Above the turbolift's threshold the electronic floor indicator counted up, and he counted with it.

165, 166, 167…

He fidgeted in his drab civilian clothes. This is the most uncomfortable shit ever, he thought anxiously, I pity the fucks who wear this. Regardless of his thoughts, he knew they were necessary. Disguised as a homeless man, he easily slipped into the Senate building undetected, and fooling the guards with the sickening odors that clung to his clothes.

Deception is what he did best. Deception is what gets a job done.

Subtract all the rags, scrub him up a bit, and he'd have the ladies eating out of his hand. His chiseled features – with those steely eyes and the attractively tousled dirty blonde mop on his head – seemed better than his ill-mannered nature. Put a smile on those thin lips of his, and he'd obtain all the attention in the room; something, where he came from, that was frowned upon; he needed to stay hidden.

201, 202, 203…

Almost there.

Dangling beside him was his weapon's narrow hilt, asleep just waiting to wake and do his bidding. His knowledge in the Force helped him conceal it upon entry. This went with him wherever he went, and right now he took it as a precaution. His target didn't need a laser sword to end his life. The job was simple: he'd walk into the office as the distraction, and his friend would make their appearance and they'd do the kill together. Afterwards, it'd be splitting the bounty and walking away.

Certainly, it was a more reliable income source than training three useless apprentices to push forward the rebirth of the Sith Empire. There were at least four – counting himself – Sith followers that remained hidden from the Jedi and the Republic. They planned to stay away from the Republic and its war against the Confederacy. They planned to stay away; he didn't.

The lift dinged on his desired floor, and the massive doors slid open. He stepped out into the dark hallway, noting how late in the evening it'd become since he arrived. A massive window pane stretched in front of him, circling around the floor with the picturesque look of Coruscant's cityscape at sundown.

But he didn't come here to admire the view. Grimly, he headed to the right, passing a several closed doors, and arrived at the one with a gilded plaque had, "SENATOR KARAKA LANRAX," posted on the door.

His fingers furled into his palm.

Knock-knock!

"Come in!" a booming voice instantly replied.

He opened the door and stepped inside. On entry, he surveyed the area – a small rectangular space only furnished with a desk and two armchairs suitable for quests – and spotted Lanrax at his desk hunched over a datapad in his hands. The senator wasn't too old, nor was he young. Being middle-aged, he had racked up much respect from his fellow peers but had so much to learn.

The latch clicked when the door shut behind him, leaving them alone in the dimly lit room. Until the senator started screaming for the guards, their one-on-one quality time was on a clock. Time to make the most of it, he thought gleefully, just a short time together: the predator and its prey.

"Can I help you?" Lanrax now had his full attention on the stranger. Those oblivious blue eyes, that soft, friendly smile, made the man's heart sing with sadistic excitement.

"Yes. Perhaps you can," he said. He walked over to the senator's desk, not bothering to sit down. He folded his hands behind his back, showing an intriguing grin to match the senator's smile.

Lanrax raised an eyebrow. "Well?"

"I'm waiting for a friend, you see, and we promised to talk to you about something…personal. He's just so damn good at explaining things; way better than I do." He watched the senator's smile slipped away.

"Personal?" he said.

"Ah, yes- personal."

"…How personal are we talking?" Uncertainty slipped in the senator's tone.

"Ah, you know, personal shit – something you're bound to help us with, right?" Well, it was official: small talk definitely wasn't his forte. His friend better man their appearance soon. Where the fuck is he?

Lanrax's voice shoved him back to the present: "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."

He leaned on the desk, looking at Lanrax straight in the eye. "Look, Senator, you're a very busy man, and I didn't come here smelling like shit for nothing. Let's just wait for my friend, okay?"

"Uh-huh," was all Lanrax said. As his hands moved from his lap, his knuckle tapped the desk's underside.

Drawing in a deep breath, the Force enhanced the man's senses. The dark side helped him breathe easier, and survey Lanrax's feelings better. Lanrax seemed nervous just for a second and then an odd sense of calm fell over him. Then it suddenly dawned on him; the tap beneath the desk.

He straightened his posture and sighed, "I honestly hoped I wasn't the one getting my hands messy—" He grabbed Lanrax's shoulders and hauled him out of his office chair and over his desk, his breath hot against his skin "—but sometimes, you need to take matters in your own hands."

Using his mind, the desk hurled across the room – out of the way. He threw the senator against the wall and repositioned his hands around the man's warm throat. His fingers squeezed the soft skin, feeling the esophagus against his palm. Lanrax thrashed, kicking vainly as his body slid higher up the wall. His throat let out a gargled scream.

"Don't make this harder for me—" His head tilted to the side, listening. Thunderous footfall raced several meters down the hallway and he scowled. He tightened his grip and felt the senator strain in his grasp. Through the dark side, he drank in Lanrax's fear, embraced it as it fed him a high that he always thrived for. That high became his life.

Lanrax's hand clawed at the corner of his eye, breaking skin.

The man growled furiously and fought the urge to retract his hands, but the senator's nails clawed again – digging into his skin like fanged parasites – and he relented. Gasping, Lanrax dropped to his feet and managed to swing a punch. His attacker stumbled back in a daze.

Exploding through the door, the guards flooded into the room with their blasters poised for the skill. Not much time, thought the man as he reached to his side. His hilt fit perfectly in his palm and awakened with a spine-tingling snap-hiss. Springing to life, a bar of pure plasma appeared by his side, its scarlet glow illuminating the dim room.

"He sent you, didn't he?" Lanrax said just below a whisper.

He nodded just to humor the senator. In all honesty, he didn't know who "he" was, nor did he know who hired his friend in the first place.

"What the fuck?" one whispered softly. "Is that…Dooku?"

"Nah, it can't be," another chided.

"Stand down—" the leading guard shouted, "— deactivate your weapon and come quietly."

There's no way that's happening!

His blade whirled around as he pivoted on his heels and bounded forward. The guards open fire, and in an instant he kept the rain of blaster bolts away from him. Nothing but chaos erupted in this room, and his friend was missing all the fun.

A dozen guards had piled themselves into the room, a foolish mistake. With these close quarters, it was difficult to duke out a fight. The man face was lit with a ghastly smile as he closed the distance between him and the guards, and went unleashed his frenzy. His blade swung like an extension to his arm, deflecting bolts and sending them back to their source, severing others in half, and cleanly decapitating the lucky ones.

Before they knew it, all guards were disposed of.

His attention returned to Lanrax, who peeked out from behind his desk with horrified eyes. The death pooling at the entryway to his office was a grisly sight. But, surprisingly, he remained cool, and bold. "I-I'm not afraid of you," he said, swallowing back the fear that attempted to climb up his throat like vomit. He slowly stood up, completely exposed, and backed himself to the wall. Like such a frightened animal.

He scoffed. "You should be—" His arm raised back and prepared to send his blade in for the kill when, suddenly, something sharp dug into his back and jolted him on his face. Electricity pulsed through his body, shut down his nerves. His laser sword slipped from his weakened grasp and deactivated beside him. Convulsions possessed his body and he thrashed, like a mindless animal, until he fell still.

New guards shouldered past the door, with their blasters set to stun no doubt. They maneuvered around the gory mess, splitting into two groups: one to check on the shaken senator, and the other to restrain the intruder.

At least the man's mind still sprinted through the process of thought. He closed his eyes, concentrating deep and reaching out. He couldn't believe he was doing this, trying to contact his old Sith friends through their shared telepathy.

"Tylo," he mused soundlessly. There was nothing better than hearing the voice of an old friend. He called again, but he didn't hear a reply.

Two guards leaned over him, one injecting him with a sedative that started to make his mind grow fuzzy. The connection was beginning to slip away with his consciousness. Together, the burly men heaved him up by the arms and dragged him out.

Before his focus slipped away, he momentarily considered the friend that failed to make their appearance. And that anger would hold him over until rescue came, if it ever did.

Author's note: So here it is! I've decided to post two chapters just for the heck of it, and I thought it'd be nice to post on a Saturday (or at least something close to that). You may have noticed I've removed a majority of the chapters, and that's because those chapters don't fit the story anymore. And it'll be a rare sight to see these author notes from me.

A new chapter will be posted every Saturday unless stated otherwise.

Other than that (& this is for you new readers) this story is also published on Wattpad & Archive of Our Own.

Alright then, happy reading!