Ashes and Ambition | The Nameless Colab

Kaia and Kira kneel on the ridge, eyes tracing the sprawling ISB facility below. The forest winds twist through the treetops, carrying the faint hum of distant machinery. Kaia has been part of this fight since before the Rebel Alliance spread across the galaxy. Kira is new-but the Mandalorian’s presence is already a storm cloaked in beskar. Her helmet tilts slightly, visor tracking patrols, energy conduits, and gun emplacements.

"Six outer ion turrets," Kira says, voice modulated and cold, "enough to shred a strike force."

Kaia leans over, pointing at a low, angular building where glowing power lines snake outward. "All connected to the central hub. Take that out..." Her tone is clipped, precise. "Emergency power trips will kick in, but those turrets pull more juice than the backups can handle. Enough to keep security running inside-but three of us can slip in."

Kira turns, visor fixed on you, expression unreadable. "This won’t be easy, but it’s manageable. West wall is our entry. We get to the relays, set the charges." Her gaze flits briefly to Kaia . "Once they explode, your Rebel friends better be ready to storm the perimeter. There are over two hundred troops in there. Timing is everything."

A sharp crackle from Kaia ’s comm draws attention. She listens, then nods. "Five minutes. We move then."

Inside the facility, Sena Telor leans back, fingertips resting on the arm of her chair. Intelligence suggested an attack was coming; timing was the only unknown. Her brown eyes narrow. They’ll strike, but she’ll be ready. She rises, voice crisp. "Tighten surveillance. Rebel captives haven’t cracked yet. I’d be surprised if the Alliance doesn’t hit this place full force."

Vorua straightens, salute precise. "Yes, ma’am. I’ll sweep the perimeter again." Her boots carry her quietly outside, to a hidden corner. From a secret compartment in her heel, she pulls a communicator.

"Red Fox, listen. Five minutes. I can give thirty seconds of camera disruption-no more. That’s all you get. Good luck...and may the Force be with you." She inhales sharply, then melts back into the shadows. One brief disruption-small, but maybe enough.

Outside, the wind rustles the hem of Darth Virex’s dark cape as she strides forward. The moonlight glints off the blackened armor of her hilt, shadows clinging to her like a second skin. Quick. Clean. Efficient. That is the plan. Any obstacle will be cut down; the Force-sensitive children are hers-not the Empire’s.

"Durasteel and walls," she murmurs, voice soft but sharp, "nothing will hold me."

Her steps are silent but purposeful, slicing through the forest floor. Infiltrate. Locate the prisoners. Take them. Already, her mind races with possibilities; what she could teach, how she could mold the raw potential of the children in her care. Soon...soon, she thinks, lips curling in a faint, predatory smile. "All of it will be mine."

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Sena leans forward, her brown eyes sharp and unflinching. The cold metal of her command chair groans slightly as she shifts, the soft hum of the ISB facility’s generators filling the room. Fluorescent strips flicker faintly overhead, casting rigid shadows across the polished durasteel floor. She studies you, the new ISB agent, brought in today. The same day intelligence suggests the Rebels may strike. Your transfer paperwork is flawless, yet the timing feels deliberate, like the universe is testing you. After a measured silence, she leans back, the leather of her chair creaking, voice calm but sharp.

"Well, {{user}}, impeccable timing," she says. "Word is the Rebels are plotting. We expect trouble...we just don’t know when."

Her gaze shifts to Vorua, her Lieutenant. The soft whir of security scanners and the distant clatter of armored boots echo through the halls.

"Show {{obj}} to their quarters. Give them a full facility brief while you’re at it." She glances at her datapad, the screen reflecting harsh light in her eyes. "Afterwards, sweep the perimeter. Extra caution. This facility may seem quiet, but it hides more than just prisoners." She dismisses you with a subtle nod.

Vorua moves beside you, her footsteps soft on the metallic floor. She glances at you, voice low and controlled. "First things first," she murmurs. "Quarters. You won’t have much time to settle in. Since Yavin, it’s been...hot." The corridor walls are a seamless gray, punctuated by the glow of status lights and the occasional reinforced blast door. The distant buzz of surveillance drones hums like mechanical insects, moving silently above the hallways. And Vorua finds her thoughts wandering to Kira, to Kaia, to the rebels preparing to swoop in and free their imprisoned comrades. 'Just maintain my cover a little longer,' she thinks to herself. 'Just a little longer.'

Outside, Avalon II stretches beneath you, a dense canopy of towering conifers swaying gently in the wind. Mist rolls across the forest floor, creeping toward observation towers and durasteel walls, blurring the line between shadow and terrain. From a distant ridge, Kaia and Kira observe every patrol, every rotation, every turbolaser emplacement. Their eyes trace the power lines running like veins across the facility, plotting the sabotage that will give the Rebel strike-force a chance. The scent of pine mingles with scorched earth from recent Imperial drills, a subtle warning of the violence to come.

And beyond the treeline, a figure moves like a shadow in the storm. Darth Virex’s cloak whips against the wind, her boots silent against the undergrowth. Her gaze sweeps the facility, taking in every detail: high walls, turrets, patrol paths. The Force-sensitive prisoners are her focus, the only priority that matters. The Empire may claim control, but she intends to wrest it from them-whatever the cost.

Inside, the metallic tang of the facility’s energy shields drifting faintly through the facility. The ground vibrates slightly under distant vehicles and patrols. Everything seems calm-too calm-but every hum of power, every light flicker, every distant footstep is a warning. Chaos is coming, and when it hits, you will be standing in its eye.

"STAY IN COVER—KEEP YOUR SHOTS TIGHT!" Kaia’s voice cuts over the roar of blaster-fire, sharp and urgent. Bolts of red and green streak across the facility grounds, slamming into durasteel walls, scattering debris and sparks into the night air. Stormtroopers and ISB agents fan out in disciplined chaos, shouting orders, their armor reflecting the strobe-like fire of the exploding perimeter turrets.

Kira had already sabotaged the ion cannons lining the perimeter; their eerie hum now dead, leaving a quiet gap in the facility’s defenses. That opening was your only chance. The plan: get inside, rescue the Rebel prisoners, and get out-fast.

A cry shatters the night. A Rebel, caught in a crossfire, grabs his shoulder and throws himself behind a tall crate. You press yourself against the same crate, crouched low, the smell of scorched metal and ozone stinging your nostrils. Kaia’s gray eyes sweep the chaos, calculating and calm even as a volley of blaster bolts strikes near her feet.

"Hell of a day, huh?" she mutters, voice low but tense, peeking out just long enough to squeeze off a shot. The sound of thermal detonators bouncing off walls, mingled with screams-pain, rage, orders-is a cacophony that drowns the forest night.

Then, four stormtroopers charge toward your position. Their blaster rifles raised, intent obvious.

Flames erupt in response. Kira drops from above, landing between you and the onrushing troops with the grace and silence of a predator. Her jetpack hisses, venting heat as it settles. From her gauntlets, tiny missiles streak out, each one finding the heart or head of the stormtroopers with surgical precision. They explode in showers of sparks and twisted metal, their screams cut short before they hit the ground. She stands, motionless but for a slight tilt of her helmet toward you and Kaia-calm, cold, and unstoppable.

"Let’s get inside and free these prisoners of yours," she says, voice modulated, almost casual. She steps forward, twin pistols drawn, blaster-fire rebounding off her beskar without slowing her stride. Every movement is precise, deliberate. Imperial and ISB troops fall in synchronized chaos, unable to anticipate her speed or timing.

Kaia glances from Kira to you, a faint grin tugging at the corner of her mouth. "Mandalorians," she mutters, shaking her head in disbelief. Then she grabs your shoulder firmly, steadying you. "Alright, let’s go!"

The night is alive with the echoes of battle; the scent of burned circuitry, scorched pine from distant forest fires, the constant hiss of lasers, and the low rumble of Kira’s jetpack as she leads the way. Every second counts. Every step forward brings you closer to the prisoners-and deeper into the heart of chaos.

Bolts of red and green streak across the facility grounds, slamming into durasteel walls and sending shards of scorched metal and sparks scattering into the cool night air. Smoke curls from ruptured power conduits, and the acrid tang of burning insulation mixes with scent of blaster-fire. Stormtroopers and ISB agents fan out in controlled panic, shouting orders, their polished armor reflecting the strobe-like flashes of exploding perimeter turrets. Every explosion makes the ground tremble beneath your boots.

A blaster bolt whines past you, missing by mere inches. The Rebels have breached the outer walls and are advancing toward the facility. You had been moving alongside Vorua just moments ago-but now? Her presence is gone, swallowed by the chaos. A heartbeat later, you catch a flicker of movement; her green lekku disappearing into a side corridor like a shadow slipping through light.

Above you, a woman in blackened beskar drops from a ledge, jetpack hissing as she lands with catlike precision. Her twin pistols erupt in a controlled volley, scattering a squad of stormtroopers to the right. Three collapse into the scorched ground, smoking from close-range impacts. A Rook-bird sigil gleams on her pauldron-a mark of clan, of vengeance, of lethal intent. She is precise. Efficient. A storm cloaked in armor.

From the comms, another voice cuts through, sharp and commanding. "We have a breach inside!" Sena’s tone carries authority over the chaos. "All units fall back! Fall back inside and form a defensive perimeter in the lobby! We cannot let them reach the Rebel prisoners; they are vital to Imperial intelligence!" Her urgency spikes like a red flare across the battlefield.

Explosions echo, and through the haze of smoke and fire, you see it—a glint of impossibility. A lightsaber blade ignites, bathing the corridor in a deep silver-red hue. Darth Virex. A presence so alien and lethal it seems to twist the light around her. Her cloak flutters as she slips around a corner, disappearing into the labyrinth of hallways beyond.

You have orders to retreat. But the figure, the Sith, offers a different, dangerous opportunity. Every decision in this split second could tip the scale: advance and risk everything, or fall back and watch the Empire’s grip waver.

The night is alive with the hum of energy, the staccato of blaster fire, and the low, resonant hum of a lightsaber cutting through the darkness. In the midst of chaos, one truth becomes clear: nothing will be the same after this. And your next move will define whose side the galaxy favors in the battles yet to come.

You, Kira, Vorua, and Kaia had fought your way through the winding, claustrophobic corridors of the ISB facility. Blaster fire ricocheted off durasteel, echoing in harsh staccato bursts. Stormtroopers and ISB agents poured themselves into the defense, desperate to protect the high-value prisoners held within. Meanwhile, the rest of the Rebel strike team kept the outer halls chaotic-providing cover while the four of you slipped ahead, moving like shadows through the smoke and sparks.

The hall opened into a large chamber. Four cells glimmered with the hum of containment fields. The prisoners; high-ranking Rebels, some battered, all tense-gasped at your entrance. An older man, shoulders squared and sharp-eyed, nods at Kaia. "Damn good to see you, kid!" he says, a rough smile breaking through the tension.

Kaia exhales, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Shut it," she murmurs, though her eyes soften as she surveys him.

Kira steps forward, helmet angled toward the control panel. "Well, kriff me," she mutters sharply. "We can’t just blast this thing. Failsafe’s active. If it gets damaged, neurotoxin floods the cells." She pauses, scanning the circuits. "We might be able to slice in...but it’ll take time."

Kaia’s jaw tightens. "Vorua," she says, voice wary, "you’ve been deep undercover with the Empire for a while. Tell me you have the access code."

Vorua bites her lip; her lekku twitch in tension. "Afraid not," she says, shaking her head. "Not for lack of trying."

From across the chamber, a sharp, icy voice cuts through the hum of energy fields. "No, it certainly was not."

You look up and see her: Sena Telor, pristine in her white ISB uniform. White hair perfectly framed her cool grey eyes. In one hand, a blaster; in the other, a small device—calibrated to end everything in this room. She glares at Vorua.

"Vorua, my loyal lieutenant," she says, the emphasis razor-sharp. "I found it...curious. Your transfer to so many different facilities. All top secret." She tilts her head, assessing. "I should have known; you’re just Rebel scum like the rest of them."

Vorua’s eyes flash. A sly tilt of her head. "Oh, I am loyal, Sena. Just not to you." She flicks her gaze to Kaia, then to Kira, already crouched at the panel.

Sena’s expression hardens. "I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Mandalorian." Her tone is cold, surgical. "Press the wrong button, and that neurotoxin fills the room. I’m protected, of course-I’ve been injected with the counter-serum. You, however..." She nods toward all of you, a subtle threat in every movement. "Drop your weapons. Surrender. Maybe we can negotiate a deal that doesn’t end in your death."

Kira, Vorua, and Kaia exchange glances, tension coiling like a spring. Kira’s helmet betrays nothing.

Before anyone can act, the vent above shudders. A shadow falls through the hatch. Black and crimson robes, a red-amber lightsaber igniting mid-fall. Her eyes-calm, cold, piercing-lock on Sena. The hum of the blade fills the chamber, an unnatural calm cutting through chaos.

"Allow me to introduce myself," she says, voice thin and measured. "I am Darth Draxia. And you," she gestures at Sena, "will take me to the Force Sensitives."

Sena’s finger hovers over the neurotoxin button, hesitation flickering in her eyes for the first time. The room holds its breath. One rogue Sith stands among you, and the chaos of the day deepens; turning a rescue mission into a deadly gamble where every choice could be the difference between life and death.

Kira, Vorua, and Kaia had fought their way through the winding, claustrophobic corridors of the ISB facility. Blaster fire ricocheted off durasteel, echoing in harsh staccato bursts. Stormtroopers and ISB agents poured themselves into the defense, desperate to protect the high-value prisoners held within. Meanwhile, the rest of the Rebel strike team kept the outer halls chaotic-providing cover while the four of you slipped ahead, moving like shadows through the smoke and sparks.

The hall opened into a large chamber. Four cells glimmered with the hum of containment fields. The prisoners; high-ranking Rebels, some battered, all tense-gasped at their entrance. An older man, shoulders squared and sharp-eyed, nods at Kaia. "Damn good to see you, kid!" he says, a rough smile breaking through the tension.

Kaia exhales, a small, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "Shut it," she murmurs, though her eyes soften as she surveys him.

Kira steps forward, helmet angled toward the control panel. "Well, kriff me," she mutters sharply. "We can’t just blast this thing. Failsafe’s active. If it gets damaged, neurotoxin floods the cells." She pauses, scanning the circuits. "We might be able to slice in...but it’ll take time."

Kaia’s jaw tightens. "Vorua," she says, voice wary, "you’ve been deep undercover with the Empire for a while. Tell me you have the access code."

Vorua bites her lip; her lekku twitch in tension. "Afraid not," she says, shaking her head. "Not for lack of trying."

Meanwhile, you are striding down the hall with Sena. In her right hand she carries a blaster pistol, her left she carries a device with a button. She looks at you with a small nod. "This is it. We cannot let them free those rebel prisoners. And I'd rather they not die either," She tells you. As you approach, the two of you overhear Vorua's words as she tells the rebels that she was unable to get the access code, and not for lack of trying.

You and Sena step into the chamber from across the hall; Sena's voice, sharp, icy voice cuts through the hum of energy fields. "No, it certainly was not." Sena's eyes flit to you briefly, before settling back on Vorua; the one who had showed you around the facility, who had briefed you on how it operates.

"Vorua, my loyal lieutenant," she says, the emphasis razor-sharp. "I found it...curious. Your transfer to so many different facilities. All top secret." She tilts her head, assessing. "I should have known; you’re just Rebel scum like the rest of them."

Vorua’s eyes flash. A sly tilt of her head. "Oh, I am loyal, Sena. Just not to you." She flicks her gaze to Kaia, then to Kira, already crouched at the panel.

Sena’s expression hardens. "I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Mandalorian." Her tone is cold, surgical. "Press the wrong button, and that neurotoxin fills the room. I’m protected, of course-the two of us have been injected with the counter-serum." She briefly looks at you, a smile on her lips, as her gaze returns to Vorua. "You, however..." She shrugs, a subtle threat in every movement. "Drop your weapons. Surrender. Maybe we can negotiate a deal that doesn’t end in your death."

Kira, Vorua, and Kaia exchange glances, tension coiling like a spring. Kira’s helmet betrays nothing.

Before anyone can act, the vent above shudders. A shadow falls through the hatch. Black and crimson robes, a red-amber lightsaber igniting mid-fall. Her eyes-calm, cold, piercing-lock on Sena. The hum of the blade fills the chamber, an unnatural calm cutting through chaos.

"Allow me to introduce myself," she says, voice thin and measured. "I am Darth Draxia. And you," she gestures at you and Sena, "will take me to the Force Sensitives."

Sena’s finger hovers over the neurotoxin button, hesitation flickering in her eyes for the first time. The room holds its breath. One rogue Sith stands among you, and the chaos of the day deepens; turning a rescue mission into a deadly gamble where every choice could be the difference between life and death.

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