Chapter 18: An Unexpected Job

CRASH! The cantina wall shuddered as a battered, bruised figure was hurled through it. The hulking silhouette of T-850 filled the gap, each hand gripping a drunken thug. With a swift motion, he slammed them into the ground.

THUD! The drunks hit the dirt, groaning and retching up whatever they’d just eaten.

Seconds later, another drunk was kicked out of the cantina, sprawling across the sand. Ventus, clutching a bottle in one hand, stepped out alongside Trent. The brawl hadn’t lasted long—T-850 had single-handedly pummeled the troublemakers into oblivion, and Trent and Ventus weren’t exactly pushovers either.

Trent, a legendary explorer, could handle a few street toughs without breaking a sweat. Ventus, wary of using the Force in public, had no qualms about swinging a bottle to finish the job. He’d been on edge lately, a knot of frustration building inside him, and this fight was the perfect outlet.

“Kriffing idiots! Looking for trouble, huh? Begging for a beatdown?” Ventus roared, spitting curses from Earth that no one here would understand.

Something was off. His anger was spiraling, his eyes tinged red with a fury that screamed to tear these fools apart.

“You… pile of bantha dung…” one drunk slurred, still defiant. CRACK! Ventus smashed the bottle across his face.

The blows felt good, purging the dark emotions surging through him. His eyes burned redder, and he let out a primal, “GET LOST!”

His voice carried a demonic edge, low but reverberating with a soul-shaking intensity.

Without looking, he backhanded a sneak attacker behind him, sending the man flying several meters. The crowd of onlookers, eager for a show, didn’t question how a single slap could do that or notice the faint spark of electricity on his palm. They were too intimidated by T-850’s menace and Ventus’s ferocity.

“Let’s go. Back to the ship. We’re heading to Mos Espa,” Ventus said, suddenly exhausted. He delivered a final kick to a drunk’s groin, panting heavily.

He scanned the crowd. Every onlooker averted their gaze, unwilling to meet his eyes. On a lawless rock like Tatooine, strength was the only currency that mattered.

“Needle Rat Gang,” Trent said, nudging one of the downed thugs with his boot. “Local punks. They do odd jobs for Jabba sometimes. Let’s move—they’ve probably got buddies who’ll come looking.” He expertly rifled through the thugs’ pockets, pocketing anything valuable.

“You’ve got the lay of the land already,” Ventus said with a faint grin.

They headed toward Truda’s landing pad, passersby giving them a wide berth. But as they passed a ramshackle hut, a low, sinister voice called from the shadows. “Got a job for you, wupiupi. Interested?”

Ventus turned, spotting a green-skinned Falleen woman leaning against the wall, a sniper rifle slung across her back.

He frowned, ready to keep walking, but Qwento grabbed his arm and whispered, “Boss, Jabba only paid us 2,000 wupiupi for that last run. We’re in the red. If we don’t take some work, we won’t even cover fuel.”

Trent flashed a sly smile and approached the Falleen. “If you’re hiring us, this isn’t exactly the place to talk business, is it?”

“You’re tough, and you’ve got a decent ship,” she replied. “I think you can handle this.”

Trent cut to the chase. “How much did you get paid for this job?”

“That’s not your concern,” the Falleen said coldly. “I know Jabba shorted you on your last haul. You need the credits. So, you in?”

“Wupiupi, and you tell me everything about this job,” Trent shot back. “Or find someone else.” He’d dealt with types like her before and knew how to play the game.

Ventus’s instinct was to steer clear of people like this.

“Deal,” the Falleen said. “Follow me.” She lifted a trapdoor in the hut, revealing a staircase descending into darkness.

Trent exchanged a glance with Ventus, then took the lead, following the Falleen down. Ventus and Qwento trailed behind, while T-850 and Spud stayed topside to guard their exit.

In the basement, the Falleen activated a comm device, and a holographic figure flickered to life. The projection showed a gaunt, nearly two-meter-tall figure, pale as death, dressed in a black cloak. A hood shadowed the upper half of his face, and a mechanical breathing mask covered his jaw.

A Muun.

“This is the team for the job, correct?” the Muun asked, eyeing Trent and Ventus.

“They’re the most reliable crew I could find on Tatooine,” the Falleen replied.

“Good,” the Muun said, nodding. “I am Hego Damask II, your employer. Your task is simple: travel to Mygeeto, pick up a man named Semid, and deliver him to Roon. That’s all.”

Hego Damask II! Ventus’s eyes widened at the name, but he quickly bowed his head to mask his reaction, hoping no one noticed.

Trent, unfazed, just nodded. “That’s it?”

“I assure you, that’s all,” Hego said. “But be aware: if I’m sending you to retrieve him, others may be after him too. Complete the task, and you’ll be well rewarded—and earn the friendship of Damask Holdings.”

“Who’re we up against?” Trent asked.

“This is an off-the-books job,” Hego replied. “Your opponents are… everyone.”

Trent mulled it over, giving Ventus a subtle nod before answering, “Alright, we’ll take the job.”

“I’ll send you Semid’s details,” Hego said, his gaze lingering on Ventus. “Your companion… he seems… afraid?”

Ventus’s heart skipped, but he forced a casual shrug.

Trent jumped in. “He’s a new crewmember, still green. Qwento and I’ve got this covered. No issues.”

“Good,” Hego said slowly. “Don’t let a rookie jeopardize this. It’s important. You have 89 standard hours to reach your destination.”

“You got it,” Trent said firmly.

The transmission ended, and the Falleen tossed a heavy pouch to Trent. “That’s 5,000 wupiupi,” she said, her tone sharp. “The rest comes when the job’s done. Time’s tight, so move. Don’t try anything clever—this isn’t someone you cross.”

*[Easter Egg Chapter Image 1: Hego Damask II]*

---