When they came, it was as though a thunderstorm had rolled through. The guards were knocked back first by the Force Pulse that rocked the entrance of the bank lobby, blasting open the marble floor as the security shutters fell around the building. The smoke grenades came next, and then the flash bangs.
Some Guards who were coherent enough to remember their training stepped forward to the massive hole only to be restrained by the sudden appearance of bloody red tentacles that whipped them across the face, flinging them aside.
The staff was promptly rounded up, bound and gagged by the Sith Acolytes that then poured through the place, their dark, tight fitting robes, cut short in the Dantooine style with each wearing a white mask with drops of blood red above the brows of their skull like eyes.
Out from the smoke of the hole climbed a voluptuous, barefoot woman with skin of caramel, long jet black hair flowing down to the waist of her hourglass figure, which was covered by only a simple white loincloth and top. A golden snake adorned her headdress. Her finger ended in silvery painted nails that had been sharpened to a point, and her eye were a terrible field of crimson that seemed to glow with the slick sheen on their surface. Her face was refined and carnal in the same breath, so much that anyone who looked at her would be unsettled by her seductive features. The tentacles protruding from her body slowly receded back into the open wounds they had sprouted from, self sealing as though they had never been there.
To her right climbed out a figure in an iron grey robe set affixed at the elbows, chest and shins with leather bindings. He wore a white skull like mask that hid his features like the other acolytes. Anyone who looked however, could tell that the Sith clearly wasn't an adult.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I do apologize for the disruption but this facility has been targeted by the Sith Philosophers. We will be requiring your full co-operation. Do no attempt to escape, or we will have no choice but to execute you," Darth Sangraal spoke in a lightly accented voice, her red gaze sweeping over the huddled staff.
Sangraal walked around, her eyes observing the bank, the marble floors were black with veins of aqua running through them, polished well enough so that she could clearly observe her reflection. The light fixtures had been set up to look like quaint lamp posts with a gentle yellow-orange light, the tellers desk and offices behind transparisteel windows.
As acolytes began setting up equipment, she turned back to the young Sith that had walked in with her.
"Ptolemus, how much time until the Jedi find out we're here?"
"The virus Pythagrus planted in their monitoring networks will by us two hours before they notice something is wrong. Another forty-five minutes after that mark before they can scramble every knight within a twelve kilometer radius, Milady," Ptolemus answered with youthful authority in his voice synthesizer.
"And how long before we crack the vault?"
"An hour and a half."
"More than enough time," Sangraal replied. She then looked at the pile of Staff and security guards.
"Ptolemus, have your men check the restrooms. There could be stowaways."
"It shall be done at once, Milady," Ptolemus said, quickly pulling one of his men aside for instructions.
The First Galactic Bank on Corellia had long been known by the Philosophers to be the location where the Order had kept the kind of secret that would only draw too much attention if it were protected and staffed entirely by Jedi, yet dangerous enough to require the armed and electronic protection that only the finest banks could provide.
Normally, it was simply a matter of getting rid of all the finances an organization sworn to poverty wasn't supposed to have, but every now and then they would have to get rid of something too dangerous for any Jedi below Council rank to be trusted with, leading to what was occurring right now.
Someone, a Jedi Prophet of high renown for her accurate predictions, had decided to store a mysterious prophecy in one of the safest locations the order knew. No one knew what it was about, save that one of their highly placed spies knew it somehow involved one of their own. Not being a slouch when it came to acquiring useful information, The Grandmaster of the Sith Philosophers, Darth Kashtu, had dispatched her best to make sure the Prophecy fell into their hands.
Just as soon as they found which vault the Jedi had hidden the prize in, they could flee. This WAS a shadow war they were conducting against the Order after all.
Sangraal mainly considered this task busy work. Her main strengths lay in either subterfuge or out right assault. She was sent simply to ensure that their task was achieved and having an overwhelming trump card such as having one who knew how to manipulate their body down to the molecular level certainly guaranteed a perk or two.
Sangraal ventured down the marbled halls of the banks back offices, idly checking over the desks and constantly, constantly running her fingertips over surfaces. She liked to touch objects, surfaces, addicted to the feeling of sensation after having long been without it, imprisoned in the nether-realm of the Force until recently.
Her finger tips suddenly brushed over the echo of something.
It was faint, but she could taste the hint of power in the trace of the person who had been sitting here, before they had attacked, the stream of light from the windows falling on the part of the desk she had been touching.
Someone touched by the Force was here. Untrained and dangerous.
Her curiosity piqued, Sangraal begin searching for other traces of this individual. Her help wasn't needed to open the vault and she hated standing still when there were so many new things to do and see and people to meet and talk to.
Her com-link blared on a chain clipped to her loincloth. Sangraal took it.
"Status report."
"We have a problem. Meet me at the second floor restroom," Ptolemus replied.
Sangraal, out of an uneasy sense of urgency found herself hurrying to the second floor, a relatively drab cubicle office not meant to be shown to clients.
The acolyte had been dead for a relatively short time, on the green tiled floor, neck twisted at an odd angle.
Ptolemus knelt down over the body.
"Quick and brutal. He was surprised from behind," Ptolemus said. "I sense the presence of a powerful signature."
"So this person is still here. A Padawan?"
Ptolemus shook his head. "Too sloppy, even for them."
"But where is he now...?" Sangraal wondered out loud, eyes trailing to the ceiling.
A writhing, bloody tentacle sprouted from her stomach, expertly piercing a vent above.
The Man was pulled down as she telekinetically ripped the vent open.
He wore a white cotton long-sleeve with dark slacks. His running shoes were scuffed and torn from overuse, held together by little more than tape and prayer. His face was sharp, angled and serious looking. He looked to be in his early twenties. His hair was dark and looked to have recently been given a buzz cut.
His eyes were a strange granite color.
He dropped to the floor for a moment before Sangraal's tentacle hoisted him up against the wall.
"Hello there. I presume you ended this acolyte's life?" Sangraal almost purred.
The Granite-eyed man nodded curtly.
"Tisk tisk, naughty boy. Very unwise. What shall I do with you? I wonder..." Sangraal asked quietly, slinking up to her captive.
She didn't see the emergency flare until it was too late.
The sudden hiss and glare blinded her as he lit it, the surprise making her loosen her grip on him as he scrambled out of the restroom.
A tentacle shot out of her left ankle, attempting to ensnare him as he fled. It missed him, but barely.
Sangraal immediately gave chase along with Ptolemus.
The man with granite eyes sprinted harder than he ever had in his entire life, fleeing from the Sith, in disbelief at how spectacularly bad his luck was. Trapped in a bank, killing one of the robbers, and now being pursued by...by whoever that woman was.
And to think, it had all started by trying to call in a favor for some creds.
The Man ducked into another office room, Sangraal's tentacle barely missing him.
Panic ruled him. Why did this keep happening to him? How was it that no matter how far he went, no matter what trials he endured, he still kept finding himself inevitably entangled with Sith?
It was as though he was cursed.
He hid in the farthest cubicle, desperately scrambling for a new plan.
Sangraal came into the room. She began scanning the dozens of cubicles present.
"You cannot hide forever, boy. I will find you. It is but a matter of time," she said. "Surrender. I understand it was done in a moment of panic."
The Man suppressed a snort. There would be no mercy if he was captured. He knew enough about the Sith to be at least certain of that.
"I can smell your sweat from here. Interesting how an ordinary man managed to kill a Sith. But then you're not ordinary, are you?" Sangraal wondered. walking through a far away row of cubicles. "You knew exactly what to do when confronted with a threat. You conquered your fear. I like that. You got a name?"
No answer. Granite Eyes quietly shifted to another cubicle, anger and hate at his situation giving him focus.
"Your flesh ripples with challenge to me. So what are you? A castoff from the Order? Someone they stuck in the Agricultural Corps?"
No answer. Sangraal's senses told her her guess had been off the mark.
"So, an independent? The so called 'Rogues' I keep hearing so much about?" Sangraal pretended to peer into a cubicle, enjoying the game. Granite Eyes quietly maneuvered farther away, desperate for an idea. "Or is it wrong place at the wrong time?"
There was a stillness in the air as she said this. Sangraal chuckled slightly at how the Force worked.
"Bad luck, eh? I've been there, alright. More than once. How many times have you had bad luck, Handsome?"
Granite-Eyes flashed back to previous unfortunate situations involving the dammed Sith.
"We Sith don't call that luck because we Sith know there is no such thing as luck," Sangraal paused, a tentacle sprouting out of her stomach and slithering on the floor to the silent man's location. "You know what we call it? Destiny."
Granite-Eyes crept into another cubicle, steadily avoiding the tentacle. They both knew he couldn't keep this up forever.
Granite-Eyes suddenly spotted a lone data pad on the desk of his hiding space.
Sangraal smiled to herself as she felt her target slink away from her in expert fashion. The man was adept at staying out of sight, she admitted to herself, as not once during this entire time he had been hiding had she made visual contact.
She heard a sound of something snapping. Sangraal grew an eye on the the end of the tentacle she had grown in order to see what was going on.
The bulging green eye never saw the attack until too late.
Granite-Eyes drove the sharp end of the snapped and ripped open data pad into the tentacle. Attached to the end of the sharp point were the data pad's own crossed wires, one of which had been attached to the emergency power cable outlet in the floor. Which he then switched on via the emergency handle built next to it. He hadn't even bothered to protect himself.
Granite-Eyes didn't look as he heard Sangraal give a yell as thousands of volts raced through her body. He bolted through the office and crashed through the window.
Ptolemus tackled him on the other side as he landed on shards of glass.
Granite-Eyes swung wildly, landing a vicious right hook that stunned Ptolemus. The Man flung the young Sith off of him and sprinted down the connecting hall way as Sith Acolytes gave pursuit, firing blasters.
Sangraal exited the office a burnt skeleton with tell tale threads of cooked sinew hanging off her. Ptolemus jumped back in surprise as he spotted her.
"Dude, chill," she said nonchalantly in a disembodied voice, new tissue and blood seemingly "leaking" out of the skeleton and reforming the image and clothing of the voluptuous Sith.
"I'm never going to get used to that," Ptolemus said in an agitated manner. "Who the hell is this guy? He's not one of the staff."
"I...believe he may have simply wandered in from the street, as hard as it is to believe..." Sangraal answered distantly.
"Somebody like that doesn't wander in from the street." Ptolemus countered. "That guy has danced this dance before."
Sangraal looked at Ptolemus and chuckled.
"All it means is that I get an amusing chase to go on."
"Planning to gut him?"
"Hardly. This man is different...you felt the touch of the Force in him, didn't you?"
"Yeah. Too busy getting hit in the jaw, however," Ptolemus replied wryly. "What, you think you found us a potential recruit?"
"Not a recruit, but if he's as powerful as I think...it certainly wouldn't hurt to keep him around and away from the Jedi."
"Funny way of reacting to somebody who just electrocuted you, Milady."
"Functional immortality allows one to let the little things slide. In truth, I would have been disappointed if he hadn't tried anything to escape me," Sangraal answered wistfully. "You won't need me for anything, will you?"
"I'll call you if something unexpected comes up, it's going to take an hour just to hack into the closed system," Ptolemus spoke. "Have fun playing with your mouse."
Granite-Eyes had fled his pursuers, by heading down even deeper into the building, deeper than the Acolytes had managed to secure. He knew he was in the vaults. The hall exited into a large spherical golden chamber covered with heavy, round vault doors and Force-Fields, with a a large hover platform in the middle of the chamber. A red light gleamed at the top of the chamber and an alarm whined at a high pitch. His entry in was curiously unhindered-The Sith must have managed to open all the weaker security checkpoints first.
They would find him before long. This was a dead end. And yet again-yet again-he had managed to run afoul of the Sith, who would surely kill him for dispatching their leader in such an undignified manner.
The Man went to a nearby desk, rummaging for anything that would prove useful. He spotted an unopened bottle of water in the lone drawer, and a pen for those times serious documents needed to be signed by hand. He took it. Not much of a weapon but it was better than nothing.
The Man crouched behind the desk trying to figure out what to do next. Escape from here was top priority-credits be damned.
The Man suddenly heard footsteps from the connecting staircase.
He went into attack mode,, preparing to flank his would be assailants-
"Pssst!"
Granite-Eyes darted around to a floor panel that had been opened from underneath close to the desk.
A man with a rounded face, floppy, fraying grey hair and the demeanor of a used vehicle salesman with a long nose and pale face leered up.
"Follow me if you don't want to get shot!" He hissed frantically.
The Man decided this was a much better course of option.
He quickly and quietly crept up to the open panel and followed his new rescuer in.
It was a dark, almost pitch black crawlspace. Granite-Eyes had to crouch to move effectively behind his new friend, who was dressed in a cheap yet formal grey suit consisting of a solid, non-buttoned cloth jacket, trousers, and scuffed leather shoes.
"I haven't seen you around before. You a client or new staff?" the staff member asked in a whisper, brown eyes blinking and readjusting to the darkness as they moved.
Granite-Eyes didn't answer.
The other man seemed to take the hint. "Sorry. Stupid question. All that matters is getting the hell out of here and warning the authorities and the Order. I'm Terrence, the Bank Manager. And you are-?"
No answer.
"Oh, don't speak Basic? Sorry man, I didn't know. Huttese? I know a little bit of Huttese."
Still no answer.
"Okay, be mysterious," Terrence sighed as they moved.
They eventually exited into a large chamber made of some black metal. Bright white runes lined every surface of the rectangular chamber. A small turbo lift door lay at the end.
A man with dirty blond hair cut in an almost military fashion with three days of unshaved stubble on his face with light tan skin and a square face with blue eyes waited patiently in a dirty, off-white Jedi robe set with black leather boots and a dark brown trench coat with the Order's swords and wings symbol stitched in waited, an expensive looking pair of spectacles hung from his long, angular nose, which was scrunched slightly by an expression of curiosity at seeing the granite-eyed man.
"I'm glad you're safe Terrence. And I see you brought aid," the man in the horn rimmed glasses noted in a rough, husky accent.
"He's just some guy who was hiding from them in one of the tertiary vault systems," Terrence answered. "We have to get the hell out of here with that prophecy. They brought in somebody-a woman with red eyes. Saw it all on the camera feed before I hid down here with you."
"Darth Sangraal: Dark Lady of Regeneration," the man in the glasses explained grimly, walking up to Granite-Eyes. "The Force provided me a vision of your escape...very clever. I take it you've been in this situation before?"
Granite-Eyes nodded.
"I see. Got a name?"
Granite-Eyes shook his head.
"Huh. Fair enough. My peers don't give me a name either. Safer that way. Call me Specs for expediency," the man said.
Jedi. So that explained it. Granite-Eyes had run into Jedi before. And while he did not regard them with the same revulsion as he did the Sith, he never forgot that many Sith had once been Jedi.
"I sensed your resourcefulness would be useful. That's why I had the Manager search you out. Okay, quick version: That Sith you electrocuted? Not dead. Immortal. She was probably back to full strength within seconds. They are after a dangerous prophecy that could tip the battle in their favor. We must escape, reach the extraction I called in for, and keep the prophecy out of that Sith's hands. Do you understand?" Specs asked.
Granite-Eyes nodded. As much as he hated constantly running into the Sith due to his unbelievably bad luck, he did enjoy frustrating them. And these two had gotten him out of an uncomfortable situation: He was now honor-bound to assist them, as his honor was often the only thing he had to his name along with whatever food or credits he happened to scrounge up as a drifter.
"Very good then. You're no stranger to blasters, I presume," Specs commented, going into his trench coat and pulling out two slim nickel-plated blasters with mother-of-pearl grips, along with a a set of shoulder holsters.
Granite-Eyes took them and spun each pistol expertly, juggling them for a few seconds before trick-flinging them into the holsters.
Terrence was wide-eyed.
"Dude, who the frak are you? Army?" he asked.
Granite-Eyes shook his head. He had practiced being a trick shot on the streets. Not that he was interested in letting the Manager know that.
"Whoever he is, we are fortunate to have run across him. A healthy dose of aggression is required if we are to escape our destroyers. Follow me," Specs instructed dispassionately, going into his trench coat and handing Terrence a small repeater. "Have you ever shot anyone before, Sir?" Specs asked.
"I did a stint in the reserves, but I've never pulled the trigger on anyone," Terrence replied, worriedly looking at the weapon in his hand.
"I'm afraid we shall have to break your streak of fortune: The Galaxy is at stake," Specs replied. "Follow me,"
Specs lead the pair deeper into the runed chamber.
"What are all the runes for?"
"Ancient Jedi Alchemy spells that prevent our detection from Force-Users," Specs answered. "But Sangraal would find us eventually. She's too powerful to be fooled by all this for long. And besides, do you really want to be stuck in a building with her?"
Terrence paled. "Screw that. I'd rather get shot."
Granite-Eyes nodded in agreement, putting on the holsters and weapons.
The trio came to a small central chamber.
Granite-Eyes spotted a small marble pedestal, upon which rested a small gold tube. A canister.
"It's safety depended on the secrecy of transport. Sith Philosophers rely on infiltration to achieve their aims. We're still trying to figure out who is a spy for them," Specs absently said, taking the canister and putting it in his trench coat.
"Why not just store it in the temple on Coruscant?" Terrence asked.
"Darth Kashtu had a lot of admirers there. Some Jedi feel the Order went too far exiling her. And the Prophet who made the prediction to begin with is dead from a stroke."
"How are the Jedi going to stop...her?" Terrence asked. "You said she's immortal."
"To conventional weapons, yes. Unless you had something like a nuke...but even then...I don't know," Specs replied uneasily. "But the Order's strength has never lain in crude matter. Our ally is the Force...and a powerful ally it is. Her defeat is simply a matter of using our knowledge wisely and standing firm against her and the rest of those degenerates."
A rumble shook the chamber above them.
"What was that?" Terrence asked. "You think they breached our hiding spot?"
"No. The whole building shook..." Specs closed his eyes.
They snapped open a second later. "Corellia is being invaded. We've been hit with artillery fire."
A wall to the trio's right dropped down into the floor. An emergency exit.
The trio started running as the artillery fire overhead grew louder.