Bensin Mar

[Jacques]

"The way of the gangsta is to live til yah die. We're never gonna be nothin' in this galaxy, and the whole place is just waitin' for us to kill each 'uva off. Ya live til yah die, and when you die you're dead and nobody gives'a shit. So why not live like'a king amongst vermin?"


NAME: Bensin Mar
FACTION: Independent
RANK: Gangsta King/Cool Cat
SPECIES: Human
AGE: 30
GENDER: Male
HEIGHT: 6'3
WEIGHT: 220 lbs
EYES: Brown
HAIR: Black
SKIN: Black
CREDITS: Can you have less money than no money?
DISTINGUISHING MARKS: Facial scar (middle of forehead down past the right eye)
FORCE SENSITIVE: No​

Spoiler: Bensin's Crap

"Y'all wanna play I'll play, but this thang got da' trigger pull of a blasta pistol, you don't wanna test me today, gentlemen."
Bensin brandishing his favorite shotgun

Gangster's Hope
"On the lower levels, of Taris, of any city that got low'a levels, the single hope you yah got fo' yo'self is the chance 'uv gettin' off'a that rock and trying somewhere new. It ain't different nowhere else, I learn'd dat when I got my ship. But it's still betta than Taris."

​

Trenchcoat
Cigars
Satchel (filled with credit chips, datapads, commlinks and a couple blaster pistols, room for a little more stuff)​

_____________________________
Coruscant Police Headquarters
Mid Afternoon

The two detectives had found the man quite easily. He wasn't hiding anywhere, he had just continued living his life as it was. Like a hoodlum, a gangster, stealing drugs from people with power and not giving a damn. Standing his ground when they sent a hit on him, killing all three of their hired guns. Bensin Mar worried detective Janssen Blatt, a fat Nautolan detective who had been around the block a lot the past twenty years on the force. A homicide legend, with his protege and partner, Rodian Marshai Higzegch by his side, Janssen had not seen a man as...cold as Mar in quite some time.

They entered the first interview room, and the man sat there, cuffed, whistling classical music in a hushed tone. The door slammed shut and Janssen's eyes met Mar's. A shiver went down the old man's spine. Him and his partner sat down. Silence followed, brought on by an awkward yet sincere smile Bensin gave both men, and finally, he spoke.

"Good day offic'uhs! How may I, mahself, be 'uv help to you to-day?" He sounded jovial as he spoke, like he'd have a hop to his step had he been walking along with them. He seemed all too ready to help, and the Rodian caught that. Along the department there was an air of weariness when it came to believing seemingly cooperative prisoners. Especially ones who'd just killed three men. Though it sometimes seemed obvious why, it could be hard to explain to people, but even worse, it usually ended with the sincere ones being shafted.

"So what," Marshai began, a condescending, harsh tone to his squeaky Rodian voice, "You're gonna help us straight like that? As soon as we walk in the door? You must want somethin' big!"

Janssen tried to shoot down his partner with a glare, but Bensin chuckled.

"Who say I'd help y'all? I felt oh-bliged to delivuh a greetin' tuh two fine offic'uhs uv da law!" He leaned back in his chair and scoffed, "But nah mah feelin's is hurt."

Now it was Marshai's turn to laugh, "Your feelings "is hurt"? You just killed three people."

"Cuz they tryin'a kill me."

"Because you stole their drugs."

"Enough! Get out of here, I got this one on my own." Janssen intercepted his partner, ready to throw a fist soon by the looks of it, though the Nautolan had a feeling the Rodian would lose, even if the man was cuffed. After a moment of thought on what to say, the younger detective got up from his chair, making sure to knock it over on his way out, opened the door and made sure to slam it when he was beyond them. Bensin and Janssen stared at each other, their eyes telling each other nothing the other wanted to know.

"You killed three people." Janssen started.

"Cuz they trin'a kill me!"

He held up a fat, wrinkled, old hand, "Goons with guns hired by Staizer Koggs, a local drug kingpin. We've been onto him for the better part of a year now."

The man across from Janssen nodded, thought about what that probably meant in relation to his own...cordial relationship with Kogg's hidden empire. It was the better part of a minute before he spoke again.

"What y'all want?"

"We want Elander Rysig, his underboss." The older cop had no time for beating around the bush anymore.

"Thas a lot tuh ask fo', offic'uh."

"We want him dead."

Another pause. Bensin Mar and Janssen Blatt stared at each other for the better part of ten minutes, their staring contest drawing eyes from those outside the interview room. They didn't bother looking, though each could feel the presence of the eyes on them. But neither wanted to look away.

"You kill Rysig, we got our way to Koggs. We've been patient, we've worked slow, broken codes, busted suppliers, busted low-level guys. But Rysig makes sure every little mistake Koggs or his guys' makes disappears, including witnesses or paper trail. You get rid o' him, we can come in full force on his empire while we charge him and mistakes we'll be made and we'll be there, and he'll be done in three months, in jail by this time next year."

"Y'all know what question comes next..."

"We've got at least ten murders to pin on you the two years you've been on Coruscant, lower levels and upper. You give us this gift and they'll be wiped clear and you'll leave Coruscant to never come back."

Slowly nodding his head, Mar thought of every little alternative there was to the situation at hand. It was a show, both men knew it, but it was a necessary one. "This gangsta mus' really have tickled yo guy's nerves to wipe clean ten kills. I'm not even sure I'm inna upper levels anymo'..."

"Ten is ten too many, but Koggs has hundreds of deaths on his name between every level of Coruscant and has countless thousands addicted to his drugs and intimidated by his brutal methods. It's a brutal galaxy and I can't do everything to fix it, but this man must be stopped."

Janssen stood and unshackled the cuffs on Bensin Mar. He rubbed his wrists and was shown the door by the fat Nautolan.

"They be mo', no matter where you go, sickos. Hell, every onna us is sickos, really."

"Just some of us wanna be saved and some of us wanna ruin life for the rest of the galaxy."

"Oh, indeed...indeed, offic'uh." Bensin Mar stepped in the elevator that would lead to his entry back into the free streets, "Stay real, coppa', good luck."
________________________________
Bensin Mar's Apartment Complex
Coruscant Upper Levels
The Night Before

In his office, alone at night, Bensin Mar awaited the end of his life. His shotgun sat upon his desk, which was facing the only door leading into the room. No windows to get in, nothing to furnish the room but the desk and its chair and whatever was on the desk. Plain beige walls, plain beige apartment in the Upper Levels of a city going to hell. Almost as bad as Taris, he thought to himself, staring at the door with an intensity he hadn't felt in a long while. Staizer Koggs was a King of the Upper Levels. The police had no idea he existed even though he ruled the more defunct parts of the city those days. Drugs and beatings and protection money and all the usual stuff one would expect from an Evil Empire. So, for the past few weeks, Mar had hit up several different stash houses around the area he'd scouted out, stolen more than enough product to pay for three kid's College funds and then distributed it amongst junkies for 1/10th of the price, if he charged at all.

And now, Koggs wanted him dead. Five hit men hired to kill him, payed top dollar for the man who ruined a month's pay for his entire gang. Made him look like a fool in front of the people he owned. Five thousand credits to the man who killed him, along with the three each was getting paid to shoot at him anyway.

"They gonna expect a brotha' be sleepin' when they kick in mah door. Well this place got fo' rooms and I'm in the one furthest back," Mar told himself, hand on his trusty shotgun, ready for the moment the door would be kicked in. "Mutha who stick his neck thru dat door first gonna get his head blown clean off!"

The innocent swoosh of the apartment's only exit carried to Bensin from the only way in or out. Men were talking, though he wasn't sure exactly how many there were. Two were speaking the Mandalorian language, however, so Mar knew he was in for a good time. Another spoke basic.

"Hey! Idiots! On me!"

"Sorry boss!" A deep voice, one who had been speaking Mando'a apologized.

"On you!" A smaller, shy-er voice cried out, the other who'd been talking in Mando'a.

"Hey. Hey you two, you two take the door..."

"Boss, I don't think they can understand you..."

Mar moved to the corner of the room, far enough to where the door wouldn't open based on his movements. He heard them searching the other rooms for him but not coming up with anything. With two on the door, he'd only have to deal with three for the first little scrap. He'd have to work quickly to put the odds in his favor. And by in his favor, he meant, without him dying. Taking a blaster bolt to the shoulder or gut would be acceptable as long as he didn't die...anything but that. Anxiously, the long-time gangster clutched his gun and waited to let the crap fly.

"Be quiet," The man leading the group whispered as he approached the door, "this is the last room. He's gotta be in here."

"We're with you, boss!"

"Plinky, you go in first." He demanded.

"Why me, boss!? Why not you?" The little-sounding guy demanded to know. For a couple seconds he groaned but then shuffled forward, past the man in front, the leader of what seemed like an unorganized group of killers.

Swoosh went the door as it opened, and the small man stepped in, about three inches shorter than Mar in a lighter version of common Mandalorian armor. He leveled his shotgun at his hip.

"Hey n'aw." He said, a grin on his face. The man turned and his shotgun roared as it opened fire, launching the now-dead man into the wall across from where Bensin was standing.

"What the hell!?"

Mar moved up to the open doorway and refused the urge to look out and survey. Instead he listened as the two other men in the hallway scrambled into rooms opposite each other in the very narrow, uncomfortable hallway.Two more men ran up into the room, the two guarding the door, and when he finally did look he saw two Weequay men much larger than he with blaster pistols in their hand. He let loose with the shotgun and one of the many bolts from it caught one of them in the leg. He cried out in pain and the other pulled him out of view. The leader of the group, a swarthy-looking Corellian man way past his prime, opened fire with a rickety, old blaster-rifle, and Bensin heard the boots of the other Mandalorian man as he rushed to where the two Weequay were.

"Hess, get back! I'm good! I got your back!" He called. His blaster pistol snapped off a few shots and Mar had to duck for cover as he tried to take aim again. The Corellian started to run as fast as he could, and Bensin followed, his shotgun firing fast. Shot, pump, shot, pump, shot, pump, as he took cover in the room the Mandalorian had hid from. The Corellian lay on his stomach, shot in the back, breathing but barely.

"Oh no, oh no!" The Mandalorian hit-man cried as he watched the barely living, shot up leader of the group wriggle around on the ground near death, his back ripped apart from the shot, blood pouring out from each separate entry wound, though one couldn't tell which was a different one due to the condition of his back. Bensin had to give it to the guy for living that long after taking the shot. And he must have been well liked, as the weeping man's respect for the Corellian was obvious, but Bensin didn't have time for the weep show. He didn't care about these people like they did each other, they were there to kill him.

They were there to kill the wrong person.

"Oh no, Hess, Hess!" The Weequay attempted to get his attention by nudging his shoulder, to no avail. "Hess! We gotta save Hess!" The man who didn't speak basic shook his head as Bensin ducked out of the room and to the edge of the hallway, where he could shoot both of them from the safety of cover. When he took aim after getting into cover, they were dragging the injured Weequay out of the room. Immediately they saw the barrel of the shotgun and ducked for cover, and the prone Weequay took the blast to the stomach, ending his life.

Finally, Bensin Mar heard the sound of his assailants running away, down the hallway and to stairs or an elevator or a way out of there. He checked on the still living man, who spoke to him. "My friend...Vey...he'll kill you..." He said, coughing up blood, moments away from the end. "We were close...he'll avenge...he'll...he'll get...you..."

"This the game we play brotha," He decided to impart wisdom on the man before he left, patting him on the leg although he was sure the man couldn't feel it, "we criminals, we in til we die, natural causes o' a blaster bolt to the brain. This time...I won."

"Not for.....long..." The Corellian died, and Mar closed his eyes and bowed his head for several short moments out of respect. He set the shotgun on his shoulder and left the apartment building. The police would be on him, he'd need to hide his stuff.
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(That's all for now, I may add him killin' that dude latuh, if I wanna.)