Playground Panic

[Jacques]

Jacques felt for the back of his head as he entered the bar.

'Okay, good, it hasn't been bashed in yet. Phase one, complete.'

It had been a short time since he had moved to the Underbelly of Coruscant, the Lower Levels, the Underworld, the Undercity. It all had a bunch of different names that all led back to a one sentence, very simple summary of the place: It was dark, it was grimy, it was scummy, and you were going to get shot no matter what.

The lowest fifty levels of the planet Coruscant were what were considered the Underworld. While he didn't live anywhere nice, the top level of the Underworld was at least enough for the private detective to bear.

But he was thirty levels lower, and for all he would have know, Palpatine's Empire was still the government down there.

The human covered his nose with a gloved hand, trying not to smell the foul stench of rotten corpses, excrement and the nastiest kind of sex that he didn't even attempt to imagine. Rain fell overhead, but it might as well have been pure acid, the sound of sizzling metal accompanied the pinging of raindrops against the ground and several of the Underworld's finest establishments around him.

Jacques felt like shooting every body and every thing that walked by him right then.

He wasn't even on a job. Hell, it had been over a month from then since his last job had been paid. But in the Underworld, there were a lot of rumors floating about, and more than one of his criminal informants had told him about an organization called the Family. Ancient crime organization that attempted its best to be secretive, but it wasn't that easy more than a thousand years after the Battle of Yavin. Hell, it wasn't even easy a thousand years BEFORE the Battle of Yavin.

They "recruited" loyal soldiers from secretly run orphanages, which ones were run by them nobody really knew, so that government subsidies and tax reductions and any possible way to make a cheap credit or save an even cheaper one was available to them. The government was basically paying those criminals to farm soldiers who, for all Jacques knew, could take out three Jedi with a rations cube.

And now, he was looking for one of these orphanages.

It was a bad idea, he knew it. Jorbo the Hutt was always on his tail, wherever he went, and now the p.i was walking right into the slimy ball's best watering hole. The stupid place was well designed, Jacques gave the fat hunk of meat that. The bar ran around the whole bottom level of the building. In between the four-sided bar were sabaac tables, Twi'lek dancers, tables to just drink at, and a dancing floor. On the second level there was a dueling ring, half of the level being the actual ring and the other half a special spectator area where people who couldn't get sears could at least watch the fight streamed to a holoscreen. The third level was where he believed the Hutt himself now resided, no longer living on Nal Hutta.

But the place was dirty. Grime covered the ceiling, including what Jacques assumed was bodily fluids that ranged everywhere from bone marrow to semen to blood. The blood that hadn't immediately been cleaned up after duels gave him an idea of which half of the second floor was the dueling area and which half was for spectating.

It took the p.i a little under ten minutes to get a drink and find the informant he was looking for. They settled down and talked for a while, and he got the information he needed. Not many orphanages existed as far down on Coruscant as he was, but the five that did were all suspicious in themselves. He chose the orphanage simply titled Wonderland to check out first, quickly making his exit from a bar that would probably kill him if he stayed any longer.

Lighting a cigarra as he made his way toward Wonderland, Jacques noticed more than one tail on him. They seemed to be separate, one being a single person, the other being a small group of four. For some reason, the p.i felt a little bit more intimidated by the party of one.

Jacques walked faster than, turning all about attempting to lose the tails. Eventually he found he had come full circle to the bar he had just left, only without the part of four behind him. Moving fast, the p.i made a right into an alleyway littered with destroyed blaster pistols, old, broken bones and scattered crumbs of food. He even believed there was a puddle of piss somewhere, from the smell of it.

Pulling his blaster, he waited. Either his death or more answers about what was going on awaited him.

 

[Kaeb]

Ghostly white smoke oozed out of rusted steam vents littered across the surface of the ground, forming clouds of moist vapour that clung to grimy, filth covered walls. Thousands of neon lights and a veritable rainbow of holographic colours floated overhead, sending ripples of light cascading through the thick and stinking steam. Every street was the same, or worse. Dark alleyways and subterranean tunnels, haunted by the lights from the prosperous cityscape above them.

A shadow cut through the smoke with a finite determination, strolling through streets framed by garbage, thugs and wandering courtesans looking for their next fix of deathsticks. That thought seemed to please the figure, as a reflection of light in a puddle of piss revealed a corner of a mouth, fixed in a sly half-smile. The shadow produced a deathstick of it's own, placing it between full, lustious lips with a quick and fluid movement. The figure, seemingly a void, a being that even light found itself intimidated by, stopped to produce another item.

A broken holo-droid floated by the mouth of the alleway, an glitchy advertisement for high-rise apartment buildings flickered over it's sparkling head, it seemed to long for it's own repair, or destruction. The lights from it's strange apparatus revealed the figures new item to be a blaster, one which they promptly fired with a sudden and unexpected movement. The light from the blast bombarded the shadows of the alleyway with a sudden burst of bright inferno, lasting for hald a micro second. The thugs and prostitutues ran in fear, the barrel of the weapon was still a molten pipe, reddened from the heat of the shot.

Whisper brought the barrel of the gun to her lips, lighting her smokeable deathstick. Blaster fire was common in the underworld, especially in the area she founds herself in, a sector known as Smugglers Wake, an area notorious for criminal hideouts and less then reputable favours. Betrayal was common, and what was betrayal if not a blaster placed at the base of a spine and promptly fired. Whisper had been pursuing leads pertaining to a personal matter, she had planted the seed of her interest into the underworld and the information grew, sending branches throughout the city. She had hoped given her reputation as a mercenary, her interest would arouse potential information brokers. She was correct.

But before she could enter the bar that her informant was located in, she noticed him speaking to a man she did not recognize. A curious man. A dectective man. A privateer by the way he walked, his shoulders slouched yet he looked like he could handle himself, she had no illusions that she could shove his head through his diaphram if pushed, but she tried not to make her pursuit to noticeable. She doubled back and waited the curious mans next move.

 

[BLADE]

Several Hours Earlier
Coruscant​

There is no passion. There is serenity.

-Old Jedi Koan​

Abbas gritted his teeth as the steel cable became taut and he swung through the air, wind whooshing past his ears. He was trying to keep that mantra in mind. It was proving to be a... formidable challenge. After all, he'd been shot at, kicked, punched, electrocuted, and kicked off of a several-hundred-story building.

And where was his companion?

I'm starting to think splitting up was a bad idea.

As his body swung bast the horizontal fulcrum holding the cable, he let go, twisting in the air, whilst tucking his knees under him, using the Force to guide him into one of the girders. He landed on the balls of his feet, his knees bent to absorb the impact --the Force also aiding in that endeavor.

Abbas ducked as several crimson shards came flying at him. Rapid blaster fire. He frowned, gathered the Force around him, and then picked up speed, moving faster than the human eye could see, vaulting over the blasts and onto his assailant, a strangely armored man holding a blaster.

He dove on the man in a downward position, his outstretched first connecting with the man's shoulder blade, knocking the blaster out of his hand.

"Oomph!" Abbas grunted as the man --to his credit-- snapped a savage kick to his armored midsection knocking him back. Abbas took the blown, using the momentum to flip in the air, his arms shooting down and his knees bending for him to catch himself. He landed on the narrow girder and slid a few meters, before standing up and taking a fighting position. He did not reach for his saber. One wrong cut and he would find himself with a fighting platform.

Victory would come at the expense of gravity. Rather like one of those old cartoon shorts he used to watch on the Holonet as a youngling in the Temple.

The man charged him, sending a sharp jab at Abbas' shoulder. The Mon Calamari Jedi rolled with the punch, his feet quickly shifting and pirouetting his body into a backhand which connected with the man's armored jaw. The armored stranger staggered, but kept his balance. He and the man danced around each other, exchanging a flurry of jabs and blows. None connected too solidly; they seemed to be testing each other's defenses.

The armored stranger was getting impatient. Abbas could feel it. And then came a real blow. Abbas managed to lean into it, grab the man's outstretched arm and with a solid shift of his own body weight, folded it back against itself.

There was a wet snap and a sharp hiss of pain and a grunt from the man, who kneed Abbas in the chest, causing him to disengage, and stepped back. Abbas almost allowed himself a moment of triumph; this criminal had been formidable quarry, and he had been pursuing him for nigh on an hour. Endgame.

"Come quietly. You have nowhere else to go."

"Ah, Master Jedi. Escape is only a master of... imagination."

The man reached for his best and drew out a pair of bolas, which he threw at Abbas. Abbas deflected the bolas easily with the Force, sending them harmlessly flickering over to his side. The Force warned him a moment too late, as the bolas, still in relatively close proximity to him exploded.

Well, not too late.

Abbas managed to gather the Force around him in a shimmering shield which deflected the heat and most of the shockwave force from the explosion. He was still thrown off the side of the steel superstructure and sent falling down... down... down...

He picked up speed, going down one story, two, three, four... faster and faster. Thinking quickly, he stretched out his arms grabbing the hems of his heavy cloak and gathering the Force to try and slow his descent. It worked. He was still accelerating, but less markedly than before.

Throwing his weight forward, Abbas dove down and sideways back into the durasteel superstructure. Drawing on the Force with all his might he managed to cushion the impact as he aimed right for the side of one of the girders.

There was a loud metallic thwack as he hit the durasteel. Dazed, he managed to hang on and soon the cobwebs cleared up. He sighed and looked up, being able to see the retreating man a dozen or so stories up, who made a running leap from the top of one of the inverted vertical girders to a brownstone office building.

Abbas frowned yet again. How could he possibly catch up?

He looked up. The girder he was on led to an unfinished joist. Too distant from this side of the building to make the brownstone, but...

He drew out his saber and lit it, solidly slashing the durasteel girder horizontally, before drawing on the Force to move fast... faster than he ever had before, up the girder, which was now falling forward, in direction of the brownstone building and into its roof.

Abbas managed to vault over the top of the girder and into the joist, and began to run across it. He did not hesitate. Perhaps he might have in the past.

But then again, he'd been hanging around Kohla for some time, and perhaps some of his younger friend's... impetuousness had rubbed off on him.

He jumped as he reached the edge of the falling girder and joist, which fell into the inside of the unfinished building (which was thankfully deserted.) With the force aiding him, his jump covered a meter... two... ten... twenty... He barely made it nonetheless.

"Ow," he muttered wryly as he smacked the side of the building head on, his gauntleted fingers just barely grasping the edge.

With a grunt of exertion, he managed to hoist himself up. The armored man was running, but only a few dozen or so meters away. He could make that distance. Would make that distance. He was Jedi.

Besides... He felt Kohla's presence about; he was chasing his own suspect. And two more presences. The other Jedi on assignment with him. He did not know them well, but did not wish to disappoint either himself, the Order, or the citizens of Coruscant at large. Besides, if Kohla caught his suspect first... A querulous whisper of competition rose up in Abbas' heart; he was a Jedi, but he wasn't perfect after all.

Grinning to himself, he muttered.

"The chase continues."

 

[Shiuzu]

Several Hours Earlier
Coruscant​

Two sounds echoed in the ears of Kohla and his assailant, the sound of their boots clanking against the roofs of the lower houses, and Kohla's loud infectious laughter. Kohla couldn't believe that laughter was coming out of his mouth. Years ago he would of barely said a word. Now despite the blaster bolts and near falls to his death Kohla was laughing. There would be time to reflect upon this later. He needed to catch his bad guy before Abbas got his, and Kohla would leave out the laughing aspect of the story when he retold it to Abbas.

Kohla had the largest of opponents to bring down, despite Arek being bigger, Kohla wanted the extra challenge, the large assailant slid down a curved roof as he jumped across to another building, Kohla was in heavy pursuit using the force to increase his speed and jumping distance he slid down the roof as well, shingles falling to the streets and irate citizens yelling at them was only background noise, Kohla kept his attention on his foe.

The humanoid was being to get desperate as Kohla began closing the gap, the armored opponent began firing crimson bolts blindly behind him, most missed so wide Kohla did not bother igniting his blade, the last volley came close enough that with one flowing motion he ignited his weapon, deflected the bolts harmlessly into the walls of the buildings nearby and clipped the weapon back on his belt without slowing down.

The chase went on, jumping over air conditioning units, sliding beneath low hanging pipes, even running into a line of laundry and tagging along a pair of female undergarments, which Kohla promised himself he would return later. He felt not unlike the actors in old holovids playing pal Troopers solving crime, Kohla liked the idea of Abbas being his side kick.

As Kohla and his foe reached the jump towards the next building Kohla knew his foe would not make it across without help, moments after the man jumped Kohla made a similar jump aided by the force. Kohla's suspicions were correct, the man was never going to make it across, without thinking Kohla called upon the force once more to push the man the rest of the way.

The humanoid made it across, Kohla was another story, the Twi'lek desperately attempted to grab onto anything on the building, seeing a ladder through the corner of his eye Kohla reached out to grab hold before plummeting to his demise. Luckily for the Twi'lek this wasn't his last day, narrowly grabbing hold of the ladder Kohla quickly climbed, not giving time to think about how close he came to the end, after all, there were bad guys to be caught.

Kohla reached the rooftops again as the humanoid was getting back on his feet, the blast of force energy must of knocked the wind out of him. Either desperation or near exhaustion caused the man to charge at Kohla. Choosing not to grab his weapons Kohla raised his hands to meet his opponent in a match of strength and brute force. Kohla held his own despite his foe having at least 4 inches of height and 30 pounds of muscle ahead of him, quickly the humanoid began to wear Kohla down pushing the Twi'lek further down. Kohla could see now the man was an Iridonian, and he could see a sinister grin begin to grow upon the Zabrak's face, so Kohla made the only option available to him. He smiled right back.

He was truly becoming an odd Twi'lek indeed.

 

[Padmé]

Something about this new mission hit a nerve in Haloburner Lamb. The Jedi Knight along with three other Jedi were on an assignment that took them to Coruscant's Undercity. Not only did the current assignment location strike a nerve in Halo, but the nature of the assignment hit home in the Jedi’s heart.

Several years ago, before joining the New Jedi Order, Haloburner called Coruscant home. Unlike most children, Lamb had no family. She was moved from one foster home to the next until one day, when she’d had enough of the physical abuse, she ran away. Without any credits to her name, the 12 year old learned the art of deception, and conniving in order to fend for herself on the streets of Coruscant’s Undercity. She saw everything from murders, to illegal gambling; enough to make the timid girl learn the ins and outs of the Undercity.

Luckily for Haloburner, a Jedi discovered her force sensitive abilities and offered train her at the Temple on Tython. Left with no other option, Lamb accepted the Jedi Master’s offer and moved to Tython.

Today, even as the girl landed on the godforsaken planet, she couldn’t help to ward of the sheer terror that the missing children faced. Along with a Jedi Abbas, Arek, and Kohla, the four have been assigned the task of finding and raiding kidnapped force-sensitive children. The last contact with the children was during their shipment to a one of the off-world testing centers.
__________

Several Hours Earlier
Coruscant​

Upon arrival on the Undercity, the four Jedi ran into a ring of guys. Adorned in her green pants, creamed colored tight top, a matching cute jacket, and a very discrete utility belt, Haloburner Lamb ran down an alley chasing her female suspect.

While Abbas, and co chased the other ring of fellows, Halo ran behind the only female amongst the ring. The female tug’s running abilities caused Lamb to draw on the Force to aide her. About ten minutes into the chase, the blonde finally cornered the female tug in a dark alley.

Gasping for breath, the Jedi uttered “you can make this easy or difficult, your choice. Just remember either way, I’m going to win...” Lamb kept a tight grip on the scantily dressed female’s neck. “..Now tell me, why did you take off when you saw u-” The Jedi words were cut short, as several blaster bolts were fired their direction. Quickly Lamb ducked down, hiding behind a black refuse can, while simultaneously beckoning the Force to create Force bubble around her.

Minutes later the shooting subsided, however the scantily dressed assailant was once again on her feet, running away. “This is really getting old,” muttered the female Jedi, as she took off yet again, after her assailant…..

 

[Jacques]

Jacques didn't like being followed. It often meant he was going to have to throw a couple of fists and maybe even fire his blaster, and while not completely subverted to the idea he never was crazy for it. He holstered his weapon once more and tossed the cigarette into the puddle of what he assumed to be piss. It could have just been a yellow drink that smelled eerily similar to piss for all the detective knew.

Figuring his best way was up, the tall man gathered himself at jumped at the side of the building he was hiding by. The climb up, though short, was tougher than he had first imagined, though mainly so because of the incredibly thick amounts of grease and dirt and gunk that he couldn't even begin to describe. He didn't even want to wipe his hands off for fear of repainting his overcoat. The rain had lightened up slightly. Jacques could hear footsteps in the distance, several pairs as well, giving him the idea that the group of four following him earlier was still on the prowl; either for him or what they had been looking for earlier.

"Fierfek!" He nearly shouted as a pipe he believed had broken just at the perfect time only to annoy him, whichever deity in whichever religion in the galaxy having hexed him so. It spewed water vapor at him, and he didn't appreciate it. Dropping down on one knee and out of the way of the annoying vapor, the private detective looked around for the person still tailing him, but was unable to get a good eye for them. Obviously they'd taken advantage of his shortcoming very well. Probably ten times more professional than he could handle.

Not wanting to waste any more time, the Mandalorian looked for a sign of where he was, confirmed it, and took off, only this time from the rooftops. He wasn't particularly good at parkour or free running, but once he was out of the way of the broken pipe, it seemed like a better idea than staying on the ground. He could still hear the footsteps of the four following him earlier in the distance. Ominous, but not immediate enough to cause worry.

More pipes and hissing sound straight out of horror-holos plagued him, having to quickly hop over or turn around to check on them. Tight squeezes and large gaps also gave him a run for his money, but each time he scurried away without a blaster hole in his back. He was only several blocks away then, so he stopped and lit another cigarette. Three or four stories up, he hoped any of the five following him would pass by where he was, one of few streetlights that far down in the Undercity illuminating the area not very well at all, the light but a dim one that Jacques figured was better than nothing.

One hand held on to his blaster pistol, which rested snugly in his shoulder.
__________

"Do any of us know where the kriff we are right now!?" Arek asked annoyed, unable to see in the dark due to the wrappings around his face and with a total of zero percent knowledge of the area he was in. The other Jedi with him seemed to have no idea either, having lost the trail of the one person who they thought could lead them somewhere. Where that was he doubted any of them knew, but it was more than what they had then.

(The mission had been a short one in truth. Kidnapping, shuttle, yadda yadda yadda, etc. etc. The real annoying part had been the chase. Four Jedi, each to their own person to chase. Halo had seemingly gone a lower ground, chasing her prey on foot. She was the only other person he knew on the mission. The other two, Abbas and Kohla, seemed close, and hadn't very willingly given up much information about themselves in the small prodding the Tusken had done before the mission was underway.

But then...then he was chasing a big guy. One of the biggest of the group, a Weequay, an ugly one at that. If that was possible. They were fifty stories up. Well, actually, Arek had no idea how high up they were, but to him it might as well have been fifty. there was construction going under way, but there were no construction workers around even in the middle of the day. The Weequay had a death wish, making jumps and leaps this way and that. The padawan was running out of patience, and followed him across a support beam. The man he was chasing leaped, and so did he, using the force to propel him faster.

Tackling the man in mid air, they fell exchanging blows. Arek took a couple to the head before he landed a solid one to the man's chest, and a knee to the same spot to follow that up. Both of them landed hard, about two stories below where they had jumped from. He rolled for several feet and got up, by then behind the Weequay once more. Two blaster bolts fired from the ugly man's weapon, but both were way wide of their mark. The padawan didn't even have to change course as he ran once more.

Where they had landed wasn't seeing any better days, completely destroyed by what he had no idea. It was probably due for construction next, after the building they had just leaped from like they were on a holodrama. Arek didn't quite like the sound of that, never having been one for doing crazy stunts.

But there he was...doing them.

Another blaster bolt struck a destroyed doorway over his head as he ducked under it. Sounds of rubble clattering against the ground behind him pleased his ears. The Weequay shouting curses and poorly formed insults at him didn't.

The Tusken padawan was in what looked like the worst cafeteria he had ever seen when he realized the man he was pursuing had lost him. Making his way through several more rooms, only slower then, he came across a long line of either completely blown out or soon to be blown out windows. The force warned him of the oncoming attack, but too late. Arek's friend the force seemed to have been doing that a lot as of late, giving him the heads up but always a second too slow. He contemplated that as he crashed through a window.

The Weequay looked like he had won, but the padawan knew there was another roof below him that would catch his fall, albeit fairly strongly. Using the force he pulled the former assailant out with him, and they landed together once more, though without any punches being thrown.

He sprung up before the kidnapper, pumping himself up for an oncoming fight. The man's blaster clattered to the ground below them, the sound resonating all the way up to where they were.

The two threw punches at one another like professional boxers at a championship bout, taking as many as they gave, to the face, to the chest, to the stomach. Arek's Tusken wrappings protected his face just as well as the Weequay's face just naturally absorbed punches. Arek dodged a punch, moving his head to the right but keeping his body in place, and grabbed his opponent's wrist with his left hand. With his right he punched the Weequay in the kidneys, in the armpit, and then right above the ear. The man, in response, fell to his knees, but didn't give up.

Throwing his body at Arek caught the padawan off guard, and the two wrestled on the ground for control for a short while. Eventually the two continued up to their feet as they continued to struggle for control with one another. The Weequay was about five inches taller than Arek, and a hundred pounds in muscle bigger. Maybe fifty, it was still a lot though. The Tusken had the force on his side, but nowadays that didn't feel like much to him.

The two came up against what seemed like the shortest railing Arek had ever seen, possibly making the idea of railings completely irrelevant. But it held his body as he fought not to get thrown of the building. The Weequay's punches were like a Rancor pounding against him, the bottom of the man's fist connecting with his lung in just the right spot to knock the wind out of him. Another at the chest knocked all the blood out of the heart it seemed. Losing his strength, and the fight, Arek's opponent had him bent over slightly, ready to throw him over.

He didn't want it to be over. Taken out by some idiot Weequay on a mission that meant practically nothing to him, for all he cared? Doing an insane chase scene right out of a movie, unlike everything he had ever wanted to do as a Jedi. He would've preferred to be caught by a large piece of ceiling taken out by a suicide bomber at a political meeting of some sort. Arek prepared himself, still struggling as best he could as the Weequay, also out of wind but still with more brute strength, struggled to get him over the railing without going over himself, as he was holding Arek tightly as though giving him a bear hug with the Tusken facing the wrong way.

Feeling around with his hands, Arek grabbed his soon-to-be-murderer's wrists, bent over as much as he could, and flipped the man over his back. The Weequay was weak, from their fight, from running for so long, and he didn't have the force, no matter how diminished in strength it seemed. He cried for help as the padawan held him over the railing, using his dominant hand to keep a grip on the dangling thug's wrist and his other to make sure he wasn't pulled over with the dangling baby by holding onto the puny but sturdy railing.

"Are you ready to come with me now?"

"I'll go with you...to hell." The Weequay put his other hand on Arek's and pulled, still outweighing and outmuscling the Jedi padawan. He cursed as he began to fall, but even that was cut short as they crashed into what was possibly the only fire escape still standing in all of the galaxy. The rusted metal hurt as the two fell onto it, onto each other, and all the younger man could do was hope the archaic thing didn't come crashing down with the weights of them.

It did, but just barely. He could hear the screws crying to get the weight off, or else they would come crashing down. The Weequay seemed to hear them as he jumped in through the window leading out to the section of fire escape they had landed on. The shifting of weight and pressure and atomic mass and other scientific terms that Arek needed to explain what was going on caused the screws to finally pop out, wherever they were. Jumping desperately, he could hear the metallic stairs meeting the ground as he jumped through the open window section. The Weequay's footsteps sounded slow and tired, dragging, as if he were running with hundred pound weights in each of his boots. But he was still ahead of Arek.

"I'm too old for this poodoo..." He muttered as he took off again, even as he felt like collapsing against the ground and falling asleep.)

 

[Kaeb]

A cigarette floated amidst an ocean of golden urine, illuminated by garbage cannister fires and flickering streetlights. Despite it's fluid environment, the tip of the cigarra still burned a deep crimson, oozing out clouds of a ghostly white mist. If the puddle of piss was an ocean, then the alley it rested in was an endless void. Countless pieces of graffiti, rolled up rubbish and all manner of unspeakable things sought to undermine the vaccuous emptiness of it all. The inanimate occupants were unsuccesful however, as nothing could alter the terror found in an empty street in Coruscant. The planet was an endless cycle of light, life, emotion and death, an enormous vessel carrying thrillions of ants, all of them seeking to betray and feed off of one another. To find an empty spot in all that chaos, was to find one's death. Or on the rarest of occassions, a breadcrumb.

A sudden ripple formed in the ocean, a tidal echo triggered by unseen footsteps. The echo grew in size and volume, rippling throughout the alleyway as a shadow entered the void.

Whisper moved with a sudden steadfast certainty as her eyes fell on the breadcrumb, it's life slowly fading away. She stumbled forward to the ground and thrust a black-gloved hand into the puddle, when her fingertips escaped and unculred, the still-lit smoke sat in the palm of her outstretched hand. She allowed a smile to pierce through her skin, curling into her perfectly formed cheek bones. Her eyes flickered with satisfaction, resting in her porcelain skin like two enormous sapphires, framed by long, jagged black hair that fell upon her sharp shoulders like a head of resting ravens. She quickly produced a small, pyramid shaped device and twisted it's tip in three synchronised movements, she had clearly done this before and with great efficency.

The pyramid sprang to life, it's four sides illuminated by near-blinding blue lights, which quickly faded. The precipice of the pyramid rose from the top as she placed the cigarette above it's center, watching as it scanned the dwindling breadcrumb, using what appeared to be a holo-scanner of some strange design to do so. She smiled as the tone of the scanner altered from an oceanic blue to a deep emerald green. She produced a visor from another pocket in her short blue jacket and placed it over her crytalline eyes. Pressing her finger into the middle of the visor, it quickly sprang to life as well and her field of view transformed into a bright green. All shadows were illuminated then, and a line of deep crimson was now drawn from the puddle and up the wall of the building to her right.

The smile faded from her lustious lips, quickly replaced by a furrowing brow. A state of focus consumed her as she made a sudden jump for a long leaden pipe protruding out of the far wall. Like some demented cat fueled by prolonged hunger, she scaled the walls with calm efficiency, spinning through exposed wires and clinging to steam vents like an overgrown shadow monkey from the jungles of Kashyyk. But this was a different jungle, it was her jungle. A forest of sky scrapers, filled with too many ants and too much betrayal. She needed to find out if her informant had become just like the others. More like rats, scurrying away from a sinking ship. She couldn't stand rats.

They were weak. And she, was not.

 

[Shiuzu]

The Zabrak took advantage of his size and strength advantage he could feel the Jedi being overcome by sheer force the Iridonian pushed harder as the Twi'lek inched closer and closer to the ground, he could not believe it, he was overpowering and winning against a Jedi, and all the foolish tentacle head could do was smile that dopey smile.

Kohla pondered how much longer he'd let his opponent think he had an advantage, or believe the crazy thought that he could actually win. Not wanting his foe to gain an actual advantage Kohla decided now is as good a time as any to spring into action, Kohla gripped the Zabrak's hands tight as he rolled onto his back, as he fell he brought his legs into his chest preparing to shoot them forward and send his opponent flying into the air.

Pushing a bit harder than he thought Kohla sent the dumbfounded Zabrak slightly over the edge of the building, luckily the confused enemy had enough sense about him to grab a hold of the ledge, but his grip would not hold for long. Not wishing a source of information to die Kohla quickly rushed over to the alien and grabbed his hand,

"Can't let you go yet, I still need information before you leave us, Kohla had no intentions of letting the Zabrak die, still, a little intimidation never hurt,

"Who's yer boss? Who's running the orphanages down here." Kohla's questions were met with a blank empty stare from the big man,

"Are you sure you don't want to talk? I enjoy the "fresh" air of this place as much as the next guy, but I'm sure neither of us want to "hang" out here all day. Now tell me, who's in charge?" Laughing, smiling, and now jokes. Having a friend like Abbas was certainly having its affects on the normally stoic Twi'lek.

The expression on the Zabrak's face changed from a blank stare to one of amusement and laughter, the sudden change in expression made Kohla uneasy, usually people didn't laugh when they were in trouble...most people,

"You fool," The Zabrak said,

"You think I'd tell you anything? You have no idea the enemies you've made today."

Kohla quickly felt the tables turn as the Zabrak grabbed onto his arm with both hands and fell back.

Kohla woke up with a jolt, unaware of how long he'd been unconscious he felt the broken body underneath him, with haste he got to his feet, ignoring the two bruised ribs and the sharp pain in his right shoulder, Kohla placed his hands upon the Zabrak's chest, he wasn't as well trained in the art of healing as Abbas but he knew a thing or two, channeling the living force through his hands and into the body beneath him Kohla attempted to heal his fallen foe.

But not even the force could bring back the dead,

"No, no, no! Don't die, you can't die! Death never came easy to the Twi'lek, all life was precious, even those who's hearts were as black and cold as space could be saved, nobody should have to die for their evils.

Kohla long since stopped his attempts to revive the Zabrak, but he still kept his hands upon the chest of that broken body, eventually the stoic Twi'lek raised himself from his adversary, the ruckus they'd caused had gained an audience, the crowd split down the middle making a path for the Twi'lek, as he walked away Kohla noticed nobody dared loot the body of the Zabrak, they were all too scared. Clearly they had made a powerful enemy today.

The once big smile on the Twi'lek's face turned back into his all too familiar scowl, he ignored his pained body as he walked off in search of his companions.

 

[BLADE]

The armored stranger seemed to have gotten his second wind, as he deftly ran from rooftop to rooftop. Abbas could sense a certain weariness start to seep into the stranger, but he seemed to have reserves that were boosting his flagging steps. His broken arm hung loosely and awkwardly by his side as he took increasingly fast and assertive strides, not being quite a burden, but not much help as he navigated the mutable terrain of the cityscape rooftops.

Abbas followed close behind, gathering the Force about him, marshaling his energies for an attack. He was always a planner, and wanted one last decisive attack to end this quickly. Duty and a less noble sense of competition compelled him.

The Force flowed into his body, seemingly lightening his build, as he began to run faster than most humanoids could possibly run. His boots crunched against the duracrete roofstops, tearing off sheared pieces of roof as he picked up speed. The gap began to narrow. Thirty meters. Twenty. Ten. Almost there.

A sharp ping of warning rose up from the collective Force around him. Almost unconsciously, Abbas summoned his saber to him telekinetically. His deference to his force-attuned instincts were vindicated as mere moments later, the armored stranger's armored upper-leg section hissed and up popped a bulky-looking blaster pistol. The stranger snatched it out of the air and twisted around, his body undulating to provide a source of irregular barrage that came flying at Abbas, who weaved out of the way with his own body, batting away a few blasts angled to hit back.

Score. One of the crimson blaster shards hit the muzzle of the blaster pistol, melting it beyond use. The stranger fumbled around for a moment, apparently reaching for a second blaster on the other side of his armor.

Abbas took the opportunity to holster his now unlit saber and gather the Force around him, and vaulted for the stranger. He jumped in an arc, using the force to hoist two more explosive bolas sent straight for him far up into the air where they harmlessly exploded, before he landed on top of the stranger, who began to fall towards the ground.

They struggled for a moment, and then Abbas heard a click and then smelled... fuel?

He barely held on as the back of the stranger flared with crimson light, boosting them both off the ground and sending them flying.

Abbas and the stranger now grappled in the air. Abbas cannily sent a few sharp jabs at the stranger's broken right arm, before twisting one of his own arms around the stranger's still functional left arm, and twisting his elbow down. Now the stranger had no leverage.

"Very good, Master Jedi. But who will steer this boat now?"

Abbas frowned as they staggered and hovered in the air drunkenly, veering wildly out of control. He reached into the Force and created a slight updraft at their feet.

Abbas' brow began to sweat as the strain became apparent. The Force was a powerful ally, but could it overcome the enormous force of the stranger's jetpack.

They whirled about and about like a dervish, veering dangerously closer to incoming speeder traffic.

At last, they straightened out and began to fly on a vertical path, gaining altitude by the second.

Abbas stared at the stranger and concentrated, his brow furrowing, his consciousness aiming right for the stranger's visor. This maneuver did not take great power, but it would take some finesse. He visualized a thin but strong needle, sharp but not brittle pricking the center of the stranger's visor. With a bit of pressure, he blew open the armored stranger's visor to reveal... a human woman.

Abbas was no sexist and indeed any differentiation between the sexes in terms of meaningful ability to engage in combat had been an anachronism since the time of Satele Shan, but Abbas was no fool. The optics of Kohla catching that large Iridionian male and probably before him...

Abbas frowned as he focused on the woman, a plain-faced red-haired human or perhaps near-human with amused green eyes.

"You are under arrest," he intoned with all the dignity a Jedi could muster.

The woman actually giggled, "Really now, Master Jedi. I'd almost hand myself over, if only for the earnestness with which you said that. But as you can see..." she jerked her head over at her still useful-arm which was now entirely grapped by Abbas', "I'm a bit tied up. Unless you plan to let me go... What is your plan anyhow? I'm morbidly fascinated."

Abbas actually smiled, "The air is getting thinner, as you can tell. I have the Force to aid me in maintaining consciousness. Without your impermeable armor, you should be swimming out of consciousness in a few minutes."

"An excellent plan!" The woman seemed impressed, "But what will you do when I'm unconscious and more importantly when my jetpack runs out of fuel?"

Abbas did not miss a beat; he smiled wryly at the woman, "The average acceleration brought on by Coruscant's gravity is 12 meters per second squared. At our altitude, I shall have some time to think of a contingency."

"You're crazy, master Jedi..." the woman shook her head and then grinned,

"I like it."


-------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile
Coruscant​

Interesting. Had Madame Zellia redecorated? Auren Sol shook his head and settled into his warm bath, pondering the bold verdant green felts and the earnestly tacky red velvets adorning the room. This was his day off. And one certainly shouldn't mix business with pleasure. So should he be at this bordello? Rather the bordello. Madame Zellia's was an elegant establishment with a diverse clientele, after all.

He reached for the snifter of whiskey he kept by the bathtub and settled into his bath, his partner Orm Abrax's words echoing in his mind.

Try not to get into too much trouble.

It was his day off after all, and he didn't want to antagonize his straight-laced partner whom he actually got along with. And sure, he'd half-heartedly tailed some loud drunkards who claimed to be working with a notorious Corellian gun for hire Zira Daal, but no... it was his day off.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

The whir of a blaster cooling down. Auren Sol was up out of the bathtub in a minute, reaching for his standard sidearm not bothering much with modesty (the employees here were whores, after all.)

"Guess it'll be a half day."


-------------------------------------------------------

"Well, Master Jedi," the woman shouted over the din of her now sputtering jetpacks. She seemed woozy but hale, "As much as I like crazy... there's one thing your plan didn't take into account: countermeasures."

As the spoke, her helmet whirred and a small spigot jutted out of the mouthpiece of her helm, pumping out a green toxin. Abbas began to hack and as he drew the Force around him to neutralize the toxin, his grip loosened on the woman, whose arm wiggled around to her belt, where she pressed some buttons in her belt in rapid succession.

Abbas barely felt the Force warn him as electricity began to arch through his body.

His concentration torn in multiple directions, he managed to keep his focus and redirect the electricity away from him to a sufficient degree to allow him to disengage.

And now he felt himself falling. Down, down, down into Coruscant.

Quick thinking and some presence of mind saved his life. He fumbled for a moment, his fingers awkwardly running through his own utility belt until he found the proper compartment. His zip line.

He pulled it out, spun it in a parabolic arc, and aimed for the woman, still in range. The zip line arced around the woman's leg before tightening and tying itself.

And now they were both going down, her sputtering jetpack only providing some modest deceleration. Abbas held onto his end of the zip line, twisting in the air like a literal fish out of water, willing his center of gravity down and trying to steer them towards one of the closer rooftops. At the speed they were going... they wouldn't quite splat... but it would hurt.

As the duracrete rooftop loomed larger in his field of vision, Abbas began to gather the Force again, willing an invisible cushion into the ground in front of him, tucking his knees in and assuming an optimal falling position.

He could swear he heard some ligament tearing tearing as he fell to the ground, but he had no time for that. He sprang up, now using both hands to take hold of the taut zipline, pulling it down like a stage curtain before twisting into a downward troll. The woman's spent jetpack could not resist and the hired gun crashed onto the duracrete painfully.

Abbas actually heard the shock-absorbing gel caps in the woman's armor popping as she dented the duracreete with her fall, creating a small crater.

Amazingly, she wasn't done. She stood up quickly but unsteadily and with a savage grin, pressed a button on her wrist before using one of her gauntleted hands to grab on. Electricity arced through the taut zipline, making its way for Abbas, who grounded himself and immersed himself in the Force.

He saw himself through the hazy mysticality of the Force, saw the electrons arcing ominously towards him.

Parsimony. Use the minimal amount of energy necessary.

And so the answer came to him. Make himself an open circuit.

He shifted one leg up to took up a kata position, his eyes taking on a meditative calm as the electricity harmless passed through his body and back onto the zipline, which now arced towards the woman. Her eyes widened; a blade popped from her wrist and she frantically cut through the zipline. She was almost there when.

Zap.

The metal in her armor mitigated some of the damage, but the woman went flying from the shock, falling onto her knees.

"Guess..." she spasmed in between words, electricity still coursing through her, "I shouldn't... play... with electricity."

Abbas felt some pity for the woman. He was one of the more tender-hearted Jedi and now saw it as a small mercy to bring in this battered person, criminal though she was, into custody and into medical care.

"You're under arrest," he insisted, "Come quietly and I'll get you some help."

"Have to buy a girl dinner first..." she insisted slowly. And then grinned manically at him. She sprung up and began to run away.

Abbas frowned. Not this time.

She was slower than before and he was about to catch her. They were near the edge of the building they had landed on, some sort of heliport when he yelled at her.

"Stop!"

She ignored him and vaulted off of the edge.

Abbas' eyes widened, "Force, no!"

He ran for the edge and saw the woman, walking calmly across... Communications lines.

She turned around and grinned at him, "Very impressive, Master Jedi. But I suppose all that time in a Temple isn't just for prayer and study, is it? Which is why I try to make up for those advantages with some technology and planning."

She tapped at her armored boots theatrically, "Mag-lock. My youth group had a motto: fail to plan and plan to fail. Is that how it went? I was never a model child, you know."

Abbas ignored her and began to walk back out of sight.

The woman frowned, "Gone so soon? I thought after our waltz in the air we had something but..."

Her eyes widened as she saw the Jedi, the only thing she could see of him being his eyes, now narrowed in determination make a running leap towards her.

Abbas landed on the comm-lines, using the Force to anchor him as they bobbed to and fro.

"Well..." the woman said slowly, "That's most impressive, Master Jedi."

Then she held one of her arms up at him and out popped a small tube. Flames shot out of it.

"Guess I have to up my game too."


-------------------------------------------------------

The scene was chaos. Auren quickly did his tie --Corellian knot as was his wont-- before examining the scene critically. A game of Sabaac gone wrong. A swarthy looking Rodian shot in the gut.

He looked over at the cowering barkeep.

"What happened here?" He asked authoritatively flashing his badge. Vice beat or not, he was not taking a day off.

Not for this. After all, he noted that the two drunkards who had claimed to follow Zira the mercenary were conspicuously absent from the scene.

Game's afoot.


-------------------------------------------------------

Abbas leaped from comm-line to comm-line, discarding the occasional layer of robes as the flames licked their hems and edges. He'd have to get closer or have some time to concentrate and use his force abilities. That would even the match, but the canny warrior woman seemed to be having none of it.

Her flamethrower did not have unlimited ammunition, but there was precious little maneuvering room for Abbas. With his fondness for the discipline of Sokan, this environmental disadvantage was anathema to him. And then there was his weariness. How long had this chase been going? The slowly setting Coruscanti sun seemed to mock him with its answer as he vaulted out of the flame's arc path before hoisting himself like a gymnast by way of one of the comm lines, spinning in an arc before twisting into the air again. Weaving, ducking, dodging.

"Had enough Master Jedi?"

Abbas landed mere meters in front of the woman.

"Nowhere to hide now."

Flames whooshed at him. He gathered some of his last Force energy and marshaled it in front of him. The flames parted around him, but he could feel the ambient temperature of the air rising, could feel the outer patina of his armor begin to melt, the carefully (and expensively) crafted Republic electronics short out.

Desperate, Abbas reached for his saber and cut down.

The comm line snapped and they both went down, flailing in the air, the warrior woman's mag-lock boots being no match for the gravitational forces now at work.

Abbas twisted through the air and aimed his body for the woman, smacking into her in the air like a freight train.

He aimed for one of the awnings in the lower-sections, and they bounced through one... two.... three, off a speeder, before each landing in a painful sprawl a few meters away. Abbas could hear the crunch of some broken bones but he willed himself through it. All a question of will. And the woman was still alive. She hobbled to her feet and staggered into one of the open streets, ignoring the gasps of some of the passersby, who lower-level or not, had not had a Jedi and some armored warrior-woman literally fall from the sky on them.

Abbas loped after her, steadily but slowly, with all the determination of a Jedi Knight, though he had not yet reached that rank.

The woman paused and looked over her shoulder.

"Still here, Master Jedi?"

"I'm... persistent. Criminals should know better than to commit crimes in Jedi jurisdiction."

"It's handy memos like that they don't pass out at Crime and Thuggery University." She sighed, "But it's alright. I got a major in..." She grunted and picked up a heavy manhole cover. Her broken arm seemed awkwardly set.

"Improvisation!" She brandished the manhole cover at him, but noticed him staring at her arm, "You'd be surprised what sort of things you can get on the black market. Patched my arm right up. Won't be able to move it much though... But I digress..."

She now briskly hobbled at him, a deranged-happy warrior, swinging her improvised weapon at his head. He ducked. The hit went wide, but she sent a snap kick at his midsection, sending him flying as he was reaching for his saber, which tumbled out of his hand.

Abbas landed in a heap near an alley and the woman was on him.

His legs shot up and he rolled on his back as she bore down upon him, throwing her off.

She landed in a heap, now helmless.

Abbas floundered for his own improvised weapon, groping for the woman's fallen helmet. He stood up and barely managed to use it as a shield as the woman brandished her own weapon like a bashing shield in a overhand strike on him.

He staggered back, absorbing some of the momentum of the blow, as he parried and blocked with the helmet.

They continued like that for a few moments, weaving through the crowd of people who had gathered to watch their struggle. None of them aiding, of course. Jedi were not welcome in the lower-sections of Coruscant.

Abbas shifted sideways and barely blocked a midsection strike, but he realized too late that the woman was aiming for his hands. They were gaunleted of course, but the blunt edge of the manwhole still hurt. It felt like his fingers were on fire. Not... broken... but still.

He let go of the helmet and staggered, pain nearly overwhelming him.

The woman moved in for the kill, raising her weapon high.

"Well, guess this is the end, Jedi."

It felt like an eternity as her arms arced down, now both grabbing the metallic disk, speeding right for his head, aiming for a crushing blow.

No.

No, this was not the end. The Force was still his ally. And a powerful ally it was.

A wave of it crested within him and imbued his hurt hand. He held his hand up in an open palm strike and met the blow of the improvised weapon. The Force came in more waves. The metallic disk resonated and vibrated and then...

Shattered into a million pieces.

VOOM.

There was a deep whooshing sound and a small shockwave. The woman now staggered back and Abbas did not miss his opportunity. Staggering jabs and crosses followed at her face and solar plexus.

"You talk too much," he observed in between blows, before moving in with the coup de grace. His reserves nearly gone, he picked up the woman with the force bodily and slammed her several times into the nearest wall. Her armor crackled and fizzed as electronics and machinery gave out before Abbas' ferocious telekinetic assault.

And then silence. Her knees buckled, but she managed to stand up straight.

She wasn't smiling now. She was scowling.

"No... no... I still have a few tricks left." She fumbled for her utility belt, only to hear a snap a hiss and a hums he had heard all too often through her unsavory career.

She looked up to see a green lightsaber mere inches from her face, and bent but not broken Jedi looking down on her sternly.

"Ahem," he began mildly,

"As I was saying. You are under arrest."

 

[Jacques]

He heard footsteps approaching. For a moment he believed they were going to walk right under the dim light he had set up above to get a good view of his pursuers, so he thought whoever was coming at him was going to be visible very soon. Another moment later Jacques realized that they were actually rooftops away. By street terms, private detective had several blocks worth of walking/running time to get away. But he was smart, there was probably enough stuff around to rig up a trap, what could it possibly hurt to try?

Well, obviously besides his own life.

Jacques looked around, only briefly though. He didn't have much in the way of anything on him, but he was good at improvising. He had to be, it was his job. The rooftop he was on had a door that led inside, probably to stairs or some such but that didn't really matter. It gave him a good advantage to look over from, but more importantly, it was easy to tell it was a good, open corner to hide around. That was going to be useful.

Checking around the wall farthest from the side his pursuer was going to be coming on. There were several broken pipes there, that had stopped working long ago. The other building that he would have escaped to earlier had he chosen to run was taller, basically acting as an alley way to nothing but a four story drop and meeting his pursuer face to face.

He only had at most another block. He had to move quick or he'd be caught with his **** out of his pants. And unless his pursuer was an exceptionally fine looking woman, he didn't want that to happen.

Jacques pulled off a longish pipe that ended in rusty, Tetanus-induced, sharp edges. Luckily it wasn't spewing carbon monoxide, which he was fairly certain half of the empty buildings in the Undercity must have been doing. Setting his hat down on it, he made sure only a very small portion of the brim was visible to his pursuer. Finding a rusted out hole in the same pipe, he stuck in his new cigarette and popped a mint into his mouth. It had been in his jacket pocket for probably several months, but it filled the void of the cigarette.

Pulling off his tie and his overcoat as well, he thought about how to use them for only a moment. The overcoat looking realistic over the pipe would be hard to do. So the detective used the tie to tie his overcoat around the pipe. It looked as if he were hunching over a little bit and looking at the ground, but then his pursuer would think they had the advantage.

Footsteps. He finally heard them, very faint yet still very close. The corner was very dark, very dark. He couldn't see his own distraction ahead of him when he retreated back into the very edge. With his foot he felt for a ladder or fire escape of some sort. Dipping it down a bit further, he felt it, the ladder that led from the roof to the first level of the fire escape. Something to keep in mind if worse came to worse. His weapon was loaded and ready to go, though set on stun and not kill.

Finally the footsteps had reached the same roof as he, though even close they still sounded light and fast paced at the same time.

Was a woman following him?

Maybe he should have kept his **** out of his pants after all.

Her pace slowed, seemingly growing more and more cautious still. Jacques knew she had spotted the brim of his hat first. He started to move out from his cover, slowly, very slowly, even as her pace quickened. His blaster was aimed low, from the hip, because he wasn't so certain as to how tall his pursuer was. It was less accurate, but his best best.

He heard the footsteps turn the corner and he snapped off two shots with his blaster.
___

'How tall is this stupid building!?' Arek wondered to himself as he descended his seventh case of stairs in the past two minutes. The ugly Weequay he was chasing was two ahead of him, but the padawan was gaining faster and faster. His lightsaber was drawn for the first time throughout the whole ordeal, he even though in hindsight he could have ended the whole chase much faster had he used it at least once at some earlier point. But all he could do was shrug it off and keep running.

The Weequay's sluggish, heavy bootsteps changed directions, and so the padawan figured he had opted to just fight it out to the last breath. Arek didn't like the sound of that, so he slowed his pace and rested a bit, walking the last two flights of stairs. It gave his opponent more time to prepare, but at that moment he couldn't have cared less.

Finally approaching the floor of what he assumed would be both of their final stands, he took both weapons in hand and felt through the force for his Weequay playmate's presence. He couldn't feel anything, so he cursed at the force and called it useless, all in his head of course.

He passed by the first two rooms without being attacked, and even as he looked in them there were no bumrushes from the side or from behind or anything of the like. The more and more he looked around, the more certain he got that any more fist fighting would lead to the whole building's collapse. Mildew and fungus now inhabited the building, along cracked and broken walls that had given up on the hopes of reconstruction long ago. The ceiling looked like it was ready to fall in, tiny bits and pieces tumbling to the disgustingly wet floors below. Arek couldn't tell if the liquid he was stepping in was water, or motor oil, or blood, but it never seemed to be the same consistency and with each step he got more and more disgusted. It was in every room.

Of course that was probably the only room in the building like that, because that would probably be just his luck.

A living area. There was a small counter with a kitchen, and a place with a couch and holoscreen. Did somebody live in this building once? Arek looked up for only a second when the Weequay went crashing in to him, sending his shoulder right through the already busted holoscreen and, too, the cracked and mildew'd up wall behind the holoscreen and its stand.

His face was in the disgusting, slimy water, and he didn't appreciate it very much. The Weequay was pulling on his arm, as if trying to dislocate it. He didn't know where his lightsaber was, and the crash had just given him a major migraine. Arek fought back as best he could, sending a kick or two into the chin of his opponent before being able to wrestle from his grip and get up to his feet.

Everything spun, but he forced it to keep control as he racked his brain as to why the force didn't even give him a late warning that time. His much larger opponent lunged at him, and he ducked under it, spinning around to catch a fist in his side. It knocked most of the wind out of him, but he got out of the way of another lunge attack. Gathering the force to him as the Weequay lunged again, because Arek doubted he knew another long range strike than that, and hurled him through a different wall.

As the padawan stumbled around, trying to figure out if any bones were broken and where the hell his lightsaber was, he could hear his opponent in the ring, well, by then out of the ring, struggling to get up. Finally he found his lightsaber, under a piece of wall he had broken with his face, and grabbed it. The big Weequay was on him again before he could get a good grip on it.

This time he was able to get out of the man's grip faster, easier. He wondered why only briefly, before he noticed the knife in the man's left hand. Arek had gotten out too fast for him to be able to cut him.

'Wait...why do I feel lightheaded?' He looked at the Weequay, who laughed almost like a madman but not nearly well enough. The armed man pointed at the Tusken padawan's side, though not the one he had been punched in. Feeling for it, he felt wetness. Looking at his glove, he noticed blood. And he looked at the knife and he also noticed blood.

"Sonofa-" The Weequay attacked again, and Arek dropped down to the even wetter floor below him. It smelled rank as well. It got in his wound and it felt worse than it smelled. He was mid way through another curse in his mind when he spotted his lightsaber on the floor.

"Shouldnta chased me, Jeedai." The ugly sonuvabitch chucked, twirling his knife around in his hand like he was hot ****. "You shouldnta challenged my bosses, you-." The stupid Weequay hurled insults for what seemed like forever. It was more than enough time to get his lightsaber flying through the air, between the man's legs, and into Arek's hands. The man cursed once more, but not in triumph. He cursed like a sailor who was afraid to fly.

But he attacked. Arek ignited his lightsaber and sliced off the Weequay's left hand in a quick movement. How quickly the tables turned when a lightsaber was brought into play the Tusken noted, moreso with disgust than a new-found like for the "tool of the Jedi". He chuckled at his own thoughts.

His now dis-handed opponent struggled with his injury, grasping it with his still remaining hand, sitting on his knees. Not one for screaming in agony, Arek send a solid right hook into his temple and knocked him out. It was easier than it had been before. Dragging the man the rest of the way out of the building, the padawan pulled his comm device from his belt and spoke into it, "Abbas, Kohla, Halo, how you guys doin'? I got my guy, the squirmy little bugger."

 

[Kaeb]

The city was an immense orchestra of infinite sounds and she was it's silent, ever patient listener. Tremendous melodies poured out from the immeasurable skyscrapers that surrounded the landscape, threatening to block out the very stars themselves with their intimidating heights. Sky Shadows, the denizens of the Underworld called them, said to be built just to cover the poor and down trodden in darkness for all eternity. But what the Underworld lacked in natural light, they made up for in treacherous lies and rivers of curdled blood. Sky Shadows were not built to hide the hapless criminals and their wasted lives, they were carved into the world so that the rich could waste their credits and lives as well. All who called Corsucant home, were united in silent suffering. Yet none of them dared to acknowledge it. It was the most obstreperous and boisterous place in the entire galaxy. It was no surprise then, that those who were only visitors to this strangely unique place, had a more provident name for it, The City of Echoes.

Moonlight slowly crept through a void between two Sky Shadows, reflecting for the briefest of moments upon the barrel of a gun. Pale fingertips in black fingerless gloves stroked the handle of the weapon, like a mother comforting a weeping child. The grip slowly tightened as index finger and thumb hovered without momentary purpose. The finger was ready to plummet down upon the base of the trigger, unleashing swift judgement on whoever lay at the end of the barrel. While the thumb waited to flick upward, unholstering the blaster in order to unleash that torment.

Whisper moved with limitless grace as she vaulted across alleyways filled with all sorts of meretricious and illicit activity. Each time she flew through the air between buildings, her hands shot back down to her two blasters strapped to her lengthy and agile legs. The visor she had used to track her prey, had now returned to her finely cut cobalt jacket, which rested just above her exposed naval, revealing her toned, porcelain visage. She moved with impressive efficiency, vaulting across exposed pipes and spinning past live wires, all while measuring her surroundings, determining multiple escape routes after every step she took and every breath that escaped her bountiful blue-painted lips.

Her now ex-informant was a one-eyed, grey skinned Toydarian by the name of Lazzlo. She had many informants, but Lazzlo was vital in determing the exact location of Playgrounds throughout Coruscant, the child recruitment orphanages that were riddled throughout this sector. Having dealt with him in the past, she knew one of her blasters would be pressed against his miserable one-eyed head before the night was over, perhaps she would use both this time, just to get the message across.

You deal with me, and only me. You don't work with anyone else, least of all a human male. Unless you want to lose your other eye.

As she steadily approached her destination, Whisper immediately took notice in a change in the environment. Although the buildings they had scaled were only four stories tall, they rested upon the heights of countless other architectural marvels below and above them. Wires and cables were connected to every single structure around her, but moreso than usual. Then it occured to her, she had been here before.

Two months to this very night, she had hunted a collection of thieves posing as strippers in a nearby nightclub. It was trying work, but the pay from the nightclubs competitors was worth the long hours of running and killing for two straight weeks. What was unique about this encounter, was the nightclubs power system, instead of operating through Coruscants own thermal underground generators it had an independant power source, one in which the entire neighbourhood had tapped into in order to avoid Alliance energy taxation laws. This sector was so interconnected with power cables that it was both a blessing and a curse for anyone who found themselves in need of a hot pursuit, or quick escape.

The man, the smoker, had stopped dead in his tracks not far from were she was, but she was gaining ground fast. In her line of work, given the amount of avenues for escape she saw in the distance, the fact he decided to stop meant one of two things. He had spontaneously died of a collapsed lung given his affinity for cigarra's, or he thought to ensnare her in a trap.

She hoped it was the latter, the thought brought a curl to the right-side of her mouth, a sly half smile, something of a trademark of hers, along with her blue lipstick. It was not the potential ambush that made her smile, such a thing was natural in the wild, especially in a wounded animal. It was her desicion. To spring the trap.

She brought her hands away from her sidearms and instead began to swing them back and forth in order to gain speed, her hair flowed through the stale wind, the smell of steam, alcohol and fuel nearly overwhelmed her, but her focus was unshakable. As she ran forward, vaulting across three more alleyways to cross the void between her and her prey, she saw a glimspe of him hidden behind rusted pipes. And then. Time stopped.

If Whisper ever thought the City of Echoes was incapable of getting louder, she was wrong. Two crimson shards flew from the shadows with alarming speed and in that instant she saw the face of her attacker. He was just a man, there was nothing especially remarkable about him, his face was contorted in that faux confidence that all men feel when they hold a gun, especially when they fire it. They all think themselves to be cowboys from the old Outer Rim holo-films. Bravado gets in the way of what they should really be feeling everytime they fire it, fear. Whisper didn't feel fear in that moment, she didn't feel anything. She just reacted.

Her right foot, clad in black military-grade combat boots she had stolen from the body of a dead soldier, kicked off of a broken rusted pipe near the mans head, using that momentum, she flung herself past the doorway that led inside the building proper. And then she was falling.

In that instant the man stumbled forward off of his knees, his blaster still in hand as he peered over the edge, shocked by the fact that Whisper was nowhere in sight.

But Whisper for all her tricks and skills, had not vanished. As soon as she vaulted off of the rusted old building in the south quarter of Smugglers Wake, her hands shot outward finding nothing but air and anxiety, until her exposed naval found what she was looking for, which promptly knocked the air right out of her lungs and snapped away from a building on the far side, it was a power cable. Like a nether monkey from the shadowlands of Kashykk she used her momentum to swing the cable through countless others, curling around the side of the building and nearly smacking into a wall with enough force to smash her pretty skull into a hundred pieces.

Choosing life over death, she kicked off and let go of the cable and landed gracefully on a ladder, on the same side of the roof as her attacker had just been, striking from the shadows like a frightened housecat. She scaled the ladder with absolute determination, peeking her sapphire eyes over the wall of the roof and seeing the man still guffawed by her disappearance.

Ever graceful in her movements she slowly slid her feet across the ground, never making so much as ripple of sound, she was just a shadow in the City of Echoes, she didn't appreciate being blinded by lights. Unholstering her blaster with a flick of her thumb, she crosed the threshold between them and placed the blaster at the base of his spine. He seemed to shiver for a moment, raising his hands in the air as she slowly placed her chin on his right shoulder and whispered into his ear.

''So what'll it be cowboy, Talkin' or Dyin'?''


​

 

[Padmé]

Still on foot, chasing after the scantily dressed woman, Knight Lamb did all she could to avoid another random round blaster of shots aimed at her. Although Halo herself is an avid runner, her assailant proved to be a challenge. Beckoning the Force, Lamb was finally able to catch up with the suspect.

With a side swoop, the Jedi Knight knocked the woman down, hitting the concrete dirt filled-floor face down. Panting and gasping for air, Lamb got down on one knee, pulled the woman’s hand behind her back and demanded “Why the kraff did you and your little friends run when you saw us? You have three second to spill it.”

One second…

Two seconds….

Three…

Four…

Nothing came. Not a word from the suspect, which really made the blonde mad. Taking a hold of the woman’s hair, the Jedi pulled the suspect’s head back- hoping to inflict more pain on the suspect. “You know, I can just use my mind tricks on you to get what I want, or I can find more ways to inflict pain from you before extracting the information I need…Your choice, but I’ll win either way, so spill-” Halo’s word were cut short by the assailant’s groaning. “okay, okay…The group of guys you and you and other Jedi saw work for some sort of underground-” The suspect stopped and begged for Halo to release her hair and arms, at which point the Jedi obliged. Seconds upon doing so, the suspect was up and running again.

“Damn it…” Halo exclaimed as she took off on foot behind her suspect. The woman along several alleyways, then finally inside what appeared to be an abounded warehouse. The awful smell permeating the building was enough to make the blonde gag.

The building itself was filed with littered alcohol bottles, half empty boxes of food, and etc. Nonetheless, she chased her assailant down- well more like up- as she made her way up several flights of stairways while throwing random things down towards the Halo's direction. Halo did her best to doge the empty bottles being thrown at her by the suspect, and several puddles of urine on the stairway.

The building echoed Halo and the scantly dressed woman’s footsteps as they run up the stairways. Moments later the woman suspect ran inside another door which led the pair to the very last floor on top of the warehouse building. Panting Lamb knew she now had the suspect, as there was no where else for the woman to turn. Now walking backwards to the edge of the building Halo’s assailant grinned ‘death before….’ as she moved closer and closer to edge of the roof then finally screaming ‘…dishonor’ and plunged down.

The female Knight walked closer to where her assailant had just stood, and committed suicide. Halo shook her head- in great disbelief- while looking down at what appeared to be a lifeless body laying down on the concrete floor- several slights below her. Seconds later- as though right on cue- Lamb’s comlink beeped. Pulling down on her utility belt, Halo will grab her comlink,

"Abbas, Kohla, Halo, how you guys doin'? I got my guy, the squirmy little bugger." Came what sounded like Jedi Arek’s faint voice.

Pressing down on her comlink, Halo uttered “good job…I had my little bugger until she decided to commit suicide….” Halo paused to look down at the lifeless body again before added “…on my way”

Still looking down the warehouse building in disbelief, Lamb took a final observation at the lifeless suspect’s body before slowly making her way down the flight of stairs in great disbelief.

 

[Shiuzu]

Kohla trudged through the streets of Smugglers Wake, the stench was once again assaulting the big mans senses, during the chase he didn't have time to bother with such distractions, but since the adrenaline began to fade the smell was slowly coming back. A fragrance that was one part blood, one part sweat, one part...things that were better left in the bathroom, and something else he couldn't quite figure out.

But there was more here than just the smell, and the smugglers, there were real people down here, people just trying to survive, the forgotten, those that had been ignored, left behind to either starve to death or get shot. Kohla would not soon forget everything he saw down here. The idea of people living like this on a planet like Coruscant was unforgivable.

For the time being Kohla would need to focus on his mission, and to continue that he would have to find his companions, traditional methods in a place like this would prove both ineffective and dangerous, so Kohla would have to take the...less traditional route.

Finding the nearest ladder Kohla climbed to the top and onto the rooftops once more, audibly sighing Kohla mused
You'd think I'd of learned my lesson.
Wishing to spend as little time as possible so far above the streets again Kohla got to work.

Brushing his robes behind him Kohla sat down while crossing his legs into the kekkafuza position and laying his hands into one and other slowly to achieve the hokkaijoin position, straightening out his back, ignoring his aches and pains Kohla prepared to lose himself within the force.

Kohla had always been thankful to learn under Mistress Ayva for a time, her wisdom in the art of meditation gave Kohla a deeper understanding of the universe around him, and helped him further inch his way to his future goals, and find the one person in this universe who truly mattered to him.

Closing his eyes Kohla began to breath deep, each breath was another thought flowing through his mind.

Inhale.

What powerful hornets nest had they kicked up.

Exhale.

What could of frightened an Iridonian so much that he'd take his own life rather than surrender.

Inhale.

What was the condition of his companions, had they fared as poorly as Kohla did.

Exhale.

After all this time could she even still be alive...

Allowing his thoughts to flow freely Kohla attained pure meditation, he freed himself from the distractions of the City of Echos and its plight. He freed himself from his body allowing his being to become one with the force. Allowing his mind to drift and find his companions within these slums. He couldn't make out their exact positions, but he could feel their emotions, the female...she felt...confusion, disbelief, sorrow. Her target must of succumb to the same fate, he moved from person to person, until he found his companions, each persons sorrow, hunger, and greed touching Kohla. He did not ignore their pain, to do so would be an insult.

He felt another female force sensitive, this one was...almost hollow, sensing her sent a chill up Kohla's spine, he quickly moved on to find the other male Jedi, this time he sensed, physically pain, mixed with sympathy, and a bit of accomplishment, it seemed Arek had succeeded where he and Halo had so far failed. Finally Kohla reached out for his friend Abbas, maybe one of the few people in his galaxy he could one day come to depend on and become a person who he could say truly mattered to the melancholy Twi'lek.

Kohla sensed...excitement, coupled with worry, and anxiety. That definitely seemed like Abbas, perhaps he was still battling his opponent, nevertheless the outcome felt like it could happen soon, and Kohla had no doubts about which way it would go.

The passage of time had little meaning to Kohla right now, he could become an old man sitting here and he wouldn't even know, however it would not be today that he'd lose himself completely in this position, in his ear rang a familiar voice,

"Abbas, Kohla, Halo, how you guys doin'? I got my guy, the squirmy little bugger."

Kohla was correct, Arek had succeeded with his foe, without much hesitation another voice popped up on the com-link “good job…I had my little bugger until she decided to commit suicide….on my way”

Interesting, Kohla was beginning to feel excitement once more, what could possibly be so frightening to these thugs that they'd kill themselves rather than fail. Kohla sighed, he wouldn't be able to find his companions the fun way today, pressing his finger against his ear piece Kohla said,

"Mines dead, tried to pull me down a building with him, it didn't work," Kohla paused for a moment wondering what to say next,

"Everyone meet up at the bar, we'll meet up before going in, too dangerous to go in alone."

Removing his finger from his ear Kohla sat up from his meditative position, he looked around once more at the squalor and filth around him, feeling nothing but sorrow and pity for those force to live here before raising his hood above his head and beginning his walk towards the bar.

 

[BLADE]

Abbas frowned as he received the missives from his fellow Jedi. All the others dead. The plain-faced woman, now spotting several bruises over her face smiled revealing some knocked-out teeth. Force, Abbas was a model Jedi, but he could not help but feel some satisfaction in marring that smug look on the woman's face.

He accepted his frustration as natural and released it into the Force. Truth be told, he pitied this woman. She obviously feared her employer a great deal to fight the way she had fought.

There was something... disconcerting about her smile though.

"Typical," she said at last, "Didn't think they had it in them."

"You are quite callous regarding your compatriots," Abbas commented mildly, as he tugged on the cord he had tied the warrior woman with. Or rather Zira, as he had learned from accessing his datapad. Impersonating an Alliance governor. Smuggling. Murder. Racketeering. A long list of delinquencies.

The natives of the underground gave him wide-berth. They were tough, but tales of a Jedi that had literally fallen from the sky and subdued an armored assailant were enough to make even these hardscrabble people deferential. Ordinarily he might have been troubled; Jedi were servants of the people and their comings and goings should have engendered gladness and not wariness and distrust.

But not today. Not with what was at stake. He remembered his crecheling and youngling days.

No. Not today.

"They're not my compatriots, fish-man. Yeah, I can tell you're Mon Cal. Nose doesn't lie."

"Charming. What do you mean they're not your compatriots?"

Zira laughed, "Boss-man told you you Jedi would try to interrogate me. Let me assure you I'll give up the information I have easily."

Abbas frowned, "You will?" Something didn't add up.

"Boss man wanted to send a message. Those guys? All his mooks. He told me they were loyal... but sheesh! Anyhow, I think I'll wait until we have a confab with your buddies. Girl hates to repeat herself, and I think you punched me in the throat anyhow," she coughed theatrically, leaving Abbas to ponder the meaning of what he had just heard.

He finally tapped his comm-link to check in.

"I have my assailant. She is still alive. Should we rendezvous where planned?"

-------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile
Coruscant
​

It hadn't been too hard to track the trigger-happy gentlemen. Auren was rather disappointed. Oh sure, there was the matter of justice being served and all that (though he and his fellow Inspectors more often than not had to turn a blind eye to the lesser vices in Undertown), but he'd been keen for a challenge.

Truth was his superiors knew him too well. Vice was so... pedestrian. He missed homicide and if there was one even tenuously tied to the drug racket he might have made a run of it. But this?

A card game gone awry.

He looked up at the building in front of him, a dingy stucco mishmash that looked like the unholy child of a starship and a particularly large Hutt. An obnoxious slowly moving holo-sign of a besalisk beckoned them inside.

Happy Hour: Drinks half off.
Sabacc games on the hour.

"Well," Auren smiled to himself, "Destiny beckons."

 

[Jacques]

The girl was gone, though he doubted it was for long. Maybe an hour or less before she was back on him, as she was much better than he suspected. For a few short seconds he had seen her dodge away on what he believed were just really tough cables hanging from one roof to the next for what seemed like no reason at all. However, it was dark, so Jacques couldn't be completely sure.

Putting his tie, overcoat and hat back on, the p.i shoved his pistol back into its holster and cracked his back as he brought it all the way back up straight, also noting that the sound of his pursuer's footsteps had disappeared. He assumed she was headed further away to gather her senses and go on the attack again, so the Mandalorian acknowledged that he would have to get moving. Just as he was reaching for a cigarette, a pistol dug into his spine It wasn't the first time, and it wouldn't be the last.

"So what'll it be cowboy? Talkin' or dyin'?" Her voice was soft and pleasing to the ears, while at the same time sounding cold and and experienced. She could shove his head through his diaphragm if she had to, and he was going to make sure she wouldn't have to.

Her chin rested on his shoulder, which was covered by not only a shirt, but a suit jacket and an overcoat. It wasn't so much his shoulder she rested her head on but his impeccable fashion sense.

"Y'know luv, normally I'm a big on the idea of dyin'." Jacques's Corellian accent was much better sounding than he remembered, he thought to himself, as he slowly reached into his pocket, pulling out his cigarettes, "Don't worry, it's just me murderer."

Jacques lit one and placed the pack back, making sure to not make any sudden movements. It definitely wasn't the first time he was doing the "gun-in-the-small-of-my-back" dance, and again, it definitely wouldn't be the last. He took a nice long drag and held onto the smoke for a while, trying to think of an adequate response that would quench her thirst for answers, but wouldn't give away too much. But from what he gathered based on how long she had been following him, they were working the same job.

"I'm a private dick, lass." He looked the face on his shoulder over, "Name's Wheeler," He made sure to pronounce it incredibly vaguely, quick and trailing off at the end, trying not to stress anything syllable, or even letter, more than the next, keeping his half-fake/half-real Corellian accent along with it. Jacques caught her blue lipstick, and her eyes, and caught out of her peripherals a tiny bit of her jacket.

Taking another long drag from his stick of death, he exhaled, feeling the calming effects rush over him. "I takkit we got, well, had the same informant, Baby Blue." Jacques smirked, wishing he had come across this femme fatale before his hair had grown shoulder length, and his beard just as long. He looked much better than, but the thick fur was to cover most of his face, as he liked to joke, from the horrors of Coruscant's Lower Levels.

"You diggin' on these Playgrounds tew, luv?"
___

It took Arek the better part of an hour to find some sort of policing presence in the area. Of course, they were incredibly low down in the Undercity, so it wasn't exactly surprising, but still, mild annoyances weren't exactly welcome to the Jedi padawan right then and there. Normally he would have been able to overlook them and get over it, but his body was a little bit too achy and his side still burned from where he had been stabbed by the idiotic Weequay. Hopefully the fool didn't kill himself in his jail cell while the police waited for the Jedi to come around and pick him up. But with his luck, he wouldn't be surprised if that was what happened

They had offered to patch up his wound real quick, but the Tusken opted to grab a few bandages, wrap them tightly around his wound, and take a quick little shot of bacta to get him going again. A nice bottle of water also hydrated him efficiently, and got him feeling better enough to go to the bar.

The Jedi had an informant at the bar, a Toydarian, pretty useless besides his ability to obtain information. He always swore to his clients that they were the only ones he dealt with, but people who worked with him for more than a job or two knew that that wasn't the case. Although, that might have just been Jedi Intelligence, not actually the most common rumor around the area. Arek really had no idea, as he wasn't often one to visit the Undercity.

For some reason, he felt bad about that. He was always campaigning against politicians for not caring about those who really needed their help, just pocketing money and running off with it as he had so often seen before being close with them all the way up at numerous Senate meetings, hearing those people speak and hearing no concern whatsoever for the people they claimed to be protecting and lifting back up to their feet. And the streets of Smuggler's Wake proved that to be different.

Obviously one couldn't care for a city such as large and spacious and populated as Coruscant, but there wasn't an ounce of trying shown. All buildings were dilapidated at best, all metal in the area was rusted if not completely useless. The sick and the poor and the homeless, the dying, the lepers, they lay useless in the streets, unable to do anything, even to beg for food or money to buy food.

Arek couldn't feel anything but sadness as he walked past them, solemn, his pace steady but not too fast, his weighted hunk of metal clipped to his belt and clanging against his side with every other footstep. The sound it made slapping against his thigh, the weight it added, and the idea of even using it disgusted him at that moment, even though the thing had just recently saved his life.

Why save his own life when he couldn't save the lives of those who needed it?

The downtrodden Tusken sighed, audibly and in an exaggerated way, as he continued his walk through.

Every so often one could hear multiple crimes going down, though the ones the padawan could hear were too far off in the distance for him to make it anywhere in time. Or else he would have, and saved the bar for later. The thought of what was happening resonated in his mind, making him drop it to look at his feet, as he continued to walk by. The bar was ten or so blocks away, but the presence of all the others were much further than he was from the bar. His Weequay friend hadn't been smart enough to run in the same direction as his friends. Or maybe he had been smarter to do so, Arek's mind was too cluttered to figure that out then.

The rest of the walk to the bar was silent, beyond the coughs of those dying in the waterlogged buildings that had a roof that was more likely to collapse under any pressure than protect its residents from inclimate weather. The sound killed him every time as he walked by, seemingly the only thing that one would hear in the Undercity.

Arek made sure not to think as he walked the rest of the way to the bar. It was better for him and it was probably best for the mission. He waited out by the door, and the bouncer, for the others to show up. The bar seemed busy and not so busy at the same time, loud on the inside, but not many new people entering.

His wait for the others was short, thankfully.

 

[Kaeb]

A liquid crystal slowly carved it's way across the surface of a moistureless expanse. The moment is an evanescent one, fleeting in it's insignifigance. The observer wondered for the most infinitesimal of moments, if all drops of rain, or beads of sweat, longed to be waterfalls. All men and women dream of flying, to exist somewhere else, in spite of themselves. If rain could dream, what would it dream of? Men refuse to accept their fate, they loathe the inevitable fall. Would rain dream of flying, or would rain, unlike men, accept the inevitable. Do all things outside of men, accept death as an end to a journey, instead of an eternal dream of shadow and darkness. Or are we all lost in the great perhaps...

The lone stream of perspiration, rolled like a tiny river along the surface of the mans skin. It hesitated for a fleeting moment, before falling from his chin and accepting it's destiny, consumed by the fabric of his ostentatious jacket.

Whisper's head rested gently upon his shoulder, like a child bothering a parent, yet there was no semblance of innocence in her demeanour. Her mind was elsewhere, ignoring the stink of the sweat that rolled off of the bearded man's brow and how he reaked of cheap liqour and cigarettes. As she dwelt on recent matters, she was brought out of her reverie by a sudden intruder that landed gracefully upon her sharp, porcelain forehead. The rain cascaded down upon them all at once, like an ancient barrage of a thousand liquid arrows, it seemed that the sky had a limitless supply. One could wonder how the rain made it all the way down to the Undercity, but she knew the truth of it. Water droplets bombarded the sky shadows above them and rolled across the polished glass, welcoming the Underworld as it's final resting place. Not even the rain was welcome in their prestigous lives and pristine homes. The fluids were warm and stank of rust, metal and fuel. Whisper liked the smell, it reminded her of spaceports, it reminded her of the ship she would return to when all this was done...Solace.

He spoke with a fading Corellian accident, judging from his prolonged pronunciation of his vowels, he was feigning an accent from the outskirts of Coronet. It was probably fake, but such things were of little signifigance, if he wanted to keep his true identity a secret, that did not concern her. He was sharing her resources, that definitely concerned her. Before 'Wheeler' could finish speaking, Whisper made a distinct clicking sound and puckered out her cobalt lips. He seemed to understand and brought a cigarette to her mouth, lighting it with a quick and fluid movement. She winked at him, there was nothing playful about it, he didn't have any choice in the matter but to comply. She was tired of hearing him speak.

''Your words weigh less than sunlight.''
​

The sapphires that rested beneath her eyelids, glistened in the midnight rain. He seemed to get the message to cease talking. Lazzlo, was about deliver information on a nearby Orphanage upon her arrival and it seemed the miserable old bastard hadn't expected such an early turn up. She needed to know if this man deserved that information. If he didn't, he would die on this rooftop, if he did, she could use him. But she couldn't trust him. She slowly exhaled the cigarette, blowing the carbon monoxide right into the mans face. He didn't seem to mind, he'd had four cigarettes since she caught his scent regardless, it was a rather stale smell indeed. As the rain grew all the more loud and heavy, it rippled across the surface of metal pipes, causing the rooftops all around them to erupt in tremendous sound of constant precussion.

Ding ding ding.

Then she made a desicion. Around her left wrist was a device her handler had built for her, a droid informant by the name of Voice. He had found it particularly useful when ensuring that Bounty Hunters delivered their bounties on time and with great efficiency. A dead mans switch. If the victim attempted to remove the device, they would be inflicted with an enormous burst of electricity. If the bounty hunter's heart should stop beating, then the device would explode, killing the victim with a 100% success rate. Voice called it, the Bond. She decided artifical trust, was better then no trust at all and quickly flicked the switch on her wrist and jammed it into Wheeler's back. He flinched in pain.

''Men like you are nothing but plankton, jealous of the ocean that holds them. If you touch it, you die. If I should fall, so will you. I believe we've bonded, don't you?''​

She didn't move, she stayed fixed behind him, her blaster still aimed at his spine, now beside the device that clung to him, embedded through his clothing and into his skin. The poor man, it really was a nice coat. He didn't show fear or anxiety, perhaps Whisper had thought ill of him much too soon. Perhaps he was stronger then he first appeared. She considered for a moment, that if the man was smart, he would know that if she intended to kill him, she would have done it thirty minutes ago. But the bond, ensured his cooperation and if all went according to plan, it ensured that she would find all the orphanages on Coruscant tonight, and free her brothers and sisters, strangers though they where.

She switched her left hand with her right in order to hold the blaster, using the other to grab her second weapon. She slowly but sensually brought her arms around the mans side, her arm stroking against his stomach. Then she brought the barrel of her second blaster right to the mans testicles and clenched inward with her arm. He did flinch then, and that brought her a degree of dark pleasure, a blue smile pierced through her ghostly white cheeks, reavling her pearly white teeth. She was terrifying in her graceful pulchritude.

''You fear loss more than death. But that...can be useful.''​

Suddenly she pushed back, letting him go, with a cigarette still resting between her lips. She raised her blasters, slowly blowing the man a kiss, awaiting his next move.

 

[Jacques]

"You words weigh less than sunlight." He'd heard worse insults, though he couldn't exactly say they were worded as well. And the deadly lady's voice helped soothe the fact that he would either be dead soon or working with her soon, both with very high chances of fatality. One sooner than the other, but Jacques would have preferred sooner. But he knew that if he was wanted dead he would have been already. From the moment the blaster's barrel had caressed his spinal cord, in fact.

"I try to make my information as useless and few and far between pointless anecdotes as possible, luv." He kept up with the fake accent, even though he was fairly certain she had picked up on his faux-truth from the first word.

The rain soothed him. Private detectives always seemed to work better in rain, or at least that was the lie he amused himself with more often than he probably should have.

"Hey girlie, yer ruinin' my getup! A p.i's nuthin' without his ratty, tatty suits!" Jacques exclaimed, like usual half-joking and half-serious. He wasn't a very big fan of explosive collars or explosive anythings being strapped or attached to him. The thought of blowing up wasn't a very fun image in the man's messed up little head. She spoke again, once more her voice both soothing and intimidating, although the p.i was easily intimidated. He just either didn't show it or got over it. He much preferred charging things head on when he was outclassed instead of trying to tiptoe around it. At least it caught the intimidators off guard sometimes.

Who was he kidding, that never worked.

"Men like you are nothing but plankton, jealous of the ocean that holds them. If you touch it, you die. If I should fall, so will you. I believe we've bonded, don't you?"

"I get along with women pretty well, even with the ones threatening to blow me up." Jacques waited a moment and then chuckled, "Oh wait, that's all of them, never mind."

Time moved slowly, as slowly as it possible could have. Rain drops smacked against the ground below, the roof underneath their feet, and everywhere above and around them. As the rain intensified the sound grew louder and louder. Jacques loved the rain, even as polluted and disgusting as the rain could get once it reached the lower levels. Moving to light a new cigarette, a blaster suddenly aimed at his crotch stopped his movements completely. He could stand for being shot, or stabbed, hell even killed in cold blood, but he wasn't going to let his junk be blown off while he was still alive. Pain he could handle, loss of such an important organ to him he could not.

"You fear loss more than death, but that...can be useful." She pushed against him, not hard, but to get herself away from him quickly, and aimed her blasters at him. He made not other movements but to light a new cigarette.

Jacques didn't respond to that right away, as he looked her up and down for the first time in ever. She had both a feminine body and a man's balls. Well, hopefully not physically, but mentally. She was strong, stronger than three of him combined. He took it as a good omen that she hadn't fired either of her blasters into his head yet. Maybe she would, after he decided to make a guess. He didn't have much experience with the Playgrounds, and hadn't met somebody who had been farmed through one of them and turned into the perfect killing machine. But Jacques felt he was staring one of them right in the eye that moment.

"Yer one of them, ain't you? Raised in a Playground, grabbed by somebody at a young enough age, and raised into a killer worthy of Darth Vader's praise." But she hadn't fired her gun at him yet as he said it, though he could see her perk up a little bit, either in confusion as to how he had deduced that, or confusion as to what the hell he was rambling on about. "Though you haven't killed me yet, so I assume we're on the same side of the spectrum? About finding the truth out about those damned places? Or do you just want to see em burn?"

 

[Padmé]

The Jedi Knight’s walk down the abounded building was not only long, but surreal. Lamb did not understand why her suspect committed suicide instead of coming forth with the answers she needed. The gravity of the assailant’s final actions was not warranted, nonetheless that was the reality the blonde Jedi faced at the moment.

As the dejected Jedi descended down the stairs, she paused and leaned beside one of the rails. With her hand in her pocket, Lamb searched for her datapad. The authorities will need to be notified, and that was exactly what the blonde did. Upon locating her electronic device, Haloburner sent a short report of what just transpired. Doing her best to remember every detail, Lamb chronicled the commencement of the chase. Taking a long pause, the blonde’s memory flashed back to the initial run in with her constituents, at which point a short grin formed on her face. She couldn’t help but grin at the image of Arek running after his suspect.

Snapping out of the flash back, Lamb’s attention moved back to the electronic device in her hand. She continued to chronicle the initial chase of the pack (including all four Jedi), the blaster shoots aimed at her, and then finally the suspects suicide. Glancing over her datapad Haloburner read over the report again before firing it off to the authorities.

With the authorities now notified, Lamb quickly descended down the stairs, while carefully maneuvering around several piles of garbage and puddles of god knows what. After finally reaching the main floor, Halo decided to give the dead suspect a final glace. Thankfully, no there wasn’t any crowed gathered around the lifeless being, when Lamb approached it. Again another sign of Coruscant’s corrupted system and the Undercity’s lack of concern for the common citizen. The few folks that walked by did not even bother to stop, they just kept walking as though the lifeless being laying on the ground did not exist. Hopefully the orphans the Jedi were sent to rescue will never have to meet the same fate….

Halo’s assailant’s corpse now appeared blue, a tell tale sign of a decaying body. Finally the authorities arrived, at which point the Jedi turned to walk away. No need to make them wait for me, Halo muttered to her self as she headed to the bar. Upon locating the meeting place, Haloburner met one of three Jedi, Arek, waiting out at the door. Halo gave a short wave as she walked closer to the entrance of the bar.....

 

[Kaeb]

The cigarette sprang forth from it's moist prison, held between two bountiful blue lips. The short stick of Outer-Rim tobacco hurtled through the air, followed by a great plume of pearly white smoke. The limitless barrage of rain threatened to snuff out the flame nestled in it's belly, but it cut through it's opressors, gliding over an entire alleyway before landing on a seperate rooftop. It's former captor contemplated for a fleeting moment, what it would be like to fly in such a way. To defy all opressors and be completely free of ones burdens. She found herself envying a cigarette, longing for that simplicity, that singular purpose. She longed to be free of her burden.

Detective Smoker spoke to her for a moment, he did that a lot, hurling his voice at his surroundings as if his words could protect him. At the mention of her origins, she lowered one of her blasters, holstering it with a quick but steady manouvere. The other dealer of death stayed fixed in it's position, tracing the path a blast would take would land an observer straight between the Detectives eyes. Killing him wouldn't burden her, but it wouldn't benefit her either. She didn't believe in luck, but evidentally, luck had saved this man's life. That, and time. A force that meddled with her activites much to often. She found herself wishing she could aim her blasters at time itself, to rid herself of that cosmic burden. If she were alone, she would have laughed at that. Dark and strange as her humour was. Smoker spoke of burning, and that did bring a smile to her face.

''Burning implies an end to their suffering. Their pain will last forever''.
​

Whisper held many emotions buried under years of training and so much death, her repetoire of pain was impressive but if she cared what others thought of her, she never showed it. He was a detective after all, his ability to determine her connections to the Family wasn't impressive by any means, but it seperated him from the countless other private eyes that roamed the City of Echoes. Their eyes were always closed, his were open. That didn't make him good, that made him useful.

''Slaves must be freed. Slavers must die. It is the way of things. We must be the architects of their destruction. If you will not help to engineer their demise. Then you will die.''​

She said the last, with a glance at her blaster, a weapon that like it's sister, had gone through exstensive modification. He knew her motivation, she knew his. She made her intentions known, now so would he. She grew tired of burdens and vendetta's, death to her was but a stepping stone to progression. Whisper had no qualms with using his death, to move forward.

 

[BLADE]

Thus always it was the same. Or how had that gone again? He knew there'd been an affected aristocratic inflection and some sort of moralizing theme to the sentence; it was what the stern old rhetor at the Corellia orphanarium had tried to teach them. What had always interested Auren about it was the content more than the form. Things were pretty much the same across the galaxy, and whatever pretensions people had of difference, the truth was they were living their lives in these set conditions more influenced by what their ancestors did than by anything else.

He was one of those who tried to be an exception, but he could not happen but note that this Undercity saloon was like so many others. A dingy, dusty bar, a filthy old honky tonk, attended by a rusty-looking droid, banging out the same tired tunes from the same tired chanteuses about the same old silly love songs.

Even criminals were sentimental. That was an insight he'd learned early in his career.

He strode into the saloon, never flashing his badge. Badges didn't do much but necessitate eyes on the back of your head in this part of Coruscant, and he wasn't about to get his head blown off for pursuing two idiots who shot someone over a card game.

They were there. The same feral shrewdness in their eyes, the same self-satisfied drunken louts sitting around like wet bags of duracrete, an animal smile on their faces.

"Gentlemen," he smiled, "Sabacc?"

The dealer, a tidy-looking little old man who seemed entirely out of place in this filthy hovel of a place, smiled encouragingly at him. Ah, not out of place at all. There was a hustler's glint to the old man eye and in Undercity it was better to be thought weak than to be weak. Auren smiled vacuously at him, never tipping his understanding of this place. His sidearm suddenly felt a bit heavier on his side. Which was both encouraging and disturbing, he supposed.

"Yes, Mr..."

"Sol. Auren Sol. I have a bit of money you know," he played up an upper-class Coruscanti accent; it was not unheard of for rich twits with a taste of excitement to journey on to Undercity on misguided anthropological excursions. They were readily identifiable by their pronunciation, their haughty bearing, their "better breeding."

...

These excursions rarely ended well. For the twits, at least. Shrewd Undercity dwellers often came out ahead. Or at least as ahead as one could in that miserable milieu.

"Old money?" The old man whistled.

"Oh, Mother and Father have done alright."

"Any reason you wear those shabby suits?"

Auren smiled with a vacuity bordering on the Bantha-like, "Well, you know, it was some sort of philosopher chap I was reading a while ago... I forget his name, but he said something about living in different garb..." he trailed off and actually chuckled, "Gambling is a sin too, but you know, we all need our little vices."

The other men at the table glanced at each other, some throwing knowing smirks.

Another rich twit.

The old man dealer to his credit seemed less mollified. He looked over at the droid, a spindly little entertainment droid and glared. The droid stopped playing his sprightly little ragtime and faltered, hesitating for a moment. Then it nodded at the old man, stood up, and went into a backdoor, disappearing behind the the bar.

Auren took a mental note of that. One his hands subtly slid under his undercoat, feeling his revolver. Primed and loaded. As were his wits. Good.

He slid smoothly into one of the worn green felt chairs and greeted some of the men jovially, keeping his back towards the entrance and his eyes on both the bar entrance and the men he had been tracking.

"So gentlemen..." he began, theatrically, taking out a wallet full of cash. His cash. Some of his savings. He'd been fully intending to while them away at one of the classier bordellos in Undercity, but beggars couldn't be choosers.

And besides, there were other ways to get off in Undercity.

"What are the stakes?"

-------------------------------------------------------

Meanwhile
Coruscant​

The woman named Zira shuffled awkwardly as they made their way through one of the last blocks on the way to the rendezvous point. They were meeting at a bar. Abbas didn't quite know what one, but it was slightly out of Undercity. That was good. Less chance that one of Miss Zira's colleagues would try and make trouble.

Said woman was now covered in one of the layers of his robes.

"I'd say you were a gentleman, Master Jedi," Zira said sarcastically, "But I'm not even cold. And I ain't much of a lady," she added as an afterthought.

"I don't believe in parading criminals around. It demeans sentient dignity and is pointless," Abbas replied firmly, keeping his focus well on his surroundings. He resisted adding that he was tempted to drag said woman to the bar on her knees after she had thrown him off a building... three times? Four? He'd lost track, "Besides, it makes it seem less like I am escorting a prisoner and invites less trouble."

The woman chuckled cynically, "Clever, Fish-man. Clever. But still just like a Jedi. Serves the Alliance without buying into its ideals. Boss-man is definitely gonna be interested in you."

Abbas ignored her, "The Alliance isn't perfect," he was always willing to debate this point and truth be told, talking helped to keep his focus. Undercity could be... overwhelming in its force signature, "But it is at least perfectible. A compact between sentient beings in the name of freedom and dignity."

"Stop, you're going to make me cry."

"You could tell me why you ran. What this is all about."

"I could. But like I said, I'd rather not repeat myself. Besides, seems we're at our rendezvous point."

Abbas turned on his heel and stared the woman down, "How did you know?"

Zira smiled mischievously, but with a decidedly ominous undertone, "Did you really think people haven't been watching you?"

She threw back her head and laughed as they stopped just short of the bar; Abbas could see his compatriots in there.

"Silly Jedi. This is Undercity. Somebody is always watching."

Abbas frowned but released his frustrations into the Force. They walked in.