- D6DB's Blog
- Log in or register to post comments
Personal Journal – Altan Taneger
Dateline: 8:4:24 BBY
Location: Aboard the freighter Violet Wraith, en route to Myomar
Kessel smells like death long before you see it. Even through a rebreather, the air tastes like chemical rot, spice dust, and broken promises.
The job was supposed to be simple. Meet a Pyke contact in the refinery district. Escort a shipment of refined glitterstim to the docks. Keep an eye on him until the handoff. Crimson Dawn’s cut was already secured — this was just about presence, showing the Pykes we had eyes on the deal.
Simple never lasts.
Our contact, a nervous little fish-faced Pyke named Rakk, was already sweating when we found him. He kept glancing over his shoulder like someone was following him. Which, turns out, was true. Black Sun muscle. Two of them — Weequay, big as bulk freighters and about as subtle. They were there to make Rakk disappear and take the shipment for themselves.
Crimson Dawn doesn’t let that kind of thing happen.
I’m not sure what the lieutenant was expecting when he sent me along, but I doubt he thought I’d start shooting before they even drew. Thing is, I’ve learned you don’t wait for trouble to show you its teeth — you knock them out before it can bite.
The first Weequay took a shot to the throat. He went down choking on his own blood. The second rushed me with a vibro-axe, screaming something about tearing my head off. That one was messy. My blaster overheated halfway through the fight, so I finished it with a knife.
Rakk didn’t stop shaking until we were on the freighter. I told him he was lucky Crimson Dawn got there first. He said nothing — just kept his eyes on the cargo like it was the only thing keeping him alive. Which, to be fair, it probably was.
The lieutenant met us on the Violet Wraith. He looked over the cargo, nodded once, and handed me a pouch. Heavy. Credits. My cut.
No lectures. No speeches. Just payment and a look that said you’re useful.
That was it — my first real job for Crimson Dawn. And already, I can feel the pull. The credits are good, the work’s clean in its own filthy way, and there’s a thrill in knowing you’re part of something bigger, meaner, sharper than the gangs back home.
But here’s the thing: it’s not the money that’s going to keep me here. It’s the power.
The Pykes fear us. Black Sun respects us enough to try to cut us out rather than go head-on. And when I walk into a room now, I’m not just Alton Taneger. I’m Crimson Dawn.
That brand on my wrist isn’t just a mark anymore — it’s a promise.
And I’m going to make damn sure I keep it.
-- From the Personal Journal of Altan "Slee" Taneger
