So named because it is located one thousand, three hundred, and thirteen levels from the core of Coruscant, Level 1313 is distanced from the politics of the upper levels. Overlooking the chasm burrowing further into Coruscant’s core, one can watch freighters transporting their illicit cargo between levels. One misstep would send the careless careening into the bottomless pit, or aid the local gangs in staging “accidents.”

Weathered duracrete forms the retainer along the chasm wall, built in concentric rings that descend down an untold height. Strengthened with solid durasteel braces, maintenance has not been needed this far into Coruscant for a long time. Nevertheless, droids pre-programmed to fill in the cracks and crevices that might form in the walls float on repulsorlifts without drawing attention from the criminal gangs. The gangs themselves are focused on their next smuggling operation or struggle for control over Coruscant’s scum-filled underbelly.

It was strange for Stres’tron’garmis to be in such a place without his master of questionable morals, but the orders received had been rather specific. To be here, in this place, at this time and day, for combat training. He’d not made additional preparations, knowing that which he carried with him on a daily basis would have to suffice should a situation ever arise. The usual fare of ne’er do wells were shuffling around the level. None approached the hulking Chiss whose hand laid on the grip of his riot baton.

The big man walked slowly, aiming to make a circuit of the circular area, passing through the usual things such a place held. Open air markets made of small stalls, women showing more skin than not, piled up detritus of old crates, boxes and likely a fair number of forgotten corpses. He’d barely made it a quarter of the way around the massive ring before an armored figure, made up with blacks and purples, landed ahead of him in a gout of smoke. A sound of heated metal contracting could be heard as the jetpack on the figure’s back cooled.

He, or possibly she, turned towards the Chiss, helmeted head cocking slightly as if inspecting the large man, who reached back to unsling his riot shield. The movement was slow and measured, one of caution rather than provocation.

“Stres’tron’garmis, I assume? Must be. Can’t be many Chiss on Coruscant fitting your description,” stated the armored figure. The voice sounded male, but without knowing if the armor hid some kind of modulator it was impossible to know. “My name is Kojiro Keibatsu. You may have heard of me?”

The purple-trimmed character puffed his chest out in pride at speaking his own name, and Strong began to recognize some of the symbols adorning the armor. He was given no further time to reply, the bounty hunter having drawn a pistol in a blur and pointed it towards him.

“Right, you’re my bounty today, so come along quietly and I won’t have to maim you. This is supposed to be some kind of training exercise, after all.”

Strong had little to compel him to comply; his own instructions had simply been to show here. He hadn’t intended to be someone’s prey and bounty hunters were not high on his list of respected professions. He hefted his shield and took a step towards Kojiro, who fired a warning shot at the Arconan’s feet. It was ignored, the son of Garmis glowering at the armored man and speeding to a jog.

“Fine,” growled the Keibatsu, lifting his right arm and firing a projectile from a small box on his wrist. The net expanded as it sped forward, and Kojiro smirked under his helmet. There was little doubt the big man would try to avoid it, but it was unlikely he’d succeed. An easy collar.

The Chiss pulled back and hurled his shield into the approaching net with enough force to send both items back towards Kojiro. He broke into a sprint, his eyes narrowed to slits as he glared at Kojiro.

For the Sadowan, it was a matter of sidestepping the thrown shield, tangled in the net. He instinctually tracked it with his vision for a moment, before snapping his helmet back to see Strong bearing down on him. He muttered a curse in Mando’a and triggered his jetpack, blasting into the air and firing his pistol at his target. The big man kept moving, deceptively quick for his size, towards a pile of trash and rubble. Several of the bolts hit, sparking off an energy shield.

He’s more prepared than he looks, but that energy field can only take so much and he’s already lost his shield, thought the Keibatsu, gritting his teeth. He had to take the man alive. Letting off the thrust to keep from burning out, he descended, bursting his jetpack to safely land, and thanked his keen senses even as he dodged out of the way of a bag of thrown garbage. “Really!? You’re throwing people’s trash at me?”

The Chiss did not reply, instead, picking up a piece of rubble and hefting it on his shoulder. Kojiro decided further discourse would be useless and fired his fibercord whip. He smirked when the big man dropped his chunk of duracrete in an effort to catch the rope. It wrapped around his right forearm, digging into the muscular arm as the clone pulled it taut.

“Just a moment, we’ll have you in cuffs and on our way to my reward, big guy. Wait, what are you — you’ll do nothing but cut your own hand off like that!” he shouted as the Arconan’s right hand grasped the cord, wrapping it around his palm several times. “Oh Sithspit.”

Kojiro launched himself skyward again, firing several shots with his pistol at the man. The first couple dissipated against his shield again, the third burning a hole in the Chiss’s shirt and torso. Damaged product, blast it.

But his plan to pull the man off the ground in an effort to disable him became a contest of strength. Below, Strong’s heels dragged across the floor until he reached the retainer wall above the pit, feet planting against it. The Arconan’s muscles bulged, neck veins standing out as he shouted and pulled back on the fibercord. It cut into the man’s hand, blood dripping down his arm while Kojiro’s jetpack strained to lift a combined weight of nearly six hundred pounds. His HUD popped up a warning, the fail-safes that kept the pack from burning out were kicking in.

“No!” shouted the clone as his jetpack cut out and he found himself plummeting down the pit. When the cord held by Strong dipped below the retainer, the Chiss took up the slack and grunted, not allowing the Keibatsu to plunge to his death. Kojiro slammed into the wall, the armor doing little to dull the pain of the impact.

Suspended some unfathomable distance above solid ground generally didn’t bother the clone, however, he could usually rely on his jetpack. A whirring, groaning noise filled his helmet as the commands to the jetpack simply caused the device to rebel against him. The wind ripped around him and caused him to slowly start to spin on the spot, and with the world spinning slowly around him, Kojiro let out an exasperated sigh and a wince from where his body ached from the collision. Today was not supposed to turn out this way and he really didn’t have time to play with the Bantha-brained Chiss.

At the thought of his mark, he felt a tug on his raised arm, then another and finally several more. The world, whilst still spinning, was descending as he rose. For whatever reason, his opponent was pulling him up rather than letting him fall. Though with the obvious difference in physical strength the clone was unsure which he currently preferred, the fall or the fist.

It took mere minutes for Kojiro to rise far enough that he was able to peer over the ledge and spy the boots of the Chiss. Another few moments and he was eye level and staring into what could only be described as a rather annoyed expression. Blood had dripped down the alien's arm and light specks dotted the ground around him. Within those red laced eyes, the Quaestor could see a few winces of pain but the rest of the Chiss gave nothing away.

Kojiro had little time to muse before the first punch soared towards his head. Much to Koji’s despair, the fist was encased in some form of knuckler. Quick thinking allowed him to bring his legs up and push them hard against his assailant's chest. The momentum of both bodies moving caused Stres'tron'garmis to overbalance and start moving backwards away from the pit. Kojiro used the momentum to find purchase and push. Both Sadowan and Arconan toppled and hit the ground in a splendid display of confused limbs. The Keibatsu threw a left punch and caught the Chiss in his damaged arm. The alien retaliated with a hammering headbutt that caused stars to spin across Kojiro’s vision and he was forced to roll away to avoid a second.

Enough was enough. The Bounty Hunter moved his free hand to the quick release of the fibrecord cable and hit it. Nothing. He struck it again and still, nothing occurred. The mechanism was stuck.

“Aw crap,” he muttered as he moved to rise. The Chiss had clearly clocked onto the problem and grabbed the cord, once more yanking the clone to the floor. “Let go you, great oaf!” Kojiro muttered. His mark began pulling the Quaestor towards him. Kojiro refused to go down without a fight. He waited until the last possible moment, then with a painful adjustment, he activated his flamer at point blank range.

Fire danced around both him and his foe. The smell of burning flesh and plasteel hit his nostrils. His bodysuit and the Chiss’ clothes began to burn and for his own safety he deactivated the weapon and threw himself around his opponent. As he moved he gathered the cord in his hands as quickly as he could, before looping it around his foe's neck and crossing his hands. The cord tightened and held firm. Looped around the clone’s own hands as well as the Chiss’ neck and arm.

“Now just sit still and let this all be over, I have somewhere to be and this training exercise is getting on my nerves.”

There were no words from the Arconan, who was fighting to stand. Under his helm, Kojiro’s eyes widened in alarm when Strong regained his feet, swaying under their combined weight. His boots dug into the Chiss’s lower back, knees bent as he tried to exert more pressure on the cord wrapped around the big man’s neck and arm. Sweat poured down his face, both from the heat of his heated armor and exertion. Either the Arconan would run out of air or pass out from blood loss, he hoped. Strong’s arm wrapped up in the fibercord was keeping the clone from choking him out entirely. He levered his body back, armor still smoldering as he used the whip as makeshift reins to keep his position. The Chiss was not going down easily, even while what was left of his clothing smoked and patches of his skin were scorched.

With a growl, the burnt and battered noble son brought his left hand up, fingers trying to work under the cord wrapped around his throat. Failing to find purchase, he instead reached back to try and grasp Kojiro directly, who used his position to lean further back. With the cord as an anchor, the Keibatsu had little trouble staying up. A choking sound could be heard from the Chiss, and the Sadowan grinned.

That’s right, time to go to sleep.

“RAH” shouted the Arconan, managing to exclaim through his gasps, before bending at the knees and throwing himself — and his passenger — backward. Kojiro had time to regret some of his life decisions before they impacted with the duracrete, his jetpack taking the brunt of the landing. The three hundred plus pounds of Chiss that landed on top of him and the smell of sizzling flesh where the big man touched his armor didn’t help either. He kicked futilely, unable to gain purchase. His hands were wrapped up in his own fibercord and back laid at an uncomfortable angle from the pack he laid on. It was the Keibatsu’s turn to gasp for air under the big man’s bulk.

Their change in position loosened the cord around Strong’s neck, and he took several deep breaths.

“Kark me, how did you get this big?” groaned Kojiro.

Strong let out a grunt and twisted his right hand, still wrapped in the cord, so as to work more fingers under that which choked him. He knew the hunter would tighten his grip anew. Suffocating was an ignoble way to die.

”I achieved this form,” growled the son of Garmis, ”through hard work, dedication, and a healthy diet!”

He punctuated his statement by swinging his left fist up, the vibroknuckler’s small blades scoring Kojiro’s helmet and marring the paint.

The impact and screeching metal made Kojiro’s head ring as his HUD flickered. Another hit made the inside of his helmet change shape, pressing into the side of his head.

How is he still fighting!? Do I need to set him on fire again to stop him!?

He started to pull on the whip anew, hoping that cutting off the man’s airflow would work. Once again a ringing impact sent his head spinning, this time the HUD dying and light from outside beginning to stream inside. The repeated blows of the Chiss’s knuckler had finally broken through. Another hit came in, and Kojiro winced as the miniature blades, vibrating at high speed, dug into the side of his face. Despite the blood now streaming down his cheeks and pooling in the back of his helmet, he grinned. The blow hadn’t contained the strength that the ones that had broken his helm had.

Either he refuses to kill me, or he’s growing weaker. Please let it be the latter.

The Keibatsu twisted beneath the Chiss, working his left leg loose from under the hulking man. Another strike came, but this time he leaned his head away, recognizing the shift in weight as the Arconan swung his arm up towards him. The blow still hurt, but his quick reaction kept it from caving the side of his skull in at least, though he wondered if he’d need a new cybernetic eye when this was all done. When he felt Strong’s weight shift again, the large man’s muscled arm preparing for another strike, he made his move. Kojiro lifted his left leg and dropped it down onto the Chiss’s arm, knee crooking around the elbow to hold it down.

The Chiss bellowed in annoyance and pain, and the Keibatsu gave a bloody grin inside his ruined helmet. He pulled the cord in his hands tight, returning to his original strategy.

Lucky he didn’t think to use those blasted knives on his fist to cut the cord. Would have taken a while, but I’d rather he not punch me anymore.

Atop him, the Arconan began to rock from side to side, and Kojiro gritted his teeth. The big man was trying to roll over, it seemed, which could prove disastrous to his current plans. Just as Strong seemed to get the momentum to do so, the two men heard a sickening tearing sound. The Chiss let out a sound of pain that would haunt Kojiro for the rest of his days. With a shudder, the son of Garmis went limp.

With some effort, Kojiro pushed the massive man the rest of the way off of him, the Chiss ending up face down and the Keibatsu grasping his aching back. He pulled his stuncuffs out and looked down, before turning away to not throw up. He hadn’t considered how heated his plasteel armor had become, and a glance showed a gruesome scene. Much of the skin covering Strong’s back had been seared, burnt, or had stuck to the Sadowan’s armor.

No wonder he passed out, finally, thought Kojiro, struggling to snap the stuncuffs around the big man’s wrists. He stared at his bounty and closed his eyes with a fresh groan. How the hell am I going to get him out of here?

The Chiss struggled, and as he did the flames that licked at both their clothes died down. Where they had been the smell of burnt flesh drifted suddenly to both of their noses causing Kojiro to gag as it filled his helmet. The moment of distraction was all Stres'tron'garmis needed to lean forward, allowing the cord to cut deeper into his neck before dropping back suddenly and driving the back of his skull into Kojiro’s faceplate. Koji’s head snapped back and the grip on the wire loosened allowing the alien to wriggle free from it and rise to his feet.

The Chiss looked down, before placing his hand on his neck and bringing his fingers away to view the blood. The man looked down at the dazed Mandalorian and placed his hands on his hips. A mighty sigh escaped his lips as he spoke.

“Now see here. Had you but stopped to talk rather than carry out this nefarious scheme you might have succeeded in some form of plan where neither of us got hurt!” Stres'tron'garmis puffed out his chest and bright one hand to his moustache. His fingers curled the hair lazily as he kept peering down as if expecting the Clone to say something. “Why so silent Ne'er-do-well? Is it because you have been bested by me? Stres'tron'garmis the bold? Or has some manner of creature caught your tongue?”

The Quaestor raised his hand to his head, the ringing had yet to stop and the tiny stars that danced across his vision were starting to annoy him. The Chiss hit like a truck and Kojiro was unsure as to what exactly his opponent was saying.

“No, you great lummox. Your head is as hard as duracrete. Are you not even sore?” He attempted to stand but found himself stumble and drop back down again. “Whoa, what the?” Kojiro exclaimed as he felt a strong pair of hands grip his shoulders and pull him to his feet.

“Of course I am injured and sore, but I approach things as I intend to go on! With strength and purpose befitting one such as me!” The Chiss twirled his great moustache once more and patted the Clones armour with the greatest respect, only slightly jarring Kojiro from his position. “Now, should you wish to continue this piece of roughness I am ready to oblige. But should you wish to stop I shall be on my way and allow you to do the same! What say you?”

The Quaestor swayed a bit where he stood then made the wrong decision. His fist came up on a low blow uppercut but found the strike blocked with ease. Pushed aside then the giant meaty fist of Strong coming around in retaliation. Kojiro hit the ground again with an oompf and like before found himself dragged to his feet and dusted off.

“Looks like that won’t work,” he coughed. Cracks had appeared in his visor by now. “But I am going to lose the bounty on you, could have used the money.”

Stres'tron'garmis looked down upon the man who had before been out for his blood and twirled his moustache as he thought. Kojiro was beyond a proper fight, given the two previous blows. “Know what, if you’ll come with me we can have a word with my employer. He may be a strange little man who enjoys the bottle a bit too much, though I would never judge, perhaps we can persuade him to part with some credits in order to keep us both happy and alive?” He wrapped his arm around Kojiro and began leading the man away from the fight scene and towards the unknown. “He is not an unreasonable man. He’s something of a protegee of mine in the facial hair area too. We can sit for hours just twirling our moustaches and allowing the day to pass us by. Now come with me my new friend. Let us find adventure!”

And together they strolled off into the depths of district 1313, to find one unwilling Ryn and a whole lot of adventure.