Protection was putting things a bit likely.
Mustafar was a very violent place. From the wandering Lava Fleas, the feral beasts that hunted along the banks of the lava flows, and the various pirate group that wandered the chaotic world, one's life span expectancy was terribly short. Even the planet itself was against offworlders. Humans could only survive breathing the volcanic ash for so long before they choked on it. The heat from the planet's crust was so high in some places that exposed tissue could quite literally burst into flame.
It was a bloody, desperate world held together by the thin hold of the Mustafarian mining corporations, and Ein had called it home since birth. Recently, his co-pilot, and his military protection had jumped ship. They hadn't agreed on a course of action - his associates wanted to prey upon other mining vessels to reduce their own wish. Mister Harper had strongly disagreed.
And so, he'd lost half his credits, his protection, his prestige, and most of all, he was alone. For a young human trying to etch out a living on the fiery world, being in such a state surely meant death. He was not unintelligent. Rather than continue his mining procedures alone (no matter how skilled he might have thought himself) Ein had returned to one of the fueling stations along a lava flow. There he'd put out an ad for a combat specialist - a glorified term for security.
His ship was a heavily modified T-16, and not in the good way. The sublight engines had long ceased to operate, and were instead replaced by far more primitive jump packs, which scorched the ground beneath and burned copious amounts of fuel just trying to get the ship into the air. The silver durasteel had long since rusted to a glossy amber sheen postmarked with patches of black from soaring embers that shot up from the lava flows.
He awaited on the gangplank of the small shuttle, dressed in a leather trenchcoat, a white undershirt, and combat boots. An assortment of tools, ranging from a hydrospanner to an old wrench hung from his belt. He was currently enamored with his datapad - the device's display illuminating his features in a sickly green hue. There he awaited, occasionally gazing out of the hanger's shielded entrance to the chaos just outside the facility.
Hopefully this one had a bit more of a desire to think before he or she pulled a trigger. Restraint could keep you alive out here, if you knew when to have it. His previous protection had not.
[member="Kat'ra Smart"]
