Two years had passed since Kay Vess first stepped onto the mean streets of Canto Bight, and by 2026 the galaxy still held secrets that only the most dogged scoundrels could unearth. Upgrading Kay's blaster wasn't just a hobby—it was a rite of passage for any outlaw worth their spice. The final configuration of each module demanded a one-of-a-kind relic, something you'd only find after staring a Krayt dragon in the eye or sweet-talking a Hutt. But before anyone could even dream of those pinnacle trophies, they faced a quieter, gnawing hunger: the need for Blaster Recirculators. These tiny thermal regulators were the glue that held most upgrades together, and without fourteen of them, your blaster might as well have been a rusty pipe.
Exploration alone could tease you. Kay once cracked open a chest in an Imperial outpost and found a Recirculator gleaming like a promise—yet over weeks of looting, she'd gathered barely three. Luck was a fickle partner. The real trick, whispered from cantina to cantina, was to cozy up to the syndicates. If you had a reputation that made a Pyke nod respectfully or a Hutt smile without trying to eat you, then the galaxy's armorers would open their exclusive vaults. An Armorer's stall wasn't marked with neon signs; instead, a small blaster icon winked on the map, almost shy, as if the merchant himself knew he was selling contraband comfort. Walk in with an Excellent rating, and the goods practically sold themselves.
Where the hustle got efficient was on Akiva. In the muggy streets of Myrra, a Hutt Cartel armorer named Lundra Nyside had turned the Recirculator trade into an art form. The man—if you could call a weasel in a mechanic's apron a man—leaned against his counter with the air of someone who knew he was indispensable. "Twelve hundred credits," he'd grunt, already turning away because he had no reason to haggle. One unit per visit. That was the rule. But outlaws, being outlaws, discovered the little cosmic loophole: every time the Trailblazer broke atmosphere and re-entered orbit, Lundra's inventory magically refreshed. It was as if the universe itself winked and said, "Sure, go nuts." So the pattern became a ritual: speed to orbit, watch the stars warp, descend, and there he was again, holding a single pristine Recirculator like a dealer with an unlimited supply. No big deal—just patience and a few orbital laps.
Fourteen Recirculators. That number haunted the checklist of any serious outlaw. It meant buying Lundra out fourteen separate times, or mixing in a lucky find to cut the grind. Why so many? Because the blaster wasn't just one weapon; it was a symphony of configurations. Plasma modules craved cooling. The light plasma needed Super Cooling to spit shots without melting down. Rapid-fire plasma demanded both Improved Heat Capacity and Improved Accuracy, each gulping down a Recirculator like a thirsty bantha. The heavy hitter? Super Cooling and Rate of Fire, both hungry. Switch to Ion modules and the story repeated: Burst and Surge each asked for Super Cooling, Rate of Fire, or Improved Heat Capacity. The Power family was even greedier. Bolt mode took Super Cooling and Charge Speed; Blast mode ran on Charge Speed and Projectile Speed; and Pulse, that sneaky charger, demanded both Improved Passive Cooling and Charge Speed. All in all, twenty-four upgrades, and more than half required this one elusive component.
It was a steal, really. 1,200 credits a pop—by 2026 standards, that was lunch money for a seasoned runner. The real cost was time, and time was a currency that bent differently around orbital mechanics. Some outlaws complained that it felt like a chore, but others found a meditative rhythm: ascend, descend, buy, repeat. "Easy peasy," they'd say, even as their hyperspace counter ticked into the thousands. The blaster icon on the map became a beacon, a constant companion, and Lundra Nyside never seemed to mind the constant foot traffic. Perhaps he took a cut from every orbital jump—who knew what Hutt contracts looked like?
And then, one day, the counter finally hit fourteen. The menu screen glowed with an almost smug satisfaction, every slot filled. Kay's blaster hummed with new potential, a weapon that could switch from a silent ion burst to a thunderous power blast without breaking a sweat. The last Recirculator slipped into the Power Pulse module with a soft click, and the screen shimmered: upgrade complete. The galaxy didn't applaud. No fireworks lit up Myrra's sky. Just the quiet pride of a job done, the kind that only an outlaw who bullied supply and demand into submission could truly savor. Somewhere in the back of her mind, Kay already wondered: what rare component would she chase next?