Grot, as a rule, despised cities; they were filthy, stinky, cramped, and rampant with crime and corruption. And never was there a place that personified this more than Nar Shadaa, a place buzzing with activity like a corpse full of maggots. He’d take the wettest, most miserable, thorn-filled jungle on Wasskah any day. Yet, despite this general distaste, even he had to admit that this new contract was pretty cushy.
The Trandoshan let out a deep, satisfied hiss as he sat down at the bar of Club Vertica , relieved to be taking his first break of the night after hours of guard duty. He closed his eyes and rolled his shoulders, feeling a pleasant crack as the tension began to seep out of them. He carefully leaned his electro-bisento on the counter and flicked the safety into place on his pistols as he tried to relax. The music was a pleasant, upbeat, popular tune that suffered from the misfortune of having Huttese lyrics, and sounded like the singer was gargling snails as she crooned into her mic. The beat was good and the rhythm was catchy, however, and Grot found himself bobbing his head along to the beat. A drink was set at his side by the bartender. The bug-eyed, bright-green Rodian flashed him a friendly, if nervous, smile.
“Compliments of the house, sir.”
The mercenary gave a curt nod of thanks as the Rodian shuffled off to serve his other customers. He examined the drink closely; Corellian rum, finely aged. The good stuff. He admired it for a moment, taking in its subtle aroma, and raised it politely in salute to his employer. The fat slug of a Hutt in the corner of the club raised a leg of roasted porg in return before shoving it hungrily into his grubby mouth. Grot snarled in disgust, before downing the drink. It was quickly replaced.
As much as he disliked the Hutts, both for their behaviour and appearance, they tended to make decent employers for people like him, and Timbala was one of the good sort. While not exactly a power player on Nar Shadaa, he made a good living in the reputable business of loaning money to gambling addicts. With so much money at stake, Timbala’s clients tended to get a bit rowdy when their winning streak eventually broke. Normally he kept a trained professional on hand to fix problems like this, but Timbala’s previous “fixer” had gotten ambushed in an alley by a pair of death stick addicts with nothing to lose. Without his services, the Hutt was in a bit of a bind.
This was where Grot came into the picture.
The job was simple. Stand next to Timbala, look intimidating, and rough up a few debtors every now and then until they remembered their obligations. In return Timbala saw to it the mercenary received a small fortune and the best accommodation money could buy until he could hire someone more permanent. All going well the contract would be up before the year’s end and he’d be back on Selen celebrating in style.
Grot sipped his drink and surveyed the room, feeling quite pleased with himself. A pleasant warmth from the rum was beginning so spread through his body, and he felt the beginnings of a gentle buzz take hold. Things were good, he might even have a go at the Sabacc tables tonight…
With a sudden cough, the Trandoshan nearly spilled his drink as he started in surprise. His throat and nostrils burning he stood up from his seat, trying to get a closer look at the crowd and hoping that what he’d seen was an illusion or a particularly troublesome spirit. Snaking through the gamblers, the humanoid was almost impossible to notice unless you knew what you were looking for. The slight stiffness of the cloak betraying it’s armor-weave, the glint of medallion flashing in the dim light, a flash of silver hair peeking out from under his hood, and the unmistakable, cyan eyes of one of Arcona’s best agents.
Aiden Lee Deshra.
Grot felt his stomach sink as he recognized the human, and he felt terribly sure that his contract was about to get more complicated. Arcona shouldn't have any agents in this section of Vertica City right now, he’d checked carefully with the consul before taking this job. If they decided to send one he’d be informed, maybe sent to offer assistance. Growling with frustration and determined to get to the bottom of this, he pulled aside a server and pointed the man out, sending the confused Twi’lek in his direction with a glass of Corellian ale.
Aiden took the glass graciously from the girl, flashing a smile and sending her on her way before turning to look at the mercenary. A brief flash of recognition, followed by utter confusion, registered on his face as he recognized the Trandoshan. Grot flashed a intimidating and toothy smile before waving him over, and the Force adept easily slipped through the crowd to the bar.
“Grot,” he said simply, his face puzzled. He acknowledged the mercenary with a nod as he sat down at the bar, sipping at his drink. The two knew each other only from meetings and mission briefings. This might have been the very first words they ever said to each other outside of their work.
“Aiden,” the Trandoshan replied, “I was not aware that anyone else would be working in Club Vertica tonight.”
“Nor was I. Out for a night on the town?” The Human was friendly and, though puzzled, was cheered to find an ally unexpectedly. He smiled and took a swig of the ale as a plan began to form in his head. With Grot’s help he could make a move on Timbala much faster than he’d anticipated. With long-range support to eliminate the gangster’s bodyguards he could move in and abduct the loan shark without issue. After that, it was just a matter of time until he got the information he wanted. The Trandoshan sighed heavily, an ominous gesture which immediately banished Aiden's plans for some friendly banter and cooperation.
“I am on a private contract,” Grot answered evasively. “I fear I will be of little help.” The mercenary scanned the room silently, his bright orange eyes flickering from place to place. It was unusual for Aiden to be travelling alone, but he didn’t see the tell-tale silhouette of his usual partner. “Where is your droid?”
“Outside. They wouldn’t let him near the tables.” Aiden said dismissively, growing suspicious of the Trandoshan’s questions and guarded demeanour, “What do you mean ‘private contract’?”
“Timbala has been hiring extra hands lately. It is good money, with many points to be earned—” The sudden, unreadable expression on Aiden’s face gave Grot pause. He saw the human’s muscles tense at the mention of Timbala’s name and Grot gritted his teeth as he realized why. “You are hunting Timbala.”
A statement which confirmed both of their worst suspicions.
A tense moment passed as the two stared each other, and Aiden was the first to break the silence. He leaned in close, his voice gentle as he tried to defuse the situation, “It would probably be best if you just step outside. You’re on break. Nobody would blame you—”
“I will not.”
“Arcona has your contract on retainer,” Aiden insinuated meaningfully, his voice growing threatening. “You’re forbidden to take any contracts that might interfere with the clan’s operations.”
“You are not working for Arcona,” the Trandoshan growled, flashing his rows of sharpened teeth as he called the Human’s bluff. He stared the human down, a shrewd look in his eyes. “I cleared this contract with the Consul himself. You must be working for someone else. Is Lucine involved in this? Satsi?”
“I cannot say,” Aiden replied, brusquely standing up from his seat. Frustration was clearly evident on his face. Grot responded in kind, one hand resting on his Electro-bisento and the other reaching for his waist. Aiden let out a low growl, his lungs burning with silent power as spoke, trying desperately to dissuade the stubborn mercenary. “Get out of here Grot! Is this really worth attacking another Arconan? Just take a walk outside and forget about this!” The Trandoshan swayed in place for a moment, his eyes glazing over as if struck momentarily unconscious. With a sudden, violent shake, he snapped out of the sudden stupor, fixing Aiden with a hateful glare.
“My reputation is priceless. I will not fail.” Then, almost as an afterthought, “I would appreciate if you never attempt that again. My mind is my own; I will not have it sullied by your magics.”
“Sorry,” Aiden said, sighing with audible disappointment as his last attempt at non-violence failed. “No hard feelings?” he finished, almost lamely, struggling for anything further to say.
“No hard feelings.”
With a movement almost too fast to see, Grot’s hand flicked down to his waist. His pistol was out in a nanosecond, with only a slight delay as he flicked the safety off and fired. This minuscule delay would prove vital as Aiden’s reflexes were pushed to their very limit. A spiral of black and white arced up from his belt and into his hand, drawn by his iron grip on the Force. He activated it just in time, his hands moving based on instinct and long training, trusting his emotions to guide him to the right place as he summoned its bright silvery blade into existence.
A bright gout of gas erupted from the blade as the slug was vaporized mere inches from his heart, but it was far from alone. Three more shots followed in rapid succession, and at point blank range it was more vicious an assault than even Aiden could deal with. He kept his blade centered along his torso, blocking two more shots aimed at his vital organs, but the final shot was knocked high by the guns recoil. Out of range of his guard. He gritted his teeth as the shot impacted his armor-weave and shattered. Fragments of the bullet bit deep into the top of his torso, the shrapnel digging down straight into his collarbone.
With the flick of a few fingers he sent the barstool in front of him soaring upward, blocking a fifth bullet and sending a sixth wide as it slammed into Grot’s chest and sent him stumbling backward. The crowd of gamblers panicked and scream as the hail of gunfire finally began to register. Casino droids hastily scooped up chips and cards, finely dressed ladies cowered under tables, and Timbala began to beat a hasty retreat with his entourage, a whole roast porg clutched under his arm.
Trying to regain the initiative Aiden dashed forward. He cut through the airborne barstool with a flick of the wrist and lunged at the stumbling Trandoshan. Dropping his pistol in panic, Grot gripped his electro-bisento with both hands and activated the filament along the blade which erupted in blood-red light. Thoughts of steadying himself were quickly replaced with concerns for survival as he saw the approaching blade, and with a desperate sweep he knocked Aiden's thrust aside. A shower of sparks was thrown into the air as the blades clashed, and the sudden might of the mercenary’s parry surprised and unbalanced Aiden, forcing him to stop his assault.
Falling backwards, Grot turned his stumble into a roll, putting distance between himself and the adept. Coming back up to his feet, he crouched low, holding his bisento in front of him like a spear as he regarded Aiden from a safe distance. He hissed angrily, tongue flicking out over his teeth as he felt the sudden sting of his bruises, but was satisfied to see a splotch of crimson blood growing below the humans neck, telling him one of his rounds had found its mark.
“Vizierian,” Aiden called, his voice pained and tense as he activated his comlink. He regarded the Trandoshan cautiously, circling him as he talked to his droid. “Timbala is leaving through the north entrance. Keep on him. I will be… delayed.”
“I already have him spotted. In pursuit.”
