[RM - M11 - Glavis]

The workshop echoed with the familiar rhythm of metal against metal.

Clink. Whirr. Click.

Brikk Voss adjusted the calibration screw hidden beneath the wrist plate of his cybernetic arm. The polished fingers flexed, each moving with satisfying precision before a miniature welding torch extended from one fingertip.

"Better."

The old Ugnaught allowed himself a small smile.

The arm had been built from necessity after an Imperial refinery accident many years ago. It had long since become something else entirely—a workshop, toolbox, and testament to stubborn craftsmanship. Every mission seemed to inspire another improvement.

Nearby, three Anzellans argued enthusiastically over increasingly imaginative modifications to a mouse droid.

Without looking up, Brikk advised:  "...If that explodes again, you're cleaning the ceiling."
“Ya boss.” Zip replied without looking up.

The little BD unit beside Brikk emitted an amused series of whistles.

Brikk closed the arm's access panel with a satisfying snap before turning his attention to the heavy ion disruptor resting on the workbench. The weapon was an ugly thing—assembled from scavenged Clone Wars components, Imperial hardware, and far too many custom modifications. Brikk had never seen much value in appearances. He checked the power couplings one last time before setting it carefully into its rack.

The Red Moons had accepted him. 

The Empire had stolen decades of his life beneath contracts masquerading as servitude. For the first time, it felt as though someone intended to finish what Endor had started. 

The New Republic had chosen reconciliation. Brikk had watched too many warlords disappear into the shadows. Not everyone deserved a second chance. 

Some deserved a tribunal.

Others deserved an ion pulse powerful enough to leave their machines silent while they answered for what they'd done.

His thoughts drifted, as they often did, to one face—a human overseer whose name still lingered like rust on old machinery. To that man, cruelty had been entertainment, especially toward those he deemed lesser beings.

One day. 

No mission yet.

Just waiting.

He hated waiting.

A cheerful beep interrupted his thoughts as BD-9R projected a blinking checklist of supplies to restock into the air.

Brikk nodded approvingly.

"Caf first."

The Anzellans cheered.

"Then supplies."

Their cheers became considerably less enthusiastic.

Brikk couldn't help but grin.