Coruscant, Henyrk's Hunters Base of Operations - Slum District J-27, Undetermined Time
This was a strange group. Henyrk's Hunters so they were called, had carved out a little niche for themselves in the underworld. They'd been born out of fear, whispers of Rakghoul plague sparked their little organization to life, and they'd made a name for themselves murdering anyone who showed signs of infection, while also selling "cures" at a staggering price, when the paranoia faded, they swapped from medicine to narcotics all the while keeping their little patch of turf under their heel. With long trench coats and a reliance on older slughthrowers and heavy blades, they certainly made themselves unique among the gangs in the underworld of Coruscant.
He was still going to kill them, though.
While he'd have preferred bombing, one more incident in the same week would likely warrant the GA to send in an actual response force, so he opted for a more direct approach. Quietly lowering the corpse of the 'Hunter' left to watch the entrance to the ground, Thrandis moved into the run-down warehouse, a suppressed assault rifle taking the place of the freshly sated knife in his hands. The safety was flicked off as he rounded the corner to a ghastly sight.
Bones of "the infected" were displayed proudly about the area, some still with flesh still clinging to it, which explained the smell. Still, from behind the facemask pulled up over his nose Thrandis scowled in a mix of disgust and anger. Karking savages. Also strewn about were the necessities for cooking up narcotics of every kind, weapons unique to the little cadre, and a singular large table where a good fifteen men sat around a table clad in their ridiculous getups.
Clad in all black combat armor, Jorin stepped into the light, weapon up, and let off a quick burst. Blood shot outwards from an Ithorian seated closest to the entrance, and the alien simply collapsed onto the table without so much as a whimper. Chaos erupted as guards were called, all far too dead to be of any use to the Hunters now, and as the muffled crack of Thrandis' rifle filled the room.
It was just another hit, just another strike on a low level gang. But unbeknownst to the black-clad operator, the Hunters kicked up to one of the most powerful organizations in the underworld, his impulsiveness made him sloppy with his recon, and in doing so he missed that the only reason Henyrk's little cult of madness was allowed to continue existing was because they kicked up to the one and only Triad.
And one of them had managed to call for help before he took a bullet.
[member="Jin Shao"]
This was a strange group. Henyrk's Hunters so they were called, had carved out a little niche for themselves in the underworld. They'd been born out of fear, whispers of Rakghoul plague sparked their little organization to life, and they'd made a name for themselves murdering anyone who showed signs of infection, while also selling "cures" at a staggering price, when the paranoia faded, they swapped from medicine to narcotics all the while keeping their little patch of turf under their heel. With long trench coats and a reliance on older slughthrowers and heavy blades, they certainly made themselves unique among the gangs in the underworld of Coruscant.
He was still going to kill them, though.
While he'd have preferred bombing, one more incident in the same week would likely warrant the GA to send in an actual response force, so he opted for a more direct approach. Quietly lowering the corpse of the 'Hunter' left to watch the entrance to the ground, Thrandis moved into the run-down warehouse, a suppressed assault rifle taking the place of the freshly sated knife in his hands. The safety was flicked off as he rounded the corner to a ghastly sight.
Bones of "the infected" were displayed proudly about the area, some still with flesh still clinging to it, which explained the smell. Still, from behind the facemask pulled up over his nose Thrandis scowled in a mix of disgust and anger. Karking savages. Also strewn about were the necessities for cooking up narcotics of every kind, weapons unique to the little cadre, and a singular large table where a good fifteen men sat around a table clad in their ridiculous getups.
Clad in all black combat armor, Jorin stepped into the light, weapon up, and let off a quick burst. Blood shot outwards from an Ithorian seated closest to the entrance, and the alien simply collapsed onto the table without so much as a whimper. Chaos erupted as guards were called, all far too dead to be of any use to the Hunters now, and as the muffled crack of Thrandis' rifle filled the room.
It was just another hit, just another strike on a low level gang. But unbeknownst to the black-clad operator, the Hunters kicked up to one of the most powerful organizations in the underworld, his impulsiveness made him sloppy with his recon, and in doing so he missed that the only reason Henyrk's little cult of madness was allowed to continue existing was because they kicked up to the one and only Triad.
And one of them had managed to call for help before he took a bullet.
[member="Jin Shao"]
