Cradle of Carnage

[Hawkins Grime]

Grime ran his steel fingers over the metal plate on his left breast and down over the plates layered upon his stomach. Then he looked to the man sitting in the chair across from him in the small hotel suite they were occupying. An array of weapons was layed out on the couch and coffee table as well as blueprints to three different buildings posted on the walls. It had been nearly two weeks since e'Drein had been... recruited by Grime and so far the going had been easy enough. Grime had spent a day at a clinic recuperating and then the rest of the time was allocating a small amount of funds to their next task and preparations. As well as being sure that e'Drein was convinced enough that the pay was good for the time being. And getting parts of his exoskeleton replaced that had been damaged in the altercation between Hawkins and Morrolan.

"You're lucky, e'Drein, this hadn't been any worse than it was."

Grime, in his imbitterment, didn't leave a chance to remind e'Drein that he had just wasted their time and possibly more money by dragging out Morrolan's contract negotiation.

"Are you ready for this?"

They'd been planning for long enough. There was no step by step plan to it all. Merely an outline. Getting inside the lounge at first wouldn't be altogether that difficult. Getting inside the private loft was something different entirely. Grime had a trump card for access though. He knew too many deep, dark secrets about Obyn the Round, who Hawkins would describe a human tried his hardest to be a Hutt. The problem being that while Hutts were large and bloated, they were still powerful and able to move somewhat to their own degree. Obyn had gravity compensators so that his own body weight didn't suffocate himself. Upon reaching the private loft, it was a pretty clear cut conclusion to the outline. Kill Obyn and anyone who stood in their way.

The only altercation Grime foresaw was that the Obyn Boys were in town. Hawkins didn't have the time to wait it out either so a fight with them was inevitable. There were 14 Obyn Boys altogether, illegitimate spawn of Obyn when he was much less the man he was now. They were the muscle that kept Obyn's authority maintained and the tool that demonstrated his will. 14 to 2 would be a stretch. But overall, this was Nar Shadda, explosives and weapons with a crowd control factor were not in short supply.

[Morrolan e'Drein]

Well it wasn’t his idea to start hacking away at each other...

Hawkings Grime seemed a good leader, not that Morrolan had too many to compare him to. He issued commands like one orders food from the finest restaurant, giving the respect needed to ensure your prompt response, but never leaving the spot open for who was in charge.

Come to think of it, e’Drein hadn’t been treated that badly since the initial “summoning”. Grime had given him time to get his business in order and pack his belongings. Krager, his former helper/muscle/co-brainchild had been given a very sudden promotion, suddenly finding himself the heir to control of a sizable chunk of the district’s more “publicly unacknowledged” businesses. The office had been pretty much left as it was, no use putting his efforts into restoring a building he would likely never return to. He got his stuff together, and rendezvoused with his new boss.

Morrolan’s eyes traveled over the assortment of weaponry lying on the couch. Some of it Grime purchased after getting set up in the room, but the majority of it came from his collection. Since starting his line of work, e’Drein had become somewhat of a collector of tools. Trade through the depots was always heavy, with some of the best deals haggled in the yards themselves, before the goods came to market. A couple runners could almost always be found trying to unload some cargo too hot to get through “real” customs. Always good deals to be had. Grime seemed impressed with his variety of pointy objects, even though some of them were ancient technology by every standard.

“Are you ready for this?”

Standing, Morrolan pulled on his recently modified combat gloves and checked the little nasties hidden therein.

“As ready as I’m gonna get.”

Grime nodded his approval and rose, heading briskly towards the door. Morrolan followed and tightened his belt as he strode. His foot fell onto the hard ground outside.

“I just love even matches.”

[Hawkins Grime]

They stepped out of the air taxi they had taken and Grime took a moment to review the outside environment before they crossed the way to the lounge, its extravagant neon signs conveying its luxuries of all sorts of women, great drinks, and of course, home of the Obyn Boys.

From the docking ramps for traffic and parking to the lounge was something close to 100 meters. To the right of them was a structure that would appear to consist of scaffolding and heavy equipment. It was in fact a multilevel docking station where four ships were docked, three freighters of various models were obviously belonging to the Obyn Boys due to their markings. The remaining was a gun metal YT-1930, no apparent markings. To the left was a small strip of stores, most likely merchants that catered to Obyn's tastes and were under his form of protection or another.

Regardless, they made their way through the throng of bystanders and pedestrians until they reached the front door of the lounge. The wide double doors slid to the side as they approached, there wasn't any restrictions upon personnel just yet. They gained a few glances and a couple of stares upon entering but not enough attention to make a fuss in the relatively lively establishment. The band, a mix of two Twi'lek singers and three Bith musicians, wasn't as bad as to give a poor performance but if Grime had cared, they wouldn't have been his choice. Grime barely turned his head to his shoulder as he spoke to e'Drein.

"Mingle, get yourself a drink and watch the east wall where those two guards are standing by the doors to the private loft."

The two guards were both Gamorreans carrying vibro axes and seeming to solemnly accept their place in the universe as their blank gaze swept back and forth across the room. He knew Gamorreans though, they weren't solemn. They were as much like Obyn as anything else, fat, stupid, and crudely sadistic. Not that being sadistic was a problem, but that being all three of those traits combined was something dirtier than dirty.

Hawkins didn't wait for any confirmation from Morrolan as he pushed his way through the crowd and disappeared in the dinginess of the atmosphere.

The plan had been for e'Drein to find a good vantage and take in what he could, watching for the Obyn Boys or any other possible threats that might suddenly arise while Grime tried to scout an easier entrance into the private loft if at all conveniently available. That was actually plan B, plan A was much more easier in concept. Plan A - kill everything as quickly as possible.

[Morrolan e'Drein]

Morrolan stepped off to the right of the doorway and allowed a vaguely human couple to pass. Directly in front of him, towards the back of the club, sat the bar and its 20-odd mingling patrons. Keeping to the west wall, he managed to get to his destination. The tender flashed him a quick inquiry.

“Spicebrew’s fine.”

Careful not to spill his drink, Morrolan made his way back along the same route and stopped at the base of a set of metal stairs. These led up to the balconied second floor, which would have provided a perfect place for keeping a watchful eye, if not for the mass of people clogging the narrow path.

Struggling past the stairway’s occupancy was too much trouble, and dodging elbows was tying up too much of his attention, so on the 6th step he stopped and leaned on the outer rail. He could clearly make out his boss’ tall figure approaching the eastern door. By the looks of things, the guards hadn’t taken notice of him yet, or had already decided him non-threatening and continued surveying the clientele which, not surprisingly, stayed about 10 feet away from them at all times. As he raised the glass to his lips, Grime broke the edge of the crowd.

[Hawkins Grime]

Grime, looking upon the disgusting visages of what the galaxy had deemed Gamorreans, decided that he liked Plan A more and more as the revulsion of these massive snot skinned pigs increased in direct proportion to their proximity.

He almost smirked as their beady black eyes and heavy fat eye brows lifted in surprise as the tall figure seperated itself from the crowd. What? Someone actually bothered to approach them that they didn't immediately recognize. And the tall thing was drawing a sword. Grunt time then? They hefted their long handled vibro axes and stepped forward.

The moving mass of arms and faces that made the crowd almost gasped in unison as it stopped shifted and uniformly faced towards the three. One Gamorrean stood with its mouth open, slightly in awe, if something that dumb could actually experience awe, which would mean it could even imagine the complexes therein that were occuring. Such as the blade that was presently piercing through its forehead. It withdrew slowly, as if time had slowed down, the hesitation present in the other Gamorrean was explicit. Until Grime turned to face it and it squealed in rage, lifting its axe to bring it down upon the black form of the pig slayer. As intimidating as that was.

[Morrolan e'Drein]

Grime didn’t even lift his sword from where it lay, porcine blood running in a thin stream down to the point resting on the floor. As the Gamorrean hefted the axe above his head, the hushed crowd clamored to the floor in unison.

The shot was piercingly loud in the echoing metal cavern. The guard’s weight wrenched violently as the slug hit him full force under the left arm, ripping through his torso, and instilling a sickened look upon his gnarled face.

Morrolan holstered his gun quickly as he hopped over the rail of the stairs. With the crowd on the floor, navigation was easier. He bolted across the room, jumping over the prone figures to arrive in front of the wavering guard. The axe dropped to the floor with a loud clang, and the pig’s eyes fell upon his aggressor.

Grime had already picked up his sword and turned his back on the remaining fight to examine the door that greeted them.

A sly smile came over Morrolan’s face as he stepped in and moved to uppercut with his right hand. As his hand traveled, a slight adjustment of his wrist caused a wide, 4 inch blade to suddenly locate itself on the back of his fist. The punch planted the blade deep into the Gamorrean’s neck, with a little flourish at the end that caused it to exit cleanly to the left.

The guard fell to his knees, then forward onto his face. Morrolan calmly took a step back from the corpse and drew a white handkerchief from his pocket. He proceeded to wipe the blood from his blade as he turned to his boss.

“Well, we goin’ in or what?

[Hawkins Grime]

A metal hand stretched out to rest on the console by the door. A slight hiss seemed to come from somewhere and then suddenly the console sparked and sputtered small flames and smoke. The door slid to the side and in that instant, anyone directly in front of the door ceased to be anyone and became a corpse. An arsenal of weaponry had been waiting on the other side of the door for Grime and e'Drein the moment the guard's vitals had clicked out in the security system. Expected, on Grime's part, and it wasn't any kind of surprise that any more of them would just lay down and take it like the pigs had.

A Rodian stepped out, run in hand, long enough to lose afore mentioned hand from an upward slice of Grime's sword. The body collapsed as the momentum of the sword changed in direction and was brought up and at an angle, severing the Rodian's head as well. the body dropped just in time for a five count concussion grenade to roll into sight, hitting its first mark.

Grime's gaze snapped to e'Drein silently.

[Morrolan e'Drein]

With Grime standing, pressing himself against the wall beside the door and Morrolan opposite him crouching, there was no way to tell the location of any other guards on the other side: enter Dilemma #1.

The grenade rolled out of the doorway to stop between them. It’s red indicators stopped upwards, affording the two a very clear view of the 2nd indicator blazing to life: enter Dilemma #2.

Dilemma #1 offered up another helping of problems now that the grenade was present and out of arms reach; at least out of arms reach without offering a clear shot at important body parts, like heads.

As the 3rd light flicked on, Morrolan’s brow furrowed and he glanced back at Grime. Grime smirked and slouched slightly against the wall. Morrolan stepped a little away from the wall, braced himself with his left hand, and swung his leg out into the doorway, kicking a 4th light into the grenade, which quickly made its way back into the room.

[Hawkins Grime]

The blast wave of the grenade passed them from the door way and Grime hissed slightly, a headache resulting from what felt like his brain being rattled in his skull. But they didn't have the time, they needed this moment of shock and needed to take every advantage they could from it. His hand dropped from holding his hat to his head and Hawkins' cold fingers wrapped around the bottom of the hilt beneath his other hand.

The tall figure entered the room first, e'Drein would be right behind with blaster fire to keep any ranged opposition behind cover or removed all together. The stance Hawkins had assumed was optimum for the occasion as well. He wasn't nearly as strong as he used to be but the rage was building its momentum and the stance, holding the hilt with two hands up above his head, granted the gravitational advantage and for a wider range. When the henchy nearest the door stirred and began to get up, Grime took it in stride, like reaping a harvest, and the arc severed that unfortunate soul from his hip to his shoulder. It was odd at first, adjusting his clockwork body to such a fluid practice, but as the resistance was minimum for the next three, maybe four seconds, Grime wasn't complaining.

He could see Obyn, near the back, on what appeared to be some kind of sick dias of stained cushions and bowls of half eaten food. The Obyn boys were all beside him gathering themselves, all sharing that expression of a pig who has just been hit on either side of the head with cymbals.

[Morrolan e'Drein]

Grime’s figure cast a heavy shadow into the entranceway of the room. When Morrolan swung through the door the situation was more complicated than he imagined. Obyn and his gang sat towards the back of a 2-story room, a balcony looming dark at the back and sides. As Grime moved to swing at the first of the standing guards, Morrolan sank to the left and ended up on his knee. His old Merr-Sonn slid easily from it’s holster, coming to eye level in front of him. The first two shots took a beast to the left of Obyn in the chest as it rose, and another seated human slightly behind him. Obyn’s slitted eyes widened as a body fell from the balcony, blaster clutched in hand. The durasteel walls thundered as the three shots echoed about the room.

Grime’s melee had advanced them about 15 feet into the room, placing them about halfway to the stack of refuse that was Obyn’s throne.

[Ithiel Malchiel]

When the world began exploding around him, the first thought that entered Ithiel's mind...the same thought that always entered his mind...shoot. His hands dropped to his twin holsters on his sides, drew his two firearms. Six shots had rung from his guns before another conscious thought passed through his mind.

As his six shots passed through the cloud of dust and smoke, Ithiel had his next thought. Obyn's an idiot.

Five more shots later, it occurred to him to think again. Why am I wasting bullets for this guy?

[Hawkins Grime]

And then the slug rounds impacted with Grime's chest. The armor was enough to at least stop, if not deflect the rounds that collided with Grime's exoskeleton. He stumbled backwards, suddenly caught out of pace as pain raced throughout the left side of his body. The sheer momentum was enough to make the impact a jarring experience and if not for the plated exoskeleton, Grime would've been in a much worse disposition.

But Grime was physically hendered, the added degree of pain only seemed to fuel the furnace of imbittered emotions that was Grime as he lowered his sword, with an amount of relief, and people started to set on fire. The air was so thick around Grime, anyone who neared an unseen radius felt the wave of heat surround the tall man with the pale face. Hawkins' face actually conveyed a sliver of emotion, a perfect line between his eyebrows to signify some form of concentration or frustration. In Grime's case they were practically the same thing.

A Rodian fell over where he stood, clutching his head that had melted his small brain beneath rubbery skin. One of Obyn's boys lunged forward, some fashion of halberd in his hands, but stopped his advance as soon as his arms caught on fire. Grime could see it all happening, and he was deriving an amount of pleasure out of it, vengeful pleasure, as the dark abyss reached out from its usual confines to devour everything else in the fires of Hawkin's soul. Grime just wished he had some measure of control over it. His thoughts were too jarred by the pain, and the suffering and hatred of everything, of existence, was overwhelming and put his mind at disarray.

One man took aim at Grime with his blaster pistol and pulled the trigger; the pistol exploded as the converter overheated upon use.

[Ithiel Malchiel]

As things began catching of fire everywhere near him, the survival instincts that most rational thought blots out and usually fails to save the average human from imminent death kicked in, no rational thought to stop them. One more shot and Ithiel watched with complete stoicism as the bullet burst into flames and melted as it neared the figure in the middle of the circle of flames. This was clearly not a time for wasted bullets.

Follow orders to the letter.

That was one of Ithiel's core values.

Never die for a client

Was another.
And yet, Ithiel hesitated to leave entirely. This circle of flames, certainly not the most bizarre thing he had ever seen, was nonetheless intriguing. Perhaps it would be worth his while to stay a little longer-not as an active participant, but as an observer.

[Morrolan e'Drein]

As Ithiel's shots tore through the center of the room, Morrolan shuffled himself forward and left, finding himself conveniently placed behind a strong wooden crate. An absolutely filthy crate, but a good crate nonetheless.

As he admired the wonderfully built shipping container, one of the Obyn boys suddenly interjected his skod of a face into Morrolan's vision. This sudden interruption earned him a thin palm-length blade in the left eye. The creature's body continued it's forward motion and fell heavily onto e'Dreins left shoulder. The extra weight soon found itself on the floor, and it's freshly unholstered blaster found itself commandeered by the pointy-handed human.

Morrolan stood quickly and slid towards the center of the room, blaster in front of him in his left hand, and a long dart in his right palm.

As he neared Grime, he felt licks of heat wash over his right forearm, face, and neck. He didn't place much thought into it.

The blaster felt bulky and cumbersome in his hand, and he let a couple or three shots hail aimlessly in the general direction of a Boy to the right of Obyn. The figure fell. He looked to the right, noticed someone a tad bit close to his boss, and let the dart fly with a loping underhand swing. It raced to it's target, sliding gracefully through the human's neck, letting a beautiful tracery of blood write itself on the cold durasteel floor.

Grime's influence had taught him the beauty of such a death, and Morrolan felt proud for creating such a masterful work of art.

Then his right sleeve started smoldering, and he spun right to face the armored figure. He gazed upon Grime's profile, a wall of shimmering heat bathing his towering form.

[Hawkins Grime]

Obyn... Obyn...

The obese, slab of flesh with a brain grasped his head with his fat fingers. The gold and jewelry that was pierced and hung to the flesh jingled as his body shook on its large dias. The voice in his head was... drilling into his mind. The blasted heat in the room, the dying cries of those around him, the anger of all those dying for seemingly no reason, it was all nothing compared to that voice.

Because Obyn knew who that voice belonged to and he was dead.

=======

CENSORED entered the small store with a smile that sent a shiver down the humble butcher's spine.

"I heard you are the man."

"Me, sir?"

"Yeah, you are Obyn the butcher, right?"

"Why, yes sir, that'd be me, welcome to Obyn's Deli."

"You have been doing fairly well for yourself Mr. Obyn, so I've heard. Do you know who I am?"

"Uh well, yes, yes sir, I believe I know who ya are..."

"Good, then we won't have to go through that introduction then. Well, I'd like to hire you, Mr. Obyn."

"Oh, well, uh, that's alrigh', sir, I'm just a... just an average fellow tryin' to make his way, if ya know what I mean, sir."

"But you've already done some small jobs for the jewelry business, and you said you'd always be available for them."

The jewelry business was slang for the Hutt syndicates.

"I'm only asking you to come work for me now, I work for the jewelry business. I promise you, if you're a man who can turn a profit by taking out trash like you do, then we'll work great together. I'll make sure you're well taken care of, you got any kids?"

"Uh, why yes sir, I got myself 13."

"By the stars, my man, you do know how to turn a profit, you've made your own work force..."

Obyn the Butcher worked under CENSORED for five years until he turned a greater profit by assisting Hyddijjer in the conspiracy to counter CENSORED's conspiracy against Guula the Hutt which resulted in the very painful and untimely end of CENSORED all together and a nice juicy promotion in the underworld for Hyddijjer and anyone who helped him along the way.

=======

Obyn, you piece of slime, I've come to collect your gluttonous soul and roast it on its way to the Abyss... I'm sending your sons with you... Obyn... You... Obyn... You helped put me... him... at the very bottom of the...

"Then just stay there!"

Obyn actually rolled off the top level of the dias, stumbling on stubby appendages in an attempt to actually get up and move. That voice was coming from inside his head!

He... couldn't still be alive! One never crossed the Hutts, ever, even if you could kill them, the others would come after you. But he, against all odds, had tried, and that said something. That said if you ever crossed him, and he lived to say something about it, you'd never cross nobody again. The thing was, he wasn't supposed to have lived.

That smoldering figure, was that him?! It was walking closer. He saw two of his boys just ignite right in front of him. Another one, his head just popped like a zit, and there was Fyb over there, he'd done gone and shot himself in the face with his own blaster. But... that black figure, practically on fire, just wouldn't stop...

This is no bloody dream, butcher. I... he... practically brought you into this new life... And look at how you repaid me... him...

The wall of heat and flame seemed to part like water, the black armored figure stepped forward to the now kneeling sphere of lard that was Obyn. A hand shot out from behind the cape that draped from the armored figure's spiked shoulders and siezed the butcher turned small time mob boss by the throat.

"I am going to drape your skin... across the floor like carpet, and throw your lard... into the sewers, maybe... that'll clean it up a bit... I'll split your limbs where I know it hurts..."

The armored figure shook with strained effort to lift Obyn with one hand to his feet by his neck and they locked eyes.

"No... No... You! YOU!"

Obyn's skin bubbled and hissed suddenly, his eyes watered and his tongue blistered. Smoke rose from where the armored hand met his neck and pain was unleashed upon Obyn. To say that pain was simply unleashed upon Obyn is an understatement. Hawkins Grime took his own painful existence, and the memories that of a torture that felt like it belonged to a man long dead, and transplanted that... sensation into Obyn's head as if a moon sized meteor had just collided with Coruscant.

[Morrolan e'Drein]

The man's screams brought everyone else to a standstill. Morrolan shot an emotionless glance back to Ithiel, who stood just outside the doorway.

Grime had Obyn off the ground now, his toes just barely scraping the floor. He hung with eyes wide open, jaw almost unhinged in the shriek of someone who's soul was being reft from their body.

The sound tore at Morrolan's ears. His head was starting to hurt from the vile smelling room already, but this was certainly no relief. He looked once more over the room, then turned and walked towards the door. As he neared the exit he realized the overly large blaster was still in his possession, and a small toss replaced it next to the corpse of it's owner.