Cataclysm ─── The Mandalorian. ¹

i. the hunter becomes the hunted

            He turns, back to her, and reaches out to knock on a door. She hesitates, but it's enough. A droid slides out of the wall, saying something in a language she doesn't understand. It scans a card he holds up, and the door shoots open. The Mandalorian bounty hunter steps inside and vanishes behind the closed door.

            Shit.

            Zoya leans back against the wall, posture relaxing. Her throat bobs underneath the cloth mask as she swallows, heart in her throat.

            (Perhaps she's more nervous than she's let herself realize.)

            Her thoughts move back to the prison cell, the filthy conditions, and how she'd gotten free. It had been one of the guards stationed at the jail that had helped her; his reasoning for breaking her out was skewed, and because of that, he had been burned.

            The young man had taken a fancy to Zoya while she was sitting angrily in the cell, brows furrowed and dark hair hanging messily about her face; her beauty had corrupted him, and once she'd realized that that was why he decided to help her, she used it to her advantage, softening her hardened eyes into a round, pleading doe-brown. And after they'd emerged from the prison during a rotation in the guards, he'd given her one of the speeders and told her where to meet him.

            Of course, she hadn't shown up at all. The speeder took her as far away from the prison as it could with the fuel it had left, then she'd hopped from ship to ship, catching rides around the galaxy until she gathered enough information about the bounty hunter that had interrupted her life and sent her to jail.

            A smooth smile curls the edge of Zoya's mouth as she imagines what the young guard must've thought when he showed up to that indistinct pile of rocks, "The ones that look like a droid," and seen no one waiting for him. She can't even make herself feel bad for him. A guard that takes to liking prisoners and setting them free won't last long in the real world. It'll chew him up and spit him out before he even has a chance to beg.

            Zoya shakes her head. "Idiot."

            Just as the words escape her lips, the door shoots inwards once again, and she presses herself to the wall, swearing mentally at her carelessness. Thankfully, the Mandalorian bounty hunter doesn't see her and walks out, turning down another pathway in the gray town with its filthy cobblestones and quiet, observant people.

            Zoya, of course, follows him.

            As she does, she becomes even more sure that he's the one that had caught her. His stride, the way he holds himself, even how everyone else looks at him—they're all clues that sink in and turn her belief concrete.

            He strides ahead of her down the street, the long gun strapped to his back underneath his brown cloak, steps confident and never unsure in their path. Whispers follow him, catching at his heels, but the bounty hunter barely looks at them; the back of his helmet just intelligibly shifts from side to side as he walks, which shows that he's paying attention, but it's not enough to be blatantly obvious to those around him.

            Remaining a good distance back, Zoya edges around small groups gathered on the outsides of buildings, keeping an eye on the back of his helmet. He stops at an alcove and glances back over his shoulder. Zoya fights the instinct to duck away from the impenetrable stare and keeps moving, trying to look unremarkable. It's impossible to tell whether he looks at her or not, as the helmet doesn't even leave the slightest glimpse of his eyes visible.

            After a quick beat, he ducks out of view.

            She jumps forward automatically but holds herself back. If she rushes into that place—whatever it is—right after him, it'll be suspicious. Very suspicious.

            With that in mind, she moves forward casually, trying not to draw any attention from the other humans and species frequenting the streets. Some look at her curiously, for her face is almost entirely covered, drawing some attention that she'd rather not attract. Stepping closer to the wall as she moves towards where the bounty hunter disappeared, Zoya keeps her eyes low and posture hunched until, finally, she reaches the alcove he'd vanished into.

            Warily, she looks around the corner to see a long red cut of cloth hung over a doorway, tucked away behind the stone wall. It doesn't seem like a place where many people go, but perhaps it could be a cantina or something of the like. Nevertheless, she pulls it to the side, revealing a flight of steps that vanishes into shadow.

            Carefully, Zoya descends the staircase into the darkness, looking around, eyes wide and refusing to adjust to the dark. After a few steps in, the cloth door swinging closed over the opening, she can barely see anything. A thin shaft of light illuminates the floor in front of her, coming from somewhere to her left. It makes it harder for her eyes to adjust, and she squints, stepping forward, feet quiet.

            "Hello?" she says warily.

            It proves to be a mistake.

            The sound of boots scuffing on the floor is her only warning before a hand closes around her throat, pinning her to the wall. All she can see is a silhouette, illuminated by the light coming from further in.

            "What the fuck are you doing down here?" the person snarls.

            The light glints off his head in a way that makes Zoya realize he's wearing a helmet. Swallowing, she feels panic rise. "I-I'm sorry," she says, making her voice tremble. "I thought-I thought I-is this not the cantina?"

            "No, it's not a fucking cantina," the man snaps. "What the hell are you doing down here?"

            "I-I'm sorry, I-I haven't been here long," she stutters. "I thought this was some-someplace else."

            There's a silence that follows where all Zoya can hear is an echoing from further in and the sound of her heart beating against the cage of her ribs. She can safely assume that he's either planning to kill her or falling for her act. She tries to remain still, small, unthreatening, a mouse in the clutches of a panther. Finally, his grip on her neck loosens.

            "Don't come down here again," he warns. "This is a private area."

            "O-okay," she says, nodding fervently.

            He shoves her unceremoniously towards the steps, and Zoya catches herself after stumbling forward, trying to make herself look as small as possible as she hurries back up the stairs, mind whirring at lightspeed.

            Zoya pushes through the hanging cloth, the sunlight biting relentlessly at her irises. She shades her eyes, squinting in the brightness, heart still pounding from the close call and the pressure increasing dangerously around her throat. Unconsciously, Zoya raises a hand to touch her neck, wincing automatically.

            As she moves away from the alcove, she looks back, eyebrows furrowing. "What the hell was that?"

｡･:*:･ﾟ✧ ｡･:*:･ﾟ

hope you enjoyed the first chapter!

also, i hate to be this person, but pls don't be afraid to comment! it's super encouraging and i love reading thru & replying ♡