- Joined
- Mar 15, 2017
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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.
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