Big Apple, 3PM

[Jim Raynor]

Ditto broke into a sprint, chasing the soldier who called him out. His feet clanked on the immaculate pavement despite the fact that he didn't actually wear armour; although he could imitate it well, it was still his own body solidified and he couldn't take it off. He spotted a few more stormtroopers running down the street in his peripheral vision, all apparently members of Squadron F. No one had noticed Ditto's lack of a laser rifle though, which gave him no end of relief. Short of forcefully removing one from an existing stormtrooper, he couldn't produce a removable weapon, nor one that would fire live ammunition. Of course, he could mold a protrusion from his hand that looked and felt like a rifle, but it would not be functional and he wouldn't be able to drop it.

Vaulting over a letterbox, Ditto kept pace with the other stormtroopers, blending in seamlessly with the squadron. He wondered where and what Tier 4 was; judging by the name, a swanky restaurant, or an exclusive club? Yet why a whole squadron was being called in urgently to such a place only replaced one question with another. The citizens of Coruscant broke from their dazed reveries as they registered the stormtroopers charging down the street, some acting as if they had just woken up. All moved with great swiftness, even the obese and the elderly, as if brushing against their armour was sullying them in some sacrilegious way. Fear gripped this idyllic world.

The stormtroopers moved into a haphazard single file as they swung into a small building. Ditto followed close behind and saw them pile into a wide elevator. Ditto slid in last as the doors snapped shut. Ditto's heart slammed into his jaw as the elevator plunged at incredible speed down into the bowels of the earth. He ducked involuntarily, completely unprepared for the sudden jolt, and rose to several questioning glances.

He shrugged it off and locked his knees as the elevator zipped down like a Pidgeot in a dive. The other stormtroopers' armour rattled and clanked at the vibration. Ditto tried to get a bearing on where they were going and noticed a rectangular screen set beside the doors. It showed levels, seven in total, with three dots separating each, all cyan on a black background. A red dot blipped as it descended, ostensibly highlighting their journey down. In a surprisingly short time, 'Tier 4' lit up and the elevator ground to a halt. The doors slipped open and the stormtroopers sprung out, charging down the street in a unit. Ditto waited until they had all emptied the elevator, quickly scanned outside for any hungry eyes, and transformed back into Giovanni.

Ditto slinked out of the elevator and peered around the corner, watching the stormtroopers flee into the distance and out of sight.

Free of the scrutiny of the top level of Coruscant, Ditto meandered onto the sidewalk. Somehow during his short trip, the day had swiftly seceded and given rise to night. This place, this Tier 4, looked much closer to the world he knew. Buildings were clean but not free of the signs of age. Bright neon billboards beamed incessantly on rooftops and clinging to walls, providing plenty of illumination to see in the dark streets, even overpowering the streetlights. Cars rolled down the streets, though they did so on rubber wheels, unlike the hovercars of the top level, and in far few number. The faded screeches of a police siren echoed from the direction the stormtroopers were running in.

So Coruscant was made of tiers, huh? Ditto wondered why that information wasn't as prominent as he might of expected. Recalling the elevator panel, he saw seven levels to this behemoth of a city. Never had Ditto conceived that entire metropolises could be built atop each other, like a towering Jenga puzzle. As he continued his stroll down the pavement, it occurred to him that Tier 4 was a malnourished shadow of a city compared to Tier 1. Everything here was presentable and liveable, but the luxury and splendour above did not exist here.

And then it hit him. Coruscant's hidden, dirty ghettos and districts didn't exist on its top level because it swept all of the unwanted socio-economic rubbish beneath its own carpet. Absolutely genius.

Ditto couldn't help but let a little chuckle escape his lips as he ducked through an alleyway. How many people were confined to these pseudo-cities? How heavy was the guard here? Judging by the fast redeployment of Squadron F, policing happened here but with far less judiciousness than the higher tiers. And if Ditto followed that thought to its logical conclusion, the lower levels must be even less policed.

And filled with the scum of the earth just chomping at the bit to do whatever it takes to get ahead.

"Something funny, Armani?"

Ditto stopped and turned about face. A square jawed thug with a bright red mohawk and leather ensemble glared at him, a pistol aimed at his chest.

"Oh yes," Ditto said confidently, revelling in Giovanni's booming, authoritative tone. "That haircut. Was your father a broom?"

The thug's black eyes widened. "What the fuck did you say to me, rich boy?"

Ditto put on his best arrogant grin and squared his shoulders, puffing out his chest. "Oh I do apologise. Do I need to speak slower? I've never communicated with janitorial equipment before."

Broomhead power walked to Ditto and cracked his temple with the butt of his gun. Ditto fell to one knee, feeling a warm wetness on his forehead.

Broomhead pointed the gun at Ditto's head, bottom lip upturned. "Give me your fucking money or I'll kill you!"

Ditto fought back the urge to chuckle. The perfect opportunity had presented itself!

His eyes found a crudely stitched insignia on the criminal's leather jacket. A skull with a set of pistols crisscrossed behind it. The symbol didn't mean much to Ditto, but it screamed one important fact; this uncouth moron was a member of a gang.

And gangs could be exploited.

"I don't have any money on me," Ditto said, feigning pain and anger at his situation.

"No money?" Broomhead said, showing a missing front tooth. "Then why should I let you live? Hmm? Why don't I do us both a favour and blow your fucking brains out all over the ground?"

Ditto failed to see how that was a favour to him, but this was no time to be a smart arse. He sent his bottom lip to trembling, widened his eyes and increased his breathing. It was harder to act scared as Giovanni, since something in that wonderful man's genes seemed resistant to such a feeling, but Ditto was a splendid actor.

"Look! Look!" Ditto said desperately. "I'm rich, but I don't have the money on me! But! I'm still worth a lot! I can help you get cash! As much as you want!"

Broomhead frowned. Obviously not used to his victims offering him a deal. "What are you talking about?"

"Take me to wherever it is you frequent. Tie me up. Take me hostage! I'll give you a phone number. You call it, let them hear my voice, and we'll arrange a drop off! You can trade me for whatever you want! Please, just don't kill me!"

Broomhead pressed the barrel of the pistol against Ditto's bleeding forehead. "And why should I believe you? Huh? Tell me that!"

"What have you got to lose?" Ditto said. "If I'm telling the truth, you'll be rolling in dough in no time! If I'm lying, then you can just kill me!"

Ditto waited with round eyes, projecting terror he didn't feel, as Broomhead stared into the distance. A few times Ditto saw the thug's finger twitch on the trigger and wondered if he would die to the nervous spasm of some gutter trash scumbag. But without a guide or any clue of the direction, being dragged off by a greedy criminal to the deepest hidden reaches of Coruscant was his best option.

Broomhead took the pistol from Ditto's head. "You know what? I like you." He grinned mirthlessly and drove his boot into Ditto's face.