The night was dark. Street lights shone on the various roads and pathways available to the public of Coruscant, the moon above casting it's pale glow on the city below. If this were any other city, the people would be asleep, mulling over the day's work. This, however, was Coruscant; the city that never slept. The lights of the various adverts, billboards and those of the various speeders that shot around the city on business affairs or on affairs of pleasure. There were areas, however, that were slightly darker. There were areas where security was tight, where the lights didn't shine so well. It was one such area where one of the vaults containing a part of the wealth of a Republic Senator, a vault which contained wealth enough to make it economical when compared to the lack of security. Checkmate were, at the moment, a name that wasn't as well known in the galaxy as that of, say, the Raider's Coalition; then again, they earned their infamy by being basically an extension of the Hutt Empire. No. Checkmate were different.
And this would begin the process of name making.
A man emerged from the shadows just outside the perimeter of the security zone for the vault, just as one of the guards passed in the opposite way. Well, for all intents, purposes and appearances it was a man. This man crouched down by the perimeter, careful to avoid the eye of the camera as it rotated around. Five seconds later, there was a hole in the fence, and the man replaced a tool in his pocket before slipping through, and slotting the fence piece back into it's position. Once on the other side, he dropped to his knees with an almost feminine grace, hurrying over to the shadows, there, he shed his clothes to reveal a black jumpsuit over an oddly curvaceous body, before his face seemed to be torn off. For it was, of course, a mask, and it was not a man beneath, but a woman. A very talented woman. A very talented woman called Relia Corrde. Drawing a blaster from the inside of her jumpsuit, a slim, black leather affair, she shook her long, red hair loose and left her disguise in a pile in the shadows. From there, she moved a little further away, sticking to the wall.
She drew a second blaster.
One held flat to her waist, the other held in one fist up next to her head, for easy drawing, a slim, metal combat knife was held inside her jacket sleeve and a tiny blaster within her other. Both of her legs contained the same. As she sidled up to another wall, she waited for the guard to move round on his circuit before sprinting to the doorway, and drawing a slicing tool from her jacket, holding her blaster between her knees. There was a click from behind her, and Relia spun round, dropping the tool and pulling out the blaster once more. There was nothing. Cautiously, she pressed herself to the wall and looked right and left. Still, nothing. Then everything went to pot. There was a shout, and Relia swore violently, and started to run. Two men leapt out in front of her, guns drawn, and she turned, away from the wall to be confronted by another pair. In the final direction, a third pair. She was surrounded, and she could not hope to overpower them all. Not alone. Relia wondered if her partner was following up, as he was supposed to. She really hoped he was.
Or she was in trouble.
And this would begin the process of name making.
A man emerged from the shadows just outside the perimeter of the security zone for the vault, just as one of the guards passed in the opposite way. Well, for all intents, purposes and appearances it was a man. This man crouched down by the perimeter, careful to avoid the eye of the camera as it rotated around. Five seconds later, there was a hole in the fence, and the man replaced a tool in his pocket before slipping through, and slotting the fence piece back into it's position. Once on the other side, he dropped to his knees with an almost feminine grace, hurrying over to the shadows, there, he shed his clothes to reveal a black jumpsuit over an oddly curvaceous body, before his face seemed to be torn off. For it was, of course, a mask, and it was not a man beneath, but a woman. A very talented woman. A very talented woman called Relia Corrde. Drawing a blaster from the inside of her jumpsuit, a slim, black leather affair, she shook her long, red hair loose and left her disguise in a pile in the shadows. From there, she moved a little further away, sticking to the wall.
She drew a second blaster.
One held flat to her waist, the other held in one fist up next to her head, for easy drawing, a slim, metal combat knife was held inside her jacket sleeve and a tiny blaster within her other. Both of her legs contained the same. As she sidled up to another wall, she waited for the guard to move round on his circuit before sprinting to the doorway, and drawing a slicing tool from her jacket, holding her blaster between her knees. There was a click from behind her, and Relia spun round, dropping the tool and pulling out the blaster once more. There was nothing. Cautiously, she pressed herself to the wall and looked right and left. Still, nothing. Then everything went to pot. There was a shout, and Relia swore violently, and started to run. Two men leapt out in front of her, guns drawn, and she turned, away from the wall to be confronted by another pair. In the final direction, a third pair. She was surrounded, and she could not hope to overpower them all. Not alone. Relia wondered if her partner was following up, as he was supposed to. She really hoped he was.
Or she was in trouble.