Please accept my fiction piece for the competition mentioned above. Thank you.

Seng Karash, what a cesspool of filth. I was going to need decontaminated form the lice and fleas in my hair when I finally returned home…hell, probably before they ever let me on the shuttle to return home.

Oh you can watch the holovids about it and listen to the hype, but underneath? The belly of the monster is teeming with corruption. That is where I come in. My orders are simple, take down the crime boss and enough of his subordinates to prevent the species trafficking and prostitution from starting back up again.

While I am not much of a white knight, I do not agree with treating people, especially young children, like slaves for others pleasures just because they are poor. So that is why I got this ‘special’ mission. The crime lord I am going after is using younger humans and other species as sex slaves, as well as to move his drugs off world.

For over a 10 months I had been undercover, pretending to be a simple mine foreman working for the Dlarit Corporation. High enough on the food chain that I could have my own tiny shack and not have to work 16 hours a day. However, not so high that the executives might notice or question me. I was still amazed at the power the Brotherhood and even more so the Shroud has. Papers, a history, even minor plastic surgery had gotten me inserted with minimal grief to my posting.

I had already bought a couple of prostitutes to enjoy and had begun casually asking around for something more exotic and fresh. A slimeball Utai who’s name I cannot pronounce gave me a number to a service that provided fresh young pleasure. After setting up a meeting with one of their brokers, I finally got a sold lead on my primary target.

For months I monitored the operation and took their goods. I never had sex, never stepped over the line. I would cha with the young females, ask them to help me understand the set up of their job. Mostly I promised them I would do something about their plight. Soon I was receiving good information and I began to formulate my attack.

The head of the organization lived in a large house in the middle of the city, almost a bunker. I watched it for over a week, memorizing the guard’s routines and the schedule of the house workers and various lieutenants. They weren’t very strict in their guarding discipline and I was able to sneak in a couple of times to plant a listening device and place a small bomb in their main conference room. Sadly, many of the meetings conducted in that room were done by teleconference. I wanted there to be as many people around from the organization as possible, so I could kill them all in one fell swoop. Finally, I got lucky. There was going to be a big party.

On the evening of the party, going on for the son of the boss, everyone who was anyone was invited. I know I was suppose to keep collateral damage to a minimum, but this was going to be the best opportunity I was going to have to wipe this filth out. I had set up a nice blind in a building nearby and could watch the compound from it without being caught. That night security was a bit beefier, but nothing I could handle. Nothing was going on in the conference room for sometime, then suddenly the lights came on. All of the higher ups to include the leader himself filed in and began speaking about business.

I left my hide and snuck up to the outer wall of the compound. Readying myself for combat I meditated to clear my focus with the Force and tripped the switch for the bomb. The explosion blew out the windows of the room and I could hear people screaming in pain. I jumped over the wall and ran toward the gaping hole in the wall. I guess I had used a wee bit too much explosive because there was not a whole lot left to the conference room. I ran into the ruins and began searching for the faces I had memorized. One, two, thre--, okay not sure there was not much left to that one. The crime boss was plastered against the wall and groaning. I quickly slit his throat. Looking around I found only carnage and separated body parts. There was no way this organization would ever get up and running again.

I quickly faded into the mess of people moving about and then gradually dropped out of the crowd. Running to the warehouse where the girls were imprisoned I dispatched the lone guard watching the door.
Busting open the door, I began freeing the girls. I sent them all to a local police station to tell their stories to the news services, the police and anyone that would listen.

The sun beat down on the pavements of the island paradise of Pandemonium. The light was glinting from the windows of the focal point of the resort, the skyscraper built in the middle of the island. Holiday makers thronged the streets, buying the wares of the vendors before making their way towards the beaches and bars of the tropical destination.

Quo had taken the bullet tram to the destination, travelling as regular holiday maker. The rucksack on his back felt foreign and unwelcome as he left the station, sunglasses perched on his nose. Clad in a loud shirt, shorts, and walking boots he had never felt as ridiculous in his life. Glancing from left to right he took in the sights, making his way towards the bars that huddled together around the harbour like a flock of predatory birds, attracting in the passing trade.

Quo made his way towards them, looking for one of the taverns in particular. Searching the garish signs that winked and twinkled above each individual establishment he soon found it. Merrinbah’s. Looking at it from the pavement outside it was a mass of colour. The hoardings outside the main entrance advertising the wares that could be found inside. There were foods from other systems, dancing girls, live acts, and more alcoholic concoctions than you could shake a stick at. To the young Zabrak it was some form of technological nightmare, not a place he would normally frequent. Biting the bullet he entered.

The inside was, if anything, even more garish than the outer. Thousands of lights blinked in sequence as music battered at his hearing, the bass reverberating against his chest, the vibrations enough to take his breathe away he thought, even with a prosthetic breathing unit. The onslaught on his senses was incessant, his brain reeling to try and take everything in. Scanning over the room he took in the bar, the dance floor, the staging area, and the exits. There were two doors at the rear of the room, each one with a guardian dressed in black evening dress complete with bow ties. The one on the left was another Zabrak, the one to the right a Deshade.

Ordering a drink he took a booth against the wall, small, just enough room for two, and blanketed in shadows. Sitting down he watched. The writhing figures on the dance floor seemed to be lost in the rhythms of the music, or lost in each other in some cases. Watching and waiting Quo’s eyes reflected the dancing lights. He knew that his target was close, but he hadn’t seen her yet, she was never very far away from her base of operations, and this was ground zero. He paid particular attention to the guardians of the doors, watching the foot traffic that occasionally approached and was passed through to the area behind the solid looking doors. All of the people had one thing in common. They all had a slightly blue palour to their faces, and the eyes seemed to be a little too dark, as if they had sunk a little too far into their sockets.

Seven hours later he was still sat, watching the room, and was on his fourth drink, this time a fruit based mixture, sweet and cloying as it hit his mouth through the drinking tube, although not unpleasant to the taste. That was when she entered. He had never actually seen a Miralukan before, but he recognised her instantly with her visor. Even without it he would have noticed her. She was beautiful beyond words, and moved with a slinking gracefulness, oozing sexuality as she crossed the room. The dancers before her on her journey across the dance floor seemed to part before her as if pushed aside by an invisible force. Watching her was hypnotic, but Quo knew he had a job to do, he was here for business not pleasure.

As she approached the Deshade the hulk of a man stepped sideways, opening the door for the woman as she approached. For his size he managed to do it with a fluidity that belied his bulk, the woman sweeping through the portal like a spirit. The doorman closed the door behind her as she disappeared into the space beyond.

Quo watched further. A group of kids were heading towards the door, Quo realised what they were doing. They needed their fix, and having watched the king pin walk in they knew that they could get what they required. Quo knew that he could not sneak by the doorman using invisibility, the species had a partial resistance to the Force, and he wasn’t going to take the chance on his discovery. Joining the worse for wear revellers on their journey towards the door, making himself appear as intoxicated as they were, stumbling and rolling as he walked.

“We get zum biz-niz?” drawled the leader of the group

“Hmmmm,” replied the dinner suited behemoth, a thumb over the shoulder given as a signal to enter.

En masse they entered. Within the room were four more sentries, all wearing the pre-requisite evening wear. Sitting behind an obsidian desk, shiny and black with scrolled legs sat the Miralukan female. The seat she was occupying was tall backed with wings, matching the glittering table. She sat bolt upright, hands resting against each other at chin height, the index fingers steepled under her chin.

The self-proposed leader of the group spoke. ”We need some, ma’am. You know, like, enough for all of us.” He smiled as he spoke, his head slightly bowed, subconsciously giving respect to his benefactor.

“Five hundred creds,” came the lilting voice of the dealer, a wave of her hand to one of the minions to her left, who turned, retrieving a package from a cabinet placed near the wall, “money first”

The group began scrabbling in their pockets and wallets, passing the credit chips to their leader. Quo took the chance. Moving his pack round to his front he unzipped the top, reaching inside with his right hand. His hand wrapped gently around his lightsaber, letting the pack fall to the floor. The ‘snap hiss hum’ filled the room as his blade ignited. Three of the four henchmen reached beneath their jacket, trying to grab for the blaster pistols secreted beneath. Quo’s saber arced around to the right, the flight of it sending the blade through the neck of the first without diminishing the power of the throw. Too late the second saw the blade spinning towards him, entering his body through his upper arm before bisecting him across the chest, never getting a chance to level the blaster and fire on the young Sith. A gesture from his right hand brought the pommel back to his grasp with a gentle ‘slap’.

Quo was already rolling to his left, hopping from right foot to left as his body pirouetted through the air, each step closing the distance to the two men to his left hand side. His feet landed squarely between them, the crimson blade already chopping towards the right, blocking the blast that erupted from the pistol levelled at him, a serpentine twist of scarlet rotating round the blaster as the beam severed the hand holding it. With a gesture of his left hand blue and white lightning exploded from his fingers, enveloping the other where he stood, his skeletal structure flashing through the flesh as his being was torched in blinding light. A flick of the right wrist brought the saber blade around again, plunging to the hilt into the chest of his former target killing him instantly.

The revellers took flight for the nearest exit, scattering in all directions in an attempt to escape the carnage. Quo covered the ground to his ruck sack in a stride, his left hand diving inside the darkness.

The Mirulakan woman had vaulted from her chair, her slight frame belying the fact that her muscles were taught and well toned. Her legs propelled her backwards, the chair falling backwards, the occupant rolling backwards into a ready position, her left hand raised at chest level on her centre line, the right hand rising, fingers folded around a stubby blaster pistol. As she came to her feet she fired a burst of three shots. Quo’s saber danced, deflecting the shots away from him, their impacts hitting both ceiling and wall with a thud, the third skipped over his shoulder, hitting one of the running boys in the leg, taking him down as he ran. Quo spun on the ball of his right foot, two throwing knives arrowing towards the woman, the first taking the pistol from her fingers as the second buried itself in her shoulder, the force of it driving her backwards into the back wall, the protruding blade ‘thunking’ into the wooden panelling, pinning her in position.

Feeling rather than seeing the door to his rear right open Quo rolled forwards, twisting as he did so, reversing his direction. The curving path of his left arm continuing as he released another throwing knife towards the entrance, taking the other Zabrak in the throat, sending him backwards out of the room. Raising to his own ready position he watched as the Deshade decimated the door, charging through it with a bellow, sending splinters of wood in every direction. His charge took him through the retreating revellers, swatting them aside with his massive hands, leaving them in crumpled heaps as he zeroed in on the Sith warrior. With a roar he altered his trajectory to intercept the Dark Knight. Quo balanced himself on the balls of his feet, the left foot slightly further forward of his right, shoulder width apart, his saber held at waist height angled diagonally upwards.

The sheer mass of him drove the Dashade onwards, tearing through anyone that stood in his way. Quo waited, relaxing his body until the man mountain was within two meters. With a slide Quo dropped into the splits, passing below the grasping arms of the door man, and between his legs, seeming to disappear before the moving megalith’s gaze. As he dropped he thrust the saber upwards and backwards, then forwards with all his might, cleaving the massive frame from groin to throat. The Deshade’s momentum took him forwards, falling into the desk, smashing it to smithereens with his tremendous bulk.

Quo stood. Looking around the destruction was less than he had imagined... for him anyway. Making his way through the devastation he removed his blade from the pinned figure on the back wall. She looked for all the world that all the pain in the room had coursed through her body. She looked spent, exhausted.

“Clan Naga Sadow will not tolerate drugs within our territory” Quo stated flatly, brokering no argument with his tone, “and you, Pellara, are the most prolific of traffickers, at least, ... you were”

Quo walked across to his ruck sack, producing a pair of binders, attaching them to her wrists.

“Quo here, send a squad.” He spoke into his wrist communicator.

“On their way, Sir.”
Grasping her beneath her armpit he led her out of the building. One down, lots to go he thought. Picking up his rucksack up as he left the establishment he knew that the Clan would be pleased with his work even if they didn’t agree with his methods.

The cockpit of the Tie Oppressor was cramped, they weren’t really designed for comfort, more for the sake of practicality and functionality, and it was a place that Quo felt at one. Feeling the ship respond to his input on the controls gave him a comfort, if comfort can be allocated to a Sith. His reactions and concentration were not forced in here, it was more reflexive, more of an instinct than a chore. He’d spent many hours making this ship his own. The parts that he had added were bespoke, his own hands had manufactured the parts, his own brain had designed them, and the ship was the better for it he felt. From the modification that he had made to the main bomb bay, making it into a cargo hold, right through to the advanced electronics and sensors that he had installed it was down to him. The very seat he was sitting in was moulded to fit his body perfectly, cushioning and caressing him as the ship twisted and turned under his ministrations.

From the very first time that he had seen her, after he had unearthed her from her sandy grave on Jaaku, he had known that she was his. She had called to him through the Force, nagging him incessantly, guiding him to her hiding place beneath the golden ocean. He had brought her back to life, resurrected her, and brought her with him when he had arrived on Sepros. He had repaired her damaged systems, and through a process of cannibalisation of some of the rusting remains that he found in the forested areas of the planet he managed to get her ready for flight again. He extended the fuel tanks, and put in protective plating over them, boosted the shields up to one hundred and seventy three percent of optimum.

Deep in the jungle he had found several turbo cannon, that were in various states of degradation. Cobbling all the parts together, and manually carrying them back to his makeshift workshop in an abandoned hangar. Working all the hours that his body would allow he managed to get one of them working, the tree stumps and fragments of wood around stood as testament to its destructive power. Mounting it onto the air frame was a battle and a half, but through trial and error Quo managed eventually to mount it as close to the centre line of the fuselage as made no difference. He uprated the twin laser cannons that were already mounted on the wing stubs of the craft, recalibrating them and upping their fire rate so that they could almost match an X-Wings. Installing three extra battery units also improved the recycling of the shields, although it did little to improve the aerodynamics of the craft. There was a new rear cockpit added, courtesy of a crashed Tie Fighter so that he could carry another person, or more equipment if necessary. When he had finished, and all the new panelling was added to correct some of the deficiency she looked like a Tie Oppressor that had some strange kind of glandular problem, but Quo didn’t mind, she was his, and her bite was definitely worse than her bark. She was a fine ship, with a fine name.

The Eenzaam. It meant ‘Solitary’, and it was perfect for her. She was the only one, and Quo was proud of her. He had built her into the craft that she was, and he treated her as his own. He had never had a family, and probably never would, but the Eenzaam was his offspring, and he would look after her like she was flesh and blood. She would fight to her last breath, and could take on ships that were a lot better on paper. He had cured all of her shortfalls, from the sluggish response to the controls, to the poor quality of the sensors, to the lack of speed. She now carried an extra cannon, extra batteries, and proton torpedoes, and was still faster and more agile than any other Oppressor in the Galaxy.

Once all the work was completed he managed to get some time inside the main hangars, more specifically the spraying bay. The Eenzaam was given a coat of matt black paint to her hull, with three blood red slashes across the bow, looking like she had been raked by a rancor. Quo thought it was fitting, in that she had been a wounded animal when he had been led to her, and now she stood, newly recreated, with her scars and modifications she fitted his own persona. He too was scarred, and had a few prosthetic modifications of his own. They were a good fit together, they suited each other.

Now, seated in the front cockpit, he skimmed the surface of Sepros, swooping down over long abandoned cities and temples, feeling the g-forces squeezing his body into the custom made seat, he truly felt alive. Nobody could take this time away from him, and his mind went on journeys that his body could not follow. Confusions that angered him on the ground were as clouds around him as he flew, dissipated with the gusts of wind aloft. Spinning and looping his ship, diving down crevasses that were barely wider than the Eezaam, vortices whipping behind as he whirled and rolled. His mind was calmed, his thoughts blessed with clarity, and even the seemingly insurmountable problems of his earth bound alter ego were solved and processed, even as his body, strapped tightly into the ship was carrying out physically demanding aerobatics. He understood where he stood in the Galaxy, what direction he should follow, and knew the power of the Dark Side of the Force. Quo was as at peace as he ever was, he was home, home alone.

I hope you guys enjoy!
This is my favourite piece of fiction yet ♥ xx

here you go enjoy!