#mod drash

The Pyke encircling the Mesra Palace were impatient.  This was supposed to be quick, the palace unguarded and resistance minimal.  The screams of their comrades had crescendoed and ceased. Those remaining were unsettled in the wake. The desert stilled, poised and waiting for more carrion.  The platoon leader, a low level lieutenant, gazed across the expanse from their position to the balcony.

The old man on watch was a decent shot, but he was tiring.  Groupings getting just a little wider, the volleys having longer pauses between.  Now was the time for them to rush in. The lieutenant raised his com preparing to give the order.

“Unit one to front gate, how copy...” Static flowed through the frequency with no reply. Perhaps they had joined the other group? He tried again, “Unit two, how copy?”

There was a crackling before a voice broke through, “Their... coming... HEL-”

“Unit two?” The Lieutenant tried again and again to raise the others, but no reply came.  What was this place, this hell mouth?  Looking to the others, the senior enforcer raised his blaster before going to investigate. “Keep firing and watch yourselves!”

Moving along the rock shelf, he retreated back to the vehicles. Drawing nearer the smell of fuel filled the intake of his mask.  Cursing, the Pyke saw that the speeders were now little more than scrap, green blood mixing with the leaking motor fluid to color the sand. Inching closer he could see only one set of tracks trailing round the carnage. Trying the com his words came rushed.

“There's someth--”

There was a sickening thud as the head of a gaffii struck against his skull, cutting off whatever else he had to say.  Dazed, he tried to look up from the ground, grasping for his weapon in vain. 

The Tuskin looming over him let out a shrieking cry before striking again and again.  No more sound, no movement, only the sand whipping past.  

“Run!” 

Boba barked as an incoming fire from the B-1 rattled the street. Din watched as the Freetown garrison ran like whomp rats from a fired nest.  The Hulking terrors turned to recalculate the trajectory on the retreating force.  

Good fucking lot of good those patroling New Republic Rangers were.

Drash held her ground next to the two hunters, opening fire at the oncoming threat. Little good that it did.

“Get out of here!” Boba barked as the building facade above them cracked, raining down on their heads. Shaking off the adobe bits, he turned his visor to the girl,  “Drash you need to go.”

She shook her head angrily, “I'm not leaving you!”

“I’m ordering you to go!” Boba roared as the droid took aim again at them. “Fierfek!”

Drash was quick though, twice as smart as a kid her age should be. Looking at the droid's path she pulled out a detonator throwing it at the building entrance diagonal. The detonator went off perfectly, though it damaged the building more than the droid. As the three moved to the next corner down she grumbled at the Daimyo,  “Mama Kay'll kill me if I don't bring you back.”

“What do you think she'll do to me if you get injured?” Boba spat out exasperated.

“That's if these two don't kill us first,” Din groused, still monitoring the droids.  The mandalorian couldn't help musing with a shrug, “Worse ways to go.” 

Drash shrugged, “Think I'll take the droid personally.”

“Drash, go with the others. Keep them safe and we'll buy you time,” Boba grabbed the girl and practically threw her at Krrsantan.  As much as he appreciated her loyalty, he wasn't about to let the girl get killed so needlessly. “Get her out of here Santo.”

Krrsantan growled in acknowledgment before throwing the human under his arm and taking off.

“No!” Drash raged at being out muscled. The audacity of the old man to send her away like a child when she could stand and fight! “Put me down you hairball! We can't leave them!”

“She's a spitfire.” Din chuckled as he cleared a jam in his sidearm, ready to go another round.

“That she is,” Boba nodded as he watched the Wookie disappear around the corner, Drash screaming like an angry nexu. She was nothing if not her mother's daughter, “K'oyacyi Drash.”

“Why hasn’t my nephew returned?!” The Klatoonian family head roared at Esox after storming back in the room. “They’ve been gone too long!”

“Patience is more prudent in these cases, surely they are only delayed.” The Pyke stirred his drink with an air of certainty. “After all, what can a half breed cook do?”

There was a shuddering grumble from the Mayor across the room, “Much, I’m afraid.”

“This is all your fault, you karking slug!” Guran grabbed the Ithorian by the lapels, spitting as he barked. “If you had killed that bitch before, none of this would be happening.”

 “And brought the wrath of the rebellion down on our heads if I HAD!” Shaiz was quick though, reaching to tune out the dampener he wore and setting loose a roar.  Straightening his robes the Mayor glared at the mutt.  “Their best intelligence officer suddenly going missing in the Dune Sea? Only a fool would invoke such wrath, especially after what happened to Jabba.”

Lucius sighed heavily, vexed by the squabbling. “I can assure you that Bane will take care of Ms. Manu one way or another.”

“You can be patient,” Guran shook off the claws of the Trandosians who had assisted him to stand. “I want that bitches head.”

“Gentlemen please, this is most unprofessional. I am certain this shall be over quickly.” The Klatoonian stormed out of the survey office while the others took a seat. Esox made a mental note to deal with him after this business with the Daimyo was completed.  Business partners with rash tempers served no one’s bottom line, much less his own. 

 Ah well, it was all just business he supposed.

The outlanders were dead, Kaska watched as his tribesmen piled the bodies for disposal.  Greedy creatures, trying to take that which was never theirs.  They all made the same fatal error, thinking one could tame the dessert.  This was Tattoine, cruel Goddess of the Suns. The screams of her enemies traveled the wind as an omen, blood painting the sand with every vanquished foe. Battles memorialized in the amber glass of varying hues. 

Only those who respected her power remained. 

Even still one could fall prey to the whims of fate, he wondered again if you yet lived? As he gathered the others, the old warrior prepared himself to add your name to his list of the remembered.  It was as ash in his mouth to consider, but the old man knew too well your odds.  Cautiously his tribe entered into the darkened fortress, already the air hung heavy with death. 

“Should we stop the one on the balcony?” 

Kaska paused, staring not at the young warrior but as though he were trying to see beyond. Argos was smart, always considering the shifting of opponents in a battle.  He had come along, after all it was his behest that had moved the old warrior from his perch. They both well remembered what had befallen you and the children years before.  Argos was a good Chief, a better one than Kaska had been.

It had been during the years of the high sun when Kaska had started trading in town.  Even as hardy as his people were, the water had gone and the black melon had receded.  Younglings had cried in hunger as mothers struggled to find nourishment. 

Bartering with the Jawas had brought in little and the farmers fired on sight of a Bantha.  Almost no one in town wanted the business and the ones that did paid a paltry sum for the goods he brought in.  Not until the mad woman of Mos Eislie had told Kaska of you, going so far as to arrange an introduction.

He well remembered the reaction the first time stepping into your establishment with the Moto woman.  She had been prudent enough to enter the back of the kitchen, lest a gun fight ensue.  You had come in the swinging partition and directed them to the small alcove that served as an office, unbothered and even friendly. 

“Pele you always have the most interesting friends.” You had smiled, not the usual reaction of an outlander.

“Always good to have friends in high and low places.” Pele had cackled. “Now you liked those goodies I brought you so much and my friend here needs a trading partner… so.”

With one appraising look at Kaska's thinned frame, you'd pushed a plate of snacks across the table with a smile. “Well I do like to shop local. What do you have to trade?”

Desert delicacies, information, weapons among other things. You had become good allies and eventually friends.  You never had much money to pay, but instead brought him items that even his meager credits could not.  Food, cloth, medicines and he suspected in larger quantities than was equal to the goods he brought in. 

When Pele had sent word all those years ago that you were in grave danger he had hesitated.  Choosing not to rally his warriors, fearing retribution from the town. Instead Kaska had ventured on his own, arriving only after the destruction had been done.  He could do nothing for the damage of that night, only try to offer what aid he could in its wake.  Even that seemed a paltry compensation.

He’d had to live with that regret ever since. 

Kaska shook himself from his reverie, “Let him handle the stragglers for now.” 

Hand flying up in silent order, Kaska heard a noise ahead as smoke emanated from the archway. The others found corners as he and Argos slipped into the kitchen.  The smoke was putrid, rising from the grill incinerating what looked to be some form of polymer.  Both males' eyes followed the trail of viscera that painted the floor, splattered as it smeared down the hall.  

Cautiously taking the stairs, Kaska readied his weapon. There was more grunting as they hit the bottom landing and a form came into view.

“Ok Biscuits one more... Damn bastards… made such… a mess.  Whew, there we go! You are the best boy helping me clean up… before Boba comes home and gets grumpy.” You cooed through straining breaths down to the rancor, reaching over to set off the trap door again. Disposing of bodies was never a pleasant task, less so when it hurt to breathe.  As you pulled yourself up there was a distinct tapping on the tiles. 

If you rushed or reacted too quickly then whoever was sneaking up behind you would have the upper hand. So instead you straightened up using the side table, feigning worse injury.  Well feigning may be a stretch as you were pretty banged up. Hand wrapping on the handle of your pistol you turned, dropping to slide down the first two steps with a grunt. Just as quickly though you took the muzzle away from the disturbance's source and relief washed over you immediately. “Kaska!”

The old warrior watched as you hobbled across the floor. Practically fell forward into him as you extended an arm and greeted each other. The same warm greeting that you also extended to Argos. Kaska helped to right you before signing, “You are injured.”

“Only a little,” You smiled, hands trembling as you signed.  “But what are you doing here?”

“You needed help,” Kaska signed, pausing a moment before his head dipped to look at you better.  Mother Mastiff that had indeed survived, at least so far. He felt his heart lighten at last.  “This may not be our war, but you are my friend.”

“Thank you,” you embraced him, wrapping the old warrior in a hug. Tuskins were not known to do such things, but as with so much of your relationship, the norm was rare. With a sniffle you straightened up again, “I'd offer you something to eat, but I'm afraid that the kitchen is in an awful state.”

Argos roared, signing furiously, “Outlanders are coming this way.”

“It seems lunch will have to wait.” Smiling sadly at your friend, you took out the small blaster at your hip checking the charge. 

“These two will destroy the whole city!” Boba growled in frustration as the B-1 fired at the street indiscriminately.  The Pykes didn't care if the whole town burned to ash, they would still consider it a victory. He could not let them win, it would be a death sentence. 

That was if anyone made it out of this at all.

“Our energy weapons can't get through,” Din was cut off as Fett shoved him quickly to the cover of another building.  The damn clanker was firing at anything that so much as twitched. “and our kinetic weapons have too much velocity.”

The Daimyo cursed, trying to think of a solution. As he surveyed the street he saw a head peering out of a window two buildings down.  Waiving furiously, he tried to warn them. It was far too late though, the second droid fired hitting the other side of the wall. Nothing moved after that. His fault, his responsibility, his failure of leadership.

Self pity is for the weak, that’s what his father had taught him.  Boba had survived his early years as a hunter, survived the Empire, the Sarlac, everything that should have sent his spirit to join his ancestors in the Manda. Jango Fett had not raised a weak son.

Boba gritted his teeth, “What about trying to draw them away from the town.”

Din shook his head at the thought of open ground and no cover. “Better to face them here and now.”

What they needed was to overcome the shields, but how? The strongest of the group was Krrsantan and even the Wookie couldn't bend steel. 

Couldn't bend…

“Djarin can you keep these two busy?” the thought hit Boba like lightning, “Just for a while?” 

“I can distract them for a spell,” Din was being shoved again into a corner wall as adobe crumbled from the cornice.  Looking at the older hunter he was confused, “Why?”

“Watch OUT!” Boba pushed the younger man away before the latest volley landed. Panting heavily, he checked the street behind them, “I may have an idea.”

“We are cut off.” The man must have cracked his head, Din's words tried to convey the gravity they faced. “You've run out of allies!”

“Not yet,” Offering no explanation Boba set to the air, issuing one last order. “Protect the others!”

Vol couldn't hear you, heard nothing but the ringing in his ears after the door was breached.  As the Pykes and Klantoonians scrambled back the old trainer lobbed a detonator in their wake. It hadn't taken them long to regroup, concentrating their firepower to destroy the wall at his back. Not that he thought he'd be getting out of this

Time passed and the oncoming fire ceased. The stillness began to seep into the stones of the palace itself. The howling of the wind echoed off the canyon walls.

“Que demonios?” 

Vol remained as he was, waiting for the inevitable. Minutes felt like hours, his knees cramping from the crouched sniping position. Yet he remained, refusing to die from stupidity or impatience.

“Vol?”

Startling, his hand swung out nearly knocking you cold. Harder to kill than he thought. Raising a finger to his lips he whispered furiously, “Shh,tricky skacks are up to something.”

“Not anymore,” you whispered back, “but there are more headed this way, come on.”

The old trainer looked at you puzzled, still hugging the wall as he followed after.  There were bandages on your hand, loose linen over some kind of fruit rind. Turning the corner he froze, coming face to face with an entire tribe of Tuskin Raiders.

“Look out!” Vol grabbed your collar, pulling you back. 

The tribesmen began to scream, running forward, gaffi's raised.

“No! Wait wait wait!” Raising your arms the tribesmen did as you asked.  Turning you placed a hand quickly over Vol's half unholstered weapon to keep things from escalating further. “They came to help.”

Argos charged, coming mask to face with the old man. Staring down as air roared through the filter.  Vol straightened, throwing back his shoulders with a glare in return.  Two bulls posturing to see who was superior.  

“Vol stop it, these are my friends!” You grunted, wedging yourself to stand between the two. “We have worse problems!”

His mouth opened, ready to ask when another Tuskin popped out shouting.  Vol turned to you, seeing the color drain beneath your tan.

“He says that someone just landed on the upper balcony,” whispering as your hand went to the blaster at your hip.  

Staring at one another for a moment longer, Vol nodded to the angry tribesman before following you to the stairwell.  Yet another Tuskin came to flank the opposite side of the alcove, the first took a spotter's position across the room.  You may be friends with these raiders, but that didn't mean that Vol trusted them. Pressing his back to the wall, the trainer could keep an eye on the whole room. 

The Warrior across from them began to sign, fingers flying so quickly he wasn't sure how you could make heads or tails of it. Your reply was slower, more deliberate, at one point gesturing to him and then the floor grate.  

“He says they only caught a glimpse of them passing,” you whispered, “Heavily armed.”

Vol grunted as he raised his blaster, “When they come in range, don't let up until they drop.”

The sound of boots could be heard on the steps, heavy and graveled.  The scratching of sand was unnerving, sending a shiver down your spine. Kaska raised a finger, confirming only one.  Nodding you translated for Vol who gave the old Tuskin a begrudging grimmace of thanks.  

The boots grew louder, more purposeful as they drew near. There was no stealth, only a certainty and purpose to the caidence trod.

Your lungs burned and muscles ached, you weren’t even sure if there was any fight left in you. But Nikita was below your feet, medicated unconscious and vulnerable. Eyes closing, your finger took up the slack of the trigger as you blew out a breath and drew down on the intruder.  Not your kids, not today.

“Vol, in case I forgot to say it…”

The old trainer raised an eyebrow at you.

“...remind me to ask Fennic for double hazard pay.”

Vol could hardly contain the snort that escaped, shaking his head. The footsteps weren’t slowing though, no time for a joke.  Looking at you his lips turned up in a crooked grin, “I hope you collect it, with interest.”

The footsteps paused and the air hung heavy.  Whoever it was knew of your presence, so why wait? Jaw tight, your temper overrode better judgement as you roared into the space, “COME OUT AND FIGHT YOU BASTARD!”

There was a faint movement before a tall figure emerged, gruff chuckle crossing the space. “Such disrespect…”  

“Boba?” Choking on a sob you ran forward, relieved. 

“I see we have guests?” Boba muttered, nearly knocked back by the force of your embrace. You were a bloody mess, but you were alive and breathing. He watched Vol and the warrior by the door lower their weapons. The trainer was equally bloodied but still defiant. The old Dune Warrior was still postured at the ready.

Boba tilted his helmet to the side, “Kaylee, who…?”   

“This is my friend Kaska,” You turned to the old trader signing, “This is Boba Fett.”

“He doesn’t look like a war chief.” Kaska signed back. His fingers paused before proceeding, subtle in their flow, “Yours?”

A flush crept up your neck to color your face under the bruising. Damn the old man, seeing everything.

Boba smirked under the helmet, his reply was pronounced and deliberate. “I am in your debt.”

Kaska turned his head to you moment before studying the man in armor. Weighing the sincerity of the man Kaska decided in favor, giving a nod.    

Letting out a breath you hadn't known you were holding you suddenly realized something, "Where are the kids?”

“I came for ordinance,” The panicked hitch in your tone pained him, even more the fear he saw in your eyes. Releasing you was excruciating, but there were Pyke to be delt with. Walking over to Vol he grabbed his arm in greeting. “And I need the rancor ready, as quick as you can.”

“Boba?” your tone had shifted to a commanding tone.

“They're alright, Djarin is protecting them.” Sighing heavily he turned to you, “Can you hold the Palace?”   

You snorted, “Is that an evaluation of the job I've done thus far”

He was in no mood for humor, growling in light warning. “Miss Manu.”

“Yes, your great Daimyo-ness I can keep the Palace safe,” Snapping right back at him you couldn’t tell what his reaction was under the helmet and you were too tired to care.  Fuck it! Straightening up to whatever height was to be had, you crossed your arms to level a look of your own at him. “Well go on! Kick those smelly, fish bastards off this rock. And bring the others back while you're at it!”

Helmet tilting Boba watched the fire spark in your eyes. Well, better anger than fear. He should be annoyed at the little woman, giving him orders in his own home. And it would be infuriating if you weren't so damn sexy ordering him about. He took two steps crossing the space, taking your chin between thumb and finger.  Angling your head to meet his visor, he growled. “Be here when I do.” 

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak. Boba bent to press his helmet to your head, the touch over before it really started. There was no time for what you wanted to say to him, for all that needed to be said.  As he began to walk away you called out a gruff final order. “Boba, kill the bastards.”

Tags: @the-rain-on-kamino @pickleprickle @daimyosprincess @acatalystrising @kimiheartblade @cw80831

Definitions: 

Que demonios- (Spanish) What the hell

Fierfek- (mando’a) Fuck

“The Pyke Syndicate has not yet arrived in numbers. The minute they do though, we will see them before they see us.” Fennec paused, looking to the Daimyo. Boba had that look, far and solemn, that belied what all of them felt. Trying to refocus on the task before them she continued, “The truce you negotiated with the families of Mos Espa should ensure their neutrality, allowing us to gain the upper hand.”

“Should,” Boba grunted as he continued his observation of the main street. Life did not operate on should's and would's, only what was. Which may or may not spell the end of them.

Probably the former.

Elsewhere Drash and Skad wove slowly through the streets of the old city. Maintaining a controlled facade while keeping a watchful eye had all but become second nature. The red and blue machines rumbled comfortingly as they passed through the star port. Moving through the Municipal Center the Wookie raised his brow as they passed, none too happy to be in Trandosian territory. As the two returned to the workers district there was a change in the air, unease seeped into their very bones.

“Look there,” Skad gestured to where old monger Peale was smirking. Something in the way the man's eyes crinkled gleefully that was wrong to the core. “Wonder whose tooka he kicked?”

“Let's get back to the others,” Drash whipped her bike down the alley. The old bastard knew something.

He always did.

The suns had risen, cresting the mesas surrounding the Palace.

“R-4, anything on the scan?”

The droid replied in a series of beeps and whirrs confirming that nothing had breached the outer perimeter. The surrounding trails now impassible after a hard nights work. Barricades, remote sentries, and scanners were somewhat reassuring to you. Still sensors were easy enough to fool, so you had continued the droid rotation. It was the best you could do.

Glancing across the hard pack dirt apron and the road beyond, you watched for any dust rising. The Pykes could approached from the air just as easily though, thus your current station on the high balcony. Gazing out from your perch you tried to remain focused on your task. Fennec had called delegating the task of monitoring their positions, the holo table had since been alight with the city map. Each marker a person to whom you had grown close.

Ro and Wheem

Krrsantan

Your kids

Fennec and Din

Boba

Three flickering lights were in the Sanctuary. Remaining in that hollow shell was unwise in so many ways. Was it a cowardly thing to want your little family to remain safe despite their duty? If it was then you were the worst sort of person.

But you could abide that, so long as they lived.

Nikita had done well, you'd placed the girl in the catacombs of the basement level under the droids protection. There was an old delivery passage through that level, long ago bricked over but easily blasted open. It was an option to get to safety.

If the worst came you could buy Vol and 'Kita time.

And take as many of the bastards down that you could.

Petain had been siting patiently in the ruins of the once glorious night club as the others had talked. He would give begrudging credit to the assassin it was a masterful plan. Though there was likely already a garrison of Pyke here, if the Mayor's past dealings were any basis of comparison. So he sat hands cuffed, at the end of it all. Waiting for his former employer to kill the Daimyo and likely be caught in the crossfire. Pulling out a deck of cards he gave a little wave, “I don't suppose anyone would mind if I?”

Fennec looked over increadously to the tailhead as he raised a Sabacc deck. Rolling her eyes she gestured her permission. They had little else to do.

Petain rambled, often really and mostly when he was nervous. A terrible habit, he knew, but one he had developed into an envoy skill of sorts. “You know I was told once, back on Coruscant, that all life is a game of Sabbac. Half of it skill...”

Boba watched as the Twi'lek made a flourish of shuffling the cards mid air.

“...and half luck.” Petain smiled as the Bounty Hunter in silver came to lean by the counter, taking a hand in the game.

“I take it the Pikes weren't asking for this one back?” Din smirked under his dome, examining his cards.

Boba mused, “Offered money to kill him, thought he might be of use.”

“I can indeed be useful! You sir, strike me as a man of practicality.” Petain continued to flatter the Daimyo, couldn't hurt after all. He dealt out a hand for him, then checked his own cards. On a deep sigh his face fell. Petain placed his cards in the discard pile. “I do however, as you may have so keenly observed, have no luck.”

Fennec kept her eyes on the street, but the twi'lek's words rattled in her ears. How often had a hunt come down to those two inexplicable factors? Then again how often had Fennec made her own luck.

“Daimyo Fett,” 8-D8's shrill voice rang in the hollow room, “Someone wishes to speak with you.”

Boba set his cards down, cocking an eye at his second in command, “I thought you said no one would be sneaking up on us?”

Stepping into the midday suns he paused. Boba would have recognized that damn hat from a parsec off. It had been years since he had seen the old Duros, time had done nothing to lessen the sick feeling brought by his presence. Cad Bane was legendary in the Hunters Guild, but that wasn't what unsettled Boba. Bane was a wild card, a cold blooded murderer. He didn't wade through blood, the Duros bathed in it with glee. Watching as Bane's face contorted with a twisted sharp smile, Boba gnashed his teeth.

“Thought I smelled something.” He muttered through the vocorder, “If you're looking for a job you're late.”

“I've already got a job.” Bane's lip quirked up, “I'm here to negotiate on behalf of the Pyke Syndicate.”

“I don't negotiate with gutless murders.” Boba growled under his helmet.

“Well,” Bane sneered at the Mandalorian, “if that ain't the quacta calling the stifling slimy.”

“Clear out,” Boba spat the words between them, his disgust evident, “tell your bosses they're outnumbered.”

“Oh I wouldn't be counting on the people of Freetown to be coming anytime soon.” The Duros clucked his tongue at his own sick joke. Leveling his eyes at Fett's visor he smiled, displaying his razor sharp, yellow teeth. “You see, I paid Marshal Vanth a little visit. Never should have left him without his armor. Taught you better than that boy.”

Fennec and Din remained crouched behind the entrance pillars. While the adobe was scorched it still offered adequate cover, both peered around to make their presence known. Boba may be the one in the open, but he was far from alone.

Bane's head cocked to the side.

“Before you go getting any ideas I got back shooters too.” Not getting the desired response from Fett, he decided to lay all cards on the table. “Let the spice move through Mos Espa and all this can be avoided.”

“No.”

Sucking in air through his teeth in annoyance, Bane flicked the top of his hat, “What do you propose then?”

“I will only negotiate with the head of the Pyke Syndicate,” Boba had to buy more time. If it was true what the old bastard said then they were in trouble.

“You want to speak to Lucius?” Bane chuckled, “The one that massacred your Tuskin family and blamed it on a speeder gang?”

Boba's stomach dropped to his boots as the world tilted on it's axel. the feeling didn't last long, years of survival bringing him back to the present. He felt the rage, wanting nothing more than to pull it around him like a well worn cloak. Gripping the scattergun, Boba prepared to send his old mentor back with a message of his own. One that the enemies of Tattoine would quake from for the next millennia.

“Boba.” Fennec moved up to take a flanking position swiftly before he did something rash.

“Lets do this right here,” Bane grinned even wider, “right now.”

“No,” Moving closer she tried to make eye contact through the helmet. Even under the armor Fennec could see that the experienced hunter was ready to snap.

“He killed Vanth, the reinforcements aren't coming.”

“We fight on our terms,” Her voice was steady. It was what a good second in command did, protect their boss' blind side. “You pick the time and place, you are the Daimyo. This is your fight, not theirs.”

“Maybe they'll negotiate with that little lady at the Palace,” Bane's eyes crinkled as he watched the boy puff up even more. Now there was a sore spot, just as he'd though. “I hear she's quite the fire cracker.”

Molodoy, the heir of the Klantoonian family chuckled evilly as the speeder rounded through the canyon passages. His uncle had specifically sent him to fulfill this mission, paining Fett had become a new obsession of his. Even crime lords needed hobbies.

“Remember, we take the woman alive.”

Molodoy was from a long line of underworld crime lords. The embarrassment suffered by their family at the alliance dinner was the breaking point in a long line of insults. If his uncle was pleased with his performance in this task then Molodoy was certain of a promotion. Once the territory was settled of course, “Uncle Guran wants Fett to hear her scream.”

As the speeders rounded into the canyon the young hound licked his jowls, forgetting the warning of his elder. Why should he be afraid of such a small human female? Turning to his driver the he smirked, “Though he didn't say we couldn't have a taste first now did he?”

Checking the flickering lights on the map, your hackles raised at a fast approaching object. One of the remote sentry alarms began to screech, showing five heavily armored speeders. “Vol, we have company.”

Striding across the grand suite from the balcony you paused to look at the bed. Perhaps it was the memory of those few blissful hours that steadied your nerves, moments of peace motivating you beyond what anger ever could. No, this day would not be your last, you had far too much to live for.

Descending the stairs two at a time your voice steadied, “Everyone get in position!”

Boba seethed beneath his plating at the mention of you. Fennec was silently urging restraint with a sharp look before he did something rash. Boba's voice rumbled, venom in every syllable as he took two steps forward. If his rage could manifest it would have melted the sand he trod to incinerate Bane where he stood. “You will deal with me.”

No, this ended here and now, Bane would not harm his woman.

“He wants to draw you out. Don't allow emotion to cloud your judgement now.” Fennec had to practically body block the man.

Boba's eyes narrowed, “I can take him”

“We need to adjust,” Fennec countered with an air of authority. Seeing as her words sank in she tried to offer incentive, “Don't worry, you'll have your moment.”

He wanted nothing more than to charge out onto the street and obliterate Bane, to wipe him from the face of the Galaxy. Boba knew that Fennec was right though, this was not the time. So he replaced his hand atop his weapon, glaring back at the red of his enemy's eyes. “Tell your client that negotiations are terminated.”

The Klantooinians and their Pike escort pulled up to the Mesra Palace, taking in the disarray before them. It looked abandoned, the bay doors cracked open. Tracks leading towards the North Dune Sea furthered that belief along with the lone droid sentry quaking at the apron. Molodoy was no fool, turning to the Pike enforcers he grunted. “Why would they leave their stronghold? Go check it out.”

Positioned in the murder hole, your eyes were keen upon the enemy. “Come on in, little closer. After all we're supposed to be friends, aren't we.”

The first four fins took point. It was quiet, they could hear the gravel beneath their boots crunch. Wind passing through the canyon walls whispered like banshees, their portent begging the intruders take heed. The Astromech at the door buzzed and practically growled as the Pike came closer, sparking its weld arm in their direction. The pointman of the group shot at the droid, causing it to hastily retreat into the bay. He chuckled under the filtrate mask, “It's all clea-.”

His words cut off as the clinking of small baubbles preempted their arrival. Catching the light before raining down from the overhead vents, the Pyke tilted his head.

“GET OUT OF THERE!” Molodoy roared but it was far too late. The beads bursting into flame on and around the thugs, unyielding once their work was begun. The four men cried out as the flames consumed them, futile movements slowing until there was nothing but char. Cursing a storm the Klantooinian began to bark, “Blast the door, you lot go around the back perimeter!”

The floor shook as you made it to the far end of the hangar. Waiting in the long hall you activated a series of charges behind. The old trainer was shooting from the middle balcony, you could hear the returning fire well enough to guess an even split in the enemy forces. Waiting for your opponents to follow, you tried to take deep steadying breaths. “Vol, how are you doing?”

“Fine,” he growled as a shot landed near his head, “Bastards are good I'll give them that.”

Scraping metal from the disabled hangar door was all the motivation you needed to move to the next position, “Here they come.”

“I couldn't get through to Shand.” Vol called down as he continued shooting.

“Kark!” Your gut dropped. Either the others couldn't answer or were under attack like yourselves. Or worse. No, you refused to believe that. Boba and Fennec were far too good and you'd ensured that the kids knew how to defend themselves long ago. It helped no one to panic so instead you focused on the task before you. “We'll be alright, just keep firing.”

Vol gave a chuff, “Like I have a choice.”

The silence between Fennec and Boba was broken by a crackle on the com.

“Come in boss, come in...”

The communicator at Fennec's hip was fuzzy with static, but not enough to cover the fear and tension in Drash's voice. Boba and Din drew closer, Fennec's eyes narrowed as she spoke, “Report.”

“Something's strange, somethings wrong, over!”

“Have the Pykes arrived?” Boba stared at the small device, wishing he could see what was happening. Drash was cut off mid reply, the signal going static.

“Drasha, Look out!”

Turbo spun, pulling her behind the stacked cargo bins. The Aqualish began opening up on them, the shattered adobe overhead raining down with every blast. Crouching lower Skad tried to get a look at how many there were. Marcus attempted to fire at the one with the cannon, hit twice in the chest for his trouble. Drash seethed in anger as she pulled him behind the bins. Freyn and Beau began to return shot for shot in short succession. Skad found a safe vantage point, aiming at the further targets.

Drash made a grab for where the communicator had fallen in the dirt, praying the Daimyo would answer. “THE LOCALS ARE ATTACKING!”

Fennec paled as the screaming on the coms grew louder, the unmistakable echo of recoiless fire ringing in the background noise. “Can you evade them?”

“I thought we had a treaty?” Din looked at Fett, the older hunter was fuming under his armor.

Boba rumbled, “So did I.”

“THEY'VE LAID A TRAP,” The girl was screaming over the noise behind her, “WE NEED HELP!”

Boba's mind jumped to the other venerable members of his tribe as Fennec tried to calm the girl and think of a solution. Krrsantan was in the middle of the town and the next closest to the kids. “Santo, Santo can you hear me?”

Krrsantan raised the communicator to reply, pausing as people began scattering. Screaming rent the air as the Trandosian butchers drew their knives. He wasn't surprised or even disappointed, it came as a relief. At last the scalebacks were showing their true colors. Well if the bastards wanted his pelt, then they'd have to pay dearly. Giving a great roar the old gladiator blasted the first three to charge him.

He hadn't seen the fourth one sneak behind him. Pain from the wound as the blades sliced through his fur and skin causing him to thrash wildly sending the hatchling into the wall closest. No, he would not fall to these bastards. If it was the last thing the Wookie did he would send the Trandosians straight to hell!

Boba's visor darted to Djarin who had been trying to raise the Gamorians. As the younger hunter met his gaze shaking, a burning rage settled in. He'd been a fool to fight fair.

Ro and Weem had watched train after train come and go, shuttling cargo. It was sweltering under the suns and their armor. As the last train pulled away a pack of Klantooinians, weapons drawn, began crossing the tracks towards them. Weem began squealing into the communicator as the first blows came, but there was no response.

With nowhere to run the pack circled the two guards quickly, pushing them to the cliff's ledge. No help was coming for them, even if the others had heard they were much too far. Ro was the first to fall, catching sight of his friend being pushed over to join him. Weem had been right, they should have left Tattoine when they had the chance.

“It's a coordinated attack,” Boba roared, “we need to gather our people.”

“There are far too many for a direct assault,” Fennec swung her riffle around, “We need to take out command and control.”

Boba turned to the the former Major Domo, “Do the Pyke still operate out of Mos Eisley?

“Its difficult to say say for certain,” Petain sputtered in panic, as the Master Assassin racked her riffle threateningly. Swallowing hard he finally gave up his last bargaining chip, “Yes, now that I think of it indeed they do. More specifically the lower levels of the dessert survey office on...”

“Shut up!” Turning to his second, Boba's words were a command. “Can you get there in time?”

“Worth a shot,” She nodded, revving the speeder before taking off.

Truth was this was their only shot.

Molodoy stormed into the Palace hangar. The overhead lights were disabled, only a few narrow shafts from the sun illuminated the space. He saw two more of his men laying dead on the floor closest to the grand hall, the scent of blood fueling his irritation further. Growling furiously he saw a shadow dancing through the servants hall. Their pack carefully approached, pausing to listen as something crashed to the floor as their prey fled in haste.

He could smell fear, “Come out, come out where ever you are little bird...”

“We need to reinforce the cover on these windows,” Din was already busy moving what debris could be salvaged to make a barricade near the entrance. Fett joined him long enough to finish the job, though his mind was far afield. Din understood what it was to worry, to not know, and yet to still do what must be done. Din's visor met the hollow reflection in Fett's. “She's tougher than she looks, the Palace is the safest place to be.”

Boba nodded but did not comment, he didn't dare. The Fates hated him as it was.

Rolling your eyes from the kitchen you remained hidden. There was something terrifyingly familiar about this scenario, being hunted in your kitchen again. Kriffing mutts weren't going to get the better of you today though. So you remained silent as the wind waiting for them to come to you.

“Come out here little bitch,” Molodoy rumbled, rounding the corner with his men into the kitchen. Pots had been left to boil, a roast was half cut on the counter. Taking a slice he chuckled, proceeding to the far end of the room to a smaller dinning alcove. He could see wine set out and greedily took a glass, raising it in toast. Perhaps he would get his Uncle to reconsider killing the woman. The door linking the dining room to the kitchen slammed closed cutting him and two others off from the group. Cursing he barked at the one that remained, “Its a trap, get to the control panel.”

Three Klantooinians were in the kitchen, the others in the next room pounded at the door uselessly. Jabba had been smart using blast doors throughout the palace. And now you put that structural ingenuity to good use. Slipping silently from the pantry you raised your fillet knife. Waiting for the cull of the group to lean near the stoves, you covered his gaping maw before slicing his jugular. It was clean and methodic, like breaking down any large piece of meat you reminded yourself to take it one cut at a time. The mutt's dying sounds were muffled by all the banging from the next room, so you let him fall to the grill grate to draw the others attention.

There was a new smell in the kitchen as the two remaining thugs paused their efforts. Sniffing the air they cautiously inched back into the food preparation area, growling in anger as they looked down at the incinerated body of their comrade.

“Hey boys,” you taunted, “Let's play.”

Their attack was angry and uncoordinated, though still stronger than you. You fought them on your own terms, setting loose all the rage that had festered till now. The hate, the sorrow, the righteous fury that had simmered to a boil. You let these two Klantooinians have every bit as you beat them back. Swinging your blade the defense was hacking and uncoordinated. But you knew the Palace, every inch of it now, knowledge that was a strength and advantage of it's own. Grabbing a pot from the stove you doused both in boiling oil, pounding on them with the heavy pot and full weight of your body to back each blow. It was enough to knock one down, allowing you to focus on the other. Throwing the knife you somehow managed to impale it in the mutt's stomach, it only made him angrier.

“Come on you fucking flea bag, show me what you got!” Running as quickly as you could to the back of the kitchen, the brute gave chase. Foaming at the mouth in fury and pain, he wasn't quick enough to react. Jumping into the walk in freezer, your hand caught the shelf rail holding you by the door until the cur followed. He didn't see the layer of ice on the floor plating within the entrance, momentum sending him slipping and falling into the far back. Hopping back out you locked the freezer door and reset the therm for -30 Celsius.

The adrenalin was setting in as hard as your breathing was. Straightening up you knew that this was not the time for a joke, still... “Hope Biscuits likes popsicles.”

Cautiously treading over to the Klantooinian on the floor you confirmed he was dead, skull caved in worse than a fallen soufflé. Vol was still firing from the balcony, taking a few steadying breaths you crept into the hall. Every foot fall feeling far too loud as it echoed in the dark corridor had your already frayed nerves on end. Inching closer to the throne room the rancor could be heard roaring in frustration. As the edge of your boot made contact with the first step your body was suddenly kicked forward.

“Aaaaaahhhhh!!!” You must have hit every step as you rolled down the stairs onto the floor grate. Biscuits began wheefing and gave a worried trill. Poor rancor was worried for you, trying to help by scratching his claws against the metal. Then his growl turned to a protective roar as the Klantoonians laughed down at you.

“What's the matter female...”

You glared up at the two hounds, baring your teeth as much in anger as to stave off the pain.

“...are we no longer welcomed guests?”

Fennec could still hear Drash on the coms. The kids were pinned with no retreat, so that was priority one. Krrsantan and the Gamorreans had never replied. Gunning the speeder she picked at the few Aqualish that lay in her path, raising the Mods, “Back up is on the way, stay down.”

Skad and Drash were too focused on returning fire and treating their wounded to hear more than crackling on the coms. Drash tried to raise the Assassin again, “Say again, repeat last transmittion?”

“Dont move,” Fennec pulled the speeder to a skidding halt in the alley, taking aim at the insectoid threat. “Keep your heads DOWN!”

Drash understood the last of the transmission, looking to Skad and Nitro before pulling the others in to shield them. The blaster fire in their direction came to an abrupt end though did not disappear entirely. The time it took for Shand to kill the Aqualish traitors was probably only a few minutes, but it still had felt like hours.

“It's clear,” Fennec called out, reslinging her riffle. Glancing at the group she took stock. The twins were injured but still had fight left in them, same for Skad and Drash. Marcus was alive but in poor shape. Gritting her teeth, the Assassin issued her orders. “Get to the Sanctuary and link up with the Daimyo.”

“Hey,” Drash walked up to Shand, “Thank you.”

Fennec couldn't help the grin that curved her lips. It wasn't often someone thanked her for killing, on the other hand it wasn't often that she was doing it to save someone's skin and not her own. Dropping the speeder into start her tone was amused, “You're welcome.”

“Since when should I welcome a guest who breaks the custom of hospitality?” Easing to your feet while letting your eyes adjust there stood two of the meanest, snot nosed, spoiled little mongrels you'd ever set eyes too. “You know the gods strike people down for less.”

“Isn't it lucky then that I don't believe in your gods.” Molodoy chuckled.

“You're going to die today mutt,” The young Mutt was as big a bastard as his Uncle Guran, you remembered how the welp would strut around town harming civilians for fun. Reaching to the small of your back for your pistol, you drew down on him and his friend. The first volley hit Molodoy's friend, center mass and dead accurate. Unable to move fast enough on your still stiff leg though, you couldn't avoid Molodoy charging you. He landed punch after punch, sending you reeling to the floor. The blaster flew into the void of the room as you'd landed. Still you gave a battle cry, grabbing a vase and bashing it over his head. Not that it did more than anger the brute further.

“Shut up woman!” Molody yanked you by your braid, using it to throw you into the base of the throne. Shaking the broken pottery off he began to kick at you mercilessly. Every thud against your body emphasizing his words, “Weak little human.”

Pain was something you were well acquainted with, the sting didn't phase you anymore. The struggle to draw air however was a different story, fear coursed with every failure to draw breath. Turning away from the blows, you crawled onto the throne itself while Molodoy strutted the room confident in his victory over you. Spitting blood, you refused to yield weaving your next words like a net to catch this rat. “If we're so weak why do you fear us?”

“We do not fear you,” Molodoy spat back, “You are nothing and once we have taken Mos Espa you will remain nothing.”

“We are free men and women.” Taking a pained breath, your eyes rose in defiance. “We are the strength that built this city, the spirit that fills it.”

“Spirits can be broken.” Molodoy smiled cruelly, enjoying the sight of you bleeding, “And I like to break things.”

“You bastards will never control us.” Pushing through the screaming of your body, you sat on the throne like it was your own. Glaring down imperiously, posture ramrod straight your words echoed in the room, “That is why you fear us.”

“WE DO NOT FEAR YOU!” Molodoy lunged, grabbing you by the throat. To hell with his uncle, he would silence your insolent tongue. He laughed as your puny hands clawed his grip and face reddened. Even then you spat blood in his eye. He would delight in crushing the impudent light from your eyes and then he would throw your body where Fett could see it. Sneering, he taunted you. “Is that really the best you can do? Pathetic!”

“No...” You whispered, even as your vision began to spot at the edges. Taking the small knife from your waistband you stabbed it hard between his ribs. As soon as the mutt's hands released your throat you reared back kicking him away. Struggling to cough, your airway opened and you swallowed the air greedily. Lunging to the armrest control, you glared at the dying male as you growled. “This is!”

Molodoy screamed as the floor beneath him gave way and he fell. Down, down until at last he landed painfully on a compact sand floor. “You BITCH!”

Easing your way to the edge you glanced down. The mutt continued to scream, never noticing the real danger behind him in the enclosure. He cursed you, threatened you, told you that Boba was already dead and that you were soon to join him. Looking down at this lowly creature you could almost feel bad for what you were about to do.

Almost

“Biscuits,” You called, voice horse but no less a sweet cooing that you reserved for the creature.

Molodoy paled as warm threads of saliva fell onto his shoulder. Turning his eyes met the shins of the beast then rose till coming eye to eye with the rancor calf. It's own eyes narrowed as it growled menacingly. Plaintively he began to call to the female again. Begging to be let out, that he would convince his uncle to leave them alone. “Whatever you want woman! Please, call it off!”

“Freemen will never bow to the likes of you,” a cruel smirk curled the edges of you mouth, “Free men built this Galaxy and Free men will have their day once more.”

Relaxing against the armrest you crooned at the rancor, “Biscuits... Supper Time.”