What are the chances Jodo Kast survived? (Page 2 of 3)

Agreed, Dageen. Kast is dead and in the past.

I can't remember this Jodo Kast... Was he the man that Boba got his new armor from?

I think he should have put it up on his wall with the plaque saying, "Armor of Jodo Kast: As pompous as they get, and you can bet he wasn't Fett."

Also, his cod-piece did not dissolve.

That was convenient

But an amusing and almost loveable poser.

Because he's funny.  All his complaints about "that old fossil," plus his utter egomania, are endearing to many fans.  He's a memorable character.

Speaking of imposters and posers, there was one non-canon comic and it had this guy who somehow got Boba's armour and then so he took out these guys henchmen (in a bathrobe i believe) and he goes and asks his accountant if he has any spare armour and the accountant says "there is only the old armour..." and he comes out wwearing Jango's mando gear.  Which makes it all the more non-canon.  But it was cool because he absolutely rocks this imposter.

I totally agree, he is memorable and sort of amusing. That's what I love about him, he makes mistakes and doesn't quite get it right, and makes funny little quips along the way and has unfortunate things happen to him. Boba is just to good to have that sort of thing happen to him all that often, whereas Jodo is a sort of young hot-headed version of Boba.

So here's my explanation of how Jodo might have lived.

     The voice left the room, he could see the blurred outline of the figure disappear through the doorway. He tried to speak, to cry out for mercy.

A wet rasp emerged, "Huurggle...".

     That was all. He could not speak, or move. The liquid fire his enemy had injected him with had left him as helpless as though his spine had been shattered. All his work, his drive, his desire...It was all going to end here in this place. His eyes were wet, not tears of sorrow, but of helplessness. He cried for what his enemy had done to him.

     His enemy. Boba Fett. He had wanted to BE Boba Fett. And now Boba Fett had killed him.

     He surrendered, to Fett, to the poison, to the death he knew he deserved. He waited. Fett had said the jetpack that had been damaged in the fighting would soon explode, that would surely kill him. Even if he survived it, the poison would finish him.

     The poison...He could feel it in his veins, a fire that refused to pulse with the beat of his heart. A heart beat that was curiously within norms. In his life he had trained extensivley with weaponry, martial arts, battle armor and starship piloting. But he had always had a simple love of poisons, toxins that would steal a persons will and cunning. Turn their own bodies against them, as his was now.

     He thought of his symptoms, the manner in which the toxin had been delivered. The solid fire in his veins. It was Frizzaen Lotus poison. Fairly common, Imperial Interrogators often use it to render their subjects incapacitated. Bounty Hunters often used it as well.

     His mucus-covered eyes struggleed to open, his heart rate accelerated. HE used this poison. His armor was gone, his weapons as well. He did his best to crane his head down and look at himself. He could barely make anything out through his unfocused vision, but he knew it. He was still in his flight suit. Fett had not bothered to remove it, and in his right pants-leg cargo pocket he had a standard Medi-spray filled with a  cross-genus metabolic enhancer.

    His arm wouldn't move, he struggled and strained. He whimpered and moaned, and his arm flopped uselessly around. He had no strength and no motor control. He tried to concentrate. His mind wandered, would the Medi-spray help him? He had no idea. He used it to temporarily bring drugged and doped prisoners around long enough to present to whoever was paying for them. They were usually in a sorry state, poisoned, drugged, or stunned, and the enhancer usually kept them on their feet just long enough to suffer whatever was coming.

    NO! He wouldn't let this happen. He had come so close, he had accomplished so much. He would not die here. Not with his salvation in his own pocket! With a growl that sounded more like being sick, he forced his unresponsive and dumb arm through his cargo pocket and grasped the syringe with all the strength of a sick kitten.

     Slowly, with all the deliberate effort he could muster, he pulled it out and forced it close up to his chin, against the artery in his neck. With a shuddering breath, he plunged it in.

    Nothing. He still couldn't move. He felt nothing. He felt no...fire. The fire in his veins was gone. Ice! A shocking cold shot through his body. He spasmed terribly, his back arched so violently he almost felt it crack. He began to shudder uncontrollably, coughing and spewing. Suddenly he forced himself up on all fours and vomited.

    He collapsed onto his stomach, his vision swimming in darkness. He tried to stand and nearly passed out, staying on all fours, he wiped his eyes clear but he still could not see well. He saw a battered tube that could only be his damaged jetpack, and it appeared to have a damaged vector control that was sparking.

    So that was what the bastard meant. That thing could go off any second. Scrabbling around on all fours he started to slide his way towards the same doorway Fett had left through. He tried to force himself up to a standing position several times, after stumbling a few steps he would collapse back to all fours. But he would keep crawling. Getting clear of the explosion was his only hope.

    He saw the exit only a few feet away, struggling up he managed to stand and stumbled his way the last few steps to the doorway. He rested against it. Looking back into the room where he and Fett had battled, he saw the detritus from his total defeat at Fett's hands. This entire complex had been rigged to entrap him and leave him at Fett's mercy.

    He and Fett would meet again. He turned and stumbled down the corridor, around corners, up and down steps. He used the walls to help him stay up, but he knew it was looking bad. He had to stop and catch his breath several times, he vomited some more, his vision was getting worse, breathing was becoming more and more difficult, and worse of all, he was began to feel the burning again. His metabolic enhancer was wearing off.

    He heard a dull thump. The jetpack had detonated. He tried to force himself into a run, shambling down the corridor, bouncing off walls. The hallway he was in lead to the main foyer, he was almost there. Dust was in the air, the entire hallway began to shake. He lost his footing and fell several times. He lunged for the open doorway.

    "Hound-Leader to all Hounds. Anything?"
    "This is Hound-Five, I have located Kast's ship, it appears undamaged."
    "Any sign of Kast inside?"
    "Negative."
    "Hound-Six here, I have landing marks three-hundred meters south-west of the complex. Definitely a concealed position. Can't tell what kind of vessel it was, marks look to be two days old."
    "Any sign of weapons fire Six?"
    "None."
    "Hound-Sweeper here, I have multiple electronic, magnetic, and thermal images from the complex. It appears to be an active security system, and small life-forms. No sign of Human life-signs."
    "This is Lead, Sweeper is there any sign that the complex will collapse further?"
    "It's definitely unstable Leader, whoever is in there needs to be careful."
    "Two, Three, you hear that?"
    "Roger."
    "We'll be careful."
    "All right Hounds, this is Lead. If we don't locate Kast or his Target in the next thirty minutes, we're going to have to deal with Graddic The Hutt's security patrol. So tighten your sweeps and get me some Intel now."
   
    Hound-Leader stepped out of the Y-4 Raptor Transport and scanned the surrounding terrain with the full suite of sensors at his armor's disposal.

    He and his men had once been members of an elite commando unit created by Warlord Zsinj to enforce his rule across the stars through the use of guerrilla warfare. They had been known as Raptor Commandos, or more commonly, Zsinj's Raptors. However, with the death of Zsinj, and the collapse of his empire, 1st Battalion 2nd Company had ended up a freelance operation. An entire company of commando's that House Benelex had been only too happy to add to its roster. So, Hound squad found itself scouring an ancient Hutt palace looking for a missing Benelex Hunter. One of the best, Jodo Kast. Kast had departed on this mission nearly a week ago, he had not checked in since. Hound squad was here to find him if possible, complete his assignment, and punish those who interfered with House Benelex operations.

    "I have a survivor! This is Hound-Four. I have a single human-male critically wounded at grid Zero-Two et Four-Seven et Two-Five."
    "Four this is Lead, what's his status?"
    "Critical Sir, we need to get him med attention now."
    "Is it Kast, or the Target."
    "Uhh, I cant tell Sir, no armor, and he doesn't appear too match the profile of the Target."
    "Understood, Med-Team get in there and stabilise that man. I need him ready to move and aboard ship in less than twenty. No excuses."
    "Roger that."

    Hound-Leader knew his Med-Team would save that man, that's what they were paid good money to do. And when he was stable, Hound-Leader would have some hard questions for him about Kast, the Target, and who interfered with the Hunt. Then Hound-Squad would take the Target down, and make those responsible pay for their interference. It was what Hound-Squad was paid to do.

Nice work.

Nice work Maphestus  ever think of being a writer. Seriously no joke good work.

Wow, thanks guys. And I am trying to turn that little passage into a complete story, it will just take a little time.