A decade has gone by since his father died. In his growth, he has constructed Mandalorian armor of his own. He too can now pilot the powerful Slave I. He is becoming his father. He knows his fate.
But he hates it. Beneath his mask of steel and ore he grimaces. He knows his face is beneath every mindless drone. Every patrolling TIE cockpit holds another of himself.
He awakens to this thought every morning. This morning will be the last time, though. He will not have any more of it. He will not go on like this. He will take his fathers lessons as a foundation in ending his ongoing problem.
His face is stern and cold as he sits within the Slave I's cockpit, using his controls to look about and not his eyes. His mind is focused, his voice is silent. He has one unerring path that he refuses o be distracted from.
Kamino's surface is shrouded in the season's heaviest rains. Lama Su and Taun We sit atop their curved seas and discuss difficult matters. Imperial matters.
The Slave I's boosters and the Kaminoan landing platform had not caressed in a solid decade now. But this landing was particularly awkward.
Boba walked out of the long slanted ramp from the vessel's underside with pace and reason. His speed was steady and his balance perfect. His arsenal was fully loaded.
At the gate he was met by an oddly familiar tall gangly being, with its eyes moving in and out of focus on him. For a moment there was silence as Boba took in the bright fluorescence of the inside. The white was perfect, spotless, and infallible. Like his father.
Boba was not like those walls. Not like his father. His armor was worn and beaten. His path was fallible and uneven. His father was not as much in him as he supposed.
The figure used a questioned tone in greeting him. "Jango?"
"I am not Jango"
His words were a very simple bout of anger to the Kaminoans. But to him, they were more meaningful than anything he had said since he lost his father. There was only one way to complete the though on his mind.
He raised his blaster rifle up to his shoulder, directed at Lama Su. For the first time in his life, Boba, little Boba as the Kaminoans remembered him, said something out loud to himself. "I have waited too long for this."
He squinted his eyes and what he thought was a spasm near his mouth was actually a grin. But before he could widen that grin the blast door shut and his eyes burst from an accomplished squint to petrified awe. He was losing his tactical edge in exchange for an uncompromising anger.
No worry. They were simply delaying their deaths. Boba dashed back to the Slave I to extract a cubic device from the cargo bay. This time his approach of the door was more frustrated than proud. He put the box down by the blast door and stepped back about fifteen feet. He turned around with a shrug and lifted his blaster merely up to his gut and shot the black cubic device with a bolt of laser. A crackling explosion ripped through the door. The Kaminoans could build an army but not a wall to defend it.
But to Boba's dismay out came a foursome of flying droid security drones. Each had a large spherical blue lens that it calibrated so that it would lock on the bounty hunter's torso. They fired their first shots at the meeting point of the two main plates on Boba's chest when Fett dropped backwards to the ground with a plop only to raise his head ad aim his weapon. A dexterous tapping of his trigger left two druids' remains dropping to the smooth steel surface as Fett's jetpack launched him backwards, the fire smoldering the floor of the Landing Platform. The trail of blaster shots traced the charred black line on the polished silver floor, but each shot was a few nanoseconds after the Mandalorian's swift flight.
Finally arcing his back up, Boba stopped lying on his back and hopped to a stand and fired up his custom jetpack again. He flew directly vertically, testing the drones hover engines. After getting twenty feet above their maximum, he shut of the engine on his jet pack. He began to seemingly plummet face first towards hull of his oblique ship. He actually fell past the edge of the platform. The droids' minds did not register what they had saw, and began to reluctantly hover into the open door of the Slave I's cargo bay.
Meanwhile, hovering five feet over the water's surface, Fett waited patiently for the sound of the Cargo Bay's door shutting. When he heard it, he made an effortless gesture to tap a button on the side of his belt.
Inside the ship, an array of ion cannons went of, zapping all the droids inside. With a rude thump they all were deactivated simultaneously and fell to the steel grating on the floor in the span of a moment.
Slowly allowing himself to float back up, Boba did not bother to clean out the innards of his ship. He merely reached the top of the platform, turned off his jetpack, and walked ever so slowly to the crater where the door was. There would be neither drones nor rain to stop him now.
His reflexes are becoming basic. This whole encounter is again seeming playful and not as frustrating. It was satisfying. In his limited vocabulary, he could surround his mind around the concept of satisfactory action.
The first hallway was so bright. Nothing had been that bright since he had last been here. And nothing would be again. He immediately took out his flamethrower, and looked to the walls. he began to scorch them, slowly, as if painting a wall.
Meanwhile, sitting in a secure position, Lama Su looked on, confused. What was he doing, and why?
He stepped through the walls, which now looked battle hardened and imperfect. They matched the damage and dents on his armor, a fit background for his scorched soul.
He stepped into the first clone chamber. Now things had become worthwhile. He jumped into a stride, in the middle of the air. He extended himself. Now he was floating above a battalion of clones. In mere seconds they were firing. He slowly, carelessly let himself down. He was throwing grenades in random directions like an automated machine, and the countless tide of clones had nowhere to run but into each other from the falling incendiary devices.
One he hit the floor, he had cleared for himself a perfect circle with a seven-meter diameter from which to fire. Shots were coming from all around, but not in an organized pattern. Somehow, Boba knew where they were coming from. Strangely, he knew when they though to fire, and where, in his intuition.
When he had seen enough of this, he flew back onto a steel edge to look back onto the sea of clones. They were firing at him, incessantly. He could not care less. As he reached the edge, he began looking.
He picked up a running speed. He open door after door. He would run through every chamber if he needed to, not losing his speed or tenacity. He finally came across the Kaminoans, curled onto each other, like worms. They shows an affection for each other in this moment of fear that he never thought of them to have. Too little, too late. He began to shoot. Most escaped, running into yet another chamber. But a very familiar one tripped upon the legs of the others, hitting the steel ground hard.
Taun We turned to see him, blaster barrel staring down.
"The hunt begins now, scum. I will take what you never gave me. I will have myself. You won't have a self much longer"