Aboard the Convor
Mirage tears through the clouds, angling the Convor hard toward the spaceport. The control tower blares in her ear, demanding identification, landing authorization—anything. She ignores it. They’re background noise, just like the pain blaring from her wounded abdomen.
Raul is already waiting on the platform when she sets the ship down with a jarring hiss of hydraulics. He doesn’t waste time asking the obvious, just eyes the unfamiliar ship as he climbs in, slipping into the co-pilot’s seat next to her.
As soon as the landing gear retracts, he finally speaks. “I assume you have a plan?”
Mirage grips the yoke tighter, eyes locked ahead. “Yeah. I talk. I bargain. I get my ship back.”
Raul exhales sharply. “You think Bossk came here just to give you a friendly deal?”
She doesn’t answer—just punches the throttle, sending them burning back through the atmosphere. The Convor vibrates as they clear the pull of Veelo, and her scanners light up. She toggles the flight mode. The wings rotate around the cockpit to a vertical configuration, keeping the engines to the sides.
"What just happened?" Raul asks as he grips the armrests and leans forward, looking out the cockpit glass.
Mirage tests the engines. They swivel and rotate, allowing her to move along any axis. She pulls a handle back toward her and the ship moves in reverse at a forward thrust speed.
"Holy hell. You weren't kidding, Scope!" Mirage exclaims.
She executes a few maneuvers to get a feel of the ship. Raul watches as the wings and engines rotate and twist to accommodate each flight trajectory.
"The current flight controls will not function without me," Scope chirps from his socket.
"Is that a threat?" Mirage glances back.
Scope whistles low.
The Hound’s Tooth looms ahead.
Mirage narrows her eyes, fingers dancing over the comms panel. She opens a channel. Static hisses for a long moment before the holo-projector flickers to life. The scaly, predatory visage of Bossk materializes on her dash.
A slow, deliberate hiss rolls from his throat. “You must be Mirage.” A pause. Then, amusement threads through his tone. “You must be the one sent here to kill me.”
Mirage stills.
“That’s not why I’m here, Bossk,” she says evenly. “I came for a bounty.”
She slots in the puck, transferring the data over. Bossk’s nostrils flare as he skims the information. He mutters something to himself in Dosh, then leans closer to the projector.
“It seems we have had an unfortunate coincidence,” he drawls. “I am here for Sylar Saris as well. But for… personal businesss.”
Mirage’s jaw tightens. “He’s dead. Get to the point.”
The Convor slows as she angles it just out of reach of the Hound’s Tooth’s forward cannons.
“Ssaris stole something from a friend of mine,” Bossk continues. “Two unique metal bars. They need to be returned to their rightful owner.”
Mirage glances down at the Beskar ingot and blades beside her. Her fingers brush over the cool metal.
“Beskar,” she mutters. Then, over the channel, “I have a single bar. And some Beskar knives he had.”
Behind her, a voice crackles through the comms—raw, urgent.
“Mirage, don’t trade with him! He’s not gonna—”
The holoprojection cuts out. The pulsing blue haze flickers empty on her dash. Then the sound comes through—screams, sharp and electric. Mirage’s stomach twists. Her pulse hammers. The holoprojection reignites. Bossk’s slit-pupiled gaze locks onto her.
“I will give you your ship back,” he says smoothly. “In return for the Beskar items.”
Mirage grits her teeth. “Bossk, you know that’s not all I want. Don’t toy with me.”
A deep, guttural laugh rattles through the comms.
“I will give you your man as well. But you will owe me a hunter’s favor.”
Mirage stiffens.
Bossk leans in slightly, voice thick with amusement. “I was attacked in cold blood aboard your ship. A debt is owed.”
She grips the Beskar ingot tighter. “You boarded our ship. You know damn well that attack was warranted—you killed Fargo, you dumb skug!”
Her voice reverberates through the cabin. Raul’s hand clamps onto her shoulder. A grounding pressure. She jerks away, throwing him a sharp glare.
Bossk listens to the exchange, unblinking. Then, after a beat—
“I will be waiting.”
The holo cuts out. Outside, the Hound’s Tooth extends a docking port. Mirage exhales sharply.
“Raul, stay on the damn ship this time. Do what you need to if things go south.”
Raul stares at her, jaw set, a streak of dried blood at the corner of his mouth. He doesn’t argue. Mirage checks the Beskar items one last time, then presses the droid socket. The socket opens with a mechanical hiss, revealing Scope. She pulls her lightsaber free, slotting it into his concealed launcher.
“Scope,” she murmurs. “If you feel the pull from me, you know what to do.”
The droid whirs in response.
Mirage takes one last breath—then steps into the docking collar, Scope rolling silently at her side.
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