Colloquially known as Outland Station, Outland Transit Station was a large outpost situated above a barren planetoid within the Outer Rim Territories.

The station itself is divided into districts attracting anyone from traders and mercenaries. It's key attraction, however, is the Fight Pit.

Legends say the bounty hunter Jango Fett once fought a borhek in this very arena. One might question how, given these arenas were used for bets on beasts fighting to maim and destroy each other from all over the galaxy.

The arena itself is circular in shape, large, especially for humanoids, and surrounded completely by an electrical fence that deliverers painful shocks to any who are unfortunate enough to touch it. The floor is flat and even, a blank slate for those competing.

Today, you are the main event for the evening. The crowd has gathered, bets have been made, and they cheer and jeer to see you win, or lose, depending on where their credits lay.

Will you be able to overcome your foe in whatever form it may be? Or will you crumble like so many before you? The crowd at least hopes it will be entertaining.

Atyiru Caesura Entar Tyris Arconae passed through the heavy steel entryway of the Fight Pit Arena with determined purpose, her white and blue robes flowing out beautifully behind her. Looking without seeing, she scanned the perimeter of the pit for the mind of the individual responsible for sign-ups. This was not the sort of environment she would normally be found in, but these were extenuating circumstances. The tip she received from her source had turned out to be correct, a shuttle containing Cragmoloid slaves for combat had arrived earlier that morning, carrying her target. If she had timed it correctly, the next match was the one she needed. The Krath Priestess wanted to spend as little time here as possible. Locating the short, elderly Rodian in charge of the fights, she deftly wove through the crowd, closing the distance and addressing him politely.

“Hello! I would like to participate in one of your fights!” Atyiru’s smile was warm, though her expression had an uncanny characteristic about it that was only aided by the cloth wrapped around her head. The Rodian sized her up and down with a look of confusion, but finally nodded in response.

“Sure thing Toots. You’re up in five.” He replied with a deep, gravely voice. “It's you and one other guy. Good luck.” Atyiru abruptly pivoted and walked calmly over toward the entrance of the arena, patiently waiting for the next fight to begin. While adjusting her robes, she thought about the mission at hand.

‘Don’t worry, Xurga. I’ll get your brother out of here.’

—

Itzo Maelemi poured the last of his drink down his throat, leaning back in his chair so far that two legs lifted off the floor. Brascoe, his droid companion, reached over and caught the back of the chair just before it tipped over. The Zabrak belched loudly and slammed the cup down on the table, swiftly refilling it from a separate jug. Brascoe leaned down as best he could, as the B1 frame didn’t provide very much flexibility.

“Boss, aren’t you about to get in there? Maybe you should slow down.” Itzo’s head whipped around quickly and he stared into the red light that mimicked Brascoe’s eyes.

“First, you don’t tell me what to do, buddy. Second, what are you even worried about?” He belched again and wiped his lips with his sleeve. “These fights are nothing. They probably got some mean, ugly sonofabitch looking for a quick cred, begging to be put in the dirt.”

He tapped his lightsaber hilt beneath his armor and grinned. “And I can be that guy today.” Before his companion could respond, a voice boomed out across the room.

“The next match is about to begin. Combatants make their way into the arena.” Itzo looked up at Brascoe with a hint of confusion.

“Combatants? I thought I was the only one who signed up.” He slammed the cup down once again and pushed off the table to his feet, straining to look over the crowd and see who else would be joining him. He watched as a beautiful Miraluka stepped down into the arena, blue, gold, and white robes cascading over richly tanned skin. “Woah.”

—

Itzo slid past the gated entrance of the fight pit, which promptly banged closed behind him. Atyiru stood in the center of the arena, facing the opposite entrance, arms relaxed at her sides. The Zabrak reached out with the Force as he walked closer, now able to better examine the new arrival. Her wild, curling mass of platinum hair contrasted markedly with her tan skin, which he subsequently noticed was splattered with freckles. Now just a few feet away, he felt his reach with the Force abruptly stop, as if hitting a solid durasteel wall. It was only now he noticed the long, intricate, and beautiful lightsaber hilt at her side. Uh-oh.

“Hey,” Itzo said, somewhat nervously, as the alcohol was starting to make an appearance. “ I wasn’t accountin’ for splittin’ the payout with anyone, so…” His voice trailed off, but his eyes remained on the Miraluka.

“I’m not here for the credits.” She replied, unconcerned, motionless. Itzo sighed with relief and let out a small laugh.

“Honestly, that's music to my ears.” He reached up under his armor and retrieved his own lightsaber hilt, spinning it in his open palm like a toy. “ So what are you even here for then? Just wanna beat up some punks? Hey, I hear you. You don’t gotta tell me-”

He paused mid sentence as the opposite entrance opened with a hiss. A group of Cragmoloids, frothing at the mouth and carrying a variety of bladed weapons, pushed into the pit. They each had thick metal apparati that wrapped completely around their heads, capping their tusks with sharpened points. The lead one looked around with rage in its eyes, and settled on Itzo as his target. The Zabrak flicked the switch on his hilt and the amber blade crackled to life. He brought it up swiftly and sliced the first Cragmoloid’s axe clean in half.

“Wait! Don’t kill them!” Atyiru commanded, her presence rippling over the pit, adding weight to her words.

“I wasn’t plannin’ on it! Are you gonna help or just stand there?” Ducking low to avoid the Cragmoloid’s swing with the broken weapon, Itzo pushed out hard with the Force and sent them tumbling backward onto the ground.

"Stop!"

The single word rang out with command, the cry of a mountain, and Itzo didn't know if it was directed at him or not. He figured not, as several of the helmeted Cragmaloids staggered to a halt as if an earthquake had shaken them, arrested momentum causing their bodies to pinwheel and freeze. Others, though, only slowed, shaking their massive, iron-clad heads like shaking off flies. And still another few continued to barrel forward.

Only not all were coming at Itzo, like the one he'd staggered, who lunged at him before it even regained its feet. The Zabrak flowed away from the clumsy tackle, the crackling hum of the electrified cage wall at his back a prickle along his spine and scalp. He watched as one Cragmaloid with a halberd swung wildly at one of its fellows, who hacked back with an overly large sword, the blade lodging into ribcage and burying into intestines. Blood and bile sprayed across the bare metal floors, and Itzo's stomach cramped with the high, wild wail of pain that trumpeted from the creature.

Loud cheering and booing nearly drowned it out, but Itzo could never not hear those cries.

A flurry of white entered his field of vision, and there was the Miraluka woman, sprinting across the field, a ribbon of wind and light. Her saber was still unlit as she darted into the fray of bodies, stepping swift and spinning, circular, around a strike or body. Itzo knew those moves— he'd perfected them.

"Lady, what the kark are you doin'?" he wondered, a thought that he echoed back to Ken, who waited in the stands. The droid would be the fists that either bailed them out or ensured that their collected winnings got to them when this was over.

<No idea, boss, looks like she's headed for the wounded one,> came the B1's gravelly tone back. He was right— the lady reached the butchered Cragmaloid and dropped to her knees beside it, hugging the damn thing. <But watch your flank!>

Yellow eyes widened, and the gambler followed the instinct he now realized was screaming at him through the slight haze of drink, throwing himself aside as his personal Cragmaloid bruiser rushed him. The sound of metal shrieking and then horrible humanoid shrieking erupted beside him, the stench of smoking sinew and sizzling fat so thick this close that he could taste it on the back of his tongue. His gorge rose, tasting of his chugged drink, and the Zabrak scrambled upright and dodged the falling body of his opponent who had thrown himself into the bloody karking electric fence!

"What the BLAST?" Itzo shouted again, and then another shout echoed, and someone poured into his mind, into his body, flooding him and filling him up and moving him of their own accord.

"Pull them out!"

Itzo raised his arm, not even needing the gesture, and willed the world how he wanted it. The frying Cragmaloid lifted into the air, ripped away from the fence by an invisible hand. He set the creature down near the gate he and the Miraluka had come from, feeling in his bones that the other gate was worse somehow.

In the next double-beat of his two hearts, he was free, and the whisper in his mind was brisk.

And it wasn't Ken.

I need you to help me!

The Zabrak's patchwork face twisted in a snarl at the intrusion, and he spun his roaring citrine saber in hand, turning back to the fight and running in out of the sheer need to do something, to shake off that puppeteering.

The hell you want, lady?! he demanded anyway, feeling a sharp stab pulse in his temples as he approached one Cragmaloid with another axe and reeled his arm back then thrust it forward, slamming a telekinetic punch up into its chin far above him to topple it. It was hard to hold on to the thought, with everything moving around him, with maces and sticks swinging for his head.

More color and light, and there the broad was again, slipping into the space between Itzo's back and another Cragmaloid that swung a massive arm thick as a girder. She put her back against his, and even through his armor, his skin crawled.

"Your help," she repeated, out loud now. When Itzo dodged and swiped right, she twisted and blocked left, lifting both her arms to redirect a punch that could've crushed her skull by pushing aside the wrist. They circled and circled, a defensive duo no blows could penetrate— though Itzo was already flagging, the alcohol making his limbs heavy. The Miraluka talked fast and urgent: "Please. My name is Atyiru. I'm here to free these people. They've been drugged, you see, how they foam at the mouth? How they attack each other?"

Guts on the ground. Yeah, yeah he'd seen. It was what it was.

"It is not just what it is, it does not have to be!"

"Stay out of my head, lady," growled the Zabrak, whirling around to slash at her. This close, right inside his reach, she was quick to pull that same disarming move, grabbing his wrist. But this time she didn't push away. Her grip locked, painful and numbing as thumb dug into his nerve, and she pulled him in flush to her. The heat radiating off her neck warmed his face, the light under her skin burning.

"Let me in, Itzo, please, I'm begging you, they're watching us," she murmured right into his ear.

Then she shoved away, launching herself up into the air and flipping clear over the Cragmaloid that was swinging for them. The gangster threw up his guard, catching the blow as it cracked into him. His armor's shield generator crackled to life, absorbing the worst of the edge and causing the axe-head to bounce back, striking the Cragmaloid's encased head. Metal on metal rang even as the Zabrak tumbled back, familiar with hitting the ground hard and rolling with it to spring back upright. He panted, grimacing, and spun around with saber out, warding away his opponents as though wielding a flame before wild animals.

Itzo! that was the lady again. Hang on, I'm coming!

"I take care o' myself, thanks," snapped the man, chambering another telekinetic punch to blast two encroaching Cragmaloids back and apart, giving himself an opening to sprint through. Dangerous or not, he ran for the fence for a place to put his back to.

<Excuse you, I take care of you.>

Shut up, Ken!

When he twisted around to size up the fight, he saw the crazy Atyiru lady leap into the air again, this time arching over and landing on top of one Cragmaloid's head. She then danced to the next and the next, using them as raging stepping stones, apologizing loudly all the while. When she hopped down and ran to join him, Itzo could only shake his head.

What you mean save? It's a fight, lady, this is what happens. He couldn't believe he was doing it, but he consciously lowered his mental walls, allowing her past the barriers he'd trained so hard to make.

It's not. They're slaves, and they've been drugged. I can't get into their minds properly through that haze. It's…dangerous for me. Please, if I can get time, I can purge the poison, heal them, but I will need to focus. If you can just distract them, and perhaps ask your friend Ken to make us an opening…we can get them out. Please, Itzo. I know you know what being caged is like. I can see it in you, and not just because I'm invading your mind. If it's credits you want I will pay you twice this prize when we and they are all free of this terrible place.

She extended her hand to him, open and waiting.

What will you do, Itzo? Help me save these people. Be their hero, not their abuser. Please.

<Boss?> Ken asked, listening in on the conversation through their ever-present connection.

Itzo's grip on his lightsaber tightened, pale- and tan-splashed knuckles whitening.

Frack it, she was promising credits and insanely powerful. He could use that.

And he didn't have to keep hearing these screams.

The Zabrak took her offered hand, not sure why she wanted to shake now but willing as two of the Cragmaloids left off fighting each other to notice them by the fence.

A cool, sweeping sensation spread through his fingers, rushing up his arm and blooming in his chest. It was like a shot of adrenaline straight to both hearts. He gasped, eyes flying wide, spine straightening, a giddy grin screwing up his features as he bounced on the balls of his feet. Clarity ripped through his head and muscles so fast he felt like he'd just crashed his pod-racer and come out reborn. The buzz of his drinking was completely gone, and so were all his aches and pains.

"Let's do this, then, eh?" he nearly laughed, feeling like Sleemo Joe, his favorite holobook character, daring and blessed with the luck only pulpy fiction could make real.

"Indeed," Atyiru agreed, and dropped down into a crouch, the Force bending around her, the nexus of a star about to supernova. Itzo stepped forward, lightsaber lit and horned head lifted.

The Cragmaloids — who he was going to save, now — charged.

The wind whistled between Itzo’s horns as he deftly avoided a heavy swing from a battle-axe. He turned his head side-to-side, taking in the colors of the arena for the first time. For a moment, the action in the pit seemed to slow, the roar of the crowd muted to a soft rumble. It felt like he had taken a whole pack of stim shots all at once. He ducked under another swing, spinning and bringing the lightsaber blade up to slice the weapon in half. Whatever she did to him, he wanted more of it. The disarmed Cragmoloid in front of him growled and more disgusting foam dripped from its mouth, beneath its trunk.

Itzo had more time to examine its face now, and behind the drug induced rage, he could see the fear. He could see the recent wounds around its neck, still not quite healed. He could see the metal apparatus around its head digging into its flesh, fresh blood trickling down the sides of its head.

‘I can’t help you. Not like she can.’ The Zabrak thought to himself hopelessly, and his eyes drifted over to Atyiru, who gracefully avoided attack after attack, using subtle movements to shift her opponents around, causing as little damage as possible. It more resembled a dance than a fight.

‘Ken, we’re gonna get these folks outta here. Need you to shut this electric fence down.’ Itzo projected his thoughts to his B1 Droid outside the pit, who stepped forward and looked around the crowd, confused.

‘Sure thing, boss. How do I do that?’

‘Uhh..look for a relay on the-’ Itzo had to cut his thought short as he stumbled back away from a punch, getting close enough to the edge of the pit that he felt the prickles on his exposed skin. ‘-on the perimeter, big metal box. Can’t miss it.’

‘Big metal box. Can’t miss it. Got it.’

Atyiru listened in on the back and forth between her two temporary allies, still tapped into the Zabrak’s mind. With their attention on the exit strategy, she could focus on helping the Cragmoloid captives. The pain they felt radiated out around the pit like a wave, crashing into her, from a source far deeper than any drug could go. It would take a long time before they could find true peace, but she would do her part to try and guide them to it. The first step, however, was getting them out of the arena safely.

The familiar warning of incoming danger bombarded her senses, and she shifted her head back just in time to avoid an uppercut from one of her attackers. With its arm in the air, Atyiru reached up and gripped it hard on the wrist with both hands. She willed the Force into its body and drew the drug out like a poison. The Cragmoloid shook its head, confused, and the Miraluka felt their now clear mind connect with hers.

‘Xurga sent me! Is Natzo among you?’ She projected into their mind, somewhat forcefully. She immediately regretted it.

‘Natzo? Yes, he is with us. There.’ They motioned over to an exceptionally large Cragmoloid who was engaged in a grappling match with Itzo, and the Zabrak was losing.

‘Ken! What the frack are you doin’ out there!’ Itzo shouted mentally at his Droid. His face was flush from the lack of oxygen, with two meaty Cragmoloid hands wrapped around his neck. A pair of them lay unconscious at his feet, but this one was tougher than the rest. Without any intention of killing and having destroyed most of the weapons, he had returned his lightsaber hilt to its spot beneath his armor. He was regretting it now.

‘Uh, I found it, I think. What do I do?’ Itzo looked over the shoulder of the Cragmoloid and saw Ken in the back of the crowd, and the metal power relay beside him.

‘Punch. The. Karkin’. Thing!’ He shouted mentally, punctuating each word with a punch to the side of his attacker’s head, though they had little effect, if any. Ken moved his arms down and locked into position, then began a barrage of punches. Sparks and streaks of electricity danced off the relay, connecting with the B1 frame, but also dancing up the metal wall. The crowd nearby began to scatter, no longer watching the fight. Ken’s punches began increasing in speed. The overhead lights started to flicker. Mid punch the relay abruptly gave, erupting in a burst of electricity.

Bolts ripped out from the relay and crashed into Ken, temporarily frying his systems. His body locked up immediately. The streaks of lightning continued out into the nearby crowd that had remained, eliciting a fresh round of screams and panic. The overhead lights cut out and a single red light, directly in the center, illuminated the arena.

Atyiru rushed over and grabbed Natzo’s head on either side, simultaneously purging the drug-induced rage and projecting an image into his mind, the face of his sister, Xurga, safe and far from here. His grip on Itzo lessened, and he gasped for air as the color somewhat returned to his face. He released his collar and turned, slowly, to face his Miraluka savior.

“Xurga…she lives?” Natzo’s voice was dry and hoarse, the words nearly getting caught in his throat. Atyiru smiled and nodded enthusiastically. Tears began to form in the corners of his beady red eyes. “But..how?”

“Not now. We will have plenty of time for catching up soon.” She assured him. “First, we have to get out of here.” She pushed past him and helped Itzo to his feet, who had slumped against the now deactivated fence to catch his breath.

“Fwew. Alright, now what’s the plan? Ken is out of the equation, unfortunately.” Itzo remarked, motioning over to the locked B1 frame, sparks still sporadically arcing off the destroyed power relay in front of it. “He’s gotta cycle the systems. It’ll be a couple minutes at least.” Of the five Cragmoloids who entered the pit, Atyiru had successfully cleansed three of them, Natzo included. The other two unfortunately had suffered a violent solution and still lay unconscious on the ground. That would make things substantially more difficult.

“Quickly, help them up.” She motioned for Natzo and the others to aid their compatriots to their feet while she tried to get them awake. “Itzo, the gate.” As he moved over to force it open, a loud voice boomed out over the arena speakers, echoing off the now empty grandstands.

“Now listen here. Ya’ll done significant damage to my fighting pit, ya scared away all the spectators, and worst of all, ya tarnished the sanctity of the sport. For that, ya gotta be punished.”

A panel on the perimeter of the arena wall opened and a squad of four security Droids emerged, the crimson light reflecting menacingly off their sleek black frames.They marched down the rows, past the now empty seats, toward the pit. Each was armed with a matching black blaster rifle.

“Stay behind me!” Atyiru commanded, her voice again demanding respect. The Zabrak and the three Cragmoloids, carrying their two injured but conscious allies, filed in behind the Miraluka. As the group passed slowly through the gate of the pit, she threw her hands up, palms facing outward. The air rippled almost imperceptibly as a barrier of Force spread out before them. The Droids leveled their blasters at the group and opened fire, but the bolts collided - and were dissipated - by the barrier without issue.

From the safety of Atyiru’s barrier, Itzo focused his mind on one of the security Droids, tracing each of its circuits and ports with the Force. Once he felt like he had a semblance of control, he turned the Droid carefully. The blaster fire continued as the security Droid slowly turned the weapon on its closest ally, a volley of bolts tearing into its armor. The second security Droid responded with shots of its own, and the two collapsed to the floor in a smoking, sparking pile.

A shadowy figure rose behind the remaining security Droids as Ken finally came back online. He reached his heavy metal hands up and slammed their heads together, a shower of sparks raining down from the collision. They turned to assess the new threat, and Atyiru seized the opportunity. She dropped her hands, the barrier having served its purpose, and now gripped her lightsaber hilt.

In an instant she was on them. The crack of ignition was immediately followed by tearing of metal as the security Droids were bisected horizontally, her beautiful twin blades painting a kaleidoscope of color on the darkened arena. Itzo watched with mouth agape, awestruck by the display of skill. Just as quickly as it started, it was over. The lightsaber was off and clipped safely at her side. Once again, quiet fell on the pit.

“We are leaving!” Atyiru’s voice boomed around the empty arena. Itzo wasn’t sure if she was talking to them or the person in charge, but he didn’t really care. He doubted they’d be sending anything else after them. Too expensive. He walked up next to one of the injured Cragmoloids and slung one of their arms over his shoulder.

“Ken! Get the frack over here and help us!” He shouted at his B1 Droid, who was already lumbering over, then turned to address Atyiru. “Alright, lead the way, boss.”

Itzo slid into the smooth, half-turned stance of a master of his form, his lithe body a slim profile, one arm raised back as he crouched and the other forward, holding his saber at the ready. The orange beam crackled with a low, wild roaring, a warning to any that came near of the beast sheltered within.

The drugged slaves didn't care about warnings, though. They barreled towards the pair, and it took all his focus to twist and step around their barrage of barely coherent blows. He turned and turned, clockwork, circling, slicing clean more axe heads and halving halberds and severing swords to half their length. All of it was still dangerous, and the Zabrak quickly began accumulating cuts and bruises even as his 'perfect' defense continued.

Fact was, this form was made for dueling. For facing plasma bolts and blades— for facing other knights of a lost era of failed heroes.

Itzo was no karking knight.

With stone-cold and sudden sobriety came clarity, his mind sharp and body light and strong, but with clarity came too much awareness. Too many memories and too many details. His father's voice rattled in his ears with every turn of his lightsaber, disparaging the ancient weapon. Telling him how useless he was, how useless his pursuits were. Idiot dreams, he would say, as Itzo practiced day in and out in any scrap of time he could seize for himself and not for his father's disgusting excuse of a 'business,' little more than a criminal. An abuser and a rat.

He'd called Itzo a rat too. Among so many other things. Right up until he di—

A Cragmaloid shouldered past his defenses, bored of him and his shiny, flashing circles, maybe. Instead it went for Atyiru where she had been crouched for the last couple minutes, making the crowd boo and jeer.

"Give us a show, lady!"

"Take your top off if you're jsu' gonna shtand there! Heeey!"

"RIP EM APART!"

The Zabrak spit and spun, thinking he'd have to tackle the big brute or something just to keep them off the Miraluka, but as he watched, the Cragmaloid slower and stopped. They swayed on their feet, then jolted, a lot like Itzo had when she'd purged his system of all that good booze and jump-started him or whatever. He had to look away to dodge another grab from one of the slaves, but heard and caught glimpses as that Cragmaloid started to cry and yell, hands lifting to the metal trapping their head in obvious distress.

"Get it off, get it off me, please!" they blabbered, lumbering, panicked. "He-help, where am— where, what, please don't hurt me get it off get it off—!"

"Shhh," soothed Atyiru, stepping up to take their hand. She stood on her toes and pressed her forehead to the metal, standing between their capped tusks. "Shh, everything will be alright. I promise you. Breathe for me."

The Cragmaloid abruptly sat down, just like that. Itzo's senses screamed at him, and he twisted perfectly away from a swung shaft of cut metal pipe shouting, "Get on with it!"

Atyiru seemed to have found her groove, though, as she stuck out one hand in concentration. One by one the Cragmaloids around him began to slow, still, and then either start freaking out or falling over, having some kind of fit. As the last was pacified, the lady wobbled, then dropped like a stone.

Itzo was just fast enough to slide to his knees and catch her, cradling her close. Just like Sleemo Joe, alright, he thought, a grin spreading over his face.

Atyiru stirred from her faint, hand pressing over her stomach first — she had a bit of fat there, sure, but the rest of her made up for it, he thought — and then her chest.

"Hey, sweetheart, you're good, I got you," Itzo assured, summoning his dropped lightsaber back to hand and stowing it with a flick of his wrist.

"Oh," she said, and then, "oh, no," when he leaned in for a victory kiss. "I am— quite alright, thank you, Itzo. But we aren't finished yet. We have to get out of here, somehow."

The reminder was a damper, a bucket of ice water over his elated high of the fight. Itzo searched around them as Atyiru flowed upright, standing after her to survey their charges. The Cragmaloids were essentially useless, all scared and whimpering, unable to much do anything with those contraptions on them. The crowd was roiling now, calls angry and hooting for a fight, for their bets to win. The bouncers for the place were plain in sight, big meaty brutes Itzo would have Ken handle ten times of ten.

"I cannot levitate us out," Atyiru was musing, her pointed ears bent back cutely against the noise. She looked paler, and kept swaying left and right like she was about to fall over. "But perhaps I can convince someone to open the gate…where is the control room?"

With that damn sobriety still came clarity, and the solution was clear to the Zabrak.

"I'll take care of this. You just be ready run…and watch my back this time." Watch me this time.

The Miraluka paused then nodded once.

"Very well. We are trusting you, Itzo. All of us." She gripped her stomach again, probably feeling sick from all the Force work she'd done.

Itzo tugged on the thread that connected him to his B-12, who had bulldozed through the crowd in order to position himself beside the fence at a convenient angle, even throwing bodies clear of his path.

Going to have to let go of you for a minute, Ken. Get those fists ready!

<You got it, Boss.>

"Alright, you want a show...well, let there be a show," growled the Zabrak, stretching out his mind and connecting to the everything that was here, invisible or disregarded to everyone else: the electronics.

People were...complicated. He could work a crowd, spin a lie, make a woman blush, but it was complicated.

And people...people, he'd hurt.

Machines, though. They were different. Circuits were sensible, alive but not, nodes and ion channels instead of messy mistakes and the shake of a pistol in his hand.

Machines, Itzo knew.

His vision went distant, his senses bent through metal, his synapses traded for circuitry, lightning to lightning, axons and terminals. He could feel it all, every datapad and device, their lightsabers, Atyiru's body, the fence and the hangar doors and the locked clasps that kept those metal apparatuses on the Cragmaloids' heads.

The Zabrak smiled, a baring of teeth.

He was the one in control now.

He gestured to the generators, telekinetically manipulating the internal components, and all at once the fence shut down, that constant electrical whine finally silent. Another wave at the prisoners and the locks on the masks beeped as they powered off, and when one Cragmaloid tried again to pull it free, it came apart in two halves easily. She trumpeted in pure joy, relief so strong he could feel it in the Force. Just to top it off, he set off everyone's alarms too, those datapads that he could see in hands from here— doing this much was pushing it to his limits, the sensation akin to his brain being pulled through his nose. His father has never hit so hard as to cause this kind of headache.

Ken was ready, as promised. He gripped the fence and tore it apart with mechanical force, dragged it aside to create an opening. Then it was a brawl as he began punching them a pathway to the exit.

"Come!" Atyiru hollered, darting over to a Cragmaloid and wedging herself under their arm to help them stand, even twice her size, and she was taller than Itzo. "Run, run, we're free! Kapul, Xurga is waiting for you!"

That seemed to inspire one of them in particular. They staggered to their feet, bellowed to their fellows, grabbed a friend and ran. The pack rallied, and Itzo whooped and wiped blood from his nose as he released his connection and followed them all out. Atyiru took up the rear while Ken took the lead.

With a last look over his shoulder at the entrance, Itzo spied the old Rodian ringmaster, who he knew was only responsible for the day-to-day here at best, and raises his fist, firing off a blast of lightning his way. It missed, deliberately, but burnt a starburst into the man's betting table, a message. The debt collector yelled and scowled after him, and the be Zabrak was surprisingly okay with the idea that he might have karked up a contact in the Outer Rim today.

Outside, Itzo found a sleek shuttle landed right in the middle of the bloody street, people staring but not approaching, the Cragmaloids running into it at Atyiru's behest. The thrumming engines kicked up her sashes and lifted her hair. She turned to Itzo and beamed at him.

"We did it!"

"We did," he agreed, his droid trotting up. He habitually reached for Brascoe on his shoulder, but the tuggle was back home on their ship. He gestured to the shuttle, grinned back. "So…do I get a ride? Or do you want to come lay low with me? I've got a place rented nearby. We can have drinks to celebrate and talk that payment…"

The Miraluka's nose wiggled with her slight, soft laugh.

"You are welcome to come with us, and I will uphold my offer of credits if you give me your contact, but to drinks, or anything else, I must decline. It is bad for the baby, you see."

And she placed a hand on her stomach, again.

Oh.

Well. Too good to be true was his oldest and only friend besides Brascoe. The Zabrak kept his grin easy.

"Right, sure…I get it. I'll just collect that payment sometime."

And have a lot of drinks.

Neither of them mentioned that they weren't stopping to exchange codes, with probably upset gangsters and criminals hot on their heels. Itzo went to walk away first, pausing at her call.

"Oh…one more thing, Itzo."

"Yeah, beautiful?"

Atyiru smiled, but her face wasn't turned towards him; rather, she seemed to be 'looking' past him. The Zabrak twisted to peer over his shoulder, but the only one there was Ken, and menacing as he was, he was on Itzo's other side.

"Tagoo is proud of you," she said softly, and he froze. "You carry his legacy, not your father's. This was your moon, today, and these were your people. You saved them."

The chill that raced down his spine and centered on his Omniri tattoo made his horns itch. She just kept smiling away.

"I'll see you again, my friend. You'll see."

And then she was climbing into that shuttle and lifting away. Itzo stared after her, shaking his head, and hurried off into the gawking public. Ken wasn't really stealthy, so better they got out of here.

<She's your friend, Boss?> Ken asked, deep voice curious. Itzo never introduced him to any friends.

But maybe.

Maybe one day, after this, he would.