I had a basic idea for this when I started typing, I plan to maybe make a short story about a Xim humanist extremist(Pretty much anti-hutt, anti-alien terrorist/militarist) who finds himself on a back water which is run mostly by a single hutt. I have a plot twist in mind and everything, but if there is alot that is glaringly wrong with my first chapter then I'll scrap the project and think of something more entertaining/fun to try my first Fan Fic on.

So yeah, any constructive criticism would be greatly appreciated, and if enough of you actually like it, then I'll probably try to churn out another chapter.

But anyway, here's the first chapter of Extremist.

The prison trawler trundled through space on a slow steady and undefined course. From the exterior, the only discernible thing about it was that it was maintained in the least costly way possible, mismatching metal work and pockmarks of meteorites that had crashed violently against, but failed to penetrate, its hull showed that this vessel was indeed something of low value. The insignia on the face of its bridge was the only thing that said otherwise, it was to insignia of one of the many famous Hutt clans, any pirate or dare devil with the intention of compromising the vessel would find themselves in a far more compromising position with its owner.

On board, these rules did not apply, almost every inmate had already done something to aggravate their hutt hosts and doing it again would likely be far less of a taboo, especially when the reward for the risk was freedom.

The power had been sabotaged, every containment cell had gone down, the previously impenetrable blast doors were now merely hefty sliders that placed themselves at the end of every corridor and, not to forget, the previously imprisoned and tortured that had now turned themselves into the flowing life blood that lit up the ships barely operational life support systems. It was beautiful, remarked many of the more poetic of the inmates as the orange clad masses toiled violently against their captors.

One man, in particular, was darting down one of the many corridors on a very particular course. He was not alone as to his rear his company, ignoring the pursuing guards, was as patchwork as the hull of the ship they had each spent a morsel(some morsels larger than others) of their lives upon. There was one Nikto and one Rodian, strange company for the xenophobic terrorist, Maus, to associate himself with. However in times like these, he would often reason, such sacrifices of comfort were necessary.

They were well on course for the escape pods, attempting to wrap up their seemingly once in a lifetime chance for freedom. Maus and the Nikto skittered around the corner whilst the Rodian faltered, losing his footing for just long enough to be tackled by one of the half dozen pursuing guards. Neither Maus or the Nikto looked back at the sound of his anguished screams, they merely upped the pace of their sprint.

Respite did come eventually, they arrived at the escape pod bay in one piece. Maus’ was already feeling his endorphins pumping as they both pushed shut the blast doors. The pod bay was empty save for a few maintenance boxes and a disabled droid, the perfect reward for their marathon length sprint from the cells on the far end of the ship. The Nikto turned his attention to Maus, grinning broadly as he advanced towards the nearest pod, quickly tapping away at various.

‘You know how to launch them?’ Asked Maus, his hand raised forward apprehensively.

‘Of course, it’s easy, why else would I be here?’ He responded, grinning broader. Maus cocked an eyebrow, it was suspicious that things were coming together so well, but he kept quiet regardless.

Maus stood silent as the sound of clattering boots grew closer. The Nikto was still working on each terminal, preparing every pod for launch, whilst staying seemingly ignorant of how quickly the guards were approaching. Maus grumbled, grabbing at a long metal wrench that sat on a crate near the entrance door.

He turned to the Nikto, the red skinned alien still had several more pods to go and remained blissful in his appearance. It was aggravating to Maus, his emerald eyes darting from the wrench, to the Nikto and then to the door, constantly repeating the cycle as the sounds of guard activity on the the other side of the blast door grew louder.

There was two of them, Maus could tell, they were both panting loudly and both spoke in the common dialect aboard the ship. There was no telling if they were guards or inmates and Maus pinned himself to the wall, steadying his breath slightly as their progress became more audible.

The door slid open, two Vodran stepped in. They were both guards, Maus seethed, sliding his front foot forward as they alerted themselves to the Nikto at the door. The first dropped quickly as Maus powered the wrench through its heavy set skull in an upward swing, blood spurted everywhere. The second lurched away from Maus’ second swing before attempting to avoid a third. It wasn’t successful. Maus felt the swing connect heavily with the being’s jaw, sending it stumbling backwards against the same crate that Maus had retrieved his makeshift weapon from.

The Nikto called to him from behind, Maus turned ready and willing to leave. The sounds of chaos were still ringing loud in his ears, but one sound in particular broke past the barrier. Something whistled past his ear, sending a shower of sparks flying out from a nearby wall. Fear clutched his heart as he turned, mid sprint, only to hear the crack of another round. He didn’t even feel the impact as he was hurled off his feet, hitting the ground before sliding another metre towards the Nikto at the pod.

With a body galvanised by adrenaline, he propped himself up, attempting to ignore the roaring protest of his seemingly shattered collarbone. He lurched forward, tumbling into the open pod door as another shot ripped into the floor near where his leg had been. The door shut behind him, he was greeted by the panicked face of his alien ally, and the blood the was spurting from the place his hand had been clutching.

As if breaking from a half dream, the warmth that surrounded his body began to fade and his feeling of triumph dropped off with it, he clutched harder at the wound, applying as much pressure as his weakened muscles would allow. Things soon began to fade as the ringing in his ears was replaced by a loud, fuzzy, hum.

He blacked out.