How I get myself involved in these messes, I’ll never be able to explain. But I suppose that’s the price you pay when you’ve proven to be reliable and effective.
With the promise of some official commendation from Mon Mothma (note that I am currently not holding my breath), I’m well on my way trying to fight the latest Imperial screw up.
Somehow the Alliance even roped Han Solo in on this. Last I heard, talk amongst the pilots out on Corellia had Solo heading back to Jabba to pay off some debt that he owes the big slug. And trust me, I can completely understand that.
Trust me when I say, it’s far worse then can be imagined. The Imperials have the dead rising to feast upon the living. Yeah, you heard that right.
I set to work straight away, with only one of my trusted soldiers in tow. Some survivors established a Camp Alpha (apparently there are more camps) where I aided in thwarting an attack from the undead. These creatures… and yeah, that’s just what they are now… are relentless, and quite hungry.
There’s more to be done. Lots more. But I’ve given a task to myself: gather some of the decayed gear and armor to disguise myself in. The way I figure… the less alive I look, the less appetizing. If you don’t hear from me again, you can just go ahead and assume that you’ll need a better plan if you’re foolish enough to follow.
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