Rheyla Tann
Character
The hum of the transport was steady, low, and old. Their contractor said it was to keep a low profile, but Rheyla could smell the kriff from a mile away. The politician just didn't want to spend more credits than necessary.
Nevertheless, the transport shuttle was an hour out, give or take a few minutes, according to the pilot.
Rheyla sat near the back, boots propped against the carbon coffin they had been provided to secure their target once they brought him back to the ship. Her lekku shifted lazily as the ship rattled through another patch of turbulence, eyes flicking from the sealed cargo door to the three hunters across the hold. The first was a twitchy Rodian who looked like he had survived one too many thermal detonators. The other, who sat across from the first, was a big and mean-looking Wookiee who had apparently decided to take a nap. Smart.
And then there was the last of their little merry-hunter group: a youthful human with pale skin and crimson eyes.
Typical contractor crew. Guess one hunter wasn't enough to capture this guy.
Rheyla wasn't a fan of politicians like their contractor, with smiles too wide, words too smooth. At least with some Hutt or some syndicate slug, you knew where you stood. The kind of man who owed the wrong people too much money and thought reputation could be bought with blood. The Twi’lek hunter knew their kind well. The job was simple enough on paper: find a certain 'businessman' who had made a few powerful enemies, bring him back alive, and let the politician bask in the spotlight when he turned the man in.
Rheyla didn’t care about the politics. Credits were credits. But she had worked enough of these gigs to know that whenever someone said alive, they really meant loud, public, and messy.
Her gaze slid toward the ship’s cockpit, where the pilot droned coordinates into the comm. Their destination wasn’t far now, a remote moon, half jungle and half industrial ruin. Reports said the target was holed up there with guards, sensors, and enough paranoia to fill a Star Destroyer.
She pulled her weapon from the holster by her hip and checked her blaster’s charge before reholstering it and standing up to stretch.
"Midnight hunt," she muttered under her breath mid-stretch, the name the contractor had slapped on the operation. “Sounds poetic until someone starts shooting.”
A small smirk tugged at the corner of her mouth.
At least it wouldn’t be boring.