Prince of Katarr
The further down you went, the less likely you were to see the sun. It was permanently dark in some places, towering hunks of metal raising from up on high casting such a large shadow, that it rarely even poked through the sun. It made for quite a depressing place. And quite a depressing people, for the most part.
But some people liked the dark. Some aliens preferred it- the sunlight of Coruscant, some more sensitive. But, they all stayed down there, down dark. Down and out of sight. And it was where Nej liked to be. Coruscant was packed with all sorts of do-gooders now. Reconstruction, the war, the threats from around the Alliance- put the whole planet on edge.
Hell, they just survived- barely, an onslaught by the Empire not too long ago.
So, everything was topsy-turvy. But things were also good.
If you were bad.
Nej had no real need of money, anymore. No, he was a billionaire. Literally. Billions. But he was an old soul, a classic career scoundrel. He couldn't resist the temptation anymore, the things he liked to do. So, he had gotten wind of a deal- a deal being made, one that he could intercept. Coruscant was home to a myriad of Empires, governments, groups. They all came, built something great, got worked over by someone else, taken over, then pushed out, or forgotten about and broken apart.
The weapons shipment- and more importantly, scuttlebutt that it was Kyber that was the hot commodity, from possibly the Republic, or First Order- or Sith Order (no. 455151) that controlled the planet at one point or another. But Kyber and weapons could do what money couldn't in Nej's position: favors. Favors bought you what money couldn't, hands shaking over credits wasn't as good as hands shaking over Kyber or weapons. So, Nej wanted to get a little piece of that.
So, Nej, red jacket, helmet ready to go, two disruptors and his enforcer pistol, and a bit of other scoundrel gadgets, walked along 1125... intending to meet up at one of the many older warehouses that lined Coruscant's dirty, disgusting, no-good streets. He turned his head, making sure he wasn't being followed. 1125 was a dangerous place, and he was liable to be ambushed on his way to his ambush just as much.
He didn't know how many were inside, who was inside, and what was going on really- but he knew one thing:
He hadn't met anyone faster on a gun than him, yet.
Yet.
And if there was someone faster-
Well.
That'd be it. Wouldn't have to worry about anything anymore, hm?