A cesspool of the downtrodden, the Refugee Sector on Nar Shaddaa is home to both the misfortunate and criminals alike. Offering their protection for credits, the criminal organizations that control the sector tax the populace outrageous sums. Unable to provide these fees, refugees are forced to work under hazardous conditions producing glitterstim and adrenals for their overseers. Some of these refugees are addicted to the substances themselves—for which the cartels increase the price of their tithes in exchange for a share of the product.

Crammed with stalls and makeshift hovels, several of the sector’s inhabitants find refuge on the streets and in the alleyways. Those who managed to avoid the dangers of drug production can be found selling their limited and often defective goods to others. Behind these stalls, a selective stock of black market wares is hidden, reserved for mercenaries and thugs.

Littered with garbage, it is obvious that no maintenance droids have been programmed to maintain the sector. The surrounding towers have fallen into decay, bits of debris falling every so often into the middle of the street. The duracrete streets are covered in a film of filth and chemicals from the abandoned warehouses, making movement cumbersome when traveling through the most inhabited areas.

Patrols armed with blasters and vibroswords come through these areas regularly, making a show of force to advertise the merits of their ‘protection’ while extorting the occasional shopkeeper. Screams and shouts are a common enough sound, which is never in the refugees’ best interests to interfere in.

The sharp splash of water echoed across the avenue as Grot raced through the slums. This time of night most respectable citizens of Nar Shaddaa avoided the streets, and the disreputable ones quickly ducked into the shadows at the sight of the armor-clad Trandoshan. The mercenary paid them no heed as he fled through the artificial twilight, his mind focused on a single thought.

He was being followed.

He gasped in exhaustion as he ran, feeling the stench of methane and rotten eggs from the sewers fill his nostrils as he struggled for breath. Trandoshans just weren’t built for this sort of running, and for once in his life he cursed his lack of sweat glands. He’d thought that by going through the slums he could lose his pursuers, but even over the beating of his own heart he could still hear the tell-tale tapping of their feet. He listened carefully to the rhythm, Only one now…

It was an odd feeling, to be hunted, and he despised it

He turned right down an alley barely big enough for two people abreast. The buildings leaned in close here, fighting for space in the densely packed refugee sector, but Grot was sure he could use that to his advantage. He ran a few more paces, listening ever carefully to the drumming of his enemies feet. Just a few more steps...

Turning suddenly on his heel, Grot released his revolvers from their holster in a swift, practiced movement. In such a narrow alley he barely had to aim as he brought them up for a volley. Almost in tandem with his movement, there was a sharp hiss and a bright flash of crimson red as his opponent confirmed his worst suspicions. A lightsaber.

He fired, six slugs sailing towards his opponent as his pistols barked in chorus with each other. The lightsaber flashed from place to place in a whirl of movement, sending up bright, white streaks as his slugs vaporized on impact. He held his fire, unwilling to waste more ammunition and curious about his assailant. The Force-user remained cautiously on guard, his body turned towards his opponent to minimize his profile and his saber held out ready to deflect another fusillade.

Lit by the blood-red glow of his saber, Grot could see his opponent's face beneath his cloak. His dark blue skin looked almost purple in the obscene lighting, a scar on his left cheek standing out in high-relief. A pair of sharp red eyes glittered with an exaggerated malice, his pupils still dilating. Instantly the mercenary could pick him out as a Chiss, a rare sight outside of their corner of the galaxy.

“Try again, I’ll even let you reload.” A cocky smirk rested easily on his chiseled features, showing supreme confidence in his abilities. A gentle wind blew through the Alley, and Grot’s eyes flicked over to the Taldyran design on his cloak, making the Sith’s Identity clear.

“This does not concern you, Aldaric,” the Trandoshan growled with serpentine malice as he recognized the Aedile, “We need not be enemies.”

“There are many in Taldyran who would argue that.” The Chiss answered, pleasantly surprised at being recognized. “I’ve no intention of harming you. Provided you cooperate, of course.”

“Cooperate?” Grot hissed, not daring to lower his revolvers for a moment.

“The data-chip,” Aldaric said bluntly. “Don’t try to act coy, we know you have it.” There was a momentary rustle as the Sith pulled a sack from his robes. With a callous shake, he emptied it’s contents on the ground in front of him, the scent of singed blood overpowering Grot’s nostrils. The severed head landed on the ground with a dull thump, rolling over on it’s side to reveal the pale, freckled face of the slicer Grot had met in s bar just hours prior.

“Did you think we wouldn’t notice such an attack on our systems? This kid was dead the moment he breached our firewall. What surprised us, though, was that the DIA was able to track him down faster than we could.” He kicked the head away callously, and flashed another smile at the Trandoshan.

“Do you have any idea what’s on that chip?”

“I do not care.”

“Enough to start a war,” Aldaric carried on, ignoring Grot’s blunt interruption. “I suppose that’s why they chose to use you, isn’t it?”

Grot merely growled in response to his pointed comment, but was unable to deny his growing curiosity.

“A lone mercenary, acting without official orders. Easy to disavow you if the mission goes wrong; I’d imagine the idea was to throw you in front of the speeder from the very beginning,”the blue-skinned Sith chuckled. “You won’t be escaping with that chip. Even now there's a Taldyran strike-force setting a perimeter around this whole forsaken slum. You’ve failed your mission, but you don’t have to go home with nothing.”

“What are you suggesting?” Grot hissed, curiosity getting the better of him as he began to lower his pistols. Aldaric deactivated his saber, plunging them back suddenly into the dim twilight of the city as he outstretched a hand to the mercenary.

“Hand over the chip peacefully, and Taldyran is prepared to offer you compensation for the loss. You can even go back home to Arcona and say we got to the slicer before you ever arrived. You get paid, and nobody has to know what happened here. All you have to do is hand over the chip.”

The Trandoshan’s hands were moving before he fully realized what he was doing — holstering his pistols in response to the Sith’s offer. It seemed eminently reasonable, and without even really considering he began to walk towards Force-user. He felt his head and pulse pounding as he neared Aldaric, subconsciously fighting against each step. Why am I doing this?

“Take out the chip.” The Chiss’s tone grew firmer, taking a sharp edge as he felt the mercenary begin to struggle. Yet there was no dispelling Grot’s doubt once it began to grow in his mind. With every step he felt the urge to obey the Sith wane. He advanced no longer under suggestion, but at his own free will. With deliberate steps he edged closer, till he struck like a coiled serpent.

Freeing his electro-bisent from the straps anchoring it to his back and lunged, the electro-plasma filament at its head hissing to life. The activation of Aldaric’s lightsaber was a roar by comparison, parrying the strike to the side in a spray of sparks. Digging in his heels, the Trandoshan quickly turned his thrust into a slash, sweeping upward into the Sith’s armpit.

Aldaric leapt back, sharp, ghostly pin pricks across his chest warning him of the danger. With a casual flick he attempted to parry counter the over-extended mercenary, but the strength and ferocity of the blow utterly surprised him. His blade was nearly soaring out of his loose, one-handed grip by the strike, and he stumbled backward in an attempt to regain his stance. He could feel Grot’s murderous intent rise and fall with each thrust as the mercenary chased him back, barely able to keep up with the flurry of blows.

In the back of his mind the Chiss began to panic, knowing he couldn’t keep up with this assault indefinitely. He lunged desperately, looking for an opportunity for a counter-strike, but simply couldn’t close the distance and get under the Trandoshan’s guard. For a moment only the spark and flash of their weapons filled the alley, drowning out their labored breaths as the mercenary drove his robed opponent ever backward. The smell of ozone slowly suffocated the area, smoke raising in thin wispy trails towards the city sky.

Grot felt his arms burn and shake as he struggled through the weight of his armour. He could feel his footwork grow sloppy, his strikes begin to slow, and in that moment Aldaric found the opportunity he was looking for. For a moment he seemed almost a blur as he leaped to the side with unnatural speed, his blade poised for a killing blow. With a furious thrust, he drove his saber straight toward his opponents heart.

There was a bright flash as his blade rebounded off of a translucent energy shield surrounding his opponent,materializing just moments before his blade struck true. A burst of flames and sparks erupted from Grot’s belt as the shield failed and catastrophically overloaded, forcing Aldaric to draw his shield his face as the mercenary leapt backwards. There was a sharp hiss as Grot pulled a smoke grenade and chucked it at his opponent, capitalizing on the opportunity to escape. In the back of his mind he knew he had no more time to waste fighting, the Taldyran strike force would be here soon.

With a roar Grot’s jet-pack sputtered to life, shining bright orange through the growing smoke as he propelled himself down the alley. Aldaric raced forward into the smoke, slashing one more time at the mercenaries heels as he sailed out of reach.

Aldaric was exasperated. He ran down the alley following the smoke trail the Transdoshan had left behind. Grot has proven to be a more difficult read than the Chiss had bargained for. The plan had almost worked. Fortunately, he had sensed the turn in the Arconian's emotions the moment his mind had been made. He was a slippery one, and he was undoubtedly going to slither back under the first rock that he could find. Luckily for Aldaric, there were no rocks to be found, and the Taldryan strike force would ensure that his quarry couldn't simply scurry away.

Up ahead the orange glow had disappeared. The Knight's legs were burning, but he pushed himself forward through the pain. When he reached the spot where the flame had been exhausted, the Chiss stopped abruptly. Just ahead the alley split off in several directions. Aldaric quickly examined the duracrete floors. They were littered with trash and covered in grime. Hundreds of trails of footprints littered the area, but one particular set caught his attention.

"There you are," he muttered to himself as he followed the trail into the darkness of the alley with his lightsaber in his hand. A sudden rush of emotion was the only warning of the coming attack. With the quick snap of the activation of his lightsaber the alley was suddenly bathed in blood red light. The Aedile quickly swung his blade up to parry the massive swing from the Transdoshan as he lept at him from the shadows. The blow staggered him as his legs struggled to resist the force of the attack.

"You're persistent," Grot hissed as he pushed Aldaric's lightsaber down towards his face.

"You're trapped," Aldaric growled back through his clenched teeth.

Aldaric focused his thoughts on pushing the Transdoshan backward and after a few moments channeled the Force into his muscles and shoved his opponent back, breaking the lock. He stood up as quickly as he could manage, just in time to square off against his opponent and bring his lightsaber in front of his chest and pointed at his opponent's chest to keep him at a distance.

"I overestimated you last time and will not let that happen again. There will be no hesitation this time. Just hand over the chip and walk away and we can put this all behind us."

The mercenary's only response was a quick strike from the right that the Chiss quickly slapped off target. Aldaric seized on the opening and quickly slashed at his mark. A quick shower of sparks erupted into the air as the lightsaber glanced off of the heavy armor.

Thrusting attacks, it is. Aldaric thought to himself. I should have known better. I would already be back at the cantina enjoying a fine glass of whiskey.

"The next one is going straight through your chest Grot!" Aldaric shouted as he fell back into his stance. He squinted his eyes and focused on his target waiting for an opportunity to make his next move.

Sweat poured from Aldaric’s brow as he circled his opponent, his breath coming in short, ragged gasps. The cold midnight air steamed about him, a gentle white mist driven by the heat of his exhaustion. Grot was no worse off, the tingly, electric pain from his suit’s electromagnetic field generators still coursing through his flesh. His suit trailed smoke and sparks from his failed deflector shield, and his jetpack lacked the fuel for anything but a short flight.

He was out of options.

The Trandoshan felt a deep sense of disgust as he considered the battle so far. His foe’s bravado was not unearned — he’d been running the entire fight, merely fleeing his opponent’s grasp as best he could. It was shameful; in his concern for his mission he had forgotten who he was.

A hunter.

With a wild, primal yell, Grot leapt forward, his bisento gleaming. Thrust after thrust fell on Aldaric like rain, but the Chiss had long ago learned it was useless to block the mercenary’s attacks. He fell back, giving ground under the fierce assault, biding his time and preparing for the opening he knew would come. It wasn’t long before the Trandoshan slowed, his guard dropping low to his belt and his attacks losing their ferocity quickly. Almost too quickly.

With a triumphant shout, Aldaric lunged forward and drove his blade towards the heart of his foe. No shield would impede him this time, sweet victory was his! Yet in his moment of exaltation he saw something shift in his opponent’s stance. Grot’s movements sped up in a last burst of effort, and Aldaric’s heart dropped in realization of what he’d stumbled into. His opponent’s exhaustion had been a feint.

It was a trap.

Dodging low and to the side, the Chiss’s thrust sailed passed him, his stance dangerously over-extended. Grot dropped his bisento, his weapon no longer needed as he flung a cloud of yellow, crystalline powder into his opponent’s face. The Sith cried out, his vision blurring and tearing up as his eyes began to burn. The Trandoshan’s jetpack roared to life, carrying him forward into a rocket-propelled tackle that slammed into Aldaric like a freight train.

The wind left his lungs as he was carried up and body-slammed into the building at the far end of the alleyway. The shoddily-built structure shook under the impact, and there was a sharp, sickening crack as his bones shattered. His head whipped backwards, cracking his skull against the wall, and his vision swam black as he crumpled to the ground.

He came to shortly after, looking with bleary, burning eyes for his opponent. He could see the crimson red shape of his enemy struggling to his feet about a yard a way, stumbling towards him with murder on his mind. He struggled and tried to crawl away, feeling the faint presence of his lightsaber a mere pace away. The Sith coughed, feeling thick, sticky blood well up in his throat as he reached desperately for his weapon. There was a sharp pain as his opponent’s boot stamped down on his outstretched arm, his hope banished.

“This next one is going in your chest, Aldaric,” Grot hissed, mocking the Sith’s earlier confidence. With a swift kick, he knocked Aldaric over onto his back, the blood from his head-wound beginning to leak on the ground below the Chiss. With a hiss, Grot released the seals on his helmet, throwing it to the side and granting the Sith his first and final glimpse of the Trandoshan’s face.

His orange eyes glowed in the dim light like a demon, a wide smile of bright, sharpened teeth spreading across his face. His cavalcade of piercings were alien to the Chiss, exotic and terrifying, and further still if only he had known of the bones from which they were carved. Aldaric coughed, struggling for words as the mercenary stood over him. “D-dishonorable… schutta…”

Aldaric true fear and panic flood his system. He was going to die, slaughtered like an animal at the hands of a common mercenary. He felt his muscles tense and struggle, the instinct to flee overpowering his thoughts. He groaned weakly and felt wet sticky blood begin to soak the hood of his robe.

I’m going to die, I’m going to die, I’m going to die… The mantra repeated over and over in his head as Grot’s grin widened, drawing a bright, blue blade from the sheath on his hip. Aldaric watched the sapphire sword glitter in the light, its pure gemstone blade reflecting his eyes back at him. His expression was pitiful, disgusting, like a frightened child. He felt hatred begin to grow in his soul, welling up from the deepest part of him. Hatred for himself, for his failure and his inability to prevent his fate, and hatred for the Trandoshan that had reduced him to such a state. It welled up inside him like a storm, crackling with energy and swelling to the surface as the Force reacted to his emotions

The sapphire sword glimmered in spiraling fractals as Grot twirled it through the air. “There is no dishonor in this,” he began, “it is the way of nature.” Leaning over the wounded Sith, Grot drew his blade high above his head. It shined in the artificial light, casting a dim, blue glow over the Trandoshan’s sneer.

“The predator stumbles, and becomes prey!”

With a shout of defiance, Aldaric thrust his hands up at Grot, feeling the power that had been slowly building inside him rush out in a single catastrophic burst. His hands felt like they were on fire as a burst of white-hot lightning leapt from his fingertips. A loud crack echoed through the slums as it slammed into the Trandoshan mid-swordstroke. The mercenary was knocked backwards, smoking and sparking, his face rent and burned by the deathly burst of electricity. He fell out of sight, impacting heavily on the ground, but Aldaric could no longer muster the energy to look for him.

Light-headed, his body searing with fiery pain, he fell into the blissful void.

——————————————————————————————————————————-

“...up, Commander, are you okay?”

The pungent stench of smelling salts brought Aldaric up from the depths of sleep, the pain rushing fresh and new. He felt drained beyond belief, even the act of opening his eyes stung like an acid bath.The Taldyran strike force surrounded him, the black helmet of Sergeant Duzhili hovering above his face as the medic carefully applied bacta spray to his injuries. Weakly, the Sith cracked his lips open to speak

“...The target?”

Sergeant Duzhili sighed, none-too-thrilled to be the bearer of bad news. “Gone, commander. It took us almost an hour to find you here, he’s slipped the net long ago. You were our last hope of success.”

“He must have left you for dead,” The medic piped up, applying a splint to his leg. “You’ve lost an awful lot of blood. Twenty-six broken bones, a severe concussion, second-degree burns along your arms and hands. If we’d been any later you’d need a body-bag instead of a stretcher, sir.”

Aldaric fell silent, unable to muster the energy to respond. He could only seeth, rage and spite building in his chest. Failure. The Taldyra would not be pleased. As he was carried off in a stretcher, the medic still fussing over his injuries, the bright orange eyes of his foe still mocked him in memory. His sharp-toothed smile made him shake with anger.

We will meet again, mercenary.

Aldaric didn't have to wait long for Grots next attack. The Mercenary swung his electro-bisento in a wide arc towards the Seeker's midsection. Aldaric quickly rolled out of the way and barely avoided the follow-up overhand chop that was meant to split him in half. The Chiss hastily sprung back to his feet and reassumed his stance. He quickly stabbed his lightsaber towards Grot's chest. A shower of sparks flew back into his face as the electro-bisento slapped the blade weakly to the side. Grot was breathing heavily and each of his movements came with growls of anger. He raised his weapon to strike again as his prey scrambled to get back into position.

When the counter-attack came, Aldaric was ready for it. He could almost see the exaggerated chop coming for his right shoulder. A moment later, his opponent began to make the same move. Aldaric focused on the shaft of his opponent's weapon, and it seemed to slow in its path. When the moment came, he stepped to the left, and a quick flick of his wrist sent his lightsaber towards his opponent's weapon. Instead of merely parrying the attack, the lightsaber cut the shaft of the staff in two. The blade flew harmlessly to the ground and bounced away from the combatants.

Grot took a step back in surprise, but Aldaric was already on top of him. The crimson blade was already coming at his chest. He tried to move out of the way, but he was too slow with the weight of his armor and the fatigue from combat. The lightsaber plunged into Grot's shoulder. He howled in pain as the Aedile twisted his blade in the wound and cleanly severed his arm. The Transdoshan collapsed onto the ground, then everything went black.

As Aldaric extinguished his blade, two of the members of the strike team ran up to him and gave a quick salute. They pointed their blasters at the fallen mercenary.

"No," Aldaric said sharply, "No need to kill him. Just search him for the chip."

"Sir?" The sergeant replied.

The second soldier ran over to the sergeant and the Aedile. "I have recovered the chip."

"He may be from Arcona, but he is still a valuable asset sergeant. We have what we needed, there is no need to waste something that could prove useful in the future. Let's get out of here."