Restless Hunger (Sybella)

[Yawgmoth The Devourer]

Nar Shaddaa.

The claw tip of a reinforced gauntlet rapped impatient against the surface of the table. It clearly grated on the nerves of the few patrons brave enough to remain in the bar. All the flashing lights and rhythmic music could not mask their discomfort. Each one was incredibly involved in their drinks, eyes down, not daring to look around or move, lest they attract attention to themselves. He did not even hide himself in a corner, opting instead to sit in the very middle of the Rancor's Head like he owned the place. His telltale black armor, white skeletal mask, and impressive height were all parts of a story told by spacers, and now he was sitting in the room with them all.

The Ruthless Space Pirate Yawgmoth the Devourer.

In truth he had no allies here, or anywhere, and there were more than a few on this planet that might want their revenge, but few would ever be so bold. Yawgmoth was a fairy tale, a boogeyman of the space ways. You never knew if he was real until the Queen of Blades was raiding your vessel or pillaging your town. They said he raided Imperial and Alliance ships alike, without discrimination. Very few would find the bravery to intentionally set foot in the same place as the fabled monster. He was not a fool. He was armed, and his crew was nearby in case anyone tried to interrupt his meeting.

He was waiting, sitting at his table, without food or drink. It was impossible to enjoy either with his mask in place. He had gone through the proper channels, through darknet infochants and black market contacts to reach out to a very particular assassin that he had heard much about; Sybella. It was not often that he required anything beyond the capabilities of his own crew. He had a particular style of shock, awe, and wholesale slaughter that rarely required something more nuanced. Times change, and tactics must be adjusted when you rest your eye on a much bigger prize.

[Sybella]

"He's just sitting there."

Sybella's pale silver-blue eyes narrowed upon the man that had come stumbling out of the Rancor's Head. She loitered in an alley across from the appointed venue, picking at the flecking lacquer on her nails while her half-Umbaran sight calculated the informant's escalated bmp; the effects of long term spice use and a run in with the galaxy's very own boogeyman. To say she had been surprised when the summons had come through her very exacting channels was an understatement. Mavra had always said that curiosity was a dangerous thing and considering the debacle with Gunnar Dryden that had taken place earlier that week, she should be more cautious.

Ah, well...

"Any weapons on his person?" She asked in a silky monotone, her question prompting a brief inspection of the subtle armaments adorning her own person. The informant gulped noticeable as her fingers grazed the blaster strapped to her thigh.

"I didn't see anything. He's just sitting there, all right? Now, you'll tell Mavra, right? You'll tell her I helped?"

"Helped is such an overstatement. Run along, I'm done with you." She hissed and the informant did just that, skittering out of the alley faster than one could blink. The high settled ponytail she wore was adjusted and the single-strip visor, crimson in hue, that lay across her eyes was activated. Curious, she was, but caution need not be forsaken. She never went anywhere without an escape route charted and a death trap awaiting those foolish enough to pursue.

But a few moments later, she was stepping over the threshold of the Rancor's Head, her nose wrinkling in distaste at the stale alcohol smell that permeated the environment. She moved with the utmost grace toward his table, dropping into a chair across from him. She tilted her head, raking her stare across the black clad figure that had called her here. No formal garb for her, this evening. She was dressed for a job, skin tight body suit hugging her womanly curves. She crossed her legs beneath the table, lofting a brow at him.

"You called?"

[Yawgmoth The Devourer]

His excessive tapping finally came to an end as the slim figure entered through the front door. As she sat down the clawed point dug into the tabletop as he raked it across the surface; leaving a horrible scar in it's path.

"You come highly recommended." He said, his voice distorted by the plastoid mask that hid his face. Straightening up in his seat it became apparent even from his sitting position that he was quite tall. Thick armor plates underneath his long black coat hid what may be an otherwise thin body. It was difficult to tell. There were so many layers.

"They say you're the best since Sabak retired. I have a job and a lot of credits. I need to know; what are your limitations?"

He had many things in mind as plans came together. An experienced sniper was not something he counted among his ever growing crew and it was a necessity to the outcome he desired. Sabak could have been his first choice. After all, they had a rich history together that involved many jobs done together but also bitter words and shared bullets. Sabak was now retired after his knee never recovered from Yawgmoth shooting him in it. Now he was a crippled old man with a chip on his shoulder. When Yawgmoth paid him a visit the old man had practically died on the spot from fear thinking he was there to finish the job. Oh no. Time would take care of that sooner than later. Humans and their fickle, short lifespans. He did give him a name. Sybella. Said she was good. Too good.

Now it was a matter of discovering just what she was willing to do.

[Sybella]

It was difficult to be subtle when one was face-to-face with someone. Still, the unnerving paleness of her eyes moving behind the transparent visor she wore provided some concealment for the covert glance she raked over his skeletal mask. Her gaze dipped lower, settling temporarily on that claw-tip that carved a scar along the wooden table that hosted them. Theatrical but effective. Her lips quirked at the corner in a smile that suggested malice, her hands splaying across the tabletop. Her brow crinkled and she dismissively swept some crumbs from her palms, deciding to tuck her hands against her thighs instead.

You have quite a reputation, yourself. She thought to herself, continuing to dissect the intricacies of his garb with her keen eyes. She did not verbally respond, merely tilting her head in an almost arrogant confirmation of the conversation thus far. Then came the question of her limitations...

When she had first delved into the worlds beyond Umbara, she had been naive and innocent. While she had taken lives, her first kill being when she was no more than ten, she had not yet dabbled in connections between other beings; thus, her regard for the lives she took had been limited. A few short months in the field, she had learned to love, to lose, and had been left with the permanent tinge of betrayal on her tongue. Innocence had been forcibly crushed and in its place, indifference. It was much easier not to care.

"You will find I have few. Why don't you tell me what you have planned and I'll let you know how quickly I can accomplish it?"

[Yawgmoth The Devourer]

A toothy smile crept across his face beneath the mask, stretching the lines that ran down the length of his face. She was eager even if she would never admit it, and the arrogance in her demeanor was almost palpable. There was a bit of himself he could see mirrored in the face of the younger assassin. It sent him back a hundred years in the blink of an eye to his homeworld, and the defiant youth who believed the cycle of despair could be broken. He was wrong, the cycle continues to this day, and that youth was now long dead. Yawgmoth had devoured him. Devoured himself.

"I want to capture Imperial Knights and kill anything that tries to stop me. Are you willing to fall foul of the Empire?"

It was no small thing to be so wanted by the Empire. Yawgmoth had lived that life for a long time. He was accustomed to it's trials and tribulations. His armada was always moving, never grouped too tightly, and never stayed anywhere for long. Sometimes sacrifices had to be made; diversions that dragged attention elsewhere. Yawgmoth himself was rarely in the field and only when he had to be, and it gave the impression that he would disappear into space for long periods of time only to pop up again. He had plenty of time on his side. He would outlive Tarkin just like he outlived Sheev, and he would outlive whoever came next after she was cold in the ground. Sybella seemed a capable woman but it was quite a different thing altogether when all of the Empire wants your head on a spike.

[Sybella]

Her pale eyes traced the contours of his mask, her lean figure reclining somewhat in the chair while her long, muscular legs stretched out beneath the table. At the revelation of his intent, a single navy brow slowly inched upward but her expression remained otherwise placid. A dangerous creature, Mav had said when they had spoken earlier. It took something truly menacing to make the leader of her organization admit something like this. Now, Sybella knew that she hadn't been exaggerating.

In the past, she had taken jobs that would land her a death penalty from both the Republic and the Empire, always swathed in shadows. Even if they had been able to catch her, it was unlikely that Mav would allow them to carry out any sentences. Her influence ran deep, deeper than either government could fathom. Imperial Knights, they didn't play by the same rules. It should have turned her off. Instead, a slow smile spread across her lips. Might as well.

"When do we start?"

[Yawgmoth The Devourer]

"Immediately."

She had barely finished speaking before his answer came. Reaching to his side he pulled out the large scattergun and pointed it at the ceiling before pulling the trigger. The ear ringing blast sent a spray of slugs into the ceiling even as it sent the occupants of the bar scrambling for cover. The few tough lads and stupid drunks remaining went diving out the door. The gentleman behind the bar came up from behind it with his own blaster in hand, only to realize that Yawgmoth's weapon was already leveled on him. Dropping the blaster he held his hands up peacefully and then slowly walked backwards into the storeroom. The door shut behind him.

Swinging his arm back around he set the slugthrowing shotgun on the table between him and the assassin. Now they are alone.

"The remnants of the Imperial Inquisition operate a blacksite on Byblos."

Between them he set down a hologram projector pad. It sprung to life, creating an image of the planet of Byblos. The view zoomed in, focusing on the many skyscraper towers that dotted the surface of the planet. Composed of hundreds of levels each tower was a small city in itself complete with domiciles, shops, and company workplaces. The biggest of them all was owned by the renowned Byblos Drive Yards. However that tower was not the focus. One tower much smaller than the rest was focused on. It was positioned toward the edges of the city and even in the hologram it did not look nearly as majestic at the others.

"Tower Forty-Nine was a dedicated medical and prison facility. It once contained The Institute for the Rehabilitation of the Criminally Insane. Psygonk they called it. When the facility went under the Empire bought it up and slowly bought out the entire tower. It's nature is hidden but what little evidence there is paints it as a facility for less than moral experimentation; namely those upon force capable sentients. Children, usually. Facilities such as this are often managed by the Inquisition. Imperial Knights they call themselves. As if a Loth-cat can change it's spots. You're role in this is simple, Sybelle. Positioning yourself on the adjacent tower will give you a large kill field. After I infiltrate the facility I will draw out the Knights and you will wound them. Wound them. I want them alive. Is that understood?"

[Sybella]

Warning klaxons, audible only to her, trickled into her ear from the HUD visor she wore. Red bars and circles danced across her line of sight as he raised his weapon toward the ceiling and fired. Immediately, she was visually assailed with weapons logistics; fire rate, clip size, accuracy ratings, make and model. A series of rapid blinks dismissed the slew of information and Sybella slowly undulated in her seat, eventually rising and standing serenely amidst the chaos that had broken out at the shot fired.

She did not flinch as the slugthrower thumped down upon the table, reaching up to dismissively divest her shoulder of the flecks of debris that had fluttered down from where he'd fired into the ceiling. Her hand traveled from there into the wave of navy hair cascading over her shoulder, smoothing it downward and finally wending the tail end around her index finger.

Sybella had been to Byblos only once in her lifetime, accompanied by Mav who was carrying out business that didn't require her full attention; requisitions for the organization, of the high tech variety. She couldn't say that her stay was memorable but she had been very young at the time. She focused on the projected imagery, only taking in details that he deemed pertinent to the mission. Tower Forty-nine was drawn up with another series of blinks, background processes gathering information about building material, layout, history. All data to review in route, after she picked up the necessary rounds from her cache on Nar Shaddaa.

With her parameters set, she flipped the visor away from her pale eyes. "Understood. I'll need some supplies and my weapon. Shall I find my own way there or will we be traveling together?"

[Yawgmoth The Devourer]

There was an extended pause following her question. The silence was filled with only the sound of scurrying feet, the scattering of the ceiling debris, and the sound of sirens in the far distance.

"I prefer my privacy. You're presence would disturb that. However, if you need transportation I can provide a vessel and crew. We will rendezvous at the top of Tower Fifty; the adjacent tower. In three standard days. I'm sure you will see me before I see you. Oh, and this."

Reaching into his coat once again he pulled free a credit chit which was placed on the table and slid across it to her. On the return he grabbed the hologram projector and his gun, returning them to their rightful places on his person.

"Half payment in advance. Five hundred thousand credits. Another five hundred thousand when we finish. We did not discuss price, but I am keen to pay my associates what they are worth. To me."

[Sybella]

There was no visible or audible demonstration of her relief. Privacy was something she treasured, as well. Not to mention, sealing herself into an unfamiliar vessel with this character of sorts was not something she would have submitted herself to with a smile. Sirens drawing closer, hands moving into places concealed from her gaze. It rankled how his attire shielded him from her rather unique eyes; the vital points and pulsating veins of every other patron having been as blatant to her as the nauseating advertisements floating by outside. There was a soft click as a credit chip was placed on the table between them. She scooped it up, inserting it into a port on the side of her visor.

"Agreed. Better make myself scarce. Three standard days. I'll see you then, boss." She purred in the most subtle of accents, her hips swaying with adroit grace as she moved toward the door of the establishment. A single glance over her shoulder at her masked employer and then she pushed outside, espying the emergency response teams pushing toward the platform supporting the run down cantina.

A sharp twist of her forearm brandished the grappling hook from her bracer and she ascended, out of sight. It would take her little time to gather her supplies and even less to ready The Shrike at the hangars. Reckless was the word that came to mind when she considered what she had gotten herself into. But, she had little else to lose and she knew her mentor would approve.

[Yawgmoth The Devourer]

His empty mask watched her go, and the very moment she disappeared from sight he exploded from his chair, walking quickly toward the back of the building. A locked door resisted him, but his shotgun removed most of the locking mechanism in a single round. Forcing it open he continued on, moving past the cowering man hiding behind a box, and out the back into the alley beyond. Several similarly masked men were there waiting for him. Without a word they moved, like a pack, covering each other's blindspots and pointing their weapons toward potential ambush points. Yawgmoth merely walked. His wolves would keep the lambs at bay.

--------------------------------
BYBLOS - THREE DAYS LATER

Infiltrating tower fifty proved far easier than he imagined. The community tower was a place for homes and shops, and it was not uncommon for strange aliens to move through the structure. While some took notice of the tall, strange man wearing a veil, they did not question it. If he had gotten this far than he must have made it through Imperial customs at the space port. Oh how the lambs felt safe when they thought the lions were watching over them, but the lions were not here. The wolf was. Making his way to the final floor was a simple matter of ascending a turbolift, and then stepping out on the rooftop. His silk robe and hood made him look very different, much thinner, but still hide his guise from view.

The rooftop was a barrel puck of duracrete, round like the many towers of this city. Only a few circuit boxes and antennaes broke up the visibility. Yawgmoth would think that would make Sybella easy to spot, but she was not to be found. Likely lurking behind one of the few obstacles, or worse she had run off with the credits. Her reputation spoke better of her, but a part of him hoped she had, because it would be a marvelous hunt bringing her to justice.

[Sybella]

Sybella had made short work of collecting her equipment from her nearby cache after departing her new employer's company. She chartered a private transport to the rendezvous on Byblos, hoping to make good time so she had plenty of opportunity to scout the operation's grounds. Escape routes, countermeasures, surveillance; everything was set up succinctly and efficiently, as was her custom. Several small drones were committed to the task of conveying her disassembled rifle to her perch, perfectly disguised among the other technological designs hovering in the air betwixt the buildings.

She entered the building with the purpose of going unnoticed, her navy hair wound into a severe braid and pinned into a swirl at the back of her head. Sleek spectacles sat atop the bridge of her nose and flared across her eyes in a rather boxy, unflattering shape; the lenses cleverly concealing her eye color. She procured herself a turbolift at the rear of the foyer and rode it to the pinnacle, traversing maintenance halls and narrow routes to a single set of stairs that let out onto the roof. The second she stepped through the door, the drones began to loose the constituents needed to assemble her rifle into her awaiting hands. The sturdy Verpine parts snapped together flawlessly as she strolled toward one of the filtration units offering a meager amount of cover at the building's edge.

The half-Umbaran knelt behind it, using her right index finger to loft her glasses toward the elaborate head band perched on her crown. There was a slight mechanical whirring that heralded the assembly of her visor; barely noticeable clicks as the parts came together into a spider-like HUD. A faint red glow emitted from the rounded lenses as the whole of it moved down to shield her eyes; engaging the various surveillance orbs she had circling the adjacent tower. She was tugging her braid down from its pinned position when the rooftop access door swung open. Above, a reflective orb took in Yawgmoth and transmitted the visual into one of the corner lenses of her visor. Her rifle tucked beneath her arm, Sybella rose and turned to face him.

"Here you are then..." She murmured, the soft lilt of her accent deadened and mechanized by a utility of her visor.

[Yawgmoth The Devourer]

"The assault is to begin soon. The lambs and dogs will come boiling out of the tower like wasps from a nest. Angry and looking to fight. Kill all that pose a threat. Do not kill any Imperial Knights. Or children. Wound the Knights. Cripple them as much as you wish, as cruel as you want, so long as they still live. Ah. Here they come."

His eyes looked upward, the light piercing through the veil to reveal vague features; gray skin, a grooved face, and sunken eyes. Upward in the sky came a loud boom as a starship pieced the sky. Some kind of heavily modified Lamba shuttle that barely resembled it's original form. It's dark gray hull was splattered with red paint and it's hull was affixed with spikes, blades, and bits of debris to give it a wild, terrifying appearance. It looked like it could fly through the length of a space worm without stopping. Two more appeared at it's back. They were coming straight down, aimed at the space between the two towers.

"Are you ready, little assassin?"