Ye only realized what I did when I decided to finish the chapter haha Oh well at least I didn't lose much since almost everything i had written was already posted somewhere so I can just copy from there
Glad you enjoyed it.
The Galaxy far far away is not a nice place. [Star Wars SI-OC]
- Thread starter Kordelius
- Start date
- Mature Sci-Fi
-
- Tags
- star wars self insert
Ye only realized what I did when I decided to finish the chapter haha Oh well at least I didn't lose much since almost everything i had written was already posted somewhere so I can just copy from there
Glad you enjoyed it.
Chapter 13
New
While I had no idea where Citte's palace actually was, nor the location of this Gorran, it didn't take much effort to follow others who'd made it through Rallo's test. Some were seasoned bounty hunters, judging by the swagger in their stride and the well-worn blasters holstered at their hips. Others were clearly desperate—scavengers, drifters, and petty criminals in over their heads. They all seemed to know the way, though, and all I had to do was keep up, slipping into the crowd to blend with this mix of overconfidence and apprehension.
The Hutt's operation was well-practiced, I realized. Rallo's test had likely been the first in a series of shakedowns, each meant to whittle down the recruits to those with just the right balance of ruthlessness, skill, and blind obedience. Gorran, if my guess was right, would be the one to carve off another layer—sorting those Rallo had passed into either useful assets or disposable fodder. I imagined he'd either assign a task to test loyalty, something dangerous enough to leave us second-guessing our choices, or, if they simply needed numbers, dump us all in some deadly scenario to see who survived.
Either way, the Hutt's paranoia worked to my advantage. An operation like this, so centered around a supposedly high-value "asset," had guards and mercenaries looking in every direction at once. I suspected that the majority of these new recruits were here precisely to keep attention pinned away from whatever Citte was hiding, and in the ensuing chaos, I might find a clear shot at what I was really after.
The journey to the palace was tense, our group herded by a pair of armed guards to ensure no one turned back. We crossed the sprawling wasteland surrounding the Hutt's compound, finally arriving at the foot of a massive, fortress-like structure. The palace was imposing and dark, with towering walls lined with blasters, probably automated. It was a far cry from the rundown ports and scrap-laden yards I'd grown used to. Here, everything was designed to intimidate, to announce the Hutt's iron grip over his dominion.
Inside, the palace was bustling with activity. Droids zipped between rooms, carrying everything from data pads to weapons, while guards stood at every intersection, watching us with predatory stares. Gorran awaited us in a grand hall, seated in a wide, cushioned chair with an air of bored authority. He had a menacing air about him—eyes scanning each of us with cold calculation, like someone surveying pieces on a game board, already deciding which would be sacrificed first.
He looked us over, then announced in a voice as grating as sandpaper, "If you're here, you survived Rallo. But that means nothing to me. I need assurance that you're as ruthless as he claims." His gaze settled on each of us in turn, lingering as if he were peeling away layers. "For that, you'll perform a task, simple enough to understand and...lethal enough to get rid of the weak."
Gorran's words were clear: loyalty meant survival here. We were nothing more than potential cannon fodder in the Hutt's plans, likely destined for some suicide mission in the asset's service. I had no intention of blindly following their whims, but a mission, even a dangerous one, might be exactly what I needed. It could give me both the freedom to move about the palace and a plausible excuse to explore the more restricted areas.
He continued, a sly smile creeping onto his face. "You'll be divided into teams. Each group will retrieve a package for me from deep within the palace vaults. It won't be easy, and it won't be safe." He leaned forward, the light glinting off a scar across his cheek. "Succeed, and you'll be rewarded. Fail, and you won't be coming back."
As he finished, guards stepped forward, dividing us with little ceremony into smaller groups. I took stock of those around me, gauging who might be assets and who would be liabilities. For my purpose, I needed to survive this mission, yes—but more importantly, I needed to survive with enough access and resources to continue my search for Elara.
Our team's assignment was simple, if deadly: enter the palace's lower vaults, bypass security, and retrieve a specific lockbox, one marked with the Hutt's insignia. We were given a short list of instructions and a brief warning about the droids and security traps awaiting us below. They were designed to take down intruders with no mercy, though none of the guards were willing to say exactly what those traps entailed.
One of my teammates, a grizzled human with a burn scar over one eye, muttered under his breath, "Guess they don't mind losing a few of us, huh?"
I said nothing, focusing instead on the layout provided on a grimy data pad we were given as we were pushed toward the vault corridor. The Hutt's paranoia ran deep—the path was riddled with defense systems that practically screamed "death trap." Still, this was my chance to get a foothold. I'd make sure my team made it out intact, or at least intact enough to keep me alive until I found what I was looking for.
As we descended into the dark maze of corridors and heavy doors, one thought kept me steady: every step brought me closer to finding Elara, closer to the answers I needed.
~~~~
The air grew colder as we descended into the depths of Citte's palace, the stone walls around us damp and oppressive, closing in like a tomb. Every few steps, one of the Hutt's security droids whirred past, their photoreceptors flashing as they patrolled. We kept to the shadows, my team tense and alert. There were four of us: a wiry Rodian named Sesh, a human with an old burn scar over his left eye who went by Kreel, and a stocky Nikto named Jorran.
We moved quietly, advancing in a loose formation. Jorran led, with me and Kreel in the center, and Sesh taking up the rear, eyes flickering to each darkened corner, blaster held steady. The instructions on the datapad had been vague, but the location of the lockbox was clear. It was stored in the farthest vault, past a section they called "the Pit"—likely an ominous title for whatever security lay in wait.
Halfway there, as we passed through a narrow corridor, the walls abruptly shifted, and I heard a low hum. Before I could call out, a trap sprung into action. The floor gave a metallic groan, and an energy field snapped into place right in front of us. It split us down the middle—Jorran and I were on one side, with Kreel and Sesh trapped on the other.
"What in the—!" Kreel hissed, pressing his hand against the glowing barrier, but it was clear this wasn't something we could simply bypass.
"Backtrack, find another path," I instructed them, trying to keep my voice steady. "We'll meet you at the main vault chamber."
Sesh shot me a wary look but nodded, pulling Kreel back with him. Jorran and I continued forward, forced to move at double speed to avoid getting separated further. We only had a vague idea of where the main vault chamber was, but the further we went, the clearer it became that Citte's defenses weren't just meant to keep thieves out—they were meant to kill them.
Another few minutes passed, the only sound our controlled breathing and the distant hum of machinery. Then, suddenly, blaster fire rang out behind us. The sound was unmistakable, sharp and panicked, and it was followed by a shout cut off abruptly.
Jorran swore under his breath, turning toward me. "That was Kreel. Sesh too, maybe?"
"Can't be sure," I replied, steadying my grip on the blaster. "Stay focused. We're nearly there."
We moved faster now, determined to reach the vault and return as quickly as possible. The corridor opened up into a wide chamber, and there it was: the lockbox, marked with Citte's seal, resting on a stone pedestal at the far end of the room. It was encased in a field, and several droids stood guard around it, their photoreceptors flashing a warning as we approached.
Jorran glanced at me, lips pressed tight. "Got any bright ideas for that shield?"
"I do," I said, pulling out a small EMP device that Varros had stashed in the ship. "It won't last long, but it'll get us through."
With a nod, I activated the EMP and tossed it at the base of the pedestal. A low hum pulsed through the air as the energy field flickered, dropping just long enough for us to rush in, grab the lockbox, and retreat back to cover. The droids reacted instantly, whirring to life and firing at us as we ducked behind a column, each shot a hair's breadth from our heads.
"Run!" I shouted, motioning to Jorran, and we sprinted for the exit, taking cover where we could as the droids trailed us, firing relentlessly. A blaster bolt grazed my arm, searing through the fabric, but I bit back the pain, focusing on keeping the lockbox steady.
We pushed through the last set of corridors and finally reached the surface. Outside, the palace guards were waiting, flanked by Rallo, who looked unimpressed as we stumbled out. Beside him, a medical droid was hovering, giving off a slight air of impatience.
"About time," Rallo grunted, waving us forward as his gaze flickered over our group, now two persons short.
I met his eyes and shook my head. "Didn't make it."
Rallo only shrugged, clearly unconcerned. He motioned to the lockbox. "That?"
Without another word, I handed it over, and he nodded, a faint smirk twisting his lips. "Citte will be pleased. You two did better than expected."
Jorran's gaze met mine, and there was a grim understanding in it. This mission had been a trial, a means for Citte to see how useful we were—and how easily he could throw us into dangerous situations without caring about the outcome. I'd survived this trial, yes, but the risks were only going to escalate from here.
"Come back tomorrow," Rallo instructed us, his tone cold and perfunctory. "There's more to do, and the Hutt will want his new recruits to stay... productive."
As he left, I felt the weight of what I'd signed up for settling in. If I wanted any chance of getting closer to Citte—and Elara—this was only the beginning.
The Hutt's operation was well-practiced, I realized. Rallo's test had likely been the first in a series of shakedowns, each meant to whittle down the recruits to those with just the right balance of ruthlessness, skill, and blind obedience. Gorran, if my guess was right, would be the one to carve off another layer—sorting those Rallo had passed into either useful assets or disposable fodder. I imagined he'd either assign a task to test loyalty, something dangerous enough to leave us second-guessing our choices, or, if they simply needed numbers, dump us all in some deadly scenario to see who survived.
Either way, the Hutt's paranoia worked to my advantage. An operation like this, so centered around a supposedly high-value "asset," had guards and mercenaries looking in every direction at once. I suspected that the majority of these new recruits were here precisely to keep attention pinned away from whatever Citte was hiding, and in the ensuing chaos, I might find a clear shot at what I was really after.
The journey to the palace was tense, our group herded by a pair of armed guards to ensure no one turned back. We crossed the sprawling wasteland surrounding the Hutt's compound, finally arriving at the foot of a massive, fortress-like structure. The palace was imposing and dark, with towering walls lined with blasters, probably automated. It was a far cry from the rundown ports and scrap-laden yards I'd grown used to. Here, everything was designed to intimidate, to announce the Hutt's iron grip over his dominion.
Inside, the palace was bustling with activity. Droids zipped between rooms, carrying everything from data pads to weapons, while guards stood at every intersection, watching us with predatory stares. Gorran awaited us in a grand hall, seated in a wide, cushioned chair with an air of bored authority. He had a menacing air about him—eyes scanning each of us with cold calculation, like someone surveying pieces on a game board, already deciding which would be sacrificed first.
He looked us over, then announced in a voice as grating as sandpaper, "If you're here, you survived Rallo. But that means nothing to me. I need assurance that you're as ruthless as he claims." His gaze settled on each of us in turn, lingering as if he were peeling away layers. "For that, you'll perform a task, simple enough to understand and...lethal enough to get rid of the weak."
Gorran's words were clear: loyalty meant survival here. We were nothing more than potential cannon fodder in the Hutt's plans, likely destined for some suicide mission in the asset's service. I had no intention of blindly following their whims, but a mission, even a dangerous one, might be exactly what I needed. It could give me both the freedom to move about the palace and a plausible excuse to explore the more restricted areas.
He continued, a sly smile creeping onto his face. "You'll be divided into teams. Each group will retrieve a package for me from deep within the palace vaults. It won't be easy, and it won't be safe." He leaned forward, the light glinting off a scar across his cheek. "Succeed, and you'll be rewarded. Fail, and you won't be coming back."
As he finished, guards stepped forward, dividing us with little ceremony into smaller groups. I took stock of those around me, gauging who might be assets and who would be liabilities. For my purpose, I needed to survive this mission, yes—but more importantly, I needed to survive with enough access and resources to continue my search for Elara.
Our team's assignment was simple, if deadly: enter the palace's lower vaults, bypass security, and retrieve a specific lockbox, one marked with the Hutt's insignia. We were given a short list of instructions and a brief warning about the droids and security traps awaiting us below. They were designed to take down intruders with no mercy, though none of the guards were willing to say exactly what those traps entailed.
One of my teammates, a grizzled human with a burn scar over one eye, muttered under his breath, "Guess they don't mind losing a few of us, huh?"
I said nothing, focusing instead on the layout provided on a grimy data pad we were given as we were pushed toward the vault corridor. The Hutt's paranoia ran deep—the path was riddled with defense systems that practically screamed "death trap." Still, this was my chance to get a foothold. I'd make sure my team made it out intact, or at least intact enough to keep me alive until I found what I was looking for.
As we descended into the dark maze of corridors and heavy doors, one thought kept me steady: every step brought me closer to finding Elara, closer to the answers I needed.
~~~~
The air grew colder as we descended into the depths of Citte's palace, the stone walls around us damp and oppressive, closing in like a tomb. Every few steps, one of the Hutt's security droids whirred past, their photoreceptors flashing as they patrolled. We kept to the shadows, my team tense and alert. There were four of us: a wiry Rodian named Sesh, a human with an old burn scar over his left eye who went by Kreel, and a stocky Nikto named Jorran.
We moved quietly, advancing in a loose formation. Jorran led, with me and Kreel in the center, and Sesh taking up the rear, eyes flickering to each darkened corner, blaster held steady. The instructions on the datapad had been vague, but the location of the lockbox was clear. It was stored in the farthest vault, past a section they called "the Pit"—likely an ominous title for whatever security lay in wait.
Halfway there, as we passed through a narrow corridor, the walls abruptly shifted, and I heard a low hum. Before I could call out, a trap sprung into action. The floor gave a metallic groan, and an energy field snapped into place right in front of us. It split us down the middle—Jorran and I were on one side, with Kreel and Sesh trapped on the other.
"What in the—!" Kreel hissed, pressing his hand against the glowing barrier, but it was clear this wasn't something we could simply bypass.
"Backtrack, find another path," I instructed them, trying to keep my voice steady. "We'll meet you at the main vault chamber."
Sesh shot me a wary look but nodded, pulling Kreel back with him. Jorran and I continued forward, forced to move at double speed to avoid getting separated further. We only had a vague idea of where the main vault chamber was, but the further we went, the clearer it became that Citte's defenses weren't just meant to keep thieves out—they were meant to kill them.
Another few minutes passed, the only sound our controlled breathing and the distant hum of machinery. Then, suddenly, blaster fire rang out behind us. The sound was unmistakable, sharp and panicked, and it was followed by a shout cut off abruptly.
Jorran swore under his breath, turning toward me. "That was Kreel. Sesh too, maybe?"
"Can't be sure," I replied, steadying my grip on the blaster. "Stay focused. We're nearly there."
We moved faster now, determined to reach the vault and return as quickly as possible. The corridor opened up into a wide chamber, and there it was: the lockbox, marked with Citte's seal, resting on a stone pedestal at the far end of the room. It was encased in a field, and several droids stood guard around it, their photoreceptors flashing a warning as we approached.
Jorran glanced at me, lips pressed tight. "Got any bright ideas for that shield?"
"I do," I said, pulling out a small EMP device that Varros had stashed in the ship. "It won't last long, but it'll get us through."
With a nod, I activated the EMP and tossed it at the base of the pedestal. A low hum pulsed through the air as the energy field flickered, dropping just long enough for us to rush in, grab the lockbox, and retreat back to cover. The droids reacted instantly, whirring to life and firing at us as we ducked behind a column, each shot a hair's breadth from our heads.
"Run!" I shouted, motioning to Jorran, and we sprinted for the exit, taking cover where we could as the droids trailed us, firing relentlessly. A blaster bolt grazed my arm, searing through the fabric, but I bit back the pain, focusing on keeping the lockbox steady.
We pushed through the last set of corridors and finally reached the surface. Outside, the palace guards were waiting, flanked by Rallo, who looked unimpressed as we stumbled out. Beside him, a medical droid was hovering, giving off a slight air of impatience.
"About time," Rallo grunted, waving us forward as his gaze flickered over our group, now two persons short.
I met his eyes and shook my head. "Didn't make it."
Rallo only shrugged, clearly unconcerned. He motioned to the lockbox. "That?"
Without another word, I handed it over, and he nodded, a faint smirk twisting his lips. "Citte will be pleased. You two did better than expected."
Jorran's gaze met mine, and there was a grim understanding in it. This mission had been a trial, a means for Citte to see how useful we were—and how easily he could throw us into dangerous situations without caring about the outcome. I'd survived this trial, yes, but the risks were only going to escalate from here.
"Come back tomorrow," Rallo instructed us, his tone cold and perfunctory. "There's more to do, and the Hutt will want his new recruits to stay... productive."
As he left, I felt the weight of what I'd signed up for settling in. If I wanted any chance of getting closer to Citte—and Elara—this was only the beginning.
Chapter 14
New
It had been a week since I'd crawled into Citte's seedy underworld, and not a single damn glimpse of Elara. Not that I'd expected to waltz into his palace or actually get a face-to-face with the slug, but the absolute lack of progress was gnawing at me. Still, it wasn't all a waste. I'd learned just enough about his fortress to understand that Citte was more paranoid than I'd imagined. This place was wrapped tight—hidden turrets ready to pop out of walls, lethal droids lying in wait like roaches in every shadowed hallway. The entire place was a death trap. Storming it would be suicide.
The muscle he kept around was another layer. Every mercenary, thug, and bruiser under his thumb walked around like they owned the place. And they practically did—Citte trusted them to keep the outsiders like me at arm's length, never letting anyone new get a whiff of anything important. If I'd had any illusions about breaking in and ripping the place apart, they were long gone. I'd need to be a full-blooded Sith to pull something like that off. But if I were Sith, I'd be on Korriban, training with the best, not in this festering hive. So here I was. Between the two options, I'd still rather be here than in that soul-crushing academy. But still, I was stumped.
To get to her, I'd have to go covert. But with no access, no map of the damn place, and no leverage, there was no way that plan was going to work either. I'd been circling the problem like a starved animal, and it always came back to the same damn corner. Worse than that, though, was the dark thought starting to creep in: what if Elara was dead? It was the last thing I wanted to consider, but the more time that passed, the harder it was to ignore. Hutts weren't exactly known for mercy, and after her escape, Citte would have made sure she suffered. And if he'd decided to end her? Hell, Twi'lek slaves were replaceable, and Citte wouldn't have batted an eye.
The jobs I'd taken on to blend in—the beatings, the shakedowns, squeezing credits out of desperate souls—they were wearing thin on me, festering like rot in my gut. But each time the doubt started to creep in, I reminded myself why I was here. This was for her. This was a means to an end, and if I had to play the monster to get through it, I would.
I shook my head, driving out the whispers of despair, of guilt. I forced my breathing to slow, feeling the resolve coil back inside me like steel. I wasn't about to let this place or these scum crack me. One way or another, I'd find a way through this.
~~~~
Once again, Jorran and I were packed into a rusted-out skycar, rattling our way down to the lower levels to wring credits out of some poor bastard who hadn't paid back Citte. I could almost understand desperation leading to a Hutt loan—almost. But the idiocy of it, thinking you could ever repay them, was beyond me. Hutts had no intention of making a fair loan. They lured people in with low initial offers, then layered on fee after fee until repayment was impossible. And when it all became too much, when the debt ballooned to something absurd, they sent people like Jorran and me to help them remember.
The whole operation was just another cog in the Hutt machine. It was practically designed for failure, but that's exactly what kept it going. It didn't matter who was desperate enough to take the loans, not to the Hutts. Every time, the cycle ended with broken bones, a lesson beaten in so they'd try even harder to pay back what they couldn't. No wonder they were swimming in wealth. All it took was a rock-solid lack of empathy and the readiness to ruin lives without blinking.
"So, who's the lucky idiot today?" I muttered to Jorran, my voice as flat as I felt. This work was grating on me, but keeping up appearances was essential.
Jorran, his hands gripping the controls, glanced over without any readable expression. Nikto weren't the most expressive species, but he didn't need a smirk or frown to convey his mood. "Some slag down in the bowels," he grunted, as if just the thought was beneath him. And I realized, after enough of these runs, that his frustration wasn't about compassion. Jorran didn't care a damn for the debtors. His contempt was for the job itself, what he called grunt work. Apparently, he fancied himself above shakedown gigs.
That attitude made him dangerous, and too eager. Every time we made a call, Jorran found a reason to let his anger out on our mark. I'd lost track of how many times I'd had to hold him back, remind him that the point wasn't to kill but to scare. Killing didn't get credits back, and too many bodies in our wake would mean both of us marked for cleanup. He'd sneer at my words but rein himself in, at least most of the time.
~~~~
Fortunately, the woman had the credits ready when we knocked, sparing us from the usual theatrics. But it was easy to tell just how desperate she was, how close she was to crumbling completely. One look was enough to see that scraping together this payment had cost her dearly. It wouldn't be long before she fell behind again; we'd be back sooner rather than later, and next time, I doubted she'd have anything to give.
A part of me wondered if letting Jorran do what he wanted would've been a mercy, putting an end to the misery we just left her in. But that wasn't my call, and there were too many eyes on us already, or more specifically, on Jorran. Rallo's interest in him was obvious, and while I didn't understand it, I knew enough to keep my head down. Killing him might be satisfying, but it would bring the kind of scrutiny that could have me choking on a blaster bolt.
"Stupid bint, didn't even get to slap the bitch." Jorran sneered, his hands white-knuckling the steering wheel as he sped the skycar down the dimly lit streets. I leaned back, trying to tune him out, watching the maze of neon signs and rundown buildings blur past as we sped on. It was almost calming, a rare moment of quiet. Until the skycar swerved violently to the side, nearly flinging me out of my seat.
"What the hell?" I snapped, looking around for any sign of danger. "What the fuck are you doing?"
"I need a drink," Jorran growled, not bothering to glance my way. He angled the car down toward a cantina nestled in the darker alleys, muttering curses under his breath as he parked and stomped out. No doubt he was ready to blow off some steam in a way that usually ended badly for someone else.
As tempting as it was to just take the skycar back and leave him here, the thought of dealing with his whining afterward held me back. So I punched the dash in frustration, locked the car, and followed him inside.
The second I stepped into the cantina, the familiar, irritating tune that played in every bar in this forsaken sector drifted through the air. It was almost comforting in its predictability. I spotted Jorran quickly—already harassing the bartender, his loud demands earning hostile glances from the regulars. Just another stupid move in his long list of them.
"Hah, been a while since I've seen someone that stupid," a slurred voice muttered to my left. I glanced over, spotting a man sitting at an out of the way table, already well past his limit. Something about him felt…off, tugging at memories I'd been trying to bury. His face, his swagger… and suddenly, I remembered.
It was him. The one who'd killed Varros, the one who took Elara. He was right there, laughing like he didn't have a care in the world.
My fists clenched so hard my hands ached, but I forced myself to keep calm, to breathe. Nearby, Jorran was still causing a scene, gathering the attention of most of the room. It was perfect. No one was watching me.
I moved fast, a blur as I reached the man's side. His eyes flicked up, widening with a flicker of recognition just before my fist connected with his jaw, snapping his head to the side. He slumped forward, unconscious, his drink spilling over the table. Without a word, I hauled him up and threw him over my shoulder, ignoring the brawl breaking out around Jorran. He could fend for himself.
By the time we reached my ship, the man was still out cold. Securing him in the brig, I took a deep breath, savoring the calm before what would come next.
~~~~
After dropping off the credits to Rallo, I didn't even bother to make excuses for Jorran. When Rallo asked, I simply said the idiot had run off to some cantina. Rallo grimaced, clearly disappointed—Jorran had lost some credibility in Rallo's eyes, not that I cared. I asked for the rest of the day off, and he grunted, barely glancing at me as he waved me away.
The moment I stepped off, I made my way back to my ship, locking it tight once I was inside. My prisoner was still out cold, slumped against the metal wall, blissfully unaware of what awaited him. I grabbed a chair and some sturdy wiring, dragged him out, stripped him bare, and tied him tightly. I could barely hold back the bile threatening to rise, so I forced myself to focus on the anger boiling in my veins, letting it simmer until it was all I felt. Anger was a tool—a shield that could harden me enough to get through this.
With a firm grip, I picked up the shock baton, flipping the switch to hear the satisfying crackle of electricity. Then, I jammed it into his chest, and the room filled with his screams as his body jerked and spasmed against the restraints. After a moment, I pulled the baton back, letting him slump forward, gasping and coughing for breath.
I grabbed his hair, yanking his head up to see my helmeted head. At first, his gaze was unfocused, but then I saw recognition flicker and widen in his eyes.
"Good, you remember me," I growled, a twisted satisfaction curling in my chest. "You should've killed me when you had the chance, because now... now you'll regret that mistake."
With that, I brought the baton down again, mercilessly shocking him. His screams echoed through the metal hull, and despite myself, a dark part of me found satisfaction in it. His pain was the only thing that made the past few weeks bearable. But I needed him to talk, not just scream.
After the second round, he slumped forward, coughing, and managed to stammer, "Wai-...wait… I..."
I pulled his head back again, holding the crackling baton inches from his face. "Tell me everything," I demanded in a low voice.
His voice was weak, broken. "I… I had orders… she was to be delivered to Citte… you… you were to be left unharmed."
His words made my stomach twist. That emphasis—you were to be left unharmed—implied someone else had a hand in this. I tightened my grip, pulling his hair so hard a few strands ripped out, making him gasp.
"Who ordered you?" I hissed, letting my voice edge into a snarl.
He gave a bitter, pained laugh. "Who do you think?"
The next shock shut him up, but his laughter had already burrowed into my mind, leaving behind the creeping, unwelcome realization. This wasn't just some random job. There was someone out there who knew exactly where I was, and who wanted me alive. And there was only one person I could think of who had the resources to do this, the cunning to plan it this way.
My father knew I was here.
Oh noes! What will our little protagonist do now?
The muscle he kept around was another layer. Every mercenary, thug, and bruiser under his thumb walked around like they owned the place. And they practically did—Citte trusted them to keep the outsiders like me at arm's length, never letting anyone new get a whiff of anything important. If I'd had any illusions about breaking in and ripping the place apart, they were long gone. I'd need to be a full-blooded Sith to pull something like that off. But if I were Sith, I'd be on Korriban, training with the best, not in this festering hive. So here I was. Between the two options, I'd still rather be here than in that soul-crushing academy. But still, I was stumped.
To get to her, I'd have to go covert. But with no access, no map of the damn place, and no leverage, there was no way that plan was going to work either. I'd been circling the problem like a starved animal, and it always came back to the same damn corner. Worse than that, though, was the dark thought starting to creep in: what if Elara was dead? It was the last thing I wanted to consider, but the more time that passed, the harder it was to ignore. Hutts weren't exactly known for mercy, and after her escape, Citte would have made sure she suffered. And if he'd decided to end her? Hell, Twi'lek slaves were replaceable, and Citte wouldn't have batted an eye.
The jobs I'd taken on to blend in—the beatings, the shakedowns, squeezing credits out of desperate souls—they were wearing thin on me, festering like rot in my gut. But each time the doubt started to creep in, I reminded myself why I was here. This was for her. This was a means to an end, and if I had to play the monster to get through it, I would.
I shook my head, driving out the whispers of despair, of guilt. I forced my breathing to slow, feeling the resolve coil back inside me like steel. I wasn't about to let this place or these scum crack me. One way or another, I'd find a way through this.
~~~~
Once again, Jorran and I were packed into a rusted-out skycar, rattling our way down to the lower levels to wring credits out of some poor bastard who hadn't paid back Citte. I could almost understand desperation leading to a Hutt loan—almost. But the idiocy of it, thinking you could ever repay them, was beyond me. Hutts had no intention of making a fair loan. They lured people in with low initial offers, then layered on fee after fee until repayment was impossible. And when it all became too much, when the debt ballooned to something absurd, they sent people like Jorran and me to help them remember.
The whole operation was just another cog in the Hutt machine. It was practically designed for failure, but that's exactly what kept it going. It didn't matter who was desperate enough to take the loans, not to the Hutts. Every time, the cycle ended with broken bones, a lesson beaten in so they'd try even harder to pay back what they couldn't. No wonder they were swimming in wealth. All it took was a rock-solid lack of empathy and the readiness to ruin lives without blinking.
"So, who's the lucky idiot today?" I muttered to Jorran, my voice as flat as I felt. This work was grating on me, but keeping up appearances was essential.
Jorran, his hands gripping the controls, glanced over without any readable expression. Nikto weren't the most expressive species, but he didn't need a smirk or frown to convey his mood. "Some slag down in the bowels," he grunted, as if just the thought was beneath him. And I realized, after enough of these runs, that his frustration wasn't about compassion. Jorran didn't care a damn for the debtors. His contempt was for the job itself, what he called grunt work. Apparently, he fancied himself above shakedown gigs.
That attitude made him dangerous, and too eager. Every time we made a call, Jorran found a reason to let his anger out on our mark. I'd lost track of how many times I'd had to hold him back, remind him that the point wasn't to kill but to scare. Killing didn't get credits back, and too many bodies in our wake would mean both of us marked for cleanup. He'd sneer at my words but rein himself in, at least most of the time.
~~~~
Fortunately, the woman had the credits ready when we knocked, sparing us from the usual theatrics. But it was easy to tell just how desperate she was, how close she was to crumbling completely. One look was enough to see that scraping together this payment had cost her dearly. It wouldn't be long before she fell behind again; we'd be back sooner rather than later, and next time, I doubted she'd have anything to give.
A part of me wondered if letting Jorran do what he wanted would've been a mercy, putting an end to the misery we just left her in. But that wasn't my call, and there were too many eyes on us already, or more specifically, on Jorran. Rallo's interest in him was obvious, and while I didn't understand it, I knew enough to keep my head down. Killing him might be satisfying, but it would bring the kind of scrutiny that could have me choking on a blaster bolt.
"Stupid bint, didn't even get to slap the bitch." Jorran sneered, his hands white-knuckling the steering wheel as he sped the skycar down the dimly lit streets. I leaned back, trying to tune him out, watching the maze of neon signs and rundown buildings blur past as we sped on. It was almost calming, a rare moment of quiet. Until the skycar swerved violently to the side, nearly flinging me out of my seat.
"What the hell?" I snapped, looking around for any sign of danger. "What the fuck are you doing?"
"I need a drink," Jorran growled, not bothering to glance my way. He angled the car down toward a cantina nestled in the darker alleys, muttering curses under his breath as he parked and stomped out. No doubt he was ready to blow off some steam in a way that usually ended badly for someone else.
As tempting as it was to just take the skycar back and leave him here, the thought of dealing with his whining afterward held me back. So I punched the dash in frustration, locked the car, and followed him inside.
The second I stepped into the cantina, the familiar, irritating tune that played in every bar in this forsaken sector drifted through the air. It was almost comforting in its predictability. I spotted Jorran quickly—already harassing the bartender, his loud demands earning hostile glances from the regulars. Just another stupid move in his long list of them.
"Hah, been a while since I've seen someone that stupid," a slurred voice muttered to my left. I glanced over, spotting a man sitting at an out of the way table, already well past his limit. Something about him felt…off, tugging at memories I'd been trying to bury. His face, his swagger… and suddenly, I remembered.
It was him. The one who'd killed Varros, the one who took Elara. He was right there, laughing like he didn't have a care in the world.
My fists clenched so hard my hands ached, but I forced myself to keep calm, to breathe. Nearby, Jorran was still causing a scene, gathering the attention of most of the room. It was perfect. No one was watching me.
I moved fast, a blur as I reached the man's side. His eyes flicked up, widening with a flicker of recognition just before my fist connected with his jaw, snapping his head to the side. He slumped forward, unconscious, his drink spilling over the table. Without a word, I hauled him up and threw him over my shoulder, ignoring the brawl breaking out around Jorran. He could fend for himself.
By the time we reached my ship, the man was still out cold. Securing him in the brig, I took a deep breath, savoring the calm before what would come next.
~~~~
After dropping off the credits to Rallo, I didn't even bother to make excuses for Jorran. When Rallo asked, I simply said the idiot had run off to some cantina. Rallo grimaced, clearly disappointed—Jorran had lost some credibility in Rallo's eyes, not that I cared. I asked for the rest of the day off, and he grunted, barely glancing at me as he waved me away.
The moment I stepped off, I made my way back to my ship, locking it tight once I was inside. My prisoner was still out cold, slumped against the metal wall, blissfully unaware of what awaited him. I grabbed a chair and some sturdy wiring, dragged him out, stripped him bare, and tied him tightly. I could barely hold back the bile threatening to rise, so I forced myself to focus on the anger boiling in my veins, letting it simmer until it was all I felt. Anger was a tool—a shield that could harden me enough to get through this.
With a firm grip, I picked up the shock baton, flipping the switch to hear the satisfying crackle of electricity. Then, I jammed it into his chest, and the room filled with his screams as his body jerked and spasmed against the restraints. After a moment, I pulled the baton back, letting him slump forward, gasping and coughing for breath.
I grabbed his hair, yanking his head up to see my helmeted head. At first, his gaze was unfocused, but then I saw recognition flicker and widen in his eyes.
"Good, you remember me," I growled, a twisted satisfaction curling in my chest. "You should've killed me when you had the chance, because now... now you'll regret that mistake."
With that, I brought the baton down again, mercilessly shocking him. His screams echoed through the metal hull, and despite myself, a dark part of me found satisfaction in it. His pain was the only thing that made the past few weeks bearable. But I needed him to talk, not just scream.
After the second round, he slumped forward, coughing, and managed to stammer, "Wai-...wait… I..."
I pulled his head back again, holding the crackling baton inches from his face. "Tell me everything," I demanded in a low voice.
His voice was weak, broken. "I… I had orders… she was to be delivered to Citte… you… you were to be left unharmed."
His words made my stomach twist. That emphasis—you were to be left unharmed—implied someone else had a hand in this. I tightened my grip, pulling his hair so hard a few strands ripped out, making him gasp.
"Who ordered you?" I hissed, letting my voice edge into a snarl.
He gave a bitter, pained laugh. "Who do you think?"
The next shock shut him up, but his laughter had already burrowed into my mind, leaving behind the creeping, unwelcome realization. This wasn't just some random job. There was someone out there who knew exactly where I was, and who wanted me alive. And there was only one person I could think of who had the resources to do this, the cunning to plan it this way.
My father knew I was here.
Oh noes! What will our little protagonist do now?