Carck Mank walked into the shadowy Warehouse of Repair on Nar Shadda. Hanging everywhere, from racks on the three hundred foot high ceiling, were half torn apart starfighters. A-wings, TIE Bombers, the works. 

"Hello?" called the human uneasily. 

A sudden chorus of rattling came from the back of the shop. Then, out of the gloomy darkness, stumbled a red skinned Twi'lek. He was tall, but stooped terribly, with a horrible hump-like growth on his upper back.

"Who be you?" rasped the being. His head tails twitched with anxiety.

"I'm a... costumer," Carck said slowly, remembering the words his 'informant' told him to say. "I've heard of this place from the Nerk clan of Hutts."

A spark flashed in the Twi'lek's dull, milky eyes. "That be so? An' what you hear of this place?"

"I hear you can fix any fighter," the human said boldly. "And I hear you aren't really a cripple, as you appear to be."

"Aye. That be the case," grinned the Twi'lek. The red humanoid straightened up, rising to three meters in height. The cataracts in his eyes disappeared, revealing a strong and defiant gaze. He offered a hand to the now dwarfed human. "My name be Rantcher  MacNjet. How many I service you?"

Carck took the offering, and tried not to wince as his hand was crushed in the Twi'lek's grip. "I've come for some schematics. They are quite... thorough, I may say. I'll pay a very high price for them. And, I'm told that they are in your possession."

"Ahh, is that so? Well then, follow me into the back room where we can talk about your offer." The red skinned being turned and crisply walked into the shadows at the back of the warehouse. 

Carck cautiously followed. After a minute, Rantcher's heavy footsteps faded, and the human found himself alone in the darkness. The warehouse was eerily silent, and goosebumps crawled across Carck's flesh.

"Are you coming?" Rantcher's voice boomed, in comparison to the surrounding silence, from behind Carck. The human nearly jumped out of his shoes.

"Y-ye-yes," Carck stammered. 

The Twi'lek flipped on a glowrod. "Follow."

Carck gulped, and shuffled behind the towering Twi'lek. This time he was able to keep up with Rantcher. A minute and a half later- Carck was counting under his breath- they emerged into a small back room. The dimensions couldn't be more than 20x20 feet. In the middle of the room was a durasteel table. The only object on the table, was an old- fashioned, electric- run, bulb lamp. On each wide end of the table was a single chair, placed directly in the center. Rantcher took a seat at the far side, and Carck bumbled into his own hard, metal, and rather uncomfortable chair.

"Now," began Rantcher, "if you would please, elaborate on your earlier request."

"I seek the unique, and original schematics of the late Prince Xizor's Virgaro. I have been informed that they are in your possession."

"You have been told correctly. What is your offering price?"

Carck whipped out a heavy blaster pistol, and sprang to his feet. The heavy durasteel chair made a horrible screeching noise as it drug across the duracrete floor. Carck leveled the barrel of the pistol to Rantcher's face. "Your life. Now if you know what's good for you, you'll listen to what I say. Now, start by placing your comm and datapad on the table. NOW!" barked Carck. 

Rantcher did so, and Carck sent two shots cleanly through the center of each. 

"Now, open this table, that I know is a hidden cabinet, and take out the schematics."

Rantcher did so, and began rustling the papers within the cabinet around. Moments later he lifted up the schematics, and handed them to the human.

Carck glanced at them briefly. "What's this grey power on them?"

"Dust," Rantcher answered, weakly.

Carck snorted. "Filthy beast." Then, the human backed out of the room, pistol never leaving it's target.

Once the human was gone, Rantcher wiped the grey priming powder off of his hands and he began counting. As he did so, he also reached over the table and tapped the air in front of the lamp's bulb. The hidden datapad there came to life. At the count of forty, Rantcher typed in a sequence into the datapad.

A dull thump reverberated through the walls, as the room shook slightly. Dust rained down from the duracrete ceiling.

Rantcher chuckled softly to himself. "No one crosses me like that, and lives. No one."

The Twi'lek pushed back his chair, stood up, and walked out of the small, duracrete room, and back into the warehouse. Once there, he walked over to the far right corner, stepped onto a makeshift turbolift, and rose up towards the ceiling. He stopped at the edge of a suspended A-wing, clambered onto it, reached into the open cockpit, and pulled out the Virgaro plans and a comm. Then, he climbed back down onto  to the turbolift, and lowered down to ground level. 

He walked off the turbolift, checked the channel his comm was set to, and raised it to his mouth. 

"So, you gonna come by for these plans?"- "Yeah?"- "Then hurry up."

Then, Rantcher set to re-filling the newly formed crater in the duracrete floor.

An hour later, someone entered the Warehouse of Repairs.

"I've come for the plans!" called out a feeble voice.

Rantcher stepped out from the shadows, and gazed upon the customer. He was an old, unnamed, billionaire Falleen, who had too much time on his hands. Rantcher already knew the man, so passcode introductions where unnecessary. Still, the old geiser insisted upon it.

I'm a costumer," the reptilian wheezed. "I've heard of this place from the Nerk clan of Hutts."

"That be so? An' what you hear of this place?"

"I hear you can fix any fighter," the Falleen said boldly. "And I hear you aren't really a cripple, as you appear to be."

"Aye. That be the case," Rantcher held out the schematics.

"Ah, I see you were prepared for my arrival," the billionaire took the papers. Then, the Falleen whipped out a datapad and began typing on it. "Your credits have just been transferred. Good day." The Falleen turned to leave, but Rantcher put a strong hand on the reptilian's shoulder. 

"Hey, wait a moment. Another being stopped by for these plans, just over an hour ago. He threatened me with a pistol."

"Oh, goodness!" the Falleen cried.

"Yes, it was a shock to me too. He didn't get them, obviously. But, I was wondering if you knew him."

"Oh, no. I'd never associate myself with a petty crook like that. No, I did not know the man."

"Ah, I was mistaken, then."

"Yes, you were. Good day." The billionaire turned to leave.

"Wait!"

The old Falleen stopped. "What is it now?" he said, irritably.

"How did you know it was a man?" With that, Rantcher whipped out his blaster pistol, from the inside pocket of his overcoat, and shot the old billionaire, right between the eyes.

"No one crosses me like that, and lives. No one."


Name: Rantcher MacNjet
Homeworld: Coruscant
Age: 43
Species: Twi'lek
Languages: Basic, droidspeak
Gender: Male
Height: 3 meters
Weight: 99 kgs

Physical Description: Rantcher is a tall and muscular Twi'lek. He has pure red skin and two whole head tails. He is a very imposing character, whose mere presence makes one feel small.

Personality: Rantcher is a shadowy, and secretive dealer. His time working for the Hutts has made him wary, to the point where new customers must recite a passcode greeting. Despite this, he is a fair dealer when treated in a fair manner by his customers. However, if he is lied to or crossed, he will act in a swift and lethal manner.

Background: Rantcher was born and raised on Coruscant. His father was a wealthy smuggler who worked for the Hutts. When Rantcher was six, his father lost everything in a game of sabbac. Rantcher and his family moved to the Hutt homeworld of Nar Shadda.

From that point on, until he was thirty, Rantcher worked to pay off his father's debts. When he had finally finished the task, Rantcher decided to stay on Nar Shadda and set himself up as a dealer of rare, and valuable items that he had collected.