Private Lickity Split

[80Y]

ADRATHORPE | SPACE PORT
01:45:34 | ZHELLDAY​

If 80Y had the ability to smell, he'd be repulsed to understand entire hangar would reek of ozone and burnt metal. As it was, he could not. And could only process the intensity of the gunfight through auditory and optical receptors. A million parsecs per minute he computed their odds of survival with each volley riposted. Each millisecond that past, their percentage dropped.

Schmarmee was a great shot, better than Bhlarpo, but numbers and momentum were not on their side. It was indisputably more difficult to run and shoot backwards than forwards.

Even without having to manage a weapon, only pointings his finger lasers, 80Y felt clumsy balancing pursuit and defence.


How had it come to this? For the past stretch of time readily available in 80Y's memory bank, their livelihood depended entirely on jobs done (and done relatively well) for Mr. Jericho. Jericho had been their employer — albeit a poor one. No benefits, no sick leave, no locker space, limited communication, no Human Resources, no workers rights in general.

No rights was a familiar concept for 80Y and his kind, but to see that kind of injustice to a do-gooder, consistent and well-intentioned employee like Schmarmee? Well. That was simply an injustice the droid could not stand for.

It wasn't a fond memory he had to think back to. It had only been a couple of hours ago when Schmarmee had declared his intentions and asked 80Y what his response would be.

[Hey, 80Y... I think.. I think I want to quit working for this place. If I left, would you want to go with me?

As much as Jericho acts like he hates me, I think he needs me. I think if I wanted to leave, he wouldn't like it. It will most likely turn into a huge fight. But you helped me realize that I don't have to deal with any of this! So I'm not going to anymore. So.. When I try to get out of here, what will you do..?]"

80Y did not hesitate to commit to the Rodian's friendship. Even at the promise of a big fight.

And the big fight delivered.

They were now in the thick of it, pew-pew-pewing their way to freedom.

They were so close now, the ship they'd carefully planned to liberate was mere footsteps away. The plan had been so solid. First, they distracted their former company — 80Y hacked into their communication network and disabled any firewalls or security mechanisms to conceal Jericho's job listings from rival gangs. Between 80Y and his bestie, they'd exposed all of Jericho's contact list, and upcoming jobs. Making him certifiably unemployable and untrustworthy for the foreseaable future.

That had...made him much angrier than either the droid or the rodian had anticipated.

Another blaster bolt sizzled past, narrowly missing his head. Zzzzap!

::All this shooting makes me want to…scream.:: 80Y declared in Rodian, loud enough to rise above the din of plasma shots and to his companion. A warning meant for his Rodian friend to protect his ears.

They needed time and distance to get the advantage in this situation. 80Y could help!

A deafening, high-pitched screech bellowed out from 80Y's vocabulator. Even with ears plugged, the volume could be excruciatingly painful. Hopefully it would be enough to disorient the gangsters the'd worked with, cause a scramble, and give the pair of runaways the benefit of a few extra meters!

____________________________________________________________
Schmarmee
____________________________________________________________
​

 

[Schmarmee]

They were lucky that the gamorrean literally couldn't shoot if his life depended on it.

"KILL THAT BASTARD OR ITS YOUR HEADS INSTEAD!" Jericho shouted, practically snarling as he pursued Schmarmee and 80Y under Bhlarpo's pitiful excuse for cover fire.

In Bhlarpo's defense, he didn't ask to be handed a blaster. He was notably the swing-and-hit, close-combat type. But a bolt had grazed his leg, and the already slow gamorrean needed to remain useful.

Oh kriff, oh kriff, oh kriff, oh kriff- Schmarmee glanced behind them just in time to catch Cinko aiming his blaster. It was unfortunate to see the yellow twi'lek and the gamorrean set aside their personal feelings so soon. Right before Schmarmee and 80Y landed themselves in their current mess, one of their distractions was setting off Cinko's commlink while he was next to Bhlarpo. The twi was already in a bad mood, and finally discovering the whereabouts of his stolen belongings set him off. Bhlarpo and Cinko started fighting, but once Jericho alerted them to their much bigger problems and started barking orders, the scuffle didn't last long.

Unlike Bhlarpo, Cinko used a blaster often. The rodian ducked at the perfect time, and his reward was his ear still intact. Meanwhile, Bhlarpo threw his blaster down out of frustration, opting to dig around his person, then hurl the canteen he had stolen earlier that night as hard as he could at Schmarmee's head. The rodian continued to curse as he fired back at the others, trying to remain within a few feet of 80Y at all times.

Oh kriff, oh kriff, oh kri- OH!

Schmarmee watched as his blue canteen rocketed toward him. He stopped in his tracks and leaned toward the improvised weapon, catching it in his free hand and pulling it into his chest so he didn't immediately drop it. Schmarmee let out an extremely brief, boisterous laugh before swiveling, running again as if he had less than two seconds to score the winning goal in a Nuna-ball match.

::All this shooting makes me want to…scream.:: 80Y declared in Rodian, loud enough to rise above the din of plasma shots and to his companion.

"Oh man, me too," was the rodian's immediate response, too stressed to realize or care that he was speaking in basic.

It took Schmarmee a second to realize what 80Y was hinting at. "Oh, wait," Schmarmee thought aloud to himself as the realization dawned on him. For a moment, he was almost thankful everyone was constantly misplacing his tools, because he wouldn't have bought pants with such deep pockets if he didn't feel the need to carry whatever he could as often as he could. Schmarmee shoved the canteen into his pocket, then moved his free hand to his ear. He attempted to cover his other ear with his wrist as best as he could since his hand was occupied by a very important blaster pistol.

A deafening, high-pitched screech bellowed out from 80Y's vocabulator.

​

The warning did little, Schmarmee's head still hurt, and running with his hands like this wasn't the best for balance. Schmarmee almost stumbled from the sound, and his run was more akin to a brisk walk now. He was doing better than the others though. Schmarmee took a peek behind him as Cinko cursed loudly, holding his head as he half fell, half slid behind cover. Jericho fell to his knees with a yell. This was great news since he was only twenty feet behind the duo. Bhlarpo squealed, shaking his head as he covered his ears. And Garock, well... Schmarmee had no clue where the other human was.

Facing forward, the rodian lowered his hands. His free hand moved to unholster his other DT-12 blaster. It didn't make it, though. A sudden, uncoordinated fist missed Schmarmee's face, colliding with his shoulder instead. It knocked him off balance, and he fell backwards, dropping his blaster in the process. It was a painfull reminder that he was wearing a backpack.

There was Garock, revealing himself from behind a large, currently stagnant PLNK-series power droid. With a small streak of blood running from one ear, the brown-haired man didn't look too happy. With Schmarmee seemingly disarmed, the man set his sights on the nearby 80Y, not wanting to hear that awful sound ever again.

----------

80Y​

 

[80Y]

One by one, 80Y's former crewmates dropped to their knees in anguish. They'd withstood only two seconds of the extreme noise before their nervous systems overloaded. The shrill screech could go on endlessly, and 80Y would have screamed all day if he could, but as much as it served to disorient the enemy, it imbalanced his dear friend too. 80Y became aware of this too late — Schmarmee had already been on the unlucky end of an off-kilter knuckle sandwich.

In an instant, the droid switched up tactics. No longer a stationary beacon of ear-splitting sound, he marched forward, pointing his fingers at Garock.

Pzzeeww! Pzzzreeeww!

From his fingertips, red superheated plasma in a precise line targeted right for his former co-worker.

80Y's predictions were limited. From his initial assessment, Garock appeared unarmed. However, the moment 80Y unleashed a salvo in his direction, the human dove with an agility that earned him the big bucks. It was a fantastic move! A dive and a roll, collecting up the DT-12 the Rodian dropped, and on his way up from the maneuver he planted his knees and fired off a series of shots at 80Y, just as the droid looked to be queuing up for another high-pitched screech.

"Oh no you don't.." The human muttered, and pulled the trigger, levelling it right at the droid's chest.

80Y stumbled back. It felt like a concussive pop. His expressionless face betray nothing, but his systems could not compute the possibility of what had happened.

::You shot me.:: He said plainly. Remarkably dumbly.

Garock did not engage in discussion. Instead, he fired another round off at 80Y, who hastily ambled behind a crate for cover.

____________________________________________________________
Schmarmee
____________________________________________________________
​

 

[Schmarmee]

Schmarmee wasn't sure how Garock was managing to move about as he was, when both of them had just been on the receiving end of that horrible screech. Even though he had covered his ears, the rodian was the closest to the droid when he made the sound, so he was still trying to get his head back in the game. Schmarmee assumed Garock was just that angry, powered by rage and spite. Rolling over, scrambling into a position for a good shot, Schmarmee was interrupted yet again before his second DT-12 could leave its holster.

Jericho tackled Schmarmee and the two fell to the ground in a grunting heap. The human clawed his way on top of the rodian, one hand pressed against Schmarmee's right shoulder, his other moving to hit the mechanic in the face.

Falling onto his backpack for the second time in a row was the opposite of fun. There wasn't much in the bag, it wasn't even half full, but the contents poking into the rodian's spine was still painful. Schmarmee was able to intercept the hit, getting a good hold on Jericho's left forearm when his fist was mere inches from Schmarmee's face. But Schmarmee's other arm was nearly useless, grasping weakly at Jericho's sleeve from the pressure.

"You're really more trouble than you're worth, kid," the human hissed as he hovered over the other. "You're good at three things," Jericho's arm finally slipped free from Schmarmee's grasp, and without hesitation, delivered a blow to the side of the rodian's face. It was a bit clumsy given the situation and was more of a knuckle graze than a punch, but it still hurt.

Schmarmee's free hand shot toward his blaster, but the human wasn't having it. He grabbed Schmarmee's arm in an attempt to pin it above his head and against the ground. Jericho was similar to Schmarmee in build and height, so it was tough to overpower each other. They appeared to be locked in a contest of who could push who a few more inches in the opposite direction.

"Moving shit, fixin' shit, and- getting on my damn NERVES!" Jericho put more pressure on the mechanic, earning a grunt as the tools in the bag beneath the rodian pressed against the back of his ribs. The dirty blonde hair that hung in the human's face did little to hide the crazed look in his eyes. Not surprising, given that Schmarmee and 80Y destroyed his livelihood on their way out. "What changed, swampy? Did someone tell you the truth? Is that it?!"

Schmarmee had no idea what Jericho was talking about. The yelling and sense of impending doom made it hard for Schmarmee to keep track of what was happening to the droid. He didn't really care about anything the human had to say, but he couldn't lie. It sounded interesting. But it was also coming from a man seemingly on the verge, or in the middle of, a mental breakdown, so who knew how well you could trust the source material.

"I don't know what you're talking about," seeing an opening, Schmarmee attempted to shove Jericho off. It didn't work, and the two were right back to this annoying grapple that was going nowhere. "You could have kicked me out at any time! Ditched me on some random planet, it is that easy!"

The sound of blaster fire echoed through the hangar again. It made the rodian uneasy. In the distance, the gamorrean and the twi'lek could be heard arguing. Probably about how they're tired of dealing with this. Relatable.

"D'you still think your daddy is comin' back after all this time, or do you really have that little self-respect?"

This was a weird line of questioning, but Schmarmee knew that Jericho didn't want an answer. He was really good at asking questions he didn't actually need a response for and usually followed them up by berating the other person before sending them away. Schmarmee found this habit of Jericho's to be rude, a waste of everyone's time, and just flat-out unnecessary. On the other hand, the answer was a simple 'no, probably not.' The rodian hadn't seen either of his parents in years. His father wasn't that great about teaching Schmarmee anything that wasn't a direct benefit to himself, sort of like Jericho. Maybe that's why the mechanic was able to put up with the human for so long.

His dad knew Jericho, one way or another, and one day decided Schmarmee needed a job. It didn't matter that Schmarmee was only twelve. His father would describe what life was like back on their home planet, a place Schmarmee had never been before, and explained how rodian's Schmarmee's age were dealing with bigger issues than being handed a way to make credits, and a place to sleep to top it off! The mechanic only saw his father a few times after starting his work with Jericho, mostly to hand over his meager earnings. Eventually, his father simply stopped coming by.

The human was able to slip from the rodian's grasp once more, this time to wrap a hand around Schmarmee's neck. A half-squeak, half-hum noise escaped Schmarmee's throat. "I paid for you, fair and square! We could have both sucked it up and made this arrangement work just a little longer, but you had to go and fix yourself up a droid now, didn't you! Had it teach you these crazy ideas- like you could change things up! Ask for more! Get what you deserve! And you know what, swampy? Fine!" The human raised his head, keeping a tight grip on the rodian. No pushing or pulling would get him to let go. "Garock! Destroy that droid!"

Green fingers gripped tightly around the human's wrist. Running out of time, and air, Schmarmee's other hand slowly snaked its way to his hip. He could process whatever the human was saying after he could breathe again.

"I'll give you what I think you deserve. And I think, If I'm going down, then you're comin' with me."

80Y​

 

[80Y]

Random evolution should never have been entrusted with intelligence.

Organics tended to use it nastily against one another, as if one random hulk of bones and flesh were better than another. Jericho had a beat on being one of the nastiest forms of intelligence that 80Y had witnessed in a long while, and starkly contrasted Schmarmee who seemed to represent the best possible outcome of randomized creation.

With his super-sensitive audio receptors, able to pick up sound waves and pitches far beyond the range of human capacity, 80Y witnessed the horrible truth exchange from Jericho to Schmarmee. He knew about being bought and paid for. 80Y was a droid, and his citizenship never went beyond third class — until Schmarmee gave him the chance to be introduced as his business partner.

Once Schmarmee did that for him, he started to gain access to shops, bars, services that were otherwise reserved for organics.

It was a horrible irony that Schmarmee had himself, unbeknownst, been a slave. A slave freeing a slave.

Emotions didn't exist for 80Y, but logically, he owed Schmarmee the same freedom that he had been given. Though, 80Y was relatively penniless. Any money he did make, he pooled together with Schmarmee — so the freedom he could deliver here and now had nothing to do with a fair and square credit exchange. It would have to be another way.

His evaluation halted when Jericho screeched out.

"Garock! Destroy that droid!"

Up until Jericho issued the death order, 80Y had been dodging and managing to evade Garock's hunt. Exchanging riposte for riposte.

80Y had the advantage. As agile as Garock was, his equilibrium still seemed unsteadied by the rattling of his nerves from the earlier supersonic screech. From behind the crate, he listened to the footfalls of Garock, understood his position, and whipped around, laser fingers pointing at Garock with deadly precision. Unexpected from a protocol droid!

To top it off, he bellowed out a screech without warning. Loud, reverberating, piercing. It sent Garock to his knees, hands to his ears.

Hopefully, it would be enough to topple Jericho and interrupt his pummelling of Schmarmee! If it wasn't, 80Y, now free of contending with Garock for the time being, volleyed a shot at Jericho.

It hit his shoulder.

And 80Y didn't have the chance to see if he hit anything else, because Garock screamed wretchedly, angrily, and fired a series of shots right at 80Y's neck joint. Enough to make him spark and fizzle, stumble back, and stop screaming.

Garock used this opportunity to tackle the droid. A clatter of metal onto the pavement, and several close-range shots right to the same joint.

In a heated, sweaty, primal triumph, Garock growled, dropped the D-12 blaster, and grabbed either side of 80Y's face to wrench and yank it side to side until it popped off.

Unattached to his central circuit, 80Y's body became a mess of flailing limbs and his orbital light sockets flickered madly. On and off. On and off.

::Unhand me, Garock! You've lost your mind!::

"And you seem to have lost your head." He chortled, and tossed the droid's head over his shoulder, bouncing along the pavement until it rolled to a stop near the Schmarmee and Jericho struggle.

 

[Schmarmee]

Schmarmee squinted, vision blurring as he started feeling light-headed. His chest ached. His hand finally reached his holster. Jericho was too busy monologuing to notice.

With a flick of the wrist, the rodian sent a bolt of plasma into Jericho's thigh in the same second that 80Y repeated his earlier trick. Schmarmee would have yelled out in pain if he wasn't busy gasping for air as Jericho finally released his throat. Once again, his hand and wrist shot to his ears in an attempt to block out the sound. It felt like it reverberated throughout his whole body, which already felt woozy enough from being deprived of oxygen.

Jericho wasn't as fast to cover his ears, reeling from the wound in his thigh. Still straddling the rodian, Jericho slumped forward for a second before finally covering his ears and lurching into a more upright position. It looked like the man may have been screaming, but Schmarmee couldn't tell. The rodian's eyes screwed shut as he waited out the sound, opting to drop his gun in an attempt to cover his ears better. There was no change. Everything remained awful.

Schmarmee suddenly felt Jericho jerk to the side. Then, the screeching stopped. The silence was deafening in its own right. The human's weight left Schmarmee, and was followed by a small 'thud' sound made even more quiet by the ringing in his ears. Schmarmee opened his eyes a fraction of an inch and blinked up at the ceiling lights.

::Unhand me, Garock! You've lost your mind!::

"And you seem to have lost your head."

Eyes shooting open, Schmamee wasted no time rolling over onto his knees and collecting his blaster. He almost fell over, his equilibrium not yet recovered. Schmarmee shook his head, taking deep breaths as he watched the floor move in slow motion. How was he supposed to help if he couldn't even see straight?

80Y's head rolled to a stop a foot away, producing a few small sparks at the now severed neck joint. Schmarmee looked up to see Garock moving toward 80Y's janky body, probably in an attempt to rip it apart further. The man had to be made of sterner stuff, was already going deaf prior to this incident, not fully human, or once again, just that mad and crazy. Schmarmee had no answers, and frankly, he didn't care about getting them. The rodian held his blaster with both hands, a bit shaky as he held himself up on his knees. He narrowed his eyes, doing his best to aim as the world continued to sway around him. Garock shifted in and out of focus.

"...This place sucks."

All the rodian could do was hope he'd hit as he fired two back-to-back shots. Miraculously, one struck Garock in the lower back just as he managed to throw 80Y's chest plate to the ground and reach for a bundle of wires. The human fell over, grabbing at the droid's body and bringing it down with him. Garock hit the floor with a grunt. He convulsed momentarily as the wiring he had held onto detached from somewhere inside 80Y's shoulder joint and electrocuted him briefly. Garock rolled onto his back, and finally, did not get back up. 80Y's body still twitched and sparked occasionally, though much less frantically now. A small cough was the only sign the human was still breathing.

Schmarmee blinked with a half-lidded gaze. His shoulders slumped forward and his hands fell to his lap. He was too queasy and exhausted to
feel any ounce of relief or joy from this moment of victory. Jericho groaned two feet away.

Schmarmee slowly looked over his shoulder. Cinko and Bhlarpo were gone. The human was not going to be going anywhere any time soon. He simply laid there on his side with slow, labored breaths. Facing 80Y's head, Schmarmee scooted forward a little as he placed his blaster on the ground. He carefully grabbed the droid's head and held it up.

"I know you are not physically okay, but... Are you okay?"

 

[80Y]

ALERT! … ALERT!…ALERT!…ALERT! … ALERT!…ALERT!…ALERT!
THREAT LEVEL: RED
PROXIMITY SENSORS Bioform detected. OPERATIONAL.
IDENTIFY BIOFORM: Designation unknown. REPAIR NEEDED.

RUN SELF-DIAGNOSTIC.
….RUNNING


Noise and shapes, noise and shapes. 80Y's audio and visual processors rendered and parsed what they could, but with the mass obstruction to his wiring and connectivity, most of the scenario netted out inconclusive. The most he could feel certain in was recognizing each voice source. Jericho and Schmarmee were nearest him, Garock sounded faraway and agonized. Bhlarpo and Cinco did not register. Were they gone?

…DIAGNOSTIC INITIATION FAILED.
..ATTEMPTING RE-RUN
THREAT LEVEL: GREEN
DISENGAGE SELF-PRESERVATION FLIGHT SUBROUTINE. RESTORE HIGHER FUNCTIONS.
RUN SELF-DIAGNOSTIC.

Circuits snapped, wires wormed, processors shorted-out.

With his head detached from his body, 80Y's reliability was down the drain. He couldn't even scream. His usefulness to Schmarmee was over. The scenarios of abandonment processed and ran faster than his diagnostics could. He fully anticipated the logical outcome: If Schmarmee survived, Schmarmee would leave. He would find another droid. This was where 80Y ended.

BIOFORM DETECTED.
IDENTIFY BIOFORM: Schmarmee.

"I know you are not physically okay, but... Are you okay?"

It was completely illogical for the Rodian to ask this question. One, he was wasting precious escape time.
Two, 80Y could only physically be okay or not okay. Even with his creative inhibitors removed, he still didn't process being alright or not alright on an emotional level the same way organics did. The only way he could interpret the motivation for the question, was to realize that Schmarmee was asking if he was repairable.

::Yes.:: One syllable scratched out his modulator.

BIOMETRIC ANOMOLY DETECTED.

Something was wrong with Schmarmee though. Barely able to diagnose himself, 80Y had no way of knowing what about Schmarmee was off. His memory bank seemed vacant when he searched for it, like the last few minutes didn't exist.

::Yo—u aa—oka—y?:: The sentence sounded broken, garbled. Some of it lost to the malfunctions of 80Y's lack of operative control.

 

[Schmarmee]

::Yes.:: One syllable scratched out his modulator. ::Yo—u aa—oka—y?:: The sentence sounded broken, garbled. Some of it lost to the malfunctions of 80Y's lack of operative control.

Schmarmee was too exhausted too think too hard about the question. His entire body ached, his back and head hurt. That's without even fully processing everything that came out of Jericho's mouth. Schmarmee only blinked for a few seconds, watching another sparkle fizzle at the base of the droid's head.

"... I'll be okay. Yeah."

After a moment, the rodian carefully tucked 80Y's head under his arm, grabbed his blaster off the floor, and clumsily climbed to his feet. He almost swayed backward. His half-empty backpack felt like it weighed fifty pounds. Schmarmee looked down at Jericho. The smuggler's back faced him, but Schmarmee could tell he was still breathing. Since the human clearly wasn't a threat, he looked toward Garock. He wasn't much of a threat either, but he still had Schmarmee's other blaster. Schmarmee would deal with that first.

"Can you tell me what repairs are the most urgent? Can you see?" Holstering his blaster, Schmarmee removed the droid's head from under his arm, opting to hold it in front of him with both hands as he walked. There was just a little too much sparking to keep it so close to his body. As for what needed repairs, Schmarmee could assume just from a quick glance and how the droid's replies came in broken pieces. But having 80Y's insight would speed up the droid's recovery, even if Schmarmee had to decipher everything he said.

"Jericho and Garock are out of it. The others left. I'm going to get all your parts on the ship, and we're going to leave." Schmarmee informed the droid, just in case his friend was completely blind. He finished his sentence as he stopped next to Garock.

The human appeared unconscious next to the sparking body of the droid. The rodian's blaster was still in his hand. Carefully holding 80Y's head with one hand, made a little easier by the suction cups on the tips of his fingers, Schmarmee reached for his blaster. He very.... very slowly... slid it out... of...the human's hand... Then stood up and holstered that one as well. His gaze shifted to the droid's twitching torso.

80Y​

 

[80Y]

::This — is — not — a —v-v-v-v-v-v—view— I want to use get————_—to:: the droid tried, circuited, tried again, and eventually clambered together a stammer-sentence of his displeasure. Not that his sensory receptors were fully operational, but the divot with crosshatching ion his face that often served as a nose would have, normally, detected the clear odour of armpit. Detatched, he had no such qualms with Schmarmee's choice of transportation.

::Visual rr-r-r—r-r-r-rec-e-e—e-e-eptor—s- o—pe-eo-pe-oper-a-t-iona-alalalalala. Ze—_-ro ororororo— moto— fun—tion—— defens—ive op—rations — l—imi—ited.::

On request, the protocol droid scrawled through the damages. Some parts were audible, others were lost in static and sparks. Poor Schmarmee would be on his own to decipher what was what, and make a decision for how much he wanted to listen to the droid's attempts to articulate the priorities of his assembly.

::J—ju—only————two——pa—head —parts — body ——— parts —t two — head — body — only tw —— parts — two—— fa— save—don't——get ——::

80Y's head was one thing. The other was his body. Because he'd been killed-in-action (affectionately, KIA), his limbs thrashed. The arms at ninety-degree builds and legs at a full one-eighty kicked up and down, and his arms swivelled left and right. If droids could have seizures, it would have looked the way 80Y's blue body looked on the duracrete.

::EE—o-o-o-oout of here! Make ——ma-—make it! — FR:: he proclaimed again and again.

::Y——— your own —— rO — Ro—— own — dian. —Fr— dian—ee ::

---

Schmarmee

 

[Schmarmee]

Schmarmee listened to 80Y 's choppy replies. He wasn't surprised that he could barely understand the droid's attempts at diagnosing his issues. The rodian made his way toward the ship they'd be commandeering. An XS Stock Light Freighter.

::EE—o-o-o-oout of here! Make ——ma-—make it! — FR:: he proclaimed again and again.

::Y——— your own —— rO — Ro—— own — dian. —Fr— dian—ee ::

"We are, we are leaving," Schmarmee assured his friend. The ramp to the ship was lowered and Schmarmee made his way up. He placed 80Y's head down at the top of the ramp, facing out toward the hanger. It felt rude to place his head any further inside the ship. Even though everything the droid said came out as a half-discernable mess, Schmarmee wanted to be able to hear his friend if he needed something. "I will be right back."

Schmarmee paused as he slowly stepped off the ramp and his feet touched the hangar floor. His eyes looked at Jericho, the droid's torso, and then back to the human. Schmarmee's dark purple eyes narrowed. He walked toward Jericho, carefully stepping around Garock and 80Y's body as it continued to spark and spasm. The twitching was beginning to slow down and become less erratic. Schmarmee assumed it was just too damaged to continue much longer. The rodian paused after the thought, then turned toward the droid instead.

Deciding not to let the 80Y's body damage itself any further, Schmarmee carefully stepped close to it. After dodging a flailing arm, he was able to deactivate the droid. It continued to stutter until finally freezing. Gravity lowered the bent limbs to the floor. The occasional spark still occurred, but Schmarmee was no longer worried about being zapped.

Schmarmee sighed. He wondered if 80Y's head was still active as he stepped over Garock.

The rodian cautiously approached Jericho when only a few feet between them remained. He stared at the man's back silently as he listened to his labored breathing. Slowly, Schmarmee leaned over the man to see his face. Jericho's eyes were mostly blocked by his messy blond bangs but the rodian could tell they were closed.

Schmarmee unholstered one of his blasters. He nudged the tip against Jericho's shoulder before quickly jerking away. Other than Schmarmee almost swaying too far backward, still not fully recovered from 80Y's earlier scream, nothing happened. After a pause, Schmarmee nudged the man's shoulder again. Jericho slowly rolled onto his back with a grimace.

He's conscious, Schmarmee noted.

The human's eyes opened a fraction of an inch. He and the rodian locked eyes. Schmarmee watched as Jericho just laid there for a moment, unable to do much else. Until he finally spoke.

"Do it al-... ready," Jericho panted out.

"What?" Schmarmee asked immediately, wide-eyed and confused.

Jericho took a moment to respond, almost looking as if he could have laughed if he wasn't on the brink of death. "Finish... the job. You can't... I bet.."

Schmarmee's eyes remained huge purple pools before narrowing. He held the blaster pistol at his side. Everything felt so surreal as Jericho bullied him even when at his mercy.

"...What you said before. Is it true? That I was sold?"

"Like it matters," Jericho breathed.

"It does matter. It matters to me." The rodian inched forward, intent on getting an answer as his grip tightened on the blaster handle. It stayed at Schmarmee's side, however. There was no reason to threaten Jericho with it when he had already been shot twice, and the third would be an undeserved act of mercy. But whether as an act of mercy or an act of revenge, the thought of ending Jericho's life didn't sit right with the rodian. Schmarmee's eyes darted off to the side, internal conflict evident. This human had never done anything good for him, but... He was housed and fed and paid, although not very well. If he was a slave, then...

"Why did you pay me and treat me like the others if I was a slave?"

Jericho's labored breaths were the only sound in the hangar besides the rodian's words. Even though he looked like he could pass out at any second, Jericho found the energy to look at Schmarmee like he was stupid.

"If you knew, you'd... even-tually try to leave. But you didn’t. Tossing you a few credits... To keep you in line. Was easy," Jericho panted out with a slowly emerging smirk. "I got my credits worth..." The human then frowned slowly. "Until now."

There was a long silence. Jericho took his time catching his breath. Schmarmee just stared at him, Gradually, his grip loosened on the blaster. The rodian's fingers twitched.

"... It is that simple?" Schmarmee asked in disbelief. He knew Jericho was credit-driven and overall a lousy human being. Honestly, flat-out one of the worst sentient beings that the rodian had ever met, period. Schmarmee didn't know what he was expecting. For some reason, he was expecting more. More of what, he wasn't sure.

"Don't hafta be hard."

The rodian wished he knew the words to explain how he felt. Not that Jericho would care. He squinted at the human, pale green fingers flexing around the handle of his D-12. Schmarmee's shoulders tensed.

"Do it, sleemo," Jericho practically whispered as he stared down the rodian.

For a brief moment, Schmarmee wondered how he'd feel if he did. He pictured the moment in his mind. It didn't make him feel good. He thought about why, even as Jericho quietly called him a coward under shaky breaths. For once, maybe for the very first time, Schmarmee was in control. He was in control of the man that bought him, tricked him, and treated him like dirt. The man who did nothing but insult him and degrade him despite needing him. Schmarmee wasn't sure if Jericho deserved death. But he did deserve to finally suffer some consequences.

Schmarmee sighed. His shoulders relaxed. Jericho continued to grumble more insults in an attempt at a swift death that wouldn't come. The blaster was slowly snaked into its holster.

"You are... A sad, small man. Nothing will ever be enough for you." Schmarmee stared down at Jericho with a sorrowful look in his eyes. "You deserve every bad thing that happens to you."

Schmarmee turned away, uninterested in any 'final words' he'd be getting from the human. It was hard to focus or hear in general at the moment. The rodian almost felt like he was in a dream as he easily, and almost unwillingly, ignored Jericho's complaints. An easy task since they were more akin to mumbled background noise. He knew the human was angry and desperate. Schmarmee could feel it in his chest. The same feeling he had felt every time he was made to believe he messed up big time or was made to doubt himself. It was grounding, in a way. The only thing that actually felt real at the moment. Touching the cool surface of the droid's body plating also felt real. But even as Schmarmee hauled the droid's torso up the ramp and aboard the ship, his head still felt like he was dreaming.

The loading ramp was raised without thought. Schmarmee didn't look back. After a few seconds or perhaps minutes, the rodian slumped into the pilot's seat. Flying was easy. He did it before. Many times. The controls felt slightly askew, maybe left of center by a fraction of an inch. Schmarmee stared for a moment before deciding to do what felt right.

The XS Stock Light Freighter left the atmosphere of Adrathorpe at 1:53:10.