Beneath the surface of Lake Paonga lies the Gungan capital. Otoh Gunga is constructed in such a manner that leaves the Gungan city trapped beneath water pressures—potentially fatal to the denizens should the city be breached—converging on the lake’s vertical center and floating between the surface of the lake and the lakebed. Its location makes the capital difficult to find without knowing its precise location, remaining untouched during the Separatist occupation of Naboo.

Water-breathing species would be able to swim easily to its bubble-shaped buildings; however, those unable to remain submerged without air would find the distance impossible to swim. Therefore, breathing apparatuses are essential for those determined to make the journey themselves and without the aid of Gungan bongos. Its bubble-like buildings are hydrostatic force-fields that contain breathable atmospheres for their occupants and have special portals that allow the inhabitants to enter and exit. Since the Gungans actually grew the building material of their cities from the natural plasma of Naboo and bubble wort extract, the structure of Otoh Gunga is a hub and spoke design. Each of the bubble-like buildings are compartmentalized units, able to be sealed off at a moment’s notice.

The Gungan Grand Army utilizes patrols that make regular visits between the compartments. Favouring spears, atlatls, Electropoles and cestas for throwing boomas, these soldiers are the staunch defenders of Otoh Gunga. Sometimes armed with distributed Gungan personal energy shields capable of turning aside blaster bolts, these warriors are too-often underestimated, lending to their victories over the Trade Federation.

“Alright, let’s dance like men,” Creon told him as he unlocked his handcuffs chained to the interrogation table.

Jon wasn’t giving Creon any lip. It was four hours of playing this interrogation game of trying to find out who hired the mercenary and put a hit on Creon. Jon’s previous attempt at Creon’s life was unsuccessful, to say the least. Creon defeated him but decided to imprison rather than take him out. He was hired to do a job, he didn’t want Creon dead personally. Someone did, which is why Jon was here. Unfortunately for Creon, resisting the Jedi’s attempts at petty interrogation was certainly in Jon’s favor. He was more cunning in this sort of thing, he had been here before and knew how to frustrate someone trying to pry him for information. He’d never give up the client’s name either; it kept Jon’s name on the high list as a dependable mercenary.

Creon realized this; he wasn’t going to get anywhere this way. So it was time they tried a more intimate method. He didn’t give Jon a moment to adjust to his wrists being randomly set free from custody. Creon gave him a clean cross punch to the temple with his rear fist. The blow made Jon’s head whirl a straight 45-degree angle, and a split second blackout. Creon knew it was unexpected and unfair. He wanted to send a serious enough message that would get Jon to respond with fight or flight instead of with his words.

Jon rolled to the side just in time as Creon went for a hold that would have put them to the ground. His movement was graceful, and he was able to pick himself up to square off in silence with Creon. They shuffled to opposite sides, keeping eye contact and peripheral focus on each other’s limbs. The door was close by too, but Jon was too curious to see where this would go. It wasn’t the best idea, but Jon’s smiles were the biggest when he was in danger.

Each time Creon attempted to pull his foe into a locked hold, Jon deftly deflected each one by redirecting Creon’s direction of force. Opposite knees clashed with each other as they circled around the table, neither willing to become overwhelmed. Several heartbeats later, Creon lightly jabbed his exposed obliques and hit Silvon’s lower calves with a few sweeps of his leg. The mercenary grunted. The hits were more of an annoyance than actual damage. Creon was baiting him to attack. The Jedi watched Jon for a moment, contemplating how to become quick enough to be able to weave his way past Jon’s nimble defenses. To be that quick, he needed his mind to shut up.

The Force took over and calmed the mind. It would never fully empty all thoughts. As the thoughts came, however, Creon was able to ignore them. There was no longer pressure nor mental distraction in fighting Jon. It did the trick too. Creon hooked opposite arms and bumped opposite shoulders. He then punched Jon along his jawline, grasped his face with the same hand, and twisted his hips to throw him to the ground. Creon let his opponent go and backed up right after. It would be too easy to just repeatedly punch him on the ground until he was knocked out. Creon would win the fight, but it wouldn’t make Jon spill the beans.

“Warm up’s over. Get up,” Creon said while he took off parts of his armor and laid them on the table as he waited for Jon to get back on his feet. He didn’t need armor for exchanging fists. If anything, it would get in the way more than it would protect him in this kind of fight. All of their weapons were secured outside the interrogation room, and Creon locked them in the room. He also told the Gungan authorities outside to not open or interfere for any reason. They understood. Sometimes this is how you had to get through to people. The armor, no matter how much he got used to wearing it, always got in the way to certain ranges of motion. He would need those to fight Jon now. Because as the mercenary got up, he wiped a bit of blood off his lips and Creon saw his smile. Jon knew his life wasn’t in danger, which is why he smiled. He loved the moments in action, it’s the reason he chose this lifestyle. It gave him a rush.

Jon tried a few feinting knife-handed strikes to distract his opponent in hopes of finding a potential pressure point to exploit. But Creon fought back with a heavy silent focus. It made him quick enough to counter when Jon tried for a possible opening. If he was going to turn the tides of this fight and earn his way to walk out of this, he needed to somehow snap Creon out of his fighting zone.

“So,” Jon huffed, trying not to look as winded as he felt, “No holds barred brawls? Not exactly the-” Jon sidestepped to avoid a kick aimed at his knee cap, and slid backwards,smooth as water.

“Not exactly the Jedi thing to do?” If Creon had heard Jon’s taunt, he didn’t show it. Guess that wasn’t the nerve Jon had hoped it would be. Creon struck at Jon’s left arm, and Jon dodged out the way. Out of the way, and right into the strike at his calve, causing him to flinch in pain. He’d fallen for the Jedi’s feint.

“Very First Order though” Jon said before his opponent had a chance to press his advantage, “or so I’m led to believe.” Creon reacted to that, even if it was just the slightest widening of the eyes. Jon suppressed a smirk. Now he was on the right track.

“I take that kind of training sticks, eh CS-12097?” Jon said slyly as he stepped out of the way of another strike and aimed his own knife-handed blow to the Jedi’s solar plexus. Creon stumbled back just a bit from the sudden force.

Creon knew he shouldn’t have been surprised when Jon knew something about his past. Any halfway decent hitman read up on his mark. Still, it caught him just a bit off guard, and that was what Jon was hoping for.

Jon lunged forward, striking at his opponent’s face. Creon intercepted the strike easily, and made to grab his opponent in a wrist lock, but grabbed only empty air. Jon twisted behind and to the side, and grabbed Creon around the neck, hoping to take the Jedi down that way.

Creon twisted in his grip, trying to free himself. On the other side of the wall, he could sense that the Gungans were getting antsy, preparing themselves to rush in if they deemed it necessary. That wouldn’t be good. Odds were they’d kill Jon in the ensuing struggle, and he’d lose whatever lead he had on the person gunning for his life.

The man did his homework, Creon was impressed. He wanted to keep the First Order part of his life hush, just in case they come around sniffing for him and learned about Odan-Urr. The last thing Creon wanted was to have to manage to be at war with the Dark Council, Inquisitorius, the Collective, AND the First Order. The Jedi couldn't handle it. But he didn't think Jon would open up to them about Creon running away. Jon was just using this to get a better hand in the fight.

Creon drove his elbow into Jon's pelvis. Jon felt it, and the grip on Creon's neck loosened a little, but it wasn't loose enough to break free. Creon elbowed him again. Jon grunted and tried to tighten his grip. Creon decided to just take the risk and throw his head back to headbutt. It would expose the airwaves of his throat, and give Jon all he needed to make Creon unconscious, or the shock could make the mercenary release his hold. So Creon threw his head back, and drew in a third elbow strike to the inner hip for extra measure. Jon loosened up just enough for Creon to lift Jon's arm by the elbow, tuck his chin, and dig his head out of the headlock.

The Jedi held on to his opponent's wrist, pulled his arm in and hooked a fist to the temple. Jon threw his arms up in a defensive guard after taking the punch, but the elbows were pointed out. Creon punished the poor form with an uppercut straight to the nostril. The mercenary then took a few steps back, tripped over the interrogation chair, and fell with the back of his skull crashing against the metal floor.

"Are you ready?" Creon asked.

Jon took a moment to let the pain from the blood down his nose to settle, and for his head to bring his focus back on straight, "The answer won't change."

"I fully understand why you won't give it up. It's more of keeping yourself safe and in good standing for the job you do. It keeps you alive and puts credits in your pocket. "

That sobered Job up a bit. He wasn't wrong at all. A critical part of keeping the work Jon does alive is to make sure he was credible to his employers. If he wasn't, he would go from being a hunter to being hunted. Men with money who are angry can find you anywhere in the galaxy, and it seemed like the Sith had no limits.

"I know exactly how that is," Creon continued, "First Order takes you as a kid, so you don't get another option. You either prove yourself credible as an asset, or you end up another lifeless corpse on some dumpster planet. You survive or you die. So looking out for number 1 is something we both get as men trying to get through tomorrow, Jon."

"Alright," Jon replied. He was listening now instead of talking.

"The difference now is that when Starkiller base fell, that opened up a door for me to get the hell out. CS-12097 was thought to have died somewhere in that catastrophe when the resistance hit. And I found Odan-Urr as another way to make it. The difference is, instead of trying to make myself seem reliable now in order to survive, you have to trust others and be someone they can trust in order to survive. That's the culture the Jedi have. And trusting other people is a risk because they can frak you hard...

Having a child with a Sith can really mess you up...

If she decides to turn that baby against you one day?' Creon took a seat with a long breath before coming back to look at Jon, "Sometimes it is hard it is to be in a goodie two-shoes environment where you have to trust other people to get by. But it is safer than the "just looking out for number 1" mentality, It is. You're more successful. When you put your trust in others and they do the same. You get by better, more people have your back, and when you frak up you got people to get you out of the holes you dig."

Jon never really looked at it that way. It made him think about the day he was going to die. He knew it was gonna come, being mortal and all, but he never really went into much detail before now. He wouldn't have anyone that stuck in his memory with him. He wasn't close with the family, and he's loved a lot of women. But when he sees his life flash before his eyes, he won't remember their name. He never truly bonded with them. He chose not to in order to protect himself and not risk his credibility and focus.

"So... I know telling me who sent you would hurt your job. But I want to offer you the opportunity to try out how I'm doing things. Double agent for me till I can get this mess sorted out. Then you can go back to doing your own thing, and always have Odan-Urr to come to, cause I'll set you up right."

Jon sighed, "I'm from Scholae Palatine, but the actual hirer... the person behind the strings who wants you watched... Rhylance."

Creon gritted his teeth, "I had a feeling." The Jedi turned his attention and was heading towards the door.

"Hey, wait!" Jon called, "Let me help. I'm in pretty far with these guys."

"Are you sure?" Creon asked, "I won't let these Gungans lock you up. You can go back to doing what you want."

"This is something I want to do. Don't worry about paying me."

"Credits made it easier, though. Consider yourself hired. Let's go."

Creon slammed his elbow into Jon’s sternum, once, twice, and the third time the mercenary started to let up just slightly. The soldier-turned-Jedi slammed one foot down on Jon’s toes, and his grip slackened. Creon twisted sudden and hard, and one arm came loose from his opponent’s hold. Before Jon could react, Creon slammed one palm forward, and invisible force sent him slamming backward into the wall.

“Don’t try and get into my head,” Creon panted. “You wouldn’t last long in there.” That little struggle had actually left him a bit winded, but at least he could sense the gungans were calming down slightly, even if there emotions were still taught as a wire.

“Duly noted, Creon,” Jon said as he rose to his feet, battered but not out. His grandfather may have taught him to avoid a fair fight whenever possible, but still made sure he knew how to hold his own in one, if cornered. Jon took a stance.

“Round two, then?”

“You look like you can barely stand, mercenary,” Creon snorted.

“Then you shouldn’t have anything to worry about, right Jedi?”

Creon actually smirked at that. A part of him wondered if they wouldn’t get along without the whole trying-to-kill-him thing. He took two steps toward his opponent and took a few experimental swings. Jon was getting used to his fighting style now though, and was getting better at avoiding or blocking the trained strikes.

One thing about military fighting styles, Jon had learned, was that they valued effectiveness and uniformity, and that held especially true for a group that was trying to copy and paste the old empire. The fighting styles were good, but predictable to a trained eye. But just because he could begin to predict his opponent, didn’t give the mercenary much edge. He was still on the defensive here. Should he try another trick to get Creon’s guard down? No, he wouldn't fall for that twice. Honestly, Jon was surprised he had fallen for it once.

A slam to the face brought him out of his reverie, a painful reminder to think fast.

“What’re you hoping to get out of this?” he grunted as he swiveled out of the way of a painful looking jab. “Think you’ll beat the answers out of me?”

“Something like that,” Creon said between breaths, before charging forward with a powerful kick. Jon wasn’t fast enough this time, and found himself sprawling on the ground, he rolled out of the way of another blow aimed for his head.

“I know you’re not out for yourself,” Creon continued as his opponent scrambled to his feet on the other side of the room, a bloody grimace now decorating his features. “All I want is a name.”

Jon sighed, careful not to let his guard down. “You’ve got to understand, right?” Jon said in an exasperated tone. Creon got the feeling this was the most sincere his opponent had been all night.

“Understand what? Why you tried to kill me?”

“Understand I have no motivation to give you what you want!” he half shouted. “I talk, the gungans ship me off, and my clients finds someone to put a knife between my ribs in prison!”

“You don’t, and the gungans ship you off anyway, and maybe your client kills you just in case,” Creon countered. This was good. His little brawl had finally managed to get the mercenary talking, even if it wasn’t what Creon wanted to hear. Not yet anyway.

“Not hearing much motivation.” Jon groused. This soldier boy of a Jedi really didn’t listen much did he?

“Than how about this:” Creon said as he picked up one of the overturned chairs and took a seat. “You give me a name, and I talk to the gungans-” Jon let out a bitter laugh.

“You saw what the aftermath of our scuffle outside looked like, right? You think they’ll let me go after-”

“The gungans want you gone, they told me as much themselves,” not entirely true, and Creon could sense their disquiet on the other side of the door. Too bad, he was making some real headway, finally.

“So I get to be your prisoner instead, is that what you’re getting at here?” Jon said, leaning against the wall with a bitter smirk on his face/

“Odan-Urr is a lot more accommodating than whoever you’re used to working for, I can assure you of that.” Creon said in an appeasing tone. “We’ll of course work to reform you-” Jon snorted at that- “And make sure no one kills you. In exchange, you tell me who wants me dead.”

“Creon, from what I gathered a lot of people want you dead.”

Creon resisted the urge to grit his teeth. The snark was a bad sign. The mercenary was slipping back into old habits, and they’d wind up back at square one again. He really didn’t feel like another round with this guy either.

“Fine,” he said, getting up to leave. “Have it your way. Enjoy gungan prison.” Now to see if Silvon called his bluff…

Creon was halfway out the door, when Jon called back.

“Creon,” and Creon turned to look back, face neutral to keep the anticipation of his face.

“I can’t give you a name because I never got one,” Jon said finally. “But what I can do….” Jon leaned forward, as though preparing to give away the greatest secret in the universe; for all Creon knew, he was. “....Is help you find them.”