Dropping By for some Tea

[Orick T'ane]

Nar Shaddaa
Corellian sector
Ship-Fil-A Repair Services

Orick sat on one of the crates in the open warehouse and watched the droids as they worked. His labor droids were moving his latest shipment of armor plating into the storage barn while the maintenance droids were cleaning up the workshop. He was surprised as how popular the company was becoming. He figured that the niche business would break even and that the warehouse would be used mostly for his smuggling operation, but he underestimated the amount of criminals on Nar shaddaa that wanted to have extravagant ships.

He smiled at the idea when he noticed that his N1 naval droid had walked into the shop. He only kept one of them active out of the group that he had bought, the one with the officer's package. He liked to have the droid around to bounce questions off of, as well as letting the droid handle the paperwork, which is complained about constantly. As the droid got near Orick could hear it's nasal synthetic voice. "... T'ane, there is a man in the office that claims that you have fallen behind on the insurance payment and that he was here to collect it."

Orick shook his head, he had only been in business for a couple of months and he was curious as to when this would come up. It was common enough for the gangs and or the crime bosses in the area to strong arm companies and business for money, claiming that it was to insure against accidents. He stood and sighed as he began to make his way to the office, "Thanks N1, take over the clean up out here and i'll handle the late payment." He could still hear the droid chattering away about payments and the like, but he had already forgotten the droid as he focused on the moment. He always wore his pistol these days and was curious as to who it was inside, he had a deal with the Ravens so he knew it wouldn't be him.

As he entered the small office he noticed a large human and an even larger trandoshan standing next to him. He tilted his head and smiled, "Something I can help you two with?"

The human didn't smile back but he leaned on the small desk, "We are here as representatives of Joros Kel, he wanted us to welcome you to the neighborhood and make sure you understand that we keep the peace around here. He only requires a small monthly fee for this service, and it buys you the peace of mind to know that we have your shop protected."

Orick tried hard not to laugh at the speech, it almost sounds like a reputable pitch, but he knew that it was laced with a threat.

[member="Death's Hand"]

 

[Darron Wraith]

Nar Shaddaa​

Corellian sector​

Ship-Fil-A Repair Services​

"We are here as representatives of Joros Kel, he wanted us to welcome you to the neighborhood and make sure you understand that we keep the peace around here. He only requires a small monthly fee for this service, and it buys you the peace of mind to know that we have your shop protected."

Listening through the bug it had left in @Orick T’ane’s office, it could only shake it’s head at the thinly veiled threat. For over a week it had been tracking Joros, the dossier on him was quite thick. Apparently his business interests were starting to interfere with Jacen Cavill’s and that was why the order had been sent down nearly two weeks ago. Oddly enough, after that dossier and the coordinates for the mission had been sent all had been silent. There had been no requested check-in’s, and it had experienced true autonomy for the first time in it didn’t know how long. Left alone with it’s arsenal of weapons, tracking skills, and the full power of the Force it had been given a true chance to think without being told.

When should I pull the trigger? Just that simple thought was something it didn’t understand, they had just been coming in random flurries. During the slow hours of keeping tabs on the target, it had often wondered why it was alone. Names flashed across it’s mind, none of them making any sense. Memories of worlds visited that it had never seen had somehow crept to the surface, but it had kept the mission at the forefront of it’s thoughts. Only during the hours when it trained did the thoughts subside, until it ignited the lightsaber safely hidden on the back of his belt.

For some reason that brought most of them back.

It shook it’s head and looked through the scope of the of the BTI-WWSR, it gripped the matte black barrel and looked at the other gang members assembling outside the business. Their leader was obscured, to instead it aimed back to the office. Senses fully immersed in the Force, it aimed for the Trandoshan and fired off a shot right through it’s temple before repeating the same shot on the human. Both bodies fell a split second apart from each other, and now the gang was moving in.

“Darron, don’t do it.”

Turning to look who said that, it could find no one. So it leapt from it’s perch to take on it’s target.

 

[Orick T'ane]

Orick frowned as the two large beings stood across the desk from him. ." I don't think you understand. I have a deal with the Ravens that says that you get the hell out of my shop and go bother someone else" He placed his hand on his pistol and smiled. He knew that he could get shots off at both of them before they could even stop him. He heard noises outside of the shop and noticed that there were several more toughs outside of the shop. He sighed and wondered if there was time to activate his security droids before he had to deal with the rest of this little gang.

" You don't seem to know how thing work. You will pay us, or we can't guarantee that your building won't catch fire one day. Or you might have an accident when you're here in the shop." The large man said, as he picked up the data pad off of the desk. He smiled and dropped it on the floor and stepped on it. Orick knew this game well, and he knew that it would be the last time that they broke something of his.


Before Orick could say anything else two shots rang out and both of the beings in the room with him dropped, their heads geysers of blood as the bodies. hit the floor. His pistol was in his hand and he was down behind the desk before he heard any other shots. He glanced around the desk at the yard around the and saw a group of street toughs standing around. It wasn't long before there was another figure in the background. He couldn't make out who ti was, but if he had to guess, that was the shooter. The question was, who was he shooting at.

[member="Death's Hand"]

 

[Darron Wraith]

It’s field of responsibility projected outwards, from the offices near him, towards the front of the building. Every living thing within it could be felt, all the emotion and life was within it’s ability to be sensed. Even the droids inside the building could be felt, their energy emitting just enough to be picked up by the highly tuned senses in use. There were no secrets, even the life force coming from the office behind the assassin's location was known. You aren’t on my dossier, you may live. There it was, another thought that wasn’t supposed to be there. It didn’t really pay much attention to it, instead it focused on sliding the sniper rifle back over his chest with the strap before unholstering the two BTI-WB pistols from the holsters on the belt that had been provided for it.

“Hey! There is the shooter!” More screams and yelling followed. It was obvious that they didn’t have military training as they ran for the nearest points of cover. Instead of moving as one, they all ran in different directions. Some even went inside the building, they aren’t attempting to ambush? Another thought, but it was brushed aside as it strolled towards the front where Joros was located, the fear rolling of the man like a beacon in the middle of a dark night. Death’s Hand moved calmly, the pistols were pointing towards the ground. Hushed whispers, panic flush in their tones the only noise that could be heard besides the boots of the assassin.

The moment ended, and all hell broke loose.

Shots were fired, and precognition sorted it all out. A simple movement of a couple of inches, and the warrior kept it’s steady pace. It picked it’s foot up, a bolt hit the ground where the foot had been. Simple movements were keeping it unharmed, every action known to the silent being before it happened. Finally within range, two hands lifted. Each barrel was the same, one held by an arm of flesh and the other by an arm of cortosis hidden by a thick terentenak duster. Implants activated, heightening the being’s senses as it sprung into action. Six shots were fired, and six fell. It was simple, but brutal.

Now only boots could be heard, but more were coming.

They always did.

@Orick T’ane

 

[Orick T'ane]

Orick could hear the sounds outside the building clear as day, apparently the gangers thought this man was the shooter and they intended on making him pay. He watched the group scatter and shook his head, this new player was a pro, someone that they were way out of their league in dealing with He knew that these guys were going to be cut down quickly, he knew training when he saw it and he wondered who it was this guy worked for. Orick saw a few of the men from outside scramble into the room with him and he tried to figure out what to do. had a decision to make. Did he kill them and deal with this new person alone, or did he trust that they would have his back.

As they entered the building, they made the decision for him. As soon as the first man saw him, he raised his pistol, but he was dead before he could shoot first. The other toughs were confused as to what was happening and he wasted little time in putting a blaster bolt into each of them. He heard a small flurry of shots outside and as he looked up he saw all of the remaining gang members on the ground. Orick reached under his shirt and pulled out his small hold out blaster. With two pistols in hand he crept forward and peered around the wall out into the yard. The lone gunman was standing alone in the middle of the street, two pistols in his hands. he wasn't sure what to do next, did he step out and hope for the best or was caution the way to go. He glanced around the corner again, unsure of what the next step was, but his caution got the bext of him, at least until he knew that he was in the clear.

If he was the target, well then he would have to deal with it.

[member="Death's Hand"]

 

[Darron Wraith]

All life could be felt in the Field of Responsibility, it was a central ability for most Jedi. Sith had a similar ability, albeit with some minor differences. Brutal in it’s methods, a trained eye could quickly pick up that the warrior standing alone in the alley had been trained in the methods of the Jedi. Simple nuances in the posture, and the aura it emitted. Little things, such as how it held it’s weight in the balls of it’s feet rather than the heel. Jedi were trained to be reactionary, Sith were trained to hold what was theirs. Evil usually permeated the Force, it was in the act of destroying life. While death did cling to it this night, there was no maliciousness in what was happening.

This was brutal efficiency.

More shots fired as the goons rounded the corner, and a return volley dropped them as it advanced. Joros was there now, with the head of his security. The reports had been very clear that they were always together. Counting bodies as it made it’s way down the barren alley, a discrepancy suddenly was made very clear. “Remember, Death. Joros is known to always have an agent who hangs back, as a means of circling those who might have an upper hand.” That comment suddenly flashed like a warning sign. “Darron, why did you fail me?” It’s head spun on a swivel, the shoulders following. Now squarely facing the wall, each shoulder facing towards each end of the alley. It was at a crossroads, simply staring at the visage of a woman.

Words failed the warrior, but two threats appeared. Looking back, the man who it had left alone was about to be attacked with a razorwire. Instincts kicked in, and an invisible hand wrapped around the goon’s neck. Pressure was applied and a sickening snap could be heard as life left the man’s life. Turning to fire on the other threat, it saw the same woman looking at him. “Why did you fail me?” There was no precognition as the thermal detonator went off only a few yards away from it, the force of the explosion knocking it unconscious as it was thrown into a wall and through it.

@Orick T’ane

 

[Orick T'ane]

Orick watched as the assassin or gunman or whatever he was just stand there. He fired again and Orick knew that another street tough was down, This kind of efficiency wasn't the kind of thing he expected to see on Nar shaddaa at all, let alone outside of his shop. He wondered who exactly it is that this gunman was sent here to get, because the longer he stood there in the alley the more he realized that it wasn't him. He watched as two more street toughs fell to perfectly placed shots from the gunman.

He saw the gunman stop and he had to move a bit more for him to see the reason for the pause. Apparently whoever it was walking down the far end of the alley was the target. He could see the slight difference in the way the gunman moved as he focused on the men at the end of the alley. He saw the gunman pause again and he heard a sharp crack behind him. The sound make him jump and he turned to find an assassin sneaking up on him, he tilted his head and noticed that the assassin's head was hanging at an odd angle. The entire situation left him unsure of what had just happened. There was nothing that would cause the man to just snap his neck, unless there was... Orick shook his head and discounted that train of thought. This gunman was a trained operative, the chances that he could be strong in the force and capable of that type of control was just crazy.

Orick turned and saw that the gunman was still in the alley, he was staring at the wall, almost like he was lost in thought and he could see that the street toughs were still moving in on him. He saw the one of them holding a thermal detonator and his hand flew up and he squeezed the trigger twice and saw the goon fall to the ground. The thermal detonator rolled away but Orick saw that it was still rolling towards the gunman, " Hey, watch ou..." He never finished his sentence as the detonator went off and he lost the gunman in a cloud of smoke and fire. He stepped into the alley and had to dodge back as blaster fire greeted him. He peeked out and saw that the only remaining two street toughs left were the two at the end of the alley, the two that the gunman was so focused on.

He stepped out again and ducked back as he was once again greeted by blaster fire. He didn't get to fire a shot off, but he now knew where the street toughs were. He Crouched down and leaned out into the alley again. He saw the blaster bolts flying down the alley and he grinned as the bolts passed over his head. He brought up his pistols in return. Unlike the unknown gunman, Orick's fire wasn't as precise. He did hit both of the men, but he needed to use more than one shot each. With the immeiate threats neutralized, he stood and approached the smoking wall where the gunman was.

He took a single step into the hole and noticed the gunman lying on the ground, out cold.

[member="Death's Hand"]

 

[Darron Wraith]

“Son, are you okay?” The little boy stirred in his bed, before opening his eyes to look up at the matching set that clearly belonged to his father. “Yeah,” he said sleepily before sitting up to give his dad a hug. “It was another nightmare involving Jaden.” The father hugged his son a little tighter as the mother entered the hazy, distorted room. “Son, your brother is okay. People have been known to run away from time to
time from the Order, he will find his place soon.” The child didn’t seem to relax, but clutch his father even tighter. Both parents gave each other a grim look, their faces oddly distorted. Catching sight of his face in the mirror, the child started to scream. Everything blended, and the boy started to convulse before the entire scene changed.

It all went black again.

“Bud, we’ve got to go.” Hands, his hands were much larger this time. A long, blonde braid hung over his shoulder as he looked up at the blurry face before him. A matching braid hung from his shoulder, but it was mocha in color. Marble walls lined his bed, and confusion hung over his face. “What’s going on? Where am I?” Laughter filled the small room, “Master Teferi needs us to come clean the floors early. Remember we both got in trouble because they found out you helped me pass the physical test?” Again, he caught sight of his face but it was blurred out. Text lined the wall, but none of it was decipherable.

It changed again.

“You’re going to die now, Jedi.” A snap-hiss could be heard. Instantly he leapt into action, his blue blade a blur as he quickly picked himself up. Now his arms were no longer wiry, but strong. Golden armor lined his forearms, and long blonde locks flowed freely. An army was behind him, and he could feel their support for him. His cup was empty as the superconducting loop powered his strikes. Vaapad was purely on display as foe after foe fell to his blade. Triumph and the love of combat flowed through his veins, he was the only Master of the form, and he used it to save lives.

“Dad, you need to get up,” came a young boys voice. It was different than the one he heard first.

It’s eyes snapped open, quickly trying to sit up, but it’s body didn’t cooperate. Instead, it looked down to see it was strapped to a table of sorts. All of the weapons it carried were on a nearby shelf, and it’s belt and mask were set to the side. Air was touching it’s face, and it began to struggle furiously against the straps. It’s arm of cortosis and durasteel activated, and the leather snapped from the force. Finally free, it started to set up before gravity pulled the off balance assassin off the bench.

SMACK!

That’s when it realized it was injured, and the stitches were bleeding from the commotion.

[member="Orick T'ane"]

 

[Orick T'ane]

The last couple of hours had been nothing like Orick expected them to be. he wasn't surprised by the street thugs stopping by, but the sheer number of them and the arrival of the masked gunman had changed everything. He stood outside of his shop while his droids picked up the bodies of the dead gangers. He knew that in this part of the sector it could be days before anyone noticed that someone was missing, and it wouldn't be good for business if he left a scattering of bodies on the streets outside of the shop. He had security droids patrolling the area arounds the shop while his labor droids took care of the bodies. Complications weren't a new part of his life, hell his life had been one big complication over the last few years, but the last few hours had been sheer chaos.

He walked back into the building and went to check on his 'guest'. He had no idea who this mystery gunman was, but he had plenty of chances to take shots at him and he didn't, which meant that he wasn't a target. The small storage room that he had the man in was not much in itself, it was just an empty space that he kept clean. He looked at the body on the table and frowned. The man was still out cold and he had to strap him to the table to keep him still long enough to bandage him up. Whoever this guy was, he was tortured enough that he didn't sleep well. He ended up having to stitch some of the wounds closed. He was positive that taking this guy to a medical center would be a bad idea.

He closed the door and walked back into the shop, he still had his business to take care of. He hadn't gotten far when he heard a thump and there was a rustling from the room. He quickly turned back to the room and was surprised to see the man was trying to stand. The metal arm was shining in the half darkened room, he was attempting to stand and had managed to rip some of the stitches open. He stepped carefully into the room, his hands up, showing that he wasn't armed. " Hey, just relax. you're hurt pretty bad and you've just ripped open a couple of your stitches. "

[member="Death's Hand"]

 

[Darron Wraith]

" Hey, just relax. you're hurt pretty bad and you've just ripped open a couple of your stitches. "

Impossibly taut muscles flexed in apprehension as it tried to look up. Both hands held it’s weight on the cold, durasteel floor. Every muscle on that exposed chest and back trembled, from pain and uncertainty. There was no field, no Force senses that activated. Pain was the only thought reaching the brain of the man holding onto existence in the back of a ship repair shop. Echoes of the memories, or dreams, if that’s what they were played over and over in it’s mind. Footfalls announced the presence of another, and the words that reached the covered ears barely registered to the being on it’s knees in the small room off to the side. Instead, it slowly sat back on the heels of the boots it wore, it’s long hair covering most of it’s face. The assassin’s right hand of durasteel and cortosis raised, the light dancing off the intricate work that was the prosthesis.

The hand, fingers, and palm retracted to reveal an ion disruptor that was fully activated.

A hand of flesh traveled up to the onyx locks, and brushed them aside, despite it’s pained breathing. Beads of sweat formed and trailed down the pale flesh, dancing around countless scars and burns from other battles. Some looked very old, while others appeared to be more fresh than others. After traveling some distance, a mild grimace escaped the clenched lips of the assassin as the salt mingled with blood that was freely flowing out and onto the floor. Grunting noises escaped it’s lips through the labored breathing. Finally able to see, blue eyes met their pale match across the room. Pain, and uncertainty shown through the intensity in them. Trembling lips indicated it wanted to speak, but it didn’t know how to form the words.

Instead, it stood, albeit slowly.

Blood leaked onto the floor, and it managed a step before falling back down onto a knee. “What, ha...what have you done to me?”

@Orick T’ane

 

[Orick T'ane]

Orick watched as the man rose off of the floor, he saw the multitude of scars on the man's bare chest and he couldn't help but feel sorry for whoever this was. Scars like that, with his arm mangled and replaced with cybernetics, this man was a walking war story, but you don't get that many scrs and walk away without a matching set on your psyche. Orick wasn't in any hurry to mess with this guy, whoever he was, he had handled those gangers pretty handily. It was only that momentary pause that had caused him to stumble, which had almost cost him his life. Orick saw him rise fully, the stitches on his chest running blood down his body. The man seemed not to notice the blood or the pain it caused at all, his eyes focused only on Orick.

Orick looked down at the arm that was not some kind of weapon, his hand dropped down by his side, but he kept himself from actually touching his gun. His pointer and middle linger flickering lightly along the inlaid grip of his heavy pistol. he wasn't sure that either of them would survive an encounter, the more he debated the possibility, the more his odds of surviving dropped. This was a hardened man, he would survive because that's what he did, Orick wasn't ready to test his luck just yet.

Orick stepped forward, against his better judgement and put his hands under the man's armpits to steady him and keep him from falling over again. " Easy, you almost died there. I wasn't sure you'd survive as long as you have." Orick said in a calm neutral tone. " You took one hell of a shot, someone chucked a thermal detonator at you. Another foot closer and we wouldn't be having this conversation at all. All I've done to you is stitch you up a bit, which I now see was a waste of my time. " He helped pull the man back up to his feet. " Let's get you back up to the table and stop this bleeding."

He glanced down at the weapon that pushed out from his hand, " You want to put that away? It'll make things much easier, and I'll feel a whole lot safer." He smiled faintly, "Tell you want, you put that thing away, and I'll take off the gun belt."

[member="Death's Hand"]

 

[Darron Wraith]

Cerulean eyes went to the pistol on the man’s belt, even as the muscles in it’s body fought to betray the movement it’s mind commanded. Implants fired up, and a display overlayed the visual before it. It took a few moments, but the systems finally came back online. Processes were running, and the startup menu was having to be selected through. For the man who ran the shop, the moment might have been tense. For Death’s Hand, it simply was a quiet one as it watched and waited for the menu of it’s implants to open up. Sure, it kept an eye on the gun and any movement towards it, but this was mainly a time for it to inspect the being before it. The picture it painted, well was what any trained killer would think to look for.

Panic wasn’t in the man’s eyes, simply awareness. The assassin could tell he was used to such situations, and the sensors in it’s implants were picking up the same thing. A quick analysis of his frame indicated he was fit, and former military at the least. Body language was next picked up on, and it could tell that he was ready for a fight. Tension was not a concept the trained killer understood, but it did know how to reach into the Force. That’s how it avoided truly feeling the pain of blood leaking out from it’s multiple wounds. So, it let it’s consciousness seep into the aura of life, and truly feel the nature of the man before it.

An act it just knew to do, but didn’t know how it did.

Arms scooped Death up, and it went with the act even as it looked the man over and felt him for what he was. Peace, calm, tranquility, and regret all shined through the Force. This was a good man, one who had done things that he wasn’t proud of but was a good man. It could feel a warm spirit, which made it instinctively relax. Sure, he was a killer just like the assassin, but for different reasons. The man spoke just as the implants fully came online, and the scanner started to note the features on the shop owner’s face.

“Fine, I will put my weapon away Orick T’ane.” The ion disruptor became a hand again, which it sat down on it’s lap. “You may keep your weapon, a pistol is fine.” It’s voice was haggard, and the expression on it’s face never changed from a blank stare. “Why did you save me, did no one come looking for…”

It struggled with the next word, it’s lips quivering with the notion of the word.

“..me?”

[member="Orick T'ane"]

 

[Orick T'ane]

Orick helped the man up and he waited for for something to happen. The man spent a long few moments just standing there, well being helped to stand there , and staring into Orick's eyes. He wasn't sure how exactly to respond to the question. He was glad he would be keeping his pistol, but honestly he wasn't sure it would do much good in the long run. This man was something more than just an assassin, he was a creation. Orick didn't know what or how or even who would do something to someone or themselves if that's what happened, but this was a living weapon. the metallic arm shifted back to being just a hand but he wasn't sure he liked the rest of what the man was asking him.


He wondered who would send out an assassin without a secure extraction plan, and if things went wrong a strike team to clean up any complications that may have arisen. He had thought about that possibility when he had pulled the man out of the rubble, but he couldn't let the man die, not when he had shown up and helped with those thugs. Orick was sure that given the time he could have come up with a solution, but it would have been a much bigger issue. This gunman had fixed the problem with one simple strike. The fact that no one had come after him worried Orick constantly. An asset this well trained with the extensive amount of modifications, well the arm alone was enough to make him think there had to be more, left alone after an assignment. What agency would allow one of their operatives to go off the grid for so long. It may have been a few hours, but he didn't know anyone that would let an operative hang in the wind for so long. It begged to question, if there was a team that would come pick him up, would they decide they needed to tie up loose ends.

Orick shook his head and smiled, " Someone had to save you, you were blown through a wall after all. Lets get you up on the table and get the bleeding stopped again. " He said in the same calm tone. He wanted this to go smoothly, He wasn't sure what was going to happen, but he knew the key was getting this guy patched up before he bled out. " Do you have a name? who was it that was supposed to come get you? No one has even bothered to wonder about the noise of the fight, let alone inquire about someone with your... skills." he pushed the man back just a bit, hoping that the man would understand that the table was a better place for stitches than standing in the middle of the room.

[member="Death's Hand"]

 

[Anastasia Rade]

Ana didn't get to spend nearly as much time as she wished with her husband. They always seemed to be on opposite sides of the galaxy taking care of this or that responsibility. On top of this they had a ship repair business on Nar Shaddaa. The time they did spend together was special and Ana always looked forward to those little getaways that they often planned.

Today she knew [member="Orick T'ane"] was busy working in the shop so Ana took the free time she had, due to a canceled meeting, to pick up a few things for dinner and lunch at the market. The thought was to surprise him at the shop with lunch.

The market on this planet was much different than what Ana was used to but she was adjusting well. The apartment they had gotten here was nice, it had a big kitchen and Ana was having fun decorating the home they got together. It was still a work in progress but it was coming along.

After coming home she quickly sliced up some stake for sandwiches, made a salad and threw some cookies in a bag to take with her. She hadn't wanted to take up too much time making something elaborate and instead spend her time helping him out at the shop.

As she walked though the door Ana saw the place to be a mess and no Orick. The young woman at first wasn't concerned about this. He was in the back a lot of the time working and only came up if the droids called him. This was different though, the droids were cleaning up what she knew to be blood on the floor.

"Orick? Sweetheart?" She called a little strain in her voice as she did stepping around the mess to make her way to the back. Ana knew he could take care of himself but she still was worried. What troubled her more so than blood was the presence she felt in the shop. Someone she didn't know was here. Luckily she never left home without a good blaster or her saber. "Is everything ok?" She called out moving towards where she felt the force presence.

Entering the room she not only saw Orick but a bleeding man she didn't know sitting on the table. Blinking slightly she took a few more steps forward before stopping again. The blonde didn't speak for the moment but a million questions raced though her mind and this man needed help. Pressing forward her gaze turned to Orick in hopes of some answers. "Can I help?" She turned from him to look at [member="Death's Hand"]. She was a healer and from the looks of it Orick was trying to help him so Ana decided to offer up her healing services.

 

[Darron Wraith]

“A name? This unit goes by the title of Death's Hand.”

If it could truly laugh, it would have. At best, a short, abrupt chuckle escaped the assassin's lips. It wasn’t natural, in fact, it kept a blank face the entire time. Devoid of emotion, years of pain were still visible in the cerulean orbs that looked at Orick as it sat on the table. Instead, it looked down at the bleeding wounds on it’s torso. Years of training it couldn’t really recall wanted to come to the forefront, but for some reason it enjoyed the wounds. They provided a sense of feeling it hadn’t enjoyed in some time. For so long it had just been mission after mission, with so much time lost. I must have had my memory wiped, because there are no memories of doing anything such as this. It racked it’s brain, and found a lot of gray areas that made no sense. Combat training in multiple weapons, forms, and styles could easily be recalled. The use of it’s implants wasn’t a chore either.

Remembering the last time it had just sat? Impossible.

Easily scooting back, it looked at the scars that lined it’s torso. Many were traditional blade wounds, a few had the look of slugs. Small, circular wounds could only mean one thing. It knew exactly what that one in it’s abdomen was, but couldn’t remember where it had come from. Where did these come from, it pondered looking at the vicious scar near it’s collarbone. It’s metallic arm had been crudely attached, with little worry for vanity. Yet, it could tell the arm wasn’t normal. Who did this to me? It realized it was referring to itself as a person, and promptly stopped that behaviour as it finally looked back at the man before it.

“No, the man who this unit served hasn’t come for the services provided in days. Judging from the chronometer in these implants, it has been over a few weeks. They aren’t looking for this unit or it’s services anymore.” Senses triggered, and that familiar buzzing burned in it’s brain. It’s field of responsibility flared up, as another with sensitivity graced the shop. The hair’s on the back of it’s neck stood up, and exhausted muscles tensed with anticipation. Awareness for every weapon it had suddenly materialized as it looked over the room, specifically at the cylinder-like compartment on the back of it’s utility belt. A small tug would be visible to anyone looking, almost like an invisible hand was undoing a latch in case it needed a particular weapon.

A Jedi-killing weapon.

Human, mandalorian? Implants fired up as it scanned the woman who entered the room, the Force ready to be called upon at a moments notice. She is smaller than this unit, she can be overpowered. Movement indicates she is a warrior, possibly a duelist as well. Then it reached further, and found a Master-level Force user. “Darron, don’t do it.” A random voice caught the warrior off guard, and it suddenly looked off in the corner of a the room at a face it didn’t recognize. The man was of average height with a lean build, wearing Jedi robes. “Trust them, it will all make sense later.” Whoever it was, the man disappeared into the ether.

His face was familiar, too familiar.

Distracted, it didn’t realize the woman was upon it. “Healing would improve movement, and ease breathing.” What response would it have? Kindness wasn’t a sentiment it understood.

[member="Anastasia Rade"] | [member="Orick T'ane"]

 

[Orick T'ane]

Orick listened to the name that the man has said., well it was more of a title than a name. This man could claim to be Death's Hand all he wanted, Orick had seem him in action and knew that it was more than true. Orick was happy that the man wasn't fighting him about the stitches. He wanted to get the bleeding stopped as quickly as possible and he wasn't some force healer, he had medical training but not much more than that.

He grabbed the small medical kit that he kept around and stepped back towards the man. " Listen, I just need you to hold still while I re-stitch these closed. I already know that you're capable of handling the pain, and I can see you're not afraid of scars. " He said with a wave of his hand to emphasise the scars on his body. " So you are saying that you're handlers have cut you loose." He shook his head, being cut off was one of the worst things an operative could have happen. He knew from his own experience that being left to your own devices after you have gathered many enemies. It had left him paranoid for weeks as he tried to reestablish himself as a free agent again. He was just threading the needle when he heard Ana enter the building. He looked up at the man and held up a hand, he didn't want there to be a misunderstanding about what was going on, " It's ok, she's with me. You can trust us."

He turned to Ana and held up his hand, " Everything is alright. We had a spot of trouble earlier. This is my new friend, Death's hand." He said with a subtle shrug that she would recognize as one of resignation to the name. " I'm just trying to help him get back on his feet. You're much better at this than I am, your help will definitely be appreciated."

He turned back towards the man and tilted his head, the man was focusing on something in the corner, orick glanced over and saw nothing but the wall, but this guy was focused on something that wasn't there. suddenly he was back, whatever he was seeing was gone. Orick wondered if he might have some kind of head trauma. He took a step back at the man's words and motioned to Ana, " He's all yours."

[member="Death's Hand"] [member="Anastasia Rade"]

 

[Anastasia Rade]

The Master could only imagine what had occurred here. This wasn't the first time that something had occurred in the shop. They hadn't set up shop in the nicest part of town but they got a lot of business. It all seemed to work in some weird way.

Setting the bag down she moved closer to where Orick and Death's Hand were. The name she had heard before from stories but never had she thought there to be a lick of truth in them so she had more or less ignored them. They didn't matter anyway now as Orick and her we're going to help him get back on his feet. Ana though didn't know what that meant and she had a feeling neither did Death. First thing, first get him healed up and probably fed. It was a good thing she had made extra sandwiches.

Looking him over she saw scars and stitches everywhere. He was in pretty bad shape and Ana was trying to figure out where to start on him. The Master could tell already that this was going to take several sessions. If he was up for that.

"I'm not going to hurt you, please just relax." Ana stated as she carefully began to undo the stitches Orick had done. She could see he took a lot of hits more so than some Mando's she saw. Placing her hands over the wound Ana concentrated on repairing or replacing the damaged tissue. More or less she was looking to accelerate the natural healing process.

Once satisfied with her work in the first area Ana turned to the next area on his chest which was bleeding. After gently wiping away some of the blood she was better able to judge his wound to focus her healing on it.

"I'm glad I brought extra sandwiches," she mused as she finished up. "I reckon after this you may be hungry. I'm Anastasia by the way, it's nice to meet you." Ana had realized that she had been more focused on healing him than introducing herself. "How are you feeling?"

[member="Death's Hand"] [member="Orick T'ane"]

 

[Darron Wraith]

“Honey, what did you do to yourself this time?” A woman, stunningly beautiful appeared between the two around the assassin. Her arms crossed over her chest, and something about her struck a chord within the man sitting there bleeding all over his scarred torso. She appeared as real as the two before it, but she had just appeared out of nowhere. Keeping it’s senses to a minimum, they reached out to where she stood. To see if that ethereal beauty was real, if the sound of that wonderful voice was real. If it had known hope was an emotion, it would have realized it was feeling it for a moment. Everything about the woman seemed so comforting, so real…

...except she wasn’t.

It’s head fell slightly, eyes filling with more pain. Except this wasn’t physical, it was the very epitome of confusion. If the faceshield hadn’t covered the man’s face, they would have seen the confusion. From the outside, it would just look like Death’s Hand was allowing Anastasia to approach him and heal him. Soothing warmth of the Force reached the torn and injured flesh, and it could feel the midichlorians getting to work. The healing process was being accelerated, a benefit of years of communicating with the energy of life. Scanners couldn’t focus on visions, so the implants were cross-referencing the woman who had brought sandwiches. I will need energy soon, my body is starting to break down on me. The use of the personal identifier went unnoticed, it’s thoughts split. It’s body was on the mend, but the implants were assessing threats while it’s own visual sensors were trained on the woman standing behind Orick.

“Babe, don’t just be rude. Introduce yourself to them and ask to eat with them.” The sway in her hips immediately attracted it’s eyes, all other conversation fading as she crossed the distance. Again, her hands gripped the taut flesh on the left side as Anastasia backed away from it, but there was no sensation of touch. Looking to the woman as she motioned for him to remove his face shield, he did so. It retracted back into his implants upon will, revealing a handsome face left mostly untouched from the rigors of war. “What do I call myself?” The question was for the mysterious woman. “Hun, they don’t know you can see me. Just call yourself Darron, that’s a safe name and what you go by.” It went to argue, but she had faded from view, leaving it talking to itself.

“My name...my name is Darron.” He or it stood to it’s full height, taking a quick glance at the medical care that had been given. “Thank you Anstasia for fixing those wounds,” then it nodded towards Orick. “and thank you for protecting this form...I mean myself.” An awkward silence passed as the assassin left the room and headed towards the sandwich and a shirt that was sitting off to the side. Sliding it over the scarred torso it wished to hide. “So, what do I have to do to repay you both?”

[member="Anastasia Rade"] | [member="Orick T'ane"]

 

[Orick T'ane]

There was a tense few moments where Orick wasn't sure exactly what this man was going to do as Ana began healing him. This strange man had taken out a street gang almost singlehandedly, and while Orick had helped, it was nothing that it was nothing he would have tried alone. He watches closely while Ana worked her magic on the wounds that covered the man, there would be a couple of new scars, but judging by the amount of scars on his body, he wouldn't even notice. Eyes don't lie and the man's eyes almost looked glazed over, like he was in a far away world, living a different life than he was in now. Trauma could jolt memories, near death experiences had a way of bringing happy memories back to the surface, perhaps that was the case here, or it could just be a concussion from the explosion.

Exposing his face seemed like a revelation in and of itself, while Orick didn't know who this man was, he would be sure to see what he could find with a description. He would need to contact a few slicers he knew, people that were talented enough to not leave a trail. Someone with these skills would attract a lot of attention, not something Orick, or this man needed in their lives.

Watching the man, no Darron he had called himself, was fascinating if only because he seemed so unconcerned with everything around him. He went from totally unfocused to fully focused on the task at hand, which at the moment was a sandwich and his shirt. Something had happened to this man for him to be this way, something bad. He listened as the man thanked them and then asked about payment. there was always a price, nothing in the galaxy was free, but Darron had more than paid whatever dues he owed in the form of suffering, there wasn't a chance that Orick was asking for more from him. " Nothing, your intervention in that little altercation earlier saved me a lot of grief, believe me when I say that helping you is the least we can do." He leaned against the doorframe and watched as darron hungerly ate the sandwich.

He glanced over at Ana and shrugged, he didn't expect that she would want anything from him, she was always helping people when she could. Payment wasn't something they would likely even entertain. " Help yourself to another sandwich if you want. We can always get more."

[member="Death's Hand"] [member="Anastasia Rade"]

 

[Anastasia Rade]

She could tell that Darron as he had called himself was a troubled soul. His scars spoke of many untold traumas he had faced. These scars were not unlike the ones that she had seen on both of her brothers when they were still speaking. She had heard their cries from her cell and had been helpless to do anything. Ana wondered if this man had gone though something similar as well as battles. It almost looked as if something had turned him into this, a weapon of their own design. The man was so far gone he didn't even know his true self. A name was a good start though and perhaps there was hope for him.

The Graug had turned her brothers into monsters. The oldest had been used as their assassin doing their bidding or else they would kill his siblings. She could tell by the way he had looked at her that it had been something dreadful and the last she saw of him the man had been a mess. The middle child had been turned into a monster in different ways though torture and pills. Ana had been though similar but on different levels. It had been far too late for Bane but Ana had found help. Since she couldn't help her brother Ana hoped perhaps she could help him.

The Master lightly smiled as she watched Darron quite literally wolf down one of the sandwiches. She was happy that she had made extra as well as the fact that he wasn't bleeding anymore. "No repayment needed. I'm happy to help." She stated as she reached into the bag to grab the extra sandwich along with the cookies she had made. "I have chocolate chip cookies as well if you are interested. Please help yourself. I can always make more or something more of your liking." Ana didn't know who this man was but it seemed as if he had helped her husband out with an issue.

Leaning against the wall Ana just watched for now to see what would unfold next while also recharging her energy. Healing took a lot out of her and in this case especially since he had more than one wound. The Master was curious about him and wanted to know more but for now she would let him eat and relax. It was possible he didn't remember much.

[member="Death's Hand"] [member="Orick T'ane"]