The Vertical City, Nar Shaddaa. They call it the Smuggler's Moon—an apt description based on the myriad of sentients shuffling back and forth with their illegal wares and hidden weapons. The narrow streets below criss-cross endlessly, soaring miles above the planet's surface. Exposed and uncovered, the streets offer a nearly perfect setting for someone with some skills with ranged weapons. A vantage point on the ledge of a towering structure of glass and steel offers a dizzying view of the cityscape.

Simple shops and merchants peddle both legitimate and illegitimate wares. Storefronts are just as plentiful as open-market pop-up tents, and the cantina's adapt the same lowlife air as the rest of the Smuggler's Moon. Enemies could be hidden in plain sight, whether one of the Hutts’ gangsters or mercenaries-for-hire looking to earn some credits. The streets are plagued with violent gangs and the general riff raff of the poor and destitute. They may be an ideal place for blasters, but the winding streets are difficult to disappear from. An opponent would be easily boxed in and simple to finish with a few quick slashes of a lightsaber. The moon is dangerous—even for one gifted in the Force.

The bar rang with noise. Somewhere behind the armoured man, a voice lifted above the others in song and an unearthly silence fell across the bar as eyes of all shapes and sizes turned their attention to the stage. A figure of exquisite beauty stood before a descended microphone. A Twi’lek whose voice reached inside and plucked at the very heartstrings of even the most hardened criminal. Her blue skin shimmered under the flickering lights, her movements beguiled and invited everyone to join her. Everyone except two patrons in the bar.

One, a stocky looking Zabrak; crimson-skinned and covered in black tattoos, sat at the bar sipping his drink. He paid no heed to the woman on the stage. Her power of vocal manipulation having no power over him. Though he couldn’t help but throw a sideways glance every now and then as the singer paraded around the stage like some prize bird of paradise. Which given the establishment he sat at, she most likely was.

The second sat in a comfy chair that faced towards the bar. No drink touched his own lips but his gaze never left the Zabrak. Mandalorian armour covered his body, adorned in patterns of his clan and family. Silver hair gathered at the nape of his neck half covered the monstrous cybernetics that adored most of the right side of his face. Mismatched eyes, one fake, constantly took in their surroundings seeking exits, points of interest and the patrons that drank. His hands danced across his blasters that sat upon his lap. They’d already gone over every inch of the dual Westars, but given what was to come, he wanted to ensure everything worked. There was no room for mistakes in the next few minutes.

The song finished. The ghostly silence dissipated with noise erupting once more as cheers and whistles filled the bar. The Mandalorian, Kojiro Keibatsu, head of House Marka Ragnos and son of the Keibatsu, rose from his seat and moved towards the bar. His helmet made its way from his belt to nestle upon his brow, the internal H.U.D starting up and feeding back info as his systems linked. Bodies jostled around him as they made their ways to the refreshers or one of the two bars that lay against the edge of the joint. The Quaestor reached his mark, blaster low until the muzzle stuck into the Zabrak’s back.

“I’d prefer you to not make any sudden movements. Put your drink down, then move your hands behind your back. Slowly.”

“Heh, this is surprising,” the Zabrak muttered as he placed his drink on the table. As he made to move his hands behind his back he peered over his shoulder at the armoured man that stood with a gun buried in his spine. “Just who do you think you are?”

“Look the other way, scum,” the blaster was buried deeper into the Zabrak’s spine. Kojiro’s free hand snaked down to his belt and withdrew a pair of stun cuffs. Clicking them open and moving them towards the Zabrak’s left hand. A click of satisfaction reached his ears as the left cuff slipped on. “As for who I am? I’m a member of the Bounty Hunters Guild, Keibatsu is my name. I believe you’ve heard of my family and I. Now do as I say and extend that other hand. I don’t need you able to walk to be able to hand you in alive.”

The threat and the name sent a shiver down the Zabrak’s spine. His mind raced to what on Aliso he could have done to warrant the guild being after him. There were so many possibilities. A bead of sweat drifted down his brow and he closed his eyes to recover himself. As he did, he drew upon the Force and lashed out with it. A telekinetic shove pushed the hunter away from him and caused him to stumble momentarily. The Mandalorian’s jetpack momentarily ignited allowing him to ground himself, but before he could react, the Zabrak had lashed out, landing a blow upon his hand and snatching the blaster away from him.

Kojiro ignited his jetpack again before his opponent could do anything else. The momentum carried him into the Zabrak and drove him against the bar. Patrons scattered as the two men collided. The Quaestor’s knee drove up hard into the stomach of his mark. In return, the Zabrak’s fist collided with his helmet with a rattle. The clone tumbled, allowing himself to drop so his opponent's fist passed over him and drew his second blaster, firing off four quick shots in succession. The alien returned fire, wildly, before launching the spent blaster away into the crowd and reaching down to his belt for a cylinder shaped object.

Kojiro cursed and raised his fist, his other hand came down and smacked the trigger on the device embedded in his armour. A small ball device jettisoned from its launcher and quickly unravelled into a net that flew towards the Zabrak. His opponent saw it coming, abandoned his grab for the weapon on his belt and dived backwards over the bar taking shelter as the capture device smacked into the metal missing its mark.

Patrons were pushing past Kojro by this point in a bid to escape the venue. The sounds of sirens in the distance let him known his time to complete the mission was drawing to a close. He regained his footing and strode towards the bar. A sound he had been dreading filled his ears as the Zabrak rose from his cover. Twin crimson blades rose with him and a sneer plastered across his face.

“You picked the wrong mark. Keibatsu or not, you’re dead.”

“And you picked the wrong cover Drol.” The Zabrak had little time to comprehend the clone’s words before the armour mounted wrist flamer activated causing a wave of flames to dance towards him and the alcohol-soaked bar he stood behind.

Kul was the type of fighter who enjoyed the heat of the moment, the often short span of time during which hunter and prey became entangled in their fight to decide which was which. The thumping of adrenaline through his veins made him feel alive, and in his line of wet work that meant a good deal. He was currently experiencing both of those traits he loved so much. Just...not in their usual fashion.

A burning stream erupted from his attacker’s wrist, and Kul watched as the jet of flame licked across the alcohol-stained bar eagerly. Time crawled by as the flames finally encircled the Zabrak and began to eat away at his cloak. Kul was a quick thinker at times, but even he knew there was little to be done in his situation. As the flames consumed the myriad of drinks lining the wall behind him, Kul reached out and grasped the Force. No...he clenched it, with the weight of a master gripping a slave. Just before he felt the explosive force thrust against his back, he managed to throw both of his hands out to his sides.

As Kojiro let the flames do their work he kept a part of his senses focused on what his target’s response would be. Would he flee to the left or the right, or even foolishly back over the bar? He took a few retreating steps as bottles on the bar began to pop violently and then suddenly the entire bar was engulfed by the expected explosion. Shrapnel pinged off the clone’s armor, but he kept his gaze focused as his helmet’s visor darkened to filter the sudden surge of light. Beneath the helmet his gaze began to sour as the Zabrak did not emerge to either side in retreat. Had he accepted his fate? No, all the intel Kojiro had acquired clearly pointed out that this Drol character was more likely to engage then run from a threat. As the flames died down and the smoke began to dissipate, Kojiro finally realized what that meant exactly. Still standing where he was Kul slowly let his arms drop to his sides, ragged pieces of flesh and cloth hanging from both. His breathing was hoarse and stuttering, but his eyes burned as fiercely as the flames had. He gave a defiant roar and scrambled over the bar. The movement gave Kojiro a clear view of the Zabrak’s shredded back, muscle exposed in patches where his armor had not fused to his skin. Somehow he’d managed to take enough of the explosion to survive, but he was clearly in pain and his weapons were no longer in his hands. It appeared this capture would go faster than Kojiro had initially assumed.

By all the gods of his tribe did fire hurt. Kul was happy to be alive, but he hadn’t expected his barrier to work at all and now he had to live with the pain of his success. And oh what intense and excruciating pain it was. So like any beast in pain would have done, he lashed out. His legs swung heavy blows towards the Keibatsu, who shuffled to the side to avoid them. The Zabrak followed closely, not wanting the range advantage to become a factor again. Though his arms twitched uselessly at his sides, he embraced the dance of K’thri and used the spinning of each weighted kick to bring himself back around for another.

Kojiro stiffly tipped his head back as a booted foot passed inches from his face.

“You’re a fool if you think you can last long in your condition, Drol. Give yourself up, and I can at least promise you’ll survive long enough for me to get paid.”

Defiance still radiating from his gaze, Kul answered with a shallow growl and switched up his stance. Instead of focusing his weight on his hips for shifting to spins, he crouched lower and suddenly swiped at Kojiro’s legs. Instinctively, Kojiro activated his jetpack to dodge the attack, earning a painful grin from Kul as his ploy succeeded. The bounty hunter realized his mistake when his helmet crashed into a low hanging, neon advertisement. The display sparked from the impact, the bright lights glaring for the brief moment the Zabrak needed. Using his opponent's momentary blindness, Kul grasped the bounty hunter's dangling legs. With a roar of pain and anger, Kul yanked downwards and slammed his opponent onto the waxed duracrete floor. The jetpack fizzled out from the impact, but that was the least of Kojiro’s concerns now. His vision was now slightly dulled from the force trauma, though his HUD readings were indicating that the world was spinning.

His hands covered in slick, coagulating blood, Kul spun Kojiro on the floor as the dazed bounty hunter tried to grab a passing stool or booth to resist. He kicked out with his free foot, but Kul was already in enough pain that a little more did not break him immediately. The Zabrak focused his leg’s strength while pumping them slightly with what remained of his ability to draw upon the Force. With a huff and a twist Kul sent Kojiro crashing through the establishment’s dangerously thin glass window, and tumbling into the feet of a few surprised streetwalkers. Kul slowly approached the bar’s new exit and leaned heavily on the edge of its wall. He watched the bounty hunter clamber up from his fall and adjust his helmet to the correct forward-facing direction. The gathering throng was whispering amongst themselves in a clamor of tongues, but Kul knew his attacker could still hear well enough.

“Death before dishonor, bounty hunter.”

Kojiro scoffed at the Zabrak’s words. His head rang, but he shook it clear and took in the sight before him. The space around them in the street had emptied. Pedestrians huddled back some one hundred metres from the pair with dozens of people joining the gathering throng every second.

“Death before dishonour? What are you, a child? Pathetic,” the clone scoffed. The battered form his mark spat out a mix of spittle and blood. Kojiro’s eyes momentarily followed it. A mistake.

A thick forearm collided with the Quaestor’s torso and lifted him from his feet. The Zabrak had moved quicker than Kojiro has anticipated and the next thing he knew, the wind was momentarily escaping his lungs as he was driven to the floor. Instinctively his knee came up as he went down and caught his assailant's own knee, forcing the Zabrak to find new purchase and stopping the pin. This allowed the clone to follow up with a strike with the palm of his hand to the Zabrak’s nose. The satisfying crunch was short lived as Kul’tak’s fist struck Koji’s visor hard twice, causing it to crack. A third heavier blow smashed the glass and drove shards down into the flesh and cybernetics of Koji’s face.

The pain was excruciating. However, the clone managed to raise his arms to block any follow-up blows and locked his opponent's arm in place, twisting his full body away from the alien and causing Kul to lose his balance. Kojiro pushed away, kicking out as he went, eliciting a momentary yelp of pain from his opponent as his foot caught one of the numerous burns that covered the body of his foe.

Kojiro rose to his feet unsteadily. Once more his vision swam, and he had to hold back the bile that had risen in his throat. Reaching up he plucked his damaged helm from his head and hung it from his belt. Blood mixed with the fluid that ran through his cybernetics ran down his face and gathered in his beard. The taste of it hit the clone’s lips and he spat upon the ground. Unlike before no blow came and he moved towards the Zabrak who was in the midst of pushing himself up from the ground. Without ceremony or grace, he lashed out with his foot and caught the man in the guts, causing him to fall once more.

“Death before dishonour? Nonsense. I’ll hand you in alive and let the authorities lock you away. I’ll get paid and this will all be over.”

“Heh, you think so. I’ll hunt you down. You won’t be able to sleep at night. The thought of me will keep you awake.”

“Nah,” a second kick followed the first. “I don’t sleep from the pain anyway.”

Kojiro knelt down and yanked one of Kul’s arms up and behind his back, kneeling on it to pin it in place. The second followed suit and he was glad to see the stun cuff was still clasped around it, if a bit damaged from the explosion. He dragged the Zabrak up and pushed him towards the throng of people. The crowd parted as the pair moved through them. Suddenly the Zabrak twisted and kicked backwards catching Kojio by the knee and forcing the clone down.

Something was different, there was more strength in the blow than before and the Zabraks muscles bulged as he tore the damaged shackled in half. The alien turned and Kojiro noted the difference in his eyes, the fire and the anger. The unshackled fist came a moment later and wrapped itself around the Bounty Hunter’s left wrist and squeezed. The flamer imploded on itself and took a chunk from Kojiro’s arm and hand rendering it useless. The mini-explosion also removed a couple of fingers from the Zabraks hand but if it bothered him it didn’t show. Kul’tak threw the armoured hunter away from him and Kojiro collided with several bystanders who hadn’t had a chance to flee the new turn of events.

The bodies attempted to disentangle themselves but they weren’t quick enough for the enraged Zabrak who flew into the pile and began throwing punches indiscriminately. Kojiro took several, but so did the innocents around him. He needed to stop this quickly before he was killed or he lost any potential bounty for severe collateral damage. Another blow flew in and Kojiro rose his damaged arm to take it. The pain was overwhelming and he was worried he’d pass out there and then but he held on long enough to spy the broken fire escape across the street.

As a last-ditch effort, his ignited his jetpack and sent himself almost skywards. Kojro rebounded off the wall and managed, just, to push himself away and across to the fire escape. At the ignition, Kul had stepped back rather than be toasted, but one of the innocents hadn’t been so lucky. The woman screamed as her clothes ignited and she managed to distract the enraged Zabrak long enough for Kojiro to raise his right fist and fire.

A thin fibrecord cable and its anchor flew towards his mark and managed to wrap itself around the Zabrak’s neck and locked in place. As Kul’tak struggled to remove it the clone let himself drop down the fire escape and watched as the momentum dragged the alien up and away from the bystanders. The Plagueian struggled and scratched at the cord around his neck until the remaining air left his lungs and he blacked out from asphyxiation. Only when Kojiro was positive he was out, did he drop the cable and let his opponent hit the ground with a thunk.

Whilst waiting for the authorities to arrive the Quaestor ensured there was still a pulse and bound Kul’tak with the fibrecord cable. Today was a good payday until he eyed the devastation around him and realised with a sigh that he was going to be broke again, very, very soon.

Kojiro pushed himself to his feet and reached for his helmet, which had fallen off during his landing. He wiped off the visor before placing firmly back on his head and checked his HUD’s readings for any errors or damage. All of his tech and devices seemed to be in order, though his body would certainly harbor a few large bruises for some time. The bounty hunter reached around with his right hand and drew his remaining blaster from its holster while the Zabrak spoke and aimed the barrel at the center of Kul’s mass. The Zabrak was using the side of the broken window for support, his chest rising and falling with heavy labor.

“I’ll give you some credit, Drol, you sure are more stubborn than some I’ve hunted.”

Kul scoffed at the comment, more a spray of thick and bloody phlegm splattering the shattered remains of glass fragments than an actual answer. His legs shook while they fought to hold the rest of his shredded body up and his glazed eyes focused on the blaster directed towards him. One of his legs gave out for a brief moment and he dropped to a knee suddenly. The movement triggered a reaction from Kojiro, who assumed Kul might be attempting to flee. Two blaster shots rang out and the concentrated bolts of plasma lanced into Kul’s right side and seared two holes into his already crisped flesh. The Zabrak managed to keep himself from falling onto his back, but his vision was cloudy and his head a jumble so he could have been on his back anyway and not realized it. The glaring lights of neon seared into what vision he had left and reminded him off the one time he’d gotten roaring drunk. This pain could have taught that hangover a thing or two. He realized the bounty hunter was speaking again, but the words were an incoherent jumble. He had an idea of what they might be, so he managed a croaked response.

“Never...surrender…”

Kojiro sighed, agitated by the Sith’s unending strive to feel powerful through pure stubbornness. It was clear that the Zabrak was in no condition to fight, so why not at least use the chance to live and perhaps fight another day? The bounty hunter thought that he had learned much about these Force users and their patterns, but every now and then there was one or two that still surprised him. What was it about becoming beings with powers that made them fanatical? Shrugging, Kojiro started to approach the Zabrak.

“It’s a shame you couldn’t have provided more of a fight if you were going to resist. Though I will admit the flames might have been overkill, I didn’t expect you to actually take them head on.”

With blaster in hand, Kojiro stood over the Zabrak and placed the barrel just an inch away from the tattooed head. Being so close, Kojiro could see the scorched flesh and the potent smell wafted through his helmet’s filter. He grimaced and used his free hand to increase the filtration system’s settings.

“We’ll have to try and do something about the smell, it would seem. Looks like you’ll be spending the trip in a bacta tank just to get you there relatively stable.” He jabbed the blaster into Kul’s flesh. “Alright, don’t try anything reckless again and I won’t have to do this the easy way and drag your lifeless corpse onto my ship.”

The touch against his skin pricked and Kul’s hand reflexively jerked up and grabbed onto Kojiro’s arm, the grip surprisingly strong for one who was barely even alive. The bounty hunter grabbed at the hand and tried to pry the fingers, which peeled off and the arm fell away to rest limply at Kul’s side. Kojiro noted that Kul’s body seemed to be more relaxed now, not the tense form of someone who was looking to fight.

“Ah, Sithspit.”

With blaster still aimed, just in case the Sith was trying to use one of their popular deceptions, Kojiro placed the first two fingers of his left hand against the Zabrak’s throat. Their race was similar in structure to a human’s except for having two hearts so Kojiro was able to find the carotid artery without much difficulty. He let his touch linger to be sure, but felt nothing. Cursing to himself he lifted the Zabrak’s chin, where a small grin was now eternally plastered on his crimson face.

“Had to have the last laugh, hm? Well, jokes on you. I still get paid for a body.”

Kojiro grasped the back of Kul’s cloak and began to drag the limp body towards the rear of the cantina. Curious onlookers peered in to see if anything else was going to happen, a couple grabbing up a few bottles of high dollar alcohol that had survived the blast. From one of the back rooms the Twi’lek dancer emerged to see if the now growing silence in the dive meant it was safe to return. Taking in the wreckage she decided that she would most likely not be needed for the rest of the day and headed to grab her belongings and reconsider her career choice for the third time.