Milk Run

[Stephen]

The signal beacon into Edgepoint station was a simple automated text message containing the docking coordinates and appropriate codes. It was strange. Janus mulled it over on his approach. It was too anonymous to be a trap for him, but the message that led him here was specific to him, and a few others in the shipping trade, so it was too specific for someone looking to grease a few truckers. After awhile his mind ticked from trap to asshole as it occurred to him that his employer could have simply not have been ready for the transit he in fact ordered on nearly impossible short notice. Janus braced himself and made the final approach



The docking bay ground open with a spray of silt, like spray from a square mouthed champagne bottle. His ship pulled in slowly, his air filters suddenly whining from the wave of granulated debris. Janus watched it settle like snow in eddies on his viewfinder, before sliding down the length of his ship and settling in small mounds near the landing gear. A small red-faced man appeared from the center console of his ship, a green wire frame bust. “Hey, you got here man. That's great.” He nervously shot his eyes around the not currently visible room he inhabited and continued. “Hey, don't mind the dust, I was just doing an experiment. Y'all come on down and I'll let you in on the plan.” A set of green lights, lit along the floor, leading deeper within the station and with that, Janus's yet unnamed employer folded in on itself and fled back into the holo projector.



Janus sighed, this guy had obnoxious written all over him. He couldn't think of what pumping silica through the ventilation system would test, except perhaps engineering's patience. Assuming it was silica of course, it could be cremated lab rats for all he knew. He could be in his lab right now snorting a hot rail of incinerated rodent while Janus got ready. Whatever this was about, it was probably stupid, buy whoever it was payed up front, so he was worth a few headaches. Janus took one last look at the swirling dust of the docking bay and headed for the loading ramp.



Whatever this was about, Janus didn't want to play. Janus eased himself into his black environment suit and slinked out of his ship and down the halls. His on board ai quietly informed him that it didn't have the foggiest about the dust settling in sandy ramps in the corners of the open rooms. Some rooms were inhabited by people seemingly at random. They stood dazed in place, staring at their surroundings as if they had never seen them before. The moved in sharp jagged movements, like visitors to their own bodies, and clattered angrily in to walls and furniture. He crossed a wide commons where it looked like someone with the temperament of a five year old and the upper body strength of a gundark decided to redesign the cafeteria entirely through the medium of flinging. He continued on.



Eventually however, he found the man from video. He stood against the wall, next to three large metal cases. Each case looked impressively reinforced and code locked. Janus walked in and stomped on the leg a nearby chair, causing it to leap into the air and land up right. Janus sat in a forward hunch, his forearms resting on his thighs and spoke. “Alright, so I'm here. What's the plan?”

[Ghostie]

“RRRRRRRRRRAAAGGGGGAAAAHHHH!”

The Wookiee’s bellow sounded throughout the entirely of the commons area of Edgepoint Station. The entire cafeteria fell silent, and all at once, eyes snapped to the spectacle that was taking place near the entrance of the food hall. A giant creature with chestnut brown fur, most of which was hidden under an olive drab poncho that tapered off at a point, was holding one scruffy looking human up with a giant paw wrapped around the man’s neck. The man’s feet dangled, not reaching the durasteel floor underneath as he turned more and more blue by the second. The large beast had a second man by the neck and shoulder with his other paw, holding him so that he was leaning backwards towards the floor. Although he wasn’t turning the same rainbow of shades of his companion, the second man was clearly not enjoying having the furry paw crushing him.

Pash stood nearby, simply watching. He couldn’t remember who had started the fight in the cafeteria. Someone had thrown a drink at the bar, and then in the blink of an eye the entire hall had erupted into fists and flying limbs and thrown objects. Pash and Gaarchiir had been content to sit out the fight and simply watch from their booth, until a Transdoshan had come flying by and breaking them table. At that point, the pair had thrown their fair share of punches and hits as they made their was for the exit in order to extract themselves from the tumble, as Pash mainly followed Gaarchiir as the Wookiee made a path. But by the time they reached the exit, things had all but calmed down.

Until a pair of humans had glowered at Gaarchiir, nursing bruises, and saying quite loudly how much they could fetch for a particular Wookiee as a slave.

The main brawl, Pash had been sure that Gaarchiir hadn’t permanently hurt anyone, and they just focused on leaving. Now, he was content to sit and watch as the Wookiee had been quite triggered by the human’s slavery comments. Pash new his First Mate’s history. He knew that the Wookiee had been a slave for a long time, and had watched loved ones succumb to the same fate. So as Gaarchiir dealt with the two quite rude patrons, Pash busied himself with picking dirt out from under his nails, as well as some sort of white soot that seemed to cover the entire interior of Edgepoint, until he was sure that the scruffy human dangling from Gaarchiir’s paw couldn’t take being choked out any more.

“Alright Gaar, let’s go.”

Pash put a hand on the Wookiee’s shoulder near where the being’s bowcaster was slung, and patted him a few times. After a moment, Gaarchiir dropped the first man, who fell to his knees looking for air, and he pushed the second one, who tumbled backwards into a table. No one else moved, or said anything, but simply looked on as they tended to their own bruises and hurt egos. Leading the way, Pash went for the exit, Gaarchiir in tow. As they emptied out into the commons area, the Smuggler turned towards his First Mate.

“Why don’t’cha go get The Lady prepped for take-off? I wanna get outta here the soonest we get this cargo.”

The Wookiee growled a short affirmative and shambled off. He shot a glare at anyone who wandered too close, some of which either jumped back or quickly moved to the other side of the hall. Pash watched the debacle for a moment, shook his head, and then continued on in the opposite direction after he adjusted the lapel of his blue duster, and the way his gun-belt was sitting across his hips. Edgepoint was a weird place, Pash thought as he continued on. It harbored a few spacers that passed through, but mainly it looked like a research station and laboratory. But unlike many other research stations and laboratories, it didn’t make an effort to hide it’s stark white walls and clean surfaces, or it’s experiments and scientists.

Pash quickly decided that if he didn’t like this, he’d take the cargo and sell it off somewhere else. He’d done such a thing before on jobs that has gone south. That was the detriment of paying up front and in full for services. But it wasn’t his mistake. And the more he wandered through Edgepoint, the more something didn’t seem to sit right with the Smuggler. Finally seeing the man from the holocall, a scientist type with a bit of scruff and a white lab coat, Pash hurried towards him. That was his contact. Sitting nearby was another man in a black environment suit, probably about Pash’s age. He took him as another Spacer. The Smuggler knew that others had been hired for the same job, but upon seeing the cargo, he didn’t know why.

“This is it?!”

He spoke in an unbelievable tone, eyeing the three crates near the scientist.

[Blue]

An easy job. Wouldn't that be nice? Willam thought to himself as he punched in the co-ordinates to Edgepoint Station. Pick up, ship out, get paid, relax on a vacation world. Step by step, you could not ask for more simplicity than that. True, the message had made it quite clear that the items for shipping were completely legitimate, which usually meant that it was highly illegal to someone down the line, but it would not be the first time he had been chartered to carry questionable cargo, nor would it be the last. ...Hopefully it won't be the last. --- Willam squinted out through the transparisteel veiwport as the Lathspell arrived at the station. At a casual glance, Edgepoint seemed like a well-maintained port, as would be fitting of a station orbiting a popular vacation world. However, when the servos in Willam's cybernetic eye made a near-silent hum as he zoomed in on the place where he would soon be conducting business, the captain noted there was some seemingly recent wear-and-tear to it. Phantom pins-and-needles pricked along his right arm and Willam flexed the fingers of the mechanical limb thoughtfully. Never a good sign. Something was off, something his unconscious mind was picking up on that his higher functions had yet to spot. The attitude of the man who had messaged him with instructions to dock, jittery and shifty, only compounded his bad feeling. "I really wish my instincts would kick in to do more than say 'I told you so' later on," Willam muttered to himself dryly, his prim accent echoing back around him in the cockpit. The sound of his voice drew something else into proximity and, with a whirring of it's repulsor lifts, a plate-like hoverdroid zipped in to join him. The droid's singular, large eye focused on the station as well, before a series of beeps and whistles sounded the contraption's dubiousness. "Oh, don't you start, Odd," the captain remarked to his mechanical companion. "If I had a credit for every time you thought a job was too much trouble, we would never have to lift a finger- or clamp- in labour evermore." Settling himself into the pilot's seat, Willam brought his ship in to dock, utilising the codes beamed over to settle his vessel inside. A frown creased his forehead as a light beeping came from one of the panels as they came in; the air filters were working overtime as some unknown material began attempting to work its way in from the station. Man and droid shared a glance. "There is no way I'm going to trust the air in there. Looks like I'll have to grab one of the void-suits before heading out," Willam said, standing as the landing gear hit the decking. The hoverdroid let out a fluctuating clicking noise that somehow managed to sound insultingly deriding of the human's feeble respiratory system. "Laugh all you want, Odd. You'll be the one cleaning the filters later," he uttered. The droid burred something angrily before floating off in a huff, and the captain got himself changed. Of the two void-suits he owned, one was a bulky, beige number meant for long time exposure and the other was a sleeker, far more aesthetically pleasing piece used for minor issues for shorter periods. Considering that he was reluctant to throw on the larger suit that he could barely run in, the smaller suit was just the thing. He slipped into it, throwing on his spacer-leather coat over the top of it and buckling his weapons to his hip before heading down the landing ramp. The seemingly dazed condition of a lot of the inhabitants of the station did little to ease his paranoia, and passing an irate Wookie in the hall served only to put him even further on edge. The state of the cafeteria confirmed his growing suspicion that, despite his hopes to the contrary, this job was probably not going to go smoothly at all. The captain entered the room with their employer just as one of the other two people within made their incredulity known in no uncertain terms. A well-practiced smile slid onto Willam's features, visible under the clear visor on his void-suit as he strode further in. "So it would seem," he spoke smoothly, letting his presence be known and coming to a halt next to the sitting man. "But valuable things need not be large or numerous." Willam focused his attention onto the man who had hired them, gesturing for him to speak. "Please, explain to us what this job of yours entails, and what we might expect to come up while we carry it out, if anything."

[Stephen]

With all assembled, The small wild haired man began. He placed an large electronic key card on each crate, pausing a moment before moving on to the next. He then walked to his place in front of the crates in the center of the room. “Thank you gentlemen for arriving on such short notice. I can assure you that your reputations precede you and I expect nothing but the finest from all of you.” He nodded his head forward a moment before continuing.

“Your job goes as follows: Each one of you is responsible for one key card and one crate. Each crate is password locked and tamper protected. You must extract these crates from the station as soon as we are finished here, and then take them to Coronet city through different routes. There will be a person waiting for you within the docking bay you land in on Coronet. Give that person the crate, and they in turn will give you a crate with your payment in Peggat unlocked with the key card provided. They in turn will take the crate on to the next stage of the journey and our business will conclude.

The plan seemed worryingly simple to Janus, Simple enough to succeed at least, and not at all what he expected from this shambles of a station and mess of a contact. He now had another piece of the puzzle and it didn't fit in with any of the others. Last minute job, posted on the damn HHS of all things. Filthy lab and habitation module, strung out residents, distracted scientist/client. Why of all times did it get serious and competent all of a sudden. If it was a trap it had already caught everyone here. It would be suicide to say no and walk out. Best now to walk out with the goods and try to figure it out on the ship.

“One last issue” The scientist lingered a moment. Janus winced. “Our mutual friends on the station still have need of the things within the crates here, and will not be pleased with my decision on these matters.” He paused a moment. “But these crates must make landfall on Correlia. I wish no harm on my comrades, but” He made a gesture that all but finished the sentence for him. The rest of the crew, as strung out as they were, were expendable.

Suddenly it clicked dangerously for Janus. This reeked of a black site science project gone haywire. Could be corporate, but more likely republic or imperial. The mega corps were more likely to hide in plain view, under a never ending nesting doll of boring named companies with bland logos. The government hid their dirty laundry in the deep places of the universe. More than ever, Janus needed off this station with the cargo intact and unmolested. Whatever tamper-proofing they included likely made quite a bit of noise and mess, and the last thing he needed was some spiced out spacer setting off his package by bashing it with a standing lamp. Janus looked at the other crates. It was anyone's which of the three actually held the payload, and which were decoys. It was three card Monty, but you never saw the deck before, you never saw the cards move, and the dealer was smiling knives through you. No play but pick a card.

“Right” Janus stood up, trying to act nonchalant. He strode over toward the crates and spied his name on one of the key cards, lit up in neon cyan. He picked up the simple chain it hung from and put it over his head. “Guess I best get moving. It was lovely to meet you all.” He loosed the force within him, breaking the veil that hid him from prying eyes. He could feel unsteady pinpricks of the force flaring up all over the station. Gusts and eddies, unsteady and untrained rang out all around him. Another strange puzzle piece for sure, but one more noise in the crowd wouldn't hurt too much. He walked toward the door before turning back toward his crate. Janus gave a sharp whistle and pat his leg twice, and his crate dutifully crawled along the floor to heel at his side.

[Ghostie]

"So it would seem, but valuable things need not be large or numerous."

A second voice spoke up just over Pash’s shoulder, causing the Smuggler to turn and face the newcomer. It was a second Spacer, a little more presentable than Pash himself, and perhaps older. He gave the appearance of being a bit more distinguished, a bit more well put together, than the Smuggler, or his compatriot sitting on the chair nearby. And the cybernetic eye, and subsequent prosthetics stemming out like roots across the man’s face told of a certain level of maturity and experience.

And the newcomer, much like the other Spacer, was dressed in a vac-suit.

“What I miss?”

The Smuggler’s tone was light, yet curious and a bit confused. The first man wearing an airtight suit seemed off-putting, but nothing to wonder about aside from a curious glance. The second man wearing a vac-suit once again, including the visor and helmet, made Pash a bit paranoid. Had he not caught that part of the holocall, where they were told to be in appropriate dress for the occasion? Sure, Pash had seen the heavy layer of dust as he had set the Our Lady of Onderon down in the docking bay. But truthfully, he thought nothing of it. He’d been in seedier and worse looking places. Looking down at himself, more than a bit conscious of his own attire now, Pash gave the lapels of his long, blue jacket a tug and an adjustment, before looking up as the wild-haired man started to speak.

“One last issue - our mutual friends on the station still have need of the things within the crates here, and will not be pleased with my decision on these matters. But these crates must make landfall on Corellia. I wish no harm on my comrades, but...”

This caught Pash’s attention finally, as he stopped wondering about the vac-suits for just a moment. Not only was this cargo wanted so badly by outside forces that their employer decided to hire decoys, but now it seemed that trying to get the crates off of the station was going to be an issue. Something of this didn’t seem right. Pash’s face turned up into a obvious grimace, as his nostrils flared and his mouth curled into a strong frown. Had this man not paid up front, no questions, the Smuggler would have more than likely walked away at this moment. There were too many unknowns, too many people trying to get the cargo. It was like playing Pazaak and not being able to see any of the cards, aside from the ones you drew, as you drew them.

One hand on his hip, by his blaster nonetheless, Pash was about ready to give his employer a good wringing out. But before he could, the first man had rose from his chair, issued a nonchalant farewell, and took off with his cargo more eager than not. Pash watched him go, wondering what the man knew that he didn’t. Perhaps he was crazy, wearing that vac-suit as he was after all. Quiet for a moment, Pash shot the wild-haired man a scowl, and then stomped over to his crate, the one in the middle. Bending at the knees, he picked up his keycard, and shoved it in one of the outside pockets on his jacket. Standing once again, he spoke to his employer finally.

“If anything happens to my ship b’cause of this cargo, you’re not going to want to see me again. And trust me, I’ll come find you.”

Pash didn’t know if the crate held some sort of weapon, or precious artifacts, or simple research equipment. But he was starting to expect that it was responsible for the current state of Edgepoint Station. Though his threat was laced with venom, Pash didn’t really have the means to find his employer once again, once this was all over. Shaking his head a bit, he judged that the crate was a bit too heavy to carry, even for him. Spying a moving dolly propped against a wall, Pash strode over to it without asking permission, and scooped the crate up on it’s small lip with ease. Setting off for the Lady, he muttered to no one in particular.

“Shoulda kept the Wookiee around…”

[Blue]

Willam took a quick moment to observe his fellow spacers. The one sitting in the chair was clad in a void suit similarly to himself, leaving a lot of his features obscured and his dress-sense hazy to deduce. He seemed quick to cut to the chase but, though it was nearly impossible to tell under the suit, there was a ounce of tension in his bearing that Willam completely understood. There was something about him, though, that sent a slight tingle shooting through his right arm. Nothing about this job seems right. The other, unlike Willam and the sitting man, was dressed in attire that was not made to keep out the potential airborne whatevers that might be floating about the station. A sleeveless blue duster framed the man, almost the same height as himself but a little bulkier in the arms... or at least, Willam's left arm, but the right did not really count since it was hardly original. Now seeing his co-workers, the man seemed somewhat put-out by the void suits they wore, so Willam offered him a small smile. "Oh, most likely nothing," he responded with a slight shrug. "I'm certain we two are simply being a tad paranoid. There's probably nothing sinister about the strange detritus floating about in this station's ventilation, filled with seemingly out-of-sorts people who are bumping into walls and such in some sort of drugged stupor." A pause. "All the same, probably a good idea to get on with the job with some speed, hmm?" As their employer spoke, Willam reflected on how the plan seemed relatively simple. Simple and easy. Stars... somehow this is going to go very wrong, very fast. I just know it. It can NEVER be this straightforward. Exposition continued and swiftly proved that thought correct; the strange, dazed occupants of the station would be wanting the packages back. He noted how the man did not specify how exactly they would try and achieve that, but considering he was essentially giving them the go-ahead to injure and/or kill them, the captain doubted that they would be asking nicely. Eyeing the crate with some trepidation, Willam moved to retrieve whichever had been assigned to him when one of the objects began moving as if attached to an invisible rope towards the previously sitting gentleman. Imaginary pain lanced up his cybernetic arm upon witnessing the blatant use of Force abilities. "Yes, delightful. We should all catch up for drinks later. Remember the good times," Willam said in response to the departing man, his tone exceptionally dry. The other spacer was also now departing, delaying only to grab one of the two dollies laying around and spit some words at their employer. Best I get moving, too. Pausing to swipe up the keycard, Willam began moving the dolly toward his crate when the handle came free and one of the wheels rolled off into a corner of the room. Tutting his annoyance and glancing around the room, he grabbed the chair the Force using fellow had been sitting on and heaved the crate up onto the seat. He spared a look towards their employer. "I'm going to take this, if it's all the same to you," Willam announced politely, before beginning to drag the chair behind him with his mechanical arm. He managed to take two steps, stopping when the sharp grating sound of the chair legs scraping along the metal floor echoed around the room. "Okay," he sighed resignedly to himself, then continued out the door. The sound did not get anymore pleasant as he entered the hallways, reverberating back at him and amplifying it to an uncomfortable degree. Willam liked going unnoticed when danger was lurking. When peril raised its ugly head, he enjoyed not being fixed by its glare. But with this burden he was being forced to drag along behind him, the concept of stealth was so far out of the question it may as well be living in the Unknown Regions. But maybe, just once today, I'll get lucky an- Naturally, the next turn he made opened up into a small room containing two of the station's inhabitants. A pregnant pause fell as two pairs of eyes flickered from the captain to the crate sitting on the chair behind him and back to the captain. Willam looked at both of them, a weak smile spreading on his face. "Now, I- I know what you're thinking of doing, he said, hand moving down to his pistol in as non-threatening a gesture as he could manage. "And let me first say that I highly recommend that you do not-" Then they both charged at him. There was a sudden, high-pitched snapping noise and one of the chargers went down, the bolt from Willam's swiftly drawn pistol blasting him clean through his knee. The second almost reached the captain, the powerful Novis Marksman not well-known for its high rate of fire, but he was a half second too slow and a second bolt took him in the foot. The man stumbled and fell face first into the duranium embrace of Willam's right hook. He hit the ground as if poleaxed and moved no more. "Still fancy your luck?" Willam asked mildly. The man he punched said nothing, being very unconscious, and the other was too busy rolling around on the ground clutching what remained of his leg. "No? Then excuse me." As he skirted around the mess he had reluctantly made, Willam tapped his comlink. "Better start warming up the engines, Odd," he said, rolling his cybernetic shoulder as it became more and more sore where it met his still flesh and blood chest. "Believe it or not, things have started going bad... And if I hear so much as a single sardonic beep from your speakers, I swear I will disassemble you and use your components to upgrade the lavatory!" There was a moment of silence as his droid companion weighed it's options, before a whistle of confirmation came through. Dragging his noisy burden behind him, Willam soldiered on towards the hanger, cursing under his breath.

[Stephen]

Right on cue the attacks started. First waves upon waves of invasive thoughts invaded Janus head in unorganized jumbles. Hasty commands to harm himself were intermixed with threats, insults, and inarticulate screaming. There was no order to it, and the din it created made the individual messages a bizarre and distracting noise, punctuated by the occasional recognizable word. The whole experience was standing in a waterfall of sewage, and occasionally noticing the rare piece of trash that is still largely intact as it bounces off your hapless face.

Janus reeled under the onslaught for a moment, but recovered quickly when no message won out over the others. It was easy enough to move through the disorganized mess rather out from underneath the full brunt of it. But it was still incredibly annoying. Janus couldn't help himself from projecting a simple command across the station. “Would you shut the fuck up for five minutes!” It was the psychic equivalent to “Hey I'm walking here.” it it seemed to do the job, the racket barely contained behind Janus' eyes shut off like a faucet.

The station however, gave not one whit to Janus' unspoken command and subsequently began to howl and whine. The walls began to sweat metal shavings and rivets shunted themselves out and onto the floor. The halls began to twist and warp, as they broke free of their moorings and shuddered loose, victims to the stray forces of artificial gravity. Janus could feel the force being flung against the walls in wild abandon. Using near fatal reserves of energy on each push, whatever mob of angry force adepts hung just on the other side of these halls were either powerfully desperate or children incapable of understanding the blaster they were firing in the yard. Either one was terrifying in it's own regard.

Eventually the walls fell. And the teeming horde came along. They rushed forward and fell their limbs drove heedlessly in to holes in the floor of their own making with sickening lurching snaps, but still they came. They fired what few blasters they had, chewing great holes in their fellows and the walls, but still they came. They clamored angrily on hands and knees over the fallen, congesting the hall like a stricken sink drain, but still they came. The dead and dying gave way to the live and screaming as more and more poured forth. Janus staggered back, unsure and confused back into the meeting room.

[Ghostie]

All that could be heard throughout the hallway of Edgepoint Station was the slow, methodical squeaking of Pash’s hand dolly as he rolled his newly collected cargo out of the meeting room with the scientist and back down towards the hangar bay. Towards the Lady. Towards safety. The entire atmosphere of the station had taken a nosedive the moment the Smuggler had emerged with his crate. Things were quiet. Too quiet for Pash’s liking. The halls were empty now, save for the trio of Spacers. Something just didn’t feel right. The Smuggler couldn’t place his finger on what, but he was uneasy. He shifted from one foot to the other, and adjusted his grip on the dolly as he walked, his head swiveling back and forth as he went.

Then everything happened at once. Pash’s head felt it was going to split open with a cascade of thoughts. Angry thoughts. Thoughts not of his own. Thoughts that wanted him to hurt himself. Hurt those around him. Threats of harm, and derogatory terms aimed at no one in general, it seemed. There was no order to them, nothing but the chaos of being bombarded with them. As soon as the mental attacked started, Pash doubled over and grabbed his knees with both hands, grinding his teeth and eyes closed, as if doing so would stem the tide of the horrific things he was thinking. The dolly had clattered to the floor, the crate slipping off of it some as it had done so. But Pash didn’t care, as long as his head was caving in.

Then something intelligible pierced through the iron curtain of mental wailing. Someone screaming for the thoughts to shut up for just a moment. It was a newly familiar voice, that Pash recognized as coming from one of the other two Spacers that he had been hired with. Looking up as he clutched his knees, Pash watched as the first man who had left walked as if he had purpose back into the meeting room with his crate.

And it didn’t take long for find out why this tactical decision was made. Looking in the opposite direction as the screeching shudder of metal against metal started to grind it’s way down the hall, Pash saw as a once-lethargic horde made its way towards the trio. They were swiping and chewing at each other, firing wildly with what few blasters they had, but their clear and intended target were the Spacers. Looking to the other man with his mouth slightly agape, Pash wondered just what the hell he had missed in that holocall after the scientist had mentioned payment.

Scooping up the crate he had been assigned onto the dolly he was using once again, Pash backpedaled, keeping his eyes on the horde as he made his way into the meeting room as well, following the first man. At least there he could have a moment to think about how to get back to the Lady, and potentially a hand in doing so. Cargo deposited by the door, Pash spun around and almost fell, his head still light from the mental attack. Taking cover just inside the door frame, his hand went to his hip and snatched up the heavy blaster pistol he carried in an instant. The smuggler fired back into the approaching throng as a few blaster bolts found their mark in the wall near his head and arm. Making himself heard above the din of the chaos, Pash shouted.

“We’re gunna get swarmed if we stay here!”

[Blue]

Without the Force or a functioning dolly to transport his crate and thanks to the two space-brained idiots who charged at a man with a gun, Willam was beginning to trail behind his fellow spacers. Gritting his teeth and hauling on the chair a little harder, the captain upped his speed a bit more, the sharp sound of the legs dragging on the metal floor really starting to grate on his nerves. Just as the hallways opened up and he caught sight of the other two, a wave of pain smacked Willam squarely in the head. The tall man recoiled as if physically struck, caught off-guard by the mental attack and nearly sending his cargo tumbling to the ground as he stumbled into the chair it sat upon. Insidious screeching pierced into his mind, encouraging him to do all sorts of terrible things and promising to do even worse to himself. Easy now, easy does it. Breath in, out. In, out... Unscrew the forearm panel using a type three slot head screwdriver. Ensure canisters are completely secure in their fixtures, then twist the two valves nearest to the hand component. A small click should be heard when the valves are properly turned off. After donning the appropriate glove ware, firmly grasp the first canister by the body and slide it out of it's fixture, then repeat with the second. Check for any signs of leakage or damage to the canisters, then- As the screaming began to get drowned out by the mental recitation of his cybernetic arm's maintenance, another voice blasted through the wall of vicious clamouring, calling for silence in no uncertain terms. The noise ceased almost instantly, and Willam shook his head as he prepared to ask his fellow spacers a question. Which was promptly cut off as the station bucked like an angry nerf being jabbed in the vulnerables with an electroprod. Clutching onto his crate, Willam sighed in exasperation to hide his growing concern and snapped at nobody in particular. "Oh, what is it no-oooooooh no". The words died on his lips as the spacer witnessed the walls collapse and what was thundering forwards passed them. Without a further word or thought, Willam turned, scooped the chair with its cargo into his arms, and shamelessly fled after the other void-suited man, noting the third man was smartly doing the same. "Bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger, bugger!" Willam grunted with each hasty step, both his flesh and mechanical shoulders and arms promising a thousand pains tomorrow as his heavy crate jostled in his grip. Once again he was falling behind his two compatriots, both of them already back in the meeting room, and the horde where nipping at his heels. But with a click, his boots ignited and the captain was propelled through the doors as the rockets in his footwear screamed in protest at the extra weight, just as the duster wearing man sent a few bolts down the way at the encroaching swarm of angry crazies. Landing neatly, Willam let go of the chair, sending it skidding along the floor, and reached into his utility belt for something. Underhanding the flashbang back towards the horde, Willam proceeded to slam the doors to the hallway shut just as it detonated. Wasting no extra time, he grabbed a nearby shelving unit and toppled it over in front of the doors, and added a few boxes to the barricade for good measure. "That should hold them for a wh-" he began, but a loud thudding noise interrupted him as numerous hands began beating on the metal door. "For a little bit," he corrected, turning to his fellow doomed men with a shrug. "So much for a milk run."

[Stephen]

The door was quickly closed ahead and barricaded. A tall task asking shelving and doors to do what durasteel walls could not. The concussion grenade would do twice the work however, in the crowed confines ahead. Perhaps that could do enough. It'd have to. Even in his pomp, he hadn't the stomach for the full bloodied massacre that it took to clear the hall. If he could even manage it.

Janus put his palm on the top of his crate and spun in around led it back to the center of the room. Their host, still placid faced and calm sat on chair against the wall. Janus ignored him and climbed on top of his crate, and sat cross legged. Power thrummed within him, overwhelming the untidy and rude pings of effort that raced through the force. He ran his mind along the walls, probing softly for an edge to grasp at. Eventually he found it, but this wasn't something he could simply lift and go.

“Gentlemen, if you would.” his voice tremored slightly, strained and unfocused. “I have a plan brewing, but I need a moment to ready it.” He closed his eyes and lost himself within the force. He spoke again, unable to hear himself. “If you could afford me a moment or two, I should be able to reunite us with our ships.” The room around Janus began to thrum, and a musical humming began to underlay the screaming from outside. Either they would find the time for him, or they would not. Either way Janus was one with the force. That would be enough, it'd have to be.

[Ghostie]

A few of Pash’s bolts caught the swarm of half-crazed loonies, the other half he suspected was drugged. The dust around the station started to make sense. But before the Smuggler could give it much thought or even look to see how many were still after the three men their last compatriot, the one with the cybernetic arm and eye, started flying towards the doorway. Flying. There was a click of his heels and then his boots alit with a low glow of orange and red. The rocketing fire echoed over the din of the horde bearing down on them, and Pash rotated just out of the way and to the inside of the doorway as the man came zooming past.

“I gotta get me a pair of those…”

He breathed quietly to no one in particular. Leaning over to the side as if to protect himself, Pash flinched a bit as the rocket-propelled man now threw some sort of grenade out of the doorway and towards the rushing mob. There was a loud pop and bang, and the Smuggler’s ears rang for just a moment before the heavy durasteel doors closed. The rocket boot man was quick, working the doors and toppling shelving before Pash could do much more than check that his power pack was still relatively full on his blaster, and nod at the new helping hand.

"So much for a milk run."

“You said it, pal.”

Pash’s voice was level, for the moment, but carried a definite air of annoyance with it. This annoyance grew when he looked around to see their employer sitting calmly in the same chair with which they had left him, unphased by the current proceedings as the three Spacers tried to get off of the station. The Smuggler gritted his teeth as he returned his blaster to his belt with a sharp, stabbing motion. He had half a mind to put a bolt into the man. Pash was already paid, and so were the others. This seemed like it had been set up to trap the three. To what end, he couldn’t figure out. But the more he dwelt on it, the more he found himself frustrated with the scientist, and the whole situation in general.

Then the third spacer, the one without the cybernetics, spoke up. Something about needing time. Pash spun to look at him, to see the man sitting cross legged on top of his crate with his eyes closed. His expression read of one that was intently focusing on something, like he was pondering a particularly stressful cantina game, with a large stake on the table. Was he meditating? Pash hadn’t had much interaction with Force-users before, a few Jedi during the War when he was a starfighter pilot, and that was it. He always found them enigmatic at best. Worried about themselves at worst. And he knew that they meditated all the time.

“This just keeps getting better and better.”
Retrieving a comlink from the insides of his duster, Pash flinched a few more times as the door was repeatedly pounded on. Looking over his shoulder, he could see more than a few dents on the durasteel panels from the other side. So, the doors weren’t that heavy after all. Not heavy enough to leave a crazed horde out, at least. Raising the comlink to his lips while there was a break in the pounding and banging, the Smuggler spoke into the device.

“Gaar, you there?”

Pash was greeted in a moment on the other end with an affirmative growl.

“Make sure the Lady is runnin’ - ”

Whatever the Force-using, meditating man was doing, Pash figured he was working on a way out of their current predicament. As much bias as he held against Force-users, he would do as the man asked, and buy time. There seemed to be an unspoken agreement between the three spacers now; as the trio were the only ones not actively trying to rip out each other’s necks, it was them versus the rest of the occupants of Edgepoint as they tried to escape certain death. Pash would be watching their backs.

Their employer, however, could stay here as far as he was concerned.

The Smuggler wouldn’t get to finish his words to Gaarchiir or thoughts to himself, though, as the durasteel door opened slightly, parting vertically in the middle. There was a mass of limbs, heads, and gnashing teeth that prodded it’s way through the opening, as the lunatics pushed and shoved at one another in order to be the first through to their presumably next meal of Spacers and Meditators. Pash growled some, still holding the active comlink to his mouth as he reached for his blaster in a flash and shot a few quick bolts into the mass of bodies. A few fell, but they were just as quickly replaced by their fellows in the line behind.

Grimacing, the Smuggler turned on the spot, and had a sudden burst of inspiration. He leveled his blaster on the door’s control panel, and emptied a fusillade of bolts into it that would make all but the strongest durasteel armor crack and melt through sheer volume. As the Smuggler was still firing, the doors snapped shut in the blink of an eye, their hydraulics seizing up in an instant as the two large panels of metal came together, unwavered by the mass of limbs and other body parts that they sheared off as they closed. Pash finally stopped firing when her heard the doors come together, and an arm, severed at the elbow, slid up and over his feet.

“Eugh…”

Stepping back some from the gory mess that was now the doors to the meeting room, he holstered his blaster once again, and pocketed the comlink finally. Looking to his slightly older, cybernetic wielding counterpart, Pash gave a bit of a shrug.

“Figured no one was usin’ that entrance anymore, anyways. Say, you wouldn’t happen to have some sorta like… Flamethrower leg, would ya?”

[Blue]

People reacted to stressful moments in all manner of ways. Some laughed, some cried, some gritted their teeth and carried on. But it was a first to see someone take a seat and start meditating in the middle of a life or death situation. A withering opinion almost slipped from Willam's lips, but the sitting spacer spoke first and revealed his... plan? It was short on details, but considering the man had been presumably using the Force to lug his crate around, questions at this point would most likely just result in more headaches for himself. Had enough head pains for today, thank you... Just as the thought passed through his mind, the makeshift barrier he had thrown against the door shifted sharply and all manner of unpleasantness began trying to force it's way into the room with them. On pure instinct at the sound, Willam drew his pistol and fired at the same time as his younger compatriot. Though firing only the one shot in contrast to the several the duster wearing spacer employed, the powerful bolt passed through several bodies, the kinetic force knocking them over. But it bought them merely a split second of reprieve before their brethren were back at it. "Well, this won't work-" Willam began to say, only for the sounds of further shots to arrest his attention. He watched as Duster fired continuously into the door's control panel and the portal into the room shut forcefully, clipping a few appendages off in the process. Willam skipped back a step to avoid getting human offal all over his nice boots as Duster exclaimed his disgust. "My thoughts precisely," he said, to both the distaste for the gore and the fact the door was no longer a viable exit. Willam slapped an appreciative hand on the man's shoulder, making sure to use his flesh and blood one to do so. "Good thinking." Willam laughed lightly at the idea of a flamethrower leg. "No, just the boots I'm afraid.... Although, if we had the tools and the time, we might be able to fashion something of the sort from them... Gah! If only I had taken the opportunity to have a flamethrower installed instead of this!" Willam continued, lifting his cybernetic arm. Truth be told, he was only half joking; a flamethrower attachment had been one of the options available for his arm when it was put on. Now that the door was sealed tight, all that was left was to defend the squatting maybe-Jedi from any interruptions while he did... whatever it was he was doing. His blaster pistol still drawn, Willam stalked around the place, look for any other ways for someone to get in. "Are there any other ways in here?" Willam called out to their employer. A moment after the words left his mouth, the spacer's temper flared a little and he turned to face the person who had dragged them all here under the pretense of a simple cargo haul job. "You know, I don't normally ask questions on a job; professional standards and what-not. But considering that the unasked question is currently try to kill and/or eat us, as well as tear the station apart with their minds, I think it's a good time to drop that standard and ask what in the void is going on?" Willam took steps towards their employer, pistol in hand, anger in face. "Because you don't seem the least bit surprised by this turn of events. In fact, you seem downright sanguine!"

[Stephen]

The teeming horror hovered just outside, held at bay with a frenzy of confused violence from both sides for a brief moment. A moment earned to question their patron and their predicament in equal measure. The walls bowed inward in sudden lumps. The the door lurched open and the teeming hordes again began to spill into the into the room. Seconds until the horde overran their position, but time enough. Janus lifted delicately off of the crate.

Steel shrieked and bent in equal measure. The room lurched upward uncomfortably as it rose, snapping clean from the moorings of the halls and floating free within the superstructure of the station. Janus yelled a single warning “Hold on to something” Before twisting the room violently. Life, unfocused and angry, lurched out of the room and fell below before winking out of the force. Janus floated at the center of the room, watching their benefactor tumble and crash into the sparse furnishings.

He steadied the spin, and planned a new route. He'd only completed half the job so far. He had managed to separate the room from the station's gravitation subsystem and now they were free floating withing the hull of the station. All Janus had to do now was to navigate the room like miniature rustled space ship to the docking bay, and tear his way inside.

The room lurched and wobbled uncomfortably as he guided it around the mazework of fragmented rooms and passages. It was strange seeing a station like this, watching the algae farms within the husk shimmering under the artificial light. It was surreal and bizarre, and Janus would have enjoyed for longer he wasn't shook from his reverie by slamming into the steel wall of the docking bay.

Janus grit his teeth and muttered under his breath, “Okay, one push left.” Stars swam in front of his eyes as he began. This wasn't pushing through the cheap steel of an interior room that was already damaged. This was the reinforced walls of a critical exterior room. Very slowly the twisted off hallway section began to grind into the wall, opening more and more as they steel found purchase and bit in the walls beyond. He could feel the halls edges giving way more and more but he pushed still. He drifted into the wall lazily as he lost control of his own trajectory. His vision blurred and every part of his being ached angrily, finally with a staggering shove he broke through. A three foot tall hole in the wall, friction welded to their room. Docking protocol took over immediately and restored gravity to their damaged craft .

Janus fell to the floor with a heavy crash his crate smashing on top of him and rolling off with a heavy clatter. He rolled to his hands and knees and began violently heaving. Blood flecked foam spittle spilled from his cracked helmet. He curled on the ground a violent moment before slowly staggering to his feet. His hands felt dead, but they still managed the buckle on his hip holster, and he staggered over to his patron and wordlessly drew his blaster.

[Ghostie]

Despite the fact that the durasteel door was locked for the moment thanks to Pash’s rapid application of blaster bolts to the control panel, the banging kept coming. It was unrhythmic and imprecise, like a swarm of angry insects beating on the portal as them tried to find a way in. A swarm of ravenous, humanoid-sized, Force-powered angry insects. Every once and awhile, there would be a hard enough strike that would leave a dent, which made Pash jump a little every time it happened. Nonetheless, the Smuggler stood by, watching over the door and waiting. He had the distinct feeling that the angry horde on the other size was not going to be kept out for long.

The other two men, Jedi Guy and One Eye, aptly named in Pash’s mind for their defining characteristics, were up to their own tasks, not less important. The nearest Pash could tell, Jedi Guy was trying to find a way out. Or he was napping. They’d know soon, either way. The Smuggler gave a bit of a scowl as his gazed passed over the man. His face softened, however, when he looked at One Eye. Pash liked him a little bit more. And he was questioning their employer in the back of the room, and looked ready to put a bolt through the man if he got the wrong answer. Pash couldn’t blame him. Everything had gone sideways quite quickly, after all.

It wasn’t a bang that snapped Pash out of her quiet, internal musings, but the loud screech of metal being pulled against itself. The sort of grinding that made one’s teeth hurt with the harsh sounds and grating feeling. The man looked back around to find a pair of strong hands pulling the top of the durasteel door open, caving the metal in and the two halves apart from one another as it was supported by other hands trying to grasp at anything they could and claw their way into the small meeting room.

“Hey, guys…”

Pash drew his blaster up once again, and fired a handful of shots through the opening. The red light bathed the room for a few quick seconds as the bolts flew, sound reverberating off of the metal surfaces. A few of the hands retreated, burned away, but others filled their place soon enough. More hands than before, even. Enough hands to pry the doors apart even further, down to eye level to where Pash could see the crazed, lunatic faces of the angry mob. They were very nearly foaming at the mouth, hungry for what was coming next. Pash steeled himself, and kept firing. But the more he fired, the more than died. The more than died, the more that they were replaced. The more than the ones who died were replaced, the more the doors were opened.

“... If y’all got a plan, I’d really like to hear it!”

Pash shouted over his own blaster fire. But before anyone could respond, the entire room started to twist and shake violently. Thrown to one side of the meeting room and against the wall, Pash crumpled into a curled position as the entire thing started to rise and pull away from the hallway, dipping towards the section that he was thrown into. He thought for half a second that perhaps the horde had grown so large, and so massive that they were picking up the room and carrying them away. Looking up towards the door, however, Pash saw the few lunatics that had hung on now fall away, and down towards the station. Then there was someone yelling about hanging onto something. And it was at that point he realised they were flying.

Standing and running towards the door, the Smuggler stopped just at the edge and looked over as the station’s interior passed underneath of the trio’s now flying craft. It was surreal, as the rest of the rooms and the algae farms and the cafeteria where there had been a fight before had taken place. Pash looked around, and psied One Eye, giving the older man a look of disbelief. He looked over his shoulder at their Jedi compatriot, mouth slightly agape. It seems that he had been working on an exit strategy after all. Looking back around at the opening, Pash dove to the side just in time as the floating room came into contact with the hallway leading to the docking bay.

He took cover against the inside of the doorway once again, but not from an angry mob of half-crazed humanoids, but from a horde of metal shards and flying sparks as the room was forced down the hall, and the hall’s walls were forced to give way. The room bucked and jumped, sending it’s occupants and all the contents following inside with it’s erratic movements, but they mostly stayed on course for the docking bay. Pash was joustled from his standing position at one point, unable to stay on his feet, falling to the floor and trying to brace himself there. Finally they came to an end, slamming against the hard durasteel wall of the docking bay. The room then backed down it’s path some, and slammed a second time into the wall, breaking through. On the second time, Pash hit his head against the wall, and blacked out for a few minutes.

“AAAAAAAAAAARRRRGHHHH!”

Crumpled in an undignified position against the wall of the once-flying room, not far from the doorway which had once unsuccessfully held an angry mob at bay, Pash’s eyes shot open when he heard the yell and roars of a Wookiee on the outside of the room. Blinking a few times and wincing at the new pain in his head, the man staggered to his feet and found his blaster, which only know was returned to his hip. Half a power pack left. That ought to get him the rest of the way to his ship. Looking around, he saw that Jedi Guy was already on his feet, and accosting their employer. Pash thought it a lost cause with that guy. The Smuggler wiped at his chin some as he tasted blood. He must have bitten his tongue hard on the last impact. Spitting some, he watched the red glob fly into the corner.

“It’s alrigh’ Gaar! Stay there for a moment!”

Pash called back to his Co-Pilot once he found his his bearings. He wasn’t as interested in the Scientist as he was their cargo. Climbing over the ruins of what had once been a conference table, he quickly found all three crates. It took only a few seconds to turn each over and read the names. ‘Willam Scathe’, not Pash Arlos. ‘Janus Yarloc’, and again, not Pash Arlos. Finally getting to the last and correct crate, Pash dug into his jacket for the keycard, which was thankfully still there. He almost opened the crate then and there, but he stopped. Finding out what his cargo was would tell him whether he was to space the crate and forget about it, or whether it had to be delivered. After all this craziness, Pash was debating simply leaving the station empty-handed. He had, after all, received payment already. And he wasn’t above quitting a job once he had, for the right reasons.

A station full of a crazed horde after their cargo was the right reason.

Dragging the crate over to where Jedi Guy was with their employer, he stopped just behind the man that had potentially just saved the trio’s life. Pash wasn’t sure yet if he was Janus or Willam. He looked like a Willam, Pash supposed. Waving his keycard at the scientist, the Smuggler spoke up in a loud voice.

“I don’t know about y’all, but I want to find out what in the karkin’ blazes this thing is before I put it on my ship!”

[Blue]

His questions (and most likely, his inevitable tirade) was cut off before it had a real chance to start when the violent mob outside began punching through the walls, and the door Willam thought sealed shut was smashed open. Whatever these people were on, it was giving them inhuman strength. The fact that they were screaming at us from inside our own minds should have probably given that away, but I still held out a fool's hope. Willam contemplated sending a warning message to Odd on his ship, but decided against it. The little droid was not programmed to fly a speeder, never mind a starship, and it was more than capable of hiding away. If things went sideways, Odd would outlive the whole lot of them. Instead, Willam simply raised his blaster and prepared to take as many of the lunatics with him. You never know... maybe something will occur to me in the next couple of seconds that'll keep me alive... Then the floor bucked beneath his feet like an angry nerf and the Jedi smuggler, or whatever the Void he was, called out a warning. Willam had just enough time to query "Hold onto wh-?" before the entire room jumped and spun, sending the tall smuggler him sprawling to the ground and skidding right towards the edge of the now floating room. A series of violently murmured curses hissed from the older man as he slid across the ground, suddenly weightless. His feet kicked out onto nothing, but Willam was just able to grab onto a bolted down side table and arrest his slide into oblivion. He did not have enough time to appreciate the unique perspective the room's flight through the innards of the station provided, as he was far too preoccupied with dragging his body back inside it. Regaining his feet and steadying himself, Willam dusted himself down. "If you would kindly provide just a tad more of a warning next ti- OH SHI-" he spoke, his words cut off again as he dove to the floor as the flying room smashed into a sold wall. His mechanical limb whined in protest as he gripped onto a broken piece of pole to arrest his weightless motion, and he turned toward the floating lunatic. "WALL, JUGGLER!" Willam called out, his thoughts and words mingling together to bestow upon the Force-user a fancy new title. "THAT'S A BLOODY WALL- WHY ARE YOU DRIVING INTO IT AGAIN?!" The last sentence came out at a rushed babble as the Jedi smuggler attempted to smoosh their room and the wall ahead of them together. The sound of tortured metal invaded the air and his ears until Willam was sure that he had in fact died, and that this was some form of cruel afterlife. But with a bump, the noise ceased as well as all motion. Willam would have taken a moment to sigh in relief, but the gravity suddenly turned back on and he slammed into the ground. Laying motionless for a few seconds to check himself for any more lost limbs or organs, all seemed in order. By some miracle, not only had he emerged unscathed, but his void suit had as well. One less thing to worry about, at least. The smuggler pulled himself back to his feet to inspect his surroundings. Peering out into the room they had fused with, he realised that Juggler had smashed them into the docking bay. "Oh! Oh, I see what the plan was now. Good show!" Willam said to the Force-user. The man ignored him in favour of buckling his holster back on and taking some steps towards their employer. The older man let him get on with whatever he had in mind in favour of looking down into the docking bay. Juggler had ended up smashing his way into the bay amidst a walkway about seven feet from the ground. A loud sigh of relief escaped him as he saw his ship, seemingly intact and safe. No sooner had he noticed that, a burst of Binary screeched through the commlink in his ear that made him flinch. "Yes, that was us, Odd. I'm fine, don't-" Willam started, but the droid interrupted him. "What do you mean, 'does this mean I have to move out the captain's quarters?' I wasn't even gone for an hour!... And why would you even need my quarters, a broom closet would suffice for you- you know what, never mind that. Is the ship alright?... Good. We're leaving this place before anything else goes sideways... hopefully not literally, I've had enough of that nonsense for one day." After an acknowledgement from his loyal companion, Willam turned just as Duster spoke to their employer. Taking a fortifying breath, the older man strode forward to back the man up. "A fine point, indeed. If what's in those crates are responsible for making these people go void-mad and... telekinetic-y, I would very much like to know before storing it in my hold. And before you answer, please bear in mind that you will be answering that question to three rather beat up, angry men with blasters," Willam said politely as he approached, his hand resting pointedly on the butt of his pistol.

[Stephen]

This had gone beyond answers. Whatever happened on this station was utterly vile and there was no doubt that the culprit rested just above the green glowing tip of his front sight. He decided he'd give his companions a moment to sort out their questions, but whatever this was ended here. Questions rained in over each shoulder. Understandable and pertinent, but they were greeted by the same dead eyed smile. Possibly whatever happened here also happened to him, but just as likely he didn't care. Janus didn't understand enough to know what game was being played, but he could feel that he was already losing. Anger welled up in him, a heavy pressure just behind the eyes. He ached with it.

A deep thud shook the poorly moored room, followed by a screeching of steel tearing. Less scattered and much more effective than before. A grey multi-limbed monstrosity reached down with with an array of three sharpened phalanges and scooped their menaced scientist. A gentle rain of dust drifted down it's oval head pock marked with empty sockets. Janus couldn't see if it could see, but he could feel it in the force, strong and steady. It felt like a great and cosmic game was coming to a conclusion and one of the players was scooping up a piece to put back into it's velvet lined case.

“Oh fuck this.” Janus said, firing three shots into the lofted scientist. The Arkanian heavy blaster tore vicious rents into scientist, and his ragged corpse burst into flames. The beast above screamed both within the force and aloud, a ear piercing keening wail before tearing the burning corpse in twain and flinging torso and legs at his compatriots. Janus didn't wait to see the results of that particular attack, he instead spun around fled. He leapt through the hole in the wall and into the docking bay. The gray dust in the docking bay felt far more sinister as he ran past it. He fired a few rounds into a pile of dust in the corner and it burst alight, burning like a line of gunpowder along the seams of the wall. The screaming from the abandoned conference room intensified with the fires.

Five shots fired, five shots left. Janus scrambled along the metal scaffolding at a blistering pace. A few blaster shots streamed through the metal bars of the scaffold, marking the return of the angry masses. Janus traded two more blind shots as he ran. Janus spun and wheeled down the forked path to his own ship. A single crumpled and broken man had managed to make the jump across to his metal path without bouncing off the railing and plummeting to the steel floor below. The railing had rather mangled him however, and he lay on the path in front of Janus crawling toward him leaving a red trail behind. Janus fired two shots into his crumpled for and hurtled him, he stopped a moment as he waited on his ship ramp to expand and remembered his cargo at the last moment. All of this was for nothing without that. He screamed in exertion as he reached out with the force, and the crate obeyed. It came screaming out of the conference room toward him, a feral man still clinging to it's edge. Janus slammed the crate man first into the metal frame guard rail, and the rail stopped the crate but not the man. He came through the gaps piecemeal in a gory arc. Janus took his crate and scarpered up the ramp.

The ramp slammed behind him with a heavy thud and he bolted down the hall and into the first room on his right. He burst into the bathroom and fired his last shot into a pile of towels stacked on the counter before flinging his pistol into the tub followed by the crate. He wrenched his helmet off and tossed it to the pile before grabbing the burning towels. He unrolled the burning towels quickly, marveling a moment as he felt the heat on his face but not through the suit. He quickly and fervently scrubbed down the crate with the burning towels as well as his helmet, suit and blaster. Finally he took a moment to center himself within the force, trying his best to deaden his nerves for what came next. It was a hurried job, but it'd have to do. He closed his eyes and washed his face with the burning towels, screaming as the cloth tattered in his hands. Janus, blinded, crawled on his hands and knees out of the bathroom, sobbing as the fire dispersal system turned on and bathed his ruined skin in cold, stagnant water. He choked out a command to Tee Eye to get him out of here and lost consciousness on the floor.

[Blue]

Before any answers could be gained, the floor shook once more as something struck the errant room. Wobbling about trying to maintain his balance, Willam opened his mouth to exclaim his mounting annoyance when some... thing burst through the ceiling. The smuggler's eye widened as he watched the monstrosity scoop up their erstwhile employer, shocked into immobility as Juggler blasted the man's body, though whether it was to kill the man before the creature had a chance to or an act of mercy hardly mattered at this point. For a moment, as it screeched in either frustration or pain and ripped the scientist's body in twain, a part of Willam's mind began gibbering in primal terror at the features of this impossible beast. But the older man kicked it down and shut it away. Nobody takes a damn thing from me! As such, Willam's response was to simply scream straight back at it, yanking the flechette launcher from its thigh holster and blast the ugly son of a bitch in its misbegotten face with a cloud of sharp metal projectiles. He did not bother to wait and see if the attack hurt or even hit the creature. Willam slammed the weapon back in its holster and turned to run for the exit, slowing only to heft the crate into his arms once more. Leaping through the hole and into the docking bay, the angry mass of lunatics was a welcome sight next to the appearance of the monster that had seen to their employer. "ODD! LOWER THE RAMP! NOW", he screamed into his commlink as he ran for the sanctuary of his ship and home. For once, the little droid did not talk back; even it could no doubt sense the urgency in his fleshy friend's panicked voice. Running at full tilt, heedless of the random poorly aimed bolts whizzing past him, Willam ducked and dodged his way through the docking area and up the ramp just as it's lip kissed the floor. At the apex in a flash, the smuggler slammed his hand down on the button to close it back up the second he reached it. Dropping the cursed crate onto the floor, he pulled his blaster free and covered the closing ramp, picking off the maddened spacers who tried to board it after him. As the way in slammed shut, Willam wasted no time in starting to remove his apparel, carefully stripping off his boots, leather coat, and finally his void suit, all the while being very wary of letting anything touch his skin. "I'll deal with you later," he muttered at the discarded items, before dashing into the ship proper. He passed Odd on the way through; it stopped mid-beep at the sight of the human running through the ship in his small-clothes. "Are the engines prepped?" Willam asked, not bothering to stop and snatching up a piece of cloth on the way to the cockpit. The droid whistled an affirmative, moving to follow the man. "Good. I want you to start collecting water; blast the taps, get it in cups, pots, the kettle, whatever you can hold it in. At least a few gallons of it." Odd halted in its path and burred in bafflement, but shot off to follow the instructions nevertheless. Willam reached the pilot's seat and began inputting the destination into the helm, using the cloth to shield the console from his hands. It wouldn't be the first time I've flown this thing in my underwear, and I doubt it'll be the last...

[Stephen]

Two Hours Later

Janus' head hurt. He knew that before he knew he was awake. Alive even. He knew pain, he knew it before he knew he was on the ground. But the pain brought back the memories from before. Slowly they came, in a slow disorganized jumble. He remembered the grey thing's face, and he remembered the moment right before he passed out where he stared down at the burning wrappings in disbelief. He was on the floor, he could tell because over the smell of burnt pork and bacta, he could smell home. He was on the cold hard floor of his ship, which was about as good as he could have hoped for. He could hear the hyperdrive engines thrumming but he had no idea where they were. Still they were moving very fast, and that was comfort enough.

Janus peeled the sticky, half dried bacta soaked shirt off of his face and staggered to his feet. He slid out of his environment suit and left it where it lay in the hall. He didn't dare test his eyes yet, but he knew the ship well enough to find his way to the cockpit. He eased himself into his chair and reclined it back. The onboard computer from the back of his suit followed him lazily through the air, and the suit AI and the ship AI began the recombining and compiling process.

He could hear MoBiva's audible gasps through the ships pa system as she parsed the new but familiar information. He could hear the uncertainty in her voice as she spoke, “So, uhm, are we now headed for Correllia then?” It was a fair question, the job, as it was, still stood even if the employer didn't. Janus thought for a pregnant moment, pain muddying his thoughts, “No. Put me adrift in a dead system if you could 'Mo. I think we need to look into this box.” She answered back immediately. “I think it quite likely that that crate is safeguarded with some type of tamper-proofing. I'd recommend against that strongly.” She was right of course, the employer basically stated the same during the briefing. Still Janus had ideas about that. “Yeah yeah, just wake me up when we're adrift.” Janus shouldered deeper into the padding of his chair and drifted into the space between unconsciousness and sleep.

“Alright, we're here. Do you mind telling me what we're doing” MoBiva voice had swapped nervous concern with frustration. Her tone more than her volume woke Janus. It was fair in her defense, he was almost certainly concussed, badly burnt, and scared. Whatever his plan was probably wasn't in his or the ships best interest. Somehow during his nap his head had sprouted another bacta soaked article of clothing, this time an undershirt. Tee Eye clearly had been tending to him as best as he deemed fit. Obviously it was Janus' fault for burning all the clean towels. He peeled the slimy shirt off of his face and tried to open his eyes. He failed at first, they had crusted shut with a mixture of tears, sweat, and bacta, but he was able to pry them open with his fingers. He was greeted with a blur of unfocused light from the ships display. “My idea Mo' is that  I open the crate in space, from inside the ship with the shields up. That should defeat the most likely fail safes.” A small silence was his only answer. “Look Mo' I can't take that back to Correllia without knowing it's safe. You know this.” After another long silence a long sigh escaped the speakers inside his chair. “Fine, but the safe distance should be at minimum 50 meters. Can you even open it from that distance?” Janus pretended to consider it a moment before answering lamely, “Yeah, I should be able to.” Didn't really matter if he could, it was worth a try and that was the answer that got them moving forward.

After a short amount of maneuvering, he got the crate free floating in space and in front of the view finder. He considering trying to bypass the lock, but that would require a more direct interface, so he settled for brute force. With a quick rip, he tore the lid from the crate. He could see the heavy brown satchel of a sonic charge pressed to the lid as it popped in three pieces attempting to detonate. Probably enough charge to turn a good sized building into a fine powder rain for a half mile radius. He smirked to himself. In space, no one could hear your screamer bombs going off. It was one of the best scenarios really. Sonic or incendiary were the more common traps used and both are bypassed by vacuum, and Janus got lucky. Inside the crate was a multifaceted amethyst colored gemstone the size of a medium sized dog. Janus stared at it a moment in disbelief. Perhaps he got one of the decoys. He scrapped the edge of the stone, testing it's hardness. Flecks of the gem scrapped off into a fine silica like powder that floated free of the stone and slowly toward the gas giant below. The forward illumination lamps of the ship followed the dust, and Janus' eyes followed suit a moment before he realized what he saw.

None of them were duds, all three surely carried the same thing. A sonic charge of that size would aerosolize that gemstone into a powder that would scatter for miles. On one of the busiest and most diverse space ports in the universe. On a core world. Janus inhaled a gasped “Shit” before grabbing the lid and crate and dragging them both onto the airlock of the ship. He closed the outer door but did not the inner one, and locked both down. He stared out the window in shock a moment before speaking. “Put together a short burst transmission to be sent out. The appropriate channels will be in the contacts file under unclassified and password locked. The password is Alpha Charlie Charlie One Nine Seven Two Nine Romeo Mike Five Five Golf. Prepare a data packet with all of my suit footage from this mission and drop it on that channel at the next hyperlane bouy.” He needed desperately to leave that footage, the location of the station, and the crystal on the footstep of the SIS as soon as possible. It felt to him that three rounds had just been fired at republic space, and Janus was close enough to it to feel the blastburn.

Janus, Willam, and Pash have (possibly) been exposed to [Redacted]. Keep an eye out for Movement II announcements for more details!

[Blue]

Willam took a measured sip of water as he contemplated his situation, staring absently out into the dark of space from the pilot's seat. His skin was still somewhat pruney from the hour long shower he had taken after flying away from that accursed station, and the strong smell of chemicals still clung to his clothing and boots from when he had fastidiously decontaminated them. All fresh reminders of the question that he honestly would rather avoid answering. What in the Void do I do? There was a gentle humming sound as Odd floated into the room and quietly settled down next to the man. Though neither had said it out loud, they were both deeply troubled about what had happened on Edgepoint Station, as well as the ramifications of the job they had, all too blindly, taken on. Willam had a reputation to consider, and a spacer's reputation was his bread and butter; tarnish that, and hunger would be the least of his problems. With a sudden snarl, Willam jumped up out of his seat, startling the little hoverdroid. He dashed to his hold, where the crate currently resided after it's own turn in decontamination, and stood before the item of his misery. "You rotten bloody thing," he growled. "I don't know what in the Void you are, but as of now I officially do not care! Nobody takes a damn thing from me! I am Captain bloody Willam bloody Scathe! And I'm... I am ranting at an inanimate object... Damn this, damn the job, and damn you!" With his piece said, Willam snapped up a tracking beacon and hauled the blasted crate into his arms, stomping back down the length of his ship to the airlock. Mindful of the fact that their now very dead employer had mentioned that there were countermeasures in place to dissuade tampering with the crate, the spacer placed it on the floor rather than simply dropping it like he wanted to, and slapped the beacon onto the side of it. Closing the door and returning to the cockpit, Willam checked the navigation and altered their course to a new heading. Odd beeped it's concern and query. "We're going to the nearest available sun, Odd. And we are chucking this thing into it! If they wanted something that dangerous moved, they shouldn't have advertised it as a simple cargo job!" Odd cheerfully chirped an acknowledgment as Willam piloted their vessel onward. They had been lucky; they would be passing a system's sun in a little while on their previous course anyway, so it would not take them too far out of their way. Running on anger, the spacer positioned the ship so that the crate would be sucked out directly towards the sun without drifting, and his finger moved towards the button to open the airlock. And it hovered there just above it as a nasty thought entered his mind. Odd looked back and forth between the button and the human, whirring a confused question. "What if... what if I got infected, Odd?" Willam said, hand still in the air. "What if, somehow, even through the void suit and the decon, I still got got? Whatever's in that crate might be the only hope I have to make a cure! Take it to Nar Shaddaa, get it checked out. People owe me favours there, I'm sure I could scare up some science-minded folk to... reverse engineer it or something. I don't want to change into... that," he continued, shuddering at the memory of the angry tidal wave of flesh, and the creature that tore their employer in half. "I mean, sure! There's a chance I might not be able to keep my hands on it. A small chance that it'll end up in the hands of some nefarious group or person. Other people might get hurt, get changed into those... But so long as I'm good, that's all that counts, right? Get a cure, ship out... galaxy's a big place, nobody would know I had anything to do with it! I'd be okay. I'd be okay..." With a tired sigh, his hand slowly lowered away from the button. "I'm a bastard, Odd." Willam said quietly, his words heavy with weariness. "A complete and utter bastard." Images flashed in his mind; an entire planet infected, all screaming, changing into other monstrosities. Men, woman, children... But he would be sure. He would be sure that he would not share that fate. Odd woo'ed in indecisiveness, and the captain gave the little droid a small smile. "But I'm a better class of bastard than that." With a vicious jab, the spacer slammed the button down and vented the crate into space. "So long, salvation!" Willam cried, raising two fingers to his brow in a mock salute. "You may very well have killed me, but I killed you first, you sonofabitch!... Aaaaand I'm talking to an inanimate object again. Great." Together, droid and human watched the console as the blip from the tracker moved away. Willam made sure to keep a weather-eye open for anything that even remotely looked like a ship; it would be the crowning height of irony if some scavenger swooped in at the last minute and snagged the damn thing from under them. When the blip finally vanished, the captain sat back in his seat for a moment, eye close. "Keep an eye on my vitals for me, Odd," Willam asked the droid. "And if I do turn into one of those things... just open all the airlocks. Send me to the Void." After a moments hesitation, Odd beeped his compliance. "Yes, I know... I don't think it would be a pleasant way to go, either. But I found an even worse way to die today. The void can have me."