She coughed and prayed it wasn’t the start of the next fit. It was getting worse and she couldn’t afford another visit to the doctor, but he hadn’t been able to help her the first time, so it probably would have been a waste of money anyway.

Money; the last of it was dwindling inexorably since she had fallen ill. They had been living on too little for far too many days now. She only needed to look at her boys to know this wasn’t healthy. Neither was the bad air nor the lack of artificial sunlight. Nothing in this block was working as it should be.

Things hadn’t been good when they arrived on Coruscant all those years ago. Not enough work for far too many refugees, help from the senate never reaching the lower levels, at least not reaching the people who needed help. Somehow they had managed.

There had even been happy times, the twins had been born, they were a family.

Then came the Sacking. She didn’t really know what had happened on the upper levels, but it must have been bad. The impact the war had on the lower levels was devastating, although the actual fighting never reached them. There were rumors of occasional sightings of Sith hunting down fleeing Jedi, nothing affecting the lives of ordinary people.

What had an effect was the absence of police patrols. The neighborhood hadn’t been really peaceful to begin with. Circumstances deteriorated rapidly when the gangs grew bolder day to day. Fighting for territories they started a war of their own. As always it was the poor that suffered most. One night her husband simply had not returned from work. Somehow she had managed.

But now she knew she wouldn’t make it. She had taught the boys to read, and to write, and everything else she had been able to teach them. It had to be enough.

“If I had enough money, I would buy a speeder.” she heard Nik say.

“I’d buy a blaster, a big one. I would be able to protect us.” Nat exclaimed.

She frowned sorrowfully. Nat, he looked just like his brother, with flaming red hair, and eyes as blue as a summer sky. But they were so very different.

Nikeo was good at mathematics, Nateo was good at finding trouble, as she used to tease them. She loved them both. She had tried very hard to shield them from the influence of any gangs. She feared it wasn’t enough.

“What would you buy, mom?” Nik inquired.

“Hmmm, let me think about this for a moment.” She held out her arms and they came to her and let her embrace them.

“Do you remember the pictures I showed you? The ones of the sky, and the sun, and the stars?”

They both nodded.

“If I were rich, I’d buy a house on a planet with a beautiful blue sky and stars that shine at night.”

“Would we be allowed to stay up late to watch the stars?”

She ruffled Nat’s hair. “Of course! We would watch the stars every night.”

“Would the stars shine bright enough to ride my speeder at night?”

“Maybe, but you could buy a speeder with headlights, Nik. So that wouldn’t be a problem. “

She coughed again.

“Must be nice to see the stars for real.” Nat mused.

She had to let go of them as the next fit set in.

Everybody needed a dream. She hoped it would be enough.

@Adwynyth

"Yeah. But nobody else does, because you never leave survivors to tell the rest of the galaxy."

 

"I don't want to have fight the same person twice."

@alaurin Mallay sure doesn't seem to have much in the way of survival instinct (street vendor food, yuck!)

@bright I'm really enjoying Wynston's story. I am also absurdly fond of his inventory upon waking. It seems that the inventory is always a pretty good summary of how he feels internally even though most of it is external observation. It might also be obvious I'm in love with Pacha.

"Yes, but words starting with 't' don't lead to out-of-control behavior."

 

"Depends which words. Do you speak Huttese?"

"No, please, regale me with stories of the expensive things you've broken. It warms my Fixer's heart."

Why are you so awesome, Pacha? She does seem to be a really great agent for someone who was supposed to be "just a Fixer" that Good/Bad Memories where she managed to follow him then beat him back to the room was pretty great (of course leaving her jacket on the floor in her haste wasn't quite perfect) still she's pretty darn good.

The Failure piece had me worried right up to the point where he thinks "What the hell are you doing"

"Better than his own mother."

For Confessions I thought that was beautifully done but I was very happy for this regarding love

"There's always a choice. Or at least there should be. Otherwise it’s a bloody terrible system."

No wonder he avoided it. He clasped and unclasped his hands, staring at them for answers and not getting any. "How do you forgive yourself for being that stupid?"

@DarthSillyMonkey Interesting back story for an agent. I wonder why Wardenn's parents defected. The Interview piece had me giggling. And poor Makes, I know what it's like to have a nickname you hate.

@frauzet D: If you play through the smuggler coruscant line you get to see a lot of the resentment the lower level people (turfers) have for upper levels (cloud heads). I like this backstory for your BH.

@Lady-Jean

In the ensuing fight Maldecka drew two conclusions. Master Zarro had been holding back, way back, in all of their spars. And Maldecka never wanted to be on the opposing end of Master Zarro at full force.

@Leonara Interesting take on the end of the JK story. I agree that the decision to kill or save at any point in the story affects the Jedi. Something Satele points out after the JK's first kill.

@Lesaberisa Haha, the Vacation pieces were awesome. No Skadge is a vacation in my book and I grinned at the image of Scourge moping grumpily.

“It just feels like our lives are scripted, like they’re on rails or something.”

Jorgan = IHAVEABIGGUN *dies* I'm still dying. I may continue dying forever.

@Magdalane That story was just... d'awwwwwww.

@marissalf

From now on, she would be sober and unfashionable.

The Vector reunion was sweet, that it was orchestrated by Kaliyo was melty good, selfish reasons or not.

I'm having a lot of trouble keeping up with indexing this thread and I have decided to stop. The index is up to date as of this post but I will not be updating it any more. I will keep the prompt archive updated since I figure more people use that and it's just a once a week thing.

@Adwynyth:

Quote: Originally Posted by DarthSillyMonkey

I couldn't find the words for Older Brother/Younger Sister in Chueh, so borrowing an idea from Adwynyth I used Japanese[...]

Buh-wha? I had that idea? Well, if I did, you're very welcome. And if I didn't, I'll toss that at whoever's idea it was.

In an earlier Swaindrix story, you had used French, so it inspired me to use a real world language to fill a needed gap.

@Frauzet: Nicely done. As parents, we always dream of something better for our kids, and if we can't achieve it, we pass that dream on to them, hoping they'll achieve it and understand why we wanted that for them. Your piece caught all of that. Kudos sir.

Things had gone from bad to worse. Boss and Blizz had been out hunting down a bounty when they had gotten jumped in an alley. Now, Boss was down and beaten, his equipment broken, and being kicked around.

"This was the mighty hunter? Man, this guy's a chump!" The bald attacker said as he kicked Boss. He was huge.

"Yeah, I'd heard he had taken down some huge names. Must've been filling the holonet with garbage" This attacker was spiky haired, and it was pink. He was also huge.

"Whatever, let's kill him and take his head back to Jreely." A big, huge Nikto said.

Jreely! Jreely always taking Blizz's stuff! He not take Blizz's Boss!

Blizz got up and did a quick check of all his equipment. Everything seemed good. Blizz ran towards the attackers.

Get off of Boss! Blizz fired a shot that scattered everyone.

"Hey! What the... oh, it's him. Jreely said we might run into trouble with a Jawa" The spiky haired one said.

Blizz stood protectively over Boss. You leave Boss alone! Tell Jreely to leave Boss and Blizz alone!

"Oh really?" the bald one spoke, "and you're going to stop us?"

That's right! Big people mess with Boss, big people mess with Blizz too!

The Nikto looked at the others. "Fine! Get 'em, boys!"

Blizz fired off a shot as they closed in. It grazed the Nikto, but gave Blizz enough time to pull off Boss' gauntlet with the retractable blade and put it on.

Spiky hair swung at Blizz with a vibroblade, but Blizz ducked, then jumped up and delivered an uppercut to Spiky's jaw with the gauntlet hand.

Blizz landed and rolled off to the left, came up and fired off two shots with his blaster as the bald one jumped at him. The concussive force launched Baldy through the air and into the alley wall.

The Nikto fired a shot with his blaster, but Blizz activated his shield generator just in time. Blizz dove to the side to avoid the Nikto grabbing him, and fired in mid-air, catching the Nikto in the head and gut.

When Blizz landed, Blizz rolled away to avoid successive vibroblade strikes from Spiky, then rolled into him, popped the retractable blade, and drove it into Spiky's knee. Spiky went down like a sack of Bantha feed, howling in pain. Blizz no think you knee-d that no more.

Blizz quickly got to his feet and dodged Baldy's attempt to stab him with a vibroknife, "Stand still you little freak!"

Blizz started running in a spiral, peppering Baldy with blaster bolts, until he fell down dead. Blizz think this issue with hired bad guys. Always sleepy on job.

*WHAM!* Blizz got caught from behind and his shield generator sputtered out. Blizz was shaking off the cobwebs when the Nikto grabbed Blizz and picked Blizz up by the collar.

"I get it now! You're the reason this hunter has the bada*s reputation. You're his ace in the hole! You do the heavy lifting and he claims the fame!"

You no talk bad about Boss! Blizz work hard to make sure Boss happy!

"Well, too bad because now Boss is going to be un-happy" The Nikto grinned, right before Blizz swung the gauntleted hand under his chin and popped the blade.

"*Kuugggrrkk*" It went through the Nikto's mouth and into his brain. The Nikto seized up, then crumpled to the ground.

Blizz say talking with mouth full is rude. Blizz looked around and quickly ran over to Boss.

"Blizz, that was incredible! You *cough* saved my life, little guy *cough, cough*."

Boss and Blizz are strongest team! Boss no more talk. Blizz get you back to Mako. Get Boss fixed up quick!

"Blizz *cough* you're my new right hand man. *cough, cough* We're going out hunting together from now on."

Blizz lifted Boss onto the speeder. Thanks Boss! Blizz happy Boss take Blizz with him!

Then Blizz climbed onto the speeder and sped off to the ship.

*********************************************************************************

"Mako, what's the little guy doin'?" Drokk asked from the Captain's chair.

"I don't know Drokk. He was so excited when you guys got back. He rushed in here to tell me everything then crashed out." Mako sat in the co-pilot's chair with Blizz fast asleep in her lap.

"He didn't make a lot of sense, he was talking so fast. What happened?"

"Not much really. I picked up a bounty request while we were in town waiting on supplies. Something simple for a little extra cred. We caught up to the guy, and three of his buddies, these scrawny little guys, tried to jump us. So I taught them a valuable lesson and Blizz helped."

Mako winced. "This lesson... is it one they can apply in the future, hopefully?"

Drokk turned to Mako with a sour look. "C'mon Makes. You know I don't kill unless I have to or the contract specifies it."

She smiled, "Yeah, you're a decent guy like that. Can't say my name right, EVER," Mako said, annoyed "but still a decent guy."

Blizz jerked a little. Boss an... Blizz stron...ges..*zzzzzz*

It occured to me that if I saw things through Blizz's eyes, it might look like an 80's action flick. Thus the Blizz one liners.

Also also wik: I don't remember them giving any gender specific terminology to Blizz in the game, other than referring to Blizz as "he" but using it in a "that person" context and less of a "that male" context. So I always try to refer to Blizz as Blizz, which means I'm using a lot of Blizz.

... Blizz, Blizz, Blizz, Blizz, Blizz

....okay, I'm done.

@kabeone: turfers and cloud heads, noted thank you, and thank you for keeping the index up-to-date so far

@alaurin: thank you for taking over

@DarthSillyMonkey: Thx. I wrote this while watching my little son play. Suddenly writing this story wasn't as easy as it had seemed. As a mother I am glad there are things, that I can't really imagine. So I wasn't sure if I did this right.

Your story should put an end to any discussions on Blizz' tanking abilities

I like the dynamic of the fight.

This one is pure rl:

...What happened?"

 

"Not much really...

The toothpick in the corner of his mouth stopped moving, as the razor’s blade touched his scalp.

There was a soft tap on the door. He lowered the razor, and his left hand sneaked to the grip of the blaster sticking out at the back of his waistband.

“Hey, it’s me. Are you awake?” a woman’s voice called softly.

Mako.

“Yeah. Come in. The door’s open.” he answered.

He had tried to lock it, but the lock had been broken. It couldn’t be helped, but had resulted in a very light sleep, despite the chair wedged beneath the handle.

He adjusted his position so that he was able to see the door in the mirror. When Mako had stepped through and closed the door behind her, he let go of the blaster.

There was a soft rustle, as she placed something on the small table in the adjoining room.

“I brought a sandwich, figured you might be hungry too. Don’t ask me what it is, but I’ve had worse.”

She turned the corner and stood in front of him.

“Good morning.” she said with an open smile on her face.

He took the towel from his shoulder to wipe his hands. “Good morning. You shouldn’t go out alone!”

“Hey, no treating me like a child, remember?” she laughed.

“Ok, point taken. Where’s the sandwich? I‘m starving.”

“Finish shaving! You can eat on our way to the Mandalorian Enclave. We don’t want to have this Crysta Markon waiting for us.”

“I’d like to,” he replied,” but there’s not enough light in here. I wouldn’t want to ruin my Mohawk.”

She held out a hand. “Hand over the razor and sit down.”

“Do you know how to handle it?” he asked with a doubting look.

“I used to shave Braden.” She swallowed, and he could see her trying to suppress the tears welling up in her eyes at the memory.

Feeling utterly helpless and like a fool, he didn’t know whether and how to comfort her. There was no use in telling her again, that they would avenge Braden. Instead he handed her the razor.

He sat down on the stool and kept still, as she started to shave off his beard stubble. When she was done with the beard, she gently adjusted his head, so she was able to shave the hair stubble on the left side of his head.

“So, how do you feel? “ she asked, “Nervous?”

Careful to keep his head still, he glanced up at her. “Nervous? Me?” He smiled.

“No! I only disassembled, cleaned, oiled and reassembled my blasters twice last night. That would mark me only as mildly alert, I guess. Nervous takes at least four times.”

When she was done with the stubble on his left she stepped over to his right, adjusted his head and started shaving again. The tattoo that covered almost all of the right side of his head and face was now clearly visible. An intricate pattern of twines studded with vicious thorns.

“On closer inspection your tattoo looks like you had it made by and by. Thorns. Does it bear a meaning aside from giving you your name?” she asked, tracing a hand over his head in search for any remaining stubble.

A shiver ran down his back. “I…” he began as the memories drifted back to consciousness.

The girls face was dimly recognizable by the faint light drifting in through the open window. He thought she was rather pretty with her beautiful blond hair, but he wasn’t an expert on girls. She was older than him, one maybe two years, and she clearly had gathered some experience in this business. She wasn’t half as nervous as he was, but she was growing impatient, he could tell.

She nudged him with her elbow. “Do it!” she mouthed silently.

He swallowed.

Breaking his gaze away from her face, he let it drift down. Down to his right hand that was shaking quite uncontrollably. He feared he might drop the knife that he was holding. The clatter would surely wake the baker, who was snoring softly in his bed right in front of him.

The baker had sometimes given them leftover bread, his brother and him. That didn’t matter now, he reminded himself. He had a job to do. The baker had crossed the Boss somehow, and the Boss had decided the baker must be killed. The Boss had decided he was the one to do it. If he did this right he would be a real member of the gang, no longer merely a gutter rat, worth less than the small tokens he managed to steal. If he did this right he would receive enough credits to buy fresh bread for his brother and himself for more than a week.

He lifted the knife, unsure whether he should stab the baker into the heart or slit his throat. On second thought he was unsure where exactly the heart was located.

So he went for the throat.

Slitting another ones throat isn’t as easy as one might think. Underestimating his task and the strength it required, he sliced not nearly deep enough.

What followed was a real mess.

Eventually he became aware of the girl dragging at him. She managed to shove him out of the window, from where they started their flight over window sills and roofs, down back alleys and sewage pipes. When they were certain, they weren’t followed, they stopped to catch their breath.

“You did it!” she said and grinned at him.

His emotions were in a jumble. He had killed a man. He had ended the life of another sentient being. He turned and puked, which added embarrassment at the top of the list of warring emotions.

With an even broader grin she handed him a cloth to wipe his mouth.

He noticed that it wasn’t very clean, but he took it anyway, whether to wipe his mouth or to hide his face behind, he wasn’t quite sure. He supposed his face was doing its best to outmatch the red of his hair.

“Hey, no need to feel ashamed. Next time won’t be so hard.” She gave him a pat on the back. “Let’s get going. The Boss will be waiting for us.”

That night they shaved his head, and he received his first thorn.

“I don’t want to talk about it right now.”

She stopped her search for stubble. “I’m sorry. I didn’t want to pry.”

He managed a smile. “It’s ok, I’ll tell you some day.”

“Bend forward”, she said. ”There’s some stubble left at the nape of your neck.”

He did as she had told him. His forehead touched her body. He kept still, closed his eyes and tried to imagine what it would be like to trust her.

I'm not sure about this trigger business, so if there's need for editing, please let me know.

After arrival on Dromund Kaas they checked into a cheap hotel, their appointment with Chrysta being on the next day.

I uploaded a picture of Thorns http://abload.de/image.php?img=swtor2013-07-0222-33-qvugx.jpg

5 minutes after the destruction of Coronet City:

Audra was only out for a few minutes. When she came too, everything was dark. Smoke from fires that still dimly burned covered the sky and blocked out any light. She rubs her head with her hand and doesn't feel any blood. All things considered, that's good news.

Audra shakily stands to her feet but doesn't consider stepping yet. Her eyes haven't adjusted and there is a throbbing in her head. She can hear voices nearby and catches sight of a light. She decides to begin walking towards it. She trips after the first step.

'Kark it!' she mutters as she climbs to her feet again. Her hand brushes against something that has the softness of flesh but she decides not to think about that.

Audra steadily and carefully picks her way through the rubble. The air is clearing as water from broken pipes smother any fires on the ground. Audra finally makes it to the clearing and sees other people walking towards the light like old moths to a flame. They are dirty and there's something dead in their walk and expression. I must look like them, Audra thinks.

She turns her eyes to the old man that holds the light. He's not really that old; late sixties only, most likely. Audra listens to him and realises he's just calling for people to come to where his voice is. His voice is thick with an Imperial accent and he doesn't stop calling until there are a few more than half a dozen of us gathered.

'So this is all we have left,' he begins. Not a rousing note, Audra thinks wryly.

'We need to do two things first at once: find sources of light and the wounded,' he continues. 'The moon is full tomorrow night but it isn't enough. We need to find things to light or torches. We also need to find the wounded and trapped. Don't move anything unless we have to. Try and help those that aren't too covered and if we can't, line them along that wall,' he shouts as he points a dry place. A nice way to say if their dead, get them out of the way.

The wall looks sturdy and everyone looks at it for a moment before dragging their eyes back to the grey, calm man. He's in an Imperial uniform but no badges can be seen on him. It's now slightly tattered and covered in dirt. Audra is surprised he's so calm and these people so willing.

'We need to do this logically. We can't hurry off after our loved ones. We need to slowly work outwards,' he clearly explains. 'When dawn breaks, we will meet back here and assign duties to each of us. If anyone finds medical supplies, bring them back to this spot for anyone in need of them to access. Now clear out!'

The men and women turn around. They all walk out in different directions, their eyes set with focus on the ground. Screams can be heard on the now still and empty air. The call of survivors to the dead can be heard even further off. Audra doesn't leave with the rest and it draws the old man's attention.

'Something you don't understand, girl?' he asks harshly.

'No more than usual,' Audra replies with a faint smile. It would be cliché to say she doesn't understand why this handful of people are alive when hundreds died in this sector alone. For all she knows, there could be a person under the bent metal and stone she stands on.

'Then get to it,' he barks in reply.

'Sure, geezer,' Audra replies with a salute. She doesn't need to tell him that she also knows no one will find anyone else alive. Even if we did, they wouldn't last until morning.

Audra begins her search and the old man begins his. Audra takes hers purposefully down the route that would lead her closer to her hanger. She passes several bodies but beyond checking their flat life signs, she doesn't do anything. When she reaches the tunnel to the next sector, she sees it's caved in. The wall though slightly damaged is still high and surrounded by fallen buildings. She isn't getting through at that point.

Audra turns around and takes the first of many deceased to be carried by her.

30 minutes after the destruction of Coronet City:

Corso stops and bends over, panting. He rests his hands on his bent knees and clenches his fingers into the sturdy bone. He tries to slow his breathing but it comes in quick heaves. He looks down the hill and past the next ones peak and sees the city. It's only seven miles now. He can do it.

The wind picks up and stings his already watery eyes with ash. Tears roll down his cheeks again in the tracks laid out by previous ones and the simple, innate task of breathing becomes harder. Come on, Corso, pull yourself together. What would your Captain say if she saw you now?

Corso takes a shuddering breath and straightens. He looks to the sky and sees hundreds of shooting stars. No, he corrects himself. That's the debris from the fight above. Whose ships are they? Who won?

'Let's make a wish, Corso,' Audra gently demands.

Corso blinks to push the tears away. He doesn't know anything yet. Corso watches he streaks of red and orange that criss-cross the sky. Some pieces are large enough to fall to the ground in the distance around him.

'We could use a wish right now, couldn't we?' she acutely asks with a sweet smile and whimsical, concerned eyes.

Corso lets his eye lids slip closed and he can almost feel her slender fingers covering his eyes. Corso makes his wish and it's the same as then. The memory of the fingers slip away as he opens his eyes. Like the opening of a dam, tears roll steadily and quickly down his face that is upturned to the sky.

'What did you wish for, Corso?'

'I made a wish for you, Audra,' Corso whispers to the night.

Corso shakes his head and begins to run down the hill. The debris continues to fall in the sky above Coronet City.

At the same time...

Audra looks to the sky as she picks up the next burnt body. The first stage of the clearance is to move those that are dead into a clear zone and pile them in the most respectful way possible. She follows what the old man suggested: never look at their faces. Sometimes, when she carries a man, she can't help but check that it isn't Corso. She's only carried four bodies so far and for the one man that there was, she needed assistance.

Audra steps carefully on solid ground and not on any fallen metal where possible. The bodies always seem to get heavier with every step as if they are eager to enter the ground and take you with them. This one is slightly damp and the water that takes away the blood and dirt and soaks it into Audra's already bloodied sleaves. Pipes have been broken and water flows freely on the streets. It's good in a way. It put the fires out but anyone trapped... plugging one hole only makes another pipe spill more.

Audra places the body down on others that are staked in a low row along a still standing wall. It was driest and most undamaged place they could find. Audra looks up from the bodies and see the sky. The streaks of light are like the galaxies tears as the debris from the battle falls down to Corellia.

'Make a wish, Audra,' she whispers to herself. She watches them as they fall and die but she can't make a wish. All she can ask them is 'where is Corso?'

Audra closes her eyes and her fingers begin to tingle.

'It's a ship, Captain, no matter how you look at it,' Corso disagrees.

'Then don't look at it,' Audra whispers with a smile. She gently covers Corso's eyes with her hands and kisses his ear. 'Now make a wish.'

Audra opens her eyes and looks at the line of bodies.

'I wish I had told you,' Audra whispers to the deaf ears of the dead. 'I wish that you knew.'

So I was going through the index and I realised there wasn't really a prompt specifically for wishes. There's dreams and nightmares and now 'if I were a rich man...' but no 'My Wish' or 'What I Wish' prompt. Prompt idea for later maybe?

12 hours after the attack:

'Corso? Corso are you there? Can you hear me? Corso? Riggsie?'

Audra pauses but doesn't hear anything but crackling. Only blue haze appears on the holo. She doesn't even know if he's there but there was an answer and that's enough.

'Corso, I can't hear or see you but... Corso, I need to tell you something even if you can't hear me. I love you, Corso. I love you so much. I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I just... you take my words away, Riggsie. Please, please find me. I'm working with the cleanup crew but we haven't broken through to our sector. My holo is broken but it shouldn't be too hard to find me. There aren't many people left.'

Audra's hands begins to shake and she has to try again and again to shut it off. Audra fights back her tears but begins to lose as they crawl through the minuscule gaps in her tightly shut lids. She gasps in an effort to breathe but she feels like there is hand choking her. She can't do this again. She can't lose someone again.

She fights back tears and tells herself they're pointless. They aren't going to achieve anything. Audra shakily walks out of the temporary tent that covers the hole used as a toilet. She shakes her head to the old man that waited outside the front and he doesn't say anything. He takes the offered holo and gives her a spade in return.

Audra takes it and the old man pockets the holo. She looks up into the greying eyes of a tired Imperial and they walk back to the wall. There is no hope of clearing out the tunnels yet. Getting through to those in the centre is the first priority.

'Tonight-'

'It's yours,' the old man replies before she can finish. She hasn't asked what his name is. It doesn't matter. We're all the same now.

9 hours after the attack:

Corso has been a man of action more than words so it isn't a surprise that he considered finding his way into the city a more worthwhile effort that night than trying to get in touch over the holo. As he sits alone and watches the guards reject person after person, the words 'I couldn't reach them on my holo' finds their way into Corso's mind and politely smacks a doorbell.

Corso frantically checks his pockets and rechecks them. And rechecks them again. His comm was left on the ship where Audra may or may not of been. Corso's fingers clench and unclench themselves in his empty pockets and recognises that he doesn't have any credits either.

But then they brush against something metal and hard. He instantly grabs at it and pulls it into the dawns cheery light. His heart sinks into the ground and drills to the planets core when he realises it's only the medal. It's worthless in a way now. His home is destroyed, his lover could be dead and he has no credits and nowhere to sleep. Her last gift to him is little more than a memorabilia of something suddenly lost.

No, Corso assures himself. I'll find her. I always find her and when I do, she'll ask me what took so long. She will be fine. She's always fine. Corso stares into the city and sees the rubble and the slow, logical progress of a cleanup crew. Dust and ash fill the air in the gentle breeze and the dawns light gently shines on the particles.

You are ok, aren't you, Audra?

Braden

The morning after their confessions Wynston made love to Pacha Gann as tenderly as he ever had to anyone. She mirrored an understanding in him that left him trembling. Even knowing she could see so much of what should remain hidden he felt safe with her.

Then he went out, because it was his responsibility to do so. He came to a decision that day. It took into account his missing work, his mistakes, his months of abject dependence, his colleagues' faith in him, his own battered self-confidence, and, not least, the way his dark-haired companion made him feel, her forgiveness, his visceral response to it, and the ways he could see that going. The decision did not entail cooperating with the recovery program, so he played as flippant as possible. Then, late in the day, he went to HQ to find Keeper.

"What's it going to take for me to get out?" he said.

"You're free to go at any time," said Keeper. "Judging by the reports none of the experts are going to sign off on your change of heart, but I told you I wouldn't force an inpatient program. So if you think you're up to the job, I'll welcome you back in that capacity."

"I'm looking forward to getting you in a planning room again. You always do make it fun." He saluted and turned to go.

"Cipher.”

He stopped. "Hm?"

"Are you sure?"

"Yes. I'm ready."

He thought about inviting Pacha for a transfer, asking her to come with him. And knew that that was wrong. He had needed her for these weeks, desperately needed her while he set himself in order. But to bring her now would be to take a crutch he couldn't afford to rely on. What they'd had was good, was right, and was swiftly coming to its natural end, as many connections had before. So he met with her outside HQ that evening and led her back in to find a conference room. A neutral location.

"What's this?" she said. "You have office work for me?"

"No." She was a pragmatic woman. She would appreciate directness. "Arrangements are in place. I've cleared things up here. I'm leaving Dromund Kaas."

To her credit, her surprise was limited to a couple of lines springing into place between her eyebrows. "But your program?"

"It's sorted out."

"Wynston…you don't just wake up one morning and it's all done and behind you."

"I do. That's just something a Cipher learns to manage." He felt a twinge in seeing that her first, serious concern was him.

"It isn't just your job, it's your life. Are you going to be all right?"

"Yes. Thanks to you." He was used to giving that assurance to people, to women in particular; this time he wholeheartedly meant it.

Her jaw tightened as she thought about that. "That you're leaving because of me I'll believe. That you're leaving because you're all better because of me, I don't. Up until last night I thought I was just playing the Minder for you, but I guess we found out it comes down to Fixing. That's what I do, I go where I'm told and patch up what I can. Wynston, we only just touched what matters. And now as what looks like a direct result you're cutting me off. That's not how systems get recertified. And it's not how they stay in one piece."

"I can manage it from here. You know all those things I was resisting and ignoring and complaining about the whole time? I was also taking notes. I can take it from here. And I have to." His scabbed wounds still cried out for her, but Cipher Nine could move on. And if he had to pick one of the two to stand with, he knew which one to choose.

"Don't go back out there before you're ready."

"I won't. But I am going."

"Juggling treatment centers to sneak your own thing in between–"

"Isn't what I'm doing, I promise you."

Her eyes sparked. "Then why the rush?"

This was where he made the surgical cut. Said something that told her she wasn't quite as important to him as she'd hoped, some undeniable goodbye. Just like he had a hundred times before. Only, it hadn't been quite like this before. "Don't you already know?" he said quietly. "I have to leave because I didn't come here to trade one dependency for another." She recoiled; he cursed his choice of words. He could only press on with the impressions he had and try to be kind about it. "Hear me out. I could drown in you, Pacha, I could fall in and never find my way out, because you, your voice, your hair, your eyes – yes, I mean that, your eyes – and the way you dance, the sound of your laugh, the strength in your step, the courage in everything you do, there are only two things I can do, and that's drown or leave. And m–" he tripped over an endearment – "I came here to learn how to breathe again. This is where I have to step away."

Her tension held him in place. "Oh," she said in a brittle voice. "That's…got to be the nicest way anybody ever told me I'm the problem."

"Not the problem. Never a problem."

"The problem. It is what it is." She turned to the window and took a couple of steps toward it, staring at the ongoing storm outside. If she noticed it left her false eye closer to him she didn't seem to care. "A Cipher thing, isn't it? I wondered how that worked. How anyone…." She turned her head in profile, not quite meeting his gaze. "How anyone could know someone like you and not feel anything."

"We still feel. We just can't let that build. Or pin us in place."

"So instead you sweep up all other considerations and run. No wonder you were struggling to cope."

"It isn't bad. It isn't for everyone, but it isn't bad." It was his life, the one he had chosen and made his own. He knew it was where he belonged.

"Quite apart from drowning," she said, her red eye trained steadily on him, "did I really do you any good?"

"Yes. Yes, absolutely." Did she believe him? Could he explain it any better? "I've tried any number of things since it happened. I've, I've danced, drunk, shagged, run risks no responsible man would subject himself to, drunk some more, made passes at strangers, made passes at friends, picked fights, finished fights, but none of it took me any further away from her, and none of it brought me any closer to where I need to be. You…you did. Just by knowing. Just by being one reliable witness, someone who's been there, and come through it as compassionate as you did. You kept me sane during what was in all other respects hell."

"But that same connection can't…build. So you're moving up the timetable, as far as it takes."

"Yes."

She nodded, her jaw set. "Makes sense, from a certain point of view. I guess I already knew that nobody gets to keep a Cipher agent."

"Pacha…." It still seemed like he couldn’t thank her enough. "Was it worth your time?"

Her jaw worked and she faced him all the way, her expression intent. "Yes. I don't have the words for how good it’s been, but…yes."

"And you'll be all right?" He already knew the answer. He just needed to know she knew it, too.

"I'll be all right. This whole assignment…wasn't what I was expecting, but I'll be fine. Talk a little longer and I might even believe you will be, too."

"I will be. What you told me, what you did just by listening, it's the starting point I needed. Thank you." He would have to be all right. He couldn't open any more to her. Talk a little longer, he thought, and it would all come undone.

She nodded. "Then…do we keep in touch?"

He never did. "I'm…rarely in a position to correspond," he said. "I can't guarantee…"

"I understand," she said sharply. Two words for her disappointment, no more. "Well. Is there much more to say?"

So much was coming to mind, none of it relevant or useful for a farewell. Now he just needed some kind but firm sentence to end it. He opened his mouth. "I can spare one more night," he said. "Before Cipher Nine has to be on his way."

He couldn’t follow her thoughts; he wondered, from her wavering brow, whether even she could. Then resolve shot to the fore. "**** Cipher Nine," she growled, and surged forward, grabbed his shirt, and pulled him into a hard kiss. He gave in without hesitation or restraint; he was both Cipher and Wynston, but if Pacha only wanted one it was hers for the taking. Just for one more night.

This took five complete rewrites in addition to heavy tinkering; my Wynston file has a trail of rejected renditions (actually tagged drafts A-H). The last scene I had anywhere near this much difficulty with was...also a Wynston scene, actually. He can be a troublesome man.

Merok dropped into the warehouse and fired his blaster rifle. Two guards dropped. He landed on his feet, rolled forward, and came up with his scope pressed against his eye. Across the room, the hulking mass of a Houk, slamming its fists against a prisoner, froze in surprise and turned. Merok trained his rifle on the Houk's center of mass. Body armor, thick skin, possibly energy shield–four shots would be enough to kill him.

"Get down," Merok commanded.

The Houk sneered. He threw himself forward. Merok clicked his trigger four times. The Houk dropped. Merok lowered his rifle and moved in. Kaliyo and Raina rappelled down behind him, followed by Vector and Lokin. Scorpio kept watch in a building across the street.

They had been hired by the Empire to take out these anti-governmental terrorists. The prisoner in the chair, interestingly, wore a Republic uniform. He frowned. Anti-governmental must mean literally against any type of government.

"Get up," Merok said. "Are you all right?"

The prisoner nodded. "Umm...yes."

"Down!" Kaliyo yelled.

Merok grabbed the prisoner and hurled him to the ground. Blaster bolts shot over as terrorists swarmed into the room. Merok rose and fired from the hip, cutting down one of them. The Republic prisoner rolled to the side and picked up the dead Houk's sidearm. He fired off a series of shots. Kaliyo moved up between Merok and the Republic prisoner and laid down covering fire.

Suddenly the back door blew open and a fine layer of blaster bolts sheared through the room, killing all the terrorists. Merok whirled. It was Havoc Squad. He raised his rifle, pointing it at Prudii.

Kaliyo pointed her rifle at Tanno.

Raina trained her weapons on Elara.

Lokin transformed into rakghoul form, staring down Yuun.

Vector raised his staff defensively, ready to lunge at Jorgan.

"What's going on?" Merok demanded.

"We were busting a terrorist cell and rescuing a prisoner," Prudii replied.

"The Empire hired us to take down these terrorists," Merok countered.

Everyone froze there. Merok's ear comlink beeped softly and Merok raised a hand to touch it.

"I've got the Havoc droid in my sights," Scorpio said. "Shall I attack?"

"Negative," Merok said. "We all achieved our goals here. Take your prisoner and go."

"Lower your rifle," Prudii said.

"You first," Merok countered. He kicked the prisoner in the butt. "Go."

The prisoner scampered across to stand behind Prudii. Slowly, Havoc Squad began to back out. When they were out of sight, Merok lowered his rifle and sighed in relief. Crisis averted.

"Let's go hit the cantina," Kaliyo said.

Nice girls don’t get involved with unavailable men. They don’t linger too close and laugh too loud at everything they say. They don’t wear the kinds of clothes that invite prying, imaginative stares. And they certainly don’t make out with them on the back of a speeder at four in the morning.

I’m not a nice girl.

It’s not entirely my fault. I blame Killian Krael’s a*s. It’s too nice to look at in those dirty work greaves. And it’s his fault I can’t stop staring. Really, he’s got a nice everything. Messy auburn hair that refuses to be tamed, dark hazelnut eyes, a tall, slim build. And more of a tan than any Imperial has the right to.

“Ow! Sh*t, Mel, that hurts,” he whined as she nipped at his neck. “You trying to get me into trouble?”

Mel huffed. “Trouble? With who, your wife? Thought she didn’t care who you screwed around with?”

“Melodai.” He sensed the bitterness in her voice. She knew the exchange that was coming. The scene had repeated itself every few weeks without fail for the past year.

He sighed, right on cue. “Maybe we should call this off. I don’t know why I keep coming back here, making the same mistakes. It’s not fair to you.”

Mistakes. I’m a mistake. Duly noted. “We both know why you keep coming back,” Mel murmured, her voice low, laced with a sultry nonchalance meant to mask disappointment roiling just beneath the surface. She let her hand casually drift toward the buttons on her blouse, fingers absentmindedly undoing one of them.

His eyes drifted downward. “You don’t play fair, Mel.”

The laughter that broke through the silence was hers, the sound unexpected. “Fair. That’s hilarious, Killian. You should play standup at the Nexxus Room. Maybe go on a galaxy-wide tour.” The words were said in jest, but soon she was in no mood to joke. “If things were fair, you’d leave her,” she mumbled.

“If it were that simple, I would. I don’t love her; I don’t love that life. But you know my situation." He stroked the curve of her hip before tugging her closer to him. "We’ve been through this.”

Mel sighed. They had been through it. And she knew why he couldn’t leave. That still didn’t make it any easier to accept. She could only make him regret it when she left. Someday. “I’m thinking about leaving Kaas. Maybe get a ship, see some planets...”

It was Killian’s turn to laugh. “What, you got a hidden trust fund packed away somewhere?”

“Ha.” Trust fund dried up years ago. Too many ill-advised girls nights, too keen an appreciation for weapons of all sorts. She had no regrets about those. It’s not my fault they make them so shiny.

“Maybe I’ll do some odd jobs here and there. I’ve got a ship already. It’s a hunk of junk, but it flies.”

Killian finally gave up his talk of mistakes and calling it quits. That was expected, too. It was amazing what a little bit of cleavage could do to quiet a nagging conscience. “But wouldn’t you miss me?” It was his turn to nibble — that’s definitely going to show, she thought.

His lips gradually found their way toward her blouse, taking care of the rest of the buttons one by one. She ran her hands through his unruly mop of hair and smiled. Things went on as they always did, a ceaseless cycle of doubt and guilt and sex. One of them would break it someday, but not today.

***

Mako followed Mel’s line of sight and grinned. “Krael? Again? You might as well bring him on board as our live-in mechanic. What is this, the fifth time he’s worked on our ship this year?”

Mel couldn’t help but smirk. The Elektra had seen its share of bumps and bruises over the past several months, and every time it needed fixing, there were always a few extra credits thrown in to be sure Killian got the job. “He’s the best,” she lied.

“Best looking,” Mako giggled. “Have you ever even talked to him, or do you just ogle from afar?”

Mel crossed her arms. “I don’t ogle. I...observe. To make sure he...he...”

Killian chose that moment to remove his shirt and wipe the sweat from his face. That sentence never had a chance to reach its conclusion. He always did look good half clothed.

“Mel?”

“Hmmm?”

“You were saying? You like to observe?”

“Huh? Oh, right. Make sure he takes good care of me- her- the ship! Dammit.”

Mako raised her eyebrows. She’d never seen Mel act this way before, not over a guy, not over anything.

She’s going to have questions, I just know it. Mako and her million questions.

“You know, you should just go talk to him. Ask him out for drinks. We’re going to be stuck here a day or two anyway.” Mako reached over to tug at the scarf covering Mel’s face. “Let me hold this. He can see how pretty-”

She didn’t get to finish the sentence. Mel had already pulled away, quickly securing the fabric back in place. “I don’t talk,” she said, a little more sternly than she meant, “I observe, got it?”

Mako wisely let her be, but the hunter knew she wouldn’t be satisfied without an explanation. “There’s a story there, isn’t there,” she asked quietly.

Mel felt the pull of a smile beneath the safety of the scarf, remembering all the little things about Killian Krael that didn’t seem so little anymore. Too many memories, still too raw. Two years gone hadn’t been long enough to recover.

“Maybe another time.”

http://i1280.photobucket.com/albums/a485/Lesaberisa/ayrs_zps8b9bc919.jpg

Remi and Scourge have a son named Koa. When Koa was about two years old he was kidnapped and used in a ritual meant to resurrect the Emperor. The ritual failed but Koa was still marked as the "true Emperor" in the hearts of all Sith in the galaxy. He bears the markings of a Sith Pureblood and of course Scourge wants him to be Sith. Remi did not want him to become a Sith (which she still associates that with Dark Side because no one has exactly proven that theory wrong yet). They agreed that he could make the choice for himself. At age eight he chose to become Sith. This story takes place a few months after he begins his training on Korriban.

To: Lord Scourge

From: Remi

I will be late in returning from my mission. There's some unrest along the Thanium Sector and I've been asked to intervene. Apparently, there are quite a few mining colonies that have been claimed by the Empire. Rumors have it that the Imperial Guard were involved, “ruthlessly efficient” were the words I heard used and when they left, several shiploads of slaves were brought in to replace the colonists. I'm not sure how accurate the rumors are, could you look into it for me? You know how I feel about slaves.

Since I will be late I won't be able to attend the meeting with Koa's advisors. I'm disappointed, but in the end it might be for the best. I'm fairly certain it would be better for him if his instructors weren't reminded that his mother is "that Jedi." I'll also sheepishly admit that I wasn't looking forward to being goaded by a bunch of Sith, one is enough. I'm kidding.

I miss you and Koa badly, I'll tie things up as soon as I can, but I'm not sure exactly when I will return. Another week at latest.

Love,

-Remi

[… Receiving message… sender identified… applying filter authorization Cresh-Isk…]

To: Lord Scourge

From: Remi

I will be late in returning from my mission for the Council. There's some unrest along the Thanium Sector and I’ve been asked to intervene. quite a few mining colonies have been claimed by the Empire. the Imperial Guard were “ruthlessly efficient”. they left several shiploads of slaves to replace the colonists. how could you? You know how I feel about slaves.

I won't be able to attend the meeting with Koa's advisors. I wasn't looking forward to being goaded by a bunch of Sith.

I'm not sure when I will return.

-Remi

To: Remi

From: Lord Scourge

Remi,

I would have hoped you would think better of me than that. That operation was not mine but I can investigate it for you if you wish. Do as you must and know I support you, though I still argue that your pity for both colonists and slaves are misplaced.

As to our son's advisors, hiding from his masters will not help him either. Even a young Sith must not show weakness, but I know you do not care about the pompous preening of his masters. As a Jedi, such things must seem rather silly to you and on that we agree. We shall continue, but it is always more difficult without you.

Always and only yours,

-Lord Scourge

[… Sending message… sender identified… receiver confirmed… applying filter authorization Cresh-Isk…]

To: Remi

From: Lord Scourge

Do as you must, though your pity for both colonists and slaves are misplaced.

As to our son, hiding from his masters will not help him either. Even a young Sith must not show weakness, but I know you do not care about such things. We shall continue without you.

-Lord Scourge

To: Lord Scourge

From: Remi

I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you. I tried to com you, but Captain Isen said you were in a planning meeting and I didn't want to bother you. I'll try again tomorrow, but after that I can't contact you directly. I'll be out of range and my mission requires com silence.

Sometimes I miss those days as Grey when we were always together. It was brief but it was the best of both worlds for me, having you at my side but the freedom to do what was needed and damn the politics. Do you think it could ever be like that for us again?

I hope I'll get to talk to you soon.

Love,

-Remi

[… Receiving message… sender identified… applying filter authorization Cresh-Isk…]

To: Lord Scourge

From: Remi

I tried to com you, but you were in a meeting and I didn't want to bother you.

Sometimes I miss those days as Grey, having the freedom to do what was needed and damn the politics.

-Remi

To: Remi

From: Lord Scourge

Remi,

Do not think that hearing from you would ever be a bother. I regret that I was not there when you were attempting to contact me. I am never too busy and there is nothing I would rather do than hear your voice, even if I can only argue with you.

I would hope that working as a simple mercenary for the Republic is not preferable to raising our son. Sometimes these messages seem so brief. I do wish I had not missed your com, I know that was not what you meant.

I hope to see you soon. Do you know when you will be back?

Always and only yours,

-Lord Scourge

[… Sending message… sender identified… receiver confirmed… applying filter authorization Cresh-Isk…]

To: Remi

From: Lord Scourge

Do not bother attempting to contact me. I am too busy and I would only argue with you.

I would hope that working as a simple mercenary for the Republic is not preferable to raising our son. I wish that was not what you meant.

-Lord Scourge

Remi choked back tears as she piloted her ship to the Thanium Sector. She closed her message terminal, not bothering to respond to Scourge's message. She would only end up saying something wrong again. It happened every time she went on a mission. Even though she tried to keep her objectives neutral, Scourge always made it clear he did not approve. When she brought it up he said she was overreacting and accused her of being cold.

Each time she returned the arguments were worse, especially now that Koa had chosen to become Sith. Resentment chased away her tears. Koa may have chosen Korriban Academy over the Jedi but that did not mean an eight year old boy was qualified to consign millions of people to standard Imperial rule. Scourge could not understand that she needed to make the galaxy a place where even a Sith could be a good man. Then Koa would be safe from people like her.

Scourge stared out the window on the command deck of his flagship. Ever since Koa had chosen to become Sith it seemed that Remi was drifting away from him. She seemed colder in her missives and accused him of being harsh. He understood her frustration. Despite his warnings for the past several years, Koa's choice to become Sith had come as a complete surprise to her.

His jaw clenched and the metal guard rail under his hand squeaked in protest as he crushed it. Remi had nothing but praise for choice until the decision was not what she wanted. She was too stubborn to realize that had Koa chosen differently he would be hunted until the end of his days. At least as a Sith he had a chance to gain the power and respect necessary for his foes to consign themselves to the shadows. It was the only protection Scourge could give his son against people like him.

Captain Isen ran a systems check, once again covering the tracks several covert programs running on the communications array. His propaganda programming had done its job, a five year investment that bore fruit when the Chosen took his first steps to become Sith. Soon, the com filters would force a wedge between his master and the Jedi. Then it would be time to strike.

Minimum resources, maximum results. It was how the Empire thrived with people like him.

A man in the middle attack is often used to defeat things like encryption. Typically the attacker relays messages between two victims but has them convinced that they are connecting to each other directly. He can then either siphon data or even change the correspondence between the two.

Also, I have been using the name Captain Isen for some time in my fic not remembering that he's an actual guy on Dromund Kaas. D:. This is not that guy. This Captain Isen is with the Imperial Guard.

Swaindrix laid on the barcalounger and scowled. "It's too hot out here."

Mako looked sidewise at him. "That's what the umbrella is for, silly."

"I couldn't figure out how to work it."

She took a closer look and noticed that not only was it not shading her boss from the sun, it wasn't even mounted on its pole anymore. And it appeared to be broken in three places. "How did you--? I didn't hear...never mind." She grabbed the broken one and moved it to the lounger down at the other end of the pool, then grabbed that one, mounted it on Swaindrix's lounger, and set it up to shade as much of him as possible from the sun. She looked down at his pale body. "Wow, you are so totally a redhead in every way. I knew you had freckles on your face, but everywhere? And you're so pale!"

"I'm not an outdoors kinda guy. Unless I'm in full armor." He squirmed as she laid back down on her own lounge. "Now the rest of me is too cool and my legs are still hot."

An ice cube came flying from the Mako's direction. "Baby. How did you ever get along before you became a bounty hunter? At least tell me you're enjoying something about this place."

He looked sideways at her without any visible sign -- thank the stars for implants -- and his scowl lessened a bit. My, she did look fine in that bikini. And she'd dyed her hair a lighter shade of brown -- almost blonde - and let it grow out a bit. It was straighter too, and came perilously close to covering her left eye most of the time. "Yeah...there's one or two things I'm enjoying." Why had he never noticed that body of hers before? Practically everything she wore on a regular basis was skintight anyway, so surely he'd seen it...just been too busy to notice.

"Are you looking at my body again?"

He pretended to stop looking, but didn't. "No?"

"Not very convincing."

"Do I need to be?"

"Swaindrix..."

"I know, I know...it's not a good idea." He sighed and went back to hating the poolside refuge Mako had insisted upon. "I'd rather be killing stuff."

Another of Mako's ice cubes landed on his chest, and he jumped from the sudden cold. "Shut up. We're enjoying ourselves."

"So, you're still alive, eh? You might be worth killing after all."

The sound of Tarro Blood's voice from one of the cells stopped Swaindrix in his tracks. He walked up to the cell slowly and for a second, Gault thought he might try to put his hand through the forcefield and choke Blood to death. He'd give even odds on the hand getting through it, too.

Blood, for his part, merely sneered arrogantly. "Hurry up and let me out of here so we can..." Swaindrix was already working at the controls to lower the force-field and seal all the doors to the room. "So, you do have some honor after all. Now, help me get my equipment and--"

"Shut up."

"What? Are you going to shoot an unarmed--" He noticed the smaller man was taking off his armor, unhooking all his equipment, and handing it to an equally confused Gault. "What are you doing?"

"We're finishing this the old-fashioned way. Haven't done this in a while." He rotated his head sideways to crack his neck. "And boy, is this gonna feel good."

Gault was less than enthused with the idea. "Um...what about the Republic soldiers? Half the Republic Army will be trying to come through those doors in a matter of minutes."

"If they interrupt us, you're next."

"Not very high on the 'inspiring' scale, I'm afraid. But incentive nonetheless."

"This won't take long, anyway. Too bad, too. This is a vacation..."

"Vacation? You--" Blood's would-be threat was cut off by a table impacting with his face. He recovered quickly to knock the table away, only to be thrown across the space into a control panel, which was promptly destroyed by the hundred-kilo living projectile.

"Oh yeah. I'm gonna enjoy this."

It was over. The Emperor had been cast down, and Methic, as his Wrath, had authorized the Empire's surrender. The Dark Council had been in a fit of rage. Some of them–most of them–had been killed, along with the other Lords of the Sith. Only Methic, who had willfully surrendered, lived unbound.

That is, Methic and Darth Nox–Tran'thar–the last living Darth.

Talos Drellik stood behind the pacing Twi'lek Sith Lord, feeling his gut churn. The Empire had formally surrendered, so Talos should've been there with them, accepting a job in a Republic archaeological service somewhere. It was what he wanted to do. But he was loyal to Darth Nox; loyal until the end.

"My Lord," he said, "it is madness to continue the fight."

"Not madness," Nox rasped, "glory. All glory in battle. All glory in death."

Nox was insane, Talos realized. He did not need to serve this creature, not anymore. He whimpered. No, he couldn't. Nox would kill him for walking out. Talos had to remain loyal to him, or die. He looked out of the tower, down to the entrance of the grand palace. Khem Val and Xalek stood below, their weapons spinning blades of destruction. Republic and Imperial forces fell before them. But it could not last forever. Xalek died first, with a Jedi's blade rammed deep into his chest. Khem fell back into the castle and Talos heard the clatter below.

He glanced over at Andronikos. The pirate had a despairing look on his face; clearly he, too, realized that Nox was insane. Ashara, standing at the back of the room, had already thrown her lightsabers aside. She would surrender to the Jedi when they came. She had made it clear. Nox had only spared her because he loved her–she was the only thing he loved.

"Hey, Sith," Andronikos said, "if there's glory in battle, why not go down there and fight? This'll just end with us all dead, anyways."

Nox whirled. "You dare to speak such a thing?" he roared. "No. We will have victory. I, Emperor Nox, will raise up a new Empire, and we will conquer the galaxy!"

"Look around, Sith!" Andronikos growled. "You've lost! You're delusional!"

Nox sneered. "No...no, I am genius. Behold my glory!"

He raised his hands, and powerful bolts of lightning shot down from the sky at the troops below. Republic and Imperial troops burst into flame, incinerating instantly. Talos winced. Those were his compatriots down there. And Nox was destroying them.

Talos didn't realize what was happening for a moment. His hand wrapped around his blaster, and he yanked it from the holster. Before he could stop himself, his finger had squeezed the trigger–once, twice...three times. Nox gasped in surprise and fell to his knees. He rolled over, staring up at Talos. His yellow eyes dissolved into their once pure, good blue, and his pasty skin became the same shade as his eyes. He had once been a good person, Talos knew. Before power had corrupted him.

Talos knelt.

"No...regrets..." Tran'thar gasped. "You...served me well, Talos...my friend...I'm sorry."

Talos put a hand on Nox's shoulder. "Be at peace, Tran'thar."

The Twi'lek nodded. "Not Nox...not now. Only...Tran'thar..."

His eyes glazed over, and he died. Andronikos nodded proudly at Talos. Talos, grimly, nodded back. Ashara sat in the back of the room, horrified. There was a sound by the door, and Khem burst in. He had blaster burns all across his body, and vibroblades lodged in his back and chest. He staggered forward in shock and stared down at the body lying on the ground.

"Oh...Little Sith..." he gasped. "I have failed..."

A blaster bolt slammed into the back of Khem's head, and the Dashade fell; the beast finally dead. Talos dropped his blaster, and so did Andronikos. With Ashara, they stepped forward to meet their captors.

I like the idea of the Sith Inquisitor being the last standing Sith (or, in a universe where the Warrior isn't light side like mine, him). It just...makes sense.