One Faithful Evening

[Felix Dunst]

[Ambiance]​

​

"Let there be peace in Ground Zero."​

Antecedent Police Department / Ground Zero Precinct​

Droplets of water poured endlessly from the sky above unto the steel and concrete of the world below it, as the natural light of the sun orbiting the planet slowly but surely became replaced by the obnoxiously bright neon colors that adorned every nook and cranny of the city-wide planet. Antecedent, the city that never sleeps. The world that has become so enthralled in the dazzling neon lights that illuminate the Core Worlds that it desperately mimics its idols, to the point where one has either learned to fear the shadows lurking in the corner with every fiber of their being, or to simply ignore them and pretend they do not exist. Such a childish mockery of a comparison, one could think to themselves, until they bother to rest their weary eyes upon those that surround them on this rotting neon colored globe. All it would take is a second and nothing more, to gaze upon the facade pressed onto the visage of the Architect whenever he speaks of the Safety and Security of the people, and the illusion would come tumbling down as their eyes unintentionally rest onto the thin strings hanging from the corners of his lips.

The unusually empty streets echoed with heavy, slashing footsteps as a burly man trudged along the street corner, ducking from cover to cover as the rain continued its assault on the city. A damp and cheap brand cigarette nestled warmly between his dry, cracking lips as it left behind a trail of smoke wherever he went, the ember slowly but surely fizzling out as more and more water poured onto it from high above. The man quickly removed his left hand from the pocket of his damp jacket, taking a hasty glance at the rusted wrist watch he wore before giving it a light shake to see if it was still working properly, before placing it back into its warm confines. He took another corner, suddenly stopping in his tracks as he fell into a large puddle. He muttered vulgarities under his breath as he felt the cool water seep into his footwear, dampening his socks and the lower portion of his jeans. Shaking his head in annoyance, he quickly jumped out of the puddle and landed on the all too familiar concrete. Ducking under the cover of a small buildings rooftop, he leaned his body against the cold wall and huddled himself to keep warm. One hand slowly pulled itself out of the jackets pocket, a stained piece of paper nestled between his wet fingers as he hurriedly unraveled it and began deciphering the smudged writing.

ZELTON STREET NR 49​

WRESTLE INC WAREHOUSE​

DRUG EXCHANGE, 2500 HOURS​

​

The man tentatively raised his head upwards, staring at the bright neon head of what seemed to be a beast out of fairytale. Those emerald like eyes of it seemed to be following every move of his, registering every single breath he took as he stared absentmindedly at it for a few brief moments. "This is it . . ." The man muttered to himself, eyes darting back to the paper he clutched between his fingers to make sure he was at the right address. Quickly glancing to the left and to the right of the street, he hurriedly walked over to the opposite sidewalk. One hand slowly unzipped his jacket, before snaking its way through the gap and loosening the grip of his holster. He slowly took out what appeared to be a regular slug thrower, both hands tightly clutching the grip as his fingers rested parallel to the trigger. Quickly checking the cartridge, he made a mental note of the ten bullets he had at his disposal, before hastily inserting it back in and preparing the firing mechanism. Now it was all a matter of getting in unheard.


[member="Cryax Bane"]

 

[Cryax Bane]

It was a rainy night on Antecedent, the gambling city of sin, glittering mecca of troubled souls for rent. To Cryax Bane, President of the Red Ravens criminal syndicate the rain was a refreshing change, and as he had arrived at the Wrestle Mechanics warehouse to pick up a shipment from the Gordi Cartel, a drug gang made up mainly of Bothans, the crime boss was all too glad to let the cold droplets wash over his face. If only they could wash away his recent memories. It was only a little over a week after his capture and torture at the hands of a Yuuzhan Vong overlord and, while most of the worst scars hid underneath his clothing, the dark circles under the Chiss's glowing red eyes showed the telltale signs of duress. Still business was business, and credits had no owners, only spenders. And Cryax wanted the street rats of Antecedent to spend all of their credits on the Red Ravens' latest shipment of glitterstim.

As he arrived at the warehouse, breezing past the lookouts, his boyfriend and fellow slicer [member="Jalek Sathora"] along with a horde of near-human henchmen and goons in tow, Bane shook hands with the cartel's drug lord, a grizzly Bothan named Ol' One Eye, who was aptly named as he'd lost one of his eyes during one drug war or another. Ol' One Eye offered Cryax and Jalek a seat at his table to share a hookah pipe full of some pretty potent glitterstim from Dredd in Wildspace. Around them the Red Ravens goons took inventory of the shipment to make sure that the Ravens weren't being fleeced. And in turn the Gordi goons stood around to make sure the Red Ravens weren't going to fleece them. To say the situation was tense would be an understatement.

Cryax didn't usually smoke much of anything, but in order to placate the drug lord he placed the pipe to his lips and inhaled deeply, letting the substance wash into his system, giving his brain a pleasant hum as it heightened his senses. Blowing smoke rings out of the side of his mouth, passed it to his Morellian boyfriend, knowing that Ol' One Eye would be offended if both of them didn't smoke with him. The acrid smell of glitterstim permeated the air as the two gang leaders casually traded underworld news with each other. There was no reason to suspect that trouble was in the air. It was just another meeting at another warehouse on Antecedent.

[member="Felix Dunst"]

 

[Jalek Sathora]

Being one whose idea of diplomacy usually involved more blasters and colorful insults than any actual reasoning between both parties, this was a bit of a new situation for Jalek. And if that wasn't odd enough in itself, he'd actually been requested to come along. Sure, he and [member="Cryax Bane"] had been dating for awhile now, but he'd never really considered the fact that it would be within his retinue to accompany him for dealings such as this. Maybe it was the fact that this was somewhat of an odd occasion for him to be in, or maybe it was the overall tense environment that encompassed the warehouse, but something about everything was off, and not in a good way. Perhaps his latent Force senses were kicking in, but whatever it was, it told him to be wary. Of who, he wasn't sure. But instinct had never failed him before.

Despite these feelings he took the hookah pipe when it was passed to him, enjoying the spark that hit his nerves. Holding smoke in his mouth for a moment he finally exhaled, blowing the cloud to the side so as not to offend any of their present company. Usually the Morellian was the one insinuating conflict between people, whether they were groups or individuals, not remedying any chances of it occurring now or in the future. Yet another thing to put him off about the entirety of it all. If things were going to be this way for the rest of the night, it was doubtful that he would ever truly relax. That wasn't what they had come there to do, of course, though that didn't do much for his mood either.

For the moment he simply listened to the words being traded, searching them for any sort of undertone or doublespeak that he was as adept at listening for as speaking himself. Disappointingly, there was none, or none that he could perceive. So boring, for a crime lord and apparent drug lord. If this had been one of the meetings he was used to spectating back when he still lived on Taris, things would have already come to blows, most like. This seemed to be a civil courtesy call, more than anything. What kind of name was Ol' One Eye, anyway?

Sighing quietly he rummaged in a pocket for his ever present pack of cigarettes, taking one between his teeth and lighting it, glancing to Cryax with a smile playing across his lips. Still the feeling of uneasiness persisted.

[member="Felix Dunst"]

 

[Felix Dunst]

The mans weary eyes slowly darted upwards as his feet pressed firmly against the asphalt beneath him, his legs firmly rooted into place as he gazed upon that neon monstrosity that hanged above his head, the rain incessantly beating down upon his aching body. A sense of dread washed over his trembling frame as he peered into those emerald eyes of the beast, fear and anxiety clouding his thoughts as his fingers tightly wrapped themselves around the grip of the pistol. Rain poured endlessly on that orange symbol that hung onto the wall, the shape and form of it reminiscent of a a bellowing hound. Its jade whiskers seemed to flicker irregularly in the downpour, the sound of water fizzling on contact with the lights echoing through his ears as if it were a gentle melody. "Two, maybe three stories . . ." He muttered through heavy breaths as he craned his neck backwards, forcing himself to look past that intimidating logo. One of the smaller buildings in the street with a simple but efficient design, the shadows of the nearby homes and shops looming over it as if to protect it from any prying eyes. A single large steel door stood in front of him, with what seemed to be a retractable ramp installed directly into the street judging by the power lines scattered along the wall, tucked inside a thick wall with no balconies or windows in sight. The cargo route, he mussed to himself silently. He cautiously placed the side of his head to the entrance, ears perking up as he listened quietly for a few brief moments.

Nothing but the sound of rain and his own breathing. His fingers quickly began prodding and petting along the lower edge of the door as he leaned in, digits slipping in through a small opening and slowly giving it an experimental tugged. Locked. He exhaled in an exaggerated fashion out of annoyance, quickly pulling his hand away as he hoped nobody heard the slight jingling of locks and hinges from inside. His eyes quickly darted from one end of the street to the other as he looked around for any random passerby or guards, a narrow looking alleyway to the side of the warehouse catching his attention. Leaning his body against the wall as he brought the gun closer to his chest, he slowly slid alongside the building until he reached the corner. A cursory peek past revealed a thin pathway to the other side, filled with bags of trash and assorted junk lying about. Taking a deep breath to steel his nerves for whatever may await him on the other end, he slowly and methodically began walking through the sea of waste in front of him. Cans of alcohol and juice, rotten meat, and broken electronics littered the pathway the man walked on, the rhythmical pouring of the rain being the only thing covering the noise he made as he stepped on other peoples garbage. Reaching the end of the passage with his back pressed to the wall, he cautiously peeked past the corner.

A lone guard covered in a thin and damp rain cloak, hugging the wall between a door and a ladder that led to the rooftop as he desperately tried to keep himself warm in the rain. His hands tightly hugged a rifle to his chest, his upper body rocking back and forth as fog poured through his lips. ". . . Fog?" The man muttered to himself absentmindedly as he continued to peak at the guard, his eyes widening in surprise before he quickly spat the cigarette between his lips into a small plastic bag behind him. His body was as stiff as a board as he stopped breathing, tightly hugging the wall in silence for a few seconds as his fingers twitched nervously on the trigger of the pistol. Of all the scenarios that swirled in his mind once he arrived on the scene, not once did he think he would meet his end due to his addiction alerting the suspects of his presence there. Seconds felt like minutes as he stood rooted in place out of fear, inhaling a dab of air every so often.

Spoiler

I can add onto this post the dispatching of a guard and checking of the back door if required, but I figured 6 paragraphs would be a bit too much in one post. If you want me to add the rest before continuing, let me know. And do feel free to control them walking around on patrols or interacting with each other if you want to give me a larger challenge

EDIT : Removed the last line because tension, if you want to add the guard spotting the smoke and moving closer feel free.

[member="Cryax Bane"]
[member="Jalek Sathora"]

 

[Cryax Bane]

As guards and lookouts patrolled the dark crevices of the smoky warehouse, the Chiss crime boss and his Morellian partner continued to smoke with Ol' One Eye. The matter of business being discussed was now the criminal syndicate's truce with the Black Sun, a piece of news that raised a shaggy eyebrow from not only Ol' One Eye but also his second in command. As the two Bothans exchanged surprised looks, Cryax Bane spun the story as best he could without revealing that it was all part of a treaty that had been ratified with the One Sith. That alliance was a card he wanted to hold close to his vest, and until the time was right, it hardly concerned the scruffy Bothawui drug lord.

A slicer at heart, Cryax, even in his new position, never relinquished the habit of furiously typing away on his Datapad no matter the situation or, the company, or the conversation topic. As Cryax took another hit off the Bothan's hookah pike, nodding as he made a show of nodding in agreement with whatever drivel Ol' One Eye was blathering about, he sent Jalek a text message. " wzzp bb, sumthing wrng?" He had noticed a worried look flash across Jalek's face and wondered if the man's Force sensitivity was spiking at an unknown danger that the Chiss himself wasn't able to sense. An eyebrow subtly raised, his glowing red eyes moved to interpret his boyfriend's face as he blew tendrils smoke out of the side of his lips, its silky fingers reaching towards towards the patter of the rain over their heads.

As this was happening, a Bothan from Ol' One Eye's cartel who was guarding the back entrance sniffed the air with his sensitive, wet nose. The short furry alien whipped his head around and spied cigarette smoke wafting out from behind a corner, and his blaster drawn, carefully investigated. He hugged the wall, his blaster raised, and inched closer until he came across the intruder crouching in the damp shadows. He levelled his blaster at the man with a smirk. "Looks like we have an uninvited guest," he said in broken basic, looking down at the haggard cop, raindrops dripping off his muzzle as he flashed a smile full of sharp canines.

[member="Felix Dunst"] [member="Jalek Sathora"]

 

[Jalek Sathora]

The quiet, unsilenced chirp of his datapad rang out into the air, and Jalek flashed a sheepish grin, feigning embarrassment, though he was anything but. It was never silenced, no matter the company, and he didn’t feel a need to express a large amount of respect towards their current conversation partners. Among criminals, the best face to put on was a cool indifference towards the situation, no matter what might have been going on behind the scenes. But he couldn’t help what he was sensing through other means, and what he felt he didn’t like. Apparently [member="Cryax Bane"] had noticed, as his eyes scanned over the text. Something was wrong, but he wasn’t sure how happy the other man would be to hear it. Or their present company, all things considered.

His reply was kept simple, just one word, “Outside.” Typing out the message and sending it without much interruption from the current talk of business, he tucked the datapad away as if nothing unusual had happened in the first place. Which it really hadn’t, at least as far as the two of them were concerned. Any outside interference was a part of the job, but whomever they were would soon find that the building was better guarded than they’d been anticipating. That was a benefit of being one of the higher ranking criminal syndicates: security was never in short supply, for the right amount of credits. And good security was just a few chits more.

After the message had been sent and the issue brought to the necessary party’s attention he leaned back in his chair, cigarette perched at the corner of his mouth, smoke drifting absently from between his lips, floating lazily in the still air of the warehouse as the rain pattered on ceaselessly outside. The various security, whether hired or already working for one of the two groups, continued to patrol both inside and out of the warehouse, but that wasn't his concern. The unknown presence, whether benevolent or malevolent in nature, was. His first guess wasn't law enforcement of any kind, as he'd already chalked Antecedent up to a world lacking in any formal law, much like Taris, where he'd grown up.

Still, that didn't mean that another rival group hadn't sprung up somewhere along the line and was now attempting to interfere with things. For the time being he brushed it off, content to allow security to deal with any misdemeanors. If it was enough of a concern to bring it to their attention, then it would be, later. This was time now for talking business, however much he would have liked to take a look around himself in order to confirm his suspicions.

[member="Felix Dunst"]