Anakin once visited Coruscant’s underbelly, as an escort for Supreme Chancellor Palpatine’s secret visit. Festering within the 2685th level of Coruscant, it is a feeding ground to the best and worst criminals—bureaucrats among them. Slaves and contraband are bought and sold on the hour, while others gamble with their lives or ill-gotten gains on the roll of a chance cube.

Others are content to seek entertainment, watching holographic projections of exotic dancers in various states of undress—the likes of which will no doubt be traded as slaves in exchange for credits or other services. Games of chance are often obscured under the sheer volume of patrons gathered around the game tables. Smaller round tables serve for social or business gatherings, with more discreet booths tucked into alcoves along the walls.

Having undergone unfinished renovations at some point, the ceiling has been raised to resemble that of a warehouse. Smoke gathers among the durasteel supports, making a buffer for the intense red and violet beams lighting the cesspit below. Zeltron perfumes are among the most common smells in the establishment, while the rolling of dice cubes make for the most recognizable sound above the music. Fights don’t often break out, and violence is often dissuaded at the sight of armoured bouncers several heads taller than most humanoids

'And to think this has been here all this time…'

It wasn't the worst hive of scum and villainy Anders had ever had the displeasure of walking into, but it was certainly up there. The ambient lighting and oversprayed scent of Zeltron perfume assaulted his senses before he'd walked in the door. If Anders wasn't hearing, smelling, and seeing it with his own eyes, he would have sworn he was hallucinating. How could an establishment that dealt with illegal gambling, slavery, and spice-dealing exist in his backyard and go undetected for so long? It irked him something fierce, and he made a mental note to himself to deal with the matter later.

Personally.

Justice demanded retribution.

Alas, that would have to wait for now. Anders was nothing if not a consummate professional, and right now, he had a job to do. He tapped the little droid perched over his right shoulder.

"Alright, Buddy. You know what to do. Let me know when you find him."

BUDD-E enthusiastically hopped down from Anders' shoulder and disappeared among the crowded floors to search for their quarry.

Malfearak.

Anders had barely taken a few steps into the club before he was approached by one of the venue's seedier patrons. He was a small, skittish-looking Human male wearing a beige trench coat.

"Hey!" The Human called to him with a small smirk on his face. Even with the perfume in the air, Anders could make out the unmistakable stench of body odour of someone who hadn't bathed in days. "You wanna buy some deathsticks? I got plenty."

The Human unzipped his jacket and exposed the insides, showing a menagerie of deathsticks and various other drugs potent enough to take down a rancor.

Anders rolled his eyes at the display before he looked the Human dead in the eyes and said;

"You don't want to sell me deathsticks."

The Human's face relaxed, like he was somehow being soothed. "I don't want to sell you deathsticks."*

"You want to go home and take it all yourself."

"I want to go home and take it all myself…"

Anders smirked to himself as the Human made a hasty retreat out of the club. With any luck, there would be one less scumbag in the galaxy to deal with by the end of the night.

He then spotted BUDD-E jumping up and down on a table a few feet from him, causing a commotion from the nearby patrons that protested at the little droid's antics.

"I hear you, Buddy. I'm coming."

Sure enough, when Anders approached, the pungent smell and smoke was even worse. He winced at the sensation until he caught sight of his target: A Kessurian with ash-pink skin, silver hair, and the kind of gentle smile that melted the hearts of the two Twi'lek women he had his arms around.

The dossier was, of course, correct. As it usually was.

"Malfearak Avraal, researcher and archaeologist with the Aurora Collegium of Sciences. A pleasure to make your acquaintance," Anders held out his arm towards the table, letting BUDD-E climb back onto his shoulder with a happy chirp. "Now, my name is…"

"I know who you are," Malfearak took a small sip from the drink on the table before placing his arms back around the Twi'lek's shoulders. "Or rather, I know what you are. I saw what you did just then, and I recognise the armor of a Chief Inquisitor when I see it. The big question is why are you here?"

Anders placed his hands behind his back, but kept his eyes locked on his target. His glasses displayed all the information he needed.

"My name is Anderson, though you may call me Anders if you prefer. To put it simply, the Headmistress isn't happy with your low amount of progress in the field. Your skills as an archaeologist have proven to be lacking in providing reports and results. She is not pleased. I am to bring you in to answer for wasting Collegium resources and manpower."

"Ah!" Malfearak smiled coyly. "Well you see, there's a simple explanation for all of this…"

Anders didn't believe that for obe second. He drew upon the power of the Force, concentrating it on Malfearak's passive thoughts and intentions.

'Escape…'

Only the guilty flee in Anders' eyes.

The Chiss summoned his lightsaber from his belt to his hand, grasping the curved hilt in his fingers. He activated the red blade within, its energetic hum piercing through the sound of music in the club. Anders lunged forward, intending to slice into Malfearak's shoulder in a neutralising maneuver.

Luckily, the Kessurian was aware enough to shift his weight as the blade impaled the curved sofa he and the Twi'leks were sitting on. The women screamed and fled further into the club.

Anders' eyes suddenly widened. The Force flashed a warning through his subconscious. He let it guide him, taking several steps backwards as Malfearak flipped the table towards him. Glasses smashed around the Chief Inquisitor's' feet as the display elicited gasps from nearby patrons.

Malfearak grabbed his lightsaber, activating the weapon which produced a bright, purple blade from the hilt. The sudden showing of weapons sent the nearby clubgoers into a frenzy. Some fled the scene, whilst the more degenerate amongst the crowd began placing bets on the ensuing fight.

Malfearak steeled his gaze, keeping a low, relaxed guard stance. "You don't understand. The Headmistress will get the results she's looking for. All I need is a little more time…"

Anders' expression changed. His face tensed, becoming stern. "Time that you have chosen to waste here indulging yourself in women like a common streetwalker."

Malfearak bared his teeth, but did not give in to his rising anger. "Well, excuse me for wanting to let my hair down after spending six months in the Force-forsaken wilderness!"

"I care not for your excuses," Anders brought his lightsaber up vertically towards his face as BUDD-E chirped in his ear. He then finished in a quick Makashi flourish to his side. "I care about justice, and for you, it is left wanting. Now, prepare yourself!"

I care about justice.

The words rang hollow in Malfearak’s mind. How many actual crimes had this fool overlooked on his way down to the 2685th level? And for what? To hound one of his own, a fellow agent of the Brotherhood, over some meaningless deadlines? That couldn’t be it. Something was off. Alas, there was no time to contemplate the issue. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath as he opened up to the Force. Within him, he pictured the churning waters of an ocean. A storm was brewing. There was a crack of lightning.

The Inquisitor lunged at him, a blur a blue and red and black, his attack swift and precise. Red met purple with a flare of energy as Malfearak side-stepped, letting his attacker slide past him. They moved in unison, spinning on their heels to meet again at the center, their blades clashing as they exchanged a series of quick slashes and thrusts, His attacker was meticulous in their attacks. The Inquisitor’s short movements wasted no energy, delivering focused strikes. Not once did he over-extend nor did he falter, much to the displeasure of those onlookers who bet against him.

Malfearak jumped backwards, evading a backhanded slash that would have disemboweled him. Eager to wrestle control from his attacker, he struck back. First with a swift overhead slash, he then followed up with a one, two, three onslaught of arcing, upward strikes, calling upon the Force to lend weight to his blows. The red blade deflected each one without fail but the Inquisitor was driven back nonetheless, something Malfearak could capitalize on. He dashed in low, slashing wide, forcing the Inquisitor to jump backwards in the same manner he had moments earlier. Without losing momentum, he followed up with a flick of his off-hand, upending a deserted dejarik table at his attacker. It was bisected mid-flight, its pieces—glowing orange where they were cut—missing their mark. It didn't matter. It allowed Malfearak to retreat and catch his breath as his enemy regained his composure, which didn’t take nearly as long as he’d hoped. The pieces of the table had barely touched the ground that Chiss centered himself, straightening his posture, blade held perpendicular to the ground and pointed at Malfearak in an unspoken threat.

He sneered as he said, “You must answer for your failures.”

Malfearak breathed in the stale, smoky air of the club through his nostrils then blew it back out through his lips. He stood facing Anders, feet squared, blade hanging lazily at his side. A sad, pitying smile appeared on his lips.

“It is a sad thing to see someone so powerful, yet so blind,” he said. “Do you not see it?”

“Do not waste my time, archaeologist. Surrender already.”

“Think about it,” Malfearak insisted. “What would mistress Archenksova gain from punishing me? I have served her faithfully, as I have her predecessors. All for what? Enjoying a little downtime? Missing a deadline? That doesn’t stick. You are being played, my friend.”

“You will surrender to me,” the Inquisitor said, unmoved by his pleas, waving his hand as he spoke. Malfearak felt the upheaval in the Force. It washed over him, a rogue wave pushing against the current. It engulfed him, pulled him under even as he struggled to swim free. His hand quivered as he was compelled to disable his lightsaber. He fought against it, resisted. He didn’t want to. He couldn’t give in. He wouldn’t give in. And yet, the purple blade retreated into the hilt with a whine of electricity.

The Inquisitor smiled. It was a vicious smile, crowned in red by equally vicious eyes.

Malfearak could sense his satisfaction in the Force. It taunted him, mocked him, but that satisfaction was short-lived as realization soon sank in. What little hold Anders had on him shattered as Malfearak threw both hands out and hurled the Force out like a tsunami. The Inquisitor’s eyes widened as he was flung half-way across the club, landing in a clatter of armor, bowling over tables, chairs and spectators without discrimination. Chaos erupted as those who had stayed to watch realized that they were in mortal danger. Like panicked mynocks they fled, running this way and that as they tried to get away before one of them got their limbs lobbed off by accident.

Malfearak stood his ground, ignoring them as they pushed past him. He spoke over the ruckus, anger welling up in him, contempt booming in his voice.

“You pitiful fool. You’re like a dog. You wag your little tail while doing your master’s bidding, acting without thought, without logic. You ignore the facts. You don’t care about justice, you only care about being right. I told you. You are being played. Whoever wants me dead is using you.”

Anders carefully pulled himself from the wreckage he was in, paying extra attention to the sharp pieces of broken wood and glass that surrounded him. BUDD-E was on the floor beside him, a spark jittering from a break in its mechanical leg.

"Buddy, are you alright?"

Anders picked up the little droid, placing it on a nearby table. Every little movement Anders made sent shockwaves of pain through his body, bruises forming upon his navy-blue flesh.

He didn't care about the pain.

BUDD-E was damaged. If it didn't have reinforced plating, it could have been much worse...

"Stay here. I'll be back soon…"

Anders clenched his fists and let out a low, feral growl. His blood-red pupils dilated as he harnessed his inner turmoil, driving the rising storm in his gut to his fingertips. He turned towards Malfearak, unleashing tendrils of lightning towards him.

The Kessurian went wide-eyed, leaping for cover behind a nearby bar area. The lancing storm soared over his head, colliding with a series of electronics that hissed and sparked before exploding, plunging the club into darkness.

"Congratulations, Malfearak. You just made this personal," Anders reignited his lightsaber, The crimson hue providing ambient light as he began his search for his target.

"It's a droid," Malfearak deadpanned.

Anders sneered, his fingers tightening their grip around his lightsaber.

"That droid means more to me than your worthless life!"

"Worthless!? You are calling me worthless!?" Malfearak's voice roared over the now-empty atmosphere of the club. "Open your eyes! You are being played, Anders. You do the bidding of those who see you as nothing more than a tool to be eventually discarded! How long do you think it will be before the very Inquisitorius you work for label you as a threat for being too powerful? Too efficient?"

"I know," Anders stopped walking and closed his eyes. He tapped into the eternal tsunami of the Force within himself, willing it to guide him.

"I am not stupid, Malfearak, nor am I blind like you claim that I am. I have had every decision in my life made for me. The good, the bad, the right, and the wrong. I was taken, shaped and moulded into what you see before you, but where was my choice? Where was my freedom? Fear is what governed those that had little understanding of what I was. Of what I am. I was a tool to be used and discarded and it all led me to a simple conclusion. It doesn't matter about freedom. It isn't about governments, or politics. It certainly isn't about Sith, Jedi, or anything in-between. The only thing that matters is justice. How else do you ensure fairness? How else can we gain equality and prosperity unless every living being in the galaxy is held accountable for their actions? Justice is the real and only choice we have. The Inquisitorius, despite its flaws, allows me to pursue that goal."

"At what point is it justice and at what point is it vengeance against a galaxy that did you wrong?" Malfearak asked. "What legacy do you think you'll leave behind? Before today, I'd never heard of your name."

Anders stopped walking. "That is because unlike you, I am good at my job."

The Chiss felt the tides of the Force crash within his subconscious, warning him of impending danger. He heard the ignition of a lightsaber first, and spun to face his attacker. Malfearak leapt at him out of the darkness with the agility and foolhardy recklessness of someone half his age.

Anders had to give him credit for that, at least.

The Chiss Inquisitor side-stepped, following with a flourish of his own. Malfearak was far from Anders' most challenging opponent, but what the archaeologist lacked in physical prowess, he made up for in creativity. Anders' injuries plagued him, the sharp pains preventing him from effectively capitalising on any opening Malfearak exposed. The Kessurian committed to irregular movements that were difficult to predict. He feigned high then went low, committed to strength then switched to speed with a horizontal slash.

Classic Niman deception.

Anders needed a different tactic, something to throw the archaeologist off his game. He met Malfearak's lunge with a tactical block, locking their red and purple blades together. "Is this really the best you can do? I expected more from someone such as yourself."

"Do you ever shut up?" Malfearak growled through grounded teeth.

Anders shrugged. "It's not my fault you lack the ability to make me."

Malfearak struck at Anders again with hardened vigour. Maybe it was the taunting, or his harsh breathing of a hard fought battle, but the Kessurian overextended, presenting the opening Anders was looking for. The Chiss smirked as he parried the purple blade away from him and delivered a swift graze to Malfearak's shoulder joint.

The Kessurian staggered back. His face tensed, sweat forming on his face. With the stubbornness of a Hoth wampa, he maintained his grip on his lightsaber, pointing it at Anders with shaky fingers.

The Inquisitor was far from impressed. Who the hell did Malfearak think he was? Few ever defied Anders when it was clear that he had won and yet, here was this lone archaeologist, beaten, injured, and with no chance of escape. Anders was determined to put an end to his resistance, and before he realised what he was doing, his instincts took over as he struck at the Kessurian's left knee.

Malfearak crashed to the floor, grasping at his knee. He shot Anders an icy glare.

"That was for Buddy," Anders said, pointing his lightsaber at Malfearak. "I analysed your dossier before coming here. decided to follow the facts that you claimed I ignored."

"Well done. I'm sure the Inquisitorius are very proud of you," Malfearak spat at him. "Go on, then. Finish the job and earn your treat lime the dog you are."

"I would love to kill you. It is very tempting, but unfortunately, my objectives were clear. I am to bring you to the Headmistress to answer for yourself. I can't do that if you are dead, can I?"

Anders left Malfearak for the moment to retrieve BUDD-E from the table he left it on. When he returned, he activated his comlink.

"This is Chief Inquisitor Anderson. Target has been neutralised and is ready for collection…"

The Inquisitor sat up and wiped fluids from his face. He climbed back to his feet with testing deliberation, as if he was attempting to lull the archaeologist into a false sense of security, to get him to attack. Instead, Malfearak eyed the exists, which lay beyond the Inquisitor. He licked at his lips. They sure felt dry right about now.

“Only the guilty would run,” hissed Anders, finally standing.

“Only the fool would stay to fight the rabid dog,” Malfearak retorted as he paced sideways, looking for an angle. “A man like you will find darkness even in the brightest of suns. Let me through.”

The Inquisitor flashed him a smile, vicious, merciless, then brandished his lightsaber as he said, “I think not.”

“Then I’ll go through you.”

“You will try.”

They ran at one another in perfect synchronization, the Force itself drawing them together through sheer inevitability. Amethyst met crimson with a flash of light, and like the tide crashing against the cliffside, Malfearak battered the Inquisitor’s lightsaber with all the might the Force could afford him. Driven by momentum, dancing on his feet, he followed up by unleashing a torrent of short, spinning strikes. He switched his hold on his lightsaber from a forward grip to a reverse grip then back as he attacked, amethyst blade twirling as he flowed around the Inquisitor, but there was no getting through his defenses. Were it not to his disadvantage, Malfearak would have been impressed with Anders’ ability to keep up with him, deflecting each blow with minimal movement and expert footwork. When he followed up his final strike with a push of the Force, the Inquisitor was ready and threw his own hand out. Everything screeched to a halt, forcing a standstill as both combatants stood facing each other, visibly shaking as they pushed against one another. The air itself seemed to tremble and shimmer as they wrestled for supremacy. Malfearak steeled himself, gritting his teeth. In his mind, he pictured a swell in the Force, a rising wave that gained in speed and size, growing ever indomitable as it barreled over the surface of the ocean. He roared as he set it free. It washed over the Inquisitor, tearing through the dam in the Force, sending him flying once more.

This time, he didn’t wait around. There was no reasoning with this man. Without a moment to lose, Malfearak broke into a run, beelining for the nearest exit as he called upon the Force to hasten his step. He burst out of the building to a crowd of onlookers who had gathered onto the streets of the 2685th level, drawn by the turmoil inside the club. He quickly spotted Coruscant underworld police officers pushing their way through the throngs, their burly, leather and metal armor standing out. When the crowd saw him, his lightsaber still blazing in his grip, it was pandemonium. The crowd fractured as screaming civilians ran for their lives, the sudden crowd surge swallowing the officers whole. Malfearak stroked the stubble on his chin, something he did too often when he was anxious, as he scanned the nearby buildings for an exit plan. It wasn’t long before he was interrupted, his plan half-formed in his mind, by blaster fire out of the crowd. It was hard to pinpoint the exact source in the chaos, either a heroic civilian or some of the police officers, though it was surprising the latter would risk collateral damage. It didn’t matter. He deflected the blaster bolts with a spin of his saber, sending the bolts away from the civilians. Behind him, he could sense the Inquisitor approaching.

“Blast it,” he hissed. It sure felt like the walls were closing in on him.

He closed his eyes and took one deep breath. A calm mind is a clear mind, his master used to say. He exhaled through his nostrils. Then, he ran. He was a blur as he reached the nearest building and, the Force guiding him, he half-ran, half-climbed up the angular wall, finding handholds where he could, propelling him upwards. He reached the rooftop without delay and kept moving, with long strides, vaulting over obstacles, wasting no time clearing the gaps between buildings.

“Malfearak,” screamed the Inquisitor at the top of his lungs, the name drawn out in anger.

Malfearak afforded one look over his shoulder as he ran. Anders had already reached the rooftops and was hard on his tail, moving with a swiftness that surpassed his own. He redoubled his efforts but he was starting to feel the strain. Just a little further, he thought.

The wail of police sirens was the last thing he wanted to hear, but sure enough, there they were. Three police speeders were closing in on their location, the passengers standing and firing in their general direction. They were too far to pose a real threat but they complicated everything. Thankfully, they caused the most problems to the Inquisitor who was forced to stop mid-run to wheel about and block their shots. Still, it wouldn’t be long until they caught up to Malfearak too and up here on the rooftops, he was wide open, a sitting mynock. He had to adapt his tactics if he was going to walk away from this, and so when he reached the end of the rooftop, instead of jumping onto the next building, he dropped down into the alley below, using air filtration systems, cables and emergency staircases to guide and slow his descent. When he landed at the bottom of the alley, he disabled his lightsaber and clipped it to his belt. He pulled his hood over his horned head and quickly worked his way towards the streets, plunging into the bustling city life beyond. Utter chaos ruled the streets as the crowd surge made its way downstream from the club. Confused passersby who had not witnessed the events at the club watched the growing madness as people shoved past them, running this way and that while police speeders cut through the air above them.

He could have stuck to the alleys, worked his way towards the spaceport this way, but this chaotic spectacle made it easy for Malfearak to blend in.

He swam with the current, so to speak, and followed the general uplift of the crowd, sticking to a large, varied group, consisting of many different species, as they half-walked, half-ran without direction. None of them noticed him, which was for the best. As he followed them, he glanced backwards to the rooftops. In the distance, he could see the black silhouette of the Inquisitor fending off the Coruscant police. With Malfearak’s disappearance, the Chiss had become public enemy number one. Three speeders carrying two dozen or so officers were now hovering above Anders, raining fire down on him.

Eager to find safety, Malfearak stuck to the group for some time, keeping his head down and his lightsaber well hidden beneath his cloak. They eventually reached one of the main shafts leading up thousands of levels to the surface of the planet. Countless ships flew up and down, each one looking smaller than the one before, dwarfed by the sheer size of Coruscant’s access shafts. By this point, an uneasy peace had fallen over the crowds, though a cloud of fear and uncertainty remained. Thankfully, for the most part, they seemed relieved, convinced that they were out of danger. He was starting to feel it too, but a shadow yet loomed over him, as if the Inquisitor was still nearby. He couldn’t quite understand what it was he was sensing nor could he shake the feeling. It was as if he was being watched, and yet, no eyes were on him.

This isn’t over, whispered a voice in his ears. Anders’ voice.

He flinched, spinning on his heels, cloak snapping as his fists went up, startling those around him. They all looked at him like he was crazy and gave him a wide berth. All except one, an old Weequay, who patted him on the shoulder as he walked past him.

“It’s going to be fine, kid,” he said. “It’s over.”

I will find you. The voice reverberated inside his skull. You cannot escape justice.

He wanted to scream but he knew he couldn’t. No. He had to get away. Far away. And he needed to get answers. It was decided. He would catch the first flight off-world and return to Horizon Station. There, we would get the answers he needed. Then he would clear his name..

He had to.

Justice awaits on the station, the voice taunted him. Anders’ laughter echoed in his mind.

And then he’d make him pay.