The smoke hung low in the cantina, a dense haze serving the dual purpose of unhealthy breathing, and concealing the shady dealings within. In the back, the hologram of a Twi'lek dancer spun around a thin steel pole, her lek'ku twirling around her body with each graceful move in tune with the music. Occupants argued over a sabaac game somewhere across the room, harsh whispers quickly escalating to angry shouting. Out of the corner of his eye, Angel saw the barkeep move for his holdout blaster under the counter and turned back to his drink, taking a deep sip of the cold liquor.

The dark amber liquid burned as it coursed down his parched throat, warming his body as it hit his stomach.  The last coldness of the dark rainy day started to fade from his body, and the tension slowly eased from his shoulders. Outside the sky was dark and ominous, foreboding cryptic news Angel felt sure his contact would greet him with. The note itself he received was enough to tell that. The weather it seemed, just went along for the ride.


Rimbly's Cantina
Tadath outskirts.
6pm.
Come alone.

Everything in Angel would normally dismiss the note as a perfect invitation into a trap. Hell, he had even used such pathetic decoys himself when trying to collect bounties. But something was different about this one. Maybe it was the fact that it had come over a secure military channel. Or perhaps it was the fact that whoever had sent it had the necessary military clearance to know his location on Lopen.

He had no choice but to answer.

The familiar face sitting across from him, although hidden from most people's view, confirmed what he had suspected since receiving the message...of course the blaring presence in the Force of a Royal Guardsman didn't help hide his identity either.

"So General, if I may ask...what's with all the secrecy?" Angel said in a low voice, sipping his Corellian brandy once again.

"That's why you're here Sergeant. I'm sure you are aware of the growing pressure we've been receiving from this 'Grand Admiral Thrawn', and other petty Imperial Warlord's we've been put under. Sierra told me about your involvement during the battle with the Star Vipers over Lotaith. That a battle group of Destroyers and fighters happened to attack our capital planet while our entire fleet was dispatched was no coincidence in many people's eyes." Grand General Josev "Fury" Dar'Namell, Prefect of the Vast Empire Army, paused to lift the cigarra grasped tightly in his left hand to his lips. He took a long drag, letting the sweet smoke drift into his lungs and quicken his heartbeat. Setting the cigarra into a nearby ashtray, he sipped his own glass of brandy and raised his previously hidden right hand.

A single data disk slid across the grimy table to land softly in Angel's black gloved hand. "You're also aware of the increasing efficiency of the pirate attacks on our supply lines, and how our patrols have always been a step or two behind them. This too, many people view as non-coincidental." Another sip of his brandy, ice cubes clinking against the glass, paused his next thought. Fury swallowed the fiery alcohol, feeling his own stress and tension slowly start to diminish. "Someone, or some group, is trying to tear apart the Vast Empire from the inside. You've run into this twice with the betrayal of Captain Logan and the near rebellion on Cepany. You've been on the front lines of this and seen the outcome. That's one of the reasons you were tapped for this assignment."

Angel sat in silence, absorbing the words of his longtime superior.  The cantina continued to bustle around them, paying no special attention to another shady pair whispering secrets in the dark corner of the cantina. "What do you want me to do?" He finally responded, draining the rest of this drink.

A slow smile crept over the Prefect's face as he took another puff of his cigarra, the glowing ember briefly lighting his shadowed face "On that disk you'll find a list of equipment, resources and full dossiers on possible personnel you'll need."

"Need for what?"

The slow smile fully blossomed into a toothy grin "Remaking the ARCs."

It might have been Angel's imagination, but the room seemed to quiet a bit as the pair came closer to the heart of their discussion. He could have sworn that a few heads seemed to turn their way...that a few gazes started to peer over the bottoms of empty ale glasses. If it weren't for the reassuring presence of Bob a few feet away, Angel would have suggested retreating to more private quarters.

Snuffing the quickly shortening butt of his cigarra in the ashtray, Fury leaned forward to explain more. "In the past we've used the ARCs to front our troop advances, but this time its focus will be mainly internal. You'll be answering only to me, taking order only from me. We don't know how deep this treachery runs, nor the sources it stems from, so your orders will come only via secure transmissions. All other orders are null and void.

Angel's face spread into its own eager grin, matching the one sitting across from him. This was the sort of job he was born to do, the job that he had been trained to do...

"When do I start?"

The smile on Fury's face returned to its normal scowl as he lowered his voice even more. "You will be operating outside the Army, and as such no records will exist of service and accomplishments, nor will the military acknowledge your existence. You'll be on your own out there, deep undercover in enemy territory." Taking the moment for a dramatic pause, the Prefect drained his own glass, grimacing slightly at the burn in his throat. "You'll be working closely with my XO, Major Tel'sha, on this. She'll help you to coordinate the personnel and equipment...and you start as soon as you leave this cantina."

The haze of the cantina seemed to lift slightly as two figures entered and quickly moved to the side of the bar facing the booth which Angel and Fury occupied. Their dark hooded cloaks were drenched with rain, and covered their down turned faces. Water running freely from their clothes quickly puddled on the floor underneath them, splashing onto nearby patrons and drawing more than one evil eye. A flicker out of the corner of Angel's eye saw Bob immediately shift his attention to the pair.

The movement did not escape Fury's notice either. "There are times when having him around really is handy..." Securing his own coat against the now raging storm outside he moved out of the booth. "I'll need your roster by the end of the week."

Almost as an afterthought, he added in a somber tone. "There's not much time with this Sergeant Nimiichi. Everyday our forces get stretched thinner. As we continue our push to the core, turmoil on the homefront could cost us the campaign...don't fail."

Josev Dar'Namell, Prefect of the Vast Empire Stormtrooper Corps, nodded to his bodyguard, and the two slipped unnoticed out the door of the cantina. Angel remained sitting in his booth, waving the waitress over with his empty glass for another round. Plugging the data disk into a small personal datapad he always kept with him, Angel began to browse the information Fury presented him with.

The disc loaded quickly, and he was greeted with a plain blue screen adorned only with the words:

Success without reward.

Failure with death.

These are our motives.

Infiltration. Espionage. Subterfuge.

These are our tools.

Our goal: The safety and security of the Vast Empire.

Our identities are wiped clean, our existence denied to the highest level of the Empire.

We are the ARCs.


-----------------------
Squad Leader - ARCs
[LoR] [RoM] [BC] [CDS] [WM] [GRoM] [IH] {BoA}
"Victory without reward. Failure with death."
------------------------
Sith Guardian
CM/SG Jikkyo "Angel" Nimiichi/Eagle 1-1/Sith/Dark Jedi Order/Vast Empire [VP:1]
------------------------

"Well," Merrick said, setting down the datapad. "Your roster looks acceptable." Fixing Angel with an icy gaze, she raised one mischievous eyebrow. "I just have one addition."

Angel raised his own inquisitive blonde eyebrow at the Army's Executive Officer. "And that would be?"

"Me."

Before he could let out anything to the contrary, Merrick raised her hand, cutting Angel off. "I already have Fury's approval. In fact he was excited to get me out from behind this desk. You forget that I once lead Jester, and I believe that you'll need my help and experience on this."

"Fine." Angel replied after a few seconds of silence. "As long as it remains my show and things get done my way." He added a bit of emphasis to the last few words of the sentence in an attempt to make his point very clear.

"I wouldn't have it any other way." She replied, pulling her lips into a toothy grin.


*            *            *

Elsewhere...

Moff Korlin, newly appointed due to the untimely death of Grand Moff Borlein, peered nervously down the dark alleyway. His usual clothes of the fine silk and cloth had been taken off, and replaced by the threads of a common citizen. His contact had demanded such, since the garb of a member of the Moff Council would stand out painfully amongst the denizens of the Outskirts.

A thick fog had settled over the city's slums, giving the glow lamps illuminating the streets an eerie glow, as if they were the eyes of some ancient demon, stalking him through the night. They seemed to bend to follow him as he creeped down the narrow alleyway behind the cantina&most likely a product of his over active imagination, yet scary none the less. It was obvious to anyone that met the ambitious Moff that he did not come by his position through his own merits. Mostly, he played dirty. Blackmail, bribery and in some cases, murder, were some of his most favorite tools. Whilst there were some who considered his climb up the political ladder of the Vast Empire as unscrupulous, Korlin had no such repercussions. He had been raised to live by the adage 'All's fair in love and war,' and to him, politics was war.

"You're late." Two dark figures appeared abruptly out of the shadows, just out of the light of the cantina back door's glowlamp. The cowl of their hats cast dark silhouettes over their features, obscuring them from view.

"It's not easy to slip away from stormtroopers, as your group should know by now. The death of my predecessor has caused Grand Moff Kadann to assign security to everyone on the Council." Korlin paused, a wicked smile showing his appreciation, "Thanks for that by the way."

"Did you bring our money?" The second figure, slightly shorter than his companion, interrupted in a rough tone.

"Of course." Korlin reached into the rough wool jacket and produced a stack of credit chips from a hidden pocket. "I even threw in a little extra, seeing as how the MPs didn't even classify it as murder."

The shorter man snatched the credits from the Moff, and turned away, busily counting them. The other man kept his gaze steadily upon the Imperial Moff. "Since we had to wait so long for you, we stumbled upon some information you may be interested in."

Korlin's attention snapped from the man counting his credits, his interest obvious. "Really? And how much will this information cost me? With my recent 'promotion' I have much more at my disposal.

"We'll call it&a professional courtesy." Stepping closer to the Moff, the dark man lowered his voice to barely a whisper. "It seems our beloved Army Prefect, Josev Dar'Namell, had a secret meeting with a blonde haired man I didn't recognize in this cantina tonight. With the aid of a few sound amplifiers, we caught bits and pieces around the clatter of the patrons. It seems he's creating his own little investigation squad, and the man he was meeting with is in charge of it."

Korlin's eyes widened, a flash of fear spiking through his chest.

Can they suspect...that I...?

"If I were you, I'd tread softly. And carry a big stick," The dark man turned slightly, and Korlin caught sight of a hideously disfigured face. "This might be something you should bring before the Moff Council...perhaps trick someone into playing their cards early. In the mean time, don't contact us."

Moff Korlin nodded; his clever mind already formulating a number of schemes's to cut off Dar'Namell's plots. Turning, he made his way out of the alley, nefarious plans whirling through his head.

Meanwhile, the taller of the men stood silently, recalling the face of the blonde man he had observed earlier. He hadn't been completely truthful to the Moff, as the weak man would possibly crack and give them away if he knew what he was really dealing with. Hell, he figured any normal man would piss himself in fear if he knew what was pursuing him. He was still a wanted fugitive of course...wanted for treason...disfigured more than any level of bacta could cure. All because of that one man.


-----------------------
Squad Leader - ARCs
[LoR] [RoM] [BC] [CDS] [WM] [GRoM] [IH] {BoA}
"Victory without reward. Failure with death."
------------------------
Sith Guardian
CM/SG Jikkyo "Angel" Nimiichi/Eagle 1-1/Sith/Dark Jedi Order/Vast Empire [VP:1]
------------------------

________________________________________________________________________________
Accessing New Republic wanted...

/pirating

Accessing local pirate fugitives...

/Ibis

Ibis Enstey...

________________________________________________________________________________
Name: Ibis Enstey
Age: 27
Race: Human
Height: 6' 1"
Weight: 157 lbs.
Eye Color: Brown
Hair Color: Black
Skin Tone: Fair
Place of Birth: Coruscant
Wanted: Murder, theft, relation with pirating gangs, selling of unauthorized...(list continues, more info)


Ibis was born into the simple life of two traders. His father and mother raised him until the day he joined his first pirate group. He learned quickly the trade. Escort property for people across the galaxy in exchange for their money. It was a very wealthy business, and one, his parents tell, he felt proud to be part of. At least, at first.

When he was only five, he was allowed on his first trading run. It wasn't all terribly exciting, but he got to see how the business worked. At the age of eight, he already had regular contact with the common customers of his parents and could do moderate business with him. His parents were proud of their son, the say, and how he seemed to be able to comprehend, and better yet, enjoy the trader's lifestyle. And for the moment, Ibis did enjoy his life. His family, while not rich, was far from poor. At the age of fourteen he already had a speeder bike, numerous small droids, and a small personal starship. But something didn't fit. Ibis just wasn't...happy. His parents noticed the change starting around his early teen years. He sometimes said that he wasn't sure if he really wanted to be a trader or not.

The turning point came when he was about fifteen. It was one of the normal shipping routines. Ibis and his family were hauling ores from Dantooine back to Coruscant, part of a convoy of shuttles. A group of pirates, still not identifiable but believed to be the Coruscanti Suns or the neighboring Red Epsilon, ambushed the convoy. In the event three of nine shuttles were boarded, crew killed or taken hostage, and cargo stolen. His parents say, after this, Ibis was never the same. His parents believed to be a mixture of awe, shock, and fear at first, but grim realization crept into them day after day.

Firstly, after the event, he showed few signs of being emotionally distressed. He was still as free-going, perhaps even more so than usual immediately following the events. He rarely spoke of the events, but when he did, he seemed to be very interested in how the pirates had worked the operation. He started talking about how the trader's life was a boring one and he wanted to go out and explore.

Slowly by slowly, he started to grow more distant with his parents. Fights were more regular amongst him and his parents, as the neighbors in the apartment neighboring the former, and now vacant, apartment Ibis lived in say. More of his time started to be spent out with friends in his speeder or in bars.

It was in one such bar that it's where he is thought to have met a man by the name of Tarn Kellar. Although Ibis probably didn't know it at the time, Tarn would later become one of the most influential people in Ibis's life, and eventually lead him into a string of pirate gangs. Tarn told Ibis stories of unimaginable wealth to those who struck up the "spacer's life" as he called it: drifting through the stars searching for fame and fortune. All Ibis would do was talk about it, and how he wanted be out there, with Tarn, and not stuck in a merchant's family. And one day he just...left. Little is known of this period in his life. He is believed to travel with Tarn, though presumably by now he knew Tarn was really involved in many pirate gangs, not part of the ideal "spacer's life". The next time Ibis turned up, it was where no one expected.

A fairly large weapons and munitions carrier for the New Republic was en route to Coruscant, with a four X-wing escort, about two standard years ago. Ibis would've been around twenty-five years old. A Black Sun corvette, along with many small escort ships, dropped out of hyperspace within sight of the New Republic space station above Coruscant. The escort was destroyed before they new what had hit them, and the Black sun corvette was already boarding the New Republic craft. The crew was killed almost immediately after the boarding, overwhelmed and taken by surprise as they were. In the span of two minutes, the crew was entirely dead, and the weapons were being removed from the ship by more than twenty Black Sun members. One of the last holo-vids a security camera aboard sent to the station were pictures of a much older Ibis taking a crate off the ship with the other pirates.

He was recognized easily, and the New Republic officials tried to follow him. They spoke with his parents, and could get no leads. They spoke to former friends of Ibis, but only found out where he had been, not where he was. They were always a step behind. In the next two years, it appears that he jumped from one small pirate organization to another, always with Tarn until Tarn was allegedly killed in a freak hyperspace accident. We know he took several  odd jobs, pirating both Imperial and NR trade routes until about half a year ago, when he vanished. Officials still have no idea where he is currently located, and he is considered armed and dangerous. Be on the lookout.
________________________________________________________________________________
/exit

Exiting...

________________________________________________________________________________

Arnaut thumbed through the datapad, looking at the report. Ibis... he mused, Nice name. Picking up the datapad and hastily stashing it in the his bag, he took one long swig from his Corellian Ale and started for the door of the cantina, flipping a coin into the bartender's hands.

It gave too long a history of violence and law-breaking for Arnaut's taste, but it would have to do. He didn't want to draw too much attention to himself, but the way he saw it, most of the other pirates in the galaxy had probably about the same history, if not worse. The Hotai pirates sell women to slavers! He though angrily, What could be worse than that? Quickly he pushed the Hotai from his mind. He would have time to think about them when they left for...wherever they were going.

Arnaut really had no clue where they were going, only to meet in the hangar today at 0700...which, by a look from his watch, was about a few hours away. He broke into a run anyway--glad to be out in the fresh air and out of the cantina--towards the shuttle that could take him to the hangar they were departing from.

Ibis Enstey... He thought again, I can live with that.


-----------------------
Lance Corporal Arnaut
-=Wraith Squad=--=SL=-
SL/LCP Arnaut/4SQD/1PLT/1COM/1BAT/VEA/VE

"Take care of your equipment, and your equipment will take care of you"