The rains came again. Pouring over the rusted and grime-caked structures that once made fleet components for the empire. Now the Galactic Empire was gone, the factories were silent and empty, the workers sent home, and the droids deactivated until another galactic power could afford to reopen them. What little life remained came in the form of flickering neon signs that marked above eateries that still remained open, places where a few patrons still lingered. The pools of rain and oil slick reflected the cyan and magenta light, memories of old wounds.
The Galactic Empire may have fallen, but the Empire was never truly gone.
A man stood alone, warming his hands in the fire of a burning steel barrel. Nothing but a black long coat and a helmet to shield himself from the rain and stay warm. Down the street, a large armored speeder slowly crawled through the district. Built for the wealthy banker who owned it. Tavian Drel. He was on his way to an exclusive restaurant. A late-night joint with every luxury imaginable, private booths, imported wines, fine spices, premium ingredients, and choice cuts of meat, all presented in artistic fashions. Tavian, as did many of the planet's elite, came for the indulgences.
Tavian was a pudgy man, and he loved to swell himself in his fine foods. Dressed in custom robes and gold rings on every finger, he was a man who screamed excess. His fortune came from war profiteering; the banker was not a man of ideology. When the Empire came, he financed their military operations; when the Empire fell apart, he financed the Empire's enemies. He did not fear anything but the bottom line. Insurgents, Jedi, Sith, and Imperials were just asset classes. Switching sides was diversification.
The armored speeder passed down the street, not a care in the world. Until it passed over the detonation plate. For half a heartbeat, nothing happened. Then the street erupted.
A control blast punched upward into the speeder, launching up the front end violently. The armored speeder flipped over from the force, crashing back onto the street and skidding into a pile of haphazardly stacked crates. Smoke billowed into the rain, and the back doors opened. Two guards dragged out an injured Tavian, who was bleeding from the head.
"What happened!" He coughed,
"Who's responsible for this!"
A few more guards rushed out of the armored speeder, disorientedand shouting through comms, while trying to secure the area and calm their oversized patron down.
"What are we looking for?" One guard asked.
"Just keep Executive Drel secure until the backup van arrives." Another commented.
"WHEN I FIND OUT WHO DID THIS!" Travian wheezed.
From the burning steel barrel, the man in the black long coat turned. Revealing a black helmet and red visor that glowed menacingly for a fleeting few moments. The guards saw him as they turned. They didn't say a thing; they just knew. Their blasters snapped up, muzzle flashing green, bolts hissing through the rain. The man in a long black coat rolled behind some crates, the shot from the guards going wide.
From his long coat, he produced a heavy blaster pistol. Rising from cover, he fired a single shot that folded a guard into a puddle on the street. The other guard focused on him, yet a stun landed at their feet, tossed from behind the crates. The flash was enough of a disorientation. The man rose from cover, firing two more shots that dropped another two guards. The final guard charged the assailant with a shock baton drawn and swinging, only for the man in the long coat to pivot inside the swing, drive an elbow into the man's throat, then follow with a close-range discharge that ended the struggle instantly. Rain hissed against overheated metal.
Tavain wailed. Rain was beating down on the fat man as he stumbled to get up, his pudgy fingers clawing at the asphalt in a vain attempt to crawl away from his fate. He rolled over onto his back, panting and gasping for air.
"Listen!" Tavian's voice cracked.
"I can pay you anything, ANYTHING!"
Tavian's gaze was met by the man in the black long coat. Face concealed by his helmet and a red visor, which glowed menacingly. The man raised his heavy blaster pistol, barrel aimed for Tavian's head.
The shot echoed through the streets.
Silence, then the sound of rain drumming against the city returned. Steam rose for the armored speeder, and neon lights now flicked across twisted metal, dead bodies, and blood. The man in the black long coat vanished, turning and vanishing down some industrial corridor. Soon, someone would find the dead bodies, likely the homeless who pick over them for valuables. When the authorities finally discover the site, a death confirmation would be made, and assets and accounts of the banking executive would be frozen. Such was the fate of those who crossed the Empire.
---
An encrypted channel opened. A Transition sent across the remaining imperial networks.
This is META ZERO. Asset Tavian Drel terminated. Mission Complete.
The reply came seconds later, cold and concise.
Reassignment Authorized. Report to Seventh Fleet. Tarkin Initiative.
