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; themselves, being focused on their next smuggling operation or struggle for control over Coruscant’s scum-filled underbelly.

“I haven’t heard anything yet, Lar, but I’ll send word if anything comes in,”

Larrik Dul’vak nodded amicably at the speaker, a shabbily dressed Duros who ran the cluttered and messily organized electronics shop that the two were standing in the middle of, located deep in the midst of Coruscant Level 1313.

“Alright, I’ll be in touch. Anything good comes up, you’ll get your usual fee, Elais,” Larrik let a slight smirk touch his lips. “Maybe a bonus if the tip’s really good.”

“As much I would like the bonus, Lar, we both know anything really good is unlikely to come this way this far from Selen,” The Duros snorted and waved a hand at the Human. “Now get out of here before you start scaring away my customers, eh?”

“”Oh please, I’m probably the most pleasant guy that you’ll see all day,” Larrik chuckled before heading toward the exit. “Alright, catch you later.”

Larrik fished out a cigar as he stepped outside into the dark undercity of Coruscant, the only lights visible coming from the streetlights that lined the level, the occasional flickering coming from an almost burnt-out bulb. Despite the dismal surroundings, the streets were fairly well crowded, filled with all kinds of unsavory types off on one illicit business or another. Maybe even some legal business, although Larrik doubted it.

Taking in a deep breath, Larrik could smell the foulness of the air, intermingling aromas of various kinds of cigarra smoke, greasy fried food, exhaust from the freighters that lumbered through the level on their way to somewhere else, and even the stench of urine, all unfiltered by air purifiers. That was a luxury only afforded to the upper classes of Coruscant, not for the scum that inhabited the lower levels..

In other words, a place where he was perfectly at home.

Clamping the cigar within his lips, he soon had it lit with a quick efficient puff. Putting away his lighter, he blew out a plume of blue-grey smoke as he casually strolled into the throng, blending in seamlessly with the riffraff bustling to and fro on their own urgent business.

Goddamn Zakath, sending me all the way out here on some fishing trip. The hell did he expect me to find out here a trillion karking miles from Selen?

Larrik grunted as he continued to smoke his stogie, slowly pushing through the milling crowd as he continued on to his next stop to question yet another of his contacts about the recent movements of one Teroch Erinos. Zakath hadn’t bothered to tell him much, only that some recent intelligence acquired by the DIA had traced Teroch’s recent movements to Coruscant, and therefore the Barabel had decided to send Larrik to question some of his unsavory contacts in the lower levels. Not that Larrik expected to find anything significant.

Whatever. Long as I get pa-

Larrik’s thoughts was interrupted as a short humanoid figure bumped roughly into his side, a fuzzy tail accidently slapping into his chest before the Mercenary shoved the figured back with a grunt. He was about to continue on his trek when he suddenly felt something wrong. His eyes narrowed as one hand slowly dropped to his trusty 48.caliber Enforcer pistol while his other hand touched his back pocket.

His empty back pocket.

Medium type humanoid. Fuzzy tail. Though maybe not for much longer.

He continued his trek casually for a minute longer before slowly turning around and going the direction he had just came, his eyes now peeled for the pickpocket. Ordinarily, nabbing a pickpocket in this kind of crowd would be next to impossible, but Larrik had been on Level 1313 long enough to notice that most of the alien crowd here didn’t possess a tail, which would stick out like a sore thumb if he thought he had gotten away with it.

Larrik slowly continued his stroll, his dark eyes now sharply scanning the crowd, disguised as casual glances to either side of himself, as if he was trying to find a particular storefront. It was only a couple of moments before he saw what he was looking for. An humanoid figure with a shock of wild untamed white hair bristling out in all directions, dressed in shabby cargo pants and a black leather jacket, almost similar to his own. And, of course, a long muscular fuzzy tail.

Larrik smiled faintly.

He kept a fair distance from the figure as he tailed it, keeping a careful eye on its path until finally it ducked into an alley and off the beaten path. Larrik’s pace quickened slightly until he got to the entrance of the alley, at which point he paused to stub out his cigar and toss it away, withdrawing his pistol.

“...’vak, yeh, that’s the lizard’s bounty hunter. So Blinky was right about that. Wonder why he’s out here?”

Shifting off the safety, Larrik suddenly spun into the alleyway, his pistol instantly on the sole figure within.

“An excellent question, my little friend. I could ask the same of you,” Larrik grunted as he studied the figure, which had whirled around startled. A fluted nose on the figure suddenly gave away its species. “Ah, a Ryn, that explains the tail. how curious. Shouldn’t you birdrats be up near the upper levels for your petty thefts? Hardly anything to steal down here.”

“Eh, you’ll be surprised,” The Ryn said, a weak smile touching his thin lips. “How bout we don’t do anything rash, yeh? No need for a fight here.”

“Mm, ordinary, you’ll be right,” Larrik nodded slightly before a scowl touched his lips. “But you said something about the lizard’s bounty hunter. Which means you know me. Spill the karking beans, Ryn. Now.”

“Sure, pal, sure. Uh, how about your wallet back first? Make things equal again yeh?”

The Ryn suddenly flung the small object in his hand toward Larrik, and the Mercenary caught it easily with his free hand. It was indeed his wallet, but before he could demand answers from the pickpocket, a sudden burst of bright suddenly erupted, searing into his eyeballs. Larrik let out a snarling curse as he squeezed his eyes shut and let loose with his pistol. Inbetween cracks as his gun fired, Larrik could hear a screech of pain further in the distance.

Good. I hope he bleeds out painfully.

It took a long moment, far longer than Larrik would’ve liked, but finally the intense glare faded as he rapidly blinked his eyes. As the alleyway came into focus, the Ryn was gone. A quick check of the ground revealed no sign of any grenade casings.

Force User then. Dammit.

A check further up the alleyway revealed a small splatter of blood that slowly trailed away into the distance. Larrik let out a internal snarl as he mentally counted his bullets, his feet now following the bloodtrail.

Three bullets fired. Five remaining before reload. That karking birdrat is going to scream loud and hard. Not even his damned Force is going to save him.

Ow. Ow. Ow. thought the Ryn as he limped down one of the alleys of Level 1313. One hand dragged across the wall to help support him, the other was sticky with blood from trying to put pressure on the flesh wound the blasted Dul’vak had inflicted. Blind firing a pistol in a populated area like that, barely off the main thoroughfare of the Level, was a great way to get the attention of every gang in the area. Kordath wanted to be as far away from that as possible should the local toughs come looking, if somebody was getting shot it could mean any number of things. Valuables maybe, important person worth credits to the right folks, or just general amusement for the more twisted one.

Bleu hoped he was right about it being just a flesh wound as his own knowledge in such matters was lacking, academic at best. Still, it could have been worse. A few inches to the left and down a bit and the Ryn would be learning to sing falsetto. Then again, the sleemo had nearly shot his tail off with that round. A glance down and back showed his pant leg even darker than usual as it soaked up blood from the wound. He noted the droplet patterns of crimson that marked his path and ground his teeth together. If the Corsair intended to push the issue. he’d have no trouble tracking him through the alleys.

Right, shot in the arse, bleedin’, bein’ hunted by a six foot bloody tall Human with a slugthrower ready ta shoot me over a pickpocketin’. So an average day, Bleu, well done.

He needed to make it back out into the public places, where he could use his shorter stature to hide among the, by average, taller population. Find a chop shop of a medic, get patched up, and get the hells off this rock. His mission hadn’t involved getting shot in the arse. It’d been an intel job, go check out this new player that supposedly was working for the Barabel, Zakath. Said team had been running covert ops against the Inquisitorius, hell it’d been why it was founded. Yet this Larrik figure had been reported, on multiple occasions now, to be working with the Grandmaster’s goons. It didn’t add up.

A few more staggered steps and he stopped to lean against the wall, pleased with himself for having made it to the corner. He wanted a drink, he wanted a smoke, he needed a doctor. With a grunt, he set out again as he heard the thudding of boots behind him.

Not fast enough, today, Bleu. Shoulda just tailed the psychopath. Shoulda stayed around all tha’ people, never woulda spotted us in a crowd. Blast but this hurts. Least I won’t be short on change ta get it stitched. And me pants. Nobody realizes how much it costs ta get bloody trousers tailored when ya got an extra limb growin’ out yer backside.

Kord allowed himself a small grin despite the pain, the wad of credits he’d pulled from Larrik’s wallet gave one of his pockets some extra weight. Old habits died hard, he’d lifted the thing to get a good look at the man’s identification and see if there were any invoices or receipts. A sentient's buying habits could tell you a lot about them. Up ahead he could see an opening back into the marketplace and felt his spirit rise, another dozen meters or so and he’d be home free. He hobbled past an open doorway, smells of enticing cuisine wafting out suggesting a kitchen, past the stacks of crates and containers that lined the alleyway from their last delivery.

Almost there…

“There you are you walking Womprat!” came the shout from behind, accompanied by Bleu feeling the hair on his neck rise as the Force conveyed a warning. The Ryn turned, gathering energy to himself even as he saw Larrik leveling that bloody slugthrower at him. Kordath pushed out before himself with the Force, hand palm out before him as he heard the weapon fire once, twice, three times. The slugs impacted on the barrier he’d erected, the first shot lighting the translucent shield up with kinetic energy, the second look as if it actually cracked the thing. When the third shot hit the Ryn felt himself stumble back a few steps, pain shooting down his leg as he put all his weight on the right side and aggravated the wound in his backside. If he’d been more familiar with the blasted gun he’d have been more worried, instead he assumed it was empty as the Human had quit firing.

Four, Five, Six bullets fired. Two bullets remaining before reload. And… down goes the Ryn.

Larrik let a smirk touch his lips as he saw the Ryn collapse onto one knee, one hand clutching behind him at the wound that the Mercenary had inflicted on him with the initial burst of gunfire. His pace quickened as he closed in on the Ryn, his pistol leveled squarely at the birdrat’s head.

“This could’ve been nice and easy, Ryn,” Larrik said as he rested the muzzle of the pistol right onto the Ryn’s forehead, the birdrat hissing in pain as the heat from the barrel seared the flesh. “But no, you had to make it all hard.”

“Hey, take it easy! You- argh- got me square to rights,” The Ryn hissed as his hand clamped tight onto his bleeding backside. “No need to pistol-whip me, yeh?”

“Oh no, you little birdrat. I’m still tempted to blow your face right off,” Larrik growled. “Your name, Ryn. Now.”

“Bleu,” The Ryn winced as his arse began to throb even more. “Kordath Bleu. Can you ease off on the pistol? We both know you’re out of ammo and I’m clearly not going anywhere.”

“Bleu… Bleu… I know that name...” Larrik repeated softly as he searched his mind. “Oh yes, the Rollmaster of Arcona, aren’t you?”

“Yeh, that’s me,” Kordath grunted. “Seriously, how bout lowering the damn gun, eh?”

Larrik paused and considered the Ryn for a long moment before nodding slightly and removing the pistol from his forehead, although keeping it trained on him.

“So. What is the Rollmaster of Arcona doing pickpocketing a lowly little bounty hunter, eh?” Larrik asked conversationally, his smirk resuming its place on his lips. “I can’t be that important.”

“Eh, Blinky wanted me to check up on you. You’re a wildcard in our area,” Kordath said as he kept his eyes staring straight at Larrik’s pistol. “When the lizard hires an unknown merc, we get nervous.”

“Blinky?” Larrik asked as he cocked his head curiously.

“Oh, the Consul,” Kordath replied with a slight cough. “Just a nickname.”

“Ah. Well… I tell you what, birdrat. I’m, uh… I’m gonna make you the deal of a lifetime. I’m going to let you walk away from this. But interfere in my affairs one more time…” Larrik’s eyes narrowed and he set the muzzle of his pistol square between Kordath’s eyes. “...and I’ll put a bullet right between your eyes. Clear?”

“You’re the boss.”

“So glad to hear it,” Larrik smiled and then paused thoughtfully. “Just one question, though… how did you know I was coming here?”

“Uh, yeah...” Kordath’s voice trailed off as he tried to think of an answer.

“Hmm. Either you overheard my employer…. Or you planted a homing beacon on my ship,” Larrik concluded. “So which is it, Ryn? Do I need to check my ship for a little buggie that you put on it?”

“It wouldn’t hurt,” Kordath admitted with a weak smile. “By the way, mate, you ought to pay more attention to your surroundings, yeah?”

“What?” Larrik blinked at the sudden change in topic.

Before Larrik could question Kordath further, a sudden explosion of searing light filled the air, completely disorienting the Mercenary. Larrik cursed as he tried to blink away the glare from his eyes, but it still took a long moment before his sight even began to return. By the time it completely came back, the Ryn was gone.

“Damn,” Larrik groaned.

Eh, screw it. He’s not worth the trouble. At least I got my wallet back.

Larrik sighed and holstered his pistol, retrieving his forgotten wallet from his pocket and checking through it. His teeth suddenly gritted together as he realized his money was gone.

One day, that birdrat’s head will be mounted on my ship. Damn thief.

With gritted teeth, the Rollmaster reached out and telekinetically shifted a stack of crates next to the Corsair, who dived forward into a roll. Kordath watched as the man came up in a kneeling position, warnings screaming in his head as the Human grasped his slugthrower with both hands and carefully aimed. Seemed the man was intent on getting him properly this time, the Ryn realized as he turned and staggered towards the end of the alleyway, even though he knew it was futile. Two shots rang out in quick succession, the first hitting a pipe along the wall that burst and vented incredibly hot steam across his path. The second impacted the back of his left shoulder, tearing through his Nerf hide coat and sent him into a spin before finding himself on the ground.

He grunted, reaching up to touch his shoulder and felt something grind as he shifted, causing him to cry out in further pain.

No exit wound. Hit tha bone then. Oh great.

Kordath felt his back grow warm as blood began to pool inside of his jacket and squeezed his eyes shut as he tried to function despite the pain. The Ryn attempted to roll over onto his stomach and cried out again as the slug inside his shoulder grated against bone. He lay there, shivering and watched the steam ahead of him start to dissipate. He could see the people moving through the haze, going about what passed for daily life down here. Nobody was giving the alleyway a second glance, you didn’t survive in the lower levels by paying attention to other people’s troubles. A sound behind him caused him to try and glance back, wincing as he did.

With a clatter, a clip hit the dirty duracrete of the alley floor, dropped as Larrik pulled a fresh one from his belt and slid it into the pistol. Kordath heard the weapon chamber like an echo in a cave, the sound filling his awareness. Idly, the Ryn wondered how much blood he’d lost already. He felt cold and it was becoming difficult to move, lethargy was setting in and he just wanted sleep. Weakly, he tried to lift his hand to ward the Human off as Larrik reached down and started going through his pockets.

“Shoot me, rob me, leave me ta bleed out in an alleyway?” he asked, trying to sound sarcastic but only managing to come across as tired.

“You’re not gonna bleed out,” replied the Corsair, close enough now for his foul breath to wash over the Ryn. Kordath gagged a little as he took in the man’s features, just now realizing how much of a junkie the guy looked.

Unpredictable lot, those kind. Shoulda figured it’d end like this. Face down in an alleyway. Always thought I’d be drunk when this happened ta me.

Bleu noted idly that he couldn’t really feel it anymore as the man retrieved his stolen credits as well as his own wallet. To add insult to injury, he tugged the Ryn’s whiskey bottle free from it’s hiding place inside of his coat and twisted the top off with his grimy teeth. The Corsair took a long pull from the bottle before up ending it on the Rollmaster, who hissed as the alcohol splashed across his two slug wounds. He watched Larrik go through his wallet, tossing various things out to the ground before pulling an ID card out and inspecting it.

“The best part of this? I know some Inquisitorius type who's gonna pay me just because I shot you, all because you tried to rob me. So thanks for the payday, Birdrat, I’ll be sure to act surprised when I get back to Selen and nobody knows what happened to you.”

Kord gave the man a rude gesture, the last of his energy expended on it as he glared, “Go...kark...yerself.”

“Tsk, that’s not nice,” stated Larrik as he tucked the ID away and pointed his pistol at the Ryn. He fired two shots into the gray, fuzz covered alien’s white haired head. He stood for a minute watching as the body twitched, just to be certain.

“Can’t be too careful with you people,” he muttered under his breath before he holstered his weapon. The Corsair rejoined the flow of people outside the alley, shaking a smoke out and lighting it. At least he was still gonna get paid.