Private Bounties Bounties and...More bounties: (Battle Near The Veil) Location: Nar Shadda

[Mann Dawncaster]

Ghost flew backward, crashing into a wall of conduits.

Alarms from nearby buildings began flashing—unauthorized combat activity detected.

 

[Andrew Lonek]

Blood streamed from Lonek's mouth beneath the helmet—his lip split.

 

[Mann Dawncaster]

GHOST (wiping his jaw under the mask):
"Not bad, mech-boy."

He stood—slower this time. Bruised. One blade crackling, the other snapped in half.

 

[Andrew Lonek]

LONEK (low, growling):
"You're going to tell me who put the bounty on my head. Or I take your spine as a receipt."

 

[Mann Dawncaster]

Ghost smirked under the visor.

GHOST:
"You'd need both arms to pull that off. And you're not leaving here with either."

 

[Andrew Lonek]

Round two. Flesh and alloy. Speed and fury.

A battle not of survival—but dominance.​

 

[Andrew Lonek]

Fat droplets hit the scorched rooftop, steam still rising from the earlier missile impacts. Sparks danced in the air like dying fireflies.

Andrew Lonek and Ghost were locked in brutal, close-quarters combat—neither giving ground, neither gaining it.

CLANG—CRACK—WHIRR—

Lonek's gauntlet collided with Ghost's chest, sending him sliding back. But Ghost twisted and sprang forward again, his remaining shock-blade slashing toward Lonek's throat—only to be deflected by a kinetic shoulder shield.

They circled.

Breathing harder. Slower now. Calculating.

LONEK (breath sharp):
"You're not bad."​

 

[Mann Dawncaster]

GHOST (panting):
"You're worse than the files said."

 

[Andrew Lonek]

They moved again.

Lonek's helmet flashed warning signs—suit power dipping, systems overheating from strain. Every system was being pushed into redline territory.

 

[Mann Dawncaster]

Ghost landed a spinning heel kick that sent Lonek crashing into a vent tower. It buckled, sparks flying.

As Lonek rose to one knee, armor hissing from stress—

Ghost reached behind his back and pulled a black cylinder no bigger than a pen.

GHOST (murmuring):

"Night-night."

He tossed it forward underhanded.

 

[Andrew Lonek]

Lonek's HUD instantly recognized the signature—

"EMP DEVICE – UNSTABLE CORE – DEFENSE DISABLED"

BOOM!

A shockwave of blue-white energy exploded outward like a rippling dome. For an instant, everything flickered in strobing light.

Lonek's suit froze.

The glow of his arc core dimmed.

A high-pitched whine filled his ears as his helmet interface collapsed into static. One by one, systems dropped offline:
​

PRIMARY STABILIZERS – OFFLINE
ARMOR LOCKS – ENGAGED
COMMS – OFFLINE
WEAPON SYSTEMS – OFFLINE
VISUAL INTERFACE – ERROR​

He dropped to one knee, breathing hard inside the dead metal, stuck inside his own war-machine.

LONEK (growling):
"Son of a—"

But when he looked up—

Ghost was gone.

No sound. No trace. Only the faint glimmer of a grappling line swaying on a far scaffold, and the gentle blinking of a vanishing thermal scrambler left behind.

Ghost had disappeared into the underbelly of Nar Shaddaa, likely bleeding, but victorious in his temporary win.

Lonek slowly rose, suit stuttering back to life on residual power. Just enough to stand. To move.

Then—
His helmet flickered once, just barely enough to regain visuals and external audio. From down below, the echo of sirens and swoop bikes scattering.

The Diamond Eights were gone.

Lonek (to himself):
"Cowards always run when the lights get hot."

He looked up to the swirling clouds, eyes narrowing behind the cracked HUD glass. His entire body ached. The suit was damaged but usable. Flight was possible—barely.

His voice cut through static as he reactivated short-range comms.

LONEK:
"Route me back to Gilded Veil."

SUIT A.I.:
"Power reserves at 8%. Flight possible. Distance: 2.9 miles."

LONEK:
"She better be okay."

With a sputter and violent jerk, the repulsors reignited, unstable but holding.

Lonek took off into the sky, limping through the clouds like a wounded star.

His mind churned—not just from the fight, but the trap. The bounty. The gang's sudden interest in spice. And Ghost—that bastard had been prepared. Someone had planned this. Someone close to the underworld.

But none of it mattered more than her.

Sommer.

She was alone now, likely unaware of the full scope of what was closing in.

And as Lonek streaked over the neon wasteland of Nar Shaddaa toward the Gilded Veil, lightning behind him and blood in his mouth, one thing was certain:

This wasn't over.
It had only just begun.​

 

[Mann Dawncaster]

GHOST sat on the edge of a collapsed cargo hauler, tending to a deep gash in his right shoulder—Lonek's repulsor had bitten through his armor.

He worked silently. Surgically.

Removing shards of plating with a vibro-pick, cauterizing the wound with a handheld plasma tool. No grunts. No complaints. Just a hiss of burning flesh.

The moment the tool was clipped back to his belt, he tapped the side of his helmet. The visor slid down, glowing again with eerie, pale blue.

He opened a secure, deadwave channel.

The kind that didn't leave echoes.

GHOST:
"Phase One failed. Lonek survived."

A pause. No name, no ID. Just static, then a digitized, distorted voice.

UNKNOWN CONTACT (filtered):
"Unfortunate. The client was told you were absolute."

GHOST (dryly):
"I was hired to neutralize. Not perform miracles in a thunderstorm against a one-man arsenal."

The contact said nothing.

Ghost's fingers flexed, armored joints clicking. He looked across the bay toward a cracked monitor. On the screen: a still image pulled from Lonek's helmet feed before the EMP hit.

A frame showing a woman.

Poised. Powerful. Beautiful.

Sommer Dai.

GHOST:
"Lonek's suit is offline. He'll limp, but he'll live."

He leaned forward slowly, voice dropping in pitch.

GHOST (murmuring):
"But maybe I don't need him."

He tapped a command on his bracer. The screen changed. A blueprint of a high-rise structure appeared.

THE GILDED VEIL.

Complete with floor levels, ventilation paths, rooftop access points.

UNKNOWN CONTACT:
"Target deviation is not approved. Lonek is the asset."

GHOST (interrupting):
"She matters to him. You saw how fast he flew back. Risked the whole city getting cooked just to reach her."

He zoomed in on the club's lounge level.

GHOST:
"I take her, he bleeds. He comes running. And this time, I don't miss."

A moment of silence.

Then—

UNKNOWN CONTACT:
"…Permission pending. Hold position. Await further instruction."

Ghost exhaled slowly and ended the call.

His visor dimmed. He sat in the dark again, the only sound the drip of leaking fluid somewhere overhead.

GHOST (to himself):
"Let's see how strong the legend is... when his heart's on the line."

He stood, disappearing into the shadows of the sublevel, the location of the Gilded Veil burning bright in his HUD.

And Sommer Dai... just became his next objective.