Seylur, a voluptuous blue-skinned Twi'lek female barely in her twenties, allowed herself to be guided by her Elomin male accomplice into the dingy rundown apartment complex in Nar Shaddaa's Corellian sector. Inside, they walked up three floors given that all the turbolifts were out, and without a single gesture of movement wasted on his part, the Elomin - Seylur never did get his name, she realized with a twinge of nervousness resonating in her gut - managed to open up the door to his apartment and waved toward the open portal.

"Well, c'mon on in, my dear, don't be shy," the Elomin said with what he thought passed for a charming grin on his devilish, horned features. Instead, that unpleasant smile only made him look more predatory, in more ways than one.

And it was that moment that Seylur realized that she made a big mistake; she took this job whoring her body out after Plinkett's Poppers burned down two weeks ago. Her friends said that it would be a stable job; they certainly thought so, since they were in the same line of work. She forgot to ask any of them if they ever had moments like these, where she wished she could just give the Elomin his money back and part ways with him, never to see each other again.

Then again, she thought, why couldn't she just do that, right here, right now? While the Elomin maybe creepy and unpleasant, he didn't give off that off-putting feeling that she, and no doubt the other dancers in Plinkett's Poppers, got when they were around that Bothan sleemo Dev'lia. Rumor had it that that son of a wampa was neutered by a Mandalorian female before being killed; just desserts for him, Seylur thought, especially after it was figured out that he and the owner of Plinkett's Poppers, Harry S. Plinkett himself, were responsible for the abduction and deaths of so many other dancers in the bar beforehand. No doubt they were all raped before they had their lives taken.

Seylur hoped that wouldn't be the case for herself here. Hesitantly, she reached into her pants pocket and produced the twenty credchit that the Elomin gave her when they first met just half an hour earlier. "Um, sir, I'm not quite sure if I'm ready-"

Without warning, the Elomin punched her straight in the face, stunning her long enough for him to grab her by the shoulders and heave her into the apartment. Seylur collapsed on her back against the woody floor, and looked up in terror as her now-angry client closed the door and looked down at her with intensity.

"You're not gonna skip out on me, bitch!" he nearly roared.

He then lunged forward and tackled heer back to the ground as she tried to get up. Seylur tried to reach past the Elomin's weight on her to get to her can of pepper-spray, but her attacker smacked an elbow on her hand, making her cry out for a few seconds in pain. The next thing Seylur knew, the Elomin punched her again, and everything was black.

.

The Elomin, his name being Herga Felne, promptly pushed himself off the unconscious Twi'lek girl before grabbing her by the arm and dragging her over to his bed. He plopped her down there and began undressing himself.

Once was down to his underwear, however, he felt a sharp sting invade the side of his neck. He was out cold in only a few seconds.

When he next awoke, he found himself laying on a cold metal table in a dark room with only the light shining in his eyes directly above him as the only source of illumination. Felne tried to struggle out of the plastic bonds that covered all but his head to the table.

After seeing that he wasn't going anywhere, he looked around his surroundings, and he found, just off to the side, was a typically-visored brown-furred Defel. The hairy alien approached Felne with a vibroblade in hand.

"What?!" the Elomin screamed. "What?! What's going on here?!"

"Herga Felne," the Defel said once he reached the trapped alien's side. His voice was low and his tone sounded lifeless, as if he were having a boring conversation with someone over the weather. "Rapist and serial killer of over six strippers and four prostitutes on Nar Shaddaa in the past month. You were careful in selecting your targets, making sure that your victims had no next of kin, no one to miss them; and given their respective lines of work, all their employers would think of them were understandable losses."

"What the kriff are you talkin' about, man?!" Felne asked. "You have no proof of any of that!"

With his free hand, the Defel produced a datapad and promptly showed Felne a series of holophotos taken of the now-captured Elomin with several different women of various species; all of whom Felne recognized as the women he killed over the past few weeks. Another series of photos showed him disposing humanoid-shaped garbage bags at a nearby swamp that dissolved whatever was fed to it, removing any evidence.

Inwardly, Felne cursed himself. He thought he'd avoided detection, made sure any would-be followers would lose him. Damn these Defels and their ability to hide so well in whatever environments they found themselves in.

As the Elomin fell silent, the Defel shut off his datapad and replaced it in his pocket. "You're lucky, you know," the visored alien said. "You tortured, beat, and raped those women before you killed them. I could've sent this evidence over to the police, but you know, given their lax security standards on this moon, I doubt they would've done anything. That, and because it would've deprived me of doing this."

"No, no, please, don't!" Felne screamed as the Defel grasped the vibroblade with both hands and raised it above his head.

But the Elomin's scream fell on deaf ears, and the visored alien plunged his weapon down through his victim's chest. Felne struggled for breath as blood began gurgling out of his mouth, and just before everything fell into black, permanently, his eyes locked with the Defel's after he pulled his visor off.

It was hard to read what were in the red beady eyes of Defels. But even then, Felne knew that, with his last breath, he somehow knew that the only way this Defel could feel alive was through others' deaths.