The boarding ramp for the fortunate son lowered with it's usual harsh expulsion of compressed air, as Callahan McKoy lit up a Corellian Spirit and took a breath. He'd just landed on the ecumenopolis of Denon and wasn't thrilled with the prospect of hitting the beat on this overpopulated hell-hole. He released his pent-up breath as he took care of the necessary paperwork for docking at the space station and made his way out of the docking bay.
The sprawling cityscape was suffocating. Sentients clambered over one another in a rat race brought upon themselves by the incessant desire to thrive on a planet that had squashed any real trace of natural life. The sounds of the planet lacked stillness of any sort and the constant thrum of speeders overhead began to give him a migraine. He glanced at the chrono on his wrist and decided to hail a cab to his rendezvous point.
Under normal circumstances, he'd spend a little time incognito getting a feel for his surroundings and the general flow for the world, but he was already on borrowed time.
A heavily dented and rust-covered taxi slid into view and he hailed it. As he stepped in, he flicked the spent cigara into the street.
"Yeah, cool, just ditch your nasty germ-covered death sticks on the ground. That's real nice," said a chrome-plated protocol droid. "Not like there's some insane pandemic sweeping the frakking galaxy right now," it continued before muttering, "Carbon's I swear."
Cal had forgotten about the pandemic. It hadn't been a thing for long and so far as he knew he'd not been on any of the infected planets, but that apparently didn't matter to the droid. So, Cal sat back and glowered at the droid while it aired its opinion and once it seemed done said, "Decon's Pub, sector four."
"Yeah, you got it, buddy," grumbled the droid.
The ride was bumpy and uncomfortable, but Cal kept his qualms to himself. He'd never been much for complaining, and with his current driver assumed anything said would simply end in an argument. To his pleasure, the ride went on in relative silence with the droid muttering something occasionally to itself while Cal watched the duracrete forest of skyscrapers pass them by. About thirty minutes later he paid the driver and exited the speeder. He stepped toward the bouncer manning the door and was stopped by the Gammorian's meaty hand. Cal frowned glancing down at the hand then back to it's owner.
"Problem?"
The Gammorian held up a digital thermometer and scanned him. A happy little chortle from the device in hand told the bouncer Cal was good so he let him in. The door hissed open and just like in every holo ever, every seedy gaze found it's way to Callahan. The weight of his weapons were the only thing keeping him at ease as he moved through the bar. He reached the main counter and ordered a Corellian Whiskey while taking a seat. He checked his chono, he was right on time. His contact would be appearing any minute.
@Darasuum
The sprawling cityscape was suffocating. Sentients clambered over one another in a rat race brought upon themselves by the incessant desire to thrive on a planet that had squashed any real trace of natural life. The sounds of the planet lacked stillness of any sort and the constant thrum of speeders overhead began to give him a migraine. He glanced at the chrono on his wrist and decided to hail a cab to his rendezvous point.
Under normal circumstances, he'd spend a little time incognito getting a feel for his surroundings and the general flow for the world, but he was already on borrowed time.
A heavily dented and rust-covered taxi slid into view and he hailed it. As he stepped in, he flicked the spent cigara into the street.
"Yeah, cool, just ditch your nasty germ-covered death sticks on the ground. That's real nice," said a chrome-plated protocol droid. "Not like there's some insane pandemic sweeping the frakking galaxy right now," it continued before muttering, "Carbon's I swear."
Cal had forgotten about the pandemic. It hadn't been a thing for long and so far as he knew he'd not been on any of the infected planets, but that apparently didn't matter to the droid. So, Cal sat back and glowered at the droid while it aired its opinion and once it seemed done said, "Decon's Pub, sector four."
"Yeah, you got it, buddy," grumbled the droid.
The ride was bumpy and uncomfortable, but Cal kept his qualms to himself. He'd never been much for complaining, and with his current driver assumed anything said would simply end in an argument. To his pleasure, the ride went on in relative silence with the droid muttering something occasionally to itself while Cal watched the duracrete forest of skyscrapers pass them by. About thirty minutes later he paid the driver and exited the speeder. He stepped toward the bouncer manning the door and was stopped by the Gammorian's meaty hand. Cal frowned glancing down at the hand then back to it's owner.
"Problem?"
The Gammorian held up a digital thermometer and scanned him. A happy little chortle from the device in hand told the bouncer Cal was good so he let him in. The door hissed open and just like in every holo ever, every seedy gaze found it's way to Callahan. The weight of his weapons were the only thing keeping him at ease as he moved through the bar. He reached the main counter and ordered a Corellian Whiskey while taking a seat. He checked his chono, he was right on time. His contact would be appearing any minute.
@Darasuum
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