This is just a basic setup for whatever the reader (that means you) wants to add to it. Please stay serious and do not completely derail the story.
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Nar Shadda, the verticle city. For some, it is a place of opportunity for whatever profession, legal or otherwise. On it's higher levels lie some of the Galaxy's finest hotels and casinos. But, deep down, in the dark dredges of some of the lower levels, life is not so grand or rich. No one realy cares to know how some of the dregs who hang out there got there. How a little twist of fate landed them on the cold permacrete of the Verticle City's more dangerous and treacherous areas.
The cold slums of sector 7 seemed to draw the darkness into it, feeding off of it. But that was ok, Garrit liked the darkness. He always thought that the darkness could bring out a pesons true self. Because when one is all alone in the dark, ones mind can manifest that persons innermost fears and ambitions as well as their desires and regrets, and create a sense of their presense within the cold blackness. For Garrit, who was presently huddling next to a rusted heating pipe for warmth, his mind was showing him images of his past. As he looked above him, past the dark shadows around him and the rotting buildings around him, he could see the faint glimmers of passing starships, and he couldn't help but wonder just how many of them knew how lucky they were to be up there, while he was down here with the slime of the galaxy. He thought back to a time when he was among the rich and powerful, and how one fateful event, cost him everything he held dear, and then some.

Is friend Jason Mosba,one of his only friends, who stood by him without judging him or his actions.

He respects him dearly.
He should.
Garrit saved his life.

But little of that matters down here.
Its either everybody for himself, or everybody against yourself!

Lately, some scavengers, the Scurriers as they are known, from sector 9 are on the move. ther are rumors that they are massing.... but for what purpose?

Not that it mattered at all. As long as they stayed away from him they were no concern of him at all.

He reached into his holster and pulled out his pistol. It was a modified stormtrooper rifle, shortened off the barrel for pistol use. It was his only defense from the deformed creatures lurking in the darkest shadows of the dredges.

He thought of how he got the pistol, running the story through his head again. When he was a high ranking Imperial officer. Life was nice then, but further opportunities arose. Grand Admiral Zaarin seemed to have the power to make an even better government then had been already established by Emperor Palpatine. And Zaarin might be able to provide him a little extra income...

Unfortunately, his thinkings had reached the Emperor, and he was soon on the run from the Imperial Navy. He stole a rifle from an intoxicated trooper in some bar in the Outer Rim, and fought his way to a ship and flew to Nar Shaddaa. A man of his status should have been able to make it here. How hard could it be to let loose your dark side and get a steady business? He was wrong, and soon the darkness of fear and desperation engulfed him and found himself broke and friendless, on a moon full of thieves, assassins, bounty hunters, and thugs.

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'But tonight, we're going to a party. Because that's our job.'
'Bleed and die, yub, yub.'
'Never tell me the odds. You know Corellians have no tolorence for odds.'
'Me? Egotistical?

-Wedge Antilles

[This message has been edited by Cougar (edited September 17, 2000).]