Green eyes that burned with an acidic fire scanned the bar room. Korr sat in the back, nursing a drink. Smoke of deathsticks wafted into the air. Twi'lek dancers sat upon the laps of drunken spacers. The whole place smelled of debauchery. He waited for his target. A red twi'lek with black tattoos sashayed up to him. She gave him a coy smile and reached out a hand to touch his cheek. Korr caught her wrist and gave her a withering stare. He twisted her wrist until she uttered a cry of pain.
"Find someone else to solicit," he growled. He shoved her away.
The twi'lek hissed, stumbling away. Ryan returned to scanning the room. Ah, there he was. A roguish man in a black leather jacket. Ragged blonde hair tumbled from his shoulders. Korr stood and walked up behind the man.
"Lysander Vyan," Ryan said.
The blonde man sitting on a stool looked down. Electric blue eyes looked Korr up and down. "Korr?" he asked, his voice surprisingly smooth and gentile.
Ryan grunted in the affirmative and moved closer, leaning against the bar.
"Excellent, I have the-" the man cutoff, eyes widening. He looked down. Korr's hand was still wrapped around the dagger that he'd shoved into the man's ribcage. Ryan twisted the blade. Lysander choked, blood spilling from his mouth.
"The Federation sends its love," growled Korr as he jerked the blade from the man's side. Lysander slumped forward, head thumping against the bartop. Amidst the cantina's noise and smoke he appeared to be only sleeping. Korr snorted. He wiped his blade clean on the man's pant leg, then sheathed the weapon.
ISIS finally understood how to utilize him. An assassin unafraid to get his hands dirty. But he didn't work for them. They were fools if they thought that. Syren's training was ongoing. In time ISIS would see just how deadly he could be. Ryan's face twisted into a sick semblance of a smile as he stepped through the door and into the night air.
Ryan Korr stumbled back against the cantina wall. Numbness washed over him in a frigid wave. He tried to stand, but his legs refused. He slid down the wall, feet slowly slipping out from under him. Why was it so hard to breath? He coughed raggedly. Blood filled his mouth, a coppery tang. He couldn't stop it from dripping from his lips. He frowned and looked down. Had he spilled a drink across the front of his shirt? It was soaked. Blackness moved in along the edges of his vision. He heard something in the ISIS earbud he wore, but who was his handle talking to?
"Grand Inquisitor Endivain, this is Agent Sol. Threat neutralized."
Clarity came back for a cold second. Betrayed. He coughed up more blood. "Ba...stards," he rasped. He should have felt a hint of warning. The Force should have told him-... the deathsticks. The ixetal cilona in the smoke must have clogged up his senses. They -
"Affirmative." The voice was no longer just in his ear, but just in front of him.
Ryan looked up, blood hanging in strings from his chin. Sol stood over him, looking at him with a set of flat blue eyes. Apathetic. Just another mission. The numbness reached Ryan's heart.
"Endivain," he rasped, "She- she-"
The ISIS Agent drew a blaster pistol and shot Ryan Korr. Twice in the chest. Once in the head.
Sol turned on his heel and strode away.
Open roleplaying at the Nemesis' lounge.The Lounge offers a wide variety of foods and drinks from all over the galaxy while looking on the breathtaking view of the stars above the 20-km long arrowhead hull of the Federation's most elite battleship.
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