Eyes, an enrapturing emerald, stared intently at the pulsing light of the security camera before her. Swiveling like a dismembered arm on hinges, it bended at the elbow, and moved until its mechanical gaze was pointed right at her. She blinked hard, the phantom image of the security camera's light still lingering behind her eyelids in a sickly green. Pivoting slightly on a booted toe, she inwardly cursed whoever had designed this corner to be so blasted cramp. Suddenly, a streak of red flashed in her peripheral vision. She tensed, beads of sweat springing up upon her brow. The red fluttered again, and she realized what it was- a lock of her own hair. The sweat rolled in rivulets down her face, and outward sign of her internal relief, and a pink tongue darted out to taste the salt. She thrummed impatient fingers on her belt loops, chiding herself at her jumpiness. Her ankles arched against the wall, she leaned back, feeling the cool of Durasteel wall paneling against her scalp. She breathed deep, swallowing the air as though it were wine, wanting it to intoxicate her thoughts with the cool calm that she used to possess. She was getting to old for this sort of thing.
She reached into her breast pocket, and black-leathered hands pulled out a small cylinder, no bigger than her own pinky finger. She shook it slightly, and a deep indigo began to well up in the center of the cylinder. It pooled, and then began to spider its way across the surface. Within a few seconds, it had formed a set of numbers, pulsing a steady blue. She glanced at them, "18:40", and then shook the cylinder once more, sliding it back into her pocket. It was four minutes past time for Trin to have completed his second objective - disabling the security cameras. She dueled gazes with the cameras lense, daring it, just daring it to be operational. If there was anything she could trust, it was Trin. It was her crew. She would have trusted her men with the life of the Emperor, and never doubted them. If firefight ensued, it was her blaster firing in the thick of conflict, and her body shielding those of her fallen comrades. After the battle, it was her who knelt by each of her men, honoring even the lowliest scout for their service with stone-faced reverence. It was no wonder they loved her. She was Mara Jade.
Footsteps echoing in the hallway caused Mara to snap out of her brief moment of contemplation, hand inadvertently falling to the but of her blaster, calloused fingers finding reassurance in its familiar grip. The footsteps grew nearer, their sound irregular, a rhythm as unsettling as the dynamite-laden beat of Mara's own heart. Her eyes, with the acuity of a veteran, scoured the doorway - waiting. The door hissed open, sending rays of green and red to dance about the room as the control panel lit up. Mara flinched away from the lights as though they were blaster fire, easing farther into the shadows of her corner. Her sanctuary. A man sauntered through the door; eyes glazed and mouth gibbering into a hand that wiped spittle from his chin. Mara grimaced, disgusted at the Twi'lek's drunken stupor. Briefly wondering how many credits the Cantina had made that evening, she drew her blaster. Balancing it with her hand, she pulled the trigger - no questions asked.
The blast hit its mark perfectly.
The energy bolt buried itself deep into the Twi'lek's chest, sizzling, causing flesh to bubble and froth like meat upon a fire-pit. The Twi'lek collapsed to the floor, his head-tails temporarily writhing on the ground like the worms they were nicknamed. Until finally, they sat eerily still, the nerves no longer racing in pain. The man's face was the same look of drunken stupor, blood flecking the chin that hung agape in ignorance.
Mara's blaster was considered the most "humane" on the market, so the wound did not bleed. The blast simply created a mocking hole, the flesh peeling away in crisp spirals.
A thought wandered, most uninvited, into her mind. "Either way, a man is dead. How "humane" can it be considered?" she asked aloud.
Mara momentarily marveled at herself, the subtle changes she had undergone in the past months making themselves imminent in her past question. She never would have questioned her killing when she was the Emperor's Hand. Never.
"It's only Skywalker talking." she thought, shaking a head that was crowned with a seldom, bemused smile.
She pocketed her blaster without so much as a conscious thought. With the blaster went the responsibility of the dead man before her. She shuddered, wondering how many times she had pocketed that blaster, hiding away her murders all the same. Old demons reared in her mind, monsters trying to manifest themselves once again.
"No," she thought, puncturing each word with an assurance that she knew was doubtful. "No." "Times are different. Motives are different. Now, you're on the right side."
She strode over to the body, nimble feet navigating the shards of broken glass that had appeared when the Twiílek dropped the wine glass he was holding. Standing over the Twi'lek - a lioness over her prey - she relieved the crime lord of his security access card. After giving the card a quick kiss of gracious relief, she walked towards the door. Before she left, however, she paused. She turned to face the dead man, surprised at how peaceful he looked stretched out on the floor. Had all her victims look like that? So... natural? She bared her teeth at invisible enemies, whispers of her not-so-long-ago past. She could not start thinking like that again. Murder was never "natural". Lifting her hand in what would be the Twi'lek's final salute, she sent her silent apologies, and walked out the door. It she hissed shut behind her, entombing the scene in all its horror. Mara darted down the hallway, her presence only a fleeting shadow, and thumbed her Comlink. She announced the death of their victim, and ordered the flight crew to make ready the ship.
"Ah, the life of an assassin."