Coruscant. The planet of a trillion people. Over five thousand layers of life forms stacked like the galaxy's largest metallic cake. A mixing pot where every race and species had a presence, however minor.

Koegr hated every inch of this rotten place.

He restlessly paced his ship, occasionally stopping to glare out a plasteel window at the skyline. One of the assassin droids, named But13r, stood motionless beside his bedroom door. The other one, P1l0t, was wired to the captain's seat. Var checked his watch again, just like he had every two minutes before. Muttering to himself, he went to his armory and checked his equipment.

The room was a good-sized storeroom repurposed to hold his formidable array of gear. On one side a sniper rifle, an assault rifle, and two pistols hung on hooks and were mag-locked in place. Beneath them sat extra batteries, magazines, even enough spare parts for each weapon to make each one twice, if need be. A center island held a small arsenal of gas grenades, knives, flashbangs, several cheap blasters, even high explosives and several poisons of varying lethality. To the right were stands for his armor, including a full suit of Mandalorian armor he rarely wore, alloyed dark red, his favorite color. Everything was meticulously organized.

He checked the time again. Barely five and a half hours. Snarling, Koegr forced himself to go over everything in the armory, checking every detail and part. It took the better half of two hours, and when he was finished he was calmer. Slightly.

Finished, the bounty hunter went to his personal chamber and collapsed into his overstuffed chair. He tried for the sixth time to start reading the holobook he had started en route here, but couldn't. Var drank some water, cleaned his pistol for the third time. Checked his gauntlets to see if they were in working order for the fifth. Checked the time.

Eight hours.

Finally, he stalked out of his ship, a scowl etched deep into his face. "I hate this place!" He shouted as he walked to the hover taxis.

The driver looked at his client nervously.

He had driven his kind before. Dangerous men on dangerous missions. Men with guns and blades at the ready. But none with such a scowl, none so angry at seemingly nothing.

Koegr caught the driver glancing at him in the mirror. Sighed. "You're doing a fine job," he told him.

It was all he said.

He left a liberal tip and walked into the droid repair shop, impatience coloring his every move. "Oi! Shopkeep! You done yet!? I know it's not time, but I really need to… what are you doing?"

The Trandoshan, head in his hands just a moment before, suddenly snapped to attention and stood. Another resounding clatter made him back up, and he kicked something Var couldn't see from in front of the counter. But what he could see was the headless astromech droid, resting in the cart behind him. Fesk rushed up to the counter window, eager, if not terrified, to defend his case.

"Look, sir, I never got your name, but I've been trapped in here for four hours and… and… they took your droid-brain, and I couldn't stop them and-"

Koegr held up a hand, his eternal headache just growing far worse. "Did you just say, 'they took the droid-brain?'" Before he could reply, he raised his hand again. "I have had one sithspit of a day! I swear, unless Lord Vader himself shows up to shove a lightsaber up my exhaust port, it can't get any worse."

He pulled his gun and shot out the window with a muted cough and the tinkle of breaking glass. "Get out of there. I have one question for you, boot-skin. Do you know where to find them?"

Fesk winced at the shards of transparisteel falling down the counter after it was shot in the corner, clearing the shards of the window off before hopping over the counter beside Var. "Them… them… I know where they… might have taken it, yes. A slicer, a good one, but he works for Neversky."

"Neversky? What kind of name is that? Some kind of two-credit gutter gang?"

"You could say that. Not a friendly bunch… they come from a lot further down… started getting brave, recently. They claimed territory on a lot of stores, collecting revenue as their own little tax, to supplement their other operations… but that's all I really know about them."

"Sounds like every other gang on this rusting hulk of a planet. Grab your coat, Trendoshan. We got a droid head to get."

Fesk felt fenced-in. Either miss the tax and get slammed into by Neversky, or say no to the bounty-hunter who could throw him from the catwalk should he get grumpy. He sighed, reaching over the counter and sliding his pistol into his holster, a DL-18. It was once described as "barely worth surrendering to." But, it was something. Fesk needed anything. He lead the way out the door, locking it behind the bounty hunter.

The stairways down to the lower levels were always crowded, always diverse, and always looking to nick your wallet. Fesk had grown up around it. Discovered that walking beside the neon lights or the shady alleys did little, what made the difference is who you were around. People who were watchful, or people down on their luck. Still, he counted the numbers down, eventually 15 or so levels, making his legs groan from the less-than-enjoyable climb. And the smell was not exactly pleasant in this sector either. He made room for a police droid, "kick me" painted on the back of a dented chassis. It made him smile. Fesk did not feel much for droids, despite his line of work. An R3 unit could get you in more trouble than the parts were worth if you had the right one. And this was certainly a prime example.

Var, with the help of his guide, found himself on a somewhat narrow walkway that clung to the right side of the sparsely populated speeder street, leading to a corner of a derelict-looking repair shop and disappearing into a brief right turn. It looked like power to this district had been either cut or rerouted some time ago for some nightclub a few levels down to use. Music thudded through the metal floors as confirmation of the theory. They were cold floors, unpleasant to the bare feet of a Trandoshan.

Looking at the front of the shop, there were two barred windows flanking a sliding door, jammed open by a piece of rusty pipe. In Galactic Standard above the door frame were the words "Astromech Refit and Repair," with a Neversky glyph painted over them: a four-pointed star with a slash through it. It was guarded by a Neversky thug, whose gaze looked one way and another, eventually landing on the two men who were approaching.

"Hey, cyborg, get you and your pet lizard out of here," he ordered in a strong Coruscanti accent, turning his body to face them. Fesk glared at him.

Koegr, meanwhile, had had enough today. He nodded and made to walk on by. As he passed the thug, he quickly slit his throat with a knife. The bounty hunter held the man's mouth shut as he gurgled and slowly collapsed in his arms. The Trandoshan almost swore, a hand hovering over his holster.

Koegr Var set a hand on Fesk's shoulder. "Watch the door."

He pulled out two small metallic orbs and slipped on his gas mask. Pistol in hand, he threw the orbs into the shop. Startled exclamations came from inside, and slipping on thermal goggles, Var walked in shooting.

The smoke grenades had caused panic in the small shop, and the four thermal blobs inside were tripping over themselves trying to get out of the way.

The thugs had the presence of mind to protect themselves; a table was flipped over, scattering parts in the already heaped shop, the thugs blasting away at the door. Two shots hit his chestpiece, bouncing off. Var shot the light, plunging them into darkness.

He ducked behind the counter, firing a shot. A thug screamed, holding his stomach. Blaster shots warmed the air around him as he moved positions. A lucky shot hit his chestpiece, bouncing off harmlessly. Var peeked up, saw a blob move. A slug dropped it, writhing on the floor.

"I'll kill you for that!" One screamed.

"Try harder!" Koegr shot back.

And shot him.

Only one blaster was still firing, blindly raking the mounds of droid parts in the little store. Koegr kicked one of the smoke grenades to a nearby pile, making it clank. He moved, flanking his last target. There. Skinny little guy, but no matter. He crossed the wrong bounty hunter.

The last thug didn't know what hit him.

Just as Koegr was standing up, something moved. A blur raced for the front door, someone he had missed. He fired, hit the wall. He gave chase, tripping on a corpse. He scrambled upright, roaring in rage. His yell was answered with a wail of terror outside.

Stumbling outside, Var made it just in time to watch Fesk throw Pledge off the balcony.

It was a long way down.