Cipher Cell: Inception

[Cipher]

A dense brume of pollution permeated the soot stacked duracrete corridors of Coruscant's corrupt underbelly. Putrid bilge gushed unchecked into recesses abound and broken circuitry spilled like frayed viscera from overhead, discharging sparks of effulgent energy upon benumbed passerbys. At the ingress of the Doldrums Marketspace, the thick haze dispersed into a light enough atmosphere that the semi functional advertisement panels were visible; casting an eerie glow over the square's patrons, who loitered haphazardly against walls, refuse, and scrap. Spice passed fluidly from dealer to addict under the watchful gazes of the local crimelord's enforcers, their weapons slung without care. These sheep were docile, the need to exhibit brute force diminished by the mindless high contributed by the recent distribution of a new Sansanna spice strain...

They called it Limbo and a more befitting name could not have been selected. Persisting. It appealed to the outcasts of society, fitting right into their very limited budgets. Filling the user with a debilitating sense of pensiveness, the risks seemed very few in exchange; of course, wasn't that always the case with these iterations? The volatile mixture of euphoria and confidence were only spurred by bright light and color and the lack of both is something 1313 had in spades. Until now...

Simultaneously, the fractured imagery on the displays divvied around the desolate esplanade went blank. The shift went unnoticed by most of the square's inhabitants but the enforcers shifted nervously. A pinprick of light appeared on the screens, enlarging gradually until a myriad of neon colors exploded; each strand of pigmentation writhing in hypnotic synchronicity, expanding until they could converge upon the largest of displays. The Marketspace came alive, a collective breath sucked in and released as the addicts responded to the sudden, violently iridescent stimulus. Weapons were no longer at rest but the hands that wielded them could not discern a direction to steer them.

"People of the Underworld."

A voice, distorted but highly amplified, overtook the fragile sound systems attached to the dilapidated structures enclosing the square. A masked figure (https://imgur.com/a/NJp3EXs)appeared on the main display, steam billowing from its mouth, tenuously accentuating the aura of hues that collided and coiled around its form. Head tilted, a gloved hand buffeted the screen in a mocking attempt to get the attention of an already rapt audience.

"The time has come to shed your confines and embrace your true potential. The despots of 1313 have controlled your bodies by leashing your minds, unknowingly providing you access to release; which, I bequeath to you now." People rose, sidling closer to the screens and speakers that clung to ragged connections by literal strings. A round of nudges was passed amidst the enforcers, several branching from the scene to alert whoever they possibly could about the figure's interruptions. "Now unleashed from your oppressors, I ask that you rise up and take back what belongs to you. All of you. The false heaven glittering above us is only unobtainable because 'they' say it is. I intend on bringing down their organizations; the syndicates, the governments... no more republics or empires waging their wars on our doorsteps and regulating our rights. Together, we will bring about an end to their tyranny."

Each word, a drop of gasoline on kindling that had lain dormant for far too long.

"My name is Cipher. I'll be in touch soon-" The farewell was punctuated by a single bolt loosed from one of the enforcer's blaster rifles, the shard of energy colliding with the main display and promptly robbing the figure's enraptured audience of light, color, sound, and the first beautiful strains of sweet, sweet anarchy. Enraged eyes turned upon the enforcer who had fired, the unholy light of wrath replacing the once tractable indolence there.

In the aftermath, fires blazed; bathing the world in light and shades of crimson. Molotovs had scoured the square, consuming the site and the bodies of the fallen without prejudice.

[Nestor]

The riots across the sector faltered as the sirens that blared over them were suddenly silenced. At the same time, the communicators used by the enforcers were drowned in a few seconds of static before they too fell silent. Confusion reigned supreme, some stunned by the freak occurance, others taking advantage of it. By the time the first of this fresh wave of bodies fell, an entirely unexpected sound rang out from any speaker system connected to the Holonet on 1313; a musical note. Another followed, then another. The beginnings of a slow, delicate melody performed on a harpsicord began to wash over the riots, which had devolved back into violence and chaos after their brief moment of respite.

A figure swayed through the crowds toward the fray. Even in a place with as varied a population as 1313, this fellow was most definitely odd. As if the fact he was clad in an old, long, leather coat and wearing a top hat wasn't enough to set him apart, he also wore a jester-like mask with a twisted, zippered smile and diamond shaped-scarring around the eyes. His movements were fluid, his hands waving aloft imitating a conductor who held sway over the music, which, ironically, was not far from the truth. The relatively simple virus that had been injected into the Holonet, designed for a single purpose, was his own creation. As he broke through the crowd and emerged into the no-mans-land between rioters and enforcers, two of the latter approached him, weapons raised.

"On the ground now!"

Nestor smiled wickedly behind his mask and, with a flick of his wrists, he dislodged two long, thin shivs from inside the sleeves of his coat, letting them fall gently into his hands. With a second movement, he threw one of them, catching the man furthest away in the throat. As the remaining enforcer looked over his shoulder in horror at his falling colleague, Nestor closed the gap between them with surprising speed and tackled his opponent to the ground.

Time seemed to flow more slowly in these moments of life and death, at least for Nestor. His remaining shiv felt like a living extension of his hand as its thin blade slipped between ribs, puncturing the lung again and again. A slight twist and the blade found a new target, the heart itself. Mere seconds felt like hours as he savoured every sensation and every feeling. Thanks to his own personal cocktail of spices running through his system, his senses felt amplified. He could feel the warmth of every new blood drop impacting the exposed skin of his neck and hands, the coppery scent of blood overwhelmed his nostrils and the music, oh the music, it electrified him; the exquisite notes contrasting so ridiculously with the chaos that surrounded him and resulting, quite surprisingly, in something sublime.

[Cipher]

The HoloNet relay station, that had served as Cipher's set, had lain dormant for the better part of fifty years if the equipment stored within was anything to go by. After the prompt resolution of his speech, the slicer set about collecting his personalized tools and scrubbing the systems of his presence. A narrow luckbreaker was dislodged from the console by agile, scarred fingers while the mask concealing his face was canted just enough to reveal a scruff dusted jawline, a strong chin, and set of straight white teeth. The algorithmic key was stashed temporarily behind one sharp incisor, resting against his pale bottom lip in balance, as his fingertips danced deftly over the dusty keys of the mainframe. He paused as the first strains of unfamiliar music reached his ears from outside, his forearm rotating to expose the interface cuff strapped there and subsequently the progress bar spanning it. He exhaled slowly, a snap flex of his fingers disconnecting the cable from the console and retracting it into the cuff. Power cut off within the station, not that it would have shown up on any scans with certain protocols already in place. Plunged into darkness as he was, he tilted his head down quickly to fix the mask firmly back into place, the eerie red glow of the serpentine pattern on its right side returning.

Exiting the building was even simpler than entering had been and the chaos that reigned outside was greeted with a dapper flick of his coat's lapels. The crimson lined hood was pulled into place over the top of his head and he set off down the street with his hands in his pockets. The smell of smoke and graffiti paints, the screams of rioters diffused through the air, regulated by the filtration system strapped across his face. Enforcers and civilians fought all around him, sprawling into duracrete avenues like feral animals. At one point, he stepped over an entangled pair and narrowly-or-expertly dodged the oncoming swing of a cudgel meant for someone adjacent to his pathing. His presence did not go unnoticed, his eccentric visage having been plastered across every holo-screen in the sector mere minutes before. Still, with the ensuing disorder, it wasn't exactly the most appropriate time to pause for a conversation.

Or was it?

"The music was a nice touch." Came a complimentary happenstance reply to Nestor's unheard train of thought. A hand was removed from one pocket and proffered casually to the predator hovering over his fresh kill.

[Nestor]

"I'm glad you approve, my friend," Nestor replied, his calm, soft spoken voice standing in stark contrast to the grin of his mask echoing the one beneath it, "While most people tend to consider chaos and violence to be ugly things, I prefer to see the elegance."

The Jester recovered his knives and stashed them in his sleeves once more. Reaching into one of his many pockets, he retrieved a small vial of red liquid. Uncorking it with a flick of his thumb, he emptied its contents through those unnerving, zippered lips, feeling the bittersweet liquid wash across his tongue. After discarding the empty vial, his crimson fingers found the handkerchief in his breast pocket, with which he wiped the alabaster surface of his mask clean.

"You really should try this stuff, it's my own recipe. Not today though, we don't want you spacing out in the middle of a fight," he said, laughing, "It's a bit overwhelming the first time."

He breathed in deeply, practically tasting the coppery and acrid scents that hung in the air around them. The furnaces on 1313 were no doubt going to be pressed into grim service tonight, as they sometimes were in cases of large scale loss of life. Nestor had witnessed it many times in his life, entire sectors stinking of burning flesh as the bodies were cremated. It was a testament to how savage a life on 1313 was, that the smell simply didn't bother him anymore.

"Well," Nestor said, snapping himself out of his reverie, "We can't be lingering, can we? After you..."

He bowed theatrically, plucking his top hat from his head and gesturing in the direction of their destination with it.

[Cipher]

Elegance, he said. Cipher retracted his hand and turned his mask concealed gaze upon the ensuing chaos. Time seemed to slow as his mind sought to align what it beheld with the definition of that word. By now, fires blazed; consuming synthetic materials that made colors reach outward in ephemeral grace. While the weaponry the mob wielded was crude, the dance played out between them and the enforcers could certainly be described as exquisite; droplets of blood spraying across one another, the duracrete, into the licks of fire that belched forth from the buildings. Even the pulsating red glow of the serpentine pattern on his mask and the lulling tones of the Jester poised before him contributed to the theater of the moment. Time resumed its breakneck pace and he couldn't suppress the grin that formed in relation to Nestor's words that followed. It seemed he didn't really need a spice's assistance with getting caught up in the moment. Still, it would be a lie if he said he wasn't interested.

They couldn't be lingering...

"No.." He replied simply, bobbing his head in agreement before adjusting his direction and striding with an almost casual bearing in the direction of their destination. They passed through gates of chaos and corridors of wreckage, cleverly avoiding and engaging when necessary. They were near now. But, the foyer of the awaiting stronghold had been transformed. Once again, Cipher paused to survey his surroundings.

Neon paint of every color, muralized and still dripping in freshness illuminated the street they stood upon; stylized in brush-style and featuring great demons, armored warriors, and mythical beasts from some culture he didn't recognize wholly. He knew the work, he knew the woman and undoubtedly she loitered nearby. His message had been an ideal distraction for her artistry to come alive. "It seems we have an admirer. Stunning." He murmured, his mask tipping in the Jester's direction. Then, it was time to move forward again. Perhaps they would run into their graffiti virtuoso later?

[Arsen]

The pea rattled around in the dip tube as Arsen gave the paint canister a firm shake. Silvery-azure hues dripped from her hand as she highlighted the last bit of a warrior mural she had been working on, the arc of his metallic blade gleaming in wetness of fresh application. She stepped back to admire her handiwork, the lighted fangs of her mask stretching into a grin as her lips moved beneath. She slid the paint can into the holster at her side, fully preparing to sign her work of art before a warning shout echoed out from somewhere behind her. An almost militant about-face angled her body in the direction of the three enforcers that had happened upon the scene and her colorized contacts blazed bright with anticipation of their interference.

Paint dripped from the tips of her fingers, dotting the ground around her. In truth, her whole form was smeared, flecked, and aglow with the formula she used to bring her creations to incandescent life. She squared off with the men, just as another two happened upon the scene. Recognition dawned as she espied the masks and the enforcers took this momentary lapse of attention to them as an opportunity. Unfortunately for them, her battle senses had been honed by years of training with her father and she would not be so easily caught unawares.

One charged and another loosed a blaster bolt. An almost inhumanly timed drop caused the bolt to fly beyond; her left elbow locked tight into her torso and her right hand flattened onto the ground, her legs sweeping around until her right caught the ankle of her nearest attacker. Bone cracked and just like water, she flowed through the motion that swept her opponent to the floor. Crouched low, she performed a koho kaiten to avoid another volley of blaster fire.

"You two just gonna stand there or what?" Another dodge, this one spinning her behind a pile of junk just in time to avoid another few shots fired in her direction.

[Nestor]

Nestor was in awe of the artwork that adorned the streets. Certain elements called to him, strokes of colour so alien, yet somehow so familiar. Perhaps it was the ebbs and flows of the spice that was steadily taking hold. Colours seemed brighter and more vibrant, while straight, normally static lines began to blur and pulsate. These visual effects were but the tip of the proverbial iceberg; all of his senses seemed to be amplified to the point of synesthesia.

It was then the masked pair stumbled upon the artist herself. He looked from the masked woman to Cipher with spice-veiled eyes, a loud chuckle escaping his lips.

"Well this can't be a coincidence," he said, highly amused and plucking a glass bottle from a deep pocket inside his coat.

"You two just gonna stand there or what?" The neon, paint-flecked figure enquired, causing Nestor's smile to grow.

"I don't think you've seen this yet, Cipher," the Jester commented casually, pushing the bottle between the zippered lips of his mask.

The incredibly strong taste of the alcohol was overwhelming, causing him to cough violently. While his spice-filled system welcomed the sudden rush of heat provided by the liquid flowing down his esophagus, his head began to swim.

"Oh boy... here hic we go..."

With a sudden, yet strangely fluid movement, he settled into an unusual stance, his arms curled in front of him as if he were carrying a large ale barrel. One of the Enforcers rushed forward, swinging his baton at Nestor's mask. With surprising grace, the Jester swayed backwards in a way that made the dodge look almost accidental; the first time at least. Swing after swing was dodge in a similar manner, the attacker becoming incredibly frustrated. Laughing, Nestor spun on his heel, carefully walking the line between balance and falling flat on his face. Throwing his arm out, the back of his fist caught the Enforcer in the side of his head, sending him sprawling.

[Cipher]

"I think not..." Cipher replied coolly when Nestor voiced that this could hardly be a coincidence. The woman turned her attention toward them and the hacker raised his hand, wiggling fingers in a casual hello. Then, the enforcers rushed forward to deal with her. Call him crazy but he had the distinct feeling they weren't going to be much trouble. Quicksilver eyes flicked beneath the mask, taking in the glass bottle that his compatriot had brandished. A curious head tilt and then he stepped back up against the wall behind him, folding his arms over his chest as Nestor downed the contents of the bottle with a few cryptic words imparted.

Violent coughing, the sound of a scuffle breaking out on the woman's end of things, the brightly spray painted murals of their surroundings; his eyes bounced between all of it, each thing taken in as a point of advantage. He watched on as Nestor fluidly dismissed the rapidly swinging baton of his opponent, whatever liquid he had imbibed slathering his movements in a contradictory drunken-grace. A moment later, the enforcer was clocked in the face and sent sprawling at Cipher's feet. The gleaming curvature of his mask leered down at the man, who barely managed to look up at him before he slipped into a state of unconsciousness.

The hacker bent down then, riffling through the enforcer's pockets; the wall Cipher had been leaning against had been freshly inscribed with the symbol branded on his mask and now dripped artistically down the rough leather of his jacket. Various items, including a comm unit, were taken from the man before he once again rose. In place of the enforcer's belongings, a trio of small metal orbs were notched in between his gloved fingers. He gave them a toss and they rolled with precision beneath the enforcer still firing at the paint covered female.

Depressing a switch on his index finger, the orbs discharged electricity that sought out the man's legs. He jerked, unable to sustain his grasp on his weapon as the metal makeup of it intensified the charge, his body seeming to move as if to some unheard synthetic beat. Then, he released switch and the man sagged to the ground with a thud.

[Arsen]

Vibrant purple eyes darted back and forth across the neon corridor that had evolved into a battleground, coming to settle upon one of the masked figures that had extracted a bottle and then tipped its contents between the zippered aperture that was the mask's mouth. The figure coughed but then recovered, sliding into a stance that made Arsen's artfully sculpted brows loft in surprise. She knew that stance and she knew only a handful of individuals who had mastered the style, most of them having died fighting by her father's side at the Dojo. She broke eye contact as another blaster bolt impacted the rubble she had ducked behind, swinging around the other side to observe the impending ass beating that was certain to ensue.

Sure enough, the masked man delved right into the fluid and unpredictable motions of combat; dodging around the erratic swinging of the enforcer's baton as though the attacks were coming in slow motion. She watched, entranced, until the enforcer was smashed aside with a vicious backhand. As if on some kind of cue, the other enforcer laying down fire in her direction collapsed as well; brought to heel by an electrical current that pulsated between mysterious orb like objects thrown at his feet. She rose slowly, basking in the aftermath. Glancing up, she caught sight of a metal ladder that would lead up to the landing above. She jumped and scaled it as nimbly as a feline might.

"Looks like you have some more friends headed this way." She called down to them, pointing in the direction that they had come in from. A mass of enforcers and civilians were spilling into the realm of her canvas, bringing more outlet for the two masked men to enjoy. "Have fun, boys. I'll be in touch."

And then, she scurried up the scaffolding and disappeared through the window of an abandoned shop.