Ain't Failed Yet

[Sarge Potteiger]

It wasn't often the Syndicate failed to take out a target. It was even less often that said target was a Jedi. But the irony of this was that the assassin hadn't failed - a headshot was a headshot. But, anyone can survive anything if they're stubborn enough: rage is a hell of an anesthetic, after all. Still, with Sarge's reawakening he was being called in to clean up.

As always.

The planet of Dac had been repopulated after it's destruction, and had been returned to it's former glory. Security was still tight though, the Gulag Virus still fresh in everyone's mind. Thankfully, Sarge could avoid security. Kicking his feet, he swam through the waters outside one of the floating cities, his suit making sure he had more than enough air to breath.

Red visor glowing faintly against the dark reaches of the planet's oceans, the assassin drifted slowly upward under the dock. Shifting his armor's priorities, he activates the visor to scan for thermal signatures on nearby docks. The suit picked out any and all important data it could and highlighted anything of potential importance with the help of the droid AI it had built into it. It was a fair assumption to make that the suit was the reason he was as successful as he was; it was something he'd admit.

He simply wasn't experienced enough on his own to truly be able to accomplish tough missions like this without the suit's help. "Where are you...", he breathes out softly, voice echoing within the confines of the suit.

The target had just regained consciousness not too long ago - his face had shown up on one of the Syndicates video feeds and been flagged as a massive 'what the ****'. Drifting out from beneath the pier, two metal hands reach up and pull the heavily armored man up and out of the water.

Making sure the coast was clear (no pun intended), he begins making his way towards the docks exit. Already, the AI had hacked through the local comm net security and was working on the local vidcams. They were all protocols written by Ayden over the past few centuries, and they served him well for operations like this.

The hunt was on.

 

[Krim Wayfinder]

Meanwhile in a nearby bar of the rebuilt Coral City a young ruggedly handsome man sat minding his own business. The man was just over six feet tall and had a look about him that suggested if he actually bothered with some personal hygiene he could be rather more of a pretty boy than a scruffy mass of overgrown stubble. Interestingly his choice of drink was a little run of the mill as well, just the standard cheapest ale. That wasn't the most interesting fact about this man however, strangely he was minding his own business because he didn't know his own business.

He had no idea who he was apart from apparently his name was Krim Wayfinder. That came from a badge attached to a uniform he instinctively picked up when he awoke with amnesia six months earlier on another water world. In those six months Krim had been hitching rides on cargo freighters and earning a small amount of local credits in return for labour hulling crates during docking. His mission wasn't to drink in a random bar though, his mission was to find the Jedi and learn how he knew to also steal a lightsaber from the facility that he escaped from.

Continuing the trend of interesting facts about a strange guy in a bar, Krim Wayfinder also had absolutely no idea their was a price on his head. How could he? He didn't even know he was meant to be already dead, let alone what he'd done to deserve that fate.

 

[Sarge Potteiger]

Facial recognition put the man in the downtown area, a place with plenty of bars. There was a slight problem to getting there, however. How do you hide when you've got a glowing red visor and armor that screams 'I'm from a shadow organization that's probably illegal'? By avoiding people, obviously! Which therefore precludes the fact it was going to take him some time to get into any sort of position.

Jumping from rooftop to rooftop as quietly as one can in a full suit of powered armor, he hides behind neon signs and displays, keeping as best he can to the shadows of a city bustling after nightfall. His biggest problem was the same thing that kept him safe; crowds. Noise pervaded the streets and masked his movements, meaning he could be a bit more aggressive in his pursuit of the target. But not too aggressive, naturally.

Stopping at the edge of the street where the man was SUPPOSED to be, Sarge pulls out a beam rifle and sets up shop, switching his suit's battery power to augmenting his visor enough to zoom in down the thoroughfare and keep an eye out for the man's face. Time to wait. So far as he knew, the man hadn't moved. But he could be wrong.

He was hardly omnipotent.