Pinckz

Wrong profile. >.<

“Carris, stop dawdling!” Cybil’s eyes creased as the bright light of Corell peeked over the horizon. The early morning breeze played at the sides of her face, trying to get at the hair she had tucked into her helmet. She lowered her visor and triggered the macro binoculars to get a better look around, while using her hand in an attempt to block out the bright sunlight that was getting brighter by the minute. “There was a report of Sith activity a few clicks outside Coronet. And we’re not going to get anywhere with you dragging your feet. Now move!” Cybil growled through her helmet comm. The Bothan in question was sluggishly bringing up the rear. His expression was professional, but his tone suggested vague exasperation. “C’mon Sergeant, we’re supposed to be on leave. The captain told us to use this time to relax. Why are we out here chasing a Sith that probably isn’t even out here?” Cybil’s icy gaze grew colder as she stared down at Carris. His petulance was beginning to wear her down. But she couldn’t stop when there was a Sith on planet. She couldn’t relax knowing that there was a wild card wandering around. “You know why we can’t let this go unchallenged. The Sith are pushing their advantage on Kuat and a number of other planets. Maybe even planets we don’t know about. So you can bet your furry rump that I’m going to take all intel regarding Sith activity seriously. You aren’t going to go far in the military by playing safe.” Out of the corner of her gaze, Cybil spotted movement and dropped to the ground. Carris plopped prone as well but a few seconds later than Cybil. “What did you see, C?” “Shhhhh!” Cybil triggered the stealth generator on her waist and crawled to the lip of the hillock they were on. With a flick of her finger, the macro binoculars were disabled and her sight went back to normal range. “I saw a hooded figure over the horizon. Move carefully. You stay here and send our location to rebel command, I’ll make my way around to get a flanking position on him and see if I can’t occupy him until reinforcements arrive. Remember to shield your thoughts. And, until we’re done, keep radio chatter to essential information.” With a final affirmative to Carris, Cybil crawled across the crown of the hillock and used the cover of surrounding trees to help boost the effectiveness of her stealth field. Normally, if this were a Sith, she’d try to shoot them from a distance. But the stealth field generator obscured any shot from further than twenty feet away and she wasn’t one hundred percent sure this was a Sith. A hooded figure out in the open was plenty suspicious but that didn’t mean it wasn’t an estranged local. She strafed at a good distance from the figure with light footsteps, doing her best to empty her mind and calm her frantically pounding heart. When she found a nice clump of bushes and trees to the south of the shrouded figure, she closed until she could see the figure clearly through the stealth field at approximately twenty feet. She got down to one knee and balanced her DLT with both hands, using the scope to measure up her ‘prey.’ A metallic cylinder glinted on the figure’s hip, their clothes were dark, and something about them seemed to radiate malevolence. If this wasn’t a Sith, they were a very good liar. Cybil breathed deeply as Corell - Corellia's beautifully oblivious ball of radiation and fire - rose peaceably above them. She balanced her thoughts as she gently switched her rifle to stun and ever so carefully moved her hand to the trigger. When she was sure that she'd hit, her trigger finger pulled at the thin strip of metal beneath it and blew a shot into the clearing aimed straight at the Sith’s center of mass. The force and sound of the shot broke her stealth field and she knew she’d have to get to her feet quickly. But it’d be worth it. For Coruscant… she muttered under her breath. [[ 1a ]]

The smuggler grumbled a little under his breath, grabbing a new cigar from his jacket pocket and lighting it up. He took each of their hands in turn and matched their grips. He looked both of them in the eye and kept eye contact with each of them for a good ten seconds. It was how he knew whether they were full of druk or not. Unfortunately, it looked like both of them was telling the force's honest truth. Which meant that Malin’s second delivery would be of questionable origin. He’d barely made it out of the Coruscant port before his smuggling enterprise took a criminal turn. He long suspected it was a matter of time. But he figured it would take months, not days. Some part of him wanted to ask. A niggling worrisome part in the back of his mind desperately wanted to know why the Black Sun was shipping out bad bacta and liquid explosives. But the part of him that hadn’t had a decent meal in a little over a week was louder. It’s okay Malin. As long as you don’t have to use the gorram stuff, you should be good. Malin took a long hard look at his ship. He swallowed away what little professional pride clung to the back of his mouth and sighed almost imperceptibly. “Yea, I’m interested. But first I’d like to lay down a couple conditions,” Malin replied. “First, I want a guarantee from you both that the Black Sun will not harm my crew or my ship even if they are not directly affiliated with the Black Sun. And, second, if jobs run low in the Outer Rim and you run out of smuggling requests, I want the freedom to run jobs with anyone that can pay. That is unless they put out jobs that directly oppose quests and jobs made by you and yours." Malin cracked his knuckles together and took a long hard drag from the cigar still in his mouth. Then a mischievous grin broke the stolid lines of his face. “If all that’s okay. I’d say we’re in business. Just point me to the first shipment and I’ll be on my way.”

The Besalisk grumbled a little when someone interrupted him in the middle of one of his stories. But Rufus’ face fell a few degrees when he noticed that the interruption was none other than a Black Sun viceroy and her escort. He bowed meekly and scuttled as gracefully as he could into the Farstriders Rest main thoroughfare. “The Black Sun is interested in MY exploits?” Malin chortled, eyeing the surveillance cameras located at every corner of the docking bay. “I’d be foolish not to admit I’m curious how they found my exploits when I’ve only had a few. But, we can get to that another time. Where are my manners?” Malin removed his wide-brimmed hat, placed it to his chest and took a deep bow. “Honor ma’am. I don’t think I ever met a Black Sun top gun such as yerself. I must admit, I didn’t take ye for a mercenary, or a crook. And if you are, yer the nicest looking criminal I’ve ever seen. Name’s Malin, Malin Wrynn. And I’m always looking for work. Oh! And between you and me, I’m grateful you interrupted Rufus when you did, he likes to ramble a lot about his past with the Starlight Corsairs. He thinks it makes him sound tough.” Malin fiddled with a cigar in his right hand. He settled his eyes on the viceroy and put his hat back on his ruffled black hair. “What particular job did ya have in mind?”

“Raider’s Tempest with a shipment of medicine, provisions, and materials, requesting permission to land,” Malin reported over the ship’s comm system. Amara, who was firmly planted in the co-pilot seat, looked back at the Smuggler with wide eyes hidden behind goggles and gasped. “Mal, I thought we were the ‘Bloated Torton.’ Do I need to remember a new ship name?” Amara’s nose crinkled a little as the skin under the nosepiece of her goggles started to itch. Malin, thinking quickly and disabling the audio transmission for a second, looked at Amara with a sense of smug satisfaction. “Nah, this baby has a rotating transponder system. It has a load of different identifications. We could register with anyone who wanted us as different names and go into any system if we wanted to. Obviously, we can’t do that right now because all of the transponders aren’t registered anywhere. However, it does mean that it’ll be easier to run away if we get caught doing something bad.” Malin rubbed at the scruff of hair that had grown on his chin during the flight, adding a subtle reminder to shave to the many things that clouded the space between his ears. “Now do me a favor and be still a moment, Amy. I need to make sure we're clear to land.” Amara scowled but quieted as she watched the ball of sand and dirt shift into view. Malin clicked the audio transmitter back on just as he got an answer from the Mos Eisley comm tower. “You are cleared to land, Raider’s Tempest. Please proceed to the Farstrider’s Rest space station.” A little unsure of himself, Malin paused. He took a moment to get some VFR before spotting the large space station sitting in the sand ball's orbit. “Please proceed to dock 5, freight and transit, thank you.” Malin nodded to the disembodied voice and maneuvered his large turtle-like vessel until it was nestled carefully into the designated docking bay. The docking clamps emerged shortly after and the ship came to a rest with several satisfying thunks. Malin, days of travel wearing down his face, looked to Amy and Celine with a pleasant smile. “Time to christen this new bird with its first job. Care to do the honors with me, Amy?” Malin asked, offering his hand. Amy started for a second but retracted her hand almost immediately. “N-no. I can’t go out there. They’ll find me.” Malin cocked his head to the side. “They?” As if in answer to his question, a knock sounded on the docking bay door, echoing through the ship and interrupting the awkward silence that had begun to set in. Amara flinched and jumped almost a foot into the air. Celine caught her and put her arms protectively around the young Togruta. The finely articulated arms of the droid moved with more grace than her clunky body would suggest. And while it wasn’t aggressive, Malin made a mental note of the droid’s capability. “Alright, Celine. Then can you please keep an eye on her and don’t let anyone in here while I’m gone unless you hear my voice give you a specific catch-phrase over the comms?” The droid nodded. Malin whispered a small phrase to her then ambled out of the docking bay door, arming himself and closing the door behind him as he left. Before he could get more than two steps onto the tarmac and just as the hissing of his closing ship’s door eked out, Malin was stopped by a colorful trio of thugs. The frontman, scraggly and slightly aloof, was a Devaronian. And while it wasn’t immediately obvious, he was apparently the mouth of this cadre of miscreants. He started to make his way toward Malin, his movements slow and calculated. But Malin’s stony gaze rattled him, causing him to stop in his tracks and look to the others that bookended him. “So, what you three doin outside my boat?” Malin asked, a small scowl playing on the edge of his lips. You could hear wool scraping across durasteel with how silent the next moments were. Malin almost thought they didn’t hear him when the Devaronian finally discovered his stones and spoke up. “We’re here to collect the girl.” “Girl? What girl? I may be a pretty man, but I ain’t pretty enough to fit that qualification, thank you.” Malin said, his mouth bending into a little smile. “And, if I were, no offense, I don’t think I’d be interested in you. You’re uh… not my type.” The Devaronian visibly paled and his two Houk friends laughed a little, despite their earlier stoicism. When his composure returned, a touch of deeper scarlet mingled with the lines of the Devaronian’s face. “My name is Devarus Kathek, and we are here to retrieve Mr. Quelos’ property. He is a very wealthy individual with stock on Thyferra and a fair shake of the Outer Rim. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind paying you for turning over his property. He might even… entertain… your seemingly odd preferences.” Devarus smiled a slimy smile at his own attempt at humor. But Malin wasn’t smiling this time. “No one is ‘property,’ least of all, a kid. Now, I don’t mind entertaining your strange thoughts. But if you think either of you is going to step on my ship or manipulate me into giving over a living breathing being, pain is going to be the least of your worries.” Malin’s fingers hovered over the steel of his slugthrowers. Each finger stretched in time and he breathed easy through the manufactured air provided by the Farstrider's life support and HVAC systems. The Houks eyed each other warily while the Devaronian scoffed. “You’re bluff-” The Devaronian attempted to say and then keeled over in pain. The Houks didn’t know what had happened, but they heard a noise and rushed at where Malin was standing. The shot had barely echoed when Malin sidestepped the right Houk, narrowly avoiding his advance, and lowered himself beneath the left’s center of balance, causing him to flip end-over-end and slam into the metal of the Bloated Torton’s hull. Malin held both of his slugthrowers in his clenched palms and stared daggers beneath the rim of his wide-brimmed hat. “I’m terrible at gambling. I never bluff.” Malin’s words were iron. He clipped each syllable as if the weight of every word was important. The Devaronian, a shocked expression printed across his face, stood up and gaped at the open hole that had been shot through his horns. “Next time, the shot will be lethal. Get your scrawny piece of kriffing druk out of this space station. NOW.” Malin fired a warning shot off the hangar walls and watched as the three thugs scurried out with their hands on their heads. “We’ll be back with more you kriffing junker. We’ll be back!!!” Devarus said as he ran and then disappeared down the nearest corridor. I don’t doubt it. Damn it, Malin, what have you gotten yourself into this time? When he looked down, he was grasping at the small locket around his neck. A little F shined in the bright light of the hangar. Docking officials, who were ‘conveniently’ misplaced during his altercation were now making their way over to his ship and ushering the transfer and stevedore of his cargo. He stayed just outside of the open door until the process was complete, monitoring his surroundings for a resurgence of Devarus or any of Mr. Quelos’ thugs. “Malin, as I live and breathe, what're you doing here?” The voice was familiar but Malin couldn’t quite place it. When he turned to face the newcomer, Malin was swept into a large sweaty hug. A big Besalisk face greeted him with a wide grin and its arms tugged tighter before letting the Smuggler down, letting the color return to his face. “Rufus, what’re you doin’ here? You working for Black Sun now?” Malin asked, still eyeing the docking bay for signs of trouble. “Yup. They made me a provisional docking official while they scramble to staff this beast. It’s a miracle they managed to turn this hunk of junk into something practical in the first place. I can’t say I was their best decision. But I definitely think they’re doing great things for this ball of sand.” Rufus’s smile was echoed by the number of chins that rested beneath his fat lips. “Good ol’ Rufus, ever the optimist. Think you could hook me up with someone with cargo to move?” Malin asked, looking over at one of the dock workers as they almost dropped a crate full of valuable medical supplies. “Well, first, here is your cut for the delivery you made. Black Sun wishes to show their appreciation for contributing to their efforts out here on the Outer Rim.” Rufus said. And although it wasn’t sarcastic, Malin read a bit of sarcasm in the words ‘Black Sun’ and ‘appreciation.’ “Now, I can’t promise you anything official. But I can put in a word to my boss and see if he can find you some work. Just hang tight here for a little bit, try not to cause any more trouble, and I’ll see what I can do. Alright?” “Aww Rufus, you know me, what could possibly go wrong?” Rufus’ jovial smile shifted into a knowing grimace. “I seriously wish you hadn’t’ve said that.”

<< The message's contact is heavily encrypted. The message is passed through open enough channels that most that know what to look for will find the information >> Looking for a discrete load to be transported? I’m your guy. Legitimate business, or under the table deals are both welcome. Please no: Livestock (Unless you bring your own crew to haul and care for em’) Passengers (Too many unknowns) Just forward the details through an encrypted channel to this number: 3344 - 73821 - 8675309 - 2214 - 000

Malin tensed the mangled bits of his leg and patted his thigh as the shuttle pulled away from Willy’s scrapyard. He looked listless out the shuttle viewport. The passengers muttered to themselves, keeping their minds to their own beleaguered affairs. The gruff smuggler, who looked even younger than he was, rubbed at the gritty stubble of his lower jaw and ground his back teeth as a splinter of pain crawled up his fresh khaki cargo pants. Billiam thought that Malin needed a new look. And, despite Malin’s strange love for his bantha hide duster, Malin’s notable cliche outfit seemed a bit difficult to hide. And he needed to hide. However, his new outfit left something to be desired. His new hair, cropped short with a little left over to drape nicely, and matching beard, which was trimmed a lot shorter than he’d like, left his hands stroking his chin and head with anxious fervor. The ship he has for me better be gorram sweet… This is demeaning. The only saving grace to the whole affair was a cool looking fully articulated hip holster set for his DL-44’s. They matched the nice stylish leather jacket that the scrap owner loaned him. It wasn’t super fancy, but it wasn’t him. And that was the point. Now, despite his misgivings, Malin was heading deep into the heart of the core to see a man about a leg. Malin winced, taking stock of his recent appearance changes and rubbing his chin yet again.

Ooof… Malin was ‘tossed’ onto a pull-out couch in the proprietor’s main office area. It was the only part of the facility that had a roof and was even vaguely atmosphere controlled. He landed with the grace of a 10-ton bag of cement, smashing his back and the back of his neck on the stiff piece of furniture. To and Bo chuckled and then walked out the main door, bookending the passage. The metal doors sealed behind them and made a slight hissing sound as the office airlocks cycled. Then, silence; merciful silence. The Smuggler wasted no time in removing the helmet of his vac suit and taking a breath of the stale, cigar touched, air. It was a relief, if a bit congesting, to breath in air that wasn’t self-contained in a suit. There was more variety, more depth… more something. Malin couldn’t really explain it. He shifted his weight, wincing for a moment, and righted himself on the old cracked leather couch. He let his arms and leg spread out and then allowed the back of his head to rest itself on the back of the cushion. His greasy black hair draped out behind him and pooled on the back wall. The couch groaned and protested, the leather creaking and cracking in new ways as Malin moved about. But, in the end, it settled. An hour passed. Malin thought to get up, to leave the couch and start gauging, or planning. But the welcome call of the couch on his pain-addled joints was too loud. The stiff material had worked itself into something resembling comfort, which was more than Malin had had in quite a while. And, just when his comfort was about to hit its peak, the airlocks cycled again, and Will walked in, shedding his suit as he made his way toward the other side of the room and his moderately sized desk. He was looking at a datapad and didn’t pay any attention to Malin until the doors were closed and To and Bo had once again retreated to their positions outside. After they left, the scrapyard owner looked up from his datapad with a wild grin on his face. It was the kind of grin you’d see in an overly happy person; way too much lip and more teeth than anyone should rightly show. Then, he laughed. Malin’s thoughts scattered, unsure how to react to this situation. So, in return, Malin laughed. They shared the moment chuckling. It was, odd. Malin couldn’t place the feeling of the situation and felt very awkward. Will stopped laughing first and looked at Malin with a twinkle in his green eyes. Without his suit, Malin could get a good look at the junk pusher. He had a scraggly brown beard that was decently groomed. His green eyes were framed by a fresh, albeit scrawny, face. And, his accent was something of a mix. It wasn’t really Corellian and it wasn’t really Coruscanti. It fell somewhere in between. “It really has been a long time Malin. Nice to see you. Now, what the kriff happened with your ship?” Will’s guard and apprehension faded. “It looks like quite a bit of damage was done. Got yourself into another jam, huh?” Malin smiled a genuine open-faced smile. “That’s a bit of a story Will. I might even tell it to you. But, for now, all that I care about is selling that ship, getting my leg looked at and making it away from this mess with some kinda profit. Force only knows I earned it.” Will cocked his head to the right side as he took his seat at the moderately sized desk that abutted the far side of the room. On the desk was an assortment of knick-knacks, some diminutive devices/inventions, and a placard that read: ‘Will Natronus, owner, and proprietor of Big Will’s Scrapyard.’ “I would like to hear more, but I don’t think keeping you here would be a very wise choice.” Will said, his smile fading a little and lapsing into a more neutral expression. “Oh? And why’s that,” Malin asked. His stomach lurched. He suspected he knew the answer. Though, he really wished he was wrong. “Well, that’s a long story, Malin. And I might even tell you. But, let’s take stock of the more pressing matters, shall we. We made nice for anyone watching us outside. Now that we’re in the sanctity of my little office, I’ll see if I can’t help you out. What’s wrong with your leg?” Will asked, his tone ambivalent, but laced with some measure of concern. “Some schutta blew my Achilles out with point-blank blaster fire. Ruined my favorite boots too.” Malin replied without missing a beat. Will hissed through his teeth, empathizing almost immediately and moving his arm to his legs as if he could feel an echo of the sensation in his own body. “Damn.” Malin sighed, looked up to the ceiling and closed his eyes, watching the lines of durasteel as they danced about the back of his weary eyelid. “Yeah.” “I might have a contact that you could see about that, on planet. You can take a shuttle from here to Coruscant if you don’t plan on taking your ship.” Will said, giving Malin a moment to process. “I-I might just do that.” Malin coughed, reaching idly in his coat’s breast pocket, searching for cigarettes that weren’t there. “Do you know what happened to my other ship?” “Yeah… about that.” Will swallowed a little and looked anywhere but at Malin. “It was impounded by the Nabooian military and sent to the Galactic Alliance impound lot for safe-keeping.” Malin’s eyes grew two times wider than their natural state. His heart almost skipped out of his chest. And, for a moment, he could scarcely remember getting a leg injury. “IT’S WHAT?!” Will reacted to Malin’s anger, but didn’t cower or wince. He greeted the exclamation with an ambivalent gesture. One that showed Malin he was not giving credence to Malin’s furious objection. “Your personal effects were surrendered to the Nabooian Military for safe keeping. That said, I do have a ship you can have. I owe you, after all.” Malin’s thoughts were distant. He kept his eyes trained on the ceiling and did his best to stifle the burning fire that slept in his heart. “You do? How did you come by this ship?” Malin asked. The Smuggler wasn’t really interested. But he couldn’t help a morbid curiosity. “That is for me to know Malin. Now, let me help you with your leg and we’ll get you set up somewhere.”

The clunky poacher ship rolled out of hyperspace with a terrible lurch, sending Malin tumbling from the pilot’s chair to the cold deck plates. His greasy unwashed hair smooshed into his face and the back of his head punched the metal with an uncomfortable pop. His hat slipped a little but remained near the Smuggler’s matted dome. “T’ain’t right. Glad no one saw that…” Malin said to the silence. He used his arms to levy himself to his feet and ease himself back into the chair, just in time to see the large spaceborne junkyard sail into view. The words ‘Big Will’s Scrap Emporium’ hovered for a moment before the bloated ship carried on to the docking bay. Malin gripped the yoke with his gun-hand and, for a moment, his face contorted with discomfort. The grip was all wrong. The head of the yoke was designed for someone with bigger hands. It felt awkward in his mitted fingers. Still, it was decently sensitive and he maneuvered the whale at a decent pace before parking it in the scrapyard’s well-appointed pier. Big Will huh? Sounds like ‘ole willy is over-compensating for something. Malin limped his way to the airlock, wiping the sweat from his brow and keeping his head on a swivel. He dropped his spear crutch when he arrived and began locking himself in a vac suit because the scrapyard was open to space. He had to shuffle to a bench and pull the suit on with a lot more care than usual. But he managed alright. He winced a few times when the suit pushed against his wound and had to compensate for the pain, but that was to be expected. When the last seal was clipped on his suit, the smuggler stood up, grabbed his crutch and started the airlock procedure. He waited patiently and was surprised to find a welcoming party waiting for him, with guns drawn. Malin stuck both of his arms up. His crutch dropped and the Smuggler almost fell to the ground again. “Hey there! I-uh… what’s with the guns fellas?” Malin looked up at two very angry Weequays in vac suits holding T-21 rifles and aiming them square at Malin’s head. They didn’t respond. But, they didn’t shoot him either. Which was good. A squirrelly figure walked through the center of the bookending Weequays. He was a half a foot taller than Malin and had a head of messy black hair obscured beneath his vac suit. His pure green eyes picked clear the smuggler’s veil and looked directly into Malin’s pale blue soul. Then, the scrawny man smiled. “Malin, as I live and breathe. What brings you to my side of Coruscant?” Malin’s wearied face cracked a small smile, but his hands were still up. “Nothing much. The Weequays are new.” Malin said, pointing at the two angry aliens with his eyes. “Yeah, with conflict ramping up in the galaxy, I needed a little extra insurance. Now, what brings Sergeant Wrynn to my humble abode.” The rank made Malin’s face visibly cringe. He looked away from the scrawny fella and tried to avoid his gaze. “Like I said Billy, nothing much. I need to sell some things and I need to find a solution to my problem appendage. Other than that, I’m stopping for a moment to catch my breath.” “Billy? Is that the best you got? Ha.” Will scoffed. “To and Bo, hold your fire. Watch him, but let him come in. If he has some business with us like he says, we’ll hear him out. In the meantime, I want to inspect the ship.” “Oh,” Malin said. His mind rolled over the bloodstains on the deck plates, the smells of battle and the hidden cache of loot. “You don’t need to do that Willy, there’s nothing nefarious, I promise.” “Yeah, well, excuse me if I don’t trust the word of a deserter. To and Bo, take Mr. Wrynn inside and make sure he’s comfortable.” Will said before turning to move his way further into the poacher’s ship. Kriff… Malin felt the strength of the Weequay as they picked him up and started carting him into the floating junkyard.

The smuggler prodded at the metal door of the fridge once more, prompting the carpet chipmunks to say something. But all he got was the subtle hum of the ship’s life support. So, shuffling his way over to the door with his gun and his crutch, Malin pulled at the door to release it from its resting place. It was a little difficult. Malin fell once or twice to the harsh tile floor before the door finally popped open, revealing two – very dead – Ewoks. They’d died from suffocation; being locked in a fridge with no airholes for twelve plus hours will do that to you. He darn near fired at the corpses before hauling them out, but when they didn’t move, he pulled them in earnest and skinned them when he gathered them all together. All told, he had about five furs in scrap, two pristine furs, and about five hundred thousand credits in valuables and poacher loot. Today was a very interesting day. Exhausted, pained, and vulnerable, the Smuggler dragged himself and his haul to the cockpit and plotted a course to an unmarked destination near Coruscant.

Here lies the incredibly unfortunate and incredibly good-looking roguish Malin who foolishly ran off in the hopes of relieving yet another debt... 3 Force only knows what Malin was thinking when he ambled out to Endor. And after Malin gave fond farewells to, his boot, 'Lefty,' Juk, Jim, Jaro, Hairlip, Leffim, and the rest, Malin prepared to kiss his ass goodbye… 2 He will be missed by very few. And the few friends he made in his history will remember him fondly while drinking hard liquor and enjoying life in his absence… 1 Malin squeezed his eyelids together and gripped the handle of one of his guns, preparing his mind and body to feel the full force of the explosion. He would not greet death without a gun in his hand. His grip tightened, white knuckles on steel. He even said a silent prayer as he closed out his mock sermon. But, just as he began to sing the final notes of his own ballad, the stillness of the ship’s air filters brushed against his nose. Cautiously, he opened his eyes and re-adjusted to the fluorescent light. The wearied smuggler looked around at the three locked doors and the fizzing light above him. Either this was a facsimile of Purgatory, or nothing happened… "Well... that was anti-climactic" Malin commented to no one in particular. The pain in his leg throbbed dully, but the blood had stopped for the moment. He would need to bandage it soon, but the light touch of gravity was a boon. Less pressure on his leg granted him a decent level of mobility. He looked to the nearest control panel and found that the triggers for the bulkheads were locked. He would have to open them manually. Joy. Malin grunted and floated his way around the small enclosure, keeping his eyes peeled for any sudden movements. He figured that all the furry buggers were dead, but he wasn’t about to go check. It was just a footnote observation as he sailed over to one of the bulkheads and started the arduous process of cracking open the manual override compartment and pulling the lever with loose hands. He placed his gun back in its holster and gripped the glaring red plastic with his calloused hands. But he had to use his entire body to provide enough leverage to trigger the mechanism. Gravity was a tricky thing and you never knew how much you missed it until it was gone. When the lock clicked and the bulkhead released, Malin spotted another bulkhead a few feet away and groaned. This was going to be a lot harder than he thought. _____ Hours passed. Malin had manually made his way to the cockpit and not only disabled the emergency code, but also released all the ship-based door locks and regulated the gravity. The doors between corridors and the sealed bulkheads were now removed and the rest of the ship was accessible. The self-destruct was disabled and he was balancing himself with a broken spear, which was loaned to him by a deceased Ewok. More repairs were necessary. He was glad that the poachers thought to put enough fuel in the ship to get them where they needed to go; and even happier that the Ewoks had not sabotaged the fuel. But the little terror teddies had bitten through a lot of the ship’s systems. Not to mention, there were a plethora of corpses that were smelling up the place and causing quite a few tremors to build in the ailing smuggler’s stomach. Hyperdrive systems were disabled. Life support systems, though stable, needed a little tuning. Electrical connections to certain ship terminals were chewed clean through. Plating in certain places needed to be replaced. And, to top it off, watching the onboard ship surveillance, which was surprisingly untouched, he found that two Ewoks had not only found their way into the galley, but they had locked themselves in a refrigerator. Why? That was anyone’s guess. But, for now, there were bigger nuna to roast. Malin hobbled his way down the blood-strewn corridors to the med bay. It wasn’t a fully stocked infirmary with all the trimmings. And, between the poachers and Ewoks, it had seen better days. But it had a decent stock of medical supplies and all the supplies were in locked cabinets, inaccessible to the mangy moppets unless they smashed them apart. Which, the Ewoks had attempted to do. Some of the cabinets were smashed to pieces with medical tools scattered everywhere. Some Ewok carcasses were riddled with needles puncturing their furry remains. Others died clutching burn patches and medical tape. Yet, Malin managed to find a few of the cabinets that were still untouched. He worked his way over to one and pulled a small sliver of metal from the space behind his ear. He worked the little piece of metal into the lock affixed to the side of the box and pressed his ear to the metal of the lock. Nothing happened. Malin grunted a little, re-examined the lock and placed the sliver back into the opening, working it around. He felt the tumblers of the rudimentary lock flick the edge of his pick and remembered that he needed another piece of metal to turn the lock and activate the mechanism. It didn’t take much snooping. The floor was littered with glittering pieces of broken metal and glass. Malin glanced at a broken syringe on the ground and grabbed the metal part. He pried it into the small hole, wrenched it around with his metal pick and heard a satisfying click. The cabinet opened, revealing antiseptic, bandages, and a few other medicinal items. Malin grabbed greedily for the medicine and fell backward onto the floor, griping at the spike of pain that afflicted his leg. That evil witch… The Smuggler struggled to his feet – well, more like ‘foot’ – and grabbed for the antiseptic. He turned, levying himself on an examination table, removed the stopper and applied it to his wound, wincing as the chemicals neutralized the building infection. He grabbed a few stabilizing metal and wood pieces from the weapons that littered the med bay and tied them together with the bandages and medical tape from the cabinet, fashioning a very crude splint. He looked down at the bundle and grimaced. But, there was medicine on his wounds and they were bandaged. Anything else was just icing on an unfortunate cake. Deciding against bothering the Ewoks sandwiched in the galley, for the time being, Malin set out on the various repairs, prioritizing the hyperdrive and life support. ___ More hours passed... The hyperdrive was… Kind of fixed. Malin was skilled with improvised solutions. But he didn’t have the proper tools to completely fix the drive. It had a few jumps at best, but it would break down when they got core-ward. The Life Support on the other hand only had a few hiccups in its internal wiring system. With minor adjustments, the ventilation systems regulated and finally managed to properly circulate the stale air. After that was finished, Malin started looting and skinning. He fleeced all the dead poachers, and skinned the useable fur from the dead Ewoks, hefting the furs into a crate and putting all the poacher’s belongings into a big bag. It wasn’t his best moment. But there was no sense in leaving the stuff lying around. That and the corpses were starting to become a nuisance. When he found the time, he dragged all the visible corpses to the airlock chamber and flushed them into space. When it was all over, the Smuggler finally collapsed into the pilot’s chair and sighed deeply. He rubbed at the grease covered, sweat-matted, blood caked skin of his left and right temples and lit one of the cigarettes he ‘liberated’ from one of the dead poachers. His bones were rattling. He’d left his hat on the cockpit control panel before he went to make repairs and now his hair was a brackish mess of black and brown. Sleep plagued the deepest parts of his mind. Yet, the thought of Ewoks in the fridge plagued him deeper still. It had been almost half a day, they might be dead. He thought. But, if they weren’t dead, they could take advantage of his fatigue. Malin’s thoughts turned to thoughts of sleep, but nightmares of frozen Ewoks prayed on the fringe of his hopeful ideal. Gorram it… Malin pushed himself out of the comfort of the pilot’s chair and limped to the galley. He found a table close by, used it to hold himself up, grabbed one of his DL-44’s and poked at the door of the fridge with the broken spear he was using as a crutch. He didn’t unlock the fridge, he simply pounded at the door and talked to the metal as if the Ewoks could understand him. “Hey, you alive in there?” Malin said. His voice was hoarse, but he managed to raise it enough that anyone or anything in the fridge would be able to hear.

A huge digital banner floats across the Holonet screen, interrupting the flow of normal Holonet communications traffic. Before a lovely baritone voice begins to narrate, the words 'Continuity Conundrums Inc.' flash a few times in bright green light across the Holonet banner. "Brought to you by the company that gave you, Suddenly Detonite, and sparked by the ‘sudden’ popularity of the product, Continuity Conundrums Inc. – sponsored by Frank's Fallacious Fausty Foible Fun Factory – is opening the Suddenly product line to bring you more useful household names." A choppy checkerboard transition leads from the previous screen with blinking words, to a domestic setting. The image of a mother and child appear on the screen. The child is screaming very loud. The clock, blaring behind the mother’s back, reads 11 PM galactic standard time. The mother’s face is drawn and the child’s face is sewn into relatively permanent duress. As the blinking clock ticks down and the situation seems irredeemable, the mother pulls a rag out of her pocket and puts it over her child’s mouth. The child screams for a moment more, but inhales the fumes and falls asleep like a rock. "Need help with your irresponsible parenting? Continuity Conundrums Inc. brings you, Suddenly Chloroform." The choppy checkerboard transition passes the screen from the domestic setting to a desert setting with what looks to be a female Jedi and a small herd animal. The female Jedi’s comm is beeping incessantly. Requests and gifts pile up over time. Then, the messages stop. "Plagued by constant comm traffic? CC inc. gives us, Suddenly Anthrax." The choppy checkerboard transition takes off again, propelling the screen to an excessively boring office workspace. Everyone is chattering away at their keyboards and not paying anyone else any mind. Then, POOF! An Ewok pops out of nowhere and stabs a spear through the wall of a cubicle. "Bothered by the boredom of your menial life setting? Continuity Conundrums is at it again with Suddenly Ewoks.*" "And that’s not all!" The cliché checkerboard transition happens one last time and the screen is filled with a very pleasant looking ruby skinned female Twi’lek. “My name is Hava Kalleesa, and I am the marketing supervisor for Continuity Conundrums inc. We have just come out with a new line of Suddenly Furniture. Need a chair, but have no conveniently placed apparatus? Suddenly Furniture will give you just what you need. (It is totally not made of explosive materials and is safe for the entire family!).** “If you’re thinking, ‘well, Hava, none of these armaments, items or nick knacks are on our character sheets.’ Then I have an answer for you! With our partners from Killer Whale Studios, we have developed adhesive badges indicating that you have 100% mod approval. It is perfect plot armor for every occasion and will void you of any and all responsibility.*** “So please, if you would like to enjoy any of our Suddenly products today, just dial the Holonet number at the bottom of the screen and we will be waiting to add any ‘sudden’ spice to your otherwise dull and uninteresting lives. Thank you.” The image fades out right after a number appears on screen, followed by a series of disclaimers in small print. The number reads: 999-999999-999 The disclaimers:*Suddenly Ewoks may have rabies. I would get checked out if they bite you. ** It is made of explosive materials and should not be used near flammable materials. You have been warned. *** The adhesive badges are purely aesthetic and will not void you of any responsibility. **** This company is not liable for any charges brought against the users of these products. Nor is this company an actual company. Don’t try to find us.

The droid walked, his ray-shield fizzling into dazzling sparks and the guns on his chest priming with all the force Malin needed to stay away. The Ewok corpses floated aimlessly, like a trio of macabre party balloons. Their weapons, crude and useless, floated along with them. All that remained were Malin and Emerald; Emerald stood on solid ground, feet away, the brilliant eyes of her namesake glistening under the low light. Malin floated a foot or two above the ground, his ravaged leg throbbing with phantom pain. His own eyes, focused on freedom and the corridor behind her, were shrouded by hovering viscera. Fog filled his mind. Ideas sprung like wildflowers, tempting his hand or his good leg to push from the bulkhead and jettison his body into countless unknowns. He looked at the door closed on the other side, picking apart the steel, looking for the smallest fissure or crack. He tensed his hands, moments away from another spherical surprise or his faithful iron sights. Yet, Malin’s hands scurried away to the safety of his duster. The leather pockets felt warm and comfortable. And, with the casual gesture of someone who had an unhealthy habit, Malin withdrew his last cigarette and lit it with a small rusted lighter he kept right beside it. The initials ‘H.O’ were scrawled on the side, and could vaguely be seen before he placed the lighter back in his pocket. “That it is darlin', that it is,” Malin said, tipping his wide-brimmed hat to Emerald and resting his somber electric blue eyes on her greedy stare. “You run along now, mustn’t keep your conscience waitin'.” Malin drifted back a little, letting the flat back of his duster rub against the metal bulkhead and the brim of his hat to cover all but one eye and the tip of his cigarette. “You know where I’ll be.”

Within the odd clarity of Malin’s emotional moment, wriggling between the tingling phantom sensations upon the rough skin of his palm, something wooly latched to his ankle. A sharp instinct pounded the back of his skull and he reacted by rolling the other direction, strafing across the broadside of the droid’s shield. Unfortunately, the Ewok’s weapon still dug into the ankle of his left foot, further mangling the terrible wound and ripping the cauterization apart, which caused a pool of blood to gather in the air (due to the lack of gravity). Still gripping his military-issued DL-44’s as he turned to face the malicious muppet, he aimed at the center of its head and gave a swift click of the trigger, blowing what was left of its irradiated skull to the depths of wherever it crawled from. It was a tragic yet merciful end compared to the deaths that these rankling ragamuffins caused. And yet, there was a type of poetry to it. And, as Malin began to muse on the finer points of his success, he could feel the subtle drag of pressure against him, pushing with increasing intensity as time drew onward. Gorram it… He wasn’t sure of it. But dread built up in his gut like a titanic kidney stone. Thinking quickly, the smuggler holstered his weapons and grabbed at his coat. But, when the push dragged him into the droid's ray shields, he realized that the breach wasn't on his side. It seemed implausible, but the mongrels must've blown through a room on that side. Of course, they could have accidentally opened the cargo-bay doors, but he wasn't sure exactly how bright they were. What he did know was that, if he didn't remedy this situation, his only shot at a way out of here would be sucked out into space. Yes, she wasn't the best person in his world right now; yes, she did try to kill him, but if Malin gauged value on who did and didn't try to kill him, he'd have no friends. Malin's pale blue eyes flicked to the crew quarters down the hall. The door was open with dried blood crusting on the entryway. He wasn't sure whose blood it was, but he didn't have an abundance of time to consider it, nor did he have the energy to invest on speculation. It did him nothing. And it only took his mind off of the subtle loss of pressure that spread throughout the ship. When, through a creative use of floating and grappling, the weary smuggler made it to the crew quarters and the console on the wall, he looked at a readout of the ship's systems. It was small and it didn't include the suite of different options offered in the cockpit, considering that the panel was rigged to the crew quarters. However, every console featured an emergency command. That emergency command would lock all bulkheads, doors, and viewports. The crew wasn't able to get their way to a console earlier. And even if they did, they weren't sure if they were going to seal themselves in a room with a rabid teddy bear or not. But, seeing as how there were few of the malicious meddlers left, and even fewer poachers left, Malin saw no harm in triggering the emergency protocol and locking down the ship. With a few flicks and switches, Malin initiated the lockdown and tried to float his way back toward the droids. It would be a tight fit because one of the bulkheads was only a foot away from the ray wall that the droid's had established, but Malin found a way to cram himself between the bulkhead and the shield before the former could crush his foolish self into a meaty paste. From the other side of the ray shield, his face pressed to the energy like an immature child flattening his face against a transparisteel window, it was hard to make out the pirate. But Malin was a bit out of luck for options at the moment. He attempted to signal to her in askance for her to fufill her part of the bargain. But his fate was really up in the air at this point.

Never taking his eyes off the pirate, Malin's bright pale blues took on an unusual solemnity. Until now, the smuggler enjoyed a great deal of flavor and fun. But, startlingly, his big blue eyes began to water ever so slightly. And yet, he didn't turn away. He did not hide his tears. He knew she'd probably be lying. He knew more ferocious furry mongrels were probably on their way. In fact, although he was certain he'd cleaned the floor behind him, loud chittering noises echoed off the durasteel deck plates. They'd be in soon and he would need to hurry. He leaned in closer to the comm link and adjusted the distance between himself and Emerald until the faint scent of his juma berry shampoo filled the air. It tickled the overall cocktail of sweat and exertion, but even in the midst of battle and destruction, the sweet smell of fruit was undeniable. The smuggler tilted his head close to the audio receiver. Small warm hands opened and closed tentatively in the center of his big scarred, calloused ones. Grasping, the tiny curious fingers made their way to his trigger finger and held on with all their little might. And then, just like that, the feeling was gone. Silent tears ran fresh down the smuggler's weary face but he cleared his voice and spoke plainly into the microphone. "I will always love you, my little Felicity."

Lordie Lordie… Lemme get this straight. The woman that went all kinds of salty at the slightest bit of humor, left you to die, and shot you in tha leg, is now asking for help. The irony is palpable. Malin’s stomach fought a balancing act it couldn’t keep. His insides were not meant to slosh in so many ways. But, whether through foolish luck, or fate’s unkind timing, his latest meal had not yet decided to rejoin the waking world. And for that, he was thankful. Still, the telltale bubbling of his gut did nothing to settle his nerves. His only distractions from that rainbow of possibility were floating a few feet away from him, blasting the hell out of the open air as they spiraled in a crazy pattern around the room, chittering like manic squirrels. A few wild stun-bolts singed the edge of Malin’s face and the thick fabric of his duster. He’d need to take it in… If he could afford it. Gorram carpet monkeys. “Imma bit busy at the moment ma’am. But, give me a few seconds to line up a shot or two and I’ll give ya yer voiceprint. I think it’s the least you could do for my poor boot,” Malin said, lining up his next shot on one of the wild-eyed terror teddies, “Lefty will be missed.” The pain of his leg helped him focus and the phantom sensation of floatin’ in the air gave him an unnatural zen. The chaos and noise that rattled all around him gave him a paradoxical sense of serenity. And, as he lined up the rough iron-sight of his DL-44, he tugged the trigger to the sound of a large BOOM! Then, as if tied to the other arm’s motion, his other DL-44 rose to greet the other carpet monkey with speed, slamming the next shot in his direction, knocking the smuggler in the opposite direction with the weapon’s kickback. The Smuggler plonked into one of the fancy droid’s shields and twirled for a little more. When he could see straight again, Malin’s pale blue eyes found Emerald’s beautiful rich green ones. He smiled his deep roguish smile and nodded his head. A few bits of char and smoke rose from his coat, his hat, and his facial hair, but the cheeseball of his grin shined through as if nothing had happened. “I’m ready when you are, miss,” Malin muttered with a level of guff that even his roguish smile couldn’t contain.

The shock that kept Malin’s pain at bay, blew out like the back of a Hutt who’d had way too many Dantooinian kidney beans. Chutes of raw sensation tore through the nerve clusters of his leg and ravaged his mind, causing a moment of hesitation. A moment that, Malin thought, would be the end. With two rabid beasts bearing down on him – ignorant of their weapons or no – they would eventually get the best of him. However, fearing that his goose was cooked, Malin was surprised when his body started to float. He was so surprised in fact, that he cried out, thinking that he was rising to meet his maker. When, instead, he bonked his noggin on the ceiling of the hallway and found that the gravity had been turned off. Heh… Not your time yet. The pirates were busy scrambling. About now, they’d probably found his little surprise on the lockboxes. It was a trifle, but it might give him time to pop off the remaining fuzzy terrorists before limping away. It all seemed a little complicated at this point, but there was nothing he could really do other than continue plowing away at the mutant puffs of irradiation that maliciously raided the ship. But now he was floating. And they were floating. This established two things. One, Malin’s insides were going to be hideously off-balance and probably rebel against the food he’d eaten a few hours ago. Two, he was going to have a hell of a time shooting moving targets while he himself was involuntarily moving. However, none of that mattered. He was here. He had guns. He had a job to do. Taking as much aim as he could, he popped another two shots off at the frantic fuzzies that desperately tried to get a bead on him with their blasters. The ejection of plasma from his DL-44’s sent his body whirling in the opposite direction, end over end, right into the wall of the corridor he was in. The shots strayed a little from their ideal targets, but due to the rotation and spin of everyone involved, the targets shifted back into the path of his shots. He wasn’t sure where it would hit them, but if it hit them, he would be happy. The less mutant maniacs on this ship the better.

It was a joke lady… Folk these days got no sense of humor. Fire and flame filled the smuggler’s mind. Burning plasma separated leather from mesh and synth fiber. And it’s twin parted flesh from bone. They broke the tenuous sinew of his Achilles tendon and scorched the calcium underneath, making a large concave dent in the back of his leg and bleaching his fibula. The wound didn’t bleed, which was fortunate. But the smoking flesh left a terrible stench. Malin’s stark sapphire eyes dilated. His heart beat rapidly in his chest and his breath caught in the back of his throat. White hot pain surged through his dying nerves to the fore of his brain. And, as the Smuggler collapsed on the cold durasteel deck plating, he felt a strong sense of vertigo grab at his stomach. It was icing on the useless cake of sensation that threatened his body. But Malin’s thoughts were miles away. Dust kicked up into his face… A woman with jet-black hair looked distraught… A tow-headed bundle of hair fell to the ground in a messy lump; more screams. “Don’t worry darlin’ daddy won’t let anything happen to you...” Tiny fingers rubbed the rough calluses of his hand. A small metal heart was pressed into his palm… The smell of sulfur and copper brought him back. Horizontal on the deck of the ship, Malin saw the blurry forms of more carpet monkeys as they barreled down the walkway. The ‘Colossus’ barely missed his mark when the smuggler fell, grazing Malin’s shoulder, but looked like he was going to try for another. The others were no less ready for the fallen poacher and looked like they’d found fresh meat. Which, under any other circumstances, would be incorrect. But Malin could smell the meat of his leg still cooking. The pain was gone. His eyes were vibrating and his heart was hammering away. But he was still kicking, metaphorically speaking. His mess of tousled charry hair washed into his eyes and some mysterious energy pulsed through it all. In the breadth of a moment that spanned barely a hair past the eye of a needle, even in the grips of aftershock, he could still feel the strength of his hands on his blasters and the clarity of his eyes didn’t hesitate. Even with his shoulder pressed against metal, the blaster in his left arm was just one click away. Four clicks, that’s all it would take. You can do it, Malin, ease your right arm up and fire. You can do it, Daddy! Bang bang! The smuggler wrestled his right arm while his left arm took stiff aim and fired. One powerful shot plowed into the head of the Colossus and another from the same gun smashed into the spear carrier that trailed behind. The smuggler rolled across the scorched and stained steel, ignoring the twisted ache of his charred calf and when his right hand emerged from its place under his center-of-mass, two more shots rang out at the Ewoks holding blasters. The shot leveled at the Colossus was finely placed and powerful. The shot at the spear carrier was a bit messy but looked as if it still hit the furry cretin in the chest. The last two shots rang out wild and crazy. He almost thought they didn’t make their mark, but the ‘electricity’ that passed through his body indicated otherwise. If this was to be his last stand, he would not pass gracefully into that good night. He also might trip one of those pirates should they veer too close to him on their way out. But he hadn’t hit a lady to this day and he wouldn’t start now… Even if they deserved it. He didn't expect them to save him. They were vultures, picking off the dead. And there wasn't any honor in thieving anymore.

Malin moved his right arm to pluck the source of delicious addiction from his dry lips and looked Emerald straight in the eye. “Ooh… Straight for the ego. A lady after my own heart. I take it you’re the brains and the brawn huh?” With death a near certainty, the smuggler couldn’t help but shoot for the stars. Bold had a certain flavor to it, but he knew that he had very little to lose. So, why not? Alright Malin, time to start kissin' ass, or kissin' your ass goodbye. Speaking of ass… Malin thought, mentally sizing up the vision of beauty in front of him. I bet she’s… No Malin. No. What would your mother say? Eat your licos and juma berries? You know damn well what she’d say. I know I know I know, don’t get your drawers in a ruffle. Malin got to his legs and shuffled a little, loosening the stiffness in his creaky legs. “I may be second-rate in crime miss, but I’m first-rate in charm,” Malin said, flashing a remarkably white smile and winking a glinting blue eye. “Seein as how this is likely my last act, could I have a favor. Call it, the last request of a dyin' man?” His last line, the coup de grace if you will, danced on the tip of his tongue before he gave power to his words, catching sparks in the playful coruscation of his eyes. “A kiss’d be mighty fine. Iffin’ you don’t like the beard, the cheek’ll do. I’m not picky.” The wolfish smile on his young bearded face didn’t abate and his eyebrows wiggled in a come-hither fashion. However, the smuggler turned away from the pirate before she could follow through. And, with a chuckle, he replaced his cigarette and put his hands in the depths of his jacket, feeling the inner linings of his pockets. The tips of his gloves brushed over his guns and the last thermal detonator that he possessed. It would be a tough ride, but he’d be ready. His expression played his tongue-and-cheek to the hilt, but his body made way for possible oblivion. His uncouth gesture ambling to the back of his mind, a terrible dread hung over the fading light of Malin’s thoughts. Flashbacks of blood-soaked white plastoid, nestled against a lonely stuffed animal with matted blood lingering in the tufts of its fur. The screams of a little girl filled the space between his ears and the smuggler shook for a moment. The pupils of his pale blue eyes contracted for the space of a second and his breath caught in the back of his throat. Gorram. It’s been too long since I’ve had a drink. Instinctively, the veteran’s sore hands gripped the leather of his military issued DL-44s. The low light of the airlock chamber was not enough to fully illuminate the gruff man’s movement, but Malin didn’t hide anything from his captors. He didn’t wish to start the show before the curtain was drawn. It wouldn’t be very sportin’ now, would it? Let’s see what these carpet monkeys have done while I frittered away my last moments. “As you said. It’s time to…” A feeling of cold uncertainty bound Malin’s spine. A chill in the air shifted and his gut began to twist. The tension of the moment seemed greatly out of context, but the hissing that came from the airlock removed all the clouds from his thoughts. The first carpet monkey seemed to waste his valiant assault with pitiful sobs on the floor, but Malin’s keen eyes didn’t dwell. The smell of another fetid ball of fur rolled its way into his path and right into the waiting barrel of his DL-44. The images of poachers being ambushed, swarmed and eaten alive barged into the hefty bulk of his mind’s eye. But the trigger of his blaster was like the trigger of his will. No tension would clog the motion. He was the fastest hand on Naboo. And he would not get eaten. The Smuggler’s eyes grew somber and distant. The red fire of his DL-44 erupted and tore through the air, splattering the Ewok’s brainpan all over the airlock chamber. So, the preamble was done for. There was no more hedging. Let loose the dogs of war and see these feral carpets to their graves. That was apparently, the only way. He took another drag from his cigarette and pushed on, checking the corners and firing the second any furry head popped into view. With his jacket open, and his silent crusade marching through the corridors, a small bloodstained silver locket stood out on the black of his dirty button-down shirt. One word could barely be made out through the blood. Felicity…

"Are you suddenly in need of a lot of explosives very quickly? Do you want to crush your enemies with the push of a button and find yourself at odds on how to do that? Do you just want to blow something up because, why not?" A large colorful Togruta in a skin-tight monkey suit, sporting an incredibly fake smile, comes onto the screen hefting a pouch of unknown origin. "Then you need SUDDENLY DETONITE!" The Togruta props the pouch on a bench and sits to look at the audience. "You might be wondering, Cavin, why would I need suddenly detonite, when there are tons of different explosives in the galaxy? Well... To that I say, can your garden variety detonite or explosive devices do this?" Cavin Saigo snapped his dextrous fingers and the pouch he'd been hefting disappeared. "Where is it now? You might say, it has a way of popping up when it's least expected. And, for five easy payments of 9,999.99 galactic standard credits, you can walk away with SUDDENLY DETONITE!" **All payments continue after death and are non-refundable. All proceeds go to a joke shop named after the famed Coruscanti serial psycopath: "Frank's Fallacious Fausty Foible Fun Factory" The commercial fades out with a massive explosion that destroys the entire backdrop and several set technicians that were running around behind the stage.

Hearing the splitting scampers echo off the durasteel as the fire of his blood pumped away in his ears, Malin smiled. Hook-line-and sinker… The Ewoks that sat, munching on Chagron, would soon find the armed thermal detonators buried in the bundle. Malin was sure that the deck of the ship would suffer too, possibly triggering some form of emergency de-pressurization of that room. He didn’t know, he didn’t care. This wasn’t his ship. Thus, survival was his only motivation at this point. The furs, in a shape that could be called mildly satisfactory, were sealed in the cargo hold. They were all inside a bunch of code-locked containers. Malin knew the codes, but he wasn’t super interested in the furs right now. He couldn’t bloody well pay his debts if he was dead. Then again, if he was dead, he wouldn’t have debt. But that was beside the point and was not conducive to the matter at hand. Two very angry bundles of spastic fur scurried behind him with what he could only assume was fury and hunger in their beady eyes. But Malin didn’t stop. He did, however, knock barrels and other obstacles over as he went, making the trek a bit more cumbersome for the malicious mouth breathing wastoids. As he neared the airlock, the bedraggled smuggler could hear the ship’s systems triggering as another ship closed in. His thought processes were running a marathon with his heart and neither of them could keep a steady pace. On the one hand, they were the authorities – highly unlikely – and they were here to apprehend him and the crew, which would be one hundred times better than this. On the other hand, they were poachers hoping to poach the poachers. Which, although a bit more desirable than dying at the hands of two sociopathic ragamuffins, was not the best situation. But, beggars can’t be choosers. With little else than staying in one piece lingering on the young man’s brain, Malin sprinted for the rapidly closing airlock doors and made it in just as the pressurization system started its cycle. With both doors sealed, one of them holding back an army of manic mongrels, and the other holding back an anonymous force of potential threats, Malin could only assume his goose was cooked. So, instead of dropping to his knees and thanking whatever benevolent deities were here to save him, or groveling at the feet of his would-be protectors, Malin settled on a crate near the wall and leaned against the cold steel. He pulled another cigarette from his coat and lit it with delicate flair. The puffs helped to clear his wearied eyes and remove the scalding vision of raging upholstery from his mind’s eye. When two very attractive females – armed to the teeth – walked through the open airlock door, Malin tipped his hat to them. His weapons were holstered and his demeanor casual. He made no move to counter them, nor did he rise to greet them. He simply smiled with cunning charm. A cunning charm that did little to take away from his unwashed visage and seemed oddly out of place for someone in such an odd sort of predicament. Well, at least I get to see something lovely before I expire... Malin grumbled a little, coughing the excess cigara from the depths of his throat. “I’d mind the gap by the way. A buncha angry little critters runnin' amok in the hold. They probably didn’t take too kindly to my gift and are trying to find a way to 'return-it-to-sender.' You’ll likely find what yer looking for in the cargo hold.” In the beat of silence following his greeting, the smuggler puffed a little on his cigarette and stretched his arms out before continuing his speech in the increasingly awkward situation he found himself in. “I know a couple-a pirates when I sees ‘em. Heavily armed women, not sporting any colors, out in the armpit of nowhere and dockin’ with a poacher’s ship. Seems to me, you’re here for one thing. A thing that, I don’t want to fight for. So, if you’d like to kill me… Feel free. But the only thing I want out of all this is to get off this blasted rock. I’m tired, I’m upset, and I really don’t think I need to be here no more. Oh, and before a forget, there is a nasty critter somewhere in the ship. He’s only about five feet, but he’s a handful. The other poachers in the crew called him an Ewok ‘colossus’ whatever that meant. Didn’t help em though, they all died.” Malin brushed the scruff of his beard and took another long pull from his reedy addiction before looking at the women with his glassy blue eyes. “Iffin you’re in a giving mood, I wouldn’t mind a ride on your ship back to any port you’d be able to pop me off at. Otherwise, I’ll thank the force I saw a pair of lovely ladies before I died, instead of the scourge-ridden mongrels on the other side of that airlock door.”

Well… kriff me… With his back to the durasteel plate of -- Wait, what was this gorram ship’s name again? Did it matter? It might as well have been called the Lost and Hopeless for all he cared -- the ship, Malin cursed inwardly. He cursed outwardly too, but there weren't too many around to hear him, so the point was lost. Instinctively and impulsively, he palmed the scruff of his beard and the handle of his favorite DL-44. Safety was in short supply. One fool made it out and managed to get the ship airborne, but the damned furry mutants ran the ship aground again. Malin barely sealed the cargo hold in time before catching sight of the moof-milking, caf-swilling, carpet monkeys chowing down on the crew’s second in command. Now, Malin sat in relative silence. The silence was relative because he could still hear the munching of hungry creatures echoing through the ventilation system. That and the only other person in the ship with him was - just his luck - one of the loan sharks that had his number, Verithos Chagron. And he was rattlin’ his teeth like a gorram Dathomiri maraca on steroids. “Go to Endor they said, you’ll be rich they said, you’ll pay off your debts they said... DAMN SURE WILL YOU MISERABLE PILE A POODOO!” Malin exclaimed, slamming his foot into the solid durasteel of the cargo hold that he’d trapped himself in. AHHHGGG… GRRRR! The rough twenty-year-old smuggler plopped to the cold floor, nursing his foot. He looked to the other sniveling ruffian that served as his would-be cellmate and gave him a wide toothy grin. “Well, Chagron? Ya happy? You wanted to come along for insurance, and make sure I pay my debt to yah? Now what? We’re hip deep in Ikopi dung right now. That’s what!!” Malin shook his head. There was no need to get angry. Angry didn’t solve problems. No. He needed a plan, and he needed it fast. Malin stuck his hand into the comfort of his duster and withdrew a cigarette. He took a few more seconds to find the lighter to accompany it and wasted no time in lighting it. Following a deep breath out, Malin took a huge drag, letting the fiery ash burn his throat to cinders and send his mind awhirl with whimsy and joy. His foul expression turned to a warm smile and his glassy blue eyes leveled on the Quarren pacing nervously in the low light. “Alright Chagron, I have an idea… You’re not gonna like it. But, I’m afraid, we have no other choice.” Malin said. He propped himself to his feet as the Quarren’s look of despair seemed to break with the offer of good news. Malin, with the ease of someone tying their shoes, flipped his DL-44 from its side holster and plowed Chagron’s head with red hot plasma. The body fell with a meaty thunk and before second guessing could pin the smuggler’s arms to his sides, he took out a shiv and began the nasty work. Welp, guess that’s one debt repaid… _____ A few moments later - - Malin, having completed a bit of his gruesome deed, used some of the crew’s provisions to sweeten the deal, amping up the smell of Chogran’s detestable corpse. Then, he added a couple sparkly surprises to the mix and wrapped the whole macabre package in the Quarren’s ‘discarded’ clothes. When he was sure the decoy would suffice. He carefully - with one hand on the door and the other on his surprise - opened the cargo hold door. When the barest of sounds crept through the cargo hold and he could smell the rotting flesh of the other poachers, Malin tossed his surprise out to the left of the hold and sprinted like a mynock outta hell through the ship. He grabbed one of his DL-44s and pushed onward toward the starboard side emergency airlock. In his other hand, he held a thermal detonator. If he was caught, he would not get eaten… Because that was not on his intergalactic bucket list, believe it or not.

“HELLO AGAIN! LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!! IT APPEARS OUR DECISIVE DESERT MATCH HAS CONCLUDED!” Big Will’s voice echoed throughout the big arena. The girth of the building was immeasurable and magnificent. The sound system was purposefully designed so that Big Will’s voice would carry to everyone, but that didn’t stop him from yelling his announcements. “BECAUSE THIS IS ESSENTIALLY ALL REDUNDANT ANYWAY, IT IS MY JOB TO JUDGE THE COMPETITION. AND… THE WINNER IS!!! AS I’M SURE EVERYONE GUESSED, KEENAVA OOTUNAVI!!! WHY ARE WE CONTINUING THIS SHOW OF BARBARITY? BECAUSE BOREDOM NEVER SLEEPS!!! THIS NEXT ROUND IS BROUGHT TO YOU BY PANDALORIAN BRAND CEREAL, THEY WILL PUT THE BESKAR IN YOUR YUM. ALL IT TAKES IS ONE BITE OF DELICIOUS CARDBOARD!!” Big Will gestured to a large billboard that hovered hundreds of feet above him that illuminated to reveal the pandalorian’s mascot. It was a large black and white Wookie. The Wookie was grabbing a cereal bowl and throwing it across the room in an unexplained rage. Because, why not. “FOR THIS NEXT CHALLENGE, BECAUSE BIG COMPETITIONS LIKE THIS TRY TO ARBITRARILY ADD CHALLENGE TO AN ALREADY CHALLENGING COMPETITION TO DRUM UP RATINGS, WE ARE GOING TO ADD A SECONDARY OBJECTIVE!!!” “FOR THIS NEXT SCENARIO, WE FIND OUR COMPETITORS: T’SARA ALU, STARFIRE, LIV, ANILARA, AND LEIALLA, ALL FREEZING IN THE LAND OF TUNDRA. THEIR OBJECTIVES ARE AS FOLLOWS. THEY CAN EITHER KILL THEIR OPPONENTS OR, THEY CAN FIND THE LIGHTSABER HILT. THERE IS A LIGHTSABER HILT HIDDEN SOMEWHERE IN THE BLIZZARD. IF THEY CAN FIND IT BEFORE THE OTHERS KILL THEM, THEY WIN. GOOD LUCK COMPETITORS! AND MAY THE FORTH THERVE YOU WELL!!!!”

"HELLOOOOO EVERYBOODY!!!" A male's voice said, pitched over a crowd of innumerable spectators. "WELCOOOOME TO ALIAS SMACKDOWN 2017!!!!" "What's an alias? Well, if you're important, you would already know that. Because this joke is clearly over-used. LET THE GAMES BEGIN!!!" A small man stood on the top of a repulsor-lift platform that overlooked a large arena. It was a huge construction of marvelous design. It was cut into five parts that were miles wide. Each part represented a different type of planetary climate and weather: the first, was a large desert arena like Tatooine, but deadlier, with huge dunes and constant raging sandstorms; the second was a frozen tundra with very little to offer but the bitter cold, like the frigid lands of Ilum; the third was a large open plain with knee high savannah grass and intermittent tree cover - Cathar, eat your heart out; the fourth was a dense forest that harkened to Kashykkian design; and finally, the fifth part of the arena was a large urban terrain covered by Skyscrapers and a multitude of intersecting streets. The last part of the Arena was designed to look just like the Coruscant Upper Levels, because who posts in the Bowels anyway? Each arena stage was lit by luminescent generators that hung thousands of feet in the air. These generators gave off the realistic feeling of sunlight and warmth. But they aren't realistic. They're all synthetic. The weather and arena effects are controlled by underground geothermal generators that were made up purely for this event. They give no statistical advantage or disadvantage to anyone. They just sound cool. Cameras littered the stadium and no matter where they were placed, they always had the perfect angle. It was amazing; almost like everything was conveniently placed because someone knew exactly how the event would go down. "HELLO, MY NAME IS BIG WILL. YOU MAY KNOW ME AS THE ART MOD OF AN AWESOME FORUM CALLED: JEDI.RP. I'M KIND OF A BIG DEAL. ANYWAY... LET'S MEET OUR 26 CONTESTANTS WHO WE TOTALLY DIDN'T KIDNAP AND ARE HERE OF THEIR OWN VOLITION!!!! WINK!"

A sapphire colored Togruta appeared on the screen. Her smile was bright, but clearly forced. "Here we are again. My name is Ameythin Fujova for the Coruscanti News, Holonet Channel 8, and I am here to bring you the latest news stories no matter how ridiculous they are. Now to our reporter in the field, Sasha, what do you have for us today?" The camera switched to a beautiful blonde woman with big blue eyes. She was with a weequay assistant and her microphone was pointed at a woman who had seen better days. She had long tangled brown hair, her skin was covered in dirty splotches, and her clothes were very ratty. Chuck, the weequay camera assistant, swung the camera a little to the right and focused on the two of them. Sasha leaned in a little and opened her mouth into a brilliant pearly smile. "Hi, we're here with Gerona, a former resident turned refugee of the planet Dathomir. Now tell the audience Gerona, why did you leave Dathomir?" Sasha said, looking to the other woman with a small hint of sympathy in her eyes, playing her concern to the camera. Gerona didn't notice. She was trembling. And the bright lights weren't helping. But she was safe now. "Well," she said, starting off slow. "My people and I lived in a simple village. We had a few cottages and a nice longhouse. We were enjoying a peaceful life away from the nightsisters, when IT attacked." Sasha's brow furrowed. "It?" She asked. Gerona's trembling intensified. "It was nothing like we'd ever seen before. It came in the night. It seemed to be a large serpent-like creature with a huge humanoid arm growing out of its neck. First, it came for the crops and burned our countryside. Second, it started to burn our peasants. Third, it started burning everyone in the village. And last, it began to destroy all of our thatched roof cottages. It was terrible. And all throughout its rampage it yelled 'TROGDOOR' like it was some sort of battle cry. Some of the locals say it may have once been a man. Others say it may have once been a dragon man. And others say that it is a dragon; whatever that is. Their tales christen it, TROGDOR, the burninator. And like its namesake, it mirthlessly incensed things, burning everything it could see and some things it couldn't. I don't know why it burned things; why it senselessly and indiscriminately burned things. Perhaps I will never know. I am simply glad to be away from that terrible place." Sasha turned back to the camera and put on her best serious face. "You heard it here folks. A terrible beast is plaguing the planet of Dathomir. A creature that comes out in the night and yells TROGDOR before attacking its victims. You have been warned. This is Sasha Verithos for Holonet Channel 8, signing out."