Vigilante Menace

[Vernon Hala]

Iziz, Onderon.

It was a quiet evening in the capital city of Onderon. The usual busyness of the streets were already succumbing to the dusk, as school children tucked into bed, parents enjoyed a quiet moment's rest, and very few locals of Iziz were left to wander the mostly now-closed shops. Some streets, including most notably those which held the local cantinas, still enjoyed a steady stream of pedestrians, but the residential sections of the vast walled city were near mute. One by one, even the lights which indicated late night workers or holo-novel readers flicked off. The city was asleep.

It was in this silent darkness that Vernon Hala quietly left the Hala Mansion. Vernon's great, great uncle or second uncle, or however such things worked, was a particularly successful merchant and noble. The Hala family had enjoyed comfortable affluence and moderate political standing for such a small, otherwise unnoteworthy minor house. Since Vernon had arrived back on Onderon, he had inhabited one of the rather large wings of the mostly empty manor. He did not own the house, of course, and he could count on only the death of at least four of his well-liked and pleasant family members before he could hope to obtain it. Vernon rather liked the idea of having this family, however, and was wholly uninterested in obtaining the house or its power at the expense of these kind folks.

Still, the home was convenient for him for as long as his family allowed him to stay. He doubted it was forever, but it wouldn't be long before he could purchase a small home or apartment for himself. His life as a Jedi had never permitted personal possessions, and surely never a space more than a room of his own, and his "room" within the temple had been spartan. He smiled to himself as he quietly closed the door to the manor behind him, wondering who that small room belonged to know.

Whoever they are, I just hope they're not hunting me right now, he mused to himself as he quietly made his way through the streets. He was wearing simple, black athletic clothing - a black cloak hung at his shoulders and shrouded his face in darkness thanks to the hood. Vernon Hala had left the sole possession he ever cared about - his lightsaber - right next to his Jedi robes when he had left the Jedi. He knew that the more extreme elements of the Jedi would label him 'traitor' and 'exile.' He knew that it would be trouble if the Onderonians ever discovered he was a former Jedi, or if a visiting Jedi somehow caught on to who he had been. Most of all, though, he hoped that his few friends within the Jedi would recognize the significance in his leaving the weapon behind. He was not turning on the Order to join the Exiles. He was laying down his weapon, and giving up his life as a Jedi.

Continuing through the streets, Vernon set these thoughts aside. While eventually he would have to deal with the Jedi Order, today was not that day. An offduty onderonian peacekeeper had been murdered in the line of duty, having attempted to stop a robbery in a rather dark part of Iziz the previous night. The trail had gone cold for the local Onderonians, and it seemed as if there was little more they could do, although the investigation continued. Not able to allow this gross injustice, Vern had decided for himself - based on some insider political knowledge not shared with the police for a variety of reasons - that he would find these vagabonds.

And so the former Jedi turned politician stole through the quiet streets of Onderon, moving towards the tip location. Here in the outskirts of the north section of Iziz, one had to tread a bit more carefully. While crime was really quite low in the walled city, an account of the rather harsh judicial system, it nonetheless still existed. And this part of town was the most concentrated of it, by far. A few gave the hooded man a queer look as he whisked by, but most of those he passed smartly gave him a wide berth.

--

Eventually, Vernon approached a rather old, beat-up two story apartment building. On one side of it, snug with the next building, was a small outside patio. The Onderonian gave a quick glance around, and seeing no one immediately about, he jumped the twelve feet to the edge, and grabbing on to the outside ledge he hoisted himself up and over onto the patio. He landed quietly, crouching, and he moved quickly to the outside wall of the apartment.

"Oi em tellin' yeh Paulie, t'was a r'ght a'ful 'ing. Coppahs 'vrywhe' now," came a voice from what Vernon assumed was the kitchen. Vernon was not quite sure if the man was drunk, stupid, or just had an accent the likes of which he was unfamiliar with. The muffled response of whoever the man was talking to came from somewhere deeper within the apartment. The ex-Jedi peaked his head into the window just a flash, to see exactly who was talking.

He recognized the man from the bank tapes.

Eric Karl. He's even uglier in person.

"Yes, Eric, yes. I know. But we will be fine," came the other man's response as he walked into the kitchen. Vernon hid back around the window, listening in. He assumed this was the other man from the security tapes. Chuthorn Mangaladorf "It'll blow over in a few days, and we have everything we need here. Now grab a holovid, go out onto the porch, and relax. You need to get out of my face and relax."

"Do no s'ch th'ng I won't," Karl responded. He stopped off angrily somewhere else into the apartment. Vernon peaked his head around into the window again, as Chuthorn's back was turned doing something at the SPACE SINK. He took in as much of the apartment as he could, trying to put together a plan for how to take the two criminals on. The Onderonian had a small holdout blaster strapped to his thigh, but he'd rather not wake the whole neighborhood. Most of all though, he didnt want them shooting at him.

@Fyston

 

[Damien Yates]

It was supposed to go flawlessly
​

Damien's long legs propelled him quickly through the streets of Iziz. While not running, the brisk walk that he had chosen for his pace caused people to move out of his way. Well, it was either his brisk walk or the Iziz Police badge that was hanging from his neck and resting, or attempting to rest, on the chest of his Clovoc armor. When the moonlight hit the badge, it glowed a bright, benevolent silver. When the lights of a cantina hit it, however, the silver changed to a harsh red or blue, whatever the signage of the cantina used as a primary color.

He was technically on duty, though he was fairly far from his assigned zone. He had hinted to a few of his comrades to cover for him in exchange for taking their desk duty or otherwise unappealing tasks for the next week. His stun baton hung near his left hip and his 4C blaster pistol was holstered near his right hip. A few spare power packs, a radio, and other assorted police gear filled his duty belt.

It was supposed to go flawlessly​

Damien remembered the deal as if it had just gone down a month ago, which it had. He had been paid a fair amount, about two month's salary, to provide them with a suitable target and look the other way. If they had succeeded, he would have been paid double that amount to keep the police from tracking them and to ensure a successful escape. Tonight was supposed to be the night that he picked up his reward, though Damien doubted that it would work out that way.

His employers, the bank robbing ones not the Onderonian ones, had impressed upon him that no lives would be taken in the heist and that they would be in and out in a few minutes, not long enough for nearby officers to respond, let alone the SWAT team that responded to similar events. They had sworn that their plan was superior and, for the most part, it was. They had been able to infiltrate, and easily control the crowd, though they were in the final stages of liberating the bank's contents when it all went to osik.

It was supposed to go flawlessly​

Unbeknownst to the heisters, an Iziz police officer had decided to do his banking that day. When their backs were turned, he had been able to draw his duty pistol and, while unsuccessful in injuring or killing any of the heisters, had succeeded in getting himself killed. They say don't be a hero for a reason, thought Damien as his feet thudded forcefully against the pavement. While Damien didn't really know the slain officer, he knew that the Onderonians wouldn't let the killing of one of their protectors go unpunished.

Luckily, Damien had been able to misdirect the Iziz police force and they were busy going after a few stim dealers who had a habit of flashing their success in the form of gaudy speeders and clothes, as well as a few gold-plated blasters. That diversion would only last a day or three, though, before the police would be back on the right trail or, at least, as on the right trail as they could get. The fact that a cop was killed would almost certainly result in a planet-wide search and, as such, Damien had destroyed enough evidence so that his bank robbing employers would have a few days to get ahead of the hunt.

As their apartment appeared on the skyline and began to loom over Damien, his badge had stopped glowing in the moonlight and had, instead, turned a shade of black given the lack of light. He withdrew his pistol from its holster as he neared the apartment and, looking left and right to ensure that there were no witnesses, kicked the door in. His right foot connected with the door right under the handle.

Damien was able to see Chuthorn the second the door swung open, though Eric had responded with a bewildered look on his face and a blaster pistol half raised in the direction of the door. "Drop it or I drop you both, Eric," said the Clovoc-clad officer with a commanding voice. Given that his pistol was already leveled at the base of Chuthorn's neck, Damien knew he would be able to drop Chuthorn immediately and, given a few seconds to maneuver, Eric as well.

Luckily, Chuthorn thrust his hands begrudgingly into the air and Eric tossed the pistol off to the side, where it clattered to the floor and landed against a wall. "You come to get paid dressed as a cop all the time, Yates? Or are you turning us in," asked Chuthorn. Damien noted that Eric had said something, though he was never able to understand his horrid accent. "Shut up. You told me nobody would die and you kill a cop." Damien put more emphasis on the last word and continued before they had a chance to respond. "It was supposed to go flawlessly, you idiots. You kill a cop and expect to get away with it? They're going to find you and that's too risky. You have thirty seconds to explain yourselves before I kill you and make it seem like I'm a hero."

@TAC @Vernon Hala