---

The engines began to switch on. The shudder of seats within the machines left bones rocking within their hosts. The rear doors began to slowly creep their way into their open posture, creating a ramp not too steep to trek. Following the movement of the door, armed personnel began to line up, loading in man, woman and child one after another into the rear-bays, preparing them for the transportation. It was issued that these prisoners were to be moved from their labour camp to another, though most of them were to be put onto their trials and silenced amongst the hope of the galaxy. Those with weaponry shoved most of those around, making them feel degraded compared to their new superiors. Many of those were battle hardened, yet more were simply mere citizens, falling prey to the sin of oppression. From farmers to ex-rebels, musicians to barmen, bounty hunters to mothers...the variety of both Guilty and innocent was far stretched. Many of those holding the arrest against these victims were preparing each soul by moving them onto each crawler. The desert heat brought stenches of disgust and death throughout the line of vehicles, yet the interiors all had a blissful scent to remind them of what little life they'd experience on the trip there.

Amongst these Crawlers, was Crawler ITC-63. Behind the wheel of it, was the forced labourer himself, Varan. He looked through the open cockpit door, watching as the door began to slowly open. From the inside, it was difficult to even make out who he had to transport this time. The light from inside his little seat of discomfort was much dimmer than of the blazing sun outside. It wasn't even that early, as the suns began to sink over the horizon. A distinctive chatter of Imperial troopers made it clear that this wasn't the usual package, being a group most likely high on the edge of treason and traitor-related deeds. Considered scum to many, though considered nothing but heroes in the man's eyes. He watched them slowly move into position, their hands locked into a forward facing position. Before they began to even set foot upon his forced vessel, two armed prison guards moved onto the transporter. One approached the driver, posture high and gun ready. His uniform was rather dusty, and his face had middle-age written all over it. In his left hand, was a small trigger, as he drew nearer to engage into conversation. He spoke, the voice rough and formal.

"The group behind me, Roedam, are more than important to us." The armed guard began. "Here, I have a controller for their binds, which I will have to inform you, that'll be in your possession during this trip. I trust I can count on you to keep it safe. Captain Julio Phant will want to have this placed into her hands by the time you arrive, pronto." Varan nodded slightly, quite unsure of how this'd effect his upcoming plans for this specific trip. "To take extra precautions, we'll be giving you yet another escort..."

"You...uhm...how many S-stormtroopers are being brought aboard?" Varan finally spoke up, still quite fearful of the man giving him something that could potentially screw up his entire hope. The guard looked back upon his measly appearance, being a lot more formally dressed compared to the forced driver. A very faint grin emerged onto his face. However, this was no grin of good-will and appreciation, but of power and control...He stared upon him as he began to respond.

"Last time, Mr. Roedam, we did that, we had a few Run ins with the prisoners and cargo. I thought we'd step up our defences and fear levels with both you and your package." He turned around, slightly excited to see what was being brought into the area. "I don't know what the Lab-boys call this heap of metal, but I like to refer to it as Enforcer...You can guess why, I presume, Mr. Roedam." He grinned towards the slightly shaky pilot again. Varan moved his visual sightings beyond the smartly dressed superior towards the Bay door. It was difficult to see outside, the light and dark transition making it near impossible from where he was sat, as lightly armed Stormtroopers brought in something...large...They began to set it up in the corner, beside his door. Standing it up, two legs....four arms...two arms were equipped with deadly technology. One lethal, one not-so-lethal. It stood high, heavy and bulky. The guardsman grinned once again, smirking to his heart's content. "We'll turn this on as soon as you do something you shouldn't...We think it'd go on a murderous Rampage if it wakes up, leading to your crime's punishment swiftly. Don't want that, do we, Mr. Roedam?" Varan shook his head, staring beyond the man again. He was quizzed on the Crawler's build in the meantime.

"Well...u-uhm...The Tracks are running...W-well...moderately. Engine seems fine, hull is...e-exceedingly moderate. I...I guess it is safe for the...Package to come on..." He looked up, regretting what he was to bring of those brought aboard. As soon as the Guardsman turned, calling to the others who must've been outside, they began to turn up. One by one, different characteristics and appearances...He looked at their eyes, one by one. Some scared, some angered...some accepting and some disobeying. The thoughts were almost completely being transmitted into his own, increasing the guilt...something had to be done...something...As soon as he felt their presence, he could've sworn some of their eyes laid upon him. His hair was ruffled, clean though, and his jacketing drooped low. His left hand was gloved ever so suspiciously, and the regular Co-Driver seat was left empty, unlike the other crawlers. He could've sworn their eyes laid upon him. As he began to imagine this, even it were true or not...he mouthed the words out, trembling as the Officer left his room. `I'm So...so sorry...`...

As this was said, he waited for the troopers to depart from his craft before he closed the Rear doors. The engines switched onwards as the doors began to move ever-so slowly towards their closed posture. Varan began to take deep breaths, turning down the chatter upon his linked communications to the convoy...something had to be done...it didn't matter who these bounded individuals were, or what he did...he needed to act...he needed to avoid death, and the towering guard still waiting to charge up. It could turn on at any minute, most likely reprogrammed to eliminate them at the push of a button. Now was the time to fear life the most...now was that time...and having those behind him made him feel worse...their lives could be on his hands, and they might've not known it...might've not if they remained silent to him, and only talked amongst themselves...

---

BD-5 had to suppress it's urge to crush the skull of this impudent, arrogant officer's skull underneath it's foot as he walked away out of the Crawler. The droid was currently in a state of charging, neither on or off, capable of hearing and seeing the things around it while uncapable to move. It was charging and it was damn annoying that the Imps found it when it was in it's most vulnerable state. Then they went and claimed that it was made by their scientists?! Absolute rubbish. Like they could control an advanced, thinking Battle Droid. It was also pure luck that the guards of Tattooine were so bad at their jobs that they didn't even recognise a mercenary like it. It was almost offensive really. The nerve.

It contemplated whether or not to activate and reveal itself as a thinking, deadly Battle-Droid. Weighing up the different reasons, it decided to activate itself. What could a bunch of prisoners and their driver do to a Hyper Battle Droid? Jack shit, that's what. It couldn't escape of course, the amount of guards out there was sure to get lucky and hit it's vulnerable back. All it could do was tell the pilot that it wasn't one of their puppets. It's interest was piqued, it has heard that there were some special prisoners on this ship. It doubted that such a Crawler had any credits to speak of.

BD-5 activated with a small chime, it's plasma core humming with excitement. The droid stepped forward, making a large CLANK sound, no doubt gaining the attention of everyone in the room. It's handy E-11 leaned on the wall next to it, picking it up with deliberate movement. It stalked towards the driver, some unimportant human called Mr. Roedam. It gripped the E-11 closely, pointing it to the side. It's mono bladed arm was to it's side while the blaster arm did the same. It didn't want to show hostility, just like a dull, normal Droid would do.

As soon as it was close enough to touch the driver, it stopped and looked down. It had an extremely deep voice, disconcertingly deep, but it sounded organic. Human. There were tones of fury underneath, as if the droid had feelings. "I am Prototype Hyper Battle Droid Model 5, more famously known as BD-5. Mr. Roedam, I must inform you I am not the type of droid to be easily ordered around without the right credit." It gestured towards the closed bay doors. Those arrogant, infertile sacks of pus and faeces did not pay me enough for me to recognise their orders. But if you get any ideas, such as ordering me around without the right amount of credit, I will not hesitate to kill you" it pointed it's repeated blaster at him "and the rest of these poor sods." It then gestured with it's E-11 towards the crowd of prisoners and slaves.

BD-5 dropped it's weapon, proverbially glaring at the driver in front of it. It had no choice but to stay inside but it didn't mean it had to like the meat bags within it.

---

Ash filled his breath, burning his throat and setting fire to his lungs. Eyes stinging in the heat and the soot, a horrible ringing in his ears from the initial bombardments. Desperately hungering for oxygen that anguished as it came and searching his way through the thick dust cloud that had formed on the planet's surface. The air around him was deafening with the implosion of shells, each impact wiping out settlements and disrupting the foundation. One hundred earthquakes - all around him. Death from the skies.

Each step felt as though it weighed a ton. Shalashaska...No...that name had died with his clan -- Kabal remembered the bombings as though they were yesterday. One does not simply forget genocide like that. The Ubese were a powerful people, strengthened by hatred, by malice. United in their despising of other races, loyal to one another. But little did Kabal know that their hatred of other species could extend to themselves. The Strike against Ubertica not only took everything away from Kabal, but it shook the steadfast belief he held in his own people. In one swift stroke, everything he had based his life upon was demolished, wiped away from the face of the galaxy. If the bombs did not vaporize them, the furious winds tore at them, flayed them. The heat from the blasts incinerated them. The force of the impact sent stone to crush them...No need for bombs...when hate will do.

And here he was, years later, the pain and anguish he felt not satiated; merely masked by years of savagery. In the beginning, each kill felt like a small piece of redemption, of revenge. He was avenging the loss of his people, projecting it onto his victims...And it had worked...by whatever gods were out there it had worked.

But time had passed, and Kabal realized only too late that mindless slaughter could not cure self-loathing, could not ease his thirst for vengeance. The Empire had scorned him worse than Savax had...They obliterated the True Ubese's fleet, turning their ships into slag and scorched durasteel. They deprived Kabal of his revenge by destroying Savax.

Brought to the present, Kabal was silent. The pressurized breathing from his helmet being the sole indicator that there was something alive underneath his clothing. The restraints mocked him more than his capture did, reminding him of his own helplessness at Imperial hands. Cowards! A true warrior would unbind him, let skill decide who the victor was. And Kabal relished in the imagery of gruesome massacre that played itself in his mind. Thoughts of maiming, bludgeoning, ripping, tearing, crushing, piercing...He clenched his fists tightly, holding onto his hatred like a crutch. For in his hate came strength, and the determination do whatever he had to to survive. Ubertica had taught him that.

Kabal all but ignored the rest of the prisoners brought aboard the crawler, but raised his head slightly in response to the pilot's desperate glances and mouthed words. The Ubese sneered behind his featureless helmet. He did not want nor need the Human's pity, his sorrow. Kabal had no intention of staying long at the labor camp. It came down to one single ultimatum. He would either escape or he would die -- die with the honor of a warrior.

Cocking his head towards the large droid that had self-activated, Kabal's internalized indignation was replaced by interest and curiosity. The thing was huge, standing at least seven-feet tall with the bulk of a Bantha. Armed to the teeth with weapons, Kabal had no doubt that this abomination of robotics was designed not for warfare - but for holocaust.

Kabal slowly followed with his head as the lumbering golem approached the antsy pilot of the crawler, wasting no time in asserting its opinion of him and the rest of its mission. Kabal tilted his head to the side, a subtle but overt gesture in his own way. This droid was unique...sentient. Kabal had only heard rumors of droids capable of achieving effective sentience if left without a memory wipe, but had never seen one in person. A part of him wished to dissect the droid, examine its inner workings to achieve a better grade of knowledge; while another part felt the need to observe the droid's behavior further, understand it, perhaps even communicate with it. But a sentient machine was volatile...dangerous. Not subject to command codes, directives, or predisposed programming. If there was anything on this shuttle Kabal feared...this droid was it.

The Empire was filled with nothing but racist humans who have nothing better to do than shove others around whenever they feel the need. Or at least that was what Sek thought when he was being pushed around into the crawler, with people who he would be with for a little while. Needless to say, it did not seem that he would be with the friendliest bunch but he trusted the Empire enough to take orders from them, despite them doing this to him for no reason. However, upon walking into the Crawler, the gigantic droid came into view with the E-11, a blaster. Blasters were something that Sek was deathly afraid of, he tried to back out of the crawler but sadly he was pushed back in. That sealed the deal with him being terrified, even more so with what he had heard the droid say to the human pilot.

In a mad scramble, the Ithorian went to his seat with his eyes locked on the droid with the blaster. It simply wasn't something that he though entirely okay with in any sense. With a small gulp, the terrified Sek lightly asked the droid "Um... e-excuse m-m-me, but c-can you p-put the b-b-b-blaster d-down, please?"

How did his luck bring him here? Norin was usually careful, but he had allowed himself to slip up. A slip up that would greatly cost him. He couldn't afford to be someone's prisoner. Not when she was still with the Cartel. He hated the fact that he was restricted here. The cuffs around his wrists was the only thing keeping him from trying to escape and taking the lives of a few Troopers while he did so. That was before he was on the transport. The officer and Stormtroopers wouldn't have been a problem. Choke one from behind with his restraints and he'd start to have the advantage. The others in there would have backed him up. Not for him, but for themselves. This transport clearly wasn't holding the ordinary slaves. This plan of his couldn't work because of one thing. That damn droid.

It was the most dangerous looking one that he'd ever seen. Even if he didn't have these restraints he was sure he wouldn't be able to survive against that thing. Now he'd just have to bide his time. He didn't trust it even in its sleeping state. When the troopers and officers left he finally eyed the room around and took in the different people that he noticed. This really was an interesting bunch. The only one he recognized was Kabal, the infamous Bounty Hunter for the Hutts. He was surprised that he was caught up in here too. With that in mind Norin guessed that this transport had some of the most dangerous criminals in the galaxy. He smirked a bit just now realizing that their chances of escape were that much higher now.

Norin's smirk faded when the battle droid activated and moved towards the driver. Just great. Things were already complicated when the thing was resting. It announced itself as as BD-5 and pretty much said it wouldn't hesitate to kill. The droid wasn't even planning on taking orders from the Imperials, yet it was still here.

After a stuttering Ithorian asked BD to put down the blaster Norin laughed and stepped forward. He didn't know why he was about to antagonize the thing, but he maybe his fear was getting him to lose his mind. "So you're just as much a prisoner in here as we are. You don't want to follow or execute their orders yet you're still here. You're a sentient droid. One that actually thinks... I'm guessing you fear too. Explains why you only turned on once they left." Norin couldn't stop himself from talking further. He didn't have a death wish, but it started to seem like he did. "Talk all of this big talk about the big bad Imperials after they leave and try to intimidate us so we don't notice. Killing me for this would also confirm it, wouldn't it?" He was feeling pretty smug right about now.

The tattooed blue Twi'lek sat silent inside of the transport, intensely upset by her current predicament, the emotions could be seen on her face by the other passengers. Such an expression might have been the reason why none of the fools she was forced alongside of had tried hitting on her. That was something Ielasdiko was actually not upset about, though overall, her current predicament was beyond bad.

She hated the Imperials, they pushed around her own species, abused nonhumans at every chance they got. They were only second to hutts as far as groups she didn't want to be a bound captive of were concerned. Why couldn't she have been caught by some idiotic local police force, then she could at least charm some fool into loosening her cuffs. Stormtroopers didn't take charm well, she'd never seen one step out of line.

Iela was truthfully more upset at herself than the actual capture. She was smart, damn good at what she did. Capture was something she was great at avoiding. Made her felt like an idiot to actually get captured. She was better than that, much better. She glared at the hunk of scrap with a blaster on it, spouting off about how easily it could kill all the handcuffed people inside the transport. Even a one armed, one eyed gungan could kill prisoners in a cramped crawler with an E-11.

"Don't piss yourself, hammerhead. The droid isn't going to shoot any of us. If it did that then the Imperials would melt it into scrap metal." Iela spoke, her words blunt and forward as they often were when she was upset.

Rouke

The last burning beams of light from Tatooine's twin suns were snuffed out as the massive ramp grinded shut, sealing the occupants inside. Like a metal tomb, the Tusken nervously contemplated, shifting his weight from leg to leg as if the floor burned his feet. Rouke had encountered these hulking metallic behemoths before, his tribe trading with the Jawas who rode them, but no Tusken ever entered one willingly. The heat inside was nothing Rouke hadn't experienced before, perhaps even being slightly cooler inside, but he felt warm sweat trickled down his face all the same. The crowd shambled forward, prodded by armed soldiers in dirty white armor, their boots clanging against the metal floor. Rouke scanned the interior for any means of escape, but the room was locked down tight. His eyes returned to his shackled feet and he moved deeper into the Crawler.

Everything felt so alien, so wrong to the lone Tusken. No sand beneath his padded feet, no burning desert wind whipping against his robes. He worried he would never feel those sensations again. As the crowd packed closer and closer together, Rouke became panicked, even more desperate to escape than ever. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think. The tall walls around him were rapidly closing in, and the air became thick and heavy. He refused to be crushed to death by some Imperial war machine, not like the rest of the complacent prisoners shuffling around him.

The Tusken muscled his way through the crowd forward, flowing robes whipping behind him. Maybe there was a way out ahead. He clambered up the stairs, rising above the throng of disheveled prisoners, practically crawling over them. A sliver of meager light, piercing through the front of the crawler, lured Rouke in like a moth to a flame. As he drew nearer, the Tusken could make out the endless sea of shifting sands meeting the equally infinite blue sky, and the twin suns slowly vanishing where the two met. The view brought him some level of peace; his breathing slowed, and his wild eyes no longer darted rapidly around the room. Rouke looked back at the ground he covered, surprised to find that it was no smaller than when he first entered. Never had the Tusken's nerves caused such a reaction, and he hoped it was both the first and last time. Rouke turned his attention to the group gathering around the window overlooking the desert landscape.

There were at least two aliens among them, neither of which belonged to species he recognized, though he knew only a few. He spotted what looked to be a Tusken Raider, and Rouke's bound hands quickly clenched into fists, but after a moment realized that, although traditions vary from tribe to tribe, no Tusken would wear a helmet as high-tech as the one this humanoid possessed. The creature that dominated the room with its presence, however, was a massive droid, a far cry from those his tribe usually sold to the Jawas. The typical service droids they salvaged didn't ever have blasters for arms, and none of them spoke in clear Basic like this one, usually the unintelligible (to Rouke) assortments of random bleeps. A dark-skinned human approached the group and spoke to a colossal droid; Rouke couldn't make out the words, but he could tell from the human's posture that they were not words of friendship. This should be a good fight. Who will win, the machine with blasters for arms, or the human with shackled arms and legs?

A woman with dark blue skin and odd appendages on her head joined the conversation, but Rouke wasn't interested in their arguments. They reminded him of uli-ah, Tusken children, all trying to establish dominance over each other through threats alone, never picking up gaderffii and settling their differences with a fight. Rouke noticed a final member of the party, a human sitting down before a panel of buttons, levers, and blinking lights. He seemed to be in a position of great importance, possibly the one piloting the crawler. Rouke was ignorant of almost every aspect of machinery, but he knew from experience that you don't ride a bantha from the back; you sit at the front of the beast to control it. Perhaps this crawler was no different, and this man was the "rider," though he wasn't dressed like the other Imperials. Rouke pushed his way through the group and sat in the empty seat beside him. "Are you a slave of the Empire like this one?" Rouke asked, tilting his hooded head to the droid. His voice was low and gravelly, with a thick, guttural Tusken accent, but nothing else about him was particularly intimidating. It had been over a year since he shed his traditional Tusken attire, trading them in for average colonist clothes, with a large earth colored robe over them. However, even though he had calmed down significantly since entering the craft, there was still a nervousness about him, like a caged animal that could bite without warning. Rouke had an inkling of a plan inside his head to escape, but it would never work without the help of this pilot. He hoped that his meager persuasion skills would be enough, but the Tusken had his doubts.

---

Now, BD-5 isn't immature. Living for as long as it has, you learn things that hardens you. Unfortunately, staying calm when stupid twats offend you was not it's strong point. Ignoring the Ithorian entirely, it whirled towards the duo that spoke against it. It looked towards the human and female Twi'Lek with anger in it's eyes. It was going to shoot them. Kill them all. Slaughter them and proverbially piss on their corpses. Feed them to the Raiders. It turned it's head towards the first speaker, a human male with testicles small enough to call it a prisoner. "I stay because I am curious, you imbecile. In my day, I was one of the greatest bounty hunters in the whole bloody galaxy, Anna and I were respected even by that idiot Boba Fett." It's fuel core fired up when it mentioned Anna, it softly spoke her name as if it remembered her fondly. Which he did but damn if these bastards ever knew.

"I do not fear them. Do not remind me of them. For they say that we are the filthiest mongrels in the galaxy while they fester in corruption and belief in that idiotic emperor of theirs. They take slaves, kill other species, rape, murder and capture loved ones." It emphasised the last word, despise and hate emitting from every word. Fury was coming off it in droves. "Do not say I fear them. People do not fear cowards, illiterates, imbeciles. I am no prisoner, I do not talk big. I talk the truth. And what would I have gained if I turned on when they were here? I would've killed them and the resulting firefight would have killed you and everyone here. We are a gathering of the worst people in the galaxy, I would like to know how this ends. Executions or an escape." It glanced towards Rouke as he approached the driver of the Crawler.

It then turned it's gaze towards the Twi'Lek. "I am very capable of shooting you, like I can him." It pointed it's bladed arm towards the Ithorian as it trembled. "I am a mercenary, not an Imperial dog. Not after what they did to me. What they took away. I can shoot you and be done with it." BD-5 then looked up, now addressing the whole room. "All of you, I can slaughter all of you degenerates. But I will not. You will no doubt try and escape and I plan to see whether you all live and go freely" It added a dramatic pause, inwardly pointing the gesture of "fuck you" to all of them. "or die in the wastelands and be eaten by raiders." If it could smile, it would've grinned from proverbial ear to proverbial ear. It would be entertained by this venture. And no doubt gain credits from it.

---

Kabal remained still in his seat, the shackles bound around his hands and feet only reminding him of his current vulnerability. The droid knew this, and was most likely reveling in it. Arrogance was an easy trait to possess when your entire quarry was weaponless and bound up like animals.

Scoffing inwardly at the Ithorian's cowardice, Kabal paid the pacifistic herder little mind, instead showing vague interest within both the Twi'lek female and gutsy Human male. There was a fine line between bravery and stupidity, and these two must have paved the trail of that line. Knowing the Empire, the droid had been outfitted with a restraining bolt - it would be idiotic on their part not to do so. But currently they were all cooped inside a crawler with no Imperial supervision. The droid could easily swing one of its massive arms and shatter a jaw, or crush a sternum in a single instant. Fools still believing death was their only fear in here - No. All it took to push the tipping point was the dirty Human in the strange accent asking the droid if it served the Empire. Kabal mentally prepared for the worse, ready to dart from his seat if necessary...

And then the droid started giving a speech. Now he was getting irritating. Ubese culture was simple; actions define you, not words. Why give a speech when a blaster bolt to the gut would do? Why threaten when you could jam a Vibroknife through the skull? Words are so tedious, so ineffective. A warrior has no need for speeches.

As the droid continued to talk - apparently enjoying the sound of its own voice - Kabal took the time to closely examine its frame. The droid was designed like a tank...and like a tank, it most likely suffered the same weaknesses. The thing was huge and strapped with firearms, yet its legs were small and thin. It's lumbering gait was as cautiously-inclined as it was intimidating. The droid would constantly have to move slowly and deliberately or risk completely toppling. One trip or crippling of the leg and the thing would fall over instantly, leaving a few free moments for one to find and destroy its core. Or at the very least cripple it to the point of immobility. Even if manipulation of the legs was not possible, Kabal could quickly dart under or behind it, forcing it to constantly move in order to track him. Distract it until a weak spot opens, then strike.

Finally, against all better instinct, Kabal raised his own voice to speak. His speech was quiet; deliberate, and gravelly, filtered by the advanced helmet he wore that altered his pitch with a baritone edge.

"Escape with us. Or die by Imperials. Simple choice. You'll be scrapped for losing captives -- how Empire works. Join us: Punish them." Finishing the paragraph left a bitter taste in Kabal's mouth. How he hated Basic. So crude - so unrefined. Worse, he disdained drawing attention to himself. But Kabal understood hatred, and how easily its mutuality could unite a people. He had no intention of making friends with any of his 'fellows;' but a sentient, sociopathic war-droid on your side could make all the difference in a firefight. Or at the very least make a decent shield...

Varan

It was a mistake, letting that door close. They had been driving for nearly an hour already. The droid had begun to re-awaken, sending all the shivering aspects of his personality shooting through each and every neuron. He knew that this wasn't going to be easy, not one bit, as his plan began to crumble in his mind. Varan needed to build his confidence as high as he could structure it, yet having a large heap of metal bearing a gun and sending threats...didn't really act as a stress reliever, did it? Nothing was ever easy in his life...He looked towards the console as everyone began to start rustling around, yelling and breaking the deafening silence. Varan began to clutch his head between his fingers, still allowing the Crawler to move along the path they were taking. He could feel himself becoming more and more drawn away from allowing any sort of escape plan. The radio by his side buzzed, as he turned it off as he became prone to contacting those behind him. The click went by twice, signalling there being no transmission from both ends. He kept his eyes now upon the track again, the bustling noises behind him still echoing.

"Are you a slave of the Empire like this one?" A voice seemed closer and louder, coming from his right. Varan was almost certain that it was indeed directed to him. There was a silence between the voice and his own, hesitation taking its toll amongst Varan's decision making. The voice that had spoken to him was low, gruff and tipped with an accent not completely familiar to himself. Varan finally began to speak up slightly, still quiet and nervous.

"N-no...I'm....I'm in a labour group k-known a-" He froze in the terms of his speech. To his right, as he turned mid-sentence, was someone filling up the seat...Her Seat. His face looked both scared and shocked as a sense of danger and guilt flowed through his mind. He quickly began to struggle, quickly contacting the man in the place that should never be filled. "OUT! G-get out! You...You can't sit there!" He swiftly buzzed to him; it was at that moment, when he began to finally speak towards those arguing and threatening one another behind him. "E-Everyone! S-shut up, for my o-own sake! P-Please....Shut up! I cannot p-plot in my forsaken head with constant tongues of mistrust and hatred being fired to one another!" He waited for the group to calm down in the term of voices, his voice still trembling with hesitation. As he finished, breathing rather heavily, a light began to flash upon the counter. The small pad located on the arm-rest of his seat stated: Set Waypoint Approaching. This was it...this wasn't the waypoint the Empire wanted him to go to. This wasn't the Waypoint he was supposed to go to, just one the convoy were passing. As he looked upon the visual monitor of the driver's view, he saw it approach slowly. It was at this point where he felt time itself slow down. An unsteady heartbeat chimed in his chest. A thousand thoughts, regrets and fearful comments burst throughout his mind. His arms both clutched with pressure. This was it. It was do it, or not. What was about to happen here would directly change the course of his fate...Giving either a continuous life like this, or a chance to redeem himself. It would serve as a death-wish, getting the valid attention of any known scum system-wide. Just big enough to fit the Crawler through, it came up upon the right. A tunnel like area, with on the other end, a heap of desert. This was it. Whatever happened here, would completely change everyone...his responsibilities would maximise beyond his own control. However many unfortunate souls there were behind him, they were going to be in his single hand. A dangerous droid keen on having thoughts about the perishing demise of everyone kept him on edge. If he were to do this, would it open fire and slaughter them all? The Empire were surely going to retaliate. As far as he was concerned, the only person guaranteed an execution was Varan himself. If the other's weren't to be involved, they'd only be recollected. Traitorship was one thing, but directly going against them twice under the same circumstances of sympathy and fear of the Lower-Life Forms, was growling up the wrong tree. Varan took a look behind him, eyeing those he would be dragging into this. Some had talked of escape, yet this was far beyond more dangerous than any methods they'd try. A mixture of old and young, many looking closely to his own. They had faces of fear, anger...disputes rummaged in and out of one another. It scared him. This would be something he could not escape if he were to lead them only to their deaths. He did not know them. He did not feel liked by them. He did not feel safe with them. This was only going to be a deed that only the crazy and good-willed can even attempt to put into play. Agony and fear were driving him closer and closer to this detour. Of most of the things the near-coward had experienced in his life, this was up there with the worst. The decision was over. He took a deep breath, his right arm shaking quite a bit, whilst his left seemed to be still and abnormally calm. He took more breaths, before quickly jamming the steering device to the right...

Maaka Vaakul

Humiliation, that was what Maaka Vaakul, young bounty hunter and now captive of the Empire, felt. She had wanted nothing but a death in combat, not in an Imperial workcamp. Her blaster, her armour, her honour, all gone, an honourable death denied. Her hands were not tied, but they felt like they were. She had failed her mission for the first time in her career and it had ended this way, it seemed like fate.

Quietly, without moving she sat where the stormtrooper had pushed her to, even as the engines of the transport spooled up. Not even when the commotion in the front section started did she look up to see what was going on. She had lost what made her Mandalorian. Her pride, her honour. Only a trial by combat could save that honour. Either that or killing of the one who had robber her of that honour, willingly.

Yes, the Imperial Officer she tried to assassinate wanted her dead, but one of his agents, somebody who had worked to suppress several smaller Mandalorian revolts, had stopped him from sentencing Maaka for execution. Agent Dosun, a sadist through and through. He knew, even though Maaka was not born on Mandalore or any of its colonies, she was still a Mandalorian. One does not have to be born on Madalore to be a Mandalorian, you don't even have to be the same species, as shown by Maaka.

Nevertheless, the droid was starting to annoy her talking about some nonsense. She gathered it was probably their guardian, as it was the only thing with guns around here. One little chance, she had one little chance. Determined Maaka stood up and called out to the droid. "Ey, Rustbucket! I demand either a Mandalorian Trial or an execution, here and now! That means, either duel me or shoot me, in case your memory core is damaged."
Enraged opponents were good opponents, Revvin always told her. Of course, it might not work on droids, but at this point in time, she didn't care. She just wanted to die with at least a sliver of honour restored.

It seemed that the droid had ignored Sek entirely, whether it was because the Ithorian wasn't heard or maybe the fact that he was a weakling compared to these criminals. Sek was by no means a ruffian, unlike these people who had killed before and would do it again. If anything Sek figured himself to be the most mature of this little group, mainly because he would never resort to violence. It was good to feel that way as it lightly lifted his spirit but his light spirit was quickly destroyed upon hearing the droid. They all seemed so violent and Sek did not like it in the very least. Um, can w-we not argue?," the Ithorian asked lightly, sure it was an important subject to them but it couldn't be settled without some civil talk. Though he did not want to speak up with the droid having a blaster, not wanting to be shot by any means necessary.

Though he felt the crawler begin veering of course, now what exactly was happening to them. He did not know of any imperial outposts in the direction they were heading in, but maybe it was a newly constructed one with a friendly staff. However, he then heard the Tortuga speak out to the droid, challenging him to a sort of duel. What was she doing? Getting into a duel with this kind of droid would be suicide on a new kind of level.

"T-there is n-no need for a d-duel," Sek suggested the apparent mandolorian. He really didn't want a battle to happen right in front of him, mainly because he did not want to get caught inbetween it. His eyes shifted between the two figures, one a massive battle droid with an E-11 blaster and a gutsy Mandolorian Bounty Hunter. A fight that could be spoken throughout the age by most common folk, but not by Sek.

"I hope a droid built for shooting can in fact shoot someone, especially an unarmed prisoner." Iela said back to the droid, a taunting smirk on her face. The machine talked had practically lectured them rambling on about how it didn't fear the Imperials. She was right, it wasn't going to kill any of them, it seemed to want them to escape, which was a sensible plan but one they would need to actually figure out first.

"The hammerhead is right, no need to duel or execute her. A dead body would only make everyone in this blasted crawler more uncomfortable." The Twi'lek said, one eyebrow raised at the Togruta that had spoken out about receiving a trial or death. If she wanted that then she could have thrown herself at an armed guard outside of the transport before they all had been jammed inside of it. She didn't need to inhale the stench of a dead corpse while she was in here.

"We should try not to kill each other, yet. At least until we get out this rustbucket." Iela added as she noticed the crawler had taken a turn, maybe the pilot that was whining before had decided to help with the escape, or they were just going a different route. She hoped for the first possibility.

Rouke

---

The man next to Rouke seemed just as anxious as him, perhaps even more so, as if a hard decision weighed on his shoulders. The pilot stated he wasn’t with the Empire, much to Rouke’s relief, but his nervousness was quickly replaced with anger once he gave the Tusken a second look. "OUT! G-get out! You...You can't sit there!" Rouke didn’t anticipate this volatile reaction from the seemingly passive pilot, and his disbelief showed in his widened eyes and slackened jaw. As a former Tusken chieftain, Rouke was unaccustomed to such displays of disrespect, even after a year among colonists. In his tribe, this sort of behavior would have ended in the aggressor’s death. Rouke’s shock gave way to anger as a scowl spread across his face and his wrapped hands tightened into fists. Under normal circumstances, Rouke would have tried to smash the man’s face against the buttons and panels he crowded around until one of them broke, but in an action rare to his character, the Tusken showed restraint.

Rouke slowly stood up, embarrassed that he was following the orders of some weakling. He wasn’t sure where he went wrong, but his persuasive skills seemed to have failed him, and Rouke figured that perhaps more aggressive negotiations were in order. He felt the sandcrawler lurch as the pilot fiddled with the machine’s controls, and Rouke took it as an opportunity to “stumble” into the pilot. With his chained hands, he grabbed the man by the collar and pulled himself close. "Tusken village one klick east," Rouke whispered harshly before letting go. He stared at the man for several moments before turning away and joining the group gathering behind him.
It didn’t occur to Rouke that the pilot might have plans of his own for escape, but he hoped that the information he gave him enough to formulate one. He remembered the location of this tribe in particular, as it sat on top of a large canyon which was visible from their current position. Sand People had a nasty habit of raiding passing crawlers that intruded on their territory, and Rouke knew that three crawlers would be too much of an opportunity for them to pass up. With any luck, the tribe would launch an assault on the crawlers, giving the prisoners an opportunity to escape into the desert amid the confusion. However, his fate was in the hands of the touchy pilot now, and he could only pray to the desert gods that the man would make the right decision. Rouke took his place beside the masked humanoid when he noticed a new addition to the group, another strange alien, this one small and seemingly female. He chuckled at this one’s defiance, reminding him very much of Tusken women, though they were of a much larger build. Against his better judgement, he decided to join the conversation.

“If you want to die so badly, then do nothing. The Imperials will work you to death, little one,” Rouke said, his voice barely audible over the din of the crawler. While he never experienced the work camps personally, Rouke knew what they were about, having captured numerous Tuskens to hand over to the Imperials. This would not be his fate, he decided, as he would rather join this alien in execution than live a miserable existence as a slave. Death was not ideal though, and he hoped the pilot would work out an escape, seeing as all those behind him simply wanted was to argue.

Norin was right in the sense that the droid wouldn't do anything to kill him or them. At least not now. He was glad that he was right. He was almost afraid that the glorified trash can was going to call his bluff. One thing stuck with Norin out of the battle droid's pointless speech was the mention and emphasis on captured loved ones. He knew this thing was sentient, but was it really capable of love and was something or someone capable of loving a droid? The thought of it almost made him cringe, but he understood where all of the droid's hatred was coming from. He and it were a lot alike. Norin missed his sister just as much as BD-5 missed whoever its loved one was. They'd both probably do anything just to get them back and that even meant betraying people they'd call comrades or allies. It was something that made even the weakest man dangerous. If the droid did join them on their escape then he'd have to keep an eye on it.

Norin sighed and said, "I agree with the Twi'lek. We should all try and not to kill each other or beg to be killed before we get out of this thing." He turned to the young Togruta who wanted a trial by combat so that she could die on her own terms. Or maybe this was an attempt to try and get her hands on a blaster. If it was the latter he admired her for it. If it was the former then she was just someone else who didn't think things through and pretty gave up when the going got tough. She was almost what he imagined his sister to have been like if she had followed in his footsteps instead of being a slave for the fat bastard. Someone who was willing to fight to the end even she didn't need to. It would have gotten them both killed.

He had realized that he had been frowning at her and quickly changed into a fake smile. "Don't worry, kid. You won't have to die. We're going to get out of here. If not then I'll subject myself to your Mandalorian Trial for lying to you." His smile was more genuine now as if he really believed that they'd be able to escape.

Norin turned his attention back to their driver who freaked out earlier and yelled at them to shut up. He still wasn't sure if he'd be on their side if they were to escape or if he'd be the first one to die for their attempt to have any sense of success. He wondered if the others were wondering the same.

---

The turn was subtle. It wasn't a complete veer to the right, of course, yet it was enough to feel. Varan's heartbeat raced and paced a million times quicker than it should've been as he knew that this was the point of no return. It was only 15 seconds into the plan that everyone began to start talking again. His fingers tightly wrapped around the driver's controls, he began to shut off any external links with the Empire's convoy. As he had begun to do so, Varan listened in quietly onto the conversations beginning to take place. They seemed calm, unknown to the current situation. To themselves, they seemed to be planning an escape of their own, not knowing that they were in fact being involved in Varan's. The droid was giving speeches and informative threats towards the packages, whilst the rough man who had sat in the Co-Driver's seat addressed him slightly. It was almost as if he were persuading him. 'Tusken Village, one klick east.' Varan listened to these words, beginning to ponder about who he was actually taking. Where Varan was planning on taking them, or at least bringing them until departure, was some place that could permanently split any connections with family, comrades and other affiliates among the planet and galaxy. For the road ahead was but a dangerous trek, something very few have ever dared to participate in, let alone embark upon. He gave a gentle shake of his head, his breathing becoming heavier. The radio-comm link was still left on so he could hear the Imperials. They began to call in...

"ITC-63, come in. Report your movement! Get back on course!" The frustrated orders began to flow in from multiple callsigns. They were beginning to realise. Varan turned down the volume in hope that those behind him would not hear or become fearful. It was only a matter of time before-

"BF-414, HR-412, JE-007, JU-131 and RE-919...engage the stray transporter. Said again, fire upon ITC-63!" Varan's heart stopped as he began to look at some of the screens. Cameras from the outer side of the vessel began to show the craft getting into a straight, the homestretch for survival. The speed could be turned up, as Varan did so. Without any word of warning, Varan increased the craft's speed. He fell back into his chair slightly, as the sudden jolt and roar of the mechanics going at their full potential growled through his ears. He began to whisper to himself, preaching for any signs of success. Within a few more seconds, the hell-fire ignited. It started with a unfamiliar ping, coming from the outside of the vehicle. No doubt, the speed and ping would indefinitely raise the suspicions of the crew. The ping was then followed by a second, and a third...before a rapid succession of pings let out. Blaster Fire. It rained upon them as Varan could listen to the platings begin to tear apart. All he had to do was to keep moving forward, and yet there was no chance of them all escaping this alive. The vehicle began to sustain more and more hits; the imperials were beginning to show no mercy. At that moment, a single round from an imperial blaster went through the torn back-plating. It skimmed past everyone, slamming near the doorway to the cockpit. With that signified, Varan began to look for any means of extra speed. He was panicked. And when the rescuer becomes panicked, usually the crew start to worry. More and more blaster fire began to rain upon the craft, hitting harder and harder until more began to pierce through the surface's shell. Crates from the back compartment began to topple out of place, creating small and individual parts of cover from the seemingly never-ending havoc. More and more came through as the craft shook even more violently.

"I can't keep driving straight." He mumbled to himself, fear rushing through his eyes. "I-I've got to get off course..." Varan hesitantly shifted the craft to the left, allowing them to drive off the full hell-fire. It died down, as they aimed for the rocky areas of the isolated deserts of Tatooine. This would be it, this would be the saviour...This would be their only chance to end the tyranny. Completely unaware of what the conditions of everyone behind him were like, Varan aimed for the nearest gap. It was able to fit, if he managed to get their without dying. At this rate, dying was inevitable, despite the small glimmer of hope seeping through his veins. He drove closer. It came closer. The only saviour of this task. It was drawing nea-

A final duo of blaster rounds spiralled through the left face of the vehicle. One skimmed past the back-rest of his seat....the other found a place much more different. It hit. Full impact, of course. Varan's left arm was assaulted by endless heat and energy that it began to spasm. It caused him to shake the wheel, yelping out in complete surprise (However, pain was not the cause of this reaction, due to the prosthetics involved). The craft's wheel began to wobble around, drunkly moving from side to side as one arm was all that was left to enter what seemed to be a cave of hope. A hole burnt through his utility glove on his left arm, a few sparks flinging from the exit-wound. As the craft drew nearer and nearer to the hole, the craft swerved more and more. He began to hold his breath, the world seeming to turn silent as he attempted to thread the needle. The crawler launched its side into the cave's mouth's sides, tearing rock after rock down upon their trail. The crawler scraped against the cave's walls as it struggled to make it through, bringing an avalanche of debris behind them. Smoke and stone almost completely blinded Varan's forward view, as the crawler shook violently. Crates were now being thrown around everywhere. Varan struggled to keep himself in his seat as the painful sound of screeching metal colliding with natural material echoed throughout the rooms. As he closed his eyes, tightly edging his free hand onto the emergency brakes. The screeching ended as the Crawler came into a Open spaced, shallow watered opening. The crawler's wheels attempted to grip into the soft sandy floorings as Varan hope for only the best. And at that single moment, the craft managed to dig itself deep into the sand's depth, flinging everything to a sudden halt. Gravity took its effect as Varan slipped from his seat, flying to the right side of the cockpit. His body slammed against the metal walls, causing moderate pain, as the Crawler finally found its way to safety and halted...

---

The Ithorian watched as everyone agreed that the droid and the Mandolorian should not fight to the death, it made him feel a bit better but not by much. Sek was still the nervous wreck that he had always been when he saw the droid in the first place. He then felt the crawler shift, it was a very noticeable thing for a machine such as this and it confused him. "What is happening?," Sek asked aloud before hearing blaster fire come in contact with the crawler. This frightened the already nervous wreck to a point in which he began to frantically look around. This was not good at all, he wanted to scream but he refrained from doing so to avoid hurting the others onboard. The Ithorian continued to look around in a very frantic manner.

Then, the hyperventilation began to start, the rapid motion of breathing in and out due to the stress this situation was causing him. There were so many questions that came into his mind, why he was not calm was not one them. Then some blaster fire actually came into the crawler, that caused Sek to panic more. As a natural defense the, he let out his scream that he had been holding in, the high pitched sound amplified by the small space he was in. The Ithorian finished in a few seconds as his hyperventilation over took him once more.

After a moment or two of his hyperventilation, the crawler seemed to just stop at an unknown location. Though the sudden stop did sent him flying into the into the floor where he caught himself with his hands and knees, just barely. Was it over? Was this living hell just all over or was it just beginning to turn into something he didn't want. Sek just looked at the ground as he began to process what had just happened in the small manner of time.

"Or just shoot her right in the face alongside of all of us if they catch our crawler. But I hope that isn't going to happen." Iela said as she heard Rouke speak, a smile on her face. She wasn't planning on getting executed by the Empire, and she didn't expect any of her fellow prisoners to either. Maybe the young girl wanted to die, if she was crazy enough about that then she supposed they could roll her out the back of their transport, let the Stormies give her the death she apparently seeked.

The Twi'lek was almost flung out of her seat as their crawler came under fire from the Empire. That was expected, but hopefully the rolling bucket of bolts had thick enough plating that it could stand some blaster fire. She hoped that it was only foot soldiers firing upon them, not any walkers or fighters, if those came at them, then their chances of escape seemed more bleak.

Then she flinched as the stray bolt impacted near the doorway, the transport's armor was as cheap as it appeared, just great. More shots rained in. She didn't want to die here and it appeared the pilot had been hit, judging by the smell and pathetic sound he had made. Iela fell out of her seat as the transport barely made it, she carefully rose up, then made her way into the cockpit, finding Varan on the floor.

"We're not dead yet. Can the crawler still go?" She asked, if it didn't that would mean they would all have to abandon it and go on foot. A whole different prospect entirely, and not one she exactly wanted.