Velira set her focus fully upon the hunt for Kervach, as her red gaze swept across the room with cold precision, searching for anything of value. Amongst the scattered equipment, it did not take long for her attention to settle upon a discarded datapad, which lay near the fallen woman they had only just defeated. Velira swept forwards and retrieved it, removing one of her gloves. Her pale hand held the item between sharpened nails, each one covered in a reflective layer of smooth black polish.

The moment her fingertips made contact with the device, threads of a fresh impression began to weave through her mind. Not a memory or vision of her own, but one that still clung to the object. Kervach. In the vision, the faint image of him placed the datapad into the woman’s hands. His voice was firm with command, as he instructed her to patrol the main section. Then he turned and walked off without another word, moving deeper into the compound. In the vision, his path swept past the silhouette of a man armed with grenades, before he disappeared toward a briefing room that lay further beyond.

The images began to fade from her mind, as she slowly eased her focus and gazed up from the datapad. “I have his route. Kervach proceeded to a briefing room further in,” Velira began to say. Her crimson gaze instinctively lifted toward the corridor ahead. “That direction is where we may find him.”

The light had returned to the room and the explosion was massive. For a moment, Vincent had real concern that he may not walk away from this mission with his full body intact. Fortunately, Syk had come to the rescue just in time. He once again found himself coiled tightly in her grasp, but this time the sensation was different… protective of Vincent, rather than aggressive against him. He smirked beneath his helmet as his optical camouflage dropped and he became fully visible again. He looked up at Syk as she spoke and uncoiled herself from around him. Then he spoke in the deep, modulated voice that his armor provided.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite pair of boots. Keep this up, doll. I’ll promote you to handbag.”

Vincent heard the words from Velira, but then he heard Vance speaking outside of the room they were in.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me… it appears we still have company…” Brujah said matter of factly.

Vincent stepped over the tail of Syk and exited the room through the same door Vance had gone through. He quickly assessed the situation. A man stood a distance from Vance. He had pulled a slugthrower and appeared to be preparing to take aim.

“You just don’t learn, do you?” Vincent snarled. “You couldn’t kill us with an explosive, you certainly won’t be killing us with that.”

The Sith reached out with his left hand and firmly grasped the slugthrower with his connection to the Dark Side of the Force. He tried to yank the slugthrower away from the man, but he could feel his powers weakening. The Sith growled as he saw the reflection of his eyes glowing bright red within the glossy eye covers of his armor.

There was a brief tug of war between the two as Avur desperately clung to the slugthrower, but Vincent let out a final growl and jerked his left hand backwards. The weapon flew out of Avur’s hand, across the hallway and into Vincent’s left hand.

“Now then, let’s have some fun…” the Sith hissed.

Calm, measured bootfalls carried the armor-clad Mandalorian swiftly across the room and out the opposite door just in time to see a firearm yanked through the air and into the hands of one of his compatriots. A noble warrior would have paused - given a currently unarmed and outmatched opponent the opportunity to stand down, surrender, appeal to mercy. Honor and Glory ripped blistering plasma through the air without a moment’s hesitation, splashing against a sudden bright wall spat forth from a shield emitter.

“Two can play at that game,” the Twi'lek smirked as he swiftly drew his own twin blasters and peeled off shots at Alex. The bolts struck matte black beskar, sparking away to nothing as the ancient soldier stood, unflinching. Another squeeze of a firing stud sent a glow flashing across the implacable visor of the Mandalorian helmet as one more heavy blaster bolt screamed out. With a sputter and a spark, Avur’s shield emitter gave its last gasp against the energy it deflected taking down one layer of defenses.

“Well now, if you are all done with cheating…” Alex spun one pistol around in a flourish, keeping the other firmly trained on his opponent.

Uka slashed open the door in three quick, clean strikes. What was on the other side was exactly what she feared; two humans dressed in rags. The obvious signs of malnutrition and abuse made something dark and vicious swell inside her chest, but she pushed it aside for the moment. Instead she smiled in a way she hoped was calming, and put out her hands placatingly, returning her saberstaff to her belt.

“Don’t worry; you’re safe now. No one will hurt you again, I promise.”

Blackhawk stood below the platform where he’d left the newly impaled slaver. “Let me take a quick look at those collars.” he told the slaves.

“What are you going to do?”

“Remove them.”

“What? Wait, please…”

Their protests trailed off as the collars they were wearing simply disappeared from around their necks and reappeared on the floor nearby. Blackhawk picked one up and examines it. Oh. He stowed the collar away for later use. The newly free former slaves were still stunned in disbelief.

Sirra kept pace with the Padawan ahead of her, her senses reaching out into the environment beyond. A tide of pain and misery emanated from the surrounding rooms, the thoughts growing in number as much as intensity.

Sirra shouldered her rifle and scanned about, flipping the gun to its close range fire mode with a series of mechanical clicks. Already scanning the ground, walls, and ceiling above them, she kept searching for any trigger mechanisms or security measures.

Watch out for any sign of alarms or cameras, especially ones on doors. Sirra telepathically pulsed to Uka, turning to cover the turning they had just come from. I have a few lock breakers on me. If needed I can use them to open up to three of the doors.

As Vance fired his shots, Vincent tossed the slugthrower that he had yanked out of Avur’s hand into the air. In a flash of crimson, Hellfire was pulled into Vincent’s hand and ignited with a loud scream. The slugthrower began to descend towards the floor, and as it did the Sith cut it into two smoking, worthless pieces. They clanked off of the floor and Vincent turned his attention back to the fight.

The shots fired by Vance hit their mark, but the Beskar armor Avur was wearing stopped them from turning him into Twi’lek shaped colander. Still, he was stunned just enough to give Brujah an opening. The Sith rushed in. A bolt came flying at him as Avur noticed him running, but Avur must have still been a bit stunned as the bolt went wide and smacked the wall behind Vincent. The Sith waited until he had almost reached the Twi’lek man to spin a full turn clockwise and smash the blade of his lightsaber against the same area of the armor that Vance’s slugs had hit.

The armor hissed and the lightsaber crackled as Vincent pressed it against the Beskar. The strike was forceful enough to push Avur backwards and pin him against the wall, but his armor held. A short moment later the Beskar began to glow a faint orange and make popping sounds.

In what seemed like a quick, panicky action, Avur raised his blaster and pushed it directly into the chest of Vincent’s Dark Age Sith Armor. He pulled the trigger and it rocked Vincent backwards enough to give Avur just a bit of space. Vincent took a step back and readied his Makashi form as he heard the sound of his armor’s hypermatter reactor whir as it attempted to repair what little damage the blaster had done.

Calm and impassive, the Mandalorian slowly approached, heavy blaster pistols screaming fury as he advanced. This was going on far too long, and the team had more important things they could be doing right now. The first shot went wide, scorching an ashen black mark against the door frame behind the intended target. The next three did not, slamming into the already scorched and twisted beskar armor that remained the last bastion between Avur and his end. The lightsaber strikes from before had done significant work, weakening the tough metal to the point that it no longer provided all that much protection from burning plasma.

The previous attacks had taken out his shield, and now his armor was scarcely more than metal tatters loosely held to his form. Those last few blaster shots hurt, and it didn’t seem like any respite was in sight.

Sirra’s thoughts were less a bombardment of expletives and more more an exasperated sigh as she kept moving down the slave corridor and her eyes locked with a holocamera. Then several more. Outside each door was placed one, giving someone a clear view of everything which was going on in there. Someone who almost certainly was hearing a silent alarm right now, after a certain Padawan had hacked their way through one of the doors.

We’re being watched, she pulsed to Uka and Blackhawk. The fact we’re not swamped by armed thugs means someone has killed the person responsible for keeping the slaves in line. We can’t be sure it will stay that way.

She took a moment to raise her rifle and fire a burst of shots, taking out one camera after the other. Better an alert alarmed guard than one who could watch their every move. Either way they needed to do this and leave now.

One hand disappeared into the combat webbing of her armour and fished out a small but angular electronic key. Raising it to the door Sirra triggered the mechanism, and was rewarded as the door slid apart, its locking mechanism raining sparks. In the dim half-light of the interior, a trio of terrified eyes looked back at Sirra.

“W-what!?!” one of them said, an older woman with wire grey hair.

“No time for questions,” Sirra briskly said, risking a look behind her. “Come with us if you want to live.”

“But we -” the woman tried again, and indicated a metallic object affixed to her neck. The same kind Sirra had seen all too often in prior raids. Sirra raised her hand and snapped her fingers. Each collar abruptly blinked out of existence, appearing on the floor next to them, still locked closed,

“Now come with us if you want to live,” Sirra answered, moving from one door to the next, repeating the action and opening them up. When the last of her security blades fizzled out she went a short message to Uka.

That was the last of my lockpicks. The rest will need to be freed by your lightsaber.

“18 free captives ready for pickup. Main landing pad. Pretty sure we killed everyone that will present a problem coming in.” Blackhawk declared into his comm. Pickup came quick, and Blackhawk handed the former slaves off, eager to head back in and capture Kervach.

Edge of the System Dawn’s End

A small light started flashing on the console, all but ignored by the lightly dozing Human in the pilot seat with the wide brimmed hat pulled down over her eyes.

“Madam, you have an incoming call.”

Without seeming to react physically, the small woman said softly. “What is it, Aimes? Someone else trying to get me to get a new warranty for the ship?”

Pips trilled unhappily, unamused by those ‘salesmen’.

“No, madam. It seems to be originating from the Versea estate.”

With that, Miho pulled her feet down from the console and sat up straight. “Tasha, hm? She did ask us out here so might be time to see what is needed. Play the message.”

Above the console flickered to life a small blue (blue-er?) Tasha'vel. “Lady Keibatsu, the time has come to collect the cargo I mentioned in my last message to you. Eighteen lost souls in need of a ride away from their current location.”

The Nav computer started beeping and trilling as the coordinates were loaded in through the message, loading up the screen in front of her with the general layout. “Gonna be a tight fit, both landing and getting all those folks on the End.”

She paused for a moment and grinned. “We can make the giant hitchhike. Jump us to the building.”

“Madam, I strongly object to jumping into the atmosphere of any planet. The odds of doing it successfully are zero.”

The small Kyataran waved a hand and shook her head. “Fine, jump us into low orbit and then prepare for as fast a descent as you feel we can. I’ll go get the Primarch readied.”

=====

The Dawn’s End came out of hyperspace with a thunderclap before the hull began to turn into crimson fire during the descent. From the cockpit, Miho watched the flames engulf the world with a grin. This was the moments that made life worth it.

“Get ready, Primarch!” The small woman yelled. “Won’t be enough room for a landing, so we’re gonna jump out onto the roof and secure the area.”

From below there was no sound, no affirmation, no anything. But, there was a feeling of anticipatory predation. The End came in hot and slowed to a hover just above the second floor and the hatch opened to reveal a monstrously large golden figure who stepped out into nothing to land with enough force to shake the area around her.

Looking down, Miho shook her head. “Aimes, a little closer please. I am not nearly so indestructible as that maniac.”

A few seconds later, the ship deposited the windblown Mihoshi on the roof as well. “Let’s go get our new friends, shall we?”

Blackhawk emerged from the stairwell with the freed slaves in tow. “Your passengers, madam.” he said to the woman standing on the roof as he stepped over the recently impaled corpse of the man that had previously been escorting the slaves.

As the slaves began their trudge to the rooftop, Miho pointed at Yuki with the odd black staff she carried. “Load them on the End, Yuki. With some haste.”

The Nagai looked down at the much smaller Human as she easily lifted two scrawny slaves up to the loading ramp just above the ground. “Haste? Is there a problem?”

Miho lifted the brim of her hat and looked around for a moment with a shrug. “Could be something. Could be nothing. But, these people are going to be a hindrance more than anything if we don’t get them out of here.”

The giantess nodded once and began to hoist the slaves into the Chevlex barely pausing for them to get their feet under them before the next was coming right behind.

“Aimes, when they’re all loaded up, close the hatch and get the frak out of here. Take the slaves to Tasha'vel. She’ll know what to do with them.”

“Of course, madam,” replied the ship’s brain.

Moments later the last few slaves were less lifted into the ship and were more tossed unceremoniously, landing on their fellow rescuees.

“All done,” rumbled the Nagai.

With a nod, Miho walked over to the stairs down from the rooftop and watched Dawn’s End speed off. Leaning against the wall, the small Human pulled out a cigarra and lit the end. “Now we wait. Best get those guns you’re so fond of out, Yuki. This might still get interesting.”

As Vincent’s sight came back to him, he found himself still standing in his Makashi form, though now the Twi’lek that he had planned on decapitating was nowhere to be found. His ears rang, but after a moment it lessened enough for him to hear Vance shouting. He turned to the Sephi and held up a finger, signalling for him to wait a moment.

The Sith closed his eyes and reached out with the Force, feeling out the room on the other side of the door that Vance was desperate to get through. All he could feel was fear. The fear was so thick and palpable, he might actually call it dread. The Sith snapped his eyes open and spoke quietly to Vance.

“I’m not sensing anything too threatening on the other side of that door. Let’s get in there and finish this up so we can find the slaver.”

Brujah took one step forward and stabbed the locking mechanism with Hellfire, sending a shower of sparks out of the console. With one more quick swing the crackling crimson saber slid down the edge of the door, cutting the bolt that was holding it closed in half. Vincent pushed the door with his foot and it swung inward. He motioned to the door with his hands.

“It’s open. I’m right behind you.” he said to Vance.

Alex stood in the hallway, eyes quickly scanning back and forth between both visible doorways. He knew that things were likely going down just past the doorway, but it was important he remain here. Honor and Glory were each trained on a door, ensuring there would be no escape if anyone tried to make a run for it. Even more than that, though, this was not the Mandalorian’s fight to finish. Vance needed to close out this chapter, and it would not be right for Alex to get in the way and steal that opportunity.

Vincent watched Avur race out of the room and knew exactly what that meant for the brainless Twi’lek as soon as he came into the view of Alex. With a wave of Vincent’s hand a wall of flame erupted around the perimeter of the room, just far enough from the walls and the ceiling to prevent the whole place from catching… for now. The Sith stared at the slaver, tempted to end his pathetic life himself, but this was personal for Vance. Brujah was interested to see just how much pain he would inflict on the slaver.

“No one is leaving or entering this room until I say so… take out the trash, Vance.”

Getting the prisoners out proved to be a far easier task than expected. Rubble strewn and blast marked as the corridors were, the slaves hurried out in a line, stumbling and running for the entrance which had been torn open only minutes before. Sirra gave telepathic nudges to a few who paused in shock at the corpses of multiple beasts, often slipping on the drying blood, forcing them to hurry on. Pausing at the entrance, Sirra watched them leave, rushing in a wave of bodies onto the ship’s extended deployment ramp. Recognising the ship, Sirra gave a genuine grin and prepared to send out a brief message, when another feeling emerged from behind her.

The feeling was all too familiar now - Unyielding bottomless hunger, and a desire to consume at all costs. Were that not enough confirmation of what was in the building, it was accompanied by a bellowing scream which reverberated through the floor.

“Sirra to anyone on this frequency,” Sirra said, pulling her comlink from her belt and raising it to her lips. Better that than to disrupt the thoughts of anyone in combat. “Lyleks are in the building. Likely in cages, but they can smell blood and they are angry.”

As the Twi'lek burst out of the door in his desperate escape, he found himself faced down the barrel of two large, imposing blaster pistols. Before he could even react the harsh glow of one intensified and Avur dropped like a sack of rocks as a bolt of hot plasma annihilated his right knee. Heavy bootfalls clicked on the hallway floor as the Mandalorian calmly closed the distance.

“Boy, you are just full of all sorts of bad decisions today, huh?” The cold metal of Glory pressed against the sweaty skin of Avur’s forehead. “Though given where you have ended up, I would wager that is the long habit of a whole lifetime. I suppose the good news I have for you is that you will never make another bad call for the rest of your life.” A brief moment of confusion passed the Twi'lek’s features as he tried to understand what he was just told. Alex didn’t so much as blink as the flash of blaster discharge shone through the backs of Avur’s eyes before his lifeless body slumped the rest of the way to the floor. Spinning both Honor and Glory with a flourish before returning them to his hips, the armored form leaned back against the wall next to the doorway, calling out.

“All clear out here. Had to clean up a womp rat scurrying for safety.” A slight tilt of the helmet. “Though if I knew one of you was gonna start a campfire I would have brought marshmallows.”

“More of these damn things?” Blackhawk asked, equal amounts annoyed and incredulous. He picked up a crate with the Force and hurled it down the hallway. Come and get me, uglies. Three of the four turned and charged after him. Blackhawk ran for a moment, waiting for all three to join him on the roof. Uka and the other Lylek both turned to look in time to see what happens when an annoyed Sith with a penchant for mischief gets malicious. With a snap of Blaackhawk’s fingers, the three Lyleks disappeared. Before Uka could ask what had happened to them, Blackhawk held up three fingers.

Two.

One.

Splat

The three Lyleks came raining down upon the rooftop where they had disappeared from, having fallen two hundred meters. They were twitching, but utterly broken. Blackhawk pulled his lightsaber and spared them the pain of their short continued existence. He turned, and drew his second lightsaber, his weapons and armor catching ablaze as he looked directly at the remaining Lylek. Wanna go?

Blackhawk made his way down the stairs towards the sounds of snarling. To his annoyance, four more Lyleks were entering the hall. Blackhawk ignored the one prone on the floor, and headed directly for the group entering the door, still blazing. His lightsabers swung. His first blade went flying through nothing and left his hand. His second, went straight through a leg. The Lylek leaned forward and hissed at him. Blackhawk cocked his head, and sent a fireball directly down the creature’s throat. The lightsaber he’d accidentally thrown a moment ago began to roll back to the Clawdite’s outstretched hand.

Uka spun her saber once, twice, watching the creature scuttle back each time.

She lept, and brought the saberstaff down, slicing it in twain.

Sirra did not object to the mistake, simply nodding and readying her blade. She had seen enough of these monstrosities to know they were resistant to conventional guns, but simpler weapons seemed to carry the day. Quietly she had been thankful for the effort. She had been standing there, attempting to gain the consciousnesses of two of the creatures and turn them as she had before. A futile effort. She might as well have been attempting to shackle smoke to the ground, or nail the sea to a wall. Hunger ruled them, overriding any effort to hijack their consciousnesses or even divert them elsewhere. That meant only far more conventional violence would end this now.

Some swords were thought to scream as they slashed, cutting the very air itself. Some howled, some were thought to even make reality bleed. The Sword of Ka Tarvitz laughed when in open battle. A half-heard bellow of approval as it was taken out in open war, the joy of battle which had ruled the life of its namesake taking over as Sirra charged. The Lylek bearing down upon her, already wounded and viscera spilling upon the stonework, was given just enough time to rear up in surprise as the blade skimmed its armoured jaw and bit deep into its throat. It was still trying to roar and lunge when Sirra’s second blow caught the wound again, ripping through flesh and armoured bone alike. With an almost disappointing spray of blood, the thing staggered, then keeled over to one side, shuddering as its life drained away into nothingness.

The lightsaber finished its arc to Blackhawk’s outstretched hand.

“I’ve had just about enough of these things.” he growled. His blades flashed as he drove them into the base of the injured Lylek ‘s throat, dragging his weapons all the way through its torso, leaving it’s innards in a burning pile under it as it fell. He turned to the next one, and snarled.

Vincent heard the words from Vance and it all finally clicked into place. The slaver was his. The Sith first unclipped the gauntlets from his armor and let them fall to the floor with a loud clang.

“With as little effort as it took me to set this room ablaze, I could instill a fear in you so deep that you’d want to claw your own eyes out to make the visions stop…” the Sith said as he reached up and released the shoulder clamps of his armor, letting the metal arms slide off and to the floor revealing his thick, pale arms.

He continued stalking Kervach, who was now fully cowering away from the man, backing closer and closer to the wall of flames behind him. Vincent released the seal of his helmet and pulled it off of his head, clipping it to his belt. His eyes glowed an intense red as his rage began to take control of him.

“But I don’t need to… you’re already a coward. Look at you… backing closer and closer to one death to avoid another. You’re pathetic.”

Vincent released the clamps at his waist and pulled the full torso of his armor over his head and dropped it to the floor as he continued to slowly, methodically approach the slaver. As he grew near him, and Kervach got close enough to the flames to push no further back, Vincent pulled his undershirt off as well, leaving his upper body bare. He snapped the fingers of his right hand and the flames that were surrounding the room disappeared except for the ones closest to Kervach. Those flames shrank and erupted around his legs, setting them ablaze. The man screamed out in agony.

A sick smile crossed the face of the Sith. He spoke, giving off a very clearly fake sympathetic tone.

“Oh, does that hurt? Let me help you with that.”

Hellfire leapt to his hand and ignited. In a flash it took off the slavers legs just below the groin. He fell backwards and to the floor, while his flaming legs fell forward. They still burned, but of their own power now rather than through manipulation of the Force. Kervach screamed in horror and pain. He begged for mercy, but Vincent heard nothing. He turned his back to the man, showing him the deep, jagged lash scars that covered his back from the tops of the shoulderblades to his waistline.

“Every one of these was put on me by someone just like you. Someone that thought that they were above the rest of the Galaxy. Someone that thought that repercussions would never come their way…” Vincent said as he unclipped his helmet from his belt and approached the man, deactivating and holstering Hellfire in the process.

“Look at the monsters you’ve made…” Vincent said and he straddled the legless man.

Kervach slapped at Vincent’s arms as the Sith grabbed his helmet with both hands, but the Sith ignored it entirely. It started with a loud THUNK as Vincent slammed the helmet down onto the head of Kervach, knocking him silly. He continued, over and over again, as hard as he could. Eventually the hollow sounding thunks turned into splats, but still, Vincent continued ramming his helmet into what was left of the man’s head until there was nothing left but a puddle of blood, broken bone, and brain matter.

The Sith nodded at Vance, his arms still shaking with anger. There was a respect there between the two men, but Vincent didn’t care to acknowledge it for long. He looked to the door and saw the packages within. As quickly as he could, he pulled his shirt back on and reassembled his armor. With a wave of his hands, he lifted every crate in the room. They floated toward him as he walked towards Vance. He spoke, his armor once again giving his voice a deep, robotic sound.

“That’s agreeable to me. The pleasure of sending that scum to where he belongs is all the payment that I truly need, but I won’t lie… a deathstick sounds mighty nice right about now…”

Fully done with this mission, Vincent waved for Vance to lead the way to the transport and then followed him out of the room.

The last Lylek turned to look at him. The Clawdite put his weapons away.

“I have had enough of the mother karking Lyleks in this mother Karking base!” he quipped as he leapt forward, shoving his arm directly into the creatures gaping maw. It didn’t process what happened next. Blackhawk’s gauntlet released it’s first payload, a salvo of Whistling birds that streaked down the Lylek’s throat, tearing through whatever they ran into before exploding. Blackhawk leapt back, withdrawing his arm from the creature’s maw, sending a miniature rocket streaking from his wrist. It impacted, opening a hole in it’s carapace.

“Taz, wait five minutes, then bring the Wraith through. Remove all trace of slaver scum from the face of this planet.” The comm chimed a moment later. “Acknowledged. Calculating run.” Far above the base, a TIE Bomber began descending. The Togruta piloting it smiled as she lined up her first pass, the composite beam canon warming up.

Sirra was the last to leave, not bothering to question the decision. She’d heard the scream of TIE ion engines enough times to recognise them, and seen enough air strikes to know the craters they left in their wake. Keeping to the back of the group, Sirra fell back in stages, keeping her sword ready until they were outside, before switching once more to her rifle as hardened floors gave way to sand.

There was the subtle sound of displacement as Sirra teleported away, appearing for a split-second just ahead of the group before jumping again. Then, on the same ridge she had observed their initial assault, she dropped to one knee, rifle raised, eye to the scope and kept watch on the main compound door. They were about to make a clean escape with no casualties, and she wasn’t about to see them lose anyone in the final seconds before their escape.

It was only when the last of them were beyond the ruined defenses and closing in on the shuttle that Sirra lowered her weapon and sprinted after them. “Clean and professional” certainly hadn’t summed up this particular mission, but she’d settle for “bastards dead, everyone else got out alive” this time.

5 minutes later

The bomber streaked in, target lined up, ordinance prepared, weapons charged. For her first pass, Tazi gave the composite beam canon it’s first performance. It carves a large, deep gash clean through the facility. The Togruta sitting in the cockpit smiled savagely. Her second pass was much more conventional. Bombs dropped from the bay, leaving rubble where they landed. She came through again with missiles for any building still recognizable as one. The engines whined as Taziadu'ku Daughya piloted the bomber back up, having left craters and burning rubble in her wake.

“Destruction complete.” she declared into the comms.

“We saw. Well done. Pick me up back at the estate. And remind me to see if I can maybe get reimbursed for the explosives.” Blackhawk quipped. He didn’t actually care if he was reimbursed. He’d refill the ordinance used back at Helas either way.