Chapter 3: The Asset
POV: Oliver
The bounty hunter encampment sprawls across the desert like a metallic cancer, prefabricated structures and abandoned speeders scattered without plan or purpose. The air tastes of ozone and death—a combination that makes Oliver's borrowed stomach clench with recognition he can't place.
[DANGER SENSE ACTIVATED]
[MULTIPLE THREATS DETECTED]
[FACILITY SCAN: HIGH PROBABILITY OF HOSTILE ENTITIES]
The warnings pulse across Oliver's vision as they approach the sealed blast door. His blurrg shifts nervously beneath him, responding to tensions it can't understand but instinctively fears.
"Stay back when the shooting starts," Din says, dismounting with practiced efficiency. His rifle materializes in his hands like an extension of his will.
Oliver tries to say "I know this is wrong" but what comes out is "Sandwich monsters eating Tuesday."
Din pauses, helmet tilting in that way Oliver is learning means either confusion or exasperation.
"If you're trying to warn me about something, now would be good."
"Sparkly nightmare babies!"
"Right. Stay back."
The blast door explodes inward.
Not from Din's breaching charge, which he hasn't had time to set, but from something inside. Smoke and debris billow outward as a figure emerges from the chaos—tall, mechanical, moving with predatory grace.
IG-11. The designation surfaces from somewhere in Oliver's borrowed memory, along with the knowledge that assassin droids are very, very bad news.
"Asset retrieval protocol initiated," the droid announces in a voice like grinding metal. "All obstacles will be eliminated."
Din doesn't waste time on conversation. His rifle spits fire as he dives for cover behind an abandoned speeder. The IG unit responds with inhuman reflexes, its own weapons tracking Din's movement with mechanical precision.
Oliver slides off his blurrg and scrambles for cover as blaster bolts sizzle through the air where his head had been. His hands shake as he fumbles for the blaster Din insisted he carry, knowing he's more likely to shoot himself than anything else.
[FLORA MANIPULATION AVAILABLE]
[DESERT SCRUB DETECTED WITHIN RANGE]
The system's suggestion appears just as Oliver spots the struggling vegetation clinging to life around the compound's perimeter. Hardy plants, evolved for survival in the harshest conditions.
Grow. Spread. Protect.
[FLORA MANIPULATION ACTIVATED]
[MP: 66/86]
The change is immediate and dramatic. Scrub brush explodes into growth, roots bursting from sand to create a network of living barriers. Thorny vines spiral upward, forming walls between Din and the IG unit's line of fire.
"That's new," Din mutters, and Oliver catches something like approval in the modulated voice.
More droids emerge from the compound—old security models, their joints grinding with years of neglect. Oliver's improvised fortifications channel them into predictable paths, creating chokepoints where Din's superior firepower can be most effective.
A sand bat, disturbed from its roost by the gunfire, flickers past Oliver's head. Without thinking, he reaches out with that strange mental sense.
[BASIC CREATURE CONTROL ACTIVATED]
[MP: 46/86]
The bat's eyes flare blue, and suddenly Oliver can see the battlefield from above. More bats join the first, then the small desert predators that hunt them, then the scavengers that feed on their leavings. A living network of eyes and claws, all focused on the mechanical invaders.
The battle becomes chaos. Droids stumble over roots that weren't there seconds before. Sensors designed to track humanoid heat signatures fail to account for the swarm of small creatures diving at optical sensors. Din moves through it all like a force of nature, his shots finding gaps in armor with mechanical precision of his own.
"Asset secured," IG-11 announces, but its voice now carries a note of uncertainty as a womp rat gnaws through a cable in its left leg.
The inner chamber lies beyond a reinforced door that has been blasted open from the inside. Din approaches carefully, rifle raised, while Oliver stays back and tries to look harmless. The mental effort of coordinating so many creatures has left him dizzy and nauseous.
[WARNING: MP LEVELS CRITICALLY LOW]
[SYSTEM EFFICIENCY DECREASING]
They step through the doorway, and Oliver's world explodes into pain.
POV: Oliver
The chamber is small, clinical, lined with equipment Oliver doesn't recognize but somehow fears. In the center sits a hovering pram, its metal sides scarred but intact.
And inside...
[FORCE-SENSITIVE ENTITY DETECTED]
[WARNING: SYSTEM INSTABILITY]
[ERROR ERROR ERROR ERROR]
The blue interface goes haywire, error messages cascading across Oliver's vision in a waterfall of digital screaming. Pain spikes through his skull like someone driving hot needles behind his eyes. His MP counter flickers wildly—66, 12, 89, 3, 47—before stabilizing at an ominous 15/86.
Oliver collapses to his knees, blood streaming from his nose. Through the haze of agony, he sees what's causing the chaos.
A child. Green skin, enormous dark eyes, pointed ears that give him an ancient, wise appearance despite his obvious youth. He can't be more than fifty—no, that's not right. The thought feels borrowed, meaningless. He looks like a toddler, reaching up with three-fingered hands and making soft cooing sounds.
"You're..." Oliver gasps, tasting copper on his lips. "You're beautiful."
The child—Grogu, the name surfaces from the same borrowed place as everything else—tilts his head and coos more insistently. One tiny hand extends toward Oliver, and somehow the gesture calms the storm in his head.
[SYSTEM STABILIZING]
[FORCE-SENSITIVE ENTITY ACKNOWLEDGED]
[MP REGENERATION REDUCED BY 50% IN PROXIMITY]
[NEURAL INTERFACE ADAPTING...]
Din appears at Oliver's side, one gauntleted hand steadying him before he can topple over completely.
"What happened?"
Oliver tries to explain about the pain, the interface chaos, the way the child's presence tears through his system like a stone through a spider's web. What comes out is: "Magical potato earthquake symphony."
"Right," Din says, but his tone has shifted. Less exasperation, more concern. "Can you stand?"
Oliver nods, though the world still tilts at the edges. The child—Grogu—watches him with those enormous eyes, and Oliver has the strangest feeling that the little one understands exactly what just happened.
"Asset will be terminated according to Guild protocol," IG-11 announces from the doorway. The droid's left leg sparks where the womp rat chewed through its wiring, but its weapons are still functional.
"No," Din says, stepping between the droid and the pram.
"Asset retrieval mission parameters are clear. Bounty puck indicates termination authorized."
Oliver struggles to his feet, using the wall for support. He tries to say "The droid will change sides later" but it comes out as "Metal man has feelings eventually."
IG-11's photoreceptors swivel toward him. "This unit does not comprehend the statement 'metal man has feelings eventually.'"
"Neither do I," Din mutters.
The droid's weapons begin to charge with a rising whine that makes Oliver's teeth ache. He can see the calculation in its stance—two humans, one apparently brain-damaged, one child. Acceptable losses in service of mission completion.
Oliver reaches out desperately, calling to every small creature within range. The response is immediate and overwhelming.
[BASIC CREATURE CONTROL ACTIVATED - MULTIPLE TARGETS]
[MP: 5/86]
[WARNING: CRITICAL MP DEPLETION]
Womp rats pour through gaps in the walls. Sand bats dive from hidden roosts. Insects swarm from cracks in the stone. Even a few of the larger desert predators, drawn by the scent of violence, answer his call.
The living tide crashes over IG-11 like a wave. The droid fires wildly, but its targeting systems can't track dozens of small, fast-moving targets. Claws and teeth find gaps in its armor plating. Weight and numbers drag it down.
"Go!" Oliver screams, the word coming out clear despite everything. "Take him and go!"
Din doesn't hesitate. He scoops up the pram and heads for the exit, moving with the economy of someone who knows when not to argue with good fortune.
Oliver tries to follow and nearly face-plants as his legs give out. The effort of controlling so many creatures simultaneously has pushed his system past its limits.
[MP: 0/86]
[HP: 160/200]
[CRITICAL SYSTEM OVERLOAD]
[REGENERATION PROTOCOLS OFFLINE]
The world grays at the edges. Oliver can hear IG-11 fighting free of the creature swarm, its voice distorting as damaged circuits try to compensate.
"Probability of target escape: Unacceptable. Initiating thermal detonator self-destruct sequence."
Oh. That's not good.
Consciousness flickers. When Oliver comes back to himself, he's moving—no, being carried. Din has him slung over one armored shoulder like a sack of grain while steering the hovering pram with his free hand.
Behind them, the compound erupts in a pillar of fire and debris.
POV: Din Djarin
The stranger—Oliver, if that's even his real name—weighs less than Din expected. Malnutrition, probably, or whatever process left him babbling nonsense and controlling desert wildlife. He's conscious but barely, mumbling something about "crispy metal sadness" as they put distance between themselves and the expanding fireball.
The asset—the child—watches everything with those unsettling dark eyes. Din has seen a lot in his years as a bounty hunter, but he's never encountered anything quite like this little creature. The way it looked at Oliver during the system malfunction, like it understood exactly what was happening...
"Mando," Oliver slurs, the word surprisingly clear given his usual linguistic chaos. "Is he okay?"
Din glances at the pram. The child has settled into what looks like sleep, though his breathing seems too controlled for true unconsciousness.
"He's fine."
"Good. That's... that's good."
They reach the Razor Crest as the twin suns begin their descent toward the horizon. Din sets Oliver down with more gentleness than he usually shows civilians, noting the way the man's hands shake as he tries to steady himself against the ship's hull.
"What happened back there?" Din asks. "With your... condition."
Oliver looks up at him, and for a moment his expression is perfectly lucid. "Something about him breaks my system. Like he's made of energy I can't process."
"System?"
"The..." Oliver gestures vaguely at his own head. "The thing that lets me control animals. It doesn't like Force-users."
"Force-users."
"The child. He's..." Oliver's face scrunches in concentration. "Magic baby laser sword people."
And they're back to nonsense. But the meaning comes through clearly enough. The child is Force-sensitive. Which explains why so many people want him dead.
POV: Oliver
The trek back to the Razor Crest passes in a haze of exhaustion and system warnings. Oliver's MP regeneration has ground to a halt, leaving him feeling hollow and disconnected. Even his creature sense feels muted, as if the child's presence has somehow dampened his abilities.
[FORCE-SENSITIVE ENTITY DETECTED]
[SYSTEM ADAPTATION IN PROGRESS]
[ESTIMATED COMPLETION: 72 HOURS]
The warnings scroll past as they walk, but Oliver barely notices. His attention is fixed on the pram floating beside Din, and the small green face peering out at the desert landscape with curious eyes.
Halfway back to the ship, something extraordinary happens.
Grogu—he can't keep thinking of him as "the child"—reaches out from his pram. One tiny three-fingered hand extends toward Oliver, palm up in unmistakable invitation.
Oliver stops walking. His finger shakes as he reaches out to meet that tiny hand, half-expecting another system crash or surge of pain.
Instead, Grogu's fingers wrap around his with surprising strength. The touch is warm, gentle, and somehow Oliver knows this little being won't hurt him. Not intentionally.
Something in his chest cracks open—not painful, but profound. Like a door he didn't know existed suddenly swinging wide.
"Friend," whispers a voice that isn't quite a voice, touching the edges of his mind with butterfly wings. "Safe. Protected."
"Oh," Oliver breathes, and tears he didn't expect start streaming down his face. "Oh, you beautiful little thing."
Grogu coos softly, as if approving of the sentiment.
Din watches this exchange in silence, but Oliver can feel the weight of his regard through the helmet's impassive T-visor.
"What are you, really?" Din asks finally.
Oliver meets that hidden gaze and tries to find words that might make sense. "I don't know anymore. But I'm not going to let anything happen to him."
The promise hangs in the desert air between them, binding as beskar and twice as precious.
[NEW QUEST UNLOCKED: PROTECT THE FOUNDLING]
[PRIORITY: MAXIMUM]
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