Captive | The Mandalorian

CHAPTER 2: Criminal, Thief, Kidnapper

Eyes fluttering open and closed as she slowly regained consciousness, Aspen's face twitched as the blinding pain in her head began to radiate throughout her entire skull. It felt like she had gotten her head squished between a sliding mechanical door and a steel wall and held there in place for hours.

When she realized that opening her eyes and letting light into her perception only made the pain worse, she opted for squinting, so that she could just make out her surroundings without having to actually see very much. From what she could tell by the dimly lit room and subtly glowing control buttons, she was aboard a ship and inside the cockpit. 

As an involuntary groan slipped past her lips, Aspen tried to stand up but quickly realized that she was bound to the copilot chair by what looked like thick cargo straps. Her wrists were tied around the back of the chair and her ankles were tied together, restricting her movement aside from her head and neck. 

"What the . . . ?" she muttered to herself as the memory of what had happened started coming back in bits and pieces. Mostly, she remembered fighting, running, and collapsing to the ground. More specifically, her unceremonious defeat replayed over and over again. Aspen had always prided herself on her ability to think on her feet and escape sticky situations and yet, somehow, her fall from grace had been orchestrated more or less by some random Mos Eisley pilot looking to make a few quick credits.

Oh, how the tables were turning against her favour; seemingly all at once.

Taking the opportunity to inspect more of the ship she was currently being held captive in, Aspen looked around the small but admittedly cozy cockpit. The control board was illuminated by the many different colours of the various buttons and display screens. Some buttons blinked, others remained glowing, and others were completely unlit, practically blending into the black panelling of the board behind them. 

Since the ship was in hyperspace, the most transfixing part of the entire cockpit was the way that space shot past on the other side of the windows, strands of light appearing and disappearing in the blink of an eye. Aspen's favourite part of travelling in hyperspace was the all-consuming silence of it; but this time, the silence was anything but comforting. 

In the pilot's seat, the Mandalorian was sitting completely still. The only part of him that Aspen could see was the back of his helmet and still, she felt unnerved. The faint memory of him handing the Mos Eisley pilot payment for assisting in her capture flashed through her mind and she gritted her teeth. Blasted Mandalorian. 

By then, Aspen was able to fully open her eyes without it causing her any more pain than she was already in; and with her pain gone, so was her content state of quiet contemplation.

"Is there a reason I'm hog-tied to this chair and not frozen in carbonite?" she asked, fighting against the cargo straps for no other reason but to display defiance. 

The Mandalorian didn't answer, which wasn't necessarily surprising. Mandalorians weren't exactly known for their chatty personalities, but since the cockpit was dead silent and Aspen was sure he had heard her, it pissed her off nonetheless.

"Hey, Mando!" She used the common nickname for Mandalorians. When that didn't work, she tried a different approach. "I'm talking to you, Helmet-Head! If you're gonna make the conscious decision not to freeze me and not to tape my mouth shut or something, you're gonna answer my questions!"

Somehow, that worked. Without any indication of annoyance or anger—courtesy of the shiny beskar helmet that shielded any display of emotion at all—the Mandalorian turned in his chair to face Aspen and stared back at her, his eyes no doubt glaring from behind the black visor.