Lirka had a strut to her step this time around, a grin spread across her face and that ever-mighty Klaive now laid resting on her shoulder. She was awfully pleased with herself now that she had that little display to back up some of her prowess, pft. Cultists, don't need all that mumbo-jumbo to get in a good bout of power in (of course, little to Lirka's knowledge this was horrendously unreliable, overly straining, and horribly unefficient for any race that didn't live 200 years. But by the Nine Hells of Corellia she didn't care!), now off to kill that filthy little rat running this absolute trashheap.
Though even with all this spunk, she couldn't help but feel a gnawing remembrance about this whole thing...
Fresh meat that was what they had called her, a few chuckles at the big scarred lady and her big shiny armor who didn't even have a single job to her name. Behind her back they took bets on how long she'd last with that big shiny gear, like she was off being a pit champion again. Those days were over. She was a Mercenary now, a Bounty Hunter, a true thrill seeker. Funny little runts they were-
They were all dead now. She was the last surviving of the team, the last one laid in a bisected mess after insulting the Sephi. Once upon a time, almost 40 years ago this had been life. There was no spunk, no foolhardy stride, no true desires to exist. It was bloody bloody greed, no one meant anything, it was a dog eat dog world. These little rats had insulted her, berated her, and now they had died because of it for one reason or another.
Such was the way of things, if the many turrets and guards that infested this disgusting little spice house hadn't done it she would've done it at the end instead.
Heavy boots stomped against the metal ground, these were the last steps of this so distant first job...go in...kill the Crime Boss, bring the head back, get paid.
This was what life would be for decades.
Truthfully, Lirka was disgusted by these memories. Her old self, some- pathetic icon of pure rage and greed and nothing more, she was nothing better than a droid back then. The armor was her, maybe that was where this all came from...she was free from those heavy plates, that great voice distortion device, and that hazed view of her HUD. Now this was not to say her spunk simply vanished, no she was greatly pleased with this whole thing, it was food for thought as she made her mighty quest to better herself and embrace her new life in the CIS (for however long that would last).
Freedom. Such an interesting concept, while she would've preferred to be in those heavy plates for simple combat reasons being garbed in nothing more than simple clothes with some wimpy armor gave her a new feeling, she felt weightless beyond belief. She moved as though she were weightless too, showing a nimbleness and cutting edge the CIS had never seen, and none of them would've been able to see:
Two guards stood at that final hallway to her quarry.
Two men fell, heads rolling on the floor, in the final hallway to her quarry.
Not a blaster bolt touched her body, they hadn't even seen her coming before they were dead. Such were the skills Lirka had so rarely tapped into during this horribly short career in the Confederacy, and never having the chance in her continuous irrelevancy to it's great cogs. In time, in time...
She approached the door, her bloody klaive extended as she tapped the inactive blade against that durasteel blaster door. Shouting to try and make her voice get through it:
"Hello! This is room service! Can I come in!?"
Fun, she was having fun.
[member="Eternal Avarice"]
