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Achlohr inhaled deeply. The chilled evening air was refreshing. Sitting down in small park with his eyes closed, he tired to tune his senses into the surroundings. A pair of Forshul were sitting on a park bench debating loudly in an alien tongue. From the names spoken, he could only assume they were arguing about the recent scandal; Mayor Don Chrich had allegedly been caught ordering the "torture" of spies. Achlohr had to resist the urge to laugh. Sending females to point and laugh at the informant's privates was not torture. If they were really tortured, their southernly extemities would have been removed. A pair of Wroonians walked by, conversing about the weather. A pair of humans rushed by, whispering and giggling. They were probably lovers. On the other hand, a group of five humans walked through the park slowly. They were talking about the bad service at the Tree Lounge Restaurant and Bar. A Catharian marched by. He was breathing deeply. Every exhale produced a low and menacing growl. His footsteps made dull thumps, and the grass swish.
Vladimir Achlohr exhaled.
The Forshul had deep and booming voices. The air radiated and seemed to shake with their heated verbal battle. Wroonians were graceful. They hardly caused a ripple of vibration in their stroll, and they were only 25 yards away. The human lovers and their giggles had made their presence known, but they were already gone. The group, probably a wealthy family, was hard to miss. Especially because the two adult males of the group smoked cigars. The Catharian, however, was a brute. The Cathar species were generally 1.5 to 1.9 meters tall. They had fur, and retractable claws (OOC: A Cathar is pretty much a mix between a bear and a lion). To the small insects that inhabited the soil, each footstep was an earthquake. The beast stank.
Achlohr opened his eyes and looked at the Cathar. His fur was slick and greasy. It looked like he walked with a destination and purpose. He knew where he was going. Achlohr's com-link chirped. It was not a voice connection, but a data transfer.
It was from Quank, a bartender that owed him a favor. The file read, "BANKING CLAN ROBBED. ALL NEARBY BOUNTY HUNTERS TO TRACK DOWN SMUGGLER AND STOLEN CARGO. I KNOW YOU'RE SHORT ON CASH. REWARD IS 2 MILLION CREDITS."
Achlohr inhaled, smiling. How lucky it was for him that the Catharian bounty hunter was going to a job. The creature's eyes blazed with greed and passion. 2 million credits could do that to almost anybody. Vladimir Achlohr waited for 30 seconds before getting up. He needed to set up a small distance to make it look like he wasn't following the beast to his ship to sneak aboard and hide, letting the Catharian do all the work of hunting the smuggler down. But Achlohr did not want to kill the now infamous smuggler. No, he had other plans...

Sneaking onto the Catharian's ship was surprisingly easy. All he had to do was hold onto the landing skids. When they were retracted, they lifted him into the ship. From there, he maneuvered through the tight maintenance crawlway. From there, he made his way to a small viewport. Achlohr assumed that the smuggler's ship had been tagged with a tracking device, because the Catharian bounty hunter seemed to know where he was going. They had not left the planet, but it took the enirte night, and most of the morning, to reach the destination.
Vladimir knew that the furry creature would be more concerned about the air traffic than watching what ships were landing. There were mostly commercial transports and taxis, but personal craft could be found. One in particular seemed to be rushing towards a landing platform. However, the craft suddenly slowed to normal speeds. Soon, it was no longer visible. The deck lurched under Achlohr's feet. They were descending, and at an alarming rate. This Catharian must be REALLY dedicated to finding the mysterious smuggler. It was not long before the ship landed, and the bounty hunter left in a hasty pursuit. Achlohr, however, did not rush. He calmly walked off of the ship like nothing was wrong, and politely asked passing janitor for directions to the nearest cargo storage facility. If you have, say, six crates of stolen goods, you would want to hide them in a secure location.
Early afternoon on Harrin brought a refreshing cool breeze to contrast the warm and humid air. Achlohr walked towards the storage facility. It was already in sight. Keeping his eyes glued to the exits, he watched every being that walked out the door. He occasionally looked around to make sure nobody was following him, and to make sure that he was not doing to bump into anybody.
Suddenly, almost randomly, a human sprang from the surrounding crowd of pedestrians and wrapped his arms around Achlohr as if giving him a big hug. The fur from the bantha-fur coat ticked his arms. He was just about to retaliate with physical force when he felt the muzzle of a blaster pistol digging into his left kidney. The man brought his head close to Achlohr's ear, and whispered, "I suggest you accompany me on the bench." Rather than start a fight and possibly be killed, Achlohr started towards a nearby bench. Many of them lined the walkway. He slipped his left hand down and pressed the clip release, letting the charge slide into his hand. He quickly closed his fist to hide it. The two men sat down on the bench, the pistol still pressed into Achlohr's side. The man in the coat ('Why does he wear the coat? It's not like it's cold around here,' Achlohr thought. How odd that he would question his attacker's choice of clothing at a time like this.) thought he was still on control of the situation. He started to demand information. "Are you in contact with any other bounty hunters?"
To this, Vladimir Achlohr replied, "I am a lone warrior, my friend." He made himself sound calm, and almost friendly. "In fact, there were a couple things I had intended to ask y-" The smuggler cut his sentence short by digging the pistol further into Achlohr's side.
"Hand me your com-link," the coat-clad smuggler demanded. He seemed mad and frustrated now.
"I will not," Achlohr responded, pretending to be astonished at such a requisition. "You'll need to shoot me to get it," he dared.
Obviously, the smuggler thought that he could kill two birds with one stone (would that be a pun?). He could get rid of an assassin, and he would also get the com-link. The pistol made a *click* and nothing more. The smugger now wore a quizzical look. He started to examine his gun to see why it had not done its job. Achlohr took this opportunity to reveal the missing clip, while whipping out a small holdout blaster and pressed it into the perplexed person's ribs.
Smiling broadly, Vladimir thought, 'Ah-ha! Now the boot is on the other foot.'
"How about you listen to my proposition, as it may be in your best interest. Now that I have your full attention, I would like to tell you something that you might already know. The Banking Clan is mad at you, and posted an open bounty on your head. What you do not know is that I have no intention of killing you." Achlohr paused to take a deep breath, but also for dramatic effect. "I need your help. If you come with me willingly, I will put away my blaster, and we can talk like civilized gentlemen."
With that, the smuggler gave a nod, and Achlohr put his gun back in its hiding place. However, he held onto the smuggler's gun clip just in case. They stood from the bench and walked together.
"I suggest we stay away form your ship. It's been tagged," Achlohr said out of the corner of his mouth. A few passersby started to give questioning looks. He quickly steered his new companion into a more deserted path. It was secluded, and ran behind numerous buildings. "And public," Achlohr added. "You've started to make quite a name for yourself over the HoloNet with that robbery of yours."

He led the smuggler to his modest hotel room. It was lightly furnished, but there was a table, a few chairs, and small refrigerating unit. He invited his "guest" to sit down. He then pulled two Para-rolls (a Dornean pastry) from the refrigerating unit, and offered one to the smuggler. He accepted the offer of goodwill, and devoured it quickly. "Mithman," he said, licking his fingers. Achlohr ate his snack more slowly, savoring the sweet flavor and relishing the soft, chewy dough. "I am Achlohr."
"You said you needed my help with something?"
"Well, yes. Your skills could be of great use to me. A... client... is counting on me to do a job for him. He is a for a contractor for a big construction firm on Coruscant. His daughter was kidnapped, and is being held hostage. Her captors are demanding money that he does not have. They threatened to sell her into 'bondage' if they are not paid off."
"And how exactly does this concern me?" Mithman inquired.
"You're a smuggler. You sneak things through places. I need you to covertly get me into their holding place so that I can get the girl out," Achlohr explained. "The client offered ten thousand credits, so five thousand for each of us."
"How do I know this isn't some elaborate scheme to turn me over to the Banking Clan? Why should I trust you?"
Achlohr removed all of his weapons and laid them out on the table. There were several concealed blasters, knives, a vibro shiv, even his prised black obsidian assassin's knife. He then gently leaned over and placed Mithman's pistol clip on the table.
"Is that trust enough?"

The stars streaked by. Achlohr had always been mesmerized by the white lines and blurs that hyperspace created, and this time was no different. Although the ship was on autopilot mode, he sat in the pilot's seat, which was very comfortable. It was furnished with soft leather and was perfectly padded. Vladimir had no idea that the small craft the he "borrowed" was so luxurious!
I would take a while to reach Coruscant. So in the meantime, Achlohr rested. He had removed his armor. It was one of his most prized possessions. He made it himself. It was hardened leather, so it was flexible and lightweight, but was also infused with cortosis, so that it was strong and could protect him from blaster shots. His armor was not only a body plate, but also forearm and shin protectors of the same material. Everything was black, but with a slight dark green sheen. Both of the forearm and shin protectors concealed three small blades (on each pad) that were angled back so that they pointed towards elbow or kneecap. (The blades worked much like the vibroblade in a Clone Commando's armor, but the blades on Achlohr's armor did not automatically retract.)
He did not wear the full set of armor all of the time. Mostly he only wore the torso armor with his black cloak over it. He broke out the full set of armor when he knew that he was going into a fight, or if he was exploring unfamiliar territory. Achlohr quickly made a mental note to polish up the armor, for he would be need it in the assault to come.
Right now, Vladimir was relaxed, and wore no armor. He was casual as he would ever get; a black sleeveless shirt made from a light, but strong, material and cargo pants with a camouflage pattern. On his feet was a pair of comfortable, black, ankle-high combat boots. He continued to watch the distant stars fly by. It seemed that with each star that passed by, little bits of stress went with it. The feeling was nothing like Achlohr had ever experienced before, and it was amazing. He exhaled deeply. He could sleep at any time, any place, and on any terrain.
Vladimir pressed a button on the console and to his delight, found that the pilot's seat was heated. Catching a nap in the soft and warm chair was so tempting...

Achlohr drifted from his sleeping state and slowly became fully conscious, but still groggy. With his eyes still closed, he let out a long yawn.
'Wow,' he thought, happy and refreshed. 'That felt good.'
Vladimir slowly opened his eyes, and way greeted by the almost hypnotic stars still streaking past the cockpit. He stood, checked a few instruments, and wandered about the ship in search for a lavatory. He found one, relieved himself, and then walked into the main quarters where he put his armor. The next seven and a half hours were spent polishing and cleaning armor and weapons.


Coruscant; Pretty much the center of the galaxy. From space, it looked like an inhabitable volcanic planet. Some areas were dark, while others blazed with light. However, it was the complete opposite. It was busting and prosperous with industry and life. There was air traffic everywhere, and countless numbers of buildings. Achlohr eased the ship down onto a landing platform and paid the necessary fees. He made his way over to the towering Skyline Apartment Complex, the residence of his client. He informed the Gossam on the recent situation; A plan had been formed, a reinforcement called in, and the return of the kidnapped daughter was to be expected in the days to come. The meeting was simple and short. Achlohr left the apartment (but not the building), stood on a balcony at the end of the hallway, and contacted Mithman over the secure line that he had given him.
*Blip* "I am ready," Achlohr said simply. "Where are you?"
"Actually, I just landed," was Mithman's reply. He gave Achlohr the coordinates to his location.
'This smuggler must be running out of credits,' Vladimir mused. Mithman had picked a somewhat shady part of the sector where the landing pad fees were cheaper. "Meet me at the Rar'tek Inn. We can work on the plans there." He didn't wait for a response, and terminated the connection. He suddenly got a bad feeling, one that had saved his life many times before.
Achlohr left the balcony, exited the building, and jogged towards the inn, his black cloak flowing behind him. All the while, he was checking his surroundings. The neon advertisement boards lit the afternoon in a creepy glow. There were masses of people clogging the dirty walkways. It seemed that with each passing building, the grease and grime thickened. None of this helped to ease the churning in Achlohr's gut. At last, he was near the Rar'tek Inn. The little voice in the back of his head told him to look up. He did so, and saw two ships in tight formation headed towards the lading zone at a dangerously high rate of speed. They did land safely, however, and a man and a Hrakian leaving one ship, and another lone human leaving the other. The lone human wore light blue solid body armor on his chest and thighs. He carried a heavy pistol. The other human sported a dull orange headband, and a dark tan jumpsuit. He carried a blaster carbine. The Hrakian wore knee-high leather sporting boots, a brown jacket, and a blaster pistol that left a bulge on his left kidney. These idiots must be rookie bounty hunters, and have never heard the word "sneaky." Not waiting to see what might happen next, Achlohr slipped though the doors of the Rar'tek Inn. He walked calmly and nonchalantly though the lobby (which was quite nice, despite the location) and found Mithman busying himself with some pamphlets and fliers that advertised various eateries and recreational activities. Many of the papers were outdated to the point where the buildings that they described no longer existed.
Achlohr pulled Mithman out of the lobby and led him down a flight of stairs. The two men then walked down a questionable dark and narrow hallway. Achlohr stopped at the third door from the end, and put his hand on a sensor. And the door opened. After they were inside with the door closed, Achlohr explained that he did a favor for the person who was renting out the room.
The smugger, once again wearing his bantha fur coat, took a seat at the table that was in the back left corner. Achlohr sat on the opposite side; his back to the wall and facing the door. Mithman was about to speak when Achlohr cut him off. "You're being followed," he announced with a touch of frustration in his voice. "Did you remove the tracking device on your ship?"
"Yeah, I did."
"And did you sweep your ship for any others?"
Mithman hesitated, inhaling sharply. "Well, uh..." He squinted his eyes and looked up in thought. "No," he concluded.
Achlohr sighed, but let it go. He changed the subject. "So, we need a plan on how we are going to infiltrate the kidnapper's safe-place. My original plan was to covertly sneak myself in, but I know that will not work. These guys have regular surveillance patrols, and armed guards." He revealed pictures of the guards and patrols. "I need you," he continued, "to get me, and yourself, into the building. From these we can stage an assault. I want to make it as quiet as possible."
All the while, Mithman was nodding, taking in the information as it was being presented. Achlohr could see the wheels turning in his head. Although the smuggler was not arguing with the black cloak-clad Vladimir, it was clear that he was thinking up a plan of his own.

For Achlohr, it had all happened so fast. One moment he was laying out what he thought was a brilliant plan, and then suddenly the smuggler, Mithman, cut him off. Before he knew it they had arrived at the warehouse where the kidnappers were keeping their hostage. Mithman was pumping the inside if the complex full of smoke, so Vladimir had to put on a gas mask and thermal vision goggles. From there, instinct brought him into a low crouch, ready to strike. With what? An easily concealed vibroshiv that he now carried in his right hand. However, it was extremely difficult to maneuver. The thick smoke produced a heat signature that fogged all others. Also the thermal goggles cut off his peripheral vision.
Having decided it be best to hug the wall, Vladimir continued deeper into the complex. It was not long before he found a man on the floor, convulsing because he couldn't breath. Achlohr gladly put him out of his misery without hesitation. 'That's one hurdle safely put out of the game,' he thought to himself. He then went off to wonder what the bantha-fur coat-clad smuggler was doing. 'No, stay focused,' he told himself. It took a lot of effort to remain as stealthy as possible. Many times, he only narrowly avoided knocking over large containers or tripping over some discarded and forgotten tools and equipment.
The warehouse was small by comparison to others. It comprised of an outer layer of small rooms for storage and maintenance closets. All of that was one story. The center room was two stories; the bottom for workers, and the second for observation and management offices. The top half of the main room was also lined with catwalks, while on the floor sat gutted, rusted, and bug-infested pieces of an assembly line, or whatever the place was while it was still operational. It took Achlohr more time than he had expected to search all of the outer rooms. By now, the majority of the smoke had cleared. Mithman must have run out of grenades. There was no need for the thermal vision goggles, so he gladly took them off. However, he kept the gas mask on to ensure unrestricted breathing. Now able to properly see obstacles that lay on the ground, he was able to crawl from cover to cover. But with some of the smoke circulated out of the air, the kidnappers' patrols resumed. And they were armed. One guy was holding what looked like a Clone Wars era DC-17! Not wanting to be discovered and shot at, Achlohr stayed low to the ground, seeking a vantage point where he could stage an assault and rescue the hostage.