It's Brutal Force, Okay

[Triko]

Tatooine​

​

The real estate business was rather too complicated and crowded for Triko's liking. Nonetheless, he needed a new home, and so he was going to get one. Since he was Triko, he wasn't going to settle for just any house.

He was having a palace.

As it so happened, the Hutts had good taste in palaces; there was one he wanted in particular.

It was a collection of tall, round domes atop a great rise amidst a vast orange desert, accessible only by a great arch of stone that stretched back into the sands with a great stone archway upon which was carved some rather promiscuous looking Twi'leks.
That was just a bonus.

Anyhow, he'd paid a total of six-hundred thousand credits to a team of two mercs to get it. At present, they were skimming across the dunes in a pink zebra-print box of a speeder- the arch was in sight.

"You have money now." He grumbled, passing a pair of black cases over the pink zebra-pink seats.

"The rest you get later. No one cheat Triko."

@[member="Serock Hoath"] @[member="Arrbi Betna"]​

 

[Hira Mitsae]

Tatooine.. back at this hole of dirt. Back at where it all had begun, funny how some things work in circles. Much time had passed since the day @[member="Josiah Denko"] pulled him out of that dirty bar and cleaned him up again. From a soldier to the Grand Marshal... and now a Mandalorian Mercenary. The world was a strange place, maybe after all this was done he would visit Josiah again. One of the few decent people left in this rotten Galaxy, might be they would share a couple of drinks and laughs. Would be nice.

The sand of the desert filled their surroundings and Serock snorted, he had never liked it here. Too hot, his body could not take it for long. It had been a Mandalorian who thought him how to survive in the hot lands, now he was one of them. He could not help but shake his head at that, sometimes he wondered if the world was trying to tell him something.

Then the funny little man spoke to them. He paid good cash for an abnormally big Jawa, if Serock had been half his age he would have tried to figure out where he had stashed the rest, cut the lad's head off and then go to a bar and drown his liver. But he was getting too old for such shenanigans. The lad had hired him for his services and he would go through with it.

Besides, he owed him another 150K, that was not pocket-money. It might be enough money to fund a small Mercenary Army and get-- Again Serock shook his head, no use thinking about such stuff. The past was the past, his loved ones were dust in the wind and nobody cared about his former Glory.

“You hired me, lad. They tell me that the Mandalorians keep their words, well I ain't that familiar with them yet. But Hoath keeps his word, ya can count on that. I reckon there might be a spare bunk in that fancy palace of yours, when all this is over? I would not say no to a spot to crash when on contracts.”​

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@[member="Triko"] @[member="Arrbi Betna"]​

 

[Arrbi Betna]

Tatooine. A barren, dusty planet of endless desert and rock. Inhabited by the brutal Tusken Raiders and the crafty Jawas and home to more scoundrels, criminals, and lowlifes than even lower Coruscant. Still, it had a stark beauty about it. The sunsets over the dunes. The clear, blue sky overhead as you wandered the endless, calming sea of sands. The time worn rock standing tall in the desert as it always had and always will no matter what eons or weather could throw at it. It was a place of great beauty despite the sentient rot living on the surface.

Betna hated Tatooine. It was beautiful, sure, but it was hot. And dusty. And he couldn't make it from a tapcaf to the hangar without someone trying to hire him to kill some kingpin or escort 'legitimate' goods or kill somebody else's cheating husband. In short, he would much rather be somewhere else. Unfortunately, he'd needed refueling for his Pathfinder and had to wait a few hours for the hangar crew to get to it. Once again, unfortunately, someone flagged him down for a job. Once again, he'd started rattling off why he wasn't interested. But this time, instead of the usual 'kark you, Mandalorian' that he usually got, he was just told how much he'd be earning. That alone was enough to get his attention and hold it. For the amount he'd been offered for the job required, he'd do it. It wasn't all that hard, just dangerous. The Hutt in question that needed removing wasn't necessarily highly ranked or of a powerful Hutt clan, so he wouldn't have to worry about future employment. Hell, he might even see a rise in employment opportunity.

He didn't particularly care for the ridiculously painted speeder and had visibly cringed when he'd had to get into the karking thing. Fortunately the pay was worth that indignity, mostly, so he'd put up with it. As the Jawa that had hired him slid the box over, Betna looked over from where he was driving and nodded once, tucking the first half of his pay into his rucksack next to him.

"Nearly there," was all he said.

@[member="Serock Hoath"] @[member="Triko"]

 

[Triko]

"You like speeder?" He glanced over his shoulder, looking to the gate as it drew closer. "This special speeder. Only ten made."

"Triko destroy other nine. Only he own one now. It worth lots."

With that, a tank pulled out from between two rocks and started moving behind the vehicle.

It didn't have the air of a particularly friendly vehicle, and based upon the gamorrean waving his arms about on the main gun, it was also probably worth getting away from.

"Anyone have rocket?"

@[member="Arrbi Betna"] @[member="Serock Hoath"]

 

[Hira Mitsae]

As the little funny asked for a rocket, Serock could not help but smirk a bit. He remembered the discussion they had about this mission, there had been no rockets involved. Subtle infiltration, where Serock would act as a foreman; to offer his services to the Hutt Crime Lord.

Serock was not a fan of Hutts.. no he wasn't. Especially not after that slavery-thing he had been through. Fact of the matter was that the Merc was a pretty forgiving guy. Because of this he would only stab the slug twice, well maybe thrice and the cut his head off. But who counted after the first stab, right?

“Weren't we going to offer our services to them and get into the compound quietly without exterior damage?”

He cursed as a rocket flew just above his head, almost giving the offending team a headshot.

“Feth.”

@[member="Arrbi Betna"] @[member="Triko"]

 

[Triko]

No one had a rocket, apparently.

"Someone take controls!"

The jawa jumped onto his seat, one foot steering the speeder while he lifted a rocket launcher out from beneath his seat- perhaps not the safest move, by any means, but there wasn't too much time to spend deliberating on safer strategies. Speaking of safety, the moment Triko rose to aim the weapon, he was set ablaze; a flaming shell disappeared into the dunes.

To re-iterate, Triko was currently standing backwards atop the driver's seat of a bright pink, zebra-pink speeder, steering it with one foot, while aflame, and also aiming a rocket launcher.

No biggie.

He pulled the trigger.

@[member="Serock Hoath"] @[member="Arrbi Betna"]

 

[Arrbi Betna]

"Shab!," was all Betna said as the little Jawa stepped on his fingers as he held the speeder's wheel. "Will you watch where the hell you're putting your karking feet?"

That was when he noted the Jawa's crotch was pressed against his helmet. Oh that wasn't gonna fly. Instinctively, Betna firmly rapped the Jawa on the groin with a gauntleted fist and then pushed the little guy into the passenger's seat. That should keep him from doing the wang dance on his buy'ce for the time being. Once that was done, Betna extended an arm out towards the tank and lined it up with the side armor of the tank, just between the turret and the hull itself. Once satisfied he'd gotten his aim more or less on target in the moving speeder, he hit the control to send the small wrist rocket screeching toward the vehicle.

@[member="Triko"] @[member="Serock Hoath"]

 

[Triko]

A great flash of pain shot through Triko's body, and the rocket launcher flew from his hands as his body convulsed with extreme pain. His boots lifted from the steering wheel; his entire body flew up, then quite promptly down, but quite a lot slower than the speeder was moving forwards. Thick dust enveloped him- his shoulder splintered into pieces with a crack as he hit the ground, white bone protruding from a newly formed hole in his robe, and a pool of blood formed around his body. The tank and the speeder shot ahead, and he bled out upon the sand, staring blankly into the sky.

"Feth."

He felt tingling in his brain.

@[member="Arrbi Betna"] @[member="Serock Hoath"]

 

[Arrbi Betna]

"Oh, shab," Betna said mildly as [member="Triko"] fell out of the speeder as the tank exploded from his wrist rocket.

Sighing in moderate irritation, he turned the speeder around and brought it alongside the Jawa. He stepped out, leaving [member="Serock Hoath"] to fight off anything else coming their way, and moved over to the crumpled form of Triko. Massive shoulder trauma and groin bruising. Betna wasn't going to do anything about the groin bruising, that was the Jawa's problem, but he could help the shoulder. He stabilized the broken bones and staunched the bleeding, then strapped the injured limb to the Jawa's chest to keep it from moving. Once done, he jabbed a syringe of bacta into Triko's neck to speed the healing, then promptly, though carefully, put the Jawa back in the speeder before getting back in the driver's seat.