Kuat.

They've got us pinned down tight.

Cheerleading team's almost all out, three specialists with sniper rifles left.

All others went down, keeping the Republicans from getting close to the snipers, which is problematic in Kuat's orbiting shipyards. There are solid manholes, passages, elevators and other technical decks with ducts.

Our alternatively gifted commanders have found nothing better to do than eliminate the right gentlemen with such noise that the Rankor weeps in envy.

Every elimination was flawless, with no flashy waving of scarlet blades, but they all stank halfway across the galaxy.

So what's the Hutt to extort shares from the victims so you can dumbly leak them to trust funds?

Republicans aren't fools, the Justice Corps put one on top of the other and sent a dozen agents to help their Kuat counterparts.

And a couple of specialist platoons.

And, in the name of the Dark Side!

Instead of laying low and beginning to leak misinformation, we, by order of Master Tin'Oorа, commander of the operation, simply multiplied by zero the agents, specialists, and equivalent Kuat security guards. I don't know who she's at the top of the Brotherhood giving blowjobs to, but she made a mistake when she decided to act quickly so as not to lose momentum.

The Jedi took an interest in the case.

Not only did they come from the central temple on Coruscant, twelve of them, eight Knights and four Padawans, but also their Corellian counterparts, eight more, five Knights and three Padawans.

The commando battalion and countless Kuat security guards added oil to the painting called "We're in the shit".

So far, our losses have been fourteen Assassins, three of whom are Masters, eight looters, a status of total scumbags, half a hundred cheerleaders, all from the Brotherhood's special operations teams, and hundreds of three bandits and sick fools from local gangs.

The fact that there are seven Jedi left does not warm the soul.

Because there are only two of our gifted left, me and this star Tin'Oora.

However, the draft plan was already in place.

It wasn't for nothing that I directed the strikes so as to beat out the Coruscant Jedi in the first place. There are three left, only two knights and a Padawan, so I'll be out soon.

T8-M15, connected to security cameras, tracked the movement of the Jedi and the specialists covering them. Our snipers, without waiting for the team, opened fire to suppress, forcing the enemy to lie down.

The Correllians decided to be real smart heroes and went around. Now they, holding back curses like the true Knights of Light, wandering along the fecal pipelines flowing down their knee. They make their way through the jungle of hanging and occasionally sparkling wires. Their lightsabers cut their way through foam-filled compartments. I've filled the compartments with inert gases from the cofferdams, it's for their snack, a nice bonus. The T8-M15 accidentally blocked their hermetic doors, forcing them to periodically return and look for ways around, but so that the Korellians could reach the rendezvous point in time.

Yeah, here's a Coruscant knight, ducked and crawled to the commander of specialists, yeah, yeah, yeah, we're jamming the connection properly, judging by the gestures, blah, blah, we're now in the duct, a trick is unreal.

Have you guys seen the adventures of the great John McClane, New York City Police Department officer could teach you a lot, but not fate.

Five minutes to set the bookmarks, and now your exit, Madame Star, who can not plan a quiet and competent operations.

Master Tin'Oora receives a treacherous blow to the head. It's off. What a nasty boy I am.

Power handcuffs, shock collar, blindfolded. Sleep well, my commander, and let you dream the juicy phalluses of the Brotherhood leaders.

Pulled her into the side hallway, closed the door.

Now open up a little in the Force to be felt by the three Coruscant Jedi closest to me. And I put the three trophy blades in front of me and ran the pain emanations through them.

The sword crystals were soaked in the power of the owners, and now we can decide that the pain of the characters familiar to the Jedi is being broadcast.

No, in the last three days, while we were being chased through the shipyards, I wasn't sitting in a showroom apartment all the time.

These three swords are my legal trophies.

Now we have to close down in the Force, and put a command on the shock collar. Tin'Oora begins to cramp and opens up in the Force. That's it.

I run five yards down the hall and stand against the wall. Leaning on his back, it's psychologically easier to blend in with his surroundings.

Curved sword arms, I hold the reverse grip. Wait, wait, wait. Yes!

Let's listen to the music of the universe.

"Please allow me to introduce myself

I'm a man of wealth and taste

I've been around for a long, long year.

Stole many a man's soul and faith

And I was 'round when Jesus Christ

Had his moment of doubt and pain

Made damn sure that Pilate

Washed his hands and sealed his fate

Pleased to meet you

Hope you guess my name

But what's puzzling you

Is the nature of my game."

As they got out of the duct, the Jedi ran along a smoothly curving, clockwise corridor.

They felt the presence of the Dark Side, the emotions of the tried comrades made them run, forgetting to be careful.

There's a door on the right that clearly carries the Dark Side. On the left is the branch.

And when the Padawan had almost reached the door control, the knights rushing after him heard a hoarse breath from the left branch and felt a mighty sonic boom, which threw them against the wall.

But both Jedi were trained knights, the confusion lasted only a moment, and they straightened towards the figure in a black cloak with a scarlet blade in their hands.

Similfuturus is the technique every gifted man needs.

The ability of the Force, allowing the Powers that use it to create a perfect copy of themselves with the Force. This practice also allows you to create duplicates of objects that look indistinguishable from the original.

The main thing is to overcome the psychological plug.

The thing is, there's no such thing as solid matter.

In fact.

Everything is made up of atoms, and atoms are made up of energy.

Consequently, any solid body is made up of energy.

And the Force is what allows you to control energy.

And now Lord Vader himself was coming out of the corridor, half-blasted by a Jedi sound blaster, and it's a shame I didn't connect the imperial march.

That's pathetic, beautiful, but out of place.

Now I'm starting from my semi-meditative state, the Centre of Genesis rules. I can feel the Jedi well behind the septum and activate the blades.

The red blades instantly burned one point durasteel, heat-noise insulation, another point durasteel and cut both standing back to the real danger, Jedi spine, closer to the base of the skull.

The Padawan swirled into the room, but froze, sensing the death of two gifted men, one of whom was his teacher.

I'm moving the right handle into a straight grip, the left blade is already deactivated.

A quick look at the projected T8-M15 holosuite.

The Correllians are still far away, the droid predicts 15 minutes.

Turn, turn, turn! Gesture crosswise with the Padawan sword.

Makashi.

Well done, young Jedi, Form II well prepared for a duel, but not for a sneaky trick.

Juyo is all ours.

I explode with a series of unpredictable blows, which the padawan easily, as if playing parry.

Yes, yes.

He threw a sword from his left, jumped off a flamethrower, flipped back, but landed on a stool that rushed under his feet.

Now I threw a bolo, handsome, managed to fight back, but he opened up.

B-z-z-z! A lightning bolt rushed to the padawan and he convulsed. B-z-z-z! B-z-z-z-z! With each lightning strike, I'm a couple of steps closer.

I'm sorry, Padawan, it's necessary.

I stop tormenting myself, take a Jedi sword, jump from the corner and cling to my belt.

The second, from the right hand, I also let go without looking, and it's like he's snapping himself.

It's a trick I've been rehearsing for a month before it got to automatism.

Still, a bit of pathos wouldn't hurt.

Now to strip the padawan, it's a good thing Jedi pajama hoodies allow you to ignore a few sizes of difference.

***

The commander of the Republican commando unit listened. After the third enemy sniper was killed a couple of minutes ago, there were no shots fired from the enemy side.

He listened once again and waved his head at the commander of the second platoon. He made a gesture with his hand and the chain of fighters moved through the workshop, cluttered with the wreckage of machines.

So they crept up to the gate leading to the Sith lair and were already preparing to open the door and start the attack by throwing a grenade.

But suddenly one of the squeaky sashes pulled away and the body of a Jedi almost fell out of there.

He got up and sat down, then clearly skewered from the pain in his side, but still protesting raised his hand, stopping the fighter who jumped to the rescue.

Then he pointed at the door with the same hand and said something. The soldiers slipped into the gate, half a minute later returned, two dragged a tied body, two more bags.

Another soldier rushed to the captain with a lynx, but he himself was hurrying towards the Jedi.

The Padawan looked terrible. His whole face was badly burned, his hoodie shattered, his armor burned in several places with traces typical of a lightsaber.

"There!" the padawan wheezed and pointed his hand at the gate. "There's more."

Judging by the gesture of his hand, there were many more.

Short teams, and most of the squad got caught up in the gate, searching the premises behind them.

Four specialists, picked up the prisoner in pairs and immediately grabbed the padawan, and accompanied by a paramedic, as quickly as possible, followed the evacuation shuttle.

Some mistake made the captain freeze for a moment, but the gunshots and explosions from the yawn of the gate forced him to head inside as quickly as possible.

"What is it?" the soldier asked.

"It seemed," said the captain.

The grille that was blocking the duct collapsed down without miraculously hitting the commando.

"Yours!"

A loud voice was heard from above and stopped the movement of the hand that had already swung to start the thermal detonator.

Four figures in greenish hoodies jumped down.

"Report!" abruptly demanded that the captain be a gray Jedi.

His face was crossed by a fresh scar, his hair sticking out and occasionally sparkled with static electricity, below his waist, the hoodie was smeared...

Something so stinky, suspiciously smelly and familiar was smeared with a jellyfish.

The other Jedi, however, looked similar.

But they were Jedi! At first glance, they all looked the same.

The captain was briskly reportable:

"We're conducting a sweep, one prisoner, presumably gifted, has been taken, and the wounded Padawan has been evacuated."

Grey nodded and turned towards the astrodroid that had entered the corridor.

The astrodroid stopped for a moment, led the lens of the visor in different directions, turned around and tried to roll back.

Very. A very suspicious astrodroid!

The path of this suspicious astrodroid had already been blocked by a blaster rifle fighter.

But it was too late. The trap slammed. The mice got cheese.

And in a moment, a dazzling light flooded everything around, after which darkness came.

***

Everyone only sees what they want to see.

They wanted to see the wounded Padawan, and they got a little bit of trouble not to break their will, and they saw the wounded Padawan.

While I was being dragged, I was carefully monitoring the small piece of furniture around our safe house and the droid was giving me the picture.

In the haphazard microwaves between the Republicans, it produced an encoded, compressed signal that decoded my comlink using an agreed protocol.

It was easy to jam the heads of my opponents, because, imbued with a slightly heightened pity for the young Padawan, they easily succumbed to the desire to ignore what I was doing.

On the contrary, my intensified emotions made them look more closely at the corridors and the premises along the way for possible danger.

I'm not Obi-Wan, the "these aren't the droids you're looking for" trick in my performance may not have gone away.

And a switch of attention, that's the number I can, eat, please.

Reached the shuttle we just three minutes Guards pushed me into the co-pilot chair, activated the navigation computer with a personal map, entered the access code, contacted the dispatcher to provide a corridor to Kuat.

And if these guys were asked why they were doing this, they couldn't answer.

It's the Force, Harry! It's not magic, but it's not bad either. Or maybe it's magic, just special.

The guards dumped Tin'Oora and, surrendering to the strange, but not here and now, panic attacks, ripped the hatch off.

If they succumbed a little, it's easier for me, I've added to their impressions.

The horror of the Force.

It's an interesting technique when everyone sees their nightmare alive.

I am still missing for a long time, and only two succumbed, who began, howling with horror, scorching in all directions.

As long as their comrades didn't understand anything and were amazed by the absurdity of what was happening, my blades came into action.

I'm sorry, gentlemen, the Kuat mercenaries, you're a great specialist, but it's the right thing to do.

I slowly take the shuttle out of the hangar, get a corridor, and the autopilot directs the shuttle to the surface.

Looking at the final scene of the painting "Meeting of the Jedi and commandos, without a feast and mass brotherhood of troops, with the phenomenon of astrodroid to people".

The whole company is assembled, and I give the mental team of the aerosol to blow up.

Sorry, T8-M15, you were funny. Very funny astrodroid. But it has to be.

There's a white flower in the porthole of the inner blast on the trim of the yard.

And now it's got bazaars roaring and hermetic doors kicking, cutting off the depressurized area.

In Sila, the auras of the gifted and not so much merging with it have erupted. Under their pressure, the mental shield collapsed and I was twisted quite strongly.

I spit blood out of my mouth and wiped it off, or rather I wiped blood out of my eyes and nose, leaned my forehead against the transparent reliability of the transplant.

I can't be the canonical dark one who enjoys death.

Death is very impressive here. It affects the brain, the personal power. It's something you can live with. It's something you can work with. But to enjoy it? Some Sith Lords have clearly been on their special wave of knowledge of the Force.

Yes, they were.

So many deaths, all so that the degenerates of Darth Ruin's teachings wouldn't muddy the water in the font of the Heavenly River.

There's enough targets to destroy and we're bound to take on the Jedi.

There will be many deaths. I'll make it happen to them.

***

Naira Ornori Kuat has always dreamed of even more wealth.

After all, wealth has allowed itself not to give up anything!

Luxury outfits, speeders, yachts, cool and cool parties, that's what she thought was most important in life.

But all three of her husbands didn't understand her.

The first one was too passionate about her job, missing her from dawn to dusk, and was unpleasantly surprised to catch her with three guys at once. Prude. Rude. Greedy!

And what was she supposed to do if he didn't pay much attention to her. He'd take her to parties, but they were boring to the point where there were no forbidden ways for a normal herd to cheer her up!

Only some talk of some unbearably boring business, and looking at the jewellery on the ladies present.

By the way, her jewelry was the richest, so she didn't have to descend to communication with these hens.

Her father's lawyers were quick to get a divorce, and they also bit off a lot of his fortune. They talked about some kind of dirt, but it was so boring that she didn't remember anything.

The second husband was the fourth son of a rich father to whom his parent used to unbuckle loans so he wouldn't get involved in the family business. It was really fun with him!

He understood the exquisite entertainment.

True, four months later, he took a large dose of Spice and never woke up.

She wasn't invited to the lineup, but she didn't want to see the horror. You fool. It's funny. You bastard!

The third one was a typical trickster and she dumped him herself, because there must be a real alpha next to her, she needs a male.

She needs a funny, funny, strong, able to please her with his huge dick and a couple of her friends, Iannie and Prenzilla, whom she often invited to hang out together. They had known each other since high school and their tongues and fingers knew how to make a girl happy.

Today she fell out of the club heavily high, but not yet fully satisfied, because so far no one has been able to take off. Sticky gigolos, money-grabbing asses that were already sick.

Where are they, brutal males?

Where are they, real heroes, real men!

Naira Ornory Kuat stepped a couple of dozen steps away from the shiny and rattling entrance,

Naira's bent.

She vomited.

But it was easy to get high, so it was like spitting.

She'd vomit and rub her palm in her mouth and straighten up.

As always, she let go for a few minutes, and she was able to pile her eyes together.

And her eyes pile up on a rather interesting character.

"What an interesting man!" thought Naira Ornori Kuat.

***

The shuttle had to be demonstratively left at the landing site in the working suburbs of Kuat City.

He crossed the saddle in a medication coma and, more simply, was high on Tin'Oora.

They'll soon find the shuttlecock, but there's no tricky assassin on his bale bike in the backseat, so they can't catch him.

Brainwashing to the shift dispatcher on duty along with shabby camera footage of that bail.

Actually, the plan announced by the Jedi to intercept the enemies of the republic has only played into my hands. Favorable mode for all involved in the special operation shuttles allowed to easily bother everyone reasonable in the shift. And they believed that they helped some Jedi in the pursuit of dangerous terrorists and calmly gave access to all the records, not being surprised.

That is, the investigation will find that some gifted man has done some actions, and this gifted man is most likely from the Brotherhood, well, and then it remains only to guess where he is hiding now. What a cowardly dark bastard!

Traditionally, the sifting of slums with gangster brothels will begin.

Let them do it, it's a useful thing, you always have to clean the city of dirt. And we'll hide in plain sight.

"Golden Youth", it's so golden!

I hid at the entrance to an elite club, where these primitive appendages of their own pleasure centers in drug-liquefied cerebellas have fun, waiting for a suitable object was a moment's work.

Easy thinking, and the guards are starting to think that I'm one of those, too.

I understand the filmmakers well.

They have to show that the Force is being used.

The same Vader raises his hand, then someone starts to choke.

Otherwise, it's hard for the viewer to link it all together.

In fact, you don't have to make pathos gestures at all.

It's enough to focus.

But many gifted people also sin by being tied to gestures, so at first it's easier, and then it becomes a habit.

You don't even have to let lightning come out of your hands.

But letting lightning out of your ass... that would be a total mockery of your opponents.

Okay, thinking about using Force techniques is good for relaxation. But attention! We gotta do this.

We're missing a couple with a homosexual aura, but a puking chick that fell out of the club is the right thing to do!

Count the necessary images from the surface of her consciousness to determine the pattern of behavior. Oh, baby, you want to fuck, it's no big deal.

We will.

I came up and handed out a napkin. A light, almost weightless suggestion to set the mood.

"Baby, are you here alone?"

She's looking at me through the eyes of an addict.

Yeah. You don't appreciate life. Young lady, you don't appreciate it at all.

"A beautiful woman should not be alone."

Five hours later, everyone was happy and satisfied.

The apartment in one of the many and rambling Kuat families is just right. How the base fits perfectly.

I'm a middle-handed businessman from the Middle Ring.

The legend is simple, the chick picked up a gigolo, no one pays attention to such living dildo.

Yes, they do. They work and they work.

The own landing area in the penthouse allowed not only to make a landing unnoticed by the cameras, but also to drag Master Oora inside.

You bet none of the wealthy people like to be watched in their private lives. That's why there are no security cameras.

Naira did not pay any attention to the bale in her hands, focusing on my humble persona, especially some rather immodest organ.

Four hours of uninterrupted sex, inspired by the Vision of Power, finally settled her down.

At first I gave her a quality drift, then focused on the holonet.

We need to track down who's related and offer Tin'Oora a new plan.

Finally, the girl screamed for the last time, muttered something sleepily and snored.

Thank the Force, it's over.

Well, at least she didn't invite her girlfriends like she suggested at first.

A little more sleep and now she won't wake up for long.

Well, I've got things to do.

Unpack Tin'Oora and bring her back to life.

Under the residual effects of the drugs, she's a little floating, but it's for the best.

A slight loss of sense of reality should allow her to be set in the right direction.

However, if it does not tune in, information about the connections can be beaten out and torture, just do not want to get out in the foreground before the dark eyes of the Lords.

"Uh-oh!"

The Master walks his hand lost in the face.

I bow in deep bows.

"Mistress."

A distracted look, she automatically takes a juice glass from me and drinks.

The look makes sense a little.

"What's wrong? Where are we?"

"We are safe, master. We've managed to shake the chase off the trail."

Next, I screw in my version, which isn't quite true.

How she was stunned. And why would she know who? Undue knowledge is undue sadness.

How I heroically pulled her to the surface of the planet, and where our turnout is now.

A short tour of all eighteen rooms ended in the bathing suite. There, the master remembered that she hadn't bathed in a long time, a week of continuous running from the Jedi, with shooting, explosions and other charm.

So Tin'Oora plunged into the pool and ordered her to be scraped from the dirt.

While he was scraping her, under the guise of "but if Mistress wanted to", he carefully imposed on her to continue the operation, using the woman who was currently in the bedroom.

Still, no one canceled the operation, just need to act thinner, without a sharp spill of finances.

And the master has come to the conclusion that she will carry out the final operation in a special way.

How insidious!

And insatiable. I'm tired as it is, but refusing to have sex with a Sith master is a sin.

It's okay, I have experience. The academy provides a great variety of knowledge.

Soon, Kuat will get his.