[ISBI] Harbinger: Canidate #1

[Hoo Onasi]

1 Year and 5 months AE

Paper work.

Birdwatcher.

The two terms didn't go together. Yet, the agent was locked in a dark, dreary room, at a desk, thumbing through files. Hoo Onasi had years of experience. His resume was co-signed by the highest officials. The former, late, Emperor could give him a letter of recommendation, but somehow he had gotten stuck filing papers. Worst of all, the man didn't see the big purpose. Often the problems with employers are that they don't understand the gravity of their assignments - they simply do their job. Something Agent Onasi was quite familiar with, but the dynamics were different when the Emperor was calling the shots.

See, this black haired man, with holes from discarded face-piercings, with pale skin, in that dark, dreary room, at a desk thumbing through files, was part of a secret organization - "Emperor's Eyes". Most of the other men and women involved in one of those secret organizations had been quieted, or forgotten in the years since the wise man had fallen by the hands of those vile Rebels in a cheap-shot assault, but not Hoo.

No, he stuck around.

He was quieted, though. Agent Onasi was silenced by the COMPNOR. They were more powerful than any lightning shooting from a wrinkly man's hands. They were more persuading than the sensation of gasping for air for no apparent reason, beside a man across the room gesturing with his hand. COMPNOR were sly. Their tactics were different. They weren't direct. They manipulated.

How, one might ask. Well, with freedom as a bargaining chip of course. Even as Agent Onasi pushed about the papers, he could recall running through the Coruscanti streets from COMP Forces. Puddles were splashed by his feet, he was panting, he was sweating - it was horrible. All of it was for not, though, because he got caught. He was tortured. Then, he was "re-educated"....

And he was there, in that dark, dreary room, at a desk, thumbing files, for another worthy candidate.

"Hmm...hmm...Mmhmm..."

[James Flint]

Hallways are tiring and disturbing. Long, winding, plain; there are no distractions. They exist just to lead a man to a destination. This is, however, not a study on architecture; at least not an examination of structure on buildings. This is a study of the infrastructure of the mind. Deep in the halls of the Imperial Center - that large building - walked an officer. Years experience followed him. Each step of his was mounted with weight, and sturdiness. He swayed with his step, ruggedly. There was no grace, there was no flourish, he simply trotted like the soldier he was.

James Flint, a COMP Force officer, with a track record covered with accomplishments. On Kalaan he had handled hovertanks, and troopers alike. Flint aided on Tatooine in the Second Battle. He encountered Luke Skywalker on Abridon during their Second Battle. Many of the sieges on the Outer Rim planets were under his track sheet.

He was a force of nature, and embodiment of the COMPNOR's ideology: loyal. Sent by the Select Committee, he had come to the Imperial Center for one purpose. Flint was there to personally assist in the operation for Sub-Adult Group recruitment. At first glance, the mission was obviously below him. Recruitment could easily be an inside a job for the SAG, but the details made it too big.

Since the Emperor had died and the Empress became his successor, there was an elegance taken up in the ranks. Behaviors changed amongst all the political officials to maintain a sense of classiness. The Empire had become more presentable, liberal, or at least those were the thoughts of Flint as he walked the halls. Private thoughts, one's he wouldn't dare share with anyone outside of his department, or this ISB agent. There had been a lot of rumors circling the newly appointed agent's name. Rumors that did not speak so highly of the ISB agent's past.

The storied COMP enforcer did not get in that chit-chatter much, but this was a delicate assignment, which would more than likely test his skills, as well as his patience - so he needed to know a bit. With one hand holding the datapad, cased with the entire dossier, he reached for the door's identification pad.

Handprints verified, he stood back, and watched it open.

Time for Business...

[Hoo Onasi]

"Ahh...Finally," Hoo stood up. His hands went behind his back. Agent Onasi suddenly, got militant.

"Here to pick up the slack, are we?" The words flew out his mouth casually, despite his abrupt change in demeanor. Hoo smiled - nearly smirked, his lips were twitching - holding back a smug laugh.

[James Flint]

Only a blink indicated his disapproval. Flint stood at attention. He stared at the man. Already, he had duly noted the content on the work desk. Files had been sprawled out.

It was laughable that they forced the man to work with paper, albeit Flint held the same information in his datapad. The COMP liked to do little things to aggravate, cause stress, on specific subjects. Flint was wise to the game. He played it. And he played it well.

"Have you found a canidate, sir?" The COMP enforcer remained militant, in voice, and in posture.

[Hoo Onasi]

Yes, that was what the Agent was stuck in that room for, to find a canidate. The requirements were long. For one, they had hold an exceptional rap sheet. Albeit that wasn't all too specific, there was certain parameters that exceptional worked under.

"Such as a canidate with big name?" The agent perked up. Head down, he calmly, and smoothly, circled the desk like a prey. Hand running across the wood, more than likely built by the harden hands of Wookiee on their home planet, or some other inferior species, Hoo Onasi felt for something real.

Turning his head, he stared at the militant man with devilish eyes. He began to stress his words, "Or...an easy puppet?"

[James Flint]

Puppet was the right word. Everyone under the strings of the Empire was one. Some were weaker, and less in control of their will. Those were the fools. Those were the unloyal, handled by their emotions, and out of control themselves. Then, there were the men like James Flint, who were strong, aware, and loyal by choice and understanding.

Flint blinked again.

"You understand the magnitude of this operation, Agent Onasi. You know what is asked of you. Dont you?" He stayed put at the door, watching the man move about his desk.

[Hoo Onasi]

He laughed. The laugh subsided a bit. There was deadpan silence underneath. He looked crazy laughing like that, but he did it anyway - intentionally.

"I do," he chuckled some more, "I do."

Turning his back to the enforcer, he pushed around the papers. He grabbed three folders.

"Come get it."

[James Flint]

James' hands unlocked behind his back. The wide stand he had, shorten, as he waltz over. Only two paces from, he stopped, holding out his hand. Without a word, he glared at the man.

Hoo Onasi seemed to be playing games. That was one thing Flint did not do.

[Hoo Onasi]

Hoo stepped forward, waving the folder. Only stopping a breath from James' face, he opened the folders, nearly slapping the man in the face. With a sly grin, he began to read:

"Mr. Nisi, mechanic, 21 years old in standard years. Culture Case #F.O. Updated -- 2 weeks ago."

He looked over the folder at James. "To be exterminated." Flippantly, he tossed the file aside, opening to another. "Ahh...Is this who you are looking for, Agent Flint?" Onasi bent the folder to be seen, but only from upside down. Happily, the former Emperor Eyes agent was being obnoxious.

[James Flint]

"The orders call for one of prestige."

He looked down at the sheet without turning his head. He pointed forward, with his hands once again behind his back.

"That is a common criminal."

[Hoo Onasi]

"Yep!"

The agent smiled a big smile, and turned the file around for a better read. "Download it, copy it - do whatever you wish, sir!" Hoo Onasi pushed the folder into James chest, nodding.

"But that is our guy."

[James Flint]

A wildly deep frown pushed up against Flint's lips as he stared down at the smaller man. Once more, he was sizing the man up. He looked capable. The files said he was, but for a second he doubted the data. Instincts were boiling in. All the years on the field demanded he take the confrontational attitude up, and attack. Behind the snarl that was forming, James was festering and fussing, trying to find the perfect words for a retort. So, he stood there quietly for a second, taking it in. The files dropped infront of him as Hoo Onasi released them from his vice grip. Flint's eyes shot down, but his head didn't move. It was like he was in basic training, taking the wraith of his superior's spitting demands.

As always, he remained militant, stout, and strong. Despite the shake of his anger, he stood up straight. His back was lined up perfectly, almost so that he could be pressed up against the wall and not lose his spacing. The snarl on his lips began to fade as he lifted his gaze and stared at the man's head. He was shorter, probably weaker. If he wanted, James Flint could take him, or so he believed.

Instead of swinging, he snorted. The stress flew out of him as he exhaled, and bent over to pick up the files.

"This canidate is only 19," he read, while piling the papers underneath one another. "What would he be able to do?"

Flint stood, folding the folder underneath his arm as he returned to his strong stance.

[Hoo Onasi]

Hoo did not blink as the man shook. Flint did not scare him. The agent had seen worst. Even in his short time as an ISB agent, he had encountered many of the military units spread throughout the Imperial Center. They were all formidable, but not fearsome.

True fear had been injected in him in high doses as an underling of the Emperor. That great man wield the very essence of tumultous power every time Hoo Onasi had met him in his dark, omnious chambers as an Emperor Eyes. Emperor Palpatine's presence was like a vaccine to any mortal fears. He held a might to marvel, and to face it like Onasi had was to truly become strong within. At least that was how the agent felt. The wild smile of his didn't even fade as Hoo realized the CompForce operative was sizing him up.

"More than most," He retorted. Hoo twirled about on the heel of his boots, slowly treading across the floor back to his chair. "More than probably you."

The agent stopped short of the desk, his hand on it, as he turned back around to face James Flint. He leaned up against the Kashyyk wood, his arms crossed.

"He could be a face..."

[James Flint]

"A face," James raised his brow.

"What do you mean?"

[Hoo Onasi]

Hoo stared at him for a moment. Silence sinked in. The brows on the man lowered. The smile of his was decease. His nose lifted. Agent Onasi looked smug. In a studious gaze, he examined the enforcer and his question like foreign objects.

"Anyone part of COMPNOR knows exactly what I mean..."

[James Flint]

James listened with one ear, and read over the files with his two eyes. The other ear was preoccupied with depth of the silence in the room. An obvious distance had grown between the two. A distance that was meant to be breached between their interaction, and remained one of the purposes of the very meeting, yet James Flint didn't seem at all phased by the matter physically. The silence that his face was written in, the dormant thoughts that festered in his mind, were well placed for the corporal interaction.

The juvenille insults, pompous behavior, he was above it all. Yet as the urgency of the interaction died, and the questions began to be answered, James' mind wandered into the eternity of the data. While the COMPNOR were a truly refined, elegant, challenging organization, they were never indecisive. The canidate was. Life had most definately become a distraction for the man, and his goals. Albeit there hadn't been a single interaction between the two, there was a general disgust and disapproval that was fixed in his mind as he read the name. He could remember the constant feeds on his misbehavior, and disgruntled acts. James had some vague recollectioni of the man being a deviant of all kinds; a trouble that the trillion of Sub-Adult Groups spralwed throughout the galaxy most certainly did not ideally seek to follow.

Yet, James was a man of wide array of experiences. In the time that he had worked along side the COMPNOR and military, he had seen the face of many planets, and a vast amount of cultures. The amount of languages he could speak in was beyond 10, all on the account that he needed it for interaction between officals. Such experiences widen his scope, and political understanding, allowing to visualize the importance of such a deviant. Even the weak, the lame, could be change by the hands of the Empire.

"I see," James finally said in a hushed, deep voice. The words were not so much for Hoo Onasi and his devilish, smug grin, and certainy, but for the appreciation of the Select Committee's grasp of the galaxy. The puzzle pieces of the operation were coming together in his mind, the New Order's demographic was changing to hold a balancing temper in the wake of the Emperor's death.

People were waivering without a man to look to for their faith and loyalty. Even amid the SAGroup ranks, the Recruitment Branch was having a harder time doing their job, inspite the incentives that the parents were given. Danger had become associated with the New Order, and to encompass that, own that, in a specific figure would require the same intensity that the danger evoked.

"So this little star is our best choice?"

[Hoo Onasi]

At the core, Onasi was in disagreement with the whole process. Before he was assigned to the selection assignment, his intel had displayed a severe amount of distrust in the operation. Agents he had befriended in his recent re-assignment held the same unwaivered loyalty to the Empire that the COMPNOR had, but also the same experience with the COMPNOR's way of handling their personnel. Each day on the Imperial Center was occupied with political shifts, moves, and daily gripes that most of the officers could empathize in when they got over their need to be pompous pricks.

Word had circled their group that the operation was apart of a larger project. The selection was not simply a string of single-handed events, and manufactured happenings - this canidate was for the long-haul. The prospects intrigued Hoo Onasi. Anytime he was given work, his expectations were grand, in spite of the fact that most of his idealistics views had been trampled on during his apprenticeship.

If the job was to be done, it would be at the benefit of the whole organization. Hoo Onasi was accustom to such value as an out-sourced agent in the hands of Palpatine, so in this case with the COMPNOR, he let his record do the talking. When he finally approached the executes on the assignment about his suspicions, he was clued in, aware, and given more responsibility - just as he liked it.

James Flint was simply a pawn, an enforcer amidst the paper-work that Hoo Onasi so candidly had to push around. However, this project's objective was bestowed upon him, and Onasi had no interest in changing canidates. Between Flint's words, and the silence Onasi emitted with surety, the agent unfolded his arms and plopped himself in the seat.

"Flint, Flint, Flint...Let me explain something to you." Hoo pushed up against the back of his seat, crossing his legs on top the desk. "Stars are born, not bred. I've read your files. In the time you've spent collecting chevrons and medals, you have yet to expand into the Stormtrooper Corps. Know why?"

The smug sneer Hoo Onasi was known for smeared across his face without the slightest restraint. In the compacted room, tiled with white floors and closed in with pale walls, Onasi's dark eyes popped and pierced like a sharp dagger at Flint.

"...Because you aren't worthy. You don't wield the genes required. Recently they have taken a liken to men, and even women, of certain archetypes and you don't fit the bill. That face fits the bill."

Hoo Onasi motioned with his eyes, looking over Flint's shoulder at the door. Footsteps could be heard walking down the hall. The echo bounced through. Onasi looked back at Flint, feinting surprise.

[Olivia Shañ]

BROWN BOOTS BEAT and thud as the two feet thud between the clinical white halls of the Imperial Palace. Agents crowded, watching the woman blur pass as they chattered and gawked. Their eyes trailed up her long, strong, legs that were put on display in black leggings. Workers grinned silly grins, but wouldn’t dare advance her. She looked busy, with her gloved hands and armless top. Brunette and shapely, with a mocha face dotted by freckles, the news anchor sashayed with valor and surety surprising for her twenty years. A lightsaber hung from her belt with a packed holster. Around her neck sat goggles. Rumors and whispers were bound to Olivia Shañ.

At the core of her being, however, she struggled. Special Agent Khaowan Tarbea’s pledge did not keep her any less uneasy being delivered by hologram from the other side of the galaxy.

“The High Council vows Olivia Shañ’s operations classified.”

The warranty had calmed her, but Olivia knew better than to trust so easily. The last thing she wanted to do was to express the resentment and terror she felt in front of the Coalition.

“Tell her why,” said ISB Agent Hoo Onasi, standing at her side with hands folded firmly behind him. He was a half a head shorter than Olivia but radiated a doughty sense of self, Even via holoprojector, he made Khaowan Tarbea, an accomplished Zabrak with chevrons adorn, shift uncomfortably in his seat.

“We—that is, the Coalition—regard your Operatives objectives as incomplete.”

Olivia fluttered her eyes, calmly. “What do you mean, Agent Tarbea?”
Her superior silenced her with a gentle touch at the forearm, stepping forward. “She has trained under me and maintain her conversion as an anchor,” he assured the Coalition.

“I am certain the Mission Report will fill the details.”

“An operation is an operation. It can’t be half-way done,” said the distant advisor.

“There are no exceptions, even for you two.”

Agent Hoo nodded her acceptance of the decision. Olivia bit her tongue. He said he understand her, and the pressure she had gained with her double-lives, so why did he not overrule the decision? He didn’t have to submit to the Council, he could pull strings. If she weren’t his operative, would he have spoken up for her then?

Her unsettled feelings were not hidden as well as she would have liked.

“Your lack of self-control reveals itself, but Onasi will be there,” said Khaowan to her in an unyielding voice. “There is no need to remind you of the recent events with Professor Bijou regarding the policies of the Imperial Board of Culture. We may work outside of their jurisdiction when in the field, but when on-air and as the face of the Imperial Holovision, this causes strife. Strife we don’t need. Do you understand?”

Olivia bowed his head, kneeling. She would’ve taken the whole moment back. That slippery chauvinist was after more than just expressing his opinion when he’d slithered up to her and flattered her with praise on the job. When the Rebellion had taken Bothawui, it had only displayed how weak the Galactic Empire had grown in certain sectors. Ever since then, supply chains were re-enforced, but strained. Olivia was right to contest, and proclaim the Imperial Board of Culture’s policies were a corrupt mess, putting the billions of soldier’s lives at risk from something much worse than war—undernourishment, ailments disillusionment---simply didn’t count in some circles.

Special Agent Tarbea sinister countenance softened. “You are a natural, cunning. I emphasize. Know that Hoo Onasi has spoken very strongly in favor of you for a long time. In all respects, but this one do we defer to his judgment. He cannot sway our combined decision, but he has drawn our attention. Soon your progress will be rewarded, and your life will return to some normalcy. We will be watching your developments very, very closely, with high hopes.”

The holoconference had ended there, and Olivia felt the same conflicted emptiness in the depth of the Imperial Center’s halls as he had then. Normalcy? High hopes? The Coalition was playing a game with her life—or so it felt—batting her backward and forward like a rancor in a pit. Would she ever be free to follow her own path? Live like a human?

Agent Onasi understood her feelings better than she did. “Go for a drive,” he had told her, putting a hand on each shoulder and nodding in her gaze long enough to make sure she understood his intentions. He was giving him an opportunity to cool down, not dismissing him. “I need to talk to Director Esalis anyway. Let’s meet later at Sinharan T'sau.”

“Yes, sir.”

And so she went speeding. That was her hobby, she won every time. A week had passed since they met. Days had passed since she got the details. Only moments had distanced her from letting it sink in. And only seconds removed her from the office door. Somewhere inside her, she knew, had to be the strength to rise above this temporary setback, the discipline to bring the last threads of her talent into a unified design. But on this occasion, her instincts were leading her away from stillness, not toward it.

The sound of clatter grew louder as she neared.

Olivia took the lift. The peculiar buzz of the lights and haze of the buildings internal workings flashed around her. Out the window were clusters of agents, operatives, and workers bunched in discussions too serious to decipher from above. The lights flashed fitfully on and off in the levels around her, casting away the shadows that dreadfully clung to her in the shaft. In an abrupt clunk, the lift halted and the door zoomed open. Revealed was a long colorless corridor awaiting her. It was brighten with luminescence.

The strange zing from the lights intensified. She sighed, placing her hands in a clasp behind her back.

This will be it, she told herself. There won’t be anymore.

She treaded down the hall. One hand pulled from her back, then jerk. The door sparked feverishly at the hinges, before jolting wide open for her entrance. A smirk lifted her lips as the thud of her feet stopped as she entered.

[James Flint]

Before the woman stood a tall man with a strong jaw line, flippant light brown hair, quietly astounded; James Flint hadn’t a word. He simply stared. Habit told him to size her up. His eyes finding the blaster oddly placed at her hip, next to an unfamiliar device with a grip.

Heaves of breathes were kept at bay, tunneling them through his nose. Beats tremor under his chest plate – James was not sure if he was facing an enemy or a friend – for his eyes darted to Onasi and saw nothing more than a mocking face.

There was something truly quizzical about the experience so far.

Flint had entered the room, which look more like a dungeon, and had been drawn into a discussion that had baffled him more ways than one. Much of the operation had not been divulged, but he’d rather not indulge on his ignorance. Instead, James preferred to pry the doors open on the moments at hand. The women, in spite her edginess, seemed to be all too familiar. As if he had seen her before.

And with that thought in mind, he asked, coolly, “Who are you?”

[Hoo Onasi]

“Welcome, welcome Atris Ordo,” Onasi continue to smile his crappy smile. He hadn’t the slightest care as the words slipped off his tongue, quite aware the name would ring a bell. More often than not, Atris Ordo was associated with her outspokenness for the progression of the Empire on her holocast and news anchoring position.

Strategy.
“But you should call her Olivia.” He began, “She will be the face of this operation. She will be the brains too. Follow her lead. Enforce her law. She is the COMPNOR, understand?”

He didn’t wait for a snappy comeback, Onasi simply waved his hand and dropped his legs to the floor. Before another heartbeat could set in, and doubt could do its job, he was back to work. Shuffling papers on the desk, he cycled through more names.

[Olivia Shañ]

Olivia was the original candidate. She was suppose to head the redevelopment. She was candidate #1. As she looked at the baffled Comp enforcer, she did not waiver. Her eyes didn’t blink, they only squinted. The way he had studied her, examined her body, sized her up – she did the same. Her analysis brought back no data that he was any threat.

Onasi’s words were short. Even as he digressed to more pressing matters, she calmly turned and bowed her head to him. The mannerism wasn’t prevelant amongst the ranks of the agency, or ISB, nor did she hold any chevrons which identified her rank – but that wasn’t the purpose. She was an underling of his, and that was not simply undone by prowess.

In a sweeping pivot, she darted out the door.

“Follow me…” She said absently. “We have much to do, Agent Flint.”