Lysle of the Hydian Way
Silent and Violent
He had been here before.
A million times, a million years ago, or so it felt. The dimly lit corridor burned with a devilish glow of neon crimson. The light flickered, as though it were about to quickly fade, but it never did. A durasteel bar blocked the path with a door set on its right. To its left and behind was a window, beside it a door. The bar was no real means of defense, more-so to keep the looters, burglars and thugs out. This was, after all, Nar Shaddaa.
Behind the closed gate and door was a small fight club dedicated to shockboxing. It was no coincidence it was a mere block from Frida's Cantina, not that the owner of the establishment ever visited anymore. Lysle of the Hydian Way was a man in hiding. Millions of credits sat on his head, waiting. While he may yearn to see his old friends once more, [member="Jen"] and [member="Isaac Ideus"], he swatted away the urge to relive past memories. He did had no intention of making himself an obvious target.
Had he a dozen goons defending his every move, elaborate and well-guarded safehouses, he wouldn't be hard to find. In the backstreets of Nar Shaddaa, where a face like his was easy to be lost in the surging crowds, he was just another nobody. The owner of the local ring, and nothing more.
Lysle reached into his pocket, scrounging about for the keys. They were metal and horribly cold, an ancient form of key that had gone out of date thousands of years ago. Unlike the cards primarily used as keys, the pair of metal keys in his pocket were harder to replicate. Not many locksmiths these days made keys like those. With a twist of the wrist, the door unlocked.
