[font=arial" size="1] A strong hand reached forth and grasped onto the clone that was falling apart. It was apparent. His first choice was not the original. Even if it were within his power to stop this being from completely falling apart, Demagol had shown no intentions in doing so. He had a mission, he was going to complete that mission. His hand wrapped around the clone’s neck and raised her above his head as if she were a helpless paperweight, only to smash her being down into the ground and finish the decay process for her. His hand impacted into the ground and cracked a tile, and at the same time caused the clone’s body to burst into nothingness. After a moment of having his fist flattened against the ground he stands, straightening his body out.
“Subject 1. Terminated.” The Mandalorian wiped his hand free of the clone’s pathetic leavings, pausing for a moment to survey the situation. Just as he was about to turn his attention toward the clone in which had headed for the apartment, his calculations had reached fruition. A small tab appeared at the bottom left corner of Demagol’s visor interface. He opened it up. It was the small video chip that had been installed above one of the incendiary explosives he placed into the female’s apartment. The video starts itself right as movement is initiated in the room, the camera having an infrared detector. Everything had gone according to plan thusfar, which would make the rest of the mission easier–or so he had predicted at that point. The trap activated. The concussion grenade successfully distorted the individual enough to keep them in place while the incendiary devices in every corner of the room did their job. As Demagol made clear by his philosophy, homes are traps. He watched the small recording until it was clear the individual had dissipated. Then he closes it. They too, were a clone. Two down, one to go.
“Subject 3. Terminated.” This left the final individual, who Demagol had tracked was heading directly toward a gang-infested area of the planet. Lovely, perhaps he could spice up his mission a little bit. While lightning had ceased to dance and fly in the sky, the rain proved to be more stubborn. But now, with his sights honed, Demagol grew excited. The open, now clean hand, tightened into a fist. The Mandalorian turned in the direction of the final trail.
“Increase the brightness of that trail. Divert energy from alternative trails and channel into last one. She’s not getting away.” Like miniature, individual beacons, each one of Rhailo’s footsteps came alive. They glowed so brightly in the Mandalorian’s visor, but to everyone else, they were invisible, transparent. He moved with speed, following the trail like a true predator, sights set on what he would eventually find.
There was a mix of feeling resonating from the fact of where the actual female was headed. Demagol knew the Roth Khanians. They knew him as well. He had even done work for them in the past. The cold hard truth was that most of the syndicates knew who Demagol was. Of course, they knew him by his signature tag, Astral Phoenix. Likely, they wouldn’t get between him and his mission. But if that woman was indeed part of such a crime group then this mission might get more complicated than the Mandalorian was expecting of. Still though, he constantly relished over one fact. No damage control. The S'zari must have done this on purpose. Maybe they even predicted that this would happen. He knew the two syndicates did not get along in the least bit. What if this was some undercover idea for them to covertly strike out and do damage to the Roth Khanians? What if this was a front for outright war? Such thoughts were indeed intriguing, but didn’t last long in Demagol’s head. He was here for one thing and one thing only. The capture or extermination of Rhailo Destros.
If the need arose, Demagol would fight up to just about anyone or anything he needed to. At this point it wasn’t just a manner of making money, but of holding a standard. Failures did not do well for standards. The only possible thing that would deter the bounty hunter would be a termination of his contract, and even then he would need to be reimbursed healthily. He felt that this woman didn’t actually have that much money to her name though. Her apartment was nothing fancy, and she chose to live in a pretty shitty district to add to that. Additionally, she didn’t attempt to simply pay Demagol off, which many had tried to do, and a select few succeeded. Did that make Demagol feel like he was bad at his job? No. Sometimes when you let people live they repay you with the greatest of gratitude, which varied heavily among individuals. To the victor go the spoils.
Yet, there was that ever small tingling of dissatisfaction whenever Demagol didn’t meet the exact requirements of his benefactors. It was no doubt that he had enemies. He did work for just about anybody. But how could they blame him? He was merely a sword, not the arm that swung it. As he moved deeper into this new territory he saw a different crowd of people. There was a sense of ownership here. He had entered it, the Roth Khanian zone. These people had a suitable group of workers, but most of their expertise was founded in the extravagant manipulation of people’s inner desires. They were more entertainers than they were fighters. Still, they held their own for a reason. These people weren’t to be underestimated by any sort of common folk. Then again, Demagol was not a common person. A true demonstration of presence could be seen already as he maneuvered through the streets. He didn’t use his jetpack at this time, as he wanted to save fuel. Nor did he use his grappling hook. This was all on foot, though it be speedy. Those that saw him and knew who he was also knew what he was doing. In their minds they all thought around the same thing, 'Stay the fuck out of that guy’s way’.
It was true. A lot of these people knew better. When you work for big groups your name tends to trickle down the system.
“Hey, did Jorrkan ever end up getting away?”
“Nah, some fuckin’ crazy big guy in a suit of armor and weapons got him after a couple days. Some Mandalorian.”
“Did he have a name?”
“Astral Phoenix? I don’t fucking know. The guy doesn’t talk to anyone. I just heard that codename from the higher-ups.”
“So he’s the real deal, huh?”
“Let’s put it this way. If he’s ever after Your ass, we don’t know each other. Ya got me?”
“Painfully clear.”
Some people shrank away into the shadows at Demagol’s passing, whereas others who knew him stood there in stoic respect, just staring. It was common knowledge that you don’t get between a bounty hunter and his prize. If you didn’t, you might get to live your pathetic life at least a little bit longer. The footsteps began to get brighter and brighter, which meant that the Mandalorian was closing in on his final destination. Upon an immediate glance he saw what appeared to be a large casino, Doo-Lah-Khan’s. “Gambling with our lives already, are we? We’re on business, Demagol, no fun yet.” He spoke to himself underneath the obscurity of his visor. and approached the entrance of the building.
For a moment he is attempted to be stopped by two bouncers who didn’t recognize him. Upon further inspection at a closer distance they saw that insignia marked upon Demagol’s right shoulder. One of them knew better and stood silent, whereas the other was about to say something until Demagol paused and gave him a special sort of stare through his visor. A stare that said “Let me do my job if you don’t want me to fucking kill you.” It was convincing enough, as the bouncer went weak in expression and bid the Mandalorian entry.
Music greeted his ears, along with the display of bodies, desires, and drinks alike. However, the real problem became clear immediately. The female’s thermal readings were all over the fucking place. It was blinding at first, and there was no way to really track where she was accurately in the building. He squinted.
“Suit, thermals off. Engage standard relay. Keep target’s face up for immediate comparison and speculation.” It was an image he had captured of Rhailo’s face when they were in that apartment together. Key features would determine validity in choice. The room’s colors changed immediately and a small tab resided at the bottom corner of his visor. She was in here, somewhere. He would find her.
“Subject 1. Terminated.” The Mandalorian wiped his hand free of the clone’s pathetic leavings, pausing for a moment to survey the situation. Just as he was about to turn his attention toward the clone in which had headed for the apartment, his calculations had reached fruition. A small tab appeared at the bottom left corner of Demagol’s visor interface. He opened it up. It was the small video chip that had been installed above one of the incendiary explosives he placed into the female’s apartment. The video starts itself right as movement is initiated in the room, the camera having an infrared detector. Everything had gone according to plan thusfar, which would make the rest of the mission easier–or so he had predicted at that point. The trap activated. The concussion grenade successfully distorted the individual enough to keep them in place while the incendiary devices in every corner of the room did their job. As Demagol made clear by his philosophy, homes are traps. He watched the small recording until it was clear the individual had dissipated. Then he closes it. They too, were a clone. Two down, one to go.
“Subject 3. Terminated.” This left the final individual, who Demagol had tracked was heading directly toward a gang-infested area of the planet. Lovely, perhaps he could spice up his mission a little bit. While lightning had ceased to dance and fly in the sky, the rain proved to be more stubborn. But now, with his sights honed, Demagol grew excited. The open, now clean hand, tightened into a fist. The Mandalorian turned in the direction of the final trail.
“Increase the brightness of that trail. Divert energy from alternative trails and channel into last one. She’s not getting away.” Like miniature, individual beacons, each one of Rhailo’s footsteps came alive. They glowed so brightly in the Mandalorian’s visor, but to everyone else, they were invisible, transparent. He moved with speed, following the trail like a true predator, sights set on what he would eventually find.
There was a mix of feeling resonating from the fact of where the actual female was headed. Demagol knew the Roth Khanians. They knew him as well. He had even done work for them in the past. The cold hard truth was that most of the syndicates knew who Demagol was. Of course, they knew him by his signature tag, Astral Phoenix. Likely, they wouldn’t get between him and his mission. But if that woman was indeed part of such a crime group then this mission might get more complicated than the Mandalorian was expecting of. Still though, he constantly relished over one fact. No damage control. The S'zari must have done this on purpose. Maybe they even predicted that this would happen. He knew the two syndicates did not get along in the least bit. What if this was some undercover idea for them to covertly strike out and do damage to the Roth Khanians? What if this was a front for outright war? Such thoughts were indeed intriguing, but didn’t last long in Demagol’s head. He was here for one thing and one thing only. The capture or extermination of Rhailo Destros.
If the need arose, Demagol would fight up to just about anyone or anything he needed to. At this point it wasn’t just a manner of making money, but of holding a standard. Failures did not do well for standards. The only possible thing that would deter the bounty hunter would be a termination of his contract, and even then he would need to be reimbursed healthily. He felt that this woman didn’t actually have that much money to her name though. Her apartment was nothing fancy, and she chose to live in a pretty shitty district to add to that. Additionally, she didn’t attempt to simply pay Demagol off, which many had tried to do, and a select few succeeded. Did that make Demagol feel like he was bad at his job? No. Sometimes when you let people live they repay you with the greatest of gratitude, which varied heavily among individuals. To the victor go the spoils.
Yet, there was that ever small tingling of dissatisfaction whenever Demagol didn’t meet the exact requirements of his benefactors. It was no doubt that he had enemies. He did work for just about anybody. But how could they blame him? He was merely a sword, not the arm that swung it. As he moved deeper into this new territory he saw a different crowd of people. There was a sense of ownership here. He had entered it, the Roth Khanian zone. These people had a suitable group of workers, but most of their expertise was founded in the extravagant manipulation of people’s inner desires. They were more entertainers than they were fighters. Still, they held their own for a reason. These people weren’t to be underestimated by any sort of common folk. Then again, Demagol was not a common person. A true demonstration of presence could be seen already as he maneuvered through the streets. He didn’t use his jetpack at this time, as he wanted to save fuel. Nor did he use his grappling hook. This was all on foot, though it be speedy. Those that saw him and knew who he was also knew what he was doing. In their minds they all thought around the same thing, 'Stay the fuck out of that guy’s way’.
It was true. A lot of these people knew better. When you work for big groups your name tends to trickle down the system.
“Hey, did Jorrkan ever end up getting away?”
“Nah, some fuckin’ crazy big guy in a suit of armor and weapons got him after a couple days. Some Mandalorian.”
“Did he have a name?”
“Astral Phoenix? I don’t fucking know. The guy doesn’t talk to anyone. I just heard that codename from the higher-ups.”
“So he’s the real deal, huh?”
“Let’s put it this way. If he’s ever after Your ass, we don’t know each other. Ya got me?”
“Painfully clear.”
Some people shrank away into the shadows at Demagol’s passing, whereas others who knew him stood there in stoic respect, just staring. It was common knowledge that you don’t get between a bounty hunter and his prize. If you didn’t, you might get to live your pathetic life at least a little bit longer. The footsteps began to get brighter and brighter, which meant that the Mandalorian was closing in on his final destination. Upon an immediate glance he saw what appeared to be a large casino, Doo-Lah-Khan’s. “Gambling with our lives already, are we? We’re on business, Demagol, no fun yet.” He spoke to himself underneath the obscurity of his visor. and approached the entrance of the building.
For a moment he is attempted to be stopped by two bouncers who didn’t recognize him. Upon further inspection at a closer distance they saw that insignia marked upon Demagol’s right shoulder. One of them knew better and stood silent, whereas the other was about to say something until Demagol paused and gave him a special sort of stare through his visor. A stare that said “Let me do my job if you don’t want me to fucking kill you.” It was convincing enough, as the bouncer went weak in expression and bid the Mandalorian entry.
Music greeted his ears, along with the display of bodies, desires, and drinks alike. However, the real problem became clear immediately. The female’s thermal readings were all over the fucking place. It was blinding at first, and there was no way to really track where she was accurately in the building. He squinted.
“Suit, thermals off. Engage standard relay. Keep target’s face up for immediate comparison and speculation.” It was an image he had captured of Rhailo’s face when they were in that apartment together. Key features would determine validity in choice. The room’s colors changed immediately and a small tab resided at the bottom corner of his visor. She was in here, somewhere. He would find her.
Forever?
Oh, my darling,
If only you could see what war has done to me.
Oh, my darling,
If only you could see what war has done to me.
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Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 04:27 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 04:30 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 04:38 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 04:40 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 04:41 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 04:42 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 04:44 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 04:46 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 04:47 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 04:49 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 04:50 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 04:52 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 04:52 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 04:54 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 04:55 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 04:56 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 04:58 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 04:59 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 05:00 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 05:01 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 05:02 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 05:03 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 05:03 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 05:04 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 05:05 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 05:07 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 05:07 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 05:09 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 05:10 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 05:13 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 05:13 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by deific - 11-03-2015, 05:15 AM
RE: Tread Lightly [closed] - by Kat - 11-03-2015, 05:17 AM