PURPOSE | The Mandalorian

XXXII

"Put down your blasters!" The Republic guard shouted as he shot out of his chair. He pointed his own measly blaster at Mayfeld, who didn't even seem slightly phased. Then his eyes widened, his outstretched arm beginning to shake when he realized he was vastly outnumbered, five to one.

Beside me, I noticed Din hesitate, his aim faltering slightly. "I thought you said there were only droids on this ship," He said, sounding more that slightly annoyed.

"I did," Mayfeld snapped back, keeping his blaster trained on the male guard. I turned my attention to the guard, who noticed my slight movements and snapped the business end of his blaster in my direction.

"Doesn't matter, though," Mayfeld added, nodding in the guard's direction, "We're still walking outta here with our guy."

"I s-said lower 'em," The guard squeaked, his eyes wide in fear as he looked between me and Din. It was pretty obvious who he was most intimidated by in the room.

"Hey," I said calmly, trying to portray that we didn't want to hurt him, "We're not here for you. We're here for a prisoner. Just lower your blaster and—"

Everyone in the room flinched when the guard reached into his pocket, pulling out a small rectangular box, holding it high in the air for everyone to see.

"Hey! Hey! Easy, egghead!" Mayfeld shouted, stepping closer to the guard, "No need to press that button."

"What is it?" Xi'an asked impatiently, fidgeting with the tip of the knife in her hand.

Din said gravely with a sigh, "It's a tracking beacon."

Xi'an's eyes went wide. Then she snapped her attention to Mayfeld, who still had both of his blasters aimed at the guard. "And you didn't think to tell us about this small little detail?!"

Mayfeld scoffed, disappointed that one of his own crew mates would question him. "Like I said earlier," He explained slowly, fed up with the situation, "I thought it was just droids on this ship."

"Yeah," I snapped, and the guard flinched, "Obviously, you were wrong."

Mayfeld gritted his teeth as his eyes flicked to me. "Obviously," He hissed through his clenched jaw.

"Alright," Din announced flatly, stepping between the rest of the crew and the guard, "Everyone lower their blasters. No one needs to get hurt."

"Don't you know what that thing does?!" Mayfeld asked harshly, nodding towards the tracking beacon the the guard's hand. "That thing will bring down an entire New Republic squadron on us. They'll blow us all to hell!"

"I know," Din said pointedly, his fuse shortening. Then he turned to face the guard. "What's your name, kid?"

"D-Davan," The guard croaked, swallowing as his gaze flicked between Din and Mayfeld.

"Look, Davan," He soothed, holding his hands up in front of his chest, "Like my friend said, we're not here for you. If you let us do our job, you can walk away from this with your life."

The expression on the guard's face faltered as he lowered the tracking beacon slightly. He seemed to be taking to the idea of letting us go, so I quietly whispered, "Lower your blasters, Mayfeld."

He snapped his eyes to me, doing no such thing. "Are you crazy?!" He hissed.

I smirked wickedly under my helmet as I purred, "Just a little bit."

"Listen to her, Mayfeld," Din demanded, raising his own blaster at our crew leader. "Put them down."

Staring between Din and me, Mayfeld let out a soft, hysterical laugh. "Both of you are fucking crazy," He muttered under his breath as he continued to laugh, "Are all Mandos as crazy as you two?"