((Shuttlecraft K'Triss, Port, Nassau))
::The Bajoran man circled the shuttlecraft for the stretch of a moment, sighing wistfully to himself, a mournful gait and hands clasped behind his back. If he were a little younger, a little less creased around the eyes and a little less greying in the beard, he would have wondered what difference his actions would take. There would be a question in his mind, whether this was the correct forward motion, and not a decision already made in the confines of his home in the hours before.
::Volku stopped walking and looked up at the busy port up above. Lights unshaken by any wind blowing through the asteroid, the low growl of engines rumbling away in the distance.
::Memories scrolled by through his mind; the sights and sounds of Starfleet, the calculating effect of the Federation, and detestable attributes of those who had left his people by the wayside. He remembered lost friends and loved ones, possessions and homes, the Federation behaving as little more than a dark figure who stood idly by and watched as a nation screamed in pain under the crushing heel of a Dominion wave that carved through the Bajoran homeworlds with singular strength.
::What he had asked the Intelligence Officer to recover would help their cause into the future, however, as predicted, one could not rely on the intelligence of others to do what was required. News from the underground of the Syndicate administration building had returned; an explosion had taken out a large section of the computer network, traps triggered, and those who had been sent into the bowels rendered as collateral in the pursuit.
::He patted the flat of his hand against the shuttlecraft, a grave countenance colouring his face.
::The small and lithe woman sat in the pilot seat, glancing out of the viewscreen window before she dropped her vision back down, enquiring into the computer with several strokes of her fingertips over the console. Her focus impeded her other senses. They negated to alert her to the presence that had joined her on board, nor the hand that wrapped across her mouth, nor the slip of a knife between her ribs. The incessant cruelty was as unexpected as the whisper of the voice in her ear.::
Volku: Shhhh. Do not fight. It will be over soon.
::Deed complete, the large Bajoran tapped a series of commands into the console, accompanied by the most saddened of expressions, as blood began to seep across the floor of the shuttlecraft from the prone woman. He disembarked with a glance back to the ivory faced Trill, a case carried in his hand, and took several strides before activating a remote device contained in his pocket.
::The ensuing explosion was a luxurious fireworks display.
::Another notch on the rebellion's belt.::
Nassau Business Owner
Lt. Commander Jocelyn Marshall