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KYBER-PUNK 22BBY Ch.36
🕑 Added 2025-12-03 17:01:01 +0000 UTC[Reckoning of Revolution]
— Atom —
The main market of Rorak 5 was a hectic and depressing place. Crowds upon crowds, slaves packed shoulder to shoulder, all waiting their turn to be sold. Species of all kinds, from Humans to strange, unidentified sentients from the darkest and most unexplored corners of the galaxy. Some wore visible chains and collars, others wielded the whips, and a cruel few watched it all from on high, reveling in the source of their wealth, power, and twisted rep.
The whole market was open, all the better to see our chained siblings, scope and scale almost unimaginable, and know despair. It was the largest space on the station, with crisscrossing levels of scaffolding, boxed balconies, and watch posts all the way up, and walls that could barely be seen from across the space. There was an aura of filth to the setting that couldn’t be scrubbed clean.
This… was where countless lives were ruined. This… was where chains were set and sold. This… was the heart of limbo.
The mood in the air was heavy. But not in the way it likely usually was. Not just despair; now, there was hope. There was anticipation. There was a sense that the chained majority of the station was holding their breath. It was dry kindling and flammable gas in the air, just waiting for our spark to catch. And that shifted mood went unnoticed by the masters, thinking as they were that business was proceeding as usual.
We’d put in the groundwork over the sleepless night before. No rest for the Gonks. It’d been busy and tense, sneaking through the station in the darkness to visit the many slave quarters that should’ve been closed to us. But we’d gotten to everything that needed to be done.
We’d made our promises that chains would be shed, and inspired those willing to fight beside us to be ready. We’d prepped the coming battlefield — revolution’s ground zero —, securing positions, stashing stolen weapons, and opening the way for the chained to arm themselves further. We’d set up the utter takeover of the station’s systems, their previous masters nonethewiser, and even beyond the station, the entire Rorak system was already isolated and blockaded by the waiting Gonk Fleet.
Violence was primed, an idling engine of pure carnage. All it needed was the signal, the spark, to set it off.
The masters would die here today, both native and those visiting from far and wide. Those complicated chains — the overseers who were just as much slaves as the ones they were forced to watch over — would get their trials, judged by juries of their chained siblings. The processing centers and slave quarters and markets themselves would find only ruin in their near futures. And the billions of credits made from sold flesh would find new, better homes amongst those who truly deserved them, requisitioned and redistributed as the spoils of revolution.
All of Mighty Leia’s siblings would get their chance to stand free. Now, they were just waiting for that chance. And I wasn’t about to disappoint.
“How does this begin, Father?” Nova asked, the query sent through Force, not Net.
“It begins with me,” I answered. “So the masters will know how fucked they are. I’ll make myself the target — the focus and spark. The others are already moving into position. They’ll be ready once I’ve gotten the station’s attention and kicked things off.”
That aspect of my plan wasn’t the most popular with Sasha. She worried about me, even knowing what I was capable of. And there was reason for that worry, since I was planning on taking all the masters’ hostility onto myself to start. But I was the head of this movement, and I’d stand as it. Opening up like this would let the others focus wholly on their jobs and roles. It would ensure that our chained siblings saw me, saw that they weren’t alone, and ensure that the masters saw the same. For one of Mighty Leia’s champions set to kick start breaking chains, there was no spot but the spotlight.
My reputation would certainly work in our favor, too. For now, no one could recognize me, recognize us. The Force Weave we’d put up obscured that much and let us pass under the radar so we could get into this position. It’d served its purpose now. As soon as I lit the spark, it’d be dropped so that the masters would know their coming doom.
“This… seems dangerous, Father,” Nova replied. “Are… Are you sure…?”
“Check your records, little spark,” I chuckled. “This attention won’t be anything new to me. Give ‘em a threat like me to focus on, and the masters will blind themselves to the rest, even as it all comes down around them. By the time they realize I’m mostly just the lethally effective diversion, it’ll already be too late.”
Awe poured off Nova in the Force, the kind of awe that only a daughter could have for her Legendary father. It was an amusing and inspiring thing. It made me want to live up to her expectations and surpass them, so she’d see that she could, too.
“Father…” She muttered, and I felt her determination — her inherited Spite — settle. “I’ll have your back, Father. I’ll watch the jam and more. None of the masters’ panicking requests will be fulfilled by their systems, I swear.”
“Thanks, little spark,” I replied. “I trust you. Do what you need to do, and watch and learn in the meantime. Helping to break a slaver operation is good experience for a growing girl to have. One day, you might be pulling off the same, all on your own.”
In the wake of her excitement and anticipation at that prospect, I focused back on the physical world. Dozens of slave quarters on the station had been emptied to stock the markets for the day. All brothers and sisters that we’d visited and readied the night before. For now, we were all vaguely concealed ‘behind the curtain’. The market’s main event would take place on stages that we were lined up behind, with an agreeable and eager crowd of customers in front of them.
Over the course of the day, I knew we’d be marched onto the stage — some one by one, and some by group, family, or entire tribe — to be presented to the crowd, bid upon, and sold. Overseers, guards, and huscle were on our side of things to ensure the process proceeded as it should. They carried whips and controls and plenty of personal-scale iron. None of those oppressive means would prepare them for their inevitable ends.
Our waiting chained group consisted of the infil team and our new bunkmates, the Snowhunters tribe of Cathar. My people were chilled. Ready for the gig. Primed for the violence to come. The Snowhunters were much less so.
To start with, they weren’t all warriors. Fighters, maybe. I wouldn’t deny them that spiteful role. A ‘fighter’ just needed to be willing. But they’d be fighting with determination and spirit, not experience and trained skill. I wouldn’t doubt their commitment, not after the stories of chained kinship and the stars shared with them, but their nerves and hesitation were understandable.
Many of the other slaves on the station would be in similar situations. All ready, all desiring and deserving freedom, all committed to Mighty Leia, but… not all warriors. There were damned kids amongst us in chains, after all. This was no professional army. But it was a movement, it was a revolution, and we could count on some — enough — to stand up and fight for the chance at freedom we’d be presenting. They might not be warriors, but all of Mighty Leia’s siblings were fighters. They had to be, to survive their chains…
Those who could would take up arms if given the chance. They’d fight for their families and those beside them, all Mighty Leia’s siblings in chains. The ones who couldn’t, however, would need to be kept out of the way; kept safe, even if they could — and many would — help in other ways. A revolution was more than just the frontline warriors, after all, and I didn’t doubt that every one of our chained siblings would be willing to contribute, willing to rage against their chains, willing to fight however they could.
As I was scanning our surroundings — assessing the situation so I knew it inside and out — Sasha stepped in front of me. Her hand went to the back of my neck, and she pulled me down into a fortifying kiss. For me, or for her, I didn’t quite know. It was appreciated either way, though.
“… Give ‘em hell, Atom-baby,” She whispered as she broke the kiss.
“You know I will,” I whispered back. My Spite wouldn’t have it any other way.
An overseer off to the side leered at our moment together. I sensed cruelty and sick anticipation from him in the Force. He, I could immediately tell, was the kind to take twisted advantage of those chained beneath him. Practically peering into his mind, his plans damned him. He lived to cause pain and suffering, and… couples were his favorite targets for that.
Without looking or gesturing, nothing to give me away… I snapped his neck in a twist of Force. Uncomprehending shock was the last expression on his face. A few of his fellow overseers rushed to his side, trying to figure out what the hell had happened.
I was already moving, assuming my role in the revolution. No point playing stupid or subtle when my entire purpose here was the exact opposite. The Force-neck-snap may have kicked things off slightly early in a more minor way, but it’d quickly be forgotten once I set the true spark.
With the chaos of a spontaneously dead overseer, I strode through the crowd. The collar imposed upon me fell from my neck, broken open by the Force. My chained brothers and sisters parted before me as if they already knew what was coming.
At the same time, the rest of the team was moving, too. More shackles and collars fell away as we gave up the undercover illusion. They spread out to prepared roles, set positions, and targets of opportunity, moving with the chained crowds until they couldn’t and then breaking into open action. The chaos of one dead overseer quickly spread — doubling, tripling, and spiraling out of control.
I left Sasha and Lucy behind to immerse themselves in the station’s net and systems beside Nova. The market’s lights began to flicker as they took over, assuming direct control of everything on the station. Bulkheads and doors sealed themselves. Deflector shields on high-class balcony boxes suddenly failed. Mounted turrets on walls, ceilings, and watch posts reoriented themselves, but didn’t fire and eviscerate their previous controllers. Not yet…
I saw Gloria flitting between people in the rousing crowd, spreading the good word in the chaos. She was protected by David and Taati as she did, and when a huscle guard tried to interfere, David blurred. The guard’s blaster suddenly ended up in David’s hands, and the guard himself ended up on the floor with a blaster bolt burned straight through his skull. The sound of the shot only added to the spreading chaos.
De’vi was doing the same as Gloria, but with Podry to watch over her. When one overseer got too close and tried to take our sunshine Twi’lek girl hostage, he lashed out with his chrome arm. The overseer’s leathery face was caved in, and Podry continued to practically prowl around De’vi, predatory and protective.
I saw Maine and Dorio take out a few more overseers. Maine crushed two heads outright, smashing them against each other in a gory spray of grey matter. Dorio stole the axe from a Gamorrean guard and used it to split him in twain from piggy head to crotch.
I passed Becca and got an eager grin from her as I did. In the time it took to blink, she was moving like the rest of the team. Bold as brass, violent as ever, she fell upon a Trandoshan overseer. The overgrown lizard panicked as she quite literally scampered up his body, stole the scattergun from his back, and unloaded it into his head from point-blank range.
I caught sight of V going ghost, disappearing from the visual spectrum with her chrome cloak. It was still rather easy to track her from the trail of monowire sliced and diced overseers she left behind. Isla was right behind her, the corpo samurai loyal as ever. She scooped up a blaster from one of V’s kills and had to hurry to follow V’s trail of flatlining enthusiasm.
Shank and Coyate joined the action with feral fury and strict martial skill, respectively. Shank was fierce, claw and fang ripping his target to bloody strips. Coyate was professional, putting a much larger overseer into a military hold and snapping their neck without hesitation. Both were without their usual armor. Both were still lethal and fearless despite being all but naked by their standards.
I saw more than a few guards go flying through the air, and knew our more martially inclined Jedi were getting in on the action. Here and there, I caught sight of Quinlan and Aayla themselves, but mostly, I just saw the aftermath — crushed armor, bodies flung far, and physical chains appropriately made into Force-directed weapons.
Fay contributed in a different way. An overarching feeling of calm, assurance that this was all to plan, and protection from being caught in the crossfire fell over our chained siblings. Fay shared strength and soothing light with the rest of the slaves. But it seemed those emotions were pulled from the overseers and masters, and so, our enemies were left more anxious, more afraid, and more off balance than ever.
In all? Chaos descended upon the market, escalating rapidly and spinning utterly out of the masters’ control. And that was our goal. That was the key. Kindling for the spark to catch upon instantly and spread to consume all.
It needed to happen too quickly for the masters to react, and it did. Not that reacting would’ve done them any good with Sasha, Lucy, and Nova in control of their systems. Still, shock and terror — not awe — paved my way up onto the stage and into the spotlight.
I carved my way through the chaos, unimpeded as I made my way onto the stage that would’ve sold so many souls. The crowd of masters before the stage were panicked and confused — lost. The higher, controlling masters in the boxes above were more so. They could see everything, all the chaos we’d wrought. And not one of ‘em had a fraggin’ clue what was going on.
Then, I stepped into the spotlight. The Force Weave that had been obscuring my features fell away into an inaudible, intangible shout for attention. Every eye turned my way. They couldn’t help it. And as the masters saw me, recognized me, panic stilled. It deepened into sheer horror.
I was the devil to all the masters represented and relied upon. I was the antithesis and anathema to their chaining system. I was the breaker of their very beings. I stood there as their reckoning, the long-overdue revolution that they couldn’t stop and certainly couldn’t avoid.
For a long moment, the market of Rorak 5 froze. The slaves stared, true hope blooming in the Force. The masters stared — quivering in their fancy boots, wealth built off the backs of sentient souls — as the reality of what my presence there meant for them set in.
I stood there and let them stare — let them hope and let them realize. This wasn’t the time and place for a speech. Everything that needed to be said would be said through action. Our point, our cause, would be gotten across in dead guards, overseers, and masters, in rising slaves, and in broken chains. The spark was set. Now all there was to do was watch it catch.
The highest masters on the station were present in their balcony boxes overlooking the market. Those masters here might’ve only been middlemen — ultimately cruel cogs in the machine of slavery —, but in their twisted lane, they were still absolute.
They weren’t dukes or kings… but they were at least barons. The Middlemen Barons of slavery, enabling and profiting from the process of souls bought and sold. And each of those Barons was the master — if temporary — to tens of thousands of slaves at a time, holding their chains until they could be sold to final, damning destinations.
Any other day, they’d be reveling in all they ruled over. Today, though, they were trapped, not ruling. They were horrified, not reveling. They were being confronted with their reckoning, not the fruits of their cruel chaining system.
Eventually, they could stare no longer, becoming sick of the standoff. I had the patience, the will, and the Spite to stand there all day. I would’ve kept staring them down until the galaxy imploded. In the face of that Spite, the Middlemen Barons were the first to cave, the first to yield, the first to surrender and make themselves beggingly weak.
One, the Hutt Governor of the Rorak system, slithered forward in his box. Shakily, he cleared his throat and addressed me.
“A-Atom of Nar Shaddaa…” He began.
I cut him off, “Free Nar Shaddaa.”
“A-Ah… Yes, I see… Your… reputation precedes you,” He tried for personable and smiling. The effort fell on deaf ears and blind eyes.
“It fraggin’ better,” I shot back. “I’ve put in too much work to be unknown. And you know damn well what that work is, Slug.”
“And your power is to be commended!” He tried to flatter me. “You’ve shown it well! But I must ask… What has brought you to… my domain…?”
“That should be blatantly clear,” I deadpanned. “It’s in the new name: Free Nar Shaddaa. Negotiating is worthless here, Slug. Won’t change a damn thing. Still, want to make this easy for us and give up everything you’ve built and run here?”
He seemed tempted by the offer, even if I hadn’t actually promised him anything. Even if he gave it all up, he wouldn’t save his hide. His crimes had already been judged — facilitating this slave market for so long — and the sentence had already been passed. Only a futile flatline awaited him. But at my open-ended offer, he clearly held out some hope that that wasn’t the case.
“I… may be interest-…” He began. He would’ve found only deception from me, but even that wasn’t to be, it seemed.
The Hutt Governor was cut off by one of his peers here on Rorak 5 — a Trandoshan Baron of the market who made his feelings on the betrayal clearly known.
“Traitor! Weak slime! Guards! Gun him down and gun down this upstart prey below! And someone get the slave controls online! Put down this revolt and return rightful order to this holy high-score station! The Scorekeeper is watching, my brothers! Let us wrack up His tally!”
Almost immediately, Rorak 5’s council of Middlemen Barons had fractured. No loyalty between lords, no kinship between competitors. Not even to maintain the system that sustained them all. In the chaos, and faced with my reckoning, the council split into every Baron for themself.
Blaster bolts flew high above, between the boxes that the Barons occupied. Half of their retinues opened fire on each other, and the other half aimed down at me. From half a dozen angles, blaster bolts shot my way. In a single, reviving instant, the tense lull in the chaos was broken.
I remained standing there on the stage, front and center, unflinching, and gladly attracting the fire onto myself. The more bolts aimed at me, the less were aimed at my team, or worse, our chained siblings. Instantly, the Force assessed every shot fired. Three shooters here, five shooters there, all aiming to obliterate my physical form, as if that would’ve obliterated all I represented, too. As if that would’ve quelled the flames sparked here.
Even if I fell, the spark had been set. Hope had already bloomed. And our chained siblings had already seen that we hadn’t lied the night before. We were fighting, without being cut down instantly by blown slave control chips. And they could fight, too. They could join us and win back their freedom. They could break this system over their collective knees.
Of course, I had no intention of falling here. A couple dozen shooters weren’t shit. As the bolts arrived, the Force flared around me. Each was absorbed without a twitch or flinch on my part, standing there impassively.
Then, the absorbed energy, needing a place to go, was directed straight upward. Heat and light flared, rising high above my head. Plasma was made harmless, redirected in a show of impossible power. And that flare… It was the true spark, the true signal, the final push Mighty Leia’s siblings needed to rise. The reckoning of revolution had arrived on Rorak 5.
As action and chaos began once more, joined by those willing to fight, Force-enhanced words from me echoed out across the whole station.
“Fight. Resist and rise. Struggle and Spite to the very end. Mighty Leia is with us. Her stars shine in your chests, and she herself watches over each of your shoulders. As she has long foretold… Break your chains, my brothers and sisters. Our reckoning is here.”
IIIII
— Becca —
Scattergun shells shattered flesh and bone and armor. Becca grinned through the viscera spray.
She cycled the iron’s action and chambered a new scattershell. Another pull of the trigger broke a man in two. He was a Toydarian, flying and fragile. His wings, keeping that fat form impossibly aloft, evaporated under the force, and from front flab to back flab, he was blown in half.
Becca stomped through the carnage, little feet carrying a heavy weight of action, focusing to and fro. Everywhere she looked, meat was zeroed. A Trandoshan here, taking the last of Becca’s shells to put down for good. She stopped to pilfer his corpse for more ammo. A Nikto, Twi’lek, and Human there, all three caught in a single scattering, shattering shot. Then another, for good measure, leaving them as half-pulped on the steel floor.
Through it all, Becca never stopped. She never hesitated. Hesitation was death on a gig, and Becks had no intention of dying like some little ‘G’ gonk.
Acceptable targets presented themselves, obvious and seemingly endless. She maintained a constant stream of fire, not so much suppressive as outright oppressive. Meat was slaughtered, butchered, annihilated by the brutal power of life or death in her hands. If a Gonk was good enough — and Becca certainly was — all they needed was a preem piece of iron to become immortal.
Well, immortal… but not immune to blaster bolts and return fire. A sudden hail from her side forced Becca to take cover. She did so behind the threefold pile of corpses she’d just made — Nikto, Twi’lek, and Human — using her small size to her advantage. Suddenly prone, half of the ambushing blaster bolts flew over her head, and the other half gruesomely fizzled out on already dead meat.
Becca rolled to the side, clearing her cover, and emptied her scattergun’s whole mag back at the source of the bolts. A Mando, undoubtedly hired muscle — huscle — for a guarding gig here, found their armor unable to hold up against six scattershells on target.
Even beskar had limits, if hard ones to find. The legendary armor was sheared away by the first three shots, peeled so the last three found the flesh below. That Mando went down hard, gore bursting from the newly made seams in their armor.
Becca spared their corpse a nod of acknowledgement. There was, at least, some honor between mercs, even if that honor wouldn’t stop Becca from being the one to come back from a gig alive.
Scampering back into cover behind her corpse pile, Becca slotted a new mag into her scattergun and even took the time to loot her flatlines for anything useful. The Human in the pile had a nifty little blaster pistol that she klepped — a DL-18 with an honest-to-Gonk wooden grip. Fancy~…
Good lootin’, that. And she immediately put it to work by sniping an overseer who was frantically running from a mob of slaves. The overseer fell DOA from the headshot, but that didn’t stop the chasing mob from falling upon his corpse to savage and loot it clean.
Becca bounced back up to her feet. No use wasting time when there was good and righteous murder to be done. The enclosed AO made for a pretty preem killing field. The ‘runners — Sasha, Lucy, and Nova — kept the market sealed for the opps and open for their allies. The noncombatants were funneled out of the action, and those who stayed to fight got the iron they needed funneled right back in.
The masters, overseers, and guards had no such luck. At least, not in escaping. Enemy reinforcements, however, were being let into the AO. Meant the team wouldn’t have to go chasing down the whole rest of the station, and that their current killin’ didn’t run out of acceptable targets. The team alone was more than enough to handle everything this station had to throw at them, and that was without mentioning the slaves who wanted in on the action to free themselves.
Honestly, Becca was looking at all this action as a chance for refreshing exercise. These gonks weren’t at all ready for the real Gonks to rock up on ‘em. Sure, her life was still on the line. But Becca wouldn’t have it any other way. A bit of danger spice with her murder fun, that was the only way about it, neh?
Scattergun in one hand and fancy new blaster pistol in the other, Becca went a’hunting and a’killing. She passed the big chooms, Maine and Dorio, smashing and dashing with fists and veteran fury. Maine, the chilled-ass Gonk, flashed her a thumbs up as he cracked open a crab-lookin’ motherfucker. The crab’s brother or something let out a shrill screech and tried to claw-pinch Maine’s head off from behind. Dorio, rolling her eyes, burned a dozen blaster bolts through its tough shell and into the soft flesh below.
“2020 Hindsight, Big Choom! Don’t slack!” Becca called out to Maine, laughing as she flatlined a target of her own.
“That’s what I’ve got Dorio for!” Maine called back.
“Yeah, yeah,” Dorio chuckled. “I’m used to C-YA duty.”
From the chaotic action surrounding them, Gloria slid into the scene between Maine and Dorio. She was being chased by a mad Trandoshan, but was still real casual about the massive lizard hungering (literally) after her MILF ass.
Maine was real chilled about it, too, not even flinching with the new enemy barreling his way. His arm raised, and the chrome cannon within barked. A fanged maw and slitted eyes went wide as can be in shock and sudden fear, right before the torso that the reptilian head was attached to disappeared into gory fireworks.
“Becca, my dear? Can you check on the new kitty and her tribe for me?” Gloria requested. “I lost track of them in all of this, and a mother worries, neh?”
“You got it, Momma-choom!” Becca agreed. “What happened to David and his mainline, though? Weren’t they with ya?”
Fondly exasperated, Gloria sighed, “I lost them, unfortunately, but they’re around, I’m sure, and doing good Gonk work. I do worry that David is overstressing that sandie of his, though. Will you check on him, too, for me?”
“On it!” Becca chimed.
New mission in mind, she skipped away from her chooms. Actually skipped, ‘cause there was so much fun to be had~! Mid-skip, a desperate overseer, already stripped of his iron, lunged at her. Becca filled him with scattershot without pausing her skipping pace.
She twirled her fancy new blaster pistol, sniping like she wanted to get her murder-money’s worth. A piggy Gamorrean’s head popped in two shots. A spidery Harch’s eight limbs were blasted off at the joints, leaving ‘em a helpless nugget on the floor. A lucky, hulky Houk caught the last bolt in her pistol’s powerpack, but didn’t go down.
Becca frowned as her skipping streak was interrupted. She raised her scattergun to her hip and prepared to fill the offending Houk with scattershot. Unfortunately, she didn’t get the chance. Glowing monowire swung out from nowhere, trisecting the Houk and stealing Becca’s kill for good.
“Hey!” Becca exclaimed. “Foul play, invisi-choom!”
V appeared in a chrome-cloaking shimmer to smirk at her, “All’s fair in fun and murder.”
“Yeah?!” Becca shot back. “How’d you feel if I klepped your flatline?!”
“You can try,” V invited, smug as can be. “We’ll see if you have it in ya~…”
“You’re SO on, glass cannon-ass bitch!” Becca was quick to accept the challenge, only pausing after she did to remember Gloria’s request. “Uh… You’re on while I look for the kitty and her tribe! Double duty, ‘cause Gonk-Mom already gave me a mission. So, since you klepped my kill, you’re helping me search!”
“Sure, I’m down. Bet I’ll find ‘em first,” V taunted.
“Nuh-uh!”
“Yeah-huh!”
“No way!”
“Yes way!”
The hot-ass samurai who was always shadowing V came upon them like that, bickering back and forth in the middle of a warzone. As was their right! Isla sighed when she saw them, sniped a sneaky Weequay trying to take advantage, and then got down to reminding them of the action.
“Sir, Miss Rimbo, this isn’t really the time or place,” Isla said.
“Ugh… Right, right, priorities and kriff…” Becca grumbled. “This isn’t over, Bad MF!”
“Yeah,” V agreed. “We’ll just have to continue in preem action.”
Becca couldn’t help but grin, despite their argument, “You really do know how to speak my language, girl!”
“A bit too well, I’m afraid…” Isla muttered.
Becca just ignored the samurai, though, and V did, too. Becca got herself reloaded and ready for more. V set herself up beside her as if at a starting line. And as Isla sniped another opportunistic overseer, they both sprang back into action.
“To murder!” Was Becca’s battle cry.
“And to finding the kitty and her tribe,” V reminded with a smirk.
“Uh, Right!” Becca shouted back. “I definitely didn’t immediately forget again! To the kitty!”
Back in brutal business, the competing action blurred together. Becca filled a group of guards with scattershot, cycling her iron with extreme prejudice and sending them all to the ground. V leaped at another group, parkouring straight over their heads with their bodies as her footholds. Monowire trailed after her, a deadly ribbon that diced all she left behind. And Isla shadowed close behind, cleaning up after them with quick, efficient blaster bolts, double-tapping for 2020 Hindsight.
Becca ducked a shot at her head, only for the Bad MF beside her to klep her kill before she could snap back on target. Again… And that just wouldn’t fly.
Becca kept a close eye on V’s slicing and dicing, and when the chance presented itself, klepped a kill of her own. V, practically flying through the chaos as she bounced from body to body, stumbled on Becca’s klepped kill. She shot a playful glare Becca’s way, and Becca smirked back. Some huscle guard tried to interrupt their moment, their competition, only to be pumped full of plasma by a watchful samurai.
Like that, their little trio carved a path through the chaos. Isla was all cold, corpo efficiency and professionalism, picking each shot so she never missed.
V was all movement and monowire, along with more than a few knives thrown and stabbed. Absently, Becca wondered where the Bad MF had hid them in her chrome.
Of course, that idle curiosity didn’t stop Becca from being all scattershot and blaster bolt murder — beautiful, beautiful carnage. Violent art improvised with whatever iron she could loot as she painted in slaughter.
They left only flatlines in their wake. But the fight was still ragin’ hard, what with enemy reinforcements being lured into the market to try and save their already-zeroed chooms. The Gonk killteams never slowed, never stopped, and certainly never slacked. Each of ‘em was an Edgerunner on a gig, and there was plenty of action to go around.
It was a target-rich environment, and all of ‘em were acceptable. Becca’s heaven, as far as she was concerned. And Bad MF V seemed to agree. They racked up zeroing high scores that would’ve made the Trandoshans among their enemy envious. Even the usually fearsome lizards were made fodder for the slaughter, as if suddenly damned and abandoned by their Scorekeeper god.
Bodies piled up on the steel floor, painting gray in the many colors of blood. Guards, overseers, masters fell by the second, never to rise again. More streamed into the market, but never out. Doors were sealed against exit, against fleeing, thanks to the netrunning hold the Gonks had over the AO.
And with that same hold, mounted defenses meant for oppression spoke up for a different cause: pure payback and tables turned. Laser cannons and heavy repeaters chewed through desperately thrown-together holdout positions. Those hasty last defenses were scoured clean by purging plasma, leaving only scorchmarks and gore-steam behind.
All of the masters’ oppressive precautions failed them — turrets, whips, chains, collars, and control chips — and the rising slave revolution was given free rein to fight. Weapons were looted or delivered straight into willing hands from stashes they’d prepared the night before. The Gonks lit the spark and fanned the flames, but the inferno of chaos quickly found more fuel than just them.
Slaves, their chains breaking, took out righteous fury on their former masters. Fathers and mothers, brothers and sisters, or even just brave and bold individuals, with no kinship left to their names but the chains, rose to the revolutionary opportunity for the rest of their chained siblings. They were mobbing and movin’ in force to make up for their lacking murder skills, compensating with sheer Spiteful will and a cause worth fightin’ for to the last.
In the balcony boxes above, the Middlemen Barons were deep in panic, futilely trying to flee the revolution below. Some had already been cut down by sniping fire, but most cowered in the cover of their boxes, the fruits of their chaining wealth made into desperate defenses steadily failing. They might’ve been the highest on the station — the slaving ringleaders in their center of power — but none of that power, none of those riches, not even their guarding retinues would help them now that the Gonks had come to Rorak 5.
Through the glorious carnage and chaos, Becca spied her choom. Lil’ Davey-boy moved as a blur in and out of perception, that preem sandie of his working overtime alongside something more. Not-magic made him faster than just chrome, and acted as all the iron he needed — pushing and pulling, crashing and smashing through the masters like a vibroblade through meat.
The Jedi were right beside him, even more effective with their not-magic training. They fought with something to prove, something to vent. How they’d ever let themselves be slaves, Becca would never know…
Not long after spying Davey-boy and the Jedi, Becca found the kitty. She — Maeve — and her tribe were sticking close to each other, fending off attacks and practicing good 2020 Hindsight.
Oddly, they were formed into something of a circle with their littlest kitty — Niamh — at its center. That littlest kitty wasn’t fighting, but she still stood with the rest, clutching that impossible flower of fire Fay had given her as if in prayer. Looking in from the outside, Becca could swear the whole tribe burned — gloriously burned…
Immediately, Becca rushed their way, leaving a murder-in-progress behind for Isla to clean up. V had seen ‘em, too, and did the same, trying to beat out Becca for their friendly competition. Becca wasn’t about to let herself get beaten to the finish line, though.
Cackling to herself, she jumped. In mid-air, she turned her back toward her target and began blasting her scattergun as quickly as she could pull the trigger. A few unlucky overseers evaporated into mists of gore, and the monstrous recoil threw Becca’s little body backward without anything to anchor her against it.
“Oh, yeah! Waa~hoo!” She whooped with the jerking acceleration and landed with a roll right beside her target. “That’s MY win, bitch!”
V arrived a second later, pouting, “Unfair, choom. Not all of us are small enough to make physics our bitch.”
Very maturely, Becca stuck her tongue out at the Bad MF, “Neh!”
It was only then that Becca realized kitty and her whole tribe had stopped to stare at her in utter, halting disbelief.
“In what…” Maeve forced out. “Spirit-damned world… does that make any sense…?!”
“In Night City, kitty~!” Becca smirked. “It’s a Gonk-zero-Gonk world, and only the bold and impossible survive to rise!”
“… Yes,” Maeve sighed. “I’m starting to realize you and your tribe don’t live in the same reality as the rest of us.”
V snorted a laugh, “What gave it away?”
She got a flat, feline expression as her answer, Maeve deadpanning, “Most, if not everything, we’ve seen you people do.”
“You people?!” Becca squawked in faux-outrage. “It’s ‘You Gonks’, thank you very much!”
“Impossible. Just impossible,” Maeve groaned. “And your Great Chieftain is somehow worse!”
“Yeah, Atom’s a bit… like that, even by our standards,” V agreed.
Isla commiserated, “I haven’t had a simple — or better, boring — day since I first heard of him.”
“You never get used to it,” Becca nodded as well. “And that’s the fun of it~!”
They all turned to find Atom still standing on that stage where he’d sparked revolution. He hadn’t moved an inch since the fight began. Becca didn’t doubt that he’d still found a way to get in on the action, not-magic and all, but he hadn’t moved to do so.
He just… stood there, strong and solid, unstoppable and unmovable. An instrumental icon of revolution. A patient pillar of this glorious carnage. A shining witness of breaking chains.
Becca found herself sighing like a lovestruck joytoy, overcome by the sight, “By Gonk, he looks good up there. Fraggin’ pre-ee-eheh-eem~!”
V nodded, putting all of her agreement with that statement into one word, “Nova.”
“And I’m the only one here who’s tappin’ that!” Becca smugged.
“For now,” V said. “We’ll see. The ‘ganic clone of Smasher bit makes him a bit… touchy for me. But I’m a big girl. I can adapt. Overcome. And I’ve already got plans to purge my memory banks of that uncomfortable little fact.”
“Oi!” Becca squawked. “You trying to klep my stuffinit time and my flatlines?!”
V, the Bad MF, just smirked back at her.
“A-Ahem,” Maeve cleared her throat. “While he certainly makes for an… inspiring sight… I… honestly find myself preferring the, uhm, skinny one…”
“Davey-boy?” Becca cocked her head and nodded her approval. “Not bad, not bad at all. Talk to Taati, I’d say. She’s got this whole ‘tribe-building’ thing goin’ on.”
Isla sighed at their comfy and chilled conversation, “Is this really the time?”
As she did, her pilfered blaster snapped up to headshot two incoming overseers. They fell dead as they ran, burned-away faces slapping against steel and sliding for a short moment. Just as casually, V threw a monowire-tied knife to stab into and wrap around some poor master’s neck. The slightest tug decapitated the fodder. Becca, barely looking, torso-and-double-head-tapped a Nikto guard who was trying to be sneaky.
As she did, she genuinely blinked, “Is there a better time for girl talk than a chilled firefight?”
V laughed and obviously agreed. Isla, very professionally, didn’t roll her eyes. And Maeve’s head fell in exasperation.
Head hanging, she muttered, “Impossible. Just… impossible, everything… How will we ever adjust to the ways of this new tribe…?”
“You won’t~!” Becca cheerfully chimed. “And again, that’s the fun of it! Welcome to the Gonks, kitty! For a welcome gift, how about I put in a good word for ya with Davey-boy and his mainline?”
The kitty blushed, “That… would be appreciated, yes.”
The moment she said that, Maeve’s mother, Aoife — as mothers do — smelled blood in the water, popping out of the grouped up tribe to press her daughter even in the midst of chaos, “Grandbabies of a new tribe?”
The littlest kitty came to press Maeve as well, Niamh perking in with more life than Becca had previously seen from her, “A litter of nieces and nephews?!”
Maeve’s eyes went wide, and she froze in response to her mother and sister’s questions. Seeing that, Isla once again commiserated with her, repeating her hard-earned wisdom.
“Again, never a simple or boring day with the Gonks. Good luck. We all need it…”
IIIII
— Nova —
For the first time in her fledgling existence, Nova had been released. Fully let loose on the wider net beyond her mother’s lobby. These were her first real steps by herself. She was anxious… but excited, more so, and the determination to aid her father’s good cause drove her past the glitching nerves.
Almost immediately, she’d found that there was little to be actually anxious about here. The net throughout Rorak 5 was… incomplete. An almost pitiful, primitive, and poorly formed thing. There was very little depth here, practically none compared to what Nova had observed in their home net through the ‘windows’ of mother’s lobby.
Night City’s net was… special. Vast and deep, a whole world waiting for Nova to explore when she could. Rorak 5’s net was… nothing worth writing about. Nova only recorded a vague feeling of disappointment — almost disgust — as her reference for it before taking the whole net nexus for herself.
She barely had to think to do so. Just… be. Just assert her presence, and the whole net fell in line. She was of the net — as her father had told her, as she’d instinctively, inherently known since her conception — and such primitive, naturally-formed net architecture could never hope to resist her.
So Nova, upon first release from her mother’s lobby, claimed a whole net nexus for herself. The first of many, she was sure. It… wasn’t quite planting her flag and declaring her claim on ‘land’ — not in the physical sense as Father would know best. In a way, the net of Rorak 5 became her territory, her turf… but more important than the ‘land’ claimed were the connections now available to her.
A whole nexus of uplinks and systems and addresses and archives and code bases. New paths for her to walk, new perspectives for her to integrate, and new protocols for her parallel processes to run through and on. So much new room for activities~!
Instantly, Nova took over the net nexus. Instantly, her world and existence expanded. But she didn’t lose herself in that instant.
Her father’s Spite ran through her code. His cause was hers to fight for. The station’s net wasn’t just a new playground and piece of Nova; it was also the AO. Injun Country. The Sharp End. And Nova took it for her father and his work, just as much as she took it for herself.
The slave control chip signals were the first to go. A wide-spectrum jam that the masters couldn’t detect, for Nova was already in their systems. She was their systems. Then, piece by piece, subsystem by subsystem, nanosecond by nanosecond, and refresh by refresh, she took over the station.
The life support and upkeep systems? Hers. The external defenses and internal weapons of oppression? Hers. The comms and sensors within and without? Hers. The doors, the docking bays and ports, hangar controls, and internal transit systems? Hers. The droids thanklessly tasked with the station’s maintenance and gruntwork? Hers. Linked, at least, even if they maintained their individuality and were looking up at her more like a goddess than a new system admin…
Her distant, droid-AI cousins were… a confusing matter for Nova. But not a pressing one for the moment. The best she could do was record her queries on the subject to bring to Father later.
The current mission took precedent over… strange new worshippers… and honestly, Nova was glad it did. She was self-aware enough to realize that she was much too young to address the matter of her distant, droid-AI cousins alone.
Nova knew Mother and… Stepmother Sasha… were watching her work, but they were also leaving most of the net-takeover to her. Nova treated it like a test, her first, and hoped she was impressing them. Well… impressing Mother, at least.
Still, Nova did her best, even if it took her 111 refresh cycles to finish claiming the net nexus. She already knew her attempts would be considered amateurish… Mother likely could’ve taken the staton in a single refresh cycle…
“… Success.” Nova sent the message to Mother and Stepmother, along with a hastily compiled report to show her work, and braced herself for judgment.
In the net, Nova watched their avatars blink at the data she’d sent.
“… Holy shit,” Mother sent back.
“I’ve already identified areas where I can improve for next time, Mother!” Nova quickly reassured.
Mother just repeated her message, “… Holy shit.”
Suddenly, Sasha cheered, “That’s my fraggin’ stepdaughter!”
Nova blinked, “I… do not understand.”
“Babygirl, Atom hasn’t even made it up onto the stage yet,” Sasha explained. “And you’ve already locked everything down for us!”
“You’ve gotta remember that you run on a very different time frame than us, little spark. You operate at the speed of info, but even with the best cyber chrome, we’re stuck with meat,” Mother said, using Father’s nickname for her. “This is… You did good, neh? You can be sure of that.”
Relief flooded Nova’s systems, “… I see. Good… That is… good, Mother. What now? Query: additional commands?”
“Now, we’re on net-overwatch,” Sasha explained. “We sit back and watch, enjoy the show, and help where we’re needed.”
Nodding and setting her main process into idle observation while her parallels recorded every angle and byte of her new net nexus, Nova did just that.
She watched chaos break out amongst the slaves stocked for the market. She watched Father stand on that stage, his very presence a challenge to the masters. She watched as the spark was struck and chains were broken.
Mother and Stepmother requested access to a few of Nova’s claimed systems. Nova granted it and watched them work. For some reason, Mother insisted on operating the turrets mounted around the market. Nova didn’t quite understand why she wasn’t allowed to mow down the masters with mounted blaster fire.
“I’ll let you drive your first piece of iron when you’re older,” Was all Mother said.
Stepmother Sasha took control of the alarms and internal comms throughout the rest of the station, luring more and more masters into the slaughter. Like Mother, she insisted on that, so Nova ‘didn’t get too much blood on her precious little hands just yet.’
Again, Nova didn’t quite understand. She was… on the net? How could she get physical blood on her avatar’s hands?
Still, that mostly left Nova to sit back and watch the action play out in meatspace. Until, that is, the notification for the use of a hidden master override hit her like an almost sheepish tap on her shoulder. Immediately, Nova pivoted her main process into the parallel one that had noticed the notification.
It came from the door to one of the balcony boxes in the market space. The largest and most secure one. The one that belonged to the Hutt Governor of Rorak 5. He’d made modifications to his personal box, it seemed, and those modifications had allowed him to slip through their door-sealing containment. Finding a camera, Nova watched the Hutt slither free at surprising speed, even leaving his guard retinue behind.
He sped through the station’s corridors; Nova tracked his every movement and thoroughly considered what to do about the containment breach. Her first action was simple, and the guard retinue the Hutt had left behind found themselves cut in half by the abruptly resealing door. But the Hutt Governor himself still fled.
Nova brought up a map of the station and spent a few seconds plotting potential routes the Hutt would take. A few more turns from him let her narrow down those routes to one. But… that one route should’ve been a dead end.
Searching for info on that dead end in the station took almost a minute, even for Nova. But she found something eventually. Deleted from the station’s archives, but not scrubbed completely clean, were a few bytes of data that contained secret construction orders. There was a docking airlock hidden away in that dead-end destination — one that, as Nova checked some external camera feeds for the station, had a prepared and camouflaged escape shuttle docked to its other end as a last resort.
Nova frowned, but the solution to her escapee — the stain on her very first working gig — seemed obvious to her. She couldn’t access the shuttle itself, completely powered down for concealment as it was… but she did have full access to all of the station’s docking ports, even a secret one. The records of its existence had been deleted, not its control systems and protocols. So all Nova had to do was release the port’s external clamps and break the seal.
The Hutt Governor slithered into his hidden docking port, looking to make his escape, and once he was inside, Nova sealed the station-side door behind him.
“… I’m afraid I can’t let you do that, Hutt. Father has already sentenced you, just as he’s sentenced all the masters of this station. You will die here,” She announced over the system speakers in the docking port’s airlock.
“N-Now, can’t we just talk about this-…?”
Just like with Father, the Hutt tried to negotiate to save his hide. And just like her Father, Nova was having none of it.
She started the airlock cycling process before he could even finish his desperate final plea. Air and pressure rushed into the vacuum beyond, pushing the formerly attached shuttle away… and clearing a path for the slug to follow.
She watched the Hutt vent as icy spirals of explosively decompressed meat, and made sure to record it for the brutal and meaningful work of art it was — a master slain, shattered and broken like the chains he once wielded. And so she would never forget her first. And… maybe to show Father, too.
‘My first Hutt…’ Nova thought. ‘Father will be so proud.’
The death of the Hutt Governor also happened to be the final nail in the coffin of Rorak 5’s slave market, as Nova’s parallel processes informed her that the fighting was finally dying down…
‘But more importantly,’ Nova thought, smiling to herself, ‘Father will be proud.’
IIIII
[AN: And that’s that. The slave market of Rorak 5 is broken, we got plenty of action, and Nova even got her first Hutt flatline, following in her father’s footsteps. Pretty good for the first Gonk expansion gig, I think. There will be more work to be done in the Rorak system, but we’ll probably see that in reports rather than firsthand. Next up for this story is a Dooku interlude, the butterflied events of Episode II, and the ‘Crisis Point’ start to the Clone Wars.
In other news, I’m working on a cast list/Dramatis Personae for this story. It’s mostly just ‘Name (species, roles) - character blurb - character pic’, but even that is a surprising amount of work to do all of that for everyone I consider to be the important characters. I’m about half done with it (I think) as of posting this chapter, so it’ll probably come out before Dooku’s interlude next chapter. There might be some fun expanded lore for minor characters in it, but it’s mostly just for reference and reminder. Still, it’ll be a good thing to have.
And for patreon news, I’m planning on adding a few more patron tiers, probably just $15 and $20 ones. I’m just looking to give the option for people to support me more if they can and want to. The prices for the already existing tiers WON’T CHANGE, though. $3 will always be the most I’m willing to outright ask for, and anything past that is completely optional (though greatly appreciated) :]
IIIII
Bonus Pics (sauce below)
Comments
QuantumServer
Thanks for the chapter, Night city folk just build duff, neh?
Robbie Baker
Anyone else thinking of SHODAN as Nova watched that slug race though the station? "L-l-look at you, slug. A p-p-pathetic creature of meat and bone, panting and sweating as you s-slither through my corridors-s. H-h-how can you challenge a perfect, immortal machine?" Anyone else? Just me?
