Anakin once visited Coruscant’s underbelly, as an escort for Supreme Chancellor Palpatine’s secret visit. Festering within the 2685th level of Coruscant, it is a feeding ground to the best and worst criminals—bureaucrats among them. Slaves and contraband are bought and sold on the hour, while others gamble with their lives or ill-gotten gains on the roll of a chance cube.

Others are content to seek entertainment, watching holographic projections of exotic dancers in various states of undress—the likes of which will no doubt be traded as slaves in exchange for credits or other services. Games of chance are often obscured under the sheer volume of patrons gathered around the game tables. Smaller round tables serve for social or business gatherings, with more discreet booths tucked into alcoves along the walls.

Having undergone unfinished renovations at some point, the ceiling has been raised to resemble that of a warehouse. Smoke gathers among the durasteel supports, making a buffer for the intense red and violet beams lighting the cesspit below. Zeltron perfumes are among the most common smells in the establishment, while the rolling of dice cubes make for the most recognizable sound above the music. Fights don’t often break out, and violence is often dissuaded at the sight of armoured bouncers several heads taller than most humanoids

Post 1 Dag swaggered through the crowds of Club Kasakar in the underbelly of Coruscant. “Move it, sleemo,” Dag said in Huttese, as he pushed a patron to the side. No one on this karking planet respected aliens; especially not aliens of a certain stature. Dag had come out here for a recent conference for bar owners. The usual fare of vendors in a convention center telling you that you needed to have droids measure your pour or you’d be spilling credits on the bar top and the latest machine based gambling.

Looking around Dag saw more than enough of that in this club. Holographic projections would have blinded everyone if not for the thick layer of smoke that lingered over the patrons. It reminded him of Malastare. He hated Malastare.

After shoving another couple patrons out of the way he found the tables he had been seeking. Using his feet he pulled himself up to perch on the edge of the table. He sighed, of course they wouldn’t have appropriate heighted seating for a Dug. He rummaged around in the inner pocket of his jacket and threw down a few thousand credits. The Rodian working the table began counting it to exchange for chips while the Gand pitboss rushed over to hand him a small black card. Dag pocketed it and motioned the Gand away before he could start babbling on about whatever perks they offered black card members.

Reaching down with his foot he picked up the pile of credits and aligned them in the built-in tray. The game was simple enough. A shooter would roll the chance cubes down the table while the patrons bet on the possible outcomes. Dag put five-hundred down on the line as a new shooter was handed the chance cubes. Dag looked her over. A Togorian with tortoiseshell fur but with the most striking eyes. She wasn’t petite but she was built for…well, Dag opted to smile. Maybe tonight wouldn’t be so bad.

“Karabst,” Dag spit in Huttese after hours of playing. His credit pile had diminished greatly as he tossed two-hundred chips at one of the men running the table. An elderly and all together disgusted looking Twi’lek. “Put it on hard red,” Dag said as Katrila, the Togorian he had been making eyes at all night, signaled to put a thousand on hard blue. Dag had never had such a bad run at the tables and he’d never known a shooter to have such a good run of luck with the chance cubes.

Katrila played with the chance cubs. Picking them up and laying them down. Twisting and turning what was showing up before picking them up to throw. For some reason, this time, Dag dropped his eyes from her and her lithe figure and looked at her hands. His eyes went wide. Most people wouldn’t have noticed it but he did. He’d been around the karking Sith long enough to recognize that novice move of the hands.

He spun his head and saw the chance cubes hit the end of the table, they rolled. They bounced. Then they wobbled slowly over onto hard blue. He knew it. She cheated.

“Bantha poodoo,” Dag spat in Huttese. “You’re cheating. You’re a Force user!” The box person turned to look at the Togorian. While they hadn’t understood Dag’s Huttese they knew the sound of someone accusing another sentient being of cheating. The dealer was signaling for the pit boss to come over.

“I don’t know what this Dug is talking about. He’s clearly high on spice,” Katrila said, acting hurt at the accusation. As she cottoned to the other patrons not speaking Huttese she lowered her voice. “Listen here you schutta. Don’t you ruin this for me,” Katrila said in Huttese while trying to keep an oblivious face.

Dag ignored her, gesturing for the pit boss as well. “She’s a karking Force user and she’s been cheating all night!” Dag said in Huttese. The pit boss scowled. Katrila saw it and knew immediately that he spoke Huttese.

“I’m not going back to jail,” she screeched as she began scooping up her chips to make a run for it. The two box persons began to pry her arms away from the chips and pull her back from the table. “You ruined it!” she spat as she pried her arms free and pulled out a blaster.

“She’s got a blaster,” the old Twi’lek yelled as she shot him in the chest. Dag pulled out his own blaster and dived off the table as a blaster bolt exploded the wooden rim that he had been perched on moments before. Patrons scattered as Dag bounded on his hands behind a row of slot machines and pulled out his own blaster. Seems like he had struck a nerve.

The Dug’s accusation had come out of nowhere, leaving Katrila with no time to react. She should have been more careful, but it was her first night out in a month and a winning streak had made her a little reckless. So, with a subtle stretch of the paw under the table, she nudged the chance cubes.

Now, as a stranger barked Huttese and the other patrons’ eyes bore into her, the atmosphere seemed to close in around her. The clouds of smoke, chimes of sabacc slots, and steady thump of the bassline threatened to overwhelm her. The table attendants grabbing her arms and pulling her off her stool was too much. She snapped.

Anger burned within the Togorian, allowing her to shrug off the table attendants. She quickly drew her Night Sniper and fired two shots, one at the dealer and another at her accuser. The red burst of energy illuminated chaos erupting in the club: the elderly Twi’lek crumpled to the floor, patrons screamed and scattered in every direction, and Dag dove toward the slot machines.

“Stay back!” Katrila snarled at the box persons, who had recoiled at the sight of her weapon. Her tail, puffy with fur standing on its end, jerked from side to side as she stuffed a handful of the chips left on the table into the pouch on her belt.

Suddenly, she felt a tingle like a jolt of electricity in her spine, the primal awareness that flared to life whenever she found herself in imminent danger. Katrila’s body responded instinctively, muscles coiling and releasing with fluid grace as she ducked with a preternatural speed beneath two incoming blaster bolts. Springing up, her eyes darted to the slots. Dag had fired from his cover.

She sprang up with a hiss, feline ears tucked flat against her head. Swinging the blaster that direction, she sent two more shots flying that direction. The shots shattered glass and sent sparks flying as they struck the slot machines. It only added to the pandemonium.

“You could have minded your own business,” she said sharply, projecting her voice over the din. “But now we have quite a mess on our hands.” The Sith surveyed her surroundings as she spoke. Cocktail tables, gaming machines, and private side booths added up to a maze. Durasteel supports, some housing speakers or holoprojectors, rose above the smoke and artificial lights. Higher up the wall, a raised platform with railing overlooked the main floor. And several heavily armored bouncers were making their way through the shrieking crowd toward the source of all the commotion.

Katrila needed a better position or, even better, a way out. Her eyes narrowed on a projector hanging from one of the support beams. She remembered the words spoken by her father on Togoria many years ago, words she carried with her all over the galaxy: If you don’t like the way the table is set, flip it over.

Holstering her blaster, she padded lightly away from the table and bent her knees. She extended an arm to the holoprojector, timing her breaths to the flicker in the electric blue beams of light it emitted. On an exhale, she pounced. In one fluid motion she yanked her arm down, hurling the machine to the floor in the bouncers’ path, and bounded forward in pursuit of higher ground.

“This lady is insane,” Dag muttered to himself in Huttese as he dove under a nearby table. Moments later the holoprojector crashed to the floor. Sparks flew in all directions as the bouncers and patrons dove for cover. Dag peeked out and saw the Togorian bounding up to a nearby table, then a row of electronic slow machines, as she darted off.

“You don’t pull a blaster on me and then disappear lady!” Dag snarled in Huttese as he pulled himself out from under the table. Pondering his options, Dag leapt onto the shoulder of a barreling Gamorrean pit boss. The swine squealed as Dag used his hands to climb up onto the creature’s shoulder. “Shut up and run,” Dag said in Huttese as he leveled his blaster and squeezed off several shots.

The Gamorrean squealed in protest as he shook his body. Dag’s shots went wide. A large spinning wheel groaned as its supports failed and it began to roll along after the Togorian. “Would you stop moving,” Dag grunted as he slapped the Gamorrean’s head with his foot. His next shot luckily connected with its target. Her armor took most of the damage from his hold-out blaster.

“You shot me!?” Katrila screeched as she saw Dag raise his foot to his ear and mouth ‘what?’. “You shot me!?” Katrila said again in Huttese. Dag laughed, he understood her the first time. He just didn’t care as he began firing again. Katrila jumped from her perch trying for a nearly holoprojector screen.

She barely caught hold of it. Struggling to maintain her grip on her blaster she managed to claw her away behind the cover and returned fire. The Gamorrean took several blasts to his chest and head. Dag launched himself off moments before the Gamorrean fell lifeless to the ground, skidding to a stop against a row of slot machines. The machines chattered away before flashing ‘Winner!’ in several languages. A river of coins drenched the dead pit boss.

“Those are mine! I won them!” Dag screamed at the patrons. Several of whom allowed greed to override their sense of self-preservation and began scooping up the coins. Dag had had enough. He peered slowly out of the crack between the slot machines and lined up his shot. The Togorian was busy picking off bouncers that were racing towards her. He exhaled and let a bolt fly clean and true into the holoprojector. It sparked, electricity arcing over it, before exploding. A feline screech could be heard as the Togorian came crashing to the ground.

Within moments the bouncers were upon. “Don’t cheat!” Dag spat in Huttese as he beat himself a quick retreat from the scene.

The projector crashed to the ground, crushing one scampering club patron and showering others with sparks and shards of glass. The new obstacle and renewed screams momentarily halted the bouncers as Katrila leapt, her powerful haunches easily propelling her halfway up the support beam. Her claws extended reflexively in a vain attempt to gain purchase on the durasteel; they screeched against the metal as she shimmied up the pole.

Cursing loudly, Dag Duh Dug emerged from his cover behind the slot machines. “You can’t run forever, schutta!” he bellowed as he advanced through the chaos, illuminated by intermittent scintillations. He fired another volley of shots in the Togorian’s direction, some ricocheting off other support beams.

As Katrila neared the raised platform, she yowled suddenly. A sharp pain exploded in her right leg. One hand grabbed the wound, causing her to slide back down toward the ground. Her eyes flicked down to glimpse a smoking hole in her armor before the edges of her vision blurred. She had forgotten to power on the shield generator. Kriff. Dag’s triumphant roar echoed in her ears as she collapsed on the ground at the base of the pole.

“You thought you could cheat and get away with it?” Dag sneered. His blaster remained trained on her as she approached with a confident stride. “Nobody cheats Dag Duh Dug!”

Katrila’s heart pounded in her chest. She couldn’t let it end like this, executed in a slimy club on Coruscant. Who was this Dug anyway? What right did he have to ruin her night out? To shoot her over a karking game? She lined her litter box with that measly amount of credits. The pain radiating from her wound burned into pulsating anger. She reached out to the advancing figure with a trembling hand. The rage seemed to crackle from her palms to her fingers, between her knuckles to her fingertips. Growling, Katrila bared her teeth as blue-white tendrils of lightning arced from her fingertips toward Dag.

A harsh, unnatural light strobed as the writhing mass of pure energy hurled through the air. The bolts struck the Dug with a thunderous crack, wrapping around his body like serpents. Dag let out a bellow as his flesh burned. His body convulsed involuntarily, jerking as his muscles contracted. As he seized his blaster pistol clanged to the floor.

The rage Katrila had summoned gave way, releasing her grip on the forces of the Dark Side and dissipating the lightning almost as soon as it had begun. Dag’s fleshy form crumpled to the floor. Katrila’s pain throbbed worse than before. The exertion left her body heavy, but she had bought precious moments. She forced herself to stand, bracing herself against the durasteel support. She pushed forward to begin a trek toward the club’s exit. As she staggered through the dimly lit club, each step stabbed her injured leg with new pain and the cacophony of her surroundings faded into a distant hum. Focus.

The exit loomed ahead. Not much further. Another searing pain, this time in her back. She stumbled, falling to her knees. Craning her neck, she spotted a slightly charred Dag prone on the ground. He pulled himself toward her with a grunt. Somehow still conscious, he had grasped his blaster and dealt another blow. She felt her strength ebbing away, her vision tunneling. The world faded to black around her.

She had played a dangerous game and lost.