It's Friday night. You've got two ice-cold six-packs of spicebrew perspiring on the left side of your shirt. This weekend will be the same as every other weekend. Getting blackout drunk. Alone. In a one-room apartment in the shadiest corner of Coruscant. This is your life. It's just what you deserve."If you're having a party, I could come back later." A man emerges from the shadows of the disorientingly long hallway. He has on plain clothes but the rank badge below his left shoulder marks him as an Imperial officer. For a moment you think you're in trouble, but there's far too many rank tiles to bother with a lowly bureaucrat like yourself. "What do you want?" you ask."To talk. In private. If you're expecting company..." He nods pointedly to the cans of spicebrew.>"Piss off.">"Why not? Misery loves company.">"If this is about the Lera incident, I had nothing do with that.">Write-in
>>6134678>>"Piss off."
>>6134678>"Why not? Misery loves company.">Hand him one of the two six-packs
>>6134678>>"Why not? Misery loves company.">hold out one of the spicebrew cans
>>6134692>"Why not? Misery loves company.">Hand him one of the two six-packs
>>6134692>>6134718Ha. Company. You've been going out of your way for the last two years to avoid human contact. And you've done pretty bang up job of it so far. That said, pissing off a high-ranking Imperial officer would probably get you shipped off to a work camp somewhere in the Rim. Hard labor you don't mind, but doing it sober is another story.You yank out one of the cans and toss it to him. He catches it in one hand, cool as a Hoth breeze. "Why not?" you say, "Misery loves company." You punch in your pass code on the control panel and the door to your apartment slides open. You open your hand toward the entrance. "After you." He walks in ahead of you, squinting in the dim light, stepping carefully over the crushed brew cans on the floor. Tux, your cat, is just where you left him this morning, sitting on the windowsill above your unmade alcove bed. He turns disinterestedly toward the new visitor, his green eyes glowing brightly in the darkness, then back towards the racing city lights beyond the window."How the other half lives," the officer mutters.Two years ago you might have taken umbrage at that. Sweated for a week hatching an elaborate plan to get even. Now, you couldn't care less. You amble over to a small pedestal table cluttered with old takeout containers and noisily clear it with a sweep of your hand. Then you dump the cans of spicebrew on it, and invite the officer to sit down on one of the two stools set beside it. "I'll stand, thank you," he says.You shrug and take a seat. You tug free another can, snap it open, and down about three-quarters in one go. A familiar sensation washes over your body, not exactly pleasant, but numb. You let out a soft, satisfied burp. The officer, holding the still unopened can, regards with you thinly veiled disgust. You don't care. He's probably only here to recruit another snitch for the Empire.>"If you're looking a rat, you've got the wrong guy.">"You wanted to talk. Talk.">"Sorry about the mess. I don't get many visitors.">Write-in
>>6134742>>"You wanted to talk. Talk."
>>6134742>"Sorry about the mess. I don't get many visitors."
>>6134742>You wanted to talk, talk.
>>6134742>"You wanted to talk. Talk."
>>6134750>>6134759>>6134789>>6134806The officer continues to look around your apartment in silence. He seems less determined than when he came in. Less certain. Idly, he opens the can of brew and gives it a polite sip. He's obviously not going to make for a good drinking buddy, and you're starting lose what little patience you have."You wanted to talk," you say. "Talk."He stiffens from your impertinence. "Forgive me, I was expecting something... different."He's reminding you of the past now, whether he intended to or not, and starting to piss you off. "And I was expecting a nice night alone. Life's just full of surprises."He sniffs imperiously. "I won't take up much of your time. My name is Drego Minnau, Captain Drego Minnau, from the Imperial Starfighter Corps."ISC? Not the security bureau? What the hell would the ISC want with you? The only thing that comes to mind is your father, but he's been dead for nearly a decade. "If you're after the old man's medals, I already hocked them for brew money." "No. I'm here for you, Lin."You try to recall if you've handled any ISC accounts or data recently, or even anything military, but it's all been private corpos dealing in consumer goods. It's possible one of them might have been a front company, but very unlikely. Even then, why you? You don't have high enough clearance to be interesting. You made sure of that. "I don't have any medals," you say, trying to deflect."How about a chance to earn some?"A warm wave of relief sweeps over you. You scoff. "You're a recruiter?"The officer smiles and raises his can, then takes another measured sip."I didn't realize they made house calls now.""You're a special case."You don't like the sound of that.>"Full disclosure: my high score on the flight sims is because I cheated.">"I'm not my father, if that's what you're after.">"Alright, let's hear your pitch if it'll make this go faster.">Write-in
>>6134860>>"Alright, let's hear your pitch if it'll make this go faster."I have a feeling that this is a case of "Come voluntarily or get conscripted". That's just kinda how the Empire does its thing
>>6134860>Write-in>"Why am I a special case?"+>"If you are expecting that I am anything like my father you will be sorely disappointed."+>"What is the salary?"
>>6134860>>6134872+1
>>6134872+1
>>6134860>Talk shit about the Empire to his face, tell him you wouldn't do it for all the credits on Coruscant.
>>6134872Supporting
>>6134872>>6134874>>6134902"Why am I a special case?"The officer tilts his head. "Are you really asking?""If you're expecting somebody like my father, you're going to be sorely disappointed."He closes his eyes and shakes his head. "As I said, I'm here for you.""There's a hundred other data pad jockeys like me in the company.""None of them scored in the top point-one percentile in the IAA battery when they were sixteen."So that's what this about. Some stupid test you took in school, back when you were still gunning for the number one spot in everything. You stand up and brush past the officer, heading towards the small kitchenette behind him. You open the tap and wash your hands, then your face, letting the cold water shock you out of the dull buzz of spicebrew. The memories come flooding back. Her eyes, her hair, the perfume you keep in a locked box beneath the bed. You'll need something stronger now. Spicebrew won't cut it. But first you'll have to get rid of him."What's the pay?" you ask."Twice what you're making now, to start. But I expect you'll climb up quickly.""How'd you even find me?" "It's my job.""You ambush everybody like this?""The ISC isn't interested in run of the mill grunts. We leave those to the Stormtrooper corps. We want the best. My job is to find the best among the best. Leaders. Commanders. Those with untapped potential.""You got all that from a math test I took seven years ago?""From the asymmetry of your illustrious past and your... present condition.""I'm comfortable."He places his can on the table and smartens up his coat. "Then we have nothing further to discuss." "I'm not gonna wake up in an Imperial prison hulk in the morning am I?"Unamused, he takes one last look around the apartment, resting his eyes finally on the spicebrew. "There are more expedient ways to destroy yourself," he says softly.Your jaw clenches. Bastard. "Like sticking your nose where it doesn't belong?""Like piloting a TIE fighter. Average life expectancy is less than a year.""Is that really your pitch? Come die for the ISC?""Of course, I had hoped you wouldn't turn out to be another statistic." He takes out a small data crystal from his breast pocket and places it on the table. "In case you change your mind." Then he's gone.>You need some hard nog, the good stuff (Cantina)>The night's ruined, you need a distraction (Club)>Who the hell is this Drego anyway? (Terminal)>Write-in
>>6134987>Who the fuck is this Drego anyway.might be trouble, might not be. Best to know.
>>6134987>Who the hell is this Drego anyway? (Terminal)
>>6134987>The night's ruined, you need a distraction (Club)
>>6134987>>The night's ruined, you need a distraction (Club)We need some of this to get our mind off of her: https://youtu.be/PiDRgDmXGi4?si=3ZrevEZYN4rYTooN
>CANTINABrewski Time
>>6134987>>The night's ruined, you need a distraction (Club)
>>6134987>>You need some hard nog, the good stuff (Cantina)
My ID changed, I am this >>6134874
>>6134987>You need some hard nog, the good stuff (Cantina)Time to get plastered, hell yea
>>6134987>The night's ruined, you need a distraction (Club)Fuck this dude - plus it’s been ages since we scored
>>6135019>>6135044>>6135067>>6135125>>6135621>>6135684Your blood is pounding in your ears. You rush over to the table and grab the data crystal, crushing it in your grip, ready to smash it against the wall. But your hand remains at your side. Finally, you slip the crystal resignedly into your pocket, and slump down on the bed. Her name comes unbidden to your lips, Alyla, carved forever into heavy stone, never to be heard by her again. You want nothing more than to reach down now and open the lockbox, to touch and smell and remember. But you don't. That way lies a darkness too cold and sharp to endure again. That bastard. As if you didn't already know what you were doing; as if it even mattered. The night's ruined now. Spicebrew won't be enough: you need a distraction, something potent. Put things in balance. Tux mews at you from the windowsill. You get up to open a can of food for him, then grab your jacket, and then you're out the door. ---"Prince Charming's here again," says Millee, nodding to a young man with chisel-cut features, sitting alone in a dark, noiseless corner of the club. He'd be almost handsome if it not for the sunken eyes and the grim, brooding disposition. He has on a jacket with a corporate insignia, which usually means a good tip for little fuss. You gotta love bureaucrats. This one, though, seems different. He's nursing a glass of nog, but not drinking it. He's not leering at the girls. Not even the servers. In fact, he seems more interested in the other customers."Don't even think about it," says Millee. "No one's been able to crack that one."You weren't, of course. You've been working at the Albedo for two months now, and the word has finally come down from up on high that your mark is going be here tonight. Gaver Tane, prodigal son of the Tane family, sowing his wild oats before he settles down to a nice, quiet life of high politics. Nothing else matters. And once the job is done, you're offworld. You've got a shuttle waiting at the spaceport, and then a jump to who knows where. Another planet. Another mission. Another mark. Another life. Another life? You're already dead, honey. Don't forget that.You glance at the timepiece on your wrist. Still got half an hour. >"OK, I'll bite. Why 'Prince Charming'?">"No one? What's the pool up to on him?">"Whatever. I'm heading up to the lounge for a bit.">Write-in
>>"No one? What's the pool up to on him?"
>>6135904>"No one? What's the pool up to on him?"
>>6135904>>"No one? What's the pool up to on him?"
>>6135907>>6135908>>6135912>>6136061So your hunch was right. A weirdo. Yet, you can't help but feel a strange kinship. Something about those sad, desperate eyes..."Wait, no one? What's the pool up to on him?""Six hundred," says Millee. You look at Millee. Is she serious? She shrugs and nods. "And no, he's not in the wrong kind of club.""Paying an awful lot of attention to those guys over there," you say. Following his gaze to a group of young men, Imperial security by the looks of them, pawing drunkenly at the dancers or anyone else who wanders too close."A romantic. The hopeless kind. Knight in shining armor type," says Millee.You snort. "Looks like a stiff breeze would knock him over." "Like I said," replies Millee. "Hopeless."His sort are the most dangerous. The guys who get attached and want to rescue you, even though it's really always about them in the end. Still, six hundred credits. Nice pocket money for the next job. At the very least, it'll give you a chance to sharpen your claws before the real deal. "Alright," you say, checking your teeth on the polished countertop, and grabbing a stemmed glass of nog."Don't take it personally when he doesn't bite," calls Millee, as you walk away.You've doing this a long time, but it was only after being recruited that you understood what seduction really was. Desire is about submerging the present. Guy or girl or alien, doesn't matter. All anybody wants is to go back into the past or to anticipate the future. The girl who broke your heart and the girl of your dreams represent the same basic escape from present reality. Just take the Rebellion. All they ever talk about is the way things used to be or the way things will be when the Empire finally bites the dust. To seduce is to become a mirror. An image. An illusion. Because it's only illusions that can be perfect."Sorry, I didn't order any more drinks," says Prince Charming, barely glancing over at you as you approach.>"And I didn't bring you any.">"So who is she?">"You know the girls call you Prince Charming?">Write-in
>>6136121>"And I didn't bring you any."
>>6136121>>"You know the girls call you Prince Charming?"
>>6136121>>"And I didn't bring you any."
>>6136131>>6136135"And I didn't bring you any," you say, sitting down across from him. That gets his attention. He turns to face you, looking a little annoyed, but nonetheless taking in your ample figure. "Well, whatever it is you're offering, I'm not interested."To win the pool on him, you either need to get him to the upper lounge or get him to give you some kind of token. The token is your best shot, he seems too high strung to go anywhere with you, and he's wearing a timepiece on his wrist--not luxe, but not cheap either--that should serve perfectly. You take a sip of your drink and lean back in the plush booth. "I wouldn't worry about those guys," you say, nodding to the group he was staring at. "They're harmless."He glances back at them. One of them is noisily telling an absurd story about Emperor Palpatine to a captive server, but she eventually manages to slip away. Prince Charming turns back to you, almost disasppointed. "And we have bouncers," you say, leaning in. "It's the ones they can't touch that you have to worry about."He leans in too. Now he's interested. "Like?"Like Gaver Tane. Who, yes, you've heard has a reputation for being a little rough with his girls. But you're no stranger to poin. "I think I know why you're here," you say.He immediately disengages. He almost seems like he's ready to get up, but his curiosity keeps him in his seat. "You don't know a thing about me.""You work for CorDyna. Low level. You live by yourself--with a pet, a cat?--in a small apartment in the Dusk Ward. You had your heart broken by a girl--or maybe you broke her heart? Yeah. And you feel bad about it. That's why you drink. You want to forget it, but at the same time, you don't." You reach out and take his hand. He winces but doesn't pull away. His pulse is racing. "Something happened tonight that reminded you of her and that's why you're here. But not to forget. For something else."He snatches his hand away. "Not even close," he says.Yet, he's clearly spooked. "And you're a bad liar."He wants to say more, but Gaver Tane and his entourage just entered the club. And the timepiece you just slipped in to your pocket is already burning a hole. "Duty calls," you say, standing up. "Wait," he says. "How?"The anguish in his voice actually makes you pause, makes you feel something through the numbness. But you can't lose Gaver.>"You should leave.">"Just a parlor trick, hon.">"Got paying customers to attend to.">Write-inthis wait 15 minutes shit is killing me
>>6138266>>"Just a parlor trick, hon."
>>6138266>"Just a parlor trick, hon."
>>6138266Interesting quest anon, can't think of one that switches PoV's so early. Admittedly I havn't read many quests lately.>"Just a parlor trick, hon."You and me both, this 900 minute post thing is crazy.
>>6138266>"You should leave."Going against the grain.
>>6138266>"You should leave."
>>6138266>>"You should leave."Im not getting that, only the old captcha
"Just a parlor trick, hon," you say.He slumps back down on the seat, glassy-eyed. You do feel a distant twinge of pity for the guy. His pain is real; not just heartbreak, but grief. But you'll probably never see him again and you're line of work doesn't allow for sentimentality. Fifteen minutes later, you're in the upper lounge with Gaver, among the low lights and the velvet cushions. Always the playboy, he's got another girl on his arm and he's wearing the family signet ring on that hand. The powers that be didn't tell you why they wanted the ring--it's one of the many ironies of the Rebellion, they're even more paranoid than the Empire--but given the precision of the pattern that's carved into the metal, you're guessing it opens something. A safe, a door, or maybe just creating kompromat. Even the likes of the Tane family, with their enormous fortune, and their senator patriarch, are powerless against the Empire should they ever think Gaver was working against them. But that's not your concern. You're just here to get the ring."Barb, hon, could you get Gaver and I another drink?" you say.Barb, the girl on Gaver's arm, gives you a look. She's got seniority here, having been with Albedo for almost a year, and is usually the one giving the orders, but she knows the rumors about Gaver as much as anyone else, and she decides your impudence is a way of giving her an out. She gets up and heads to the bar.Gaver leans in close. "Pretty bossy, aren't you?"You slip into his lap, placing your hand over his. "Among my many faults."You suddenly feel his hand close on your throat, just as you exhale. No air coming in. The blood pushes up against the back of your eyes. You're dying again. Just like before. It takes everything you have not to panic or scratch the bastard's eyes out. Instead you relax into his grip, grab his hands with token resistance, letting him think he's in control. You're not going to die. Whatever is dead can never die. Whatever is dead can never die. Whatever is dead can never die.He releases you. You gasp for air, playing up the tears and desperation so much that when Barb returns with the drinks, she's visibly concerned. You bat her away, snatching the glass from her hand and taking a shaky sip. Gaver watches on, amused. "I do so love the bossy ones."You can feel the sharp imprint of the ring against your palm. It was almost too easy. Now all you need is an exit. "I'm going to powder my nose," you say. "Don't go anywhere." You stand and are suddenly face-to-face with Prince Charming. How'd he even get up here?"I saw what you did," he says. You clench the ring tighter in your fist. But--no, he's talking to Gaver... which is maybe worse. >This is the perfect distraction. (Egg him on)>Idiot's going to get himself killed. (Alert bouncers)>Not your problem (Slip away)>Write-in
>>6138870>This is the perfect distraction. (Egg him on)
>>6138870>>Idiot's going to get himself killed. (Alert bouncers)
>>6138870>Not your problem (Slip away)We don't want the distraction, just another job.
>>6138870>>This is the perfect distraction. (Egg him on)
OK fuck this place. Completely unusable now. Succumb to email verification and it still makes it you wait 15 minutes. 4chan is dead. Fuck hiro.
>>6138870>Not your problem (Slip away)
>>6139108Rip :(I hope they turn it off for certain boards like /qst/, otherwise it's almost impossible to run anything.
Is it only the people who run a thread that it makes wait 15 minutes?
>>6139108I'm liking this quest so I hope theres some way around it but a 15 minute wait sucks
>>613910815 minutes wait? That never happens to me
>>6139108i havent succumb and i only get the old captchas, wtf are you doing wrong? maybe your on a list.
>>6138870>Idiot's going to get himself killed. (Alert bouncers)
>>6138870>Not your problem (Slip away)>>6139108I don't understand. I never had to wait more than 60 seconds to post. I don't even have to do anything but solve captcha.
>>6139108True, fiction live looks like the move now despite all the degen shit.QM, you are a triple nigger faggot for flaking.
>>6142025>not even calling it by its true nameIf you're gonna be a homo you might as well go full on, man.
>>6142025Gimmie a break man. I do this shit for fun and having to wait 15 fucking minutes every time I want to post an update (and then the counter gets reset if I accidentally close the tab) is a deal breaker. I checked out fiction live but it seems like it's just porn? Plus the whole "live" think kina puts me off. More used to forum/imageboard.
>>6142494get someone to post for you
>>6142494Never had to wait to post. Is your IP fucking blacklisted or soemthing
>>6142494Genuinely don't understand your issue because I've never had it happen to me on any device and I've been here for more than a decade.
>>6142668It's nu shit from hiroshimoot. Apparently it fucks mobile over without restraint. And if you're a real human bean with a puter it still fucks with you. It also turbofucks VPN users. I can imagine it'll also bother dynamic IP havers. Just rolled out a month or so ago I think.
>>6142494you should wait one time for those 15 minutes (shocking it requires you to do something while waiting. I did some cleaning and went on a walk to get groceries.)once you have done those 15 minutes first you should not have those 15 minutes again.
Bro please come back the 15 min captcha wait is gone..
>>6147217Thanks for getting my hopes up for nothing
>>6147229Jesus Christ. that's indeed bad.
>>6147229To be honest, I've been keeping the same tab open and using the same Wi-Fi, but it might be horrible if you have dynamic IP. But considering you have the same ID, maybe just keep a tab open?
try this: click "get captcha" first and then start typing up your update. I figure the 900 seconds should pass by while you're busy typing it out and revising it
