(OOC: At least at first, I'm planning on writing this story myself. I may be able to open it at a later point, so please let me know if you are interested in joining. Any comments can be PMed to me, or you can start a discussion thread on this board. Thanks, enjoy!)
The bright disc of Tralus slips over the horizon as dusk falls on Avian City. In the two years since the Battle of Endor, this city has steadily grown, the business association at its heart having profited well during the Galactic Civil War, and still expanding with postwar deregulation. Millions of inhabitants of many species crowd the metropolis, famed for its beautiful streets and the high-quality wares of its Central Market.
But the crowds of the fashionable business districts and the comfortably spacious residential areas are far from Riemann Grieves' thoughts as he passes silently among the shadows of huge, blocky factories, here in the rundown industrial district past the city's southwest edge. A Nikto transport worker watches him pass with no expression on his horned face, a short thick roll of tabac smoldering in one hand as he leans against the side of a pudgy cargo vehicle. Behind him, in the harshly lit loading dock, two battered load lifters monotonously pack heavy plastic crates into the back of the carrier. They could have been filled with anything from cheap clothes to stimpacks to vibroblades; there were few labels out here, beyond the reach of the Quality Assurance Departments of the city's more respectable manufacturers. But this area was beyond the city's taxes as well, and, perhaps more importantly, it was largely unvisited by the authorities.
For factories weren't the only occupants of this stretch of Talus soil. Between, behind, above, below, and even within the factories there were uncounted shacks, dens, and cheap housing modules, home to those unwanted poor, dirty, and dangerous residents that the city endlessly spewed out. In a place like this, Riemann Grieves wasn't likely to get noticed much, which suited his purposes just fine. It suited others of his kind as well, which was precisely the reason he was here now.
It wasn't just any slum, after all. It was "Cracked Egg," as the inhabitants joked; the flawed byproduct of Avian City. Riemann was hunting, and he knew his quarry would inevitably be drawn to this particular slum.
A distinctive shape marked Riemann's current destination. It was like a massive beast, floundering awkwardly against the size of a smaller factory module that had not been used for industry since the early days of the war. The shell of a boxy body and a thick, blunt head were all that remained of the Imperial war machine, gutted now and fused into the side of the factory. No signs marked this extraordinary facade, but everyone knew what the place was called. He pushed aside the rubber flaps over the missing armor panel that served as an entrance, and stepped inside.
_________________ 65 min: Fastest Accepted Member in Avian History (as far as I'm aware) ARCHITECH (Peace to GG)
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