Roused from a fitful sleep by raised voices, she blinked awake, staying silent and unmoving. She was part of the morning routine now. Every morning Kaufmann shouted at his wife, and every morning, his wife shouted back.

Every morning, after their shouting match over a nutritious breakfast of crumbly soy bacon and chalky powdered eggs, Kaufmann stomped his monstrous frame down the basement steps, passing right by where she lay hidden in the darkness. He would stay in the basement, deep inside a protective labyrinth of crates, kegs, and general junk, until his wife stomped downstairs to resume the shouting match.

As they shouted at each other, she scooped up her pack and darted soundlessly up the stairs. Not that the Kaufmanns would have been able to hear her.

At the top of the stairs she entered the tiny kitchen, passed quickly through the musty bar, and exited through the back door, making sure as always to lock it behind her. A chill ran through her as she stepped out into a poorly-insulated hallway, and she wasted no time, setting off at a brisk pace and pulling her hood up over her head and face.

The hallway was damp and poorly lit, tiny orange bulbs only illuminating suite numbers. Every so often, she would step in a puddle of unknown liquid, or feel something crunch and squish beneath her boot, or trip over broken paneling and exposed wiring. Though she came through Corridor T-17 often, something new was always broken.

What started as a hallway eventually opened up to a large enclosed space. Flashing neon signs advertised highly-rated merchants. At least three stories of kiosks were stacked on top of each other. She had rarely been above the third level, which was mostly for pricier items: ship parts, weaponry, electronics, people...

She kept her head down and pulled a small metallic blister pack from a pocket, pushing one of three pills through the foil. She pinched it and popped it in her mouth, swallowing it and tucking its brothers back into their spot. Swallowing heavily, she tightened the straps on her pack and zig-zagged through the crowd.

Dancing expertly through the swarm of people, it was as though she didn't exist. Her long fingers snaked easily through coat and pant pockets, purses, backpacks... Even a woman haggling with a vendor didn't notice the small hooded figure pluck a bundle of bills from her bosom. There's a first time for everything...