If the Lower City had been a pit of misery, the Undercity was pure hell.
Hundreds of people were crammed into the confined space, and judging by the number of rundown huts compared to the sheer number of bodies, many were either forced to share a single dwelling with multiple families or had no choice but to sleep in the streets. And the streets themselves were barely fit for animals, much less people. Filthy, slime-ridden, and littered with broken glass and jagged rocks, they tore at the bare feet of children who wandered aimlessly, their soles blackened and bloodied. Their clothing was little more than rags, some barely decent enough to be called garments at all.
A sluggish river cut through the center of the village, but what flowed through it wasn't water. It was raw sewage, refuse discarded from the wealthier districts above. The stench was overwhelming, a heavy, rotting presence in the already damp and stagnant air. Even Ice, who seemed unaffected by most things, turned her head slightly, as if to lessen the impact of the foul odor.
There was no natural light. They were miles beneath the surface, swallowed in darkness. The only illumination came from dim, flickering street lamps, barely bright enough to push back the ever-encroaching shadows. The entire settlement felt like it was being slowly suffocated.
The damp chill seeped into Talan's skin, and he knew that if the people here didn't succumb to the Rakghoul infection that plagued these depths, they were just as likely to die from something as mundane as pneumonia. And with no real medical care, it would be just as fatal.
He felt a crushing mix of emotions—revulsion, pity, and rage. How could any system allow people to live like this?
"Outcasts," Ice said, as if reading his mind. "Descendants of those who fought in the rebellion. The ones who led the fight are long dead, but their children, their grandchildren, their great-grandchildren—still paying the price. Most of them have never even heard of sunlight, much less seen it."
"They were sent down here during the Tarisian Civil War," Carth added. "They rebelled against the injustice forced on them by the wealthy and powerful. So the elite did what they always do—hid the problem where no one could see it. Now, their conditions are worse than they were before they fought back."
Talan clenched his fists, resisting the urge to react. The cruelty of it all gnawed at him, but there was nothing he could do. Not now.
"We should keep moving," Ice said, her voice practical but firm. "The longer we stand here, the greater the chance someone not so helpless tries to slit our throats for a few credits. Desperation makes people reckless, and I'd rather not have to kill a starving beggar just because he made a bad decision."
"Where are the sewers?" Talan asked.
"That way," Ice motioned with her head. "Past the river of filth and disease, just to the left of the rotting animal carcass."
With that charming visual in mind, they pressed forward.
Talan could feel the eyes on them as they walked. The villagers glared at them with unmasked suspicion, their expressions a mix of resentment and despair. He didn't blame them. From their perspective, the three of them were probably just more Upper City outsiders who had come down here to gawk at their suffering.
Talan did his best to avoid meeting their gazes. It would do no good to get emotionally involved. No matter how much he wanted to help, there was nothing he could do for them now.
A sudden cry split the air.
"Lower the gate, please! He'll die if you leave him out there!"
The source of the commotion became immediately clear. Just ahead, a large metal gate separated the village from the wasteland beyond. A young woman was pleading with the gatekeeper, panic evident in every motion. The man's grim expression made it clear—he had no intention of opening it.
Talan quickened his pace, closing the distance.
"What's going on?"
The woman turned to him, her face desperate. "One of the villagers, Hendar—he went into the sewers looking for salvage. Now he's coming back, but—he's not alone."
Talan turned.
A lone figure sprinted toward the gate, his tattered clothing barely holding together. And behind him, closing in fast—three monstrous shapes, their twisted forms barely human anymore.
Rakghouls.
The creatures let out unnatural, guttural shrieks, closing the distance with terrifying speed.
Talan turned back to the gatekeeper. "Open it. We'll handle the Rakghouls."
The man hesitated. "Stranger, Rakghouls aren't some rabid kath hound. If I open the gate and one of them—"
"Do it," Ice cut in.
The gatekeeper muttered something under his breath but pulled the lever. The gate groaned as it lowered, just in time for Hendar to stumble inside.
Talan and the others rushed through, weapons drawn.
Carth fired first, his blasters lighting up the dark as he took down one of the creatures before it could react. Talan and Ice made short work of the others, cutting them down before they had a chance to reach them.
Talan yanked his blade free from the last corpse, grimacing at the sight of the twisted, disfigured face. He would rather die than be turned into one of these things.
Ice kicked at one of the fallen creatures. "You know, it's been a while since I fought something that actually stayed dead."
"You almost sound pleased," Talan said with a smirk.
"Cracking skulls in the arena is all well and good, but there's something satisfying about knowing they're not getting back up."
"You scare me," Carth muttered.
"Join the ranks, flyboy."
Before the conversation could go any further, another voice interrupted.
"Hey! You've got to help me!"
Talan turned to see a young blue-skinned Twi'lek girl rushing toward them, her face contorted with panic.
"Mission?" Ice said, raising an eyebrow. "You're looking less hairy than the last time I saw you. Where's your walking carpet?"
"They took him!" Mission panted, struggling to catch her breath. "Slavers—Gamorrean slavers! We were exploring the sewers when they cornered us. Zaalbar told me to run, so I did—but there were too many of them! The last thing I saw was him being overwhelmed. We have to help him!"
Talan frowned. "Slavers? Down here?"
Mission nodded furiously. "Yeah! They have a base in the sewers. Please, I helped you get those papers, and you're not getting into the Vulkar base without me. But I'm not going without Zaalbar."
Ice let out a sharp curse. "Slavers. If there's one thing I hate more than the Sith, it's slavers."
Talan arched a brow. "You almost sound emotional."
"Don't insult me, Stranger," Ice shot back. "No one should be forced to submit to something against their will."
"Speaking of that—" Mission interrupted.
"Yeah, yeah, we get it," Ice waved her off. "We help you get your oversized furball back, and you help us break into the Vulkar base. Just tell us where we need to go."
Mission nodded. "There's a side entrance to the sewers we can use. The main entrance is suicide."
Carth sighed. "So let me get this straight. We're trudging through the sewers to rescue a captive Wookiee, so we can break into a gang's base, so we can steal their prototype, so we can enter a race where we might explode. That about sum it up?"
Talan grinned. "Sounds about right. What could go wrong?"
Carth shook his head. "I hate when people say things like that."
Tracking down an imprisoned Wookiee turned out to be much harder than expected.
Despite Mission's insistence that she knew exactly where she was going, they had gotten lost more times than any of them cared to admit. The sewer tunnels all looked the same—endless corridors of rusted pipes, filth-covered walls, and the occasional corpse that served as a grim reminder of what happened to those who wandered down here unprepared.
More than once, they had stumbled upon groups of Gamorrean slavers. The fights never lasted long since the slavers had just enough intelligence to rival a Kath hound, but that did little to ease the tension in the group. By the time they had finally tracked down Zaalbar, disabled the barrier leading to the lower levels, and trudged through what felt like miles of sludge, everyone was on edge.
"This is it," Mission said as they stopped in front of a massive door. "The last door before the Vulkar base."
Ice, wrapping a bandage around a cut on her forearm, glanced at her. "If I recall correctly, and I do, the last time you said that, we walked into a room full of Gamorrean guards and their droids."
"It wasn't my fault! It could have easily been the right door," Mission shot back.
"And I could easily be mistaken for Ajuur the Hutt."
Zaalbar let out a low growl.
"Judging by your personality, the resemblance wouldn't be far off," he said.
Mission snickered.
"I understood that perfectly, you overgrown hairball," Ice muttered.
"Enough," Carth said. For once, Talan agreed with him. "Let's just get this over with. I saw something moving in the water earlier, and I don't plan on sticking around long enough to find out what it is."
Mission hesitated before speaking again. "So, there's something I kind of forgot to mention."
Every head turned toward her, irritation clear on their faces.
"Don't look at me like that! My best friend was about to be sold into slavery and de-clawed. The Rancor wasn't exactly my top priority at the time."
Talan frowned. "Did you just say Rancor?"
"Well, yeah," Mission said. "You didn't think we were just going to stroll into the base, did you?"
"I was hoping we would," Talan muttered. He had faced all manner of men and monsters in the Republic, but a Rancor was not on that list.
"Any ideas?" he asked.
"We could throw the blue one in as a distraction," Ice suggested. "While it's busy chewing, we slip past it."
"Hey!" Mission protested, while Zaalbar let out a furious growl.
"Actually…" Talan considered it for a moment.
Mission's eyes widened. "No. You can't be serious!"
"You're the fastest one here," Talan said. "You can dodge better than the rest of us and keep it occupied while we attack from behind."
Mission hesitated, then sighed. "Fine. Just make sure that thing doesn't eat my face."
"I hope your feet are as fast as your mouth," Ice muttered.
Zaalbar clearly hated the idea, but Mission managed to talk him down. It took longer than it should have, but in the end, he relented, though he still looked ready to rip someone's arms off if things went sideways.
"Alright," Talan said. "Everyone ready?"
"As ready as I'll ever be," Mission muttered.
"Good," Ice said, pressing the door controls. "Off you go. Don't die."
"You better do your part in there!" Mission called over her shoulder.
"We will," Talan reassured her.
"I meant her," Mission said, giving Ice a pointed look before stepping inside.
The first thing she noticed was the pile of bones in the corner.
The second was the massive creature hunched over something, tearing into it with slow, deliberate movements.
Mission had no idea what it was eating, and she wasn't sure she wanted to.
She swallowed the lump in her throat and took slow, careful steps toward her position. Every step felt like it took an eternity. The air in the room was thick, humid, and reeked of blood and decay.
She took a deep breath and braced herself.
"Hey! Bantha breath!"
The Rancor stopped eating.
Its beady eyes locked onto her. Then, after a long, tense moment, it let out a deafening roar, spittle flying from its mouth and landing directly on her face.
Mission gagged and wiped it off. "Ugh! That's disgusting! What, did your mother never teach you manners?"
The Rancor let out another bellow and charged.
Mission dove out of the way just as Ice deactivated her stealth field. A concussion grenade exploded near the creature's head, momentarily stunning it.
Talan and Zaalbar rushed forward, blades striking at its legs. The attacks barely did anything. The creature's hide was too thick.
"Look out!" Carth shouted.
Too late.
The Rancor swung a massive arm, sending Zaalbar flying across the chamber. He crashed into the wall with a heavy thud.
"Z!" Mission screamed.
Zaalbar let out a weak groan but didn't get up.
Ice ducked under another swing. "A flying Wookiee. That's new."
"Wait until you see a Hutt cry," Talan grunted, slicing at the Rancor's arm. A chunk of its claw fell away.
"You're lying," Ice shot back.
"It's true. I saw a Hutt lose thirty thousand credits on a bet once. They don't take it well."
Carth took aim and fired, two shots hitting the Rancor square in the eye. The creature roared in agony, thrashing wildly.
Seeing an opening, Talan pulled a frag grenade from his belt.
The moment the Rancor opened its mouth, he hurled it inside.
"Run!" he shouted.
They sprinted toward the tunnel leading to the Vulkar base. Behind them, the Rancor let out one last deafening roar before a massive explosion rocked the chamber.
The wet, sickening squelch that followed was something none of them would soon forget.
Mission, panting, wiped at her face again. "That was the most disgusting thing I've ever seen."
Zaalbar, dazed but conscious, grunted in agreement.
"You two sure know how to make a mess," Carth muttered.
"And you're a terrible shot," Ice said, flicking blood off her blade.
Carth smirked. "Think you could do better?"
"In my sleep."
Talan wandered further down the tunnel and found two Vulkar guards unconscious on the ground.
Mission strolled up beside him, grinning.
"Your work?"
"Well, I couldn't let you have all the fun," she said.
Talan chuckled. "Nice job."
Mission kicked one of the guards in the ribs. "One of these days, people are gonna learn to stop underestimating me."