Anon Drekk

Anon Drekk
Biographical Information
Race	Klatooinian
Homeworld	Klatooine
Clan	Aliit V'r'caah
Mother	Rolanda
Father	Drekk
Marital Status	Single
Siblings	Unknown
Born	Year -6 Day 239
Languages	Mando'a Huttese Basic
Physical Description
Gender	Male
Height	1.8 Meters
Coloring	Olive
Eye Color	Black
Political Information
Affiliation	Mandalore
Rank	Alor'uus
Awards	See Below

Youth

He was born with another name, which was rarely even used by his parents who called him by his nickname "Mah Bukee" instead. His birth name was never told to the Hutts, who simply called him "Shag Peedunkee" without giving the matter a second thought.

He was born indentured to Zorda the Hutt on Year 6 BCGT Day 239 at 17:28 hours to his father, Drekk, and his mother Rolanda on their homeworld of Klatooine.

He was raised traditionally. He was taught to speak Huttese, the language of his masters, but not to read it. He played games which developed strength, agility, stamina and observation skills. He was taken to see the Fountain of the Hutt Ancients and was taught the virtues of patience, perseverance and the power of age. He learned about Barada M'Beg's sacred war and the unbreakable divine bond which accompanies an oath. As he grew larger and stronger, he was moved to higher classes where the other children were typically even larger than he. Every time he became confident and self-aware, the bar was raised higher to humble him. He was taught to box, kick, grapple and shoot. He learned how to do simple math in his head and to fight with different lengths of sticks. He was taught his father's trade.

He graduated from Council School quite early, and just one season after his ninth birthday he was culled by the Council of Elders and put to the trials. He demonstrated a high degree of trade proficiency, so the Council agreed that he should be made stronger still and was put up for sale to the local magistrate, Zorda the Hutt, with recommendation for hard labor under harsh conditions. He sold immediately for a nice pile of credits, making his family and the Council very proud. Zorda already had him sold to an Imperial contact for three times what he had paid the Council of Elders, so the Hutt was equally pleased with the arrangement. "Shag Peedunkee" was bound for the Imperial spice mines.

Liberation

He got settled in Zorda the Hutt's Adz Patrol Destroyer, along with a number of other children who were also being delivered to the Imperial contact in deepspace. He shared a slave cabin with six other adults who were indentured members of Zorda's company of marines. He exercised along with them, much to their amusement and became a sort of mascot to the battle team he lodged with over the course of the journey. It was going to be a long trip, as the destroyer was under Zorda's orders to patrol outside of the system perimeter and at random locations along the way for possible raiding targets. It gave the young Klatooinian time to really think about what lie ahead, at the end of his course. On their third mini-jump, they found a target. A MandalMotors BFF-1 Bulk Freighter drifting in space, her sublight and hyperdrive engines both offline. Scans indicated that there were only a couple dozen crew aboard, but the cargo bays were loaded to the rim with Varium. Zorda the Hutt wanted it.

He rode on the shoulders of the squad leader until they reached the slave quarters, when he was set down and told to guard his cabin. The marines were already there, scrambling into their armor and grabbing belts and bandoliers as they rushed outside to the armory to be loaned one of Zorda's weapons. The team leader was the last one out, lifting the young Klatooinian's frightened chin and comforting him "Don't worry, champio. These are miners and laborers, we can handle them. You stay here and protect our bunks." The youngling nodded, switched off the cabin lights and ran to hide behind the big Gammorean's rack, where the lights in the passageway left a deep shadow.

When the marines had all gone, the quarters became strangely silent and in a few moments there was a big crash and a forward pitch which tested his balance. They had docked with the crippled bulk freighter. Echoing through the empty passages, he heard the hiss and pop of the breach and the sudden crescendo of blaster fire immediately after. He was amazed at the ferocity of the sounds: yelling, shooting, metal striking metal, the terrible impacts pattering like raindrops. Soon he could even smell the acrid scent of blaster burns. The fighting wasn't going down below into the derelict freighter, it was coming closer! The deck below his feet began to shudder as grenade blasts pounded the passageway. He pressed himself deeper into the corner of the cabin and listened with terror as the battle grew nearer and nearer.

Then, just as suddenly as the firestorm had began, it stopped. The smoke cast a haze, which turned the lights in the passageway into bright shafts of white light. He listened, but the only sound was a whispered shuffle and an occasional metallic click. It was over. Just then, a dark shape swallowed the light and he looked up to see a man in an iron suit sweeping the room with a blaster. The man in iron did not see him there behind the Gammorean's bunk, but the rack which held his training sticks was on the starboard bulkhead and he estimated that it was about six paces away. When he looked back from the weapon rack, the Mandalorian was already upon him!

He shouted and made a break for the starboard side of the cabin, but the Mandalorian was stepping on his foot and he was trapped. He roared and struck hard at the T-shaped visor which had drawn closer to examine him. The visor hurt his hand. The man in iron stepped back and made a strange sound, the little Klatooinian was confused at first, then he recognized it. The man in iron was laughing.

The Mandalorian wore armor with yellow trim and in a swift and effortless gesture he seized the boy with a three-fingered grasp and wound the Klattoinian's arm into a knot, leaving him with only one arm left to use and the wrong angle to use it. That was when a second man in blue armor stepped through the threshold and holstered his weapon as he approached. The two men conversed with one another in a strange tongue which the young Klattoinian had never heard before, but then the blue armored warrior turned to him and spoke with a strange accent in the language of his masters.

"You try to defend yourself. Would you also defend your family?"

His reply was as much a protest as it was an answer. "Yes!"

"Would you work to benefit your tribe and answer the call of the Warrior Eminence?"

He was becoming a little confused. Who was the Warrior Eminence? Did they mean perhaps his master? That was the moment that he began to realize, they were talking about his new master. This was his oath-taking! He had prepared himself, but not for this. His heart raced.

"Yes, I would."

"Will you wear your armor and learn our language?" He had always enjoyed learning, and Huttese had been one of his favorite subjects. He marveled at the chance to learn a second language. He would be worth even more as a bilingual servant.

"Yes. But Zorda the Hutt never gave me any armor."

"You will have to earn your armor. Would you teach your children the things that you have learned?"

"Of course..." he replied, never having once even considered the possibility of having kids of his own.

The two Mandalorians nodded to one another, and they both stared at him for an uncomfortable moment. The gold man released his arm and then reached up and removed his helmet. He was a Trandoshan, with bright orange eyes. His face was covered in scales and he had an old scar running across the left side of his forehead. The Trandoshan offered his hand and said something in the strange tongue to the blue man, who strode over to the cabin terminal and indexed the passenger registration. "Anonymous filius Drekk", he read from the glowing screen. The gold warrior peered deeply into the Klatooinian child's eyes as they took each other's hand. He held the Trandoshan's hand tightly, not sure what was about to happen next. The gold warrior stood tall and spoke loudly.

"Anon Drekk. Ni kar'tayl gai sa'ad."

He looked to the blue warrior and asked "What does he say?"

The blue Mandalorian answered, "Your name is Anon Drekk, he accepts you as his own son."

Adopting children was a fairly common practice among the slaves, when younglings became separated from their parents by trade. The young Klatooinian was familiar with these types of arrangements. He looked up at the scaly warrior and asked the blue man "Is he a slave too?"

"NO!" The abruptness of the answer startled young Anon, "Venari Haliat is no slave and neither are YOU!"

Adolescence

Anon's entire life changed on that fateful day when Zorda the Hutt learned an expensive lesson: Mandalore ships, even civilian industrial haulers, are crewed by Mandalorians. Anon was told that he would have to start school all over again, but it never really felt that way to him. The subject matter and study methods stood in such stark contrast to his experience of Council School on Klatooine that it seemed to Anon as if he were simply continuing his education.

He was amazed to learn to speak his new language while learning to read and write it all at the same time. Reading was a miracle which only the Hutts knew how to perform. Anon had seen their strings of symbols many times, but he was never able to understand what they meant. Later as he matured into adulthood, he would take Huttese as an optional language program, just so that he could finally learn to read and write it as well. Once Anon became literate and fluent in Mando'a, he was then introduced to computers and taught how to operate their basic features. Most of his computer classmates were much younger children.

While his previous training on Klatooine gave Anon certain advantages over the other students, his enslavement served him at least twice as many disadvantages. The Council School had worked very hard to erode Anon's sense of individuality and the Mandalorian Academy had to work just as hard to rebuild it. It was years before Anon was thinking like an independent person and taking pride in his achievements.

Once Anon was operating computers, he was able to run speed-learning programs and his education accelerated considerably. He learned how to do written math to generate more accurate results, and this led to the study of complex mathematics, chemistry, physics, biology, mechanics, geology, electronics and astronomy. Anon was trained in the much more refined Mandalorian fighting art called Jakelian, which he took to with great enthusiasm. The new style was more reserved, giving him a better sense of balance and relying less upon brute strength so that he was able to conserve his energy and fight without growing tired. At the center of the art was a system which could be adapted to any weapon type and so they trained with daggers, swords, axes, pikes, even whips. The Academy nurtured his marksmanship skills and improved them, and Anon marveled at how they practiced with actual military weapons instead of harmless training blasters and weighted wooden replicas.

Anon learned to pass and receive orders by hand signal, radiocomms and holocomms. He studied strategy and took flight training. He learned economics, music theory, medicine and poetry. Anon had discovered a whole new galaxy of knowledge which seemed to have no frontiers. But while he learned to be a person at the Academy, it was at home that he learned to be Mando'ade. His adopted father taught Anon the meaning of the Resol'nare. They would spend countless hours together, playing cu'bikad while his father lectured about the Canons of Honor, the Manda, the virtue of decentralization and the Clan structure. Sometimes when his father had been at the ne'tra gal, he would even speak of the Force and it's sorcerers. Anon often just assumed that his father meant to speak of the Gods of old mythology, until one evening when his father said "The Living Force binds the universe together, Anon. I do not know where it came from, it is older than Kad Ha'rangir."

By the time he celebrated his twenty-second birthday, he was very near to graduating from the Mandalorian Academy. As he was completing his final exam for the hyperspace calculation program, a Galactic News Service broadcast which flickered faintly over the feed caught his attention. He dialed it in. It was the Warrior Eminence.

"Whether you follow Resol'nare or the Supercommando Codex; are a government official or a mercenary; it does not matter. Each of our groups exist to serve the betterment of our people and our culture, we are Vode An."

He remembered that day, thirteen years ago, and what he had said to the blue warrior.

"Would you work to benefit your tribe and answer the call of the Warrior Eminence?"

"Yes, I would."

Anon contacted his tutor immediately and volunteered for combat on Serroco. He expected some sort of scholarly consequences from the Academy administration, but the reply to his request came with very little delay. It said, "We'll do the paperwork".

When he informed his father, he was summoned home where his father was waiting for him with drinks. They sang songs together for awhile, until his father's mood became serious.

"Anon," he said "I'm sorry that I have not had the time to impart all of my knowledge to you. Now the hour grows late and my son marches to war. Do you remember our talks about the Force and it's sorcerers?"

"Of course father," Anon tipped his glass and the ice rattled "The universe is unfolding exactly as it should, but the sorcerers harm the Force by bending it to their will and diverting the lifestream to gain advantages for themselves."

"That is correct" his father replied, "On the surface the Jedi and Sith present themselves as polar opposites, but in their hearts they are the same. They seek to dominate the Force out of the presumption that they know how to run a universe better, but all they do is throw things out of balance and the Living Force must take drastic measures to correct the lifestream's natural course."

Anon put his glass down. "Father, why do we speak of such things?"

His father smiled a toothy, reptilian grin. "You are a gifted knife-dancer, Anon. Your timing is perfect, your movements are fluid and balanced. How did you achieve this?"

"The secret of Jakelian," Anon answered "is to balance the mind upon the knife's-edge of the moment."

"You must continue to practice your blade-dancing, my son. Train until your body learns the dance and no longer requires the mind's involvement. Great power comes in threes." Anon was puzzled. "Father?"

"To defeat a Jedi or a Sith in battle, you must focus your attention three moves ahead of where you actually are. The first move must break the sorcerer's rhythm, leaving them open to suggestion. The second move manipulates the sorcerer into thinking that they want to go exactly where you want them to be. The third move strikes without hesitation while the sorcerer is vulnerable."

Anon stared at his father in wonder. "Practice your knife-dancing with your mind focused three moves ahead, Anon. There is no other way to prevail against a sorcerer."

Beskar'gam

Since his new Commanding Officer was already on Serroco, Anon reported to the Fleet Adjutant instead and stood tall before the humorless man who sat grimly behind his desk at the processing station. The Adjutant scrolled through Anon's Academy records without the slightest hint of interest, then dropped the tablet flatly onto his desk. "What is it exactly that you want to do for the military, recruit?"

Anon had put quite a bit of thought into this subject and he didn't really need to ponder. "I would like to serve as a scout. Pathfinders, advance recon... that type of work. I understand that there aren't many who do that."

"They are few indeed", the Adjutant replied as he picked the tablet back up, "but not due to a lack of volunteers. Scouts are special operators, you don't just start out as a pathfinder." The officer sternly scrolled back through Anon's records as if taking an inventory. "You are now hereby officially commissioned E-2, Verd`ika. I'm assigning you to the Heavy Infantry in order to find out if you've got what it takes to serve as a scout. You'll be shipping out to Serroco immediately."

Anon found it difficult to contain his excitement, but his facial expression would soon change. "There is no crusade taking place on Serroco, Verd`ika. It's a rendezvous, a Mandalorian festival if you will. The Death Watch is attending and they're hosting a traditional Death Hunt, billions of credits worth of prizes are up for grabs to the warrior with enough grit to claim them. You'll be pulling city overwatch detail during the entire event."

Anon's face became very nearly as dour as the Adjutant's. "You are to remain at your post for the duration of the festivities and observe and report on all urban traffic. You will be an intelligence-gathering machine. If you stay on task and provide information which is of any military value, then maybe afterwards we can discuss your interest in becoming a pathfinder. Understood?"

"Understood and acknowledged." he replied, trying to mask his disappointment. "Security team?"

"They will greet you when you've arrived at your post." The Adjutant grinned and handed Anon his orders and briefing pack. "You can take the Tea House, moored in orbit over Okyaab 3. Have a pleasant flight, trooper."

Anon approached his first official ship assignment with a great deal of anxiety. Bayonet-class Light Cruisers were an impressive sight, looming there in space like some sort of titanic spear-head. He was mesmerized by the flashing deck lamps as he gently cruised alongside and waited for his clearance codes to process.

Once docked in, the ship's crew made quite a production out of ceremoniously greeting their newly assigned Operations Chief. After the necessary formalities had played themselves out, Anon was appraised of the ship's readiness and general condition and he in turn informed the crew of the ship's objectives. They went straight to work. Anon was a bit relieved once he had met the Skipper and Deck Chiefs, they were sharp and professional and seemed to know their corvette as well as they knew themselves. He felt honored to be serving among such Mando'ade.

First he needed to dock with a couple of space stations which served as military supply dumps and load a mountain of cargo crates, each tightly packed full of scanning equipment, armor, packs, belts, Bacta cartridges and all of the little articles and accessories of battlefield fashion to haul with him to Serroco. It was a few days of heavy lifting and careful invoicing, but while he was at the quartermasters he was able to draw his own personal Besbe, his combat gear allowance.

Anon burst with pride as he examined his very own suit of custom Sienar power armor, the special Cabur-model stocked by the Aliite for outfitting their volunteers. Ever since the loss of beskar technology, Mandalorian armorers had been forced to seek alternative suits for the younger generations of warriors to wear. One of the more successful experiments was with custom modified Corellian Powersuits just like the one Anon had been issued. These were essentially the same as the standard suit but with a fully enclosed helmet, signature T-visor, optic display, jetpack mounts, macro ports and other distinctly Mandalorian features.

The suit was flawless and stiff, it's plates flashed in the cabin lights with an unblemished sheen, like something that you would see on parade. Anon stared at it with a certain disdain, for the suit's polished newness seemed to mock his own lack of experience. Punching up the power, the suit indicated that it's energy cell was at full capacity. Satisfied, Anon set himself to the task of strapping himself in. It didn't fit.

At least, not properly. But it did cover him and the helmet was able to lock into the contacts and power up so technically, it would work. He tried to do his knife-dance in the suit, but it was too tight and restricting around his shoulders, and too loose in other places. "Well." he remarked to himself, "Let's hope for ranged encounters then." Anon walked over to his bunk, where his Besbe was neatly arranged as if for an inspection. Picking up his assigned A295 blaster rifle, he was examining it's optical aperture when a soft ping from the intercom caught his attention. "Yes?"

"We've cleared the gravity well and engaged hyperdrive engines. ETA to Serroco is twelve hours."

"I copy twelve hours, is that correct?" Anon was stunned.

"Correct, we'll send you a prompt on arrival." The intercom went dark.

"Haar'chak!" he muttered to himself. Somehow, Anon had been under the impression that he was deploying to some distant star, far far away. He hadn't even bothered to examine a map yet.

Twelve hours... he punched up the star charts on his cabin console and queried Ploo Sector. There it was, basically in the Mand'alor's back yard. Disappointed with himself for failing to properly research his Area of Operations, he made himself comfortable and zoomed in on the Serroco System. One planetary body rotating around the sun, a temperate breathable atmosphere with a mere 750,000 residents. Focusing upon the planetary geography he stared for several minutes, the place was blown to the Manda. Most of the surface was heavily cratered by what appeared to have been an epic bombardment. Only a single urban center remained, his post. It didn't even have a name.

He awoke from a strange dream to the gentle ping of the intercom. "We have exited hyper and are currently running sublight to the objective." Anon lifted his head and looked around for his helmet. They had arrived. He rushed to the bridge, down corridors which bustled with activity. Stepping up to the helm, he peered with wonder and anticipation at the beautiful gem of a temperate world suspended in the blackness of space.

"Shall we assume stable orbit with the rest of the fleet?" the Skipper proposed. "That's a negative," Anon replied "take an approach trajectory for five-seven and drop hot."

The Skipper nodded to the coxswain, bellowing "You heard the Chief!" and the crew instantly busied themselves preparing for the re-entry. "Just out of curiosity," the Skipper asked, "how exactly do you formulate a security plan for a place like this?"

Anon grinned. "The same way you formulate any defensive strategy, Skipper. By planning to attack it."

Once the corvette was landed, Anon took a walk around the urban complex in order to survey the bottlenecks, strong points and potential ambush sites. As he returned to the ship's Landing Zone, his assigned security team was waiting to make their introductions.

A salty Kuati woman stepped forward, "Verd`ika Anon Drekk? I'm Aalya Vigil, we're glad to have you here." Anon grasped her hand carefully, he was still getting used to the servos in his Powersuit and had already experienced a couple of issues with accidentally over-tightening things. "Aalya, glad to be here. This is your team?" "Affirmative," she replied and proceeded to introduce the others. Zeb Hagui was a trooper who was originally from Naboo, and then there was the Zabrak Luha Volsh, a Mon Calamari named Frederic Gallamby and the intimidating Barabel Wezz Hu.

"Excellent," Anon took their hands and exchanged greetings. "Where are all the rest?"

The security team grinned at one another while Aalya explained "We're it, Verd`ika. Our objective here is just to maintain the peace, we aren't here to assault and occupy the position." Zeb tried hard to suppress an involuntary chuckle. Anon had to wonder how many times these veteran fighters had been placed with a green operator, fresh out of the Academy and swinging at everything that moved. He was a little embarrassed.

"Of course." Anon swallowed a little pride and continued "I hope you'll forgive me if I seem overzealous, this is my first post." The team appeared to take humility well, smiling back at Anon with approval. "So," he said as he pulled off his helmet, "I still need to get in touch with Command and officially assume my post. Everybody flake out for awhile and then we'll take a little rove, you guys can give me the tour. That sound alright?"

The team cheered together "Ori'jate!"

The main traffic zones would be at the starport and the shop, both located on the east side of town. The west side was residential, with the largest population on the north end and most of the commerce on the south end. There was a hospital, a tavern, a hotel... but no military targets other than the power generators. It was the only power grid left on the entire rock and as far as Anon was concerned it was his task to protect it.

The locals were utterly terrified. They were the last survivors of an Armageddon. The rest of their entire planet was either wild or scorched and the surface literally crawled with the only forms of life which could benefit from such devastation: predatory creatures and roving bands of armed marauders. The craters were a desperate and violent place and the residents dared not leave their city for any reason.

The situation was surreal.

But they had a job to do and they set themselves to the task, coding security protocols for droid sentries, setting them at their posts, establishing an overwatch terminal aboard the "Tea House", encrypting comm channels, programming IFF and scheduling watch rotations for roving ground patrols and speeder overflights.

Anon even performed a team inspection and was a bit dismayed at the Besbe they carried. Being Mando'ade they took great pride in their armor, which was immaculate and smartly presented. But they were only very lightly armed and so Anon brought them to the Tea House armory and issued them each a pair of ELG sidearms. They also didn't have enough rifles and so Anon had to make sure that the best marksmen of the group carried what longarms they did have. As a finishing touch he drew six jetpacks, one for each of them. Anon reasoned that they could give the team an added advantage in the urban environment.

On the second inspection Anon walked down the line with a great and satisfied smile. There they stood: in Cabur-model Powersuits, jetpacks mounted, twin blasters strapped to their legs, sharp as hell and ready to die. They looked like warriors of Mandalore now. Frederic and Aalya struggled with the weight of the jetpack at first, even with their Powersuit servos. It was the first time that Anon got to hear Aalya's catch-phrase: "Is this really necessary?" but they got used to it after awhile.

Over the next few days the team got settled into the routine of their watch schedule. Ships slowly began to arrive and find landing space around the city as the opening ceremonies of the Death Hunt drew closer. The streets were coming to life with the traffic of a growing number of paramilitary tourists: Foreign Legion from Krath space, Death Watch, First Sun, GalSec, Tresario, Ailon and more than a few lone freelancers. It was looking like the event was really going to develop into a major contest of arms, with representatives from every corner of the galaxy participating.

Anon kept a close watch. He knew that with so many professional warriors in town and nothing to entertain them but the tavern until the Death Hunt began, violence was a distinct possibility. On Day 265 the Tea House received a coded security bulletin warning all stations to be on the lookout for the arrival of an enemy of the Mand'alor, a Kaleesh named Armus Zod, a registered contestant who had recently made some rather bold threats at a public conference. The report indicated that Zod would not be likely to arrive on Serroco for another month, but on Day 270 it became clear that the intel on the target's schedule was a deception.

Anon awoke for his evening watch at 18:00 hours. He had no idea that he was about to fire his very first angry shot.

Casually strolling up to the overwatch terminal, Anon yawned and peered through the haze of slumber at the softly flashing alert icons. None of the security nodes had been attacked and so no general alarm had been routed to his cabin, but there had been a lot of blaster fire detected in the streets. He stared for a moment in disbelief and then began a triangulation process which brought his attention directly to the big, open square in front of the hospital. Two Krath Alliance citizens were down, both seriously injured. Their droid entourage was in smoking ruins scattered around the plaza. A Kaleesh warrior in heavy battle armor opposed them from a position in front of the shop. It was Armus Zod, his Strike-class cruiser was landed at the four-way intersection on the north end and despite the enormous volume of blaster fire cataloged by the nodes, Zod barely had a scratch on him.

Anon pounded the intercom terminal. A few seconds later he heard Aalya's sleepy voice, "Yeah?" Anon belted "We got action, warm it up." and just before the terminal went dark he could hear Aalya's voice in the background shouting "OYA!" to wake the team.

They were dressed for battle in minutes and Anon met the team in the Tea House hangar bay where they were briefed on the situation. Command wanted reliable intelligence on this individual's capabilities and the composition of his forces, so they were going to go and get it. They mounted into a planetary shuttle and jettisoned out into the city, charging their blasters as they lifted off. Once they gained altitude and began to cruise towards the plaza, Zod climbed into his armed barge and headed south along the city perimeter. Anon shadowed him from a distance while Frederic pinged Zod's hull with the shuttle's sensor suite and performed a spectral analysis of the results. Looking up from the glowing screen, the Mon Cal blurted "Lots of infantry..."

Anon watched carefully, and when he saw Zod dismount from his vehicle Anon landed his speeder so fast and hard that the rest of the team had to reach for something to hold onto. Anon barked "Deploy!" as the shuttle door swept open. The team stormed out onto the street with Anon right behind them. Dashing past them with pistols drawn, he fired his jetpack and the team followed as he landed in an elevated position with a superb field of fire over Zod, who stood alongside his barge scanning westward through a pair of binoculars. Once everyone was on line with their pistols out, Anon gave the team a nod and everyone stood up and delivered a blinding torrent of blaster fire.

Armus Zod was taken completely by surprise. He ducked, feinted left and then rolled right and came up with a blaster rifle in his hands. The world around Anon dimmed and became a silent blur as he focused his attention tightly upon his target, continuing to squeeze his fists and direct bolts of harm at his foe. A great slap tugged at his hip. Zod dove and twisted, returning fire as he scrambled back into his barge through a cloud of smoke and dust.

Wezz growled "Did you see those moves?" as the team lifted their fire and stared. Zod's barge throttled up with a roar and dipped it's nose west along the city perimeter at full speed. Anon checked his pistols and barked "Report." The team quickly checked each other and Aalya replied "Three scrapes. We wounded him. Anybody scope his gear?" Luha chimed in, "Full spectrum." Anon glanced down at his hip, which was starting to sting a little. He was hit, but his suit had deflected most of the damage. This was an impressive adversary.

Anon got on the comms and called for backup. They watched as the barge cruised down past the tavern and stopped at the next intersection. Zod had spotted a group of droids belonging to another contestant and dismounted carrying a Force Pike which he wielded masterfully, scrapping the security drones one after another.

Anon watched for a moment, then turned to the team and bellowed "Mount up." On the way back through the hospital to the shuttle, Aalya's voice echoed through the corridors, "Is this really necessary?" Even Anon had to chuckle this time. "Yes Aalya", he inserted between breaths, "we have to keep... the pressure on, get him to show... more of his hand."

Leaping back into the shuttle, they lifted off and raced across the city zoo, setting back down again just on the other side. They hadn't even bothered to shut the passenger bay door. They burst right back out onto the street and raced on foot to the dead end, taking positions among the stone sculptures which decorated the yard of the residential highrise. Anon turned to the team, "Aalya, Zeb. Security."

The two humans bounded off to take positions covering the team's rear flanks while the rest formed a firing line and got behind their longarms. "Range..." Anon called out as he dialed-in his macros, "...seven hundred." Passing a glance back and forth, the team indicated that everyone was ready and waiting for the operator. Zod was still over there on the perimeter road, wrecking droids in enfilade. Anon took a deep breath and then let it out slowly as he squeezed the handle of his A295. When the team's fire started to pluck at the air around him, Armus Zod began to dive and roll as he continued to melee with the last remaining droids.

Again and again Anon fired his weapon in anticipation of Zod's next move but his adversary was quite keen, staying low and sometimes even using the droids he fought as cover. Only once was Anon able to clearly see that he had struck his target, but the bolt was diverted and burst harmlessly on the surface of Zod's thick armor. After watching a couple more of the team's shots glance off the heavy plating, Anon cursed. He had asked around at the supply dump for a BlasTech rifle but the A295s were the only longarm they had in stock. It was a remarkable weapon, surprisingly accurate at long range, but the A295 just didn't have enough punch to really hurt this foe.

Armus Zod mounted back up again and roared westward towards the power generators. Anon's team displaced to the opposite side of the highrise and took new firing positions facing southwest. Weapons at the ready, they observed as the armed barge came to another halt and what appeared to be a well disciplined squad of Trandoshan rifles came pouring out and promptly engaged a small team of roving patrol droids which belonged to an odd Mando'ade Jawa that Anon had met up at Command. They held their fire. Anon was riveted on the distant action and called out, "Scope them."

A second later, Luha called back "Got it." and Anon gave the hand signal to pull out. As rear guard, he watched as the last of his friend's security droids crumpled to the ground. Once back inside the shuttle, they lifted off and continued to shadow Zod's barge until it had made it's way around the perimeter and back to the landed capital ship, "Supernaut".

"We need to take a sensor sweep of that Strike-Class..." Anon thought out loud, to which Frederic commented "When we lifted off from the Tea House." Anon grinned, what a team. Nodding to Frederic, he added "Compile the data, tag it and stream it to the Tea House. Have them relay it to Command direct."

The Mon Cal nodded and gurgled "On it."

The team had a special debriefing session at Anon's cabin, which involved some small amount of ale. Anon was pleased. In the name of the Mand'alor he had both shot someone and been shot. The team had outperformed his expectations and together they had successfully gathered some valuable military intelligence. Wezz hissed "That was no warrior, that was a Champion."

"Yes well," Anon commented "best stay sharp. This town is scheduled to be full of champions. Let's just hope that most of them aren't as lusty as Armus Zod."

The next day Anon was making a routine patrol through the traffic zones. Zod's cruiser had lifted off and the town seemed to be slowly resuming it's usual activities. The team was making it's way through the starport and as they passed through the foyer and into the main concourse, there it was.

A long-barreled blaster was propped up against the far wall. There was nobody else around it. As they drew closer Anon could see that there was a stack of equipment on the floor in front of the blaster and once they got near he recognized the pile as a neatly stacked suit of armor.

Somebody had just left their Besbe sitting around in the starport concourse! "Death Watch?" Aalya guessed. The blaster was an LJ-90 BlasTech, the exact rifle he had wished for the previous day. Examining the armor, Anon noticed right away that it was unusual. It was a Sienar custom Powersuit, Cabur-model no doubt. The helmet had the enclosed face, T-visor and macro ports. The back plate had jetpack mounts. But the cut was different from a normal Cabur-model: it had a different breastplate, the cooling system was more elaborate and it was fitted with a pauldron. This was a desert suit, Anon spent his childhood in the open desert and he knew.

Reaching down to punch the power, the suit registered a full charge and when Anon hit the registry menu to display the suit's owner the word "Anon." flashed on the screen, causing him to sit up straight and chuckle at the irony. Aalya leaned over closer to read what Anon found so humorous and they both stared. "Anon." was the abbreviation for the high Imperial word "anonymous", indicating that the armor had no registered owner.

Anon looked around, but nobody was even paying any attention to them. He hauled the strange Besbe back to the shuttle himself and nobody stopped them or said a word about it the whole way. Later that night Anon sat on his bunk and pondered the stacked suit which sat in the corner of his cabin. Curious, he sat up and walked over to the suit. Lifting the helmet up he placed it onto his head. It was actually quite comfortable, the vents lined up with his nose a lot better and it didn't mash his cheeks so much. Encouraged, he began to strap himself into the rest of the mysterious desert-commando armor. It fit.

It fit him properly, like an expensive tailored suit. He tried his knife-dance and ended up training for a solid hour. It was completely amazing, he felt liberated in this armor. Anon sat down in front of the cabin console and registered himself as the owner of both the suit and the BlasTech they had found with it. The registration passed.

Anon sat back and wondered as he began to realize: this armor and this blaster were his very first private possessions. It was a most unconventional method, but he appeared to have earned his armor.

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