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.

Chute Town, the Godless Matron. It wasn't the first time Waar Duum had set foot in the reformatted Droid Control Ship. Shroud Syndicate operations always seemed to bring him back. In fact, he dedicated a lot of his time to the Matron as he was destined to claw his way to the top, to build a reputation for himself in the midst of crime and scandal. In essence, he felt right at home. The fog of sentient traffic, the flickering neons, relentless chatter, and sleepless patrons, while overwhelming to many, was simply comforting to the hound of Clan Vizsla.

The make-shift city was a hub of villainy, the denizens were wrestled into compliance by a security force just as corrupt, if not more. They were slaves to the deepest pocketbook, their services, in no way impartial or just. Waar's vein of connections ran deep and his chirping Datapad prior to arrival indicated that his services were once again required. Typically he never met face to face with a contractor, he almost preferred it that way. He would receive a dossier with pertinent information, a drop off location and a price-tag. It was up to him to do the rest.

Vik Bors, Human, brown hair, brown eyes, scarred mouth, informant/snitch, ten thousand credits, dead or alive, last known location - The Godless Matron.

It was enough to go on, for now. He could always sniff out more details, though, the problem with Bounty Hunting wasn't necessarily finding the target. While it seemed cut and dry, what was perhaps more important, rare even, was being the first to find the target.

Waar, wading through the sea of riff-raff did an inconspicuous weapons check. His Oathbreaker, or as he called it in his native tongue, Aithaz Breuthanan, hung from the strap over his shoulder. His BR-5010 was still cradled in the holster on his right hip and his vibro-dagger was nestled against his right ankle. Careful not to get snagged, he held his long bone necklace against the chest plate of his painted black Special Forces armor and carried the helm in his off-hand. The stagnant air was thick with a humidity produced by machinery and bodies, stifling at the best of times.

His perceptive senses, the gut feeling he often got, persuaded him to reach out with a visual scan as soon as he reached a darkened passage that looked out over the entire marketplace. Being on the top level allowed him to see way more than if he were on the ground floor. The passage, despite being next to a Cantina, was quiet. He could finally take a breath. It was tucked away just enough for him to work. Choosing a position next to the watering hole wasn't just a coincidence, however. He always weighed his options and quickly realized that if, in fact, there were any witnesses, they probably would have been too drunk to notice, or even care about his presence.

Leaning against a protective railing, he slipped his helmet over his chalky bald head and his targeting reticle began to properly calibrate to his surroundings.

The hunt was on. Seconds turned into minutes, minutes turned into hours; three to be exact. Then, slithering through the crowd, Waar made out the visage of the slippery snitch. But rather than capitalize right away, he gave it just a little bit more time, and he was glad that he did. Emerging from the darkness, a few meters behind Waar's intended target, a set of familiar armor drew his attention.

Kano..

The newly appointed Aedile did not make his presence too obvious, the Rattataki just knew where to look.

It was only a matter of time.. Duum sheltered his excitement and slight frustration. He knew at that moment, the game had begun and he always welcomed the challenge. If Kano were half as good as he claimed to be, he knew that he wasn't the only tail, if he wasn't as good, Waar had the advantage.

"Let's see those skills of yours, barnan." Waar grinned as he used the Rattataki word for child to describe his colleague. "Let's scratch that armor, but first-"

Leaning back, Duum rested his back against the wall and with a smooth motion, careful not to draw attention, slid the barrel of his rifle onto the railing in front of him and leveled it against his shoulder. The targeting reticle within his helmet chirped as it outlined the head of the snitch but then shifted to the knee as Waar aimed to bait rather than kill. For now. Steadying his breathing with the Force, which was more instinctual than intentional, Duum rested his finger against the side of the trigger, only placing it for the pull as he inhaled and held his breath.

Now, said the Force and with lethal precision, Waar sent a silenced shot down range. A thud punched his chest as the slug tumbled through the air for maximum damage, travelling faster than the sharp sound of the discharge as it connected with the mark. Crimson essence sprayed from the exit as the slug tore through flesh, decimating Vik's left knee and rendering him a blathering mess as he screamed and fell to the ground.

The Mandalorian Aedile fearlessly froze in place and immediately swept his gaze upward while resting his hand on the handle of what Waar could make out to be a Westar.

The Rattataki's smile was hidden, but it was there, as his targeting reticle flashed over Kano's weaponry. Like a round of Sabacc, after the opening gambit, it was-

"Your move."