Ask Worse than plastic in the ocean, that's for sure.

[Gareth Gin]

Mon Cal
​

"You know, we, 5S people...Are like hornets" Gareth Gin began speaking, his voice loud and boisterous as he walked through a public hangar in the water planet of Mon Cal with a handheld speaker after leaving a pretty inconspicuous freighter, two armed guards that were going to greet the ship already on the ground, necks broken and heads bashed in a brutal manner "Sure, we may be a bit annoying to you "superior" people that can afford to be morally correct, but at the end of the day, it's for the best that we are mostly left alone. We do our thing, you do our thing! No one really loses and, therefore, we all win!"

Gareth continued walking forward, blaster fire flying towards the surprised security forces that didn't expect such an assault, too few of them at the moment and not skilled enough to compete with the eight scoundrels Gareth had brought with him, all the best of the worst type of people that could be found in Nar Shaddaa, people that weren't below shooting civilians and innocent people, of course "And let me tell you, we are fed up with you "civilized" people! You know the shit we have to go through? Do you know how it feels that the goody two shoes of the galaxy have created a vaccine for something that affects you and the people you care about the most, yet don't feel like sharing because they don't deem us good enough?"

Gareth frowned as he quickly walked forward, the scoundrels now taking proper cover as they dealt with more civilians, the White Lion of Zaa Fenn stomped the neck of a woman that had been hit, but not killed, finishing the job "Not only that, but you deem appropiate to kick us while we are down? First the ISC declares war on us, and now you decide to do so as well? You join forces to crush the underdogs that have lost their homes, their friends and family, only because we are a nuisance, because you can? Well...Guess what? You're going to end up more than stung after poking this hornet's nest, motherfuckers!" Done with his speech, Gareth dropped the speaker and sprinted forward, bludgeoning to death anyone in his path that was not with him.

Of course, this was a great way for the enforcer to do some stress relief...But that was not the point, a mass slaughter like this one was not going to get them anywhere, the reason the enforcer was doing this was for something greater, as five freighters were tasked to drop a highly lethal neurotoxin made of the worst wastes for the ocean they could get from Nar Shaddaa, capable of creating a planet wide environmental disaster...But for that to happen, a distraction was needed, so Gareth decided to create one.

However, distracting a planet was hard, even if this was a big terrorist act, Gareth decided to hire other people to make it harder for the planet to understand just what was going on. The White Lion of Zaa Fenn didn't care how they got it done, more massacres, subtle slicing, sabotage, assassination plots, all's fair in love and war, he trusted that they would find ways to make it possible for the peaceful waters of Mon Cal to understand the rage and anger that made monsters of the people they wanted to fight.

@Fine Dining Set @Clayton @Sreeya

 

[Darius Gal]

His eyes narrowed. Darius, in his near-constant guise of Vence Klortho, considered the voltage readout on the display as he slightly adjusted a probe. "Ok, at the daughter-board that has the frequency modulator there is a lead marked A2, encased in a yellow and blue wire. It's hot, which means you will need to provide your own current of 1.42 volts to the receiving transmitter before you cut the A2 lead to splice in the replacement. Otherwise the tamper-protection will read an interruption and start pinging a tamper code," he spoke into the commlink. He was guiding slicers on the other ships in their convoy on the process for adjusting the transponders so their ships showed up as properly registered freighters under the SpaceWay shipping company.

Obtaining the transponder codes, shipping manifests, and shipping dates had been the easiest part of the whole endeavor. Well, easiest on his end of things. The cargo had been basically free and happily given. Two weeks ago Darius had been sitting in a diner enjoying a dish of...something while monitoring datapackets being sent over the unsecured holonet access point in the diner. The diner was only a block away from the SpaceWay regional office, and so was a popular lunch stop for their office workers.

People thought of slicing as some difficult, big-brain task. In reality, the majority of it was automated by programs and facilitated by the ignorance of others. They didn't know better. They thought it was perfectly ok to log into their work accounts over public access points. However, with the right tools, anyone could get passing glances at what information was being sent. Login information, such as usernames and passwords, was typically encrypted. However, encryptions were made to be broken. After two days of monitoring the lunchtime holonet activities of various office workers, Darius had pieced together and decrypted several logins and their associated password.

At that point, it had been a simple matter to see what specific holopage addresses the workers were using. On the third day, he waited until the lunch break was over and the workers temporarily logged out. Darius promptly logged in to the SpaceWay remote access page as Tanith Kex. A quick search of his email using predetermined search strings yielded some results, and by using that information to navigate through the SpaceWay systems to their shipping schedule and manifest database, determined what ships were headed to Mon Cal, when, and their cargo manifests. Their transponder codes were listed alongside their official registry documents.

Four Class 720 light freighters under Syndicate control were now on their way to Mon Cal. The captains knew who they were supposed to pretend to be, and had their cargo manifests ready to transmit. They knew what to say if asked why they were ahead of schedule. The last thing to do was adjust the transponder codes so their ships pretended to be who they were supposed to be.

The last thing was the hardest to do, which was why he was guiding everyone step by step and being extremely cautious. He patiently waited for people to announce they had completed the step Darius had laid out for them. One slicer reported completion with no problem. As did a second. He let out a sigh of relief, things were going more or less ok. The third however..."Hey, I've got an issue here. There's some corrosion on the connection on the transmitter...I'm not sure if I can get a clean connection for the replacement voltage."

Darius frowned. That would set them back some time, but it wasn't impossible to deal with. "Ok...if it's the white crusties that might not be too bad. Everyone take a moment to gather your things for the next step while I work through this. Now...you should have a round-nosed hook and some mild, dielectric solvent..."

 

[The Storyteller]

Today was meant to be a peaceful day. A harmonious day. Dac City was celebrating its annual harvest festival; visitors from all over the world, joined by its galaxy-famous ballet. After hours of feasting in the streets, residents would take to their homes or to concert halls to sing songs of their ancestors and tell the tale of the Two Peoples of Mon Cala. It was routine, but joyous; a celebration that often demanded little attention outside of parade routes from public officials. Of course, there was a police presence - but even the defense forces of the world were largely symbolic on this day of revelry. A day of joy, as Mon Cala officially marked its entrance into autumn on the surface city where seasons mattered the most.

Naturally, the Syndicates had picked this day to stir up as much chaos as they could. People streamed the massacre to Holonet as they ran, unsure of even what they were being attacked by. Multiple videos - pieced together from security cameras, body camera footage, and eyewitness report - captured the massacre and

In the chambers of Mon Cala High Command, an aging Quarren admiral watched the Holonet feed with despair. After clicking it off, the council of military leaders and politicians.

This Admiral made a mistake, a crucial one: he took the attack at face value. "Focus our police forces on getting the civilian population indoors. I want everyone in their city-ships, with refugees and travelers corralled to vacant city ships in the Northwest. Have all ships activate their shielding, and have civilian police officers institute a lockdown across the city. If the worst should happen, we can evacuate the city-ships offworld."

The officers took a moment to look around in confusion, trying to interpret exactly whose responsibility that would be. The Admiral pointed at the lowest ranking officer in the room. It happened to me a Mon Cala of orange coloration - a mere Lieutenant whose father was a member of the planet's aristocracy.

"Get me in touch with Colonel Jaggus. Tell him the plan. Have him arm the Surface Batteries off the shore of Dac City's spaceport - if they plan to escape, shoot them down."

"Arm and deploy a contingent of Mon Cala Knights. Send Commander Widase with them, as well." He advocated for, penned, and introduced the anti-Syndicate legislation to the Senate. He would have to clean up this mess. And he was a criminal upstart, too; perhaps he would be able to find his penance in fighting some of his own kind. Armed with the latest in Mon Cala infantry technology, the Knights were a powerhouse on the field; often saved for the most dangerous engagements that a Special Forces unit could endure.

One of the Admiral's compatriots, a Quarren Commander named Bren, shot a puzzled look at his superior. "But, Sir, won't all this slow down our investigation and response time? Shouldn't we send all our police and military assets at them, now?"

"No. The Syndicates desire little more than to cause as much wanton bloodshed as they can. There's no strategy here." He gestured to the screen, where smoking bodies and snapped necks of Mon Cala were permanently frozen in terror. "Only the blood of good men. We'll deny them the pleasure of more. Everyone, get moving!"

(OOC: because I rolled so badly, giving y'all another round of free posting/free action before a lot more police arrive on the scene. Feel free to use that how you wish)

@Clayton @Sreeya @Versok

 

[Edin Frost]

It had been a while since Edin took on a proper assassination job. This one was going to make headlines if he carried it out. He wasn’t privy to the details of the rest of the operation because it was a ‘need to know’ type of deal. He had his comms on him in case the others felt the need to fill him in. For now, he was given a single job and he would focus entirely on that.

While the others worked on creating a commotion, the half Firrerreo strode into a hotel lobby a few hundred meters away from the Mon Cala high command. He checked in with his bogus credentials, fully disguised as a businessman carrying a briefcase. He made his way to the top floor, using his keycard to walk into his room that was conveniently located next to a fire escape.

Edin walked in and began opening up the case that contained the parts for his rifle. He worked meticulously, humming quietly as he began to put pieces together. The half Firrerreo grabbed a pair of microbinocs and zoomed in to gaze through the window of the building, this room lined up with where he expected the admiral to be. He really had one main shot at this. If he blew it, he would have to switch to an entirely different diversion technique and that came with a separate disguise.

He set himself up against the edge of the window, setting up a scope mount to begin targeting. He also popped in armor piercing rounds for his ammo to ensure the glass didn't get in the way. He didn’t expect the admiral to leave the chambers he was in - the man seemed far more likely to delegate. Edin had put a do not disturb sign on his door, settling in to prepare for the wait. Though many modern day snipers had droid companions to help with calculations, he was a bit more old fashioned in his methods and preferred to do it himself.

@Versok @Fine Dining Set @Clayton

 

[The Storyteller]

In the vast space of Mon Cala's gravity well, Darius's convoy of freighters approached. As they made their way towards the world, dropping out from hyperspace, the Space Traffic Control team on ground would hail their ship, after they sent through their bogus clearances.

"Hailing Relief convoy, you are ahead of schedule. There's been an incident at landing point A3, sending you to secure landing as cross runway 20 at C3." Along with the words, updated landing documents came through to the crew's navicomputer. They were urged to not land at Dac City, but to reroute their cargo to a city deep beneath the ocean. For the crews they were impersonating, such a task would be no problem; they were given clear instruction to approach the world.

"Request updated clearance for landing as you approach, with information QD231H1332M. Cleared for Coral City."

Although the spaceport on Dac City was, obviously, shut down, the rest of the world was not. The ships would be able to approach the world without incident.

_________________________________​

Meanwhile, on Dac City, Edin Frost became one of many civilians corralled into the tall hotel. He was let in completely without incident - his check-in happening far before the chaotic events unfolded in the spaceport. From his room, atop the shoreline of the city, he could see far more than the beautiful beaches and bountiful ocean. In fact, he had a perfect line of sight from his own room to the office of the High Command. At the head of the table sat the Quarren Admiral, surrounded by his flunkies that made up the senior staff of the world's planetary defense force. The bustle in the streets during the afternoon would barely reach to the heights of his tower, capped off by the appearance of Senator Siria Zale of Tirahnn.

She was on world as a show of goodwill between Mon Cala and Tirahnn, speaking to a gathered crowd along a parade route. She was also, unfortunately for her sake, right in line of the assassin Edin Frost's rifle.

 

[Gareth Gin]

And just like that, the hangar was theirs, Gareth didn't exactly know how much time it would take for an enemy force to approach but he and his team moved swiftly "All right, Prak, y'know what to do, the rest of you prepare for retaliation, follow the plan and this will go smoothly." Gareth ordered his goons around, who proceeded to disable all the cameras they could find with blaster fire before positioning themselves as to hide their positioning from the approaching forces.

The different decided to spread out and find cover in different places, all of them carrying varying types of weaponry, most of them had blaster rifles and a grenade or two save for a big Trandoshan that set up a repeater for some supressive fire. Meanwhile, the scoundrel by the name of Prak had a very particular task from the start: He didn't shoot at the civilians to kill if possible, but rather to injure, as a result, the man grabbed five wounded civilians and lined then up while guarding them at the safest spot, he would be in charge of those hostages.

Meanwhile, Gareth would actually be hugging the wall of the entrance to the hangar, positioned in such a way that the enemy could only hope to aim at him one at a time if they peeked from the other side while also piling up some corpses as improvised cover. The White Lion's task was simple, with the cameras destroyed, the Mon Cal forces would be going in blind, however, Gareth could use the force to see them well before they could see him, and he would give his people the signal to shoot just before they got in sight to take as many out as possible before they could react.

Right now, things were going quite smoothly, a hangar takeover, a hostage situation and an efficient plan to deal with the incoming forces? Regardless of the outcome the enforcer was certainly attracting a lot of attention, it was up to his partners in crime for this attack to make the most out of it.

@Fine Dining Set @Sreeya @Clayton @Darasuum

 

[Darius Gal]

"So...I broke the wire off." Came the reply over the comm. Darius cursed.

"We've been told to approach the planet. How are things going? Are the transponders ready?" crackled the captains voice.

Of all the kriffing kriff shit kriff who decided they had to do this en route while the stuff was already taking place? "Fly like you got all the time in the galaxy, something came up with Sapphire Grace."

"Ok but I can't not go to the planet. Fix it fast, otherwise it's going to get exciting real fast." In the convoy, the pilot of the Sapphire Grace slowly drifted into the rear position to give them as much time as possible to remedy the situation.

Darius closed his eyes and rested his head against a bulkhead. Shit. "Ok. You, cut the power to the transponder unit entirely and pull the daughterboard. I'll see if I can help you fix it after everyone else gets squared away." They were down a ship for now. With a completely kriffed transponder there was no way the Sapphire Grace would make it past customs with an active event at a spaceport going on. Darius double checked that power was going where it should be, and pulled the daughterboard. He turned over the replacement and peered down at the piece, looking for what should be next. A-hah. Faint white lettering along one edge was stenciled across - the hardware serial code.

"Everyone else, you better not screw this up otherwise there will be consequences for all of us. Now that you have your own power going to the receiver, I need you to unplug the daughterboard. On the other side of your replacement daughter board there should be a serial code stenciled in white lettering across the edge where the capacitors are. Write it down and double kriffing check that it's accurate. We're going to have to cycle power and interrupt the boot cycle to manually enter this number to replace the serial code of the original. Sapphire Grace you do this as well, I think I have an idea. Stay powered down for now though."

If the swap went well, then it was possible that he would be able to squeeze in a last minute fix. Or at least put a plaster over the gaping wound that was this problem. Still...three ships isn't the end of the world. He paused, and winced. That was a bad phrase for the situation.

@Fine Dining Set @Sreeya @Darasuum

 

[Edin Frost]

The world went silent when Edin focused on the job. He was seated in the same position for a while, watching the admiral pace back and forth inside the room. He had received a comlink message about the Senator of Tirahnn also being in the vicinity with the potential of tripling his pay. The assassin changed his breathing, looking through the scope to do some rapid calculations on trajectories and ricochet potentials. He knew he was trying an impossible shot, especially with so many moving variables. However, he had a penchant for putting his skills to the test.

He closed his eyes for a moment before reopening them, glancing down at the datapad that had his entire series of calculations to mark the shot trajectory. He finally looked through the scope again, finger brushing against the trigger. After a few more seconds, he finally took the shot, letting the bolt fly through the air and above the crowds and celebrations below. It flew and arced the slightest bit as he predicted, but it went out of sight shortly after, propelling towards the admiral.

@Fine Dining Set @Darasuum @Versok @Clayton

 

[The Storyteller]

From the Sniper's Vantage Point

In Mon Cala's High Command, "tense" would be a generous depiction of the feeling on the world. It was the first terrorist attack since the world's civil war ended some years ago. It was a true test of the interim government's ability to handle the pressures of galactic governance. A test they would soon fail, surely.

It reminded the Quarren Admiral, Treon Munty, of his appointment to High Command. It was a warm day, a clear day, like this one; King Le'Fam was giving a speech to the people, commemorating his years of rule. At this point, various attempts on his life by Mon Cala extremists had already taken a toll on his constitution. Two shots from an assassin's rifle, on that day, permanently confined King Le'Fam to his life support system. Munty was a younger officer, then; he had the vigor and attentiveness to track down and dispatch the assassins personally. As a reward, he was asked to join Mon Cala's ruling council, the High Command, which would oversee the safety of the world while the King lay dormant in life support.

Today was a different day, but the feeling remained the same. A feeling of powerlessness, of helplessness, as the darkness took hold across the world. As Edin Frost's blaster bolt sailed through the sky, the now wrinkled Admiral Munty barked another order at his subordinates. "What are you doing, standing around? I said get mo-" His words were cut off by shattered glass and a bolt to the neck. The blaster found its target.

Perhaps his body remembered the day of his King's failed assassination, and, without a rational mind to govern it, took action. Barely alive, but still moving, the Quarren admiral pulled his blaster pistol and fired wildly. His head hanged limply down his back as he moved, almost mechanically; the movements of a desperate, wounded animal that sought one final vengeance against its attacker, to kill them both rather than die alone. Unfortunately, his killer was nowhere within range; only those loyal servants of the Mon Cala Crown would face his preternatural wrath.

Before the room's aristocacy, military staff, and civic leaders had a moment to react, they found themselves hit by their own Admiral Munty. They fell in short succession, a pool of blood forming on the bottom of the council's floors, before Commander Bren pulled his own pistol out and put his dying leader out of his misery.

While Edin Frost had missed the impossible-to-hit trick shot on the Senator and Admiral, he had pulled off a unique kind of assassination. Mon Cala's High Command sat dead, save two, from the single shot that he had fired. A rather good shot, all things considered.

_________________________________________​

Mon Cala's Skies

The assassination of Mon Cala's High Command would certainly change things, once the word was transmitted that it had happened. For now, though, the crew of the Syndicate Convoy would be able to appreciate the pristine seas that covered Mon Cala; a perfectly protected and preserved environment, cared for endlessly by the deeply reverent Mon Cala and Quarren peoples. As they further entered atmosphere, the ground crew of Coral City's traffic control would hail the vessel. "Ground to Relief convoy. Radar contact confirmed." Like any civilized world, Mon Cala was equipped with the latest radar and monitoring technologies for its airspace, giving constant buzz of space traffic a carefully-protected veneer of safety. "We've had a lot of redirections today, sit tight before you're cleared to descend below sea level."

The oddly-flying Sapphire Grace did present a curiosity to Coral City's traffic control personnel. From their screens, they saw blips on the radar - the path of a well-maintained convoy. As the Sapphire Grace hemmed and hawed across Mon Cala's airways, the blip of that radar would act quite irregularly, dancing around the skies. "Ground to Relief convoy. Scanners are picking up an abnormality with a ship in your convoy. Everything alright up there?" Emergency landings on the seas of Mon Cala weren't unheard of, but with the amount of traffic coming in, the traffic controller hoped the crew on board could safely pilot their vessel.

@Darasuum @llamallove @Sreeya @Clayton @Versok

 

[Jal Widase]

Dac City Hangar

Widase had been primed to speak at this year's fall festival, celebrating the triumphant Mon Cala over a year of adversity. The brittle state of the Free Worlds Alliance left many on the world with concern, especially following the hasty exit from Felucia; people of Mon Cala wondered why so many chose to provoke the Sith, rather than tackle the everyday issues of corruption, piracy, and extortion that posed a threat to the Outer Rim world. In part, Widase's legislation had been made to combat these fears, to give the Galactic Senatorial bodies an opportunity to shift their priorities to what really mattered. Not fancy laser-sword duels about religion, but the staples of peace, land, and food.

It seemed that fate had other plans, though. As Widase was preparing, he received the alert about the assault on the hangar. He rushed to the local barracks, meeting with him the company of Mon Calamari Knights that he was to command. They saluted them upon his entrance, dressed in their traditional, bronze heavy armor. Widase hastily donned his own set of armor, bronzed light contrasting against his grey skin, before they took to the Hangar.

Widase and his team began to move. In addition to the two-dozen soldiers on his team, armed with standard heavy blasters, blaster pistols, slice they were joined by six LE-VO law enforcement droids; an experimental approach to rapidly-responsive infantry that was meant to reduce sentient lives lost in high-tense situations. Today, they would put that theory to the test

They were carried over in three Trexler Armoured Marauders, which they placed as a barricade outside the oceanfront hangar's entrance. While the troops disembarked, the six droids took a point position at the ground entrance itself, supported by a team of six knights who planted charges on the doors to the entrance.

On the opposite end, another dozen troopers rappelled up the side of the building, moving towards the glass windows on the second floor's exterior with speed. They waited outside there, outside the sight of the windows themselves, waiting for further instruction. They primed their jump boots and checked their weapons once more.

Widase and the final six troopers formed a perimeter just outside the building with the Marauders, both cutting off pedestrians from accessing the harbor and sealing the Syndicates into the building itself. Widase was close to sending the signal, beginning the assault, when word came through his comms.

"Commander Widase, it's Commander Bren. I...can't begin to explain what's happened. Admiral Munty was killed; the High Command is...it's just me and Refrin, now."

What? An act of violence, as a reprisal, was expected; the deaths of the High Command, the venerable Admiral Munty? What the frakk was happening today?

Commander Bren further explained the situation, the truly bizarre scenario that had taken place within High Command's chambers. Widase was shaken, throughout the whole speech - he wanted to lie down, take a moment to appreciate just how frakked he was. His leaders lay dead in their own blood mere miles away, while he was primed to walk himself into the lion's den. There was something greater at play here, something that they hadn't anticipated; but what was it? When could the Syndicate, by all accounts on its last legs throughout the pandemic, regain the vigor to completely annihilate the world's military leadership?

He had no time to consider such questions. Widase had a mission to finish.

"I'm assuming command. Bren, connect me with Colonel Jaggus. I'll continue the operation here, as planned. In the meantime..." An assassin lurked in Dac City, a murderous group of thugs controlled the hangar, "In the meantime, get somewhere safe, Bren. Have someone review the footage of the attack on the hangar and get back to me with the names, dates, and times, used by these thugs to land on our world."

Something was happening and Widase did not want to be caught flat-footed again.

@Darasuum @Sreeya @Clayton @Versok

 

[Siria Zale]

Spoiler: Music

Death Enabled for Siria Zale​

The annual harvest festival held in Dac City was a joyous one for the Senator for the most part. Until the most present hour, it had been filled with merriment and cultural exchange. Tirahnn was known for its markets and history for trade and its young political leader valued the deep ceremonies and nuances that were shown in the latest ballet.

An alarm sounded through the sauna that Siria had been relaxing in. Far be it her as human to enjoy one of the rare amenities given to her after a long day with more work to be had. But now she was losing her stressless composure as she got her clothes on. A white crop-top with pants and a jacket completed her casual look for her time meant to be 'me time' for the rest of the day. Pulling the commlink out of her locker she saw there were a few missed messages.

The sound of servos and metalic feet clanked around the the corner and down the locker room's hall. A droid appeared around the corner, feminine in figure and covered in a mix of skyblue and cerulean detailing. Its photoreceptors scanned the environment momentarily before approaching its owner who did not attempt to hide from it despite it carrying a stun baton and blaster pistol on magnetic holstering. +Senator, planetary defense forces have ordered a lock down of city-ships. We are advised to remain confined to the hotel. I am inclined to agree.+ The blackwell manufactured bodyguard was programed to protect her and keep her safety in mind at all times. Normally it did not give the pleadis droids serving her did not speak very much. "Thank you, Electra. Let's head back to room and get our things before anything else. Sound good?" She replied. Electra did not reply and understood it as an order. The droid exited the locker room and took the lead the rest of the way up the turbo lift and back to her room.

The Kirian, Siria Zale's Mantis class luxury star yacht, sat on its landing platform in Dac City. A pair of CT-O automated starfighters were also parked and escorts but the Senator was not their so they remained inactive and locked down. Two of Siria's P1-D3Ss remained with the finely crafted machine from Latero space works. Its red exterior certainly drew the eye to it. The other two bodyguards that had left the ship with the senator now joined her as she returned to her room. +Ma'am+ The pleiades droid held out the holstered Westar-37 the woman owned. +There are reports of Syndicate members attacking innocent civilians+ The gentle yet robotic voice was at odds with the DC-17, pistol it carried in the other hand. "I see..." She took the weapon affixed the thigh holster on her right side. She had practiced with and was a decent shot. But woman was hoping things wouldn't come to that. An actual bounty hunter would probably end her in the blink of an eye.

Turning on the entertainment suite, news and alerts about what was going on came streaming in. Siria quickly turned the sound down to a moderate amount but heard the latest updates. "We're dealing with a galaxy spanning pandemic and some shabuir wants to just take advantage." The senator rarely spoke in Mando'a but it didn't register with the duo of machines on standby. The sensation of numerous feet running along the hallway outside told the Senator there was a commotion. The droid bodyguard who had access to the building's security informed her shortly enough. +Senator. A PDF Admiral has been assassinated in the building. I calculate that you could also be a target of opportunity. Please step away from the windows.+ Her heart hiked in her chest. The danger was much closer than she realized.

@Fine Dining Set @Versok @Sreeya @Clayton

 

[Gareth Gin]

Gareth could sense so many things going around them, the many soldiers and droids that were about to breach through the door, the other group that was about to go in through the windows...So many enemies coming at them from all directions, yed Gareth did not fear, he did not waver, their power was insignificant next to the true might of the force...Might that would allow him to take actions that the enemy would not expect.

"Dear military forces outside the door, hello! It is me, the one that has chosen to fuck with your day today, hello, hello!" Gareth said as he picked the speaker once more and also used the force to add some extra loudness to his already boisterous voice "I'd like to inform you that I've got four hostages with me, so I'd suggest you think your next move reaaaaally carefully...Wait we've got five?" Gareth said as his lackeys corrected him, then turning his head back to the doors, still in his comfortable position which shouldn't be compromised by a door breach or explosion...didn't want to be taken out like that "Make it four then, don't want to look like a fool here."

A blaster shot could be heard, followed by distant screams of anguish and terror "That one died so you fine people know I am not fucking around, but I guess you already knew that, didn't you? " The enforcer let out a boisterous laugh, certainly trying to demoralize his opponents as they realized just what kinda of people they wanted to mess with...While all of this was done, Gareth had been positioning his scoundrels better, the repeater wielding scoundrel and another two of them now taking cover while aiming at the windows enemies were about to get through, under normal circumstances that would be a good move, but when a force wielder sees it coming and warns his thugs, that means those poor people without cover would be massacred the moment they entered...And if he had to guess, the surprise approach was probably the one they would use with hostages on the line.

Meanwhile, another three of them were still in their normal spot but another one went back to the freighter they had come from, taking the ventral dual medium laser turret, which would be more than a good enough replacement to the scoundrel with the repeater that would deal with those that were rappeling down...And of course, the remaining scoundrel was still taking care of the hostages while Gareth was comfortable in the same spot.

All in all, the Mon Cal forces had so many things to take care of and many of them they wouldn't probably expect, but the White Lion of Zaa Fenn welcomed them to try. "...Man, I'm having fun, aren't you having fun, Mon Calamari? I bring with me one hell of a party, don't I?"

@Fine Dining Set @Clayton @Sreeya @Darasuum

 

[Darius Gal]

In The Cockpit

Captain Zemo lounged back in the lead ship of the Relief convoy, entirely comfortable in his position and situation. In the planning phase, it had been understood and discussed that a success would be delaying customs long enough to break atmosphere. Anything more than that, including slipping by customs' notice entirely would be icing on the cake. The Sapphire Grace had slipped into the rear position, which caught the eye of customs. Maybe they were a touch jumpy with everything going on in Dac. Ah well. As nervous as these guys were, they probably just wanted a little bit of reassurance that everything was ok. "Ground, this is Relief convoy. We're fine. Pilot Bareth lost his bet that I couldn't get us here ahead of schedule, so now he gets to dock last." Sound like the typical, bored, space trucker jackass shenanigans that customs has heard a dozen times a day, and they just might want to believe it.

_________________________________________​

The Slicing

Darius plugged the replacement board in, and carefully connected the power cable leading from the transponder receiver to the daughter board, and, at the same time, quickly cycled the power to the system. He rapidly pressed the key assigned to interrupt the boot cycle as the system went through the process of restarting. The trick was to do it before the system completed its own, integrated component audit. The readout of his computer went from loading, to blank, to the hardware settings readout that had been baked into the basic programming of the entire thing. He smiled. Success.

A few keystrokes later and he'd navigated to the tab containing identification codes, which included the serial number of the new daughter board. As expected, the new serial code was displayed on screen. But, because the boot cycle had been interrupted, the system's audit had not yet completed. Darius deleted the new code and carefully entered the serial code he'd written down from the original daughter board. Just to be safe, he double-checked what he had entered against the phsyical lettering on the original board itself. Everything checked out, so far, so good. With the original serial code applied to the system settings, he cycled the power once more and let the system boot normally.

A small sigh of relief escaped his lips as he watched the readout on screen confirm that his ship's transponder was now ready to transmit the real Agate Star's transponder code. Darius blinked, and wiped the back of his hand against his brow. It was only now that he realized he'd been sweating the entire time. They were not out of the woods yet, though. He relayed the information on what steps he had taken and how to the rest of the slicers on the other ships, fielded a question, and then moved on to dealing with the problem that had cropped up on the Sapphire Grace.

"Ok, I have an idea. Go through the same process I described, but wait to do the second power cycle. Let me know if you have any problems." Perhaps because that transponder had already suffered a malfunction that there was less pressure on the slicer to not screw something up, the slicer seemed a bit more calm and operated a touch smoother this stretch. It wasn't long before they were at the final step. Or rather, next to final step.

In the meantime, one by one, the remaining ships reported success at slicing their transponders. "Ok. Before you cycle the power to the system, take a look at the daughterboard you plugged in. There should be a capacitor colored black, blue, and white. Now, capacitors provide a steady flow of electricity to reduce electrical noise, right? Power goes in through one lead, charging the capacitor, and power leaves the capacitor storage through the other lead. What I want you to do is get your soldering iron and bridge the gap between those two leads. We'll bypass the capacitor and introduce electrical noise to the transmitter." Hopefully that would mask or distort any sub-signal that showed a potential tampering with the transponder.

It was somewhat slow going, but eventually the slicer completed the task of mucking with the components. Under Darius' direction, the power was cycled for the final time, locking in the altered transponder code that matched up with the real Sapphire Grace. On its own, Darius had some doubts as to whether customs would fail to catch it. On their own, a single ship suddenly slowing down for no apparent reason might draw attention.

But the thing was, they were not on their own today. Everyone knew going into this that slicing transponders was a difficult at best task. They'd built multiple layers into this plan. They had the benefit and safety of numbers in a legitimate, expected convoy. They'd rehearsed various excuses and responses to anticipated questions from customs. They'd bought time to effect this rough patch by flying casual and having the Grace slide into the rear position. And, although Darius was wholly unaware of the nature and extent of the chaos raging in the streets of Dac, he knew that there was something happening on the surface designed to draw the attention of Mon Cal officials.

All that remained was to see if all of that effort paid off by getting their convoy past customs unnoticed.

@Sreeya @Fine Dining Set @Darasuum

 

[The Storyteller]

Approaching the Surface​

As the convoy continued its descent into Mon Cala space, its irregularities were noted with. With the cacophony happening currently within Mon Cala command, word had not even made its way to customs that there was a greater threat outside of the attack in Dac City. When word came, the response would be harsh; a planet-wide lockdown, mandated by the military. But, right now, the military was fractured - completely without leadership. An unprecedented event for a largely civilian world locked in a very terse peace, there was no strict protocol for such an event. An error that would benefit the crew of the Relief convoy.

An exasperated sigh came over the speakers. "You don't know the day we're having. Continue docking in a regular pattern or you will be moved to the end of queue." With all the traffic of the planet being redirected from Dac City, the ensuing chaos for air traffic controllers had already exhausted them. They wouldn't broker further jokes, but they also did not have the resources or attention span to investigate what seemed to be space trucker shenanigans any further.

But the crew of the convoy would do well to remember that their every move was tracked; further diversions, further off-schedule timing, would raise greater red flags to the already annoyed ground crew. Best to solve those mechanical issues, before the ground team sends a probe or air crew to investigate for themselves.

The air traffic controller began rattling off typical landing sequences to each of the ships in the convoy. It was almost mechanical - the first three had done an excellent job of covering their own tracks . Something was different, though, with the last ship - the Sapphire Grace. Its transmission was being garbled, incredibly noisy, as the air traffic controller tried to relay information to the ship. "Sapphire Grace, this is ground - what is going on up there?" The traffic controller checked his own terminal to verify that it wasn't an internal issue.

The slicer team, though, was good. And today was a bad day. The Traffic Control filtered through the noise and found the code that the convoy was sending. Unfortunately, this filtered out any signs of tampering, too. "Scratch that. You are cleared to land, Sapphire Grace."

_________________________________________

Inside the Hotel​

Buildings on Mon Cala were rarely just buildings. The planet's habitable buildings often worked a dual purpose, serving as the mighty city-ships of the ocean world. These civilian liners served the basis for many of Mon Cala's most notable ships; its cruisers, frigates, and other capital ships often had long lives as civilian living spaces before their military commencement. This hotel was one such ship - it was the reason the Senator had been evacuated into it. With the chaos happening all across the city, now, a proper investigation of High Command's murder would have to follow shortly. Such an analysis would show the blaster trajectory of the initial shot into the chambers; they would be able to isolate the hotel as the pl. For now, though, Dac City Police and military forces were stretched thin between trying to provide for civilian safety and the still-ongoing terrorist attacks. Bodies were being rushed to medical centers, civilians evacuated, different military and civilian leaders were joining frantic holocalls about what to do. They couldn't both solve the murders and provide basic security for the population, so they opted for the latter. And, it seemed, they were failing at that.

The order to evacuate into city-ships almost exactly coincided with the assassination of Mon Cala's High Command. The result was a fractured leadership - many captains in control of civilian lives on board the ships, but no chain of command to direct their actions. Chickens with their heads cut off. The hotel lights shut down as the captain of the hotel-ship ordered a lockdown as he considered next steps - public spaces, meeting rooms, and even some hotel guestrooms, were packed full of panicked civilians and nervous guards.

Low, red emergency lights began to flash; the sign that something was happening. A message came over the speakers:

"This is your captain speaking." A warbling voice, but one that still registered command. "We have been alerted to numerous, terroristic attacks across Dac City. I have been charged with your safety. This ship is under lockdown until further notice." The exits were sealed shut. "I'll be having all onboard military and police personnel begin check-ins and build a registry on the double. With your cooperation, we will all be safely home soon." The front doors opened with a hiss, and three pairs of uniformed soldiers exited to guard the exterior of the tall building. They closed again promptly after. An all-too-small complement, but numbers outside.

Soldiers and police on the inside began sweeping the tall building, floor-by-floor, to build a list of every person on the ship.

@Clayton @Versok @Darasuum @Sreeya

 

[Jal Widase]

More death. More violence. This is what a life of crime, deep in the bowels of the Outer Rim, bought you. An ignorance to the sanctity of life around yourself. An ignorance to the sanctity of your own life. Widase knew that from experience, from his years as a low-level criminal. Today was as if those demons chased him back to the present, his new life on Mon Cala. Such things

He brought out a megaphone, with the speaker systems of the surroundings vehicles broadcasting his voice. It could project quite clearly through the walls. "Attention:" Video footage ID'd the man, same as the killer of Durr the Hutt. "Gareth Gin. This is Commander Jal Widase of Mon Cala's Navy." He had little patience for games or grand speeches. "We have the building surrounded. We ask only that the unarmed civilians you have taken, be set free. What are your demands?"

Protecting the innocent lives inside was his highest priority; negotiation was, thus, a necessity. Perhaps the ensuing conversation would reveal further what had brought them to Mon Cala that day - get a real sense of intent from the villains who had chosen to murder, loot, and kill on what was a peaceful celebration for a tired people.

@Clayton @Versok @Darasuum @Sreeya

 

[Gareth Gin]

Commander Jal Widase, huh? Well, guess they were bringing in the big boys now, Gareth had read about that man, done his research about those that would oppose him...Made sense he would end up talking to Widase. Shame he was not part of the people Edin managed to take out, but fortunately for the Mon Calamari commander, leading the planetary forces against the White Lion of Zaa Fenn meant he skipped the mortal reunion that resulted in so many people dying.

"Oh, you know my name, I'm flattered!" Gareth let out a boisterous laugh for none other purpose than to show some disrespect to the people on the other side of the door. Of course they found out about his name soon enough, he was a bloody legend of Nar Shaddaa, respected by his peers...And soon to be feared by his enemies.

The Miralukan crossed his arms as he thought about his demands "Well, truth is...I'm pretty damn content with what I've achieved here today, such a good workout with the people inside your hangars...And I've received over the comms that the people you had as high command have become literal laser brains. I'm not a fan of blasters personally, so cold and not personal at all...But I sure would've loved to be there to hear that glorious pew pew sound that blaster made before they lost their lives"

Each and every single word he said was aimed to wound, to do damage, to boast and cherish the fact that he had done so much damage "...But the truth is, if I had any demands, it would be making this place a little less surrounded, I don't intend on staying here forever, y'know? Have other, more meaningful things to do." Gareth casually implied, he could be asking for money or something like that...But he didn't need it, all he needed was fear.

@Fine Dining Set @Clayton @Sreeya @Darasuum

 

[Darius Gal]

As the ships approached the point of no return for customs, the pilot of the Sapphire Grace started to sweat just a little when Mon Cal authorities radioed to them. It was immediately followed by a sigh of relief as the fish heads seemed to change their mind, clearly occupied with bigger matters, and scratched their last. They had done it. Despite an error in changing the transponder codes - an error Darius would be sure to point out to the planners just how close they came to being made - the convoy had slipped through. One by one the four ships dived into the atmosphere, their elegant, aquatic-like hulls reminiscent of a group of massive sea turtles yearning for the ocean.

_______________________________________________________​

"We've broke atmosphere, make ready preparations," crackled the captain's voice over the speakers.

Darius was already halfway in his hazardous materials suit when the call came. He wasn't aquatic, but at the same time with the sheer volume of the stuff, he wasn't taking any chances. If anyone had asked him how he expected to use his experience as a longshoreman in furthering the Syndicate's agendas, he probably would have come up with an answer that went something along the lines of a cargo heist, or smuggling contraband through a port of entry.

What he wouldn't have expected was using his experience to efficiently organize and load their cargo to best allow for rapid unloading. He opened the door separating the engine bays from the cargo hold and stepped through, closing the door behind him. Rows and rows of crates, all sitting on dormant hoversleds, packed the cargo hold. They were all secured with webbing that had been clipped to recessed rings in the floor, tethered with quick-release clamps. Buzz droids crawled amongst the stacks, weakening the chipping containers with their buzz saws just enough so they would either shatter on impact with the ocean, or break apart in the depths. Inside each container were dozens of old, rusted, leaking drums, each equipped with a vent that would blow out given sufficient pressure. Pressure that the ocean would provide.

3-dioxyl-methylmercury 2-polychlorilbipropylene was an industrial solvent used in a variety of manufacturing applications. It was also one of the most lethal neurotoxins to marine life. So toxic, even in extremely dilute quantitates, that it had been illegal in Republic space for well over a century. Such regulations, however, were of no concern to Nar Shaddaa's and Nal Hutta's industrial powers. Nor were safe storage practices. Warehouses had been extremely eager to offload their stockpiles of the used solvent when the Syndicates came asking. Between the four vessels, the Syndicates had brought nearly a million gallons of the stuff to Mon Cal.

"Approaching Drop One," alerted the captain. In the planning stages of this mission, the Syndicates had considered the alternate ports that Mon Cal authorities would send ships to, and searched for suitable, impactful sites along those routes. Not all were perfectly in line with the routes, but some were. And, as luck would have it, their current flight plan brought them upcurrent of a major agricultural region. They didn't need to do any weird flying or deviations from their path.

The convoy settled down low in the flight ceiling, and opened the cargo doors. Salty air and stiff winds howled outside, the pressure differential whipped small pieces of litter up into the air and out the cargo hatch. The noise inside the cargo hold spiked. Darius, having secured himself with a safety tether, set to work helping the labor droids that had been tasked with dumping the cargo. They could handle it themselves, but Darius had the experience and knowledge to safely nudge things along a little bit faster. Working in unison, Darius and the droids pulled the quick-releases for the first stacks of containers, activated the hoversleds, and shoved the cargo out the door.

Like multicolored jenga towers falling from the sky, piles of shipping containers began tipping out the four freighters, plummeting towards the surface. The piles tilted and broke apart, containers separating from each other, entering into a tumbling freefall down towards the ocean below. Trails of massive splashes were left in their wake not dissimilar to a line of bombs dropped. Some containers broke apart instantly, releasing the heavy metal barrels within, which quickly sank. Trails of bubbles followed the industrial depth charges down below the surface. Other crates splintered and fractured, not quite breaking apart just yet, sinking rapidly, ferrying their terrible contents to the deeps. Eventually a toxic plume miles long would form, drifting across the lush, underwater agricultural towers and balls. Any marine life, be it plant, fish, or Mon Cal worker unfortunate enough to be exposed even to the more dilute edges would suffer an unpleasant death.

"Leaving Drop One," crackled the captain over their commlinks. Darius looked up at the remaining cargo, already sweating from the work. He judged that they'd moved roughly half the containers, helped in large part through efficient planning, the use of hoversleds, and the fact that once the cargo left the ramp they didn't need to do fuck all with it.

@Fine Dining Set @Sreeya @Versok @Darasuum

 

[Edin Frost]

Edin’s work here was done, and he quickly packed up. He would put his assassination rifle away and calmly stride out of the hotel room instead of taking any path out the window. He strode down the hallway, took the stairs and quietly made his way down. The assassin walked past a few uniformed men as he made his way out, one of them eyeing him suspiciously and watching him for a long time as he exited.

The part Firrerreo had a relatively simple way out, but he knew the others were getting rapidly surrounded. His thoughts lingered back to the senator and the hotel ship she was on. He was an ant amidst the panicked crowd that took to the streets, and there was absolutely nothing about him that stood out.

Edin made his way towards the hotel ship after it was under lockdown. However, he didn’t go towards the front of the hotel. Instead, he made his way around towards a back alley near the ship, where he knew there were no cameras. He saw a few soldiers patrolling the perimeters. There was one that came to stand at the end of the alley he was in. Edin thought for a moment. He needed to be a nuisance, but just enough to attract the attention of just one of them and make them walk over.

Without applying much more though, he unzipped his pants and began to urinate on a large sign with the hotel’s name on it and the perfectly manicured flower beds beneath it. He threw in a bit of a drunk sounding laugh just for good measure.

@Fine Dining Set

 

[The Storyteller]

Mon Cala was known for its oceans. It was not just that it was an ocean world, it was the reverence the Mon Cala had for their world's waters. Even during their darkest days, the ocean prevailed: The occupation of the Empire, the Quarren rebellions, the recent rumblings and skirmishes along their borders. It was a symbol of planetary pride; just as the Ithorians had their Mother Jungle, and the Jedi had their temples, so too did the Mon Cala have their pristine, perfectly preserved waters.

Their waters were, thus, carefully monitored. It would not be long before some automated drone or scientific crew surveyed the area. The crew would likely know this, as well; they had picked an opportune day to attack. The ongoing festivals pulled away many of the scientific survey crew who would otherwise be scouring the world.

The polluted goods dropped into the ocean like ink into clear waters. The first crate poisoned the well instantly, its festering roots grasping in every direction through the once blue sea. The other crates further cemented the damage, forming a constellation of oozing shipping crates connected by threads of sludge and grime across the surface of the sea. The crates continued to sink, sink, sink through the ocean, disseapparing into the darkness of the cavernous ocean. All the while, the shipping containers to spill their contents towards the ocean floor.

The crew's mission had been a success. Ground control was none the wiser to the group's dumping as they approached. The convoy now had naught to do but figure out an exit strategy.

_____________________________________​

Outside the grand hotel, two soldiers stood at attention. Newer recruits, recent enlistees into Mon Cala's Navy. They were inexperienced at managing such tension - they had, frankly, been on leave before the terrorist attack happened, volunteering their services as soldiers to help manage the crisis. Their efforts landed them out front - stuck on guard duty. One, a young Mon Calamari woman, stood tall beside the wall when she heard the unmistakbable tinkling sound and laughter of a drunk young man peeing on something he shouldn't. No matter where you go, some things never change.

She sighed to herself as she went to investigate, gesturing to her partner that she could handle this alone. She reached for the pair of stun cuffs on her belt with her left hand and a baton in her right. She assumed nothing was wrong, just a drunk asshole being a drunk asshole, but the tension and fear of the current situation made her hyperactive. She did not touch the blaster pistol on her hip, fearing that too severe, but she still approached with caution. "Hey!" She yelled, putting on her sternest voice. "Fix yourself and get your hands up! City's under lockdown, you're supposed to be indoors!" Honestly, she only knew the details of her building; there was little word from the rest of the city, so decimated was its leadership.

She sighed, lightening up ever so slightly. "Do you know where your quarters are?"

@Sreeya @Clayton

 

[Jal Widase]

Perfect - a situation with no clear victory or end. Outside of simply disarming himself and his soldiers, allowing the terrorist to walk free to kill some more, of course. A plan he couldn't accept. There were two options, as he saw it; stand, locked in negotiation that could go nowhere to spare the lives of the innocent, or rush in and risk them. It was a difficult choice - there were few ways to infiltrate the round

"You know I can't just let you walk out of here. But, if you let the innocent people inside out, we can talk about options. No one else has to get hurt today." Rather plain, common-fare negotiator language. He doubted it would work - there needed to be another option.

Jal hoped he could find it. He had one last option, a large risk that, if it worked, could bring the soldiers into the building without making a sound. While Widase blared back and forth with Gareth, and the loud sirens of the armored vehicles roared behind them, an order was given. To the soldiers on the roof, they would as quietly as possible cut a hole through the glass window paneling and jump in.

It was difficult, but with the cacophony present, it could be possible; they could drop down and ambush the Syndicates, resolving the problem as expediently as possible. A little messy, perhaps, but Gareth had killed so many, with no hesitation; their lives were likely forfeit as long as they were in his clutches. The soldiers attached a handle with a suction to the center of the glass, and another soldier used his combat cutter to melt a circle through the window pane. As they cut, the two worked nervously, sweat beating down their brows as they did, until the glass popped off the window into the soldier's hand. As they carefully, delicately, lifted the glass pane with the suctioning handle, a jerky movement of the glass panel knocked it out of hand.

It fell, sailing to the floor below, finally hitting with a terrible shattering sound. Gareth would have to be deaf to miss the sound; it signaled that the stealthy approach had immediately failed. Loud, it was.

Soldiers burst in from all angles - repelling down three at a time from the ceiling while the droids kicked through the main door. At the first sign of sentient life, they would blast rapidly with stun blasts, hoping that a wide arc of stun fire would give the Mon Cala special forces an opportunity to end this standoff without any needless death.

@Versok