Tempest of Destiny

Darkness. Blackness jutting forth, casting a drab, palpable cloud of his senses, affording him no view of his surroundings. Drifting from the right came a slight breeze, a echo of freedom, briefly caressing his face, with the knowledge that in this place something did exist. He sat on the cool stone floor, deprived of his Mandalorian Armor, his weapons, his gear, every tool or gadget that might serve as a conduit of escape. "But chance determined not destiny..." he thought to himself. "Choice, not chance served as Destiny's mentor."

A light appeared down the hall from his cell, its illuminating radiance warding off the shadows. He blinked against the sudden light, his eyes slowly adjusting to the increased luminescence, he attempted to make out the other's identity. As the light came closer, he was able to make out the unmistakable reptilian features of Bossk. The other gloated as he came closer, "Ah, Boba Fett, the best Bounty Hunter of them all. What may I do for you today, your greatness?" It was a simple rule, that perfection in man, is a virtual impossibility. Fett was able to stay one step ahead of Bossk, but sooner or later he was destined to make a mistake. Fett stared back, impassive, as Bossk suddenly erupted in a fit of mocking laughter.

Bossk swiveled to the side, gesturing to the flat-black image scanner hovering on miniature-repulsorlifts at his side. "I just want you to know, that I'm recording this. How long I've waited," Bossk gestured in fustration with his claws. "I've waited for this day, the final death of Boba Fett, as delivered to me by the gods above. And now," he licked the softer scales around his mouth, "First I think I'll skin you. Your hide will be of great worth along with my other trophies, where it has always belonged." As Bossk, slowly opened the door to the cell, a simple durasteel and hinge affair, a fair-sized rock suddenly swung down upon his bulbous head from above. The blow struck Bossk full upon the forehead, as Boba Fett suddenly sprang forward, the knife edge of his hand, striking the vulnerable point just above Bossk's thorax. Bossk might have been a juggernaut of muscle and bone, but the rock's impact, and Fett's well-aimed blow seemed to have put him out of comission. Fett labored, dragging Bossk further into the cell, as he quckly shut the door behind him, locking Bossk within his own dungeon. Grinning despite himself, he set the image-scanner to continous record, the irony not escaping him, as he fled down the corridor.

Safely back to his ship, he took of for space, free, after weeks spent incarcerated. He had made a mistake in allowing Bossk to live. Underestimating his opponent, and allowing himself to be captured. He relented that if Bossk should find a way out of the dungeon, he would surely kill him. For only a fool would make the mistake twice. If not for the booby-trapped rock, strands from his own clothing used in its design, and implementation, Fett surmised that his destiny would have been that of a trophy on Bossk's wall. But chance determines not destiny.