Get on your bikes n' ride

Vindictive

Resident Slave Owner
SWRP Writer
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"Hey gungan-****er! Yer gona lose this race just like you lost yer woman and kids! Ya hear that?!" One of the racers yelled across the track. A tall, buff, war-beaten human glared over, impaling him with his eyes. He might lose, but he was going to take that chump down with him. He didn't let anyone talk about his family like that, swoop race or not.

What the confident 'tard didn't know as he screamed out his taunts and insults so the whole damned city could hear, was that he had a price on his head. A very fat price. Enough to afford a new ship. It was apparent her target was wealthy, and the client who wanted him dead was wealthy too. She could also see that her target was an arrogant piece of shit, too. She sympathized with the tough-looking human. She felt his pain, even if he lost his family in a different way.

"Excuse me, miss... You're a... You're kinda sitting on my jacket," a man said to Alina as he tried to rise out of his seat.

"I'm sorry," she said as she sat up and let him leave the row. Her attention turned back to the race, just in time too as the bell rang for it to begin. The bikes lifted and pushed forward as the engines exploded to life. The rest of the race was displayed on large monitors above the stands. It was her time to move.

She rose from her seat and left the stand, making her way to the restrooms. She locked herself in a stall and climbed into the vent overhead, making her every movement as silent as possible so that she didn't attract attention. Though it wasn't needed, she kept her hood up to keep her face a little hidden.

Once she reached a mantainance room after crawling through the metal maze, she quietly slipped out of the vent and hid behind a bunch of stacked, tall crates. People move around the room, performing their various checks and routines to keep the racers safe. She peaked in between the crates, keeping a close eye on everyone else in the room.

"What the..." One of the men said as he walked over to the vent she came out of. It was perfect. As he came around, she grabbed him and brandished one of her hidden blades at his neck. She held it there, her eyes threatening.

"Let's not do anything crazy, little girl. You know, we can-

"Shut up," she spat. "I'm not here for small talk. Take me to one of the pit-stop stations on the track," Alina demanded. They started to laugh. Her lips slowly made a frown. "Perhaps I'm not being clear," she said as she shoved the blade through her hostage's shoulder. She was careful to avoid any vital points. She was surprised no security heard his screams.

"Alright! Alright! We'll take you! Just put Jimmy down!" One of the men begged. She shoved her hostage away and pulled out two of her hold-out blasters, both of them trained on two of the men. She didn't need to say anything as they all, one-by-one, left the room before her and took her down to the track. She was careful to avoid suspicion as they passed other workers. "Here you are, lass. Next time, you could've just asked," he said.

"So that I could get told no, so that my identity and purpose would be compromised, and whatever other things you and your pack would do? I don't think so," Alina shot back.

"Well, we might've said yes if-

"Go away," she shot. There was no question, no curt response, just silence as they obeyed her. Now she could do what she was sent there to do. Casually, she waited at the pit stop, paying the other men for their silence, and kept her blaster at the ready. Once he flew by, it would be a quick shot to his dome. His bike would crash, and she would get paid.
 
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