The World Has Turned and Left Me Here

[Bishop Kenobi]

Coruscant
​

The Sith occupation of the once shining gem of the Galactic Republic has been one of death and destruction, taking its toll on many of the city-world's citizens. As is usual on Coruscant, the pangs of hunger and the ravages of disease have hit hardest on those of lesser means and feeble constitutions. With the Jedi all but eradicated from the planet's surface, and the remainder of the populace doing their best to stay on the winning side of history in order to survive, there is little in the way of help for any remaining beacons of light in such a dismal and hostile environ.

It was here, in just such a place, that Bishop Wick inexplicably found himself with a gun to his back.

"Seriously guys, this is just a huge misunderstanding," Bishop soothed, "there's really no need for slugthrowers."

The tall Shistavanen at the other end of the gun seemed to disagree, as he dug the muzzle of the weapon harder into the small of Bishop's back. The Jedi's hands remained up in the air as he grimaced at the increased pressure below his backpack. This is the last one, after this I'm out of here he thought to himself for the tenth time this week. He'd lost track of how many jobs he'd done for the Umbarans. He was an okay slicer, but the Jolto Brothers were the best pair of slicers in the southern district. Also two of the least trustworthy. Who was he kidding? The Joltos weren't going to give him the codes he needed to get past the blockade unless he came up with some major credits and the jobs he was doing were getting him more attention than money.

Attention. That was something he could definitely do without.

It had only ever been meant to be a pitstop. He'd only meant to pick up supplies and be on his way. Truth be told, Bishop despised cities. Having spent time in his youth on a backwater planet had instilled in him a love of nature, freedom, and the beauty of forest and fauna. To be cooped up in a city was always one of his nightmares, but this? What sort of cosmic joke was this? The only good luck, if you could really call it that, was that his ship had been utterly destroyed in the orbital bombardment along with any record on-planet of his being a Jedi Knight. His thoughts wandered to the mission that he'd never get to complete. Shaking his head, he knew it mattered little anymore - with Coruscant under Sith control surely the Jedi Council on Tython as well as the Army itself had more pressing issues to worry about than some diplomat's dirty laundry.

The Council and the Army. Why hadn't he heard anything from them?

Wick had lost track of the days he'd been stranded on Coruscant, forced to rely on the kindness of strangers - which was to say forced to go it completely alone. He was not one without resources, however, and had made easy use of his skill at the Jedi mind trick to ensure he was housed and fed at least. Cheating the people of Coruscant out of what little money they might make did not even cross his mind, however, as he made sure he preyed only on the most corrupt and vile of wretches.

"Where's the datapad? We know you took it." It was the Shistavanen with the slugthrower again. "I won't ask you a third time."

Bishop's lips curled up into an uneasy smile as two more Shistavanens emerged from the shadows. Surrounded. Perfect.

"Alright, boys, take it easy," Bishop replied calmly, "here, I'm just taking off my backpack and you can search it yourselves."

After a moment of hesitation, Bishop breathed a little easier as the presence of the slugthrower's muzzle was removed from his back. Slowly, the human brought his hands down and removed the backpack from his person, kneeling on the ground and placing the bag out a few feet in front of him for his aggressors to inspect. With a nod from their leader with the gun, one of the other Shistavanens stepped forward to dump the contents of the pack out onto the cold, broken duracrete, tossing the pack to the other as he knelt to inspect the contents.

Bishop did his best to remain calm and remember his training, closing his eyes and slowing his breathing like he had done so many times before. Feeling more at ease, he was careful to keep the Force close about him and not allow its tendrils to sneak away and alert any nearby sensitives that he was one of them. Opening his eyes now, he watched as the disgruntled dog-man searched through his meager belongings - a few ration packs, some spare bits of clothing, a canteen of water, a standard medpac, and a loose jumble of what might appear to be scrap parts: some standard diatium plasma cells, a couple of metal cylinders, a few power insulators, lenses, and other odds and ends. And there, on the bottom of the pile, lay a datapad.

Alright. Perfect. As long as they don't find the hidden pocket, everything should be fine.

"There it is! Bring it here!" the weapon-wielding foe barked to his comrade.

As the two aliens poured over the datapad behind him, Bishop's eyes narrowed as he stared keenly at the remaining aggressor standing before him. The smallest of the Shistavanen, and probably the younger of the three, had frowned and begun to inspect the backpack more thoroughly. Clearly he was the more curious of the three, perhaps even the brighter, but it was also clear he didn't have much chance to prove that in his line of work. Much to Bishop's dismay, a surprised grin crept across the dog-man's face as he located the hidden pocket the Jedi had carefully sewn into the pack's seam. Opening the pocket, the smaller Shistavanen removed a second datapad.

"Hey look at this!" he exclaimed, but the other two of his clan seemed not to hear him as they continued to scan the datapad and ensure that all the information had been uploaded and none had been corrupted.

Kriff.

The lone Shistavanen frowned as he began to look at this second datapad he'd found and his look of excitement soon turned to that of surprise and a little fear.

Bishop didn't have much time now, but he was glad for the distractions - it was a scientific fact, after all, that eyes are always drawn to a screen. He closed his own and focused his energies quietly on the array of seemingly random parts in front of him. Unbeknownst to his enemies, the parts began to shake slightly before levitating a few inches from the ground. At this point, with his eyes still closed and trusting in the Force to keep his intentions concealed, he removes a handful of crystals from the folds of his wrist wraps and they float out to meet with the random parts in front of him.

As he continued to scroll through the second datapad, the youngest Shistavanen began to tremble. Schematic after schematic of Sith defensive placements, weapons manufacturing locations, and naval fleet strategies passed his eyes - information worth enough to either make them rich or get them all killed.

"Hey! Really! Look at this!" he shouted again, finally looking up from the datapad.

"What is it now-" the ringleader started as he and his associate looked up from their datapad, its contents a simple bank heist plan with codes and schematics.

Bishop felt the three pairs of eyes burning into him like hot pokers left too long in the flames, but it mattered little now. With a quiet but audible 'click' the components fell together and his two lightsaber hilts were once again whole. Without a sound they flew into his outstretched palms as he stood up. In one fluid motion, akin more to a dancer than a murderer, the Jedi Knight flicked the switches of his lightsabers and illuminated the thin back-alley with a fiery amber glow. The two Shistavanens standing side by side were the first to die, their heads removed cleanly from their bodies in one swift stroke. The younger one stood rooted to the spot, unable to move from the terror that he felt. It was a terror that no Sith would even register since this world was so full of its like these days - but it was a terror the Jedi would never forget.

"I'm sorry."

With that, Bishop's off-hand lightsaber flew threw the air and buried itself in the Shistavanen's chest. Wick yanked the datapad with the incriminating Sith documents from the dying dog's hands with the aid of the Force and tucked it securely in his cloak pocket before recalling his second lightsaber back to him in the same fashion.

The younger Shistavanen stood with wide eyes for a moment before he crumpled to the duracrete, during which time Bishop collected his belongings and stuffed them back into his backpack. He knelt once more, feeling out tentatively through the Force to ensure his presence had not been compromised. Satisfied that he had not been discovered, he dismantled his lightsabers again and replaced their parts and crystals back to their prior hiding places amongst his belongings and wrist-wraps respectively.

The Jedi sighed deeply before standing again and making his way silently from the shadows of the lonely alleyway back to the more bustling streets of the slums of Coruscant.

"Now, to find those Jolto brothers..." he breathed quietly to himself.

A younger Bishop Wick would have wept for the innocents, would have been abhorred by the manner in which each of his would-be assailants had been slain. But this Bishop Wick was not a peacekeeper anymore, but a soldier. For the good of the Jedi he needed to remain hidden, needed to glean as much information as he could while stranded on this forsaken world. He had killed them as a Sith might, and that was what kept him alive in this hell - what kept him from arousing suspicions. It was what he had to do. Or at least that was what he told himself.

 

[Adore To Nowhere]

Zisria had come to this planet for two reasons: the primary objective she'd set was to aide the survivors of the war who were subjected to the oppression of The Sith Empire, and the second was to establish a small network of civilian-informants to gather intelligence on Imperial activity in the area, allowing her to operate the relief effort as safely as possible. With those goals in mind she stepped off of the smuggler's ship which she'd arrived on, but was thrown off guard after being met with a most unpleasant sight, a ruined city in place of a once beautiful gem.

After making sure that the smuggler was payed his due Zisria unloaded her supplies from his ship and looked out unto the ash of what once stood. "I had heard Coruscant was in rough shape, but I'd no idea it was this bad." She let out a woeful sigh and lifted her cloak's hood, thinking it best that her face wasn't seen when unnecessary. It may be a big galaxy but all it took was a single Sith to recognize her for things to go south.

She began by carrying a portion of the supplies through a few back-alleys that led to the designated drop-off point. From there she packed the supply-portion she brought into a container where she'd arranged for a courier to pick them up. Zisria made three more trips before storing the last deposit into the cache, giving her a few hours before having to arrive at the rendezvous location to establish an operating-base for the relief effort.

Before heading out she preformed a final equipment-check to make sure she'd everything she needed.

Spoiler: LOADOUT

-She's wearing an MMCA Jumpsuit made with Scatterweave woven into its materials, and has been fitted to be more tightly-hugging in order to make it form to her body's shape. It accentuates her curves beautifully, giving her victims a nice view before they're taken out.

-In order to cover up her revealing outfit she dons a black hip-length cloak made of Scatterweave, Armorweave, and various leathers. The cloak isn't designed to protect but rather to utilize the Scatterweave, which when combined with Zisria's high mobility makes her a not only a tough target to hit, but a tough one to find as well.

-She's equipped with a generally pretty normal lightsaber with a curved-hilt made of Phrik that's been painted black, and of course the blade itself is purple.

-She's using the DX-38 Holdout Blaster Pistol as a concealed firearm holstered in an inconspicuous location and is usually only used as a back-up plan whenever she gets caught in a bad situation. It's been modded with extended iron sights, a custom grip with built-in heat absorption, and a black paint-job.

- Concealed beneath her cloak is the Type-15s Silenced Carbine, a well-kept black-painted weapon with a modified ACOG scope for increased accuracy, as well as a multitude of marks across its side, each representing a headshot she got on a target.

-Lastly as a non-lethal weapon she's carrying the SA-17 "Mercy" Stun Gun that lacks any modifications other than being painted dark-grey.

As she made her way to the somewhat crowded streets of the city she smiled to herself, satisfied with her accomplishments thus far. There wasn't much behind her desire to help the locals, she simply felt as if it were the right thing to do. However as Zisria continued she became more and more paranoid, if someone were to inform the Sith of her presence it was likely that she wouldn't be able to deal with them directly, and she wasn't in the mood to run around leading a 'wild goose chase.' 'Oh I'm sure those scoundrels won't mind a darling lady like myself simply trying to get her daily fix of generosity, maybe if I'm nice they'll let me go with a slap on the wrist.' She thought sarcastically, giggling as she continued her walk.

While checking her surroundings she couldn't help but feel her heart sink as she observed the civilians around her, fighting to survive during these times of hardship and war. 'The Jedi Council will take action eventually.' Even if she despised those who followed The Force Zisria still cared for the helpless who lived unsure of their future, and therefore admired anyone who fought for their good. 'Although the Jedi don't exactly do much for them anyhow, if you want results you have to get them yourself.' Normally she'd leave it at that, but something felt odd. For some reason her nonchalant dismissal of The Jedi made her feel uneasy, as if she was too quick to judge. 'Well, at least they put in an effort, and that's what counts I suppose...even if it's not enough...' She sighed, unsure of the thought's validity.

 

[Bishop Kenobi]

"That wasn't the agreement, Fargen." Bishop spat.

The Umbaran across the dingy table glanced down at the datapad in his hands once more before handing it to his Shistavanen bodyguard and turning his black eyes back to Wick - the thin, arrogant smile never once leaving his lips.

"It is the new agreement," Fargen cooed, "if you want to leave this planet in one piece."

The Umbaran calmly took a sip from his goblet of ale as Bishop's glare turned from him to his bodyguard and back again. Another Shistavanen. Maybe he was connected. Bishop shook the idea from his head at the risk of sounding racist - it was a big planet-city after all. Still...

"Are you ready for your next assignment then?"

The Jedi-in-hiding looked down at the smaller mug in front of him, at the sad eyes staring back at him from the ale inside, and resigned himself to his fate.

"This is the last one, Jolto - then you give me the codes and I'm off this rock and gone for good."

The Umbaran's smile widened, almost revealing his yellowed teeth behind those infuriating pursed lips.

"Splendid." he said, downing the remainder of the ale in his goblet before tucking it into his satchel and removing himself form the confines of the booth. He's got so many enemies he brings his own cup to a bar. I guess there's a thin line between smart and paranoid.

"The specifics will be sent to the usual location, Wick. I expect the same results as all of our past dealings." The youngest of the Jolto brothers kept one hand discreetly in his satchel, no doubt on some clandestine blaster pistol, as he glided past Bishop with his bodyguard in tow. The glint in the Shistavanen's eye did little to ease the Jedi's concerns and he turned to watch the pair exit the filthy establishment through the back. As soon as the two were out of sight, Bishop stood from the table, glancing around at the patrons of the bar with a colder eye than usual, and hastily made his way towards the exit to the main street.

Wick. He called me 'Wick' - not good.

In all of his dealings with the Jolto's he had never given his last name. He should have known that working with such shady and skilled slicers would eventually lead to trouble - to their finding out his true identity. After all, he had done his fair share of digging on them as well.

As he made his way to the exit he could feel a pang of warning through the Force, almost like a physical jab in the side as a few of the more ruffian-types sitting at the bar stiffened their muscles, readying for a fight. In an instant they were up, blasters in their hands and sneers on their faces.

They were fast, but Bishop was faster.

In the moment it had taken the four aggressors to turn from their stools and lift their weapons, Bishop had grabbed the nearest two mugs of ale and thrown their contents into the faces of the two patrons to either side of him before flinging the mugs themselves towards where he knew the blasters soon would be. The two patrons, a Gungan and a Gand by the looks of them, roared in outrage. The Gungan grabbed for his blaster pistol while the Gand picked up his stool to break over Bishop's head. With a quick sidestep from the Jedi, the entire bar suddenly bursts into chaos.

As the two mugs careen through the air, each one hitting their mark on two of the major ruffians, the two helmeted men's blasters are knocked off target and their bolts shoot off into the crowd at large. As Bishop side-steps the Gand's assault, the stool comes crashing down on the closest of the four helmeted would-be bounty hunters with thunderous force and the Gungan's shot, which flies through the gap where Bishop had been previously standing, hits the remaining foe at the bar square in the chest with a satisfying sizzle.

In no time the entirety of the cantina is up in arms as the small establishment fills with smoke and the smell of burnt flesh.

With a crash, Bishop rolls unceremoniously out onto the streets of Coruscant and directly into a young female passerby (@Adore To Nowhere ). Though he is mostly none the worse for wear, he does have a split lip, a small gash over his left eye, and a few new singe marks on his clothes and armor.

"So sorry, miss, didn't see you there," he manages to choke out as the smoke and dust from the bar brawl still roils off him, the din of the fight inside soon reaching a rather boisterous crescendo.

With a tip of his hat and sheepish smile, he turns away and begins to make his way hastily down the street towards, well, anywhere but there.

 

[Adore To Nowhere]

Zisria was far too focused on the internal struggle that was going on in her mind, causing her to become unaware of her surroundings. It was without doubt a possibly fatal mistake, one that could have lead to lethal, or at the very least, torturous consequences. If she were to run into an imperial trooper, or was somehow cursed with enough bad luck to stumble upon a Sith, even she knew that she'd be far too in over her head.

While traveling through a rather shady looking section of the city- or at least whatever is left of the city -a sudden eruption of noise came from the cantina she was in the middle of passing. Zisria quickly snapped out of her inattentive state, her 'nerves of durasteel' suddenly vanished as she was thrown into a slight shock, causing the ever so fearsome assassin to jump in an uncharacteristically adorable manner. She took a moment to regain her composure before releasing an irritated sigh, looking over to the cantina's entrance as it continued to roar with the thunderous rumble that came from the ruckus within. "What the blazes is going on in there?" She thought aloud as she shook her head and simply dismissed the annoyance, 'I've much more important matters to deal with at the moment, I mustn't become distracted.' However Zisria, being the unlucky girl she'd always been, was interrupted once again.

It was no more than just a moment after taking her first step that she was vexed with yet another frustrating hindrance; she honestly didn't mind having to compromise during an operation, but there's just something about the most mundane of inconveniences that made her more displeased than anything. She'd dealt with mission-critical situations multiple times throughout her life, she may not have solved them calmly with the same nonchalant attitude she normally bears, but they were resolved nonetheless! Perhaps it was just the fear of failing due to the most seemingly insignificant of errors; the mindset that if you're going to fail it should at least be in the most fantastically extraordinary way possible, otherwise you'll just become the punchline to a joke.

Zisria softly grunted as a man came crashing out of the cantina- and of course -directly into her. "Ano! " She yelled in her native tongue as she stumbled, regaining her balance before looking over to the man with a slightly upset, yet seemingly sweet demeanor, one that she'd have to keep up for a while in order to keep a low profile. "It's fine dear, I shouldn't have just been standing around like that anyways." Her Imperial accent added an undertone of elegance to her words as she spoke in a soft, kind tone, giggling as she traded smiles with the man. "Shikan..." She snidely whispered in Mirialan as he turned his back; at the very least she was polite enough not to blatantly insult him to his face.

As she was about to continue her journey to the rendezvous point she felt an odd sensation, one that she was already familiar with having felt it so many times in her career. 'That's impossible! How would he even be able to survive here, wouldn't the Sith have found him by now?' Zisria thought to herself, slowly turning back towards the departing man before feeling the familiar, yet odd sensation grow even stronger. There was no doubt in her mind, that man has a connection to the force- no, it's more than that-, he has a connection to The Light Side. 'I've no clue how he's alive, or how he got here, but one thing's certain: he is indeed a Jedi~' She thought to herself with a devilish grin as a dastardly idea began to form. 'I wonder...what would a Jedi, especially one on a planet controlled by The Empire, be willing to do in order to have their connection to The Force remain hidden?' Drenched in confidence, she began to walk towards him with a brisk- yet simultaneously inconspicuous -pace to her step. She wasn't going to do anything too extreme, but to let such an opportunity slip through her fingers would be absolutely stupid!

Once Zisria got a little over a meter close to the Jedi the sensation grew once again, this time debilitatingly so. She stopped in her tracks and fell to her knees as memories rushed past her eyes, but of what? She sat in confusion, witnessing images of lush forests with trees that seemed as tall as mountains, children playing with what she can now only think of as toy swords, brown robes that flowed beautifully in the breeze, a large temple built of hope that stood majestically as a beacon of light, a crystal heart atop stairs of stone which overlooked a nearby ravine, and faces of all kinds that each shared the same twinkle in their eyes. The puzzle pieces of the past all came together to form a magnificent image: a single planet basking in the cold emptiness of space, Tython. 'No, the last I was there was before I lost...' She forced the thought from her mind, there was no need to be thinking of her beloved at a time like this. What she needed to find out was why she felt this now? What about that Jedi caused her to feel something so vivid?

When her mind returned to normal- well, as normal as you can get given the circumstance -she was still on her knees. The man was now twice as far as he was when she experienced her vision, of which was only about a few meters from where she sat. Her supple lips began to part before halting their progress as her eyes widened simultaneously, not sure whether to look on with nostalgia or dread. She was going to ask for the identity of the Jedi when she instead decided to hush her unspoken questions, for she'd answered them on her own. "I know you." she murmured

"I know your smile, I've seen it before." She said with in a volume she knew was loud enough for him to hear.

"Your connection to the Force, I've felt one just like it, although it was a lot brighter then." The whole moment felt surreal, she wasn't sure whether or not she was awake or if this was just some nightmarish form of torture conjured up by her subconscious.

"That kyber crystal seems familiar too, and to have its home taken apart and hidden...how sad." She softly giggled, a hint of deliriousness flowed through the air, carried by her voice.

"It takes some skill to do such a thing, but I suppose that's befitting of a Weapon Master's apprentice." She went quiet after those final words rolled off of her tongue, finally putting a stop to her rambling.

Practically all of what she'd said wasn't really meant to convince the Jedi of the fact that she indeed knew him, but rather to convince herself of this overly obscure realization's validity.

After her short but much-needed silence she continued to speak, "Bishop." Zisria stated briefly with a slight familiarity in her voice, not being able to help but sound a little nervous.

She struggled to recall Bishop's full name, and although she tried to hide it out of embarrassment, her confusion over the forgotten surname was made obvious by her flustered appearance. This didn't long however, as it took no more than a few moments for her to finally remember. "Bishop...Wick." The last syllable sounded sharp as Zisria spoke in slight disbelief.

"That's you, isn't it..?"