Neon Underworld

[Codename: Abaddon]

I never much cared for Byblos. It was a strange, sterile world covered in megablocs and skyscrapers. It didn't have any personality to speak of. No style. I could say the same thing about Sheegoth's office, but there was definitely some kind of underlying theme, but it was just as boring as the city outside the big ass windows. Everything in here was designed to make you feel small, from the massive desk that was probably worth more than my ship to the statues, art, and other decorations that were all larger than life. And then you have the old dragon himself who managed to make everything else in the room look small by comparison. He looked so funny towering behind his desk; a big, scaly thing clothed in a silk suit that looked like it was ready to break at the seems. It was be laughable if he wasn't so sundamn terrifying. From the spikes on his head to his gob full of fangs. He radiated a carefully curated flavor of scary.

Being alone in his office reminded me too much of days spent in detention, of adults lecturing me about failing grades or whatever. It wasn't a great feeling. And just like in those days it just made me want to act up more. With my leg draped over the arm of the plush chair, coat and hood over my armor, fidgeting with some kind of weird cube thing I grabbed from the desk. Gotta be cool. Gotta look like you don't give a shit. They can't make you feel small unless you let them. And I'm a big ass fucking deal.

"Coruscant? You do know that those civilized assholes don't care much for me, right?"

"I am very aware. I have intentionally kept you away in Mid and Outer-Rim until your name has faded a little from memory. You have fixed that issue yourself when you changed you name; but still I felt it prudent to keep you away. What was it again you called yourself before?"

"Bloodhawk."

"Yes. Congratulations on a successful rebranding. You carry a much more... positive reputation since becoming Abaddon. It is finally time for you to return to Coruscant."

"Better be a big job if I'm going all the way to the blasted Core. I've got a lot going on out here."

"So I've heard. Hanging around Jovan Station a lot from what I hear. It is a big job. Perhaps the biggest I have ever given you."

"I dunno about that. That job out in Wild Space was pretty crazy."

"Yes, it was. And you were wonderfully compensated to never speak of it again. This job is bigger. I want you to find this man..."

The projector on Sheegoth's desk sparked to life and a guy's mug popped up. Human. Old. Bald. Goatee. I would say boring but he had a kind of glint in his eye that was unsettling, even for a Bad Ass Mother Fucker like me.

"Some old guy? Please tell me this isn't another baby sit escort mission."

"Hardly. This is Doctor Zanon. He is one of the Empire's most wanted fugitives. He was a well known geneticist and former state researcher for the Empire, and possibly the Republic before it. He has a penchant for not staying dead, and has many confirmed cases of being killed in the field or dying in custody; but he always comes back. As you can imagine that really upsets the Empire. The specifics of his crimes are not even listed on the bounty. So classified that even I cannot say for certain what he has done; only what is rumored. They say he creates genetic monsters and super soldiers, that he has absolutely no morals and will do anything to push the boundaries of science. He may look like an old man, but he's been alive for more than a hundred years, does not stay dead, and is considered to be extremely dangerous. The payout for his live capture and return to the Empire is a million credits. He has never survived long enough to reach the Inquisition, which he has now outlived, and the Imperial Knights have not been any more successful. You see, he usually commits suicide. Cyanide pills. Explosives rigged through his laboratories. I've been told he even bashed his own head in on the walls of his cell. Dead. Always dead. And then he resurfaces five to ten years later on another world, in a different system."

"And you are telling me that he's on Coruscant in the Empire's own backyard? Fuck me. I'm not going to compete with the Knights to grab this guy first."

"I would not have brought you here if I did not have absolute certainty that he is out of their reach. I have very good sources, the likes of which the Empire has yet to purchase, that Zanon is indeed on Coruscant. I should say, not on, but under. He is somewhere in the Coruscant Underworld."

"Oh wow, let me get right on that. The Coruscant Underworld? That's what, like five thousand levels the size of the entire planet's surface, with each getting more fucked up the deeper you go? Oh count me in, I'm sure I'll have that whole place searched sometime in the next ten thousand years. Come on, Rath. You can't be serious?"

"Mister Sheegoth, Abaddon. Do not get too familiar unless you want me to start using first names as well."

"Right. Sorry. But seriously. That's a crazy brief."

"Steady yourself. Do not think so little of me. I have good intel that will narrow down your search. Zanon is running a operation of some kind down around the thousandth level. Civilizations still exist down there. My informants are there, and you will have to put in some effort to track Zanon down. It is far from unreasonable. The payout is incredible. I have even generously increased your share from thirty percent to fifty. Five hundred thousand credits could buy you a ship, a home, the new BlasTech spring collection, and still have enough left over to purchase the baronship of a small moon and perhaps even a personality."

He always found a way to needle me. Always. I didn't even see it coming this time. I was still so absolutely reeling from just how crazy this mission is. The last thing I needed was to go stomping around in the sewers of Coruscants asshole trying to find some old guy who probably fucks corpses by the sound of him. This was not the kind of reputation that Abaddon The Black, Destroyer of Armies needed. Oh look, Abaddon caught some crusty old dude in the sewers. Yeah. Real fucking cool that one. I'm not getting any pussy with a rep like that. What I wanted was blaster fights, near death escapes, and some sundamn explosions. This sounded like none of that. Fuck this shit. Rath looks so smug over there, with that big toothy grin on his sundamn face. He's doing this on purpose. Always sticking me in some mission he knows I'll hate. Tell me it's good for me or some shit.

"I've secured you clearance to travel to Coruscant, and a temporary Bounty-Hunters Guild Pass that will allow you Guild Access and permits for your weapons. All of them. You're going to need them. The Coruscant Underworld is ruthless and dangerous. They say there is no law down there except the law you bring with you. Imperial Knights don't travel below the two thousandth level. You will truly be on your own. You may want to field a partner or two, but you will be responsible for whatever hell they bring down on this operation. Oh, and try not to die. I have a lot of credits invested into this, and into you. Do not let me down. Now get out of my office."

[Codename: Abaddon]

I swear on the Goddess, one of these days I was going to put the big lizard in the ground. Who did he think he was threatening me like that? Dammit, that was days ago and I'm still mad. He better thank his lucky stars that he's the guy signing my checks or I would have torched that gaudy office of his years ago. He's right, and I hate it. This is a big job with a big payout, and one that was not going to just help me scrape by like every other job he'd ever given me. Oh sure, they look good on paper and it looks like a fistful of credits, but then you factor in fuel, ship repairs, armor repairs, medical bills, ammunition, and blaster replacements, then insurance premiums and Guild fines, fines for the property damage and personal injury inflicted by collateral damage, and usually a few bribes to escape stiffer penalties, and now that pot of credits has dwindled into nothing. If I was a real Bounty Hunter I would have Guild insurance, better bounties, and a supply stipend.

Not to mention the ability to act on almost every planet in the galaxy as an extension of the Law.

Not having that is how I got in trouble last time I was on Coruscant. Turns out the Empire ain't too fond of people coming in and wrecking the place up while chasing down a bounty and I had to make a pretty hasty but tactical retreat from the system before I got impounded by the Navy. It made me feel very uneasy as I dropped out of warp into the system, to the familiar sight of the gleaming gray bead surrounded by those telltale white snack chip triangles. Star Destroyers. What ugly things. No style. Say what you want about Mon Cal cruisers. They might be just as ugly but at least they are trying something different. The Empire might have cool uniforms but they really phone it in when it comes to Starship design. I'd sooner be caught dead than in the cockpit of a TIE Fighter. Seriously. Those things are basically flying trash cans.

Hitting the throttle the Nemesis of Reason shot forward toward the planet. I wasn't taking any chances and was already broadcasting my passcode, itinerary, and temporary Guild ID.

"Uh, Nemesis of... Reason? You are cleared for approach. You are assigned to Shaft 44b. Please reduce speed and follow the pylons."

Was that a fucking snicker? Goddess help me I will find out what control tower this guy is sitting in and vaporize him. Not my fault he can't recognize a sick ass Starship name when he hears one. Fuck that guy. And fuck him wanting me to slow down. This is a Firespray 31. It has only one speed, and that's FAST! Whatever. The guy can rot on the Emperor's Black Throne for all I care. And the pylons? Please. I guess some of these idiot pilots might need that kind of baby help to traverse the planet but I could find my way all by myself, thank you. I've got the tracker suite for it, after all. Escaping Coruscant last time had been terrifying but had also been a blast, dodging through the skyways and out through orbit. Ducking and weaving and dodging the whole way, and that had been back in that POS Headhunter I was flying back then. The Nemesis was faster and more agile. I can only imagine it'd be even more fun now.

But whatever, I'll play it cool for now. Too big a job to fuck up right at the start. I followed the stupid lighted pylons all the way to the designated shaft. The world was covered in these service corridors that dropped deep into the planet, saving me a lot of time hoofing it all the way down to the center. It was a neverending stream of craft, and like all things on Coruscant, there was already a huge back up lining up outside of the shaft. Oh great, what a good way to start this job. Nothing was moving fast and I had a sneaking suspicion that by the time I made it to the bottom that Zanon guy will have died of old age or fled the planet. I didn't even had an adequate autopilot system for handing this traffic jam, which meant I was stick here, control stick in hand, all the way to the bottom.

Fuck this. It's settled. I'm using this payout to finally get that advance AI I've been wanting ever since Fook took me in. And fuck Fook, too. I'll show him who's the better Bounty Hunter.

[Codename: Abaddon]

Thank the goddess the shaft ahead finally cleared as the last flying toilet looking dumpster shuttle twisted out of view. It took every ounce of willpower I had to not just push my throttle to eleven and blast through to the other side and execute donuts in the skylanes in protest. I would have. Trust me. I wanted to. But I was put against my chair by what I saw just ahead of me. In the wide open dockyard that opened ahead of me all I saw was white. The black, tarnished surfaces and twinkling indicator lights were buried underneath a cover of... snow? Shit, it sure looked like snow. It was like Life Day Celebration down there. All it was missing was some really out of place coniferous trees. Passing through the mouth of the shaft I could see that the white material seemed to be falling like snow. I had no idea what the fuck was going on. Coruscant hasn't had snow in a million years I bet, and certainly not underground.

Following the pylons down to the ground was difficult, as the snow was covering lights that had never been designed for adverse weather. It was a little shaky, but the control tower directed me in to an empty pad. Shit. My ship is going to get covered in snow now! That better not ruin the finish. I spent a lot of credits getting this bad boy painted and all those hungry nights better not be wasted by whatever the shit this is. No time to worry about that. I have a creepy old man to grab. The cockpit swiveled down to the landing position, moving me from laying on my back to sitting upright once again. It was a transition that was as regular as waking up in the morning. My bounties didn't like it as much, but the cages were empty. For now. Sliding down the ladder to the ground floor of the Firespray 31 I wasted no time getting ready.

Armor was already on. Never leave home without it. I put a lot of time into polishing the armor until it glistened and the helmet glass was reflective. The numerous breaches and gunholes in the armor were excellently patched and filled, leaving only scars behind. Pretty sick, I know. Ladies love that shit. Normally I wore this shit raw, but with the weather looking the way it was I had second thoughts about letting that snow get on my armor. It could be cold, too. But first, blasters. The Hadron Destroyer has been my bread and butter for years, but Sheegoth insisted I leave this one behind on the ship. Something about heavy collateral damage or some other gobshit. Seriously, that old dragon was such a buzzkill. So instead I was taking my A310 rifle. This thing had a bit more precision than the Hadron Destroyer. I was hardly surgical with it, but it got the job done. Then there was the DL-44 I got custom painted green and gold. Fook's colors. Heavily modified. Extra vents, bigger ammo receiver, and a beam optimizer. This little guy would go right through armor. I should know. I shot myself in the foot with it once.

The fragmentation grenades and disintegration rifle would have to stay onboard. I wasn't operating as a mercenary in wild space today. I had to keep things above board. I had to play nice, even if I hate it. I pulled my plate carrier taught and loaded up the front pouches with more thermal clips and then pulled a black poncho over the top of it all. The last piece of the ensemble was the Bantha Skull emblem of the Bounty Hunters Guild. Sheegoth got me a temporary membership in order to operate on the planet. It felt good to pull that chain over my neck and let it hang down over my chest. I shined it up really good, which is good because the damn thing had been carbon scored to hell and back. Last guy to wear it must have gotten vaporized. It looked real good in the mirror. It would look a whole lot better if it didn't have the red band around the button that indicated it was a temporary badge. Whatever. Who's going to even know that's what it means? Maybe they'll think it means I'm extra cool, like a Super Bounty Hunter!

Pulling my hood up over my helmet I stepped down the gangplank and into the winter wonderland that sat just outside. My boot chunked heavily through the white substance. Reaching down a took a handful of it and smushed it between my fingers. I was being scientific, dammit. It definitely wasn't snow. Not real snow anyways. It was chunkier and slicker than it should be. It was wrong. This was all wrong. Looking up into ceiling far above all I could see if falling snow and the neon lights that were shining despite being mostly covered up. Indicators for the docking services, repair berths, and dockside shops. This place should be a lot more lively than it is, but everyone was staying inside today. That's fucking fine. If the people won't come to me I'll go to the people. I slung the rifle under my arm and proceeded up into what could only be described a shopping promenade. It was pretty sad. Half the shops were vacant with FOR RENT signs in the windows. The others had their doors closed and lights shining through the snow crusted windows. I tried a few of the shops, asking for directions, and each of them told me to get out. I guess these guys are scared of blasters? Shit. This is the Coruscant undercity, they should be used to blasters being everywhere! All I've ever heard is how these places are run by gangs and assholes.

"They don't like you."

I turned to look at the voice that called out to me. An elderly Gran watched from the stoop of a noodle shop, a pipe in hand, blowing smoke circles into the air. The neon sign above the shop screamed FUDON NOODLES!

"They don't like you. Bounty Hunters. You people come down here and take people away. You should put that badge away before it gets you killed."

I moved closer. The smell of fresh made noodles and sauce was filtering through my helmet. Damn. It smelled really good. I had the sudden urge to bring Beck down here to try this place out, but something told me I might not be welcome the next time. This guy did not look happy to see me.

"I'm just passing through. If you tell me where the turbolifts down are, I'll get out of your hair. I'm trying to get to the thousandth floor."

The old gran chuckled and sucked on his pipe again.

"You are all the same. The danger you look for in the depths will find you. There is nothing down there but darkness. Cruelty. And death."

"Don't worry about me, Gramps. I can handle myself. I'm Abaddon The Black. Danger is what I do."

"I've never heard of you, and the sooner you head down the path there to the turbolift, the sooner I can forget you ever existed."

There was something so certain in the way that old three-eyed man spoke that put me in my place, standing there in the snow. My moment was interrupted by a klaxon sounding an a pre-recorded voice declaring caution and that the snow was a result of the environmental controls faltering. Should be fixed within the next 30 hours. Well, that's just great. That means it'll still be snowing when I leave. If I'm still on this world thirty hours from now the goddess below can take me. I'm going to grab this Zanon guy and Get The Fuck Out.

"Thanks."

Walking away from the old man as fast as I could without running was all I could do to get away from the feeling of dread that guy had put in my stomach. This is no time to get scared. I'm Abaddon. I'm a big deal. I'm a bad ass mother fucker. I don't get scared by the ominous insults of an old noodle shop guy. Shake it off. Thankfully the turbolift was not far, and it was empty. I hit the button for the lowest level it would reach. Not low enough. I would have to find another turbolift to take me deeper, and even then I still had to find this Zanon guy. I guess the trick will be to get deep enough that the real assholes come out, and press them for info. Somebody has to know where this Zanon guy is.

[Doctor Zanon]

"I said fetch the pair with the red soles! Bring them at once or I'll take your legs away. Again."

The horrid little creature went scuttling out of the room flailing his arms in the air as high as his misaligned shoulders would allow. The elegant mechanical wristwatch was tilted to read the dial. Kane had exactly ninety seconds to return with the correct shoes in hand. If he did not, well, it would not be the first time the gremlin had his legs paralyzed, broken, removed, or otherwise made useless. He knew the cost of failure, and yet he continued to perform poorly. Perhaps it was time to take him back to the drawing board and rebuild him completely from the ground up. No. He did not reserve to be improved. That would have to be earned. The better option would be to kill this iteration and clone a new one. Perhaps that one would be more competent.

"Continue, Yvette."

The cold blade of the razor touched his throat again, and scraped upwards against the grain of his facial hair, taking the shaving cream with it. It was such an archaic method of shaving by modern standards, what with advances in technology and bio-engineering. He could give himself a specific growth pattern if he so chose, but there was something relaxing and human about the process of shaving one's face. And by that he meant having someone else shave his face. Goodness knows he was not going to do it himself. The very idea. Beneath him in every way. Besides, the process reminded him of some distant, locked memory that he could not conjure up the specifics of. Something from his youth. A time so long ago that he could not quite remember when it took place. No matter.

Closing his eyes he let the soft music playing overhead mingle with the whirl of oily motor servos and the scrape of the blade against his face.

"How is the security detail coming together?"

There was no pause in the blade. It accurately predicted the movements of his face and continued to move. A level of precision not possible by human hands. Peaking open one eye he looked up into the ashen face framed by raven hair; and the empty, red and puffy eyes almost hidden behind the messy locks.

"All tunnels have been remapped and secured. Bulkhead passwords randomized and scrambled. Cameras and auto-blasters installed. Droids are charged and armed. The Strighoul are caged and starving."

"Excellent."

This entire business was so much easier to maintain with only two sapient creatures to manage. For everything else there were machines, droids, and monsters. Keep it simple. Less room for failure. That was a lesson hard learned over the course of many centuries and lives. There was certainly a thrill that came with executing a grossly incompetent underling or a traitor, but it was hardly worth all the work that came with packing up and having to move, or starting an experiment over from the beginning again. He had nothing but time, in the grand scheme of things. Try as they might, nobody had managed to shut him down for good and he imagined they never would. Zanon lived beyond the constraints of biology and time. He is eternal, after all.

The familiar sensation of cloth on his face marked the end of his shave as the remaining cream was wiped free. He felt no need to even check himself in a mirror. She gave a perfect shave every time. Uniform and precise. Yvette was a good slave. A real testimony to his ability to take the dredges of society and turn them into something useful. Everyone had potential if you cut deep enough.

"You will be on the floor for the Gala in case anything should happen. Have Kane put together something nice to wear and do something with your face. I can't have your hideous face driving away my guests, now can I? Polish and sharpen your arms while you're at it. I want you battle ready and magnificent. You are as much a part of the exhibit as the other pieces. Oh, and make sure Kane fed the little creature. He'll be the big prize and everyone is going to want a piece of him."

Yes, Doctor."

[Codename: Abaddon]

The turbolift grinded to the sudden halt, almost causing me to stumble over with the sudden deceleration. The light over the door began blinking. Someone was coming. Straightening up I wiped my hands off and leaned back against the interior of the lift. First impressions are important, and down here there was no telling just who I was going to run into. Could be a cyberpsycho or a junk scav or any number of degenerate citizens of the undercity. I didn't trust anyone down here to not be out here doing nasty shit; and killing randos was not exactly in the charter of my guild contract for this job. That would get me in a lot of trouble and burn a lot of bridges with the Guild that I just can't afford to lose. No fucking way. This was my golden ticket.

Then the door slid open and revealed the iconic white helmets of a pair of stormtroopers. I felt the blood in my veins go cold. No, no, no! This is not what I needed right now. They were immediately on edge when they saw me. I couldn't see their eyes but I'd spent enough time in faceless helmets to notice the subtle shift of a head as their eyes went from me down to the weapons at my side. My hands stayed crossed over my chest. I wasn't going to give them the satisfaction of saying I was going for my blasters. If they were afraid for their lives that was on them. If they started anything, then they were throwing their own goddamn lives away; because I was not messing around here. Their armor might as well be paper compared to what I'm wearing, and my rifle would tear right through them. It wouldn't even be a contest. It'd be a massacre.

"State your business. Now."

Their blasters were half raised. I can't blame them. These guys looked rough. Their armor was grimy and stained from being down in this shithole. If I ran into me in a dark turbolift, I would be scared too. I'm a badass looking motherfucker.

"Bounty Hunter's Guild, on Imperial Contract. Headed down into the lower levels. Tracking a bounty. I've got a permit for the heat."

I very slowly unfurled my arms and made every movement clear and direct. The permit copy was pulled from the inside of my jacket and held it out to the nearest trooper. He took it while the other covered him and looked it over. It was all there. Guild and Imperial signatures. Names. Stamps.

"Who are you after, Hunter?"

"Sorry. That's legit classified. You know what tightwads the suits can be."

"Ain't that the truth. Fine. Carry on, Hunter; but I don't want to hear about any trouble down here or you'll be the first one we come for."

"Understood, sir. Thank you, sir."

The rest of the turbolift ride was an awkward silence. Eventually the Troopers got off again but damn if I didn't want to punch those little black lenses right the fuck out of their helmets. The nerve of those guys. They were nothing better than sewer guards. I'd hate to think how they would have treated me if I wasn't packing more firepower than them. Abaddon gets a pass. He's a big strong man in full body armor. I'm sure a small alien woman would have gotten absolutely eviscerated by those assholes. I wish I had faces to remember, cuz I'd find them at their favorite dive and kick the shit out of them. Pssh. I guess they got lucky that I'm on business today. I ain't got time for those two.

The elevator stopped. I looked up at the floor indicator. Not even close to the thousandth floor. The voice on the overhead declared it was the end of the line. Just fucking great. I guess I have to find another turbolift to take me the rest of the way.

Just my fucking luck.

[Codename: Abaddon]

The doors slid open, the sound of the grinding mechanisms setting my teeth on edge. I almost activated the nightvision mode out of reflex as I peered out into the darkness ahead. It was not pitch black by any means but the cab of the turbolift illuminated more than almost anything I could see ahead. It wasn't until I stepped out and the doors closed back up behind me that I was finally able to make out the shapes in the dark. Low light came from a hundred sources as flickering old world bulbs and a sea of neon signs create a kind of dusk effect that might trick you into thinking you were out on an evening stroll through town if you didn't see the looming floor of the level above just visible in the darkness overhead.

I brushed some stray snow off my coat and stomped off into town. People began to emerge from the shadows. I use that term fucking lightly, because these guys were not just the people society had forgotten, but people society had never even known to begin with. Their skin was pale, their eyes wide and bulbous. Mostly humans, but so removed from the surface population that they were clearly started to mutate from living down here. I could tell which ones had actually seen the sun sometime in their life, and the ones that grew up deeper down. Here and there you would spot the rare non-human. They all looked like shit, were wearing worn out grimy clothing that they'd probably passed down through the generations of their inbred families. How long had these people even been down here? Fuck, these levels were probably built thousands of years ago.

Moving through the ramshackle town it was interesting as fuck to see how these people had carved their existence out of the space. I could only guess based on what was still visible, but it felt like this was an industrial level at one point and now the people living inside blast furnaces and industrial compactors. Wherever they could lay a bedroll and string a clothesline. And the machinery still belched and churned. It was still alive, and people were living inside the hot and crushing bits. There had to still be spaces here that kept the planet running, right? You can't just keep building new levels without connecting to the floors below, right? Eventually I found it, the still maintained areas. Clearly fenced off with blast fence with large signs demanding the populace stay back and not tamper with whatever equipment was kept within. I guess posting guards down here would be impossible, and it was of no surprise that these places were covered in graffiti in layers that if you dig down enough to fight anti republic rhetoric buried under the anti imperial.

Shit, you can see the blast scoring and cobbled together repairs from the amount of times these facilities have been broken into. These dumbshits don't even realize that without this important infrastructure on their level that turbolift wouldn't come down here anymore, and they'd be left behind completely. Hell, they probably don't care. Just trying to get whatever scratch together they can. It was pretty obvious from the walk through that their commerce composed mostly of trading junk, prostitution, and drugs. There were a lot of people just standing around watching me with nothing better to do from the doorways of whatever structure they had put together. I was seeing some weapons, mostly cobbled together makeshift weapons but also the occasional blaster and vibroblade. I didn't feel in anyway threatened until They showed up.

They were a group of a dozen men if varying degrees of ugly and removed from the human species. They were all dressed just a little bit nicer, their grime wiped off a bit more recently, and they were considerably better armed. Most of them carried cutoff blaster rifles of a design I could not identify. Probably built in house from whatever parts they had. They also had matching armbands, and by matching I mean they were just armbands of different clothes but they were all cut and worn the same. No symbols. How cute.

"State yer business, Stranger."

It wasn't said in a way that felt like a person of authority was asking. It was said in a way that demanded your answer better be fucking good are they were going to kick your teeth in. Judging by the gaps in their mouths, they'd already had that done to them a few times.

"Bounty Hunter's Guild and Imperial sanctioned business." I held up the stamped permit just as I had done with the Troopers. The speaker didn't even look at it. He just kept looking me in what he thought was the location of my eyes through the visor of my helmet. Felt like he was looking me in my eyebrows.

"Well ain't that a shame. Bounty Hunters and the Empire don't exist down here, mate. The Undertakers run business 'round here. So here's what you're gonna do. You're gonna give us all your credits, and your rifle, and leave."

"And what if I don't?" holy shit it was hard to not laugh in the guy's face. I had a heavy blaster rifle on my back and they were waving around Clone Wars era gobshit with bits and bobs welded to the sides. They only one of them remotely intimidating was the big guy in the back with a vibrosword that looked like it was from the Old Republic era, and those shits lasted forever and could cut through armor like mine with ease compared to blaster fire. They all bristled at my rebuke, and the guy with the sword started to walk forward.

I wasn't going to wait for the next steps of this dialogue to play out. It was as obvious as fuck where we were going. Time to speed things up.

The DL-22 was easily accessible from underneath the side of the poncho. Maybe they didn't even see it in this gloom, but they sure as fuck heard it as the heavy blaster fired off and hit the big guy in the thigh as it came out of the holster. With the real threat decommissioned I turned on the rest of them, and like the fucking mouth breathers they are they stood their ground and began firing. Their impotent blaster bolts smashed into my armor and displaced across the plates. They might as well been trying to crack a bank safe with a toothbrush. I took my time turning in an arc firing one shot after the other. Center of mass. Straight to the chest. Blowing a hole through each of their chests until nobody was left and I was left standing there alone with my armor pinging as it cooled. The real shame was that my poncho was now full of holes. Shit. I really liked this one. A quick lookover confirmed my rifle and other equipment was fine. Apparently they just kept shooting me in the chest and hoping something would happen.

Looking over my shoulder there was a distinct lack of anybody. Everyone had disappeared back into whatever hollowed out machinery they called home. Fair enough. Holstering my blaster I moved on. Their corpses were not even worth my time and nature would take care of them. I was proven right when I heard the sound of squabbling and fighting behind me as I left them behind.