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Damien was crouched on a ledge, one arm resting on his knee as his visor routinely scanned the street below from left to right. The main target of his gaze was a cantina, one that had an obscenely large and neon-lit sign that proudly displayed the name, The Tumbling Krayt. The traffic outside...

At first, all he could hear were the explosions—a cacophony of deafening blasts that shook the earth and his very skeleton. Then came the screams, one after another, culminating in some unidentifiable roar that couldn't be forgotten. Half of them were fueled by adrenaline; fear, second doubts...