Finley
T h e C r i m s o n F o x
Under the neon lights of Nar Shaddaa, a sordid undercurrent of activity thrived. Finn stood amidst the chaos, his presence commanding and resolute. The Crimson Fox, a title that had become both a badge of honor and a crown of thorns, was on the hunt. He wasn't just chasing shadows—he was dismantling them piece by piece.
With the Executioner unholstered, he moved with calculated precision through the narrow alleys and decrepit buildings. The red glow of his glasses cut through the murk, casting an eerie light that made his emerald eyes appear all the more intense. Each step was measured, his steel-toed boots emitting the hypnotic 'ching' of beskar spurs.
The plan was simple: hit the smaller syndicates first. It was tactical, methodical—flush out the rats and lead them straight to the nest. Finn had made it his mission to clean up his side of the street, and the smaller crime syndicates were acutely aware of his reputation. The Crimson Fox wasn't just a name; it was a warning, a promise of retribution.
But tonight, things had gone awry. Finn's mind raced as he navigated the labyrinthine underworld. Christine—separated from him amid the fray—invaded his thoughts, her image a constant companion. His heart clenched with every beat, a painful reminder of the love and worry that gripped him. Christine was his anchor, his constant in the storm of his life. Losing sight of her during the raid had been like losing a part of himself.
The sounds of blaster fire echoed around him, punctuated by the occasional shout or scream. Finn's grip tightened on the Executioner, its weight familiar and reassuring. Yet, the cold metal against his skin only amplified the longing and fear gnawing at him. He had to find Christine; the thought of her in danger was unbearable.
Memories of their time together fueled his determination—the way she laughed, her touch, the fierce love that burned between them. In the midst of chaos, she had become his beacon. As Finn cornered another syndicate thug, he didn't just see an enemy; he saw an obstacle keeping him from Christine. His movements were precise, each action deliberate as he fought through the hoards.
The syndicate network was vast, a tangled web of deceit and corruption. Finn's mission of pinpointing where the small became large required patience and cunning. Every bust, every broken chain in their operations brought him closer to his goal. But tonight was different—this was personal.
Cornered in a dimly lit alley, the thug had nowhere left to run. Finn's grip on the Executioner tightened as he slammed the thug against the wall. "Where are the kids and young women you've taken?" Finn barked, his voice laced with venom. "Talk!"
The thug's eyes darted frantically, desperation etched on his face. "I don't know what you're talking about—"
Finn cut him off, shoving the barrel of the Executioner against the thug's jaw. "Don't even try to lie," he snarled. "I know about the spice, I know you've been dealing in my territory! I warned you all what the consequences would be!"
The thug winced, a bead of sweat trickling down his forehead. "Please, I swear, I don't know!"
Finn's fury only intensified. He slammed the thug harder against the wall, his voice a razor's edge. He leaned in, his eyes cold and unyielding. "Where are they?" he demanded, his voice dangerous and low. "You tell me now, or your next breath might be your last."
The thug's resolve cracked under the weight of Finn's wrath. "Alright, alright! They're in a warehouse on the east side," he stammered. "Please -- have mercy...."
Finn's eyes narrowed, his grip on the Executioner unwavering. "Mercy?" he said, his voice a deadly whisper. "You wouldn't show me mercy if the roles were reversed.... but I look at this as a mercy. With you gone, its one more child, one less load of spice delivered. May the void show mercy... your penance starts now."
Without hesitation, Finn pulled the trigger, the Executioner roaring to life. The thug's body slumped to the ground, lifeless. There would be no mercy, no second chances for those who preyed on the innocent.
As the final shots rang out and the last of the thugs fell, Finn's eyes remained sharp and vigilant. The bust was far from over, but his determination was unwavering. Finding Christine, ensuring her safety—that was his mission now. The love and worry he harbored for her fueled his every step, his every breath. The Crimson Fox would prevail, not just for the streets he sought to clean, but for the woman who held his heart.
Taking a long breath and holstering his gun, he pulled a deathstik out from his jacket and perched it to his lips. As he inhaled, manipulating the molecules in the air, by the force, the end of the stik lit with a dim ember as he took a long drag and allowed the smoke to pour from his nostrils as he sighed. Christine wasn't a fan of his habit... but he almost wasn't a fan of the things he needed, was required to do to protect those that couldn't.
Man he needed a stiff drink right now...
Life was cruel at times.
With a weary sigh, Finn's gaze cut through the darkness as he pressed forward, each movement a testament to the fierce determination that defined him. The sting was far from over, and he was ready to face whatever lay ahead, armed with the unwavering love that gave him strength.
