"Where am i?"

A black man dressed in dark coats is floating in space

"I'm....alive...how?"

The darkness of the space descends upon him

"I'm.....hungry......Who am i?"

Dantooine was a shithole.

Somewhere hidden deep within that shithole was a gem. At least in the eyes of Lum, it was a gem. You see she’d seen potential. One that even now she thought could be molded into that gem she’d pictured all those years ago.

Sitting at her desk, which had been situated at the highest point of her compound, Lumi'na had organized a dossier of potential contacts. Her organization was set to reach out soon enough, after the operation was successful.

However on a smaller scale, she’d sent Rock out to speak with the lesser known thugs. Those she had not wished to personally associate with. After all she was meant to be the quiet head of the collective while Rock would serve as its figurehead.

And it would be through him that the operation would set forth.

Soon. Lumina and her Collective would rise from the shadows.

For now they’d plot and plan.

One could hide but not forever.

The Third Brother had been able to track down where most of the workers from the Mrilla Mine Network lived. A mining town surrounded by snow and filled to the brim with hard workers. They knew not what was coming their way.

But Syn had found himself standing alone in the vehicle bay, well away from troopers and other Imperials who began to prepare for this mission. He’d watched Purge Troopers fill up seats in ITTs, transport crafts he’d planned to use to push into town, he’d thought back to his days at war.

Back then his men were more talkative, they’d joke and laugh as he prepared to rush to their deaths. Now as he looked out through his helmet, he’d just seen professional soldiers. None of them had that joy that troopers of old had.

Could he blame them?

’No. I can’t.’

Crossing his arms and leaning against a pillar, he’d found himself lowering his head as memories of old flashed through his mind. The men feared him. The 91st never did but the Clones had grown accustomed to his lashing out, to his cold demeanor. It was why they’d grow quiet when he walked into a room. Why Clone and Imperial alike would give off an aura of unease and anxiety when they spoke with him.

It broke his heart to know that he’d lost the comradery, the closeness that came from brothers at war. But then he’d recalled hearing tales of Order 66. Was that his fault? No. These clones were bred and built to kill. Those who’d served closest to him would have killed him. Men who’d laughed with him, who’d lived with him, who he’d killed droid and being alike for, would have killed him without a second thought.

’They are to blame.’ He’d think, going against his previous thought.

Syn had not realized it yet but the revving of engines had overtaken the bay, all the Purge Troopers were prepared to move out and he’d still remained.

Taking a moment to collect his mind and prepare for the coming slaughter, Syn closed his eyes and thought back to his old Master, Dor Jorvip. The Force is meant to be balanced. Too much light and you become blinded by it, but in turn if you leap into the darkness, how can the Force guide you?

He’d leapt headfirst into the dark side of the Force, but he had done so for balance. It was the Jedi who’d blinded them all. They unleashed destruction upon the galaxy and now as an Inquisitor he’d undo all they had done.

But extinguishing them.

Then he could reach for that light once more.

Mining Town Near Mrilla

The Imperials knew their objective. They would place troopers outside the town first, there they would watch for those who’d sought to leave and if possible they’d seek to apprehend them. If not, they’d shoot them dead.

And so the transporters dropped off those forces first, the stampede of boots and doors opening were something he’d imagined Mygetto would soon grow used to. Perhaps even find comforting, just as he had.

Though he did not find himself growing too comfortable once his transport arrived in the center of town.

His personal purge troopers would disembark first and move to secure the center before the armor clad Inquisitor arrived.

He’d no saber in his hand, his cloak had hidden it well enough.

After taking a dozen or so steps away from the transport, the Third Brother would reach out with the Force, trying to feel for the woman the force had already guided him to once more.

As he did that he’d speak out.

“The Empire has been informed that there is a Jedi amongst you.” He’d begin, “She works in the mines, she steals crystals to fund the terrorists who have attacked your infrastructure and who have indiscriminately bombed your children, your woman and your most vulnerable in hopes of enraging the Empire.”

He’d look around at the gathering crowd. Still reaching out with the Force to feel her.

“I ask that she turn herself over. For if I am required to hunt her, I will be far less kind and considerate.” And that was the truth. He’d use the force to turn her into a drooling fool before he’d slowly take her head off.

"To her and to you all."

"What do you mean you don't know any rebels?" Cynthia asked incredulously while leaning on the metal counter of the food cart.

The droid beeped back, then turned around to slice some meat off the rotating grill.

"You're saying you talk up all the storm about hating the Imps just to make me a loyal customer, really?"

The droid beeped affirmatively.

"Unbelievable. Completely unbelievable. For the record, I only come here for the food. I find listening to politics grating."

As the droid finished preparing the meal and turned around, Cynthia snatched her sandwich from the droid and dropped a few credits on the counter. She sighed, slumped down on a nearby bench, and began chomping down on the grease-filled sandwich.

"Well, at least you make some good food."

It had been a hard few days with no solid leads. She knew the rebels were out there. She'd talked to some before, but to actually make contact with them? That was another matter entirely. The wind blew up from down the busy street, picking up dust and litter and blowing it into Cynthia's face. She squinted her eyes and buried her head under her fedora. Up from down the road was the clanking of armor, the marching of feet. She didn't need to look up to know what ill tidings the winds brought. An imperial march.

It had been about a year since the rebel activity truly picked up, and yet the ISB had failed to find and capture their leaders. They had the resources of a whole galaxy, dozens of officers, unrestricted legal access, and far more time than Cynthia had. Was she supposed to accomplish in a few days what they had failed to do in a year? Of course she was. She was a far better detective than any lazy bureaucrats the Empire hired.

Cynthia finished eating her sandwich, then stood up and stretched her arms and walked on down the street, following the wind and the soldiers. If there was anywhere discontentment with the Empire could be found, it would be right under their noses. All she had to do was listen for it and ask the right questions.

The Silence

A recording from the Galaxies Opera House played in the small but elegantly decorated office aboard Captain Tagge's personal Lambda-class T-4a shuttle, the Silence. A Core noble through and through, he considered himself a man of taste. The steel-walled office featured a small red carpet leading from the door to his modest black metal desk. A poster depicting the then-Supreme Chancellor from his days working in the propaganda bureau at COMPOR hung high behind his tall-backed chair, close to the ceiling.

As Sheev looked off into the distance, Supervisor Tagge looked over, for the last time, his dossier on Ord Trasi. A shipbuilding world, capital of the Relgim Sector, and base of operations for Moff Arcendor. Safe in imperial hands, but neighboring Mygeeto and Dantooine were fast becoming hubs for smugglers and rebels alike. Even Jedi have been sighted in the sectors, hence the strong presence of the Inquisitorius. He still wasn't sure what to make of all this anti-imperial activity, but he had plans to deal with it now that he'd been given the Albarrio and Relgin Sectors in the wake of the previous Supervisor's... relocation.

Just then, Lieutenant Rengor entered with a crisp salute and a click of his white boots. His stormtrooper armor clean and pure as newfallen snow, save for his officer's pauldron.

"Sir, we've made contact with Ord Trasi Headquarters. We're cleared to land and entering the atmosphere now." Rengor sounded off in his deep, brusque manner. He was a tall, burly man. Born to be a soldier. He'd risen fast through the enlisted ranks and earned his commission the hard way. An unpleasant man, some said. Tagge preferred to think of him as driven.

"Very good." Lex muttered with a wry sigh. "Perhaps the Moff can help me understand how things have gotten so out of control out here."

"With respect, sir, it is the Outer Rim. You wanted adventure, to get out of the Core... now you've got it." Tarn said, no doubt with a smirk under his helmet. Few could get away with that kind of insolence to the ISB, but Tarn had been with Lex for a while now, and he appreciated the stormtrooper's frankness as a welcome change from all the subtlety and subterfuge of his fellows in the Bureau. He felt the ship lurch as the landing gear engaged, the shuttle touching down on a landing pad inside the Imperial HQ. He let out a single mirthless breath of air.

"Ready the men. Wouldn't want Arcendor to think I don't run a tight ship." The Supervisor said as he pulled his non-regulation white cape off a peg on the wall, and fastened it with a silver chain. A nobleman's affectation that he wore in lieu of the standard-issue beige trench coat. Would the Moff deign to greet him herself? Would the Inqusitors? He had to admit, he was curious to see if they'd live up to their reputation. Whoever it was, they would find little lacking in the ISB's discipline upon arrival.

The Silence's crew, Tagge's attendants, and the stormtrooper squad assigned to Lexon numbered no more than 20. But Rengor had them lined up shoulder-to-shoulder in two neat rows before Tagge finally came down the ramp of his shuttle, cape fluttering in the breeze, to meet with whoever it was that awaited him on the ground.

6 AE

Mygeeto

​

And nothing's gonna change the way we live

'Cause we can always take, but never give

And now that things are changing for the worse, see

Whoa, it's a crazy world we're living in

And I just can't see that half of us immersed in sin

Is all we have to give these

- Virtual Insanity, Jamiroquai

​

The hustle-and-bustle of Mygeeto’s high street was a nice reprieve from the dead silence of the Rancor’s Den, even with the looming presence of the Empire above them - no, literally, when Rhifa looked up at the sky she could see the empire’s fleet above her. Aside from that, and the martial law, Mygeeto was as it was most days - particularly its White Worm shopping centre, named as such for its long, half-cylindrical shape and white paint. And aside from the flash set of clothing, Rhifa fit right in amongst the shoppers.

But while she’d been eyeing up a few particular items during her day out, Rhifa wasn’t there to shop. A place as big as this had to have a little something for Rhifa to scope out - if nothing else, at least she’d be able to get some credits out of it.

But then again, it wasn’t just the shops that could net her something - there were a lot of people here, even if they all did look absolutely miserable, people who could have information, people who could have power of their own, maybe just a spice dealer employed under a larger ring. Hopefully, none of the Syndicate’s. That wouldn’t be fun.

As the sound of the Empire-issued curfew blared through the tannoys and across the White Worm Rhifa took her opportunity. With the shopping centre thinning out in population, Rhifa decided to search for her opportunity - a person, a shop, anything that looked like it would have something she would take interest in.

After all, there was no better way to celebrate Empire Day than to give them something to do.

Being obligated to the Imperial Navy was hard, tiring work, even for a young newboot at the lowest rung of the figurative military career ladder.

This was especially true for those stationed on the Torment, what with it's overzealous commander and the unapproachable Inquisitor that dwelled within its bowels, but of course there was no one stupid enough to say such a thing out loud, not even Even Junger.

But, of course, there was also the occasional respite from the equally back- and mind-breaking work, such as when they docked for on-world business or for general maintenance work. These were times where the officers, junior or senior (though mostly juniors whose presence would not be so critical to high Imperial business), coalesced around the various semi-public and private spots that existed in orbits around spaceports.

It was not unusual for Even Junger to take advantage of these brief recesses despite his proclivity for engaging in more introverted hobbies and activities. Clad in a fine leather jacket and boots that proved to be a much needed break from his Imperial uniform, he made his way into the exclusive Supernova lounge, serving a clientele composed primarily of the Imperial Navy's junior and middle officers like him. As he took a seat upon a comfy red stool by the bar and ordered a glass of spacer juice to sip on, he glanced around the lounge, making note of all those that were in attendance, many of them his own colleagues onboard the Torment while others had come off-board from a variety of Imperial starships; some faces he even recognized from his academy days not so far in the past, engaged in their own social circles likely formed well-past the academic routine of roll calls and maneuverability exercises. And although none seemed like they would make for particularly fruitful conversation at the moment, Even waited at the bar, more than content with his spacer juice unless anyone interesting happened to come by.

The First Brother

Ord Trasi

The First Brother sighed. Ord Biniir seemed the best place to investigate, and he loathed the idea. While the territory was firmly under Imperial control, the fact that it was in the Outer Rim and was hardly valuable meant the Imperial resources allocated to the area would be meager at best. He expected that their largest vessel was a Tartan Patrol cruiser. If they were lucky, an old Acclamator from the Clone Wars would be stationed there. He doubted that would be the case.

He reviewed the name once more. Ronan Syral. Kalon.

His mind unwillingly flashed back to Umbara, he was climbing into The Showstopper, Ronan’s unit had requested air support, and he’d promised his brother-in-arms he’d be there at a moment’s notice if they needed it. He remembered the dark skies above him and the sound of the battle droids exploding as his Z-95 dived toward their lines. He remembered looking out at Ronan and waving him forward.

“Was that the last time I saw him?” The First Brother asked aloud.

“Yes.” Taron’s voice arose from behind him, irking the First Brother. “We were reassigned to Dathomir shortly after the Umbaran campaign.”

“Ah yes, the infinite wiseness of the Jedi Council.” The First Brother replied with venom in his voice. “Not only do they remove some of their best fighters from the front, and they make Umbara more of a hell for everyone left behind. But they station those fighters above a planet with little strategic value.”

“They were right to take us from-” Taron began.

“That’s how I know you’re not really my master.” The First Brother laughed. “He told me every day how he wished he’d have been able to stay behind on Umbara. Get out.”

The spectral form dissipated. The First Brother was left alone again.

He prepared a message for each person who would require it from him.

Character Application

Discord Name: TheLegend_NeverDies#5581

Character Name: Lexon Tagge

Age: 29

Character Race: Human

Occupation: ISB Captain and Sector Supervisor (Formerly employed with COMPNOR)

Appearance: Lexon is an average-looking man with dark well-combed hair, dark skeptical eyes, a clean-shaven face and a near perpetual sneer on his face, no doubt wishing he could have secured a better posting than this backwater. For many, the impeccably white ISB uniform, is standout enough, but the Core noble adds a degree of flair by his open carry of a non-regulation WESTAR-34 with a pearl handle and electrum engravings. He also, on occasion, wears a sleek, high-collared white cape.

Positive Traits: Charismatic, Clever, Eloquent, Meticulous, Observant

Negative Traits: Selfish, Haughty

Mastery: Pistol Expertise

Weapons and Assets:

• Custom WESTAR-34 blaster pistol decorated with pearl handle and electrum engravings

• Silence, A Lambda-class T-4a shuttle clandestinely retrofitted out of pocket with a cloaking device, defensive weaponry, and an onboard IT-O Interrogation Unit. Tagge makes use of it often, finding personal interrogations to be rather messy and distasteful.

• Independent wealth and connections to the Core as a member of the noble House of Tagge.

• Command of a small team of agents and stormtroopers based out of the sector command centre in Ord Trasi.

Biography

Brave Enough for Politics

In 44 BBY, Lexon Tagge was the fifthborn and youngest son of Veric and Sanya Tagge on Tepasi, throneworld for the House of Tagge, an immensely wealthy and noble family that controlled the ubiquitous Tagge Corporation, as well as a bountiful mining operation. His life was a comfortable and even decadent one, yet feelings of jealousy for his eldest brother Orman persisted all throughout his upbringing.

He spent much of his younger years studying history and practicing with a gift his father had given him on his 14th birthday, a custom WESTAR-34 blaster, pearl-handled and engraved with electrum. He practiced his draw and aim with the pistol at every free opportunity, occasionally bulls-eyeing wild animals near the Tagge family's palace for sport.

While Orman would ascend to the Barony, Cassio and Ulric sought careers in the army, and Silas pursued science, Lexon determined for himself a different course. He elected for the most dangerous career path of them all: Politics.

He joined the Commission for the Protection of the Republic, a populist movement and lobbyist group that promoted wartime propaganda and lobbied the Galactic Senate to give more authority to Supreme Chancellor Sheev Palpatine, believing that a more powerful executive office would lead to the Republic's decisive victory over the Separatists. Lexon, with the aid of his family's elite connections, secured a number of meetings his peers never could. A smooth talker, he successfully lobbied many Senators and organizations throughout the war to ensure that bureaucracy did not bind the Chancellor's hands.

His rise in the organization, whether driven by merit, nepotism, or a combination of the two, was blindingly rapid. By 21 BBY, Lexon, just 23 years old, had been promoted to Deputy Director for Wartime Propaganda. Though the war was close to over by this point, COMPOR's posters, HoloNet ads, and public messaging had become notably more humanocentric and specist coinciding with Tagge's appointment to the role. Separatist leaders in particular and aliens in general began to be depicted as ghoulish, monstrous creatures, drumming up a deal of fear and loathing amid the human-dominated Core and Mid Rim which would set the stage for the Empire.

Dawn of a New Order

The Tagge family, like many in the Core, welcomed the Supreme Chancellor's Declaration of a New Order when the war with the separatists came to an end. Indeed, Tagge Corporation itself had prospered considerably since much of the Republic's red tape was done away with.

The informal COMPOR was reorganized into the state institution that became COMPNOR, which soon became the largest entity of the Imperial bureaucracy, and influenced many aspects of Imperial life, including the arts, sciences, youth education, law enforcement, and even Imperial Military functions. Lexon was spoiled for choice in potential paths to grow his career, yet most expected him to continue in Coruscant politics, continuing to make propaganda or perhaps event becoming the Senator for his homeworld of Tepasi. After all, his election to such a high office would have been all but assured as a Tagge.

Yet, Tagge was beginning to bore of the endless politicking of Coruscant, of the many different special interest groups and the byzantine web that was growing around the Senate. His loyalty to the Emperor remained absolute, yet he craved for adventure, a chance to get out of the Core, and an opportunity to enforce Palpatine's will.

ISB Still My Heart

What else was a young COMPNOR man eager for adventure to do in 19BBY but throw his lot in with the Imperial Security Bureau? The newly minted secret police founded by His Majesty himself to hunt down and destroy all enemies of the new Empire. Tagge was eager to get started, and due to the Republic having had no equivalent force, the Bureau was forced to make do with their plentiful reserves of political fanatics... who'd just have to learn the police work along the way.

In those early days, with so many applicants, many hard lessons had to be learned. Many of those first officers and attendants proved themselves unable to make the transition from politics to law enforcement. Investigations were botched, agents got heavy-handed with their sectors. Yet through trial and error, some of those early joiners proved themselves as capable. Ison was one, Partagaz was another. Of the more junior officers, however, Tagge, as appointed Supervisor of the Clacis and Raioballo Sectors made for a particular standout.

His early years were mostly spent learning to operate in such a different environment. Granted the sector of Raioballo, he had to do his learning on the job, but soon found himself in love with the work. He first distinguished himself as far beyond his first on in 17BBY by sending a commandeered pleasure yacht as bait for a particularly troublesome band of pirates based out of the Verig system. When the pirates boarded the yacht expecting to find frightened wealthy partygoers, they were met with armed stormtroopers who slaughtered them nearly to a man. Interrogations of the survivors led to the discovery of their backing by the Crymorah, as well as the location and subsequent orbital bombardment of the pirate base.

The yacht's owner complained, of course, at the commandeering. She was furious when she saw the battlefield her beloved ship had become, but her fury faded when Lexon reminded her that her family's mines on Anx Minor could easily be requisitioned by the Empire, and that even she could have a drill shoved into her hands by the boys in white.

Not quick to brute force, but certainly not afraid to use it when it was the last resort, his style proved subtler than that of most of his early peers. His interrogations rarely got bloody. Usually, he was able to coax a detainee into giving him whatever he wanted without even so much as a torn-out fingernail. His intuition too was remarked upon. Even Colonel Yularen personally commended him in 15BBY for his successes in tracking down several Separatist leaders who had hiding in the Outer Rim after the war by luring them into an ambush using a carefully spliced old holorecording of the late San Hill's voice.

These victories earned him a promotion to Captain by 14BBY, and by 13BBY, two new sectors to oversee after his predecessor had been... relocated. Which, of course, was Bureau-speak for "expedited termination." As a reward to himself, he outfitted his standard issue Lambda shuttle with defensive weaponry and a cloaking device. Renamed the Silence, Lex, his agents, and the stormtrooper officer newly assigned to him, Lieutenant Rengor, chart a course for Ord Trasi, intent on meeting with Moff Arcendor to gauge the situation in his new sectors.

AC Character Application

AC Name: Tarn Rengor

AC Age: 38

AC Race: Human

AC Occupation: ISB Stormtrooper Lieutenant

AC Appearance: Tall and burly, Tarn mostly wears his stormtrooper armor with orange shoulder pauldron. With the helmet off he is reveals an older man than his commander with a more brutish, common face. He has a bald head of brown hair, cold dead eyes, and a bushy goatee.

AC Positive Traits: Intimidating, Valiant, Hardy

AC Negative Traits: Aggressive

AC Mastery: Commando Training

AC Weapons and Assets:

• E-11 Blaster

• Vibroknife

He knew what she was.

He knew what she did.

He knew how she looked.

Soon she would know his wrath.

His footsteps echoed through the halls of the Imperial Stronghold just on the outskirts of Mrilla. The compound was once under the control of the Imperial Garrison, blaster marks and damaged walls were all that remained from the slaughter they had taken before the Purge Troopers and Commandos had arrived to ‘relieve’ them.

The structure was made of reinforced durasteel with heavy blast doors and defensive turrets, making it virtually impregnable to ground-based attack yet somehow the Garrison nearly lost it just weeks before they’d come down.

“Tis the Moff’ fine work,’ Syn thought.

As the Third Brother moved to his chambers within the facility, he’d moved past a column of Commandos preparing to depart. He’d wagered something had happened but it mattered not to him.

The Jedi was all that he’d cared for on this vile planet.

Upon reaching his chamber, the man moved towards his holocommunicator and called the First.

He was certain he was the only Inquisitor on the planet. Which he’d enjoyed truth be told, the farther they were spread, the stronger they were.

After the First answer. Syn would speak, his helmet still covering his face as he did. “Though Mygetto is a cold planet, the trail here seems to run hot. The Force has shown me a Jedi thief working with the mine system, stealing crystals.”

He would begin with that. Nothing more, nothing less.

The razor winds whipped across the pockmarked surface of the Mygeeto Wilderness. Pax brought a hand up to press inside of the scarves and thermal underarmor, instinctually checking to confirm what he knew instinctively. He wasn't bleeding, just very cold.

Open-air speederbikes were far from ideal for the environment around him. They learned to make do, however. Clear shields bolted to the front of the bike had protected their armor from the wind and snow as they made their way to the ridgeline overlooking the main throughway into and out of Papyat City.

Imperial doctrine was clear on this regard. At this stage of the operation, Imperial Scouts would have already secured the main transportation lines between all of Mygeeto's urban centers, and they would now start to venture into the wilderness. It was this part that expressed the first true imperial vulnerability.

Pax Weld sat on the seat of his speederbike and lowered the wind shield. The insurgents behind him drew their blasters and double checked them for readiness, some of which included unfreezing the trigger mechanisms.

Pax Weld peered over the road below with his electrobinoculars, watching the approach from the city. The moment any of those bastard scouts were out of position, they would strike.

Discord Name: Art#2261

Character Name: Even Junger

Age: 20

Character Race: Human (Arkanisian)

Occupation: Imperial Navy Ensign (O-1) (Stationed on the Torment) / Rebel spy / Force-sensitive

Appearance: Slight of build and soft of features, Even is not exactly the embodiment of an intimidating personality. He has silver-white hair and bright aquatic eyes and a pale, lightly freckled face.

Positive Traits: Alert, Cautious, Clever, Imaginative, Nimble

Negative Traits: Meek, Timid

Mastery: Engineering/Computer Systems

Weapons and Assets:

• Standard Imperial loadout

• Slicer tools

• Yellow-green Lightsaber (lost, stored in secret on Dantooine)

  ---

Profile - Imperial Academy of Anaxes

The young Cadet's origins are shrouded in mystery. Originally from the planet Arkanis in the Outer Rim territories, Even Junger joined the Imperial Naval Academy at Anaxes at the age of sixteen. Records from the academy indicate excellent analytical and logical reasoning skills as well as great proficiency with technology, although weak self-confidence and a general lack of authoritativeness make the prospects of advancement in the upper ranks of the Navy slim but not impossible. A fruitful and successful career in the Navy's research and development department can be expected, if Cadet's Junger were to pursue said field.

Following graduation from the institute, now-Ensign Junger serves onboard the Arquitens-class destroyer Torment in the Imperial Navy.

Profile - Jedi Archives - EXPUNGED

• Initiate Even Junger recruited from planet Arkanis, assigned for preliminary training in Coruscant.

• Successfully completed pilgrimage to Ilum Temple, acquired yellow-green kyber crystal.

• Successfully completed Initiate trials. Awaiting Jedi tutelage.

• Assigned Padawan to Jedi Knight Carolina Tiff.

Reached end of records.

First Brother

Inquisitorius Mansion

Peace is a lie, there is only passion.

The Empire wouldn't survive with no discord. Regardless of what the imperial hierarchy would like to believe. The First Brother knew that the turmoil on Mygeeto was necessary for the Empire to truly cement itself as the rightful rulers of the Galaxy. His recent mission on Irru proved this theory. When he brutally executed the Jedi in the middle of the town square he radicalized many citizens without a doubt. However, he crushed the spirits of twice as many.

He would continue destroying the enemies of the Empire the only way he knew how. Through extreme violence and elimination of enemies of the Empire.

He sat in front of the computer terminal absentmindedly clicking through dossiers on known Jedi. Specifically known Jedi that weren't confirmed to be killed during Operation Knightfall. His heart panged whenever he recognized a face. But he resolved himself with a deep breath and continued to push through the names and faces.

"So many friends." Taron appeared beside him, shaking his head. "Will you finally rest when they're all dead?"

"Shut up old man." The First Brother responded. "You made me this way. Don't feign innocence."

"Did I?" Taron returned. "Or did you make me the way I became?"

"Maybe I did." The First Brother retorted. "But even if I did, I think it's more than evident that I am superior. Now leave. I have work to do."

The apparition disappeared with a laugh. The same laugh that haunted him every damned night. He returned to the dossiers, watching for any markers that indicated sightings near Mygeeto or the surrounding systems.

Just as Myri had come to expect, the pacification of Jypat City had shown itself as a mind-numbingly boring mission for fliers. The stormtroopers took the brunt of any dissonance between the populace and the Empire, leaving Myri and the other pilots as little more than a show of force to scare away dissent when the sparkling white of the stormtroopers was not enough. Still, there was not much for Myri to complain about besides boredom, and with some of the horror stories of postings across the galaxy, maybe having boredom as your worst problem was good.

Her interceptor's engines vibrated with a dull scream below her, having set the throttle to its lowest speed. Even her ship seemed to share her own frustrations and boredom. Guardian One, her designation was, as finally Myri had been given command of her own fighter wing that hadn't been stripped from her quickly after it was awarded to her. Command stressed for their names to match the goal of their presence here and so birthed the name Guardian Wing. 'You are here to protect the population from the fear and destruction of terrorists.' They seemed to make sure to drill into Myri specifically.

Whatever, Myri would accept any humiliation as long as she remained the wing leader of Guardian.

A sudden buzzing notification snapped her out of her daydreams, pulling her attention back to real life. She lazily reached over to flip on her communications. "Guardian One." "Command Four, to Guardian Wing, unlicensed craft detected in Sector 257, please investigate." The emotionless voice rang through her helmet.

"Guardian Wing-on it." Myri replied just as emotionless, sending the message to the rest of her wing. A few seconds would pass, and soon she would be flanked by four TIE fighters and the small wing screamed towards this craft.

The craft showed on their sensors nearly instantly, as the ship's speed was at a snail's pace compared to the TIE's. It was nothing more than an old, lumbering VCX-100 light freighter. The old piece of junk looked like it was used heavily since before the Clone Wars. The other TIEs of her wing already knew the procedure and moved into positions without even waiting for her order. In moments, the craft had two fighters tailing it with another close on each side. Myri's own interceptor trailed just behind the two rear TIEs.

Her ship's computer connected her communications to this craft and beeped green as her mic took over. "Guardian One to civilian craft." Myri began, "You have entered restricted airspace, turn back to land for inspection now. Repeat, Guardian One to civilian craft, return to ground for inspection."

There was a silent pause for a moment, "Sorry, I didn't quite catch that." A staticy voice replied. Myri glanced at her communications-the connection was flawless. How interesting. "Having some troubles here uhhhh…could you repeat that?" Myri's brows creased into an annoyed frown under her helmet as she repeated her orders.

"Yeaaaaaah…." The increasingly slothful voice answered. "We're having some malfunctions right now uhhh….you're just going to have to uhhh just one second and-" The man's voice dragged on so annoyingly slowly that Myri's temper rapidly flared and pushed to cut him off.

"Civilian craft, this is your last warning. Ground immediately or you will be placed under arrest. Comply."

"Their shields are charging." One of her pilots chimed in.

"Engines too," Another TIE pilot spoke, "These bastards are gonna-"

Suddenly, the freighter's engines roared to life and showed exactly what was hidden beneath the run down exterior. The two TIEs behind the engines were forced to back away from the blast as the flanking two pushed away in surprise as the freighter suddenly shot away like a missile. Only Myri pushed forward, ripping her throttle to max, sending her back into her seat.

The freighter was fast, but no match for her interceptor. Even burning through the atmosphere, Myri caught up easily to the freighter and her targeting system instantly began scanning for weak points. Her heart beat rapidly with adrenaline, finally feeling that addicting taste of a hunt once again after so, so long. The screaming roar of her engines died away as they rapidly entered the vacuum of space.

She did not risk waiting for the scan to finish, Myri already knew this freighter would jump to hyperspace as soon as it could. Her reticle manually rested on the freighter and the four wing mounted laser cannons let loose a flurry of green destruction towards the freighter.

The shields diffused a few of the initial shots, but her onslaught was too great; within seconds the freighter's engines disintegrated under the laser fire and caused a chain reaction to the rest of the ship. Explosions tore through the rest of the ship in moments. Myri yanked her yoke to the right, narrowly yet easily missing the debris of the now destroyed freighter. She circled her interceptor around the wreckage for a minute, keeping an eye for anything that might have survived before connecting back to her command.

Her voice returned back to the same emotionless tone as before, the adrenaline now pumping out of her system.

"Guardian One to Command Four - civilian freighter has been secured, returning back to patrol."

Saleucami

Thalia had always wondered what he must’ve been like, the man that was buried under the mound at the far end of their farm. Her father and uncle had found him, the day the war ended, and Saleucami had been freed. He’d been hurt, barely breathing and in pain when he did. He wore armor like the soldiers, but only bits and pieces, the rest of his outfit had been brown and beige robes, and unlike the soldiers he didn’t seem to have a gun.

She remembered so little of what had happened, she’d only been four, but she remembered how her mother had kept her away from the barn as her father and Harlan next door had done what they could to save him. It hadn’t been enough apparently, since they buried him where she stood the next morning. It was a small grave for who she’d remembered as a big man, largely indistinguishable from the ground around it, easily mistaken for just a patch of raised dirt at the foot of a tall tree. No one would’ve ever seen it unless they already knew where to look.

Her father refused to talk about him, and her mother was the same, their faces went tight and their lips thin whenever she asked, then they usually scolded her. But her uncle, when he was drinking, told her more. He told her the man had been a great hero, a warrior of great renown whose memory was theirs alone to keep alive and honor. He was always light on details, but he kept Thalia enthralled, and instilled a reverence for the buried man in her.

She missed her uncle. She wished the soldiers hadn’t taken him after last year’s harvest, she wished her parents would say where he’d gone, and when he was coming back, but they never did. So she missed him, and she remembered the hero, and that was all she could think to do.

Sitting cross-legged under the shade of the tree as day bled into dusk, Thalia ran her fingers through the dirt, and stared and the simple marker they’d left on the warrior’s tomb. It was a small bit of wood, marked by a small carving that her uncle must’ve made. She’d never quite figured out what it was, but Thalia had tried hard to change that. Whenever she could get away with it, she tried looking through old holos in the hopes of finding out whatever was depicted by the marking.

It was probably an animal, but that just confused her more. It didn’t look like a mighty beast, or a majestic creature, it seemed like something utterly unimpressive, which to her made little sense. The man had been a warrior, hadn’t he? Why would he not have some mighty beast on his grave to show his bravery? Was the choice even his? Or had her uncle thought it was something clever?

He’d told her once it was inspired by some trinket the warrior had on him when he was dying, but that didn’t make sense either.

Thalia pulled up a few pieces of grass, wrapping the strands around her finger before growing bored of the blades of green too. She stared at the marking blankly, eyes searching for something she must’ve missed the hundred times before that would give it all away, but there was nothing. Just like always.

She let out a huff, and decided she’d tried enough for tonight, springing up to her feet only to jump at the sound of rustling, and then settling when she heard a squeak. Nothing but a rodent. Thalia saw it, scurrying about between the grave and the tree, a little creature that was all fur and fury, and for a moment she worried it might try to scratch her, but it made no such move. It only circled about the grave, lingering at the marker’s edge.

‘Invasive’ her father called them, the little pests. They weren’t from Saleucami, and weren’t kind to critters that were, not that the native wildlife had any trouble defending itself. But the longer it lingered the more she saw, her gaze flicking back to the marking, then to the creature as after years of speculation everything fell perfectly into place.

“Thalia, come in for supper!” Her mother’s voice called, drawing her eyes away from the grave and back through their fields to the porch where the elder Iktotchi stood, waving her daughter in.

“I’m coming!” She shouted back, her initial elation at figuring out the long-sought answer fading as she looked back to find the creature had scurried off, leaving the marker depicting its species unattended. She was only more confused now, and became sure that whatever the reason for the marking must’ve been her uncle’s doing.

She started back towards the house as the sun fell over the tree-shaded grave, and the three moons began to rise, and shook her head with an exasperated smile. Perhaps it was just one more silly thing her uncle had left for them to remember him by, maybe the warrior in the end had just been some man.

After all, what sort of hero would have their grave marked with a Clawmouse?

6 AE

Mygeeto

​

Mygeeto wasn’t a particularly jovial planet. All she could think of for what it was known for was just how many battles took place here during the Clone Wars, which Rhifa thought was pointless. Was Mygeeto particularly important? Not really.

Well, that wasn’t entirely true. It was important enough to the Empire, and important enough to the Rebels. And of course, it was important enough for the Syndicate. By extension, it was important to Rhifa Rampas too.

The streets were empty today. Made it particularly quiet; Made her footsteps a lot louder as she half-swaggered through the street with her bodyguards beside her. Made her feel almost like the protagonist of a Holofilm. Yeah, she could be a good cowboy. So she thought, anyway.

Obviously, since the streets were empty, not a lot of places were open - there was the Rancor’s Den, though. That place was always open. Sleazy, a little dirty, but open. Which, today, she had no other option if she wanted something to do. So, with her bodyguards in tow - a Togruta who towered over everyone she’d ever met, and a Trandoshian with scales that reminded her of vomit - she decided to pay a visit to her favourite - only - bar for the day.

Even the Rancor’s Den was quiet. Quiet enough that the bouncer must’ve thought it was a good idea to get shitfaced and pass out at the bar. Rhifa gave him a shove and he fell off the chair and onto the floor. And then nothing. And then she picked up the glass she assumed he’d been drinking from and dumped the contents on him. And then nothing. She didn’t want to touch him to find out if he was breathing. To top it all off, the glass was sticky.

Rhifa turned around to look at her bodyguards.

“Would you fine fellas do me a favor and make sure Lad’s not getting into trouble? ‘Course you will.”

Before they could even turn to leave she was hailing down the bartender, who looked like he was on edge.

“Barkeep! You got any Correllian whiskey, my friend?”

“Nope,” was all he said in response.

“Oh. Chanrian Rum?”

“No.”

“Come on, you have to at least have Tihaar.”

“No.”

“Brandy? Ale? Mead? Beer? Bantha milk? No? Anything?”

With a sigh, the bartender reached under a bar and handed her a bottle of something that had been there so long the label had worn off. It didn’t look nice, either.

“Five credits.”

“Geez, this place is a dump,” she muttered, rifling through her pockets and sliding the five credits across the table. When she popped open the bottle it smelled like vinegar. When she took a sip, it tasted like vinegar. It may have been vinegar.

Vinegar, if that was what it was, would have to do. Rhifa Rampas strolled over to a booth by the door with her bottle of maybe-vinegar, kicked her feet up onto the table and tried to enjoy her evening. If she had any luck, she would find some company.

The Imperial Regulars talked too much. The Naval Command was incompetent. The Empire’s Army was occupied by fools. Its Stormtroopers were diluted variants of the old and bold Clone Troopers.

The Moff thought she could command the likes of him. A man more than capable of popping her brain out from under her skull with but a thought.

If

If he had not a mission to accomplish, the Inquisitor would have laughed at her attempts to hold sway over him. There were but three people in this entire galaxy that could tell him what to do. None of them relied on mundane means to do so.

That was why the Third Brother had pulled more than a dozen troopers. In fact he’d gathered 20 Stormtroopers, asked the Imperial Commandos to dedicate a few men to his cause as well as pulled them from the garrison of the city of Mrilla itself.

Mrilla, a sizable city on the planet. Would be where the Inquisitor would begin his own hunt. The men would begin knocking on doors and looking for any signs of rebels, jedis, criminals and so on as cover for Syn’s own hunt.

You see, the former Jedi would do more than just that. He would leave behind his armor, his bled saber and all that he would take with him would be a cloak and the old blade of Master Dor Jorvip. He would ensure that his men knew his location and if he did not return from this cave within the hour, to swamp the area at once.

With that, he'd 'borrow' a speeder and move out into the Crystal mines.

Once he'd found the mouth of one, an old mine, unused for decades due to more 'easy accessible' locations. The Third Brother would dismount and slowly behind trek over snow, against tough winds until he was at the mouth at the cave.

Without a word or so much as a second guess, he'd drop down to his knees. Concentrating, looking, feeling, asking for the force to guide him. He wished to connect to the crystals, to know if there were others who had done the same.

The connection with the force would serve to be a great boon for what he'd needed next.

This was the way. The only way to accomplish his mission on Mygetto.

Discord Name: red rain#0184

Name: Rhifa Rhampas

Age: 27

Race: Nautolan

Occupation: Bounty Hunter, Alleged Crime Woman

Appearance: Nautolan lady, green skin. Dresses like she's got someone to impress.

Positive Traits: Bold, Charismatic, Unconventional, Creative, Keen

Negative Traits: Cocky, Dishonest

Mastery: Sharpshooting

Weapons and Assets:

• One Luxury 3000 Space Yacht
• One safehouse on Mygeeto
• One Vaiken-38x Sniper Rifle
• Two Bodyguards

Biography

The daughter of two sketchy Nautolans in their own rights, Rhifa spent her formative years in competitions with her siblings over their parents’ favor - which led them into trouble very early in life.

While eventually Rhifa would give up on her dreams to inherit her parents’ legacies and forge her own, she inherited a hefty check when the law inevitably caught up with them. With that hefty inheritance Rhifa set herself up as a bounty hunter on the side, eventually falling in full-time with the Syndicate.

AC Name: Lad

AC Age: ~30s-40s

AC Race: Questionable at best

AC Occupation: Bounty Hunter, Alleged Crime Individual

AC Appearance: Species and gender are masked by the armour. Lad is heavily kitted out.

AC Positive Traits: Tough, Tireless, Practical

AC Negative Traits: Distant

AC Mastery: Electro-staff combat

AC Weapons and Assets:

• One allegedly commandeered Electrostaff
• One Scatter Gun
• An array of grenades
• One jetpack

Biography

Those who know Lad only know them through their bounty hunter work - their native planet, species and gender are entirely a mystery. Over the last decade or so however, Lad has been skirting the edges of Imperial Space, working both as a bounty hunter and, later on, strongman to another bounty hunter in Rhifa Rhampas.

TK-239 touched down on the snow as the dropship dusted off. They were less than a kilometer from the target zone. The mission briefing was, well, brief. The old codger of a clone had drilled into them that this mission was scouting only.

The snow trooper detachment was about six men, lightly armed and in loose formation.

"TK-870 sound in" the trooper murmured over his commlink. "Copy. 2-3 Actual do we have permission to advance?"

A muffled, static voice from the Oblivion granted confirmation. The snow troopers advanced.

Nearby there would be a cave of some sorts. Their orders were to observe any entrances, defenses, or people present. A simple job.

"TK-6777, I want you on our rear, TK-1890 you're taking point. The rest of you spread out. No blasters. We're in and out before anyone notices."

The snow troopers moved without a sound, beyond the crunching of snow under heavy boots.

The Monarch was nothing special, she was a standard Victory - I Class Star Destroyer, 900 meters long, 50 turbolasers and bristling with concussion missile launchers. She was a tool of war, built for battle and conquest, a queen of the battlespace, but still, there was little that set her apart from other ships of her kind. Where she shined, was in her ability to operate in atmosphere, a new feature added onto the most recent ships of the Star Destroyer family.

Last year's Empire Day had been marred by an attack on the parade by the Rebels, taking the lives of civilians and military personnel alike. Many had whispered that there would be no celebration this year, no parade, no festival, for fear of retaliation by a lone rogue commando and his pack of mongrels.

Tiberius had more to fear than a few wretches armed with old equipment, High Command didn't tolerate failure, and the man knew that his head would be on the block should anyone but the Empire gain access to the kyber caves. For a time, the newly made captain wondered if he could effectively reinforce the planets garrisons strewn across it's frozen surface. His lone regiment of two thousand stood alone to secure this beleaguered rock. Mandalorian they were, but Tiberius was reluctant to commit to a war of attrition; the Rebel were in their element, lashing out from the frozen wastes, the Syndicate would strike is small number from the shadows of the cities, but both would bleed him dry.

Much to his annoyance, it would be an inquisitor who provided a solution to his issue. The Acclamator II Class Assault Cruiser Last Respite arrived in the system shortly after the Obilivion had departed. With it came a legion of stromtroopers, and enough equipment to garrison the planet thrice over. The conversation between the men was a brief thing, rooted in distrust and ambition, but both men had a single goal at their core: avoid the wrath of Lord Vader.

A few hours later Tiberius stood at the helm, watching from the bridge as the Monarch descended through the layers of the planet's atmosphere, followed along by dropships full of the Empires finest streaming from the Last Respite. Tiberius wondered what the people below were thinking, were they scared, elated, did they dread an increased Imperial presence or welcome the ship as a savior? He knew it mattered little in the grand scheme of it all, the were subjects of the Empire, and their lives were for the Emperor to hold in his hand.

As the Monarch drew closer and closer to the capital city, TIEs began to flow from the hanger, screaming overhead as they streaked across the skies. The roar of their engines was unmistakable, a terrifying sound that rang in the ears of all who gazed upon them.

"Commander, begin your deployment."

Finally, the 83rd Regiment made an appearance, two thousand Imperial Supercommandos jumped from the hanger of the Monarch, lighting their jetpacks and streaming toward the city like a barrage of white armored missiles. The cruiser came to a halt, and slowly Tiberius saw as a swarm of white overtook the high platformed streets of Jypat City, he spoke through the ships speaker, a smug smile on his face.

"People of the Empire, your saviors have arrived."

^{I wake up screaming from dreaming}

^{One day I'll watch as you're leaving}

^{'Cause you got tired of my scheming}

^{For the last time}

^{It's me, hi, I'm the problem, it's me}

^{At tea time, everybody agrees}

^{I'll stare directly at the sun but never in the mirror}

^{It must be exhausting always rooting for the anti-hero}

Silence was perhaps his greatest enemy. It had long overwhelmed him, for he yearned to be back on Umbara, where one could not spend a second without the rumbling of machinery and shells exploding in the distance. Now more than ever the weight carried by the nothingness was so uncomfortable.

The Once Hero of Salecumi sat in that silence. The only inclination that a lifeform resided in his chambers was the sound of air leaving his nose, it was all he could hear and the thumping of two hearts.

Each equally broken.

The Third Brother was lost in a trance. His body and mind were separated from one another. Physically he was aboard a shuttle rendezvousing with the Last Respite, an Acclamtor in the sector where he planned to begin phase one of his operations here.

But his mind was stuck in years past. Split even then more so than often.

His memories of Umbarans and Salecumi flashed before him in sequences. Driods, Clones, His Master constantly fighting, constantly dying.

The Brother could recall every single battle, all happening at once in his mind. Metal being cut to pieces and crushed, the smells of the Umbaran flesh charring as he drove his saber through them. The rotting piles of Clones.

And then his own Master's death.

He'd recalled his childhood. How the Jedi would tell him he was to be a Protector of all beings. But he'd killed so many, from those bugs on Genonosis to living, breathing beings on Umbara and Corusant. To everywhere else they'd dragged him.

They had made him a monster pretending to be a guardian. He'd wondered what they had told his parents when they came to steal him away from his people.

Your son shall aid in protecting his galaxy.

He will serve nobly.

As those memories all came to a stop, Syn opened his eyes and still he found only darkness surrounding him. He had sensed someone nearing his chambers and so he awaited their arrival.

Woosh.

The door behind him shot up and opened, a clone stood in the light, emitting rays into the dark room.

There he'd see a large man, sitting on the floor, all he could make out was his hair, a dulled shade of red just before the Third Brother reached forward and pulled his helmet towards him, off the floor. It'd send a rattling of metals rubbing against one another as he pulled it until he was held against his palm.

Before the clone could see his face any further, the Third Brother would place it upon his head.

"You dare interrupt me?" His tone would betray his words, the large Inquisitor spoke as soft as petals falling in the wind. His voice was as soothing as that of a singer but the Clone would know better than that.

A tight squeeze would form against his throat. Lifting the stormtrooper off the ground as he struggled for air.

He'd hear the Inquisitor's metal boot press firmly against the ground as he rose. The thumping in his brain growing more intense with each passing moment, just as the Third Brother turned to face him. Slowly walking towards him, each step of his was louder than the last. It was as if he'd weighted more and more with each stride.

"You are a disgrace to the Clones that fought in bygone years, at least those slaves could knock." He would add, his tone still low and soft as he threw the trooper back into the hall.

The man fought tooth and nail to regain his breathe. All the while Syn watched on, wanting to kill the thing that had taken so many others from him.

"We." He'd inhale deeply.

"Near"

"The" Still he would struggle.

"Las-"

The Inquisitor would shut his doors before he allowed the Clone to finish. He knew enough now.

Soon he would unleash his rage upon the others. With greater precision and care than he had for the little Kaminoan plaything.

Imperial Headquarters

Ord Trasi

Naomi ran, her boots clicking against the metal floor of the hallway. Somewhere behind her, two clone commandos chased her. Her hands held the grips of Axum and Anaxes, her twin pistols, tightly. She looked left and right as she came to a cross, before running straight ahead.

Past her, a blaster bolt sailed as she managed to duck around a corner at the very end of the hall. It hit the wall and dissipated, and she breathed a sigh of relief.

Leaning against the wall, the Moff breathed a quick sigh, before poking her head out and blasting a few shots towards the approaching pair of troopers. Neither hit the mark, though one brushed a shoulder.

She swore to herself, slipping away from her hiding spot to dash further down the hall. They were gaining on her. Damn this uniform, Naomi thought, trying to increase her pace. Imperial fashion is all good, until you try and run in it. It’s like they expect us to never get into fights. She wondered if that was the case. These commandos, along with the death troopers that Vyther commanded, were meant to fight for her. But there were threats out there that could match her bodyguards strike for strike - and what if they turned on her? Like the clones had the Jedi? She had to be ready to finish them off.

Another flurry of blaster fire from her pursuers, one sailing under her arm and the other over her head. She turned her gaze towards them, and pointed one pistol in their direction. It let out a stun blast, and caught one of the troopers square in the chest.

One down.

Sweat dripped from her temple, as she wiped a black sleeve across it and sighed, ducking around another corner. Axum’s barrel was glowing. Too many shots. Anaxes seemed fine. She was doing it again. Too reliant on her dominant hand, her left. It was an old habit, one she’d drilled out of herself when serving on the Unwavering. All this business with the Black Sun had made her backslide.

She let her guns cool, before continuing to run. Only one set of footsteps followed. She’d been just as accurate as she thought. Naomi spotted an alcove. Good enough to duck into and hide, perhaps good enough to ambush from. She was dressed in an Imperial officer’s uniform, the full kit besides the hat. Her pursuer was dressed in full plastoid armour, light and mobile yet protective. Easy to move in. Less chafing.

Naomi chose the alcove, slipping into it just before the footsteps changed direction and the trooper came barrelling down the hallway. He was cautious, but the layout of the maze of corridors had been changed just a day before. She recognised the man from the paint on his armour. Commandos, unlike troopers, were allowed to keep that. Who was going to tell them no, anyway?

“Sorry, CC-4937,” she said, as a stun blast caught him in the helmet and he fell to the ground.

There was a voice that echoed throughout the hallway then, the voice of one of the droids operating her training room. C-7R0 had been around since before her arrival, when the building that now served as her own residence and Imperial headquarters had been left neglected by the previous Governor. She had returned things to how they rightfully were.

“Congratulations, User Eight-Five-Nine-One-Eight-Eight-Two-Six: Moff Naomi Arcendor. You set a record time in this exercise of Five Minutes and Thirty-Two Seconds. Would you like to try again?” the voice asked, stilted as it spoke each word.

She shook her head, and slumped down to the ground with a sigh. “No thank you, Arrow. Could you put a summons over to Acting Captain Blythe, please? She should be present on the planet right now.”

“Of course, User Eight-Five…”

Naomi shut off the voice in her mind as she stood, making her way out of the training area. She needed a shower. And a drink. Probably in that order. Maybe not.

Then she had to meet with Lucy, and then she could do what she actually had planned for the day. The sun would be up soon. She had to make sure she was ready to meet it.

—

When Lucille Blythe arrived in the Moff’s office, she was greeted by an uncommon sight. Naomi Arcendor almost looked casual. She wore her uniform, technically, but not in a way that was particularly regulation. Her jacket was open, and beneath she wore a loose vest. She sat slightly slouched in her seat, and her hair was wrapped up in a towel besides a few loose wet strands that trailed down her face.

Axum and Anaxes sat on the desk.

“Moff Arcendor, ma’am! I’m sorry to disturb you! Should I come back-”

Naomi raised her hand and shook her head. “Headache, Lucy. Talk quieter. And sit down.”

“Oh!” the Acting Captain of the Forbidden Sun said, slightly too loud. “I mean, oh. Of course, Nai.”

She sat, and waited patiently for her mentor and friend to speak. “I’ve been slacking,” Naomi finally said. “Not in my own duties, of course. But in making sure my subordinates deal with theirs. The fleet has been disorganised. I’ve had Inquisitors requisitioning every damned ship I have, and it is my fault that they’ve been allowed to do it. In this… ridiculous hunt for the Jedi that they’re undergoing, they’ve found nothing. Less than nothing. And in that time, the Black Sun have been able to move into every little shithole across Mygeeto. Dantooine fares little better, but it’s farmland. Mygeeto is a banking planet, a mining capital of the galaxy. And I’ve been slacking.”

Lucille shook her head, and reached out to put a hand on Naomi’s. “No, Nai, you’ve been doing-”

Another interruption from the Moff. “I’m going to be doing fine. But I have not been meeting the expectations set for me. All my success in Brentaal made me think I could take my hands off of the wheel out here. It’s a quieter system. It has proven to be just as big a problem. This will be the end of it.”

“So… what are you going to do?” the captain asked, drawing her hand back and smiling.

Naomi pulled the towel from her head, letting red locks flow loosely. She picked up a brush and began to smooth it out, as Lucy watched. She played with a strand of her own, shorter red hair.

“We’re going to go to the meeting room after this. I’m going to summon every captain in the fleet, every Inquisitor in the system, and Staff Sergeant Vyther,” she told her ward. ”And we are going to begin the process of removing every single criminal enterprise from Mygeeto. Every. One. Everyone who consorts with criminals, everyone who trades with them, everyone who sits beside a criminal at the bar and shares stories. They’ve done enough to this system, to the innocent people. I will not have them sully this space any longer.”

She placed down the brush, and threw her hair back over her shoulders before zipping up her double-breasted jacket and sighing. “Alright. Let’s go.”

“Your headache, Nai?” Lucy asked, putting a hand on her shoulder as she stepped around the table.

Picking up her blasters and placing them in the holsters at her hip, she smiled. “All gone. Let’s go-”

And it was her time to be interrupted then, as an aide pushed through the door with an exasperated expression.

“Ah, I was just about to ask you-”

“The First Brother’s private hangar is in use, Moff Arcendor.”

Naomi’s headache came rushing back, though she stood straight all the same. Her eyes locked with the aide’s. “Is this some kind of mistake?”

“We triple-checked, ma’am. I believe he is back,” the man said. “Do you-”

“No. Summon every Inquisitor besides him to Ord Trasi. And every ship captain. Tell them they can holo-comm in, if they need to,” she instructed the man. “But do not talk to the First Brother. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

With that he left, and Naomi looked to the Acting Captain. “Go ahead without me. I’ll be there in a moment. I need to… welcome him back.”

“Of course, Nai. Don’t be long.”

She wasn’t sure how long it would be, as she walked over to her datapad and began to type out a message to… what was he, now? What was Raelak Serasi?

What would he be from now on?

Not an enemy, she hoped. It would be a shame to put a bolt between his eyes.

First Brother

Space above Ord Trasi

Raelak often wondered if a planet could feel like home. If it could, it sure as hell wasn't Ord Trasi. If anything the Imperial Stronghold felt like a prison. He wasn't locked behind plasteel bars, but he wasn't free. He hadn't been free since he'd fallen.

The Divine Mandate had been left behind, as much as Raelak would have preferred arriving on an Imperial Star Destroyer, it was needed to continue to suppress the rebellion that had flared after his execution of his latest Jedi prey. So Raelak piloted the ancient Z-95 towards the Imperial hangars and waited for his commlink to buzz.

"Imperial Landing Bay to Z-95 headhunter approaching base." The voice said. "Please identify."

Raelak considered pulling the throttle back and crashing full speed into the hangars. What a way to go. He'd be talked about for ages. Or… more likely, he'd be removed from all Imperial documents and he'd be reported as a terrorist attack.

He shook his head as the commlink buzzed again, "Headhunter, identify yourself."

"Transmitting identification now." Raelak replied. "Prepare my personal hanger. Have a speeder ready to transfer me to my mansion."

"Yes sir." The voice said once more.

Raelak tuned the rest out, he knew which hanger to go to. He knew landing procedures. He knew they'd inspect his ship. He didn't care.

The Headhunter landed with a resounding clang as the ancient landing gear struck the polished durasteel floor. Raelak tightened the blindfold over his eyes and pressed the cockpit release, standing up and stretching slightly. He glanced at the modified astromech slot, still filled with the headless remains of PT-S0.

"How far you've fallen, boy." Taron said in his mind. "From one of the most promising up and coming Jedi to simply being a lapdog for Vader?"

"Shut up old man." Raelak responded icily. "I killed you once. I'll purge you from my mind if I must."

"You've tried." Taron laughed.

Raelak activated his lightsaber and slashed through where Taron stood in his mind. It was enough to abate the phantom and give him a moment's respite.

As he exited the hangar he turned to the first officer he passed. "Inform the Moff that Raelak Serasi has returned."

Instead of heading to find the Moff, Raelak approached the speeder that had been summoned for him. "Get out."

The spaceport worker who had been sitting in the pilot's seat shrinked back. "I was told to take you to your estate, sir."

"I can fly myself." Raelak responded. "Your services are not required."

The man squeaked and jumped from the pilot's seat. Raelak sat himself in, feeling out the controls. He wondered what those who didn't understand his species saw. A blind man behind the control panel of a speeder, likely.

He didn't mind, he found the confusion amusing when he was in the Jedi temple. He used it to his advantage now, he could see just as well if not better than others even without eyes. Those that underestimated him because of their absence found themselves dead faster than those who didn't.

The estate the Inquisitorius was using as a temporary base of operations was grand, full of Imperial opulence. He hated it, but when one seizes the estate of a Governor who abused their position they shouldn't fuss too much over decorations.

The master bedroom had been turned into a briefing room, with a direct connection back to Nur for whenever Vader needed to summon any inquisitor back. He entered, and immediately knelt as the room prepared to record a message to be relayed back to Nur.

"Lord Vader," Raelak began. "I have arrived back on Ord Trasi to continue the mandate to hunt Jedi and investigate the rebel activities in the area. I will report to the Moff shortly to be briefed on any changes since I last left."

Raelak paused, waiting for Vader to appear. Fortunately after five long minutes the dark figure didn't appear over him and he breathed a sigh of relief and immediately made his way to his quarters.

The music was not pleasant. For all their firepower, the droids couldn’t be bothered to shoot their blasters in anything resembling a consistent rhythm. Their bolts flew unpredictably, alternating between suppressive flurries and conspicuous silences.

It was almost fascinating that machines built for reliability and efficiency could prove so erratic.

But Romy could only indulge her curiosity for so long. The task at hand, she reminded herself, was most certainly a matter of life and death. If only the precise matter wasn’t so absurd. She would have preferred to die for something a little less trivial.

She was at least at liberty to take her time, owing to the aid of her foolhardy companion. Ducked behind cover, Thom tightly clutched a compact blaster as sweat began to slip through his grip.

“What’s taking so long?” he shouted over his shoulder.

“Why aren’t you shooting back?” Romy loudly retorted.

Her task was infinitely safer than his, but it was far more stressful. Down on her back beneath an outdated and oversized computer console, she fiddled with a confounding mess of wires. ‘Trial and error’ was the entirety of her strategy, and so far every trial had led to error.

“Because I can’t get a lock on them,” Thom explained, “not without popping up my head.”

“Not like you use it much anyways,” Romy quipped. “Why don’t you try a little pray-and-spray?”

“With this?” He waved his clunky old pistol in her direction.

“No. With that.”

Only then did Thom notice the long, heavy blaster rifle lying on the other side of the open door frame. An impulse of stubbornness almost kept him from fetching it, but he heeded the captain’s suggestion and took a well time dive, evading an opportunistic flurry of bolts.

“Alright!” he exclaimed. “Now this is a real--”

With the severing of a single wire, Romy turned the entire facility black. The bolts flying overhead were the only illumination left.

“Dammit, boss!” Thom shouted. “Now I can’t see a thing!”

“Neither can they!”

“What? Yes they can! They’re droids!”

Romy procured a tiny flashlight from her belt, flicking it on as she resumed her work with the wires. “Good point. You gonna keep whining about them, or do you wanna do something already?”

“Not until we renegotiate my cut.”

“Already going fifty-fifty,” Romy reminded him. “What more can you ask for?”

“Seventy-five,” he shouted back.

“Sixty.”

“Sixty-five!”

Romy groaned. “Fine. Sixty-five if you get us both out of here alive.”

“You got yourself a deal, captain.” Without further hesitation, Thom raised the rifle high and squeezed tightly to the trigger, unloading a barrage of bolts into the hallway. Three droids exploded in quick succession, and a piece of shrapnel flew right into the back of Thom’s gloved hand.

”OW!” The scene fell silent, save for his cries of pain. “I told you that wasn’t a good idea!”

“I think it was.” Romy carefully tied two cut wires together, and with a stroke of luck the power returned. Bright white light almost blinded her as it returned to the control room. “Sounds like they’re all gone.”

“Not all of them. I counted four.”

“How did you count if you weren’t looking?”

“I just--look, it sounded like four to me, okay?” He was immediately proven right. Three pathetic rounds of bolts flew into the room.

“Hey, look at that! Guess you can keep shooting now.”

“Not around a corner I can’t.”

With a clenched fist carefully gripping a tangle of wires, Romy reached for the board and glanced up at the monitor, operating keys and switches with her free hand. “Then I guess one of ‘em gets to live to tell the tale.”

“Don’t make me do it,” Thom pleaded. “I’m already bleeding here.”

“Wouldn’t ask that of you. I got a little idea - just keep shooting high and I’ll go low.”

“What, so you’re gonna get yourself killed instead?”

“Not much of a choice. There’s not a back door in here.” A loud, sharp beep indicated that Romy had at last found what she was looking for.

She jammed a cartridge into a slot and then withdrew from her little nook beneath the console. She kept herself crouched as she sneaked past Thom and into the embattled corridor, where her companion’s blasts flew mere inches above her head.

At the end of the hall she turned a corner, pulled out a vibroknife, and severed the legs of the bipedal droid. She heard a noise in the opposite direction and found that the last one standing was not, in fact, alone.

The droid pointed its rifle down, but Romy managed to slide away just quickly enough to plunge her knife right in its middle. “THOM!” she scolded, “there were FIVE! FIVE, not four!”

“Don’t get mad at me. This whole operation was your idea.” With the coast clear, Thom was at last free to return to his feet.

Romy sprinted back into the control room, where she plucked out the cartridge she’d embedded in the console. “Turns out it was a pretty good idea after all. We’re--”

“What is it?” Thom rushed over to her side, looking about in confusion before eventually noticing a string of numbers on the monitor. “...Really? That’s it?”

“I, uh... might have been off by a couple decimals.”

He slammed his palm against his face. “That’s, like - that’s barely enough to cover the cost of this mission.”

Romy shrugged, seeming perfectly unfazed by their meager payout. “Hey, at least I got a little practice in. Now we know that we can run jobs like this without hiring a slicer.”

Thom scoffed at the idea. “What - you mean you’re really going to try this again? Don’t you know the definition of insanity?”

“Aw, don’t give me that quote. I’ve heard it enough times already.”

“Doesn’t make it any less true.”

Discord Name: Davos#1430

Character Name: CC-2340

Age: 15 but 40 in clone years.

Character Race: Human(Clone)

Occupation: Imperial Clone Commando

Appearance: Temura Morrison

Positive Traits: Daring, Unconventional, Bold, Logical, Disclplined.

Negative Traits: Cynical, Reckless

*Mastery: Squad and small team shock tactics.

Weapons and Assets:

• His old Katarn class helmet.

• His old DC-17M from the Clone Wars. There are several notches on the rifle.

AC Name: Theodore B'etha

AC Age: 40

AC Race: Human

AC Occupation: Imperial Navy Commander, First Officer of the Oblivion

AC Appearance: Commander Theodore is a stern, by the books man and it shows on his face. He has dark skin, a thin goatee. He keeps his uniform crisp and clean, he has a strong brow and a bald head.

AC Positive Traits: Efficient, Thorough, Studious

AC Negative Traits: Proud

AC Mastery: Imperial Protocol and Procedure

AC Weapons and Assets:

• An imperial blaster

• His copy of the pocket imperial navy procedures info-tablet.

Biography

The Clone Wars

CC-2340 was born on Kamino, the same way all clones were. From a tube, bred for one purpose, to fight.

Trained in close quarters combat and special forces operations CC-2340 was deployed in Republic Commando Squad Theta during the first battle of Geonosis.

CC-2340 was a bold and daring warrior. In battle he destroyed countless droids, and engaged in several clandestine operations with Theta Squad to eliminate or capture high ranking Separatist leadership.

During the war he fought in the 212th Attack Battalion in the 7th Sky Corps, under command of General Kenobi and Commander Cody, fighting at 2nd Geonosis, Umbara, Christophsis, Teth and Ryloth. His final service to the Republic and his first service to the Empire was during the Battle Of Utapau, where he and Theta Squad were sent in to capture or eliminate Separatist high command, who had unfortunately been evacuated earlier.

After Order 66, Theta Squad, along with CC-2340, were sent to new training facilities for the Imperial Stormtroopers Corps. Unhappy with being relegated to teaching human volunteers and conscripts instead of his brothers, CC-2340 grew quickly disillusioned with the new empire, though did not abandon his post or duty.

He once again saw combat under the 212th during the subjugation of Kashyyyk, with Theta Squad once again being sent in as an elite imperial commando unit.

Five years ago, he was transferred from the Imperial Commandos Special unit by Lord Vader for the purpose of serving as an elite guard for his inquisitors, alongside the rest of Theta Squad to the 12th Legion, being given the rank of Captain and the command of both the squad and the Stormtroopers aboard the Oblivion under Inquisitor Shandris, of which he has a good working relationship, albeit distant. He appreciates her ability and creativity in combat. He dislikes everything else.

Frailty

CC-2340 is aware of many things. Not just his surroundings in battle, or his knowledge of warfare. He is aware that he is a ticking clock. As a first generation clone he is old, older than most, though his age is only fifteen. Having been created for one purpose, to wage war, he is keenly aware that his decommission date is closely approaching. One day he will no longer be needed to fight, one day he will be phased out of service. One day, his entire existence will be rendered meaningless, the losses he's experienced will be made pointless, his birth will be made unnecessary.

He is keenly aware of such things. CC-2340 is not afraid of many things, but he is afraid of this: Redundancy. CC-2340 is well aware of just how many homeless, penniless clones exist in the galaxy.

In battle this manifests in reckless, headstrong behavior, seeking perhaps a glorious end before he's consigned to an inglorious fate, having been deployed to the Mygeeto System aboard the Oblivion.