KYBER-PUNK 22BBY [Inspired Inventor+]

— Atom —

"Becca. Dorio," I ordered. "Let 'em rip."

From one, I received a wicked, eager grin, and from the other, a dutiful nod. Man-portable rocket launchers were mounted up on shoulders. Becca was almost dwarfed by hers, and Dorio was the opposite. They lined up long-range shots on a Hutt convoy in transit. Weapons and ammunition for the war effort, our intelligence had gathered. Just one of many…

The convoy itself consisted of three repulsorlift crafts. One akin to a semi-truck and trailer. Then, a lighter speeder each to the front and behind the truck. The two speeders were still up-armored something serious, complete with mounted heavy blasters and gunners. The trucking transport was armored but had no active defenses on the outside. Within, however, I anticipated a squad's worth of guards for resistance. Likely half-decent mercs.

We laid our ambush 300 meters out in the convoy's predicted path. It'd be a hell of a shot to hit with tandem rockets. I trusted those two to hit it in their sleep. They aimed at my command. A mere moment later, plumes of fiery backblast exploded over their shoulders. The rockets sprung forth from the other end like thrown javelins.

Twin roars split the Nar Shaddaa bustle. Even at war, the Smuggler's Moon took no days off. Lobbed warheads arced above city streets and through the airways. With barely any chance to react, the convoy's escorts were struck true. The initial tandem charges splashed against the speeders' armor and shields. Those first, almost harmless explosions allowed the true payloads to penetrate and detonate within both shield and armor.

Immediately, the speeders were caught in clouds of smoke and fire. The one in front was obliterated entirely, an explosion within the crew cabin tearing it apart from the inside out. In an instant, it became nothing more than a shower of scrap, a storm of destruction raining down to the city levels below.

The second speeder and its rocket 'connected' at the repulsorlift engine. It went up in an implosion of disintegrating flames as the anti-grav field inverted but the front half of the vehicle remained whole. Whole enough to spiral out of its initial explosive cloud and deep into the valley between skyscrapers below. It would make a mess of things down there. But I didn't let myself think of the collateral — couldn't. Not in the middle of a combat mission…

"Shaitan! Coyate! We're up," I barked out, my words short and snappy.

The truck at the center of the convoy would make a run for it. We were ready for that — had anticipated it. The three of us would run it down. Its cargo would still be used for the war effort. Just… not for the Hutts' side of things.

Coyate activated his armor's jumppack. Shaitan did the same for his Borg frame's jumpjets. The truck tried to weave its way through the destruction around it to run. It wouldn't get far. With a hiss from both sides of me, my allies were already arcing through the air, leaving the tall building we'd used as a vantage point behind in lifting trails of fire.

I crouched. My muscles coiled around something metaphysical. The Force collected at my back and practically threw me after them with a Force Jump.

Open air greeted me. Adrenaline and supernatural focus slowed my mind from the rush. I flew. I fell. It wasn't sustained flight. A single leap, even enhanced by the Force, wouldn't be enough to cross the distance I needed to. I wouldn't let that stop me from reaching my target.

There were other other jump points in my path. I landed on another roof and threw myself off of it as well. I practically bounced off the side of a second skyscraper, straight into the tight gap between a pair of towers that were almost leaning against each other. My boots met slick glass and steel. I ran along the vertical surface as if it were a comfortable incline.

The long fall that should've caught up to me then went ignored. Gravity itself was a mere suggestion. So long as I had the vaguest of footholds, I could keep myself aloft forever. At the end of the hundred-story alleyway, I kicked off my wall run with both feet, pausing — practically hanging — for a brief, impossible moment as I did.

As high and far as my first Force Jump, I flew the rest of the way to our fleeing target. I landed with nary a whisper. Coyate and Shaitan got there before me, having taken much more direct paths. We barely stopped to collect ourselves. At the front of the fleeing truck, Shaitan kicked through the cockpit glass with the intensity of force that came easily to Full-Borgs.

The poor unfortunate fucker at the wheel panicked. The truck swerved, Coyate and I still very much on top. I held myself in place easily, anchoring in the Force. The click of engaged maglocks came from Coyate's boots to hold him in place as well. I heard the distinct humming *SCHWING* of Shaitan's vibro-katana. A moment later, the truck was back on a stable course as if nothing had happened.

The Full-Borg held the stick steady as Coyate and I swung ourselves into the cockpit from above. A closed door at the back led deeper into the truck's trailer. The Mando stacked up at my back. I drew my blaster and activated the door's controls. Then, in the truck's cramped and hostile cargo compartment, Gun-Fu came out to play in full.

Acrobatics came to me as naturally as running. One of the smaller but not at all subtle blessings of the Force. I flipped my way into and through the compartment, drawing every eye inside to me alone. A squad of colorful mercs — the sort of plucky, likable crew that could be found the galaxy over — opened fire… and hit nothing but air.

Balancing upside down on one hand for a moment, I shot the rogue-type merc captain twice in the chest. He choked on scorched lungs and burning blood. With my distraction, Coyate followed. Efficient, no-nonsense shots picked the rest of the crew apart. Everyone was looking at me, desperately trying to hit the spinning, flipping target… and so, it only took ten seconds for Coyate to mop them all up.

In another life, the crew we tore through could've been an interesting story. The stereotypical spacer crew that had adventures through the galaxy, thick and thin. Here and now, they'd never get that chance. Their potential stories were cut harshly short. Yet… there was only so bad I could bring myself to feel for them. And it wasn't much…

Once the compartment was clear, I let myself settle. This was a simple operation. But it was always nice to have something go off without a hitch. Just another inch of progress. Just another pound to add to the foot we were trying to place on the Hutt Clans' fat necks. Elsewhere, I knew things weren't going so smoothly. This was an almost all-out guerilla war we were waging. And I could only be in so many places at once…

For the rest of the war effort, I could only delegate and trust. My allies were good at what they did. The crew was better. But again, there were too many places for us elites to be. Trusting the grunts, the odd men and women who fought for my cause, was harder.

There was nothing to it, though, but to keep moving forward. We'd discussed our plans and fighting philosophy at length. I wasn't in this alone. And acting like I was… would only lead to death, failure, and sparse victories — a losing combination…

IIIII

At the outset of my war, everyone important and actually useful gathered in my throne room under grave lighting. The rest of my court had been bluntly dismissed. They'd only get in the way. And many of them, I knew, wanted to be as far away from me as possible right now.

For once, I was thankful for the damned throne. It gave me a sense of security. Stability. The impression that I was more in control than I actually was. I wasn't floundering or flailing about… But making war on the Hutt Clans was no small undertaking.

Minus Pilar — rest in fucking pieces… — the whole crew was there. His betrayal had tied us closer together. I doubted anyone else was plotting treachery but if they were, Becca's example and mine wouldn't be easily forgotten. Really, though, I trusted them with my back and to stand beside me. We were stronger together than we could ever be alone and fractured. To a degree, that same sentiment extended to the rest of our allies.

The first council of the Gonk Cartel — Becca's name had stuck… — had been called. It was full of intelligent, competent people. And we were all in the shit together. The only thing to do was to begin working on pulling ourselves out. Together.

"Quite frankly, Sir, this is just awful. I can see that it's necessary for our continued survival but that doesn't change the realities of this 'war'. We're outnumbered, out-leveraged, and stuck neck-deep in enemy territory. If we want to succeed and survive — which I'm certain we all do — we'll need to play all of our cards perfectly and still hope for miracles at every turn," Sstala said, making her feelings and considerations well-known.

"Outnumbered, but never out-gunned!" Becca chimed.

Linth chuckled as Sstala sighed, "The crazy lass is right, Sstala-girlie. We're not going to run out of weapons anytime soon, at the very least. And honestly? I've been in worse jams."

"Somehow, that doesn't make me feel much better," Suunri deadpanned. "Not when we're surrounded on all sides and resisting the Hutts in the core of their power. Dismissing the court was a good move, my lord. We really, truly, absolutely cannot afford the distractions. We are, it seems, at war."

"I don't like this, Atom," Gloria worried. "I don't like this one bit."

"I don't think any of us do. Not fully. But it's necessary, Glor'," Maine consoled. "We fight or we find ourselves wiped out. If I'm going out, I'm not doing it in anything but a blaze of glory. Fuck going peacefully into that long night."

"Shit's fucked," I admitted, addressing the whole war room. "But not shit-fucked. We'll get our chances. We'll make the most of them. We'll pull through this and claw our way out on top. Sluggy, scummy Hutts come calling… So we answer the door with a scattergun shoved in their faces."

The surety in my voice seemed to help. The mood was sober and serious. But not hopeless. It wasn't like those of us here had any choice but to fight to the last. The Hutt Clans wouldn't let us live any other way. We fought, we resisted, or we were all the first ones on the chopping blocks. It was the principle of things that sealed our collective fates.

Even turning coat wouldn't save us now. I was the lynchpin, but they'd all helped overthrow a Hutt as well. The Clans couldn't let even a hint of that slide. They weren't as fucked as I was… but it wasn't by much. And I was confident my allies were smart enough to realize that.

I could put a modicum of trust in each of them, at the very least because there weren't any other options. Even if there were, I knew some — De'vi for freeing her and her girls, Sstala for giving her purpose and recognition, and Shaitan through Maine — would still stand by me. And, of course, the crew was with me to the end.

"The only way forward is together…" Lucy said softly, simply, as if she was just shrugging. Her nonchalant tone didn't do as good a job as she might've wished at hiding her anxiety.

"We can't fight this like a traditional war," Dorio advised, laying out an essential truth of our situation. "But then, we always knew that. We could never hope to match the Clans in numbers, territory, and especially not money. This has to be asymmetric warfare at its finest."

"We need to talk tactics, Atom," Sasha insisted.

"Strategy, too, choom," Maine added. "Big picture and small."

"Ambushes. Traps. Targeted hits. Lightning strikes. Raiding over and over again and running the fuck away," I chopped out. "Burning, stealing, and disrupting every Hutt operation we can reach. Their money, their paydata, their supply lines, and their day-to-day shit. Every chance we get to weaken them as a whole, we should try to take it. At the same time, we've gotta be mindful of our numbers. The Clans don't."

Coyate nodded, "Small, well-trained, and well-disciplined teams where the Clans might field whole platoons. Operators, not blaster fodder. Thankfully, our force composition is practically designed for these operations already."

"Yeah, for all of that, we can't ask for much better than an army of Gank Killers," David paused. "… Oh, and Linth's fleet, too, I guess."

I could hear Shank's grin beneath his full-face mask, "Oh, the Packs will love this, yes, yes! A return to the hunting packs of old!"

"Thanks for the vote of confidence, boyo~…" Linth drawled, audibly amused.

"Big picture? To ever be even remotely safe? We have to displace Hutt rule over Nar Shaddaa," I firmly continued, already feeling the weight in my words. "Might as well take the whole moon for ourselves, then. Of course, that'll likely mean striking at Nal Hutta at some point, too. We're perfectly positioned for a beheading blow. It's our only real route to victory. Once we drive the Hutts off Nar Shaddaa and Nal Hutta… well, the rest should come naturally."

"We're essentially a rebellion, yes…?" De'vi asked hesitantly.

"Or a resistance," Linth waved. "But semantics. Go on, Love."

"Well…" De'vi began. "Those kinds of movements… They live and die off the goodwill of the people. More than anything else, we need to secure the support of the masses. I would think, at least… I'm… a bit out of my depth here…"

I shook my head, "No, you're absolutely right. The Hutts are far from popular, especially at the core of their empire. We need to use that against them. Even if they can't support us openly, we need the people on our side."

"Then…" De'vi gained confidence from my support, her shoulders setting as she made her case. "Freeing more slaves should be one of our top priorities."

I couldn't help the wickedly satisfied smile that crossed my lips, "I couldn't agree more. It fucks with the Hutt economy something fierce, gains us public support beyond measure, and gives us the moral upper hand to outside observers. Freeing slaves — breaking chains — is actually one of the best courses of action we could take in our current situation."

"The Hutts will — and I can't overstate this — absolutely despise us for undermining a core principle of their way of life and their society's view of the galaxy. They see themselves as superior and all other species as slaves beneath their tails. We'd be directly challenging and actively dismantling that belief," Suunri noted, playing Devil's advocate.

"Oh, no," I deadpanned. "However will we manage if the Clans we're at war with hate us even more?"

She chuckled, "Fair point. Yes, in the end, I do agree that freeing slaves is the best way forward. On all fronts, even. I just felt the need to raise the consideration."

"We will become a tangled vine in the heart of Hutt Space," Shaitan intoned seriously. "A thing of thorns and choking coils. Eventually, like all weeds, we shall starve out even the deepest of roots."

"… That," I grunted. "But less poetic. We're going to be a crippling, fatal pain in the Hutt Clans' collective fat asses. They'll barely realize they're losing — dying — until we're too big for even their bulks to stomp out."

"Sneaky fraggin' violence for the Gonk Cartel~!" Becca cheered a war cry. "Let's fuck 'em the fuck fucking up~!"

And somehow… wasn't that just the most poetic war cry I'd ever heard?

IIIII

My Inspired Inventor+ progress for the initial week and change of the war so far was… mundane. As in, I'd quickly realized that some choice mundane skills were more useful than just about any Force Power I could invest in. On the Force side of things, the only power that had crossed my mind was Battle Meditation. But without large-scale, traditional battles between two peer forces, it wasn't nearly as useful as it sounded.

Our way of waging war wasn't to bet everything on one big battle, after all. It was traps and ambushes. An insurgency from within. Small teams, small tactics, small objectives, working inch by inch toward a greater strategy. It was a thousand skirmishes and a thousand cuts. We couldn't crush the Clans all at once, so we'd bleed them dry until their rotting empire collapsed under its own weight.

More than any singular Force Power, our way of war required simple, solid, mundane competence. The flashy shit looked good. It felt good. It was good for making big statements. Good for inspiring and intimidating moments… But in the end, I knew the more 'boring', fundamental, intellectual improvements would serve me better.

My rate of gaining points had slowed to a degree. I was doing something unprecedented by making war on the Hutts, yes — and Inspired Inventor+ seemed to like that. But the 'big' events had somewhat faded to smaller, steadier, still unprecedented progress.

The actual war declaration against the Hutt Clans was the last of the 'big' events. I'd earned one point from that. Another came from brat-taming Becca, as far as I could tell. Odd, but not something I would refuse. The usual weekly point came on schedule. And then, the last point came from what seemed to be… several factors at once.

A sort of 'collectively earned' point — from the many raids and operations we were running for the war, me getting my first taste of guerilla warfare, and… ripples. I was making waves as the rest of the galaxy noticed my presence and actions. Inspired Inventor+ saw everything and it gave me credit for those distant effects.

Four points to spend, in all. The first went into upgrading Gun-Fu to level II. I'd been on — and would continue to be on — the front lines. Getting in on the fun and crushing when I did was important to me. Far from the most essential improvement but I still considered it worth the investment to upgrade individual deadliness.

Next, I turned my investments to mundane skills that were disproportionally effective. As it turned out, running a guerilla war of a thousand cuts wasn't simple at all. It took careful planning. More importantly, it took coordination. My second improvement was therefore obvious to me. Coordination II. Already, it was paying dividends in getting my forces to work together, be in the right places at the right times, and contribute to the bigger picture.

For my last two points, I took inspiration from how I'd shifted Force Bio-Alchemy into wholesale Force Alchemy. But I did it for the different tiers of warfare. Tactical Warfare I, first. Then, Strategic Warfare I. With both, I sort of… pushed them together and urged Inspired Inventor+ to combine them. Since they were already two parts of a greater whole, it worked. Kind of.

I wouldn't call either discipline a failure on their own. But keeping them separate felt… inefficient. Tactical made me an effective sergeant, and Strategic made me an effective general. Both gave me essential knowledge and simulated experience of waging war. Just from different perspectives.

In a small way, it was more saving space than giving myself more knowledge than each discipline already contained. The combined Warfare II likely would've given me the same thing if I'd just gone for it directly. Yet, even if I knew nothing was technically added with the merging, there was still a very real difference between the two more focused disciplines and them combined into one. Connections linking the two levels of war, Warfare II tied everything together with the lifeblood of everything and anything: Logistics. That alone made my technically unsuccessful attempt at gaming the system well worth it.

Inspired Inventor+

Humanity [Maxed]

Scavenging I

Scrapyard Mechanics I

Emergency/Improvised Medical Care II

Cyberware I

Brawling (Weapons Varied) I

Force Healing II

Genetic Engineering (Evolutionary) I

Force Alchemy III

[+1] Gun-Fu I -> II

Espionage II

Force Sensitivity III

[+1] Coordination I -> II

Art of the Small II

Shatterpoint I

Delegation I

Material Sciences I

[+2] Tactical Warfare I + Strategic Warfare I -> Warfare II

The Tactical side of things was more immediately beneficial to our war effort. Better ambushes, better raids, better advice as I met with and trained the sergeants fighting for me at every opportunity.

The Gank Packs had leaped at the chance to work in the smaller teams we required. The 'hunting packs of old!' they said. And they followed every bit of teaching I was able to give them like I was a damned prophet.

The 'Alpha of Alphas!'… I would've started cracking heads if the cringey mutts weren't solidly decent at following orders or if the title wasn't so frustratingly good for their morale. They were practically eager to die in the glorious combat of the Hunt for their 'Alpha of Alphas'.

Still, the Strategic side of Warfare II quickly became just as important as the Tactical side. Sstala was essential to keeping our whole war effort running. Now, I could actually keep up with her when she began arranging and coordinating logistical affairs. And while my top-down objective hadn't changed — running the Hutts off Nar Shaddaa and Nal Hutta was still our major win condition — how we would eventually get there… had. Because realizing how important — utterly vital — logistics was to us, I knew scale would make them even more so for the Clans. And all the more vulnerable, too…

"All of their comms on the moon are nice and jammed for ya, baby~!" Sasha happily reported. "Do I get a treat~? Do I~? Do I~?"

"Keep them jammed for the foreseeable future," I grunted, glancing away from her. "… And then, maybe…"

"Gag," Lucy deadpanned, saying the word instead of actually faking a gag. "Kiwi and I are still getting Daemons into Hutt accounts. There's just no end to them… I swear, the slugs must make up, like, a third of all the IGBC business."

"A tenth, at most," Kiwi denied. "Never underestimate the reach and scale of the Inter-Galactic Banking Clan."

"Cover your tracks," I ordered, already raising a hand to stop the incoming protests and scoffs. "I know, I know. You're all good. The best. I trust your skills. But we really don't need the Galactic Fucking Banks coming after us. So double-check. Triple. Preemptively bribe anyone and everyone you can. Throw blame on the Hutts and give the Banks reasons to go after them for themselves. We. Cannot. Be. Implicated. To the Banks."

"You're worrying about nothing," Kiwi dismissed, worryingly casual. "Night City Netrunners are the best in the galaxy. And we're a cut above the chaff, even then. It's our culture, our environment, that breeds netrunners who can run circles around every other slicer. And the rest of the galaxy hasn't seemed to pick up on that fact yet."

Instead of responding to her confidence, I shot a glance at Sasha. She sighed, "Yeah, I'll check her work."

"Bitch," Kiwi snapped, with absolutely no bite to her tone.

"Skank," Sasha shot back.

"Kiss ass."

"For Atom's ass? Proudly. Have you seen that peach, girlie~?"

"… It is a nice ass," Kiwi admitted.

Lucy laughed, "It's Night City's Ass after that soon-to-be historical broadcast of his."

"'Night City's Ass' my ass," I growled.

She smirked, "Run from it all you like, big guy. You'll never outdo baring it all to the whole galaxy while declaring war on the Hutts. Something like that tends to follow you for the rest of your life."

"Shit, how do you one-up something like that…?" Sasha muttered, sounding genuinely concerned by the question.

"I'll find a way," I grumbled. "Even if I'm probably going to have to flash the whole damned galaxy again to do it…"

IIIII

The newest opportunity of the war came suddenly. It was a chance I couldn't refuse. Two ambushes were canceled as we scrambled to get the teams from them into a new, better position.

David and I had been training together, testing a score of young Gank grunts — four even squads or 'hunting packs' — against us and getting David ever more familiar with Force Speed. Once the call came in, though, I dropped what we were doing and made haste to get into position as well. David — that loyal little fucker, brother in all but blood… — refused to let me go alone.

So it was that the two of us found ourselves with 15 other, just as eager Gank Killers and the chance to score our first major victory so far. The first Gank squad had been raiding a convoy. Standard operations. Until that is, they discovered the convoy wasn't transporting logistical material. It was the personal escort of a Hutt.

The raid drove the Hutt's escort to flee to a Clan safehouse. The first squad put out the call and followed — tracked down the scent — without revealing their continued interest to the target. The other two squads joined their hunt on the way, staying hidden. As such, the Hutt's guards were on high alert, but not in open combat.

Still, that meant we were faced with alert guards, armed escort vehicles, and a fortified safehouse. All of it stood in the way, of a major victory and the chance to kill another Hutt. We'd just have to crack that nut right the fuck open.

The Gank mutts — they actually liked being called that… — greeted me with bowed, submitting heads and a single word reverently spoken by all, "Alpha…"

I'd mostly learned to ignore that shit, simply growling, "There's a wretched, shitstain slug in that shell, thinking it's safe. Let's stomp it the fuck out."

The safe house was essentially a vault in the lower levels, about a sector and a half north of my tower. It was set between concrete block-type megabuildings, the top was capped with what seemed to be a solid story of even more concrete, and the only way in was from the front. The clear area out front was oddly reminiscent of a driveway, complete with three 'cars' parked in it, arranged to block the way and create kill zones for the mounted heavy blasters.

Despite being in the middle of the city, in the middle of the lower levels' dense urban hellscape, it felt desolate. A concrete canyon of no worth except for it being a pain in the ass to get into. From where we were standing at the crossroads leading into the chasm, only one attribute stood out. Gray. Too much gray. It needed a few dozen good splashes of… color…

One of the Ganks nominated himself for their spokesperson, stepping up and saying, "Give the howl, Alpha, and we shall answer. Our prey is cornered. There is no escape. Three hunting packs are at your disposal. We shall put aside our competitions for meat and glorious blood."

That was another thing about the Gank Packs. They liked to make everything into competitions amongst themselves. Into games. Games of killing, games of training, games of death, if there was a chance to prove themselves or assert a semblance of dominance, they'd take it. Yet, at the same time, I'd never met a more loyal brand of people. Pack was pack, to the Ganks. Often, it was quite literally family, too, as the smaller hunting pack system allowed bonded pairs and their familial units to work together and gain glory for their bloodlines.

The tallest Gank there was 5'6" at most. Yet the mutts were fierce beyond their stature. Each one was easily as broad as me, and they all wore armor that a Mandalorian wouldn't scoff at. It covered every inch of them with plates and flexible undersuits, and they further augmented their abilities with a cultural penchant for chrome that was rare outside of Night City.

I recognized the leading Gank as one of the many sergeants I'd spent a few hours training when I had the chance. He had a successful hunt to his name already. Soon, it would be two… "Sparky. How's the mate? And your pups?"

"Bloodthirsty, Alpha," Sparky's mate answered for herself, and I could hear the grin in her voice as the short, stout, thicc, and fully armored Gank woman stepped up next to her man. She nodded her head to the rest of her squad. "The pups are the same. The eating will be good tonight."

"Damn straight, it will, Lulu, ya feisty bitch," I growled. "Any mutt who fights with me here gets first cut of the slug meat when we're done."

Excited, canine rumbles ran through the gathered Ganks. I freely and shamelessly dangled that reward in front of them. Not like I'd have any use for a Hutt corpse. All I needed was for it to end up dead in the first place.

"What's the move, choom?" David asked.

"Only one way in. Only one way to it," I answered. "Smokes and flashes?"

"We have many, Alpha," Sparky reported.

"Use 'em. All of them," I ordered. "If you've got frags, toss them as well. It's just about the only cover we're gonna get."

The tension in our little raiding team spiked at that. They could feel the fight coming. I didn't keep them waiting, simply staring expectantly. Sparky's mate Lulu took the initiative, stepping around the corner to throw the first smoke down the concrete canyon. Her pups followed.

A sudden opening barrage of heavy blaster fire answered as the grenades flew. Lulu and most of her pups ducked immediately back into the cover of our starting position. The last one, the runt of the litter, was slow about it. But I was quick enough to pull in the Force, an invisible grip snatching them out of harm's way.

Sparky gave me a tense, thankful nod for saving his youngest from a probably, scorching fate. The runt froze for a moment at their close call before shaking themselves back to the present like a dog. Lulu growled protectively at her pup and shoved them to the back of the pack. And for a few tense moments, we simply waited for the smoke grenades to do their jobs.

Cover smoke billowed and blew out our end of the building-bordered canyon. That was our cue. David and I were already moving but the mutts weren't far behind. We ran through the blinding smoke. Here and there, as the wind blew, we were given clear glimpses of what awaited us. So — it seemed — did the defenders.

Blind, testing fire began to pour into the long kill zone. I raised a telekinetic shield in front of me as we ran. Blaster bolts struck it, popping on impact. The others quickly learned to stay behind me and my shield.

"Flashes!" I barked, about halfway down the chasm.

Another volley of grenades flew at my command. For a short moment, the throwing arcs allowed the heavy blasters to zero in on our position. Two streams of blind fire converged on my shield.

Plasma struck and fizzled, heating up the very air making up my shield. Sourceless fires burned in mid-air. The blaster bolts felt like a waterfall right on top of my head. But even as it hammered down upon me, I held strong.

The flash of grenades going off pierced the smoke. Shadowy afterimages revealed the defender's position to us. At the same time, they were blinded, deafened, and utterly discombobulated. The two lines of blaster fire against my shield went wide, becoming blind again.

"David! You know what to do!" I called.

I heard his reply as he was already blurring past me, "On it, choom!"

Another flash, one of a very different kind. In an instant, David was dashing on ahead, boosted beyond perception by his Sandie and Force Speed. Even I couldn't track him in that accelerated state of his. One moment, he was slightly behind me. The next, he was simply gone.

The defenders likely didn't get a chance to scream. I heard David's blaster off to one side as he worked to take down one of the vehicle-mounted heavy blasters. Only a few seconds later, me and the Ganks caught up to him.

The fight was a frantic, blind mess. The defenders were still reeling from the volley of flash grenades. And even without the flashes, the smoke was only slightly less dense among them.

Dropping my shield, I left the Gank Killers to do what they did best. Chilling battle howls echoed off concrete walls. Blasters rang out from both sides as the packs spread out among the defense.

Every defending merc on foot was torn through as if by wolves, descended upon by a whole pack, one after the other. Before they died screaming, they were given abject lessons in the Hunt. To the packs, the mercs were prey.

Meanwhile, I went for the second blockading vehicle. With the Force, I could 'see' — sense — clear as day in the smoke. David and I were alone in that advantage. The armed and armored speeders were sitting ducks.

The Force rushed to answer my call, the Dark reveling in the combat and the Light advocating for peace. I ignored both and harnessed the Force for my own purposes, in my own way: spite driving control over both sides.

One unlucky fucker had taken cover near the speeder on the ground. Thought it would be their salvation. I came out of the smoke like a demon and planted a pushing palm over their heart. A Nikto — the merc's eyes bulged but they didn't get the chance to make a sound. The air was pushed from their lungs as their chest caved in on itself.

Leaving the leathery corpse to fall, I hopped up onto the emplaced speeder. The mounted gunner certainly felt that. They began to turn, trying to get the blaster into position to fire upon me. I grabbed it by the still-hot barrel. The Force protected my palm from burns. With a surging pulse — a thumping heartbeat in the Force, channeled for my use — I wrenched the heavy blaster up and off its mount.

The gunner — a male Twi'lek — gaped at the feat of Force-fueled strength. He reached, scrambled, for the pistol at his side. He was much too slow. The formerly-mounted heavy blaster became a club in my hands. A braining swing slammed the gunner out of his seat. He rag-dolled off of the speeder, never to rise again.

Locating the last armored speeder — more of a command vehicle than the other two — I leaped to it through the smoke. Its gunner went the same way as the male Twi'lek, bludgeoned to the point of leaking brains. Negligently flipping the heavy blaster off to one side, I almost casually slid myself into the speeder's passenger seat.

The merc commander sat in the driver's seat, eyes darting blindly about the smoke outside as she gripped the wheel with a white-knuckled grip. She heard my entrance and froze. Slowly and with dawning horror, she turned to look at me.

She was pleasant enough to look at. Smooth, healthy skin the color of green tea, features that would've been pretty if they weren't so horrified, and patterned lines of tattoos running from her forehead, over her eyes, and to her chin. A Mirialan, if my memory was correct.

"Y-You… You are one of the Chosen…" She breathed out.

Despite the chaos of an ongoing battle around us, I cocked my head and allowed the Force to whisper her meaning to me, "… Ah. The Force. Yeah. Sure. Why not?"

"I-I would not fight you… for Our Destiny will suffer," I could hear the capitalization in her words and the Force hinted at some religious belief of Mirialan culture as a whole. "My employer is not worth that. Not worth dying for. Not worth disrupting the Great Weave."

I stared at her pointedly, "… Is any Hutt?"

She laughed shakily, "H-Haha-Hah… No… No, I don't think so…"

"Surrender, then," I grunted in acceptance. "Can you get into the vault?"

The Mirialan commander shook her head, "No. Lord Tvett didn't trust any of my people with access."

"Of course, not," I shook my head. "Why would he? Will he come out if you call him and say you won?"

"He might…" She paused and shrugged. "Lord Tvett never struck me as particularly smart."

"None of them do. None of them are," I deadpanned. "Do it. That's all I need from you. I'll do the rest."

She sighed and seemed to relax quite a bit at that, "Thank the Force… If that is to be my contribution to the Great Weave, so be it."

Outside the speeder's cockpit, the chaos was steadily dying down. I kicked my feet up on the dash but kept a close eye on the commander as she rang up her employer. She'd surrendered. But there was no way she was happy with us slaughtering her whole merc company. Horror, cultural religious fervor, and common sense had simply won out for her personally.

A few moments later, David came up to the cockpit's window, leaning in next to me, "We good, Atom?"

"Yeah, it's over," I nodded. "Well, the fight, at least. There's still a Hutt to put the fuck down."

"And she's helpin' now?" David asked, gesturing at the commander on her commlink.

"Lord Tvett has agreed to open the vault door to check for himself," The commander said, answering David's question for herself.

"It's the best we'll get," I acknowledged. "David, have the mutts lie down and play dead to sell the show. The lingering smoke should help with that. You and I will hide behind the door as it opens."

"Commander-…" I continued. She opened her mouth to interrupt me, likely with her name. "No, I don't need to know. Don't much care, either. If you ever need work and you come to us, I'll ask then. For now, feel free to stand with the 'bodies' so you don't have to get too close to your employer."

"Ah…" She hesitated. "Thank you…?"

"You can never be too careful with the Hutts," I said, shaking my head. "Now, places, people! Let's give this slug the last show of his life!"

Dismounting the command speeder, I saw that the packs with us had reconvened. They'd heard my plan, cutting out the need for David to act as the middleman. Amusement at the deception and the rush of a good fight hung about them in the Force. No outright losses on their behalf, I could sense… But six of them were injured to some degree or another.

The wounds didn't affect their willingness to follow orders. Like so many things for the Ganks, they made a game out of it. For a moment, it looked like scuffles were going to break out over the best places in our little show.

"The wounded get the front spots," I growled, putting the issue to rest before that could happen. "Now, hurry up and lie the fuck down!"

Everyone got into position in a hurry. Thankfully, the Hutt took his sweet time. No surprise there… A premonition from the Force warned me just before the door's mechanism began to whir. Slowly, the meter-thick vault door swung outward. David and I readied ourselves behind it.

'Lord' Tvett was speaking into a commlink as he revealed himself, "Oh, yes, noble brother. It was simply a false alarm. My escort seems to have taken care of the usurper's dogs quite well."

"Commander!" He called out to the Mirialan woman as she stood 'victorious' over several Gank bodies. "There is a bonus in your future!"

That was when David and I revealed ourselves. David blurred, flashed, and moved. An instant later, the Hutt was forced to what passed for their knees. He cried out in surprise. I walked out much more slowly. Sheer, soiling horror overtook the Hutt. Then, as I came around to stand in front of him, the Gank 'bodies' rose behind me.

Tvett saw the Hutts' new bogeyman in me, frantically speaking into his still-active commlink, "T-The usurper! He's here! H-He's real! By the Slime, he can raise the dead! Help! Noble brother, please?! H-Help!"

David moved to take the commlink but I raised a hand to stop him, "Leave it on. Let them hear this. Let them know that two is turning into three, and they can't do anything to stop my Hutt tally from continuing to grow…"

"Oh, Slime-! Oh, Stars-! Oh, noble brother-!" Tvett hyperventilated.

My enhanced senses heard one of his hearts give out without me laying a finger on him. There was a very real chance I could kill him from terror alone. Still, I stepped forward. After a moment of thought, I called the torn-off heavy blaster I'd discarded earlier back into my hands with the Force. Yet, instead of wielding it normally, I held it pointed down over the Hutt's bowed, struggling head.

The Force pulled the trigger. With a burst of blaster bolts, 'Lord' Tvett was cored like an apple, from the top of his skull into the concrete below. His body spasmed for only a moment before going completely limp and flopping forward with a grotesque *SQUELCH*.

Once again, I flipped the formerly mounted heavy blaster away from me, nodding for David to follow me as I turned away and addressed the eagerly waiting Ganks, "All yours, mutts. Meat's back on the menu. And if we keep this up, the Packs will never go hungry again…"

IIIII

With a major victory under my belt, favor returned to my reign from the rest of the cartel. Killing a Hutt meant something in these parts. Meant something real and heavy and revolutionary. Killing three in a row meant even more. It gave the vassals confidence. Told them that we were fighting and that we weren't necessarily destined to lose.

For some, that was enough to bring them back begging for scraps. I could've turned them away. I didn't. Not out of hand, at least. The useless ones, I sent running. The ones with something to offer our war effort — civilian ships, connections, day-to-day operations, and most importantly, the tithes they could pay… — I kept around. And just like that, I had something resembling a court occupying my throne room again.

Of course, it couldn't be business as usual. Thank fuck for that. We were at war, and the vassals had to pull their weight instead of jockeying each other for my attention. They had to suffer entertaining themselves, not bothering me at every opportunity. So, a quick partition was thrown up around the throne. Within, my coming-to-be-usual war councils ran on schedule. Outside, the less useful, less trusted vassals occupied themselves however they needed to.

Mostly, the vassals that returned were going to be used to keep our finances afloat. With fewer eyes on them, their usual operations weren't nearly as affected as those of us heading the war. They could even get off the moon for much-needed trade to trickle into the rest of the cartel.

I needed them to be profitable in their own little fiefs of the cartel and beyond. And I needed that money flowing ever upward. At the same time, it kept those who'd returned in one spot — mostly — so Suunri could keep an eye on them. The other vassals weren't trusted at all. That was why we kept them so close.

She was amongst them now, feeling everything and everyone out. I'd get an updated report from her after this was done. The rest of us — the core circle of the Gonk Cartel — were gathered for yet another war room session and the reports — good and bad — that came with executing a large-scale guerilla war.

"-But good news!" Linth grinned. "We've only lost an even dozen ships!"

"That doesn't sound like good news," Sstala frowned.

"Trust me, girl," Linth chuckled. "It could've been much, much worse. In the skies and in the void, we're outnumbered 6:1. And more ships are coming in against us by the day. I'm keeping my boys and girls grounded and hidden until we can do something about the Clans' air superiority."

"… It's the right call," I conceded. "A bitch and a half, but the right call. No air support will sting."

"If we're quick about it, we might be able to get off a few opening strikes before fleeing. We won't be able to stick around to fight, but that just might be enough in some cases," Linth offered. "Best I can do, O' Captain, my captain."

"Noted," I said, pointedly ignoring that title and the smirk it brought to his face. "I'm not too worried. With the missions we're running, needing more than an opening air support strike or maybe an extract means something's gone very, very wrong."

"I'm slightly worried," Sstala stated, her voice betraying none of her said worry. "The fleet being grounded and hidden means we lack a certain deterrence factor. Namely, orbital deterrence. We'll be exceedingly vulnerable to near-orbital strikes."

"That-…" De'vi hesitated. "I mean… we're in the middle of Nar Shaddaa. Surely… not even the Hutts would be that callous about collateral damage, right…?"

I glanced — practically glared — at Linth. He sighed, "Yes, Love. They very much would. I'll rig something up. A sort of standby and quick strike force for the orbital lanes directly above the tower. Give me a day and it'll be much less of a vulnerability."

"Do it," I ordered. "Now, what about our losses on the ground?"

"826 casualties across our fighting forces," Coyate softly and solemnly reported. "Mostly wounded. But… 280 dead. Several hunting packs have been wiped outright."

"Those mutts gave their lives in the glorious Hunt," Shank nodded. Despite his words, I could feel how raw his emotions were on the topic. "The Packs won't let their deaths be wasted. We have bled together now, Alpha. Blood that is shed in the Hunt will continue to be shed. The Packs are loyal, still."

"What's our medical supply situation?" I asked.

Sstala answered freely, "None of our people have gone without treatment. But soon, we'll run into the need for a consistent supplier. More than food, armor, or munitions, that will be the first and most pressing logistical problem we face."

I gave an acknowledging nod before turning to Sasha, "How's our cash situation?"

"Not great," Sasha admitted. "More than anything we need liquid capital now. The income methods we have in place are helping. We're constantly bleeding actual cash, though."

"Keep it that way," I ordered. "I'd rather spend credits than manpower or time when we don't have to. We can always find more money to appropriate, especially from the Hutts. Earn fast, spend fast, worry about sustainability only when we make it that far."

"This is gonna turn into a grind quickly, kid," Maine advised. "We're not losing, not technically. But it'll be a long time until we start really hurting the Clans like this."

I tapped an irritated, thinking finger on my thigh, "Yeah, I'm realizing that. We need more major victories. We need more dead Hutts. We need to free more than one or two slaves at a time. We need something… something big-…"

Suunri's chuckle came suddenly, cutting through our war room from outside the partition as she entered, "Oh, Atom, my lord~… I have something you might like to see~… Two somethings. Two someones, even~…"

She was followed past the partition by two unknowns. A dark-skinned near-human male with nice fucking dreads and golden facial tattoos, and a stunningly beautiful, blue Twi'lek woman.

Something about the pair tickled something in my mind. And I could feel them in the Force like lights in a dark room. They meant no harm. But they were decently powerful. And very well-practiced with the Force.

They both bowed their heads respectfully but not deferentially, the Twi'lek beauty speaking for them, "Greetings. I am Aayla Secura and my companion is Quinlan Vos. Jedi Knights. We believe all of us may be able to help each other-…"

At the same time, the guard outside the partition found himself playing a role he wasn't supposed to: acting almost like a makeshift herald, "Sir…? You have a visitor."

My eyes remained locked on the Jedi Knights in my war room as I called back, "Not now. Send them away."

"I… can't, Sir…"

"Can't?"

The guard continued right on as if compelled. Shit, he likely was… "Now announcing Master Fay, Wandering Emissary of the Force! Master Fay, the Force's Oracle, Prophet of the Whole, comes to meet the Breaker of Chains!"

Once more, the partition parted. A tall, curvy, and ethereally elegant woman entered. She seemed practically untouchable to the world around her. As if reality itself wouldn't dare. Elven ears peeked out from beneath almost glowing golden hair. And those curves were damn-near holy. No other word could do them justice.

If the Jedi Knights were lights in a dark room, Master Fay could've illuminated a whole world like a sun. Aayla and Quinlan froze in utter surprise. De'vi gasped at the title used for me. I noted it as well…

Now, why would a wandering Jedi Master call me 'Breaker of Chains' with such weight to it…? And why was her timing so Force-damned perfect? That second question almost answered itself…

"Were you expecting another one of you from the Order?" I asked the two Jedi Knights.

The dumbfounded awe on Aayla's face and Quinlan's blank-toned words told me everything I needed to know, "… No. No, we weren't. And certainly not a quite literal legend come to life…"

And wasn't that just wonderful… Exactly what I needed while waging a fucking war… Jedi shenanigans. Jedi Living Legends. Just. Fucking. Wonderful…