A Mentor of Old

[Miranda Frost]

A man clothed in a black, leather  trench coat. sat upon the mildly sloped tower that overlooked the Coruscanti skyline. The sun just barely peeked over the horizon. Streaks of red and orange stretched unhindered across the cloudless sky with the twinkling light of stars barely piercing through the day’s fading azure veil. The man tipped his hat upward, his cerulean eyes peering out towards the passing day. His other hand would grasp an electrum coin, the leather bound fingers gliding over its damaged features. He’d twirl it effortlessly between his fingers, the heavy memento resting perfectly balanced over his index finger. His thumb would flick upwards, sending the piece twirling gracefully into the evening sky. As it continued to climb his eyes would watch, its movements representing his time here in this mundane land.

 There have always been two sides to a coin.  The world itself would paint an illusion of multiple sides, the choice to make any decision regarding one’s potential future. This was all a lie of course. There are only two choices per subject. There are only two sides: Yey or neh, life or death, black or white.  As the coin began to fall, the man would hold out his open hand to catch the priceless artifact upon the palm of his hand. The image that faced him was a portrait of his father etched upon its ancient surface. Latin lettering traced the edge of the coin but time had taken away its legibility. The expression upon the portrait’s face was a solemn one, its eyes staring deep into whoever carried it.

 The man would pocket the coin, his arm reaching down towards his belt where a dense coil of hempen rope hung. Tied to one end a rusted three pronged hook lay, ready for it’s owner’s mission. He’d stand, removing the length from the metal clasp that secured it to his belt. The man would begin unraveling it, his gloves sliding gently over its entirety. He would move down to the edge of the tower, gazing over the building’s edge.

 “I fucking hate heights, why did I think this was a good idea?”, he would chastise himself, grimacing at his future demise. Swarms of speeders and air vehicles zipped  in massive air-lanes across the city. Sky-walks provided a way from building to building  just outside the area these vehicles were allowed to operate. He’d sigh  and drag  the hooked end of the rope, leading it over to a rather thick communications array. Quickly he’d  secure the rope to the antennae and would give it a hefty pull to test its ability to not let him fall to a rather messy death.

 Once he was done making the proper preparations he’d step back to the edge of the skyscraper, the heels of his boots teetering over the edge. “You can do this. You can do this”, he’d encourage himself. He would take a single step back onto the side of the building, his figure moving to a more horizontal position. He would breath long and hard, easing himself down the side, his steps short and slow. He would hear the quiet sound of a dagger sliding from its sheath, forcing him to jerk his head to the side to investigate. The sheath bound to his calf seemed to have grown loose during his time in Coruscant it seemed. The corners of his mouth tensed, his eyes watching the knife slowly slide free. He had to secure it, but his hands were quite occupied at the moment. On guided him down the rope while the other held the rope securely behind him. 

 “Maybe if I am fast enough”, he would think aloud before briefly letting go of the rope in front of him to grasp at the knife. 

 Fortunately he’d catch the dagger.

 Unfortunately letting the rope go was a really bad idea.

 The result of this brilliant maneuver left the man rolling down the strand of rope, his feet struggling to steady himself. His hand would luckily catch himself upon his lifeline, his shoulder popping as his body attempted to continue its downward descent. A sharp pain stabbed into his shoulder but he dared not let go again.

 “Fuck. Fuckity fuck fuck fuck. This was not worth it. Totally was not worth it.”, he spat out, continuing to lower himself down the  building side, his digits straining to hold both the knife’s hilt and the rope simultaneously.  The wind assaulted him. Nearly causing his feet to slip upon the building’s sleek exterior.  His body shook from the pain and his mind raced from his near death experience. He had never created brilliant ideas, but this one just takes the cake. 

 “I can’t do this. God, I can’t do this. Just shoot me now. Fucking shoot me now.”, he’d groan, his feet taking bigger steps backward. Rappelling was not his forte. In fact this was his first time doing this besides various training exercises he’d partaken. Those were on a fifty foot tower, not this behemoth of a spire. A fall from the former may result in a broken bone for him. A fall from this… this thing would turn him into straight up carrion food. Maybe he might get lucky and hit a vehicle on the way down. 

 "Yeah... that'd be preferable", he'd gripe, his feet finally  catching an edge. He'd ease himself on its small clearance, his arms outstretched wide as if to hug the building for his survival. "YEESSSSS!!", he'd yell, his voice muffled from the face of the building smashed into his sweaty face. His hand latched onto a small window, just big enough for him to squeeze through. He'd test its integrity, the knife he held prying at its edges. Luckily for him it was loose. Only a moment would pass before he had the window open, allowing the man to slip in. The man would collapse to the cold floor with a hefty thud. He'd begin to recover but the cool barrel of a gun wedged itself firmly against his cheek.

 "Warning: Do not make any sudden moves meat-bag. I do not object to spilling your grotesque innards over my Master's walls."

 "Duly noted."