The Jedi And The Warrior

This Is Justice

There were other inhabitants of Coruscant that were not so idle.

While the Jedi slept, and Obi-Wan kept vigil, a dark, cloaked figure slipped through the night of the lower city. He was tall, and there was a low pulse of darkness around him; he emitted evil like a boiling pot emits steam.

But he went unnoticed, seeming to melt into the shadows cast by the multi-coloured strip-lights, moving through the plethora of Coruscantians with soundless footsteps, as though he had never been. Other criminals, other nighttime dwellers that sought cruelty and pain under the cloak of darkness flitted from shadow to shadow, watched by untrusting eyes.

This one was different. He was not to be found crouching in the shadows. He was the shadows.

He stalked down the streets, never faltering, heading for one particular establishment, its glowing, loud purple letters spelling out the words Droopy McCool's Pleasure Establishment.

An otherwise harmless building, that had gone unnoticed for many years. Not anymore. Not after a loose tongue slurring words that should never have been said in any confidence, under any roof. That loose tongue had been dealt with: removed from its throat, right before the head had been removed from its body.

But too late. No longer could this establishment be ignored, not after the hushed, fearful words of a barman to his friend. His friend that lived in the Temple. His friend, the brother of a Jedi. That friend had been dealt with, too — though not by the shadow within the shadows. Other forces had saved them that inconvenience.

But the barman... He had been given a chance. A chance at silence, a chance at life. He had made too much noise, and now he would have to be... permanently silenced.

It was why you didn't trust those who had only one foot in the shadows, he had told his Master. Bold, that statement had been — bold, to question the choices of his Master.

He had paid for his insolence, still had the bruises to show for it.

The cloaked shadow slipped inside the establishment, weaving between drunken revellers and dark-eyed men who had none of the control he had practiced, and ducked through the clinging curtains of one of the many rooms lining the walls.

Inside, the light was a deep, throbbing red, and on the bed at the far wall, tangled in luscious silk and sheets of many colours, the owner of this establishment sat alone, peering at his reflection in a dirty mirror on the wall. He had a flat nose that looked like that of a pig, and he was green.

But he caught sight of the cloaked figure in the mirror-reflection and his eyes went wide. He leaped to his feet.

"No!" he cried. "No, I haven't told anyone, I... I swear!"

The figure just took one step further into the room. "Then tell me how Ben Kenobi came to know?" His voice was gravelly and deep, and spoke of the gaps between stars.

The man gave a trembling cry and stumbled back, throwing his hands forward in a gesture of supplication. "Please," he whispered. "Please!"

The figure stalked forward, and a glimpse of red and black could be seen beneath his hood, like some ghastly war paint. From his belt he drew and ignited a blood-red, double handed lightsaber.

Droopy shook his head, over and over, as if he could somehow undo this.

"You knew the price," the figure said, approaching with every echoing step.

Droopy just kept shaking his head. "This is evil," he whispered.

The dark figure laughed, standing now directly above the bar owner. "No," he said quietly. "This is justice."

With a screech as of metal on bone, he brought down the lightsaber upon Droopy's head.