By Any Means Necessary

[Khendon Sevon]

The man behind the counter pulled hard on his stim, sending bright embers tumbling atop the duraglass. Smoke billowed from his teeth as he spoke, “I don’t think you understand.” His voice was heavily accented. “We’re not speaking the same language, is what Hasseth thinks.”

There was a big grin painted smack dab on his face. It was like a bull’s eye. Khendon brought his fist right into it and felt a satisfying snap, crackle, pop.

Hasseth stumbled backwards with a bark, hand clenching his face tightly. “What!” He hissed as blood ran between his fingers. “Why!”

Then Khendon’s blaster was leveled. “Ahn, ahn, Hasseth. Don’t you reach for it.” There was a twinkle in his mad eye. The one that had grown darker and darker on the day he’d gained his Sith tattoos.

The Executor walked behind the counter and kicked the merchant’s feet out from under him. “No more games,” he growled as he pressed the barrel to his forehead. Fear was etched on the man’s face, a vein bulged through the wrinkles of his visage. “I came out to this gods-forsaken place; got my boots dusty… it wasn’t to hear you say ‘no’, Hasseth.”

He whimpered.

Khendon pistol whipped him squarely on the temple and there was a shriek. “HASSETH.” The mad eye twitched furiously. “I want to hear what I want to hear.”

More muffled cries.

The Sith sighed and slid down next to the man. He let his head rest against the wooden wall and banged it back once or twice. “I can’t help you unless you help me.” He looked, vacantly, at the merchant.

Khendon examined his snub-nosed blaster. “Do you know what this is?” He broke into a grin. “It’s from a small technology company on the rim, FissaTech. Sounds like a fizzy drink, doesn’t it?” He looked at Hasseth and tsk’d. “You’re bleed all over the place, Hasseth. This little beauty,” he nodded at the weapon, “it makes it so there’s no blood.

“Plasma, Hasseth. It’s all about plasma. Burns through flesh, leaving nothing behind. Like a disruptor… but, better. The smell is the same though, it always is. Burnt flesh.” He picked up the dropped stim and puffed at it. “Are we ready to talk?”

The merchant coughed. Then, angrily, “Go frell yourself!”

Khendon shrugged, wantonly aimed the blaster at Hasseth’s leg, and made the appendage disappear in a blaze of snarling fire.

The screaming was horrible.

“There, there, Hasseth.” Khendon pulled the man close to his shoulder. “It’s just a leg.”

[Khendon Sevon]

“What do I want to do?” There was a moment’s thought, then he broke out a wicked smile. “Chaos, of course.”

“Chaos?”

“Yeah, you know, chaos. The creation of disorder from order. Making people afraid of the night again. Blowing things up. Killing. Without reason. Wanton.” He sipped at his coffee, pinky up.

“Wanton… destruction? I. That’s crazy!” The man’s blue eyes were wide with terror and shock. “You’re crazy.”

The café grew still.

“Sit down, you’re disturbing the patrons, Max.” Khendon sank a fork into the pastry, strawberry filling bleeding from his incision. “Try the cavoka cake. It’s to die for.” He pushed the plate across the small table.

“I don’t want any cake, Khendon.”

There was a moment’s pause; then, the Executor kicked the table out and up as he stood, cup in hand. The flat of the table struck Max in the chin, causing him to bite his tongue and fly backwards with the force.

Everyone in the wooden walled café stopped what he or she was doing. A man coughed loudly and uncontrollably while another swore beneath his breath.

“What tha fwell, Khwendon!” Max spat blood, his tongue gauged and already beginning to swell. His face would probably blow up and bruise. “What dwo you hwant?”

Khendon sipped his drink.

“What do I want? You know what I want, Max. And, you know I always get what I want.” That smile again shone, his teeth white and straight.

“Okway, okway!” The man held up his hands defensively. “I don’t hwave it, thwough!”

The Executor laughed lightly. “That’s what Hasseth said.”

Max’s eyes lit up with realization. “Hwassweth?” Like a frightened dog he tried to run, tried to crawl away.

Khendon stepped down on his kneecap in just the right way. He felt the pop through his boot and everyone heard the scream.

The onlookers were mesmerized, unmoving as the Imperial reached down and placed the ugly nose of a wicked looking blaster to the man’s temple.

“You don’t have it, Max?” It was a threat.

“I dwon’t, honest!”

Khendon nodded. “I believe you, Max.” He relaxed his grip on the blaster.

“You dwo?”

“Sure I do, Max. You have no reason to lie. The name, Max.”

“Name?”

Khendon tsk’d. “The name. Tell me who has it.”

No response.

Khendon hit Max in the head once. Then twice. Then again. Over and over as Max tried to block the attacks, tried to fend off the mad man’s strikes.

Someone finally worked up the nerve to walk forward. Khendon’s hand shot out and he waved the blaster. “BACK OFF!”

Max moaned.

“The name, Max!” He growled, “And it’ll all be over.”

There was a mumble.

Khendon knelt. “What was that?”

“Go fwell yourself, Khwendon,” Max spat.


************************

Steam rolled away from the ruined remains, caught in the wind and reached for the heavens. It was a dark, oily smoke, putrid and foul smelling.

“What happened?” asked the officer in shock.

“Terrorists, Inspector. Terrorists. The whole lot.” Khendon cleaned his hands idly with a crimson-stained cloth.

“All of them?” He blinked. “Are you…”

There was a warning look from the Executor. “I’m certain, Inspector. You had a nest of vipers in your peaceful town, didn’t you know? You’d think with a population this small it’d be easy for you, hmm? But, no. You didn’t even know about the poison leaching through your town.”

By then he’d worked up his courage. “But, the Zaviers have been members of our community for—“

“—for long enough to seem safe? They had plans, Inspector. You were all in peril. The Office of the Executor will send you a report with our findings.” Khendon put a bloodied hand on the Inspector’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, you’re not the first.”

He began to walk away, then stopped. “Or the last.”

He smiled to himself. There was that smell again. Charred flesh.

[Khendon Sevon]

Khendon threaded his belt through the loops on his pants, his face smooth as granite, emotionless. His upper body was naked, save for the Sith tattoos that snaked across skin.

“Mmm,” said a silken voice as warm arms wrapped around the Executor. There was a gentle kiss on his neck. “Missed you.”

Khendon fingered the buckle and locked the belt in place. Easily, he shrugged from her embrace. “Don’t lie for my sake, Silvia. You’ll embarrass yourself.”

She feigned hurt then shook her head with a sly smile. “You owe me money, Khendon.”

“Do I? You want creds… for what?” He leaned against a wall and dramatically held up a card.

“Services rendered,” she said as she took a step forward and tried to grab the card. Khendon’s hand moved lightening fast and he grabbed her around the waist.

“Not so fast. I don’t pay for operations that go south.” He buried the credit in a pocket of his black pants.

“Come on, Khendoll.”

He backhanded her and she staggered backwards. “Don’t call me that. Don’t ever call me that.”

She looked at him with wide eyes, rage visible. Silvia walked forward and smacked him loudly.

He smiled and dabbed at the blood that trailed from the long scratch she’d made. “That’s my girl.”

“Pay me for the op, Khendon. I don’t like to get screwed.”

There was that evil grin again.

“Shut up. Just give me my money.”

“Not until the job’s complete.”

“Yeah?” She moved closer to him again, eyes bright and smiling. Her hands were around him. “How do I do that?”

“I know where it is. I know who has it. We’re going to finish this.”

All the affection drained from her face. “What?”

He grinned wickedly. “That’s right, Silvia. I know where it is.”