Zyber Tann had had it up to HERE with the Black Sun moving in on his turf, stealing and thwarting his operations. He wanted to make a statement. Let them know that he wasn't a Quarren to screw with. He had allies too. He could pull strings. He could phone a friend. Yeah... That's just what he was going to do. So far, most of the conflict was between himself and Deacon Nash, some two-bit thug-gangster wanna-be who thought he could wear big-boy panties because of his affiliation with Black Sun.
Well, Zyber would show him different. How to do it was the tricky part... Deacon was either unavailable off-planet, on some kind of operation, or at the Outlander's Club. Zyber would have to figure out a way to get to him. There was no way he would be able to do it directly. Direct confrontation would not do... no.. too much risk involved. Plus, he'd heard that Deacon wasn't too shabby at close combat; something Zyber didn't really practice. He'd have to get someone else to do it. The question was who...
While he pondered the dilemma, Zyber walked into his small and grungy kitchenette. His apartment was tiny. Too tiny. But operations had been going poorly of late. He needed a break. Black Sun was muscling in on him. His minions had either seen the writing on the wall and defected, or ended up disappearing, be that in jail after a bust, or just flat out gone. Least that's how it seemed. Maybe they just ran too... he didn't know. One thing was certain, Deacon Nash had to go. Perhaps if he could eliminate him, then he could make his case to Black Sun and take Nash's place?
It was a longshot, but right now, it looked like his only shot. If you can't beat 'em; join 'em. The coffee maker sounded, alerting him that it was now ready for consumption. Splendid!! Of late, his coffee maker had been a bit on the fritz, but Zyber hadn't made the time to replace. Not yet. He had bigger things on his mind than that. Krath damn Deacon Nash... he'd show that bantha-lover. Again, he just needed someone to execute the man for him. Someone who wouldn't squeal or talk. Someone nobody really knew... at least not on Coruscant. Damn, he was having a hard time thinking of anyone. *sigh*
Well, Zyber would show him different. How to do it was the tricky part... Deacon was either unavailable off-planet, on some kind of operation, or at the Outlander's Club. Zyber would have to figure out a way to get to him. There was no way he would be able to do it directly. Direct confrontation would not do... no.. too much risk involved. Plus, he'd heard that Deacon wasn't too shabby at close combat; something Zyber didn't really practice. He'd have to get someone else to do it. The question was who...
While he pondered the dilemma, Zyber walked into his small and grungy kitchenette. His apartment was tiny. Too tiny. But operations had been going poorly of late. He needed a break. Black Sun was muscling in on him. His minions had either seen the writing on the wall and defected, or ended up disappearing, be that in jail after a bust, or just flat out gone. Least that's how it seemed. Maybe they just ran too... he didn't know. One thing was certain, Deacon Nash had to go. Perhaps if he could eliminate him, then he could make his case to Black Sun and take Nash's place?
It was a longshot, but right now, it looked like his only shot. If you can't beat 'em; join 'em. The coffee maker sounded, alerting him that it was now ready for consumption. Splendid!! Of late, his coffee maker had been a bit on the fritz, but Zyber hadn't made the time to replace. Not yet. He had bigger things on his mind than that. Krath damn Deacon Nash... he'd show that bantha-lover. Again, he just needed someone to execute the man for him. Someone who wouldn't squeal or talk. Someone nobody really knew... at least not on Coruscant. Damn, he was having a hard time thinking of anyone. *sigh*