Crixus

The Gank nodded as he quickly signed the contract, eager to get paid in advanced and to start his new job right away. With luck, he could modify the jetpack he had acquired on Tatooine, complete with a paint change to disguise it from any other Mandalorians, and be on his way to the Coruscant. He could see that the holonet projected on several screens nearby were focused on that once-beautiful now dying planet. Perhaps if he hurried he could make a good impression with them. With a quick signature and the paper slid back, Crix found himself employed by the Black Sun once more. Later Crix exited the Palace a new bounty hunter. While it was obvious he was still getting used to the new weight on his back, he didn't seem to mind. He hated the fact that it took him longer then expected to rewire it so that way his voice commands from his helmet could activate the piece of equipment. Whatever that 'Canderous' had on it before was good. But not too hard for him. In his right hand Crix still carried the new weapon. He didn't dare try to modify it to replace one of his claws yet. He wanted an expert to do that. It was too precious. Too...occult to be tampered with. Crix looked at the weapon, spinning it over and over, examining every detail. It seemed so simple: this weapon wasn't too complicated, but there was definitely something to it that only an expert could identify. He did examine it closely and was surprised to find two crystal like objects inside: blue and purple. In an attempt to discover their purpose, he activated the blade and found out that a purple blade could be emitted. A truly mysterious weapon. But not as mysterious as the voice that came with it. It had been brief, but instantly recognizable. A mere laugh from a being of power and anger. Then it was gone. But the bounty hunter didn't fear the voice. He reasoned to himself that the effects of the madness on Tatooine were still clutching him and would soon go away when Crix focused on the new task at hand: Infiltrate a warrior people, observe their movements, train with them, inform Black Sun. Crix felt excited as he boarded the "Explorer" Scout Ship, now under his own name. Worn with age and blaster marks from missions passed, Crix was attracted to it for several reasons. Small enough not to be noticed by big ships, fast enough to get to places, and a history of success. He chuckled at the name painted on the side. Truly, a fitting name for one such as he: Reckless Revenge At the controls, he slowly started the machine up, and was soon on his way. (To Coruscant)

Crix's eyes sparkled under his mask at the final words. Every bounty hunter lived for those words. That or the payment from afterwards. But with this payment up front, alongside with what he just earned would let him more than just readjust the jetpack he acquired from the last bounty, and to attach the latest weapon. Such treasure could possibly purchase a some new weapons, or even a small ship to get him across the galaxy. No longer relying on bartering for rides with other people. Crix began to reach for the credit chip and nodded. Crix's imagination kept running with the ideas of what to do with the money. He had to shake himself to focus on the situation though. He looked at the receptionist, whom he liked a bit more now, if only cause she held his payment in front of him. If her title is true, then she sounds like my kind of person, and a possible entry with her people. For a million credits, I'll tell you whatever you want about them.

Crix couldn't hear the Nemodian speak when his grenade landed, but he could imagine his foe's surprise. When the walls began to lower after a series of clanks of someone hitting metal against a wall, Crix smiled to himself. His grenade must have hit the target. A full system reset would naturally occur after a complete power failure from the controller, which the Nemodian must have been carrying. Heck, even the turrets outside the walls were probably resetting. That meant Crix needed to strike now. However, he didn't expect the burst of energy from the Nemodian. If Crix had time, he would've been with the perfect acrobatic roll from his target. However, his combat instincts were working. Even as the Nemodian rolled, Crix dropped to the ground. He was going to have to fire fast. As he fell, he began to bring both arms up, to fire two of his weapons at the Nemodian: The blaster attached to his left wrist, and the nerve gas stored in his robotic hand. The gas would be a slow guarantee kill but the gunshot would make a critical wound. Then the knife was thrown. His instincts took over and he flinched, turning his shoulders and head away, almost feeling the dagger breeze past his face. He wasn't targeting anymore. Crix was firing blindly. In this one brief moment, Crix was unable to do anything but fire his blaster and keep firing at point-blank, while simultaneously release all of the nerve gas stored in his hand. If he could land a hit, maybe the Nemodian would fall. Or if his target could take a slight breath of the gas he released as he fell, he could land and make a shot before something bad happened. At this close of range, a blaster shot from either side could be a killing blow.

Crix chuckled as he heard the exploding grenade and tried to move forward through the maze. He needed to confirm his kill after all. A cut across the throat and then he would be paid handsomely. Helmet, begin to scan Crix muttered in his native Gank, sounding like a mixture of growls and grunts. His helmet beeped in confirmation. While the basic scanner in his armor couldn't make a map of the maze that the Nemodian had made, it would help him find his target at the very least. Judging by the life signs, the Nemodian was still alive. If Crix had to guess, he was just inside the maze now, while Crix was closer to the center. However, his hopes for an easy kill died as he heard the Nemodian shout. His feelings were replaced with shock as the sounds of the floors begin to randomly open up. Crix reflexively took a step back as a platform opened before him. Deadly red and orange flames shot out, a death sentence had Crix stepped forward instead of back. Even here, Crix could feel the heat of the flames. Crix needed to move quickly. He wasn't sure how long the flame traps would stay open, how much fuel they had, and he didn't have time to figure out how long. He needed mobility, and he needed to get his target closer to him. Crix hated that he had to lose his rifle for now, but in attempt to stay mobile, he shoved it into the flame trap in front of him, feeling his fingers get burned slightly. However, he was able to wedge the weapon so that way the floor would be impossible to close for now. The fuel would run out sooner or later, making this spot the one safe spot Crix could depend on later. But he had to let the fuel empty first. The floor behind him was beginning to open, and the floor below was beginning to shake as well. In an instant, Crix activated his boots once more, jumped up and began to move up. He halted just below the top of the walls, remembering how their was practially an army of weapons outside the maze, most likely waiting for him to repeat what he did earlier. The heat from below made the ex-gladiator sweat, but he was used to worse situations. While it would be tiring, Crix could make do with this. And now that he didn't have to carry his rifle around, he had a free hand to balance against the walls. He could stay off the floor for a while. Now to make his prey move closer. Target lifesign. Give estimate for grenade toss. Must fall down onto target Crix again muttered in Gank. The helmet made a quick calculation and fed an estimated throw directly into the bounty hunter's robotic eye replacement. With his free hand, he pulled an ion grenade and activated it. Should he hit the Nemodian, any other 'tricks' he may have could be disabled for a bit, allowing Crix to crawl forward along the walls. If he missed, the Nemodian would be forced to move toward the center of the maze, closer to Crix and possibly into his own traps. With a practiced arm and the help of his helmet's calculations, he tossed the grenade up.

Crix's fingers quickly snatched up the card and pocketed it before a word could be said. Secured and hidden away from any prying eyes, Crix turned his attention back to the receptionist. "Thats a lot of Canderous'es. But the one I encountered seemed a bit more...unique. As Crix listened to what the receptionist said, his eyes widened at the offer of the money. A million credits for six months of spywork? Before I agree to anything, what exactly is Black Sun's relation with these... Mandalorians? And this ex-agent...what's her story? Crix hated jumping into situations without the full story, but this job offer sounded more than interesting. To go work with a warrior culture, possibly learning something new about fighting, gather information about what they were doing, and be paid a million credits for 6 months was a hard tempation to resist, especially for Crix who understood the power of money.

Crix's rifle began to open fire as the doors closed. He aimed and pulled the trigger simultaneously, but was annoyed when the Nemodian reacted with the floors rising as makeshift walls. Under his helmet he smiled. This wasn't going to be as easy as he thought. Then the turrets began to fire. One shot glanced off of Crix's shoulder. The force made Crix take a step back but beyond that the damage was fairly minimal. Just a burn mark, nothing more. But as the turrets continued to fire, Crix's instincts came to life. Years in gladiatorial arenas taught him that in a firefight, either shoot the guy shooting you or get cover. And the Nemodian had provided some perfect cover with his make-shift maze. Crix dashed forward, receiving another blow to the back. While the armor prevented the worst of the shot, it did burn slightly. Crix ignored the pain as he entered the maze, rifle in one hand. Between two opposing walls, he began to activate his magnetization boots, a cybernetic enhancement often used in zero gravity environments. However, Crix had often discovered all enhancements had duel uses. He jumped up, placed a boot on the wall, and then while his foot got a grip, released the boot's magnetization to push again, using his other leg on the opposing wall. This 'wall hopping' allowed him to reach the tops. Popping out just for a moment before falling back to the ground, Crix had pulled a concussion grenade off his belt and flung it to where he had last saw the Nemodian. Maybe he could take the Nemodian out right away, or at the very least, force him to join Crix in the maze.

Crix breathed and muttered to himself as he checked his rifle again, making sure the power pack was secure and fully charged. Enough shots to take down a small army if necessary and used correctly. His fingers, plated with the robotic enhancements, slowly rubbed over the name engraved. He smiled to himself, remembering Folso's death. That was a brutal kill, one hard earned. Course, back when he had made the kill, Crix was in a blind rage and nearly died from wounds, but now he could look back fondly at the kill, though hints of rage always came through. Crix couldn't help but think of the scream his comrade made as his own blades found their target, and the taking of the weapon to be used against the other traitors. Crix shoved the memory aside and rechecked the weapon. Now was no time to look at the past. He had a job to do. And an interesting one at that. He remembered how on Nar Shaddaa he had been contacted by a Noghri. This had surprised Crix for two reasons. In his experience, he was the person hired to kill a Noghri would be assassin, not the other way around. From Crix's experience, the Noghri were lethal killers and sentient predators, not too unlike Ganks. When someone hired Crix, it usually was to kill or collect someone and a Noghri would usually not need help with that. The second reason was because Noghri and Ganks didn't typically associate with each other. As similar as they could be being predators and killers, the two species were like two opposite sides of a coin. Ganks were known to hunt in teams, communicating with each other seamlessly as they would close in on their bounties. Noghri were a bit more....adabtable. Certainly some worked with teams, but to Crix's knowledge, the Noghri worked as lone assassins. Ganks had focused exclusively on enhancements, modifications and technology, where the Noghri had perfected their natural tools of tooth, claw and scent. Not to mention, Ganks rarely cared about honor, but the Noghri cared deeply about honor. Ganks and Noghri were two different breeds of hunters to say the least. So when two of these assassins approached him with a job offer, Crix was curious. The job offer was a challenge. Their employer needed a challenge in his, what they could only describe as, arena. They had seen Crix fight in arena's before against various beasts and gladiators, and when they had heard Crix had slaughtered his own teammates, they claimed Crix was the ideal candidate for the arena. "After all, an individual who has gone up against threats like reeks, nexus, sibian hounds, not to mention all those bounties, would be able to handle a situation where everything is against him" the female Noghri smiled coyly, her teeth wide with pleasure. If Crix understood correctly, their employer, a Nemodian, would have control over the arena and all of its weapons and features. Crix merely had to survive it and attempt to kill the Nemodian. If he succeeded, he would get a sizable profit. If not, well, then the Noghri would be happy knowing their employer's confidence wasn't for nothing. And so here Crix stood, the elevator moving upwards slowly. He triple checked his rifle and this time his hand went to his disruptor, making sure the hidden illicit weapon was still secure. Grenades to control distance, a bomb pack for a finishing blow or to create cover with debris, vibrodaggers for all ranges, wrist blades, disruptor for the more difficult weapons of the room, magnaboots, robotic eye....he had the distinct feeling that he was going to use it all. Under his mask he smiled. A worthy challenge since the death of his team. The elavator stopped and before him the doors opened, revealing the room. Rifle in hand, powered and at the ready, stepped in. He wasn't to start shooting until the Noghri had stepped out of the room and the door closed. Then all hell would break loose.

As Crix got off the freighter, not even nodding to the driver or the Ugnaught passenger, his thoughts were about how heavy the jetpack he carried on his back was. It had been empty of fuel to help carrying it, but since it had not been adjusted to a being of his size or stature yet, it was slightly unbalanced for him to carry. Still, after he turned in the bounty, the credits would go towards repairing and adjusting it for him. Just as long no one challenged him before then, everything would be fine. Crix could see the palace in the distance. Gamblers and bouncers were still around, no doubt so were the pickpockets. Little changed since Crix had left. He was fine with that. Maybe Nar Shaddaa would be the same. Crix did have to stop once, not out of tiredness but because he could've sworn he saw that brown rodent who tried to robbed him before. A glare and a scan made him realize he had the wrong rodent. Still, he never could have been too careful. When the rodent gave a rude gesture to the gank for staring, Crix simply growled, and began to grab that weapon he had grabbed from Tatooine. But he stopped short as he brought it out. The pain over his body made him pause. The burns were still hindering him slightly. A feeling began to build inside of him. A burning rage, still hot from the wounds on Tatooine. But this rage felt aimless. The Chandra-fan was certainly a target for rage, but a pointless one. No one else was staring at the Gank and the Chandra-fan was most likely harmless. Why the unnecessary rage? He shoved the thoughts aside, placed the weapon back at his side and moved onwards to the Palace. As he entered and found another receptionist, he groaned inside at seeing it was the same one as before and not a replacement. I'm here about the bounty on Roarer or however you pronounce his name Crix said, carelessly dropping a copy of the holovid from his helmet. The Holovid contained the entire bounty from when he had gotten onto Tatooine. It Black Sun Superior's wanted to review his work, they would see Crix's work with the flying beast, the ghosts and the fight alongside the Mandalore (if they registered at all on the holovid), and the death in the cavern. Crix had manually edited the file so that way it ended before he had grabbed the weapon. This should be enough proof of his death. I'm here for my payment, as well as any information about a Canderous of Mandalore Crix wondered if Canderous had any bounties on him or not, but even if he didn't it wouldn't hurt to check.

As the Gank limped through the desert towards where the corpse of the beast he slew and the speeder just a little beyond it, his thoughts were all over the place. At first, he tried to just focus on going forward to the speeder. Ignore everything else, just get to the speeder, get back to the town, get a ship, get to Black Sun headquarters, get his bounty... but he was stopped short in these thoughts. He didn't really have a plan for after collecting the bounty. Sure, maybe go get an upgrade, but even after that, then what? Another bounty for Black Sun? If all of these bounties for the criminal organization were this damaging, he may as well as gone back to working for the hutts. And when Crix was honest with himself, he didn't like that idea at all. Black Sun held a more prestigious title for Bounty Hunters, at least to Crix. Anyone could work effectively for a Hutt. So Crix distracted himself and tried to think on the upgrades he could get for himself. He was decent enough with cybernetics that he could install them onto his own armor. A flamethrower would be simple, except figuring out where to place the fuel of course. But something really powerful, more Gank-esque would require some technique. A cardiac accelerator, pressurized artificial lungs, pressurized armor...all of that was beyond his capabilities. He'd probably have to go back to his own home world of Nar Shaddaa. He wondered if that planet was still under control of the Imperial Remnant. It might be a good place to visit after this job anyway, go someplace familiar where he could recuperate before figuring out what would happen next. There was the new weapon though. Crix looked down at his hand that still gripped the black hilt. Such a fascinating weapon. He didn't dare take it apart to try to learn it's secrets and risk unable to fully understand and recreate it. But perhaps he could try to install it into his armor later on. How much technique would that require? Crix eventually reached the corpse of the flying beast. As he walked up to it, he chuckled. Your master is dead. You did nothing to stop me. He kicked the corpse for good measure and almost spat on it. But it didn't feel right to him. This victory still felt tainted. That voice....that presence had done something to the Gank. Addled his mind and filled it with doubt. But the presence wasn't around now. Why did Crix still feel off? This wasn't like back during his gladiatorial days. Back then the crowds would chant his name, roar with approval, clap for him, bang the ground in appreciation for the show he put on. And his teammates would always congratulate him and they would drink together... Crix shook his head and banished those pleasant memories. The traitorous dead did not deserve anything good, not even a pleasant thought about the 'good old times'. He bent over and picked up the repeating blaster rifle he had left. The speeder was in sight now. Just a little farther and Crix could make it back to the town. But even as Crix loaded the speeder up with his equipment, his helmet’s scanner beeped at the arrival of something new. Non lifeforms moving on their own accord. Droids by the looks of it. Near the now collapsed cavern… Crix didn’t think he simply jumped into the speeder and sped towards the site. Within a minute he came upon the sight of three probe droids around the entrance of the cave. Crix saw them busy at work on the slightly singed corpse of the warrior who had committed suicide. As they worked expertly with the precision of a surgeon’s hands, they removed the equipment that the warrior had carried. At any other time, Crix would’ve stopped and wondered what was this. Some new salvaging technique of native jawas? But he didn’t. Instead he stood from the speeder and began to step out, opening fire on the metal beings. The droids, not expecting this, began to try to fly away, having gotten most of what they had come for, leaving the corpse behind. But as Crix continued to fire, one of his shots hit the last one to leave. He watched as the droid’s motors failed to keep a grip on what looked like a jetpack and dropped it into the sands below. But it did not attempt to retrieve the equipment. Quietly, Crix watched the droids fly away. Crix cursed the droids, having robbed some of the possessions that he had missed earlier, but didn’t dwell on it. He instead wasted no time in collecting the battered jetpack. Those droids may have returned with reinforcements and Crix wanted to get off this blasted planet alive. Several hours later, with the speeder returned and Crix some credits lighter, he found himself a ship to take him back to Ord Mantell. With a sigh, he closed his eyes in relaxation. But the images of his old teammates haunted his dreams with eyes of fire and bodies of sand. And there was the presence of something darker.

As the vibroblade sailed through the air, Crix was surprised at the sudden movement and noise that uttered from the Tusken. Crix’s gladiatorial instincts began to kick in once again, guiding his actions to safety. As the blade of purple and blue energy erupted from the strange device that he had noted before, Crix began to jump up and backwards to safety. However, he growled slightly in pain as the blade grazed and touched the bottom of his right foot, the leg beginning to malfunction. This day had been a painful day. Picking himself up from the ground, Crix growled in anger and frustration. This prey was not supposed to be this difficult. He should’ve been dead already, the knife was just a killing blow. However, his helmet beeped once again; the life sign was nearly gone. He glanced at the Tusken and smiled again. Death was still death, especially for a traitor. You really think you can stop me? Crix began to growl. He stepped forward towards the soon-to-be corpse. This time there wasn’t going to a knife throw. His right wrist blade extended. Decapitation was the best way for this being to go out. Not blood loss. Crix was going to make the Tusken’s body match his blue-haired lover, and take back to Black Sun the perfect trophy. You are dead you dirty sandper... And then, in the stillness of the cave, awash with the dark side energies of eons gone by, Crix was fully enveloped in a moment of pure unadulterated silence as the Tusken drew his final last ragged breath and passed into the realms beyond. And then, that moment of silence was gone, replaced by an otherworldly shriek that was like nothing Crix had ever heard inside the arena or out, a cry that made his fur stand on end. Where the body of the Tusken had lay in a pool of blood, a blast erupted, like that of a birthing star, eating the naked body of the Tusken up in a mere second and lapping up the blood on the stones as it erupted outwards in all directions consuming everything in a tidal force of unblockable dark side fire and electricity. Stones were licked clean of soot and debris, bones cleared of flesh just before they too were dissolved in the maddening eruption of hate fueled by eons of dark passion and loathing. Even the beskar that lay in the cave was superheated and reduced to piles of molten metal that hissed away into steaming vapors or melted into the freshly cracked stones at the onslaught of the power. Anything that had the chance to explode, quickly succumbed as well. When the dark side grieved, nothing was safe. It was before this wave of super powered energy that Crix’s training was unequipped to save him. Crix was momentarily blinded by the energy as the gladiator turned bounty hunter was sent arcing through the air for not the first time that day and out the slim cave entrance to land with a crash on the scorching sands of Tatooine as the very earth and ground shook at the waves of power that radiated from the cave. Crix’s body burned in pain as his flesh literally began to burn away. His singular unending scream echoes across the night sky as he frantically tried to put himself out, slapping at his exposed flesh and rolling in the sand, prying pieces of armor off to get at singed flesh beneath. It took only a moment to mostly extinguish himself, but the pain lingered. He attempted to slow his breathing, but found he was unable to focus. His annoyance and rage kept driving his mind elsewhere. He couldn’t help but think at how underpriced this bounty had become. First the beast, then the madness, then the suicidal warrior... He would have a word with a Black Sun representative when he returned to Ord Mantell. Then the rumblings occurred. From the ground, Crix raised his head and watched as the cavern collapsed in on itself, weakened from the explosion; a thundering of earth, stone and dust, shooting plumes of fiery burning sand and stone into the air as the final resting place of so many warriors was buried for good. He lay still in a mixture of shock and pain as rocks fell to the empty places where the corpses had been. The earth inside shook more and more as the walls became weaker and weaker. Within moments, the entrance fell, ensuring a complete cave-in. There was a moment of stillness in the desert air. All Crix could do was lay there, trying to process what had just happened. And then it happened again, that same heavy feeling he had felt when the madness had seemed to overtake him; but this time none of his surroundings changed. He was alone against the sands. The warm night winds of the desert planet brushed by. Carried on those tendrils of warmth was an unmistakable voice; a voice of power and anger; a voice that did not belong of this world: ”You fool. No mere mortal can stop the will of darkness! Now you shall carry the mantle intended for another!!” And then as the voice drifted away with the winds as quickly and readily as it had come, Crix heard the soft thud of an item landing in the sand next to him, a fine spray of course crystals rat-tat-tatting against his armor. There, in the sand next to his robotic hand, lay the blackened hilt of the weapon that the Tusken had tried to fell him with. Slowly, still lying on the ground, he reached over and picked it up. His metal shrouded finger slowly thumbed a single switch on the side, an artic blue blade illuminated the Gank and the sands around him with an otherworldly glow. ”You are mine.” Crix stood and held the blade before him. For a moment, he could only stare at the blade in awe. He had never seen such a weapon. In all his years of fighting, whether for the entertainment of the crowds in the arena or the slaughtering of bounties for the Hutts, he had never gazed at such a thing. He had fought against beings utilizing teeth and claws, pikes, vibroblades, axes, and blasters...but this. Even his own ‘claws’ paled in comparison. The moment passed, replaced with a sense of hatred. I am not yours! I am my own! I am Nexu! and with that, he roared his roar. Like with the beast he slayed earlier, it was a predatory roar of dominance and victory; but even as his voice carried across the cloudless landscape, whoever or whatever had spoken to him, the presence, was gone. Crix didn’t even feel like his comrades were watching. He was alone again. Crix thumbed the weapon and the blade vanished. He sighed, shaking his head then growling in pain at his injuries. This entire job had gone poorly. He didn’t even have the corpse of that Canderous or any equipment to salvage. Heck, besides this weapon, he had no proof that the Tusken was even dead. He hated to admit it, but his first bounty for Black Sun may have been a failure. Unless.... Computer, have you been recording this bounty? His helmet beeped once in confirmation. POST COWRITTEN WITH RRURORRURRR

As Canderous shot himself with his own slug thrower, several thoughts ran through Crix's head. When the warrior drew his weapon, Crix immediately thought that perhaps this was an elaborate trap, all set by the Tusken. This person was drawing their weapon to kill Crix here and now, at a moment when Crix was surprised by the dead corpse. It made sense in the Gank's mind. Teammates betrayed for money. Why wouldn't a stranger? As the shot began to fire, aimed at the user's own heart in an attempt of suicide, Crix' thoughts turned to how maybe this was an extension of the 'madness' he had experienced earlier. Maybe Crix had taken it better then Canderous had. After all, this was a strange day. Crix had disintegrated the head of a flying beast who's corpse nearly crushed him, fought the ghosts from his past, was nearly killed by other ghosts of some aquatic species, and just witnessed what looked like a Tusken killing his lover. All within a few hours. Any normal individual would've been driven mad. But Canderous didn't strike Crix as a mad individual, or a weak-willed one. He was a warrior who was able to deal with the harshness of life. Maybe Crix was imagining this too? But yet, this warrior was much more real compared to the ghosts earlier. As the shot tore through the other side of the warrior's body, the next thought that ran through Crix' head was that of pity. What the warrior said, about leading people to death. If this was a true suicide, the warrior was killing himself out of guilt. Here this man was, a strong warrior who should've been proud of his fighting, giving in to guilt. Crix felt sorry for the warrior. What a pathetic way to go. Still, Crix didn't like this feeling. The feeling of pity passed quickly however. If the warrior was killing himself because he was blaming himself for the Tusken killing his lover, then he must have been a friend with the traitor. Yes, that was it. Crix didn't need to feel pity nor attachment to this warrior. He was simply an ally with his bounty. His death would've been inevitable. This simply made it easier for Crix to collect his bounty. The final thought Crix had as the corpse fell was one of profit. Maybe something extra Crix thought, eyeing the corpse. Crix would ask Black Sun if there was a bounty on a Canderous, saying he met the individual on his hunt, and if so, he could prove 'he' killed him. If not, Crix would mention how the warrior killed himself, and maybe Crix could talk about how the warrior admired Crix's efficiency and earn some recognition with Black Sun. A Win-Win situation for the bounty hunter. And those weapons could sell for something nice. And that jetpack. Crix wondered if he would need to get it repaired and refitted. Crix stood a moment in silence, looking at the dead body of Canderous. The starry night was eerily quiet. But Crix's thoughts suddenly remembered the reason he was here in the first place. Oh yes, nearly forgot about you Crix spoke out loud to his prey, unnaturally happy. He had a bounty in the palm of his hand, the corpse of someone who would either bring riches or credit, and the satisfaction of being able to enjoy this. As he walked forward into the cave, he pulled a vibrodagger from his leg and began to tap it on the metal of his armor. The cave echoed the clinks. As each one echoed, he imagined the faces of his dead comrades, and smiled. The voices weren't speaking to him. No, now Crix was speaking to them by speaking to the Tusken. I just want you to know, that this is a bit personal for me As Crix walked forward, he gently kicked the dismembered head aside. I mean, you are a traitor, and I have a thing about traitors. The thing about them is that they don't deserve life. They don't deserve anything. They deserve.. Crix stopped to think of the right word. A word for death. But he could'n't get the basic version of it. He would have to use the Gank word for it. Kre'lga. Its a word for death. A brutal, unceremonious, unfulfilling death. Course you will get something better. Your death fulfills two things Crix's robotic eye highlighted something for the Gank. He looked at the Tusken's hand to see a cylindrical metal object. Some sort of weapon? Crix looked at it intently. He wasn't familiar with it and was a little curious. But it didn't distract him from talking to his prey. With his dagger in right hand, he turned it on, the edges of the blade glowing slightly as well as an engraved name on the side. A perfect killing tool for close range, but also, for Crix's preferred method with daggers. The first thing your death does is that it fulfills my need for credits. Black Sun has a nice bounty on you, and I always could use some extra money to pay off for some more enhancements. A Gank has to keep upgrading. But your death, see, it fulfills something greater for me At this point, Crix was standing a ten feet away from the Tusken. It was a good thing the mask hid Crix's face: a grinning devilish row of teeth was hidden underneath, like a Nexu about to strike from the trees. He rose his arm, preparing to throw, aiming for the neck. Killing you fills me with a sense of rightness. It confirms my superiority. When I kill you, I kill a traitor, and remind my dead comrades that I am better. His wrist pulled back, preparing to loose the dagger toward his prey, the name of Farsek glowing glinting on it. I am better than all of them. And with those words, Crix sent the weapon sailing towards the Tusken's neck, aided by his robotic eye and passion to kill the traitor where he lay. <>

Crix grunted to the comment from Canderous, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. Crix wasn't exactly the person who cared about things like honor, unless it came from completing a job. True, he didn't betray people needlessly, but he didn't take a sense of pride in his work. In the gladiatorial ring, those who had 'honor' typically got killed by the less honorable. And in bounty hunting, honor was a luxury, not a necessity or something beneficiary. However, Canderous was right about the pay. This job would afford him a few new implants. Crix couldn't help but momentarily imagine a new weapon for his wrist. A flamethrower would've been really useful in that madness fight. So you were the leader of your people Crix commented. What happened, you got too old fo- When Canderous rushed off ahead of him, Crix hurried after. He couldn't help but notice how this other warrior suddenly ran with a sense of fear or panic. Crix guessed that he was probably concerned for his friend the Tusken or the blue haired, but why rush now? Why not earlier? Crix arrived at the entrance to the caverns slightly behind Canderous and opened his eyes a bit in surprise. The cavern was momentarily bathed in an unnatural mauve, only to quickly be encased in darkness. But in that moment, Crix saw. There was blood on the ground. The air....it was different. It was like before, during the madness. Heavy, though less so. But as Crix looked into the cave, he saw two falling forms, one easily identified as a tusken, stained with blood. The other, a mutilated corpse. At that moment, his sensor in his helmet stopped revealing one of the life signs, indicating something was dead or dying. It was obvious what was the cause. He could see the head rolling slowly towards him and Canderous, coming to a complete stop, its face pointed towards the former Mandalore. The head of a human, which Crix supposed had blue hair. He couldn't help but utter outloud, reflecting on what the Cantina owner said. Some lover's quarrel. He had seen and hunted scumbags before. This was like no other. Except that Crix wanted to kill him before turning him in. Crix instinctively flexed his fists twice, arming his wrist laser and the sleeping darts in his robotic hand. Grass grow. Birds fly. Traitors betray. Crix hunted. Crix's robotic eye implant flickered to night vision, allowing his own vision to pierce the blackness. He waited a moment to see how Canderous reacted to this grim scene.

Crix grew annoyed at the laughter. It was a good thing Ganks never showed their skin, cause if Canderous could've seen his face, he would've seen a look of annoyance. I don't know, I only recently started working for them as a grunt. Crix replied to the first question. This person definitely acted like he was a part of Black Sun, but that could mean many things and that raised some questions. Why would an ex-member of Black Sun be working with a traitor of Black Sun? Surely this individual knew there was a bounty on the Tusken? But then again...maybe he hadn't been working with Black Sun for a while. Maybe, he betrayed Black Sun with the Tusken. Sure, he claimed to have no connection with him, but men lied. Palms are easily greased. Money speaks in volumes to people. Crix knew that from experience. Still, the man had slightly lowered his guard and reveal his face. That was something to say the least to the Gank. Sounds like then you need my help to find them Crix began to lower his weapons. The slight gesture of trust from Canderous would be enough for now, especially when Crix explained why he needed him. The Sands on Tatooine can make it hard to track people, but thankfully, I've had to track people here before. I doubt they have gone far. Especially since his beast is dead Crix thought to himself. Crix glanced around and lowered fully, retracting all of his weapons for the moment. If the warrior shot him, then so be it, but as far as Crix could tell, he was out here with no options. Besides, Crix needed to hurry to find a trail. True, the winds of Tattooine were nasty, and Tuskens were good at traveling through the desert to hide their numbers, but Crix doubted that the female warrior would be as hard to track. His scanner wasn't picking up any other life signs immediately nearby. A couple of distant ones, but they could've been animals for all he knew. He just needed... There! The sand was broken in a continuous line, as if something was being dragged. Quite widely too. Crix walked slowly towards it, aware that he could easily get shot in the back. He bent down, taking note of how the trail was made. Short smooth areas with sudden stops. There were small indents from something round. Whoever was dragging the object was struggling. Either they were wounded, which would explain how their were markings of something like a walking stick or a rifle to help pull forward, or the object was extremely heavy and the individual pulling the load was just weak. Either way, it was good news for Crix. He couldn't help but smile under his helmet. Crix followed the trail slowly with his eyes, tracing it across the dark sands. One end came from near the Krayt, where the trail was lost in all of the action done on the sands by the two warriors. However, the other way led around dune bases. Crix tried to project the trail with what lifesigns were showing on his scanner. It could see there was something, though somewhat distant. He stood up, gestured to the other warrior to follow, and began to make his way. Tell me Canderous, what is a Mandalore?

Crix was not intimidated when the other brought his weapons up. An appropriate response. Too bad it didn't make Crix any happier. Slowly, he stepped circulary as well, imitating Canderous. Not as something to gain an advantage but instead to appear as an equal. Force of habit he supposed. He did it all the time in the arenas. Crix quickly reasoned that coming out and saying that Black Sun had a bounty on the Tuskan was probably not the wisest idea, especially if this warrior was a friend or teammate. While Crix didn't doubt that his own blaster would be lethal this close, he also knew beyond doubt that Canderous' weapons could do the same. Crix didn't want to die before his bounty was done. Black Sun has some kind of official business with him and hired me to find him. Crix brought his voice down from a shout to a more conversational tone. I'm just doing what I'm told to do. Bring the Tuskan to Mantell. Crix continued to circle with the warrior, like some hostile dance, to the rhythm of tension. What's your relationship with him anyways? You and the blue haired? It made Crix a little nervous that he hadn't seen the blue haired individual the cantina owner mentioned. The lover. Course, Crix hadn't even seen the Tuskan either, though his personal beast was dead in the sands by Crix own hands. Crix needed some information before he did anything else. Did you three take out that ugly thing? Crix motioned with his head towards the dead Krayt to his left.

Then there was nothing. Crix stood still for a moment, glancing around, trying to make sense of the situation. It was....impossible. What happened? One moment there were things, not real things, fighting and trying to kill the gladiator, the next they were gone. One moment, Crix was using his deadly claws to kill fish-men, the next he stood in the open, the corpses of beasts not far. The air felt different. Lighter, more natural. Crix hadn't noticed how the air after he had escaped the first beast's corpse had felt different. His very essence could tell the difference. And the voices...they were gone. What in the cruls is... Crix cursed in his native tongue, loud enough to be heard. He didn't know if he should just turn and run back to the speeder and get off this demented planet, continue to chase after his prey, or maybe just give in to whatever madness he just endured. However, as he thought, the prevailing thought of catching a traitor pushed to the front of his mind. These events, whether it was a brief period of madness or some elaborate trick, would not stop him. His scanner beeped, making Crix remember that he wasn't alone. He turned and looked at the other warrior a few meters away. He was still here. This...Mandalore was real. Unlike those other things and the ghosts of his old teammates. His skills were real too. He fought bravely. He would answer... You! Canderous! Crix pointed his arm towards the warrior, laser at the ready for any sudden movement. At any other time, Crix may have asked nicely and not raised a weapon in a threatening manner, but the stress of the entire situation had built on him. He wasn't going to hesitate to fire if he needed. At this close, he was somewhat confident he could do some damage. What is going on here? Where is the tuskan? Where is Roarer?

Crix nodded to the armored warrior's comment about being allies. It seems to be that way. However, the situation was definitely not something Crix would like to be in. Being attacked by an enemy with unknowable numbers that he couldn't find on his helmet, not having his rifle on hand, being forced to work alongside a warrior who may or may not be his enemy.... There were too many uncertainties in this situation. And there was no crowd to revel in any of Crix's destruction. At least in the gladiatorial pits, his confidence would soar from the cheering of the crowds. Here he had only the warrior and the now surprisingly quiet ghosts. When the armored warrior pulled out the grenades, Crix smiled. At least this guy had the right equipment. Plus, now he wouldn't have to use his own. Crix mentally noted the title Mandalore and how he needed to look that one up later, as well as questioning Black Sun on the status of this Canderous. If he was a traitor, then his paycheck was going to go up after this mission. Fitting, since this job was not what he was being paid for. But the thoughts of extra credits were pushed aside, for the battle was all that mattered. The warrior counted. Crix prepared himself. The explosion rocked the ground. As one the Gank and the warrior stood and fired where the blasts had occurred. Crix could see the forms of the enemy now. Fish-like aliens wielding weapons of polearms and blasters. An army of beings who no doubt had been trained to use such tools with deadly efficiency. He smiled. Another challenge. His wrist blaster lit up over and over and over again. He almost didn't notice the third grenade being thrown. Crix followed in suit with Canderous. He saw no reason to lead the charge himself; Let this one take the more deadly blows should the enemy open fire before they made it. Besides, he seemed to know where he was going. Utilizing a vibroblade on one arm and his wrist blaster on the other, he tried to shoot as many of the enemies as he could while rushing in for the kill. If he could get close, switching to melee would be a glorious bloodbath and would be more favorable then being fired upon. Much to Crix's disappointment, the grenades didn't seem to do as good as a job on the amphibian aliens as well as expected, for they quickly trained their weapons on the two again. Crix felt searing pain as two shots hit his left arm and right side, his armor doing little to protect him at such close range. However, he was close enough now. Memories of slaying similar enemies in the arena flashed before his eyes. Before more shots could get the Gank, Crix used one arm to push a pike up, weaved past another, and slashed with his robotic arm. But even as he began to cut through them, something didn't feel right. It was like the slaying of the ghosts. They weren't all here. True, his blade definitely felt something as it began to cut, but there was no blood on his blade as he broke through the line. Crix felt like he had made a mistake to leave the cover the carcass behind.

Crix Barely held his ground as the armored warrior took off in moment of fire. He could feel the heat through his armor, and snarled as he felt the singeing and almost blindly fired at the being right there. If another thing sets me on fire today... he growled in annoyance. He glanced up at the flying warrior, now able to get a better view. He recognized the being as described by the owner of the cantina. One of the armored individuals who worked with the traitor. The armor was familiar, like he had seen a similar style somewhere but he couldn't place it. Perhaps he was a fellow gladiator, or simply an honored warrior from some lost culture. Whichever, it didn't matter. I wonder if you are a traitor too... Crix barely said to himself, wondering how much money he could get for bringing this one in alive. However, he did recognise the weapons on the flyer. The Rykk blades he had just put away were deadly enough weapons. A Trandosan gladiator once thought his stolen blades were stronger than Crix's 'claws' but discovered they were not nearly as ferocious. The gauntlet was also familiar to the Gank. Crix felt this challenge could be overcome easily enough, had he still carried his rifle still, but that was back near the corpse of the original beast. And the ghosts here were too much of a risk.... Crix began to yell out to the flyer, "I'm Nexu, hunter of a trai.... but he didn't have time to answer. For in that moment, laser fire began. A shot grazed past Crix's helmet, another landing besides his foot. Crix's instincts forced the ex-gladiator close to the ground, but he wouldn't stay for long. He was an easy target out here, for both whoever was firing at him as well as the flyer. Course, the flyer was more open than he; practically bantha fodder as far as Crix considered. But where was the enemy? His helmet should've picked up their life readings. Were these more ghosts? Crix had a moment of clarity. The dead carcass of the beast was still behind him. Those bones and muscle would be excellent for some protection. If he could reach it, that would provide cover from those who fired upon him. Quickly, to the corpse! Crix called out to the flying warrior. He mused to himself as he dashed for cover, lasers flying around him, a shot grazing off his armor. If he and the warrior survived this, a simple sleeping dart at close range from his hand would knock the humanoid out. He didn't want to waste his last shot on his disruptor on small targets. Course, that would only work if they both survived this.

Stop! Face me you traitors! Crix cried out as his blades touched nothing but air once more. He roared in frustration and surged forward once again, eager for blood. But repeatedly he was left cutting nothing but air, and the forms of his old team mates reappeared far away, their eyes aglow a deeper shade of red. Again and again he roared, and again and again he was met with hollow victories. But he couldn't stop. He couldn't help but kill them over and over. In his addled mind, he believed with every kill destroyed a piece of them. Soon, there would be nothing left. It was either them or him. Victory, or Death. The forms on the next dune laughed and continued to mock their maddening opponent. However this time when he charged and slashed, they did not reapear right away. The whisperings and mockings still rang in his ears, but he was left looking down at the corpse of a great animal, its bones and burnt sides exposed to the darkened skies. Crix had to stop and stare. Did he not just slay the beast back the other direction? No, this one was different. But its kill was fresh as well. This much was obvious. Why did his team mates run to here? Then the clarity began to return to Crix. His teammates were dead. They were gone. He looked at his own robotic hand and the engravings on the weapons installed into it. Their names were still there. Proof that they had indeed died. This....is....nothing Crix panted. But even this felt false. Something was happening. What...is happening here? "Can't figure it out Nexu?" the voices suddenly unified. Crix nearly surged forward in instinct at the forms of sand and fire before him, but restrained himself. These....falsities would not draw him into another rage. This audience would answer him. You are dead. How are you here? "We were called. By the thrill." What thrill? A moment of snickering. "Revenge" Crix growled and lifted his good arm. With one finger and thumb out, he activated his wrist laser under his arm, a shot going through each image before him. They screamed momentarily before dissipating. He counted, and when they began to form again before him, he shot the forms again. There was no difference in their formation. Crix breathed in annoyance. A fruitless effort. "Do you really think a coward like you will survive this?" The forms mocked as they approached. Crix gritted his teeth and growled. You are the cowards, too afraid to face me in flesh and blood. Now leave me! He fired again, taking no delight as they vanished. During this brief pause, he activated his helmet's scanner, seeing if he could find anything that might help. But before he got a reading, hands gripped his feet. He looked down in surprise to see his comrades emerging from the sand below, snarling and roaring. "Die with us Nexu!" they cried as one pointed upwards. Crix looked up and in horror saw an approaching fireball from the sky. He tried to move and jump out of the way, but the hands held fast. Not thinking, Crix raised his arms and braced for the hit. His body and his teammates screamed in pain as he was flung by the force of the explosion alone. For a moment, he remained still, trying to compose himself. Then he screamed in pain. You are dead! Leave me! There! On his scanner, a life sign, very short distance away. Perhaps it was his prey. The death of his prey's beast was what had started this. Perhaps if he slayed the prey, He growled again as he bared the pain of getting back up and walking towards it. He felt a tug at his feet. Without looking, he swung his blade, the form dissipating and jumped forward. Another fireball, smaller, landed where he was a moment ago. He chuckled and moved forward. You always were repetitive Sallak He could see an outline ahead. A being in armor. Stumbling and slashing at any other forms that formed around him, he moved closer. It wasn't his prey, but perhaps he knew what was happening. He reached out to grab its shoulder, ready to stab it with his other hand.

Crix's reaction turned from satisfaction to dread as the beast's full weight came crashing down on him. He had not prepared himself for this. His instincts were not ready for such a problem. So instead going in such a way that spectators would have he remained still as the beast crashed and began to crush him into the sand. As he layed under the corpse, some guts leftover of the beast's head drenching him, all of his emotions came out in one word: Poodoo What was worse for the bounty hunter is that he felt like he could only barely move. At first he struggled to move the corpse off of him, but with little luck. He could barely move his arms with the weight crushing them, and his legs were pinned as well. Even with all of his enhancements, the body would not be easily moved by one person. He still had the pistol, but to fire such the deadly weapon's last shot at literally touching distance would probably disintagrate him as well as the corpse on him. Was this how he was going to die? Crushed to death by the corpse of his bounty's steed? That would be the ultimate embarrassment for him. With more energy, he continued to push and shove, but the beast only moved inches in a time that Crix couldn't measure. If only Crix could get a bit of leverage or help or... That's when the smell kicked in. Even through his mask, Crix could get certain scents. But this smell wasn't coming from the guts of the monster, nor was it the rotting smell he had smelled earlier before the fight . It was more like something was burning. Then the corpse on him began to become warmer and the smell of burning flesh stronger. Crix's mind panicked. He was not going to die in a pyre. Death by fire was not acceptable. Instincts kicked in again. Crix clenched his hands, activating the vibroblades in his wrists. They stabbed the insides of the beast, and whirred to life. Strength surged in Crix as he moved his arms little by little, carving space inside that corpse. With each inch gained, Crix moved a bit more. With each foot he moved, the more he could carve up and out. He continued to cut and cut, ignorant of time passing. How long he spent carving the innards of the beast was a blur to the Gank. He just needed to get out. Soon he could stand and pushed his way up. Eventually, after what felt like hours, Crix burst out of the corpse like a detonator. Blood flesh scatterred as he stood up, breathing hard. With a triumphant cry, he shouted to the black sky, ignoring the flames that were falling in the night. No beast will best me! For I am Crixus the slaughterer! I am a gladiator! I am... "Nexu!" a deep voice shouted from behind. Crix turned as well as he could, and and gasped before being blasted with something like ash. For a moment he coughed and choked, as his helmet failed to protect him. He eventually caught his breath, but he continued to shake in fear. For he had seen something in that ash. A form...no a ghost. A squat being made of dust and sand, with eyes of fire....but that shape could not be mistaken. Dressak... he breathed the traitor's name. This....something was wrong. Had he been poisoned by the corpse of the beast? He had to be seeing things. A war cry from behind in an unknown language. Crix turned, this time ready to swing his blade at whatever attacked him. A dust cloud flew at him and another form momentarily formed moments before Crix swung. His blade stopped short, fearful at what he saw, and was knocked backwards, rolling down the dune away from the corpse. When he came to a stop he leaped to his feet, ready for another attack. But as he got up, his limbs....he was shaking. What was going on? That cloud held another face, long since dead. What was happening? And why was the sky itself on fire? What had the beast done to him? Then the voices began. The voices.... oh god, the voices! Murmers, whispers, hissings, growls...some of it was in Gank, the rest in other languages, both ancient and new, foreign and familiar. As each second passed, the voices only increased in number, soon becoming deafening for the bounty hunter. Crix searched for a source but found none. The sand began to kick up. Crix spun around rapidly, starting to enter a blind panic. His dead team mates laughed and taunted their frightened comrade. How were they here? Where had these beings made of sand and fire come from? No! he shouted, trying to gain control of himself. I will not die to this....poison! I will not die to you! I am Nexu! And with a war cry he bared his blades and began to strike desperately at the beings. But as soon as his blades touched the bodies, they were gone, only to reappear on the next dune where the beast had originally come from. Crix roared his challenge and gave chase, refusing to let old ghosts haunt him.

Crix grinned as the beast crashed into the sands, his insticts allowing him to move just in time. The beast's teeth made a snapping noise where his body used to be half a moment ago, However, he maintained his balance as he moved, his instincts working faster then ever. The beast was on the ground now, but not defenseless. He experienced that as the beast rolled over, nearly tossing him aside. However, the Nexu was faster. Before the beast turned, Crix's muscles and robatic enhancements worked together as he leapt off the wing into the air, using one foot over the other to create a slight spin. When he was turned around in midair, his weapon fired over and over again, aiming for the head. He nearly used the whole clip in this moment. Flesh sizzled in the air as laser bolts made for piercing through soldier's armor repeatedly bore themselves into the beast's scales. He could almost smell the burnt meat through his helmet. As the gladiator landed, he continued to act. Without thinking about whether the beast survived the series of blasts he just gave, he dropped the rifle and reached for that forbidden weapon at his side: the disruptor pistol. Before the rifle had touched the ground, he fired, point-blank-range at the beast's head, smiling at the knowledge that few things could survive this execution. ((3))

Crix now got a good idea at the massive size of the beast as it began to charge him faster then any reek he had encountered before. This beast, with the wingspan of a small hovel, could and probably would decimate most human beings like a missile. Wheverer this beast hailed from, it must have been a prime predetor. Wouldn't have it any other way. The laser's muzzle flashed repeatedly as Crix pulled the trigger and held it, letting the autofire take place. Accuracy was no longer as important as the beast came closer and closer, its size more and more apparent. He guessed the number of shots at the rapidly shrinking distance would land at least a few blows. He was more focused on his legs. He hadn't done an idea like this since the time he faced a reek. He had to time this right. When the beast would be close enough, he would have to roll to the side just out of the way of the teeth, but be able to catch onto the beast's wings. If any of his laser blasts hit the thing's head, perhaps the beast would slightly veer off to one side in pain and that would make this maneuver a little easier. He just needed to time this right... here it came... ((2))

Crix smiled as he could see the beast circle higher and higher. He must have been seen by now. In one swift motion he pulled his rifle into an aiming position and began to focus on his foe again. He felt the groove of the engraved name on the rifle, remembering how his old comrade had held this weapon. Folso he breathed the name, as he began to pull the trigger. The sound the rifle made was for a moment, but it was a moment that his comrade adored so much. Crix understood why. The sound of death leaving you to embrace another is always a sound to adore. But he couldn't appreciate it now. Now, the battle had begun. The trigger was pulled again and again. Three times the sound was made. As each shot flew through the air, flying in the direction of the target, Crix believed these shots would be grazing at best at this distance, or a complete miss at worst, but he was ready to fire more when it came closer. He didn't want to waste his full battery right now though. He needed a better shot. That or to get the beast to get land on the ground. The wings....he would target the wings when it got closer... he readied and began to pull the trigger again. ((1))

Crix sped across the desert sands, his speeder a blur. As he whipped past dunes, the sky above showed the promise of a dark night arriving. Crix would have to be careful, since a good number of predator animals that were nocturnal also had the advantage of stealth and surprise on their side. If he wasn't he would lose more than an arm and a leg on this bounty. True, the enemy would lose its life, but Crix saw no reason to let such a trade occur, or at least a trade with him losing so much. Something up ahead caught Crix's eye. He pulled to a stop and jumped out. He bent over what looked like a pile of dung, splattered on the ground. He used a finger and scooped a small piece and gave it a sniff. Odorous, but not strong. Fresh, but not fresh enough that it had been layed at least some time ago. He would guess less then an hour at the most. There were no tracks near the dung, but his prey possibly rode a flying lizard of sorts. By the splatter of the dung, it was dropped from a high distance. He was on track. But something was off. Their was another smell that was much more horrid then dung. Something else, something stronger. The wind picked up for a moment, and the scent of that would make normal humans and aliens gag breezed through his helmet. Dead flesh... With these winds it was impossible to judge how far the smell came from, but it was a sign that Crix was close. He could feel it somewhere in his body. He looked upwind, and in the distance a dune blocked his path. Could his prey be on the other side? He quickly made he way to it, leaving his speeder behind. If his prey was on the other side, he would like to keep the speeder out of sight but also nearby in case he bolted. The dune was a bit steeper then he liked, but he didn't care. Once he was at the top.... There! In the distance, several dunes away in the sky, a shape circling an unseeable object from where Crix stood. His mouth smiled with rows of sharp carnivorous teeth. His heart began to beat faster. His muscles began to loosen, feeling the sensation of visible target. His The beast inside of him began to stir to life. He pulled his rifle from his back and aimed at the target, trying to gauge the distance. It was far, too far to get a kill shot with his rifle. He cursed himself for not having something to snipe with. He needed to get closer, but that would mean he'd have to sneak across open areas to get a shot. No, he needed to lure the beast to him.... Voice Output: Max for five seconds. Start in five seconds. Crix spoke. The basic computer in his helmet recognised the simple voice command and the helmet prepared to enhance whatever he would say and make it as loud as possible. Crix closed his eyes. He could hear the crowds....the chanting... the cheers of men and women reveling from the bloody spectacle from the previous match. He could smell the fresh blood on the ground, the cheap alcohol.... there was the chanting for the next match....the announcer, the energetic announcer... "Ladies and Gentlemen, the match you've all been waiting for... the man who killed his own team to save his life Crix growled a bit. His mouth began to water in eagerness. The killer of men... the beast of Nar Shaddaa.... The computer beeped once, saying one more beep and the speaker in his helmet would be ready. You're champion, your hunter and slaughterer.... Another beep. NEXU! And with that, Crix threw his head back and roared. A roar from his gladiatorial days. A roar of a beast. A roar of alpha animal, establishing his domain. A roar that came from the chest, the gut, the heart, and soul. His challenge to the beast of the sky carried across the sands of Tatooine. The sands would see blood today, and Crix would be one to shed it.

As the small ship landed and docked, Crix left the human with a simple goodbye: a word of advice to avoid the wastelands out here. The human only nodded and told the Gank to watch out for the hutts. Crix didn't need to be reminded about those slimeballs and in turn simple left without another word. Crix breathed in as the sands of the planet whipped lightly against his feet. He couldn't help but for a moment observe the people walking around, none of them giving the Gank a look. They were used to bounty hunters and off worlders on this planet. Despite being a waste hole, this sandy orb out in the middle of nowhere was a perfect place for criminals to gather and hide and even make a life if they wanted to retire, provided they could stand the threats of the planet. Crix could never do that. True, he spent some time here, hunting for the hutts, doing a few profitable battles in gladiatorial arenas, etc. But to retire and live here... Crix didn't think he could retire at all. He was Nexu. Long live the hunt. Crix made his way to the center of town, going to the one place where information and greased palms passed through more then any other place in a town, even one as small as Boonta Eve: the cantina. A trick he had learned from working for the hutts was that the best place to start looking for low-life was where the alcohol was. The gank killer frowned in disgust as he entered the lively cantina. People were laughing, drinking, dancing, having a good time trying to make life a little better by ignoring the worst things outside. He made his way towards the bar area, where he got a very surprised and scared look from the owner, whom Crix couldn't tell if it was male or female. "Listen, I don't want any fights in here gank" Ah, so this one dealt with Gank killers before. Or maybe something else. And you won't as long as you tell me what I want and you give me something strong The owner didn't argue. His eyes opened in curiosity as he handed a glass of liquid to the Gank, curious if he was going to see what was under the helmet. Crix tapped a button on the side that opened up the lower portion of the helmet, large enough for a mouth of teeth to be seen. Usually, Crix only opened it after a battle to feed, but the sandy planet made him thirsty. He closed the mask after one gulp. The drink was weaker than what Crix would've preferred but it quenched his thirst for a while. You wouldn't happen to know where the nearest Tuskan tribe is, would you? Another surprised look. "Um... I think there is one a small distance away. Though I don't think anyone here has posted a bounty on the tribe. They have been surprisingly good at leaving people here alone" Pity, but I'm not looking for a bounty. I already have one. A Tuskan who goes by... he had to pull out his own pad to get the pronounciation right. roarer. I figure if I hit up a few tribes, I may get his location. "Um, but Tuskans don't deal with outsiders" the owner pointed out the obvious. Crix grew a little annoyed at this person. Bad drinks, bad info... I didn't say I'd be asking nicely. As he said this, he crushed the empty cup with his robatic hand to show his annoyance. "Um, but it is coincidental you are here. A tuskan was here, though. With some kind of flying lizard to boot. Made a mess here with two others." ...go on "Well, he and this blue haired female had a fight, though it was odd cause she kissed him and such, so maybe it was a lover's thing. I don't know, but it scared some of my customers." I thought Tuskans didn't take off their masks... "The girl knocked it off.." A traiter to his own beliefs. My target. Where did he go? "Well, um, he and the blue-haired girl and another guy in armor left without talking to anyone. I have no idea..." Crix made a fist with his good arm, and a vibroblade began to pop out from his wrist, stopping short of the owner's chest. WHERE DID THEY GO? Crix demanded. The owner panicked. While he may have been used to being threatened, something about Crix scared the owner to the core. What was it... The owner held up his large hands in a surrendering motion. "I heard about which way the lizard flew! That's all I know I swear!" Crix retracted his blade and interrogated the being further, until he was satisfied. He had gotten information about ideas which way the Tuskan may have gone, the nearest tribe, even where he found buy a speeder. Crix began to leave the building when he had a thought. You've seen me fight, didn't you? You go to the gladiatorial matches... Crix laughed as the owner nodded nervously. He had seen the Nexu battle and slaughter his enemies. No wonder he was scared. The grin under Crix's mask remained all the way until he was out the door. Tatooine's suns were beginning to set as Crix payed his credits to the local for borrowing his speeder, with some extra in case he didn't bring it back. Soon, he was out in the wastelands, heading in the direction where the flying lizard had gone towards.

Crix took the datapad and without looking back at the, what he deemed the 'rude' receptionist, gave the bounty's a look, starting at the bottom, what he figured were the longest, and thus hardest bounties were. He was slightly disappointed at the rather short list, but made do. He smirked a bit at the last one. It wasn't worth chasing across the galaxy for a frail old man who was a member for a religion of superstitions. Plus the reward money wasn't worth the trip, despite being easy. The only superstitions he believed in was that of the arena: A happy crowd makes lots of money, and a killing spectacle made a happy crowd. He passed over the Hapan princess. Capturing nobility had its attractions, and while it could be fun to ambush a Hapan in a room darkened by the cold night, he would have a lot of people trying to catch him on the way out. He marked it as a potential job later on, but for now, he wanted something different. That left the Tuskan. He mused for a moment. He had seen and even killed one or two of those savage beings when he worked for the hutts on a few jobs on Tatooine. They were fierce, though primitive. They typically only bothered locals, and even then a good blaster in a trained handcould scare them off. Why would Black Sun want.... He stopped breathing for a moment. The reason: Abandonment of Contract. A person who had given their word to do a job, whether it was to hunt someone, protect another, or do a simple delivery, and then didn't follow through. Maybe he was alone, maybe he turned on his team. One word came to Crix's lips and was not picked up by the speakers in his helmet; a word he hated to the very core of his being. Traiter Images flashed for a moment in his head. Faces long ago. Old teammates. His robotic hand scratched the holster along his side where the engraved name of Dressak Skel was underneath on the illegal weapon. Yes, this bounty... a perfect bounty for a warrior like himself. Tuskan vs Nexu. The Savage and the Beast, in a battle to the death. Mark this dirty sandperson as taken He dropped the pad onto the desk and walked away. He's as good as dead. It took a while for the gank to hire a ship to take him to Tatooine. Crix reasoned that Tatooine would be the best place to start looking. As far as he knew, Tuskans never left that desert planet. If he could get there, he could question the cantinas, maybe attack some of the tribes, get an idea for where he may have gone and get some practice at killing some of those savages before the real deal. He eventually found a squat fat human with a palm as greasy as a jawa's. The human's cargo ship heading to that distant planet with what Crix guessed were illicit goods, and he mentioned that he needed some muscle, just in case the locals tried to delay his shipment. The mention of Crix used to working for the hutts seemed to make the man appreciate him more. They both knew what was happening in the ship. A good bodyguard would warn away some of the trouble. As the man piloted the ship into space, Crix sat next to the large containers, tapping a vibrodagger against his armor. With each clink, he visualized his old team mates faces. This will be fun he breathed, clinking his knife again and again.