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Rio Valenta, human male, 27 years old, from the Outer Rim planet of Antalion. Orphaned at a young age, followed by a series of pointless misconducts and violent altercations until an older male Togruta notices his potential and plucks him from the slums of Antalion with the intention of introducing him to the criminal underworld and carving him into a skilled, savage soldier. The petty thefts become long cons, and the aggravated assaults become ransoms, extortions, and, sometimes, murders.
In some ways, Rio’s life path closely mirrors his own. Except these days, Rio spends his days in an infernal cycle of shakedowns, shootouts, brawls, sex, money, alcohol. After his old gang fell apart due to a change of leadership and in-fighting, he joined the Drumens on the planet of Istek led by a man named Tylo Drumen. Six months with them, and he’s earned his place with his new family — and Cassian has acquired the intel he came for. Now it’s just a matter of making his exit. What makes this difficult is that Tylo is a particularly paranoid and possessive bastard who likes to keep a close eye on his lovers. Which means Cassian — or Rio — is shadowed everywhere he goes.
It’s almost ironic. Tylo is expecting unfaithfulness, but he has no idea about the true nature of it.
It happens late one night at the bar which doubles as the gang hideout, long after the last patron has left the building. Cassian sits at the counter, nursing his Tevraki whiskey as Joost, the bartender, a big bald guy in a white tank top, wipes down the tables, muttering something under his breath in a language that Cassian can’t hear nor understand. He glances at the chrono on his wrist, sighs, and throws back the rest of his drink. Time to call it a night.
He stands from the barstool, jacket loosely hanging from his fingers, and calls out a goodbye to Joost. Before he could take another step, the door bursts open.
Three masked figures stroll inside with their blasters drawn, and the one in the middle yells, “This is a robbery! Hands in the air! Don’t fucking move.”
He exchanges a glance with Joost who, with an impassive expression, slowly puts down his towel and lifts his hands. Cassian does the same. Neither of them is inexperienced in a fight, but three trigger-happy strangers pointing their blasters at you are not good odds.
One of the robbers begins to knock tables and chairs over, while another walks up to him, keeping their weapon trained at his head. Through the mask, all he can see are gray eyes and thin-set lips. But the figure is short with a slim build. He might be able to overpower them if they didn’t hold a blaster.
The one who yelled at them, the one who seems to be in charge of the operation — a woman with a faintly Core World accent — approaches Joost and shoves her gun against his temple. “You’re Joost, right?” He merely grunts in response. “Be a good boy, Joost, and go open that safe for me behind the portrait.”
Joost tries to play dumb at first, but Cassian can tell it’s pointless. “The what?”
She growls, her finger brushing the trigger as she pushes her blaster firmer against Joost’s forehead. “The safe behind the portrait. Now!”
Joost sighs. He walks behind the bar, removes the portrait of Tylo Drumen’s father, then pauses to look back at the faceless woman who followed closely behind. “You have no idea who you’re messing with,” he says simply. The woman says nothing but grazes the trigger again, waiting. Joost shrugs and turns back to punch in the safe code.
It opens with a click, revealing stashes of credits, gold, and jewelry inside. Cassian detects a delighted spark in the woman’s eyes as she takes in the sight. The third robber who’s successfully finished trashing the place joins them and hands Joost a bag who starts emptying the contents of the safe without instruction. As the attention shifts to the loot, Cassian’s hand ever so slowly drifts towards the blaster holstered on his thigh.
“Faster,” the ringleader growls at Joost, then jerks her head at Cassian. “You, pretty boy. Help him.”
Pretty boy.
He resists a scoff and joins the trio behind the counter, but when he reaches them, his hand makes a grab for his gun.
The butt of a blaster cracks him across the head, splitting his forehead open. He hisses, his hand jerking up to touch his bruise. His fingers come away bloody, but it’s a skin wound. The bigger problem now is the murderous look in the ringleader’s eyes as she grabs his shirt and yanks him closer, pressing her gun to his neck.
“You think you’re so smart, huh?” she hisses into his face. “You’ll fetch a pretty price with the hutts, pretty boy.” Without releasing him, she turns to her accomplices, barking orders at them. “Finish this and tie him up. We need to get out of here.”
The other two finish emptying the safe, then make quick work of Joost while the ringleader watches, holding him tightly against her. The blaster at his neck remains a constant threat. Even with the possibility of being sold to the hutts, he doesn’t dare push his luck right now.
When they’re done, she moves her blaster to his side and uses it to nudge him forward and guide him out the door. She forces him into the speeder waiting outside, and they finally remove their masks as it takes off. Two humans, — a man and a woman — and a male Zabrak. His eyes linger on the woman driving the speeder, the ringleader, but he doesn’t comment. He stays silent the whole ride until she parks the speeder on an outcrop outside the city limits and turns to her associates.
“Like we agreed on,” she says, her voice hard and her eyes harder. Almost as if she was daring them to challenge her. “We each get a third of the cut.”
Cassian thinks they’d be a fool to disagree with her, but they don’t. Perhaps they see the same threat written on her face that he does because the division of the loot goes smoothly. Each of them loaded up with their share, the human nods and opens the speeder door, but the Zabrak — roughly in his 30s with dark, distrustful eyes — pauses and nods towards Cassian. “And him?”
She grins. “Like I said. He’ll sell for a pretty price with the hutts.”
“I didn’t sign up for slavery —”
Her blaster whirrs to life before either of them has a chance to blink. She doesn’t shoot, but the look in her eyes is a warning. Cassian has no doubt she will. “Don’t make a stupid mistake,” she whispers with a cool edge to her tone that makes him shiver. “Take your cut and walk away.”
The human tugs on the jacket of the Zabrak who throws one last look in Cassian’s direction before letting himself be pulled out of the speeder. As soon as the door shuts closed, she takes off, and Cassian finally lets himself really look at her with an incredulous expression.
“I’ve had simpler extractions,” he says as a conversation starter.
Jyn throws him a grin, a little too proud. “Had to improvise somehow. Not my fault you charmed your way into that mob boss’s life a little too well.”
He rolls his eyes. “He just wanted to control me — charm had nothing to do with it.”
“Well, kidnapping seemed like a great solution.” She shrugs. “And I earned us some credits on top of it. Draven should be proud.”
“And what about those two?”
“They were just in it for the score. They know nothing, don’t worry. It’s why I was a little late. Had to find someone reliable to work with.” Jyn parks the speeder at the edge of the forest and turns to him. “We’ll walk the rest of the way. The ship isn’t far.” But when their eyes meet, she frowns. “What’s wrong?”
He huffs out a small laugh, almost amused. Almost tells her it’s nothing. Six months, and she can still read him too damn easily. Against his better judgment, the realization thrills him.
Force, he’s missed her.
“Just… thought maybe you weren’t coming.” He shakes his head in an effort to dismiss the thought because it was always stupid. She came. But as the days dragged on with the pre-set extraction date long behind them, the fears crept in. Has Draven deemed him too risky to extract? Have they abandoned him to his fate, cut their losses, and moved on? Has Jyn accepted it without a fuss?
Stupid. She would never. Rationally, he knows that.
Sometimes, though, he just isn’t very rational.
He’s yanked out of his thoughts by Jyn grabbing his chin and making him look at her. “Doesn’t matter what Draven ordered,” she begins like she can read his thoughts, “I’d come anyway, Cassian.”
He forces himself to smile, tries to make a joke. “Go rogue?”
“I’m good at that,” she drawls, drawing a genuine huff of laughter from him before she sobers up. “But seriously. I… I’d never leave you.” Her eyes bore into his, the air between them charged with… something. His whole body heats up. Suddenly, he’s all too aware that she’s still holding his face, and his whole world narrows down to that single point of contact.
As if she’s just remembered the same, she drops her hand like it burned. She clears her throat, and her gaze flits to the controls, a little uncomfortable, but he doesn’t look away.
“I know,” he says, his voice deep. And he does. Some insecurities are hard to shake — but Jyn has never let him down before. “I know.”
“Good,” she mutters, still facing away from him. “I’m sorry I hit you with the blaster.”
Cassian chuckles and pointedly tries not to dwell on the fact that it was a little hot. There’s something deeply wrong with him, for certain.
“I think I’ll survive,” he begins, his voice teasing, “as long as you promise not to sell me to the hutts.”
She punches his arm, but a smile tugs on her mouth. “Jury’s still out on that.”