Vengeance in Death

[Hugo Montegue]

This is a closed thread, but I felt it was important enough to deserve a sexy IMP tag. :mischief

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Rage and shame weighed heavily on the hunter as he slumped over the bar, every shred of the proud soldier's poise stripped from him. All that remained was a bitter, empty husk, filled with bitter disappointment and disgust over what he had done, and what he had become. He knew he was blameless, in a way; and yet he still managed to allow responsibility to rest on himself; angered that he had allowed them to break him to their will with such ease.

Her will. He fought the urge to shudder, draining the last of his glass to drive some simulated warmth into his body. The whiskey burned the back of his throat, but after half a bottle, the sensation was numb. Even so, the alcohol couldn't drive the image from his mind; couldn't hide his thoughts from those hideous, ice green eyes.

The sensation of detatchment pervaded his entire body; even his mind felt numb; his vision felt separated, as if he were staring out though a body that wasn't his. A wince tugged at his eyes; it practically wasn't, anymore. The Empire hadn't just broken him: they'd rebuilt him; reprogrammed his mind. They'd taken a hunter who specialised in the paranormal, the exotic, and the supernatural creatures that inhabited the galaxy - monsters; shifters; Force weilders - and they'd muzzled him: or at least, they'd found a way to target him; to aim him. It was they who had implanted the stomach-twisting rage that flashed through him every time one of them - a knife stabbed twisted in his gut as he thought the name Lupine - crossed his path; crossed his mind, even. It was they who'd programmed him with the desire to kill them, without hesitation or mercy; and without consideration of who or what they were.

It was them who'd programmed him to pull a gun on a child.

Worse, it was them who'd programmed him to want her dead. If it hadn't been for Ravenwing - his mark, ironically - he would have made sure that it happened; he would have hunted that poor infant girl to the ends of the universe, and ripped her apart with his bare hands if he had to.

The glass landed heavily on the table. If it hadn't been for Ravenwing, he'd need more than just cheap booze to take the edge off the memory. It'd take something far more final.

A hand pulled a blaster from his belt; his fingers ran vaguely across the barrel. Maybe it would be easier for everyone if he took that way out anyway. Maybe it would be safer.

He didn't feel the fist connecting with his face; didn't feel his body slam against the floor as his chair pitched backwards. His vision faltered, struggling to focus through the haze at the figure that stood over him, dark features twisted into a snarl. Memories of Chir'daki - the bastard hunter who'd sold him out and into Imperial captivity - flashed through his mind; but this face was different, and there was almost kindness in the eyes that glared at him. He half-felt a scruff of his shirt being grabbed, haulling him roughly to his feet. He didn't fight back; didn't need to.

"Amaros," he said, his words slurred, not just by the alcohol, but by the conflicted emotions that marred his voice. A moment of sobriety washed over him; he managed to turn eyes, filled with pained anguish, to look directly into those of his Mandalorian friend. "Kill me," he said, weakly. "Please."

[Amaros Koine]

He threw the hunter down into the next chair over, his features twisted in disgust; but in truth, the expression was forced, constructed to hide the pure shock at Hugo's request. While his relationship with Hugo was hardly deep and intimate, they had a mutual respect and friendship forged under fire, and he had seen Hugo at his worst, many times. Those kinds of experiences let you see into the very soul of a person, and not only did Amaros respect Hugo like a brother; he knew him to be one of the most unwaveringly brave people he had encountered: practically Mandalorian in that regard.

The very notion of suicide was uncharacteristic in its cowardice; and that only served to drive home how grave the situation really was.

He glanced across to Mace Riko; the old clone had summoned him as soon as Hugo and Ecks had returned from their mission together. Nicknamed for his affinity for reconnaissance back when he had served in the Grand Army of the Republic, Riko had stayed true to stereotype in observing without interfering; Amaros could see now that the trooper had been right to call for back-up. Hunters drinking wasn't unusual. Hell, Hugo drinking wasn't unusual; he'd been so much dren in his life that a little emotional blackness from time to time was hardly a surprise. But this was something new. Something worse.

He folded his arms sternly across his chest. "Tell me everything," he commanded. And Hugo did. The hunter told him about his time spent enjoying the Empire's hospitality; about the woman; about the torture. He didn't go into details. He didn't need to. From the pain and strain in his voice, Amaros could guess just how severe it had been: he knew just how much Hugo was tough enough to take. Then the hunter told him about Sullust: told him about the routine job to track down a smuggler and how something - programming - had kicked in, driving him to act with scant control over his own limbs. Amaros could hear the disgust in Hugo's voice. Both men were fathers, and Amaros knew how important Hugo considered that responsibility: turning a gun on a child - even a mutated freak child - went against every fibre of the man's being.

Hugo fell silent; Amaros considered his words, and his actions very carefully. He grabbed the bottle that Hugo had been carefully draining, and hurled it across the bar, letting it shatter into pieces against the wall. His voice escaped him in a deep growl. "If you were any other man, I would kill you where you stand." His eyes narrowed. "But I do not believe it is you who deserves to die."

[Hugo Montegue]

A laugh escaped Hugo, but it was the fractured laugh of a broken man. His voice, when it emerged, was equally shattered. "I don't even know her name," he criticised, slumping down against the seat into which he'd been dumped. "I don't even know what planet they held me on."

He sighed, toying idly with his empty glass. It was hopeless. Justice, or vengeance, or whatever it was that he craved and Amaros proposed, was out of his reach. His lip curled in a snarl at the container, angered by the lack of alcohol to numb and dull his mind.

"What you suggest is impossible," he said, utterly defeated.

[Amaros Koine]

"We could attempt to hunt down Atton Kira," he posed.

From the way Hugo tensed, he could tell that the hunter didn't like that particular plan. Amaros couldn't blame him. Three years ago it had been Atton Kira who had - with the aid of the bounty hunter Chir'daki - lured them into the trap that had sold Hugo into Imperial custody. Amaros had been spared, to a degree, and Atton viewed it as a favour that he didn't kill him, though the Mandalorian saw scant difference: Atton had left him - naked, unarmed, and unconscious - in one of the seedier suburbs of Nar Shaddaa; tantamount to a death sentence, if you weren't the kind of warrior formidable enough to slay your enemies with your bare hands.

Despite their past experiences with the man, Amaros knew however that he was one of the more effective information brokers in the galaxy. If anyone could help them find out who this mystery woman was, it would either be Atton, or someone that Atton could direct them to, for the right price.

He chose his words carefully once more. "We already know that he cannot be trusted. He will not catch us unawares again."

[Mace Riko]

Mace had stood in silent observation, ensuring by his threatening presence that no undesired arrivals would invade their quiet corner of the bar. He couldn't help but feel compelled to speak at that moment however; to point out a short-sighted flaw in the tactics the two humans proposed.

"I believe you are thinking too small," he explained, stepping closer to their table. "On Ruhe, when a beast attacks you and strikes you with it's paw; you do not turn around and hack off that paw. Instead, you slice off the beast's head."

He hesitated, brow furrowing. "You were a servant of the Republic, Hugo," he stated, recalling what Amaros had informed him about the hunter: a Senate Commando whose wife had turned out to be a Jedi in disguise; and who'd spent most of his life up until now fighting 'monsters' and creatures, to keep the innocent people of the galaxy safe. While many bounty hunters were somewhat mercenary in their application of morals, he had come to regard Hugo as an honest and, for the most part, righteous man.

"Palpatine murdered the Republic when he gave birth to his Empire. Since then, that vile creation has claimed thousands upon thousands of innocent lives - Ghorman; Alderaan; everyone hunted and mercilessly slain as 'Jedi' during his Purge." Riko shook his head. "The Rebellion cut the head from the serpent at Endor, but they were too weakened by the fight to finish the job, and it regrew. They are stronger now. What greater vengeance could there be than toppling the entire corrupt regime that slighted you?"

[Hugo Montegue]

Hugo remained silent at first, staring wordless at the printed weave that added texture to the durasteel table. His fingers still toyed with the glass as he contemplated Riko's words. "Kill the Empress?" he echoed.

Riko's words had been profound - surprising, given the clone's typically stoic nature. In truth, his sense of patriotism held little sway over Hugo; he'd long ago ceased to care about politics, and his quest to save the galaxy from exotics and supernaturals was more about exercising vengeance than it was about protecting the innocent. Never the less, his eyes flicked upwards as he inverted the glass, placing it open-end downwards upon the tabletop. The vaguest hint of a smile crept onto his lips, and the fire of will that had been extinguished within him began to burn again behind his eyes. "I could go for that."

He folded his arms across his chest, frowning as he gave the notion due consideration. The odds would be against then, and the situation would be grim; they'd need a plan, and a good one. One did not simply walk into the Imperial Palace, pull a blaster on the Empress, and walk out of there alive. And while Hugo had no qualms about a one way mission such as that - not in his current state, at least - it would take more than him alone to succeed, and he wouldn't lead anyone else to their deaths: the Clone Wars had given him his fill of that.

"This won't be easy," he warned, easing himself warily to his feet; he stumbled, and Amaros caught him. "And I've had far too much of that damned whiskey." Gingerly, he shrugged off the hand of stability that Amaros offered. "We'll talk more in the morning," he finished, and then without another word, collapsed into a drunken heap on the floor.

[Amaros Koine]

Amaros sighed, shoulders slumping in resignation to the fact that, not for the first time, he would be forced to carry Hugo Montegue to his quarters. Still, they had - for the moment at least - instilled a little purpose into his life, and dragged him back from the brink of the blackness he had been about to fall into.

He crouched low, heaving the drunken hunter onto his shoulders; as he rose, he managed to fire a questioning look towards the clone commando that he'd trained so many years ago. "I don't remember political assassination being one of the standard tactics we taught back on Kamino," he muttered.

[Mace Riko]

A faint laugh was breathed from the clone, memories of thirty years ago rekindled in his mind. "Since when could anything you taught us be considered standard?"

Those were different times back then; times when the only family he'd known had been his squad, before he'd been stranded on Ruhe; before he'd gone and developed a life for himself there. It had been simpler then, back when he was just a Sergeant, following Darven's orders, scouting, shooting, and having all the decisions made for him.

Now, he was a changed man; an old man; and a father. He hoped he was a better individual for it; a wiser one, at least. But though with old age came wisdom, for the clone there came other problems too. Bred as soldiers - organic alternatives to the droids of the Separatists - it had been necessary to ensure that troopers were mature and ready for combat as quickly as possible. Even with special treatments to slow the accelerated aging process, Riko could feel his body beginning to deteriorate and decay, and he knew that it would not be long before it gave out on him completely.

One last mission, he thought, whistful romance swelling his lungs as he thought of experiencing the sensation of proper combat again. One more, and then I can retire in peace to my fields and my family, and while away the last of my days being the grumpy old man I see in the mirror each morning.

"Until the morning, old friend," he said, throwing a curt nod in the direction of the Mandalorian. And then, mind settled with contentment, he left Amaros and his luggage, and set off back towards his bunk.