Jedi Insurgency 310

After finishing their interrogation, Yon & S'vala quickly decided to mount an execution operation, and counter-kill the Fashionista that very day. Instead of gathering the armed forces of the Republic, or other units, they had opted to go together. 

For one, Yon wanted to test himself-as he had greatly improved since training on Tython-and secondly, he didn't want to interrupt his Master's planning. Nearly every hour, his Master was in meetings directing various Jedi, fleet elements, commandos, and other intelligence operatives across the galaxy. The role of a capable apprentice, in his view, was to settle matters before the teacher ever had to worry about them. 

Thus, he had found himself in the Veiled District belonging to a city entirely dedicated to fashion. The perpetually dark world was somewhat brighter in this city, as cool green, blue, and purple lights lit up the streets. Unlike most other densely populated worlds, this one built downward instead of up. Most ‘mega structures’ were only about 10 stories tall, and had an unassuming round architecture. Squares, rectangles, and other brutalist style buildings were nowhere to be seen. 

By day, the vaulted promenades of Umbara’s most prestigious fashion quarter burned beneath artificial suns, their pale radiance spilling across towers of black glass and silver stone. Noblewomen drifted between ateliers in gowns that breathed mist, and holographic models walked endlessly through the air, displaying garments that changed color with the wearer’s heartbeat.

Yon watched a hologram pass through him in minor interest. Once his Master had free time, he knew that he would find interest in this unique scene, yet Yon was more interested in completing the mission. Keeping track of a target identified by S'vala, he prepared himself to make a move. 

A towering Umbaran woman crossed the empty promenade, her projected dress blooming into silver feathers before dissolving into a mantle of stars. Beyond her, two guards stood beneath the entrance to the House of Veyra. Their armor was ceremonial black, meant to look dashing, but the rifles in their hands were military issue.

“Two at the door.” Yon whispered.

“Four watching the door.” S’vala replied.

She stood beside him beneath the shelter of an ornamental archway. Her skin was pale even by Umbaran standards, nearly luminous beneath the violet streetlamps. White hair fell to her shoulders in a smooth, immaculate sheet. She wore a fitted black combat suit beneath a light-refracting cloak, its surface occasionally trembling as it adjusted to the shifting holograms around them. She was stunningly beautiful, though nothing in her bearing invited admiration. Her gaze remained fixed upon the building ahead, cold and serious.

Yon studied the upper levels, and found the other two guards after several seconds. One occupied a balcony overlooking the entrance, whilst the other was nearly invisible behind a polarized window on the opposite side of the street.

“I have the man at the window.” Yon muttered, disappearing into the gloom. 

“Then the balcony is mine.” S'vala whispered back. She then touched two fingers to the fastening at her throat. Her cloak shimmered, bent the light around her, and erased her from sight.

Meanwhile, the Force flowed over the short teen like dark water. He quieted his breathing, muted the presence of his body, and folded himself into the shadow of the surrounding world.

They moved at the same time, each one eliminating their target with the grace of a seasoned predator. 

Yon crossed the promenade without a sound. He ran three steps up the side of a column, caught the ledge above, and pulled himself onto the narrow roof of a boutique. The Force carried him across the gap between buildings with ease. He landed beside the man with an application of [Shadow Hop]. 

Beside him, the hidden marksman shifted in his chair. Yon sensed the man’s boredom, the ache in his shoulders, the faint irritation caused by the collar of his uniform. He waited until the guard leaned forward to examine one of the street monitors.

Yon teased the oxygen from his lungs, making the guard struggle for less than three seconds before going limp.

Across the promenade, the balcony guard abruptly vanished from view. A moment later, S’vala’s voice entered Yon’s earpiece. “All clear.”

Yon glanced down, and the two guards at the entrance remained unaware. One turned his head as a service speeder drifted along a distant avenue, and the other adjusted his grip on his rifle, completely oblivious to the successful infiltration. 

At that moment, as they reconvened, a dark ripple moved behind them, promising death. 

S’vala moved towards the threat silent as an ant crawling upon the floor. One gloved hand caught the first guard beneath the chin while a narrow injector entered the seam of his armor. Before he could fall, she turned, drew a suppressed dart pistol, and fired once.

The second guard emerging from his cloaking field touched his neck, then slumped to the floor. Yon, meanwhile, had felt the breath of two other cloaked individuals, and had similarly, silently taken care of them. 

“Eleven seconds.” S'vala noted in a flat tone. 

“If I were alone, I would have bypassed them entirely.” Yon blithely remarked. All but saying ‘you're holding me back.’ 

“Patience, husband-mine. The Glass Palace has many countermeasures to those who cloak themselves in shadows. One must be meticulous when infiltrating such an institution.” S'vala quietly explained. 

Yon snorted, unconvinced, but as he was testing the skill of this woman, he would hold his tongue. For now. 

Advancing further from stealth once more, they entered the heart of the building. The public floors of the Glass Palace resembled a shimmering utopia with an incredibly macabre bent. Translucent curtains hung from ceilings lost in darkness, and beautifully dressed Umbarans wearing shimmersilk or lacquered scale armor spoke to one another in haughty tones. Pale mannequins stood in carefully arranged gatherings, their blank faces appeared harmless, yet they were in actuality highly advanced combat droids. 

Behind the beauty lay House Veyra’s empire.

Weapons moved inside fabric crates. Credits disappeared through falsified shipping accounts. Political rivals entered private fitting rooms and never returned. Since the Empire’s birth, the Fashionista, Veyra, had supplied the ISB with disguises, hidden armor, poisoned garments, and lists of suspected dissidents.

S’vala had spent six months placing operatives within his organization, and tonight, she intended to remove it.

Pressing forward, they reached the first security junction. Three guards occupied the circular chamber beyond, surrounded by surveillance displays, and other ‘disguised’ droids. 

Yon crouched behind a curtain while S’vala examined a device strapped to her wrist. “The central operator must remain conscious.” She said. “He carries a biometric key that is only operable so long as his brainwaves are nominal.”

Yon nodded along in understanding, and then extended two fingers. Inside the chamber, a door on the far wall opened by itself.

One guard rose in suspicion. “Who authorized that?”

The second joined him. Both approached the doorway, rifles raised.

When they left to investigate, Yon snuck up behind them. His palm struck the first guard between the shoulder blades, stunning the man’s heart without stopping it. He caught the rifle before it hit the floor, and as the second guard began to turn, S’vala appeared behind him.

A thin cord tightened around his throat, and she pulled him backward into the darkness of a supply closet. When one knee drove into the rear of his leg, a faint hissing sound echoed in the room as another injector discharged.

The central operator remained seated, staring at the empty chamber, about to press a panic button. Yon seized him with the Force and pulled him away from the alarm panel. The Umbaran flew across the room into S’vala’s waiting grip. She pressed his eye to the biometric reader, then rendered him unconscious.

Neither of them spoke further, as they once more trudged forward. Beyond the checkpoint waited the private production levels where Umbaran seamstresses diligently wove remarkable fabrics. 

Entering a side room full of servers, Yon erased security recordings while S’vala transmitted Veyra’s financial archives to her network. She placed shaped charges upon the servers that maintained the Fashionista’s blackmail records. Yon freed twelve exhausted seamsters imprisoned behind a wall, guiding them toward the cleared entrance without revealing himself. S’vala marked smuggling crates for seizure and poisoned the fuel cells of three armored transports so they could never leave their underground bays.

Whenever guards crossed their path, the pair struck with quiet efficiency.

Yon drew one patrol into a darkened fitting gallery, where mirrors multiplied every movement into infinity. Invisible among the reflections, he took the guards down with controlled blows of the Force.

S’vala entered after him. Her cloak produced fleeting imperfections in the mirrors: a bent line, a distortion, a momentary blur. Each one ended with a muffled impact and a body lowered carefully to the floor.

By the time they reached Fashionista Veyra’s penthouse, 88 guards had been neutralized, not one alarm had been raised, and less than ten minutes had passed since their infiltration. 

The director waited inside a chamber overlooking the entire district.

Veyra was tall and thin, dressed in a flowing coat that shifted between crimson and black. Six mannequins surrounded him, each wearing elaborate masks and carrying concealed blasters.

He held a small controller in one hand, and a blaster in the other. 

“I wondered which of you would come.” He said in a confident tone as the only entrance to the room opened up. 

S’vala’s cloak deactivated, and a katana shaped vibroblade hummed in her grasp. 

“The most expensive face in the district, and you chose to become a killer.” Veyra tutted. 

“My face was never yours.” She darkly replied. 

“No. But your reputation was built upon our cooperation. Did you truly believe your position as Shadow Matron was so secure?” 

Yon, meanwhile, remained concealed near the wall.

Veyra pressed the controller, and the mannequins lunged at her. Various weapons-poisoned darts, vibroblades, etc-came at her all at once. 

Yon emerged from the shadows, his green lightsaber ignited in midair, seemingly held by a ghost. The blade swept through the first volley, sending bolts into the ceiling and floor., melted through one vibroblade, and with the wave of a hand, sent several darts into the ceiling. S’vala vanished as the room erupted in blasterfire.

Tossing out his weapon, the lightsaber went spinning through the chamber in bright green arcs. The movement was incredibly fast, and sliced more than half of the mannequins in half. 

“Fool. You've left yourself open.” Veyra idly remarked, pressing another button. 

This time, nozzles opened up in the office, and a scorching gush of flame came washing down upon the teen. 

A faint, translucent shield shimmered into place as [Energy Resistance] absorbed the attack. However, it was obvious that the barrier wouldn't last much longer as it began to waver & crack. 

S’vala appeared at his side, likewise protected by his barrier, and shot out each of the nozzles with her blaster. She then ran at the Fashionista-leaving the remaining mannequins to Yon-intent on finishing this once and for all. 

Veyra twisted with surprising speed and caught her wrist. A hidden blade snapped from his sleeve, aimed at leaving a glancing, poisoned blow. S’vala trapped his arm against her shoulder, but Veyra drove forward, forcing the weapon toward her throat.

Yon materialized behind him after dicing up the last droid, and caught Veyra’s elbow, breaking it with a cruel snap. 

The director gasped, and S’vala tore free from his grasp. She struck him twice in the chest, and swept his legs from beneath him. He hit the floor hard, grasping blindly for the controller he had dropped when his elbow was broken. 

Veyra stared up at them, and tried to buy time whilst he crawled towards the remote that was just out of reach. 

“You think killing me changes Umbara?”

“No.” S’vala calmly replied, and aimed her pistol.

“Then what was all this for?” He asked. Then, upon seeing S’vala's cold smile, Veyra desperately turned to Yon.  “You are a Jedi,  would you permit an assassination?”

Yon saw the pale man's finger touch the edge of the controller, hope and the will to murder sang through the Force as the Fashionista's intentions were clear. 

Holding out his hand, a wave of blue [Force Lightning] fried the man, and made the device inoperable. Dying an extremely terrifying death, Veyra was like a wax candle. 

Yon then glanced at S’vala before slowly fading away, one particle of darkness coating his figure after another, like a computer image from the 90's rendering, but in reverse. 

“Never betray my Master, woman. Even if by some miracle, he should perish. I will always remain in his shadow.” 

~~~~~

AN: Yon having character development?! How dare I! Anyway, that'll pretty much be it for S'vala, no need for character bloat/just wanted to give some screen time to our boy's future wife.