When you kark enough people over, especially powerful people, it was only a matter of time before you end up with a bounty on your head. That's what Bril Teg Arga concluded as he reviewed the details of his assignment listed on his datapad. A Duros smuggler named Davik Rao and his crew of miscreants had run afoul of Anucon, a shipping company that made its bones ferrying cargo throughout the Outer Rim. Because the region's saturation with brigands and other ner-do-wells discouraged most galactic long-haulers from doing business there, Anucon had risen in recent years as one of the most reliable long-haul businesses available to the Rim's myriad frontier planets. When reports of raids on their shipments started coming in, Anucon executives wasted no time in hiring the services of those who could fix their problem as quickly as possible.
Never one to pass on an opportunity to make more credits, Bril had taken the bounty and secured passage to the Smuggler's Moon within a few hours of accepting it. Stepping off the shuttle, he pulled the hood of his cloak over his helmet to better obscure his features before venturing into the city proper. The patter of steady rainfall landing against the thin metal roofs of nearby shacks created a moderate amount of noise, but the street was mostly quiet besides that. There was a small group to his right who seemed to be talking amongst themselves, and another who were playing some sort of dice game. Although he'd never been to Nar Shaddaa before, he knew of its reputation as one of the most notorious hives of scum and villainy, a dangerous place that even Force users should be wary of taking lightly.
"No wonder Davik is known to frequent here," he muttered to himself, thinking aloud, "Seems like the perfect place to lay low when the heat is on you."
Taking note of where the brilliant neon signs above him seemingly pointed to, the Zabrak knight found his way to a tabac lounge a few blocks away. The slow, resonant notes of a valachord complemented the lounge's subdued atmosphere, and most of its patrons were seated in communal booths to share in a hookah pipe that sat in the center of the table. Why smoking tabac was so popular was a mystery to him; the smell alone was enough to dissuade him from ever trying it. A few taps on his vambrace's embedded touchscreen sealed his helmet off from the outside environment, allowing him to breathe fresh air once the remainder of the smoke was filtered through his helmet's filtration unit.
That was better. Now, he could actually focus. He strode to the bar in the back of the room and greeted the bartender with a nod. She was a human woman with scarlet hair and eyes the color of emeralds. After serving another patron near him, she turned her attention to Bril, "We don't see Mandalorians here often, and you're the second one I've served today. What are the odds?"
"I'm looking for someone," said Bril, opting to skip the small talk. He had no intention of staying on Nar Shaddaa any longer than what was absolutely necessary, "A Duros smuggler named Davik Rao. Known to frequent places like this."
The woman raised an eyebrow at his question, pausing to examine more closely. Then, she shook her head, "Doesn't ring a bell, sorry."
She was lying. Why did they always have to lie? It made his job harder than it needed to be. But he supposed he wouldn't get paid as much if the missions didn't involve some difficulty. He tried again, this time by placing his credit chip on the wooden counter. "I know how this works. Money talks, right? Name your price." Bril tapped a finger on the electronic card while her from behind his visor.
"Sorry, man. I really don't know who you're talking about. Were you planning to order something? Because I have other customers."
A sigh escaped his lips, and he prepared to speak again, but the appearance of another figure to his left caught his attention instead. Dressed from head-to-toe in jet-black Mandalorian armor that Bril recognized as being made from the same material as his own vambrace, they raised a fist to their breastplate while uttering something in a language he couldn't understand, "Su cuy'gar."
"I'm sorry?" asked Bril, turning his full attention to the person and taking a slight step backward.
They didn't say anything, letting an awkward silence build between them. Bril started to wonder if he had done something to offend the stranger and was considering removing himself from the situation when they removed their helmet to reveal a human man with a less-than-amused expression on his face. "You're no Mandalorian, yet you wear the armor," he said, "You dishonor us, and that armor."
"Look, buddy. I don't want any trouble. I earned this armor and I have no intention of removing it. Now, if you'll excuse me." He turned his attention to the bartender and produced a holoimage of his target, "This ring any bells? You've got to know something."
The Mandalorian interjected again, "What business do you have with this man?"
What was with this guy?
"My own. You looking for him, too? Well, get in line." Bril gave a dismissive wave before turning to head toward the door. He didn't see his target, and he needed to get out of here before this man found more ways to annoy him. That was his plan, at least, he felt a hand on his shoulder.
