It took nearly an hour for the trio to leave the apartment—not because of strategy or preparation, but because Carth refused to stop complaining about his role in Ice's plan.
"We've been over this, flyboy," Ice said, exasperated as she adjusted the stolen Sith armor. "Neither our fearless leader nor myself can play the part. We'd be recognized in an instant. But you?" She smirked. "With that whiny, insufferable personality of yours, you're perfect. Most people will assume we arrested you just to get some peace and quiet."
Carth scowled, muttering something under his breath, but begrudgingly played along.
By the time they stepped onto the streets, the sun had begun its descent, casting long, distorted shadows across the towering buildings. The streets were quieter now, the few remaining civilians quickening their pace as they made their way home. No one wanted to be outside after dark, not with tensions already stretched to a breaking point under the Sith's iron grip.
Talan and Ice, clad in the stolen Sith uniforms, walked in formation on either side of Carth. The disguise was working—people barely glanced at them, assuming the "prisoner" had gotten himself caught in the wrong place at the wrong time.
Carth, however, kept darting nervous glances at the blaster Ice had trained on him. Even if she had kept to her word so far, that didn't mean he trusted her any more than he trusted the Sith.
Talan could see where he was coming from. Ice was an enigma, one wrapped in sarcasm and a seemingly endless supply of smug remarks. She hadn't shared her real name, nor had she given them any real insight into who she was—beyond being Bastila's sister, and even that seemed to be a sore subject.
It wasn't just a rivalry. There was history there, something that ran deep enough to make Ice practically spit the word sister.
Talan debated pressing for answers but decided against it. He had the feeling that whatever had happened between them, it wasn't something she was going to share over casual conversation. Either way, they needed to focus. If Ice's plan didn't work, they might not get another chance.
No one stopped them as they made their way toward the Lower City elevator. Any curiosity toward their "prisoner" was overshadowed by the simple truth that no one wanted to get involved with the Sith.
At the elevator entrance, a bored-looking Sith officer barely glanced up as they approached.
"State your business," he droned.
Talan nudged Carth with his blaster. "Caught this one trying to start a rebellion in the cantina," he said smoothly. "We're dumping him in the Undercity. Let the rakghouls deal with him."
The officer frowned. "Why not just take him to the holding cells?"
Talan shrugged, keeping his tone casual. "Captain's orders. Says the cells are full from the Republic escape pods that went down the other day."
The officer's frown deepened. "I don't remember hearing about any prisoners."
Ice let out an impatient sigh. "That's hardly our concern, is it?" she snapped. "Perhaps you'd like to call the captain and pester him with these ridiculous questions?"
The officer bristled, clearly torn between ego and self-preservation. Finally, he exhaled sharply and waved them through. "Fine, fine. Just get on with it."
"Good boy," Ice said with a smirk as she stepped into the turbolift.
As the doors hissed shut, Talan heard the officer mutter something under his breath about females and banthas.
The lift descended in silence, the hum of machinery the only sound.
Finally, Carth let out a breath and shook his head. "I can't believe that actually worked."
"Neither can I," Ice admitted. "Your acting was awful."
"What? I didn't even say anything!"
"Exactly. You looked too calm. Most people don't stand there looking bored while being escorted by Sith officers. The one time it would have made sense for you to complain, and you just stood there."
"At least I didn't decide to pick a fight with the guy."
"You clearly haven't dealt with many Sith. If you back down, you're weak. If you're weak, you don't last. Better to act like you own the place."
Talan tuned them out as they fell into another round of bickering. It was like traveling with a pair of siblings who thrived on getting under each other's skin.
His focus remained ahead.
The easy part was over. Now came the real challenge.
As the lift rumbled to a stop, he could feel the shift before the doors even opened.
The air here was different—thick with the scent of garbage, sweat, and something metallic. There was no pretense of order like in the Upper City. This place breathed desperation.
The doors slid open, revealing the Lower City.
It was worse than Talan had imagined.
The few streetlights that still functioned flickered erratically, casting long, eerie shadows. Trash clogged the gutters, and ragged figures rummaged through dumpsters, their faces hollow with hunger.
"This place makes Nar Shaddaa look like a paradise," Carth muttered.
Ice's expression was unreadable as she surveyed the streets. "These are the lucky ones," she said quietly. "The ones dumped in the Undercity? They don't usually last the week. The ones that do… wish they hadn't."
Before Talan could respond, shouting erupted from a nearby alley.
A group of people had gathered, and it was clear from their stance that this wasn't a friendly discussion.
"The Beks are old news! The Vulkars own these streets now!"
"Vulkars are murderers! We'll show you who's strongest!"
The argument ended in an instant as weapons were drawn.
Blaster fire erupted, the flashes of light cutting through the darkened street. Scavengers scattered, desperate to avoid being caught in the crossfire. Within seconds, three of the gang members lay dead, their bodies already being ransacked for whatever scraps they had.
Carth shook his head, his expression grim. "The hospitality on this planet never ceases to amaze me."
One of the thugs, still crouched over a corpse, snapped his head toward them. "Sith aren't welcome here!" he snarled.
Ice sighed, already drawing her blasters. "Damn."
The fight was short, but no less unsettling. The gang members were nothing more than street thugs—easily dealt with—but it was too soon. They had barely set foot in the Lower City and had already made enemies.
Talan wiped his blade clean and exhaled. "That can't be a good sign."
Carth holstered his blasters. "What now?"
Talan considered for a moment. "The cantina worked last time. Might be our best bet again."
Ice arched a brow. "If I might offer a warning—the locals here are a lot less sociable than the ones on the upper levels. And even less tolerant of the Sith. I'd suggest ditching these atrocious uniforms and keeping a low profile."
Talan nodded. "Good idea. Two Sith walking into a cantina won't exactly be welcomed with open arms."
As they stepped back into the shadows to change, Talan couldn't shake the feeling that things were about to get much, much worse.
So far, nothing had gone smoothly.
And if their luck held, it wasn't about to start now.
The stench of the Lower City streets had been bad enough, but the cantina was even worse. Talan nearly recoiled as the thick, putrid mix of alcohol, sweat, and stale vomit hit him the moment he stepped inside. The air was heavy with it, as if the walls themselves had absorbed years of filth and misery.
Humans and aliens of every kind crammed the space, filling every seat, every booth, every corner. The cantina itself looked like it was held together by nothing more than peeling paint and the sheer will of its patrons.
"I've seen Sith holding cells more pleasant than this place," Carth muttered, already looking slightly green.
"Welcome to the Lower City's idea of entertainment," Ice said casually. "This is where the thugs and bottom-feeders come when they get bored of harassing street urchins and cripples."
A crash of breaking glass rang out from somewhere in the back, followed by a string of furious Rodian curses. Talan didn't catch everything, but he was fairly certain someone's mother had just been insulted in a particularly vulgar fashion.
"Seems like a friendly crowd," Talan said, his sarcasm barely concealed.
"Consider yourself lucky, Stranger. Most days, you can't even get past the door without a blaster being shoved in your face. This is what we call a lull."
That thought did little to ease Talan's concern.
"Alright, so what's the plan?" Carth asked, his eyes never leaving the shifting crowd. For once, Talan shared his unease, though he didn't say it out loud.
"You two are going to wait here," Ice said matter-of-factly.
"While you do what?" Carth asked, his voice carrying a mix of suspicion and curiosity.
Ice gave him an incredulous look. "You didn't think I'd just wander in here without a plan, did you?"
"I just figured we were making things up as we went," Talan said with a smirk.
"That's what you're doing. I prefer a more tactical approach."
Without another word, she disappeared into the crowd, moving effortlessly between the clusters of people.
Talan and Carth found two of the only available seats at the bar, doing their best to blend in. No one paid them much attention, which was the only comfort they'd had since arriving.
They kept their heads down, scanning the room for anything—or anyone—that could help them.
"What exactly is she hoping to find here?" Carth muttered.
"Maybe she has a date," Talan replied, not looking away from the crowd.
"Do you take anything seriously?"
"Try not to. Do you take everything seriously?"
"Try to."
Talan clenched his jaw to keep from commenting further. He respected Carth—he had seen more battle than Talan ever would, and clearly, his instincts had kept him alive this long. But his relentless suspicion was starting to wear thin.
Carth let out a slow sigh and ran a hand through his hair. "Look, I know I must seem paranoid, and I suppose that's fair. But I want you to know—it's not personal. I just don't trust people. Period."
Talan considered that for a moment before giving a simple nod. He didn't have much to say to that, and honestly, he wasn't sure if he should.
Before either of them could say more, a deafening roar shook the walls.
The cantina fell into instant silence, every patron holding their breath.
It wasn't hard to spot the source of the commotion.
In the far corner of the room, a towering Wookiee loomed over the crowd. Even the tallest humans barely came up to his shoulders. His fur bristled, and his growl echoed through the cantina like a warning.
"What do you think that's about?" Carth asked.
Talan shrugged. "Maybe they got his order wrong."
Slowly, the tension in the room eased, and conversation resumed. The music returned, and within moments, things were back to normal.
Talan was beginning to grow restless, considering getting up and moving through the crowd just to keep himself occupied. But before he could, he felt something—a shift in the air, a presence approaching.
He glanced over his shoulder.
Three Rodians were headed straight for them.
Talan inched his hand toward his blaster, debating how to warn Carth without making it obvious.
"Calo Nord," one of the Rodians said as they stepped up behind them.
Talan frowned. For a moment, he thought they had mistaken him for someone else. But then, from his left, came a curt, chilling response.
"Go away."
Talan turned slightly, finally taking a good look at the man sitting a few seats down.
Calo Nord.
The Rodians ignored the warning. "Is that any way to treat visitors?" one of them sneered. "We need to teach you some manners."
"One," Calo said.
The Rodians exchanged confused looks. "One? What one? What game is this?"
"Two," Calo said coolly.
"I think he's counting how many of us there are against him," one of them laughed. "Three against one, Calo. You're outnumbered and outgunned."
Calo calmly finished his drink. Then, without hesitation, he said, "Three."
The movement was so fast that Talan barely saw it.
One moment, the Rodians were standing. The next, they were sprawled on the floor, blaster wounds smoking.
Calo Nord didn't react. He simply holstered his weapons and walked out of the cantina as if nothing had happened.
Talan tried not to stare, but it was impossible. It wasn't just the man's speed—it was his size. He was small, barely reaching Talan's chest. And yet, he had moved with lethal efficiency, dropping three armed men without breaking a sweat.
Carth exhaled. "Don't suppose he'd be willing to give us directions."
"Who was that?" Talan asked.
Ice reappeared behind them, looking unimpressed. "Calo Nord. The deadliest bounty hunter on this planet. If you two did anything to piss him off, I suggest you start writing your wills."
Carth ignored her and leaned forward. "Did you find anything?"
Ice pulled a bundle of papers from her belt and tossed them onto the counter.
Talan picked them up, flipping through them. "What are these?"
"Your ticket to the Undercity. These are Sith-issued access papers for travel between the Lower and Upper City. Show these to the guard, and we're in."
Carth narrowed his eyes. "Where did you get these?"
Ice smirked. "Mission."
"Accomplished?" Carth asked dryly.
"Vao. She and her Wookiee friend—you heard him earlier—are the best scoundrels in the area. She swiped these off a Sith officer who had a little too much to drink. Once I told her what we were after, she was happy to hand them over."
Talan grinned. "That was easy."
Ice snorted. "For a price."
"Of course," Talan muttered.
Carth sighed. "What's the catch?"
"There's a big swoop race coming up," Ice explained. "One of the less deadly ways gangs settle their rivalries. The Beks had a prototype stolen from them, and Mission has been working on getting it back. She found a secret entrance into the Vulkar base. She needed backup, we needed papers. So I made a deal."
"You want us to help a street gang?" Carth asked, clearly unimpressed.
"A street gang that helps those who help them," Ice corrected. "I know Gadon. If we bring back his prototype, he'll give us whatever we want. In this case, that means handing over my dear sister." She sighed. "I'd rather contract rakghoul disease, but unfortunately, this isn't up to me."
Carth rubbed his temples. "A trustworthy street gang. Now I've heard everything."