AN: Decided to make some time to rewrite an old story of mine that some of you might remember. As a fan of sc-fi and everything futuristic, star wars is a wonderful opportunity to create something interesting. The universe is rich in lore and presence and I hope to bring some of that fire to this rendition. this is a little different then what I am used to so I hope I do well. Any and all reviews are greatly appreciated as I am always looking for good critic and input.

Enjoy this new journey into the world of good and evil, light and dark, where not everything is so black and white as it seems.

Welcome to the star wars galaxy.

Broken Legacy

Prologue: Call In a Professional

Business...

In the end everything came down to business, the galaxy thrived on it. Even the march of progress across the great unknown had been spearheaded by countless mega corporations of innumerable species, all vying to dig their avaricious clutches into the resource rich galaxy. Yet it was because of this net of materialistic organizations that they were eventually united, their desire to protect their interests resulting in the formation of the old galactic republic.

But their greed only forestalled conflict as they bickered over resources and the sovereignty to preside over them, weakening their hold. The Mandalorian and Clone Wars debilitated them considerably, paving the way for the newly fashioned Empire that currently lorded over the galaxy. Yet despite the turbulence of the times, one could always rely on business, especially now.

With the Empire's focus on corporate affairs and the ensuing deregulation of interstellar trade, competition between varying commercial firms exploded. The Empire was a tantalizingly lucrative contract, and any who garnered its favor were, for all intents and purposes, handed a blank check. This led to the unavoidably fierce and bitter rivalry between corporations, each willing to go to any conceivable lengths to undercut their competitors. Corporate theft, fraud, and bribery were the words of the day, as each affluent business devolved into little more than permissibly recognized crime syndicates without any form of restrictions or moral reservations.

SoroSuub, Incom, Baktoid Armor, BlasTech Industries, and Loronar Corp; these were the biggest faces in the galactic industry, responsible for supplying the Empire with its massive fleets, advanced weaponry, and vast legions of oppressive stormtroopers, the recognized symbols of imperial pacification. However that did not mean they all got along, the political climate was rife with backroom deals, espionage and underground assassinations.

In spite of his well-deserved reputation for cruelty, the Emperor was not a fool, far from it. Pitting the corporations against one another kept them firmly planted under the yolk of imperial rule while still giving him what he desired, the resources to fuel his tyrannical reign over the known galaxy.

Without these businesses the Empire could not function, unable to fund the monumental despotic regime in its efforts to suppress the ever present public unrest.

Without these businesses, A'den Lok would be out of work.

He was himself a businessman... of sorts, a company man one might even say. His work involved all those morally questionable things, hired muscle for backroom deals, espionage against some company or other, and of course the occasional assassination contract. He was a veritable jack of all trades, perfect for the ever shifting balance of powers. And he was never lacking for a job. Resentment was an emotion all species seemed fond of, so there was always a calling for a man of his... specific talents.

Of course, not anyone could just throw themselves into the parasitical corporate underworld and have any chance to hope to survive. For that one required talent, a benefactor with powerful influence, or at the very least, the right set of contacts. Being a mandalorian, he had these in spades.

In fact his services were in high demand.

Mandalorians were the finest mercenaries in the known galaxy, their culture molding them into unrivaled warriors of skill and valor. Though, in recent years their reputation has been somewhat faded but has yet to lose its lauded luster. Mandalorians were still a force to be feared, with their merciless reputation, affinity for warfare, strict adherence to the little-known Resol'nare, and their mythically impenetrable armor, said to absorb even a blade stroke from the legendary poster weaponry of the extinct Jedi order, the lightsaber.

Given the impartial nature of his occupation, A'den worked for a company just as often as he worked against them, his allegiance carrying over to the highest bidder. Such a situation, while lucrative, was likewise dangerous. It was not all that uncommon for corporate hit squads to be sent after him by his previous employers.

In not for his skill and decidedly unique trump card, he might not have lasted as long as he had in such a treacherous occupation. Yet there was a method to this madness.

A'den was looking for someone, and he needed their information to find them. So though he had originally operated as a bounty hunter/mercenary during the clone wars, at its end he changed professions to the corporate sector, following the trail wherever it took him. His one mission in life to find and kill the one he hunted.

It for this that A'den traveled to a place he would rather leave forgotten.

Nar Shadda, colloquially knows as the Smugglers Moon, and with good reason. The entire planetoid was little more than a foul den of lawlessness and debauchery, embodying all that was wrong with the galaxy. Slavery, spice dealing, prostitution, and countless other depraved and illicit acts were practiced freely in the streets. The only sense of justice was the one you brought with you, and that often ended behind the barrel of a smoking gun. Criminals, bounty hunters, and hutts called it home.

A'den, well he called it dar'yaim.

Hell.

A'den grimaced in distaste as his ship, Gra'tua, fell under the grips of Nar Shadda's gravity well, pulling his starborn home, down towards the surface. He had yet to touch the ground and already his hate for the moon reemerged, as dark and cancerous as Nar Shadda itself. It had been years since he had come back, the last time had just been at the end of the Clone Wars, taking refuge from the newly minted Galactic Empire. That's what he earned for his years of service as a merc fighting on the behalf of the Grand Army of The Republic, to be hunted like a good for nothing womp rat, not moments after the violent change in management.

Needless to say that had cultivated a deep distaste for the new regime, not that it prevented him from working for them on occasion when he had the chance. After all, they still paid top dollar and were his best shot at securing the location of his target.

The current problem arose after he had ended up on the Empire's most wanted list, right above a fellow called Han Solo and a few unlucky individuals under Boba Fett, though from what he heard his fellow mando had reached some sort of understanding with them in recent years. He was not so lucky, which was why his current pool of clientele was reduced to unsavory localities as this. The last contract he had with the Empire landed him in seriously hot water and he's been underground since.

What he learned from that whole unpleasant affair was that having a heart was bad for business. A merc could not afford to have a soft spot, all it did was make it that much easier for a blade to sink in.

He wouldn't make the same mistake again.

Guiding his freighter down to one of the landing pads on the upper levels, A'den was loath to leave it unattended. Even the upper levels were dangerous, the local police so corrupt that they were often worse than the criminals they supervised. Fortunately, one of his previous jobs had paid out with an onboard ship security droid, an HK unit, one of those ancient models from the times of the old republic.

The thing was older than sin and it had taken him months, and all of his technical knowhow, to even get it moving, in the end spending more credits then it had been worth and at least twice as much as the job had paid, and that was without its vocabulator.

All the damned thing ever did, was stare at him. But at least it would protect his ship from thieves, and that was all he really cared about. The HK series had been created to serve as cleverly disguised assassin droids, imprinted with enough self-awareness and dexterity to be considered extremely dangerous. The seller had promised that not only was it useful, but had a long and fabled history. However, he didn't put too much stock into the crazy hermit's promises.

Though...he could see what looked like old saber marks scarring its orange plate, even through the centuries of rust buildup. Which meant that it had, either tussled with a Jedi, Sith, or at the very least someone wielding a lightsaber. Not only that, it had to have been made of beskar, good ol' fashioned mandalorian iron being one of the few materials in the known galaxy capable of mitigating the power of their blows. That reason alone was why he accepted the old codger's contract. The droid intrigued him and he hoped to one day get it fully working so that they might talk and he could uncover the truth behind it.

A'den unbuckled himself from the cockpit and slid down the short iron ladder to the crew quarters with the intent to arm up for his assignment. Nar Shadda was not the type of place one circumnavigated unprepared, every street corner and back alley was potentially lethal, the local gangs killed indiscriminately, uncaring of who might be caught in the crossfire of their trivial little wars.

Heading to the ship's improvised armory, A'den ran a hand across the riveted steel of a passing bulkhead, reminiscing of the moment it had become his.

Gra'tua had been a special gift from his uncle, Krussk. Originally it had served as the old trandoshan's workhorse, and a legendary one at that. Gra'tua was a Stathas-class freighter, only a few ever being manufactured by MandalMotors.

These specialty vessels were created to look like their normal counterparts, but were in fact heavily retrofitted, allowing them to contend with ships several times larger than themselves. His model was designed off the specs of the YU-410, an already extensively armed light freighter, though its shields and firepower had been boosted considerably, all illegal modifications. With four double laser cannon turrets, a trio of concealed proton torpedo launchers, one diamond boron missile silo, a pair of ventral turbolasers, and an advanced hyperdrive and engines, the Gra'tua sported enough firepower to go toe-to-toe with most imperial vessels, all except the feared symbol of the Empire's naval authority, the star destroyer.

A'den was not one for subtly. Like his fellow mandalorians, his preferred method was shock and awe. He had little proficiency, or desire, to be discreet.

Though, its munitions upkeep was almost so outrageous to render its use debilitating. Each boron missile alone cost him upwards of 20,000 credits in part to its rarity and power. And while he was not poor by any means, he preferred to not have to resort to such extreme methods, if just to spare his many bank accounts.

The illegal nature of his ship and standard arsenal entailed that any credits he earned had to be laundered through several false accounts and were mostly hidden in the stocks of the various companies he worked for, under a plethora of false identities and pseudonyms. It would not do for a credit trail to lead right back to him, especially with the sizeable imperial bounty on his head. He had the respect of the majority of his fellows, but A'den was not one for pushing his luck.

Though it would be quiet amusing to see who first came to collect.

Smiling softly to himself at the thought, the mandalorian keyed the code to his personal stowage and stepped into the small chamber to arm himself.

Over the years, he had acquired numerous weapons and other trophies for his ever growing collection.

A'den liked to keep things from his target bounties to commemorate his success, their weapons or bits of armor, even animal pelts and claws. He considered them a source of pride, both as a mandalorian and bounty hunter. Seeing as most of his brethren were the same, as often as not boasting to each other on the size of their gains back on Mandalore.

He had the scarred hide of an alpha nexu he had hunted on Cholganna, the broken fang of an elder rancor he encountered on Felucia, and the headcrest of an acklay that had once been a pet to a hutt crime lord.

There were bits of white plastoid armor from rather tenacious imperial stormtroopers and tattered blue and red rags from defiant rebel uniforms.

A'den worked for whoever hired him at the time, be it the rebellion or the empire. This did not entail him the gratitude of either faction, though they would grudgingly lease his services nonetheless. For no matter what, he always produced results and his loyalty could not be swayed or purchased...at least until the end of the contract.

The mandalorian had hunted down rebel leaders and assassinated high ranking imperial officers, ran blockades to transfer valuable freight to hidden rebel bases and helped in raids to crack down on their influence. A'den remained impassive to either faction, deciding to remain neutral in the galaxy wide conflict. He cared little for the outcome, as long as the victor gave him what he needed.

The only thing he cared for was information pertaining to the location of the one he hunted. And he was willing to do whatever it took to get it, no matter how dark the imperial agenda or how righteous the rebels believed their cause to be. As long as they supplied him with credits and information, he would work with whoever paid his high price.

After all, it was just business.

A'den crossed his room of trophies and weapons, stopping in front of a stand displaying a full suit of mandalorian armor in all its burnished glory. It was as much a part of who he was as his own soul. A vital portion of mandalorian culture was not just speaking the language or knowing the history; it was wearing and respecting the armor, of complete loyalty to Mandalore and its people.

To a mandalorian, your armor was your legacy, just a part of what made you one of the mando'a as any of the other actions of the Resol'nare. Each individual crafted it to their own wishes, painting it with colors to signify the emotions and beliefs of the person behind the mask. At a glance a fellow mandalorian could get an acute understanding of their comrades and their principles.

A'den's armor was of the darkest black, with dull sand gold markings written in ancient mandalorian cypher.

Justice, vengeance... that was what he stood for. And his colors would remain unchanged until he found and killed the one responsible for the crimes against his clan.

Acting quickly, A'den donned the welcoming and familiar beskar'gam, a process that took several minutes to finish, firmly buckling the various straps and accruements in place with gloved fingers unhindered by their bulk.

His armor was somewhat different from others. Unlike most of his comrades who preferred to keep it light and flexible. A'den desired a suit with only one purpose in mind.

Battle.

Most had a half and half ratio of beskar to durasteele, providing a malleable and concurrently effective protective outfit fit for a variety of roles.

A'den's armor was derived from assault troopers in the ancient neo-crusades of old. The legendary warriors had been the tip of the spear during the mandalorian wars. And just as there armor had been, his was almost entirely composed of pure beskar, with powered servos to help the operator maneuver the cumbersome plating. Little more than a direct hit from a heavy assault blaster would do little more than scratch the paint. Its standard gauntlets had been replaced with a pair of crushguants, something outlawed by conventional mandalorians, not that he cared for that. Their outlaw was more of an old restriction that had been forgotten to be removed; at least that's how he liked to interpret it.

So far he had yet to be corrected.

These gauntlets were weapons in themselves, enhancing the user's strength to the point where they could crush durasteel and pulverize bone with equal ease. It even allowed the wearer to grip the blade of a lightsaber, offering numerous tactical advantages over force users, who despite the best efforts of the Empire, were far from extinct, attested by the sabers of a few he had encountered, scattered about his collection.

On its back was the iconic symbol of mercs and bounty hunters, the JT-12 jetpack.

It and the Z-6 were emblematic staples of soldiers of fortune all across the galaxy. As dangerous to the operator as to the enemy, these devices were not often used. Fragile, they did not take much to catastrophically damage, resulting in user death or mutilation. But when used effectively it was an invaluable tool of the trade. Equipped with a concealed MM9 missile launcher, it gave its operator a one-time use holdout for the more dangerous marks or vehicles. With an armor-piercing warhead capable of plowing through the hull of an AT-ST with ease, it was good to have when in an unavoidable bind.

That of course, and his trusty DH-X heavy blaster. An experimental prototype and gift from BlasTech, one of the more reputable companies he had the pleasure to work for. It hit slow and hard, capable of dropping any sentient and most large creatures in a single high-powered shot. Its muscle was balanced by its weight, the weapon large enough to make it difficult to wield without the necessary training and upper body strength.

The DH-X came with a wide selection of mods. A'den usually hunted with a recoil compensating stock and close combat scope, a perfect balance for his preferred method of warfare, up close and personal. And with the range finder on his helmet capable of linking with his HUD, he could accurately drop a target a kilometer downrange if the need arose.

For anything closer than blaster range he had a pair of unique items to deal with that. Yet do to their... distinctive nature, their use could only be in the gravest of emergencies. Until such a time came, they would remain firmly latched to his belt.

A'den took a few minutes to inspect his gear, ensuring that their recent lack of use had not resulted in degradation that could prove to be his undoing. With the pre-mission checklist in order, he concluded he was ready to begin.

Stepping down from the stand, he grabbed the cloak hanging off the wall, an article of apparel designed not just for appearance, but also serving an important function. The black cape of armorweave was inlaid with scales from a gold krayt dragon he had hunted on Tattooine, bolstering its protection while enhancing his reputation with the clans. He had taken down the impressive beast on his own, skinning it and using its scales as added armor and presentation. He might have had a little demolition assistance in taking it down, but that did little to dull the magnificence of his accomplishment.

A'den finished admiring his possession, connecting the prized cloak to the clamps on the seam of his gorget. The mandalorian slung his helmet in the crook of his arm and followed the hall down to the cargo bay, where the ramp would take him outside.

He was not eager for what was coming.

The job itself was pretty simple. Find and eliminate a zabrak by the name of Chord Poftme. It seemed Chord swiped some dirty company secrets from Incom with the intention to sell it to SoroSuub. And that just would not do. Less than a day after his theft, A'den received a call from the local system representative of Incom, accepting the contract a short time later.

With the nature of the shady terrain and the high level of Chord's offense, kill or capture was optional, the choice residing with him. For the sake of making it easier on himself, he had preemptively decided to just off the pile of osik.

To be honest, A'den could care less about the concerns of the aruetiise. All that mattered was that the fellow had a 25,000 credit bounty on his head, dead or alive, one he intended to collect. This zabrak was going to pay for Gra'tua's maintenance costs for the rest of the month as well as his other supplies.

Problem was, Nar Shadda was a big place with a lot of ground to cover. It might take days or even weeks to flush the di'kut out of hiding. Staying even a few minutes on this planet was nearly insufferable, so A'den was not looking forward to what could possibly turn out to be a week's long manhunt.

He used to have connections here that might have been able to help him out but it had been so long that most either died or went into hiding themselves. This meant he was going in blind, usually in such instances he would hire on a fellow hunter and split the earnings fifty-fifty. But any he might find on the moon were more trouble than their worth. The bounty hunters here were not truly warriors, but thugs. They had no honor and it was more likely they would put a blaster bolt into his back as soon as the job was done.

This would have to be a one man job, which meant the sooner he started the sooner he could leave this trash heap of a world.

A'den jumped from the short ladder to the cargo bay, heavy armored boots connecting to the deck with a dull clang. The man scanned the area, searching for HK. The droid's unnerving stare had earned it a posting down here, where it was out of sight and out of mind.

'I really have to get his vocabulator fixed.' The sooner the droid stopped giving those silent death glares, the better. The hermit who gave him HK promised that the machine would not try and kill him, that he would obey his owner without question.

Yet after seeing that intelligent and malevolent amber glow in its photoreceptors... A'den kept his room locked and heavily encrypted when he slept. He had been thinking about slapping a restraining bolt to its chest, but had yet to do it. Though machine, A'den had decided to give HK the benefit of the doubt... for now.

As he thought of HK, A'den noticed a pair of glowing lights about chest level with him, originating behind a self-refrigerated crate of nerf steaks, the temperature monitored by a microchip installed inside the container, supplies he was to offload at his next port for a bit of extra cash. After all, there was no rule in regards to how many jobs one could take at a time.

"HK?" He asked uncertainly. It could be no other, but that did not make it any less strange.

In response a low clanking signified the approach of the droid in question, HK carrying a short range assault blaster in its mechanical hands. A'den had offered it a pick from his entire stash and the droid had simply walked past the racks of exotic weaponry and retrieved the small blaster. It packed one hell of a punch but he figured the droid would have gone for something a little more... intimidating.

HK tilted its angular robotic cranium as if to respond.

The lack of a back and forth was distinctly unsettling, the sooner he got the droid's vocabulator the better. The only problem lay in the fact its parts were nearly impossible to find or replicate. Do to HK's unique antiquity; they were either buried in junk heaps on scrap worlds or hidden in some rich collector's personal museum.

In fact he had only managed to get the droid's servomotors by conducting a heist on a wealthy business tycoon's summer palace on Courascant. And he had no desire to get tagged by the aristocracy, already having enough trouble dealing with them. It would take time before he could find the next component and let the heat die down.

Besides its vocabulator, HK was basically back to full function, just a few odds and ends, small pieces to improve his overall performance issues.

As he mused silently, the droid patiently waited for orders. Upon seeing this, A'den cleared his throat in awkwardness, not that HK cared, and focused on his robotic associate.

"Ah yes, there you are. HK, I need you to protect the ship while I'm gone. No one is allowed onboard except for myself."

The droid nodded, lacking the means to verbally respond.

"Don't worry, I'll find your vocabulator, just wait a little longer." A'den felt a small amount of guilt that he had yet to find it. He could only imagine what it must be like, unable to speak. And his imaginings were not pleasant.

HK nodded again in mute acknowledgment as A'den moved to the tiny rectangular control box at the front of the bay, slapping the glowing green button with a closed fist and initiating the descent of the turbolift that would take him outside.

A brief and powerful gust of depressurizing air followed by the gentle whirring of the freighter's inner mechanisms announcing its activation and he watched the large rectangular lift start its fall.

The hunter trod onto the lift and eased his helmet on, welcoming the sudden influx of information from his heads-up display as it booted up his tactical software and connected with the monitoring systems inside the armor. With the latest logic firmware from Incom installed, his suit had gained the capability to monitor his life signs and give updates on any change in condition. It also was capable of preforming real time threat assessments on any sentient or creature he came across, offering a tier system from one to five, five being the lowest and one obviously being the most dangerous.

A'den liked this function in particular, it would be of serious help here on Nar Shadda, lowering the chances he might get caught off guard by several percentages.

With his helmet on and sealed, A'den shouldered his blaster and turned back to HK one las time.

"Take care of my ship." His now altered voice gave one last repetition of his command in a low machinelike growl. The alteration served a multitude of roles. It provided a certain factor of intimidation when dealing with prospect bounties or targets, made it so people and hostile spyware could not pinpoint his voice, and offered an advantage when debating on the price of a contract. One would be surprised to learn how much extra he had made by a simple modification of his tone. After all, appearance as much as skill played into this type of business. The more intimidating one was, the less likely it would be for a mark to try and run or do something stupid and more likely the employer would shell out a few extra credits. So if it even made one job easier or more lucrative, he would gladly utilize it.

The bottom of the lift connected with the deck of the landing pad as A'den scanned his environment, immediately on the prowl for dangers. This place was not the kind where you dropped your guard, even for a moment.

All he wanted was to deal with the dock master and get out of the port and into the city commons.

It did not take him long to find who he was looking for.

A'den was not usually one for stereotyping, but in some cases it was safe to do so. The person in question sat outside his little booth, flanked by a pair of fairly imposing gamorians, the green skinned porcine aliens clutching their familiar axes in sweaty palms.

He did not like neimoidians. They were generally tall, thin, and quite possibly one of the vilest species in the galaxy. Their entire civilization thrived on trade, all kinds of it, no matter how unsavory. So they were particularly suited for Nar Shadda, almost as much as the hutts.

Already regretting his meeting before it occurred, A'den meandered through the nearly empty port, only a few pilots and the occasional dock worker bumbling around. There were a few species in the mix, a couple twi'lek smugglers, their race easily identifiable by the pair of nerve bundles on their scalps, a twin set of hair-like tails.

From what he heard about their women, those were particularly sensitive to touch, though he had yet to find out for himself if that was true.

A'den did not find them that attractive. Personally, he preferred women with a little more bite, and hair for that matter.

Besides the twi'leks, there were a few rodians, a greenish hued race with large black eyes and rough pebbled skin.

A few verpines buzzed and chattered beside an odd oblong vessel, perhaps a couple of traders from one of their asteroid based hives. A'den was not a fan of their species, more so then neimoidians, being a man who did not like insects. Not that it stopped him from doing business with them. Verpine were for all intents and purposes a race of bipedal bugs, compound eyes, chitin exoskeleton, flanged mandibles, the whole deal.

As stated, he was not a fan.

Yet despite the wide range of bizarre races, one in particular caught his interest.

Sprawling off to the side next to the smallest freighter he had ever laid eyes on, was a felinoid of indeterminate species.

There were quite a few sentient feline races in the galaxy, the cathar, farghul, and bothans to name a few, though none shared common ancestry or ties of allegiance and bothans were more like if a cat and a dog were mashed together. This usually meant they were a relatively common sight on the many populous worlds across the galaxy. Yet this one was not like any he had met, a short stature recognizable even at this distance and completely covered from head to toe in a shade of uniquely colored fur.

She, for she could be nothing else, was pink, bright pink, almost neon.

The feline reclined on a self-made hammock, utilizing a pair of unmarked crates and a tarp to support the lazy lounger. He could not see precisely what she was doing, but it looked like she was taking an aptly named cat nap.

A'den had to admit he was intrigued. It took a certain kind of courage, or foolishness, to leave oneself so exposed in a place like this.

But as interesting as the sight was, A'den was here on business.

The mandalorian crossed the rest of the distance to the dock master's booth, stopping just in front of the window.

The neimoidian didn't even bother to glance up as he slothfully perused his terminal.

"The fee for docking is 750 credits."

"...750 credits?" He inquired in mild amusement, folding his arms as he stared down into the diminutive bureaucratic cubicle.

A'den knew an extortion racket when he saw one. The mandalorian had been on both sides of the fence before. The guards were also an obvious tell, no port needed two heavily armed gamorians to protect one unimportant booth attendant.

Nodding, the alien glanced up indolently, most likely armed with a derogatory quip in regards to his hearing. Only for his jaw to drop jaw in horror as he realized the type of person he was attempting to casually extort.

While their reputation was not as meaningful as it used to be, on some planets it still held all of its power, Nar Shadda being one of them. There were more than enough mandalorians that frequent this place to ensure their status remained absolute, and there was no mistaking what he was with the iconic T-shaped visor and memorable armor. A'den watched in good humor as the alien's heart rate spiked on his HUD.

The neimoidian was quick to rectify his actions. "I am profoundly sorry, Sir. That was a clerical error with the terminal. The price is 100 credits."

"Ah yes, as I thought." A'den nodded expectedly, reaching into his belt to retrieve the specified amount.

He could have probably dropped any fee with a few well aimed words, but he was not that kind of guy. He did adhere to some of the rules.

A'den just decided which ones were worth following.

"Hey, don't you forget about me!"

The mandalorian paused mid-transaction, the pile of assorted credit chits resting idly in the palm of his gauntlet as he glanced over his shoulder to identify who had decided to speak.

It was the feline he had been observing. Somehow she had made it all the way over to his position without him noticing. It was quite impressive for someone to get the drop on him like that, but also a sign that he should be wary. She was able to bypass his HUD's monitoring system and his own substantial abilities. Such was enough for him to give her a second and more thorough assessment.

On his closer inspection, he learned that she was definitely shorter than him, only reaching about mid-height with his breastplate. He could deduce that since his stature was around 6'6 in imperial standard, she could be no more than 4'4, maybe 4'5, even with those long triangular ears, below which, was a pair of bright blue eyes and a roguish smirk that appeared to be permanently splashed onto her muzzle.

She wore a red leather vest with a bleached white crop top underneath, sporting a cat-eared heart at the center that was stretched over her rather hefty bust. The black belt around her slender waist held up a pair of dark blue pants fit inside brown, knee-high boots and a holstered blaster found itself wrapped haphazardly around her thigh. Other than that he could see no other weapons then the claw like nails on her paws, claws that he noticed, were painted red.

"Is... she, with you, Sir?" The neimoidian had a somewhat irritated expression as he glanced over A'den's shoulder, and his tone was not devoid of distaste.

The mandalorian had a brief internal debate with himself on whether to go with the feline's plan. Putting the pieces together was easy. With the unbelievably high fee to enter the city, she had been stuck out here until she paid, whether she did not have the funds or was waiting for some gullible fellow to take the price hit for her was the question he was interested in answering.

With an internal shrug he decided why the hell not. It was only an extra hundred credits and he was not exactly hurting for them. But that did not mean he was going to take her ploy without a little retribution.

A'den scrutinized her silently behind his visor, letting the cat know that he had caught on to her game.

In reaction, the smirk she held cracked a fraction, letting him see the beginnings of worry take over as she considered that he might call her bluff. The cat's tail slunk to her side and her expression adopted a look of unease.

The mandalorian allowed her to ruminate in her own discomfort for a few moments before he reached back into his belt and extracted the additional cover for the docking fee.

"She's with me." He finally answered the booth attendant, slapping down the pile of credit chits and listening as the feline behind him gave a quiet exhale in relief.

The neimoidian gave no answer as he quickly swiped the pile of credits off the counter and into his waiting hand, storing them in the register and waiving them through with the other.

"Alright come through, but don't cause any trouble." He added jokingly.

Nar Shadda was not the kind of place for that.

A'den chucked and muscled his way past the two gamorians, who were far too afraid of him to retaliate as he pushed them to the side and entered through the small gate.

After all, one had to keep up appearances.

"Toodles!" The cat impishly waved her furred fingers at the alien in the booth and gave a toothy smirk as she followed in his footsteps.

Once they were a short distance away and out of sight, A'den rounded on her and abruptly seized the collar of her shirt, roughly driving the feline into the closest wall and calmly jamming the barrel of his blaster pistol into her exposed belly.

"I don't appreciate being played, cat." He growled irritably, bolstering his point by prodding her stomach again with the blaster. Know they were alone he could truly show her how much he disliked it.

Despite his rough handling, the feline grinned cheekily up at him, apparently unconcerned with the probability that he would plug a few blaster bolts into her stomach and no one would offer so much as a second glance, not here. It would be nothing new if he shot her down in cold blood right here, the local law enforcement would not even bother to show.

"Thanks, that green freak was a total a-hole. I mean really, 750 credits? I could practically rent out that dingy little berth for a month with that kinda dough!" The feline babbled casually, even as she was suspended several feet in the air, the tips of her boots just scrapping against the garbage strewn floor. "Just look at that place, even a 100 credits was way too much if you ask me. All that dust and grim, when I first got there I thought the whole port was shut down!"

Great... she was a windbag.

A'den had neither the time nor patience to deal with the likes of her. Scoffing and releasing the feline from his grasp, the mandalorian took his leave, stepping out of the small hallway connecting the port with the main level.

Out in the open polluted air, A'den was instantly reminded why he held such loathing for this place. The corner building right outside was a slave market, made obvious by the chain-led and miserable unfortunates put on display as an auctioneer went about his morbid work. If it was up to him, he would have shown their operation exactly just what he thought of it. But even he could not take on a whole planet, and trying to help them would only damage his reputation.

No. Unfortunately for these slaves, there would be no hero to rescue them. All A'den could do, was be happy he was better off than they were.

Life was often hard like that.

"Sad sight isn't it?"

"Better them then me." He replied neutrally, glancing to the cat standing beside him. This time he had heard her approach and was curious why she had done so. He had already made it quite clear that she was not welcomed.

"Harsh..." She muttered, looking up into his helm reproachfully.

If she thought such a look would have instilled a sense of guilt in him, she was utterly mistaken. He had long ago cast away such sentiments.

Guilt was bad for business.

"So is life..." He grunted stiffly in return, shifting his back to her and taking off down the street. The Incom rep had told him that Chord would most likely already be working for the local SoroSuub office, which meant the Zabrak would probably be found somewhere on the upper levels where the better off inhabitants could be located and was the reason he had come here.

"Hey! Where are you going hot stuff?" The cat yowled, jogging to catch up with his tireless pace.

A'den plowed a path through the bustling throng of aliens, his very looks enough to create an artificial barrier around him.

Humans were in short supply in places like this. The Empire's clear doctrine of xenophobia did not make humanity a welcomed species in the farther reaches of space where imperial jurisdiction was at its weakest. Just as they oppressed, so they were oppressed in turn, though it was hardly true that every human held the same beliefs. Not that they cared, just wanting an outlet for their fruitless aggression. Far better to beat on a few harmless humans then deal with the Empire's ruthless shock troopers.

A'den knew it was because of things like this that the status quo would remain unchanged.

"Hey! Did you hear me? I'm talking to you asshole!" She hissed, marching besides him in an attempt to grab his attention.

That cat really was persistent wasn't she?

"Didn't you get the message? Bugger off!" He snarled, increasing his pace to try and lose her in the crowds. Though, this time his natural aura of intimidation and unique presence fought against him. It was hardly an effort to see the mandalorian amidst the mob and she had little difficulty navigating through the open patches.

A'den's next step was halted when the feline snatched his bracer and tugged, the action forcing him to stop and confront her, the throngs of passerby's ignoring their interaction as nothing they had not seen before.

"Wait, please!" She begged, sounding desperate.

Growling. A'den turned to face her, glowering down at the feline in irritation, unrestricted gauntlet resting on the grip of his blaster pistol.

"Why? You got what you wanted already."

At his accusing rasp, her muzzle lowered, eyes downcast.

"I'm sorry to have used you like that. But I just didn't have the money to pay off that sleazeball."

"What, you want credits?" He sneered and pulled his arm away from her paw and resumed walking. "I'm not a charity kid, get lost."

"No wait, that's not it!" She denied adamantly, keeping pace with him. "Though, I do need your help." She admitted guiltily.

"My help?" That really got him. A'den could not help but chuckle at her expense. "Look kid, I don't help people, unless they got the credits for it. And from what you told me, you're fresh out of luck. Go ask some other meatheaded thug."

"That's the problem, I can't." She muttered, stopping with him as he paused at an intersection to check his HUD. The local Incom office was a few blocks down and he was hoping to go there first to see if he could get a few tips on the area and what he might be coming up against. They had a private investigator looking in to Chord's whereabouts, some cheap hire they could easily dispose of if need be, such was the business.

"If you haven't noticed, the people on this planet are not the trustworthy sort." She frowned, watching as a rodian was held up at blaster point in the middle of the street, the crowd simply increasing their distance as they walked by.

"Hadn't crossed my mind." A'den voiced blankly. "Besides..." He wondered aloud, folding his arms and looking down to her. "What makes you think you can trust me?"

"For one, you didn't kill me when you could have." She replied with a weak grin.

"You're lucky I was in a forgiving mood, one that's expiring rapidly." He uttered pointedly.

"That's already better then what I was probably going to get from the locals."

"What is it that you want anyways, kid? Did someone steal your lollipop?" A'den watched in amusement as her ears flared up in sync with her temper. Despite his outwards displeasure, he did find this conversation to be somewhat entertaining. It had been a while since he had held a dialogue that was not solely based on his work. He usually travelled alone and HK was not an experienced conversationalist.

"Firstly, stop calling me kid. I'm twenty-five years old. Secondly, no one stole my lollipop." She spat. "I need someone found and killed."

That caught his attention.

"Really now..." The mandalorian smirked underneath his helmet. "If that's so we might have been able to discuss business, however. Unless you have the credits to hire my services, I'm afraid you're wasting your time."

"How much would it cost?" She asked hesitantly, fearful of his answer.

"Don't bother asking." He waived dismissively. "I can tell you right now that you can't afford me. I'm not a dime store merc, which means I don't come cheap."

"How... Much?" She demanded forcefully, tail lashing in anger. It was clear the feline had no intention of backing down.

She had spirit, he'd give her that much. It was for that reason he humored her.

"Hmm..." He pondered, already knowing the answer but taking his time delivering it. "Minimum contract fee for a single target is 10,000, twice as much if you want them dead, killing complicates things. Each additional bounty multiplies the fee by a factor of two, and it would have to pay as much as the bounty I'm putting on hold, plus extra for wasting my time. Seeing as that's 25,000 credits, I would need say... a solid 30 grand to make it worth the effort."

The feline flinched at every increase in the cost as if struck, that was quite obviously more than she could hope to afford. That came as no surprise to him, there was a simple reason he worked for companies.

They paid more.

"That's... steep." She mumbled quietly in defeat.

"I told you. I'm not a dime store mercenary. I earned that cost." The bounty hunter responded somewhat less harshly than he had before.

He knew what it was like to be powerless. He had not started off with all of his skill and money. It had been a long and hard road to get to where he was. A'den had been through a lot of grief and spilled his fair share of blood for it. Sighing, he patted the cat on the back and turned to leave.

"Sorry kid. I don't give handouts."

"Would you at least hear me out?" She whispered to his retreating back, her soft tone stopping his boot mid-step, shifting back to face her.

"I suppose I could do that much. But don't think I'll fall for a sob story." He replied, nodding slowly. "I will admit my curiosity, who could you possibly want dead?"Sure it was a big galaxy, but not many people went to bounty hunters or mercenaries with petty grudges they could easily solve themselves.

"It's not so much that I personally want them dead," She admitted, rubbing her paws together anxiously. "More so I need someone to help me get the job done. I didn't come to this garbage dump because I wanted to. I'm here on a job, freelance investigation, working for a corporation. And with this kind of planet I'll need help if I want to get anyware... alive anyways. I know where he is, but I can't do it by myself."

A'den frowned, the coincidences were too much to discount. But the chances for it were immensely implausible.

"Does this target go by the name of Chord Poftme by chance?" The mandalorian asked reluctantly, yet already knowing what the most likely response would be.

Her eyes widened in surprise. "Yes... but how did you know that?"

The bounty hunter chuckled, shaking his head ruefully as he stuck his gauntlet out for her to shake. "Today's your lucky day, kid. Name's A'den Lok, and I was tasked with taking Chord down, on the request of the very same firm that hired you I would imagine."

Though I can't imagine why they would. He thought to himself. She looked a little too green for this line of work. And judging from how she handled things so far he could not be that far from the truth. Then again he imagined she was pretty cheap, countering the cost of hiring an individual like himself. It made sense, not from his point of view, but that of a business.

"It would seem that for all intents and purposes we're business partners."

The feline adopted a doubtful expression as she shook the proffered hand, wincing as she experienced a small fraction of its capabilities. "Really...?"

He nodded. "Incom told me about an investigator, though I imagined someone a little less..."

"What... furry?" She frowned. An expression he admitted was not all that unflattering.

"No... annoying." He replied with a masked smirk.

"Hey!" She hissed, only causing him to chuckle as he turned, motioning for her to follow with a casual waive of his hand. Now that he learned she was on hire by the same firm, he supposed he should keep her around. She was quite possibly his only ally on this entire planet.

What a dismal thought.

Shaking her head in exasperation, the feline jumped into step behind him.

A few minutes later something crossed A'den's mind as he walked.

"So kid, what's your name?"

He heard the cat sigh from his side, probably trying to figure out if she had been better of stuck at the port.

"Katt... Katt Monroe."