Raider Jon Silvon vs. Lontra Boglach

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.

Jon missed the Matron. With all the chaos back in Kiast, he hadn’t had the opportunity to walk her corridors and breathe in the atmosphere. So, when Asani had asked for volunteers to go looking in search of new ‘business opportunities’ he hadn’t hesitated.

House Sunrider needed credits, after all, if they were going to build that shiny new exploratory fleet. If getting those credits meant cleaning house at every gambling den and casino that a lucrehulk could fit, well, that was a duty he would just have to fulfill.

He was in the process of raking in the latest batch of credit-chips, his astromech Artemis beeping in a way that signified laughter, when he felt a heavy, gauntleted hand on his shoulder, and sighed.

‘Let me guess,’ he said. ‘The boss wants to see me?’

It wasn’t the first time today he had won a few too many credits too fast, and the proprietor sent his muscle to rough Jon up over it.

‘Not exactly,’ an older, gruff voice said, with the kind of clipped professionalism he wouldn’t have expected from a bouncer. Jon sat up straighter and looked over his shoulder.

‘Jon Silvon,’ said an older looking man in what was quite recognizably Jedi armor, but this man wasn’t from the Praxeum; Jon’s eyes quickly scanned the figure, and fell on a familiar sigil hanging from his belt.

Vizsla. Karabast.

Artemis let out a discomforted whining noise, but the man seemed to ignore her, and Jon put a hand to stop her from doing anything just yet.

‘There’s a bounty on your head. Someone by the name of Zakfein is willing to pay a lot of credits to see you brought in on charges of suspected terrorism, espionage, and high treason.’

Double Karabast. Zakfein, the kriffing old spider.

‘That,’ Jon began, raising his hands from the table placatingly, ‘Is all one huge misunderstanding. An identity mix up, actually.’

‘Fascinating,’ the man said, pressing down hard when Jon tried to rise from his seat. ‘You can tell the judge all about it. After I bring you to him. Now, are we doing this the easy way, or…?’

He let the implication hang in the air. Jon sighed. He had been having such a nice afternoon as well.

‘Alright, alright, Mr. Law Man, you got me,’ Jon said calmly. ‘I’ll go, nice and quiet.’

‘Smart move,’ the Vizsla Jedi said, though Jon noticed he neither loosened his grip, nor did he take his hand off the discomfortingly large blaster pistol hanging at his side.

He let Jon stand, slowly, hands out and palms open, and started leading him out the door. By now, most of the patrons had made themselves scarce, and whatever actual muscle patrolled this den wasn’t dense enough to get in the middle of whatever this was.

Jon kept one eye on the door and the other on the dirty, cracked mirror that showed Artemis still sitting in the corner, one eye glowing red as she slowly positioned herself. He waited until the line up was just right before speaking.

‘Can I say one thing, before you haul me off and shove me in carbonite?’ Jon asked. The Jedi sighed.

‘Make it fast.’

‘Can do: Suppression Protocol.’

The man frowned in confusion, before his eyes widened.

The funniest thing about precognitives, Jon had learned over the years; they’re shockingly predictable if you know what you’re doing.

So when Artemis’s torso opened up to reveal a trio of long barrels pointing out, the Jedi’s Force-honed survival reflexives took over, and he acted before he thought.

He spun around, lightsaber igniting to deflect the incoming slug. Mistake. As soon as the burning orange plasma made contact with the projectile, it exploded outwards into a dozen rubber pellets, more than one of which pelted him in the face while the others ricocheted off every available surface.

Jon took off at a run while the Jedi was distracted.

The first thing you notice about Chute Town isn’t the noise…it’s the heat.

It pressed in from every direction, thick and surprisingly damp, clinging to your skin and clothes like the insides of a tauntaun. You’d think it smelled bad on the outside but then you get past the triple-reinforced blast doors into the thick of it and wish you never experienced it at all. That’s how Lontra entered this situation, already wishing he wasn't there, then he took a bucket of rubber pellets to the face from a black, trashcan-looking droid.

Only a master Jedi could maintain his patience in this environment…and Lontra hadn’t earned that distinction yet.

At the time of the attack, Lontra had been standing across the bar away from the droid. By the time he was done shouting in pain from the burns to his face, Lontra had closed the distance to the BT-1 Assassin droid to within two table lengths. Unfortunately, the Jedi was versed in droidspeak and this just made it easier to make out everything the bastard said.

How’d that serving taste, bruiser? The droid squawked in mockery. Did you get notes of burnt tire with a side of pure regret?

As a former CorSec officer, Lontra had endured plenty of indignities throughout his life. He’d been treated inferior by diplomats, swindled by smugglers, and once broke bread with a slaver whose idea of truce resulted in Lontra being caged, naked, with a shock collar on. He had met all of it with a patient, calculating cool.

This was the first time he felt that his resilience cracked…to the delightful squeals of the droid in between pumps of his trio of explosive launchers.

The first salvo had rattled the gambling den, a chorus of patrons had dove for safety beneath tables and chairs while knocking over drinks and chips. Everyone or thing was now ducking for cover. The second round had sent peeking eyes back beneath cover while Lontra had recovered his senses enough to join them. By the third salvo, the Jedi’s jaw had tightened so hard his teeth hurt and he bore a snarl behind the bright yellow bracer shield he presented for protection.

For force’s sake, Lontra scolded himself as he felt the stopping power of the droid’s arsenal against the shield. This was supposed to be easy money. Walk in, look intimidating…maybe even wanting a fight, and then seize the target before heading home. Now you are sparring with a can-opener.

Artemis chirped another set of taunts at the man but he was no longer listening. The gleeful, electronic cackle already sounded far too pleased with itself. When Lontra was able to sidestep the next assault through a careful reliance of the Force, he was finally within striking distance of the droid and was about to make it count.

The little mech now looked like it was cowering in the corner with its dome swiveling in panic. Lontra wrenched one of the gun barrels loose from the mech’s grasp and quickly pointed the end back into the opening. With the kohlen crystal shield firmly sandwiched between the droid and the man, a single trigger pull ended the threat.

When Lontra stood back, what remained of the droid slumped to the ground of the bar. Sparks sprayed from the debris and kept coming with a stubborn persistence that Lontra figured the droid would have cackled about. Or, more likely, he would have cackled about the fact that Jon was now nowhere in sight; meaning, he had made the sensible choice to run.

Lontra could respect that decision.

Emerging from the gambling den, Lontra took a moment to take in his surroundings. The air tasted metallic, tinged with engine exhaust and something faintly repulsive - the smell that lingers when too many bodies are packed too damn close together. Overhead, the ancient lighting flickered in uneven intervals, washing Chute Town in a tired glow that never quite reached the bottom floor. Shadows pooled in the gaps between buildings with a menacing vibe to them.

As the busy crowd moved around Lontra, he felt his eyes half close as he took in the sensations around him. Filtering through the dozens of bodies, all moving in different rhythms, he hushed the overlapping voices into a constant murmur. Bargaining, laughter, and even the threats being made quieted to something more gentler while Lontra scanned for a sense of panick.

And there is was in the crowd, a being that was scared, running, and looking over his shoulder before leaping to the ground below.

To murder alley they would both go.