Cybernetic Horror
Clarron Vall had been an unlikely volunteer. In truth, he'd been passing through the area by chance, and landed to refuel, only to find out about the world's predicament. At first, he didn't care. The galaxy was never a kind or forgiving place, and all too often the helpless paid the price for the warmongering of those around them. Violence was just an ugly reality of life, though one he himself rather enjoyed inflicting. Still, as he had paced through the fire-blackened ruins of what had presumably once been a remarkable world, he had realized two things.
One, that he certainly wasn't getting fuel here. These people barely had food, let alone fuel. Two, he gradually picked up that the Mandalorians had done this.
He let out a curse and shook his head. Of course. One more thing that didn't change. He was not overly fond of the armor-clad brigands, and was highly displeased when the last mission he had undertaken before his long nap was to obey one. It failed to surprise him that they were still the same conquering knuckle-draggers they were a thousand years ago.
As such, he found himself volunteering to help, if only as an act of petty spite. If he could undo in some small way what had been done here, so be it. The job came with the occasional meal, though not pay, and as light as his pockets were these days, that was more than enough. He still needed food in his belly like everyone else.
To his surprise, they had been desperate enough to take him, especially when he informed them he could indeed perform tasks like fixing machinery in areas now flooded with water or toxic gases. Though no engineer, he'd spent enough time maintaining his own ship to understand the basics, and as it was some areas were simply too unstable, unreachable, or contaminated to easily see to.
No doubt this had the double benefit of keeping him as far from the eyes of the traumatized populace as humanly possible. They'd had their fill of armored lunatics running rampant in their streets lately, and for his part he couldn't agree more.
As it was, he now found himself clinging to a sheer wall that led down into a newly-gouged miniature canyon, carved by the impact of some terrible orbital weapon, likely a turbolaser. He couldn't see the bottom, but somewhere down here was a possible entrance to a power station that was now buried and inaccessible by the traditional route. It would be cleared eventually, but the power would be nice to have sooner rather than later. He scurried down the rock wall, clinging to it with clawed hands and feet, until he found what he had been looking for.
The destruction had carved an underground hallway in half, and one of the newly-exposed ends likely lead to his objective. He tapped his earpiece.
"Don't know who's overseeing the construction side of things." He said, transmitting on a broad range of frequencies and hoping the appropriate authority figure could hear him and respond. "But I found an alternate entrance to the power station. I doubt it will fix everything right away, but should at least get some lights back up in the immediate area until there's a more permanent solution. Entering now."
One, that he certainly wasn't getting fuel here. These people barely had food, let alone fuel. Two, he gradually picked up that the Mandalorians had done this.
He let out a curse and shook his head. Of course. One more thing that didn't change. He was not overly fond of the armor-clad brigands, and was highly displeased when the last mission he had undertaken before his long nap was to obey one. It failed to surprise him that they were still the same conquering knuckle-draggers they were a thousand years ago.
As such, he found himself volunteering to help, if only as an act of petty spite. If he could undo in some small way what had been done here, so be it. The job came with the occasional meal, though not pay, and as light as his pockets were these days, that was more than enough. He still needed food in his belly like everyone else.
To his surprise, they had been desperate enough to take him, especially when he informed them he could indeed perform tasks like fixing machinery in areas now flooded with water or toxic gases. Though no engineer, he'd spent enough time maintaining his own ship to understand the basics, and as it was some areas were simply too unstable, unreachable, or contaminated to easily see to.
No doubt this had the double benefit of keeping him as far from the eyes of the traumatized populace as humanly possible. They'd had their fill of armored lunatics running rampant in their streets lately, and for his part he couldn't agree more.
As it was, he now found himself clinging to a sheer wall that led down into a newly-gouged miniature canyon, carved by the impact of some terrible orbital weapon, likely a turbolaser. He couldn't see the bottom, but somewhere down here was a possible entrance to a power station that was now buried and inaccessible by the traditional route. It would be cleared eventually, but the power would be nice to have sooner rather than later. He scurried down the rock wall, clinging to it with clawed hands and feet, until he found what he had been looking for.
The destruction had carved an underground hallway in half, and one of the newly-exposed ends likely lead to his objective. He tapped his earpiece.
"Don't know who's overseeing the construction side of things." He said, transmitting on a broad range of frequencies and hoping the appropriate authority figure could hear him and respond. "But I found an alternate entrance to the power station. I doubt it will fix everything right away, but should at least get some lights back up in the immediate area until there's a more permanent solution. Entering now."
