- Joined
- Oct 21, 2007
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Zonju V. A world as backwater as one could get save for the wind swept dunes of Tatooine. Just as desolate, with a sprinkling of organized crime and fanatical zealots in place of tribal Tuskens. It was a war torn place, one that had once held the promise for redemption at the hands of a small band of men and women who felt the right way was better than the more lucrative way. Unfortunately for those who had chosen to live on the desert planet, those days were long gone. With the Cartel making power plays all over the planet and the existing criminal organizations either fighting back or bowing down it was safe to say hope was the last thing on people's minds. Death and fear had become the day to day for the inhabitants of Zonju V, a fact Rook hoped he could at least partially alleviate with his actions.
Staring down at the city below, his brown leather duster blew in the wind as a grimace seemed to be plastered to his face. He wore his normal attire, nothing too fancy or eye catching. A tan button down with a blackish hued denim vest over the top. Complimented by unassuming pants and boots he was far from eye catching. Taking one last pull from the cigarette in his mouth, he flicked the still burning end straight down into the dirt before grinding it into the dirt with his boot.
It had been years since he last stepped foot on Zonju V. Partially to prevent stirring up bad blood, and partially to try and forget the reminder that his own redemption had been so easily flushed down the drain. Now under a new employer, the gunslinger once again found himself walking the impoverished streets. Personally he didn't much care for how the Hutts handled their business on most occasions, this time however he was able to see some of the good he might bring to the lives of the people he felt partially responsible for. Removing the Cartel's opposition would mean the gang fighting and turf wars would stop. People would be able to go back to their lives, relatively speaking of course. They would for the most part be the property of the cartel, but they wouldn't have to worry about being shot up by cross fire during the night, or having to choose who to pay protection money to. Rook was able to take some solace in that fact, how ever meager it was.
Though he was sent as an envoy of the Hutt cartel, none would know. Being that he was relatively new on the scene under their employ and coupled with the fact he had spent more than a decade freelancing on his own. His missions success rode on that fact alone. Plenty of folks went freelance, the ones that survived always seemed to fall into one crowd or another. This behavior was what Rook was planning on exploiting. Since he was sure none would know of his past deeds with the Cartel, he could easily blend as a simple man seeking employment with any group he needed. At least for the time being. Word would get around fast should he succeed with his current mission. Rook doubted he'd be able to pull off the same tactic again.
He had been sent to Zonju V to root out one Jenna Dupree. Sources stated she was a member of the Exchange, one of the only criminal organisations on the planet who had been able to withstand Cartel influence. Their compounds were all heavily guarded, especially so during such violent times. Getting in without being turned into a pin cushion would have been impossible if he had chosen to enter through force. Rook was a practical man however. Work smarter not harder was an adage he often recited during his many escapades throughout the galaxy.
Rook wouldn't even need to draw his revolver to get in. In fact, they'd open the door for him.
Staring down at the city below, his brown leather duster blew in the wind as a grimace seemed to be plastered to his face. He wore his normal attire, nothing too fancy or eye catching. A tan button down with a blackish hued denim vest over the top. Complimented by unassuming pants and boots he was far from eye catching. Taking one last pull from the cigarette in his mouth, he flicked the still burning end straight down into the dirt before grinding it into the dirt with his boot.
It had been years since he last stepped foot on Zonju V. Partially to prevent stirring up bad blood, and partially to try and forget the reminder that his own redemption had been so easily flushed down the drain. Now under a new employer, the gunslinger once again found himself walking the impoverished streets. Personally he didn't much care for how the Hutts handled their business on most occasions, this time however he was able to see some of the good he might bring to the lives of the people he felt partially responsible for. Removing the Cartel's opposition would mean the gang fighting and turf wars would stop. People would be able to go back to their lives, relatively speaking of course. They would for the most part be the property of the cartel, but they wouldn't have to worry about being shot up by cross fire during the night, or having to choose who to pay protection money to. Rook was able to take some solace in that fact, how ever meager it was.
Though he was sent as an envoy of the Hutt cartel, none would know. Being that he was relatively new on the scene under their employ and coupled with the fact he had spent more than a decade freelancing on his own. His missions success rode on that fact alone. Plenty of folks went freelance, the ones that survived always seemed to fall into one crowd or another. This behavior was what Rook was planning on exploiting. Since he was sure none would know of his past deeds with the Cartel, he could easily blend as a simple man seeking employment with any group he needed. At least for the time being. Word would get around fast should he succeed with his current mission. Rook doubted he'd be able to pull off the same tactic again.
He had been sent to Zonju V to root out one Jenna Dupree. Sources stated she was a member of the Exchange, one of the only criminal organisations on the planet who had been able to withstand Cartel influence. Their compounds were all heavily guarded, especially so during such violent times. Getting in without being turned into a pin cushion would have been impossible if he had chosen to enter through force. Rook was a practical man however. Work smarter not harder was an adage he often recited during his many escapades throughout the galaxy.
Rook wouldn't even need to draw his revolver to get in. In fact, they'd open the door for him.