Brad held the spray can with trembling fingers. The stencil was ready. He was moments away from putting the final touches on the paint job. The highlights. The parts that would make people sit up and take notice.
He shook his head violently and put the yellow spraycan down. No, he told himself. Don't be silly.
He stared at his craft. The sleek, deadly New Republic manufactured B-wing, rebuilt piece by agonising piece from the wreck in South Australia. Countless credits had gone into it. Spare parts for these things were not cheap. Starfighter Command itself was in constant shortage. Getting the necessary parts into civilian ownership - well, it had been damned near impossible.
It had completely destroyed Brad's fortune.
Brad didn't regret it for an instant. His fortune had been bought at a terrible price. He had manufactured droids and sold them to the Imperial Remnant. They hadn't been combat units, but they'd freed up personnel for combat units. And the Imperial Remnant had even made use of his droids to destroy rebellious settlements. That his fortune was now in the hands of the New Republic seemed to make things a little better.
The B-wing sat there, waiting. Its glossy black finish dared him. It seemed so right.
The cavern was large; large enough to contain several X-wings, speeders, and a Terran aircraft being refitted with galactic-level technology. Blasted, tunneled, eroded out of natural rock, it was part of an underground complex Terra Group called home, beneath the surface of the quaint island nation of Mendellia.
It was nicknamed the Batcave.
"Screw it," Brad muttered and picked up the spray paint.
He picked a good spot and laid the stencil over the hull. He shook his can and let the yellow paint cover the selected area of hull. He removed the stencil and admired his handiwork.
A yellow oval defined a stylised shape, a shape of legend.
"I dub thee Bat-wing."