Competition: [Pro Bowl VII: Week Two] Fiction

"Is this seriously all I have left?" Cimozjen's eyes flitted across the scant objects on him. Had he know how bad this would be, he would have packed a bag. He had come, as expected with aught but the clothes on his back. Well, he had a bit of pocket lint as well, but that was hardly worth mentioning.

"A Nerf Towel, a banged up Radiation Detector, a standard-issue industrial glowrod, some dice, a fancy ring, a recording rod, somebody's lost keys, a half-empty container of dental floss (evergreen flavor, ew) and a Blastech DL-21." He shook his head. The blaster might be kind of useful. He was used to the heft of a slugthrower, but in a pinch he might be able to make do.

He checked the energy cell of the blaster. It had enough for maybe three shots.

"Well, I am not going to be shooting my way out of this." Still, he knew that Darkhawk wasn't likely to be thrilled if he returned home empty handed. Closing his eyes, the Sith reached out in the Force. When all else failed, he normally had a dream or vision to help guide him. Yet, too much drinking and a late night playing Pazaak with his fellow Rotworms had robbed him of much sleep, and with it the dreams which guided his actions. No, he would have to plumb the Force.

He closed his eyes and focused on the ebbs and flows of the pirate moon. Danger was all around him, yet he tried to focus. He felt a slippery mind which seemed to run counter-current to everyone else around him. He opened his eyes as a cloak-wrapped figure approached him. He might have taken them for a vagrant or a homeless drug addiction, but for the sharp glance in their eyes.

A knife was up before Cimozjen knew what was happening. Up he cracked the towel, snapping it in the face of his attacker. The man's eyes widened in surprise, allowing Cimozjen to raise the blaster.

Time seemed to move in slow motion as the cloaked assailant rounded on him again. He grabbed the glowrod, wielding it like an off-hand lightsaber. Muscle memory took over as he whipped it up and around, clobbering his attacker upside the head.

The man fell like a pile of bricks. He did not protest, he barely moved, as the Sith searched over his person. He had a bottle of booze, the knife was barely suited to cut flimsiplast, and he had only a note on him. He had been promised more booze for dealing with "the chap in the robes." Had this been bad luck, or was this part of the deception?

He didn't have time to worry about all that now though. If the man had been a credible threat, he was certainly not at this moment. Little could be served by rousing him when he had an opening.

He would have to rub. Tossing aside the bottle of cheap booze, Cimozjen paused to consider the rest of the pile of junk. Would he be able to make a run of it before he had to try to make use of the rest of it. Force only knew.

Die Another Day
By Sinya’ni

It was a simple exchange. The Twi’lek had been on many such missions while in House Tyranus. Meet a contact, slip them a credit chip, receive a data stick, walk away. Simple…or so it seemed.

“Slagar never had me do these unarmed. That’s just stupid,” Sinya’ni said out loud to herself as she contemplated slipping a vibroknife into her boot. “Nah, too risky. What if they have a scanner? Don’t want to scare them off.” So she set off into the seedy streets of the Smuggler’s Moon unarmed. “Yeah…this will end well. What could possibly go wrong,” she muttered under her breath as she pulled the hood of her cloak up over her lekku.

The streets were crowded. Sapients from all over the galaxy found their way to Nar Shaddaa for any number of reasons, none of them good. As the four foot, nine inch Rylothian zigged and zagged her way across the plaza trying not to be stepped on, she realized one good thing about not having anything in her pockets…she didn’t have to worry about pickpockets.

Sinya’ni reached the alley where the rendezvous was to take place and stopped at the entrance. Leaning against the wall, she watched the people as they passed. No sign of her contact. She waited a bit longer before ducking down the deserted roadway.

“Well this is just great. How long am I supposed to wait befo–“ the Twi’ilek stopped mid ramble. She looked both ways and up at the roofs of the surrounding buildings before cautiously approaching the pair of boots sticking out of the rubbish pile. Sure enough, she’d found her contact. The Nautolan was dead. This simple exchange just got complicated.

Checking her surroundings again, the diminutive Rutian searched the unfortunate cadaver. There was no datastick. Not one piece of electronic information. But the former amphian did have a small backpack and a blaster burn the size of a kowakian monkey on his chest. Inside the pack was a handful of worthless items.

Nerf Towel
Radiation Detector
Glowrod
BlasTech DL-21 Blaster Pistol
Fantafly Polyhedral Dice
Assassin's Ring
Audio Recording Rod
Keyring with keys
Dental floss

She grabbed the pack and quickly left the alley. Her small stature and Force concealment made it easy to get lost in the crowd. That’s when she saw the assassin. He was hanging out by the alley watching her leave. The Klatoonian male followed her into the street but soon lost her. However, she did not lose sight of the tall dog man.

As the suspect turned back, Sinya followed. One hand was on the blaster, the other clutched the pack. “Come on, that’s right. Take me to your leader, slobbermouth.” She muttered. The assassin did not, in fact, lead her to his boss. But to another back alley where he disappeared.

Reaching out with the Force, the Twi’lek tried to sense her prey. However, there were too many people in close proximity. It was an overwhelming sensation. So many thoughts and feelings bombarded her that she abandoned the Force search in favor of good old fashioned walking, but in the end, the assassin was nowhere to be found. “Well…guess that’s it then,” she said as she turned away and made the long trek back to her ship.

*Incomplete submission. Ran out of time to submit.