[center][img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/520041678032207887/1165163574612738118/Crossfire_Banner.png?ex=6545da23&is=65336523&hm=0f5508f36d019af906b4384517056553215f1ccb42de79f1b979ee9c048ad40e&[/img]			[img]https://cdn.discordapp.com/attachments/520041678032207887/1165163574835032084/Crossfire_Banner_2.png?ex=6545da23&is=65336523&hm=939fe03bda06cd18da5c59cce4b7cd9e42aaf99b0f5aee4f3e611d0fbfb92b4c&[/img][/center]
[right][b][color=00aeef]Mandalorian Space[/color][/b]
[sup][sup]Mentioning [@Chev][/sup][/sup][/right]
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Crossfire pulled the Kom'rk Starfighter Transport into view of the CR90 Corvette [i]Guiding Light,[/i] noting its severely damaged exterior. He quickly noted scorch marks and significant damage to some of its systems... the fact this thing went through hyperspace without falling into pieces was remarkable. The transmitter picked up that this ship was registered as belonging to a mercenary outfit. This didn't give him any comfort: this could be some sort of textbook trap... if so, it was probably best he was the one going in. He had enough ordinance on his person to go out in one spectacular blaze of glory if it was. If not... well, whoever limped into Mandalorian space clearly needed one hell of a hand. With an expert deftness that came from numerous simulations of hostile boarding conditions, Crossfire pulled his ship up to dock in the nearest airlock, quickly initiating a hostile board. Given the distress beacon, the ship was primed to accept the request. The hatch leading into the airlock slid open, and Crossfire quickly tapped away at the console to lock the starfighter down. The last thing he needed was someone stealing his ship on him. Worst case, he would need to rush back before a slicer could brute force through the chain code linked to his vambraces.

The Mandalorian Commando stalked back to the rear of his ship, slipping into the airlock. After a few moments of it working its magic, the door on the other end slid open. The lights inside the Guiding Light seemed burnt out, only the red glow of emergency lights washing over the interior. The corpses on the ground were the first indication something was seriously wrong. A trandoshan and a rodian... though by states of dress and their wounds, it was clear they were on opposite sides of this conflict. Crossfire raised an eyebrow, confused. Judging by the series of scorch marks on the wall behind the Trandoshan, it was clear they were probably part of the crew. He'd need to find someone alive to get a little more information.

A small audio waveform appeared on the HUD of his helmet's vis-screen: footsteps. Crossfire sighed, leaving the well-lit airlock door open as he began walking up the hall, slipping into the recess of the nearest doorway for cover to stay a little hidden from view. It would only obscure him for a moment, but that's all he needed. His hands reached for the two DC-17s blasters on his belt, unholstering them and toggling his helmet to thermal vision. From around the corner, two thugs quickly approached with carbines raised. They paused for a moment as they looked dumbly at the open cockpit at the end of the hall. They looked at each other for a moment, before the smaller of the two spoke up. [color=lightgray]"Call the boss, tell 'im we got a guest."[/color]

Crossfire smiled underneath his helmet as he popped out, lifting both blasters and firing a single shot from each in quick succession. The blaster bolts fired true, each bolt hitting a separate goon in one of their respective legs. Both hit the deck hard as Crossfire began approaching menacingly. The goon on the left was quicker to act, and raised his carbine rifle up while laying on his back. He fired several shots at the approaching Mandalorian, but the bolts simply reflected off the Beskar armor. He didn't even seem to flinch. The goon on the right, however, was scrambling for the communicator on his belt. Crossfire turned one of his blasters over to this goon, firing two quick blaster bolts at his chest. The goon on the right suddenly stopped moving, slumped on the ground. This, for a moment, lit a fire in the belly of the remaining hostile. A gutteral yell emenated from deep in his soul as he fired off another shot... only to watch in horror as the Mandalorian lifted a foot and kicked the blaster out of his hands, before bringing that same foot down with all his weight onto his right arm. The sound of bones snapping changed the primal battle cry into a shriek of pain. Crossfire looked down at his target, holstering one of his blasters while raising the other and pointing it at the helpless thug's head. [color=00aeef]"So, what are you, pirates?'[/color]

The thug's eyes were filled with fear, as the gear slowly turned in his head. [color=lightgray]"Uhh... yeah, just pirates."[/color]

Crossfire paused a moment, his expressionless helmet hiding his calculating stare. After that moment passed, Crossfire pointed the blaster at the thug's other leg and fired another blaster bolt. Another cry of pain rang down the hall. [color=00aeef]"Try again."[/color]

Snot was pouring out of the thug's nose as he wiggled and writhed, his body clearly already starting the process of going into shock. [color=lightgray]"Please I-"[/color]

[color=00aeef]"Who's your boss?"[/color]

[color=lightgray]"Obadah the Hu... uhh, I mean..."[/color]

Crossfire fired a single blaster bolt into the thug's head. Obadah didn't mean much to Crossfire... but he knew what the second half meant. The smile under his helmet grew wider and more sadistic. He couldn't have possibly dreamed of being this lucky on his first assignment.

It was slug hunting season.