Cinnic
The Jedi Wraith
The scum of the galaxy always hailed to one port, and that was Nar Shaddaa.
The Smuggler's Moon was a wretched mess of organized crime, trafficking, and drugs. No one was safe there. The rich and connected were more guarded, but the poor and defenseless were left vulnerable and exposed. Far too long had evil been allowed to flourish and prosper in the galaxy. Far too long for Cinnic's taste.
The old man strode past a crying mother and her infant son, looking upon the blood-covered being in a mixture of awe and fear. Behind him was the corpse of a Human thug, whose attempted assault on the defenseless mother was his last mistake. Cinnic wiped away some of the red paint from his hands on the insides of his cloak while walking away. The thug was a stepping stone to a target much larger than he: a notorious underboss by the name of John. By far, this individual was the most ruthless in the sector, letting his cheap spice overflow in the market and mercilessly crushing all who opposed him. He was soon to be a major player in the Moon, possibly even in the sector, and that was why Cinnic was bringing him down.
He had seen firsthand what happened to those who ingested John's spice. Violent hallucinations, tendencies for psychotic bursts of aggression, self-harm, and finally, death. The former Jedi was determined to put a stop to the criminal and his production. And he knew just where to strike.
An old, destitute warehouse nearby was a perfect cover for John's production and distribution rackets. The old man was on his way over there now, hidden in alleyways, stopping with lethal brutality all who opposed him.
On another crusade against the less savory entrepreneurs of the galaxy again, I see.
The Wraith spoke this directly into Cinnic's mind. The ghost trapped inside his body, keeping the old man in a state of life-death, was a boon for the most part. The snarky elder could have made do without some of his commentary.
You saw the holovid. You know what that chit does to people...and those around them.
Just days ago, Cinnic saw a disturbing news article about a deranged man who, in a fit of drug-induced rage, killed several people around him. This wouldn't have even registered in the old man had he not seen the last part of the fight, attached to the article. The lunatic had proceeded to throw a small Rodian child off of one of many railings that lined Nar Shaddaa before jumping off himself. At that moment, the warrior knew that whoever made the spice that the man was on had to be eliminated.
It had taken some digging around, and many broken bones, but Cinnic had finally gotten the information he needed. And a name. John.
There it was. The warehouse was in shambles, rusting and warping. Several armed Gamoarreans stood guard at the various entrances. From his perch at the corner of an alley leading to the building, Cinnic took it all in. A faint shimmer of light tinkled next to him, and at his side stood the familiar figure of The Wraith, his blue, transparent face shimmering in form. Sometimes it was nothing more than a rotting, grinning skull. At some moments the ghost's appearance could be seen at whole, a long haired, pointy-eared handsome man whose brow was furrowed in thought.
"Ah. Not very impressive. You would think a man of his caliber would employ a more robust security detail. Are you really planning on taking them all alone? Even if it is just a couple of pigs wielding pointy sticks, you are old."
Cinnic growled lightly. He didn't need to be reminded of his age.
"Well, you're gonna help me, right?"
Still, the specter did have a point. He did need backup, at least one other person. He had anticipated this, however. A certain someone was in touch. The old man didn't know much about her, not even a name, but he knew that she was eager to take the fight to organized crime and evil as well.
"Let's hope that encrypted message I sent out earlier was worth it."
[member="Tsuki Aihara"]
The Smuggler's Moon was a wretched mess of organized crime, trafficking, and drugs. No one was safe there. The rich and connected were more guarded, but the poor and defenseless were left vulnerable and exposed. Far too long had evil been allowed to flourish and prosper in the galaxy. Far too long for Cinnic's taste.
The old man strode past a crying mother and her infant son, looking upon the blood-covered being in a mixture of awe and fear. Behind him was the corpse of a Human thug, whose attempted assault on the defenseless mother was his last mistake. Cinnic wiped away some of the red paint from his hands on the insides of his cloak while walking away. The thug was a stepping stone to a target much larger than he: a notorious underboss by the name of John. By far, this individual was the most ruthless in the sector, letting his cheap spice overflow in the market and mercilessly crushing all who opposed him. He was soon to be a major player in the Moon, possibly even in the sector, and that was why Cinnic was bringing him down.
He had seen firsthand what happened to those who ingested John's spice. Violent hallucinations, tendencies for psychotic bursts of aggression, self-harm, and finally, death. The former Jedi was determined to put a stop to the criminal and his production. And he knew just where to strike.
An old, destitute warehouse nearby was a perfect cover for John's production and distribution rackets. The old man was on his way over there now, hidden in alleyways, stopping with lethal brutality all who opposed him.
On another crusade against the less savory entrepreneurs of the galaxy again, I see.
The Wraith spoke this directly into Cinnic's mind. The ghost trapped inside his body, keeping the old man in a state of life-death, was a boon for the most part. The snarky elder could have made do without some of his commentary.
You saw the holovid. You know what that chit does to people...and those around them.
Just days ago, Cinnic saw a disturbing news article about a deranged man who, in a fit of drug-induced rage, killed several people around him. This wouldn't have even registered in the old man had he not seen the last part of the fight, attached to the article. The lunatic had proceeded to throw a small Rodian child off of one of many railings that lined Nar Shaddaa before jumping off himself. At that moment, the warrior knew that whoever made the spice that the man was on had to be eliminated.
It had taken some digging around, and many broken bones, but Cinnic had finally gotten the information he needed. And a name. John.
There it was. The warehouse was in shambles, rusting and warping. Several armed Gamoarreans stood guard at the various entrances. From his perch at the corner of an alley leading to the building, Cinnic took it all in. A faint shimmer of light tinkled next to him, and at his side stood the familiar figure of The Wraith, his blue, transparent face shimmering in form. Sometimes it was nothing more than a rotting, grinning skull. At some moments the ghost's appearance could be seen at whole, a long haired, pointy-eared handsome man whose brow was furrowed in thought.
"Ah. Not very impressive. You would think a man of his caliber would employ a more robust security detail. Are you really planning on taking them all alone? Even if it is just a couple of pigs wielding pointy sticks, you are old."
Cinnic growled lightly. He didn't need to be reminded of his age.
"Well, you're gonna help me, right?"
Still, the specter did have a point. He did need backup, at least one other person. He had anticipated this, however. A certain someone was in touch. The old man didn't know much about her, not even a name, but he knew that she was eager to take the fight to organized crime and evil as well.
"Let's hope that encrypted message I sent out earlier was worth it."
[member="Tsuki Aihara"]
