Post by Regnier on Nov 10, 2010 6:29:21 GMT -5
It was done.
They were all dead. Every single one of them. Years of planning, back-alley dealings, thievery, espionage, payoffs, and assassinations, all leading up to one critical moment, and now it had come and gone. He’d survived, though he hadn’t planned on it, and they hadn’t. So what the hell was he supposed to do now? He was out of enemies; FID lie in ruins, taken apart brick by brick. He’d hunted down and killed all the major players, all the bigwigs funding them, all the command structure. He’d destroyed both of their only two physical locations with anything in them, dug out all of his files before burning all their physical records and their backups, and even shot the records keeper. And his secretary. He’d started with his handler, while the man sat behind a desk in his office inside the FID HQ disguised as a bank on Bastion itself.
-----
Dropping to the floor of a maintenance room silently from the supposedly locked maintenance hatch in the ceiling and brushed a little dirt off his knees and elbows. For the right price, janitors would usually give you just about anything if you played your cards right, and they definitely wouldn’t warn anyone if you killed them afterwards. Checking himself over, he opened the door, glanced into the hallway, and stepped out. Funny thing about restricted areas; generally, there weren’t as many guards actually inside, and typically they didn’t check for IDs once you were already past the entrances unless you did something that made you look suspicious. Just another suit with a briefcase walking the hall hardly gave anyone reason to question.
Stopping at an office, he glanced at the nameplate hanging beside it and shook his head with a smirk. As far as cover names went, A. Hemmerschmit wasn’t the most convincing he’d heard. Giving the hall one more look to ensure he was clear, he overrid the console with a few simple keystrokes. He hadn’t memorized quite all of them, but he knew the factory default of damn near every digital lock system in mainstream use by heart, as proven when the door hissed open. Vos stepped through as the man sitting behind the desk on the far side of the room glanced up and blinked. As the door slid shut, the Kiffar didn’t give him a chance to react, a small blaster appearing in his hand from the confines of his jacket and leveling before the man had a chance to pull open one of the drawers of his desk. Slowly, he raised his hands in defeat, setting them on his desk.
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. There was always something about you that gave me the heebies. What do you w-”
Blasterfire ended the word leaving his mouth.
-----
He’d had to shoot his way out, but thanks to a less than legitimate contact that he’d convinced through a great deal of lies and trickery to rob the bank simultaneously, word of the threat against the FID would take longer to spread, give him time. Muunilist had come next, the FID’s main facility, also masked as a bank, housed all the important personnel and most of the physical records. It was more than enough to sink the agency if they lost it, which is exactly why they’d spent so much time and resources making sure the facility was never found. They’d taken into consideration the possibility of being hit from the inside, but they hadn’t counted on Vos, and once he’d found it…
The facility had been designed to never be found, and to keep it as inconspicuous as possible, it really didn’t have a very impressive security force. They had been small in number, and though quite skilled, completely outmatched in the type of warfare Vos waged. Though he’d taken a few minor shots in the process, he’d eaten them alive after forcing the building into a complete lockdown and cutting its power. And that few dozen mostly unarmed and untrained personnel locked inside a dark building with a madman hellbent on vengeance for almost an entire hour until a response-force arrived and cut their way in. They found a surprising amount of survivors, actually, although none of them, including the first response team, would ever leave the building, courtesy of a black-market dealer who could get his hands on military-grade explosives.
-----
“You know, your file always gave me a bad feeling, Vos. A good read, but a little light on the details, especially concerning just how it was we’d come by your services. Wish I’d known the full truth.”
”Your predecessor was a little too confident for this business, Lauhman.”
“He underestimated you. I would have had you shot on the spot.”
”So would I, in his shoes. Too bad for you he burned my file and didn’t tell anyone about me, his little secret, instead.”
“Yes, too bad for me. I didn’t think one man could bring everything down, but you really are going to, aren’t you?”
”Piece. By. Piece. You’re next.”
-----
He’d found his family. Dug out the records that still existed on what they’d done to them, followed transactions, miscellaneous and non-descript orders, paper trails…
They’d been disappeared, more than once, and nobody still working the FID by the time Vos began tearing it apart didn’t even know they existed. But Vos had made a career around disappearing, and he knew all the tricks in the trade, as well as how to piece them together and follow the trail. By the time he tracked them down, however, it was almost far, far too late. Years ago, Aeli’s compliance had been ensured by numerous threats against her children, but she was almost as stubborn as her husband and had, eventually, attempted escape. She was not, however, as skilled, and inevitably failed. Upon their capture, the bureaucrat she’d been given to for safe keeping made an example out Kintan to prove a point, killing the boy where he stood, which prompted Aeli to break free of her captors, grab a blaster, and shoot the man down, ultimately resulting in her own demise, though Paulus, the man holding them, survived. By the time Vos found Paulus’ residence, Entari had been wearing chains for almost a year, starved, and beaten countless times.
Two walked out of that estate that day. Both were Kiffar.
-----
”You really don’t get it, do you? Who I am? Why I’m here? I’m not a thief, and I’m not an assassin. Not today, anyways.”
“Then…you’re not here for money? Or to kill me? I…don’t understand…you killed all of my guards, my staff, for what? Who are you?”
”You see that little girl in the corner?” Vos motioned to one of the man’s slaves cowering in the corner of the room with a nod, keeping his blaster leveled at head-height. ”The dark-skinned one. Here’s a hint; the tattoos aren’t a coincidence.”
“Oh, son of-“
”Father, actually.”
-----
So here they were. He’d erased himself from the sith. He’d brought down the agency that had cause him so much hell for seven long years. He’d killed everyone responsible for taking his family away from him, for making him turn on his own people. He’d gotten what was left of his family out. Entari was safe. So was he.
Taris. What a hole.
Glass in one hand, he sat on the bar’s balcony of the hotel they were staying at for the night, with the knowledge that his daughter was safe, one floor below him, sleeping off the events of the past few days. She could take care of herself, and she had a ticket that would get her to Coruscant eventually, and he’d told her if, for any reason, if she couldn’t find him in the morning, he’d find her there. She was tough, and smart, always had been, and in the brief time since their reunion, he could tell those traits had only flourished in the past years. Much as he hated to admit it, she was probably going to turn out a lot like him. He was also damn proud of the fact.
But all this left him with a bit of a dilemma. He’d done everything he’d set out to do, everything he’d sworn he would, and here he was, still alive to tell the tale. He’d never accounted for his own survival. His plans never entailed what came after if he did. Grief was finally starting to settle in now that he had time to think; before had only been rage and determination, focus. Now it was really starting to sink in that they were dead and gone, never to return. He’d never tell his son bedtime stories, never bandage his cuts and scrapes, never play games with him, never tell him about women, never steal his daughter-in-law for a dance at their wedding…he’d never kiss his wife again. He’d never see her smile, that smile that just made him feel better, no matter what. He’d never hold her and tell her everything would be alright. He’d never laugh at her for tripping over the carpet like she did every damn time she walked through the living room again. He’d never pick her up and carry her to the bedroom again.
Because she was dead. The most beautiful woman he’d ever met was gone, and he’d never get her back. Aeli was dead, and so was Kintan, so was his son. For the first time in seven years, Nazante Vos cried, and no matter how much he tried, no matter how much he berated himself, he couldn’t stop. It was only the voice of a woman breaking the near-silence that shook him back to reality.
“Are you…are you alright?”
The Kiffar turned his head slowly to face the only other occupant of the balcony, a young woman, Twi’lek, his face contorted in a mixture of anger and grief only a man robbed of two of the most important things to ever enter his life could know.
”What do you think?”
The young woman pulled back slightly at the tone in his voice, but pressed on none the less. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”
”But you did anyways.”
“Is there anything I can-“
Vos snorted, rising out of his seat and stepping to the edge of the balcony. ”They’re gone, and there isn’t a damn thing anyone can do about it. Not you, not me, not whatever gods may or may not be out there.” Tension rose in his voice, though not volume, as he continued. His grip on the glass in his hand tightened, his knuckles grew white. Vos swore. ”I lost them. Everything I swore to protect, everything I ever loved, I couldn’t hold on to, so now they’re gone, and there isn’t a f**king thing I can do about it!”
Tightening his grip until the crack of glass could be heard, he ended his rant by heaving it off into the night and letting out a howl of pain after it. ”And the only way I’ll ever see them again anytime soon is if I take this pistol,” His voice now eerily calm again, he slipped the blaster from its place beneath his jacket in time with his words. Slowly, and much to the increasing horror of the Twi’lek, he raised his arm and turned his wrist until the barrel was pressed snugly against his temple. ”Stick it against the side of my head like so, and pull the trigger. Bang.”
The wide-eyed woman jumped slightly, but didn’t move, frozen in shock. Suddenly, as if a light had gone off in his mind, he lowered the weapon slightly and looked over the edge of the balcony. ”Or perhaps just raise a leg over this railing and lean forward. Make it harder for people to figure things out. Eh, I’d just have enough time to decide it was a bad idea after all. Pistol, then.” Raising the weapon once more, he closed his eyes with every intent to finish it right then and there. Maybe it was a little selfish, but he did honestly believe Entari’s life would be easier without him at this point. He seriously doubted he had enough left in him to make any kind of father. He'd already written out a message to the only person who knew about him and left it with Entari's things, along with instructions on how to send it properly. Jade Borgonia would get the message conveying a brief explanation that he would probably be dead by the time he was reading it, and that he was sorry he never got the chance to help him, sooner or later. He wished the man well, and hoped he made it through alright, but Vos wouldn't be helping him now after all, it looked like.
Oh well.
“WAIT!”
Vos blinked an eye open. ”What?”
“You can’t do this!”
”Who says?”
“I do! Look, I don’t know what happened to you, but whatever it is, it can’t possibly be worth this, can it?”
”That’s your opinion. I say you’re wrong. But…” Again, Vos swore, vehemently, as he lowered the blaster to his side, kicking his seat over angrily. ”I don’t know. I really don’t know anymore, and I can’t- MMM, I am nowhere near as drunk as I should be right now. I’m going back to the bar.”
“I’d say that’s not-“
”I wasn’t asking permission, lady.”
So this was how it ended? After everything he’d accomplished, all he’d done, all he’d survived, he was going to die in a little hotel bar by his own hand, with any knowledge of his life disappearing with him, and nobody but a burly bartender that probably wouldn’t even notice and a pretty little Twi’lek that would probably faint? It was fitting, he figured.
It wasn’t long before sirens descended upon the hotel.
Not long after sunrise the next day, Entari Vos was in a small civilian transport headed to Bothowui, and eventually to Coruscant itself, the seat beside her empty. Was this really the end? The legacy of a man whose story would never be known? Good enough, he probably would have said.
Good enough.
But then, the story is never really over, now is it?
They were all dead. Every single one of them. Years of planning, back-alley dealings, thievery, espionage, payoffs, and assassinations, all leading up to one critical moment, and now it had come and gone. He’d survived, though he hadn’t planned on it, and they hadn’t. So what the hell was he supposed to do now? He was out of enemies; FID lie in ruins, taken apart brick by brick. He’d hunted down and killed all the major players, all the bigwigs funding them, all the command structure. He’d destroyed both of their only two physical locations with anything in them, dug out all of his files before burning all their physical records and their backups, and even shot the records keeper. And his secretary. He’d started with his handler, while the man sat behind a desk in his office inside the FID HQ disguised as a bank on Bastion itself.
-----
Dropping to the floor of a maintenance room silently from the supposedly locked maintenance hatch in the ceiling and brushed a little dirt off his knees and elbows. For the right price, janitors would usually give you just about anything if you played your cards right, and they definitely wouldn’t warn anyone if you killed them afterwards. Checking himself over, he opened the door, glanced into the hallway, and stepped out. Funny thing about restricted areas; generally, there weren’t as many guards actually inside, and typically they didn’t check for IDs once you were already past the entrances unless you did something that made you look suspicious. Just another suit with a briefcase walking the hall hardly gave anyone reason to question.
Stopping at an office, he glanced at the nameplate hanging beside it and shook his head with a smirk. As far as cover names went, A. Hemmerschmit wasn’t the most convincing he’d heard. Giving the hall one more look to ensure he was clear, he overrid the console with a few simple keystrokes. He hadn’t memorized quite all of them, but he knew the factory default of damn near every digital lock system in mainstream use by heart, as proven when the door hissed open. Vos stepped through as the man sitting behind the desk on the far side of the room glanced up and blinked. As the door slid shut, the Kiffar didn’t give him a chance to react, a small blaster appearing in his hand from the confines of his jacket and leveling before the man had a chance to pull open one of the drawers of his desk. Slowly, he raised his hands in defeat, setting them on his desk.
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. There was always something about you that gave me the heebies. What do you w-”
Blasterfire ended the word leaving his mouth.
-----
He’d had to shoot his way out, but thanks to a less than legitimate contact that he’d convinced through a great deal of lies and trickery to rob the bank simultaneously, word of the threat against the FID would take longer to spread, give him time. Muunilist had come next, the FID’s main facility, also masked as a bank, housed all the important personnel and most of the physical records. It was more than enough to sink the agency if they lost it, which is exactly why they’d spent so much time and resources making sure the facility was never found. They’d taken into consideration the possibility of being hit from the inside, but they hadn’t counted on Vos, and once he’d found it…
The facility had been designed to never be found, and to keep it as inconspicuous as possible, it really didn’t have a very impressive security force. They had been small in number, and though quite skilled, completely outmatched in the type of warfare Vos waged. Though he’d taken a few minor shots in the process, he’d eaten them alive after forcing the building into a complete lockdown and cutting its power. And that few dozen mostly unarmed and untrained personnel locked inside a dark building with a madman hellbent on vengeance for almost an entire hour until a response-force arrived and cut their way in. They found a surprising amount of survivors, actually, although none of them, including the first response team, would ever leave the building, courtesy of a black-market dealer who could get his hands on military-grade explosives.
-----
“You know, your file always gave me a bad feeling, Vos. A good read, but a little light on the details, especially concerning just how it was we’d come by your services. Wish I’d known the full truth.”
”Your predecessor was a little too confident for this business, Lauhman.”
“He underestimated you. I would have had you shot on the spot.”
”So would I, in his shoes. Too bad for you he burned my file and didn’t tell anyone about me, his little secret, instead.”
“Yes, too bad for me. I didn’t think one man could bring everything down, but you really are going to, aren’t you?”
”Piece. By. Piece. You’re next.”
-----
He’d found his family. Dug out the records that still existed on what they’d done to them, followed transactions, miscellaneous and non-descript orders, paper trails…
They’d been disappeared, more than once, and nobody still working the FID by the time Vos began tearing it apart didn’t even know they existed. But Vos had made a career around disappearing, and he knew all the tricks in the trade, as well as how to piece them together and follow the trail. By the time he tracked them down, however, it was almost far, far too late. Years ago, Aeli’s compliance had been ensured by numerous threats against her children, but she was almost as stubborn as her husband and had, eventually, attempted escape. She was not, however, as skilled, and inevitably failed. Upon their capture, the bureaucrat she’d been given to for safe keeping made an example out Kintan to prove a point, killing the boy where he stood, which prompted Aeli to break free of her captors, grab a blaster, and shoot the man down, ultimately resulting in her own demise, though Paulus, the man holding them, survived. By the time Vos found Paulus’ residence, Entari had been wearing chains for almost a year, starved, and beaten countless times.
Two walked out of that estate that day. Both were Kiffar.
-----
”You really don’t get it, do you? Who I am? Why I’m here? I’m not a thief, and I’m not an assassin. Not today, anyways.”
“Then…you’re not here for money? Or to kill me? I…don’t understand…you killed all of my guards, my staff, for what? Who are you?”
”You see that little girl in the corner?” Vos motioned to one of the man’s slaves cowering in the corner of the room with a nod, keeping his blaster leveled at head-height. ”The dark-skinned one. Here’s a hint; the tattoos aren’t a coincidence.”
“Oh, son of-“
”Father, actually.”
-----
So here they were. He’d erased himself from the sith. He’d brought down the agency that had cause him so much hell for seven long years. He’d killed everyone responsible for taking his family away from him, for making him turn on his own people. He’d gotten what was left of his family out. Entari was safe. So was he.
Taris. What a hole.
Glass in one hand, he sat on the bar’s balcony of the hotel they were staying at for the night, with the knowledge that his daughter was safe, one floor below him, sleeping off the events of the past few days. She could take care of herself, and she had a ticket that would get her to Coruscant eventually, and he’d told her if, for any reason, if she couldn’t find him in the morning, he’d find her there. She was tough, and smart, always had been, and in the brief time since their reunion, he could tell those traits had only flourished in the past years. Much as he hated to admit it, she was probably going to turn out a lot like him. He was also damn proud of the fact.
But all this left him with a bit of a dilemma. He’d done everything he’d set out to do, everything he’d sworn he would, and here he was, still alive to tell the tale. He’d never accounted for his own survival. His plans never entailed what came after if he did. Grief was finally starting to settle in now that he had time to think; before had only been rage and determination, focus. Now it was really starting to sink in that they were dead and gone, never to return. He’d never tell his son bedtime stories, never bandage his cuts and scrapes, never play games with him, never tell him about women, never steal his daughter-in-law for a dance at their wedding…he’d never kiss his wife again. He’d never see her smile, that smile that just made him feel better, no matter what. He’d never hold her and tell her everything would be alright. He’d never laugh at her for tripping over the carpet like she did every damn time she walked through the living room again. He’d never pick her up and carry her to the bedroom again.
Because she was dead. The most beautiful woman he’d ever met was gone, and he’d never get her back. Aeli was dead, and so was Kintan, so was his son. For the first time in seven years, Nazante Vos cried, and no matter how much he tried, no matter how much he berated himself, he couldn’t stop. It was only the voice of a woman breaking the near-silence that shook him back to reality.
“Are you…are you alright?”
The Kiffar turned his head slowly to face the only other occupant of the balcony, a young woman, Twi’lek, his face contorted in a mixture of anger and grief only a man robbed of two of the most important things to ever enter his life could know.
”What do you think?”
The young woman pulled back slightly at the tone in his voice, but pressed on none the less. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…”
”But you did anyways.”
“Is there anything I can-“
Vos snorted, rising out of his seat and stepping to the edge of the balcony. ”They’re gone, and there isn’t a damn thing anyone can do about it. Not you, not me, not whatever gods may or may not be out there.” Tension rose in his voice, though not volume, as he continued. His grip on the glass in his hand tightened, his knuckles grew white. Vos swore. ”I lost them. Everything I swore to protect, everything I ever loved, I couldn’t hold on to, so now they’re gone, and there isn’t a f**king thing I can do about it!”
Tightening his grip until the crack of glass could be heard, he ended his rant by heaving it off into the night and letting out a howl of pain after it. ”And the only way I’ll ever see them again anytime soon is if I take this pistol,” His voice now eerily calm again, he slipped the blaster from its place beneath his jacket in time with his words. Slowly, and much to the increasing horror of the Twi’lek, he raised his arm and turned his wrist until the barrel was pressed snugly against his temple. ”Stick it against the side of my head like so, and pull the trigger. Bang.”
The wide-eyed woman jumped slightly, but didn’t move, frozen in shock. Suddenly, as if a light had gone off in his mind, he lowered the weapon slightly and looked over the edge of the balcony. ”Or perhaps just raise a leg over this railing and lean forward. Make it harder for people to figure things out. Eh, I’d just have enough time to decide it was a bad idea after all. Pistol, then.” Raising the weapon once more, he closed his eyes with every intent to finish it right then and there. Maybe it was a little selfish, but he did honestly believe Entari’s life would be easier without him at this point. He seriously doubted he had enough left in him to make any kind of father. He'd already written out a message to the only person who knew about him and left it with Entari's things, along with instructions on how to send it properly. Jade Borgonia would get the message conveying a brief explanation that he would probably be dead by the time he was reading it, and that he was sorry he never got the chance to help him, sooner or later. He wished the man well, and hoped he made it through alright, but Vos wouldn't be helping him now after all, it looked like.
Oh well.
“WAIT!”
Vos blinked an eye open. ”What?”
“You can’t do this!”
”Who says?”
“I do! Look, I don’t know what happened to you, but whatever it is, it can’t possibly be worth this, can it?”
”That’s your opinion. I say you’re wrong. But…” Again, Vos swore, vehemently, as he lowered the blaster to his side, kicking his seat over angrily. ”I don’t know. I really don’t know anymore, and I can’t- MMM, I am nowhere near as drunk as I should be right now. I’m going back to the bar.”
“I’d say that’s not-“
”I wasn’t asking permission, lady.”
So this was how it ended? After everything he’d accomplished, all he’d done, all he’d survived, he was going to die in a little hotel bar by his own hand, with any knowledge of his life disappearing with him, and nobody but a burly bartender that probably wouldn’t even notice and a pretty little Twi’lek that would probably faint? It was fitting, he figured.
It wasn’t long before sirens descended upon the hotel.
Not long after sunrise the next day, Entari Vos was in a small civilian transport headed to Bothowui, and eventually to Coruscant itself, the seat beside her empty. Was this really the end? The legacy of a man whose story would never be known? Good enough, he probably would have said.
Good enough.
But then, the story is never really over, now is it?