Star Wars: Slave Of Darkness

"After a…thorough interrogation and some research, the client in question turns out to be the son of a minor industrial baron. Seems he has a bit of a violent streak as he has done this in the past on other people he considered unimportant." Cormun smirked, "His father is a typical member of the Imperial aristocracy."

I caught onto the implication quickly, "And since his son was caught hiring alien prostitutes, even if it was only to beat the crap out of them…"

"Indeed. Simply omit that last part and we have rather effective blackmail against the baron. After all, reputation is everything to their kind." The soldier's smile widened, "Usually, I find such measures distasteful, but in this case I believe it is quite deserved."

"Do I sense a hint of satisfaction in your tone, captain?" I asked as I hefted the deadlift bar. As he had explained the situation, I had cycled through several machines.

"Beyond the satisfaction of a job well done, milord? Perhaps a bit." Cormun's grin took on a bit of a cruel edge, "It warms a small dark corner of my heart to serve retribution upon craven men such as him."

That vague comment implied so much, but I decided not to pry. I was content to allow my men to keep their personal lives private, as seemed the custom in the regiment. That is, until it becomes a problem.

Until such a time…

"What happened to the idiot?"

"After we gave him our warmest welcome to the district, emptied his pockets, and recorded a confession, we sent him off back to his father patched up just enough to get there." The captain elaborated, "I will send an assessment later on what concessions we manage to pry out of the old man."

Finishing the set, I placed the bar back on its rest and sat up, "Any other news?"

"It seems that we have begun to acquire something of a reputation in the district among the other gangs. We have even earned a nickname…"

...

Harmen, known as "Harm" to the other toughs in his gang, peered around the corner at the warehouse. It didn't seem like much, but he had seen the cyborgs coming in and out all day. They even had sentries posted with heavy guns.

This was definitely the Iron Fist's main base.

It had taken a bit of digging to find the place but paying off some of the urchins had worked like a charm. He knew from experience before joining up with the Dukes that a lot of people overlooked the homeless kids until they did something too big.

Harm ducked back around the corner as a sentry started to turn in his direction. He took a deep breath to steady his heartbeat. This was either going to be one of the worst decisions of his life…or the one that saved it.

After a minute of psyching himself up, the gangster stepped around the corner and started walking towards the door. As soon as one of the Iron Fists spotted him, an unnerving amount of firepower swung around to point straight at him, poking out from gaps in the walls and through open doorways.

Slowly, he raised his hands and slowed his walk. He only stopped completely when one of the Fists addressed him.

"That's close enough." The man barked. He had a glowing red cyber-eye and a cybernetic hand, "Who the hell are you?"

Seeing the cold metal in place of skin sent a shiver down Harm's spine and he wondered if that was a requirement for being part of the gang.

"Harmen." He decided to use his real name instead of his nickname in case the trigger-happy gangsters took it as a threat. He gulped before continuing, "I'm with the Dukes…and I just want to talk. I don't have any weapons on me."

The man that spoke stared at him for a moment before muttering, "No active power sources." He nodded to one of the others, "Search him."

They were not gentle, but Harm wasn't really expecting anything else. He was still coming to terms with what he was about to do and guessed some small part of him thought he deserved to get roughed up a bit.

After he was searched to their satisfaction, he was allowed inside, escorted by two guards.

What Harm saw as he stepped through the doorway cemented his course of action and explained a lot about what happened to the Slicers. The Iron Fists had turned the warehouse into a damned army barracks.

When he was a kid, he had snuck into an Imperial guard house on a dare. A stupid dare, but one he had managed to survive and escape from. And this place was set up in almost exactly the same pattern.

The Fists were, at the very least, former military. But a small whisper in the back of his mind that he was desperately trying not to listen to made him wonder about the "former" part.

Wisely, he kept his mouth shut and his observations to himself.

Harm was quickly brought to a "room" constructed of scrap durasteel with a makeshift door and was made to sit. To his surprise, he was soon met by someone that had no visible cybernetics.

He was an older man, with graying hair at his temples, dressed in armor that Harm was only just now recognizing as Imperial army styled. Seating himself in another chair, he leaned forward, propping up his head on his fist.

"So. I'm told you want to talk."

Harm took a deep breath and immediately started talking. Who the Dukes were, how many there were, the locations of their safehouses and bases. Anything that popped into his head that he thought might be useful.

The boss, for who else could it be, just listened quietly. When Harm finished, the older man asked a simple question.

"Why?"

Harm looked him in the eye and replied, "Because my boss is an idiot and thinks he can take you. And I don't want me and my friends all dead."

The boss nodded understandingly, "And are your friends on board with this?"

"Most of 'em." He answered honestly. Some of his friends were as dumb as permacrete, "But I can convince the rest with a bit of time."

The boss leaned back in his seat and considered it for a moment before nodding again, "Some of the information you provided has a shelf life. We can delay acting on it for a bit, but remember you only have a limited amount of time. If your friends get in the way, they're going down."

Brutal, but fair. Harm would probably have promised the same had the positions been reversed.

"Understood. Sir."

A hand reached out for a shake, "Then it seems we have an agreement."

As Harm's hand extended, he had a bitter taste in his mouth from what he still saw as a betrayal. But it was one he could stomach if it worked.

...

"And you're taking this kid at his word?" I asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Hardly, milord. We put out some feelers among the…ladies afterwards. We were unable to confirm everything, but enough that we believe him to be genuine. Self-preservation is a powerful motivator, after all."

Didn't I know it.

"Keep an eye on him and his friends anyways." I ordered, "You know what they say about traitors…"

"Quite." Cormun agreed before assuring me, "We will be taking the same precautions as we did with the survivors of the Slicers."

As he spoke, I finished up the last of my daily exercises. Picking up a towel, I wiped some of the sweat off my face.

"Good work." I complimented, "I don't see the need to change anything you have managed so far, but keep me appraised regardless."

"As you will, milord." Cormun bowed once again before the commlink winked out.

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The first book of this fanfic has been completed on Patreon, you can look it up in the collection alongside the second book. You can visit Patreon if you want to read in Advance.

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