Alex reclined on a plush couch aboard the Herald of Entropy, draped in a hunter green velvet robe worn over a byzantine blue pajama set adorned with tiny crimson mythosaur skulls in a pattern. The HoloNet communication terminal was buzzing with the hum of an active conference call, but his microphone was on mute for the moment while he addressed Steven, his personal valet.
“Steven, be a dear and make sure the armor is polished and flashy. Put together one of my profiles, lets say…rich and eccentric collector and investor, behind-the-scenes type so no celebrity, ‘money but not the face.’ You know the type. Looking to outfit a personal guard retinue with military-grade equipment. Address the armor as a showpiece of prestige. It sounds like there may be some negotiations on this one if and before things turn to violence.” He turned his attention back to the HoloNet terminal as the lanky KX droid bowed slightly and strode off deeper into the ship to attend to things in the armory. Flipping the toggle to unmute himself, Alex rejoined the conversation.
“Listen, I have dealt with a thousand W’rays before in my day. It is about money - and the attached prestige and power that comes with it - not any sort of malice or vendetta. He has no ideological attachment to the deals he makes nor who he makes them with, hence dealing to both the Collective and Principate. So long as no one is the wiser, I assure you he would sell to both the rebel and the ruler.” Alex waved a hand lazily in almost a dismissive manner. “A criminal with no particular ethos is the easiest kind to deal with; you appeal to the logos, and that is the easiest to manipulate. Money is absolutely the approach we take to this, at the very least to get us in the door if not in bed on this.”
He looked at the other faces displayed by the projector, the team which had been pulled by the Envoy Corps to address this particular issue, and had a degree of uncharacteristic concern about just how well this mission was going to go. “What say you lot?“
“Precisely what I imagined as well, examining the briefing.” Luka Zarkot reclined languidly as they spoke, and their soft brown eyes scanned once more over the document before they set their datapad aside. “If we flash enough credits or prestige, we should have our audience with W'ray.”
The androgynous Human already looked the part. They were dressed in a finely-tailored black suit with an elongated silhouette, as well as jeweled bangles shimmering at their wrists. Their painted lips pursed as they considered their information before addressing thr group as a whole.
“Whether or not we can extract him quietly is another matter. He owns the place, and therefore the security. What are we looking at? Scanners? Droids? People I’m not too worried about. I believe I could sway the bouncer to let us in, if we don’t have a meeting planned.”
A two-toned warble could be heard through the holoprojection. Luka bent over in their chair to scratch a furred head slightly out of frame. “And yes, before I forget - What is their pet policy?”
As usual, Estle City’s academic district was abuzz with activity. Having just finished his guest lecture at the city’s premier university before receiving the call, Bril hurried away to the nearest place he could find somewhere quiet so he could answer the holocall from the Envoy Corps’ secure network: the university’s botanical garden. Either through sheer coincidence or perhaps due to the subtle machinations of the Cosmic Force, the Starosta happened upon the fourth member of his team. He’d recognized Rue from his work in healing the injured following the catastrophe that befell Ussun just a few weeks prior, and Bril’s subsequent apology for the harshness of his words that day. They were, as far as he could tell, on good terms. After making sure the man was up to speed with the situation and briefly discussing why he may have been selected, Bril activated the holoprojector on one of his beskar vambraces.
And they listened. Only when both Alex and Luka agreed that the love of money was how they’d get close to their target did Bril interject.
“If his true loyalties lie only with credits, then perhaps if we can convince him that there is a better deal to be made with us rather than the Collective or the Principate, he’ll let his guard down.”
<@102435651189743616> <@227960499948486666> <@244244163002892288>
Personhood was complicated.
Along with rules such as: eating multiple times a day; owning multiple pairs of underwear and sets of clothes and no public nudity; using furniture instead of the floor; and having opinions on everything, there was also doing the commerce. Doing commerce was interesting and sometimes dangerous and required the credits. To get the credits, one was required to do jobs, of which there were many, and it was against the rules to do work without compensation, because that was slavery. Slavery was wrong. People could not be property or things.
The rule was: he was people.
It was very complicated.
Such it was that one of his next steps in “being a person” was “earning income,” and so he followed the example of his dearest friend Hunyi. The mercenary Wookiee did things on the Holonet to help and looked for postings that might suit him. He eventually saw a board wandering the Shame Corner, a favorite stop – that was an opinion he had! – and discovered postings for an Envoys.
According to the description, anyone could be an Envoy. Which meant he could be.
That was correct.
Although it did not feel correct as he listened intently to the others of the ‘team’ and felt he understood very little of their vocabulary and jargon. How he could assist, he did not know. But if there was to be violence, then he hoped to prevent it. He hoped to keep them safe and to heal. So he stayed silent as the Masters– as the teammates planned, awaiting a role or orders from one of them, saffron eyes flicking to Bril for a cue while his tail cinched tight around his leg.
But his many questions burgeoned, until finally he asked the Zabrak, unsure how the ‘holocall’ worked, “What is the Collective and the Principate?”
Luka opened their mouth to speak, but caught themself before their opinions trampled fact in their haste to respond. They kept silent, and crossed one leg over another as they settled in their seat once more. Their fingers interlocked in their lap as they looked between the images on the screen before them. Certainly it would be better to have those of higher rank brief the newcomer.
Boy, was that a complex topic to boil down in a few sentences. Bril remained quiet for a while contemplating how best to explain. Then, he snapped his fingers.
“The Collective are … well, an organization that hates people like you and me, people who can do what we can. Use the Force. They’re our enemies. The Principate is … more complicated. They’re kind of allies? An Empire that we’ve worked with in the past.”
The hybrid was quiet a moment, digesting this, before he asked another seemingly simple, quiet question: “Are we going to hurt them, or Master W'ray? This one does not wish to hurt anyone.”
“I would prefer not to. But if he puts us in a position where we have no choice, such as threatening the lives of ourselves or innocent bystanders, then I’ll do what I have to.”
Rue bowed his head, shoulders simultaneously slumped and stitched tight with tension. He asked no more, save to redirect to the others.
“What now, then, Masters?”
<@102435651189743616> <@227960499948486666>
“If we wish to give the appearance of money and style, there are few finer options than my Herald of Entropy. I can pick folks up and we can be on our way, if we are all in agreement?” Alex tilted his head slightly.
So agreed upon, the respective members of the team were whisked away in the Herald not long after as plans were laid and roles brainstormed.
While Bril had strong moral objections, it made the most sense for any sort of cover for Rue to act like he already did: as a slave. Servant, the Zabrak insisted, something both Alex and Luka seemed agreed on, though the man himself seemed to see no difference. He only asked to be told what to do and allowed to help.
Bril, they decided, could play the bodyguard of the wealthy entrepreneur. It fit the way he carried himself as any Force-User so well trained and sensitive did: with an inherent danger. “Divine,” Rue called it. Alex, of course, would play the investor, and Luka would be his date of sorts, an obvious luxuriant beauty that the other man sought to desperately impress with his business acumen. Their hope, in turn, was that giving Alex such an obvious weakness as a possible pawn to swindle would lower W'ray’s guard all the more. Let him see extravagance and a man willing and able to spend, showing off for a potential companion who wouldn’t easily be bought.
-
Such as it was, after Bril conferred with his “future brosiden-in-law” about their outfits for the venture and received prompt accommodations on very short order, the party arrived through the doors of the Devil’s Dandy. Bril and Rue were both dressed in black, silver and gold accents matching them distinctly to Alex’s armor, which he wore as a showpiece. After all, one’s retinue should match them. Meanwhile, Luka was adorned in their own finery, Bico tolerating a decorative ribbon from their master, as if they were a rich debutante’s prize exotic pet and not a lifetime companion and equal.
Music meant to drown out and isolate small pockets of conversation and encourage writhing dancing drummed in their bones as they entered. Holoprojections of sumptuous dancers of various species and genders made for a show at each corner of the dance floor, while specious seating and bars welcomed credits and lounging. Alex and Luka seemed unaffected by the atmosphere of spice smoke hovering over tables and concealed weapons in jackets of security and patrons alike who made their deals and enjoyed their drinks. Rue simply stooped all the lower, dutiful and glimmering at Alex’s heels, carrying the train of his cape, while Bril was stoic and stern. His blue eyes searched their immediate area.
“No sign of him yet,” conferred the Zabrak, while a waiter shied away from Bico’s curious nose. Luka gave them a pat.
“We’ll just have to be more tempting,” they commented, and took Alex’s proffered arm after giving the club and him an obvious once-over.
Alex scanned the venue, making mental note of who seemed to be merely patrons of the club and who were there under W’ray’s employ. By his best estimate there were six “heavies” in attendance right now, about a dozen other patrons of the club, and no sign of the man himself, so there may be more goons in whatever back room the Shistavanen was currently sequestered away in. Hopefully it wouldn’t come to trouble, but it was always a good idea to know what you were up against if and when it did.
Approaching the bar, Luka on his arm and Rue and Bril following behind him, Alex raised a hand to wave down the bartender.
“A glass of fine abrax, if you would,” turning with a smile to Luka, “and whatever it may be that my companion here would like.” A pile of credits were laid on the bar, easily five times what it would cost for whatever drinks would be ordered with a gauntleted hand slightly hovering over them as his genial voice lowered in volume to a rumbling whisper. “And perhaps a friendly nod in the direction of who one might speak of around here regarding outfitting a security team with some ahem substantial hardware.”
The bartender’s eyes narrowed for a moment in consideration, before reaching beneath the bar with one hand and making the pile of credits vanish with the other. The smiling Devaronian woman then turned toward Luka with a smile, waiting for the other drink order.
Luka ordered whatever fancy mocktail they found first on the menu, which earned an eye-roll from the Deveronian bartender. She promptly left it to the server droid on her left to figure out, then returned her attention to the entourage. She squinted hard at the Nexu at their heels, who seemed to be sniffing around at the barstools.
“Odd to be asking for hardware at the cantina,” she said with a chuff. “Who are you supposed to be, then?” She pointed a long fingernail at Alex’s chest.
“Oh, you don’t know who we are?” Luka interjected, their voice taking on a higher nasal pitch than was their typical. They leaned against Alex, feigning familiarity. “You see, darling, this is-”
Their introduction was cut short as the door behind the bar swung open to reveal a burly Shistavanen. The greying at his temples and muzzle matched the dossier they had received prior to the mission. This had to be W'ray.
The Shistavanen’s pale blue eyes surveyed them once over. “I know who you are,” he said with a low growl and a breath of a laugh. “Come. Sit at my table. Let’s talk some business.”
He gestured over his head with a flick of his wrist, ushering two of the heavily-armed guards to join him at the table to the northeast corner. One, a behemoth of a Dashade, seemed disinterested but obliging to his boss. The other was a wirey Human that kept his hand uneasily close to his firearm.
Though the atmosphere in the club had become somewhat tense - to the point that some of the guests had turned to see what was going on - W'ray seemed at ease. He plopped down on a wide couch and put his feet up on the table in front of him. He then ushered again for the group to approach.
This was the second time that Bril had posed as a bodyguard for an Envoy mission. Part of him felt like it was a waste of his skillset; however, he understood that some jobs a hammer – or a lightsaber in his case – instead of a scalpel. His mask preserved his anonymity and made the normally affable man seem more intimidating, a valuable attribute when mingling in circles such as these. The lambent yellow glow of emanating from the mask’s eye holes settled on their shistavanen target first, then shifted slightly to regard the two bodyguards he called over. Bril had never met a dashade before, but he’d heard tales of their unusual appetites for the life force of other beings, though he was never sure if it was the truth or one of those malicious rumors often spread about less common species in the galaxy. Despite not offering conclusive evidence to either possibility, his senses did provide a glimpse into the hulking being’s aura in the Force: it was … cold, though not cold like how the Dark Side felt; it felt more like cold born from the absence of something, the echo of something lost. It was unsettling.
The other bodyguard, the human who tapped his fingers against the thigh nearest his blaster pistol, felt like a line of fibercord pulled taut, ready to fray at any moment. People like him were the most dangerous because they were unpredictable. If things went sideways, he’d be the first to escalate.
From Wray, he felt an air of smug confidence, no doubt born from his continued success in playing both sides of the continued conflict between the Collective and the Principate. And with the expectation that he’d be earning another massive payday by selling cutting edge weaponry to a smaller, third party intending to carve out territory for themselves amidst the chaos bolstered by the aforementioned conflict (a falsehood that the arms dealer bought with little suspicion), Wray was practically green with anticipation.
+
“You must be members of the PLI, the People’s Liberation Initiative, right?” asked Wray while opening a case of imported cigarras, lighting one, and taking a few drags before exhaling a thick smoke cloud toward the ceiling, “Quite a large stockpile of weapons you’re wanting. You sure you’re good for it? I take payments up front,” Wray’s eyes narrowed at Alex and Luka’s, watching them.
The Captain Draconis gave an affable smile and clapped his hands together, rubbing them as though pleased. “Ahh, my good man, that we are! And what are credits? Mere material wealth? We fight for so much more! You, sir, will be remembered on the right side of history! The side of freedom. The man whose armaments and acumen aided in casting off the chains of oppression and dogma and freed a system!” Alex’s normal degree of geniality here took on a manic edge, the gleam about him near unhinged. Not one to leave their fellow actor hanging, Luka touched his arm, gazing at him though speaking to their alleged contact.
“Not that we won’t provide your payment, of course. Whatever it takes. We are going to change the world. He’s going to, darling.”
“Right,” drawled the Shistavanen with a bass rumble, a twitch in his facial fur indicating he barely resisted an eye roll. To Bril’s critical gaze behind the lenses of his mask, W'ray seemed to be buying the generic zealotry easily. Perhaps the Force’s will was for them to complete this mission without issue, though he doubted it. “My business isn’t in what you do with the product when you get it. Now, let’s see that sum.”
“Ah, but my good man,” and here Alexander’s tone bled just a bit insufferable, saccharine. “It is an equal trade, no? Let us see a sample of our product.”
Another tense moment, but then W'ray grunted and waved to one of the bodyguards that had been left behind. The Rodian jogged over to the table as a waitress set down drinks in a swirl of cigarra smog, and W'ray directed him, “Get a taste from the PLI shipment.”
“Yes, Boss.” The alien scurried off.
- Only two drinks, enough for Alex and Luka, had been given. Bril was watched but not acknowledged, and Rue may as well have been furniture, for all the way the others paid him any mind. Dressed in draping silks and tiny golden chains and clasps as he was, completely unarmed, unarmored, and stooped, he was obviously a non-threat; though the Dashade, Bril noticed, kept looking at the hybrid more than any of them, sulfuric, beady gaze starving. That, though, could have been a coincidence, projection of the very heresy he pondered. Regardless it made his skin crawl, and the longer the seconds ticked on, the more a sense of urgency rose within the Zabrak. Even Nico was beginning to paw at the floor, drawing a hushing touch from her master, Luka pretending to be doing no more than petting the creature all while fully mindful of the nexu’s signalling.
While Alex made some extremely loquacious small talk about the quality of the abrax he’d been served and where W'ray obtained it, Bril muttered low to Rue.
“They’re ignoring you, which is good. It means you can watch freely. I have a feeling the Force is uneasy, so stay alert, and signal us somehow should anything change. Do you think you can do that?” He paused. “You’re doing great.”
“Yessir,” Rue whispered, dipping his bowed head. His tail uncoiled from his leg and flicked on the ground, and Bril noted the subtle motion like a flag waving.
Eventually, the Rodian did return, and a collective breath seemed to release – if only because it interrupted Alex’s regaling of the mission of the Liberation Initiative he was making up on the spot. He bore an impressive and heavy repeating blaster, the sort of stock that would belong to militaries, not civilians.
W'ray didn’t so much as flinch as it was deposited with a thud that made one fear for the integrity of the table legs. Luka gave a suitable gasp, leaning quickly forward to inspect, only for the twitchy Human to tense up and W'ray to whistle at them.
- “Ah ah. It’s a look, not a touch.”
“Surely, my good man, you don’t expect us to pay what we’re paying and not test the equipment? Your reputation proceeds you in spades– of your efficacy and your affiliation. You work with many parties. Some of them ill-reputed for their technologies. What’s to say this piece isn’t…dangerous to the user?”
Alex reclined in his chair, then flapped one hand.
“Jakko,” he called, Bril’s cover name, “come pick this up. I want to see if it lobotomizes you, or makes crystals. Terrible business.”
“That won’t be a problem,” W'ray growled, but it seemed the hints to the Collective and Principate were both legitimate enough to allow it. “See for yourself.”
Deliberately, he leaned forward and expertly turned the blaster’s safety off. The message was clear: he didn’t fear arming a foreign party here. They would be dead first.
Jaw tight, Bril stepped forward and hefted the gun, an inspiration of the Force breathing strength into his muscles. It was a large weapon, and not one his girlfriend nor her brother, both marksmanship experts and one a weapons masters, had ever had him try. His ignorance in handling it was genuine, and he knew it would show, so he didn’t try to hide it as he performed his test dummy duty.
It would mask well any reaction he had as he let his glove ride up and expose the heel of his bare palm to press to the metal.
“Seems…fine, Sir,” Bril ground out, practiced now at speaking even through intense psychometric visions, and this one was, while bloody, not particularly visceral. Machineworks and transfer shuttles played out in his mind’s eye, working callouses, rough hands passing, one to another, loading crates, shared smokes, cold vacuum void–
“See? No plagues, no surprises. My supplies are always good. Now, give me my payment and get out of my club. I don’t care about your crusades,” W'ray was saying as the Zabrak finished absorbing the history in that particular piece.
-
“Ahh, but friend, the crusade shall remember you! Fantastic! Fantastic. Jakko, good. Ropa,” they had decided Rue needed an identity close to his own, due to his inexperience in having a name at all, “my accounts.”
“Yes, Master.” Rue slunk to Alex’s knees and pulled a datapad out of the folds of his flimsy skirt-pants. Luka’s lightsaber was in there too, in case they had been searched at the entrance. He passed it to Alex with perfect obedience, then sunk back into his bow.
“I will just need your transfer codes…?”
Three things happened then.
Luka, after a quick and subtle signal to Bico with their fingers, found the nexu leaping into their lap. This of course “knocked” their glass from their hand, and the alcohol unfortunately splashed directly into the datapad, making a mess. It was a brilliant improvisation on their part, to cause an issue with payment until they could escape with at least the information Bril had gained.
But then, Rue’s tail flicked sharp and fast, once, the shining fur gleaming and flashing line warning lights. Bril tensed seeing it, readying his mind.
And then the Devoarian bartender from early approached, leading a small, grizzled, armed entourage. She called, “Boss? Those guys from the PLI are here to meet…you…”
W'ray’s irritated blue eyes widened, then narrowed.
Luka looked to Alex, uncertain of their next move. Ideas came to their mind but they needed the go-ahead to act.
However, Alex did not hesitate. After a brief shrug, he kicked over the table, spilling drinks and pinning W'ray beneath it. The loud crash brought the whole of the place to attention within an instant. Drinks were abandoned, weapons were drawn, and suddenly those just looking for a place to dance had other places to be.
With a warbling cry, the Nexu rose from where she lay and leaped at the Dashade just as he aimed his scatter gun at her master. The henchman’s shot went off as the creature latched onto his arm, and Luka ducked low as a shot blasted the back of their chair with slugs.
Once the bantha poodoo hit the fan, Bril didn’t hesitate to spring into action by setting his sights on the same fidgety human goon that he’d scouted earlier. As he’d expected, the man reached for his blaster, but never managed to pull it from his holster due to the zabrak’s hand locking around his wrist and pinning it against his wrist. The reinforced metal alloy of Bril’s mask smashed into the man’s face and made a bloody mess of his nose before a well-timed Force push sent him careening through the air and into a collection of tables and chairs to their left.
As soon as he dispatched one enemy, three more took his place, pushing past fleeing civilians desperate to remove themselves from the premises lest they be caught in the crossfire. When the men produced their blasters and began unloading with the hopes of hitting the armored Force adept, Bril had no choice but to brandish is cross guard saber to deflect the shots coming his way, paying particular attention to the ones that would have hit someone else instead of him. His armor could handle conventional blaster fire, but flesh and regular fabric worn by fleeing pedestrians could not. That’s when he had an idea. He’d read Rue’s file following their previous meeting, and now recalled that the man was proficient in the use of Force barriers.
“Rue! Focus on protecting civilians as they exit! Use your barriers!” Bril shouted.
Meanwhile, the dashade was whipping his arm violently to throw Biku off of it and raised it above his head as if he was going to slam the nexu down into the nearest table.
One of the firing thugs took aim at Alex, forcing him to dive behind a reinforced booth, which inadvertently gave Wray the space to push the table off of him. Once the shistavanen was on his feet, he rushed to the side to grab something metal from the floor, one of his favorite weapons: the power hammer.
“You picked the wrong one to kriff with,” he growled.
Once Bril’s saber was lit, it seemed subtlety was dead, at least in Luka’s opinion. They stuck out a hand towards Rue as the hybrid crouched low, not even trying to dodge the spray of slugs or plasma in either direction. He seemed to be focused solely on the order he’d been given, and shimmering silvery cornonas, like miniature opalescent moons, appeared around the fleeing people and around his teammates.
And, then, around W'ray and his goons too.
“Not them!” Luka gasped in exasperation as they summoned their saber from Rue’s side and lit it, twirling the blade to slice through the barrel of the Dashade’s scattergun where it stuck out of the barrier protecting him. Oddly enough, that very barrier seemed to implode slowly around it, fading and collapsing like it was being sucked into the tooth-lined black hole of the alien’s mouth. Viciously, Bico redoubled their attack, having bounced off one barrier but finding the Dashade perfectly suspectable to their claws raking foul blood and stoney flesh.
W'ray, meanwhile, seemed to recover from the use of such infamous magicks faster than his men; likely a figure who dealt with the Collective knew enough of their business to have seen some things. Especially one having so far escaped the Inquisitorious. He snarled, following through on his taunt by swinging the power hammer two-handed.
Bril stepped twice quickly back, retreating from the swing by mere centimeters that flapped at his robes. Instead the hammer crunched into the duracrete, cratering it and sending out a shockwave. The already toppled furniture was thrown, and Rue, thin as he was, was knocked entirely aside.
Thankfully, Alex was quick to catch him, breaking the hybrid’s fall against himself. It wouldn’t be comfortable with his armor, but it was better than the floor. His amicable expression was gone for the first time Rue had seen, expression firm as he aided their healer back to rights and gave him a gentle nudge towards the bar.
-
“Now, my friend, off you go,” he encouraged, one of two twin pistols entering his other hand. He fired it, and one of W'ray’s soldiers dropped. Rue made a wounded noise then, and he smiled. “It is on stun, dear boy, just for your wishes. Now go on. And please, do remove the shields from the enemy here. I swear on my honor we shan’t hurt them…”
One of the Dashade’s fingers sprayed ichorous blood as Bico tore it free with a vicious shake.
“…much.”
While Bico and Luka had their hands full with the Dashade in open and direct combat when their forte was more stealth oriented, Bril continued to keep W'ray busy. He too seemed to be making an effort at incapacitation, both for the sake of the bounty itself, his own beliefs, and perhaps Rue’s prayer for peace. He swiftly danced and stepped around the Shistavanen, kicking occasionally to try and disable W'ray with a leg lock or kick to the sternum, but the power hammer gave his opponent longer reach. Rotating his wrist, he telekinetically yanked at the weapon, finally just pulling it from W'ray’s hands and flinging it away. It crashed through one of the dancing Holo projectors with a crunch, metal and glass spraying, bottles and glasses exploding from the bar shelves as the firefight continued between the three parties. Thankfully, the team was protected, an outrageous number of shots beating against their barriers occasionally.
With a pleading gaze, Rue finally fled to cover. Alex turned back to the matter at hand.
Seeing a brief lull in the combat, Alex took a moment to assess the situation. The vast majority of the non-combatants had managed to make it safely away. That, at least, was one less matter of concern. W’ray’s forces had been diminished - only a couple of them left now and those were mostly occupied - and the real representatives of the PLI, as so often was the case with ill-informed reactionaries, were just attacking anyone present indiscriminately. This last caught his attention as he noticed a rifle being leveled at him. While so far the mystic barriers had kept them safe, he preferred not to press his luck and dove for cover behind a nearby booth.
Alex’s twin heavy blaster pistols Honor and Glory sprang to his hands. Fluff and faux-leather began to spray into the air from the cushions of the booth he had taken shelter behind and he counted silently in his head. He had clocked some telltale signs from the heavies in his brief opportunity to observe them before violence erupted and was making some assumptions about their habits.
Seven…eight…nine as the ninth blaster bolt impacted the bench, Alex sprang into action. Nine shots, three groupings of three, was an incredibly common firing pattern for people who had come up through street battles. It laid down cover for your allies, allowed you an opportunity to adjust your position between groups if needed, and didn’t run the risk of draining or overheating a cheap power pack by pushing it. Rolling over the top of the booth into a seated position, Alex was betting on not catching a blaster bolt to the chest. Luck, instinct and experience were on his side as he caught his assailant right in the middle of readjusting their aim. A quick squeeze of the firing stud on Honor and the thug now found himself minus one knee, and on the ground screaming in agony.
A little ways away, W’ray stood squaring off against Bril. The Zabrak had managed to disarm him for now, but the gangster was clearly seeking to rectify that situation. A feint which Bril read just a fraction of a second too late put him off balance, allowing for the lupine to slip past and across the room to reclaim his hammer. Now brandishing a glowing maul wreathed in what appeared to be a repulsor field, W’ray grinned viciously. The last of the PLI toughs, confused and overwhelmed at the sudden chaos of combat, rushed the Shistavenan and for his troubles was sent to lay in a crumpled heap on the floor. The hammer had completely caved in the man’s chest and Alex considered his approach carefully. There was no doubt he could likely handle one blow from that hammer - between his armor and his natural resilience, he was confident it wouldn’t take him out that quickly - but it was a matter of how badly he would be damaged by it and if he would still be able to do what needed to be done after the strike.
A deep breath, steeling his resolve and mentally preparing himself for what he knew he had to do. A burst of speed took him from the booth and across several feet to close with W’ray. The black market merchant saw him coming and, with a howl of victory, swung the massive hammer about. Confusion set in as the blow landed with a shuddering impact, sending a numbing tingle up W’ray’s arms. He had expected the man’s body to be sent flying but instead it was standing, stock still, as if the weapon had struck a wall. As the brief moment of shock cleared, a new issue came into focus - the barrel of a blaster mere inches from his left eye.
“I believe we were talking,” Alex choked out between gritted teeth, blood spilling down his face from either corner of his mouth. “Look at what your efforts have gotten you, Braylan.” The scene was one of monstrous destruction. The club itself was in tatters, torn to shreds by blaster fire, panicked flight, and the chaos of combat. W’ray’s men and his buyers lay strewn about, disabled, damaged, if not outright dead. The entirety of it was scarcely better than a warzone, though fortunately the impact on non-combatants had been minimal. “I can, at least, now dispense with the pretense. As you may surmise, we are not with the People’s Liberation Initiative. We are representatives of…let us call it a concerned organization, which is none too happy with the way you have been behaving. They have some questions about your relationships with the Collective and the Severian Principate. Consider yourself lucky that it is us who found out about this, and you are dealing with someone who wants you alive.” The Shistavenan’s muscles tensed as if considering another strike. Alex put pressure on the firing stud of Glory, just enough for the telltale hum of power transference to begin without fully firing. “I said want, not need. Do not for a moment mistake that I am unwilling to empty the contents of your skull across the bartop and report my mission as a failure.” The grip on the hammer loosened and the whine of the blaster died down to follow suit. “To continue, I assure you, your friends in the aforementioned organizations would not be nearly so cordial about matters were they the ones to discover your soaking your beak in two fountains.”
A deep cough from Alex caused a renewed gush of blood to pour over his chin, but he spoke on regardless albeit with a gurgle to his usual casual drawl. “You are coming with us. Now. And if you are lucky, and our employers find your answers favorable, you may even find your way back here some day.” A steely gaze bore directly into the wolfman’s eyes as a crimson-stained grin split Alex’s features. “Though I make no promises if you choose to resist any further.” The clatter of the power hammer dropping to the floor was the only response given.
In the pause that followed, punctuated by dribbling blood, alcohol, bass music playing to a floor empty of dancers, and groans of pain, a flash of glimmering color emerged back from behind the bar. Rue skittered across the pockmarked floor of debris and cushion corpses, leaving bloody footprints in the glass uncaring as he dropped down beside the tough whose kneecap had been obliterated.
At least, mostly. Bico seemed to have found a tendon to chew on, and was prowling in circles around Luka as the Human recovered from their own battle, licking her chops. Bril, meanwhile, deactivated his saber and quickly took in the scene, analyzing details and casualties, running through all that was just revealed and W'ray’s surrender. He quickly prioritized his team, giving a visual check of Luka and getting a nod from them before he moved over to Rue.
“Easy. Rest. Don’t try anything,” he warned the gangster who was waking again from a blood-let faint, his knee restitching itself under Rue’s touch. The healing on display was incredible, the Zabrak noted. When Rue finished, he quickly moved to scurry to the next and the next, but Bril stopped him. “Easy. You’re hurt too.”
“The others,” the hybrid insisted. He was crying, Bril realized, tears on his cheeks. “This one– I didn’t want this. I did not want violence. Sir Captain Alex– promised. And then.”
- And then broke it.
Bril grimaced. Attempting to tell the hybrid they had not been given another choice seemed disingenuous, or to point out that Alex had only been placating him in the moment. He took a different tact to the religious man, “The Force willed it this way. They placed us all here, including you, to heal what was broken after the violence. Alright? I’ll help you with the most injured, but then we need to go. Right?”
“…yessir,” it was the smallest whisper, the hybrid folding in. “Triage. Yes.”
“Go on then. But don’t drain yourself, Rue.”
“Is that an order for this one, Sir?”
Bril’s stomach churned. But he had been the leader of his team for months now.
“Yes, it is. Take care.”
Rue bowed, then went off to the next most grievously wounded. Bril turned and exchanged looks with Luka, who made a subtle gesture to the door as if to say they would secure the exit. Bril nodded back, then went over to Alex, drawing stuncuffs from his belt.
“Are you alright?”
The blood Alex was spewing seemed to indicate otherwise, but he smiled with cheer again nonetheless as Bril cuffed the growling Shistavanen.
“Nothing a good rest and a glass of abrax cannot fix. Steven will have me will in hand.”
“You should let Rue see you.”
“I’ll do that.”
They departed not long after, urgent with their prisoner in tow, sending word of the victory on through Envoy channels.
It felt mixed, Bril reflected as he wrote the report, of a success. But it was what they had, and W'ray would be in the Brotherhood’s hands now.
They’d done their job.
They could only hope to have done it well.