One day after another had crawled by. With each passing moment, with every new trip around the sector searching for the store that Scabbers' supposed lead owned, Cal could feel the scrappers' gazes tuning from confusion, to suspicion, to fear. None of them dared pretend that they recognized Cal, their old exuberant coworker disappeared into the ruthless ranks of the empire.

Protected from as much of the judgment as he could be by the gleaming sets of armor around him, Cal tried not to let his attention linger on the workers as he took his stormtroopers down a grimy alley. Much like the last dozens he'd taken them down, this one was choked with uneven bits of twisted metal and viscus sludge.

Disappointed with this journey as he'd been over the last few days, Cal was about to turn the group around.

Then something picked at the edge of his senses.

A little whisper of a person nearby, Cal was half sure that he was imagining the presence as he stopped to look around the end of the narrow walkway.

Set into what looked more like a jumbled pile of scrap than a solid wall was a door. Derelict and illuminated by faded lights set into its frame, it roughly matched the description that Scabbers had given.

Thinking that they had walked pretty far, Cal asked, "Hey, Kina. Are we still in sector 23A?"

A slight pause came and went before she answered, "Yes, sir."

I should have just told them to call me Cal. He thought to himself before deciding that he didn't want to linger in the area for the amount of time the request would take.

Turning a more critical eye to the door, Cal took a quiet breath as he reached out into the Force. Not just one person, but five were somewhere in the middle of the trash-heap-looking building.

"Wait out here," he told the troopers, unsure of whether he was trying to protect them or his own reputation.

Not questioning their leader's command, Olmar spoke for the group when he gave a simple, "yes, sir."

Rankling a little less at being addressed as sir this time than he did the last, Cal stepped into the dingy little shop.

A chime played as the door swooshed open.

The shop was unremarkable, dim, and musty. Cheap odds and ends cluttered shelved walls. More expensive goods were locked behind a gate, accessible only by the clerk who sat behind a barred-off desk. The clerk was a middle-aged woman, clearly bored of her job as she skimmed a datapad, barely glancing up as someone entered the shop.

As much as the place looked like a dead-end, Cal took a calming breath as he felt for more ripples in the Force. The dulled sense of dread leaking in from the outside workers made for a slightly annoying background, though it wasn't difficult for Cal to pick out a wave of high-strung and persistent anger from deeper in the store.

"I'm looking for Vince Zarxic," Cal said.

Not bothering to look up, the woman hid a spike of adrenaline from her features, though her stressed lie was obvious through the Force, "Never heard of him."

"There are four other people behind that door, don't lie to me."

Finally looking up, the woman was about to tell the man to get lost and angrily deny the fact that there was a second room in the shop, despite the clearly visible door behind her, "If you know what's good for you, you'll stop-"

But she stopped the instant she saw an unfamiliar imperial uniform.

Cal raised a brow, waiting for the woman to finish her comment. Instead, she just sat perfectly still, as if it would let her disappear into the background.

When it didn't come, he said, "He's in the back, isn't he?"

Barely moving at all, the woman pushed a hidden button. A small beep preceded one of the shelves sliding forward and then to the side to reveal a door that led behind the barred-off desk.

"I've never heard of him," she repeated, her voice fearful yet complicit, seemingly giving Cal the assurance that if the man were to disappear into the clutches of the Empire, she wouldn't tell a soul.

Wondering what Zarxic could have possibly done to earn such little loyalty from his own people, Cal didn't question the scenario as he walked to the back of the store and to the rear door.

Pausing for a moment, he caught the slight sounds of work coming from the rear room and nothing from the clerk that he sensed was still behind him.

Noting that there was a blaster under the desk, but that the clerk had no intention to use it, Cal unceremoniously stepped into the backroom.

Though Cal didn't rush into the place, a beat of surprise still passed as the four men in the back room looked up.

"Who the hell are you supposed to be?" A noghri sitting at the back of the room was the first to speak.

Stocky with papery grey skin, he wore a too-small but expensive-looking coat. The others in the room wore grimy clothing, similar to the scrappers but missing the guild-issued poncho that Cal had worn day in and out for nearly five years.

"Are you Vince Zarxic?" Cal didn't care to question what was happening back here.

Eyes going narrow and looking the unfamiliar Imperial up and down, the noghri answered without answering, "Put some respect on that name, and come closer when you're talking to me."

Two men were working at the table, sorting through a pile of precious-looking tech, Cal assumed it to be stolen. Taking a few steps forward so that he was nearly touching the table, Cal went on guard. They moved away as he approached, one of them taking his place against the wall far to the right while the other lingered near the table. A third goon that Cal hadn't immediately seen, but had sensed from outside, moved to stand far behind Cal, blocking off the door he'd just entered through.

Trying to hide how utterly unimpressed he was by the little display, Cal couldn't help but think that the gangster's intimidation tactics were pathetic. Whatever was happening here, Sorc had done better. Never mind that just stepping foot in the Fortress Inquisitorius was miles more terrifying than anything this man was capable of.

"Wipe that smirk off your face." The man that Cal assumed to be Zarxic said with a snarl.

The weakly implied threat somehow made Cal even less concerned, Guess I wasn't hiding how unimpressed I am..

Making absolutely no effort to do as the man commanded, Cal all but ignored him as he said, "I'm looking for a Jedi. You were the last person to see them, any idea where they are now?"

The goon closest to Cal and the one at the side of the room traded a glance.

Zarxic didn't flinch, "Haven't seen a Jedi in years. Heard all of them were dead."

"Yeah…" Cal wondered exactly how difficult this man planned on being, "That droid's head you dropped off at the customs house kind of proves otherwise."

A dangerous glint and a pang of regret crossed Zarxic's features. Though not enough to make him change his mind as he made a gesture to the man standing closest to Cal.

Hair going on edge, Cal was completely sure of what was about to happen before it did. Deciding that there was still a chance that this could end with everyone leaving in one piece, Cal put up no resistance as the criminal closest to him took a step forward and roughly pushed him down.

Cal's face hit the table with a thud, the glorified henchmen grabbing his left arm as he went down and holding it at a bad angle.

Even with his face pressed against the cold durasteel surface, Cal was sure that he was in no real danger, "Last warning." He said, "Just tell me what I want to know, and I'll leave."

"You're warning me?" Zarxic let out a dry bark of a laugh, "From down there? Fidel, show this boy what happens to Imps that think they can just walk into my shop."

Suddenly offended at being called an Imp, Cal was slightly slowed in his rection as the criminal behind him pulled his arm back and then up, putting pressure on the joint and nearly popping it from its socket.

I warned them, Cal scarcely got the thought through his head before he reared back, right arm pushing down on the table and sending him and the gangster staggering back

But he moved at a bad angle. Shoulder popping out of its socket with a wet crunch as the gangster tried to keep hold, Cal let out a breathy grunt as he tried to turn. One-handed, he pulled the lightsaber from his belt as he moved, igniting the thing in a flurry and only stopping after the blade had cleaved the criminal behind him in two.

Stopped so that he locked eyes with the second thug, Cal made a quick gesture, swinging the saber and pulling out through the Force.

Lifted from his feet before he could take a step to attack or to run, the second gangster flew forward, only stopping once impaled on Cal's blade.

Two of the three guards dead in a flash, Cal's hairs went on end at the actions of the third. Knowing what he would do a split second before he did it, Cal toggled on the second blade of his dual saber.

The flashing of a plasma bolt ricocheting off the bright blade nearly blinded Cal as the third criminal dropped dead, hit in the chest by his own shot.

Now alone in the room with Zarxic, Cal drooped his saber, letting the dead man fall off the blade with a sizzle and hiss.

I warned him. Cal mentally repeated, flinging his blade up to cut through the table rather than walk around it.

His guard gone in a flash, the noghri frantically searched for an escape. Finding nothing, he stumbled backward, reaching for his belt and drawing the small blaster he kept.

Hand shaking, he fired two shots.

Not even blinking, Cal barely tipped his blade to knock the plasma back, one shot to either side of the criminal.

And then he stood face to face with Zarxic. Nearly no space left between them, Cal barely had room to hold his closed hand against the gangster's gut, leaving the still lit lightsaber to hover scarcely an inch away from his chest and jaw.

What should have been searing agony from a dangling and dislocated shoulder felt more like a distant throbbing. Pulse steady, Cal knew that it wasn't a flood of adrenaline that dulled the pain.

And he knew that he shouldn't be enjoying the steady tremor of fear that rolled off the criminal. But he had attacked first. And Cal found that the sudden reversal, that suddenly having perfect control over the room and the sole survivor in it was as horrifying as it was satisfying.

"I warned you," Cal finally managed to speak aloud.

"Okay, okay! I'll talk!"

"Why did you drop off the footage and run?" Cal had to know.

"Are you kidding me!?" Zarxic shouted, still unable to pull in a full breath for fear that doing so would leave his chest to rub against the lightsaber, "I didn't want my door kicked in by an imperial thug, but here we are."

Hairs going on end for being called exactly what he was, a dark moment passed where Cal considered cutting the man in two.

I need information… Cal managed to tell himself before he did something regrettable.

Taking a half step back, Cal deactivated his saber, though he kept the hilt in his hand, "Where did you see the Jedi?"

"I didn't." The man huffed as he straightened his too-small coat, "the droid did."

"Where did you get the droid?"

"Under platform 22C. But you already knew that if you knew to come looking for me."

The stress of the moment passed, Cal realized that Zarxic was trying to take control of the conversation, to steer him away from something important. "You know more than you're telling me."

Not in the habit of talking to Imperials, Zarxic had still dealt with his fair share of dangerous people, "I know a lot of things, but nothing else about this Jedi."

"Why did you turn in the footage in the first place?" Cal pressed on.

Standing a little straighter and trying to appear that he had some amount of control over the situation, Zarxic flatly replied, "Civic duty."

Cal would have laughed, that lie was so ridiculous, "No really."

Zarxic had been as equally worried that a long Imperial investigation on Bracca would disrupt his business just as much as some wayward Jedi. Giving the Imps a lead so that they could solve his problem quickly seemed like Zarxic's best option, but he wasn't going to flat out tell that to some goon the Empire had decided to send down to Bracca.

Not completely at least, "Armed criminals are bad for business."

Rankling at the truth of that accusation along with the rest of the conversation, "I bet that means a guy like you kept tabs on the Jedi."

Zarxic looked down, wondering if he could find a way to disarm Cal or flee.

Cal took it as an admission of guilt, "You know where they are."

"I didn't say that."

"But you do."

Zarxic considered the door.

Cal noticed and firmly stood between the noghri and the exit, "Show me."

"What?"

"You know where they are, take me there."

"And let this guy know that I sent the Empire after him? No thanks."

"Let me rephrase this," Cal raised his good hand, still firmly holding the hilt of his lightsaber, "You're showing me where they live, or you're going to end up like your friends."

A bead of sweat gathered at the back of Zarxic's neck, his gaze flickering over his guard's dismembered remains, "Threatening people is illegal."

"No one told me that," Cal replied as he clipped the lightsaber back to his belt and grabbed Zarxic by the shoulder.

"What- Whoa, hey!" he shook slightly before Cal increased the strength of his grip.

"Relax," Cal said as he shuffled the criminal through the door and back into the store proper, "Just do what I say, and everything will be fine."

Not believing that for a second, Zarxic just focused on not stumbling over his own feet as he was roughly forced through his own shop.

A shop that had been abandoned, with the woman disappearing to nowhere that Cal could guess.

And he didn't much care to try as he stepped outside and back to the gaggle of stormtroopers.

Perfectly unaware of anything that had just transpired inside, they only knew that their temporary commander had returned, their apparent suspect dragged along with the air of a flustered toddler.

The other detail that they immediately saw was Cal's left arm limply hanging from its socket, obviously dislocated.

"I'll call a medic." Esol offered.

"No-" Cal answered between a grunt as handed Zarxic off to the nearest trooper. "No, I've had worse. Just give me a minute."

The pain of a dislocated shoulder should have been bright and hot, but it was barely anything compared to the horrors that he'd lived through. Never mind that the pulsing agony fed an adrenaline, that fed the Dark Side, that in turn dampened the pain.

Leaning against the makeshift wall with no further explanation, Cal brought his good arm up, putting his whole body weight into a thrust as he went. After an agonizing couple of seconds ticked by, there was a wet crunch as his shoulder bone popped back into its socket.

Biting down a yelp before shrugging and rolling his shoulders to make sure everything was back in its place, Cal took a step forward.

"Now that that's out of the way," he came to look Zarxic in the eye, "You were about to show us to the Jedi's hideout?"