Foundling
Chapter 4
Jango's ship came down gently on one of the many landing pads that dotted the nighttime cityscape of Coruscant's entertainment district. The pulse of neon lights strobed against the hull of Jaster's Legacy, illuminating the ship in ever-shifting hues.
Before leaving his ship, Jango had painstakingly checked his gear. Every inch of his suit was scrutinized, every weapon tested. He ensured his twin WESTAR-34 blaster pistols were fully charged and his jetpack was in working order. He didn't want it getting knocked off again.
The electric pulse of Coruscant's nightlife pulsated around Jango as he navigated through the dense crowd of beings. The scent of exotic spices from street vendors wafted through the air, mingling with the musk of sweaty bodies and the acrid tang of exhaust fumes. His armored footsteps echoed off the synthetic cobblestones, rhythmic and steady against raucous laughter and distant sirens.
His silhouette, adorned in a masterwork of beskar, cut a stark figure against the gaudy luminosity of neon signs and holographic billboards. It was a spectacle of technicolor chaos, the planetary city that never slept. The harsh sterility of Coruscant's durasteel skyscrapers began to blend into the chaos of the entertainment sector as Jango ventured deeper. Shimmering holographic banners advertising pleasure dens, cantinas, and other establishments of dubious reputation hung from the skeletal frameworks of towering buildings.
Despite the vibrancy and life of the district, Coruscant was a planet that had long lost its luster to Jango. One trillion lives upon its surface only equated to one trillion potential threats in a world corroded to its core through thousands of years of corruption and decay. For him, it was always too loud, too bright, too much. The sooner he could finish his task and leave, the better.
Just as he turned the corner to the more desolate parts of the sector, a hulking mass lunged from the shadows. The greenish-brown, reptilian hide of a Nikto reflected in the flashy neon lights as the thug attempted to tackle him. But Jango was already moving, his combat training flowing through him like a dance rehearsed a thousand times.
In a swift motion, he sidestepped, letting the Nikto's momentum carry him past, and delivered a crushing blow to the creature's kidney area. The would-be assailant gasped, doubling over in pain, providing the perfect window for Jango to draw his blaster.
"Wrong move," Jango's voice warned, distorted by the modulation of his helmet's speaker, as he aimed his weapon at the Nikto, who was now crumpled on the filthy pavement. He too drew his blaster, but he was no match for the bounty hunter. With a blaster bolt sizzling through the air and scorching into the Nikto's chest, the thug slumped onto the grimy permacrete, a thin wisp of smoke trailing up from his wound.
No sooner had the sound dissipated when Jango detected more movement. His head turned sharply, instinctively aligning his T-shaped visor to the source of the commotion. Emerging from the shadowed underbelly of the sector were more figures. He could make out a handful of them, their blasters glinting ominously under the fractured lights.
"I'm going to say this once," Jango's voice carried an icy edge as he addressed the thugs, "If you don't want to end up like your friend here, I suggest you back off."
A laugh echoed off the grimy walls as one of the thugs, a Rodian with a scar cutting across his bulbous eye, stepped forward. "Think we don't know who you are, bounty hunter?" the Rodian spat out, his voice tinged with bravado. "Everyone knows the armor of Jango Fett. You're here for Gervis Gloom, aren't ya? We're not just some common thugs. We're the local muscle Gloom hired for protection. So, how about you go back to wherever you crawled from?"
Jango let out an audible sigh. The universe had a grim sense of humor, it seemed. He had already dealt with hired muscle when he'd pursued Meeko. Now here he was again, on Coruscant, the heart of the Republic, faced with yet another gang of misguided souls looking to make a quick credit at his expense. This was becoming a tiresome routine.
"You boys should pick your employers more wisely."
Without another word, he moved. His actions were a blur, a precise and deadly ballet of violence. His blaster hummed in his hand, spitting out searing energy bolts with each trigger pull.
Without further hesitation, the Mandalorian activated his jetpack. In a brilliant flash of orange flame, he rocketed skyward, leaving the narrow, neon-lit confines of the alleyway behind. The thugs' blaster fire chased after him, turning the darkened Coruscant sky into a light show of deadly lasers.
He expertly dodged, zigzagging through the air, using his momentum and jetpack to make himself a difficult target. He didn't have time for this. Gervis Gloom was close, and every moment he wasted here was a moment the death stick dealer could use to slip away.
The gridlike cityscape of Coruscant sprawled beneath him, a vast network of towering buildings, illuminated highways, and bustling starports. The underbelly of the city, however, was a different world entirely. Dark, seedy, and home to the very element Jango made his living hunting. As he flew, the sprawling, light-studded cityscape of Coruscant lay beneath him—an overwhelming visual symphony of towering buildings, illuminating highways, and buzzing starports.
Ahead, the destination finally came into view. Gervis Gloom's favorite haunt – a cantina buried in the heart of Coruscant's entertainment sector. Its neon signage painted a streak of garish colors against the night, a siren's call for the desperate and the debauched. Jango cut the power to his jetpack, descending from the skies like a meteor.
He landed deftly in the shadowy alleyway adjacent to the cantina. As he approached the cantina, Jango's armored footsteps echoed in the narrow alley. A crackle of static in his helmet caused him to pause as he reached for the entrance. Roz's voice cut through the silence, tinged with a familiar undertone of concern.
"If you go waving your blasters around in there, you could make more enemies than even you can handle," she warned.
Jango couldn't help but smirk beneath his helmet. "I seriously doubt that, Roz."
"Can you at least try to be subtle?"
"All right, we'll do it your way." Jango yielded, pushing open the cantina's entrance. The wave of noise and activity hit him immediately - a cacophony of clinking glasses, loud conversations, and a band playing a raucous tune on a corner stage.
Roz's voice sounded again in his earpiece as he wove his way through the crowd. "Gloom frequents a casino above the nightclub. It's members only, but you might be able to persuade the bartender to let you up."
With purposeful strides, he moved through the packed room towards the bar, the distinctive T-shape of his visor catching the flickering lights of the cantina.
The bartender's eyes narrowed as Jango approached the counter. "Want a drink?" he asked.
"I'm looking for someone," Jango said, his voice low and calm.
The bartender leaned against the bar, an amicable smile spreading. "Well, you came to the right place."
"A lowlife death stick dealer named Jervis Gloom. My sources say he's been through here."
A flicker of recognition passed over the bartender's face, quickly replaced by a practiced neutrality. "A lot of people come through here, friend."
Jango's patience was wearing thin. "Listen, friend..." His hand drifted to rest on the grip of a holstered blaster. "I'm allowing you to do this the easy way or the hard way."
The bartender's eyes widened, his gaze dropping to the blaster and back to Jango's visor. "Are you... threatening me?"
"That depends. Is this going to be the hard way?"
"Listen, I don't want any trouble," the bartender stammered, his hands raised in a placating manner. "I'm just trying to run a clean place, you know?"
"I'll bet. Now, where is he?"
The bartender sighed, defeated. "He took a lift up to the casino."
"Call it down."
"Okay, okay, I'll call it down. Hold on." The bartender quickly reached for a control panel under the counter, tapping it to call down the private lift.
Just then, Jango's peripheral vision caught the glint of a sniper's scope from the cantina's upper balcony. In a split-second reflex, he activated his cable, wrapping it around the bartender, and yanked him clear just as a sharp blaster bolt streaked where his head had been moments earlier.
Patrons shrieked and dove under tables, spilling drinks and overturning chairs in their scramble to find cover. Jango didn't flinch, his training and experience taking over. He deftly returned fire, pinpointing the sniper's location amidst the disarray. Two quick shots from his blasters sent the sniper tumbling over the balcony rail, crashing into a table below with a resounding thud.
Breathing hard, the bartender stared at Jango, eyes wide with fear. "Who... who was that?"
Jango kept his blaster at the ready, scanning for any other threats. "Your friend Gloom keeps some nasty company." His hand flicked, sending a credit chip spinning toward the bartender. "You're welcome."
From behind the bar, a Rodian bartender, who had taken cover during the gunfire, emerged holding a trembling tray of blue milk. "On the house," he muttered in Huttese, clearly shaken.
Jango glanced at the blue milk, the corners of his lips twitching beneath his helmet in mild amusement. "Thanks, but I'm on the clock."
Without another word, he moved quickly towards the lift, eager to find Gervis Gloom and close the night's hunt.
Roz's voice crackled in his ear. "Jango, it's going to be a Gundark's den up there. Gloom's thugs are bound to have a trap ready for you."
"I'm counting on it," Jango replied.
He activated his wrist-mounted cable, aiming it toward the lift's ceiling panel. The hook clamped onto it with a metallic clunk. The panel was ripped away with a firm pull, revealing the dark elevator shaft above. He propelled himself gracefully into the shaft with his jetpack, perching atop the lift.
"Now, this is more like it."
He felt the lift slow as it approached its destination. Pulling out a thermal detonator, Jango thumbed the activation button, its soft red glow illuminating the shaft like a deadly ruby. The lift's doors slid open with a soft hiss, followed immediately by a barrage of deadly blaster fire. Smoke billowed from the onslaught, seeping into the shaft.
"Did we get him?" Jango heard a voice from the casino.
Jango smirked beneath his helmet, aiming with the thermal detonator. With a gentle underhand motion, he tossed it into the lift, where it bounced its way into the casino.
"Look out! It's a—" The frantic warning was cut short as the thermal detonator unleashed its furious energy. The force of the explosion ripped through the casino. Vibrations shuddered up the elevator shaft, causing Jango to grip his perch tightly. As the shockwave dissipated, an eerie silence settled in its wake, punctuated only by the soft patter of debris settling.
Jango descended from his high vantage, swinging gracefully into the devastated room. The luxury and opulence of the casino had been transformed into a war zone: shattered tables, charred upholstery, and the remains of Gloom's thugs.
As Jango surveyed the wreckage of the casino, his honed instincts caught a fleeting shadow against the pulsating backdrop of Coruscant's neon-lit skyline. There, darting through an archway that led to a connecting balcony, was a figure trying desperately to escape. Jango activated his jetpack and shot forward, covering the distance in mere moments.
With a deft movement, Jango fired his grappling cable. It wrapped around the runner's ankles, sending him crashing to the floor. Jango landed gracefully beside the entangled man and immediately recognized the distinct features of Jervis Gloom. The spiky red hair, the oversized maintenance goggles—this was his target.
Jervis squirmed and struggled, attempting to free himself from the cable grip, but froze when Jango's cold, efficient blaster pressed against his temple.
Jango kept his blaster firmly in place as he spoke. "Who do you work for?"
Jervis' defiant eyes met the impassive visor of Jango's helmet. "You think I'm going to sell out my contacts because you have a blaster to my head?"
Jango leaned in closer, the cold metal of his helmet nearly touching Jervis' forehead. "No," he replied calmly, "I think you're going to tell me because you want to live."
Jervis swallowed hard, sweat glistening on his brow despite the cool breeze drifting in from the vast cityscape. "Okay, okay. I work for Groff Haugg. He runs a nerf-packing plant in the industrial sector. It's a front for his more... lucrative ventures."
Jango's stance relaxed only slightly. "Coordinates?"
Jervis nodded towards the sleek transport parked on the balcony's edge. "In the nav-computer of my ship."
Jango retracted his grappling cable, freeing Jervis. The Mandalorian bounty hunter holstered his blaster and took a step back. "Get out of my sight."
The death stick dealer hurried away, leaving Jango alone on the balcony. He approached Jervis's transport, accessing the cockpit. A faint orange hue started to touch the horizon, heralding the approach of Coruscant's dawn. The city-planet had its rhythm, an ever-moving beat that never truly went to sleep. The rising sun glinted off the vast skyscrapers, casting long shadows that would soon disappear beneath the bustle of the day.
Booting up the nav-computer, Jango quickly found the coordinates for the nerf-packing plant. He gripped the controls, feeling a subtle vibration as the repulsorlifts engaged. With a smooth thrust, the ship ascended, making its way towards the industrial sector.
Author's Note
I apologize for the lengthy delay. I've been busy with my private life, and haven't had as much time as I had hoped to update this. I'm also hard at work with other fics. However, unlike with Foundling, I'll be uploading those when they're complete instead of one chapter at a time. Expect more Star Wars fics in the future, as well as other interesting additions. (Things are gonna get weird.)