Karter
Street-Level Darksider
Four men dragged a fifth through the dunes of Tattooine in a minor dust storm. Not as severe as the kinds of storms a desert world like that usually had but enough so they couldn't see two feet in front of them. Their prisoner, beaten and bloodied gave little resistance. He was very, very angry.
But if he was honest with himself, (And he didn't feel like being honest with himself) he wasn't surprised it was gonna end this way. He'd been a bastard for a long time. That sort of thing tends to catch up with a person eventually, and apparently the God of Karma had decided on today being the day he was to finally meet the Devil. He wondered if he truly deserved this.
Karter at least hoped Ol' Scratch had kept a warm seat for him as he was thrown to the ground in front of the lead hunter, a fully armored head to toe human, like the others. Karter quietly observed his posture, breathing rate, the way he moved his arms and legs.
"We got us a living, breathing anomaly here, boys," the Hunter said in an electronically disguised voice, pulling out a blaster. "An ex-cop Dark Jedi! I been in this business a long time, seen a lot of terrible things, but I have never encountered that combination before. What kind of cop were you?"
"Homicide Detective," Karter snapped irritably, annoyed by the man's gloating, his scratchy, raspy voice as rough as the sands that swirled around everyone. They were outside his shack. He'd been looking to try and break into moisture farming as a business rather than just subsist on what the desert provided. People needed water on this hellhole. But his daughter had made it tolerable for him. He supposed he'd always known she had been planning to leave. He was holding her back and they both knew it. But he'd never been very good at letting go. He knew she loved him. He KNEW that. Felt it. But he was holding her back all the same. If she had just told him where she was going he would have been happy as long as she promised to stay in touch. But stealing away in the night? He'd gotten his feelings hurt.
But as he stared up at these Jedi Hunters, he realized that his daughter vanishing and their appearance was no coincidence. And that made him more afraid then he ever had been, and men like Karter don't scare easily, even when overmatched.
"I have questions," the Hunter spoke again, leveling his blaster at Karter.
"Then ask. I might respond."
"Where's the girl?"
Karter merely laughed. "As if I'd tell you."
"Oh, you'll tell us. Because if you don't we're going to pull your teeth out with pliers and set you on fire."
"So, 'Not-working-for-the-Republic'. How many Republics are there these days? I lost count. Is the galaxy as fractured as I remembered? I think there was like, two or three flavors of Sith Orders. One of them had to have tasted like cherry..."
"Kriffing hellhole, but that's not what I asked."
"And it's an answer you won't get,"
"You think I'm playing with you?!" the hunter shouted, snatching the tanned, thirty six year old man by his messy brown hair.
"Yeah. A Mandalorian would have shot me by now. How many types of Mandalorians are out there these days? Is one of those types fruit flavored?"
"WHERE. IS. SHE?!" the Hunter shouted.
Karter spat on the mask. "Go to hell."
As the Hunter leveled his blaster. Karter mustered all his strength to rip his right arm free of the one holding it, knock the blaster out of the lead hunters hand just as it fired, hitting the one holding his left arm, allowing him enough freedom to Force-Jump over the lead hunter, who got hit by his own men as they tried to hit Karter as he landed and Force-Dashed into the shack, hitting the floor and yelling as a blaster bolt nicked him in the thigh, he crawled past the little nicknacks and photos of his daughter and family in happier eras. Before the Dark Times. Before the Jedi. The blaster bolts began to set everything flammable to blaze as the bolts tore through the simple home... And then he found his blaster, under the pillow on his small economy sized bed. He grabbed it. It was charged, as always.
He returned fire through a window, hitting one as he tried to storm the house. Two left.
He saw one go for the grenade on his belt. He fired at the grenade with a marksman's precision and the man disappeared in a ball of bloody mist and fire and thunder, the shockwave hitting the shack, knocking him backward and collapsing the front of his home partially as everything was on fire by this point.
Karter grabbed one photo of his daughter, a young woman with tanned skin and floppy, chocolate brown hair with green eyes in civilian clothing before bolting shooting the remaining hunter who had survived the grenade blast but had both his legs blown off. Karter was doing far better, but that wasn't saying much. He had shrapnel in his arms and legs. And now there was only one option left.
Karter fled into the desert, towards a small tower of jutting rocks where his ship was hidden. He hadn't flown it lately, doing little more than cursory repairs and inspections, making sure the damn thing was viable.
***
It was about fifteen minutes of wading through the desert when he finally arrived at the site. The ship was hidden in a dry cavern that had served him well as a natural hanger, hidden within the pillars of rock that was his fallback option.
He inspected the ship. He had no plan. None beyond finding his daughter. And he hadn't the foggiest idea about how to accomplish THAT.
He didn't even know who was chasing her. He should have at least interrogated that one survivor before killing him. Might have saved him some trouble.
He hit the switch to the hatch and went up the ramp...
...and he found the Demon waiting for him.
She was curvy, smooth caramel skin and eyes like that of a Chiss, clad in a white bodysuit, hair jet black and straight, going down to the small of her back.
"Long time no see, eh, Kultram? Or is it Karter? I can never keep your aliases straight," the Demon joked, standing in front of him, her statuesque face grinning.
"Leave me be, Demon," he snapped, walking right through the Woman who wasn't there and checking a duffle bag, pulling out his lightsaber and light foil. The saber was an ungainly, pieced together thing with a transparisteel chamber that allowed viewing of the crystal. The hilt was as long as that of a saber staff, and a shovel shaped emitter shroud was on one side, displaying a glaring, painted on eye set against a red triangle. The Foil was small and black, one handed, with a cross guard.
"You don't have a plan," the Demon teased playfully, running fingers that were not there up Karter's spine. "You never have a plan beyond smashing faces in until someone talks. And you are nowhere near as spry as you used to be. Have you even had practice with your blade lately?"
"I'll pick it up as I go," he grunted, putting the weapons back into the bag. "Gotta be someone out there who's got need for a past his prime Dark Jedi. I may be bargain bin, but I've still got tricks. Hire myself out at a discount."
"What about the Jedi? You haven't fought one in years. You'll be mincemeat if one catches you."
I'm not looking to get in any tussle with the Order," he grunted, sitting in a passenger seat and getting his emergency medical kit out, swallowing a painkiller and dousing his wounds in antiseptic, applying Bacta to burns and pulling bits of shrapnel out with his tweezers, hitting those wounds with disinfectant, before stitching them up.
"You know you won't be able to keep that vow. Besides, instant they get wind you've gone active again, they will hunt you like a dog," the Demon mocked.
He said nothing at this. He knew she was right.
But if he was honest with himself, (And he didn't feel like being honest with himself) he wasn't surprised it was gonna end this way. He'd been a bastard for a long time. That sort of thing tends to catch up with a person eventually, and apparently the God of Karma had decided on today being the day he was to finally meet the Devil. He wondered if he truly deserved this.
Karter at least hoped Ol' Scratch had kept a warm seat for him as he was thrown to the ground in front of the lead hunter, a fully armored head to toe human, like the others. Karter quietly observed his posture, breathing rate, the way he moved his arms and legs.
"We got us a living, breathing anomaly here, boys," the Hunter said in an electronically disguised voice, pulling out a blaster. "An ex-cop Dark Jedi! I been in this business a long time, seen a lot of terrible things, but I have never encountered that combination before. What kind of cop were you?"
"Homicide Detective," Karter snapped irritably, annoyed by the man's gloating, his scratchy, raspy voice as rough as the sands that swirled around everyone. They were outside his shack. He'd been looking to try and break into moisture farming as a business rather than just subsist on what the desert provided. People needed water on this hellhole. But his daughter had made it tolerable for him. He supposed he'd always known she had been planning to leave. He was holding her back and they both knew it. But he'd never been very good at letting go. He knew she loved him. He KNEW that. Felt it. But he was holding her back all the same. If she had just told him where she was going he would have been happy as long as she promised to stay in touch. But stealing away in the night? He'd gotten his feelings hurt.
But as he stared up at these Jedi Hunters, he realized that his daughter vanishing and their appearance was no coincidence. And that made him more afraid then he ever had been, and men like Karter don't scare easily, even when overmatched.
"I have questions," the Hunter spoke again, leveling his blaster at Karter.
"Then ask. I might respond."
"Where's the girl?"
Karter merely laughed. "As if I'd tell you."
"Oh, you'll tell us. Because if you don't we're going to pull your teeth out with pliers and set you on fire."
"So, 'Not-working-for-the-Republic'. How many Republics are there these days? I lost count. Is the galaxy as fractured as I remembered? I think there was like, two or three flavors of Sith Orders. One of them had to have tasted like cherry..."
"Kriffing hellhole, but that's not what I asked."
"And it's an answer you won't get,"
"You think I'm playing with you?!" the hunter shouted, snatching the tanned, thirty six year old man by his messy brown hair.
"Yeah. A Mandalorian would have shot me by now. How many types of Mandalorians are out there these days? Is one of those types fruit flavored?"
"WHERE. IS. SHE?!" the Hunter shouted.
Karter spat on the mask. "Go to hell."
As the Hunter leveled his blaster. Karter mustered all his strength to rip his right arm free of the one holding it, knock the blaster out of the lead hunters hand just as it fired, hitting the one holding his left arm, allowing him enough freedom to Force-Jump over the lead hunter, who got hit by his own men as they tried to hit Karter as he landed and Force-Dashed into the shack, hitting the floor and yelling as a blaster bolt nicked him in the thigh, he crawled past the little nicknacks and photos of his daughter and family in happier eras. Before the Dark Times. Before the Jedi. The blaster bolts began to set everything flammable to blaze as the bolts tore through the simple home... And then he found his blaster, under the pillow on his small economy sized bed. He grabbed it. It was charged, as always.
He returned fire through a window, hitting one as he tried to storm the house. Two left.
He saw one go for the grenade on his belt. He fired at the grenade with a marksman's precision and the man disappeared in a ball of bloody mist and fire and thunder, the shockwave hitting the shack, knocking him backward and collapsing the front of his home partially as everything was on fire by this point.
Karter grabbed one photo of his daughter, a young woman with tanned skin and floppy, chocolate brown hair with green eyes in civilian clothing before bolting shooting the remaining hunter who had survived the grenade blast but had both his legs blown off. Karter was doing far better, but that wasn't saying much. He had shrapnel in his arms and legs. And now there was only one option left.
Karter fled into the desert, towards a small tower of jutting rocks where his ship was hidden. He hadn't flown it lately, doing little more than cursory repairs and inspections, making sure the damn thing was viable.
***
It was about fifteen minutes of wading through the desert when he finally arrived at the site. The ship was hidden in a dry cavern that had served him well as a natural hanger, hidden within the pillars of rock that was his fallback option.
He inspected the ship. He had no plan. None beyond finding his daughter. And he hadn't the foggiest idea about how to accomplish THAT.
He didn't even know who was chasing her. He should have at least interrogated that one survivor before killing him. Might have saved him some trouble.
He hit the switch to the hatch and went up the ramp...
...and he found the Demon waiting for him.
She was curvy, smooth caramel skin and eyes like that of a Chiss, clad in a white bodysuit, hair jet black and straight, going down to the small of her back.
"Long time no see, eh, Kultram? Or is it Karter? I can never keep your aliases straight," the Demon joked, standing in front of him, her statuesque face grinning.
"Leave me be, Demon," he snapped, walking right through the Woman who wasn't there and checking a duffle bag, pulling out his lightsaber and light foil. The saber was an ungainly, pieced together thing with a transparisteel chamber that allowed viewing of the crystal. The hilt was as long as that of a saber staff, and a shovel shaped emitter shroud was on one side, displaying a glaring, painted on eye set against a red triangle. The Foil was small and black, one handed, with a cross guard.
"You don't have a plan," the Demon teased playfully, running fingers that were not there up Karter's spine. "You never have a plan beyond smashing faces in until someone talks. And you are nowhere near as spry as you used to be. Have you even had practice with your blade lately?"
"I'll pick it up as I go," he grunted, putting the weapons back into the bag. "Gotta be someone out there who's got need for a past his prime Dark Jedi. I may be bargain bin, but I've still got tricks. Hire myself out at a discount."
"What about the Jedi? You haven't fought one in years. You'll be mincemeat if one catches you."
I'm not looking to get in any tussle with the Order," he grunted, sitting in a passenger seat and getting his emergency medical kit out, swallowing a painkiller and dousing his wounds in antiseptic, applying Bacta to burns and pulling bits of shrapnel out with his tweezers, hitting those wounds with disinfectant, before stitching them up.
"You know you won't be able to keep that vow. Besides, instant they get wind you've gone active again, they will hunt you like a dog," the Demon mocked.
He said nothing at this. He knew she was right.