No. 1
A stroke of bad luck.
His efforts to remain on the fringes of society had mostly gone to plan, sparing a few close calls and run-ins that threatened to drag him back into the spotlight. Gone were the days of battling Jedi and Sith on planet-wide battlefields. It just wasn't worth the attention anymore. The Hutts paid well enough to settle their little... disputes.
Hapes had been outside the Alliance's reach. Barely. But now... Now it was. Koda cursed himself. The recent death of the Hapan Queen and the chaos that followed had drawn unwanted eyes. A war-weary world desperate for credits, and a temptation too strong this time around.
He grumbled darkly beneath his worn and weathered helmet, the flickering lights overhead casting an unsettling red-orange hue across the alley. The reflection of the floating fleet appeared in the T-visor, a reminder of how close his past had come to catching up with him. He should have known.
Koda slipped further into the shadows, the cool darkness providing some relief from the oppressive heat of the day. The Spear was halfway across the city, stuck in a half-destroyed space station, awaiting his return. He'd need to weave through peacekeeping patrols now - patrols that might have once turned a blind eye to his presence, but certainly wouldn't now with the Galactic Alliance's intervention.
His boots crunched over debris as he scanned the alley, searching for anything that might work. His eyes settled on a fraying leather tarp, dull and worn, hanging loosely among the discarded junk. He grimaced and sighed, drawing the vibroknife from his gauntlet. The blade hummed to life as it sliced effortlessly through the material, forming a crude head-hole. He pulled the tarp over his head, the awkward weight of it settling uncomfortably over his jetpack.
The disguise was far from perfect. The bulging shape of his jetpack made him look ridiculous beneath the tarp, and his rangefinder refused to cooperate, dipping awkwardly beneath the makeshift hood. He grumbled again. It'd have to do.
With a resigned sigh, Koda made his way out of the alley, doing his best to slink into the busy streets. His steps were slow and deliberate, blending with the crowd, though the added bulk of his disguise tugged at him uncomfortably. He could only hope the peacekeepers weren't paying too close of attention.
A lumbering Ithorian reared its hammerhead backwards, meeting the gaze of the visor. The creature's eyes were dull, hesitant, but Koda's unyielding stare forced it to submit. "Keep moving," he growled, his voice low and threatening, though the helmet's speaker barely hinted at the weight behind it. The alien hobbled along, gangly legs barely making up for the slow rhythm of its gait, its Nautolan companion following closely behind, an uneasy glance flickering in Koda's direction.
His efforts to remain on the fringes of society had mostly gone to plan, sparing a few close calls and run-ins that threatened to drag him back into the spotlight. Gone were the days of battling Jedi and Sith on planet-wide battlefields. It just wasn't worth the attention anymore. The Hutts paid well enough to settle their little... disputes.
Hapes had been outside the Alliance's reach. Barely. But now... Now it was. Koda cursed himself. The recent death of the Hapan Queen and the chaos that followed had drawn unwanted eyes. A war-weary world desperate for credits, and a temptation too strong this time around.
He grumbled darkly beneath his worn and weathered helmet, the flickering lights overhead casting an unsettling red-orange hue across the alley. The reflection of the floating fleet appeared in the T-visor, a reminder of how close his past had come to catching up with him. He should have known.
Koda slipped further into the shadows, the cool darkness providing some relief from the oppressive heat of the day. The Spear was halfway across the city, stuck in a half-destroyed space station, awaiting his return. He'd need to weave through peacekeeping patrols now - patrols that might have once turned a blind eye to his presence, but certainly wouldn't now with the Galactic Alliance's intervention.
His boots crunched over debris as he scanned the alley, searching for anything that might work. His eyes settled on a fraying leather tarp, dull and worn, hanging loosely among the discarded junk. He grimaced and sighed, drawing the vibroknife from his gauntlet. The blade hummed to life as it sliced effortlessly through the material, forming a crude head-hole. He pulled the tarp over his head, the awkward weight of it settling uncomfortably over his jetpack.
The disguise was far from perfect. The bulging shape of his jetpack made him look ridiculous beneath the tarp, and his rangefinder refused to cooperate, dipping awkwardly beneath the makeshift hood. He grumbled again. It'd have to do.
With a resigned sigh, Koda made his way out of the alley, doing his best to slink into the busy streets. His steps were slow and deliberate, blending with the crowd, though the added bulk of his disguise tugged at him uncomfortably. He could only hope the peacekeepers weren't paying too close of attention.
A lumbering Ithorian reared its hammerhead backwards, meeting the gaze of the visor. The creature's eyes were dull, hesitant, but Koda's unyielding stare forced it to submit. "Keep moving," he growled, his voice low and threatening, though the helmet's speaker barely hinted at the weight behind it. The alien hobbled along, gangly legs barely making up for the slow rhythm of its gait, its Nautolan companion following closely behind, an uneasy glance flickering in Koda's direction.
