They returned to Coruscant right away and found a hotel to stay in so that they could be well rested before the job. With all the money they now had, Olulm convinced them that they should find somewhere which was actually nice, although not too nice, or the contrast would be uncomfortable. It had to be somewhere rather far away from the vault itself, or the prices would be higher than even Olulm would be happy to pay, but eventually they found somewhere that fit all the criteria, the Antiquity Hotel, which had the unusual added advantage of having handled doors rather than electric ones, meaning they could put Nyron in the bathroom and jam it from the outside (a cruel irony that Ishti in particular found amusing). This theme of mock-unsophistication which gave the hotel its name was reflected in its guests: pampered youths wanting a fantasy of 'a simple life' and the occasional unknown alien who'd risen high enough on the Coruscanti ladder that they could afford a taste of home. The four bounty hunters felt very out of place, and went to their room as quickly as possible. It was soon evening, and they ate their supper in their room. They'd drugged Nyron's, and once he was out they dragged him into the toilet, jammed the door with a chair, and went to sleep.
It was nearly morning when Da'bral woke up, but it was still early enough that the alarm hadn't gone off. So what had woken him? He was probably just unused to sleeping so well for so long, he decided, and wrapped the duvet closer around him as he smiled, enjoying it for a little longer before he needed to get up. Allowing his mind to drift, he caught the sound of fading stumbles outside the door.
No, no - calm down. It's probably just some drunk rich guy. Da'bral assured himself. Still, if Nyron had somehow escaped... best to check just in case. He looked over at the bathroom door, chair still in place, good. The door into the corridor was shut as well. So not Nyron then. You say that now... Da'bral sighed, he'd have to make sure, otherwise he'd never forgive himself if Nyron did somehow escape and he could have stopped it. Groaning quietly, he rolled out of bed and reached for his weapons. Damn it! Of course, they'd had their weapons confiscated. Hotel policy, safety of the guests, blah blah blah. Well, at least it meant Nyron wouldn't have weapons either - he hoped. Wasting no more time, he tip-toed quickly to the door so as not to wake the others. Then he unlocked the door (it was electromagnetically locked, one of the few uses of electricity in the hotel), and stepped into the corridor.
"Nyron!" He hissed.
The tall figure at the end of the wood-walled corridor pirouetted 'round to face him, ale in hand.
"Da'bral!" He lisped jovially, "What are you doing up, my friend?"
"I'm not your friend, Nyron. How did you escape?"
Nyron frowned as if it were obvious. "Air vent."
Ah, they should have thought of that actually.
"Well, where are you going, anyway?"
"I was actually on my way back - just popped out for a drink, you know? I kinda ran out, then you drugged me again before I could have anymore, which was really unfair by the way; I'm a changed man now."
"Right." Da'bral didn't believe a word of it, but he really was walking back now, so as long as he wasn't allowed to escape again, Da'bral supposed it didn't really matter.
"Come on then," he said, clasping Nyron's shoulder to guide him back inside.
"No, I'm afraid not."
Suddenly Nyron's hands were around his neck, shoving him down to the floor. His head smacked onto the carpet with a muffled thud, stunning him momentarily, which gave Nyron enough to time to pin his arms with his knees. Da'bral tried to head butt him, but the distance was too great; he considered screaming, but Nyron stuck the bottle in his mouth, forcing him to drink or suffocate. That movement was all Da'bral needed. As Nyron lifted his right knee to press the bottle in his face, he pushed him off, throwing him sprawling on his side.
Nyron quickly recovered, and soon the two of them were grappling. Da'bral didn't dare call for help, fearing that any lapse in concentration would give Nyron what he needed to kill him. The span and span on the soft floor, trying to scratch sone advantage over the other. Eventually Da'bral managed to hold Nyron down and grasp his throat, but the human's legs swept under him and sent them both rolling again, clawing and bashing at each other desperately. Da'bral gritted his teeth in determination, staring down with solid fury into Nyron's fiery, flitting eyes. Suddenly he realised that Nyron had wriggled backwards in order to knee Da'bral firmly in the gut. Da'bral grunted in pain but refused to be moved, and suddenly saw an opportunity: his head was in line with Nyron's neck, and he shot it downwards like a viper. His horns now tickling Nyron's throat, Da'bral smiled slowly.
"If you move one inch I will impale your windpipe, understand?"
Nyron breathed out slowly, and managed to produce a small sound that was close enough to "yes."
"Good. Now -"
Da'bral pushed his head up into Nyron's neck as soon as he saw the knife shoot upwards, but by then it was too late. Da'bral felt the pain stab, then spike, then burst in and around the wound, jerking his body to the right as he gasped in pain, rolling onto his back just as Nyron rolled left, almost avoiding his horns. Da'bral looked up to see Nyron wipe a trickling line of blood from his throat, then pick a second knife from his jacket pocket and spin it in his hand.
"Oh, what a shame this is," the monster said without a hint of genuine shame in his voice, "Welp, this is the end, I suppose. End of an era and stuff. 'Twas fun, my friend. Buuut, all things come to an end, and now it's your turn. Bye bye!"
Then Nyron jabbed the knife into the Zabrak's heart and removed it just as quickly, casing blood to spurt from the wound. He stood there grinning for a moment, then had to dash before the others woke up. After all, this plot line had become too predictable to end so tidily as with a revenge driven final confrontation. What'd be the fun in that?