A Long Time Ago, In A Galaxy Far Far Away...


Turmoil across the galaxy! Under the grip of the newly formed GALACTIC EMPIRE, various star systems are thrust into a brutal regime. In the aftermath of the JEDI PURGE, the peacekeepers of the galaxy are all but wiped out.

As civilians are oppressed by the Empire, criminals and lowlifes thrive under the radar, it is a lawless time as the control of the new government sweeps into the OUTER RIM. On the planet of ARAMI, a former Jedi Apprentice attempts to hide, finding a new life away from his DESTINY.

Sprouting from pockets of RESISTANCE, rebellious groups grow larger every day. These cells of freedom-fighters attempt daring raids on IMPERIAL SHIPYARDS and bases, trying to take back their liberty. But beyond their reach, a sinister crime-lord plots his accession, and begins to draw his plans against them...


Star System, The Colonies.

Cutting through the pitch-black background of space is a knife-like vessel, sharp and sleek, it flies across the abyss, in a sea of stars, the craft begins to fly towards a planet made of green-hues. Green and blue blotches speck the surface of the planet from orbit, in clusters on the ground below.

The starship was painted a dark grey and silver, updated somewhat, the engines boosting with a yellow fiery glow.

The Kom'rk-Class Fighter could mean only one thing - Mandalorians. But this one was different, with a more dangerous, predatory paint-job and rotating, double laser-cannons above the hull, and missile tubes attached to the broadside of the wings. The pointed edges and spinning wings were once classic iconography.

Zooming down into the atmosphere, the dreaded Fighter span past the clouds and down towards the terrain.

Damoria was a terrestrial world, at Galactic Coordinates N-11 it was placed near the centre of the Colonies, between the Inner-Rim and the Core. It was also in a massive region known as 'The Slice' which began in the Core and expanded outwards. The tip of the Slice was called the Arrowhead, and many legends describe it as being the place where life in the galaxy was founded.

On either side was the Corellian Trade Route and the Perlemian, both hyperspace lanes were thick with traffic. Damoria was neighbours with planets that were heavy on commerce, such as Cato Neimoidia.

Approaching the nearest civilised settlement, the Fighter passed over a walled-up city, and over a branching waterfall.

Damoria hasn't full been converted to the machine of the Empire yet, only the regions of the Western Hemisphere had been occupied so far. Approaching from the east, the Kom'rk-Class Fighter, nicknamed 'The Impulse' swept low over the forests and the rising hills, passing over the horizon to see the industrial work below.

Already, construction had began on this world. Half of the planet had been converted into a labor force, cities turned into shipyards, and people turned into workers. The city ahead was one of the first to be industrialised, with towers sprouting from buildings and large halls transformed into factories. Below, six-legged AT-TE Walkers stood vigil on the borders of the foundries.

Flying past the smoke and smog, The Impulse soared over a larger construction operation, hovering turbo-lift platforms brought cargo and supplies to the skeleton of an Imperial Star Destroyer, an early model, but still with enough firepower to blow away any town or village on the planet surface.

Beyond the city was a ridge, a canyon, hidden by a vast mountain. The expansive ridge swept out in all directions, the huge mountain with a snow-tipped top, and smaller peaks beneath. The craft swooped low, and came into land behind the mountain, hovering inside the canyon.

Walls of rock boxed in The Impulse, it would have been the perfect place for an ambush, Rhovax Lorn thought. The Mandalorian warrior stood up from the pilot controls, and pressed a button near the landing ramp. Watching the ramp extend, he slowly walked down as jets of steam floated down with him. Outfitted in a deep crimson and blue, Rhovax carried a blaster pistol at his side, and a jetpack on his back.

Mandalorian Armour always was a sight to behold, for anyone. With a range-finder attached to his helmet, he scanned the surroundings. Accompanied by a human, a ginger-haired female called P'halle, Rhovax raised his range-finder. "There's life signs up ahead, three." He named.

P'halle Haas was a human from the Lothal System, a mercenary, apart of the team Lorn had put together. She was lean, wearing a long black coat and heavy boots. Walking together, P'halle looked up at the walls of the canyon around her. "I hate direct commissions, can't we just do this through the Guild?" She expressed.

There was a hint of annoyance in her voice. Rhovax was silent for a minute. "If this is how they want it, this is how it'll be done." He replied plainly.

Ahead of them was a blurry visage, what looked like a building. A church, or a palace. As they got closer, the monastery became clearer. It was a collection of buildings, a tower, and a place of worship. "B'omarr, by the look of it." Rhovax pulled out his Chit, a thin rectangle-shaped identifier, given to him by his Guild Magistrate when he took the job.

Being careful, P'halle pulled back her coat and touched the DL-22 at her waist. The Mandalorian lowered her hand for her silently as they approached the doors. Heavy bolted steel, a view-port opened and a mechanical arm stuck out. With a ball-like eye that shined yellow, it spoke in an alien dialect.

"I was wondering how we'd get in...we can't just knock." P'halle muttered with a smirk. The gatekeeper droid honed in on Lorn, the yellow eye lowering to his eye-line behind the helmet. The extending eyestalk would speak only to him. It barked in a electronic rasp, as Rhovax held up the Chit to the eye.

Scanning for a second, the eyeball laughed, retreating back to the hole it appeared from.

The doors began to open, spikes slowly rising as P'halle saw shadows of scuttling creatures, evading the light. Shadows were cast down upon them as they stepped inside. Travelling on straw-thin black legs, the B'omarr Monks followed a tradition of removing themselves from their physical bodies. Placing their brains inside robot walkers, spider-like contraptions that would carry their brains around the monastery.

The colossal door opened and Rhovax was the first to enter, his armour clinking like the sound of stirrups. Most monasteries like this one were dormant, abandoned or taken over by smugglers and gangsters. Lorn had heard of a monastery on Tatooine being the home of one of the Hutts.

From the shadows, they were greeted by figures in the darkness. Lumbering towards them, two Trandoshans wearing vests and camouflage gear stood in front of them. The nearest one growled "Follow me, please." He instructed. Rhovax and P'halle Haas did so, trailing along behind the Trandoshans. The lizard-men were rugged, with leathery skin and bulky bodies.

Taking them deeper into the monastery, they were led down a steep spiral staircase, and into an audience chamber. The room was lit by eerie green candles, as the Trandoshans flanked a stranger standing on a raised part of the chamber. "Amos said you were coming, you are the Bounty Hunters, yes?" The stranger said, his voice a gravelly whisper.

P'halle tensed her nose, and Rhovax gave a curt nod. "Yes, do you have the job?" Lorn asked. The stranger was dressed in dark robes, falling around his body, and his head was thin, malformed, like a skull with human flesh.

"Rhovax Lorn, a Mandalorian...it does me good to know that not all tradition in the galaxy is truly dead. Were you born on Mandalore? Or did you adopt their ways?" The stranger's boney lips parted in a sick smile. Lorn waited, knowing his expression was hid behind his helmet. His breaths slow, Rhovax's voice was hidden by the voice-changers in his helmet.

"I was born on Concordia." He responded. The stranger's mangled face showed a pleasant, almost accommodating smile, despite Rhovax's unwillingness to part with his information. "Well, I suppose it's as close as you can get." The strange client settled.

Her hand touching the edge of her coat, P'halle pulled her collar up "Enough talk, we're here for the job?" She said, getting them back on track. Reaching inside his robes, the client removed a long-fingered pale hand. "Of course. The puck." He addressed, throwing the glowing circular object to the floor.

The puck beeped and then an image appeared, a holographic face fizzled into life, along with a location and further details. "The target is a former Jedi Knight, apprentice and known fugitive. He is highly dangerous, and hiding within the Outer Rim." The stranger informed them, his grey eyes were glazed and surrounded by purple rash-like markings that resembled injuries.

Their client had scars, travelling around his skin like lines on a map, with a chunk of his face missing, near his left cheek, which caused the rest of his face to collapse in on itself. "Jedi? I didn't sign up for Jedi, Lorn." P'halle stressed, looking at the image from the puck. "You signed up for a job, and this is the best paying job the Guild could get us." Rhovax pointed out.

The stranger extended his long, withered fingers towards them "I can also provide you with a tracking Fob." The client held out a Fob, blinking red, the antenna of the Fob was pointed upwards. Without a word of protest from P'halle, the armoured Mandalorian took the Fob, stashing it in one of the pockets on his belt.

"The target, you need them alive?" Rhovax questioned, and the stranger nodded.

"Yes, though you may think that elimination is easier, a living Jedi is much more valuable to my...interests." The strange Near-human client chortled. Turning his back, Rhovax could feel the eyes of the Trandoshans on them as they walked out of the monastery.

P'halle fixed her naturally orange-tinted hair as the wind swept it up once they were outside the castle-like monastery. Rhovax saw the ship in the distance, wings pointed upwards in landing mode. The canyon walls masking their signal, the client had picked the right place for this meeting.

In view of The Impulse, P'halle spoke freely now they had left the meeting place "Getting involved with Jedi is bad business, we should have stopped on Ruul like I said." She scorned.

Approaching the open landing ramp of the ship, two more figures stood guarding it.

One was a droid, grey-plated with bronze rust across his body, stiff of posture, the LOM-Series Protocol Droid had an insect-shaped head with compound photoreceptors and a buzzing mouthpiece. He held a DLT-19 rifle with a SX-21 Heavy blaster strapped to his back. 4-LOM's head shifted towards them as they approached.

Standing next to 4-LOM was a green-skinned Ishi-Tib, with a horned head and flat beak, he wore a brown spacesuit with black shoulder pads, and carried an DC-15A Carbine. Rhovax gestured to inside the ship "Onga, get the ship running." Lorn said sternly. The Ishi-Tib jumped up the ramp, chattering in his native language.

Thankfully 4-LOM wasn't much of a conversationalist, he tilted his robotic head and walked up the ramp after P'halle. The Mandalorian Hunter took a final glance at the surroundings before stepping up the ramp himself. The Impulse took flight, engines lighting up a fiery orange, the ship rose up from the canyon, wings turning straight.

Now the ship had converted back into flight mode, the Fighter shot off into the distance.


Outer-Rim World.

Often the Outer-Rim Territories was known as a wretched hive, full of scum and villainy, and a place that even the Republic couldn't fully control. At coordinates T-13, Arami was located along a Trade Route, the Triellus, and was known as a rest-stop for most freighters and cargo transports.

Neighbours with Gamorr and the moon Syvris, it received a fair amount of traffic thanks to the hyperspace lanes it intercepted. Trading and business was high, and it was a place where no one knew who could be coming and going. A place to hide.

A planet in the Galov Sector, Arami was colonised by the Hutts during the time of the Republic, before the creation of a Clone army, it was one of three worlds chosen by the Hutt Clans to host the Boonta Eve Classic, an infamous pod-racing event meant to honour a Hutt Holiday.

Now most business from that era had ceased, as Imperial sanctions were placed on the Outer-Rim.

Pod-racing as a sport could only continue on planets that had enough infrastructure to keep the craft afloat, such as Malastare. On Arami, the Hutt Clans left only lawlessness once they departed, despite being a cabal of gangsters, they still offered protection and security for traders and merchants.

The last Hutt-controlled area was on the North side of the planet, now only their lieutenants maintained power, as new criminal groups popped up in every corner world.

However, The Empire had maintained a foothold in the Capital thanks to the previous government, the Galactic Republic. Their clones had occupied the Capital of Skolnur City to prevent it from Separatist attack during the Outer-Rim Sieges. When the Republic became the Empire, the clones remained, strengthening their forces.

Days later, the Republic flag was lowered from the City battlements, and then the logo of the Imperial forces was raised high above the capital.

But that didn't matter to Bec Callan, who had been living on Arami since the Purge. A recluse, lonely and isolated, he had been hiding his past from everyone. He had never known his parents, as he was taken in by the Jedi Order about eighteen years ago.

His master, Pinto Rodallis, oversaw his training until the day they were separated. Finding a life on Arami, Bec was living under an alias and had a small room in an apartment block across the City of Gono. Managing to find employment, Callan had agreed to a low-paying job at a scrappers' yard.

There he'd be under the radar, an unassuming worker, nothing more. Fixing droids and parts of starships.

After fleeing from the Jedi, Bec has the idea to change his appearance. Trying to blend in, he cut his brunette hair short, and shredded his robes, wearing a mechanics' vest and work boots, along with a loosely fitting shirt and cargo-trousers. His body was fit, lean with some decent muscle, and his face had become tanned after so many hours in the sun.

His dark blue eyes were flecked in silver, with dimples on his cheeks and a soft jawline, but defined. Callan had been working in Broottos' Scrapyard on Arami day after day, and with no end in sight, he had to come to accept his new life as his own.

Gono City was one of the trading posts on Arami, meant to house merchants and interplanetary businessmen during their stay across the Trade Route. Broottos' Yard was by no means a popular place, often frequented by the friends and associates of Broottos himself, who was a loose-lipped Sullustan.

Bec had just arrived for work, walking into the dome-like hut, where the workbench and tables were set out, and racks of tools had been placed against the wall. Outside the back-door, the scrapyard was a mess of parts from ships and droids, scattered across the courtyard that separated the shop from the warehouse.

When the Clone army had swept through town after town, they left munitions and vehicles behind, so ever the entrepreneur, Broottos had made deals to have most of the old technology given to him.

He often boasted about his deals with the Hutts to anyone that could listen. Bec threw his rucksack over the workbench just as Broottos arrived from the yard.

He was a squat Sullustan, with two large flaps of jowls around his cheeks, and rounded, black eyes. With no pupils, his eyes were dark and gleaming. He also had large ears, with tufts of black hair at either side. Dressed in a poncho and short boots, Broottos squinted. "Late, again. I won't suffer it any longer, Kane." He said with a grumble.

The old alien watched Bec (Or Kane Alked as he was known) reach behind to the workbench to grab a Hydrospanner and a wrench, putting them down in the table, he went to the tables of junk and spare-parts and brought out the head of a R2-Unit, which was missing a socket and some panelling.

"If it's all the same to you, boss, I'd just like to get working. Hey - I'm sorry I'm late, I'll work an extra shift today, I'll even close up, how about that?" Bec proposed. His boss hummed, scratching the side of his round, Sullustan face. Checking the head of the red R2-Unit, Broottos yielded "Fine, fine, close up if you wanna! I'll pay for your extra hours but don't think you can get more for closing up shop." He waved his hand and grumbled his way back to the yard.

Replacing some of the older parts, Bec had to search for newer ones around the store. This was one thing he didn't enjoy, the menial and meaningless fixing. Often Broottos would come to him with a customer's weight in parts, and tell him to fix it all within a day. The runaway Jedi had barely learned how to fly a starship, let alone fix the memory core of a decapitated RA-7 Protocol Droid.

The head of this R2 Series Astromech had been battered pretty bad, with torn wires inside and scrapped, sliced metal. It looked like it had been cut off by something. Bec fused some wiring together and fetched a box of panels from the storeroom. Now using the wrench to tighten some bolts underneath the head, Bec was always left to wonder what happened to these pieces of scrap.

Everything had a story, and when customers would come and go, Bec thought up a mostly make-believe plot for each new buyer. The first to walk in through the sliding doors was a Rodian, dark-green skinned and with a slender snout. He had pointed ears and twin saucer-like antennae atop his head. Wearing goggles, the Rodian wore a mechanics uniform.

"Umm, hey, I'm looking for parts for a Bespin Motors CK-6 Swoop?" The Rodian had pockets full of tools, and stains of oil on his overalls. He could have been a racer, looking for a new engine or a set of landing struts, as the CK-6 was considered as one of the earliest swoop bikes ever made, based off the JR-4.

Bec gestured to the yard outside, where a mismatch of parts and ship fragments were strewn in various patterns "It'll all be out there, feel free to go out back, you'll find what you need." Bec told the Rodian. The mechanic lit up as he walked outside into the sun, taking a look at the parts they had in the yard.

The next customers came in a group, a few humans, with a flat mohawk each and clean clothes. They looked like foreigners, with powdered faces and shapely heads.

The group was headed by Moogans, tall, thin, bipedal humanoids. With green skin, the aliens had dark-green mottling on their faces and limbs. Their faces were slender, with pronounced cheekbones and accentuated brows.

The lead Moogan was dressed in purple and gold, a sash of cloth around his chest, and a medallion dangling from his neck. The other Moogans that followed him wore similar garbs, tunics and sandals. A golden headdress hanging from his scalp, the lead Moogan had pointed teeth and yellow, reptilian eyes.

His voice was accented, with a dangerous rasp "Ah...nice day, here on Arami." The Moogan began with, almost pleasantly. Bec raised his eyebrows in confusion, not exactly sure how take these new customers. Smugglers, Bec thought. The human workforce and the Alien controllers.

Often a subjugated species would serve that role, the mule, and the grunt. But Bec hadn't seen subservient humans before. Coming in from the yard, Broottos had a sense of immediacy about his movements. "-Boy, watch the store, I've got some selling to do.-" Broottos spoke in his native Sullustan tongue, one that Bec barely understood.

Broottos led to the group towards his warehouse, the larger collection of mostly Republic parts and weapons. Out in the yard, Bec could see the deactivated Binary Load-lifters and scrap from a X-34 Landspeeder outside the warehouse.

The humans carried themselves like droids, stiff and obeying Tee Va and his Moogan Traders.

After the visiting Smugglers, Bec served a Gamorrean, one of his intergalactic neighbours, as Gamorr was one of the closest planets. Despite pulling out of the system, the influence of the Hutts could still be felt on Arami. The green, pig-faced Gamorrean snorted, holding a toolbox full of parts from a Skyhopper's engine.

"Here, give it here." Bec attempted to gather the parts from the toolbox as the Gamorrean grunted, lurching back and nearly falling into the racks of machinery behind him.

With poking horns and upturned tusks, the hulking body of the Gamorrean was clad in furs and cloth, with grey armour around his chest and shoulders.

Bec managed to persuade the Gamorr native to hand over the toolbox so he could fix the engine.

The Gamorrean paid him in Credits and left the workshop, carrying his newly repaired engine, stuffed with new parts. Later that day, Bec served a pair of humans next, planet-hoppers and merchants who were looking to purchase Protocol Droid parts.

The travelling humans took interest in a early model of the TC-series Droid, painted brown and black, they purchased it for a few hundred credits, and gave Bec a generous tip. The next customer was a Dug, a Pod-racer, Bec thought.

This Dug had smooth skin, which hung loosely around his tall neck, and he wore pilot's leathers, with straps around his long arms and limbs. He also possessed fin-like ears and a pronounced snout, with a long chin and whiskers. They conversed for a while in near-Huttese, as good as Bec could do. The Dug was searching for parts for a Plug-F Mammoth Racer, a pre-clone wars racing vehicle.

After the Dug walked into the yard, Bec dealt with a human trader, peddling some varieties of pocketed Spice. The Rodian mechanic returned, and had a bucket full of Swoop parts. He offered at least twelve thousand credits for the parts, as it was Clone Wars technology. Bec bartered for twelve and a half thousand, then went up to thirteen.

The Rodian waved him off, settling at twelve and a half.

Later, the Dug continued on without any purchases. It was getting late, as daylight was short on Arami, the last few customers were Ovissian, and the Moogan Smugglers soon left the shop too.

However, Broottos was busy in the warehouse when the last customer entered.

Bec was just about to open the console to close and lock the door, until a human walked inside. This man was different, he wore grey trousers, striped in red, a jacket lined in fur and a baggy shirt. His boots looked Imperial, but they had a symbol near the knee. The man had stubble around his chin and a slick, spiked haircut.

He idled around the Astromech parts around the front desk, not taking any notice of Bec Callan at first. The human carried a satchel, a bag slung under his arm. He idly touched a few things, before turning around, aware that Callan was watching him. "Hey, do you know how to get to Aarrbu Square?" The human asked.

"Ermm, yeah, if you take a left at Larod Alley you can-" Bec said as the human suddenly approached him with urgency, placing his bag on the work desk that separated them. "Look, kid, I haven't got a lot of time. Can you deliver something for me?" The stranger hurried, with a panicked look.

Bec was caught unawares at first, until the stranger opened his bag, pulling out a DataCard. The shiny silver item was then placed gently in front of Bec. "Please, I need you to take this to Aarrbu Square tomorrow at sunrise." The man instructed, as Bec raised an eyebrow "I don't know what deathsticks you're smoking buddy-" He tried to deflect as the man was insistent.

"Please. I'm being hunted, you must see the information in this DataCard safely to the Square, my associates will know how to retrieve it. My name is Tannis Triss. You've got help me, please, you're my last hope." Triss pleaded, moving the DataCard towards Bec. He didn't know why he did what he did, but he took the DataCard.

Without a promise of a reward, or any prior information, Callan hid the DataCard in his pocket. Tannis breathed a hefty sigh of relief, he wiped his brow and nodded. "I promise you won't regret this...my friends can take that card off your hands tomorrow, you'll know them when you see them." Tannis assured him, ducking down, he pulled his bag over his shoulder and took a last look at the racks of tools.

He wasn't calm at all, as Callan saw his sweaty brow and nervous eyes. Triss gave Bec one last look, unsure, but trusting. He ran his hand through his spiked hair, and walked away. Keeping his hand on the DataCard, Bec has little understanding of what he held, given to him by a stranger, he wondered if Tannis had been following him for some time.

Bec hadn't said anything since Triss left the store, he started to close up shop when Broottos returned to his salvage yard outside the workshop. Taking out his backpack from under the workbench, Bec hid the DataCard and a few spare tools. Closing the shutters to the store, Bec watched the metal grates fall as he used the backdoor to the scrap-yard.

The sun had fallen, and a sky of stars was the only light on his walk back to his apartment. Bec's complex was one of many on Arami, town-sized buildings that housed hundreds of occupants. Walking on the sandy path, he passed a Landspeeder and an open shop window where a human trader bartered with a Selkath over a stack of Ioaa fruit.

Passing a Duros and a Bivall, Bec saw the lights in the distance, outside of town. Stopping by another droid repair store, he observed the lights with a hand over his brow. Pulling up his rucksack, he noticed the lights became shapes, and soon the shapes had sounds. Speeder Bikes, BARC Speeders to be exact.

Kicking up dust, the bikes slowed as they rolled into town, accompanied by an Imperial Combat Speeder, brimming in weapons and armour. The wings of the craft were folded inwards as the BARCs took point, ridden by Phase II Clone Troopers.

Or at least, humans in Clone armour. Bec wasn't sure if the Clones had been phased out or not after they betrayed and killed the Jedi.

He had seen human enforcers on Arami, and men who wore Clone uniforms, but their voices and heights differed. It had been a year since the Purge, and after piecing together information from the HoloNet and his own shattered memories, Callan had decided upon a rough picture of what he thought had happened.

The clones had turned on the Jedi, breaking the years of trust, they lost their way in an instant. At that moment, the Jedi were considered traitors to the Senate and wiped out. Within hours the Chancellor of the Republic revealed a plot by the Jedi, ensuring their destruction, and authorising his new Galactic Empire.

The Purge is what they called it, whispers of a larger plot by the Jedi to assassinate the Chancellor, and a Jedi Master who was responsible for the start of the entire insurrection by the Jedi. Bec didn't believe it, but this new world had showed him otherwise.

The white-armoured Clone Troopers wore accents of maroon shades on their uniforms, the markings of the 87th Sentinel Corp, Callan had soon learned that the Corp were experienced in urban defense tactics, and were often deployed to Republic cities that were at risk of falling under Separatist control. No doubt the 87th were the presiding Legion when the Empire took over.

Keeping his head down, Bec saw the patrolling vehicles heading further into town, along with the hovering Combat Speeder and the miniature arsenal it carried. He jogged past the market at the borders of the town, smelling cooking meat and hearing the scattered chatter of life-forms. Lights began to turn on in apartment windows as he passed one of the complexes.

Large box-like buildings with hundreds of windows, the interiors were hollow, with a single stairwell that led up the entire height of the building. On every side of the building were rooms, row after row, stacked up on top of each other. The Complex that Bec called home was Nern-1014. Making his way there, he was greeted by an Ithorian called Gaplarr, a local friend of his.

Gaplarr greeted 'Kane' with a squint "Kane, I was wondering when you'd stop by! How's the store?" He asked with a friendly inflection, sitting up in the alleyway that led to the Complex. Bec would walk this route every evening, knowing the places and faces he'd meet on the way. He nodded generally in reply "Yeah, Gaplarr, it's going fine. How's street-life?" He reiterated the question.

The Ithorian chuckled in a staggered breath "Oh well, you know, a inch of this and a pinch o' that." His eyes squinted in happiness, content at least. Bec took off his backpack and laid it down, moving the DataCard to the bottom of the bag as he pulled out a few spare tools. "Good to hear, I've got some stuff here for you too." Bec told him.

Leaning forward, the old brown Ithorian hammerhead was dressed in a loose shirt with a low collar, and a necklace of charms. With his curved neck, and grey hair, Gaplarr breathed hard "Ah, I was a promising pupa, the world had a titillating surface, an endless, glistening horizon that I had only to track across, to let slip under my underbelly, to feel satisfied. I tell you, Kane, the joys of youth!" Gaplarr harped on, as usual.

Bec showed him inside the bag, and Gaplarr huffed "Have you got those new parts for an R3's Motivator? I saw someone selling them off yesterday." He said with a rasp. Looking in his rucksack, Callan fished out a few pieces of scrap, stabilisers from R2 Units, but nothing from an R3. "Slow day, I guess. Sorry, buddy." Bec said, regrettably disappointing the old Ithorian.

Hearing the distant noises of Scurriers in the alleyway, Bec was about to close up his backpack until he had a thought. Delving inside, he pulled out the DataCard. "Hey, do you know anything about this?" Bec wondered, trusting Gaplarr with the item.

Stroking his hairs, Gaplarr shook his large head, wiping one of his eyes with his palm "Sorry, Kane, no idea. It looks Republic if you ask me." Gaplarr conversed.

Taking the Card back, Bec rummaged in his bag until he pulled out a Harris Wrench, a spare tool he had lying around. "Here, are we even?" He offered, holding the wrench out to Gaplarr. The older alien took it, and Callan hid the DataCard back in the bottom of his rucksack. Bec smiled at the Ithorian, and continued on his journey home. "Safe travels, Kane!" Gaplarr called after him, waving his long arm.

With the Complex drawing closer, Bec passed a blue-skinned Twi'Lek and a human woman, leant against the wall. The apartment Complex was built on a raised platform with four sets of stairs at each side, leading to a dingy glass lounge and an empty reception. Going up the stairs, Bec saw a drunk, grey-haired Gotal passed out on the steps, and a red and white Protocol Droid standing near the doors of the complex.

Going up the stairs, Bec saw another drunkard by the entrance. The Protocol Droid walked away absentmindedly as Callan approached the body. The doors to the apartment block opened automatically when Bec got close, but he couldn't help but look at the body near the doors. A few feet away from him was a satchel, a bag that was strewn open on the ground.

Bec's curiosity peaked as he recognised the outfit of the passed out human. He wore grey trousers, dirtied, but striped in red. A fur-lined jacket that was scuffed, and had markings across the back, as he lay face-down. His boots looked Imperial, but they had a symbol near the knee.

The man wasn't moving, Callan didn't see him breath either. Taking off his rucksack, he kneeled down near the body.

The man had stubble around his chin and a slick, spiked haircut. Tannis Triss. Bec turned the body over and saw his glazed, lifeless eyes. Bec muttered as he saw the obvious sings of struggle, bruised wrists and two large blaster-holes in his chest. His body was left limp, shot down and discarded.

Callan's hand twitched, he thought about the DataCard and grabbed for his backpack just as he heard a voice in the distance. "Hey, you! Halt!" An armoured Trooper called out. The soldiers of the maroon-marked 87th Sentinel Corp stood at the end of the street, wielding DC-15 rifles and E-10s, they advanced on Bec.

"Stop right there!" One trooper yelled, as Bec immediately snatched his bag and dashed into the complex. The automatic doors closing behind him, Bec ran for the stairs, as he heard the soldiers closing in.

His mind racing, Bec needed to escape the troops before he could piece things together once again. Rushing up the rectangular steps, he reached the fourth floor just in time.

He heard the troopers marching up the stairs as Bec pushed past a pink-faced Sakiyan, who coughed a curse at the young man. Reaching his room, Bec fiddled in his pocket for his key-card. After a grunt, he finally unlocked the door, he collapsed at the other side, throwing the rucksack off his back.

He had found Tannis dead, and was now in possession of the thing he had been given, Triss trusted him to deliver the DataCard to the Square. Though they had only met for a minute or two, Tannis must have seen something in him. Bec had to deliver the Card, he needed to do it. Not just to honour the memory of the man he had met, but also settle his now restless conscience.