Wednesday 31 March 2021

Bountyhunting: In Hyperdrive.

WARNING: This is a mash-up. It's Star Wars fan-fiction, written in the style of Irvine Welsh's Trainspotting. I absolutely adore both so it comes from a place of genuine love, but be aware that the second of these influences means that the post contains some of the foulest language ever to appear on this blog. If the swearing will be a problem for you, there are lots of far less profane posts right here. For everyone else, strap in...

Photo credit: Electronic Arts.

Ah do wish ma bandage-faced chum The Deng Heap would just admit he's usin again. It's fuckin obvious tae everyone. When he's snortin the spice he comes up in this rash roond his face. It's fuckin mingin so he wears the bandages tae try an hide that. Daft shite hasnae twigged it just draws more attention tae it. But when he starts wi the full stim-packs - that's when his skin really takes a dive an you're glad ay those wraps jist so ye dinnae have tae look at it.

It disnae help that Dengs is a fuckin liability in that state, an'aw. Nae use havin him on a job when he cannae find his own erse wi both hands. An the fuckin smell. You do NOT want to be stakin out a target when Dengar's incoherent AND sheddin...

We don't need that radge shite cramping our shtyle with the ladiesh, do we Mishter Fett?
No Doctor Jonesh Shenior, we mosht shertainly do not.
Becaushe who do we trusht with our reputation?
Why, no one of courshe.
Not even ourshelvesh?
. . .

Dengs used tae be a fuckin player, man. An a winner an aw. We made a guid team. We still could be, but... well, it's no professional that's aw. Costin the crew money is one thing, dentin the credibility is quite a-fuckin-nother. Ah suppose aw the time ah'm hangin aroond wi they losers everyone can see how fuckin great ah am. No, onwards an upwards as young Boab goes fae strength tae strength.

Bossko's no much fuckin better. He's on a thing for Aldera brandy at the moment, thinks it makes him look classy wi the chickies. Ah mean aye, it's expensive an aw, especially since the place blew up, but that's just a marketin gimmick. They make that pish tae licence on every planet wi a distillery. Might as well drink blue fuckin milk fir aw the street cred it gies ye. No that I'd advise bringin that up wi the cunt, mind you. If Bossk's go one solid quality it's that he'll bring any situation tae a heid before ye've had time tae order a second roond. It's just managin that solid quality that's the problem.

But fuck all that. The sun is shinin, the game is on and I am in hyperdrive, hyper-fuckin-drive. A couple of gigs have just landed fae oor friends in the Empire, an ah've go some guard work on wi Jabba. It's mebbe a little demeanin fir someone as recognisable as masel, then again it's guid fir punters tae see that ah'm connected. It's a decent hourly rate, anyways.

That's no the only reason ah'm daein it, mind. The Hutt's go intel that that radge cunt Solo's back in town, right efter he flushed a load ay Jabba's gear he was carryin when the Imps showed up. So Jabba wants tae go by the dockin bays an have a word - in person likes - an needs a bit ay muscle on standby. Well ah'm happy tae help.

Why the fuck Solo's back here ay all places is beyond me, but ah'm up fir watchin the two ay them tiptoe their way around no slottin one another right aff the bat. Efter aw, Jabba disnae know it was me that put the Star Destroyer Commander ontae the Falcon's cargo, an Solo disnae know it was me that picked up the gear in a stolen shuttle efter he shited it an punched lightspeed. It's probably a good thing the famous Fett visor will be coverin the fuckin grin on ma face. A shiteload ay spice fir free, an plenty ay contacts fir movin it on at premium prices. Ka-fuckin-ching.

It's all business, of course. All product. All cashflow.

But there'sh shtill that voishe, ishn't there Misther Fett? The promishe? The Spishe?
That there ish, Doctor Jonesh, but we're better than that today.
That'sh what we shaid yeshterday...
. . .

An ah get it. Ah've been there, we aw have. Most ay us, anyways.

Spice is the only honest drug. It disnae alter yir consciousness, it expands it. You become a sortay voyeuristic parasite, able tae read everyone's thoughts, fears, dreams. And it is fucking superb. Aw of a sudden ye're connected tae everyone in the room, in the buildin, in the town. An in a town like Eisley, that's quite a fuckin thing. Every pit ay despair, every nefarious deed, every height ay ecstasy, you are THERE, you are bein those people and you are fuckin CONNECTED, man. This must be what the Force feels like.

An then last time, ah did it.

Ma consciousness drifted right out an was drawn tae some Jedi cunt, out past the dunes. An what's worse is, HE KNEW, no like aw the others. It wis like he looked straight back intae me. How the fuck is that auld bastard even alive out there? Then aw of a sudden ah'm ten years old an back in that arena, starin intae mah da's lid. He's gone. Deid. Ah've just watched ma da - ma only fuckin family - get murdered by a fuckin Jedi. Cut doon like a fuckin rag doll. Heid slashed clean off. It's there an then that ah make this vow; that I am goin tae wipe those pious shites OUT, any fuckin way ah can.

An ah think aboot that moment every day when ah put the helmet on, an it disnae go away when ah take it off. Ah dinnae need tae relive it on mah downtime when ah'm off mah box.

An that's why ah'm daein this. Ah am goin tae take every last one ay they cunts down. If ah can make a wedge ay credits along the way then aw the better, but first an foremost it's aw aboot that mission. Because that's it, ah've found fuck all else - nuthin - tae fill this screamin Sarlacc pit in the center ay ma chest, pullin me in like a fuckin black hole...

• ^^^ That's dry, British humour, and most likely sarcasm or facetiousness.
• Yen's blog contains harsh language and even harsher notions of propriety. Reader discretion is advised.
• This is a personal blog. The views and opinions expressed here represent my own thoughts (at the time of writing) and not those of the people, institutions or organisations that I may or may not be related with unless stated explicitly.