Cold eyes watched her as she lounged on the Order shuttle bound for the planet, DJ taking delight in the disapproving stares of the officers and techs on board. She'd never fitted in, and she'd never cared what they thought. Now she was leaving she had other things to concentrate on. To feel the kinks unwind and to begin to feel the familiar thrum of excitement through her blood just before a job. Her old self was returning, the one that relied only on her wits and talents. A less safe existence, perhaps, than on the Finalizer, but it felt good. Like an old jacket, worn in and familiar. A little like the one she was wearing in fact, stroking a finger down battered tan leather. Finn's loss had been her gain. He'd escaped the First Order, maybe he was lucky. For this to work, she might need a little luck. To pull off one of the biggest jobs of her career. And Hux would have everything he ever wanted. And the thought sent a tangle of conflicting emotions through her, too complex to tease out the individual threads. There was exhilaration there, but other things too. Something like fear. Machines and data were easy to understand. People, not so much. "Never underestimate a client," Maz Kanata had told her once, her large, strange, eyes fixed on her. "Especially," she'd added with her distinctive deep chuckle,"especially if you are fucking them." It was good advice, a small smile lighting up her face as she idly twisted the black bracelet around her wrist, tracker reactivated on Hux's insistence. She wondered if she would listen to it. The shuttle dropped out of the skylanes to one of the smaller hub spaceports in Sector H-37, ejecting her from the Order without a backward glance. It was the sort of neighbourhood where speeders and transports didn't hang around, barely landing before firing off their engines and taking off. Too many jackings, too many people with too little to lose and looking for an easy score, even from the Order. Within seconds DJ had merged into the heaving mass of Coruscant civilians deep into the mixed residential and retail sector, lost from sight. At the 5,000th level you were an elite member of society, living above the clouds. On the 300th you were taking your own life into your own hands. The air on Coruscant, was almost a physical entity to be chewed through at the lower levels. Thick and resinous with the pollution and stench of a city that spanned a planet. That's if the locals didn't get you first. The walkways were filled with the detris of Coruscant society day and night. Some walking rapidly, head down, minding their own business, trying not to attract attention. Others, shuffling, more bundles of rags than the creatures hidden underneath. This far down there was no security services. But through the stench and rubbish business was thriving, coloured signs advertising all sorts of goods and services - the biggest for things that were illegal in most of the galaxy's systems. Crime thrived, and that was what DJ was banking on. There was only one place for the items she would require, and only one person twisted enough to sell them. The walkways that cut in to the sides of the building were badly lit at these levels, the daylight struggling to slink through the closely packed structures. The air was dank and rich with the scents of unwashed bodies and excrement and piles of rubbish, some of it still living. Light from neons from the occasional doorways posing as store fronts. She'd found lodgings 100 floors up - high enough to slightly reduce the chance of getting murdered in her sleep, but not so high that anyone would ask difficult questions. Her clothes were too fine for street trash, Finn's battered jacket only giving a certain amount of dishevelment. Her weeks on the Finalizer hadn't dimmed the expression she'd crafted over the years, strongly suggesting that tangling with her would be a lot less fun than her looks implied. This far down, traders and the poor didn't bother with windows, there was nothing to see anyway through the grime. The wall was pitted with evidence of previous altercation, marked in vivid colours with emblems if the various neighbourhood chains that claimed authority over the floors. Every few standard metres a door was set back into the walls, scruffy and battered. The door she stopped in front looked much like any other. Perhaps originally red, it's surface was marked with scratches and craters flash burns from old blaster bolt fire. She went to knock as a small window slide open in its centre. "Yes?" she couldn't see the face if the man who had spoken. Strong Coruscant accent in tandem with a not-quite human lisp. "The Old Lady sent me." Which wasn't strictly true of course, but he was unlikely to know that. She'd been before on shopping trips for her, what was one more time? Even through the dark she could sense eyes looking her up and down. The window slid shut with a bang and the door slide open. The room was small and bare, a dim halo of light coming from small ornate lamp on the large table that was the only furniture in the space, dominating the back wall. Sitting behind it, hands placed neatly, and openly on the desk's surface was the shop's proprietor. Pilo Sleazbaggano's antennapalps twitched as she approached, his humanoid face set into an expression of enthusiastic welcome that was less than reassuring. Pilo was the latest in a long line of Sleazbagganos to run the family business, although two generations ago they had branched out from death sticks and moved into a more profitable line of business. "DJ, lovely to see you again, I had heard you and the Old Lady weren't the best of friends? Perhaps I was mistaken?" His antenna trembled as he spoke, tasting the air for danger. DJ replied with a lazy smile, pulling out a small bag and letting to drop with a profitable sounding clank onto the desk. "Your sources lead you wrong again, Pilo. I'm here on a little business of her behalf. A small job that needs a special kind of thing. Your fee would of course reflect the short notice. Think you can help me out?" She maintained the smile as he regarded her, head cocked as her took his time figuring out whether she was telling the truth or spinning a line. Either way, that bag had sounded mighty full. DJ had banked on his greed, and the bet paid off. Whatever you need my Dear." One press of a finger tip and the four black drab walls slide away revealing the merchandise behind. Rows and rows of shining weaponry, back-lit to highlight the silver sleek lines and deadly firepower. Massive percussive canons, the finest of the black market. Blaster rifles and pistols of all sizes. Some distinctively First Order. Lines of proton neatly arranged on shelves, like children toys. Anything anyone could want if they wanted to start a war, or end one in a hurry. But that wasn't what had caught her eye. On the right hand side, tucked in by the corner was a dull black box. It didn't look like much of anything, but what was inside was exactly what she had come from. She pulled out a small square of card and slide it across the table towards him, "I've made a list."
Letting the door close behind her, she stopped and stretching, re-adjusting her jacket, giving her a subtle chance to check her weapons. Thin monomolecular blade, slipped into the line of the seam of her right boot, slim and deadly. A parting gift from Hux, as romantic as she'd expected. The sensor-proof holdout pistol she'd stolen from the Libertine and retrieved from Opan was tucked into the back of her leather trousers. Two tiny finger-blades sewn into the lining of Finn's jacket, just in case. And in her inner breast pocket a small wooden box, emblazoned with the Sleazbaggano logo. For a family of black market thieves and death merchants, they still took pride in their products. The only way back up the levels was by turbolift, but this far down they were few and far apart, separated by a few hundred metres of stinking walkway. She could see the sign for one far ahead, the familiar rectangular symbol glowing in the gloom. There was little between it and her, it wouldn't take her long to reach it. No, there was nothing between them, she realised, throat suddenly dry. The walkway was empty. That set the tingle at the back of her neck up a notch. Even at this time of day, between the legitimately employed heading off up-level and the death stick peddlers emerging from their holes, there should have been people about. Shuffling through, begging, looking for scraps. But this was a ghost town. She was tempted to run for it, but her first instinct was very rarely the right one. Instead she stopped and listened. Calming her breathing, letting the Force flow out and through her. From back and behind, footsteps approached, getting nearer. More than two from each end. Heavy treads. Well armoured, coming from the two side corridors that intersected with the main walkway, the one in front forming a T junction before she'd hit the lift. And from in front, the footsteps were as recognisable as a finger print. Short, quick with a slight off-timing of a limp. Her hand slipped to the back of her trousers and pulled out the blaster. There was nowhere to hide or, the wall facing her blank, non residential with doors opening from the walkway on the other side of the section. THere was no way out, unless she jumped over the barrier and into the skylanes hoping to land on a passing speeder. But she was no Jedi, and that was suicide. All she could do was wait. But that didn't stop her chest constricting with a wave of panic, as her eyes flitted from the three cybernetically enhanced troops who appeared behind and in front of her. Their distinctive red cybernetic armor and Red Spot head pieces the hallmark of the Guavians. Last to round the corner was a small man, red leather worn and tattered in places, fortified with random pieces of armour. It suited him better than the badly fitting suit on Canto Bight, but that didn't make her glad to see him. Fuck. DJ forced herself to relax, sending Bala-tik an expansive fake smile that didn't reach her eyes. "Bala, this is a nice surprise. On holiday?". He didn't move, resting his hand on the blaster hung at his side in unspoken threat. His small features curled into a sneer. "No more running DJ. No more games. You managed to hide behind the Order, a clever move. For a while. But now your time has run out. You're a dead woman." "Drop your weapons. Search her." At the command two Red Spots ripped the blaster from her hand and roughly pulled the jacket off, flnging it on the ground. She had a bit of a reputation of finger blades so she couldn't blame their wariness. Hands patted down her sides and legs, down the boots before they nodded to Bala-Tik and retreated. She was clean. Leaning against the cold metal railings, she tried for a nonchalance she didn't feel. "Bala, don't be like that. It is a little misunderstanding, that's all. Kanjiklub have spun you a story. Sure, I did a little job for them, but nothing we can't give back two-fold. Let me talk to the Old Lady and we can sort this whole thing out..." Bala-Tik gave her the kind of dead-eyed stare she'd seen before in other people's eyes, just before things went bad. Like he was already staring at her corpse. This wasn't about business, he wanted to hurt her. And more. The realisation sliced through her like a blade. There was no talking out of this, no business agreement. For reasons known only to herself, the head of the Guavians, the Old Lady herself, had hung her out to dry. For once, DJ hadn't seen that coming. There'd been misunderstandings before, of course, but DJ had always been too valuable to kill. Now, she realised, she wasn't; The thought surged adrenaline through her. All she wanted to do was run, but the Red Spots didn't give her that option. With their cybernetic enhancements they were too fast, too well armed. Too deadly. But she wouldn't give him the pleasure of seeing her fear, betraying her vulnerability. Half the battle of surviving was staying calm, not letting panic and fear overwhelm you even when your palms were slick with sweat and heart hammering. Pain is pain, but never let them see you flinch. The remembered words from her training didn't exactly console her. Heart hammering she clung onto the positives, onto hope. Between now and getting back to his ship, she'd come up with something. Escape would be easy, there were a million ways to cause as distraction and get away in the crowds on the higher levels. Use the knife still tucked into her boot to cause enough damage to loosen the noose around her. The closest Red Spot to Bala backtracked a little, closer to the lift and sent a blaster bolt through a door control panel. Shit, she could have run for it, she realised, hidden. The door slide open, the almost robotic figure disappearing inside. Within seconds he dragged out a stunned creature, a female Klatooinian, child at her breast, another sobbing at her skirts. The family shambled away down the echoing walkway. "What do you want Bala?" it took her everything to keep the tremble out of her voice. "Oh, want I've alway wanted. And I'm going to enjoy it, and then you are going to beg me to kill you." He spat on the ground, "We do this here and now. Bring her." Baka-Tik watched as she was dragged struggling into the stinking quarters, before following her in.