HOLORECORDING RECOVERY LOG
Source: Recovered Data Fragment
Location: Oligard Estate, Nei'kapo, Cor'neria System
Subject: Quinn "Razor" Arapto
Status: Restored from damaged archive files
[BEGIN RECORDING]
The image flickers to life amid static.
A Zabrak's face fills the frame for a moment before he adjusts the recorder mounted to his chest armor. Deep charcoal-gray skin catches the glow of emergency lighting. Tribal tattoos in faded red and black run down his face, crossing a scar that cuts through his left eyebrow and trails along his cheek. Bright amber eyes reflect the crimson warning lights flashing throughout the corridor.
"Recording active."
The voice is rough from smoke and exhaustion.
"Quinn Arapto. Clan Arcona."
A dull explosion reverberates through the walls.
"If this survives and I don't, someone better make sure it reaches the Summit."
The camera swings outward as Quinn advances through a service corridor beneath Rath Oligard's Estate. The passage is scarred with blaster impacts and chunks of duracrete litter the floor. Emergency klaxons echo endlessly through the structure.
The invasion of Cor'neria had been raging for days.
Now it had come down to this.
The heart of the Collective.
"We knew Rath had hidden something down here," Quinn continues as he moves. "Intel from captured officers kept mentioning archive sectors and preservation nodes. Nobody knew exactly what they meant."
A burst of blaster fire crackles somewhere ahead.
"But people don't fight this hard over supply manifests."
Quinn rounds a corner.
Bodies lie in the corridor—Liberation Front soldiers mixed with Collective security personnel. Smoke drifts across the floor.
The Zabrak steps over them without slowing.
His posture remains tense and predatory. Every movement appears deliberate, controlled. Like a hunting nexu navigating unfamiliar territory.
"Security resistance increased the deeper we pushed."
He glances toward a blast door at the end of the hallway.
"That usually means you're getting close to something important."
The door has already been breached.
Its center bears a ragged circular wound carved by concentrated explosives and lightsaber strikes.
Beyond it waits darkness.
Quinn enters.
The holocamera struggles to adjust.
Then the room comes into focus.
Rows.
Thousands of rows.
Server banks stretching into the distance beneath vaulted ceilings.
Blue and green status lights blink endlessly through the chamber like stars.
For several seconds Quinn says nothing.
"By the Void..."
The words escape him quietly.
The scale of the facility is impossible to ignore.
"This wasn't intelligence gathering."
His voice hardens.
"This was obsession."
The camera pans across the endless archive.
Files stream across nearby terminals.
Brotherhood personnel records.
Military assessments.
Clan histories.
Operational reports.
Psychological evaluations.
Generations of information.
Every secret the Collective could steal.
Every weakness they could identify.
Every opportunity they could exploit.
A decade of preparation.
"A whole war planned before the first shot was fired."
Quinn approaches one terminal.
Amber eyes scan rapidly through the data.
His expression grows darker.
"There are children in these records."
Another file appears.
Civilian populations.
Supply routes.
Medical facilities.
Evacuation plans.
Potential targets.
Potential leverage.
Potential casualties.
The Zabrak exhales slowly.
The muscles in his jaw tighten.
"They weren't studying us."
He stares at the screen.
"They were mapping how to break us."
A warning alarm suddenly erupts throughout the chamber.
ARCHIVE PURGE INITIATED.
ARCHIVE PURGE INITIATED.
The message repeats.
Quinn swears.
"Of course."
Collective leadership had realized the estate was lost.
They intended to erase everything.
He moves quickly.
Years of battlefield experience take over.
No hesitation.
No panic.
Just action.
The camera shakes as he sprints toward a central control station.
Explosions rumble overhead.
Chunks of dust rain from the ceiling.
Around him, Brotherhood teams emerge from neighboring access corridors, securing the facility sector by sector.
Someone shouts for engineers.
Another calls for data specialists.
The purge countdown continues.
Ten minutes.
Nine.
Eight.
Quinn reaches the main terminal.
His darkened fingernails race across the controls.
"I don't need all of it."
He inserts a portable storage cylinder.
"Just enough."
The transfer begins.
The percentage crawls upward.
Twenty-one.
Thirty-four.
Forty-eight.
The archive around him starts shutting down.
Entire rows of servers go dark.
Information disappears forever.
Quinn watches the process with growing frustration.
"Come on..."
His reflection stares back from the monitor.
The scar.
The chipped horns.
The tired eyes of someone who had spent years fighting wars across the galaxy.
For a moment he thinks about how many lives were affected by the files surrounding him.
How many Brotherhood members had been watched without ever knowing.
How many operations had been compromised.
How many deaths could be traced back to this room.
Sixty-three percent.
Seventy-two.
Eighty-five.
Another explosion shakes the facility.
The lights flicker.
Quinn steadies himself against the terminal.
"If anyone reviews this recording..."
He pauses.
"...remember this."
The transfer reaches ninety-three percent.
"Wars aren't won because one side thinks it's righteous."
Ninety-six.
"They're won because someone keeps fighting when it matters."
Ninety-nine.
The final server row begins shutting down.
One by one, lights disappear into darkness.
A decade of secrets dying with them.
Then—
TRANSFER COMPLETE.
Quinn removes the cylinder.
Silence settles over the chamber.
The alarms cease.
The last active server powers down.
Darkness claims the archive.
Only emergency lights remain.
The Zabrak looks around the ruined facility.
The Collective had spent ten years preparing for the Brotherhood's destruction.
Now their network was gone.
Their secrets exposed.
Their greatest weapon reduced to fragments.
Quinn secures the data cylinder to his belt.
A small grin crosses his face.
"Guess Arcona's buying the first round when this is over."
Voices call from the entrance.
Brotherhood forces.
Friendly.
The mission was complete.
Quinn turns toward them.
The recording captures one final image of the vast darkened archive before he leaves.
Then the feed cuts.
[END RECORDING]