Anakin once visited Coruscant’s underbelly, as an escort for Supreme Chancellor Palpatine’s secret visit. Festering within the 2685th level of Coruscant, it is a feeding ground to the best and worst criminals—bureaucrats among them. Slaves and contraband are bought and sold on the hour, while others gamble with their lives or ill-gotten gains on the roll of a chance cube.

Others are content to seek entertainment, watching holographic projections of exotic dancers in various states of undress—the likes of which will no doubt be traded as slaves in exchange for credits or other services. Games of chance are often obscured under the sheer volume of patrons gathered around the game tables. Smaller round tables serve for social or business gatherings, with more discreet booths tucked into alcoves along the walls.

Having undergone unfinished renovations at some point, the ceiling has been raised to resemble that of a warehouse. Smoke gathers among the durasteel supports, making a buffer for the intense red and violet beams lighting the cesspit below. Zeltron perfumes are among the most common smells in the establishment, while the rolling of dice cubes make for the most recognizable sound above the music. Fights don’t often break out, and violence is often dissuaded at the sight of armoured bouncers several heads taller than most humanoids

Kordath Bleu nudged one of the towering, armored bouncers that had done their best to stop the strike team. He couldn’t tell what species the beast of a man was, but for now, he was sleeping peacefully. Or as peacefully as one who’d been barraged with stun blasts could be. He looked around the room and nodded to himself; taking a force into the lower levels had been dangerous and possibly stupid, but it had gotten results. Shellshocked slaves were having collars and manacles removed while being given food and water. They looked lost and scared; releasing them into the Coruscanti underworld was just asking for them to be picked off by the scum who lived there. He spared a glance for, in his opinion, the over-dressed fop of a Pantoran who’d been the front for the operation.

The Odanite had been useful enough, looking the part of a buyer at least. The kid, and Kord couldn’t help but think of him as one still, hadn’t been real comfortable playing the part. Now the boy was watching the freed slaves with a thoughtful look on his face; the mission had been about recovering someone important to the Sephi government which was housing the kid’s clan. The rest were, in Bleu’s mind, a bonus. He found his gaze pulled back, especially, to the various slaves of the female variety which had been dolled up to look like dancers or courtesans.

Helluva bonus, he thought with a tail wiggle.

“So, we’ll be letting them go, Lord Bleu? Perhaps with a pittance?” came a cultured yet hesitant voice.

Kord turned to look up at the Pantoran kid, “Uhh...Corazan, right?”

“Corazon, Lord Bleu. Or Ya-Ir, if you must.” This time the voice came from a modulator with prissy undertones, and Kordath had to remind himself that the brightly colored droid backing the boy up wasn’t a protocol unit. As combat machines went, a MagnaGuard wasn’t one he wanted to tick off, even with the obnoxious paint job.

“The slaves, we’ll be releasing them promptly, yes?” asked Cora, once more.

“Seems a bit cruel, don’t it?” asked Kord, wincing at the ‘Lord’ bit. The kid didn’t know him well enough to realize the misstep; he tried to let it go. He caught movement from above in the raftered, high ceiling and smirked. No doubt Skitters had gotten fantastic footage of the raid, something to play at the next Arcona-Odanite party.

“Cruel?” spoke Cora with a mystified tone, brow furrowing in confusion.

“What they got?” asked the Ryn, gesturing at the former slaves. “No credits, some of ‘em are too young ta have ever worked a day in their lives. Some of ‘em will have family they may even be able ta find, we can do somethin’ about that. Some are drifters and the like. Ya want I should be puttin’ ‘em out inta tha cold?”

“Well, no,” started Cora, raising a hand in protest. “I suggested a pittance—”

“Aye, got plenty of pity for ‘em do ya? I prefer sympathy, maybe a touch of empathy. We’ll see who people they can get back ta while we transport tha lot back ta Selen with us has.”

“You’re going to take slaves!? I didn’t think that was the Arconan way. I’ll need to speak to Ru about that, hmm.”

Kord didn’t like the tone nor the phrasing the cultured little blue-skinned tw—

“Sorry, did ya say ‘Ru’? As in Red’s wee apprentice, tha green kid with all tha crap on his face and anger issues?”

“Those are tattoos! They’re culturally appropriate!”

“Little sleemo set me on fire, did ya know that?” Kord glowered at the boy, arms crossed and tail lashing in irritation.

“Well, perhaps you deserved it, hmm?” This from the droid, causing one of Kord’s bushy brows to twitch. “What, with that tacky vest and pants combo; your colors are all over the place!”

“Oi,” growled the Ryn, jabbing a finger against the MagnaGuard’s chest. “You’ve got a lotta room talkin’ about colors, mate; ya look like me daughter tossed her finger paintin’ supplies all over ya.”

“Why I never! I will have you know that I am a work of art you fleabag!”

“Sure, tha kinda art ya find in a dark alley where all tha glow globes been smashed and tha sun never reaches it, aye.”

“Please don’t get into the paint job, I really don’t want to hear it again,” spoke the Pantoran with a sigh, cradling his face in one delicate hand. “I cannot speak for Ru, um, setting you aflame, sir, but I cannot abide taking slaves.”

“We ain’t ‘takin’ slaves’ boyo! We’re gonna get people home that we can and make sure tha rest can start lives!”

The Ryn pointedly tried not to look at the freed dancers and courtesans as he said this, though his tail swished from side to side. What he hadn’t realized was that as he spoke at the self-righteous Odanite, he’d gotten a little too close for the boy’s guard’s comfort. A multi-hued staff buzzed to life between the two, bringing the Arconan up short.

“You will back away from Master Ya-Ir,” stated the droid.

“Ya, sure, whatever,” growled Bleu, muttering a Huttese curse as glared at the MagnaGuard.

“I do not know what was spoken, Mister Bleu, but I demand you apologize to the Master!”

This came with a threatening wave of the staff, which Kordath began to address by dropping a hand to his belt. A quick flash grenade would stun even a combat droid, giving him time to disarm the blasted thing before it caused an incident. What he didn’t expect was the shadow that appeared on the brightly colored droid’s cranial assembly.

GR-1N-DR screeched in alarm as the ID9 unit dropped from the ceiling and onto his head, pincers scratching at paint and finish to gain purchase. Kordath and Cora both took a step backward as the combat droid swung his staff ineffectually in what could only be a panic subroutine.

“GET IT OFF! GET IT OFF!”

“Hah! Right, maybe after Skitters helps ya with yer paint job we can get ya a fresh coat of chrome, eh?”

“Lord Kordath! I insist you call your mad droid off this instance!”

“Oi! Your rainbow bright prick o’ a guard threatened me, boy, this is its own bleedin’ fault.”

Kordath smirked at the Pantoran, hands hooked in his belt, before returning his sights to the droids.

Sometimes ya get a really good day, he decided with a smile.

“You cannot seriously be enjoying this! What if GR-1N-DR damages him! What if your obnoxious little beast of a droid actually does permanent harm to my master’s droid!?”

“Master?” asked Kord, pulling a bottle from his jacket and offering it towards Cora.

“Master Sorenn!” spoke the boy, in a tone that bordered on whinging as he found himself more and more off balance by the situation. He knocked away the bottle, causing some of the contents to spill out onto the club’s floor. “He assigned me this droid to act as my guardian! To have him damaged in such a manner would disgrace me.”

Kord stopped listening as he watched droplets of whiskey splash meaninglessly against the floor. Part of his mind registered a shrill screech from the MagnaGuard as Skitters drove its shock prods into a photoreceptor, sparking wildly. This kid was getting on his last nerve.

“Ya got crap fer manners, kid,” he growled.

“I have poor manners!?” shouted Ya-Ir, voice filled with disbelief. “Me? You’re nothing more than a vagrant and a thief who wishes to take pleasure slaves back to his palace to have his way with them!”

The Pantoran looked flushed and instantly regretful of some of his words. Kord didn’t care, watching as his ID9 unit was flung across the room by GR-1N-DR who’d finally had the thought process to drop his staff and grab the smaller droid. That was all background noise as he took a swig from his bottle and clenched a fist.

“Apologies, Lord Bleu, I should not ha—” the boy’s words were interrupted by a gray-haired fist, swinging up and landing on the kid’s chin.

“Master Cora!” shouted the MagnaGuard, and Kord realized he should have tossed that grenade already when the alloy frame slammed into him. The droid and Ryn tumbled to the ground in a tangle of limbs, Bleu getting a good look at the one burnt out of receptor.

“Bloody ‘ell, we’ll have ta get ya an eyepatch and a new paint job.”

“GR-1N-DR! Get off of him!” shouted Cora, right before he let out a surprised yell of his own when the Skitters unit lunged from a nearby table, pincers grabbing at his hair.

At the nearby bar, former slaves and the strike team sat shaking heads. One enterprising trooper began raiding the bar, while others escalated the betting.

“Twenty credits on the blue one.”

“The blue kid or Bleu?”

“Bloody droid,” snarled Kordath, trying to free his dagger from its sheath, while nearby Cora struggled with a pinching, shock prodding ID9.

“Get yer shiny paws off me ya dandy bucket o’ bolts!” Kordath exclaimed as GR-1N-DR, or Grinder as he was often called, maneuvered behind the Ryn and began to squeeze him like a giant blue stuffed animal. The Arconan Consul kicked and struggled to get enough free space to get his dagger out of its sheath.

As eccentric as Grinder often acted, he still had all the combat programming of a Magnaguard and that included anti-Force user tactics. The droid shifted his arms lower in an attempt to restrain the flailing Ryn’s wrists to his sides. Many Force abilities required hand gestures for focus and keeping any opponent from accessing their weapons was sound strategy.

“Hold still, fleabag!” Grinder retorted as his mechanical legs slowly raised him and his captive off the floor. “I’ll need a decontamination and hour-long oil bath when I get back.”

The Magnaguard’s lament was interrupted by Corazon’s panicked cry from the other side of the room.

“Ah! Get this demonic droid off me!”

Grinder’s combat programming told him to squeeze tighter and disable his dangerous Force-wielding opponent, but a higher priority subroutine overrided. He had to protect his ward. The droid caught a glimpse of his Jedi companion attempting to fend off Skitters’ relentless assault of snips and shocks through his remaining good photoreceptor. Within the span of a few heartbeats Grinder’s programming analyzed various courses of action and decided on the one most likely to eliminate the immediate threat.

“Hang on, sweetie, I’m coming,” Grinder yelled as he pivoted his torso to toss Kordath into a fully-stocked bar behind him.

The Shadow Lord had been in bar fights most of his life and seized the moment the droid changed position to go for the toss. Calling on the Force to augment his leg muscles, Kordath brought his arms in and tried to make himself as thin as possible while pushing off the Magnaguard’s slightly bent knees to launch himself straight upward. The maneuver worked and the Ryn shot up out of the droid’s arms and bounced off Grinder’s damaged head with a well-placed kick. The colorful automaton staggered, back trying to process what just happened.

Members of the strike team, who had until now been watching the chaos with rapturous silence, began to cheer for their Consul. “Woo! Go Bleu!”

Kordath used the momentum to perform a backflip in the air and land on his feet with an unsteady bow. Delivering a kick to a solid piece of metal left his dominate leg a little sore, though the alcohol he had been consuming the past hour or so dulled the pain and helped him fall into a familiar drunken form of fighting.

Cora had managed to throw Skitters off his head into a nearby table. The Seeker droid wasted no time and coiled its legs for another leap attack. The Pantoran Jedi was ready this time and reached into the flowing currents of the Force to create a translucent barrier of pure energy focused around his head and upper torso. When Skitters lept at its prey like a Kowakian monkey-lizard, it collided with an invisible wall and fell backward. The ID9 chirped a few beeps of confusion and frustration before posing to attack again and probe its enemy’s unexpected defenses.

For a brief moment, Cora considered pulling out his lightsaber and dispatching his miniature assailant once and for all but thought better of it. At best the Seeker droid only posed a threat of minor injury and the Pantoran did not want to destroy another’s property if he didn’t have to. He’d have to find a way to shut the little demon down or convince Kordath to call it off.

The Jedi’s momentary victory against his metallic assailant had changed the calculus in Grinder’s logic circuits. The Force-using Ryn was once again the main threat to subdue. Kordath had pulled out his dagger by this point and was focused on the rainbow painted Magnaguard. Grinder rotated his head horizontally on its neck axis to scan the room for his lost weapon. As luck would have it, the droid’s electrostaff was behind him where he had discarded it to get Skitters off his head.

Grinder turned around and leapt to recover his weapon. As he secured the staff and began to stand back into a defensive posture, he heard Kordath make a whistling sound which caused his own Seeker droid to stop probing Cora’s barrier and return to him.

“Skit, take that wanker’s other eye out!” the Shadow Lord commanded as he pointed at the Magnaguard with his dagger.

Skitters obeyed and lept to a countertop on Grinder’s right flank, but this time the colorful bodyguard was ready. The Magnaguard activated his chromatic electrostaff and incepted the Seeker droid mid-air like he was hitting a huttball. Skitters caught the electrified end of the staff and was sent flying into a mirror. The ID9 twitched and sputtered in a pile of broken mirror pieces on the floor, temporarily scrambled by the impact and sudden burst of electricity.

A chorus of hoops and hollers erupted from the strike team audience as if they had just seen a game-changing play in a professional sporting event. Kordath was less than amused as he drew his sapphire blade, wielding it and his dagger at the same time. The Ryn normally wouldn’t have taken such an aggressive stance but he knew a Magnaguard wasn’t something to take lightly. He wouldn’t be caught off guard next time the droid attacked. The Consul turned to Cora who was now moving to step in between the two combatants.

“Kid, if you don’t leash yer bucket o’ rainbow vomit I’m sending it back to Turel in pieces.”

“Grinder, you need to stand down,” ordered the Pantoran, his voice sounding tired.

“Negative, Master, target fleabag has taken an increasingly hostile stance, your safety would be compromised should I follow these orders.” The Magnaguard bent its knees, lowering the center of gravity in preparation. The buzzing of the colorful staff the droid wielded increased as it spun, taking a tentative step towards the Ryn.

“You put your’s away, ya eyesore, and I’ll put mine down, eh?” replied Kordath, grip tightening on his hilts.

Grinder’s head cocked to the side in an analytical gesture, one good photoreceptor drilling into the Consul. “Current information on the fleabag suggests this statement is false.”

The droid lunged, swinging its staff horizontally at the Ryn. Bleu ducked and tried to sidestep to avoid the metallic bulk, only being partially successful. He grunted as an alloyed knee grazed his torse, and swung up with his Sith dagger in retaliation, scoring a line across the droid’s painted chestplate. There was a screech of anger from the Magnaguard as more of its paint job was ruined, which almost made the throbbing pain of a rising bruise worth it to the Arconan.

Off to the side of both of them, opposite of the Pantoran who looking back and forth at the two combatants with a mix of hesitancy and frustration, the ID9 droid was ambling back and forth on the floor. It was obviously damaged, meandering like a drunken, oversized beetle of some sorts. The single red eye was flickering, and one of the pincer tipped legs was dragging along behind it. Seeker droids weren’t meant for a long, drawn out fight, even with a Odanite dandy and their garish bodyguard unit. It was just missed by a metal-clawed foot of the Magnadroid, beeping with indignation at almost being crushed while it scuttled weakly under a table.

“It would be preferable if you could stand still, Lord Bleu, so that I may dispatch you quickly. Master Ya-ir needs to be back home shortly.”

“Aye?” replied the Ryn with sarcasm heavy in his tone. “Gotta get him home and tuck him in fer bed do ya?”

“I would not be adverse to this duty if he were to request it!” shouted back the droid, thrusting its staff towards the Arconan’s midsection.

Cora looked over at the troopers around the bar with mortification, realizing they were staring at him and grinning.

“I..I have never asked...would never...I’m a grown man! I’m married!”

One of the troopers raised a pint glass in salute, “Yes, me lord!”

Kordath was feeling hard-pressed to keep up with the droid, barely managing to knock aside the electrified strikes coming at him. The Magnaguard wasn’t quickening its assault, but instead wearing the Arconan down. A droid needed not rest, the Ryn would, as his limbs began to feel heavier and heavier with fatigue.

“Boy, wanna call this thing off yet, eh?”

“I do apologize, Lord Bleu, but I don’t know who you could possibly mean by ‘boy’,” replied the Pantoran, flushed in the face from the behavior of the troops. His tone was haughty, his noble origins showing through as he made a show of inspecting the nails on one of his hands.

“Really, kid, now ya bring tha ego?” growled Kordath, who transitioned quickly into a yelp when his sapphire blade was knocked from his hand. He tried to call on the Force to aid him, to strengthen and infuse his muscles, trying to buy time. With renewed strength, he used his dagger to knock the electrified tip of the Magnaguard’s staff away and snarled. “Alright, ya rainbow bastard, let’s get this—”

What the Ryn hadn’t accounted for was Grinder anticipating the actions, that a droid programmed to fight Jedi wouldn’t be gauging its targets fatigue. The sudden burst of energy from the Arconan was a clear sign that the Consul’s physical strength was failing, and while the talents of Kordath were only partially known, the Magnaguard had made a calculated decision. Using the momentum of Bleu’s parry, it had rapidly brought the other end of its staff into play, the crackling, multi-colored tip impacting on the Ryn’s narrow chest and sending him sprawling backward through several chairs.

Kordath’s tail twitched as he stared at the distant ceiling, lungs burning as the muscles tried to overcome the effects of voltage. He heard metal scrape across the floor, his eyes just catching the movement of his dagger being kicked away as the droid reached a metal claw down to grasp him by the neck. With a few weak kicks, Bleu was lifted up, choking as his airway was blocked.

“Grinder…” began Cora, realizing this could go too far, began rushing towards his loaned droid’s side. What he didn’t account for was the crippled ID9 droid lamely leaping out from under a table in an attempt to entrap one of the Pantoran’s legs, getting a grip with its pincers before stabbing both electro prods into the boy’s calf. Ya-ir shrieked in surprise and pain as current ran up his leg, the limb collapsing under him and bringing him face first with a table.

“Master Cora?” queried Grinder, glancing towards his fallen charge, seeing a gash on the young man’s forehead and the ID9 unit standing triumphantly on the Pantoran’s back. “Sweetie no!” shouted the droid, turning its one glowing photoreceptor back to the Ryn in its grasp.

“Look...sorry...know...what...yer...thinkin’...” gasped out the Arconan, clawing at the metal arm holding him, wondering if he could use a flash grenade to get out of the situation. The Magnaguard didn’t give him a chance, lifting him and slamming the Ryn through a table. Kordath’s tail twitched a few times before laying still as unconsciousness took him as well.

Grinder straightened and turned its one good eye towards Skitters, who chirped an insult at the taller droid before scurrying off from its prize with annoyance. The Magnaguard glared at the fleeing droid, but programming determined that taking care of young Cora was its priority.

“Come, sweetie, let us get you back and get that gashed looked at. Master Sorenn will be oh so disappointed if you gain a scar under my protection, even one as rakish and daring as this one might be. Hmm, you can’t hear me anyway,” the droid let out an audible sigh-like noise as it collected its charge.

“Well how the hell do we divvy up the betting pool now?” asked one of the troopers from the bar, scratching his head while his compatriots stared at their fallen Consul.