Coruscant Level 4782 was a wonderful place to raise a family. There was sunlight, fresh air, good schools, little crime…
It was for this exact reason that Nasur and his pregnant wife Fareesha leased an apartment there near the financial district. Nasur had recently come into a lucrative new job in the private sector, managing investments and portfolios. Though they weren’t rich, especially considering the cost of living in the Upper Levels, they had all the resources they needed to care for their incoming litter.
They were overjoyed when their three children arrived. They had a son and two daughters: Khelan, Mezrah, and Affiri. Life was chaos for a few years as Nasur and Fareesha took turns working from home to care for the three babies, becoming only marginally easier when the kids were old enough to entrust to a daycare and then to send to school. It was a taxing adventure, but an adventure nonetheless. Level 4782 was a wonderful place to raise a family, after all.
It was.
Affiri sighed, thinking back on those days as she lay back on her ratty, wrinkled bed in her run-down apartment, with the sounds of nostalgically saccharine big-band jazz fuzzily playing from a small holo-player in her lap while she reclined in the dim bedroom and stared up past the ceiling. Outside was the smoggy, neon-lit darkness of level 957, far below the bright lanes of her old home. There was no fresh air here, no sunlight or good schools. Little law enforcement.
No Nasur. No Fareesha. No Khelan. No Mezrah. But still Affiri smiled at the thought of them. It had been a long time since she let herself think about her family.
The holo-player’s music skipped and went staticky, a glitch in the playback interrupting Affiri’s reminiscing. Her gaze snapped back to reality, and then drifted down to the player as she lifted it in her hand and tapped the “Pause” button – just in time to hear a siren zooming by outside for probably the 50th time that day. She paid it no mind, focusing instead on the player as she rewound the disc and tapped “Play” again. Her smile eased again when it played through correctly this time.
Setting the player aside, Affiri sat forward and stood up, wandering out half-naked as she often did into the other room – or what she called the other room, as her bed was only separated from the rest of her tiny apartment by a sheet she’d strung up on the ceiling. She stepped over some dirty clothes and flicked her fingers at a strip of peeling paint on the wall, watching the flake chip off and flutter down to the stained, torn-up carpet whose original color she had never been able to identify. Her yellow eyes wandered up to the mold-splotched air vents, and the kitchenette littered and piled high with trash and unwashed dishes. Home, sweet home.
The old tune still played from her bed, its classy melody harshly contrasting her dismal living space. It was exactly the sort of music her father used to listen to, and what he would play when he would dance in the living room with her and Mezrah. This song in particular was one of her favorites, in fact. It had apparently been one that her parents danced to themselves at their wedding. It was oddly fitting that she’d found the player and discs in a dilapidated resort hotel where her father used to go on business meeting trips…though the nature of that business, she suspected, is what led everything to happen the way it did.
Nasur had indeed worked in finance, that much Affiri knew. He’d never explained his work in detail, but that wasn’t overly suspect; she and her siblings were only kids at the time, after all. They wouldn’t have understood anything more complex than “Daddy helps take care of people’s money so it stays safe and they can earn more money!” Something shady had been going on, though, that was for certain. Why else would an illegal bounty have been put out on not only Nasur but his entire family?
A chilling wave of nausea flooded through Affiri as her thoughts turned against her will to that night - to hiding in a closet with Khelan while her mother and Mezrah cried in the next room over her father’s dying body. To the feeling of frozen helplessness as she watched Khelan rush out in an emotional panic to protect them. It was painfully vivid.
“Leave us alone!” Khelan had yelled as he charged out and around the corner. Affiri heard shuffling, a brief struggle, and a filtered grunt of pain. All the while, Khelan was wailing and crying, until he stopped. And then her mother and sister cried out, and Affiri knew Khelan was hurt…or worse.
“That hurt,” she heard the filtered voice say. Her mother was begging, Mezrah was sobbing. The only thing he said next was “I’m sorry.” Two blaster shots later, Affiri was truly and utterly alone, breathlessly crying in the closet.
She was 9 years old.
The music skipped and glitched again, and Affiri snapped out of her flashback. She was doubled over on the couch, clutching her bare chest and barely able to breathe. Her jaw clenched as she swallowed the lump in her throat and forced herself to sit up again, wiping off her sweaty palms. She gasped in some air and shut her eyes, shaking like the little girl she was again. A hard, closed-fist punch to her leg failed to stop her shaking; she hated feeling this way. The helplessness, the weakness, the anguish. She never wanted to feel that again.
She knew that even back then, when she was put into that damn orphanage. Rah-Cei Foster Care. An awful place. She could never get along with almost any of the other children there, always getting into fights, causing trouble, sneaking out. Practically all she had left of her old life before the orphanage was a collection of holovids her parents used to watch with her and her siblings. Action vids, mostly. She began watching them almost religiously whenever she could, enthralled by the images of the skilled, strong hero figures portrayed therein. The power fantasy called to her. If she could just be like them, if she had just been like them, she could have done something.
As the years went on, her rebelliousness - and her need for control - only grew. Affiri turned into a regular wild child, who no potential adopting parents would even consider for long. She snuck out more, taking to simply wandering around the city. That was when she met him.
“Vassal,” as he liked to call himself, was a bounty hunter – a green Nikto. Affiri bumped into him near a market one day. He almost just walked on by, but he needed information and realized that the scruffy Cathar child in front of him was the perfect little spy. What started as a chance meeting eventually turned into a regular arrangement. Affiri would sneak out from the orphanage and wander as she usually did, but watch as well: where people went, what they said to each other, pieces of gossip. Then, for a price, she would tell Vassal everything. It didn’t take much to loosen her lips: some candy, a few loose credits…once he gave her a copy of an action vid she didn’t already have. One time she got a knife.
What she really wanted though, was to learn from him. A bounty hunter was sure to know how to fight. If she could become one herself, maybe then she could be like those action heroes. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel helpless. Vassal had warmed up to her, and finally she got what she wished for. She gathered everything she owned from the orphanage and snuck out one last time, telling no one where she was going, and left. Now in Vassal’s care, she got to learn his real name: Korvin Drex.
The next eight years were packed with excitement, but also hard work. Fighting and action hero antics proved a lot more difficult than Affiri had expected, but she wasn’t about to half-ass the only goal she had in life. She took to it like a fish to water. It turned out she wasn’t the only student Drex had taken on, but according to him, she was the most determined. He was a little bemused by her decision to focus on fighting with two weapons at once – but despite the added challenge it posed, she showed a lot of talent and skill.
Things weren’t quite good, but it was better than wasting away in an orphanage from which she would likely never be adopted. At least, for a time…until Affiri happened to take a look through her mentor’s bounty collection records. There, buried back behind 10 years of bounties, some of which Affiri had helped bring in herself, was a particular listing from an anonymous source.
Target: Nasur Rhan
- Cathar, Male
- Financial Worker
Wanted: Dead
Last Known Location: Coruscant, Level 4782, Financial District
Reward: 30,000cr
- Target has a wife and three children. 5,000cr bonus for each. An example must be made.
Status: Collected, Partial Bonus
Payout: 45,000cr
Affiri could barely remember exactly what happened after she discovered she had been learning under the very man that had slaughtered her family. It was all fogged over by the piercing, nauseous sting of betrayal, coupled with blinding, white-hot rage. There were bits and pieces she could recall, but the most poignant memory was that of bearing down on Drex with the same knife he’d once given her as payment for information, trying to shove it through his chest as he held her back. She had been gripping it so hard that her hand was left with blisters afterward. There was shouting, but she wasn’t even sure what was being said. The next thing she knew it was the other way around, and Drex was twisting her wrist to make her drop the knife. She was kicking and clawing and screaming, up until Drex brought his hand down towards her face with his own claws bared. His hand was bleeding from the palm – had she cut him? – and she felt his claws digging fiercely into her skin, one on either end of her mouth. She was able to force his hand away, but not without dragging those claws down and leaving deep cuts almost the whole way through her lips in the process.
The scars left there on her face looked almost like a set of fangs now, from a distance. Affiri brushed her fingers over them as she remembered that fight…if it could even be called a fight. She frowned and stood up from the couch with a growl, getting angry again just thinking about it. Her attempt to kill Drex was a colossal failure, and she’d almost died herself. Just barely, she was able to get away and run.
Ever since, she’d been struggling to make a living without drawing much attention. Bagging groceries, delivering food, eventually getting picked up for less-than-legal freelance work on level 1313. But with everything that had been going on, all the action she’d seen, even getting her official Bounty Hunter’s license…nothing. Not even so much as a hint that Drex was looking for her. It was as worrisome as it was relieving, but she couldn’t help wondering why. Was he busy with other things? Did he just not care? Or maybe, most infuriating of all, he had let her get away.
Unable to contain herself any longer, Affiri let her balled up frustration and hatred out as a haggard scream and grabbed her blaster pistol, squeezing off a shot almost before she had even pointed it where she was aiming. The gun barked and launched a glowing red bolt across the room towards the placeholder target of her anger: a battered, scorched mercenary helmet of the same style Drex wore, suspended at an awkward tilt on a pole in front of the far wall. The shot missed by a wide margin, striking the wall behind the helmet and leaving a searing hot red hole through to the structural material behind it, one of dozens of such holes and accompanying black burn marks peppering a large radius around her makeshift target. The helmet, by comparison, was in relatively good shape, a result of her usual states when she attempted such shots: angry or drunk.
“Fuck!” Affiri spat as she slammed the blaster back down onto the table she’d picked it up from. She groaned and gripped her head in her hands, letting her fingers sift into her hair as she leaned against the kitchen counter, taking purposely slow, deep breaths.
She’d find Drex again some day. And when she did, she would kill him. But not before getting everything he knew about who had placed that bounty on her father.
Then they would die, too.