Red Devil

Enough death to make a man drink...
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CORUSCANT UNDERWORLD
Dozens of voices all conversing at once, but not enough to snap Raef out of his detachment from everything. His face was shredded, scars now ran along his cheeks and head, his eye sockets blackened. A cheap, local swill rolled in his gloved fingers, passing over from hand to hand before raising to his lips.
An annoyed wince barely formed on his features, the booze stung his mouth where open cuts bled still. His armor was filthy, pocked by blaster bolts and slug rounds; where pristine colors were once painted, now tarnished and scuffed, dulled out. His eyes were empty, drifting around the room to see the bustle and social engagement, drinks being spilled and wasted, grotesque exchanges of services and party favors.
This wasn't his typical place of leisure, no, his time here was being spent pondering choices. Life decisions that could now unravel the small strand of stability that barely supported the weight of his actions - so close from free-falling into a spiral that would consume everything left of him.
Credits came and went, but the burden of pulling a trigger was priceless.
Nobody paid him much mind, dialects not understood joked and chuckled amongst each other. Even as a mercenary, learning wasn't a requirement for a job. It was a service done either messily or with some margin of finesse, nobody cared who you were so long as the contract is fulfilled.
Raef waved the bartender for another round, another bottle. His breath was hot and sour, the viscosity building in the back of his throat paired with the warmth of liquor. A service droid took care of the rest, hovering through a crowd before stopping at the table. A nod was given, the bartender nodded back likewise.
"What the hell have you gotten yourself into..."
A sigh escaped Raef, another swig taken.
"Should've known better..."
He mumbled to himself, his eyes closing for a moment. Something was wrong.
Alone, silent, a mess. What a life.