"My loyalty is to the contract. The enemy of my employer is my enemy, too"
- Boba Fett to Imperial Lieutenant Manech, 9 months BBY

The galaxy was forever changing, its people even more so. Empires rose and fell, heroes were born and killed, governments toppled and replaced.
Some people managed to remain ontop of their game despite these things, centered around current events but detached just enough to adapt and make the change work to an advantage. The days of the Empire had been prosperous for many, balanced with direness for many more, but they'd provided a reason for being, whether it had been fighting for a stable and secure society, or the freedom of enslaved worlds.
And of course, there were the opportunists. Beurocrats willing to fill their coffers by any means necessary, Imperial officers looking to gain leverage over superiors and climb the ranks, criminals who would use the tense climate to mask their activities and grow powerful. But as with all things, the Empire could not last forever.
Some still yearned for the return of the Imperial might, clinging hopelessly and desperately to a long-faded dream, their attempts to bring about their former glory somewhat piteous in their poor execution. The New Republic was undeniably cemented as the successor and eliminator of the Empire, and to deny that was to remain stuck in the past, doomed to reminisce and in turn, be forgotten.

For one man, being forgotten wasn't a good way to go. He hadn't finished fulfilling his fathers legacy. Hell, he didn't even know if he'd started.
Some people yearned for the return of the Empire; Boba Fett had quickly learned to live without it. He'd made a name for himself among that regime during its heyday, but he'd found little enjoyment in that fact; his reputation was just another tool in his arsenal, and he wasn't about to let it inflate his ego to the point of over-confidence. He'd seen it happen to other people, people with promise. Hunters who'd gained a lucky disposition over a high-priced mark, let it go to their head, only to turn up floating in sewage on some back-water world a few weeks later.
Egotism and lust for credits didn't go hand in hand; better to be alive to spend a handful of credits, than be dead with a fortune to your name.
Fett had often found that the key difference between himself and other 'associates' was that he held a measure of respect for his targets; respect for the desperation of a hunted man, respect for the lethality of an unpredictable situation, and respect for the other people involved.
To this end, he'd decided to draw out the hunt for Shysa; the man was a cunning warrior, by all accounts, and it wouldn't be very smart to go charging into Keldabe and shooting Shysa infront of his people. He hadn't even let it be known yet that he was hunting the man; usually a well-placed word in the ear of the right person could drive a mark into a panic, priming them for a quick and clean take-down. But not Shysa; Fett knew too much about the Mandalorian mentality to think he could flush this particular target out with simple mind-games.

Coming out of his reverie, Fett took a moment to check his HUD, examining the dimly-lit room around him and keeping track of a few particular patrons of note. On the bar, a pair of Twi'lek twins gyrated around grimy metal poles, their dull expressions and slow movements indicating more than just unwilling participation; they were intoxicated, as were half the people in the club.
Fett shifted his weight, onto his new leg, courtesy of Taun We. He felt his boots resisting as they pulled free from the tacky floor, home to a build-up of dirt from years of spilled drinks and violent exchanges. This place was dirty, and from the looks of its customers, so was the clientele.
Blink-activating his helmets visual and audio adjusters, he compensated for the low lighting and filtered out much of the background noise; much of it was drunken rambling and jeering, and while a drunk tongue was a loose tongue, he wasn't here for information tonight. This particular venture was a simple side-trip, to pick up a notable bounty that he'd heard word of while here on Tresidiss. One could say he was simply in the neighbourhood.
His helmet scanner picked up various faces from around the room, linking them to possible matches of current bounties and displaying them before his eyes on his HUD. Some were mis-matches, though with certain species it could be difficult to ascertain identity based solely on appearance. Others were small-time crooks, wanted by even smaller clients for minimal credit value.
One stood out among the crowd, and according to the information displayed before him, Fett could only surmise that the Devaronian in question was either unaware of the price on his head, or not at all bothered. Either way, he wasn't the being that Fett was here for; it would seem that the man lurking nearby had already tagged that particular merchandise. For a fleeting moment, Fett observed the young stalker; there were slight errors in the way he conducted himself, but, Fett surmised, he was used to looking for particular nuiances and actions that gave away a man's intent. To a bar full of drugged and drunk gamblers, the small-time rookie would look like a simple traveller hoping to get lucky with the wine and women the establishment had to offer.

Observing nobody else of note, other than the strategically placed plain-clothes security guards, Fett decided to make his move. The owner of this establishment was Cadman Aric, known for his routine appearances at the gambling tables, was wanted by his Herglic benefactors for the credit he owed and had long since squandered trying to make a profit. After a brief discussion, the Herglic had decided that they would have no problem paying Fett the equal amount as was owed to them by their slippery target, as long as he saw to it that no more problems arose from this particular target. Fett told them that if they didn't want the bad publicity that would result from being tied to Cadman's death, then they should quietly leave town for the night. The Herglic didn't know what Fett was planning, only that he'd promised that Cadman Aric would get his come-uppance, and Fett would have his reward.
Dead it is, then, he'd thought to himself. Killing didn't bother him so much; it was part of the job. Though he would prefer to take a bounty alive if the option was preferable to the client, some marks proved too dangerous and too unpredictable in transit. Some marks were just unlucky, such as the barve he was currently hunting.
Once again his thoughts returned to Shysa. Taun We had been specific in requesting him dead, for crimes against Kamino many years ago.
"And what happens when you want me dead, for my crimes against Kamino? Who will you hire then?" he'd asked, referring to the time he'd accepted a job from the Empire, to return to Kamino and quash a potential uprising of newly-bred clones, and retrieve any remaining samples of his fathers DNA. His DNA.
But, the Kaminoan being as stoic and practical as ever, had decided that Fett was simply doing what he'd had to do; that his actions weren't malicious, they were impersonal. Shysa and the other Mandalorians involved... that was apparently a different story.
Only after accepting the job had Fett been plagued with thoughts of his Father, Jango. The only man Boba had ever looked up to, Jango Fett was proud of his heritage, and often spoke of young Boba as his 'legacy', the same way he'd continued Jaster Mereel's legacy in leading the Mandalorians against the Death Watch and, for all intents and purposes, driving them from power at the cost of his own freedom and nearly his own life.

So far, the only legacy Boba had continued was one of blood and money. He'd tried marriage, many years ago, but ultimately it hadn't worked out. He didn't like people getting under his helmet. And so, he hadn't stopped to look back, ever forging his way forward from one mark to another, building up a reputation and a fortune with little care for either, until now; the hunt to kill the one man, the one hope, for his Father's people.
He'd tried for days to bring himself to care; but he just couldn't. Somehow, he knew, Jango Fett wouldn't have wanted his son to lead a life that wasn't his own, to forever live in the shadows of his Father and reduce himself to being a vessel for the reputation of a dead man.
When the music dipped, Fett noticed, despite his audio filters; it was the cue for the club owner, a thin human with thinner hair and a smattering of stubble, to emerge and take his place at the head of the gambling tables. As was customary for these types, his slight presence was punctuated by hulking bodyguards; in this case, a pair of Weequay.
Strong but stupid, Fett noted.
"Who will play me this lovely night?" the owner boomed, gesturing for the Twi'lek dancers to join him. They slid from the bar and lethargically draped themselves over the chairs at either side of him, staring away at some unseen hallucination or simply too mind-numbed to move any further. "Come on, somebody pick the game and the stakes, don't be shy!"
Fett waited a moment, then stepped forward, a barely-audible jangle of spurs as he made his way through a clearing in the crowd.
"What's this, a Mandalorian? Come, come, take a seat and lay down the terms" the owner smiled, though Fett could see his smile was veiling a hungry jeer; this man was addicted to coin, and his eagerness to play, when taking into account his large debt, suggested he was probably going to cheat his way through whatever game Fett played. He didn't deny the assumption of his being a Mandalorian; he did, afterall, wear the armour, so it was a part he could play reasonably well infront of uneducated patrons.
"Tell me your name, good sir" the owner beamed as Fett took a seat, somewhat awkwardly owing to his jetpack.
"Jaster Mereel" he growled, laying his EE-3 carbine on the table. "And yours?"
"Cadman Aric, at your service. Come, won't you take off your helmet?" the owner asked, faltering slightly as he offered a handshake, only to have Fett ignore it.
"Not on your life" Fett replied calmly, placing both hands on the table, keeping his helmet's visor fixed on Cadman while he checked out the 360 degree visual on his HUD. The plainclothes security guards had, predictably, tightened in on the gambling table, and a fair few customers had also pressed in to see the nights exchange.
"Ahh, I like it! Fighting Mandalorian spirit! I don't doubt that you'll be a rare challenge, Mr Mereel" Cadman declared. He gestured to one of his Weequay, and murmered something inaudible into the bodyguards ear; even without audio enhancement, Fett knew it was an order to check out 'Jaster Mereel's' credentials. Well, too bad; once he finds out I'm not who I say I am, it'll be far too late.

"So," Cadman continued, after his jovial appraisal was met with lukewarm chuckles from the crowd behind Fett, "what's it gonna be?"
"Sabaac, three card hand, no value freezes" Fett said instantly. "Five rounds, Idiots Array trumps all".
"And the stakes?"
"Five thousand credits per round, and an extra ten thousand to the winner" Fett said. He knew Cadman didn't have such funds; he also knew Cadman would play anyway, though the way he'd paled in the last few seconds told Fett that the other man couldn't think of a way to cheat his way through this one.
"Very well... stakes on the table" Cadman said after a moment, recomposing himself in the process. Fett noded his head once, removing his EE-3 from the table, and producing a credit chip, pre-programming it for five thousand credits for the first round. He showed it to Cadman, who did the same, then placed the chip on the table. Momentarily, a dealer appeared from one of the side rooms, and dealt the players their first hand.
"May the best man win" Cadman said in a low voice.

Added (23 Jul 2010, 12:30 PM)
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The game went on for two hours before the competitors reached their final round; two hours, but to Fett, it felt more like ten. The game was tedious, and he saw little merit to it. Perhaps to more experienced or enthusiastic players, there was some deeper strategy, but as far as he could tell, it relied mostly on luck and guess-work, as well as looking out for the other player calling his bluff.
Cadman Aric had seemingly thought out his cheating strategy, too. He'd allowed Fett to win the first round, his -19 beating Cadman's score of 17. The second round, he'd ploughed right over Fett with a winning hand of -23, a pure sabacc, as opposed to Fett's -20. The third had once again gone in Cadman's favour, while Fett had won round four within minutes, with a score of 23, a pure sabacc of his own.

Fett studied his cards, their values shifting from time to time, though he now held little interest in the game. Now, it was all about drawing things out, giving Cadman time to mull things over, count his fortunes. Fifty-thousand credits lay on the table, with the promise of an extra ten-thousand for the victor. Cadman could have cleaned house in the fourth round, pulling a third victory over Fett's one, but Fett knew Cadman needed this fortune to pay off his debts. No, he'd let Fett win, to raise the stakes and claim the prize at the end.
And Fett was all too happy to allow it; infact, he wanted Cadman to win.
While his opponent studied his own cards, frowning from time to time, Fett took the opportunity to scan the room around him. The young rookiee hunter he'd spotted earlier had apparently given up on the hunt for now, and joined the crowd in watching the tense final moments of the game. The two Twi'lek girls, having grown bored of the game, had disappeared to entertain a drunken Rodian at the bar. Cadman's Weequay flunkie still hadn't returned; this troubled Fett somewhat, though if there'd been cause for alarm, he'd have known it by now.
He once again examined his own cards, and sighed inwardly to himself; this had gone on long enough.
"I call it" he said, picking his highest value cards; The Mistress of Staves, a 4 of Staves, and a 3 of Swords.
He watched with dismay as the 3 of Swords shifted values to a 6 of Staves, the moment Cadman put his cards down. Fett had a pure sabacc; he'd unwittingly won the game.
Cadman, however, was smiling.

"Game ends, pure sabacc to Idiots Array" the dealer said, and the crowd gasped; Cadman had the Idiots Array, a hand containing the Idiot card, a 2 of Coins and a 3 of Coins.
Fett felt his anguish fade; he wouldn't have to improvise a new plan.
"Idiots Array trumps all" Cadman stated proudly. "You play a good game, Mereel".
"Congratulations. Shall we settle up?" Fett asked, managing to keep an edge of impatience out of his tone.
"My my, so eager to lose your credits?" Cadman laughed. "Perhaps another round, a chance for you to win back what you've lost, double or nothing?"
Don't push your luck, slime, Fett thought to himself. "I'll decline" he muttered, standing up. Cadman shrugged and picked up the pre-programmed credit chips, each reading 25,000.
"The privacy of my office, then" Cadman relented, taking a bow for posterity, then leading the way to a door at the back of the club.
Fett followed, shouldering his EE-3 and casually brushing past awed spectators. Not many of them looked him in the faceplate, and those who did quickly looked away again. Fett knew of the general opinion on Mandalorians; that they were thugs who would just as soon kill a man as look at him. He couldn't say he had any argument against this, having never really met a Mandalorian since his youth. The ones he'd known had been hard men, but he doubted they were anywhere near as brutal as they were made out to be. They were bastardised by their reputation; and if, by wearing their armour, that reputation was passed along to him in places where people didn't recognise him, then so be it.
"I've never had the pleasure of meeting a Mandalorian before" Cadman was saying, dragging Fett from his thoughts. "I thought I'd end up with a blaster-bolt in the head for a moment there".
"I think you'll find the general consensus on what makes a Mandalorian is greatly exaggerated" Fett replied. And inaccurate, he added in his thoughts. All his bounty hunting life, he'd had to contend with the notion that he was a Mandalorian. It often served his purposes to let such assumptions run their course, but after forty years he was beginning to feel tired of it. He'd never been Mandalorian, despite his lineage and upbringing. Even the armour didn't denote anything to him other than a homage to his father, and the practicality that the suit offered, though after so long he couldn't imagine life without it. It had become his face, his skin, his identity.
He'd heard tell that the Mandalorians looked upon him as a disgrace; he could care less.
"Sixty-thousand credits in one sitting... you must be a rich man, to throw that away" Cadman Aric continued. Fett was growing irritated by the man.
"Thirty-thousand" he corrected. "Twenty-five of it was yours". And the other thirty-five is enough to clear your debts with the Herglic.

They entered Cadman's office, followed by one of the Weequay guards; the other was already waiting, sat at a terminal which Fett couldn't see properly. Predictably, Cadman strode over to the terminal and hunched over it, exchanging words with his confused guard. Fett caught snippets of the heated, hushed exchange, and smirked to himself as Cadman cast a glance over his shoulder at him.
"Is there a problem?" Fett asked.
"Not at all" Cadman replied. Fett admired how quickly the club owner composed himself. The Weequay was working again at the terminal, no doubt having been told to double-check his search. "So, let's settle up. Are you adding the extra ten to the credit chip?"
"I'd prefer to. I don't carry loose creds around with me in places like this" Fett replied, holding out a hand for his credit chip. Cadman handed it over like a man being forced to part with the keys to his new speeder, as though he'd never see them again.
Fett adjusted the amount on the chip, then handed it back, to Cadman's obvious relief.
"Pleasure doing business with you, Mr Mereel..."
"Uh boss..." the Weequay interrupted, approaching Cadman with a datapad. He showed the display to Cadman, who seemed at the end of his tether with the guard.
Fett remained silent, allowing the situation to play out. Cadman checked the datapad, visibly paled, and refreshed the screen. Nervous seconds ticked by, and Cadman's gaze flicked from the pad, to Fett, then to the pad again. Finally, he let out a strained laugh.
"My bodyguard here seems to, uh... believe you are dead" he choked. "Infact he believes you've been dead for a fair few years".
"I've been rumoured dead once or twice" Fett replied, folding his hands at his belt.
"Are you playing games with me?"
"Perhaps".
"I'd kindly ask you to stop, then, sir".
"As you wish" Fett relented, unfolding his hands, and levelling his EE-3 on Cadman. "My contractor wishes me to inform you that you should have been smarter with your loans, and that they've decided to terminate their business dealings with you".

If Fett had a deci-cred for each time he'd seen Cadman go pale in the last few hours, he'd be even wealthier than he already was. Normally he didn't like to toy with his target; he prefferred a quick and clean kill, but in some cases such as this one, it was required that he send a message. The Herglic who owned the sector in which Cadman ran his club had also wished not to be tied to Cadman's death, so Fett knew the Weequay bodyguards had to go, too, having heard the exchange. Luckily, he knew what kind of stunt they'd pull before he'd even raised his blaster, and as each moved to unholster hold-out blasters of their own, Fett downed them both with shots to the head.
Cadman, it seemed, wasn't going to come quietly, and Fett had banked on it. The owner slipped through a concealed doorway at the far end of the room, and into the gloom beyond.
And Fett knew where the scum was headed. Silently, he scrolled across the icons on his HUD, confirming on his radar that the tracer-pin he'd slotted into his credit chip before the game was infact headed in the direction of the Herglic holding house. Then, without further hesitation, he stepped out into the street, and followed at a discreet distance.
It felt almost too easy; sometimes he wondered why clients came to him, when the same job could be done by less experienced hunters. Granted, the job wouldn't be done with the same flair, and there'd probably be loose ends to tie up afterward, but for a fraction of the cost of hiring Fett.
As for any loose ends occurring on his mission... he'd publicly lost a game of sabacc under the guise of a Mandalorian. It would be safe to assume that he'd murdered Cadman's bodyguards, and when the owner had fled to the Herglic holding house for protection, he'd been gunned down by the same man. The Herglic wouldn't be tied to it, and their reputation would remain intact, though forever threatening and dubious in the eyes of any others that may try and swindle the gambling ring-leaders.
The streets were thanklessly empty; it was a quiet night, not the peak of the season, meaning Fett had less options for losing himself. On the flip-side, he could keep Cadman in visual range without having to rely on his tracking equipment, and every nervous glance Cadman shot over his shoulder only panicked him more when he saw the bounty hunter still stalking him.

Finally, the target stumbled down an alley, and all but fell against the locked doors leading into the holding house of the Herglic. He banged frantically, eyes wide with terror, breath coming in short, frightened gasps.
"Let me in!" he yelled, slamming his fists so hard he threatened to pound a dent into the durasteel plating. "Let me in! I have your money!"
Nothing. No reply, no rushing of heavy feet, no welcoming lights shining through transparisteel windows. Just empty silence.
"I have the money, just call this guy off me! I HAVE THE MONEY!"
"Guess again". Fett slammed Cadman face-first into the doors, and the man crumpled, dropping the credit chips; one of them landed face-up on the floor, its display flashing a violent red 'transaction denied; account does not exist'. Cadman whimpered, beads of sweat mingling with the tears running down his cheeks. The man was terrified for his life. Fett regarded him with something resembling pity. Not pity for his situation, but pity that any man could settle for such a base and degrading existence, leading him to end up on the current most wanted list of the galaxy's most feared hunter.
"You're Fett, aren't you..." Cadman sniffled, his nose leaking a fine stream of blood. Fett didn't know if it was from being pushed into the door, or nervousness. "They'd only hire the best... to take care of me..."
"I was in the neighborhood. You're nothing, Cadman. Just a refreshment course".
This seemed to be the final straw for Cadman; all confidence and composure diminished, he lunged at Fett, brandishing a small knife that Fett could only guess had been hidden up his sleeve among his sabacc cards, and aimed straight for the jugular. Fett side-stepped and grabbed Cadman's wrist so tightly that his fingers sprang open and he dropped the weapon, then slammed his palm into the man's elbow, snapping his arm with a sick pop. Cadman screamed and fell to his knees, while Fett unholstered his EE-3 and pressed the muzzle against the back of Cadman's head.
"I can offer you double..." Cadman whimpered.
"I sincerely doubt that".
A blaster shot rang through the night, and after that, all fell silent.

"The body should wash up in a day or two. I've sent the full recording, for your viewing pleasure".
"Excellent, Fett. This will teach people not to make fools of the Herglic, and expect to get..."
"I expect payment in full by the time I check my account" Fett interrupted, in no mood to listen to the gloating tirade. The way some of them go on, you'd think they'd done all the work, he thought to himself. He cut the connection to his clients, officially ending all business with them. No... not all. As he climbed the boarding ramp into the cargo hold of Slave I, he connected to the HoloNet via his helmet uplink, and accessed his account. Sixty-thousand credits had been wired to his holdings on Aargau. They hadn't wasted time. Probably don't wanna end up as my next targets, he mused.
Heading through to the cockpit, he climbed into the pilots chair, and strapped in, bringing the ships systems out of standby. Flicking the navicomputer online, he studied a starmap of the galaxy, and silently plotted where to begin his next hunt...