Ask Stray Dog Strut

[Jacen Cordro]

The Prodigal Son, Lounge
Hyperspace, Outer Rim
1845

Jacen’s baby blue eyes flicked back and forth over the iridescent screen of his datapad. His self-satisfied smirk was replaced by a furrowed brow as he skimmed the information sprawling across the screen. The BoSS was a staple in the universe since the beginning of hyperspace travel. It single-handily regulated the transponder codes of every ship in service across the galaxy, and Cordro was very interested in getting his hands on that information.

Smuggler’s lived and died by the alias’s they held. If your cover was bad, you were screwed. If it wasn’t, well, you might as well be invisible. The scoundrel had been bumming around in the lower dregs of the Syndicate long enough to know the danger of a shoddy alibi, and he wasn’t particularly interested in risking his neck at the onset of his career. The target he’d chosen was a waystation run by the BoSS nestled a few parsecs from the exit between Tatooine and Geonosis. It was run by a skeleton screw and if he played his cards right he’d be able to get what he was after with very little resistance, the issue was getting past the handful of armed guards that would no doubt be stationed outside the command center.

That’s where The Mando came in.

Jacen leaned back in his chair pushing away from the table as he rubbed his eyes and crossed his legs. He reached forward and opened a box on the table next to his datapad, and grabbed a cigar. He cut open the cap and put it in his mouth while he lit the foot. The Scoundrel took a long drag and savored the flavor of his vice. The taste begged to be accompanied by a glass of whiskey, but he managed to stave off his desire.

Fourum, Jacen’s spunky piloting droid, rolled into the lounge and chortled derisively at his master’s smoking habit.

“Please, you can’t even smell.” retorted Jacen without looking in the direction of the little droids. In response, Fourum bleated a rude succession of droidspeak that elicited a shocked expression from the weary smuggler.

“Well, sounds like someone doesn’t want their monthly maintenance,” fired back Jacen.

Fourum warbled sarcastically and settled into his charging dock, promptly switching into power-saving mode, punctuating his point before Jacen could get a word in edgewise.

“I'm starting to understand why people wipe a droid's memory...” he murmured while taking another drag on his cigar.

The Mando came to mind and his mood soured more. Jacen had worked with plenty of mercs in recent years. Most were more than happy to talk their head off about their mediocre exploits, but this one… this one rarely made a noise. They wore their armor at all times and honestly, it was a little off-putting, which wasn’t a lane Jacen was used to flying in. He also didn’t like not knowing who he was working with. Jobs based in deceit required the highest levels of trust between the ones running them, and if he couldn’t look this Mandalorian in the eyes he wasn’t sure he’d be able to go through with the job.

“Guess, I should give this another go…” he grumbled as he stood from his leisurely position. His body protested demanding rest, but his mind cracked the whip and his anxiety demanded recompense, so he rose and made his way toward The Mando’s room.

“If I can’t crack this nut…” he glanced down at his wrist chrono, “... in the next hour, I’m gonna need to rework the plan,” he complained as he made his way through The Prodigal Son’s interior.

@Feng Mian

 

[Song]

Song stared at her reflection in her brother’s old, ceremonial sword. A weapon passed down from one generation of Wren to another, now in her possession. She coveted the blade, and despite its practical uses, she rarely brought it with her onto the field of battle. It was there as a reminder, a promise to keep, to honor and avenge her late brother.

As was his armor, which she carefully slid on piece by piece.

She had bindings wound over her chest, padding around her waist and a thick cloak she kept wrapped around her neck and beneath her armor. The insignia of the Phoenix, a symbol of Clan Wren, was sewn into the fabric. Everything she wore was meant to give her the look and appearance of a man, as her brother.

It was better that way.

Song slid the antique blade back into its sheath. That had been the first time in the last month she had seen her own reflection. Very little had changed of her since she left Krownest, though her cheeks were sharper and her eyes harder, like they had seen their fair share of shock and tragedy in the galaxy, and if she were being honest, they had.

Didn’t change much though. She was a Mandalorian. It was expected of her.

She heard footsteps outside her room and carefully put on her helmet, activating the voice modulator embedded inside. The final touch to her master disguise.

Song kept a hand resting on the blaster tied to her waist, mostly out of a mix between paranoia and preparedness. Her experience with smugglers in the past rarely panned out. One time, they had left her for dead on a backwater, wasteland of a planet. Another time, they sold her out to a crew of pirates, thinking they’d earn some extra profit.

In the end, both men got what they deserved. She made sure of it.

Song hoped this smuggler, this Jacen Cordro, was different. Last thing she wanted was another body to bury.

At the door, she swiped the lock and the hatch flew open to reveal none other than the smuggler himself, standing toe to toe with her. Though he couldn’t see it, Song raised an eyebrow and smirked. Just what did the man think he was doing?

“Can I help you?” she said, in her usual deep, low voice.

 

[Jacen Cordro]

Jacen turned the corner making his way to the passenger corridor of his YT-2400. As he closed in on The Mando's room he began to run over the dialogue he was planning on having with the hunter. His habitual pontification was a gift from his father. Jocko Cordro was an eloquent speaker. His ability to turn a phrase was so alluring it generally took his adversaries weeks to realized they’d played right into his hand. This mastery of language was the only aspect Jacen respected about his father. As a child, Jacen would lay on the floor of his Jocko’s office and listen to his father run his speeches over and over until he was satisfied. Jacen adopted his but wasn’t quite as patient as his father.

Before he knew it he was standing outside The Bounty Hunter’s quarters. Jacen glared at the door steeling himself for what he was sure would be an argument. As he raised his hand to knock the door slid open and he was caught with his hand raised and an expression caught between determination and surprise. He quickly cleared his throat and regained his composure as The Mando posed their question. The Scoundrel leveled his gaze with the hunter’s T-visor noting a tinge of annoyance in his employee’s tone, though that could have been a side-effect of the voice modulator they used.

“Er, I-- Yes, I wanted to run through the plan. We’re closing in on the location and I want to make sure everything goes off without a hitch.”

Jacen gave the being before him a once over and found himself frustrated by the lack of information he could glean from the warrior. He did, however, notice the insignia on The Mando’s armor and made a mental note to check into it when he got back to his datapad. Everyone had their secrets and Jacen loved figuring them out.

@Feng Mian

 

[Song Wren]

“We’re almost there?” said Song, deadpan. “Good.”

Easily, she brushed by him and stepped into the corridor. Like a specter, she moved to the ship’s main cabin. Dull light reflected off her armor, from the black streaks of missed shots, to battle scars from petty criminals and lightsabers alike. Some of the marks she could pinpoint, remember where and how they came about, but most weren’t hers. They were her brother’s.

Before he died, his last mark a shallow gash across his neck.

Her jaw clenched, like that alone would derail that train of thought, and Song returned her focus back to the smuggler. She had caught him staring, his eyes wandering like a scavenger in the middle of an untouched wreckage, but she didn’t stop him. Let him inspect, let him see. Who knew, maybe he’d learn a thing or two on what it meant being more than a low-crime scoundrel.

Still, he had the credit, and she took the job. Song couldn’t complain.

Once inside the cabin, she gravitated to the central table and the holographic display. As she leaned over it, her iron stare fell back to the smuggler. Although she was rarely so uptight with clients or partners, Song took a particular disliking to Syndicate doormats and slaves. There was no honor in crime. No trust.

Like any smuggler, she suspected Jacen would backstab her the moment the opportunity presented itself. So, she’d keep him close, and her blaster closer.

“Alright,” she said, looking at the smuggler. “Run me through this plan of yours again.”

@Zay

 

[Jacen Cordro]

The Mando's confidence was astounding. Sure, Jacen had worked with loads of merc's over the past few years, but few were so frustratingly calm and collected. It was unsettling. As they made their way back to the main cabin he noted the grace the warrior before him exhibited. The Mando moved with a stillness that belied the clear violence they'd experienced. His brow furrowed as he failed to make an accurate assumption of the being's abilities. For all of his observation, The Mandalorian was just as alien to him now as they were when they'd taken off.

As they entered the cabin, he picked up his datapad and pretended to review it's contents while looking up the insignia on The Mando's armor. Clan Wren. Finally, something. The tension in his face relaxed marginally as he welcomed the small victory. After all, sometimes a crumb leads to the whole loaf, and sometimes it leads to the trap.

He took a seat at the holoterminal and manipulated a few of the controls. A rendering of the waystation came into view and it zoomed in on the location they'd be landing.

"There's been a change in plans." His blue eyes locked on to the T-visor and their gaze didn't waver.

"I don't trust you. You don't trust me. So let's eliminate that from the table altogether, shall we?"

Jacen could feel the shift in the tension between the two of them. One wrong move and he'd be filled full of blaster holes, but something told him to keep going, so he did.

"Once we land, I'm going to move up the west corridor, and circle around to central command." As he spoke the holoterminal shifted and followed a line as it progressed through the station.

"I want you to head up the east side. Yes, there will be more guards your way, that's why I hired you. This station isn't heavily guarded. Most of the beings that work here are close to retirement, and I don't want anything to happen to them. I'd rather avoid any unnecessary bloodshed, but do what you've got to do." He let that sink in and then ended with, "Your main target is the chief of communications, Targan Coltus."

Jacen shrugged adding, "We meet back at the ship at 0100 and get the hell out of here. Questions?"

@Feng Mian

 

[Song Wren]

“Wow,” said Song, head tilted as she leaned closer into the hologram, her voice threaded with a touch of surprise. “I’m impressed. Not everyday you meet a smuggler with a plan, no?”

“Though I’m not sure how that eliminates my distrust for you, I appreciate the thought you put into this. Very professional. Almost makes me feel like I’m on an actual job.” She laughed at that, though it’d be hard to tell whether she was joking or not. “But I got you. I go east, you go west. I tank the guards, you head for the command center. Easy enough. Other than that, no questions.”

Truthfully, it wasn’t. The Mandalorian had faced down worse odds before, but she fighting alone and outnumbered wasn’t something she ever looked forward to. The pay would make amends for that. With the split she was getting, Song would be set for weeks. Finally, a chance to stop hunting for second-rate bounties, and start hunting for the real target. Retribution would be hers.

Baby steps first.

Song waited in the cockpit with Jacen as the ship reached its destination. Lightspeed slipped away, and the tunnel of blurred stars now came into focus, along with the station ahead. A gray speck in an ocean of black. The Mandalorian leaned over the dashboard to see, not anxious, but not sure about what laid in store ahead.

“Are we just landing straight in?” she said, spotting the blue hangar shield engraved into the station, and wondering if they needed clearance codes to enter. As thorough as Jacen was about the plan, Song was left to question just how thorough, and accurate, it really was.

Last thing she wanted to deal with was a whole garrison of Rangers.

@Zay

 

[Jacen Cordro]

Jacen strained to ignore the surprise in The Mando’s modulated voice as they mentioned being impressed by him having a plan. “I’m not sure who you’ve worked with in the past, but I can assure you I’m not like your average smuggler.”

The Scoundrel turned in his seat and lit up a cigar. He offered one to The Hunter knowing they’d decline. “Suit yourself,” he said with a shrug as he took a puff.

“It eliminates my distrust. I’m worried about your blaster at my back. No offense, but I don’t trust anyone that hides their face. So, if we go in separate directions on opposite ends of the station I don’t have to think about you getting cheeking, follow?”

It was apparent The Hunter understood, well as apparent as their chrome dome could be… With the briefing finished the two went their separate ways. Jacen stepped into his room and changed clothing. Usually, he wore gaudy outfits, but he decided discretion was the primary objective of this mission. The Scoundrel wore a black tunic, black trousers, and a brown blastvest. He was indistinguishable from any spacer aside from his good looks, but there wasn’t anything his pride would let him do about that.

Jacen joined The Mandalorian in the cockpit as the mottled blue hues of hyperspace dissipated and were replaced by elongated star lines that snapped into place. His baby blue eyes scanned the space before them and he found himself frowning. Something was off. His brow knit in concentration as he worked over the scene searching for a clue to illuminate his uneasy feeling.

The Mandalorian’s question brought him out of his contemplation and he said, “Something’s wrong. We should have been hailed by now.”

An excess of detritus swam before them and even with the lack of action this waystation saw, there wasn’t an excuse for this amount of twisted metal. His hands flew across the controls and he altered their trajectory. Instead of aiming for the main entrance he decided to locate a maintenance hatch.

“Change in plans. We’re going in covert, I don’t like the look of this and I refuse to walk into someone else’s trap,” he said looking to the warrior for any objections. The Prodigal Son skimmed the outside of the station until it’s scanners picked up a particularly old hatch. The entrance was going to be sketchy, but once they were in it wouldn’t matter.

Once they were docked he made his way to Forum. He woke the little droid and relayed the information he’d taken in. The droid warbled irritably and Jacen shrugged saying, “I can’t change the facts.” The droid considered that and then seemed to accept it. The Scoundrel pulled on his gunbelt and an envirosuit before heading to the docking ring. The section of the station they’d connected to was dilapidated and he doubted command would waste energy powering this portion.

Jacen took point and slid through the opening. The sense of weightlessness embracing him as he passed from his ship into the station. Once he was in he’d take a defensive position at the first corner he’d wait on The Mando. His wristcomm displayed a holo map of the station. “I’ll get you on track, from there the plan stays as it was.” Fourum coasted up beside him and he couldn't help but smile.

"Shall we?"

@Feng Mian

 

[Song Wren]

Not your average smuggler.

Song bit back a laugh at the thought. Every smuggler she had met, had told her the same thing. They called themselves the next Han Solo, or the fastest ship in the sector, or the finest blockade-runner in the Outer-Rim, even when there were no blockades and fleets left outside the Free Worlds. Song learned enough about Syndicate scoundrels not to trust what was said. Guilty until proven innocent, no?

If he wanted to prove her wrong, he was going to have to breathe some life into his empty words and promises. With action.

“I’m a Mandalorian. It’s part of my religion. Not sure what more you expected when you hired me.” Song said, deadpan. She liked roasting him over the coals the way she did, but she understood his skepticism. With a name or not, it was hard to trust a walking, faceless suit of armor. Only way that would change was if she did what he did: by keeping her word.

Inside the cockpit, Song watched the waystation grow. The closer it came, the more questions followed. Space debris circled the station like flies to a lamplight, and the Mandalorian had to hold onto one of the open seats as Jacen wrenched the ship to the side. She had hoped the mission would move without a hitch, but everything was thrown into doubt. They hadn’t even landed yet.

“No kidding,” said Song as she watched the Prodigal Son anchor itself against the station and to the closest maintenance hatch.

Checking to make sure her armor was airtight, the environmental suit beneath it comfortable against her, Song descended through the hatch. To her surprise, she was met with a feeling of weightlessness, like she had plunged deep into water. She drew short breaths, though her oxygen levels remained steady, the air around them not exposed to the vacuum of space. A good sign, but without gravity and power, it didn’t change their strange circumstance.

There was a mystery in the air and Song didn’t like it one bit.

To keep herself grounded, she activated her mag-boots and her legs instantly locked to the floor. She rather slid than swam forward, and moved behind Jacen at the corner. The station holo-map blinked as she absorbed the information being presented to her one last time. It didn’t matter if the station was in disarray, or if their original plan thrown off balance, the Mandalorian would make sure to see it through.

“Let’s do it,” she said, and they were off.

@Zay

 

[Jacen Cordro]

Jacen took point and pushed off the wall gently coasting through the empty corridor in silence behind him the metallic clomp of The Mandalorian’s mag boots put his nerves on edge. Their religion may have been war, but it was clear stealth was never an option….

Fourum slid up on his left and whistled a low nervous tone. Jacen frowned, normally the spunky little guy would be gung-ho for a mission like this. “What’s up?”

The little droid bleated a response and Jacen nodded. “That’s the plan. Next console we come across that’s operational, I’ll have you slice in and get a lay of the land. If we’re lucky you’ll be able to access the stations holofeed."

Jacen’s eyes shifted from his map to his surroundings periodically as drifted from one corridor to the next. A whistle of excitement from his left told him Fourum had found a console. He pivoted midair and kicked off the wall, altering his trajectory toward the droid. Fourum was already going to work with it’s computer spike twisting and turning as it looked for the holofeed. The Scoundrel glanced in the direction of the Mando and then turned his attention to the screen as it flickered to life.

“Kark me…” he grumbled as the screen displayed squads of armed pirates patrolling the main sectors of the waystation. Turning to the Mandalorian he said, “You interested in a bonus?”

Jacen pulled up the holomap and started charting a different course. His religion was survival and he still had a job to do. “Fourum, pull up the command center please.”

The little droid complied and the screen shifted to a new scene. Jacen bit back a slew of expletives as he stepped toward the monitor to get a better look. Four battle droids and a particularly nasty looking Weequay were rounding up the remaining BoSS engineers.

“Great.” Jacen scoffed as he began removing his envirosuit. His mind worked overtime as it processed the new information. “Okay, the mission remains the same but how we spring this trap is going to change.” Jacen’s attention turned to The Mando. “Mind giving me your input? I’d love to hear how you plan to worship.” The Scoundrel crossed his arms and cupped his chin in his palm prepared to listen intently to what The Mandalorian had to say.

@Feng Mian

 

[Song Wren]

Grounded to the floor, the Mandalorian glanced in-between the smuggler and his droid. Her mother had taught her droidspeak, handed down after her travels throughout the Outer-Rim, but Song rarely used it. She had no mechanical co-pilot, no astromech droid, no two-foot tall robot to follow her bidding, or to talk to. Her journeys across the empty chasm of space was one of quiet and solitude. Though watching Jacen, she wondered what it might be like.

Not being constantly alone.

Song slammed back into the moment. News of the armed pirates pulled her in, and she didn’t bother counting their numbers. It was more than what she expected. More than what she was paid for. Tempted as she was to turn tail and leave, the offer of a bonus reeled her into place. Besides, as a Mandalorian, she never ran from a battle. Even if the odds were set against her, were they ever in the first place?

Nothing changed about the mission, just who they were fighting.

“My plan to worship?” she said, with an amused, half-second chuckle. “I thought I was the brawn here, and you were the brains. Would you like for me to come up with the rest of the plan too?”

She unholstered her DL-44 blaster, checked the full clip, and let it twirl in her hand. “Then again, the best I have for you is diving right in. I’d suggest crawling through a ventilation shaft, but that’s not for me. What I can do is handle those squads. Draw their attention, while you move in and do what you have to do.”

It was more than she what she’d like to do, but with a quick glance down to the thermal grenade pocketed on her belt, she was confident she could hold out alone. It was something she used to doing all the time.

“So,” said the Mandalorian, seemingly unfazed. “Do you need me to give a quick prayer too, or are we good to go?”

@Zay

 

[Jacen Cordro]

Jacen’s baby blues glowered at the faceless hunter and in an uninterested tone he retorted, “You’re a Mandalorian. Why wouldn’t I ask your opinion when preparing for odds only one of your ilk would dare to face?”

The Scoundrel considered information one of the few currencies in the galaxy that never depreciated. Good intel could make or break a mission and if The Mandalorian couldn’t understand that then they were karked. He rubbed the stubble on his chin as he thought. After a moment his small self-satisfied smile crept across his lips.

“I’ve got an idea. Do whatever you want, but draw as many as you can away from the command center. You think you can handle that?”

Jacen would wait for The Hunter to object or air any concerns they had, but based on their sass he doubted he’d have much to listen to. Turning his attention to Fourum he jerked his chin in the direction of the command center, “Let’s get the show on the road.”

The empty corridors melted away as Jacen and Fourum closed in on their destination.

“Alright buddy, up you go.” Jacen gestured toward the vent above. “Make your way to the command center, but stay up there until I give you the signal.” He patted the droids head affectionately and Fourm complied without complaint.

Jacen watched his little friend disappear into the vent and a pang of fear crept into his psyche before he forced himself forward. The Waystation’s gravity field began to take hold and Jacen shifted from his supine position to standing upright. He pulled his blaster and set it to stun as he carefully approached the next corner. He was still a ways off, but sentries would no doubt be roaming for any engineers that had escaped during the initial attack.

“--at’s what I said to ‘em,” came a gruff voice from just on the other side of the wall.

“Oh really? You said that to Clipper,” asked another voice with more than a little skepticism coloring the tone.

“Das right, I said, look here bossman, you need to cut us in at a higher portion.”

“Oh yeah, and just how’d that work out for you?”

“Well, I’m on patrol ain’t I?” Both beings burst out in laughter and that’s when Jacen made his move. The Scoundrel turned the corner and fired two shots into the sentries around the corner. They both fell stupid grins still alive on their stupid faces.

“Amateurs…” Jacen grumbled as he gave them both a once over. Their attire was similar to his, but they both wore something akin to Tantel armor, helmet and all, over their normal clothing. Jacen quickly donned the armor over his clothing and slid the helmet over his head. His vision slightly obscured, but this would allow him to move a little more freely within the waystation. With his disguise in place, Jacen set off at a trot toward the command center. The timing was crucial if he was late the whole plan would be ruined.

@Feng Mian

 

[Song Wren]

One of her ilk. The way he worded it made an eye twitch, but she knew he only meant respect. He knew: one Mandalorian was equal to a hundred grunts. Although the odds she confronted with were some of the worst dealt in her career, Song remained confident. Even in the face of death, there was no fear and no turning back. She’d take the cards that were given and make it work, because she had a few tricks up her sleeve too.

She listened to his idea, which was essentially an improved rehash of what she suggested before, but said nothing of it. She only nodded and said, “I’ll handle it.”

And she would. Battle-hardened pirates, armored soldiers and battle droids? The Mandalorian was just happy they weren’t Sector Rangers or Jedi. Not that she wouldn’t be able to handle them too, but last thing she wanted to do was get on the wrong side of the law, or whatever that mysterious, invisible thing was that the Jedi liked to call. The Force? She didn’t know. Didn’t care either, and it didn’t matter.

The two parted ways, Jacen to the command center and Song to what she presumed was the main hangar. If she remembered the holofeed correctly, there were at least twenty men stationed there. Collecting the fruits of their labor, throwing parts and storage crates aboard the mobile junkyards they called “ships.”

For the most part, the corridor she walked was empty. No random patrol of men, just flickering lights and walls etched with blaster bolt marks. She noticed a waystation guard slumped against the corner, an older man with his arms at his side, staring directly at her. There was a vacant look in his eyes. Dead. The Mandalorian turned away and continued like it was nothing, even though it was something. To her.

She passed two different sets of blast doors, all of them opened wide, and made sure to note the controls next to each. It was a moment later that she came across the hangar.

First, she heard laughter. Then voices, close and faint, from masked men and tattooed Weequay. They relished in their plunder, but as the Mandalorian raised her blaster, she knew the real party was about to begin.

She peered over a gutted storage crate and spotted two drunk Weequay close by. One wore the helmet of another waystation guard, armed with a rifle that clearly wasn’t his, and mimicked something of a pleading tone. The other laughed, a splintering howl that made Song sick to her stomach. She didn’t bother switching to stun when she shot them both in the face.

All heads turned towards her.

“Here we go,” said Song, her senses fully engaged. She drew in a deep breath, like a silent prayer, and so the service began.

@Zay

 

[Jacen Cordro]

As his long and careful slog to the command center was drawing to a close Jacen began to worry he wouldn’t be able to find a way in without getting caught. However, his fears were quickly dashed when a squad of clambering pirates came rushing up the hall screaming, “BACKUP! WE NEED BACK UP!! THE HANGAR IS UNDER ATTACK!”

Slipping into a nearby alcove, The Scoundrel listened intently as the squad’s leader gave an account on the attack. The Weequay standing guard just outside the command center seemed skeptical until the mention of the attacker’s armor.

“WOT?! A fraking Mandalorian’s here?” Deliberation stampeded across his face like a heard of wild bantha as the pirate desperately wrestled with what he should do. A single warrior shouldn’t be a match for an entire platoon, but here they were. Jacen noted the effect a Mandalorian had on even the most hardened space vagrants.

The Weequay snapped too as he reached a decision. “Right, yew four take these battle droids and the squad from sector two and cut off The Mandalorian’s escape. I don’t want them alive, so guns flyin’, yeh?”

A wolfish smile spread across the formally frightened pirate’s face and he saluted before turning and heading off in the direction of their reinforcements. The metallic clomp of battles droids joining the scuffle of soft leather boots. The Weequay standing guard lifted his wrist and said, “Boss, we got company.”

“Elaborate,” responded a voice so thick with malice it made the hair on Jacen’s neck stand on end.

“Er, we’ve got a breach in the main hangar, I’ve just sent reinforcements to take care of it, but I wanted you to know.”

“What kind of breach?”

The Weequay swallowed clearly uncomfortable with his current situation. “Th-there’s a Mandalorian causing a muck.”

“A Mandalorian? I'm sending both B2 units. We're too close to leave anything to chance.”

The Weequay confirmed the order and stood to the side as two larger battle droids stepped out of the command center and made their way toward the hanger. Jacen made a mental note to cut a duplicate of his prize for The Mandalorian because at this point if they survived their compensation would sink him.

Time was running out. It didn’t matter how proficient The Mandalorian was the odds were so highly stacked against them that it would be a matter of when, not if, they were overrun. Jacen flicked his blaster off stun mode and imitated the panicked clamber of the pirates from before.

“Sir, we’re under attack from the outer sector!”

“Wo--” began the lone pirate, but the rest of his reaction was cut off by a blaster bolt to the chest. Seizing the momentum created, Jacen slapped open the blastdoor and slammed his shoulder into the deceased’s chest sending his body through the door. Jacen slid to his right and came up behind a console narrowly escaping a barrage of blaster fire.

The voice from the comm earlier rang out, “You’ve made a grave mistake.”

“Naturally.” Jacen retorted. His eyes scanned the vents in the room and his self-satisfied little smirk settled on his lips as he spotted Fourum. All he had to do was get rid of the pirate captain here and this job was in the bag.

@Feng Mian

 

[Song Wren]

The hangar erupted into chaos. Blaster bolts flew back and forth, marking walls and blast doors and storage crates in smoking black. A pirate tumbled over a container of scrapped parts, face planting the ground in a desperate move for cover. Another started firing his rifle like a madman, his every shot a miss. The Mandalorian did her best to draw in the spotlight, but it became increasingly clear she couldn’t stay in the same spot for long.

After downing a third man, she made a run for it.

Down a straight shot corridor, Song might’ve been an easy shot for the half dozen men who now chased after her, but she knew better. Without a second thought, she pressed on her right foot and activated the jump boots attached below. Steam hissed from her heel and, in the next moment, she was flying. Other shots tore harmlessly into the space of where she was before, her feet inches from several passing bolts.

She’d broken their line of fire, but only for a second.

Song landed with a metal thud, and she was wishing then she had a jetpack instead. It was hard work trying to dodge and weave through the hail of gunfire coming her way, an almost impossible task, but she already had a plan in mind. All she had to do was reach the first blast door and the controls behind it, then she was game.

A blaster bolt hit her square in the back of her shoulder. Thanks to the Beskar, there was no bleed through, but Song staggered and nearly fell. A split second delay was all it’d take for her to get shredded to ribbons.

Fortune favored the bold though, and Song regained her footing and crossed the threshold of the first blast door. Out of breath, she leapt to the side, into a corner behind the doors frame. The pirates were descending on her fast. Quickly, she pulled a thermal detonator off her belt. It was almost weightless in her palm, so light for something so deadly.

She looked up to the wall next to her, outside the small window which looked out into space, and with a sharp intake of breath, like she was about to dive underwater, she threw the grenade.

The grenade sailed right over the pirates before rolling to a stop against the outer wall. They all collectively looked at it in a blink of shock, hearts skipping a beat, but found relief when the detonator had missed them completely, failing to set off in the group’s center. One man laughed and continued to fire at the Mandalorian.

That was fine. Song was still counting down from five.

At the fifth mark, the detonator exploded. None of the pirates were in range, but that wasn’t the point. The blast had instantly removed the outer wall it had landed beside, and the corridor was exposed to the vacuum of space. Every man who followed her, more than a dozen at least, shrieked and were sucked into the gaping hole. Song herself had activated her mag-boots, staying rooted into place.

Red lights flashed from the ceiling. The main blast door into the hangar snapped close and a voice rang out. “Alert! Hull breach in sector five. Alert, hull breach…”

Song slammed onto the blast door controls next to her. It closed in a screech, and the pull into the empty chasm of space disappeared. She could breath easy again.

Not for long. She had seen twenty men in the hangar. There had to be at least another six or seven left, not accounting for the battle droids which were likely headed her way. Not wanting to idle too long in her short-lived victory, Song ran down a separate hall to meet them.

@Zay