Delta 38 slammed his shot glass on the bar, almost shattering it.
"Hit me again." He growled at the bartender, a large, fat man, shaking his head in disgust.
A trandoshan next to him stared.
"What are you looking at, lizard-breath? Do you know how many of your kind I killed in my prime?" 38 snarled.
The trandoshan backed down, terrified. Unusual for their kind. Must not have many jagganath points.
"Your drink, Boss." That was a name he hadn't heard in a while. Almost overcome with emotions and memories, he put his head on the table.
He glanced back at the bar, where his shot glass sat, refilled. He could barely see it, his eyes were so wet. He grabbed it, and stood up.
"I used to lead the best squad of men in the galaxy!" he shouted, challenging the entire cantina. "And now look at me! A wreck without a name! But I'm still better than any of you nerf herders here!"
Another Trandoshan stood up and started to growl at him in Dosh, rolling the sleeves of his yellow jumpsuit up.
38 was a little rusty in Dosh translation, but he got the gist of the insults. Something about his mother mating out of season.
He laughed.
"Joke's on you, you scaly fuck! I never had a mother!" 38 shouted.
The first punch was hard, nearly dislocating 38's jaw.
The second punch was 38's, smashing the glass against the reptile's snout. Following that, an elbow to the throat put the lizard down.
He stomped on the thing's throat a few times to make sure it was dead.
"You lizards never did learn that I was scarier than you."
The bartender put a hand on 38's shoulder.
"You better get going, mate." he said.
As 38 stepped out of the cantina, he had to shield his eyes from Tatooine's twin suns.
"I hate this city." he muttered. Mos Eisley was a hornet's nest, full of scum. Needed to be wiped off the face of the planet.
A group of Storm Troopers stared at him. Under-trained conscripts, the lot of them. Needed to be taught a lesson.
Maybe the rebellion wasn't such a bad thing.