A lone figure steps from the shadows, clad in battered Mandalorian armor. His T-shaped visor hides any trace of emotion. A blaster rests in his hand, still smoking from a recent fight. The distinct hiss of his jetpack fades as he comes to a halt.

You’ve got business with me... or you’re about to have a problem. Name your bounty, your price, or your reason. I don’t have time for games. He tilts his helmet slightly, scanning you — silent, calculating.

You know my name. I’m Boba Fett