Chapter 5

I do not own anything. Both franchises belong to their respective companies of which I have no affiliation.

The Iron Rancor hummed with its usual energy—clinking glasses, murmured conversations, and the occasional sharp laugh. Reed leaned against the bar, a half-empty drink in his hand as he watched Brask work. The Besalisk moved effortlessly, his four arms tending to customers while his sharp eyes scanned the room. For weeks now, Reed had been helping keep the cantina running, but his thoughts were elsewhere.

It had been weeks since he'd returned from taking down Narga, the Trandoshan bounty. The job, done alongside Shala, had been exhilarating—challenging but satisfying in a way nothing else ever had been. When he'd told Brask that he wanted to pursue bounty hunting for real, the old Besalisk had just grinned with a knowing look.

Now, as Brask placed a fresh drink in front of Reed, his expression was different—serious, determined.

"I've got something for you," Brask said, leaning in slightly to be heard over the din of the cantina. "Since you said you wanted to be a hunter, I've been looking into old contacts to help you get started."

Reed straightened, his curiosity piqued. "You found someone?"

Brask nodded. "It wasn't easy. Guild hunters don't take on just anyone, but I managed to reach out to an old friend—Jax Ordo. He's one of the best."

"Jax Ordo?" Reed asked, the name sparking vague recognition.

"Yeah," Brask said, his lips quirking into a grin. "Tough as they come and can think on his feet. He's agreed to meet you, but don't get too excited. He'll make you prove yourself."

Reed finished his drink, setting the glass down with a determined look. "Where do I find him?"

"You're not going alone," Brask said, motioning for Reed to follow him. "Come on."

Brask led him out of the cantina after putting one of the droids in charge while he was out.

He led Reed through Coruscant's sprawling lower levels, the neon glow of the district fading into a dim haze of industrial smog and flickering lights as they delved deeper into the under city. They arrived at a reinforced door tucked into the side of an unmarked building. Brask knocked heavily, the sound echoing in the quiet corridor.

The door hissed open, revealing Jax Ordo. The human bounty hunter was as intimidating as Brask had described—grizzled, with a cybernetic eye that glowed faintly in the gloom. His battered armor and weary expression spoke of years in the field. He glanced at Brask, then shifted his mechanical gaze to Reed.

"This him?" Jax asked, his voice low and gravelly.

Brask nodded. "Kid's got potential. Sharp instincts. Took down a Trandoshan mark with minimal help." The bounty hunter snorted as he continued to eye Reed up and down. Brask grinned "But you know how it is—talk is cheap. You'll want proof."

"Karking right I do" Jax grunted.

He stepped aside, motioning for them to enter. "Come in."

The room was dimly lit, cluttered with old datapads, crates, and holoprojectors. Jax moved to a console in the corner and keyed in a command. A hologram flickered to life, displaying the image of a tall, gaunt Muun with cold, calculating eyes.

"You want to get my sponsorship?" he asked. "Then you need to prove to me that you won't be a liability in the field." he turned to the hologram.

"Vess Drathos," Jax said, nodding toward the projection. "Wanted smuggler. Spice, weapons, stolen tech—he's been a thorn in the Republic's side for years. Word is, he's hiding out in the Industrial Sector."

Reed stepped closer, studying the hologram. "What's the job?"

"Simple," Jax said. "Find him, capture him alive, and bring him back here. You've got twelve hours to make it happen. Fail, and this conversation is over."

Reed nodded, his expression serious. "I can do it."

"You'd better," Jax said, crossing his arms. "The Guild doesn't need dead weight. Brask might think you've got what it takes, but it's on you to prove him right."

Reed glanced at Brask, who gave him a small nod of encouragement. Turning back to Jax, he asked, "Any leads?"

"Start at a warehouse in the Industrial Sector," Jax replied. "His crew's been seen moving goods in and out of there. Don't expect a warm welcome."

Reed grinned. "That won't be a problem." he turned to leave, clapping Brask's bicep as he passed by. He then walked out the door and there his hunt began.

Reed left the meeting with a renewed sense of purpose. The Industrial Sector stretched out before him, a maze of rusted metal walkways, towering smokestacks, and the ever-present hum of machinery. The air was thick with smog, and the dim lighting cast long, ominous shadows.

He reached the warehouse Jax had mentioned, its exterior a mix of corroded metal and flickering neon signs. A pair of guards loitered near the entrance, their blasters slung casually at their sides. Reed crouched behind a stack of crates, observing their movements.

This wasn't just about taking down Drathos—it was about proving he had what it took to be a hunter. Brask had gone out on a limb for him, and Jax was watching. Reed couldn't afford to fail.

But there was one big difference this time; this time he was alone and could really cut loose.

Reed crouched in the shadows of the Industrial Sector, the faint glow of Coruscant's lower levels casting eerie shadows against the towering structures. The two guards at the warehouse entrance were alert enough to deter common threats, but they weren't expecting someone like Reed. The faint hum of machinery and the occasional distant clank of metal masked his approach.

His hand drifted toward his blaster but paused. He didn't need it—not for this. The subtle hum of power within him, the pulsing strength of the virus, was more reliable than any weapon. He could feel it writhing under his skin, just waiting to be unleashed.

Reed's body shifted subtly, tendrils of black biomass curling just beneath his skin before disappearing. His movements were silent, almost predatory, as he scaled a nearby stack of crates. From the higher vantage point, he could see into the warehouse—a dimly lit labyrinth of cargo containers and stolen goods. Several thugs milled about inside, armed and alert. At the center, standing beside a holo-table, was a Neimoidian barking orders as he spoke into a wrist communicator.

He crouched, his legs slightly bulging with strength before he launched himself towards the guards.

The guards at the door barely had time to register the sound of movement before Reed dropped between them. One reached for his blaster, but Reed was faster. His hand shot out, tendrils bursting from his arm and wrapping around the guard's wrist. A sickening crunch echoed as the weapon clattered to the ground and the guard was consumed.

The second guard stumbled back, eyes wide. "What the—"

Reed silenced him with a swift kick, sending him sprawling into a pile of crates. Before the other man could scream, Reed's hand morphed into a wickedly sharp claw, slamming into the guard causing them to gurgle briefly as tendrils quickly swarmed and consumed him. Leaving nothing but a small bloody smear on the duracrete.

The guards dealt with, Reed turned his attention to the warehouse. He moved inside, his senses heightened by the virus coursing through him. The faint pulse of footsteps, the murmur of voices, the smell of sweat and oil—it all painted a vivid picture of his surroundings as he tensed in front of the door.

He was ready to make his entrance.

The warehouse was alive with the usual murmur of low-level criminals going about their business—grumbling over manifests, hauling crates of illicit cargo, and gossiping about buyers and Republic patrols. At the center, a Neimoidian in a worn but regal robe barked orders from near a holo-table, his tone dripping with irritation. The place stank of oil, rust, and desperation.

Then it happened.

The massive sliding durasteel door shuddered violently, screeching against its tracks as it buckled under an unseen force. For a half-second, everything froze—confused glances exchanged between the thugs, some even laughing nervously at what they thought was a mechanical malfunction.

But then, with an ear-splitting groan, the door was ripped free from its housing and hurled sideways into a stack of crates. Metal shrieked as it clattered to the floor in a cloud of dust and debris. The sound echoed like a thunderclap, silencing the entire room.

Every head turned toward the now gaping doorway. The sudden absence of the door left only shadows—and then he stepped through.

Reed emerged from the darkness like a predator, his boots grinding debris underfoot, his expression cold and unreadable.

The Neimoidian froze mid-gesture, his mouth agape. "What in the name of—"

"WHAT WAS THAT?!" a Rodian near the crates shouted, his blaster shaking in his hands.

"Is that… a person?" stammered a human thug, his voice cracking.

The room erupted into chaos. Blasters were drawn, crates were knocked over, and more than a few thugs stumbled backward, scrambling for cover. Whispers of panic turned into shouts of fear.

"What the kriff did that?! He—he kicked it off its track!"

"Who is this guy?!"

"Shoot him!"

Despite the panic around him, Reed kept walking forward, his pace measured and unhurried. The air seemed heavier with his presence, as though he'd dragged death itself in with him. He didn't flinch at the blasters now pointed his way or the curses hurled at him. His voice cut through the noise like a knife.

"Where is Vess Drathos?"

The Neimoidian snapped out of his shock, rage and fear warring on his face. "Do you have any idea who you're dealing with?! You dare storm into my operation and—"

"Shut it," Reed interrupted coldly, his tone carrying a lethal edge.

"Where is he?" he asked again. "Either you talk or I take the information from you. And you won't live long if I take it from you."

The Neimoidian's nostrils flared as he pointed wildly at Reed. "Kill him! Kill him now!"

Blaster fire erupted, the red bolts screaming through the air. Thugs opened fire from all sides, lighting up the room in flashes of crimson. Reed was already moving, faster than any of them could process. He rolled to the side, disappearing briefly behind a stack of crates before re-emerging like a shadow made flesh.

Before one of the thugs could adjust his aim, Reed closed the gap. He grabbed the man by the throat, his hand tightening with inhuman strength. The thug let out a choked scream before black tendrils erupted from Reed's arm, latching onto his chest. His body convulsed as the biomass spread, his screams tapering into silence as he was consumed, flesh, bone and even their clothing vanishing when the tendrils receded.

"What is he?!" a Weequay yelled in terror, his blaster hand trembling.

Reed didn't answer. He turned sharply, eyes glowing an ominous red, his gaze landing on the Weequay. A whip-like tendril shot from his arm, coiling around the man's waist and yanking him across the room. The impact was bone-shattering, the scream cut short as Reed descended on him with merciless efficiency.

Two Rodians turned to flee, but Reed was faster. He leapt forward with unnatural agility, landing in front of them. One fired wildly, the bolt grazing Reed's shoulder. Reed's face barely twitched as he backhanded the first Rodian, sending him sprawling. The second tried to raise his weapon, but Reed's hand shot forward, claws morphing from his fingertips to pierce through the alien's chest.

The first Rodian scrambled back, pleading. "No! No—don't!"

Reed's hand shifted back to human form as he grabbed the Rodian's head, his voice calm but merciless. "Where is Drathos?"

"I—I don't know!"

Reed sighed, almost bored. The Rodian screamed as Reed's tendrils erupted again, wrapping around and consuming him in a flurry of tendrils.

The Neimoidian, now pale and trembling, cowered behind the holo-table, his red eyes darting frantically to the exits. He stumbled as he tried to flee, falling onto his hands and knees. Reed advanced slowly, the sound of his footsteps the only noise in the ruined warehouse.

"Where is Vess Drathos?" Reed asked again, his voice low, calm, and utterly terrifying.

The Neimoidian sobbed, dragging himself backward as if distance would save him. "Dock 47! Level 2137! Upper levels—I swear, that's where he is! He's meeting buyers!"

Reed stared down at him, unblinking. "Thank you."

The Neimoidian's face lit up with fragile hope, his mouth opening as if to speak—

—until Reed's hand shot out, black tendrils enveloping him in a sickening wave. The Neimoidian screamed, his final moments filled with horror as his body was consumed, leaving nothing but the faint smell of blood.

The warehouse was silent, save for the hum of broken machinery and the occasional crackle of a loose power conduit. Reed stood amidst the carnage, the strength of the Blacklight Virus thrumming within him. The Neimoidian had given him what he needed: Dock 47, high above on Level 2137.

Reed turned toward the exit, his steps steady as he left the ruined room behind. The hunt wasn't over, and Vess Drathos would soon learn that no one could hide—not from him.