Chapter 28 : The Mandalorian Introduction - Part 1
The neutral conference room costs five thousand credits per hour. Syndicate is paying, which means this client is valuable enough that Kreel considers the expense worthwhile. The space is industrial minimalism—reinforced walls, signal jammers, no surveillance beyond what occupants bring themselves.
Thax escorts me through security checkpoints. "Special client. Big money, bigger reputation. Don't screw this up."
"What kind of client?"
"The kind that makes Black Sun look friendly." He stops at the conference room door. "They're already inside. Three of them. All armed. All dangerous. Remember what happened with Zann? That was negotiation with reasonable criminal. These are warriors. Different rules."
My hand moves to concealed blaster instinctively. The cortosis armor sits heavy under civilian clothes—constant reminder that preparation doesn't equal safety.
"Comforting."
"Wasn't meant to be comforting. Was meant to be accurate." Thax opens the door. "Try not to get killed. Boss wants his finder's fee."
The conference room contains three Mandalorians in full armor. Death Watch markings—white and blue paint schemes distinctive against beskar plating. They stand rather than sit, helmets tracking my entrance with professional assessment.
Eight's voice whispers through neural interface: "Mandalorian warriors. Cultural values: strength, honor, martial competence, direct communication. Do not display weakness or excessive servility. Assert equal status immediately."
The central figure removes her helmet. Woman, late twenties or early thirties, red hair pulled back in practical style. Sharp eyes that evaluate like weapons dealer examining merchandise. I recognize her instantly from transmigrator knowledge: Bo-Katan Kryze. Satine's sister. Death Watch lieutenant. Pre Vizsla's inner circle.
"This is either incredible opportunity or lethal mistake. Possibly both."
The Appraisal function triggers:
[ BO-KATAN KRYZE - MANDALORIAN WARRIOR ]
[ AFFILIATION: DEATH WATCH ]
[ COMBAT CAPABILITY: EXTREME ]
[ THREAT LEVEL: CRITICAL ]
[ ASSESSMENT: EVALUATING SUBJECT PERSONALLY, NOT MERELY PROFESSIONALLY ]
[ EMOTIONAL STATE: CALCULATING, TESTING ]
She speaks first. "You're the merchant who supplied military mech to Red Spire."
Not a question. Statement demanding confirmation or denial. Testing whether I'll brag, deflect, or own it.
"I am."
"Confident answer. Good." She sets her helmet on table—deliberate gesture showing partial trust. "I need weapons. Real weapons, not Republic garbage that fails after three firefights. Can you supply quality?"
"I can supply whatever you need. Question is whether you can afford it."
Calculated risk. Asserting equal footing rather than supplicant position. Eight's advice about Mandalorian culture emphasizes mutual respect over servility.
Bo-Katan's lips twitch—almost smile. "Confident or stupid?"
"Successful."
The Death Watch lieutenant beside her bristles at my tone. His hand moves toward weapon before Bo-Katan waves him off casually.
"Rook doesn't like civilians who forget their place. But I appreciate directness." She leans against table, studying me with intensity that feels physical. "Syndicate vouches for your reliability. That matters. Mandalorians value honor—suppliers who deliver as promised, who don't sell defective equipment, who understand warfare isn't game."
"I understand warfare well enough. My products perform. Ask Red Spire about their Titan deployment—sixteen hostile casualties in four minutes, zero friendly casualties, complete tactical victory."
"Saw the news coverage. Very efficient massacre." Her expression shifts—respect entering posture. "You're not squeamish about consequences."
"If only she knew how much that observation costs me psychologically."
"I'm practical about reality. My clients choose how to use equipment. I choose whether to supply them. Red Spire paid well, operated professionally, honored contracts. If you do same, we'll have productive relationship."
Bo-Katan nods slowly. "Let's discuss requirements then. Death Watch needs two hundred blaster rifles—quality above Republic standard issue. Fifty heavy weapons—anti-vehicle, anti-armor, anti-fortification. Personal armor upgrades for elite units. And..." She pauses, choosing words carefully. "Something that counters jetpack-equipped opponents."
The last requirement is specific. Pointed. She's fighting enemies with Mandalorian equipment—which means internal conflict. Maul's forces, probably, though she doesn't name them. The Mandalorian civil war context that I know from Clone Wars lore.
I calculate rapidly. Two hundred rifles at 1,400 credits each is 280,000. Fifty heavy weapons averaging 1,700 each is 85,000. Personal armor upgrades using Titanfall pilot gear is maybe 35,000. Anti-jetpack equipment—EMP grenades, grappling systems, specialized ammunition—another 20,000.
Total cost: 420,000 credits. Total sale price...
"Four hundred fifty thousand credits. Half now, half on delivery."
Bo-Katan laughs—genuine amusement. "You're ambitious. I'll give you three hundred fifty thousand total. Take it or negotiate."
"Four hundred twenty thousand total. Payment on delivery. Plus I include tactical consultation from my strategic analyst regarding optimal deployment against jetpack-equipped enemies."
"Arms dealer with strategic analyst? What are you, some kind of military contractor?"
"I'm professional who understands clients need more than equipment. They need knowledge of how to use it effectively. My analyst can provide tactical recommendations specific to Mandalorian combat doctrine."
She studies me for fifteen seconds. R4 hovers nervously at my shoulder—droid's sensors probably screaming warnings about room full of heavily armed warriors. But I hold Bo-Katan's gaze without flinching.
"Four hundred twenty thousand," she finally agrees. "Delivery in thirty days. Location to be specified. If equipment is substandard, I don't pay. If equipment fails during combat operations, I hold you personally responsible." Her smile is sharp. "Mandalorians take contract violations seriously. Very seriously."
"Understood. My products perform. You'll be satisfied."
"We'll see." She pulls out credit authorization chip. "Down payment: twenty thousand credits as good faith. Remaining four hundred thousand on delivery after quality inspection."
Twenty thousand is nominal—barely covers transaction costs. But it's commitment. Formal contract in Mandalorian terms.
I accept the chip, transferring to secured account. "Thirty days. I'll contact you with delivery arrangements."
"One more thing." Bo-Katan's expression shifts—becomes more personal somehow. "Red Spire says you're hunted by Coruscant Security. That you're operating under Syndicate protection. Is that accurate?"
"She's assessing liability. Whether associating with me creates complications for Death Watch."
"CS has suspicions. No arrest warrant yet. I operate legally based on documentation. Any investigation would reveal proper licensing."
"Proper licensing with falsified credentials," she observes. Not accusation—just statement of fact. "I did research. You appeared on Coruscant six weeks ago with background that doesn't hold up under scrutiny. Commerce Guild licenses that are technically valid but practically fabricated."
Eight whispers: "She investigated thoroughly. Impressive due diligence. Response recommendation: acknowledge truth without vulnerability. Mandalorians respect honesty more than deception."
"Background is complicated. Credentials work for legal purposes. If that's liability for you, I understand declining contract."
"Not declining. Just establishing that we both operate in grey areas." She replaces her helmet—conversation concluding. "Thirty days, Varro. Deliver quality equipment, and this becomes ongoing relationship. Disappoint me, and you'll discover why Death Watch has that reputation."
They leave efficiently. Professional exit that shows training and discipline. The door closes behind them.
Thax enters immediately after. "You survived. That's better than I expected."
"She seemed reasonable."
"That's Bo-Katan Kryze. Death Watch elite. Pre Vizsla's inner circle. Kills people who annoy her for stress relief." He checks the room for surveillance devices out of habit. "You didn't annoy her. Yet. Keep it that way."
"Noted."
Eight's analysis appears in my neural interface: "Mandalorian cultural compatibility assessment: high probability of successful ongoing relationship. Female displayed interest beyond transaction—evaluative focus included personal qualities, not merely professional capabilities. Recommendation: cultivate relationship carefully. Political protection value of Mandalorian alliance: significant. Death Watch operates outside Republic jurisdiction, provides shelter from Jedi authority."
R4 counters privately: "Also recommend not dying. Master's survival rate with dangerous women: historically poor."
"I haven't had any dangerous women yet."
"Exactly. Master's romantic history is nonexistent. First relationship with heavily armed warrior who 'kills people for stress relief' is statistically poor starting point."
Despite everything—the stress, the danger, the accumulated casualties—I smile. "Noted, R4. I'll try not to romance the Mandalorian who could snap my neck."
"Master's sarcasm suggests psychological strain. However, levity indicates resilience. Positive sign despite circumstances."
I check transaction details. Twenty thousand credits received as down payment. Four hundred thousand due on delivery in thirty days. Largest single contract yet. And it comes with potential political protection that might shield me from Jedi investigation.
"Assuming I survive long enough to complete delivery."
The timeline is compressing. Everything accelerating toward convergence point where accumulated enemies and consequences collide simultaneously. Black Sun wants me dead. CS is investigating. Anakin Skywalker is personally interested. And now I'm contracted to supply Death Watch with military hardware.
[ MANDALORIAN CONTRACT CONFIRMED ]
[ DOWN PAYMENT RECEIVED: 20000 CREDITS ]
[ BALANCE DUE ON DELIVERY: 400000 CREDITS ]
[ CURRENT BALANCE: 674595 CREDITS ]
[ SALES COMPLETED: 12 ]
[ DELIVERY DEADLINE: 30 DAYS ]
Thirty days to fulfill contract. Thirty days to establish Mandalorian relationship. Thirty days before timeline determines whether this was brilliant strategic pivot or catastrophic overreach.
Eight projects analysis: "Contract represents optimal strategic direction. Mandalorian alliance provides: (1) off-world market access, (2) political protection from Republic jurisdiction, (3) ongoing revenue stream from warrior culture requiring constant equipment replacement. Recommendation: prioritize delivery quality. Long-term relationship value exceeds single transaction profit."
R4 adds concern: "Master's enemy count continues increasing. Black Sun, CS, Jedi investigation, now potential Mandalorian retaliation if delivery fails. Survival probability: declining toward critical threshold."
Both AIs are right. The Mandalorian contract is opportunity and risk combined. Success means political protection and new market. Failure means warriors with personal vendetta and no jurisdiction limiting their response.
I leave the conference room, navigating back through Syndicate territory toward my safehouse. The cortosis armor feels heavier now—weighted by accumulated decisions and escalating stakes.
"This is the path. Keep moving forward because stopping means dying."
The rationalization has become automatic. Mantra repeated so often it feels like truth rather than excuse. But walking through Coruscant's eternal night, preparing to supply Death Watch with weapons for civil war, I can't help wondering when forward momentum becomes just falling with style.
Reviews and Power Stones keep the heat on!
Want to see what happens before the "heroes" do?
Secure your spot in the inner circle on Patreon. Skip the weekly wait and read ahead:
💵 Hustler [$7]: 15 Chapters ahead.
⚖️ Enforcer [$11]: 20 Chapters ahead.
👑 Kingpin [$16]: 25 Chapters ahead.
Periodic drops. Check on Patreon for the full release list.
👉 Join the Syndicate: patreon.com/Anti_hero_fanfic