There was a sickness in Korda. Its air, polluted by the byproducts of unregulated industry, wasn’t the only thing that was stifling. Greed and corruption held the city in a stranglehold, robbing it of the opportunity to blossom into something great. Although his duties often pulled him in other directions, the Starosta had taken to Korda as something as a passion project in recent months. Perhaps it was his conscience’s way of making up for his failure to help the people of Aliso, something he’d yearned to do when he still belonged to Clan Plagueis. He could only hope that there was someone else who had taken up that mantle following his departure, someone who saw what he saw in the eyes of the only recently freed population of Plagueis’ homeworld: hope. That’s what he saw in the eyes of Lower Korda’s denizens, and it inspired him to use what resources he had at his disposal to help them secure better lives for themselves.
But not everyone shared his vision for the city’s bright future. Some wanted it to remain as it had for countless generations; some were willing to go to extreme lengths to ensure that threats to that status quo were snuffed out before the flames of revolution started to burn too brightly … even murder.
Bril exchanged glances with Emere Galo, one of his squad members and mother of his apprentice, Morra, and gestured for her to follow before stepping into the interrogation room located somewhere within the Galeres military complex on Fort Blindshot. He’d already briefed her on the way over.
“V'lon Cnuda,” he began, dropping a tan folder onto the metal table fixed on their side of the room, “last seen on Kessel three years ago. Now, you suddenly show up in our neck of the woods and try, and fail to assassinate me. Who put you up to it?”
Silence. The Gand hitman was bound in a set of stuncuffs, sitting safely behind a crimson wall of energy shielding. He didn’t even look up at them.
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The stench of subterranean Korda reminded Emere Galo of her home back on Coruscant. The mid to lower levels hardly ever saw the light of day and while her parents did their best to provide a better life for her and her brother it wasn’t enough. After the passing of her brother and father, her mother became absentminded and aloof. Whether or not it was on purpose, Emere didn’t know. But it was the catalyst that led her down a path of darkness, one she still hasn’t recovered from and probably never will.
So when Bril Teg Agra brought this bantha scum from the depths, she was fortunate enough to have dealt with types like this. She was one of said types.
The Human was determined to get the Gand to speak. Her dark eyes were unwavering as she studied the unmoving hitman. For a moment, she let silence fill the room, unmoving herself.
“You’re bound by your word,” she stated as a matter of fact. “But that doesn’t matter if you catch a bolt or a slug in the back of your head.”
It wasn’t a threat, or a prying of information. Yet. Just a reminder that she could speak the Gand’s language.
Bril’s eyes shot over to Emere upon hearing what she said. He hadn’t expected her to lead so strongly. Minnow, who was waiting in the next room over, likely would have applauded the suggestion were she present to hear it; however, he’d acted wisely in asking her to stay behind, knowing that she was liable to tear the assassin apart if she got the chance.
Shifting his attention back to their prisoner, he folded his arms across his chest. “I believe what my colleague is suggesting that you consider what your loyalty will get you. If it ends with you dead, was it really worth it?”
And once again, he got no reply, though the gand did glance in Bril’s direction with his yellow compound eyes. Bril sighed. He could just use the Force to make him talk, but he didn’t feel right about doing that, even if this guy had tried to kill him. Such measures were only acceptable to him in extreme circumstances … and this wasn’t one of them.
Emere quietly wished Arga would tap into the Force to get the Gand to speak. The Zabrak may have been opposed to more extreme means but Galo wasn’t. If it got the job done then it was sufficient.
The Human stepped to the table, flipping the file folder open. “Your son and mother are still alive on Kessel. They look comfortable. Maybe you came here for better opportunities. Give us whoever you’re working for and you won’t have to worry about your kid becoming an orphan.”
Now, that earned a look from V'lon that could cut through duracrete, a mix of disdain and disbelief in equal measure.
“Don’t speak on my family,” he growled, “You hear? Not another word.”
Hidden beneath the waters of the man’s psyche, pushed down deep beneath a sea of anger and indignation, rested a jewel of a much more vulnerable emotion: fear. The feelings that roiled in his mind, churning in response to Emere’s words, painted most of the picture for him, so it didn’t take much to finish it. He didn’t have to probe the man’s mind in search of answers.
“You’re probably wondering how we find them, right?” Bril interjected, “You were so careful, but we still found them. And if we did … what if your enemies found them, too?”
V'lon lunged forward, but the fibercord attached to the stuncuffs that bound his hands prevented him from moving much. “Stay out of my karking mind, Jedi!”
Bril crossed his arms and briefly exchanged looks with Emere before turning back to their detainee. “I wasn’t in your mind, Cnuda. Not really. But you just confirmed my suspicion.”