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Malastare, 2 years before the Naboo blockade.
The overhead lights hummed quietly in the cramped, cluttered office of the Pod Racing Association on Malastare. Strewn across the cluttered metal desk were datapads, crumpled flimsi, and the latest expense reports from the more semi-official circuits. They were little more than thin veneers of legality, with a third of them openly controlled by the Hutts, who dominated the betting and prize pools with the arrogance of untouchable kings. The Gran seated at the desk - Trando Vool, head of the association - rubbed his three eye stalks, feeling the weight of another long day.
He had just finished poring over the numbers, grimacing at the losses sustained from several races. The Hutts were squeezing harder than usual, demanding bigger cuts and caring little for the organization's crumbling finances. Trando tried his best to keep things afloat, but everyone knew the truth - the association was a puppet show, and he was only the puppet. Whatever power he had was flimsy and held together by fragile alliances, his title more ceremonial than functional.
Pod Racing was illegal in the Republic, only the fact they were in the mid to outer rim, and the Hutts involvements - keeping any law enforcement from shutting them down.
That and the money the rich and influential in the core worlds spent to watch the deadly sport. The hypocrites calling it illegal, and then spending insane amounts of credits to watch and bet on it. Unfortunately he didn't see much of that money, or this whole thing might actually be more profitable. Damned Hutts…
Suddenly, the door to his office slammed open with a thunderous crash. The sound of it rebounding against the wall startled him so badly that he nearly knocked over a stack of datapads. His three eyes snapped up just as a figure strode through the open doorway with a confidence that radiated danger.
The woman was a Twi'lek, her red skin gleaming under the office lights. She wore skin-tight leather pants that left little to the imagination, clinging to her muscular legs like a second skin. Her torso was adorned with a minimal chest wrapping, enough to cover her, barely, but the loose ends still teased, giving her an aura of raw sensuality. Her black leather boots clunked softly on the floor, each step measured and deliberate. Two curved lekku draped down her back, ending near her waist.
He would have called her beautiful if he cared for such things, the black tattoos covering her body however, gave her a much more sinister look.
A pair of blasters hung from her belt, polished black and lined with silver markings, their design unmistakably deadly. Their barrel tips were ridged with energy dampeners, hinting at custom modifications - likely for maximum stopping power without sacrificing speed. Hanging beside the blasters was a large vibroknife, its blade long and wickedly serrated. The woman slowly slid it out as she walked, and the faint hum of its energized edge was barely audible even in the quiet room. She looked like someone who could kill without hesitation, but her demeanor suggested she preferred the slow, deliberate approach.
Behind her, a red and black droid entered, its eyes glowing with a malevolent orange hue. It was the unmistakable frame of an assassin droid that stalked into the room, its head cocking slightly as if surveying every possible threat. Trando's stomach twisted at the sight of it. This model… This was no ordinary droid. It looked like an old HK-series assassin droid (Call him a history buff), but its color scheme was unique - blood-red plating interspersed with sharp black lines, giving it a predatory appearance.
Attached to its arm was a high-powered blaster rifle, clearly worn from use but deadly nonetheless. Its right arm held a long vibroblade magnetically clamped to it, and its other weapon - what appeared to be an anti-tank weapon - rested dormant but ever-threatening on its back, poking over its shoulder.
The droid's voice broke the tense silence, its tone mechanical yet dripping with scorn. "Query: Are you the meatbag in charge of this pathetic excuse for an official circuit?"
Trando swallowed hard, eyes darting between the two intruders. His heart raced as he tried to comprehend the gravity of the situation. He didn't know who they were, but the implication was clear - they were trouble.
Where the kriff was his Hutts be damned security?
"I - yes, I am," He said, his voice trembling slightly as his mind raced for an escape plan. His hand itched to reach for the blaster he kept hidden under the desk, but he knew better. "W-what did you do to the security team?"
They were Hutt provided. Mercenaries through and through, both to keep an eye on him, and to protect their investments. But that also meant they were not easy marks, assassin droid or not.
The Twi'lek woman strolled forward, moving like a sleek predator, and casually perched herself on the edge of his desk. It was only then that Trando noticed the Jogan fruit in her hand. She peeled it slowly, deliberately, using the edge of her vibroknife, the serrated blade gleaming under the light. With every flick of her wrist, she cut small pieces of the fruit, bringing them to her lips and chewing languidly as if she had all the time in the galaxy. Juice dripped from her fingers, a tiny rivulet of it running down her chin and into the cleavage exposed by her wrappings. She smirked as his gaze lingered for a fraction too long.
He was honestly not admiring her looks, he was appalled at her manners. He might be a crook, but really, there was no need for getting messy.
Meanwhile, the droid's eyes flared slightly as it responded, "Bored statement: Your security team lasted longer than vermin, meatbag. Barely. Observation: Their pain tolerance was disappointingly low. Still, it was an amusing diversion."
A bead of sweat formed on Trando's forehead. He clenched his hands into fists, making sure to keep them in plain sight. The blaster under his desk felt impossibly far away. "What do you want?" He asked, his voice strained.
Legally he was in charge, and 'owned' much of the circuit and its equipment, locales, and staff. In reality, that wasn't worth Bantha shit if the Hutts didn't approve.
The droid took a step closer, its mechanical joints hissing softly. "Demand: You will sign over this association, its staff, all buildings, and operational licenses to my master. Failure to comply will result in... Unfortunate consequences."
Trando's three eyes darted to the Twi'lek woman, who was now watching him with an amused expression. She gave him a slow, playful wave, the juice from the fruit still dripping down her fingers. One droplet fell onto her chest, trailing between her breasts, glistening under the lights as if to mock him.
"I-I can't do that," Trando stammered, his throat dry. His mind was racing, trying to find some way out of this mess. "This is my livelihood. The Hutts control a third of the circuit. I can't just hand it over... They'll have my head!"
The droid's eyes brightened with what seemed like glee. "Joyous Declaration: Oh, how delightful! I am thrilled you've refused. It has been centuries since I've had the opportunity to use my interrogation protocols. I am so looking forward to testing your pain thresholds, meatbag."
The words sent a cold shiver down Trando's spine. He blanched, leaning back in his chair as if trying to create distance between himself and the droid. His hands trembled slightly as he pressed them against the desk. He was no stranger to danger, but this - this was different. This was an execution waiting to happen.
But… It still wasn't the Hutts. He'd visited the Boonta eve classic, had feasted with Jabba and Gardulla. He was well aware there were plenty worse things then plain torture.
These people might hurt him, but the Hutts would throw him to the Sarlacc!
The Twi'lek woman, still perched casually on the edge of the desk, sighed softly as she finished the last bite of the fruit. She licked her fingers clean, her yellow eyes locking onto his with an unsettling intensity. When she spoke, her voice was low and throaty, a dangerous mix of sensuality and menace. "Let me worry about the Hutts," She purred. "You just need to sign the rest over. It'll be... Cleaner that way."
Trando swallowed, his heart pounding in his chest. He had spent years building this organization, from nothing more than a series of illegal, haphazard races that spanned the galaxy. He had risked everything to make it something more - something semi-official, even if the Hutts held much of the control in the background. His pride clashed with the raw fear coursing through him. He stared into the Twi'lek's yellow eyes, gulping in terror. Somehow, through all the fear, he managed to find a shred of resolve. The Hutts will do worse, he reminded himself.
"No," He croaked, the word barely escaping his lips. He couldn't do it. He wouldn't.
The woman sighed again, this time with a touch of exasperation. She stood up from the desk, stretching languidly. Her expression was one of mild irritation, though her eyes gleamed with something far darker. "HK, don't go overboard," She said casually, as if discussing the weather. "He has to be alive to make it all nice and legal."
She tilted her head, her lekku twitching, "Only alive, mind you, the rest of his condition is entirely optional."
The droid's head twitched as it cocked its head similarly to its mistress, its glowing eyes fixed on Trando. "Disappointed Confirmation: Understood, master. I shall refrain from fully dismembering the meatbag. For now."
Trando's heart sank. He knew they weren't going to leave without what they came for, but giving it all away? He had no choice.
They're not Hutts. He kept repeating to himself as the droid approached.
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Izela stood in front of the large transparisteel window in the upper office of the Pod Racing Association's headquarters. The view below offered a perfect glimpse of the immense ravines and forests of Malastare, its terrain rugged and chaotic - the ideal conditions for the dangerous, high-speed pod racing that had made this place infamous on the circuit. The setting sun bathed the horizon in deep oranges and reds, the colors bleeding into the purples of the approaching night sky. It was a beautiful place, despite its reputation as a hub of shady deals, criminal syndicates, and underground sport. The chaos of it all made her smile.
Two hours had passed since Trando Vool's pointless last stand, and the screams had finally died down, the deal signed, and the association now hers. She'd let HK have his fun. She wasn't heartless, but Trando had been an obstacle, and one that needed to be removed in a memorable way. The Gran's shrieks would be the kind of thing his former employees would remember, a haunting reminder of who was in charge now. As she turned from the window, the smooth, sinuous movements of her body were a testament to the enhancements she had chosen for herself in this new life. Gone was the old, average human she had been, replaced by the crimson-skinned beauty of a Twi'lek warrior.
Izela stretched lazily, her red lekku shifting with her as she adjusted the leather strap around her torso. Her mind drifted back, as it often did, to that bizarre encounter. She had died once. It had been a mundane, unremarkable death for someone like her - an ambitious human with dreams far bigger than her talents. But instead of waking up in whatever afterlife waited for the wicked, she had found herself in a sterile, white office. No fire and brimstone, no robed figures waiting to pass judgment. Just a desk, a bored-looking clerk, and the offer of something else - to amuse a 'patron.' It was a sick game, really. She had been handed a list of choices, like a holo-game character creation screen, and given a limited number of points to build a new life. She'd had to be smart about it.
Darth Talon's body? That had been a no-brainer. The Sith Lord's physical prowess was fantastic - agile, lethal, and drop-dead gorgeous. But there was no way in hell she was getting tangled up in the mess of the Force. She'd learned enough about the Star Wars universe to know better. So, instead, she chose Force-null. It had been the perfect tradeoff - freeing up a massive amount of 'points' to allocate elsewhere. She'd opted for the best combat abilities available - marksmanship better than any Mandalorian, hand-to-hand skills that could rival any fighter in the galaxy, and a few biomods that made her strong, fast, and virtually unaging. But most importantly, she had picked her companions carefully.
She stepped out of the office and was immediately greeted by the sight of Rebecca and Lucy.
Rebecca was leaning against the wall, holding a blaster in each hand with casual boredom, her mismatched eyes glancing at the staff that were still gathered before her, hands raised in the air. She was a small woman, but every inch of her radiated danger. Her hair was a wild, punkish mess of silver-white and bright streaks of color, shaved on one side, the other a waterfall of chaos. Her body was heavily modded - muscle enhancements that didn't ruin her slim figure, but rather enhanced her agility and power. Rebecca's arms were covered in tattoos and cybernetic augments, and her fingers tapped rhythmically on the triggers of her twin blasters, their customized barrels glowing faintly with energy. She looked like she was ready to kill someone just to break the monotony.
On the other side of the room stood Lucy, her pale skin nearly glowing under the overhead lights, with long white hair cascading like a waterfall down her back. She was calmer than Rebecca, exuding an icy coolness as she leaned against a console, her arms folded. Lucy's build was lean, but her frame suggested a hidden strength beneath her beauty. Her cybernetics were less flashy than Rebecca's but no less deadly - an assortment of implants that made her a force to be reckoned with in the digital world. Her piercing gaze was focused on a holo-display, her fingers dancing across a series of keys, controlling something unseen.
"Lucy," Izela called as she strolled down the steps, hips swaying confidently, her leather outfit clinging to every curve. "How's the system? Are we good?"
Lucy glanced up, her fingers pausing as a smirk tugged at the corner of her lips. "I've got control of everything," She said, her voice as cool and precise as her movements. "Malastare's law enforcement wouldn't be able to take a piss without me finding out about it first. Their firewalls were laughable. Took me so little time that I hacked us a few extra dozen million from the IBC as I got bored halfway through."
Izela smiled, feeling a warmth of satisfaction. She had chosen well. Lucy's ability to hack into anything and everything was going to be essential, especially now that she had her eyes on bigger targets. InfoSec in Star Wars was going to have a horrible time, as Lucy was capable of things the slicers in this universe could only dream about.
Hence the boatload of money they already had for their purposes from her hacking the IBC, the Trade Federation and the Commerce Guild. They were all dicks anyway, and would hardly notice anything missing under a hundred million.
And if they did, Lucy's tracks would just lead to Nute Gunray, San Hill and the rest of the toadies, which would make their subordinates keep it nice and quiet.
"Now that we own this piece of shit, funnel some of that money here, make it look at least somewhat legal, we'll need to invest heavily to make this all take off properly." She ordered, giving Lucy a pleased smile.
Her subordinates came with pre-programmed loyalty, but it didn't hurt to praise their achievements anyway.
Rebecca, on the other hand, was getting impatient. She pushed herself off the wall, a manic grin spreading across her face. "So, are we killing these idiots yet, choom?" She asked, spinning one of her blasters on her finger in a show of reckless disregard for safety.
At least Izela had managed to convince her that bringing actual grenade launchers and miniguns with her would only draw attention, while she wouldn't be able to even fire them as they weren't supposed to have much of a battle.
Rebecca and HK had taken down the security team so quickly they hadn't even had to dodge return fire. Both of them had been equally saddened when it was over so quick. Those two got along scarily well.
Izela chuckled at her savage subordinate, her laugh low and teasing as she walked closer, her hips swaying with the confidence of someone who knew she had all the power in the room. She reached up and gently patted Rebecca's cheek, her touch as much a warning as it was affectionate. "Save all that violence for when we really need it. We've got bigger things to prove. Besides…" She turned her attention to the staff, her yellow eyes gleaming, "They're going to be very helpful in the coming days - the ones that have vision."
The staff - a mixture of Gran, Dugs, and a few humans, plus one sole Twi'lek - stood trembling, their eyes wide with fear. They had been with the association for years, many of them caught between loyalty to the old regime and the terror of the unknown future. Izela took her time, letting their fear simmer. She might not be the Sith this body had once been, but in the criminal world, fear sometimes worked better than loyalty.
The Hutts had proven that quite well over the Millenia. The Jedi, the Sith, The Republic and the Empires. They all withered and died. But crime, crime always stayed. Hence her wish to insert herself into her own slice of the criminal underworld, where it wouldn't matter if it was a Republic or a Empire out there. She'd still win.
"I'm the new owner, obviously," She announced, her voice smooth, but laced with a subtle threat. "You're all free to quit and run away if you want. I won't stop you." She paused, watching the conflicting emotions play across their faces. "But… I have big plans. I'm expanding the circuit. I'm improving the races we have. And I'm making deals with the Hutts to massively expand the business soon enough. That means profit. Lots of profit. And if you're smart, you'll want to stick around for a cut of that."
There was a murmur of uncertainty among the group. Izela knew they were weighing their options. Fear and greed - it was always the same. And she knew exactly how to tip the scales.
"I'm going to make this circuit the crown jewel of the Outer Rim," She continued, pacing slowly in front of them - ideally they'd stay, because they already knew the business, hence why she was bothering with waving a big fat carrot. "Pod racing is just the beginning. I'm talking about swoop bike races through obstacle courses - treacherous terrain, dangerous traps, and high stakes. Think of it as survival of the fittest, with crowds betting on who'll make it out alive. Or maybe you'd prefer something more organized? How about mock space dogfights? Pilots versus pilots, ace versus ace, in simulations so real you can smell the fuel burning. I'll make it a sport the Core Worlds will pay billions to watch." She giggled, winking, "Of course in Hutt space we could make those fights less of a mock one as well, and rake in the credits from the core worlds begging to watch it."
Her grin widened as she imagined the different 'sports' she could add. The thrill of combat, the rush of speed, the roars of the crowd - it was all going to be a spectacle, and it would draw the attention of the galaxy. She'd have the credits flowing like water. And that wasn't even half of it. Entering the criminal world in a way you weren't beholden to another organization was almost impossible, she intended to create her own enterprise, and semi-legal sports was her way in without having to take over Black Sun or the Pyke syndicate or anything equally as impossible.
"And then there's the tournaments we could throw," She added, leaning casually against the edge of a table. "Teams of sentients fighting it out on holo in dangerous locales - urban ruins, jungles, abandoned starships. It'll be brutal, but not deadly - to keep it legal. People love watching a good fight, especially when there's a chance for them to win credits on the outcome. Strategy and skill on full display, we'll be drowning in Mandalorian mercenaries."
And she'd be able to have her pick of the best ones for her own organization…
There was also the absolutely criminal fact that there wasn't any galactic, nor even sector wide Pazaak and Sabacc tournaments, an untapped potential revenue stream. She imagined the world poker tour, only… Larger and more likely to lead to a duel after.
Rebecca, still twirling her blasters, snorted in amusement. "That sounds fun. Can I play?"
Izela winked at her. "Maybe. But if you all think that's all, I've got something even bigger in mind, something we can use to pull in even the Core Worlds, as it would be legal." Her eyes gleamed with excitement as she continued, "Blitzball. An aquatic sport I've made up, with high-speed chases, combat, and goals. The aquatic species will beg for a Blitzball arena in their sector, and think of the amount of people who'd pay for equipment from us to breathe underwater and match them, to go for the challenge of beating the aquatics in their own game… Think of the spectacle - the hype, the crowds, the betting. And no one dies. Probably."
The staff exchanged nervous glances, but Izela could see the gears turning in their heads. This was big. Bigger than anything they'd been a part of before. And they knew it. If she could pull it off, they knew there was money there. Question was if they dared to bet on her.
Izela knew the galaxy was starving for new forms of entertainment. The old sports were dying, or locked behind the polished doors of the Core Worlds, where aristocrats watched in comfort, far from the grit and danger of real life. But she was going to give them something better. Something raw, something visceral. The Outer Rim was lawless, but that only meant there were fewer restrictions - and more room to profit. Even here in the Mid Rim you could get away with things you couldn't in the core.
She wasn't kidding about Blitzball either. It had the perfect mix of being legal enough for the core, outrageous visuals, and enough buy in from aquatic species it would kick off and drag everyone else in.
"Stay," She said, her voice dropping to a near whisper. "And you'll be rich. Leave, and you'll regret it when you hear about the fortunes being made here. Your choice."
There was a long silence, the staff members looking at one another, weighing their options.
She wasn't surprised when not one of them left.
You didn't join an association like this if you weren't already a bit crooked. And greed was something all criminals held in common.
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Two days later,
Izela had put the staff to work immediately, while she herself had other plans in the air and would need to leave soon to arrange things with the Hutts, there were plenty of things the staff could begin to set up.
Pod racing was a lucrative business, it wouldn't have been able to keep going as it had if it didn't bring in tons of credits. But as a spectator sport it was… Middling, in her opinion.
In short. Pod racing was too short. You couldn't fleece everyone out of their money with a half hour tops of entertainment.
So as the circuit had just finished, and would have two months before it picked back up again, she set them on expanding race days so that each one would be a spectacle. One that would last most of the day. It meant more money from crowds, more sales of merchandise and concessions, and most importantly, it meant more betting across the galaxy.
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So to bring in more customers, they'd do several categories. Human only - which would be slower than a normal race, but would bring in some of the human centric crowd. Build your own - which would be a race only for those who built and raced their own pod racers. There would be the normal free for all regular circuit race of course - as well as the junker race.
The junker race would be shit pods slapped together by spit and hopes, criminals with a death or life sentence hanging over them racing, the winner winning freedom. With such stakes, it was bound to be entertaining and bound to bring in credits.
Lucy was already working on setting up a special kind of site for them accessible through the holonet. Izela's way of muscling in on the betting industry.
The biggest reason the previous head of the association hadn't made much money, even discounting the Hutts share - was the fact all off site betting went to bigger companies specializing in betting, even if they couldn't openly advertise the illegal pod racing.
The Republic could try to stop her, but good luck taking down any site Lucy created. The Daemons she'd have for defense would cook any slicer and their equipment without having to work hard for it. And with everything Izela was creating, the site would be the one stop shop for all betting and viewing needs.
She'd beat the other betting companies by allowing high-quality screenings of each race on her site only, with easily accessible betting and of course discounts and bonuses to start with, to lure them in.
Once they diversified from just pod racing, she'd be the one and only game for high stakes entertainment.
But before she could really start spreading her wings and start spending all her stolen money - she needed to cover her rear.
Which meant it was time to go visit some Hutts.
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The ship rumbled as it broke through the thick atmosphere of Nar Shaddaa, the Smuggler's Moon. Outside the cockpit window, the sky bled from a hazy amber into the greasy glow of the city-world below. Towers of durasteel reached into the clouds, blinking with the neon signatures of casinos, spice dens, and nightclubs. It was a planet that never slept, where the shadow of crime lurked in every corner, and every interaction was a gamble.
Izela leaned back in her seat, watching the descent with a mix of excitement and annoyance. "Nar Shaddaa. Filthy as can be, yet so enticing still."
One day she'd have her own planet like it - just better run and cleaner. And no slaves! There she and the Hutt cartel differed. If anything she'd gladly hit slavers for the chance to recruit from the desperate slaves, you couldn't buy loyalty like that.
Rebecca, sitting in the co-pilot's seat, let out a snort. "Better than boring ol' Malastare. At least here, we can have some fun."
Izela sideyed her compatriot and sighed with a wry smile playing at her lips. Rebecca was a fantastic girl, as long as it came to fighting, fucking, or drinking - she'd never become something more then her enforcer/bodyguard. But that was fine, everyone had a niche they fit in. Hers was just violence and sex.
And Rebecca was very good at both, she'd ah… Tested her vigorously.
It wasn't like there was much else to do in hyper…
HK-47 stood behind them, his glowing orange eyes fixed on the holo-map of their descent. "Statement: The smell of this meatbag cesspool is already detected through the ship's sensors. Conclusion: The likelihood of encountering more vermin is statistically significant."
Izela smirked, her lekku twitching slightly as the ship angled down into a landing approach. The docking platforms of Nar Shaddaa loomed ahead, cluttered with ships of all shapes and sizes. Cargo freighters, sleek starfighters, and clunky transports crammed together in a chaotic mess. Everything about the city screamed disorder, and yet somehow, it functioned. The Hutts saw to that - one way or another.
"Just keep it together this time," Izela said, glancing at Rebecca with a teasing smile. "Ziro's expecting us, and the last thing we need is you blasting a hole through half the moon before we even get there."
Rebecca laughed, the sound wild and carefree. "No promises, boss." She stroked her heavy repeater, the size of a weapons emplacement. "My baby needs exercise…"
The ship touched down on a greasy landing pad with a hiss of hydraulics. The engines powered down, leaving an eerie silence as the city's noise crept in through the ship's hull. Izela stood up, adjusting her tight leather pants and checking her blasters before strapping them to her belt. HK-47 followed behind her, his servos practically soundless. Rebecca was already ahead of them, bouncing on the balls of her feet, her blasters holstered but her fingers twitching in anticipation. Her massive overcompensation of a weapon on her back.
As the ramp lowered, they were immediately greeted by a stout Sullustan waddling toward them, his wide mouth already flapping with words before they even set foot on the platform. He was flanked by three hulking Gamorreans, each of them hefting crude vibro-axes that looked more like rusted garbage than functional. But it wasn't their weapons that annoyed Izela - it was the way their beady eyes fixated on her, leering openly at her form with unmistakable lust.
Now she didn't mind using her body to get what she wanted - it was just another weapon in her toolbox really - she had chosen a very exotic look on purpose after all. But she drew the limit at pigs.
"Welcome, welcome!" the Sullustan called out in rapid Basic, barely stopping to take a breath. "Docking fee's fifteen credits! And - ah, yes, a registration fee, mandatory, of course. Another fifty credits for the Hutt Cartel's approval. Oh, and environmental maintenance fees, fuel surcharge, landing permit…"
He continued to rattle off a list of fees, each one more ludicrous than the last. Izela stood there, arms crossed, as the Sullustan's voice droned on, but her eyes flicked to the Gamorreans, who were licking their tusks and ogling her with an uncomfortable intensity.
Rebecca, however, was growing visibly impatient. She tapped her foot, her fingers twitching at her sides. "Are we really going to listen to this crap?" She muttered.
Knowing her, she was as much annoyed about the wait, as she was about the fact Izela was the only one getting lustful stares. Rebecca wouldn't want to touch these pigs either - but she hated being ignored more. Her entire being and appearance was loud for a reason.
The Sullustan didn't seem to notice, adding yet another fee to his running tally. "…And, of course, a safety inspection fee for the vessel, which will be -"
Suddenly, the unmistakable whir of a heavy repeater filled the air. Without warning, Rebecca had whipped out the massive repeater slung across her back - a weapon nearly as big as she was - and unleashed a hailstorm of blaster bolts. The Gamorreans barely had time to blink before they were cut down, their hulking bodies slamming to the ground with smoking holes burning through their crude armor. The Sullustan let out a shrill scream, diving for cover and still eating several blaster bolts even as the last of the Gamorreans hit the ground, twitching once before going still.
Rebecca let out a whoop of joy, spinning the massive gun around before resting it on her shoulder. "Ha! That's what I'm talking about! Quicker this way, right, boss?"
Izela sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose in frustration. "Rebecca…" She began, shaking her head. "You just killed the Hutts' tax collectors. Do you have any idea how much we're going to have to pay them now to smooth this over?" Well, depending on how Ziro takes my proposal…
Her business idea was likely to bring in a ridiculous sum, and the Hutt would no doubt recognize it. She was counting on him wanting to tweak the nose or Jabba a bit. Hence why she sought him out first, while he was on vacation back in Nar Shaddaa from his Coruscant territory.
Rebecca shrugged, unapologetic. "Hey, it was quicker. I was getting bored. Besides…" She grinned, eyeing the smoking corpses with glee. "Those pigs were staring at you like they were about to tear your clothes off. Did you really want to pay them?"
HK-47 stepped forward, blaster rifle in hand, "Observation: The meatbags couldn't have been worth much. Their operational lifespan was already limited. Conclusion: Their deaths were... Inconsequential."
Izela shot him a wry look, but there was no real anger behind it. In truth, she'd expected something like this. It was just how her crew operated - wild, unpredictable, and unashamedly violent. Still, there were consequences to consider, and Ziro the Hutt wasn't going to be pleased. Not that it mattered. She had a way of making people see things her way.
And big bags of credits cleaned any sin in a place like this.
"Well, what's done is done," Izela said with a sigh. She turned toward the direction of the city, hearing the unmistakable sound of running feet in the distance. Nar Shaddaa's inhabitants weren't exactly known for their neighborly actions, so the only ones that would possibly be coming in that fast, were reinforcements. "Looks like we've got company."
Sure enough, within moments, a squad of mercenaries emerged from the shadows, their blasters raised and pointed directly at Izela and her crew. There were at least a dozen of them, heavily armed and armored, and they didn't look like the kind to waste too many words. Their leader, a grizzled Rodian with a cybernetic eye, stepped forward, his voice rasping through a voice modulator.
"Drop your weapons," He growled, his blaster trained on Rebecca's repeater. "You're under arrest for -"
Izela raised her hands lazily, a sly smile playing on her lips as she interrupted him. "Finally," She drawled, her yellow eyes gleaming with amusement. "What took you so long? I was starting to think no one here cared. We've got an appointment with Ziro the Hutt, so if you don't mind…"
The mercenaries hesitated, exchanging confused glances. Clearly, they hadn't been expecting someone to mention Ziro by name. The leader lowered his blaster slightly, still wary but now unsure of how to proceed. By all accounts they should be taking them in or gunning them down - but a guest of the Hutts had more worth then a few Gamorreans and a minor nobody like the Sullustan.
"You've got an appointment?" the Rodian asked, suspiciously.
Izela nodded, her smile widening. "That's right. And I doubt Ziro will be happy if he finds out his guests were... Delayed." She glanced over at Rebecca, who was casually leaning on her repeater, a gleeful smirk still plastered on her face. HK-47 stood perfectly still, his glowing eyes watching every movement with calculated precision. No doubt already calculating the best way to take down every one of their enemies.
The Rodian muttered something under his breath before signaling to his men to stand down. "Fine," He spat. "But if you're lying…"
Izela's gaze hardened for just a moment, her voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "I don't lie. Not about things like this." No one is dumb enough to take a Hutts name in vain here of all places…
The Rodian grimaced, then motioned for his men to stand down, but they kept their weapons on them, just in case. "Alright. Follow us. But don't try anything funny."
As this was Nar Shaddaa, they didn't ask them to disarm. No one went around without weapons here. The Hutts met under complete energy shield protection to begin with, so they weren't at risk.
Izela lowered her hands, her smirk returning as she motioned for Rebecca and HK-47 to follow. As they walked, she glanced at Rebecca, who was still humming a tune to herself, clearly pleased with the earlier violence.
"You're impossible," Izela muttered with a chuckle.
Rebecca grinned, flashing her a wink. "Hey, it worked, didn't it?"
In a way, Izela had to admit, it certainly had..
She wasn't about to tell Rebecca that however. No need to give the girl a reason to do this every time they got delayed.
The guards marched Izela, Rebecca, and HK-47 through the bustling streets of Nar Shaddaa, leading them toward the garish neon lights of one of the planet's most ostentatious casinos. The building loomed in the distance, a gaudy, towering structure that dominated the skyline like a garish temple to wealth. Lit from top to bottom in blinding holographic advertisements, the name "Golden Palace" flashed in bold Aurebesh above the entrance. The wealth on display was as excessive as it was tasteless - golden statues of Hutts, murals depicting decadent wealth, and dancers' holos spinning in enormous holo tanks that floated just above the casino's broad entrance.
The group was flanked by the heavily armed mercenaries that never took their eyes off them, even though they'd radioed ahead and gotten the validity of the visit confirmed. As they passed through the enormous golden doors, a hulking pair of Trandoshans eyed them from either side. Inside, the casino's interior was no less ridiculous. The floors were inlaid with gold, while patrons sat around glittering sabacc tables and spinning gambling wheels, spending enough credits in a single hand to feed entire colonies. And in the center of it all, taking up most of the main hall, was a grotesque, towering golden statue of a Hutt, its bulbous form reclining in decadent splendor.
Izela couldn't help but smile at the sight, her yellow eyes gleaming with amusement. It was exactly the kind of tasteless wealth she expected from Ziro the Hutt. A ridiculous show of power, meant to intimidate and overwhelm. Yet to her it only showed her that she was right, that they could be appeased with wealth no matter the scenario. The guards led them deeper into the casino, through winding hallways lined with more gold, past private rooms where high-stakes gambling and other illicit activities took place.
Finally, they were led into an opulent waiting room. Plush red seats and gleaming tables lined the walls, while scantily clad Twi'leks and other species served drinks to the wealthy patrons who lounged around in idle conversation. There was no sign of Ziro yet, and Izela knew exactly what this was. They were being made to wait.
She reclined into one of the plush chairs, her leather-clad body sinking into the soft cushions. "A power play," She murmured, half to herself, half to her companions. "Ziro wants us to stew. Typical Hutt move."
Rebecca flopped into the seat next to her, crossing her arms over her chest, her irritation evident. "Still think it was quicker this way?" Izela teased, casting a sidelong glance at Rebecca, her lips curling into a knowing smirk.
Rebecca grumbled under her breath, slouching deeper into her seat. "I dunno, maybe. Maybe not."
HK-47 stood behind them, his sensors flicking around the room as he scanned the guards stationed by the doors. "Observation: This waiting tactic is inefficient. I could eliminate the meatbag guards within ninety seconds and access Ziro's chambers within an additional three minutes. Query: Shall I proceed?"
The guards shifted uncomfortably at HK-47's words, their hands twitching toward their weapons. They weren't used to hearing droids so casually discuss the logistics of murder. Their murder to boot.
Izela raised a hand lazily, waving him off. "Not yet, HK. But keep that plan in mind if we need to leave in a hurry." Her voice was calm, as if they weren't surrounded by heavily armed guards. She knew the game being played here. Ziro was annoyed, yes, but he wouldn't kill them - unless they failed to deliver what she'd promised. They had killed some of his people, sure, but Hutts were pragmatic above all else. If she could show him there was profit to be made, he would listen. Credits spoke louder than death.
And in the end, the dead weren't worth much, not to a Hutt.
Hours passed. The casino's patrons came and went, while Izela and her crew waited. The guards watched them nervously, clearly uncomfortable with HK-47's presence and Rebecca's clear lack of respect for their authority. Still, Izela remained patient, knowing that this was part of the dance. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, a door at the far end of the room slid open, and they were ushered through.
The chamber they entered was a vast, private throne room, more extravagant than anything they had seen in the casino so far. The floors were polished to a mirror finish, and the walls were lined with tapestries depicting various Hutts in positions of power through history, Ziros own portrait taking center stage. Exotic and rare animals were displayed in cages around the perimeter, just to showcase Ziros reach - some were practically extinct.
Ironically, mostly due to the Hutts, Izela noted with some humor, recognizing several beasts as ones used by Hutts in the past for gladiator fights and feeding unruly minions too.
And there, lounging on a massive platform draped in silks and pillows and protected behind an energy shield, was Ziro the Hutt. He was an enormous, bloated figure - although not as large as some Hutts she'd seen, his purple skin was glistening with some sort of oil, and he was adorned with gaudy jewelry that looked absurd even by Hutt standards and a feathered hat. He was bright purple, and his emerald green eyes were rimmed with dark eyeliner, giving him a strangely theatrical appearance. Ziro's long, slug-like body was coiled lazily as he surveyed them with a bored expression, a jeweled cup of some exotic drink clutched in one stubby hand.
"Ah, my 'guests'," Ziro said in his gravelly, high-pitched voice, his massive tongue flicking out briefly. He took a long sip from his drink before setting it down with a loud clink. "I must say, you've got some nerve, showing up here after killing my tax collectors. What possible reason could you have for me not torturing you to death right now?"
He paused, his eyes narrowing in mock seriousness. "Jabba wouldn't be pleased if any of his precious pod races were delayed. Then again," Ziro added with a theatrical wave of his hand, "I wouldn't be heartbroken if Jabba were... Displeased."
As far as a Hutts initial greeting went, that was almost positively jovial, Izela thought. Izela's smile never wavered as she sauntered forward with a confidence that appeared to be arrogance, stopping just short of Ziro's platform. Her yellow eyes sparkled with amusement as she spoke, her voice smooth and full of easy charm. "I've got a reason for you, Ziro. One you'll want to hear." She leaned in slightly, lowering her voice as if sharing a secret. "Lots and lots of credits."
Ziro's eyes gleamed with sudden interest, but he didn't respond immediately. He shifted slightly on his platform, eyeing her with a mix of suspicion and curiosity. "Go on."
Izela took her time, letting the tension hang in the air for a moment before continuing. "I'm taking over the pod racing circuit. All of it. I've got plans - big plans - that will quadruple profits by next year easily. We're talking about expanding the races, adding new courses, and bringing in bigger crowds than ever before. With your support of my position, of course."
Ziro let out a deep, rumbling laugh. "Quadruple profits, you say? Big promises from such a... Minor player." His eyes narrowed again. "And what do I get in return for this generosity?"
Izela met his gaze evenly, her smile unwavering. "I'm offering you and the Hutt Council a substantial cut of the profits. But in return, I need recognition. Full ownership of the entire circuit, yes even Tatooine. I want to be officially sanctioned by the Hutts as an independent operator. No one interferes with my operations, no one challenges my authority."
Ziro chuckled, waving a hand dismissively. "And what makes you think the Hutt Council cares about someone like you? You're nothing but a minor inconvenience - a speck. Why should we give you control of anything?"
The fact he hadn't already told her to get lost, or ordered his men to fire, told her all she needed about his interest. She especially thought he'd quite like to tweak Jabba's nose.
Izela stepped closer, her voice lowering to a near purr. "Because I'm not just offering you pod racing profits. I've got dozens of other ideas that will make you richer than you've ever been. Swoop bike races through dangerous obstacle courses, mock space dogfights, team dogfights, both mock and real, the best pilots of the galaxy drawn in. And that's just the start. I already have the seed money to set it all up. You get the Hutt Council to sign off on me being in charge - for a cut - and you'll get a percentage of everything I create."
She wasn't worried about revealing her ideas. For all that the Hutts had a lot of power, it was mostly at this point utilized through sheer history and generational wealth. They weren't that creative, that's why they hired people to do it for them.
Ziro's eyes flicked toward her, now more intrigued than before. "A percentage, you say? And just how much are you offering me, hmm?" There was a warning tone to his voice, that she promptly ignored.
Izela smiled, knowing she had him hooked, now it was just the negotiation. "Five percent. Of all the business I create. That's just for you, Ziro. No one else. All you have to do is make sure the Council signs a few documents and stays out of my way. It's easy credits."
The truth of the matter was that to operate as an 'independent' and not be owned full bore - she needed the Hutts to sign off on it, or it couldn't happen without a lot of dead bodies. Once she got big enough… Then she could throw off even that slight deal, if she felt it necessary. Having Hutt shareholders so to speak, would simply ensure they weren't likely to try and ruin her business.
Ziro's expression shifted into something more calculating. He drummed his stubby fingers against his drink, his eyes never leaving Izela. "Five percent? I think not. You're asking for a lot, little one. I'll take twenty five."
Rebecca stiffened at the suggestion, her fingers twitching toward her blasters, but Izela remained calm. "Ten percent," She countered smoothly. "And that's all you have to do - make a few calls, sign a few things, and watch the credits roll in. You won't find an easier deal."
Ziro's lips curled into a smirk, but his eyes glittered dangerously. "You underestimate me, darling. No one but a Hutt could achieve what you want - the Hutt council wouldn't listen to anyone else. And for that, I am due my twenty five percent."
He waved his hand lazily, and the guards in the room suddenly raised their weapons, leveling them at Izela and her companions. Ziro grinned, his voice dripping with mock sweetness. "Or maybe... fifty percent? Or seventy? Hmm?"
Izela didn't flinch, even as she sensed Rebecca and HK-47 tensing beside her, ready for a fight. HK-47's glowing eyes flickered with anticipation, and Rebecca's hands hovered just above her blasters, eager for action. The guards, still surrounding them, shifted nervously, unsure of what would happen next. But Izela remained calm, her expression completely unfazed, even as Ziro's threat hung heavily in the air.
"Seventy percent?" Izela repeated softly, her voice almost amused as she cocked her head slightly. She met Ziro's gaze with a smirk, completely unbothered by the weapons aimed at her. "Come now, Ziro. You and I both know that's unreasonable. I'm offering you a deal no one else would. A deal that will make you rich with no effort on your part - and give you a feather in your cap towards your contemporaries. You'd be a fool to push it too far."
Ziro's massive, slug-like body shifted slightly as he watched her, his eyes gleaming with interest beneath the exaggerated eyeliner. "Oh? And why is that, hmm?" His voice was playful, but there was an undercurrent of menace beneath it. "What makes you so confident you can talk to me this way, little girl?"
Izela smiled, an expression of pure confidence. "Because I know how to make you even more credits than you're asking for. I'll give you twelve percent - no more, no less - but I'll sweeten the deal. I'm planning something big. Real big. An event that will pull in crowds from every corner of the galaxy. A biannual event, something the entire galaxy will be talking about." She leaned forward just slightly, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "I'm calling it the Galactic Olympiad."
Ziro's eyes narrowed, his interest piqued despite himself. "Olympiad? What nonsense is this?"
"It's not nonsense," Izela said, her voice full of conviction. "It's a galaxy wide competition to showcase who's the best. The best marksmen, the best quick-draws, the best hand-to-hand fighters from all across the galaxy, competing for glory. We'll have competitive Pazaak and Sabacc and anything else you can imagine as well, more importantly, credits. It will be a spectacle like no other. Pilots, bounty hunters, mercenaries, even military personnel will come to prove themselves as the best. And the betting? The betting alone will be worth billions in credits. Maybe even more." She smirked, "You know it would be even more. And the entire time the Olympiad isn't playing - constant tournaments to qualify, money on money on money…"
She'd introduce boxing and MMA to the Galaxy. They already had gladiator fights and put fighting, but this would make things an official sport, with different weight classes due to the diversity of competitors ensuring even something simple like boxing could have dozens of categories. And more categories meant more fights, more shows, more credits.
Ziro's eyes gleamed with greed, the wheels turning in his mind as he considered the possibilities. "And you think you can pull this off?"
Izela's smile widened. "I know I can. I've got the seed money, the connections, and the vision. I'll organize the whole thing. You - " she gestured lazily at him, " - don't have to lift a finger. Just get the Hutt Council to sign off on me being in charge of the racing circuit, make sure they stay out of my way for the rest, and I'll give you twelve percent of everything I build - plus first pick to recruit any of the talent. This won't just be about pod racing anymore. It'll be a galactic empire of entertainment. Sports, competition, gambling - some of it will even be legal outside the Outer Rim."
Ziro's face twisted into an exaggerated grin, his massive form rumbling with a deep, throaty laugh. The guards lowered their weapons slightly as they saw their master's interest growing. "Twelve percent? You dare to offer me such a pittance?"
Izela's voice stayed level, unwavering. "You'll be making more credits than you know what to do with, Ziro. That twelve percent will be worth more than anything you could ever get from bleeding this circuit dry. I've got ideas, and I'm going to make them real. The other Hutts may be powerful, but they lack vision. I'm offering you a piece of something that will last for centuries, because I know you have vision."
Ziro reclined slightly, his massive form undulating as he considered her words. His eyes shifted back and forth between Izela, Rebecca, and HK-47, calculating. "You think you can take on the galaxy? Build something like that... And survive? What makes you so special, hmm? Why shouldn't I just crush you now and take your little plans for myself?"
HK-47 stepped forward, his mechanical voice cutting through the air. "Gleeful statement: Should you attempt to harm my master, I will dismember your guards and anyone else who tries to interfere, please try. Observation: Your guards are slow and poorly trained. I estimate they would last less than two minutes in a combat scenario."
The guards stiffened, clearly uneasy at the droid's declaration, but Ziro simply waved a hand dismissively, grinning as if amused by HK-47's threat. "Oh, I've no doubt you could cause quite the mess, droid. But violence won't get you what you want in the end." He leaned forward, his eyes narrowing. "Let's say I agree to your little proposal, girl. Let's say I take your twelve percent. What guarantee do I have that you'll succeed?"
Izela met his gaze without flinching. "Because I've already succeeded in taking control of the pod racing circuit, and I've already started making deals, I'm already here meeting with you within days, having successfully arranged a meeting. You wouldn't be sitting here negotiating with me if I didn't have the skills to back up my claims. But if that's not enough for you, then it's simple calculus. You're not paying anything for this to happen. So if I lose, you lose nothing. If I win…"
Ziro laughed again, a deep, rumbling sound that filled the room. "You're amusing me. I like that. And you've got guts. Fine. Fifteen percent." He said, adding a few percent casually. He leaned back, his expression turning dark again. "But if I'm unhappy with the profits, if you so much as disappoint me - " His voice dropped into a growl, " - I'll make sure you wish you were dead long before I actually kill you."
Izela smiled, not at all intimidated by the threat. She could feel victory within reach. "Oh, I'll make you happy, Ziro. You're going to show up every other Hutt once I get things running and only you have a personal stake in the game."
Ziro smirked, his eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Then it's a deal. But don't forget. I'll be watching you."
Izela inclined her head slightly in acknowledgment. "Of course. I wouldn't expect anything less." She stepped back, turning on her heel with a confident stride as Rebecca and HK-47 fell into step beside her.
There was a reason she'd targeted Ziro in particular. He'd be extremely willing to get one up over the other Hutts, especially also tweaking Jabba's nose. So he'd ensure she got what she wanted because he'd profit more than them. And he'd no doubt think he could force her to give up more later - that she was his woman now.
She'd have to disabuse him of that one day. But for now, it was perfect. It had all come together precisely as she'd suspected after they had finished step one…
Lucy had hacked Ziro, and openly messaged the Hutt, that's how Izela had been able to contact the Hutt in the first place, impressing him enough to allow for an audience. With Ziro also being a Vigo in the Black Sun, it was inevitable he would betray her and try to muscle in once she grew big - either for the Hutts or for the Black Sun.
But he'd allow her to grow unhindered, waving away all fellow Hutts until then. Because he'd want her to feed and grow into a big fat piggy for when he came to feast.
That was the thing with the Hutts, why do the work when they could just muscle in on the finished product? It was now a race, would she get powerful enough to withstand Ziro and the Black Sun, or would he win and subsume her enterprise?
Considering Lucy had only appeared to be expelled out of the Hutts system by his slicers - her bet was on herself coming out on top. She'd literally know what was coming the moment Ziro planned it.
As they walked out of the chamber, Rebecca glanced over at Izela, her voice low. "Fifteen percent. You sure about that?"
Izela's smirk widened. "Oh, he'll get his fifteen percent, the Hutt council will no doubt share another 10-15 between themselves, but by the time I'm done, that's going to be nothing compared to what I'm keeping for myself." And one day I'll be able to cast them off if I end up unhappy with the deal.
For now, the legitimacy in the underworld from having the Hutts leave her business alone to her own devices was worth the losses.
Rebecca chuckled, a wicked gleam in her eyes. "Nova! I like the way you think, boss."
Izela glanced back at the casino, the garish golden statue of the Hutt looming over the entrance. Ziro might think he had the upper hand now, but soon, he would see just how deep her plans ran. She had no intention of staying small. The galaxy was vast, and she had her sights set on far more than just a sports empire. This was only the beginning.
As they made their way back to the ship, the neon lights of Nar Shaddaa flickering around them, Izela couldn't help but smile. She was going to turn the galaxy on its head. And no one - not the Hutts, not the Republic, not anyone - was going to stop her.
Because you couldn't fight her influence with a blaster, a slicer or a space battle - blow up her arenas and racetracks - she'd just race in a canyon like Tatooine and still rake in profits.
Entertainment never dies.
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With Lucy,
While the others were enjoying Nar Shaddaa hospitality, Lucy was working on setting up the bare bones of the structure for their future enterprise.
The Holonet was nothing like dealing with the Black wall, and she found it disgustingly easy to set up a site that could be reached from anywhere with holo access, but couldn't be censored, banned, or hacked by the level of slicer she saw currently.
Izela had given her clear instructions, so the site would be operating both as a sort of Holo channel, where the videos or 'shows' of the future races, card tournaments, fighting games, and the eventual Olympiad could all be showcased - and as a betting site.
She'd connect to every bank and credit union in the galaxy, allowing sentients to bet from anywhere and with any kind of account in real time. The site would promise full anonymity, and while people wouldn't believe as much at first - eventually it would be proven correct. At which point Lucy suspected the legal betting companies of the galaxy would erupt in protest as their revenue started flowing away.
They would have legal sports of course as well, like Izela's crazy Blitzball idea. And the Olympiad didn't have any real criminal elements to it, as death was not allowed - so with the right palms greased, it might become legal as well. She had the short amusing thought over what would happen if the Jedi competed.
But from what little research she'd already done, that seemed unlikely, a wholly boring sect of people, those ones.
In all likelihood they'd eventually face them anyway. The betting companies were subsidiaries of some mega corp or another, Lucy sneering at the thought, not finding much difference between Arasaka and the likes of Czerka and the Commerce Guild and the like.
They'd have enough clout in the Senate to get Jedi sent after their new enterprise at some point, especially once they pointed out to the monks how much violence they showed off. Lucy smirked even as she continued to weave through the holonet, building their site up. The Jedi will have a hard time pinning Izela down on something illegal…
Lucy had already hidden Izela's ownership between so many layers not even a Jedi slicer would find anything. The words of the criminals that would work the ground for their pod races and other illegal works could hardly be taken to court.
Izela would openly own the legal enterprises, she'd be a sports and entertainment conglomerate CEO. Able to move amongst the elite of the galaxy during the day.
And behind the scenes, at night, she'd run everything else, with Lucy in the driver's seat. Having this much power at her fingertips, after a life of feeling like she'd balanced on a knife's edge… Was invigorating.
She finished the first layers of the new site, sighing as she realized due to the stupid separation, she'd have to create a wholly new site for the legal enterprise.
The thin curtain separating the two was in all seriousness paper thin, and everyone would realize Izela ran both, but legally they'd find nothing.
Twice the work for the same thing, she thought with a wry smirk.
Almost like being back home…
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