Call Me Ishmael

[Grumpy Panda]

The outlander's club, a hub for all sort of nightlife regardless of the time of day. There was dancing, gambling, and substance recreation all around. Losing your money here was no hard task, but choosing a way to do so was not so simple. Some people came here to lose their souls. Some souls came here to find themselves. As much as someone might feel averse towards this place, it was a place where the two cities were most alike.

People let themselves become fools to pretend they were having fun with people they didn't know. All they wanted was an escape from the hardships and mundane events of life. No one could blame them. Sometimes life was an uphill battle. Sometimes people couldn't accept life for what it was. Some were just beyond repair. Perfectly normal.

Some patrons jeered at the mandalorian. He stood out even amongst filth. The barkeeper eyed him suspiciously as he walked to an empty table while a cape dangled from the shoulder. A few dancers flirted with him as those on foot stepped out of his way. His pace was slow and determined. He didn't wave or speak yet somehow he commanded the attention of the entire room.

The mandalorian was not the first to ever come through here, but he seemed different. His armour was similar to what a mandalorian would wear, but not the same. His armour was sleek and streamlined to fit his slimmer muscular build.

Deadline walked to a table in the back while going over the contract in his head. He was to meet someone named Taul Serptish here. Apparently Mr Serptish was told who to look for. Twi'lek and zeltron workers watched him as he went subtly flirting with him to no avail. Most watched and stood out of his way knowing not to bother a mandalorian. He took a seat at one of the VIP tables to make sure he was easy to find.

An attractive older woman came to take his order. "What can I get for you sir? We don't normally make it, but we do have some mandalorian food if you would prefer."

"How close can you get to Tiingilar and kri'gee?"

"We don't have kri'gee, but I can get you something just as strong but sweeter. As for the tiingilar, we can only do our best to be close."

Deadline took out one hundred credits and slid them to the middle of the table as the server watched surprised. "Make it good and this is all yours.” Deadline almost laughed inside as he watched the woman's jaw drop.

Deadline's gambit paid off. The server came back with a generous amount of grog and casserole. Her eyes were watering and she held the plate away from her. Clearly she wasn't mandalorian. Deadline didn't expect much since he was in the swirling cesspool of coruscant.

He reflected on how he had gotten here, the rodian being crushed by a container and the guard suffering from the poison. He thought about Ivan Bendal falling from his office window, Titus Mao bleeding on the ground, his parents, his childhood, and Cora. Oh, Cora.

Deadline's thoughts were spinning in madness. He had enough. He poured a moist powder in his grog and waited for it to dissolve before taking a long sip. The server was right; the grog wasn't bad at all.

Taul finally made his debut. He was a zabrak with orange skin and a black face tattoo that made his grin all the more sinister. It was easy to point out he meant something. Fuil didn't care; he just wanted to finish the job. He watched as the zabrak and two bodyguards, a trandoshan and some sort of assassin droid. They were armed and so was he.

"I didn't expect to see a mandalorian here. Should you be with your people conquering worlds somewhere?” Fuil was silent. He didn't consider himself a true mandalorian by any standard. "Strong and silent? I respect that. However, this would be much faster if you helped me along.” Fuil was still silent with his arms crossed watching in the distance as a patron started harassing some dancers. His visor his most of his face still as he finished the casserole.

Taul gave a wide grin baring his yellowed teeth. He found this mandalorian's exterior humorous. "So tell me, why is your armour black? I can understand it being hand crafted, but why black? Not a normal colour for your people is it?” Fuil shifted slightly and pushed his plate away having finished casserole. “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I make you lose your appetite?”
“Tell me, do you always talk this much?” Fuil spoke while crossing his arms.
“Ah, he finally speaks” Said Taul with an amused grin. “I was beginning to think you weren’t going to make this easy for me.”
“I was too busy looking at that dumb ink on your face.”
“This ink symbolises that I have money and power. I matter down here.” Said Taul while waving his arms.
“I bet you say that to all the ladies.”
“Enough, let us play some pazaak. They say you can tell a lot about a man by how he plays cards. The wager will be set at 1000 credits.” Taul extended a hand and waved it horizontally to posture himself and place the credits on the table.
“Negative.”

"Are you afraid you are going to lose to me?" Said Taul Sertpish as Fuil declined a round of Pazaak.

"No, mate, I'm afraid I'm going to kill you." Fuil replied while sipping his mixture of grog, spice, and death stick. "If you are insistent of giving me credits, who am I to refuse? I can be nice sometimes."

"Strong and full of attitude," cooed one of the servers, "I think I might have a special bounty for you."

"I prefer the term contract professional, miss. Also, I apologise, but business comes first." Fuil deflected the comment as he would rubbish.

"Afraid of women are you?" Taul jested.

"I'm sorry; I thought you were still gift-wrapping my credits." Fuil began to prepare his cards.

"You are eager to lose are you?" said the zabrak as he gave a grin revealing gritty teeth. This man was the business contact for Fuil. He didn't care much for smuggling and the conjecture that ensued, but it did make him feel an urge to put some people down. Sadly, this man was worth more to him alive than dead; however, he would be sure to return when that changed.

"You are skilled at talking. It makes me wonder if you are also skilled at cards or just stalling.” Fuil placed his cards down on the table and drew a hand. His face still held the cold emotionless mold. Drugs. Sex. Money. It was a wonder he was here and managing not to arrest someone like old times. He had played many rounds of pazaak with Cora but most of the time they used senate or nar shaddaa rules. He blinked away the fond memories before they brought back the nightmares. He exhaled and stretched the kinks in his neck while waiting and Taul.

"First, mandalorian, let us discuss the goods," said Taul.

"Of course," Fuil grunted.

"I want to make sure what you have is of the quality I am looking for," the zabrak continued at a dawdling pace. Fuil knew this Zabrak wasn't the head of a business. Too much red tape. He was just a front man for someone larger. Fuil placed a parcel on the table of the spice mixture. "What spice is this?"

"This particular mix is a strong blend that sedates you. There are other mixes in store with other effects. I am sure you know your spice by now." Fuil felt a thread of impatience being spun in his spool.

"Fine. Fine. You cut to the chase. Good, but dangerous in the underworld. We will play, but I want to see you use the spice. I have to make sure the product is not defective." Taul gave Fuil his challenge. Fuil ordered grog without missing a moment and mixed in some liquid deathstick and spice. He tipped his helmet enough to drink the tonic and slammed the mug down on the table.
"Now if you're done being all hot air, we have a game to play." Fuil stared through the zabrak while he shuffled the cards. Playing home advantage, Taul played first. His face had a cruel grin, but Fuil could see the fear in his eyes. He had a bad hand.

One by one the cards hit the table. The zabrak began to sweat rivers while the zeltron server swooned over him. She looked alluring with her pink skin, blue hair, and lack of proper clothing. Bad choices always seemed alluring. Fuil knew zeltrons could distract men if they wanted. They could almost make pheromones on demand. That's why he chose his drugs to make himself numb. Besides, she had a long way to go to match Cora.

Memories of days on mandalore popped into his mind only to be shot down with near pinpoint accuracy just like targets when he was training for marksmanship. Sometimes he wished he could turn back time. Maybe things would be better. Maybe he could have prevented Cora's death. The thoughts felt vivid but slowly melted away as the narcotic began to take a hold.

The zeltron tried her hardest to distract Fuil. Clearly, she was skilled. She was also a hired hand. A trandoshan stood next the zabrak now in a bid to intimidate Fuil. He felt a bit honoured that someone really was giving him some attention. The trandoshan flipped the safety off on his blaster while the zeltron whispered lewd acts into Fuil's ear.

An imperceptible smile came across the bounty hunter's face. Taul was distraught as he vied to win the second game with yet another bad draw. The zeltron exposed as much flesh as she could to the unmoved bounty hunter. Taul cheered as he put down a card and brought his total to nineteen. He could win. He could force a third round.

Fuil had a job to do. He was paid to do this by contract. He was challenged. The zeltron woman grabbed one of his cards to place, but Fuil grabbed her wrist and pushed her away before setting down his final card. Twenty.

Taul was displeased and turned to bark something at the trandoshan, but Fuil put a bolt through the armed lizard's shoulder to incapacitate him. He leaped over the table to grab the zabrak and smash taul's face into the table.

"You. You lied. Your spice isn't working! You should be slumped over and asleep." Taul kept speaking. It reminded Fuil of a squealing baby animal. He grabbed the spice and mixed it with some grog with his freehand then began to pour it into the zabrak's mouth.
"I don't lie. There is only one thing I hate as much as liars," Fuil said slowly and calmly as he brought his face eye to eye with the squirming Taul, "what I hate more is cheaters. Don't poke the rancor."

Fuil turned to the zeltron lady and continued his early calm, slow, but forceful rant. "I'm a bounty hunter. People pay me to do things, not the reverse.” The club was silent. All eyes were on the bounty hunter in his black armour. "I will return when you have bounties on your heads."

Fuil began to walk away slowly until he heard Taul call out with speech beginning to slur from the spice and glug. "You think you're something special. You think your shiny armour and toy guns scare people. No, you are the same as any mandalorian playing space cowboy for credits."

Fuil turned and pounded each step to the zabrak while insults continued to fly. He grabbed the zabrak by the throat and pulled him up. Fuil got close to Taul's ear and whispered something. "Dar'manda."

Taul gave the bounty hunter a quizzical look not understanding what he just heard. Fuil tossed him on the table and pulled out a blade while loudly saying "Dar'manda." He lifted his arm then brought down the blade with a savage but precise swing.

The crowd watched as the bounty hunter took a small moment to acknowledge what happened. Fuil turned on his heels and slowly marched out of the club. His vision began to blur as he couldn't keep fending off the spice. In a dim corner, Fuil saw a hutt. Greedy. Slimy. The obese worm smirked at the bounty hunter. In the crowed his eyes met with a woman. She was clearly human but something else stuck out about her. Something about her affirmed she didn't belong here.

Fuil's vision began to blur heavily but he noticed her big blue eyes. He would remember them as he stumbled out of the club.

[Lemur, The Kool-Aid Guy]

Tez Hakur was on Coruscant, a rare occurrence. It possessed among the best security in the galaxy, with watchful authorities, including the vaunted Jedi Order. They were not to be underestimated, as much as he wanted to break their smug complacency with an attack.

Now was not the time or place. He had no safehouse, he had no lab set up. There was nowhere to craft a bomb or chemical weapon, and he was without the ability to conduct a proper incident. His intention upon coming to the city-world had never been to practice his skills as a terrorist. It was just a layover on his way to Pantolomin, where he had every intention of wreaking havoc on a resort.

Right now he was collecting supplies, having them sent to a less-than-scrupulous light freighter Captain. Luckily there were those in the supply industry with equally few scruples, and it ensured there was a ready supply of chemicals available for weaponization.

For a skilled chemist, it was child's play.

The armored Kel Dor sat in a dark corner of a club, as was his way. His beskar was a black and grey tiger stripe that helped him blend in to the shadows, going unnoticed by the various girls plying substances and trades. Of course it helped that his helmet was off and revealing a scaly golden brown head that no one was likely to find interesting.

Behind dark goggles, Tez was watching one other figure a short distance away, also in Mandalorian armor of a type. He was in a dispute with a Zabrak and his cronies, and dealt with them all rather swiftly. As he utilized a knife, he said a word Tez was familiar with.

Dar'manda.

Not Mandalorian. It was such an arbitrary label used by small minds, the weak new Mandalorians who forsook their own religion in favor of idealizing a pathetic existence as farmers and blacksmiths, believing in ridiculous concepts of honor and morality when their ancestors had known that wreaking destruction was the true calling of a Mandalorian. Small minds indeed.

But their loss could be his gain.

Tez pulled on his oversized helmet and walked out of the club a short distance behind the other man, moving up to him on the street and making a move to steady him as he swayed. A deep and metallic voice spoke up, in a flat and almost monotonous tone.

"You and I have something in common. What others might see as less than acceptable you and I know to be normal."

[Grumpy Panda]

Fuil swayed slightly trying to fight off the narcotic. It gave him a rush he could not explain. Fighting for control over self. The image of the woman's eyes lingered in his thoughts as he forced himself to walk.

Thoughts and memories began to mix slowly spiralling into a maelstrom, a swirling vortex of doom. The buildings looked down at him as faces laughed and pointed. He could see Ivan laughing at him from beyond the grave as Titus stood ready to end it all. His parents hung there head in shame as Cora sobbed inconsolably.

Here he was again up to his neck in waste because he dove in head first. He used to be a bright young man with something to offer and something to live for. He used to have a future. Well, he still did, but no one wanted to see this one through. The narcotics created a lot of hallucinations, but they also made him not feel. If he wasn't numb, he would be curled up in a cold sweat in some dark corner just like all the othe unfortunate urchins of society.

Somehow he managed to walk the line. He lived between life and death. He was rich physically, but his spirit was impoverished. The type of life where people wouldn't understand and just tell you to suck it up. People feared him though. Maybe it was his armor. Maybe it was his occupation.

Words began to form sentences and mixed into the swirling vortex threatening to suck Fuil under each time in churned. Even physical numbness only did so much. The emotional pain was left intact. Several times he considered suicide but never followed through. Perhaps he thought he still had a reason to live. Perhaps he did it as a way to torture himself.

The world began to spin and Fuil rested his face on his palm forcing himself not to vomit. He felt something touch him as a mechanical voice came out. He straightened himself out to turn and see another figure in armor. It was at least humanoid. Regardless, only two types of people approached him, crazy people and crazy people with money.

Fuil straightened himself shaking off the swirling world into a calm void.something felt a bit different about this person. "What are you selling?"

[Lemur, The Kool-Aid Guy]

What was he selling?

Tez hadn't ever doubted what he was selling, as there was only one thing worthy to sell. His ideal wasn't a well-filled coffer or the acquisition of money. It wasn't even in glory or power. No, what he offered was simple.

"Your Mandalorian soul."

The Kel Dor let that statement sink in for a few seconds before he continued, his metallic timbre announcing each word with crystal clarity, in an unmistakable manner. Every word he uttered would be heard.

"You and I are both labeled dar'manda, but I have a deeper truth I can reveal. What they call Mandalorian is not what we were created for. They do not follow the true ways. Do not let their labels burden you. I can offer you a new calling, I can redeem your soul for Kad Ha'rangir."

Tez Hakur was once again brought back to the glory days of the Dha Werda Verda, when young recruits ostracized by the new Mandalorian society were taken in and cared for, learning their birthright, learning to take the place in the galaxy of those who possessed the truth.

Swords for god.

"It is never too late."

[Grumpy Panda]

Fuil shook off the stupor as he heard the words. His soul? How would someone sell him something he had freely lost? He strove desperately to prove he was something like a mandalorian or better. No. His soul was lost when all of his family was lost. He finalised it when he threw Ivan Bendal from the window of his office to a hard death below. In a way he was quite mandalorian for his actions, but words such as similar or near did not mean same.

Fuil wasn’t sure what he was looking for anymore. Life? Death? Maybe it was neither. He was an enigma; a flaw in the system. He was a contradiction of a black and white world being the line between Life and death. Yes and no. A soul wouldn’t do him any good. In the world he lived, souls meant nothing.

Although amused, the alien managed to intrigue him. He spoke about mandalorian religion. It had been several years since he heard anything about it. He was still young and naive then. He still believed there was something more to life as if there was a divine reward for following a purpose. Those days were lost. That man had died. Now he was a vortex slowly consuming all that surrounds it. He wasn’t always like this. He was someone much different with Cora.

Fuil shook himself mentally. Cora was gone. All he knew was gone. He let the alien’s words sink in. He had no intention of being some weapon of a god he didn’t believe in. There were no gods. He only wanted one thing, death. His revenge had long been sated, but his vendetta still lived. People with power corrupted and oppressing those without, the upper echelons claiming to be the pinnacle of civilization, needed to be toppled. In a way, he was bringing justice to the galaxy, but on his terms.

He leveled himself and looked at the hidden face of the being before him. "Details. Now." He wasn’t some free manipulated martyr. He had standards and costs. Other than that, something of interest may have been afoot.

[Lemur, The Kool-Aid Guy]

"You have been taught that the meaning of Mandalorian is some utopian vision of family living in peace, farming and forging. This is a comforting delusion for small minds who shirk their duties. You have been taught about honor, which is another lie. Our God only demands of us one thing, and it is not honor or family. It is bloodshed."

One of Tez Hakur's most underrated skills was that of orator. Like a pastor from some twisted pulpit, he could deliver a message. His message was one few listened to, but his words were just what so many young and disillusioned Mandalorians needed to hear in order to join, in order to become allies.

In his heart, Tez still longed for the glorious days of the Dha Werda Verda, when they struck terror into the hearts of the Sith and the Republic alike, when even the false Mandalorians cowered in submission and fear.

He would do anything to regain such heights. And ally with any cause.

"You can reclaim your soul by taking up your birth-right as a Mandalorian. Join me and we will bring glory to Kad Ha'rangir. The sky will burn with his glory and we will emerge triumphant. Your place in the afterlife will be secure, and your soul will be yours once more."

[Grumpy Panda]

Fuil could tell this man enjoyed speaking. If he had a soul to manipulate, he would have easily been sworn into the ranks. Big speeches didn't move him. Romantics didn't move him. Only his vendetta.

It was easier to move him, but people always tried to hard. He didn't need great speeches. He had a vendetta. However, his past made it interesting. Death followed him where he went, but he worked to only target men. Men were to be responsible for societies successes and failures. In his life, it had always been men failing to do their duty. Weak men. Conniving men. Corporate men.

"Tell me your plan. Details, not charisma."

Fuil could have been more courteous in his speech, but pleasantries were rarely at the forefront of his conciousness. He was always terse and reserved like the enigma he had envisioned becoming, except he thought he would be part of a law force or military. Irony.

Perhaps blind faith would have saved him. It would have granted him innocence. No. Anything he did was planned. Anyone he killed was specifically targeted. Even if he was a sociopath, he wasn't innocent. In a way it helped him get over the initial grief. Now he felt nothing.

[Lemur, The Kool-Aid Guy]

"Very well."

Tez stretched a little and looked to see if anyone was around, and luckily the street was deserted, allowing him to speak freely.

"There is a certain tourist destination on Pantolomin, home to many non-believers, hedonists who believe only in pleasure. I plan a quick strike that will kill many of them. Destruction will be wreaked, and our god will be satisfied. To work, I need a distraction. You can aid me in that undertaking."

The Kel Dor paused and let silence sink in for effect before he concluded.

"Will you join me and reclaim your Mandalorian soul?"

[Grumpy Panda]

Soul. This being was either very much a good liar or very much a man of conviction. What sunk in more was the thought of hedonists. Fuil remembered dealing with hedonists. They were nearly as bad as the people exploiting the status in society; often times they were the same. Either way, they were on his list. His vendetta had room for more victims.

There was no soul in it. The lack of soul is what allowed Fuil to continue his line of work. Yet, part of him wanted that glory. Part of him wanted to be a real mandalorian again. That part of him often got pushed aside, but perhaps there was a way to achieve his goals and redeem himself.

"Tell me about the collateral. I've no interest in slaying innocent women or children."

He stood for a split second to let the quiet brooding about him become a silent roar as his words were lifted away by the breeze.

"I like things being done cleanly."

The emptiness of his voice gave a faint flicker of something more. This mission was probably not the best way to deal with his past. Normal men would cower. Pious men would cite revenge as weakness. Fuil wasn't any of those. He was an enigma, a void, looking for something that may not be found. There would be no going back. This would be making history rather than changing it. Maybe one day he would forgive himself.

[Lemur, The Kool-Aid Guy]

"In any undertaking," Tez said calmly, "There will be damage to those you would refer to as innocent. But have you forgotten the stories of our ancestors? When they reached a planet, they left it in desolation. Questions of guilt or innocence did not concern them. We do not have a fight of good and evil. Ours is a battle for the sake of destruction."

How quaint, he had the remnants of the upbringing of these false Mandalorians. Honor. Nobility. Don't hurt the innocent. Ridiculous constraints of small minds, weakness that had leaked in from outside forces over centuries, a reformation that took their faith away from what it was meant to be.

Perversion, decay. That was what those concepts were. Those notions had no place in the true Mandalorian faith, they belonged to lesser cultures.

Still, the man could be broken of that habit and brought to walk along the strait path of the true Mandalorian.

"Do not feel pity for the sacrificial animal. It must die for the glory of god, and so must those you call innocent. We are not called to meekness or compassion. We are called to destruction in the name of Kad Ha'rangir. Examine your true loyalties. To your faith, or to nameless and faceless people you have never met."

[Grumpy Panda]

Fuil thought for a moment. Of all the people he had met in his life, only two had clearly cared for him. His parents were too obsessed with money and sex. His classmates treated him like an outsider. His coworkers saw him as second class. Even now, society saw him as someone to be used.

Grandfather pulled him off the streets and raised him. Cora merged her heart with his and pushed him to be the best man he could. They were gone, long gone, swept away by the stream of time. One died of old age, the other died because he was too weak. He accepted grandfather's death. It was only natural to die with time. All were born to die.

After killing Titus and Ivan, Fuil became a bounty hunter. While he made enough money to sustain himself, he was still relatively obscure. Most contracts he got were made in desperation or high risk. A move like this could give him more exposure.

"I only have one loyalty, money."

[Lemur, The Kool-Aid Guy]

Tez waved his hand dismissively.

"There is more to a struggle than money. You will be compensated for your time and efforts, but the path of struggle for God is not a field with which to become rich."

No one in the DWV had been in the struggle for wealth. They didn't do what they did for the sake of paychecks or luxurious lifestyles, they did it out of faith, out of piety and submission to god. They did it because it was their duty.

Nevertheless, Tez would pay this Mandalorian, if only to introduce him to the calling of his faith. When he carried out his attack, when he felt the divine light of doing his duty, he would be addicted. He would serve Kad Ha'rangir then.

"Join me and we can restore your faith."