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.

With tensions running high, Chute Town was far more volatile than it would have been otherwise. Several of the gangs had been stepping outside their territory of late. As yet there had been no outright acts of aggression, though the perceived slights had been steadily mounting for weeks. The cracks in the dam were beginning to show. The crew of the Godless Matron just needed to apply pressure to the right place at the right time to trigger an outright gang war.

To that end, a bounty was put in place. The premise was simple enough. The Herald would grant a measure of clemency to whomsoever cashed in the ID tokens that had been planted on several individuals at random. Such a prize was without measure for not just the gangs of Chute Town, but the denizens themselves.

Mune sat above the maelstrom of people of Chute Town. He observed their ebb and flow, a force all its own that swirled and flowed through narrow streets and alleys. The place, to the young hybrid, was an amazing, turbulent thing. Faces, all different, many dialects and languages a cacophony to the ear. The scents, a confusing bouquet to wrinkle the nose. He watched the bustling crowds shop what he heard called Murder Alley. Incredible, he thought to himself in delight. His ruby eyes burned with excitement, he could not recall ever seeing it’s like before, such a thing jammed into the belly of a ship. The tension here, was palpable.

The Savant pulled his hood up over his ears. Below, he caught the flash of red hair and the sense of another Force user. He watched for but a moment before the soft crackle of speakers drew his attention elsewhere. Monitors went to static, to the image of the Herald. What was more, is he saw the attention of the sea of people shifting to regard the image as much as he was.

“Attention. I repeat. Attention.”

Mune regarded the herald’s image with a sense of unease. His hand closed on something in his pocket that did not belong.

“I, Herald of the Brotherhood, offer to you, the denizens of Chute Town, a unique opportunity.”

The speakers crackled. Mune met the eyes of the digital image above, his eyes narrowed. She wouldn’t… His ears perked under the weight of his hood. Of course, the Savant knew the answer already. Of course she would.

“Guests among you carry a particular token, one that comes with a degree of clemency from I, the Herald, on behalf of the Brotherhood. Hunt them, retrieve those tags by whatever means, and cash them in for your prize.” The woman spoke.

“Of course you would…” He muttered.

He saw the woman he noticed before tense within the crowd. It was an interesting game the Herald played at, he thought in irritation. The legions of people that flowed in the town below knew not who actually carried the token, necessarily. They would be paranoid not only of each other, but of the unfamiliar faces among them.

“I’ll play your game then.”

He grinned impishly, rolling the token between his fingers before leaving it securely in his pocket. He dropped from his perch into the crowd, cloak whipping about him. He let himself be swallowed into the flow of bodies, just another amongst the many. He cut a weaving path. The crowds grew more boisterous all around him as the power of the Herald’s words worked their magic on gang members, on the civilians, until the excitement reached a feverish pitch. He saw from the corner of his eyes fights already breaking out, a man’s fist pulverizing the face of another.

How fast things escalate… Mune kept on target.

Even as he came closer, he felt the Force signature fade. His pace slowed. Did she decide to hide herself? He wondered at it, perhaps she believed him a threat? He no longer had a visual, he had to wonder at the tactic. Were they to fight one another? He gave his head a shake to clear his thoughts and grinned again. “Another layer to an interesting game, so be it.”

Recycled air was being pumped through the air ducts, but it did little to stifle the acrid scent of the commoners and vagrants that crowded Murder alley of the Godless Matron. Maenaki hardly stood out in the mass of throbbing bodies, her luxurious dress sliding through the muck and garbage as she confidently strode through the throng. Her seafoam eyes flit from face to dirty face, her lips bequeathing small smiles to each person who met her gaze.

The “Seltron” saved her best grin for those who scowled or ignored her entirely and for those who were suffering. Part of her wished she had more time to spend idling and getting to know the inhabitants of the station, but her priorities were clear. As the Herald’s voice echoed over the sound system, Maenaki realized why her Clan had sent her here. She stifled her ego and slowly pulled the Force over her like a shroud, suppressing any trace of her abilities from the senses of others who were watching.

And she knew someone was.

The Aedile caught the metaphorical scent of a Force user that was trying to keep track of her. Aside from the flash of a hooded figure who followed at a distance behind her, nothing but her sense of him caused her alarm. But she knew he was there and heaved a sigh, keeping her pace steady before turning into the adjacent alley. A swarm of bodies clustered together between the narrowed storefront walls. The Seltron could feel the excitement for confrontation well up inside her. Her heart began to race as she spun around, standing in the center of the path, and stared down the man who followed. Faceless mundanes passed between them.

Maenaki narrowed her eyes, scanning the area in a single glance before settling her eyes back on the hooded man.

Several armed beings to the left. Dumpster. Vendor. Identical tattoos of the Matron decorate the necks of the three closest to my right. One shot.

“Greetings,” she said just loud enough to be heard, holding the shiny token in front of her and taking a step back, “I assume that you have come for this?”

The stranger’s left hand moved to his belt and Maenaki bolted backward. She reached out to either side as she appeared to stumble, slapping her palms against two of the Matron’s crew members. Although the physical contact was not necessary for what she was about to do to them, it was required to get the crowd’s reaction. The Seeker's eyes widened into a panicked scowl as looked at the man to her right, graciously allowing him to help her stand then moving smoothly behind him.

"Protect me," she whispered, voice heavy with the weight of the Force. Each man reacted immediately, muscles tensing and pushing civilians out of their way, moving towards their new prey. Shards of rage ignited inside their minds like a bomb. The third man came up and Maenaki backed away skittishly, causing the other two men to gesture to the hooded man into their defensive formation. Although the last seemed generally confused, he trusted his compatriots. It was not their first fight together. The sailors started down the hooded figure as though he had just threatened their mothers and all their credits.

The Seltron used the meatshields to duck into the crowd, concealing herself from view, as she slipped inside a building and crept out the back. Shouts and the sounds of breaking things behind her indicated that the fight had already started.

Mune slowed his pace, watched the approaching men. Interesting, he thought, quirking his head to the side as he studied their approach. Knives were brandished, and fists, and angry looks. The hybrid laid his ears back against his skull, a bit put back by the reaction of his fellow Force-user. “I’m Mune! Nice to meet you too!” He shouted after her before any further conversation was cut off by a fist flying at his head.

The Rollmaster side stepped, feeling the balled up fist brush the rim of his hood. He snatched the man’s elbow and drove his free hand up into the exposed elbow. It gave with a sickening snap at the joint. Mune kept the momentum going, brushing past the man before giving him a quick kick to his posterior, sending him crashing through a kiosk of pottery and fine ceramics with a loud crash. He felt the other two directly behind him, felt the grze of a knife just missing his dropped right shoulder. He dropped a foot back between the other man’s legs, shifting his center of gravity and driving an elbow into his attacker’s solar plexus. The air exploded from his lungs, then it was lights out when the Savant’s fist drove up into his jaw.

Mune rolled forward before the man’s weight could land on his back. All around him, chaos was the order of the day. Cries and shouts, a wild mass of bodies rushing in all directions. The confused third man hesitated before the hybrid.

“He is carrying one of the tokens!” Came a shout from the crowd.

They don’t know… they are assuming, he thought irritably.

Whether they knew for sure or not, they were closing in. The Savant sighed heavily. He drew the Force tight about him, feeling it crash against him, a rising tide that threatened to swallow him whole. He let it envelope him, his fingers of his right hand flexed, and he concentrated the power there, feeling it like a wild animal caged, needing to rip its way free. He drew the the hand back then thrust it down into the ground at his feet. The wave exploded outwards, an invisible shock of power that send dust exploding through alleys and streets. Men were sent hurdling into walls, thrown to the ground with grunts and cries of shock.

At the wave’s epicentre, Mune burst into motion. He threw himself into the air, grabbed the edge of a balcony. He levered himself up and over before he continued to scale the short building to vanish onto the roof top.

Maenaki wove her way through the crowds, smiling wryly to herself. She had to admit, she was quite pleased with the results of her trick. Wind whipped past her, carrying with it a cloud of dust that tangled her hair and left her dress a mess. A glance over her shoulder revealed the crowd dispersing in its confusion. Coughing of dust out of lungs, stumbling with eyes temporarily blinded. Oh, he is good, she thought pleasantly.

She glanced upwards and saw the hybrid vanish over the rim of a building to disappear from sight. “Slippery fellow, he did not even have to kill anyone.”

With a soft chuckle she turned to continue on her way. Mune blocked her path, his face hidden within the shadows of his hood. An illusion, a quick and brief one, but enough that she managed to only just miss the man slipping behind her.

“You are?” Mune asked softly. At the slightest flash of confusion in her eyes, though slightly winded, he offered his name again. “My name is Mune, I am sure you likewise have a name?”

“Maenaki,” She answered, unsure what to make of him, though refusing to let her mask of composure fail.

“A pleasure to make your acquaintance.” Mune gave a slight bow of his head.

The crowd had already begun to converge once again upon them. They were strangers among a sea of faces. Suspicion of carrying the tokens was all for them. Mune grinned impishly. “Someone dragged us into a fun little game, don’t you think? Shall we thus, make the best of it?”

Maenaki smiled at Mune’s polite demeanor, admiring his skill and willingness to have a conversation rather than be combative. She unconsciously twitched her ears as she considered her new “Friend’s” observed abilities and noted their similar situation. She decided not to run. Instead, the Seltron placed one hand on her hip, nonchalantly lifting and then quickly dropping her shoulder.

“I’m not overly certain how fun it is, being hunted while I’m here with diplomatic intent, but it is certainly interesting.” Maenaki paused, brushing her hair from her face, “However, I’m glad to have met such a polite and talented acquaintance.”

“Are you insinuating that you’re not interested in playing the Herald’s game?” Mune asked, tilting his hooded head to the side and watching as she cocked a slender red eyebrow.

“I do not tend to join games I know I cannot win and, I’m afraid, I don’t believe I would be much of a match for you.” She shrugged again, gesturing at the gathering crowd and their suspicious looks the two Force Users. The Seeker stepped forward, holding her hand out in an invitation for him to walk with her. Mune gave a slight bow of his head and made an “after you” motion. Maenaki took his offer, giving him a grateful smile as she fell into step beside him.

“I’ve seen that you’re not exactly defenseless,” Mune noted. Maenaki smirked at that, but her smile was short lived as she saw, from the corner of her eye, several ruffians quietly point in their direction.

“We have drawn attention. May I suggest that we remain together? I can pay you, should you deem it necessary.” The Seltron cast a suggestive smile at the man and quickly added, “My token for example. Or dinner?”

Before Mune was able to answer, the crowd was suddenly converging on them. Shouts rang out through the cacophony as one of the Matron’s sailors was heard behind them.

“Care to be my escort?” she asked quickly, picking up her pace and keeping low as they pushed through the crowd. The way she asked him, the small flash of her teeth as she smiled, how she held his eyes and the elegant taper of her voice made his heart flutter - if only for a moment. Which was all Maenaki needed. Her suggestion rang like a demand from the Force itself, radiating through his being like a gentle caress and drawing an agreement from his lips before he realized it. He offered her his hand, getting another stunning smile in return as she grasped it and allowed him to pull her lower. Moments later, they continued racing through the throng.

They did not get far before Maenaki was snatched around the waist and wrenched back into the sea of faces, her gasps of frustration combining with the slapping sounds of flesh violently colliding with the ground. As Mune spun around to see where she had ended up, he heard a primal scream and saw a flash of blinding white light followed by the bulk of the crowd trying to shift away.

The Savant pressed forward, edging his way into what should have been a brawl. Instead, Maenaki stood in the center, violet lightsaber blazing in one hand while the other was cast out in the direction of a man who lay twitching on the ground. Two others were down as well, groaning with agony.

“I thought you weren't a fighter,” the Savant called over the raucous noise, grinning impishly.

“I said that I’m incapable of taking you on. A few weak mundanes are no problem,” The Seltron said, smiling as she spoke and keeping her eyes on the crowd. She edged towards Mune slowly, keeping her back to him but making sure to give him a glance over her shoulder. “But this is a bit much, even for me. Wanna lend a hand, sweet-stuff?”

The hybrid watched the crowd converging, ruffians all. The tokens were never meant for he, or her, but for these folk looking to make their crummy little lives better. He saw the man rushing his new companion from her left, he escaped her attention, focussed as she was on those coming from in front.

Mune closed with Maenaki. He had the man by the wrist. The woman twist to see the knife that slashed the air, shredding Mune’s hood, but the hybrid proved quicker and the knife missed his cheek though barely. Maenaki drove that same man back with a well placed fist, introduced firmly to his face. He crumbled back into the crowd, and both Dark jedi were freed to defend their position again.

“I hope you do not plan on using that lightsaber.”

Maenaki held her weapon ready. “And dare I ask why not?”

“Well… they’ve only pulled knives, it seems a bit much to pull a saber on them. They are thugs, no more.”

Forward the men charged, a knife in the hand of one, an axe in the hand of another. Then Mune saw the blasters being drawn. His voice whispered through the mind of his companion, ”Blaster fire about to come from two o’clock and three.” His mind already calculating and piecing together tactics. He drew one of his swords, the hissing ring of durasteel shrilling through their ears. The blaster fire came and Maenaki deflected the attacks harmlessly away. Mune drove the pommel of a sword into the gut of the unarmed man, the air erupting from his lungs before Mune took him out of the fight with a quick cut to the man’s achilles.

How desperate they must be… to pin themselves against two Force-users for the slightest betterment of their conditions. Mune thought bitterly.

“Your left!” Maenaki called.

“Abode, to the right.” Mune warned.

Both shifted their positions, Maenaki’s saber brought high to deflect the fresh blaster fire. Mune dropped low and drove his sword through the right thigh of the man Maenaki warned of. Mune grunted, his mind sharpened, he lifted the man even as he slid his sword free. Over their heads he was sent sailing into the two men to first have drawn their firearms. Together the three men went tumbling back into the crowd with scattered cries of surprise from the maelstrom of bodies. The Arcanist could not help but grin at the tumbling knot of bodies.

“We need to extricate ourselves I think… else we’ll be overrun. These people are desperate.”

“I find I must agree with your analysis, sweet-stuff.” Maenake scanned the sea of people for a breach they could make use of. The crowd was growing louder, more violent. The surge of bodies closed like a trap to claw at them. More blasters were drawn and levelled at them.

“The game is losing its charm…” Mune muttered, sheathing his sword to exchange it for his lightsabers. Brilliant, pale blue light erupted forth in a cascade of energy. Mune gave both weapons a quick spin. “I highly recommend you all step down! The Herald may be lenient with you for getting this lady’s token… but I certainly will not be lenient with you if you so choose to move in upon us!”

Mune reverse his grip on his left hand saber, bringing the forward blade horizontal before him. Maenaki fell into her own Makashi stance, holding her saber at the ready. Then they moved. Quickly they shifted position, Mune taking up the position the woman vacates to take his even as blaster fire comes down upon where she had been. Mune’s weapons crackles and flashed and hissed even as Mune spun and weaves and deflected every blast away from their position. He was quicker, his two sabers allowing him better defense than the one Maenaki had bought them.

Forward she charged, cutting through one, then another, aiming to disable her attackers. A saber thrust through a thigh, a quick cut to a hip, taking an arm off at the shoulder. She wove elegantly through them, carving a path even as Mune covered her back. Together they cut their way through the crowd, amazingly, no one was killed. Finally, breaking free into a wider avenue, they bolted, leaving the screaming thugs behind. None would lend chase after seeing so many downed by the Dark Jedi.

“So… I suppose you want the token for helping me out?” Maenaki asked softly.

“The token? Why would I want that? I have one already.” He pulled the one from his own pocket, showed it before he stashed it once more.

She nearly stumbled in their flight through the quieting avenues. “Then why…?! Dinner?”

“Sorry, you are not my type.” He offered her an impish grin.

They escaped, together, though Maenaki could not for the life of her know if she had won or lost this one. The man grinning from ear to ear left her and they once more vanished, anonymous upon the Matron. Mune, for his part, could not wait to see what game came of his visit next.