Hoodwinker

[Philosoraptor]

Fred’erick looked out the window of his quarters with a displeased look on his face. Outside, the rain pitter pattered against the glass, as though drumming along to the swirling thoughts inside his mind. A short, portly man entered into the room, carrying a bottle of wine in his hand and a glass – Morthan, Fred’erick’s personal ‘servant,’ though confidant may have been a better title. The man was not a pureblood Sith, but a Human of some kind. His unkempt beard and long, tussled hair gave him the look of someone who was more akin to tilling fields or working with Bantha, than serving a Sith.

His thick brogue ended the calm rainy soundtrack. “Ser,” he started, popping the top off the bottle of wine, pouring a glass for Fred’erick. “What’s our course o’ action wit the pirates, t’day? They’ve taken a whack at another Imperial supply cache.” Morthan offered Fred’erick the glass, a slight look of uncertainty on his face.

Fred’erick took the glass with a pleased look. “Morthan, you’re the only human I could ever let speak to me so casually, you know this, yes?” He took a sip from the glass, looking outside still. His quarters were high above the city below, housed in one of many absurdly tall, monolithic buildings located on Coruscant. Morthan gave a deep bow. “Yes, Ser, and I ‘av never forgotten the prestigious position I’m in to serve you.”

Fred’erick did not have friends or fellows, that is besides Morthan. The round man had been working with him since he was a child. Originally a slave of his father’s, Morthan aided Fred’erick numerous times in undermining his father – and ultimately in killing him. From that day forward, Fred’erick had some sense of respect for the little man – although he was but a filthy human.

He turned, smiling at Morthan. “I’m planning on going to the next expected target of their foolishness. It is just north.” Morthan nodded, looking out the window, still clutching the wine bottle with his gnarled, pudgy hands. “Can you ready transport for me, and keep note of any transmissions that come my way while I’m gone?” His friend nodded, turning to hail the transport for his master. Fred’erick turned, placing the now empty glass of wine on his desk, and prepared himself to travel.

Some time later…

He had arrived at the warehouse his informants expected to be the next target of theft. It was a fairly large, domed building in a seedier part of the city – though that did nothing to bother Fred’erick. The warehouse had been used by Imperial agents to store backup supplies and assets, nothing that was immediately needed or usable. Fred’erick himself had not been to this particular warehouse before, having not previously been tasked with disrupting theft and piracy anywhere.

With the transport behind him, Fred’erick walked inside, seeing nothing was out of the ordinary…yet. He climbed up to top catwalks, watching from above to see if he could spot anything out of place. When he saw none, he went back down. “Perhaps we were wrong on the intel…” he said to himself as he walked down a hallway toward the high-security areas.

He did notice one thing, however… “Nobody’s here…” ​

 

[Noctyr]

Sev’s mission was one that had taken quite a bit of planning, preparation, and espionage, but the goal was simple. Track down and eliminate the insider threat within the local imperial garrison that had ties to the Red Corsairs pirate gang by any means necessary.

To that end, the 24 year old inquisitor had disguised himself as a pirate, accepting an invitation into the Red Corsairs as an initiate only days before. Stealing from the Imperial warehouse would be his rite of initiation, and become privy to the deeper secrets of the Red Corsairs. Then it would be all too easy to root out the traitors and have them executed for treason. Little did he realize that his mission crossed paths with Fred’erick’s more menial one.

The inquisitor travelled alone into the warehouse, slinking along the shadows as his years of training as a Sith assassin had taught him. He took note of Fred’erick’s presence- it wasn’t too difficult due to positioning. The catwalks gave a clear vantage point over vast portions of the warehouse, but there weren’t too many places to hide up there. Meanwhile, it was relatively easy for Sev to utilize the multitude of shipping containers and crates to mask his movement.

The target was a container filled with old Ziost Hunter components, left over from bomber conversions. Due to the Ziost Hunter being phased out in lieu of a newer interceptor design, the parts had little use to the Empire and were instead being kept here. It didn’t take long for Sev to reach the container. He drew a plasma cutter from his belt and began to cut into the container’s side, a dull hissing noise being made from the cutter’s contact with the metal. This was the most dangerous part of the job, because it made the most noise. Sure, Sev could’ve just drawn his lightsaber and easily cut a hole into the container, but that would’ve immediately blown his cover. He stayed vigilant, glancing over his shoulder on occasion for that lone Sith guard.

 

[Philosoraptor]

Fred’erick thought it peculiar he hadn’t so much as seen another soul in the blasted place. That was until he felt a presence. “So they have arrived at last.” He turned, heading back down the hall toward the larger, open storage room. He still wondered why he of all people would be tasked with eliminating the criminal threats in the section of Coruscant, but, he would bide his time – he would be Darth one day…

Normally, he would simply smash apart the boxes and whatnot that provided potential cover – but these were of some value to the Imperial forces, and by destroying them all for the sake of ridding of existence one pesky fly, he would displease the higher ups. “I know you’re in here,” he said with a smug tone, his chin raised up slightly as he looked around the room. “If you surrender peacefully, I’ll merely skin you alive – nothing more than that.”

He snickered. Oh how he loved this; it had been some time since he’d been able to slaughter anything. Fred’erick was not only sadistic – he was unnervingly cruel and vengeful, even when he needn’t be. There was no order that told him to bring the criminals alive. Therefore, he could do as he pleased, so long as they were no longer a threat.

Then he felt the presence was near. Slowly moving toward some containers – old Ziost Hunter components. Likely left over from bomber conversions done in the recent past. While the Empire probably would not cry if they were to be destroyed, it would potentially annoy one or two of the higher ranking officials. “Now, let’s see what you are, filth.” He threw his lightsaber at one of the containers, using the force to keep it spinning and eventually returning back into his hand, all in the hope of forcing the intruder out of hiding and into the open.

“Don’t hide from me, rat!”

 

[AutoFox]

@Philosoraptor @TAC

Somewhere on the opposite side of the warehouse, a small form wrapped in a ragged green cloak flinched, huddling behind a crate and gripping a heavy blaster pistol in both hands. Large, vulpine ears swiveled slightly as they listened to the lightsaber buzz through the air, and then buzz-saw through a stack of surplus starfighter parts, which fell and clattered noisily.
"...well Sithspit."
Triter Zonne risked a peak out from behind his cover, trying to focus both on getting a good look at the enemy, and on masking his presence the way he had once been taught. Obviously, the latter wasn't working as well as he had hoped, as the Sith had evidently gotten an inkling of his presence.
Maybe not my presence... someone else's? No way to tell.
"...I am not being paid enough to deal with a Sith, though!" He muttered, and fished for his comlink.
Triter had been contracted by the commander of the pirate ship Captain's Revenge. On the surface of things, it was a simple mission; go in, steal some Sith military stores, and get back out. The credits were good - perhaps too good, which should have been a red flag for Triter - and it had all sounded so easy.
"Boss!" He hissed into the com, ducking back into cover. "We have a problem."