#how hapless is he in his devotion? despite how much has been taken?

[magpigment]

like this is him. to me. him and the weylins make me so ill. to be loved is to be changed, and i don’t think he knows the difference between love and hatred- or worse, indifference.

thoughts about gabriel w religious trauma? thoughts? thoughts? thoughts?

[ace-oreos]

Way of the Hunter Ch. 13

A slightly longer chapter than normal because writing... is... fun? 

Check out @deltaturtle26‘s corner if you’re looking for chapter 12. :) Feedback is always appreciated, so let us know what you think! 

Shereshoy and aay’han. 

Parallel concepts, really, but inexplicably linked all the same. Life and... mourning what life once was, I guess, while celebrating what still stands. I don’t really know how to explain it, Wrecker, but I think you would understand. 

Making the best of what we had and ensuring you would be there to see the next day - that’s what shereshoy is at its core. The indescribable yearning to grab hold of life and cherish every experience. That’s what you lived for, I think. I suppose some people would argue that you can’t find a reason for existence in those fleeting moments - that it’s not enough - but you found it anyways. You, out of all of us, and only you. You saw the things the rest of us never opened our eyes to.  

And that’s why you would understand aay’han, too. You know that for every joyful moment, there is a moment of pain to counter it. It’s a strange balance that we rarely take notice of, yet we rely on this balance to shape our lives at any given moment. 

Most beings are lucky enough to go about their lives without ever being fully conscious of that balance. Then there are those of us who are only aware of it because the universe or some other force demanded that we pay attention. We learned that early on, but you were the only one to embrace it. You saw it as a source of strength rather than a target for blame. 

A year ago, I would have given anything just to go back to the way things used to be. But now… I don’t know what I would do now. 

I shouldn’t ask, but if it’s at all possible… keep looking for those moments that make life worth hanging on to. It’s too easy to lose yourself to the other side of things if you don’t have something to keep you grounded. 

K’oyacyi, ner vod. 

Wrecker was beginning to have second thoughts about Nar Shaddaa.

It was, as Tech argued, a suitable location for avoiding the Empire and anyone else who might take exceeding interest in their history. Wrecker knew from long experience that Tech was usually right about these things, and while he knew Tech’s intuition greatly surpassed his own - and most of the galaxy, for the matter - he couldn’t shake the feeling that staying on Nar Shaddaa for an extended period of time was asking for trouble. 

He tried to comfort himself with the idea that Nar Shaddaa was similar to Coruscant - if Coruscant’s upper levels had been overtaken by Hutt clans that collectively turned a blind eye to the criminal activities that ran rampant in the underbelly of the city. Wrecker couldn’t fathom half of the illicit dealings that surely occurred on a regular basis within the capital; it seemed there was minimal enforcement of whatever laws might have existed in such a place, and the residents didn’t bother to conceal the true nature of their affairs.

It was home to the galaxy’s most ruthless criminals, but even that would be essential to survival: Wrecker was sure that any bounty hunter who would devote energy into chasing a hapless citizen who had simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time would leap at the chance to deliver three deserters to the Empire. The longer the attention remained on the bigger players and their doings, the better. 

Wrecker made an effort to appear inconspicuous as he followed Crosshair and Tech towards the outskirts of the city. The whole place was an odd blend of the Hutts’ lavish, sprawling towers and decrepit structures Tech called skyslums shoved in between. The Hutt clans dominated the entire star system, and they made sure to establish their position wherever they could. The towers served as a reminder that it was ultimately the Hutts who determined wealth and prestige - and who was allowed to live. 

Several times Wrecker had the distinct unsettling feeling of being followed, but whenever he glanced back, the streets were deserted except for a few battered droids. Still, he made a point to keep an eye on them. He doubted anything was what it seemed in this lawless city.

A thin, unpleasantly warm drizzle began to fall. Wrecker adjusted the collar of the jacket he’d salvaged after fleeing Dantooine. Beside him, Crosshair secured the cloak over his shoulders with a scowl. It wasn’t much by way of a disguise, but he supposed armor would have attracted the exact sort of attention they were so keen to avoid. 

“We should head back to the Marauder for the night,” Tech said quietly, shooting a furtive glance towards the long shadows cast by the skyslums. 

“Safer than wandering around out here,” Crosshair agreed. 

Wrecker nodded his assent. The Marauder was just a kilometer or so beyond city limits, though he doubted any of Nar Shaddaa’s residents would have any qualms about commandeering a ship that was not within the city itself. 

Tech had deliberately chosen that area, explaining that the ship would likely be safe from simple thieves looking for easy pickings. They would be able to defend it, too, if it came to that. The minute one of them discharged a blaster, Tech warned, they would draw the unwanted eyes of the gangs that roved the streets at night. They would only have a few minutes to escape before being set upon by enemies. 

No sooner had the thought crossed Wrecker’s mind than the droids that had been following them for blocks suddenly emerged from the growing darkness. A motley collection of mismatched parts and scrap metal that gleamed in the dull light from the city, the blasters trained on Wrecker and his brothers were deadly real.

***

Hunter was jarred from the state of semi-awareness he’d sunk into after entering hyperspace by the incessant chirping of his comlink. 

He fumbled for the device, cursing when his head collided painfully with a bulkhead. Eyes watering, he opened the incoming transmission. It was a data file, courtesy of a client who had been thoroughly delighted with the results of Hunter’s previous jobs. Hunter had parted on good terms with him, with the client promising to reward him for his successes. 

There was a short message included with the file:

The others passed this one up, but I knew it wouldn’t be too much for you to handle. Once this is over, one of my colleagues has a proposition for you. I can’t disclose too much, but suffice to say it would be more than enough to finance an early retirement. 

Intrigued, Hunter made a note to return to that at a later time, then turned his attention to the file. To his surprise, the bounty’s most recent recorded location was Kalevala. Few outsiders passed through the Mandalore system; the bounty was either on an aruetii hoping to lay low in such a desolate stretch of space, or…

Hunter knew several Mandalorian factions preferred to fight as mercenaries rather than align themselves decisively with one side or another. He had little knowledge of Mandalorian history, despite Uruk’s best efforts to educate him on such matters, but he figured nomadic warriors who chose their side based on pay likely made enemies of the ones they betrayed or double crossed.

He read further, and his stomach dropped. 

Wanted for involvement with the Death Watch. Possibly responsible for premeditating the bombing that killed New Mandalorian Deputy Minister Jerec.

Hunter knew about the Death Watch, all right. Most had died in exile following their defeat during the Mandalorian Civil War, but the handful of survivors had reformed the sect in secret, then embarked on a reign of terror as they tried to seize control of the Mandalorian government. They were widely regarded as the most hated group to ever occupy Mandalorian territory. 

No wonder no one else wanted this job, he thought wryly. Even the most hardened bounty hunter would think twice about taking on a Mandalorian - particularly one associated with such a ruthless organization. 

Knowing perfectly well he would likely want nothing to do with this in the future, Hunter sent a transmission to the client confirming that he would take the job. 

***

Wrecker knew getting tangled up in difficult situations was simply a fact of life for his squad at by now, but this - being surrounded by a gang of armed droids on a Hutt-controlled planet - was a first. 

“When you said gangs, I didn’t think you meant droids,” Crosshair said under his breath.

There was just enough of an accusation in his voice that Tech shot back indignantly, “How was I supposed to know?” 

“Funnily enough, I was under the impression that you had some idea of what we were getting into when - ”

“Shoot now, talk later,” Wrecker interrupted urgently as the droids pressed closer. They hadn’t opened fire yet, but he wasn’t going to wait. He was sorry to see that battered as they were, their blasters appeared perfectly functional.

“We could try negotiating,” Tech suggested half-heartedly.

“Do those blasters say negotiation to you, Tech?” Crosshair hissed. 

What Tech’s answer was, Wrecker never found out. The first blaster bolt streaked past, missing Crosshair by a wide berth. The second nearly clipped Wrecker’s shoulder. Soon the air was filled with irregular flashes that briefly illuminated the narrow alley. 

There was little room to maneuver. The droids were equally hindered by the tight space, but droids weren’t as easily discouraged as organic adversaries. They closed in relentlessly. Well-placed shots to vulnerable joints slowed them down, but unlike most beings, they didn’t retreat to escape further injury. 

Wrecker found himself shoulder-to-shoulder with Crosshair. The close quarters meant a sniper rifle’s effectiveness would be drastically reduced, so Crosshair was wielding a DC-15 pistol. Even without his rifle, most of his shots found the droids’ optical sensors or other vital areas.

By Wrecker’s estimate, the droids were down maybe a third of their original number. He had taken only grazing hits so far; if they could get out of the alley and into a wider area, taking out the remaining droids wouldn’t be a problem. 

Tech seemed to be having similar thoughts. “If we can hold them off long enough, we should be able to make it to the Marauder.” As he spoke, he neatly dodged a shot that otherwise would have hit him center mass.

Holding them off was the problem, Wrecker thought. The droids were doing a pretty good job of laying down fire relentlessly. If they needed an opening in order to escape, they would have to make it themselves. EMPs would do the trick, but he hadn’t been able to replenish his supply before they were shipped off to Dantooine. 

Unless…

The bolts flying in every direction made it difficult to focus solely on one thing, but Wrecker raised his voice over the clamor and called,“Tech!” 

For a terrible moment there was no response; before Wrecker had time to be properly scared that his brother was lying wounded or dead, Tech answered breathlessly, “Do you have an idea?” 

“Got any EMPs?” 

Tech drew level with him, frowning as he simultaneously calculated an escape plan and returned fire. “It could work, but it’ll be close.”

“Get on with it, then!” Crosshair barked. 

Wrecker planted his feet and fired another burst of bolts at the droids. He heard Crosshair curse as he lost his footing on the ground, the dirt churned into mud by the rain and the furious firefight. Wrecker knew it was dangerous to expose himself to enemy fire, but he turned to help his brother anyways. A few hits wouldn’t -

Tech shouted a warning, and the alley burst into dazzling blue light. 

Wrecker didn’t wait to see the results. He hauled Crosshair to his feet and shoved him ahead, towards the Marauder. Then he seized Tech by the arm and took off. He didn’t dare look back; the droids would eventually recover, but the critical seconds it took them to recalibrate were all they needed to break for the ship. 

By some miracle, Wrecker ran without slipping on the perilously slick dirt. The Marauder was in view now, his brothers were racing alongside him, and suddenly they were stumbling up the short set of stairs and into the safety of the cockpit. 

Tech’s hands flew over the controls. After what felt like impossibly long minutes but couldn’t have been more than thirty seconds, the Marauder was rising into the air. It gained speed, and soon Nar Shaddaa was falling away. The skyslums faded into indistinct patches of darkness on the surface, and soon Wrecker could no longer distinguish between one city and another.

He fell back in his seat, relieved. They were safe - for the time being. He looked at Tech. His brother’s face mirrored his own exhaustion. When Wrecker risked a glance at Crosshair, he saw with some amusement that Crosshair looked as indifferent as ever. Only the tight set of his jaw suggested they had been through anything unusual.

Crosshair idly examined the toothpick between his fingers, then said, “Droids. Wouldn’t you know it’d be droids.”

Wrecker caught Tech’s eye. Tech shrugged, determinedly maintaining a straight face, but the corner of his mouth twitched. His shoulders shook as he fought to hold back his mirth.

Wrecker burst out laughing.

***

Although Mandalorian warriors were hardly an unusual sight on Kalevala, Hunter felt distinctly out of place. 

His armor didn’t draw the stares he’d learned to ignore; he was simply one Mando’ad in a system of thousands. The only feature that marked him as different from the other warriors was the keeradak signet. He was wary of openly displaying anything that indicated his connection to the covert - he wasn’t sure how warriors who did not follow the Way would react on the off chance they recognized it as a sign of his allegiances - but wasn’t entirely successful in smothering his pride and defiance. A warrior never concealed his signet out of shame or fear. 

To his relief, no one seemed to pay any attention to the symbol. Those he passed simply nodded in greeting and continued on their way. Part of him wanted to enjoy exploring a planet he’d never set foot on before, but he had a mission to complete. After all, it wasn’t all that different from Mandalore.

If that was true, he thought uneasily, then how had someone with ties to the Death Watch been able to reside here for months? Most Mando’ade loathed the Death Watch on principle. Had the bounty simply gone to great lengths to hide his past, or was someone willingly harboring him? Maybe the Death Watch wasn’t completely eradicated after all. 

It was a disturbing thought, but Hunter shoved it away. There was no point fretting over things he couldn’t answer for himself. 

The sprawling metropolis around him slowly transitioned into the collection of smaller districts that seemed to function as separate communities. This was closer to the areas of Mandalore he was familiar with, and he allowed himself to relax slightly. The city made him nervous; there were too many places to hide, too many variables. If he could corner his target in one of the less populated areas, completing the job would be much simpler.

Hunter came to a halt as nonchalantly as he could manage, studying the small crowd of armor-clad beings intently. Something had caught his eye… 

His heart began to pound. Just a few meters away, a man with a strange symbol set on his bes’marbur was making his way through a cluster of Mandalorians ambling along the walkway. Hunter had initially mistaken the image to be a signet like his own, but this symbol was different. Uruk had sketched it for him in the dirt once, months ago when he was familiarizing Hunter with Mandalorian history, but the senior warrior had obliterated it almost immediately. 

If any true Mando’ad were to see that, Uruk had said grimly, he would slit your throat, no questions asked. 

The crimson jai’galaar symbol of the Death Watch gleamed on the man’s shoulder.

Hunter frowned. If he were watching the man the client had described, the indicator in his HUD would be flashing. But no such icon appeared. 

His mind raced. Hunter began walking once more, surreptitiously following the Death Watch warrior. Even if he’s not the target, he could still lead me there, he thought. But why wasn’t anyone reacting to the symbol? The man hadn’t tried to disguise it in any way. How many of them are here?

Hunter gradually became aware that the neatly organized districts were giving way to irregular clusters of buildings. There were still Mando’ade here, but the crowd had thinned significantly. More than once Hunter thought he saw the stylized jai’galaar glaring on other shoulders or breastplates, but whenever he tried to covertly confirm his suspicions, the warriors had disappeared. 

The man he was following at a distance abruptly turned a corner and disappeared. Hunter quickened his pace as much as he dared, then followed the same route. Just beyond the corner rose what might have been a warehouse. 

Hunter had hardly taken one step towards it when the man appeared in front of him. Suddenly Hunter was falling, slamming into the ground hard enough to knock the breath out of his lungs. He rolled over, unsheathing his knife in the same movement, but a sudden weight in the middle of his back kept him pressed into the ground. 

“Well done, bounty hunter,” the man rasped. Fighting the panic rising in his chest, Hunter saw three more Mandalorians with the jai’galaar symbol adorning their beskar’gam emerge from the dark building in front of him. “It seems you’re beginning to realize why everyone else refused to take this job.”