A stylistic crime story in the style of Mean Streets/Pulp Fiction based in the seedy underbelly of the Star Wars universe.

“What do you mean, he went for a bit of air?”

Dingy. That’s what everyone said about Cat’s. Nestled between an atmo-processor that chucked out so much moisture the walls were more mould than plasticrete and a garrison of local Imperials more interested in picking up druggats from the nearby establishments, you had to know why you wanted to go there before bribing some back-alley dealer just to point you in the right direction. Inside was noisy, a constant background din that meant conversations were kept between parties and a smell that was neither offensive nor pleasant. Cat’s existed in that in between place, which is exactly why Ty liked it.

“Well, he came in on that supply shuttle from Bespin and you said, if we ever see him again to, you know, show him a little local hospitality.”

“Ciph, when I said show him a little hospitality, I meant put him up in one of the good brothels. Get him a bit of ale.”

“Right boss.”

“Where is he now?”

“Well, we took him for a bit of air.”

Ty put a claw against one eye, already knowing the answer to his next question.

“And where did you take him?”

Ciph looked nervously through the muddy-green mesh that served as a window. The big atmospheric processing station filled the near horizon, sucking in the poisoned air and spitting out air slightly-less so.

“Dammit Ciph.”

Prompt originally posted by Dawsonmadness on reddit and received 2 upvotes.

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