A place never really felt secure until you knew the layout. And with everything that had happened to him recently, Slick was not staying here unless he had an escape plan figured out ahead of time. So soon after he arrived, he was doing a full sweep of the farmstead, top to bottom.

Bit hard to think strategically while recovering from a head injury, but like hells he was gonna be settled until he did this.

He walked the grounds as systematically as he could, poking his head in doorways and checking the angles on potential defensible positions. His rifle was all the way back on Christophsis, but he could figure something out, he was sure of that. He'd always improvised with flair.

He was certainly doing his best to adapt on short-notice. He almost looked local, dressed in a shabby collection of stolen clothes, most of his armor hidden in a sack he was carrying with him. But he couldn't hide the black underarmor that gloved his hands and peaked out around his neck, or the white-armored boots. His hair was a couple days out from the last time he'd shaved, but it had still obviously been a painfully sharp military cut not too long ago. The red dye was still in his eyebrows too.

Anybody who knew clones would be able to spot him a mile off. The weird thing was, nobody here seemed to have any idea. It was a big galaxy, but--

"Ah, sorry. Just having a look around." He'd just walked in on somebody in part of the storage complex. Looked to be about senior cadet age--or however the hell non-clones counted those things. Probably another abductee, right? Why the hells were cadets ending up here?

And what in a Hutt's arse was that thing? "What's that?"