The irony of the situation was not lost on Tarron Solus. He, whoever that boy was, had fled Coruscant, fled from his home more than a decade ago in the hopes of escaping the ever expanding reach of criminals and ruffians. And now? Now Tarron had joined their ranks, a prisoner forced into the services of the Hutt clan. As he looked around the cramped ship, the angry and fearful faces surrounding him, the reality of the situation truly dawned upon him for the first time. He was a prisoner of the Hutts, one of the most powerful and influential gangs in the entire galaxy. With little more than a flick of a button, he would be reduced to a bloody mess on the ground. And for what? A rumor on a nearly uninhabited planet on the other side of the galaxy. Tarron wouldn’t, he couldn’t let that be his fate. Slowly, he took a breath to steady himself, forcing all fear and grief back. He had to be strong. Any sign of weakness would be dangerous, a weapon to use against him.

Tarron looked at his captor. she stood there, her cloak draped across one shoulder. She began talking about the “rules” put in place, but Tarron payed little attention. He knew the basics of how everything would work. Any disobedience would result in his immediate, “removal”. What truly caught his interest were the many tattoos covering the woman’s torso. Tattoos were in a way, windows into a person's past, especially with criminals. Many were familiar to Tarron, showing him of her time spent in prison, and the many people she had killed. Others, not so much.

Tarron snapped from his thoughts as the Zabrak changed the subject to that of their first task.

[quote=Mus]“Mister Ziveri used to work in Republic Intelligence before the Empire took over. A pfassk good slicer he became a highly sought after commodity once he became a freelancer. Problem is he pissed off the wrong bunch of people wanted by the Imps and several others including our employer. He went dark a few weeks ago.

“Turns out he didn’t go dark enough. This was taken on Platform 351. Some of you may know of it. An old tibanna gas platform on Bespin. Now it's a casino, auction house, slaver outpost, drug den, or whatever other it needs to be. Used primarily by the ‘high-class’ of criminal society: politicians, industrialists, crime lords, and pirate kings as a neutral ground for deals of importance.” Mus explained. “Word on the street is that a certain is Slicer is going to be selling off some high value information including sensitive information about our client in a closed auction to these types probably figuring to make enough credits to disappear forever. We need to take him out before that happens. Any questions?”[/quote]

The smile that spread across her face filled Tarron with a remote sense of dread, and as he thought back to the image of her frying his brains with the small chip in his head, he almost gagged. Still, she wouldn’t kill them unnecessarily, and while it was important not to make any enemies, it was also important to make himself inexpendable. The first step was developing a reputation of being contributive. He felt no ease around anyone here with him, probably most of them being criminals, but he knew that they weren’t the true enemy. All of them, probably even the Zabrak, were just people who were in the wrong place at the wrong time. Products of a corrupt society. If anyone was to be blamed for his situation, it would be the Hutts, or the Empire for doing nothing about them, even helping them. Tarron would go along with the woman’s orders, try to be a “team player,” but only for now, only so long as it brought him one step closer to being with his daughter again. At least this time they were only going after a criminal. Come to think of it, she didn’t actually say how much the job would pay. Tarron wasn’t normally one for questions, but that was something he had to know, and as no one else seemed to be be speaking up, he stepped forward slightly.

“How much does this job pay? How much closer does it get us to paying off our debt?”