The assignment was more than routine: apprehending a low-level drug dealer urgently moving a load of StarDust, a new narcotic, highly addictive and deadly even in very small doses. Seemed below Mandalorian's level of expertise but credits are credits, especially when the payment comes from the Hutts. Money was always welcomed - it paid for food, shelter, equipment.

The target was traced to a small dusty world that most people called Rust. Perhaps, it was the color of the sands that winds brought from the planet's deserts.

As Razor Crest swept over sky-high mountains of broken machinery, Dyn Djarren thought only about his bounty. His fob was telling him that he was close. Landing in a clearing next to a small village, he went to work…

The road twisted and turned but, after a few hours of battling the road, Dyn came upon some signs of human habitation. It was a typical one-tavern place named Narrow Pass. He stopped the vehicle at the edge of the settlement, and a couple, sitting on the porch of their little house, hastened to get inside, away from any trouble. He paid this no heed—he was used to drawing such attention when he was working. After all, a bounty hunter in a helmet and full body armor stood out when most could barely afford a pair of shoes. However, common folk tended to overestimate their sins; they feared Dyn was there for them, when the truth was that they had nothing to worry about unless they found themselves on the wrong side of someone rich enough to buy the services of a hunter. Today's target, though, had managed to do just that. Hutts do not forgive and they do not forget.

With thoughts like that, Dyn walked toward the cantina. If you wanted to find information about somebody - this was the place to go. He stopped in front of the dome-shaped tavern. and headed straight for the bar. Three men playing poker watched him, though he was careful not to look at them directly. He'd learned it was always better to ignore locals. The burly bartender didn't look up from pulling a draught.

"What do you want, Mandalorian?"

"A beer," - Dyn replied.

The bartender grabbed another glass and slid it under the tap as soon as the first was full. The hunter waited, casually keeping his eye on the poker table in the mirror behind the bar. The cards were laid flat on the table—the three players' expressions said they most definitely weren't going to ask him to join in for a hand. The bartender set the beer down and gave Dyn a once over. He scowled and pulled the beer away.

"Sorry, we're all out of beer." - the bartender quipped.

"Oh really?" - Dyn was eyeing the glass still on the bar.

The bartender nodded toward the poker table - "That's for one of them."

"Then I'll take a whiskey," - Dyn said.

"We're out of that, too."

"Then I'll take whatever you've got."

"We're all out of everything. You might want to check the next town over…"

The bartender crossed his arms over his chest. Dyn understood what the ugly human in front of him meant. He dropped one hand to his holster. With the other, he pulled his bounty fob and slid it across the bar with a coin.

"I'm looking for someone - a human by the name Ed the Spike."

"You guys always are," - the bartender said with ice hanging from each word.

"This particular human is wanted for drug sales. He is carrying StarDust. He's been seen at this establishment more than once in the past week."

The bartender glanced down at the picture. Recognition flickered in his eyes, but he shut it down fast. "Sorry, I can't help ya. I've never seen that fella before in my life." Dyn set another coin on top of the first and tapped them. "You sure about that? Sometimes folks don't recognize someone until they recognize someone." The man's eyes returned to the image on the fob. A hand grabbed the hunter's shoulder.

"I just polished that, and sure dislike getting fingerprints on it, so I'd remove that hand if you want to keep it, friend." - Dyn growled.

"A Mandalorian hunter with a red cape took my brother four months back. You remember Nate Gillett?"

"Nope. Can't say I do. Should I?" - Dyn did remember: Gillett was a vile gangster and a wife-beater. It was one of those tickets the hunter would've preferred to bring in dead, except that the dead only brought half-price.

"Nate's innocent, yet he's still stuck in that stink hole called a prison camp."

"Every person I have a ticket for has said they're innocent. Most are liars. Like your brother…

Dyn heard the sounds of blasters being pulled from their holsters. Being a bounty hunter was like being a rabbit caught in a den of wolves, only this rabbit had the Mandalorian armor and a blaster. The grip on his shoulder tightened and swung him around. As Dyn spun, he brought up his own blaster and fired the instant he faced the Gillett brother. The men's legs folded and he fell forward. He was dead before his brain even registered that he'd been shot. The other two men seemed surprised, and Dyn burned holes through their chests before either man could reclaim his senses and fire. He turned and set his blaster on the bar, barrel pointing at the bartender, whose eyes had gone wide with fear. "Let's try this again. Where is he?" Dyn tapped the picture. The bartender's arm seemed like it weighed a hundred pounds considering how he struggled to raise it. He pointed a shaky finger to the back hallway. "K-kitchen." "There. Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" Dyn pocketed the fob and \took cautious, deliberate steps down the hallway.

Chances were, his target had heard the commotion—it hadn't been much of a "fight"—and taken off running. But, approaching the kitchen brought music, a folksy dance tune with heavy drums to help keep the beat. A man was singing along to the words, though it was more like he was punishing the air with his vocal cords. Dyn grimaced. What was it about the worst singers being the loudest? His target deserved to be arrested if for no other reason than assault to the public ears. Dyn slowed to a stop before the open doorway. He listened but could only make out the sounds of one person working. Holding his blaster at the ready, he rushed through the doorway and into the kitchen. The lone man had his back to him and continued to sing/yodel/rap as he peeled potatoes. Dyn took several steps closer before he spoke, keeping his blaster leveled on his target. "Edward Sikes, aka Ed the Spike, I have a ticket for your arrest." The man turned, saw Dyn, let out yell, and ran...