The Coruscant undercity was a place most would never choose to spend much time in. It was dark, dirty, and seemed to tremble with the hopelessness of millions of inhabitants. Entire generations would live, and die, in the shadows of the glittering city above— never seeing the sky, or feeling a breeze against their skin.
The undercity was a place that the wealthy forgot about, even the Jedi, with all their pretentious claims of truth and justice, rarely ventured into the bowels of the urban planet. It was the perfect place to get lost in. It was the perfect place to hide.
Down here Meetra was just one in a million. Well, one in a Trillion, actually.
A single broken soul wouldn't call down the attention of the Council, they thought she was long gone by now. She should have been long gone by now. She should have fled Republic space, found an inhospitable planet, and crawled into the jungle to die like a wounded kath hound. Luckily for her, the Jedi were so busy looking for Force-sensitives that they'd never notice the presence of someone in which the Force didn't exist.
Not on a world of approximately 1.3 Trillion sentient beings.
With the Jedi oblivious, Coruscant was the safest place in the galaxy for her. The Jedi weren't looking for her, and the Sith were a distant threat on the outer rim. Meetra preferred it that way. There were too many people who would take great pleasure in killing her slowly for her to want to take chances.
"Kara." Her companion murmured, slowing his pace. The Exile didn't turn back to look at him, continuing unheeding down the narrow walkway. "Kara. Hey! Coruscant to Kara, come in!" Zaen snapped at her, much louder this time. It took Meetra a long moment, but then it clicked. She froze.
Right. Her new name.
By all formal accounts, Meetra Surik was dead. The Jedi had killed her, when they struck her from their records— exiled her. Kara Soran was who she was now. Just another ordinary human, devoid of the Force. She was one in 1.3 Trillion on this planet.
"Sorry Zaen." She shot the grizzled man an apologetic look, her voice intentionally quiet. "This is further down than we've been in a while." It was creepier than she remembered, too. To her left, something skittered through the dark. "What did you say?"
He huffed, glancing towards the source of the noise with some amount of caution. No one liked to be in the lower levels of the undercity, especially when a broken light had plunged a large section of it into inky blackness. That was why they were there, admittedly but it didn't make it any less creepy.
Zaen was a mechanic. A scruffy, middle aged, slightly balding mechanic who could get nearly any machine up and running again with nothing but some old junkyard droid parts, and plasteel tape. Most valuable of all though, was the fact that Zaen was better at anyone around at fixing up the walkway lights that kept the undercity from ending up in total darkness.
Sure, in the mid city, and very upper levels of the lower city, a busted light was just an inconvenience. Eventually someone would get around to placing a work order. In a day, or two (or 20) Republic maintenance crews would replace it. It was a little bit different in the undercity though, where mutants, criminals and the insane were prevalent. Down here a broken light could quite literally make the difference between a normal walk home from work and a painful death. The day that Hutts sprouted wings and flew was the day the Exile expected to see any Republic maintenance crews in the undercity. So, it fell to the inhabitants to repair the broken lights.
For a price (even good guys have to eat) Zaen could fix almost any droid, blaster or data pad. The fact that he had a rather altruistic habit of fixing any busted lights he heard about for free was probably the poorest kept secret in the sector. It was actually how she had first met the man. Two years ago, and nearly two years after she had first descended into the undercity, Meetra had rescued a certain middle-aged mechanic from a pack of murderous hive rats.
He'd fed her, given her a place to sleep, and washed her clothes in return. He had never asked her to leave, and she'd started following him into the lower levels despite his protests. Meetra would trail him every time he set off to do something dangerous, vibrosword strapped to her back. Eventually he'd gruffly accepted her help and they'd been a team ever since. It was nice to be doing something again, nice to split the meagre income and share the danger. It gave her a renewed sense of purpose.
Zaen shook his head, cracking a wry smile. "I said we can't get eaten today. You still owe me a drink." The man grinned roguishly, brown eyes full of amusement. Jobs that paid much of anything had been rare lately; and the credits from yesterday's job were eating a hole in his pocket. It wasn't hard to guess where they'd be spending their evening. Some seedy, underworld Cantina no doubt.
"Watered down Bantha piss, you mean." Meetra grumbled back good-naturedly. Something prickled in the back of her mind and the Exile froze, her fingers curling more tightly around the glow-rod in her hand. The hair on the nape of her neck stood on end. Beside her, Zaen stood obliviously, digging through his bag as he grumbled to himself. Meetra glanced back anxiously in the direction they'd come from. Flickering lights behind them illuminated the thin walkway, and the constant mechanical buzz of the planet went undisturbed. They were alone.
"The panel should be…" Zaen started, finally pulling out his own glow-rod from the bag and peering into the darkness in front of them. A pair of yellow eyes stared out, causing the man to leap back with a startled yelp. Meetra whirled at the sound, blaster drawn.
The glowing eyes emitted a soft 'maow', causing the former Jedi to guffaw at her companion. "Is everything okay?" She teased, holstering her blaster. "Wouldn't want you to get eaten by a vicious kitten."
Zaen sputtered indignantly in response, before huffing and stomping forward into the darkness. He grumbled as he went, while Meetra followed him into the shadows, still snickering. He reached the panel that controlled this stretch of lights, and used one the many tools in his bag to pry open the door. Pushing his mop of dark hair back from his face, Zaen set to work. Already his worn hands were dancing across the multitude of wires that crisscrossed within the terminal. The kitten meowed again, trotting towards them with its bushy grey tail held high.
Meetra snorted, crouching down to greet the tiny creature. "Hello little one."
"Don't even think about it. That thing is not staying in my house." He barked, not bothering looking up from the terminal.
"Come onnnnn Zaen, she's precious!"
"There's no telling what sort of diseases it has." The mechanic groused, turning to glower at Meetra and the kitten that was now wriggling in her arms.
It hadn't taken them very long to get the lights up and working again, but in that short time, Meetra had made a new friend- much to the irritation of her partner. The kitten was currently quite content in the Exile's care, batting playfully at the long strands of copper hair that spilled over the woman's shoulders. Admittedly, Meetra didn't contend the fact that the kitten probably had some sort of parasite, and needed to be tossed in the sonic the moment they got home. After the war, dirt and bugs didn't particularly bother her, though. There really wasn't much that could shock her anymore.
Zaen didn't know that though. Meetra Surik wasn't a name he probably even knew. There was only one reason for anyone from the undercity to be interested in the war: enlisting. One of the few ways anyone could get out of the poverty of the lowest parts of the undercity. When you were done serving, the idea was that you could find a peaceful planet, where land was plentiful and cheap, and use the money you'd made in service to move your whole family there. It was the dream of millions. Meetra would know, she'd been in command of so many of them. She also knew that usually the uneducated, illiterate soldiers from the undercities of planets like Coruscant, Nar Shaddaa and Taris were the ones sent in droves into the heat of battle. They were almost always landing forces, front lines. They took the heaviest casualties.
Meetra shivered, jostling the kitten in her arms. It meowed in protest, rubbing its head against her sleeve. The vast majority of the young men and women who'd flocked to the Republic in the Mandalorian war from the undercity had never come back. The families were lucky if anyone even bothered to venture down here to tell them what'd become of their children, siblings, loved ones.
"She'd be useful." The former Jedi traced the kitten's back with her fingers. Not being useful as anything but cannon fodder had doomed a generation, leaving aging parents to starve to death here in the undercity when they couldn't work anymore. "Cats hunt pests." Being useful was the difference between life and death for so many. "We have pests." Her voice was quiet, fingers still tracing a line down the prominent ridge of the kitten's spine.
Her companion looked at her oddly then, full of an intuition that touched too close to the truth. "Fine." He muttered, leaving the matter alone. He'd ask eventually, why it mattered so much- but for now he held his tongue. He'd come to value Meetra's company in their two years together, as much as she did his. So he left it alone.
They were an odd pair. Him, a middle aged man who'd lived his whole life in squalor and darkness, and her a young woman who just showed up one day looking nearly rabid—dirty and thin. They weren't romantically involved; there was no interest on either side. They were together because it was a more happy existence than being entirely alone. She didn't pry into his life, and he gave her the same courtesy. Meetra knew he didn't believe the story she'd told him about how she'd ended up in the undercity, but he didn't press her to tell him the truth.
"You still owe me a drink." Zaen pointed out, the tension in the air vanishing as quickly as it'd come. Things returned to normalcy in an instant, and the woman grinned cheekily at her friend.
"Bantha piss."
"Better than that Wookie drool you drink." He retorted, his weathered face crinkling as he grinned back at her, clambering up the walkway and onto a higher platform before reaching back to help her up.
"What are we gonna call her?" Meetra smirked, ignoring his hand and climbing up easily.
"Sithspawn."
"Zaen!"
(2 Days Prior)
Coruscant was a bit more dangerous than Jaq preferred.
Not that the place was crawling with Jedi, mind you- their numbers were stretched very thin, and even the Grand Masters of the Council had been caught up in the war. It left the planet relatively unguarded by the so-called guardians of the peace.
Still, despite being so few and far between, this planet had more Jedi than he'd have liked.
Though to be fair, any Jedi was more Jedi than Jaq would have liked. The Galaxy would be a better place without the Jedi—with their self righteousness, their lies, their hypocrisy.
He hated them. He hated them for every dirty, dark little secret they kept, every horrible thing they did while claiming it was the right thing to do. It was so very clear to those who bothered paying attention, that the Jedi only ever 'did the right thing' when it served their purpose.
It was why the slaughter of the Mandalorian War had lasted so, so long. It was why so many of his friends had come home in body bags.
Or worse—not at all.
The Jedi refused to leave the safety of their marble floored palace in the Capital, all-the-while preaching peace and parading as defenders of the light.
He scoffed, ducking into an access elevator that would take him into the lower levels. Defenders of the light. Right. And he was a new strain of hairless Wookie.
The lift stopped with a shudder, letting the Sith out far below the spires of the glittering upper world. The doors opened and Jaq stepped into the bustling street as if he'd lived there his whole life. On either side of the walkway street vendors peddled their wares in front of neon signed shops. He paid them little attention though, simply pressing through the crowd and towards another elevator that would take him down further.
Mid Coruscant reminded him of Nar Shaddaa. It had the same mixed demographic of people who didn't quite make enough to live somewhere nicer, and criminals who stayed by choice.
He would have been right at home on Nar Shaddaa. It wasn't called the smuggler's moon for nothing, crime was an accepted and welcomed aspect of daily life. Coruscant though... there was just something about the capital that made him uneasy. Jedi aside. There were just too many normal people. Too many people who, unlike the people on Nar Shaddaa, might not be willing to turn a blind eye, especially if it involved one of their precious Jedi.
No. That wouldn't do at all.
Middle class Coruscanti still had too many morals about them. He needed to go lower. Literally lower.
So he continued down, weaving between the milling bodies of the people in the street. Even with the sea of people going in every conceivable direction, Jaq managed to follow the route he'd previously memorized with relative ease. It didn't take him long to locate the alleyway that led to his access elevator of choice.
The doors opened within moments, allowing him to cautiously step in, followed by two middle aged women. The women chatted animatedly in what sounded like Corellian as the elevator groaned, lurched and plummeted downwards. Admittedly, Jaq was marginally envious of their seeming obliviousness to the fact that they were in a metal box, essentially free falling towards a very sticky end if anything went wrong.
No, no. Whatever they were saying in Corellian must have been fascinating, life altering and hilarious, he mused darkly- because they paid the rapid descent absolutely no heed.
With another shuddering groan the lift stopped. As if nothing at all had happened the two women stepped out- never missing a beat in their conversation. Jaq shook his head as they walked away, turning in the other direction and trotting up the stairs that led to the street.
The hustle and bustle of the mid-city was gone, replaced by an ominous quiet. Here and there groups of people and aliens could be seen, though few people seemed to be venturing out alone at this time in the evening. The reliable overhead lighting of the levels above was replaced with a dimmer, more sparse set of overhead lights. More likely than not, in some parts of the lower-city, the residents lived and died in a dimly lit twilight of weak, false light. Some of them had probably never even felt real sunlight.
Jaq shuddered at the idea, his fingers twitching towards the holster of his blaster. Reassured by the feel of the smooth Kath leather beneath his fingers, the man moved forward towards his destination of choice. This job wasn't one he'd have chosen for himself. It required several days planetside, in the middle of the Jedi's backyard. Too much could go wrong.
But what his Lords wanted…
They'd damn well get.
Down the street, exactly where his data pad had indicated it would be, a neon sign blinked- advertising rooms for a dirt cheap hourly rate, and a slightly higher nightly one. Such was life in the bowels of any urban planet. With a sigh, the Sith slipped into the establishment, unconsciously checking the corners and any places an enemy could come from. Behind the counter a toothless old Twi'lek woman eyeballed him with mild interest.
"I'd like a room."
"Five credits an hour, 20 credits a day." The woman told him slushily, her mouth working around her gums.
Jaq was relatively certain the haggard old Twi'lek would have a heart attack if he paid for more than a day at time, but he was willing to risk it- digging out 80 credits and placing them on the counter in front of the wrinkled blue monstrosity.
The woman's eyes bulged slightly at the sight of the money, probably more than she'd seen all month. Her lekku twitched in what Jaq classified as excitement, before she bounced away, all but skipping back with a key. An old fashioned key, to an old fashioned lock. How quaint.
"If you need anything, let me know deary." The woman crooned and winked, her lekku curling tighter around her shoulders
It took everything he had not to throw up.
The man dumped the contents of his bag onto the bed, mildly impressed about the cleanliness of the room (all things considered). Perhaps the old woman kept a couple rooms that were cleaned a bit more thoroughly than simply pulling the covers back up over whatever was congealing in the sheets, for the customers that weren't hourly. Not a terrible strategy.
His blaster came off, followed by his vibro blade. It was only then, once the door was locked, and the room checked, and his weapons dispensed for the time being, that Jaq relaxed even marginally. Gathering his data pad into his lap, the man sat cross legged on the bed, going over the file on his target for the millionth time.
She was young. Even if he hadn't had her age printed right in front of him, the images he had of her made it evident. He scrolled down, reading and rereading her stats.
The brown eyes that stared back at him from his datapad practically told her story for her. She was green, not fully trained, an orphan Padawan. Her Master had been killed in battle. The same battle had left her grievously injured, and alone. The girl had been shipped to Dantooine to recover, and then back to Coruscant. Presumably, she would soon be reassigned to a new Master and sent back into the fray against the Sith.
None of that was of much interest to him though. No, he was more interested in her extracurriculars. Apparently, the little twit had been making routine trips into the undercity. She'd been seen by his informants drinking at a cantina on numerous occasions. It was harmless enough, she was probably traumatized by the death of her Master. This was just a childish rebellion that was going unnoticed by the thinly stretched Jedi on Coruscant.
Unfortunately for her, she'd done something to attract the attention of his Masters. With her own conveniently out of the picture.
An untrained Padawan, full of anger at the recent death of her mentor and her subsequent reassignment. Poor little lost Padawan, all alone in the world.
Jaq smiled, reclining back onto the pillows.
This was almost too easy.
