Captain CT:████, Rats.
[It was several months after the interview with Marcus that I made any headway on the case. I was lying low in an apartment in Coruscant when I got the message. It wasn't a holo-message, an audio message, or even a text message. I received the message via a letter passed through my door. The writing was scratchy and hard to read, but simple: "Back from Vjun, at Senate Building. Can't talk for long. Bring no one. Rats"]
[When I got there, he was waiting for me. Although pale and not exactly a bodybuilder, Rats was wiry and nimble. He was wearing his armor, surprisingly. But I decided I didn't want to see him in a T-shirt. He wore sunglasses, probably for my comfort. But it didn't protect me from his uneven grin. We sat down at a table nearby, the bright sunny day prevented him from sitting in the open. So we sat under an awning.]
Why are you here, anyway?
I'm here to talk to you ab-
That's not what I asked, listen to me carefully. WHY are you here? You've gotten your report, you've got the evidence, you've know what happened. So why have you come here? Hm? There is nothing I can tell you about that day that Marcus hasn't other than I am not sorry.
Your not?
I never am. I'm not saying I enjoy making pain, or that I enjoy killing things. People always assume I take joy in killing. But that is a lie. If I took joy in killing, I would not be here. I'd be with a Sith, or I'd be a CIS spy. But no, I'm here. Despite everything. Despite abuse and harassment, despite rumors and lies, despite hypocrites and judgment. I'm here, and not there. Yes, I blame me for killing those people. But the blame is not exactly heavy on my conscience. If you want to blame somebody, blame the little puny snot nosed clonelets, the industry of lies I work in, the harsh words of teammates and friends, and the worst of them all; the idle spectators that stood and watched. That made me into what I am today, that made me Rats.
No, I do not take joy in killing. But I am to say I feel nothing in it. No joy or sadness, no pain or pleasure. It is a gift, friend. It is a gift that I do not have to think about the men and woman I've killed over the years, innocent and guilty. It is a gift I can sleep easy, with no guilt on my heart or regret in my veins.
I'm not your friend.
Rats grins widely and raises his arms Who is? Who dares befriend Rats the clone? The killer? The monster? The wretch? He laughs warmly, as if he has made a funny joke. I didn't expect friendship. And neither did I want it.
People seem to think that The Republic is a shining beacon of morality and justice. That The Republic is out for the betterment of everyone. It isn't, the only difference between US and THEM is that THEY have no cover, no little curtain to hide their atrocities. The Republic has a wing of Intelligence JUST for covering up the Republic's messes. I should know, I work in it.
There is a short pause as Rats takes a breath
I think I'm done here, I have scum to kill.
Anything to add?
I may not be as skilled as wise as Yoda, or skilled as Obi Wan, or charismatic like Anakin. But I can guarantee that if I ever get my hands on your throat... Even they can't save dead men.
The Blackened Harvest report was never filed.