Chapter Text
The Outer Rim was a desolate place. It was nice… just a little empty. In the Mid Rim and Inner Rim, you could see planets from many parsecs away, the surfaces gleaming with the light from a distant sun or two. There were suns in the Outer Rim, yes. Sometimes many, sometimes there was just a cold void as far as the eye could see. The suns just didn’t have the same light of the other places around the Core. They had a harsh glare, something Atsuka didn’t really get used to. He could often see why the people there were driven to madness; the suns stared down at you with an insatiable anger, they were almost vengeful at you for looking back at them, as if everyone was just supposed to keep their heads down and pretend that they weren’t there.
Atsuka thought that’s what everyone wanted to do, regardless of why they were there in the first place. That was probably why traffickers, gangs and killers flocked there in the first place. As for him, he was in a gang, that was a big ‘was.’ He had reasons, although vacuous. There never really was a right reason for indulging in crime.
Praadost II. The planet he found himself on every now and then. It was relatively nice for an Outer Rim planet, the land on the surface covered in trees if not one of the vast seas. It was a rainy place, and he would almost compare it to Corellia, but it didn’t even have half as large of a population as the Core planet. As for politics, there wasn’t much effort put into properly governing the planet. It was good enough for him, at least.
Atsuka slammed his empty glass on the counter, babbling vaguely to the bartender for a top-up. The man stared back at him blankly with those tired eyes. He could tell he was particularly fed up with his alcoholic behaviour; Atsuka had been returning to his bar after waking up from the previous day’s blackout again and again. It had almost been a week of doing this, and he didn’t think Atsuka was the only one surprised he could last this long doing this routine of almost suicidal drinking. Atsuka had forgotten why he was doing it in the first place, which was probably his goal when he had first arrived on the planet.
The bartender put the glass he was cleaning down on the counter and picked up a bottle of murky, brown liquid. Atsuka supposed he was a mute, since he didn’t protest to filling his glass again, just giving him a concerned, mildly disappointed look from across the bar. He thanked him and promised that it was his last one, although unintelligibly from the slur of his words, before downing it in a few frantic gulps. Atsuka's head was already spinning from the half a dozen drinks he had before that one.
Everything looked like a dream and everything felt like it, too. Atsuka couldn’t even feel the cold liquid in his mouth. The dull metal of the small bar’s walls glimmered in the rare beams of sunlight from the windows. The bartender's sad, bearded face swam in his vision. He didn’t hear anything either. He saw his own pathetic reflection from the faded mirror behind the bar. Atsuka looked disheveled; his face dark with shadows and his eyes dull and glassy.
If he was talking, it was drowned out by a ringing in his ears; the first signs that his hangover would be nightmarish.
Atsuka fumbled a few credits out of his pockets, vaguely feeling them sliding out of his hand and onto the bartop next to his glass. Stumbling to the door, he mumbled another few words of thanks to the bartender. He left in a wasted haze, almost slipping on the muddy paths back to his ship not far from the bar. The path was surrounded by a thick, lush forest. The ground was wet from yesterday’s rain, which he slept through in another blackout.
He couldn’t hear the footsteps gaining on him from behind, but he definitely felt the nozzle of a blaster, cold on the back of his neck. Atsuka froze in place, his mind already swirling in confusion in his inebriated state. He heard some words behind him, ‘hand over your credits, or I’ll blow your fucking head off.’
At first, he thought of emptying his pockets, but he decided he’d need that money to buy more drinks, so he turned around and grabbed the arm of the person holding him at gunpoint, pulled them towards him and headbutted them. An ache ran through Atsuka's head and spine, but he was too distracted to notice a droplet of blood running down from his nose.
Atsuka could vaguely see the terrified face of a tall man with scarred skin as he clumsily brought his fists onto his face and neck. Blood started to well in his eye sockets and he crumpled to the ground, his blaster falling out of his hand and landing on the path with a small ‘clank.’ Atsuka felt his skin tear and swell beneath his knuckles, and he felt bones crack when his hand collided with his nose. Low grunts left Atsuka's mouth with every punch as a sharp pain shot up from his hands to his arms, making his lungs constrict.
Slowly, the man’s face became disfigured, red and slick with blood and he screamed loudly, writhing frantically underneath him. Atsuka stopped after he became quiet and the whites of his eyes were stained red, as well as Atsuka’s hands and the sleeves of his work shirt. He stood up, his back aching from being crouched over while pummeling the man. Atsuka could hear his heart beating quickly in his ears at the sight of his pale, bumpy skin shining with his own blood. The man’s long face was twisted in agony, and the tufts of hair on top of his head were soaked slick. He felt a vague sense of guilt pass through him, but it did just that, pass through him and fizzle away when he looked at the blaster lying on the ground beside the man.
Atsuka continued walking down the path to his ship, wiping the blood from his knuckles with numb hands onto his worn pants. The broken skin caught on the fabric, making his eyes water, though he didn’t feel the tears sliding down his face.
It started to rain soon after that. His tears just looked like droplets from the clouds above. Atsuka started to wail, but just as no one could hear a tree fall over deep in the forest, his crying went unnoticed by any specimen. Not even the fauna made a noise of surprise, though he couldn’t remember if there were any on Praadost II in his hysteria. The blood dripped from his limp hands onto the path below.
Atsuka stumbled along the path to the clearing where his ship was, or at least where it was supposed to be. His ship was gone, and he knew he wasn’t hallucinating its disappearance because he could still see the tracks the landing gear made on the ground. He didn’t have the time nor will to think about how he would be stuck on this planet for the rest of his life if he didn’t pay his way off, and he was low on credits as it was. No one would come back for him, and…
He collapsed onto the muddy ground with a heaving sigh, the edges of his vision already blurring into darkness. He didn’t know what the point of it was, he could never remember when he was close to blacking out again. Atsuka faced the sky with the cold of the rain on the ground seeping into his shirt and up through his skin and spine, making him tremble violently. Maybe he could stay there forever. Drown in everything everyday. Surfacing, fighting for your breath in the middle of the ocean is ever more painful than sacrificing yourself to the cold, dark depths.
Maybe that’s just what he needed.
— — —
Atsuka felt a sharp jab in his stomach and the sudden sensation of a dull but strong pain in his head. He gasped aloud. Some waking thoughts rushed to his head. He needed to drink again to get rid of the migraine building, it felt like his head was splitting apart from the inside.
He opened his eyes, scrambling into a sitting position, his chest heaving with surprise. He spluttered blearily, looking around for a moment. It was daytime, early morning if he were to guess by the position of the sun. He was still in the dirt by the clearing, though it wasn't raining anymore and a large shadow loomed over him from the side.
Atsuka took another look around again, his own thoughts finally being processed. To his right, stood a large, although well-used, rusty gunship, and a person adorned in shining metal armour and a visored helmet, not an inch of skin showing. They held a sniper rifle in their right hand, and he had realized they had probably used that to poke him in his stomach. He couldn’t tell who it was, let alone if they were a man or woman because he was scared out of his wits from the sight of them.
He sat silently for a long moment, preparing himself to tell them that he had no credits for them to steal, but they spoke before him in a gruff voice, tense with what he could assume was caution. “Who are you?”
He tried not to seem too harrowingly hungover, pausing to slowly clarify the words spoken through their T-visored helm. “My name? Uh… What are you?”
Admittedly, Atsuka was going to say ‘who are you?’ but the anonymity the helmet and armour gave them made him question their species entirely. Although, he assumed they were human.
They spoke again, “Mandalorian. Get up.”
He stood up, willing his legs not to shake from the overwhelming pain that seared across his head from the migraine. His vision got momentarily blurry, but it quickly faded as he took in the person and their ship again. He was safe to assume they weren’t here for any innocent reason.
The person in front of him looked heavily armed, a blaster on their hip glinting from underneath their cape and sniper bullets on their belt and boot, a chromatic metal covering their head and most of their body, if not layered, dark fabric. Maybe picking a fight with this person wasn’t such a good idea; the most sane thought he’d had in weeks.
Atsuka ran through many possibilities in his head, but ultimately decided to ask them straightforwardly. He had sounded meeker than he was, the pain in his head muffling his words. “Who… are you?”
They ignored the question and answered back, just as bluntly as he had asked them. “Where’s the nearest town?”
He gave up after that, glancing away from them and gesturing for them to follow with a flick of his index finger. Atsuka walked along the path back to the town, if he could even call it that, it had only a bar and a cantina, and a few houses littered around the edges of the forest. He could hear them following behind him, the loud clanking of their boots on the admittedly poorly-made metal paths the only sound save for his own footsteps.
Atsuka was still terrified, though if someone were to kill him, they would’ve done it already. It seemed this person had either no patience to kill over an inconvenience, or they were saving their bullets. He thought to himself, looking up at the dull, grey sky. If they had a ship, they could get him out of there. His negotiating skills weren’t exactly honed, and neither was his charisma, but all it took was a little convincing. Just anything to get him off of this personal hell he had created for himself in just a week of being a drunken mess.
They soon reached the bar, and he turned back to them, fully intending to ditch them for a drink or seven. “There’s a cantina further down the road. A few houses, too. There’s not much sightseeing to do in this region.”
They slowly nodded their head gratefully, the tinted visor doing nothing to give away their expression. “Do all of the locals here… fall asleep on the ground?” Their voice was strained with something, though he couldn’t tell through the roughness of their voice.
He paused in embarrassment, shifting towards the door of the bar slowly. “No. Most of them sleep in beds. I was… drunk. And my ship was stolen.”
They shifted on their feet. “A shame.”
Atsuka simply nodded and left them by the door of the bar, the ache in his head already unbearable to be sober with. He sat down and gestured to the bartender for a drink. He could see the person standing there in his peripheral vision, before they slowly walked inside, surveying the empty, dust-covered tables that laid still in the air.
They had a certain air about them; suspicious and careful like something on the prowl. Atsuka had noticed their hand never strayed from their hip for longer than a few seconds, as if they were expecting something to jump out of the shadows at them.
The bartender looked almost worried. It was obvious this planet didn’t get many visitors, let alone whatever the armored being was.
The bartender spoke to the person, who was still looking around as if they had never seen a bar before. So he wasn’t mute, after all. “Hey… do you need something, mister?”
They walked over to the bartop and sat down beside Atsuka. “I’m looking for someone.”
Oh, stars, it was him, wasn’t it? Atsuka swallowed heavily, tapping his fingers on the metal counter as the bartender placed down his drink. He took a long sip, glancing quickly from the bartender to the blank visor pointed straight at him.
“And who might that be?” The bartender said.
The person took a long breath, and Atsuka could hear them exhaling from under their helmet. A signet on their pauldron caught his eye, a mudhorn, if he was correct. It shone solemnly in the cool light of the bar. He wondered if it was important to them. What could it possibly mean? Were they related to a mudhorn? That would be stupid, no being looks like that and is related to a mudhorn. They were a little too small.
Just as he sipped the cold liquor from his glass again, they muttered out. “He’s part of a gang. He’s said to be in this region, on… Praadost II. Lucky Golden. That’s his name.”
Atsuka almost let out a sigh of relief. It wasn’t him, thank The Maker. But, even so, Lucky Golden wasn’t a name he had heard spoken in a long while. He’d always had a ruthless way about him, so Atsuka wasn’t surprised that someone was looking for him.
The bartender shook his head, a dismissive look on his face after a moment of thinking. “No, haven’t heard of anyone by that name. Sorry, mister. And, ah, why are you looking for him?”
“None of your business. He’s wanted, that’s all I’ll tell you.”
The person had a gruff quality to their voice, almost like they were forcing it to sound like that. Or, they simply sounded like that. Either way, Atsuka could tell it wasn’t a human woman speaking, their voice was too low for that.
After letting an uncomfortable silence go on between the bartender, who was now cleaning a glass with a dirty rag to keep his hands busy, and the person, who had their helmet angled to the space between Atsuka and him, assumingly to keep an eye on both of them, Atsuka cleared his throat and mumbled quietly. “Uh… are you human? Tin-can head?”
They obviously weren’t amused with his words, as their head snapped to his direction sharply, and they bristled under their armor. “I’m speaking Basic, aren’t I? Yes, I am human.”
Atsuka sighed and took another sip of liquor after their defensive response. Silently, he took another look at their armour. Luckily, they were back to staring into space, most likely regretting their decision to come to the planet in the first place. There wasn’t much to see; a few grenades on their belt, from what he could see, though their hands covered most of the view there, probably gripping their blaster in anticipation. Their armour was the most eye-catching of all, and probably very expensive. Maybe they were in a gang, but that wouldn’t explain such a run-down ship…
He found himself mumbling words before he had the thought not to. “Nice armour. I reckon it’s hard to hide in all of that metal. Hard to run in, too.”
“You’d be surprised.” They replied dismissively.
“If you’re so sure.”
Atsuka finished off his drink, handing it back to the bartender, who took the glass with a nod. Maybe he was bored, or just drunk enough to tell them about Lucky Golden. He’s the one that kicked Atsuka out of the gang in the first place. If he were to rat on Golden to what could be an armored hunter or assassin, he wouldn’t care in the slightest that he would be killed. He was hoping it would turn out that way, anyway.
“Lucky Golden left a week ago, right before I came here. He’s probably on Tatooine by now.”
He heard them mutter, “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
Atsuka crossed his arms on the bartop, looking down at the dull, scratched metal in weariness. It was true; Lucky Golden was on his way to Tatooine when he last saw him. He had always had dealings there, since Atsuka joined the gang and when he left. Kicked out, yes. It was a while ago, the conversation was no longer fresh in his mind. In fact, nothing was. Golden was probably on his way to wedge himself into a spice dealing between two unrelated gangs. That’s what he was best at, anyway.
“He’s probably still there. That’s his hotspot, he won’t leave until he has to.”
“How do you know?”
They sounded suspicious, and they leaned their forearm onto the bartop, their gloved fist tightening and loosening near his elbow. The bartender gave Atsuka a glance from the corner of his eye, but he was too slow to pick up on his unspoken words.
Atsuka decided he had nothing to lose now that his ship and most of his credits were gone, he could tell this stranger where to find that Golden rat.
“I was in the gang with him. A while ago. Small universe, ey? He kicked me out. I don’t care if you want to kill him, torture him for intel or what have you. That’s what you’re gonna do, right?”
He felt his face contort into a frown as the person dug around in a pocket on their belt for a moment. They pulled out a small, metal cylinder that just looked like a credit dilated. They placed it on the bartop, and it suddenly displayed a holo of Golden’s face, as well as the word ‘wanted’ and his name in Basic.
“I’m a bounty hunter. I’m looking to return him to a client.”
A bounty hunter. He didn’t expect that. He had heard of a few bounty hunters, but ultimately stayed away from them, due to the reputation his gang gave them. They made it seem like bounty hunters were the worst people to run into, save for the Imperials, or Maker forbid, the Rebels. No morals, just killing machines.
Atsuka didn’t know if he was nervous or relieved that a bounty hunter was after Golden.
“You’re a bounty hunter? How much are they paying you to hunt down Golden?”
They shook their head. Helmet? They could be a droid for all he knew, even if they did speak Basic.
“I can’t tell you that. It’s under the discretion of the client and myself. Do you know exactly where the target is?”
Atsuka paused. So they're playing the secretive game. Then so will he, tin-can head.
“I do. Well… I have a good idea. I’m right ninety percent of the time.”
“Can you tell me where he is?”
Atsuka became flustered. He knew he had nothing better to do, but he wasn’t going to help someone for nothing even if they were taking down Golden. “No. Go find him yourself.”
“If you don’t show me where he is, you’ll be the next I’ll take in cold.”
He looked at the holo of Golden on the table again, and his heart rate spiked, much to his dismay. Atsuka was scared of this person. Of course, they didn’t give him so much as a chill, but he still felt like they had no hesitation in bringing someone in to turn a profit.
“Do you want him dead or alive?”
“The client told me to bring him in dead.”
“I may… be able to help with that.”
Not like he had much of a choice in the first place.
— — —
Their ship looked as worn from the inside as it did on the outside, though Atsuka only got a few glimpses since they pushed him into the cockpit as he tried looking around. He didn’t mind their lack of manners, as he was just lucky to leave the planet in the first place.
They didn’t say anything as they took their seat in the cockpit, and they still remained silent as they switched the engine on. He sat down in the seat behind them, a little disappointed he didn't get drunk enough to forget his own name.
It had been almost half an hour of silence as they made their way through space, the stars slowly passing by like the stars at the edge of his vision. He sat there like a doll, staring out of the windshield and thinking about nothing in particular. Well, he was thinking about something. He was thinking about how good a drink would be.
Maybe if he just told the tin-can head where Golden was, he could find a nice bar, drink as much liquor as he possibly could and pass out in the room of a woman who invited him home. There seemed to be a lot of those, on Tatooine especially. He’d be back to drowning in the middle of an inescapable ocean, just as he had before. Something so painfully familiar.
Now, Atsuka was thinking about women. He didn’t particularly like them, but he didn't particularly like anyone else either. Not even himself. When he was drunk, he could just forget everything. Himself, women, the gang, everyone in the universe. He really craved a drink now.
He looked down at his plain, brown boots on the floor of the cockpit, his legs still limp like a doll’s. The person spoke up, their voice loud in the silence of the cockpit. “What’s your name?”
“My name? I didn’t tell you that, did I?”
He replied, his voice quiet again. He didn’t feel his mouth moving, but he could hear his own voice in his ears.
“My name’s… Atsuka.”
Maybe it was, but his mouth was working on its own, after all.
The person took a moment to process that.
“What kind of name is that?”
He answered honestly. “I don’t know. Got any other questions?”
“How do you not know?”
They were still facing forward, from what he could see, relaxing, as their hands weren’t on any buttons or handles anymore. Their voice sounded sarcastic, which annoyed him, but he didn't have the will to point it out.
“I don’t know.” Once again, honestly. “People just call me that. I don’t know why.”
“I’ve never heard a name like that. Do you have a last name?”
“I don’t think so. What’s your name?”
They weren’t pleased with the topic change, as they looked over the shoulder of their chair at Atsuka, their head nodding slightly with their words.
“I don’t give my name away to strangers.”
“Is it Mandalorian?”
“I am Mandalorian, that’s not my name.”
They sounded patronizing. This nameless Mandalorian… a human, so maybe it was their religion. And maybe this was a good time to ask their gender.
“Are you… male?”
They were facing the windshield again, and they did not turn to face him.
“What gave that away?”
“I don’t know. I can’t see behind your helmet. Hard to tell when I can’t see your face.”
“Good.”
He took that as a yes. So they were a human male. Not like Atsuka thought he was anything else. The Mandalorian remained silent after that, he seemed a bit annoyed at the conversation, which was surprising, since he started speaking in the first place.
Mandalorian. He had faintly heard of them before. He was born a few cycles after ‘the Clone Wars,’ as they had called it, took place. He was early enough to see the damage it had done to the system, and especially the planets involved. Many people spoke ill of the clones because of how they eliminated the divine protectors, and by extension, the Mandalorians. Atsuka didn’t know what had happened on their planet, but he knew it wasn’t good. No, unforgivable.
The rest of the ride to Tatooine was silent and relatively short, and he had spent it staring down at his boots on the floor in a daze. He was still thinking about having a drink. He could practically taste the alcohol on his tongue, which made him smile.
The ship creaked a few times as it made its way by a large blue planet, which filled the view out of the windshield for a moment since it practically dwarfed the ship. He had seen the planet before, in maps and in holos, but not in person. It looked ghastly giant, he wondered if anyone inhabited it, but it was probably just as cold and alone in space as any of them were.
Atsuka looked down at his clothes in boredom, but they were just as vapid as anything else. The rain had washed them clean of mud and left a slight earthy smell lingering. The sleeves of his shirt were very worn and he could see his skin through the thin fabric, but it wasn’t like he could afford anything else. He would be surprised if he had even a few credits left.
He traced the red, clotting skin on his knuckles, staring out of the empty windshield again. He should’ve taken the gun of the man who had tried to rob him, he now just thought. He let the thought fade from his mind.
— — —
When the ship finally touched down on Tatooine soil, he immediately jolted awake. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but the Mandalorian had already left his seat and opened the door to the cockpit, so Atsuka followed after him. He climbed down the ladder, his eye catching on a person frozen in what he could assume was carbonite. They were stuck stationary in a position of shock, though the block of carbonite was simply propped up against the wall. It looked like a painting, and he was staring at it in an almost trance, his hand still on a rung of the ladder beside him. Atsuka quickly looked away when he heard the Mandalorian mutter a low, ‘come on.’
The loading pad creaked closed after them. He was promptly and momentarily blinded by the harsh sunlight. It seemed he had broken his immunity to Tatooine’s two suns by spending his time on a planet like Praadost II, and he certainly envied the Mandalorian’s helmet for keeping him from the sun's rays.
Mos Eisley. It was an infamous city, after all. It seemed the Mandalorian had enough intel to pinpoint that Golden would be here, now he just needed him to lead him straight to him. Golden would often spend his time here in underground bars and taverns, drinking and flirting with Twi’leks and humans alike, most often slaves who didn’t have any other choice to flirt back to filth like him.
They had walked into town for a while, as the Mandalorian’s ship was left in the outskirts, right before the desert. Atsuka simply followed behind him, looking around at the many faces filling the streets. He had always forgotten how diverse the population of Tatooine was, especially since they were here for most likely the same reason. He saw a few stormtrooper helmets propped up on sticks in the ground as he passed by a house, and he almost laughed aloud at the irony, but he became distracted, as the Mandalorian had stopped in the street, making him step back abruptly before he could hit him.
He turned, speaking loud enough for Atsuka to hear over the bustle of the busy street. “Where is he?”
Atsuka looked around. He recognized a few buildings, this was at least the right street, but he just had to find the right alleyway…
After a moment, he gestured for the Mandalorian to follow him, heading for the gap between two shop buildings, and almost knocking a purple Duros’ hat off of their head. It was a tight gap, but it was the right one, dark and cut off from the main street, and containing a familiar door. He stopped in front of it and turned at just the right time to see the Mandalorian trip over another human’s foot and stumble into the alleyway after him. Atsuka gave him a nod and pushed the door open.
He was immediately overwhelmed by the smoke that rushed from the doorway as he opened it, but he held his breath and made his way down the stairs to another steel door. This time, a Zygerrian stood in front of it, dressed in all black and holding a rifle. The Mandalorian joined him by the door, his hand on his blaster under his cape.
The Zygerrian spoke, her voice strained from talking over the loud music beginning to emanate from the bar inside. “Name, please.”
The Mandalorian spoke before Atsuka could. “We’re here to see Lucky Golden. He’s part of his gang.” He gestured to him.
The Zygerrian's ears flicked in suspicion, but then ultimately stood aside and let them enter, nudging Atsuka inside with her gun after the Mandalorian.
The bar was more like a ‘club,’ admittedly; the low ceiling was lined with dull, throbbing blue lights. He could feel the vibration of the music through the floor, but more importantly, a sea of moving people blocked any view he had of the rest of the room, which was relatively large. He was shoved further into the room by dancing bodies with masked faces, one of which had a crescent moon-smile and two winking eyes, looking almost mocking in the dim light. Atsuka shoved them back, saying a few words in anger that he was sure got drowned out by the ear-splittingly loud music playing.
He felt a foot kick his leg, although not hard enough to hurt, but when he turned to see who the source of the kick was, he saw the Mandalorian. His armour practically glowed in the lighting, his head cocked in confusion. Atsuka shook his head, pushing himself up to look over the many heads, which was somewhat easy. He spotted a few doorways along a far hallway in the flickering light, deciding if Golden was here, that’s where he would be.
He pointed over at one of the doors, his hand hitting a person’s face in the process. He turned to look, though he reckoned he probably couldn’t see from where he was. Atsuka shook his head again, instead opting to tap his pauldron once, then pushing his way through the crowd to the nearest door on the perpendicular wall to the entrance. Someone dug their elbow into his side, which made his breath hitch in surprise. He felt a low ache begin to build, and the person who had elbowed him turned and said a few words over their shoulder. He began to push quicker through the crowd, his breath growing short from the smoke lingering in the air and his head becoming light from the flash of the lights.
He was soon pushed up against the door, grimacing in effort to push away a hand or two around the doorknob before reaching for it himself and opening the door. He almost fell inside, staggering until he stood against a table. He closed his eyes and caught his breath for a moment, although smoke filled this room as it did the other, so he didn't get much liberty.
He looked up. It wasn’t a table. It was much too soft to be one, anyway. Through the light haze, he could see he walked in on Golden and another human engaged in the act of reproduction on the bed he was touching.
Atsuka recoiled immediately, but it was too late. Golden already had his eyes on him from on top of the woman he had his cock inside. He hadn’t even stopped moving. The woman let out a loud whine as he slowed, kicking her feet up and flailing the hand that wasn’t assaulting her own clit.
Golden spoke up. “Atsuka. What the fuck are you doing here?”
He blinked at him and looked around desperately, before his eyes landed on the gun that was mounted on the pile of the rest of his clothes at the end of the bed. He dived for it, grabbing it, pointing it at his head and firing.
Golden collapsed on the woman, who let out a shrill scream and scrambled from underneath the heavy form of him. Atsuka just stood there as she took a blanket from the floor and ran through another doorway out of the room with the gun in his hand. His chest heaved. He watched as the blood flowed from his head onto the pristine white bedding. The Mandalorian had wanted him dead anyway.
Just as he thought that, the door opened again, releasing a burst of light and ear-splitting sound before it quickly closed again. He heard the low clinking of the Mandalorian’s armor as he walked inside and surveyed the scene.
“Is that him?”
He nodded and tossed the gun back onto the bed.
“You killed him yourself.”
He sounded mildly surprised, but he shrugged and responded. “You were taking too long.”
Atsuka could feel an unrelenting glare on the side of his head and he looked around the room again. No windows, no other furniture, just a big bed with a dead man sprawled across it and the other doorway that the woman had run through. He turned back to the Mandalorian.
“Are you gonna cut his head off?”
He was probably giving him a look under that helmet, because he paused and tilted his head.
“What?”
“You need to take his whole body?”
“No, I’m cutting his head off. Pull him onto the floor.”
He grasped Golden’s arm and heaved his weight off of the bed and onto the floor, which creaked softly under him. A trail of fresh red blood dripped from his head and all over the blankets and pooled under his head. Atsuka stepped away before it could reach his boots and his arm thudded to the floor. The Mandalorian took a knife from his belt and kneeled at Golden’s neck, and starting at the side to the back of his neck, cut him open like butcher's meat. He ripped his head off after slicing his neck almost all the way around and held it while he rose to his feet, blood spilling onto Golden’s back.
Wordlessly, the Mandalorian handed his head to Atsuka and he grasped his hair and watched the blood drip onto the floor. He reached up and tore the curtains from the bed and wrapped the head in it, which the blood promptly stained through. He carried it in his arms like a newborn and left through the door again, which released a sound that would make his ears ring for hours afterward. They waded through the crowd again, and the Mandalorian didn’t notice but Atsuka kept the end of his torn cape in his fist for good measure.
Soon, they were out on the street again, and the sun shone straight onto the ground in front of them in the alley. He spoke again, his tone grave. “This needs to go to Corellia. We’re stopping by Coruscant first.”
Atsuka got suddenly irritated, most likely from the hangover headache building behind his eyes. “Why do I need to come for that? I need a drink…”
“My client has another job for me. Someone in the same gang.”
He gave him a look. “I’m not that vindictive to smite everyone who ever wronged me. Are you going to pay me?”
The Mandalorian turned away harshly and stepped onto the busier street, walking along with his blaster clinking on his hip. “Only if you help me.”