Jokiro: Terminal

[Bartleby Orem]

Jokiro






He had come to Jokiro Station for answers. He had come to Jokiro Station to find himself. To reclaim the life that had once been him - Agent Bartleby Orem. His drive and desire to serve the cause against chaos and rebellion had been taken, and in its' place a loyalty to a woman that had left him to his own devices. Left him with the Rebellion that he had once so vehemently fought against. He had been labeled a defector, and been taken into that ragtag fold of people that called themselves now the Alliance. He'd been abandoned and left to rot within the innards of a group that he had once taken great pains to help root out and destroy.

But now, here on Jokiro Station, in search of any help he could garner in bringing back the drive and determination that had fueled him once, he hoped.

Hoped for an end to his listless existence. He wanted back what had been taken, and he could think of no other place that could possibly help him.

And yet, Jokiro was nothing like what he had once remembered it to be. Gone were the once great minds, gone were the academics. In their place now was a terrifying nightmare of horror brought to stark, screaming life.

When he'd come upon the station initially, his shuttle's sensors had detected life, but his numerous hails had gone unanswered. Jokiro itself seemed to be listing dangerously out of its' stable orbit, and the readings on his console projected a worrying outcome; the station was in a decaying trajectory. But still, he had to know... had to try.

His first steps onto the station brought forth a sense of unease. The airlock he'd come through in a state of disarray as e-vac space suits lay scattered outside of their lockers, and tools littered the honeycombed metal deckplates. This was not the picture of Imperial order.

The further he ventured, the quieter his footfalls became. Lightpanels flickered, and far off sounds could be heard. Sounds that were certainly not normal, or even the normal sounds that a space station would invariably make. Conduit wiring hung like drapes from torn away portions of the ceiling, and in the flickering glow of damaged wall terminals illuminated an eery, seemingly abandoned environment. It was as if bedlam had roamed the corridors of Jokiro, leaving indescriminate chaos in its' wake.

But the creatures.

The creatures that he had come upon were born of a twisted, unright mind. He'd found a pair of them quite by accident, and ducking behind a half-lidded cargo crate, he'd watched as they roamed. They grunted to each other, shoved each other, and stalked this way and that in search of something. Clutching the vaccuum wielder that he'd taken from the airlock, Orem crouched, holding in his breath lest the very act of breathing would alert the macabre displays of malformed flesh to his presence. He ventured a look to the side, peering around the crate to watch as the creatures moved away.

Exhaling, he licked suddenly parched lips.

This was most certainly not the Jokiro he had once known.

Looking furtively about, he spied a maintenance access hatchway in the wall across the way. Another quick look back to where the pair had been - nothing. He could still hear them, but the noises they made were receding.

Quietly he moved, slowly at first but his motions became hurried as he slid up to the hatch, and keying in an old access code he prayed that the sequence wasn't too old as to not be recognized.

It was.

The hatchway opened with a hiss, and Orem slid into the small maintenance tube on hands and knees. For now he didn't care where it would lead him. As long as it would take him away from those creatures.

[Jarvan Trask]

The sudden clash of metal on floor plates jarred Sergeant Jarvan Trask from his slumber, one eye opening and peering out at the cabin of the Sentinel-class landing craft before the other eye followed suit. "Stow that goddamn weapon, soldier." He barked at the trooper who's weapon had fallen from it's rack, where it should have been properly secured before the transport even launched from the Roshan to complete this last leg of the trip. The troopers embarrassment was hidden behind his plastoid helmet, but Trask had spent enough time in and around full body armor that he could see the embarrassed shuffle and jerky motions in the soldier's movements. Trask made a mental note to reprimand the soldier to his platoon leader.

Another trooper, helmet off, young, clean face, asked how the Sergeant could sleep in the middle of a mission, while wearing the uncomfortable stormtrooper armor. "You get used to it after a few years and a dozen missions." Trask replied back, shifting his weight in his armor for a more comfortable discomfort. His armor was not the same standard fair the other troopers in the compartment were wearing. They were regular stormtroopers, pulled from the Roshan's reserve units and slapped into this operation out of necessity. Their armor was the big and bulky model that offered full protection, unlike his Navy Commando variant, which had less plastoid plating for better maneuverability. It was also a helluva lot more comfortable. The orange-green shoulder pad was obnoxious at times.

The mission at hand was fairly straight forward. The Empire needed a secret Imperial installation investigated after it went dark. Imperial Command wanted trustworthy soldiers to carry out the op, but didn't want a paper trail, so moving an entire squad of Imperial Commandos was out of the question. Instead they grabbed one to lead the op and filled the rest of the squadron with the usual suspects; intelligence officers, distinguished soldiers, and green behind the ears troopers who were, at best, disposable. They had all been briefed before they left the Roshan. Except there was more thing to address in the form of a pre-recorded holo pad nestled in the palm of his hand that came with only a single instruction; to wait to view the message until they reached their destination.

"Approaching Jokiro Station. Twenty minutes."

Now was as good a time as any. His thumbed the flat disc and the distorted blue image of Intelligence Officer Harkan popped into existence. "Sergeant Trask, in the case that the station cannot be secured and the crew must be evacuated, you are to secure codename Project: Basilisk. This objective trumps all others in that scenario and has the highest priority. The device should be self contained and ready for transport. It will be located on deck A3. Darren Karj is the head of the research team involved. Rescue him if possible but not necessary. That is all."

A spark and a hiss signaled the death of the holopad. No evidence the order was ever given. It did not sit well in his stomach. There was clearly more to this than his superiors were letting on.

"Listen up ladies. The operation continues as planned. We are to secure the station and if there are any problems we will sweep the facility and secure all personnel and Project: Basilisk. We have no idea what we are flying into. No sitrep or even a goddamn station layout because Intelligence is afraid of any info getting mishandled and leaked. I want everyone on alert unless I say otherwise."

"Sergeant, the station is in view. It's in a decaying orbit. Sensors are picking up inconsistent power and life support. No response to comms."

"And now we have to do everything a lot faster. We have a time limit now boys and girls. We get in and get out as quickly as possible. I did not bring my sunscreen and will not be swimming in a goddamn star today because your cherry ass was slow. Davis!" He slapped the comm unit on the wall to make sure the cockpit could hear him; namely the co-pilot. "I want you to relieve Private Butterfingers on the boarding team. Grab an envirosuit, rebreather, and a blaster. Be ready for when we land. Bask, Jenkins, and Ponder you will also be staying behind with Nancy Hands to protect the ship and the pilot. If we lose this ship then none of us are going home today." Private Stibbons started to protest but Trask cut him short with a glare. "I've personally read Davis' career file and she makes half of you look like a bunch of club footed babies. Complain again and I'll have you transferred to Corellia.

As for you." He turned to the Intelligence Agent, Esalis, who looked far too slick and slimy for this operation. "Try not to die. We land in ten minutes."

[Sheldon Esalis]

The lead buckethead was mouthing in my direction, and that annoyed me. I sat up, paused my playlist of Hot Plasma Overload, and tugged out my earbuds.

"What?"

Great. Idiot. Now I'm out of my zone. I took a look around the ship at all the buckets. They all looked like they were out of a bad war movie. You had Squirrely Guy, with the restless leg looking around everywhere. Next to him was Sarge McHard, dry shaving his face with a straight razor. Spooky, the guy who just looked like he was staring ahead and counting the rivets in the durasteel plating, and then Pussy Guy. Not because he was a pussy, which remained to be seen, but because for the first 20 minutes of the flight, all he did was crack the lamest jokes imaginable about disgusting pussies he'd encountered.

I stretched in my seat, finding the resistance in the crash webbing as I checked my gear. Dressed to move, and not a lot of bulk. Fortunately for me, my expense account was enormous and I wasn't limited to drawing on Imperial supply, so atop my black-on-black getup, I had custom gear webbing with a minimal amount of needed supplies. Pistols, power packs, intel goodies.

Sarge McHard was staring me down as he raked that godawful razor up his face.

"You know how bad that is for your skin, guy? Do you want ingrown hairs?"

[Bette Davis]

Bette struggled into her envirosuit, a specially made small version that had been stowed in the cockpit along with her and the pilot. Sending along a Shadow to pilot a fetch mission had been insulting enough, but then relegating her to co-pilot had almost been too much. At least the pilot had more experience with this type of ship, but then she wasn't quite sure why she'd been recommended for the mission at all. Lt. Coopai at the helm at least had enough sense not to stare at her as she fastened the magnetic seals and adjusted the fit across the chest, keeping his eyes on the instruments as the ship drew closer to the station. It floated like a lump of coal in a field of black, lights that would have illuminated the outer hull inoperative, or working only intermittently.

"Lucky me," she muttered, pulling on her helmet. The front of it was almost entirely clear, giving her an unrestricted field of vision in lieu of a stormtrooper's extensive HUD. A light shone in her right eye, and she blinked hard when it flicked off, calibrating what HUD existed in the helmet to her eye movement. Rebreather in her hand, she ducked out of the cockpit and made her way to where the troopers were buckled in.

[Bartleby Orem]

The darkness was like a wash of inky, impermeable black. There was no outline of his hand as he held it up, mere inches from his eyes. No hint of light. No hint of anything. Nothing but the helpless shroud of dark that overrode every sense and took away whatever feelings of security that he might've had. But, he knew regardless of those wellings of terror that he was safe. That for now, he could not be touched or dragged away to some horrific fate by the creatures. There was a heavy doubt in his mind that they'd been able to access the maintenance network, and thus he hoped that - for now at least - he would be left largely alone.

With the vacuum wielder tucked into his belt, Orem crawled through the tunnel, one hand constantly out to make sure he didn't run into a wall.

One bend, then another. A left, a right, another left. He moved through the maze with no real destination in mind.

Where he would end up was anyone guess, but he would at least need a glowtorch soon. Anything really, to show him where he was going.

His hand, still blindly ahead of him, came against the end of the line. He felt the grooves that indicated it was another door to the outside, and cautiously he sidled up closer, his back hunched as he pressed an ear to the cold durasteel in the hopes of hearing something on the other side.

Not a sound.

Orem pulled in a long breath, then released it as his hand moved to the access keypad. He punched in the same code, and just like before, the hatchway hissed open.

The smell was what first registered, followed instantly by the twisted form of a creature that was now staring right at him. He froze for only a millisecond before scrambling back, and as the creature let out a feral cry, Orem grasped the vacuum wielder, his thumb hitting the activation button. The tool flared to life with an angry hiss, and he brandished it as menacingly as he could while his free hand reached out to punch the larger 'emergency close' toggle.

[Jarvan Trask]

Trask's eyes peered out the starboard viewport as the Sentinel coasted into the small docking bay. Bits of floating debris bounced off the hull, making faint pinging sounds that echoed inside the hollow troop compartment. The landing struts touched down and the light over the door turned green.

Lock and load. His plastoid covered hand ran down his face, forcing his own eyes closed, before bringing his helmet up and down over his shaved head. When his eyes opened it was to a narrowed field of vision surrounded by the digital HUD display. Biometrics, environmental controls, and ammunition count. An orange light in the corner of his eye turned green as his neck seal connected and his armor was cleared for operation.

"Butch, Chen your with Esalis. Drake, Kori with Davis. Vanderek, Quinn with me. Keep the softies alive. Move out." Trask ordered before a final suit check and then then he slammed his gauntlet into the hatch release. The air whistled as it was sucked out into the vacuum beyond. The silence of the vacuum was all consuming. Footfalls reduced to soft afterthoughts, like the falling of snow heard from the other end of a long hallway.

The three, three-man teams moved out in wedge formation, with Trask's leading the front. His customized E-11 shouldered and ready, surveying the tiny docking bay with the same focus he would give an active battlefield. They were going in relatively blind. Imperial Intelligence did not want to spoil what was going on here and was putting them in danger because of it. There should be nothing but a few old scientists stumbling around in the dark, but he was not about to jeapordize the safety of his team for even a moment.

He personally chose soldiers like Davis and Esalis because they had a reputation for results. He had personally worked with Davis back at the Frontier Facility and had seen what a few Shadow Squadron pilots could accomplish even when grounded. He would have liked to bring the Shadows along as a fighter escort but Command did not approve of putting the entire squadron in danger. So he took what he could get, and by that he got the most impressive of the lot. He was less familiar with Esalis but he had a reputation for getting the job done, and for talking way too damn much. Also he was just about the only Intelligence Officer on hand and available.

You had to take the good with the bad sometimes.

The docking bay was cleared and the airlock was located. Thankfully it had power. Trask's trio cycled through first. Upon exiting the airlock he and his soldiers took up position just inside. The command deck of the station was in disarray. Consoles were gutted and some ceiling panels had fallen in, but beyond that it was still in relatively good condition. It hardly explained the power issues and decaying orbit. This floor was fine. Light and oxygen.

"Run an O2 Scan. I want to know if the air is breathable." A toxin outbreak could explain a few things, although not the ripped up consoles. No, not ripped up. Upon closer inspection they looked... repurposed, like someone had dissembled them for select components. Behind him the rest of the team cycled through the airlock and they moved on, down the long hallway, and into the central control module that controlled the entire station.

This room was filled with many of the torn out parts, piled up in places, some of them forced together into odd contraptions. The room was very lived in despite being a work place. There was a pile of cushions and blankets in one corner that was obviously a bed to something or someone, and the walls were covered in scribbles and scientific notation. It was all gibberish to Trask, but clearly not the musing of a madman. No. The handwriting was far too neat and precise. Somebody had spent a lot of time in this room. There was no sign of them now.

"Davis, secure the turbolifts." He pointed his hand at the two turbolift doors at the other end of the command module. The only way to get anywhere from this floor. They may work, or they could have no power. "Esalis, try the command console. See if we can find any of the scientists." Which looked like it had seen much better days, with it's grimy keys and pieces missing.

[Sheldon Esalis]

"Welcome to Tetanus Station. Enjoy your stay."

At least the lighting in this section was okay, so I tapped off the torch on my tac-specs, giving the comms terminal a once-over. Wasn't going to get any shit done from the interface in front of me, so I brushed aside some trash on the terminal to find a data jack, and ran a patch to the portable interface I brought along. The commo network was a checkerboard quilt of disarray, but running an all stations command from here should at least get somebody to report in.

"Jokiro command to all stations. Report in. Jokiro command to all stations."

I got nothing but dead snow in the seconds I was waiting for the open line to get a bite. In the meantime, I tried a more direct method, running a biometric query through the terminal.

"Bingo."

It wasn't much, but it wasn't nothing either. One human life sign.

[Bette Davis]

Bette hefted her blaster rifle, letting one of the troopers take point as they picked their way to the 'lifts. They were going to take point anyway, so it saved her the trouble of a pointless argument. "Someone did a number on this place." The turbolift doors were closed... and the lifts themselves were on two different levels.

Drake and Kori looked at each other, then at her. She shrugged, and poked the call button. "One way to find out." The turbolifts definitely had power. They all took three steps back as the numbers above the doors illuminated and began ticking rapidly toward their terminus. They'd arrive about twenty seconds apart.

[Bartleby Orem]

He was moving again. Still safe for now, in the confines of the utility ducts, Orem did his best to navigate the station in his limited capacity. The close call he'd had with one of the malformed creatures had done well to put him on edge, and despite the fact that he'd escaped, he was still breathing quickly, his heart still racing. Coming here, to Jokiro, had been a mistake. It had been an action that could very well spell his death. He could already see, in his mind's eye, being pulled from the duct and torn to shreds. It was a fear that propelled him forward. But, he couldn't stay in these tunnels for too much longer and expect any sort of resolution. He had to at least try to escape. Or at the very least, try to find a terminal that could provide him with a map.

Another hatch loomed up ahead, and crawling closer, Orem calmed his breathing as best as he could. There was no way to know what was on the other side; could be nothing, but there could also be one of the creatures as well.

The wielder was gripped tightly in one hand, and reaching out with his other to key in the pass code.

The hatchway opened to an empty corridor... no sound of a creature and no ominous footfalls that would herald the arrival of his possible doom. All was deathly still as he slowly peeked out from the maintenance tube.

[Jarvan Trask]

Turning from the scribbles, which Vanderek was taking notes of for the spooks back at Imp Intel, Trask walked over to Esalis and his console and looked at the single bio reading he found. One. That must be one of the scientists still holed up somewhere. That said terrible things about the rest of the crew. A single person out of a dozen scientists and a hundred assistants and crew personnel. It was in the upper section of the station, not far from A3, the floor three levels up where Project: Basilisk should be located. They should be able to easily sweep up and get both those objectives and get out of here. He was just about to give the order to move out when the turbolifts arrived.

The first one, from the upper floors, arrived and opened. Empty. Trask released a breath he didn't know he was holding. There were no other bio signals. There was no danger other than a crumbling station. "See if you can find an entry or location for Project: Basilisk. I'd rather not wander the whole floor looking for it. Let's not spend a minute more here than we have to.

Ding.

The door opened and warm, moist air rolled out. There was only time to catch a glance of the lift, with it's muddied floors and blemished sides, before darker shapes within began to move, and in a moment they rushed into the light. "Threat!" Drake called out, his voice shaking all their comms even as their blasters filled the air with a blaster crescendo. Trask rushed from the console station, raising his own blaster as he hauled ass toward the turbolifts. Ahead of him he could see Davis and the troopers, but nothing beyond them until Drake fell over backwards, slammed with enough force to send him sliding across the floor. A short legged creature was on his chest, but there was no time to identify the threat. Finger found trigger, and the repeater sprung to life as the rounds tore through the creature's hide, slicing it to pieces, not that it noticed. It continued to maul Drake even as it limbs and face were removed by the laser surgery. When it collapsed Drake was a bloody mess, his armor ripped open and his helmet smashed in.

There were two more of the distorted, mottled brown and purple low bodied creatures. Like a compact boma covered in claws and teeth. Fast and stubborn.

"Engage threat. Fire at will."

[Sheldon Esalis]

Before I could run a data spike to tease out information on Basilisk the back of the command deck erupted into a chaotic gunfight. The din of blaster fire rang heavy in the confined durasteel spaces, and I already had my compact repeater in hand, raining sustained burst fire from the cover of my terminal as two aliens burst from the lift. Not even registering the trooper who already bit the dust, I kept my rate of fire up, mindful to keep something between me and whatever the hell these things were.

An ear-splitting crack came from Butch to my right, who cooked off a flechette round from the undercarriage on his rifle, turning one of the brown mottled monsters into burger. There wasn't even enough time to feel disgusted as it's bile Jackson Pollocked over my combat suit.

[Bette Davis]

She'd exhaled softly when the first 'lift had opened and had been empty, but the second one... Bette had knelt to fire into it, and that had saved her as one of the creatures sailed over her head and smashed into Drake, his screams over the comm a horrific soundtrack to the attack. A second creature exploded in a spray of gore, and Bette managed to get a few blaster shots center mass of the third before it too was taken down.

She got to her feet, her eyes drawn to the bloodied mess that had been Drake just minutes before. Her gorge rose, and she swallowed hard, turning away. Kori edged up to the open 'lift, checking inside it cautiously.

"Empty," he said. Bette nodded, and looked back to Trask for instructions.

[Bartleby Orem]

Standing hunched in the corridor, just outside of the maintenance acces hatch, Orem sent quick glances to his left and right. There was nothing. Well, nothing right now. He pulled in a long, quiet breath as he let his eyes settle on the faint glow of a terminal a few meters away.

It was a welcome sight, but the danger posed in stepping further away from his safe haven of networked tunnels was enough to give him pause. One hand still gripped the wielder as though it was his only safety; and truly it was. It didn't offer much in defense, but it was all he had, and he gladly clutched it. Slowly Orem moved, one step after the other toward the terminal. It glowed serenely as if there was nothing wrong.

Stopping before it, he reached out to navigate the touchscreen, calling up the station's map, and pulling out a compact datapad, he synced the two together.

Updating... ... ...

[Jarvan Trask]

By the time Trask slid to a stop next to Drake's bloodied body, Quinn was already pulling free the medkit from his utility belt while Vanderek grabbed ahold of the creature's corpse and pulled it free. It only took a glance to see that there was nothing they could do for Drake. Through the gaping holes in his chestplate you could see ribs and organs and his helmet had been smashed open and his face cut into. There was no life in the one visible eye.

Cursing loudly he stood up, stepped over Drake, and right up to one of those ugly motherfuckers that had attacked them. He had never seen anything like it. Nasty little thing. All teeth and claws. There was nothing in the mission briefing about biological combatants. However, it was not in the nature of the Empire to disclose just what else they might have been cooking up in here. With lost power any containment would have been lost as well. The whole facility could be a circus tent of horror. There was no telling what they were getting into. Any other operation he would have pulled out, asked for more intel, more troops, and came back. They didn't have that choice. The station was falling into the star and there was no time but now to get the job done.

"Chen, Vanderek, Quinn I want you to stay here, watch the lifts, and maintain control of the command module. We cannot lose access to the shuttle. Davis, Esalis, Butch, Kori; we are going up just as soon as we figure out where Basalisk is. See what you can find on the console Esalis. We can't afford to wander blindly. For now the rest of you get yourselves ready. We have no idea what could be waiting in the floors above us. If your head wasn't in the game before it goddamn better be now.

And pull Drake to the Shuttle. He doesn't deserve to stay here."

[Sheldon Esalis]

"Ugh..."

I had the distinct urge to find a towel. At least nothing I was wearing was the sort of thing worn in social engagements, and the microfibers kept any unpleasantness from seeping. That didn't help me with my ad-hoc slicing job into the terminal, the control of which was now slicked with dead abomination. I brushed away as much of the creature's filth as I could, then resumed my interfacing.

"Looks like that life reading we picked up is interfacing with a terminal a few levels up."

I gave a glance to Trask. Might be a good time to reach out and touch someone.

"I could run a hard connection to that terminal before they move on."

[Bette Davis]

Bette helped Kori drag the remains of Drake back toward the shuttle. "Are we sure we're not bringing some sort of alien contaminant on board?" she asked him, quietly.

Kori shrugged. "Who the hell knows? I'm not getting out of my envirosuit to find out."

"Good point."

They made their way back to the others in time to hear the ImpIntel agent asking Trask a question. "Does Basalisk want to be found?" Bette asked. "If yes, then letting him know we're here is probably the best idea." She hesitated. "In my opinion, which no one asked for."

[Bartleby Orem]

White knuckles gripped the wielder, and Orem watched as the map continued to update. It moved agonizingly slow, and in the eerie silence all around, the passage of time seemed to only slow down. The expectation that something... would find him. Whatever those creatures were, he knew that he'd never be able to overpower them. His best efforts for staying alive were dependent on his ability to hide.

Blinking furiously, he snapped his head up.

What...

It'd been a faint sound, but it had been audible regardless. He'd heard it.

tunk

There!

Mouth going dry, Orem shot a look back to the terminal - still not done!

tunk

He was ambushed, no way to make it back to the maintenance hatchway without being overtaken... his eyes swept to either side then, panic creeping up and shortening his breathing. A few lockers, some shipping crates stacked haphazardly.

Tunk

Another quick look to the terminal, but it wasn't close enough, and sidestepping, Orem moved away. He left the 'pad where it lay, opting instead to simply try and hide.

TUNK

The first locker he came to refused to open, the latch locked tight. A curse under his breath, and he moved to the next. Blessed Empress it opened, and Orem slid inside like a sentient body of water, fluidly slipping in before pulling the door shut.

TUNK

From the thin slits along the upper portion of the locker's door, he watched the bend in the corridor as a shadow grew. It paused, as if testing the air.

Another few moments, then halting steps brought the owner of that shadow into full, terrible view.

[Jarvan Trask]

Moving over to Esalis' console, Trask looked over his shoulder at the screen; noting the location of the active console. It was several floors up. On the other side of the screen he had a directory of projects open. There was no Basalisk listed. It had to be here. Command wouldn't send them here for nothing. It must be a secret project. That alone made him angry. That meant they were sent to get some sort of spook weapon or tech, or something truly terrible. Trask loved his Empire, but he had to admit that sometimes they strayed from the higher road at times with weapons of mass destruction and indiscriminate targets.

Ignoring that for now, he refocused on the apparent survivor. "Try to ping their console. We need to know where Basilisk is located, and whomever that is might know."

[Sheldon Esalis]

"On it."

It was basic work to establish the direct link, and I got straight to the point with the message.

Extraction team is here. Who is on this terminal?_

First, it paid to get an idea of who we were dealing with. If it was Spunky the Janitor, then our chances for any sexy and substantive intelligence were probably nil, but he'd still likely be valuable as an eyewitness. Obviously something had gone way south of Mustafar here, so even a nobody was better than...nobody.

[Bette Davis]

Bette stood silently as they all waited for a reply back on the terminal where the overly handsome Esalis was sitting. He glanced at her, and she winked at him. Anything to clear her mind from the ruin of what had been Drake. Kori shifted his weight from foot to foot, anxious to be on the move.

[Bartleby Orem]

Orem blinked furiously, staring in terrified, rapt fascination at the creature that stalked into view. It was hideous, moving with terrifying grace as it wove its' way closer. It snorted, then let a raspy breath rattle out from between twisted lips. It paused, hunching forward before coming back up to crane its' neck out, head lifting to test the air.

It had once been human, that much he could tell. But whatever had happened... whatever it was... it had changed it into something grotesque and alien. Something that craved death and viscera and blood and pain.

It sniffed, slowly blinking bulbous black eyes and starting forward once more. Clawed fingers traced along the contours of the walls to elicit an eerie scree, and every which way that it turned its' head, the shoulders and upper body followed. Movements that were both smooth and stuttering.

Orem held his breath, though he could feel his heart as if the organ was desperately trying to pound out from his chest.

The monstrosity paused at the glowing terminal, watching the glowing panel with strange fascination. A clawtip raked over the screen, over the formed inset, and across a few keys.

ghinvdfj[[34;1

Bartleby Orem eased back, pressing himself as far into the back of the locker as he possibly could while miraculously maintaining a noiseless presence.

His eyes clenched shut as he heard the creature move.

Move closer.

[Sheldon Esalis]

I let out a sigh that was equal parts nerve release and frustration. The fighter jock chick with the DSL's was giving me a bit of a distraction, which I honestly needed to escape what a shitty vacation spot I'd landed myself in. I humored her with a cocky grin. Hell, it never hurt to build up a little personal capital, and when we breezed off this floating murderstation maybe I'd introduce her to the Zero Gee club.

The reply had been a bit, uh, lacking. Possibly signal interference, possibly someone who didn't speak basic, or possibly someone getting their brain pulled out of their ear with a straw. I punched up a reply, spartan of my usual flair with words.

Negative copy. Transmit again.

As much as I felt like some lonely nerd pounding keys in his mom's basement, that was a few notches better than actually heading to that terminal to see for myself.

[Jarvan Trask]

"God. Damn." His voice hissed between clenched teeth as he watched the terminal exchange go nowhere. He had gotten really excited for a moment, and really hoped that someone on the other end was listening. Someone who could communicate with them and let them know where they were going. At his command Esalis pulled the schematic of the station back up on the screen. Eyes scanning through each of the department designations they settled on a particular room with a very non-descript title. R&D. It was also listed with the highest clearance required for entry.

"That's our destination." He jabbed a finger at the screen. It was on a level above the active terminal. "We'll swing by and secure that terminal on the way. We'll switch to the other turbolift while we're there. Davis, Esalis, Butch, and Kori with me. The rest of you are to protect the lifts. If we lose the beachhead we won't make it out of here. Build a few barricades and shoot anything non-human that comes up, or down, those turbolifts. Affirmative?"

He cast a wary eye at the two squishies. Esalis would prove useful if they needed to get through a difficult door. Spooks like him always had some way of getting through any barrier. One way or another. Hopefully that would not come down to shoving him through a ventilation shaft to bypass a door, but you never know what the future might hold. An unarmored combatant like him and Davis would prove useful if they needed a crazy gambit like that. Davis was not the best person to bring along on this part of the mission, but he trusted himself a lot more to keep her safe than the rest of the unit. He was going to take that personal responsibility to get her out of here alive. Esalis could eat worms for all Jarvan cared.

"Let's get going. Turbolift."

The inside of the lift was as murky and gross as the rest of the station had been so far. There was something comforting knowing they weren't going downward into whatever waited in those moist corridors. The turbolifts were large, meant to be able to carry equipment. The five of them easily fit inside. Jarvan put himself on point with Kori, and Butch brought up the rear. The squishies were placed in the middle. The lift began to rise, it's movements hurky and jerky as it did so. In a perfect world they would be able to take the lift all the way to their destination, but a facility like this didn't want that kind of security risk. You had to switch to another lift on the other side before going higher. Thankfully most of the middle floors had access to both lifts. Only the docking floor was so limited. An intelligent design to stop corporate espionage, but in this moment it hampered them and forced them to cross the eerie station floor.

The lifts arrival ding came out as a awkward warble before only one half of the door opened. The other was muscled out of the way as Jarvan moved past. The floor beyond was dark. Only a few lights here and there still illuminated the area. The floors were covered in blood and guano, as well as bits of plant life that was springing up randomly; coming out of ventilation shafts or cracks in the floor. It was like nature was reclaiming a station it had never existed on in the first place. One could almost imagine they could hear nocturnal animals in the distance, like being lost in the jungle.

"Keep your eyes open.

[Milivikal k'Vik]

It is said that when a thing is created, the creator leaves a mark of self upon the creation.

k'Vik had created Orem in his present form. She had turned the adversary into the loyal lackey, and then abandoned him to what was his long held enemy. It was an insult to Orem and Esalis. Over time, it was likely that Orem's original nature had started to re-assert itself. The rhythms and patterns that had made him a piece of the Imperial Machine. Perhaps this was why k'Vik was drawn to Jokiro. She could hear her mark being subsumed by time and will. It was time to decide what should, or could be done.

She had taken a Z-95. It was a simple enough craft to operate, and in decent condition. The craft's owners seemed upset to see it go, but her theft, hrm apparent theft had happened far too quickly for anything to be done about it. Perhaps k'Vik would return it. She had no long term use for the small craft, and no particular favor for it.

By the time any other craft had scrambled, the hyperdrive was powered, the vector for Jokiro had been calculated, and the craft had disappeared in burst of pseudo-motion. Milivikal did not hail the station, but she did expect to be hailed. There was nothing but the quiet static song of space from the comm system. The simple sensor package of the Z-95 did not pick up anything aside from a shuttle and the station itself. The craft might have had a different scan mode, but Mili did not know how to use it. But she knew how to use the Force, and could hear Orem's terror through it. There was a briefly familiar sound of someone else, too. She frowned as the starfighter cleared the bay shield.

Things had gone rather wrong at Jokiro. Death echoed loudly here.

The canopy of the Z-95 started to rise as soon as she settled the craft toward the deck. Mili shouldered her A5 carbine and kept it pointed at the shuttle's primary doors while she spun the Headhunter 180 degrees. Satisfied for the moment, she put the craft into standby. Mili gracefully made her way across the top of the craft and retrieved a few pieces of additional equipment: power packs for the A5, and her vibrorapier. She swung herself off of the craft, and headed for the hangar door.

[Bette Davis]

Bette viewed the interior of the station with disbelief as everyone turned on their wrist lights. The blaster rifle was a comforting weight in her hands. Even though the scans had said the air was breathable and free of toxins, no one had removed their envirosuits or helmets. Free of known toxins. It's an important distinction.

"What are we doing here, Sarge?" she asked, since apparently no one else was going to. "Obviously a science project gone wrong. Why not just slag the station from space?"

[Bartleby Orem]

* * *


A malformed shoulder scraped along the lockers as the creature lumbered slowly past. Cracked skin and unnaturally long limbs with sinewy muscles, ending in wide palms and pointed fingertips... it was unbelievable if not for the fact that Orem was pressed against the back of his locker refuge, breath held in as his eyes screwed shut. If the thing were to find him and tear open the locker's door, he certainly didn't want to see his death coming.

The cutting torch was held up, clutched tight against his chest.

The thing paused, head tilting up again as it tested the air.

Why had he come here? Why had he abandoned the Alliance? He'd been treated as fairly as someone such as him could be treated, and yet, in the very back portions of his mind he'd felt wrong. It was a notion that head begun to grow, and each day that passed seemed to make that feeling grow stronger. As though he was becoming aware of something that was off. Something that was not quite right. And that had left him with only one path.

With Milivikal gone, there was no focus; only drifting. But a different focus had begun to form, and it was familiar. It was comfortable. It felt like a perfectly fitted suit.

Or would have, he suspected, if he'd not come to Jokiro. His old memories had obviously not kept up with the changing times, and the Jokiro that he'd remembered was long gone - now populated by death.

The monster outside the locker continued on, huffing and wheezing as it shambled past. Through a half-opened doorway.

Passing the threshold, it let out a keening wail that echoed through the darkened corridor beyond.