-No canon character/oc, no minor/adult, no non-canon pairings either

-There are a few oc/oc relationships, but only 1 relationship for Storm

-This story contains a corruption arc, take that as you will

-Warnings for violence and language

-The story begins in 5BBY (which is around the same time as Rebels s1 and Andor)

-Reviews/favs/follows and shares are appreciated, I'd love to hear your thoughts as the story progresses

-If you have concrit to offer, I would be happy to hear it so that I can do better in the future :)

-I expect to be posting once a week on Sundays. There's 11 chapters, all of which are already written. As of now, I'm not sure if I'll post the sequel in this work or make a new story for it.

Now that's all over with, let's begin:

Chaos across the galaxy! It is the fifteenth year of the Galactic Empire's reign. Hidden amidst the disharmony, a crime syndicate known as Crimson Dawn has staged its fall. Under the control of the mysterious shadowy Darth Maul and his figurehead, Qi'ra, the syndicate plots.

Storm Akes, son of the deceased Jedi Knight Kyrin, leaves home and his sister after a massive fallout. The Dark side whispers to him, his connection to the force is shattered from mistrust. With all the experience of a child trained by a General of the Clone Army, he ventures out into the galaxy alone...

After was a time for loneliness to set in.

The ship his little sister was in took off and Storm was hit by the degree to which his life had collapsed. After his sister, Nora, woke up from her coma, with a mixture of scorn and dread in her eyes, he knew that there was no fixing what he had broken. This was inevitable. After their mother had died, over a year before, having disappeared chasing whispers of his older sister across the galaxy, Storm was left with the responsibility of Nora. Their vegetable patch was hit by a fungal disease, shrivelling years of hard work to dust, and the money that he had raked in at the fighting ring was running solely on fumes, Storm knew that a part of their lives was coming to a close. He didn't know that it would end as badly as it did, though.

Pax Eldar, the Mandalorian who had once offered his help, if they should need it, was responsible for Nora now. She had made the choice herself, and Storm wasn't sure if he resented Pax or if he was grateful for the man.

He had a plan, now. Become a bounty hunter, save enough credits for a ship and blast out of this salty-smelling corner of the galaxy. Then he was free to do whatever he wanted. Eventually, Storm would be useful in the fight against the Empire, and he would enact his mother's revenge. His plan had more holes than most moons.

When he had lied to Pax about being 'able to handle himself,' Pax had been too lenient. Storm was used to people, like his mother, ferreting out his lies like it was a sixth sense. Although, Pax had said that he only helped those that asked for it, and Storm had insisted that only Nora needed it.

The little planet of Bandomeer was the perfect place to start anew, even if he was completely alone. Forcefully, he reminded himself of his training, running his hand over his still-growing horns. Deep breath in, let it go.

"Get to it," he muttered to himself, starting the trek to the city on the coast, the only one on the planet. It was much larger than anything he'd seen on Agamar, or during the two years after his birth on Dathomir. He knew some things about Bandomeer: there were no recent wars to speak of and had negligent, distant Imperials. Being raised in the middle of nowhere on an ocean-side mountain range, the transition to the deafening noise and bustling crowds made him wish that he could hide until it died down. Harshly, Storm reminded himself that this entire situation was his own fault and he had to face the consequences.

The Vali Cantina, his best bet for bounties, was a colourful establishment with orange-stained transparisteel windows. He squared his shoulders and marched down the stairs. He had a part to play and he would play it well. Lying and acting went hand in hand, after all. Right now, making enough money to get his new life off the ground was his priority. Luckily, his skill-set made him a perfect fit for bounty hunting. For a moment, he scanned the room, assessing it for threats like he'd been trained to. Two small groups of sentients sitting down. A couple of harmless-looking droids lethargically wheeled around, motors squeaking as they cleaned the floor. Behind the circular bar at the centre of the room, there was a twi'lek dressed in a form-fitting yellow dress. Her demeanour was calm and kind, and Storm decided she was safe.

"How can I help you?" the woman called.

She was a shade of teal akin to the cold ocean near his childhood house. Cerulean eyes that were too tired for someone who must've only been in her late twenties.

"I'm looking for a job," he said, trying to sound like he was implying something as he lightly patted the blaster on his belt. Its previous owner, his mother, had held on to it ever since the fall of the Jedi. The battered DC-17 hadn't seen much action in the last fifteen years.

"Any references?" she asked, her voice rasping ever-so-slightly, like a smoker's. "Either way I could use the help, my father just retired." It didn't seem like she understood Storm's meaning, maybe she couldn't see the blaster.

"Actually I- um- was talking about bounties. I'm a bounty hunter," he asserted and immediately cursed himself for the nervous stutter.

"Aren't you a bit young to be a bounty hunter?" she asked with a raised eyebrow.

He knew he would have to pull the lie, which had a near perfect record, and techily replied, "Stunted growth."

Her eyes widened. Then the predictable expression of sympathy washed across her face. People felt bad about probing further, so they didn't. Sometimes not being human had its benefits: nobody could tell him that he wasn't meant to look like a pre-teen. They didn't know how Dathomirian-Iridonian hybrids were meant to grow.

"I see, I'm sorry. I'm Péla Vali, it's nice to meet you," she said. "As far as I know there aren't any bounties at the moment, someone came by a couple weeks ago and took them all to pay for something big. If you worked here, you'd be the first to hear of new ones."

"Uh…" he bit his lip, disoriented by the easily given generosity. "What's the pay?"

Péla hummed. "Ten credits per hour during day shifts. Twenty during the evening and night shifts, those are our busiest times. We get a lot of tips, so they're pooled and split." She must've noticed Storm's expression because she hastily added, "Usually the salary is a bit higher but we're renovating and saving up to replace those rust-bucket droids before they crumble into a pile of bolts."

At her scornful tone, he huffed out a laugh. "How old are they?"

"At least eighty years," she sighed, "my family has had them for three generations, but the model was first released three hundred years ago."

Incredulously, he watched them trundle around out of the corner of his eye. They looked old, sure, but hundreds of years? No way. "You're kidding."

"I wish. I could write a book about all their problems. My father is far too attached to them."

"I'll take the job. If you promise that you'll give me the first look at any new bounties that pass through," Storm said, backtracking the conversation.

"Deal. I'll grab the forms you need to fill out and we can get you started tonight."

He really wasn't sure if this was how getting a job was meant to work. His only other experience was when he had to audition for a place in the fighting ring.

When she returned, Storm introduced himself properly and Péla helped him fill out the forms. He was sure he sounded like a really sketchy new employee when he wasn't able to fill out half the boxes, but Péla seemed unfazed and rolled with it.

With the exception of, "No bank account? What?"

Storm shrugged. In the past, he was always paid in credit chips. "I don't trust banks," he lied easily.

With a dubious look, she went along with it.

"Cersei, my partner, will be around at dinner so I'll introduce you to her then," she told him.

After wondering if she meant romantic or business partner, he decided that he would find out later. Not long after, she got him set up at the bar to serve the trickle of customers under her instruction and watchful eyes.

Cersei would've been intimidating if it weren't for how friendly she was. Her warm dark brown skin was marked with hints of laugh lines, putting him at ease. It turned out that Péla and Cersei were married. The soft, familiar touches that must've been second nature to them gave it away. After Cersei found out he would be working there, she turned to Péla and seemed to have a silent conversation with her. While Storm shuffled his feet nervously, the couple went off to a corner to have a whispered discussion. When they came back, he found out that Cersei was sceptical of his growth disorder story.

Which brought him to blatantly lying, again, "I'm nineteen, ma'am. I was born in fifty-four." Technically, he was nineteen somewhere. If you consider a planet's orbit and not the standard Coruscant measurements.

"If you say so," she said tiredly, flicking a spring-like lock of black hair over her shoulder.

"Really, I am. It's just weird genetics and stunted growth. See, I'm a hybrid of two zabrak subspecies and one of them grows much slower so… " he shrugged, as if that was a reasonable thing to say.

"If any authorities ask, you need to be able to present a valid identification."

Storm nodded, wondering where he would be able to get one made. He resolved to wander the seedier parts of the city, looking for 'friends' that could point him in the right direction.

Cersei exchanged another unreadable glance with Péla. "Welcome to the Vali Cantina, Storm," Cersei said at last.

Getting a job was actually pretty easy!

Over the next week, he fumbled his way through being helpful, supported by Cersei and Péla. He was nice to all of the clients, even the ones who were rude, blatantly bigoted or threw chips at him. How he wished he could fry them. Not that he would, he liked to think his mother taught him more control than that. However, if the old guy who called him a slur ever showed his face here again, Storm would do far worse than drop a brick on him in an alley. Then again, that brick would've killed him if the angle Storm threw it at had been less haphazard.

A few days in, as Péla tried to escort a man out, he grabbed her by the lekku with an expression that made Storm's stomach churn.

How dare this man touch his friend? In the dim, smoky room, nobody noticed or acted. Péla had been nothing but kind to him, and everyone else, so how fucking dare every single person here do nothing? There were too many people between them. He violently shouldered past a sweaty group. By the time he got there, Péla had shoved the man away. But as he drunkenly stumbled back towards her, Storm darted between them and punched the man in the throat. Choking and coughing, he was dragged outside, Péla's hand tight around his collar.

Storm memorised the man's face before the door closed, promising himself that he would find him.

"I didn't need you to do that," Péla said gently, barely audible over the music and shouting but Storm was already shifting back into the crowd. Back to work.

He caught up with Péla a few minutes later. "Are you alright?"

"I'm used to it. Which is why I can handle it myself," she replied, sliding a drink across the counter. She said that and yet Storm saw how she switched out with Cersei at the bar immediately after. "It happens all the time."

"But it shouldn't!" Storm protested hotly.

"No, it shouldn't. It's disgusting how people think they can treat twi'leks, but there's not much I can do. The law wouldn't protect me unless it escalated to a point where it's undeniable." She didn't have to explain what she meant by that.

Storm watched in disbelief as she shook a drink, the red and orange swirling together. "But you could report it anyway-"

"No proof, no case. Always find a way to defend yourself, no matter who you're up against. But if the damage is permanent, the Empire will come down hard on a non-human." She slammed a drink down on the table, her actions betraying a fury her tone didn't. "For table twelve," she told him and turned away.

"Damage?" he repeated slowly, picking up the drinks.

"Injuries, property damage, whatever. If the authorities know who you are, you won't get away with it."

It took a minute for the customer-service expression to make its way onto his face.

"What are you thinkin' about?" a middle-aged man asked him.

"Oh, y'know. Murder investigations," he said flatly, an emotionless smile on his face. If this man had been sober, he would've recoiled at the expression. But his eyes were practically swimming in alcohol.

He laughed boisterously, "Oh, kids these days." Then he turned to his friend. "Brenda! Did you hear? This girl–"

"Boy." Storm narrowed his eyes threateningly.

He took the correction in stride, thankfully, "This boy is interested in crime!"

Brenda, who looked too old to be awake at this time, briefly turned away from another conversation. "That's nice, dear."

Once again, the man laughed and Storm moved on during a long blink that made it seem as though he was nodding off.

As he made his way around the room, carrying drinks and plates to and from tables, he reflected on what Péla had said. On Agamar, he grew up with his family, people who looked similar to him. The stark change from that when he first visited the village a couple valleys over- full of humans- was jarring. They side-eyed his skin, his horns, his tattoos. But he'd assumed it was because it was new. When he ventured further, after his mother left, to the city, it was somehow worse. More deliberate. The assumption he was up to something. The scrutiny. The favouritism towards humans. And now he was finding out that it was a phenomenon across the galaxy? That wasn't a hopeful prospect.

The man who touched Péla was found unconscious in a back alley less than a week later, beaten black and blue. He'd been taken to the hospital to treat the delicate, shattered bones of his hands. It had been in the morning news. Imps dropped by to interrogate Péla about it. Storm listened with half an ear to the conversation.

"Witness reports claim you had an altercation with this man." A pause and Storm's eyes darted over to the hologram. Just as he remembered.

Péla gasped, a hand coming up to press over her mouth, "I had nothing to do with that, sir."

"Do you have an alibi for your whereabouts last night, Ms. Vali?"

"Yes," she said, confident in the word. "I was with my wife and three others at a birthday party. They'll all be able to tell you I was there."

"I'll be following up on that," the uniformed man said mechanically, noting something down with a stylus. "Would you please give me their names?"

Péla rattled off a list while Storm kneeled down on the ground to ply a nail out of one of the old droid's wheels. The Imperial officer didn't look twice at him.

Because Nora hadn't wanted to see him, he had to record a message for her. Well, she'd screamed at him, tried to escape the hospital room and started crying, all within a minute of waking up from a four-month coma. It was not doctor-recommended for recovery.

"I understand that you don't want to see me… and I think that's probably for the best. Look, I'm clearly not equipped to do this and Mom is- as you've probably already figured out- dead. I'm sorry about that too. I should've told you, but- but I believed that I could protect us by myself. And… what happened proved I can't. From here… I don't really know what to do. I could drop you off on Dathomir or… I have no idea," Storm sighed, digging his nails into his palms in an effort to keep up the mask of composure. It didn't work. He was fourteen, how was he meant to know how to proceed from here? "It's your choice, really." He ended the recording with a click of a button then left the room in search of someone who would pass it on.

Banned from the hospital room, he cycled through meditations and pacing until he was dizzy from dehydration. Finally, a nurse found him on his window perch in the unused upper floors of the hospital.

"She wants to speak with you," he said, his voice carrying a heavy accent from Ryloth. Storm looked over at the nurse, surprised, and hopped down from the windowsill.

"Storm," Nora said, hands clasped in her lap, sitting on the edge of her cot, straight-backed and her lip quivering ever so slightly. Still afraid but steeling herself to speak. "I won't stay with you."

From the way she said it, Storm was sure that Nora had put a lot of thought into the decision. He froze for half a second. This was always going to be the result. People left and that was just how it was. He nodded in agreement, knowing he didn't deserve to protest after what he did. Still, though, he wanted to scream. "I have an idea if you'd like to hear it."

"What?" Her voice was small.

"Years ago, after Mom died, a Mandalorian offered to take us in. He said that by the Mandalorian creed he's obligated to care for children. Back then, I turned him down… but I have his contact information."

"Is he safe?" she asked, twisting her hands.

"Safer than me," Storm said quietly. Which wasn't saying much. "Yes."

Two weeks into his new life, the droids were replaced. The new ones, ST0-43 and M4-66, cleaned and carried drinks to customers, taking some of Storm's workload. The old ones were moved in with Péla's father. Storm's pay was increased. It wasn't enough to afford an apartment and save up efficiently so he stayed camped on rooftops, away from any patrols. He could, however, afford some new clothes and a tent, which he used often. It wasn't like it was cold. Bandomeer seemed to exist in a state of perpetual summer, with some days that were much hotter than others.

Cersei questioned him about his living arrangement, worried about him being alone, but he convinced her that he was living in a little apartment with a roommate who blasted music at strange hours. The additional detail had her face clearing as she accepted the lie.

He settled into a consistent schedule of meeting up with Péla and sometimes Cersei- if she was awake after taking the late shift- for breakfast. A few hours of work followed by a long break, when he wandered the city or read the first thing that caught his eye in the library, followed by more work in the evenings.

Even if he didn't want to admit it, Storm found it impossible to let go of his old training regime. His mother had drilled it into him over the years, and, despite wanting to escape her shadow, this aspect of her was well and truly part of him. Dodging sting beams from his training remote while flipping over crates and other assorted objects on the rooftops calmed him down. A meditation of sorts. The adrenaline was addicting. Unfortunately, he had to get used to resisting the urge to draw on the Force. For his safety... and for the safety of those around him. If he ran into a Jedi hunter he needed to be able to keep his presence in the Force on lockdown. Even if he wasn't really a Jedi, he would be killed just like his mother.

Without the Force, he tended to overestimate what he could do and often finished his training sessions bruised and frustrated. He was still feeling antsy despite the attempt at stress relief, which was why when a new bounty rolled in, Storm was quick to accept it.

A dangerous criminal performing a string of robberies pissed off the wrong rich aunt when they murdered her nephew in his own home. She was offering three thousand credits if Storm brought them in, and a thousand extra if they were still alive. Storm was tempted to ask what she was going to do to this criminal if she got her hands on them… but he figured that he was better off not knowing. Especially since he was getting paid.

Initially, when she saw Storm she seemed to do a double take.

"How old are you?" she demanded.

"Nineteen." He frowned, "I'll finish the job like you want."

She dropped the subject with pinched lips. Maybe she was so consumed by anger that she simply did not care who helped her get her vengeance. Unfourtunately, Storm understood that sentiment.

There wasn't much to go on beyond a vague pattern. The criminal's face was covered and the image quality wasn't good enough to pin down their species. His benefactor had told him that security had been tightened in houses that had been hit and in their neighbours' houses, so they were out.

After a couple hours without further progress, he visited the potential future robbery sites: fancy houses and penthouses in expensive apartment blocks. He had knocked two off his list because they were constantly monitored by cameras, too much for a simple robber to risk. For the remaining options, he tried to work out how he would get in.

On the third night of watching and waiting, he spotted movement on the neighbouring roof. The robber appeared. Long limbs and a tall, thin figure. Storm watched them climb down the side of the building in the dim moonlight. The springy movement was familiar. Going by their build, Storm deduced that they were a jango jumper. They were strong, fast and flexible…Being able to jump and run faster than nearly any other humanoid species, they did better in open species. If Storm kept the robber inside, he had a better chance.

There was a glow as they cut an entrance into the glass and entered the dark room.

He double-checked the street below for cameras before abandoning the 'no using the Force' rule he had created. One run-up and flying leap later, he was landing too close to the ledge for comfort and dropping into a roll. Glancing back, he scowled at the meagre eight metres he'd crossed.

Silently, he swung himself inside and unclipped his blaster from his belt. A light clink had Storm spinning towards the sound, his blaster held defensively in front of him. Nothing that he could see. He snuck through an open doorway, assuming the robber had gone that way.

The robber was rifling through a box. Still, Storm hadn't been noticed. He tightened his finger on the trigger and fired but something gave him away. The bounty dodged.

The jango jumper tackled him and they went down. The wind was knocked from Storm's lungs. He managed to get a knee between them and used it to knock the bounty away.

Rolling to his knees, he scrambled for the blaster. His collar pulled tight enough to choke him when he was dragged back. Storm swung an elbow back at the bounty's head, but it was blocked. Taking advantage of Storm's lower mass, the robber kicked him over their head, gripping his shoulders as a pivot.

Storm inelegantly caught himself on the floor. He spun on a hand and aimed a kick at his bounty, stretching out as much as he could. He kept his momentum going and tried again with a hook kick. It connected.

The Jango Jumper toppled to the floor. Storm dove for his blaster, brought it up and fired off a shot as his bounty was recovering. Down again. It should last for a couple hours.

Breathing shakily, he grinned, feral.

Surely the noise would have woken the home-owners. He quickly scooped up the bounty and tossed the body over his shoulder.

He clambered out through the window, hauling the unconscious bounty after him. The Force lent him the strength to throw it to the roof. He made it up just as the lights below flicked on and let out a breath of relief.

Early the next morning, Storm delivered the robber to the woman and received his credits.

Cersei and Péla sat him down at the bar and gave him an iced sugary drink and a small slice of meat pie as a celebration. It was considerate of them to think of Storm's dietary requirements. They'd been doing it since he started working here and it was a rather novel experience. At multiple cantinas on Agamar, he'd been given a platter of dried grapes and if they weren't so apologetic about their lack of knowledge about zabraks he would've suspected a co-ordinated attempt to annihilate his digestive system.

He told them a dramatised version of the story, complete with hand waves and sound effects.

"Good thing they didn't leave the building," Péla commented.

"A terrelian jango jumper, right? You'd have been chasing them all night," Cersei agreed, brushing a bead of sweat off her skin. It was sweltering today.

Storm nodded and huffed out a laugh. "Yeah, running around on the roofs would've been awful. But at least they're close together here."

"True, true," Péla chortled. "And, hey, I'm glad that working here got you that job so easily."

"Someone else probably would have taken it if I hadn't," he agreed. "So, thanks."

"Glad I could help, even if it was just a little," she said brightly.

Storm took another bounty two days later. This time he did not meet with the client, just a representative- pasty-skinned and with quickly receding sandy blond hair.

The payment was nowhere near as much as the previous one, but all the other options would've taken him off Bandomeer.

It was fairly simple. Locate a human man named Kieran Lepello, who stole company secrets from one of the major trade businesses based on the planet, and bring him in. Lepello was supposedly hiding out somewhere near or in the city and was armed and dangerous. The representative slid a tracking fob across the table in Storm's general direction and his hand darted out to catch it.

With a hissed, "Keep this quiet, yeah?" the representative swished out the door.

Storm's brow marks furrowed. "Well that was rather rude," he muttered indignantly.

The beeps of the fob led him towards the coast and he sighed in disappointment when he had to stop to prevent getting his boots wet. Instead, Storm trudged along the sandy beach to where he knew the port was. He figured there would be someone willing to give him a ride and tried to decide who could be convinced. Most looked in a rush, so he decided against them.

He managed to get a silver-haired young woman to agree to take him for twenty credits. It was a good price, the same as a pair of shoes. Now that he thought about it; buying new shoes might be a good idea, his toes were beginning to press uncomfortably against the tips of his boots. He passed the money over with an easy smile.

Her boat was small with fishing equipment wedged between chairs and strung over the sides. He hopped over the railing after the woman and took a seat. This should be quite easy, he thought.

Storm spent the ride looking down at the water as it whizzed past. As they approached a houseboat, he discretely checked the tracking fob. This was it. The place was derelict. Tools lay scattered across the deck, part of an old engine sat in front of a little door leading inside. He squinted at the mess and thought that it seemed too deliberate to be an effect of a disorganised life. If someone were sneaking up on the boat, they would have to silently get around the mess to avoid alerting Lepello.

"It's that one," he said. "Could you turn the engine off as we get close? He's… probably hungover and I don't want to start the conversation badly."

"Yes," she said, bored, and turned the engine down to a low hum. It switched off completely as they glided in alongside the houseboat.

"Thank you. I should be able to get back on this so you don't have to stay," he offered.

"Do you know how to pilot a boat?"

"Nothing to crash into on an open ocean."

She laughed. "Steer carefully near the docks, yes?"

Storm nodded and waved goodbye as she pushed away.

Now for Lepello. The boarded-up windows weren't an option, so he would need to go through the front door. Risky. He tapped the blaster strapped under his jacket lightly, checking the weapon was still there, a habit he'd picked up as a kid.

Storm remembered one specific occasion clearly, he was eight and nursing a deep burn on his left arm- the angry raised skin of a scar still remained. 'Your weapon is your life, ' his mother had lectured after Vivienne disarmed him in a spar, sending the lightsaber flying. He had pulled it to his hand with one arm cradled close to his body and furiously attacked his sister, and was promptly knocked out with a kick to his head. It was stupid to expect to beat her.

He sighed. His mother really thought that her three children could make a difference. They were doomed to fail, just like he failed to keep them together.

Storm kept a hand on the blaster, set to stun, and pushed through the door.

He was met with a blaster bolt. Damn, he must've alerted Lepello. Automatically, he dodged to the side and shot back. It clipped the target- barely. Storm fired again, and this one dropped Lepello.

Now that he was out, Storm realised how pitiful he looked. Gaunt and pale, splayed on the ground with his limbs askew. What had he done to warrant a bounty? Somehow, it made the man look smaller... He shook the reflection off, there was a job that needed to be done.

He piloted the boat back with no crashes, as he'd told the woman, slowing down near the docks and wondering how he was going to get Lepello back without questions.

In the end, he decided on something he'd seen in a holofilm, pulling Lepello's unconscious form to standing and 'walking' him to where Storm needed to go. It was harder than it looked and Storm wound up dragging him through the city, unable to get his legs to do any fake walking.

"There," Storm said, dumping Lepello at the Trade Center office in front of the representative, who looked horrified. "He's alive," Storm reassured.

"I said, very specifically, to 'keep this from going public' didn't I?" the representative demanded.

The anger simmered. He gritted his teeth and shoved a lid on it.

"Your words, if I recall, were to keep this quiet. It's not public. It's night-time," dipshit. "If anything, they saw someone bringing a drunk man home. Now, my payment, if you please?"

"No."

"What?" Storm asked flatly, unsure he'd heard right. Maybe this was some kind of miscommunication...?

"I will not be paying you for this," the man said. "It was sloppy. And not what I asked for."

He clenched his fists, and took a long blink and a deep, calming, breath. Be rational, don't hurt anyone unnecessarily. "He's here. Therefore it is what you asked for."

"You are not getting paid."

This was starting to feel cyclical. "Why?"

"I told you why! Are you hard of hearing, boy?"

He raised his browmarks, half-snarling. What the hell was this? "No. The job was completed so you will pay me."

"I-"

The bounty groaned, interrupting him. Storm, eyes darting around the empty office, had an idea. The burning fury was replaced by something colder. Precise and calculating.

"Sir?" he asked, turning to Lepello, "why did this company want you retrieved?"

"Not the company," Lepello murmured, half-conscious. "Extortion... He did it." A shaky finger was pointed at the representative.

Storm nodded sympathetically, tapping his fingers along the handle of his blaster. "I see."

"That is false!" cried the pasty skinned man.

The blaster was whipped from its place on Storm's belt and aimed at the man in a blur. "The way I see it," he snapped, almost in a growl, "you have three options: complete the transaction, die, or get arrested for extortion. What's it going to be?"

Storm cocked the gun threateningly while Lepello muttered his protests from his place on the floor, "He's going to frame me..."

The man broke, his face giving in to wide, fearful eyes, "I'll pay, I'll pay!"

"Great," Storm said, grinning with sharp teeth. "You do that."

The man inched away.

Meanwhile, Storm's eyes cut to Lepello. "Where's the proof?" he asked under his breath.

Lepello's eyes widened. "Really?"

Storm shot a scowl in his direction at the volume.

"My boat. On the hard drive plugged into the computer," he whispered.

Nervously, the client shuffled back over to him with Storm's blaster trained on him. Perhaps too nervous. Storm watched his every move carefully.

"Here," a stack of credit chips was roughly shoved at him.

"How did you think this was going to go- 'no, I'm not paying you,' 'oh, okay, that's fine.' Gods, you're an idiot-"

The Force flowed through him in a shiver of warning. Storm fired his blaster. The client dropped to the ground, the blaster he was about to pull clattering across the floor. He was alive, Storm's blaster had still been set to stun. Huh, he could've sworn he'd switched it back. "As I was saying, idiot," Storm deadpanned, turning to Lepello.

"So..." Lepello began, staring at the unconscious body. "Can I go?"

"You're putting a case together against him, aren't you?"

"Yeah. He wasn't too happy about that," Lepello laughed.

Storm glanced at the scum bag of a client, playing with the stack of credits in one hand. "No, I wouldn't think so. You might want to finish that off tonight- your boat's in bay three." For good measure, he turned up the power on the stun and shot the client again. "That'll keep him down for a good five hours, so good luck."

Beaming, Lepello exclaimed, "You know, for a bounty hunter, you're not too bad! I mean, most of your lot would've killed him."

"Sure," Storm responded uncertainly. Maybe he would have, maybe he wouldn't have. He wasn't sure who he was these days, Storm the older brother that would do anything for his sister, or Storm the murderer who made deals with long-dead monsters.

Lepello dashed out of the door. At least Storm wouldn't have to dig up the proof himself, which he would've had to do if the client hadn't tried to shoot him.