He pulls his scarf from his shirt after he's got it back on, readjusts it to sit as it normally should around his neck. Makes sure the knot is tight. It's when he's bending over to retrieve his coat that the boy from before approaches him, quietly holding his blaster out to him in a sign of clear trust.

"Thank you." He murmurs, slipping it back into the holster at his hip. "What's your name, kid?"

The kid freezes in surprise before he speaks, and Cobb doesn't blame him; once someone knows one is a slave, they usually don't get into familiarities. "Zart." He finally says, and he seems almost happy in the way that a kid should be.

Good, Cobb thinks, and pats the back of the boy's shoulder. In the past few minutes, he'd gotten glimpses of the people's relationships- and Zart seems to be a rather prominent figure among them. And that's a lot to put on a kid like him, he doesn't look a day older than sixteen. But it's good, too, because they trust Zart, and Zart clearly trusts him. He reckons that it won't take long for the majority to fully warm up to him.

"Alright, Zart. I think you an' I are gonna get along jus' fine. What can you tell me 'bout this place?"

Cobb learns a lot in the next few minutes. Like how the warehouse goes untouched more often than not. Like how the facility has two floors, minus the lower-leveled hangar. Like how there are at least two or three dozen guards spread throughout the factory. Like how each shift is twelve hours long and has two crews- one for building the parts and one for ship assembly. Zart even draws a layout of each floor for him; turns out Zerem's throne room is somewhere around the center of the ground level.

All in all, Cobb finds that it's a surprisingly educational conversation. He already has the beginnings of a plan in mind even before their talk comes to a halt and Zart retreats to someone's aid. The kid reminds him a lot of his younger self, but without the anger, without the impatience. Which is good, Cobb thinks, because the plan he's formulating- it's going to take a few weeks, maybe more. He doesn't know for sure.

But this boy should be able to keep his people quiet and level-headed until the time comes to kill the bastards keeping them here.

Cobb will spend the next few weeks preparing them and himself, and then when the time to act arrives, hopefully things will play out as they're meant to. With his schemes in full swing, he bids them farewell and heads out the way he came, pleased with the way his first examination of the situation had gone. It's time to get to work.

Most of the first week is split between gaining the slaves' trust and getting himself back into fighting condition. He checks on his shoulder every day- cleans it, applies medicine to it. It's finally beginning to heal, but Cobb worries how long that'll last. With the way things are around here, he probably should've stitched it up. Probably should've done it regardless of the type of people on Corellia. But he's wrapped the bandages tight enough to keep the bleeding at bay, and that's shown enough progress to settle his nerves about the matter.

On his third day onworld, he buys various antibiotics and supplements to counteract his slow starvation, to make it easier to get the cheap hashery slop through his dry intestines. It seems to be working so far, and every morning he wakes up with just a little more energy than the one before it.

He knows that it's no permanent solution, but he thinks it'll be enough to get him through this last big fight, and that's all he really needs at this point. His body can deal with the fallout once he's returned to the familiar lands of Tatooine. Hell, he might even finally be ready to take Tuk up on his offer by the time his boots touch those horrid sands again.

But despite all the progress, there's no change in his mod shoulder. Cobb finds himself rather impartial to that. It is what it is, and at least the rest of him is making improvement. That's enough for now.

Unfortunately, with his credits being spent on temporary health improvement, his supply has begun to dwindle down. But that's hardly a problem, because Cobb Vanth has always had an unnatural knack for gambling victories. What little currency he has left is a good start to get him back in the business, and he'll need to get the money to buy weapons en masse from somewhere; can't liberate a factory of slaves with only his blaster and the guards' sharp-ended staffs at hand.

As a result, he spends most of his nights in cantinas and casinos, snagging pools of credits and building a new reputation for himself. His opponents hate him quickly enough, and Cobb's constantly looking over his shoulders to make sure no one tries to get a jump on him and steal back what they lost. One fella even compares him to a man by the name of Lando Calrissian, though Cobb can't honestly say he's ever heard of him. He's not entirely sure the comparison is such a good thing, either.

He accidentally sleeps in late on more than one occasion, and Zart hooks him up with an older cousin of his who works on the day crew and rests at night, for when their timeframes don't meet up. The guy goes by Arik, and he's definitely closer to Cobb's own age than that of his younger cousin. Nonetheless, Arik is just as helpful as Zart, and Cobb is more than happy to make his acquaintance.

It's ironic that he's not been found out already if Zerem has as many henchmen as they say he does; Cobb isn't being as subtle with his comings and goings as he could be. But he's not going to go mentioning it and bringing hell down on them all. He's smarter than that.

At this point in time, Cobb's getting ready to start looking into the local black market, to see what weaponry's going around. And, understandably, he needs a place to store it all as he stocks up on what he can. Because he can't damn well keep it at the motel, he'd figured it best to keep it as close to the factory as he can- and what's closer than in it?

It's funny, he tells himself as he squeezes into the warehouse one night. A lawman like me about to smuggle arms into a place like this.

He knows quite a few people who'd find humor in the notion alone. Though, he supposes that far more would be concerned that he'd finally been pushed to the brink of insanity. But thankfully, he's still a ways off from it.

Or so Cobb would like to think, weaving through crates in a dark abandoned warehouse as he now is, knowing full well that it's owned by a man who views him as his property. He probably is insane, doing this. But he's long since passed the point of backing out. He's in this to the end, whether that end be victory or death- because Cobb Vanth isn't the type of man to get scared out of doing the right thing, never has been. It's why he got shot by Cad Bane, after all, sticking up for those who couldn't.

He doesn't regret it, not even for the world of pain that's come after.

This'll go better, he promises the flickering old lights above him, and he knows with near absolutely certainty that he's right. It will go better, because the only other option is for it to go worse- and that just can't happen.

So he keeps moving, lets the light pass over him and cast his shadow, like oil spilling over his skin. Lets himself plunge back into the darkness between the hanging bulbs, hidden from watching eyes. He certainly doesn't feel like he's being watched, but he's more comfortable out of sight nonetheless.

Almost makes it funny when he hears a sound right in front of him.

He jerks his head around so fast that another one of his dizzy spells swamps him, and he collides with something before he can ground himself to the floor. The yelp that follows when he grabs onto the thing isn't his own, and he cringes as he finally gets himself sorted and finds that he's run into a hoary-haired older woman.

"Whoa- easy there, I'm a friend." He says as he steadies her, loosening his hold on her arms and hoping they don't bruise. "Didn't mean to startle ya. You alright?"

Her gaze settles on him at long last, and she frowns. Looks him up and down like she's seen him somewhere before. It's then that he realizes that there's something familiar about her, too. The angles of her cheeks, the knit of her brows, the dark wisps of hair weaved among the whitening-gray…

It's like from a dream, a distant memory. And all he can do is tilt his head curiously, because it's her who beats him to the punch, recognition flooding her eyes. Hazel eyes.

"You're Idith's son…"

It's quietly spoken, meant for only herself to hear, but he picks it up all the same. His throat bobs in a strange twist of unease, the sound of his mother's name coming from behind a stranger's lips. "You know me?"

"Your mother. She was my sister." He can't hide the grief from his face any more than she can from her voice. "I'm sorry."

His hands fall away from her then, as do his eyes. This woman, his aunt…Cobb never would've guessed that there was anyone still out there who shared the same bloodline as he. He doesn't even remember her. But the resemblance is uncanny. Undeniable. And the tired mourning in her expression, the regret…

It's all true. True and clear as the difference between night and day. He hadn't just lost his parents that day, so long ago, but this woman her sister.

His throat is suddenly dry again, and he swallows as he meets her gaze. "So am I."

She doesn't say anything after that, and a silence falls between them. Cobb supposes that it's alright, he's in no rush, and that their run-in is probably more meaningful to her than it is to him; he doesn't remember much of his youth before the Ealdels. It's been over forty years since then. For her to recognize him, he must look more alike his parents than he thought.

He couldn't possibly imagine how it must feel for her to see him alive after so long, the grown-and-gray son of her long-dead sister. It must hurt her, that circumstances have left them strangers.

Well, he thinks to himself, better to start rectifying that sooner than later.

He sticks out a hand. "Cobb Vanth."

Dots connect behind her eyes, and she's finally more fond than sad. She takes his hand and brings her other up to clasp it between them in a gesture of gratitude. "Trala Chey."

And in that moment, amidst the flash of long-repressed memories that accompany the sound of her name, some small part of him remembers her. A woman, teasing his mother. Laughing with his father. Ruffling his hair. She'd been happy, once. Like he had been. And, then, they'd lost everything. All because Brarkesh Zerem decided to press a button. One damned button had separated them for a lifetime, and he'd forgotten he'd ever had any family at all.

Cobb blinks the images away and offers the hint of a smile, because that's all he has the energy for. "It's good to see you."

Her smile is wider, and there's no mistaking the tears in her eyes upon his recognition of who she is. She's too choked up to form words, but that's fine with Cobb, because he doesn't see how any would be needed anyway. This sort of joy is born of grief, after all.

He stands there with her until Arik hears his voice and calls to him, and Cobb heads over to meet up with the man. They exchange new information, and Cobb tells him of how he's nearly ready to start looking for all the gear they'll need. Arik leads him back into the warehouse some time after Trala's retired for the day, and between them they find the perfect place to store weapons while the storm brews thicker.

Things are finally coming together, and Cobb Vanth can't help but to be excited. Because the end is near. At long last, his nightmares are almost over.