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Description
Garrik Vas became an Imperial Marshal after 8 years of being a stormtrooper, serving with the elite 501st Legion and later with the Imperial Shocktroopers. During his service as a stormtrooper, he received 12 commendations for valor under fire, was wounded 8 times, and fought in 6 different campaigns. For his valor and diligence as a trooper, he was given the opportunity to become an Imperial Marshal on a fringe world, and opportunity that he quickly took. Despite knowing the grim lengths that the Empire will take, Garrik sees the Empire as the best chance of galactic peace and prosperity.

When he became a marshal, he decided to leave behind his weapons from his stormtrooper days, instead taking a bryar pistol, a customized DLT-19 heavy blaster rifle, and a concealed BC003 repeater pistol as a backup gun.

Here's his story that I have written so far:

*****

Garrik Vas sighed as he scrolled through list after list of reports. No one had told him that being an Imperial marshal would have so much paper work. A gloved hand moved up to massage his temple as he continued reading through the previous marshal's logs.

He'd only recently arrived on Cauldra, a world on the fringe of imperial authority. Well, fringe was an overstatement of fact. He was the only Imperial authority in two parsecs of space, and when the shuttle dropped him off, they made sure to make a speedy departure.

Cauldra was a small mining world, prone to massive sandstorms and water shortages. It'd only been recently settled, and was the definition of a frontier world. The marshal that he was replacing, one Vrak Lassit, had only lasted two weeks before he got a blaster bolt to the back of the head. Law was virtually nonexistent, and the only semblance of law was the rule of the Hutt gang lords, and now him.

The Hutts were no friend of the Empire, Garrik thought to himself as he propped up his feet on his desk, leaning back as he continued to read reports. At least they don't actively support the rebellion, he thought, almost out loud. Garrik's gloved hand pushed aside his dark hair, still fairly short from his time as a stormtrooper before becoming a marshal. Beneath his long duster he still wore a fair bit of his armor, all on top of the black body glove. A large bryar pistol hung from a belt holster, slung low on his side. In the few weeks that he had to become a marshal, he'd grown out a short beard and mustache.

Garrik set down the report pad, and began to massage his temples with both hands. Hutts on the left, rumors of rebellion on the right, and a whole world filled with denizens that were not fans of the Empire. It made him long for the streets of the Coruscant. At least people recognized his authority there, and you knew which neighborhood was safe to walk down, and which where you'd end up disappearing for eternity, the only clue of what happened being your personal belongings just somehow ending up in the black market.

Another sigh escaped his lips, and he looked out of the window of the small prefab jailhouse. Huddled figures passed by, covering their faces from the whirling dust as they moved from building to building, shadows trying to escape the blistering heat and ceaseless sands and winds. Well, he was going to get nothing done in here, he thought with a half grin. Always best to be the boots on the ground.

Garrik stood up slowly, and grabbed a hat and respirator mask to fight off the sand and wind before braving the storm, shuddering softly at the blast of heat and wind as his door slid open with a hiss. He quickly bowed his head, and stepped out the door, the metal frame closing with another brisk hiss, and a click as it locked behind him. The man took a breath in, the mask making a hollow sucking sound as it pulled in and filtered the air, and then headed towards the bar.

Well, lets talk things out with the hutts.... He thought briefly, a slight shake of his head at the insanity of his thoughts. Hutts, working with an Imperial marshal... maybe he'd taken one too many blaster hits as a stormtrooper. His respirator hissed again as he looked around, squinting to make out the door of the nearby bar as the sands swirled ever faster and harder around him. As insane of a plan as it was, if he'd learned anything in his time as a trooper, it was that indecision leads to death. Hutts it is.

He barely made out the flickering neon sign above the bar through the swirling sands, and quickly adjusted his course. Garrik found himself leaning more and more into the winds as they billowed and buffeted him, making every step to the door a chore, requiring concentration and effort. After what seemed an eternity, he finally reached the metal portal, and let out a victorious sigh as it hissed open before him. He did not hesitate to step inside, finally getting away from the sandstorm outside. It was a welcome break, but did not offer any true respite, for the moment that he stepped through that door, Garrik knew that he'd painted a large bloody target on that shiny white trooper armor.

His hand slid down to his blaster, loosening it in a single deft movement, making it easier for access. His eyes darted across the room behind the googles of the respirator mask, looking at the many different denizens of the bar, all whom seemed to have given him their undivided attention. He slid off the mask and hat quickly, not wanting to get into a fight with it in his way.

His steely eyes gazed back at the silent patrons, returning glare for glare, staring down those staring at him in a game of silent dominance, the marshal eventually cowing the crowd through his gaze. Head after head turned back to their drinks, sending murderous side glances at the marshal as soft whispers filled the bar, but none dared look him in the eye. Good, he thought.

Garrik's head was a race of taking in details, quickly sorting out immediate threats and potential informants, instantly making notes of several patrons that he'd noticed in the previous marshal's report. The patrons were a motley crew, various races sitting huddled around small tables, holovids of dancing Twi'leks playing on several, sabacc games being played at others, almost all trying to make themselves as small and unimportant as possible, just praying that the new marshal's eye would pass them over. Several of the bar's patrons wore red scarves tied around their neck, a detail that immediately stuck out to the sheriff. A gang.

Garrik gave no appearance of heed as he made his way to the bar, his air of dominance only growing stronger as people silently moved to steer clear of the man. The bartender, a portly Toydarian sucking on a large, musty smelling Dilnlexian cigar, raised an eyebrow at the marshal.

“Eyyy, you must be the new law in town, eh?” he rumbled, his low voice booming in the unnaturally quiet bar. He flapped over towards garrick, a trail of smoke following him, not unlike an smokestack on a old world trawler. Garrik leaned on the bar, nodding to the bartender as he looked him in the eye.

“Marshal Garrik Vas.” Garrik said succinctly, nodding to the portly Toydarian. “you must be Juuko, hmm?”

The Toydarian let out a brief guffaw, and nodded. “ That is my name to my friends, marshal.” He said with a sickly grin, showing off his yellowing tusks. “Now, eh, what can I get for you today?”

Garrik smiled back, though his smile was not reflected in his eyes. A moment with his guard down would see him being dumped into a shallow grave, much like his predecessor. “a water with ice would be nice.” He said, his steely eyes locked upon the bartender.

“a water with ice, eh?” the Toydarian rumbled, raising his eyebrow, “ that will not be cheap. Alcohol is far easier to get here, friend.”

Garrik grin widened. “my money is good, friend.” he said, pulling out a small leather pouch, and dropping it on the counter, where it landed with a clink. “now, that water?”

The Toydarian's wings flapped, and the alien chewed on the cigar, his eyes showing slight agitation at the sheriff's refusal to budge. “Eh, your imperial credits are worth less than the data chit its written on!” he said, pushing the bag back towards Garrik. “Wupiupi only.”

Garrik's grin only got wider as he opened up the bag, and pulled out several of the golden coins. “Why, my rather generous friend, you seem to have underestimated me.” He said, his voice only thinly veiling the laughter in his voice, his enjoyment of playing the Toydarian's little game all to apparent in his voice.

The bartender again chewed on his cigar, not liking the fact that he'd just been shown up inside his own business. However, despite the slight, the large alien let out a laugh. “Eyyy, my friend! You are not like other imperials, eh?” the toydarian said, flapping slowly off to retrieve Garrik's drink. “ all the other marshals come in here, expecting me to take the imperial credits, see?” he bantered on, seemingly cheerful, had he not been shooting looks that could kill back towards the marshal. “Now, how does an imperial marshal come to get wupiupi?”

Garrik sat down on stool, his trenchcoat flapping back over the back. “Well, you see, I was raised on Corellia.” he said,watching Juuko slowly return with his drink. He took it before continuing, a soft happy sigh escaping his lips as he felt the cold glass against his gloves. “I was raised to know the different currencies.” he continued, before pausing a moment to take a quick sip of the cool liquid. “ I was also taught how to recognize a business ran by Hutts.”

The last little bit had exactly the effect that he thought it would. The silence was almost deafening, only the noise of the holovids and the clinking of the ice in his glass breaking the silence.

“just what are you implying?” the Toydarian finally managed to say, his blueish green skin having turned a shade of purple, his hands shaking slightly at his sides, though whether in anger or in fear Garrik could not tell.

“It's quite simple, really,” the marshal said, leaning forward. “This place screams hutt all over it. Despite the planet being officially required to use Imperial credits, you refuse and take only hutt money, you harbor known hutt gang members,” he said, grinning and tilting his head towards the group of men and aliens wearing the red bandanas.

He then leaned forward in his seat, and grinned. “however, the moment you gave it away was when you reacted so harshly to me saying that this was a hutt business.” Garrik said, an almost purr rising in his voice, the sound of satisfaction at a job well done. He then chuckled. “Now, if I were you, I'd get on the floor.”

with that, Garrik kicked off from the bar, sending his stool crashing back with him as bolts of blaster fire slammed into the wall behind where he would've been seated. One of the red scarves, a rather scowling Rodian, was standing with a smoking blaster.

As Garrik fell, it seemed like the world around him slowed. The bryar pistol fell free from it's holster, falling into his waiting hand. In one smooth motion, his arm fell in line, and he squeezed the trigger, sending a sizzling pulse of energy slamming into the chest of the Rodian, felling the alien in a single shot.

As he hit the floor, Garrik rolled backwards from the stool, keeping his motion from stopping as more of the Rodian's friends stood up to begin firing at the marshal, allowing him to roll behind a counter, blocking more returning fire from finding it's mark on Garrik.

Time suddenly seemed to resume as shouts, yells, and screams filled what had previously been a void of pure concentration, the screeching of blaster bolts rising above the din as the superheated beams of energy punched holes through the counter that Garrik was using as cover. Garrik quickly summed up the situation, years of fighting in close quarters as a stormtrooper taking over his response. He knew that sooner or later, one of those bolts would find him if he sat still. His finger squeezed down on his Bryar pistol's trigger, the pistol beginning to charge in his hand. He then leapt from cover.

Two humans and a weequay were standing around their fallen friend, their blaster pistols blasting away at the counter, too tied up with filling it with holes to know that their target was again moving. Garrik released the charged bolt of energy from his bryar pistol, the round letting out a low sizzling sound as it slammed into one of the humans' shoulder, the man getting thrown back from the energy of the blast, letting out a howl of pain as he slammed into the back wall of the bar.

His two remaining friends leapt into action, splitting up and spraying round after round at Garrik, the two trying to catch him in a crossfire. Garrik returned fire in kind, his bryar pistol's bolts sizzling through the air as they just barely missed the human, who flipped one of the tables to use as cover.

The weequay rounded fast on garrik, far faster than the marshal had been expecting, so when the blaster bolts flew so close to his head that he could feel several hairs burn as it passed by, Garrik was caught thoroughly off guard. He swore loudly, quickly switching to the weequay with his bryar pistol, firing two rounds off to get the alien to duck into cover, before diving for more cover himself.

However, the moment that Garrik had turned his attention from the human, he was up and blasting at the sheriff, his rounds hitting Garrik's cover, pinning the marshal down before he could regain his bearing. Garrik swore loudly again. This had gone worse than planned.

Blaster bolts from both red scarves slammed into the table that Garrik had dove behind, the two moving in closer for the kill, their victory seemingly assured. However, the weequay had neglected to notice how badly his blaster was overheating.

The alien pulled the trigger, expecting a blast to issue forth, but was instead greeted with a hiss of steam and a warning beep, a beep that Garrik heard. In an instant, he knew exactly what had happened, and jumped up, releasing a blast into the human approaching him, dropping the man. He hit the floor with a low groan, twitched, and was still.

Garrik then leveled the blaster at the head of the weequay, who was still struggling to get his blaster cooled off. “drop the gun, and you live.” Garrik shouted out, his aim steady at the alien. The weequay's eyes darted to the blaster leveled at his face, back to his gun, and then again to the blaster, before finally dropping the gun.

Garrik let out a sigh. “smart choice.” he growled out, stepping forward quickly, kicking away the blaster from the weequay. “hands on your head, and don't move if you value your life.”

The weequay sighed out, and followed his instructions. Garrik gave no time for the alien to reconsider his choice, cuffing the alien with magnacuffs in an instant. He then pushed the weequay to the ground with an armored boot. “now, just stay right there.”

Garrik stepped back, and looked at the wrecked bar, looking around at the patrons hiding behind overturned tables and counters. He cleared his throat loudly, calling their already undivided attention to him.

“This is my town, boys. Behave yourselves if you don't wish to end up like those boys right there.” Garrik shouted out, gesturing towards the fallen figures, his gun coming to a stop over the wounded human. The man was still groaning and writhing on the ground, holding his hand over the hole in his shoulder. Garrik then lowered his gun slightly. “now, get that man medical attention, and get him to the jail. I have your faces in my memory, so do not try to cross me.”

He then turned his attention to the alien beneath his boot and the bartender. “Now, if these boys had allowed me to finish, you would've known that I just seek a simple audience with your bosses, nothing more, nothing less.” he said, grinding his boot into the back of the weequay, smiling as the alien groaned with pain.

“and now you boys are going to take me.”

Description
Garrik Vas became an Imperial Marshal after 8 years of being a stormtrooper, serving with the elite 501st Legion and later with the Imperial Shocktroopers. During his service as a stormtrooper, he received 12 commendations for valor under fire, was wounded 8 times, and fought in 6 different campaigns. For his valor and diligence as a trooper, he was given the opportunity to become an Imperial Marshal on a fringe world, and opportunity that he quickly took. Despite knowing the grim lengths that the Empire will take, Garrik sees the Empire as the best chance of galactic peace and prosperity.

When he became a marshal, he decided to leave behind his weapons from his stormtrooper days, instead taking a bryar pistol, a customized DLT-19 heavy blaster rifle, and a concealed BC003 repeater pistol as a backup gun.

Here's his story that I have written so far:

*****

Garrik Vas sighed as he scrolled through list after list of reports. No one had told him that being an Imperial marshal would have so much paper work. A gloved hand moved up to massage his temple as he continued reading through the previous marshal's logs.

He'd only recently arrived on Cauldra, a world on the fringe of imperial authority. Well, fringe was an overstatement of fact. He was the only Imperial authority in two parsecs of space, and when the shuttle dropped him off, they made sure to make a speedy departure.

Cauldra was a small mining world, prone to massive sandstorms and water shortages. It'd only been recently settled, and was the definition of a frontier world. The marshal that he was replacing, one Vrak Lassit, had only lasted two weeks before he got a blaster bolt to the back of the head. Law was virtually nonexistent, and the only semblance of law was the rule of the Hutt gang lords, and now him.

The Hutts were no friend of the Empire, Garrik thought to himself as he propped up his feet on his desk, leaning back as he continued to read reports. At least they don't actively support the rebellion, he thought, almost out loud. Garrik's gloved hand pushed aside his dark hair, still fairly short from his time as a stormtrooper before becoming a marshal. Beneath his long duster he still wore a fair bit of his armor, all on top of the black body glove. A large bryar pistol hung from a belt holster, slung low on his side. In the few weeks that he had to become a marshal, he'd grown out a short beard and mustache.

Garrik set down the report pad, and began to massage his temples with both hands. Hutts on the left, rumors of rebellion on the right, and a whole world filled with denizens that were not fans of the Empire. It made him long for the streets of the Coruscant. At least people recognized his authority there, and you knew which neighborhood was safe to walk down, and which where you'd end up disappearing for eternity, the only clue of what happened being your personal belongings just somehow ending up in the black market.

Another sigh escaped his lips, and he looked out of the window of the small prefab jailhouse. Huddled figures passed by, covering their faces from the whirling dust as they moved from building to building, shadows trying to escape the blistering heat and ceaseless sands and winds. Well, he was going to get nothing done in here, he thought with a half grin. Always best to be the boots on the ground.

Garrik stood up slowly, and grabbed a hat and respirator mask to fight off the sand and wind before braving the storm, shuddering softly at the blast of heat and wind as his door slid open with a hiss. He quickly bowed his head, and stepped out the door, the metal frame closing with another brisk hiss, and a click as it locked behind him. The man took a breath in, the mask making a hollow sucking sound as it pulled in and filtered the air, and then headed towards the bar.

Well, lets talk things out with the hutts.... He thought briefly, a slight shake of his head at the insanity of his thoughts. Hutts, working with an Imperial marshal... maybe he'd taken one too many blaster hits as a stormtrooper. His respirator hissed again as he looked around, squinting to make out the door of the nearby bar as the sands swirled ever faster and harder around him. As insane of a plan as it was, if he'd learned anything in his time as a trooper, it was that indecision leads to death. Hutts it is.

He barely made out the flickering neon sign above the bar through the swirling sands, and quickly adjusted his course. Garrik found himself leaning more and more into the winds as they billowed and buffeted him, making every step to the door a chore, requiring concentration and effort. After what seemed an eternity, he finally reached the metal portal, and let out a victorious sigh as it hissed open before him. He did not hesitate to step inside, finally getting away from the sandstorm outside. It was a welcome break, but did not offer any true respite, for the moment that he stepped through that door, Garrik knew that he'd painted a large bloody target on that shiny white trooper armor.

His hand slid down to his blaster, loosening it in a single deft movement, making it easier for access. His eyes darted across the room behind the googles of the respirator mask, looking at the many different denizens of the bar, all whom seemed to have given him their undivided attention. He slid off the mask and hat quickly, not wanting to get into a fight with it in his way.

His steely eyes gazed back at the silent patrons, returning glare for glare, staring down those staring at him in a game of silent dominance, the marshal eventually cowing the crowd through his gaze. Head after head turned back to their drinks, sending murderous side glances at the marshal as soft whispers filled the bar, but none dared look him in the eye. Good, he thought.

Garrik's head was a race of taking in details, quickly sorting out immediate threats and potential informants, instantly making notes of several patrons that he'd noticed in the previous marshal's report. The patrons were a motley crew, various races sitting huddled around small tables, holovids of dancing Twi'leks playing on several, sabacc games being played at others, almost all trying to make themselves as small and unimportant as possible, just praying that the new marshal's eye would pass them over. Several of the bar's patrons wore red scarves tied around their neck, a detail that immediately stuck out to the sheriff. A gang.

Garrik gave no appearance of heed as he made his way to the bar, his air of dominance only growing stronger as people silently moved to steer clear of the man. The bartender, a portly Toydarian sucking on a large, musty smelling Dilnlexian cigar, raised an eyebrow at the marshal.

“Eyyy, you must be the new law in town, eh?” he rumbled, his low voice booming in the unnaturally quiet bar. He flapped over towards garrick, a trail of smoke following him, not unlike an smokestack on a old world trawler. Garrik leaned on the bar, nodding to the bartender as he looked him in the eye.

“Marshal Garrik Vas.” Garrik said succinctly, nodding to the portly Toydarian. “you must be Juuko, hmm?”

The Toydarian let out a brief guffaw, and nodded. “ That is my name to my friends, marshal.” He said with a sickly grin, showing off his yellowing tusks. “Now, eh, what can I get for you today?”

Garrik smiled back, though his smile was not reflected in his eyes. A moment with his guard down would see him being dumped into a shallow grave, much like his predecessor. “a water with ice would be nice.” He said, his steely eyes locked upon the bartender.

“a water with ice, eh?” the Toydarian rumbled, raising his eyebrow, “ that will not be cheap. Alcohol is far easier to get here, friend.”

Garrik grin widened. “my money is good, friend.” he said, pulling out a small leather pouch, and dropping it on the counter, where it landed with a clink. “now, that water?”

The Toydarian's wings flapped, and the alien chewed on the cigar, his eyes showing slight agitation at the sheriff's refusal to budge. “Eh, your imperial credits are worth less than the data chit its written on!” he said, pushing the bag back towards Garrik. “Wupiupi only.”

Garrik's grin only got wider as he opened up the bag, and pulled out several of the golden coins. “Why, my rather generous friend, you seem to have underestimated me.” He said, his voice only thinly veiling the laughter in his voice, his enjoyment of playing the Toydarian's little game all to apparent in his voice.

The bartender again chewed on his cigar, not liking the fact that he'd just been shown up inside his own business. However, despite the slight, the large alien let out a laugh. “Eyyy, my friend! You are not like other imperials, eh?” the toydarian said, flapping slowly off to retrieve Garrik's drink. “ all the other marshals come in here, expecting me to take the imperial credits, see?” he bantered on, seemingly cheerful, had he not been shooting looks that could kill back towards the marshal. “Now, how does an imperial marshal come to get wupiupi?”

Garrik sat down on stool, his trenchcoat flapping back over the back. “Well, you see, I was raised on Corellia.” he said,watching Juuko slowly return with his drink. He took it before continuing, a soft happy sigh escaping his lips as he felt the cold glass against his gloves. “I was raised to know the different currencies.” he continued, before pausing a moment to take a quick sip of the cool liquid. “ I was also taught how to recognize a business ran by Hutts.”

The last little bit had exactly the effect that he thought it would. The silence was almost deafening, only the noise of the holovids and the clinking of the ice in his glass breaking the silence.

“just what are you implying?” the Toydarian finally managed to say, his blueish green skin having turned a shade of purple, his hands shaking slightly at his sides, though whether in anger or in fear Garrik could not tell.

“It's quite simple, really,” the marshal said, leaning forward. “This place screams hutt all over it. Despite the planet being officially required to use Imperial credits, you refuse and take only hutt money, you harbor known hutt gang members,” he said, grinning and tilting his head towards the group of men and aliens wearing the red bandanas.

He then leaned forward in his seat, and grinned. “however, the moment you gave it away was when you reacted so harshly to me saying that this was a hutt business.” Garrik said, an almost purr rising in his voice, the sound of satisfaction at a job well done. He then chuckled. “Now, if I were you, I'd get on the floor.”

with that, Garrik kicked off from the bar, sending his stool crashing back with him as bolts of blaster fire slammed into the wall behind where he would've been seated. One of the red scarves, a rather scowling Rodian, was standing with a smoking blaster.

As Garrik fell, it seemed like the world around him slowed. The bryar pistol fell free from it's holster, falling into his waiting hand. In one smooth motion, his arm fell in line, and he squeezed the trigger, sending a sizzling pulse of energy slamming into the chest of the Rodian, felling the alien in a single shot.

As he hit the floor, Garrik rolled backwards from the stool, keeping his motion from stopping as more of the Rodian's friends stood up to begin firing at the marshal, allowing him to roll behind a counter, blocking more returning fire from finding it's mark on Garrik.

Time suddenly seemed to resume as shouts, yells, and screams filled what had previously been a void of pure concentration, the screeching of blaster bolts rising above the din as the superheated beams of energy punched holes through the counter that Garrik was using as cover. Garrik quickly summed up the situation, years of fighting in close quarters as a stormtrooper taking over his response. He knew that sooner or later, one of those bolts would find him if he sat still. His finger squeezed down on his Bryar pistol's trigger, the pistol beginning to charge in his hand. He then leapt from cover.

Two humans and a weequay were standing around their fallen friend, their blaster pistols blasting away at the counter, too tied up with filling it with holes to know that their target was again moving. Garrik released the charged bolt of energy from his bryar pistol, the round letting out a low sizzling sound as it slammed into one of the humans' shoulder, the man getting thrown back from the energy of the blast, letting out a howl of pain as he slammed into the back wall of the bar.

His two remaining friends leapt into action, splitting up and spraying round after round at Garrik, the two trying to catch him in a crossfire. Garrik returned fire in kind, his bryar pistol's bolts sizzling through the air as they just barely missed the human, who flipped one of the tables to use as cover.

The weequay rounded fast on garrik, far faster than the marshal had been expecting, so when the blaster bolts flew so close to his head that he could feel several hairs burn as it passed by, Garrik was caught thoroughly off guard. He swore loudly, quickly switching to the weequay with his bryar pistol, firing two rounds off to get the alien to duck into cover, before diving for more cover himself.

However, the moment that Garrik had turned his attention from the human, he was up and blasting at the sheriff, his rounds hitting Garrik's cover, pinning the marshal down before he could regain his bearing. Garrik swore loudly again. This had gone worse than planned.

Blaster bolts from both red scarves slammed into the table that Garrik had dove behind, the two moving in closer for the kill, their victory seemingly assured. However, the weequay had neglected to notice how badly his blaster was overheating.

The alien pulled the trigger, expecting a blast to issue forth, but was instead greeted with a hiss of steam and a warning beep, a beep that Garrik heard. In an instant, he knew exactly what had happened, and jumped up, releasing a blast into the human approaching him, dropping the man. He hit the floor with a low groan, twitched, and was still.

Garrik then leveled the blaster at the head of the weequay, who was still struggling to get his blaster cooled off. “drop the gun, and you live.” Garrik shouted out, his aim steady at the alien. The weequay's eyes darted to the blaster leveled at his face, back to his gun, and then again to the blaster, before finally dropping the gun.

Garrik let out a sigh. “smart choice.” he growled out, stepping forward quickly, kicking away the blaster from the weequay. “hands on your head, and don't move if you value your life.”

The weequay sighed out, and followed his instructions. Garrik gave no time for the alien to reconsider his choice, cuffing the alien with magnacuffs in an instant. He then pushed the weequay to the ground with an armored boot. “now, just stay right there.”

Garrik stepped back, and looked at the wrecked bar, looking around at the patrons hiding behind overturned tables and counters. He cleared his throat loudly, calling their already undivided attention to him.

“This is my town, boys. Behave yourselves if you don't wish to end up like those boys right there.” Garrik shouted out, gesturing towards the fallen figures, his gun coming to a stop over the wounded human. The man was still groaning and writhing on the ground, holding his hand over the hole in his shoulder. Garrik then lowered his gun slightly. “now, get that man medical attention, and get him to the jail. I have your faces in my memory, so do not try to cross me.”

He then turned his attention to the alien beneath his boot and the bartender. “Now, if these boys had allowed me to finish, you would've known that I just seek a simple audience with your bosses, nothing more, nothing less.” he said, grinding his boot into the back of the weequay, smiling as the alien groaned with pain.

“and now you boys are going to take me.”