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- Feb 11, 2009
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Corso. Yes, that was his name now. He had been forced into the role, had he not? Why not lose himself to the part entirely? Daxar Corso. It rolled off his tongue rather nicely, he thought, and he liked the strength the character held. It was certainly better than the minimum backbone he had possessed before his life was turned inside-out by 'The Bastards' as he liked to call them.
Of course, that was a lifetime ago. It had been months, perhaps even years, since he had been stripped of everything that made him a free man, and reduced to little more than a modernized gladiator for the sick entertainment of those rich degenerates who exerted so much control on him.
His new life under their reign had turned him into a soldier. He did not have formal military training, he had never been yelled at by drill sergeants, he had never been a part of an actual military unit... But he was a soldier nontheless, if not by official document and training, then by the harsh experience of battle. He had learned to be a warrior the hard way, with both boots planted firmly on the ground and finger on the trigger, standing tall in the face of death itself.
Was he proud of himself? To a degree, yes. He was a stronger man than he'd ever been before. And for the first time in his life, he had a goal outside of trying not to get stoned every third night. It was a simple but difficult one: Take back his freedom, by any means necessary. But that lofty objective was not to be filled today, no! His sights weren't set on anything more noble than pulling himself back together after a harrowing experience on Kuar, which would have seen him dead had there not been a timely and heroic intervention on the part of the Republic Navy.
His short-term goal was the reason he was on Coruscant now, walking through the grungy dimly-lit lower levels of the city in the darkest hours of the night. It was here that he held a degree of safety from the prying eyes of 'The Bastards'. The means by which they kept tabs on him only functioned well in the upper levels of the city. Down in the filthy bowels of Coruscant, where comms interference was common and the streets were infested with every manner of scum and villainy known to the galaxy, it was near-impossible for them to keep track of a single human male, even if his uniform made him stand out from the crowds.
The man, Corso, was not unarmed. He had his .45 slug pistol with him, tucked in a tan thigh holster worn on his right leg, and plenty of spare ammo hidden in pouches lined on the sleek armor vest he wore under his uniform's top. His accuracy with the pistol was unerring; if forced to defend himself, every shot would be placed with lethal accuracy. In addition to the handgun, he had a combat vibroblade with him, laying horizontally in it's sheath, which was clasped onto his belt at his back and hidden by the bottom of his uniform top.
He swiftly walked past a hunchbacked near-human pushing deathsticks, ignoring the pathetic wretch's babbling as he tried to sell the things and the hushed chatter of a pair of thugs protecting him. A Twi'lek man popped up and showed off a blaster pistol, advertising it as untraceable and cheap. He passed him by as well. He had no need for more weapons, and besides, the blaster would probably explode in his face.
Corso walked another two blocks, then stopped. Ahead was a eleven-strong group of rather misguided individuals, all wearing classic punk outfits with spikes. A swoop gang. He wasn't about to go that way and risk getting mugged. He doubled back, then froze again. Here came a fifteen-strong group of similarly-dressed thugs, all brandishing weapons ranging from clubs to crude double-barreled shotguns.
He had a feeling a gang war was about to break out, and he was right in the middle of it. He made a sharp right and strode quickly but calmly for an alley, some fifty meters away. But it was too late. A gunshot rang out from the first group he encountered, and was answered with a shotgun blast from the other side. He bolted, drawing his pistol as he ran.
All hell broke loose a second later.
The two sides rushed one another, trading gunfire as they closed in, leaving Corso with a very little time to escape. He reached the alley just in time, as the fight escalated when automatic weapons were brought out to play. He glanced behind him into the street, the air filled with bright tracers and molotov cocktails.
He shuddered to think of what would have happened had he been caught in the middle.
Daxar kept moving, running through the alleyway at a light jog, then slowing to a walk and shoving his pistol back into it's holster as he got to the relatively calm street on the other side. He took a moment to compose himself and slow his racing heart, then started off again, heading in a direction that would take him far, far away from the warring gangs. Maybe this time 'round, he would find a place to unwind, rather than a urban warzone. Or, if nothing else, maybe he would find someone to help him find a safe place to relax.
[As the title says, this is open to all. The character I am using is This Guy. I'm providing the link because a search for his bio only shows a totally unrelated char. xP]
Of course, that was a lifetime ago. It had been months, perhaps even years, since he had been stripped of everything that made him a free man, and reduced to little more than a modernized gladiator for the sick entertainment of those rich degenerates who exerted so much control on him.
His new life under their reign had turned him into a soldier. He did not have formal military training, he had never been yelled at by drill sergeants, he had never been a part of an actual military unit... But he was a soldier nontheless, if not by official document and training, then by the harsh experience of battle. He had learned to be a warrior the hard way, with both boots planted firmly on the ground and finger on the trigger, standing tall in the face of death itself.
Was he proud of himself? To a degree, yes. He was a stronger man than he'd ever been before. And for the first time in his life, he had a goal outside of trying not to get stoned every third night. It was a simple but difficult one: Take back his freedom, by any means necessary. But that lofty objective was not to be filled today, no! His sights weren't set on anything more noble than pulling himself back together after a harrowing experience on Kuar, which would have seen him dead had there not been a timely and heroic intervention on the part of the Republic Navy.
His short-term goal was the reason he was on Coruscant now, walking through the grungy dimly-lit lower levels of the city in the darkest hours of the night. It was here that he held a degree of safety from the prying eyes of 'The Bastards'. The means by which they kept tabs on him only functioned well in the upper levels of the city. Down in the filthy bowels of Coruscant, where comms interference was common and the streets were infested with every manner of scum and villainy known to the galaxy, it was near-impossible for them to keep track of a single human male, even if his uniform made him stand out from the crowds.
The man, Corso, was not unarmed. He had his .45 slug pistol with him, tucked in a tan thigh holster worn on his right leg, and plenty of spare ammo hidden in pouches lined on the sleek armor vest he wore under his uniform's top. His accuracy with the pistol was unerring; if forced to defend himself, every shot would be placed with lethal accuracy. In addition to the handgun, he had a combat vibroblade with him, laying horizontally in it's sheath, which was clasped onto his belt at his back and hidden by the bottom of his uniform top.
He swiftly walked past a hunchbacked near-human pushing deathsticks, ignoring the pathetic wretch's babbling as he tried to sell the things and the hushed chatter of a pair of thugs protecting him. A Twi'lek man popped up and showed off a blaster pistol, advertising it as untraceable and cheap. He passed him by as well. He had no need for more weapons, and besides, the blaster would probably explode in his face.
Corso walked another two blocks, then stopped. Ahead was a eleven-strong group of rather misguided individuals, all wearing classic punk outfits with spikes. A swoop gang. He wasn't about to go that way and risk getting mugged. He doubled back, then froze again. Here came a fifteen-strong group of similarly-dressed thugs, all brandishing weapons ranging from clubs to crude double-barreled shotguns.
He had a feeling a gang war was about to break out, and he was right in the middle of it. He made a sharp right and strode quickly but calmly for an alley, some fifty meters away. But it was too late. A gunshot rang out from the first group he encountered, and was answered with a shotgun blast from the other side. He bolted, drawing his pistol as he ran.
All hell broke loose a second later.
The two sides rushed one another, trading gunfire as they closed in, leaving Corso with a very little time to escape. He reached the alley just in time, as the fight escalated when automatic weapons were brought out to play. He glanced behind him into the street, the air filled with bright tracers and molotov cocktails.
He shuddered to think of what would have happened had he been caught in the middle.
Daxar kept moving, running through the alleyway at a light jog, then slowing to a walk and shoving his pistol back into it's holster as he got to the relatively calm street on the other side. He took a moment to compose himself and slow his racing heart, then started off again, heading in a direction that would take him far, far away from the warring gangs. Maybe this time 'round, he would find a place to unwind, rather than a urban warzone. Or, if nothing else, maybe he would find someone to help him find a safe place to relax.
[As the title says, this is open to all. The character I am using is This Guy. I'm providing the link because a search for his bio only shows a totally unrelated char. xP]
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