“Dawg, for the millionth time…I DON’T KNOW!” the young Bothan wailed, for what had to indeed be the millionth time since the interrogation session began just 30 minutes ago.
“And for the millionth time, I don’t believe you…dawg” the lead interrogator said, smiling kindly at the wide-eyed alien…right before slapping him across the face with an open palm.
The young Bothan was Murs Rawk, a 17 standard years old career criminal from the 3rd Ring of the Selenian Citadel.
The lead interrogator was Talos Erinos, Obelisk Prelate, Oblivion Agent, Soulfire Commando and recent returnee to the Shadow Clan.
“Stang, bro! What was that for!?” Rawk cried as tried to lunge at Talos, only to be held down by the strong hands of the other interrogator in the room.
The venerable Marick, di Tenebrous Arconae, former Oblivion Captain and current Consul of the Clan Arcona (one who had wasted no time in putting Talos to work upon his return) looked up and smiled at the man.
“We’ve got a feisty one here, Tal” he said, applying just enough pressure to Rawk’s shoulders to cause discomfort but no outright pain…no, that was Talos’ job for today.
Talos returned the smile and took a moment to stare at Marick, the man who had once been his best friend; their relationship needed mending, that much was clear, as Talos had up and vanished one night from the halls of this very Citadel for over two and a half years, without so much as a word to Marick (or a few other important people). It was true that the Prelate and then-Proconsul hadn’t been on the best terms at the time, but their old relationship was one that Talos yearned for, now that he was back and active within the Clan Arcona.
“That much is clear,” Talos replied, “Maybe we need to amp up the heat a bit?”
Marick merely shrugged in reply, lifting his hands in a mock-surrender gesture. That was enough for Talos…he and the Consul may not be as close as they once were, but some things never changed. He knew when the Arconae was consenting to a plan.
As for Murs Rawk, he knew he was screwed the minute the restraint was lifted.
He was right. It came in the form of the older man lifting two fingers of his right hand, pointing them straight at Rawk, and swiping them downwards.
Rawk’s face also joined Talos’ fingers on their descent, the Bothan’s substantial forehead colliding hard with the stainsteel table. “HOLY FRACK…GOOD GOD!” Murs screamed as the blood from the gash in his forehead ran into his big eye orbits.
The two Oblivion Agents smirked at each other, both remembering the old days of Oblivion Brigade’s prime, when stuff like this was commonplace. “I think we’ll find him much more malleable now, T” Marick said, offering the Bothan a rag to wipe up the blood.
“No doubt, my lord,” Talos replied. The Prelate was just about to continue his line of questioning for the young alien when the pager at his belt, secured next to the badge that “identified” him as a “Detective with the Criminal Investigations Department” of Dajorra’s federal law enforcement, went off. The distinctive tone marked it for the channel reserved for Talos’ Battleteam, the venerable Soulfire Strike Team.
Talos couldn’t help but smile, as it had been three years since he had heard that tone. Marick, however, wasn’t as pleased.
“Nadrin need you?” the Hapan asked, although he already knew the answer.
Talos only nodded as he read the message from his Mandalorian cousin, the current commander of the SOF team.
“Go,” the Shadow Lord ordered, “I can finish up here. Get back to proving yourself”.
The thirty-one year old Obelisk nodded his thanks to the Consul and skipped over to pat him on the shoulder before sliding out the interrogation room’s door.
“Right Murs,” Marick said, taking Talos’ place in front of the youngster, “Where were we?”
Once again, Murs Rawk knew he was screwed.
Valour’s Fall, Bridge
Events of a forceful magnitude can often be described by attaching weather-like descriptors to them. For instance, “the rain outside howled with the force of a hurricane” or “the ground looked like it had been torn asunder by a earthquake” and so on.
The hug that occurred between the two Erinos cousins, Nadrin Erinos Arconae and Talos Erinos, was an event worthy of one of those descriptors. The two commandos collided together like magnets, the slaps they rendered on each other’s back as loud as thunder in the austere bridge of the Valour’s Fall. In their excitement, neither of the Erinos seemed to notice that their embrace would have probably hospitalized normal people…but that was alright, as for many reasons, Talos and Nadrin were anything but normal.
"Ner’vod! Talos and Nadrin cried in unison, the two men finally extricating themselves from the embrace.
Nadrin, sort of Talos’ nephew, more like a cousin, and technically a brother (Mandalorian families were weird like that) and the new arrival chatted amiably for a few minutes, earning irate stares from the bridge crew of the Arconan ship, before Talos finally cut to the chase.
“So what’s up, coz? I hadn’t heard Soulfire’s chime in over three years. I missed it.”
Nadrin snorted through a chuckle before handing his cousin a datapad and motioning that they should both get off the bridge before the non-foxtrot crew staged a revolt against their Dark Jedi superiors.
“Read the datapad and you’ll get a quick intro…it’s interesting to say the least and I’ll fill in the blanks when the rest of these di’kuts get here” Zandro’s cloned son said, to which Talos only nodded.
He may have been physically looking at the datapad, but his mind was far from it…centered on only one thought. It was good…real good…to be back
Sorry that I got a bit long-winded guys. I’m excited to be back and wanted to cover some bases. Looking forward to this! //T\