Gellart stood in the jostling train as it hurtled down the mag-tracks. Bracca's evening sun strained to pierce the thick clouds of smog and ash that choked the air. He had just finished another grueling shift in the yard - this time stripping some old cloudjumpers for scrap metal. No hyperdrive to salvage, which was bad and good; bad because he needed one to repair his ship...but good because he could focus on what he was about to do.
Train screeching to a halt at the next station, Gellart briskly stepped off, scanning the near-empty streets of the hab-zone. This wasn't actually his stop - his living quarters were on the other side of town. Glancing down the street, the rapidly setting sun reflected off the distant "SECURITY - BLOCK 2592" sign affixed the corporate enforcement agency's district headquarters. His target. Sauntering down the darkening street, he dipped momentarily into an alley. "Rigel, I'm here."
Yellow lights flickered to life as a smaller astromech droid emerged, half-hidden in a pile of discarded oily rags. Chirping and beeping enthusiastically, it hovered over to the spacer's side. Gellart rolled his eyes. "I'm fine. Worry more about yourself - I told you to hide. Anyone could have seen you in that spot." R1-GL bleeped in amused protest as it followed along behind, Gellart already having set off once more at a determined pace. "Whatever. Let's just get this done quickly."
From having watched the building in previous "free hours" before curfew, Gellart learned that most - if not all - of the enforcers left the building around this time, most of whom went out for drinks and carousing. However, they would almost certainly have some kind of automated security inside. A skeleton crew would soon be stalking the streets alongside curfew bots to catch unruly employees and charge 5 years of credit debt in punishment. He had to work fast, or risk a similar fate.
