Storm spent the next week only working at the cantina. After the disaster that was the last mission he needed a break. Though he needed a mask or helmet for next time. If he got one more comment on his age he might actually explode. Delivering drinks and dishes to and from tables was fun if he let it be. Storm made a game of dodging around patrons as gracefully as he possibly could. Soon enough, he was getting a few friendly questions about his (non-existent) past as a dancer. Unfortunately not all the questions he got were as standard.

"'Scuse me," he mumbled, squeezing past a musician on break.

"Tell me something," the rodian on the same table said, resting a hand on Storm's forearm. "Is it true a-" they lowered their voice, "-crime syndicate showed up yesterday?"

"I have no idea," Storm said honestly.

"Surely somebody would've come here? This is the biggest cantina in the city."

"I don't really get into other people's business. Those that do tend to be at the centre of a brawl." Storm thought back to a few nights ago when accusations of eavesdropping as well as a chair were hurled at a human man.

"If you hear anything, please tell me. Even if it's just the name of the syndicate," the rodian pleaded. Maybe they owed some money to a syndicate?

He gave the rodian a kind smile, "Of course."

Storm resumed his work. He wasn't sure how he was going to find the rodian again if the answers turned up on a difficult day, but by the time he returned to the table with the total of their tab, they had left.

"Hey, Cersei?" Storm asked back at the bar.

She looked toward him with an inquisitive hum.

He lifted himself onto the table and leaned in. "Have you heard anything about a syndicate?"

"Here? No chance. There's nothing on Bandomeer that would interest any syndicate," Cersei laughed. Storm nodded and pushed back off the table.

"Thought so," he muttered. Either the rodian's rumour was right and the syndicate was remaining well hidden or they were overly paranoid. Even so, the question lingered in his mind as he went to sleep.

"Why don't you take a look at the bounties? A few were submitted last night," Péla said at breakfast. Storm finished chewing on his bacon wrapped sausages before responding.

"Trying to get rid of me so soon?" he joked, grinning cheekily.

"Funny," she dead-panned, then continued, "just because things go wrong doesn't mean you should stop all together. You would be sabotaging yourself."

Storm had only told her that the mission went to shit because he didn't think it through.

"I'm not giving up or anything. I'm on break," he protested. It sounded unconvincing. "A holiday," he added half-heartedly.

Péla gave him an unimpressed look and muttered, "Gullipud," under her breath.

The goad was so obvious but… "Am not!"

"Prove it. You don't even have to take one, just look," she raised her eyebrows challengingly. "It'll be good for you."

"Well there's no point if I don't take one," griped Storm. Ruffled, he slid from the stool and flounced over to the board, pulling out the key. He unlocked it and swung the case open.

At random, Storm pulled off and turned on holos of the bounties. He put back the ones he didn't like, the ones that were really low, or ones on core planets. Also the assassinations went back onto the board, he wasn't doing that anytime soon. But Nar Shaddaa… find and retrieve a weequay with a close range tracking fob provided? It seemed relatively simple and paid twenty thousand. That was a compelling offer. Storm pursed his lips, then sighed. He made his way back to the bar and put the projector onto it.

"I'll take this one," he said, tugging on a horn with his fingertips.

"Brilliant!" Péla cheered. Storm plucked up some bacon wraps and shoved them into his mouth.

"Sure," he muttered and Péla gave him a chiding look for talking with food in his mouth. But he was doing it on purpose so, hah!

He sent the client a message letting them know that he'd be taking their bounty. The reply was prompt, asking for his name and requesting to meet to discuss the mission and pass along the tracking fob. Instead of using his real name, Storm stuck with the name 'Elve.' The meeting place would be on top of the building across from the cantina. A little strange, yes, but Storm didn't want Péla or any patrons involved.

The client said that they would be there in half an hour and Storm furrowed his brow-marks in confusion. That was an oddly quick reply.

Storm shrugged and finished his breakfast. Getting up, he told Péla that he'd be back in a bit before leaving the cantina. He knew of a place where he could buy a mask or helmet. Or both.

Someone had told him recently that his face 'looked feminine,' and that was why they thought he was a girl. A painful eye-opener. Overly delicate bow lips, a childish-looking button nose, a soft jawline and cheeks that still hadn't lost their baby fat. He'd grow out of it eventually with the help of the hormones but…

Storm slipped into the hardware store and paid for a shiny black air filter, once he realised that helmets wouldn't fit over his horns. If he somehow hooked his recently purchased hood onto his horns then he'd have a secure cover. As well as that, it would hide enough of his face to make people hesitate before they asked if he was old enough for his line of work. It'd have to wait, though, he was due to meet his next employer.

He climbed up the side of the building, too lazy to go looking for the stairs.

At the top Storm checked if anyone was around then hopped onto a metal covered vent to wait. His boots made an echoing, gong-like noise as he swung his legs. Hopefully nobody in the building thought there was something living in them.

He remembered a time long ago when he and his sisters went looking for an animal that got inside the ceiling of their house… That was six years ago, he realised. And now his older sister was… somewhere out in the galaxy. Her betrayal was the moment their lives fell apart.

It was never a good sign when Storm woke in the middle of the night with an itching feeling of wrongness. The kind that left him light-headed with dread. He kicked off the blankets and stumbled to the door of his room, opening it to a dark hallway. At this time, the house was silent. Norazim, Vivienne and his mother were all sound asleep.

The shadows shifted. Someone was moving through the house. Not daring to speak, Storm silently tip-toed from his doorway. At the age of nine, leaving your room for anything at this time felt forbidden.

He stopped at a corner and peered around it. There was enough light coming in from the window that he could see clearly. Vivienne was hunched over the lock on the door, punching numbers into the keypad. Not even Storm knew the code to get out after seven PM. How would Vivienne? And what was she doing, sneaking out? Mom would kill her.

The first door slid open, followed by the second. Storm's jaw dropped. Vivienne sauntered- as was her default- out. Both curious and uneasy, he darted out after her, hitting the button that would keep the door from locking them out on his way.

It was raining. Cold rain poured from the sky, soaking through his sleep-clothes within seconds. He shivered.

"Where are you going?" he shouted over the roar of wind.

Vivienne, backpack strapped on and her hood up, spun.

"Storm?" she said incredulously. A beat, they stared at each other. "Go back inside. I'll be back in the morning, I've just got a couple of errands to run, don't worry."

She was lying, he knew it. He could sense it. And it wasn't a twisting of the truth, either. Vivienne had been the one to teach him how to convince himself it could be true- from a certain point of view- and nobody could sense it wasn't.

"No," he denied. The curls of his hair were plastered against his forehead, getting in his eyes and he shoved them away.

"Storm, please, go back to bed."

"Why are you trying so hard to make me go away?" He thought about her words again. Vivienne never said please (or thank you) because she had no manners and hadn't been nice any day of her life without an ulterior motive. "Why are you being so nice?" he added suspiciously.

"I- What? This is normal," she sputtered. "Go back to bed, I'll only be gone for a few hours. Mom won't even have to know, so don't tell her anything ."

Storm eyed the bag straps she was clutching, white-knuckled. Reflected on what parts of what she was saying sounded like a lie. Her eyes were red-tinted, cheeks flushed with stress. He thought about her actions over the past week. Her withdrawn and quiet demeanour. Never engaging Storm in any arguments, snapping at their mother and immediately retreating, apologetic. Avoiding trouble. Avoiding suspicion.

The conclusion was all too easy to reach now. Vivienne wasn't going to be back in a few hours, she wasn't coming back at all.

"You're running away."

"Don't be ridiculous."

"Look me in the eyes and tell me you're not," he snapped. His throat burned.

Her jaw clenched, she clutched the bag tighter. "I'm not running away, I'll be back in the morning."

"Liar."

"Fine! I can't stay here any longer. I hate it here!" she yelled, throwing her hands up.

"You're leaving me," he whispered. Something ugly bubbled, deep inside and rising. Like magma building pressure before an eruption. His fists clenched as fury overtook him. "You're abandoning us!"

Unfazed, she said, "Go back inside. I don't expect you to understand."

"Then explain!" he screamed. A crackle of lightning reflected off his eyes. For a brief second, it looked as if the light came from within him. Thunder crashed. "Explain right now or I'll wake up Mom. And you'll NEVER be able to leave!"

Vivienne looked afraid for a beat, knowing that Storm would do exactly that. She approached slowly, a placating arm held in front of her, like she was trying to calm a wild animal. "I can't live like this," she said. "I just want to make my own choices for once." She lay her hand on his wrist, stooping over.

"But you can. Here. With us, with me. We'll just talk to Mom and she'll let us go to the town and talk to the other kids again." It had been a year since they were forbidden from going to the village in the other valley because they broke the rules.

"Is that your idea of freedom?" she asked, a pitying expression on her face.

"What else is there?" He couldn't think of anything else he could want. Nothing that was possible, anyway.

"When I was little…" she began, looking at the rocky ground. "I was in the Jedi temple… and everyone my age would've been travelling the galaxy, seeing worlds that I haven't even heard of. That should have been me. I would rather be dead than spend the rest of my life in this prison."

Storm's eyes stung. Is that what Vivienne thought? Was living here with him really so bad? He thought she loved him. Apparently he was wrong.

"It's not a prison," he said, stabbing his nails into his palms to hide the wobble in his voice. It didn't work. "It's our home."

She shook her head. "My home was the Jedi temple. And it's long gone."

"But-"

"Kyrin took me from the Temple. The Jedi were my family. And she didn't look twice at me after she abandoned me in the creche. She wasn't my mother until she decided she needed a weapon."

"You're not a weapon!" Storm insisted, thick tears rolling down his cheeks.

Vivienne barked out a laugh. "Of course I am. It's sad that you can't see it… You and Nora were only born because she needed soldiers. Weapons. Why do you think she's been training us the way she has?"

He sniffed. "To teach us to protect ourselves."

"Don't be ridiculous," she scoffed. "If she cared, would this," she jabbed the scar on her shoulder, the punishment their mother left for Vivienne's weakness, "have happened?"

"Mom didn't mean to, she was just angry-"

"Of course she did," she said scornfully. "It wouldn't have happened if she didn't mean for it to."

Unable to argue against that, Storm could only beg, "Please don't go. Stay with me, we can make it all better. We'll-" he frantically searched for ideas. "-We'll make her listen to us."

"That would never work, and you know it." Vivienne cupped his cheek, brow-marks bitterly furrowed. "I have to go, I'm sorry. Will you let me?"

His eyes darted back to the house. It would be so easy to wake up their mother. But Vivienne would hate him for it. This was all too much. The decision was too difficult, because whichever one he made would be the wrong one. He cried harder, hiccupping.

Finally, he whispered, "Okay."

"Okay," she repeated, a lopsided, mournful smile on her face. "Thank you."

Vivienne pulled him into a hug. Shaking, he returned it. When she pulled away, her hand returned to his cheek.

"Don't ever change," she murmured. He could hardly hear her over the rain. "You're so bright… and optimistic. I wish I could see the galaxy the way you do."

Storm didn't say anything. This would change everything, they both knew it. He would have to pick up her slack… and if he didn't…

"Take care of Norazim," she said. "And stay safe… for you, not for Mom. "

"Okay," he managed to get out.

The sudden absence of Vivienne's hand was a loss of something so much more.

Her form disappeared over the edge of a ridge and he was left alone. Drenched to the bone and crying his heart out. Around him, the storm picked up. Lightning lit up the night, thunder boomed. And he curled up in a ball on his knees in the middle of it all.

He shook the memory off. Years later all that was left was bitter anger and regret. She had ruined everything for his family. If he had stopped her from leaving, their mother wouldn't have left. If he had stopped her, their mother would be alive.

"Hello," a slightly accented voice said. Storm whipped towards it. The woman was of a species that he didn't recognise, with chalk white skin and markings on her face and neck.

"Hi," Storm replied warily. How had she snuck up on him so easily? "I'm Elve."

"My name is Margo," she stepped closer, holding out a hand. Her posture screamed of poise and grace, as did the way she held her bumpy, pointed head. Like smoothened stones.

Storm shook her hand, it was covered in rough scales. "You're the client?" he asked.

"I work for them," Margo said.

He nodded.

"The fob," she stated, holding it out to him.

"Thank you."

"Your target is Hokin Kaban, a weequay, hiding out on Nar Shaddaa, as you already know. He's fast, smart and very likely armed. He's been evading capture for a long time now. Your client wants him alive. If he's not, you don't get paid. Clear?" Margo looked down at him, despite the fact that he was seated above her eye level.

"Crystal."

Margo nodded once. "Deliver him to me at Shilla-B Plaza Building, third floor."

"Okay." Storm slid down onto the ground from the vent. "Pleasure doing business with you," he said with an awkward mix between a wave and a bow.

Margo's face twitched into an expression that might've been amusement. Storm backed away and upon reaching the ledge, saluted and tumbled off backwards. Maybe that would look cool enough to salvage his earlier fumbling. Storm controlled his descent well, smoothly transitioning between falling and landing on walkways. He hit the ground lightly and started walking back to the cantina to tell Péla and Cersei he'd be going in the evening.

"Yes, Margo?"

"He took it. Nar Shaddaa," Margo told her employer and friend. They had put up quite a few options, increasing the chances of the boy picking one. Additionally, Margo had made a very good impression on Vali last night, which likely played a part in getting the young bounty hunter to return to work.

"I suspected he would. I have someone posted there already," the woman in the hologram said.

"Impressive, M'lady," said Margo appreciatively. The woman smiled in response.

"Await the dawn."

"Await the dawn," Margo echoed and hung up.

Storm's ship was in a grassy field outside of the city because he didn't want to pay for a docking bay. It might've been slightly illegal, but he didn't care as long as he saved up money. With that, he might be able to afford to survive on his own. He was starting to notice the holes in his own plan now that he had his ship and he hadn't moved on from Bandomeer. He liked his fresh start, thriving in stagnation. He could return to Agamar, but his home felt cold and infected in the Force. There was the option of leaving Bandomeer, but he had grown attached to Péla and Cersei despite knowing attachment was dangerous.

Gods, how he wanted to do something against the Empire, but he wasn't strong enough to survive the consequences. Storm was neither powerful nor ready. Not yet.

Once he left the atmosphere and inputted the coordinates for the hyperspace jump, he stood and stretched. It would take half a rotation to get there, so he decided that he'd sleep on the way.

His dreams had not been peaceful in the last five months, ever since Nora's coma began. They were bad before, with images of Vivienne being tortured in some dark cell, born from his fear. Now, though...

He dreamt of bodies in a mass grave. Thrown into a deep, dark hole. They piled on top of each other with dull, echoing thuds and the far-away crunch of breaking bones.

Screams before they were struck down by a deep blue lightsaber. The smell of burning flesh and ozone. They begged for their lives, whimpering, grovelling. But their murderer felt… nothing. There was no room for mercy, for guilt, for anything.

He dreamt of a fire burning a peaceful town to ashes. Where? Ashes scattered in the wind, obscuring his vision. Erasing its past.

The perfect crime, without a shred of evidence left behind.

Nothing could truly be erased.

Storm awoke gasping with tears gathering in his eyes and rolled quickly from his bed, wiping his eyes harshly. Aimlessly, he wandered the ship, realising that he didn't have any furniture or decorations.

With nothing to do and not long until he reached Nar Shaddaa, Storm curled up in the pilot's seat as he stared out of the viewport into the streaks of hyperspace. They made him feel unmoored and only half-present in his own mind. Relaxing, somehow. He dragged his palms over the horns on his forehead and up to the larger two at the crown of his head, gripping them and digging his nails into his scalp.

Storm hated the dreams but more than that, he hated the person in them who could commit such atrocities. What was it? There was a piece missing. Sighing, he leaned his head back and squeezed his damp eyes shut. Hyperspace was giving him a headache.

The first thing Storm noticed flying over the city was that Nar Shaddaa was very crowded and very large. Maybe everyone here was used to it, he thought, leaving the ship. Buildings stacked on buildings, deep valleys between them dropped far enough that the bottom was shrouded in darkness and thick gas. Speeders rushed past, hurtling around corners and past stop signs with a disregard for any kind of traffic law. The chaos of the city made him feel insignificant.

He pushed up the sleeves of his skin tight undershirt, revealing angular black tattoos, and pulled the tracking fob from his trouser pocket. It wasn't doing much yet, but it told him he was in the right area, at least.

Storm left the landing dock and gazed around at the neon lights flooding over the layers upon layers of buildings, lighting up the thick smog of pollution. This was going to be harder than expected.

He nervously stopped a passerby and asked for directions to a speeder bike rental.

An hour later, as he was getting close to his bounty, he strapped on his mask and pulled his hood up. The tracking fob was buzzing harder and its tiny red light flashed frequently. He parked outside a run down bar and hopped off the bike. As he made his way inside, Storm double checked the tracker.

Somehow the inside of the dingy bar was seedier than the outside. Storm grimaced as he tugged his foot out of a sticky puddle of who-knows-what. Letting his eyes adjust, he scanned the dim room for a weequay.

Behind him, there was a small clatter of movement. Whipping around Storm saw his target dashing out the door. He hissed through his teeth. Great! Another stupid mistake.

He gave chase, bursting through the bar door only to see Kaban descending into the lower levels on a speeder. Storm jumped onto his own bike and allowed it to plummet while he started up the engine. A little grin crept onto his lips.

Swiftly, he swerved the bike around a vehicle and sped on. Kaban joined traffic a few levels down and Storm pulled the bike horizontal and joined the lane below the weequay.

He gripped the bike with his thighs as he weaved and spun between other vehicles. Kaban turned to check on the pursuit and then took a sharp turn through an opening upon seeing Storm. Gritting his teeth, Storm took a hand off the handlebars to pull up a map of the area. Yeah, exactly what you weren't meant to do when driving, but it made him fit right in with everyone else. After some distracted tapping he managed to project it in 3d.

The route that Kaban took was long and winding. If Storm were to merge three levels up and turn left he would come out not far from Kaban and nearly at the same time. He signalled- to make up for the earlier massive breach in driving safety- and soared upwards, bursting through a sulphurous cloud. Left through the second gap, he reminded himself before taking the turn.

Storm exited in the right place and scanned the area for any sign of Kaban's speeder. A droid would make this so much easier, he thought with a frown. The sheer amount of people made spotting anything specific incredibly hard. Even if it was a fairly distinctive green speeder, nothing was easy to see. He furrowed his brow marks in concentration.

There! Through the chaos, he saw that Kaban was going into a second tunnel even lower down. Storm accelerated over a row of vehicles and made for the closet tunnel going the same way.

Based on the distances, Storm estimated they'd exit at about the same time. Not good enough if he wanted to catch the weequay. He dodged around a speeder and put the bike into full throttle. As an amateur swoop racer, he had plenty of experience with extreme speeds. Although, he wouldn't dare try pod racing, the murderous cousin of swoop racing.

The road at the next intersection was packed with speeders. Squinting through the blur of colours, he could barely make out Kaban's level.

Even if he could shoot Kaban and stun him, his speeder would crash. And speeder crashes were often deadly. Therefore no money- and a dead body to answer for. Which meant, he realised with an agitated twitch, he'd have to be in the same speeder when he stunned him.

No risk, no reward. Decision made, Storm slid off the bike, dragging it off to the side of the tunnel. He took a few steps back for a run-up. Then he launched himself off the edge.

That may have been impulsive. This was a stupid plan. Where was Kaban? He brushed it off. If he failed the worst that would happen was that he wouldn't get paid. And the crushing disappointment of failure, he added bitterly.

Free fall was exhilarating. Truly, there was nothing better than the feeling of wind rushing past him. He landed on the back of a speeder briefly, avoiding a potential collision in the lane below, and was immediately destabilised by how fast it was going. Which was fine, he just had to decrease his acceleration enough to not injure himself. Tumbling off that one, he grabbed the end of a speeder a couple lanes down. His arm was nearly wrenched from its socket, and he hissed in pain. He noticed the abrupt change in the flow above him. Oops. Maybe he would cause an accident today after all.

He allowed the speeder to drag him along, closer to Kaban. It was unlikely that their paths would cross without any further action so Storm let go.

The driver of the vehicle that he landed heavily on looked back, alarmed. And hit the breaks. He flew through the air, above the driver and frantically tried to reorient. He slammed, feet-first, into another speeder and used the momentum to push off and upwards.

The jump was too high for any normal person. Messy. Sloppy. Careless. You're going to get caught! His only consolation was that his face was concealed this time.

He jumped from speeder to speeder. Oh, what he would give to be able to fly , he thought as he barely avoided smashing into a windshield. Instead he rolled clumsily over the roof. Gritting his teeth he ignored the second jolt of pain in his shoulder. Through the adrenaline, he could tell it wasn't broken or dislocated, therefore it was fine. He groaned in pain anyway.

He spotted Kaban's green speeder further back and in the lane below him. As he got closer, he saw the moment the weequay noticed him. Too late, though.

Storm dropped, catching himself on Kaban's speeder. He swung up, around, and landed behind the seat, simultaneously pulling out his blaster from its holster.

Kaban tried to whip around and shoot him first but Storm fired a quick stun shot at the weequay- who tried to dodge. Before the vehicle could spin out of control, Storm lunged for the steering wheel.

With the weequay out of commission and on the seat next to him, Storm steered the speeder through the city, making his way to the meeting point.

The navigation system led him to the Shilla-B Plaza Building. He got out and heaved Kaban onto the ground.

Weequays were heavy . The species were made of hardy stuff; blaster and puncture proof skin and nearly unbreakable bones. The only reason the stun bolt worked was because of the close range and high power. Speaking of, he cast an assessing eye over the target, it seemed to be wearing off. Storm stunned him again. He dragged the weequay across the abandoned parking lot, praying there was an elevator in the building.

In the far corner, a group of young humans laughed loudly while they smoked what was probably spice. One of them joyfully waved at Storm and he half-heartedly waved back to be polite.

He found the elevator, awkwardly and bodily shoving Kaban up against the wall inside it with his shoulder. With his foot, he stretched out to kick the button for the third floor.

The doors opened and Storm pulled Kaban out, failing to avoid them closing on the weequay's legs. He grimaced as the doors jerked open again.

The room was dark, lit only by the elevator light behind him and the faint neon coming in through the windows. It was nearly empty, save for the graffiti-covered support pillars and wooden crates stacked by the walls, full of trash. The room smelled damp and mouldy, it didn't seem like the kind of place Margo would want to visit.

He glanced down at Kaban and then around the room again. Then he dropped Kaban. Carrying him was bothering his injured shoulder.

"Uh… Lady Margo?" he called. It felt inappropriate to refer to her by only her first name.

There was a long silence as his voice echoed faintly. He rolled his ankles so he was supported by the outer sides of his feet. And back. Repeat a few more times.

The woman's heels clicked against the peeling linoleum floor as she emerged from the shadows of a doorway.

"He's alive?" she questioned.

"Yes. Just stunned."

"Good. Your feats on Phrog road were quite daring," she said.

Storm's constant state of motion screeched to a halt. How-? "You were… watching me?" he asked, hyper-aware of any movement from her. Somebody was following him and he didn't notice? He really was losing it.

"Yes." Her voice was flat, unaffected.

"Why?" The lift behind him was already closed but surely there was a fire escape somewhere. If she knew that he was Force sensitive she could report him to the Empire. Were they already on the way?

"Crimson Dawn sees potential in a working relationship with a talented bounty hunter."

"Crimson Dawn… the syndicate?" Storm had heard about them. That they were relatively small these days but only some years ago they were one of the most powerful syndicates in the galaxy and a force to be reckoned with. The second thing he realised was that the rodian from the bar had been right.

Margo nodded.

"Look, Lady Margo, I appreciate the offer and I mean no offence by this: I'm not signing the rest of my life over to a syndicate."

"I see…" she said thoughtfully.

He hoped that was an agreement. Storm took a shaky breath in through his mouth and let it out through his nose, pinching his lips together.

"Are there other reasons for your disagreement?"

"Yeah. You work with the Empire." Storm glared.

"Firstly, that is a broad generalisation. Only Jabba the Hutt has an actual working relationship with them. Secondly, we do what we have to do to survive. The Empire doesn't make it easy."

Really? It wasn't easy for them?

Storm huffed out an incredulous snort. If he could find humour in something it would drown out most of the incandescent rage. "The Empire is a disease. A disease that all the syndicates are profiting off of because the empire considers your activities advantageous." Storm did not say that it should be eradicated- because that was too far past treason- but the implication was there, clear as day.

Margo's expression twitched, her lips quirking up. "Unfortunately, that is rarely the case for Crimson Dawn."

Storm didn't know what she meant by that, nor did he care. "I'm still not signing over my life."

"Very well."

Storm relaxed slightly.

"We will be in contact," she added, her dark eyes did that sound like a threat? Damn .

"Right. I'd rather you… didn't do that."

"Your payment," she said, ignoring his comment and holding out a leather pouch.

Storm stepped towards her and grabbed the credits. "Thanks. He might wake up soon," he said roughly, jerking his head at Kaban.

She hummed in acknowledgement and he backed towards the elevator and thumbed the button. "Do you… uh… want his speeder?"

"It's yours," she waved dismissively, "Crimson Dawn is generous to its recruits."

Storm pursed his lips, nodded and stepped into the now open elevator.

The doors closed and he allowed himself a calming breath, leaning against the wall. Bounty hunting meant freedom, not anchoring himself to something. Storm was free and he would stay free, he thought with conviction. That was what he wanted out of this new life.

He returned his bike and offered the rental owner Kaban's speeder for four thousand. Storm allowed him to haggle the price down to three thousand five hundred and refused to budge further.

He left the rental about twenty-three thousand credits richer than he'd been the first time he went in. As Storm made his way back to his ship- still depressingly nameless- a sign caught his eye.

An amateur swoop race with prize money. Entry cost… he squinted at the writing… thirty credits. A swoop bike wasn't provided but he could guess that there were plenty of places to get one. Honestly, that sounded really fun. Besides, he needed to have some fun at some point, he can't live life going from one job to the next- not that he'd done many jobs yet. Unsure who he was justifying himself to- perhaps his dead mother, she would have been rather critical of this- he shrugged and wandered closer to the sign to scan the address and sign-up link.

He remembered his first race, between him and Vivienne, who had been about twelve at the time. She was six years older than him, but was already a proficient mechanic and had managed to piece together a pair of broken-down swoop bikes for them. Sometimes he had thought that she would've liked to become a mechanic, but they rarely spoke about what they wanted, afraid that voicing it would make it impossible.

He sighed and shook it off, then decided to look for somewhere to get a pilots licence. Tomorrow, once he bought a swoop bike, he had a race to compete in.