"What’ll it be?" the bartender drawled and eyed his Twi’lek customer up and down apprehensively.

"Anything. Preferably as strong as scientifically possible." Kurnok sat down with a sigh; fatigue and absolute disbelief weighed heavy on his shoulders, but he bore it well, considering the circumstances.

Of course, at that moment, he definitely did not want to consider any of those circumstances. He wanted a drink. And he wanted it now.

"What are you staring at?" he demanded of the bartender, who was looking at him with large, lusty blue eyes. Kurnok’s face twisted in a grimace and he snapped, "As if you’d be so lucky."

Grumbling, the bartender sauntered off to fill Kurnok’s order.

Kurnok lay his head down on his folded arms and tried to ignore the blare of music that filled the bar. Somewhere out in that throng of dancing bodies was Anakin Solo, trying to lose himself in the heat of the dance. Kurnok winced; the expression that the young man wore on his face once he’d discovered that his mother was dead still made him want to weep.

Leia Organa Solo had hidden herself well; perhaps too well, in fact. When the illness struck, she had no way of summoning help. She could not escape from her hiding place to contact Anakin; all she could do was wait and hope he returned in time to save her.

He hadn’t. When they found her, the illness had finally possessed her. Her skin had turned a sickly shade of sallow green, her eyes gummy and filmy in death. Anakin had been unable to look at her. His sobs still echoed like tubular bells inside of Kurnok’s head.

He startled as the bartender set his drink down in front of him possible too hard. Kurnok’s eyes snapped into focus and he sat up sharply. The young man glared at him and held out one hand expectantly.

"Fifteen Imperial credits, Twi’lek," he said, then sneered in a nasty undertone, "You can count credits, can’t you?"

Kurnok’s anger flared like flame doused with gasoline, and with one flick of his nimble wrist, he sent the drink splattering across the front of the bartender’s glittering shirt. At the man’s outraged shout, Kurnok sprang to his feet and shouted over the roar of the music, "Count this, you filthy Imp!" And before anyone could stop him, his fist flew forward and struck the human man in the center of his face. Kurnok felt bone crack under the force of the blow, but he didn’t care.

Cries of both surprise and anger followed him as he stormed out of the bar onto the streets of the obscure planet he had landed on. He didn’t care; his rage was still too fresh and consuming to allow for any other emotions. A small voice told him to go back and fetch Anakin, but he ignored it.

Twi’lek. His race was almost a curse these days. As the Second Imperium spread its influence throughout the galaxy, he found himself the victim of more and more bigotry and uncalled-for violence. Part of him wondered how long it would be until his race was reduced to slavery once again; he dreaded that day. He was not large enough nor strong enough to be a laborer in some spice mine, nor was he the sort cowardly enough to spy for the Second Imperium. That left one option, and Kurnok knew that he would rather be a laborer, given the choice.

The art of seductive dance was not restricted to females alone. He had lived that life as a boy against his will; he had no wish to go back to it.

He heard the sound of hurried footsteps behind him but didn’t bother turning around. He knew it was the kid, Anakin, rushing to catch up with him. "Tor!" he shouted, coming closer. "Tor! Stop!"

"What," Kurnok drawled sardonically. "Noticed I was gone through your drunken stupor? I’m impressed. Really, I am."

"Would you just stop already!" Anakin demanded and grabbed his arm, whirling him around. Kurnok met his gaze angrily and curled his lips up in a snarl.

"Don’t touch me," he hissed, his voice deadly soft.

"Stop when I tell you to," Anakin retorted and crossed his arms over his chest. "I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation we’re currently in. If the Imperials send out wraiths after me, then everything that my mother and father have worked for over the last few years will have been in vain. Everything they died for will have been in vain! Don’t you understand?"

"Excuse me?" Kurnok said and raised his eyebrows. He took a menacing step closer, a step that caused a bit of the stubborn fire in Anakin’s eyes to cool quickly. Kurnok grabbed him roughly by the front of his tunic and glared into his eyes piercingly. "I’ll stop when I damn well want to stop, you audacious little shit! Stop assuming that I’m in this thing for your benefit. I don’t care who you are, who your mother and father once were, or what they wasted their lives away trying to achieve! All the Republic ever did for me was turn a blind eye and a deaf ear to the poverty and injustice that was done to my people by my people. When there was a problem the Republic was unable to fix, they covered it up so that it wouldn’t tarnish their pristine clean reputation. ‘Oh no, can’t let the masses know the truth about how we’re failing to do what we promised we’d do. They might realize that we’re all just a bunch of ex-military majorados on power trips, looking out for our own necks!’ " He shoved Anakin back, hard, and sent the boy sprawling onto the dusty street. He took a step closer and snapped snidely, "You know what I think, kid? Sod the Republic. Sod the lot of ‘em. If they had put forth the necessary effort to change the universe like they initially said they would, then we wouldn’t be in the fucked up state we’re in now! Perhaps your parents would still be alive." He was silent for a count, holding Anakin’s frightened ice blue gaze for seconds longer. Then he looked aside and said softly, "Perhaps mine would be too."

"It wasn’t like that," Anakin insisted desperately and scrambled to his feet. "It wasn’t! They—"

"Oh shut up!" Kurnok roared and reached up to rub at the side of his head, trying to will away a migraine as it began to split his forehead. He closed his eyes tightly. "Open your eyes, for God’s sake, and have a look around you! Is this the peaceful paradise that your Rebel Alliance heroes promised us decades ago? This amoral society where cognizant life is worth only as much as you have in your hip pocket? Well. If this is Paradise, kid, then I don’t want to pay a visit to Hell." He turned around and bit his lower lip to silence any other outbursts, walking steadily in the direction of the docking bay; the Taurus was awaiting him.

Presently, he was aware of Anakin following him at a distance. Kurnok felt his rage dissipating slowly, replaced by guilt. He glanced at Anakin out of the corner of his eye and felt the guilt multiply; Anakin’s eyes were downcast, his expression crestfallen. He truly believed, down to the core of his naïve being, that the Republic was infallible and that its founders were saints.

You can’t blame him, Kurnok assured himself. After all, he’s only a product of his environment.

He noticed the first wraith when they rounded the first corner in the red light district. It was garbed in its classic ghostly black, its face concealed behind rags that only let the eerie glow of its eyes be seen. Kurnok stumbled in his step and stared at it; a mixture of emotions began to kindle inside him. Curiosity as to why the Second Imperium needed spies in their own territory, unease at how the creature seemed to know that Kurnok would appear… and fear. He felt the bone deep fear of one being stalked. Absently, he turned and pulled Anakin by his arm, urging him to walk faster. Anger flashed in the young man’s blue eyes.

"What—?!"

"Shh," Kurnok bade him softly and cast a cautious glance at the wraith. Its glowing eyes followed him, a predator stalking its prey.

Anakin had enough sense not to look over his shoulder. He fixed Kurnok with a frightened, but expectant stare. "What is it?" he whispered.

Kurnok could see the large edifice that housed his ship in the distance and began walking faster. "We’re being followed," he answered quietly. "And I highly doubt that we’re in for a congenial encounter."