So named because it is located one thousand, three hundred, and thirteen levels from the core of Coruscant, Level 1313 is distanced from the politics of the upper levels. Overlooking the chasm burrowing further into Coruscant’s core, one can watch freighters transporting their illicit cargo between levels. One misstep would send the careless careening into the bottomless pit, or aid the local gangs in staging “accidents.”

Weathered duracrete forms the retainer along the chasm wall, built in concentric rings that descend down an untold height. Strengthened with solid durasteel braces, maintenance has not been needed this far into Coruscant for a long time. Nevertheless, droids pre-programmed to fill in the cracks and crevices that might form in the walls float on repulsorlifts without drawing attention from the criminal gangs. The gangs themselves are focused on their next smuggling operation or struggle for control over Coruscant’s scum-filled underbelly.

A metal and duracrete landscape with a sea of transparisteel towers stood erect against the hazy horizon. Their sleek forms highlighted in golden light from the tiny little sun Coruscant called mother, matching the wealthy pockets of their credit-bag denizens; credits that every scoundrel and good-for-nothing nerfherder have dreamed to get their hands on, wrapping around the load like the airspeeders that snaked and constricted about the Galactic City. If one replaced everything with beaches and ocean, then Coruscant’s heat would be pleasurable. As was, the lights over-flooding the sprawling surface glared and blinded any eyes that got to see the vapid view just like the waters of Selen. In a way, it wasn’t a bad scene when compared to the inner layers of the living Ojomian onion. Too bad she couldn’t enjoy it, business first and all.

Artificial luminescence glinted off a small rectangle chip as it flipped and weaved between aureate fingers, moving in four times the beat of the booted footsteps that traveled with it. Green locks bounced against her heart-shaped face, complete with red-orange lipstick and her ever present token grin. A grin, along with the rolled up cargo shorts and tied-up button-down turned crop top, that had been garnering the woman a few whistles and looks — such as this Human man she sidestepped. Her unpreoccupied hand brushed against his shirt and she moved on with a wink and some trivial bit about the fella’s day. Too busy watching her walk away, he turned and bumped into the silver chest of a KX-series Security Droid with a polearm strapped to its back.

“Excuse me,” its mechanical tone rolled before pushing past the thug and continuing to follow after the Kiffar. A moment passed, walking along the duracrete barrier shielding pedestrians from an untimely tumble, when the machine halted. “Lady Grivna, we have reached the one-hundred, twenty-seventh support beam of the one-thousand, three-hundred, thirteenth level of Coruscant.”

“Thanks, Arther-baby. What I tell ya about callin’ me Lady?” Diy purred as she pivoted, tossing the datachip into the air and catching it. The ex-gangster sauntered to the retaining wall and leaned over. Besides the immediate visage of the gaping black hole edged by lifeless tan-grey duracrete, her blue-green gaze honed in on one of several repair droids hovering in the area. Tagged on its metal husk was what Diy amusingly described as a sad bug droid, and recognized as the symbol of the newly formed Tenixir Revenants.

The ex-gangster recalled back on two of their bimbos' contracts with the Shroud Syndicate, easy peasy stuff, not really. Kro’nk and Trephor both looking for some wares taken off the Severian Principate’s hands, that whole military governing body near Hutt Space. Luck must’ve been on her side with how smooth it had went, the cargo of weapons and med supplies neatly stashed in a disclosed location trapped within the datachip. All she had to do was drop it in the Pirates’ dropbox and they’ll retrieve it, wiring the rest of the funds. Won’t Red’lek and Kiffboi be happy. Tips, luvs.

The repair droid started moving upwards and Diy shifted in anticipation — only for her grin to wane as it paused a meter below her just out of reach. It didn’t look like it would budge anytime soon, twig arms extending out to prime the duracrete for crack filling. She turned to wave over the combat droid behind her, who immediately complied, glowing round eyes waiting for her call. “Arthie...”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“I will remind you again the risk of—,” 4R-7H3R started, once again reciting like a medical holo-commercial as its metal hands held firmly the ankles of its Master.

“Fallin’, concussions, broken limbs, death, yadda yadda. Then don’t drop me, Tin-boi,” Diyrian called up. Careful not to get in the way of the paste the maintenance droid spewed, she reached out and uncapped the canister freshly welded onto its side.

“Hey, Droid! Let’s just put that person down and talk it out, yeah?” a voice instructed.

Diy shot a glance towards 4R-7H3R, unable to see anything else from her position— some mistaken good samaritan down here among the scum? Perfect timing, she-akk! She moved to quickly deposit the chip but was pulled out of reach as the Droid hoisted her up and into its limbs before gently setting her onto her feet.

Irritated at being so close, Diy took a deep breath and slipped the chip into her bra. Turning casually, hands up to placate if need be, her gaze lit upon a pale Zabraki woman. She was dressed in bronze and leather armor, throwing off an outlander-type vibe. Definitely not a city-slicker. The Kiffar’s eyes still wandered openly. Her arms were raised with some nasty looking vambraces, and upon seeing the ‘victim’ safe her stance relaxed some, right pinky lowering. A wave of recognition passed through the newcomer’s blue eyes that were surrounded with the dark maroon tattoos that seemed to coat her visible skin.

“Diyrian? Diyrian Grivna?” she asked with a toothy grin growing, causing Diy’s own smile to twitch. “I’ve been looking for you!”

The Kiffar tried to recall why this chipper gal looked a bit familiar. A fuzzy memory propped up to mind, a frolic through Selen to find some guy’s sister and a drug bust with a handful of Arcona’s agents and company. The visage of a flying purple tooka and a blaster wound suggested the cause of her fogginess on the matter. Sera, was it? The ex-Fade hadn’t really kept up with the new faces of Arcona lately, since self-declaring her resignation from the Fade Initiative. Kark, was there like some formal banthashite to sign?

“Horns!” Diy greeted cheerfully, painting on a fresh grin and a bounce to her heels. She tossed a thumb over her shoulder at the KX-series droid. “Don’t worry, twas givin’ me a hand. Good ta see ya. How’s it goin’?”

“I’m doing good! Got promoted to lead a team and eager to work with them all! You?” Sera lowered her arm, pleased and preferring the pleasant conversation. The feeling was short-lived, however, as she remembered the reason for her trip. Her shoulders dropped with a bit of disappointment at having to ruin the moment, but they straightened shortly after with revigored resolve — voice firm, inquiring, “What did you need a hand with, Diy?”

“It’s dumb really,” the wannabe-Zelosian chuckled lightly on command, ruffling a hand through the back of her bushy locks. “I dropped my commlink. Thought it was a goner, poof! But it wedged on one of ‘em droids—“

“—Karking cut the faux-wires! We know you are pirating wares, you green terra-byte!” growled an electronic voice as a B-1 Battle Droid rounded around the corner of a nearby alleyway. Its elongated face honed immediately onto her, training its heavy blaster pistol. Diy dropped her hand to hook her belt loop near her gun holsters and she could hear the soft whir of 4R-7H3R’s arm rotating at the elbow to unclip its glaive from its back. It started to move forward to confront this new droid, which in turn seemed to trigger the B-1. “Sending your shiny trash can to fight your battles for you? Cowardice like this is why your mother merged with vegetation!”

“Motraka!” Sera called with exasperation, hand palming her face as she wondered once again why he was like this. “He’s right. We have orders to bring you in and can’t let you make this deal — Hey!”

The Marauder’s shout fell on death ears, or audio processors, as 4R-7H3R charged forward, spinning its electroripper staff to drive down onto the B-1 droid. Nearly simultaneously, Motraka fired off a salvo of yellow stun bolts, the energy licking the silver paint of the KX-series’ torso. Sera reacted nearly as fast, moving into the staff’s blow and crossing her arms to catch it below the blade. Electricity humming close to her horns, the Zabrak rotated her wrists and latched onto the dark pole, twisting her body to disarm it. 4R-7H3R merely stared with unblinking, pupiless round eyes, his robotic thumb pressing a button.

A pop sound resulted and Sera found her momentum pulling her to the side a few unexpected steps as the resistance disappeared, brushing against the inner duracrete wall. In her hands laid the blade portion of the polearm, separated by a magnetic coupler. Her sharp Zabraki teeth flashed with excitement as the conflict started to get interesting.

Diy, however, was not amused.

“Gods damn it, Arth!” she cursed under her breath in Zelosian, dodging a bolt of energy as Motraka turned its attention to her. Backpedalling and returning fire, she darted around a street corner opening onto ‘chasm lane’ for cover.

“I cannot allow harm to Lady Grivna,” ‘Arther’ simply stated, flipping the staff’s butt in hand. It lunged and Sera batted it away with the conveniently handed-to-her weapon. She preferred the tribal dagger strapped to her side though and drew it with her free hand. The pair lobbied back and forth, lunging and slashing, brutally redirecting and countering. The energy ribbon of the electroripper left shallow cuts with every strike onto the metal of 4R-7H3R’s weapon and arms. As their fighting drew them near the retaining wall, it calculated that this conflict was lasting too long and thrusted the rounded base towards her once more with a strong jab.

“Arther! No!” Diy hollered, twin pistols Whyell and Whynetta in hand as she leaned out from her cover to return a crimson volley at the advancing B-1 — catching sight of her own droid in action. Incapacitating a frenemy was okay in her books, accidently blasting them into a never-ending pit was not. She ducked as a stun bolt dispersed into the wall behind her, the sounds of blaster fire echoing through the chasm.

4R-7H3R froze in what would have been a matter of inches from Sera’s abdomen if she had not already dodged to the side, the Force warning her with a jolt. The combat droid straightened up and gave Sera one last look before its head swiveled sideways to note Motraka closing in on Diyrian. Pivoting his body to follow, it moved to intercept the other, abandoning his current target. Adrenaline happily pounding through her blood and not wishing to rebuild her droid yet again, the Zabrak spun and sent a strong-booted kick to the tall droid’s left knee joint. It buckled from the blow, falling to one knee with a loud clanking.

Sera Kaern nodded contently, chest rising and falling slightly as she steadied her breath. A sharp toothy grin had spread on her face and remained there even as she looked past the droid trying to knock the joint back into place to her own, closing in on the Kiffar.

“Aye, sorry ‘bout that,” Diy stepped out, guns held up and swinging freely on her pointer fingers. She shrugged her shoulders and gave a sheepish smile. “Been workin’ on Arthie’s ‘chivalrous’ urges, it’s just protective really.”

“Combat droid’s going to fight. Thanks, Motraka,” Sera moved to meet the two halfway.

“Could not rely on your floppy horns,” Motraka reciprocated.

Sera took it fondly and focused on brushing out into the Force to test the Kiffar’s emotions, finding a mix of amusement, annoyance, and a bit of arousal. She also sensed the woman pondering something, and cocked her bald head sideways.

“Horns, ya ever think maybe this deal is fer the clan?” With a slight sigh and a soft smile, Diy dropped her arms to her side as if forgetting the B-1 behind her. “Like if I wasn’t a free agent of my own, but doing it to build ties to the Revs ‘n’ the Syndicate fer Arcs?”

A breath exhaled from Sera’s lips and she rubbed the back of her neck. She had her orders, a job to do. Lucine had insisted the fallout wouldn’t be good. Yet...she couldn’t help but wonder that maybe Diy was right, that she could help.

“Okay, what’s your plan?”

They talked while they walked, making it a good a hundred feet from the ledge before stopping in a shaded nook. Motraka trailed behind the duo, rusted joints creaking. If it was possible for a battle-droid to look both suspicious and surly, he did.

“Right. Ah, so,” Diy started, spinning her lie even as the words spilled out of her mouth. “See that repair-bot right up an’ over there? It’s gotta lil drop-box on it for tha’ Revs to follow, the bug-lookin’ thingy. I’m supposed to slip this trackin’ FOB into the box, so they ken’ pick up a big ol’ shipment of food supplies that was… uh, borrowed from the Princies,” she finished, shooting Sera a warm, crooked grin. The Zabrak grinned right back, nodding appreciatively. That had been mostly true, at least, covering just about everything that she’d actually planned to do. The shipment wasn’t full of food, but military grade weapons and medicine. F-11Ds, FMWB-10Ks, bacta bombs, all good stuff to fuel their fight… all things that the horny-one didn’t need to know about. Watching her closely, the Kiffar relaxed, rolling some of the tension out of her shoulders. Sera, the poor little lamb, seemed to be buying into her fabrication perfectly. All she needed was a little more time to banthaspit the rest of her story...

“What about the Principate?” Sera interjected, horned head cocking to the side. “You said that the deal was to get both of ‘em to like us, right? Lucine’s been working so hard to figure stuff out with ‘em, I don’t wanna see all that get thrown away.” Internally, Diy groaned.

“Right, uh, the Princies! Yeah. So, I was thinkin’... they’re gonna figure out that they’re losin’ some goods eventually, right? So, I was thinkin’ that we tip 'em off where the stuff’s been goin’, say some kark about pirates or somethin’, after the Revs get their stuff. That way…”

--

“... the Sevs get their supplies, and the Princies ken shut down the leak, and everythin’s all hugs and smiles after. Sound’s good to ya?” Diy finished, sticking out a golden-hued hand. Sera smiled, clasping the hand with her own. The Kiffar’s plan had sounded great thus far. The honorable decision was cut and dry no one was getting hurt, and good — well, generally good — people would be getting a second chance. What wasn’t there to like?

Smiling brightly , the Zabrak reached out with the Force as she clutched Diy’s hand warmly. It wasn’t a suspicious gesture but a curious one, touching at the edge of the Kiffar’s mind.

“Sure! We figure this out quick enough, maybe we can even pick up drinks after this. I know a nice little place…”

Sera trailed off, her hand falling away from Diy’s. Instead of sensing what she had originally thought that she would have, she found wariness and smugness combined. The feeling of someone getting away with a lie.

The Zabrak took a step forward, looking Diy intently in the eye. Her normally bright smile turned down slightly at the edges, a look of bafflement crossing her face. “Diy...are you hiding something from me?” she asked, unable to keep hurt from seeping into her voice.

“What’re ya talkin about, Horns? Would I lie to a pretty face like yours?” the Kiffar purred, stepping closer. Even as she said it, though, Sera concentrated, turning her gentle touch on the other woman’s mind into a more direct, telepathic probe. The lies became more obvious. The hidden intention, centering around a single word.

Weapons.

Sera gave a sigh, shaking her head as she stepped forward. She desperately wanted to trust Diy, but the Force was expressly advising her against it. Katka.

“Right… so, listen. This kinda sucks, but I think it’s be best if we just went back to my hotel. We can talk stuff over, figure out what’s actually…”

Sera was very suddenly cut off as Diy stepped forward, looped her arm around the Zabrak’s neck, and pulled her into a deep kiss. For a moment, all thoughts of the Principate and the Revenants were pushed from Sera’s thoughts, her concentration failing as she felt herself leaning into the embrace.

Then, the Force screamed into Sera’s mind. Instinctually, the Zabrak pulled backwards, her eyes shutting tight. A moment later, something smacked into her face, and she felt a fine powder billowing over her flesh. Fighting the urge to suck in a breath, which would have earned her a lungful of whatever junk Diy had thrown at her, Sera took a step backwards, trying to balance herself. Slowly, she blinked her eyes open. Her vision was blurred, but better than it would have been if she hadn’t felt the attack coming. It was just good enough to see ‘Artie’ slam his staff into the ground, grey duracrete cracking as a shockwave slammed outward.

It caught Sera full in the chest, sending her flying head-over-heels, landing hard on her back. Motraka was worse off. Instead of getting to roll against open ground, the fragile bot was slammed into a concrete support pillar. The B1 frame wasn’t built to be durable. Crushed into the pillar, its joints screeched and sparked as they were hyperextended, its main chassis partially shattered. Crippled, it released a fading robotic whisper. Something about a veggie-headed bimbo.

Cursing under her breath, Sera pulled herself to her knees and turned back towards the Kiffar. Through watering eyes, she saw Diy give a mock salute, a sheepish grin on her face.

“Sorry, Horns, but I got’s ta take this deal. I’ll see you around, ya?” she laughed, turning on her heel. The Kiffar gave one last smile over her shoulder and took off running towards the repair bot that she had noted earlier, tagged with the Revenant's sigil. Her droid stayed behind, its hulking metal frame towering over Sera’s much smaller form. The KX’s silver-painted head cocked slightly, the electroripper humming quietly in its hand. ”I would suggest that you make no attempt to follow Lady Grivna. Your frame is fleshy and small, and I would hate to damage it further.”

Sera made no reply. Instead, she reached out with the Force, and swept the droid’s legs out from under it with an invisible telekinetic grip, its face smacking into the duracrete. She was honestly surprised that she hadn’t ripped the thing’s leg off. It was obviously made out of tougher stuff than she had thought.

No matter. Leaping to her feet, the Zabrak tore off after Diy, passing the droid as it tried to recuperate. Unfortunately, the Kiffar was running like a damned loper, bounding towards the group of repair droids. She focused on the Force as she sprinted, channeling it into the muscles of her legs, already pumping hard as she ran. A few moments later, she felt new strength burgeon through her, her pace picking up as a grin shot over her face. Diy was still faster than her, and had a good head start, but Sera didn’t need to catch her, per-say. She just needed to get close enough.

Now.

Keeping her pace, Sera thrust her right hand forward, hooking her ring finger to her palm. That pre-coded signal activated a small launcher within her vambrace, shooting a long, silvery thread outward with a sharp hiss. The grapple-hook caught around the repair droid marked by the Revenants. Pulling taut, it formed a diagonal line across Diy’s path, catching at the breast and clotheslining her as she ran. One blue sandal went tumbling across the ground. Just like her droid, the Kiffar fell right smack on her butt. Unlike Artie, however, she was really quite agile, rapidly turning on the ground to face Sera as she came.

There was a flash of chrome in Diy’s hand, and several muted electronic whirrs as blue stun charges burst from the silenced handcannon’s barrel. She fired without even bothering to aim, but the shots were straight and true. Hissing, Sera immediately balled her first. At the signal, a yellow shield of energy burst to life around her vambrace, absorbing the shots just before they impacted against her. The Zabrak was just about on top of Diy by now; all she needed to do was pin her down, and tie her with a loose bit of the grapple line…

The Kiffar lashed out with a hard, straight kick as Sera lunged for her, knocking into the shield and forcefully shoving her back a step. Diy utilized the space that had been afforded to her to clamber to her feet, flipping her blaster in her hand just as Sera charged once again. The Zabrak grit her teeth, grinning savagely as Diy swung the impromptu club at her head. Her left hand was still tied to the hovering repair droid, and she used the taut cable to deftly catch the blow, immediately countering by jabbing a hard elbow into the Kiffar’s breastbone. The blow landed hard -it would definitely leave a mark in the morning- knocking her onto her back foot.

From there, she had intended to sweep the golden-skinned woman’s feet out from under her while she was off balance, but Diy was a more canny fighter than she had realized. The Kiffar hooked the back of the Zabrak’s neck with her silenced-blaster’s grip, using it as leverage to keep her balance. Hand flying to her hip once again, she whipped her other blaster from its holster, fumbling with its stock as she brought it around. This time, Sera had no room to block or dodge, and two stun bolts took her directly in the gut. The first was half-absorbed by her armor’s plate, but the second zapped into a section that had been stripped for her mobility.

Energy coursed through the Zabrak’s flesh, a mix of pain and a bizarre numbness washing through her. Sera’s grin turned into a rictus of shock, her teeth clenching as her musculature locked up. Then, she dropped to her knees. Not unconscious, but… limp. Stunned.

Diy gave a self-satisfied sigh, looking down at her opponent’s form, nudging Sera softly with her toe. “Well… I got’s to admit, that was a fun little thingy, Horns! I like the way you use ya hands. Real smooth like…” she murmured, rubbing at the spot where the elbow had been slammed into her. Sighing, she pulled the hem of her shirt up, knotting it into a crop-top just above her navel. Then, shooting Sera one last grin, she turned back to the repair droids behind her, stepping over the line still tied to the marked droid. One by one they were starting to pull away, hovering out over the abyss towards their next assignment. “Well, no hard feelin’s, eh? I’ll just leave ya here for Artie to look after… and like ya said, drinks after? I’ll set the date. Buh-bye!”

Tensing, the Kiffar took a running leap, catching onto the repair droid marked by the Revenants, and pulling herself onto it as it started to hover away, out over the abyss. It was a few feet wide on its flat top, forming a nice stable platform for her. Slowly, it drifted over the pit, with Diy perched carefully atop it. As it started away, the grappling cord that Sera had tied onto it was dragged along limply, still tightly connected to the bot.

Sera remained on the ground, stunned, watching Diy escape. Try as she might — and she did try — she couldn’t bring her musculature back under her control, sitting like a ragdoll. Helpless.

No. No, not her. She was never helpless. She had the Force.

Focusing with all she had, Sera called out to the energy around her, channeling it into her body, wresting control over her stunned musculature. Inch by inch she fought, forcing her muscles to flex, shaking away the effects of the stun.

The bot had pulled away by now, hopelessly out of reach… save for the grappling line dangling beneath it.

Suffice it to say, the idea was insane. Suicidal, even. Sera didn’t care. Looping the line around her forearm and winding it into the grip, she felt herself lift away, pulled on after Diy. Over the abyss.

Good thing heights didn’t scare her. Good thing that nothing scared her. Jaw clenching, Sera clung on for dear life, and started her climb upwards.