Private Jailbreaking Jedi

[Maeve Linahan]

Prison had never been the kind of place Maeve expected to end up in, and yet here she was, in her own private cell.

She felt naked without her lightsaber and robes. Vulnerable. Without a weapon on her hip or a knife up her sleeve, she felt constantly open to attack, and paranoia haunted her thoughts by each hour. She'd only been in prison for, what, a day? Already she wanted out.

But Maeve could not risk losing who she'd been sent for.

A man. Someone in possession of dark alchemical secrets in connection to the Sith. They had been in league with the prison warden, Haking, and if the rumors were true, they'd been concocting an army of abominations over the last six months. A threat that posed a serious risk to the Rim and the people of Agamar.

Now, it was Maeve's responsibility to find and assassinate the man before the worst happened.

She had not come alone, of course. The Jedi Council had chosen to assign this particular task to another Jedi, Vizion Trozky. She knew very little about the sharp-jawed man and what to expect, but she'd been told he was a masterful hunter and a strong duelist. And while she always preferred to work alone, hearing that, at least, was enough for Maeve.

Impatience dogged her steps as she paced about her cell. "Now that we're in, all we have to do is find and eliminate the target." She glanced into the cage on her left, where Vizion had been tossed into. "Any ideas on where we might find him, Sentinel?"

Vizion Trozky​

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[Vizion Trozky]

THE HUNTER-KNIGHT
NEW JEDI ORDER
AGAMAR
Maeve Linahan

Sentinel. Not once in all of Vizion’s time amongst the Jedi, since he was a boy of eight standard years, had anyone ever called him by the umbrella under which his class fell into… but he wasn’t going to get a bee in his metaphorical bonnet about it. She wasn’t wrong; it was simply unusual.

“Hn.”

And besides that, she wasn’t alone in that feeling of nakedness - he had never expected to end up in prison either, and particularly not on purpose, but he didn’t show it. Vizion was seated on the cot in his cage, his head tipped back against the rear wall of the space he’d been tossed into, arms crossed over his chest, eyes closed, feet on the floor and knees apart. Looking every bit un-fussed. Appearances, of course, were deceiving.

“If he confers openly with the warden,” Vizion answered, breaking the makeshift silence he’d let settle in after her words, “we could reasonably expect to see him make an appearance in the central tower.”

His eyes opened and he turned his head against the surface, looking into the cell Maeve occupied. Watching her agitate to and fro. Like some form of caged, cornered animal.

“But if he’s anything like the rest of his breed of filth, he’ll be skulking further out of sight,” Vizion turned his attention ahead, peering at the central control and observation tower, a hard gaze, “that would then tell me to look down. Caves, subterranean facilities, basements… most otherwise inhospitable and out of the way places are usually home sweet home to them.”

Maybe that was stating the obvious. He shifted in his seat, readjusting; there was no way to be comfortable for very long, in this place.

“I haven’t seen anyone that doesn’t look like a jailer in there, yet, and I’m guessing you haven’t either, but--” Vizion briefly glanced out the corner of his eyes into Maeve’s cage again; her incessant pacing wound him just a tiny bit, but telling anyone to chill rarely had the intended effect. He sighed out his nose, “--have you noticed the undercurrent of unease permeating this entire place?”

Had she stopped long enough to look past her own? Most prisoners weren’t unsettled merely by being thrown in the clink. There might be a few that didn’t weather the experience well, and you'd have to go looking for them to find them in that case, but… Viz sat up and leaned forward, dropping his elbows on his thighs, just behind his knees.

“My thought? If he’s picking from the prison population, then it’s only a matter of time before someone else gets dragged off. Get a bead on them,” he turned his hands open, palms upward, approximating a shrug… or perhaps gesturing to an unseen path, “follow where it goes.”

 

[Maeve Linahan]

Vizion was more of a talker than she'd expected. More thorough, too. He answered her question with ease, mapping out every detail and possibility of where they might locate the alchemist. Either he was in company with the warden, or hiding in some isolated laboratory, which was often the case with men like that. Rats sure loved their holes.

Maeve, on the other hand, had grown increasingly weary of hers. The cell reeked, heavy with the smell of sweat and shit, no thanks to the last inmate who'd slept there. She wanted out.

But it was a curious thing. The cycling of prisoners. Through the night, some had been plucked from their cells and escorted to the central tower, with very few returning. Those that did never came back the same, shivering and shaking and muttering about 'monsters in the dark.'

"I don't just sense unease in this place," Maeve said. "I sense the Dark Side."

She lingered at the front of her cell, tempted to rip the bars apart with her bare hands. "We don't have time to wait until the next inmate is dragged out. We should infiltrate the central tower and descend however many levels we must until we find the alchemist. The longer we wait, the more abominations they may be concocting."

Maeve's excuse might've been more convincing if she didn't seem so damnably restless. Truth was, she wanted to be done with this place. As much as a Jedi Shadow was trained for patience and stealth, she rarely exhibited those qualities in each mission. She was more brutish. Straightforward. Once she had a target in sight, she didn't stop.

"Either we masquerade as guards or I pose a prison riot. Your choice, Vizion." She rolled up the sleeves of her prison gown. "Of course, I'm open to suggestions. But I will not wait another moment here while the warden continues to scheme galactic domination."

Vizion Trozky​

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