to himself. Worked a pawn shop out of his place, been closed though."

"Haven't seen him?"

"Well, no. During the Alliance attack he said this place wasn't safe. Told me he was going to try and find somewhere to lay low. Why did something happen to him?"

"Hm."

Bladds did not like the way the man was looking around at his apartment. Almost as if he expected he'd something to do with... well whatever happened. "Look, I barely knew the guy. He-"

"Human?"

"Well yeah."

"Single?"

"I think so, why?"

"Hm." The man nodded as if Bladds had just confirmed something.

"I'm sorry, what'd you say your name was?"

"I didn't," he growled, sniffing the air one last time before turning around and stalking toward the door. He paused in the archway, and looked back over his shoulder, a glance mirrored almost exactly by the shrike - which Bladds found very disconcerting. "Don't leave the planet."

The door hissed closed.

* * *

Humans, all of them.

Sal mused, lighting up a smoke as he walked down the glum, trash filled streets of District 42.

Single too, mostly.

Something didn't feel right. It wasn't that it was his first case after taking the job with SIS, or that he'd somehow found himself working the beat again. People went missing all the time after a battle. Most dead. Some hiding. He puffed on the smoke, embers glowing, smoke curling.

No, he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Just a gut feeling.

He glanced at the next name on his list - Hm. Suvarp Onarb - and started toward the address shown.

[member="Pravus Zambrano"]

 

[Sal Katarn]

Entry 1 -
Coruscant, Spark of Rebellion.

We all thought the drop onto the "Jewel of the Galaxy" would be the worst part. And it lived up to expectations. Sith Ack-Ack tore up a bunch of us. They were the lucky ones. Those who made it to the ground had to fight in the cityscape, with Sith around every corner. Mopping them up was a bear of a job, but after the army broke we thought our job was over.

The Sith didn't agree.

I know a few wealthy execs started funneling money into the 'rebuilding' efforts. They wouldn't have been able to keep two bricks together if we hadn't been out there, going door to door in the underbelly, ripping suspected terror cell members from their homes and shoving bags over their heads before carting them off to Alliance black sites. Didn't know what happened to 'em once they were in there, I was just a delivery boy, but we heard stories.

Life on Coruscant was like that for us Marines. Trained in close quarters combat and unfazed by tiny corridors or cramped rooms, we were the logical choice. Not that we saw it that way.

It was hell. The Sith'd been prepared to lose Coruscant. They knew we were coming and they were ready for us in the shadows, but we dove into the shadows anyway. Headfirst.

The following audio has been declassified. I've added in some descriptions of what I remember happening at the time.

~ ~ ~​

​

"1, 2, 3, Breach."

A loud bang splits the air, Sycom blowing the detcord around the door. It blows inward and we file into the room yelling. I nearly take a woman's head off as she comes out screaming, holding up arms and begging us to stop in a language I don't understand. The cybernetics wired into my skull process the words and now I know what she's saying, but it doesn't matter. I can't speak it.

Sycom shoves her back against the wall, sonic carbine trained on her while the rest of us clear the room. We find the droid hidden under a tarp and pull it out. It's deactivated, but it won't take our techs long to bring the thing back online and then download every kilobyte of data from its brain. I'm more concerned about the screaming woman.

Wouldn't be the first time the Sith'd used a civilian female as a bomber. Or - worse - the woman turned out to be an actual lightsaber wielding Sith. My scan with the bloodpack turned up nothing. Guess she wouldn't be electrocuting us with Force Lightning.

I turn to the Captain in charge of my unit as shouts of clear sound in our helmet mics. "Should we take her with us, Sir?"

"Absolutely. Thule, if there's one thing you'll learn it's that these people will use anyone, and I mean anyone, to bring us down. Bag her. Sycom, you're on the droid. Back to base, people. Don't want to spend any more time than we have to out in this cesspool."

[member="Darth Centax"]

 

[Pravus Zambrano]

Coruscant Underworld
Unmarked Address
Objective 3: Opposition to False promises

Fingers moved over the leather, meticulously searching every groove and bevel with purpose. Each binding, each strap, each inkling of character was something to appreciate and celebrate. Large eyes, lit with the amber glow of sconces and wonder, looked over the case as he picked at the brass brackets. Unclasping the belts, he lifted with concerted effort, revealing the glass tools, earthen ware, and personal grimoire of an aspiring alchemist. All secured and filled with days and days of hard work, he basked in the radiance of his own diligence. With the right turn down the right alley, everything an alchemist could ever need could be purchased with a slip of the proper currency. But there was something gratifying about foraging for the barest of necessities. In a city so bloated with unnecessary individuals, he was once a child in a candy shop. And now, he sat fat and happy for all the effort.

Untying the belt around a vile, he lifted it to eye level with the lick of the flame filling the transparent container with dull light. The glow gave way to the dark red fluid within, contained and preserved with the proper buffers. "Yes...yes! Perfect." The noise of his scratchy and nasally voice filled the stone room with enlightenment, exclamation of the lightest ascension from an otherwise darkened world. Coruscant had been ravaged by the war with the Alliance gently rapping, rapping on his front wooden door. And he paid them no mind, his stay upon the planet never dependent on the talking heads that ran the bureaucracy. Rules, laws, governance and the proper way to be a citizen, these things were none of his concern. Science and his own apotheosis, these were the only things worth his attention.

The emptiness of the room, filled with rusted tools and that hollow sinking feeling, overturned with the muffled tone of a wail. Like screaming underwater, Pravus lifted his head from the confines of the alchemist kit with an expression of excitement. One of his subjects was finally awake and coming to terms with their fate, ill as it may be. Shutting the briefcase and latching it back, he dragged it from the rotting table by the haggard handle. More scraping than walking, he shuffled across the floor and opened a chamber door. Lumbering down the stairs, he went to the symphony of expressed pain and the inevitable conclusions of his experiments. Everything was coming to fruition and for all he knew, the world could be falling down around him. It didn't matter now, he was so close to being finished.

Once the flight of stairs were defeated, he made a left turn down a hallway illuminated with dancing flames. An otherworldly wind filled the corridors with an origin unknown, creeping across the floor and clinging to the ceilings. The howling gusts conquered all but the mightiest of screams as one became many. And as he entered the large room, he found all of his specimens standing at attention. Strapped to tables but erected vertically, their eyes forced open upon waking, and compelled to look towards the center of the room. Where a pile of rats had been stacked, ever so carefully, to reveal the feast of insects that comes with decay.

Clapping his hands together, he lifted fingers upwards in joyful greeting. "Ladies, gentlemen! Thank you for joining me." Rags filled their mouths but the way their eyes searched the floor and each other, it gave Pravus hope. Hope that found nourishment in their fear. Some of them had already began to change, showing signs of the amalgamation of man and womp rat. One gentlemen donned the most expressive womp rat ear Pravus had ever seen. A female struggled in her position as she tongued a giant set of teeth that had sprouted from her upper jaw. One particular man caught Pravus' eye and he went to explore , equipped with grabby hands and wicked intention.

"You look quite well, sir." He stated calmly, masking disappointment, as he sat down next to the specimen, hunkered down heavily on a wooden stool. Pulling the metal cart over, he searched the unsorted pile of tools for a syringe. "Ah, here we are." A quick plunge of the needles and extraction of the plunger and Pravus had the blood he needed. Setting the object back down on the tray, he looked up towards the oddly stoic man. Irritation filled the alchemist as he stood up to full height, tall enough to look the man in the eye. With an accusatory finger, he waggled it in the face of the gagged man. "Why are you so...selfish! Can't you see I'm trying to accomplish something here!?" He swung his hand towards the other specimens. "See, they are all complying. What makes you so special!"

He took a deep breath and smiled, expression full of long teeth. "But don't worry. You immunity to disease only sharpens my senses. I will conquer your stubborn genetics, soon enough. And then, together, we're going to change the world." He reached up, warmly, as he patted the man on the shoulder with a gentle touch. The man turned away from him, staring obstinately at the wall. "You can't understand how important you are to me. Thank you for being a part of this. All of..." He turned towards the wailing cacophony of living mannequins. "...You."

Shuffling over to an electronic device, he cut on the music that so often filled this void. Classical. And as it filled the air with crisp personified intellect, he got to work on taking DNA and blood samples.

[member="Sal Katarn"] | [member="Naiad Solari"]​

 

[Sal Katarn]

District 42.

Spoiler

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IuFWKbFiQ1A

Two figures strolled down a block. One wore a ragged black poncho, the other dressed impeccably in pressed business casuals - every inch a security officer of SIS. They came to a stop in front of a house, a wooden door recessed in its frame, with a series of six steps leading down to it. Out front sat a sign, pinned crudely to the stone wall with a misshapen pipe.

​

"Providing safety for all of the afflicted​

We have food, shelter, and medical supplies
Please take sanctuary here as we ride out this storm
Ring bell and await reception"


The neatly dressed member of the pair nodded at the sign and started talking, voice nasally. "Seems a few people are doing the right thing in this district. Nice to see that every once in a while. Reminds you the galaxy isn't all murderers and glitbiters."

Sal Katarn closed his eyes. He'd known comming in to HQ on his hunch had been a bad idea. They'd set him up with a 'partner.' His name was Pa'al. There were many reasons Sal preferred to work alone. One of them was that partners tended to talk a lot. Didn't have any appreciation for the value of silence. Also, they tended to be pretty stupid.

"Mhm."

"Nice lead by the way, this Suvarp guy must have some idea what happened, running a refugee shelter and all."

"Yep."

"Wonder if he's still got any food. Stars, couldn't eat this morning after that Quay cult job last night. You hear about that?"

"Nope."

"Crazy stuff."

Katarn wondered how much this little hole in the wall cost per annum. Living space down here wasn't cheap. Funny how the rich got to enjoy luxury apartments up in the sky, while the rest of folks slummed it up in these tenements. Strange to think a good number'd probably never seen the sun.

Amber eyes ran over the chipped, decaying wood of the door and the bug eaten door. Seemed charity didn't pay too well. Who'd have thought...

He raised a hand from beneath his poncho and rapped on the door, if for no other reason than to shut Pa'al up.

[member="Pravus Zambrano"]

 

[Pravus Zambrano]

Click. Click. Click.

The objective turned. And turned and turned. Until it matched up just right.

Fingers, longer than any fingers should be, moved the focal length with a twist of the knob. With a flick of the light, bright white shined through the sandwiched specimen. A dab of blood was all it would take, smashed between two plates of glass, to determine the origin of such affinity. A drop of this dye, a drop of that, and red turned to blue. Modifications to the alchemist kit, the little things that made it better. As the light shined through the base, refracted through the specimens modified blood, all was made obvious to the man that looked through the lens.

"Oh my my my, quite spectacular...Mr...." He tapped his fingers against dented tin metal, big orbs of eerie drawing from the instrument up towards the stoic man. A few breaths, in and out, and he couldn't remember the name. Turning the folder over, he tapped the name tag with a methodical rhythm, agreeing with himself that he had known all along. "Mr. Jerimend: Quite an odd name. Peculiar that I couldn't recall it..." He looked back into the lens. "Must not have been too entirely important."

The specimen moaned, uncharacteristically. And seemed to rouse the cacophony in the others as the slow mumble began once more. Even more changes now, the painful shrieks of the transformation wer simply music to ride in tandem with the Korribian Symphony #7. Loray lifted his hand skywards just as the quintet of string instruments performed their solo. Slow, methodical, crucial to the tone of the piece. As if the conductor, his hand moved to and fro as the growl of the song erupted from strings and wax, played across the ceiling speakers of the inner chamber.

Just as the song was nearing its end, a lamp filled the room with a flash of white. And then another. And another. The pang of a metal chirp followed each one, lagging just moments behind. After the third, Loray looked up from the device with a face painted in irritation. "Blasted door sensor." Hand balled into a fist, he hit the desk, corresponding to another flash of white. Lifting his hand, he scratched his face and smiled. Abashed, he looked towards the specimen and patted him on the feet. "I'm terribly embarrassed. I forgot I was expecting company. I will be back in just a moment. Please stay right where you are."

Pushing his hands together, he looked around awkwardly. With a sheepish smile, he sealed up the kit and walked out of the room, closing the doors behind him. Thankfully, the noise of the prisoners would be canceled out due to the otherwise well constructed nature of the inner dungeon. And down the hall and the up the stairs he went, patting himself off as he closed the door to the inner room of the abode. The last place before the door. Fortunately, he had taken the time to clean up while his experiments slept off their sedatives. His living space was somewhat respectable, despite the dark tones and sconces that lit the room. And no one was as meticulous as Loray, not when the mania kicked in.

Clearing his throat, he looked through the peep hole. Squinting his eyes, he scratched his chin with an unkempt nail and leaned against the closed door.

"Good evening gentlemen. The hour is late. Can I help you with something?" The scratchy piercing character of his voice easily penetrated the thick door, providing obviously appropriate response to two strange men standing outside his door at an unruly hour.

[member="Sal Katarn"] | [member="Naiad Solari"] ​