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

[Andrew Lonek]

The skyline of Nar Shaddaa crackled with neon arteries, streaking rain distorting the blood-orange glow of the city's veins. Inside the high-tech nerve center of the Obsidian Spire, Andrew Lonek stood in front of a multi-surface data wall, his eyes sharp behind a silver HUD lens. Surveillance feeds danced across the screen like restless ghosts.


A comm channel pinged.


:: Incoming encrypted message – Priority Flagged: "Diamond Eights" ::


Lonek tapped a finger mid-air, decrypting the message. A gruff voice came through, deliberate and laced with street-earned confidence.


VOICE (V.O.):
"Name's Jakob Lowman. We're three clicks out from Gilded Veil. Ain't here to stir Sommer's pot—we just want a word, man-to-man. Got no beef. Not yet."


Andrew didn't answer right away. His fingers flexed. He'd tangled with swoop gangs before—but Jakob's name rang out from old files. Leader of the Diamond Eights, a gang with a wild rep... but lately? Rumors whispered they'd been cleaning up. Going "legit." Still. No one just asks for Andrew Lonek unless they're baiting the line.


He triggered a background scan on the comm origin.


LONEK (to himself):
"Three miles out. That's either stupid confidence… or an ambush."


He opened a side feed. Interior views of Sommer's club—The Gilded Veil—buzzed with movement. Glamour, danger, shadows. He knew Sommer could handle herself. Still… his gut twisted.


Another ping. A photo attachment.


Jakob Lowman, leaning on his swoop, flanked by gang members. Harmless-looking—on purpose. But tucked just to the side, half-shadowed behind the group, was a tall, fully armored figure. No face. No insignia.


Lonek zoomed. A flicker of recognition hit. Chilled his bones.


Mann Dawncaster .


Codename: GHOST .


A freelance enforcer. A bounty hunter with a flawless record. Known for surgical strikes and vanishing without trace. Some said he wasn't even real. Others whispered he used to be a Republic spec-ops ghost. Either way, Lonek knew one thing:


If Ghost was nearby…


This wasn't a talk.


It was a setup.


And Andrew Lonek's bounty had finally outpriced his caution.


LONEK (quietly):
"Sommer… you'd better lock your doors."

The encrypted message still flickered on the central holo-display, the words "No beef. Not yet." hanging in the air like a half-smoked threat. Andrew Lonek stood in tense stillness for a beat, jaw tight, the hum of the city outside like a low warning drum in his ears.


He moved.


Swiftly, precisely.


Fingers danced across the air-screen. Multiple protocols came online.


LONEK:
"Activate proximity sonar grid—radius five miles. Passive scan only. Flag any movement patterns inconsistent with local traffic."


:: Sonar array priming… scanning… ::


A wireframe map of Nar Shaddaa's west industrial district bloomed to life in front of him. From the elevated perch of his tower, it extended in all directions—a glowing net of pulse-signatures, artificial constructs, lifeforms, and speeders.


Blips lit up near the Gilded Veil—hoverbikes idling along a broken skyway, exactly where Jakob Lowman claimed to be. Seven total heat signatures.


No weapons were raised.


No aggressive pings.


But something was… off.


He zoomed in.


Six of the biosigns matched standard humanoid patterns. But the seventh? Cold. Masked. The signature barely registered.


That wasn't human.


That was GHOST.


Andrew exhaled slowly, eyes narrowing.


He turned from the screen and crossed to a high-tech weapons locker built seamlessly into the wall. With a palm scan and retinal flash, it hissed open, revealing its arsenal.


His armor was there—sleek, dark alloy laced with cortosis-thread. A blend of modern tech and ancient warcraft. He stripped out of his tailored shirt, slipping into the protective shell with practiced ease. The chestpiece sealed with a sharp hiss.


LONEK (to himself):
"If Ghost's involved… they're not here to talk. They're here to collect."


He holstered his dual plasma pistols into his side braces—Dorian-Hex Splitters, tuned for both organics and droids. Then, a hidden drawer slid open beneath the locker. He pulled out a matte-black case and opened it.


Inside: a single curved vibroblade.


The hilt was engraved in Mandalorian. A gift from someone​

 

[Andrew Lonek]

:: SONAR UPDATE – unidentified thermal ping, elevated perch. Two miles north. Not part of initial cluster. ::

Lonek's head jerked toward the screen.

LONEK:
"They've got overwatch…"

He moved to the corner of the room and tapped a small orb embedded in the wall—a hidden cache revealed itself, holding four mini-drones. He activated them with a voice command.

LONEK:
"Scout pattern Delta-6. Silent flight. Keep high altitude. I want full tracking on anyone moving within two klicks of me after I leave this tower. Anything stealth-class, tag it in red."

The drones zipped out of a narrow vent like black insects into the rainy skyline.

He stepped back, scanning the sonar one last time.

Still seven by the bikes. But now three new heat signatures along elevated angles, and one shadow-vanishing pulse that was too fast for a normal merc.

GHOST wasn't alone.

He walked to the elevator, fingers tapping the side of his bracer, sending a coded ping to the Veil.

LONEK:
"Sommer. Lock down your perimeter. Bring your Aegis team in tight. We've got wolves near the garden."

The elevator doors opened.

Andrew stepped inside.

As they closed around him, the lights dimmed, and the tower's voice echoed low:

:: Good luck, Commander. ::

LONEK:
"I don't believe in luck."

The elevator dropped silently toward the undercity.

He was already in the trap.

But the Diamond Eights forgot one thing:

Andrew Lonek always sets his own board.

 

[Andrew Lonek]

Rain hammered down on the towering cityscape of Nar Shaddaa, turning neon lights into bleeding streaks across the skyline. The rooftops hissed with steam vents and the buzz of low-flying speeders—but above them, a sudden roar broke through the storm.

WHOOSH!

A figure launched upward from the balcony of the Obsidian Spire, a kinetic blur wrapped in burning blue repulsors. Andrew Lonek, armored head to toe in a sleek, high-tech exo-suit of his own design, rocketed into the sky like a missile dressed for war.

The suit wasn't bulky. It was sleek, angular, forged from black plasteel layered with cortosis mesh and reactive plating. A glowing core pulsed from his chest—cool white-blue—and twin boosters flared at his palms and boots.

HUD elements swept across his helmet visor: thermal scans, aerial traffic routes, threat indicators, and a pulsating red mark locked on a location just ahead:

SKYBRIDGE SECTOR 47-G.

Rain streaked off his armored shoulders as he angled into a clean arc, adjusting flight vectors mid-air with slight shifts of his hands.

Suddenly—

:: INCOMING TRANSMISSION – SOMMER DAI ::

A small holo-window flickered inside his visor, and Sommer appeared—backlit by the Gilded Veil's deep crimson interior. Her expression was composed but tense, her eyes sharp with calculation.

SOMMER (on vidcam):
"That suit's got style, Lonek. You flying or declaring war?"

LONEK (voice calm):
"Let's just say I'm not going in soft."

He spun mid-air, jetting between two skyscrapers like a bolt of vengeance, a wake of vapor curling behind him.

LONEK:
"Lowman reached out. Says he's not moving on your turf—but he brought backup. Someone with a name that shouldn't be whispered."

SOMMER (frowning):
"Who?"

LONEK:
"Ghost."

There was a moment of silence.

Sommer's voice dropped.

SOMMER:
Mann Dawncaster. They contracted him?

LONEK:
"He doesn't do small-time. If he's here, someone's paying a premium."

He banked hard as he shot past a cargo hauler, wings of rain blasting off his frame. Lightning cracked in the clouds above, framing him like a living weapon.

SOMMER:
"I don't like this. Let me send a strike team."

LONEK (shaking his head):
"No. They're watching me. Watching you. If you react too soon, they'll fold their cards and vanish."

He pulled up into a vertical climb, burst through a layer of low cloud cover, and hovered—high above Nar Shaddaa. Below him, the city looked like a massive circuit board, glowing and alive.

LONEK (quietly):
"I want them to think they have the upper hand. I want Ghost to believe the bounty's close."

SOMMER (clenched):
"And if they're not bluffing?"

LONEK:
"Then I give them a show. And when they come to collect?"

He flexed his gauntlet—the palm glowed, cycling up to a piercing hum.

LONEK (cold):
"They'll learn I don't come quietly."

Sommer leaned in closer on the vidcam. Her voice was low, direct.


SOMMER:
"You come back to me, Lonek. In that suit or in a trail of smoke, I don't care. But come back.
Because if you don't... I won't just burn their turf. I'll burn their names off the stars.Then...I'll create a clone of you from your DNA and kill you myself."

He held her gaze through the screen.

Then nodded once.

LONEK:
"Stay behind the veil. I've got this."

The feed blinked out.

He shifted position, descending through the clouds now, smoke and lightning trailing behind him. The Sector 47-G Skybridge came into view—a jagged line of metal stretching between forgotten towers, a playground for ambushes.

Seven figures.

One stood taller. Still. Waiting.

Ghost.

LONEK (to himself):
"Let's see what this bounty's really worth."

His repulsors flared, angling him down with controlled fury. Like a storm falling from the sky.

 

[Andrew Lonek]

 

[Mann Dawncaster]

The storm chewed the skyline.

Lightning arced in wild veins above the rotted stretch of skybridge, its metal beams rusted and jagged like the ribs of a dead titan. Rain pelted the scene like bullets, but the man at the center of it—GHOST—didn't move.

He didn't blink.

He didn't breathe loudly.

He simply stood there, silent and still, armor painted in void-black matte with no insignia, no markings. His visor glowed with a dim, eerie blue—like a dying star. Underneath, Mann Dawncaster ran the numbers.

He'd been watching Lonek rise from the Obsidian Spire like a comet.

Tracking his flight path.

Measuring his caution.

Calculating his range of fire.

A faint click in his helmet brought up Lonek's most recent public profile—mercenary warlord, ex-special forces, tech magnate. But the real data? It was locked in encrypted files Ghost had paid dearly to decrypt: classified bounty manifests, black-market interest from multiple sectors, an open kill-contract rumored to be backed by a member of the Corporate Sector Authority.


Andrew Lonek was worth nearly 8 million credits. ((According to his intel))
Alive.
But with Ghost? Dead paid just the same.

GHOST (low, to himself):
"Time to see how good you really are."

He knelt slowly, pulling from a hidden compartment beneath the skybridge.

A fist-sized device—circular, with four spindly legs.

Decoy Drone. Model: Manta Series 8. Camouflage-ready. Light-field illusion emitter. One of three.

He placed it carefully onto the slick durasteel floor and activated the boot protocol. The drone's legs extended, silently locking into place.

WHIRRRRRR.

Its emitter flashed, then blinked out. In its place: a holographic projection of Ghost himself, standing perfectly still where he had been. To the untrained eye—and even to advanced HUD scans—the illusion was flawless.

He moved back silently, boots making no sound thanks to tactical dampeners. Behind a rusted pillar, he withdrew the second drone. With a swipe of his wrist, it flared and blinked—projecting another copy of him, standing further back.

Multiple Ghosts.

The final drone he kept.

Not for projection—but for explosive ordnance.
He tapped it twice, priming it with a 5-second remote delay and magnetized its base to a dangling section of the bridge's underframe.

He rose, slipping into a sniper's crawl along the upper beams. Water trickled over his armor. The rain masked all sound.

From here, he could see Jakob Lowman and the other Diamond Eights waiting, laughing, posturing. But they were just noise. He hadn't told Jakob the full plan. He never did.

Lonek would land. He'd assess. Then he'd spot Ghost—but he'd be looking at decoys. When he moved? Ghost would strike from above, using both misdirection and vertical advantage.

He activated a proximity alert as Lonek's signal breached the outer edge of his strike zone.

20 seconds.

Ghost's voice was quiet in the helmet, breath steady.

GHOST (to himself):
"Come on, Lonek. Land proud. Be brave. Be bold."

He reached behind his shoulder and drew his weapon of choice:

A magnetic disruption rifle—silent fire, no recoil, built for penetrating armor systems and shorting out exo-suits.

He lined up the shot.

15 seconds.

His heads-up display marked all three decoys, each locked to movement-response AI—ready to twitch, shift, react. Just enough to make Lonek second-guess. Waste time.

The trap was set.

10 seconds.

Rain fell heavier now.

Ghost steadied his breathing, adjusting the scope.

GHOST (flatly):
"This is just business."

5… 4… 3…

 

[Andrew Lonek]

A blast of blue fire tore through the rain and darkness as Andrew Lonek descended like a god made of thunder and circuitry.

BOOM.

His repulsors flared in reverse just before impact, scattering water and loose metal in all directions. He landed in a crouch, one knee to the rain-slick steel of the bridge, a pulse of light flickering from the chest core of his exo-suit. For a moment, all was still—then the twin shoulder panels slid open, revealing paired micro-turrets that rotated in silent readiness.

Around him, the Diamond Eights shifted—six swoop-gangers, each dressed in layered armor, light tattoos glowing under the stormlight. They weren't ready for a fight. Not yet.

They weren't the problem.

Lonek's HUD locked onto the man standing confidently in the middle of them, arms folded, lips curled in a lazy smirk—

Jakob Lowman.

Tall. Cocky. Sleeves rolled to the elbows to show off old-school gang ink. A few silver rings. Hair slicked back and damp from the rain. He looked like a man who wasn't worried about anything—because he knew something no one else did.

LONEK (calm):
"Lowman. Funny place for a reunion."

LOWMAN (grinning):
"Yeah, well, I didn't bring flowers."

Lonek didn't move closer. His sensors were live, sweeping for Ghost. Nothing definitive. Too much interference from the rain and city clutter.

LONEK:
"I heard you weren't stupid. You're trying to change my mind?"

LOWMAN (shrugging):
"Look, it's not personal. It's never personal."

He stepped forward, boots splashing in the shallow puddles of rain. Behind him, the other Eights spread out—not threatening, not relaxed. Just… ready.

LOWMAN:
"We're moving in. Not on Sommer, not directly. But we want in on the lanes."

LONEK:
"Spice routes."

LOWMAN (nodding):
"There's a new cut moving through the Mid Rim. Black Sun's pushing it, but they're stretched thin. And you—" (he gestures to Lonek) "—you've got the infrastructure. Security, fleets, droids. It's the perfect merger."

Lonek's expression stayed unreadable beneath his visor.

LONEK:
"You want partnership. Or what?"

LOWMAN (cold now):
"We ask for partnership. We take territory. If we must."

A low crack of thunder rolled over the skyline.

LONEK (flatly):
"So that's your play? Shake hands or draw blades?"

LOWMAN:
"You've got the best product in the sector, Lonek. The Veil's protected by you, and word is—" (he smirks) "—you're sitting on something off the books. We know. You know we know. So yeah... we want in."

Lonek's gauntlet twitched, just a half-inch movement. Enough to ping his rear sensors. Still no Ghost.

And then—
A tick in the audio range. Barely perceptible.

His suit parsed it.

[SUPPRESSED ENERGY BUILDUP – 137° AZIMUTH – ABOVE]

Killshot incoming.

LONEK (whispering):
"Found you."

PZZZZT—

A beam of pale blue lightning screamed through the storm, perfectly aimed for the weak-point seam under Lonek's right arm.

But Lonek moved. Not to dodge. Redirect.

His right forearm twisted open, and a reflective pulse shield flared just in time.

KLING!
The shot deflected at an angle, sparking as it struck a drone projection.

The first decoy Ghost shattered in static light.

Lonek's systems screamed.

"SECONDARY SOURCE DETECTED. TRAJECTORY SPLIT."

He launched backward, repulsors flaring, landing near a beam post.

LONEK (shouting):
"Nice trick, Lowman. You gonna hide behind ghosts now?"

LOWMAN (smirking):
"You're worth too much for me to play hero."

Lonek's HUD flicked into manual lock mode, his voice clipped and sharp.

LONEK (to suit):
"Target: Ghost. Elevate grid. Tag real signature. Tag fire origin."

The suit responded in milliseconds. The illusion shimmered.
Upper beam. Real contact. 94 meters.

Lonek didn't hesitate.

He raised his left arm and fired a concussive burst straight at Ghost's sniper perch—

KRAKOOM!

The beam structure exploded outward in a fiery rain of metal and smoke. The decoys scattered. Jakob dove for cover. The Eights scrambled—

And Lonek took to the air again, jetting straight for the real Ghost, cutting through the chaos.

Whatever came next wasn't diplomacy anymore.

It was war.

 

[Mann Dawncaster]

A flaming chunk of the upper beam spiraled down, crashing through scaffolding with the force of a meteor. Rain splattered off the twisted remains. Smoke poured upward in dense columns.

But Ghost wasn't in it.

Not completely.

He had shifted just before Lonek's blast struck—jetpack flaring, body tucked in tight as he vaulted across a nearby support line, grappling wire shooting from his gauntlet and latching to the opposite wall of the industrial sector.

Ghost flew in a lateral swing, controlled and silent despite the chaos. His sniper rifle now folded into a compact configuration on his back. He tapped the side of his helmet, initiating a secondary assault protocol.

GHOST (to himself):
"Lonek's fast. Adaptive. But even a smart beast follows blood when you drip it."

Below him, the battle zone was fracturing.

The Diamond Eights were scattering like rats under floodlights. Sirens wailed in the distance—Nar Shaddaa Sector Authority en route. Red and white lights flashed off damp walls as enforcer-speeders zipped through the lower levels.

LOWMAN (shouting to his crew):
"Scatter! You see black-armored droids, don't even think. Regroup at Slip Tunnel 13!"

He turned once toward the smoke above, half-scowling at the storm, half-smiling in disbelief.

LOWMAN (muttering):
"Son of a queen's not just alive—he's angry."

Then he was gone—vanishing between freight containers and shadow, the others slipping into alleyways and air ducts. One dropped a decoy flare that exploded in a cloud of strobing light, momentarily blinding approaching patrols.

BACK IN THE AIR – MID-LEVEL ROOFTOPS

Ghost touched down on a maintenance platform, kneeling beside a vent tower as he pulled a small case from his belt. He opened it with a flick of his thumb—revealing a web-like device, spindly legs and glowing nodules: a Mag-Leash Trap.

He placed it carefully on the rooftop surface.

GHOST (quietly):
"Lonek's smart. That means he'll pursue."

He pressed a button—beep.

The trap activated.

A low-level energy beacon began pulsing, designed to mimic the bio-signature of an injured merc in active armor—a bait signal. Nearby thermal readings were adjusted with holo-shadows to simulate movement.

A wounded enemy. A sniper who didn't fully escape.

It was the oldest tactic in the hunter's playbook: bleed the trail. Make the prey think the predator was limping.

He pulled back into the shadows, rifle unholstered again, now configured for close-range EMP bursts.

GHOST (over encrypted comm):
"Ghost to primary contact. Phase One complete. Lonek is airborne and tracking. He survived initial engagement. Proceeding to containment point."

A crackle. A voice on the other end, female and metallic.

??? (voice):
"Understood. Do not kill him. Disable. The buyer wants his brain intact."

Ghost exhaled once, annoyed.

GHOST:
"Just tell the buyer they better be rich enough to pay for every ounce of trouble this'll cost."

Behind him, faint red lights flashed as sector drones passed by overhead—narrowly missing his heat signature.

The skies above still rumbled. Wind howled between the broken spires. And in the distance—

A sharp, piercing shriek of Lonek's repulsors tearing through the air.

Ghost crouched low behind rusted piping, hidden, waiting. A predator with perfect stillness.

GHOST (to himself):
"Let's see if the golden boy's pride walks him right into hell."

And down below, the storm of Nar Shaddaa kept grinding…
Unknowing that two of the most dangerous men in the galaxy were about to collide again.

 

[Andrew Lonek]

The beacon pulsed softly. Faint blue light blinked from the middle of the rooftop like the heartbeat of a dying machine. It cast long shadows across the broken maintenance deck, wind slicing through the exposed girders like a blade.

Then—BOOM.

Andrew Lonek landed hard, the shockwave of his repulsors splitting the rain around him. He rose to full height, steam lifting off his suit in ghostly tendrils.

His visor swept the area—thermal scans, sonic ping, adaptive camouflage sweep.

Nothing.

Only the bio-signal ahead, faint and flickering.

An injured contact?

LONEK (to suit):
"Scan signal integrity."

SUIT A.I.:
"94% probability of decoy. Unknown origin. Heat pattern is artificial."

LONEK:
"Didn't think he'd be that sloppy."

He stepped forward—cautious, slow. His gauntlet began charging a shock-net, just in case.

Then the platform cracked.

A flicker of movement from above.

 

[Mann Dawncaster]

GHOST dropped like a knife from the sky.

Boots first.

BOOM!
He slammed into Lonek's back, sending the armored titan staggering forward.

 

[Mann Dawncaster]

CLANG!

 

[Mann Dawncaster]

Ghost swept under Lonek's arm and slamming a pulse blade into the back of his knee joint

 

[Andrew Lonek]

Sparks flew—Lonek grunted, twisting and grabbing Ghost mid-spin, hurling him across the platform into a steel pipe stack.

CRASH!

 

[Mann Dawncaster]

Ghost flipped mid-air, skidding back to his feet, one hand raised and his forearm deploying magnetic anchors that latched to the ground.

GHOST:
"Thought you'd be taller."

 

[Andrew Lonek]

Lonek said nothing.

He charged.

CLASH!

Fists met metal.

Lonek's left arm whirled into a kinetic punch

 

[Mann Dawncaster]

Ghost blocked with a reinforced forearm, countered with a roundhouse.

 

[Andrew Lonek]

Lonek absorbed the blow against his chestplate and retaliated with a shockwave burst from his gauntlet, knocking Ghost into the railing.

 

[Mann Dawncaster]

Ghost recovered instantly, flipping backward and landing with a grunt.

He reached behind his back and drew twin shock-blades, humming with violet energy.

GHOST:
"Let's cut the wires and see what bleeds."

 

[Andrew Lonek]

Lonek's shoulder plates folded back, revealing micro-missile pods.

LONEK:
"Fine. You first."

FWOOOM—!

Mini-missiles flew.

 

[Mann Dawncaster]

Ghost dashed—unnaturally fast—his armor engaging blink-boosters that flickered him out of view for brief bursts.

Missiles exploded across the rooftop in bursts of fire and smoke—but Ghost emerged from the chaos, a blur of motion, blades slashing across Lonek's chestplate with a metallic scream.

 

[Andrew Lonek]

Lonek reeled back—but not outmatched.

He grabbed Ghost's wrist mid-swing and twisted, sending his attacker tumbling—then launched his repulsor blast directly into Ghost's torso at point-blank.

BOOOOOM!