SW Mafia: One Hell of a Beating (Mafia #3)
Daynn Tavira felt sick to his stomach; he didn't think he would be able to eat in the cafeteria again.
"Well enough," he thought, trying to lighten his own mood, "the food was shit anyways."
The gambler had seen death before, someone in his profession nearly always did, as cheating was taken quite seriously. But never so frequent, never so, real. These deaths seemed so much more violent. He shook his head, trying to clear the image of the cat-Jedi's corpse, smoking from a dozen or more blaster wounds falling, dead before even hitting the ground.
He found himself walking in a n abandoned part of the station. The lighting was dim and it was quiet here.
An explosion from outside rocked the compound.
"Well, as quiet as one could hope, when being assaulted," he jested.
His pace was lazy, though a quicker pace normally fueled his legs. His path meandered through the hall. He thought he might appear as though he were on spice, although he hadn't had the opportunity, nor the desire to be honest, to try the stuff with all this dying going on.
He stopped at a fresher, washing his face and hands, trying to wash the filth off that seemed to permeate his skin. The filth of murder, he thought. He looked up and almost chuckled. With drinking nearly all day yesterday and spending much of the rest of his time in debate over actions that should be taken, he had forgotten to shave. For two days. It was a wonder anyone even talked to him, he thought, rubbing the scruff on his face roughly.
Shaking the water off his hands, he decided to head to his own room to maybe shower and change, needing to alleviate his worn-down look.
"If I am going out," he mocked, "I will do so in style!"
As he made his way back, a shiver ran through his body and he found himself rubbing his arms. He quickened his pace, though he couldn't figure out exactly why. Fear he supposed, but he didn't like admitting he was afraid.
Somehow, however, he had gotten lost. He stopped, calming his nerves and thought back, tried to retrace his steps. Ah, that was it, he made a right at that last T junction, it shoulda been a left. He turned, preparing to go back.
And was stopped, barred from passage. He squinted trying to make out who stood before him in the dim lighting and smiled.
"Ah, you got lost too? These damn smugglers have dead ends like it is the style in the Core, I tell ya."
His face fell, however, when the mood changed little. His hair stood on end and he knew, then.
He doubted he could outfight them, he thought, as more entered the hallway he had become trapped in. No, he couldn't, but perhaps he could distract them, run to others before it was too late.
A grim determination steeled his shaking nerves. He pulled his small hold-out blaster, something he had shot little but had purchased "just in case." He wished now it had more then six shots worth of energy. He fired once, missing high, but began running anyways. his gun felt small and weak in his grasp, providing little comfort as his death rapidly approached.
He got perhaps 10 steps before a sharp pain in his spine stopped him and he felt a burning in his right arm. The wind knocked from him, he felt, somersaulting into a wall and losing all momentum. He wouldn't make it.
8==8O8==8
The group gathered around watching with concern or sobriety as Daynn's body levitated past on a floating gurney. The two med staff seemed puzzled.
"It is weird, he should be dead," said one.
"Yeah, this guy took one hell of a beating; he is lucky to be alive."
The door to the medical door sealed shut behind them with a hiss.
As the door to the medical lab closed, she turned and walked down the long corridor, her arms folded tightly beneath her chest. She had left her home planet close to four years ago now. Four years didn't seem like such a long time to most, but given the mortality rate of those close by, it was an eternity. She had set out to find her father, but instead landed herself into the middle of a rather silent but brutal war. Her room would be perfect right about now.

''You're a lucky bastard, my friend.'

He slowly worked to open his lids again, gradually easing them open and letting them adjust to the bright light. The first thing he saw was the white ceiling, but to the left he caught a glimpse of red. He painfully twisted his neck in that direction to see what it was, and was rather pleased with the results. It wasn't the first time he had awoken, feeling like he got hit by a truck and not a clue what happened to him. It wasn't the first time he had been awoken in such a state with a female next to him, either. However, they were rarely as attractive as the one that stood before him now, and quite often were not attractive at all. Such is the life of a heavy drinker.
Although she was, literally, a sight for sore eyes, Daynn had more pressing matters. He struggled for a moment to find the strength to speak, and when he did, he called for the medic. When he arrived, Daynn asked for a triple dose of painkillers, and once it was administered, went immediately back to sleep.

