It wasn’t supposed to turn out like this.


It wasn’t supposed to turn out anything even remotely like this.


If I told anyone I knew three days ago that I would be sentient responsible for killing one of the most feared crime lords on Phaeda, they would have laughed me right out of the cantina.


I guess I should set the stage, as it were, so that you might understand why this very predicament seems so outrageously impossible:


My name is Alcen Tyrn, I’m a Balosar, and I work as a slythmonger who deals in death sticks. Consequently, I am also addicted to the product I sell. The thing about my species is that we have a high immunity to toxins and all that noxious stuff that would otherwise be harmful to other beings, like humans or Twi’leks. So while my ‘regulars’ are bleeding their lives out of every orifice, I’m able to enjoy the buzz and kaleidoscope of colors the world is thrown into without losing my precious lifespan in the process.


Seems like a good deal to me… or did, at least.


But, I guess we’re getting a little off-topic, right? Well, let’s just say that I have the punch line to the joke:


‘A gambler, a slythmonger, a thug and a crime lord all walk into a bar. The first three order drinks, while the crime lord just demands that his thugs kill them. His guards open fire, and when the dust settles the first three are standing over the crime lord’s body, blasters smoking, and know they have stepped into the Hutt load…’


Pretty funny, right?


…not for me, but it might be for you. In fact, for a nobody like me, it's an event similar to being ejected into space without a vac-suit. It will probably end in the same result, too, though I'm sure the void of space would be far more humane.


So, anyway, here I am staring down at the corpse of Yuris Garyn, one of the ‘most prominent crime lords on Phaeda’ if I didn’t mention, and the blaster in my hand that had just proceeded to splatter bolts through his chest. His guards are laying dead nearby, killed by my two ‘companions’ it seemed, and the cantina had that hushed silence of complete and utter shock about it.


History remembers such events, and retells how the hero stood triumphantly over the defeated bad guy, before making a witty remark and winning the girl – unfortunately I’m no hero, I had no witty retort on hand, and I don’t have any girls waiting for me, other than to buy death sticks…


"We’re fraked."


Alcen blinked, his brown eyes watering against the stinging burnt ozone that filled the air around him. The blaster pistol in his hand was like a death sentence, the grip a weight that was scorched into his palm condemning him for the grisly scene he was largely responsible for.


The smoky cantina was all silence, all eyes looking at the three beings standing in the center of the large building. Some had stopped mid-drink, their hands and claws hovering before their faces as their breath fogged their drinking glasses. The music had stopped, the band also well aware of what had just happened…


A gambler, a slythmonger and a thug had just killed the head of a large underworld organization with pricy connections to the local Imperial garrison.


If one single, collective thought could be shared by all, it would be that the Balosar’s comment was grossly simplified. As it was, the cantina owner couldn’t even close his mouth, as he blinked looking between the dead and the living.


"You boys better run," He finally stammered, his jowls rolling as he began shaking. He didn’t even want to think about the damage or investigations the incident would cause with the Imperial troops surely on their way. "They’ll be coming for you soon. They’re probably already at the door."


The thug, a Saurin by the name of Gauron Nas Tal, slowly returned his blaster rifle over his shoulder, looping his scale-covered arm through the weapon strap. He was a short reptilian, with his species being a leaner, but not necessarily less meaner, sub-species of Trandoshan. He was a tough thug, definitely worth his weight in credits, and had a street-cred that most would be impressed with – he often spoke of his time working for Jabba the Hutt, acting as the trainer for the deceased slug’s Gamorrean guards.


He didn't like the job, though, so the Force knew why he was so proud of it and kept mentioning it...


The other being, a scruffy-looking, down on his luck gambler by the name of Seb Star, was likewise shocked out of his inaction and put away his own blaster pistol. Unlike the other two, he hadn’t been so lucky in the exchange of blaster fire, and was pressing a palm against his left hip – the wound appeared cauterized, the flesh probably sealed by the same energy bolt that caused the damage, which was a good thing for the guy.


Maybe he wasn’t so down on his luck, after all.


"Yeah, come on, kid," Seb nodded, his eyes wide as he looked from the crime lord to the Balosar. "We need ta get the hell outta here. Sooner the better, 'specially if those damn Imps are on the way."


It was the Saurin who made the first move, grabbing both the slythmonger and the gambler - one in each heavy clawed hand.


"You aren't going anywhere," He hissed, his thin lips curling back to show his fangs. The reptiles' eyes made Alcen shiver. "Thisss is your mess, and I'm not going down for you nerfers... so you're both ssstaying with me until the patrol gets here."


So now we have the second problem.


Not only are we responsible for killing Yuris, but his contracted thug has suddenly decided to play the 'this isn't my fault' card. He clearly intends for us to be captured by the local Imp garrison, and plans to take his profit for handing over the criminals responsible for himself... assuming Seb didn't talk his scaly ear off and manage to swing some deal, too.


This means I'm practically alone; I've got nothing to fall back on, no cred savings or loving family members to help me out of this, and the guy I was working for - the gambler, in this instance - is likely to throw me to the mynocks at the first sign of trouble... which is about now.


So, now I'm standing here, claws crushing my left arm, as I'm physically restrained and held in place. I don't like my chances of surviving a meeting with the corrupt Imperial leader, Colonel Xexus Shev - one of the worst kind of Imps, if you ask me - and I doubt my employer would prove a satisfactory witness of my character.


So, my opions are: bend over and be fraked, or try my luck at actually killing a hired thug who is good at his job...


Tough choice.


"Look, Gauron," Seb was saying, his 'business smile' plastered all over his face, as he put on the charm. "I understand completely where you're standin' in all of this. I'd be doin' the same, believe you me. But, I think this whole situation has some benefit to all of us... I mean, the kid is just some death stick pusher, so they'll just let him off with a slap on the wrist. Us, on the other hand, we're professionals, and they'll throw the book at us--"


Alcen looked at the Saurin, his jaw set as he raised the blaster pistol and fired directly into the thug's face. The suddenness of the attack shocked the reptilian, making him release his grip and try to cover his exposed face with his arms.


It was during that time the Balosar made good his escape.


Without waiting for anything else to surprise, grab or hinder him, Alcen bolted. He ran as fast as his legs would carry him - which was pretty fast, considering his lifestyle and profession, as he was well-versed in running from patrols. He weaved through the mess of the cantina, knowing that at any second his entire general vicinity would be filled with blaster bolts from one ticked off Saurin.


As he reached the entrance to the street, the world around Alcen was filled with flashing red lasers. Instinctively he dived, slamming his shoulder into the carbon-fiber door with jarring force, rolling to his left as he scrambled through the opening.


Once out on the street, the slythmonger took a moment to gather his thoughts and pushed to his feet. Yet, mid-stride, he came face-to-face with a white, highly polished chest plate. There was also a trooper attached to the armor, complete with a blaster rifle pointed at the Balosar...


"Mynock spit..." Alcen cursed, suddenly well aware of being between a rock and a hard place.


And to think, this whole situation started three days ago...