The Wheel in the Sky Keeps on Turning (Open)

[Zark San Tekka]

Allies: [member="Bareesh Kajidic"] | [member="Coratanni Cartel"] | [member="Helix Syndicate"] | [member="Nadir"] | [member="Lysle of the Hydian Way"] | [member="The Slave"] | et al.
Enemies: [member="Popo"] | [member="Naast'ika Laaran"] | [member="Karsan Calnov"] | [member="Muad Dib"] | et al.
Objective: Arrive Fashionably Late
Personal Equipment: Voidstone Amulet, Electrum Plated ELG-3A Blaster Pistol, Czerka Adjudicator, Molecular Stiletto

Esfandia-class Carrier Corvette Beneath the Raptor's Wings
Besh Gorgon System
Attached NPCs: Exchange Black Hats

"I ssstill don't like thisss," Hakar shook his head stubbornly, allowing a small instinctive growl to escape when his words were met with a glare.

"This is beginning to grow tiresome," Ifan ben-Mezd, better known if he was known at all as the Prince, waved away his executor's concerns in annoyance, "We allowed the others a head start so that your concerns would be a non issue. They're probably just mopping up by now."

"Do not underessstimate a wounded Hutt," the Trandoshan fixer warned.

"I never underestimate anyone."

Hakar turned away so that Ifan would not see his doubtful expression. This close to the action, the rest of the Raptor's Wings' cramped bridge was buzzing with activity. The older model corvette served as their home away from home, and while they were a long way from the Crown Court on Point Nadir Ifan had imported some luxuries as if to remind himself of his opulence. A plush captain's chair was accompanied by the Prince's own hookah pipe, its smoke occasionally obscuring his otherwise commanding view of the corvette's bridge crew and a team of slicers hard at work.

They had arrived in system not long ago, drifting just beyond the Wheel's extreme weapons range. It was a position they could not afford to maintain for long, lest a responding Tenloss patrol were to notice and eradicate them, but it would be some time yet before the station's defense forces deemed them a high priority. He had just been about to order his men to cross that threshold so that their strike team could launch at a more optimal range when a most unusual sensor report sent a chill down his space.

"If this is some kind of idiotic joke, I will flay you alive," he said quietly, and when the ship's sensor officer shook his head furiously in terror, the Prince's own face turned ashen, "The Red Raven fleet, here?"

Lysle.

"We sssshould abort now," Hakar cautioned him, "We do not want to interfere with our betterssss."

"I'm afraid that's no longer an option," Ifan bowed his head, for the first time a hint of uncertainty creeping into his tone, "Welching on a deal with [member="Gorba the Hutt"] is one thing, but if the Ravens notice us and they tell Lys...tell him that we ran, we're kriffed and that's it. They'll send the Regulators after us and we'll be as good as dead."

Orbalisk Boarding Shuttle
Collision Course, The Wheel
Attached NPCs: Hakar, Exchange Tac Team

Ignoring the turbulence of their rapid approach, Hakar sharpened the edge of his Trandoshan double-blade. All around him, tactical operatives were checking their Firelances in similar last minute prep rituals, but the veteran fixer had been doing this long enough to know that they would in all likelihood get far more use out of their scatterguns today. Station fighting meant a lot of close quarters combat, and his cold blood sent a shiver up his spine in anticipation of the impending hunt.

"Coming up on the AO," he growled over their internal comms, "Brassse for impact."

Stowing his ceremional weapon, Hakar could not help but wonder if the rest of their crew aboard the Raptor's Wings would make it out alright. To give Hakar and his men a reasonable chance of penetrating the Wheel's defensive perimeter, the corvette had drifted perilously close to the ongoing engagement. It had been a calculated risk, but until the Esfandia-class cleared the area once more it would remain vulnerable to reprisal.

 

[Rakaan Horne]

The debate on whether crime paid, or if it didn't at all, continued to wage on. Kole, a criminal, knew that it did pay. Be it in credits, or in experience. In truth, a 'man' like Kole wasn't exactly loaded with all the credits in the galaxy, able to buy whatever woman he wanted to spend his lonely nights with. He simply got by as a reluctant criminal; the underworld swallowed him whole and he's seemingly trapped in the depths of it. Given up all hope, he resides in a state of purgatory. Angered.

Nothing but a goon.

It was today that he found himself integrated into one of the Exchange Tac Teams. His skills were useful, as was his temperament. A former CSF Detective and GA Special Operator, kicked to the curb after being framed. He ran, might just be cowardly. The truth is he was never a GA Special Operator, only made to believe that was the case through implanted memories. The skill set had simply been coded into him. It wasn't as if it made much of a difference anyways.

​From beneath the intimating equipment he adorned, a rather vacant stare was emitted. A slug thrower in hand, and detonators on the belt. It felt strange to be back to all of this, especially after all this time.

It's just another job. Temporary.

---

---

Equipment

Allies: [member="Bareesh Kajidic"] - [member="Coratanni Cartel"] - [member="Helix Syndicate"] - [member="Nadir"] - [member="Lysle of the Hydian Way"] - [member="The Slave"]

Enemies: [member="Popo"] - [member="Naast'ika Laaran"] - [member="Karsan Calnov"] - [member="Muad Dib"]

 

[Koda Fett]

THE WHEEL

---

---

This was just business. Any professional and prospective employer knew that much.

Hutt feuds weren't particularly uncommon, but then again it wasn't often that they reached in the infamous Wheel in the void that just kept spinning. Whether it would ever stop spinning was up for debate, and maybe it could spin faster under Gorba's control- perhaps even slower. The Mandalorian didn't care for it, only the credits he was being paid, and this time he was under the employment of Popo the Hutt. A ridiculous name to be sure, but one that carried weight in the galactic underworld, much like his own. Always feeling a certain change in aura once he steps in the room, a chill wandering up the spine of every wanted man. 'That's right, Fett's here boys.' It was often he silently mused inside his own mind. You didn't become the best in the galaxy for nothing.

​His booted feet further crunched shattered glass that rest on the floor. His Blaster Carbine freshly evicting the steam that came from his latest flurry of crimson blaster bolts. The very ones that entered the bodies of Gorba's expendable goons. Well, most of them were expendable at least. His cautious stance told the tale of a man who was ready, unyielding in his concentration and deadly demeanour. Civilians fled past him, their bodies moving in an uncontrollable manner brought upon by fear and desperation, but his keen eye stayed true, as did his helmet's sensors.

Legends plagued the galaxy in one form or another, and it was common for them to be members of the Galactic Underworld. The man further ahead of him was exactly that, a fellow Bounty Hunter who seemingly made his departure, but was in fact back in his stride. Bounty Hunter's often had their signatures expressed through weaponry and armour- Valentine's was easily recognisable for any man who kept his ear to the ground.

The Mandalorian had waded through the complex Valentine had careened through. Observing the destruction in his wake, the pod in the kitchen, the hole it created and soared through, and then the man himself. They stood at a distance, but visible to one another. Fett didn't take aim, he didn't act, he just stood there menacingly with his weapon in hand. Whether they fought or not was anyone's guess, but men like this never were too friendly.

Nothing personal. Just business.

---

---

Allies: [member="Popo"]

Adversaries: [member="Julian Valentine"]

 

[Mav Halo]

[member="Aver Brand"]​

​

“If you’re that concerned for our well-being, you could always oblige us and stick your head out of cover. Help us even up those odds.” A voice called back from behind the smoldering remains of a bodega, magnified over the sounds of conflict that were echoing through every level of the station now, lending the words a harsh and metallic ring. “Still, I’ll count myself flattered that you know who we are. Means we’re doing something right around here if we're getting fans of our work.”

There was a lapse of silence, filled with an unheard burst of encrypted chatter across a private comm channel, prompting a faint shuffle and shift of positions as the Mandalorians sought temporary spots to dig in. The fact that there was any noise at all painted a clear picture of how much of a slog it had been getting this far.

Kirff.

As days went, this was slowly making a case for one of the longest in Entye’s recent memory. For all their training and determination, Clan Shysa’s advance through the station seemed almost glacial. Seemingly forced to fight at every twist, turn and accursed inch of their route. Purchasing any and all progress on the back of a cacophony of blaster bolts. The worst of it was, most of the enemies they’d come across scarcely amounted to low level peons. Rent-a-thugs with cred store blasters. Poorly trained, poorly armed, yet well placed to take advantage of the station’s layout. Tying up her time and resources, making them look less like elite mercenaries and more like rank amateurs.

It was galling.

While she had yet to voice it aloud, her vode could sense her growing displeasure and irritation over the situation. Doubling their efforts, even though they knew that the true source of her ire was aimed at an entirely different set of armored shoulders.

Vizsla.

She clicked her tongue sourly, holstering her blaster to bring up her wrist display. Her expression unreadable beneath the t-visor, but her body language spoke volumes. Even Fett had swanned off somewhere now. Seemed the odds really weren't in their favour today. So much for the shot at a quick and easy pay day. Now she wasn't even sure she was even getting paid.

For Clan Shysa, there was little exaggeration in saying that loyalty began and ended with a contract. Nothing set a mind to a purpose like the prospect of cold, hard credits.

Her contract had been with Ronan, who had subsequently abandoned them while the proverbial ink was still wet on the page, leaving its current status in question. The primary reason why it had taken them this long to advance this far. Without his troops to back hers…

In turn, it was the only reason she was willing to even humour the disembodied voice that called out from the flickering gloom ahead, buying herself and her troops time to dig in and perhaps take a well-deserved breather if nothing else.

“Might as well go ahead and make your offer now, Areutii. This day ain’t getting any younger and, in case you haven’t noticed, we’ve all got places to be and more than a few graves of our own to dig. Best be setting to it, 'lek?”

 

[Popo]

Location: Hangar Bay Hub A connecting to Bays 1-4
Allies: [member="Entye Shysa"] [member="Ronan Vizsla"] [member="Koda Fett"] [member="Muad Dib"] [member="Arabella Darkhold"] [member="Zesiro"] [member="Naast'ika Laaran"] [member="Anya Malvern"] @Simone
Enemies: [member="Gorba the Hutt"] [member="Smeg"] [member="Nadir"] [member="Coratanni Cartel"] [member="Sal Katarn"] [member="Bareesh Kajidic"] [member="The Slave"]
Unknown: [member="Ember Rekali"]
(If I missed you, you're either a 3rd party that isn't on my radar yet or I legit missed/misplaced you on the list)


The problem with combat was that it was chaotic at best and impossible to discern at worst, and that was gauging it at a glance. For the moment, Popo was quietly amazed not at the situation at hand, but rather those in it. Hutt battle armor wasn't exactly a new thing, yet it was evident that the two combatants in question had more or less... missed out on that portion of whatever briefing, if any, they were given. Hutt battle armor floated on repulsors giving even the fattest and slowest Hutt in the galaxy the ability to zip around at various speeds. In addition, how the one combatant who clearly thought he was invisible, either because lack of neurons or sincere belief in whatever ability or technology he utilized, was able to fire fifteen or so shots in the blink of an eye from a weapon that clearly only held eight shots in the clip was beyond him. The shell Hutt wasn't sure if he should be dumbfounded or merely amused.

The Hutt he'd fired at had dodged most of the fire courtesy of the aforementioned repulsors and the typical wraparound HUD vision the helmet gave, though from the vehement swearing it was clear that at least one shot had hit home and done some damage somewhere. The Hutt warrior was cursing up a storm, however, which meant it wasn't really a worry for Popo. The clanHutt was clearly still able to fight if he could rattle off horrible things he wanted to do to whoever had shot him. Thankfully, there was enough of a lull in the fight as his men outflanked the lone gunman that he could respond to the transmission from Ember Rekali.

"It really seems to boil down to greed in the end, I guess," the Hutt said with the tone of a verbal shrug. "The initial bid stays the same, but I'll add this: I'll cover the refit and rearmament for your fleet for this engagement and cover your overhead, any overhead, for the next month. Down to the last paycheck, bolt, and roll of toilet paper. Thirty days solid starting after the initial rest and refit of this fight. In addition I'll offer a priority supply contract for the M1-01 powered armor for clan Rekali, plus a pair of the Phrik plated variants for you to give to whomever. You break one, you lose one, you're first in line for replacement for both the full suit and any parts."

Popo flicked on the electrostaff as he moved towards [member="The Slave"] before him. He had no fear of the interlopers weapons or any abilities he had at his fingertips. Skill versus skill, which the Hutt was completely okay with. A level playing ground, all things considered.

"Lastly, I don't know what the 'mighty' Gorba offered you, but I'll say this. Win or lose, and I don't intend to lose... This little spat of a turf war he's attempting won't end here. He started it, I'll end it. It might take a month or a year or a century, but I'll burn him out of every drug den, spice mine, and all-you-can-eat buffet across the galaxy for his transgression. Whatever he's offering, you can have it once I rip it from his corpse and use his hide as my personal seat cover. You can also consider clan Rekali to have first pick of all real estate, scrap, or loot from any and every place I burn to the ground of his, whether or not you're there to help the fight. I don't want his stuff, I don't need his stuff. And if you take my bid and I can't provide it..."

Popo pondered a moment before continuing, his staff and body held in a clear challenge to the tiny being before him. Today was the day that could and would change everything. Nothing would ever be the same and he could promise the galaxy to anyone he wanted, but he knew that those he gambled with today knew the difference between word and action. Top it off with they knew Tenloss and himself had lain dormant for long enough to warrant an umprompted attack such as this... What happened today and onwards would make or break the Wheel, Tenloss, and himself. It was time, for once, to put it all on the line.

"... Its yours. All of it. Barring a handful of designs that are personal favorites of mine, you'll get it all."

The old Hutt took a deep breath before letting it out slowly.

"If you side with me, and I fail... Tenloss is yours."

 

[Gorba the Hutt]

Very far away

Space.

Gorba slurped down the last pickled toad in the jar and noisily sucked his fingers clean.

"Fre-"

The word stuck in his throat, he was not used to saying it.

"Free repairs at Kwenn Station, and the Wheel - once it is mine. Point Nadir will match, I am sure. Beyond that, . . . hmph. Experimental missiles from a munitions factory I opened, spice, money. And of course, the location of your grand daughter. Back the winning pod. His situation is hopeless."

Turning his attention to his majordomo, Brutus, Gorba gave a wave of his hand.

Best to have Plan Besh in place.

[member="Ember Rekali"] | [member="Popo"]

 

[Simone]

Location: In a hangar somewhere, inside this
Allies: [member="Popo"] and co
Enemies: [member="Helix Syndicate"] [member="Bareesh Kajidic"] [member="Arken Lussk"]
Objective: Defensive slicing.

Jeremy the battle bot had made a grave mistake, for not only was Simone’s armour energy resistant, so his electric shock did nothing except alert her to his presence, but she was in a really bad mood. The glow of the HUD was hauling her migraine past the threshold of her painkillers. She reached her left hand behind her back, the huge powered gauntlet seizing the small droid and hauling him off her back with incredible strength.

She held it at eye level and brought the right arm level with it, the rail gun rising from its housing. “I’m a little busy to be dealing with pests. So stay put, don’t try anything dumb and if you’re a good droid, I won’t destroy you entirely.” The gauntlet tightened, enough to start putting dents in its housing.

Now, where was she?

She ran her eyes over the tracer, narrowed it down to an area, but not pinpointed the exact location yet. Firewalls were her primary focus, she would keep them at bay, for just a little longer.

 

[Ember Rekali]

[member="Gorba the Hutt"] [member="Popo"] [member="Nadir"]

As the Hutts finished their offers, Ember stood from his command chair and signaled the comms officer to turn it all off. If the Hutts or other parties hailed him again, so be it. They could wait. He wasn't going anywhere.

"Tightbeam audio transmission, Rekali ships only."

"Ready, ba'buir."

Ember went up to the Like Hell's front viewport. The Corsair flotilla had the Wheel surrounded, and the station's guns struck him as listless. He'd spent time on the Wheel, knew how automated it was - maybe that system was at risk of collapse or cooptation.

"Cousins, both sides have offered us a fortune. The Bareesh Kajidic has also offered us the location of my granddaughter, Master Mira Rekali. We don't leave family behind, not ever, but we can't allow our people to become bargaining chips. That would make all of our families into targets, more than they've ever been before. So I've decided to take door number three. I'll need your full attention. Fire only when and at what I designate, and we'll see this day clear yet.”

He nodded to the comms officer and the intership transmission clicked off.

“Give me Popo.”

“Go, ba’buir.”

“Lord Popo, you make a handsome offer and you've carried the day. Clan Rekali will fight for you. Our scans indicate the bulk of the action has moved into the station and your defense systems are being seriously compromised. We'll buy your people as much time as we can on home ground.”

Ember gestured sharply across his throat.

“Now give me Gorba.”

The interstellar call took a couple of minutes to set up again. Ember spent that time tapping out fleet-wide firing priorities in a tactical holotank.

“Lord Gorba, Clan Rekali does not make a habit of leaving family behind. Family is all we have and are. I have no choice but to accept your offer, Clan Rekali will fight for your coalition, but we'll have words someday soon about using my family as a bargaining chip.” He raised his voice. “All ships, fire on the Wheel. Ion cannons only.”

They did so. Eight Mandal Hypernautics heavy cruisers unleashed ionic hell toward the Wheel Smaller Corsair ships would doubtless get caught in the bombardment. That was pretty much unavoidable, and the Rekali gunners weren't actually trying to avoid it. On the contrary.

The Wheel was far too massive for even the Rekali fleet to disable right away. Nevertheless, plenty of combatants on both sides would now find themselves fighting without gravity, in the dark. (OOC: Popo has given me permission to call the hit and disable his station.)

“Lord Gorba, I would appreciate the location of my granddaughter. Now.”

 

[Gorba the Hutt]

Gorba's eye flicked to his remote tactical feed, which currently displayed a maelstrom of blue bolts pounding the station.

His station.

He could only imagine the amount of electrical damage the bombardment was wreaking on the Wheel's systems. How... unfortunate. The Hutt tongued the scar crevasse in his lip, then looked back at the feed to [member="Ember Rekali"].

"Mm? Aah. She's on the station your ships are currently firing at."

 

[Julian Valentine]

- | Nice Day To Go To The Pub | -

The wide-fined helmet of Julian Valentine was a symbol and the pillar upon which his reputation stood. He was no beast like his former student Ghorua the Shark; he was human. Born and bred on Corellia and trained to be a killer by the corps and the Ravens. Some called him Hammmerhead, but friends called him Valentine. The semi-circle at the center of his helmet glowed a hot red. White streaks bled from the glow and stroked down to the long thin chin. A cycler rifle was held over his shoulder and the muzzle was smoking. Nexu leather wrapped over his shoulders and crossed at his chest. Bandoleers and holsters were sported all over. The Bounty Hunter was armed to the teeth.

The kitchen had grown quiet. Blaster shields had activated and closed the hole his escape pod made in the viewport when he first crashed, preventing vacuum from sucking them all out. He had finished rifling through the corpses and was still browsing his datapad when the Mandalorian entered the canteen. Valentine noted his arrival but paid him no heed. If he was eager for a gunfight he would have already shot. No, Valentine felt that he had time. This wasn't some run-of-the-mill Mandalorian hot-shot smuck wetting his panties for a fight. This was a different kind of breed. A familiar breed.

The floor was vibrating from the noise below them. Not all parties on the wheel had stopped. Some revelers were so high on spice and intoxicated that they could not discern the reality around them. The noise was leaking through into the kitchen and a band could be heard singing and playing in the cantina on the floor below them. "Not a bad song," Valentine commented and then turned his head to stare at Koda Fett, "I know what you're here for - definitely not to talk. You've got that stance about you, ready..." Julians eyes darted to the blaster in Fetts hand, but rather than ready his own weapon Valentine placed the cycler rifle into its shoulder strap and rested it across his back hands-free.

"If you don't mind," Valentine said and with his gloved hands up he showed a form of submission to Fett, that no, he would not harm him. "I want to check that," he said, pointed at a datapad on a stone kitchen counter and walked right next to Fett, just a little over an arms length away. Valentine was standing between him and the counter. He knew Mandalorian armor, hard to puncture with slug or blaster, but ancient warriors had long since found ways to kill armored knights. Not with a sharp sword, but a blunt mace. Not much had changed in the art of war. Valentine picked up the datapad, turned to Fett and said, "Excellent."

As the last syllable dripped from his lips he was already in motion. Time seemed to slow with the onset of adrenaline in Valentine. Cloak pulled back and where clothed fleshy legs should have been, Julian had mechanical prosthetics. They were thick and powerful. Pistons fired. Hydraulics shifted. The durasteel knee bent, thigh raised, and the metal-hard foot aimed squarely for Ketts diaphragm. The leg extended outwards. Julians hands dropped the datapad and reached for the counter-edge, gripping them for balance. His mind was racing, while his body was still in its first motions of attack he was already planning his next move, if he had hit Fett in the diaphragm it would knock the wind out of him as the diaphragm goes into spasm. Winded, Julian would slap the blaster from the Mandalorians hand, reach up, grab his helmet and slam his head down onto the stone counter top. That was, if his kick landed its target.

 

[Koda Fett]

​

Tick of the Clock​

​

​Mandalorians, in the eye of the common people, were rather indistinguishable. The armour was the same in it's design, unless you were an alien. The scuffs, scratches, dents and more remained a constant. Perhaps the colour scheme is what set them apart from one another. Warriors, Crusaders, Hunters, and Killers. That is what a Mandalorian should be. Instead, in these current times they focus less on what it means to be Mandalorian, and instead on their peace- for however short it lasted in a galaxy at war. Koda found himself exiled for disagreeing with their terms. He always was one for bold actions. The trade of bounty hunting never left him, though.

Reputation is all that matters to a man such as Fett. He has no friends, no family, no enemies either. Instead, he has contacts, associates, and adversaries. It is simply the way a Bounty Hunter's world works. The Clone emerged at the top, but at a cost. Valentine's protege had stared down the barrel of Fett's blaster, and he understood all that was Koda Fett. His prices were reasonable, his reputation was earned. It may be that Valentine learned the same lesson here, today. In the crucible of the Wheel.

Koda merely stood still as Valentine made his passive movements. In the outside, Fett appeared calm, collected, and unsuspecting. The truth, however, is that on the inside the Exile was cautious, awfully aware and entirely distrusting. If there was one thing Koda knew about being a bounty hunter it was that lulling an opponent into a false sense of security provided more advantages than one can poke a stick at. Fett never bought the bait.

​It should of been to no surprise that Valentine acted in such a manner. Their short lived peaceful moment in which Koda offered no words was surely not going to last. As time seemed to slow for Julian, it did the same for Koda. Only he focused on what was thrust in his direction. A metallic foot. Suppose Valentine had really caught Fett off-guard. That was a first in a long time. Yet, Fett's blaster was released from his grip, simply dropped as it was to be caught in it's sling that wrapped around the upper portion of his body. The foot that may of crushed another man, broken through all his defences, found itself in the grip of the Mandalorian Bounty Hunter. His crushgaunts aiding in his strength to an incredible level. The equipment capable of crushing bone, bending metal and so on. Although, it was still a powerful kick from a powerful piece of hardware. Fett's booted feet tensely slid across the flooring in a slow manner, inch by inch. Beneath his helmet his teeth were clenched, his face turned to a scowl. The latter was nothing new for him.

The following moments were unexpected. Even for both parties. The lights kicked the bucket, but not the one Fett wore on his head. A sensation of weightlessness took control, and the Mandalorian's feet departed the ground. As he pushed against Julian, who had seemingly locked himself into the ground, he began to float away- drifting. His helmet began cycling optics, eventually being able to pierce the darkness with his gaze. His hands rushing back to the blaster that rest against his chest.

 

[Julian Valentine]

-| ENGINETICA |-

Valentines foot launched at Fett, but Julian was already in the motion of slapping away the blaster that Fett had just dropped and pulled at the sling it was attached to. Damn. His foot came to a halt in Fett's hands. Julian tried to pull back but the foot was secured tight in the crushgaunts. Valentine activated his maglocks knowing full well how easy it could be for Fett to throw Valentines leg and unbalance him. His left leg was now planted and sealed to the floor, he wasn't going anywhere.

In a flash Julians MT-14 twin blasters were unholstered from his Nexu leathers and firing a volley at Koda at near-point blank range, aiming for the exposed limbs that his beskar'gam did not protect. It wouldn't do much but scorch and scratch the paint if it hit the beskar. His fingers slapping the triggers. The red semi-circle of his helmet glowed bright red then flashed green as the lights blinked out.

The lights flashed, shuddered and all went dark. He felt his body become light and his stomach protested at the sudden lack of gravity. With the night vision of his HUD he could still see Koda clearly. The Mandalorian pushed against him and released, Julian planted his foot back onto the ground and took a careful step back, the blasters returning to their holsters.

By the time Koda was able to manage to kick in his own night vision and grab his blaster, Julian had vanished from the room. A perfect circle was now cut clean through the floor and a dark pit had swallowed him. Valentine had quickly used the moment of surprise to use his Browncoat Utility Belts laser cutter and carve a path through the floor of the kitchen and ceiling of the cantina below. The screaming of revelers was louder, but they were exhilarated and not frightened. The sudden zero gravity was welcome with glee from the high party-goers.

Julian was wading through the densely packed revelers, the only one who had his feet planted on the ground. With the click of a button the holographic projector on his utility belt activated and suddenly Julian Valentine was no longer Hammerhead. He looked like a female Twi'lek with orange skin and a curvy figure. The near-perfect hologram was scantily clothed and blended in well with the revelers. The maglocks deactivated and Julian joined the crowd, immersing himself. He was now any other party girl here for a good time. Koda would come to find him and Julian would ambush him.

 

[Koda Fett]

​

Tick of the Clock​

​

The Mandalorian could of done best to squeeze down as hard as he could against Julian's metallic leg, crushing it within his grip and rendering it useless. Instead he simply fought back against the strength of it until the gravity kicked out. His send back was aided by the forceful impact of Bolts. Fortunately, Fett wore a power armour liner. This liner shirt had a micro energy field projector and two layers of thin ceramic plates, in order to disperse physical and blast impacts. Of which he had faced from Valentine just then. Drifting slowly, coming into use of the night vision as well as his Carbine. His grip tensed around the weapon- that scowl remained persistent.

As his adversary vanished from view, his helmet immediately emitted a scanning pulse as his gaze was glued to the level below him. The edges, the people, all of it became encompassed in an orange digital hue as an outline made all of it ever apparent. Identifying the Droid, or Alien helmet wearing Valentine as only he paraded across the floor, soon to transform himself into that of a voluptuous, orange-skinned Twi'lek that was to join the rest upon detaching from the floor. Of all the things to be, he chose a beautiful woman. Perhaps in the next life.

Fett elegantly swam through the space around him with the use of his jetpack, a soft roar echoing through- but not quite loud enough. Only one short burst until he was able to snatch a hold of the flooring itself. One hand after another, he pulled himself along until he could reach the perfect circle left by Valentine. With the Julian's disguise being marked by Fett's HUD, there was no mistaking. He couldn't afford to make one. He edged himself closer, ready to venture forth into the level below.

A final blast of his jetpack and he entered the room with perhaps unexpected speed and recklessness, or so that may be how it was perceived. However, Koda's right hand firmly held the Blaster Carbine he had so famously utilised pointed directly at Julian from the millisecond he entered the room, firing with the precision of a hardened veteran as fast as his gloved finger could slam down upon the trigger. His left arm raised, too, sending an arc of fiery flame in his direction also. As he moved through the air he rotated himself till he was turned upright.

Whilst Fett's feet touched the ground the mag-lock kicked in after he simply muttered, "Mag." Beneath his helmet, activating the voice command. Ceasing his fire as he shifted himself behind a dividing wall. Activating one last scanning pulse as he stared in the direction of his adversary, not only trying to follow along with the marker but a entire bodily view of each and every movement.

 

[Ugoto Chivaro]

AHAKISTA
UNDISCLOSED LOCATION

Servomotors chugged noisily with the effort of moving colossal durasteel blastdoors. When the part was exactly wide enough, Processor A-99-507139 marched rigidly through the doors and into the bustling chamber. Rows upon rows of supercomputers stretched before him, punctuated by the occasional control station. 507 cut straight through the main corridor and walked for precisely 12 minutes, turning precisely on his heel when reaching the sub-corridors he needed to pass through to arrive at his own control station.

Everything 507 was strict in its precision. This was said of all Processors. He passed several of his peers from Divisions Besh and Cresh on his way. Their gaits and posture were indistinguishable. Most other people within and without the Helix Syndicate could only differentiate Processors based on their peculiar facial cybernetics. For everything else, their jumpsuits had their designation, unit, and a colored patch for their division printed over the right breast. Processors did not dress to impress, nor did they particularly want to. After the surgery each and every one of them was forced to undergo, their only want was to serve the Syndicate.

507 reflected that, in his previous life he might have loathed this lack of freedom and individuality. But his previous life had also consisted mostly of hard drugs and screaming racial slurs at passing aliens. The bits he remembered, anyway. After running a thorough calculation based on this information, 507 determined that his current status was much improved. Service to the Syndicate was service to a higher cause. It was a more enriching existence. In his previous life, he marked his progress in drug consumption and assaults carried out. Now 507 had much more impressive undertakings on his resume.

Today he would add the remote capture of The Wheel's security systems to it.

His assigned control room was one of the smaller in the Pyramid, but it was no less robust. Large consoles projecting streams of data - most of it incomprehensible for the un-Processed - lined the circular walls. All the stations lacked chairs, as Processors did not tire easily and preferred to stand. The other three members of Unit 99 had waited dutifully for his arrival. A-99-277471 was the only one to acknowledge 507's entrance, her head turning slightly so 507 was in her field of view. 277 was a Themian. This was the extent of 507's knowledge on his coworker.

277 spoke, a stream of static that anyone without specially attuned audio-receptors would perceive as nothing. "VGhlIG1vcm9ucyBhcmUgaW4=," she said, which probably meant something along the lines of, "The agents of the Bareesh Kajidic have begun uploading the AI despite our predictions of their inevitable failure. We are awaiting further orders."

507 observed one of the data streams and noted that the upload was 25% completed. Then it fluctuated randomly between 27 and 23 percent. 507 inquired as to why.

A different Processor, A-99-162157, now noticed the presence of his commander and promptly answered, "RW1iZXIgUmVrYWxpIGlzIGJlaW5nIGEgZGlja25vc2U=." One might approximate this as roughly meaning, "A fleet led by the mighty Warlord Ember Rekali has arrived on the scene and is bombarding the Wheel with ion weapons. The power fluctuations seem to be interfering with the upload process."

Yes, the power fluctuations would be a problem and limit the effectiveness of Unit 99's inevitable control over the security systems. But the Master-Com mainframe was doubtlessly more robustly protected from such attacks than the rest of the station. The upload would proceed as planned. Unless, of course, there was some sort of concerted opposition from the cyber security team on the Wheel. Doubtful. They were probably dead, fled, or without power by now. But 507 asked anyway, since he had to be sure.

"U29tZSBwaW5rIGJpbWJvIHdpdGhvdXQgYSBjbHVl," said 277, giving a shrug of her shoulders. She had explained, of course, an anonymous agent of Tenloss was locked up in a power suite that had access to the computer systems. But that agent was screwing around with the virus the Kajidic had unleashed in the systems that prompted a hard reset. In other words, a virus that had long served its purpose. Whether or not she successfully expunged it was irrelevant.

There was nothing she could do to stop the upload of the AI, which was being done directly at the Master-Com mainframe. Not unless she personally went to re-secure it from the Kajidic thugs. Once the AI's upload was complete, Unit 99's connection to the Wheel would be secure enough to manipulate the security systems to their whim. In the meantime, it would still be better if this agent was not connected to the Wheel's systems to begin with. If only the Helix Syndicate had someone with direct access to the heart of these systems, and could sever any and all tertiary connections at will.

oh wait​

507 stepped over to his own station, "QmVnb25lIHRob3Q=," he intoned. This meant, roughly, "Use our advanced and secure communications technology to transmit instructions to the gentlemen from the Kajidic so they can remove the slicer's access to the Wheel's systems."

---​

​

In the quaking heart of the Master-Com Systems, the fax machine closest to Jimi began belting out several sheets of flimsiplast. The logo of the Helix Syndicate was printed conspicuously in the corner.

[member="Bareesh Kajidic"] | [member="Simone"]​

 

[Azimuth Industries]

THE WHEEL
MASTER COM SYSTEMS

​

​

​

​"Aw kriff!" Jiimi said, throwing his hands in the air. "Someone's trying to stop teh virus And they're good too."

Pauul's antennae twitched. "Yeah? Well theyz ain't plugged into the mainframe. Fix it ya' triangle head."

"True. And the virus already did its work. Let 'em try. Bigger problem is with this upload. I'm running into some problems with this thing. Like I don't. How? I don't..." Jiimi turned, eyes even bigger than usual.

LeFrange glared daggers, then pulled out and uncapped a vial of sulfur, which he snorted up one nostril. "Ok. Ok." He shook his head rapidly. "Ok. Look, what we gotta do is-"

Abruptly, a fax machine started printing out pages. Zatax picked up a page.

"What's it say?" Jiimi asked.

"I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know."

"I can't read."

"You can't-" LeFrange ripped the flimsiplast from Zatax's reptile hands and stared at it. "Huh. Its instructions... from Helix. Check this out, Jiimi."

Seconds later, the Bareesh Kajidic goons continued with the upload of the A.I.

Suddenly, the whole room shook as if from an earthquake. Everyone started yelling. Suddenly paneling from the roof blew apart and exposed electrical wires coursing with voltage dropped from the ceiling and engulfed Zatax in a tangle of cords. Billions of volts ripped through the Vodran's system and he screamed as the smell of burning flesh filled the room and smoke rose from his electrocuted body.

"Holy kriff," shrieked Jiimi, "Zatax!"

The Vodran didn't respond, body hanging limply in the tangle of electrical wires.

"Kark me. . . . Kark me." Jiimi stared stunned at the body for a few more moments before LeFrange whacked him.

"He's dead, Skraambles. And we will be too if you don't take care of this. Can we still upload the A.I.?"

"Y-yeah. Looks like most of the systems on the station are compromised, power is failing to entire sections, but we're... we're in the mainframe." Jiimi took a deep breath. "Uhm. Yeah. Yeah. We can still upload. And with the instructions from the Helix guys I don't think we have to worry about that hacker."

"Good."

[member="Simone"] | [member="Helix Syndicate"]

ELSEWHERE. . .​

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SPACE​

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Not so very far away.​

​

​

​

General Grothma, leader of the Bareesh Kajidic's army, was on a holoconference call with a Givin.

"Your request for resources for this mission is simply excessive. I cannot approve such an alarming expenditure of funds, you buffoon," said the baleful-eyed skeleton.

Grothma pounded the conference table with a massive fist. "Really, Ni'gel, Resources? RESOURCES?"

"Yes. You already have operatives in the field, any further would be simply excessive."

Beady eyes stared out from the Cragmoloid's face and he flapped his ears furiously. "We have five people from the ENTIRE kajidic in the field. One of them," he smacked the table again, this time with his trunk. "One of them isn't even Kajidic!"

"Ah, right, the mercenary bounty hunter, Sal Kabob, or whatever his name was," simpered Ni'gel before his voice abruptly turned to a sneer, "Do you know how high that disgusting piece of grease's bill is? It's practically extortion."

"This. Is not. A. Discussion," Grothma bit out. "Gorba himself gave the order. Now give the clearance for the fighters to be paid."

"He did? Well why didn't you say that to begin with, you giant eared oaf."

Ni'gel was only like this over holoconference, when they were separated by millions of kilometers of space and he knew that Grothma couldn't break his puny exoskeleton with a single stomp.

"There. Your funds are approved. Have fun storming the castle."

"It's not a castle it-"

Click.

Ni'gel had hung up.

[member="Ember Rekali"] | [member="Popo"]

 

[Muad Dib]

The song of battle filled the Mad Man known as Muad Dib. He danced around and within the whales in armor that managed to survive the devastation of crashing into the ground. Even so they were worthy opponents. Flames flickered around due to [member="Anya Malvern"] creating the firestorm. The telekinetic display of power from [member="Zesiro"] crushed transport and whales alike without mercy. This was battle between combatants with no Innocents nearby, so deadly force was used. The mind manipulation from [member="Arabella Darkhold"] still clouded their minds.

And so Muad danced within the carnage.

Beskad found itself in his hand, biting deep into joints as the blue lightsaber carved clean though leaving no tell tale spray of blood due to the super heated blade. As the force flowed through him he was a blur of a demon that sped through the ranks, no morality needed in the moment to stay his hand. Yet even as destruction rained down upon the Shamu rejects he caught a glimpse of a few of them breaking for the corridors, their weapons firing as they went deeper into the Wheel.

"Bella, Zes'ika, Any'ika, finish these whales then catch up. I'm chasing the others."

And chase he did.

The wake of dead was an easy path to follow. Sprinting to close the distance he rounded the corner and saw them ahead. Firing the propulsion in his boots his left hand went to his waist and unslung the bes'briik, a twirl of the wrist and he launched the chain out to wrap around the legs of one of the massive beings in the rear. Then he collided with the Shamu's back, tottering him forward onto the floor.

Rolling muscles reached down and snatched up the weapon, the fireworm, and aimed it at the backs of the others in front of him. Grunting at the weight he fired and watched as the weapon discharged ahead of himself and into the whales.

[member="Nadir"] I [member="Popo"] I [member="Mira Rekali"]

 

[Julian Valentine]

- | Come and Get Some | -

Koda Fett, or to Julian Valentine, the unknown Mandalorian that was trying to turn him into mince meat, rocketed into the cantina and instantly the room was ablaze with blaster rounds. There was screaming and this time not from delirium and ecstasy. The rounds made a ting, ting, ting! sound as they hit the fins of Julians helmet. The hologram sputtered and vanished, revealing the bounty hunter. The durasteel wings of his helmet were blackened and charred but intact.

Valentines eyes darted, entering commands to the software within his helmet. His microphone to the outside had been muted as he spoke to himself inside the helmet. "Valentine to Paragon, grab my coordinates," Julian angrily demanded through his commlink back to his ship. There came a moment of silence and the HRD Willow replied, "Acquired, sir."

A tide of flames surged at Valentine, he activated his maglocks and quickly fell to the floor, deactivated and kicked away, floating away and smashing into the crowd of revelers now screaming in horror and some burnt alive. The tanned Nexu Hide was burnt, his helmet covered in ash, but he was otherwise unharmed but jarred. "Fire the Paragons missiles on my coordinates." He grappled with the crowd as they tore at each other in a poor attempt to escape, but without gravity they were struggling.

The screaming had reached a crescendo when something more sinister occurred. An explosion ripped through the wall of the space station that joined to the cantina. Suddenly a speeder-sized hole was present, the flames flooded in followed by the kinetic shockwave. Just as quickly as the flames had surged inwards, they vanished outwards - and so did the entire room. Now turned to vacuum, space was sucking everyone and everything out of that hole.

Julian activated his maglocks, dozens of bodies were crashing past him, screaming as they were sucked into the void to their deaths. He fell to a crouch, head down, and shot his grappling hook at the ground and quickly wrapped the cord around his fist, keeping himself steady as the vacuum finished sucking everything out and the room had been totally depressurized. "DD-S1 on me, Lysle, NOW!" Julian nearly screamed into his commlink in a rage. He needed Popo and this Mandalorian filth was stopping him. He wasn't here to fight some hot shot, he was here for a slug. His eyes darted in his helmet and reactivated his mic.

His head looked up to see what was left of the room. Tables and chairs were gone, and the lifeless corpses of the revelers were beyond the blast shields now activated, sealing the breach, floating in the void beyond the ruptured hull. He untwined his wrist and cut the cord with his Czerka knife. He didn't see where Koda was, or if he even was still in the room, but he addressed him anyway. "You're really starting to tick me off, mate." He flipped the knife and reversed the blade, "And if that didn't suck you into the void - if you don't kark off now - then you're going to wish it did."

Valentine stood to his feet and received an affirmative transmission from Lysle, then radio chatter from Svel Droma and her flock. "Julian, we're two floors below you in the casino, we're pinned down but if you get to us we'll keep your little bird distracted while you find Popo." Valentine took a step back to exit the cantina and into the hallway, "Copy that."

 

[Koda Fett]

​

​

Tick of the Clock​

​

Every Bounty Hunter had his own code, sense of right and wrong, and honour. It was what separated these Hunters from the quarry they pursue across the stars. Without it you were nothing more than a rabid dog. Fett had his own, and it was just as likely that Valentine did too. The Mandalorian followed many tenants, but none more important than getting the job done no matter the cost. So, when those civilians got seared through with blaster bolts and lit on fire? Fett didn't offer much of a second thought. In truth, his cold and callous nature has enveloped the entirety of who he is. It is a staple of his reputation as a fearsome individual. As tenacious as ever, dedicated in the hunt and the job at large.

A cacophony of violence filled his ears. Be it screeching, burning, or the sound of something tearing through the metal exterior of this cantina- creating an instant vacuum that voided all sound. All of it, sucked away, just as everything and everyone that wasn't tied down. For Fett, who happened to have his boots magnetically glued to the floor, felt his entire being resisting against the forces of nature. It was a hard fight, one he could justify losing even. The wall he concealed himself behind bought him some time. Time that he used to jam a fast into the Durasteel and grab on for dear life.

It wasn't that easy to get rid of Fett. Know that much, Valentine.

In time, all that was there was lost. The vacuum created by the void had rid all that was present. A corpse or two remained- only saved by whatever structural piece they found themselves caught on. In another life, Fett might even call it a shame. Though nobody here was innocent, and could of earned the Bounty Hunter's attention at any moment. Now, Fett was free to wander zero gravity environment with a keen eye a Julian slipped from view, but not of mind. A scanning pulse shot out, determined to find him.

The Mandalorian remained against the wall for a moment, seemingly catching his breath only to hear the words of Valentine. He wasn't a man of words, and even now it certainly helped not to use them. From his position behind the wall Fett activated yet another scanning pulse to determine where Julian was, watching him turn to walk away in the hallway. It was then that the Mandalorian burst from his location, stepping out from the side to unleashed another barrage of crimson blaster bolts. Koda invested too much in this fight, now. He couldn't let him walk away, couldn't accept defeat- it was a pride thing, and surely Valentine knew all about pride.

​An annoyance washed over Fett, though. As the two remained in an exposed area of zero-gravity a large portion of his arsenal had been rendered useless. Missiles? Projectile, they'll simple fall flat. Flames? Not in the void. Whipcord? Once more, a projectile. Darts? Same as the rest. Even his movements were made sluggish, and so it was the old Blaster that had to do.

"I don't die easy."

 

[Simone]

Location: in a hangar somewhere in this
People who are paying me: [member="Popo"] and co
People who aren't: [member="Helix Syndicate"] [member="Bareesh Kajidic"] [member="Arken Lussk"]
Potential Allies: [member="Ember Rekali"]

Power fluctuations, made her swear as part of the station went dark. Simone found her mood darkening by the minute. “Oh for kriffs sake!” she yelled. Someone was trying to lock her out.

“Kark you all, kark hutts and kerk everything you stand for.”

In the safety of her armour, the words were heard only by herself. She couldn’t hold all of them at bay, not on her own, not without her own equipment. This station needed more than a slicer of three to defend attacks. It needed and AI.

Problems to be dealt with and paid for later, if she survived.

First things first, if she couldn’t kick them out this way then…The incoming Ion shots gave her an idea.

“Popo,” she said opening communications and switching targets. “I’m going to turn everything off.” She wasn’t asking permission. Her job was to stop this, so she would stop it. Virus couldn’t spread to anything or control anything with no power. She started switching the direction of energy through the station, driving it towards the servers, cranking up the heat.

“WARNING! SYSTEM OVERLOAD IMMINENT. ACTIVATING COOLING MEASURES.”

“Nope.” she shut off the safety measures and kept a close eye for someone trying to reactivate them.

“Popo if you’ve got anyone close to the servers, i’d tell them to get clear, this might cause some damage. Fry a few wires….or people. I’m not fussy.” She cut off any response, switched her attention to the ships outside.

One group in particular. Fething Ion canons. She didn’t wait politely to be acknowledged.

“Hey, bucketheads.” her voice reflected how very done with the day she was. “I'm not going to waste my breath telling you who I am and what I can give you. I just want this day to be done and your Ion canons can help me with that. Target here please. Do this and we can talk about business payment and whatever else you want later. I’m not invested in this crap, I’m just caught in the middle of it.” A holoimage, highlighting a section of the wheel, specifically, the section where the AI virus was originating. No, she hadn’t pinpointed the exact location, but she had whittled it down to an area.

 

[Zark San Tekka]

Allies: [member="Bareesh Kajidic"] | [member="Coratanni Cartel"] | [member="Helix Syndicate"] | [member="Nadir"] | [member="Lysle of the Hydian Way"] | [member="The Slave"] | et al.
Enemies: [member="Popo"] | [member="Naast'ika Laaran"] | [member="Karsan Calnov"] | [member="Muad Dib"] | et al.
Objective: Boarding Party
Personal Equipment: Voidstone Amulet, Electrum Plated ELG-3A Blaster Pistol, Czerka Adjudicator, Molecular Stiletto

Orbalisk Boarding Shuttle
Industrial Section, The Wheel
Attached NPCs: Hakar, Exchange Tac Team

"Cryoban deployed, sssstarting plasssma torch sssequenssse," the Exchange fixer hissed over comms, "Brassse for contact."

Glancing back at his team of special forces mercs, Hakar noticed not everyone appeared to be completely focused on the job at hand.

"Eyesss up, new blood," he snapped at [member="Kole Harper"], gripping his double-blade tightly as if in challenge, "No disstractionsss. Tenlosss and ssstation persssonnel are neutralissse on sssight."

One look at the status pad displaying their time to breach told him it was almost up.

"And remember, avoid the Ravensss at all cossst," the fixer added, knowing that if this Lysle wasn't the forgiving type such an encounter could prove costly. He had seen up close what DD-S1 units were capable of doing to a merc, and it wasn't pretty.

The boarding shuttle's microcharges detonated, and a small humanoid sized hole was punctured in the Wheel's outer hull. No sooner had Hakar charged through the breach when he felt a sudden and unexpected sensation of weightlessness. It slowly dawned on the Trandoshan that this part of the station's artificial gravity had been cut off, maybe even stationwide. A complication, but most of his team had at least some training in zero g tactics.

"Engage grav bootssss," Hakar warned the others, orienting himself in space and taking his own advice, "Magnetic grapplesss out."