Enter The Hunter

Posted on Wed Mar 19th, 2025 @ 5:47pm by Thelan Vane

498 words; about a 2 minute read

Mission: A long time ago...
Location: Hoth
Timeline: Some Time Ago

The wind howled across the desolate tundra, sweeping up light flurries of fine snow that, were he not wearing armour, would have stung Thelin’s skin. The old Mandalorian trudged forward, his steps slow but deliberate, his boots sinking deep into the frozen crust with each measured stride. The markers inside his helmet flickered, struggling against the interference of the storm, but the rapidly disappearing tracks in the snow and the crimson blip of his quarry remained steady.

He exhaled sharply, feeling the cold getting to his bones despite the protection. It had been a long chase across this forsaken world, and his body felt the weight of every mile. Not that he would ever admit to feeling any discomfort.

He paused atop a jagged ridge, scanning the valley below. His target, a fugitive slaver from the mid-rim, had sought refuge in the skeletal remains of an old sensor post, still half-buried beneath the permafrost. The Mandalorian’s fingers curled around the grip of his blaster carbine, the familiar chill of the metal settling into his bones. This wasn’t the first time he had tracked prey through ice and snow, but age had made the cold feel sharper, the movements heavier. He adjusted the rifle scope, watching the small, hunched figure below scramble for shelter. The target thought it could hide. Thelan knew better.

With the patience of a predator, he descended the ridge, his movements ghost-like despite the armor plating his body. These bounties were simple, unchallenging to a hardened old warrior. The galaxy had changed around him, but he remained, a relic, perhaps, of a dying creed, held together by a will as steely as the armour he wore. The mission was simple: capture the slaver alive. But he knew how these things tended to end. The desperate always made mistakes; they always reached for a blaster they couldn't outdraw. And then he would have no choice.

As he neared the mound marked by a long-obsolete tower, Thelin flexed his aching fingers over the trigger of his blaster. "It’s over," he rasped, his voice carrying on the wind. "You freeze, or you live. Your choice." A beat of silence. Then, the crackle of a poorly aimed blaster bolt sizzled past his shoulder. He sighed. This scum never learned. A cold hand was not a steady one. He knew better. The stock of his carbine met the crook of his shoulder. He raised it and exhaled very slowly; a practiced action borne out of years of knowledge. A habit.

“Wrong choice.” His shot didn’t miss.

“DA-66R. Inform the client that the target is down.” The buzz of his droid’s acknowledgement was missed through the harsh fuzz of the rolling wind and snow. The corpse would already be cold. But it was enough for his employer. Slinging the blaster, Thelan took one last dispassionate glance at the soon-to-be buried shape in the snow, then turned and strode back the way he had come.

 

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