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A muffled gunshot rang out through the silent city. Jango sighed and holstered his gun, taking off his helmet, his hair sticking to his forehead from the humidity of the planet’s atmosphere.
He looked back, towards his ship. The door was open. He’d told Boba not to open the door; maybe the ship was too cold?
Jango narrowed his eyes. Boba wouldn’t do that. Jango walked towards the ship, though he quickly broke into a sprint.
Shit, shit, shit.
His boots clanked heavily on the metal floor of the ship as he ran inside.
“Boba!” Jango called, his voice echoing slightly as he checked every compartment. His son was nowhere to be found.
He swore under his breath, falling against the wall. He let out a long ragged breath, then stood and put on his helmet. He wasn’t going to mourn the loss of a son that wasn’t dead yet.
Jango took a deep breath, slowly scanning the ship for any sign that a kidnapper would leave like a letter or a code.
His gaze fell on the table. Neatly placed on top of a stack of Boba’s drawings was a note. The handwriting was rushed and messy.
‘Stardust Hotel roof. 17,024 credits.’
Jango leaned closer, a bit confused. An oddly specific number.
‘Come soon if you want to see your son.’
Jango crumpled the paper in his hands and tossed it in the air, blasting it into burning paper confetti before it could hit the ground.
He left the ship, scanning the buildings surrounding him. It took him a moment to spot the Stardust Hotel. It was shabby, run-down, like everything in this district. Within walking distance, as well.
Jango carefully checked his blaster, shooting at the ground to make sure it worked properly. If he found the person who stole his son, he was going to make them hurt for it.
He kept his eyes trained on the hotel roof — so far, he couldn’t see anything (or anyone) — as he approached the dilapidated hotel.
A Twi’lek sitting at a desk near the door tried to speak to him, but Jango walked past them, kicking the stairway door open and already unclasping the buckles on his holsters.
As Jango approached the small roof, he saw Boba, and behind him, a… man in his early twenties. Jango scoffed. An amateur, looking to make some easy credits. The man’s youth didn’t garner any sympathy.
“Give me the money!” the man yelled, a shaking blaster pressed to Boba’s temple.
Any sympathy that the man’s shaking voice and hesitancy could have possibly gained was lost as Jango’s eyes fell upon those of his son. Boba was crying.
“Get your hands off of my son,” Jango said simply, walking closer to the man.
“Hand over the credits first,” the man demanded, his voice stabilizing as he pressed the gun against Boba’s forehead, though his expression betrayed some fear. “I’ll shoot.”
“So will I.”
“For God’s sake, just give me the money!”
The man’s finger tightened around the trigger. Jango’s demeanor didn’t change.
“Fine,” he sighed, stepping closer. He put a hand on Boba’s shoulder, gently wiping away a tear with his thumb.
Jango looked back at the man.
“Boba, get behind me,” Jango said quietly, in Huttese. The boy looked up at his father, brows still creased.
“Now.”
Boba quickly jerked out of the young man’s grip, as his father raised his leg and kicked the wannabe bounty hunter square in the chest, pushing him to the ground, his foot pressed against the man’s ribcage.
“Were you hired by anyone?” Jango asked, looking down at the man, his burning glare felt through the visor.
“No,” the man said quickly. “No, no, I just need the credits, I—”
“How did you find me?”
“I got lucky,” the man stuttered, his voice growing hoarse. “I saw your ship come in and saw an opportunity.”
Jango nodded, pressing down on the man’s chest again before he stepped to the side, pushing the man once more for good measure.
“One more thing.”
The man nodded, his eyes wide with fear.
“Don’t you dare,” he said, “lay a finger on my son ever again.”
“I- I won’t,” said the shaking man, nodding once more, his lips quivering as he smiled nervously and looked up at Jango.
Jango knelt down, taking off his helmet. His usual calm smile was gone, replaced by a cold expression.
“I know you won’t.”
He stood.
“Let’s go home, Boba.”
Jango turned back to look at the man. He offered a small, reassuring smile; then unholstered his gun. A muffled gunshot rang out through the silent city.
Epilogue
Jango gently pushed Boba’s hair away from his face to analyze the bruise forming on Boba’s forehead. Jango opened his mouth to speak, but his throat felt closed.
“Oh, Boba,” Jango whispered, pulling his son into a hug. “I was so worried. You- You did so well. Not panicking, keeping calm. Just like I taught you.”
He let go, leaning back to look at Boba.
“I just couldn’t imagine—”
Jango’s voice broke, his eyes burning with tears. He wrapped his arms around Boba once more.
“I love you so much, son.”
“I know,” Boba said, his tone playfully annoyed. He sniffled, tightly hugging his father.
“I… I love you too, dad.”