Racuto Bloodcrest, former officer of the Corporate Sector Authority Security Division, maneuvered his small, two-person starfighter through the atmosphere of Nar Shaddaa. Avoiding the degenerate spires and bulky buildings as well as other traffic, Bloodcrest slipped his ship off the main traffic lane and onto a little used path through the poorer (if it was possible to be anything but on Nar Shaddaa) section. Inside the cockpit, a grim look had set itself upon Bloodcrest's face. He both loved and hated Nar Shaddaa at the same time. It offered plenty of opportunities for hiding and information gathering, but also presented the possibilities of those who help you hide or gather said information to turn on you and stab you in the back for a few credits. Somewhere, deep down...very deep down, a tiny part of Bloodcrest ached for the complex political and economic traps that corporations set for each other in the Corporate Sector. At one point, he'd have preferred them to a honest mugging by a creature that needed the credits simply to survive. Now of course, Bloodcrest had a few muggings, backstabs, murders, and other various crimes done simply to gain the credits for the next meal for Jean and himself. That had been WAY back when, before he had gotten good at flying his small ship.

Finally low enough in the dying city structure, Bloodcrest slowly maneuvered the ship to a small landing pad that hardly anyone knew existed. He had found it a few years ago and had tested it and another he had found beside it. Except for something as small and light as a single starfighter that was even small and light for its class, the landing pad would crumble under the weight. Bloodcrest had found that out easily...there was now only one pad. His best guess was that the landing pads were part of the original city structure, the gargantuan vertical spires that had given Nar Shaddaa its nickname as the "Vertical City" before the cityscape had slowly crawled out from the central spires to form the planet-wide city it was now. Having been passed over for who-knew-how-many-years in favor of the higher, better-maintained landing strips and docks. Most likely another reason it was abandoned was the fact that the original access to the higher levels had crumbled apart like most things at this level of the city. Bloodcrest cut the engines off and climbed out of the ship. He slipped into a liquid-resistant body suit and holstered his newly-acquired DC-17m Interchangeable Weapon System, courtesy of an unnamed corpse on Mastala. He walked over to a maintenance hatch and went through it, his feet splashing in the sewer water as he landed. If Nar Shaddaa smelled like sewer water topside, it was magnified tenfold in the actual sewer water. Bloodcrest had to fight down his gag reflex, it smelled worse than a hutt wrapped in leathery, burnt nerf. Nevertheless, he had done this six times now and somehow survived the other times, surely he could this time as well.

Bloodcrest lifted the acid rain drain cover and pulled himself out of the sewer. Three hours of climbing in the waste of who-knew how many species, Bloodcrest shed the liquid-resistant suit and dropped it back into the sewer. Thankfully, most of the smell went with it as he closed the cover back. Time to hit all his favorite information hotspots.