A cesspool of the downtrodden, the Refugee Sector on Nar Shaddaa is home to both the unfortunate and criminals alike. Offering their protection for credits, the criminal organizations that control the sector tax the populace outrageous sums. Unable to provide these fees, refugees are forced to work under hazardous conditions producing glitterstim and adrenals for their overseers. Some of these refugees are addicted to the substances themselves—for which the cartels increase the price of their tithes in exchange for a share of the product.

Crammed with stalls and makeshift hovels, several of the sector’s inhabitants find refuge on the streets and in the alleyways. Those who managed to avoid the dangers of drug production can be found selling their limited and often defective goods to others. Behind these stalls a selective stock of black market wares is hidden, reserved for mercenaries and thugs.

Littered with garbage, it is obvious that no maintenance droids have been programmed to maintain the sector. The surrounding towers have fallen into decay, bits of debris falling every so often into the middle of the street. The duracrete streets are covered in a film of filth and chemicals from the abandoned warehouses, making movement cumbersome when traveling through the most inhabited areas.

Patrols armed with blasters and vibroswords come through these areas regularly, making a show of force to advertise the merits of their ‘protection’ while extorting the occasional shopkeeper. Screams and shouts are a common enough sound, which is never in the refugees’ best interests to interfere in.

An air of desperation and a faint odor of raw sewage filled Zujenia’s half-Ryn nose as she made her way down the Nar Shaddaa street. Compared to the clean and polished district near the spaceport, this refugee sector was filthy and looked like so many war zones the Qel-Droman had seen. It reminded her of the damaged portions of Estelle City on Selen, everyday people trying to scratch out a life in the squalor.

A Rodian shouted at her from his stall of assorted trinkets in Huttese. The half-Ryn didn’t understand what he was saying, but knew a sales pitch when she saw one. Ignoring the street vendor, Zuj pulled her cloak closer to her body and kept walking, it was best not to attract too much attention. Satsi had sent her here to meet Turel on a critical mission to retrieve a Technocratic Guild engineer who wished to defect. Unfortunately, the engineer knew little of the underworld and chose the wrong smuggler to deliver her away from the Guild’s facility. The potential defector was now in the hands of a Hutt-affiliated trafficker of sentients who specialized in trapping unwary females into indentured servitude. The thought made Zuj’s blood boil.

Turel had the details on who the engineer was and where to find her, Zujenia needed to link up with him to complete the mission and escort the defector to Arconan space. The Qel-Droman was slightly nervous at working so closely with so senior a Lotus figure, who she had only encountered once before and heard several legends about.

Zuj’s thoughts were interrupted by her comlink springing to life, “gray, yo hoo, stop walking.” She knew that twangy droid voice anywhere, it was grinder.

She ducked off into an alley and keyed up the com to respond, “Grinder? Where’s, um, raven?” The half-Ryn nearly forgot Turel’s codename.

“He’s in trouble darling, you need to like a scalded loth cat to reach him. Raven is across the street in a gambling den. Go to the metal door in the alley, knock and say--”

Grinder was interrupted by the very metal door he was speaking of flying open and Turel running out of it. Blaster bolts flew out of the open door as he ran.

“--oh nevermind, there he is,” Grinder replied matter of factly. “You should probably go help him. I’ll be down in a sec luv.”

“Wait, where are you?” Zuj asked reflexively.

“On the roof.”

The Arconan drew her bo-rifle and ran out into the street toward the fleeing Jedi. The entire street took notice of the ruckus in the alley as a trio of irate Weequay poured out of the metal door in hot pursuit. Turel noticed Zuj and sprinted toward her, waving his hands frantically in the air for her to turn around and go the opposite direction.

“This way!” Turel uttered breathlessly as he ran past Zuj before she could turn around. Flustered, the half-Ryn shifted her bo-rifle to her dominant hand and took off behind the Odanite. He led Zuj through some side streets and into an abandoned restaurant. The pair stopped inside an empty kitchen.

“Frak!” the Jedi exclaimed. “How’d they catch me, it must have been that damn droid of theirs.”

“Um, what happened?” Zuj inquired as she held her bo-rifle steady at the door they had just entered.

“I’m losing my touch, that’s what happened. At least I got the creds.” Turel tossed a small sack of credit chips in the air, caught it and secured it to his belt.

“Wait, was the defector in there?”

“Oh no, I was just killing time. Thought I’d make a few creds while I waited. Their stupid droid caught me using my ‘lucky’ deck.”

Zuj was a bit taken aback, cheating at cards didn’t seem like the kind of thing a Jedi would do.

The Odanite collected himself and drew his blaster pistol, “the defector is a few blocks from here in a Hutt brothel. I need a physical description and your help to get her out. Oh, and we think Kendra Icasta and a team of huntresses are closing in. Fun times.”

Turel pulled out his own comlink. “Grinder, we’re at the fallpoint back.”

“Already on my way sweetcheeks.” Zuj heard a bunch of shouting outside the abandoned restaurant. “I think your gambling friends know we’re here.”

“Any plan here?” Zujenia asked, sandy tail flicking against her legs as she nods towards the door.

“Dealing with these guys, staying alive, and getting to our location sounds like a good order.”

The half-Ryn nearly lowered her weapon, having thought some more elaborate plan would have been said, and raised an ashen eyebrow. She was realizing her image of the man was larger than the reality. A fact she brushed away to focus back upon the growing voices and footsteps exploring the dining room. Inhaling a breath, the Qel-Droman prepared to shoot as soon as the door slid ajar. That same breath escaped suddenly in a silent yelp when a hand tugged her back against the counters to the right of the entry.

Turel pressed a finger against his lips just above his well kept beard. His green eyes flashed brightly as his non-verbal message of silence registered in Zujenia’s brain, and he focused upon the door. Breath barely audible to her own ears several inches below his face, the Odanite appeared to be waiting for their new company to enter. She gripped her weapon tighter, placing her trust in this well experienced Jedi.

Light poured into the dimmer kitchen, leaving a couple of long shadows to stretch onto the far wall. The three Weequay entered the grime and dust covered room, blasters first. A distinct smell assaulted Zujenia’s nose, the strong odor causing her to crinkle the chitin-tipped feature. She resisted the reflex to gag as she tensed when a tall male in the group turned around, his leathery facial features contorting with annoyance as the gamblers seemed to share a silent conversation. They didn't seem to notice the obvious pair by the door. Yet, the sound of electrical whirling and an object rolling into the kitchen had left Turel tensing his muscles. A small curse rolled under his breath. Zujenia, having finally clued into the visual illusion Turel had hid them under, mentally mirrored that same curse — kark!

The astromech had barely entered, swiveling its ‘head’ in their direction with the glowing red visual sensor narrowing, when a large figure charged into the room. With the unmistakable sound of metal onto metal, Grinder gripped the other droid by the sides and, with a great twist of his torso aided by his momentum, he threw it into the small mob. “I believe this is yours, sweeties!”

Two of the Weequay dived to the side as the third took the full weight of the droid to the head with a surprised look. He fell backward, out cold. The female spun as she slipped across the littered floor, blaster whipping around and firing a couple shots. Zujenia sprung into action, the Force raising the hairs on her skin in the proximity of the bolts — allowing her to weave barely past the projectiles. With a grunt, she hefted the butt end of her bo-rifle up, connecting with a crack into the woman’s jowls. The half-Ryn spun the weapon around and finished subduing her with another blow.

A volley of bolts exchanged in the background. Zujenia ducked reflexively as more crimson bolts sprayed over the room followed by a cry of pain. Her amber eyes darted to the others. Turel huddled semi-behind a large durasteel cabinet, looking unscathed. The magnaguard was waving a bloody butcher’s knife after the final Weequay, who fled through the door clutching his side — apparently deciding the credits weren’t worth the trouble anymore.

“Yeah, you better flake out of here!” Grinder’s mechanical voice snarked after him. He turned to his two humanoid companions who were dusting themselves off quickly. “We should probably make like the baked biscuit and roll out of here, huns.”

Exchanging nods, the trio briskly made their way towards the Brothel, mindful of their pace to lessen attention upon themselves.

The target brothel was in a noticeably better-kept block of the street than the surrounding buildings. It wasn’t the most upscale Hutt brothel, but it was still a Hutt establishment, and they did have a reputation to uphold. Everything from the neon sign over the entrance to the decor visible in the windows smacked of a business trying to appear far more upscale than it actually was. Turel knew better. He had grown up around places like this his entire life, and despite his usual light-hearted banter he was getting more visibly agitated as the trio grew closer.

Zujenia noticed her companion’s growing unease despite having just met him in person for the first time. “Is everything okay?”

Turel shook his head as if snapping out of a dream, “oh, I’m fine. Just running through how we’re going to get in there to get the engineer.” He turned to look directly at the hybrid, “do you trust me?”

The Qel-Droman was taken aback but nothing she knew about the Jedi’s reputation told her he was untrustworthy, “as much as I need to for this, yes.”

The Sentinel removed his blaster and lightsaber from his belt. “Give Grinder your weapons; I have an idea.”

“Are you sure about this?” Zuj inquired as she started to comply.

“I can fool the bouncers but not the droids and cameras. They aren’t expecting and aren’t prepared to handle Force users, but a bo-rifle is hard to conceal on a vidscreen.”

The Magnaguard collected the organic’s weapons. “Don’t fret sweetie; I’ll come crashing through the windows with your stuff if you call.”

Zuj wasn’t sure how she felt about Turel’s unfolding plan but it seemed more thought out than the last course of action he had proposed when she first ran into him. “So what’s our angle for getting in?”

The Jedi began to smirk reflexively, “we’re going to pose as clients.”

“Clients? Okay, I can work with that.”

Turel looked uncomfortable for a moment, “we’ll have go together, as in pretend to be a couple. These Hutt guys don’t take kindly to Ryn and if you aren’t, well, spoken for, they might try to--”

“--I get the picture.” The hybrid patted herself down and adjusted her outfit to be as presentable as possible. “Well, how do I look?”

“Quite exquisite actually, were I not a married man I would most certainly buy you a drink.” Turel’s swagger routine broke for just a moment, and he appeared just sheepish enough as he said that sentence that Zuj believed him. She exhaled and paused for a moment as she felt slightly flush at the Jedi’s compliment. Were she unattached herself she’d most likely welcome a drink from the Odanite. He was handsome in his own way, for a human.

“Okay, just follow my lead and I’ll get us inside. Remember, we’re a couple looking for a third for the night. Grinder, stay close to the back and wait for my signal.”

The droid feigned a sigh of exasperation, “how come I never get to go inside?”

“Because you’re a combat droid and they don’t serve droids. Sorry, buddy.”

“Whatever, I don’t need them. Just be quick okay? I don’t want to rust out here.”

---

Turel pulled Zuj close as they went through the front entrance, placing his hand on her lower hip. She jumped slightly at first, but then remembered it was all part of their cover.

“We’re a couple remember, try to act natural,” he whispered as they passed through the door.

“Just watch where your hands go,” Zuj bantered back reflexively. Mission or no, she had no intentions of getting felt up by a man she barely knew, even if it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. She made a conscious effort to have her tail curl around to Turel’s waist to make their pose look more natural.

“Yes, ma’am.”

A brass protocol droid approached the pair as they made their way past the bouncer’s security checkpoint. So far so good. “Can I help you, sir and madam?”

“Yes, my girlfriend and I here are looking for a third to spice things up for the night.”

“Ah, I see. I will inform the madam of your needs. Right this way please.”

The brass droid lead the pair deeper into the smokey, low lit interior, passing a few individuals who were already introducing themselves. Zujenia tried to take note of the descriptions of the ‘companions,’ though based on the crowd before them it would be hard to tell whether the lads or the lasses were. Hopefully Turel had a better eye for this, a small part in her head had a feeling he did. So, she needed to focus on keeping their cover.

“Have a seat, we will be with you momentarily with our selection of our wares.” the Protocol droid waddle away to speak with a dark, but sharply dressed human.

Zujenia’s lip nearly curled in disgust at the reference to sentients as ‘wares,’ but a light redirection from Turel to settle down on the lounge distracted her. His arm migrated from her hip to her shoulders. She crossed her legs before deciding to let one of them drape slightly over the Jedi’s. Their gazes cut through the room, scanning for their target.

“You had a name, right?” Zujenia whispered, “how likely will that aid us here? She probably is going under a different name, correct?”

“Mhm, but don’t you worry, the new ones have tells.” Turel shot her a wink before jutting his chin forward and planting that half-grin on again. The ‘Madam,’ she assumed, approached, a toothy smile scrunching the scar across her cheek.

“Welcome! It’s our pleasure to entertain you today,” she held a hand out and paused, to which Turel pulled the small sack of creds from his belt and laid it in her grasp. The woman continued on immediately. “We have quite a selection, these three are new additions eager to meet your acquaintances.”

Brought to attention by a wave of the Madam’s arm, three individuals step forward. A short Twi’lek, her green lekku marred with shallow scars and nips, stood suggestively beside a lanky young human who clearly had a keen interest in Turel. The third companion was a wide-eyed, woman with ginger hair. She fidgeted visibly and jumped at any brush against her being. None of them had any cybernetics that Zujenia could spot, However, her golden eyes flit behind the last lady, laying upon a dark haired woman engaging uncomfortably with another patron. A sheen of silver reflected light from above, as she adjusted her arm.

“Dear, I know how you like the red ones.” Turel promoted, setting a hand on her left calf resting in his thigh.

“I do indeed. However, I'm afraid she’s a bit too meek for us.” Zujenia drew a few more credits out, offering them forward before pointing towards the far companion. “I believe that woman over there will suit us.”

“R-right, one moment, Miss.” The Madam clicked her tongue in mild annoyance and pivoted to retrieve her the Arconan’s inquiry. Just in time for the room to erupt in debris and thick smoke.

Zujenia felt herself pushed towards the ground, Turel partially covering her. Screams, pained moans, and heavy breathing sounded throughout the Brothel. Durasteel panels and beams covered bodies and furniture. One such victim was the Madam they spoke with.

“Grinder...Grinder, tsk, come in, Rustbolts.” The Odanite thumbed at the commlink in his ear. The half-Ryn blinked as she watched him, hand pressed against her buzzing ear.

The defector!

Quickly, she lunged to her feet, nearly tripping on a board in the process. She yanked Turel after her and picked out a path towards were she last saw their potential target, spotting her crawling towards the exit. “Her. Name?”

“Darciia!”

The Engineer glanced over her shoulder, panic wide in her eyes before she bolts towards the entrance. She nearly made it when a hand darted from the smoke and latched across her throat.

“Target captured, sisters,” a Chiss woman hissed delightfully, wicked grin upon her face.

“Ken...dra,” choked out Darciia. “I...I…J-Jedi.”

The defector lifted a shaky hand towards the Jedi pair, stooping Zujenia in her tracks. Was this all just a trap? To lure in Jedi? Turel stumbled to a halt beside her, both hearing the audible crack as Darciia’s neck was snapped. Kendra Icasta red bang bounced as she turned to face them, several new women gathering from the damaged entry behind her.

“Objective two has begun, my sisters,” she announced. Turel and Zujenia slipped into their defensive stances themselves, wishing they hadn't left there weapons behind with —

Grinder’s dented, sparking form slid across the floor with a metallic clang, tossed by one of the Huntresses.

Ashla and Bogan be with us, Zujenia prayed.