Post by Karl the Unfettered on Dec 4, 2010 20:40:33 GMT -5
"You're holding a very dangerous man in there," the old man with the false blue eye said bluntly. "I'm here to relieve you of him before he kills every mother's son and daughter of you."
The Twi'lek woman frowned down at the clipboard in front of her, wondering why the weirdos always came around on her shift. "Look, Mister, uh..."
"Grendelev."
"Grendelev. Look, Mister Grendelev, we don't have anyone in right n-"
"He tried to kill himself last night," the old man said sharply, banging his left fist on the counter; the action echoed more than it should, but there weren't any dents. Yet. "He's a dangerous man who knows far too much about things that don't need to be known and I've got to make sure he doesn't die before he can get to the right people!"
The woman was taken aback, but still held her ground. "Fine, but there's forms to fill out an-"
She was cut short by a badge shoved beneath her nose. A Republic Intelligence badge, that said fancy things about what was undoubtedly a very high-ranking man. "Listen to me very carefully, miss," the old man growled. "Let me pass, or I'll have you arrested for obstructing a high-level Republic investigation!" He fixed her with his sharp blue eyes, one of which was glowing ominously. "And the people in the penal system aren't nearly as nice as I am.
"Now you have a choice," he went on, his voice still low. "You can let me pass, I remove the prisoner, and you never see either of us again. Or you can sit there demanding paperwork and you'll be rotting on Kiffex for the rest of your life!"
With such choices before her, the woman really had no other option. "You may proceed, sir," she replied sweetly, trying desperately to conceal the fear this scary old man inspired in her. "I'll see to it that all the paperwork is processed and signed." She hit a button, and a gate swung open as she muttered something into a microphone.
The rest of the old man's trek through the prison asylum was uneventful; his first ploy had worked like a charm. He was nodded through checkpoints and security scanners without so much as a second glance, though the first glances were often ones of fear or awe; let them fear him, then. They had no idea who he was.
He had come this far, tracking Nazante Vos for the past few months across his systematic demolition of a major branch of Sith intelligence. He knew about Vos' record, which was why he was going through all this trouble in the first place; one didn't simply eradicate one's own existence and one's employers from top to bottom without having a damn good reason.
And that reason, it seemed, was on a priority shuttle straight to Bothawui.
Finally he was led into a padded cell, surrounded by armed guards with lethal weaponry; the subject, a muscular Kiffar male, was bound from head to toe in heavy chains, sedated and suspended in a specially designed Force Cage.
"Wake him up," the old man ordered, "deactivate the cage and give me the keys to his chains. Then leave us in privacy." He turned his head and glared at his escort. "Complete privacy." The guard nodded nervously and went outside; a few minutes later an orderly in a white coat came and injected something into the life-support system the Kiffar was hooked up to, then he handed the old man some keys and a couple of keycards and scurried out of the room.
The door closed behind him, and the old man heard the rustle of electronics powering down. He was alone with the Kiffar.
The old man took a seat and waited for the Kiffar to wake up completely; when he did, he gave the Kiffar a hard stare and said simply:
"You're not done yet, Captain Vos."
The Twi'lek woman frowned down at the clipboard in front of her, wondering why the weirdos always came around on her shift. "Look, Mister, uh..."
"Grendelev."
"Grendelev. Look, Mister Grendelev, we don't have anyone in right n-"
"He tried to kill himself last night," the old man said sharply, banging his left fist on the counter; the action echoed more than it should, but there weren't any dents. Yet. "He's a dangerous man who knows far too much about things that don't need to be known and I've got to make sure he doesn't die before he can get to the right people!"
The woman was taken aback, but still held her ground. "Fine, but there's forms to fill out an-"
She was cut short by a badge shoved beneath her nose. A Republic Intelligence badge, that said fancy things about what was undoubtedly a very high-ranking man. "Listen to me very carefully, miss," the old man growled. "Let me pass, or I'll have you arrested for obstructing a high-level Republic investigation!" He fixed her with his sharp blue eyes, one of which was glowing ominously. "And the people in the penal system aren't nearly as nice as I am.
"Now you have a choice," he went on, his voice still low. "You can let me pass, I remove the prisoner, and you never see either of us again. Or you can sit there demanding paperwork and you'll be rotting on Kiffex for the rest of your life!"
With such choices before her, the woman really had no other option. "You may proceed, sir," she replied sweetly, trying desperately to conceal the fear this scary old man inspired in her. "I'll see to it that all the paperwork is processed and signed." She hit a button, and a gate swung open as she muttered something into a microphone.
The rest of the old man's trek through the prison asylum was uneventful; his first ploy had worked like a charm. He was nodded through checkpoints and security scanners without so much as a second glance, though the first glances were often ones of fear or awe; let them fear him, then. They had no idea who he was.
He had come this far, tracking Nazante Vos for the past few months across his systematic demolition of a major branch of Sith intelligence. He knew about Vos' record, which was why he was going through all this trouble in the first place; one didn't simply eradicate one's own existence and one's employers from top to bottom without having a damn good reason.
And that reason, it seemed, was on a priority shuttle straight to Bothawui.
Finally he was led into a padded cell, surrounded by armed guards with lethal weaponry; the subject, a muscular Kiffar male, was bound from head to toe in heavy chains, sedated and suspended in a specially designed Force Cage.
"Wake him up," the old man ordered, "deactivate the cage and give me the keys to his chains. Then leave us in privacy." He turned his head and glared at his escort. "Complete privacy." The guard nodded nervously and went outside; a few minutes later an orderly in a white coat came and injected something into the life-support system the Kiffar was hooked up to, then he handed the old man some keys and a couple of keycards and scurried out of the room.
The door closed behind him, and the old man heard the rustle of electronics powering down. He was alone with the Kiffar.
The old man took a seat and waited for the Kiffar to wake up completely; when he did, he gave the Kiffar a hard stare and said simply:
"You're not done yet, Captain Vos."