The alley dead-ended in front of a heavy durasteel door flanked by two guards that looked like they’d been scraped off the underside of Nar Shaddaa and handed blasters. One wore mismatched armour plates over street leathers, a half-lit cigarra clenched in his teeth. The other had a vibroblade strapped to his thigh and the unmistakable twitchiness of someone who solved problems with violence before asking questions—if at all.
Both stepped forward as the trio approached, weapons not raised but hands very much near the triggers.
“Hold up,” one barked, voice gravel and spice smoke.
“This ain’t a walk-in clinic. State your business.”
Rheyla didn’t flinch. She holstered her blaster with deliberate calm, then reached into her jacket and pulled out a bounty puck. With a flick of her thumb, the image of the Zabrak crackled to life—a rotating holo of his grinning face, name, ID tags, and the unmistakable stamp of Gorrga the Hutt’s seal, blinking in red.
“Here to deliver this pain-in-the-ass,” she said flatly.
“Alive. Like the listing said.”
The guard leaned in to squint at the holo, then glanced at the real thing. The Zabrak grinned weakly, as if maybe pretending this was all a misunderstanding would somehow help now.
Before either guard could turn to Ace, Rheyla cut in—sharp, controlled.
“He’s with me.”
She didn’t give a name. Didn’t give a reason. Just a statement. The kind that left no room for argument. The guards exchanged a glance, then stepped aside without another word. The door rumbled open behind them, parting with a mechanical groan that smelled like oil, heat, and disrepair.
The Zabrak started in again, voice low, urgent.
“Listen—this doesn’t have to go down like this, alright? I got options, I got leverage. Just—tell Gorrga I can offer more than creds. I’ve got intel. I know things. Real things. Sparkleboy, back me up here, yeah?”
He got no answer, just a firm nudge forward as Rheyla walked him past the threshold.
Inside, the air was thicker. Hotter. The kind of heat that came from too many bodies packed into too small a space. Neon signs buzzed overhead in languages half the galaxy forgot how to read. Pipes ran along the walls, dripping who-knows-what onto the grime-slick floor.
This wasn’t a palace. It was a hive.
Gorrga’s domain crawled with motion. A marketplace of illicit trade and vice layered in grime and desperation. Spice dealers peddled vials from dented cases. A Gamorrean bouncer was busy dragging out a bloodied human who had apparently lost more than just credits at sabacc. There were dancers, half-dressed and cybernetically enhanced, performing for a crowd too distracted to care. Above them, screens flickered with surveillance feeds—dozens of angles, dozens of rooms, all watching.
Gorrga saw everything.
They moved deeper.
Past the gambling pits, the pleasure dens, the vault-like doors with codes and guards and sounds you didn’t ask about. The corridor sloped downward, subtly, almost imperceptibly—but enough to make you feel like you were descending into something older, deeper, and more dangerous than what lay above.
The further they went, the quieter the crowd became.
The lighting changed, too—shifting from chaotic neon to colder, harsher illumination. Spotlights that didn’t flicker. Shadows that seemed too intentional.
The Zabrak finally shut up.
Rheyla kept walking, unbothered by the increasing pressure in the air. She’d been here before. Maybe not in this exact hall, but in places like it. Where the rules changed, and you didn’t breathe without permission.
Ace could feel it. The Force thickened here—like the walls themselves held grudges. Old ones.
At the end of the hall loomed a set of ornate doors, flanked by heavy guards in more polished armour, faces hidden behind black visors. Each one carried enough firepower to turn the trio into ash before a scream could leave their lungs.
They didn’t speak.
They didn’t need to.
Rheyla stepped forward and raised the puck again. The holo blinked once—Gorrga’s seal pinged—and the doors began to part.
Behind them?
The Hutt waited.
The doors slid open with a hydraulic groan, revealing a wide chamber half-swallowed in shadow. The floor was polished durasteel veined with old bloodstains and burn marks, scuffed by years of violence that no cleaning droid could erase.
Gorrga the Hutt waited in the center of it all—coiled atop a broad, hovering dais that kept him just high enough to look down on anyone entering the room.
He wasn’t as large as Jabba—sleeker by Hutt standards, his body less of a grotesque heap and more of a thick, powerful coil of muscle and layered fat. His skin was a deep, swampy green, marked with gold-tinted ceremonial scarring that shimmered faintly in the light. One yellow eye was cybernetic, whirring quietly as it refocused on the newcomers. The other, real one, blinked slowly with a predator’s calm.
His dais was surrounded by enforcers—two Weequays, a black-plated droid with too many weapons ports, and a Nikto holding an electro-whip like he enjoyed using it. Behind them, lounge cushions and shallow steps led to alcoves where a few bored-looking attendants watched the proceedings with idle interest. Somewhere, deep bass music rumbled through the walls like a heartbeat.
Gorrga’s tail flexed slightly as he leaned forward.
He spoke in Huttese, voice low, rumbling, and slow like boiling oil.
«You bring me something, little hunter?»
Rheyla stepped forward, dragging the Zabrak with her, and let him stumble to his knees before the dais.
She answered in Basic, voice level.
“Alive. Like the listing said.”
Gorrga’s cyber-eye clicked as it scanned the bounty, the faint red beam flickering across the Zabrak’s face. The Zabrak, for once, said nothing. His grin was gone. His shoulders tense. Even he knew when to shut up.
Gorrga gave a low chuckle—a sound like sliding stone.
«He stinks of desperation. That’s how I know he’s mine.»
Rheyla didn’t blink.
“Then I’ll take my credits.”
Gorrga’s eye rotated toward Ace for a beat, then back to Rheyla.
«You brought… a boy.»
Rheyla didn’t turn.
“He’s with me.”
A pause.
Then the Hutt’s eye narrowed—just slightly.
«A pity. Then he is safe. For now.»
The cyber-eye whirred again, focusing entirely on Ace now.
«But curious, this one. New face. Pretty. A touch of danger…» A slow, oozing smile crept across Gorrga’s face.
«I could use another like him. Talented strays are always welcome.» The Hutt leaned back, tail flexing.
«Double what I paid for the bounty. Right now. You walk away richer, no questions asked.»
Silence.
The kind that stretched.
Ace might not have even had time to react before Rheyla spoke—flat, sharp, and immediate.
“No deal.” Her voice didn’t rise. Didn’t flinch.
But it cut clean.
Gorrga blinked once. Slowly. The room shifted—guards stiffening, weight settling behind every glance. Rheyla finally turned her head—just slightly—eyes hard and steady beneath her lekku.
“I brought the bounty,” she said.
“That was the job. That’s what you get.”
Another beat of silence.
Then—soft, but unmistakable:
“You want to make me an offer again, you better make sure I don’t walk back out of here first.” It wasn’t a threat, not really.
Just fact.
Just Rheyla.
Gorrga’s eye narrowed again—then, surprisingly, the deep, grating rumble of a laugh filled the room.
«Hahhh… very well. Loyal, this one. Loyal and sharp.» His tail uncoiled lazily, one thick arm waving toward the enforcer with the datapad.
«Then take your credits, little hunter. And go.»[/i]
He leaned forward again—cybernetic eye glinting.
«Before I decide you’re worth more to me in chains, little Twi'lek.»
Rheyla didn’t blink, but Ace felt an unbelievable seething disgust from Rheyla towards Gorrga that she didn't show. She pocketed the datapad. Nodded once. And turned without another word as the slimy, eerie laughter filled the room as Rheyla pulled Ace with her to leave.
The last thing they both heard as the doors closed behind them was the begging of the Zabrak.
Rheyla Tann
