Faceless
Team Two
Nar Shaddaa
Objective: Intermission
The stairs seemed to go on forever, the many rooms of the apartment complex seemed abandoned; this place must have seen better days, though the noise of several people from below got louder and louder the closer he got to the exit. The laughing and shouting he had heard earlier from his position was now more distinct, it sounded like a group of about five or six men, clearly having had more than enough to drink. From the sounds of things, they were on the floor right below him and Faceless knew that things could go either one of two ways; on the one hand, the group would probably be too drunk to care, allow him to slip past and be on his merry way. On the other hand, there was always the possibility that they would try and pick a fight, such was the way of the drunk.
Enough standing around, it was time to face the music.
Sure enough, as Faceless went down a floor, there stood six men in civilian clothes, armed. There was no real way to avoid them with the layout of the building.
"And so I sa- Wait, who'zat?" One of the men called to the rest, pointing the assassin out to the rest as they'd all take one look in a really confused manner and this persisted for a few long winded moments until Faceless tried to move past them, only to find himself pushed back; things were looking like they were turning to the second of the two possible situations.
"You'z on our turf, feth-face! Whadd'ya say boys? Let'z teach this chump to run about on our turf!"
The five other men seemed to agree with that. A shame, yet Faceless wasn't planning to kill them. After all, he wouldn't be paid for murdering six deadbeats because they started a fight with him whilst alcohol was pulling on their strings and impulses, though it did warrant one message, the assassin sending it through on the Collective comms in the accent he had been utilizing for the entire evening;
"Overwatch here, slight complication. Will be back on track in a moment."
The Imperial accent obviously rubbed these drunken fellows the wrong way as they made their way toward Faceless, adamant to begin their brawl and probably believing that their numbers would be enough to overpower the assassin. They were armed, too, probably having forgotten that on their night of dulled senses though it made sure that Faceless was adamant to resolve the conflict before it had even began to avoid weapons being drawn into this. The first drunk to attempt a strike was dodged with a decisive head movement, only to receive a solid punch in the gut to smash the wind out of him before followed with a stern uppercut, leaving the first assailant flying backward and landing on the floor.
One down, five to go, and it seemed like two of them were going in for some sort of tag-team.
Approached on both the left and the right, Faceless ducked and weaved as drunken punches were thrown his way, allowing several to swing before he'd reach out and grab the fist of one of the drunken brawlers and twist it sharply so that he'd keel over before charging his foot backward and letting it fly forward, delivering a stern kick to his groin, the sort that'd leave a man on the floor for a good half an hour and pain that'd last for a day or two. With his focus on one of the men, the other managed to strike a punch against the helmet, leaving Faceless stumbling back slightly but the man's hand in some discomfort after punching something made out of metal rather hard. With this opportunity, Faceless recovered and rushed forward, using his feet once again as he'd deliver a roundhouse kick to the face of the one who had landed the first successful hit against the assassin, his face taking the brunt and fell to the floor, out cold.
Now there were only two left, who how had the adrenaline rushing through their veins and realized that they were indeed armed. The remaining two drunks removed knives, adopting a very poor fighting stance as they'd move forward one by one, rather than working together. That would ultimately be their undoing. As the first lunged his knife forward, the assassin moved his arm to lock against the now lunging arm, holding it in place and knife unable to connect. With his free hand, Faceless sent a jab right into the man's face, in fact he threw several until the man had staggered back, dropped the knife and looked like he could barely stand. A stern kick to his stomach made sure that the man went down like the rest of his friends; leaving only one remaining.
This one seemed smarter than the rest, noticing that one man had taken on all five of his buddies and won, he simply put the knife away and cut his losses, starting to grab his friends and drag them out of the way, allowing Faceless to move onto the exit.
A short intermission but he knew that chances were that Janeth and the rest of the Collective had the situation handled. It was probably that the General still had no idea that he was being robbed or was just about to find out. Whatever the case, now wasn't the time to wonder which of the two possibilities it was, the assassin getting on his speeder and taking off into the skies to find a new location that would provide suitable overwatch over the drop point.
[member="Janeth Farr"] | [member="Vilaz Munin"] | [member="Mheralis"]
