Sentinel Contracts - The Banker

[Slamdingo]

Spoiler: The Plot

The Banker, as he is known on Sentinel is a high net worth criminal operating in the undercity of Coruscant. Our client, a holding company operating out of Chandrila, has recently come to understand that the Banker (a Mr. Ersnt Carilla) has eloped with just shy of seventeen billion Galactic Credits, formerly used by the Central Bank of the Core under the Republic, funds which fell of the radar and into his pocket under the Sith Regime.


Politics aside, the Banker is plotting to make a move on the SoroShip Transit Collective a small time shipping company that acts as one of the logistical contractors to the Kuat Drive Yards. The client would prefer it if he was unable to make the deal come to fruition, and has contracted Sentinel Users to ensure he doesn’t make it to the stockholders meeting later on today.


However, nothing is ever that simple, and we have reason to believe that he is currently residing in the old 500 Republica Building, home to many of the Imperial Elite, including the Grand Moff of the Sector. Security will be tight, and if any disturbance is noted, the local Garrison will evacuate the area, and our client will be unable to take over the Banker’s target company themselves.

Assets Intel Contacts Location

• 
  
  Naturally we are not in the habit of sending anyone in without support. A safehouse has been established should you chose to use it (password and keycode attached), containing medical supplies and a few standard issue firearms. Additionally, we have managed to secure access to the internal camera network, accessible via a monitor on the 240th floor of the Republica building.
  
  
• 
  
  A member of the Imperial Ruling Elite, we suspect a General or Mofff, is due to inspect the Garrison at midday as part of a weeklong Imperial Celebration marking the fall of Coruscant five years back. During this time we anticipate reaction times to the tower block will be slowed, as the Imperial Forces will focus their attentions toward the security of their own officers.
  
  
• 
  
  Your Sentinel approved contacts come in the form of a Local Cab Driver, he name and details are attached. Whilst he cannot provide assistance during the mission, he is reachable via the usual Taxi Booking apps on your commlink, and will gladly serve as an escape method if needed.
  
  
• 
  
  The 500 Republica building is one of the most prestigious addresses in the Core, holding apartments and event venues for the Galactic Elite. Within this building, security is tight, and only building staff are allowed into the Corridors in which residents live. Many floors are locked down by the Residents themselves, and only their personal staff are granted access.
  
  Security comes in the form of a blend of Droid and Imperial Troops, Droids guarding the main tower block whilst Imperial Troops Guard outside. An exception to this normality is floor 240, in which Imperial Troops can be found in considerable numbers due to the Moff who lives there.
  
  The top floor is currently booked out for the stockholders meeting your target is set to attend.
  
  

Spoiler: Dramatis Personæ

- DM -
@Zaphod Norblebrox

- The Hunter -
Rina-Jan Getchell

- The Jack -
Stefan Dellucci

- The Banker -
Ersnt Carilla

<--------------------+|+--------------------> Thread Theme <--------------------+|+-------------------->​

[fancybox2]

.....The social elites - the white-collar types who had loads and loads of credits. The first was the common type of rich folks: they made six to eight figures, wore nice clothes, drove nice speeders, and they padded their surroundings with a layer of credits so thick that you couldn't even hear the ringing of the bell from the soup kitchen down the way. The other type was the type of person who Rina-Jan interacted with the most often - regardless of which side the blaster that was on. They had absurd amounts of money to the point they could spend it like it was nothing but air, they fancied themselves masters of subterfuge and wet-work, and were always willing to pay out absurd amounts of money to ensure they had a plethora of assets who could make that fantasy come true. It didn't matter if it was a stock market, property rights, or something else entirely because so long as they wanted it they would be willing to pay for it, and Rina-Jan was more than willing to accommodate them.

.....The safehouse that had been provided for the operation was rather comfortable and luxurious. If a bit spartan and unlived in. But soft carpeting throughout most all of it except the bedroom led to a rarity for the bounty hunter: stepping about her apartment with nothing to conceal the sleek metal of her lower legs. Or much else since she'd stripped down to undergarments and made herself comfortable. She had arrived early in the morning and had spent a short part of her day carrying the heavier equipment for delivery to the safehouse in the agreed upon dead-drop site for the driver. After that she had spent the rest of her day doing what she could to case the perimeter of the fairly infamous 500 Republica building. She hadn't been able to get too close with the step-up in the Imperial military security from the expected visit by high-ranking officers but she had still been able to get decent eyes on the site to begin formulating a plan. It was short-notice but she mad managed to secure a few things for her plan.

....."What's on your mind?"

.....She blinked, caught off-guard, "Hm? What?" She turned to the HoloNet terminal.

.....Coc'vulo was quick to repeat herself, "I asked: what's on your mind? You seem distracted."

.....The bounty hunter rubbed at the bridge of her nose and sat on the couch, "Yeah, yeah. Just got a job tomorrow."

....."This one have anything to do with Mi or Grohl?"

....."Not this time. But I'm keeping my ear to the ground for them. How are things back home?"

....."Well enough. Some of the neighbors say hi, Morin says hey and wonders when you'll come by for a visit."

.....The bounty hunter chuffed, almost laughing, "Tell that love-sick puppy that I'll stop by when I have time from work."

.....She heard a laugh on the other end, "Okay, I'll be sure to tell him. Until then you stay safe, okay?"

.....Rina-Jan settled back in the couch and kicked her legs up onto the nearby coffee table, "Will do, Cee. Take care."

.....With a tone the call was disconnected and Rina-Jan was free to enjoy some modest privacy the rest of the evening.

Some time later . . . ​

.....The cigarra smoldered slowly between her fingers as she squeezed the controls of the speeder with her other gloved hand. The relatively nondescript speeder drifted through sky-lanes with the rest of traffic: on its sides was a fairly standard logo of a local maintenance and technical support company while in back there was a collection of ladders, kits for slicing, and other tools that wouldn't look out of place in any technician's vehicle. At the wheel Rina-Jan was in simplistic heavy work-boots, grungy coveralls, a pair of gloves, and a ball-cap that were all a disgustingly bland shade of off-green. Of course under the coveralls and t-shirt she wore was a stripped down vest designed to take a rifle shot or perhaps a few shots from a pistol and under one sleeve was her shield gauntlet, but neither of those things stood out enough to mark her out as out of the ordinary or worth any particular attention. Some people didn't realize that it didn't take some high-grade stealth suit to sneak past the guards: half the time they were too busy or just too damn tired to bother with checking the help.

.....She took another long drag on her cigarra when she pulled out of traffic to enter the back lot of the 500 Republica. An initial drive-by of the place had revealed gate security only cordoned off the first fifty meters or so of the back lot to exclusive traffic. Vendors who ran food and supplies for the tenants and staff were allowed direct access to parking spaces only a few meters from the utility entrance. Meanwhile it wasn't a great leap to assume that third party contractors like, for instance, electricians and signal repairmen, parked out further in the more public lots. In theory it meant individuals not as thoroughly vetted and cleared as the routine vendors would have a harder time bringing in weaponry or illegal contraband that residents hadn't specifically requested. It wasn't a leap to assume she'd be wanded or patted down before being let through and so that meant a blaster or more conventional weapon was out of the question. That was likely enough to dissuade amateurs who didn't realize just how hard you could swing a spanner.

.....When Rina-Jan parked she quickly snubbed the cigarra into the ash-tray on the center console and slipped out from the speeder. She went around and popped open the back hatch so she could grab the toolbox that she had set up waiting for her: some screwdrivers, wrenches, spanners, some kit for splicing work, and things like that which looked perfectly normal for her attire. To the best of her knowledge it didn't have anything that might seem questionable or out of place for somebody purporting to be an electrician or computer technician. Of course if she was truly grilled for a good length of time she was sure eventually a chink would appear in the armor of her disguise, but she planned to be done and gone long before that came to pass. So with confidence in her appearance and cover-story she turned away from the speeder - one in all reality rented through a proxy account she'd first learned from her father to take time setting up - and to the door. Two Imperial soldieers in dress uniform with soft-caps stood guard at the door and eyed her as she approached.

.....She walked past the ungated perimeter fence and the sentries walking it who barely spared her a look before approaching the two guards at the door. She opted to throw a slight accent to her voice when she spoke, not from Coruscant but not from Concord Dawn either, "This the 500 Republica, right? I, uh, I got a few work tickets passed down from dispatch. Boss said some tenants were having trouble with the wiring and," she made a show of looking to a poorly scrawled paper in the toolbox "a security console on floor 240. Boss said to be quick so I'm not in your folks' way for the celebrations." Rina-Jan motioned to the entrance with her free hand, "So mind if I go in and get it taken care of?"

[/fancybox2]

 

[Tristar]

"Hello? Who's calling?"

"Hey Vinny? It's me, Dell."

"Dell? Dellucci? No, he died a long time ag-"

"When we was in Don Salino's mob I called you a two bit chump and you punched me in the gut. We made up over a cuppa later that day."

". . .really is you then. What the hell Dell? I heard on the news about the prison thing, they said you's was a stiff!"

"We'll have plenty of time to chat later, alright? I need your help, it's urgent."

"What's the matter with you's? You disappear for a coupla' years leavin' all of us thinking you done met your papa, and now suddenly you shows up and calls me on my daughter's graduati-"

"You have a daughter? When?"

"Been hiding it from Sal for years man, you know how he was if you had a kid. Snip, that's it- no more rackets, no more runs."

"You've been keeping this from me as well? Kriff, I thought I knew everythin' 'bout youse. Guess not. Look, we'll call it even man-"

"Frakk off, we ain't even-"

"Yeah no, we ain't but I beg you please, I need your help. You still owe me for the time I pulled your drunk ass outta Porky's after the blues dropped in."

"No, I cleared that debt when I stopped the Don from killing you! S'far as we're concerned you owe me one!"

"Oh come on: for old times sakes? Listen, what are you doin' now?"

"Manager in catering, Vinny's Vino: why?"

"You're that Vinny? Got to say, your wine doesn't kick as much as it used to. Does that mean you're gonna be at 500 Republia tomorrow night?"

"No but I'm sending a truck to offload some crates there- is this about the Moff? What's this, you gon' ask me to help you into the building to whack some Imp? Is that what this is about?"

"Would that make it any better?"

"No, it doesn't. If this catches on to my business I'm finished, screwed. Peggy's already harping on my ass about my work cus I ain't spending enough time with Marie here; I lose my job and I'm gonna be crap out of luck."

"Listen, I swear to you on my mother's grav-"

"You don't even know your mama!"

"It's not gonna be traced back to you! Look just get me in to the hotel and I'll- what d'you want me to do, leave? I can do that, I've been practicing in case you haven't heard."

"I want you to come clean to me after the job's done. Everything after you've left."

"It's a deal."

"You swear?"

"I swear, cross my heart with blood and iron."

"Alright, come meet me by the space port at eleven, bring the gear that you need. I'll need to brief you."

"Thanks Vinny. Listen I-"

"We'll talk later. Ciao."

<--------------------+|+-------------------->Personal Theme<--------------------+|+-------------------->
​

....."You sure you're alright with those boxes there, new kid?" The hunched figure grunted as he set down a set of marked crates, the contents rattling dangerously inside them. Stefan straightened his back to the sound of rippling cracks, grunting in pain and pleasure. A portly, balding man wearing a cap laughs, taking the trolley and wheeling it away to the double doors at the end of the loading bay. Dellucci's partner had been one busy chatter bug during the not-so-silent drive to the Republia; if it wasn't about his flowers it was about his wife and her obsession with handbags. He had hoped that when it came down to loading the crates of wine he'd shut up, but work somehow only seemed to get him to talk in even greater intensity. The man had heard enough about garden woes or marital problems.

.....He had a job, for crying out loud, and it didn't involve stacking crates.

.....Actually it technically does, but it was only one part of his plan. When his partner came back with the trolley Stefan jumped down from the back of the truck, massaging his back with his right arm. "Look, Paul? Paul."

....."Hey kid; what's up? Your back killing you? I know how you feel son, I used to have all sorts a problems back then but the trick is, you got to lift with your-" Stefan quickly moved in to shut him up, taking a few staggered and exaggerated steps. "No no no! No, I mean my back hurts like a bantha just tried to climb on top of me but no, sorry that's not it. I mean-"

.....He slapped his forehead, grunting in exasperation. "Look, could you let me do the trolley? Please?" Paul's smile dropped, replaced with a serious look of consternation as he squinted.

....."Hold on. . ."

.....Stefan cursed silently, reaching into an open crate for a bottle of wine- or in his mind, a makeshift club. Paul rolled his words as he gave the nervous fellow a hard, long glare. "I know what you're trying to do. . .You just want to see what the inside of the hotel looks like!"

.....Another crisis averted as Stefan is saved from the necessity of clubbing an innocent man's head in, although if the next words that came out of his mouth had anything to do with petunias, Stefan was going to consider it. "Listen kid, it's not that great inside. First time sure, kinda like growing petunia-"

.....Stefan was seriously considering it.

....."-but what the hell, it's your first day on the job, I'll let you have a peak around, yeah? Alright then, let me just load the crates. You wheel it past the kitchen, take a right and take the elevator down one floor to the wine cellar. Ask for Lenny, he'll be expecting the wino." Paul gave Stefan another wink. "But not you~" He laughed and Stefan followed, albeit awkwardly. Paul struggled with the crates pitifully that Stefan had to help him out, a process that took longer than it did for Stefan to simply load it himself. The elderly fifty-ish elder gave him a pat on the back, warning him not to get lost and to avoid pissing off the security. He could do that for a while.

.....He pushed through the loading bay's doors, trying hard to ignore the silent and still storm troopers that watched the loading bay's every possible entry routes, hands gripping their blasters and ready to fire on any perceived threat. As he pushed the trolley pass the checkpoint, confirming his papers with the guard, Stefan had to wonder if the troopers ever felt over qualified for guarding a building.

.....It was just a building after all, and if Stefan could walk in pass with a set of forged papers and a trolley with 2 crates of wine and one crate of highly illegal weaponry, clearly something was wrong. He followed the route Paul had explained to him, silently dodging the waiters and chefs in the kitchen as best as he could, pass another set of doors. The elevator music wasn't half bad at least.

.....Focus, he had a job to do.

.....Lenny wasn't what he expected. What he expected by the name Lenny was a mustached, muscled man with a penchant for acquiring scars. Instead he was greeted by a protocol droid listing down every single item in the room with terrifying efficiency. It wasn't the cheap knock off brands Stefan knew either; he barely recognized half the names and realized how thirsty he was. "Lenny?"

....."About time! You must be the new hire that Paul was talking about. Yes, I'll need to check the crates. Please stack them right there and open the first crate, we're running low on- AIEE!"

.....The droid's body crumpled into a jumbled heap as the baton in Stefan's hand crackled with electric fervor. The lid of the first crate had been tossed aside, revealing his equipment. The other crates had been pushed aside in the flurry of movements, the alcohol leaking out of the crates. It looked very much like murder, and as Stefan made sure the droid wouldn't wake up with a swift strike to the crumpled body, it might as well have been.

.....All in all it was a very good set up for a thrilling game of Cluedo.

 

[Nor'baal]

Thus far it appeared the operation may pass without a hitch, as Dran made his way through the lobby of the Sentinel Hotel in Coruscant's more classy districts and made his way up to his room. Inside, he sealed the door and activated his communications device, having previously been relying on sporadic text based updates. He typed in his password, and tabbed into the local network around the contractor in the field.


’’Where the hell are you?’’ he mumbled to himself, trying to spot someone who could match the description of his contractor, impressed when he found nothing. Clearly, the individual was going in covert. He kept his eye on the computer, and opened up the local law enforcement feed so as to inform his contractor if they had been alerted.


So far, all was good. Dran kept his microphone muted, and said nothing.

 

[Slamdingo]

[fancybox2]

.....The two young men shared a look between them and the seemingly senior of them glanced to her once or twice. They were trying to weigh their options to figure out what the best option was. For a moment Rina-Jan kept quiet as she watched them.

.....They had two choices and neither likely felt completely good.

.....If they really wanted then they could double-check with their superiors at the dispatch, and pull someone away from whatever else they were doing to run over schedules and notices from building management to see if they could find the receipts for the work tickets or a notice that a technician would be sent. But there was a Moff coming to tour the various Imperial assets in the city and it was more than likely that the Moff would visit their peer in the 500 Republica and that meant their superiors were likely incredibly busy preparing for an inspection. And they'd be furious if these two grunts wasted their time.

.....The alternative was just trusting her story and assuming that those above them both remembered and were expecting her - especially in the case of the security console on the 240th floor. However that meant they could be letting an unauthorized person inside the perimeter. And once again, with two Moffs likely in the same area at once there was an incredible security risk presented by letting just anybody who asked through the door. If their superiors hadn't been informed of or authorized her presence then they would have just let a potential spy or saboteur through or simply compromised the security perimeter for no reason. And again: their superiors would likely be furious.

.....Sensing they were teetering, Rina-Jan provided a push, "Look guys I'm hourly just like you, and some of these tickets have been on the schedule for at least a week. My boss is gonna kill me if I don't get these taken care of ASAP." She was then quick to add, "I swear to you I'll be quick about it. In and out without getting in anybody's way. Please?" She did her best to look exasperated and pleading for them to throw her a bone.

.....Finally the marginally senior of the two men sighed and nodded to the door, "Fine. But be quick about it, okay? Our Captain will kill us if you're out in the open when the Moff comes by." And with that the two men stepped aside.

.....Her shoulders relaxed and she breathed a relieved 'thanks' before stepping between the two of them for the door.

.....When she stepped into the off-green colored utility corridor and the door slid shut behind her, she quickly glanced both ways to realize the halls sprawled on to her right and were a straight shot to an elevator on her left. She opted to go left while fishing an encrypted datapad from her toolbox. There was an equally encrypted messenger service with an unnamed anonymous contact saved for instant messaging. She quickly tapped out a simple message and hit send. Dran would receive the latest message in a series of text-based updates from his contractor. The most recent before this was that she had arrived on site, this update would let him know that she was inside and 'moving'. Nothing more.

Some time later . . . ​

.....The elevator was a very utilitarian cart. The walls were painted a dull white and had little decoration save for a single monitor that switched between showing an advertisement for the Republica, a notification reminding employees to practice good house-keeping habits, and another reminder to practice 'client confidentiality' when dealing with tenants of the building. Of course the first two could just be ignored but that third one was all but admitting that the building's owners believed enough credits made anything okay so long as you weren't caught by the law. But Rina-Jan wasn't here to judge the dope habits and obsession with prostitutes that she was likely to find on almost every floor as she kept to herself in a back corner of the elevator.

.....She was willing to bet that popping out directly on the 240th floor would lead to trouble, so instead she had opted for the 239th floor to come in below them. It wasn't illogical to assume that the floor map of each floor mirrored the ones above and below for both ease when the building was being built and structural stability for load-bearing walls. It was also an admitted wager that the false ceilings of each floor would have maintenance and airway connections between the two floors for when a technician had to work on wiring, piping, or other systems between two floors. So the plan was simple enough that she would find the server stack room for the 239th floor and clamber up into the false ceiling. Failing finding a server room to match the one she was going for, she'd instead find a bathroom or other secretive place to gain access.

.....For much of the ride the bounty hunter was alone. Every few floors the elevator would come to a stop and the doors would open to admit any sort of person. A janitor going from one mess to another pushing a cart ahead of them, a member of room service working to ferry champagne or some other luxury, and at one point even a simple security droid shuffled in at the 173rd floor and took up a position in the opposite corner from her for the next ten floors before stepping off to presumably continue its rounds. None of them gave her anything beyond a few polite niceties that she returned if only for the sake of not drawing suspicion or investigation beyond asking how her day has been or how the shift had been going. None of the Imperial soldiers she was told to expect crossed in front of the elevator doors when they came or showed up to step aboard for a ride.

.....After what felt like endless elevator muzak and passing small-talk with the more blue-collar staff, the elevator arrived at the 239th floor with a chime.

.....She stepped out into another utility hallway much like the one she had first stepped into on the ground floor. No droids. No guards. No sentry patrols.

.....The bounty hunter picked a direction nearly at random until she came to what she was looking for. A utility bathroom for the maintenance and service staff stood tucked in an outer corner: it was clear that the 500 Republica wanted to sell itself as being able to offer total privacy and security to the tenants by not even having the help use the same toilets if they didn't want them to. But if they wanted to offer security about such things then they were falling short because it seemed like most of the droids and guards stayed in the tenants' halls instead of in the maintenance-ways. All it took was a quick glance both ways over her shoulders to be sure that she wasn't seen by anything but the cameras before she stepped inside.

.....Once inside the women's room she rapped on the wall and shut the door behind her, "Hello? Hotel maintenance, anybody in here?"

.....She peered under the barriers of the three stalls and didn't see any feet betraying company. A quick inspection found all the stall unlocked and truly empty.

.....When Rina-Jan was satisfied that she was alone, she stepped into one of the stalls and sent another message on the instant messenger to her contact.

.....If it was possible she needed the utility area cameras on floor 239 running a continuous loop of 'all clear' from the time she'd slipped into the bathroom.

.....Then it was a matter of stepping up onto the toilet and reaching up to move a tile aside and reveal the dark space of the false floor and ceiling. First the toolbox went up and was set beside the opening. Then the bounty hunter moved to balance rather precariously on the tank of the toilet so that she could sweep a light form her toolbox around. Wires, piping, and other utilities filled much of the area but there were large stretches of open space where somebody might be able to slip through. Even if they wouldn't be comfortable while they did it. With a grunt and a heave she pulled herself up into the opening to end up laying belly-down between the 'false' floor and ceiling. She slid the ceiling tile back into place and then kept the flashlight in one hand and the toolbox in the other as she started the slow crawl in the rough direction of her goal: following the wires that disappeared up into the tiles and ducts just over her head.

[/fancybox2][fancybox2]

@Tristar
@Zaphod Norblebrox

[/fancybox2]

 

[Tristar]

Stefan stepped over a shard of glass which caught his eye. Glancing over his shoulders nervously, he kicked it under the shelves, hoping the wine cellar's cleaning crew would be as disinterested in their job as most underpaid staff was. Standing back at the entrance of the room he noted with a silent sense of pride at the normalcy of the room: the spilled wine had been cleaned up and the Lenny chopped to pieces and stuffed within a few of the crates. Aside from the perpetual sense that something was slightly off (perhaps that was him) Stefan was happy with his clean up op and turned for the elevator as something clinked in his working garments- the man had ditched his disguise in the other corner of the room, neatly folded and tucked away.

A suit, he reasoned as he walked through the same kitchen staff without being stopped, was as much a uniform as a clever disguise. In a ritzy hotel full of rich, snobby people it was more normal to find someone who looked like he paid the staff rather than worked alongside them; it was a symbol of universal authority.

He pushed past the double doors leading into the hotel bistro, his coat rippling behind him. None of the diners paid him any mind. He stood still for a fraction of a second before walking out of the dining area, making his way for the central lobby. Various rich people and their entourage milled around, the air filled with light chatter and the occasional shriek of laughter from one or two guests high on social adrenaline and the odd champagne. Never mind the bizarre collection of alcohol that he certainly didn't pilfer as an upstanding citizen of the galaxy, some of their fashion sense was out of this world for him.

Stepping into the lift just as the doors slid shut, the vigilante immediately took note of the minimalism approach for the carriage: it was sleek with a futuristic vibe, yet the- was it? He slid a finger down the wooden panel and cocked his head in slight amazement: it was actual wood too. It was easy to expect such a top-end hotel to have such luxuries available for mundane features but the reality of it made his stomach shrivel. Shouldn't have to be so surprised, as the lift flew up the hundreds of floors smoothly; half the patrons were planetary big shots and the rest simply made too many credits in too little time. The floor counter kept ticking in an orderly fashion, 201. . .202. . . .203. . ..

He knelt close to the button panel and pulled out a small rod. After fiddling around, he pulled open a small panel, its lock melted through and glowing hot red. A faint acrid smell filled the small carriage, sticking to the carpets and wood panel. He didn't have much time, as he quickly attached a single cable from his hacking bracer and tapped a few buttons. The display flashed green once, and the carriage slowed its ascend until it reached to a grinding halt.

Floor 239. Just in time.

Covering up the mess he made hastily, Stefan quickly went for the ceiling hatch and pulled himself up, cursing to himself.

Some time later . . . ​

Corporal Yero was suffering a chronic disease that claimed the lives of soldiers everywhere. It was such a severe case that he even contemplated putting a bolt through his feet just to cure it.

The incurable disease: Boredom.

Anything between now and what could be the greatest night the soldier ever had was classified as a severe case of boredom; that he was playing door man for the elevator lobby on the 240th floor for the VVIP only compounded to his woes. He glanced to his left across the hallway entrance at his co-sufferer, PFC Badarro who seemed more interested in the individual fibers of the hanging drapes than watching for the lift. Usually the senior-most NCO would have to reprimand the soldier for dereliction of duty, but what happened when even the NCO found the drapes to be more interesting than waiting hours go by?

He tapped his foot, impatient but quickly stopped himself. Ding!.

"Shake it, Badarro, unscheduled visitor." he grunted, waking the private out of his reverie. The storm trooper slowly turned to meet the corporal's dour gaze with an equally morose expression before sighing. Dragging his feet, Badarro slapped on his helmet with a dull thump. Yero winced for the private.

The soldier walked over to the offending elevator, launching into the memorized response. "-ff limits to no- Hey what the hell?" Perking his ears, the corporal didn't wait for his subordinate to call him over, an eager thumb on the safety switch. "Cab's empty."

And so it was. Yero lowered his rifle, extremely disappointed. He was about to declare normal situation when something off caught his attention. Stepping into the lift, he knelt down by the button console. The lock for the maintenance panel had been melted through, likely by a thermite awl- a cheap master key for any ambitious thug on the street. Badarro walked in, curiously watching the stormtrooper just as the doors shut in.

It happened so fast that he barely had time to react: the panel hatch dropped down and smacked the private against the wall with a dull thud. A dark silhouette dropped through the hatch, quickly dispatching Badarro with a quick stab through the chin and through the base of the neck, where the spine met the skull. Yero barely had time to turn around and thumb the safety down just as a dark shadow engulfed him.

<--------------------+|+-------------------->​

Breath. Concentrate on the breathing.

He clutched his chest, feeling his heart pounding, staring down at his work, clutching a red-stained awl in his hand. The slumped bodies of the troopers leaked no blood, the entry wounds so minute and delivered so quick. The body closest to the panel clutched his rifle in his death grip, his trigger finger just mere milimeters away from ending Stefan's life.

A cracked visor with a small hole revealed a dark, gaping hole where the soldier's eye would be. Lobotomy was an oudated psychology therapy but had its uses elsewhere. He glanced at the other trooper, his foot twitching slightly. He wasn't dead, not yet. The mobster had probably missed cutting through the whole spinal chord- perhaps he was still conscious, staring at the floor.

He knelt over the body and reached for the head. He swiftly yanked the chin back with a crack and declared the operation a success. The bodies were disposed through the hatch as he hauled them one by one, grunting as he forced their armoured corpses through a hole meant for a skinny maintenance crewman. The bodies were later dropped down the elevator shaft, a white speck engulfed by the maintenance lights- without which made the hole a dark abyss.

He dropped the awl as well, having completely outlived its usefulness. Thumbing another button, he released the camera from its endless loop- from a casual spectator, nothing had occurred within the last few minutes. Now, Stefan always had the option of taking the lift all the way up to the penthouse, but every mission had its restrictions.

Normal house guests weren't allowed to go beyond the 240th floor for security reasons, two-fold: Any normal individual would immediately pinpoint the Moff. He also knew someone at the penthouse paid top money to stop any one else from reaching him, bar a few exceptional names. He had no doubt the banker was paranoid about this deal and that timing it with the appearance of an Imperial Moff was no pure coincidence either. Stefan clicked his tongue, annoyed as he pulled out a handheld pistol-shaped device. Aiming it at the ceiling, he pressed the trigger. The grapnel shot out and reached beyond the darkness, eventually clamping onto something. Stefan gave the cable a few tugs to ensure its tautness. Secured, he engaged the automated trigger lock and rose- slowly, nowhere near silently as the engines within the grapnel launcher struggled to lift his weight but a lot less obvious than entering a forbidden floor through the front door.

Ignoring of course, that he was technically going to have to go through the lift doors to get onto the floor, but life has many other doors.

@Zaphod Norblebrox
@Slamdingo