Commissioner’s Office, Antei Contract Bureau Offices
Dungeon, Arcona Citadel, Estle City
Selen, Dajorra System
The Shadicar looked up at the clock mounted on his wall just as a figure that bore a passing resemblance to him stepped into the office. A small smirk curved the left side of the Onderonian’s lips as he noted the narrow emerald gaze studying him in return.
“You must be Uji. Good to see that you’re prompt. Now, as I understand from what Marick has told me, you are here as part of your trials?”
“How do you know about…” the Templar trailed off, taking note of the curved dagger at the waist of the male with silver eyes. Or, more accurately, the emblem of a crescent moon with multiple faceted blades pointing to a black bird. Likely a raven or crow.
The symbol of the Shadicar.
The star just off to the side told him the man before him was the Second, whereas their current Consul was the First.
The Templar abruptly took note of the fact that the Commander of Arête was speaking, mentally berating himself for not paying attention.
“In a normal case, I would hand you a datapad with the intel you need and send you on your way. This, however, is a… special case. Your Deader is a freelance Intelligence Agent. He first appeared on our radar six years ago, after selling Intel on our Armed Forces and specifics on how our people are trained. He switches between aliases the moment one job is finished, never using the same one twice. When not in disguise, he has straight blonde hair and nearly black eyes. You won’t have any trouble recognising him, as he’s likely one of the few males in the galaxy that could pass for a petite woman.”
The Shadicar paused to retrieve and light a cigarette. “This time, however, he slipped up. He took on an identity that I know to be of a dead man.”
“I sent the real Darius Malloy on swift wings. He suffocated in his own blood,” Celevon replied after a moment, his voice as cold as interstellar space. “That was three years ago.”
“Anything else I need to know?”
“Force techniques will be useless against him. His willpower is a thing to behold and he bears the scars of various interrogation sessions. There is one special condition, however.”
“And that is?”
“This blade has yet to be bloodied. Be certain to quench its thirst with the blood of our enemies,” the Onderonian handed over a fixed-blade. The only true thing of note was that both the hilt and blade were the exact same shade of ebony.