There were many things Grot hated about Nar Shaddaa, but if he were forced to pick one, it would be the smell. In the refugee sector especially, the stench was nearly overwhelming. Garbage, sweat, blood, refuse, and the toxic, choking chemical clouds from the factories churned together into a pungent aroma which turned the stomach and wore at the soul. The poor dregs unfortunate enough to live here barely seemed to notice, but then again, they barely seemed to notice anything.
They merely moved along, long since desensitized to the decay all around them. Their heads were kept steadfastly pointed groundward, they did not speak, they did not dare spare a glance for fear of giving offense. They shuffled like the living dead from their cramped tenements to the sweatshops they worked in, then right on back to their dwellings to hide from the predators which patrolled the streets at night.
Predators like Grot.
The crowds gave him a wide berth as he stalked through the sector. His kind were well known here, thugs and mercenaries, and they very rarely meant anything good for those who got in their way. The Trandoshan didn’t intend to harm these unfortunate sods; the Clan Summit had been quite clear that he was to avoid any undue damages. Still, the distance suited him just fine, at the very least it gave him some small reprieve from the filthy stench.
A glance down to his datapad confirmed that he was almost at his target. He quickly stowed the device as he approached the entrance of a large, teetering apartment building. The place was the perfect picture of urban decay; the walls were crumbling and stained, the lights flickered, and loud music with a heavy bass line pounded away in a room a few floors above him. He tried the door tentatively, but was not surprised to find it locked, deadlocked from the other side. Scowling, he noticed an intercom and a small panel of buttons near the door. With a growl, he reached over and pressed the button for the building's superintendent.
As the moments ticked by with no response, Grot's frustration grew quickly. If he didn’t move quickly he’d miss his target. With his mind made up, the mercenary reached down to his belt and drew his vibrosword. A single thrust was all it took for the razor-sharp blade to tear through the door's locking mechanism, and it swung open with a loud crack as he rammed it with his shoulder. Grot hesitated for a moment in the doorway, his expression faintly bemused, before turning to the side and smashing the intercom as well.
Much better.
He ran to the stairwell, his heavy armor creating an unholy racket as he marched up the steps. Panicked shouts and screams erupted in his wake as the building tenants went to check what was going on, only to shrink away in terror from the sight of a vibrosword-wielding mercenary. Ascending the last flight of stairs, Grot bashed down the door leading to the roof. He reveled in the midnight night air, happy at last to be away from street level. It was darker up here, away from the glittering street lights, cooler, and best of all, you could almost forget the stink.
It didn’t take long searching the rooftop before he found what he was looking for. One of the air-conditioning units, long since malfunctioned, sat on the far western side of the roof. A canvass of graffiti and tags covered its metallic surface, but only one interested Grot; the bright orange tag of Arcona. He tried the grate covering the top and found that it popped free easily. Reaching inside he pulled out a large black case and set it to the side. The latches popped free easily, and Grot couldn’t help but smile at the contents.
A Synergy S-5 sniper rifle. His Synergy S-5 sniper rifle, complete with armor piercing ammunition. Grot hummed happily to himself and set about assembling the slugthrower. He had to remember to thank Battleteam Voidbreaker for managing to smuggle it on planet for him. While it wasn’t exactly hard to get a weapon onto Nar Shaddaa, it would have attracted all kinds of the wrong attention to walk around with a weapon like this.
An alert from his communicator interrupted his work, and Grot cursed himself for becoming distracted. The Trandoshan quickly finished putting together the rifle and checked the message on his communicator. As he suspected, it was a short, curt data read out from his probe droid informing him that the target was heading his way. He set up on the northeastern corner of the building, zeroing in his sights on the street as he waited for the target to approach. The Clan had paid good money for this, so he had to get this right. He felt anxious, excited for the hunt to begin at last.
It wasn’t often you got to hunt a Dark Jedi Knight.
On the streets below, Arron Saylos was having a run of rotten luck. He had been ordered to come here to this cesspit of a planet only to end up chasing after ghosts and rumors. Palatinae intelligence had informed him that an original writing by Darth Sidious had ended up in the hands of a group of smugglers here, but when he went to check out the alleged warehouse it had burned down a few days before he arrived. Whatever smugglers there may have been had long since cleared out. And to top it all off—
Suddenly the Dark Jedi whirled to the side, peering down into a nearby alley. He studied the darkness closely, and could have sworn he had seen something moving just a few seconds ago. That was the worst of it. This entire mission he could never shake this feeling he was being watched. It stunk of a trap.
He sighed quietly to himself, continuing on his way. Even as perpetually pessimistic as he was, this was undignified; jumping at shadows, flinching at every noise. He chalked it up to his meditations, which had been unusually troubled as of late. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn't shake a particularly distressing vision that constantly interrupted him. His meditations always ended in a bright, fiery flash of flight, and a piercing pain in his left side.
He looked up to the night sky of Nar Shaddaa. Where usually there were stars, the ever-present light pollution of the ecumenopolis had wiped them away. Instead, there was always the constant, faint glow of the city on the horizon, surrounding him in all directions.
High above, Grot smiled as he caught a glimpse of the Knight’s copper-colored cybernetic. This was unmistakably his target. With a vicious grin, he slowly squeezed the trigger.
A bright, fiery flash erupted from one of the buildings ahead of Arron. The instant he saw it a sense of recognition and deep dread filled his mind. Instinctually he began to move, dodging to the right just in time for the slug to pass under his armpit, ripping through his cloak and leaving a deep hole in the street behind him. The crack followed, filling the street with thunder even as he turned and ran for the nearest street stall.
The crowd around him had only just begun to react, running and screaming as the unmistakable sound of gunfire filled the street and a second round crashed into the ground just ahead of the Dark Jedi. He dove, sliding across the street and coming to a stop behind a food stall, the sound and smell of bubbling grease filling the air. Saylos looked around the street, searching for some sort of exit, but whoever this assassin was, he knew how to do his job. Getting to the nearest alleyway would take him across several meters of open ground.
The food stall shook suddenly, and scorching hot grease exploding out across the street as one of the mercenary's slugs impacted it, ripping apart the machinery. Electricity sparked from the ruined cooking equipment, and the Cathar hiding behind it began to realize his cover wasn’t as solid as he thought
Feth! Those must be armor-piercing shells, he cursed inwardly, desperately looking for a way to strike back against his assailant.
