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.

The Privateer stood in front of the holo-board, a single hand following the Aurebesh on a newly-updated bounty while his other hand deftly spun a knife in it. The sound of the whizzing spacecraft over the infinite chasm and the usual bustling of people about didn’t seem to phase Jon Silvon. The dilapidated state of Level 1313 led him to believe there was some extra change to be made and a holo-board was a good place to start. He skimmed most of the details, his eyes honing in on the important part that read: REWARD: TWENTY-FIVE THOUSAND CREDITS. Then, of course, there were the secondary details: who they were, where they were last seen, blah, blah. It was all white noise to Silvon. He was predominantly focused on the reward.

Out the corner of his eye, he noticed another figure staring at the bounty, his brow lifting with intrigue. The casually-dressed woman was intent on her goal because she was there only a moment before she turned to leave within a split second. No fool, Jon did what he could to grab her attention. “Hey, Hey!” he called, reaching out to grab her shoulder. Instant regret colored his features as she whipped around like a soldier marching, her hand reaching for the blaster on her utility belt. “Hang on a second. You, uh, after the bounty? If so, hear me out.”

The response was a grunt from the olive-skinned woman, her loose dark hair falling over her shoulders as she tucked the blaster back in its place. He took note of the insignia embroidered on her navy blue jacket. “Not very chatty I see.” He paused and then continued, looking into some of the meanest dark orbs he may have seen ever, “We’re probably not the only ones going after the same person and as a fellow member of the Brotherhood, maybe we can make a deal. We go half on the credits and work together, huh? Otherwise, I might have to shoot you.”

The stranger stared at him for a few beats. “On the condition that I escort the target,” were her first words to him. “Alone. You’ll get your credits.”

“Well, you see, that sounds a terrible idea to me. How can I know you’d hold up your end of the bargain? It’s a wolf-eat-wolf out there, toughness. We deliver the goods together.”

She offered a curt nod of agreement. "Fine. The last place the target was seen was at the cantina on this level. We start there and see if there are any leads."

Jon, taken aback from her willingness to agree, became suspicious of her motives. "Straight to business, huh? I'm Jon, Jon Silvon.” He held out his hand for a shake. She stared at his hand blankly.

“Emere Galo.”

Clearing his throat, Silvon gestured for her to lead the way. “After you”

---

He should have seen this coming. Jon stood between Emere Galo and the fugitive they were just hunting. Her pistol was aimed at his chest. How that had become the easiest part of the hunt was beyond him, but he did know this poor, malnourished-looking Duros fella didn’t deserve to be killed in cold blood. And his credits were at stake too. Kark. Most of the citizens in their vicinity had fled the scene and there were just three of them. The Duros was cuffed against the railing and thus immobile for now.

“Step aside, Silvon. I will shoot you if I must.” The muscles in her jaw rippled. Both of her hands gripped the pistol.

“Really? I thought we had an agreement.”

“You’ll get your stupid credits,” she sneered. “I just need a word with this piece of sithspit.”

Silvon took a space between a breath to rapidly kick the gun from tan hands. The weapon fired off a single shot as it rattled to the ground. Nothing or nobody was hurt as far as he could tell. One thing he knew; if rage was an individual, it was unquestionably this lady. He evaded a couple of her aggressive blows in fast progression, however, there was one unfortunate case he had his bells rung the second her knee crashed against his skull. He stumbled down onto the weathered duracrete, his vision temporarily blurred. He didn’t want to fight but it was starting to look as though he had no choice.

“Why is this so personal for you, anyway?” Jon asked as Emere went to retrieve the fugitive. He regained his footing and immobilized the determined woman with a swift kick to the back of her knee. As fast as she fell, she moved her boots around his lower leg and contorted. He lost his balance. Jon was as her; sitting on his bottom.

The woman performed a somersault away from Silvon, retrieving her blaster. She fired a decisive shot at his head. The projectile grazed his ear.

“I won’t miss again,” she cautioned, her voice gruff while she stared at him. Galo inched toward the cuffed Duros, her gaze never leaving Jon. “This bastard was in charge of keeping slave trading routes under the guise of normal trade routes. Including one my daughter was a part of,” the stoic woman explained. The Duros' eyes widened and his lips parted slightly. The Privateer wasn’t able to decipher if that was because they’d been found out or because Emere had the wrong person. Either way...

“I can’t let you hurt him. Let the justice system chew him up, yeah? We get our credits to go our separate ways. And this idiot doesn’t get to walk. Win-win in my book.”

It was his last-ditch effort to try to make peace with the angry woman. He could understand her frustration but this seemed a touch too far. The pause went on much longer than Jon was comfortable with.

“No.”

Galo callously fired another shot, aimed toward Jon's chest.

Jon reacted on reflex; the moment he saw Emere’s finger twitch, his thumb flicked a small, concealed button on his left vambrace. The bolt slammed into his chest, throwing him back, but dissolved against the force-field that had spread to encompass his body. Didn’t stop the burning heat from seeping through, or the painful impact as he landed on the ground.

And I guess we’re doing this now, he thought bitterly. Jon rolled with the impact, coming up in a crouch. Galo had her blaster pistol aimed at the duros’ head, and her finger was on the trigger. The Captain pulled a long, thing dagger from his boot, and sent it spinning through the air. The blunt end collided with the blaster pistol, knocking it out of her hand, and sending it clattering along the ground.

Galo immediately reached for the rifle on her back, but froze in place when she saw Jon had pointed both his vambraces at the woman. He had both blasters charged and read, but didn’t fire. Not yet.

“Listen, Emere,” he said, all levity gone from his voice. “I get it. I’ve got no particular love for slavers either,” never mind that he still wasn’t convinced that this guy was even who she thought he was - for all Jon may have despised the slave trade, even he had to admit it paid well, and yet Jon could see the ribs through this man’s ragged clothing. “My grandfather had a knife stuck through his heart by one, so believe me when I say I get it. But you can’t just put a blaster bolt between this scum’s eyes eyes and call it done! Who does that help!”

“It helps me,” Galo spat, “And it at least gives his victim’s some kind of justice.”

“You’re crazy, you’re both crazy!” the duros shouted in horror, trying in vain to pull himself free of his cuffs.

“Be quiet, you slave driving scum!” Emere growled, slamming her fist into the duros’ face, causing the man to fall to his knees - only the cuffs on his wrist were still holding him up. Jon winced, but still didn’t fire, not when Galo didn’t move to continue her assault. It was the most outward emotion Jon had seen from the woman since this whole affair had started. Not that he could blame her given the circumstances, of course, but if the duros died then there went his payday.

The woman was angry, and had a right to be, but this was… unhealthy.

“Walk me through this,” Jon said, rising to his feet. He relaxed his arms a bit, but didn’t take the aim from his vambraces off of her, nor did he deactivate the blasters. He wanted to talk this out, but he was willing to bring it to a fight if he had to. Worse came to worst, well… there was always the stun grenade he kept in his belt. “How exactly do you know this is even the right guy?”

Emere’s jaw was taut as her weight shifted to one foot. Her dark eyes cut to the Duros who looked like he’d seen better days. This one might be his last. “Go on, tell him, Nag Saiglim.” The name was different than the one featured on the bounty database, but there was no mistake. This was the guy who ran cargo routes as a launder to hide what they were actually transporting; people. Despite his efforts to try to keep his trail clean, Emere discovered his past after searching tirelessly.

The Duros looked at her with terror in his eyes, his arms beginning to rattle within the cuffs. “O-okay,” he stammered. “I ain’t proud of it, b-b-but i-it’s true. I ran a few routes in the Outer Rim and Hutt space. Never put a hand on those poor people-”

“No. You just used them for money,” the major spat, her eyes cutting to Jon, who still had his vambraces aimed at her.

“Y-yes. Just let me go, I ain’t never been a slaver. I left that life behind years ago. Saw the damage it did, faked my death, and got outta there. Just please, please don’t kill me.”

The tattooed woman shook her head, narrowing her eyes at Jon whose grip tightened on his gun. “I want what’s in your head before I start doing you favors. Eight years ago. My daughter was on one of your damn manifests and I’m looking for who she was delivered to first.” Despite her daughter being back safe and alive, her thirst for revenge was overwhelming. There would be no justice until every slaver in the galaxy was dead and she wanted to start with the ones that hurt her girl.

"You think they keep records of manifests that old?! You're mad, woman!"

"Wrong answer." The human woman sighed as she aimed her blaster rifle and fired off two shots at each of his knees. The Duros cried in pain, music to the Illohian's ears. Focused on her target, she missed the stun grenade clink and land in front of her feet. The moment the device detonated both the alien and Galo went temporarily blind. The soldier recovered a few seconds later, her teeth bared as a sharp pain in her neck. She yanked the vambrace projectile from the skin, blood trickling down her neck from the wound. By now, whatever was on the tip was quickly making its way through her system.

Emere looked to her acquaintance-turned-adversary, her E-22 sights laser-focused on him. Despite her best effort, her finger failed to pull the trigger. Already, she could feel her left hand gradually losing its function. “The hell was in that thing?”

“Sorry, you’ve taken it too far, Emere,” Jon said, letting out a disappointed sigh. “Don’t worry. It’s a paralysis dart. It may have a hallucinogenic with it but that won’t matter if you can’t move.” The man moved as though his defenses were still up. Her right hand speedily clicked open her antidote kit, recovering a hypospray injector, plunging the thing into her leg. There wouldn’t be any hallucinations. Tossing the used container aside, she began to approach Silvon, stumbling down onto all fours as though she just had one too many drinks.

“You’re not taking this away from me,” she uttered through grit teeth. Each foot felt a ton as she got back to her feet.

“You don’t think you’d lose a lot more chasing this fever dream of yours?”

Of course, there were things to be lost and that would happen if she chased revenge or not. The woman lunged for Jon with her vibroblade drawn, her aggressive movements sluggish because of the effects of the dart.