Pirates are a rowdy lot. It is a fact rarely questioned and merely accepted by those who deal with them regularly. While the Herald’s crew is no different, the band's leader has a different approach to facilitating their tendencies. To this end, one of the Matron's smaller hangars — designated Hangar Zerek — has been recommissioned as a combat arena... or execution chamber.

Once a dedicated repair bay, Hangar Zerek is still equipped with fabricator arms and an assortment of Trade Federation droid parts that have fallen into disrepair. A squared off section, including illumination banks at each corner, designates the intended 'arena'. The section is denoted by active shock fences, run by nearby generators. It is here that the crew lets off steam, with the hangar bay sealed.

The hangar itself still has a fully functioning force field that comes into play when matches are meant to become more interesting, or when it comes time to jettison troublesome captives. The hangar bay doors peel open, leaving only the active field to separate the arena from the vacuum of space. The control mechanisms for the hangar doors can be operated manually from the control booth or on a set timer, including the force field's toggle switch.

The control booth is the last segment of Hangar Zerek worth noting. Doubling as an observation deck, it is the only obvious entrance to the hangar. All maintenance hatches and access-ways have been sealed in advance, though the catwalks crisscrossing along the upper layers of the hangar remain. The booth itself is sealed, providing a safe haven for when the force field comes down.

Alara checked her datapad again. What on Judecca did Wyn want me here for? Of all places for him to arrange a meet up after that one night-whatever-it-was, he had to pick this pirate hangout, she scoffed to herself. The half-Sephi kicked the warehouse grid-textured floor beneath her in efforts to keep herself from growing further curiosity. She had already been sitting here on this cargo chest for quite some time. Just as she began to doubt his arrival, a familiar cloaked Human figure entered the hangar.

“Alara? You actually came?” Wyn asked, quite beside himself that his plan worked.

“Well I wasn’t about to ignore you. Even though that’s kind of what you did after our night of fun.” the woman accused him.

“Hey! You could have reached out to me too, ya know. Your new Aedile job has you busy. I assumed you’d get in touch when you were able to.” the Adept shot back.

“Doesn’t seem like you were too busy to at least message me.” Alara spat.

“Well I would have considered it if you weren’t already shacked up with some Kiffar!” In that, Wyndell revealed his true frustration.

Alara couldn’t help but snarl at the facts he brought against her. He was right. She had moved on rather quickly, but only because she was insecure at his lack of communication. Further rage and confusion began to build up in her gut. The emotions running through her mind that she thought she could once control ravaged her conscience. The Marauder leapt from her seat and clenched her fists as she spoke. “Well why did you bother asking me to meet you then?!”

“Well…” Wyndell grew cautious with his words, “I was hoping we would be able to have some sort of conversation to figure out where we stand, but it seems as though things are already starting to get emotional.”

“They always do between us,” Alara looked at him with a furrowed brow. The two stood there silently for a few steaming breaths. Finally, the Defender lifted his voice to her once again;

“What does he have that I don’t, Alara?” He looked at her with concern in his eyes. This gaze stung her heart like a pierce from a knife previously held over flame.

“I… I don’t want to talk about this right now. I’ve got bigger concerns than to deal with this.” Alara turned away from him and headed for the gate from which she came. “I have no home, I have no strong plan, and I have no answer right now.”

“Funny. You’ve never been one to give up on anything. Especially a fight. I’m rather shocked.” Wyndell’s speech had an air of contempt as if he meant to insult her.

This caused Alara’s anger to build up even further. She turned back toward him and pushed the argument further. “Do you dare question my strengths? My judgement? I am not running away! I have bigger things to attend to right now!”

“And when exactly will you be around to talk? When you’re nice and comfy in your new home with the smiling shab of a sand pirate?!” Wyndell snapped. His temper seemed to be just as ignited as hers.

“That’s ENOUGH, WYN.” Alara growled. Before she realized what she was doing, she heard her saber ignite in the palm of her right hand. She didn’t even realize she had it unclipped from her belt.

“What? You’re going to fight me now to prove you’re making the right decision?” Wyn scoffed at her. With only a consideration to hesitate, Wyndell reluctantly yanked a blaster from his holster and aimed it at the blonde. “Fine. If you want it this way, this is how we will have to settle things.”

Wyn winced at his own choice of words. Real smooth. He had played this meeting out in his mind multiple times, but all of his imagined scenarios ended with Alara running into his arms and apologizing for everything. Clearly he had miscalculated somewhere, and now he silently scolded himself for his choice of venue.

With all the chaos and destruction that had been going on, it was almost sobering that the most neutral place to hold a meeting with a member of the Dark Jedi Brotherhood was on a dingy, pirate-infested space station. Wyn would have prefered somewhere in the core worlds closer to society, but Kordath had assured him over drinks that the Matron was a great place to meet up with a lady friend.

Touche, Ryn.

Holding the modified DL-44 blaster pistol out in front of his body, Wyndell slowly slid one foot back across the solid, duracrete plating to adjust his stance. The hangar bay doors had been sealed shut, leaving the taste of stale, artificial air to mingle with the scent of greased machinery and old, rusting metal. There was enough space between them for Wyn to find cover, but he needed a better plan than trying to fire his blaster at an angry Dark Jedi with her lightsaber drawn. What he needed was something disarmingly clever to say that would help calm her.

“Hey ‘Lara, did you know that your eyes get really pretty when you’re angry? It really brings out the—”

Alara growled in response as she launched herself up into a high parabolic arc, long blonde braid trailing in her wake.

Realizing that his wit had somehow failed him, Wyn adjusted his aim and fired off a quick, controlled burst of blaster bolts. Deathbane twisted deftly in mid-air to avoid the volley of crimson dashes. Amber eyes flickered with flame as Alara landed lightly on her toes and made a quick, precise cut with her lightsaber. The sizzling blade cleanly halved Wyn’s special edition blaster pistol into two pieces, the scent of smoldering metal stinging his nostrils.

“Hey, I just bought that!”

Budding frustration aside, Wyn did the only logical thing that any smart gunslinger would when confronted with this very scenario.

Run away!

Tapping the Force for guided grace, Wyn strafed left before leaping up and away from the Alara. The folds of his “new” cloak flapped unnecessarily around him as he soared across the hangar. He idly wondered why his brother and many others thought a cloak was good thing to wear in a scrap. Pushing the thought aside, his boots touched down inside of what he assumed was some kind of empty loading square.

It was certainly large enough to hold more than a few sleds of cargo. Wyn also noticed patches of faded, dark-red stains soaked into the floor plates beneath his feet. Before he could speculate further, his average human ears picked up the pitter patter of pirate boots. He glanced up toward the catwalk suspended above the hangar.

“Hey, that’s the guy what ‘done stole my cloak!” a scratchy voice called out. Wyn squinted up at the speaker and immediately recognized the pirate as the one he had met earlier at the pub when he was looking to find the hangar bay.

“Now, hold on a second. I traded you a perfectly good can of foodstuffs that is worth at least two good meals. You can’t even eat a cloak. If anything, you owe me.”

“What’re ye even...just shut yer mouth, boy, and give me back my cloak!”

“Look partner, I’m kinda in the middle of Wynning my girl back, could ye cut me a break?” Wyn retorted, his voice subconsciously mimicking the pirates accent.

“I’m not your—ugh,” Alara snapped as her knuckles tightened around her lightsaber.

Wyn turned to see that Alara had made her way into the loading square. She did not look amused.

“Alara, look, we don’t have to fight. I honestly just wanted to see you, and—”

Generators coughed and sputtered to life as they pumped power into the electro-coil posts that lined the perimeter of the loading square. With a loud, static crackle the posts linked up to form a sizzling yellow shock fence.

Wait a second, this isn't’ a loading square it’s a ri—

“Fight, Fight, Fight, Fight—”

“‘—Hundred credits on the blonde babe!”

“—Make it two hundred!”

Wyn watched as the half-Sephi woman looked up at the spectators that had gathered. Her lightsaber hummed in time with the shock fence that had them both trapped. An almost wicked grin pulled at the corner of her pink lips as she slowly met the Human male’s dark eyes. Alara Deathbane lifted her chin proudly, pulse quickening as she fed on the lustful demand for violence.

"Make it three hundred," Wyn grumbled to himself as his hands drifted uneasily towards his belt.

Alara’s heart fluttered with rapidly changing emotions: excitement, anticipation, hunger for blood, resentment, fear, and also worry. The latter sentiment was foreign to her. She was actually worried about hurting someone? How strange. She could count the number of times she had felt this throughout her life with only one hand. Her vibrant sabers hummed their vicious melody as they awaited her next move. She hesitated and held her stare onto her previous lover. His handsome, chiseled cheekbones were tensed into an apprehensive and taxed look. The sting in her heart burst through once again. Was this all really worth it? Was he worth it? This fighting and torment between them both? She felt her mind spiralling out of control and wasn’t sure of what to do next. The crowd’s cheers began to fade into whispers as everyone tried to predict her next move.

Trust me, I wish I knew what I was supposed to do next as well, Alara grimaced to herself.

“Alara?” Wyndell called out to her in concern. He had a gun in hand, but didn’t seem to be sure of how to utilize his weapon in this specific circumstance either. He stepped forward to reach out to her. The half-Sephi froze as her menacing confusion continued to envelope the crevices of her consciousness. She could feel her blank demeanor over her like some sort of mask.

“What…” Alara continued to fight the confusion and vehemence in her mind by trying to get some simple phrase out, “What do you want from me?”

“Alara,” Wyndell dared to step closer, clipped his gun back in its holster and grasped her hands over her lightsaber hilts. He gently pressed against her thumbs to extinguish their fiery plasma blades. For some reason Alara let him continue. The crowd began to speak up further now, and rose out of their seat to get a closer look of what was happening. The Defender ignored them all and smiled that mighty fine smile of his which Alara grew to miss so much. She didn’t even know she had missed it until this very moment.

“I just want your happiness. That’s all I’ve ever wanted. And I wish I could be the one who could grant you that.”

Those words softened and hardened her heart all at the same time. She dropped her sabers from her grip. Delighted at this spectacle, Wyn squeezed her hands gently and began to pull her closer to his chest until he felt a blow that threw him to the ground. Alara rubbed her fist after making contact with his gut as she watched the poor sod wheeze on the ground. The audience was already roaring in laughter and excitement at the sight of it.

“You really think I can believe that after you didn’t even bother contacting me until now?” Alara wasn’t sure whether to smile at her achievement or continue to growl at him from her state. She instead decided to circle him in the ring as if he were her prey.

The Adept wiped his cheek of saliva that spilled from his lips after her blindside. He let out a chiding bellow before he rose from the ground to face her once more. “I get it! I acted like a jerk, okay?! Happy? I didn’t know what to expect from that evening. I didn’t know if it meant anything to you. I wasn’t sure how to react. I thought if you contacted me, then I’d know it was for real.” He then circled her which caused her to stall in place. Alara’s pointed ears flicked angrily at what she heard. His story was real, she could sense that; but it didn’t mean she was content with this explanation.

Without another word, she instinctively twisted her hips, raised her arms in position to fight, and prepared herself for an attack.

Wyndell watched the woman and heard his own scoff escape his lips. “Are you serious? I give you an honest explanation and you decide its time to fight me? I thought we’d have a quickie after our conversation, but this isn’t the type of quickie I had in mind.” He reluctantly tucked in his elbows to his sides and presumably readied his stretched palms for combat. “You know you’re going to win, Alara. What’s the point of this?”

“I want to see how much effort you’re willing to put into this.” Alara couldn’t help but giggle a bit. That charged his veins with adrenaline. She could practically feel it rippling through his bloodstream now.

She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt and took the first swing rather lazily. Of course he still wasn’t quite ready for it and barely managed to move out of the way before falling on his rear in front of everyone. Another blowout of laughter echoed through the hangar but was suddenly silenced at what happened next: He had hid his weapon from all of them. The veils were taken from everyone's’ eyes as Wyndell fired his weapon towards his opponent. Screams and shouts echoed everywhere as Alara fell to the ground. She cried out in agony and frustration and immediately grabbed hold of her calf, which was open raw from the blast. The burning kept the wound clean, but it couldn’t remove how sharp the pain felt and how disastrous the injury looked. Wyndell brought himself to his feet and loomed over the disabled Savant below him with a somber look over his face. He held up his hands toward her and began to twist and churn her mind with rapid imagery and memories. It was as if he was searching for something in her mind. The half-Sephi’s hands went from protecting her burnt leg to seizing her temple with an aching howl. She could feel her consciousness slipping into a comatose state. The Aedile slumped further into the ground. At this, the audience began to shout and boo Wyndell.

“You’re cheating, you bastard!” An onlooker hollered with a shaking fist.

“Just wait! I’m busy trying to --” Wyndell began until his eyes widened at his find. “I got it!”

“—Get. Out. Of. My. Head!” Alara screamed.

“What? Oh, that, right. Look, would you quit your hollering? I’m trying to help you, but if you keep raging out over every single nice image I try and bring to your mind to soothe you, I’m not going to be able to keep you still long enough to try and heal your leg at all!” Wyn snapped back.

“You just karking shot me, why would you be trying to heal me?!” Deathbane growled.

“It was an accident, honest,” Wyn replied defensively. “I’m used to Dark Jedi always dodging my shots, so I honestly didn’t expect to actually hit you. Not that I’m a bad shot, but—”

“You’re such a...ugh...pigheaded nerfherder,” Alara groaned as she gripped at her ankle, desperately trying to apply pressure to any other part of her leg that wasn’t her seared calf.

“Hey, my head doesn’t look like a pig.” Wyn frowned. “But, alright, look, I can’t really fix it, but I can help trick your mind into relax—”

“No! No more mind games, Wyn! Get away from me!” Alara grimaced.

“Oh, for the love of...I am not the best at healing, so you’re going to have to work with me here,” Wyn sighed in exasperation.

“Boo! What kind’a man brings a gun to a fist fight?” a voice interrupted from overhead.

“A smart one, but thanks for the assist, buddy,” Wyn yelled up at the spectators. In response, one of them threw something clunky and metallic at the Adept’s head. Wyn ducked the haphazard projectile.

“I ain't your buddy, you long-haired weirdo,” the crewman drawled.

“You’re just jealous, and I ain't your buddy, friend,” Wyn countered.

“Hey, he ain't your friend, guy,” a second crewman butted in.

The lone blaster pistol still in Wyndell’s hand lifted it's nose and barked twice. Two cerulean bolts of energy hammered into the plated floor of the elevated catwalks. “How’s that for friends?” Wyn asked wryly.

“Did he just shoot at us, Chett?” the first onlooker turned to the second incredulously.

“He did! The little yeller-bellied frang-lover!” the second man growled.

“Yeah well, why don’t you come say that to my face!” Wyn retorted.

“Wyn, what are you doing?!” Alara hissed. “You’re making them angry.”

“Trust me, I got this. Just wait for it.”

Wyn watched as the crewman pushed away from the ledge. The sound of heavy boots clattering away echoed throughout the hangar. Checking the barrels of his blaster pistols, the Adept started to hum as he tapped his foot to a beat he made up on the spot.

The sealed door to the hangar bay slid open as the two crewman stomped in, both gripping some kind of highly illegal blaster carbine. A third man—a scrawny looking blue Rodian wearing a mechanic’s smock—tapped a sequence of keys on his datapad to drop the yellow energy fence that had kept Alara and Wyndell trapped.

“Ah, thanks buddy,” Wyn said as he drew his second blaster pistol with practiced ease.

“We aint your buddy, gu—”

Dexter and Doakes—Wyn’s twin LL-30’s—sang a screeching symphony as he depressed the hair triggers and expertly landed each of his shots. The two crewman grunted and cried out as they fell to the ground with faint wisps of smoke trailing from their fatal wounds. The Rodian looked at his fallen comrades in horror and turned to run.

Wyn lined up a shot, but didn’t pull the trigger. Instead, he glanced over his shoulder at Alara and flashed a grin. “Okay, we should be good for now, and I got the door open. There is probably a bathroom or something, I hope, where we can try and find a stall and—”

“—Wyn!” Alara tried to slap him with her voice and almost succeeded.

“What? No, it’s not what you’re thinking! Get your head out of the gutter, Deathbane. I need to be able to focus if I’m going to heal that wound, so let me just pick you up and—”

“No, get away from me!” Alara winced as she ignited one of her sabers and held it defensively in front of her body.

Wyn held his blasters out to the sides, trying to look harmless, but snapped them back into a ready position as an alarm klaxon started to blare.

“Well, that certainly complicates things,” the Adept murmured.