After being stranded on
Wo'theth, Braze had unceremoniously found himself deep in the Junk Wastes, of all places, where acid rain hissed over dead ships and every scrap of shelter leaned crooked beneath its own decay, offering more threat than refuge.
He was currently picking his way through the ribs of a half-collapsed freighter, short heeled boots testing each strip of corroded plating before trusting his weight to it. The acid rain had already found every weak seam in his cloak, and he had little more than the clothes on his back, a half-sick scanner, a few personal effects he refused to trade, and not a single credit worth spending...
Whatever charm had bought him passage this far had run out somewhere between Blackwake Port and this miserable graveyard of ships.
The sound of motion up ahead, however, caught his attention.
Braze went still, one boot balanced on a strip of warped plating as his scanner gave a weak, uncertain chirp beneath his sleeve. A faint heat signature bled through the gloom, half-swallowed by rain, scrap, and distance.
His fingers shifted closer to the hidden hilt beneath his cloak.
"I can see you," he called, voice light, but careful enough not to carry too much fear.
"Or… enough of you to know you're not a pile of junk. Come out slow, yeah? I'm really not in the mood for surprises."
He was not sure who else would have any reason to be out here, but experience had taught him that places like this did not often attract gentle company. Dust-choked worlds like Tatooine had cured him of that lesson early enough; if something moved in a wasteland such as this, it was usually hungry, armed, desperate, or some miserable blend of all three.
The Junk Wastes seemed no kinder, and every broken corridor ahead looked like the sort of place a scavenger, raider, or worse thing might lay in wait for someone smaller to make the wrong step.
