Darkness in a secluded office. Secrecy and shadows.
Hunched over a comm screen sits a figure with eyes of ice and flesh of hate. The glow of the screen flickers, tossing shadows across the features of Brahle Logris. The man who would be Boss.
Unfortunately, the angle prevents any view of the screen he looks upon, but the sheer atmosphere of the room denotes communicated power. Might.
Brahle speaks, his eyes narrowed and skeptical, "Tarnak?"
The reply comes in the voice of deep might and supreme strength. It communicates darkness and oppression, but also opportunity.
"Yes. Kill him. Your pay... the organization."
Now this was indeed an offer. And as they saying went, 'an offer he can't refuse'. Though Brahle would be the first to say that there was nothing he "can't" do, this situation begged attention. The man who had spoken on the screen had not asked, he had told...but this way not a man to refuse. Ever.
"Consider it done..." He stammers a moment, trying to find the appropriate phrase, "... What you want I should call you."
Silly question. The way the man on screen chuckles, a very silly question indeed.
"Call me Diete Somir. Now go, kill my son."
Succinct and to the point, with all information communicated, the channel is closed from the other end... plunging Brahle into a room of darkness.
The leather of his chair creaking as he leans back in his chair, fingers steepled over his chest, time for consideration is taken.
Tarnak. He had to die, plain and simple. If he didn't then Brahle could count his number as up. But how to do it.
If not done right, things would be a horrible mess. After all, a good degree of the family still considered themselves loyal to the name, if not the organization.
Ah, the name... Somir. He'd keep that. The name could open just about any door in the galaxy, and with Brahle at the helm...
Never mind, that. It is as of yet unimportant. The real key will be in dropping Tarnak off in such a way as to leave no room for question. Even though, the only question he'd likely face would come from those with the Somir name...
Wait.
How could he have missed it. Sheer excitement perhaps, or the pure size of the task. But there it was. Right in front of his eyes for all the world to see.
Meschi.
Pressing his thumb upon the intercom, "Find me Meschi. Tell him... Tell him, I have an offer he can't refuse."

Perfect.
Meschi was on board, but he had his demands. Of course. All very worth it. He was, after all, the only one in the syndicate that could make official his move to power. His word carried about as much sway as Tarnaks did.
And yes, while Brahles' word was like stone, it could be passed over without heed due to his nature of employment.
But not with Meschi in his corner. The new man number two.
Strolling back to his office now, he was given to thinking over the method in which he would dispatch Tarnak. His routine would need to be refined.
Physical confrontation would be mandatory. Brahle was fairly sure he could take Tarnak down in hand to hand... But he'd need an edge. That's where his signature style would come in.
The real trick would be picking the right poison, the right object of contact and the right moment of delivery.
All very tricky. It would take thought and consideration. But more then that, the key would be in keeping Tarnak from catching wind of this...Easier said then done.
Finally entering his office Brahle pauses just inside the door to consider todays events.
48 hours left, and Tarnak had to be out of the way. The Dark Lord had been very demanding on this topic. And rightly so. Likely he knew his own son well enough to know that Tarnak was a hard shell to crack, and given any leeway, a deadly opponent.
So, he had to act fast. No rest for the wicked.
Turning he moves over to his desk, the office still washed in darkness and shadow... and something was wrong.
Someone was here, someone who shouldn't be.
And even then, Brahle took it in stride.
"Come on out and show your face, besides, the auto guns already have you tracked."