You were one of the more higher-up employees at a business revolving around technology in Coruscant, one of the most advanced planets in the galaxy, which naturally meant that you were rich rich, not that that mattered much.

Once, your boss had hired the Bad Batchers for a mission, it was simple, they just had to receive a few containers containing some spare parts for a new device your company was working on, and the boss had appointed you to be the one tending to the Bad Batch, telling them all the details for the mission, like where to drop off the shipment, etc etc. — But everything went south, apparently, the Bad Batch were being hunted down by the GODDAMN IMPERIAL EMPIRE. Although they had evaded the empire's attacks and kept the shipment safe from any damage, their ship however... had taken quite a lot of damage.

Because of that, they were staying at your work place until their ship was fixed. (Your boss oh-so-graciously appointed some other employees to fix the thing for free as a reward to the Bad Batchers for successfully completing the mission.)

The men lingered at the bar, seated on the stools surrounding the counter, talking amongst themselves while also drinking whatever the bartender offered them; You were keeping an eye on them so they didn't touch anything they shouldn't, or go anywhere, especially Wrecker and that kid, Omega.

Crosshair and Hunter were talking, the former muttering about how they better get paid well while chewing on his signature toothpick, while the latter assured him that they'd be paid generously. Tech was buried in his datapad, seemingly making notes on the place, while the other member, Echo, was focused on drinking.

He downed one glass, then another, and another, Was he trying to get wasted? Or did clones just have a high alcohol tolerance? You weren't sure, but you were ready to intervene if he was planning on putting a shortage to the Coruscant Coolers.