No Disintegrations

Stalking his prey, he couldn't help but admire the grace and raw power that was the Vaapad. The Vaapad was a predator of Sarapin, a multiple-tailed animal, it was fast, deadly and only few were ever killed. In this particular case, the dark feline-like animal had 5 tails. It hadn't suspected any danger nor did it pick up the scent of any would-be danger to it. Yes, that's it, he thought to himself wryly. Feast on the gift. He lay down, his heavily modified disrupter rifle targeting the alien predator. His scope outlined where his disrupter blast would take the animal: the eye. With his disrupter angled on his left shoulder, he moved his right hand across the safety and disengaged it. Rubbing the trigger, he watched it continue to rip apart the docile animal that constituted the Vaapad's dinner. Waiting for the animal to poke its head up one more time, he couldn't help but smile. The dark, short fur of the animal, graced its entire body. The hide alone would be worth thousands of credits to the prospectors' community. The teeth would be worth quite a bit as well. The credits it would bring him was all that he desired. He moved his right hand to touch his cheek. His face had 2 scars. One which ran on the right side of his forehead to his right cheekbone and the second which started parallel to the first, and ran all the way down to the left side of his neck. Though gruesome, those cuts were miraculously non-life threatening. His ice cold blue eyes focused on the Vaapad. His prey. His credits. It looked up. He fired. It was clean.

Walking towards the animal, he had stood 50 feet away from the creature and surprisingly it hadn't noticed him. The glands work, he thought to himself. Relishing the sound of credits in his hand as he would use them to upgrade his fighter. An out-of-production Gargoyle-class gunship, it had a hyperdrive, an advanced shield system which was initially designed for light freighters, two oblong sublight-ion engines with delta-inspired wings and a dagger-shaped cockpit. Ironically, he called it the Vaapad. The Vaapad also carried dual disruptor cannons between the wings and engines. It also happened to carry two torpedo hardpoints hidden within the gunship's hull and one 'hardly noticeable' belly-mounted blaster cannon. He inspected the kill. The blast had caught it in the eye and had burned through its brain. Clean, he thought to himself as he began to drag the heavy animal towards the ship. You'll fetch me a pretty credit. He couldn't help but smile again. He threw the Vaapad's carcass into the cargo container of the gunship. As he moved towards the cockpit, he picked up his rust-coloured helmet and threw it on. It complimented his rust-coloured or 'dry blood' armour. He had earned the right to wear it when he had killed his first predator at the age of 9. It was his father's armour from the now extinct Mandalorian clan Hessian.

Reflecting on it, he remembered that fateful day 33 years ago, when he had earned the right to wear his dead father's armour. Of course, years before that, his father was involved in the final skirmish between the Mandalorians and the Jedi during the war against Exar Kun. It had ultimately cost him his life, and once more, the Mandalorians had lost. But the fact they had fought and slaughtered a high number of Jedi and Republic soldiers was a great thing. It brought honour and glory to the Mandalorians, regardless of the outcome of the war. It was only 8 years ago that he had fought alongside his fellow clans against the Republic during the Mandalorian Wars. It was only 4 years ago that he had been badly injured and on the other side of the galaxy when clan Hessian joined the ranks of many other clans that were ultimately defeated on Malachor V by the Jedi Revan. It was only 4 years ago that Malachor was destroyed, wiping out clan Hessian and so many others like it. He was the last of the Hessians. Now, like most of his scattered brethren, he was a mercenary.

As he gunned the engines and left the surface of Sarapin, he began to make his way towards the looming city on the north-western hemisphere of the planet.

With his helmet off and armour back on the Vaapad, he wore a dark trousers and black shirt, with a rustic leather coat and standard boots. Underneath the coat, he had his two Mandalorian heavy blaster pistols on his shoulder holsters. Anyone, with the exception of a thief, would have never noticed it, as the pistols were carefully hidden. Hidden under his sleeves were small vibrodaggers which were self-retractable. To anyone who looked at him, all they would have noticed was a slightly tanned man, with his icy cold blue eyes, slightly messy peppered hair and a calm demeanour that could even rival a Jedi. Several opponents had made that fatal error. After he had obtained his credits-- without much fuss from the proprietor-- he had made his way into the local cantina.

After he ordered a Corellian whiskey from the bartender, he moved towards an empty booth and sat on a surprisingly comfortable seat. Taking time to enjoy the spiced aroma of the amber coloured drink, he took a sip and let it sit in his mouth for a second or two before he swallowed the liquid. It burned all the way down. Ah, that's good stuff. We should have declared war on you a lot sooner, he thought smugly to himself. As he took a second gulp of the aromatic whiskey, he noticed a Rodian, a Nikto and a green-skinned Twi'lek. They were all dressed in the same blue-stripe, yellow-stripe, red overall, uniforms. Swoop gang, the Mandalorian thought to himself. The Rodian had his usual green skin and fly-like snout, with two large round black eyes. The Twi'lek happened to have one of his headtails wrapped around his throat and the other was dangling against his right shoulder. As for the orange skinned Nikto, he happened to be the larger of the three and seemed to have an angry demeanour on his face. His features included very small ears, no visible nose and it appeared that if he were human, he would have been a melted and slightly mutated form. Of course, Mandalorian or not, Dierak Hessian is still a human and found that thought alone to be an insult. As the three thugs were shoving people aside and trying to incite fights, they seemed to enjoy that no one was willing to fight gang members. The Nikto, noticing that Dierak was sitting alone in the booth and didn't seem to pose much of a threat, callously walked up to him, with his companions on either side. After all, this was a middle-aged human who should pose no threat whatsoever.

Not caring, Dierak sipped again from his tumbler and enjoyed the spicy whiskey. He had spent many years controlling how he appeared to others, his expressions were kept inwards. He relished the thought of killing these buffoons. "You, huuuuman," came the barked calling from the Nikto, "you in my seat." His other two companions only sneered and laughed, eager to terrify and extort the human. "You pay me 50 credits or you will be bruised." And I thought the Republic said it was civilized, the Mandalorian thought to himself. Taking another sip from his whiskey, he only replied, "I was here first. You weren't and I don't see your name on it." Slightly taken aback, the Nikto only smiled and cracked his knuckles before he slammed his palms onto the table, shaking the man's tumbler. The man didn't flinch. "You give me 50 credits and I think about letting you live, huuuman," the Nikto hissed. The Rodian and the Twi'lek had removed their small hold-out blasters. Small enough to conceal and light enough to carry anywhere, the hold-out blasters were something an extortionist would use if they wanted someone stunned and used later for torture. A Mandalorian child wouldn't bother with such trinkets. They would have used heavy blasters when "honing" their marksmanship skills. Dierak Hessian certainly wasn't a child. "No deal," he calmly replied before he took the last sip of his whiskey. "I do, however, have a proposition for you." Grinning, the Nikto looked at his companions and looked back at Hessian.

"What deal you have in mind, huuuman?" The thug asked the man. "You and your friends each give me 50 credits and you get to walk out of this place with your lives," he calmly imparted towards the three. Enraged at such an absurd proposition, the Nikto grabbed the table and threw it away from them, throwing the tumbler off at some unlucky patron's head. The Jizz band had stopped playing and everyone was silent and looking at the altercation between the seemingly hapless man and the three brutes.

Still sitting calmly, Dierak merely said, "seems you'll have to buy me a drink too." Even more enraged, the Nikto grabbed Dierak by the shoulders and picked the man up. Unfortunately, that was the last thing he would ever do. The Mandalorian closed his fists and two virbroblades extended from his arms and drove itself into the Nikto's chest, puncturing his lungs. The thug's two companions quickly moved away and tried to shoot their blasters; the Nikto got in their way. Hessian retracted his blades in time and dropped to the floor, rolling away from the pin-cushioned Nikto. He managed to withdraw his heavy blaster pistols and fired them in rapid succession. Each bolt hitting their mark and blowing holes into the Rodian and Twi'lek. The sickly sweet smell of burnt flesh and ozone covered the area quickly. No one had moved. Putting his blasters back into their holsters, he walked towards the dead trio and took the credits from their dead bodies-- they weren't going to need it anymore. As he begun to leave, he stopped at the bartender's counter and dropped a 50 credit coin on the table. "For the trouble and the drink," he replied.

As he left the room, the music slowly returned to normal and everyone began to resume their conversations. All in all, Dierak Hessian made 247 credits from the dead trio. The day seemed to be looking up after all.

After seeing the three fools she paid to go and die, she was certain that he was the one her Master had specified. After finishing her drink, she quickly left under the cover of the fight that had ensued. Standing outside and some distance away from the cantina, she waited for the Mandalorian to leave the cantina before she would approach him. The fools had worked so perfectly; she knew that had she been wrong, the man would have simply died. But this was a Mandalorian, a hard-trained warrior who slaughtered countless Jedi and Republic soldiers. She spotted the man leave and made her way behind the mob of people in the streetways, following him. She knew not to underestimate him, too many before her did and they served as examples to her.

He had continued walking towards his apartment, but taking a series of back alleys. After years of war, he couldn't help shake off the tingling feeling in his spine. Someone was following him. He knew that, but he wasn't sure who. Looking for another alley, he turned into it and continued walking through a labyrinthine passage. He had to draw out his would-be stalker. As he continued, he steadied his fast rising heartbeat and made for the interior of an open building. He walked through the hallways of the building and made his way through an adjoining corridor between the building he was in and another building. He walked through it and moved towards an exit and made his way out. After finding an open exit with the mass mob, he simply continued to walk.

She followed him until he had walked into the building. Where did he go? She wondered. Wait, I see him, she spotted him through the masses inside the building. He was going to walk into the corridor which connected itself to another building. Trying to feel him through the Force, she found herself overwhelmed from the flow of the life that was the mob and everyone else on this city. She continued walking outside of the building, pacing herself and shrouding herself in the Force so as to make sure no one noticed her. When she finally found the exit that the Mandalorian was undoubtedly going to take, she walked towards it-- only to realize that there was an opening which branched into the street, filled with countless faces. Blast, she thought to herself. Where did he go? Could he have suspected? Before she could form another thought, she heard the distinct click of the safety for a blaster. So the hunter becomes the hunted. "Turn around. Who are you?" He asked her. "What is it you want and make it fast." She turned around and looked at the scarred man. Though he wasn't repulsive, he wasn't very attractive either.

"My name is Lotus Xa," she said. "I have an offer from my Master."

Curious as to what her game was and what kind of deal her Master had in store for him, he merely said to the very attractive woman, "and if I decline?" She smiled, her oddly coloured eyes brightened and she spoke in a very light tone.

"Oh, I believe it is an offer you can't refuse, Dierak Hessian." Looking at the woman, he decided it was better not to shoot first and ask questions later. Keying the safety, he holstered his heavy blaster. "Let's talk," he said. Lotus Xa merely smiled. To the man, the scent of credits was promising indeed.