(3596 BBY)"Tell me if you've heard this one before. There once was a little creature, a street rat, little more than sentient scum, who dreamt of biting off more than he could chew. This street rat, you see, didn't know he was a street rat. No, he thought he was one of the big dogs. You know, the creatures in charge of everything. Anyway, one day this street rat decides --"
"Does he always ramble on like this instead of getting straight to the point?"The male
Caskadag that had been speaking to the male Human strapped to the uncomfortable metal chair in front of him recoiled, and shook his head back and forth, as though he had just been clapped on both ears. "You... H-How dare you interrupt --"
"Right, sorry, that was the concussion talking. Wreaks havoc with the area of the brain dedicated to manners, you know. Please, continue."The Human with the supposed lack of manners was one Thyssen Krupp, a known
Dar'manda (a Mandalorian who was no longer officially recognized as such by his own people) and low-profile Bounty Hunter. He had been discovered hours prior, snooping around the premises of the Retramis Syndicate's headquarters on Rishi, located in the southern port city of Far Harbor. But the syndicate was only such in name; their numbers too small to really pose much of a threat to any of the major criminal empires that constantly vied for control of the galaxy's nefarious underworld. However, they were in the process of negotiating a merger with several other smaller organizations, which would no doubt place them on the proverbial board. Assuming the merger was allowed to happen, that is.
The Caskadag, who had introduced themselves to Thyssen earlier as "Boss Roke," drew his knuckles across his captive's face in a vicious backhand that reverberated in the small space the pair of them occupied alongside a dozen of the former's armed bodyguards.
"I've had enough of this nerfscat," Roke growled. "We both know that your resolve isn't weak enough to allow me to gain any kind of useful information from you. I just hope that whoever was dumb enough to put a price on my head decides to renew the contract after word of your demise gets back to the Bounty Hunter's Guild. Notoriety is good for business, you know."
"He really does love the sound of his own voice, doesn't he?""The next words you speak are going to be your last, Hunter," snapped Roke, "so I suggest you make them count!"
Thyssen leaned away from the group and spat a large glob of bloodied spittle onto the concrete floor before responding.
"Verd ori'shya beskar'gam.""And just what the frell does that mea- --" Roke started to say. But just then, the three guards that had remained in the shadows farthest from the others all raised their repeating blasters in unison and opened fire, turning the crime lord into a charred mass of flesh right where he stood, before reorienting and cutting down their fellows before they had a chance to react.
Cue: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4isoQ3FnBngOne of the trio moved forward, into the light, and produced a knife that they used to sever the restraints that kept Thyssen's arms and legs immobilized against the chair. Like their fellows, their identity was completely occluded by several layers of strategically reinforced rags draped over a bulky form that suggested proper armor was being worn underneath it. However, anyone with a trained eye would be able to tell from their stature and the way they handled themselves that this was a woman who Thyssen was dealing with.
"A warrior is more than his armor," Thyssen clarified to the smoldering body as he stood up and stretched feelings back into his extremities.
"Copaani gaan?" the woman asked.
"Copaani mirshmure'cye, vod?""Ori'buyce, kih'kovid."Silence hung in the air for a few beats after that brief verbal exchange. But whatever tension might have been had was dispelled by a chuff of laughter that the two shared, and the sound of a durasteel case being dropped to the floor and kicked over to them from out of the shadows.
"The others?" Thyssen asked as he knelt down and opened the case, revealing a suit of imperial red Mandalorian armor - or
beskar'gam - packed neatly inside, which he began to put it on right away, piece by piece.
Seeing this as a sign that their plan was moving forward, the three guards disrobed, revealing themselves to be every bit as Mandalorian underneath their disguises as the man giving the instructions. The woman's armor was strikingly similar to Thyssen's own, with only minor alterations in the areas of color scheme, helmet design and built-in accessories. The other two were less standout-ish out of design; the two men preferring to remain in the background where they could work their magic. But even they were an intimidating pair to behold.
"Already in place," said the man closest to the door.
"Estimated time until the word gets out on the network?"The answer to Thyssen's question was preempted by the door to the room bursting open. Without missing a beat, the man who had just addressed him grabbed the first mook that stepped over the threshold, crushed their windpipe, and shoved them back into their fellows that tried to pour in behind them. Moments later, as the masses attempted to disentangle themselves, the man's
vod tossed a live grenade out into the corridor and shut the door. There came a shout of "Grenade!" followed by the sound of panicked screaming, and then a loud
'WHUMP!' as the explosive went off. The screaming stopped.
"Not long," the grenadier said.
"Alright. Like we talked about before, stay within visual range of each other at all times. If you run out of ammunition, improvise."The group spent the next minute or so breaking open their blasters, removing the power cells and carelessly discarding them amidst their surroundings. They then returned the now-depowered blasters to their holsters and replaced them with silenced slug-throwing pistols. Magazines were ejected, checked and slapped back in. Slides were ratcheted. A nod was shared between them all. They were ready.
"Burn it.""Burning it."The woman reached behind herself and depressed the trigger on the device strapped to the utility belt she wore. A low keening sound filled the air. And then, right as the door was kicked open again, everything went black.
"What happened?! I can't see a damn thing," shouted one of the mooks that stumbled into the room, over the bodies of his deceased colleagues.
"Someone hit the lights," bellowed another.
"The power's out!"
"Don't any of you dregs have any portables on hand?!"
There was a click. In fact, there were several clicks, as the henchmen tried to shine some light on the situation.
"Portables aren't working, either!"
"What the frak is going on?!"
'Snikt! Snikt!'The nearly-silent shots were followed by the sounds of two bodies hitting the floor.
"What was that?!"
'Snikt, snikt, snikt!'Three more shots, three more thuds. Finally, someone caught on to what was happening.
"There's someone else in here with us! Fall ba- --" The man's voice caught in his throat, trapped there by the knife that had just punctured it, until it was allowed to escape in the form of a gurgling sigh alongside a deluge of blood.
There was just enough differentiation between the light inside of the room and out to allow the Mandalorians to see that there was nobody left standing in front of them. Once the others had realized what was happening, they had bid a hasty retreat. But even now, Thyssen and the others could hear them attempting to rally whoever was left. Cries for aid made in Basic, Huttese and a few other colorful languages. What made Thyssen smile behind the T-shaped visor, however, was the distinct lack of sirens. The local law enforcement, as he had both hoped and suspected, demonstrated no desire to intervene in the matter. Good. That left them able to do what Mandalorians did best.
"Oya."
Unbeknownst to the denizens of Far Harbor, similar scenes were presently playing out all across Rishi.
One by one, other criminal strongholds were being deprived of power by strategically placed ion charges, and their personnel eliminated by squads of
Dar'manda mercenaries whom had been installed as extra security nearly two weeks prior.
The a-typical goons that the myriad of local crime bosses employed stood no chance. Even if they weren't faced with the unenviable task of attempting to repel kill teams of highly-trained Mandalorians, the ion charges deprived them of everything they needed to stand even the slightest chance of survival. Sensors, communication equipment, portable light sources and, most importantly, blasters, were all nullified.
By utilizing sign language, weapons that did not require a power cell to function, and CQC techniques designed specifically to be used by a Mandalorian wearing a full suit of
beskar'gam, Thyssen Krupp and his people were successful in cutting down a majority of the planet's criminal underworld ties in just under eight hours.
In the aftermath of the carnage, the man in question and his three colleagues sat atop the tallest point in Roke's compound, watching the first rays of daylight cresting over the distant horizon. Their bodies were crumpled and shook from fatigue, and their armor bore significantly more blaster scarring than it did prior to the start of the engagement, but there was nevertheless a feeling of victory hanging in the smoky air around them.
"Reports are coming in from the other teams," said the woman without whose expertise in the art of sabotage none of this would have been possible.
"Seven casualties in total. None of them permanently debilitating or fatal.""Ori'jate.""So, that's it. We're done here. Free to go wherever the solar winds take us."The group's collective attention went to Thyssen, who promptly disconnected the environmental seals on his helmet and slipped it off. His visage was soaked in sweat and blood. He sighed.
"There's a city just three klicks north of Rishi's equator called Bakunawa. It's considered neutral territory by the many criminal enterprises who conduct business within the boundaries of the Abrion sector, thanks to its self-appointed governor declaring it an independent 'free state.' Our employer is scheduled to meet me there soon. Why, I cannot say. But I think they should like to meet you all."The woman took off her own helmet and tucked it underneath her arm. The dawn's early light drew the scars covering the right side of her face into stark relief against the rest of her pale skin, similarly mired by perspiration and dried blood. Silver eyes, identical to her brother's, came to rest upon him.
"I'm sorry, Thyssen, but this is where I draw my line. Once I get back to Davenport Gateway, I'm going to place this," she gestured to the armor that she wore,
"into a furnace and see it melted down into bricks. I love you, and I will always be there for you in times of need, but not as a Mandalorian... Not after today... You understand why, right?"Ignoring the looks of disdain cast their way by the other two present, the siblings, Thyssen and Thessia, touched their foreheads together.
"Verd ori'shya beskar'gam...""Jatnese be te jatnese...""Ret' o'r projor jibr, vod."
