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.

Ahh, Wretched Hive of Scum and Villainy: Mobile Edition, Erinyes thought.

Chute Town was as noisy, crowded, and chaotic as any other black market Erinyes had seen. Signs brazenly advertised wares that most shops wouldn't think of admitting they sold. The "drugstore", for example, sold actual drugs. "Murder Alley", the main drag featuring arms merchants, prominently displayed its name on a banner Erinyes walked underneath.

Most days, spending the afternoon here would've been a pleasant diversion. Today, it would be a shift in the Godless Matron's political landscape.

And it all started at the boarding ramp of a beat-up little JumpMaster 5000.

"Good to see you, Foxen," Erinyes said. She glanced around the much taller man, expecting a second form, and was surprised to hear the ramp retracting instead. "Where's Flyndt?"

Busy, Foxen signed. A moment passed, in line with how he normally composed his sentences. The pause persisted for another beat, however, suggesting he had no desire to elaborate on the circumstances.

"Oh, okay. Well, tell him I said hi." That was odd. From what Erinyes knew, the duo were usually inseparable. She glanced Foxen up and down, and noticed something else odd. "You look... rumpled." His shirt wasn't pressed, and he looked like he hadn't slept since their mission together on Kyasis.

A flash of irritation echoed through the Force, louder even than the violent twitch in the bags under one of Foxen's eyes, before both of them were brought swiftly under control. It was the most Erinyes had ever seen Foxen emote.

Another beat of silence passed.

Erinyes knew better than to poke at a nerve right before a mission; it wouldn't do to have her partner stuck in his own head at a critical moment. Instead, she turned and beckoned for Foxen to follow her into Chute Town. "I assume you got the target brief." Erinyes half-turned as she walked, reminding herself to keep her eyes on Foxen so she could see him sign.

Confirm. Sinjar's data will be valuable. Thank you for contacting me, he said. After a pause, he added, Will find your people, too.

"They're already dead. Sinjar's people turned them over to the Hutts." Erinyes scowled as she pushed her way through the hustle and bustle of Chute Town's crowds. "What do you know about the Anoobas?"

Animals. Stupid name. Gang's as bad. Muscle for Sinjar's sentient-smuggling operation. 23 confirmed members. Muscle: 2 Duros, 5 Gamorrean, 3 Human, 4 Nikto, 3 Trandoshan, 4 Weequay. Accountant: Ronhys Arar, Givin, former Rang Clan codebreaker. Leader: Sinjar, obviously. Muun. Moderately influential in Chute Town. Highly ambitious. Suspected—now confirmed—sympathies towards the Hutt Cartel. Another pause. Anooba territory starts 193 metres ahead.

Erinyes snorted. "Maybe you should've briefed me instead. Sinjar karked where he eats, so we're going to wipe out him and his gang to prevent others from getting similar ideas. Whatever data we find about his sentient-smuggling network is yours, for your investigation. Any questions?"

Negative. One request, however. If you see a single-edged, matte finish knife with a trailing point of no more than 45° radius, a blade length between 380 and 400mm, and a black and metallic gold handle between 175 and 200mm, with an overall width of 50-75mm tell me.

"Uh, sure. Why, is it a clue or something?" Erinyes asked.

One of my outfits has an unfilled sheath, and none of my current knives accessorise properly. When Erinyes opened her mouth to answer and no words came, Foxen lifted a brow-ridge. Do you not do the same with lightsabers?

"It would take a small moon's worth of kyber crystals for me to build that many lightsabers."

With that, the conversation paused until Erinyes and Foxen reached the Anoobas' territory. The first sign of a change in control was a scrap-metal arch rising over Murder Alley, covered in messy, muddy-green and red splotches of graffiti clearly meant to proclaim ownership. The next was a five-storey building—a sight that struck Erinyes as bizarre, given they were still aboard a ship—covered in gaudy banners announcing it as "ANOOBA HQ".

"When we go in, cut off Sinjar's escape route, then work your way up from there. If he tries to run, bring him back to his office on the top floor, alive. Try to leave anyone who isn't in Anooba colours alone, but if they take a shot at you, they're fair game," Erinyes said as they approached the building.

Confirm, Foxen signed.

Two Trandoshan guards with concussion rifles—maybe a sign Sinjar was expecting a visit from the Brotherhood, giving his muscle weapons a lightsaber couldn't deflect—stood at the building's front double doors. Erinyes and Foxen strode up to them, seemingly without a care in the world. "Hey Scaly, I'm here to see your boss," Erinyes said.

Both Trandoshans turned to look at her, raising their weapons slightly to match the sneers on their faces. "Our boss doesn' want to see y– hrk!"

"Did it sound like I was giving him a choice?" The smell of burning flesh wafted up and over Erinyes' face, and she flicked her now-ignited lightsaber upward to free it from the guard's body. A thud and a clatter issued from the ground beside her where the other Trandoshan had dropped his concussion rifle and collapsed, bright arterial blood gushing from the juncture between his neck and shoulder and his arm dangling uselessly. Foxen stood over his victim, beskar dagger in hand and an utter lack of emotion in his eyes.

The sight chilled Erinyes a little, honestly. She'd met plenty of people in the Brotherhood who enjoyed killing, and no small number who were aloof from it, but no one who wasn't deeply disturbed were capable of feeling nothing.

Well, at least he was on her side.

Erinyes yanked on the building's front door, and to her surprise, it opened. "Let's go."