Log:Nar Shaddaa: People In The Streets

Open fighting in the streets of Nar Shaddaa!

OOC Date: June 21, 2023
Location: Nar Shaddaa - Gearhead District
Participants: Amal Jha, Wun Numb, Asava, Terek Rosol, Jask Tinton, Hadrix Kora as GM

Gearhead, the beginning of the sectors of Nar Shaddaa known for open danger, where the only security is that which is provided by oneself or by businesses on their own behalf. Local gangs working protection rackets are well known and other 'private contractors' that ply their particular trade.

Today it's the Hutts.

Not for any sort of regular protection racket - but with the Hutt Summit, the appointment of Durga and the already volatile nature of the undercities it was only a matter of time. Pouring like filth from a broken sewer main, they came in a flood on the streets, forcing shops to shutter and those inside the arm themselves. Forcing those caught outside to run, hide, or fight for their lives.

But the Hutts were willing to pay for professional freelancers to shore up sections of Gearhead, for now. Bringing us to the Industrial Street strip, where Gearhead's primary ship work was done. Shops that the Hutts had vested interests in and there was a price on the table to make sure they weren't gutted and looted.

Amal Jha, known to most who knew the retinue of Borgol the Hutt, knew the Echani as Borgol's Wraith. With the summit on the horizon, there was more than enough reason for the warrior to have been sent ahead to prepare the way. And to quiet the disturbances which were likely to put most Hutts in a foul mood. And Hutts were terrible when they were in a good mood. No one wanted to see that. Amal separated from the small contingent she had arrived with, each wearing Borgol's colors, though the Echani herself wore the white bodyglove and duster which were her signature, "Report back in in thirty minutes." Leaving the safety of the group behind, the Echani moved to rendezvous with whomever had answered the call to action.

A 5' figure in durasteel void armor appears on the street. The armor is new, and still stock, with no custom coloring or trim that more experienced mercs often have. The figure carries a F11-D rifle, pointed down. The figure pauses, looking around before continuing. He is figuring out sight lines, and areas of cover, as well as sizing up the others here to answer the Hutt's call. Wun Numb looks around, unsure where to go.

Asava had been sparse the last bit around and being antisocial while plying her mercantile affairs with the lack of actual contracts recently. The Togarion in Dreadfire armor pads down the street looking for the other freelancers that may have heeded the Hutts call for credits. Comes out of the helmet's static vox speakers as her tail flicks back and forth behind her, the barrel of her wrist mounted laser at the ready to defend herself if need be.

Working for a Hutt is work. Terek generally works Tatooine and for Borgol, the cathar often found lurking around the cooler shadows of the palace. But he always responds when Hadrix wants him, and he needed an extra pair of hands for a security job.

The Mandalorian is moving between a couple of the points that they were shoring up, coming in over comms, <"I know folks around here are crazy, but crazy enough to attack a Hutt's investment this soon after a change of power?"> Maybe it's just the element of having extra guns in place will keep some of the crazier folks from doing anything too rash.

Navigating the bustling and dirty streets of Nar Shadda, Jask had accepted a potentially lucrative offer extended by the formidable Hutts. Like a seasoned predator in its territory, he surveys every nook and corner of the bustling streets, his massive Barabel frame maintaining a rhythmic cadence of breaths. Hidden beneath the broad expanse of his helmet, his daunting features remain obscured. A symphony of lights and instruments embedded within the helmet blink and whirr, their frenzied activity mirroring the heightened anticipation of the task at hand.

<<"Power shift is still a shift. Plenty of time for lines to shift.">>

In response to Terek's quips, Hadrix is nestled in front of the Manic Mechanic - owing the ally clan Dara a favor and Alor Dara operated directly out of the particular ship barn. Having opted for 'The Intimidating' weapon where he looms, sighting up some of the oncoming 'hoard' for lack of better description.

The pillaging denizens of levels and levels below this one on their rampage and seeking to lay claim to anything that they can get their hands on. Heading for the lofts, the salvage depot, even Nordoxicon among the present shipbarns and other street facing enterprises. Among them several near-humans whose skin has become bleached from generations without sun and eyes covered in goggles to protect them from brighter lights is calling out for groups to move out - holding aloft a torch in one hand and a sawed off blaster carbine in the other.

Violence and mayhem abounding and daring any present to challenge them.

"I will clear out as many as I can." The Wraith moved out from the group, wading into battle as she always did. It was always an odd thing, to see the Echani driving into blaster wielding enemy fighters with only the weapons she wielded with her hands, but Amal was a true Daughter of Echani, and she knew no other way. She targeted the group of ruffians closest to her starting point, blades dancing as she cut down one, and then a second, though that one had the temerity to attempt to stand up again when they would have been better off lying down until the dying was done. Alas.

Wun raises his Rainbow F11-D and sights on a thug, firing once. Bullseye, and the thug no longer has a head. Wun starts deciding where to go for cover or a better position. <<"Got one. This rifle is sweet.>> Wun's voice says over comms.

Hiding behind cover, the feline Mandalorian extends her arm out towards some of the rambunctios criminal to shoot at one of them with her wrist laser.

Terek had already has a plan before things even popped off. After all, you don't live as long as him in a profession like this without being smart. Terek had put his SX-451 up on a balcony earlier in the night, got it sighted in, drew up firing arcs on his AR HUD, and then came back down to patrol.

When things started popping off and blaster fire started heading out into the attacking crowd, Terek took that as his signal. He lit up his jetpack and fired himself up, streaking through the air and landing back on his balcony. He drops back behind his rifle on its bipod, and then sights in down the scope, <"On overwatch. Engaging.">

The sound of him engaging is hard to miss, as the massive blaster cannon fires from the balcony. It's impossible to miss where the shot came from, except maybe for the guy it hit. He had been about to throw a brick and then he had been split in two. The brick hits him in the face after his torso hits the ground, too. Talk about insult to injury.

Upon noticing a cluster of boisterous ruffians, Jask instinctively tightens his grip around the stock of his H-11 rifle, his formidable frame coiling like a predator ready to strike. The butt of his rifle nestles securely against his shoulder, his line of vision aligning perfectly with the iron sights, narrowing his world to the target ahead. The trigger gives under his steady pressure, and the first blast of energy bolts towards one of the thugs, a product of Jask's well-honed marksmanship.

Without giving himself a moment to register the weapon's kickback, the seasoned Barabel unleashes another shot, searing the air in its path. The subsequent discharge marks the thug with a vicious constellation of blaster burns. Jask's voice then slices through the ensuing chaos, an eerie synthetic tone emanating from his voice box, as stark and cold as the steel of his firearm.

"Best submit before the night takes you home," he warns, his words a chilling omen.

When it starts, it does so in earnest. Fire hailing from windows and gun-ports built into the shutters - tibanna plasma lancing out into the streets as slug and blaster fire creates spots of glowing durasteel and stonework where they hit. None yet getting through defenses, but people in the streets are afforded much less defilade than those safely indoors.

Street trapped citizens fight in clusters, trying to find cover in the mayhem, watching fellows be gunned or dragged down in almost equal number as the aggressors at the front of their 'battle lines' such as they are.

When the professional warriors make their appearances, they take notice - several of the troglodytes at the center of one pack motioning and shouting in a 'local' dialect before a plasma wreathed bolt spins them around and sends them to the ground to remain there, gasping for air with the wind knocked from them.

Looming still before 'The Maniac' Hadrix Kora is pressed against the door, hobnailed boots having dug gouges in the durasteel from the massive cannon fired like a rifle. Challenging, a member the number leading packs points and issues a challenge before they're blasted apart by the shot following the ratcheting of the long gun's bolt action.

The undercity forces surge, spurring on the ones they're goading and the conflict is set to a more bloody scale.

Amal continued to move, though, rather than charging ahead, the Echani diverted her direction to move to shield a group of civilians who appeared to be trying to get a couple of non-combatants to the safety of a nearby building. Amal did not look back in their direction, though, as she moved to engage the ruffians who were trying to tug the hapless shop owners away. Instead, she simply called back over her shoulder. "Get them inside. I will hold them off." One would hope there was a rear alley exit.

Wun sees a group of civilians, two shopkeepers a mother and her child, huddling against a corner. They appear afraid to run for fear of getting shot. Wun starts moving toward them, intending to defend them and usher them to safety.

Before Wun gets there though a group of Thugs rounds the corner and guns them down. A scream emerges from comms as Wun sees the children die, <<"No! You dirty rats!">>. He shoots the child killer in center mass, dropping him like a sack of Bantha feed.

The sniper rifle kicks back when Terek fires it, this second shot firing wide and hitting the ground near one of the goons, throwing up enough shrapnel to still deal significant damage. The cathar growls faintly to himself, reaching a hand up and tweaking something on the scope, before setting up to fire again.

Jask's predatory eyes flicker to the remaining thugs as he swiftly recalibrates his aim, the chilling glow of his helmet's lights creating an eerie aura in the growing darkness. With the familiar, mechanical hum of the rifle resonating through his grasp, he squeezes the trigger once more. Twin bolts of blistering energy erupt from the barrel, carving incandescent paths through the gloom, each finding their mark with precision instead of moving to secure any civilians.

Slammed against the hatch of the shipbarn again, blaster bolts spattering against the midnight purple plates, forcing his head to duck to protect his neck - Hadrix is held in placed by the deluge of fire - his return fire going wide and digging a crater into the surface of the street. Unable to get his balance between the flood of tactical data he's trying to process and the impacts rattling his body,

<<"Pale ones look to be in charge.">> sending over broadband.

The gunner brought down by vengeful Wun is replaced by more, though numbers are thinning, who burst around a corner with one of the white skinned near-humans snapping out hissing orders and opening fire with ad-hoc rifles or pistols that look like amalgams of multiple makes and model.

The river of bodies presses north, with fleeing civilians seeking to find a way out of this madness and many feeling that the starport is likely to be their best option. For those being aided in the street, thanks come in the form of stones thrown at their defender's would be aggressors. Whatever is at hand being pushed over to create incidental cover. Anything to keep their protection alive as they run. The attackers, likewise, seem to be dispersing some. Finding holes, alleys and elsewhere to begin disappearing into - to seek out more parts of Gearhead to loot... and access to other sectors of Smuggler's Moon.

With the civilians she had been shielding looking to have escaped into the relative protection of the building behind her, Amal moved to engage the pale skinned band of heavies. Now, one might wonder...how did one tell them apart? Simple, the Echani was the one who did //not// look as though they ahd just crawled out of a sewer grating. At least two of the pale-skinned former denizens of the undercity however, soon fell to her blade, and might, if the slices had been done just so, been able to slide back into said grates. Though not under their own power.

Wun takes a knee to sight on one of the pale leading Goons. It's not a headshot, more's the pity. But it is a gut shot. The goon is hurt bad.

Wun takes a moment to look around. <<"So much damage, so many innocents killed. And for what? Someone is behind this, mark my words.">>, Wun's voice comes over comms.

Wun shakes his head, and looks for any still standing civilians, in order to try to protect them.

A hit splashes off above Terek, and shrapnel from the bursting plasma bolt shreds some of the metal off and into the back of his leg. He lets out a roar of pain, turning his rifle back towards the group. When he sights in on the same one he'd hit with the blast before. He doesn't miss this time, taking off the goon's left arm at the shoulder with the second shot.

<"How in the seven hells are there so many of them?"> He asks over comms, as he turns his weapon towards another one of the pale ones. If that's leadership then they need to be brought down first and foremost.

Attention focuses on the pale skinned, goggle wearing, figures among the rioting masses and they take notice. High pitched cries going up as one after the other is blasted. Some falling to the street to move no more and others forced to scrabble for cover positions. Long upper limbs allowing them to drop to all fours and move with increased speed for sewer lids, alleys and up the sides of buildings in some cases.

Others, whom had been led by the creatures, begin to move where ordered. Some simply cutting and running, leaving others to die where they stand and small groups navigating to the shadows to leave the least of their numbers to remain isolated and confused.

<<"Attackers falling back.">> Al'Verde Kora's voice over comms, <<"And there's a lot of levels below us, vod. This moon is like a lesser Coruscant. One hive built atop another... And it may have been a while since the Hutts last ordered a sweeping purge of the deep levels.">>

True or not, it is yet to be seen. But for the moment the attack abates, more and more disappearing to regroup until the violence comes to a crashing end.