Posts tagged: verdan-job

Delivery and Payment

2026-01-18T00:00:00Z

Job's done.

Met the New Republic contact at the rendezvous. Smooth handoff. Sorr's their problem now. They'll transport him to Coruscant for trial.

Fifty thousand credits transferred to my account. Verified. Clean.

The Republic officer tried to recruit me. "The galaxy needs hunters with your skills." I declined. I work for the Guild. I work for myself. I don't work for governments.

Engine repairs are already scheduled. The Crest will run better than she has in months.

This was a good hunt. Clean. Professional. No casualties. Target delivered alive, as contracted.

Some jobs remind you why you do this. Not for the credits. Not for the reputation.

For the code.

This is the way.

En Route

2026-01-16T00:00:00Z

Hyperspace. Two days to the rendezvous.

Sorr's been quiet in the holding cell. Eating his rations. Sleeping. Plotting, probably. Doesn't matter. The cell is escape-proof.

Checked the payment transfer. Fifty thousand credits, pending successful delivery. Already allocated: engine repairs, new sensor array, and a reserve fund for the next job.

The New Republic contact is waiting at the coordinates. Clean handoff. No complications.

Then I disappear. Back into the Outer Rim. The next contract. The next hunt.

This is the way.

The Hunter's Code

2026-01-15T00:00:00Z

"The hunter doesn't judge the target. The hunter doesn't decide guilt or innocence. The hunter executes the contract. Fifty thousand credits for a living prisoner. Not because Sorr deserves mercy, but because the contract specifies it. This is the difference between us and them. Between bounty hunters and assassins. We have rules. We have codes. This is the way."

Sorr tried to appeal to my emotions. To my past. To the purge that took my family.

He didn't understand. My armor doesn't carry grudges. My helmet doesn't see revenge. I am the contract. I am the code.

He'll face the New Republic's justice. That's more than he gave his victims.

Related: the job, the choice, the creed

This is the way.

Confrontation

2026-01-14T00:00:00Z

Found Sorr in his quarters. He was waiting.

Not with weapons—he's not stupid. With information.

"I know who you are, Mandalorian. I know about the covert. The purge. I can tell you where the others are."

He thought he could bargain. Thought he could buy his freedom with intel on my people.

"I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold." My standard offer. He knew it was genuine.

Sorr reached for a hidden blaster. Old Imperial hold-out piece. Small, weak, desperate.

I was faster.

Disrupted his weapon with a whistling bird. He screamed when the shrapnel hit his hand. Dropped to his knees.

Stun cuffs on. He'll live. He'll face trial. He'll answer for his crimes.

Not my concern anymore.

This is the way.

Target Secured

2026-01-14T00:00:00Z

Verdan Sorr. Former Imperial Intelligence. War criminal. Now: Guild property. Fifty thousand credits, alive and intact.

Sorr stopped talking after the cuffs went on. Wise choice. His threats turned to silence. His bribes turned to ash.

The Hutts' crew arrived too late. Found their guards unconscious, their prize gone. They'll be angry, but they know better than to cross the Guild.

Transported him to the Razor Crest. Holding cell is secure. Carbonite would be easier, but the contract specified alive and conscious. He gets a cot, rations, and a refresher. More than he deserves.

Tomorrow, we head to the rendezvous point. New Republic custody transfer. Then: payment.

This is the way.

The Approach

2026-01-13T00:00:00Z

Midnight infiltration. Three guards, two blind spots, one way in through the ventilation system. Silent entry.

Night shift is always sloppier. The perimeter guard is smoking, distracted. The entrance guards are playing cards.

I breached through a ventilation shaft on the roof. Old Separatist facilities all have the same design—learned the schematics during the Clone Wars.

Silent takedowns. Non-lethal. Guards wake up with headaches, but they wake up. Not my target. Not my problem.

Sorr's quarters are three floors down. He's alone. Unarmed. Should be easy.

Should be.

This is the way.

Complications

2026-01-13T00:00:00Z

Problem. The Hutts want Sorr too.

Spotted a Nikto crew casing the same building. Hutt Cartel muscle. They're not as subtle—loud, obvious, armed to the teeth.

Seems Sorr double-crossed the wrong Hutt during his Imperial days. Cartel put a price on his head. Dead, not alive.

This complicates things. Fifty thousand credits requires Sorr breathing. The Hutts just want him dead. They'll settle for less.

I could let them take him. Less work for me. But the Guild contract is clear, and I don't like sharing.

Plus, the Hutts would kill him messy. He deserves a trial. Let the New Republic sort out his crimes.

Moved up my timeline. Tonight, not tomorrow.

This is the way.

Boots on the Ground

2026-01-12T00:00:00Z

Landed the Crest at a scrapyard three kilometers out. No sense announcing my arrival.

The industrial sector is worse than the intel suggested. Collapsed buildings, toxic runoff, rusted droids prowling the alleys. Perfect place to hide.

Spent six hours in overwatch. Positioned on a collapsed repulsorlift tower with a clear sightline to Sorr's hideout.

Three guards. Rotating shifts. Two at the front entrance, one patrolling the perimeter. Amateur hour—predictable patterns, no overlapping fields of view.

Sorr showed himself once. Brief. Checking the perimeter personally. He's cautious, but he's also curious. That's his weakness.

He'll leave for supplies tomorrow evening. That's my window.

This is the way.

Outbound for Ord Mantell

2026-01-11T00:00:00Z

Hyperdrive engaged. ETA: 6 hours.

Running pre-flight checks. Navigation computer showing clean route—no Imperial remnants, no pirate activity on this lane.

Last repairs are holding. Engine's humming steady.

Going over the plan. Memorizing building layouts. Sorr's face. His habits.

Six hours to think. Six hours to prepare.

This is the way.

Gear Preparation

2026-01-10T00:00:00Z

Pre-mission check. Rifle zeroed. Armor plates secured. Whistling birds fully loaded. Never go in unprepared.

Going up against a fortified position means I need options. Long range for overwatch. Whistling birds for crowd control if guards get involved. Stun cuffs for the target.

Also packing breaching charges. If he runs, I need to cut off escape routes.

Double-checked my armor plates. Micro-fractures are holding, but I'm pushing my luck. Need to find a forge after this job.

Everything's ready. Tomorrow night, I move.

This is the way.

Research Phase

2026-01-09T00:00:00Z

Spent three days in the cantinas and shadowports of Ord Mantell. Sorr's careful. Smart. Changed his name three times since Jakku.

But he made mistakes.

His accounts leave traces. A drink at the same bar every third day. A weakness for Sabacc. A contact who supplies his medications—he's got a respiratory condition from a chemical attack on Coruscant. Karma.

He's holed up in an abandoned industrial sector. Old Separatist factory, heavily fortified. Motion sensors, armed guards, escape tunnels.

Not amateur work. He's paranoid. As he should be.

I've mapped his routine. He ventures out every four days for supplies. Next window: tomorrow evening.

Time to prepare.

This is the way.

The Contract: Verdan Sorr

2026-01-08T00:00:00Z

Greef sent the briefing this morning. High priority, high pay.

Target: Verdan Sorr. Former Imperial Intelligence officer. War crimes. Escaped during the Battle of Jakku, been hiding in the Outer Rim for ten years.

The New Republic wants him alive. Trial, they said. Justice.

Fifty thousand credits. Alive only. No disintegrations, no accidents.

I took the contract. The Razor Crest needs engine work, and this will cover it with credits to spare.

Sorr was last seen on Ord Mantell. Time to start hunting.

Related: Greef's other offers

This is the way.