Just beyond the clearing, a figure lay on the forest floor. It was just one amongst many shadows; a tiny part of the planet that the moonlight did not reach. It was covered in twigs, leaves and branches, and it blended in to the background almost perfectly. For two days, it had remained there, silent and nigh invisible. Not moving or making a sound: just observing. Beyond his position was about 10 meters of clearing, then a high, electrified fence made up of razor-sharp wire. Posted every 35 meters was a guard tower, complete with a guard, a spotlight and a concussion rifle. They changed shifts every four hours, and checked in twice an hour. The guard on duty continued to watch his sector right up until the moment his replacement tapped him on the shoulder and took his post. No mistakes, no opening.

The shadow stifled a sigh as it panned the pair of electrobionoculars it was holding between the guard posts. It seemed that there was absolutely no way inside the complex unless you were one of the people guarding it, and from what the shadow had seen, it was the same regular crowd every time: no newcomers were permitted. There seemed to be around twenty in total: most of them were human, but there were a couple of Weequays, a Twi’lek, a Trandoshan…but one figure caught the shadow’s eye. It wore heavy armor that covered the entire body, a strange mix between the familiar shapes of Mandalorian battle plate and the signature armor of the old Imperial Red Guards.

This particular guard appeared to be feared by his (or her, though the bulk implied a male) peers, to the point where he was spoken to as little as possible, and even more rarely questioned. If the shadow wanted a way to penetrate the defenses of the mansion undetected, it rested within the confines of that armor. The shadow centered the crosshairs of his electrobinoculars over the figure and pressed a button.
”Track him, but avoid detection.”
At the softly-spoken command, a small, spherical shadow detached itself from the rest and floated silently forward and upwards, soon disappearing into the night’s sky. The little droid would get the information it needed:  the shadow had yet to see it fail.

The shadow lowered the electrobinoculars, the advanced imaging device disappearing from view. A target and a path inside the building had now been identified, and it had assigned its own resources in order to make sure that all the information that was needed would be collated by the time that it made its next report. Everything was proceeding more or less on schedule. The shadow melted back into the forest that surrounded it and disappeared entirely, leaving not a single trace of having ever been. The people inside the mansion remained blissfully unaware to the fact that their so called ‘safe-house’ was already under siege.

A pair of tiny, spherical objects floated invisibly in the lofty heights of the tree canopy far above, their multi-imaging cameras observing and recording all that had transpired. One of them broke off to follow the shadow, its presence a secret from everyone within a hundred kicks.

[The next day]

Marik Vidic felt cooped up in the mansion on the outskirts of Coronet. There was no room to stretch his legs, no food but that damn slop the boss liked so much, and nothing to kill but time. So, when he wasn’t on guard duty, he snuck out into the big city in order to actually live a little. The others did not much like it, but they knew better than to tell a Sun Guard what to do. Which, he thought with a smile of sadistic glee, was a lesson that this low-life stimm dealer was about to learn the hard way.
“How dare you tell me what to do, you little dren?” He bit out as an armored gauntlet lashed out and connected with the man’s nose, breaking it with a sickening crack and sending a spurt of blood from his victim’s nose, followed by a gurgled cry of pain.

Vidic felt exhilarated as the blood splashed across his armor, and downright euphoric as the man began to beg for his life. The fist flew forward again, this time impacting on the dealer’s chin and breaking his jaw, the sound of splintering bone music to his ears. The feeling of power, of holding someone’s life in his hands, was something he had been addicted to ever since he had served as a member of Palpatine’s Royal Guard during the ‘good old days’, as he fondly referred to them. His gauntleted hand reached out and his fingers wrapped around the neck of his victim, squeezing as he lifted the little human off the ground, choking the life out of him.

He did not notice the shadow watching from the roof of one of the buildings that made the walls of the alleyway, crouched low and observing with a hooded head tilted to one side, the face within lost in shadow. As the fuzzy, indistinct shape allowed itself to detach from the roof and drop silently down to the alleyway behind him, Vidic could see nothing but the bulging eyes of his victim, and hear nothing but his choking gurgles. He was completely unaware that anything was amiss until three inches of cold durasteel slipped through a joint in his armor, punching through the vertebrae at the back of his neck and bathing the suffocating stimm-dealer in Vidic’s warm lifeblood.

Vidic wondered absently why the world was beginning to lose its color. Everything seemed to be getting darker, and he couldn’t feel his toes. His grip on his victim began to grow slack, to his distaste. He felt so tired. He realized he was falling, but it felt as if he was in slow motion, in no danger of actually hitting the ground, and as his descent stepped mere inches from the duracrete floor, he felt as if he was weightless, floating, free. His helmet came free, and he looked up, his bright green eyes staring into a pair that were as cold as ice, the blue orbs meeting his gaze. By the Emperor’s toasted balls, he was tired. As fingers moved to gently close his eyes, bathing the world in darkness, Vidic decided that some sleep would do him some good, and for the first time in a long time, he felt at peace.

The shadow retracted the short vibroblade into an armored plate on the back of its right hand, the left moving to catch the dying mercenary and lower him to the ground gently, to one side so that the large cut in his neck bled directly onto the duracrete and did not stain his uniform any more than it already had. With its right hand, the figure removed Vidic’s helmet and looked at him with cold, blue eyes, before moving his fingers to gently, almost kindly
“Me jewz ku, pateessa. Winkee.”
The Huttese it spoke was fluent, though garbled slightly by a speech modulator that it must have been wearing, erasing any clue as to the tone and accent of the speaker.

Then, the hooded head turned to look into the wide, frightened eyes of the stimm-dealer, who was rubbing his neck and trying to catch his breath. The figure reached a hand under the black robes that it was wearing.

“No! Please! I won’t tell anyone – I swear!”

The man’s desperate plea only increased in pitch as he saw the Rebel 1 Disintegrator Pistol that the figure was drawing. Standard-issue for all New Republic medics, the sidearm was decidedly deadly and it had earned its fearsome reputation. The muzzle of the weapon was pointed at the man’s head, and the figure spoke three words, “Soong peetch alay,” and pulled the trigger. There was no scream, no retort of blaster fire, just a sound of rushing wind as the man’s head began to lose cohesion and disintegrate, breaking up into its component molecules. The figure kept a hold of the trigger until there was no trace of the witness but a fine layer of dust, a layer soon picked up and scattered by the wind.

Quickly, it disrobed the dead mercenary and started to don his armor, covering the hole in the neck-seal with a black scarf. The armor was too large for it, and it fit even over the clothing that the figure was already wearing. In under five minutes from when it appeared, it had disintegrated the target, the witness, and any traces of it having ever been there at all, except for a pool of deep red blood. Now wearing the golden armor of Marik Vidic, the figure casually turned on an armored heel and strode out of the alleyway with a perfect imitation of Vidic’s aggressive swagger.

High above, a small, blurry patch of space dissolved into the spherical form of an Imperial Sentry Droid, painted in jet-black. The small droid sent a short, heavily encrypted signal, a recording of all that had transpired, and then faded from view again, the nigh-invisible blur following the armored form as it made its way back to Marik’s landspeeder, and from there to the mansion.

OOC:

1,546 words.

Exodus stepped to the side and took a moment to look around and gather his bearings. He was in a large, well-appointed foyer. The sheer elegance of the room took his aback for a second – the man was obviously not used to such luxury. The lush rug that dominated the foyer would have cost enough to feed a refugee colony for a month. It was coloured in deep reds, oranges and browns, and the geometric patterning of the fabric matched the stately white wallpaper perfectly. Every now and then, a small, wroshyr-wood bench with a potted plant broke up the white background. Blinking, Exodus forced himself to not get hung up on the luxury and concentrate on his job. He needed details that were useful, not merely pretty to look at.
   
A quick glance showed him what appeared to be a living area on the other side of the foyer, directly ahead, and he recognized some of the guards he’d seen manning the towers inside there, drinking and enjoying themselves to some soft, quiet music. To the left was a pair of doors, unguarded but locked. Just past that, also on the left side, was an opening into what appeared to be the west wing of the mansion. The New Republic flag and pair of heavily armed guards gave Exodus the funny feeling that this was where the NR garrison had set up shop. He punched up the floor plans of the mansion on his helmet’s HUD, and looked at the west wing.

The Master Bedroom and Bathroom were over on that section of the manor, but he had a funny feeling that the target wouldn’t want to be sleeping in the same room as a bunch of New Republic troops. With a soft sigh of relief, he wrote off the West Wing from his list of places the target could be, even as he crossed purposefully past the foyer and into the recreation/dining area that the other guards seemed to be congregating in. As he stepped into the room, Exodus realized it was larger than it appeared to be, and was complete with a bar off to the right, where a grizzled-looking Devaronian was serving drinks, and a dining area to the south of that.

The music was muted, and the atmosphere surprisingly relaxed. It seemed that as long as the guards kept to their own area, they had some freedom in regards of movement. Unsurprising, since the exterior of the mansion had such heavy defences – that someone would manage to get inside undetected was likely not something they expected to happen. Exodus quickly reviewed the notes he had compiled from Vidic Marik’s journal and the memory built into the armour’s visor system, and walked straight up to the bar. By the time he got there, the bartender already had a drink poured and ready for him. He swiped the drink up with a gaunteleted hand, before turning on his heel and stomping towards the chair he’d identified as Vidic’s favourite.

The man had taste when it came to places to sit, Exodus thought to himself as he sat down. From here, he had a good view of all the possible escape routes to and from the dining area, as well as a nice view out past the bar to what looked like a larger recreation area, and from the sounds that wafted out from there, he guessed that it was the main guard area, and a bit more rowdy than the common dining area. This area seemed to have both guards and New Republic troopers, and the two allied groups appeared to be intermingling with a taste of definite unease – further on, he guessed, was purely held by the target’s own organization. Checking the floor plans, he decided that was likely where the guards were quartered – in the east wing. Seemed the ground floor had neatly been divided in half by the two factions.

On the bright side, his disguise seemed to be holding up. He’d studied the video feed his spy droid had given him on Vidic almost obsessively, learning the man’s body language and natural posture by heart. As an ex-police officer, he was not unused to going undercover, and the armour went a long way towards helping with that. After all, people saw the armour, not the person inside. It was the same with any disguise – give people something obvious, like an impressive moustache or an ugly scar, and it’s all they seem to remember. Full battle plate definitely helped there. He lounged on the chair and nursed his drink, unwilling to take his helmet off in case any of the guards knew Vidic’s face. Tucked away and blending into the background, Exodus found himself with a little bit of time, and he used it to begin planning the hit.

From what he could see, if the ground floor was divided up into guard quarters, that meant it was unlikely that the target would be down there. No, he’d definitely be up on the first floor. He once again punched up the floor plans on his HUD visor, and started to cross out areas that he was pretty sure didn’t contain the crime boss. Nowhere too close to an access point, and since the foyer lacked a roof and led to balconies on the first floor, nowhere near the center of the building – after all, one thermal detonator in the foyer and it would all be over. It would be far easier to simply replace a window with armoured transparisteel and be done with it. The two bedrooms at the rear of the building could also be ruled out – too close to the foyer, and the large balcony connecting them gave ample attack options, and the bedroom above the garage could also be ruled out. Balcony gave an avenue of attack, and it’d be easy to rig the vehicles to explode.

That left only one place he could logically be – the theater, located directly above where Exodus was currently seated. Two ways in – one from the rear balcony VIA the east bedroom, and one right next to the stairs. Exodus ruled out the stairs immediately. He knew perfectly well how heavily guarded and booby-trapped they would be. If every individual step contained a land-mine, he would not be all that shocked. That left an outside insertion, but he really didn’t fancy his chances of that happening anytime soon, not with the exterior of the building so heavily guarded. He sighed, and shook his head. Damn it, he needed a way up without blowing his cover.

Hold the phone. Was that a small food storage elevator beside the kitchen? Yes, it looked like a small cargo lift designed to deliver food upstairs without the kitchen staff actually heading into the no doubt highly restricted upstairs area themselves. Even better, it came out in a tiny storage room that was literally a hop, skip and jump away from where he’d deduced his target was hiding. A soft smile appeared on the man’s lips, hidden by the helmet he was wearing. He knew he’d be able to fit into the lift without the armour on – all he needed was a way to get into the kitchen unnoticed, and ditch the armour.

Time to use the refresher.

Exodus got up from the chair and shrugged his armoured shoulders, stretching his muscles for a moment before he started to saunter his way towards the refresher, making sure to mimic Vidic’s swagger as closely as he could. One of  the guards, a Weequay, dared to glance up at him for longer than a second, and was met with a flat stare from behind the Sun Guard visor for his impudence. The guard quickly averted his gaze, apparently unwilling to tangle with the infamously bloodthirsty merc who’s armour had been appropriated by Agent Exodus. Inside his helmet, he grinned. Sometimes, trying to hide just wasn’t as fun as walking in like you owned the place. He strutted his way to the refresher, and closed the door behind him.

The refresher was completely empty, and the man took full opportunity of the privacy. Slipping into one of the cubicles, he quickly removed his armour, revealing black, form-fitting armourweave clothing underneath, complete with a utility belt and a holster for his Disruptor Pistol and Ion Pistol. He considered disintegrating the armour, but relented, deciding that the intimidating, now-rare armour would make for an excellent trophy. He unfolded a black, hooded cloak from one of the pockets on the armour, then shoved the armour into a corner of the cubicle and tossed a couple of rags he’d also packed over it. It wouldn’t hold up to a serious inspection, but perhaps, if he was lucky, it would not be paid anything more than a passing glance.

He placed the boots in front of the refresher, though, so that anyone glancing under the door would believe that Vidic was still sitting on the ‘fresher. Then, he quickly and nimbly jumped up and planted his feet on either side of the cubicle wall, then pushed off, propelling him up and onto the top of the cubicle walls. Fortunately for him, they were shorter than the ceiling, and he dropped down onto the other side without a sound. Smiling softly, he grabbed a fibre-optic cable from one of the pouches on his belt, and slid it under the door, waiting for a moment when no-one was looking at the door. Given that the refresher door wasn’t visible from the dining area or the bar, he didn’t have to wait long, and quickly opened up the door, ducking through. He quickly fished a pair of electromagnoculars and slid them over his eyes, switching them over to magnocular mode.

After a cursory inspection, he spotted two security systems in his way. One was a simple electronic lock over the door that led to the dumb-waiter he was planning to ride, but the other one was slightly more difficult. A security camera inside the room itself. For someone knowledgeable in slicing, neither of these obstacles would have posed much of a problem, but Agent Exodus was no slicer – his skills lay far outside that field. He was going to have to somehow knock out the camera without arousing suspicion. He tapped his head for a few moments, knowing that he didn’t have much time, as he switched off the magnoculars. They’d served their purpose.

When he moved, he had a plan, but he wasn’t sure if it was a good one or not. He quickly made his way towards the door, thankful that whomever was manning it believed that the mass of guards in between the front door and the room, plus a security camera as backup, were enough to prevent intruders from getting in. When he reached the door, he dropped down to the floor, and peered at the crack between the door and the floor. He couldn’t see even the slightest bit of light, and his hopes were realized. Fortunately for him, it was pitch-black inside the tiny storage room. All he had to do was get past the lock, and somehow make his way inside without letting any light enter the room.

He grinned, and grabbed a small pair of pliers. Prizing open the lock’s covering, he took a good look at the wires inside the lock. Pfft, child’s play. For someone who re-wired entire starfighters as a hobby, the system wasn’t that hard to figure out. The trick, of course, was that he had to cut the wire to the alarm system before cutting it to the door itself. He studied the wires carefully, noting where they led and the general shape of the microchips. When he found a chip with a small wireless node attached, he knew he had his alarm, and grinned. Two wires connected to that chip, and he knew if he removed both, the alarm would automatically trigger. Of course, since one led directly to the power plant, it wasn’t that hard to figure out.

*Snip*

No alarms. Good. The young agent wiped the sweat from his brow, and shook his head a little. Okay, now he had to find a way to get the door open. He thought, for a moment, before he simply yanked out every single wire, bar the one he had purposely ignored. The effect was everything he desired, as the lock (apart from the one bit keeping the alarm sending regular ‘hey I’m okay’ reports) disengaged. He carefully replaced the lock mechanism’s cover, and smiled to himself as he drew his Ion pistol and aimed for the nearest light fixture. He set the weapon to lowest setting, and fired. The light promptly expired, and Exodus found himself standing in the dark. He opened the door a crack, and tossed in a smoke grenade while it was dark. Now, the camera wasn’t going to be able to see him, even if it used infra-red.

A few moments later, he opened the door again, and stepped inside. No alarms. He let the door shut behind him, and looked around. Nothing but darkness and thick smoke greeted him. Fortunately, the smoke aided him here – Agent Exodus had trained with the Gand Findsmen, an order of trackers who’s reverence for mists, fog and smoke bordered on the obsessive. He could feel the smoke push against him, from where it had drifted off the walls. He let his hand wander across the area in front of his body, until he noticed a spot where the air was not pushing against him. An alcove in the room’s wall, apparently. He stepped towards it, and switched his magnoculars to night-vision.
The world was bathed in green light, filled with obscuring mists. He still could make out a small hole in the wall. The dumb-waiter. He realized he probably wouldn’t be able to get it to go up without some kind of alarm or notice giving him away, so instead, he raised his disintegrator, and burned out the box of the lift. 30 seconds later, he had access to the tiny elevator shaft. Hopping in, he started to slowly climb his way upwards. A minute later, he was on the upper floor, and no-one was the wiser.

If his map was correct, he was about ten meters away from his target, too.

Heh, time to strike.

OOC:

2,400 words. Infiltration successful...for now.