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 hangers 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’s only a matter of how big your pocketbook 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 its 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.

Tisto smirked to himself as he leaned against the wall of a quaint shop in Chute Town. His associate was currently negotiating with the Toydarian shop keep. He wasn’t entirely sure how much the orange kiffar would be able to do, but he was glad to have her along. Working with her had been helpful in the past. Calling her in for this job was almost reflex, like some of her more despicable habits.

Regardless, I can’t trust anyone in my frakking House. They are willingly going along with this dumb peace treaty with the Dark Council and Arx. They are lucky I am trying to help them. Hope most of them burn to death on Daleem. Maybe the rational ones will survive.

The boxer shook his head as Diy walked up to him. She looked annoyed, and Tisto breathed a sigh of relief that the shopkeeper was alive

Randomly killing people was not the best strategy here, even if it got the message across. She probably knows that more than me.

“Well,” the scoundrel huffed, “that was a bust. Apparently his clients are offering ‘double whatever anyone else offers’. Why are you even interested in a terraformer?”

“Saving some scum from themselves of course,” the boxer chuckled darkly. “Aren’t I always cast as the good guy?”

“That is a boring reason,” Diy responded quietly. “Alright then, what is your plan now?”

“I can’t speak for you,” Tisto sighed, pulling out a credstick. “This has what I promised for your assistance. You did what I asked, so feel free to head off now. Things are probably going to get bloody once this damn fools clients arrive. Wouldn’t want the Syndicate to think bad of you.”

“Kicking me out of the job before the fun?” the female Kiffar retorted. “I can fight better than you can! Frak, unlike you I might be able to find out who is buying all these terraformers. This is the third shop in a week.”

“No!” the boxer shouted. “We had a deal. Don’t use that around me!”

Realizing he might be drawing attention to himself, Tisto froze. His eyes darted about, but it seemed like no one noticed his outburst.

“Fine,” the scoundrel responded cooly. “How long are we waiting?”

---

Tisto shook Diy awake a day later. He made a quick gesture for her to remain quiet and pointed towards the shop where a large crew of armed soldiers had circled the place.

That's about a dozen in plain sight. Either I am about to rescue the shop keep… or more likely I’m going to piss off his client. This will be fun.

Tisto didn’t bother to hide his approach. Diy was still waking up and would probably need time to get ready. A blaster bolt screamed by the boxers head and struck one of the soldiers in the back. Tisto turned back and gave an incredulous looked to Diy, who had stood up quickly to fire the shot.

“Frak!” the male Kiffar shouted. “Oh whatever. I’m here for the damn terraformer! Give it to me or die!”

Without waiting for a response, Tisto charged into the group of confused soldiers as Diy began to lay down some covering fire. A smile crept onto the boxers face as he punched the closest soldier in the chest, his shock boxing gloves sending electricity arking into the man's chest. The soldiers responded quickly drawing weapons, and attempting to get into a formation of sorts.

“Surrender malcontents!” one of the soldiers shouted. “Or face the might of the Black Sun!”

"Ugh," Diyrian rolled her eyes. So damn proud and bold of them to have tossed that name about on the Godless Matron, it's like these thugs were asking for a bullet to the face. She couldn't hold her damn tongue with that sort of arrogance. "Black Sun, go—"

Tisto's fist connected solidly with the man's jaw, blue licks of electricity lacing through his stubbled face before he crumbled to the ground stunned.

"— Whack a son," she finished, a grin rivaling a toothy nexu spreading across her face at his timing.

The majority of the men shuffled backward, creating space between them and the Kiffar man. They raised their blasters to return fire towards the green-haired woman. She acted quick, reflexively hopping over a turned-over trash compartment nearby and throwing her back against it. Twisting about, Diy poked above it briefly and unleashed a torrent of blasts into their masses — two of the bolts burning holes into a Twi’lek’s chest armor. She ducked down once more as her cover found itself with a few more scorch marks in this violence-ridden town.

Several armored men encircled Tisto. The first fella he struck clutched his chest as he straightened up, coughing. He yelled aggressively as he charged forward, brandishing a vibroblade. The slashes were uncoordinated, sluggish, but the serrated bade glistening in the dim light was enough to keep the boxer evading a nasty cut. Footsteps scuffing against the debris-ridden metal street forewarned him of another closing in from behind. Ducking underneath a thrust, the Juggernaut pushed up and twisted his body around, drawing the Force into the void of his leg as he drove his knee into the man’s backside. They careened into the soldier behind him, stabbing them in the gut.

As Diy fell a couple more foes, her hair slightly singed from a close call herself, Tisto wasted no momentum. He rapidly moved through the thugs, grabbing those close and pummeling them aggressively with his fists, elbows, knees until they either fell or he threw them into the next. More replaced them, gunners aborting the onslaught on the woman to aid their comrades. He raised his fists defensively as his hazel eyes flashed between them.

“Hey, Green-cheeks!” Diyrian hollered her nickname for the Kingang, “Operation: Let the bodies hit the floor!”

Tisto dared tossed a glance at her, his brow furrowing in bafflement, but the smuggler was already volleying fire. It clicked what she was getting at as he weaved around rifle butts and vibro-knives. Clenching the Force into his fist, he spun and crouched, palming the ground with a telekinetic strike that literally made the bodies around him hit the floor. A swift punch to the face with his shock-gloves was enough to still the crowd.

Diy came trotting up towards him, twirling one of the chrome-plated pistols. A moan at her feet was silenced as she squeezed the trigger of her weapon’s matching twin. She winked at her partner, “So, shall we go in? Circle around back in case they make a scram for it?”

“You go around back, I’ll take the front,” Tisto nodded with a sigh. He glared at her as she moved to give a good luck smack, knowing full well it broke the ‘no touch’ rule. Cracking his shoulders and knuckles, he paced to the entry of the store and punched the opening mechanism. As the door slid open, his shadow fell upon the Trandoshan and a fairly well dressed, muscular man.

“And hello there to you too,” a deep, rolling voice greeted him.

Tisto looked at the Trandoshan and the well dressed man. Why the frak is there a lizard man here. What happened to the Toydarian. Questions for later.

With the slightest bit of hesitation, the boxer threw a right hook at the well dressed human. The blow was deflected, eletricitiy lashing into the humans arm as he blocked the strike. A look of glee appeared in the human’s eyes, and he threw of punch of his own which Tisto ducked under. The red headed Kiffar couldn’t help but smile and dropped into a boxing stance, elbows tucked in, his right leg placed back, fists raised. The human replied in kind, looking familiar to Tisto once he had settled into a stance.

Who do I know with forearms thicker than most guys legs? Frak he is massive. Damn! Ignore the appearance. It will just be a distraction! I can figure it out later. Hopefully Diy can deal with the sudden Trandoshan and get the terraformer.

The human lunged at the semi distracted boxer, landing a left haymaker that slammed into Tisto’s gut. On impact Tisto steeled himself with the Force, refusing to budge on the first blow. Tisto then brought his left foot down on his foes forward facing ankle, grinning as he heard his opponent suck in some air harshly. Tisto batted aside a retaliatory right hook, wincing as he was clipped in the shoulder instead of his chest.

Alright. New plan. Don’t let up!

The red haired Kiffar started up a flurry of simple jabs aimed at hitting the humans defense, slamming into the mans large forearms. With each strike the man was hit with an electrical strike that ran through his arms. Tisto continued to strike high, keeping the man's arms up to protect his head. In his focus on the man in front of him he had not been paying attention to the Trandoshan and suddenly found himself tossed off his opponent with surprising ease. He slammed into a wall in the shop, dropping to the ground.

“Thank you for interfering there,” the human remarked, “Fraking Kiffar had me on the edge. My arms are numb.”

“As fun as it was to watch him beat you,” the trandoshan said slyly, “we have a job to d--”

“Hey boys!” came Diy’s voice.

Both the human and the Trandoshan turned to see Diy holding up a briefcase. Tisto smirked focusing in on the Trandoshan.

“If you want the terraformer you are going to have to catch me!” the woman shouted, then took off running.

Both men went to take off after her, and Tisto smiled, calling on the Force to pull the Trandoshan back towards him. The boxer punched the back of the incoming Trandoshan, electricity arcing along its scales. The red haired Kiffar grinned as he felt the impact, shoving the large reptile down into the ground.

“This is between you and me scaly,” Tisto laughed. I’ll be over to help you soon. Please don’t die Diy. You have the best rates around for an independent mercenary.

Well, he's karkin' dead!—

— was the thought that had passed through her mind roughly three minutes ago. Diy had snuck through the back, keeping low, when she came across the bulgy body of the Toydarian shopkeeper — with a smoking hole in his chest. Guess someone wanted to change the deal.

Spotting several suitcases behind the counter, she had shrugged under the sounds of violence and grabbed one. Hell, the Kiffar woman hadn't even known whether or not this was the transformer, but neither did they. Fast forward to a whistle and a taunt, to running out the door and stepping over guards that she shot.

Heavy, thunderous footfalls followed her out of the rickety, strewn together metal building. They were interrupted by a quick shuffle and a short stream of curses. Diy grinned as she realized the big guy nearly tripped over his dead buddies. No time to focus on that though, she ducked under a low hanging pipe, pushing through the clouds of steam to hop onto a closed trash compartment. The faux-Zelosian skidded across its lid, grime leaving a nice streak across her mostly bare thighs.

She kept on running through the narrow alley between the shops of Chute Town. The smuggler considered herself quite agile, usually able to outrun most trouble she digs herself into. So, it took her aback when the trash compartment crashed behind her, denting in the durasteel wall of a shop just a few meters behind her. “Frakin’ A’,” Diy cursed under her arms she had put up protectively. Whipping Wynetta from her right holster, she twisted about and leveled her gun towards the Human barreling closer. Three ruby bolts shot through the air, whizzing by him and burning holes into the walls behind. Diyrian didn’t wait to see if it slowed him down any and darted down a side alley, hoping it lead to a main corridor.

“Get back here, she-akk!” The Human bellowed after her, his dark gaze connected with her sea-green as he slammed against the far wall of the corner — not slowing down to maneuver the turn smoothly.

Diy turned around as she ran, sticking her tongue out and slapping the fang tattoo on her thigh — the symbol of the mostly dead Crimson Hound Gang. “Ya are whatcha eat—” The smuggler felt her heel caught on a stray piece of metal, propelling herself backward. She rolled just in time for a massive fist to slam into the spot her head had been. Sitting up into a crouch, Diy swung the briefcase around, connecting the corner of it against his temple with a resounding crack.

Tisto, ya best be gettin’ yer arse out here! Big karkin’ fun, this one! Diy mused, the gritting, sarcastic grin on her face as the huge man shook his noggin.

---

Shaking his red-dreads out of his eyes, Tisto leveled his fists protectively before him and had started to shift his right foot back when a jolt of warning lashed against his back. He barely avoided the sweeping leg of the Trandoshan beneath him. The reptiloid hissed, tongue flitting between two rows of sharp teeth as he lashed out, “Yesss, die!”

Sidestepping, the Kiffar knocked the blow to the side. His muscles coiled in his left arm before unleashing an intense jab towards the thug’s head. It was dodged, the Trandoshan ducking his shoulder under it and diving into Tisto. Grunting, the Juggernaut sunk into the balls of heels as they skidded backwards with the tackle. He grabbed a fist full of the man’s vest and started pummeling him intensely with both his elbow and shock-gloved covered fist. Why the frak you won’t drop?!

Scaled muscles bulged under the Black Sun tattoo on the Trandoshan’s biceps as he hoisted the leaner man off his feet, and drove him to the ground. Tisto gasped slightly as the breath was knocked out of him.

A bit tired of being tossed like a ragdoll! was all he could think before twisting his head to the side to avoid the gnashing maw of the Trandoshan — spittle splashing onto his face. He caught the thug’s arm, now catching the silver glint of the vibroknife in his grip. Tisto strained to hold the knife at bay, his opponent having the advantage of weight as leverage against him. If he didn’t get this bloody lizard off of him soon, it was going to off him. So he called upon the Force, draining it into his muscles. The Kiffar rotated the man’s fist till the knife was pointing back at him and with a quick thrust, plunged the dagger into his throat. The Trandoshan reared back, clutching at the wound as he screeched out. The sound slowly died to an unsettling gurgled before he fell, covered in his own pulsing, warm blood.

Tisto laid panting, the durasteel cool against his pounding head. It took a moment before he remembered what he was doing, his purpose here, and what his partner was facing. Shit, Diy!

---

Her feet kicked at nothing, only managing to knock over the dropped briefcase. Her hands grasped at the giant’s thumb, trying to pry it from her throat to no avail. She gasped, choking upon the lack of air in her lungs. Diy could feel her limbs growing weaker, the familiar darkness encroaching upon her sight, threatening to lose consciousness. Kark...Tis...to…

“Tisto?”

She must’ve managed to croak his name out loud. The Human laughed a deep chuckle that hinted at some nostalgic reminiscence. He ran a hand through his disheveled grey-brown hair before pulling her closer, dark brown eyes narrowing gleefully.

“Tisto Kingang? That’s a pleasure,” he uttered more to himself as he dropped her to the durasteel street to cough on the filtered air of the Matron. Picking up the briefcase, he smoothed out his shirt, now covered in the grime that coated the streets and a few tears from where her pistol had caught on the fabric.

Diy didn’t pay too much attention as he pivoted around to leave, presumably to find Tisto, with her lungs feeling like they were on fire. So she didn’t notice when he halted in his tracks, the twitch of the corner of his mouth in amusement.

“Just the man I wanted to see, all grown up little Nameless?”

Tisto stalked closer towards the Human, his hazel eyes lightening as he heard the name of his former gang — his home for much of his life. They narrowed to angry slits when they fell upon the azure tattoo of an akul, now exposed on the man’s chest from his ripped shirt. An Azure Akul, rivals of his from once upon a time. That’s why this man looked familiar. He had seen him pummeling his mates to death, watching from behind fiery explosions. Why he wanted terraformers no longer mattered to him.

“Kurgave Bandhugh,” he growled, gloved fists clenching tightly.

The Force licked at his anger, beckoning vengeance — dead men are the best enemies. It fueled his steps as his stalk turned into a sprint. Kurgave followed suit, shedding the briefcase to pull out a serrated vibroblade. They raised their arms, prepared to strike the other down when two shots rang out.

And Kurgave stumbled. He gave a look of surprise, touching the burnt hole in his side — a second in his shoulder — before collapsing to the ground. Tisto’s gaze darted from the body to the outstretched arm of his fellow Kiffar. She gave him a look, face scraped up but still, a grin wore on.

“Finish yer sloppy seconds later,” Diy panted, pulling herself up to her feet and limping over to the briefcase.

“You killed him!” Tisto exclaimed, his teeth gritting as all that rage within had nowhere else to go.

Green dreads bounced as she rolled her eyes. Walking up to him, Diy flipped her pistol around offering the hilt towards him, an act she doesn’t do lightly. “He’s not dead yet.”

Tisto stared at her and the pistol. Finally, he grasped the weapon and turned back towards Kurgave.

“Right, point it at ‘im and pull the trigger!” she called over her shoulder as she unlatched the briefcase.

“I know how to fracking,” he pulled the trigger, “use a gun!”

“Sure ya do, Green Cheeks. Can we go now?” Diy whined playfully, showing him the transformer. Lucky choice. “I want to get paid and soak in the bath. Wanna join?”

Tisto stared firmly down at her as she leaned in, keeping herself a couple of inches from touching him as asked. He reached out and grabbed the briefcase. “No.”

“Boo, yer so fun,” she drawled sarcastically stretching her aching limbs as they walked through Chute Town leaving the slew of bodies behind them.