KYBER-PUNK 22BBY [Inspired Inventor+]

— Linth —

"Boyo!" Linth grinned, adrenaline pumping in his veins like the alcohol in his liver. "You're a natural!"

"I have no idea what the frag I'm doing, choom!" David shouted back.

Linth just laughed, "Yet here we are! Flyin' like nothing else! And isn't that just the best feeling?!"

"No! Stars-! Fuck-! No! … Maybe…!"

"Just keep trusting that Forcin' magic of yours! Let this gentle old girl guide you! I've got the guns so just worry about that stick in your hands! We've got friends on our wings and enemies ahead. What more can a new pilot ask for?"

"Oh, I don't know," David snapped sarcastically. "Training?!"

Linth chuckled to himself beside David. Good kid. Had some nice fire in his chest. Like the pleasant burn of a strong batch of Jet Juice. Mmm… Jet Juice sounded like it would hit the spot right about now. He wasn't currently flying, after all. Not like that had ever stopped him. He'd landed on Coruscant drunk as a skunk once. If he could navigate that knot of air traffic under the influence, he could do anything. But then, Linth had always known that little fact.

He was only passingly drunk at the moment. Functionally drunk. Things, they were a'happening, after all. He'd hate to miss 'em. Black-out celebrations could come later. For now, he'd settle for a nice buzz and the satisfaction of teaching another generation of pilots. Learn by doing. Sink or swim. Fly or fall. Survive and thrive. All of that junk.

Not that Linth was being as hands-off as he made himself seem, of course. He was sitting in the cockpit next to young David. If the boyo made a mistake and went up in flames, Linth would go with him. And that just wouldn't do. So he'd quickly rigged the turret's targeting system into the co-pilot's seat beforehand and monitored David's progress while he gunned for the ship. Linth let David fly by his own merits, but if things began to look dicey, he was right there to pick up the stick.

He hadn't needed to so far. And trusting his gut, Linth didn't think he would have to at all. The boyo was pretty good at flying already. And even if he was being thrown into the action, it wasn't a dogfight. The 'gentle old girl' Linth had claimed for David (having recognized the look in his eyes after that first eventful flight of his) wasn't a fighter. She was a freighter — a YT-1250.

Linth had plenty of actual fighters in his fleet. Half a dozen Z-95 Headhunters — cheap, reliable, and effective warhorses. Two CloakShape fighter-bombers — tanks on wings, and Linth made sure his pair were armed to the teeth. And a single Nimbus V-wing — blindingly quick and a dream to fly, even if it relied a bit too much on concussion missiles.

Normally, Linth would be in the Nimbus — he loved that little beastie — or his Marauder-class Corvette. The Corvette was a bit too big for an air war in atmo — though it was still parked very nearby in orbit — and Linth had chosen the boyo over flying solo this time. He could take the little beastie out for a spin at any time, but a new talent like David came around rarely. Instead, Linth had given his Nimbus over to Falco — a Hell of a Nomad pilot in Linth's fleet, one who had ties to Night City just like the crew leading this whole coup.

The YT-1250 made a decent in-atmo 'capital ship'. It was the biggest ship they'd brought on this mission — but pointedly not the biggest guns, bearing only double laser cannons and a medium laser turret. It was still enough to act as a gunship and get Linth and David onto the front line in the skies. A pair of smaller G9 Riggers rounded out their improvised gunships. With the nine fighters escorting them and carrying out Linth's commands, Linth had a whole squadron in the air around Zorba's tower!

Linth didn't hesitate to pull out plenty of stops for this significant little coup attempt. His fleet would follow him into the Unknown Regions if he only grinned and said the word ("Loot!"). They were much more loyal to him than they could ever be to Zorba. Even before that, Linth's fleet made up just about half of Zorba's. Add in the element of surprise, and many of Zorba's ships didn't even make it off their launch pads.

Those that did quickly figured out that Linth's boys and girls didn't play around. The sector around Zorba's tower bore witness to a stomp of an air war overhead. They'd see much more before this was all over. Even now, Linth spotted infantry squads of Gank Killers swarming around the base of the tower and the roofs of nearby buildings as the Packs rose up against their Hutt master under Shank's leadership.

"There, boyo," Linth directed, marking a target for David's piloting HUD. "That hangar. A two-for-one strafing run in the making~… Dive. That's it… Start pullin' her back up… now!"

David hit the maneuver perfectly. No matter how the boyo complained, he really was a natural. Must be the magic in him, Linth thought. Shaking his head in awe and amusement, Linth did his part.

David swooped. Linth shot. A stream of rapid-fire laser bolts walked a path across the interior of the hangar. Explosive bursts bloomed like flowers. The only kind of bouquet a man like Linth could enjoy. The two powering-up light freighters inside were crippled before they could take off, damn near cut straight in half as they were caught with their shields down.

Two more ships down, David pulled them out of their strafing run. As he did, red bolts zipped past the cockpit. From the front, one of Zorba's fighters came at them. An M-12-L Kimogila, Linth absently noted. Nasty and heavy work, that. He calmly retrained their guns on it, even as David barely avoided panic. It proved unnecessary.

From the side, a blur entered their field of view. A concussion missile streaked out of it. Before the heavy starfighter could react, it went up in a *WHOMP* of concussive force and explosive fire. Just as quickly as it entered play, the blur zipped back out.

Linth chuckled, "You know, I think that little beastie likes Falco better than me. He seems to be keepin' her busy. A busy Nimbus is a Nimbus that's having fun."

David breathed a shaky sigh of relief, opening a comm channel to Falco's Nimbus, "Uh… Falco, was it? Thanks. Good lookin' out."

"Don't mention it, choom. Stay chilled, stay flying, and never forget to C-YA," Falco's smooth voice replied.

David barked a genuine laugh, likely surprised to hear his home lingo from one of Linth's boys, "C-YA, right back atcha!"

The comm channel closed back out, and Linth chuckled, "Remind me to introduce you two at some point. Falco's a good one…"

"Now!" Linth suddenly clapped. "Focus back up, boyo! We're making good progress, but we've still got a bit to go until we've got uncontested air superiority! Even then, air support's work is never done! We're having fun and earning our pay tonight! Just you watch!"

"Heh, screw watchin', choom," David smirked, to Linth's delight. "I'm in it now. Like you said, we've got fun to have and pay to earn. I just hope the chooms on the ground are having as much fun as us."

"Oh, boyo, dear boyo…" Linth chuckled before utterly crushing that naive delusion. "They absolutely are not."

IIIII

— Coyate —

War… War was familiar. Fighting was just about all he knew. It was his culture, his work, his life. But, though the art of war was familiar, it'd been a long time since Coyate had an all-out fight like this.

A blaster bolt streaked at him from a dark doorway. Coyate spun on his toes and answered with two in kind. For the briefest of moments, the dark room was lit up with an eerie red glow. The ambushing Nikto's head popped like an overfilled balloon. Blood and brains boiled into nothingness. Coyate cleared the rest of the room and moved on.

Woe be to the defender, for they lacked initiative. Most of the time, that just made them more dangerous. But also more predictable. The coup's ground forces had breached the tower. Now, a grueling, close-quarters brawl took precedence. Survival was difficult. Skill was paramount. Luck was even more important. Thankfully, that day, Coyate found himself lacking neither.

He preferred to work alone. It wasn't a necessity. Coyate could fight beside aruetii — outsiders — if he must. There were worse brothers and sisters in arms to have than the Gank Packs. War was familiar to them, as well. Killing, more accurately. They were Gank Killers, one and all. They fought desperately and fiercely, with instinctive camaraderie and teamwork that few other forces could match. They fought with their lives always on the line. Coyate — any Mando'ade — could respect that.

Shank himself was… more difficult. The Gank Alpha was young. He had something to prove. To himself and to the world. Coyate found himself getting caught up in that proving. He understood, of course. Coyate had been the same once. So he didn't fault the Gank Alpha too much for making killing into a competition. It was a noticeably one-sided competition, though.

Squads spread out through the tower. Hallways, stairways, elevator shafts, lavish quarters, spice dens, and fabulous lounges — no space was spared. The tower would likely be marked by this fighting for years to come. Some might say that death would haunt these halls. Coyate knew that it already did under Zorba's reign.

Resistance was fierce. And, by large, much less competent than the forces the coup had at their disposal. Shank's killers were good at the killing they did. And Coyate was Mando'ade. Nothing more needed to be said. Compared to them, the toughs, thieves, dealers, slave fighters, strong-arm guards, bounty hunters, and mercs at Zorba's disposal were incompetent, irrelevant blaster fodder. Fortunately for the coup, the actually competent bounty hunters and mercs had already seen the writing on the wall and left Zorba to his inevitable fate.

Shank, Coyate, and the Packs made up the coup's front line on the ground. Linth had the air. Shaitan and Maine's edgerunning crew were already even farther in. They were striking deep to decapitate the enemy's command — what passed for it under Zorba — while Shank and Coyate held the line and made steady progress forward and upward. And it most certainly was steady progress. A good and steady CQB slaughter.

Pop out of cover. Pop two heads before ducking back. Coyate's aim was consistent. His trigger finger was smooth. His resolve was solid. He sliced and cleared, room by room, hall by hall. The familiar whine of blaster fire and the familiar smells of ozone, plasma, and fiery death were almost comforting. Everything — it anchored him. All he had to worry about was the fight at hand. He did what Mando'ade did best: wage war.

Practiced strides kept his aim always on target. Two to the chest. One to the head. A kneecap to bring the target to their knees and then a headshot to finish them.

Coyate made a point to never get into melee range. It was unnecessary. Potentially troublesome. Dependable blaster work was the most efficient way forward. Here and there, Coyate relied on grenades and other tactics as well. A flash, a frag, and a smoke in a particularly packed room.

His beskar'gam turned away blaster bolts like they were merely warmed air. Coyate never slowed, never stopped. A constant march forward and upward. Floor by floor, Zorba's tower fell. Grunts turned to gore. Fodder turned to fallen. Conscripts turned to corpses.

Eventually, he met back up with his comrade in arms for this operation. Shank was covered in blood, his armor burned and battered. Coyate didn't think he'd seen the Gank happier. Even with the full-face mask, he could tell that much. It was in the way Shank held himself, the way he gripped the bloody vibro-mace in one hand and SMG-blaster in the other.

Their progress was stopped by a fortified position at the end of a hallway. A mounted heavy-repeating blaster and scavenged debris to be used as a barricade. A near-constant stream of plasma bolts pinned Shank and Coyate in place. But only for a moment.

Coyate could hear Shank's grin beneath his mask, "Going well, yes, Mando? Good slaughter! Good! We will compare body counts after! Should I call in mounted support of our own to handle this nest?"

"No need. Ib'tuur jatne tuur ash'ad kyr'amur," Coyate intoned softly. "It is a good day for someone else to die."

Coyate poked his head around the corner as he said the ancient, sacred Mandalorian wisdom. He took aim in an instant. Less than a second and his wrist-mounted rocket was sent roaring toward the fortifications. He pulled himself back into cover as it went off with a hall-shaking boom. The temperature in the hallway casually rose a few degrees. The results would be satisfying but not pretty to look at. Shank stared at him for a moment in shock.

"Hukaat'kama — you will watch my back, I'm sure, burc'ya. Follow or do not. There is still work to be done," Coyate said nonchalantly, already moving out of cover to finish any stragglers.

As he did, he heard Shank swear to himself, and it did make his lips quirk slightly beneath his beskar'gam, "Frakking Mandalorians!"

IIIII

— Sasha —

Sasha had been eager to finally give Atom's word for the coup to begin. No, 'eager' barely began to cover it. She'd burned to do so. She needed it as she breathed. Needed to see Atom's goals accomplished. Needed to do what she could to help him reach them. His goals were hers. His desires, dreams, and determination — all the same.

While an intense, violent war was being fought in the real world, Sasha and her netrunners had another war to fight. One of slicing and running, code and firewalls, and so, so many assets to be appropriated.

Credits, systems, and properties galore. Sasha, Kiwi, and Lucy struck hard, fast, and left Zorba with nothing to his name. He wouldn't be able to use any of it in a few hours anyway. So they'd take everything. Assuming all of Zorba's assets would do even more to cement their control over the cartel than taking Zorba's tower and even killing Zorba himself would.

The actual assault would hit Zorba's cartel hard. Sasha and her girls would ensure it never got up again. At least, never got up again unless it was under the crew's complete control. The assault portion of the coup was like going all-in on their Sabacc hand. The netrunning part? That was stealing and stacking the whole damn deck for them and them alone.

Sasha's role in Atom's plan was vital to the coup's long-term success. She wouldn't let him down. Never. The trust he placed in her was more important than the very fucking blood coursing through her veins. So long as he trusted her, so long as she could continue making his desires a reality, the whole galaxy could burn for all she cared.

Of course, it also helped that Sasha was granted the privilege of being the one to blow the proverbial war horn. That still made her slightly giddy. She was, quite literally, the herald of Atom's power. Which was just, like~, so, so, SO PREEM~!

No one would understand her dedication and determination. Even the rest of the crew didn't know. Not the full extent of fervor and zeal that resided inside her mind, at least. They likely knew she would die for Atom. But they couldn't possibly know that even the smallest of his dreams would drive Sasha to kill, burn, rip, and tear.

Atom… Atom knew. He had to. He'd seen the depths of Sasha's admittedly twisted devotion and her *slightly* deranged mind. Yet he didn't turn her away. She'd felt his acceptance as he flooded her very core. It was a feeling she wouldn't ever forget.

Proof of his feelings returned — buried deep inside her, filling her, warming her from the inside. That bond she could barely describe and couldn't recreate on her own. 'Not-magic' brought them together. 'Not-magic' showed Atom that Sasha would never, ever abandon him. 'Not-magic' gave her purpose: Atom's purpose.

And now, she saw that purpose out. A chance to prove herself beyond any doubt. Not that she thought Atom doubted her. Not anymore. But after tonight, the rest of the world would know that she was his strongest supporter. His goals were hers. His desires, dreams, and determination — all the same…

"10 million credits in a hidden account!" Sasha declared. "Mark it down for the tally, girlies~!"

"Credits are good. Properties are better," Lucy smirked. "22 starships, now in our names. Mark that down."

"Some of which will undoubtedly be destroyed in the ongoing air war," Kiwi deadpanned. "Check this. An intact, fully functional commlink factory on the edge of Zorba's territory. Now owned by the El Gonko LLC. Guess whose shell corp that is."

Sasha couldn't help but giggle at the LLC's title, "Becca's naming sense really is kinda catchy~…"

The three of them were some of the only members of the coup effort who weren't getting in on the physical action. Instead of the frontlines, they were tucked safely within a bunker half a neighborhood away. Netrunning cared little for physical distance. At least as far as Zorba's cartel was concerned.

The cartel's systems were free. Essentially open for any netrunner worth their salt to walk into. Much of that was the fact that it wasn't air-gapped at all. Zorba had apparently hired some decent help over the years. Enough that there were defenses — basic Black ICE, pretty good regular ICE, half-decent Defenders, and decently shoddy Demons — in place. But everything was up to Hutt standards, not Night City standards.

Arasaka's systems were leagues and leagues more secure. CAP-com — the job that Atom had pulled Sasha out of — was more of a fight. Maelstrom's system-sec had been deeply flawed but surprisingly effective. Even the Tyger Claws had something of worth in the net. With so much action — corpo and otherwise — on the streets of Night City, the bare minimum baseline for net security was higher than just about anywhere else in the galaxy. Even other places on Nar Shaddaa.

It was the unique culture of their home turf. For certain things — chrome, net security, and even pure violence to an extent — Night City was on a level all its own. Sasha and her girls were used to operating on that level. Zorba's security fell short as a result. Hell, their current efforts were practically — *SHUDDER* — just slicing, not even netrunning.

Sasha wondered, 'HOW…?' for a few moments. Then, she remembered that deep dives were honestly rare throughout the rest of the galaxy. 'Deep diving?! Are you insane?! That's crazy dangerous!' They would say…

In Night City, that was the basics of the basics. If you weren't deep diving, you weren't doing anything of worth. Dangerous? Sure. No shit. But even just breathing was dangerous in Night City. It was one of the things that made Night City unique. Special. The people, the culture, the work being done, the risks and dangers — if you were gonna run the net and tempt the powers that be, you'd better be ready to risk it all.

To slicers the galaxy over, Hutt systems would be a challenge not worth the payday or heat. For Sasha and her girlies? They'd made a game out of Zorba's system, keeping track of how much they individually stole and competing for total value. And as they 'played', they came across the strangest things…

"An, uh… exotic foodstuffs wholesale corp…" Lucy declared her latest find. "… With how much weird kriff the Hutts stuff in their mouths, yeah, that makes sense."

"A whole weapon-smithing corp and supply chain," Kiwi deadpanned next.

"Oh? Nova, more guns are always good to have," Sasha said.

"… One that only produces Gamorrean-style axes," Kiwi continued.

"Oh…"

Lucy snorted, "I guess the pigs gotta get their axes somewhere."

"Yes! Another hidden account! Come to mam~…" Sasha paused in shock mid-celebration as she saw what was inside. "… Holy shit. That's a lot of beskar. The Hell? Did Zorba single-handedly bankrupt the traditional Mandalorian economy?"

"He's a Hutt. I wouldn't put it past him," Lucy said. "He's certainly been around long enough-… Ah, kriff."

"What's up?"

"Found an account as well. About five million credits worth… except it's all in pay vouchers for, like, half a dozen different corps."

Sasha winced, "Oh, yeah. That'll be a pain in the ass to cash and exchange."

"Storage ledger here," Kiwi spoke up again. "Twenty hovering thrones fit for Hutt royalty. 100,000 creds each, and all special orders. Just one costs about as much as a starfighter. And that's only to buy. Maintenance — Zorba apparently needed all of them in working condition at the drop of a hat — costs were another 100,000 total per month. How the Hell was he not bleeding credits like nothing else…?"

"He was," Lucy pointed out. "But Hutts seem to fail upward in everything they so much as look at. They're quite literally too big to fall. Unless… something drastic happens."

"Like right now?" Sasha smirked.

"Yeah, like right now," Lucy chuckled. "And- oh, paydata. Hold on, that's a lot of loose info and connect-… -ions…?"

She stared off into thin air, her jaw slowly dropping open, "… Frag, choom."

"Flick it here," Sasha requested. Lucy complied. As she started looking over the latest find, Sasha was hit with the same shock that Lucy must've felt.

"Woah… Isn't that the name of a Republic Senator? And that one? And that one…? And-… holy kriff. Paydata is understating it, Luce. Atom's gonna make you cum your Stars-damned brains out for this one, babes."

"He better-…" Lucy absently muttered before catching herself and slowly, slowly turning toward Sasha. "… Huh?"

Sasha just grinned and giggled. Hardened netrunner Lucy might've been, she was still far too easy to tease. And Sasha hadn't even been just teasing! A find like this…? Yeah, a few good mind-blowing, busting, breaking orgasms sounded like as good a payment as any~…

IIIII

— Shaitan —

"Floor 45, Southside: you boys better hold out until the last! Hold the kriffing line! The Ganks will just kill you! Zorba and I will do much worse!"

"Floor 112, ready yourselves! A push is coming! That damned Mando is with them! Good lu-… Ah, kriff. They're already dead."

"You bantha-brained mecs! How have you not cut the elevators offline yet?! No, I don't give a shit if you'll get shot just peeking your head into the shaft! Get it done!"

A gravelly voice shouted orders and coordinated the tower's desperate defense. Shaitan could hear it all falling apart through the floor itself. Then, Becca, with a manic grin, pressed the trigger for the demolition charges set into the floor.

*BOOM!*

A hole was blown in the floor/ceiling into the room below them. Stunned, shocked faces pivoted up at them. And some who were not so stunned. Those quick on their feet were already diving for cover. Zorba loyalists with some measure of skill and sense. Exactly why they were there, deep within Zorba's tower and breaking into the defense's C&C room.

"Eat plasma, gonk-fuckers~!" Becca let out a mad cackle at the top of her lungs to go with her attack.

Shaitan… watched. It was a sight to see. Becca was all of 4'10", yet she carried an E-Web heavy repeating blaster — the sort of weapon typically mounted on a tripod or speeder — like it was made for her. It was, in a way. Atom had tinkered up that beautiful monstrosity, and Becca hadn't taken it off since.

Another Legend. Like Maine. Minor ones, but Legends all the same. Shaitan recognized his kind. Kin beyond kin, for Shaitan's past had faded from even his memory. All he had left were peers. Rivals. Enemies and allies. The past was no more. But the present was constant and constantly changing, usually interesting enough to keep up Shaitan's iron will to live.

He hadn't reached the same level as the dreaded Smasher or roguish Blackhand, but he was a Legend, too. Shaitan had taken many jobs. Closed many contracts. Left his mark on many things. He'd been full-borg for nearly as long as the hated Smasher had. And still, rarely had he seen anything like this.

Not just Becca, though she certainly made an amusing sight. No, Shaitan referred to another major Legend in the making. One to eventually rival Shaitan himself. Possibly Smasher, Blackhand, and Silverhand as well.

Atom. Young Atom. He did not do things by half. Even over Shaitan's long tenure on the edge, he'd never seen a Hutt fall. Not to anything but infighting and other Hutts, at least. Now, he was party to such a significant event. For, the risks were high, but the profit was immense. And Shaitan had not become a Legend by playing anything safe.

Aiming down into the C&C room, Becca pulled her trigger and held it down. Her portable E-Web spun up in a deadly instant. Lethal plasma flooded into the room. A continuous line of sheer firepower, enough to cut a speeder in half. The racket was glorious. A chorus of minigun death and destruction, highlighted further by Becca's mad rimbo cackles.

Techs, messengers, and underlings were sawed in half in the first pass. Chewed straight through by plasma plentiful and fierce enough to boil steel as easily as flesh. Becca swung her aim around the room. Barely an inch was spared. Exploding equipment and flesh set on fire littered their view. The only way to survive would've been to vacate the killzone before she began.

Unfortunately, their main targets were smart and quick enough to do so. Devono Vox — a crafty little Gossam and one of Zorba's leading arms dealers. Cedwon Hel — a Duros enforcer, nowhere near the infamous Cad Bane's level but still dangerous enough to lead the guards and grunts of Zorba's tower. Drall — a vicious but quite dull Trandoshan killer, or 'hunter' as he preferred to be called. The three 'leaders' were guarded (and likely kept from fleeing outright) by a pair of Razor Eaters — specially designed assassin droids that were just as fierce as their name implied.

When Becca ceased her rain of blaster bolts, a grenade was pitched up through the hole at them. Shaitan caught it in one hand. A simple frag, he scoffed. He chucked it back. It popped in mid-air, throwing shrapnel all around.

A second grenade followed. An EMP 'nade. Likely Vox's work, the shifty lizard. That was a more fitting challenge, especially for their chrome. Shaitan's was hardened against such effects, but he wasn't sure the others had the same advantage. Maine likely did. Regardless, Shaitan caught the second grenade as well and simply crushed it into tiny, ineffectual pieces in a chrome grip.

Sharing amused, anticipatory glances, Shaitan and Maine dropped through the hole in synch. The Razor Eater droids met them head-on. Eight intimidating feet of dull durasteel, the droids were anything but pretty sights. Claws to tear through a starship's hull, unnecessary teeth like broken, jagged glass in wide-set jaws, and soulless red lights for eyes. It certainly didn't help matters that they were programmed with all the fighting expertise one could expect from an assassin droid, either.

Shaitan's wakizashi gleamed and sang as it met those durasteel claws. Maine met them with the sheer bulk and mass of his chrome forearms. Unnatural strength pushed against unnatural strength — chrome vs droid durasteel. Maine lashed out with a crushing, crashing fist. Shaitan stepped in and around with deadly grace.

Shaitan's sword slashed through droid armor and into the tender metal 'flesh' beneath. Oil splattered like blood. The Razor Eater only barely slowed. Maine's overpowering fist was more effective, bludgeoning bits and pieces of metal into scrap that flew off the droid like sprays of gore.

Shaitan found himself frowning within his mind. That simply wouldn't do. A flash, a swing, and his sword carved deeper. His Razor Eater stumbled. Metal tendons were cut. It fell. Shaitan drove the blade in with all of his chrome might. Only then did red eyes dim…

As they did, Maine's Razor Eater persisted. Not for long, but Shaitan had beaten his old friend and fellow Legend by a few seconds. Durasteel tore and sheared before overpowering blows. Massive, monstrous chrome hands closed around the droid's head and wrenched it free from its body. The second set of red eyes dimmed…

Above, Dorio and Pilar kept their true targets pinned in place by suppressing blaster fire. Vox and Hel were sensible enough to stay in cover. Drall stood straight and stupidly proud, roaring a challenge in the name of the Scorekeeper Hunt God the Trandoshans held so dear. Then, Becca's portable E-Web came off cooldown, and he was made to instantly regret that decision.

A whine. The sounds of individual shots came so quickly after each other that they blurred together. Enough energy to power a building poured out of Becca's powerpack, down her weapon's barrel, and into the Trandoshan as eviscerating, evaporating plasma. She did not sweep the room again. Every bolt was concentrated on Drall and Drall alone.

The Trandoshan simply… burst. Burst into blood and broiled guts. Burst into too many pieces to ever identify. Burst into so, so, so much, already-cooked lizard gore. Even then, Becca shot, shot, and shot some more for good measure. She only stopped when even the bits and pieces of gore were completely burned away. You could never be too thorough with Trandoshans.

"Shit, boys," Maine chuckled, not even panting as he addressed the two targets that remained. "We gonna do this the easy way or the hard way?"

"None of this is easy," Hel the Duros growled.

Maine rolled his neck, "Seems pretty easy from our side of things."

Shaitan swung his sword clean of dripping oil, "Indeed. And you could make it easier still, Cedwon Hel…"

"Zorba will kill me."

"No," Dorio snorted. "No, he won't. He most definitely won't."

"Make a move or don't, ya gonks!" Becca shouted down. "Just hurry up about it! I don't wanna miss the real fireworks!"

"W-We will come quietly…" Vox the Gossam stuttered.

Shaitan stared at him, piercing through the lie, "… No. No, you will not."

Before the squat, long-necked lizard could reply and deny Shaitan's surety, a blaster bolt ripped forth from his raised chrome arm. Shaitan didn't bother giving the crafty being a chance. He could sense the treachery. Vox's body jolted and shuddered as plasma tore through it. He collapsed, paradoxically both stiff and limp like so many others Shaitan had gunned down.

Sure enough, a pair of hidden grenades rolled out of his now-dead hands. Another EMP. And… what looked to be a bootleg thermal detonator. Hel stared down at them in shock, "Oh, you motherkriff-!"

Maine and Shaitan were moving before the Duros's last words were dramatically cut off. In an instant, they leaped back up through their entry hole. The others were pushed down and away. Maine covered Dorio and Pilar. Shaitan took the liberty of picking up Becca — E-Web and all — and throwing himself and her as far as he could.

Seconds later, the EMP went off with a static fizzle. Then, there was a whine. A thermite coating burned. The baradium core within was destabilized. There was a pop of pure, destructive atomization. A blinding flash. One that fuzzed up Shaitan's sensors even through a solid floor.

The detonator's particle shield kept the explosive vaporization completely contained to a 3-meter radius. Outside it, Shaitan and the others didn't feel a single iota of radiation, heat, or shockwave, even as the thermonuclear flash atomized sound itself. According to Shaitan's sensors, the radius very nearly reached them despite their efforts, evaporating about halfway through the floor beneath them. Shaitan tensed his servos and readied his legs for the inevitable.

Into six meters of new nothingness, the floor collapsed, taking them with it. They fell through the destruction of the detonator and into the room two floors below. Shaitan landed with slightly bent knees, Becca still in his arms.

"Oof~! Damn, choom…" Becca muttered. "Little 'nade, big boom…"

If Shaitan still had a mouth, he would've smirked, "Quite."

"Maine, choom! You guys good?" Becca called out to the others.

"Yeah, I'm used to this big lunk landing on top of me," Dorio called back, quipping.

"I'm fucking not!" Pilar snapped. "Broke my fraggin' leg!"

"Eh, it's just a leg," Becca shrugged.

"MY leg!"

"We'll get you a new one, gonk-bro."

"Not like we're gonna be hurting for eddies anytime soon," Maine chuckled, rolling off the other two and staying on his back, staring upward.

"Oh…" That realization brought Pilar up short. "Yeah, guess we won't. Should've broken my dick, too. I could use a new Mr. Stud."

"Like you needed an excuse, bro," Becca jabbed.

Shaitan watched the exchange with a smile in his mind. It didn't show on his chrome face. His body wasn't designed for that anymore… And while he preferred to run solo, it did mean he missed out on things like this. The easy chemistry and camaraderie of Maine's crew was… nice. In small doses, at least. There was no doubt in Shaitan's mind that he'd get back to running solo eventually. Eventually…

Dorio's chipped commlink buzzed. She listened in silence for a few moments before pushing herself to her feet, "Alright, chooms; we've gotta get moving again. Climactic finish, and all."

"Does that mean~…~?" Becca began to grin, a manic, excited expression.

"Oh, yeah," Dorio chuckled. "Atom's here. And he's going straight for Zorba. If we hurry, we might not miss it."

"It would be a shame to miss history in the making," Shaitan agreed, nodding. "Much will depend on how well our ladies on the inside have prepped the stage… But I doubt anything will stop Atom-san once he's determined."

IIIII

— De'vi —

"Oh, my…" De'vi worried to herself. "Oh, my, oh, dear… This is all getting very out of hand."

Suunri waved dismissively but not harshly, "It was always going to, my dear. Unavoidable. But everything is coming to a head now. This won't take much longer on any front, I suspect."

De'vi nibbled away at her lower lip, "Have we-…? Have we done enough?"

"As much as we can," Suunri nodded. "Your girls have been prepped and vaguely informed, have they not? My court knows to expect anything and be ready to go with the flow of things. Taati is staying firmly out of the way, and Sstala wields power and influence of her own that she has pledged to our cause. The only issue will be Ave the Hutt. He will want to make a play, and this is the only conceivable time and place for it."

De'vi frowned, "You know I don't like throwing stones, but… he's been remarkably useless for this whole endeavor, hasn't he?"

Suunri chortled, "He's a Hutt. A useful excuse, at most. More than likely, a liability. We should be thankful he managed to keep his mouth shut, but even that isn't necessary anymore. He will inevitably overstep the thin veneer of legitimacy he brings us. Sooner rather than later, I would bet. I imagine he and Zorba will share a fate before this night is out."

"And after he is…" De'vi considered. "Is the cartel ready to be ruled by someone other than a Hutt? Is that sort of… unprecedented rule… wise?"

"Oh, the other Hutt Clans and Cartels won't like it one bit, to be sure," Suunri nodded. "But the Hutts' mandate to rule is hardly divine, despite what they may claim. We personally have simply decided that it isn't worth the continued support. After tonight… everything will change. There is a first for everything, after all. And then, the real work begins."

"Real work?" De'vi asked.

"We work to keep ourselves in power, of course," Suunri explained. "Our new friends and allies may lead, but their doing so puts us firmly at the top here. It's simply in our best interest to maintain that. A smooth transition from key factions within the kajidic — your girls, my court, and Sstala's underlings — is important. As is a strong, sensible rule to squash doubters and detractors. Hutt loyalists will remain. It is our work to ensure that when options are weighed, supporting another Hutt to take charge again comes up wanting."

"Well, that won't be hard at all," De'vi giggled.

Suunri raised her glass in a toast with a slight smirk on her lips, "No, it really won't. And isn't that just splendid for us~?"

Giggling for a few more moments, De'vi suddenly went silent and somber, "… Do you- Do you think Atom will truly free all of the cartel's slaves as he's said he will…?"

Suunri matched her mood, knowing how important the topic was to her, "I do… He's already begun, hasn't he? Sasha reported as much from the processing center. As I said, everything will change after tonight. If I wished to be pragmatic and nihilistic, I would say that freeing the slaves would add significant support to his newfound reign.

"But… I don't think that is why he will do it. I think he truly, genuinely believes in it, in freedom for you and your girls. And as your friend, I have never been happier for you, my dear. There is no shame in hope. I believe — for once in this cruel galaxy — it will come true."

"… Sasha said that a slave told him a story," De'vi whispered, the same hope Suunri mentioned practically glowing in her chest. "A story to save his life. All slaves know such a story… He would not have heard it unless he was considered a brother in chains."

Saying it aloud set her resolve, and De'vi nodded firmly, "For my many sisters and brothers. For my girls. And… for myself… I believe. When — not if — he follows through on his claim, he will win unmatched loyalty from all of us. His actions will never be forgotten. And I will personally make sure he realizes that fact at every opportunity."

"Throwing your silks into that ring, De'vi~?" Suunri teased.

"Hmm? Oh, no! Not me," De'vi corrected, somberness fading into a giggle in an instant. "He's attractive, and Humans on Nar Shaddaa are undoubtedly a treat. But I personally don't want to start my freedom by paying for it with sex'n'stuff. I already know quite a few of my girls will feel the opposite way, but I'm content to make him realize his importance in other ways."

Suunri smiled softly, "I can certainly understand that sentiment, my friend."

De'vi returned the smile with her characteristic brightness. She liked that she could make even Suunri glance away with a blush at times. Times like this. There was power in being soft, sweet, and sex-dorable (Sstala's words, said in a blush-inducing deadpan), to be sure.

Their conversation petered out and De'vi took to looking around the throne room. When the assault began, Zorba holed himself and his court up in it at the top of his tower. Then, he proceeded to go about his usual business as if nothing was amiss. It was a worrying level of delusion. Only the Stars knew what Zorba was high on. 'PEACE AND HARMONY!' perhaps? Again… worrying.

While an assault straight from war happened below and around them, Zorba forced everyone to play his usual games. His jesters entertained. His sycophants kissed his tail. De'vi's girls were forced to serve as if they couldn't see starfighters out the window and feel explosions through the whole tower.

The arrogance of Hutts was… astounding, even to De'vi after ten years in Zorba's court. To be fair, the throne room was the most fortified room in the tower. Transparisteel windows thick enough to surpass starships, many armed underlings who would kill to get into Zorba's good graces, and entrances that locked like vault doors. Only, De'vi knew none of it would stop the coup. None of it would stop Atom. Any moment now, Zorba would be finding that out for himself.

Zorba's delusion made some things easier for her, Suunri, Sstala, and Taati, at least. Not everyone retained Zorba's confidence that they would survive the night in one piece. De'vi's girls trusted her completely, of course, and through them, she could start laying the groundwork for a smooth transition. She knew Suunri and Sstala had done the same. Taati didn't have nearly as much influence as the three of them, but she'd clearly hinted at something happening to the serving girls and general staff, who now waited and bided their time with bated breath.

The serving girls and general staff through Taati. The Twi'lek and slave harems through De'vi herself. The more subtle movers and shakers through Suunri. The administrators and Zorba's actually effective servants through Sstala. Everyone — everything — they could get on their side was in place. De'vi couldn't see much going wrong on their end. But, of course, their end was only one end where things could go very wrong.

De'vi's commlink buzzed. She checked it just in time to get a warning from another of the key 'ends' of this equation, "Heads up. Incoming. Get your — our — people away from the windows."

Checking, Suunri got the same message. Where De'vi panicked slightly, she just finished her drink, cleared her throat, and got up to wrangle her court to safety. Her composure helped. De'vi looked out the throne room's windows but couldn't see any indication of a dramatic entrance in any direction. That… wasn't very reassuring when she had proof that one was coming in her hands.

Following Suunri's lead, De'vi gathered up her girls. For some of them, she had to quite literally pull them off whatever groping, grasping fool they were being forced to serve. She did so without a word and damn the consequences. They'd be forgotten in a moment, she knew.

The throne room was suddenly set abuzz. De'vi's almost frantic preparations were certainly noticed. As were Suunri, Sstala, and Taati's. The uninitiated didn't know what to make of them, of course. The leading feeling seemed to be a sense of confusion. Then, barely a minute later, it became chaos.

From the south side of the tower, a dot quickly became clear on the horizon. It resolved into the shape of a speeder. One headed straight for the throne room at a dead sprint. De'vi would freely admit to no small amount of horror when she saw it. There was only one thing — one person — it could be.

Atom let loose with the speeder's laser cannons as he approached. Every bolt pounded on the same exact spot of the transparisteel plane, with uncanny accuracy. Blast after blast, the clear alloy began to glow. Then, melt under the concentrated fire. Alloy dripped and bled away. And right before impact, something else happened.

Atom's speeder hit the alloyed glass. A building aura of sheer force and power pierced straight through the weakened window — concentrated on the point of impact. The throne room shook as if the whole thing was shoved to one side. Clear steel… shattered. It blew inward like nothing De'vi had ever seen. With the explosive penetration came a rampaging speeder and a rider who was even more dangerous.

Panic. Horror. Chaos. De'vi was beyond glad for the warning. Without it, some of her girls very well might've been caught up in the line of fire. As it was, they — and the others on their side — were safely as far away from the destruction as they could get.

It was an entrance to be remembered. None who lived through it would ever forget. Several of Zorba's underlings and loyalists were caught up in the inward-aimed destruction. Some fell to transparisteel shrapnel. Others were blasted out of their boots by the speeder itself. There was one constant. If something was in Atom's way, it was run straight over with prejudice.

Somehow — someway — Atom's allies were spared from the collateral damage. The phenomenon was firmly unnatural in De'vi's mind. And just another thing to be thankful for. Another thing to thank Atom for…

Zorba, of course, wasn't so lucky. His bulk was peppered with more shrapnel than anyone else. Due to sheer size or something purposeful, De'vi couldn't know. The result was the same. The ancient, hulking Hutt roared a challenge as Atom casually dismounted his improvised kinetic missile.

"Oh, shut up!" Atom snapped right back at the roar. "I'm in no mood for your shit! Accept reality, slug! This is where and how you meet your end!"

For a moment, Zorba fell silent — stunned. No one talked back to a Hutt in their own throne room. And certainly, no one declared their intentions to end that same Hutt in the same breath. It wasn't done. It was suicidal. Even then, there were much more pleasant ways to end one's self.

After seemingly processing Atom's statement of intent, Zorba rumbled a royal order in surprisingly calm Huttese, "… A lordship for the being that brings me his head."

With that simple sentence, a throne room's worth of killing intent focused Atom's way. The loyalists still on Zorba's side were his more typically violence-oriented underlings. De'vi, Suunri, Sstala, and Taati had stolen all of the soft power for their purposes. As such, those who followed Zorba's order were the ones who would've done so anyway.

Two dozen pairs of eyes glared at Atom. Atom matched the weight of that hostility glare for glare. De'vi's breath caught in her chest. Unbowed, unbent, unbroken… Just like the stories… Atom didn't waver an inch. Amongst De'vi's girls, awe, reverence, and no small amount of sheer, silk-drenching lust swirled as physical proof of her promises to them stood tall in the glorious, glaring Human flesh.

As the rest of the room stalked toward him with violent intent and Atom challenged them to come, De'vi heard relevant whispers spread between the slaves in the room, "Mighty Leia come again…! Chains to be broken…! Freedom embodied…! He is blessed/unbroken/aimed true…!"

De'vi couldn't help but silently agree. Never had she seen something — someone — so inspiring. A light raging and shining with spite. A chance. A promise to be realized. Undaunted, unflinching, unconquered… Hope. As Atom stood against high odds, De'vi saw hope.

When the fighting kicked off, it kicked off explosively. Three blaster bolts from several directions, sudden but coordinated. Those who preferred to fight with their hands broke into a sprint at the catalyst. The enemy stole the first move. Atom didn't let them have the second.

Leaning to one side, two blaster bolts flew right past him. The third was caught in Atom's hand. De'vi couldn't help but gasp.

Yet… there was no damage. No pain or injury. Instead, her hope flared even brighter as the third bolt was returned to its sender.

A Duros at the back of the pack went down in smoke and screams. And Atom began to move — dance — with the grace of gods. A whole spear was suddenly in one of his hands. That strange tail of his drew a blaster into the other. Uncanny, perfect accuracy sent bolts of his own flying. Everywhere he aimed, men fell in even more smoke and screams.

A Toydarian crashed out of mid-air. A half-sized Rybet was lifted straight off its feet by one of Atom's shots. A Gamorrean collapsed where it charged, smelling of burnt bacon and falling on its own axe in the process. A Weequay writhed in agony and a Jilruan found itself with a gaping, string-cutting hole in its skull.

The ones who got close enough to try their hands in the melee weren't any luckier. Atom's spear spun with seemingly instinctive skill. It cut through everything. Leather or durasteel armor. Flesh or bone.

Atom weaved around those close to him with supernatural agility and a touch of some primal, violent charm, using their bodies for cover before dispatching them once their usefulness was up.

He dodged and countered everything thrown at him, often moving before the attacks even came. Two dozen enemies after his head. Atom quickly whittled them down to nothing.

They threw themselves at him, charging straight into the meatgrinder or hanging back for a lucky shot that never came. Atom tore them to shreds, offering no mercy or quarter.

The fight — the slaughter — lasted all of two minutes. Those two minutes felt like an eternity to De'vi. Her muscles tensed for Atom. Her breath came quickly. Something familiar in her core felt like it was on the edge from just watching him.

De'vi was far from the kind of girl to revel in violence. But… when that violence was fuel for hope, it seemed to be a different story entirely…

The last of Atom's enemies fell not with a bang, but with a whimper. A Nikto. Slashed to streamers by Atom's spear. He fell to oblivion without a second acknowledgment from his killer. Atom simply transferred his spear to his tail and marched straight through the field of corpses he'd created. Straight… up to Zorba's throne.

Yet Zorba refused to go out easily. Throughout the slaughter, he wiggled his bulk into a better position. Coiled, like a snake ready to spring. And as Atom drew within range, he did just that. Zorba lunged. Seeing a Hutt get their hands dirty was rare, but De'vi couldn't help but rejoice. It meant Zorba was desperate in the extreme…

A ton and a half of slug launched itself at Atom with shocking strength and explosive power. Still, Atom didn't flinch. Unbowed, unbent, unbroken…

Atom dropped his blaster and gripped his spear with both hands and his tail, anchoring himself in place. Zorba flew straight at him, straight at… the tip of his spear.

Impossibly, Zorba froze there, held in place at just the tip. Even from afar, De'vi could see the fear in his eyes. He writhed and struggled against an invisible grip. Nothing helped. Slowly — and clearly under Atom's control — his great mass began to drop. To impale himself on the spear that cut through him like butter.

Atom glared up at him the whole way down, "FUCK. YOUR. PEACE. AND HARMONY."

Gurgling, Zorba settled with two feet of solid metal within him. Even then, the horror in his eyes mounted. Along with a spark of something desperate. Zorba reached… Atom cut that desperation off with a great jerk. And another. His spear whisked Zorba's insides like simple eggs.

Zorba's beady eyes went wide. Oily blood exploded out of his maw. Atom simply leaned to the side to let it pass over his shoulder.

Over and over, he jerked and jimmied his spear around inside Zorba's body. Zorba persisted — tried to endure… but even a Hutt had limits.

Eventually, he went limp. His form stayed slack as Atom lowered it to the floor and withdrew his spear. Then, just to be sure, he stomped Zorba's top half with disproportionate force for such a relatively small boot. Zorba's corpse didn't explode so much as it crumbled. With that final blow, Zorba's rule was reduced to bloody rubble.

The moment hung heavily in the now-silent throne room as Atom continued walking out of the stomp in a single motion. He stepped up onto Zorba's throne, turned, and slumped himself down on the edge. Casual, intimidating, and… resigned…

"The king's dead. Long live the fucking king, I guess…" He grumbled.

Like nothing was out of the ordinary, Sstala stepped straight up to Atom's side, "Thank you for your timely arrival, Sir. I have several documents for you to look at. And, of course, we shall have to discuss repairs here at some point soon."

The immediate transition back to business as usual was Sstala's part of the plan. She figured that the casual return to normalcy would be reassuring and set the tone for what those not in the know could expect. De'vi soothed a few of her girls and approached the throne as well, Suunri joining her on the way.

"And now, the real work begins," Suunri muttered. "Simple as simple-… Oh, bother. Now? Really?"

Looking for what caught Suunri's attention, De'vi saw Ave the Hutt slithering up to the throne. He was trying to hold himself regally but flinched at every corpse in sight. Not even De'vi and her girls did that… Suunri was right. His brand of trouble was visible from miles away.

"Ah, Atom! Thank you for warming my throne-!" Ave began pompously.

"Don't fucking start with me now, Hutt," Atom growled, the sound so low and intimidating that Ave visibly quaked. "You have next to no claim. I won mine through violence and Force. I don't have an ounce of patience to spare for you at this moment. So sit. The fuck. Back. Down."

"… O-Of course, mi-… milord…" From the way Ave winced, saying that title almost physically hurt him.

"Hmm," Suunri hummed in a low voice as she and De'vi arrived beside the throne. "I suppose I was wrong about him meeting the same fate as Zorba tonight. I hope you know that this is just delaying the inevitable, Atom."

"Hn," Atom answered with a grunt, turning back to Sstala. "Documents? Damages? Soon. But later. First, someone needs to tell me where the fuck the deposed slug kept his slave controls so I can fucking obliterate them. I've broken a few chains already tonight. Let's up that streak."

… While De'vi still didn't wish to start her freedom with sexual repayment, she'd be hard-pressed to admit that she didn't swoon a bit then and there. And she knew some of her girls would be just falling over themselves to thank him for their freedom in that way. It seemed that even with newfound freedom, the Twi'lek harems would still have good cause to exist…