Prologue

He could smell the surface before the Crest had even made it through the atmosphere – a combination of sulfur, durasteel, and some kind of obnoxious gas that he could really do without knowing the origins of.

And then there were the droids.

Why did it have to be a planet covered in droids?

He sighed heavily, thankful not for the first time for the air scrubbers built into his helmet, although he was fairly certain even they wouldn't be able to fully stifle the stench of this place. There was a reason Raxus Prime was known as the garbage scow of the galaxy, and unfortunately for him, he was going to get the joy of verifying that reputation firsthand.

The planet had been beautiful once. Or, at least that's what he'd been told. Years and years ago it had been full of jeweled lakes and towering skyscrapers of glittering marble, the likes of which were envied even on the snobby, privileged worlds of the Core, until it had come under the control of the Commerce Guild. Greedy, oppressive and selfish, they'd used the place as their own personal slag yard for thousands of years while they attempted to grow their empire. They hadn't technically been around since the Clone Wars, but their mark remained – the planet was now nothing more than a junk heap, the atmosphere and surface deemed uninhabitable long ago due to the smog and other fumes from the factories that had taken the place of those once beautiful buildings. The only thing that could exist on the surface now were droids, property of their new owners, the Mining Guild. The place had just traded one greed-fueled organization for another as far as he was concerned. Which, if he was being totally honest with himself, wasn't a whole hell of a lot.

He sighed again, shifting in his seat, his fists clenching and unclenching around the yoke impatiently while he waited for said droids to give him his landing coordinates. All he wanted to do was get down there and get this job over and done with. He checked the tracking fob for what felt like the hundredth time, hoping his mark had already hopped off world and he could avoid landing all together.

Nope. Still blinking, emitting a high-pitched ding that bleeped faster and faster the closer he got to the surface.

Dank farrik.

He waited another beat… then irritably flipped on the comm. "Sometime today would be nice."

There was a short crackle of static before a clipped, mechanical voice replied, "Working. Hold, please."

He snorted. At least they were programmed to be polite.

Another minute passed before he let his temper got the better of him. "Hey, I need those coordinates. Now. Before I run into something up here and become a permanent part of your-"

He broke off, eyes widening, as what looked like the deflector dish of a Star Destroyer came hurtling toward him, so large it took up the entire view from the cockpit. He swore and quickly veered to the left, just about rolling around it before nearly crashing into half of an X-wing. The Crest's proximity alarms were going crazy, blaring in his ear, and he angrily slapped at them, shutting them off, gritting his teeth, yawing and jerking back on course.

"Dammit to hell!" Heart pounding, he quickly glanced down at the controls to see that those infernal, good for nothing droids were hailing him. He slammed his fist down on the switch. "What are you metalheads doing? You almost got me killed."

"Apologies. Please maintain present course and dock at bay 38. Transmitting coordinates now."

He switched them off and swore again, already convinced that this was going to be one of those jobs. He should have said no as soon as he saw that the Raxus system was the last known location. But… he needed the money. Business had been slow since the New Republic had begun to creep its way into the Outer Rim; as it tried to implement more and more regulations in attempt to maintain the visage of control after the fall of the Empire and the chaos that had ensued in its wake.

He gave another derisive snort. Politicians. He wished they would have the sense to just leave well enough alone. The Outer Rim had always been its own beast, and he preferred it stay that way. Especially when it came to his ability to make money. The Guild leader on Carajam was stingy as it was, even with him and the reputation he'd earned. He'd practically had to fight half its members just to get this damned job. They all hated him, and the feeling was more than mutual. The Guild leader hated him, too, but she could think whatever she wanted as long as she kept giving him pucks. The Rutian couldn't argue with the fact that he brought in the credits, but he could tell she was getting tired of fielding complaints from the others, and he hadn't even been there that long. His quest to rejoin his people had taken him to many worlds over the years, and he'd had a hell of a time of it since leaving Rand and his group. The only reason he'd gone to Carajam in the first place was because he'd been told the Guild leader there had information for him, but that had turned out to be a dead end – the other Mandalorian she knew of had apparently died on Tatooine years ago.

So. Now he was back to square one. And while there was no denying that he was the best, he could tell he was already beginning to outstay his welcome. That was fine with him. He'd long ago proven himself and his standing in the Guild. He didn't need to deal with Carajam's piss-poor management and the constant squabbling over something as trivial as a bail jumper or smuggler whose bounty would barely cover the cost of fuel, especially once he took out the percentage he'd been reserving for a Covert and any Foundlings they may have.

As soon as he found one, he could leave. Gladly. There were rumors that a Covert had been set up on some place called Navarro that conveniently also had a Guild hub take up residence in recent years. He'd asked the Rutian about it – if she could get more information and perhaps put in a good word for him with the Guild leader there when she'd finally deigned to pass him the puck and fob for his current assignment. And the others had stopped hungrily breathing down his neck.

"Bring this guy in, and I'll see what I can do," was all she had said. He'd given her a look that he hoped bore through his helmet and into her skull before stalking out without another word.

And now here he was, the poisonous planet and its filthy droids looming ever closer. He checked the fob again before sighing wearily and shoving it back into his pocket, punching in the coordinates for the docking bay and placing his hands back on the yoke. The target was ex-Corellian military. The bounty was high. He, the Guild, and any Covert he found would benefit greatly from it. And he couldn't wait to rub it in everyone's arrogant faces.

Even he had to admit the amount of debris surrounding the planet, amassed on the surface, and bobbing almost gracefully in the once beautiful lakes of Raxus Prime was pretty impressive. He couldn't count the number of different ships that he whizzed past on his way to the docking bay. There had to be millions upon millions, from every planet in the known galaxy. He swore he even thought he saw something that looked like a Basilisk perched precariously on one of the colossal junk piles, but it was gone before he could get another glance.

The docking bays were located underground, as were much of the new cities that had been constructed when the planet's environment had become too toxic to support any kind of life. Winding, pressure-controlled tunnels lead to sealed subterranean environments of living habitats, work bays, hangars, even cantinas and hotels and other pleasure spots for travelers. Although he couldn't imagine why anyone in their right mind would want to visit this place outside of mining business.

Or hunting business.

He wove the Crest in between two imposing towers of cobbled steel and wires, just about making out the number 38 written in a peeling, blood red paint on a pair of massive metal doors that were covered in centuries' worth of corrosive slime. A couple of T3 units scurried out of the way as he angled the Crest over the doors and punched in the code. All around he could see mining droids floating, climbing, or crawling in and out of the mounds of cables and other junk, digging and hauling one thing or another. He clenched his teeth until his jaw hurt and tried his best to ignore them, although he entertained himself with the notion of picking a few of them off for kicks.

Just as he had almost convinced himself to risk bulls-eyeing one of them, the doors slowly creaked open and more droids with modified limbs for directing traffic guided him into the bay. Out of all of them, these disturbed him the most, although he couldn't quite put his finger on why. They had an eerie look about them. Like spiders. Or squids. Metal squids with glowing red eyes.

He shivered.

He'd barely landed, and he already couldn't wait to get the hell off this planet.

The Crest settled onto the docking platform with a thud, and he quickly powered down the engines and systems. The seat creaked with age as he swiveled and rose, stalking over to the ladder to the lower level, bracing his feet on either side and swiftly sliding down, making his way over to the weapons locker. He grabbed a short vibroblade, his blaster pistol, and his bandolier which he stocked up with extra breech cells, sliding a few more into the slots in his boots for good measure. He reached for the grenades, then thought better of it. It probably wouldn't do well to be setting those off in underground tunnels that were surrounded by pockets of toxic gas, regardless of how sealed and secured they claimed to be. And he didn't want to draw too much attention to himself.

Although a Mandalorian in full gear strolling around the city's tunnels would probably draw enough attention in and of itself.

He was used to it. And, sometimes, he even enjoyed it. People gave him a wide berth, and the ones that didn't gave him entertainment. Either one was fine, as long as it didn't interfere with his job.

Speaking of his job…

He checked the fob again as he grabbed his rifle and strapped it onto his back, heading towards the gate ramp. Still beeping, faster now. He gave the carbonite system – undoubtedly his best investment – a quick once over before slapping the control and quickly striding down the ramp. Tendrils of an orange tinted smog greeted him, and he waved his hand to clear it, quirking a bemused eyebrow as he finally got a good glimpse of his new surroundings.

Docking bay was putting it nicely. Very nicely. It was more like a crater of jagged rock, and even that was a bit of a stretch. Black tubing stretched across the rough, brownish-gray walls, as if some random ship just had vomited it up and no one had bothered to come to clean up the mess, and he'd unfortunately been right about the stench. Sparks flew occasionally from the cracked display terminals that hung precariously above the service station next to the exit. The place looked about as cobbled together as the rest of the planet, and he made an annoyed noise somewhere between a sigh and a groan.

Yep. This was definitely going to be one of those jobs. What a fragging pain in the ass.

A couple of buzz droids whizzed over his head as he stepped off the ramp, and he ducked out of their way, swatting irritably, scowling after them as they perched on one of the rocky outcroppings, tapping their spindly little legs at him. Like they were laughing at him. His fingers twitched, and he resisted the urge to take his pistol and blast them all to bits.

"Keep those things away from my ship," he growled at the rusted C3 unit manning the service station, not bothering to pay or wait for a reply as he hurried through the giant, tarnished hangar doors and into utter chaos.

It took a moment for his helmet to adjust to the dim lighting of the hangar tunnels, and his eyes widened in a mixture of fascination and horror at what he saw. Species of all shapes and sizes immediately pressed in upon him before he'd managed to even take two steps out the door. The ferrocrete floor beneath him wound in what seemed to be no discernable direction and almost vibrated in time to the sounds of the drilling that could be heard from hundreds of feet above and below. The swinging lights that hung from the roughhewn rock made the exposed wires and tubing that lined the tunnels look like giant, undulating worms. He couldn't count the number of languages being spoken, hurled about like Bolo balls, and once again he had to duck under buzz droids and mining droids, side-step R2 and R3 units, protocol and logistical droids. The metallic taste of the air stung his mouth and nose, and every so often a puff of that noxious atmosphere shot across the tunnel through an infinitesimal crack in the rock as he waded through the throng.

People and droids working, carrying tools, hauling bits of debris, sucking out that toxic green liquid from the lakes above. He could barely hear the beep of the fob as he pushed and shoved them out of his way. At least he didn't have to worry about being noticed – the place was an absolute mad house. The droids and their masters were too worried about safely mining whatever rare resources the rock and lakes still held that no one even noticed a Mandalorian less than gracefully pushing his way through their midst.

The fob took him up towards what he assumed were the living habitats, as the sounds of drilling became less pronounced and the multitudes of workers thinned. The droids were still everywhere he looked.

Where droids came to die. That's what the Rutian had said about this place. Whoever had told the guild leader that was a lying piece of shit.

The humming of the drills was soon replaced by the thrum of music – dark bass notes, mixed with horns and strings and a cacophony of other upbeat, high pitched sounds.

Beep, beep, beep.

The fob was blinking faster now. He picked up his pace, scanning with a hunter's keen eye. He counted his breaths, settling his mind. Listening to the air going in and out. Drowning out the irritating sounds of the music; of people laughing, talking, arguing.

This was the part he liked best. The anticipation. His senses amplified. Like the eve of battle.

Before he knew it, he was wandering into a makeshift bar. The owner had tried to make the establishment less industrial, but not much could be done to improve the place. The bar top glowed a hideous, neon blue and was made of what looked like bronze or copper which sat on yet more of that rough, jagged brown rock. This was where the horrible, screeching music had been coming from, but thankfully it looked like the band was on break. The bar was mostly empty save for the keep, the musicians, and a woman with long, blonde hair nursing some kind of blue liquor. Spotchka maybe. But no sign of his mark. And thankfully, no sign of droids either.

He pocketed the fob, which was still beeping in that same fast pace, and nonchalantly leaned against the bar top, scanning and listening, looking for all the world like another traveler waiting on a drink. The cantina was in a promenade of some sort, and he glanced around carefully.

"Can I get you something, Mando?"

He tilted his head back slightly to let the barkeep, who he noted as Mythrol, know he had heard before resuming his scanning of the area. "Information." Next to him the woman had finished her drink and was impatiently tapping the empty glass on the table. He assumed by the worn state of her clothes and the grease on her face that she was a miner, although he thought she somehow carried herself a little too well for that line of work. She looked to be only a few years younger than him, but it was hard to tell with all the dirt.

He must have let his attention linger on her a little too long because he soon heard her drawl, "They're all extinct, you know. Mandalorians, I mean. Or they pretty much are, anyway." She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand and then waved it at his armor. "Is that real?"

He ignored her, instead turning back to the Mythrol. "I'm looking for someone. Corellian. Veteran. He had some business with the Mining Guild. Seen anyone like that?"

The woman snorted derisively. "Bounty hunter, huh? Figures." She hoisted herself half over the bar and reached behind it, grabbing a bottle filled with the blue liquid she had been consuming.

"Hey!" The barkeep quickly grabbed her arm, prying the bottle out of her hand and shoving her roughly back into her seat. "Knock it off!"

She gave the Mythrol what could only be described as a pout, and he had to repress a snort of his own. "Come on, Krull, you know I'm good for it."

"The only thing you're good for is trouble. Your tab could reach into the next parsec." The barkeep – Krull – flashed her a withering look and set the bottle back on the shelf below. "If you weren't such a good mechanic, I'd break your hands. Try it again and I will."

The woman rolled her eyes, leaning back in her seat, completely unfazed. "I'm gonna get your damned money." She turned away from the Mythrol and back to him. "So, did you steal it? The armor, I mean."

He continued to ignore her. Next would be some line about his helmet.

She gestured to it. "You know you actually have to take that thing off to have a drink, right?"

He rolled his eyes and sighed through his nose. There it was. He would be forever grateful no one could see the plethora of dirty looks he doled out on a daily basis. He would have undoubtedly gotten into a hell of a lot more fights.

"Have you seen anyone like that, or not?" He didn't particularly care which one of them answered.

"You mean like him?" The woman pointed lazily over her head towards the back end of the promenade, where he barely glimpsed a pair of legs with Corellian blood stripes disappearing into the shadows.

Damn.

He pushed off the bar and barreled through the open walkway, and he could have sworn he heard a soft chuckle from the woman as he left her and the stunned Mythrol behind. He ducked more of those damned buzz droids, managing to snatch one of them and chuck it angrily out of his way. It collided with the rocky wall and bounced to the floor, spinning around in a daze. That made him feel a little bit better; a salve to the irritation he felt at letting his bounty escape him. For now.

The tunnel system was vast. The curious part of him actually wished he'd had time to appreciate the ingenuity involved its construction as the Corellian lead him down deep towards the planet's core, past the workers and the hangars, down to the storage bays. Any deeper and he imagined they would probably run into the engine room, or whatever helped power this place.

He slowed his pace, the fob in his palm beeping uncontrollably. He switched it off and pocketed it, activating the heat scanner in his helmet. Footprints were scattered around the corridor, as if his quarry had indecisively hopped around the tunnel, looking for an escape route. He caught what looked like handprints on a few containers to his right and he turned his gaze upward. Not enough room on the top of those to stand up and free run, which meant they probably jumped behind.

Damn, he thought again, switching it off. There were too many tunnels down here, too many hiding places. The hall they were in was full of containers. The guy was good, he'd give him that. At least that'd make it exciting. It'd been a while since he'd been challenged or gotten into a halfway decent fight—

He stopped, angling his head as the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, and he barely managed to lean out of the way as a blaster bolt came whizzing past. The smell of ozone filled is nostrils, and he glanced at the carbon scored mark on the wall where his head had just been, raising his eyebrows.

"That was a mistake," he said drily.

The Corellian stepped out from behind one of the containers, blaster raised, the gleam in the man's eye one of manic desperation that he'd seen a hundred times before. "Please. I have their money."

"It's too late for that, and you know it." He inclined his head towards the blaster. "I'd put that away if I were you."

The Corellian took his measure: the blade in his boots, the blaster at his side, the rifle on his back. The armor. Weighing his chances. The pistol never lowered. "Don't," he warned as the man shifted his weight, allowing a bit of an edge to sharpen his tone. He tilted his wrist slightly, activating the whip cord mechanism in his vambrace, getting it ready.

"Please," the Corellian said again. "I-I know I screwed up, but-"

"I can bring you in warm," he interrupted, raising his arm and preparing to fire, "or I can bring you in cold."

There was a moment of tense silence, the Corellian's eyes darting from him to a point just beyond him, no doubt stupidly planning to try and run—

"You have a catch phrase?"

It was only years of training that kept him from jumping clean out of his armor. Instead, his arm still trained on the Corellian, he slowly half-turned to look behind him, thankful for the helmet covering the look of incredulousness that was no doubt spreading across his face upon seeing the blonde woman from the bar standing there, hand on her hip, staring at both of them with an expression that could only be described as wry amusement.

"The hell?" he blurted before he could help himself, and he watched as her eyebrows went up ever so slightly before she slid that amused, almost condescending look back over her face.

"Don't get me wrong, I think it's great," she went on, taking a casual step forward, surveying them both. "Really, I do. It sets you apart from all the other scuzzy bounty hunters. You give people options. That's a good thing. Don't you think?" She peered around him at the Corellian, who was now glancing between him and the woman, brow wrinkled in confusion. "What a nice guy."

What was happening?

The Corellian glanced between them again, eyes wide, mouth opening and closing like a fish. "Umm…" the man began, unsure of what to do, and she gave them both a grin so saccharine it made his teeth hurt.

All right. He'd had enough of this.

He sighed angrily and flicked his wrist. The whip cord shot out of his vambrace, quick as lightning, wrapping around the stunned Corellian and pinning the arm holding the blaster to his blood striped pants. The man tried to get off a shot and only wound up scarring the floor, cursing, very nearly burning a hole in his own foot. The woman had the good sense to at least take a step back and look surprised as he yanked his arm back so that the Corellian fell, knocking his head against the rocky wall behind and sliding down it, temporarily stunned.

Satisfied, he turned back to the woman, watching curiously as she shifted her weight, quirking an eyebrow at the unconscious man on the floor.

"Nice toy. I had guessed mercenary earlier when you waltzed your way into the bar. I thought that had to be the only way that you got your hands on a Mandalorian's armor and lived to walk away." Her eyes roamed over it hungrily.

Over him.

He sighed inwardly. So. It was going to be one of those days. Gods dammit.

"Look, I don't have time for this," he said shortly, frustration bringing that edge back into his voice, but she talked right over him like he hadn't even spoken, and his head tilted back in surprise.

"You know, you never answered me earlier when I asked if it was real, but given your… skills," she gestured at the Corellian, "I'm going to assume that it is."

He blinked slowly, not quite sure how to react. "I don't know what you think you're doing, but if you leave now you have my word I won't hurt you."

She smiled at him again, the same sickly-sweet way she had a moment ago. He didn't like it. "That's cute. And very honorable. But, unfortunately, I'm in a bit of a tough situation. I dunno if you heard up there," she said, jerking her head toward the ceiling, "but I'm a little strapped for credits."

"That sounds like a personal problem."

"For you, yes."

He gaped at her from under his helmet. He didn't know who the hell she thought she was as she took another small step forward, closing the distance between them, but his patience was beginning to wear thin.

"Do you know how much all that Beskar is worth? I'll give you a hint – it's a lot. And I'm going to be taking it now." She crossed her arms and stared him down, the humor in her eyes suddenly gone, replaced with something so icy cold that little warning bells started going off in his head, and he actually had to stop himself from taking a step back.

His eyes narrowed dangerously at the change in her tone, and he turned to face her completely, his bounty a forgotten heap on the floor. He cocked his head, evaluating her the same way the Corellian had him moments before. This was definitely not how he had envisioned this job going. He didn't want to have to kill her, but he would if she got in his way. Which, it seemed, was precisely what she planned on doing.

His hand moved towards his hip holster where his blaster still rested, and her eyes tracked him carefully, like a predator getting ready to pounce. "I wouldn't do that." She said it flatly. A warning. One that made him bristle; an imaginary flame that ignited the oh, so short fuse on his temper. He flicked his wrist again, releasing the whip cord back into his vambrace. The Corellian, it seemed, was going to end up being the least of his problems.

He took her in again. She was half a head shorter than him at least, although he knew from experience that size didn't mean much. She looked unarmed, save for a strange looking gauntlet that wrapped around her right forearm that he hadn't noticed in the bar, but she had somehow managed to sneak up on him, and that alone was an impressive feat. She had a different air of desperation about her than that of the man on the floor. The hungry kind. The I'll-do-whatever-I-have-to kind, and the warning bells grew louder. He'd misjudged her up top, dismissing her as just another miner that also happened to have a serious attitude problem, and he was beginning to think that might have been a mistake. And he didn't take threats about removing his armor lightly. Or at all.

He weighed his options as she placed the hand of the arm that housed that gauntlet back on her hip, no doubt weighing hers as well. He counted three seconds before he judged her, decided that if it came down to a fight he would win very easily, and that he'd let her live because he at least admired her spirit. He was going to have to knock her out and tie her up, though. He didn't feel the least bit bad about it.

"You can have my armor," he said darkly, resting his hand on the blaster, "when you pry it off my corpse."

The woman paused, a small smirk coming to her lips, before she gave him a half shrug. "Fair enough."

He heard the tell-tale buzzing sound of something powering up. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end as the very air around them seemed to crackle with energy. A tingling sensation brushed against the tiny sliver of skin exposed between his gloves and his vambraces.

Uh-oh.

Those warning bells in his mind quickly turned deafening, a signal to get out, to get out now, as the arm that rested on her hip lit up. Actually lit up, and he was so taken aback by how terribly he had misjudged the situation that he hesitated for several seconds.

That was all she needed.

He saw a flash of what looked like lightning, the color a bilious yellow, and then it hit him.

It didn't hurt so much as vibrated every single bone, organ, and muscle in his body until he saw stars. Everything seized up and he was blasted violently backward, slamming into the rock. If it wasn't for his armor, he was convinced that the impact would have broken his spine. He slid down onto the floor right next to the unconscious Corellian, head ringing, limbs twitching. The edges of his vision dimmed, and he could have sworn he smelled something burning. He hoped to hell it wasn't him.

He grunted in pain and surprise, trying to make his body respond as the woman started moving. The corridor was getting darker with every step she took toward him. Down this deep, he doubted anyone had heard the commotion, and he hadn't seen anyone else around. He was on his own.

"What… the… hell…?" he tried to say, but nothing was working. Every piece of him felt like jelly. She stopped a few feet from where he lay, crouching down and peering into his helmet. Her eyes were the color of steel and just as cold. Emotionless. Unfeeling. The smug looked that had been plastered onto her face was gone completely, replaced with something he couldn't quite place but that promised things were about to go very, very bad for him, and the icy fist of dread tried to force its way down his throat to grip his stomach.

Oh, he had underestimated her. Terribly underestimated her.

His heart started beating wildly, the panic fully setting in as he again attempted to get his muscles to obey, to move, to get away, to do something, but it was useless. He finally managed to get his fingertips to barely brush against the top of his blaster but then another tremor wracked his body, causing him to slide even further down to the floor.

What had she done to him?

"If you don't knock it off, I'm going to have to shock you again," she said drolly, examining her nails. "And I would really hate to mess up that armor."

The words he willed to come out of his mouth were not very nice, and she raised her eyebrows at him, giving him the same mocking pout she'd given the bartender when he'd snatched away her drink. "That was rude." Another cold smile. "Maybe just a little one then."

To his shame, he tried to back away, his boot skidding against the ferrocrete as he forced out a small, "No," through gritted teeth. This wasn't happening, couldn't be happening, he could not let this happen—

He thought he might have screamed as the electricity seized him again, and everything went dark.