PURPOSE | The Mandalorian

XXIX

"Alright, alright," Ran said slowly, trying to defuse the tension between us and Mayfeld, "Now that we got that out of our system, this is Mayfeld."

But Mayfeld just stared at me with a fire that only fueled my dislike for him. Then he spat at me, "I don't like you."

"Trust me," I replied, my voice projected through my modulator, "The feeling is mutual."

I flicked my gaze back to Ran when he continued, drawing mine and Mayfeld's attention away from each other, "For obvious reasons, I don't go out in the field anymore, so Mayfeld here is gonna be in charge. So if you get an order from him, it's like it's coming from me."

I had to bite my tongue to keep from arguing. There was no way I was taking orders from this douchebag. Din must have sensed my unease, because he gave me a subtle nudge in the side.

Just one job, He seemed to plead.

Ran paused, making sure Din and I understood what taking orders from Mayfeld meant. But when neither of us responded, Ran added, "He's one of the best triggermen I've ever seen. Former Imperial sharpshooter, I might add."

"Imperial?" Din asked, an edge of humor in his voice, "That's not saying much."

"Hey!" Mayfeld barked, pointing a finger at Din, "I wasn't a Stormtrooper, wiseass."

"Doesn't matter," I replied with a smirk, "Stormtroopers aren't the only ones with shitty aim."

Oh, Mayfeld was fuming. I had to really focus to hold back the laugh that was threatening to bubble out of my chest.

But he reigned in his temper, asking as level-headed as he could, "So what are we flying?"

Ran motioned for all of us to follow him back towards the hangar, where the Crest was still landed. Mayfeld scoffed incredulously. "A Razor Crest?!" He turned back to glance at me and Din. "This thing looks like a Canto Bight slot machine! I'm surprised it still flies, if I'm being honest."

Oh, I'd show him Canto Bight slot machine—

Din quickly gripped my bicep and squeezed it, silently pleading with me again to not start anything. I snapped my head to him, giving him a pointed look and hoping he felt the hot anger rolling off of me. He just stared back, his visor keeping his face blank. How he was able to put up with this shit, I had no idea.

"The rest of the crew is over here," Mayfeld said when he sensed my fuse shortening, motioning for us to follow. The first crew mate I noticed was a huge Devaronian carrying a large crate full of supplies. Once he spotted us, he flashed us a wicked grin, dropping the crate onto the floor with a loud thud.

"That good lookin' fellow with the horns,"
Mayfeld said as he pointed to the Devaronian, "That's Burg. And it may surprise you," He chuckled breathily, "But he's our muscle."

The red-skinned Devaronian slowly walked forward, towering over all of us as we craned our heads back to look him in the face. He didn't wipe the ugly smirk from his lips as he said in a low, gravelly voice, "So these are Mandalorians?"

Burg flicked his eyes to Mayfeld as they both chuckled again. Then he leaned forward slightly, hoping to force Din and I into take a step back. But neither of us yielded, unintimidated by his sheer massiveness.

Burg's nose twitched as he spat, "I thought they'd be bigger."

Burg then turned to walk away, siting down on the crate he dropped a moment ago. But at the sound of metallic footsteps approaching, Din and I both snapped out heads to the left. As a black, insect-looking droid approached, Mayfeld continued, "This is Zero."