"I'm telling you! Easy! I'd rather you shovel some dirt in with them than damage those guns!!" A middle-aged man dressed casually in a short-sleeved shirt and sunglasses pointed at the B-1 Battle Droid operating the loader and roared, "The dirt can be counted in when they weigh it anyway, but if the guns get damaged, those idiots led by Nute Gunray really will return the shipment!!"
His receding hairline, nearly at the top of his head, and his unkempt stubble revealed his identity—Yuri Orlov, one of the most active arms dealers in the Milky Way Galaxy.
"Did you hear me?! Lower the shovel a little! Easy!!" Yuri Orlov shouted.
"Roger roger!" the B-1 droid replied, then scooped up at least a thousand blaster rifles in one go. The unmistakable sound of metal snapping came from within.
"Fuck!!" Yuri Orlov roared.
"Roger roger!"
Bang!! The next second, the B-1 Battle Droid had its head blown off by a single shot.
"Put that down as routine loss, thank you!" Yuri Orlov handed the still-smoking large-caliber pistol to the assistant beside him and took a hard drag on his cigar.
The nicotine spread from his lungs through his entire body. Yuri Orlov shuddered comfortably, then exhaled a long plume of smoke.
"The Trade Federation still needs at least two million individual light weapons and enough ammunition to last at least a month... They are also very interested in the Scorpion Annihilator Droids and have requested an increased supply," the assistant said as he recorded the information on his personal terminal.
"Ha! Scorpion Annihilators?" Yuri Orlov spread his arms and shouted at the sky, "Fucking! Scorpion! Annihilators! Where the fuck am I supposed to find more? I've practically stripped Watto Tambor of his fucking underwear, and he only has thirteen of them! Come