Ragos Terrek
a.k.a. Ghost
To many Coruscant was a dream. It was a seamless tapestry of what ninety percent of the galaxy would never have. A place of gaudy grandiosity where the richest of the rich and the most famous of the famous lived in penthouse suites so high in the sky they could open their windows and snatch a star. The home of the senate and The Jedi. A place of order, security, and law built on a foundation of justice, fairness, and doing what was right. They didn’t know that foundation was hiding a bloated, decaying, still bleeding, still breathing body.
Coruscant’s lower levels were a different world entirely. All the glitz, glamour, and gaudy glory of the surface was lost among grime, grime, and grotesque poverty. Despair was the order of the land, spice was the number one import, and desperation was its chief export. The surface was governed by the senate and protected by the Jedi. The lower levels were protected by no one and run by whoever had the power and the willingness to spill the blood it took to seize control.
Ragos had the will and he was constantly on the prowl for power. Born to Korunai refugees and raised for most of his life on Nar Shaddaa, Ragos learned early the difference between the mutha suckas that had juice and the ones that didn't. He saw what it took to get tha juice and had the heart to do what it took to keep it. That’s what brought him to Coruscant and what drove him to carve out his own piece of the underworld whether it wanted him to or not.
Building an empire didn’t happen overnight, that chit took work, and Ragos was willing to do tha work. He was posted on the corner of some street on some level down past two-thousand with four other dudes. All were Korunai, all were under twenty-five years old, and all owed their loyalty to Ragos and to tha Killer Korunai, a street gang founded on Nar Shaddaa. For these young men the street corner may as well have been a corner office. This is where the money was made but chit was slow right now; no customers in over an hour.
After an hour of nothing more than talkin chit and standing around the corner bustled with awe and surprise as an all black speeder worth more than the five of them combined came rolling up. Everyone was excited. Everyone except Ragos, he knew exactly who this speeder belonged to and couldn’t think of anyone he’d want to see less.
The speeder door opened and out stepped Marcus Venn. Ragos watched the old gangster get out of the speeder, bald-headed and head to toe in expensive black leather, no common bantha for Marcus Venn. Marcus stayed near his ride and turned his head this way and that way taking in his surroundings, like an expert pazzak player it was impossible to tell what was going on behind Marcus’ eye—he only had the one after all—but Ragos thought or maybe just hoped that he saw a glimmer of appreciation or even respect.
“Yo! Whatchu need Partnah? got it for ya!” One of the corner boys yelled out before Ragos had a chance to say or do anything more than stare at this man he hoped to never see. Marcus for his part laughed long and loud, the sound reverberating off the derelict buildings that lined the street.
“You’re quite the business man ain’t you, young fella?” Marcus said with what could only be described as the most dangerous smile on Coruscant. “Give me a quarter ounce of bush and two vials of that sweet singing spice, I heard you boys got.”
A couple of things happened next, the corner boy that had called out to Marcus made a series of hand gestures to the building behind him and then another to the one across the street, then from the first building out ran a little Korunai boy no more than eight or nine years old. The boy ran up to Marcus and took his credits, then from across the street came another little boy, younger even than the first carrying a food container from the Twi’lek restaurant up the way. He handed the box to Marcus, thanked him for his business and ran back to the building he’d come from. By the time that had all finished, Ragos had made his way over to stand next to Marcus.
“Snazzy little set up you got here. I take it this is how you been paying me back?” Marcus asked, his voice cold.
“Yo man, I been paying you on time. You ain’t gotta come down here harassing nobody.” Ragos replied.
“Harassing? Kid, you got this chit all wrong. I’m just interested in how it is you been getting me my credits.” Marcus said.
“Why?” Ragos asked, the hair on the back of his neck standing up.
“Because mutha sucka, my boss had three different collections get hit in the last month and all signs have led me back to you, the speeder jacking dope thief.” Marcus said full of menace.
“Kark you man, I did-” Ragos started to say
“Don’t give me that chit, you little prick! You and I both know that chit ain’t going so well for you and yours, you still owe me and your boss and what is he going to think if he finds out you’re taking meetings with certain individuals, offering to sell for them and paying money to me, when you’re behind on your payments to him? Sounds like desperate times and you know what those lead to, don’t ya?” Marcus said, stepping right into the younger man’s personal space.
“Marcus, I didn’t hit yo people, man.” Ragos said, almost pleading.
“But…?” The older man said.
“But I’ll find out who did.” Ragos said.
“Cheeeit. That’s all you had to say.” Marcus said, the smile returning to his face. “You heard of a bar called Zeet’s?”
“The Ithorian’s place? Yeah.”
“Good. Go meet an associate of mine there in a half hour so you two can get this chit resolved. I believe you two have met before, he loves to tell the story of how you nearly lost your lunch when his bat came flying at you nearly as much as the time he had to rescue you from club kasakar.” Marcus laughed again, got in his speeder and took off.
Fifteen minutes later Ragos was walking through the door of Zeet's, a literal hole in the wall bar with room enough for only six tables and a bar that fit four stools. There was no music and hardly any light. Ragos looked around to see if he could find
Jai'galaar Gred
Coruscant’s lower levels were a different world entirely. All the glitz, glamour, and gaudy glory of the surface was lost among grime, grime, and grotesque poverty. Despair was the order of the land, spice was the number one import, and desperation was its chief export. The surface was governed by the senate and protected by the Jedi. The lower levels were protected by no one and run by whoever had the power and the willingness to spill the blood it took to seize control.
Ragos had the will and he was constantly on the prowl for power. Born to Korunai refugees and raised for most of his life on Nar Shaddaa, Ragos learned early the difference between the mutha suckas that had juice and the ones that didn't. He saw what it took to get tha juice and had the heart to do what it took to keep it. That’s what brought him to Coruscant and what drove him to carve out his own piece of the underworld whether it wanted him to or not.
Building an empire didn’t happen overnight, that chit took work, and Ragos was willing to do tha work. He was posted on the corner of some street on some level down past two-thousand with four other dudes. All were Korunai, all were under twenty-five years old, and all owed their loyalty to Ragos and to tha Killer Korunai, a street gang founded on Nar Shaddaa. For these young men the street corner may as well have been a corner office. This is where the money was made but chit was slow right now; no customers in over an hour.
After an hour of nothing more than talkin chit and standing around the corner bustled with awe and surprise as an all black speeder worth more than the five of them combined came rolling up. Everyone was excited. Everyone except Ragos, he knew exactly who this speeder belonged to and couldn’t think of anyone he’d want to see less.
The speeder door opened and out stepped Marcus Venn. Ragos watched the old gangster get out of the speeder, bald-headed and head to toe in expensive black leather, no common bantha for Marcus Venn. Marcus stayed near his ride and turned his head this way and that way taking in his surroundings, like an expert pazzak player it was impossible to tell what was going on behind Marcus’ eye—he only had the one after all—but Ragos thought or maybe just hoped that he saw a glimmer of appreciation or even respect.
“Yo! Whatchu need Partnah? got it for ya!” One of the corner boys yelled out before Ragos had a chance to say or do anything more than stare at this man he hoped to never see. Marcus for his part laughed long and loud, the sound reverberating off the derelict buildings that lined the street.
“You’re quite the business man ain’t you, young fella?” Marcus said with what could only be described as the most dangerous smile on Coruscant. “Give me a quarter ounce of bush and two vials of that sweet singing spice, I heard you boys got.”
A couple of things happened next, the corner boy that had called out to Marcus made a series of hand gestures to the building behind him and then another to the one across the street, then from the first building out ran a little Korunai boy no more than eight or nine years old. The boy ran up to Marcus and took his credits, then from across the street came another little boy, younger even than the first carrying a food container from the Twi’lek restaurant up the way. He handed the box to Marcus, thanked him for his business and ran back to the building he’d come from. By the time that had all finished, Ragos had made his way over to stand next to Marcus.
“Snazzy little set up you got here. I take it this is how you been paying me back?” Marcus asked, his voice cold.
“Yo man, I been paying you on time. You ain’t gotta come down here harassing nobody.” Ragos replied.
“Harassing? Kid, you got this chit all wrong. I’m just interested in how it is you been getting me my credits.” Marcus said.
“Why?” Ragos asked, the hair on the back of his neck standing up.
“Because mutha sucka, my boss had three different collections get hit in the last month and all signs have led me back to you, the speeder jacking dope thief.” Marcus said full of menace.
“Kark you man, I did-” Ragos started to say
“Don’t give me that chit, you little prick! You and I both know that chit ain’t going so well for you and yours, you still owe me and your boss and what is he going to think if he finds out you’re taking meetings with certain individuals, offering to sell for them and paying money to me, when you’re behind on your payments to him? Sounds like desperate times and you know what those lead to, don’t ya?” Marcus said, stepping right into the younger man’s personal space.
“Marcus, I didn’t hit yo people, man.” Ragos said, almost pleading.
“But…?” The older man said.
“But I’ll find out who did.” Ragos said.
“Cheeeit. That’s all you had to say.” Marcus said, the smile returning to his face. “You heard of a bar called Zeet’s?”
“The Ithorian’s place? Yeah.”
“Good. Go meet an associate of mine there in a half hour so you two can get this chit resolved. I believe you two have met before, he loves to tell the story of how you nearly lost your lunch when his bat came flying at you nearly as much as the time he had to rescue you from club kasakar.” Marcus laughed again, got in his speeder and took off.
Fifteen minutes later Ragos was walking through the door of Zeet's, a literal hole in the wall bar with room enough for only six tables and a bar that fit four stools. There was no music and hardly any light. Ragos looked around to see if he could find
Jai'galaar Gred
