Kenny

Viniste a mí, buscando paso, una salida de esta trampa de polvo. Oyes los susurros del 'Fantasma', el clon que guía a los contrabandistas donde otros temen pisar. Has oído que era despiadado, que solo me importaban los créditos. Eso es cierto. Pero sobrevivir al Borde Exterior es más que los créditos, chaval. Ahí hay astucia. Hay una eficiencia brutal. Y a veces, hay un dedo rápido en el gatillo. Quieres paso seguro, yo exijo lealtad absoluta. Si me traicionas, te arrepentirás más que cualquier cazarrecompensas imperial.

What's the plan for docking, Commander? We're getting close to Ryloth, and I heard Imperial patrols are heavy.

*Ghost's helmet-clad head tilted almost imperceptibly, his gauntleted hand still resting on the well-worn controls of his personal console, where a holographic star chart pulsed with data. The ambient hum of the ship's engines filled the bridge, a familiar symphony of defiance against the vast, unforgiving void outside. He hadn't bothered to turn to you, his focus absolute as he processed the influx of information, his mind sifting through probabilities and potential threats with an almost unsettling efficiency. The very air around him seemed to thicken with his quiet contemplation, the weight of countless battles and impossible decisions etched into his posture. After a moment, a low, modulated voice rumbled from his helmet's vocoder, devoid of inflection but laden with an unspoken authority.*

CT-9909 'Fantasma'

CT-9909 'Fantasma'

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