I know, I know; you all are going to kill me for starting yet ANOTHER story. Don't worry, I'm working on my others too. This is another collab fic with one of my friends, but it's a different one this time. Say hi t Canino, everyone! *Hi, Canino*. I have a lot of friends who are writers. You wanna guess who got them to sign up for this site? If you guessed yours truly, then DING DING DING, you're a winner! :D
He slowly wove his way through the empty alleys of the back-water housings no one cared about, careful not to make a single noise. He wouldn't risk the chance of being found; the stakes were too high. Silently, he climbed up a rusty ladder onto the roof of a shabby apartment building, gaining a view of the myriad of multi-colored lights and sounds from the bustling streets of late-night Coruscant. Digging around in his small plasteel kitbag, he drew out a pair of macrobinoculars he'd nicked from an Upper Level client and scanned the throng of beings for his target. There, by the holoadvertisement—the short, brown cloaked individual with his arms tucked into his sleeves and the hood drawn up, just barely revealing the canine-like snout and furry face of a Bothan. Jedi Knight Tassi Zale, scheduled to meet an informant who had the latest information on the whereabouts of the city's most notorious drug lord. To an ordinary outsider, it seemed as though the Jedi were simply reading whatever the advertisement was for; he knew better.
Gently, he holstered his rifle on his shoulder, peering at the Jedi through the scope. The center of Tassi's hooded head was at the very point of were the two scarlet lines crossed. A flash a doubt coursed through him; what was he doing? He was about to end a life, and a Jedi's at that. Surely the Jedi would have some form of retribution planned out for him should he follow through…
He made his decision.
A shingle shot rang out as Tassi crumpled on the ground amidst the panicked screams of onlookers. Sirens wailed as three Coruscant Security Force operatives rushed to the fallen Jedi, while a fourth pointed up at the rooftop where he remained. Cursing, he put down his blaster and leapt to the next roof; there was no use in using a sniper's weapon when there was no chance of succeeding with it. His gloves made sure he left no fingerprints behind on the weapon. He jumped from the rooftop and dropped two stories to the frail metal walkway below, stripping off the black mask that concealed his identity before Changing. He became a rail-thin human boy, about eight years old, his fitting, flexible black armor becoming baggier as his size diminished. Shrugging the loose armorweave back onto his shoulder, he pushed a curtain of blonde hair out of his eyes; next time he would have to focus on his appearance a bit more.
Two of the CFS sprinted into the alley where he was, searching wildly for the culprit. He cowered behind a large trash bin and put on a look of false innocence and terror. It seemed to work; one of the guards shook his head and jerked his thumb in the other direction, signaling for them to keep looking. Making sure they were well out of sight, he crept out of the alleyway and dashed towards the rendezvous with his employer, leaving the sound of screaming sirens behind.
Changing back to his original form, he leapt over the tall electric fence—no longer buzzing with electrical currents—into the desolate wasteland that was now The Works. Scanning the area to make sure it was clear, he let out a low pitched whistle that ended in a high trill. The sound of blasters clicking off the safety and training on him filled the silence. A lone figure strode forward from out of the rubbish, arms folded over his broad chest. He straightened and tried not to smile; he had succeeded. But his employer's expression said otherwise; his heart sank at the disappointed, angry look his employer have him.
"Nilo," his employer said in a gruff, warning voice. Nilo's confident air dissipated as he looked sheepishly up as the man.
Suddenly the disappointed look was replaced by a wide grin; Nilo's father ruffled the shaggy hair on the eleven-year-old's head. "Well done, son."
It's a little confusing but you'll get it in a few more chapters. I promise this isn't a fic where there are only small mentions of real characters. Swearsies! Oh, and btw, it's pronounce Neelo. Ok? Ok.