A gambler’s den of the Vertical City’s greatest bettors, Club Vertica is a casino reserved for the wealthiest of Nar Shaddaa. Cardshark droids are used exclusively to deal hands to those willing to risk their credits at the sabacc tables. Cheating is rendered near impossible under the surveillance of the droid's six photoreceptors. That, of course, does not stop the downtrodden from accusing others of being a fraud, which can often happen before someone receives a blaster bolt between the eyes. The few that have been able to use skiffers undetected are counted as some of the best swindlers in the Galaxy.

Cerulean lights illuminate the tables, making concealment during a game difficult. Seated around most of the oval tables are a mix of gamblers from different species, succumbing to their addiction for the ultimate prize—the sabacc pot. Credits are tossed onto the tables forming mountains that draw in fierce competitors with deeper pockets and faster wit than the usual patrons.

Behind the games of sabacc, drinks are being served from the alcove of a small bar. Most of these are a shade of blue in color, expertly mixed to dull the senses of all but the hardiest individuals. Onstage, a local band sets the mood of the venue with an upbeat number that deafens out most conversations. The stakes are always high at Club Vertica.

In a darkened back room of Club Vertica, a dozen sentients crowded around a table, watching with rapt interest. Many of them had a lot of money riding on the events of the next few moments, but none as much as the three beings seated at the table. At one end, a scruffy and unkempt human with an enormous grin just hidden under the brim of his hat. At the other, a gruff trandoshan with an unreadable expression on his face. Between them, a rodian, fidgeting nervously, and shuffling the cards in his hands over and over as though they might spontaneously change into something better if he kept it up long enough.

On the table was an enormous stack of credit chips, enough to keep any of the players living comfortable for a standard galactic year… or to go on one kriff of bar crawl through the red light district. Whatever your pleasure.

“Well Grot, old friend, old pal, Grotto, Grotten…” Jon continued rambling off names like that for several minutes. “This has been a most exciting experience! But, all good things…” he said slyly.

“Hrmph,” Grot growled from across the table. “You’re too arrogant, Softskin. Think your hand is so good?”

“Yes, well I, um-” the rodian stammered from his place at the table. “You’ve both been, uh that is, I’ve certainly prepared to-” Both Grot and Jon ignored his continued stammering. Instead, Grot slammed his hand down onto the table.

“Pure Sabbac,” he exclaimed triumphantly. Between them, the rodian let out an anguished shriek, and through his cards into the air. “Beat that, Softskin!”

“Don’t mind if I do,” Jon retorted. “Idiot’s Array!” The crowd gasped, and Jon began collecting the pile of credits into his arms.

“Oh, the uprgades I’m making to the Carnival with you sweethearts…”

“Not so fast,” Grot growled and grabbed Jon’s right sleeve, before reaching in with his other hand and pulling out… a set of Sabbac cards.

Oh, karabast… Jon thought with a panic.

“I, um, I can explain that-” he started, before finding the barrel of a blaster pushed against his throat.

“Go ahead,” Grot said. “This should be entertaining!”