What was that sound?

Frakutsk found his limbs weak as he pushed against the ground to right himself. He was in the middle of the street, and no one else was there.

Frakutsk's vision swam as he felt the injury on his neck. The small gungan reached up to feel his the wound, bracing for the softly disturbing touch of blood. But to his sober surprise, Frakutsk could not feel any deep cut or horrific bruise. The gangly creature tried to look down at his long neck, and saw it intact as normal.

What was that siren?

What was causing the pain?

The gungan youth attempted to bring himself on his feet, and felt something inexplicable. No, not inexplicable, the pain was now gone, that was it. Frakutsk brought himself to his feet and stood, alive.

Was that a siren?

No, Frakutsk twitched his ears and looked around him. It was gone. There was no siren. There wasn't really much of anything. It was a quiet place, Coruscant. The impossibly massive buildings rising into the fog absorbed sound and avoided the gaze of the small boy in the street.

Regaining confidence, the gungan turned around and looked at the building where he came from. The sight brought back recent memory- it was a bar, there was a man- a bad, bad man. Frakutsk felt hot, liquid rage flow from his chest outward. The man had been a sith. And Frakutsk, Frakutsk was a Jedi.

Frakutsk felt at his belt for his lightsabre, and it was there. He turned it on and twirled the green blade menacingly at the building. Frakutsk allowed the force to channel itself through him, and he took a leap onto a ledge over the building.

Frakutsk had no force training, so he coulden't leap onto the ledge above him for a better view. Instead, he walked up to the dingy bar and looked inside. It wasn't really a pleasant place, and it seemed entirely empty. Frakutsk took the opportunity to enter and look around.

Undeniably, Frakutsk was here searching for the man who had killed his parents. He was probably hiding, the dark-haired sith. Frakutsk turned over all the tables with a thrust of the force, so that he could easily look beaneath them.

A man entered the bar from the outside, shutting the door behind him. The man was a large gungan, of the type Frakutsk was not. Frakutsk had met a few of these cousins of his in the past, and they always seemed mildly condescending. Not this one, though, that was a clear feature of the gungan as he sat down at a table beside Frakutsk.

"Lonely, isn't it." the gungan said, his voice clear and kind.

Frakutsk took a seat and nodded emphatically. It was indeed lonely here, though Frakutsk didn't know why.

"Have you seen a dark-haired Hapan?" a voice said, it was Frakutsk's.

The big gungan sipped his drink and nodded. He raised his entire arm and pointed to the north.

Lifting a muscle in his reptillian head in an interested expression, Frakutsk brought his eyes around to face that direction, as if he might attain some knowledge simply by looking the same way the man he was seeking had gone. But this proved useless.

Frakutsk exited the bar quickly and headed down the deserted road to the north. His feet were light beneath him, and Frakutsk felt as if he could run for hours. Surely Frakutsk would find this dark-haired Hapan and when he did

Dr. Gregory was trying to get away from injured children and responsibilities to society when he came here. Of course he didn’t particularly like the dingy bar he’d found for himself down in the belly of Coruscant, but in an ironic sort of way the doctor thought the atmosphere was perfectly fitting. Dr. Gregory pulled on his tall collar, which was attached to the closest thing he had for ordinary bar-going clothes, and ordered what he heard the oversized grey alien to his right order. The droid serving drinks seemed to give him an odd look, but said nothing contradicting him as he went off to fill orders. Dr. Gregory was confidant that this would be an evening free of contact with his ordinary, up-standing, child-saving life.

There were several animated conversations around him, but Dr. Gregory tried to ignore them all, aided by his tall collar and the large alien to his right, who blocked the out-of-place human doctor’s peripheral vision. A rodian man reached for his blaster in response to a sour comment from his friend, but the next minute the two were laughing about it. Several shady characters in the corners made equally shady conversation. Things seemed normal.

It was just as Gregory raised his head to take a drink from his mystery beverage that the bald human noticed something odd-looking on the floor to his left. He forced himself to finish the sip he was taking from the thick, warm, and twisted-tasting beverage, but as he put the glass down, Gregory couldn’t help but register the odd something as a body. When the object was thus registered, Dr. Gregory’s medical self couldn’t help but looking over to it in something near horror, surprise, and interest.

When Dr. Gregory became fully aware of what he was doing, he even tried to hunch back over his alien beverage, as many of the bar’s patrons did themselves, but the disturbingly pitiful nature of the body on the ground overcame his resistance. Dr. Gregory stood up from his stool as most of the people in the building noticed the body and grew quiet, or slipped out of the area. The doctor simply had no choice but to bring out his small pocket communication device and call the Coruscant authorities. And hope that he wasn’t so far deep into the city that the Authorities wouldn’t come.

Biting his lip in anguish, the doctor kneeled down and put a hand on the long-eared eye-stalked boy. There was excruciatingly severe damage to the boy’s long neck. With medical honesty, the doctor thought the boy looked quite dead, but that what the boy looked like was none of the doctor’s business- there were droids for that. Resolute to do what a ordinary, non-doctor, but caring bar-goer would do, Dr. Gregory dashed outside to contact whomever had been sent when he called for a medical emergency. (Hopefully a fully-equipped medi airspeeder, after all it did show up on his call that he was a doctor).

Indeed, Dr. Gregory was greeted by a blaring siren and a stretcher-baring droid as he exited the bar. Another human jumped down from the airspeeder and Dr. Gregory led him and the droid into the bar, which by now was almost half-empty. Seeing the boy on the ground, the airspeeder driver looked around quickly to look for someone to apprehend with his authority as a semi-officer, but everyone blended in with everyone else as if the lack of any one being standing out were rehearsed.

The droid did his job expertly, causing the boy to remain perfectly still as he was lifted and carried to the protection of the siren and the airspeeder. Dr. Gregory followed, unhappily watching the droid load the stretcher onto the airspeeder.

“Diagnosis,” Dr. Gregory asked the droid as the speeder sat on the land-street among Coruscantian rats unused to seeing official vehicles such as this. As he asked this, the doctor thought he saw the boy’s arm twitch, but he knew that that could have a formidable list of causes.

“Unclear,” responded the droid with mechanical certainty. Nevertheless, the uncertainty of the answer was a perfectly-written question mark at the end of a long train of mathematical calculations designed to produce an answer. Dr. Gregory had never gotten an answer like that from one of his medical droids.

As the airspeeder took off with a mix of efficiency and smoothness, Dr. Gregory had to spend several long moments trying to bring back the train of thoughts that had brought him to where he was now. But the bald human’s shaky cover as an ordinary Coruscantian had been blown absolutely, and he felt oddly tired anyway, like he had just taken a small amount sedative. Which, Dr. Gregory thought briefly, might have indeed been the case.

Dr. Gregory headed back to his home, angry at himself for thinking it was a good idea to go down the dingy bar at all.