I'm still seething. Fuming. This is why I can't trust anyone!! The more people in your circle, the more room for things to go wrong! Don't. Trust. Anyone. When this fiasco is fixed, I will have to seriously re-evaluate my allegiances.

The day started off nicely, with a visit from Compatriot and all that stuff. We agreed to meet again in the evening to discuss our next move. I came back to the Den to try and catch up on some sleep. (These late night training sessions are starting to take their toll.)

As I'm approaching the place that night and see this van parked on the curb. Some thugs have just jumped out are preparing blasters and keeping an eye on the inside of the bar. Even from where I stand I can hear blaster fire and shouts of “That's your target!”

Training kicks in, and I'm instantly one with the shadows. I melt across the street and silently appear near the Core. I see two, huge beasts by the door and three humans getting ready to run in. Their van is still running. Their focus is inside the building, so I seize my opportunity. I cross the street to the passenger side of the van and look in. The driver is behind the wheel. (Small guy, wears glasses, looks nervous, small weapon holstered. Easy target.)

The passenger door is unlocked. I quickly open it and began to yammer incoherently, weaving my head to and fro. The driver looks at me, shocked. His shocked expression doubles when I give him a jolt from my gloves. I must have overestimated his resilience, because before I finished he slumped forward right onto the holo-horn.

Most of the thugs have gone inside by now, but one of the big brutes looks at me and bellows something I couldn't understand. (I think his tongue was too big for his mouth.) He runs over to the van and fires his gun through the driver at me. Suddenly I'm covered in blood and grey matter. Very unappealing.

I don't know how I survived that shot, but somehow I did. What I did know was that I couldn't survive another one. I gunned the van backwards, sending whatever was in the back rolling forwards, then pinned the gas and aimed at the merc as everything in the back of the van rolled out the open back doors. I managed to land a hit on him with the front corner of the van, square to the stomach. The van ground to a halt, his blaster broke in two (whew!) and he lay flat on his back.

A sigh of relief was about to escape my muzzle when I saw him sit up. I gulped it down when I saw the anger in his eyes. I fumbled with the shifter as he threw his broken gun away and pulled out what looked like a ragged, jagged, piece of scrap metal that had been attached to a handle. The van flew backwards again just as he thrust it through the window. The bastard got a good scrape on my arm, but that was it. I flipped on the brights and took another run at him. This time he stumbled backwards, and the van stopped square on his head. Nothing was left of it, except an oversized tongue.

When I was sure that the coast was clear, for the time being, I allowed myself a moment to relax. Then I popped a stimpack and hobbled inside the Core.

The rest of the gang had just finished clearing up a whole mess of bad men. Tor had his med kit out and was able to patch up the gash in my arm pretty easily. As he did so, a bloodied stranger told us that a Black Ops unit had gotten intel on our merry little band of rebels and was going to continue to target us until we were wiped out.

By blood turned cold. He wasn't very specific about the information they had. I had no way of knowing if my cover had been blown, or if my actions could/would be communicated back to Brask and the lazy dog. Panic seized my heart as the visions of Mother and the Brothers and Sisters flooded before my eyes. I gripped the bar and forced them away to focus on the present.

The stranger was telling us to get out of here right away before the next wave arrived. Damaria seemed to trust him, and we trusted her, so we sent Marv down below to seal things up, then the rest of us hopped into the van. We needed a safe place to hide. I decided that the Den was about the best place available to us.

As we drove, the stranger named Seth explained that he was a rebel himself who was working undercover as a part of the Black Ops group. He took it upon himself to warn targets before they were hit. He said he knew where the intel on us was being stored and wanted to help us destroy it.

We arrived at the Den and slipped inside, hiding the van in a dead alleyway. I had warned everyone that it wasn't the Ritz, but I'm not sure what they were expecting. If anyone was turned off by my humble surroundings, they hid it well. There wasn't enough room for everyone in my space, so we sorta integrated ourselves in and around the spice users and dealers, taking turns to watch. I used my time watching to ask around about this group and it's leader, Sabik. No dice. No one had heard of them.

In the morning, we had the rudiments of a plan. Swift and Tor would go to City Hall and acquire plans for the Black Ops Warehouse to detect any weaknesses. Sprend and Damaria went off to look the place over.

Seth and I talked about the options that we had. We still possessed the van from last night. There's a good chance we might be able to use it to gain access to the facility. We also wanted to create some kind of diversion. Perhaps we could alert the Black Ops team to a possible Rebel Cell that they would then respond to in numbers, buying us enough time to attack the facility.

If Swift and Tor were successful, then I was very interested in what was beneath the building. Could it be flooded? Could the power be taken out? Could part of it even be collapsed? Could it be taken from the sky? Could we blow out a wall? Could we blow out a part of the ceiling and drop into the data storage room? Could we fill the van with explosives and auto-drive it in to the facility and cause a boom?

Another loose end I was concerned about was Via. If this group did have information on myself, it would probably tie back to her as well and possibly blow her cover. I needed to warn her and hopefully give her the chance to help us with our mission to take the building out.

Allies… Not sure it's worth the trouble.




I had just got word over comm. I couldn't believe. I couldn't believe I missed that! The information was right in front of me! If something happened to the family, I would take total and utter responsibility!

As soon as I heard, I removed myself from Seth, locked myself in my space and tore apart everything I could get my hands on. How could I be so stupid?!?!

After the height of my fury subsided, I felt ashamed of my reckless behaviour. A weakness like that is an opening for my enemies. I knew that I needed some meditation time, even thirty minutes. Anything to centre myself and align my emotions.

I was about to settle on the floor, but I knew I wouldn't be able to calm my mind in the midst of such carnage. I decided to attempt meditating in the open space instead. What's one more spaced out stranger, right? I opened the door and the smell of spice wafted in. The place was dim as usual, and quieter than normal. I settled on the floor, closed my eyes and focussed my attention on my breathing. It was still laboured from the explosion, but was beginning to calm.

I opened my ears and simply became aware of the sounds from around me. Let myself exist around them. The hushed conversations. The dripping of water. The rattle of metal. The breathing of everything around me.

I don't know how long it was before I found myself behind the waterfall, but it came eventually, as it always does. With it came detachment and clarity. I breathed out any left over rage and breathed in acceptance.

Then, like a shifting holo, I saw my surroundings and situation from a new angle. I needed to sharpen my mind. To let that which does not matter go and stay focussed on the target.

I've been coming at this mission all crabbed. I've been thinking like an assassin. That won't work here. I need to infiltrate. I need to slip under the skin of my enemies and hit them where they're soft. This isn't the place for standing back and watching, looking for an opportunity.

I need to place myself near my enemies and hurt them in secret.

The smell of spice suddenly grew much stronger, and I heard a rustle nearby. My eyes clicked open to see a spice-head just inches away from me. Training kicked in and my arm coiled, ready to spring out, shock gloves prepared to grasp his jugular. But just as quickly, I held back long enough to look him in the eyes.

Those eyes contained longing, for sure. They were bloodshot and struggled to focus. But they didn't posses desperation. Not yet. Rather waves and waves of sorrow. We held each other's gaze for moments, my hands poised but still. Then he extended his hands in supplication. They were engulfed by tremors. He was in a serious state of withdrawal and wasn't faring well. He wasn't desperate yet, but he would be soon. There was no telling what he would do when he reached that stage.

“Protect the Brothers and Sisters.” That had been drilled into me since I could speak. It was my duty, my honour, my privilege, by birthright as a Shistavenen. But here, in this moon-forsaken hell hole, what did it mean? Who were my Brothers and Sisters here?

I looked down at the wreck of a man before me. He clothes were tattered and he looked awful. His hands were bandaged with rags, yet fresh blood seeped from them. His pockets contained what appeared to be construction tools. Probably stolen from a nearby site. (Apparently razor wire can't keep the truly persistent out.) Prominent from the odds and ends was some kind of welder that I had seen used when I was younger. I pulled out a couple hundred credits and pointed at the tool. The man's eyes lit up and quickly handed the tool over before snatching up the credits. Then he scurried over to Otis, one of the less ruthless spice dealers.

Down here, I don't know what's right or what's wrong any more. I guess it's time to improvise.

Brown Fox gains a rank in Knowledge:Underworld, a second rank in Streetwise and a Fusion Cutter.