The Under City

As the full weight of Bey Kahn's bulk struck the blast door, there was a resounding thump followed by a hearty cracking noise as some of the duracrete foundation around the door crumbled on impact. The Gamorrean stepped back, swaying slightly on his feet as though dazed, resting a hand on his head to help steady himself.

Maybe running head first into the door wasn't his best idea. Then again...

His gaze grazed the frame of the blast-door. Dust hovered in the air and duracrete bits littered the floor. It might have hurt his head, but his charge definitely had made an impact. The blast-door itself seemed relatively undamaged; however, the frame around it seemed like it was ready to give. One or two more hits like the first and it might just cave inwards.

"I should have brought a helmet." He muttered to himself, backing up from the door.

Bey Kahn lined himself up and prepared to charge again. With another mighty snort he roared, his voice echoing down the tunnel, all thoughts of stealth forgotten.

"Iron War Pig Charge...TIMES TWO!!!"

Once again, he ran head first into the door.

Every last ounce of fear driven utter will went into Bey Kahn's mad rush towards the blast-door. The retched shrieks of rakghoul racing around the corner served to fully motivate him into this one final charge. He leaned his shoulder in and hit that kriffing door with everything he had.



As he slammed into the door, the frame bent and the foundation cracked, and finally the doorway imploded. Bey Kahn roared in adrenaline fueled exaggeration, tossing the blast door to the ground where it landed with a thud. There was no time to dally, he peered into the murky room he had entered, looking for anything useful. The room didn't disappoint.

Throughout the centuries, the gangs and slaver groups operating out of the Under City and Taris' wasteland had built store-houses for ill-begotten goods. There was a factual treasure trove of riches hidden throughout the area, if only one was brave...or stupid enough, to face the rakghoul. In Bey Kahn's case, greed was the ultimate culprit. And greed paid off.

Score! Bey looked around the store-house, stocked full of swoop bike parts and a few exotic weapons. The howling at his heels further aided him to make a decision. The old boar rushed over to a rotary cannon sitting on a crate. It looked Clone-Wars era, covered in dust and sorely in need of a good lubrication session, but its power pack looked functional and that was all he could ask for. Bey swung the rotary blaster cannon back towards the entrance he had imploded and pulled the trigger.

Seeing as all the rakghoul in the vicinity were now a scorched fleshy meat carpet lining the tunnel outside the store-house, the old boar felt he had time to tinker. He gathered up all the swoop bike parts in the room and found himself a hydrospanner. After that it was all sweat, grease, and a whole lot of cursing as he pieced together something resembling a swoop bike. The Under City gangs had always enjoyed competing and gambling over swoop bike races, going back all the way to the days of the High Republic. They were always looking for custom parts and exotic enhancements to give them an edge. As such there was plenty of that present. Bey Kahn was no swoop mechanic, but he knew enough that there was some seriously impressive hardware here. Several hours in and he was complete. The final product of his labors was a customized frame built around a powerful engine capable of supporting even a full grown gamorrean. He took his vibro-lance and mounted it at the front to serve as an impaling weapon. It seemed as though most of the nearby creatures were dead, but it was still a long way back through the wasteland to the Under City. Having a spear at the front of his ride might come in handy.

When he was finished with the swoop bike he began to rig together a hover sled to pull behind the bike. He loaded it up with all the illicit goods found in the store house. He even packed up the rotary cannon he had used to kill the rakghoul. It would require a bit of maintenance after he had spun it up with heavy fire for a few minutes, but that was something he could easily do at his own workshop. Besides, he was thinking about keeping it for himself. It was pretty. He let out an amused snort and covered the hover sled with a tarp and tied it down. Giving the room one more look, he felt confident he had taken everything of value. He then climbed up into the saddle of the swoop bike and switched on the engine, listening for the tell tale sign that his hard work had not been in vain.



"Kriff yeah!" He squealed. "Lets go!"

Bey Kahn hit the accelerator and the swoop bike leaped forwards, zooming down the tunnel with the hover-sled in tow.

Up over piles of trash and debris the swoop-chopper rumbled, pulling its lucrative cargo behind on a hover sled. Bey Kahn squeezed the accelerator harder as the bike crested the most recent hill, the engine straining between the weight of the sled and the old boar's bulk. As he came over the peak of the garbage pile, he spied just the thing he was looking for. Down below was his ever-faithful, if somewhat annoying, translator. The tactical droid head was currently being batted around the ground by a bunch of excited rakghoul, like some kind of oddly shaped soccer ball. A snarl slipped out from between the gamorrean's tusk filled lips. That was his droid, his translator, his...property. It didn't belong to these animals. Bey reached down to his side and drew his smithing hammer from his belt. He held it over his head and let out a wild bestial squeal.



He thrummed the accelerator and shot down the hill, hurtling like a comet towards the rakghoul below. There was a wet squelch as the swoop-chopper slammed into the mass of teeth and claws, piercing monster flesh with the vibro-lance mounted at the front. Bey's hammer descended, pulping skulls and shattering bone. The sled towed behind bowled over any stragglers, knocking them to the ground and grinding them into the dirt beneath its repulsors.

Location: Taris Wasteland - Under City Entrance



Over the desolate wasteland the swoop-chopper raced, its engine working harder than ever to move its rider and load, while things in the dark followed behind. The wind brought tears to Bey Kahn's eyes; despite this, he could see the gate to the Under City just a klick ahead. He looked over his shoulder and scowled as he saw what was behind him.

All that fighting had not gone unnoticed. It seemed the old boar had stirred up the feral inhabitants of the wasteland, awakening their appetite as well as perhaps some primal drive for revenge. It didn't help that he was also covered in rakghoul blood, allowing the creatures to smell him from kilometers away. Not that there was anything to be done for it. If he waited out in the wasteland and tried to give them the slip, they would eventually find him and enact some bestial form of vengeance. His best chance at survival was getting back into the city. Unfortunately that meant leading the creatures practically up to the front gate. Oh well, hopefully those First Order stormtroopers were good shots.

As he rounded the next bend, Bey could make out the gate, which was thankfully still open. Flood lights illuminated the nearby area, while four guards in plastoid armor stood at attention, raising their blasters as they saw the gamorrean race towards the gate.

Guard#1: "Is that a pig?"

Guard#2: "I think it's a gamorrean on a swoop-bike."

Guard#3: "What's that behind it?"

Guard#4: "Oh sithspit!"



Blaster bolts lit up the night. Bey Kahn closed his eyes as the swoop-bike and sled assembly shot towards the bolts of death raining towards him, yet none seemed to find their mark. His eyes snapped back open. Of course, why would they be shooting at him? They were targeting the monsters hot on his tail. He put everything he had into squeezing the throttle, eventually rewarded as the swoop-chopper shot under the gate, which at this point was beginning to slowly lower. A rakghoul that had made it onto the sled towed behind the bike was struck off the pile of loot as the gate door lowered just enough to clip its head. The old boar didn't wait to see what the result would be, he kept a hand on the accelerator and sped down the street towards his shop, leaving the gate guards to the defense of the city.

---

What happened next was a blood bath. The guards shot as many of the creatures as they could before being overrun. Yes, the gate closed before too many of the creatures were able to get inside, but at least twenty had entered into the city, and all it took for an outbreak was one. The creatures loped down alleys and found shelter from the approaching day inside abandoned buildings, of which there were many in the Under City. As for the guards that had bravely stayed at their posts...not a shred of meat remained.

Location: Under City - Drunken Rancor Cantina

It was an eerily quiet walk from Bey Kahn's blacksmith shop to the Drunken Rancor Cantina, and it was one mostly spent alone for the smoking gamorrean. Every now and then he swore he could see the shadows stir around alley ways. This is mostly considered to be a result of his time spent in the wasteland. The creatures must have left a bit of a mental impact on the old boar. No doubt after a few drinks he would forget all about it. He arrived at the entrance of the cantina, flicking away the spent cigar butt from between his fingers. He then stepped inside.

There at the bar as usual was George, spit polishing a mug and drying it out with a dirty towel. Peanut shells crunched underneath as he walked across the practically empty cantina and found his favorite stool at the bar. He sat down and dropped a few credits on the bar top.

Bey: Something wet, George. The droid head on his hip translated.

George: Smirking. "It's all wet, Pig. That much I can promise you. It's the taste I can't guarantee."

They both shared a chuckle over that while George poured Bey a stein of ale, already knowing the old boar's preferred drink. He filled the stein up to the brim and left a healthy head of foam on top before sliding the container towards Bey.

George: "There's a rumor going round town."

Bey: Sipping his drink. Oh?

George: "Folks are saying a gamorrean could be seen racing through the eastern gate on a swoop-bike."

Bey: Nothing interesting about that.

George: "No, no I suppose not. Except this particular pig was hauling a load of goods from the wasteland, while being chased by a swarm of rakghoul. Now there is something interesting about that, yeah?"

Bey: He looked up from his drink. George, if you are suggesting that I had anything to do with that, then why would I have walked here? If I had a swoop-bike don't you think I would have ridden it here?

George: "That's not a no." He crossed his arms in smug satisfaction.

Bey: Snorted. Yeah, it's not a no. How did those gate guards fair, by the way?

George: "I couldn't tell you. No ones seen them since it happened. They weren't at their post when the day staff rolled in this morning."

Bey: That could be a problem.

George: "Yeah."

Bey: Sithspit, yeah.

---

The drinking continued on into the late afternoon, all the way into the evening. In the span of all that time they had barely seen a single customer come through, it was like the streets had turned into a ghost town.

Grabbing the stool he had previously been sitting on, the burly gamorrean smith walked over to the rakghoul thrashing around on the floor and placed the stool on top of it, before having a seat himself. The weight of his bulk pressed down on the stool, pinning the rakghoul beneath to the floor. It hissed and thrashed but could do no harm while trapped as it was. By this point George had gotten out from behind the bar counter, holding a crossbow in his hands that he had pointed at the creature. Bey Kahn, drunk as he was, reached down and took the monster's scalp in his hands.

The secret... He snorted. ...to getting the heads off of these things, is to twist before you pull. And with that, he twisted his powerful wrist and snapped the rakghoul's neck, silencing the creature with a wet gurgle. He then let out an exasperated grunt as he pulled, veins in his arm flaring, and ripped the creature's head right out of its neck socket. He then threw the head across the bar where it hit the floor in a wet squelch, rolling beneath a table.

George: "That's disgusting."

Bey: Panting. Harder than it looks too.

Bey brought up a greasy hand and wiped the sweat from his brow. He stood up off the stool and looked at the front entrance of the cantina, noticing for the first time the large glass window that was blacked out with flyers. He could see the silhouette of hungry rakghoul loping by outside. It wouldn't be long before another one of those creatures tried to make its way inside. They had to secure this place. The old boar sprinted over to the front entrance and locked the door, stepping back as the door rattled as though something outside was trying to get in. Across the bar George had the same thought. He ran over to the front and pulled down the security screen behind the front window. It wasn't much more than a crisscross of thin durasteel bars, but it was better than nothing. Bey began looking around, noting a healthy supply of tables.

Bey: You got any hammer and nails?

George: "Some, in the back I think."

Bey: Get them. As much as you have.

As he spoke the front window shattered inwards as a rakghoul threw itself at the cantina. It bounced back, cut in places by shards of glass, but still just as feral as ever. Its claws began to slash at the security gate, eliciting sparks and shaving off bits of metal. Bey Kahn stepped back until he bumped into a table. Turning, he picked up the piece of wooden furniture and ran with it over to the security gate, bashing the creature leaning against it. He held the table in place as another barrier.

Bey: Now would be a good time, George.

The bartender ran into the back, looking for said supplies.

Bey: Start smashing bottles on the barricade. He instructed George. We need that wood good and soaked in liquor.

George: "Easy for you to say, that's MY inventory we're wasting."

Bey: Believe me, it gets worse.

George: Groans.

While the bartender went about smashing bottles on the barricade they had created out of tables and nails, the old boar began to look for something he could use as a weapon. He looked around the cantina, examining everything that he might be able to turn into something semi-useful. There was a rarely used jukebox in the one corner of the establishment that might just do the trick. Connecting the jukebox to the wall was a chain... ...for the purpose of preventing someone from running off with the jukebox? Yeah, sure. Like that was going to happen. Regardless, it would serve his purpose. Bey reached down and grabbed a hold of the chain and began to pull. Muscles bulged in his arm as he put all his strength into ripping the chain free. He was rewarded a moment later when the chain finally snapped free. He wrapped the metal links around his right hand and squeezed, feeling more sure of himself now that he had a weapon.

George emptied the last of the liquor from the shelves on the front barricade and stepped back, looking to the gamorrean smith for their next course of action. Bey didn't disappoint. He withdrew a cigar from his apron and brought it to his lips, biting off the nub end and spitting it on the floor, before bringing up his lighter and igniting the end. Rich smoke filtered into his mouth, rolling over his tongue and easing his strained senses somewhat. The noise outside continued, with more that a few clawed arms breaking through the barricade. A brave rakghoul even managed to squeeze its head through one of the gaps, allowing its snarling and spitting head to snap at the two beings still in the cantina.

I always liked this place. Said Bey quietly. Shame.

Bey Kahn then spied a liquor bottle George had missed and scooped it up. He took a quick swig, then upturned the remainder of the contents on the rakghoul's hissing head. The old boar took one last puff of his cigar, then plucked it from his mouth and shoved the burning end into the rakghoul's left eye, burning the fleshy grape into the socket, and setting the alcohol alight. He stepped back to stand beside George as the fire caught and the whole front barricade they had created went up in flames. The creatures outside or nailed to the makeshift structure screamed as their flesh was singed and their meat was cooked. It was the worst barbeque the gamorrean had ever been to.

Bey: There's a way out the back, right?

George: "Wait, shouldn't you have asked me that before we set the bar on fire?"

Bey: George...

George: "Yes, of course there is a way out back. The door from the kitchen leads to the alley behind the bar."

Bey: Time to go.

Location: Under City - City Streets

The fight across the city was brutal. Bey led the charge, bulldozing rakghoul and hammering their faces to bloody pulps with his chain wrapped hand and powerful bulk. In his hands anything and everything became a weapon. He threw bricks and manhole covers, swung bodies and sign posts, and was generally just an unforgiving source of pure violence. He didn't love it. That life was supposed to be years behind him, but it was necessary for their survival. George took up the rear, every now and then releasing a crossbow bolt that never seemed to miss its mark.

Say what you would about the old human bartender, but he handled himself well in this situation. And why shouldn't he? Little known to most, George was a survivor of some of the most ludicrous outbreaks known to the Universe. He survived countless similar situations when he operated a Drunken Rancor cantina on Cloud City. Then of course there was all that business that had taken place in Outer Haven. His life was one reckless encounter leading into another. It made sense that here in his twilight years he had run into another such event. Except this time he didn't have galactic heroes like Captain or Endor to save the day, he just had a drunk pig with a chain. Hopefully it would be enough.

Eventually the pair made their way north enough to reach the elevator station. Unfortunately they weren't the first to arrive. Ahead was a large tubular structure that went from the ground up into the dark sky, eventually vanishing from sight as it rose above the smog that perpetually blanketed the Under City. This was the elevator they needed to get into; however, the door to their escape route was held by six stormtroopers in full riot armor. Between them and the pair that had just arrived was a sea of panicked citizens, all trying to get on the elevator and secure their own safety. Bey climbed up on a flipped over landspeeder and spied the front of the mob. It looked like the stormtroopers were checking people for Upper City access passes before letting them on the elevator. Bey hoped off the landspeeder and walked back to George.

Bey: We got a problem. They're only taking people with passes.

George: "Last time I checked, we don't have those."

Bey: No, we don't. I'm not about to take someone else's either.

George: "So what then? We give up? I knew we should have stayed at the bar."

Bey: George, I swear to you, we are getting on that elevator. You just might not like how we have to do it.

George: "You're about to do something stupid, aren't you?"

Bey: Amused snort. Of course. Same as before, stay behind me and keep up. This is gunna be just about the most reckless thing I've done all day.

The bartender swallowed a nervous gulp and positioned himself behind the gamorrean smith, who was beginning to squat down and take a runners stance. Steam blew from the old boar's snout as he began to focus his body on the task at hand. Muscles tensed and untensed. Veins throbbed in his arms and legs, pumping blood while his mouth sucked in as much polluted air as possible. Bey lifted his head to the sky and let out a guttural bellow, eliciting the loudest squeal that had ever left his throat.

SQUEAL!!!