Bifurcation

Posted on Thu Mar 20th, 2014 @ 11:50pm by Zrad Rezer† & Sev Rezer & Morgo Le'Shaad
Edited on on Thu Mar 20th, 2014 @ 11:50pm

3,767 words; about a 19 minute read

Chapter: Chapter IV: Rezer's Edge
Location: Private room, Nadroj
Timeline: Concurrent with "Modus Operandi"

OLD


“I don’t answer to you.” He stated, voice low and dangerous.

“No you don’t.” Morgo agreed smoothly, “But you answer to the success of this mission. If and when Zrad agrees to take me into custody, you may be the only thing separating me from certain death at his hands. For all intents and purposes, whether I will live or die, rests on your ability to stay his attention long enough for me to do my job—and for you to do yours.”

Sev looked away to the pazaak table, his gloved hands curling into fists at his sides—knuckles white as he imagined what he would do when he could finally reveal to Zrad that Sev was betraying him, just as Zrad had betrayed them all when he’d abandoned them to join the unruly Exiles at the height of war. A muscle in Sev’s jaw jumped as he bit down at the thought of finally taking the life of his wretched cousin.

“You leave that to me, Le'Shaad.” Was all Sev deemed to say, the rumble of his voice low and dark.


NEW

The room was shrouded in dark shadows, the worn muslin curtains purposefully drawn to obscure the outside view—blocking anything that could give his position away, should this holocall turn sour. It was a simple room with meager furnishings, vaguely dusty with disuse. Yet Sev had chosen it for its isolation on the edge of town, its promise of privacy, and its defendable position should he be attacked by large numbers.

Running his thumb over the small chip in his palm, stained by recently dried blood, the Mandalorian flicked off the remained pieces and inserted the chip into the holoprojector, pushing it to connect with the tip of his gloved finger.

Sharp, green-brown eyes absently watched the call initialize without further issue, the blue of the projector casting a gloomy hue to his surroundings. He had acquired the chip with minimal effort and maximum violence from a ranking Mandalorian Exile he had tailed to the outskirts of town, where the promise of a direct connection to Zrad Rezer's personal line had motivated him to take it... and to snap the Exile's neck.

Breathing in, Sev readied himself to come face to face with the man that never failed to boil Sev's blood at the merest thought, He did not often deceive others, however, if this plan of Le'Shaad's was to have any chance of success, this moment was perhaps the most crucial of them all.

As expected, it took longer than usual for the transmission to make its final connection, no doubt passing through a series of security checks and blocks that Zrad and his band of misfit Mandalorian megalomaniacs had put in place. For a group that prided itself on foolhardy strength and stalwart bravery - supposedly unmatched and unquivering throughout the galaxy - they were incredibly cautious and defensive.

Eventually, an image took shape, the cyan hue of the hologram tinting every aspect of the armoured figure that was now presented before Sev. Clad in familiar battle-worn armour and helmet, the kind typically favoured by the Mandalorian Exiles, was a man Sev knew to not be Zrad, but the markings of his equipment and stature clearly indicated his seniority and experience amongst the rabble.

Sighting Sev, the Exile did not flinch as he took a few short seconds to appraise the situation, clearly inspecting the unfamiliar figure that would now be projected before him at Jericho. "You are not one of ours," he decided simply, his voice gruff but punctuated with a military precision.

"I am not." Sev agreed, voice flat as he stared at the image of the man who would be his ticket into Jericho, only mildly surprised that he did not come face to face with Zrad himself. Sev could not decide whether the twinge he felt was disappointment... or relief.

"Then," the Exile said after a short silence in which he remained unmoving, "you have either stolen from one of our own... or proven your mettle against one. Either way, no doubt an impressive feat." The holographic depiction once again appeared to look Sev up and down, examining the other Mandalorian. "But I imagine the latter to be true in this case. You have earned my attention, albeit briefly, so tell me, 'Defender', what business do you have with me?"

Though Sev knew his face had little range in emotions other than anger, intense concentration, and apathy, he schooled his features into what he knew would look a little like a low simmering irritation. Sev was a straightforward and blunt man by nature and by code, and this deception did not come naturally to him. In the back of his mind, he quietly wondered how his resident duchess managed to juggle so many deceptions and not exhaust herself.

“First, “ he began, voice slightly strained, “do not label me what I am no longer. The Manda’toma have become a pandering herd to the galaxy at large—a pudii of what they once were.” Sev spoke, the lies flowing almost easily off his tongue, his expression revealing nothing, “And second: I have a name. I am Sev of clan Rezer—and I have business with all True Mandalorians... who I hope to soon call vode.”

Sev's hazel eye gazed unblinking into the eye slit of the Mandalorian Exile’s helmet, who was most likely third or second in command to Zrad himself, if his markings were anything to go by. Eyes momentarily scanning the man, Sev knew that if he had to fight the Exile in battle, he would likely be a challenging opponent, his dense musculature apparent even through the worn armor he wore. Sev just hoped that it wouldn’t come to that. Not just yet.

A silence began anew following Sev's declaration. Whilst the holographic figure did not move, that in itself was enough to indicate the sort of reaction he must have had beneath his helmet. "You may speak and stand as a Mandalorian, and you may well wear that armour with dignity and pride. Indeed, I do not doubt that we are kin of sorts. Nevertheless," he continued, now removing his helmet and holding it under his arm to reveal a pockmarked and war-ravaged face, his age not far from Sev's, "you cannot truly expect me to believe you are of Clan Rezer?"

The Exile's face was unchanging even now that he gazed upon Sev's, steely eyes unblinking and his voice retaining its military precision. Finally and unexpectedly, his brow furrowed just the slightest, eyes narrowing an iota. "...But this sort of thing is not for me to decide. If you are indeed aliit, that is for Zrad to consider."

The image of the Exile then blinked off, although the transmission remained active. The light emitted by the device cast an eerie glow across the dust settling all about the room, the silence highlighting the vague noises of civilisation further into the centre of town. Finally, as expected, the projection shimmered as Sev's patience was rewarded.

Met by what he knew was an animalistic take on something between a grin and a grimace, Zrad's face contorted in innumerable ways as he digested all that he was seeing now before him. Finally, he settled on baring his teeth in his rudimentary way, an affectation that had only grown more grisly in the years since the cousins had last seen one another.

"It has been a long time, burc'ya," he said with some menacing mirth as he appeared to settle backwards, apparently sat upon some chair - likely a throne, considering the man Sev was addressing. "I had heard you turned to shovelling other men's osik, after some jetii redecorated your face." Zrad's expression then turned entirely dark and dismissive. "A waste of all that I taught you."

Sev’s immediate instinct was to fight back against the dishonorable things being slung his way—some he privately knew was true in some ways. But this was not the way to gain his cousin’s favor. Looking at the man now, his posture one of a feral beast in uneasy repose, slightly unhinged and ready to snap, it made Zrad’s responses hard to predict—and Sev’s deceptions hard to play. But the Mandalorian in him knew that while antagonizing Zrad was not in his best interest, neither would playing the acquiescing little brother benefit his position.

“Perhaps.” Sev agreed easily enough, his green cybernetic eye deathly focused even as his organic one blinked mechanically, “But one does not always learn what one needs to of life within the ropes of the training ground.” He stated pointedly, voice low, “Did you not also once follow the ways of the Manda’toma before you found them lacking, cousin mine?”

Sev did not balk at mentions of his disfigurement. These were the scars of his battles. These were the tales of his hard-fought life. As the Mandalorians say, mishuk gotal'u meshuroke, pako kyore. Pressure makes gems, ease makes decay. And on his throne, within his fortress like a king of old, Sev was willing to wager that something in the mighty Zrad was decaying. Was itching.

Barely audible, Zrad's chest and throat made a slight rumbling noise as a significant amount of air escaped his lungs. The elder Rezer's eyes narrowed and Sev knew the Exile was contemplating that which he had declared. "Fairly put, boy," he said finally, his voice lower and adopting a serious tone not common to Zrad. "Aye, I wasted enough years fighting under the banner of 'Mandalore the Provider'," he went on, spitting the final name - an epithet adopted by each successive leader of Manda'toma, "but he did not provide that which all Mandalorians must have!"

His eyes growing increasingly manic and his jaw setting firmly, Zrad smacked one hand down upon the side of his throne, glaring across the holoprojector at his kin. "Mandalorians take what they need; they do not work the fields or sail the seas - they claim! They war! They conquer! Birth makes not a man a Mandalorian; seizing the day, gutting the weak and setting the skies ablaze make a Mandalorian!" Once again, Zrad's voice became quieter and darker as he settled back, his mania once more settling behind a thin veil. "That is what a True Mandalore provides. That is what I provide."

Through a great deal of effort on his part, Sev prevented his upper lip from curling up in distaste. To see how mad the once great Zrad had become, deluded in his greatness and clearly unstable in his dark passions, disgusted Sev. The man was like a raging, rabid dog—but with teeth still sharp enough to maim. And like a mad dog, he had to be put down. Sev had always known that it would have to happen, someday. But it was not until he’d seen his cousin face to face again, sampling a fraction of what was no doubt Zrad’s Exile pamphlet speech, that he truly understood that it had to be done now. By someone who still knew what it was to feel honor. Sev may have been tainted by his ordeal with the Jedi and Axion’s manipulation, but his hand was still clean enough to wipe away the stain that was Zrad Rezer from the cloth of the Mandalorian people.

“Then I trust you will provide me with a chance to do the same—just as I have provided you with…entertainment.” Cocking his closely-shorn head, Sev glanced to the side, eyeing the peeling, brown walls of his temporary residence, “Has my tribute of two fumbling jetii reached your doorstep, yet?”

Sev’s lip curled almost indistinguishably at its corner, affecting a rare display of wry amusement he did not feel. In the cool, damp air of the planet’s climate, a drop of condensation rolled down the window, and Sev’s eye tracked its path with an intensity a drop of water did not warrant.

If Zrad was affected or surprised in any way by Sev's declaration, he made as good a show of hiding it as the Exile who had previously greeted him at the start of this holographic debacle. "I am not a man to underestimate my foes; you would not think it wrong of me to suspect you here of foul play, cousin?" The elder Rezer spoke carefully, yet still with that sharp edge that accompanied all of his words.

"Having been responsible for teaching you what little may remain of you that is Mandalorian," Zrad went on, "duplicity - whilst often the trick of the feeble-bodied - is nevertheless a stratagem that can be employed if hunting a mighty quarry..." Half of the Exile's mouth turned upwards in a sick grin, once again revealing some the madman's teeth. "...and what quarry could compare to the lair of mighty Mando'ade such as mine own? You say you have sent these jetii unto my base, but you could easily have been spying upon me and mine for some time."

The hulking figure that was Zrad shifted upon his throne, a motion that the man pulled off with an elegance only a warrior of his stature would be capable, given his armouring and natural bulk. Looking directly at Sev, something new appeared to glint within his eyes - a sight that the bounty hunter had grown briefly familiar with in his youth with the man. Respect. At least, a form of respect that Zrad seemed sparingly capable of, in his own broken way.

"I may well be giving you too much credit, but I know you to have been a cunning and capable warrior, even if it has been wasted. Yet I believe it is not all dwindled, but let us say that these 'fumbling' creatures were indeed sent by you, for what reason do you do so?" It was clearly a challenge, to gauge whatever Sev may know of Thane and Bomoor's 'price' galactically. Even so, he went on, "For if it is merely to buy your way into my presence, two of my finest Mandalorian warriors - not the usual footsoldier that tries to lick my boots - were slain, so fumbling were these saber-wielding gifts."

Sev resisted the immediate urge to fire back that it was unfortunate that those two “Mandalorians” did not possess the same skill set Sev himself had taken to honing as a feared Jetii killer. And here Zrad was, deriding him for his wasted cunning and capabilities, when the very same capabilities would have saved his beloved warriors.

Out of sight, Sev’s gloved fist tightened. He was almost grateful that the murderess aboard the Red Raptor had thought to interrogate him beforehand as she imagined Zrad might—slinging insults to his honor and questioning his motives and his loyalty to the Exile way, priming him in a way that he imagined galactic lawyers often did to their defendants before court.

“You do not want your first time saying these falsities to be when you are in front of Zrad.” She had snapped when his own patience for her words had grown thin, “When the lies have turned your untrained tongue to lead, you will find that the truth has a habit of escaping.”

Looking upon his formidable cousin, all menace and madness, Sev knew that his next words would either make or break the entire mission. Zrad had questioned his loyalty and his motives. Sev could only hope that he would believe the lies fed to him.

“My reasons were two-fold. The first was a test—a test to see if the might of Zrad and his Exiles were yet undiminished by the years…to see if a reject jetii and his slow friend were a match for the brothers I sought to join.” Sev tilted his dark head in a small gesture of respect, “They were not. And you of all people know that I would not join anything less.”

His green, softly luminous cybernetic eye whirred quietly as it scrutinized every twitch and move of Zrad’s lined face and stiff posture, wary for signs of wrath that would blow this mission before it had the chance to begin.

“The second,” Sev continued on, voice gruff and curt with military precision, “was to put an end to their incessant preaching of their beloved Force. I thought to work with them to take down a common enemy, but the Human and the Ithorian only thought to control me.” He spat with contempt—convincing only because the lie was…not too far from the truth, Sev realized belatedly as he spoke, “So on their high horses, I sent them into the heart of Jericho to enlighten them as to what true strength is.”

Something akin to pride flickered in Sev’s hazel eye as she spoke of Jericho, even as uncertainty roiled in his gut.

“If killing them does not suit you, I am sure the dark cult of Axion will find interest in them. Either way, the message will resound throughout the galaxy. That nothing compares to the might of an unleashed Mandalorian verd.”

And Sev hoped that he had not just signed Thane and Bomoor’s death warrants—as much as this whole debacle was their own kriffing fault. Damn them both.

Zrad clearly considered all that Sev said with great scrutiny, his barbaric yet tactical mind piecing together as many of the parts of this puzzle as quickly as it could, working to examine each and every possible scenario that his cousin could possibly be working against - or for - him. Finally, after a period of silence that was undoubtedly longer than the norm for the elder Rezer, Zrad gave a slow nod and grimace.

"And the men that died facing these jetii were clearly not worthy, to be felled as they were," he rumbled with a huff of satisfaction. "In that, you may well have done me a great service alone, but their presence here has certainly set things into... motion." The snarl and tone that accompanied the word were menacing and foreboding, an affectation that was not new to Zrad and would do little to bother his kin, but the Exile clearly thought much of whatever it was he had planned.

His powerful arms shifting to support him as he rose from his throne with alarming speed, the holographic projector followed Zrad's movement, the large man stared Sev down with an invigorated intensity that so often accompanied one of his trademark bloodlusts. "So be it, cousin," Zrad declared. "The cousins Rezer will stand side-by-side once again; Jericho will run red with the tal of the unworthy - then, my old burc'ya, we shall see what has become of my protégé's shereshoy... and where your loyalties truly lie."

“Then expect my ship on the morrow, alor.”

Reaching out to cut the transmission, the holoprojector had hardly even turned off—silence spanning for a brief moment—before Sev was sending a clay vase flying across the room with a low, frustrated shout. It shattered with a dull crack, sending the water within all over the wall. With a wildness in his eyes, Sev watched as the water stained the wall and slowly ran down with the pull of gravity.

He breathed in and out, closing his eyes for an indeterminable amount of time as he reined in a multitude of emotions thundering within his chest. And as his blessed control slowly returned to him, a hollow cold weight settling in his stomach, replacing fury with dread.

He had not anticipated this.

Under normal circumstances, Sev’s control was impeccable, his discipline kept under a tight lid. Yet the mere image and voice of his hated cousin were enough to send him into a familiar old, rage he’d thought he’d conquered when he was still a young man—the rage of one betrayed. The grief of one alone.

Shaking his head, white teeth bared in a moment of shame, Sev loosened the tight grip of the fists at his side, feeling the warmth of blood flow back into his fingers, banishing the numbness from them. This lapse of control did not bode well for him. Sev’s spiky lashes moved with his every blink.

If he could not control his rage after a simple transmission, then how could he hope to spend days, perhaps even weeks with the loathsome Zrad? All the while trying to convince him of his loyalty? Zrad was not stupid. He would smell a poor deception a mile away if Sev failed to be convincing. Yet deception was not Sev’s strength. And the woman, Le’Shaad, could not feed him lines for everything.

Ejecting the chip from the holoprojector and placing it on the nearby table, Sev coolly considered the small device—then smashed it beneath his fist with brutal force. Perhaps more than was strictly necessary, but Sev could care less. He was done for now, and Sev swiftly left the dirty hotel, striding back onto the street.

The dust of the road kicked up beneath his boots as Sev made his way back to the Red Raptor, a breeze on his face that the rest of his armored body could not feel beneath hard iron.

Sev was angry—angry at all Zrad had done in the past. Yet he was also uncertain—uncertain of whether his abilities would be enough to get him through this ordeal. Strength he had in spades. Cunning he had no shortage of. But the wit of deception? His mind was not shaped like that of a liar, of a seducer, of an actor.

And now he was being called upon to fight with his weak hand.

Shaking his head, Sev’s battle worn face hardened into something like resolve, tenacity flickering in his hazel eye.

It would be his weak hand, but he would not be the weak link in this infiltration. Sev refused.

And whatever a true Mandalorian vowed to never do—he never did.

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