**Coruscant **
At the center of the Galaxy, The Jewel of the Core Worlds itself burned bright on the horizon sooner than any planet. With the glare of buzzing neon lights creating geometric chaos across the surface, the planet was unmistakable as it was huge. A sprawling city built upon city and cities, layering enough that one could live an entire human lifespan without seeing the sun. This wasn’t the case for the legion corvettes, freighters and all the way down to personal vessels that swooped back and forth from the atmosphere. Though the millions traversing through gravity were nothing to the trillions below on the planet surface. Humans predominately inhabited it but any number of species could be spotted just in a short trip on the surface, should one be looking.
Navigating through the crowd of ships, almost undetected until coming into physical view of neighbouring vessels, was a questionably piloted Chevlex Haulcraft. It calmed the closer it’s path took it to the atmosphere, but the queue left room for fidgeting that manifested in dips and slips, sneaking ahead of unsuspecting tourists.
Afterall, Zuza Lottson’s Friend-Ship was on a mission.
“Seriously, Anders, you’re recognisable. If ya wear some make up, some contacts, I won’t make ya do a wig but you’d fit in way better!” Zuza leaned back, taking her eyes off of the ‘road’ to look back at the group of people in the room behind the cockpit.
Kyros Velaris was sat firmly in a seat, with Frond, a large crimson Cythraul, laid beside the seat facing away from the Ambassador. He smiled politely, gripping the arms as he watched the pair converse. Kyros was lucky in only having to lean slightly to see past the green-clad Circe, her arms crossed and presumably glaring while perfectly maintaining her balance. It was hard to tell, really, with the face wrap of her assassin armour thoroughly performing it’s duty.
Finally the target of Zuza’s shenanigans, Anderson, the Chiss Combat Master of the Brotherhood watched unimpressed, eyes widening ever so slightly as he watched Zuza turn, “Eyes on the route!”
Zuza rolled her eyes on their way to proper placement, leaning back in her chair with a leg over the arm. “I’m still right. We should do it before leave, no one’ll think twice about us sitting around for a bit.”
“Absolutely not!” Anders folded his arms across his chest and huffed indignantly. “I have been a member of the Inquisitorius for over a decade and never have I had to resort to such measures!”
Zuza shrugged. “I’m just sayin’…”
“Eyes on the route, Zuza!” Anders pointed ahead.
“Whoops!”
The ship veered back into the correct lane. Truly, with how easy it was to distract the former Shadow Lady, it was nothing short of a miracle from the Force that they had not crashed and burst into flames.
Judging by the short sigh by Ms. Circe Orvar, he was not the only one who drew that conclusion. She had remained relatively silent up until now. The lessons of his old Master rang true in his mind;
The quiet ones are always the most dangerous.
Given what he knew of Circe, that was more than accurate.
Speaking of quiet, that was the perfect descriptor for one Kyros Velaris. Anders had spared the man a wandering glance every now and then on their journey, and each time Kyros returned his curiosity with the exact same smile.
There was something peculiar about that smile and his eyes that seemingly shimmered in the light of the ship. Anders could not pinpoint why.
It was nothing. It had to be. Mere suspicions of an unknown character on an important mission. That was all.
The Friend-Ship, as Zuza aptly named it, shuddered before coming to a stop.
“Finally…” Anders murmured as the ramp to the shuttle lowered.
The unnatural wind of the lower levels of Coruscant seemed so familiar, yet foreign to him at the same time. The air was warm, yet was spoiled by the stench. The cleanliness of the platforms of the higher levels was but a dream down in the dredges of Coruscant. To think, this planet was once home to him.
“Stay close. Do not speak unless spoken to, or I give the command,” Anders looked to Zuza first, who gave a thumbs up, then to Circe, who was as expressionless as ever under her mask. Then finally, Kyros, with that damned smile.
Kyros Velaris noted an eagerness in his companions’ steps as they worked their way through the endless throngs of civilians, at this level a crowd of low lives and thugs, each one moving about their life of insignificance with complete and utter disregard for others around them. Anders and Circe led the march, both of them focused, their mission ethic a leash around their neck guiding them forth. Zuza followed in tow, sprightly swerving on her heels to soak in the sights, gaze darting this way and that as a thousand points of interest vied for her attention at once. Somehow, she managed to keep up with her companions.
For his part, Kyros was in no hurry. He trailed the group at a controlled distance, keeping them in his sight even as he allowed himself a moment to witness modern day Coruscant. A spectacle bathed in shadows and neon lights, a sea of wretches milling about metal walkways as starships and speeders carved the air above their heads. The voices of beggars pleading for alms intermingled with that of desperate merchants hawking their pitiable goods, all of it drowned out by the din of civilization. It was just as he remembered it—putrid, overcrowded, and vile. The birthplace of a once proud Republic sat unchanged despite the years, the epochs, drowning in the same perpetual state of civil rot in which he had left it. A sour realization accentuated by the acrid stench of poverty and lawlessness which danced in his nostrils, drawing a sneer to his lips.
A digital bleep from up ahead drew his attention back to their de facto leader, Anders. The Chiss had stopped and now stood huddled with Zuza and Circe. He had his head down, hands cupped around an electronic device, fingers tapping away with efficiency. The device emitted another beep and he pulled something out of it, which he promptly handed to Circe. As he approached, Kyros recognized it as some type of identification card. A forgery, no doubt. Yet another beep and Anders passed a second one to Zuza. Then it was his turn.
“That will not be necessary. I have my own credentials, I assure you,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. A twitch of Anders’ blue lips made the next words a necessity. “Worry not, my friend. I am committed to this endeavor. Let me remind you, I may not yet be a member of your Brotherhood, but I am most eager to demonstrate the value of my friendship.”
Red eyes lingered on him a moment longer, to which he offered his best smile. A tightening in his brow but Anders seemed placated otherwise, if only for the moment. Kyros had no illusions concerning the Chiss. This so-called Combat Master wore his suspicions on his sleeves but he was highly perceptive. If there was one thing Kyros Velaris respected, it was a sharp, inquisitive mind. This was without a doubt the beginning of a long game of Dejarik between the two of them. Kyros would have to be careful around him, but for now, the Chiss seemed content to discard the forgery and craft one of his own. A final beep and, once satisfied, he walked on.
“As agreed, we will part ways once we reach our destination. I will head for the Security Office to engage the commanding officer. With luck, credits slipped into the right palm will save us unnecessary effort and, dare I say, bloodshed.”
Anders nodded over his shoulder.
“We’ll meet with the defector,” he said.
Circe looked between the two men, only the light flicker in her helmet eyes betraying that she was looking back and forth. She knew Anders from other missions, but this Kyros guy was a new one. She wasn’t sure what to think of him just yet, though his words said that he could be trusted. We will see how true that is, she thought silently.
The small group continued, Anders silently leading the group on and Kyros falling in last. The assassin frowned slightly at Zuza having a hard time focusing on the mission, she hoped that she would have better focus when the mission really started. To her she felt like a child on a sugar rush.
“This is where I leave,” Kyros stated as they reached the destination. “Good luck.” With that Kyros veered off and left their group.
Now we will see how well each of us will do.
Zuza as typical had been toward the back of the group, glancing over as Kyros announced his departure. They were pretty close to the meet up point, so she simply gave a confirming nod. It made a good signal, the petite woman shifting her loitering path to detach from the crowd to properly walk with Circe and Anders. Yet she took no more than a step before-
“Zuza? Is that you?”
She turned on heel before a grin split across her face, “Neema! No way.”
She glanced toward Anders back, noting the direction before focusing on the young man calling out. He waited for the masses to leave a gap before catching up to Zuza, the pair finding an edge of the walkway. It was far from private or undisturbed, so Zuza didn’t keep her gaze directly on Anders tall ass figure, but she kept note of the distance. Neema looked as he did, but stronger. Happier. She smiled up at him.
“I’m in a rush today so I can’t stop but-”
“When aren’t you in a rush?” Neema laughed, crossing his arms across his chest.
Zuza snorted, dipping her head before nudging him with her elbow, “Hey it’s been years I coulda gotten more chill now.”
A moment passed before the pair laughed again. Zuza caught her breath first, waving a hand through the air, “No seriously I can’t stick to chat. Though- Did you get the smithy to yaself yet?”
“I did, if you’re still doing odd jobs for collections we’re expanding now. My old man ain’t happy about it but he’ll live. He’d be happy to see a Lottson supplier still on our records.”
“My dad does some still, he hasn’t changed his details or anything. Not me though. Are your codes still the same?”
“That they are. Don’t be a stranger or I’ll tell your dad when I call him.”
Zuza rolled her eyes, sticking her tongue out at Neema before dipping back into the crowd. He lowered his arms, watching for a moment before carrying on his own way. She waved, then walked quickly but indirectly toward the duo. It was only when she was within a few meters that she slowed, enough to catch up but seem as if her path were blocked by the Chiss and armoured woman ahead.
It was only as they came up to a small, seemingly abandoned, shop front that Zuza stepped up on Anders right . It was the details they’d been given, slipping into an alley to use a side door for entry. And within, stood Ce'celia Lathos. The pale, blue skinned Twi-Lek had placed herself toward a wall, fingers tapping her arm as she watched the trio enter. She stood straighter, raising her chin, “I was told there was four of you.”
“There were four of us. Now there are three,” Anders deadpanned, not even offering a scoff of indignation at her stating the obvious.
Instead, he took note of the tapping of the Twi'Leks fingers upon her arm, the shuffling of her feet upon the duracrete floor, and the way she bit her bottom lip. Her attempted bravado had not gone unnoticed. The room itself was dark, damp, humid, and she had presumably been here for some time if the sweat upon her brow was any indication.
“Miss. Lathos, I presume?” Anders’ eyes narrowed on her when she confirmed with a nod. “Something is ailing you.”
Again, not a question, but an observation.
“I mean… it is hot in here?” Zuza shrugged.
“Where is your fourth?” Ce'Celia’s eyes darted towards the door the trio entered in, then back to the Chiss.
“Taking care of other important matters that will ensure our success,” Anders offered a small smile.
He hoped that was what Velaris was doing.
“Good… Good…” Ce'Celia rubbed her arm and took a deep breath. “I’m sorry. You don’t understand. Bhoc, he’s killed people. He has guys everywhere. He’s a madman, but he’s a clever piece of bantha dung. If he knew I was here with you…”
“We won’t let anything happen. Right, Circe?” Zuza gave Circe a small nudge with her elbow, which received a small glare in response. “See?”
Anders pursed his lips. “We will ensure your survival until the success of this operation. That is why we are here.”
“That’s not good enough!” Ce'celia snapped back at them, her eyes wide, bloodshot like a rabid animal. “I want your word that when all of this is done, when you’re all about to leave, you will take me with you. That’s the only way this is gonna work.”
The Twi'Lek folded her arms across her chest in some form of petty defiance. Who did this woman think she was? She was in no position to be making any demands of them whatsoever!
The Chiss’ lips flattened into a line on his face. He coiled the dark power that flowed within him, gathering it in his very words.
“Y-”
“That’ll be fine!” Zuza stepped between them. “Theres plenty of room on the ship. It’s a deal. Right, Anders?”
Zuza shot him a pleading look, and then Circe too for aid. Damn that look. Having comrades was making him soft.
“Very well. A deal is a deal,” he sighed and gestured to Ce'cilia. “You know where the camera footage is. Lead the way.”
It had been some time now since Kyros had parted ways with the rest of the crew. Long enough for him to cross a network of walkways and alleys, finally emerging from the crowds before the security office. A breathless liberation akin to the sensation one felt when taking their first breath after being submerged. First, a sigh of relief, then Kyros Velaris grimaced, disdain thick on his curled lips. He cursed under his breath as he brushed imaginary dirt out of his silken coat, a strong desire to scrub the filth of lower society from him overtaking him. He feared he would never get the stench of this wretched place out of his clothes.
He puffed his cheeks, blew the air out in a half-snarl, then slipped the mask of smiles back onto his face.
The mask of good, well-intentioned Kyros Velaris.
Now freed from the surge of bodies, he climbed up a ramp onto a platform that led towards the security station. A pair of speeders were parked on either side of the platform, armored vehicles equipped with overhead lights, the word security painted in bold aurebesh on their wings. The area was otherwise empty save for a maintenance droid working on one of the speeders, arc-wielder sending a shower of sparks onto the duracreet floor. It made sense that the level’s population would avoid running afoul of the so-called Coruscant Underworld Police. The only civilians likely to be found around the station at any given moment were miscreants being dragged to jail or ones being released.
The station itself was an outpost, not the main headquarters which would be found on an entirely different level. It was a stout bunker, admirably well defended with active turrets atop, and ray shield projectors built into the platform itself. It had neon signs on each face, the unmistakable insignia of the Coruscant Underworld Police on full display in bright gold. A pair of guards waited before the entrance, vibro-axe in hand, blaster carbine on their hip. Kyros noted the sorry state of their armor, its black and yellow plates sorely neglected, the metal dinged and scratched, paint flaking from their plastron.
They stepped shoulder to shoulder as he approached, effectively blocking his path. He opened his arms wide in a theatrical flourish then he served them a wide, full-toothed smile, the illusion of good humor, before he greeted them. “Well met, officers. I am looking to—”
“Beat it, citizen,” barked the taller of the two in a deep slur voice, a voice that marked him as Klatooinian.
“My friend, do I look like a common citizen to you?” Kyros asked as he motioned to his elegantly-fitted clothes in a show of indignation.
“Uh, no,” the guard admitted. “Beat it, rich boy.”
How dare you, maggot?
His smile faltered but for a fleeting moment, curling into a sneer, the urge to reach out with the Force and choke the life from this pitiful worm almost overwhelming. Alas, he knew it would only complicate matters. He had gone to great lengths to conceal his connection to the Force from all he encountered, particularly the Brotherhood agents who had accompanied him to Coruscant. To falter now over such frivolous disrespect would jeopardize everything he strove to achieve. In lieu of violence, he opted for a most amused chuckle.
“Alas, I fear I must insist. It is of the utmost importance that I speak with your captain.” Kyros leaned in closer, which caused the pair to tense up, their grip tightening around their vibro-axe. They were not accustomed to having their authority tested in such a manner. He spoke in a hushed, honeyed tone but the threat was sharper than any dagger, “I am certain clever gentlemen such as yourselves comprehend the consequences of obstruction of justice, yes?”
The Klatooinian grunted, then the two exchanged glances. The short one gave a stiff nod.
“Go on in,” he said, stepping aside with a clatter of armor.
“I’m keeping an eye on you, rich boy,” the other said, all but spitting the last words. Finally, he too, moved out of his way.
Two bodies found in the waste compactor. The thought amused Kyros, landing a touch of authenticity to his widening grin.
The blast doors to the station slid open before him with a grating of metal, revealing a spacious office inside. Screens and consoles lined the walls, each one cycling footage from cameras set up throughout the level. A set of stairs ran around the periphery of the chamber, leading down to what could only be jail cells below. At the center of the room, a raised dais with a durasteel desk, and behind the desk, a twig of man with a hooked nose and a thick, scraggly beard. With the blue light of a hundred screens shining down on his pasty skin, accentuating the sharp lines of his face, the man appeared ancient. His black and yellow armor hung on his bones like metal pots and pans off of a scarecrow, but the captain’s stripes were clear as day on his yellow pauldrons.
“What is it?” he said with a rasp as Kyros entered.
“Esteemed captain,” Kyros said, offering a curt bow, “I am ambassador Kyros Velaris of Lotide. I come to you with a matter of utmost urgency.”
With a hesitant nod and a quick glance between the people before her she started to move. For her sake she hoped they were true to their words and kept her safe. The rest of the group fell in line behind and next to her, to make them look more like a travelling group.
Circle didn’t like it at all, but at least Zuza seemed to have found her more serious side, except for the pleading look of hers. She couldn’t believe Anders caved for that look so quickly, but at least they would be lead towards the security room.
Ce'cilia halted the group and glanced around the corner before turning towards them, “We need to get to the other side of this area, but there are guards on the walls. It’s like a prison here.”
“That shouldn’t be a problem for long,” Circe said, her voice even, but a smirk on her face hidden behind her visor. “Wait here.” Circe pulled the shadows around her and stalked away.
“That is creepy” the Twi'lek said as she watched the assassin disappear.
Anders shook his head, “Just doing what she likes best.”
The Sephi snuck through the room between boxes and other large items and found a lone wandering guard. A grin creeped over her face as she snaked her fingers around the hilt of her dagger. Getting closer she quickly moved in for the kill, covering his mouth as well as planting a dagger between his ribs. She brought him down silently and moved him aside, looking up as she heard more foot steps. Pulling her shadows back around her she heard the steps coming from above her.
Using a container, she quickly got up onto the small catwalk and went after her next target, but halted just in time when a large Trandoshan came around the corner.
“You need Rick?” the brute asked. “No, he should be down there,” the other answered with a dismissive gesture.
“No answer.”
The other shrugged again, “Nothing new there.”
The Trandoshan snorted and peered down into the dimly lit area, “He needs to …” Before he could finish a deep darkness fell over them. Quickly Circe moved in, unbothered by it as the guards stumbled about. Quickly she took out the smaller guard, while the Trandoshan was wildly flailing his weapon about. Ducking under his swing she thrust her dagger upward and into his head, taking him out. She caught him before he would tumble over the edge and cause even more noise than he already had been doing. She just hoped the rest wouldn’t be on high alert now.
It was hard to tell, the guards didn’t increase in density but with ruthless progression Circe kept the way as clear as she could. Certainly, there was no stomping of dozens of boots that indicated a silent alarm had sounded.
Ce'cilia walked close to Anders and Zuza, the trio making steady progress through the path. Circe returned every so often, a glimmer that quickly slipped ahead once more after confirming she was on the right path. If one looked, they could still see the remnants of her work. In the Force, their deaths were pungent and for those of keen eyes… The flicker of a reflection highlighting a pool of blood just out of peripheral vision. A still wobbling door or chain, a misplaced weapon that still wavered in place after skittering across the floor.
Yet, with voices dropping from the check ins a group began to follow that same path. Perhaps half a dozen guards, Anders glancing back over his shoulder as they came close enough that their approach disturbed the Force.
“We appear to have company.” The Sith announced, slowing to a halt and still barely facing toward the group.
Zuza ushered Ce'celia to take a few steps further, drawing her vibro-arbir blades configured together. She moved, as if to slip into the shadows when she noticed Anders still standing in the middle of the tunnel. She stepped back out under the light, watching as the figures became shadows just within view.
“Are we just, badassing this?”
“Language, Miss Lottson.” He spoke, a note of frustration drawing out each syllable.
“Really?” Zuza laughed, “Come on, ya know me.”
Anders looked at her, something indescribable in his gaze as he seemed to stare right through Zuza and into her soul. She cleared her throat, looking instead to the growing figures. The arbir-blades were placed behind her back, out of sight from the direct onlooker.
After a moment, he sighed, “We are being efficient and silent, allowing them to approach us and feel overtly at ease before striking. Miss Lathos, please refrain from utilising your blaster unless absolutely necessary.”
“We’re almost there.” Ce'celia lowered the pistol, releasing a slow breath as she retreated to crouch behind a pile of scrapped crates.
The group of guards approached with weapons raised, “Declare yourselves!”
“We are a little lost, it seems.” Anders answered. He was way too smug, a cat watching a mouse enclosing and unable to disguise the thrill of a set ambush. The guards hesitated.
Zuza raised her hands, biting the insides of her cheeks and looking up at the guards, fear shining in her eyes, “Please help. I think someone got stabbed.”
They glanced to each other, one stepping forward towards the woman, “That’s the concern ma'am but you need to-”
The guard choked on a arbir blade as it penetrated his throat.
“Sorry I got ahead of meself, I think someone is going to get stabbed and… oh he’s dead-” Zuza tugged, releasing the body. She ducked as Anders swept forward, the pulse of energy emitting from him too close to comfort in such close quarters. The closest of the group were thrown back, helmets cracking against the duracrete and plasteel surroundings. The remaining two began to run, Anders began to raise his hand for another strike when the form of Zuza slipped past him. She caught up within a few seconds, slicing for the arm of the closest as he raised a commlink. Crying out in pain, she swivelled on heel and used the momentum to slam the blade into the rib cage. It stuck, Zuza tugged sideways unable to release it quickly.
“KARK!”
As the guard shakily raised his blaster, the pair of blades clicked and Zuza grasped his hand, forcing the blaster up before shoving the elongated dagger Arbir blade through the guard’s eye. He dropped to his knees before falling forward, blood pooling from his skull. Zuza turned and retrieved her blade and returned to the group at a harried jog. Anders had cleanly finished off those on the ground, raising an eyebrow at Zuza on her return.
“He didn’t get to tell anyone,” She supplied before the Chiss could even ask and got a nod of affirmation.
“Then we best hurry.”
Ce'celia looked shaken when they approached her to continue leading, though she was right. A few more twists and turns met them with Circe once again. The Sephi waited, eerily still yet her disdain far from silent.
“So let me get this straight,” the old captain said, leaning back in his chair with an air of nonchalance, one hand running through the knots of his beard, the other cradling the back of his head. A crooked smile betrayed his dubiousness as he continued, “You’re telling me that you’ve got some damning security footage you’d like erased from our secure databases.”
“Correct,” Kyros answered calmly with a nod. He stood, feet squared, hands crossed behind his back, his shoulders loose, relaxed, projecting an air of calm confidence for the old man’s benefit. He ignored the two guards standing on the edge of his vision, glaring a hole into his back since he had first explained the situation to their captain. From the corner of his eye, he noted that one of them had a hand on his blaster, though it remained holstered for the time being.
“And that’s your friends causing trouble down there?”
As if on cue, a console emitted a new series of shrill beeps. The nearest guard turned to look at the console, tapped a command on the screen. He announced, “they’re calling for more reinforcements in sector 39-E. That’s the servers again, sir.”
“Ignore that request, my good captain, and I’ll make it worth your while,” confirmed Kyros.
The captain shifted, leaning forward in his seat. The ambassador did not miss the hand that slipped from the old man’s beard and disappeared beneath the desk. A heartbeat later the entrance swished open, the Klatooinian and his companion entering, vibro-axe in hand, the tip of their blades pointed at him. He looked over his shoulder to them and offered them a smile as if he did not notice their weapons. He said, “Ah yes, hello again, my hospitable friends.”
The captain held his hand up causing the guards to pause. Then he said, “You’ve got thirty seconds to tell me exactly why I shouldn’t cuff you and send these boys out to intercept your friends?”
“To avoid further bloodshed, of course. As I indicated to your guards earlier, I am no ordinary citizen. I am certain that you can surmise, from my efforts to come to this filthy drukhole and meet you in person, that this regrettable incursion is of great importance to myself and my associates. While I cannot offer specifics, as you will understand they are quite confidential, I can assure you that I am quite generous. So generous indeed, that I am eager to recompense each and everyone of you upstanding guardsmen for your silence.”
“I knew you were trouble, rich boy,” growled the Klatooinian, who was the first to move, jabbing the tip of his axe at him. Kyros stood his ground without shifting or tensing up.
“Wait,” said the old man, rolling his mustache between his fingers. The guard stopped in his tracks. Kyros saw them exchanging glances. “How much?”
“Boss, you can’t be ser—” said the Klatooinian.
“Shut up,” the old man hissed, eyes bulging. The guard did as ordered, but that did not keep the growl from his throat. “You heard him. Further bloodshed. We’re not dealing with common thugs here, Glork.”
“Indeed, you are not,” confirmed Kyros.
“How much?” The Captain was leaning on the edge of his seat now, his greed like an aura pulsating about him. Kyros had played him like a finely-tuned halikset, and now, he was dangling on his very whims.
“I dare say, enough for you to retire and live fat until the end of your days.”
Death. Pain. Anguish. These, the Dark Side of the Force fed on like a ghastly apparition at a banquet. The blood pooled onto the duracrete floor from the guards killed by both Circe and Zuza previously, turning the once plain duracrete into a crimson river. Anders felt the end of life and the chill of darkness run up and down his spine. The hairs on his arms stood on end, his heart thumping in his chest with each swing of a blade.
It was glorious. If only Aphotis were here to revel in the despair.
Scum deserved no less. It was justice.
His boots were stained red with the blood of the fallen.
Ce'celia had stared wide-eyed at the carnage. She had gone pale, her mouth hung open.
“Miss Lathos, unless you desire to witness further bloodshed, I would recommend you deliver us to our objective. now.” Anders’ eyes narrowed on her.
“Yeah… right…” Ce'celia swallowed the lump in her throat, but carried on. Anders noticed her lack of confidence, a sign of weakness.
Pathetic.
Within minutes, they reached a set of blast doors that, much to the surprise of the group, was open. The reinforcements had stopped. Why had they stopped?
Anders knew the answer the moment he asked himself the question.
“Through here,” Ce'celia pointed. “We just need to access the footage, wipe it, then get the hell out of here.”
“This is too easy,” Anders muttered under his breath.
Blasters surrounded them followed by an army of hurried footsteps.
They were surrounded, trapped, and outnumbered with rifles aimed at their heads.
One man stepped forward, a Trandoshan with a smile so cold it made Hoth feel like a tropical paradise.
Bhoc Vedmat.
“Ce'celia, you really are just a spineless piece of Hutt slime, aren’t ya? Thanks for bringing them here though. Gives us some masterminds to pin all this on.”
His grunts laughed behind him as he narched forward and punched Anders in the gut.
Circe tilted her head slightly as Bhoc moved, before he could land a second punch, she backhanded him across his face so hard that he stumbled back.
“I… cough want a word… cough with him,” Anders said between wheezes and coughs as he slumped to one knee.
“Got it,” Circe said as she dodged incoming fire, “I suggest a dance of death, Zuza.”
Zuza laughed and had already moved in between the crossfire which made the guards fire each other, instead of hitting her. Yells of annoyance and directions were yelled among them, but they just couldn’t get the over happy squirrel with her knives.
Moving in with her they became a deadly duo taking out the guards as if they were thrown in a meat grinder. Some of them started to move away from them, trying to get either away or create more distance between them to be able to use their firearms again. It didn’t matter to them, Zuza and Circe would just split up and get their own group of guards.
Meanwhile Anders had gotten up and glared down at Bhoc, who was glaring back at him in return.
The flash of lights in his peripheral vision, the stench of tibanna gas from the discharge of blaster fire, the high-pitched wailing in his ears…
The pain in his gut.
Bhoc had struck him. Actually struck him as if he had any right in the galaxy to lay his filthy, dirty, grime-covered claws on him. How dare he. How dare he.
Oh, how the Darkness coiled inside him, the once crimson glow of his eyes suddenly taking on an amber sheen. Bhoc recoiled for half a moment. Anders was reflected in his slit iris’ like a bad omen.
Bhoc lunged forward, nails like daggers as he went to stab Anders in the face.
The Combat Master, however, had other ideas. A ripple, like the pluck of a string warned him of the inevitable. With a pulse of his power, the Trandoshan careered across the hallway, slamming spine first into the nearby duracrete wall.
“Zuza, Miss Orvar, cover me,” Anders did not look back at them as he sulked forward, grasping the hilt of his lightsaber.
He activated the weapon, the hissing sound piercing like a needle.
Whilst they had taken the upper hand, thanks mostly to the element of surprise, Bhoc’s men were far greater in number.
“Anders! You’ll have to make it quick!” Zuza yelled as Circe deflected blaster bolts away from them with her own emerald-coloured lightsaber.
Quick it was to be, then.
The Chiss’ shadow loomed over Bhoc, the Trandoshan snarling as he reached for his blaster. With a snap of his wrist, Anders severed the barrel. Upon closer inspection, the insignia of the Brotherhood was emblazed upon it for all to see.
He tightened the Force around Bhoc’s throat and forced him up onto his feet.
“Where did you get these?” Anders went straight to the point.
“Eat… bantha spit…” Bhoc choked.
Anders tightened his grip around his throat. How dare this scum talk to him in such a manner. Did he not realise who he was dealing with?
“ANDERS!” Zuza screamed at the top of her lungs.
Anders lost focus for only a moment, but it was enough for him to lose his grip on Bhoc as a tiny, spherical object rolled by his feet. Smoke suddenly surrounded them. His eyes stung in the dark clouds, and all he could hear was streaking death in the form of plasma, and footsteps scurrying away.
“Sir, it’s a warzone down there,” announced the guard who was working the console.
He tapped a command and a hologram appeared over the captain’s desk, playing back footage of the ongoing battle. Sure enough, Kyros recognized his associates of the Brotherhood, weapons ablaze defending against a group of thugs which he did not recognize.Unexpected, he thought. The guard wasn’t exaggerating. A warzone, indeed. They were outnumbered three to one but something shifted and Anders had one of them in his grip. The image froze on the thug’s features. A Trandoshan. Him, Kyros recognized.
“Bhoc Vedmat,” growled the captain. “I am sorry, ambassador, but this is bigger than you. I cannot accept your offer. Glork, restrain our guest.”
“How unfortunate,” sighed Kyros.
There was a clanking of boots behind him, the Klatooinian approaching, reaching for him, a chuckle in his throat. Kyros veered on him, slipping in past the effective range of the vibro-axe as he opened himself to the Force. It rushed to him, darkness flooding his heart, rolling off of him in waves. His ice-blue gaze locked on the Klatooinian’s visor, his smile all fangs. With a wave of his hand, he claimed dominion over the guard’s mind.
“Kill them,” he hissed.
There was little resistance. Weak-willed, the Klatooinian twisted away. Lunging, he buried the blade of his vibro-axe into his short companion’s chest with a wet slap and the crack of armor and bones.
The room erupted into chaos, their confusion and panic vibrant and delicious in the Force. The Klatooinian charged the nearest living guard even as the others opened fire. A pinprick of danger in the Force, Kyros side-stepped, bolts exploding in a puff of smoke and sparks on the durasteel wall behind him. More blaster bolts pelted the Klatooinian but not before he managed to take out a second guard. They collapsed together in a heap of armor and black carbon smoke, both of them dead. The last guard turned to his console, no doubt to call for reinforcements.
“Captain, if you will,” said Kyros with a second wave of his hand, his voice calm, a sinister ripple underpinning his words.
Kyros could sense the old man vying for control, desperate to resist, his eyes bulging as he stared him down, his will stronger than that of his guard. It was all quite futile. Lips quivering, weapon quaking in his grip, the captain turned the blaster on his guard. Pulled the trigger. A burst of red plasma and the guard died on his console.
“What have I done?” squealed the captain as he slumped down in his chair, blood draining from his face.
“You should have taken my offer, good captain,” said Kyros. “Now, end this.”
This time, there was no resistance, only despair. The old man brought the blaster to his head.
As heat was provided in burst around them, the smoke spreading quickly in a rising cloud within the room.
“THAT WASN’T KARKING QUICK!” Zuza yelled across the room, the scolding diffused under the audible relief in her voice as Anderson came back into view. It had just been a smoke.
The chaos was far from over, even as the alarms seemed to fail to call in more help for the group here. Circe fired over the Sith, a opportunistic fighter falling backwards with a skull cracking thud against the floor. Not that there was much left behind the smoking hole between their eyes. Anders pushed back those closest, stepping into the theatre of battle like the deus ex machina hero any Force User could be. The red glare of his lightsaber allowed no cowards to escape its fury.
Zuza was weaving between them, unable to stop long enough to confirm kills but keeping them moving. Keeping them distracted. It was working, the blaster bolts flying through the air thinning between the trio’s efforts until she found herself on the other side of the enemy from her allies. Those who noticed turned, surrounding the lone Human. Her Arbir blades slipped between flesh and bone, sinew flying through the air as it was torn in twain.
A hand yanked at her wrist, Zuza’s swing falling short of it’s target. She clicked to release the blades from each other, driving it into the Kiffar’s arm but another arm slipped in front of her, yanking her backwards before she could pull the blade back out. Slamming her head backwards did little, the arm shifting to constrict her throat.
It was Zuza reached for Phausis that the bastard laughed into her ear, “Neema had to get back to the shop but he said hi. You don’t mind right?”
She froze, it felt as if the entire world did for a moment.
Ce'celia Lathos had not, firing 3 shots from her heavy blaster pistol. They burned the top of Zuza’s hair as they struck directly into the thug grappling her.
The Twi-Lek retreated back toward the wall, firing several more rounds as Zuza regained her momentum, flashing Ce'celia a smile that didn’t reach her eyes. Yet it was only a breath that passed before Anders swept through the remaining crowd. Circe stole those toward the edges, keeping from the direct line of fire as her kills slowed to the final man.
They sobbed, grasping at the floor to crawl away. Circe hooked up their shoulder with her boot, looking down at the masked guard before executing him. That flash of red was the last noise before the room fell into silence.
Anders turned to lay his gaze on Ce'celia, surprisingly finding the woman already at the access point. She swiped a card presenting a face that certainly wasn’t hers.
The ladies joined up with Anderson Zuza unsurprisingly broke the silence, “Why isn’t there more of ‘em?”
The alarms, as if on cue, turned off.
Before Zuza could get an answer, Ce'celia barged past her. It was a good question. Why were there not any more of them? Perhaps Bhoc had issued a retreat once he realised that his attempts at capturing several elite members of the Brotherhood had gone up in smoke.
Bhoc…
Just his name alone sent hot streams of blood coursing through Anders’ veins. That Trandoshan was scum of the highest order. He should have killed him. He had him trapped, secured. No escape. Yet, he had broken free because…
He glanced at Zuza and Circe. He had gotten softer. He did not like it. What happened to the ruthless Inquisitor that rose through the ranks of the Inquisitorius? What happened to the swathes of broken minds and corpses he left in his wake?
What happened to his justice?
Silently, he banished those thoughts. He was here on a mission. Such intrusions would only serve as a distraction.
“Anders?” Zuza tapped him on his arm. “You OK?”
She had obviously seen his face tense. Of course. He pulled his arm away. He did not look at her.
“Focus.” That was all he said.
Even Circe had to give him a curious glance. His tone was harsh.
Ce'celia tapped away at the console in front, snakes lengths of binary code descending down the monitors disappearing just as quickly.
Though, Anderson’s attention had shifted to something else, something blooming, a flower of Dark Side energy that felt so familiar, yet distant at the same time. The chill in tbe air was palpable, as was the tingling of his spine. Why here? Why now? What was happening?
“Finished!” Ce'celia wiped the sweat off of her forehead. “Security recordings are wiped. Now we just have to deal with those weapons. Any ideas?”
Circe looked back at the room splattered in blood and gore.
“It’s a grave already, might as well burn everything, with enough heat nothing is left,” she said without any emotion, “got something that might burn hot enough for that?”
“I do not think that will be necessary, Circe, destroying the markings on the weapons will be enough.”
The Sephi frowned at Anders order and grabbed her lightsaber from her belt. Zuza did the same and both of them started to slice the weapons making them both unusable as making the marking of the symbols unrecognizable.
It didn’t take the both of them long to finish, but it was odd that Anders seemed more distracted with something else then making sure the job was done.
“Is everything alright, Anders?” Circe asked when they approached him.
There it was again. An echo in the wind ringing in his ear, a whisper in the darkness that hissed in the back of his mind. Anders still had a couple of weapons under his boot, the Brotherhood insignia facing up towards him in all its glory. His lightsaber hummed ominously in the void, a weapon of destruction. Yet, he stood still, silent, his eyes peering back towards the entrance. He passed that feeling as a coincidence before. Now, he was certain. The Dark Side was here, and it was feeding on prey. Hungry. Ravenous.
He almost did not hear Circe when she spoke, nor did he answer immediately. He deactivated his weapon and placed the hilt back on his belt.
“Everything is adequate. I trust yourself and Miss. Lottson will be fine finishing business here with our guest.”
He eyed Ce'celia before turning and making for the exit.
“Where are you going?” Circe asked.
Anders did not stop. “A personal matter requires my attention. Finish here and return to the ship imminently.”
“Anders, wait!” Zuza called after him, but it was too late. He was already gone.
They would just slow him down, hold him back. The Dark Side was calling to him, and how rude would it be if he left it unanswered? His curiosity guided him, his thirst for knowledge and power driving him with each step he made. The closer he got, the more weight that dark, ominous feeling had like the weight of duracrete upon his shoulders. His heart beat faster the closer he came.
When the blast doors opened to the station, Anders entered, stepping over the first of several dead blaster-ridden bodies that littered the spacious office. Screens and consoles littered the walls, clearly having watched their movements. A staircase led down to what must have been the jail.
There, Anders found Kyros huddled in the basement. His skin was ghostly pale, his breathing ragged, eyes red, teeth clenched, shaking.
Kyros breathed a much needed sigh of relief when he saw Anders, like his prayers had been answered. “Thank the six God-Queens of Thaalum you’re here!”
“What happened here?” Anders glared at Kyros. “I want the truth. I will know if you attempt to deceive me.”
Every inch of his mind was on lock down. Kyros could feel the Inquisitor peer into his mind through telepathy, a brush subtle as poison. Thoughts boxed in, layered behind layers, he projected only decoys, only what he wanted Anders to find: manufactured trauma, a gnawing sense of vulnerability and dread, contempt for his own cowardice. Kyros gave him nothing real. It required a great deal of concentration, for the Inquisitor was a master of mind games, and he feared what might happen should he pierce his protective barriers. This fear he used to lend a touch of authenticity to his carefully curated emotions.
He hunched his shoulders and kept his head low as he approached the Inquisitor, his eyes red-rimmed and wet, searching the shadows as if an assassin might jump out of them. His face was pale, his lips quivering with false anxiety. A trembling hand grasped the Inquisitor’s shoulder for support. He let him believe he was weak. Easy to break, to overlook. Pathetic. Prey.
A release of pressure, he found that he was alone in his mind once more.
One day, the Inquisitor would discover just how dangerous Kyros Velaris truly was.
He was the predator.
“I-I did as we agreed,” he said, his voice a sniveling squeak pushed an octave higher than usual. He paused, eyes flitting like someone frantically searching for their words even though he knew exactly what he intended to say. He had rehearsed each word, each pause, each inflection many times over as he awaited the Inquisitor’s arrival. “Our o-offer… it got the captain’s attention but, well, some of the guards, I fear they did not approve… No. They tried to arrest him, to arrest me! The captain, he had allies in his ranks, and then… oh, master Anders, it was a carnage! It was horrible!”
He buried his face in his hands, whimpering.
“Get a hold of yourself, Ambassador,” sneered the Inquisitor.
Kyros flinched. Not a full jolt. Just enough. The kind of twitch someone might make when their nerves were frayed. He continued, “I did not know what to do. I-I hid down here. Then, when all was quiet, I dared not go up.“
The Inquisitor studied him, red eyes steeped in shadows burning a hole through him, lips taut, arms folded over his chest, long-hemmed sleeves draped around him, an instinctive stance that betrayed his skepticism. It confirmed what the ambassador suspected. The Inquisitor had sensed the moment when Kyros had tapped into the dark side and forced these worms to kill one another. No doubt Anders could sense the lingering veil of darkness in the Force even now.
"How could something like this happen, master Anders? Such… such despicable violence!” Kyros cried.
“I have my suspicions,” answered the Inquisitor, an accusatory edge to his voice. Kyros ignored it.
“Please, you must investigate at once!” he suggested. No. Demanded. He witnessed an infinitesimal shift in the Inquisitor’s gaze, a seed of doubt. Good. A gamble, but he knew already what the Chiss would answer.
“There is no time,” Anders said, as expected. “Already, we overstayed our welcome. You should have joined us at the intended location.”
“With killers about?” Kyros said, injecting a mixture of fear, dismay, and indignation in his tone. After all, if he was down here, how could he know that the guards were all dead? “Please, Inquisitor, take me away from this place.”
He pushed past the Inquisitor, then started up the stairs, moving slowly, as if he feared an attack. The Inquisitor glared after him a moment longer, then shook his head in apparent frustration. Perhaps he suspected Kyros, as he rightly should, but he had no proof. Behind the mask, Kyros’ true connection to the Force remained coiled like a serpent—silent, patient, ready.
Hiding his power wasn’t just survival.
It was the game.
And he played to win.
By the time the two returned to the ship, Circe and Zuza were already present.
It had only taken the women a shared glance and a shrug from Zu before they slipped into the shadows. Having heard the commotion, more guards were slowly trickling their way to the server rooms. If a few went missing, who was to say.
The lower levels are a dangerous place to be.
When they had surfaced, rejoining the bustling crowds, the duo had separated. Circe had been sat in the ship, head leaning back against a rest as Zuza came up the ramp. She watched, eyes narrowed behind her visor as the short Human did a bare check of the ship before pulling out of her holo.
Zuza’s dad, a middle aged man who she looked remarkably similar to, answered quickly.
“Hey Bubble, whats going on?”
“Hey Dad. You should visit me.”
Confusion led to idle chatter, Zuza dancing around the topic.
As Anders and Kyros returned to the ship, she spoke with a note of frustration,
“Neema’s shop has a few slices of pie missing these days.”
“Oh.” Gwaine Lottson frowned for a moment before something dawned. His expression quickly returned to something brighter, “Taken or eaten?”
“Taken. You know how it is, I just hope it didn’t have anything specific in it.”
“Right. Well, you know I love to see you Zu. Where… do you actually live at this point?”
Zuza laughed a little nervously, glancing sideways towards the group. Her expression became worried at the pale, shakiness of Kyros.
“Kasiya. If you go to the port, just let me know when you’re there and I’ll come get ya.”
“Okay bubble. Stay safe, love you.”
“Love you too.”
The holographic image flickered and disappeared.
Zuza tucked it away, before settling her gaze on the men.
“Are you guys okay?”
Circe arched a brow when she saw them enter and the look on Kyros’ face. He looked like he had seen a ghost or murder mayhem like he had never seen before. Somewhere it irked her, but she could not lay a finger on it or what it was.
Shrugging it off she got back to business. “No time for mentality fixing, we need to go, now,” she said with more sternness in her voice than she wanted.
It was better for them to leave now than linger as it would only make the risk of pointing fingers at them bigger.
“On it,” said Zuza as she skipped towards the helm and started fidgedting with the buttons to get them airborne as soon as possible.
Ce'celia was the last to arrive, eyeing Anders.
“What?” She shrugged. “We had a deal.”
The ship shuddered before Anders and Kyros could take their seats, not that Zuza’s flying brought them any instability.
This time…
When he sat down, Anders folded his arms and closed his eyes. The Force practically burned the image of Bhoc Venmat into his mind. Another failure. Another piece of trash left to wander the Coruscant underground that had escaped his justice. He had been too confident, too sure of hid victory.
He had gotten far too complacent.
He had far higher expectations for himself. He needed to be ruthless, merciless, relentless. Darth Lenora, his old Master, at least had that right. Zuza, Evelyn, and yes, even Draca, had all dulled his killer instincts.
No more.
He could start with Kyros Velaris. He had no proof yet, but something irked him about the man, and he was determined to delve into the root of his suspicions.
‘*Soon.’*He thought to himself.
Snarling, flecks of spit flying, Bhoc Venmat flipped a table. It hadn’t yet hit the ground, he was already tearing through more furniture, tossing anything and everything he could get his hands on. Stools and crates sent crashing into walls. A lamp swung around like a hammer, smashed through a monitor. A vibro-knife stabbed, stabbed, and stabbed again at the durasteel plating of a wall, denting it inch by inch until the blade shattered. The broken hilt? He tossed that too. He kept trashing, all the while throwing as many obscenities and curses as he did physical items. By the time he was done, there was nothing left standing that wasn’t bolted down. The place was a warzone. Even the ceiling flood lamps were flickering, one of them smashed and torn out entirely, showering sparks onto the room before it finally died.
He stood amongst the chaos, slobbering, eyes wild, fists clenched and trembling, the sound of his own ragged, panting breath hollow in his ear holes. He raked his claws across his knotted reptilian scalp, the pain of it the only thing able to recenter his mind and allow him to regain control of his thoughts.
“Bastards,” he growled.
He couldn’t quite decide who he hated more. That traitor, Ce’celia? That blue-skinned creep with the laser-sword? His companions from that so-called Brotherhood? Or was it that sleemo from the Collective who hired him but didn’t bother telling him just who he was going up against. What was he supposed to call these people? Jedi? Blasted Jedi were a myth.
Bastards, the lot of them, he thought.
Movement caught his attention from the corner of his eyes—a red light blinking at the comms station. It was a miracle the thing had survived his rampage. Brow dipping, Bhoc approached the panel, reaching out a tentative finger, though he stopped short of it. He licked his lips, hesitant to flick the switch and activate comms. He didn’t exactly relish the thought of announcing his failure to his employers. Ce'celia gone, the security footage incriminating the Brotherhood wiped. He felt rage boiling up again in the pit of his stomach but he fought it down.
Pheh, best get this over with, he thought. Say one thing about Bhoc Venmat, say he’s not afraid of anyone.
He flipped the switch, then directed the incoming communication feed to the holo-projector. A ghostly figure appeared in electric-blue over the projector. Bhoc frowned. He did not know this man.
The man smiled at him from the shadows of his hood, a mocking smile, dripping with arrogance. He could just make out ice-blue eyes lurking in the darkness beyond. As he spoke, the man stroked his black beard.
“Master Venmat, greetings. I must admit, I am impressed. I quite admire the cunning on display while you ambushed my colleagues,” said the man, his voice deep and articulate, seething with poison. Bhoc tried to interrupt, but the man spoke on. A recording, then. “I dare say, had you known what you were up against, you may well have been victorious. It would seem that your employers withheld valuable information from you. A fatal mistake.”
The figure paused, his smile intensifying, cruelty cutting through his features. In the shadows, his eyes, unblinking, almost seemed to glow.
“E chu ta, they sent this to taunt me!” hissed Bhoc at the recording, fighting the urge to smash the device.
As if reading his mind, the figure held a hand up defensively as if trying to calm him. Then he continued, “Perhaps this unfortunate lack of information can be remedied.”
This got Bhoc’s attention, his scaly brows shooting up in surprise. He smiled, fangs on full display. This. This he liked.
“Security Station 16a-826. If you hurry, you will find a datadisk hidden within a compartment in the prison block. I’m sure a resourceful gentleman such as yourself has the means to find it. Knowledge is a weapon, master Venmat, and I’ve delivered to you a weapon of mass destruction. Use this wisely. Against the Brotherhood. Against my associates. Or perhaps, against your would-be employer. It matters not to me, though I suspect revenge against those who set you up to fail so spectacularly would be quite… hmm. Delicious.”
Oh yes. Revenge sounded really good to Bhoc. The Trandoshan was about to terminate the recording, eager to set about this surprise task, but the man in the recording held his gaze, and for a moment, it was as if the two of them were staring at one another. As if this dark stranger could peer into his very soul. He could almost feel their presence over his shoulder.
“This isn’t without a cost,” hissed the figure. “I will be in touch.”
The recording ended. The stranger’s image hovered over the projector, his cruel smile frozen in time. Bhoc couldn’t quite pry his eyes from that ice-blue stare.
He swallowed hard.