The Godless Matron is home to many, resembling a micro-society for those who wish to live outside the typical 'rule' of the galaxy. The Lucrehulk-class battleship's massive hangars have been converted into dwellings as a result. Chute Town is the most notable of these makeshift towns. Many shops and storefronts have been constructed to take advantage of the higher volume of foot traffic. In addition, many ships and crews arrive into Chute Town to sell their "well-earned" commodities, weapons, or artifacts. It is commonplace to find the best and the worst gear the galaxy has to offer, it is only a matter of how big your pocket book is. The 'streets' are patrolled regularly by the crew of the Matron itself, leaving would-be miscreants to be more wary, lest they find themselves on the receiving end of a pirate's sense of justice.

It is built mostly out of spare durasteel panels from derelict ships, dismantled machinery, or any other source or material the pirates could scavenge. It spans the length of the massive portside hangar of the Matron, reaching from it's heavily protected reactor — hidden behind triple-reinforced blast doors and a guard retinue — all the way to the hangar entrance where the many incoming ships unload their cargo. It is more than a mile long, over five hundred feet wide and up to three stories tall, covering most of the floor. Chute Town's streets are a miniature maze, weaving in between buildings on several levels. Verticality is key for the masses of shops and bars to operate without interfering with one another. The main street is nicknamed Murder alley, mostly because all the weapon shops are prominently opened there.

Illumination banks are staggered along the walkways and buildings to provide enough light for the society to function. Still, the 'streets' are left dim with a low hanging fog built up from the collective humidity of so many people in one space. For those calling it their home, there is no such thing as 'off hours'. A large crowd bustles along at all hours, an exotic assortment of individuals from countless planets and the warring gangs that divvy up the territory within. It's the perfect place for those looking to disappear in the crowd.

War was awful. It was chaotic and messy. Even when the fighting was brief, it would often take decades to fully recover from the death and destruction it brought. But there was one thing that could not be denied: war was profitable.

None of these thoughts showed in Lucine’s expression as she watched her contact examine the cybernetic arm in front of him. Malick Katar had begun his career selling spare parts out of his run-down, one-room apartment, often working for trade. But his eye for detail, perfectionist nature, and cutthroat business practices had caused his business to take wing. He was now known as one of the foremost cybernetic dealers in the sector.

“Do I wanna know how you got this?” Malick asked, frowning as he peered through his loupe at the delicate circuitry.

“I do not know. Do you?” Lucine replied with a pleasant smile. Admittedly, she had not been pleased when Satsi had put her in charge of disposing of the Collective soldiers who had died within Arconan holdings. No doubt the Consul thought she was punishing her. Little did she know that Lucine had no problem with gore, especially when there was profit to be made.

The Devaronian thought for a moment, before shaking his horned head. “Nah, never mind. I don’t wanna know. You say you got more like this?”

“I have three more arms, as well as six legs and seven eyes. There are others, but they are significantly more… damaged,” Lucine said.

“Hmm. Well, I won’t deny that it’s of good quality,” Malick said as he put the metal covering back into place. “The synflesh would all have to be replaced. That’ll cost.”

“You would have done that anyway, to ensure it matched the skin tone of the new owner,” Lucine said. Her smile took on a steel edge when the Devaronian glanced up at her in surprise. “I researched your business practices before I came here. Do we have a deal?”

“Yeah, about that. The finder’s fee you’re wanting is a little high,” the Devaronian said.

The Sith raised one finely sculpted eyebrow. “Fifteen percent is what you give to Tashan Gimborli.”

“Yeah, but he’s a repeat vendor,” Malick said with a scowl. “Though I think it just went down to eight percent since he talks too much.”

“Fifteen percent is not unreasonable, given the quality of these enhancements. Especially when you compare them to what Tashan typically brings to you,” Lucine continued. She pulled her datapad from her cloak and began to tap on the screen. “But allow me to sweeten the deal a little bit.”

She turned the datapad to show Malick the image that was displayed on the interface. The Devaronian’s eyes widened when he saw it. “How did you get that?”

“I told you, Malick, I did my research,” Lucine replied. “Such a shame, the way your ex-wife stole your daughter away. Why I hear that she is leaving the poor girl alone on a regular basis while she drinks herself to death. It is truly heartbreaking.” Though her voice was filled with sadness for the situation, her eyes sparkled with amusement. But Malick did not see it; his attention was focused on the image of the half-Devaronian child.

The Sith abruptly snapped the datapad cover closed and Malick jumped, snapped out of his reverie. “Fifteen percent and I will tell you where your ex-wife is hiding your daughter,” Lucine said.

“Yeah. Yeah, all right,” the Devaronian said at last.

---

Turel leaned against the wall, blending into the crowd with the expertise wrought by years of life in a gang. One way in, one way out, he thought as he studied the entrance of the cybernetics shop. The Sentinel Network had picked up intel that someone was looking to sell a large quantity of Collective cybernetic enhancements at this very shop. Turel was determined to find out who it was and how they had gotten their hands on it. But the street was crowded even at this late hour, making it difficult to maintain a constant line-of-sight on the shop.

He suppressed a sigh as a small group of Rodians stopped between him and the shop entrance, arguing loudly over whether they should visit Murder Alley or get dinner first. He tapped the repurposed comm-link, hailing his MagnaGuard.

“Yes, honey?”

“Do you see anything?” Turel spoke quietly into the comm. He had positioned GR-1N-DR on a nearby rooftop, where the droid would have a better view of the street.

“Oh my stars, yes! Check out that 3PO unit! Someone should tell him that a chrome chassis is so last season!” the MagnaGuard replied in a lispy, effeminate voice.

Turel suppressed the urge to roll his eyes skyward. “The shop, GR-1N-DR. Do you see anyone coming out of the shop?”

“Not yet, honey. But don’t you worry, I’ll give a yell as soon as I do.”

The Odanite cut the connection, before crossing his arms over his chest. It’s amazing how much of spy work is spent waiting, he thought dryly. The Rodians moved on, and Turel continued his watch.

After several long minutes, the door slid open and a redhead stepped out onto the street. She was smiling like the loth-cat that had eaten every canary on the planet. Given the time and place, Turel had little doubt that this was his target. He pushed himself off the wall and crossed the street, passing through the crowd with ease and fluid grace. “Busy day?” he asked as he drew near.

Lucine turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow as she did so. She recognized him, of course. She made it her business to be aware of the movers and shakers within the Clans. “Always, darling. May I help you?” she asked with an expression of polite curiosity.

“Actually, yes. We need to talk about the hardware you’ve acquired.” He drew back his jacket just enough to reveal the blackened Westar-35. “Privately.”

Emerald eyes flicked down to the blaster, and she took a step back. “Oh, dear. I wish I could, but as you said, I have a busy day planned.” She leaned around him slightly, offering a brilliant smile to someone behind him. “But I do hate to disappoint. Perhaps you should chat with my friend instead,” she said.

Turel smirked. “Please. The old ‘look behind you’ routine? That’s the oldest—”

His words were cut short as a meaty hand closed around his arm. He turned to see a hulking Besalisk standing behind him, and his eyes widened in surprise. Where did he come from? “This creep botherin’ ya?” the brute asked as he narrowed his already tiny eyes at the Sentinel.

“He is. Be a dear and take care of him for me? I would be most grateful,” Lucine purred, her voice heavy with suggestion regarding the ways she would be willing to show her gratitude.

There was something wrong with the situation, but Turel had no time to ponder it as the Besalisk’s fist blurred toward his face. Moving instinctively, the Sentinel planted his feet and raised his hands to block the blow. But they passed through the Besalisk’s arm. An illusion!

Cursing inwardly, he looked back to see the red-head weaving through the crowd, making her way toward Murder Alley. He considered drawing his blaster, but the street was too crowded for a clean shot. “GR-1N-DR! Move to intercept!”

“Isn’t she a little young for you?” GR-1N-DR replied tauntingly over the comlink. “I thought you preferred women with a few centuries on them.”

“Not now Grinder! Do you have a visual or not?”

“Of course I do sugah, don’t you fret your pretty lil’ head bout’ it. That redhead hussie probably doesn’t even see me following her, if that is her real hair color.”

Turel stifled a chuckle as he made a mental note to lower Grinder’s cattiness protocol some. “Okay, if you can slow her down go for it, otherwise maintain visual and report her movements.”

The magnaguard scoffed audibly over the channel, “I wasn’t built yesterday, sweetie. I’ll get er’ for you but next time can you pick a target that’s tall dark and broody instead of these mean girls rejects?”

The Jedi didn’t dignify the droid’s comment with a response, he merely shook his head and continued his pursuit. The Sentinel’s mind raced as he tried to piece together what he knew about this target. She was a Force user, so she almost certainly wasn’t Collective, which was a bit of a relief. The young redhead had access to salvaged cybernetics from Nancora which meant she was from one of the other clans. She could have been Inquisition, but Turel doubted they’d be selling parts on the black market unless they were really hard up for credits. The question was, which clan was she from?

Turel threw up his hood and moved calmly, yet swiftly, through the crowd with practiced ease. Years of agent training couldn’t replicate feeling at home in a slum, it was something one was raised with. The Jedi would never openly admit it, but he volunteered for so many solo SenNet missions because he missed this; the neon light, the smells, the people, the noise of the crowd. Places like this reminded him of his homes in Nar Shaddaa and Coronet City. The stuffy, manicured world of Kiast upper society always felt constricting to him, the people fake, it was prettier sure, but he felt like he couldn’t breathe sometimes. “You can take the boy off the street, but you can’t take the street outta the boy” as the saying goes.

The Sentinel felt a twinge of embarrassment for how easily the crimson haired stranger had duped him with an illusion. Illusion was a bit of a niche skill among Force users in Brotherhood space and Turel prided himself on being one of the best. So, to be so thoroughly beaten at his own game was a rare kind of wound to his pride, even if he was begrudgingly impressed with the young woman’s abilities. Suddenly he wasn’t as concerned with finding out what she knew and where she was from, but with getting her back and settling the score.

As Turel crossed the street into Murder Alley, his com link sprung to life. “She’s going into one of those tacky shops. Ew. Jawa Joe’s according to the sign. I’m going in after her; I’ll be back in two shakes of a Loth-cat’s tail sugah.”

Red flags shot up in the Jedi’s mind. Something screamed from the edge of his memory about the name of the establishment. “Oh, no,” he muttered as the realization hit him. Jawa Joe’s Honest Pawn and Droid Repair was an infamous establishment, which was saying something in a place like Murder Alley. Turel quickened his pace toward the location of the shop.

---

Lucine stood in the entryway of Jawa Joe’s staring at a glowing pair of red eyes.

“Azikho izikhali” the seated Jawa rapidly squeaked as it pointed up at a sign that said “No weapons! No Droids!” in basic and Huttese. The Qel-Droman didn’t speak the Jawa trade language but knew what the pushy doorman wanted. He...or was it she...wouldn’t open the door to the main sales floor unless the Sith surrendered her weapons.

I don’t have time for this, Lucine thought in frustration. She reached out with the Force to touch the Jawa’s mind and hoped it understood basic.

“I don’t have any weapons, I’m free to enter,” the young woman stated slowly with a slight wave of her hand. She pulled her cloak closed with her free hand.

Blazing red eyes stared at Lucine from under a dark Jawa hood as the sentient pondered something. With a series of Jawaese phrases Lucine didn’t understand the door in front of her opened and the short doorman gestured for her to enter.

Jawa Joe’s had a well-deserved reputation as the largest, and most secure, pawn shop on the Matron. The sales floor took up the equivalent of two normal sized Murder Alley shops with a large vault in the back. A series of Jawas worked behind the counters with a brass protocol droid making the rounds to assist customers who couldn’t speak Jawa Joe’s language. A female Wookie with carefully groomed dreads and a flower just above her left ear, ran the repair shop. Jawa Joe had adopted her as his daughter years before and raised her as his own. The Wookie helped deal with, less cooperative customers when she wasn’t busy working on merchandise. Cameras lined every inch of the store which monitors just behind the counter.

Lucine had hastily selected this establishment to duck into when she noticed a magnaguard following her on the rooftops. There were only two other patrons in the shop, a Toydarian waiting for a droid repair and a Gand browsing blaster rifles in a glass case. The Arconan pretended to browse some electroknives, positioning herself where she could see the security camera monitors as she pondered her next move. Surely evading Turel Sorenn wasn’t that easy. She would have been sorely disappointed if he failed to live up to his reputation.

A commotion at the entrance of the shop drew her attention. There was some inaudible yelling in Jawaese then a thud. The door swung open to reveal the brightly colored Magnaguard from before with its staff blazing. Only the electrostaff was flashing in rainbow colors. The overwhelming blast of color almost hurt Lucine’s eyes.

“Ugh, you know what, I’m so over the whole ‘no droids allowed’ thing right now. No self-respecting droid would want to be seen in this chop shop anyway.”

The patrons ducked behind whatever merchandise displays they could find as the Jawa staff began screaming. “Y’all sit tight now. I’m just here for the redhead in the kiddy holonet show villain reject black cloak and armor. Yes, you sweetie. And let me just say, I’m not crazy about the outfit, but your hair is ah-may-zing, you should wear something other than black to bring it out, darling.”

Lucine instinctively placed her hand on her lightsaber as she braced to either flee the store or defend herself from the droid.

Grinder struck first. The magnaguard lept over a table of used rangefinders and lunged at the Sith with a swift horizontal strike of his rainbow electrostaff. Lucine jumped backwards to avoid the blow and ignited her emerald saber in a single movement. When the droid went for a follow-on jab, the young woman was ready with a deft parry of her blade.

The proverbial cat was out of the bag when Lucine pulled her weapon to defend herself. The Arconan needed to ditch this walking eyesore fast and get back into a low profile before she caught the attention of the Matron crew. Not to mention Turel was likely closing in on her location.

The Sith shifted, so her back was toward the front door and slowly backed toward the exit as she deflected electrostaff blows with tight saber orbits. She needed to break contact before she got outside, using a lightsaber openly on the streets of Murder Alley was as good as painting a target on your back.

That’s when Lucine noticed the Wookie pointing a bowcaster at her and the droid. A warning screamed out through the Force, and the Qel-Droman instinctively hit the deck. Grinder was not so lucky. The magnaguard caught the full force of the blast and went flying into a nearby way, knocking a series of chest plates off the display.

Lucine deactivated her saber and slowly stood up, raising both hands in the air. “Look, I’m just here to shop, this droid attacked me. You can keep him to pay for the damages; I’ll just be on my way.”

The Wookie roared and motioned for her to leave with the business end of the bowcaster. Lucine took the invitation and backed toward the door slowly. She sensed a presence approaching through the Force as she did.

“That’s just great,” she muttered to herself.