A DEAL WITH THE OUTCASTS
The streets of Ord Mantell were damp and stinky, the air thick with the smell of sweat, grease, and old metal. The ground, slick with a mixture of rainwater and oil, seemed to swallow each footstep, dragging Soreya deeper into the heart of the underworld. Neon signs flickered in the haze, casting sickly green glows on the faces of shady figures lurking in every shadow. The dim alleyways were a haven for the desperate, the broken, and the outcasts. This place was alive with violence, and death moved like a whisper between the cracks in the pavement.
Soreya moved with purpose, her boots tapping softly against the wet concrete, a stark contrast to the chaos that buzzed around her. Her sharp eyes never left the crowds, every gaze calculated, every movement measured. The weight of her blaster at her side was comforting, but her true weapon was the ice-cold determination that ran through her veins, keeping her steps steady. She was a predator here, and the city was her hunting ground.
A low hiss escaped from a corner, followed by a muffled cry. Soreya didn't flinch. She didn't even glance in their direction. Life on Ord Mantell was cheap, and those who couldn't afford to fight for it didn't deserve her attention. She had her own hunt to finish, and she knew better than to get caught in the messy web of this place's twisted alliances.
Soreya pushed open the door to Cid's Parlor, the familiar scent of stale alcohol and low conversation greeting her like an old friend. The dim lighting barely cut through the smoke curling lazily in the air, making everything seem hazy, uncertain. The chatter of bounty hunters and mercenaries filled the room, punctuated by the clinking of glasses and the shuffle of boots on worn floorboards.
The moment she stepped inside, a voice floated across the room, dripping with that particular mix of familiarity and disdain. "You back again, petal?"
Cid, the Thrandoshan female behind the bar, leaned against her post with a sigh, her green scales gleaming under the weak lights. She didn't even look up from cleaning a glass, her claws clicking softly against the smooth surface. But Soreya knew that look in her eyes. It was a mix of resignation and amusement, as if she had seen this moment a hundred times before and knew how it would play out.
Soreya smirked, her lips curling up just enough to reveal the edge of a sharp tooth. She stepped further into the parlor, her eyes scanning the room. "Did you miss me, Cid?" she asked, her voice smooth as silk but laced with something more—something dangerous.
Cid finally lifted her gaze, eyeing Soreya with a raised brow. "Miss you?" she chuckled, her tongue flicking out. "I don't miss trouble, petal. But you sure seem to like finding it."
Soreya shrugged nonchalantly, taking a seat at the bar with a fluid motion that spoke of a thousand such encounters. "Trouble's where the credits are." Her eyes met Cid's, gleaming with the same steely resolve that had kept her alive all these years. "You got something for me, or are we just doing small talk today?"
Cid clicked her tongue, a low sound of mock annoyance. "Always business with you, huh?" She reached behind the bar, pulling out a small, flashing datapad. "I got a job. Worth your time. But don't expect me to make it easy on you. Ain't no easy way off this rock."
Soreya leaned in, her face a study of intrigue and impatience. "I don't want easy, Cid," she murmured. "I just want what's mine."
The door creaked open, the soft hiss of the entrance followed by the familiar thud of boots hitting the floor. Soreya's sharp eyes flicked to the sound, her body tensing ever so slightly as she took in the newcomers. She'd heard those footsteps before—heavy, purposeful, but not the marching rhythm of the Empire's finest. These were different. These were outcasts.
The clones entered the bar, and immediately the air in the room shifted. There was an undeniable tension, a collective awareness that these weren't the soldiers the galaxy was used to seeing. Their armor was battered, worn, some pieces mismatched, and the insignia was either scrubbed off or barely visible, a symbol of the rebellion in their hearts rather than their uniforms. They didn't hold themselves with the same rigid discipline. Instead, they moved like men who had seen too much and lost even more.
Soreya's lips curled into a slight, knowing smirk. The sight of these clones—once warriors of the Empire, now discarded—wasn't new to her. She had encountered enough of them on her travels. But there was something different about this group. They didn't exude fear, nor did they seem like they were here for a fight. There was a quiet desperation about them, a yearning for something... maybe redemption. Maybe just survival.
Her eyes narrowed, scanning the group as they filed into the bar. The first clone, a tall one with a faded paint job on his armor, nodded briefly at Cid, who didn't seem surprised to see them. She'd dealt with more than her fair share of outcasts, after all.
Soreya leaned back slightly in her chair, her fingers tapping rhythmically on the edge of her glass, the gesture deliberate. She didn't care about their pasts—just about whether they were a threat. She could already feel the eyes of one of the clones flicking over to her, noting the way she held herself. Her reputation had a way of following her, even to the dim corners of places like Cid's Parlor.
"Well, well," she murmured under her breath, just loud enough for herself to hear. "Looks like trouble just walked in."
The clone with the long, dark hair and a skull tattoo running down half his face locked eyes with her, his gaze sharp, intense. There was a weight to his stare, like he was sizing her up, deciding whether she was friend or foe. The dim light seemed to intensify the details of his face—rough, battle-worn, and carved by experiences that had left more than just physical scars. His expression was hard, unreadable, but the question he asked was blunt, grave, as though he wasn't just looking for her name, but the truth behind the woman sitting so calmly in Cid's Parlor.
"Who are you?" His voice was low, carrying a sharp edge, the kind that made it clear he wasn't here for idle conversation.
Soreya didn't flinch. She met his gaze head-on, her eyes gleaming with a quiet, calculating confidence. The soft hum of the bar seemed to fade into the background, her focus narrowing on him like a predator locking onto its prey. A smile, faint and dangerous, tugged at her lips, and she leaned back slightly, studying the clone for a moment before answering.
"I'm the last person you want to ask that question, soldier." Her tone was smooth, with an undercurrent of challenge. She didn't owe him any explanations, didn't owe anyone anything, especially not someone who wore the symbol of a fallen empire on his face.**
The other clones shifted, sensing the tension, but no one moved. Cid, ever the observer, just kept cleaning her glass, her eyes glinting with a silent amusement. She knew how these encounters usually played out.
"But since you asked," Soreya continued, her voice now colder, sharper. "The name's Soreya Voss. Bounty hunter. Mercenary. And... the one who's about to make your life a whole lot more interesting."
Her gaze flicked over the group one more time, lingering on the skull-faced clone, her smile never quite reaching her eyes. She could feel the weight of his presence, the storm of secrets swirling around him. She wasn't just dealing with another soldier. There was more to him, and she had a feeling it wasn't something that would remain buried for long.
The moment the child stepped forward, Soreya's entire demeanor shifted. The steely edge that had defined her presence evaporated in an instant, replaced by something softer, more cautious. Her sharp, predatory gaze softened, her body lowering as she crouched down to meet the child's eyes, her movements fluid and practiced. Her fingers, once resting casually on the bar's edge, twitched slightly, the old habits of a hunter stilled as she took in the child before her.
The little girl—blonde hair and wide blue eyes—blinked in confusion, unsure of the sudden change in the woman's attitude. The child's innocence stood in stark contrast to the hardened warriors surrounding her. For a split second, Soreya's sharp edges seemed to blur, the weight of the world outside that bar forgotten. She didn't need to ask the question. She already knew. But she asked anyway.
"Hey kid," Soreya's voice was softer now, almost maternal. "These rough boys... you're brothers?" Her words came with a gentle curiosity, a sense of understanding, and something else—something protectively tender. She didn't speak to the child like a bounty hunter, like a mercenary with a price on her head. She spoke like someone who had seen far too many wars and had learned what innocence really meant. The small girl's eyes widened in surprise at the question, her gaze flickering to the clones for a moment before she nodded.**
"How'd you know?" The question was innocent, almost unaware of the weight that Soreya's words carried. Her gaze drifted back to Soreya, and the woman could see the vulnerability in the child's eyes—the naivety of youth trying to exist in a galaxy torn apart by conflict.**
Soreya's smile, once dangerous and cool, melted into something more genuine, but there was still a trace of sadness in her eyes. She straightened up, giving a slight, quiet chuckle. "Let's just say," she began, her tone almost nostalgic, "I've been around enough battles to know what it looks like when someone's fighting for family."
The clones exchanged glances, their expressions unreadable, but Soreya's focus remained on the child. She wasn't in the business of taking sides or getting wrapped up in someone else's war, but the presence of this young girl... it stirred something within her. A long-forgotten ache, something buried beneath years of mercenary work. Something that made her wonder if, just maybe, there was more to this moment than a simple transaction of credits.
The clones shared a look, their silent exchange heavy with unspoken thoughts. The one with the scomp arm—his gaze sharp and calculating—was the first to nod, a quiet agreement forming. He glanced over at the one wearing a bandana, who gave a slight tilt of his head, the faintest sign of approval. They were used to trusting few, but there was something about Soreya that made this deal feel... different.
"Well, give." The scomp-arm clone said with a grunt, his tone serious but not without a hint of respect. He then added, "We'll take you up on that, Voss. But don't expect us to go easy on you." His words weren't a threat, but a reminder that loyalty would be tested in ways Soreya had yet to experience with these men. They weren't in it for camaraderie—they were in it for survival.**
Soreya smiled, her gaze flicking briefly over the clones, satisfied with their agreement. "Good." She didn't say anything else, her voice cool, calm, and steady as always.
Her attention then shifted to the young girl, still standing by her side. Soreya reached into her pocket and pulled out something small but significant. It was a Kyber crystal, glowing faintly with the power and mystery it held within. She draped it carefully around the girl's neck, letting it hang from a delicate chain. "Here, kid. Take this."
The child blinked in surprise, her hands instinctively reaching up to touch the crystal, her blue eyes wide with wonder. She said nothing but smiled up at Soreya, her trust in the woman growing despite the hardened world she lived in.
Soreya gave the girl a gentle smile, softening her otherwise composed demeanor for just a moment. She then turned toward Cid, who had been quietly observing the scene with a knowing smirk on her face.
"Thanks a lot, Cid," Soreya said, her tone warm but with an undercurrent of gratitude that was rare for her. She appreciated Cid's quiet support in this.
Without waiting for a reply, Soreya turned and began to lead the group of clones out of the bar. The familiar streets of Ord Mantell stretched out before her, the hustle of the town swirling around them. But as Soreya moved forward, she didn't feel the weight of the world pressing in on her. Instead, she felt the flicker of something else—something that wasn't just about survival anymore.
She led them down the heart of the town, the neon lights casting long shadows on the wet pavement. The clones followed in silence, their footsteps steady but unsure of what the future would hold with her at their side.
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