Lost in a Den of Thieves

They say a man's actions define him more than anything else, and Xel-Naga would agree. However, he his own path had been set before him by actions out of his control. As a child he had grown up in the world place possible, here on this miserable planet. Nar Shaddaa. Vertical City. An entire planet lost on the edge of depravity. Here he had lived with is two parents, trying to dig out a sometimes honest life in a planet that breeds crime. There had been a time he had been honest, before he killed, before he lost his soul. A horrible accident scrambled his brain, left him comatose for months. They said he was crazy, said he was mad. It was not his fault. He had done everything right, but mad things always happen to good people. His mind warped to reflect actions not yet committed. The cruelty that bred in the dark and spread through his mind created a monster within himself. There was no room for that monster. He made room for it. He committed every heinous action he could till his soul died, carving a new place for his newfound cruelty. In the end the monster came first, and the actions that would define it came after.

He thought about it every time he came to this miserable planet. If not for his work he would never have returned after he left, but working for Black Nebula meant he had to come here to report in and get the next job. It was hard, every time he stepped off the transport ship and took to the streets to walk to Black Nebula Headquarters. He never rode a taxi. No. He did not like vehicles, did not like their unpredictability. A man knew where he stood with both boots on the ground, but floating off the air, even if just a few feet, was more than he could stand. So he walked, with his collar up and his bald head down, ever afraid that he might be noticed by some ghost of his past, by some forgotten childhood friend who would run up and call him Nate. People usually left him alone. He had a look to him, with these hard blue-gray eyes, the nasty scar along the side of his head, the way he walked, always stomping, fingers balled into fists; like the walking embodiment of a bad mood. People got out of his way, didn't look him in the eyes, and definitely did not say a word. This was Nar Shaddaa. Everyone was armed, everyone was angry, and more definite than any was that everyone on this street was willing to kill. It was a dog eat dog world, and shooting first was usually the best strategy. The second best one was waiting for someone else to shoot first and then shoot him, and so on and so forth. All it took was a single shot to turn each and every street into a war zone criss-crossing gunfire. Armageddon was just a hair trigger away, resting on the edge of a razor blade just out of reach.

However, his walk was not perfect. His pace was awkward, as if his legs were not in complete rhythm. Sometimes he would wince, his face scrunching for a moment before disappearing into his craggy features. Looking closer you could see the black eye, the bruises on his neck and exposed knuckles. All marks of the trade. Xel-Naga, as he called himself, was a enforcer for the Black Nebula crime syndicate. His primary job was to go out and push over people's shop stalls until they coughed up protection money. He was little more than a glorified thug. However, he was the king of the thugs and often was contracted for more delicate operations than just rolling the locals for pocket change. Often he got stuck with some of the Syndicate's best and brightest on missions that ranged all over the spectrum. However, when he was not needed it was back to picking on defenseless people.

Stepping into the Syndicate headquarters he was stopped at the door, forced to present his credentials or achieve a new hole in his head, one not intended for breathing, and then was allowed through. The ground floor was little more than an empty lobby filled with armed guards. The elevator at the back was all there was, and he took it up several floors of the tall building until he reached one of the few floors he had clearance to access. Stepping through the parting doors he was now in an office, standing in front of a desk from behind which a skinny man with glasses looked up at him with magnified eyes. "Yes?" He asked, his fingers thumbing through pages on a holopad in his hands, moving along screens without looking. "Naga. Commissioned to Ord Mantell to deliver weapons to codename contact 'ECHO'. Got beaten up by Echo's goons, but still delivered the weapons and took the payment." He told the man, who nodded his head. "We are aware of the deposit into our designated account. Good job." The old man said, without enthusiasm as he waved Xel away. Glad to be done with that job he quickly took his leave, taking the elevator back down to another floor that was intended almost entirely for wasting time while you waited for your next assignment. The room that the elevator released him into did not boast much, not that the floor had much anyways. It would not take them long to pick out another assignment for him. They liked to keep him busy. Instead of getting comfortable he stood by one of the large windows and that looked out into the city.

There was not much to see. This was Nar Shaddaa. The planet city of skyscrapers and neon lights. All the view had to offer was that of the surrounding buildings. Not exactly fantastic, but it was better than pacing the room biting his nails while wondering what the hell he had gotten himself into with this company. He could not complain much. He had a hard time climbing the ladder, but they did allow him to indulge in his dark fantasies and love for fighting. Those two things were really all he needed in life. Everything else was just gravy on the biscuit.