Coming Full Circle

The doors burst open and he sat up in bed. The female beside him barely stirred, of course she would be dead asleep at a time like this. Given a few more seconds as his eyes adjusted to the dark and the moving shadows, a red lance of energy came from somewhere, scoring the back of the female. She wouldn't be waking, it seemed. He rolled off the bed to the other side, the lights turned on and he the shadows came to life. Guula had sent way too many men. By now he would've thought the Slug would know one of its own men well enough to know that he wasn't worth much in a fight after spending several hours and then some with one of his women in his private quarters. He had liked her too, almost considered having fond thoughts of her. Too bad.

Guula had somehow found out obviously. And there was no way out of it by this point. He'd been riding the edge of the vibroknife for too long. His plans had nearly come to fruition but this had been a the time when he had been the most vulnerable. All Guula had to do was look his way and the Hutt would've known. Obviously, it had. Hyddijjer, one of Guula's sheriff's had decided to round up his posse. Which meant most of the guards outside were dead. Shame. He had thought them to be his best. He hissed through his teeth as an assortment of weapons were pointed in his direction.

"I don't suppose we can just walk out of here like the friend's we used to be."

Indeed, he saw one or two who he'd actually started into the business with. It'd been a few years and they looked relatively healthy but for the typical scars that came with the business. Even Hyddijjer had been a mentor to him at one point. One of the best sweepers he'd ever had the pleasure to work beneath. Who could've imagined the tables to have changed like this? He could actually; he'd been expecting it in his nightmares. Hydijjer was a devorian, intimidating to say the least. And his voice wasn't much better.

"'Fraid not, CENSORED. We're doin' things the easiest way, tonigh'."

He shrugged to Guula's sheriff, making sure they knew he took it as no hard feelings. Business was business. He'd do the same in the situation, probably worse. But as the men advanced, he stepped forward as well, a curved rapier seemed to appear in his hands between the exchange of words. They really did do what he would've done though when one raised a dart gun, the small projectile slamming into his forehead. The world had solidified into a dream before his body even hit the ground. He dreamed of power.

=======

The skinless carcass shuddered with blood soaked gasps. The man closest jumped back in disgust as he hit the chair in front of him to get the driver's attention.

"Yo, Fragg. The boss is still alive, man! They cut him up and hung his skin out to dry and he's still breathing! This is some twisted dren, man!"

The pilot of the enclosed speeder took a quick glance back. His face paled at the sight of his former boss as well, they were doing as much as they could though.

"Calm down, Harod. It's the boss. His will to live should be no surprise, righ'? Plus, they intended him to live. When they want someone dead, they die. When they want someone to live so they can die later, they'll die later. 'Member the boss was lined up for a fancy execution before Guula. T'was a shame to skin that fella like we did so he could take the bosses' place, but for the boss... Well... this is the last we'll see of his sorry disposition so it was worth it."

The man sitting in the passenger seat had been quiet the entire time. He had tried to keep his attention set on the datapad before him and the numbers he was reading. He couldn't help but speak out as his frustration peaked.

"What the...?!!?! Fragg... It's only been like two days since the boss was captured and Guula's already liquidated his assets... Well most of 'em. The boss made sure I knew of a few on the side, lucky he had a solid guy like me for an accountant. I'ma 'ave to melt this dren down too, though... The boss'll 'ave nothin' to his name. Well, I guess not even that either if he's wantin' to stay alive longer on the streets. Unless he has more that he didn' tell me about... But I doubt it..."

The pilot turned to look at Sflick for a moment with equal frustration as the small man rambled. He could count big numbers in his head, sure, but the guy talked way too much.

"Sflick... you got the dough or not, man?"

"Yeah, yeah. He'll have enough to make it through rehab but just barely. He'll be able to buy a pack of stims maybe once he gets out, tha's about it."

"Tha'll do then. Make sure the cred chip is with the litter. We gotta ditch the meat bag fast..."

"Right, right. And just in case... I'ma go ahead and clear the name CENSORED from the system. No way to track the creds' whatsoeva' now. The boss is solid."

The accountant looked back with an arched brow at the gasping pile of flesh disgustedly.

"Kinda..."

His breathing came back in rushed breaths. It was hard to breath, something was attached to his mouth and he was floating. He could barely see through the blue haze before his eyes but the silhouettes of two figures were visible somewhere outside the fog.

He recognized his location; this was no dream. He was in a bacta tank. He had no clue how he'd gotten here, he only remembered flashes and brief moments of his torture before now. It had seemed like the process had taken so long but he knew, when skinning a victim and still trying to keep them alive, you tore those thin layers off like wallpaper. Why was he in a bacta tank though? Was Guula planning on repairing his body just to break it down again? As disheartening as the thought was, he decided to face another fact of reality as his hand was lifted before his eyes. He could clearly see muscle tissue in places. He was sure the pain was somewhere in his mind but he had the euphoria of pain killers numbing it out. No, he wasn't worth that much to the Hutt.

He was in a hospitable, his vision had cleared enough to recognize the figures outside in whitecoats.

"Sir, are you awake?"

He turned sharply, disoriented by the noise as it traveled through the bacta. It was loud, far too loud.

"Ah, good, it seems you are. Sir, I am Dr. Hybult. I have been put in charge of supervising your recovery. You are very lucky, Sir, and I must say, quite the strength of will to have held on that long. There is an inquiry about the details of your arrival, Sir, but I know how tired you must be. Your surgery is in a few days; we're going to equip you with a rehabilitation frame..."

There was more to it but he wasn't paying attention. It all seemed so far away. Reality was the dream now as he drifted off in the blue void.

=======

His metal hands closed around the guide rails as he attempted to walk. He could 'feel' the rails but nothing was the same. He didn't want to walk not because he couldn't but just because he didn't feel like it. He felt hopeless, locked in artificial skin, with his face reconstructed in porcelain likeness of his former self. He was only a toy of his former self. The frame had been grafted to his body, a piece of work he supposed but nonetheless a mechanical freak. His anger only focused his desire to be through with the process. They treated him like a newborn, just learning to walk. He hadn't walked in several months until rehab had started. He knew how to walk, he just needed time to readjust. The instruction wasn't necessary.

As he took another step, Dr. Hybult walked in, two men, a human and a rodian, in black uniforms with black visors over their eyes were in tow.

"Ah, yes, Mr. Grime. These are the two detectives I told you would be stopping by to ask you a few questions about your situation. Why don't you take a break?"

Grime. Hawkins Grime. That was the name he'd given himself. And for just this reason. These two men were clearly not detectives. He could practically see Guula standing behind them.

"Of course, Doctor. If you would be so kind as to stay here and assist me in case I forget to mention any details?"

"Sure, sure, Mr. Grime."

The old man took a seat as the assistants brought a chair for Hawk. He slowly collapsed into the seat; if he could've sweat, he would've been. The two men pulled chairs forward, seeming to want to sit as close as possible to Hawk. The human talked first, extending his hand as he introduced himself but withdrawing it with a smile that made Hawk wish he could rip the man's face off.

"Mr. Grime, my name is Detective Javie and this is my partner, Detective Ryeel. We're here to check up on as procedure dictates on the anamoly of your arrival. We're just going to ask you a few questions and then be on our way. Are you aware of how you came to be here?"

"No, I can't remember anything before waking up in a bacta tank months ago. I barely remembered my name and I can't even remember where home is."

"I see, so you don't know who put you through a skinning process that is known for being popular in certain circles?"

Hawk closed his eyes as if straining to remember. Really the face was quite clear. Hydijer had been watching, he'd been in charge, and the only one Grime had known, so he might as well have been responsible. But these were Guula's men, they just wanted to scope out the situation. They looked sharp, but not smart enough to figure him out. He knew as much of how things worked to make low expectations of the guys on the bottom of the food chain.

"I have no clue, detective. Like I said, I really have no clue of anything to before I came here. It's all blank."

"Well, thanks for your time. We might stop by again later."

They wouldn't. Unless they came across something, which they wouldn't. His past life had been liquadated. He'd already checked that much while on bed rest. Either Guula had taken it all, the most likely, or one of his men had shut it down before the slug could spit on it. He had come across a few of his dormant assets, inactive and only to be used in the most dire as they were very delicate businesses, but he would hold off on those. He needed to really make sure everything had settled down before he made his next move. And he needed to be able to walk too.

The two detectives made their pleasantries and good byes and left without much else. Good riddance, Grime gave the good doctor a few dry responses before continuing with his 'lessons' once more. This was going to take a while.

=======

Grime hissed in pain as the mechanic finished applying the final adjustment to his new frame. It was tighter, leaner, but in far better condition than the original. He considered testing its strength on the mechanic but he decided he'd savor the pain and store his anger for later.

"There ya' go boss. It-"

"Don't call me that."

"Errr... whatever ya' say, Mista'. The frame is good dren' ya? You paid and I delivered. It's no better than a fit man I'd say, so don't expect no superman dren, ya?"

Grime was not getting it tuned to be any better than he had ever been physically. First, he had barely had enough credits as is, breaking down the remaining of his inactive assets had given him the last scraps of his former glory. Second, going above and beyond his former limitations would make it bad enough, even after rehab, he was still adjusting. The frame had incredible endurance though and the fact that it was all made of strong, light weight metal was a plus as well.

"I wasn't..."

"Errr... right, and well, those plates actually went on pretty well, Sir. I was surprised they fit so well."

He'd brought in plates from a set of medium battle armor he had acquired. He'd made sure the plates fit exactly to his needs. The armor and the few extra additions to the frame had really been what had drained him of his remaining credits. Personalized equipment was like trying to buy your own planet.

"I had them fitted before hand."

"Oh, errr, yes Sir, that would do it then. But the engineering of the frame is maintenance free, you insured that much I saw. I wouldn't have been able to do as well without those extra parts you walked in there with."

Top of the line parts meant he wouldn't have to be coming back to someone like this to get refitted all the time.

"That was the idea."

"A good one at that too, Sir."

"Yes, well, your pay has been transmitted as I've signed the invoice."

"And appreciated it is, Sir. You have a nice day."

He hoped the mechanic had a stroke. Hawk stood, stretching slowly just to get a feel for the frame. It really was snug, the plates adding a new weight to it. He slid his coat back on and placed his hat on top of his head before letting the door slide open to the muggy air outside.

=======

Coruscant. So far from the Hutts that it was nearly a vacation. If he didn't consider that he was putting himself back on the playing table for work. And starting at the bottom to make note of that. He had been lucky enough to cheat the system and at least get a few false records on file as he was a mercenary for hire out of the Outer Rim. And these Core system organizations never wanted to spend the time checking and reassuring whether or not such information was true. He had far more than the background he'd falsified, but no one could know that. And fresh mercs never got the good paying jobs.

He put himself out on the table and sat back. It had been almost two years since that night. And he hadn't even killed a person yet. No, he couldn't. He was saving it all. At times, he felt like a time bomb. Just ticking away until eventually it would hit the mark and he'd explode, killing everything in his path. At times, he had mental flashes of the torture he'd endured, of the hazy moments in the bacta tank, and of his surgeries.

But at the core of himself, he really felt like a black hole, that consumed all of his anger, all of his suppressed fear of falling into the cracks of life, living the pathetic scamper of some low level invalid. He had been at the top, nearly a prince in the eyes of some. He'd had men willing to die for him, and they had. He'd had it all and some fat slug had taken it away. A rising urge to take it back nearly overwhelmed him. His hand twitched uncontrollably and he held it down with his other hand calmly.

No, he couldn't feel like he once had. The world was seperated from him by the frame, his new skin. But really, as the concept dawned on him more and more, the world was really seperated from him by his anger. It seperated it from him and he was glad, for it seemed to give him a measure of focus he had never had before. The plans were going to be long in the making but already he could see avenues in which he could obtain revenge and resume his path to his rightfully earned glory. At times, dark whispers of his tragedy interpreted his torture as a failure on his part, another surpressed fear, but he turned it in on itself. They had wronged him, they had. And they had done even further wrong by letting him live, however that had come to be.

His hand quit twitching and he made a fist, his leather glove stretching with the tension. He closed his eyes, resting on the fact that he was working in the center of the universe but comforted by the thought that in time, he would be the center of the universe.