Private Definitely Not a Trap

[Devin Virell]

Acier Moonbound

​

The CR90 thrummed like a beast around him, and the ship’s hangar smelled of coolant. That scent seemed to cling to the area no matter how often the crew scrubbed the place down. Tools clattered, and somewhere nearby, a mechanic cursed under his breath as a coil sparked.

Devin stood near his locker, the thin durasteel door groaning as it was opened. Inside.. there wasn’t much. Just a few personal scraps and the jacket he’d been threatening to replace if he ever had the credits. Cargo pants, scuffed boots, and that fething jacket now shrugged over his shoulders. Luckily, it looked worn enough to pass for something you’d see in Worlport’s underbelly. Truth was, it was the nicest thing he owned, and at least it passed for stylish when zipped halfway.

A ration bar. A folded datapad, a small toolkit he knew better than to travel without. Then, with a more practiced motion, he tucked a blaster into the inside pocket. A slugthrower, rebellious in its own right these days. The weight pressed against his ribs, familiar, reassuring.. how he imagined a lightsaber must feel for a Jedi

The locker door had a cracked mirror bolted to the inside, a jagged line running across it. He leaned in anyway, running a hand through his hair, nudging a few strands into place like it mattered. Maybe it didn’t, at least not out here, but in a way, it was a ritual, a reminder he was still himself, not just another cog in the Rebellion. Mission details relayed in his head as he shut the locker.

A Rebel team had gone dark after spotting Imperial movements in Worlport. No follow‑up, no extraction.. just silence. He didn’t know the exact reason, but now it was his turn to step into the shadows and dig around.

Walking across the hangar, his booted echoed against the dark. The armed transport shuttle beckoned him forth. He leaned against one of the support struts, arms folded, eyes scanning about.

Somewhere on this ship was the Jedi he’d read about in the report. Devin was still getting used to working alongside these mystics with their glowing swords, whispering chit to themselves like they were in on some kind of big secret. But orders were orders, and if the brass thought pairing him with a Jedi was the way to crack this mission, then so be it. If he were lucky, maybe it’d be someone less pretentious than the blueberry diplomat, Malora Varis. To be fair, he imagined she could turn a cantina into a concert hall, her talk of the Force always sounding like another song waiting to be played.

At the far end of the hangar, beyond the viewport, was Ord Mantell. The underworld there would be a mess for most, but he figured it might feel oddly familiar. Places like that had their own rhythm, their own rules, and he’d grown up in that atmosphere long before ever learning to fly.

​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Ord Mantell

Equipment:
Field Gear | Lightsaber | Tic

The hangar light caught hard on the scar across Ace's cheek, a faint white slash that didn't look half as old as it felt. He adjusted the strap across his chestplate and kept his eyes forward, Tic's claws clicked faintly against his shoulder plating as the droid leaned, photoreceptor flaring with his usual nervous buzz.​

​

"Easy." Ace muttered under his breath, tone dry but not unkind. The little BD-unit settled, still humming faintly.​

​

Beyond the viewport, Ord Mantell turned slow under the shuttle's shadow. Ace hadn't set foot there in eight months. Strange to think back to the person he'd been then - restless, lost, scared. A lot had shifted since. Mainly himself.​

​

His gaze slid across the hangar until it landed on the man by the shuttle strut. He was as about as old as he expected. Seemed like he was exclusively working with people his age within the Path. Funny. Tattoos curled at his collar, and his shoulders were set like someone used to putting on some kind of front. The kind of posture Ace recognized - street kid polish, sharpened by uniform discipline. It was something you couldn't shake easily.​

​

Didn't know much about him, 'cept he was a pilot. Ace wondered if he knew or was at least familiar with Michael Angellus then. Continuing his way across the deck, he finally closed the distance, stopping a few steps short.​

​

"Your face might be more intense than mine." His tone was dry as always, but steady.​

​

Tic chirped a garbled greeting, tilting its head as though weighing the pilot. Ace let the sound hang in the air for a moment before introducing himself.​

​

"Name's Ace." ​

​

Following it up with a nod, he brushed past and climbed the shuttle's ramp. Tic hopped from his shoulder onto the nearest console, scanning the flickering lights with a curious warble. Ace then dropped into one of the crash seats, eyes folding over his chest. He didn't look back to see if Devin followed, just spoke plainly into the hum of the ship powering up:​

​

"Missing rebels, huh?"​

​

Devin Virell ​

 

[Devin Virell]

Acier Moonbound

​

His attention was drawn first to the small droid perched upon the Jedi's shoulders. Slowly, his gaze slid upward, noting the steady way the man carried himself.

The pilot’s expression betrayed the amusement from his comment.

"Devin," he returned simply, the word carrying just enough weight for acknowledgement.

A few seconds later, he followed, unhurried, boots ringing against durasteel.

Halfway up the ramp, his shoulders rolled, neck cracking with a satisfying pop. Ace’s voice drifted back, but he let the words hang a moment longer. Instead, he strode forward until the cockpit swallowed him entirely. Devin slid into the pilot’s chair, one hand crushing the console as though he were here to claim it. The seat fit his body, but it felt nothing like the embrace of his X-Wing. The absence of helmet, gloves, flight suit.. it made him feel oddly exposed.

Or like being naked against the wind?

Probably something his astromech would've chirped had it been present.

Flying was in the blood, but without those trappings, it always felt like stepping into someone else's skin. Every time..

In a practiced rhythm, toggles began flipping. Repulsorlifts hummed to life. Sunlight engines began cycling. Green indicators flickered across the panels.

He leaned into the comms. “Control, this is Shuttle Shadow-Two. Requesting clearance for departure. Systems green.”

For a moment, everything was running smoothly.

Then the cockpit lights flickered once.

Twice..

..and cut out.

The hum died, leaving only silence

Devin exhaled through his nose. He wasn’t surprised. He’d been here before, but no one ever listened to Sky Rat. Making a hammer fist, he brought it down on the console. Not violently, but firm.

The lights returned, and the ship hummed as though nothing had ever happened. Leaning back, one hand on the yoke, the faintest smirk flashed.

“She just needed a little encouragement sometimes.”

The comms crackled as the controller’s voice cut through. “Shuttle Shadow-Two, you are cleared for departure."

Drawing in a breath through his teeth, he eased the throttle forward. The transport shuttle shuddered, lifting from the deck, vibrations steadying, comforting even. With a smooth pull he guided her forward.

Once engaging the main thrusters, they crossed that thin veil and into the stars.

The nose was angled for Ord Mantell while tapping a sequence into the nav-computer. With the course locked in, the display began flickering.

The shuttle surged ahead.

Even from orbit he could see the glow of city lights.

Feels like I’m coming home..

“Yeah, a team was posted up in Worlport. They were tracking Imperial troop movements, nothing out of the ordinary at first. Then they pushed through a warning, like they’d seen something they weren’t supposed to. No follow‑up.. no extraction signal. Just silence.”

Shifting in the chair, one hand tapped absently against the throttle.

“Command traced their last transmission to some warehouse in the underbelly. That’s where we’re headed. Could be they’re holed up.. could be they’re already gone. Either way, we’re supposed to dig in, find out what happened.”

His brows drew together, for the next line felt so absurd it could’ve been squad banter. “If the Imps are moving something through there, we shut it down before it spreads.”

Ord Mantell grew sharper with every second that passed.

“The warehouse is in Worlport’s underbelly. Figures.”

I guess nothing good ever comes out of a place that smells like rust and spice..

The line on his mouth widened. "I've read your file," he drawled, "it suggested you might find peace in whispering to rocks." He paused long enough to flip another switch. His voice dripped, more curiosity than anything else. “What brought you to the Path?"

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Ord Mantell

Equipment:
Field Gear | Lightsaber | Tic

Ace sat quiet through the rundown, body braced against the shuttle's subtle vibrations as it cut through atmosphere. Tic shifted down from the console, hopping back to perch on his knee with a soft trill. The little droid's head tilted toward Devin as though he understood the mission specs.​

​

He exhaled through his nose, finally leaning forward and gripping the back of the co-pilot's chair as Tic scurried on to his back. Figures, Ord Mantell was a good place to get lost in. Whether by choice was a different story, though.​

​

Devin's jab followed: whispering to rocks. Ace's mouth twitched into a faint smirk.​

​

"Didn't even know we had files." His delivery was flat, but the playfulness was there "If you're whispering to rocks, think you need a sanity check."​

​

Ace glared outside the viewport, silence stretching between the pair for a moment. When he answered Devin's follow-up question, his tone was a little more serious. ​

​

"Valery." It was matter-of-fact, but not without weight "She reached out to me after the Empire hit Coruscant. Wanted to stop keeping my head down and actually do something with the 'gifts' I was born with."​

​

He was silent for a moment, letting his words hang. His dark eyes glanced down, analyzing the lines of his palms as if he could physically see the Force surrounding him. A grin then crept on the corner of his lip.​

​

"Hope your flying's better than your jokes." He said, huffing a laugh. "You're a pilot, right? Know a kid called Michael Angellus? Good guy, real twitchy though."​

​

While Ace didn't directly ask for Devin's story or how he found himself involved with the rebel group. His words were an open invitation.​

​

Devin Virell ​

 

[Devin Virell]

Acier Moonbound

​

It wasn't long before Ord Mantell's expanse was dominating the viewport.

Another glow of civilization, yet a fragile ember in the infinite void of space..

Devin’s lips were motionless, but the spark of mirth was definitely there, especially in the squint of his eyes. His fingers drummed absently on the throttle, keeping a rhythm, as if tallying some type of score.

There hadn't been any files; no real briefing beyond the knowledge that he was to team up with another Force sensitive.

His jaw clenched when Coruscant hovered in the air. An old scar for sure. “Valery,” he breathed out, remembering the face. “We crossed paths once. Took down a distribution center. She’s the kind of person who reminds you why the fight never ends, I suppose.”

The pilot’s expression held steady, at least until the next name floated into conversation. Then it was pierced with warmth. One brow arched, gaze sharpening from recognition. “Yeah,” he drawled lazily, “the guy who’s always scribbling love letters into his diary.” His mouth was twitching as he caught himself. “Hm. It’s rumor territory. But.. yeah, he’s got options. Same squadron. The kind of pilot you want in your corner.. always pulls through.”

The shuttle trembled as it sliced into the atmosphere. Below lay Worlport.. waiting like a bad joke.

“Coruscant,” he said finally, circling back. “That one doesn’t heal. I don’t think anyone walked away from the Empire hitting the Core without ghosts.”

But he wasn’t about to let those memories steer the whole flight. Not a place he wanted to visit right now, no matter how often it surfaced like static on a comm channel.

It was time to shift gears.

Perhaps there was time for another terrible joke or two before reaching the spaceport.

“Tell me something, wizard.” His sight found the Jedi and droid. “These Force.. visions I hear of. Do they ever show you anything useful? Like, I don’t know.. winning sabacc hands..”

He nudged the throttle with a lazy flick. “..or maybe just the view waiting at the spaceport. Lotta traffic down there. Lotta.. distractions.”

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Ord Mantell

Equipment:
Field Gear | Lightsaber | Tic

His lips formed into a smile when Devin spoke of his own history with Valery. What he said definitely sounded like her.

Then, he confirmed he knew Michael too. His 'love diary' comment drew a snicker from Ace, but Devin's further comments about Michael's piloting made him smirk. Ace had never seen his friend fly in action, but Devin confirmed what Ace had already suspected.

In the Force, Ace caught the sharp sting when Devin said Coruscant. The same sting he'd felt when he mentioned it earlier. Ghosts clearly clung to him. But he didn't comment, didn't even shift. Some things were better left alone. But Tic, he trilled softly, like he understood.

The shuttle jolted as it broke atmosphere. Worlport stretched out to the coast in a tangle of domes and spires, smoke bleeding up from the factories to blur the skyline. Streets wound out from Morro Spaceport like they'd been thrown together without a plan.

Devin referring to him as 'wizard' made Ace raise a brow, but he attentively listened to what followed.

"I don't need visions to win sabacc." He didn't elaborate, but his smirk lingered. Ace was a cheat, tending to use the Force to gauge other's thoughts and feelings in order to win.

Tic chirped, almost indignant, and Ace flicked the droid's dome with two fingers. His eyes stayed on Worlport as he spoke again, steady.

"The spaceport, though? Worlport's full of distractions. Rust, spice, fumes, and a knife or blaster if you ain't paying attention. Don't need the Force to tell you that."

He leaned back, scar catching the dim light of the cockpit as his gaze hardened, tone now serious.

"Once we're down there, we find the team. No sticking around. In and out, yeah?"

It wasn't an order, just the kind of wisdom anyone with the same kind of upbringing would recognize. He'd know better than to linger when things are hot.

Devin Virell ​

 

[Devin Virell]

Acier Moonbound

​

Devin sat in the pilot’s chair, just coaxing the throttle. Lights flickered amber, green, one even red. He gave the panel another tap with his hand, and everything evened out.

Their target city came closer by the second. A marble of browns and gray thick with fog. Worlport’s sprawl flickered, neon signs through the haze, and landing pads were stacked.

“Yeah, well,” he drawled, eyes cutting sidelong toward Ace, unconvinced. The smirk tugged wider, and a low chuckle slipped out. “Not everyone gets to peek under the table.”

His gaze fell to the droid once, then again, curiosity pulling despite himself. Maybe the tin can was the one truly keeping score.

There was no need to press it further. Truth was, ever since he’d started flying X‑Wings, he’d come to appreciate even the smallest scraps of conversation. Their lifespans weren’t as short as TIE jockeys, sure, but he never knew when he’d be climbing into that cockpit for the last time.

“Music to my ears. Not the kind of place you hang around unless you’ve got a death wish. We’ll get what we can and burn sky.”

Leaning forward, he guided the shuttle through traffic, fingers tightening around the yoke. For a second it felt like they’d overshoot the pad. But the ship made it, slamming down hard, and upright.

With one final switch flipped, the ramp settled.

Boots carried him accordingly. And at the foot of the ramp, a pair of Zeltron women passed by, their presence a welcome distraction from the chaos consuming his thoughts. Rose-hued skin and enticing curves could fix a lot of the galaxy's problems, he imagined. His gaze lingered, not out of surprise, but in acknowledgment of the duo's allure. A simple nod granted them the attention they desired, maybe even let them know he wasn’t blind.

He’d never been hard to read, never bothered with masks; he said things as they were, his expression usually doing the rest.

So he adjusted his jacket as if it mattered. Nothing like appearing composed in the face of seduction.

“In and out.. fast,” he echoed dryly, pulled straight from earlier.

From a pocket came a datapad, the screen flickering to life. A red marker blinked, and he tilted it so Ace could see. “Sector 12. That’s our mark.” Brows furrowed. “Maps down there.. they have a way of lying. Probably need to feel our way through.”

Though stating the obvious, it grounded him with reality. “And it already feels like everyone’s watching.”

There was no room for paranoia in his voice.

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Ord Mantell

Equipment:
Field Gear | Lightsaber | Tic

Ace followed a step behind as the ramp hissed open, the humid air of Worlport rolling up to meet him. Tic shifted from his shoulder to perch on the back of his chestplate, photoreceptor swiveling toward the Zeltron pair as they passed. The little droid gave a low warble that could've been amusement. Ace just shook his head.

"Uh-huh." He said, tone flat but not humorless. "Lots of distractions."

Surprisingly, he wasn't as phased about the Zeltrons as he expected. Maybe because, currently, he had his eyes for another. That, or the Zeltron women probably weren't even using their pheromones on him.

He glanced at the datapad Devin held out, letting the Force brush over the crowd. Movement, noise, threads of intent - there was nothing sharp, but it was there. He didn't name it, just adjusted his footing, eyes narrowing as he took in the obelisks and colonnades crowding the street ahead.

"Sector 12." He repeated, voice steady. His eyes stayed on the chaos that surrounded them. Maps could lie, people too, he'd learned that early. But the streets? The streets always told the truth, if you knew how to read them.

From the corner of his eye, he caught Devin's stance, the way he carried himself here. Street kid polish under a pilot's jacket. Ace didn't have to say more than a few words for him to get it.

"Okay. We rely on ourselves, then."

With that, Ace moved along toward Sector 12, sliding into the current of Worlport. Noise came from all sides, speeders, the grind of machinery bleeding in from the factories. The air was thick, part salt, part smoke. Arrows pointed left where alleys dead-ended, markers jumped when they passed under archways. The sprawl had grown in layers, one neighborhood bleeding into the next, none of it designed for outsiders to navigate.

Ace let his eyes skim the faces that passed. He felt the current of the crowd through the Force: impatience, the sharp edge of someone in a hurry, the dull hum of gamblers drunk on luck. Reminded him of home, of Bonadan.

A vendor barked at them from a stall, trying to drag their attention toward racks of rusted parts. Ace ignored it before turning to Devin.

"You weren't lying about the map. It's useless." Ace muttered. Then he nodded toward a street where the crowd seemed to move faster "Looks busy over there. What's your read?"

Devin Virell
​

​

 

[Devin Virell]

Acier Moonbound

​

Neon bled through the haze, half the signs appearing cracked, while there were plenty screaming for attention too. Rust clung to everything.. even the air itself. Devin tugged his jacket tighter, not because of any chill, but because it felt like armor against the eyes that were lingering longer than they should’ve.

The only steady thing was his equally worn boots scuffing against the duracrete. Vendors barked in dozens of different tongues. And of all things, of course Devin would catch someone rattling dice in a back alley. It felt closer to home than he wanted to admit. The noise, the stink, too many people in too little space.

He tilted the datapad toward Ace, then lowered it again with a dry snort. “Yeah, you’re right. The map's about as useful as a blaster with no charge..”

After tracking the flow of bodies down the busier street, he angled himself toward that current. “We’ll have more cover there.” His gaze flicked sidelong. “If Sector 12’s anywhere, it’s through there.”

With that he pushed forward, letting the tides swallow him. Along the way, another vendor barked, pushing a tray of rusted parts at him. His brows narrowed, a possible warning, before waving him off. But not before locking eyes with the cloaked figure.

“You know Sector 12?” It was posed nonchalantly, like he was asking for the nearest cantina. His chin jerked toward the east before muttering a series of words that Devin couldn't even begin to process.

“Could mean we’re close.. or in trouble. Maybe both.” Devin murmured as they then moved east.

Just a few strides later, he found a more hesitant rhythm, a slither of caution. He saw a fresh spray of paint smeared across crumbling walls like blood, being layers of gang tags. Each marking screamed of violence and territory.

Just down the road, a cantina beckoned with its noise spilling out into the street. A Twi'lek bouncer, all too typical in stance, leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed.

Booze did have a way of loosening tongues.

With two distinct trails to traverse, he assumed the Jedi had perceived them both as well. Much to his relief, he was also under the impression that his partner in this mission had intelligence outside of holobooks too. A knowing look passed, and the signature smirk that always seemed to linger at the corner of his mouth began to surface once more.

“Which headache you in the mood for?”

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Ord Mantell

Equipment:
Field Gear | Lightsaber | Tic

Ace slipped into the flow beside him, eyes on the bodies cutting through the street ahead. Devin wasn't wrong, thicker crowds meant thicker cover. If Sector 12 was going to swallow anyone, it would be down that current.

The vendor with the tray of rusted parts barely earned a glance. But when Devin's words angled toward the cloaked figure, Ace's gaze followed. The muttered response wasn't language he knew either, but the context clues carried the intent well enough - a shove toward the east, weighted with tension.

Ace didn't comment. He'd grown up around plenty of figures like that: people who knew more than they'd ever say out loud, people who spoke in shrugs and sideways glances. The message was always clear though.

Tic shifted uneasily on his back, trilling a low note that hummed against the back of Ace's chestplate. He lifted a hand to steady the little droid without taking his eyes off the streets ahead.

Gang tags smeared across the next block screamed of fresh violence - territory carved sharp and loud. That path reeked of trouble if you didn't have the tools for it. The cantina's noise, spilling from its door, was another kind of trouble, but you could usually walk away from it if you kept your head down.

Ace let the Force brush over both trails, the gang street sparking with aggression, the cantina humming with greed and drink-heavy bravado.

"Spray paint and turf wars." He muttered "Fighter in me wants to go over there and lean on 'em." He stayed silent for a moment, then his chin lifted toward the cantina. "Tactician in me says inside's just talk and liquor. People get loose, forget who's listening."

He glanced sidelong at Devin. "Headaches either way. But I'll take the one that doesn't put us at risk. Not yet, at least." Adding a wry grin at that last part.

Ace led the way toward the cantina, and when they entered, it felt like he had been consumed. Heat rolled out past the threshold, thick with the smell of cheap liquor, fried spice, and too many bodies pressed close. Neon signs flickered overhead, colors stuttering against walls stained with smoke and grease. Tic trilled as if the vibration of the music crawled in his casing.

He didn't reach for the Force fully, but he let it brush over the room. Greed, frustration, lust, hunger - the usual mix. The place was alive with sound: laughter cut sharp by arguments, the rattle of dice, the slam of glasses against tables. A band of mismatched aliens in the corner wrestled more with tuning than playing, and even their noise had to fight to be heard.

Ace leaned closer to Devin, voice casual. "Let's split up, one of us is bound to find something. You need me, holler."

With that, he moved off the threshold, letting the crowd close in around him.

Devin Virell​

 

[Devin Virell]

Acier Moonbound

​

That half-smirk that was worn like armor. “Yeah,” he muttered back, ”don’t wander too far, wizard. I don’t wanna have to drag a body out from under a table.” The pilot’s words were dry, but a flicker in his amber orbs would’ve betrayed the humor.

Half a step behind, he allowed the Jedi to slip into the crowd first, worn boots carrying him past the threshold.

The cantina hit him like a wave.

The sound came first. Dice rattling, the rhythm too familiar, like a heartbeat, impossible to ignore. Glasses slammed down, liquor spilling and mixing, the laughter that sounded a little too desperate. A Twi’lek’s voice rose in argument, slurred, dangerous, promising a fight. And beneath it all, the band in one corner, clawing for attention.

Next, the sight greeted him. A Rodian already passed out over his drink. Plenty of patrons avoided eye contact. Yet there were plenty with eyes that lingered too, measuring him up.

What bothered Devin the most were the ghosts. Liquor and spice beckoned them forth, dragging him back to the lower levels, back when the Empire felt like nothing more than a bad rumor. The images began surfacing in his mind’s eyes. The stormtroopers flooding streets. Blasterfire echoing.

Fortunately, another dice roll brought him back, but not without a few enticing temptations. Now the liquor called to him, promising to blur away everything he didn’t want to face today. The sabacc table. Risk, thrill, the thought of walking away with more than he came with.. which truthfully, wouldn’t take much. Then there were the strays, the lost souls, much like himself. His gaze always liked catching those, making him feel wanted, even if only for a night.

A slow exhale followed before rolling his shoulders, like it could shake some of the dreadful memories. He knew standing around and staring wasn't going to help, as he’d need to adopt the rhythm here. Splitting up was only going to work if they really looked separated.

His jaw flexed once. “Feth it,” Devin mumbled under his breath. Drifting to the sabacc table, the players didn’t even glance up at him. The buy-in hit a little harder than he wanted to admit, embarrassing even. He tossed a few credits onto the table. Credits he couldn't really afford to lose, but then again, what was new? Back on the Path's ships, he'd grown used to eating whatever trash the mess hall served up, choking down mystery meat and recycled caf.

At least here, there was a chance.

Cards slid across the table, and he leaned back, scanning the faces. A brooding Weequay had a way of making Devin suddenly feel the weight of the slugthrower pressing at his ribs. Beside him was a Devaronian with twitching fingers. And at the far corner was a human with more beard than courage, if he had to guess.

Best to get in their heads first, which meant breaking the awkward silence. "I'm just here to donate," he stated, sweeping over each player. "Figured one of you poor souls deserves a hot meal tonight."

The irony.

Unlike the banter in his Squadron's comms, he didn't hear a single chuckle at the table. Just heavy tension.

While he didn’t know the Force, he did know how to bet on himself. Back at the Academy, hand-to-hand combat drilled the same lesson into him every morning. You just had to trust the process. So that’s exactly what he was going to do.

​

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Ord Mantell

Equipment:
Field Gear | Lightsaber | Tic

Ace drifted off toward the bar, sliding between a pair of bickering Trandoshans until the counter edge met his hands. The bartender, a pale-skinned Aqualish with too many rings on his fingers, gave him the kind of look meant to size up trouble. Ace didn't blink, keeping his usual bored expression.

"Scarif Slush." His tone was flat but casual, like he'd ordered the drink a hundred times before. Which, admittedly, wasn't far from the truth.

The glass came down with a clunk, the sweet scent cutting through the stench of spice and sweat. He took a sip, the cold was a nice counter balance against the heat that clung to the cantina. Tic shifted on his back, trilling disapproval, as if even the droid thought this wasn't the time for sugar and ice.

Ace ignored him. Instead, he let the drink anchor him, gave himself the cover of a man just seeking leisure. From where he leaned, the whole room unfolded: the sabacc table with Devin already drawing stares, a Rodian unconscious over his cup, a pair of dockhands arguing over unpaid debts near the door.

He let the Force skim the room's edges while the slush sweat cold in his hand. The usual mess of emotions rolled in but under it, there was a sharper thread.

"…saw a couple of outsiders down Twelve. Didn't stick around to see what happened."

"…place has been crawling ever since. Some kind of move going on in the warehouses…"

The rest was swallowed by a shout across the cantina and the smashing of a glass. The thread was snapped, lost to the noise.

Ace kept his eyes on the glass, the frost stinging against his lip as he drank. Outsiders. Sector Twelve. Warehouses. It wasn't enough to go off, not just yet. Then, his gaze shifted to the sabacc table, to Devin. Maybe, hopefully, he'd learn something that would paint the full picture.

Tic shifted uneasily on his back, trilling sharp before settling again. Ace stilled him with a hand, eyes flicking across the room.

Ace muttered low into his drink, more to himself than anyone:

"Easy. He'll come through."

Devin Virell ​

 

[Devin Virell]

Acier Moonbound

​

Time passed, another round of cards sliding into his hand. If he were to guess, half an hour or so had passed. Through it all, the entire cantina stank of spice and sweat. Even the table was disgusting, like it hadn’t been cleaned since the Clone Wars. With an exhale he leaned back in the chair. And more than once now, he reminded himself that he wasn’t just here to play.

The Weequay across from him grunted as he eyed his cards. The Devaronian’s fingers were still twitching like they were itching for a fight. The bearded human tried to look calm, but his damn knee bounced under the table, rattling chips. By the third time, Devin was quite irked.

The pilot smirked, tossing another credit into the pot.

“I just need enough for a decent drink and maybe a room without mold.”

The Devaronian snorted. “Then you’re in the wrong city, boy.”

“Story of my life,” Devin fired back, eyes flicking to the cards as he drew. The numbers weren’t great. In fact, they were terrible.

But sabacc wasn’t about the cards..

It was about the people.

The Weequay leaned forward. “You talk too much.”

Devin grinned, pearly white teeth flashing. “That’s what my old CO said. Just before he promoted me.” He let the line hang. “Speaking of promotions.. heard them Imps are moving something through the warehouses. Sounds like the kind of job that pays better than this sorry table.”

The human’s knee suddenly stopped bouncing.

That was all he needed.

He raised the bet. Another chip forward. Another potential pang of regret. “C’mon, don’t leave me hanging. You all look like the type who knows where the real credits are flowing.”

The Devaronian chuckled, shaking his head. “All I know is you’re about to lose yourself.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time,” Devin muttered. A card was tossed down, and he made sure it slapped the surface, like frustration was poking through.

The table laughed,

Then, the human finally spoke.

“Sector Twelve’s crawling. Not just Imps. Gangs too. Worst place to be right now.” He said it like a warning, but his eyes betrayed that of someone who’d seen it firsthand already. He also looked like someone who’d been strung out on spice and hadn’t slept in days.

Devin leaned back, feigning disinterest the same way he feigned having a terrible hand. Felt like the biggest win of his life, if he were being honest. Hot meals for an entire week.

Rolling a chip across his knuckles, he tried to pretend like hadn’t just been handed the key to the mission.

“Sector Twelve huh? Well, which way’s a poor spacer like me supposed to walk if he doesn’t want to end up in a gutter?”

The Devaronian laughed, flashing his sharp teeth. “East.. Past the spice dens. You’ll smell it before you see it. Just keep walking til the neon no longer exists. Then you’re there.”

After tossing the final card down, Devin raked the pile of chips in.

“Guess the Force really is with me,” he quipped, sliding them into his jacket pocket. They were heavy.

Shoving back in his chair, he noticed the Weequay mirror him. The motion was quick, too quick, a hand dipping toward the holster at his side.

Devin didn’t even have to think; he just moved. A heartbeat later, he was still rising, slugthrower leveled, barrel an inch away from the Weequay’s forehead. The hammer clicking back was sharper than any other noise in the establishment.

“Try me,” he said, voice low.

It was the boldest bluff he’d ever thrown too. He didn’t want the figure to try. Truth was, he’d have been game to connect a cross and test the jaw, to see if it were made of glass. But killing outright? That didn’t sit right. He was a lot of things.. a murderer wasn’t one of them.

Slowly, walking backwards, his eyes flicked across the cantina.

Too many shadows.. a lot of hands near belts.. too many eyes watching. Chances were, the Jedi already saw him. But he needed to be sure. His voice cut across the cantina like a blaster bolt. “Ace!” Not once did he lower the gun as he drew close to the door. “I think it’s time to head east!”

The heat pressed in. Another shadow, this one in the corner of his eye, suggesting lekkus. Devin spun on his heel, pistol snapping up between the Twi’lek bouncer's eyes. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” His grin was thin. “Won ‘em fair."

Then, he shoved himself outside.

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Ord Mantell

Equipment:
Field Gear | Lightsaber | Tic

Ace drifted from the bar once the drink was half-gone, keeping to the edges where the lights flickered low. He moved slow, reaching out with the Force again, it hum low in his chest. Breaching the surrounding conversations otherwise muffled by the thrum of music.

"…Imperials been paying off the dock crews again. Midnight runs, no manifests."

"…heard the shipments aren't coming from Mantell, they're leaving. Whole sectors of cargo just vanish."

"…someone said they found one of those crates cracked open. Whatever was inside wasn't tech. Or at least, not the kind we use."

The rest blurred, rumor layered over rumor, half-truths swallowed by the noise - but the pattern was there. Whatever was happening in Sector Twelve wasn't just patrols or spice. It was movement. Extraction.

Tic trilled quietly from his perch on Ace's back, photoreceptor darting between tables. Ace reached over his shoulder giving a small, wordless but reassuring tap against the droid's head casing.

He rounded a column near the sabacc tables, catching Devin in his periphery. The pilot's posture was relaxed, but Ace could feel the charge around the table tightening. People's emotions spiked: greed, irritation, and then the taste of intent.

Then the ripple hit. A surge of adrenaline. Even before Devin's voice cut through the cantina, Ace was already moving. Tic's photoreceptor flared, a nervous pulse of light against the back of his chestplate. The Force rippled again, catching every beat of fear, surprise, and excitement in the room.

Ace didn't rush, he simply wove through the crowd, the noise breaking around him in small rings. By the time he reached the door, Devin already had the Weequay locked under his aim and a dozen new problems watching closely.

The hum of a lightsaber split the noise into silence. Ace stood behind him, blade angled low, blue light cutting a line across the cantina floor. He didn't say anything. It was a warning, and a reminder that Devin wasn't alone.

The silence that followed wasn't fear so much as calculation. Everyone in the room was deciding whether they valued their limbs. The Twi'lek bouncer took a single step back. Knowing that engaging with both Devin and Ace wasn't worth it in the long run.

When Devin shoved through the door, Ace followed, the blade dimming to nothing as the latch clamped shut behind them. Outside, the air hit thick, neon signs pulsed and flickered east, the direction Devin had yelled.

Ace fell into stride beside him. "Heard talk about Imperials paying off dock crews. Crates going out under cover of night. No manifests, no records, no one asking questions. Someone cracked one open, whatever's inside, it isn't standard cargo."

Tic trilled, restless again, the photoreceptor flashing faint blue. Ace steadied him with a touch, gaze still forward. His dark eyes flicked toward the stretch of alleys where the neon lights began to dim.

"Other than heading east..." He asked evenly "What else did you get out of them?"

Devin Virell ​

 

[Devin Virell]

Acier Moonbound

​

A pistol cocked and ready, the sizzle of a humming lightsaber, promised a smooth exit. What made it even sweeter, his partner wasn’t snapping his head over the shoulder every few seconds, nor filling the silence with that nervous chatter. He simply asked the right question, knowing what mattered and what did not. That was pretty rare. Paranoia had a way of being contagious, and he couldn’t stand that kind of energy around him.

Several strides later and the slugthrower was concealed beneath the folds of his jacket. “What else did I get? A week’s worth of hot meals, if you’re asking about the pot.”

The grin faded. “Other than going east?” he echoed, “they’re spooked. Not just Imps out there either, gangs too. Apparently, the whole sector’s crawling. One of ‘em swore the spice dens are just the appetizer. Past that, the neon dies.. and you’re in the dark. I guess that’s where the real party starts. So yeah, east into a gutter full of vibroshivs and who knows what else.”

The words came easy, but the rest didn’t. Not at first. Every step they took away from the spaceport felt heavier. The ship behind them wasn’t just durasteel.. it was escape, last resort, the one guarantee off this cursed rock.

The streets pressed in.

Spice smoke began curling from alleys.

Perhaps this was the appetizer presenting itself..

“Not standard cargo.. perfect. Could be spice, could be weapons, could be some crazy Sith cursed gizmo that eats faces. I love surprises.”

Part of him hated how familiar it all felt, echoes of the past. But then he remembered whispering promises to himself back then, trying to manifest a better life out of nothing more than hunger.

So now he caught himself doing the same thing.

Devin's gaze pierced the horizon, eyes sharpening like stars. Still a street rat trying to bend the galaxy to his will.

“We’ll be good,” he said, almost to himself, planting that seed between soul and sound, but loud enough for Ace to hear.

In that breath, he clung to belief.

Then, he glanced sidelong at the Jedi for a moment. Humor was slowly creeping back in. One of the credit chips flashed as it rolled across his knuckles again, but it wasn’t to show off.

A team of two, in some ways, wasn’t much different than flying with a whole squadron. One blink and your fighter was blown to pieces. And well, that never left much reason to start saving credits. What he did know for certain was that life always ran smoother when the whole squad ate.

The chip vanished into his pocket and he let out a long exhale, lacing both hands behind his head. Loose, lazy posture, like he wasn't walking into a funeral march. Devin’s smirk finally fell back into place. “We’ll just knock out whatever needs doing, and I’m thinking a couple nerf steaks on the way back to the ol’ blockade runner.”

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Ord Mantell

Equipment:
Field Gear | Lightsaber | Tic

Ace didn't laugh, but the corner of his mouth twitched. "You sound way too calm for someone walking into a gutter full of vibroshivs." He said, tone dry but not disapproving. "Guess that's how you make it out of places like this."​

​

The glow from the last line of neon faded behind them. Worlport's nightlife bled into the background. Warehouses stacked tight, walls coated in soot, the stench of spice filling the air. The hum of the city dulled here; only the low groan of machinery filled the silence.​

​

Tic shifted on his back, trilling a quiet warning. Ace followed it with his eyes, a pair of figures hunched near a metal gate, their movements sharp, rehearsed. One passed something small to the other. Credits, maybe. Or data. Either way, it reeked of a shady business deal.​

​

"Whoever's paying the Imps is probably not far from here." He said quietly.​

​

Then he glanced at Devin, voice steady. "Keep your eyes open for symbols, Flyboy. Gang tags, house marks, anything that repeats."​

​

Ace's hand brushed the hilt at his side before sliding it away again. "And when we're done, I'll take you up on that nerf steak. But you're buying. You've got all the winnings." He added, faint amusement in his tone.​

​

The ashen-haired rebel was moving again, carefully, cautiously. He kept at the edge of the street where the lamps buzzed weakest. The figures murmured to each other, not words he could make out. Then one of them turned, scanning the street before disappearing into a nearby alley. The other lingered, gloved hand tapping an impatient rhythm on the gate before slipping away in the opposite direction.​

​

When they were gone, Ace crossed the street and Tic hopped from his back, scanning the wall nearest to the metal gte. Layers of old paint caught the droid's light, gang tags bleeding over one another, some half-washed by rain, others freshly drawn. Beneath the color and grime, a pattern repeated: crude circles cut with two slashes.​

​

Ace folded his arms, hooking two of his fingers to his chin. Then he leaned over toward Devin "Looks like a lead."​

​

Whoever painted it had done so fast, more a signal than a mark. He glanced down the narrow lane where the second figure had vanished. The smell of spice was heavier there, riding the damp air. Lights farther down pulsed red through the haze, the ones you'd see from freight sensors or generators still running on low power.​

​

"I really hate investigations..." Ace muttered.​

​

Devin Virell​

 

[Devin Virell]

Acier Moonbound

​

His gaze didn’t betray any panic as Ace’s words brushed past him. Devin’s own mouth curled into a shadow of a smirk that danced just on the edge the brewing tension. Calm wasn’t just a shield now; it was a survival tactic etched into his essence. Fingers clenched just slightly, as he inhaled the spice and steel. The gritty heart of the underbelly sure had a strange way of steadying the nerves.

For a short moment, there wasn’t any humor.. just words that were unpolished and without armor.

“I suppose fear’s the easiest thing in the galaxy to spot. You wear it on your face, shoulders.. everywhere.. folks will circle you the moment they smell it.”

Whatever shadows had been creeping close slipped back when Ace cut the air with levity.

“Just don’t embarrass me by ordering it well‑done and torching the thing. We’ve got enough enemies already without the chef hating us too.”

The neon haze sputtered out like the final breath of a dying bantha. Along the way Devin’s eyes cut sideways more than once at the Jedi’s droid companion. He didn’t even mean to; it was just years of conditioning. In places like this, you had to listen for anything out of place, and part of him was anticipating the next chirp or whine to mean trouble was about to break loose.

His jaw flexed once then looked forward again.

A figure appeared, only to be gone seconds later without a word. Gangs and smugglers always had a way of communicating without words. It was as territorial as the graffiti on the walls.

Humor flickered under the mask; he wore it better than expected.. “Yeah, same,” he muttered with a dry edge, “I’m a pilot.. not a detective.”

Devin’s boots carried him closer to the wall that was lit up. His gaze swept the design before exhaling through his nose.

“Pilot, not a detective,” he repeated slowly. “But.. don’t think that mark is for us..”

He tipped his chin toward the alley where the red haze pulsed, spice stench riding the air.

Somewhere deeper, a crate then clattered, followed by a curse that carried just far enough.

“Two trails. The alley reeks of spice and ambition. That’s where the cargo’s moving, if I had to guess.. the gate? That was a knock. I’m thinking someone’s listening on the other side.”

A faint pause.

“Me, I say we follow the stank. Crates don’t move themselves. But if you’d rather knock, wizard, I’ll back your play.”

The words barely left him when red dots flickered onto the wall.. three.. four.. steady pinpricks now glowing against the gang tags.

“Yep. We’re being watched.”

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Ord Mantell

Equipment:
Field Gear | Lightsaber | Tic

Ace trusted survival instincts over the Force. Old habit, plus, it'd kept him alive long enough to reach physical maturity. Therefore, he trusted Devin's suggestion too.​

​

"'Kay." He answered "Follow the stank."​

​

The red dots painted across the wall didn't pull panic from him, just calculation. He stepped back half a pace, head tilting slightly as he traced their alignment. Too steady for random scatter. Cheap optics, probably shoulder-mounted. Then Devin called what he was thinking.​

​

Nodding, he responded with a simple "Yeah."​

​

The ashen-haired Rebel straightened, scanning the rooftops. No drones in sight, but the faint hum of repulsors was there if you listened between the vents' hiss.​

​

He turned his head just enough to catch a sliver of movement. A shimmer above a roofline, something small angling for a better view. Reflex pressed into motion before thought. Ace's hand went to the hilt, but he didn't ignite it; instead, he raised his off-hand, channeling the smallest push of air. The drone clipped the corner of the roof, spinning out in a shower of sparks before slamming against the durasteel plating.​

​

"Not anymore."​

​

The red dots blinked once, twice, then vanished. Silence dropped heavy and the hum faded. The alley went still again.​

​

His eyes fell on to the mouth of the alley. Red glow was still there. Tic chirped once, as if he also understood that the way forward was down toward it. And the faint sound of a collapsing crate.​

​

Ace's boots struck the ground as he pushed forward. Tic scuttled down from his back, tiny claws clicking as he moved low and fast. The droid's faint blue beam brushed over broken glass, a bent pipe, a trail of something dark smeared toward the light.​

​

The hum of machinery grew clearer, as did the smell of spice. The sound was the uneven churn of portable drives, the kind used to power cargo lifters. Whoever was down there was still working.​

​

Coming upon a large warehouse, Ace stopped just before the wide and tall door, pressing his back against the wall and gesturing toward Devin to do the same. He leaned forward just enough to see through the gap.​

​

Inside the loading bay, three figures moved between stacked containers. Two worked the lifts, guiding crates onto a small transport sled, while a third checked something on a datapad. They weren't Stormtroopers. Civvies. Smugglers, maybe. But the crates they were handling carried fresh Imperial stencils, edges still clean.​

​

One of the workers peeled back a crate's lid for a split second before the one with the datapad barked something sharp. However, Ace couldn't make out the contents from this distance. Tic chirped once, soft and uncertain. Ace raised a finger to the droid, keeping him still.​

​

Ace's dark eyes flicked toward Devin, brow raised and a faint smirk crept on his lips. Unclipping his lightsaber, he flipped it in the air once before catching it in the same hand. Now came the fun part.​

​

"Alright, Flyboy. Want me to make some noise and you sneak in and flank?"​

​

Devin Virell ​

 

[Devin Virell]

Acier Moonbound

​

Those red dots still bloomed against the wall.

Places like this were all too familiar to him; a graveyard of his past, shadows watching, air heavy with the kind of silence that was not natural. For a second his chest tightened. Not fear, not exactly, more like those old instincts that told him he was being lined up in someone’s sights.

Devin's jaw clenched tightly, his teeth grinding together, tracking the trail of crimson pinpricks. Head tilting, he followed their alignment upward, while trying to catch whatever Ace was already seeing. Those rooftops were a jagged silhouette against the haze. As he focused on them, he could hear vents hissing from where neon had already bled weakly into the dark.

Finally, he caught it, movement angling for a better view. The pilot’s hand moved for the inside of his jacket, brushing against the slugthrower. But before he could even draw, his partner was moving. Devin’s gaze snapped sideways just in time to see the Jedi’s hand lifts, bending reality itself with air. Someone, or something, clipped the roofline, and sparks were spitting into the night before crashing hard. And just as quickly as the violence erupted, it vanished, leaving no trace behind.. like they'd never existed.

Exhaling through his nose slowly, his shoulders rolled back. A sidelong look was all he gave, one brow cocked in an expression of cynicism, while the hint of a smirk twisted his lip.

“Alright alright, wizard, you’ve got tricks. I’ll take it.”

So, the alley fell silent again, but it wasn’t comforting. It was that kind that waited for someone to make the next move.

Before long, his back was pressed against the wall, peering through a narrow gap. Devin’s eyes narrowed when he caught the stencils. Fresh markings, edges still clean, like they’d been stamped today. His gust churned.. he’d seen enough supply runs to know what legit cargo looked like. And this wasn’t it..

Whatever was in those crates, it wasn’t meant for open eyes.

Fingers drummed against his thigh.

Devin’s smirk returned, sharper this time, as the lightsaber hilt returned to view.

“You’ve been holding out on me. I’m starting to think noise is your specialty,” he muttered, voice low laced with amusement. His gaze flicked back to the smugglers, and then to the shadows along the furthest wall. “Bet. You rattle the cage, I’ll slip in and see what our friends are hiding. Just don’t get too flashy.. I don't want to have to explain to Command how the Jedi set half of Worlport on fire.”

Adjusting the jacket, tugging the collar up like it made him less noticeable, his body shifted. Shoulders were loose, steps light, the kind of movement that suggested he had experience from slipping through streets where being seen also meant being dead.

Crouched low, he slid along the wall’s edge. Scrapes, grunts, faulty electronics.. all of it began layering together, but atleast it was a rhythm he could dance with. He slipped past the first stack of crates. The smell of spice became stronger, almost sweet. Wrinkling his nose, he pushed the distraction aside. Every step became a gamble, but that wasn't anything new. He’d lived his whole life on gambling against the odds.

 

[Acier Moonbound]

Location: Ord Mantell

Equipment:
Field Gear | Lightsaber | Tic

Ace's smirk deepened, that familiar razor edge flashing for half a second before it settled again. "Don't worry." He murmured, voice low. "I'll keep it subtle."

A lie. The snap-hiss of his lightsaber shredded through stillness before the smugglers even looked up. Blue light splashed across the soot-black walls and caught every pair of startled eyes in the bay. No sneaking this time. No clever diversions. Just action.

He moved first, like always. Ace's blade came down in a wide arc that split a stack of empty freight crates, sending metal and spice dust exploding into the air. The crash echoed through the warehouse like thunder in a tunnel.

Then, he closed the distance with a Force imbued leap that made him look like a Hawk-Bat out of hell. One smuggler fumbled for a blaster, didn't even get a clean aim before Ace's boot hit his chest and folded him into a pile of his own cargo. Another dove for cover behind another crate. Blaster bolts soon followed. Ace turned into them, lightsaber deflected two and sent a third snapping back into the far wall that killed the nearest light.

The man with the datapad hollered an order. Too little too late. Ace closed the distance in a heartbeat, his lightsaber carving a line across the deck between them. Not a killing strike, but close enough to make the message clear.

"Don't." Ace warned him, voice low and flat.

The datapad clattered to the ground, its display flickering through cargo logs. Ace didn't have a chance to see its contents as the overseer attempted to flee. Maybe Devin would have a better shot.

Ace caught him by the collar and slammed him against the nearest container. Hovering his lightsaber over the overseer's throat, Ace used his right hand to pin him to the wall.

"Flyboy. You wanna handle this?"

While he waited for Devin to come over to interrogate, his dark eyes remained locked on to the overseer, daring him to try something. The hum of Ace's lightsaber cut through the empty silence.

Devin Virell​