Mirta stares at the flaming landscape before her, as bombs continue to fall across the city. All around her, people run, scream, shout orders, or lay dying. Her father grabs hold of her wrist and continues to drag her along, her mother keeping an eye out around them as they make their way to the landing pad by their house. 'How could all this happen?' she thinks to herself as she stumbles along after her father, the shock not allowing her to really make decisions on her own. A large explosion rumbles out across the city, causing all three to crane their heads back to look at the source. A large blue fire ball belches up to the sky as the Forges of Mandalore give up their last breath. 'My beskar'gam, I was supposed to get that next week.' she thinks, even with all the death and destruction around her, shock has a funny way of messing with things. They finally get home, and both of her parents usher her into the cockpit of the family's Fang Fighter. She has thousands of hours of practice in this thing, could probably fly it blindfolded if she needed to, but this cant be right. This ship only has room for one person, and there is three of them. Both her mother and father promise to find another ship and find her, but first they need to check on the Mandalore. Mirta nods, knowing full well the responsibilities of her family, but wishing they could come with her all the same. With a quick goodbye, they both turn and run back towards the city as Mirta brings the fighter off the pad and begins heading space wards. Sparing a glance back, she watches her parents enter a building, before the building explodes...
Mirta awakes, hand outstretched, scream still on her lips as she looks out into the blue glow of hyperspace around her. She hates hyperspace, there's nothing to do but sleep, and with sleep comes the memories and guilt associated with it. Unable to save her home, her parents, unable to save the one person person she was raised to defend. Instead she ran, like a hut'uun. She curses to herself, adjusting her helmet, hating the way it sits. Nothing will compare, thought, to the artistry that is Mandalorian craftsmanship. Flipping on the fighters tiny holocom, she connects to the open bounty channel, scrolling through the marks she's seen a hundred times before. Anything to keep her from falling asleep again and reliving her guilt. They are all either not worth her time for the money, or too far away to matter. She flips off the holocom with a sigh, and opens the navicomputer to see how much longer she has till Hutt space. “Much too long still” She grumbles to herself, powering it down, letting her gaze drift out to the swirling hyperspace around her. It is beautiful, despite seeing it more often than she would care to admit. Just as she contemplates trying to get some more sleep to pass the time by, the holocom springs to life as a bounty spins in front of her. A new one, directly to her it seems, and in the direction she's heading, too!

Dutybound - 15