" Ah, HellOO- ? " He reaches to knock on the other's well- head. Eyes rolling. Of course people in this galaxy were brain-dead. " Anyone in there, babycakes? I was talking to you and I'm hearing no praise in return. "

He just threw six scientists out of the airlock because one had the gall to point out that he had a hair out of place. . . . Anyway. New job openings over here at Hyperion! Guaranteed to pay more than whatever shitty job you were working before.

Hiring Bounty Hunters is great, because nothing says undying loyalty like fat stacks of cash.

" Woah. Hey. You're not Din Djarin? " He pulls a very advanced looking yellow SMG from his belt, holding it very pointedly beneath his new friend's chin. " I don't have a use for mouth assholes that aren't Din Djarin. "

(* 😘 )

Oh, don't worry. I'm cleaner than the table I'd bend you over.

He shrugs, stepping back a little, two holo forms of himself forming next to him. He doesn't look afraid, which . . . Might be a warning sign. " Don't worry. That can be arranged. "

. . . Oops. Broke the bucket-head. That's alright, he's sure he can lend that twink sniper a shoulder to cry on.

Just say fuck. Come on . . . with me. F-U-C-K. Use your big boy words.

Why waste your time making stupid clones when you can just surgically alter others to permanently look like perfectly handsome body doubles of yourself. It's much more cost effective. And you can kiss 'em.

The punch does make it past his shield, a pained grunt falling from his lips as a crack forms in his mask. Jack laughs, but it's broken, forced. " Right. I think it's time we deal with your little attitude problem. "