Seth surveyed the wreckage of the party, hands on his hips, exhaling slowly.

The apartment looked like a warzone.

Empty bottles cluttered the tables, some rolling across the floor as the heavy bass of the still-blaring music vibrated through the walls. Strobe lights flickered off the silver of Sith uniforms, discarded haphazardly across the room.

And the officers?

Unconscious.

Every single one of them.

Sarna had been the last to go down, slurring something about how Seth was "too cute for his own good" before planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek and immediately collapsing. Yun had lasted about thirty seconds longer before face-planting onto the couch.

Seth hadn't touched a single drink all night. But he'd pretended to, dodging shots with the subtlety of an undercover operative.

It had been an exhausting performance.

He ran a hand through his hair, stepping over a snoring lieutenant sprawled across the floor. He nudged one of the helmets with the toe of his boot.

Mission accomplished.

He pulled out his communicator. "Carth, it's done. Get up here."

A few minutes later, Carth stepped through the door, immediately grimacing at the smell of alcohol.

His eyes swept the scene, landing on a pile of unconscious Sith officers before flicking to Seth, who stood perfectly sober amidst the chaos.

Carth exhaled, hands on his hips. "Is Tarisian ale really that strong?"

Seth grinned. "Depends how much you drink." He gestured to the wreckage. "Which, apparently, was all of it."

Carth let out a low whistle. "These kids must be fresh out of boot camp. Not the most seasoned drinkers."

Seth snorted. "You're telling me. I watched Sarna and Yun funnel an entire bottle into some poor private's mouth. They cheered like he'd won a medal when he finished."

Carth shook his head, muttering something about the youth of today.

Seth walked over to Yun's pack, pulling out a neatly folded Sith uniform. The insignia reflected against the flashing lights as he held it up with a smirk. "Well. The hard part's over."

Carth folded his arms, raising an eyebrow. "I still can't believe this worked."

Seth grinned. "Oh, ye of little faith."

Carth huffed. "It worked. This time. But you got lucky, and luck won't save you forever."

Seth tilted his head, shoving the uniform into his pack. "I'll take the win either way."

Carth exhaled, shaking his head. "Let's just grab what we need and get out of here before one of them wakes up."

Seth nodded, gathering the last of the uniforms. As he folded Sarna's into his pack, he hesitated.

For just a second.

He thought about the way she'd laughed, how she had just wanted to have fun on this backwater planet. She wasn't some faceless Sith enforcer.

She was a person.

Then he remembered Trask.

The sound of a lightsaber igniting behind a sealed door.

The smell of burning metal and flesh on the Endar Spire.

Seth's jaw tightened.

They were still the enemy.

He shoved the uniform down into the bottom of his pack.

Time to go.

Seth kept his posture rigid, mirroring the disciplined stance of the Sith troopers flanking the elevator doors.

"Identification?" one of the guards asked, voice flat and uninterested.

Carth, clad in full Sith armor, handed over the forged credentials they had lifted from their party "hosts." The officer barely glanced at them before nodding.

"You're clear. Move along."

Seth kept his expression neutral, but internally, he let out a slow, measured exhale.

Too easy.

The elevator doors slid open, revealing the Lower City of Taris.

The shift in atmosphere was immediate.

Gone were the pristine walkways and polished spires of the Upper City. Instead, the Lower City sprawled out before them in a maze of rusted metal, flickering streetlamps, and exposed durasteel beams. The air was thick, heavy, tinged with the acrid scent of burned-out engines and stale exhaust fumes.

Loud music and shouting echoed from distant cantinas. Holosigns flickered, advertising swoop bikes, weapons, and no-questions-asked mercenary work.

And the people?

A mix of *rough-looking humans, aliens, and swoop gang members—*most of whom shot them wary glances as they stepped off the elevator.

Yeah. They stuck out here.

Carth gestured for Seth to follow him into a shadowed alcove, away from prying eyes. "Let's get rid of these."

Seth didn't argue. He yanked off the helmet, shaking out his hair before unfastening the armor plates. The uniform was stifling, and he was more than happy to toss it into his pack.

Carth did the same, muttering, "Not gonna lie, feels good to be out of that."

Seth smirked faintly. "I can imagine. That helmet does nothing for your peripheral vision."

Carth gave him a dry look. "That's what you're taking from this?"

Seth shrugged, adjusting the strap on his pack. "Just saying. If you'd ever actually joined the Sith, you probably wouldn't have lasted long with that gear holding you back."

Carth huffed. "Yeah, well, guess we'll never know."

Seth's smirk faded slightly as he took in the streets ahead. "Alright. So we blend in now, yeah? Time to make some connections."

Carth's expression flattened. "Not that kind of connections."

Seth frowned. "We need information. If we want leads, we need to talk to people."

Carth folded his arms. "You don't get it. These aren't the kind of people you just 'talk' to. They don't trust outsiders. And they don't hesitate to shoot first."

Seth kept his tone measured, respectful. "I understand that, sir, but with all due respect, I grew up in and out of street gangs on Coruscant. They're just people. They've got their own rules, their own codes. You just have to know how to approach them."

Carth studied him for a second, his expression unreadable. "Taris isn't Coruscant. There's no Republic oversight here. The Exchange calls the shots. And if you piss off the wrong gang, there's no clean way out."

Seth nodded slightly, considering that. "I hear you. I won't take unnecessary risks."

Carth let out a slow breath, his eyes still scanning the streets. "Just don't get cocky."

Seth met his gaze evenly. "I won't, sir."

Carth gave a small nod, satisfied enough for now. "Alright. Let's move."

They stepped into the crowded Lower City streets.

The cantina smelled like stale alcohol and bad decisions.

Dim lighting cast long shadows across the cracked tile floors, and the thick murmur of conversations blended with the low, rhythmic hum of music from the corner stage.

The patrons were a mix of rough-looking swoop gang members, off-duty mercenaries, and the kind of people who made a living in the gray areas of the galaxy.

Carth and Seth slipped inside unnoticed, finding an open booth near the back.

Seth leaned back in his seat, grinning slightly. "Well, sir, I'd say that was a pretty solid victory. Slipping past a Sith blockade without breaking a sweat? I think that warrants a celebration."

Carth huffed, giving him a skeptical look. "You're not getting a drink, Seth."

Seth held up his hands, mock-offended. "I was going to order a water."

Carth's expression did not change.

Seth smirked. "Your drink's on me, though."

Carth let out a deep sigh but didn't argue. "Fine."

A few minutes later, a waitress dropped off their drinks—Carth's Tarisian ale, and Seth's decidedly non-alcoholic water.

Carth took a long sip, exhaling. "I swear, if this stuff was the only thing Taris exported, they'd still be just as rich. Might even beat Telosian whiskey."

Seth raised an eyebrow. "Telosian whiskey?"

Carth sighed, closing his eyes briefly. "Best whiskey in the galaxy." His voice was oddly serious. "Smooth, warm, real refined. Shame you never got to try it before…"

He trailed off, staring into his glass.

Seth didn't miss the shift in his tone. "Before the Sith hit Telos?"

Carth nodded, swirling his ale. "Yeah. They took everything."

Seth leaned forward slightly, keeping his voice even. "So… when you said you blamed yourself earlier, was that just the ale talking, or—?"

Carth was quiet for a long moment.

Then he sighed, setting his glass down.

"I trusted the wrong guy." His voice was flat, distant. "Ignored the signs, brushed off the warnings. And then one day, he showed up at our doorstep with an armada, and it was too late."

Seth didn't know what to say to that.

Carth stared into his drink, his jaw tight. "I lost everything."

There was something so raw in the way he said it—like the words barely scratched the surface of what he meant.

Seth swallowed hard. "I'm sorry."

Carth huffed a small laugh, shaking his head. "If anyone should be sorry, it's me." He lifted his glass, finishing what was left like a shot. "I should've seen it coming. I could've warned someone. Or at least… gotten my family to safety."

Seth froze.

Family.

Carth had a family.

Had.

Suddenly, the man sitting across from him felt a whole lot less like just a superior officer.

For a second, Seth wanted to ask more. Wanted to know who he'd lost, what happened to them, if there was anything left of the life he'd had before the war.

But he didn't.

Instead, he gripped the edge of the table, meeting Carth's gaze.

"Hey. That's not your fault. It's the Sith's." His voice was quiet but firm. "And I know it's not much, but I lost my family, too. A long time ago. The Republic's my family now. And that makes you family, too."

Carth was silent.

Then, slowly, a small, appreciative smile crossed his face. "Thanks, kid."

A beat of quiet passed before Carth signaled the waitress for another ale.

Seth took a sip of his water. "So… about that first drink you said you'd buy me?"

Carth chuckled, shaking his head. "Oh, I'm sure you've already had your first drink by now."

Seth grinned. "I'll have you know, I'm very responsible."

Carth smirked. "Uh-huh. And I trained at the Academy once, too. I know exactly how you kids 'relieve stress.'"

Seth opened his mouth to retort—then his eyes slid past Carth.

His breath hitched.

Across the cantina, standing between two Rodians, was the most striking girl he had ever seen.

A Twi'lek—rutian blue skin catching the dim light, her stance set, her arms crossed, her chin lifted in a way that made it clear she wasn't backing down from anything.

But it wasn't just that.

It wasn't just that she was gorgeous—because she was, stars, she was—but it was the way she carried herself.

Fearless.

Commanding.

Like she owned the whole damn room without trying.

And she was pissed.

"I told you to leave me alone!" she snapped, her voice sharper than any blade.

One of the Rodians sneered, stepping closer.

Seth was already standing.

Carth barely had time to react. "Private?"

And then he was moving.

Carth sighed, rubbing his temples. "Oh, here we go."

Seth crossed the cantina floor in a few long strides, stepping in between the Twi'lek and her would-be harassers. He poked one of the Rodians hard in the chest, his voice low and dangerous.

"She said to leave her alone."

The Rodian tilted his head, unimpressed. "[Human boyfriend doesn't belong in the Lower City.]"

"She's not my—"

"Not my boyfriend," the Twi'lek cut in, exasperated.

Seth paused, turning to look at her.

And that was his mistake.

Because suddenly, he was looking into the most intense pair of deep brown eyes he had ever seen.

His brain short-circuited.

Every single sharp retort he had planned vanished.

He was supposed to say something. He was supposed to focus. But all he could think was—

Oh, kriff.

She arched an eyebrow. "Something wrong, tough guy?"

Seth blinked hard. "Uh. No. I mean—"

The second Rodian moved fast.

A punch came swinging toward his face—

Seth ducked just in time, stepping back into a defensive stance. "Oh, come on."

The Twi'lek groaned, already backing up. "Big Z! Get over here—this guy's trying to be a hero!"

"Trying?" Seth huffed, dodging another hit. "I step in to help, and you could at least have a little faith—"

Something big loomed over his shoulder.

A deep, rumbling growl filled the space between them.

The Rodians went still.

Seth turned.

And there, towering over them, was a seven-foot-tall Wookiee, arms crossed, looking very unimpressed.

Seth let out a slow breath. "You gotta be kidding me."

One of the Rodians raised his hands immediately. "[We have no problem with Wookiee.]"

The other pointed a clawed finger at Seth. "[We have problem with Human boy.]"

The Twi'lek rolled her eyes. "If you have a problem with him, you have a problem with me. And if you have a problem with me, you have a problem with Big Z."

The Rodians hesitated.

Then, finally, they muttered something in Huttese and slinked away.

Seth watched them go, then turned back to the Twi'lek. "You, uh… had that handled, didn't you?"

She smirked. "Oh, yeah. But it was cute of you to try."

Seth felt his face heat. "Uh-huh."

She grinned. "Thanks for the assist, though. What's your name, hotshot?"

Seth swallowed. His brain, for some reason, was struggling to work properly.

"…Seth."

She extended her hand. "I'm Mission. And this big guy is Zalbaar."

Seth shook her hand, trying to ignore the way his heart kicked up a little too fast.

"Nice to meet you, Mission."

She leaned against a nearby table, arms crossed, appraising Seth with an amused expression.

"So," she said, tilting her head. "You're obviously new here."

Seth smirked. "That obvious?"

She let out a short laugh. "Oh yeah. The way you carry yourself? Too straight-backed. Too focused. You're not a spacer, and you're definitely not a local."

Seth shrugged. "Maybe I'm just a fast learner."

She arched an eyebrow. "You're military."

Seth's smirk faltered slightly. "That so?"

Mission nodded. "I've got a good eye for these things. It's the way you stand, the way you jump into a fight, and—" she suddenly reached up, fingers brushing against the collar of his shirt, tugging slightly.

Seth *jerked back instinctively, grabbing her wrist—*but it was too late.

Her eyes widened slightly as she pulled back her hand. "Holy stars."

Seth immediately pressed his shirt flat, hiding his dog tags beneath it. "Don't say it."

She held up her hands. "Hey, I wasn't gonna scream it across the cantina, relax. Just… wow."

She glanced around, keeping her voice low. "Do you even know how many bounties are out on Republic survivors? If the wrong people see you, they're gonna sell you out so fast."

Seth exhaled. "Yeah, I'm vaguely aware."

Mission studied him for a long moment. Then, to his mild surprise, she grinned.

"You know," she said, crossing her arms again, "I kinda figured you were Sith when I first saw you."

Seth's eyebrows shot up. "Excuse me?"

"I mean, you've got the haircut."

Seth ran a hand through his hair on reflex. "I—excuse me, this is regulation."

Mission snickered. "Uh-huh. Whatever you say, soldier boy."

Seth sighed, shaking his head. "And here I was about to thank you for not turning me in."

Mission waved a hand dismissively. "Please. I'm not that desperate for credits. And besides, I've seen enough of the Sith up close to know I don't wanna be on their side."

Seth's amusement faded slightly. "Yeah?"

Mission's expression hardened just a fraction. "Yeah. They take what they want and don't care who they step on in the process."

Something about the way she said it made Seth wonder what she'd seen.

He held her gaze. "Guess that makes two of us, then."

Mission grinned again, her usual playfulness returning. "See? We're already bonding."

Seth chuckled. "Something like that."

Mission tapped her chin, thoughtful. "You know… if you're looking for someone, you might want to talk to Gadon Thek."

Seth raised an eyebrow. "Who?"

"Leader of the Hidden Beks," she explained. "They used to run this part of the Lower City before the Black Vulkars took over. Gadon's smart, and he's not a fan of the Sith—or the Vulkars, for that matter."

Seth considered that. "And he'd be willing to help us?"

Mission hesitated. "Maybe. If there's something in it for him."

She shifted slightly, like she wasn't sure how much to say. "Look, I, uh… spend a lot of time at the Bek base. But I'm not—" She sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. "I mean, they've never actually asked me to join or anything."

Seth caught the uneasy flicker in her expression.

She expected him to judge her.

He exhaled, leaning back slightly. "That's not a bad thing, you know."

Mission glanced up. "What?"

Seth shrugged. "Being connected to a gang. I was, too."

Mission's eyebrows shot up. "Wait, what?"

Seth smirked slightly. "When I was younger, I ran with a few groups on Coruscant. Not long-term or anything, but it helped me survive. Gangs might do bad things, but not all of them are bad people."

Mission studied him carefully. Then, slowly, she grinned.

"You know," she said, "I think I might actually start liking you."

Seth chuckled. "Oh, I'm flattered."

Zalbaar let out a long, grumbling growl beside them.

Mission rolled her eyes. "Yes, Big Z, I know you're hungry. You're always hungry."

Zalbaar growled again, more insistently.

Mission huffed. "Fine. But first, we need to get to Gadon. He might be the only guy on this planet who can help you."

Seth exhaled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Alright. But first, I gotta convince my superior officer to go along with this."

Mission smirked. "What's your strategy? Bribery? Flattery? Or are you just gonna wear him down until he says yes?"

Seth grinned. "All of the above."

Mission laughed. "I like your style."

The Hidden Bek base wasn't what Seth had expected.

It wasn't some dingy, lawless den like the backroom of a cantina, nor was it as cleanly regimented as a military outpost. Instead, it sat somewhere in between—organized, purposeful, but still carrying the unmistakable edge of a gang operation.

Crates of contraband were stacked against the walls, repurposed military-grade gear mixed in with swoop bike parts and black-market tech. Beks moved through the halls with purpose, some working on swoop bikes, others sorting through weapons shipments.

But the moment Seth, Carth, and Mission stepped inside, the energy in the room shifted.

People stopped talking.

Hands drifted toward blasters.

A stern-looking Twi'lek woman stepped forward, crossing her arms. Her violet skin caught the low lighting, and her piercing gaze locked onto Mission first, then shifted to Seth and Carth.

"Who are they?" she demanded.

Mission didn't flinch. "They're my friends. Relax, Zaerdra."

Zaerdra did not relax. "That's not for you to decide."

Mission huffed. "They're looking for information, and I think Gadon might be interested in what they have to offer."

Zaerdra's expression darkened. "And what makes you think you get to make that call?"

Mission folded her arms. "I don't. But you know how Gadon is—he likes hearing things straight from the source. And I think he's gonna want to hear what these two have to say."

Zaerdra's jaw tightened. A long, tense pause stretched between them.

Then, finally, she let out a slow breath. "Fine. But if this goes sideways, it's on you."

She turned sharply. "Follow me."

The hallways of the Bek base were narrow and dimly lit, the air filled with the distant hum of swoop engines being tuned and the chatter of gang members discussing their latest deals and jobs.

Zaerdra walked ahead of them, her pace brisk, her shoulders tense. She didn't speak, and none of the other Beks paid them any mind—but Seth could feel the weight of their stares.

He glanced at Mission, who walked beside him, hands shoved into her jacket pockets, her usual confidence tempered with something more careful here.

They weren't unwelcome.

But they were being watched.

Finally, they reached a heavy durasteel door. Zaerdra keyed in a passcode, and the door hissed open, revealing an office space cluttered with datapads, holoprojectors, and partially disassembled swoop bike parts.

Behind a large desk, a man sat leaning forward slightly, his cybernetic prosthetic eyes faintly glowing as he scanned their faces.

Gadon Thek.

Even seated, the aging human carried an air of authority. His cybernetic prosthetic eyes glowed faintly, scanning over them as they entered. A cleanly shaven head and a well-worn flight jacket gave him a distinct presence—not just a gang leader, but a veteran.

He leaned forward slightly. "Mission." His voice carried an even, measured tone. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Mission grinned. "Gadon, I got someone you're gonna want to meet."

She gestured toward Seth and Carth. "This is Seth Avery and Carth Onasi."

Gadon's brows lifted slightly. "Republic."

Seth stood straighter. "We're looking for someone. A Republic officer named Bastila."

Gadon's expression shifted. He leaned back, exhaling through his nose. "Now, that's a name I've heard quite a bit lately."

Seth's pulse kicked up. "So she's here?"

Gadon nodded slowly. "She is. Or rather, she's somewhere. The Black Vulkars have her."

Seth felt his jaw tighten.

Carth crossed his arms. "And where exactly are they keeping her?"

Gadon let out a short chuckle, shaking his head. "If only it were that simple."

Seth frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Gadon's cybernetic eyes focused on him. "Brejik—the Vulkar leader—isn't stupid. He knows what he's got, and he's not about to let her rot in some gang hideout. She's locked away somewhere secure. He's keeping her hidden until the Tarisian Swoop Race, where she's the grand prize."

Carth stiffened. "He's auctioning her off?"

Gadon nodded. "More or less. The Vulkars have gotten bold since taking over the Lower City. This race? It's a power play. Brejik's using Bastila to cement his control over the swoop circuits—and send a message to everyone else in the sector."

Seth exhaled slowly. "Then we need to get her before that happens."

Carth folded his arms. "So we find out where she's being kept and break her out?"

Gadon shook his head. "You won't find her base-side. Brejik isn't dumb enough to keep someone that valuable with the common gang members. She's being held somewhere secret—somewhere only his most trusted people know about. And the only way you're getting near her is by winning the race."

Seth ran a hand down his face. "Great."

Carth exhaled. "Alright. So we win the race. Who's our rider?"

Seth straightened. "Me."

Carth turned to look at him, his expression unreadable. "You."

Seth nodded. "If winning gets Bastila back, then we win."

Gadon arched an eyebrow. "You ever ridden a swoop bike before, kid?"

Seth smirked. "I prepped them back on Coruscant. I know my way around a swoop engine. And if it's anything like piloting a starfighter, well… I passed my flight exams with flying colors."

Gadon studied him for a long moment. Then, slowly, he nodded. "That's an interesting proposition."

Seth crossed his arms. "I can do this."

Carth was still staring at him. "Seth. You're sixteen."

Seth met his gaze evenly. "Sir, I'm willing to do whatever it takes to complete our objective."

Carth let out a slow breath, raking a hand through his hair. He turned to Gadon. "Alright. What do you need from us?"