#vector's full-time job is trying to keep tyr from snapping tbh

[tiredassmage]

imbalance

‘Tyr can have a Moment. As a treat.’ Aka, I wrote an entirely different fic because I had a revelation about what would have been a banger line to include in something already written and now I need to fit it in somewhere sknsklfnsdf.

(One day this man might snap like a glowstick entirely, but until then, the very, very, very close call on Quesh. So close you could almost say I robbed him.)

Cipher Nine makes an unscheduled stop on Quesh searching for answers. He’s told more graceful lies, but when friends look like foes and foes may be friends, you take what you can get. Cautiously.

Rating: T // Canon-typical violence.

“Do not follow me.” Cipher Nine nearly growled the words without so much as a glance over his shoulder. “Stay with the ship. Kaliyo’s handling security. And keep an eye on Doctor Lokin. I still don’t trust him.”

“Agent-” Vector tried again with a frown. They’d been circling around this since Nine had initiated their docking run with Quesh’s orbital station.

“What part of my instructions were unclear?” Nine rounded on them with a fire burning in his pale eyes, accentuated by the sharp draw of his brow, parallelled lines of the grim frown set across his lips.

Something twitched down Vector’s spine, but he refrained from flinching. Nine had been irritable since Taris. Maybe Kaliyo didn’t notice, or didn’t care to notice, but he was also restless. The younglings worried.

They reported increased pacing. Trouble focusing. Uncharacteristic.

They doubted Djannis was completely oblivious and, despite her gruff attitude, a part of them still dared to believe she wasn’t completely careless, but Nine had always been efficient in deflecting her barbed jabs.

“We are not looking for trouble, agent,” Vector said carefully. Their eyes narrowed slightly as they watched him. They wondered if he agreed. They did not mistrust his judgement, but Nine played by the rules of engagement just as much as he edged their boundaries. Their presence here on Quesh seemed to be further into the latter than they were accustomed to.

Intelligence had not directly authorized their presence here and Nine had not extensively discussed their reasons before landing. They had simply set course and had been told to stay out of trouble.

Nine held his gaze for a long moment in silence before he sighed. The mask flickered. One hand reached up to his temple. An increasingly common tic as of late. “There’s always trouble, Vector.”

The Joiner’s frown deepened. “Which is why we ask again to accompany you,” he said. “It isn’t safe.”

Nine shook his head. “No, Vector. This is one thing I must do alone.”

Stubborn. Vector inhaled deeply to exhale slowly. “Very well, agent,” they relented. “Just… take care of yourself. We will await your return.”

He could not shake the worry twining through him as he watched Nine disembark. Idly, they entertained a youngling that appeared from beneath his sleeve.

They hoped they were wrong to worry, no matter that he had found he would, regardless of assurances. Even in their relatively shorter time together, they had made more enemies than Vector could count - some far more nebulous and undefined than others.

As of the moment, some of them could have even looked like friends. Human betrayal was such a delicate, devious mess.

x-x-x-x-x-

Quesh wasn’t going to be making any vacationing lists anytime soon and that was well without the spat between the Empire and the Republic over whatever toxic fad currently had the galaxy’s throat.

Routine, surprise inspection. Tyr’s eyes narrowed slightly as his head dropped a hair further, avoiding direct eye contact with any Imperial personnel in the area. Cipher status cleared his landing, but, much like Hutta, he doubted the veil would hold up well under an even half-decent inspection. It’d make the cover up more difficult, at the very least. The less people that knew he was here or “why,” the better.

This was a gamble. It tasted as vile as the stinging air against his eyes. A hand in his pocket held fast to the list of increasingly revolting chemicals. Something itched, tweaked at the back of his mind, or maybe the front, or perhaps it slithered down his spine, twining between the muscle and bone, draining slow like a poison.

Maybe it did all of this.

He struggled to trap the urge to grind his teeth together. If only it was as easy to trap a thought as it was to pin a traitor beneath the heel of his boot.

The cursed blessing of a Cipher had always been the ability to skim through the waters of Imperial life as a ghost - enough authority in squared shoulders and a determined, steady stride to warn anyone within range of the vibroknife doubtlessly concealed somewhere on his person and the silent threat that there wouldn’t be enough people left to ask questions - meaningful ones, at any rate, yet with enough anonymity that most didn’t think to question another face in the crowd.

The facility wasn’t far. The lack of outer security should have been disturbing - or was it lucky, perhaps? Nine’s eyes scanned the stark walls silently as he moved forward. With something this close to the guarded chest of Intelligence, physical guards weren’t his concern.

His eyes closed a moment as he hitched in stride. He could have come up with a better lie about his presence here. Reported inspection might circle back to Intelligence.

Gears grinding, halting, catching, that drain of poison dripping down the back of his neck and lacing his blood again.

Would you tell a soul even if they hadn’t lodged it in your throat? Would you trust them?

He exhaled through his nose. He could lie again. Improvisation. Basic rule of operations.

“Administrator Kroius.” The sharpness carried nicely in this hollowed hell of a place. Nine affixed an almost too-pleasant smile as he settled with a threatening patience into parade rest and pinned the scientist in his sights. “You were told to expect me.”

“Yes, yes, the intelligence operative.” Scan the room. A glitch in the system. Interference on the holo display. Nine’s eyes surveyed quickly as the Anomid gruffly joined him, carelessly sidestepping bodies and leaving a droid behind at the counter. “You’d think for all we’ve done for you people, you could at least afford a courtesy warning.”

Nine’s eyes locked back on target. “Am I inconveniencing you, Administrator?” Fingertips played against his gloved palm.

Eyes widened. Nine’s smile twitched slightly further across his lips. “N-no, no, of course not,” Kroius stammered.

“Then you have the compounds I’ve requested?” Nine produced the list from his pocket - just in case the reminder was necessary.

“Shortly, shortly!” Kroius snapped his fingers at the astromech. “Oh-seven, fetch! Now!” Clawed hands steepled. “I’m sure you’ll find everything satisfactory, agent. We’ve long shared a mutually beneficial relationship with Intelligence.” His eyes were anywhere but the operative.

“You’re holding out on me, Administrator.” Nine’s voice dropped lower with the threatening hiss of a viper. “Spit. It. Out.”

“It’s just… the Dimalium Six,” Kroius said. One clawed hand toyed along the edges of his vocoder. “We’re… out. The Republic confiscated that particular chemical mine some time ago and their security is-”

“Not a problem,” Nine said. “Tell me what you know - everything. Maps of the area, what kind of security?”

The Anomid huffed. “You’ve seen their forces? Snipers? Battle drones?” The agent's gaze didn’t waver, so Kroius huffed again. “Of course, why would it matter to me?” He shook his head. If he’d been capable, Tyr imagined he might be rolling his eyes.

The Administrator prattled for a time - some half-caught comment about appreciation that would have made a Sith eager to crush throats. An itch. An insatiable one. The hum and weight of a vibroblade twirled in his hand, balance shifting over the wrist, or the heated barrel of a blaster, humming from the inescapable march of a plasma bolt.

The chemical supplier. He was involved. He deserves the punishment. A snarl twitched delightedly at the edge of his control.

“Operative?” Kroius cocked his head.

Nine blinked and inhaled, held the breath for a moment. He hadn’t moved and his fingers had stilled their warning song against his palm. A Cipher was never unarmed.

Scan the room again. No surveillance. Just a whisper of his passing. Spilled chemicals and a single blaster shot. No evidence. No loose ends.

The truth of those files in the low light of blacked out Intelligence Headquarters was burned against his eyes. Castellan Restraints. Considered and approved for limited use. Thought irreversible. Thirty days to six months.

Codeword-

It was a simple matter to draw the pistol, in his hand before he’d even blinked, pulled and pressed against the sick bastard’s head squarely between the eyes. The droid beeped and whirred something in alarm, but Tyr’s eyes were glaring down that barrel.

“Agent, I-”

“How many?!” This wasn’t where he was going to get answers. Inopportune location. Inappropriate subject with presumably limited knowledge.

His eyes narrowed and he nearly scoffed. Presumed. As if he’d make that mistake.

He doubled down on the stance, stepping closer as the administrator shrank back from the pressure.

“Answer me, you scum,” he growled. He pressed harder on the blaster. It’d be satisfying if it left an imprint. Evidence that could be burned away in the explosion, if necessary. They’d struggle to find a corpse. “How. Many? How many operatives?!”

“Agent, I don’t understand-”

“Liar!” He hugged the trigger tighter. It’d be so easy. His breath baited in his lungs like a pack of jackals singing to the death throes of fallen prey. “You deal in these chemicals, Administrator, and I’ll be damned if you don’t know a whiff about their uses!”

“Hallucinogenics, loss or alterations of memory, I-” the Administrator stuttered under his blaster. “It’s all well within Intelligence’s demands, I swear!”

Intelligence. All of the air left his lungs in one go. His grip slacked around the blaster and the pressure eased. Tyr looked farther than the end of the barrel and slowly backed off, drawing Nine’s sights off a potential target.

Maybe a justifiable one.

He closed his eyes tightly again and one hand came up to pinch the bridge of his nose.

It was a shot that’d burn fine the whole way down, maybe even ride like a high for a couple hours before inescapable reality wormed its way back in: he was playing with fire with a half-baked plan more akin to a wild acolyte’s prayer to a half-rotted echo of a once powerful Dark Lord than a bloody strategy.

Witnesses or no, there would be questions. What was he doing on Quesh in the first place? What was his involvement? Was there any correlation between the deep cover Cipher operative appearing to a highly secretive Intelligence ally and a massive explosion of unstable chemical compounds?

Fuck. When was the last time he’d slept?

“Who-?!” Administrator Kroius flapped his arms, apparently having relocated his misplaced indignation. “Who do you think you are coming in here like this?! ‘Routine’ inspection? Why, I never-”

“You will not speak a word about this. To anyone.” Nine fixed a withering glare on the scientist. “You wouldn’t want me to make another unscheduled, unannounced visit, would you, Administrator Kroius?”

Kroius took a hesitant step back as the Cipher rounded on him, squared him up in his sights again. 

Nine’s eyes narrowed. “Good man.” And an exhausting act. Nine holstered his blaster. “Now, as for the Dimalium Six.”

“You’re a crazy one,” Kroius muttered. “You’re still going after that?”

“And you won’t lay hands on it again, understood?”

“What?”

“Not another drop - not for Imperial Intelligence, not to anyone, not from you.” Kroius raised one clawed hand, but remained silent in Nine’s penetrating stare. “Don’t worry about them. Remember what I am, Administrator.” He stalked languidly towards his prey, letting a step or two drag for emphasis.

Kroius had the good sense to stay put. A hound was usually given to the thrill of a chase.

“I… didn’t catch your moniker, operative.”

“Cipher.” Nine turned without so much as a dismissive glance to the astromech and collected the rest of what he’d come for. “That’s all you need to know, Administrator. Try not to let it keep you up at night. Bad for health, I understand.”

“O-of course, Cipher. I-”

Nine’s narrowed eyes pierced him over his shoulder as he stuttered.

“It’s not really my decision to make, Cipher, but-!” He raised a clawed hand to stave off the fiery spark ready to ignite in the agent’s eyes again. “I assure you, I will do everything in my power to comply.”

“See that you do.”

Cipher Nine left with his head held high even as it ached sickeningly, twisting a poisoned blade in his heart.

One shot could have ended all of this.

Coward.

How many more agents were going to pay the price because he hadn’t pulled the damn trigger?

You've changed nothing. The cost of maintaining cover, biting back the bile that rose in his throat - a good agent even when no direct command had been inescapably issued to worm its way through him, to hollow out whatever remained that wasn't utterly Cipher Nine. Pride of Imperial Intelligence.

Right. Pride. As if it wasn't the root of this whole damn cancerous mess.

Nine shook his head in a vain and fruitless attempt to clear it. There was still the chemical mines, a job to finish. It may yet be enough - however temporary - to cut the beast at the source.