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Slippery Slopes

Steph Zenima

Guest
S
Nar Shaddaa

Home sweet home. Or maybe home awful home, I can't imagine that you would sell many door mats bearing that slogan but it was true. You can talk about your Tattooines, your hives of scum and villainy but in truth the desert world had nothing on the Smuggler's Moon.

Stephanie Zenima was seeing this for the first time.

The veil of addiction had been lifted and sobriety gave her new vision, a horrible vision, the woman was finally seeing what the moon she called home had to offer. Poverty. Addiction. Filth. This new-found clarity had turned her former playground into her nightmare.

A pang in the back of her mind, everywhere she looked was a reminder of her former life. They say addiction never truly leaves, and this rang true for Miss Zenima. A craving on the tip of her tongue, just visit her old haunts, just relax, have a drink. Maybe something more. No. Shake it off. You've been doing so well.

It's true, the woman just flat-out looked healthier. From the absence of sores and scabs on her face to the fact that for the first time in her life she was sitting at a healthy weight. It had been gruelling, at times she thought she was going to die but Havoc Squad supported her throughout all of those gruelling ordeals, even if she had attempted to seriously assault them in the throws of serious withdrawal.

“KRIFFIN' 'ECK, STEPH, IS THAT YOU?!”

Oh god. Old friends. A pair of idiots so malnourished that their body had started to eat away at their brains. It wasn't like Zenima was any better. Sobriety doesn't create intelligence, or grow back teeth for that matter. She turned on her heel to face the voices.

“Aye, it is,” she grinned with those rotted teeth.

“Ya little schutta! Where have ya been? Ya get busted?”

They were a man and a woman, a gruesome twosome, just browse a few pictures on Faces of Meth and you get the idea. They were just part and parcel of the poverty package. They didn't have faces to be described they were the norm of the lower levels. The faces of many.

“Somehin' like 'at.”

They could see that she was clean, it shone through that much. She was more of a human now, less of the violent animal that they known before.

“Here I was, finkin' you was dead, mate! Let's go get a drink in ya! Celebrate!”

As if addicts needed reason to celebrate...

@[member="Popo"]
 

Popo

I'm Sexy and I Know It
Character
Popo's control of Nar Shaddaa's underworld was expanding. Slowly but surely, local gang leaders and crime bosses were either signing on with the Hutt or learning what happens when unorganized thugs and hitmen meet highly trained and armed security and mercenaries. Granted, all the Republic knew was that suddenly, the crime levels were dropping and the underworld was growing quieter by the month. It wasn't that Popo was trying to eradicate the criminal underworld, but to tame it. Crime only worked in the shadows. Off the grid. Hidden from polite society and those who would see it wiped clean. No visible crimes meant there was no evidence. No evidence meant no investigations. No investigations meant that Popo could rake in the profits from organized crime without worrying about the Republic meddling in his affairs.

Granted, the Republic inspected his factory and shipyard in the system quite regularly, but there was nothing there to find. Tenloss, for all intents and purposes, was completely clean in every way, shape, and form. Popo made sure of the fact. It wasn't the company the Republic needed to watch. It was what happened around the company, not within.

Lately, Popo had been pouring resources into gaining control of the Spice market here. He'd been successful so far, but some of the local Spice dealers, at least the more powerful ones, were holding firm in places. Popo had to take a different approach for this, one with more subtlety. If he sent Tenloss Security in, even disguised, Republic officials might notice. That meant more bribes or face an investigation and Popo hated spending more than he needed to. For now, it was inch by inch instead of street by street. Hopefully, things would soon change for the better...

@[member="Steph Zenima"]
 

Steph Zenima

Guest
S
Zookers

Sounds like hookers. Sometimes has hookers. Hookers that can dance.

On their way to that hallowed destination they caught up. Steph revealed her calling as a brain-damaged commando, the adventures she had been on (that she could remember) and the epic brawls that she had been a part of. The woman was like an elderly veteran telling her ultra violent tales to her grandchildren.

On the other hand Tash and Chaz (which was now their names) had no good news. Grim updates regarding who had been arrested, who had been killed and who had overdosed. Standard.

“You buyin' then, Miss Commando?” Chaz said, blunter than a spoon as they entered the neon encrusted establishment known as (and run by) Zookers. For clarification, Zookers was a morbidly obese Rodian who was well known for the brutal treatment of his girls, I won't go into the dirty details but he's got a firing squad for the dancers.

“Ya, bit short recently, ya know?”

Steph shared a grin with old friends, “Aye, sure.” This was typical. Drug addicts. Mooches. The two go hand-in-hand. “Grab us a booth, ken,” she said before making her way to the bar. No doubt the rounds would be on her all night.

@[member="Popo"]
 

Popo

I'm Sexy and I Know It
Character
Zookers. One of the many bars and places of ill-repute that was too small to deal with initially, but too big to let alone now that things were more stabilized. Popo knew that it was in small places like this that people plotted and dealt with one another. It was also a source of revenue and a place where interested parties could buy what they sought, albeit with a small and limited selection. The Hutt wasn't so greedy as to control every little bar, brothel, and Spice den on the planet, but things with the potential to grow and expand... those he wanted. Not for money, but for control. Expansion meant power and profit which, if it wasn't in Tenloss or Cartel hands, meant competition. This Popo couldn't abide in any form.

For this reason, a small number of thugs burst into the seedy bar and proceeded to wreck things. No one stood up or fought back. No one said anything. Despite their rag tag and thuggish appearance, they were bulkier than they should be, meaning they wore armor underneath their clothes. Their weapons were new, clean, and the thugs held them with ease and practice borne of use and training. They moved as a team, not as a mob, dealing with potential threats immediately and supporting one another.

The patrons knew resistance would result in a cracked skull, or worse. Despite their appearance as 'thugs', most knew what they were. Tenloss Security. Popo the Hutt's private army. He was taking over the planet's underworld and they would either deal with it or learn what it meant to cross a Hutt.

@[member="Steph Zenima"]
 

Steph Zenima

Guest
S
Action! Excitement! Drama!

Well, no actually, this was a standard day. Whether it was a takeover, protection racket or otherwise this sort activity was just another piece of the Nar Shaddaa pie and there were correct protocols. The majority of people occupying Zookers at that time rightly put their hands on their heads and kneeled down on the ground, Tash and Chaz were amongst those.

Steph stiffened.

Had she been spiced out of her mind she would have just dove straight into the midst of the thugs and probably would have gotten seven shades of crap kicked out of her but she would have loved every moment of it. This was her last addiction. Violence. When this woman was born fate could have had so much planned for her, but in the end all that remained was violence. Clean or not, Steph Zenima would still fight and she would relish it.

At least that was one hunger that she could still satisfy.

Slowly she began to kneel, that was until one of the goons got an inch too close on their path of destruction. Like a jack in the box she sprang up. All this pent up frustration. The sobriety, her former mooch addict friends, the lack of action. She leapt onto that thug and sunk her rotten teeth into his face, her head wrenched back and she took a chunk of his nose with it.

Go on. Try to crack that skull.

@[member="Popo"]
 

Popo

I'm Sexy and I Know It
Character
Nine automatic sub-machine guns snapped up in unison, trained at the small woman. The wounded man staggered back as he tried to stop the bleeding from his face. The men circled around the woman, weapons trained on her torso. The only reason why they hadn't killed her and half the bar yet? It was against orders. A massacre in a seedy, lower level bar? That would draw attention that bribes may not fix and silencing the voices would be too expensive and may not work.

The Sergeant realized this and calmly lowered his sub-gun and drew his pistol. Tenloss Security generally tended to carry lethal rounds only, but officers were trained to carry mercy slugs in side arms or to have their blaster pistol set to stun. This was half to aid in target arrests and half to shut the arrested individuals up for the trek back to the holding cells.

The the Sergeant circled behind Steph as the rest of the squad moved in as if to take her down. Finding the opportune moment, the man raised the pistol, aimed the weapon, and fired a mercy slug at the back of her head.

This one was a trouble maker. She'd either rot in a cell or become an asset. He was following orders set down by Popo. Troublemakers were often seen as an asset, with the right leverage.

@[member="Steph Zenima"]
 

Steph Zenima

Guest
S
That felt good.

Euphoric even.

The now noseless man reeled back in horror as the blood spurted from his face. Words couldn't describe how brilliant it felt. With trembling hands the man reached up to feel what damaged had been done, upon discovering that his beak was very much absent he emitted a terrible gasp, upon noticing that Zenima had just swallowed something, that gasp became a scream.

Don't worry, mate, they can craft you a new nose out of ass-flesh these days.

It was only then, after her moment of pure elation that she even noticed the circle of blasters surround. She stood there with a smirk, goading in nature, it screamed worth it to everybody who cared to look.

The average person might question her motives. That's because the average person is, well, average. Steph Zenima is a creature of stupidity, and that that moment, that brief glimpse of ultra-violence she felt normal again. Since landing back home on Nar Shaddaa she had felt subdued and abnormal, but now she felt like home.

Was this to be her one last hurrah?

No, no it was not. Upon receiving a mercy slug to the back of the skull the woman dropped one knee. What? Have you felt this girl's skull? It's like twice as thick as a normal skull to make up for the lack of brain inside.

“Did ye jus' brain meh wi' a bean bag?”!


@[member="Popo"]
 

Popo

I'm Sexy and I Know It
Character
The sergeant didn't respond verbally. Instead, his response was four more mercy slugs from the base of her skull to her tailbone along her spine. It might knock her out, but what it was supposed to do was cause temporary paralysis long enough for a few guards to bind her hands and feet and gag her tightly to stop the biting.

As the man fired the mercy rounds, the rest of the squad waited to dash in. As soon as the woman hit the floor, they'd move.

@[member="Steph Zenima"]
 

Steph Zenima

Guest
S
I'm not feeling the love from the sergeant, y'know?

The shots along her spine were something else however, a spasm brought her from down on one knee to face down upon the floor. A grunt. Mercy slugs were only a mercy from death, not from pain. Her back didn't appreciate the assault but I have a feeling the the goons weren't going to care about that peculiar discomfort.

As soon as she hit the floor they moved in. They were far too well-trained for Nar Shaddaa, not the average rag tag gang experience that Steph usually had the pleasure of disrupting.

They cuffed her swiftly and more importantly gagged her. Being worried about biting was one thing, sparing yourself from her garbled threats and all-capital letters rants about smashing things up was another. Zenima drooled a little bit in protest, yeah, that's right, you tell it to the man. Show them how much saliva you can produce.

Yeah.

The butt of a sub-machine cracked against the back of the woman's hardy skull, it was around about this time that dearest Stephanie decided to take a nap. What a coincidence, no?!

@[member="Popo"]
 
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