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.​

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

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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.​

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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.​

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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.​

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

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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.​

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"Name's Ace." ​

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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:​

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"Missing rebels, huh?"​

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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.​

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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.​

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

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"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."​

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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. ​

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"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."​

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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.​

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"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."​

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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.​

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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 ​