Five Years Ago. . .
"Hello ladies," Julian saluted to four Epicanthix courtesans. They were seated on the far side of the room. He couldn't help but soak in the sights of the Dragon Palace Casino. It was extravagant beyond belief, and it's dark rooms lit by neon red, pink and blue kept gamblers lost in its walls for days and weeks. Stepping inside the headquarters of the Red Ravens was like entering an entirely different reality. Within these grounds there was no such thing as the Republic, the Jedi, the Sith, or any other identity the galaxy had. There was only sex, drugs and credits. Whichever order you preferred.
Within this reality Lysle Rigger was Emperor, God and the one man you didn't forget to pay off your loan too. That was why Julian Fey was here, and not because he nominated himself to be here. A flock of Ravens had found him just outside of Black Sun space when they picked him up, and they made certain he made haste to Antecedent, the furthest reaching planet in the galaxy. No one touched the Ravens out there. Behind Enemy Lines.
The courtesans either feigned disinterest or simply did not care for the credits he had, Julian couldn't figure out which but his attention was quickly drawn to the characters in the room. Ranging from the diabolically insane, to the weird and fantastical. Then at the far end was Lysle, sitting cooly in a chair that looked like he had picked up from the gutter. It was old and wooden, the cushions were ripped, but it somehow complimented the man. Yes, that is what he was. He wasn't a magical space wizard with a plasma sword, nor was he a fat hulking Hutt, he was human, fragile and prone to faults.
"Hey!" Julian roared, his eyes catching a glimpse out of the window behind Lysle. He almost shoved Rigger out of his way as he slammed his hands against the glass, "That's my ship!" he shouted, slamming a clenched fist against the frame. Once, twice, thrice. In the distance a modified freighter beyond recognition was towed by a series of larger freighters. "I'd settle down if I were you," Lysle quietly said, his steeled gaze locked onto the smuggler.
A firm hand was placed on his shoulder, but Julian didn't turn around. The Ravens laughed at the almost-comical sadness of Fey. Lysle spoke softly into his ear, "You owe me thirty million. So if you want to see your ship ever again, and if you still want to keep breathing, you're going to sit down, and do as I say..."