[center][color=fdc68a][i]"If you're going to fight, fight like the third monkey on the ramp to Noah's Ark-- and brother, it's starting to rain."[/i][/color][/center] Mokra Tem couldn't understand how he got into this mess. He'd never had any trouble before. Even when he piloted the [i]Raven[/i] a Correllian YT-2550 Medium sized freighter, the crew never got into mix ups with the Hutt. For the most part, Captain Lars Gander steered clear of the Hutt whenever possible. Aside from that, Mokra Tem tried hard to keep his nose clean and stay out of trouble. He took risks on occasion, but they were calculated and generally ended up with him and his crew getting away scot-free. Obviously this time, the risk was too great. However he landed in prison, he was here now. The past eight days have been some of the worst of his life, but fortunately, he and a handful of others were given a reprieve. Sure , it had a few unnecessary snags, but at least he was no longer bound to a wall in a Hutt prison. The rains that fell upon Nar Shaddaa were highly acidic due to the toxic waste carried into the upper atmosphere from the smoke belching factory stacks. Industrial waste had a way of making a planet uninhabitable The substance contained in the clouds fell to the surface whenever the clouds became overburdened with moisture. Thus was the weather today on the quadanium landing pad housing a wrecked Loronar E-9 Explorer-Class Armed Long-Range Scout Vessel. Mokra wondered how long it would take for this ship, named [i]Bounty[/i] to begin forming holes in its hull. Maybe holes already existed? His left hand ran wet fingers over the scar at the nape of his neck where someone implanted a small piece of Baradium bisulfate attached to a digital firing device. He knew it wouldn't take much of this stuff to kill a person in this manner. With the explosive charge at the back of the neck, the detonation would separate one's head from the remainder of their corpse. It was lethal stuff, but at least they didn't use Baradium-357. That was toxic and would eventually kill anyone exposed to it for a duration of time. [i]Naughty Baby[/i] as miners called it was nasty stuff. This version was easier to handle and didn't guarantee death from mere exposure. The discharge of the scattergun was unmistakable. The report captured the attention of everyone within earshot. 'Oh carp', Mokra thought to himself. He swallowed instinctively. 'What have I gotten myself into?' The door to the shack where the gunshot came catapulted forward under the pressure of an overly aggressive Zabrackan female's boot. The crimson woman entertained the attention of all present on the water logged landing platform. All eyes were upon her and her Quarren captive. Mokra could hear sobbing and pleads of [i]don't kill me[/i] and other indiscernible utterances. Mokra had grown accustomed to listening to others beg for mercy in the Hutt prison. Over the course of the past week and a day his heart hardened to their sufferings, but he never saw them when he was shackled to the cold stone wall. Today, he saw the oppressed being dragged in front of him while sreaming. The question to what the scattergun struck was answered when the group witnessed the Quarren's missing foot and trail of blood. The crimson woman hardly struggled in pulling the desperate creature in front of and past the group. He lay crumpled in a ball in front of the ship known as [i]Bounty[/i]. The woman we would all know and [i]love[/i] as Mus Rosh ordered him to his knees. She forced him to perform a fellated technique upon the muzzle of her scattergun. She made several verbal demands upon the now humbled being, struggling to respond with several inches of gunsteel shoved into his mouth. Eventually, the frightened and exhausted Quarren gave up the codes Mus needed to open the ramp. With the value of his life expunged, he was no longer necessary. She pumped a slug into his chest allowing more blood to spread out rapidly under his dying corpse. Mus kicked his remains off the platform and turned to the group of former Hutt prisoners. [center][i]“We got five minutes to bring all the supplies onboard. You got another five to find yourself a hammock to call home. After that we’ll all meet in the kitchen so I can tell you what fish we hunting.”[/i][/center] Mus Rosh had Mokra Tem's attention. Obviously, that was the intent of this brutal demonstration. He knew he would do everything in his power to please her because she frightened the carp out of him. Mokra was slow to move at first, but as he saw his shipmates begin picking up crates, he fell in with the rest. He grabbed a crate, hauled it up the ramp and placed it on the decking with the others. He took care to avoid stepping in the pool of Quarren blood left standing on the quadanium plate. He repeated the process until all boxes and packages were stored aboard the eleven-year old Scout Ship. Once the cargo was secured, he grabbed is bag and entered one of the bunkrooms. He found a bearded human placing his possessions upon a hammock. Mokra nodded slightly to the man, dropped his own bag and followed the man to the galley. As his new roommate took a seat with the others, Mokra chose to remain standing, leaning against a countertop behind the rest, ready to listen to the Zabrak woman give her instructions on what [i]fish we hunting[/i]; what our first assignment would be. She had his full attention regardless of whether the deadly demonstration was necessary.