The Black Dragon
Coruscant, Surface Level, Adonis Luxury Suites, The Dead of NightIt had been known from the instant the bombs dropped and the city-world was savaged that they would rebuild. Coruscant was, and always would be the heart of the galaxy, even if no faction claimed it. It was the crown jewel. The company had known that as well as anyone, and it had entrusted a contractor by the name of Cygnus Kiben to take charge of rebuilding the Coruscant branch.
Which he was doing, except he was far behind schedule, likely due to him using the company's funding to rebuild the luxury suites he'd called home before the chaos, as well as quite a few new amenities. In short, he'd been stealing from them. Arrogantly, blindly, foolishly thinking that this transgression would go unnoticed. That they would not do anything because they needed him.
The fool thought he mattered.
The task was clear, first Kiben was to suffer for the disrespect he had shown them, then he was to die. The former had been taken care of when his wife and daughter were lost in an utterly tragic accident when their luxury speeder had suffered a malfunction and dropped them untold sublevels below where they were undoubtedly killed in the crash. He'd also lost his sister to falling reconstruction equipment, or his son to an overdose.
It looked like a simple run of bad, no, awful luck, but Kiben had begun to fearfully suspect otherwise. He'd tightened security, ramped up the speed of construction as if to plead for mercy, and of course began to never leave the safety of his penthouse suite. As if it would protect him.
The force moved darkly around The Black Dragon as he strolled through the halls of the building, whistling softly. He looked no different then the rest of security, a nice suit, some stolen ID, but he wasn't here to protect Kiben, no quite the opposite. In a few moments, he would show the fat thief how little he truly mattered. Taking up a position outside the mark's home, Jorel smirked and nodded to the guard opposite him.
Just a friendly gesture to ease tension. An instant later his neural upgrades gave him a firing solution. The small, silenced, slugthrower hidden in his suit jacket rose up and fired, Jorel didn't even so much as turn his head to aim. The Nautolan fell to the floor, blood streaming from his skull and staining the expensive carpet. A milisecond later the Kel Dor and Wookie on either end of the hall fell as well, neat holes between their eyes.
With the relevant security taken care of, he tossed the disposable weapon aside and readied his LK-40. It was time to finish up this balancing of the scales. However, Jorel wasn't at all aware that someone, somewhere might have been watching.
[member="Jairus Starvald"]