#parttimedragon

Turns out it was to break out of the very prison they were going to throw him in the first place.

A month he has been around the most dangerous the Empire had to offer in some backwaters neighborhood on the dark side of Nar Shadda. But today? Today he was leaving.

For all their talk of antisocial behavior he thinks he’s actually fairly personable. It was his winning personality and stunning good looks that won him the secret alliances that got him a small blade after all. Well. It wasn’t a blade at first.

At first it was just some small industrial plastic pipe from a heap of garbage that they leave in the more “too intelligent to kill off” sector of the prison. They get all the good stuff. He had just hollowed out a small section of the sole of his shoe - small enough to be missed- wedged it between the insole and and sharpened it against the rough ground whenever he was allowed in the common yard by walking and shuffling on the hard ground. He dedicated a whole three nails to his construction of his shoe, he was rather proud of his ingenuity, really. In his section, the “very scary dangerous people” section - he’d like to call it, everything was very smooth, very curved, very not-makeshift weapon-friendly.

So he made a blade - a small spear, if you will - out of a smuggled pipe.

He hoped his record also said “creative” somewhere on it. Or if not, now it certainly should after this.

The forcefield dropped from his cell and he stood, his foot - which he had injured by stepping wrong atop his little art project - had healed, the weariness in his muscles from working out in the yard every day for about a month was gone, he was well rested, if he could just get some decent food he’d be feeling pretty spectacular.

He settled for good. Today, after all, was going to be a good day.

What was also good was how, because the cells were so safe, they also weren’t monitored within the cells themselves. He had tested it. The halls, though, were. Speaking of halls, his neighbor just passed his cell. Big guy, fair skin, bald head, older, probably killed a lot of civilians or something in his prime. Evacios was sure he told why the man was locked up, he just didn’t care to remember.

“Hey, big guy!” he trotted out to meet him, leaning against the edge of his cell. He made a casual look up and down the hall, the two guards at the exit to their wing stood posted, their blaster rifles at rest, the smoke canisters full of various types of gasses still hung at their waist. Their wing-mates filed past the two of them as … damn, he could never remember his name, hung out next to him.

“Pretty boy,” the man groused, their normal exchange. Evacios chuckled in good nature and shook his head, clapping him on the shoulder with his free hand. His other hand, of course, was hiding his weapon.

“Any news yet? They said they’re letting you out, right?” Evacios questioned, acting attentive. As … the guy, the big guy, nodded slowly. He glanced away to count the number of people filing by. The woman from the end cell finally made their way past as Big Man started explaining that the appeal had a good chance of going through, and he was going to maybe be a part of the police back home on Dromund Kaas. He nodded and hummed when he was supposed to, he was listening to the bodies that disrupted the forcefield that blocked the entrance. Two more … one more … Finally the woman left and with a renewed energy he tucked his lower lip into his mouth, whistled shrilly, and looked down the hall. It got the guards attention. Good. They brought their rifles to the ready. Better. He tucked himself a little bit into his cell to present less of a target, turned back to Big Person, grabbed him by the face, and jammed the refashioned pipe into his neck. He sliced in an arc and tore through. Blood splashed against his light gray uniform as he pulled the man in and braced himself behind the body just as shots started to ring out, peppering his meat shield. He tucked back into his cell and let the body fall. He immediately put his hands atop his head and started breathing deeply.

He staged another fight before - it’s why he was transferred here - the guards always started with that gas, which he heard the cans open with a his and then clatter and roll towards his cell on the floor. With all he had been training he was able to hold his breath for about three to four minutes. If he was fighting he’d have to shave down that expected time to at most two minutes of air. He saw the smoke start to filter in. He took one deep breath and then crouched by the cell entrance just as the smoke was coming in to obscure him, he even propped Big Human up beside him as a distraction. All he needed was a second, a second glance, a second thought.

The first guard turned the corner, he looked to the dead body instead of him. He sprung up and jabbed the pipe this time straight up into the soft neck gap of the armor and hopefully up through the underside of the guard’s jaw. Seemed to have worked, any scream was just a gurgle from the guard. Dumb architects made the cell forcefield entry single-file. He pulled the first guard’s body down, snatching the helmet off now that the difference of body weight simply tore the chinstrap off as the body fell with dead weight.

Literally. Ha.

In the enclosed space blaster fire caught his side but he stepped over the bodies, drew the second guard in just as the forcefield closed behind him. Evacios had to wrestle the rifle away but seeing as the dumb administrators gave guards rifles in closed quarters it was fairly easy to manage as he held the sharpened spike just at the same place he just stabbed the man’s colleague. He narrowed his eyes as smoke continued to fill around them - things could get in but not out of the forcefield. He pressed it harder on the soft underside of his jaw as a warning as Evacios leaned down, snatched up the discarded helmet and pulled it on. The helmet itself was no longer air tight but there was a mouthpiece for just these occasions.

He took a deep breath of filtered air as he sealed the mouthpiece around him. He glanced down to the comm device on their chest and was glad for all those smart slicers in prison here that kept this place relatively low-tech to keep them at bay.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” he started pleasantly, “I’m now your partner. We are going to see that the prisoner here accidentally started a fire, you deactivate my cell and we leave when emergency protocol takes effect.” He pressed the tip of the pipe hard enough now to pierce through the synthetic fabric of the neck cover. “You make one peep out of line, you do anything that makes me think you’re suspicious and I fucking kill you and every friend of yours I meet on my way out of here,” his tone wasn’t pleasant anymore. “You, and you alone, hold the fate of your colleagues in your hands. Just think-” he paused for effect “I could kill you both with a bloody pipe - I did kill with a bloody pipe. Imagine what I can do with this rifle … Nod if you understand,” he warned, this time drawing blood as the guard nodded.

Evacios quickly got the rest of the dead guard’s armor on. He still held the pipe but he had the other guard wait in the corner, away from the rifles, as he dressed. Can never be too careful. He popped the heat sink - full of tibaana gas - out of one of the rifles and put it on the small pile of bodies he made. He passed that rifle to the guard. Standing back he shot the heat sink and it made a small explosion. It singed the front of his armor as the clothes and bodies faithfully ignited. His fellow guard lowered the shield to his cell, they both ran off to initiate emergency protocols, they both stuck close together as his new friend gave quick orders to the cleanup and emergency crew, and they both walked out of there - tomorrow they’d be questioned extensively as to what happened, no doubt, as new guards took their place for the rest of their shift.

Only that tomorrow wasn’t happening. For either of them.

When they cleared the compound before his “partner” could even turn to question him, Evacios shouldered the rifle and let loose a couple of rounds into that small hole he made which, admittedly, he was fixated on and worried it would be the inconsistency that ruined this escape.

Nope. Instead? He was going to escape and even avoid that Sith’s service at this rate.

He nearly got to the taxi speeder before he was stopped with an icy hand on his shoulder. He looked over to it’s owner.

An abomination of a Sith. Human. Male. Pale skin. Cybernetic exoskeleton on his hand. A sinking feeling seeped into him: dread, it felt like.

He was caught.

“You are worthy,” came the same digitized, deep, monotone.

He kneeled next to a man on his left, a woman on his right, one of six bent figures, adorned in black almost robe-like armor. He stared at the ground, the six of them still as the grave - if they knew what was good for them.

From underneath his hood, he could see the deep purple robes of his new “Master.” No one told him they kept to the theme of their unit HOUND: Hierarchy Ordained, Unilateral Neutralization Division so Emperor-damned closely.

He was surprised none of them wore ears.

“My Hounds,” came the curling, sinister, mechanized voice of Darth Jadus, “I sense a willfulness unbecoming of this squad. Unacceptable, before I send you to hunt. Lose yourself of this and remember that your lives are forfeit to me and I may do with them as I wish. If you do not strip of those emotions, I will do it for you.”

He clenched his eyes, emptied his thoughts, and felt the desolation of the Darth seep into his skin.

No, this wasn’t even a sentencing after all.