Job

[Desmond C'artyom]

Location: Rebel held planet Helska

I open a briefcase filled with my old Imperial service medals. They bring back memories, pain. But, still I can't help but feel a sense of pride at seeing them. Medals of honor, but in reality half these medals I got from burning down defenseless villages… I think about this and grow sick. I toss the briefcase to the floor and it’s contents spill all over the floor creating a mess in the already filthy apartment.

I walk haphazardly to the apartment island and grab the crystal decanter sitting atop it. I don’t even bother grabbing a cup, instead simply opting to drink the whisky straight from the bottle. It burns and I am immediately gratified with a buzz. But, the memories don’t go away. Burning plains, smoking mud huts, and smoldering corpses. So many corpses. The medals mock me, gleaming in the dim light. I shake my head but the memories persist. I throw the bottle and it shatters on the wall “GRAHHH!” I shout at no one in particular. I’m a mess.

I need to be ready for the mission. This brings me back to the briefcase. The reason I had opened it in the first place. We were going to need firepower… And a lot of it. I fall to the floor and begin searching the cluttered mess. Empty bottles spin away from my drunken grasp as I move them aside clumsily. I finally find it. A list of mercenaries that I had worked alongside during my time in the Empire. Half of the list are psychotic maniacs, the other half blood crazed murderers. But, one name sticks out to me the most.

[member="Ursula Vizla"]. I remember she had honor and a strong sense of morals. A warrior and killer to be sure, but at least a controllable one. I sigh dejectedly. More battle crazed Mandalorians. I reach for my datapad and prepare to send a quick message to her.

“I have a job for you. Come to these coordinates on the planet Helska -44,569. Expect significant pay out,”

The message was brief and straight to the point. If she followed the coordinates she’d be led to a dive of a bar called The Slugs Saloon. I made my way out of my apartment still slightly smashed and began to make my own way there. The door slams behind me and I rub the stubble on my chin. She better get her soon.

 

[Ursula Vizla]

She landed her ship near the precise coordinates. It was snowing like hell had frozen in that Mando'ade forsaken place, she preferred jungle and forest worlds, where she could hide with her sniper rifle and blow the targets head off, and it was a great place even for hunting, but the snow worlds were the worst for that, you always had problems finding food and running after and from the food. Her steps led her to a very unpleasant bar in the middle of nowhere in the galaxy, and right upon entering that smelly place, she could see a lot of eyes starring at her in the full bes'kar metal plate ancient armor, painted in dark pitch black, with orange lights coming from the T visor helmet that she wore, walking tall, with her chin up and with a "don't farkled with me" attitude holding the Disruptor rifle with one single hand, the other laying calmly over the pistol grip, her long and thick cape leisurely swung from left to the right side of her body. Behind the mask, her thick eye browns joined together in a frown, a hard frown that would make anyone stop laughing in any minute. As she walked to the bartender, she slammed her hand wrapped in the gauntlet against the table of the bar, gaining the filthy aliens attention all to herself. "I'm looking for the big blue guy", she said in the common tongue, "Where is he?", after saying that, the drunk barman pointed up, meaning that he was in the floors above. With a growl, she made her way to the apartment where without any concern for the client, she barged in the doors, looking to the weird blue alien and holding her disruptor with both hands. "Why the krong did you made me come to this skrogging place?", stepping inside the room, she closed the doors behind her.

[member="Desmond C'artyom"]

 

[Desmond C'artyom]

I stare dumbly at the floor which is strewn with an assortment of garbage. The heater glows red in the dim light. My drunken fit is over and now I simply wish I had more whisky. The apartment is small and cramped, there’s a small pull out bed next to the heater, an island/table and a food dispenser. Not to mention endless amounts of trash. I lay back on my bed in my drunken stupor and am just about to pass out when suddenly someone kicks open my door.

“Close the damn door, you’re going” I pause as I sit up right and it feels like my stomach does a flip. I belch, swallow, and sigh. “Your going to let the cold in,” I say simply with a wave towards the door.

The woman stands before me dressed in full Beskar’gam. An impressive sight to anyone who had never seen a Mando, but me? I had killed many and since then the effect had mostly lost it’s novelty on me. I simply shrug and pick myself off the bed. I head to the island and open its cabinet. I remove a small bottle of very pungent liquor. I lift it to eye level and stare at it for a moment.

“Tihaar, in all its glory,” I say unimpressed, then toss the bottle to the Beskar clad warrior. “A little taste of the payment to come… The job is a simple one, we need a Mandalorian. Preferably one with a prestigious background,” I belch again “To stir up the people of Echoy’la,” I pause to make sure the bucket head has taken it all in.

“That’s where you come in. You will unite the prisoners start a riot in the prison camps and we will free the subjugated peoples.. Upon success or failure you will be payed Ten thousand credits…”

[member="Ursula Vizla"]

 

[Ursula Vizla]

She grabbed the bottle in the air, and kept the liquor in her closed fist. Ursula never drank before, during and even after a job, at least until she was long gone, in her career she had worked with the Hutt Cartel eliminating enemies and other Hutts, collecting debts, enforcing they're rule and influence, served as muscle do kingpins, assassinated two senators from the Galactic Alliance, one commander from the Galactic Empire, robbed many Sith cargo ships in her time and even rescued the son of a crime lord. But Vizsla has never saved a group of dirty rebels or helped incite a rebellion in a prison camp. The mandalorian nodded with the head, she was know and call as Commander Zero, the same name as her father, and that was it, and from the helmet, her voice sounded a bit mechanical, if not cold. "How many camps?", and after a long pause, she turned the disruptor in the direction where her employer stood. Drumming the index finger in the gun. "Any problems disintegrating?", she did referred to disintegrating others with her gun, something that many of her employers have strictly forbidden when the job was explained to her. If it was up to her, she would use that marvelous gun anytime she want it, after one shoot, all that was left is a pile of dust and nothing else, that was great to the moral against others, for many enemies used to flee scared against a disruptor.