The Hand of Retribution

Srucayr

Character
Independent
Rank
Citizen

Character Profile
Link
OOC
Rhogar
Joined
Dec 14, 2020
Messages
150
Reaction score
69
Srucayr would yank his pick free from the skull of another gang member, his brain matter spraying everywhere as the skull was ripped wide open. There was no flinch from the red spray, no remorse from the emotionless helm. His boot would press against the chest of the now dead human before nudging him off to the side. As the visor trailed backwards down the poorly lit hallway, the bodies of nearly a dozen gang members littered the path. Scum. They had ruined the lives of the innocent. Preyed on the weakness of the law of Coruscant. Hours ago, he had been at a nice Life Day party, talking to a lovely senator, listening to one of his kin sing, he had been distracted by Arasuum. No more. "The wicked cower in the dark.." he mused as he continued down the hall, visor now scanning the rooms to the side before moving back to the door at the end of the hall. "When justice fails, Retribution doesn't."

He heard the sound of whimpering behind one of the closed doors, causing his bootsteps to pause before the it. On the other side, they must have heard the sound of his gait stop and he could hear the panic settle in. These cowards weren't the wolves they claimed to be, they were sheep. Rolling his shoulders, Srucayr would drive his foot into the door, kicking it inwards. Inside, two humans and a Rodian would reach for their blasters, their hands shaking so badly he was sure they'd shoot themselves. The first blaster that raised, would drop as Srucayr's beskad was flicked into his torso. As the first gangster dropped, the second one would start to shoot wildly, some of the bolts pinging off of the ancient cuirass that crossed over to them. One such ricochet would kill the third, just as the pick side of the warpick was driven into the jugular of the second. He dropped to his knees, gurgling all the while until the pick was removed, with a yank, the corpse would drop and the Mandalorian would recover his beskad before he headed for the door.

Stepping out into the hall a bolt would rip into his arm from down the hall, finding an opening amongst the segmented plates. "HA! We got you surrounded, Mandalorian! Surrender and we'll only take your shiny skin and sell ya ta slavery!" the leader would yell.

The visor shifted down to the other side of the hall where he saw another group of gang members setting up. He was lucky, the dilapidated building was apparently condemned and served as their hideout. That mean collateral damage was kept to a minimum, at least in terms of innocent lives. Srucayr's gauntlet moved to his bracer where he primed the commands for his wrist rocket.

"Mando! What d'ya say?! Are we selling that skin unblemished?! Or bloody?! Ah-hah!" the leader began to laugh, spittle moving about freely. "I dunno what brought ye here, but maybe killin ya will put the Bloodhound Gang on the map!"

What did bring Srucayr to this very moment? Slavery. One of the elderly women he ran into in the Undercity of Coruscant was weeping about her granddaughter. For weeks now, the Bloodhound gang had been snatching women and selling them to various trafficking rings. His jaw clenched as he stepped out, his right gauntlet would aim towards the far side of the hall as he activated the firing trigger. The wrist rocket whistled down the hall before it exploded in the middle of the gang members, blood and limbs flying every which way. The Mandalorian would then twist to face the leaders group as bolts rained down the hall, pinging off of the heavy cuirass as he stalked towards the already dead men.

The left hand would raise, and he braced as he fired his repulsor at the gang members, knocking a few down outright before shoving them into the friends behind them. He was only eight meters away, plenty of range left. As they staggered to their feet, he darted forward, jump boots igniting to carry him the rest of the distance with ease. His beskad would swing in a fluid motion, slicing through flesh and cloth like a heated knife through butter. The cries of the wicked were muted by the Kadsong, the thrum of the Dha Werda Verda as he enacted Kad's will. The beskad would catch in a sternum, no matter. He released his blade as he tugged the warpick free, hammer side connected with the knee of a runner, shattering it. Any pain he felt, was muted when the hammer connected with his head, ending him. The leader would try to run amidst the chaos, but Srucayr would catch him with his free hand before he shoved him against the wall. The pickside would then come crashing down and punched through his shoulder, pinning him to the wall. There was a sting to Srucayr's side, then another, maybe they were blaster bolts, who could really tell? As he turned, he could count only three survivors, and he was about to make it two. Right gauntlet would connect with throat, forcing the gangster to drop his blaster followed by Srucayr lifting him upwards then slamming his spine down over his knee. The sickening crack would accompany the wail before the poor sod lost all feeling in his legs. The second to die, would do so as Srucayr wrestled the blaster to aim at the gangsters own midsection where he forced the enemy to pull the trigger thrice. As he fell in a smoking heap, the third one had already fled halfway down the hall. Srucayr would take three steps before he ripped his beskad free of the fallen gangster and threw it after the runner. It would spin several times before piercing its target in the neck from behind.

Srucayr stepped over the dead back to the leader, his hand pressing down on the pick to push it deeper. "And how did it play out for you, Worm?" before the man could even begin to beg or plead, Srucayr would increase the weight. "Give me the names of the other players and I won't kill you."

The man would sob between the pain and the blood "Varus Dorson.. Blackball Triad... Invictus Tar..er.. Corisian Mob.. That's all I know, I swear.."

Before Srucayr would respond, he heard someone whimpering and the visor shifted to the man who had lost all use of his legs. "One moment." he would release the added weight on the pick before crossing over to the survivor. The gangster would try to plead. The words fell on a deaf t-visor. Srucayr lifted the man up before dragging him over to the leader. "Bonus round. Where are the girls, and I won't kill him as well."

The leader started to laugh "I can't.. I can't.. He's a nobody!"

"He.. He's lyin... they're.. basement.." the cripple would cry out.

"That's an answer, just not from the one I asked." Srucayr said coldly before he sent the cripple through the nearby window. There may have been a scream before the impact. If there was, he didn't stop to hear it. "Looks like you saved yourself." the Mandalorian would rip the pick free, his free hand moving to grab ahold of the injured limb as he dragged him to the window.

"Wait! You said.. ya said ya wouldn't kill me!?" the leader said as he struggled weakly, fighting until Srucayr had him halfway out the window.

"The fall won't kill you. Nor will I. But they... they might." Srucayr said with a laugh as he released.

The leader screamed all the way to the ground. The Mando was right, it didn't kill him, even from several stories up. Though when he tried to move, he couldn't. And that's when he saw them. The people. Families would take turns beating the criminal to death, taking their own vengeance on the scum.

The Mandalorian clad in the ancient beskar would shout down to the homegrown vigilantes "Your people are in the basement!" he then headed away from the window, retrieving his sword from the corpse. He whistled a tune to himself as he walked to the turbolift. As the door opened, he stepped inside, just in time for him to answer an incoming call.

As he answered, a helmeted woman would begin to speak. "Srucayr. How goes your pilgrimage?"

"It's been... educational, Alor. But what's this about. Surely you don't miss me."

"We need you back home. Sundari. Pirates are tripping alarms all over, I want you to deal with them."

"Your will, Alor. I'll be there shortly." As the comm ended, he'd scowl at his beskar "Going to have to fix you up. And clean some of these wounds.." he cursed as he wiped some blood away. Sundari. Manda'yaim called him home.
 
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