Post by Deceit *Drinker of Jawa-Juice* on Jan 13, 2010 16:54:50 GMT -5
Graffion took a step off of the crowded shuttle, and onto Nar Shaddaa. His common black attire was now coupled with a dark robe and a hood, which covered his face and hair. The bright blonde hair style was too much of a dead giveaway, and too many people knew the fear of Graffion Maruhuey on the streets of Nar Shaddaa. Especially this section. This is where Graffion and Artemis ruled, where he grew up and was trained.
He was on home turf now. And so was Artemis. His blood did not boil at the thought of the man, but instead tingled with excitement. That person had taken an urchin and made him something better. That person had taken nothing and made something great. Everything Graffion was or ever would be, he owed to Artemis Entreri. Every movement, every quick reflex, every little gem of knowledge that would have been wasted on life as a petty and disgusting thug.
Artemis had trained Graffion to be the best assassin in the world. And he had not succeeded. Graffion had failed to kill Artemis long ago, to complete his own training. It was never a lesson that had to be said. Artemis never told Graffion, "In order to complete your training, you must defeat me." But it was always implied. Artemis would talk about how he was not the best, how Artemis was. He would always work Graffion to be even better than good, to be perfect, to be better than Artemis.
And there is only 1 way to show superiority. Not by higher kills. Not by a better friendly duel. Not by any measured contest. By killing, because the living are always superior to the dead, fact. And while Graffion loved Artemis and Artemis loved Graffion, he had to be superior. To prove his skills the only way possible, in the heat of life or death battle. There is no 'what next' in such a battle, only instinct, only the moment, only the passion flowing off of the two combatants as their guns blazed or their weapons clashed again and again, as their movements flipped and danced around each other like elegant dancers. It was a moment of absolute bonding and absolute truth. You live or you die. Your better or worse.
And the tie that had taken Graffion's left face was not good enough for him. He reached up and touched his left eye as he moved through the crowd, his finger tracing along the rough metal. It slowly paced the soft glass lens at the end of one of the focals, then to the copper and brass surrounding it, replacing his left cheek and forehead. A small rectangular box could be felt, protruding from Graffion's face, close to the lens. It was an inter-changer device, swapping vision modes from thermal, night vision, EMP, or other various helpful visions, including a small, tactical VISR scan.
After a long time walking Nar Shaddaa platforms, he stopped at a corner warehouse, the doors all locke dup. He slipped a screw-driver out of his pocket, and walked around to the side, where there was a small grating. He waited in the shadows till anybody that saw him enter was gone, and then her fanned his dark cloak over himself until the optical illusion appeared that he was non-existent, just darkness.
He worked the screw-driver quickly, taking off all of the six screws that held the ventilation grating on, then delicately removing the grate, slipping into the shaft. It was big enough for him to crouch walk. He turned around and delicately placed the grating back, up, propped, but didn't screw it back on.
Turning again, he began to walk through the shaft, his EMP vision on. It was a good two minutes before he came across his first barrier. A light trip-wire alarm. Easy to disarm for the skilled thief. He reached forward, finding the metal device that the beam was connected to, switching to thermal, he could now see the tracing of the beam just before him, delicately moving his fingers around the device until he reached what he was looking for, a small grip that was almost imperceptible to anyone who didn't know what to look for. A virtual off-switch.
The beam deactivated, and he continued on, until he reached another grating further in the warehouse where he could exit. This time he worked quietly and slowly, until the grate was off, not bothering to prop it anywhere, just laying it silently down. He proceeded into the room, viewing it. The whole place was dark, so he switched back to thermal. He could see the general lay of the area, but a quick scan showed no organics. There was a figure in the center, but it was cold. A droid or a standing dead body. Likely the prior.
One other thing caught his eye, a large freezer box. Not uncommon in a Warehouse, but perfect for escaping thermal vision, which could see heat signatures inside of most of the other carrier boxes. He immediately understood what was going on. His contact set the droid out to lure him out and then they'd strike, hiding in the freeze box. Crafty, but he expected nothing less from Upezzo Keeza, the Market Weapon and spy network that provided information and sometimes other things for contacts. A contact like Graffion. They loved getting the upper-hand, but in this case, he'd get them.
Suddenly, the thought occurred to him that it was too stupid for Upezzo. They knew he had thermal vision, yes. But they also knew he was crafty. With that new thought, he grinned and looked up, pulling out his wookie-bowcaster from a holster on his back, and aiming it at the ceiling. On a cat-walk just above him he saw three heat signatures wearing night-vision goggles. They all were staring back at him, rifles raised.
~*~
Five minutes later Graffion and the three spies stood on level ground next to a suit-case. "Artemis Entreri is at the Shining Kath Inn. He's with two fellow assassins, preparing for a very large job."
"Mhm..." Graffion murmured, "Whatchu got for me?"
"This lovely droid here." The first Spy said, walking over to the figure he'd seen earlier and taking off a cloak, revealing a man-sized droid that had fluid movement capabilities. "Its non-combat, but you may be able to find a use for it. Its programmed to attack, but can't do anything. Sort of expensive, but you gave us plenty of money to more than cover this."
"We also have this." Another spy addressed him, picking up the case and opening it up, "A smoke grenade. You may need it, three assassins are not easy targets. You may just wanna kill Artemis from a distance."
Graffion scoffed, "And where's the fun in that?"
The spies looked at each other. They found it quite pleasant to shoot an unwiiting target from a distance they'd never be caught at. But they simply shrugged, "Fine, get up close and cut their throats out one by one, but you may lose more than just your eye this time."
Graffion suddenly leaped forward, his right arm going out wide and snatching up the thirds spies weapon, who had relaxed for a moment. He spun and threw the weapon hard at the second spy, hitting his amr and knocking him backward, dropping both weapons. The third spy raised his weapon and fired, but Graffion rolled underneath it, coming up in front of him, unsheathing his knife and pressing it against his throat while using is other hand to unholster the Bowcaster and aim it one handed at the others. The heavy weapon was a massive strain but his incredibly powerful arm held it out straight, binfger on the trigger. "I'm the best." he told them, flat-out, "You have no sturdy ground to threaten or warn me on, so keep your comments to yourself."
They all stood there awkwardly for a moment, then Graffion lowered his weapons, "Leave me." He told them. They didn't moved for a moment, and he shot them a sadistic grin, "Now."
They left.
~*~
Artemis felt a strange tingle in his right shoulder, where it connected to his mechanical arm. The one that Artemis Enteri had slashed up so bad it needed amputation even with plenty of Kolto. It was a painful reminder of his apprentice. He sighed and shook his head, focusing back to where he was now.
He was in a hotel room, sitting in a steel chair, pouring over a the blue-prints to a crime-lords luxury yacht. The other two assassins were in the room as well, it was a two bed room with a couch, where Artemis had slept...He grinned, knowing that these other two assassins would probably get killed on the job. Oh well, more money for him, he always said. He just had to make sure they didn't get any similar ideas the moment that the Crime-Lord was dead.
He was on home turf now. And so was Artemis. His blood did not boil at the thought of the man, but instead tingled with excitement. That person had taken an urchin and made him something better. That person had taken nothing and made something great. Everything Graffion was or ever would be, he owed to Artemis Entreri. Every movement, every quick reflex, every little gem of knowledge that would have been wasted on life as a petty and disgusting thug.
Artemis had trained Graffion to be the best assassin in the world. And he had not succeeded. Graffion had failed to kill Artemis long ago, to complete his own training. It was never a lesson that had to be said. Artemis never told Graffion, "In order to complete your training, you must defeat me." But it was always implied. Artemis would talk about how he was not the best, how Artemis was. He would always work Graffion to be even better than good, to be perfect, to be better than Artemis.
And there is only 1 way to show superiority. Not by higher kills. Not by a better friendly duel. Not by any measured contest. By killing, because the living are always superior to the dead, fact. And while Graffion loved Artemis and Artemis loved Graffion, he had to be superior. To prove his skills the only way possible, in the heat of life or death battle. There is no 'what next' in such a battle, only instinct, only the moment, only the passion flowing off of the two combatants as their guns blazed or their weapons clashed again and again, as their movements flipped and danced around each other like elegant dancers. It was a moment of absolute bonding and absolute truth. You live or you die. Your better or worse.
And the tie that had taken Graffion's left face was not good enough for him. He reached up and touched his left eye as he moved through the crowd, his finger tracing along the rough metal. It slowly paced the soft glass lens at the end of one of the focals, then to the copper and brass surrounding it, replacing his left cheek and forehead. A small rectangular box could be felt, protruding from Graffion's face, close to the lens. It was an inter-changer device, swapping vision modes from thermal, night vision, EMP, or other various helpful visions, including a small, tactical VISR scan.
After a long time walking Nar Shaddaa platforms, he stopped at a corner warehouse, the doors all locke dup. He slipped a screw-driver out of his pocket, and walked around to the side, where there was a small grating. He waited in the shadows till anybody that saw him enter was gone, and then her fanned his dark cloak over himself until the optical illusion appeared that he was non-existent, just darkness.
He worked the screw-driver quickly, taking off all of the six screws that held the ventilation grating on, then delicately removing the grate, slipping into the shaft. It was big enough for him to crouch walk. He turned around and delicately placed the grating back, up, propped, but didn't screw it back on.
Turning again, he began to walk through the shaft, his EMP vision on. It was a good two minutes before he came across his first barrier. A light trip-wire alarm. Easy to disarm for the skilled thief. He reached forward, finding the metal device that the beam was connected to, switching to thermal, he could now see the tracing of the beam just before him, delicately moving his fingers around the device until he reached what he was looking for, a small grip that was almost imperceptible to anyone who didn't know what to look for. A virtual off-switch.
The beam deactivated, and he continued on, until he reached another grating further in the warehouse where he could exit. This time he worked quietly and slowly, until the grate was off, not bothering to prop it anywhere, just laying it silently down. He proceeded into the room, viewing it. The whole place was dark, so he switched back to thermal. He could see the general lay of the area, but a quick scan showed no organics. There was a figure in the center, but it was cold. A droid or a standing dead body. Likely the prior.
One other thing caught his eye, a large freezer box. Not uncommon in a Warehouse, but perfect for escaping thermal vision, which could see heat signatures inside of most of the other carrier boxes. He immediately understood what was going on. His contact set the droid out to lure him out and then they'd strike, hiding in the freeze box. Crafty, but he expected nothing less from Upezzo Keeza, the Market Weapon and spy network that provided information and sometimes other things for contacts. A contact like Graffion. They loved getting the upper-hand, but in this case, he'd get them.
Suddenly, the thought occurred to him that it was too stupid for Upezzo. They knew he had thermal vision, yes. But they also knew he was crafty. With that new thought, he grinned and looked up, pulling out his wookie-bowcaster from a holster on his back, and aiming it at the ceiling. On a cat-walk just above him he saw three heat signatures wearing night-vision goggles. They all were staring back at him, rifles raised.
~*~
Five minutes later Graffion and the three spies stood on level ground next to a suit-case. "Artemis Entreri is at the Shining Kath Inn. He's with two fellow assassins, preparing for a very large job."
"Mhm..." Graffion murmured, "Whatchu got for me?"
"This lovely droid here." The first Spy said, walking over to the figure he'd seen earlier and taking off a cloak, revealing a man-sized droid that had fluid movement capabilities. "Its non-combat, but you may be able to find a use for it. Its programmed to attack, but can't do anything. Sort of expensive, but you gave us plenty of money to more than cover this."
"We also have this." Another spy addressed him, picking up the case and opening it up, "A smoke grenade. You may need it, three assassins are not easy targets. You may just wanna kill Artemis from a distance."
Graffion scoffed, "And where's the fun in that?"
The spies looked at each other. They found it quite pleasant to shoot an unwiiting target from a distance they'd never be caught at. But they simply shrugged, "Fine, get up close and cut their throats out one by one, but you may lose more than just your eye this time."
Graffion suddenly leaped forward, his right arm going out wide and snatching up the thirds spies weapon, who had relaxed for a moment. He spun and threw the weapon hard at the second spy, hitting his amr and knocking him backward, dropping both weapons. The third spy raised his weapon and fired, but Graffion rolled underneath it, coming up in front of him, unsheathing his knife and pressing it against his throat while using is other hand to unholster the Bowcaster and aim it one handed at the others. The heavy weapon was a massive strain but his incredibly powerful arm held it out straight, binfger on the trigger. "I'm the best." he told them, flat-out, "You have no sturdy ground to threaten or warn me on, so keep your comments to yourself."
They all stood there awkwardly for a moment, then Graffion lowered his weapons, "Leave me." He told them. They didn't moved for a moment, and he shot them a sadistic grin, "Now."
They left.
~*~
Artemis felt a strange tingle in his right shoulder, where it connected to his mechanical arm. The one that Artemis Enteri had slashed up so bad it needed amputation even with plenty of Kolto. It was a painful reminder of his apprentice. He sighed and shook his head, focusing back to where he was now.
He was in a hotel room, sitting in a steel chair, pouring over a the blue-prints to a crime-lords luxury yacht. The other two assassins were in the room as well, it was a two bed room with a couch, where Artemis had slept...He grinned, knowing that these other two assassins would probably get killed on the job. Oh well, more money for him, he always said. He just had to make sure they didn't get any similar ideas the moment that the Crime-Lord was dead.
