A Second Skin (solo)

[Shaw McKeller]

It had been only a few weeks since he'd arrived on Tython. Just a few short weeks of basic Force training and meditation and other Jedi things. He'd been given robes to wear and soft leather boots to walk in. A simple leather belt and some basic breeches to don. Everything was soft or rough or fabric. He absolutely hated it.

The clothes had no weight, the boots weren't comfortable, and because of that he found he couldn't focus on anything they were trying to teach him. It wasn't that he couldn't focus or wasn't interested. It was that he just couldn't stand the things he had to wear. A simple tunic and breeches of Mando cut and his combat boots was all he needed at worst, but they didn't have those. He'd wear his armor, but it was in storage. He didn't need his armor, they said. It would get in the way of learning, they said. Well, now, not having it was getting in the way more than anything.

With this in mind, Shaw quickly slipped out of the dormitory he occupied and made his way into the temple. He'd find the storeroom and see if he couldn't liberate his old armor, even if it was just for a time.

 

[Shaw McKeller]

The big Mando managed to bypass most of the sentries and Jedi Knights and Masters roaming around. He wasn't outright hiding, that would be a bad idea as they'd be able to sense him. He was just keeping a wary eye on the Force around himself and keeping the emotions of sneaking and hiding from his mind. For all they knew, he was just on his way out and about. They could tell his age in the Force and probably assumed he was a Knight or a Master, thankfully. For once, being older paid off.

It was only another floor or two down to the storerooms, maybe more. McKeller stopped near the turbolift, debating on whether to risk using it or not. If he took the stairs, he had less of a chance of running into someone, but it would be slower going what with his hip the way it was. Taking the turbolift would be faster, but he risked picking someone up on the way down or getting caught. That said, his hip wouldn't hurt afterwards.

After a few more moments, he shrugged and headed for the stairs. It would be easier going down the stairs unarmored with his hip and then taking the lift back upstairs. He'd be little sore, but nowhere near as sore if he took them up in full armor.

 

[Shaw McKeller]

He took the stairs quickly, but without undue haste. His robes showed he was a Padawan but his age in the Force might be misinterpreted. He was relying on this.

Two floors passed by as he made his descent, and it seemed that two more lay ahead. He'd only met one other on the way down, a researcher paying more attention to his datapad than anything around him. Hopefully, anyone else would be just as distracted. He couldn't afford anyone getting too inquisitive and stopping him.

Another floor and the storeroom would follow. He heard a larger group up ahead and stopped for a moment. It sounded like a larger group heading up, maybe three or four people. They would surely notice him if he didn't act fast. In a spurt of pure logical thought akin to someone smashing a large bottle labeled 'idea' over Shaw's head, the Mando realized that the only thing denoting his Padawan status was his robes. The tunic was standard for everyone. He quickly ripped the robe off and shoved it into a nook nearby behind a pillar along the wall. Now clad in simple breeches and tunic, both of which showed off his musculature quite well despite his age, he moved down the stairs with more confidence.

Sure enough, it was a group of Knights and Masters. They were heading up towards the upper floors and chatting along the way. There were five in the group, a Twi'lek male, a human male, a Zabrak female, and two human women. The two human women looked older, maybe in their thirties or forties, and all were engrossed in their own conversations. Shaw made his way down the stairs past them, appearing no more urgent than someone heading to deal with an important task. He smiled politely at one of the two human women who turned her head to look at him and continued his way down the steps past them.

It was only afterwards that Shaw realized that the women had given him a bit more of an appraising look than he'd realized. Apparently, even at fifty, he still had it. He'd have to go find her again, but later. For now, he needed to go one more floor, then find the storeroom.

 

[Shaw McKeller]

Finally, the last floor. He stepped out of the stair well and onto the floor of the Temple where the storerooms were located. This was where things got a bit more risky.

There were fewer people here than the other levels, but there were droids here and there. Also, the few people down here knew that no one else was supposed to really be out and about in this area. Getting caught now meant he'd have to restart on another day or have to try a different tactic entirely, neither option being acceptable at this point.

Slowly and carefully, he crept through the storeroom. He kept the thoughts and emotions of hiding and sneaking from his mind and instead adopted a more determined mindset. As if he was supposed to be there, but was just determined to not get lost or not come back empty handed.

Moving between hallways and rooms, he slowly made his way to the storeroom that he'd helped move the armor into when he'd first arrived. If he could just get past the droids at the doorway, he could get to his armor and get going...

 

[Shaw McKeller]

It didn't quite look like the droids were going to move any time soon, unfortunately. Fortunately, it looked like a few others were prepping a load of crates to go into that particular storeroom.

Wasting no time, Shaw made his way to the working droids as quickly as possible. He waited until both were looking away, picking up a crate to load onto the pallet, before slipping in between two crates already loaded. Now hidden from view, he waited for the droids to finish work and move the pallet.

As soon as that thought hit, they stacked a crate on top of the two he hid between, bumping his head painfully in the process. Another crate landed on his foot, and another one found itself on top of the previous. A painful scalp and now his toe was being crushed in excruciating pain. Fortunately, all that came out was a steady, controlled breath of 'aaaaaaaahhhhaahhhhh' as he fought the instinctual yelp.

He carefully pried his foot from underneath the crate sitting on top of it and was relishing the sudden lack of crushing pain when the pallet shifted upwards. Losing his balance, he cracked his skull on the crate above himself, again, and then stubbed the previously crushed toe into yet another crate. At this point, Shaw only wanted out of the boxes, into his armor, and to put on his combat boots with the steel toes to prevent even more crushed footwear.

Thankfully, the trip was short and the pallet was set down in quick order. He waited a few moments before extricating himself and looking around. With a frustrated sigh, he realized that he was indeed in a storeroom. Next door to the one he wanted...

 

[Shaw McKeller]

Frustrated, Shaw realized he really had no options this time. Droids were working at the entrance to the storeroom and there was only one way in and out. Frowning, he simply sighed and sat down on a crate. Now, not only did he have to get to the next storeroom, he had to get out of this one, too! And if that wasn't bad enough, he had to do it with an annoying draft on his neck the whole time.

Suddenly, Shaw's frown deepened. A draft? That meant there was an opening for air movement somewhere. Looking up, Shaw spotted it. An opening between this storeroom and the next designed to allow air flow between the different storage areas. Plus, it looked big enough for him to crawl through. It seemed like the Mando had caught his lucky break.

Focusing inwards on himself, he let the Force flow through his body and limbs until he could feel every muscle fiber sing with Force energy. Once done, he leaped up and over towards the air duct, grabbing onto the ledge with both hands. Shaw quickly scrambled up and found himself inside the air ducting and looking into the other storeroom.

With a grin, he slid around and dropped down into the storage area and landed solidly on both feet. Smiling, he started rummaging around.

"Now where did I put you..."

 

[Shaw McKeller]

It took him a bit of rummaging and about a half hour of searching, but he finally found his gear. He pulled the top few crates off of his box and set them aside, stacking them nearby, and pulled his crate out. He carefully set the container on the floor and set about releasing the seals one by one before pulling the lid off and setting it aside. From there, Shaw quickly opened the pressurized container his armor was stored in.

The hiss of the pressurization and the cold air the container held washed over him, setting his nerves alight in excitement and anticipation. It had been nearly two months since he'd worn the armor. Two weeks in the Temple without it and about a month or so since he'd defected from the Deathwatch and had it confiscated and subsequently returned. He let his hand slowly trace his fingertips over the cold, black armor and took in the bestial visage of the horned helmet. It had indeed been too long.

He took a seat and pulled off his breeches and boots, then snagged the beskar armorweave bodysuit. The big mando stepped into the legs of the bodyglove and pulled it to his waist. Stripping off the tunic and undershirt, he pulled on the rest of the suit and sealed it, giving a few stretches and torso twists to make sure everything still fit right. Satisfied, he ran his hand over a section of stitching on the bicep, remembering the fight he'd received the damage and resulting injury from. A Sith had managed to get past his guard and sliced into the armorweave. It hadn't penetrated very much, but had managed to cut the bodysuit and char McKeller's bicep. The scar was still there, but the Sith wasn't. Still, he had relished the fight. It had been a chance to pit himself and his abilities against a more or less equal opponent.

Shaking himself out of his reverie, he sat down once more to pull on the armored boots. Each boot was covered in beskar plating and stylized as a clawed and three toed foot. How many miles had he walked in them? How many battles had he worn them in? He knew once, but couldn't remember now. Far, far too many, he ultimately decided.

Once done, he turned and rummaged through the crate. He'd only just started. There was more armor to don...

 

[Shaw McKeller]

The greaves found their way out of the case next. Each one matched the stylized pattern of the boots. Each was a section of segmented beskar plate. McKeller secured them to his legs and bodysuit carefully and slowly. Almost reverently.

He remembered when he first got them all those years ago. Since then, they'd been damaged, scared, bent, scorched, and repaired through the years, but for the most part they were still the same greaves that he'd started with a little over thirty years ago. They were a part of McKeller's history as much as his own memories and actions were. Damn near a full part of himself. Not that he minded, of course.

Soon, like the boots, they were secured and attached, fitting his legs like a second skin. He felt the weight reassuringly on his legs and did a few more stretches and twists. Satisfied they were snug and still fit, he dusted them off a bit and went back to the crate. He wasn't done just yet.

 

[Shaw McKeller]

The next piece of armor came out and glistened in the artificial light. Etchings and stylized art adorned it in the form of more bestial features and grasping hands as the clawed at the metal, much like the boots. It, too, was heavy beskar plate reaching from throat to waist. Below this was a thick, leather belt to which the armor's groin protection and more beskar plating was attached.

The armor was heavy and sturdy. Nearly as old as McKeller was. As with the greaves he wore, the armor had been damaged and repaired constantly. It had seen the lifetime of war that had been McKeller's way and career. Shaw carefully lowered it down onto his torso and began to seal and attach it to his body. It took a little longer than the greaves or boots, but with body armor a good, snug fit was extremely important. Ill-fitting armor would not protect you nearly as well in combat and would slow you down, making it harder to move.

Eventually, the armor was fully attached and ready to go. McKeller checked the fit again with twists and turns and stretches and returned to the crate. Almost done.

 

[Shaw McKeller]

The pauldrons, vambraces, and gauntlets were pulled out and arranged on the top of a nearby crate. McKeller slowly began to don them as well, starting with the pauldrons.

Each piece matched the rest of the armor and each piece had also seen a lifetime of blood and fire. All were made of beskar plate and all of them held more of McKeller's memories. The right arm pieces had suffered scorching burns that had managed to burn him through the bodyglove, leaving him with scars. The left contained memories of defenses held and broken against everything from bull rancors to incoming fire and lightsaber blades. As he attached the armor, Shaw realized he had a strange association with his defensive gear.

He was nearly done, but two more things were required before he was complete. As he attached the remaining gauntlet and secured it to his armor, McKeller peered within the crate at what was left...

 

[Shaw McKeller]

As he peered in, the demonic visage inside the crate glared back. McKeller lifted the horned helmet out of the box and held it in his hands. So many memories stared back at him. All of war. Few pleasant. Most gave him nightmares. This helmet was as much his face as the one he was born with. Even today, he was sure some still recognized it. The snarling face and inhuman features were the face of the Demon of Concordia. The moniker he'd earned and had once been fond of.

He was still fond of the name, but most of the memories still haunted him at night. It was burden he'd brought on himself and one that would stain his soul forever. It was also a burden he took gladly and willingly. It was, in a way, his own punishment. Penance he sought not by joining the Jedi, but by stopping those who had followed his path. It had just so happened that the Jedi were in that type of business. Stopping evil where it lurked. He figured it was a fair trade, of sorts.

He put the helmet on and sealed it, letting the suit run its diagnostics and system checks. Despite this, he wasn't done. There was one, last, very important piece left...

 

[Shaw McKeller]

A grunt and the sounds of a very heavy item shifting accompanied Shaw's last rummage through the large crate. He carefully levered out huge slab of black metal and propped it upright.

It was heavy. Extremely heavy. Easily weighing around fifty kilos, the massive tower shield was a physical embodiment of pure defensive power. Made of a single, massive slab of beskar, the tower shield was ornately decorated and intricately designed. It stood as tall as McKeller, just a little over two meters, and was designed to be carried by one arm. It also featured a heavy duty and reinforced leather strap to allow the massive thing to be slung on the user's back for easier transportation. The shield was easily three inches thick, not counting the ornate design adorning the front of the metal.

The face of the shield depicted the face of a demon in full horror and intricate detail. Wide, maddened eyes glared out from the creatures face while the thing gave the grimace of insanity. Horns adorned the creature's head and face while tufted hair stuck out at all angles. Tusks grew from the demon's mouth and, to the viewer, it seemed as if Hell itself had cast its visage upon the metal.

But that was only the face. The real power lay within. Set into the center of the shield beneath the grips set onto the shield backing was a small piece of technology. A personal energy shield was set into the rear of the shield, protecting the user from many types of attacks. In short, the shield alone was impenetrable, but with the shield on it added a whole new level of protection. McKeller even recalled shrugging off a pair of turbolaser rounds with his armor and shield. Granted, the shield had gone down with the first shot and the second had impacted the shield squarely in the center, but Shaw had kept his footing and had continued his advance despite the resulting dislocated shoulder and some torn tendons. A day or so in a bacta tank later on had healed it all up and he was still alive, so the Mando considered it a successful assault to this day.

McKeller shook himself from his reverie and slipped his left arm through the straps of his tower shield. He hefted the heavy metal easily with one arm and tested it out a bit, taking defensive stances and trying a few bashing attacks with it. Satisfied that everything was in order, he resealed the pressurized container and slung the shield over his back using the leather strap. He then turned and made his way out of the storeroom.

The look on everyone's faces as he made his way back to the dormitories told McKeller one thing:

Totally worth it.