BLACK1

Wait a tick...

Black took the chainaxe from Ronin, looking up to see eight of the boys in a circle around the ninth.

"Um...K."

Black stood in the center of the circle, just behind the middle kid. The surrounding kids were in the perfect position to be beheaded without Black having to move an inch. Weird and totally convenient. He could feel himself coming down as the weight of the axe became steadily more noticeable. He flicked the switch, bringing the axe alive, sending the dragon teeth in rapid rotation. The buzzing kindled some primal urge for bloodshed. With a flow of quick swings the boy's heads parted ways with their bodies, showering both him and the center boy. The first head hit the ground as he finished the final blow.

He could only hear about half of what Ronin was saying. He only heard skulls and saw him point and assumed he wanted the skulls there. He walked back aboard the ship and pulled it around the the approximate area Ronin pointed at. He commed Quintus.

-Hey, Quintus. Tell me when I'm getting close-

He started backing up. The ship shook violently as it careened into a large rock.

-Never mind-

The ramp lowered and the contents were pushed out. Countless skulls avalanched out as the children screamed. Black exited the ship to gauge how badly he dented the ship. The nine kids made no attempt to run. Spending days in a storage container surrounded by skulls with nothing to eat does wonders on your survival instinct.

"Boss, if we're doing some sort of ritual, shouldn't we be facing east or something?"

Black's piloting only went downhill since the giggledust hit his system. The only thing keeping him from changing his course mid flight was the auto pilot. Had he remembered how to disengage it and put a new course in, he'd already be waist deep in naked, dancing twi'leks throwing Ronin's, now his, credits indiscriminately in the air. But, as it were, he couldn't tell the buttons from the stars flying by the window. The preprogramed ship picked up the beacon when it came out of hyperdrive. The ship landed accordingly and Black stepped out, not far from Ronin.

"This place is freaking awesome!"

Black landed at the place of his last life. Where he had failed. And where many had fallen. He waisted no time returning to the arena and collecting the heads of the fallen. He came upon the bodies of the sibling trio. One by one he broke their necks and continued twisting their heads off like one would when cleaning small game. The flesh stretched and popped as sinew and muscle alike stretched and tore. He placed the heads one by one in bag. Next he took the head of his would be killer. The miraluka claiming to be mandalore. He took great pleasure feeling the head separate from the shoulders. He was tempted to save the head for himself, preserved and resting on his shelves. But he decided against it. He hadn't earned the head. He came upon his own head, already separated from his old body. He shrugged and tossed it into the sack.

Skulls for the skull throne, I suppose. Whatever the hell that means. Ronin better have good use for these.

"That'll do just fine."

Black left his information with the clerk and left. His business done.

Another bounty well done.

The Trushot left Corellia, heading back to Coruscant for the time being.

Black dropped Sikuus' limp body on the floor. He decided he had carried him long enough.

"Surely."

He took Sikuus by the wrist to drag him into the designated room.

"I hope this doesn't take too long."

((Necessary Double Post))

The Trushot landed in the hanger of CorSec headquarters. He left the ship half carrying the lump of a man Sikuus.

"Hello, my name is Ki Ordo, and I have a delivery for the CEO."

He gave a genuine, large smile to the clerk at the front desk.

"Heh, well at least you'd go out quietly."

The needle sunk in to his neck, forcing the liquid numb to his heart. Within moments he was out. Black waisted no time leaving the planet to head for Corellia. If it were true he had a reaction to anesthetic there'd be no reason to prolong the trip away from medical attention.

"Excellent"

The gun holding the hooker in place returned to it's holster, returning from the folds of his coat with a pair of stun cuffs. He dropped them on the floor in front of Sikuus.

"Put these on, behind your back."

Now with a free hand, Black lit up the cigarette he'd been wanting for the past thirty seconds. When the stun cuffs were on, he motioned Sikuus out the apartment and on to the speeder. It was an awkward ride, holding him in place as he steered simultaneously. Once aboard the ship, Black set him in a chair, using his second set of stun cuffs to secure him to the chair bolted to the floor. Black disappeared for a second before returning with a small needle.

"What...what's that?" Reality began sinking into Sikuus.

"Just a minor sedative." He turned to see the dismay on his captives face. "Oh, don't worry, If I wanted you dead I would have thrown you off the speeder."

He readied the needle and filled it with the florescent blue liquid. Sikuus was breathing heavier. His baser instincts were kicking in. Fight or flight.

"You know, if you want, I can shoot you up before I take you in. Take the edge off?" Black remained cold and sullen.

In a burst of speed most unbecoming of a human, Black was face to face with Sikuus within a second. Sikuus' blaster was pressed against Black's stomach while Heaven was pressed directly against Sikuus' forehead. The both paused to look at each other for a moment. Sikuus with a world of fear resting on his shoulder and Black staring back expressionless behind his sunglasses and sweet smelling cigarette.

"Your move, Garret."

Movement behind Black told him the woman was on the run. His second arm was raised to how hold Hell, aiming at the back of the hooker's head.

"You can die here, in this hovel of a planet where no one will help you as you lay on the floor bleeding, for what could be hours if I shoot you right. Or you can put on these cuffs and get on my ship. You're going to die friend. You just have the luxury of choosing how, when, and where. And don't get all If I'm going down, I'm taking you down with me. That little pea shooter isn't going to do anything to me."

Black new full and well his armor could resist a blaster shot, but at this range he'd get a little burned. He stared coldly back at Sikuus, offering no movement or emotion.

The woman looked blazed out of her mind.

"No, ma'am. I'm sorry. Perhaps I can just...." He squeezed past her and made his way into the apartment. "...give it to him myself."

"Hello, miss. I have a delivery of whiskey I'm trying to deliver but I'm not sure I'm at the right place. New route for me. Does Garret Sikuus reside here?"

Black looked at the woman as if he were worn down, and his tone matched.

"Of coarse I'll need some form of confirmation, ma'am. I can't exactly give you such an expensive item without proof."

He pulled out a datapad and began scanning it as if looking through some standard delivery form.

The Trushot snapped out of hyperspace and made a standard three point landing in one of the random hangers on Nar Shaddaa. Nar Shaddaa, every bounty hunter's nightmare. Most would prefer their prey running to the outer rim to this cesspit of a planet. Though much more aesthetically pleasing than the planet it revolved around, Nar Shaddaa was primarily filled with the trash of the galaxy.

Black waisted no time lowering the loading ramp and flying his speeder out of the ship. He was nearly at the end of this little quest. He already began thinking of what he'd do after this little trip. Ronin still hadn't commed him with any missions yet. Perhaps a vacation. He gave a harsh cough as he flew. First case of smoker's lungs with his new lungs. He hadn't been out of the tube a month. It took longer last time.

He came to the apartment in an hour of flying. He parked it in a secure place and set the security to overload the metal handlebars should anyone try to steal it. He lit up a new cigarette and walked to the door. Before his call was answered he made a mental note to buy more cigarettes when he got back to Coruscant. He didn't trust the knock offs sold here on the smuggler's moon.

"Oh, taking a simple survey." Black offered up a smile. They both knew it was a lie, but he clearly showed he wasn't going to say the real reason. "Well, thank you very much for your time. I do await your next flavor."

And with that, Black turned and strode out, offering nothing else to the man. He lit up another cigarette and started back toward his ship. Coruscant would be a good place to get lost. It's a rather large cluster bomb of people, easy to get lost. And the Last Call was a good bar to drink at. The owner's firm stance on non-violence ensured a level of safety that wouldn't be offered anywhere else.

Black reached his ship without trouble, much to his dismay and surprise. The familiar coordinants were punched in and he returned from where he started.

"Ordo. But I prefer Black, if you will." Black extended his hand for a firm handshake, keeping the situation formal. "I had a couple of questions I wanted to ask, if you don't mind."

Black pulled out a datapad, pretending to read it for a few seconds, looking over the rim of his sunglasses.

"What are the main planets you export your whiskey, and have you had any spikes in orders recently? If so, where?"

He stayed formal, but to the point, showing little eagerness in hopes to get quick answers.

The Trushot made a standard landing at one of several docking bays in the city. He had to operate on very little information, but he'd found people on less information. It was like a puzzle to him, one that had rather large payouts. A cigarette found it's way to his mouth and was quickly lit, the thick grey smoke filling the air around him. He left his speeder aboard the ship, favoring a walk for once, his long, black trench coat blowing in the wind.

The bar was like any other, filled with filth from all corners of the galaxy. This bar was smaller than most, probably a strictly local place. Most likely not used to spacers. All eyes shifted uneasily toward him as he entered. He remained calm behind his dark sunglasses and black, crackling cigarette. Changing his normal protocols, he took a seat at the bar. He didn't like sitting at the bar. Too exposed. A corellian whiskey arrived, which he sipped sparingly. He could hear the murmurs from the regulars. Trouble was brewing, it was only a matter of weather or not they had the testicular fortitude to follow their up on whispers that really mattered.

He could hear footsteps coming up behind him. They wouldn't just attack him out of no where, they'd say something stupid first. They always said something stupid. Sure enough, a large hand landed roughly on his shoulder.

"No smoking." The man was maybe six and a half feet tall, flanked by two smaller men, all three with stupid grins on their face. Black glanced around the room rather unconcerned.

"He's smoking." He nodded to a trandosian in the corner, making no hostile movements. Some of the patrons began shifting unsteadily in their seats, anticipating the assault.

"He's allowed. Put it out." The voice was more forceful, but lacked the conviction needed to tell Black the guy was trouble. As it were, the guy was just another drunk trying to cause trouble. A lone rodian in the corner moved his hand slowly to his blaster.

"Frag off meatbag, I'm busy drinking." The large hand pulled Black around on the spinning stool, making them look face to face. Somewhere, he had pulled out a vibroblade. The poor bastard didn't even know what hit him. Black extended both Heaven and Hell simultaneously, the first bullet hitting the man in his lower right ribs, the bullet umbrellaing somewhere where his heart would be. The second shot went between the man and one of his cohorts, hitting the lone rodian in the corner between the eyes, spraying the contents of his brain pan on the wall next to him.

One gun stayed steady on one of the cohorts while the second whipped around to the bartender. "HOLD IT!" The bartender froze, stopping inches from retrieving his disruptor under the bar.

"You two." Black pointed at the two infront of him, one eyeing the gun, the other staring at the lifeless mass of what was once his friend on the floor. "Take a seat....over there." He pointed to the booth where the rodian had been setting, in clear view. His gun followed them as they kept their hands in the air, setting across from the bloody mass of the once sentient. Black now turned his attention to the bartender.

"All I wanted was a drink and a small conversation." The bartender swallowed dryly and gave a silent nod. "Now...where would you happen to get this exquisite whiskey from?"

"The...there's a distillery, maybe two miles form here. Biggest on the planet."

"Excellent." The gun in his left hand returned to it's place up his sleeve before they could see where it went. "It really is good whiskey."

He stood up, walking casually to the front door, gun still pointed to the general direction of the bartender. When he was at the door, his remaining revolver returned to it's cache. "You all have a good evening now." He exited with a fluid motion, before they could find their own weapons. He quickened his pace toward the distillery. He didn't want to have to spend more time on the planet than was necessary.

The droid at the desk at the distillery seemed to be much more helpful. Black was asked to wait for a representative to answer his questions while he waited in the lobby. Black took a seat and stretched. He was glad he decided to take this little detour.

Black laughed loud and deep, sending an echo through the room.

"Well played master Jedi, well played."

He put the melted gun in one of the larger pockets in his coat and turned to leave, lighting another cigarette on the way. The path to his ship was less of a hassle than it was getting here. He boarded his ship, setting the half melted gun on the workbench as he passed it. He punched in the numbers for Coruscant and took off, silently chuckling to himself.

A little more entertaining than I was expecting. God I hate Jedi.

Black laughed at Ads as he lit a cigarette, admiring the guy's foolish resolve. Or was it fear? Maybe fear. Not only did he try to tell Black absolutely no, but he tried to end the matter by switching back to talking to someone else. Black let Heaven fall from it's holster and pointed it directly at Ads head.

"I have orders to take you with me. I have authorization to use force if necessary. I don't want to hurt you, but I will kneecap you and drag you to my ship if need be."

He brought his free hand up to his mouth and hit the cigarette again. They were at least ten feet apart. Nothing he could realistically do at this distance.

"Orders are orders..." He expelled the thick cloud of smoke at Ads. It went a foot or two before rising and disbursing into the air. "...sir"

Black began to openly show his irritation.

"Look, I don't know. I have orders. Here isn't safe to talk out loud. Me being in public could jeopardize my whole operation. I don't know why the admiral pulled me off my assignment to pick up someone he classified as having diplomatic level clearance. He just did. So get on the ship...sir." With the "sir" he gave a half mocking bow, motioning toward the exit of the temple that lead to the particular hanger he landed at.

Black landed on Manaan and headed toward the Jedi Temple. He walked into the temple and began asking questions, asking for a particular apprentice. He got a few "no"s and mostly "I don't know", but he continued is search. He stumbled upon a group of three men, one seeming to lecture and the other two meditating. Black lifted his datapad in an attempt to study it for a second and approached the three. He looked directly at one of the two setting down, then at his datapad.

"You're...Ads-Gop Flif? I have orders to take you to Gala."

Black flew through space, not really knowing his destination.

I gotta figure out something to do. Something inside is telling me to help someone...do...something. I don't know.

He let his hands glide over the hyperspace console and unconsciously entered in coordinates.

Black had been waiting in the hall, watching the fight the whole time. He had blended in with the ill-illuminated hall with his dark attire that gave him his call sign. Watching the fight, he realized how foolish he had been to try to take Canderous as a captive and keep him safe for the fight. It had been every man for himself and Black was thinking only about the safety of others.

Foolish. Waste of honor and waste of a clone. I'll not be so careless in the future.

He watched the victor walk out of the arena to claim his prize. Part of Black wanted to know what they had been fighting for, then dismissed the idea. They had been fighting for honor. Nothing else. All other prizes irrelevant, and to a degree insulting. To assume that Mandalorians cared about such material things. Faust was playing to everyone's seemingly covert yet constantly present side of greed. To some degree everyone desired something more, never truly satisfied with what their fate had given them. Black shrugged of this moment of inner awareness and collected his equipment. He managed to get everything back except for the original trench coat and the body itself. He considered for a second taking the body with him, but decided against it. This body, without the collective insight he had recently gained from the battle, failed here, and here it would remain. He walked toward the exit of the arena and stood next to the crater. So much devastation for honor. All worth it.

He looked around the room, hearing a subtle requiem for the fallen that stood out in the room. He tipped his cap to the corpses and walked out, now stained with the dishonor of defeat.

Where is the next step? I do have that job lined up with that pirate. Where else can I find a challenge? A place where the adversaries are plentiful and battle certain?

Black got on his ship and left Ryloth, hoping to leave behind the shame that occured here. But even through the vacuum of space, it clung to him.

Where is left to escape?

Black landed on Ryloth and quickly left the shuttle. It was one of the more uncomfortable rides he had had in a while. Not a word said the whole trip. Even piloting his own ship with no one else on board he had more stimulating conversation. He gave a wave to the pilot to let him know he could return to Byss and walked toward his ship. He boarded and put on his spare coat. He left the ship, hoping he hadn't missed much of the action. On his way into the arena, he spotted the two talking to the trio earlier, escorted by Faust himself.

"Did I miss much?"

EDIT: Wrong Thread

((Sorry about that. Didn't mean to screw up your story. Thanks for rolling with it and making everything simpler.))

Black dropped his elbows to guard his ribs from Canderous' hard hooks. Canderous' movements had caught Black somehow off guard, as he was sure he would have shot off a poison dart the moment he moved at all. Regardless, the dart gun was still activated and ready to shot at any moment. Black took a few punches, timing Canderous' punches to find an opening. He found on. Between punches, Black noticed Canderous lifting his chin momentarily. He took the opportunity and gave a quick left jab to the now exposed throat of his assailant. The punch wasn't that hard, as Black had always worked more on developing speed and finesse instead of brute force, but he did manage to shot off a dart into the mandalorian's adam's apple. The sharpened sliced through the armorweave layer just enough to put it's poison into the man. The poison would have killed any normal man, but Black figured that true Mandalorians weren't normal men. Black figured he had a few seconds before the intense depressant hit the man's heart, spreading it to the rest of his body. Canderous' body jerked back from the blow, giving Black a small window. Black used the momentum from his punch to continue and carry his body forward as he grabbed Canderous by the shoulders. He pulled him closer to him as Black pulled his knee toward Canderous' stomach plate. The force wouldn't actually hit Canderous in the stomach, but it did press the plate on his torso evenly throughout, including on his broken ribs. This sent him bent over. Black extended Hell once again and shot Canderous in the helmet. The bullet ricocheted harmlessly toward the wall, but the impact sent Canderous to the ground. Black quickly dropped beside him, putting Hell's muzzle to the base of his skull.

"Be still. I don't want to kill you. A bullet at this range will sever your spine. Even if the armorweave stops it." He kept the gun pressed hard to Canderous' upper neck as his left and reached inside his coat for something.