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Thread: Spy Game: It's all fun until someone gets hurt

  1. #1
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    Aurelias Kazaar's Avatar
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    Spy Game: It's all fun until someone gets hurt

    Seven Months Later- The Prison Ship Redemption's Quest

    His eyes traced the paths of the cell walls, again and again and again...

    They hadn't changed once since he'd been transferred seven months ago. And he somehow doubt they'd even change...unless of course Spenny ever came t'visit him, he'd probably stick some sort of painting up on the wall to 'brighten the mood'. Or worse...one of his damn blankets.

    Eugh.

    But it was one of those 'damn blankets' Aurelias Kazaar was preferring at the moment. The ship's captain somehow thought it rather funny to lower the temperature in the cells about ten degrees. Kazaar would probably see it as 'funny' too...if he weren't currently in a cell.

    The Rebel Operative (he was still that wasn't he?) ran a hand through his scraggly black hair. At some point he'd have to get it cut, but not until he was out, if he ever got out. Belargic hadn't been specific as to the when and where Kazaar would be released back into the galaxy.

    In fact, the 'Bossman' hadn't even said if he'd let Kazaar go back to work for RebelOps. In a way, the former bounty hunter figured, he was okay with that...Gorgja the Hutt would probably let him do some odd jobs here'n there.

    It'd pay pretty well too, even if he wasn't busting the heads of every Imperial he could get a hold of. Nah...the fat Hutt looked down on that...had something t'do with a deal he'd cut with one of the current leaders...Sevon, Desaria...one of them.

    Even in Kazaar's dark cell, he still got news of the outside galaxy. Most of it were rumors, notions passed on by a 'friend on the outside'. The former bounty hunter (he was definitely that) cared less about 'rumors', as far as he was concerned, the entire prison ship could go rot in hell.

    In his mind, what he'd done was still the right thing, despite his current predicament. No one else knew it is all. Or believed it.

    Kazaar smirked, feeling his back tighten just a bit as he stretched his legs across the 'bed' he was laying on. It was still uncomfortable. Not that he was expecting a prison bed to be comfy, but he atleast wanted something related to a pad. Instead he got a single strip of foamy cloth, the color matched the walls, which he lay upon every night.

    No pillow, no blanket. Just the pad.

    And he swore if he ever got outta the cell, he'd force the Rebels to atleast put a blanket in. Just t'make it a bit fair.

    The Alderaanian shifted position to his left side, the orange jumpsuit he wore *crinkling* just a bit as he moved. It was itchy and did little to combat the cold he was feeling.

    'Least he had an undershirt. It'd help...just a bit.

    But the worst wasn't the pad he was laying on...or the jumpsuit he wore...or the damn cold.

    It was th'fact he hadn't had a cigar in seven months. Seven frackin' months without one hint of tobacco.

    And that pissed him off.

    He sighed and tried t'take his mind offa that travesty.

    Kazaar hadn't seen 'The Kid' inna while, not since he'd told her to watch after 'The Twins'.

    Estelle's face had looked puzzled at the time.

    "The Twins?"

    He'd smirked and snorted at the same time, "Yeh...Vera'n Ashley. 'The Twins'..."

    A blank look.

    "M'Bryar Pistols, Kid, jeez," Kazaar'd swore, "What ya never 'named' something of yours?"

    Turns out Estelle had given names to some of her things...just not weapons.

    Kazaar still rolled his eyes at that, even now, while he lay in his empty cell.

    Women.

    It was then his ears caught it...the *clack*clack*clack* of boots on the metallic floor outside the cells. He couldn't see who was coming, but they were headed towards his cell.

    Kazaar swore if it was another shrink tryin' to 'diagnose' his 'anger issues', he'd break that guy's arm too. Then he's shove it up his ying-yang and hope it wasn't recoverable.

    The *clacking* stopped in front of his cell and the grey door slowly slid open revealing a tall, black man with cropped hair and a face which was more pleasant than Kazaar'd prefer.

    "Agent Kazaar," the man said plainly, closing the cell door behind him.

    "I have an offer for you."

    "Yeh?" Kazaar didn't move from his position on his bed.

    "We have need of your services," the man's face remained pleasant but a hint of seriousness was in his voice.

    "Agent Russard...has been kidnapped."
    Last edited by Aurelias Kazaar; Jul 23rd, 2007 at 08:58:27 PM.


  2. #2
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    Estelle Russard's Avatar
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    The setup for the meet had been standard procedure and, as always, carefully planned.

    Agent Kristmansen, Estelle's assigned handler since her return to Imperial Center, had been unconcerned in they way he had expected things to unfold. Even though it was impossible to cover every possible contingency, there had been no reason to think this meeting would not go smoothly. After all, it was not the first time they were connecting with their mark.

    Tudor, a mercenary turned arms dealer had built for himself a tidy little business supplying illegal weapons to pirates, smugglers, or any self-styled raiders that would pay his exorbitant prices in exchange for top of the line hardware with swift delivery, no questions asked.

    Tudor's business was very successful and was suspected as the main supplier to a band of mercs that was making themselves known in most unfriendly terms to a small rebel outpost in the outer rim.

    Estelle and Kristmansen where assigned to make contact with Tudor, discover his base of operations as well as the identity of the mercenaries he was supplying. This information would then be used by the Alliance to dismantle Tudor's outfit, eliminate the mercenaries and, if possible and as a nice bonus, appropriate the remaining arms supplies for Rebel use.

    The food court was busy even though it was mid-moring. The breakfast rush was over, the lunch rush had not yet begun. There was a comforting amount of citizens around without the place being a complete zoo, as so often was the case in these places.

    Tudor recognized Estelle immediately that she arrived and waved her over. Followed by her bodyguard Kristmansen, she made her way over to where the gunsdealer sat eating a fried egg sandwich. He was flanked by two burly Trandoshans, both of whom swivelled their heads constantly, watching the entire area.

    Tudor half-stood as she sat down, obviously a little enamoured with her. "Danielle, you are lovelier each time I see you"

    Estelle smiled demurely. "Dont think because you flatter me Tudor, that I will let you're attempt to overcharge me slide"

    Tudor sank back gracefully into his chair, returning a coy smile of his own, "I would not dream of cheating you, dear lady. You can ask whatever you wish of me, it is yours for less than I would charge my mother"

    "I'm sure" she played back to him, allowing him to take her hand in is own. It was warm and fleshy and she squashed the urge to shudder. "Is it too soon in the day to talk business, Tudor? Shall I let you finish breakfast?"

    Tudor struggled with his desire to flirt some more, and his greed to solidify a new deal. He managed to do both.

    Pushing away his sandwich and wiping his hands on the cloth napkin, he leaned forward and traced Estelle's delicate wrist with a finger. "It is never too soon to talk business, Danielle." His eyes twinkled at her. "Have you decided on the guns you'd like?" Kristmansen sat stoically not reacting to Tudors advances to Estelle, keeping himself in character despite how much he despised having to do so and would be much happier if he could pistol-whip the arms dealer over the head. For her part, Agent Russard was handling herself handsomely.

    It was at that moment that the gunfire erupted.

  3. #3
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    Kazaar was ushered from his cell to a holding area, where he was given clothes (a simple pair of black pants and a pull-over white shirt) and simple brown shoes (lace-up and not so comfortable). He was also sent to the refresher where he cleaned himself before donning the clothes.

    After dressing, Kazaar asked the Rebel soldier standing next to him if he had a cigar and was promptly shot down. The black Rebel Operative who freed him, though, handed him a very light cigar. A minute later and the former bounty hunter was sitting in a briefing room, smoke curling around his face. The flavor was minute but at least it was tobacco...sweet, wonderful tobacco.

    "All right," he leaned back in a red chair, attempting to get as comfortable as possible. It was rather hard and uncomfortable.

    "Explain what's going on."

    The black man walked in front of a large, circular table, briefly running his hand over the smooth surface. He grabbed a white remote (the same color as the table) and pressed a button. The center of the table glowed and several holographic pictures appeared for the two to see.

    "You remember Kal Kristmansen?" the man asked. Kazaar nodded, wondering when the man was going to give his name.

    "Twelve hours ago, he and Agent Russard were on Coruscant attempting to make contact with Kamden Tudor-"

    "That Sleemo?" Kazaar interupted him, "What the frack is he doing outta Kessel?"

    The man gave Kazaar a disparaging look, only to get a smirk in return.

    "It turns out Tudor was released nine months ago and almost immediately starting funding various mercenary groups on the Outer Rim. It was rumored he was trying to get in with the Black Sun.

    "Agents Russard and Kristmansen were going to find the location of his main cache of weapons and procure them for our own uses."

    Kazaar gave the man a knowing look, "That didn't happen did it?"

    "No it didn't," he pressed another button on the remote and the picture changed one of several bodies: two Trandoshans and two humans, one was Kristmansen, the other Tudor."

    Kazaar gave a snort, "Couldn't happen to a better guy..."

    Another glare.

    "You notice Agent Russard is not present in those bodies. We believe this man," a different picture appeared of a big burly man, his long hair falling down beneath his shoulders. His squarish face was bearded with red beard, giving him an even wilder look, "His name is Ghlar Timander and his organization attacked the meet and...disrupted it."

    The former bounty hunter's face was serious, "So where's 'The Kid'?"

    "We believe he's taken her to his hideout, a small compound, on the icy planet of Mastala."

    Kazaar nodded, "You need me t'go get 'er?"

    A nod.

    "And more than that...you will be leading a team of commandos in to pull her out...before they realize they have one of our age-"

    "Whoa...whoa...whoa," Kazaar interupted him again, "You want me t'lead a band of commandos? Are ya crazy? I work alone."

    The man gave a smirk, "You're working with a team of commandos. Or you can go back to your cell."

    A glare from the Rebel Operative.

    He was stuck.

  4. #4
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    Ghlar flicked cigarette ash off his knee with his little finger, his eyes thin slits beneath hooded lids as he smoked lazily. The slight ticking at the side of his mouth the only sign that Brendt Zellid was pushing his luck.

    "If you dont shut up Zellid, I'll shoot you instead."

    "She's no use to us. Why the frell did you bring her back." Zellid was an ugly man. Scared face, an overhanging forhead that made him look rather apish and a pockmarked face that flared red in patches, which all served to give him a rough, abrassive appearance. It even didnt come close to the type of rough and abrassive individual he really was. Mean and violent. Zellid was a thug in every sense of the word.

    "Because.." Ghlar snarled, "..you killed Tudor before we got where his base is, you stupid cretin." He looked cruelly at Estelle and speculated, "Maybe his girlfriend will tell us, huh sweet thing"

    Estelle sat stiffly in the chair, hands tied behind her, feet bound together and pulled back under the chair. She had been stripped down to tank-top and underwear, no shoes, and blindfolded. She felt very vunerable and completely exposed. It had been engineered for that purpose, she knew from her training. New recruits were always put through a variety of capture scenarios and so far, what Estelle was experiencing was pretty standard. It was, however, thoroughly terrifying to know this was not some sort of excercise that she just had to pass.

    The voices came from either side of her. Ghlar was to her left, the second man Zellid to her right. The chair was metal and cold. The room was cold, too, and there was no fresh air that she could tell. Was she in a cellar maybe? Cold storage room, perhaps? The floor was cement, that much she knew. She wasn't sure how long she had been here - it was much harder to keep track of time than she had thought possible. Her mind drifted back to the food court..Kristmansen had tried to protect her. When the first shots were fired, he'd pushed her off the chair as the first Trandoshan flew backwards off his seat in a hail of laser bolts. But Kal had caught one in the chest and he was dead before either of them had hit the ground. Poor Kal - just like that. Did anyone know she was here? Estelle tried to calculate how long it would take for Rebel Ops to locate where she was.

    Ghlar threw his cigarette butt at her to get her attention. It bounced off the base of her neck and tumbled down to land on her thigh, sizzling her skin on its journey and causing Estelle to jerk about in attempt to shake it off.

    "I said... huh sweet thing" Ghlar repeated.

    "I told you, I dont know where his base is. I just met him"

    "Liar" Zellid was standing beside her - she hadn't heard him come over - and he backhanded her across the face, rocking her on the chair. Estelle felt stunned by the blow that had come with no warning. "You two were pawing at each other the whole time. Looked like you knew each other pretty well to us"

    She found it difficult to articulate an answer. Underneath the blindfold, tears started to well. She had to keep it together. She had to remember her training..

    "My name...is Danielle. I..."

    Zellid hit her again.

    She heard Ghlar laughing as blackness encroached about her mind.

  5. #5
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    Kazaar's face scrunched itself into a look of distain as he stared at the unnamed Rebel Operative, whose face had yet to change from its earlier smile.

    Smarmy Bastard.

    The Black Man pressed another button the remote control and the screen changed to a holographic image of an icy landscape, a bit more rocky than Hoth, but just as cold.

    "We took this image while we were scouting out locations for bases after Hoth fell. Mastala's uninhabited so you'll need to be careful on your team's entry."

    The former bounty hunter took a puff from his far too mild cigar and nodded.

    It was the standard briefing, Kazaar was gettin' all too used to, boring, frivolous, and time-consuming. He could be out there, getting t'know the team, finding out what made 'em so good they had to go along with Kazaar on a mission he could probably accomplish on his own and with relative ease.

    Probably Belargic's idea of a joke...

    "Okay," Kazaar said finally, "If I do it...I gotta know who's gonna be on the team. This gonna be military guys or mercs?"

    "It will be three military men (one is a pilot) and you can choose two others," The smile stayed as the Black Man knew Kazaar finally came around to the mission.

    "No...no pilot. We'll use one of my ships t'get in. It'll be easier that way, we'll need t'be fast."

    The man nodded, "So you'll be using The Flying Dutchman then?"

    Kazaar rolled his eyes through a haze of smoke.

    "No, I was gonna use your ship," he smirked as the Black Man glowered at him.

    The expression got only angrier when Kazaar followed up his comment, "And I want you to be a part of th'group."

    "No," the man crossed his arms, "I don't do operations."

    "Lemme put it this way, pal," Kazaar stood and stared directly into the man's face.

    "Ya want me t'do the mission...you're coming along."

    It was a test of wills between two men who were complete opposite, in both looks and personality. Kazaar, the loose cannon, his brown hair long and unkempt, falling just beyond his broad shoulders. The Unnamed Black Man, his appearance that of someone who enjoyed being in RebelOps and the cloak-and-daggers that went with it, his black hair cut close to his skull. Their eyes were the same, brown/black and unrelenting. Their faces were different too, the unnamed man's face smoother, with only a few age lines starting to show. Kazaar's face was craggy and streaked with both scars and aging, the effects of his kamikaze-style of tackling missions starting to show.

    To the former bounty hunter, this was exactly the reason why he wanted this...Unnamed Black Man (he was gonna learn his name)...on the mission, the guy need t'get out into the galaxy and see how things went. 'Sides, everyone needed practice at killing people with their own hands.

    Even if it was gonna be a quick operation.

    The two stared at each other a bit more...then Kazaar got his way.

    "Belargic said you'd be tough," the man stated, as his eyes lowered a minute.

    Kazaar trademark smirk came to his face, "Why else do ya think I'm th'best?"

    "So," the man's face was composed again, "You'll do it?"

    A nod.

    "Yeah I'll do it. But before we go...I need a name."

    A sigh from the soon to be 'Named Black Man'.

    "Othniel."

    Kazaar smirked again, "All right...Othniel. Let's go see this team ya got."

  6. #6
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    "Is she awake yet?"

    It was Ghlar speaking. She could feel his breath, hot and foul-smelling on her face as he leaned toward her.

    "Hard to tell with her eyes covered up" came Zellid's reply.

    "This is gonna take too long if you keep knocking her out like that, Zellid. You might want to hit her someplace other than the head"

    That wasnt such a bad idea, the larger man conceeded with a "hrmph".

    Ghlar poked Estelle roughly in the stomach, "hey darlin' you awake in there?"

    "...Yes"

    Ghlar smiled as his suggestion was proven correct by example.

    "Now, we can keep doing this the hard way. Or, we can do it the even harder way. Now Brendt here" Zellid yanked off Estelle's blindfold at the introduction and looked over the young rebel as she blinked around in an attempt to focus on the multiple images that were suddenly revealed to her. Ghlar's leering face, inches from her own, Zellid's belly and chest exposed to her at face-height as he stood beside her chair, his grimey shirt unbuttoned to his navel and his hairy sweaty body reeking of garlic and stale whiskey. Beyond them were bare walls, murkish grey in color and a metal stand-up bookframe that held four or five empty shelves. There was a light overhead and Estelle made the mistake of looking up at it - the glare of it temporarily dazzling her sight so that she saw multiple black dots in her vision. "...Brendt here has been pretty lonely since his wife" (girlfriend, corrected Zellid) "...girlfriend left him" (died, he corrected again with a smug smile) "...died" Ghlar ammended, an answering smile of his own. "Like I was saying, he's been very lonely. Now we've been nice to you so far, little miss, because you seem like a decent type and its only right to show some respect to our competitor's girlfriend" (god rest his soul, interjected Zellid) "..right, yes, god rest his soul" The two men laughed, obviously enjoying some inside joke they had regarding Tudor's demise. "But" Ghlar pursed Estelle's lips roughly, gripping her face with his dirty fingers, "we dont got a lot of time, ya hear? Tell us where Tudor's base is and we can all go back to business, whaddya say?"

    It was difficult to talk with her cheeks squished in Ghlar's hand so that the soft insides of her mouth split against her teeth, "I....dont.....kno--aaaaaaah" Zellid snapped back the little finger of her left hand, breaking it with a loud crack behind her. He pried up her next finger in preparation to repeat the excercise. She struggled to writhe her fingers free of his hold, but it was hopeless.

    "Where!!" shouted Ghlar, shaking her head in his anger.

    Estelle started to cry, the tears brimming from her eyes to roll over the mercenary's fingers. "My...name...is....Da....nielle.."

    Zellid snapped the other finger and Ghlar jumped up in disgust, pushing the large brute off balance so that he tripped on his feet to fall over.

    "You did it again, you useless oaf. She's out." Ghlar spat, and turned to leave the room. "May as well get something to eat"

    Zellid got to his feet, beligerent but submissive like a beaten dog, and followed after his boss. He was pretty hungry himself.

  7. #7
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    The Flying Dutchman- en route to rendevous point

    Kazaar hadn't been surprised when Othniel led to into the hangar only to spy The Flying Dutchman waiting for them. Belargic or Van-Derveld probably gave 'im the keys. No respect f'people's personal lives or ships.

    The former bounty hunter's R7 droid 'Trey' warbled a greeting as the two walked up the boarding ramp. Kazaar was about to admonish the droid for letting an intruder on, when he noticed the restraining bolt fastened on its casing. He threw a look to 'The Black Man' and a tight smile was returned.

    "Get that damn thing offa him," Kazaar grumbled as he wandered through the interior of his ship, "And if ya touched anything else, I'm gonna kick ya butt."

    He'd slid into the cockpit, sighing happily as he was able to place a very dark cigar into his mouth. Even in his annoyance over his current situation, the thought of tobacco made his mind relax. He raised his black butane lighter to the tip (quite happy no one had hocked the lighter for something else) and let the blue flame burn. A few seconds later, the flavor of tobacco filled the cockpit and Kazaar breathed deeply.

    Nothing like a cigar.

    He was interupted by Othniel as the Rebel Agent slid into the co-pilot's seat.

    "We're heading here," the latter replied, without much fanfare, as he punched in a set of coordinates on the NavaComputer, "It's where we'll meet the rest of the team."

    Kazaar threw him a sideways glance, followed by a puff of smoke, "Care to tell me where it is?"

    "No."

    "Ya know...for someone who wanted me t'work so bad for 'em...you aren't making it real easy."

    "Oh well."

    The ship became quiet, Kazaar's hands running over the instruments, while he wished they were around his 'partner's' neck. This BlackOps crap this guy was pulling was really gettin' on his nerves.

    He woulda preferred t'keep 'Othniel' or whatever his real name was (no way his parents named 'im that) in his sights at all times, but the guy'd said he needed t'talk to Belargic about something. He'd raised a stink over it, this was still his ship, but when the face of the current Rebel Intel Director came up over the holographic display, Kazaar'd been ordered out of the room. Giving Belargic a 'special' hello, Kazaar walked out, heading into the hold of The Dutchman where he went over to his security console and tried t'listen to the conversation.

    Nothing...the holofeed in the cockpit was scrambled, obviously the product of 'The Black Man'.

    Kazaar let out a string of curses and turned to his weapons case. Atleast that part of his ship hadn't been touched.

    'The Twins' were gone, off with 'The Kid' probably at her Coruscant apartment or dorm or wherever she lived at the school. Long as no one found 'em.

    Then there's be hell t'pay. And a lotta it.

    Just when Kazaar was beginning t'think he'd need to blow open his cockpit door, Othniel's deep voice rang out in the hold.

    "If you plan on having someone else on the team. You'll need to message them now."

    The look Kazaar gave the man was one for the ages, "Naw, I figured I'd use telepathy. Gimme the damn coordinates."

    Coordinates in hand, Kazaar went over to his communications console, pressing a few buttons, then sent out a message.

    BC,

    Need some help on a project. Meet me at these coordinates, where we'll discuss. Should be a few presents in it for ya.

    AK


    Kazaar rose from the console, not bothering t'let the Spy know if it'd been sent or not, "I'm going t'bed. I've had enough of this 'cloak-and-dagger poodoo f'one day."

    ******************************************

    Four hours later

    Kazaar woke up in a cold sweat, his hand fumbling for the button to light his quarters. He'd had the dream again...the one which continued to gnaw at his mind.

    In it, Kazaar was racing down a corridor, 'The Twins' flashing in the lights which outlined the doors along the hall. Every single time, he was focussed on the door at the end of the hall, the one marked 'No Entry for the Slow'. Every time his boot would kick in the door, only to find his partner lying dead, blood pouring from a head wound which wouldn't close, no matter how many times he knelt by her body and cradled it. No matter how many times he dreamed this dream...he was always too slow.

    Every time...

    Too late...Always too late!

    And now he was in a race against time again...trying to save another, who would undoubtably die if he were 'too late'.

    Kazaar closed his eyes for a moment as he attempted to breath.

    He hadn't gotten much sleep after that, deciding to return to the cockpit where he waited for the ship to exit hyperspace. He was joined two hours later by Othniel, who smiled as he took a drink from a blue mug of caf.

    "The group we're meeting with is a specialops team I've done work with before.

    "What about your guy?"

    Kazaar gave him another sideways look, "He's good. Almost as good as me...

    "Almost."

    More silence, before a flashing light indicated The Dutchman was ready to exit hyperspace. The starlines went to individual dots and Kazaar spied a Carrack Cruiser waiting for them in the vastness of space.

    "I'll take it from here," Othniel pressed a button, "This is Two-Niner requesting permission to board, "Gotta couple jockeys here for loading."

    "Permission granted Two-Niner," the liquidy-voice of a Calamari echoed over the comm, "You may enter when ready."

    Othniel smiled, "We'll wait one day for your guy to show up.

    "Then we leave."

  8. #8
    Bloodcrest
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    Bloodcrest was enjoying a nice small-profit heist from a small Imperial shuttle when he got the message from his old associate.

    BC,

    Need some help on a project. Meet me at these coordinates, where we'll discuss. Should be a few presents in it for ya.

    AK

    "Ah heck." Was all he had to say in response. He knew Aurelias couldn't here him, but Bloodcrest shouted a curse or two at him inside the cockpit of his still-small-yet-now-adequately-armed ship. The coordinates weren't too far away at the very least.

    Leaving the Imperial shuttle for another day, Bloodcrest hit the hyperdrive and took a nap on the relatively short hyperspace jump.

    When he came out of hyperspace, Bloodcrest saw a ship in front of him and assumed Aurelias was there. He sent a short message requesting permission to dock.

  9. #9
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    Kazaar was waiting for Bloodcrest when the latter's ship docked with the Carrack Cruiser.

    He finally been able to change clothes from the standard Rebel outfit to more comfortable clothes. Gone were the black pants and white shirt, replaced by a white pullover shirt with three brown buttons by the collar and dark green pants. The brown boots were gone as well, replaced by combat boots as dark as space. Two dark blasters rested comfortably by Kazaar's sides and his large hands were covered with black gloves.

    His face was concealed by the ever present cigar smoke, but there was no doubt this was Kazaar. No one else would dare smoke out in the open, most of it was reserved for open-air scenery or the quiet of their own cabins. But even then, Bloodcrest could see the smirk on his face as he exitted his ship.

    "What the heck, Kaza-!"

    "No names, BC," The Rebel Spy interupted the merc quickly, a disparaging look on his face, "Yeh, I don't like it either, but th'guy running this dinko and bordok show likes it that way. Let's go."

    Without another word, he turned and headed through the ship's empty, white corridors. The former bounty hunter hadn't been surprised to see an almost empty ship when he'd arrived the day before. Given how Othniel seemed to love 'cloak and dagger', it only made sense for the Carrack Cruiser to have only a skeleton crew. Less of a chance of someone finding out.

    'Course it woulda just been easier had Kazaar been allowed t'do this mission by himself, like he originally wanted to. But there was no point in continuing t'argue with 'The Black Man' about this. He'd lost th'argument twice and somehow got the feeling he wasn't gonna win a third time.

    "Got here just in time. We were 'bout ready t'leave ya," a trail of smoke followed Kazaar as they headed towards a lower portion of the cruiser where an actual internal docking bay lay (somehow the Alliance had been able to modify at least one Carrack Cruiser for this type of duty).

    "Although, t'be honest," Kazaar's voice lowered to a whisper, "Woulda been happy if ya'd missed it. But I needed a guy here I could trust. Our 'commander' is a bastard in every sense of th'word.

    "So we got that t'deal with," his voice raised with his next sentence, "You'll meet the rest of the team once we get to The Dutchman. Then we're off...

    "You fine with leaving your ship here?"
    Last edited by Aurelias Kazaar; Oct 10th, 2006 at 09:41:50 AM.

  10. #10
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    Bloodcrest turned to his friend. "Actually, no." Bloodcrest pulled a piece of paper out of one of the pockets of his jacket. "Unless we are going to be needing it, we need to drop the ship at these coordinates. These coordinates are in the middle of nowhere with nothing around them. That's the point. I can't afford to let my ship fall into someone else's hands."

    Racuto pulled out his blaster and dissolved the piece of paper. "Anyways, so what've you got lined up that you needed me for? Something big? Something profitable?"

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    "Big enough," Kazaar's gruff voice had a small edge to it, "T'pull me outta a cell. You'll find out more'n the briefing, but it's a rescue op."

    He gave a lopsided smile, "Like I said...no names, but ya get t'keep whatever loot ya find offa th'bodies."

    There was silence a moment as the duo walked towards the hangar. They worked together before, each respecting the other's ability with a blaster and Kazaar respecting Bloodcrest's intelligence. He (Kazaar) had never seen himself as a 'smart guy', only as someone who could solve puzzles pretty well and knew how t'survive and fire a blaster. Racuto Bloodcrest (and Estelle Russard), those two had intelligence and used it well (even if 'The Kid' was a bit naive at times).

    The former bounty hunter's mind flashed quickly to the kidnapped Rebel Agent and he hopes she was strong enough to survive.

    "We won't be needing ya ship," a small smirk came to the Brentaalian-raised Alderaanian, "But run up to the cockpit and talk with the captain. He oughta be able t'transport ya ship to those coordinates and leave th'ship there."

    The smirk grew larger, "Don't worry, I'll make sure we don't leave without ya. Wouldn't want ya t'miss a payday."

    In reality, Kazaar was damn sure he wasn't gonna let the mission leave without Bloodcrest. He'd met the rest of the team and they appeared good...for a buncha military-types.

    There was a green-skinned Sullustan, supposedly the pilot Othniel had wanted to bring along to fly The Dutchman. Kazaar had absolutely refused to have another pilot come along, raising all sorts of hell about how it was his ship and he was the only one capable of flying it. When it was mentioned the Sullustan was also quite handy with blaster and had killed multiple stormtroopers on little ammo, Kazaar had rolled his eyes and acquiessed to bringing him along.

    The other man was a Corellian, his light brown hair coming down in layers around his ears. He was tall, thin and muscular with broad shoulders and eyes which flickered from one side of the room to the other, constantly watching for anything out of the ordinary. He was formal, saying, "Yes, sir," far too often and he stood far too straight, but there was a certain amount of cockiness to th'guy. Almost as if he knew he was good and couldn't tell his body language to shut up.

    "Ya realize," Kazaar hissed at 'The Black Man', attempting t'be out of an earshot of the big-eared Sullustan. 'Course, Kazaar figured, knowing the Sullustan's rumored hearing, he probably heard him down the hall.

    "These guys scream military. One of 'em gets captured and 'The Kid's' cover's blown."

    "You mean to tell me," Othniel replied, staring into Kazaar's eyes, "You don't think you can lead this mission?"

    A snort, "Oh I can lead this mission, I'm just sayin' it's better if I do this alone. I can find 'The Kid' and get 'er out..."

    The high ranking Rebel Agent shook his head, "You have no choice. This is a team and you're a part of it.

    "That's the last of it. Say it again and I will put you in the brig."

    So third time isn't a charm, Kazaar thought...Frack.

    He sighed, puffed on his cigar, and threw his hands up in an 'I surrender' motion.

    "Once your friend gets back from the ship's cockpit," Othniel replied (How the frack did he know that?? Kazaar wondered), "We will leave.

    "Anything else?"

    Kazaar shook his head and Othniel turned back towards the two military men, "The briefing will be on board once we've hit hyperspace. Grab your gear and let's go."

    "Yes, Commander," the two military men echoed the other, then ran up into Kazaar's ship. The former bounty hunter followed, still cursing the fact he had t'be on this particular team.

    If it weren't for 'The Kid'...gods I hope she's strong enough.

    Then he followed the trio up the ramp of The Dutchman locking all thoughts away as much as possible.

    He had a job t'do.
    Last edited by Aurelias Kazaar; Oct 10th, 2006 at 10:09:18 PM.

  12. #12
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    Estelle kept her movements as minimal as was humanly possible. Any adjustment to find some comfortable position on laying on the floor, no matter how slight, made such horrible pain shoot up her arm from her broken fingers that a wave of nausea smothered her senses and made her feel sick.

    She had slept, she assumed, for some hours. She could tell her body had taken some strength from the reprive from the brutal company of Ghlar and Zellid, despite the stiffness of every limb. They had removed the ties from her hands and feet and allowed her off the hard metal chair.

    They had given her a blanket, a roughspun woollen thing that itched like the dickens, but wrapping herself up in it had brought her some comfort. It wouldn't last, she knew. They would take it from her again, continue on with their questioning and beating and it would be even more devastating to loose that feeble comfort than if she had never had it in the first place.

    Estelle took the time given her to evaluate her situation.

    The outlook was rather bleak. If they discovered she was a rebel spy, they would kill her immediately. She doubted they would chance turning her over to the Imperials - Ghlar would want to avoid any entanglements with the Empire, given his illegal activities.

    The other alternative was that they realise their mistake that she is not, in fact, Tudor's girlfriend. Or his friend of any kind and had no useful information for them. Then, there would be no point for them to keep her around.

    The only thing she could do was try to gain some time and hope someone was looking for her. She tilted her head to look around the walls of her 'cell.' The motion jarred her hand slightly, the swollen fingers purple and blue throbbed mercilessly and her face blanched white. Escape? She could see no windows. No vents. And even if there were, how could she hope to get out through them? And if she chanced to get out - where was she? She had no idea.

    The echo of footsteps interupted her thoughts and the loud "click" of the turning lock made her stomach lurch in apprehension.

    Rest time was over.

  13. #13
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    Bloodcrest walked to the bridge and asked the captain if he could enter in some coordinates and have them take him there real quick so that he could drop off his ship.

    Jean will know where to find it. I'm sure she'll take good care of it.

    Jean was an engineer from his father's company who had, unknown to Bloodcrest, followed him out of the Corporate Sector. She had hunted him down to make sure he was taking good care of her prototype ship. Technically, it was Bloodcrest's, but he wasn't about to argue with a Corporate Sector chick over who the ship essentially belonged to, the creater or the pilot. Bloodcrest smirked, heck, he wouldn't want to argue with a Corporate Sector chick at all. He'd done so when he was ten and got the snot beat out of him. Which, as far as Bloodcrest liked to keep it, was a little known fact.

    Bloodcrest dropped the ship off at the agreed coordinates and then went back and joined Kazaar.

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    When Bloodcrest returned to the internal docking bay, he saw Kazaar leaning up against a stack of cargo container, looking almost like an over-stuffed scarecrow the way his body was splayed out against them. Othniel 'The Black Man' glanced up at the approaching mercenary, gave him a scowl, then pulled out his comlink.

    "Captain Forrestor. Care to tell me why the ship just made a jump into hyperspace?" his brown eyes were directed straight at Bloodcrest.

    Then they shifted quickly to Kazaar (noticing the rather gargantuan smirk) and he quickly added, "Never mind...are we off course by much?"

    "Negative sir. It was only a micro-jump."

    "Very well," Othniel stalked towards Kazaar, pulling him behind the cargo crates he was leaning against.

    "Care to tell me why you just did that," it wasn't a question.

    The former bounty hunter took a puff from his cigar, blowing it in the air, "Yeh, I saw what coordinates BC needed t'go and told him t'ask the captain. Not like we're off course or anything."

    A smirk.

    "You're on thin ice and I don't care how good you are. Do not disobey my orders again."

    The smirk turned into a smile, "Whatever you say."

    The two returned to their positions, Kazaar leaning up against the cargo containers and Othniel at the front of the semi-circle. Behind them The Flying Dutchman cast a orangish-brown background, its lights blinking in the white of the floor and walls of the cargo bay.

    "Check your gear," 'The Black Man' ordered, "Make sure you have everything. Then board the ship."

    The Rebel Spy sauntered up the boarding ramp, his gear all ready aboard. 'Sides, if he didn't have something...he probably didn't need it. A few minutes later and the rest of the 'team' was aboard.

    Kazaar pressed a few buttons in the cockpit and with a *lurch* The Flying Dutchman exited the Carrack Cruiser into the emptiness of space.

    To be honest, Kazaar was happy t'be away from the Carrack Cruiser. It was too confined, too sterile...like RebelOps wanted to give it an almost 'empty' feel. It made sense, after all, if something happened to it (like a wandering Star Destroyer) best to minimize the losses if they were captured. Although Kazaar had a feeling no one would be captured...they'd probably just blow the ship up.

    Which wasn't a bad idea...might take the Imperials with it.

    "Briefing in five minutes once we hit hyperspace," Othniel's deep voice rumbled into the cockpit before he returned to the hold.

    "Would it hurt ya t'announce your presence one inna while," Kazaar mummured as he keyed in the coordinates for Mastala. The Dutchman was two days out of the icy ball of a planet and hopefully would get there before 'The Kid's' captors got bored with 'er.

    A puff from his cigar and Kazaar returned to the hold, nodding to Bloodcrest.

    "Liking th'cloak-and-dagger stuff yet BC?"

  15. #15
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    Racuto smirked. "Oh you know, after a while it gets old, but hey, what am I complaining about? I do cloak and dagger all the time. It's a very profittable way to pirate...er...privateer for the Rebels."

    Bloodcrest turned towards Kazaar with a questioning look on his face. "So anyways, what am I doing here again? All I remember is something about it being big and believe a cash reward was mentioned...right?"

  16. #16
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    "It will be," 'The Black Man' answered before the former bounty hunter could, a terse expression on his face.

    He was standing next to a portable holoprojector, the kind the Rebellion preferred to use over the in-lay computer used during Yavin. Othniel's gloved hand pressed a button and the same holographic picture of the compoud appeared.

    "This is a R&R (rescue and retrieval) mission involving someone the Alliance wants kept secret. A few days ago, someone was kidnapped (doesn't matter who, don't ask) by an organization whose interests are...against our own," he paused a bit for effect, but also to ensure everyone was paying attention.

    Kazaar actually wasn't, he'd all ready heard this spiel by Othniel when he'd been released from prison and he didn't need to hear it again. He knew how important it was to grab 'The Kid' and it needed t'be done right. But he knew 'The Black Man' needed t'go over it again for th'army boys...they weren't always too smart.

    After all...they'd kicked him out for doing too good a job.

    Kazaar wasn't surprised Estelle's name did not get mentioned. With BlackOps, half the time you didn't know the name of your target just that they needed t'be helped or be rid of. It was a part of the job, Kazaar hated with a frackin' passion but it couldn't be helped.

    Everyone had their little secrets. 'Least Belargic let 'im know who needed help when. That was one thing he appreciated from 'The Bossman'.

    "The compound is guarded fairly well, so we'll need to be quick when we enter (which we'll do from the air). Whatever gear you find on the guards you can keep for yourself, just make sure you find your mark...A girl, around 22 years old, with brown hair. She's probably within the lower levels of the compound so speed is key here people.

    "I assume," he glanced at The Dutchman's owner, your droid can keep the engine running?"

    A smirk, "Ya better believe it. He's a damn good pilot."

    "Good. Any questions?"

    A voice popped up from the Corellian soldier, "Yessir, I have a question. Why do we need these guys here? This should be an army operation not left to amateurs."

    Kazaar angled his glance towards the brown-haired soldier, his body still relaxed against the bulkhead, "You say something boy?"

    The soldier rose from his seat and took two strides towards Kazaar, "Yes I did. I said I don't see why you two," he pointed at Kazaar and Bloodcrest, "Need to be here. This should be an army operation."

    "Izzat so?" Kazaar stayed relaxed, his arms at his sides, "What happens if th'mission goes all FUBAR and you guys get captured. Don'tcha think whoever we're rescuing is gonna be asked why the Rebellion is after her?

    "If you frack up...where is that gonna leave 'er?"

    "If I frack up?" a finger was pointed into Kazaar's broad chest, "We don't frack up."

    "Really?" Kazaar stared at the finger, "I'm bein' mighty generous to ya, but I think ya oughta take your finger outta my chest or else you will be 'fracking up'."

    He was in too good of a mood at th'moment. He was finally doing something, not sitting in a cell twiddling his thumbs. Plus he'd been able t'smoke a couple cigars too...that alone was bound t'make him downright estatic.

    The Corellian scoffed, the smell of rations and chewing tobacco curdling through the air.

    "What the spawn of a schutta nerf gonna do t'me? I bet'cha don't even know who t'bed with you're too busy staring at your own kind."

    That last comment got a chortle from the Sullustan who watched from his seat. 'The Black Man' still had his hands crossed, although it looked like he'd had enough.

    "I think that's enough. We've got-," Othniel started to say but was interupted by Kazaar's voice.

    "He's right ya know," Kazaar's voice was even and a smirk on his face, "Ya need t'stop while you're ahead."

    "Psh...Whatcha gonna do t'me Nerf Herder," The Corellian kept pressing, "You Nerf Frack-"

    It was then Kazaar moved quickly, his arms grasping the Corellian's hand and arm pointed into his chest. Kazaar sqeezed and a *snap* was heard as the Rebel soldier's arm broke. As he started to scream in pain, The Rebel Spy quickly shut him up by slamming him into the bulkhead.

    The Corellian fell to the floor, unconcious, his nose broken.

    Kazaar shook his head, "Fracking moron."

    He stared at the Sullustan, "Ya gotta problem with me?"

    The big-eared alien shook his head quickly and scurried to help his fallen soldier.

    'The Black Man' had a look of disgust on his face, "Take him to the infirmiry and stick him in the portable bacta tank in there.

    "And you," he pointed at Kazaar, "You better hope he's not seriously hurt. Or else this mission is in trouble."

    A snort from Kazaar.

    "I told ya t'let me do this myself. You're lucky I didn't shoot th'guy," he made his finger into a 'gun' and pretended to shoot the Corellian.

    "'Sides...I broke his non-gun hand," another smirk and a chuckle, as Kazaar puffed away on his cigar.
    Last edited by Aurelias Kazaar; Oct 14th, 2006 at 07:38:05 PM. Reason: removed signature, changed ending

  17. #17
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    It was two new faces that entered Estelle's cell and dragged her roughly up on her feet. A Whipid on either side of her, tusked-mouth and snorting handled her as easily as a ragdoll. Supporting her each with a furred arm slipped beneath that of her own, they held her propped upright so that her feet were lifted entirely off the floor. Estelle had a bad feeing about this. After them, came a weequay holding a flat board resembling a long, slim paddle. Yes, a very bad feeling about this.

    Ghlar and Zellid soon joined the party, standing close together in the door way. This was going to be it. Estelle felt sure. Somehow, she felt a certain detatchment about the fact. It was probably fatigue offering its own semblence of insulation to her, but the young rebel didn't really feel afraid so much as sad. She had wanted to do so much more. Accomplish something lasting for the Alliance. Seemed such a shame to go out having gained not a damned thing.

    "Last chance, sweetness. Tell us what we want to know or Weevil's gonna break your legs from the outside in." The weequay heard his name and correspondingly wacked the back of Estelle's calves with the wood. Her cry brought the weequay round to peer at her, the ghost of a smile on his leathery lips. Estelle's brown eyes, swollen from Zellid's earlier handiwork locked onto him, and summoning what reserve she had, she brought up one bare foot with as much force as she could muster and clipped him under the jaw with it. That was for Kal.

    "Hold her you morons!" Ghlar exploded at the whipid pair as Weevil stumbled backward into he and Zellid. The weequay bared his teeth fiercely.

    Weevil brought his fury with her to bear with each blow of the paddle. The back of her thighs, knees and calves felt on fire and were already blackening to blue, purple and a dark horrible red. The soft skin of her slender limbs beginning to break and bleed. She had shut out what was going on around her - she no longer heard the voices. Was Ghlar still talking? It didn't matter, she was aware of nothing but each new assault on her legs. She hadn't been aware of the small humanoid mechanic that had arrived to her cell. She hadn't even really been aware when the blows had stopped finally. Everything around her was a disjointed blackness. All she really heard or was cognitive of, was each indrawn breath of the whipids beside her. They were breathing in unison. Of all the things to focus on.

    'What do you mean you know her, Fink?"

    The little mechanic nodded enthusiastically, eager to have something important to say. "Thats Estelle"

    The speaking of her name penetrated the fog and she feebly lifted her head.

    "DANielle" corrected Zellid. "..She's Tudor's sketch"

    "Dan--? No, no, no. Its EST-elle. Russard. Ive seen her at the University before I signed on with you guys. I used to fix..well break really...the speeders in the workshop for the students to 'design' alternate drive systems on 'em. Most of 'em just tinker around and shuffle things up a bit. None of 'em really design anything new. Bunch 'o' rich kids playing designer"

    Ghlar and Zellid blinked at their mechanic as if seeing him for the first time.

    "And that there.." he jabbed a grease-grimed finger in Estelle's direction, "...is EST-elle Russard. The millionaire's kid"

    Ghlar and Zellid's jaws dropped simultaneously.

    "Jason Russard, the younger" expounded Fink. "Russard Industries - you've heard of them, right?" Fink looked from one to the other of his stupified audience as the question dawned on him. "Are you guys tryin' to kill her?"

  18. #18
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    Kazaar was finally dreaming something other than the death of his former partner. A dream about he, some blonde chick he knew from his youth, and a game a smashball. It was odd because all of the players had Estelle's face and kept asking, 'Where are you?' as they kept getting beaten by ugly phantoms. Just as the beatings got worse, Kazaar woke up, his body freezing.

    "Kazaar!" Othniel's voice kept calling, "Wake up."

    "Wh-huh...th'ell is goin' on?" he shook the sleep from his brown eyes, then stretched his arms. It didn't take too long for him to wake up and in a minute he was up and dressed.

    "We have a problem," 'The Black Man's voice was serious. He was carrying a small holo-projector, the kind only those high up in any government agency (whether Rebel or Imperial) had. The Rebellion had a limitted amount of them (Kazaar knew, he'd been the one who'd raided the warehouse which housed the technology) so it meant how big of a fish, Othniel was.

    He pressed a button on the holo-projector and Kazaar's eyes widened.

    The former bounty hunter's brown eyes spied an almost empty room, shadows cutting a swathe across whatever light was supposed to be there. The floor was made of concrete and bare, the same as the walls. Save for the figure setting on the stool in the middle of the room. Her body was largely beaten, the bruises showing even in the darkness of the room. The face was almost unrecognizable it was all puffy and damaged from the pummelling it'd received.

    It was Estelle Russard.

    "Hello Jason Russard of Russard Industries," the voice was accented Basic and rough, "As you can see we have your daughter. And we'll be willing to give her back to you...for a price...of five million credits and one of those gorgeous suits of armor you gave the Imperials", the voice sounded odd when it said, 'gorgeous,' like it was a word it rarely said.

    "You have two days to reply or else...I fear the consequences for young...innocent...Estelle," the transmission ended.

    Kazaar let out a string of curses, ranging to what he'd do to Ghlar Timandar if he ever caught him, to what he'd do to the mother who bore him.

    "Timandar won't wait that long," Othniel said as he slipped the holo-projector back into his black jacket, "And we're about thirty hours out of Mastala."

    The Rebel Spy's face was still full of anger. He hated when guys roughed up girls.

    "Has there been a reply?" he almost choked out.

    Othniel shook his head, "No. In fact, we don't even know if he's received it yet."

    "Once he gets it," Kazaar reached for a cigar, then offered 'The Black Man' one. It was accepted and soon the air was filled with the scent of cigar smoke.

    "Once he gets it," Kazaar repeated, "It's gonna make the mission that much more difficult. If th'Imps get involved..." he trailed off, a cold feeling in his stomach.

    Frack.

  19. #19
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    Jason Russard pressed his knuckles to his mouth as tears of complete shock and disbelief welled in his unseeing eyes. Sitting in his study, perched forward on the chazice stuffed sofa, the holovid image flickered infront of him for perhaps the fourth or fifth time.

    His little girl. So helpless.

    When had this happened? How? He couldnt think straight. Who were these dren? Where did they have her?

    Russard felt undone. Completely unprepared for such a scenario. He had been lulled into a false security having lived the life of the privaleged for so long. He had enjoyed the favor of the Empire his entire life, thanks to the success of his own father, Jason Russard Senior (or the Elder, as everyone knew him). But now, it was his baby girl that had been targeted. How had they never seen this coming? For the first time in his life, in his own home, Jason felt vunerable and exposed. And not in control. Looking at Estelle now, beaten, bound and so alone - his characteristic strength broke and a sob of dispair caught in his chest.

    "Pull yourself together" came his father's strained rebuke, "She needs you, not some fearful weakling"

    Jason the Elder was made of pure steel. An old man wheelchair bound and chained to a portable oxygen tank - the physical image was a complete contradiction of the iron will of the indivdual within.

    Estelle's father washed his face with his open palms and inhaled deeply in an effort to restore his shattered wits. "We should contact the Inquisitoriate - they may know who these people are, where they are. They'll want to help."

    Jason senior grunted, unconvinced, "Maybe"

    His son turned to look over at him, something in his father's tone arresting his attention. Jason senior continued. "...We have other friends within the Empire, too, Jason. Friends we haven't spoken to in a long time..."

    The look in his father's eyes was one that the younger Jason had not seen in twenty years. And it gave him hope.

  20. #20
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    Mastala- Ghlar Timandar's hideout

    "You sure that was a good idea?" Fink the Mechanic was fiddling with the holo-equipment, just in case they ended up getting a transmission.

    Zellid's ape-like face actually looked like it was thinking...like it was trying to process the reason the frequency had to be turned 'just right'...His limitted mind couldn't process much, save for if he squeezed that one pimple on his face 'just right' he ended up not only shooting puss out but also making it bleed.

    He'd done it twice all ready and thought a third time might fix it.

    Fink's face had a bit of a nervous look to it, "I was all for sending a message to 'Jason the Younger', but wouldn't it have been easier to ask for a ransom before you'd beaten her up?"

    Zellid's pocked face grew dark, "You f'got who negelected to tell Ghlar what Dan...Estelle's identity was remember?"

    Estelle...Danielle...whatever her name, was sleeping now...okay that wasn't completely true either...she was unconcious. After the message had been sent, Ghlar had left telling Zellid to, "Make sure she doesn't get up for a while..."

    Since he figured they were gonna kill Dan-no-Estelle (geez why can't women just have one name?) anyway, Zellid had gotten his kicks by beating her even more than before. He thought he'd heard a couple ribs snap and he definitely heard an ankle snap (last time he got hit in the face again!)

    "Yeh I know," Fink replied tapping the equipment, "There we go! Now we can get whatever broadcast is sent to us."

    Zellid's face was stupid, so Fink expounded, "Okay...so Russard is gonna get back to us...and give us money...so this equipment is gonna make sure we actually get the transmission. Plus if it turns out to be bogus...we can immediately send back a picture of the next beating or whatever you guys plan to do..."

    The mechanic looked at his former schoolmate. She'd always been pretty...too bad she was beaten...even he wouldn't touch her now.

    "I'm heading back to the dreadnaught. Apparently Ghlar wants us to head over to Garnib and make sure our other base is secure. Our Barlinak slaves are actin-oh why am I telling you this?" he noticed the blank look on Zellid's face.

    "Forget it...Ghlar'll be back in a few hours apparently," he smiled a bit, "Good-bye Estelle."

    Then he patted her cheek lightly.

    After the mechanic was gone, Zellid gave a sigh, grabbed a beer, and decided he was gonna enjoy his drink before trying the pimple again.

    **************************************
    The Flying Dutchman- 24 hours out of Mastala

    *click-CLACK-click*

    *click-CLACK-click*

    Kazaar sat in his room cleaning as many of his blasters as he could. Whether they were repeating, semi-repeating, or single shot, the former bounty hunter dismantled, cleaned, then reassembled the blasters one after another after another.

    He'd been doing this ever since he'd seen the holo-feed of Estelle Russard sitting on the stool in the compound. Ever since he'd seen the damage to her eyes, face, and body. The monster within him craved release but he coaxed it down, letting it simmer a while. Getting angry wouldn't help 'The Kid' but moving fast and getting her the hell offa Mastala would.

    Kazaar finished cleaning his Imperial Repeater Rifle, running his hand over the smooth, surface of the gun. It felt comfortable in his hands, not as much as 'The Twins' did but it was still a pleasure to hold. 'Ophelia' he called it and he planned on using it once they reached Mastala and Ghlar Timandar's compound.

    If Jason Russard didn't do anything first.

    There was a knock on his door and motioned Racuto Bloodcrest in.

    "Wonderin' where ya wandered off," Kazaar joked as he wiped the blaster down.

    "Yeh, I know...ya wanna know what technology this guy might have," Kazaar reached over and picked up a bottle of some sort of drink and swigged it, feeling the alcohol sift through his system.

    "Heard a rumor some of our targets might have a NightMight 4NS scope maybe even a DC-17m Interchangeable Weapon System (and no ya can't have mine)."

    He smirked, "Figured you might want t'grab a couple from our targets BC. Just don't take too long...gotta be quick ya know?"
    Last edited by Aurelias Kazaar; Oct 16th, 2006 at 11:45:03 PM. Reason: added an additional scene

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