Gang Trouble

[Krrowv]

It took a special kind of stupid, Krrowv reflected as he mentally kicked himself for the millionth time, to get involved with people calling themselves the Broken Skulls.

In his defense, he'd been desperate, and for a good reason. His mate's life had been on the line, and he'd been willing to take on any debt and make any sacrifice to save her. And look how well that turned out, some bitter part of his mind sneered, and he had no answer. All that was left was pain and a credit balance so solidly in the red that it was difficult to know where to even start fixing it. He had nothing to offer and he was out of time, so he was falling back on bargaining. He knew that was many a criminal's last step before ending up as a grisly decoration on some crime lord's wall, a direct reminder of the price of failure for all the other underlings, but he was short on options.

Nar Shaddaa had serious risks even in the glitzy parts: pickpockets, con artists, drugged drinks and back alley organ clinics. This was not a ritzy part. The warehouse where he was due to meet with the Broken Skulls was dilapidated even by Hutt Space standards. He would say that it'd seen better days, but he wasn't entirely convinced that it ever actually had. The durasteel roof had worn through in places, leaving puddles of acidic water on the ground where factory-polluted rain had gotten in. The side door was stuck partway open, but still beeped halfheartedly and wiggled in its frame when someone approached. Abandoned crates with broken seals leaked the stench of rotten fruit.

Standing awkwardly beside one of the crates, Krrowv tried to consider what he would say to the speeder gangers. He didn't have the money, and he didn't have any immediate way to get it - though they didn't have to know the second part. He'd spoken with a gang representative, a half-Ryn called [member="Jen"], a few times before, and he was willing to bet that she'd be along this time, too. She was a canny one. If he tried to lie too much, she'd see right through him. Even if he could fight his way out, and while he was strong and skilled with a blade he'd be heavily outnumbered, there would be little point; they would just call for his head all the sooner, and he couldn't fight them all.

No, he was going to have to think fast and hope that the Broken Skulls had more use for him alive than dead.

 

[Jen]

[member="Krrowv"]

The side door of the rotting building shook as the sounds of heavily tuned speeders reverberated through the streets of the warehouse district. The roars increasing steadily in strength as the group approached. Soon the mechanical thumping from the engines slowed in pace, the fumes from highly toxic fuels filling the air as the pistons within the motors came to a halt and eventually stopped, the speeders turning off.

Moments afterwards, a pair of enormous hands belonging to a massive Karkarodon grabbed the side of the partway open door and ripped it to the side, flinging the corroding door open and in turn revealing itself and the sight of six other members of the Broken Skulls Speeder Club along with the vechicles they were disembarking.

It was night on these parts of the smuggler’s moon and yet the neon lights from the behemoth skyscrapers above and the street lights that was planted by the curb still lit the warehouse up considerably now that the door was open.

Among the broad shouldered members, Jennifer stood. Her amber gaze lazily searching the warehouse as she took off her brain bucket and hung it from the handlebars of her modified and custom made speeder. Jen was in her mid twenties and was known as one of the more influential members of the gang on Nar Shaddaa. Her face was gaunt and eyes devoid of emotion as if fatigued. Stretching up her long neck several tattoos were visible, the sight of them only obscured by her stark white hair that was cut to a mid-neck length.

“He’s alone.” A gruff voice belonging to a Devaronian echoed as members of the gang approached Krrowv, the rest making sure no ambush had been planned as they checked behind crates and dented barrels. As if a signal, Jen slowly strode towards the Togorian as well, stopping a few steps away from the tall smuggler, her hands grabbing a pack of deathsticks from the innards of her leather jacket, lighting one while placing the cylinder between her lips.

“Enjoying your time on Nar Shaddaa?” She asked as way of introduction, finally taking a drag from the stick and blowing out a cloud of thick smoke afterwards.