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.

This wasn’t the mercenary’s first visit to the Godless Matron. Compared to the last time though, it would have been a vacation if not for the fact that she was there for business and not pleasure. Between its internal struggles and the external threat of the Grand Master — wherever he had disappeared to — Arcona was lacking in several key areas, including materiel supply. As the leadership of the Clan’s primary military arm, Qyreia had pulled some strings to look for less… customary means of acquisition. It might be a hub of villainy and home to one of the Aedile’s less-than-amiable acquaintances, but there were plenty of traders, and some of those traders were arms dealers.

Qyreia flitted through the shops, inspecting the blasters and their handling with particular scrutiny. A few orders were placed, but not nearly as many as the Zeltron would have liked. Try to sell me that cheap knock-off bantha druk, she grumbled in the sanctity of her mind. I need a bloody drink after a day like this.

What Chute Town lacked in décor, it had in personality. The dim lighting of the hangar that housed the ship-borne metropolis was punctuated by the glowing signs and advertisements of the myriad cantinas, bars, and even less family-friendly venues. Relationship or not, she couldn’t help but eye some of the dancers as she passed. Her choice of venue was a couple floors up, but such was the way of the tight confines of a ship. It looked lively enough that the drinks would be fresh and not spiked with drugs so that the pirates could add to their crews or their entertainment.

“Rum on the rocks,” she told the bartender as she took a stool. No sooner had her drink been produced, however, than some commotion behind her caused someone else’s drink to shower over her back and shoulders.

Turning to face the cretin revealed that she might be just a little outmatched. The tall, red-haired figure looked a little imposing, if a touch ridiculous with the way his dreadlocks billowed from his scalp. Kiffar, she noted upon seeing his facial marking. A soft clink brought her attention to his hip, where a slightly curved lightsaber hung. Oh goddammit, I don’t need to be dealing with some zealot choob-licker right now. With the mystery of the Grand Master’s disappearance still hot off the intel network presses, the merc followed her old policy that anything with a lightsaber was a possible enemy. She was usually right.

For his part, Tisto had tried to avoid the stumbling drunkard that had knocked him into the angry-looking Zeltron woman now standing before him. “I am sorry for that,” he said, offering a napkin from a nearby table in an effort to defuse the situation.

“No problem,” the woman returned a little too cautiously before turning to pay for her drink.

Tisto nearly missed the quick but poignant glance at his lightsaber before she turned to leave, her pace quicker than might be expected from someone just trying to avoid a brawl. What spatters remained of his beverage had already been paid for, so he wasted no time in following the red creature down into the streets. They were crowded with people, but it wasn’t hard to spot a Zeltron in a crowd, much less one so well armed.

“Miss! Wait!”

“Sithspit!” Qyreia hissed, turning her head just enough to see the Kiffar quickly closing the distance with his long stride. Breaking into a quick step and then a run only seemed to fuel his interest, and it soon became a race down the congested main avenue. Several onlookers cheered on one or another of the runners, while curious glances were cast from more than a few of the other denizens. “Leave me alone!”

“Then stop running and let’s talk this over like sane sentients!”

The blaster bolt that erupted at his feet seemed answer enough. “That was a warning shot, schutta,” the mercenary panted, her pistol in-hand as she ran. When he continued to follow, she fired off another shot, this time with deadly intent. When the red plasma erupted from his hand to deflect the bolt, it seemed all too obvious that she was in the wrong place at the wrong time.

It would have been far easier for Tisto to have disarmed her with the Force. “Seems we’re doing this the hard way,” he mumbled as he surged forward.

“You know shooting me is an uncalled for escalation, right?” Tisto asked as he was forced to deflect another shot. “It is also rather upsetting. For all you know, I could be returning something to you. I am, in fact.”

“I said leave me alone, choob-licker!” the Zeltron replied with a pointed look, blaster aimed at the Kiffar’s head. “I’m not karking around anymore!”

“Yeah, because that's not evident.” The biker held up a credstick. “I’m trying to return this to you. Getting shot just makes this far more annoying.”

A crowd had slowly gathered around the pair, moving with them and blocking off Qyreia’s easiest escape routes. She was forced to stop her slow retreat, but noticed that the lightsaber user stopped as well. There was a mix of cheering, hissing, and even a shout of “Take the damn credits!” from somewhere in the small audience.

Tisto stood quietly, holding the credstick in one hand and his lightsaber in the other. He watched as the Zeltron checked her pockets and lowered the blaster. “I didn’t drop a credstick,” she replied, pointing the weapon back at the biker. “So get the hell away.”

Tisto shrugged, not moving an inch. “You sure? That was mudleaf tea that was spilled on your jacket,” he explained, trying to defuse the situation. “It’s not easy to get out. At least let me cover your cleaning.”

There was a pause as Qyreia appeared pensive. “The drink that was spilled was cold,” she said, not lowering her blaster. “I'm going to give you one last chance to leave, laserbrain.”

“Two things,” Tisto replied, just barely blocking a blast, knocking it into the ground. The crowd panicked, and moved back a small bit. “First, mudleaf tea is drunk cold. It is absolutely disgusting when hot.” The biker knocked aside another shot that would have hit him in the chest. “Now second! Insulting and shooting a man you have never met is quite rude, thank you very much. Your language makes me look like a saint.” The biker was forced to block another shot as he took a step forward. “And you know what? Three, I am here trying to make sure you can get your jacket properly cleaned, so I don’t need this treatment from kung like you.”

Tisto took another step, hoping to get close enough to disarm the woman and slam the credits into her hand. As he did another blaster bolt flew towards him, directed at his heart. Acting on pure instinct, Tisto shifted to the right as fast as he could, getting shot in his left shoulder. Spots appeared in the biker's vision, and he fell onto his right side. He heard his credchip fall to the floor and foot steps take off. He looked at the injury, grimacing. There was a mark on his jacket, along with a small burn on his shoulder. Once again, he thought to himself, saved by the jacket.

Tisto hated that the blaster mark had burned his Knights of Allusis patch, but was thankful he hadn’t been more seriously injured. Despite his own luck, it didn’t stop the wound from hurting. He called on the Force, feeling it flow into his shoulder. The pain faded into the background, and Tisto flexed his left hand. He looked at the people around him. “If anyone can tell me which way she went you get that credchip,” he said to no one in particular.

Immediately, three men pointed towards Murder Alley. Tisto took off, hoping to catch up to the woman and give her money to pay for cleaning her jacket. Damn schutta shot me for trying to be a nice guy!

Just need to get to the ship, Qyreia told herself as she shouldered her way through the crowd. On several occasions, she outright vaulted some of the pedestrians, much to their chagrin, or hopped some of the more static décor along Murder Alley. The name seemed apt enough, given how most of the people that she passed appeared. When their heads started turning to view something behind her, the Zeltron couldn’t help but think that something was amiss.

“Hey! Stop!”

The mercenary glanced back just long enough to see the red dreadlocked mane of the Kiffar hurtling down the street. “Bloody buttfracking hell!” Qyreia redoubled her efforts, but the most she could do was keep the distance. “I shot you in the chest! What the frack?!”

As if to compound her confusion, the larger near-human’s movements grew faster. Rather than stick to the streets, he hurtled upward to the second floor balconies and walkways, careening toward the merc’s location with much greater ease now that the obstructions were reduced. While maintaining his concentration was irksome given the needs presented by the terrain, Tisto found it phenomenally easier overall. I might even be able to slow her down, he thought, looking for carts or crates that were in her path.

No sooner had he begun his search, still closing the distance, than he saw a dilapidated cargo speeder lingering to one side of the avenue. He hardly felt the sting in his shoulder and he stretched out a hand and willed the craft to skid noisily perpendicular to the street. The Zeltron nearly ran her face into the metal surface. The craft was too large to easily move around, so she dashed into the nearest side alley.

Much to her chagrin, it meandered only a little ways before it stopped in a dead end. That the structure was a brothel called “Deadlight” seemed just a little ironic.

There weren’t nearly enough bystanders to cause the ruckus that was walking up from behind her. “Arright!” she yelled, turning to see the Kiffar, still holding the credstick. Her rifle locked into the pit of her shoulder. “Who are you?!”

“I’m just trying to pay…” A bolt flew past his head and fizzled against a far wall.

“Don’t be playing that game with me, bub. Next one is going between your eyes.”

Almost out of annoyance, Tisto brought the red light of his saber up, nestled neatly in front of his face. “There. Now I am protected between my eyes. Can we maybe talk this out?”

Qyreia grit her teeth. “So what is it? Inquisitorius?” She brought her forward hand to her hip and pulled out the frag grenade, thumbing off the safety. “I know I don’t get along with the Sith much, but this is just weird.”

“Sith?” Tisto looked between the Zeltron woman and the red glow of his lightsaber. “Oh… I suppose you might see it that way.” Still wanting to end this calmly, he deactivated the saber and replaced it on his belt. “You know about the Inqs, so you’re Brotherhood, right?”

She eyed him warily. “Yeah. Where’re you from?”

“Odan Urr.”

Qyreia blinked a few times before, just as readily as she had prepped the explosive, she flipped the safety back on and returned it to its pouch. The rifle was still pointed in the Kiffar’s general direction, but at least the muzzle was more or less aimed at the ground. “Arcona. Name’s Qyreia.”

“Tisto.”

“Guess that makes us allies then, Tisto.”

“I guess it does.” He stepped forward with the credits still in-hand. “I don’t suppose you’ll take this now?”

The mercenary looked up at him, caution still in her eyes, but the faintest sliver of a smirk showed on her lips. “You know how many machine fluids I’ve gotten on this thing?” He still held out the chit. “Fine,” she said, grabbing the small device. “Don’t suppose we should get out of here?”

Tisto looked around at the inquisitive faces, some of which were gingerly palming blasters. “Don’t suppose you have a ship?”

Qyreia’s grin widened. “I do indeed.”

Tisto slid onto murder alley as his boots lost traction on a puddle of coolant. He put his hands out to the sides in an attempt to keep his balance, his deactivated lightsaber in one hand, stopping just short of crashing into a shop. He saw the woman who had shot him in the crowd, getting slowed down by the sheer number of people. She appeared to be several meters ahead of him, but her stained jacket and red skin were a dead giveaway. As was the blaster still in her hand as she pushed her way through the foot traffic.

"Stop that Zeltron," the biker yelled out, attracting the attention of everyone in the 'street'.

Almost immediately the shoppers and store owners reacted, opening up a path to the Zeltron while trying to block her in. Out of the corner of his eye, Tisto noticed other people moving into the crowd. Frak! I forgot about the Matron's crew, he thought, realizing his mistake in calling the woman out. I really hope she can get out of this.

The biker ran in, hoping he could get Qyreia to start running again. A cold sweat ran down his face, he didn't have much time. To his relief, he saw the woman start to push her way through the crowd.

"Fraking Kiffar!" he heard her shout, followed by the yells from the Matrons crew to stop.

Tisto ignited his saber, hoping that the weapon would buy some more time. The usual foot traffic parted quickly once the weapon was drawn. Panicked cries echoed through Chute Town. Tisto stopped his run, seeing even more of the Matron's crew approaching, and watched as the woman took off towards the hangars. The crew members drew closer, some pulling out weapons, others just shaking their heads in an exhausted manner. I don't want her to get away, Tisto thought to himself. But I don't want her in the hands of pirates either

"Look, guys," Tisto said to the approaching pirates, deactivating his lightsaber and clipping it to his belt. He moved near a set of crates, putting them to his back. "I just need to go and catch up with that woman. She hasn't done anything illegal. I just owe her some credits. I'm sure you don't hear that complaint a lot but..."

"Silence Jedi," said the lead pirate. "Your kind is getting quite annoying. We are going to take you and the woman to see the boss and just get this over with."

"Really?" Tisto asked, smirking. "Because she seems to be running away."

"Do you honestly think," the lead pirate replied in an annoyed tone, "That we don't have people waiting in the hangar?"

"Well," Tisto replied, calling on the Force. "Honestly, I was hoping you would have planned this out like the bad guys in holovids. I suppose you can cuff me now. "

"Thank you," the lead pirate replied, approaching.

The biker threw himself to the ground then, pushing his arms forward. The crates behind him flew forward, pushed by the Force, and hit the pirates around Tisto. Once the boxes had cleared his body, he pushed himself back up and ran towards the hangar. He pulled his holoprojector off of his belt and activated it, calling the ship he used to get onto the Matron as he ran. Someone almost immediately picked up.

"Tell Bell," Tisto yelled as he ran, "to get the ship ready to leave. Now!!"

The biker called on the Force again, feeling it rush through him as he picked up his pace. He made it to the hangar and saw that the woman was surrounded by members of the Matrons crew. Without thinking he leaped over the railing that separated the end of Chute Town from the hangar, pulling his lightsaber off his belt mid-jump. He slammed into one of the pirates to the right of Qyreia, activating his lightsaber.

"What are you waiting for?!" he yelled at the Zeltron. "Get to your ship!"

"I told you not to follow me laserbrain," she said as she followed his advice, running towards a YT-1300.

As she ran up her ships ramp, Tisto pulled another credit ship out from his pocket and called on the Force. He launched it telekinetically, sending it flying into her ship. At the same time, a shock stick was jabbed into his ribs. Pain flared across his body and he collapsed.

"Congratulations Jedi," he heard as everything went black. "You get to meet the boss."