The words glared at Zro-Don in the quiet room, so simple a command, yet his mind was wracked with questions. He scoured the files on the datapad for any further direction, but only found the instructions to contact Drakus after and only after his mission had been completed.
Where and how will I find a false Jedi? Zro-Don thought to himself, while pacing back and forth in the room.
After a few minutes of thinking, he gathered his travel gear; a backpack with some field rations, a water canteen, and some camping equipment. He slung his liquid cable launcher onto his belt, and slipped the datapad into one of the more secure pouches. He then holstered his lightsaber onto his belt as well. He finally shouldered his backpack and walked out into the hall.
Drakus had a nice facility on Coruscant, deep in the bowels of the Underworld, hidden away from the prying eyes of others. The Underworld consumed the meek, honed the strong. Zro-Don stepped out into the dark streets, rain falling like freezing needles against his face. He drew his hood over himself and started to walk to where he could find a lift to the higher surface. Coruscant was home to the Jedi Temple, a temple of blasphemy and apathy according to Drakus.
No sooner than he was around the corner, two dark figures blocked his way. One, a tall Trandoshan, his reptilian eyes gleamed with malice as he ground his fist into his palm, cracking knuckles. The other was a Rodian, whose bulbous black eyes shone with the same mal intent as his partner, his hand resting on an illegal heavy blaster pistol on his thigh.
"Look what we got here Jig," Hissed the Trandoshan, "A tiny morsel whose lost his way."
The Rodian laughed, his snout shuffling up and down, "How about you hand us your backpack over to us, before Thrash here rips your skull open." He said in Rodese.
Zro-Don, though tall and powerfully built for his age, stood at least a head shorter than the Trandoshan, but the Rodian was about his height. He kept both in his gaze as he held up his hands non-threateningly.
"You don't want to fight me…" He said in basic, the words slithering out of him.
"Oh! You hear that Jig? We should be afraid of this whelp." Thrash laughed as he turned back to snarl at the young Sith, his upper lip curling to reveal his fangs. "Well let's see how tough you are then." And Thrash threw a wild punch at Zro-Don.
The young Sith, expecting the underhanded swing, ducked the punch and countered with his own into the exposed stomach of the thug. One. Two. Three quick jabs into the ribs doubled over the Trandoshan with an Oomph! and he turned to kick out at the shocked Rodian, which sent him wind milling backwards. Thrash quickly recovered, his neck muscles bulged with anger as he swung again at the young warrior. Zro-Don dodged, blocked, then found an opening to counter with a driving right cross into the Trandoshan' s chin, hearing a loud Crack! as he felt Thrash's jawbone shatter, sending the thug reeling backwards until he collapsed in a heap.
A blaster bolt pinged by Zro-Don's fist. The trembling Rodian, not expecting to be fighting a trained warrior, shakily aimed his pistol at the young Sith.
"D-don't m-move!" He stammered in his native tongue, "I'll d-drill a hole into your head with th-this!" He threatened, emphasizing his intent by thrusting the pistol forward.
Zro-Don took no time in deciding his next move. From his fingertips erupted an amber lightning bolt that streaked across and struck the Rodian square in the chest, the cackling yellow bolts of electricity lit the Rodian up like a street sign. The blaster melted into Jig's hand and after a few more moments Zro-Don stopped channeling the Force Lightning and let Jig's smoking carcass slump onto the street.
"Justice served…" Zro-Don whispered as he continued down the street, turning his back upon the gruesome scene he left behind.