Post by randothefungiman on Jan 21, 2010 3:50:44 GMT -5
Cecilon the Quarren had dealt with a lot of scumbags in his day. As an arms dealer, it came with the work, but this group, “The Rakghoul Plague,” went beyond twisted. He had sold thermal detonators to terrorists intending to bomb hospitals, given pirates the blasters they needed to rape and plunder their way through the galaxy, even traded a lightsaber crystal to a sith initiate. All of those scum paled in comparison to the depravity and insanity exhibited by these maniacs.
He had seen enough of their exploits on the holonet. between their attempted assassination on the senator from Utapau, their random in-home executions, and their senseless attacks in the streets, it was clear that these young people were unbalanced to say the least.
He was hesitant to make this deal with them, but credits were credits and these kids were offering a lot of credits. They wanted a large assortment of blasters and explosives, enough to keep a militia supplied for months. They were deranged, that much was clear, but he was a professional, he had powerful friends, and most importantly he had four heavily armed guards with him. The Plague were a group of amateurs, even if ten of them showed up his boys would be able to deal with it, and as far as he could tell there weren’t many of these psychopaths out there.
They arrived at the pre-arranged meeting place with the three crates of weaponry and waited. It was truly low in the city, a small lot in a filthy, poor part of Coruscant. Cecilon looked at his feet and felt the ground. Was that dirt? Was this the actual planet surface? He couldn’t even tell for sure (he wasn’t even truly sure if coruscant had dirt). This part of the city was dark, none of the surrounding buildings had any power to them, and the only light came from traffic thousands of feet above. The poor idiots who lived here must be the most miserable beings on Coruscant. Cecilon was anxious to finish the deal and get out of this garbage pit as soon as he could.
On of his guards, a Weequay with a bowcaster, got tired of waiting and sat on one of the crates while the others just shuffled around, waiting for their contact to get there. Cecilon had talked to him a few times, a Nautolan named Gil, and he seemed trustworthy enough, but he also slit peoples throats in their beds and wrote on the walls with the blood, so he had to keep that in mind when dealing with these anarchists.
Finally, out of the darkness of one of the surrounding alleyways Cecilion spotted him. The Nautolan, Gil, walked out of the darkness, that same big smile across his face, flanked by a Human and a Chiss. Something was different this time, though. The youngster was clad entirely in black from head to toe. Even his face had been painted black, with a vertical white streak over each eye. His companions were similarly clad in all black, each with a unique design of his own on his face. The human had a blaster rifle, and the Chiss had an old bulky slug gun, but Gil seemed to be unarmed, save for a knife strapped to his boot. They stopped about twenty feet away and Gil shouted to the Quarren;
“How ya doin old man?” he said, not pausing for a response, “You got everything I ordered?”
Cecilion looked around. It seemed like this was all of them. The holonet had reported more, but they were notorious for exaggerating. A thought crossed his mind. He had these amateurs out manned and outgunned, and if he just killed them and took the money and his goods who would ever know? This deal hadn’t gone through anyone but the two of them, and it wouldn’t hurt his reputation since word would never get out, and he would really be doing the galaxy a service. Pirates and mercenaries were one thing, and even terrorists could make an argument or political statement for what they did, but these kids were just maniacs. He quickly thought it over and made his decision: He would end the Plague right here and now, and save himself some money in the process.
He made a signal to Baoran, his lead guard, to let him know the plan. Baoran gave a slight nod, letting him know he understood, and nonchalantly motioned to the others to let them know what was about to go down.
“Yes Gil, I’ve got your guns. It’s all right here. Did you bring the money?”
The Nautolan threw a wad of bills through the air, almost faster then Cecilon’s eyes could track. He managed to catch it and look through the wad. The money was in smaller bills then he would have liked, but it was all there.
The Nautolan and his friends walked over to pick up the crates, but as Gil bent down to lift the first crate Cecilon unholstered his blaster and pressed it against Gil’s back. “I don’t think I’ll be giving you the merchandise, Gil.” He said, not hiding the self-satisfaction in his voice. “You see, I don’t want my reputation sullied by you little vagrants running amok in the galactic capital with my goods. It would make me look like an amateur. You and your two buddies here wont be causing any more trouble around these parts.”
The human and the Chiss looked around, the fear obvious in their faces. The guards leveled their weapons at the trio and prepared for Cecilon’s order, but he wanted to see the look on Gil’s face when he gave it. The Nautolan slowly stood up and turned around, smile still wide across his face. He started laughing. It was just a chuckle at first, but it progressed into outright hysterical laughter.
Cecilon was confused at first; the Nautolan was doomed. He had to know that didn’t he? But soon it became terrifyingly clear. First the Chiss joined in with the laughter, then the human, then from the shadows, another voice began laughing, then another, then another. Soon there were too many to count, as painted faces appeared in every alley surrounding their little empty lot. There were at least twenty of them, of that Cecilon was sure. They were mostly non-humans, all of them young, and all of them with black and white face paint. There was even a red-eyed wookiee with dyed fur among them, and an almost invisible Defel with Xs over his eyes.
His guards were professionals, and from experience they knew when to throw down their guns and let their boss take the heat. This was one of those times.
Cecilon dropped his pistol from his clawed grasp. “Well, you kids have got me. What is it gonna take for me to get out of this? Money? Guns? Drugs? What, what do you need?” me asked, turning to face
From one of the groups a Chev stepped out. His purple eyes seemed almost to glow against the black paint on his face, making the white fangs painted on his lips stand out even more. He walked almost with a swagger, a confidence that showed Cecilon that he was, most likely, their leader.
“We don’t need your money, as you can see we have got that pretty much covered. You have already kindly provided us with guns for the time being. We really don’t care much for drugs as they dull the senses. No Mr. Quarren sir, what we need is blood, and lots of it.”
The pain came from behind first, Gil’s knife hitting him low on the right side of his abdomen and tearing out to the side. He turned to face his assailant but the Nautolan tackled him to the ground and stabbed again, this time between the ribs, and again just above the collarbone drawings gurgling gasps from the arms dealer. Gil, satisfied with his work, stood up and smiled as his friends gathered around him.
Cecilon’s breath came in ragged, struggling gasps as he struggled to stay conscious. He looked up to see four of the anarchists standing around him, but his hearing and vision were fading. He could make out Gil and the Chev, along with the Chiss from before and a Rodian with heavy pipe ending in an L joint in his hands. The group was discussing something but he couldn’t make out what. The Chiss laughed and pointed at Cecilon nudging the Rodian who gave what passed for a smile from his species. The Chev merely shrugged and said something to the group before he turned and walked out of Cecilon’s field of vision. The Rodian lifted his pipe high above his head and swung.
Thus ended the illustrious career of Cecilon Almarro, small time arms dealer and smuggler.
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Zeph couldn’t help but be happy with himself. He had planned this whole thing out very well. The guards were begging for their lives but it was no use. Buggo and Gil were still laughing and going to town on the ragged body of the Quarren while Sarnin put a slug into the chest of the Weequay, sending a splatter of gore on the wall behind him. The weapon was expensive to maintain and find ammo for, but it suited their style well, and Zeph hoped to get a similar weapon for himself eventually.
Haroc, their albino wookiee friend, tore the arms off of another mercenary while the other two were beaten to the ground and stomped to death by the rest of the Plague.
Once the fun was done and he was satisfied their mark was displayed prominently enough across the walls of the lot he stared giving the orders. He and Gil had started the Rakghoul Plague together, and they were both important parts of it, but while Gil was definitely great at the killing aspect of the job, there was no question that Zeph was the brains, and when it came time to get to the serious business he was the one giving the orders.
Haroc was appraising the dropped bowcaster when Zeph shouted to him. “Haroc, take a few boys and get these crates to the warehouse.” Haroc was about to protest, his wookiee pride making him resentful of some orders, particularly ones involving manual labor (Zeph wondered if that was because of Czerka corp. enslaving so many of them, but that was a different matter entirely). Before he could growl in protest, however, Zeph calmed him; “If you do, you can keep that bozcaster and anything else you find on these bodies. You don’t have to put any of it in the stash.”
The white wookiee gave him a big smile and hugged him, almost squeezing the life out of the young Chev in his enthusiasm. When he finally put Zeph down the Chev was struggling for breath while the wookiee continued thanking him profusely.
“No problem big guy” He said, still panting, “Just meet us at the show when you’re done at the hideout. Sarnin and his band are playing tonight.”
Zeph barked out a few more orders to the others still mutilating the corpses or writing with the blood, and soon the core of the plague, the four ringleaders, had changed their clothes and were on their way to the Baka Rock Show. Sarnin, the Chiss, Buggo the Rodian, Gil the Nautolan, and of course, Zeph the Chev were walking through the back alleys and laughing, discussing the future of their beloved plague.
“With that stuff we wont have to rob anyone for a while” Buggo said
“We don’t have to rob anyone, but we will.” Said Gil, chuckling a bit as he spoke
“We have enough explosives to take out half the senate if we wanted to!” Said Sarnin, obviously excited about the haul, which had included several boxes of ammo for his beloved slug gun.
“We could couldn’t we?” Zeph said, pondering the possibilities.
“Slow down now pal, maybe we should start with killing just one senator before we go off trying to kill all of them!”
Zeph frowned, recalling their earlier failure at killing a pau’an senator and their brief encounter with a Sith. “Maybe next time we try something like that we should plan it out a little better. Maybe make sure the guy isn’t under protective custody, or that he is at least in the apartment we attack”
“Woah there” Gil said, still smiling, “calm down man. That night was fun! E got a lot of attention on the nets too, and it got us half the recruits who were with us tonight. Look at the bright side man! That night was anarchy. We need another high-profile gig like that. We almost burned down Coruscant that night!”
Zeph laughed and playfully shoved his friend. “I wonder if we really could burn down Coruscant…..”
The four of them were silent for a moment before they burst out in laughter again. Tonight had been a good night, and if they had their way they were just getting started. In the meantime, they had a show to get to.
He had seen enough of their exploits on the holonet. between their attempted assassination on the senator from Utapau, their random in-home executions, and their senseless attacks in the streets, it was clear that these young people were unbalanced to say the least.
He was hesitant to make this deal with them, but credits were credits and these kids were offering a lot of credits. They wanted a large assortment of blasters and explosives, enough to keep a militia supplied for months. They were deranged, that much was clear, but he was a professional, he had powerful friends, and most importantly he had four heavily armed guards with him. The Plague were a group of amateurs, even if ten of them showed up his boys would be able to deal with it, and as far as he could tell there weren’t many of these psychopaths out there.
They arrived at the pre-arranged meeting place with the three crates of weaponry and waited. It was truly low in the city, a small lot in a filthy, poor part of Coruscant. Cecilon looked at his feet and felt the ground. Was that dirt? Was this the actual planet surface? He couldn’t even tell for sure (he wasn’t even truly sure if coruscant had dirt). This part of the city was dark, none of the surrounding buildings had any power to them, and the only light came from traffic thousands of feet above. The poor idiots who lived here must be the most miserable beings on Coruscant. Cecilon was anxious to finish the deal and get out of this garbage pit as soon as he could.
On of his guards, a Weequay with a bowcaster, got tired of waiting and sat on one of the crates while the others just shuffled around, waiting for their contact to get there. Cecilon had talked to him a few times, a Nautolan named Gil, and he seemed trustworthy enough, but he also slit peoples throats in their beds and wrote on the walls with the blood, so he had to keep that in mind when dealing with these anarchists.
Finally, out of the darkness of one of the surrounding alleyways Cecilion spotted him. The Nautolan, Gil, walked out of the darkness, that same big smile across his face, flanked by a Human and a Chiss. Something was different this time, though. The youngster was clad entirely in black from head to toe. Even his face had been painted black, with a vertical white streak over each eye. His companions were similarly clad in all black, each with a unique design of his own on his face. The human had a blaster rifle, and the Chiss had an old bulky slug gun, but Gil seemed to be unarmed, save for a knife strapped to his boot. They stopped about twenty feet away and Gil shouted to the Quarren;
“How ya doin old man?” he said, not pausing for a response, “You got everything I ordered?”
Cecilion looked around. It seemed like this was all of them. The holonet had reported more, but they were notorious for exaggerating. A thought crossed his mind. He had these amateurs out manned and outgunned, and if he just killed them and took the money and his goods who would ever know? This deal hadn’t gone through anyone but the two of them, and it wouldn’t hurt his reputation since word would never get out, and he would really be doing the galaxy a service. Pirates and mercenaries were one thing, and even terrorists could make an argument or political statement for what they did, but these kids were just maniacs. He quickly thought it over and made his decision: He would end the Plague right here and now, and save himself some money in the process.
He made a signal to Baoran, his lead guard, to let him know the plan. Baoran gave a slight nod, letting him know he understood, and nonchalantly motioned to the others to let them know what was about to go down.
“Yes Gil, I’ve got your guns. It’s all right here. Did you bring the money?”
The Nautolan threw a wad of bills through the air, almost faster then Cecilon’s eyes could track. He managed to catch it and look through the wad. The money was in smaller bills then he would have liked, but it was all there.
The Nautolan and his friends walked over to pick up the crates, but as Gil bent down to lift the first crate Cecilon unholstered his blaster and pressed it against Gil’s back. “I don’t think I’ll be giving you the merchandise, Gil.” He said, not hiding the self-satisfaction in his voice. “You see, I don’t want my reputation sullied by you little vagrants running amok in the galactic capital with my goods. It would make me look like an amateur. You and your two buddies here wont be causing any more trouble around these parts.”
The human and the Chiss looked around, the fear obvious in their faces. The guards leveled their weapons at the trio and prepared for Cecilon’s order, but he wanted to see the look on Gil’s face when he gave it. The Nautolan slowly stood up and turned around, smile still wide across his face. He started laughing. It was just a chuckle at first, but it progressed into outright hysterical laughter.
Cecilon was confused at first; the Nautolan was doomed. He had to know that didn’t he? But soon it became terrifyingly clear. First the Chiss joined in with the laughter, then the human, then from the shadows, another voice began laughing, then another, then another. Soon there were too many to count, as painted faces appeared in every alley surrounding their little empty lot. There were at least twenty of them, of that Cecilon was sure. They were mostly non-humans, all of them young, and all of them with black and white face paint. There was even a red-eyed wookiee with dyed fur among them, and an almost invisible Defel with Xs over his eyes.
His guards were professionals, and from experience they knew when to throw down their guns and let their boss take the heat. This was one of those times.
Cecilon dropped his pistol from his clawed grasp. “Well, you kids have got me. What is it gonna take for me to get out of this? Money? Guns? Drugs? What, what do you need?” me asked, turning to face
From one of the groups a Chev stepped out. His purple eyes seemed almost to glow against the black paint on his face, making the white fangs painted on his lips stand out even more. He walked almost with a swagger, a confidence that showed Cecilon that he was, most likely, their leader.
“We don’t need your money, as you can see we have got that pretty much covered. You have already kindly provided us with guns for the time being. We really don’t care much for drugs as they dull the senses. No Mr. Quarren sir, what we need is blood, and lots of it.”
The pain came from behind first, Gil’s knife hitting him low on the right side of his abdomen and tearing out to the side. He turned to face his assailant but the Nautolan tackled him to the ground and stabbed again, this time between the ribs, and again just above the collarbone drawings gurgling gasps from the arms dealer. Gil, satisfied with his work, stood up and smiled as his friends gathered around him.
Cecilon’s breath came in ragged, struggling gasps as he struggled to stay conscious. He looked up to see four of the anarchists standing around him, but his hearing and vision were fading. He could make out Gil and the Chev, along with the Chiss from before and a Rodian with heavy pipe ending in an L joint in his hands. The group was discussing something but he couldn’t make out what. The Chiss laughed and pointed at Cecilon nudging the Rodian who gave what passed for a smile from his species. The Chev merely shrugged and said something to the group before he turned and walked out of Cecilon’s field of vision. The Rodian lifted his pipe high above his head and swung.
Thus ended the illustrious career of Cecilon Almarro, small time arms dealer and smuggler.
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Zeph couldn’t help but be happy with himself. He had planned this whole thing out very well. The guards were begging for their lives but it was no use. Buggo and Gil were still laughing and going to town on the ragged body of the Quarren while Sarnin put a slug into the chest of the Weequay, sending a splatter of gore on the wall behind him. The weapon was expensive to maintain and find ammo for, but it suited their style well, and Zeph hoped to get a similar weapon for himself eventually.
Haroc, their albino wookiee friend, tore the arms off of another mercenary while the other two were beaten to the ground and stomped to death by the rest of the Plague.
Once the fun was done and he was satisfied their mark was displayed prominently enough across the walls of the lot he stared giving the orders. He and Gil had started the Rakghoul Plague together, and they were both important parts of it, but while Gil was definitely great at the killing aspect of the job, there was no question that Zeph was the brains, and when it came time to get to the serious business he was the one giving the orders.
Haroc was appraising the dropped bowcaster when Zeph shouted to him. “Haroc, take a few boys and get these crates to the warehouse.” Haroc was about to protest, his wookiee pride making him resentful of some orders, particularly ones involving manual labor (Zeph wondered if that was because of Czerka corp. enslaving so many of them, but that was a different matter entirely). Before he could growl in protest, however, Zeph calmed him; “If you do, you can keep that bozcaster and anything else you find on these bodies. You don’t have to put any of it in the stash.”
The white wookiee gave him a big smile and hugged him, almost squeezing the life out of the young Chev in his enthusiasm. When he finally put Zeph down the Chev was struggling for breath while the wookiee continued thanking him profusely.
“No problem big guy” He said, still panting, “Just meet us at the show when you’re done at the hideout. Sarnin and his band are playing tonight.”
Zeph barked out a few more orders to the others still mutilating the corpses or writing with the blood, and soon the core of the plague, the four ringleaders, had changed their clothes and were on their way to the Baka Rock Show. Sarnin, the Chiss, Buggo the Rodian, Gil the Nautolan, and of course, Zeph the Chev were walking through the back alleys and laughing, discussing the future of their beloved plague.
“With that stuff we wont have to rob anyone for a while” Buggo said
“We don’t have to rob anyone, but we will.” Said Gil, chuckling a bit as he spoke
“We have enough explosives to take out half the senate if we wanted to!” Said Sarnin, obviously excited about the haul, which had included several boxes of ammo for his beloved slug gun.
“We could couldn’t we?” Zeph said, pondering the possibilities.
“Slow down now pal, maybe we should start with killing just one senator before we go off trying to kill all of them!”
Zeph frowned, recalling their earlier failure at killing a pau’an senator and their brief encounter with a Sith. “Maybe next time we try something like that we should plan it out a little better. Maybe make sure the guy isn’t under protective custody, or that he is at least in the apartment we attack”
“Woah there” Gil said, still smiling, “calm down man. That night was fun! E got a lot of attention on the nets too, and it got us half the recruits who were with us tonight. Look at the bright side man! That night was anarchy. We need another high-profile gig like that. We almost burned down Coruscant that night!”
Zeph laughed and playfully shoved his friend. “I wonder if we really could burn down Coruscant…..”
The four of them were silent for a moment before they burst out in laughter again. Tonight had been a good night, and if they had their way they were just getting started. In the meantime, they had a show to get to.
