The House Always Wins -- Razak Vollmer

[Narco_Polo]

I - White Noise

Viscara - Veles Colony

-

“They’re survivors, like you and me.”

Exhaustion urged him toward sleep – but a restless mind had the drifter hopelessly awake. A lingering sense of unease forced him to take note of every inconsequential happening that filled the small, cheap rental he’d found himself for the night.

The low buzz of the dying, colored light on the ceiling.
The muffled sound of someone shouting into a comm terminal a few rooms down.
The Czerka corp advertisement jingle chiming along on the vidstream across the room.
The distant sounds of cargo ships coming and going – blood flowing through the always-beating heart of a colony that was as sleepless as he was.

“No thought to purpose. Just survival.”

The questions he’d been asked still hung in his mind like the background static on an empty comm channel. Fighting to be heard over the low ringing that filled his ears and the headache that had settled in somewhere between the concussion of the explosives and the glass of strong drink that was meant to send him off to sleep.

“And what does that make them, in the end? Animals.”

Like a shot-up skiff coasting in to dock on its last legs, he started to fade. Fatigue slowly winning the relentless tug-of-war that competed for his hazy attention. He shut off the vidstream as yet another corporate jingle fired up and instead filled the empty air by turning the jukebox up until the low-end drone of the synthesized rhythms drowned out the entire world beyond his walls.

And then he slept the fitful sleep of a man who’d been forced to look at his place in the world and ask questions he wasn’t sure he wanted to answer.

Summary

Lorn // Until There Is No End - YouTube

[Narco_Polo]

II - The Looking Glass

Veles Orbit - “The Business”

-

The dim glow of the datapad lit up the man’s tired face with soft blue hues. A lone source of light in an otherwise blacked-out crew quarters. Down the hall, the crew who was still awake carried on with their festivities – uproarious laughter with the occasional thump of someone getting carried away and ending up on the deck. It was the nights like this where he felt most reminded of home.

He flicked through the images on the pad one by one while he lounged soundlessly in his bunk. An old crew house, banner hanging on the wall behind a group of armed individuals trying their best to look tough. A beat-up skiff, patched up too many times to possibly be safe to fly. A candid shot of a teenage boy, mid-meal, a look of protest as he seems to have just noticed the camera while he stuffed a greedy bite into his mouth.

A shot of six impoverished youths, arms around each other in a group pose, grease and dirt stained clothes all adorned with the same faded red bandanna. Genuine, wide smiles on their faces – an unbreakable spirit about them despite their crowded, messy surroundings.

The images scrolled on, one by one. Memories of another life attached to each. The sights and sounds of his home stirring emotion that is so often left buried. The rest of the ship was forgotten as he reached a new section of images.

A hutt being pompously paraded into a wealthy looking establishment. Armed guards at various entries. Close up shots of their gear and vantage points, taken from various positions across the street.

Sound crackles softly through the low speakers as a vid plays. A lavish looking hover-transport pulls up in front of the same establishment from before. It hardly comes to a stop before a sudden pulse kills the engines and drops it to the ground with a crash. A rocket zips just past it, striking the doorway of the building and twisting the metal into a mess of superheated flame and debris. Six armed and armored shapes advance through the carnage, setting a charge to the back doors of the transport and blasting them in with wild, frantic speed.

The camera angle switches to a grainy internal feed of the transport. The robbers take a sealed container from a shelf and flee with the frantic quickness of people who had no business doing what they were doing. Visible on each figure is the same faded, red bandanna. A text file opens after the vid comes to a close.

MSG: Heads-up:
They know. Just wanted you to hear it from me before I push out the contracts.
I hope whatever was in there was worth the trouble, kid.
-S

He tapped the screen and the pad dimmed. Breath slowly pushing from his lungs as the weight of a distant world sat upon him once more. Another night of fitful sleep waiting for him as he listened to the crew down the hall cheer once more at some upward turn of fortune in whatever game they were playing.

Stirring from his bunk, the slum-rat produced a faded red bandanna from the footlocker next to him. A thumb was run over the battle-frayed fabric and the shadow of a smile was forced. With exhausted purpose, he tied it loosely from his neck to hang across his bare chest. With fall back into the bunk, he’d seek surrender to the quiet embrace of sleep – taking sanctuary under the crescendo of sounds from down the hall as yet another muffed cheer rose in the background.

Summary

SEGA SUNSET - YouTube

[Narco_Polo]

III - A Blind Bet

Veles Square - Jim’s Cantina

_

The Rodian cackled as the cred chip was placed down, a buzz of excitement filling the air between himself and the slum rat sitting across from him. As the creds were swiped up and an accord was struck, there was a tangible sense of the possibility. Of prosperity, ascension – that ravenous hunger to sate your ambition.

But equally tangible was the risk. The looming consequence for failure. The executioner’s blade hanging above their heads, affixed to a timer that neither could see. Because while the club’s heavy beats and synthesized rhythms called sweetly to the spice flowing through them, there was a harsh reality beyond that drug-induced veil. One in which they were not invincible, a million miles away. One where a simple stone’s throw beyond those walls prowled rival gangs, opportunistic mercenaries, and Czerka’s sharpest contract watchdogs. One where every action sent out ripples in all directions, and nobody escaped the gaze of the powers that really controlled those streets for long.

The haze settled in over the city as thick as the uncertainty that surrounded it. A contagion? A cover? There were stories of blasters being turned on people who lived on those very streets, but the truth was as obscured as the city itself. Only one thing was certain – something was going down. And that meant there was a chance to get a bite.

He’d retreat back to his tentative home – a ship gracefully adrift amongst the stars. A temple to their shared religion. A place of rest for those who can’t seem to find peace. An empty quiet compared to the roar of the chaos he’d known back home.

There he’d speak to someone like a friend. A fiery fighter from a place he’d never been. Someone who saw into him and understood when he spoke the quiet words – the ones most people don’t hear.

“It wasn’t just a place. It was a way of life.”

And the rest remained unspoken. Another tale for another time – he knew she’d understand.

Because she, too, shared words that gave insight into the harsh reality of who they had to be. Of what it really meant to walk the same circles on a ship that had no home. In a crew that followed no flag. In a life that had no limits.

Aside from the near guarantee of a violent end.

“I try not to expect too much from anyone.”

Summary

NO GOD IN THUNDERDOME - YouTube

[Narco_Polo]

IV - Point of No Return

Dathomir Landing Zone - “The Business”

_

“Hey. I got you somethin’, before you go.”

He turned the cigarra package over in his hand, thumb sweeping across the exterior. An unexpected connection to a place he’d left behind.

But it was more than just the token or the words that came with it. More than anything, she’d given him an outstretched hand. An excuse to stay that struck him in a place far more personal than flowing credits or hopeful promises.

He’d lifted a fist, striking her on the shoulder in a gesture of acceptance and respect.

But as he did, the grinning shark before him shifted to become the ghosts of his past. Brothers and sisters from that run down, arena-side shop. New red cloth draped around their necks and a youthful vigor in their eyes. He could feel their laughter, their sorrow, their hate and their hope – all shared within the bond that had been forged through good times in bad places.

And in the pit of his gut, how empty the galaxy felt without them.

It was as if he’d lowered his weapon in the face of the firing squad. A vulnerability taking hold that he knew was too far gone to stave off.

The shark had made this place a home. The crew, his new family. There was a piece of him that hated this new reality – hated how little say he felt like he had in the matter. But it was far outweighed by the comfort of again having a place to belong. A crew to feel with. To suffer and bleed beside. To cheer and revel with.

Though their pasts, presents, and goals were as varied as could be, they were all unified in one truth – this was the place they belonged more than anywhere else.

“As for why? You know why, Razak. It’s the same reason you stayed with the crew, for shit pay, fighting the bigger fish.”

The words would stay with him, weighted heavily with truth. A condemnation from a Jedi. An honest shake from a crew member. A quiet realization, given to him by a friend.

He’d look again at the pack of cigarras, laying in his bunk that night. And he’d stare at the old logo until sleep claimed him, taking him back to the place he’d left behind. To the friends he’d never properly mourned. To a sharing of words that never happened, in which he told them all the things he wished he could have said.

And they’d laugh like lifelong friends. Carrying on and living without regret, long into the night. The old crew and the new, flitting through his hazy dreams in a peaceful mix of past and present that gave him a comfort he’d long gone without.

Summary

I See Fire - YouTube