The building that has become the Chyron Embassy is not the tallest in Port Kasiya, but it surpasses all others in the city's northeast. Basalt sidewalks smelling ever so slightly of brimstone underline a time-worn facade that's decrepit from the ground floor to a dozen stories up, then morphs into a modern steel-and-glass construct with a narrow landing platform extending an easy 300 metres high over the road. Patrons have to crane their heads back quite far to see it, though, and they are often more interested in stepping through the scratched but sturdy double doors which may be flanked by clients, bouncers, drunks, and duct-taped living warnings.

Seven shallow steps lead down onto the carefully dilapidated hardwood main bar floor, though "bar" might not be the right word anymore. Mismatched tables and chairs litter the room, while more comfortable niches with couches and two smaller sidebars occupy most of the walls. On the left side, an extending stage with a pole leaves no doubt about the kind of entertainment provided here, while on the right, a discreet exit leads to rooms best suited for negotiations or private parties.

Straight ahead, between the wings of a formerly grand foyer staircase mostly frequented by pretty people with little clothing, resides the curved main counter as an island, with the dark niches in between leading to the back - but one cannot shake the feeling that entry comes with a price that might not be paid fully by coin. The staff are unerringly smiling people with hard eyes, much like the owner, the Chyron’s Chancellor, Jorm Na'trej. This bar, this whole building, is their domain, their trap and their hunting range.

One instantly realises that any wish, any pleasure and desire, is just a word and a payment away.

One knows that this place is the antithesis to every value taught and preached among normal people.

One is greeted.

"Welcome to the Playground."

Colonel Argentin’s boss, Brigadier General Ampis, had been kind enough to reach out to his colleague, the Director of the Office of Secret Intelligence, on his behalf to arrange this little bout. Somewhat to Shanree’s surprise and excitement the Director had replied that he’d be very interested in some sparring. Dates had been exchanged, rules agreed, and now here the two of them were. Director Anderson was a big man, something the tall and very fit Shanree rarely said about anyone else, and he’d finished donning his impressive armor which did nothing to make him any less imposing.

Anders, by way of acknowledging his equipment had taken a bit longer than the other Man’s had, said, “Are you finished over there?”

“Just been over here hoping my warm up wasn’t going to go to waste”, Shanree tightened a fastening strap on his chest plate with a look that would have been a playful wink, had he any eyes, back at his opponent.

Shanree moved with predatory grace towards the center of the training room off to the side of the Playgrounds more public venues. It was a large room, 70m to a side, with plenty of barely-padded flooring for any number of combat sports to take place. He bobbed lightly on his feet, keeping limber, and waited for Anders to join him. The Director ambled forward, entirely at ease in his heavy armor, and stood across from Shanree once he was 2m from him.

“First one to tap out, as agreed”, Anders’s voice was calm, but there was an edge of eager anticipation in it that Shanree could just barely detect.

“As agreed”, Shanree pulled a lightsaber from across his shoulder and let it leap to life with a distinct lack of a snap-hiss, or accompanying thrum. He beat the saber’s emerald blade lightly against the underside of his arm bracer to demonstrate it had been tuned to training mode.

Anderson grinned and pulled his curved hilt from his belt. It snapped to life with a hiss and thrumed loudly as he flicked it with a motion of his wrist out in front of him, pointing to the mat on the ground. He tapped its tip against the padded flooring and likewise demonstrated that it had been rendered inert. Shanree nodded to the other man that he understood and the two of them flicked their blades up before their faces in a salute as had also been agreed beforehand. This was the sign they’d agreed would begin their match.

The Director launched an open fist forward sending a wave of the Force flying towards Shanree. The Miralukan dug deep and willed the Force to protect him. The Force Push broke over his Barrier like waves upon a rock but Anderson didn’t allow Shanree a moment’s peace to follow it up with his own attack. The Director lunged forward and bore down on the smaller man with a tremendous downward slash. Reflexively Shanree met the attack with his own saber’s blade at an oblique angle, redirecting its kinetic energy away from himself. He counter-attacked by swinging his saber around in an arc that brought it around his head and at Anderson from his now undefended side, but the Man was a step ahead of him already and moved under the swing at the waist.

The Director backed off a couple paces with a pleased countenance. Shanree waited until the man shifted his weight, starting to circle to his right, to make his own move. Instead of also circling he moved with unexpected speed to close their distance. Anders’s saber, red with a black core, spun into a defensive screen to push Shanree’s thrust aside; It was a textbook Soresu. Instead of deflecting the Miralukan’s emerald blade, batting it away to the side so he could spin the blade around and hit an unguarded part of his opponent’s body, the Director’s red-black saber passed only through air. A flick of Shanree’s thumb, at the right moment, disabled his lightsaber– Anders’s blade was now out of position to guard him and Shanree was now in his most effective range.

He moved under the Director’s saber hand, extending his body down and forward so that his saber hilt could hook in around and behind the Director’s legs. He jacked knifed the saber hilt using it as a lever that took Anders off of his feet and onto the ground. Shanree deftly rolled over his shoulders out of the way of the toppling heavily armored man, emerging atop his knees. His saber hilt was aimed at where the Director lay in a heap, his off hand bracing the rear of the hilt, and he flicked the activator switch once again. The emerald blade emerged from the Wroshyr Wood hilt once again, almost without noise. The tip would have ended just at Anders’s throat had the man not guarded himself at the last moment with his lightsaber, still in hand after his fall. Anders batted the emerald blade away, and with an impressive display of athletic might he wrenched his body, armor and all, off of the ground and back onto his feet.

Only now refilling his lungs with air, having had it knocked out of him in the fall, Anders said through his panting, “Hah, I didn’t see that coming. Try that again.”

“I’d be happy to oblige you”, Shanree drew his second saber hilt from over his shoulder. He deactivated the first saber and now, armed with two Wroshyr Wood fighting sticks, he did a small performative twirl of each weapon in his hand before coming to a final position in a Teras Kasi pose.

Anders had to refrain himself from rolling his eyes. Shanree seemed to be the type that aimed to show off and telegraph exactly what his intentions were. Where was the elegance and simplicity of the duel? Who was he trying to impress? The lowlifes of The Playground did not deserve to witness such a spar, hence their exclusion.

The Taldryan Vice-Chancellor was broken from his train of thought when he felt the Force burst through his subconscious like the hot rays of a sun. This was it. He knew of Shanree's intentions before the Miraluka had even moved an inch of his leg.

Yet, to his surprise, instead of advancing forward, Shanree took one of his lightsaber hilts and tossed it at Anders. Whilst it was an action he hadn't expected, certainly, the Chiss acted instinctively based on decades of experience. He sidestepped, swatting the elegant-looking hilt out of the air with his lightsaber. Anders raised a brow when his blade didn't do any damage whatsoever, instead sending the hilt careening across the floor to the far side of the room.

Alchemy? Or was it perhaps phrik? He didn't have time to wonder.

Anders gleamed Shanree moving out of the corner of his eye. For a man in his fifties, Shanree moved remarkably fast. The one remaining lightsaber in his hand sprung back to life with an emerald-tinted snap as the two engaged in battle once more. Their lightsabers clashed and hissed together, the twirling and whirling motions the Miraluka incorporated into each initial strike putting the Chiss onto the defensive yet again. Anders grimaced, grinding his teeth as he fought to defend himself against perhaps the single best use of Form IV he'd ever combated.

The Vice-Chancellor refused to be made a fool of twice. He came prepared for the ridiculous emphasis on acrobatics that Shanree's Ataru utilised. The Chiss considered himself a master of duelling. His lightsaber was not just a weapon in his hand, it was an extension of his personal self. Throwing it away, even at an enemy, was a blatant act of disrespect.

Anders would not stand for it!

With each of Shanree's energetic swings, the Chiss timed his dodges to the millisecond, never committing to more than needed, but just enough to throw off each of the Miraluka's attacks and parry if needed. Very quickly, Anders threw riposte after riposte at the Miraluka like a hungry feline clawing at its prey. What Ataru had in offence, it severely lacked in defence, a fact that was becoming plainly obvious as the Chiss pressed his assault further. Anders descended into a full Makashi onslaught. Like hell was he was going to give Shanree the chance to attack again!

The Director's lightsaber almost became a crimson-hued blur as he lunged forward, each step meticulous in intent. He thrust forward with his saber hand and stabbed with the beauty and lethal precision of a supernova wave. It was the barest of movements, all part of the deadliest dance they were both a part of. It was a pity they didn't have an audience. The black core weapon in Anders’ hand and the emerald green in Shanree's clashed and hissed against one another in a series of sequences that most would not have believed if they witnessed it with their own eyes. It was a true display of lightsaber mastery from both of them. One was rapid, the other refined. They were so different, yet so similar at the same time. The Chiss felt his heart beating in his chest, adrenaline pumping in his veins. The dark side within him stirred at the contest, begging for more.

Anders attacked like a shark that smelt blood in the water, his lips curving into an almost triumphant grin. Nonetheless, Shanree was a master of his form and knew he couldn't stay on the defensive. The Miraluka poured the Force through his body and backfilled away from his aggressor, swatting Anders’ lightsaber away from him in the process for good measure. He landed in one of the upper balcony viewing platforms, his lips curving into a smug smirk.

The Sith's grip tightened on his lightsaber and let out a low growl. Shanree wanted to mock him, did he? Anders stretched his spare hand towards the Miraluka, pouring his frustration into the tendrils of lightning that lanced out of his fingertips after a few moments.

If Shanree had eyes, they would have widened. Anders settled for the sudden gasp that escaped Shanree's lips as leapt over the railing to avoid being blasted by the lightning. He landed with a crouch, his lightsaber held in a tight two-handed grip in front of him. They were both panting now.

’More!’

It took only moments for more tendrils of concentrated dark energy to dart out of Anders’ fingertips, fuelled by nothing other than his disdain for the man in front of him. His heart pounded in his chest, and yet he didn't care.

Shanree rose to his feet when the stream of lightning stopped, his lips curving into a frown.

He shook his head, taking deep breaths. “This is supposed to be a spar. Nothing more, nothing less.”

“Spare me your rhetoric,” Anders scoffed. “Seraine spoke highly of your abilities. If all it takes to unsettle you is a simple blast of Force Lightning, then perhaps you are not the warrior you think yourself to be.”

“This was not what we agreed to,” Shanree began to circle the mat. “Telekinesis is one thing, yet it seems you are playing to kill!”

“Then I am changing our little game. If I may make a suggestion? Pray I do not alter it any further,” Anders followed suit, matching his pace and direction until the Miraluka came to a sudden stop.

Shanree reached out for his second lightsaber, the wooden ht soaring into his hand. He ignited the second blade and held both his weapons horizontally in front of him.

Anders raised a brow, resisting the urge to snort. “Really, now? Do I threaten you enough that you feel the need to resort to Jar'Kai?”

“You don't scare me,” Shanree stood firm and turned off the training mode of his weapons. “I've faced down monsters that you couldn't possibly fathom. You are nothing.”

Anders smirked. His opponent showed such confidence in the face of adversity. Good. It was no fun if it was made too simple. He was nothing, was he?

’We will see about that.’

“You will lower your weapons.”

The Chiss’ suggestion weaved its way into Shanree's subconscious like strings trying to latch onto a puppet.

Miralukan sight was Force based. Most inert things he saw as shadows around which the Living Force flowed but living things, particularly Force sensitive things, appeared in vivid detail to him. They practically glowed as if illuminated from within; their emotions and traumas, their ambitions and attitude radiated from them giving Shanree a woven tapestry of them that defied what visually sighted beings could ever percieve. Director Anderson’s glow intensified as the Force concentrated within him so Shanree braced himself for his next move.

“You will lower your weapons”, the man’s words were not merely a suggestion.

Shanree felt the words wash over him and for the barest instant his arms quivered, but he was prepared for them and he held his guard, “If you want to hurt me you’re going to have to try harder than that.”

Anders sneered and beat his breastplate with the fist holding his saber. With a roar he charged forward. The Director was fast with his agile red-black lightsaber; his attacks poked and prodded at Shanree’s defense, swatting and flicking in and out of the Miralukan’s guard trying to find a hole that would allow him in. Shanree was quick as well though and his two sabers were fast at work. For every prod and poke he returned a slash and a kick at the enraged Sith. Using his footwork Shanree continued moving and shifting his position relative to the attacking Anders so that he could never fully prepare his own footing. Anders was right handed, so Shanree constantly moved to force his opponent to turn to his left, his saber arm’s movements hindered by having to constantly reach over and across his own armored body. Anderson was a well-trained duelist and he worked his own feet to keep himself from becoming too disadvantaged.

Shanree flicked his saber blades off and he launched into a full-throated assault upon the Director. With both his of Wroshyr Wood saber hilts he used them like Teras Kasi fighting sticks. They were a whirlwind of strikes and blows which forced Anders into wild defensive movements. Shanree found plenty of opportunity through the larger man’s defense however as he was now in his element. A fighting stick struck Anders at the joint of his neck and shoulder, and though cushioned by the man’s pauldron, the blunt strike forced a wince of pain to shoot across Anders’s face under his helm. Shanree pressed the attack with another strike hitting the side of Anders’s head on the helmet, a third bludgeoning the Sith’s right elbow.

Anders bellowed with rage and thrust his fist forward. Without time to react Shanree was sent flying backwards by an invisible hand swatting at him. Twisting and contorting acrobatically he landed on a knee with a foot extended out behind him. He was balanced there atop one foot, appearing completely nonplussed. Anders roared in fury again, commanding the Dark Side to fill him with its vigor; Shanree watched as the man glowed brighter and with more vivid detail each second. He stood to his feet and drew a slow, measured breath. He centered himself in the Force and allowed his practiced battle calm to wash over him anew. Anderson balled his left hand and then unleashed blue-white lightning in his direction. Shanree cartwheeled through the air out of the way of the forking attack. In an instant one of his sabers ignited in time to catch the blue-white tendrils against its emerald blade.

“Anderson! You’re out of line, stop this!” Shanree shouted at the Director whose face was a countenance of pure fury.

The SAG Operative’s words only served to fuel the Sith’s rage and he redoubled his efforts into the Lightning. Shanree dropped his second hilt and gripped the lit one with both hands under the burden of Anderson’s on-slaught. Shanree needed to end this fight before it got truly out of hand. He removed a hand from his hilt, grasped at the air, and pulled with tremendous effort. Anders seemed to know what he was up to and was prepared. The stream of lightning ceased as Shanree’s own invisible hand grasped at Anderson, but it only crashed across the Director’s prepared barrier, his forward foot moving forward to brace ever so slightly. The lightning had ceased though and Shanree was in motion. His left hand trailed behind him, summoning the dropped fighting stick/hilt back into it. With one light emerald blade and one inactive saber hilt he launched into a ferocious new assault.

Anders continued to glow brightly in the Force as he commanded it to fuel him. His movements were fast, they were better timed, and more precise than they’d been before. For every attack Shanree made the Director was better able to block or deflect it. The enormous man was a storm of capability and he always seemed to be one-step ahead of Shanree’s next strike– no matter how fast they came or from what direction they flew. It didn’t take long for Shanree to pick up on what was happening; he recognized the way his every attack was anticipated, prepared for, moments ahead of time; Anders was gifted at foresight. Shanree struck low at Anders’s knee but the man moved his leg out of range and prepared a counter-attack. Shanree deflected the blow, turning it up and away from himself and made to follow up with another strike but Anders was again one step ahead and prepared. Shanree’s saber hilt was ripped from his right hand by an invisible tentacle. He lit his left handed saber and made to strike Anders but the man reached out with his left and its emerald blade merely stopped in the air, inches from the Director’s fingers.

The blade was locked in the Sith’s telekinetic grip and when he saw the realization in Shanree’s eyes, Anders laughed, “Your stick fighting is at an end.”

“If You say so”, Shanree said inwardly, confident the Sith would perceive the thought.

He felt the barest moment of hesitation, confusion perhaps, from Anders before he acted. Shanree released his hold on the saber hilt and pressed both of his hands forward, willing the Force to do what he needed. Caught off guard, holding a saber in the air by an invisible hand, Anders caught the impetus of the Push in his gut and sailed backwards into the Training Room’s padded wall. Shanree’s hands wove through the air, and with a deliberate stomp as he took a step forward he redoubled his use of the Force. Anders tried with every muscle in his body to pull himself off of the wall only to find himself pressed back into it violently. He roared tempestuously only to have his head, encased in its heavy helm, slammed back into the wall as a third wave of power broke over him.

“Tap out!” Shanree yelled over the effort of his concentration.

He was answered by a bestial scream of effort as the Dark Side poured into Anders and he used it to fuel the sinews of his whole body, he appeared to be on fire to Shanree. He peeled an arm off of the wall with great effort, and leaning forward at the waist he peeled his other arm off of the wall a moment later. With greater and greater control he pushed with a leg and took a step away from the wall and towards Shanree. The SAG Operative wove his hands through the air a fourth time and he sent the Force against his opponent again, only to watch as it splashed over the Director’s barrier like waves upon a breakwater. The padding and wall behind the director pressed inward, creating a silhouetted impression of the Sith’s outline behind him. Shanree bared his teeth in frustration and changed tack once again.

Anders broke into a sprint towards him, his red-black saber in his hand. Shanree rolled over his shoulder and out of the way. He summoned his left-handed saber to his nearest hand but didn’t ignite it. He brought up and blocked the Sith’s saber several times. He waited for his opening and then punched the Director in his armored belly with an open-palmed strike. He allowed the Force to surge through his arm and into the Sith. It knocked the wind out of Anders again and staggered him backwards. He was a force of nature and wouldn’t be stopped– he prepared a counter-attack but was again staggered when Shanree hit his shoulder with another open palm strike. Again the Force stumbled the Sith backwards a few paces and knocked the wind out of him yet again. Shanree closed the distance between them and batted the Sith’s hasty defense away. He whipped the Wroshyr Wood fighting stick across the Man’s helmeted head to the left, which put his right hand free to jam up against the bottom of the Sith’s chin. The Force coursed through his arm again and into the Director, it snapped his head back and knocked him into the air and off of his feet.

Shanree was atop of him the instant he hit the ground. He struggled to get both his legs astride the Man and then with a combination of hand strikes and fighting stick blows he wrestled the Director into a submissive position. Anders struggled with all of his considerable strength and with all of the vigor of his Force-fueled reserves but the fight was already over– the Director just didn’t know it yet. Shanree used his arms to fend off the Sith’s scrambling grasps and strikes. He landed blow after blow on the Director’s armored head and face, each strike ringing the man’s bell again and again. Anderson jack knifed his entire body in an effort to shake Shanree off but all it ended up doing was allowing Shanree to twist the Sith’s body so he was now face down with the Miralukan straddling him from behind. With deft hands Shanree wove his fighting stick through the Director’s armpit and wrenched hard.

The saber hilt/fighting stick again acted like a lever: it pulled the Director’s right arm up and behind him painfully, removing his ability to free it or use it with any amount of strength. He flicked the activator switch on the saber and watched as the emerald blade emerged nearly noiselessly. The saber blade emerged up and between Director Anderson’s shoulder and neck as he lay pinned against the padded floor. The blade was still in training mode but had it been in a lethal setting, it would only take the barest of movements from Shanree to separate his opponent’s head from his shoulders.

“Tap now. Do it!” He commanded the Sith Man with no hint of the Force in his voice. His voice was cold and stoney, it carried the weight of years of command and authority.

Anders roared as he struggled one way and then the other fruitlessly. It took several seconds but the fight went out of him entirely and his body went limp under Shanree’s body and the weight of his heavy armor. Shanree felt something on his leg and realized that his knee was pinning one of Anders’s arms, and he was feeling the man’s hand awkwardly trying to tap out his submission. Shanree used his free hand to remove the Sith’s lightsaber from his hand, and then with both his own saber and the Sith’s he climbed off of Anderson and allowed him to climb to his feet. The man’s eyes were sharp and focused, the fire of anger still burning within them, but his body language was non-threatening.

The Director removed his helm, his hair amiss with sweat. He stared at Shanree, unnerved by the eyeless glare that he returned. He chuffed indignantly and turned to where his extra gear lay against another wall, “I suppose Taldryan is fortunate you’re our asset, Agent Argentin, though I dare say your talents are wasted in The Army.”

Shanree said nothing though he was certain the Director of the Office of Secret Intelligence read his thoughts on that matter all-the-same.

And just like a puppet, those strings coerced Shanree to begin lowering his arms on command. Yet, it was not the fluid motion Anders had expected it to be. The Miraluka's arms shook as he fought against the suggestion the Sith had planted in his brain.

A small part of the Taldryan Vice-Chancellor was impressed. Not that it stopped him from attacking whilst he could. He summoned a torrent of telekinetic energy with the Force and thrust forward with an open palm whilst his quarry struggled with his internal battle.

Shanree was struck almost point-blank and was sent careening out of their little makeshift arena. He crashed through the set of hard, wooden doors that separated the private part of The Playground from the public. The sounds of scum delighting in their villainy immediately filled the Sith's ears, the horrid snorting and laughter, the clanging of glasses and the wretched stench of body odour lingered in the air like this was the galaxy's largest cesspit.

Anders would have loved nothing more than to have it eradicated off of Kasiya. Alas, he was nothing if not professional. Despite the jeering from the crowd drowning out the rapid beats of his heart in his chest, he maintained his focus on Shanree as the Miraluka slowly returned to his feet, no doubt nursing bruises and splinters in his skin.

“HEY!” A large Besalisk's voice boomed from over the bar area. “YOU TWO BOOKED A ROOM TO HAVE YOUR FIGHT. FRAKKIN’ USE IT!”

Perhaps it was the influence of all the wretched souls around him, his fatigue, or the influence of the dark side itself, but Anders found his patience wearing perilously thin.

“Silence!” The Sith hissed like a venomous snake eager to sink his fangs into anyone who dared question him. It only ignited the crowd as they heckled him from their seats and taunted him.

Unfortunately for Anders, it was all the distraction Shanree needed. He reached out to one of the adjacent tables where a game of sabacc was being played by several patrons. With ease that most Novitiates in the Brotherhood could only dream of, and to the displeasure of those using it, Shanree sent the table soaring towards the Chiss with a speed that only those with advanced reflexes could avoid.

Or those with advanced warning from the Force, which of course, Anders had. He hitched his breath and took a big step back, the large table clipping his cloak as it soared past and threatened to collide with many of the patrons on the other side of the bar.

It never touched them.

Shanree's control of Telekinesis rivalled the very best the Brotherhood had to offer. The table halted mid-air and was sent flying back towards Anders.

Once again, the Force blared through Anders. This trick again? He had half a mind to scoff. This time, he sliced through the table as it came towards him, severing it in twain. He followed up with a lunge towards the Miraluka, whose twin blades ignited and blocked him before it could strike him.

“How utterly pitiful of you,” Anders taunted with a slow shake of his head. “You refuse to fight me with your lightsabers so you resort to the Force.”

Shanree grimaced. “You're one to talk, Mr. Lightning Fingers.”

“I reacted to the absolute disrespect you showed to the art of duelling with lightsabers. You have no-one to blame but yourself for your weakness.”

Anders took the opportunity to glance through Shanree's passive thoughts. He heard the ire that his words had created. The festering resentment boiling to the surface. Good. He heard the Miraluka's plan to strike at him again towards his legs.

That was an action confirmed by the Force. Anders sidestepped, parrying one blade whilst the other missed him entirely. Once again, he was pressed onto the defensive against Shanree's explosive dual wielding onslaught.

The Taldryan Vice-Chancellor bit his bottom lip as he searched for any weakness in the Miraluka's form. Not only was Shanree as fine an Ataru adherent that Anders had ever faced, he was also perhaps one of the best Jar'Kai specialists he had ever been on the receiving end of. The Miraluka's blades moved in tandem with one another in a series of blurring and overwhelming strikes almost too fast for the eye to see as they battered against each of Anders’ guards. An off-hand was typically a weakness that could be exploited, so where in the Force's name was it!?

The only conclusion Anders could draw was that there was no off-hand. Shanree had mastered his craft in a way the Sith on the receiving end could almost not fathom.

Almost.

Because unbeknownst to Shanree, Anders had trained Draca, who was also a master of Jar'Kai tactics. The Sith had come up against perfected dual blades more times than he could recollect.

The Miraluka swung each blade in tandem in ways that would have eviscerated any other foe on the field of battle.

But not Anders.

He was remarkably deft with the Force, treating each of Shanree's blades like they were separate opponents in one-on-one duels. There was almost a flash of surprise in the Miraluka's face when he, no doubt, felt the coldness from Anders’ gaze and was taken by the rate at which he defended himself. As Shanree began to slow from fatigue, Anders quickened his pace. Thrusting, stabbing and manoeuvring through his opponent's guard like it was made of paper.

”You will surrender.”

Anders’ words weaved into Shanree's mind again, and left him wide open. With a quick flourish, Anders disarmed the Miraluka of one of his weapons and placed his own at the edge of the older man's throat.

“Go ahead. Do it. I dare you,” Shanree said through deep breaths.

It was oh, so very tempting. All he had to do was move forward an inch and the man in front of him would be no more, little more than blip in history to be forgotten about. The dark side fed on his more murderous instincts, demanding he act on his evil thoughts. The crowd roared with approval at the violence on display.

Alas, Anders prided himself on being a rational man. Killing a loyal Taldryanite in the middle of the Chyron Embassy would cause a political black hole he would rather not instigate.

A quick glance into the Miraluka's mind confirmed his suspicions. Shanree understood it too, hence his confidence. He knew Anders couldn't kill him, not without repercussions. Besides, why would the Sith want to kill him? The older man was obscenely powerful and blindly loyal to Taldryan.

He could be useful.

The Vice-Chancellor deactivated his weapon and placed the hilt on his belt. “I do believe I have won. Well fought.”

“You can't be serious,” Shanree did not lower his guard.

“I am very serious,” Anders placed his hands behind his back. “This was a duel. Nothing more, nothing less. What is the point if we do not release our full strength at one another? I must say, I am suitably impressed by your talents.”

“You lie,” Shanree was not going to be fooled that easily.

Anders placed a hand over his heart. “My dear fellow, I am perturbed by your accusation.”

“And why should I believe a word of anything you say?” The elder man asked.

“Because I am the Taldryan Vice-Chancellor and a man of my word. You wish to serve the Taldryan Republic? I can make it happen. I can put a good word in with Cassandra and put you to the top of our list for special assignments and operations,” Anders held out a hand. “What do you say?”

Shanree didn't say anything for a moment. The people around them chanting their approval or disapproval like a pack of mynocks. Nor that their opinions mattered in the slightest to Anders.

“I'll think about it,” was the elder man's honest answer.

“Of course,” Anders acknowledged with a curt nod. He took notice of the large Besalisk glaring at them from the bar counter. Perhaps it was time to leave? “I shall leave you to your thoughts. I bid you a good evening, Mr. Argentin.”

The Chiss left Shanree to make his decision, a small smile on his face. Now, what was it Cassandra wanted to see him about at the adjacent bar?