...And Hope They Don't Have Blasters
Blonde-haired, blue-eyed, Ex-Imperial Army brat, just working the angles.
Imperial Ground Tactics: 4D
Vehicle-Mounted Weaponry: 3D
First Aid: 3D
Gear: Blastech DL-44 heavy blaster pistol, DLT-20A Blaster Rifle, Comlink, Med-kit, Flak Vest and matching Helmet.
You know, it’s always the little things.
When Dad joined up with the Empire, it was mostly to provide for himself. When he met Mom in the Army, and fell in love, everything seemed fine. He was serving the proper government, fighting the last gasp of the Separatists. When they finally got mopped up, it was the Jedi. By the time I came around, the Imperial Senate had been dissolved. Dad never talked about that very much, but I think he disagreed with that last bit. Whenever I’d bring it up, though, the answer was always the same.
“We’re soldiers, Malk. Politics will kill us faster than blasters.”
In the end, of course, he was right. Mom ended up with a Moff, and Dad killed him, or so the story goes. By the time I’d gotten the message, they were both dead. The Moff, too. I left the Academy, the Empire, and most everything else. Time on the lam made me hard as a coffin nail, and my previous training made me someone to be remembered. I’ve served both sides of the Civil War as a free agent. The politics don’t really matter to me.
I would have been a Squaddie by now. I would have had men under me. I would have had my Mom and Dad, and been in service to the Empire. I would have had a home. Mom had other ideas.