Chapter One
Ignorant to the invisible Eden that surrounded him
A blind man oblivious to the masterpieces that hang on his own walls
But still beauty surrounds him, far too great, spilling over the brim
There was the familiar flash of colors, the sound of an unforgettable buzzing noise. Almost like a vibroblade, but not quiet. It was raw somehow, untamed. So many blurred colors flashed in front of him, blue, green, yellow, silver, orange, red, and so many other variations. They appeared at first a solemn beam in the darkness, a bar of light, that quickly moved, a blurred trail of colored light following after. Then, as always two met faced each other, red and blue, and clashed against each other with a sickening crack. Like two separate envious bolts of lightning had struck each other.
His eyes snapped open, his heart pounding a little faster than usual, as it always did after the dream. He sat up on the pitifully thin mattress, stained with grime so badly it would never come out. Even though he was tired and could have used a little more sleep he pushed himself up. Some of the others would be back from looting soon and they would need a place to sleep. He sauntered over to a work bench with a broken droid sprawled haphazardly over the bench so that it resembled one of the drunks passed out on one of the tables at the nearby cantina.
The droid was an absolute mess, but he was determined not to complain. After all, he wasn't much of a fighter or a pickpocket, and he had to help out somehow. The other orphans liked to use it for target practice, whether it was with salvaged stun batons, half of which didn't even hold a current anymore, or the half-broken blasters he'd fixed up for a few of his favorites. He'd made sure to sabotage them ahead of time though. The worst those blasters could do was leave someone with a nasty blister. It was enough to make sure they could defend themselves though, and they could always whip it out for a bluff.
The droid seemed to be beyond any of his help at this point. The old droid, he had no idea what its serial number was, had suffered a lot of damage over the years. Its vocabulator had been badly damaged long ago, making it practically useless. He could have fixed it, but at the time the gang was short on supplies and figured it was better to sell it for food than to fix it just to have the poor droid scream its head off as the boys assaulted it.
He frowned as he looked at the last remaining of its photoreceptors, which had once again been smashed. The other one had been plucked out a long time ago and there was no telling where it had gone. The circuitry was too complicated for him to figure out how to rewire a new one in, and it only really needed one anyway.
The exposed wirings in its chest had taken another hit, this time singing one of the wires through. It wouldn't be too hard to fix, but it just proved he'd have to take one of the pickpockets or check out the junk yard to find a good metal plate he could use to protect the droids wiring.
Already his hands were covered in a thick greasy black grime that seemed to cover the inside of the droid and much of the exterior as well. He took a moment to wipe off some sweat on his brow, aiming for the exposed part of his wrist since the actual sleeve would surprisingly be dirtier than his hands were.
He had hoped he could avoid having to steal parts again since he hated to, even going so far as to spend several hours tweaking the droids programming to avoid critical damage. He wasn't too great at programming, but most of it he had learned from trial and error. He'd given the droid some defensive capabilities, to draw out its lifespan but also to prevent anyone who wasn't part of the gang from stealing it. He had managed to figure out a way to program triggers so that if someone who wasn't part of the gang tried to mess around with it, it should have been able to take out even the most intimidating thief.
He finally left it alone, deciding there was nothing else he could do until he had the parts he needed. Some of the pickpockets were returning now, and he was looking through them to find the one he was most friendly with. Most of what they brought back was usually food they had stolen from vendors. Credits usually caused people to suspect them of stealing. The pickpocketing half of the gang was usually reserved for the girls or the younger orphans, but it wasn't like people were forced into a job just because of their gender, it was just that the boys had a taste for fighting.
The other half of the gang maintained territory by fighting. Nothing ever got more serious than a bloody lip, and they never tried to steal territory from the other orphan gangs but it was important to keep their territory secured. Otherwise their hideout could get raided and they'd lose all their food and supplies as well as their only safe place to sleep.
"Looking for a quick hand Julan?" He heard a familiar voice cry out, and he turned around, feeling a little dizzy as his heart fluttered. At 11 years old Yliana was 2 years older than him, and he'd never seen a more beautiful woman. Well, Twi'lek. But she was still a woman. She twirled around her blaster, one he had upgraded himself to deliver a slightly more potent sting. He had even found a lens while shifting around the junk yard that caused the beam to turn purple, which being Yliana's skin color, was her favorite color. "Yeah," he said feeling his face get a little hot, "I need to get some parts for the droid. Can't be avoided I'm afraid."