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Callahan McKoy

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My chit. I’m calling it in. Sorry. Have a safe trip.
— Morgan

Callahan made his way down the boarding ramp of The Fortunate Son. As he hit the bottom a servent droid waddled out and intercepted him. An impatient sigh escaped his lips as he came to a stop allowing the droid to follow it's primary programming.

"Welcome to Nar Shaddaa, My name is LEP-27c8 I'm a representative of Deucalon spaceport, how long do you plan on docking here?"

Callahan considered the droid's question and said, "For a while."

"Excellent, in that case, I'll just need a form of payment to take care of—"

"I'm gonna need to see proof you are who you say you are," interrupted Cal.

LEP's head cocked to the side as it processed this request. "Sir, I can assure you," it began in that perfect customer service tone of placation, but Cal rolled his eyes and said, "No proof, no payment."

The two stood face to photoreceptor for an uncomfortable moment. Cal suddenly became very aware of the heavy blaster on his hip. He could feel the adrenalin enter his system, he focused on his breathing and kept cool. The droid wavered.

"Jerk," muttered the droid as it whirled and scuttled away. The Corellian made his way to the receptionist and got everything squared away with his stay on Nar Shaddaa. On his way out he stopped by the gift store and bought a pack of cigarettes. He wasn't much of a smoker, but his nerves were shot from the past few days. He pulled the plastic off the blue package of Corellian Spirits tossed it in a nearby trashcan and slipped the cigarettes into his duster.

Callahan McKoy exited the spaceport and searched for somewhere to gain his bearings. He spotted a handrail out of the way and made his way over. He leaned on the rail, which had a striking view of the sprawling Ecumenopolis, and tried to take it all in. His hometown Coronet City was the largest city on Corellia, but it's immensity didn't hold a candle to the concrete jungle that was splayed out before him. Larger than life holoprojected advertisements ranging from wholesome to lascivious played on repeat in a chaotic ebb and flow that waltzed across the skyline like some perverse welcome sign. Streams of speeders crisscrossed the neon lights resembling the static in a transmission with a bad connection. He took out a cigarette and lit up. He blew out a plume of smoke that blended in well with the general miasmic atmosphere. Cal pushed away from the rail and pulled out his personav.

The Corellian punched in the coordinates from Morgan's message and was surprised to see the location wasn't far. He took another drag on his Corellian Spirit before stamping it out under his heel. It wouldn't be long before things got crazy, and the closer he got to the chaos... the more excited he got.

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Morgan Arcas

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Cantinas were surprisingly chilly, when empty. And, funnier still, in over a decade in the Smuggler's Moon, this was the cleanest he'd ever seen one. Which, mind you, did not mean clean. Still. He had to give it to the old man. Pin knew how to make things happen.

It'd been a few days since his old debts had been cleared, and the old smuggler hadn't spent a single credit of his own. Instead, he'd directed the Corellian to a Hutt that needed a slight issue dealt with, and given him the tools to fix it. Worried that his dirty laundry would be aired, but more worried still that he might need another fixer in the future, the Hutt gave Morgan an enticing sum, and went above and beyond to push some ridiculous narrative about how he'd won it at Sabacc, fearful that word might get out. The prose felt a little purple, if he was to be honest, but Arcas never had been the type to look a gift bantha in the mouth. Particularly when it came to crime lords that might just take refusals to heart.

Word on the street was, Morgan Arcas had lost his mind. Blinded by a sudden downpour of credits, the Spacer had gotten himself some new digs and was looking for a new crew. In Nar Shaddaa, those events were known as ill omens. None in their right mind would join a crew like this unless they intended to con the Corellian, which suited his purposes just fine. Or, rather, the old man's. Few would look twice at someone about to go bust all over again, and the recruitment process was total fiction anyway, so bad seeds wouldn't be joining no matter how they tried.

Which brings us to the empty cantina, the base of recruitment for the new 'Crew'. After weeks of hard labour, the pieces had all been set, and the game was about to begin.

———​

"Hey kid, if you're planning on staring off into nothing, the least you could do is get me a drink." — sprawled atop a couch on the corner of the place, Pin laid, cigara in his mouth, doing some thinking of his own.

"Sure thing." — replied Morgan, reaching behind the counter, pulling a bottle of... something that looked popular. A quick sniff had felt like a blow to the face. Whatever it was, was profoundly disgusting. Still rearing, Morgan chose to carefully set it to one side, in hopes that he wouldn't land on it again if or, rather, when he was drunk later on — he had an entire cantina to himself, and willpower could only take him so far after all — and then returned to looking through his options.

Spotting a bottle of Corellian Whiskey, the best damned drink in the Galaxy, the younger Smuggler poured out two glasses. "We wouldn't want your old man bones giving out on us now, now would we?"

With a light chuckle, the older man replied — "No, we would not."

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Callahan McKoy

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Antisipation is a funny thing, whether it originates in anxiety or excitement, it has a way of distorting time. According to his personav it was only a ten-minute walk from the spaceport to his rendevous, but Cal felt like he'd been walking for hours. Each step felt heavy as if the gravity of his decisions had finally decided to show up. His eyes studied the pock scarred duracrete pavement in an attempt to ignore the gnawing in his gut.

A small vibration broke his attention away from the street and to his left palm. The iridescent glow of his personav snapped him out of his stupor. He took a right, as instructed, and spotted his destination midway up the lane on the right-hand side. McKoy stood across the street from the bar glaring with one of his famous scowls. The establishment was multilevel, but it looks like the bar only had three floors. In the middle of the three the name 'Rosie's' scrolled past on a holoprojector. Cal bearly resisted the urge to stall by smoking another cigarette, and after looking both ways, crossed the street.

As he drew closer, McKoy noticed a surprising lack of sentients around the bar. No door guy, no line waiting to get in, strange. There were some people moving about on the street, but everyone seemed to be avoiding Rosie's. Cal stood outside the door and awkwardly looked around, no one. He shrugged and reached for the panel while casually placing a hand on the butt of his heavy blaster. The door slid aside with a sharp hiss, and he entered.

The temperature seemed to drop almost instantly as he passed into the building. Cal found himself covered in a sheen of perspiration he'd not noticed on the dank streets of Nar Shaddaa. Directly in front of him was an illuminated bar. No bartender, no people mingling, no bouncers. What in the hell was going on? Callahan noticed movement in his periphery and instinctively drew his weapon. The Corellian aimed his weapon at a guy lounging in a booth who'd had the sense to hold up his hands.

"Easy there," came a voice with an accent The Corellian couldn't place, "Callahan I presume, why don't you lower that blaster and come get a drink before you get hurt, huh?" A smile that seemed to warn as much as welcome spread across the man's face. Callahan spotted a second figure and after a moment in the dim lighting recognized Morgan. Cal scowled, and holstered his blaster forgetting the other guy altogether and said, "What's the job, Morgan?"
 

Morgan Arcas

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Half a room away from a face he hadn't seen in years, Morgan's eyebrows rose, before his hands extended to either side, as if to prepare for a hug, but his feet did not budge. "Well, now..." — he said, pausing for a moment as the trademark impish grin that had been swept away by a moment of surprise crept back into place — "What's a nice place like you doing in a girl like this?"

Not even mentioning the drawn blaster, the Corellian calmly made his way over to Pin, set the pair of glasses on the table and flashed the bottle at Callahan, ensuring that his old friend could see the label, before setting it down as well. "Take a seat. You can scowl with a drink in your hand."

Arcas returned to silence and calmly grasped Pin's pack of cigara, placed atop the very same table. Unhurriedly plucking one, putting it to his lips and lighting it, the smuggler prepared his return trip to the counter, to fetch another glass for the new arrival.

The older gentleman or, perhaps, the only gentleman among the trio, still comfortably taking up most of the couch, but now no longer lying down so much as sitting, read the mood and made himself known once again. "Now, now, children." — his tone calm and dripping with honey and swagger — "How about we leave the pissing contest for later, mm?" — as with before, though they may have sounded like one, the man's words did not feel like a question.

Allowing his piece to resonate in the aether for a moment, Pin gave Morgan — who had made it to the counter at this point — a meaningful look. "Well?" — he asked, pointedly — "Aren't you going to introduce me to your friend?"

Returning the stern look he'd received, the younger Smuggler's lips parted ever so briefly as the instinct to offer a quip in rebuttal nearly took over, before ultimately sighing and looking over at his childhood friend, this time properly. "Cal, Pin, Pin Cal." — Morgan offered, offhandedly motioning to the two between puffs of the cigara on his lips, not sounding particularly thrilled at the turnout — "Don't ask..." — he added, with mild annoyance and a brief, pained look of reminiscence, referring to his mentor's odd choice of name.

The third glass now firmly in hand, the Corellian made his way back to the table, hoping to claim a second couch: one that was backed by the other wall. Should his endeavour prove successful, that'd leave the third, and the less comfortable set of chairs that completed the edges around the rectangular table, for Cal to choose from.

"The old man is a pain in the ass, but he knows his stuff."

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Kiara Shan

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Nar Shaddaa had never really been a place Kiara enjoyed coming to. If you weren't stepping in metaphorical bantha shit as you worked your way through the grimy streets, you were getting bumped into by fledgling pickpockets or harassed by spice peddlers or whatever other annoying and gross thing the denizens of the Smuggler's Moon thought you needed shoved down your throat.

Regardless for her disdain for the place, Kiara's presence here had been specifically requested by someone supremely important to her, and as such she was going to show up. A little bit late, as per usual, but show up nonetheless.

Glancing down at her chrono, Ki realized she was a little bit more late than she had thought. Hopefully Pin wouldn't be too upset about that, though if she were gonna put a bet on it he probably wouldn't get upset at all. Ki had done all manner of thing that would get a normal parent-type figure to freak out but Pin never did. Ki was convinced there wasn't anything out there that could break the man's suave, always in control, cool guy persona - at least when it came to her.

As she approached the cantina, Ki couldn't help but notice that it seemed eerily.. empty. Most cantina's worth a shit on Nar Shaddaa were packed to the gills this time of night. The young slicer couldn't help but wonder how much coin Pin had dropped to keep the place devoid of patrons.. and what he might want to be talking about that he was afraid to discuss within earshot of strangers.

Entering through a side door, Kiara was met with a rather strange image: two men she didn't know, and one that she did. That wasn't really the strange thing, Pin did business all the time with people Kiara didn't know. What made it strange was the.. almost palpable air of tension between them all, like one of the trio kriffed both the other's wives.. or someone owed somebody else a fat stack of credits. Maybe both?

Kiara didn't try to mask her approach, waving at Pin warmly as she neared the group. Looking at the other two men gathered here, Ki took them in one at a time, her gaze probably coming off as both judgemental and curious.

I've not seen you two before, She said, grabbing her own glass and filling it with a dark amber liquid. Are you both friends of Pin? She asked, though it was probably obvious it was a bit of a joke. Men like Pin didn't really have friends. Nature of the business.

Tilting her head curiously as she took a drink from her glass, Ki couldn't help but let out a little chuckle. Wait, are you guys twins?

Pin seemed to be growing somewhat impatient with Kiara's playing, so instead of continuing she kept the rest of her comment to herself and nodded at him knowingly. Time to figure out just what the reason was he called them all here in the first place.


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Callahan McKoy

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Callahan's frown deepened as Morgan ignored his question and meandered toward the bar. His old friend encouraged him to take a seat and relax, but unfortunately, he'd left his entire life behind and wasn't exactly in the mood for Morgan's games. Remaining fixed in his location, Cal crossed his arms over his chest and drummed a repetitive crescendo with his left hand. He wasn't going to be able to bully his way through this one. If it were just him and Morgan there'd be no issue, but this new guy was frakking things up and it was starting to piss Callahan off. Morgan set an empty glass down and took a seat. He could feel a migraine brimming just behind his eyes and decided if he couldn't beat em he'd join em. Callahan picked up the empty cup from the table, dropped a whiskey rock into it, and filled his cup. He took a seat and failed to stop himself from lighting up another Corellian Spirit.

The introduction between Pin and Cal was something ripped out of a Corellian folk tale. Two men stare one another down both refusing to give any quarter, but neither willing to offer the first offense. An unspoken agreement is formed, you don't frak with me, I won't frak with you. With a nod, the truce is confirmed and they lift a glass and drink. Sometimes it's that easy. Sometimes it's blasters. Callahan could feel himself starting to relax a little. As he leaned back in his chair a beam of light off the left side caught his attention. McKoy lifted his Corellian Spirit and took a drag as the newcomer approached.

Callahan's gaze once again shifted from Morgan to Pin and as the woman closed in it became apparent they were friends. His jaw tightened and his eyes shifted from Pin to Morgan as the woman approached, but he didn't move for his weapon. Halfway to them, it became clear she was a friend of Pin's. Cal allowed himself an inquisitive glance as she came into focus and met her judgemental gaze with a scowl of his own. He let Morgan do the talking since that was his gig, and he took another sip of his drink waiting for this farce to move along. Pin seemed to echo his sentiments and cleared his throat bringing everyone's attention to him.

"Since the gang's all here I think it would be fitting to move on to the next stage of our little encounter, but first," he gestured to the woman beside him and said, "This is K3Y. She's a friend of mine with a particularly interesting set of technological skills." A smile seemed to linger just behind his expression as he spoke. "Before I reveal the big plan I need to see if this little band of misfits has what it takes to get a job done." His gaze landed firmly on Callahan and McKoy stared definitely back. Pin lifted his glass and took a drink.

"In order to accomplish our ultimate task, we need to be able to get in the door." Pin pulled a datapad from his jacket on the coach he was originally lounging in. He set it down on the table and a map of the mercantile sector blinked into existence above the device. A magnifying feature highlighted an area and then zoomed in, and then did so again. It brought up a seemingly innocuous Wearhouse on the edge of the sector. Cal frowned as he leaned forward to get a better look.

"This is Wearhouse α-7," as if on queue the image shifted to a top-down view of the first floor. "Looks harmless doesn't it?" Cal couldn't stop an eyebrow from cocking in interest. Pin reached forward and zoomed in on a portion in the NW quadrant of the floor map. "Well right here—" he pressed a blank portion of the 3D render and it blinked opening into another screen. "-is a hidden floor."

From the layout, Cal could tell it was a spice operation. "What the hell do you want us to do with spice?"

Pin smiled, "Good eye. I don't want you to do anything with it unless you wanna nick a little for yourself later, I'm no judge. No, I want you to find a datapad that should be in this room." The image shifted left then up and a little right. A room's outline flashed white as it was selected and then magnified.

"This is the office of a cheating prick. A couple of years back he stole a datapad from me and keeps it in his office. The datapad has this insignia on the back of it," Pin's eyes had a predatory focus to them as he stared at the projection. "It's time I pay him back, well you'll pay him back, for me." A boyish grin lit up his face as he crossed his arms over his chest and looked at the three still sitting in front of him. "Oh- Just remembered, you've got 36 hours to get this done, starting," he lifted his wrist and started a timer on his crono at the same time he said, "—Now!"

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The new arrival was unexpected, to say the least, but the Corellian had never really been the type to sweat that particular brand of small stuff, and even less so when it came to the old man and his antics. Morgan offered a polite, casual nod in greetings, but sized her up all the same.

The corners of his lips twitched ever so slightly at the twins remark, before glancing to his side and seeing his old friend in an uncomfortable pose not too different from his own, sporting a frighteningly similar jacket, drinking the same drink, the same way... even the smoking! That was his thing! Goodie two-shoes was supposed to have quit! Those things'll kill you, you know?! — he thought to himself disapprovingly, before taking a puff of his own.

A brief chuckle escaped his lips, born of bona fide surprise and a touch of self-deprecation, having noticed not just the similarities themselves, but how hyper-aware of them the comment had made him. But hey, it wasn't like Morgan could blame his friend. After all, it wasn't their fault that they were born on Corellia, and that their homeworld just so happened to make the best damned products in the Galaxy. At the end of the day, what could they do? Not enjoy them? As if!

Bringing his drink to his lips, to fully take advantage of the mirth his reasoning had brought him — and only marginally annoyed by noticing Callahan was doing the same, albeit for what he guessed were much more dour reasons — Arcas prepared to quip back, but found his mental monologue cut short when the old man made himself known to the room once again. Pulling no punches, Pin proceeded to detail a little job they needed to pull, without his help, and in record time.

A decade in Hutt Space had told the Corellian a thing or two about warehouses, and this one's purpose did not escape his eyes. And then, of course, McKoy had to blurt it out anyway... That boy always had a terrible bedside manner, and it seemed to have gotten worse. One Corellian glared at the other reproachingly, like he had so many times in the past — frankly, more out of irritation from having been copied again than anything — but ultimately stayed his tongue and kept listening to the impromptu briefing.

The bravado with the clock hadn't fazed Morgan in the slightest. The Smuggler remained in his seat, liberally sipping on his beverage and inspecting the schematics closely. This wasn't exactly his wheelhouse, but he'd certainly done weirder. Briefly giving Pin a pointed look, as if to say I see what you're doing, the man quickly moved on to face the girl: the biggest question-mark in the room, as far as he was concerned.

"I'm Morgan, and this is Callahan. Hi." — he spoke, relaxed as usual, setting the still lit cigarra down on the ashtray and extending his hands to manipulate the projection, eyes trailed on her actions — "What do you see that you can mess with?"

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Kiara Shan

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Listening to Pin explain things in his.. unusual but typical way, Ki did her best to keep the surprise from completely painting itself across her face. Despite knowing that Pin earned his money in more ways than just legal ones, Kiara was never really clued in on much of that part of the man's life. So this was a first for her, and it was a little weird.

She remained quiet, wondering if either of Corellians would ask questions or if there was some sort of unwritten rule of "even if you don't know what is going on, at least pretend like you do." Ki felt a little insecure that she didn't instantly recognize the layout of the warehouse as a spice den. It seemed like Morgan and Callahan had her on both age and experience.

After Pin's spiel was over, Morgan introducing himself and Cal did put Kiara at ease just a little. At least it seemed like the man wasn't disregarding her at first glance like many had before. That was part of the reason Ki preferred to do her work anonymously on the Holonet. It was a.. refreshing change of pace.

Depends on the approach we want to take, Kiara said, thinking about Morgan's question for a moment. I could slice into the power grid and put the whole place in the dark for maybe four or five minutes, probably less if they have generators. They'd need some big ass ones though, spice refining sucks power like a desperate Twi'lek. She paused for a moment before deciding it was probably best to be honest about the potential danger. If you can't get out before the lights come back on though.. well, it'll be nice knowing you.

Running her fingers through her hair absentmindedly, Kiara gave a small shrug. Best bet would be to get most of the thugs out of there with a distraction. I could wire a delivery droid with some explosives, if we can get it into the main refining area an explosion there would likely draw everyone to the southern corner, Kiara pointed at a big open area in the bottom part of the map. This big open space is likely where the main refining process happens. For any real spice op, you're gonna need a lot of room to refine as much as possible as fast as possible.

There were probably dozens of ways to approach a job like this but Ki was only going to propose the ones she thought might actually work. Knowing Corellians, they probably wanted to use the "bust in the front door and dive face first guns-a-blazing" strategy. Not something she was particularly interested in unless it was as an observer a couple clicks away.

Near as I can tell, we need to get in and out of this place as fast as possible. Do either of you have any thoughts?

Despite being somewhat accustomed to formulating and executing her jobs alone, it was evident the only way they were going to succeed on this one was by working as a team. Leave it to Pin to toss together a couple of strangers, give 'em a good martini shake and just see how things turned out.



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Callahan McKoy

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Callahan’s eyes stayed on the projection as K3Y spoke. He liked her plan, for the most part, they’d need to alter a few things, but it was a solid starting point. Out of the quartet Pin had gathered it was clear to him K3Y was the rookie, but that didn’t mean she wasn’t capable. A couple of times as she spoke he found himself breaking his set in stone scowl to adopt a surprised frown. His emotional bandwidth was astounding.

“Subtly should be our priority, anything that might resemble an attack of any kind should be avoided,” he said as he took another drag off the Corellian Spirit in his hand.

“I think we can get in and find the Datapad without killing the lights, but getting out would be a lot easier if we caused a little chaos. So, what if we create a diversion to get in—“ he leaned closer to the projector and then smirked shooting a sly glance at Morgan, “I’m thinking we pull a Shaggy Bantha." Cal would leave it to Morgan to elaborate. It'd been his plan in the first place.

“Once we’re in, make a b-line for the datapad. Find it, shut off the lights, and get the hell out of there in the cover of darkness.”

Quick, easy, and based on simple deception. He felt his smirk spread into a full-blown smile. His emotions were at war as they continued to flesh out the plan. He finally felt like he was doing something worthwhile, but at the same time, he couldn't help but think of Molly... He attempted to drown his conscious, but only managed to drain his glass.

Pin chuckled and turned his back on the group. “I can see you three have some planning to do.”

He started heading toward the door, “The clock is ticking. If you can’t pull this off don’t bother sticking around.”

The razor-sharp jocularity became deadly as he spoke and Cal realized Pin wasn't joking. Of course, McKoy didn’t give a flying frak, this guy was nothing to him. He shot a questioning look to Morgan but doubted he could afford any explanation. Cal shrugged absently and took a final drag off his cigarette before tossing it into the ashtray on the table.

"Okay, who the hell is that?" his attention was on Morgan, but he was open to anyone willing to offer enlightenment.

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Morgan listened in silence to his newly crowned crewmates chime in, and remained that way until the old timer had made his way out of the empty Cantina. Stoic, save for the impish smile on his lips, as the doors to the place closed behind him, the Corellian leaned forward over the table, closer still to the projection, and calmly glanced down at the ember from his cigarra, that he'd left in the ashtray. Absentmindedly replying to Callahan's final question, his focus still visibly on the task at hand, Morgan mumbled. "He's the man with the plan."

After one last moment of thought, a grin tore through his already jovial demeanour and he looked to his childhood friend in amusement. "But my, my, my... Now there's a sentence I never thought I'd hear again. Looks like someone came to play."

His lips still curled from ear to ear, a hint of mock doubt graced his eyes. "You sure about the Bantha, though? I mean... I love it, don't get me wrong, but last time we tried it, I seem to remember you burning off one of your eyebrows." — he looked at K3, his audience at the moment — "To this day, that's the most surprised I've ever seen anyone look. It was a sight to behold." — and, before Cal could chastise him for his remarks, Morgan went on to do what he'd been asked to — "Anyway. A shaggy bantha is the idea that if you have a slow-moving, big distraction, that could at any point turn into something worse, then even if nothing bad happens in the end, you get free range to do what you want undetected. Kind of how the fear of something going wrong can be more disarming and attention-grabbing than the actual horrible event."

A look to McKoy for confirmation, before he carried on. "If this is a spice op, then they'll be ready to defend against a hostile takeover. So the moment it starts to look like one, they'll take action: lock doors, build barricades, the works. And that's just bad news."

He moved the layout a little, to inspect a possible route. "But, if we get creative and get them to work on a problem that they can fix before it turns into something catastrophic, then they'll be more likely to drop their guards and rush to get a handle on things. Leaving us to, hopefully, be able to move without raising a fuss."

"Especially if the lights go while we're heading out." — lost in thought once again, Morgan grasped his lower jaw and spoke, mostly to himself out of habit, but feeling inwardly glad to have someone that knew the terminology around to pitch in — "We could try to pair that off with a little Corellian Charm? We'd just need a Speeder and enough fuel. Can we find that in time? Maybe figure out a replacement?"

A pause, before the Corellian finally tied off his long-winded monologue. "I suppose the first question is, how involved is everyone comfortable with getting?" — he asked, glancing over at the newcomer in particular, considering Cal didn't have much of a choice. Although, going by how his face had lit up when mentioning the Bantha, Morgan's gut said there was a fair chance that that might not be the defining factor much longer.

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Although she was trying her hardest not to, Kiara couldn't help but let out a chuckle when Callahan mentioned something called a shaggy bantha. It didn't make her laugh because she was immature or anything, it just took her by surprise that in an otherwise seemingly tense and contentious meeting, someone would drop an idea with such a ridiculous name.

Of course, when she heard Morgan explain what exactly it meant, Ki actually saw the merit. An innocuous but potentially disastrous if left unchecked distraction would likely pull the attention of everyone in the spice warehouse.. but dear lord, did they need to come up with a better name for it.

I like the... shaggy bantha idea Kiara said, looking at both Cal and Morgan with a nod of approval, despite feeling like a total nerd saying it out loud. Looking at the 3D schematic again, Ki got an idea. If I slice into their network I could flood them with a couple of different dataplagues. To keep it less obvious, I can do one that locks up their main refining machine, which would cause some pressure build up. They'd rush to fix that ASAP otherwise their entire op will go up in smoke. The other could just be some generic stuff, freezing up their network so even when they try to log in and fix the machines, they get bogged down.

Thinking for a moment, Kiara figured she might as well ask Morgan what the hell he was talking about since it looked like these two knew a bunch of random criminal terms that she'd never heard before. Or maybe they were just Corellian terms, that made sense too - Corellians were kriffing weirdos and usually hung out with other Corellians too much. They seemed to forget that most people had no idea what they were talking about.

You guys gotta stop talking in your weird Corellian code, She said with a small smile. It's not like she was mad or anything and Ki didn't want to come off as some kind of bitch loser to these guys right off the bat. As far as getting involved, Ki looked at Morgan intently as she mimicked his accusatory and inquisitive glance. I'll need access to a terminal on site to ensure we don't hit any snags. I could try to do it all remotely, but I could hit walls if they have any security that would leave you two sitting stranded. So I suppose I'll be pretty involved.

Figuring it was a good time to stop talking, Kiara looked at the two guys that were now her partners. As far as allies went she couldn't really complain when it came to the "hot sidekick" vibe each of them had, but only time would tell if either of them had the skills and savvy one would hope for. Of course, Pin probably wouldn't have paired them all together if he didn't believe they could succeed.


@Zay @Pontus
 

Callahan McKoy

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Zay
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Callahan crossed his arms and rubbed at the scruff on his face. He listened as K3 and Morgan brought their plan of attack into existence. As far as he was concerned he was in it up to his neck. There was no room for error on this job and the pressure was starting to set in. A familiar gnawing started in the pit of his stomach as the potential immensity of this job settled in. The vague explanation Morgan gave for Pin's role suddenly took on a new meaning. He was— no, they were in some deep shit, and failure might as well have meant death.

The mention of The Corellian Charm brought him back to the task at hand. "Main issue with The Charm is our lack of personnel. Since K3 is going to be on the ground with us, we'll need to get her in without being seen," Cal frowned for a moment then looked to K3 and said, "Unless you're secretly a badass assassin or something."

He'd allow her time to quip away at him, but he didn't know what she was capable of aside from the apparent tech wizardry. "On the way here I spotted a couple of domestic A-A5 speeder trucks a few blocks back. They looked like delivery trucks," Cal turned the 3D model to the backside of the Wearhouse and zoomed in on the docks, "...and if that's the case, this could be our way in. K3 can you start the Dataplagues remotely, and how do you feel about tight spaces?"

——————————​

McKoy watched the front of Mondo's movers for an hour before deciding it was time to make his move. He approached from the east and cut up the alley directly on the right side of the building. He'd been eager to get started and at the first opportunity made it known he was done talking and left. A regular Corellian goodbye by all standards, but he didn't care. Morgan and K3 had their own preparation to do and the clock was ticking.

Callahan entered the alley and made directly for the back door. He couldn't screw this up. He needed to get in snatch some coveralls, and if possible some keys, then make for a truck. If everything went well he'd be back to pick up K3 and Morgan well ahead of schedule, but he knew this wouldn't be as easy as he hoped.

The Corellian powered up his shock boxing gloves and reached for the security panel. A static pop and sizzle later and the door hissed open. Cal looked over his shoulder noted that the way was clear and made his way in...

@Logan @Pontus
 

Morgan Arcas

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The Corellian's eyebrows rose in satisfaction as the slicer mirrored his pointed stare.

Upon hearing the lack of personnel remark, Morgan shot his childhood friend a patented look that generally spelled trouble for everyone involved, but his tempter's gaze faded quickly: the instant after one Corellian had inquired about her skills as an assassin, the other's face was replaced by a look of mock outrage, which remained until Cal had said his piece.

"Callahan Amadeus McKoy." — not his name — "That wasn't a very nice thing to say." — he admonished, warmly but sternly, despite having done largely the same thing himself just moments before.

"I do like where your head's at, though." — a grin tore through the many-faced man's lips all over again. A quick sip of whiskey steeled his nerves slightly and he reveled in the adrenaline coursing through him, for a moment, before continuing — "A little by the book, but then, this is you we're talking about."

A glance around the schematics and then the members seated at the table. "I can do my thing around the area so it'll feel less like a targeted attack when push comes to shove, but we're still going to need to scope the place out before we kick things off proper. And we'll have to do it in record time... Zeltron Song?" Reaching forward, Morgan silently mouthed the explanation to K3. "Fake lover's quarrel."

"So. Which of us would be your fake partner, and why's it him?" — Morgan asked the woman, visibly amused, his head moving closer to Cal's — "It's the brooding, isn't it? Makes you all tingly on the inside." — a pause — "Or is that just me?"

— — — — —​

A couple of blocks away from Warehouse α-7, their target, Morgan took off his protective helmet and stored it inside the Lantern, retrieving a few items from within.

Underworld facilities are known for paranoid security. But, their secretive nature often means that these measures rarely extend far past their walls and, the funny thing about their their non-underworld neighbours is, they're not nearly as protected. Controlled chaos: A few small issues appearing around, but not affecting the mark directly would reinforce the notion that a streak of 'bad luck' is headed their way, and prime the unwitting participants in their little magic trick for the intended mindset. And after all, if there's one thing criminals can be expected to be, it's superstitious.

Turning his coat's collar up around his ears and with a few small bits of minor explosives, fire accelerants and a few other interesting trinkets in his pockets, the Corellian prepared for a nice, leisurely stroll around this quaint little Warehousing district in the Smuggler's moon.

@Logan @Zay

 
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