Private A Warrior's Call

[Salvor King]

LETS_GET_READY_TO_RUMBLE​

The bell rang, sending a metallic resonance echoing through the arena. It pierced the collective racket of the crowd and evoked a hush riddled with anticipation. King's opponent, a heavyweight upstart known as only as 'Ghurrdakka' wasted not even a fraction of a moment to burst into offense. The Wookie's massive right fist swung towards The Cleaner's skull in a wild, sudden haymaker. An undulating roar, the recognizable sound of a Wookie's fury rang out of his steamy maw.

King ducked and weaved to the opposite side. His left hand came up into an uppercut, the extension of his knees adding momentum. The shockmitt slammed just beneath the Wookie's sternum, sending another alien sound out of its throat. Ghurrdakka heaved over from the impact, opening him up for a left, a right, and King's own haymaker left. Electricity surged through the air as the mitts slammed against the Wookie's thick skull in quick succession.

Ghurrdakka stumbled back as the crowd roared. He fell against the ropes, leaning in a daze. The official began to check on the dazed monster, following procedure. King backed up quickly, throwing himself against the ropes, and using the momentum of their slight elasticity to propel himself forward. Using his momentum he stepped up onto one foot, raising his left hand for a haymaker and letting the motion of his descension and forward momentum power the strike.

The offical managed to dodge at the last minute, just as King's strike followed through. Ghurrdakka tipped over the top rope, tumbling onto the durasteel ring apron and tumbling onto the ground below. The crowd began to go absolutely apeshit as the bell rang in quick and urgent succession. King let himself follow through and hit the ropes, using the backward momentum to theatrically sit towards the middle of the ring.

​

Just like that, the exhibition was over. King pulled off his shockmitts and discarded them onto the ring mat. He held up his hand, making a 'one' gesture towards a sports columnist in the front row. The same who had publically predicted that Ghurdakka could take the King in a single round.

Unfortunately for Ghurdakka, his fifteen and zero streak was now fifteen and one. The stipulation for an early title match for Ghurdakka was that he makes it through the semi-retired Cleaner. Looks like his dream had been shattered, or more appropriately, cleaned.

King stood, and the official raised his hand. The ring announcer announced the victor with the prolonged syllables and vocal theatrics one would expect from such a high-profile fight. Technical Knockout. That Wookie was tough, but they all were. King had no doubt that the first strike would have taken him out, had it managed to connect. He was no tougher than anyone else, he just had the skills to accommodate.

The post-match celebration was what'd you'd expect. An after-party at a nearby nightclub. Celebrities, Politicians, Media, and everyone else you'd expect was there for a time. The former senator of Coruscant Ido Bastra even made an appearance to shake King's hand and congratulate him. The old man was a huge fan of the sport and even a former competitor himself in his younger years.

As the night progressed, and sunrise for this side of Coruscant inched closer and closer, the nightclub began to clear out. WeatherNet announced rain, and the stable roar of precipitation on the outside of the building began to echo into the now sparsely populated nightclub.

King sat in relative solitude in his private booth, enjoying a post-match Empress Tetan cigarra.

Djorn Bline ​

 

[Djorn Bline]

S N A K E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
CORUSCANT
Salvor King

​

COMPNOR was everywhere these days. With the Cold War that now begun between the Galactic Alliance and the New Imperial Order with the Third Imperial Civil War nearing it conclusion, the many branches of the New Imperial Order’s Intelligence Division brought their attention to the Starbird. Clandestine operations with plausible deniability was the backbone for the New Imperial Order in this Cold War.

The operations of COMPNOR was a monster to behold. Domestic propaganda to convince the New Imperial commoners of the fallacies of the Starbird while boasting the image of their nation. Active measures that was focused on the frontier worlds between the Starbird and the Iron Sun, providing disinformation and preparing militias on their targeted systems.

Without question it was the dark horse of the New Imperial Order.

Which was why Snake and his colleagues had their eyes on this intriguing, famous man known from the Deep Core to the Outer Rim. And the fight between the Wookiee proved his value as an asset.

Silent through the night Djorn sat alone in a corner, drinking only water as his eyes focused on Salvor, upsetting the few women that approached Snake as he showed no interest in them. The mission was more important than intimacy, not only that but he was married as well. An awkward marriage between him and Rowan Corde.

Finally, the patrons filtered out of the nightclub as dawn began to rise on Coruscant. Stepping away from his booth he walked towards Salvor’s.

“That was an impressive fight, mister King. I’m glad I invested my credits on you,” the Cleaner would find Djorn standing by his booth with shades veiling his eyes, and a casual outfit with a loose tie and a light grey vest. “Mind if I have a seat?”

 

[Salvor King]

"King is never a bad gambit," he remarked in response, tilting his face down. His sunglasses slid down his nose to reveal his eyes, peering from a gap in the lens's obscurity. King grinned, baring his teeth which seized the lit cigarra between them. Index and middle digits pulled the vice from between his ivories. His lips puckered widely as he exaggerated an exhale of grayish vapor.

Two booted feet kicked up onto the table. "As long as you aren't here to push some sponsorship or try to cast me in a movie," he said, placing the cigarra back into his teeth. "I don't do that shit."

Nothing about the man before him really screamed 'move executive'. Come to think of it, nothing really screamed 'brand spokesperson' either. But it was clear to King that he wasn't part of the common herd of adoring fans and sports enthusiasts. The man had a peculiar vibe about him. His presence felt different.

King didn't associate that feeling with any kind of Force intuition, but then again he never did.

Was he a competitor? Definitely had the feel.

A wide gesture of his arm indicated towards the opposite end of the booth. His head tilted back at just the right speed and angle to reposition his sunglasses. A few strands of hair flailing to the side were pushed away with a targeted smoky exhale.

"You haven't asked for an autograph. Aren't stricken with a stupid looking starstruck smile. And you haven't threatened to kick my ass yet..." There was a pause. "...So I take it you're here for a purpose rather than some kind of celebrity-awed impulse?"

Djorn Bline ​

 

[Djorn Bline]

S N A K E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
CORUSCANT
Salvor King

​

Why did a man such as Salvor King matter or was considered as a potential asset for COMPNOR? He wasn’t a soldier or some retired operative that could do covert operations. The answer was hidden in the sole image of the man. The weight of fame he carried was intoxicating. Women, sports journalists, corporate executives, and children threw themselves at the man. So much fame that it could influence anyone consumed by it.

Or was Djorn wrong about that?

“You’re correct in that assumption, mister King,” Snake replied to the Cleaner’s question. Something that Bline had to be careful in were his words. He could tell this fellow wasn’t exactly the type that followed politics or aligned with some ideological spectrum. He came off as the man that was independent, looking out for himself.

“Your name carries a lot of weight in the Galaxy. From the Deep Core to the Outer Rim. Hell even in the fucked up places of Wild Space. My partners and I have been watching you, and your fights and accolades could do well into enhancing our...” he dragged to find the correct word that wasn’t too mysterious, but found none, “...our operations.”

“Tell me more about yourself, you come from Corellia. I’m willing to bet you grew up in the slums, yeah? Not enough financial resources to pursue a ‘civilized’ career, and so you had to fight to get here, yeah?” Snake’s tone of voice and his expression was stoic, deducing and trying to get an idea of King’s backstory.

“And while we’re at it...Hey! Two glasses of cognac over here,” yelling over to get the attention of the bartender or someone that’ll get their drinks. A cigar was plucked from the inside of his vest which, if Salvor paid any attention, would catch a quick glimpse of a shape that belonged to blaster pistol.

“What kind of man are you, mister King?” and then lit up the cigar, placing it between his lips and giving it quick puffs to keep the fire alive on the cigar.

 

[Salvor King]

King nodded slowly in a self-satisfying manner as the stranger praised his name. The nodding stopped with his head hanging back and slightly to the left. A cold deadpan regarded Djorn from across the table. Only a single, half-asked nod was given in response to the assumptions of his origin and introduction to the sport.

His jaw rolled, fidgeting with the cigar between his teeth. His stare towards Djorn didn't falter even with the scantily clad Lethan server brought the twin glasses of cognac to the booth. Was the possible concept of business not on the table, King would have indulged. The silence was prolonged. King's shaded regard nigh-unreadable in its cold indifference.

“What kind of man are you, mister King?” ​

"What kind of man is Salvor King?" His head straightened out of the tilt, facing Djorn properly. "A superathlete. A god among men. The greatest of all time," he responded with an odd theatric intonation. "At least according to everyone else. I'm just a man living from thrill to thrill. Fundamentally, I'm no different than you. Anyone could be me, but I'm the only one who's ever managed." King grinned.

"Because I am the best in the world. The best there's ever been, and probably ever will be. Millions of people were dealt my same hand, but only I came out on top. I'm just like anyone else, but I made myself better. It goes beyond circumstance. They say you have it or you don't. But really, it's just about separating yourself from the herd."

Finally, King took the glass and raised it up to his lips. It hovered a few inches in front of his face, gripped over the rim by his large hand. "But you didn't come here to talk philosophy. You want something. You want my name in order to enhance something. Your 'operations'? So, what, this a spokesmanship proposal or something?"

Djorn Bline ​

 

[Djorn Bline]

S N A K E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
CORUSCANT
Salvor King

​

Putting respect on the name, acknowledging it was how to get to these people. They liked it when people stroke at their egos. Salvor was a self made man, he overcame whatever obstacles and tribulations life threw at him. Of course, he made it his right to gloat about and act like he was above from most. He got here at this point from nothing but the dirt.

Cheap dirt, too.

Yet so did Djorn. Not that he was raised from the slums or ghetto, hardly any of that on Bastion when growing up. Snake had also faced his own demons and obstruction. The difference was between the two men that Salvor had nothing to begin with, fighting for what was his and he had nothing to lose. While Djorn began a modest life, yet down the road of his life he lost so much that it drove him to a path of vengeance and anger.

Between Salvor and Djorn, Djorn liked to believe no one could manage being him. What Salvor did was honest work; what Djorn did was honest work, but he dirtied his hands in the process. Corrupted him from the inside.

"But you didn't come here to talk philosophy. You want something. You want my name in order to enhance something. Your 'operations'? So, what, this a spokesmanship proposal or something?"

“Something like that. Consider this to be...unconventional and unorthodox from all the many business deals you’ve made in your life. What I’m looking for is an idol, something people will look up and give worship; something that encourages people to be like you while maintaining loyalty to their state. Obviously, you over qualify for that position.”

“These operations are government related. We want you as an asset for the media. Your name will be immortalized, my partners and I will make sure you’ll be the greatest shockboxer to grace the Galaxy. We’ll make sure everyone comes second to your name.”

“The Galaxy is at constant war, mister King. You’re not a man of politics or tradition, but everyone will be faced with the same choice that we’re dealt with ever since our birth. Are you going to be on the winning side? Or on the losing side? No matter how much you wish to be neutral, you’ll be pulled into it, I can personally guarantee you that.”

And took a sip of his cognac.

“You’ve never been approached in a manner like this, right? You probably seem confuse, or maybe...a bit concerned from where I’m coming from.” Hell, even Djorn hadn’t introduced himself to the man. Everything about him carried mystery and clandestine. Probably gave the spooks to the Cleaner, just a hint of it.

 

[Salvor King]

King sat his glass down after a sip. A loud tap echoed off the surface of the table. Shades were removed from his face with a slow, leisurely retrieval. His blue eyes stared silently across the table, his left hand folding up the spectacles and setting them on the table. A drawn-out silence between them, King's unblinking eyes squinting slightly.

"You want to use my name, my image, to propagandize an ideology?" Well, the stranger was right in that he'd certainly never been approached for such a thing. Still, King had his doubts and his suspicions about such a thing.

King's head returned to a lax tilt. Lips closed, he licked the front of his teeth as his face contorted into an odd, contemplative expression. The man was stroking his ego. Of course, it invoked the feeling of self-satisfaction that he intended. But, King knew when he was being 'buttered up' so to speak. These kinds of things had the opposite effect on King, on the occassion that he was aware of the game being played.

"An Idol, an Icon, greatest shockboxer to grace the Galaxy. You promise things that have already manifest. As far as the future is concerned, I'm afraid you overestimate my concerns with legacy. You can sing my praises as much as you want, but sooner or later, there always comes a bigger fish."

King reached for his glass, taking another drink of the liquor within. "With all this talk of sides and propaganda you're starting to sound more like COMPNOR than Alliance Intelligence." King's left brow raised inquisitively, before grinning in a subtle inflection that his assessment was in jest.

Little did he know.

"You're dangling a carrot in front of a carnivore, partner. I don't want worship. I want thrill."

Djorn Bline ​

 

[Djorn Bline]

S N A K E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
CORUSCANT
Salvor King

​

"With all this talk of sides and propaganda you're starting to sound more like COMPNOR than Alliance Intelligence."
"You're dangling a carrot in front of a carnivore, partner. I don't want worship. I want thrill."

The man was just telling more and more about himself to Djorn. Something he appreciated and a result Snake wanted. He did after all said he wanted know more about the famous King. Getting to know and understand people was part of his profession; decrypting someone’s personality and psychology, allowing him to...well, do whatever the hell he wanted to do with them. Attack them on all fronts; blackmail them into doing dirty deeds; instill fear for them to sing a song.

Djorn gave his own grin to match Salvor’s; a toothless, sly grin. The only ounce of emotion he showed thus far. He wouldn’t hide the fact that he did indeed belonged to COMPNOR, but he wouldn’t confirm that either. Didn’t want to show all his cards, that would be premature of him to do so.

“So you like thrill, huh,” he already could get an idea of what kind of “thrill” he was referring to. Something that was more extreme than a regulated shockboxing match. Something dangerous and had more risks in it. “You have a ballpark guess on how many people you’ve killed? How many laws you’ve broken?”

Apex carnivore, or a step below from those big leagues?

“Thrill I can give you...just need to know how sharp your teeth are, and how bloody they are.”

 

[Salvor King]

King slowly raised his left hand, palm lazily pointed towards the ceiling. Slowly, each finger one by one curled into a fist. Just a soon as they clenched, they released and the hand went limp again. He would continue to repeat this gesture in a loop. "These teeth," he began, turning his gaze away from his hand and to Djorn with a squinted regard.

"These teeth have seen a lot. Perhaps more than the teeth you keep close to your heart," his other hand pointed to his own chest, gesturing to roughly where Djorn kept his blaster. "Perhaps less?" King did a flourish with his fingers, turning his hand once over to cease the gesture. "But I suppose that depends on what kind of man you are."

"Though, unlike you-" King held both of his fists up. He turned his face towards the ceiling slightly, looking down across the table. "These are the only teeth I've ever held."

King had never even held a blaster, let alone fired one. This took nothing away from his lethality, however. He truly was a unique case. None of this truly answered either Djorn's questions, but he figured that the man would make his own inference.

"I must admit I don't see where this comes in with your initial proposal."

King raised a brow. "Unless there's been a change of plans?"

Djorn Bline ​

 

[Djorn Bline]

S N A K E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
CORUSCANT
Salvor King

​

King was, altogether, a strange and unique fellow. Some things Djorn got wrong about him, and few things he was somewhat right about him. Surprisingly, he didn’t tell Snake to fuck off and that was winning, or at least he hoped so. He assumed time was important to Salvor as much as it was to him. After all, when entering the adult phase of life, time was the most priceless thing to many. He abhorred wasting time.

And so he hoped King wasn’t wasting his time just to get a laugh out of this.

“I have several teeth I’ve worked with, up to a rocket launcher,” that would give King some insight that Djorn was military or something akin to that kind of life. If they were comparing teeth, he’d show off his own.

"I must admit I don't see where this comes in with your initial proposal." "Unless there's been a change of plans?"

“The plans have changed, something that I’ve personally approved just now,” he had some power and influence due to his unique position in the New Imperial Order. If King had some interest in Snake, then he’d lift up the skirt just a little bit.

“I personally organize and run clandestine operations; most of it black ops, off the books and charts. There’s plenty of other shit I do, but that’s where I focus the most. If you want thrill, you’ll get the most of it out of there.”

“That is if you want a bite out of it,” he invited him, challenged him. He already told Djorn who he was; now it was time to see if he was everything he just said, or a sack of shit.”

 

[Salvor King]

King had indulged the man on a whim. A choice born of a dull languor. Now, however, he found himself interested. A pleasant surprise, considering King had expected this to be the same shit all over again. From the sound of it, King wasn't just man suited for the offer. He was the man suited for the offer. Whatever it happened to be.

"Clandestine?" He smirked inquisitively. "Clandestine ain't usually my style if you haven't noticed," he quipped. He finished off the cognac with a leisurely sip before discarding the vessel back onto the table.

"So, what? You Alliance Intelligence? Clandestiny and sudden authorization doesn't exactly make you sound like some nobody."

Djorn Bline ​

 

[Djorn Bline]

S N A K E
NEW IMPERIAL ORDER
CORUSCANT
Salvor King

Well, looks like the King was interested and wanted in on this invitation. Of course, he kept up with more questions before officially agreeing to these operations of COMPNOR. As always, he had to pander to these questions; full cooperation is what he appreciated when it came to recruits.

"Clandestine?" "Clandestine ain't usually my style if you haven't noticed,"

“The word carries many interpretations, mister King; what I mean by clandestine is that it’s no one else’s damn business other than me and my agents that I handle. These operations can come with a ruckus or be subtle like a knife, so long as the job gets done with plausible deniability it doesn’t matter much to me.”

A celebrity renowned in the world of shockboxing working with the New Imperials? Who the hell would believe that?

"So, what? You Alliance Intelligence? Clandestiny and sudden authorization doesn't exactly make you sound like some nobody."

“I like it when people think of me as a nobody, it lets me work without being under a magnifying glass. You’re right that I am intelligence, but not Alliance. I’m on the other side of the spectrum. If you need further proof, I can wire you one-hundred thousand credits from an account you’ll never know to who it belongs or where it’s located.”

“So, what’s your final decision? You in?”