actually wily is very good at building robots in mindshift. actually even better than dr. light since he actually focused on robotics and meddling with forces that should not be meddled with rather than it just being a side gig to programming stuff. he just has the worst sense of priorities and strategy known to mankind so he cringefails constantly
The Superweapon Myth, or Why Maybe Building a Death Star Isn't About Defense
(this was originally posted on the Community "Analyzing Star Wars Politics and Philosophy")
Security takes priority. Public safety and order becomes paramount. To that end, few measures are off the table for governments and leaders.
When the Separatist crisis escalates into open war, the Galactic Senate approves emergency powers for the Supreme Chancellor, who forms a Grand Army of the Republic from thousands of ready-to-serve clone troopers, with Jedi Knights and Masters stepping in as their commanders on the battlefield. Decades later, under the Galactic Empire, the Senate is dissolved, and supreme political power is given to regional governors and Grand Moffs.
At the same time, the Death Star is unveiled, a battle station with the capacity to destroy an entire planet in one superlaser blast. It is considered the ultimate deterrent against the growing Rebellion and the greatest weapon in the Empire’s arsenal. No star system would dare oppose the Emperor after the battle station is unleashed upon the galaxy.
But every superficial justification of militarization and the creation of superweapons fails to grasp the deeper motive at work: the rule of others through fear.
The point of the Clone Wars is not to defend the Republic, but to wipe out the Jedi Knights with their own clone troopers and ensure Palpatine has the political support to declare himself Emperor. He can shut down the enemy’s battle droids with a single command and order the deaths of their leaders once his private agenda has been fulfilled. Having broken the galaxy with fear and desperation, Palpatine can transform the Republic into the Empire overnight, even appearing to be a hero while doing so.
But the technology that delivered his victory was never built to serve the common good. It was to spread fear and aggression to cover his own rise to power.
The same thinking applies to the Death Star and all the resources and slave labor that went into its construction. The Imperial Senate was maintained only for the illusion of political legitimacy; with the superweapon completed, the legislature could be dissolved by the Emperor’s decree. Some might claim that the Death Star is the heart of order and security aross the Empire, but its role is designed for psychological warfare. Alderaan was nonviolent in its resistance to Palpatine, and it backed the Rebel Alliance in secret. Its destruction was not a strategic decison, but a political one: a warning to the galaxy that resistance was futile and no mercy would be shown to treason or dissent.
Of course, the flaw of the Death Star was twofold. First, an attack by the Rebel Alliance could pinpoint a weak spot in its defenses and eliminate the entire battle station in the single shot of a proton torpedo. Second, the fear and obedience that the Death Star was meant to compel only served to fan the flames of armed resistance, especially by providing a large enough symbol that the Rebellion could eliminate.
By the same token, the Clone Wars that had delivered Palpatine his absolute power over the galaxy had another flaw that the conflict raised: the need to demonstrate unchecked military power failed to compel public terror and obedience. Wiping out the Jedi Knights turned them into a symbol of hope among the early Rebel cells. Relying on the Grand Army of the Republic meant securing the postwar galaxy with Imperial stormtroopers and Star Destroyers, which gave the masses a clear sign of their own oppression.
To paraphrase what Leia Organa told Governor Tarkin, the more the Empire tightened its grip, the more star systems chafed against its rule and worked to defy it.
Addendum for NJO readers: Some believe that the Empire’s military might and superweapons were necessary to respond to the coming Yuuzhan Vong invasion. Again, the flaw in this line of thought is twofold. First, the Yuuzhan Vong are fanatical warriors with their own means of wiping out whole planets, so they could match the Empire in both numbers and firepower, negating any deterrence by its superweapons. Second, for all its proclaimed superiority, the Empire itself did not prevail against the Rebel Alliance, even after constructing the second Death Star and amassing a large fleet at Endor. The Yuuzhan Vong War eventually ended with the death of the Supreme Overlord and the fracturing of the occupiers with a Jedi-inspired resistance, neither of which required the use of a battle station like the Death Star or a species-targeted bioweapon like Omega Red. The Rebel Alliance’s destruction of both Death Stars was not an ill-conceived blow against the only hope for galactic security, as the Empire’s rule did not create a sense of stability outside its own propaganda.
*This is a second person POV (reader) fic / OC fic. It's both. I forgo physical descriptions as much as possible, though yes, you/she has a name, and a personality.
This chapter: Our dear reader wakes up hungry, but Todo doesn't know what to do! Cad Bane has left you stranded on his ship, and with a lack of any food. But it's for your own good; he's gone to find the man that kidnapped you.
Warnings: 18+ for dirty humor, nudity, mention of female anatomy, death, murder, gunfights, dismemberment, reference to fertile cycles and alien biology aka horny old man Bane headcanon, and one sassy droid.
Word count: 7.6k
Notes: I could have kept writing as I have so much ground to cover, and it has been nearly a year since I've updated. SORRY ABOUT THAT. Life got a bit in the way. I hope you enjoy this chapter, however, and I plan to keep this series going until the end, no matter how long it takes.
BATBH: Masterpost
Ao3
THIS IS A CRACK FIC! Or, as I like to call it: Slapstick Smut.
You are Aurora Ordel and you awoke with a start; you were faced with a face you could not see clearly. You screamed pure, unadulterated murder, then you were promptly gassed; you passed back out again.
“Ah, shit—”
Cad Bane palmed his face. He had acted on impulse; he had released a cloud capable of putting you to sleep. There was a hidden valve residing beneath his wrist gauntlet.
That had not been his intention, though he did not mind that you were quiet, however considering the circumstances he found himself wanting to know if he should have kept those sleemo’s breathing. Torture, after all, was not outside his wheelhouse, and intel in this case was priceless.
“Mister Bane, maybe I should be in charge of the prisoner-”
“She ain’t a prisner!”
“Sorry. Force of habit.”
“Be out a’couple hours now. Exspectin’ Ah be back b’fore dhen,”
“You are leaving?”
The Duros had paused to lean in close; he could still smell those blasted hooligans all over your damn clothes. A rumble was emitted, the sound tantamount to a displeased grumble; Bane proceeded to rub his rostrum across your neck, chest, and the remnants of your dress.
He had taken to marking you, wanting to replace that putrid stench with his own fragrance without so much as an explanation.
Todo watched on idle, blinking his yellow eyes. All of this was beyond interesting, Bane’s behavioral response absorbed by his many microprocessors.
Cad cleared his throat; he pushed up off you, leaving you to lie there. His brow ridge stitched before he addressed the small metal man off to his left.
“Gonna find dhis Green Hair. Somethin’ don’t add up,” the hunter commented.
“Whatever do you mean? They just seemed like a gang of thugs to me,” Todo followed up.
“She’s too high-profile; jerks like dhat don’t go fer Imps widdout plannin’ on a high payout,” Bane enunciated dryly.
“You mean you think he was coerced to kidnap her, or perhaps even hired?”
Todo looked up as his master checked his gas carts; a quick once over of his gear was common. Even in the middle of a mission, Bane would habitually assess his ammunition, or lack thereof; being put in a tough spot was not something he was fond of.
“Yep,” he affirmed, turning to walk out the door.
“Wait! But Bane, what if—”
“Keep an eye on ‘er!” he interrupted. “Don’t let ‘er out of yer sight,” the Duros finalized, “or it’ll be yer metallic hide.”
Todo groaned; it was a sound usually reserved for humans and other beings. Still, it expressed his feelings, as he was not sure what to do should you wake up.
“This job is among the weirdest yet,” he complained.
Then, he did all he could do. He sat down and stayed watch, ever vigilant.
---
Two standard hours had ticked on by; you heard a few mumbled words as you once more opened up your eyes. This time, you were faced with a droid. You gasped as you scrounged for purchase.
You backed up far enough that you met with the closest wall. Unfortunately, there was nowhere left for you to go. You cursed, wondering what else you had gotten yourself into.
“There is no need to be afraid, we have already met,” Todo articulated, “but just in case: I am Todo 360, techno-service droid, and accomplice to Cad Bane.”
If nothing else, you recognized his voice; your glasses were long-gone. Your vision was blurred at best, though it was difficult to see past his gigantic head.
“Where am I?” you asked, your nails digging diligently into surprisingly soft bedsheets.
““You in a spare room aboard the Justifier, and this is where you will remain. Mister Bane has ordered that you stay put until he comes bac—”
You squealed; your voice was shrill. “You mean he’s not here?!”
The frazzled droid zipped a pace away, clearing himself of your immature display. You had begun to shake, or vibrate, trembling of all things.
“Where is he?” you asked desperately.
“He is away,” he replied simply.
“But what if they come back!” you whined, disconcerted.
“Rest assured, you are perfectly secure,” said the twitchy service droid. “There is no safer place for you than on Bane’s ship.”
You looked around, though you could barely make out your surroundings. “Are-are you sure?” you asked more quietly.
Todo chirped, irritated. “Yes, I am sure. Now, just sit still and wait patiently. I am positive Bane will be back any— Excuse me! Where are you going?” he demanded of you as you had risen to your feet.
“I feel faint,” you admitted, not seeming to remember that you hadn’t eaten in nearly three whole days. Your stomach had begun to gnaw at you, craving food.
“Then why are you standing?” Todo argued, tugging at the edge of your torn and sullied dress.
“You have something, don’t you?” you inquired weakly as you stumbled across the room.
Todo sighed a human-sounding sigh, releasing his slight grip. He had to think about it. “I do not believe you will be interested in what Bane has to eat,” he explained succinctly.
“I don’t care, anything—” you managed, walking out into the hall. You were faced with a row of doors. You were not sure which to try, so you went by one at a time.
“Ah, ah, ah!” Todo scolded you as you entered what looked like a workshop of some kind; it contained within a mixed assortment of odds and ends. You wondered how he had acquired all of this. If you squinted, you could just make out what looked like clone trooper helmets; among those, you thought was a Jedi’s lightsaber.
You opened your mouth to speak; Todo was not having it. “This way, please,” he said, chaperoning you like he might a helpless child.
You weaved to another entry of some sort, this one with locked tight doors. Todo was quick to apprehend you; his weensy body became a barrier. He pushed against your thighs with his tiny hands; they were cold, and the droid was adamant. “No, no! Definitely not in here. This is Bane’s private quarters! He would have both our heads.”
You huffed, exasperated. “Just take me to the kitchen!” Even so, you could not deny you wanted to know what was just on the other side…
“We do not have a kitchen-” Todo corrected you, “-we have a galley, and I am trying!”
“Whatever! Food is food!” you rationalized.
“Yes, so I have heard,” Bane’s droid tittered wryly. “Mister Bane also shares those sentiments, as you will find.”
“Well, good!” you answered in a mood. You would not concern yourself with reading between the lines. Hells, you would take a ration bar—anything was fine!
You continued on your bumbling misadventure; Todo directed you toward an abnormally large lift; you wondered what Bane carried in it. Once inside, you thought that you could smell yourself. Luckily for your inorganic tour guide, he could not tell the difference.
“Oh, my God—” you began, hoisting up your arm to take a whiff. Todo shifted, gazing up at you, emotionless.
“What is it now?” he queried.
“I smell awful!” you admitted.
“That must be why Mister Bane rubbed himself all over you,” Todo conjectured.
“He what?!”
“Truly fascinating, Duros. Although, you ought to know,” the droid complained with attitude.
You gawked at him, not believing you were being sassed by Cad Bane’s companion. Was he angry? Jealous? Protective of his master?
“I’m sorry?”
“You should be!” he explained. “He has been behaving quite differently with you around.”
The door to the lift flew open; Todo hovered out and onward. You had no choice but to follow him.
“How is that my fault?” you dared to ask.
“Well, it is, and it isn’t, you see,” Todo knew there was more to it than that.
You glanced about, finding yourself to be in the bowels of the ship. This was a part of the Justifier you had not seen previously. Not even on the day Cad Bane had dragged you in, keen on being mean, but it had backfired – you were still here.
This area seemed mostly unused, or like a storage space. Every corner was home to an oversized cargo crate. They were quite possibly chock-full of weapons, supplies. Then, on the other hand, there could be ration bars. Your thoughts drifted, as did your feet; you were once more cutoff by Cad Bane’s little confidant.
“This way, this way! Do not go snooping. That is one surefire way to get Bane to despise you,” Todo spoke from experience; he often wondered how young Boba Fett was doing.
“It seems like he already despises me,” you mumbled, hungrily marching forward as you finally approached another set of doors; these were double.
“To the contrary,” Todo proffered, causing your eyes to dart in his direction. He ignored the rise in your attention span, passing through into what you had called a “kitchen.”
It was full of pots and pans, plates, bowls, and numerous utensils. Most seemed unused, set to sparkling as Todo was the one who diligently polished them. There were knives, forks, spoons; there was everything but food.
“It’s so clean,” you marveled.
“You may thank me for that,” Todo retorted.
“But what does he even eat?” you whined, traipsing forward, flinging cabinets open and pulling out all the drawers. There was nothing there! Your mind reeled and your stomach growled. That’s when you finally noticed the conservator.
“Meat mostly,” Todo said offhand. “I assumed you knew everything about Bane,” the feisty droid remarked, “though he also consumes what he likes to call ‘roughage.’”
You could only hope that meant salad; you could do with one right now. Or hells, even a steak would be nice, something big and juicy to suffice you. Though, on the other hand, what Todo had said kept nagging. You spouted off a question just as you pulled the door wide open.
“What did you mean ‘to the contrar-’” There was something wrapped in what looked like foil; you made your move, a bold one, to steal the scraps of Bane’s last meal.
“I would not do that!” Todo blurted out.
You pulled the wrapper back; its contents had a face, and worse yet, eyes. The only thing missing was its fur and guts; it was a chunk of flesh, raw, and oozing blood.
“What the fuck!” you exclaimed as you promptly dropped it.
“I did try to warn you,” Todo highlighted, as if he needed to.
You nearly puked, your diaphragm contracting. “That’s disgusting!” you announced.
“Maybe to you-” Todo rebuked, “-but Bane quite likes it.”
“Well, Bane is a weirdo!” you retaliated.
“You are one to talk!” the droid rejoined.
Your hand had risen to cover your own mouth, but for what you were not sure; it wasn’t as if you had anything in your stomach to throw up. In doing so, you smelled your armpits. That in and of itself reactivated your gag reflex.
You pouted, stomping down your bare foot. The floors were duralloy and provided full resistance. However, you stepped on something squishy. You protested as you almost slipped and fell, your body nearly crumpling.
“Grossssss!” you lamented, having come into contact with whatever that dead thing was.
“I need a shower! Shower. Shower. Shower! Right now!” you demanded, beginning to scamper off without so much as knowing where you were headed. You were in such a rush you collided with a wall; you started crying at the injustice of it all.
“Oh my, oh dear,” Todo said as he came forward, prowling around you as he balanced on his thrusters. “Yes, that might do you some good. Mister Bane always feels better after a long stint in the shower. But it is back upstairs, I am afraid.”
“Take me there,” you pleaded, a hand cupping your bruised shoulder. Todo complied with your request; soon you were back on the lift.
For once, you were silent. You were tired and oh, so hungry. Your body needed energy; you moved more slowly. Todo noticed your decreased speed; he puttered around you in small circles—doing as he was ordered—yet not having the ability to meet your every need. He could only hope Bane would come back soon, as he was not sure what to do for this human woman.
You found yourself once more near Bane’s quarters, being directed to a small refresher. You nearly collapsed just inside the entrance, trying your best to undress yourself.
“Oh, uh—” Todo began, tapping metal against metal as his fingers joined together, obviously somewhat perplexed or even agitated, “—I’ll just be over here,” he stated, leaving.
You had paid the droid no mind, tugging the shreds of your clothes off that remained. You discarded your bra, then the dress as well – straight into the trash bin. Your panties were MIA, but you would burn in hell before you ever wore those things again. Besides, they smelled like others and not just you; you had put two and two together at Todo’s mention.
In theory, it was endearing. It brought you back to Todo’s comment of “to the contrary.” You hummed a little to yourself as you turned the shower on, relaxing against the wall as real liquid started streaming over you.
“Thank fuck,” you mumbled; at least he had the good stuff, sonic vibrations never did quite cut it as per your preference; he must have had a tank of water on reserve.
You let your body slide down, down, until you sat right in it. It was the most luxurious, blissful thing to happen to you in the last three days. You closed your eyes as you tried to regain your peace, but then a thought occurred to you; you had no more clothes to change into. What were you supposed to do?
For the moment, you tried not to let it worry you; the water felt too good. You breathed out a laggard sigh as you finally opened up your eyes.
You stood; your hunger was once more overpowering; you let the water stream down your face and hair, wanting to just stay there, yet the rumbling in your stomach was not a thing to be ignored. Truth be told, you still felt nauseous, finally calling out to Todo whom you thought was just outside the room.
“Excuse me, little droid? Are you there?”
It took him hardly any time to answer you. “I am afraid so,” he said sourly.
You quirked a brow; his tone abruptly changed. He now seemed eager, his programming dictating he was happiest when serving others in some capacity. “How may I be of assistance?”
Your attention had been diverted; you were examining some kind of cleaning substance. It was meant to help slough off dry, dead scales; you would not use it for fear of what might happen to you. Your only hope was for some soap. That, or whatever you could find in terms of clothes; as long as they were clean and somewhat fit, you did not care one bit.
“I’m afraid I’m going to have to walk around naked if you can’t find something for me to wear,” you called out to him, your voice being carried beyond the sound of running water and the boundary of the door.
Something sparked in Todo’s droid-brain, causing gears to whorl and whirl; he knew just the thing! Something he thought might be more your size, as his master was tall and gangly. “Just a moment! Wait right here,” he insisted.
You heard him buzz off down the hall, then there was total silence. You allowed yourself a nice long soak, taking your time beneath the warm spray of the water. You drank from it to quench your thirst by leaving your mouth wide open; you were sure you were dehydrated. Then, you allowed it to saturate your tangled strands; it ran through all your nooks and crannies.
This would have to do until you could get back to your roost; the penthouse you called your home, seated in the lap of luxury right here on Coruscant. Or at least you thought…
As a matter of fact, you had no idea where you were or where you’d been; you were now trapped here on Cad Bane’s starship. Wherever it happened to be, that is. You had no way of knowing your coordinates, and the refresher had no viewports; it was just as well, so people couldn’t spy on you.
You waited for what you felt was much too long; you turned the water off. You attained a towel, though it seemed used. You gingerly rubbed your nose in it; it smelled like Duros.
“Ummmph,” you vocalized, happy, horny, distraught, and needy all at the same time. His scent was heady. You felt you couldn’t think straight, having a wicked and troubling idea tickle your jumbled brain.
“Todo?” you tried for the droid once more; he did not answer. You opened the refresher and tiptoed out, buck naked, into the narrow corridor.
You were relieved to get no response, slinking like a tooka toward Bane’s living quarters; Todo had made it very clear not to go in here, but you only knew one thing, the thing that drove you: inside this room behind the door were Cad Bane’s extra clothes.
It did not take much effort; you pried a panel loose. Even without your glasses, this was elementary; you could rewire an automated entry with your eyes closed—too easy.
Once inside, the door again shut tight; you did not pay it any mind, as your eyes went wide, mesmerized by a plethora of mishmash things, and even trinkets. Everywhere you looked was something pretty, shiny, or otherwise unique; Cad Bane had expensive tastes for a rough and tumble mercenary.
There were unmarked credits on the bed, gold coins of unknown origin, an extra hat—which you picked up and put right on your head—and loads of other fascinating stuff.
His blankets were pristine and plush, his pillows fluffy and silky smooth. Off to one side was a box full of random treasures, one you recognized as Durosian if you squinted. You wondered if he collected artifacts from his species’ culture as a hobby, or just because it was worth something.
You blindly plundered through his drawers; there were stolen bounty fobs and palm-sized holoprojectors with secret messages. There was a datapad or two, and a box of toothpicks. You were tempted to snoop more thoroughly, but after what Todo said… You did not want Cad Bane to have your head; you wanted him in bed.
Finally, you found what you came here for—something belonging to the man that you could wear. You had located what appeared to be a dress shirt with long sleeves; it was white with buttons down the front and hit just above your knees. You at once adorned it, inspecting yourself in a full-length mirror; you wondered if Bane often stood right here when admiring himself. You would not blame him.
You sniffed your prize and nearly melted on the spot. Satisfied, you turned around to exit. The moment your hand touched durasteel, a loud noise sent you reeling. You covered up your ears as you had triggered an alarm, a screen descending from the ceiling as a recording of Bane himself played automatically before your bleary eyes.
“Stupid is as stupid does,” the Duros drawled; your breath was heavy as the sirens refused to stop their bleating. You tugged at another access hatch; you began to dislocate and mismatch wires, whining audibly.
“Bane, I’m sorry!”
The recording snickered as if he had heard you through the viewscreen, leaning forward to threaten you with the little piece of wood that perpetually lived between his teeth. “And yer about as stupid as dhey come.”
You found your mouth agape as two more things emerged: loaded blaster rifles, snuggly sequestered on either side of the Duros’ depraved yet smiling face. “Say yer prayers,” he directed.
“Oh, please, oh, no. No, no!” you pleaded, bending low to shield yourself. You threw your arms above your head and squatted down till you touched the ground, pulling up a chair to act as a makeshift impediment. Blaster shots rang out, rebounding about the room and all of your surroundings. You screamed as if you were being murdered, because you were, then everything went silent.
You gasped, feeling yourself up; you were all still in one piece, unbelievably. Standing before the now open door was that pesky, life-saving service-droid. Within his hands there was some kind of drab colored garment.
“What have you done?!” Todo wailed. “Bane is going to be absolutely furious!” the droid proclaimed, golden eyes wide in horror and disbelief.
Todo dropped what he was holding, coming around to push against your back. He shoved with all his might, despite you still being on the floor bent down. You tried to come to terms with what just happened, and all due to a shirt. Your eyes watered as you let the little robot escort you out.
“And give me that!” he griped, reclaiming the hat upon your head that now suffered a distinctive scorch mark. “Do you have any idea what this cost?!”
“A-a lot?” you asked with a quaver to your voice.
“Yes!” he angrily retorted.
The droid stopped to pick up what had fallen, scooping it up within his arms. He stayed his fury to look at you, tilting his large cranium. “And what is that you are wearing?”
“A shirt I found,” you whispered.
“No, no, you must take that off this instant. I brought you this,” he explained, holding out something worn, brown, and understated. Despite being still terrified and near to tears, you took it to appease him.
“What is it?” you asked sheepishly.
“It is a robe, a Jedi robe, and part of Bane’s collection. He has worn it in the past when needed, and it is a wonderful disguise!”
You gave a little start, looking the thing over. “How did he get it?”
“Surely you know Bane is a Jedi-killer,” Todo quipped, leering at you. “And a most successful one at that. It is his— was—his specialty. They are all dead now, you see.”
“O-oh,” you conceded, then made a face that displayed your distress. “I’m not wearing this!” you contested suddenly.
“And why not?” he fought back, metal hands akimbo on his hips.
“What if I’m mistaken for a Jedi?” you whimpered. “What if someone else tries to kill me?” You dropped the robe, not caring that your—Bane’s shirt—was open. Todo got an eyeful as you retrieved the one thing you could use, a belt that was rather rope-like; you inspected it as Todo gawked, though he didn’t have a mouth.
He made a throaty sound, having seen the outline of your form, the curves and dips, the shape of your bare hips. “Yes, you will do quite nicely,” he commented offhand.
“Excuse me?” you snapped, beginning to button up. You fastened each closure one by one, traveling all the way up to the very top. The belt came next; soon had fashioned the bounty hunter’s shirt into a dress.
“Well, it seems you are rather good at that! Nearly getting killed, that is, why if it weren’t for Mister Bane—”
“—No, finish that other thought,” you demanded.
Todo sighed for the second or third time, thinking he should have kept his nonexistent lips shut, but it was too late now; he settled down, then began a rather short but interesting tale.
“Duros have a finite reproductive window, and Mister Bane is getting older by the day,” he explained. You cocked a brow but kept on listening. You tried to give him your full attention, but your stomach growled; you needed food right now.
“Walk and talk,” you said.
Todo followed you as you made your way back toward the lift, this time setting course for the location of the boarding ramp. It was at the Justifier’s rear, but you were all ears.
The only thing you didn’t have was your glasses or a pair of shoes; you would make-do and go barefoot. You were too hungry to give a damn.
“Well, Mister Bane has been rather grumpy as of late—grumpier than usual—and especially since coming into contact with you,” he remarked.
“I see,” you interjected, yet quite fond of this engrossing notion.
“Therefore, I have concluded it is best that he mates with you. Once he gets it out of his system, I believe that—”
You burst out laughing; that had already been your plan. “Don’t worry your big head,” you grinned. “Now, wait here.”
Todo looked around, realizing you had dropped the ramp. He had lost track of your destination, instantaneously switching gears as was his very nature, if you could call it that. He was just a culmination of ones and zeros, but it still felt like he had feelings.
“Where do you think you are going? Bane instructed us to both wait here.”
“To the market,” you answered back, having figured out you were parked somewhere near CoCo Town at a rundown spaceport.
“Come back! You should not disregard what Mister—”
“What’s he going to do, shoot me?” you jested, feeling a teensy bit more like your old self.
“Yes!” he responded, trailing close behind. “Wait! Oh, you—we’re going to be in so much trouble when he gets back!” the droid complained as he endeavored to keep you company.
“Just come with me,” you offered.
Todo bellyached, indignant. “What do you think it is I am doing? He did tell me to keep an eye on you.”
Then, he glared at you. It was rather cute. “I will make sure to tell him I tried to stop you.”
“Mhm, yes, of course,” you simpered, nonplussed, though finding his last confession had warmed your heart; he did care somewhat after all.
---
Cad Bane had assured that you were safe, but at the cost of backtracking, one of his least favorite things. He once more made his way through the Crimson Corridor, headed for the Tusken Oasis as per the Gotal he had killed. He had parked his ship far from this squalid high-crime district, thinking if you stayed aboard the Justifier nothing could go awry—that’s where he was wrong—he had underestimated the power of your stupidity, for however smart you were.
He passed the Green Glowstone Tavern; Bane knew the Bothan bartender who owned the place, yet he would not stop to chat. He had business to attend to, business regarding you.
Still, he tipped his hat; the Bothan waved right back. It was a silent interchange between two men, both busy.
The hunter continued trudging forward; crowds parted for him. Those who scurried he kept an eye on as he traversed the infamous Barsoom Boulevard.
Prostitutes tried flirting with him; a few scoundrels attempted to sell their wares. It was the ones who watched that warranted his attention; they were not clever; the Duros had dealt with all types and kinds of people, and street thugs were no different. He had an inkling that sneaking would be impossible, as these degenerates would most likely run and tell their boss. There was no use hiding—Cad Bane was on the prowl.
This area of town was the Raptor Gang’s main hideout; he had heard from word of mouth, steadily stalking onward, eyes forward, as he could sense something sinister afoot—an ambush.
Bane stalled, stopping dead, slowly but surely turning his hat and head. There was an eerie silence the hunter did not trust, fingers loitering above the holster of one LL-30 BlasTech pistol.
“May as well come out, cahn smell ye from a klick,” the gunslinger taunted.
Three bodies emerged from behind trash and refuse, big and burly, weapons drawn and at the ready, as if they thought they had anything on him. Bane grinned a sadistic grin. “Let’s make dhis quick.”
Plasma flew as shots were discharged; Cad Bane dodged it all, rolling to take up residence behind the nearest wall. He returned his own deluge of blaster fire; his aim was true. Ignorance had been their downfall; the Duros would persist in his pursuit.
“Better luck next life,” he jeered to the corpses at his feet; he stepped over them, disrespectfully. But there was one person that he did not want to disrespect if he could help it: Yanth the Hutt, owner of the prestigious nightclub for which his course was set. Though there would be no stopping him, even if that meant killing all of Green Hair’s men. Bane would try not to demolish the whole bar, but if he did? So be it.
The Crimson Corridor was empty now due to the pathetic gunmen he had encountered, its residents scared away back into their homes or other dens, places of debauchery and sin. Places Cad Bane rarely frequented except for occasions such as this; he preferred the quiet confines of his ship.
He could hear the music from a hundred yards; a Bith quartet had taken center stage. Lately, they seemed to be all the rage, but Cad Bane couldn't care less. He approached the entrance.
A bouncer tried to guard the way, but the Duros was infamous and greatly feared; it did not take him much convincing. All the hunter did was glare until he took the hint and scrammed, the green Gamorrean deciding he desired to live and fight another day thanks to such little pay.
Bane regarded him as he up and left; he tipped his hat again. He strolled on through, being met with colored lights and statuettes of varying hues and species, some mythological in the form of beasts; the Hutt spared no expense for his well-kept business. It was quite impressive if Bane could be impressed. The only thing that had that effect on him were credits, and you had a lot of them.
There were dejarik boards and tables for sabacc, gambling men and dancing girls. There were women dressed to the nines alongside scum and villainy. All manner of people came here, including those that Cad Bane now searched out.
Twi’leks, Rodians, and Zeltrons batted their lashes at him, trying to distract him if he didn’t know better. He slipped on by, giving a flirtatious squeeze to varying rumps and waists. While he was tempted, everything had a time and place. He left a gaggle of smitten ladies in his wake.
Then, the heat was on. Green Hair sat amongst a slew of bodyguards. There was no doubt that it was him; he was a human male, lean with a wiry build. But he also sported the most ludicrous hairstyle Bane had ever seen; his green hair was kept upright by an electrostatic field.
The Duros suppressed a laugh, coming off as composed and stoic though inside he was dying. It looked like he had stuck his finger in a socket, the man assuming he was the epitome of style. Word around these parts was he was nicknamed, “Fashion Plate.”
“Kids dhese days,” Bane mulled internally.
As he descended upon their table—each step slow and full of purpose—Green Hair’s men decided to act like the brutes they were, boxing the Duros inside their little circle. If there was one thing Bane did not like, it was being cornered; his hand returned to rest upon one blaster’s holster. One H'nemthe in particular got right in his face; Bane kept his cool but cockily insulted him.
“Ah’d say ye must be plumb weak north of yer ears-” he heckled, “-but it don’t look like ye got any.”
Cad Bane sneered; he had to be one of the most hideous sleemo’s he had ever seen. A reptilian-humanoid, as was his ilk, but still—at least he didn’t have three fingers or ridges on his face. He figured he had never mated; their women were said to kill them once they did—this one was a virgin.
“Couldn’t get laid so ye took up clownin’, did ye’?” Bane insinuated.
That was all it took; the H'nemthe drew his pistol. Cad Bane laid him out; one shot, and he would precede his brethren in death, but only by mere minutes, seconds. Others were ready to avenge his name, but their green-haired leader finally said his piece.
“Let’s not be hasty, shall we?”
“Tell dhat te yer men, dipshit.”
The punk in charge smiled cordially, pretending to welcome Bane with open arms. Reluctantly, his hired guns made room for him to pass, wary, and with scowls upon their ugly mugs.
“The notorious Cad Bane,” Green Hair began. “And to what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Cut de kark,” the Duros seethed. “Who hired ye.”
“I’m not sure what you mean.”
The man motioned with one arm as an introduction. “We are the Raptor Gang. This is our turf,” he said more firmly. “We work for no one but ourselves.”
“Dhen yer de one who ordered Ordel captured,” Bane growled with a curl of his upper lip.
“Oh, her,” the bottom-feeder said dismissively. “She’s just some Imp who works for the Empire. Why do you care?”
The hunter grit his fangs, remembering the state in which he found you. While it could be said Bane had done much worse, it still was not a good enough excuse.
“Dhat’s my business—” he glowered, “—but Ah’m about te make it yers.”
Green Hair side-eyed one of the henchmen to his right; the tension was so thick it could be cut clean through with a vibroknife. The very air was pregnant with unease and animosity, the Duros’ fathomless red eyes studying his adversary. His intent was mal, Bane past the point of being patient. The human could sense his unwavering hostility, mentally preparing for if, and when, he would have to flee the scene.
The man who had received his subtle signal placed himself between Bane and Green Hair, as was his duty. Bane snidely smiled, taking this opportunity to bruise him; hiding behind a lackey was cowardly. “Didn’t realize Green Hair was so yello’-bellied,” the hunter mocked him.
Green Hair ignored his comment, not allowing it to get the best of him. “We were holding her for ransom,” he explained. “But no one came to collect—except for you,” he clarified.
Then, to add insult to injury, the scuzzball kept on talking; he must have thought he was safe and sound behind the blanket of some odd ten men at his disposal.
“The way I see it, you owe me for damages, bounty hunter. You got the girl, but not without destroying one of my properties and killing several of my crew-” Smugly, he took a drink to wet his tongue before he continued. “-a million credits, and I’ll let you walk away. I just know you’re good for it,” he speculated.
Bane laughed; it was dry and lustless. He had a word of his own to say, hand ever at the ready to pull his weapon should the need arise.
Green Hair had frowned at his response, or the lack of one, knowing that his horde was all eyes and ears and judging him for this. To misstep or slip-up during an interaction could be grounds for reevaluation of his leadership.
“Draw,” Bane said with strong contempt.
Green Hair sat up straight; if his mop didn’t already stand on end, it most assuredly would have. He knew who held his audience and the reputation of this dodgy Duros; it did not ease his fears as Cad Bane stood transfixed, and very serious.
“It’s only fair; I was told she was valuable,” he quickly stated, trying to keep the panic from wholly overtaking him.
Cad Bane’s austere red eyes narrowed. “Told by whom,” he barked the question.
The man dared to shrug, “heard it through the grapevine,” he said simply, so far remaining calm and collected with all his wits about him, but not for long.
“Draw,” the gunslinger echoed.
Green Hair stood up on his dais, one level above the plane on which Cad Bane watched, attentive. He had the nerve to brandish his pointer-finger, extending it to put the blame to Bane.
“Now, wait a minute! You don’t give orders around here, I’m the one who—”
That finger was blown clean-off, the Raptor’s leader staring on in shock. The wound was already cauterized; the intense heat of the plasma shot had staunched the flow of blood.
“Don’t got de patience fer no lily-livered, nuna-hearted, blackguard, disssrespectful sssleazebag,” Bane rasped harshly.
“Get him!!!” Green Hair screeched shrilly, holding his wounded hand with the one that still had all its digits. Bane was closed back in; multiple blaster bolts flew in his direction. The Duros soared sky-high per the activation of his rocket boots. This in turn caused several to drop down dead; they had gone and done his job for him.
“Too slow,” he hissed.
His taunting caused more blasters to start blazing, Bane zipping and zigzagging as he easily avoided their pathetic excuse for aim. He withdrew his second pistol; this was the end game. Not for him, but for the whole of Green Hair’s men.
Multiple rounds were fired; they were continuous. Bane’s LL-30 BlasTech pistols had been modified to suit his needs, they would never overheat. One man went down, and then another; they were dropping like Bahl flies, straight down onto the ornate carpet.
People screamed; innocents, supposedly, though this place was a rumpus room full of crooks and thieves. They dashed about like nunas with their heads cut off, knocking one another over as they scrambled to get out. Still, they had no need to worry; Bane never missed his target, and currently his sights were set on one particular maggot trying to escape his wrath.
Green Hair ran opposite, toward the back of the establishment. Bane assumed there was a hidden exit, or a tunnel he was privy to. With all his enforcers dead, the gutless sack of bantha dung had high-tailed it—too bad for him, he wasn’t faster than Cad Bane’s lariat.
With the actuation of his wrist gauntlet, he let his whipcord launch. It wound around the slimy bastard's ankles, causing him to trip over his own two feet. Bane landed gracefully; he reeled him in, the nails of Green Hair’s remaining fingers digging into the fancy rug.
It was no use; Cad Bane tugged and hauled him back. His quarry hemmed and hawed as he tried to change his story.
“I don’t know anything!” Green Hair proclaimed to ears now deaf, hidden beneath Bane’s insulated cap and his overly large hat.
“Liar, liar, pants on fire,” Bane snorted as he used his other arm to shoot a stream of grisly flames; they ignited the perps pants, setting them ablaze.
Green Hair screamed and yelled, twisted and turned, although he was still lassoed. He managed to bat the flames out, panting, swearing, and now met face-to-face with Bane as he dragged him to square up.
“Who sent ye afta’ Ordel,” Bane asked again.
“I don’t know, I don’t—”
Bane prepared for the smell of burning flesh. “Liar, liar, face on—”
“WAIT!” the asshole bellowed, deciding to change his tune to one more favorable. He breathed in and out, trying to settle himself down as two red eyes, bright as starlight, radiated hatred; this bastard’s luck had just run out—Cad Bane was not merciful.
“Some guy, old guy. Talked with a funny accent.”
“Ah wanna name,” Bane sizzed angrily.
“Don’t have one— he said she was an engineer! Told us to watch the news. Said she’s valuable to the Empire, and they would pay hefty credits to get her back! She’s a brainiac!” he explained hurriedly.
“Yer right stupid, ain’cha. Ye think de Empire ain’t gonna just storm yer lil’ hideout if dhey want ‘er?”
Bane glared deep into his eyes; he would both see and sense his fear. People who were scared often withheld information without the proper motivation, but the bounty hunter found he could be quite persuasive.
“Ye suppose dhey take kindly te extortion?”
The Duros retrieved one holstered pistol, planting it against the side of Green Hair’s spiky head. He bared his fangs; he had no qualms with offing him.
“And she’s Ah brainiac yer men used and abused,” he hissed. “Dhere ain’t no lady who deserves dhat, not even an Imp,’ he spat.
“Now—” Bane’s words took on a darker tone, “—give me a name, or Ah’ll assume yer de one te answer fer all. dhose. sins,” he finished.
Green Hair truly didn’t have one, just a pseudo he had given him, and what he could remember of his unremarkable appearance.
“I dunno, man! He reached out to me; his frequency was encrypted. I shoulda known this shit was a trap!”
Bane shook and rattled him, a threat to do him in. “Now he’s gettin’ it.”
“Said I could call him—call him Willy,” Green Hair imparted. “Maybe, he—”
“Maybe he just couldn’ do it ‘imself and knew ye were an idiot,” Bane filled in the blanks, throwing the so-called leader of the Raptor’s back down upon the ground. If you took the time to put two and two together, it all made sense; it was an inside job, the suggestion made by one of your trusted colleagues.
“Please, don’t kill me,” the white-livered Green Hair begged.
Bane glanced down at him as if he forgot that he was there.
About that time they had a visitor. One unhappy Hutt came slipping and sliding down the carpet, Yanth, the owner of the Tusken Oasis nightclub.
“Explain this!” he thundered in Galactic Basic.
Bane knew Yanth was a Vigo, one of nine, and part of Black Sun’s leadership. He was wealthy and held in high esteem. He oversaw the organization’s operations in this sector of the galaxy. He reported directly to the Underlord; it paid off to know your stuff, as Cad Bane did not want to piss him off.
“Dhis one ‘ere started it,” Bane began, yanking Green Hair up again to toss directly into the hands of one of his two men.
“Was gonna haul him in,” the Duros said all calm and casual, glancing at the shed that lined his fingertips.
“Reckon he owes ye some money,” Bane finalized.
“I know you,” the Hutt informed him. “You’re a bounty hunter.”
“Cad Bane, at yer service,” the gunslinger rejoined.
“Hey, that’s not—” Green Hair interrupted.
One of Yanth the Hutt’s men backhanded him across the face; he was nearly knocked out cold, blood spewing from his lips. He now hung limply in the arms of a four-limbed Besalisk. Bane grinned as Green Hair groaned; he couldn’t help it.
“Then I suppose I should thank you for getting the situation under control before it got out of hand,” the slimy Hutt-lord said.
“Tweren’t nothin’,” Bane said with a tip of his wide hat. “Consider it a gift,” he proffered, pulling out a toothpick from the inside pocket of his jacket. “Sorry ‘bout de bodies,” he added, placing his wooden chew toy in his mouth; the Hutt finally took one long glance around.
“I’ve seen worse,” he commented.
“Ah’m sure ye have,” Bane quipped offhand. Then, he produced a copy of his calling card; he offered it to Yanth as a way to keep the peace between them.
“If ye ever find yerself needin’ a bounty hunta’, give me a buzz,” Bane stated, twirling on his heel for his coat to swirl; he loved making a grand exit; he was known for his showmanship.
Bane walked, alert. He kept his eyes forward, but he was focused on his rear. His ears were sharp, and his senses were perceptive. If Yanth tried to turn on him as he made his way, he would be ready, but the only thing he heard was Green Hair yelling as he was dragged along the floor.
With the Hutt in charge, he was in for his comeuppance; Bane did not pity him.
---
Once outside, Bane was unaware his worries would intensify. His first order of business had been to comm his ship and his little droid, but there had been no answer.
“Todo, how’s de lil’ hellcat doin’. Finished ‘ere,” he started, waiting patiently before he became impatient. He could not think of an excuse to be ignored, unless there was a heap of trouble brewing.
“Todo, where are ye? Answer de comm,” Bane demanded of his companion.
For a few moments, he stopped to wonder; just who among your ranks had it out to kill you? Truth be told, this job was getting out of hand. He had a mind to leave it all behind.
Then, he remembered your annoyingly attractive face, your buxom tits, and all your assets. He would not admit it to himself, but he had somehow formed a slight attachment; he wanted to see you safe if nothing else, you had paid him to do no less.
“Todo…” Bane rang his ship a second time, his droid’s name spoken with mild panic. He should have known better than to leave the two of you alone; his scales prickled as he thought of all the things that could go wrong. He had no idea about your hunger, or the lengths that you would go to get a meal, nor did he realize you had solicited his addled sidekick to go somewhere against his will.
“Ye gotta be shittin’ me,” Cad Bane declared, igniting his repulsor boots again. This time his aim was for his speeder, parked a few blocks off. He only hoped when he made it to the Justifier that you weren’t dead, or worse.
While Meridian has relied heavily on tactical supremacy through cartography and engineering, they’ve been no strangers to unleashing weapons of a truly alien design.
The first recorded instance of this weapon was during the advent of the Third Steam War. A weapon aboard the destroyer Hypathia was fired upon the coastal estate of the King of Concord, obliterating the entire complex and killing every one in sight. In the ensuing confusion, the Hypathia was sunk, carrying the secrets of its weapon to a watery grave.
An installation of these devices was later revealed to have been constructed around the capital of Shinar, Babel. Unleashed at the dawn of the Shinarian revolution, it obliterated an entire flotilla of Meridian ships, securing the nation’s independence.
The umbrella term used to describe these devices came from their use in the installation made famous by the Shinarian revolution. Officially named Archimedes, the defensive weapons system lined the coast of the City of Babel, the administrative center of the colony. Much of what is known about the machines were derived from the Archimedes, inferred from surviving televised footage taken during the event.
Rumors abound of the true nature of these weapons, which are capable of truly devastating yet precise attacks at targets: what is known is that they are capable of firing beams of immense destructive force without leaving so much as radiation in its wake, and that they are typically mounted weapons requiring complex machinery to properly aim,.
The effects of these machines are devastating, with observers reporting a blinding and deafening sound that could be heard for miles. Initial assumptions of the devices presumed that they were nuclear, though this hypothesis was later discredited when several observations showed no lingering radiation.
Neither Meridian nor the Republic of Shinar has declassified any of the data surrounding these machines. Speculation assumes that they may have been relic technology, likely from the Leveler era, appropriated and reverse-engineered by the Meridian industrial-military complex.
I want to express a couple of thoughts about Tumblr user bambamramfan’s recent post on fear. I’ll just link to the original post “Fear Trumps Hate”, since it feels a little tacky to reblog something I already reblogged without comment, and to link to some of my own long-form posts in the reblog no less.
The essay hits the nail on the head concerning what I consider an excellent example of what I was talking about in my two Wordpress posts on gadlies (in which I depict gadflies as bearers of possibly inconvenient speculations on difficult situations which we are all too inclined to ignore). In fact, I had this example somewhere in my mind when I was writing both posts.
Sometimes a particular cultural environment learns to embrace certain kinds of gadflies once it has become well-armed with repellent against other opposing ones. In this case, we have groups of people who are inclined to be hostile to other groups. The speculation “maybe this group has a legitimate fear of the other and has the right to act on it” will always be present in such a situation, but then there is always the counter-speculation “maybe this fear is in fact invalid, and then it’s important to consider the harm done by acting on it”. It seems that in our current society, the latter speculation is discouraged from even entering our conscious deliberations. Of course, those in opposition to said fear-induced hostility will inevitably try to go the “your fear is invalid” route however indirectly, but outside of spaces composed of like-minded folk, the repellent against that “gadfly speculation” is so strong that we are conditioned to pattern-match their rhetoric to “asshole!”. This is also an example which illustrates the relationship I clumsily tried to argue in my first linked post between “gadfly-repellent” and Scott Alexander’s conception of superweapons.
(By the way, another instance of the “never suggest someone’s fear is invalid” norm is the way police officers seem to defend their aggressive policies in a lot of the ugly incidents of brutality that we’ve seen lately. It seems that for the police, there has generally been a norm of “But we felt legitimately unsafe!” generally being a valid defense.)
It might be that in many cultures throughout human history, hate trumped fear -- maybe hate was considered a form of strength while fear was a sign of weakness or wimpiness. But that sure doesn’t seem to be the way things are today.
Fic summary: You are Aurora Ordel: the pinnacle of femininity gone wrong. Smart, sexy, but with a sassy mouth. Hailing from Corellia, you live on Coruscant at your career’s behest. You are a “Chief Design Engineer” for The Galactic Empire; inventor of the Onager-Class Star Destroyer - this super weapon is your pride and joy.
Your employer is Palpatine; you answer to Darth Vader; and Grand Moff Wilhuff Tarkin is always barking up your skirt.
You are also beauty who has met with beast – a surly, ill-tempered bounty hunter who you like to swap spit with. Your problem? - Everyone’s out to kill you for being such a kriffing witch, and on top of that, you’re addicted to that Duros dick. Your solution? – Make Cad Bane your ( on call ) bitch.
*This is a second person POV (reader) fic / OC fic. It's both. I forgo physical descriptions at much as possible, though yes, you/she has a name, and a personality. If that is not your cup of tea, that is fine, but as the story stands it will remain this way. I still have fun writing it. If it pisses you off, oh well I guess. DN read.
This chapter: Our dear reader has found herself in trouble. Cad Bane is quite fed-up with her! Will he bother to come to her assistance, and if so, under what pretense?
Warnings: 18+ for dirty humor, death, murder, reference to fertile cycles and alien biology aka horny old man Bane headcanon, exploding heads, allusions to physical abuse, mention of sexual assault (no penetration), misogynistic/gross men, emotional trauma / other heavy shit, but don't worry. Cad Bane saves you.
Word count: 6.5k
Notes: No smut this time. Sorry / not sorry about that, but the story is definitely progressing in that direction for chapter 5! I apologize for the long delay. Hopefully this chapter will still be entertaining!
BATBH: Masterpost
You are Aurora Ordel, and you have found yourself in trouble. Your hired gun has been callous toward you, and for good reason. You had annoyed him to the point money did not matter. He was through with you, and you were being held for ransom.
You had lost track of time, though hours felt like days. Your kidnappers hadn’t fed you, though they were kind enough to let you drink, for without water you would die. It wouldn’t do them any good if you were dead—not yet.
Little did they know the Empire did not take kindly to this sort of thing. Perhaps your life was not worth the credits that they required for your release. You had your doubts, having heard their plans, even if you were an infamous, “evil” scientist.
This gang of thugs had claimed to have seen you on the HoloNews. They assumed you were someone of esteem and influence, and perhaps you were. Just days ago, you had the Emperor himself eating from your palm, but only because of your invention. You were unsure that he would bother to send anyone to gain your freedom.
After two days, your assailants were growing bored. You wore a blindfold. You had no idea what they looked like or their species, though some of them had claws as they had fondled and caressed your body.
You had choked back tears against your gag. They claimed to love the soft flesh of a human. Their words came out as a hiss. You thought maybe they were Trandoshan, or perhaps more Duros.
That thought led you to more unsavory ones, the very thing you had done to displease the hunter—that kriffing bet. Your desire for him had overpowered your sense of reason. You were normally so smart, yet this blue man caused you to act stupid.
It’s like your brain turned off around him. No man, no alien, had ever had that effect on you before. It was unnerving, yet your libido grew and grew to the point where you could lose all control. It was no doubt curious, though you chose to act instead of question it.
Just thinking about Cad Bane had you sopping wet even as you were bound in binders and blind to your surroundings. You cursed yourself behind your gag, though the scent of your arousal had alerted your greedy captors. Whatever their ilk was, they could tell.
“Sssssshe likesssss it. What a ssssssslut,” one of the Trandoshans said. You nearly screamed as his forked tongue flitted against your ear. You kicked your legs, though your ankles were bound. One of his large hands easily held them down.
“We got ourssssselvvvvesssss a braaaaaat,” the reptilian creature hissed. There was raucous laughter, followed by the overwhelming feeling of being helpless.
You held back tears, for they wouldn’t do you any good. Your mind drifted to that damn Duros. He wished you had never slighted him. The only thing that made you finally cry was that he had never fucked you proper.
---
Cad Bane was on the hunt. Your scent had been overpowered, outnumbered by the odors of your adversaries. They had purposely split up, going two separate ways. Perhaps they knew who they were dealing with when they saw the company you kept.
Bane was aware it was in his best interest to leave it be, yet you had paid him quite a hefty sum. Maybe he felt a sense of duty, though he had convinced himself to swear you off. It still felt … wrong, seeing as how you couldn’t even see, and that part had been his fault, no matter that you quite deserved what you had got.
Ultimately, if he hadn’t ejaculated on your glasses, you wouldn’t be in this mess.
The hunter sighed, running a hand over his long face as he shook his head. He shouldn’t have let your attitude get the best of him. To lose his cool was unprofessional, no matter if he had been balls deep in your pretty cunt, as that was less than professional as well, but he would have to admit he had enjoyed it when in fact his testes resided inside himself.
He hadn’t… finished; he hadn’t let you finish. To die without the satisfaction of an orgasm was a cruel and unjust punishment, especially as your desire for him was downright palpable.
His ego was somewhat elevated despite the events that had transpired. If he played his cards right, you might still be alive. If not, well, he at least could say he tried.
Cad Bane stalked the lower levels, having asked anyone in the nearby vicinity about what it was they’d seen. For the perpetrators to have moved so fast dictated they were not human beings. He had smelled a mix of things. Gotals, which was worrisome, Trandoshan, and a subspecies of their ilk. They were just as ugly, going by the name of Saurin’s who hailed from the planet Durkteel.
They all had claws, sharp teeth, or horns: things that you might be afraid of. Yet, as a scientist, Bane wondered if you were perhaps enjoying it.
Oh, but his thoughts wandered to things that were unpleasant. That prompted him to traverse through the Underworld portal in his ship, deeper down than where the Red Rancor sat.
Level 1313 was so aptly named, as it was one-thousand-three-hundred and thirteen levels from the core of Coruscant. This place was vile, often forgotten by those above and disregarded, though Cad Bane had visited this undercity numerous times before.
Information was what he was after on your whereabouts. Tidbits, morsels, or even scraps often proved useful when you followed the right tracks. He left the Justifier in the safekeeping of his droid, then slinked through the crowds as he kept an eye out and one ear open.
Bane canvassed the filthy streets, using the fear of God he put into people. No one dared to turn him down from the moment he’d made eye contact.
His reputation was a boon, though he could not prevent denizens from lying to him. He had learned to gauge a person’s body language, their nuanced movements, and the tone of voice they used to tell if they were playing stupid. Most were too afraid to fib, though Bane uncovered nothing of grave importance.
A few individuals in particular he thought suspicious; he collected their names and any identifying features. He used his thorough research skills to rummage down back avenues on the HoloNet, picking and choosing where he was led to next on instinct.
After many dead-end leads and unsuccessful stealth-laden ventures, Bane decided on a place to rest and kick his feet up but also one full of chumps and gangsters, two-bit crooks, and even bounty hunters. He’d fit right in, to most people’s chagrin—Cad Bane’s presence was at the very least intimidating.
Finally, some punk, some wet-nosed kid who knew little-to-nothing about subtlety or keeping secrets, just couldn’t stop himself from bragging. A heavy flow of ale meant a heavy flow of intel from his end. Bane would often buy drinks for blatherers; the payout was worth the credits, especially if he was not in the mood to cause a scene.
“They caught themselves an Imp with a real nice rack. Wonder how many war crimes she’s committed.”
“Bitch probably deserves what’s coming to her,” some rando commented.
“Wouldn’t mind being the one to give it,” the stoolie laughed. "Then I'd leave her a present to remember me by—all over those perky tits."
The unwitting snitch had just joined ranks with a no-good band of hoodlums, rivals to the ones called Raptors, and they had the inclination to snatch their current captive to take the reward all for themselves.
Some woman, a smart one, from what he had gathered—she held secrets belonging to the Empire. This kid had seen her dragged inside a warehouse; he had overheard a man with green hair explain the details to someone else—the plans they had for you should no one bother to collect.
Cad Bane thought there was more to it than that. He ground his teeth into his toothpick. Upon threat of death should he waste his time, the squealer shed light on this gang’s hiding spot, advising the bounty hunter on where to start his search afresh.
Then, he broke his neck.
“Dhat’s fer bein’ a disgustin’ bastard,” Bane sneered, though he had mostly committed murder so he did not follow in his footsteps; it would have been a bother should he gain advantage or get word back to his gang.
However, he could not deny the imbecile was accurate: your rack was nice. He found himself annoyed that he was worried about your safety, red eyes squinting as he glared at nothing in particular until he moved ahead, hoping you weren’t dead yet.
The Duros was forced to enter the Crimson Corridor, the even seedier high-crime district that was positioned some ten kilometers from the former Jedi Temple. It was in the Third Quadrant of the Zi-Kree Sector, and not a place for a lady such as yourself, no matter your lack of proper manners.
This region was far from your original location; he wondered if this whole charade was planned ahead or just an opportune arrangement. Considering the many talents you seemed to have, he wouldn’t put it past this motley crew to know what you were truly on about.
Cad Bane shook his head again; he could hardly believe a gal like you created superweapons. With such a shapely ass, wide hips, and perfect breasts, it was a wonder you had also been blessed with such a brain to boot, one that housed monolithic blueprints for some of the most dangerous playthings in the galaxy, yet you were worse than all those children he had been paid to wrangle—they knew how to listen. You were a walking contradiction!
You talked back, talked smack, running your mouth from here to the Mid Rim with the obscenest things, and you had the nerve to make that bet!
Oh, you had begged forgiveness. But even if he was irritated with you and had admittedly planned to leave, Bane could not vindicate forfeiting you to the grimy hands of other men.
This time he had brought Todo with him, the droid trying to point out something Bane would not accept; there had been a rise in his reproductive hormone levels, and your presence was simply not helping matters, though the droid was positive it could.
Maybe it was a mistake to link his little confidant to his life support; he knew the ins and outs of every facet of Bane’s many somatic systems. Todo was aware If Bane was sick or injured before even he did on occasion, but the price to pay was he had become a hassle. He was always badgering and nagging, telling him when to eat, or sleep, or when to brush his teeth to practice good oral hygiene.
He was tempted to end the program, but he also loved having the upper hand. Should he need him one day, Todo would be a comm away.
Still, at this very moment, the service droid would not stop talking, elaborating on the intricacies of Durosian biology and fertile cycles, reproductive windows, and the horrors and atrocities of aging. If he did not need him to distract that damn Gotal he had smelled, Todo would have still been sitting pretty in the Justifier and Bane could bask in silence.
“It will only get worse, you know,” the little droid stated matter-of-factly as his master listened, a broad sneer plastered on his blue face from crease-to-crease.
“De only ting gettin’ werse ahround here’s yer jabberin’,” the Duros seethed.
“That is not true. Perhaps you have not noticed, as you are not the one experiencing it from an outside perspective, but every three months your mood swings are absolutely terrible,” Todo disagreed.
“Maybe ye just piss me off like clockwork,” Bane retorted.
“I highly doubt that.”
“Ah don’t doubt it aht all,” the Duros snickered.
“Think of all the laundry I have to do!”
“Perfect task fer’a butler droid.”
“I am not a butler droid! How many times have we been over this? And it is not just laundry. It is worse than that, it is-
“Ferget dhat,” Bane cut in. He did not want to talk about the aftermath of his lengthy masturbation sessions. “Focus. Keep yer optics open, or dhis is liable te be’a skank in a scud pie situation.
“What is it that you think we are doing?” Todo asked deliberately.
“Rescue op,” Bane drawled from around his toothpick.
“Since when do you ever do those?” he asked quite flagrantly.
Bane rumbled a warning at him. “Since when de ye tolk so dang-blamed much?” He thought it over. “Eval! Got him outta prison. Tch.” He failed to mention Obi-Wan or his hand in the whole affair.
“Did ye ferget Ziro?” he asked after the fact. “Rescued ‘im durin’ dhat whole senate ting. Ye weren’t dhere fer dhat part, but as ye very well know, it happened!” he snapped, exasperated.
“I thought those were more like recovery missions,” the techno-service droid argued back with a tad of sass. “Besides, you said you would never take one of those jobs again! And this one you’re doing for free?”
“Ain’t free! S’paid in advhance, and Ah meant werkin’ fer de Hutts!” Cad spat, flicking his chewed-up toothpick straight into Todo’s shoulder; it bounced off and landed in a puddle, Todo glancing up at Bane as he hovered above the water on his rocket boosters, shaking his large head with an iota of disapproval.
“In advance of being kidnapped? Why, I have never heard of anything like that.”
Cad Bane paused, dredging two fingers against his chin. He rubbed softly as he had a thought: was it possible this had been your plan as well? His brow ridge furrowed. He snorted out a scoff; that would have been ridiculous. Not even you would go that far to get attention.
“Why de ye think dhere’s bodyguards, laserbrain? Ye hire somebody ‘cause yer either afraid of bein’ kidnapped, or afraid of someone killin’ ye,” he quipped in agitation.
“So, then you mean to tell me you have failed at your job?” Todo asked with honest curiosity. “Your task was to guard Miss Ordel, yet she has been kidnapped?” Todo’s body language made him appear aghast. “Oh, this is worse than I thought! Your judgement has been clouded to the point it is affecting-”
Cahnnit! No more playin’ know-it-all! God only knows how’a know-it-all knows err’ything exscept how annoyin’ dhey are. Gotta too big mouth fer yer too big head. We’re here!” he added. “Now, shut up.”
“If that isn’t the Quacta calling the Stifling slimy,” Todo whispered to himself in reference to the size of his large head. Duros were no better off in that department.
Bane ignited the thrusters on his boots without another word, launching himself heavenward. He bounded from roof to roof until he landed atop a structure in much need of repair, Todo not far behind. There was a viewport that acted as a skylight, Bane peering into the dimly lit storehouse that the boy had pointed out; this place was to be his target, and those who tread within.
For now, the hideout was sparsely populated, though there was that infernal Gotal and a rather beefy human male, but what was worse was the Gotal already seemed to be aware of Cad Bane’s proximity; it was time for Todo to perform his single task.
Gotals, as a species, could sense their quarry from up to ten kilometers away; they could track a herd for weeks, determining the amount, game type, and fitness level by relying on their cones alone. When close to targets, they could easily absorb information on their mood and state of mind. As such, they numbered among the most sought-after hunters in the galaxy, which in this instance was not to Cad Bane’s benefit, far from it.
Those… things that Gotal’s had—their cranial horns were good receptors—they could sense electromagnetism and varied energy emissions, including auras from other lifeforms and things as tiny as neutrinos. They were the exact opposite of Duros. Their eyesight and hearing were quite weak and their sense of smell almost completely absent, but that did not reduce their other talents.
Droids, as it were, gave off enough emissions to at least annoy one, but Cad Bane had a sabacc card up his long sleeves: electro-magnets strapped to the inside of Todo’s chassis. They emitted emanations ten times that. It should be more than enough to disorient the sentient.
The Gotal had begun to move around the room as if he were looking for something or someone, the human male keeping close watch even as the horned being warned him that something was off. He used his wrist comm to call for back-up; he wandered toward the locked tight doors. This was Cad Bane’s chance. Perhaps he could avoid a firefight if he could rescue you before any new arrivals.
He took a moment to study your appearance. He could see you clearly from this vantage. You were tied up by the hands around a post, your legs stretched out before you.
“Bet she’s sittin’ dhere wishin’ she ain’t got under m’scales,” Bane mumbled.
Oh, how right he was.
It had been nearly three whole days. You were wearing the same outfit. Your shoes were gone, and your glasses, too. He cursed himself, noticing you looked like you might have been abused.
There were marks and bruises on your arms; your hair was in a disarray. He was sure you had spent more time crying as there were mascara stains, old ones, running down your face.
Cad Bane gnashed his fangs.
“Todo, cut a hole in dhis transparisteel, dhen get down dhere and distract dhat Gotal once he exits de building,” Bane ordered coldly.
“Right away, Bane!” Todo activated a hidden laser, focusing its beam on the glass before him. He cut a large circular shaped hole before Bane rummaged in his tote, withdrawing two suction cups. He implanted them against the plate; he removed the excess then set it off to the side. It was big enough for the hunter to squeeze through, the little droid giving a salute before he zipped down off the roof.
Cad Bane watched, leery, as his little partner flew off to do his job. He reset his intentions, gazing down into the warehouse.
To his annoyance three more beings had joined the man. Two Trandoshan, and one Bith. He snickered, preparing to make his entrance.
He paused. You had made a noise. Your pathetic whimpering had enticed one of the large reptiles.
“Aww, poor thing. What’ssss the matter?” the largest Trandoshan taunted, “Did you missss me?” he asked nastily.
Cad Bane watched as you kicked your feet and twisted against your bindings. He noted there was a gag inside your mouth to silence your response. He supposed you talked too much, and at that moment he could not blame your captors, even though he was now on edge as the scaled being bent down to caress your inner thigh; his claws teased and tormented you as they disappeared beneath your skirt.
You whined against the cloth stuffed in your mouth. Cad Bane’s green blood set to boiling.
“Todo, where’s de ugly goat man aht?” he hissed into the comm upon his wrist gauntlet. He was trying hard to keep his cool.
Todo 360 returned the call, floating with his tiny hands upon his hips. He was quite satisfied with himself, the Gotal on his knees before him. The ache in his head was quite apparent; his actions were ones of pain and anguish as he rolled around upon the ground. He was flustered, flummoxed, and all together worthless, having been thoroughly incapacitated beyond his usefulness.
The service droid’s proud voice rang out, “Currently, he is indisposed. Would you like to leave a message?”
“Keep him pinned, got questions. Dhis ain’t all o’dhem.” he said, referring to the Raptor gang.
“Yes, sir!” Todo accepted his orders without question.
You screamed, though it was muffled. Cad Bane withdrew one LL-30 BlasTech pistol. He took his time, aimed, and fired. He shot the human dead, then the Trandoshan next. The lizard’s body fell across your lap right before Bane dropped to the warehouse floor like a graceful Loth-cat.
His duster settled; he rose from bended knee. The other lizard creature lifted his weaponry. Cad revoked it and shot him between the eyes; it had all been simultaneous.
His lariat had extended. It had wrapped around the blaster’s grip. He jerked it from the Trandoshan before he even knew what happened. At the same time that this occurred, Bane lifted his own pistol. It was a fluid movement, the heavy carcass falling upon the floor right by your feet.
That left the Bith; Cad Bane cornered him. He tossed the blaster rifle to violently discard it.
As for you, you had no idea what the hells was happening. You jiggled at your cuffs, chest heaving as you breathed in deeply. You were frantic, wondering if you would be the next one to meet your Maker, or if perhaps your comrades had come for you, but that might not necessarily be good.
For one, you could be branded as a failure. You had not avoided capture. Granted, this had been your employer’s greatest fear, though now your project was in its final stages. Surely you were still of utility, why else had they deigned to hire you?
Your thoughts raced; you suddenly wondered if they would believe anything you had to say. Would Tarkin assume you spilled secrets while in captivity?
Surely he would not! But you could hardly put it past the Moff. You felt if you ever made it out alive, Wilhuff might decide to ride you raw.
Thankfully, that was not to be taken literal. For Tarkin to get anywhere near your naughty bits nearly triggered your gag reflex. Besides, you had heard that he was gay. The idea suited you—the mighty Moff with a cock shoved up his ass. You would love to tell him to “sit on it and spin.” Maybe if he got his rocks off he’d lighten up a bit.
Though not to diminish your current state, which was one of fear and panic; you started crying at the awful sounds the Bith was making as Cad bane had withdrawn something from his coat’s deep pockets.
Bane held the Bith around the neck; he dipped down low to sniff him with his olfactory organs. This one smelled like you too. No one would be getting off the hook.
He felt unusually cruel, though you were still blind to the goings-on. Cad Bane whispered a few simple words, the other struggling to free himself as you strained to hear what was being said.
“When ye get te hell, tell ‘em Cad Bane sent ye,” the Duros sizzed.
The voice had not been comprehensible; there was a new sound to distract you. You heard the ticking of a timer, one that was high in pitch. It was meant for the tiny Bith who squirmed and squawked in Cad Bane’s grip, the hunter doing the unthinkable when he shoved it between his odd-shaped lips.
Bane ignited his boot’s thrusters. He propelled himself and dove into a darkened corner. Within seconds, you heard something terrible and shrill, then felt something warm and wet; for a moment you thought that you’d gone deaf.
Whatever had splashed you was thick and sticky, and on top of everything you still could not see or even speak. You thrashed against your stun-cuffs, not realizing the Bith’s head had just exploded, and now the remnants were all over you.
Their senses were highly acute; Bith could perceive tonal qualities of sounds unknowable to others. An interesting side effect was in the use of screamers.
Bane only came out when the coast was clear, but you were livid, kicking and jerking as if he were out to kill you, and for all you knew it was the truth.
Cad Bane approached you, though you still had no idea he was the culprit. You were sobbing, trying to remove the Trandoshan that had fallen across your legs.
The weight was lifted; someone had dislodged the dead guy, finally. This person lowered and touched your knee as they tried to calm you down, not thinking you might take this as a threat, though in hindsight it made sense.
Your leg rose; you would have socked Bane right in the family jewels if he were human. It was a good thing his reproductive organs were internal, or he might have killed you on accident.
He halted any further actions, holding both your legs down with one large hand as he contained a growl, the Duros meaning to comfort you but instead yelling, “simmer down!”
It was fruitless; you couldn’t even hear him. The ringing was still present in your ears, though you felt you could register things at a distance. It felt like being in a tunnel while at the same time underwater. Your heart rate increased as the being shifted his position.
You screamed again when he leaned in, right as he removed your gag.
Bane fell backward, nearly losing the hat atop his head. He grimaced, barking out more orders once he had recovered from you yelling in his face. “Calm yer tits, woman! Yer safe!”
You seemed inconsolable; all you did was weep. Cad Bane crawled forward on his hands and knees; he reached out timidly to remove your blindfold. He acted like one who might be wary of a hound, not sure if they might bite or attack on sight.
You stifled a gasp, though your lips trembled. Your eyes were having a hard time readjusting. The luminescence of the room was dim at best, but you had been in the dark for nearly three whole days. Then, everything was blurry. Your spectacles were missing. You did not expect to get them back—you were well past that.
“Wh-who’s there?” you fearfully called out, your words a broken whisper as you waited for the worst.
A face appeared within your vision; it was much too close to recognize. Your shivering got worse, though you managed to screech loudly, “Get the hells away from me!”
Cad Bane complained verbally. “Ye wanna know who’s dhere, dhen ye want me te let ye alone. Make up yer mind, brainiac!” he scolded you, half-assed.
All you heard was something about ass, though your hearing was finally coming back. That did not stop you from throwing a full on fit. You railed against your bonds, not caring that it hurt you in the process.
“L-let me go!” you beseeched, your voice cracking pathetically. You were ashamed you had broken rank, only in that you expected more out of yourself.
Four broad fingers and one thumb nestled in against your cheek. It was cool to the touch, but the nerve this person had made you even madder.
“Don’t touch me!” you belted out the moment you perceived a movement of his hand. That had not stopped him, so you stated your true feelings. “I’m too young, beautiful, smart, and funny to die,” you claimed brazenly.
A thumb brushed against your lips as the Duros shushed you; you inhaled sharply before you sank your teeth in. You recognized the taste, the smell, then you heard his raspy voice. “Says ye. Don’t have’a conniption, it’s just me, girl- Ahh!! Karkin’ harpy!!” he hissed, giving your nose a forceful flick.
Somehow, knowing it was Bane only made it worse. You cried full-fledged, feeling so terrible about yourself. To top it off, now you had gone and bit him! You should have kept your mouth shut. You should never have made that bet. Your speech was garbled as you petitioned for forgiveness.
“Inevermeantto-” you expelled in a rush, salty tears streaming down your face. You cried so hard you were beginning to hyperventilate, remembering what Cad Bane had relayed. “Your-your services are no longer required!” you stammered hurriedly.
You continued to pull against the cuffs; you were sure to have bruises on your wrists. Bane cinched his fingers around your forearms; they were small compared to his wide reach.
“Wait’a tick,” he advised you, having recovered from your nip. “Whaddaye yappin’ about—stop squirmin’ so damn much,’ yer gonna hurt yerself!” he berated, flustered.
Your breathing was erratic. You felt like you were dying! You could only reiterate what you had said in so many words, “I am no longer your client! I don’t need you! You, you left me—and, I—” you stumbled over your confession. “I deserve it looking the way that I do! It was bound to happen, re-remember?!” you asked as more tears crept down your cheeks.
The hunter felt a pang of guilt. “Hush now, lil’ hellcat,” he coaxed you gently, though you were mildly traumatized. The gangsters had not had their total way with you, but they had felt you up and fondled all your attributes.
“What the hell’s all over me?! Please, don’t say cum,” you screeched.
“Brains,” Bane answered casually.
“Brains!?” It was worse than you imagined.
He did not respond this time. His fingers worked their magic on the cuffs. He quickly set you loose.
You took to rocking back and forth, drawing your knees up to your chin. “You-you’ve already been paid!” you shrieked as your voice fractured. “G-go away!” you commanded him.
He called you by your name. “Need te get ye outta dhis snake pit, no reason te make it hard. No lady deserves dhis, naht even you.”
“Yes, I do! I’m terrible, I’m the worst. You said so yourself!” you shot back as he moved to wind his arms around you. You bucked and wriggled, borderline ready to throw a tantrum. You were tired and hungry, cold, wet, and somehow slimy. You felt you must smell awful, but worst of all you were full of pity for yourself and covered in some guy’s gray matter.
For once, Bane was being sympathetic, yet you were full of trepidation. You threshed against his hold so much, he withdrew a tool he had stashed away inside his lengthy coat: his hypnosis orb.
It mimicked a Jedi mind trick. Bane could calibrate it to be stronger and for the effects to last a little longer. He had the thought to knock you out for a length of time, just until he could get you someplace else. You were partially delirious from lack of food and rest.
He could not blame you for behaving crazy, at least not right this second. He assumed he’d just have to wait a smidge for you to return to normal, whatever normal was. It was all the more reason to lull you into a brief sleep; you would be less annoying.
The hypnogazer actuated. He brought it up to eye-level with you. You blinked at first, confused, until he found your sweet spot; the correct distance from your face that allowed you to make it out.
“Sssshhhh…” Bane shushed you softly. “Just relaaaaxxx, lil’ lady…” he whispered in your ear as your eyes partook of the shiny object that held one hundred percent of your attention. You were enthralled and occupied like an intrigued feline until your mind went numb. It was as if all thought had left you. You were a blank slate to be manipulated. There was nothing you could do.
Cad Bane made a suggestion to you. “Close yer eyesss…” he coerced. You complied, no questions asked.
“Drift off te sssleeeep. No worriesss…” he crooned as if you were a child who needed soothing. But it worked, for you did that, too. You were dead to the whole of Coruscant as the bounty hunter carried you.
He made his way across the warehouse, a mite surprised there was no one left to stage an ambush, assuming now might be the time he least expected it. Any possible assailants would have predicted false, though he was happy to avoid the whole damn mess; he comm called Todo, signaling him to open the blast resistant doors.
“Got m’hands fulla dhis tart, get us out,” he dryly directed his blundering droid.
Cad Bane was lashed in the face by the stench of a rat-infested alley. It smelled putrid, like trash and sewage, the Gotal writhing on the ground before him as he held you firmly in his arms. Todo had obeyed his orders. The horned beast of a man was still duly incapacitated. Bane gingerly maneuvered you so he could turn a dial on his wrist gauntlet. It freed the Gotal from his invisible imprisonment.
“Where’s yer boss?” Cad Bane demanded, brandishing his authority by the positioning of a single finger, threatening to increase the power of the electro-magnets at his disposal in a moment’s notice.
“I don’t know!” the sentient replied, knowing Green Hair would have his hide, but he couldn’t decide what’s worse: that, or the effects of the disabling emissions.
“Wrong answer,” the Duros spat, making good on his nonverbal threat. He released a wave of pain, the Gotal twitching at his mercy. His kind was not made for this; he cursed the day he joined this gang. He pleaded with the hunter, not knowing what else to do.
“He’ll kill me!” he whined out.
“And ye think we’re gonna dance?” Cad Bane inquired of him, “looks like it’s gonna be pickin’ between one and fourteen, fer ye,” he finished flatly. Todo watched from the periphery, his head roving to and fro between who spoke.
“Can’t be sure,” the Gotal panted, still trying to catch his breath. “He doesn’t tell me anyth-!!” He was interrupted by another rousing dose of horrid broadcasts, Todo just happy to be of use as he stood watch.
“Tusken Oasis!! He – arghhh!! He hangs out there-!!” the being howled.
Cad Bane sneered as he gently set you down. He freed the Gotal once again as he stayed put, gasping on the ground. The Duros bared his teeth as he scooped the Gotal up, having dragged him to his feet by the edge of his shirt’s collar.
He took a whiff; the scent of your natural fragrance lingered on the gangster’s clothing. Bane pretended not to notice, forcing the fur covered man to stand up on his own. Cad tipped his hat; bade him goodbye. The Gotal ran, thinking now would be his only chance.
“Hey, fuzzball,” Cad Bane called out. The Gotal whisked around. He was met with the barrel end of a blaster pistol pointed directly at him. “Enjoy yer last trip home,” he offered, a single particle beam being ejected from its pack. The Gotal dropped like a ton of duracrete flat upon his back.
Bane glanced to you; thankfully, you had not stirred. He bent down, then resituated you within his arms. He addressed his droid, firing up his Mitrinomon thrusters. The Duros took to the air, aiming for his hovercar some few blocks off. “We get ‘er back te de ship, dhen Ah take care o’dhis Green Hair,” he crisply hissed.
“Shouldn’t we take her to her penthouse first, Mister Bane?” Todo asked presumptuously, thinking that his master was not considering all aspects.
“Naht leavin’ ‘er alone dhis way, yer gonna keep ‘er company and yer gonna like it,” the Duros stated, sailing through the gaps and spaces between buildings and other forms of real estate. “’Sides, her fancy-pants castle is on de other side’a dhis icky menopausilis. Hate backtrackin.’ Already berthed too far as is.”
“Did you mean ecumenopolis? I am afraid I do not understand,” Todo complained. “What am I to do with her?” he asked, nonplussed.
“It ain’ karkin’ rocket science, and if it were, ye gotta rocket scientist right here,” Bane claimed dismissively.
“With the way she acts, I would have assumed she is a xenobiologist on the verge of discovering a new species!” the techno-service droid boldly shot right back. Cad Bane amassed a growl deep within his chest.
“Use yer blasted logic processor! Green hair don’ know anythin’. Wait too long, de trail goes cold, plus he finds out ‘is pads been compromised,” the Duros rationalized.
“Yes, that does make sense,” Todo easily gave in.
“’Course it does! S’also why Ah’m de one in charge. Now, get in de pilot’s seat,” Cad Bane demanded tersely.
Bane’s source of transport was an airspeeder. It was a vehicle that could fit right in the Justifier’s cargo bay. His ship was docked in a far-off spaceport some thousand sectors over. Zi-Kree was immense. Foremost, he had to get you out of here. He settled you in first, then hopped in afterward. “Fly,” he instructed brusquely.
Todo grumbled to himself and anyone who’d listen. “I am a techno-service droid, not a chauffeur droid! Why is it you never want to drive yourself?”
Cad Bane crossed his scrawny legs, placing one hand daintily atop his knee. He looked squarely at the back of Todo’s head, glaring, before his eyes widened like a giddy child as they began to move. Cad Bane loved sightseeing, and he also loved majestic sunsets. On top of that, he was feeling quite pleased with himself and felt he had earned his God damn credits.
He could have argued or made up some excuse. Instead, he lied, though giving the little droid an ego boost to boot. “Yer betta’ aht dhis part,” he curtly clarified, although it could be said Bane appreciated taking in the scenery when he had the time.
“Oh, well, you could have said so… a long time ago,” Todo commented. Bane had never bothered to compliment his flying skills before.
The conversation paused. Cad Bane found himself staring down at your sleeping form as he rumbled a soft sound.
“Sir, are you—are you purring?” Todo asked as he glanced backwards.
Cad Bane coughed, hacked, and otherwise choked on his own spit. “Ain’t doin’ no such thing!” he angrily declared, “And watch where yer goin’!” he crossly shouted.
“I just wonder what it is that made you do so,” Todo mulled aloud.
“God ferbid Ah take’a moment te m’self,” Bane griped in indignation.
Todo kept quiet after that, though his droid-brain had a few independent thought processes; they were things best kept to himself.
His master was not one to like unsolicited advice, though Todo’s programming would not allow him to give up on what was in Bane’s best interest. It was somewhat a blessing and a curse for this poor Duros; Todo could be a nuisance.
Bane only wanted to be left alone, but Todo knew better—he had a power conduit to couple—it would only make things easier for them, as a team, should his best organic friend sate his innate needs, and he knew just the thing…
