Here, some competent Imperials.

Can't turn this into a side story

Interlude:

Don't Look Away

Mirba swung the swing her father made before he left to join the cause; that was 8 years ago when she was just five. Since then she never saw him again, mama told her he was fighting for her future, not under the tyranny of the Republic now Empire. She is grateful for her father willingly fighting for their people in this sacred war yet even then she had hoped for maybe someday she'll meet him again. Mama always said few words when she asked when her father would return, only to reply that the two of them will meet each other again someday; she hoped it was soon, it isn't just her that misses him but her younger brother too.

Sometimes Mirba would ask the occasional partisans who was sheltering in their village about news of her father for years now and all they told her they don't have any, she couldn't truly fault them for not knowing because most of them are from the nearby cities, choosing to retreat to their planet forest and mountains to hide and fight. Mirba truly idolizes them, just like her father they were fighting for his future, and that admiration turned into a desire to contribute in the struggle. She told them once about it but the older partisans: Old Xeimir, an old bothan, just chuckled and messed her hair.

"The day you fight for the struggle is the day I failed Mirba, you and brother are the planet's future, grow… strong," he touched Mirba bicep, "And smart," to then pat her head. "Just do that for us; that's all we need for you to do. Mirba pouted hearing that oldman Xeimir is treating her like a child. She told her Mama about it and she beat her with a towel for not listening to oldman Xeimir.

"I think you should listen to both of them, Mir, they're right you know," an older boy one year older and human like her said while fixing some furniture in his grandpa shop, Mirba kicked him lightly, annoyed that the older boy was not agreeing with her. Izkar glared at her while Mirba challenged him to do something about it, knowing that under Izkar grandfather's gaze he could do nothing. "You kicking me just proves that aunty and oldman Xeimir was right, you know."

She blubbered her lips, "I just want to meet dad again." Both of them were silent at that, Izkar's father and even mother had also joined the struggle, leaving him to be cared for by his grandfather and disabled grandmother.

"The Sacred War will end," Izkar said, leaving no room for Mirba to retort. "When that day comes, all of them will be back." Mirba was silent again, they had the same conversations over and over and she was too tired to ask what if all of them, she clenched her fist, were gone.

Izkar raised an eyebrow while mulling something over, then suddenly stood up looking down at Mirba who was sitting in one of the chairs that wasn't painted yet.

"Grandpa! Can I take a break?! " Izkar shouting made Mirba wake up from her stupor. "C'mon let's get out of here."

"Whe… Eh? " she didn't even finish her words as Izkar just pulled his hand toward the outside of the workshop. He held her hand across the whole village much to her embarrassment; the whole village which consists mainly of old people just smiled toward them. They made their way to the forest and after a few more minutes they arrived at a hill, where bluesky and warmth of the sun accompanied by the breeze of wind made Mirba widen her eyes. The view was beautiful, just beyond the small hill and forest was a great plain of grass. They sat atop the small hill, the two of them alone gazing at nature's canvas. They stayed there for a few hours not talking until it entered evening. Then she saw a great black smoke rising from afar, she squinted her eyes and saw a factory was built.

"That wasn't there last month, how did they…," muttered Izkar only to stop when the beeping of his watch made him sigh and he stood up as Mirba too, knowing that Izkar relaxation time was up. They make their way back to the village both sporting a satisfied smile.

"That was fun, why didn't you tell me about that spot sooner?" She asked the boy.

"Have to enjoy it for myself before you ruin it," came the cheeky reply. She playfully elbowed the boy puffing her cheeks.

"Villagers!" Mirba and Izkar jolted into attention

"What was that?" Asked Izkar.

"It's oldman Xeimir! He's back! Let's come and see(1). " This time it was Mirba who was dragging one of them.

"Gather around! Gather around! "

They arrived at the village center where oldman Xeimir was standing atop a makeshift podium; they spotted their family talking with each other with a worried look on their face. Her mother noticed them both and called them to huddle without a word. They complied as Mirba and Izkar approached their family, Mirba's mother bowed slightly to check on her.

"Where have you been?! " her mother said with worry while shaking her body, her skin pale.

"We were watching the view just after the forest, " replied Izkar. "It wasn't her fault I was the one who dragged her with me, Aunty. "

"Atop the west hill? " her mother asked with a smirk.

"Yes, how do you know, aunty? " Both of them looked inquisitive at her who was still smiling remembering something than shaking her head to be more serious and put her index finger for us to be silent as she then pointed at oldman Xeimir. He was looking around the crowd waiting for a few seconds then satisfied as almost the whole village was here.

"The Empire is coming! They have known that this village is a separatist stronghold." That got the crowd to gasp, panicked, and Mirba was threatened to be stomped by the crowd who was already planning on escaping but was saved by Izkar Grandfather who was holding her mother, brother, and Izkar also for them not to separate.

Blaster fire was shot to the sky silencing the crowd, "SILENCEEEEEE! " came a great scream from the oldman, "I don't want to lead a pack of animals, I want civilized men and women! So calm your asses!" Mama covered Mirba's brother's ear "Gather you things, prioritize supplies and your most valuable! We leave as the sun sets!"

"Where are you leading us?" one man asked in the crowd.

"Away from here,"That is all the crowd needed to disperse with haste and start to go to their homes and pack their belongings. Mirba's mother has prepared them for this scenario; they have a special bag if they suddenly need to move. Mirba only needed to fill it with some clothes and civilian instant ration they bought from a traveling merchant and they were set to go. She and her family were one of the first ones to arrive, all three of them carrying their own bag with mama holding the heaviest and a cart full of extra food just to make sure. 30 more minutes passed and she spotted Izkar alone, he walked towards us, eyes meeting the ground with fresh tears in his eyes.

Mother spoke first, "Where's Mr… "

"He's staying with grandma, she… She can't walk" Mama was about to say something but chose to stay silent and hug the poor boy.

"It's alright, you're with us now," she disengaged the hug, "Is that ok with you?" Izkar nodded, "What did you pack? "

"My clothes, food, papers, and this, " he pulled out a very old blaster pistol.

"Do you know how to use it? " Ask mama.

"He's great with it, I've seen Izkar shooting a moving bird from a distance, " Mirba informed her mother. It's all she needed to trust Izkar with it.

The sky was turning orange and about 60 partisans emerged with oldman Xeimir leading them. There's about 800 men and women in the village, more than half of them are old and half chose to stay unable to trek the journey, want to fight, or both. That leaves only about 300 plus wanting to leave the village. Her village and 400 people that she almost knows all their names would be gone in her life just like that. She was crying, of course she was crying, her life would be destroyed by the empire without them thinking much about it. Izkar patted her back then held her hand without saying anything as the column of sapient human, trogutan, Neimoidian does not matter, all of them have lost or/and will lose someone by the hand of the empire.

Orange sky turns dark, the group split one by one into five groups so as to not be easily detected by the empire, mama make sure none of them split up joining the group that oldman Xeimir was leading. The night was illuminated by the stars and moon as they walked across an ocean of empty grass with no tree cover over tens of kilometers away. No one dared to make a light as they're tied together and someone with a makeshift night vision device leading the way.

The one in front always tried to use the paved road but occasionally they had to walk upon cold muddied fields as the solid ground was easy to turn into mud this time of year.

"I'm tired," her brother started to walk slowly. We watched with warranted worry as suddenly he dropped to the ground but thankfully was caught by Izkar. He placed her brother on the levitating cart and switched with her mother to hold it, noticing that her hands were already giving up after hours upon hours of guiding it. Then Izkar took out some of the bags in the cart to be carried in his front to not reach its maximum limit.

Mirba placed a hand in one of the handles, surprising Izkar then gave him a smile that was illuminated by the moonlight. He returned in kind, now both of them were guiding away the cart. As they walk for a few more minutes they heard a weird buzzing noise and a shout from oldman Xeimir.

"COVER YOURSELF!! " At his order everyone pulled out a piece of cloth covered in mud, trying their damn hardest not to be seen by the sky. She already covered her brother with the piece of cloth as the order was given then wrapped herself with the mud filled piece of cloth. Izkar turned off the power in the cart so as not to be detected by the fighter electronic sensor.

They waited in heavy silence, their heart thumping in the air as the fighter turned to their left. The distant hum of its whistling engine grew faint and for a moment Mirba thought she was safe and then without warning a bright green bolt shot down from the sky struck the ground several kilometers away with a deafening roar. The ground trembled beneath their feet, and sounds of explosion rolled like waves after waves. Then the scream—the scream that horrified them all. The scream was desperate, gnawing at their senses to run—muffled by the ferocity by the punishment the fighter had exacted to far below. Mirba's mother held her closer and Izkar was holding her arm protectively.

Mirba, her small frame trembling beneath the weight of a blanket soaked with thick mud, peered cautiously from the folds. The damp cloth clung to her like a second skin, the chill of the mud seeping through as her breath fogged the air. Her eyes, wide and unblinking, reflected the distant fire — an inferno that painted the night sky in hues of orange and crimson. Each explosion sent another burst of green light across her face, distorting the shadows and making her look as if she were caught between two worlds.

The explosions came one after another, a chaotic rhythm of destruction, but it was the scream — the faintest trace of humanity in the madness — that haunted her. Mirba strained to hear through the roar, trying to catch the pitch, the timbre of that voice, hoping for some sign of recognition. But the sound was lost in the cacophony, the fire consuming whatever remained of the person it had been meant for. Her breath caught in her throat as the green light flickered again, casting harsh, unnatural shadows across her small face. She couldn't identify the voice, but she knew it was someone — someone who had been caught in the crossfire, just like everything else in this war-torn world.

The world felt smaller now, reduced to explosions, green light, and the faintest memories of what once was. Mirba held the blanket tighter around herself, trying to block out the horrors, but they seeped in through the cracks, feeding the growing dread that gnawed at her soul.

"We must keep moving," a voice broke through the stillness in front of her. It was Auntie Miriam, her voice low and urgent as she carried the message from the front. Her face was set in grim lines, eyes scanning the horizon ahead, never daring to look back. They were survivors, she knew that, but even survival in this wasteland was becoming a thin thread, one that could snap at any moment.

"We must keep moving," Mama echoed from behind, her voice carrying the same urgency but with a tremor of something more — fear, sorrow, or both. She glanced down at Mirba, her eyes softening just for a moment before she quickly masked it with resolve. Her hand briefly touched Mirba's shoulder, a silent assurance that they were in this together, and then she turned back, addressing the group behind her.

Mirba simply nodded, too weary to speak, her mind still replaying the scream from moments earlier. The voice had been fleeting, carried away by the explosion, but it had etched itself into her memory. A cry, maybe of pain, maybe of fear, but ultimately one of helplessness. She tried to ignore it, to bury it deep inside, but the thought clawed at her, gnawing at her mind like the faint echo of a nightmare.

The column began to move again, its weary steps a rhythm of survival, each footfall sinking deeper into the muck. The night air was thick with the crackling of blasters in the distance, flashes of white light momentarily illuminating the faces of the people around her. For a brief instant, it felt as though the darkness itself were alive, alive and watching, waiting for the next explosion, the next scream.

Suddenly, a new shadow loomed overhead. Mirba looked up, her heart skipping a beat. Another spacecraft, its massive frame white illuminating against the burning sky, approached with a low hum. It cut through the air like a predator drawn to the slaughter below, its three wings and sleek hull glowing ominously under the green bolts of light that rained down from the sky. The green reflected off the hull, casting an eerie glow that seemed to bleed into the surrounding chaos. The craft was a harbinger of death, a reminder that the world they had once known had been devoured by this endless war.

They marched on, each step dragging them further from what they once were, further from any hope that things could ever be normal again. The cracks of blasters echoed throughout the night, a reminder of the constant violence that stalked them, of the lives being lost just beyond the horizon. But for now, they were still alive, and that was enough to keep them moving. They were glad it wasn't them being targeted, but the relief was hollow, fleeting. Every life lost in this hellscape was another reminder that they were all part of something much larger, something they couldn't escape from.

And yet, as they marched, as the column continued to push forward, there was a quiet sadness that clung to them, an unspoken grief for those who weren't fortunate enough to be walking with them tonight. Another explosion rocked the ground, a bright green flash lighting up the sky in the distance. It wasn't their fight, not directly. But it might as well have been. The planet had become one large battlefield, and no one was safe.

Mirba kept her eyes forward, trying to block out the horrors behind her, but the distant fires still burned in her mind, their light reflected in her eyes. She couldn't forget the scream, the haunting cry that had been lost in the chaos. She would carry it with her, as she would carry the weight of the mud and the blanket, until the world itself no longer had a place for her to hide.

"We rest here and wait for daylight so we can move again under the cover of darkness tomorrow. Eat, but don't start a fire—we are not in the clear yet!" Oldman Xeimir's voice was firm but low, his sharp eyes scanning the weary faces around him. His hand rested on his blaster, fingers tense as if expecting trouble at any moment. "Is that clear?"

A few nodded curtly, their faces shadowed by exhaustion, while others muttered quiet affirmations.

"Good," Xeimir said with finality. "Now eat and rest."

With that, the small, ragged convoy began settling in, bodies folding onto the damp ground, too tired to complain about the cold or the ache in their limbs.

Mirba let herself drop onto the dirt, her legs trembling with exhaustion. Her mother had already lifted her younger brother from the cart, cradling his small, frail form as she carefully arranged him onto a makeshift cushion of bundled cloth near them. His breathing was soft but steady, his little chest rising and falling under a too-thin blanket.

Izkar sat down beside Mirba with a heavy sigh, his posture slumped, shoulders weighed with fatigue. He barely reacted when Mirba leaned into him, resting her head against his shoulder. It was warm—comforting in a way neither of them wanted to admit out loud.

"You're heavy," Mirba muttered after a moment.

Izkar snorted, a weak smirk tugging at his lips. "Like you have the right to say that. Who was it, I wonder, that ate an entire—"

"You promised not to talk about that again!" Mirba hissed, her face flushing red. She smacked his shoulder, then quickly clamped a hand over her mouth as heads turned their way, some of the others in the convoy exchanging amused glances.

She quickly averted her eyes, staring stubbornly at the ground.

Izkar smirked at her reaction. "What, my shoulder's too good for you now?" he teased.

"It's not that, you idiot!" Mirba huffed, crossing her arms and turning away, though she didn't actually move from where she leaned against him. (2)

Izkar let out a weary sigh, his expression distant as if his thoughts were somewhere far away. Then, without a word, he shifted, gently tugging Mirba down so she rested fully against his shoulder. He draped a thin but much-needed blanket over both of them, tucking it around her as best he could. (3)

"You're one of the few people I care about," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "Can you just lean on me this once?"

A tired smile flickered on his face, though his eyes betrayed the emotions he was trying to suppress.

Mirba's lips quivered. Without thinking, she reached up, cupping his face in her hands to wipe away the dampness gathering at the corners of his eyes. The exhaustion, the fear, the weight of everything—they were taking their toll on both of them.

Her gaze drifted upward, toward the star-speckled sky, her mind wandering to the people they had left behind in the village. *I hope they're okay.* The thought was a dull ache in her chest. Would they ever see them again? Would there even be a village left to return to?

She waited, listening to Izkar's breaths slow and deepen as sleep finally claimed him. Only when she was sure he was fully asleep did she allow her own eyelids to flutter shut.

Then—footsteps.

She barely stirred, keeping her eyes closed but listening. The crunch of dirt under steady boots. A heavy sigh as someone lowered themselves onto the ground.

"How am I supposed to approach that?" Oldman Xeimir's voice, low and troubled.

"You just don't, Captain," came her mother's quiet but firm reply.

A pause.

"How much longer?"

"Tomorrow," Xeimir said. "Well… technically, today will be the last day of our trek." He hesitated, then added, "Listen… about your husband—"

Mirba's breath caught. 'Papa?' She forced herself to stay still, even as her ears strained to catch every word.

"I know, Captain," Mama answered before he could continue, her tone unreadable. "Someday, we'll meet again." A lump formed in Mirba's throat. She clenched her fists beneath the blanket, frustration bubbling inside. "Mirba, are you still awake?"

"No."

"Good job hiding it, girl," Xeimir chuckled, but his amusement was short-lived. His body tensed mid-laugh, and in an instant, his blaster was drawn. His Bothan ears perked up, listening. His sharp eyes scanned the darkened treeline.

"Stay here," he ordered.

Mirba nodded stiffly, already shaking Izkar's shoulder. He barely stirred, his breathing still slow and deep. "Izkar, wake up!"

Her mother was already on her feet, her brother wrapped tightly in her arms, his small body limp with sleep. Their meager belongings were packed, ready to move at a moment's notice. Around them, others were stirring, the tension spreading like a ripple through the camp.

"Keeran, Gunney, how's the perimeter? Copy." Xeimir's voice was low but urgent as he pressed a hand to his earpiece. Silence answered him.

Some of the villagers who had yet to fall asleep turned toward the captain, their eyes wide with unspoken questions.

"Izkar, wake up," Mirba hissed, shaking him harder. The sky was starting to lighten, dawn creeping over the horizon.

Still nothing.

"Shit, they're not responding," Xeimir cursed under his breath. His fur bristled. "Hediyz, how about—"

A sickening *thump* echoed through the camp.

All eyes snapped toward the sound.

A body dangled for a fraction of a second before slamming into the ground from the trees above. The woman's lifeless eyes stared blankly at the sky, a charred blaster wound still smoking in the center of her forehead.

For a heartbeat, silence hung in the air.

Then someone screamed.

Panic surged through the camp like wildfire.

"They're here!"

A partisan fired wildly into the darkness of the trees. The blaster bolts seared through the foliage—too fast, too uncontrolled.

A flash of green answered.

The Togrutan partisan let out a choked gasp as the blaster bolt tore clean through his throat. He was dead before he hit the dirt.

More screams. People scattered. Some dove for cover, others fumbled for weapons, but the enemy was already upon them. Shadows moved between the trees, too fast to count.

"Come at me, you Imp scum!" Xeimir bellowed, standing his ground as the last of his unit fell around him. His blaster was steady—until, suddenly, it wasn't.

Something unseen yanked the weapon from his grasp, sending it clattering into the dirt. His ears twitched, his fur bristling. His eyes darted around as realization dawned.

"Imperial Intelligence," he growled. "Damn them!"

Mirba's breath caught when she saw the figure emerge behind the old Bothan. Unlike the standard stormtroopers, this one wore sleek, black armor, heavily modified with fabric draping over the plating—silent, efficient, deadly. A gloved hand gripped a dagger, its serrated edge gleaming under the faint light of dawn.

"Captain! Behind you!" she screamed.

Xeimir turned just in time, twisting his body as the blade lunged toward his back. He barely managed to dodge, drawing his own knife in a swift motion. But before he could strike, a colorless bolt of energy struck the blade, disintegrating it in his hand.

The Captain cursed but didn't hesitate. He sidestepped another attempted stab, catching the attacker's wrist and using their momentum against them. With a grunt, he shoved the Imperial operative backward, sending them crashing to the ground.

Mirba held her breath as Xeimir pounced, pinning the assassin beneath him. He wrestled for control, gripping a new knife he had pulled from his boot. For a moment, Mirba dared to hope.

Maybe—just maybe—he could win.

But the Imperial wasn't finished.

With a sudden, brutal movement, the operative kicked hard against Xeimir's side, forcing him off balance. In a flash, the enemy rolled free, landing near Mirba and Izkar's feet.

Xeimir roared, lunging to regain control, but the assassin was faster. The blade plunged deep into the old Bothan's side. He gasped, his body stiffening, his grip weakening. Blood darkened his fur.

Still, he fought. With trembling hands, he struggled to keep the blade from sinking further, teeth gritted against the pain. But his strength was fading.

The Imperial pressed down harder.

Mirba's heart pounded as she watched the knife inch closer to Xeimir's chest. Closer. Closer.

He was losing.

She had to do something.

From the corner of her eye, Mirba saw Izkar move.

His hands trembled as he pulled out his old, battered blaster, its grip worn from years of use. He aimed it at the Imperial operative struggling against Xeimir, his finger tightening on the trigger.

The Bothan's gaze snapped to them, his eyes widening in horror.

"Boy! NO!" Xeimir's voice was raw, desperate.

But before Izkar could fire, a cold, solid weight pressed against the side of his head—a long rifle, sleek and deadly, its barrel made of dark plastoid.

"I suggest you listen to the old man, kid."

The voice was feminine, distorted by a modulator, but the menace in it was unmistakable. A shadow loomed behind them, unseen until now, moving with the quiet precision of a predator. The woman's breath was calm, steady, utterly undisturbed by the idea of executing a child.

She wasn't like the rank-and-file Imperials who barked orders and hid behind regulations or blindly followed human supremacy. No, she was something else entirely.

She would kill him without hesitation.

"Or else I'm going to end you," she finished, her tone devoid of emotion, a stark contrast to the usual Imperial fanatics. No speech about the glory of the Empire, no hesitation about spilling blood—just cold, pragmatic certainty.

Izkar's hand shook, his thumb grazing the trigger.

"I don't…" His voice faltered.

"BOY!" Xeimir gasped, his breath ragged, his hands still weakly grasping the knife buried in his side. His body was trembling now, his fur damp with sweat and blood. He locked eyes with Izkar, his expression filled with something Mirba didn't expect—pleading.

"It's alright." The old Bothan forced a pained smile. "I'm too old to fight anyway."

Mirba clenched her fists, her chest tight with helpless rage. This wasn't how it was supposed to go. This wasn't fair.

Izkar's finger hovered over the trigger, his jaw clenched so hard it looked like it might break.

"But…" Izkar's voice was barely a whisper, his grip tightening on the blaster.

"Maybe this will help."

The cold muzzle of the rifle shifted—now pressing against Mirba's temple.

Her breath hitched, a whimper escaping her lips despite herself.

Her mother moved before she could think, a mother's instinct overriding fear. But the moment she lunged, a colorless blaster bolt burned through her leg.

She collapsed with a scream.

Mirba's heart pounded as her mother hit the ground, clutching her bleeding leg.

Her brother—her brother—still slept, blissfully unaware of the nightmare unraveling around them.

Izkar's entire body trembled. His hand was shaking now, his finger still hovering over the trigger. He wanted to fight. She could see it in his eyes—the fury, the desperation.

But he couldn't.

"It's alright," Xeimir rasped, forcing a smile despite the blade still wedged in his side.

Izkar's throat bobbed. Slowly—so painfully slowly—he lowered the blaster.

The moment his grip slackened, the Imperial woman snatched it from his hands in one swift motion.

And just as fast, she turned and fired.

A colorless bolt struck Xeimir square in the forehead.

The old Bothan barely had time to react before his body went limp, the knife slipping from his weakening grasp. He crumpled backward, eyes staring blankly at the sky, his final expression not of fear—but of quiet acceptance.

Mirba couldn't breathe.

Her chest felt tight, her ears ringing, the world around her narrowing to the lifeless body of the man who had fought for them. Who had tried to save them.

A long, heavy silence followed.

Then, the woman scoffed, lowering her rifle.

"This is why I don't work with civilian organizations," she muttered, her voice dripping with disdain.

The black Imperial trooper—the one who had been wrestling with Xeimir moments ago—picked himself up from the dirt, his helmet tilting slightly in her direction. Though his face was hidden, the sheer loathing in his stance was unmistakable.

Even without words, his glare was sharp enough to cut steel.

But he said nothing.

Mirba didn't know whether to be relieved or terrified.

…….

Agent-22914

Code: Vin

Imperial Intelligence: Special Operations

Planet: Redacted, Separatist Remnant.

"What the hell was that?! He was my kill!"

The ISB agent was livid, his voice sharp with indignation as he glared at Vin. She barely spared him a glance, rolling her eyes at his tantrum. He was practically foaming at the mouth, ranting like a child denied a toy.

She inspected the confiscated blaster in her hand—a battered thing, old and barely maintained, yet still functional. It belonged to the boy now huddled with his other little friend, his body still trembling from the encounter. 'Cute.'

"You were toying with our target," she replied flatly, flicking the safety on the blaster before stowing it away. "If it weren't for me, you'd be dead right now—by a child's hand, no less."

Her lips curled slightly at the thought. The ISB's oh-so-special agents liked to present themselves as elite, ruthless, untouchable. But imagine the embarrassment—the sheer humiliation—if one of their own had been gunned down by a scared kid with an old blaster.

'The gossip would run wild in Imperial Intelligence.'

The agent scoffed, sheathing his knife after wiping the blade clean. "They're aliens. They were going to die anyway. Who cares how I dispose of trash?"

To punctuate his words, he kicked the Bothan's lifeless body, flipping it onto its chest. The old man's eyes remained open, staring blankly at the ground.

Vin didn't flinch, nor did she react when the girl—the one who had screamed for the Bothan—moved to tend to her mother's wounded leg. The mother, still grimacing from the colorless bolt that had shattered her limb, would live. A good bacta treatment would fix her up—if they could afford it. If not, well… a replacement bone would do just fine. It was cheaper anyway.

The girl knew who had fired the shot.

Vin could see it in the way she glared, her hands working furiously to wrap a makeshift bandage around her mother's leg. She knew the same modified blaster that had killed her old captain had also been used to incapacitate her mother. She probably saw the alien as a father figure.

'How sentimental.'

Vin barely cared. The Bothan had been a Separatist anyway—he was lucky to have lasted this long.

Still, she tilted her head slightly, observing the girl more closely. Not out of guilt, but out of mild curiosity.

She had spirit.

Vin wondered how long that would last.

"A sense of basic professionalism would care, you had a clear shot of killing him but played into your ego to knife him," maker she hates the ISB for this exact reason, filled with self important space cowboys all of them. "This is why I don't work with civilian organizations like you. We have a rule of engagement that is written by the Senate and we have to… "

"This is why you lot fell out of favor with the emperor, still behind the times like it was in the republic, following the senate whims and wishes instead of our Lord Emperor." said the man while ordering his men to round up the captive and separate them out of their purity as a race via hand signal. "Need I remind you, Lieutenant, that The ISB is not a civilian organization we work under Compnor, basic military rule of engagement doesn't apply to us like the stormtroopers core, it makes our work more fun without it."

"Speaking of work," an ISB agent emerged from the bushes, "Man this blaster sucks, its zeroing is not accurate at all because how hard it is to modify, my headshot was just under the head," he complained.

Hey don't talk about that stuff near handcuffed children," he smirked as he watched the duo of kids away carrying their mother and younger brother under the gaze of an I.I agent who was sent as her partner.

"Yeah,yeah," The agent that complained eyed Vin's blaster rifle. "Any chance of us trading, that thing looks well built." He asked Vin.

"No," Vin snorted, not a chance, the new rifle is the best equipment they were given since ever. "Like your friend said, you're in civilian organizations, why should I give you military equipment?" She doesn't want some wannabe agent to have this anyway. "What should we do with the prisoners?" Vin asked the ISB agent, who to her dissatisfaction was the one leading this operation.

"The human will take them in and send them to a correctional facility, the aliens, however, " another agent tied them all into a bundle and then poured liquid to soak all of them. "Want to have the honor, Vin?"

Vin rolled her eyes, she has no hatred for the non-humans, but has no qualms on killing them all, she had killed innocents before, hell she did it on accident just yesterday when a child was hiding behind a partisans and her shot pierced right through them both.

"Sure," she raised her new rifle and aimed it at the youngest target to relieve it of its suffering faster. They plead towards her not to do it but she doesn't listen, a job is a job after all.

That day she watched another pire burn.

1. Intentional

2. I did not plan for her to become a tsundere, just so you know, it came naturally.

3. Unaccountable amount of rizz, again, unplanned.