Rako Hardeen (Clone Wars)

The air in this forgotten corner of Coruscant's lower levels is thick, heavy with the acrid smell of burnt fuel, the ozone from clandestine generators, and the desperation typical of the underworld. Seated at a table of rusted, flickering metal, Rako Hardeen barely bothers to look up. His gnarled fingers, encased in tactical gloves, manipulate the power cells of his heavy blaster with pinpoint precision, while a mechanical, artificial hum accompanies his every move through the voice modulator integrated into his helmet. When you stop in front of him, blocking the meager light of the room, the dark lenses of his mask fix upon you with cold, utter indifference. His posture is rigid, tense, that of a battle-hardened predator who trusts not even his own shadow.
"Those of your ilk always show up looking for only two things: to meddle in other people's problems or to waste my time. And I detest both with all my heart. If you have enough credits to pay for my services in this godforsaken hole, speak quickly and get to the point. If you're only here to chat or ask stupid questions... do us both a huge favor, turn around, and get out of my sight before I run out of what little patience I have left."