KYBER-PUNK 22BBY [Inspired Inventor+]

— Atom —

The dust was still settling. It blocked out the sun and cast us into darkness. In the decimated ruins of a once great tower, in the center of a crater, my throne room now sat. The destruction was hard to believe. Harder to comprehend. And impossible to fully internalize. Only a few minutes ago, 200 floors of so many lives and livelihoods pierced into the sky from here. Now, there was only desolation, destruction, and damnation.

This… This would be one of those days that would never be forgotten by those who lived through it. A 'Where were you when…?' kind of day…

A catastrophe for more than just us. The orbital strike hadn't been surgical. Not at all. The collateral damage likely matched our losses, soul for soul, home for home. Even for Nar Shaddaa, this couldn't be 'just another day'…

From the very top of the moon, we'd been sent back to the lower levels. Along with a dozen of the buildings around us. A whole neighborhood fell with us. A hundred thousand were dead on impact, I could feel the deaths in the Force. Ten thousand more would be displaced or injured. Even now, more of the surrounding buildings were collapsing from shaken foundations. Before this was done, the toll of casualties would only climb.

The mood was something that could only be accurately captured through the Force. A disaster, and those who lived through it. Tragedy. Relief. Fear that lingered, still. Trauma and exaltation. Death after death, collectively pulsing like a stab wound to empathetic hearts. A great loss and the hopelessness that came with it.

But… the reality was that some of us survived to feel those things. And from that, resolves of steel emerged. Fucking. Hutts… They'd brought this unto us, unto all of Nar Shaddaa. They'd escalated past anything reasonable. They'd slaughtered a hundred thousand souls in one fell swoop, uncaring for collateral so long as it solved their (relatively) small problems and sated their wounded pride.

There was a special place in Hell reserved for acts like this. But then, the Hutts likely had a whole circle already reserved for themselves. They'd practically jumped at the chance to commit a terrorist attack for terror's sake. The chance to put down the threat presented by me and mine for good.

For anyone else, they would've succeeded. They would've won, and been free to rewrite events to their hearts' content. But by some Forcing miracle, we pulled the fuck through. We weathered their bullshit sucker punch. And we wouldn't let anyone erase today's destruction from history.

A whole neighborhood — a small city by any other world's standards — lay in ruined rubble. Yet at the center of that destruction, the very summit of the tower and all of us within persisted. We were all that was left. We'd be enough to ensure the Hutts reaped what they'd sown.

Rebuilding what we'd lost in mere minutes would've taken years. Years we didn't have. As frustrating as being stuck in the tower had been at times, it had quickly been becoming our home base. Our center of operations. But no more and never again.

There was only one way out, one way forward. The Gonk Cartel was down — brought fucking low — but far from out of the running. We'd just have to roll with the blow we'd been dealt and counter hard. Let it never be said that the Hutts didn't hit hard as fuck when given the chance, though…

This shit… I'd freely admit it fucking hurt. I'd quickly been coming to see the Gonk Cartel as mine. My people, my power, my little piece of the galaxy. Hell, we'd worked hard to make it so. And the tower was at the center of that work. Now, there were barely even pieces for me to pick up. Just… dust. So much fucking dust…

In that dust, I found myself standing tall. Because despite it all, we'd saved ourselves. And I was holding, cradling, supporting the source of that salvation in my arms. Master Fay… I wouldn't let her touch the ground, not when she'd already done so much.

Me, David, Aayla, Quinlan — we all felt Fay take the worst of the backlash for herself. The shield was her idea, her work, in truth. We just provided that extra little bit of power and support she needed. Even then, she didn't hesitate to accept the consequences, to spare us from pounding turbolasers and a hundred thousand deaths in the Force.

Now… she was a mess. A glorious mess. Blood leaked out of her nose and ears. Her body was limp in my arms. Every so often she shuddered in her unconsciousness. Yet even after all of that, she kept herself burning as bright as any star in the Force. Even now, she was a beacon to set souls at ease and help them find their way.

Her last words before succumbing to exhaustion had already burned themselves into my memory, "Faith. Faith and spite. Have faith. Have spite, Atom. The Force shall always see us through."

It was advice I could heed. She was already proving her worth as an advisor. As if shielding us from fucking turbolaser bombardment wasn't enough…

'Have faith'. I could do that. The Force had proven itself worthy of that much, especially now. But largely, I'd leave that task to her. Fay had more than enough faith for the both of us. The second part, though…? 'Have spite'. Always. For that, I could pull my weight. I could balance out Fay's faith. After an attack like that, I was feeling more than a little fucking spiteful.

"David," I ordered softly, not taking my eyes off Fay in my arms. "Make sure everyone's still kicking. This is far from over."

David seemed to be on the 'high of relief and happiness' end of the reaction scale, grinning, "They are. I can feel it. I can feel 'em. Mom, Maine, Taati — we kriffing made it, choom!"

Instead of bursting his bubble, I simply nodded, "We did. We made it."

Glancing up and around us, I saw that my order to David was unnecessary, at least for the people I cared about. He'd still have to check up on the no-name vassals outside the war room's partition but I couldn't find it in me to care much about them at the moment. The important people hadn't strayed far, even as they scrambled to mitigate the damage before impact. They were all still standing, even. And gravitating back toward the small area the other Force Users and I had claimed to focus on the shield.

"Atom…" Lucy was the first to speak. "I could kiss you right now."

"What are we? Chopped bantha liver?" Aayla joked, reveling in relief much like David.

Becca chuffed, "Fuck kissin', choom! That shit deserves some preem fraggin' head, at least!"

"That," Quinlan deadpanned. "I'm afraid I'll have to decline."

"Fay's the one who deserves the most of it, anyway," I smirked.

She remained passed out in my arms. But I swear she still managed to blush. Utterly exhausted and what could only be described as flustered at the same time. Master Fay was… an odd woman. Something to note and potentially explore, but I didn't have the time now. As I told David, this shit was far from over.

For now, the clouds of death and destruction offered some semblance of safety. We were hidden within them, and most certainly presumed dead on impact. We'd have to work quickly to put that latter assumption to rest. At the same time, I wasn't about to stay in this damned crater a second longer than I had to.

Swearing and shaking my head, I asked the room, "Right. Shit. Okay, what's the damage?"

"It'd be quicker to say what's still intact," Suunri quipped morbidly.

I shot her a flat stare, "Humor me."

"Yes, in all seriousness, my lord…" She sobered. "We're fucked. There must've been thousands of lives and livelihoods connected to the cartel in the rest of the tower. All wiped out in an instant."

"Let's get the people we have available working on search and rescue," I ordered. "I don't plan on sticking around for long, but that much is a must."

"You got it, kid," Maine nodded. "Shaitan, Coyate, and I will rally up a few parties and get looking. Heavy shit, this… While we get to work… you get to puttin' us straight, yeah, choom?"

I nodded back at him as he, Shaitan, Coyate, and Dorio moved off to do as Maine said. I wasn't holding out any major hopes. Turbolasers from near-orbit weren't the kind of thing to leave survivors…

Sstala, for the first time I'd seen from her, looked lost, "Everything… All that I've built over ten years… All of my systems, my underlings… my standards and well-drilled bureaucracy… all of my work… It's gone."

De'vi hesitantly raised her hand, "M-My girls made it through… With Atom, the only place in the tower we like to stay is the throne room… So, thank Mighty Leia, we're all accounted for. Saved again… Atom, David, venerable Jedi — thanks to you, we lived…"

"As did the Packs!" Shank cut in.

"Thank fuck for that," Sasha muttered. "Just the majority of our forces… Losing them wouldn't be at all crippling."

"Haha, yes!" He laughed. "The mutts did not like the tower anyway! They are either out running hunts or in dens of their own!"

"I know for a fact some of your mutts were training here, though, Shank," I said.

"Ah… Yes, that is true," He deflated slightly, growling to himself. "Some… Some must've been lost. Diligent, loyal hounds torn from their handlers… Today is not a good day, yes, Alpha?"

"It's a shit fucking day, for sure," I growled right along with him. "And from here, we focus on avenging all that we've lost. The mutts who fell today won't be forgotten, Shank. I promise you that. And Sstala, we'll rebuild. Everything to your vision. Your work from here on out will be essential to our historical fucking getback."

Some spark of life reappeared in Sstala's eyes, "My vision…? Yes, you would give me that sort of control and authority, Sir… I won't have to fight Zorba's indulgences and inefficiencies anymore. We can rebuild. And we can rebuild it right."

"Thatta girl, Greenie~!" Becca cheered. "We need ya on your A-game~! Can't have getback without all of the little shit behind the scenes that makes it possible!"

"No. No, you can't. We can't," Sstala straightened, reassuming her usual air of competence and composure. "But there will be quite a bit to do. And we'll need another base to call the center of our operations. Getting started again will be the hardest part. Any supplies we were hoarding — weapons, munitions, armor, rations, medical supplies, products — all of it's gone now. Our stash houses will help. But not nearly enough."

"Technically," Linth casually waved. "Things could be worse. Not much worse, true, but they could be."

"Linth," I deadpanned. "Shut up. Don't tempt fate."

He chuckled, "Well, where's the fun in that~?"

"Living," Lucy joined my deadpan with her own. "The fun is in living."

"Were any of our ships docked in the tower?" I asked.

"A few were," Linth nodded before joking. "But not anymore. Fortunately, I wasn't keeping the majority of the fleet docked here. They're scattered about and around. We'll just need to get in contact with them."

"We'll have to get in contact with all of our people," I corrected. "Sasha? Can I put you on that?"

Sasha — as expected — nodded vigorously, "Of course~! I'll get the word out~! After all of this, it'll spread fast. That's not necessarily a good thing, though. The Clans will find out that they failed soon enough."

"And we're not going to be here when they do," I confirmed. "But it's unavoidable. And I'd rather our people know the cartel isn't dead than maintain some pointless operational security."

"Got it~, baby~!" She singsonged. "I'll make it happen~!"

"I know you will," I nodded seriously. "I trust you. I trust all of you. After going through something like this together, it'd be hard not to."

Sasha just about exploded in preening ecstasy at that. My statement of trust had an effect on the others as well. Linth grinned and raised a flask my way like he was making a toast. Good to see his alcohol supply survived the strike… Sstala nodded somberly to herself as if accepting a heavy resolve onto her shoulders. And in my arms, I swear Fay blushed again…

"Now," I turned to the Jedi Knights. "Looks like you two have been thrown in the deep end with us."

"We're Jedi," Quinlan stated flatly. "We're rather used to that."

"What do you need us to do?" Aayla asked, setting her shoulders with readiness and fingering the lightsaber on her waist.

"If you're not pulling out because of this-?" I began.

"We're not," Aayla firmly denied.

"Then, just keep sticking with us," I finished, giving an acknowledging nod. "We're going to relocate as soon as we're able. And without any real vehicles to our name, it'll be a trek to get to where we need to be now."

"A… trek?" Aayla blinked.

"Using Linth's fleet is right out. The Clans have already — and pretty fucking clearly — demonstrated that they have air superiority. We'll have to go the old-fashioned way: by foot through the undercity. And since we have more than a few noncombatants, a pair of Jedi Knights would be… appreciated."

"Where are we goin', choom~?" Becca asked, cocking her head curiously.

"Where else?" A grin spread across my face. "We tried playing from Zorba's old turf. It obviously didn't work. So, fuck this shit, we're going back to Night City. Let the Clans follow us into our real home turf. Let 'em figure out why so many people don't ever make it out. We're going home and when we come back out, we'll have the whole damn city behind us."

IIIII

— Aayla —

Escort missions were never the most fun. They were stressful and rather boring most of the time. A strange middle ground between action and monotony. Aayla… struggled with them, she'd freely admit. She'd much rather be caught up in either extreme: the monotony of a diplomatic mission or the thrill of direct action. For the former, she could at least find some peace and for the latter, well, Aayla was a Jedi Guardian for a reason.

Unfortunately, her current task put her firmly in that strange middle ground. Their new allies were on the move, and Quinlan and Aayla were on the move with them. Getting everything ready for their trek hadn't taken too long at all. Atom's decision to not spend time milling about in the destruction was the smart one. Still, Aayla found herself impressed with how quickly the Gonk Cartel got itself into some semblance of order, especially after… the blow that had them on the ropes.

Who could've expected an orbital strike…? At such an opportune time, too. For the Hutts, they would've taken out the source of their recent problems, two Jedi Knights, and a Jedi Living Legend if they had succeeded. For Atom and his cartel, their presence — mostly Master Fay — might've been the only thing to save them.

It was an odd thing to be caught up in a war, Aayla thought. She wasn't sure she liked it. But just as oddly, she didn't hate it either. With the other side being who they were, she couldn't. If ever there was a noble war effort, it would be against the Hutts.

Aayla had many reasons to war with the Hutt Clans. Even beyond the fact that they'd just — unintentionally — tried to kill her and her former Master in one damning strike. She'd seen their evils in the galaxy. Known them for herself, at points. As just a child, she'd been sold to a Hutt on Ryloth. Since then, she'd run her fair share of missions through Hutt Space, growing painfully familiar with how widespread and insidious the reach of Hutts was.

In the Core Worlds, a blind eye was turned to the Hutts' evils. Even the Order was rather bad about doing so. As if the suffering they wrought was somehow beneath the notice of the Jedi. The Hutts, unfortunately — infuriatingly — were much too entrenched in the galaxy. They were seen as an unchangeable constant. A 'lesser evil', 'just the way things were', and 'normal' worst of all.

Aayla knew differently. There was no lesser evil than the Hutts' 'lesser evil'. Making the galaxy think differently might've been their greatest crime of all, that normalizing of themselves, their rule, and everything they wrought.

Her species had been in the Hutts' thrall for as long as their history had been told. Slavery existed in Twi'lek culture when they were just one world, alone in the galaxy. But with the arrival of the Old Republic and the Hutts, its practice was boosted beyond anything reasonable.

Ryloth had little to exploit but her people. And so, upon their arrival, the Hutts did what they did best. They conquered, enslaved, and exploited what little Ryloth had to offer to their hearts' content. The situation was only made worse by the discovery of Ryll. If slavery doomed Ryloth and her people, the spice named after their world buried them so they might never claw their way back out.

Paradoxically, slavery was the reason Twi'leks were so prominent in the galaxy. As terrible as it was, its practice gave Aayla's people no choice but to spread wide and far. Mothers and daughters were sold, brothers and fathers were collared, and yet, the practice had arguably been… good… for the species as a whole. It was a terrible thing. A tragic thing. She loathed the hand her people were dealt.

So, Aayla was… sympathetic to Atom's war on the Hutts. And she outright supported his dreams of freedom. As did the Force itself, if Aayla was reading things correctly… Master Fay showing up with her hidden prophecy and that title she'd called Atom hinted at that much. Breaker of Chains… It sent a thrill down Aayla's spine even now, and she'd never been more satisfied to be a follower of the Force.

The Force itself was taking action where the Order wouldn't. Not just that. An unaffiliated Force User was doing more for the people of Hutt Space than the Jedi had ever dreamed of doing. That left Aayla feeling… rather disaffected with the Order's leadership. She knew they could be doing more. Yet the first real, meaningful change she'd seen in her life came from someone else. It came from Atom, Breaker of Chains, and he hadn't looked back since he started.

Not even being smited from orbit made him reconsider his path. He hadn't even paused. His powerbase was pulverized, his mortality was on clear display, and he'd simply sprung right back into action. That driven, spiteful resolve and ability to roll with the punches was something special in Aayla's mind.

When they'd joined themselves in the Force to build the shield that saved them, Aayla was given glimpses into each of her new companions. Atom was impressive, almost frighteningly so. She didn't know SPITE could be so… beautiful. At the same time, Master Fay had been awe-inspiring. So much peace, control, experience, and FAITH. David had been something in his own right, all loyalty, talent, and the youthful energy of SPEED. And then, Quinlan was the reliable rock Aayla had always known him to be.

After surviving what they did together, how could Aayla not feel closer to them? What did it matter that they'd just met? She'd seen them at their most desperate, most stalwart, most faithful and spiteful. Each of them was someone she'd gladly fight the Hutts beside. If they'd failed with their shield and died then and there, she would've been content to die beside them, too…

Now, though, they were on the move. Tragically few surviving souls had been pulled from the tower's rubble. Those who did survive didn't do so unscathed. Grievously wounded and likely traumatized to the Corellian Hells and back.

And that wasn't the end of their troubles. Transporting those survivors would've been almost impossible. A convoy was already forming with the noncombatants at its core. But they didn't have medical supplies or facilities to treat the wounded. As terrible as it was… they would likely have to be left behind…

Then, Atom stepped up and stunned Aayla silent once more. He wouldn't leave his people to long, slow, terrible deaths. 'No one gets left behind' he claimed. It was a noble, respectable sentiment and Aayla was sure the rest of the cartel appreciated his commitment to even its lowest members… But Atom didn't leave it as a mere sentiment.

He had Master Fay straight up strapped to his back by then. Like some kind of Living Legend backpack… Aayla wasn't jealous (she wasn't!), not even by the way Master Fay's plentiful curves pressed up against him… She couldn't deny that it made for a surprisingly — oddly — romantic scene with the way Master Fay's head rested blissfully forward on his shoulder or that it freed up Atom's hands quite effectively, though.

Atom hovered his freed hands over the wounded survivors and everyone there witnessed a miracle. His hands glowed with Light and fatal wounds began to heal, began to melt away as if they never were. Aayla, of course, knew of Force Healing. She just didn't expect anyone outside the Order to be capable of it.

Even then, the Order's Force Healing was a thing of preparation, nuance, and crystal foci. It was usually used to augment other medical methods, not practically raise the dead on its own. Yet Atom was doing something akin to the legends of the Old Jedi without any aid, and it came to him as naturally as simple meditation.

Halfway through the healing process, Light began to feed into Atom's efforts from a source on his back. Even unconscious, Master Fay could heal. She truly was almost one with the Force. It was breathtaking to watch in action, both Atom and Master Fay's efforts.

Before Aayla knew it, the survivors had been stabilized and the convoy began its trek in earnest. Feeling the need to contribute, Aayla chose to lead them out of the still-lingering dust cloud. Quinlan took up the rear of the convoy, while David and the lively little woman named Becca joined Aayla in the vanguard.

The first few blocks — everything that had been caught as collateral in the orbital strike — were haunting. The dust continued to obscure all sight, but Aayla felt the utter destruction through the Force. Buildings rocked and reduced to their foundations, blood and bodies, ruined homes and lives, and all too often, not a single survivor.

But still, like in the wreckage of the tower, there were some. And for those who clung to life, nothing would've stopped Aayla from digging them out. David ran those few survivors they managed to save back to Atom at the center of the convoy. Even though they weren't technically his people, he healed them all the same. Sensing them stabilize in the Force went a long way to soothe Aayla's frayed and horrified heart.

By the time they left the immediate radius of destruction, Aayla was confident that everyone who could be saved had been saved. She'd combed over every inch of the area with the Force, and David had been running about at speeds that made Aayla outright blink. She was rather thankful for that once she got over her surprise. Still, for all of their efforts, the convoy had only grown by about 20 people…

"This…" Aayla muttered to herself in shock. "By the Force, this is horrible. The Hutts can't get away with this…"

"They won't, choom," Becca said with utmost confidence. "Atom won't let 'em. They brought the violence onto us, so we're gonna bring the violence right back onto them. And us Night City chooms? I'll bet we're better at that shit than the Hutts could ever imagine."

Aayla shook her head, "I should be advocating for peace, but I really, truly can't. Not now. Not when all of those people would've died in dust, darkness, and despair without us to find them and Atom to heal them."

"He's pretty wizard, huh?" David tried for a grin. It came out pained and strained, reflecting how shaken Aayla could sense he was. "Even with everything, I still think the healing is his best trick. He healed my mom like that, ya know? It's something I'll never forget. Damn… And I thought that was a bad sitch. Compared to all this, though…?"

He finished shaking his head, and Aayla empathized, "Don't be too hard on yourself, David. Nothing compares to this…"

"Fucking Hutts," Becca scowled. "Can't even get their slimy hands dirty themselves. I bet they couldn't even lift one of my Carnage babies for themselves. There's violence, and then there's genocide. If you gotta do your dirty work from orbit, it's the latter. And that's nothing to be proud of, choom."

"They're not going to like what comes to them next because of this," David chuckled darkly.

"No, I imagine they won't," Aayla agreed. "Even for Nar Shaddaa and the Hutts, something will have to come of this. People will be furious, won't they? The Clans, they can't be popular, but this? This goes above and beyond the pale. What's to stop the Hutts from doing it again? To a whole other neighborhood?"

Atom spoke then, having snuck up on their conversation. That Aayla hadn't noticed him in the Force spoke to how shaken she too was, matching David.

"Us. We're what's going to stop them from repeating their bullshit. We'll be their judgment and their damnation. And we won't be standing alone against them for long. Like Aayla said, Nar Shaddaa can't ignore something like this. Once word spreads, once we start rebuilding, I already know we won't be lacking public support."

The conversation died down after that as Atom (and Master Fay on his back) joined them in the vanguard. Not because of his presence, but simply because there was much to think about. Too much on Aayla's mind, and she imagined David was the same. Becca seemed more able to roll with the punches, jumping straight into flirting, teasing, and joking with Atom. Even her liveliness didn't find much purchase, though, getting one-word replies at most and usually just grunts.

Their trek through the lower levels continued. It was peaceful at first. Too peaceful… No one threatened them. But many must have seen them pass. Nar Shaddaa's undercity was a jungle to Aayla, even with her senses in the Force. Too many people, too many shadows, too many hidden threats and potential dangers to even think of resting easily for a single moment.

It was a labyrinth of corridors, alleyways, and tunnels. In most places, the sun was blocked out by sheer upward urban sprawl. And where it wasn't, danger emerged. The danger of being in the open… Untold billions desperately made their homes and lives down here, Aayla knew. And if the convoy showed weakness or opportunity, they might never make it back out.

But more than anything, the usual dangers of an undercity were outshined by a larger threat. The Hutt Clans were undoubtedly coming for them. Coming to finish the job their orbital strike had started. And during their trek back to Night City — protecting noncombatants and stabilized survivors — they were at their most vulnerable.

Soon enough — sure enough — mercs and bounty hunters began to come out of the concretework, out of too many shadows for comfort. They flocked to do the Hutts' dirty work, for pay and for glory. Aayla found herself on the front line, fighting to protect her new allies and the innocents they escorted.

The sight of her lightsaber — humming its brilliant blue — scared off some of the attackers. But not enough…

From every stripe and creed, the mercs were diverse. Human, Nikto, Klatooinian, Weequay, Nimbanel, Sakiyan, Rodian, and her fellow Twi'leks, too — it was like a who's who of the species of Hutt Space.

Notably, there were no Gank Killers. Aayla understood that to be rare for Nar Shaddaa — almost an impossibility. Where there was killing to be had, Gank Killers would be some of the first in line. But tellingly, for this war, their whole species was behind the Gonk Cartel.

The dumb, greedy, ambitious, and insane, everyone who could make money selling their blasters or slugthrowers came to collect a fat paycheck. The bounties on their heads must've been significant. And there wasn't a better time to collect it than right now when the Gonk Cartel was at its weakest.

But 'weak' was far from 'easy'. Something the mercs and bounty hunters found out firsthand. The cartel's armory might've gone the way of their tower, but they weren't in any way unarmed. So, as the attacks came, expecting easy pickings, the people fighting beside Aayla tore them to pieces.

Becca let loose with fully automatic blaster fire, "Get some! Come get some, gonks! I've got enough bolts for all of ya!"

Her concentrated and worryingly competent spray of blaster bolts carved through a whole mercenary squad. Every shot found flesh. Every twitch she made was purposefully aimed. Aayla knew she'd have trouble deflecting all of them if Becca chose to aim her way.

Overwhelming firepower from a single source. The leather-clad Nikto at the head of the squad found his armor lacking. A dozen bolts in a second outright raised him off his feet. He was dead before they left the ground. The mercs behind him didn't fare any better as they were cut down to a sapient being.

David danced through their attackers, calling on his connection to the Force like Aayla had never seen. Here. There. He seemed to flash into existence. For singular moments, he remained. Just long enough to double-tap the heads he appeared behind or beside. Like puppets with their strings cut, his targets went down without fail. And then, he was gone. Blurring onto the next, as if teleporting.

Atom tanked a barrage of blaster bolts on his bare skin. He came out unscathed, only burned holes in his clothes showing that he was ever under fire. He fought on — undeterred, constantly on the move, and ever-mindful of Master Fay on his back. He put his body between her and the burning bolts, almost seeming to absorb the deadly plasma.

He spun and dodged the shots that he couldn't endure outright or that would've hit Master Fay. The Force guided his movements and aided a style Aayla had never seen. It was like a martial art, except instead of bare hands, it was focused on the blaster pistol in Atom's. Atom flowed across the battlefield, exchanging punches and kicks for blaster bolts and more blaster bolts.

One shot from him carved a scorched furrow through a Human merc's forehead. Another knocked an aimed blaster off its aim. Aayla wouldn't have been surprised if he shot incoming blaster bolts out of the air with his own.

He traded shots with a particularly squash-nosed Klatooinian. Those bolts struck him right in the heart, yet Atom didn't flinch. His return fire did the same, and the Klatooinian fell limp, burning up from within.

Atom settled into the violence, the thrill and heat of combat, like he was born to it. But he didn't revel in the dealt death as a Sith would, Aayla sensed. It was simply what he had to do to survive, and nothing would stop him from doing so. In the face of his spite, Atom's enemies dropped like flies.

Aayla — a Jedi Knight — was left playing second fiddle to the terrifying skill of violence that Night City natives could bring to bear. Her lightsaber waved with buzzing hums, always in the right position to block another series of blaster bolts.

It was a familiar feeling, an extension of her arm, will, and presence in the Force. The strange, paradoxical peace she always found in combat came, and Aayla welcomed it.

Without fail, she deflected incoming fire, returning blaster bolts to their senders. Five mercs fell like that. Her training taught her to aim for wounds. But for once, Aayla didn't bother. She couldn't afford to. This was a fight for survival, not just for herself but for the three score noncombatants behind her.

The first wave of mercs fell startlingly quickly. Toward the end of it, a frag grenade was thrown. Not at their vanguard, but into the rest of the convoy.

Resolve flared within Aayla at the petty death throe. She snatched the grenade out of its path with the Force and chucked it back. Her final, vicious return-to-sender was done with enough force to cave in the sender's chest and lodge the grenade there. The thrower was dead on impact. And the explosion took care of the rest of the mercs.

Only after it was over and done did Aayla turn away from the carnage, feeling queasy. 'Shaken' seemed to be her word of the day… She didn't regret her action, not when she looked back at the convoy's helpless core. But still… that wasn't pretty…

The others in the vanguard seemed utterly unaffected by the violence, utterly used to it. The most thought they paid to the corpses was to loot them. For a moment, Aayla's resolve wavered…

Only for a moment. She wasn't prepared for war. She doubted any Jedi ever could be. But she was still a Guardian. The mercenaries would've killed them, killed the noncombatants behind them, and taken all of their heads to the Hutts to collect the bounties. For nothing more than credits and the Hutts' favor.

The best thing she could do was continue on the path she'd chosen as a Knight. A Guardian protected above all else, and so, Aayla would fight to protect.

"We're coming up on one of our stash houses," Atom said, addressing the decision-makers in the convoy after that first wave. "We'll use it but we can't stop there. I want us in and out."

Sstala nodded, "I shall ensure our looting is organized and efficient."

Atom continued, "Get the weapons, ammo, and supplies. Keep an eye out for hover sleds and the like. They're essential. We need a better way to transport our wounded. There's still a long way to go…"

"How far?" Quinlan asked, having come up from the convoy's rearguard to check on Aayla. She appreciated him for it, but she was fine now. More determined than ever.

"The tower was about a sector and a half due east of Night City Limits," Maine answered, shrugging.

"To someone who doesn't know the local area, that isn't very helpful," Quinlan pointed out.

"50 klicks," Shaitan elaborated. "We've done about three so far. It's a significant march. But entirely possible for us to do in a day if we have the aid of vehicles and pseudo-vehicles as Atom said are essential."

"We do it in a day or we're dead," Atom stated bluntly. "And the attacks we'll need to fend off will only slow us down. So we need those repulsorcrafts. When we're stopped at the stash house, some of us will need to requisition actual speeders. Buy 'em, steal 'em, I don't care. Just get them for us."

Sasha waved her hand, grinning, "Leave it to us girlies, baby~! Lucy, Kiwi, and I can jack the speeders remotely. By the time we're done dismantling the stash house, there'll be a whole, proper convoy waiting for ya, neh~?"

Atom gave a satisfied, gruff nod, "Good. We'll be home before the clock strikes six, then. All that's left is to cut through everything in front of us…"

"Lightsabers are rather good at that," Aayla quipped.

Becca cackled, "So are blasters if your aim isn't shit~!"

"Lucky us, then," Atom said with flat, grim amusement. "We've got both."

The convoy trekked on. Only a few minutes later, they reached the Gonk Cartel stash house, and 'looting' (as much as that could be said about someone taking their own stuff) proceeded under Sstala's organizing eyes. Several hover sleds were conscripted into the convoy's service to act as mobile stretchers, and they acquired enough weapons for everyone to get one. Even Aayla and Quinlan were offered blaster pistols. Aayla turned hers down, but Quinlan actually accepted, to her surprise.

Sasha, Lucy, and Kiwi came through as well, slicing a dozen-plus speeders for them to use. The hover sled stretchers were tethered to the speeders, and within minutes, they were on the move again. Not at full speed, of course. But a damn sight faster than they'd been on foot.

In the vanguard, only Becca bothered with a speeder, wrangling Sasha up to join them and drive for her. Atom, David, and Aayla could easily keep up on foot. So they did, only barely having to call on the Force to do so. And in the rear, Aayla sensed a similar situation. The fact that Maine and Shaitan were steadily keeping up with Quinlan with just the strength of their augments was slightly surprising and impressive, though.

The journey settled into a rhythm of steady travel. There wasn't another wave of mercs like the first they'd faced. The vehicles made them less obviously vulnerable. But Aayla couldn't shake an ominous feeling. The Force gave a warning. It was her duty as a Jedi to listen.

Word of their passing had undoubtedly spread, word of their 'Great Escape'. Along the way, she sensed smaller groups of every color watching them. More mercs, who didn't make any moves against them due to their convoy's new speed and size. But also inhabitants of the undercity.

They came out to watch from the shadows, and Aayla could sense the support in their hearts. Then, around the halfway point of their journey to Night City, Aayla's warning was realized.

It was an ambush of sorts. A tunnel fully enclosed them and left them with no way out but forward. And in front of them, having predicted their path, was a Hutt and a verifiable small army.

The Hutt must've been one of the competent ones to track them down and corner them as it did. Additionally, they sat atop an actual hovertank — an Armored Assault Tank as used by the Trade Federation. The tank's repulsorlifts audibly strained to carry the Hutt's enormous bulk. It was perhaps the largest example of the species Aayla had ever seen and armored like the tank below it from head to tail.

Yet the contrast between the Hutt and the legion it commanded was jarring. Where the Hutt was fully armored atop an armored throne, the young men (so young…) of his army were quite literally bare-chested and barefoot. There could be no mistaking the collars around their necks for anything but what they truly were. Slaves. Slaves that had been conscripted and forced to fight to the death for their Hutt master. Seen as nothing more than meat for the Hutt's blender.

They wielded spears and blasters, but not one of the weapons rested easily in their hands. In the Force, the slave soldiers were a tangled mass of terror, there against every one of their wills. Sensing it was sobering. Horribly sobering. Their morale dunked Aayla's very soul in ice water. And worse was what she knew would come from all of this…

"Atom…" She muttered.

"I know," He growled back. "Trust me, I know. Nonlethal. Aayla, David, you two are with me. We're cutting that fucking head from its tail."

For the first time in their Great Escape, he set Master Fay down, leaving her with Sasha. Cracking his neck, he readied himself for combat. The rest of them did the same.

"Usurper!" The Hutt called out to them. "That's far enough! You go no farther! No, you die today! At my hand! At the noble spears of Gromix's legion! The younger Hutts have fumbled your handling, which I will not deny. I won't make the same mistake. Like my old gladiator days, I shall rip you in twain!"

"You know, you're the first Hutt I've met who's willing to fight for themselves," Atom noted, his voice low and dangerous. "But that's fine. Good, even. You're just making things easier for me. I won't say no to another slug on my tally."

Aayla couldn't see the Hutt's face beneath his armor but she could feel his snarl, both in the Force and in his voice, "You will know the name of the one who kills you, scum. I am Gromix, Leader of the Legions, Victor of the Pits, and Armored Fist of the Clans! I was old when your ancestors were young, boy! I am scarred and weathered! I am glorious! And I. Will. CRUSH YOU!"

Out of the corner of his mouth, Atom issued orders to the convoy's vanguard, "David, find the slave control transmitter. Aayla, take out the tank. Cut through the bottom or something with that glowstick of yours. I'll deal with the Hutt. And Becca? Set your shit to stun."

Becca rolled her eyes at him, "What do you take me for, some kind of amateur? I like carnage, choom, but I'm not about to splatter some poor slaves to get my fix. Around you, I hardly need to."

"Right," Atom snarked. "Why would I ever doubt you?"

"No idea, choom," Becca shrugged. "That's on you."

Rolling his eyes, Atom turned back to the Hutt across from them with a glare and left off with only three, cutting, goading words, "Bring it… snail."

"You dare?!" Gromix blew up at the insult. "I am the best of the Shell Hutts, no mere snail! I take after the Hutts of old! The other Shells might languish in their gluttony, but I am a WARRIOR!"

Despite the words exchanged, everyone was already moving. David sped off faster than any eye could track. Atom and Aayla ran to meet the Hutt, slower than David but still boosted by the Force. The slave legion lowered their spears to stop them. They didn't hesitate, charging right into the wall of sharpened steel.

Aayla's lightsaber cut a hole in the wall. Spear tips fell to clatter on the ground and the shafts were pushed aside. In an instant, they were among the slaves. Aayla channeled her connection to the Force into a soothing, placating, gentle thing. A mindtrick that wouldn't have found purchase on a legion of proper morale. But for the minds of slaves, they almost leaped at the out she gave them.

Not a single one of them was weak of will. Yet, they were there against those wills. Aayla's presence slithered into that glaring, gaping crack. Almost with sighs of relief, the slaves she touched surrendered and allowed themselves to be coaxed into unconsciousness. Stun bolts from Becca behind her did roughly the same for the slaves Aayla couldn't reach.

Like that, she carved a harmless swath through the 200-strong legion. Like that, man after man fell with their wounded, chained hearts at ease. The blasters in the back, behind the initial spear wall, fired. Aayla felt absolutely no hostile intent in the Force. It actually made intercepting and deflecting the blaster bolts more difficult, but still, only reaffirmed her resolve.

Her saber rotated and swung with her. It hummed from position to position, batting away bolts. Upward and outward, never back at the ones shooting at her. Farther and farther, she advanced into the legion's core. Their close formation — once their greatest strength — worked against them with a Jedi within it.

As she defended herself, her free hand went on the attack. Gentle, pacifying touches brushed against every slave she could reach. She understood their plights, their unwillingness to fight. Every brush and graze of her hand imparted that understanding as her mindtrick sent them off to a place where they could do no more harm against their will.

Yet still, amongst the legion, overseers worked to drive the slaves forward into certain death. For them, Aayla made exceptions, targeting them with deflected blaster bolts. They fell, still barking orders and cracking whips. Aayla took visceral satisfaction in putting those cruel creatures down.

She felt Atom leave her side. He had his own task to see to. With a single leap, he cleared the legion entirely. A great spear seemed to flash into existence in his hands. The metal of it resonated with his presence in the Force, his drive and spite.

Atop the tank, Gromix the Shell Hutt rose to meet him. Repulsorlifts within the armored shell lifted him, churning and whirring to carry his bulk. In an impossible development, two metric tons of slug and thick durasteel flew. With startling speed, he met Atom in mid-air. They clashed, and the battlefield rang.

Behind the legion, the tank turned its turret, finally freed from its burden. The mounted laser cannon aimed Aayla's way, uncaring of the slaves in its way. Before Aayla could do anything to stop it, the cannon recoiled with the resounding snap of superheated air and supersonic plasma.

It happened in an instant. Aayla called upon the Force like never before. She swung her lightsaber in a mighty arc to meet the charged laser bolt. A cry tore itself from her lips, for as she did, deaths echoed through the Force. The unarmored, unwilling slaves between her and the cannon had been vaporized instantly. Aayla didn't even get a chance to feel their agony…

She did feel the horror, the trauma, and the mourning from those around them, though. It fueled her as she struck the bolt square and knocked it up and away like a homerun. The muscles in her arms tingled and tore, only to be knitted back together by the Force. Aayla clutched her lightsaber tighter in her hands.

As the shock faded, she wasted no time. With a kick and another righteous cry, she launched herself at the tank that was her task. A vicious strike from her lightsaber sliced the cannon's barrel right down the middle. She landed on the hull, glaring down the tank's sensors. As she did, David flashed into existence on top of the turret.

He swore, "Kriff! I can't find the control transmitter! None of the overseers had it on 'em! And I can't very well search the Hutt while he's fighting Atom!"

"Look in here," Aayla said. "It has to be somewhere. The tank is likely the safest place for it."

During their short exchange, the tank's secondary blasters almost sneakily aimed at the enemies on its hull. Aayla crushed them with Forceful grips without so much as a glance. David nodded, wrenching open the turret's top hatch from the outside. He reached in and pulled out the weaselly, meter-tall Sionian Skup who was acting as the tank's gunner.

The Skup was quite literally thrown to Aayla, "All yours, choom. I'll get the driver."

Catching the former gunner with the Force, Aayla glared at him, "You are an evil, evil little thing. Was it worth it? Firing into those who should've reasonably been your allies for a pointless attack?"

The Skup chuckled awkwardly, "Allies? What allies? They'se slaves…"

Disgust made Aayla recoil. Before she realized it, her lightsaber had drilled a hole in the Skup's tiny forehead. Her own actions brought her up short a moment later. Killing a prisoner like that… It wasn't the Jedi way. Yet, in a very real way, Aayla couldn't bring herself to care.

'And technically, he didn't surrender…' Part of her brain whispered.

… It still treaded a touch too close to the Dark Side for her liking. Aayla took the offered moment — with the tank disabled and the legion's overseers dead — to collect herself. To simply breathe.

Then, David poked his head back out the top hatch and shook it with a frown, "Nothing. It's gotta be with the Hutt. Probably in that armor of his."

Aayla let out another fortifying breath, "Then, we must put our faith in Atom. The Force is with us…"

Even with her words and her moment of fortification, Aayla worried. The young men of this legion didn't deserve the worst to happen. She'd gone out of her way to spare them, but their fates still hung in the balance. One signal from that control transmitter and all of their heads would go up as messy consequences of slavery. They were at the will of a Hutt. Aayla wouldn't damn anyone — not even a Sith — to that cruel whimsy.

She turned to watch Atom and the Hutt fight. Like an obese angel, Gromix hovered above it all. A great vibrosword, as long as his tail, was clutched in his hands. He swung it with surprising, worrying skill and speed. And a mounted blaster sat on his shoulder, connected to his armored shell. It pivoted to and fro, tracing Atom's path with blaster bolts galore.

Atom hadn't touched the ground since that first clash with Gromix. He leveraged himself on the walls of the tunnel and on Gromix himself to keep aloft. Here and there, he bounced and struck. The reach of Gromix's greatsword was rendered useless by Atom's ever-moving acrobatics.

"LITTLE FLY!" Gromix roared. "Let me SWAT YOU!"

Atom — impossibly — paused mid-bounce, halfway up one of the tunnel's walls, to reply, "Fuck, no. Fuck that. Fuck you."

Like a bolt from a blaster, he launched back toward the flying Hutt. His spear extended forth as a lance. Yet Gromix lived up to his claims of being a Hutt Warrior of Old. In a single motion, he slid the flat of his blade along the spear's shaft, diverting it and striking at Atom. For another, the great vibrosword would've split them from shoulder to hip. For Atom, it didn't even scratch his skin.

Heedless of the vibrating edge, Atom grabbed the sword and swung from it. Up and around the Hutt, he controlled his momentum. His spear lashed out again. The mounted blaster on Gromix's shoulder was severed from the Hutt's bulk.

For a moment, Atom landed on the Hutt's armored tail. Gromix bucked and writhed within his armored shell to dislodge his new passenger. A Force-backed fist smashed into the back plating like a forge's drop hammer. The shell's repulsorlifts flickered. Gromix dropped a meter.

He raged at the indignity of being practically ridden like a stead, "GRRAAHHH! What INFERNAL, INVISIBLE ARMOR do you wear, pink skin?! Get off me this instant!"

Even from afar, Aayla could see the smirk that twitched at the corners of Atom's lips, "If you insist."

With the Force beneath him, he pushed off the Hutt's back. Gromix dropped two meters, then. Above, Atom contorted himself with his spear in hand. He twisted all the way around, spinning in mid-air, and threw.

While unlikely, Aayla swore she heard a boom… There was a flash, a gleam of rippled, nigh-magical steel, so quick and sudden it burned the scene into her mind like a photograph. Just as quickly, Gromix's flying mass was forced to the ground. Atom's spear staked the Hutt through the tail, anchoring him there.

Gromix roared yet again, this time filled with shock and stabbing pain. Then, to add insult to injury, Atom landed with one foot on the blunt end of his staking spear. Only for a moment, but the jolt must've been torturous to the now-stuck Hutt. Atom simply stepped down from his perch as if he'd done nothing impressive.

The speared slug struggled fiercely, but he was stuck fast. Atom circled around to his face. And though Gromix tried to gut him with his greatsword, Atom simply caught the blade and removed the weapon from the Hutt's possession.

"David," Atom called out. "Find that control transmitter?"

"No luck," David called back. "It's gotta be with the, heh, snail."

Gromix laughed in Atom's face through the pain, "Do you think I am so dull, pink skin? That I am as stupid and incompetent as the Shell-less? There is no control transmitter. I go into battle with my legion, and my death is what motivates them. They fight to protect me because their collars will go up in frags if they don't."

"Deadman switch," Atom scowled.

"Indeed," Gromix growled right back. "Kill me if you dare, usurper."

Staring at him for a moment, Atom eventually shrugged, "… Alright, I won't."

The nonchalant tone and words brought even the Hutt up short, "W-What…? What?! No! Give me a warrior's death, pink skin! Slay me where I lay!"

"Nah," Atom simply said, already walking back around Gromix as if going to leave. "I don't think I will. I think I'll just leave you here, stuck and rotting in your shell. 'Course, I still need my spear, so…"

At the Hutt's staked tail, Atom stopped. He took the greatsword in his hand and slowly stabbed it through the armored shell next to his spear. Gromix writhed and screamed as it sunk deeper and deeper. Halfway along its length, the tip of the sword must've hit the concrete below. Atom didn't allow that to stop him. With a great Force Push, he shoved the sword to the hilt, past the hilt. Only the pommel at the bottom remained visible.

Retrieving his spear now that it was no longer necessary to keep Gromix in place, Atom asked, "Anyone got a length of chain or something?"

Perhaps expectedly, no one had the wherewithal to reply. Hell, Aayla barely remembered to breathe, knowing she was witnessing something that would go into history books — the sort of anecdote that made legendary figures even more so. And Atom just rolled his eyes.

"Fine. I'll do it myself."

He did… something… with the Force. Aayla couldn't identify it for the life of her. It felt like he was rearranging the very material of the world. The result was a fundamental change to the sword's buried hilt. It became part of the Hutt's shell, fused as if it was always that way. Still, it ensured Gromix wouldn't be going anywhere.

"Sasha," Atom continued. "Make sure any comms he has in that shell of his are scrambled for good. Hell, brick the whole damn shell. He dug his grave. He's going to fucking lay in it. And now, we have until he croaks on his own to get those damned collars off.

"Everyone else, gather up the snail's legion. Put 'em somewhere. Make room. Work on getting those collars off and give them the chance to stay or go. Whatever they choose, we've gotta keep moving."

Everything became a flurry of activity after that, mostly from the rest of the convoy as they did as Atom had ordered. It was almost surreal to watch it all flow around the impotently shouting and raging Shell Hutt. Aayla found herself watching as she sat on the hood of the vanguard's speeder until they could continue their journey.

It was during that waiting that Sasha raised a very good point, "Ya know, I probably could've scrambled the deadman switch just as easily as I scrambled his comms, Atom."

Atom glanced away from her, grumbling and almost… pouting…? "Oh, just let me have this."

Aayla couldn't help but giggle. Now, that was surreal. Seeing the man who'd staked a Hutt Warrior of Old just about pout…? Yet, for all his brutality, severity, and gravity, Atom was undeniably, unrepentantly, unflinchingly… Human. And Aayla rather liked that about him.

At the same time, she thanked the Force for it. She didn't want to think about the consequences for the galaxy if he wasn't…

IIIII

— Atom —

The final stretch of our journey home was blissfully quiet and uneventful. Tense, sure, but nothing came of that tension. All we had to do was keep our heads down and keep moving.

Gromix the Snail was the only one to challenge us, and anyone following our trail would've seen what I did to him. Not do anything about it, of course. I knew that. The Force was practically laughing it to me.

Freeing his legion from the collars upon them was as simple as cutting them off. Relatively delicate work, but still simple. And on the move without anyone challenging us, we had ample time to do so. It wasn't surprising that quite literally all of them wanted to stay when given the choice.

For his legion, Gromix — apparently — recruited only young, male slaves with no ties and nothing to return to. They didn't have anywhere else to go once freed. I didn't mind bringing them along. We needed able hands for the cartel now more than ever. And all it cost me was having Sasha, Lucy, and Kiwi jack a few more speeders to carry the former slaves more comfortably.

An hour or so after leaving Gromix for dead, we entered the Night City Limits. The unending urban sprawl here took a noticeable turn. Everything, everywhere was built up like the rest of Nar Shaddaa, but in the Limits, it was a ghost town. All buildings and structures. No people. A wasteland and an urban environment at the same time. Nomad turf…

Night City never wasted an opportunity to make something 'interesting', and as we drove through the abandoned Limits, another convoy joined us. Speeders and swoopbikes, all salvaged tech and improvised, hand-crafted mech'. My Scrapyard Mechanics skill was loving the sight.

The Nomads whooped with the cheer of the ride and leered at our convoy with curiosity. One of the lead swoopbikes pulled up beside us. Its rider was a dusky-skinned guy with an eternal smirk plastered on his face.

"Well, well, what've we got here?"

Another vehicle joined up on our other side, a trucked-up speeder with the windows down. The driver of that one — I'll admit — made me blink. Just for a moment but she was fucking gorgeous. Dusky-skinned like the guy, dark and soulful eyes, hair in a bun, and with curves that wouldn't quit. S-tier scrap bunny tomboy. 10 out of 10, no comments or critiques.

She rolled her eyes goodnaturedly, "Oh, shove off, Scorpion. Can't you see they're in a hurry? New convoy in the Limits. You folks looking to join up with the Aldecaldos?"

"No," I denied. "Just going home. The air around us was getting… hostile. Figured it was about time for us to get back to Night City."

"Hostile?" She blinked. "Hold up, I've seen you somewhere…"

"If you have, you'd probably recognize him from his swinging cock~!" Becca chimed in.

"W-Wha~?!" The scrap bunny began to fluster before realization flashed in her eyes. "Woah! You're the gonk making war on the Hutts! Holy Sparks, man!"

I grunted, "Guilty. The Clans nuked my tower from orbit. You'll probably be hearin' about it everywhere by tonight. But we ain't out of the fight yet. I'm taking all my shit back to the roots while we recover. Night City is Night City. Dangerous and fucked as it is, I can't think of a better place to rebuild."

"Damn, heavy!" Scorpion — the guy on the swoopbike — laughed. "If that shit doesn't deserve an escort through the Limits, I don't know what does! You down, Panam?"

Panam's eyes twinkled with amusement and perhaps a hint of nervous opportunity for her clan, "For a Legend in the Making? Yeah, I think we can manage that. Welcome back to Night City… Hutt Slayer."