Q'ira
I sat atop a concrete structure, the rain beating down on my face. Blood slowly dripped from and invisible wound in my chest, making a pool of watered- down crimson. A blade sat a few feet away, it's edge gleaming with red. I couldn't breathe. Suddenly, I felt a cold, metallic touch, and my eyes drifted down. I was gripping the handle of my own blaster, the model I had been carrying since I left Savareen. In front of me, stood the man who I had sacrificed everything for, and the man that I had left behind. Han Solo, his face expressionless, stood there unmoving. I reacted without thinking, pulling the trigger of the gun in my hand, emitting a blinding crimson bolt of light and a sickly electronic noise. Sparks erupted from Han's jacket, burning a hole through his chest.
I woke screaming, bathed in red light. The feeling quickly faded, and I realized I was clutching both my blaster I had previously kept on my nightstand, and the thermal knife I always kept on me. It was the third time it had happened after I left Han and the gang behind, and it wasn't hard to infer that Maul was getting tired of it. Fortunately, nobody entered the room, and I proceeded to untangle myself from the sheets and drop the weapons. I dressed myself and clipped on my comms, which were emitting a garbled static noise. I need to get that fixed, I thought as I holstered my weapons and exited the room. The palace on Dathomir wasn't exactly elegant in a sense that I would describe, but it at least tried to look beyond the simple and jagged structures outside. The red sun added an eerie effect to the planet, and made it quite fitting for a former Sith lord, and not to mention his home planet. I continued down the hall lined with containment cells, each one holding some life form that had wronged or captured Maul. I had never agreed with his harsh methods, but I had no choice short of death, mainly because nobody who had betrayed him had survived. Anyone unfaithful to him denied that their mindset existed, but most of the time they were killed immediately, with a lightsaber through the heart. I shook the feeling off, and told myself I would get out of here when I could. That was the problem. I could never really believe myself.
Thomas's PoV
I had only ever thought of myself as the villain. Today was no exception. I had been crouching behind coaxium crates for an hour, waiting for the perfect opportunity. All I overheard from the Imperials making an exchange was literally what I just said. I had no intel on what the trade equivalent was, or even what was inside the crates. I could just leave with the coaxium, I thought in spite. My hiding place is probably more valuable than this. After another muffled exchange, they entered a cargo bay nearby and started hefting the crates in. I took the opportunity, and reached out, grabbing one of the hovering crates and wheeling it back behind the coaxium. I reached down to the blaster holstered on my belt, unclipped it, and held it in a ready position. For good measure before I reported back to the Alliance, I wrenched one of the coaxium containers from the stack and hefted it back to my tiny ship. The prototype Starbolt model DS-700 was a sleek, flowing frame with minimal storage and weapons, as it was meant for luxury travel as the fastest possible speeds. I stowed the crates in the small storage compartment, and jumped into the pristine white cockpit, which was worn down and burnt from years of battle and untethered use across the war against Crimson Dawn. I toggled three switches on the dashboard, illuminating the cockpit and the filthy viewport. As soon as the power was diverted, a machine on the left started emitting a garbled static, indicating the comms system was broken. Damn crossed wires, I thought, as I strained my neck to look back at the delicate circuits housed in the back. Instead, a bolt of red light shot directly at me, grazing the left side of the viewport and scorching the glass even farther. A small, pudgy nonhuman was waddling toward me, a blaster in hand. It unleashed several more unsuccessful ranged attacks before he began physically beating at the plasteel body. I swiftly and hastily activated the small rotary cannons stowed beneath the tiny wing fins, and I began to haphazardly fire off bolts in their direction. I watched in horror as one of the bolts penetrated the coaxium tanks, knocking the entire stack off balance. I ducked out of instinct, as coaxium is one of the most valuable and explosive materials the galaxy has to offer. A massive orange firestorm expanded from the stack, consuming the Imperials and the supply depot as I piloted the ship upwards, narrowly evading the explosion. I briefly glanced back at the site, which was now a blackened, charred platform. I had gotten what I needed.
Q'ira's PoV
I waited in the foyer of Maul throne room, which was heavily decorated with engraving of the Crimson Dawn's signature sign: the rising sun. It had taken me a while to figure out what Maul meant by making the logo, but now I understand. I stood staring into space as several Zabrak guards walked past me, sporting spears and heavy iron armor. They appeared to be escorting a prisoner to Maul's execution chamber, which I had always imagined would be a red-bathed room, splattered with blood, the screams still echoing. I let my imagination run wild for a moment until I realized I was shaking. I balled my fists and stared at the ground, trying to keep myself from falling apart in front of my boss. I didn't get much time to compensate for that, as I heard a low and booming voice from the chamber. "Q'ira! Come in!" I shuffled through the small entrance. The throne room was the more cliché part of the palace, with the real-world equivalents of what I had imagined. Jagged spikes surrounded an inlaid gold chair in the center of a stream of red light. I nonchalantly shifted my head, revealing a channeling skylight in which the red sunlight was to flow though, creating a red patch spanning the twenty feet around the throne itself. The Zabraks stopped dead about three feet into the red patch, and bowed down into a kneel. I sifted my gaze to meet Maul's eerie yellow eyes. His black and red skin appeared to be the result of Dathomirian tattooing, which suggested his role in a family. I held back the urge to mention my thoughts, as Maul was not easily pleased, and very easily angered. "Maul," I stated simply, biting my lip. "Ah, Q'ira, welcome to my throne. How are you liking Dathomir?" he inquired in mock interested voice "It's not exactly my taste," I replied dryly, fiddling with my holster. He did not reply, but luckily did not pull out his saber and impale me.
"Your first assignment awaits," he added, in a much darker and simpler voice. I nodded discreetly gestured for him to elaborate.
"Thomas Nightshade. Alliance spy and assassin. Was last reported to be on the scene of an explosion that destroyed and killed valuable intel. Was recently demoted for the previous stated reason."
"I'll get it done," I told him.
"I want him brought back here. I will deal with him."
I nodded and shuffled back out of the throne room. There was no going back now. I had to act now, and save this man's life, or be devoted to an organization of evil.
After I completed my jump to hyperspace, I stalled in the upper atmosphere or the planet Malcabar out of hope to avoid Crimson Dawn spotting me out of place. A few minutes past, and I deemed the area clear. The ship I was piloting was small enough, but was spacious in a way that made it luxurious. Whatever schemes Maul was up to, it definitely payed a lot. I landed shortly, and I discreetly strolled over to the local cantina, which was where I had been informed Thomas would be located at this specific time of day. The bar was almost short of a dive, with shady characters lined around the dark edges, and I was almost certain I had viewed several wanted Imperial criminals there. Thomas, who I had located quickly due to the fact that he stuck out like a sore thumb in criminal background of the place, was sitting silently drinking an alien beer. I acted slowly, reaching for the blaster at my belt instead of the blade. Fortunately, I stopped myself from causing a full-on shootout and walked up to him and tapped his shoulder. He whipped around swiftly and hastily, and he seemed to calm as soon as he saw me. I grabbed his hand, and spoke nothing as I lead him out of the cantina. "Hey, where-what are you doing?" he asked me, his voice wavering. I stopped when I got to my ship and immediately started to explain. "Your life is in danger," I said seriously, crouching so nobody would see me.
"Believe me it's not the first time," he retorted wittily, and started to turn away.
"Crimson Dawn. Maul wants your head," I summarized incomprehensibly, and started to shove him into the cabin. Before he entered completely, I wrenched a stunner from my thigh sheath and thrust it into his stomach, and with a flash of blue light and a piercing electronic sound, he blacked out into nothingness.