Chapter 57: Shattered Chains

Disclaimer: Star Wars and all of it's Intellectual Properties is owned by George Lucas and Walt Disney, This fictional work and all of it's original characters are however mine.

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Mira's P.O.V. :

The deep rumble of explosions shook the air—a clear signal that the operation had officially kicked off. I adjusted my macrobinoculars and scanned the slaver camp from my vantage point. From this high perch, nestled among jagged rocks that gave me cover and an unobstructed view, I had the perfect sniper’s nest. The blaster in my hands hummed softly, ready to fire.

Targets were moving in chaotic patterns below, heads swiveling like startled Tookas. Some barked commands—sloppy ones, by the looks of it—while others bolted toward the vehicles at the far end of the camp. My first priority: cut off their escape.

The crosshairs hovered over a human slaver sprinting toward a speeder truck loaded with blaster crates. His intentions were clear—either flee or get the firepower back online. Not on my watch. A gentle squeeze of the trigger sent a precise stun bolt that hit him square in the chest, dropping him like a sack of Nuna legs.

I shifted my sights. Another slaver, this one a Rodian, was hollering into a comlink, waving at a group of grunts to follow his lead. Command types always stood out, even when they tried not to. I lined up the shot, adjusting for the distance and wind. This time, a kill shot—clean and to the point. His voice cut off mid-shout as he crumpled to the ground.

The droids had engaged by now, their advanced targeting systems cutting through the chaos with mechanical precision. Creator Jake’s Nick and Skew units were efficient, deadly, and frankly, terrifying to watch. The slavers didn’t stand a chance against that kind of firepower.

Through the scope, I caught a glimpse of the others advancing. Kado moved with calm precision, picking off targets with his blaster as if he were at a shooting range. Davik, leading the assault, was a blur of brutal efficiency, gunning down anyone foolish enough to stand in his way. Jake, true to form, was off to the side, fiddling with some gizmo that was probably overkill but effective nonetheless.

And then there was Rina. My breath caught as I spotted her weaving through the camp, her cloaking system shimmering faintly as it compensated for her rapid movements. She had the slaves with her—at least a dozen—and was leading them toward the outskirts of the camp. One of the slavers, a Nikto, turned just in time to see the fleeing group. I adjusted my aim, letting out a slow exhale before firing. The shot hit him between the shoulders, and he dropped without a sound.

Another figure—this time a Weequay—had spotted Rina and was raising his blaster. Not on my watch. I fired again, the bolt streaking through the air and striking true. The Weequay fell, his weapon clattering uselessly to the ground.

By now, the camp was in full disarray. Fires burned where the explosives had gone off, and the remaining slavers were scrambling, their lines of communication and organization shattered. The air was thick with blaster fire, smoke, and the occasional garbled scream.

I switched to thermal imaging, scanning for more threats near Rina and the slaves. A cluster of heat signatures caught my eye—three slavers hiding behind a stack of durasteel crates, clearly waiting for a chance to ambush the fleeing group. I adjusted my scope, taking out the first with a stun bolt, the second with a kill shot, and the third as he tried to make a run for it.

"Not today," I muttered under my breath, keeping my focus sharp.

A faint chime in my ear alerted me to an incoming comm. It was Rina, her voice calm but urgent.

“Slaves are clear of the camp,” she said. “Keep their heads down, Mira.”

“Copy that,” I replied, already scanning for anyone else who might have noticed her escape.

As I continued firing, a small part of me wondered if any of these targets were part of the original criminal syndicate we’d come to hunt. It didn’t matter much now—slavers or syndicate, they all deserved to be taken down.

I watched as Rina disappeared into the rocky terrain with the freed slaves, her silhouette blending seamlessly with the environment thanks to her camo systems. My lips curled into a small smile.

"One step closer to a galaxy without scum like this," I murmured, shifting my aim to another target.

The operation was far from over, but with the slaves on their way to safety and the enemy lines crumbling, victory felt close enough to taste. I focused back on the chaos below, my finger steady on the trigger. The fight wasn’t done yet.

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Jake's P.O.V. :

The battlefield was a whirlwind of chaos, smoke, and blaster fire, but amidst it all, my creations were poetry in motion. The Nick and Skew droids advanced like a squad of Juggernauts, their blaster-resistant plating soaking up the sporadic fire from the panicking slavers and syndicate thugs. Their scanners were tracking targets faster than a Jawa could haggle, and their stun rifles were dropping combatants left and right without the messy aftermath. Kado's earlier suggestion to aim for apprehension instead of outright elimination had thrown me a curveball, but hey, it wasn’t a bad idea. More bounties meant more credits, and more credits meant more upgrades.

Still, this gave me the perfect excuse to field-test the newest addition to my arsenal: the directed gravity emitter mod on my gauntlet. It was far from perfect—like a podracer built from scrap in Watto’s backlot—but it worked. For now, at least.

The idea was simple: mimic telekinesis. The execution? Let’s just say it was a work in progress. By making a specific gesture and aligning the gauntlet’s targeting system with a chosen object—or unfortunate thug—I could temporarily manipulate gravity’s pull on them. It wasn’t the Force, sure, but it was close enough for this galaxy.

As I raised my gauntlet, I spotted my first test subject: a Trandoshan barking orders while pointing a vibroblade at one of his lackeys. The gauntlet’s targeting system locked on with a soft chime, and I flicked my wrist upward while thinking freeze. The Trandoshan stopped mid-shout, his scaly form held rigid in the air as though he’d been caught in a ray shield.

“Gotcha,” I muttered, grinning.

The gravity emitter wasn’t perfect—it only held him for a few seconds before he dropped back to the ground like a sack of bantha fodder—but it was enough to disorient him. Before he could recover, one of the Skew droids was on him, securing his wrists with binders in record time.

“Kado’s gonna love this,” I said, watching the droid drag the restrained Trandoshan off to the growing pile of captured hostiles.

I shifted my focus to a pair of Rodians scrambling toward the nearest vehicle. Perfect. This time, I aimed for a little more flair. With a quick swipe of my hand, I activated the emitter and pulled one of them backward with a sudden, jerky motion. He stumbled, tripping over his own feet, and landed face-first in the dirt.

The second Rodian froze, clearly torn between helping his friend or bolting. That indecision cost him. I gestured again, this time pushing, and he flew a few meters forward, slamming into a pile of crates with a satisfying clang.

“Man, this thing is fun,” I said, already scheming about the emitter’s next upgrades. Maybe I could increase the weight limit so I wouldn’t need to cherry-pick lighter targets. Or maybe I could tweak it to affect multiple targets at once—imagine tossing a whole squad like they were toy speeders.

A Nikto spotted me, raising his blaster for a shot. I ducked, activating the emitter and yanking the weapon out of his hands with a sharp pull. The blaster flew into my grip, and I grinned, giving it a quick look. “Thanks for the donation, pal.”

The Nikto growled and charged, but one of the Nick droids intercepted him, delivering a stunning blow that sent him sprawling.

“Kado,” I called over the comms, “you seeing this? Apprehension is working great so far!”

“Glad you’re having fun, Jake,” Kado’s dry voice replied. “Try not to lose focus, yeah?”

“Focus is my middle name,” I shot back, gesturing at another thug. This time, I tried a push-and-pull combo, sending the target tumbling forward and then jerking him backward into a stun grenade that had landed nearby. The resulting flash and sizzle were a chef’s kiss of tactical brilliance.

The droids were holding the front line, methodically stunning or subduing anyone who tried to resist. Rina had already led the slaves to safety, and Mira was thinning the herd of enemies from her perch. Davik was coordinating the mop-up effort like a seasoned pro, leaving me free to play with my new toy.

As I moved to find my next test subject, I couldn’t help but smile. The emitter might still have its limitations, but it was getting there. And when it was fully operational? Well, the galaxy wouldn’t know what hit it.

Or who pushed it.

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Shmi's P.O.V. (secretly a badass):

The quiet hum of the ship vibrated through the hull, a comforting rhythm that served as a reminder that, for now, the Stellar Envoy was still our safe haven. Anakin was back in our quarters, just as we had agreed before the mission. I trusted he would keep himself occupied, tinkering with his latest project or perhaps watching the holo Jake set up for him. He was a bright kid, too bright sometimes, but even he understood the importance of staying put when the rest of us were on edge.

As I checked the diagnostics on my armor, I couldn’t help but marvel again at Jake’s handiwork. When he first announced he was making combat armor for the crew, I honestly didn’t think he’d include me. After all, I wasn’t out there kicking down doors or blasting syndicate scum. My role was more...supportive. But Jake had thought of everything.

The gear he designed for me wasn’t about charging into the fray; it was about defense, survival, and keeping others safe. My armor had a backup energy shield emitter that could activate in an instant, a rebreather mask for hazardous environments, and what Jake called the “extremely portable survival toolkit.” That was the actual name he gave it, like a kid naming his favorite toy. It was a modular device packed with essentials: a vibroknife, a compact fusion cutter, and even a collapsible grappling hook. The med kit strapped to my belt was stocked with bacta injectors and quick-seal patches, and the deployable turrets Jake had loaned me were just the icing on the cake.

Speaking of turrets, I had already deployed three of the upgraded models Jake had lent me. They whirred softly as they rotated, scanning for potential threats. Their energy shielding shimmered faintly, a testament to Jake’s obsessive attention to detail. The fourth turret, integrated into my armor, was noticeably smaller but no less effective. I placed it strategically, covering a blind spot between two of the larger turrets.

Nearby, the four N5 Sentry droids took up defensive positions, their targeting arrays sweeping the perimeter. They weren’t as advanced as Jake’s custom-built Nick and Skew droids, but they were reliable. Their front-facing energy shields and modified blaster rifles gave them a solid edge in a firefight. Nick-03 stood silently beside me, his presence both reassuring and a little eerie. The droid had been uncharacteristically quiet, his photoreceptors focused on the ship’s ramp as if anticipating trouble.

Rina’s voice crackled through the commlink, bringing me back to the moment.

“Shmi, we’re on our way with the rescued. ETA two minutes. Heads up for any stragglers.”

“Copy that,” I replied, keeping my voice calm and even. I toggled the comms to the droids’ private channel. “Prepare for incoming friendlies. Maintain a defensive formation. Be wary of last-minute attacks.”

The droids acknowledged with a series of chirps and binary responses. Nick-03 stepped forward slightly, his photoreceptors glowing brighter. “All systems ready, Mistress Shmi. Awaiting further instructions.”

“Good,” I said, taking a moment to glance over the setup. The turrets were in optimal positions, covering every approach to the ramp. The droids were crouched behind cover, their weapons trained on the perimeter. The rescued slaves would be safe once they made it here, but I wasn’t taking any chances.

I activated the scanner on my wrist module, sweeping the area for potential hostiles. The readout came back clear, but I knew better than to relax. This was the point where desperation often took hold, where cornered thugs or syndicate enforcers might try a last-ditch assault to salvage their operation.

The ramp hissed as it lowered, and I adjusted my stance, ready to greet Rina and the others. The sound of distant blaster fire and explosions still echoed faintly from the camp, a grim reminder of the chaos unfolding just a few clicks away.

“Hold steady,” I murmured, more to myself than anyone else. The droids remained motionless, their targeting systems active but quiet.

As the first figures appeared at the edge of the scanner’s range—Rina, leading a group of haggard, wide-eyed individuals—I felt a surge of relief. They’d made it. Now we just had to get them onboard and away from this nightmare.

The battle wasn’t over yet, but for these people, their first step toward freedom had begun.