Ak'lya
That one kid
[media]http://timothyctakach.com/Samples/Empty.mp3[/media]
Sitting silently on a shuttle en route to Nal Hutta, The Bothan once known as Strask Ak'lya was deep in thought. He knew what would be coming up, a war in the shadows between him and his successor. Whoever that was. The fact that he didn't know both frightened him and thrilled him. On one hand, it would be fun to face a new opponent, protected by the very network he had built. To fight an enemy entrenched in the very web he had built for himself. But that very thought was also terrifying for him. For years, he had known as much as he could about his opponents. But now, he knew nothing beyond the little he had managed to gather. It had been years sense he had done this. The work of a field agent, not knowing what you wanted to, and needing to find out. The man who had known everything he had ever needed, who had commanded from his own web, was dead. The Spymaster, Viceroy of Bothuwai, had died in what was at first assumed to be a Protectorate terrorist attack, but some now speculated it was done by Pro-Salem radicals who wanted Strask dead for being supportive of Verd's regime. But the Bothan knew better. Both stories were carefully crafted lies to undermine his opponents. But in reality, it had been a rouge force user Strask had underestimated coming back for revenge. But in the end, in the public eye, it succeeded. Cinthra wasn't known to have been there by anyone but him, and she was reported as a bounty anyways. May as well let someone else do that work.
Still, he had some loose ends to tie up before truly disappearing once more. After all, one could not pull off that kind of stunt without help. And that help came from a group of skilled and loyal agents. Ones he knew would carry it to their grave. At least all but one. One agent, while great at his job, was likely to spill if he thought his life was on the line, thereby compromising the entire operation. Twirling a ring on his finger, the Bothan tried to focus on the mission, but his thoughts were elsewhere. Elanna was out there somewhere, he knew it, but she would never know that he was still alive. Any leak, no matter how small, could leave him exposed, and most likely, dead for real. And no matter how much it seemed like a good idea somedays, he couldn't do that. Not yet.
Not when there was so much he still needed to do.
TWO HOURS LATER:
In the quiet room on Hutta, a young Anzati sat in his apartment, asleep in front of a holovid of some Jedi war from long ago. He had installed a basic security system, had guards at the door, and even found the most remote location to live. But it wasn't something that would save him.
NAME: Dallan Car'toil
SPECIES: Anzati
RANK: Agent
AGE: 21
HEIGHT: 1.9 m
WEIGHT: 70 kg
SKILLSET: Assassination
MOST RECENT ASSIGNMENT: On leave from unknown assignment.
Such was the record on Spynet files. He was on leave at the moment, and would be recalled back to his post in two days. His disappearance shouldn't be noticed for long enough to get away. But who knew.
There was no paper trail. He had made sure of that. Everyone had known that. The only chance Strask could think of was the Anzat currently in his sights. The Bothan noted the lack of a glass panel. It had been smashed by a group of kids earlier. A group of kids that was currently enjoying a few extra credits. Although the "Braineaters go home" hadn't been a part of it. That had been a nice touch. As his finger edged the trigger on the rifle, he remembered the man at the other end. The assassin, practically a kid, had been a bit lazy at his job. His handlers had needed to clean up after him one too many times. But he had been in the planning for his uncanny ability to always know how the average person would react. Probably because he was the closest any of us got to average, he mused as he squeezed the trigger, the slug flying through the hole in the window and into the man's shoulder.
Missed.
By now he was on the floor, and out of Strask's sights. He needed to get down there. And, abandoning the rifle to the rooftop, he pressed a button. The weapon jammed, now a bit of a trap. Any motion to check the gun would cause it to backfire. Now moving through a route he had planned, he stopped just outside the hall to catch his breath.
The hall was empty. No one else was in the building this time of day. Only the two assassins. And one was coming out of this alive.
Slowly opening the door, he saw the Anzat writhing on the floor. "Curse you, Assassin." he managed as the Bothan leveled the pistol at his head. Looking up defiantly, he scowled at the mysterious figure. "Curse..."
BLAM.
Picking up the agent's datapad and the shell casing, which now smoldered in his gloved hand, The Bothan headed to go for a walk. The datapad had nothing, no personal notes off server, nothing that wouldn't have been caught by the technicians on the Umbra. Still, he activated the self-destruct feature, set it down, and watched as the computer reduced itself to slag. He was gone without a trace.
Who Am I? He wondered. Everyone who knows me will die. Otherwise, Strask lives again. And I don't want that. A Lord in the shadows, haunted by the horror I was. A Lord of Sorrows, in a way.
Stepping to catch his ride off the planet, he wondered how long it would take for the Spynet to notice the dead agent. One almost ready for promotion.
[member="Raziel"]
