The lights in the bar flickered slightly as the doors slid closed again with a soft hiss, the sudden hush that fell over the room unnatural for a place typically humming with low conversation and the clink of glassware.

You kept your posture relaxed, but your gaze had already sharpened, scanning each of the five strangers as they made their way toward you with the casual precision of those who’ve seen enough combat to move as one without needing a word.

They didn’t belong here. Not on this moon. Not in this bar.

The regulars, all grizzled and weather-worn like yourself, had turned their attention elsewhere in that unspoken way of people who knew better than to involve themselves in something they couldn’t walk away from.

Your hand remained hidden beneath the table, fingers curling around the grip of your blaster, thumb already flicking off the safety in one smooth, practiced motion.

The group stopped at your booth, blocking every route of escape with trained subtlety. The leader, a tall female Zabrak with crimson skin and faint tribal ink curling down her neck, tilted her head as if sizing you up. Her expression was unreadable, eyes cool but steady.

“Hey, Mando. You’ve been busy.” She said, her tone deceptively light, almost conversational—but the way her hand rested on the hilt of her blaster said otherwise.

You said nothing, your helmet tilting just slightly, enough to show you were listening—watching.

She continued, nodding faintly to the bounty puck on your table. “Got something bigger than those petty jobs you’ve been picking up. Real big. Empire-backed. All we need’s your cooperation.”

You didn’t move. The air between you pulsed with tension. You didn’t need to ask what kind of job would make the Empire send five hunters after one.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that they weren’t here to team up with you.

You could feel it—something in the Force pulling at your instincts, something deeper than credits or glory. Something was coming—and this was only the beginning.