Rains of Coruscant

[Morain]

"Where's the drink?" Alar thought to himself waiting by the counter of one of the mundane bars of coruscant which littered every corner of most streets in this particular part of the city. If one ever stops to talk to anyone from a planet relatively close to coruscant, but have not had the good or bad luck to go there. You will be bombarded with dreams of going and seeing it, families saving up for a visit or simply the comparison of any local government to the utopia that is the ecumenopolis. Their only source of information of course is whatever the media let slip. Turning the information into nothing more than a pretty painted picture. The higher levels where the nobility and riches grow fat in their leisure, might be considered a utopia. If you are one of those who can enjoy said luxury. The rest is of course hidden in the lower portions of the city. The parts that aren't broadcast across the systems. The lower class lives there mostly in squalor and unreasonable work hours and environment and they vent their aggression at said bars.
Alar was sent to coruscant by a council of people he has never even met. Just seen passing by in the academy. It takes them weeks if not months finding a master to tutor padawans, but only a day to send 2 padawans on a mission to a different system. Expecting them to use their own personal ship for the commute, Which only the padawans from the richest families could afford.
The loud rhythmic beating of the bass heavy music were slowly giving way to the noises of escalating fights between drunks. and amidst that stood the other padawan. His heavy muscular body was turning every which way trying to decide which bar fight is the one he is meant to stop before it grows beyond whatever scope of law he thought was meant to govern this place. Out of all the possible fresh padawans Alar could get stuck with. Jera was the one he would most likely pick. Even when it comes to the Jedi order that teaches its disciples humility alongside the dangers of emotions and feelings. Younglings, Padawans, Knights and even some of the masters remained arrogant and competitive. Jera was not one of them.


[member="Barret Jera"]

 

[Barret]

Barret had heard stories about the most glorious city in the galaxy. None of them really compared to the truth. He had no sooner come up with a plan of action to break up one brawl before he had spotted another one.
"Do you want to maybe help me with this?"
He turned to his rookie partner as he gestured to the rowdie crowd. Morain merely grumbled and lumbered the lip of the glass to his own. Barret shot out a hand to stop Morain from taking a drink, but in his hastiness almost slammed the drink into the counter.
"You shouldn't be drinking right now! You shouldn't be drinking at all!"
Barret looked at his fellow padawan, who merely looked back at him with indignation.
"Fine, I can handle a bar fight by my self." He hesitated, "Regulations say we're supposed to cover each other's backs, you know."
When Morain didn't reply he threw his hands up in frustration and took a step towards the nearest source of commotion. He immediately stepped back, grabbed the drink from the counter, and after hesitating one last time, poured it on the floor. He figured that with how sticky it was already, no one was going to mind.
Barret postured and tried to look as respectable as he could muster, standing over two squabbling patrons. As they looked up at him all the heat drained from their faces.
"We don't want no trouble master Jedi! We'll behave!"
The pair scurried off before Barret could make a sound. Mixed emotions ran through Barret's head. A Jedi should solve conflict peacefully. With words. Not through intimidation and menacing scowls. The results were undeniable, unfortunately, a menacing face can just as easily rouse fights as it can quell them.

A hand is placed on Barret's shoulder.

[member="Alar Morain"]

 

[Morain]

Getting that one drink took a good 15 minutes if not 20. It felt like it at the very least. Alar looked at the remains of what once might have resembled a napkin holder. with its side and top broken off so that one could see the already wet and stained napkins, and resigned himself to his fate.

The Order provided clothes for their members with the thought in mind that one was not meant to attach themselves to belongings. So the various pants tunics and robes came in rather dreary colours and shades. It was nearly as if they were trying to depress their younger members. Luckily darker things tended to have bad associations in the mind of the average consumer of light side threads boutique, and so Alar managed to snatch a black tunic with a white tabard over it. Well in any way it was a white tabard before an overzealous padawan spilled deep purple on it.

"We don't want any trouble master Jedi! We'll behave!"

Making his way towards Jera was a Kel Doran male. The crowd of drunkards gaping at the new attraction that seemed to be a jedi, did not slow his massive form down one bit. A good foot taller than the crowd and nearly twice as wide as Jera, wearing an oxygen mask adorned with 2 spikes hanging towards his collarbone customary to the Kel Dor people outside of their native planet, and the tattoos that seemed to flow along his face down his arms and torso until they either ended in a loop or simply fell beneath the dark tank top he was wearing. The crowd of drunkards currently gaping at the man proclaimed to be a jedi, got annoyed as they were pushed out of the way, but the moment they saw what had pushed them. They scrambled away with bows and apologies.

Alar couldn't help but smile at the quickly pacified crowd of drunks. He was starting to get a headache from all the noise. The bartender nodded appreciatively at the credits placed in his hand and went away to serve other customers. On that note Alar decided to stand up and walk over to the man placing his hand on Barrets shoulder. A deep voice as if speaking through a communication device came from the mask worn by the Man. "He is ready to speak to you."
Alar locked eyes with him, or at least the goggles covering those eyes. "Lead the way." Alar said getting ready to follow.

They were lead by a dim, although neon lit spiraling stair case, into a smoke filled room with music that was neither as loud nor as fast as the one upstairs, even if it was as bass heavy. sitting on a circular couch around a broad table sat 4 different aliens. A togruta, a twi'lek, an Ithorian and a wookie. "My name is Zic. I am the proprietor of the house of salacious repute in question. I shall try to answer all your question to the best of my ability master Jedis." He took a sip from a glass with clear brown liquid and looked towards them expectantly.

[member="Barret Jera"]

 

[Barret]

'Why are we working with scum such as yourself in the first place?' was Barret's immediate thought, but he bit his tongue.

His eyes wandered to the guard standing by the door. Besides the, most likely illegal, firearm proudly displayed on the guard's hip, Barret noted several bulges in odd places of the man's clothing. Despite not being any sort of expert on xenobiology, he still concluded that the guard had to be carrying enough steel to refit several droids with new plating.

He adopted a ready stance but turned his attention back to the conversation that they had come here to have, just in time to catch the tail end of a sentence spoken by their slithery host.

"-somewhat mutilated."

When they had first entered the room Barret had thought it's occupants fairly menacing, but he could have sworn he heard Zic's voice waiver - just the tiniest bit - as he let go off the last word. Indeed there was sweat on his brow, and his brow had a worried crease that most would have mistaken for a wrinkle. Most would have disregarded the sweat as a product of the warm Coruscant underbelly, but their sort wasn't the type to be bothered by stifling conditions or unsavoury business. The sort that deals in the lives of others.

"Define somewhat." Barret interjected, hoping not to reveal too apparently his lack of attention towards the topic at hand.

"Well, these corpses, at first glance seem to merely have had their necks snapped. Which isn't all that odd. Unfortunate of course, acquiring new... Product... Puts a strain on our finances, but it's unavoidable to have these sorts of things happen from time to time, and one learns to account for it,"

The way Zic talked about his "business" made Barret's stomach churn. As if these lives were merely numbers in his ledger. Unfortunately as far as Barret knew, all of this was legal. If Zic were to slip up and and mention even the slightest hint of illicit activity, Barret would enjoy the subsequent interrogation immensely. Zic seemed to have played this game before, however, and was very careful to avoid any word that could lead the conversation down the wrong path.

"The guts," Zic continued "however, are what made our doctors throw up their, well, their own guts."

Underbelly doctors were notorious for being available for any job. Your hand exploded into pink ribbons? They could sew you up. Your intestines are hanging out through your bottom end? 15 minutes later and your insides were your own once more. Their customer base required extreme discretion, and if you had the stomach and tight lips, you could lead a life almost as luscious as the one lived by the surface dwelling Coruscant elite.

"Our doctors are accustomed to the grotesque, but the insides of these corpses looked like they had been put through a blender. And it wasn't just our girls that suffered this gruesome fate, but several of our esteemed patrons and a handful of our bravest guards."

Barret caught a glimpse of Steely shifting nervously in the doorway.

"Unlucky for you, no witness seems to be alive to tell you the tale of what transpired that evening."

Barret dropped his stance and took a step towards Zic.

"Then why are we even down here soliciting with you lot?!"

Zic seemed to regain some of his sleazy confidence with that outburst. He straightened out in his chair, swirled his drink a little, pretended to bask in its aroma for a moment, before shooting Barret a wry smile.

"Oh did I say no witness? I meant that the one person who survived that night is a nobody. A janitor of no importance. The fool hasn't spoken since and last I heard he was holed up in his withering little apartment somewhere deep within one of the machine sectors."

Barret had no patience for his type. He wasn't cut out for this part of the job. He even preferred patrolling the citadel over trading words with these degenerates. A show of force would probably help loosen up Zic's tongue. Before he had realized it Barret's hand was hovering towards his lightsaber, but before anything could come of it Morain's hand was firmly grasping his arm. Morain played it off as if he were himself merely getting impatient, trying to diffuse the spiking tension in the room.

Slightly paler than before, Zic finished, "You're welcome to find out what he has to say, if he's speaking at all that is to say. But if you'll excuse me I have an institute to mend. You'll find his address on this chip. I trust you'll find your own way back through where Terror lead you."

Sighing deeply, Barret turned with Morain to exit the office. Terror moved eagerly out of their way. He seemed to have shrank down a bit in the time since they first met him, and seemed to be feeling a bit of his own namesake rather than inspiring it.

These people weren't dumb. The dumb don't rise to notoriety, and picking an unnecessary fight with a couple of Jedis is not common practice for those that practice smart business. Still, they had an image to maintain, and showing their 'best' side to the Jedis was necessary to maintain a healthy reputation among their customers and more importantly, their debtors.

Once they had walked a short way away, Barret finally turned to Morain and thanked him. "I was out of line back there." Morain simply smiled at him. "It seems the janitor is our only lead then. Do you think we'll get any answers out him?" Barret asked.

[member="Alar Morain"]

 

[Morain]

"It seems the janitor is our only lead then. Do you think we'll get any answers out him?" Barret asked.
“Won't know until we find him, I think.” Alar responded as he made his way towards their rented speeder. He opened the door and sat down behind the steering wheel. “Are you sure you should be the one flying?” Barret asked him with a sceptical look occupying his face.
“Its fine get in.”

Alar reached towards the music player and turned it on. It played a similar type of music to what could be heard in your standard coruscant night club, albeit a slower version. He pressed the button to turn on the engine and launched them into the middle of air traffic. He reached for the datapad affixed to the cars dash board and typed in their destination to help guide them.

As they flew the traffic and active cityscape started to blend into a vivid show of lights. An incredible amount of adverds were splattered all around them. Usually a light background affixed with figures or forms in deeper colours towards the middle trying to catch a consumers eye. Most of them focused on selling material possessions. From time to time one could spot a more salacious type of ad. A form of a pink twi'lek on a turqoise background fell out of sight blowing Alar and Jera a kiss just as he rounded a corner. Noticing Jeras nervousness he decided he should most likely keep his eyes ahead. So he focused on the surrounding traffick whilst enjoying the deep rhythm of the bass coming from the speakers.

The twi'lek stuck to his mind however. “So Jera how do you feel about prostitution?” Alar felt that the blunt out of nowhere approach often provoked amusing responses. Barret seemed not to be phased by the question, and even more relaxed now that he stopped thinking about how they were not flying on autopilot. He took a moment to compose his thoughts. “I feel that the practice in itself isn't inherently evil. It does end up bringing a lot of heinous sort out of the wood works though. Also how many of the workers do you think do it out of their own will? How many are victims of human trafficking or simply to misfortune?”
“Don't you think that might be due to the fact that it is outlawed? There has always been a demand for it in our society regardless of it being frowned upon or banned. The demand seems to be enticing enough to persist regardless of the laws governments seem to put on them. I feel it might end up drawing nefarious personalities to it due to being banned yet incredibly lucrative.”
Alar remarked as he swirved out of the way of a reckless driver who surely was not a jedi with the privilage of not having to fly on autopilot. Taking a breath he continued.
“I know it doesn't seem to be much better in the societies that don't outlaw it. Paying for sexual favours comes with both a certain entitlement as to what fetishes one can fulfill as well as a lot of sexual frustration that might end up hurting the poor soul that had to resort to this kind of life.” Alar stopped for a breath before continuing what seemed to be a monologue.
"This kind of practice helps release a lot of dangerous lust. Maybe prostitutes wouldn't have to resort to finding themselves protection from people who end up abusing them even more, if the government provided them with those services."
Barret looked at him and answered with a short yet sweet *I guess.*

The heavy traffic and the advert imigery started whitling down as they approached the machine sectors. The machine sectors were not designed to benefit of off sentient species, as the previous sectors were. The machine sectors were largely used to store the various drones and robots that maintained the planet in its somewhat sanitary state. They consisted mostly of open spaces for the robots to fly and manouver around eachother, but still did possess some catwalks and open spaces for humans to traverse. Built on the lowest levels of the ecumenopolis meant that from above it was a cannopy of structures that covered the entirety of the sector, which meant that it was free from phenomenons like bad weather. Combination of little human traffic or policing, with the vast amounts of large crevices meant that the catwalks ultimately made for some of the cleanest and most well maintained slums in the galaxy.

After flying deeper in. Amongst the plethora of machinery making its way towards their tasks and labour. Alar switched on the autopilot to help pull them in next to the catwalk that seemed to lead towards the opening to which Zic so casually and sarcastically referred to as the janitors apartment.

Along these hanging streets various forms could be seen walking or even lumbering towards unknown destinations. From time to time one could even spot figures lying down in seemingly random places. Most likely junkies who didn't make it to their litte urban caves before the drugs overpowered their bodies and/or minds. Coruscant was infamous for the ease with which one could acquire deathsticks.

Making his way forward Alar could feel his muscles start to tense. A nagging feeling arose in the back of his mind trying to convince him that the actual way where he should be going is backwards towards the speeder. His stomach started to raise and tie itself in a knot, his breathing and stride slowed as to make less sounds. Taking a moment to try and figure out what was the cause of his neusence he focused on all of his senses. Then it hit him. It wasn't just his survival instinct. He wasn't paying much attention to his sixth sense and so it kept on increasing the warning. The force was in his arsenal regardless of whether he focused on it or didn't.
“Jera, something isn't right. Be wary of danger.”

They kept on moving until the datapad attached to his wrist indicated that they are in front of the particular crevice they were moving towards. Alar inspected the square opening in a durasteel wall that kept on going inside with the pattern of reverse steps. He took a step forward, keeping the warning in mind. The interior decorator unfortunately did not seem to like putting in lights to help navigate through this cave. Which seemed odd. One would think he would want to advertise that this perticular cave is his property, else some other poor souls might constantly keep wandering inn in search of a place to settle down. In the process annoying the current host. Slowly but surely they were overtaken with darkness. Alar reached towards his light drone, but the force made him hesitate. So instead he placed his hand on the surface of smooth and cool dura steel wall that started to reverse its pattern from opening to closing into a smaller space. In the distance he spotted a low flickering gray light. As he got closer, the light turned out to be a little screen flashing some sort of local entertainment facing what seemed to be a prone figure.

The male human moved to sit up. As a result the blanket he was under slid of off him revealing the rest of his body. What parts of him that were still flesh did not have anything in between them and his bones. From what used to be half his ribs metallic prosthetics jutted out to form a skeleton. The prosthetics Alar has seen on various members or friends of the jedi order were full bodied and no corners were cut preparing them. In comparison this seemed as if the man was about to fall apart any second. He could see the gray light illuminate the wall behind the man through his body.

Alar moved closer to the man and coughed announcing his presence. To his surprise the man wasn't startled by the 2 figures emerging from the dark into the little light that the small screen provided. Instead he just stared blankly towards them.
“My name is Alar and that is Barret. We are Jedis with the order, here to investigate the details of the incident that took place in the establishment that used to employ you.*
At first the man did not react. Alar was about to open his mouth to speak again when the janitor locked eyes with his, opened his mouth and pointed to a burned stump of a tongue. He proceeded to close his mouth and turned his head once again towards the screen.

A dead end in the investigation so soon after its start was frustrating. Alar took a moment to settle down his emotions, in his mind hearing in his fathers voice. “There is only peace.” The old ironic mantra seemed to help even if it left a distaste in his mouth. “Think clearly. Investigate.” He thought to himself. The tongue seemed freshly cut out and cautorized. He must have annoyed the wrong person with his rambling after the fact, or perhaps someone tried to keep him quiet. Alar took out a datapad. Opened up a writing program on it and tried handing it to the man. The janitor looked at it without interest and again turned his head towards the screen.

All of a sudden the force seemed to get agitated around them. Something was coming. "Barret can you feel it?"

[member="Barret Jera"]

 

[Barret]

Unheeding of Morain's warning, Barret knelt down next to the dilapidated man. “Please, I implore you, it's important that we get to the bottom of this.” The man was unfazed. “Whatever thing that was, that caused that event at the establishment was extremely dangerous.” The man stole a glance towards Barret's eyes and shifted nervously in his seat. “It still is, it's out there, somewhere. Whatever it is, it could strike again, putting untold lives at risk.”

The man was slow to sit up, his augmentations creaking with the effort. He hesitantly motioned for the datapad from Morain. Morain handed it over and eagerly observed the man as he started typing. Barret smiled in relief. But as soon the man had picked in the first word, Barret felt a slight wind rustle through the room. He blinked. There was a dagger standing out of the man's chest, blood and prosthetic oil oozing out over his exposed ribs. The man drew sharp, rasp breaths, and immediately started slumping backwards. Barret looked at Morain, who was fixated on the man.

Barret jumped up, the knife had passed right between them, an expert throw, unless it had been intended for either of the two Jedis. “Watch over him, try to curb the bleeding!” Barret exclaimed as he ran for the door. As he exited the apartment, he only caught a quick glimpse of a moving shadow. It moved fast, whatever it was, but Barret wasn't one to be deterred from a chase. Finally a chance to spread his wings a bit. He took off after it, the gap closing in seconds.
“Stop where you are! Or I will be authorized to utilize deadly force!” No one ever took the warning seriously, but it was protocol. All he heard in response from this one was a quick giggle.
“Alright then, I'm happy to oblige a receptive audience!” In an instant he was on top of the shadow, his lightsaber a glowing blur where the assailants legs were. Except they weren't. The shadow moved deftly out of the way, body contorted to an uncomfortable degree. Barret swung again, this time aiming to fulfill his earlier promise of brute force, he had no intention of underestimating this opponent. The shadow lit up. A red blade caught Barret's swing just as it was about to land on its torso.

In the combined light of the two sabers Barret noted that it was a young devaronian woman, her eyes a pale orange, locked with his. Leveraging his weight against her, he managed to lead her into a small enclave as they unlocked their blades. Her stance was ready to face him, but Barret could tell already from the blow they exchanged, she was no match for him. Barret had her cornered, and he intended on not wasting this chance. “Who are you?” He began, “Who are you working fo-” He hastily continued before she abrubtly interrupted him. “My, my, aren't we an eager one, young Jedi.” Barret's face grew hot, his brow drawing tighter together. Lifting his saber, illuminating his face, he repeated his question. “Who are you?”

The sithling gulped, a slightly worried crease in her forehead. “You're not mad about that whole stabbing business, are you?” Barret tightened his grip on the saber. The sithling didn't miss a beat. “I mean, surely if you wanted to keep him alive, a Jedi would have no problems stopping such a simple blade, right?” Barret's gaze faltered. A devious smirk spread over the young woman's lips. “Maybe you wanted him dead, when he refused to talk, it must have have been exceedingly frustrating. Tsk, tsk, not very Jedi of you at all, no, no.” Barret wouldn't stand for these accusations. “I would never let an innocent person die because of my own emotions!” Barret could feel anger, tugging at his soul. No, he couldn't, would not, let this monster get the better of him. “Your dark tricks were messing with my senses! I couldn't feel the blade at all!” A bold faced lie, Barret wasn't very adept at sensing through the force, but he wasn't about to divulge that to this dangerous assassin.

“There was no trick boy. Only a true throw of my blade. Maybe you're just incompetent.” Her words lingered in the air a moment before she finally added. “But two incompetent Jedi? On the same mission? I've never had a high opinion of Jedi but this is just too rich!”

Barret didn't reply. Her words were dripping poison into his mind. Morain, why hadn't he caught the blade? She wasn't wrong, for most Jedi catching that blade wouldn't have been difficult. Barret wasn't any good at sensing, but last he knew, Morain was extremely adept.

His hesitation cost him his leverage. The sithling had already disappeared, a faint cackle in the steam was all that remained of her. Barret drooped his shoulders. He let her get inside his head. A resistance to force manipulation is useless if you're no good at versing your opponent verbally. His saber seemed to mirror his mood as it whimpered off with an unsatisfying sizzle.

Back at the janitor's apartment he met with Morain. “The janitor?” Barret inquired, but Morain merely shook his head. Barret couldn't help but detect a hint of frustration coming from Morain, but he dismissed it as probably just himself projecting. “I'm sorry, I let her slip away. I didn't even manage to coax a name out of her.” Barret sat dejectedly on a chair facing the half corpse, half pile of scraps that was the late janitor.

The pernicious blade sticking out of him as if to taunt the two Jedi for failing their mission.

[member="Alar Morain"]

 

[Morain]

[SIZE=11pt]When Alar let go of the datapad he could feel how feeble the man’s hands were; as the grasped the datapad they buckled under its weight, and it dropped on his barely spindly metallic prostheses. They were partially draped by a thick blanket that stretched all the way to the wall, which served as the support for his back. Most likely so that whatever parts of him could still feel cold, would not touch up against the steel wall of the cave. Alar could hear Barret trying to encourage any sort of response. Their hope at receiving any answers vanished when Alar started paying attention to what was being written. In fact he wasn’t typing anything at all. He was just pressing his fingers against the screen. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Something didn’t fit. This shell of a man could not have been working at any point during the last two to three weeks. He seemed weak and frail. He did not even seem to have control over his own motor functions. Alar focused on the force, trying to find the nuanced waves created by a conscious mind. It took him awhile to find them. They were much less pronounced than waves of a sentient mind should have been. He focused on the waves flowing through his mind. Usually the waves had patterns pointing to thoughts, rather than just instincts and emotions. There were some, but much less than expected. Letting his sense be carried by the flow, he started surveilling the minds contents to the best of his ability. Something was wrong indeed. His mind seemed to be disjointed beyond the point of repair. Alar could feel himself struggling at maintaining focus. Flying from one part to another. In between those parts he could feel a torrent of force flinging wildly about. Eroding at whatever was left of this man. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Too late did he feel the warnings of the force. Barret did not go deal with the disturbance he felt earlier it seemed, and fate came to reap what their incompetence saw. A blade came darting between them. It sunk in between two of his ribs. His eyes grew with shock, or with a returning fear, that the presence inspired in him. He started to gasp for air as his lungs filled with blood. Causing him to slowly drown. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]Alar wasn’t quite sure what was happening. He heard a voice say something. Seconds later he heard another voice. This one clear enough to make out the words. “Why are you putting obstacles in your own way Alar?” He hadn’t heard this voice for many years, and he knew it wasn’t really there anyway. It was enough to bring him back to conscious thought. He looked around in a reflexive attempt to return his mind to the present situation. The moment he did, his eyes went darting back to the janitor, who barely seemed to be holding onto consciousness. Barret was gone. No doubt charging after the would be murderer. He could hold his own in a fight with almost anyone. The best thing for Alar to do is to try and get more information. “How!?” He thought with despair starting to enter his mind. There was nothing even a jedi could do. There seemed no way to keep the man alive. Not with what was at hand anyway. He grabbed the blanket covering the mans feet, and pressed it to the wound. He was more likely to drown than bleed out anyway. Pressing his hands against the chest, he could feel the heart beating less powerfully, with every passing moment. There is nothing he can do. “Obstacles” he thought. In desperation he came to a cruel realization. There was nothing he could as a Jedi. Their code was so limiting. “Peace is a lie Alar.” He heard a different voice say. This voice felt warmer, more feminine, affectionate. It felt melancholic. He did not enjoy pressuring the force to do as he wanted. It caused unpleasant waves that affected the living. It could also potentially lead the force into a sort of storm; a storm that kept the force as its prisoner. Releasing more and more of said waves.The quantity required for that however was much more than he dared to use, or so he hoped. He focused yet again on the force. Trying to find the force flowing through the mind of the barely conscious ex-janitor. Even with the mind slowly fading away, focusing on the instincts and emotions was easier for having found it earlier. His instincts were now one large wave. The most basic one. Fear. Letting himself be guided along those uncomfortable waves, Alar looked for a memory that inspired an equal reaction. It wasn’t terribly hard to locate it, due to it being a fresh trauma. Accessing it was a different matter. Not only was it more difficult, but it was also mostly forbidden. Especially for a non master. Taking care not to pull too harshly on the force. The padawan directed it at the wall blocking the memory off. The force being forcibly run along it, had a rapidly corrosive effect, and soon the memory started entering Alars own mind. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]He found himself in a room filled with women. Each sitting in a chair facing a mirror, or next to a wardrobe picking out skimpy outfits. They were of various races and sizes. All seemed to somewhat fit a standard or stereotype that their respective species seemed to find attractive. He himself kept glancing over at a olive skinned twi’lek trying on clothes. They didn’t seem to mind his presence. In fact they even seemed to regard him as if he was a service droid. The Twi’lek stood up and started walking towards an entrance to another room that was at the far end of this one. Alar felt the need to follow her. To stay close, Maybe she would notice him and smile. Maybe today she would even greet him like she did last week. He started picking up various clothes from the floor in that direction. As soon as he got close enough to peek into the shower room. He heard noise. Turning around he saw a commotion on the other side. A bothan man hold a mirialan girl by her neck. He was screaming at her, and the girls all started slowly moving away. The Twi’lek came to the curtain that she didn’t use to cover the shower room. This time she drew it so that she would be less visible, but open enough to satiate her own curiosity. Her eyes locked with Alars, and feeling emboldened, he started moving towards the thugs. A hand grasped his elbow and caused him to stop. The twi’lek was clutching him, with worry in her eyes, and shook her head. His heart started racing, his thoughts started to run away from his grasp, and so did his breath. He could feel his throat clench together as if something was pressing it together. In fact something was pressing against his throat. He focused on the Twi’lek again and she too was struggling for air. The mysterious pressure started to press against the rest of his body. Steadily increasing in strength. He started feeling pain in the parts that still had nerves. He could hear his prostheses starting to fall in on itself under the pressure. The twi’lek was crying. Her beautiful eyes were large with terror. Her ribs broke audibly, and blood started flowing out her mouth. Soon her ears and eyes also started to give way to streams of blood. All of a sudden her wonderful form fell in on itself completely. So did the rest of the women in the room, as well as the thugs. The only people left not crushed was himself. Saved by his metal prostheses, and the miralan girl who was wildly pulling at her long dark hair whilst weeping on the floor.. [/SIZE]

[SIZE=11pt]“The janitor?” Barrets voice ripped Alar out of his trance, and back into the real world. He had to take a moment to shake the horror of watching the twi’lek being crushed in front of his eyes, as well as the remnants of emotions left from the janitor.[/SIZE]
[SIZE=11pt]“He’s going to die in a minute or two. He managed to tell me that we are looking for a miralan girl who used to work as a stripper at the joint.” [/SIZE]

[SIZE=14.6667px][member="Barret Jera"][/SIZE]