OOC: Something I was working on waiting for the timeline to start - this is a little bit in the future. Just an insight into Chet and where I'm going with him.. I hope.
It was dark.
Darker than he could have anticipated. The canopy was particularly dense at this point, the great trees that were the foundations of the planet covering the late autumn moon. The limited light making its way to the forest floor casting unnatural shadows, reflecting off the dew-soaked leaves. Enough to catch the eye of someone of a nervous disposition, distracting from their purpose.
It was perfect.
Kashyyk was not his favoured hunting ground. The wookies were an inconvenience and had actively made the last few days harder than he would have liked; disposing of large hairy corpses in a way that didn’t attract unwanted attention was not easy. The most recently departed lay in a heap behind him and were starting to attract some of the local wildlife, insects he could deal with… but a larger predator might scupper the rest of his plans for the evening.
Tonight was the culmination of six weeks labour. He thought of it as labour anyway – those in labour camps around the galaxy may disagree with his definition. Six weeks spent in bars, in libraries, ‘interviewing’ those that had needed further persuasion to give up their information. It had lead him on a tour of the outer rim, ten days on Tatooine a particular low point of his endeavour, he was still finding bits of sand in his ship, his person, his weapons. The hardship would be handsomely rewarded, of that he was sure. The masked man with the mechanically altered voice on Byss had already more than covered his expenses for the next 6 months – with the promise of more on successful completion and further work – should he want it.
Something caught his eye on the forest floor, snapping him back into reality.
Movement.
It was time.
He looked down his scope. The night vision attachment allowing him to track his preys movement.
Something was wrong.
There were two of them, no… three. One large adult sized and two smaller, child..
“Oh, not cool”
He wasn’t expecting children. This was going to incur an additional fee.
He tracked the three across the floor from his vantage point, losing them intermittently between the trees and vines scattered across his vision. His target took an unexpected path – almost direct – for someone on the run he expected them to weave, to try to blend, his target took no such care, hastily dragging their children towards their meeting point.
And their death.
The small hut, buried within the roots of one of the giant trees must have appeared inviting to the fugitive, knowing that their salvation waited within.
They stopped.
The reticule of his sight hovered over his targets hood as they turned; their face briefly basking in a line of light from the moon. She was pretty. She looked younger than her 32 years, though the months of hiding had started to show; she looked tired.
She turned, her face looking directly at him. Her brow furrowed. There was no way she could see him… was there?
Three steps, then she stopped again. The smaller of her children – they were both hooded, he couldn’t tell their age or gender – looked up at her, saying something.
Three more steps towards the hut. Not close enough.
He cursed himself. Dismantling his trap would be time consuming if he took them out with the rifle – the trees and obstacles in his way would make taking all 3 out difficult.
Three more steps – maybe close enough. She stopped again, turned and looked straight at him.
His finger tightened on device in his left hand.
Her mouth opened – the larger of the children was 10ft from the door, the smaller slightly closer – she started shouting something.
His finger squeezed.
A flash. The noise would hit him a second later. Cursing himself as his night vision scope whited out from the heat of the explosion.
“Amateur”
He cursed.
The scope took a few seconds to settle. Frantically he adjusted and looked down, searching the site of the explosion. He could see one cloaked figure, lying a short distance from where he’d last seen them – the smaller of the children – flames licking from the cloak.
“Dammit man.”
Throwing himself from his vantage point he rappelled down to the forest floor, pulling his helmet down his face – the night vision kicking in automatically. His rifle slung over his shoulder, he drew his pistol.
Making his way across the forest floor, over the roots and the vines towards his target. Chastising himself further for his lack of foresight. Why didn’t he place charges elsewhere.
“Always kill them twice Chet. Always kill them twice. Fool.”
Stopping 200ft short of the burning glow of the small fire started by his explosive he cycled through the visuals on his helmet. Nothing was stirring. He approached closer, starting to feel the heat through his armour. 50ft.
Movement caught the robotic eye of his helmet. His hand bringing his pistol to bear. It was the larger of the children – a boy, maybe 8 years old, certainly no older – crouching over a body – the woman.
20ft
The woman was not dead, that much was obvious, her hand stroking her childs face – though from the size of the spreading heat signature expanding from her abdomen, her continued existence was a temporary state of affairs.
Closer.
The child turned to face him. Fear struck across his face.
The woman turned. His previous assessment had been right, she was pretty. There was no fear on her face as she stared at her assassin, a serene acceptance of her fate.
“Don’t hurt my child. I beg you, whoever sent you – it’s me they want – please”.
The child stared at his mother, and at the armoured man before them.
“Run Kane, run.”
Slightly taken by surprise the assassin fired two shots. Both hitting the child in the torso, sending him spinning to his right. His fingers twitched. Once. Twice. No more.
The mother screamed.
“I didn’t want to do that, running was a bad idea.”
She screamed again, reaching for a weapon on her belt.
Two shots hit her in the chest. He kicked her corpse over and collected the lightsabre from her belt that she had reached for.
His helmet recording had been uploaded straight to his employer. Allowing him to see the job was complete.
An outside communication clicked open.
"I am pleased. Return to me."
The words were cold.
Chet Rublof had killed his share of men, women and children, even the odd force user.
This assassination had been different.
This felt like it was the start of something.
It was dark.
Darker than he could have anticipated. The canopy was particularly dense at this point, the great trees that were the foundations of the planet covering the late autumn moon. The limited light making its way to the forest floor casting unnatural shadows, reflecting off the dew-soaked leaves. Enough to catch the eye of someone of a nervous disposition, distracting from their purpose.
It was perfect.
Kashyyk was not his favoured hunting ground. The wookies were an inconvenience and had actively made the last few days harder than he would have liked; disposing of large hairy corpses in a way that didn’t attract unwanted attention was not easy. The most recently departed lay in a heap behind him and were starting to attract some of the local wildlife, insects he could deal with… but a larger predator might scupper the rest of his plans for the evening.
Tonight was the culmination of six weeks labour. He thought of it as labour anyway – those in labour camps around the galaxy may disagree with his definition. Six weeks spent in bars, in libraries, ‘interviewing’ those that had needed further persuasion to give up their information. It had lead him on a tour of the outer rim, ten days on Tatooine a particular low point of his endeavour, he was still finding bits of sand in his ship, his person, his weapons. The hardship would be handsomely rewarded, of that he was sure. The masked man with the mechanically altered voice on Byss had already more than covered his expenses for the next 6 months – with the promise of more on successful completion and further work – should he want it.
Something caught his eye on the forest floor, snapping him back into reality.
Movement.
It was time.
He looked down his scope. The night vision attachment allowing him to track his preys movement.
Something was wrong.
There were two of them, no… three. One large adult sized and two smaller, child..
“Oh, not cool”
He wasn’t expecting children. This was going to incur an additional fee.
He tracked the three across the floor from his vantage point, losing them intermittently between the trees and vines scattered across his vision. His target took an unexpected path – almost direct – for someone on the run he expected them to weave, to try to blend, his target took no such care, hastily dragging their children towards their meeting point.
And their death.
The small hut, buried within the roots of one of the giant trees must have appeared inviting to the fugitive, knowing that their salvation waited within.
They stopped.
The reticule of his sight hovered over his targets hood as they turned; their face briefly basking in a line of light from the moon. She was pretty. She looked younger than her 32 years, though the months of hiding had started to show; she looked tired.
She turned, her face looking directly at him. Her brow furrowed. There was no way she could see him… was there?
Three steps, then she stopped again. The smaller of her children – they were both hooded, he couldn’t tell their age or gender – looked up at her, saying something.
Three more steps towards the hut. Not close enough.
He cursed himself. Dismantling his trap would be time consuming if he took them out with the rifle – the trees and obstacles in his way would make taking all 3 out difficult.
Three more steps – maybe close enough. She stopped again, turned and looked straight at him.
His finger tightened on device in his left hand.
Her mouth opened – the larger of the children was 10ft from the door, the smaller slightly closer – she started shouting something.
His finger squeezed.
A flash. The noise would hit him a second later. Cursing himself as his night vision scope whited out from the heat of the explosion.
“Amateur”
He cursed.
The scope took a few seconds to settle. Frantically he adjusted and looked down, searching the site of the explosion. He could see one cloaked figure, lying a short distance from where he’d last seen them – the smaller of the children – flames licking from the cloak.
“Dammit man.”
Throwing himself from his vantage point he rappelled down to the forest floor, pulling his helmet down his face – the night vision kicking in automatically. His rifle slung over his shoulder, he drew his pistol.
Making his way across the forest floor, over the roots and the vines towards his target. Chastising himself further for his lack of foresight. Why didn’t he place charges elsewhere.
“Always kill them twice Chet. Always kill them twice. Fool.”
Stopping 200ft short of the burning glow of the small fire started by his explosive he cycled through the visuals on his helmet. Nothing was stirring. He approached closer, starting to feel the heat through his armour. 50ft.
Movement caught the robotic eye of his helmet. His hand bringing his pistol to bear. It was the larger of the children – a boy, maybe 8 years old, certainly no older – crouching over a body – the woman.
20ft
The woman was not dead, that much was obvious, her hand stroking her childs face – though from the size of the spreading heat signature expanding from her abdomen, her continued existence was a temporary state of affairs.
Closer.
The child turned to face him. Fear struck across his face.
The woman turned. His previous assessment had been right, she was pretty. There was no fear on her face as she stared at her assassin, a serene acceptance of her fate.
“Don’t hurt my child. I beg you, whoever sent you – it’s me they want – please”.
The child stared at his mother, and at the armoured man before them.
“Run Kane, run.”
Slightly taken by surprise the assassin fired two shots. Both hitting the child in the torso, sending him spinning to his right. His fingers twitched. Once. Twice. No more.
The mother screamed.
“I didn’t want to do that, running was a bad idea.”
She screamed again, reaching for a weapon on her belt.
Two shots hit her in the chest. He kicked her corpse over and collected the lightsabre from her belt that she had reached for.
His helmet recording had been uploaded straight to his employer. Allowing him to see the job was complete.
An outside communication clicked open.
"I am pleased. Return to me."
The words were cold.
Chet Rublof had killed his share of men, women and children, even the odd force user.
This assassination had been different.
This felt like it was the start of something.