Malkerik shouldered the door, sticking an elbow out to hold it for his companion as a blur of pink slipped past, somehow leaping between the small gap of the door-jamb, his body, and the teeny elbow-sized gap of the door. Looking around, the small, 'office,' was empty, but it was clear it was setup for for high-range clientelle; beautiful wooden trim adorned the walls, glorious holo-pictures waved out from walls, and the most incredible flora decorated expensive vases sitting on expensive tables, dotting an expensive carpet. He adjusted his glasses, looking over at the young Twi'lek as she gaped at the... expensiveness.
"Should I take off my boots," she asked, hands moving to smooth out her robes. He shook his head, muttering a, "It's their job to clean up what we leave," under his breath. He deflected her incredulous look with a turn of his head, quietly tromping towards the secretary's booth, the carpet muffling his footfalls better than any technique he had.
"The Doctors aren't seeing anyone today, honey," replied a Twi'lek in rapid Hutteese, her eyes glossing over a magazine quietly, "Go home and make an appointment." He rested his hands against the counter-top, leaning forward slightly as he spoke, yammering back in an expert's dialect.
"I think they'll make an exception for me." She looked back up, narrowing her eyes and scowling before blinking rapidly. "Uh-uh, you're that Bounty G-guy, yeah? From the n-news?" He smiled, nodding, slowly slipping down his oculars so she could stare into his white eyes, hoping to socially unbalance her.
"I am indeed, though I'm here for something else. Krayt Industries business; Mistress Karmic has made an appointment for me." The Twi'lek blanched a little further, shaking hands reaching out to grab a file. He smiled warmly, scooting the lenses up his face as Armeria lifted a brow at him, arms folded in front of her chest as the Twi'lek scrambled behind the counter. He shrugged in response and she drew her brow together, letting out what might have possibly been an adorable look of disapproval. He returned with a silent, apologetic grin as he folded his arms across his chest. She bumped him with a hip, turning and grabbing a print magazine, seating herself amongst a posh seat, eyes going wide as she sunk deep into the fluffed upholstery.
***
He listened, pushed back into his chair as the other Darth's babbled on about their departments. Predatus, truly, was half paying attention, the thoughts of several ongoing cases filling his head. There was the smuggling rings ongoing within Yavin 4, the pockets of Revanites hiding out amongst Kaas City, and of course he couldn't forget about the recent gang resurgence o-
"Predatus," warned the Overseer, Darth Mortis' Right Hand amongst the Enforcement Divisions, "I would ask that you focus on the logistical report from Darth Avarus." Predatus waved off the notion dissmisively, nodding in agreement as he somewhat decided to pay attention. True, the Overseer had a name and was in a higher position of authority than Predatus was, but the older Darth had neither the time, the patience, or the respect to memorize or CARE about some upstart's name. Just another cog in the bureaucracy that prevented him from excising the criminal element as they should.
His associate finished her dull and uninteresting report about blaster rifle repairs and uniform requirements, the Overseer's holo-projection waving a hand to cut it off. The four assembled Darths were holding their bi-monthly holoconference, pushing statistics, numbers, and generally enacting Mortis' will for the Sphere of Laws and Justice. While Predatus only handled the tactics, several law enforcement battalions, and general 'enforcing' of the enforcement division, he'd been a Darth for longer than most of his compatriots had been Sith and he knew enough to eclipse their feeble workload. In his eyes, he was the rightful successor and should have been Mortis' hand.
Or perhaps more than that.
"I think that will do," decreed their Overseer, nodding as Darth Avarus inclined her head, stepping back and sitting in her seat. Darth Octarus stroked his chin, the Pureblood, nodding as the Twi'lek inclined her head respectfully to the Overseer. Patiently, they waited for further words as their better recorded information on a datapad.
Trained lapdogs, he thought clenching a fist in his lap,
Where is your FIRE? Your PASSION!? "We'll move into the private debriefings now," he commanded, his tone causing Predatus' inner fire to roil. "We'll start with Enforcement Tactical Operations. Avarus, Octarus, I'll talk with you in a moment." With a brief incline of their heads, they vanished from the holoterminal, leaving the two Darths staring at eachother.
"Well," snarked the Overseer condescendingly, "I'm
waiting, Predatus."
Squashing his anger, the Darth began his own private briefing.
***
It didn't take long for the doctor to admit them, and he treated Malkerik with the utmost repsect, catching him off guard with many, "Sirs." Armeria blushed and waved it off when the doctor began calling her, "Ma'am," bowing deeply to her when she stepped into the office. As the Hunter slid himself into the patient's seat, the somewhat aged Optometrist smiled good naturedly, squashing down into a stool.
"Now then, Mister... Daasiik? What's the problem?"
With a sigh, Malkerik reached up, taking off his oculars. The room became white as light flooded his eyes, painfully blinding him. The only indication he could get was the Doctor's low whistle as things moved around him. Fingers gently pushed against his cheek, guiding his face into what felt like a pair of straps, one at his chin, the other at his forehead. He heard the tentative footfalls of Armeria's boots against the carpet as she hovered at the Doctor's shoulder. Something cool and mechanical slipped around his nose, a faint shadow cast over his eyes.
"My word," muttered the Doc lowly, "Lot of damage here." Malkerik tried to nod in response and found it difficult to do so, instead opting to say, "Yes, had some plastic melted over my eyes."
"By what," he retorted,"A plasma torch?" He laughed, but quickly stopped when his clientèle remained silent. The low hum of a holoprojector whirred just before his eyes. There was a, 'hmmm,' and a, 'haaah,' and several other concerning sounds.
"How old is the damage," inquired the Doc.
"About two years," returned the Hunter.
"Mmm, your corneas are burned rather badly. Irises are frozen open, and your lenses are badly damaged." The doctor let out a low sound, the creaking of his stool indicating a thoughtful lean back. "How bad was the burn, did a medical droid say?"
"First degree."
"I can tell the area around your eyes has scarred rather well, honestly. You're very lucky overall, the damage could have been absolutely catastrophic."
"Well," asked Armeria, her voice slightly raised with concern, "What does that mean?" The doctor's chair squeaked, rotating to look at her. "A few things: There's enough there to salvage the eyes with some surgery and short-term medication. We could also look at doing full on-implants; completely remove the eyes in favour of either cybernetics or synthetics. Or we could look at a donor list for new eyes, but that will take a long time to find a compatible match."
"Unacceptable," cut in Malkerik, his voice carrying with some latent Imperial authority, "We're going to need a quicker solution."
The Doctor continued, "Well, the quickest one is salvaging, we could do that in probably an afternoon. Some ocular steroids over the course of a month to strengthen your eyes again..."
"Done," he shot out, pushing the holoptoscope aside and slipping on his oculars. The Doctor looked at him incredulously, and Armeria blinked like a deer in the headlights.
"Uuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuulright, sir!" The doctor smiled, quickly erasing any look of concern, "When is your schedule open f-"
"Today."
"What?" Their collective voices, one a female tenor and the other a male near-soprano, filled the room.
"Today," he reaffirmed, "Time is of the essence with how other things are progressing doctor. Darth Draga'zathoth wants them today." The Optometrist blanched slightly, nodding quickly at the use of an official title. "Well, it'll take me an hour or two to bring in surgeons, b-"
"They will come, won't they doctor?" It wasn't a question Malkerik asked, it was a directive. The Doctor nodded, quickly ducking into the hallway with a hurried explanation, muttering about sedatives as the door shut behind him. Malkerik smiled, turning to look at a worried (and scowling) Armeria, arms folded under her bust as she gave him the best healer's look she could.
"What?" he asked for, grinning, "It -is- in my schedule."
***
"... And we've clamped down on illegal spice shipping in the local systems," completed Predatus, crossing his legs in his chair, "That's the full report." The Overseer nodded, tapping down a few things across his datapad. The moment of silence stretched out for several seconds, and Predatus found himself growing more and more impatient. These meetings were a waste of his time; there was crime to crush underfoot.
"You've opted not to mention your Section Six investigation," noted the Overseer, looking over his pad at Predatus, eyes lighting up. The Darth scowled, metallic plates drawing together across his face. "You were not supposed to know about t-"
"I am Mortis' Right Hand," was the scoffed reply, "I know
everything, Predatus." The Darth slammed a fist down on the table, but was cut off with a sharp wave of a hand. "You will sit and be silent." Predatus bared his teeth, metal flats grinding down into metal blades.
"Report on it."
"It's... inconclusive," Predatus admitted lowly, "Intelligence records are incomplete and with Lord Garugas in the hands of the Republic I can't follow many leads. We have a primary one, however, one I'm intent on pursuing."
"And this frivilous lead?"
"The Bounty Hunter that killed our informant in the Nar Shaddaa Southern Bounty Bureau."
The Overseer's nose crinkled, "A Bounty Hunter is your only lead?"
"Yes," growled Predatus, his anger flaring underneath his skin, "We heavily believe him to be the missing Cipher Agent. Under an inquisition, we c-"
"Your excuses are not giving us results, Predatus," sneered the Overseer, "You've a lead but have yet to follow up on it. A criminal, a TERRORIST, but have yet to apprehend them. You're losing your edge."
"I MOST CERTAINLY AM NOT," he roared in response, leaping to his feet, "But I CANNOT work with your beurocracy clogging down the entire enforcement aspect of the Sphere! Jumping through kriffing hoops, just to requisition a wa-
"IS NECESSARY," completed the Overseer, rising out of his chair to meet the raging Darth, "And is a primal part of how we want things done."
"How YOU want things done!" he retorted, fists slamming down into the desk.
"And
my word is law, Predatus," the Overseer returned, "And you are not conforming. Which is why you are being reassigned."
***
"Are you sure about this?" He smiled at her, nodding, squeezing her hand reassuringly.
"Yes, I'm sure," he replied, already tilted back into an operating chair, "We've little time the way things are developing and I may not get another chance." She nodded, brows drawn together as the Doctor slipped back into the room, the ocular surgeon stepping in behind him to prepare several of the instruments needed. The Twi'lek gave them both scrupulous looks as she eyed the Hunter carefully, eyes narrowed.
"Just stick em' if they do something while I'm out, yeah?" She gave him a small smile, nodding. The Surgeon stepped over to them, and Malkerik tuned him out. It hadn't been the first time he'd had, 'sudden, life changing surgery.' He signed off on the waivers and papers rapidly, waving off the cautionary notices.
"Very well then, Mister Daasiik," he said, "We'll need to put you under for this procedure. Shouldn't take more than a few hours."
"Dope me up then, doc," came the reply, "But I'll need a double dose. Rather resistant." The Surgeon gave him a half smile as a mask went over his face. He didn't pay attention to the countdown or the words that came after. He only closed his eyes.
***
"Reassigned?" He stared at the holoprojection, teeth bared in defiance, "What do you mean assigned?!"
"Your position, like you, is old, worn out, and obsolete. The Sphere of Laws and Justice has no more need for a Head of Enforcement. The Moffs can take care of it on their own accord, frankly."
"But, I've been with the Sphere for THIRTY YEARS of loyal, deliberate servi-"
"And lately you've been slipping, Predatus," came the sharp reply, "Arrests are down, executions are down, but costs are up."
"The war criminals you're wanting to hol-"
"Raids have been cut, gang activity is on the rise and we're getting word of potential rebellions cropping up amongst the populace."
"Because the Empor-"
"And now this Section Six DEBACLE," exclaimed the Overseer, "How it wasn't caught under your watch is beyond me, Darth Predatus. And now it's been near a month and no arrests have been made?"
"Because I need to clear every move through your damned BUREAUCRACY," he roared defiantly, slamming a fist down on the table, "EVERY KRIFFING BREATH I TAKE NEEDS TO BE RUN PAST YOUR DAMNED APPRENTICE, AND IT BOGS DOWN MY DIVISION'S WORK!"
"Your resistance to how myself and Darth Mortis wishes enforcement to work hinders your work, Predatus," came the clipped response, "And now your career will pay for it. Because you have served faithfully for so long, Darth Mortis is seeing you transferred on a temporary subconment to the Sphere of Military Offence, with chance for permanent placement after one year. Your staff will not follow you."
"So that's it then," he spat, metal face twisted in hate, "You rip the rug out from under me, throw me off my own damn investigations, and leave me without a political power base? I was killing traitors before you were born!"
"Yes you were, Predatus, and look where that got you. A dead end position, now being eliminated. And now, you are nothing. You will
be nothing. You are old, and you will die on the frontlines so we do not have to waste dirt burying your corpse. Clear out your desk, Darth. Your new master, Darth Oblivicus will meet you at the start of next week."
With that, the feed terminated.
Predatus screamed his fury, slamming another fist down into the hard metal of his desk, leaving a permanent imprint in the durasteel.
***
"Wake up..."He slowly opened his eyes. Everything was still so blurry...
"Mal?"She sounded pretty...
"Why are his eyes like that?"
"It's his natural eye colour."
"Did y-"
"For the dozenth time, yes I did insert the lenses correctly."Why was pretty lady arguing with lens-man?
Slowly, the grogginess began to lift, and he found himself looking into a mirror. Two perfect golden eyes stared back at him, the irises flared like a raging star.
"My eyes..."
"Yes they are, Mister Daasiik," rumbled the surgeon, turning to the pink pretty lady and discussing medicine with her.
"My eyes..." His fingers reached under them, poking gently at the skin just underneath them.
"My eyes." He smiled.
***
My life...Everything had been undone by an upstart Sith-brat. His office was absolutely destroyed. He'd done it, he remembered dimly, lost in a moment of uncontrollable rage.
He'd serve his new master, but he'd always remember his enemy... He'd always remember the tool the Overseer used.
The traitor. The Cipher. Daasiik.
He would hunt him. He would chase him. He would die. And when there was no leg to stand on, he'd return and gut the Oveerseer. There was no better hunter.
There was no greater apex predator.
There was no other Predatus.