"Observer report. Protocol xix dash i. Location: The Nexus Room Cantina."
Long fingers steepling, the man leans forward; his wiry frame clothed in elegance, stern, angular features betraying no emotion. With an electronic buzz and the faint clicking of camera lenses adjusting an image on the screen flickers into existence, showing the interior of Kaas City's main locale on a busy night. The droid's impassive monotone continues.
"Target acquired at 20 hours."
The screen centers on the image of a slim, pale girl in dark robes entering the cantina, a mass of dark curls tied at her nape. Half-lidded eyes follow the figure's halting advance through the crowd towards a lone table.
"Ahh, isn't she a peach, our little bird?", he breathes, his speech slow, deliberate, dwelling on every syllable as if testing its form in his mouth before uttering it aloud. He lets his gaze wander over the girl's shape as she perches on a seat.
"Target approached by subject 14 – Mina Carrig – at 21 hours. Threat level estimate: delta. Relation to target: acquaintance."
A mirthless smirk tugs at the lined corner of the elegant man's mouth as he observes a second figure - another woman - enter the scene. She is clothed in functional attire with bits and pieces of armour, though no discernible weapons about her person. The lower half of her face is obscured by a veil. As the women greet each other and converse, he leans back languidly, watching, running a hand through his graying, impeccably groomed hair.
"Ahh, the friend. She has made a friend. One to keep her company, to share her secrets, to comfort her when she feels alone…", his tongue darts out to wet his lips.
"Run another background check on the friend, this woman. Go a little deeper this time. Let us make sure you were correct in your assessment, droid. We don't want to risk our little bird singing the wrong song now, do we?"
His response is a series of whirring noises as requests are sent over the Holonet to access certain files.
"Target approached by subject 15 – designation unknown – at 21:30. Threat level estimate: gamma. Relation to target: none."
The newcomer, a man in casual clothing, face entirely hidden by a full helmet, approaches the pair, exchanging glances and chatter with them and another two patrons further behind him at the bar. Both women engage in conversation with him, though the girl seems hesitant, nervously glancing around the room as if seeking to escape. The other woman's expression is hidden by her veil, yet the course of the conversation becomes clear shortly, as the newcomer retreats to rejoin his cajoling friends, leaving the women to themselves.
"Fool.", he mutters, releasing a breath he hadn't noticed holding, then settling back into his chair to continue his scrutiny, running a well-manicured nail over the rich embroidery on the cuffs of his sleeve.
"Target approached by subject 15 – designation: Zabrak, male – at 22 hours. Threat level estimate: gamma. Relation to target: none"
Crimson flecked eyes narrow as the stranger – now sans helmet and identifiable by his horned head and tattoos – joins the two women in a second attempt to make conversation. This time, both women seem more open to his approach, even the girl loses some of her skittishness. The elegant man bares his teeth in a sneer, his half-closed eyes glinting dangerously, then snapping open abruptly as a fourth figure approaches the suddenly popular table.
"Target approached by subject 12 – Lord Jirak – at 22:15. Threat level estimate: alpha. Relation to target: acquaintance."
With a hiss of frustration, he watches a Sith Lord walk up to the girl and give a few curt commands while she bows and cowers, trembling. The Sith makes to leave, motioning for the girl to follow, but is intercepted by the Zabrak and his friends – two heavily armoured figures. One of them addresses the Lord with such blatant disregard for the latter's rank that it sets the elegant man's teeth on edge, then motions towards the door. While the elegant man looks on, the men exit the cantina, leaving the women behind. He allows himself a humourless chuckle.
"Close one. Who would have thought those meatheads would come in so handy?"
As he speaks, he watches the armoured men re-enter the room.
"I need a background check on those men. If they can run off a Sith Lord like that they may be of use at a late-"
He is cut off by sudden movement on the screen. The girl has jumped to her feet and is rushing to the door.
"Target exits the premises at 22:30."
"What is this?", his voice now laced with steel, eyes narrowing in suspicion. "Where is she going? Replay me the last five minutes."
As he watches the scene a second time, his eyes darken with fury as suspicion becomes certainty. All but leaping from his chair, the elegant man crosses the room in a few long strides, barking orders.
"Run those background checks! Get me intel on subject 12! AND FIND THE GIRL!"
The door slams, the room darkens, suddenly silent, except for the soft whirring of a droid's running processes.