Long Train Runnin' [Nar Kaaga] {Fro, Bones}

[Ghostie]

“... So as you can see, it’s a rather simple plan.” Aren’s tone was very matter-of-fact as he waved on his fluent Mando’a with one powdery hand, the other resting on his hip, quite nonchalant about the current state of events. Nonchalant was good right now, when he had other Mandalorians from differing clans aboard his ship, the Mull Drifter. Nonchalant was good when all these Mandalorians were gearing up for the robbery of a mag-rail on Nar Kaaga, in Hutt Space. And nonchalant was especially good when all these Mandalorians had cornered Aren in his galley, baking an uj’alayi, and covered in both flour and a rather flowery, rather pink apron. The cake was simply a way to past the time as they flew in hyperspace. The apron was left over from an girlfriend long past, and Aren would simply prefer to not be covered in baking ingredients himself. As it was, however, the less than tough color did little to dent the man’s confidence, and even in the back of his mind he had to admit, he was rocking the cooking apparel.

“Just fly in, detach the cars we want, attach the cables, and fly back out.” He recounted in summary, having gone over the plan once already. The counter the Mandalorian stood behind was covered in flour, spices, nuts, fruits and the like. All the usual ingredients for a uj’alayi, along with the remnants of a few secret ones for the Fett Clan’s own recipe. At one end of the counter was the unbaked cake, complete in a dish and ready for the oven once it was done with it’s preheating. “The only real issue is going to be finding out which cars it is we need.” Even describing the one hiccup with his plan, Aren’s voice didn’t waiver. On the other end of the counter surface was a small, handheld holoprojector that he owned, and had been loaded with maps and diagrams for his specific job. At the moment, it was displaying a pale blue hologram of the twin mag-rails, one stacked upon the other, and a miniature XS Stock Light Freighter that was supposed to represent the Mull Drifter hung in suspended animation above the rails. Tapping the device, Aren zoomed the hologram in on the train itself.

Whatever it was on the edge of Space that was sending the Hutt running about like slugs with their heads chopped off, it was good for business. It was shaking things up. The Hutts were rushing to consolidate arms and munitions, as well as ships and people, and they were being sloppy about it. This particular mag-rail was transporting weapons from a depot on Nar Kaaga to the spaceport, in order to be sent offworld and towards the other end of Hutt Space. Aren had heard about it from an old bounty hunting contact, and had quickly decided that the Mandalorians could use those armaments far more than some slimy slugs. His contact, however, had been able to provide him with all the data. That, hopefully, wouldn’t be an issue. Aren had gone into less planned out situations on less. With that in mind, the Mandalorian eyed his fellow warriors across the counter from him.

The first one Aren studied was Genthus Deshra, general gladiator and mercenary for hire. Aren had heard of a few of the man’s exploits, and they were impressive indeed. Maybe as much as his own. And as if that wasn’t enough, the man was a tall, large, dark and handsome figure, who never seemed to stop smiling. Aren’s eyes flicked to the next figure, a younger woman, attractive and perhaps a bit too serious. Yet in Aren’s experience, most Vizslas were very serious, so Ayla fit in. She seemed ambitious, and had an air about her like she was going places with her life. Certainly someone to watch. Yet for all their swirling confidence and pride and doubtless combat prowess about the three Mandalorians, there was still the question if they could work well enough in a team in order to pull off a tricky heist while surely being shot at by the Hutt Cartel’s goons. Aside from the three of them, there were two young brothers in the ship’s cockpit, Val and Verut, of Aren’s own clan. They could both fly, and were eager to prove themselves. And Aren needed pilots for this job.

“Anyone have anything to add?” Aren’s hand which had been moving with his speech came back down to rest on the counter top as his blue eyes flicked back and forth between his companions. Things were quiet for a moment, and before anyone could speak, the ship’s comm system chimed with Verut’s voice, announcing that they were just an hour out from Nar Kaaga. As if on cue, the oven dinged ready just after the young man’s annoucement. “Perfect.” Slipping on some oven mitts which unfortunately matched his apron, Aren slid the uj’alayi into the waiting oven, and set a timer and automatic shut-off. With any luck, the cake would be baked and cooled by the time they were done with their little heist, and everyone could celebrate with a slice of the sweet dessert. Standing back up from the oven, Aren slapped the mitts down on the counter, and put a hand back on his hip. “Can I get you guys anything before we have to get ready?” He asked, playing the ever gracious Mandalorian host. It wasn’t often had had the luxury of company, after all.

[Fromikeable]

What wonderful days these were, that the Hutts and everything they owned were open season.

Genthus usually hated Hutt space. The pitiful display that was slavery aside (only a weak fool made another man carry his burden), the Hutts were picky, shallow overlords indeed. Their will was law, and to a man like Genthus, that was hard to abide by. The Republic, for all its groveling and bureaucracy, was at least consistent. The Empire, for all its bluster and demands, was at least direct. The Hutts' laws changed planet to planet, moment to moment, mood to mood, and it drove Genthus crazy every time he had to be on one of their worlds.

So when Aren had sent the message offering to raid one of their shipments, the Deshra had jumped at the chance. That said, Genthus was having a little trouble taking the Fett clan leader seriously. Yes, he was clearly an adept warrior. Yes, he was more than competent enough in planning to detail what this robbery would entail. Yes, it was good money, better weapons, and greatest of all, the glory of another blow against the Hutts.

But did he have to wear that apron while giving his review? Genthus wasn't sure if they were stealing a shipment of guns or running to the mill for fresh flour.

When Aren put his gloves on, Genthus couldn't help but shake his head, focusing down on his beskad for a minute. With the blade in one hand and a whetstone in the other, he returned to sharpening it, focusing juuuust on the center where the edge was always a little too dull. After a few extra grinds, he brought it up to his eye, inspecting carefully. Satisfied, he placed it down at his side beside his helmet, sitting back in the galley seat he'd chosen. Dressed in his beskar'gam, the Mandalorian was only exposing his hands and his head.

"Do you have any flash grenades?" A toothy smile flashed as Genthus digested their reviewed plan. Someone would have to go into each car and check the contents. Throw in a few Hutt guards sure to be involved in that, and it had his name written all over it in suspicious red ink. "I only brought regular ones, and they'd spoil our prize."

[Bones]

There probably couldn’t be a more accurate way to describe the current situation than the saying “a petal between the thorns”. First, there was Ayla, small, petite, yet lethal Ayla with her ultralight armour and preference for finesse in her long range blaster which was sitting in the room on the ship that Aren Fett had allowed her use of. She herself was sitting on the back rest of the corner of a booth seat in the galley, her feet on the corner of the seat as she listened intently. Her armour was only on up to her waist, with her top half covered by the standard black singlet that she was so fond of, eyes watching Aren, one of the two bearded beasts on the ship, intently as he laid out the plan before him – a plan which she struggled to pay attention to. It was rather hard, after all, when the leader of Clan Fett was dressed in an apron that could only be described as girly – an adjective that Ayla would never have allowed to have been given to herself. She’d been about to speak, a suggestion to make the whole mission easier for themselves, when the other bearded brute spoke up, querying the supply of flash grenades.

”You two are such typical men.” She said with a laugh, sliding from her position on the back of the booth to stand, walking towards the holoprojection of the train that was sitting on the counter, ”Let’s just bash and blast our way in and shoot everything up on our way.” She remarked, her voice deepened in a jovial mockery of male bravado, before returning her focus to the situation at hand. With a quick tap of her fingers, she was able to zoom in to a small box at the back of the engine of the train, with a connector running along the centre line, connecting to each of the cars. ”That, boys, is a brake control unit. A well placed shot, and it’s going to lock on the brakes all at once, and anything – or anyone – not strapped down in the trains is going to be thrown around like a wookie’s favourite gizka. That’ll give us more time to check for the cars we want, and deal with any resistance that we encounter along the way.” She shrugged, before turning her attention to Genthus, the other Mandalorian monstrosity that was along for the ride.

”Though, if I’m to be honest, I think they’re all probably just going to drop arms and run if you come running through the smoke towards them.” She commented with a smirk, before lifting herself up to sit on the bench. To say that she’d well and truly made herself at home on the ship was an understatement. Turning back to face Aren, her head tilted to the side slightly, she motioned towards the apron and mitts, ”What would it take for you to go into the fight with that apron on?” She asked with a slight chuckle at the thought, ”For the shock, awe and confusion factor it’s going to have, of course.”

[Ghostie]

When Aren had offered to get his guests anything they liked, his mind had been on refreshments. A snack, or a beverage, or something along those lines. Instead, as Genthus offered up his own request, Aren could only lean back against the counter with his folded arms and grin a bit. The man had a point about the grenades, and his tactics made sense. Though as ‘regular grenades’ had the chance of destroying their cargo, Aren made a mental note to keep his flamethrower in check. Thinking for a moment to himself, the Mandalorian was sure he had a few around. But before he could answer the large man and his equally large beskad, Ayla popped up from her perch and interjected.

Any pretenses that Aren might have carried about Ayla being of a more serious sort like her clan was known for rapidly dissipated as the woman started to talk, laughing at her ‘typical men’ and wanting to simply shoot everything on her way through the train. Aren’s arms tightened around his chest, and his grin slowly turned in the opposite direction as the man bristled under Ayla’s rejection of his carefully laid out, simple plan and put forth her own. Breathing in deep through his nose, Aren’s blue eyes narrowed as they followed Ayla’s gesturing towards the hologram. Thinking before he spoke, her plan wasn’t necessarily bad, just had one critical flaw. Looking at the young woman, Aren finally spoke up quietly.

“If we stop the train as a whole, then all the cars are stuck together. What happens when all our cargo is in the middle? You wanna unload it by hand?” He shook his head a bit. “The idea is to uncouple the cars we need as the train in moving so that way they’re free, and then we’ll use the Mull Drifter t’hoist the whole car away. Because to th’ blazes with all that manual labor.” Aren couldn’t help but finish the last part with a bit of a grin, and then gave a little shrug. “Still… Your idea isn’t bad. If something happens, we can use it as a backup.”

After that, Ayla was the first to comment on Aren’s apron. Pulling the mittens off slowly, Aren tossed them on the counter, and gave a bit of a grin. True, the apron wasn’t colored in what was exactly his first choice, but it had served its purpose nonetheless, and had been excellent armor against the assault of baking ingredients. Armor against blaster bolts, however, was a whole other matter entirely.

“Depends on what it’ll take t’get you into it, later.” He answered, and his small grin was black, hidden in his scruffy facial hair. “You may hate on this thing now…” Aren pulled the apron over his head, and it soon followed the mittens as it sailed a short distance through the air and landed on the counter. “... But just wait until you’ve had the best uj’alayi cake you’ve ever known. Real story; I knew this crazy guy on Nar Shaddaa who shot up a gang while wearing an apron. Called himself Misses Nesbitt. Stopped for tea in the middle of things, too... ” And with that, Aren left the pair in the galley, and the hologram running.

No less than ten minutes later, he was back, and strapped into his own beskar’gam. The blue light of the still running hologram reflected darkly off of the crimson color of the ancient shock trooper design. Aren was fully dressed, down to the jetpack and wrist-mounted weapons, but only carried his pair of pistols on his hips. Helmet in one gauntlet, he held a belt of grenades in the other, which was promptly tossed onto the table that Genthus occupied.

“Knew I had a couple layin’ around. Y’all ready, or still waiting on that cake? The train is comin' up soon.”

[Fromikeable]

"Though, if I’m to be honest, I think they’re all probably just going to drop arms and run if you come running through the smoke towards them.”

"I hope they'll be more fun that that. How do you boast about robbing cowards?" Genthus kept quiet during the debate over their tactics. To be frank, he didn't care. If they stopped the train, they would have to fight the entirety of the crew, plus perhaps a few reinforcements. If they kept the training running, they would have to work with heavy machinery at breakneck speeds in heavy armor.

Or, at least, Genthus would. His beskar'gam almost looked like fullplate, the metal thick and pocked with gunshots of battles past.

Slipping on his helmet as Aren departed to change, Genthus stared hard at the holographic map. His study was broken as a belt's worth of grenades clattered in front of him, eliciting a grunt of approval. Donning the belt like a sash, the giant Mandalorian leaped to his feet, stretching out his arms. With a roll of his shoulders, he checked each of his weapons, first the heavy rifle, then the beskad, then a pistol, and finally a rugged knife. Satisfied with each, he made his way toward the cargo entrance of the ship, punching the controls.

Air flooded the room as the cargo ramp began to lower into the rushing air, the ground below distant and passing. As the ship veered, the train's large single track appeared below, their course set to follow it.

Sealing his armor and activating his HUD, Genthus tested his comm with another grunt. "Stopped or moving, that train is ours." The last car of the train appeared around a curve on the tracks. As their ship rushed around it, the freight's full length became apparent, long as it was fast.

"I'll start from the back and work up. Someone ought to take the front as well." Looking to his fellows, Genthus smiled wide under his helmet. "Oh, and remember. If you see anything big, yell for me." He didn't doubt that they could deal with it, whatever it might be. But Genthus wanted to deal with it.

[Bones]

”Oh, well, suit yourself.” Ayla responded with a rather simple shrug, her demeaner trying to imply that she really didn’t mind. To be honest, she didn’t mind one hundred percent, of course, she’d rather a plan that involved her sniper rifle rather than flying in with her blaster pistol, but she was never one to back away from getting her hands dirty. She herself stood, walking towards where her helmet and blaster pistol were seated on the bench as Aren had walked to his quarters to change. ”Look away.” She commanded, rather simply as she turned so her back was to Genthus, not even bothering to check if he’d acknowledged her. To be honest, she didn’t really care. She wasn’t modest by any means, and what was he going to see? Her back? Reaching down, she pulled the singlet over her head and tossed it aside before pulling the rest of her body-suit and beskar’gam up over her shoulders to fasten it tightly, before the blaster pistol was grasped and lifted, examined for any damage, imperfection or concern, before being placed back down.

By the time she turned again, her hands raising to her hair which was pulled back into a tight ponytail, Aren had re-entered the common area, tossing a number of flash grenades at Genthus, reminding her that she hadn’t actually acknowledged the Fett’s comment about getting her into the apron. ”Wouldn’t that be a sight to dream of? Me in that apron…” She finally answered, hinting with little veil to exactly what Aren had suggested, ”Pity it won’t happen, though Genthus has already had a sneak peek…” She commented, sure that the largest of the trio would’ve at least stolen a glance. Picking up her helmet, she slid it over her head, which she tilted to either side, loud cracks emanating from her neck as she did so. It was something she commonly did before action, and this was no different. Re-lifting the blaster pistol, which looked abnormally large in her grasp, she flicked the action to three round burst, and followed the others to the loading ramp.

She knelt her small frame close to the edge of the ramp, ignoring the wind that was buffeting her as she peered out, allowing the range finder that was built into her helmet to zoom, coming to find the back of the train, which the range finder was able to lock onto. ”It’s a matter of seconds.” She told them as she read the numbers on the HUD, ”I’m happy to take the front. I’ll take down the driver and communications officer quickly, make sure it’s not stopping unless we want it to, and keep the chance of reinforcements down.” Turning slightly to look at the others, her gaze, hidden behind the t-visor of her helmet, came to rest on Genthus once more as he commented on big things and calling him. ”Hun, trust me when I say I can handle big things. I might be small, but a real woman doesn’t mind a bit of size.” She was used to sexual innuendo – which had already been started near the kitchen – amongst soldiers, and being a soldier first and foremost, she wasn’t about to shy away from a bit of it. Besides, if it helped get the adrenaline flowing, all the better, right?

[Ghostie]

In a few moments, the trio of Mandalorians were clustered around the lowered cargo ramp of the Mull Drifter, wind whipping by as the freighter travelled at a few hundred kilometers and hour, rapidly gaining on the magrail train running below them, the snowy tundra nothing more than a seemingly grey-and-white blur along the small hillside. Aren was the last to arrive to the scene, having given some last minute instructions to the two young Fetts in the cockpit, one of which was now in the dorsal turret of the ship. Giving a quick nod to Genthus and Ayla as they divided up which parts of the train they were going to claim, he let the latter’s attempt at sexual innuendo go unanswered. This close to the objective, he was all business.

“I guess I’ll take middle, then.” Aren spoke up into their integrated commlink, as the train just started to show under the Mull Drifter. “Remember, try to uncouple the cars when he find the weapons. We’ll leave the break thing for ‘Plan B’.” Looking at the two Mandalorians at his side, Aren felt compelled to add. “And be careful. They obviously know we’re here, now. If you bite off more than you can chew, Val’s in the belly turret, so get topside and give him a shout.”

Not long after Aren finished his last minute instructions, the light freighter started to slow, and matched speeds with the train. Though slow was a relative term, as the magrail was travelling quite quickly itself. Without a word to the others, Aren backed up a few steps, and took a running leap off of the deck of the Mull Drifter and through the open cargo ramp. In free fall for only a few seconds as the train started to come up quickly, he activated his jetpack, and was soon flying towards the center of the cars. All that the Mandalorian could hear for a few seconds was the rush of wind against his armor and the roar of the rockets on his back until Val’s young voice came over the comms.

“Everyone’s away, Boss.”

“Good.” Aren answered back, doing his best to not shout, despite the noise all around him. “Keep an eye on ‘em. Verut can watch the scanners for any fighters or whatever the Hutts might scare up to come after the Drifter.”

“Got it!”

Picking one of the cars in the middle at random, Aren flew up and alongside of it, and turned on his side to peer into the transparisteel. The Mandalorian watched a gaggle of passengers turned one and time and look at him, all in various states of stunned, shocked, or angry. It lasted only a moment, though, before they all drew weapons and fired through the transparisteel at the flying Mandalorian. Not passengers, Hutt cronies instead. Dodging and weaving side to side, Aren lifted one of his wristed, and fired a miniature rocket through the windows and into the cart. Those guards that weren’t caught in the blast scattered as the explosion tore a hole into the opposite side of the car.

Nothing to worry about, Aren told himself. Just a passenger car, and no cargo to speak of.

Pulling up and away from the side of the magrail, the Mandalorian landed on top with a loud thud. Jetpack silent and able to hear himself think once again, he drew both of his pistols, and headed for the gap in the middle of the cars.

[Fromikeable]

Genthus only waited long enough to see Aren going running off the ramp before following suit, the ramp clunking under a heavy metal sprint. With a leap, the ship disappeared behind him, only the sound of wind rushing against his helmet for company. The train grew larger by the second, and it was only before it was upon him that Genthus set his feet forward, relaxed his knees, and watched the stress readouts of his suit's motors in his suit's HUD.

With a heavy slam and the groan of bending metal, he smacked into the train like the world's heaviest slug. Even with the beskar'gam's skeleton taking the majority of the hit, Genthus could still feel the impact in his bones.

It made him feel alive.

Standing and shaking himself out, he dismissed the stress readouts (which had peaked a little more than they should've, probably) and took up a light jog, heading toward the back of the train. Jumping from car to car, Genthus finally slipped down one side and through a window, kicking in the thick glass with a duo of well-placed kicks. Landing with another thud, he was greeted with startled shouts as two guards scrambled for the alarm console just past the holovid they'd been watching, some pop singer on it singing above their shouts. Genthus grabbed one by his arm and hurled him backward, leveling his rifle at the other as he got close. The corpse fell just beside it, prompting Genthus to give a victorious yell as his rifle spun around at the thrown guard.

With another blast, the last car of the train was secure. "<I'm in, moving up!>" The Mando'a was short and excited, sparing every word it could.

[Bones]

Words weren’t needed as she jumped from the loading ramp of the Fett ship, her jetpack boosting immediately to push her forwards, towards the front of the train. It was further away than the others’ targets, and as such, it took her a bit of time to reach it, coming to land hard with a thud on the cabin, above the windscreen and out of site. She’d heard Genthus say he was moving up, his excitement bringing a smile to her face as she turned slightly, facing towards the back of the train, pausing for a moment as she steadied herself, and checked her blaster pistol one last time. Suddenly, with a firm, backwards jump and a blast of her jet pack, she threw herself backwards, in front of the train, where two blaster bolts were put into the windscreen, shattering it, before she took a deep breath and wrapped her arms around herself, pulling into a pin-drop stance, before her jetpack was turned off.

Ayla smashed through the windscreen in a shower of broken glass that had sent people running, her feet colliding hard with the chest of the driver, the impact crushing every rib in his chest, the massive internal trauma killing the man almost instantly as he broke Ayla’s impact, leaving her to roll a couple of times before coming back to a kneel, blaster rising to fire a round straight into the communications officer’s face. ”Driver down, comms down.” She spoke into the commlink inside her helmet, before firing twice into the train’s comms, with a second volley hitting the train’s controls, making sure that no one would be able to transmit, or control the train.

”Aren, what’s your status. Are you in?” She asked as she rushed down the length of the cab, her shoulder colliding with the door that separated the control room with the next carriage, full of passengers that she promptly rushed past, leaving shocked shouts behind her as she moved past the stunned figures, colliding with the next door to roll through again – though it hadn’t quite been that easy. As Ayla had gone to move through the doorway, an arm in the next carriage had caught her around the throat, coat-hangering her, and sending her down to the ground with a thud, her blaster sliding across the floor away from her.

Instinct took over.

Her leg lashed out quickly, coming to collide with the back of the knee of her latest opponent, bringing him to his knees. She’d tried to throw herself forwards in the moment, towards her blaster, before strong hands had gripped her ankle, preventing her from getting away like she’d hoped. Rolling as she fell, she extended her arms outwards, breaking the fall, and following it up with two swift kicks upwards, one connecting with the stomach of the man she now came to recognise as a guard, before the next had caught his chin, pushing him back momentarily, before he fell, his hands searching for her throat. Her hand pushed his to the side firmly, before wrapping around his head, which she used as leverage to pull herself out from underneath him, her legs wrapping around his abdomen as she pulled her elbow against the man’s throat, attempting to return the choke. Throwing himself backwards, Ayla felt her back collided against the wall, her grip loosening, yet also providing an opportunity.

Reaching down, she gripped the hilt of a knife strapped to the chest of the man’s armour, which was quickly unsheathed and rammed upwards, entering in the soft, fleshy area underneath the man’s jaw. He fell instantly, causing Ayla to roll away and, puffing, lift herself back to a sitting position as the man bled out on the floor. ”Well, these guys are serious.” She said into the commlink as she caught her breath, collecting her blaster from the floor.

[Ghostie]

Despite the combined bulk of his armor and jetpack, Aren slid in between the cars of the magrail train with ease. The Mandalorian didn’t bother to stop and look for a switch for the door into the cabin, and instead raised a blaster pistol and fired into what the man assumed to be the controls. Whatever the control panel had been, as Aren fried it the door slid open, and the Mandalorian took a few quick steps into the train car.

"<I'm in, moving up!>" Genthus checked in first.

“Aren, what’s your status. Are you in?” It was Ayla’s voice over the comms channel next, which greeted the Mandalorian as he stepped into the train.

“Just about t- ” Aren had stepped into the same train car that he had blasted from outside with his wrist launcher. The damage in the compartment was worse than he had previous thought, with a large hole torn into the durasteel side of the train, blackened around the edges from floor to ceiling. A few dead mercenaries littered the area, but one was stirring at the far end, and fired on Aren as he came into the train, cutting the man off as he answered his comrade. The red blasterbolt glanced harmlessly off of his crimson, armored shoulder and embedded itself in the wall behind him. In response, Aren raised both of his blaster pistols, and unloaded a short salvo towards the Rodian. “Yeah, I’m in.” the Mandalorian finished as his twin blasters came to a rest a few moments later, and the Rodian’s pockmarked body fell out the side of the magrail train.

Stepping carefully over the few bodies that remained and around the edge of the missing durasteel in the compartment, Aren made his way to the back of the train. That was where, after all, he assumed the cargo to be stored. And even if it wasn’t, then Genthus and he were both freed up to help Ayla search the rest of the long train. Reaching the door to the next compartment, Aren blasted these controls as well, and the portal slid open, just like before.

“I’m heading back, first. Give a shout if you need help, Vizla.”

Crossing the short connection between cars, Aren opened the next door in his typical fashion, and found himself looking in on a cargo car, with crates on each side stacked as high as they could be, all the way back. The lighting was poor, but the Mandalorian’s head’s-up display made up for the shortcoming, just enough for Aren to see the three HK-series droids facing him, as a Twi’leki technician made the final adjustments on a datapad connected to the one in the middle of the group, standing just behind the first two who were side-by-side. The Mandalorian didn’t waste time firing on the trio, but their armor was thick, and absorbed a lot of the shots. Aren’s own red hail was answered in a barrage from the trio’s rifles, and the Mandalorian ducked behind the doorway on the outside of the train. The Twi’lek wasn’t so lucky, though, and he was caught in the crossfire. The man was thrown to the floor after a few bolts caught his leg and back, and he tried crawling away.

“Well, these guys are serious.”

“No kidding! I got HK’S back here!” Aren shouted over the continuous blasterfire. “Can’t use explosives cause it’s a cargo car, and my blasters aren’t doing shit!” Peeking back inside for a moment, Aren’s t-shaped visor just barely passed the doorway to see the HK’s slowly advancing towards him. “Desha, found anything big, yet!? Their backs are completely exposed to ya.”

[Fromikeable]

Whipping the door forward open, Genthus advanced up the train at a brisk jog, idly eyeing every container he passed. It was easy to tell that this was a Hutt supply train, given the amount of blatantly illegal merchandise aboard. Nowhere in the Empire nor the Republic could he run through a car filled to the brim with deathstick crates only to have to clamber over disruptor ammo to pass through the next.

“Desha, found anything big, yet!? Their backs are completely exposed to ya.”

”<Working on it.>” Clambering over another crate, Genthus made his way to yet the next car, the sound of blaster fire ringing out from ahead. Stopping for a moment, he looked around, searching for something of use. Smashing open a few tops, he grunted with annoyance when it bore little fruit, finding only trinkets, strange magazines he didn’t want to think about, and a collection of warheads. It was only on the fourth crate that a flurry of straw shot out with the top’s removal, displaying gunmetal.

Grinning wildly, Genthus plucked out a huge shotgun easily half his size. ”<Count to ten and get down, Fett!>” He made sure to cock the shotgun to accent his point, the heavy metal especially loud and clunky.

The door behind the HK droids opened with a hiss. As one of them turned to assess, a thunderous boom rang through the car as a massive slug smashed through its head. Cocking the shotgun loudly again, Genthus roared as he took aim, the other two droids facing him. One charged him, earning its slug to the hip instead of the head. The other pointed its blaster and fired, shots ringing off of Genthus’s heavy beskar. Releasing the shotgun with one hand, Genthus drew his falchion in a slash, lopping off the shooting droid’s hands. Below, its friend clung to Genthus’s leg, trying to immobile him.

With a second slash and a third shot, both droids fell limp to the floor, torn and shredded.

Panting, Genthus just sheathed his sword and cocked his new gun, laughing as he began to reload. ”<This one I’m keeping, I think!>” Noticing the crawling Twi’lek beside the dead droids, he shuffled over just enough to stomp his foot into their back, holding him still as he finished.

”<We should hurry though. Anyone with enough time to activate droids has had enough time to call for help.” The last shell went into the shotgun before it was cocked again. With a final bang, the Twi’lek’s head exploded into paste.