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It wasn't often that a message from an unknown quantity was relayed to the Council of the Jedi Order. It was rarer still when the message was delivered by courier in the form of a holographic video file stored in a portable holographic display, roughly the size of a teacup. After being thoroughly examined to ensure that no foul play was afoot - the device was intensively scrutinized for any signs of tampering or booby-trapping - and the message viewed to ensure that it wasn't some sort of prank, the device was deemed safe and brought to the Council Chambers.
The device was set on a pedestal in the center of the Chambers and activated. It flickered to life and displayed the sinister video it carried. A hologram, displayed in remarkably high resolution for the size of its display unit, flickered to life and hovered at chest-level in the room. It was of Nuka Methoataske; the same Jedi Master who had been captured by the Hutts not too long ago, during the battle of Bothawui Orbit. She was laying in a stasis pod in a darkened room devoid of any discernible features. A life support monitor displayed her vital signs, showing that she was alive and well.
After a few moments, a shadowy figure clad in tattered black robes drifted into the field of view for the holographic imaging system. His face was shrouded and two blood red lenses stood in for his eyes, glowing hellishly in the room's dim lighting. He spoke, his voice distorted and made to sound electronic by a voice changer. "As you can see, esteemed Council, this is Master Nuka Methoataske. She is alive and well, and is recovering slowly from wounds sustained in her battles over Bothawui."
The figure gestured towards the woman's upper torso and head; bandages decorated the limp and unconscious female's frame. Her head was shaved bald and covered by a surgical cap. "She won't, however, be recovering for much longer. Not if our demands are not met. We didn't go to the trouble of stealing her from the Hutts out of the goodness of our hearts - we will return her to you for the sum of $500 million Galactic Standard Credits."
He held up his hand, revealing an armored glove. "We have no interest in haggling. This price is non-negotiable. Each attempt you make to negotiate this fee will result in our organization removing one of her limbs via the use of a large industrial meat grinder - then sending the hologram recording of her screams to all major media hubs, and sending you the paste. You could make sausage from her flesh, if you swing that way."
A dark chuckle came from the man; it too was horribly distorted by whatever mask he wore beneath his shrouds.
"If you desire to purchase the safe return of your precious little master, you will send a single Padawan, alone and unarmed, to these co-ordinates." The fellow paused and turned his outstretched hand over so that it was palm-up; a miniature hologram projector held in his hand displayed a wall of flickering gold text; the address for an abandoned industrial district on Coruscant.
"There, your courier will receive a device enabling communication with our organization. Through it we will relay further instructions. This offer is not on the table forever; after seventy-two hours, we'll start sending you body parts. One piece every 24 hours; starting with her feet. Because we're nice, we'll take a million credits off our price for every chunk of Jedi we send to you."
The figure shut off his personal projector and folded his arms across his chest. "In other words, don't sit on your hands. Act now - your Jedi's life is in your hands." He snapped his fingers and the holographic video ended; the projector shut off a few seconds later. The opening scene was concluded; it was the Council's act now, at least for the time being.
The device was set on a pedestal in the center of the Chambers and activated. It flickered to life and displayed the sinister video it carried. A hologram, displayed in remarkably high resolution for the size of its display unit, flickered to life and hovered at chest-level in the room. It was of Nuka Methoataske; the same Jedi Master who had been captured by the Hutts not too long ago, during the battle of Bothawui Orbit. She was laying in a stasis pod in a darkened room devoid of any discernible features. A life support monitor displayed her vital signs, showing that she was alive and well.
After a few moments, a shadowy figure clad in tattered black robes drifted into the field of view for the holographic imaging system. His face was shrouded and two blood red lenses stood in for his eyes, glowing hellishly in the room's dim lighting. He spoke, his voice distorted and made to sound electronic by a voice changer. "As you can see, esteemed Council, this is Master Nuka Methoataske. She is alive and well, and is recovering slowly from wounds sustained in her battles over Bothawui."
The figure gestured towards the woman's upper torso and head; bandages decorated the limp and unconscious female's frame. Her head was shaved bald and covered by a surgical cap. "She won't, however, be recovering for much longer. Not if our demands are not met. We didn't go to the trouble of stealing her from the Hutts out of the goodness of our hearts - we will return her to you for the sum of $500 million Galactic Standard Credits."
He held up his hand, revealing an armored glove. "We have no interest in haggling. This price is non-negotiable. Each attempt you make to negotiate this fee will result in our organization removing one of her limbs via the use of a large industrial meat grinder - then sending the hologram recording of her screams to all major media hubs, and sending you the paste. You could make sausage from her flesh, if you swing that way."
A dark chuckle came from the man; it too was horribly distorted by whatever mask he wore beneath his shrouds.
"If you desire to purchase the safe return of your precious little master, you will send a single Padawan, alone and unarmed, to these co-ordinates." The fellow paused and turned his outstretched hand over so that it was palm-up; a miniature hologram projector held in his hand displayed a wall of flickering gold text; the address for an abandoned industrial district on Coruscant.
"There, your courier will receive a device enabling communication with our organization. Through it we will relay further instructions. This offer is not on the table forever; after seventy-two hours, we'll start sending you body parts. One piece every 24 hours; starting with her feet. Because we're nice, we'll take a million credits off our price for every chunk of Jedi we send to you."
The figure shut off his personal projector and folded his arms across his chest. "In other words, don't sit on your hands. Act now - your Jedi's life is in your hands." He snapped his fingers and the holographic video ended; the projector shut off a few seconds later. The opening scene was concluded; it was the Council's act now, at least for the time being.