The chatter of my teeth prevents sleep. I am not sure whether I am too tired or too cold to care. Freezing is supposed to be a painless death. That sounds nice. The pain has faded with the dropping of the fever. Maybe it is a sign. The fever left me with a sweat soaked blanket. The last of the warmth has faded since. I am so cold. A dry blanket would be nice. I haven’t puked since yesterday — it was yesterday, wasn’t it? Why can’t I have a dry blanket? I open my mouth but instead of the question there is only a croaking sound.

Nat is beside me with a cup of water. He holds my head while I swallow. “I am cold.”

I hear him put the cup away. Then he is back and slips beneath the blanket. “The other blankets are still wet. I washed them,” he explains as he snuggles up to me.

My teeth still chatter a bit, but I no longer feel alone. Nat should have left with Iz. I don’t want him to become sick, too. Iz brings food and water, when she can, and leaves them in front of the door. She keeps watch, too, says Nat. People are afraid. She doesn’t want anyone to get fancy ideas, he says. She doesn’t want Nat to die. I think she’s cast an eye at Nat. Nat says, Iz is casting so many eyes at so many people, it’s a miracle she isn’t cross-eyed. I am not sure how she feels about me. Often she makes me feel like the third wheel. I don’t want to cause any more trouble. “Do you think Doc will want my body for experiments?” I whisper. We can’t afford a funeral. The thought of rotting somewhere in a back alley is — disturbing.

Nat pulls me into a tight embrace. “He’s not going to get you, Nik. Nobody will! Do you hear me? I need you. Who is going to keep me out of trouble? I need you!”

He only says that to make me feel better. I know I am not making a good job of it. Keeping him out of trouble, I mean. Right now I am even more useless than usual. I am not sure whether the tears on my face are his or my own.

The glob of blood landed on the ferrocrete with a splat. By the color of the floor it was in good company. Nat rested his head back against the wall. The blue ray shield provided the only light in the cell, its soft hum the only sound aside from Nat’s breathing. Not that it mattered. There wasn’t much to see. A narrow block of ferrocrete as a cot along one wall, a toilet bowl in the corner. The corners were the only angles in the room. The edges of the cot and toilet were rounded down. Not that it mattered. Had he wanted to smash his own brain in he could’ve still used the wall. To take a run-up would have been difficult. He didn’t have to spread his arms wide to touch both walls, left and right, simultaneously. Nat briefly wondered who had made the scratches on the wall, and what tool they had used. Which species had claws or teeth strong enough to scratch ferrocrete? Had someone tallied days on the opposite wall? He tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. The light was dim! How many days had that been? Maybe someone had counted something else. How long did they keep you in solitary confinement? Not that it mattered.

Nat spat out another glob of blood. Three of his teeth were loose. The cut beneath his eye hurt more, even more than the bruises all over the rest of his body. He still counted himself lucky. The eye was intact. Taking a deep breath he unclenched his fists and ran his fingers over the rounded edge of the cot. Someone had left notches there. Ten, it were ten. He sighed. His fingers were unharmed. His opponents hadn’t fared as well. Nat grinned. They had underestimated him, hadn’t heard about Little Nat. His grin didn’t last long. Well, this advantage hadn’t lasted long either. Next time they’d know. The faded remnants of an expletive decorated the wall beside the tally list. He considered to add his own in his own blood. He shook his head. No, futile. Since human blood wasn’t corrosive, they would have no trouble to wash it away. On the other hand they seemed to have trouble to get rid of the uric smell. He would be able to hit the toilet bowl from where he sat on the cot. He would be able to miss it on purpose as well. There was a reason the cell lacked a mattress. Those who came here had a reason to be angry.

Nobody had come to his aid. Nobody would. He had suspected he had been set up. Now he knew. He’d survive! He’d find out who and why! He’d make his own list!

Finest black wool lined with pitch-black shimmersilk. Nearly a full circle, twice the height of a man in diameter. Theron made a rough estimate of the required square meters of cloth. He didn’t know the price for wool. To be able to afford such an amount of shimmersilk in this quality he’d have to live economically for at least two weeks. That wouldn’t pay for the tailor. And definitely not for the embroidery. Theron ran his hand over the edging. Myriads of stitches in metallic, silvery thread, shimmering in the low light of his tent. The pattern’s arcane meaning was hidden in a galaxy of small pearls and gemstones.

Theron slumped down on his cot. Damned Sith and their games. His record hadn’t been cleared yet. It wouldn’t be cleared without a proper investigation. The obviously lacking substance of the accusations were of no importance to bureaucracy. If anyone got a look at this coat in his possession; was bribery on the list of his misdemeanors? He let his head sink into his hands, into the soft folds of the silk. He sighed, and became aware of the faint scent of clean sweat tinged with a slight herbal undercurrent. He took a deep breath before he realized what it was, what it had to be. Nox!

He jumped back to his feet, tempted to throw the cloak as far as the tent would allow. Instead he folded it into a bundle. He’d bring the thing back to its owner. Now!

It was all over.

They'd fought, long and hard, to keep control of Ziost. For days, they had battled possessed Imperials, Sith, and Jedi, trying to save those they could from death and also keep them from killing innocents at the same time. They'd come up with an ingenious plan to free them all from Vitiate's control.

And it had worked.

Or so they'd thought. Briefly, everyone on the planet had been freed from Vitiate's mind control. But then, they had awakened only to be possessed again. Jasin and his allies had been on the space station above Ziost at the time, unable to interfere.

Then, it had all gotten even worse. Jasin and Kira had sensed it first, and then Scourge. Only Scourge had seemed to know what it was, and when he realized, his eyes widened in horror and he had just stepped back and turned his head away from the viewport. He couldn't watch.

Jasin and Kira had realized why moments later when a gray wave of some kind began to spread over the planet. And Jasin had felt the deaths–every single one. Not just the humans, but all the plant and animal life. Every one of them was affected. Some footage was transmitted to the station from street security cams or patrol droids–and they watched as living matter just disintegrated.

In moments–moments–the wave had spread over the planet. Nothing had been left alive.

Jasin could only scream as he felt them all.

When it was over, Jasin shook his head hopelessly as he looked down at Ziost. The entire planet had gone gray. It was all so...empty.

"Vitiate's ritual," Scourge said softly.

"You've seen this before?" Jasin asked.

"Only its aftermath. It's something I had hoped would never be repeated."

"I...oh, what have I done?" Jasin shook his head. "I'm supposed to be a hero, a savior, someone who stands in the gap to keep Vitiate from hurting people like this. I failed."

Kira put a hand on Jasin's shoulder. "This isn't on you, Jasin. It's all Vitiate."

Jasin's gaze hardened. "You're right. Vitiate is responsible for his actions here. We're going to make him pay for this. I can't let it ever happen again. We're going to find Vitiate, and we're going to get rid of him for good."

Been gone a while. Too much Arkham Knight. Had me writing Batman stories for a while there (What, you didn’t think I STOPPED writing, did you? Pfft. Never.)

@Oliverthefighter: The End - Nice. It amuses me more than it should that Kaellik’s husband is a Killik. Overall, I could really see the Agent doing this.

@Mirdthestrill: For the Good of the Empire – Mark Twain once wrote “If I had more time, I’d have written a shorter letter.” It’s hard to make something short and still carry the full impact, but you did a really good job.

Captain Jessasi Silver – Not much to say here, but it’s well written.

@Frauzet: Sick – Wow. What does he have? Besides a serious case of negativity.

Two Squaremeters – Don’t worry, Nat! You can always… Uhh… Okay, you’re pretty stuck, but I’m sure you’ll figure something out.

The Cloak – Dang, Nox has a nice coat.

@YoshiRaphElan: When All Words Fail – Yeah, I noticed that your character seems to get over Ziost oddly quickly. Good job. My main JK hasn’t even gotten to the “It’s Vitiate’s fault” stage. I should write a fic about it at some point.

Imperial Intelligence Report

Submitted by: Cipher 17

Subject: Captain Jaks Kenn

Legal Name: Jakson Fenillius Kenn

Species: Human

Gender: Male

Height: 6’0”

Weight: 190 lbs

Age: 35 Standard Years

Occupation: Smuggler, Mercenary, Republic Privateer

Allegiance: Independent, Republic

Physical description: Kenn is human, reasonably fit, with a muscular build. His face is somewhat gaunt, but does not appear unhealthy. He has light skin and pale blue eyes, through the right of which runs a scar. His hair is, oddly enough, bright blue, which I don’t recall having seen on a human before. It’s likely dyed. His face is visibly sunburned, except around his eyes.

His equipment of choice includes two custom-made blaster pistols, a wide-brimmed hat, a vest which seems to be roughly equivalent to a utility belt, and a long, heavy coat with a thick collar. His equipment is otherwise Republic-issue light armor.

History: Lord Augustus reports having encountered Kenn on Taris. Kenn served in the Republic army, attaining the rank of Sergeant before receiving an honorable discharge due to injuries sustained at the hand of the aforementioned Lord.

Kenn took up smuggling, running weapons for the Republic, and acquiring an XS Stock Light Freighter which he named the Flying Fish after a visit to Alderaan. After discovering a treasure previously owned by crime lord Nok Drayen (See Cipher 9’s report on Drayen for more details), he was made a Privateer.

He discovered and incapacitated two of our Agents, and killed Admiral Harridax Kirill, acquiring a fleet for the Republic. He is wanted by Darth Occlus of the Dark Council for a string a failed assaults on the cruiser Invincible.

Notes: I encountered Kenn during reconnaissance on Balmorra. He claimed to be the Grand Champion of the Great Hunt, hired by Darth Mortis to kill a high-profile Republic Agent. His ruse was convincing until I met the real Grand Champion, who clarified that Kenn was the agent in question. Several regrettable decisions by all involved parties later, Kenn escaped on his Freighter. And sabotaged my vessel. I’ll get him for that.

Jaks Kenn (Jakskenn ingame) is my Human Male Gunslinger.

I’m stealing the Agent codex entries’ idea of bios being opposite-faction intelligence reports. So sue me. *Is sued for eleventeen gajillion credits*

”So, Jol, do you know any rich Ammonia-breathers?”

Jol pondered this for a moment.

“Can’t say I do actually. Odd, because I like knowing rich people. Why do you want to know?”

“Kark. It’s just a personal matter. So, you been doing anything interesting lately?” said Goldinyn

“Yeah, got hired by the Imps to attack Tython, of all places-”

“Wait, you’re the one that made me fight that one-syllable guy?!”

“So Goh’s dead, then. Can’t say I’m surprised, just annoyed. This Sith I was working with told me this other Sith I was working with told him it was pretty much a glorified robbery. Don’t know why she couldn’t tell me herself. “Low profile” or something. Shena- Cipher 9 seemed to get it.”

“Say, Shiamma mentioned something like that, too. That’s just weird. And this Darok character still hasn’t paid me. I’m going to have to hunt him down.”

“Hey, we’re here.”

The speeder stopped outside the bunker. It was camouflaged, but the armed guards near the door gave it away.

“Still got your blaster?” said Jol.

“Plus one,” said Goldy, drawing his blasters.

“A man of good taste,” said Jol, doing the same.

The guards noticed them, and began to fire, but didn’t last long.

“You recognize this gear?” said Goldy, gesturing to a dead guard’s equipment.

“Never seen it before.”

“Something’s wrong here. Be careful, we may be walking into more than an easy caper.”

After a few more groups of guards, Goldy stopped.

“I’ve got it!”

“Got what? Mantellian fever?”

“Had that once. Don’t care for much of anything Mantellian.”

“Well, what’ve you got, then?!”

“Something’s wrong about these guards. They’re wearing camouflage inside, they’ve got survival packs, and some of them are facing inward when we attack. They’re infiltrating, not guarding.”

“Then what happened to the Exchange?”

“I did.”

A Sith, clad in dark robes, and masked, stood in the doorway of the room they had just come from.

“And who are you? And how, exactly do you ‘happen?’”

“You may call me Lord Quarrel. I ‘happen’ to be willing to kill you if you don’t listen to what I have to say, and follow my directions to the letter.”

“Good luck,” said Goldy, thoroughly unintimidated.

“Thank you. You will go to Yavin IV. You will do so as soon as you have access to your ships. Then you will see the truth.”

The Sith seemed to disappear.

“So… we’re going to creepy-ghost-Sith-planet because creepy-ghost-Sith-lady threatened us?” said Jol.

“No. We’re going to creepy-ghost-Sith-planet because I want answers.”

Goldinyn will be my Chiss Male Gunslinger when I unlock the Chiss Species. Joldinyn is my Chiss Male Mercenary.

Nat had to stop. A weequay blocked his path. Nat tilted his head and looked into the brute’s eyes. He considered to inquire about the quality of the air at that height. He shrugged with a sigh. “You do not want to do this!” He knew about the nature of a weequay’s hide. He did not want to fight.

A human and a wookiee stirred. The weequay pointed at their bench. “Sit!”

Nat considered the invitation. He would leave the prison for his trial tomorrow. He had to survive the day. He walked to the bench. The human and the wookiee made room for him, and he sat down. People watched them. The human stared at him. Nat stared at the human. He took in the tattoos which covered the man’s arms. He recognized the symbol of the sun. His brows rose. These were not exactly friends.

Finally the man grinned. “I am Xorran. I protect you. You owe us.” Xorran stated it as a fact.

Nat nodded. “You protect me. I owe you.” It was a fact.

The evacuation of Ziost was almost complete, it had been two days since the events atop the people’s tower, and Oranis was staying behind on planet to help with the evacuation. No one was with him. When the last shuttle of the day took off, he felt it, a dark whisper of the force. It began to grow, rising to the level of a cacophony. Oranis moved quickly, setting up the only thing he could think of. It had reached the point where even thinking was out of the question when Oranis began to panic, he knew it was all about to end. Oranis finished the structure he had hastily built, it would have to be enough, or he was dead. He scrambled inside the scrap metal box. Finally, like just before a tsunami hits, the noise receded. Oranis shut the lid. He then felt it, a wave of energy that threatened to destroy him. Luckily, the makeshift Faraday cage he had constructed out of scrap metal blocked most of the wave, but what wasn’t blocked was still enough to slam Oranis against the back of it, hitting his head. He blacked out.

When he awoke, all the color had seemingly drained out of the world. He opened the lid to find that everything around had been reduced to rubble and ash. Far away, the sound of a monolith was heard. “of course,” he thought, “of all the organisms in the galaxy, it had to be me and those things to survive Vitiate’s attack.

He began to limp away, the pain in his legs was killing him, but he pushed on because to stay there would be to die. For hours he wandered, not knowing where to go, just going on because he refused to lay down and wait for the end to come. He heard them before he saw them, six monoliths closing in. He stopped near a cliff, “somewhere,” he admitted to himself, “that is really a bad place to stand and fight. Then again, I’ve seen too many vids, reality should be different.” His inner monologue was cut short by a heavy swing by one of the monoliths, apparently they don’t appreciate the musings of the survivor of a cataclysmic event. He went flying, landing on his arm, and what remained of his gun lay shattered several feet away. His arm was facing the wrong way, putting him in a desperate position. Using the last of his stims to take away the pain, he stood painfully and off balance.

“Should I do it,” he thought to himself, “but what if I can’t stop myself, I swore to never use it again, not after what happened last time.” “But if I don’t use it, I’ll surely die here, alone and painfully, and that is unless of course Vitiate doesn’t decide to keep me alive after all to do worse to me than even death!” His shoulder’s began to hang in resignation, defeat or madness were his options, and He wasn’t ready to die just yet.

And then the worst fight Oranis had ever been in began with the two words he had promised to never use again.

“Keyword: Iconoclasm”

Oranis’s stance changed, no longer was he hunched over in pain. He stood tall, only his vibro-knives remained. His cerulean blue eyes slowly filled with black, the demon inside that he hated took over. His mouth twisted into an evil sneer, no one could help him, he was alone. “good,” he thought, “no spoilsports to get in the way of my fun!” A haunting laugh escaped his lips, no humanity remained in him. The fear inside was replaced by the smiling madness, an insanity that wouldn’t hesitate to make a mess of anyone who steps near. Nothing mattered anymore except two things: survive and make them bleed.

The monoliths began to approach, circling their prey. They crept forward, all six were ready to pounce on the humanoid standing there fearlessly. The ex-cypher charged one, the cliff behind it loomed over a huge chasm. The impact jarred the hulking creature, it was forced a few steps back, beginning to teeter on the edge of the cliff. He stuck a dart into it, followed by a probe that would keep it queasy for at least a little bit, and tackled it off the cliff. They fell hundreds of meters, the monolith bellowing in rage, and the monster that had taken hold of Oranis began to whoop with delight, finally something fun to do, being stuck in that guy’s head was exhausting, always too calm to really enjoy the life that was right in front of him.

They hit bottom with a sickening smack, the world became awash with blood, and the anti Oranis began to drift away, leaving Oranis with the pain that had become his world. His body refused to move only sending signals of pain so intense that ever second was like two eternities, the pain that suffused his very soul drew the last of his mind out of the pit, and back to the front, and it was the longest minute of his life before he fell into unconsciousness.

Aboard the Leontophoros; Captain Kaellik scanned the planet for life signs. He was getting nada save for monolith ones, not what he was looking for. He finally got a ping after days of searching, it was faint, but Kaellik felt investigation was worth the risk.

When the Leontophoros reached the sector where the life sign came from, he just about vomited from the sight, a human was lying atop the corpse of a monolith, a large metal spike protruding from the chest of the monolith. He got Guss to help him, the human would clearly need it if he was to survive.

He had been right to do so, The survivor was knocking on Death’s door when Guss stabilised him. They carried him to the ship, careful not to stress his injuries.

Kaellik’s brother, Myrc, was in the area, so he called him on the holo. The reason: Guss is a good medic, but for injuries this severe, you want the best you can find. So he got Myrc to send Doc over, something he was happy to do, seeing as Doc was getting restless with all the people there whom he couldn’t help. When Myrc arrived with Doc in tow, Kaellik led them right to the med bay.

Doc got right to work, and it was hours later when Doc came out of the med bay and announced the survivor was going to make it, and that he would need several days worth of kolto tank to reach the point where he could be left alone and without care.

Myrc and Doc left for the orbital station to help more people out.

Kaellik listened to the Doctor’s advice and put Oranis in the Kolto tank for 3 days, standing watch the whole time because he was fascinated by the survivor.

Oranis was dimly aware of what was going on, but he was so weak that he couldn’t even move an eyelid. It was on the third day in the kolto tank that the Cypher (as Oranis had taken to calling the alter ego) began to wrest control from Oranis.

Cypher seized control of Oranis’s arm and legs and busted the wall of the tank. Kaellik started for his gun, but Cypher knocked it away before he could use it. Once in the hall, Oranis managed to take control of his own mouth long enough to say the two words fatal to Cypher. Raising his voice to a shout, “Keyword: Iconoclasm” was the last thing he heard before falling into blissful unconsciousness.

When he awoke once more, he noticed two things, one, Cypher was gone, deep in the pit he had thrown Oranis into before. Two, he was not in the Kolto tank, but lying in a bed with a bearded man staring at him. “where... am... I?” Even those words were enough to bring a tidal wave of pain to his ears, Oranis winced as the man’s voice crashed in his ears “you’re aboard the Leontohporos, who i am, can me Kaellik or Captain. Oranis began to giggle uncontrollably as relief crashed down on him, the pain was ebbing away. he noticed the cause a moment later, a needle was sticking out of his leg, a vial sloppily labeled painkiller inside it.

He passed out, not for the first time, and certainly not for the last time.

This occured to me not too long ago (read: 8:00 PM Eastern standard time), (it's ten as I post this), and I just had to write this, it was too good in my head to pass up.

This is well before My first post, and This is how Kaellik and Oranis first meet.

For the science slash star wars force knowledge officianados here forgive any inaccuracies regarding the use of a faraday cage in reference to blocking the force.

Sorry if it seems a bit rushed and/or sloppy, I am currently low on energy and only stayed up to finish this post.

@Jamangsawesome: Sadly, Lucida (my LS Sentinel, you guys'll meet her soon enough) sounds pretty flat too, but it’s not as bad as the DS version. I suspect the ADR director said something about Jedi calm to the VAs. It’s the only reason I can think of why David Haytor (MKnight!), Kari Wahlgren (FKnight!) and Nolan North (MCon!) give such flat performances. At least Athena Karkhanis (FCon!) has a little depth in her depiction.

@Diviciacus:

Yeah, this piece was difficult to write and later edit, switching past and present tenses and jumping from one point to another without any reference. I was trying to portray the chaotic nature of dreams and how everything seems perfectly normal until you think about it. It doesn’t help that Roan isn’t the clearest of people to begin with. I’m not entirely sure what you mean by cliff-hanger though? Perhaps it’s because I had originally had an alternate perspective with Vette, but I scrapped it because I got bored writing it.

Why did Braca settle down to eat when she knew Zash would be there at any moment?

There are two ways to look at this question. The first way regards the relationship Sith have with each other. To boil it all down, there are no equals among Sith, only rivals unless there must is a clear superior and subordinate. Braca and Zash are friends, or as close as Sith get to being friends with each other, but Zash definitely takes on the ‘superior’ role (slightly older, a better plotter, has been a Sith for longer and has greater social mobility by virtue of her race, etc). Traditionally, Sith who cannot face their superiors use cunning in an attempt to overthrow them, an example being Zash’s takedown of Skotia. While Braca probably would never try to take her down, Zash isn’t going to let her guard down.

Furthermore, Braca belongs to the sphere of Biotic Science, aka, the mad doctors and ‘evilutionary’ biologists, to use TV tropes parlance and has a personal interest in force sensitivity. Zash wouldn’t eat anything she offers, even if she knew it wasn’t poisoned.

Alternatively, it’s entirely possible I wrote Her Master’s Servant long before as part of First Encounters and spun it off to preserve the tone, and only wrote Evening Plans when I saw the prompt. Either explanation works

Sue-ish? Those’re fighting words… I jest of course and agree with you, but that’s because he’s a Jedi. I’ll refer you to the star wars cartoon (despite its many flaws) where they fairly show just how hard it is for well-trained but force-blind soldiers to kill a Jedi/Sith. With the force, they are stronger, faster, have quicker reflexes and a form of prescience that normal people can’t match. In any other fiction barring superhero fiction, they’d be Mary Sues of the highest order. That’s before you add in special powers like absorbing lightsabers, surviving years in a meditative trance, raising the dead or blowing up stars.

Gameplay wise, these Mandalorians are not too dissimilar from the ones you meet on Tatooine, and are basically a glorified gang. Tarmin’s in War Hero Weaponmaster armour, something that used to be available after reaching a specific valor (no Autocorrect, it’s meant to be spelt that way: it’s American) rank (40, 45 or 60, can’t remember which), which I only got after hitting level 50. This stuff used to be roughly analogous to Columi gear, as in not the best for PVE (at the time, Arkanian) but certainly usable for Eternity Vault (the ONLY flashpoint at the time) Anyway, the point I’m trying to make is that Tarmin’s so out of their league it’s ridiculous.

Also, it’s why they picked him up. His armour makes for a great trophy. Of course, they screwed up by assuming that the guy who’s been spaced, wasn’t breathing and didn’t seem to have a heartbeat, was dead. That’s Jedi for you: they’re make cockroaches look flimsy.

@Bultitudines Lokes: Well, the title used to be ‘A good man goes to war’, but I felt it was a little on the nose. Instead, I mangled the quote “I fear that all we have done is awaken a sleeping giant and fill him with a terrible resolve.”

@Jamangsawesome: some of these contain spoilers for Yavin IV and Ziost.

Information: I always wondered what the SIS was doing with project 32. It always seemed more an Imperial idea to genetically-engineer the perfect agent. Also, I liked his shortcut, and the reasoning behind it. By the way, how did an Imperial guard get outside the SIS headquarters on Coruscant without being noticed?

Hello there: The plot thickens. I liked the difference in philosophies between Nox and Arginal and their interplay. As a side note though, inducing groundquakes on Makeb mightn’t be the best idea. Excessive shear forces play havoc with the Hoek-Bray failure criterion, and you really don’t want the mesa you’re standing on failing. That said, nothing says distraction like throwing everyone to the floor.

A Quarrel: Shiamma mustn’t be having a great day. First Lana and now Quarrel, what’s with all these reasonable Sith? Nice touch adding in the Knight’s personal quest in there and proving her right with Ziost. Finally, Why do I now have a strong suspicion Shialla’s going to turn up as the final boss in your run on the Temple of Sacrifice?

The Privateer: As with Diviciacus’ post, always a fan of ‘in world’ reports for stories. Not entirely sure an agent would ever admit to being outwitted in his own reports. After all, Keeper reads them. Loved the social engineering Jaks pulls off, and impersonates a public figure no less. It’s no Darth Marr, but it’ll do

Quarrelsome Individual: Okay, she was amusing before but now I like her. She’s courting chaos though recruiting the Chiss.

@Diviciacus: Uncertainties: I liked the journal style, very Stokeresque. Also, I liked the natural way you handled her concerns and doubts regarding Lachris’ last moments. Congrats on treating the subject matter responsibly and not like a teenager in cantina chat

(I really shouldn’t have to say that, but you’d be surprised how often it comes up [yes, my main is a twi’lek sorceress. Yes, she wears slightly skintight robes, many of them are. No, I don’t want to ERP with X just because it’s past midnight and no one else is around. I also don’t want X to ‘break the ice’ before asking if it’s okay. This must be what being a woman is like in some parts of the world.] it’s why I don’t do Cantina RP any more). Regarding sensitive material in stories, I personally tend to warn people before, as you have, and then put anything I think might be disturbing in separate spoilers with a non-triggering summary below. That way, everyone can read as much as they are comfortable with, which is perfectly fine, since some of my stories can get quite dark.

@Toatuka: Welcome to the thread! Nice to see another prose writer on the forum. As Jamangsawesome said, try to slow it down a bit, develop your world a little before rushing in. Also, why an ex-sith? Few ever leave the order once hooked on the dark side’s power. How and why did he get out? Did he have help, or overcome unusual challenges and with the dark side whispering in his ear, promising everything and goading him to take it, why become a simple smuggler? All that aside, I enjoyed Helksan’s manipulation of his daughter.

@Oliverthefighter: Another one? Welcome to the thread as well. It’s a poignant ending for his long career in the shadows. I liked the way he moved as a ghost on his own ship, it really played up the isolation in the piece. Especially since what he does is functionally Suicide and treated as such.

Iconoclasm: Don’t see anything wrong with applying the principles of science to the force. I do it all the time. Let’s just say Lucas really shouldn’t have introduced midichlorians as mitochondria-like organisms. One of my characters has a known interest in the mechanics of force sensitivity and understands how cellular biology works. Also, I enjoyed the story.

@Mirdthestrill: Welcome back.

Poor Brynn, she can’t even write a letter to her parents about the ways her life has changed for the worse. I’ll admit on my first read through I assumed she was male from her name, and might’ve burst out laughing when I read about the costume and thought of this

Nice description of Jessasi, it flows and works in her personality in such a concise piece.

@Frauzet:

Sick: I liked the descriptions and the atmosphere coming just from his conscious thoughts of his immediate surroundings. Also, surprisingly touching at the end.

Two Square Metres: Nateo goes to all the most wonderful places doesn’t he? Great description and nice little touches, like the lack of a mattress. It feels like you’re in the room with him

The Cloak: nice cloak. Wait, did Nox have him arrested because he wants his cloak back, or was it Ciner because… actually he probably wouldn’t need a reason to troll Theron, would he?

A debt: no adjectives at all? That can’t be fun.

@Alaurin: Platonic hugs from a viking?

@YoshiRalphElan: Hi, not sure we’ve met, but welcome back. Great story, I especially liked Jasin’s resolve and determination so soon after the event. Jedi mindfulness at its finest. Quick question, does this still fit into your version of events, where the Empire and Republic unify?

please sort Cassiopeia’s under Roan, for reasons that will swiftly become apparent

Part 37 of Mirdthestrill’s She who hunts Monsters: An Assassin’s Tale

Frauzet’s most recent post in Trouble, Destiny and other Complications

Possibly Bright Ephemera’s take on Spiderman (it’s been a while since I read No Death, only Wrath and he’s not in the superhero thread).

This had all gone too far. It’d started out as a game, tailing force-blinds as practice, to see just how far we could get before they spotted us. Lord Emiraus had approved of the practice, but now... Now we were hunting them. Sith have a birthright to hunt whatever we want: beasts, slaves, lowlifes, whatever. It didn’t matter so much as they were prey, but we got too audacious. This month alone we had killed seven people. Two of them were military: someone up the chain of command had to have noticed their disappearance. It’s all Jerec’s fault.

He had arranged for the alien, a bounty hunter, to tag targets and provide intel on them for us. He’d delivered, and a lot faster than whenever we had done it ourselves. He hadn’t been so enthusiastic after some loudmouth stated pointing fingers at him, but that’s his problem. After the whole song and dance he pulled about not doing it anymore, I’d thought he might be our next target. That almost would’ve been better, since then we’d fall back to where we’d been months ago. Back then no one noticed one or two a month. Kaas is huge, always expanding and you never know when a filthy beast would show up.

Jerec dropped the datapad on the hood of the speeder, letting its inbuilt holoviewer flicker to life. Idly, he flicked through our targets. We had a bland looking guy in academy tunics, Pass. We don’t hunt other Sith, even Jerec knew that would draw too much attention. Next was a fat man with sandy hair and a beard. Ugh, another businessman? Pass. Third up was a cute but ill-looking twi’lek slave girl and a nasty looking alien brute as big as a Tu’kata and twice as nasty looking.

“Ugh, that thing just looks ‘wrong’, I’ll pass on that,” I refused crinkling my nose as if I could smell it.

“What’s wrong Cassi, Losing your nerve? Jerec jeered at me. He liked doing that, sneering and cooing, the smug arse. Just because his father’s a major in the army doesn’t mean he’s any worthier than the rest of us. I’d beat him down a notch or three, but he’s a lot stronger than I am.

“If you want to go hunt a mindless brute, then that’s your business. I’ll take the twi’lek.” I saw Roi’s’ face darken out of the corner of my eye. Oh, did he want a go at her? I suppose it’d be the only time a woman would take interest in him, if you can call an alien a woman: well the only time he wouldn’t have to pay for it.

“Aww, did you want her all to yourself,” I mock-pouted at him. We all knew he liked to play with his prey. It was gross and kinda pathetic but it made him less whiny, so I put up with it. He glared at me, though he didn’t do anything. I’m stronger, and he knows it.

Roi’s, you get the dashade. What’s one alien compared to another, eh?” Jerec interposed, his face snarling at me. I didn’t care for the rest of it, the petty whinging and empty posturing. I wreathed myself in the shadows of the dark side and stalked out into the dank Kaas rain. Checking the locator app on my datapad, I smiled. The hunt was on.

She wasn’t far, especially not for a Sith. Stalking around the corner of some office full of insignificant people, I spied her. She padded down an alley, a rucksack slung over her shoulders. A boy in a hooded black longcoat was beside her, her owner, I’d imagine. Guess it’s not his day. Not only is he about to lose his oddly well-dressed slave but depending on how much he saw, possibly his life too.

Padding over to the front of the alley, I peered around the corner. Last thing I wanted was flash my power around, and let another Sith notice me. Killing force blinds was a birth right, but I still don’t want to be watched doing it.

The Twi’lek was most the way down it, utterly alone. Huh, where did the boy go? No matter, this was too good to pass up. I followed her in. Unlike Jerec, I like my kill to know what I am, and just how helpless they are before me. What’s the point of killing them if I can’t revel in their fear first?

“You, Twi’lek, come here,” I ordered. This would be too easy. She’d obey, I’ll draw my saber and casually pop that tentacle head clean off after a good bit of grovelling. Who knows, I might even get back in time to catch Exiles’ Triumph on live transmission this time.

“Why?” What? She questioned my command: she can’t do that!

“I gave you an order, slave. I expect you to follow it,” someone huffed, and it took me a moment to realise it was me.

“Uh huh, and I asked what you want with me?” Mouthy little slave isn’t she. Maybe I’ll draw this out a little, make her beg for death a few times first.

“I am your death,” I purred, my scarlet saber backlighting me. That’ll do it. Slaves freak when they see a lightsaber for the first time.

“Really, is that the best you can do?” Okay, this was just weird. She should be running or on her knees begging: not just standing there, hand on hip. The force went wild around me, and I had to fight to keep it under control. I’ve no idea what she did, but I’m not fleeing from some twi’lek slave girl: I’m Sith.

“Look, I’ve stolen from Korriban, stared down Darths and survived. Nothing you could do will ever match that,” she bragged, not even looking at me. Oh, Kark this! I coiled the force beneath me and leapt.

Pain exploded across my shoulders and back as something slammed into me halfway across the alleyway. Squirming, I barely got my saber out from under me before my face splashed into the puddle. Cold shot over my head and the ringing disconnect you only get when underwater clapped around my ears. I struggled, bringing my head up enough to suck in a breath. Whoever did that would suffer.

The sharp round edge pressed into the back of my neck and I went very still. I know the feel of the business end of a lightsaber. Lord Emiratus liked pressing his against my skin, making sure I knew he could take my life with a flick of his fingers

“My friend, find your own,” another Sith snarled into my hair.

“You know, you had me worried there for a moment,” the Twi'lek admitted from somewhere nearby. It didn’t matter, the the Sith on my back she could have been dancing on Nar Shaddaa for all it mattered

“Nope, saw her go red so I went somewhere less slippy to jump from. What, are you worried I’ll leave you?” he chirped, stressing the . Huh, he was awfully high pitched for a Sith. Actually, he wasn’t that heavy either. I’d assumed he wasn’t putting his whole weight on me but I can definitely feel two knees on my shoulder blades… Aw, it’s her owner. Jerec’s going to torment me about this for months.

“So, what now?” the Twi’lek asked, and I could hear the implied question in her voice. They couldn’t kill me. Murdering Sith is forbidden,

“She’s not red anymore, but she attacked you: she dies.” He growled, and a shiver stabbed down my neck, around his lightsaber. Wait, what? He can’t do that! The lightsaber at the back of my neck twitched as his hand shifted down, towards the activation button. Oh no, oh no no no no no, not like this. It can’t all end like this. I’m Sith, I don’t get taken out in waterlogged alleyways.

“While it is your right to execute her, young Lord, might I advise against it?” someone purred, his voice pure, refined Kaas. By the Emperor’s black heart: Just when I thought this day couldn’t get any worse!

Rain beat down like coffin nails, the dank scent of permacrete and durasteel filling my nose. Around me, the only sound was the drumbeat of rain, the distant hum of airspeeder traffic and the quiet sizzle as rain hit my rain-shield. I drowned it all out: it didn’t matter. I sat atop Logistics headquarters, and I waited for my target.

Beside me sat my spotter, the repentant mandalorian who had supplied victims to my targets. Renegin didn’t have a rain-shield, as he didn’t need one. With his custom designed helmet, his armour was sealed. A little rain has nothing against the endless void of space or the crushing depths of a gas giant.

He tapped my shoulder, gesturing at the speeder he’d tagged. I shifted my scope and saw the targets. Were they offworlders or imperials, I would have taken the shot then and there. One clean it to the fuel tank and the three would be nothing more than ash. If only. No, I watched Sith hunt. To have a chance of ensuring Justice for their victims, I had to catch them attempting murder.

They prowled around the bonnet of the speeder, sleek, elegant movements reminding me of Vine Cats. Perfect, silent ambushers, they had a languid grace to everything they did. Unfortunately, these ones were man-killers and had to be exterminated. I only need one alive.

I saw one, the woman, dart off slightly ahead of schedule. This wasn’t unexpected, though her target was. She headed North, after the twi’lek I tagged this morning. Still, it all evened out: her target was the furthest away.

The fat man lumbered into a speeder and headed off East, for the Dashade. This one I had assumed would go after the Twi’lek, if the sexual prelude to his murders were any indication. A pity, he would have made the ideal culprit to present to my superiors. Still, I could understand his choice. He picked the biggest, meanest of the four, assuming that a simple brute like the Dashade would stand no chance against a ‘real’ Sith. Of course, I hadn’t told Renegin he was the last of Tulak Hord’s shadow assassins or what he did to force users.

That left the thin man for either the acolyte, or Weng Wrightsyn. He headed West, after Wrightsyn, though it isn’t beyond possibility that he would swing back and claim the acolyte as well. I truly am sorry Mr Wrightsyn, but if you want something to change for the better, you have to get involved. Simply complaining loudly about it in the marketplace and hoping someone will come along to solve your problems isn’t enough.

I watched him track Wrightsyn, all the way back to just outside his house. It would seem odd for someone who wanted attention drawn to a killer to be so lax about his own security, but the man hadn’t struck me as the brightest fellow. The Sith snarled something, and the fat man’s face became ash. Wrightsyn screamed, waddling down the street. The Sith casually strolled after him, as if enjoying one of Kaas’ rare rainless days. Why he hadn’t fled back into his own home was beyond me, up until I saw the door open, and a little girl peer out.

The Sith rolled his head to see her, a languid, hungry smile stretched over his unnaturally pale face. Whirling, he flicked his hand at the door, and it slammed shut, bashing the child out into the street. Rain seeped into her nightdress and I felt the need to look away: she was only seven. I fought the urge, ground my teeth and observed the Sith stroll over to her, lightsaber sparking in the rainstorm. She crawled back, an awkward backwards scuttle on her hands and feet, eyes fixed on her killer. Casually, he twirled his blade in mock salute, and struck. Wrightsyn roared as he raced back with surprising speed for his bulk. I suppose the primal rage of a parent must have kicked in, damning rational fear of Sith predators to oblivion. A pity he wasn’t fast enough. I was. Just as the Sith was about to strike, he came into my firing line: perfect. I squeezed the trigger.

The Sith forsook his strike, instead swirling his blade to block the shot, possibly trying to parry it back at me. With the force guiding his hand, the distance between us probably wouldn’t matter. Without my portable cover device, I would be just as vulnerable as Wrightsyn. It’s a good thing slugs don’t rebound that way.

The slug slipped through the air, slamming into his scarlet blade. It sputtered and died, as did its owner: the slug spattered his throat. Cortosis tipped slugs were expensive, but I don’t take chances when killing Sith. One down, two remain. Calmly, I opened the breach of my under-barrel slug thrower, letting the casing fly free.

“Nice shot, what was that thing?” Renegin cooed, eying his employer’s corpse with his macrobinoculars, “Wrightsyn even survived.” Of course he did, did he really think I was going to let him kill Imperial taxpayers on a personal mission? I’m imperial intelligence: we don’t sacrifice Imperial lives without good reason, and especially not in front of their fathers.

“Classified,” I lied, slipping another slug into the breach and sliding the handlebar forwards and down to close it. Cortosis was common enough from the mines of the Katanos and Duros systems. They even used a fine weave of it in high-grade armours, to ‘improve cutting resistance’. Of course, I wasn’t going to spread the Sith’s weakness about, they might learn of it and try to erase it from the galaxy. I saw Renegin look at me from the corner of my eye, annoyance plastered over his pointed face. It didn’t matter, I was watching Wrightsyn clutch his daughter tightly, their tears lost in the deluge that was this evening.

“Hold up, looks like the fat one’s found your Dashade. Three hours, twenty-five minutes from North.” I turned, but before I found my target, Renegin held the tip of my rifle. “Don’t think you’re needed for this one.” He sounded like he was about to be sick, and I could only imagine what he saw. I had a fairly good idea though.

I knew what Khem Val, last shadow assassin of Tulak Hord was capable of. He hadn’t stopped growling about what he would do to his new master throughout the journey here. I suppose those mandatory Sith language lessons at public school was finally worth something.

“What about the last one?” I asked. The woman was our last lead. My implant still cycled through camera footage, trying to find a face picture clear enough for facial recognition.

“She’s approaching the target now. You sure about this last one? I’m not too comfortable with siccing a Sith on a kid.”

“They’re not the ones in danger,” I assured him, my tone a matter of fact. He gave me a gimlet stare. I suppose he hasn’t read the dossiers I have.

“Okay, two hours forty minutes from your location, down the alleyway.” Renegin relayed. I shifted my scope, and saw the Sith loom at the far end of the alley, the Twi’lek halfway down it, facing her. Oh, this is perfect. Zooming in, I got a great shot of her face. The facial recognition software in my implant had a match in less than a second: Cassiopeia Calrissian. Huh, hadn’t expected a colony girl to get mixed up in all of this, but that’s the Sith for you.

Still, I didn’t have much time. The moment she considered engaging, Baras’ apprentice would kill her and any chance for justice for the murdered. I doubt the Dashade would corroborate my evidence: it got its meal and that was as far as it cared. Wrightsyn wouldn’t be brazen enough to report what he’d seen, even though they had almost murdered his daughter. Wrightsyn and child were just citizens, members of the artisan caste. The killers were Sith apprentices. Their master –one moment, Lord Emiratus- would need all witnesses dead to avoid Darth Hadra’s Wrath. Dromund Kaas was her territory, and all imperials on it technically served her. She took a dim view to poaching, and had no problems taking other Darths to task over it: just ask Darth Arctis about the ruins outside Kaas city. Leaving my rifle, I hopped up and I slid into Renegin’s speeder.

Personally, I detest such insecure methods of transport, preferring shuttles, but that’s the former naval officer in me. The speeder was fast, quiet and nearby. It would do. Gunning the throttle, I sped off, to save a murderer.

There was little air-traffic between me and the alley, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t careful. I followed the official airlanes, gave way to other vehicles and signalled when I wished to drop out. Just because I had to get there immediately, doesn’t mean that I am reckless behind the wheel. A true gentleman remains in perfect control of any vehicle he drives.

Landing it, I locked the speeder and padded over to the entrance of the alleyway. I was fortunate I had been able to land so close. If necessary, I would’ve left the speeder running two metres off the ground, but it hadn’t come to that. The adjacent building had to be a restaurant specialising in Tionese cuisine, if the smell is any indication.

Before walking out into the open alleyway, I peered in first. After all, waltzing into a pitched battle between two Sith was hardly my idea of a fun way to die.

My target leapt at the twi’lek, her lightsaber scratching scarlet all over the grey alleyway. Damn, I had thought the boy would- oh, there he is. He plummeted down from atop the building, slamming the other Sith in the shoulders and riding her to the puddle-strewn pavement. Water splashed around them, briefly obscuring the two, and when it

cleared, I saw her on her front, him on her back, and his unlit lightsaber by her neck.

I had expected as much for Darth Baras’ newest enforcer, this mysterious boy who has already captured a Jedi, a feat much more difficult than simply killing them. Reports from the boarding party told me he would likely keep her alive for a time, while he figured out what to do next. I had until then to convince him to hand her over to me. It wasn’t a task I relish, I am no good with children, and the Sith are erratic enough as adults. I’m not entirely sure my shield probe could kick in before then.

The Twi’lek strolled over to them and stood over the fallen Sith, posture insolent with a hand on her hip.

“You know, you had me worried there for a moment,” she admitted. He glanced up at her and whle I couldn’t see his face, I did see him tilt his head to the side.

“Nope, saw her go red so I went somewhere less slippy to jump from. What, are you worried I’ll leave you?” he chirped, straightening from his hunch over the other Sith.

“So, what now?” she asked, and I felt the tingle of anticipation shiver down my spine. It appears I got here just in time: the perfect opening is about to present itself.

“She’s not red anymore, but she attacked you: she dies.” He stated, and I didn’t like the finality in his tone. Blast, I had hoped for a better opening, but circumstance dictates.

“While it is your right to execute her, young Lord, might I advise against it?” I announced, stepping out from behind the dumpster, the cloying smell of old food and bleach curling my nostrils. The twi’lek had her pistols out and trained on me before I took two steps into the alley. Huh, so he arms his servant. I had not expected that.

Still, it raises an interesting question as to why she hadn’t drawn on the SIth. While it wouldn’t have done anything against Cassiopeia, she would have felt better about with reassuring weight of a weapon. Has she faced so many Sith that she isn’t afraid of them, or is she so sure her master would save her? Either way, more information is needed.

“Why’s that? Do you work for her,” the young Sith asked, arching his back, and tilting his head to look at me. Well, that didn’t look disturbing at all. His yellow-green eyes washed over and around me. It must be a force adept thing, detecting faint impressions that could be used to gauge intent. Since intimidation and assault are evidently not viable approaches, I tried diplomacy instead

“Hardly,” I allowed myself a casual smile, the one I used in the weekly sabaac game back on the Dauntless. “I’m afraid she’s the only survivor of her little murderous troupe, so collective retribution will fall upon her. I honestly would be quite surprised if Lord Emiratus doesn’t offer her to placate Darth Hadra’s personally.”

“Sounds great, but you still haven’t told us who you are,” the twi’lek, Vette, interjected, stepping between her master and me. Interesting, she acts unlike a slave, more like a companion. Offer of manumission possible for subversion of their relationship. I filed the information away for later use. I am here to do things for them, not to them. Perhaps introductions are in order then.

“I am known Cipher Nine, young lord, of Imperial Intelligence,” I introduced myself, dropping a slight bow to the younger Sith. I expected wariness, possibly even disgust. The secret police of the empire is not particularly liked by the Sith. I even had prepared an escape in case he engaged: a flash grenade and nearby speeder. His eyes went wide and his mouth opened into a full smile. Wonder: I had not prepared for that. Still, it’s certainly usable.

“You’re like Wallcrawler,” he whispered with reverential awe. Wallcrawler? Images of a lithe young man clad in a black, skintight suit flicked into my left optic display. Ah, the holo-animated adventures of an intelligence agent with a specialised gripping suit and tethers. Interesting, I had thought we discontinued that line of indoctrination.

“Do you need me to take her to a cell: she’s weak but she’s still Sith,” he offered, twisting his arm to tighten his grip on the unfortunate young murderess. She gasped and dropped her restrained lightsaber.

“No need young lord, I have force suppressing handcuffs.” Slowly, I approached, drawing the pair of innocuous stun-cuffs from my pocket. Officially, they were class four restricted items, only permitted for use by Sith and high ranking military officials on official purpose. I was neither. An intelligent person would know that. She thought Sith had a right to hunt the force-blind simply because they were there. Only a fool dismisses us: We can be more dangerous than Sith under the right circumstances.

“Vette, if she moves, shoot her,” he asked. Yes, asked: not ordered, commanded or compelled. He asked her to guard him. Evidently more information is required for both of them. Perhaps I should request the standard surveillance on them. After all, Darth Baras’ apprentice had access to possibly the second most extensive spy network in the empire, with the muscle of the Sith and full might of the Imperial military behind it. It would be a coup for us to have him in pocket.

Vette aimed her pistols at Cassiopeia’s head and nodded. The young Sith took his saber away from her neck, sheathing it in his sleeve. Cassiopeia stayed very still, all too aware of the irony that the slave she had come to slay held her life in the grip of a finger. Casually, he slipped his hands down her arms, holding her wrists close enough for me to slip the cuffs around them. They click shut and I can breathe freely. She was powerless. That wasn’t to say she wasn’t dangerous, but it was now manageable.

“Come along, Miss Cassiopeia Calrissian,” I drop her name, and I see the shiver run through her. Typical, the worst Sith are often cowards, taking their insecurities out on the rest of us. Carefully, I lift her to her feet, doing my utmost not to stare down her ample cleavage. They may be on display, but a gentleman rises above such crass things. I did notice Baras’ apprentice pick up her lightsaber, strapping it to his belt: to the victor, eh?

Carefully, I led the bound Sith away, back to the speeder I’d commandeered from Renegin. I’d have to return it sooner or later, but I had to transport her somewhere secure first. Flicking the button on the activation cylinder, I saw the speeder flash twice, unlocking.

“Release me,” she purred, and I felt the inky darkness of the force slip into my mind. I am a trained Cipher agent, well aware and versed in techniques to resist mental compulsion. I didn’t have to use any of them. The tendrils warping my will withdrew as she gasped, electricity arcing up her arms and bowing her back. She bit back a scream, instead hissing a gasping cry. Just like that, it stopped. After an agony of electricity, the absence was as sharp a torture. It should be sufficient to restrain her. I added a little more, to be sure. After all, ‘sufficient’ is rarely so regarding Sith.

“It would be unwise to try that again,” I chide her, opening the speeder door for her. She glared at me, but got into the passenger seat. Briefly I wonder when she plans to strike. After all, a Sith, even a powerless one, isn’t going to meekly await her fate. She knows Darth Hadra will kill her, and her master will gladly offer her up as a sacrifice. Yet, she hasn’t struggled with me. This is likely her last chance to break free, and yet she doesn’t. I somewhat doubt it is my boyish good looks or designation that give her pause. She was up to something. I would have to be even more careful.

I slipped the activation cylinder into its receptacle and drove away, back to Intelligence headquarters. As the speeder rose into the evening’s rain, I heard Vette muse, “You know what, I could really go for a Tionese right about now.” I chuckled, shaking my head slightly. It was amazing how subtle indoctrination could be. Still, I had put it off long enough. It was time to speak to Keeper, and give him a heart attack.

This scenario happened to me this Sunday morning. I was doing the Corellia arena warzone on Matria, my lvl 43 Hate-sin. It was me, a light-sorc, an arse-merc and a smashmonkey-Jugg against a gunslinger, a sage, a shadow tank (or at least acted like one) and a sentinel (I know, one of the rare Rep pops). As usual, I was away from the group in stealth, seeking out their unprotected rear, ideally the sage. She (and I could easily tell it was a she. Seriously, what you wear in private with your lover isn’t what you wear to battle [unless you’re a Celt]) was sticking to the group, but the gunslinger had accidentally LoS’ed them chasing after someone, the smashmonkey I think. Okay, first catch of the day. So I sneak up behind her while she repositioned (none of that pesky stealth detection tyvm), spike to stun her, and then the sentinel melted my arse off. He was so fast I couldn’t even cloak out and I am very cloak-happy. It was all I could do not to rage at the unfairness of being beaten at my own game, but then I realised something I found hilarious. The gunslinger was a BT1 Rutian twi’lek.

Also, yes, Caimon’s rifle has an breach-loaded under-barrel slug thrower. All snipers do, as seen in the animation for series of shots. I like that animation so much I changed his spec from Marksman to engineering when I had BiS for it (from pre-SoR) just so I don’t have to use the travesty of penetrating blasts (imo, of course. Some people might like reloading their sniper rifle by hitting the hammer, as a cowboy does his pistols, and that’s fine too.).

Another bounty in carbonite, another paycheck inbound. I could get used to living like this. Still had another two or three to do before the end of the month, but they shouldn’t take too long. About a week each, cut it to three days if I get a break. The door to the airlock hissed behind us and something, couldn’t say what, set me on edge. I glanced at Gault. His eyes washed over the lower deck, the dirty con man’s senses hadn’t faded from years of relative luxury. He nodded in agreement: It was quiet, too quiet. Mako and Torian should have been on board. Where were they?

First thought, the SIS had tracked the ship while we were planetside and taken them down or taken them out. If so, this was a trap. If that’s the case, then all bets are off. I try Mako’s holocomm. It jangles with an irritatingly upbeat tune from the medbay. I glance at Gault. He nods, understanding.

Thumbing the repulsorlift part of my jetpack, I kicked against the floor. Mass effectively negated, I sailed up, sweeping my pistols over the upper level. No one, no ambusher, no dead Torian or Mako, the ship was empty.

Beneath, I saw Gault dart over to the by the doorway to the lower deck, rifle out and ready. A sniper rifle wouldn’t ever be my first choice for a close quarters battle, but the wily Devaronian had a way of making the most impossible of shots look easy. I’d learnt not to underestimate him, or trust him for that matter.

Landing on the walkway with a slight clang of boot on metal, I sighted down the central walkway that led to the bridge. Nothing leapt out, blasters at the ready. Gasps and grunts emanated from the door behind me. Visions of ugly assailants torturing or forcing themselves on Mako punched into my mind, making my want to prime my flamethrower. I hadn’t used it since the Brentaal star fiasco, but here I could make an exception. It’s not like I own a lot of flammable stuff anyway. I resisted the urge. The setup I used favoured the microfacuring plant configured for explosives, not incendiaries. Re-initialising it and loading a new cylinder would take too long. No, instead, I was heading in. I tapped a button on my bracer and my energy shield crackled to life, ready to absorb the first few shots. I tapped the door release, and readied my pistols. First thing I noted was the smell of sweat. Chiss aren’t as sensitive to smell as baseline humans, so it must’ve been really bad. I’ve seen lots of things I hadn’t expected, but I wasn’t prepared for what I saw.

Mako was pressed against my bed, face turned away. Her skirt was hiked up round her waist, bare bottom up in the air. Her smiley-face panties were festooned around one leg, like a garter belt. Torian stood behind her, greaves around his ankles. His hands were on her hips, and he pumped his against hers. I felt my hands ball into fists. They weren’t kidnapped, they were fooling around on my bed. Slowly, deliberately, I put my pistols in their holsters. I wasn’t too sure I could keep from gunning them down if I didn’t.

Mako moaned a series of yips. Slowly, they grew in pitch and volume until finally, he grunted. He went absolutely still, buried inside her. Slowly, he withdrew, and I saw that he wasn’t wearing any protection. Ugh, stupid kid can’t please her and is dumb enough to go in unprotected. Can't see this lasting long, and without Mako's support, I'll cut him loose, or up.

“Ti ibic arpat, ni hiibir ibic cin vhetin par Mand’alor bal aliit Cadera. Dinuir mhi jahaala ade,” he jabbered in Mandalorian, imparting a quiet ceremony that set my teeth on edge. I got Mandalore, Cadera and something about children. He better not be trying to get her pregnant. They’ve only been dating for a month or two and I pretty damn sure Mako isn’t desperate for kids.

“Think you can go again?” he asked, the guttural growl in his voice softer with eagerness. Mako turned to look at him, and went very still, like a Jax in front of a ground crawler. She must’ve realised what I saw.

“Torian, did you just,” Mako asked quietly, fear creeping into her voice. Figures, with two ultra-protective father figures, she’d never had 'the talk'.

“Yeah, he did,” I growled. Torian snapped into a combat stance, forgetting his pants were around his ankles. Lurching, he fell into the shelves, bringing my scant personal items down with him. There was nothing delicate or fragile up there, but that didn’t stop me from wanting to choke him with the barrel of my pistol. Mako straightened up, pushing her skirt down to cover herself. Apparently, they had been doing a little more than violating my bed, for her shirt was half-open and her bra didn’t adequately cover her small breasts.

“Zul, I – uh, this is bad. I-,” she dithered, wasting my time trying to come up with a not obviously false lie.

“Stow it.” she did.

“Mako, go get cleaned up. Then find everything you can about the Black sun operations on Commendor and the Vigo known as the Silver Crescent.” She nodded, and then ran past, struggling not to burst into tears. Whether they were tears of embarrassment, guilt or shame, I didn’t know and didn’t much care. I’ll deal with her later. That left Torian.

“Torian, you’re going to strip these sheets and put them through the wash. Then you’re going to get clean ones and remake my bed. Clear?” I ask, still quiet, but I see him swallow. If he spouts Mandalorian gibberish at me, I’m not entirely sure what I’ll do, but airlocks in skivvies will be involved.

“Understood.” Monosyllabic I can live with, and by extension, so can he. He hiked up his greaves, tucking his withered limb back where it belongs, and started shucking the wet sheets. Ugh, I’ve seen grisly wounds and Hutts slobbering over naked slave dancers. Hells, I’ve cut a man’s head off and tossed it to his wife like a bag of coins, but this was disgusting. I headed out, down the stairs to the rest of the ship. Before I leave Commendor, I’m getting a lock on the door, a deadbolt Mako can’t slice.

Heading down the stairs, I grabbed a small, unmarked container from the medbay fridge and brought it over to the workstation. Not only did pharmacology help soothe my roiling rage, but this was necessary. Gault picked just then to pop his horned head around the corner, wry smile etched across his angular face.

“Well, lower level’s clear, if you don’t count Mako running into the fresher, crying her eyes out. Must’ve been quite a little get together you broke up huh.” He could smell it too.

“Gault, when Torian is finished with the sheets, you are going to explain the importance of protection and pleasing his lover to him.”

“O-kay,” he eyed me, plotting something, “what’s with the sudden interest in Sex-Ed?”

“Either he learns or I’m going to castrate him. That’d set a bad precedent for the ship,” I answered, my voice little more than a whisper but enough bite slipped through to make the hardened con man take a step back.

“Got it: taking the kid planetside for a few days. Don’t suppose this trip goes on expenses,” I looked him in his sharply intelligent, beady eyes, “Nope, never mind.” It probably would, training days usually are. I’m certainly not going to tell Gault that though. Once he finds a loophole, the things he can pull are truly incredible.

I simmer for a few minutes while I synthesise the compound I need and check its chirality. The dextro version of the steroid was chemically inert, making it useless to me. Then, reasonably calmer, I poured the steroid into a cup and made my way back upstairs, to the cockpit. Mako sat at the corner console, a box of disposable tissues on one side and a small pile on the other. I hadn't seen her pass me downstairs. She must've climbed up the engine struts to avoid the cargo bay. She turned when she heard me coming, and I saw eyes were still red from tears.

“Zul, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to say-,” she started, voice cracking.

“Then don’t,” I rebuffed, handing her the cup. She took it, eying it suspiciously. Oh please, If I wanted you dead, I’d shoot you. Ammo’s a lot cheaper than what I used to make that.

“What is it?”

“One point five milligrams of levonorgestrel in two fifty millilitres of water. It’ll inhibit ovulation for two to three days, so long as you’re under eighty kilos so you probably won't get pregnant if you aren't already. It won't do anything for STDs though.”

“Oh stars, I hadn’t even thought-,”

“No kidding. I growled and she visibly flinched from me, “what do you have on the Silver Crescent.”

A fraction of normalcy returned as she filled me in with barely a sniffle from her. When she finished, I passed her and set course for Commendor. Silver Crescent, you’re mine, you're an ex-mandalorian and you're worth enough dead.

Before anyone tells me that the Mandalorian grammar is terrible, I had someone else (who actually likes their culture) give insights on it. He added the line and gave me quite a good understanding of Torian (on my playthrough, the most I’ve done is dress him up in all black armour, as Johnny Young Bosch, his VA, was the second black Power Ranger). Torian tries his utmost to be a good little Mandalorian, following their code and likely internalising a lot of what he would’ve heard around the campfire.

I’m not going to translate what he said (because I don’t know what it means either), but I know that if Zul understood any more than a few words or recognised where the phrase is typically used, she would shoot him in the head.

EDIT – Essentially, it’s a phrase used by Mandalorian raiders and basically means that Torian has claimed Mako for Mandalore and Clan Cadera, so any children she has will be Mandalorian. This isn't a dig at Torian and he’s not trying to get Mako pregnant, as Zul almost misinterpreted. Mandalorians are quite insular, believing anyone outside their culture to be aruetii or alien and thus inferior.

In effect, ‘claiming’ Mako makes her an ‘honorary’ mandalorian and thus ‘acceptable’ for him to date, according to their code (heh, quotation marks ‘Reapers’). It doesn’t make much sense to me either, but that’s apparently how it works. As I said, Zul would kill him if she found out. She’d see it as an attack on Mako’s liberty and she gets violently protective of those she cares about. Depending on how this is received, I might write up Gault and Torian’s talk as a character piece illustrating the differences in ideology and understanding of the world.

Sith are manipulators of the dark side, they don't exactly keep moral codes for long, and the ones that do often have skewed ones. Helksan wasn't such a person, he reveled in the power he had, quick to use it for just about everything. This even led him to try cooking food with lightning once, it did not go over well. Regardless, he was as dark as they come, except he had a reason for his madness. Helksan had a minor case of dissociative identity disorder, this was brought on by the ascendancy's discovery of his force abilities through an incident that involved accidentally shocking his parents to death with the force. Naturally his psyche broke into two parts, the dominant being the cruel, morally absent sith that was described above, and the other being that of an innocent kid/adult. For years the sith walked the grounds of Korriban, Dromund Kaas, and many other planets, until the day his Apprentice tried to kill him.

It was a drizzly Tuesday on Dromund Kaas, well it was always drizzly on Dromund Kaas, but that's besides the point. On said Tuesday he was going through his routine of dark meditation, until he heard his door open, and in walked his apprentice, a small human man by the name of Kylan. Helksan greeted his apprentice sourly, he did not like when people interrupted his meditations. Wordlessly Kylan stalked closer until he was an uncomfortable 30 meters away, standing with a fierce rage saturated by desire. Kylan raised his hands, and lightning shot forth, arcing towards Helksan. Helksan would have blocked the energy easily, if it weren't for a slight, serious case of being distracted.

The distraction was caused by the resurgence of memory, rooted from deep within the wretched psyche of the sith, a simple comparison. As the master is betrayed by his apprentice, so is the parent betrayed by the child. A jolt of clarity intensified by lightning entered Helksan's mind, allowing for the man, not the sith,to finally have control. Causing the reunion of his shattered psyche.

Helksan fell to the floor, not from pain, but from despair, despair at all the suffering his broken mind had caused, and from then on he vowed t-. His thought was cut short as his mask was shocked directly with lightning. Helksan would have let himself die, but the sith had left behind a serious case of self preservation. So Helksan did the natural thing, he ran as quickly as he could, stopping only to obscure himself with the force. He fled to the imperial spaceport, and snuck aboard the first shuttle off planet to neutral territory. Along the way, he vowed to himself, never use the force again, he would not be sith, he would not cause suffering anymore. There were clothes on the shuttle, apparently it was a supply ship. He changed into a set of comfortable soldiers clothing. He threw his sith robes into the trash, but kept his mask, he didn't know why he kept it, but he did.

The shuttle arrived on Nar Shaddaa, and Helksan went from imperial territory to the republic territory, as he had worn a mask since he graduated from the sith trials, his face wasn't recognized by the republic. After convincing the officials he was a simple refugee, he boarded a shuttle to a newly formed republic colony out on the outer rim. A year after he had an established farm, he met a human girl named Sera. From there, you know the rest

I did try as stated before to slow down, hopefully this is a step in the right direction

When you tell someone like me, that 'you may want to skip this' it's like an invitation to read it, cause I'm one of those people that if I'm told I can't or might not be able, to do something, it's pretty much all I want to do from that point on lol.

So, 'Teenagers' was quite a story! I loved it. You know, I've always wondered how far you could go...how far to push things, and now I know! Thanks! I really enjoyed the descriptions, and I pretty much feel as your bounty hunter does about the Mando 'jibberish'. It used to drive mine crazy too. There isn't a day that passes that I don't wish I'd given Toast Boi to Mako lol. I also really enjoy your take on Gault, and I hope you'll do the next bit where you take Torian planetside. I found your use of Mando just fine, but then I don't understand a freaking word of it, so it's all good!

Good stuff!

Maybe if we were to divide Diviciacus equally amongst the three of us?

I'm going to have to fall back on one of my tabletop characters to reply to this suggestion I be trisected: I've had worse!

@Bultitudes_Loke: Thanks for the vote of confidence concerning the subject matter. The internal conflict between the tradition and mores of the Jedi Order (and yes, that's exactly why I used Latin ) and what my Shadow either can't or won't realize about herself I find quite delicious, especially since this week I blasted through 50-60 and finally got to see all the SGR stuff in-person.

@JamangsAwesome: I totally didn't read your stories until Tuesday when I finally finished Yavin IIII's moon and Ziost. Moar story best story! You're definitely pulling out all the stops when it comes to tying your serial into the greater world-story of TOR. The temporal jump feels a bit odd - everything was relatively close together, and suddenly we're on Makeb and Rishi. Maybe I'm just delusional because in my head 1-50 to 55 to 60 takes place over roughly a year each... so delusion is definitely a possibility.

Jaks Kenn: 1, Imperial Intelligence: 0

Synchordia is a super eldritch Classical Greek word for harmony or serenity - it's literally "syn" (with/together) + "chord" (which in Classical Greek refers specifically to a single string of a musical instrument rather than a group of tones as it does in modern music) + abstract concept ending; that is, Synchordia's literal translation is "together-music" and indeed in modern Greek it means a musical chord. I was originally planning to play her Serenity Spec (hence the name - virtually all my toon's names describe what they are) because it seemed more Jedi-like than Infiltration, which I had a male Inquisitor go Deception for. But LS inquisitor is just a terrible story so I deleted him before I ever started leveling Syn.

I'm not sure I want to continue the journal format for telling Syn's story, because I stop being able to assign dates to events since there's supposedly gaps of several months between events post-50. I may keep things first-person, though; although if I do that I'll probably accidentally conflate my Shadow and BH >.>

Oh, and Jamangs... you on EH, man? I'll just give you the 1.5M credits so you can finally unlock Chiss

@Oliverthefighter: Very interesting take on the Agent. I wouldn't say "taken aback" - but pleasantly surprised. After reading it, all I could think of was that scene in Pirates of the caribbean: At World's End, where Keira Knightley's character's father's (presumably) spirit is on the dinghy, and Tia Dalma goes "Him at peace." I liked the touching notes to the crew, acquaintances, and a husband whom Oranis seems to have not seen in quite some time.

I see you took a much different path with your Agent than I did, also. I have no complaints over the use of a Faraday cage to try and block the Force, although I doubt it would be called that in Star Wars; I just... I don't think it would have mattered. Vitiate destroyed Ziost in seconds. I'm curious; are the events on Ziost what precipitated your Agent making the choice to Join?

@toatokua: I do not believe that literally temporally fast (in-story) is what Jamangs was talking about. Reading your stories - they're quite good content-wise, I can't help but empathize with Helksan's psychological scarring. Anyway, I think what he meant is the occasional use of commas where it feels like there should be a period makes some sentences feel a bit... rushed. There's no problem at all for having a story cover months, years, even centuries; the Quenta Silmarillion covers more than 100,000 years of Middle-Earth's history, for instance. But, from a strictly narrative perspective, it helps readers if there's more semantic/syntactic pauses. I hope that makes sense; I have a hard time articulating language-related things sometimes.

@Mirdthestrill: Brynn's story has me a tiny bit confused; is the implication at the end that she never sent the message?

@Frauzet: I had to wrack my brains for a good half hour before I remembered what ATC stood for. I'm terrible. I had a quick flip through some of your older stories concerning Nateo and - he's had a pretty rough life

@YoshiRaphElan: Ziost is weighing on everyone, I see. I have some rough ideas to deal with it. I used to be pretty flippant when it comes to death when I was younger, but as I get older I find myself being personally affected by the tragedies of fictional stories more and more. I literally had to fight back tears over the Ziost conclusion. I probably wouldn't be able to even finish watching the original Star Wars (if it was a new film and not a 38 year old one) after Wilhuff Tarkin so callously orders the execution of billions by firing the Death Star at Alderaan. Or Taris: HOW DOES NO ONE ACROSS THE ENTIRE FLEET DISOBEY MALAK?! HAVE THEY ALL GONE MAD?

@Feldraeth (lots for you >.>): What I mean is in "The Price of Power" the vision of the plant-woman suddenly turns into Vette and we're back and maybe lucid in a crew cabin on the Black Talon. Perhaps it's just because I haven't read much of the stories already extant before I found this thread (I fear I would read and read and then die of thirst), so if what was going on was alluded to already I missed the show. I'm also a terrible person; I've never read the original Dracula. I should, though.

Yea, I sat for a long time writing and rewriting the relevant parts of that story trying to absolutely, definitively, ensure the subject matter had the gravitas it deserves. I was super worried when I referred to my Shadow's... stirrings as a Sith curse. I thought for sure someone would try and break my balls over that, considering in the real world many people erroneously consider homosexuality just such a thing. I was writing purely in-character, and thinking of rationales that made sense given the context, Lachris' sorceror-esque nature, and the Consular's own affinity for Force mysteries. And of course, her textbook-style notions of sexuality. It's something other people have, since she's pretty much a lifelong career Jedi. I'm looking forward to exploring my character's psychological conflict more as things go along, but I don't know when the inspiration to write more will strike

As for unwarranted advances, that kind of thing happens everywhere, not just "some" parts of the world I'm no internet SJW - they mostly want inequality in the other direction - but it's still sickening.

I've seen people ERP on the damned Republic fleet in /say, too - which is a little off-putting. If you want to ERP, that's totally fine, but I don't need to listen to people literally *********** on a bar stool in the middle of a busy space station.

I felt I couldn't break out the potentially offensive bits into separate spoilers because it would essentially leave me with a boring, journalistic synopsis of Consular chapter 2 for the rest of it, but having read your "Teenagers" I see how you approach it. Definitely a much different view of Torian Cadera (although I'm aware how young he is when you first meet and yours seems a little more realistic) than I have. I might be projecting a little bit of my own personality on the guy, just because of the very Iron Age honor-bound warrior society Mandalorians seem to have (they're almost the Klingons of Star wars).

I'm curious about your chemistry knowledge now; I know how obnoxiously difficult it is to separate D and L enantiomers out chemically rather than biologically. Is it a Star Wars superior technology thing where your BH is able to do it in a grungy cargo hold lab, or does she care enough about biochemistry to have the necessary kind of equipment? Also, do I detect just a tiny bit of the ghost of thalidomide? I imagine Mako's definitely under 80kg, though. I remember when her in-game codex listed her as 14 in beta. Creepy times.

As for the claiming thing, I think it's an echo of the idea of rape - it literally means to "take/seize." In effect, by having sex with Mako, he's... making her Mandalorian. This being Star Wars, I'm pretty sure a woman doing the same thing to a man is valid, if still kind of rapey.

@Everyone: Overall, I think my favorite part of reading people's stories is just how different the same character is when played/written by each of us.

When you tell someone like me, that 'you may want to skip this' it's like an invitation to read it, cause I'm one of those people that if I'm told I can't or might not be able, to do something, it's pretty much all I want to do from that point on lol.

I know that feeling!

You know, I've always wondered how far you could go...how far to push things, and now I know!

I would reserve judgement for now; I just come off a 72 hour RO, which was handed out more than a week after the post that incurred it. Although I hope Feldraeth doesn't get banned!

I've been trying to get decent sleep on this damned transport for the better part of the last fortnight. It's not that this bunk isn't long enough or comfortable enough. It's just not wide enough. I can sleep on my back when I'm dead. Converted troop carriers are efficient but awful accommodations.

What happened on Karideph doesn't help. What would have happened to that girl if I hadn't been there? It sickens me. Whoever put her in that shipping crate had stripped her. What if someone had already... No. I can't go down that hyperlane. I just... no.

I'm starting to drift off finally when the intercom crackles to life, and what sounds like a droid starts speaking. That or the static is worse than I think. "Attention passengers, the Skyfire Diamond is on final approach to Nar Shaddaa, Mezenti Spaceport, docking bay six. Estimated time of landing is just after twentieth hour Galactic Standard Time and just about zero seven hundred local."

Not a droid, then. Would've pointlessly given the time down to the nanosecond. I guess I'm not actually getting sleep tonight, but I'll take that over missing the departure. I glance at the itinerary on my padd. According to this, the transport's next stop is... Makeb. Pretty sure it's going to be a long time before I make landfall on a resort world.

Checking the wall-mounted clock in my cramped but single-occupant quarters - it's amazing what a few hundred extra credits will do when booking a hyperspace flight - it looks like touchdown is in roughly ten minutes. Good thing I pack light. Best take the approach time to check my gear. Clothes? Wearing one set with a emergency change in my pack. Blaster? Right where I left it. Powercell's good. Nar Shaddaa's not the friendliest town, I'll need it. Padd? Into my pack, but I might still be annoyed I scratched the screen yesterday. Personal holocom? Packed and ready. I doubt the modifications I made for anti-slicing in it are going to work, though.

* * *

Walking out from the docking bay, I take a deep breath of the early morning air. The faint but distinctive reek of Hutt mixed with exhaust. Almost better than recycled atmo on a starship. If this Braden's the real deal, I'm possibly going to need something with a little better protection than a light jacket, and definitely a firepower upgrade. And if he's not, well... second verse same as the first.

Hailing a taxi, I jump in through the open top of one of the shiny new Czerka speeders and toss the driver a voucher for a hundred creds. "Best arms dealer on-moon. Punch it!"

"You got it, lady. Nurkolas' Alien Arms in Nikto sector comin' right up!"

The flight is short and thankfully uneventful. Not certain the cabbie was sober; no reek of alcohol. Spice perhaps? Disgusting. I could have done with a warning that this was gang territory, though. I have no way to conceal my blaster without an overcoat - but maybe the open carry will deter street-level thugs.

Nurkolas. Doesn't sound Nikto; if he's running an arms dealership in a place like this, at least he'll definitely stock the kind of goodies I'm looking for. My blaster's always good at range, but up close I need something I can use without having to unsheathe my belt knife. Maybe a retractable wrist-mounted blade? Illegal in the Republic, not in Hutt space. I should be able to pick one up. I don't know much about Imperial law, but from what I've heard it might not be an issue. What they don't know can't hurt anyway, right?

I also need something to deal with more than one hostile. Flashbangs or smoke grenades should be perfect. Most groups I'm probably not looking to kill, only deter. Or at least try to, first.

I arrive at the arms dealership. Outside, a Nautolan is drinking some steaming liquid out of a handle-less earthenware mug, while sitting in a collapsible chair. "Sorry, Nurkolas isn't open yet. Come back at ten." He takes another sip.

I can't afford to wait around for more than two hours. My shuttle planetside leaves tomorrow morning - and I'll need to get everything tuned and optimized before then. I toss him a chit for one hundred credits. "You're Nurkolas? I think your timepiece is running slow today."

"Ehhh... for this I can open early, let me finish my drink. Better have a lot more in hand... good weapons are not cheap, yes?"

With the cup in one hand, he pulls a padd from his coat with the other. Pressing buttons, the maglock clicks off, with the door sliding into the wall with a grainy hiss. Nurkolas slugs back the rest of whatever he's drinking and stands. After slipping the padd back into his coat he folds the back of the chair down, and it pops down into a small case to be picked up. "Welcome to Nurkolas' Arms! If it shoots, stabs, fries, or detonates I stock it!"

I follow him through the door. The shop's lights must be motion activated, flickering on and bathing display cases and floor models of everything from blasters to heavy ordnance in a neutral, pale yellow glow. "I'm looking for some pretty specific things: lightweight combat armor, concealable melee weapons and... crowd control..." I realize I'm trailing off as I look at a particular display case's contents.

"Ah, interested in the new Adasca BioMechanical line of personal weapons? Base model fires explosive projectiles with limited homing capabilities, and the adaptive construction allows for near-infinite customization options. Including bladed attachments like you're lookin' for."

I'm sorry, I couldn't hear you over the sound of how awesome that is. It's almost more than perfect for my needs, but I want a little more information.

"Fits over the forearm, huh? What's the control scheme? glove integration?" I glance around, looking for armor displays - selection's limited, mostly heavy Kamino armorsmith-looking stuff.

"Control systems are open-source; if you can issue commands with it, the Adascorp vambrace can take it. Gauntlet digit motivators, voice commands, neural implants. You name it."

Sold. "Price tag reads almost two thousand creds. You willing to cut a deal if I pick up a couple mods for it and some armor?"

"We can work something out, sure. Most of my armor is surplus Republic military after the last war, but I have some new Kell Arms personal defense gear I think you might be more interested in. Haven't even unpacked the crates yet... I'll bring the humanoid female models crate out front while you decide on attachments for the Adascorp. I have to set up the mannequins anyway before I open for real."

As he heads into the back storeroom, I peruse the mods display case, looking for practical choices. There's a good selection of blade options - I'm partial to the dual-edged serrated model. There's some useless stuff, too; electrowhips... and a magnetic pulsewave generator. If I need to break into anything, I can fall back on my mechanical skills, thank you. The last option is interesting, however. A long-range railgun. Effective range is... wow. Nearly five kilometres. Definitely worth it if the recoil is manageable.

Control methods I'm a little worried about, though. Finger controls are notoriously unreliable. I've got no implants, either. But... shouldn't be too hard to get a solid one from one of the fancy clinics on the promenade, if I can get a walk-in appointment. I'll have virtually all day and most of the night with how smoothly this little shopping trip is going.

And that's Nurkolas' cue to come back, half-dragging a large metal crate emblazoned with the Kell logo. "You know... I could fix that repulsorlift in about two minutes. I can hear what's wrong with it already. Loose wiring into the grav chamber tanks the antigraviton output... common problem on all the small-scale SoroSuub sleds."

Sliding off the crate lid, he looks at me, wide-eyed. "You - you can? The Kintan Kings killed my repairman over "protection" credits a couple of months ago, and half the stuff in my shop's starting to fall apart. I can sell anything... fix, not so much."

I hand him my padd. "Here're my measurements, unbox the stuff in my size while I get your repulsorsled working. And nothing in blue."

I drop to my knees next to the sled's interface panel, swinging my pack off my shoulder. With some minor digging, I find my compact toolkit and start to disassemble the drive cowl. Sure enough, the auxiliary feed wire is frayed at the terminal.

"A little solder, some quickdrying insulation and... done." I snap the cowl back into place and stand, booting the sled back up. The crate lifts off the floor and starts to hover half a metre high. Perfect.

Turning around, I see Nurkolas has almost completed a display for the armor. "Work quickly, huh?"

"It's easier to swim through air."

"Right. So, what do we have?"

He hands me a brochure. "All in here. I haven't read it yet."

I flip through the models. It's mostly lightweight polyfibe. I can appreciate that. Most of it seems to be form-fitting catsuit style, which I can't. It's supposed to keep me alive, not show off my ***. A feature list; that helps.

High-performance polyfiber body armor for the discerning law enforcement, covert operations, or special contractor.

-Nanite matrix - bonds to attire layers underneath for a solid yet comfortable fit and self-repairs minor damage.

-Lightweight - Won't slow you down in the thick of a firefight.

-Chemproof - Resists most chemical weapons and acid corrosion, allowing operations in even the toughest planetary atmospheres.

-200,000 thread count - provides shock absorption against melee weapons, projectiles, and even small explosions.

And so on. "They talk tough; how well does the armor actually stand up to punishment?"

The arms dealer rifles through a box before pulling out a data spike. "I don't know, but they provided a product demonstration holovid for the display. I'll get it set up." Inserting the spike into a port on the counter, a ceiling-mounted projector hums to life. A well-built man appears, wearing a suit of the armor on display.

"I'm John Caveson, and I'm here to demonstrate the new Kell Arms "Nanofibe" line of personal defense gear. In fact, I'm wearing a suit right now, because I'm the test subject. After all, if a man can't trust the armor he designed... how can you, the consumer?

Vere, if you would please begin?"

A female voice off-camera replies, "Yes, Mr. Caveson. Commencing blaster rifle firing test."

Staccato shots streak into the field of view, slamming into the man's chest. He barely flinches. "As you can see, I'm completely unharmed. Even under sustained blaster fire, a Nanofibe suit endures."

"Commencing chemical test." A small projectile connects with the test subject's chest, leaving an obvious splatter pattern on his torso.

"See? Weaponized chemicals drip right off. If I weren't wearing a Kell Arms armor suit, I would be screaming in agony. Just like your enemies will!"

"Commencing concussive test."

The telltale woosh of a shoulder-mounted rocket launcher firing culminates in a trail of smoke, an explosion, and settling dust where the man was standing. From off-camera his voice can be heard: "Now I'm actually in agony, Vere. The impact broke most of my ribs, I'm pretty convinced. But I'm still alive! I just took an antipersonnel explosive like a real man and tomorrow I'm going to walk out of a kolto tank like it was a lie! And you will -" a pause as ragged breathing can be heard from the holovid "-too! With Kell Arms."

"Alright, I'm sold. If it doesn't work I'll be too dead to care. I'm partial to this style here..." I point to a model in the brochure sporting a heavier-looking breastplate, placart, tassets, and sabatons over the tight-fitting undersuit.

"Only two of that model shipped. I received one red and white, or one green and durasteel grey."

As I start to disrobe I reply, "Green it is. Let's get me suited up. . . Don't look at me like you've never seen a woman take off her clothing before. You live on Nar Shaddaa."

* * *

A few minutes later, I'm ensconced in my new armor. They weren't lying. Light. Flexible. Strong. I feel like I could punch through a blast door. Nurkolas is completing the final installation of the railgun to the Adascorp bracer on my left arm. I can feel components sliding around and transforming, integrating the magnetic rails into the unit.

"That should do it. It's defaulted to voice because you have no implants, but a standard weapons control module should be easy enough to pick up. Voice commands to switch modes, and clench you fist to fire. Sensors will pick up the muscle movement in your forearm.

The unit stores eight rockets, sixty projectiles for the electromagnetic rail system, and of course the retractable blade doesn't require ammunition. The rockets are a pretty standard small-yield antipersonnel homing style. You can purchase replacements anywhere on the Smuggler's Moon where... pretty much anything is sold, really. Rail shot projectiles might be a little more difficult, but the manual has instructions for field replacements.

Total cost for arms and armor comes to... 3900 credits. I'll pay the Hutt sales tax since you fixed my sled."

I toss him a chit for four grand; leaves me just enough to get that implant installed this afternoon. Glad I prepaid that shuttle ride to Hutta. "That should cover it, plus a little extra. You've been a great help."

As I turn around, tying my blaster belt back up, two Nikto shove their way in the door, one of them yelling in Huttese. "[YO NURK'! Heard you gots our protection money. Cough it up, squiddie!]"

Someone, somewhere, loves me just a little bit. I get to test my new toys out and I don't even have to leave the store. "I'm sorry," I say, turning, "I don't speak greasy slug. Could you repeat that?"

So one of the Nikto shoots me square in the chest. And... hot damn. Armor works just like it says.

"[Hey, you 'sposed to be dead now!]"

"Not dying is the only time I ever disappoint, my good Nikto." I level my left arm at the one who shot me, and clench my fingers. The railgun winds up and leaves a trail of glowing charged particles as it fires a projectile right through the Nikto's torso, blasting him off his feet. I can't get a second shot off - the electromagnets must take a few seconds to recharge - but it doesn't matter. The second one is running for his life already.

Nurkolas is staring slack-jawed, shifting his gaze between me, the dead Nikto, and back again. "Oh wow oh wow! That gear really works. This is just the tide's wash! And the security feed will be twice the advertising a company-made holovid could ever be!"

"Tell you what: when I win the Great Hunt, I'll come back here and throw you a party."

"The - the Great Hunt? You're crazy. I've heard rumors. You'll die!"

Walking out of the arms dealership, I glance back for a moment. "We all die, in time. Have yourself a great day; I hear lunch calling."

Adasca BioMechanical is actually a legit weapons/pharmaceuticals manufacturer in Star Wars; the events on Quesh is just them cooperating with SIS to try and take down a wanted-in-Republic-space fugitive.

My BH is neither actually stripping all the way to naked nor trying to seduce Nurkolas at all; she just has literally zero sense of physical modesty because worrying about that kind of thing can interfere with getting the job done. In this case, that means getting into her new armor ASAP. In the future that might mean someone somewhere gets an impromptu and unsexy show. Probably on the ship if/when I get that far along with this character.

Yes, that's a Portal reference. Loved those games.

@Feldreath: I'll admit I've nudged the boundaries of forum safety....more than once and haven't gotten any mod warnings yet, but that bit was more of a push. I think you'll be fine since the story was appropriately tagged for content beforehand. Well done capturing the awkwardness of two teenagers exploring sex for the first time (ugh, had a flashback).....but boy I really felt for Mako in that piece and had to giggle at Zul's exchange with Gault at the end.

@Alaurin: Platonic hugs from a viking?

@toatokua: Interesting backstory for Helksan.....hit me in the feels a bit. For Indexing purposes, do you have a prompt or title in mind for me to file it under?

@Diviciacus: Ooooo, I like this intro to the BH story!! Also, yay.....I love Nurkolas and gave a squee when I saw his name!!

The picturesque park was quiet in the early morning light, pale pink satin swayed in the gentle breeze, dr@ped from the gazebo in the center. Flowers opened their soft petals as they were kissed by the sun rising over the sprawling estate. Inside, several figures were bustling about, making last minute preparations as a comlink chimed from one of the many rooms. A petite Human clad in a satin robe snatched the unit, a roller slipping out of place in her haste to answer.

“Jax!” she cried, easily recognizing the grey Cathar’s image, “Where are you guys?! I’m freaking out!”

“Yeah listen, Mako,” Jax sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to find the words, “Uh…..we f*cked up….”

“What are you talking about?!”

“The bachelor party…..the whole weekend,” Jax stammered, head bowed, “Things got outta control and uh……we lost Dek.”

“What?!”

“We can’t find Dek,” Jax sighed, bracing himself for the explosion.

“What are you saying, Jax? We’re getting married in five hours!”

“Yeah……that’s not gonna happen.”

The soft swoosh of a door closing registered in Zabrak’s mind, slowly bringing him back to consciousness. The first thing he felt was the cold, hard marble floor against his back. His head was swimming, but he pushed past that and forced an eye open a tiny crack. The blurred image of the door closing came into view and he struggled to remember where exactly he was. With a groan, he turned his horned head face up towards the ceiling, rubbing his eyes to clear his blurred vision. The ornately decorated vaulted ceiling looked familiar and he remembered where he was. He slowly sat up and got a good look at the suite, shocked at the mess. He blinked twice when he saw an Endorian chicken walking across the demolished room, pausing for a brief second before stepping around the tawny Cathar passed out in front of the sofa.

“Aric,” he called out, his dry throat making his voice hoarse.

His XO kept snoring so Zev finally gathered the strength to stand, staggering over to the bar to grab a bottle of water out of the conservator. The room spun and he practically fell into the nearest chair, waiting for the nausea to pass before opening the bottle and taking a drink. He was about to call out to Jorgan again when movement from behind the bar caught his eye. The tall, pale Human’s careful movements speaking volumes as he murmured a greeting as he brushed the long tangle of ginger colored locks from his face. Zev shook his head as the nude Jedi trudged towards the refresher, stumbling over the prone figure of a massive grey Cathar sprawled in front of it on his way in.

“Watshwhereyugoin,” a soft growl emitted from the spacer as he slipped back into sleep.

“Aric……you alive over there?” Zev croaked, afraid to move from his spot enough to check.

The snoring stopped and a second later, a muffled ‘not sure,’ came from the man in question. Zev was about to respond when the Jedi burst out of the fresher, tripping over Jax again in his haste, his blue eyes wide with shock.

“There’s a nexu in the fresher!”

“No there isn’t,” Zev shook his head, regretting it instantly as the pounding resumed.

“Dammit, Ka’van,” Jax growled, raising himself up on his hands and knees before gingerly standing, “I told you to watch where you’re going and put some clothes on for kark’s sake, will ya?!”

“Didn’t you hear me?” Ka’van gasped, grabbing a blanket off the floor to wrap around himself, “There’s a nexu in the fresher!”

Zev and Aric exchanged a look as Jax entered the fresher to see what had spooked his Jedi friend. Aric eased himself into a sitting position against the couch he’d passed out next to, looking around for his shirt.

“Oh, sh*t,” Jax cursed as he ran out of the fresher a second later, “He’s not kidding, there’s a karking nexu cub in the fresher!”

“What the void did we do last night?!” Aric whispered as he finally stood up, having spotted his shirt hanging off a nearby lamp.

“Oh my stars, Aric!” Zev winced, “Your back!”

“What’s wrong with my back?”

“Oh, man,” Jax snickered, “Who did that?!”

“What?!” Aric demanded as Zev and Ka’van started laughing. He went over to the mirror behind the bar when no one answered and carefully turned, “Oh that’s it, I’m killing him this time!”

“You know I can’t let you do that,” Zev finally choked out, wiping tears from his eyes.

“It’s not funny dammit!”

“Oh, quit being so sensitive,” Ka’van snorted, “Your fur will grow back.”

“Yes it will, but I really don’t want to go around with that shaved into my back until it does,” Aric snapped, “and I don’t think my mate will appreciate it as much as you do. I mean it this time…..that Weequay’s going to get the business end of my assault cannon.”

“Speaking of Vik, where is everyone?”

Their answer came a moment later when one of the bedroom doors opened and a tall, lanky Devaronian came out, rubbing his head, “Geeez…….what’s all the yelling about?!”

“There’s a nexu in the fresher,” Ka’van answered, “and Aric has a naked Nautolan shaved into his back.”

“You know I hate to admit it,” Gault observed, looking a little sheepish as he regarded Aric’s back, “but that sorta looks like my work. Of course, I usually draw my artwork and have never, to my knowledge, shaved anything into anyone’s back……but then again, I honestly don’t remember very many details about last night at all.”

“Did I hear someone say there’s a nexu in the fresher?” Tanno’s gravelly voice drawled from the doorway behind Gault.

“Hey guys,” Corso called out hoarsly as the other bedroom door opened, “There’s a baby in here!”

“No there isn’t,” Zev shook his head, closing his eyes as he willed this to all be a dream he was about to wake up from.

The sound of a baby crying denied him that reality and they all stared in shock as the blond Mandalorian came out carrying a pale green Twi’lek infant.

“The kriff is that?!” Aric blanched, a claw tipped finger pointing at the infant, now cooing as Torian tickled its cheek.

“Duh,” Ka’van rolled his eyes, “It’s obviously a baby.”

“Well no sh*t,” Aric growled his annoyance, then his nose wrinkled as Ka’van’s blanket slipped down a little, “and didn’t Jax ask you to put some clothes on?!”

“I think we got more things to worry about than my state of undress,” Ka’van retorted.

“Hey Jorgan,” Tanno chuckled, “Nice Nautolan!”

“Kiss my a**, Vik!” Aric growled, “and I swear if I find out you were behind it…..”

“Again, I think there’s more important things to worry about,” Ka’van reiterated.

“Like what?” Aric shot back.

“Like the fact that we have a baby in our room and there’s f*cking nexu in the fresher,” Jax retorted, anxiously eyeing the fresher door.

“Hang on,” Zev called out as he looked around, “Where’s Dek?”

“He wasn’t in our room,” Corso answered as he attempted to bind his dreadlocks back.

“Not in ours either,” Tanno told them.

“Try his com,” Aric suggested, “Maybe he went downstairs for breakfast.”

Zev dug his comlink out of his pocket and scrolled through to his cousin’s frequency. A few seconds later, the chime of another com came from the bar. Ka’van followed it and answered it, confirming that it was Dek’s.

A pale Corso swallowed hard, pointing to the fresher door as he whispered, “You don’t think…..”

“I didn’t see any gore in there,” Ka’van answered, “but then again, I was half awake until I spotted the cub, then I just bolted out of there.”

“I didn’t see or smell anything except the nexu,” Jax shook his head, “Dek wasn’t in there.”

“Where the hell is he?” Zev asked the group, “and do any of you remember a damn thing from last night?”

“I remember heading out for dinner,” Corso answered.

Aric scrubbed his hands over his face, catching a familiar smoky scent, “Cigarras…….I remember someone handing out cigarras after dinner. We were walking to the taxi station after dinner.”

“That’s right,” Jax confirmed, turning towards the ginger haired Jedi now pulling on the pants he finally found, “Ka’van had a box of cigarras and we smoked them on the way to the casino……Dek was definitely with us then because he was smoking one. In fact, I’m pretty sure we all had one…..even you, Corso.”

“Guys, I don’t even remember the casino at all,” Zev shook his head.

“Me either,” Gault admitted, the rest chiming in their agreement.

“Why can’t we remember anything?” Jax murmured, completely stumped, “I mean I’ve had my fair share of drunken nights, but……”

“Nothing,” Aric went on, “absolutely nothing. I have no idea how we got home, where the baby came from, how the nexu got in our fresher…….”

“How Jorgan’s back got shaved,” Tanno chuckled, ignoring the death glare those bright green eyes shot him.

“Or more importantly, where my cousin is,” Zev finished.

“What the f*ck did we do last night?!”

I'm so very sorry to the writers of the Hangover (I really love your movies though), and to anyone who likes that movie which I just borrowed and made a mess of.

I do have two more parts to that silliness, but they're only outlined since I wasn't sure I'd ever actually post this one.

‘So what in the stars is this job paying, that you’re so keen to split the take?’

I smile.

‘You don’t know the half of it...’

Ezka listens, his open features slowly clouding as I explain the job. The bottle continues to empty.

‘You’re going to go through with this, Sab’ika?’ he interrupts, frowning.

I nod.

‘It’s not the kind of situation where there’s too many options. I upped my fee, it was accepted, and here we are.’

‘Yeah, but a jetii... even a padawan… that’s a pretty serious fight, brother. I mean, I wouldn’t ever bet against you,’ he laughs, 'But I might just bet both ways on this one!'

I drain my glass, set it down with that precise click that means business. Ezka looks me in the eye, all humour fled from his face. He still grins, of course. He can't help it; scars twist his mouth into a rictus.

'You remember the fight on Balmorra, right before the Resistance got going? You remember that calye dar'jetii, that black-robed killer that ambushed the Republic column we were waiting for?'

He nods, frown deepening at the memory of that kuryida. I know what he’s remembering - the stench of cooking blood. I know what you’re thinking - jetii'kad wounds are cauterised by the blade. Sure, you’re right. But when the blade in question is carving so much flesh you can smell it. Hot, metallic, flesh and blood bubbling in charred black scars across that pristine white armour… Mando'ad draar digu. I have laid my share of ambushes, and wreaked death on an equal scale. A Mandalorian who tells you that they find no joy in battle is ka'ludetr, dar’Manda, but there is no honour in butchering men as they flee, or when they throw down their arms.

'That Sith now holds the rank of Emperor's Wrath. His authority, is the Emperor’s, and Mandalore binds us to the Sith Empire.’ I shrug off the memories. It’s not a job I’d have picked out of a lineup. Bloodwork doesn’t work like that. Plus, I have a reputation to maintain.

‘The padawan I'm hunting is being trained by the Wrath's brother, a Jedi master. There is no love lost between them, I think.’

Ezka’s mouth twitches, a brief and humourless smile. ‘No-one hates like family. I don’t envy you this one, ori’vod.’

I drain my glass. Bottle’s empty. I might not be wild about this job, but I can’t help but feel a shiver of anticipation at the hunt to come. Ezka’ryon drains his glass in turn. He sets it down, looks me in the eye.

‘Tion'ad hukaat'kama?’ he asks. I grin. He knows the answer. I’d wink if I could.

‘Gar, vod. Hukaat'kama?’ I reply.

He holds my gaze for a moment, red eyes steady. It occurs to me that this burly Mirialan, with whom I have so much history, is perhaps the only person that I still trust absolutely and without reservation. Aliit ori'shya tal'din.

His scarred lips twitch, mischievously, a gesture that I remember well from years ago.

‘Of course I’ve got your back.Haat, ijaa, haa'it!’ he shouts, eliciting a grumbling roar from the Wookie.

My armoured palm slaps into his gloved palm.

I echo his pledge. ‘Haat, ijaa, haa'it!’ My hunt begins.

My first character, Ahenobarb, is a Dark V Marauder. I prefer playing Juggernauts or Guardians, but I also love the combat animations of Marauders/Sentinels when fighting mobs...

All my non-Jedi characters are fairly neutral in their alignments, killing or not as they see fit. This was one of those scenes where Ezka'ryon surprised me a bit by being totally on board. Mandalorians stick together, it seems, even lapsed ones.

@Oliverthefighter: You're the architect of your fanfic universe. When you say it works, then it works

Having fought Mono in 8 person HC (as a healer the fight is no fun), I liked the image of a half-dead man lying atop the remains of one of them.

@Feldraeth: I did my first raids EVER in Eternity Vault. Good old times. Farming Tionese gear in FPs for weeks to be ready for Soa. If I remember correctly you got Columi in story mode and Rakata in HC. Jep, a lot of people would go out of their way to collect such loot drifting in space.

re 'Two Square Metres': Glad you liked the description. When I started I didn't think I'd find more than two sentences to say about the cell.

I swear, I didn't want to make it this hard for Thorns, but somehow he ended up having this twin Nikeo who happened to be a Republic trooper. Since the trooper gets Elara as a companion the idea of them being raised in the Empire was discarded pretty fast. Also, as Iz' player wanted the whole bunch of them to be really young, Nik had to attend the academy early. That left only the Republic. There had to be some dark points in his history to make Nat appear as Thorns on Hutta at the age of 20 and be a candidate for the Great Hunt.

re 'The Cloak': No, no arrest, Theron is in his own tent here. Nox gave him the cloak, and Theron realizes it might be a bad idea to keep it. Ciner and Theron? I had sooooo much fun to play the sequences. You want to see Ciner in nasty mode, stick him in a room with Theron. Good old jealousy...

re 'A debt': yeah, no fun, and it showed. I'll rewrite the scene if I ever reach the point where I want to use it in TDaOC.

Sith Hunters: I like the POV of one of the culprits, especially her confusion about Vette's reaction or lack thereof. And I am definitely looking foreward to seeing more of your agent. Something tells me interactions between him, Roan and Vette will be interesting.

Teenagers: I liked Zul's and Gault's reaction. But what was most interesting to see was your different take on Mako and Torian. It honestly never occurred to me that people their age in a galaxy far far away would have no or obviously not enough sex ed. They definitely both need some talking to. Looking forward to the Gault/Torian one

@toatokua: I giggled at the failed attempts to cook food with lightning. Wondering if we will see more of these switches of personalities.

@Diviciacus: I use ATC, since BBY would only be used after the battle of Yavin. As I said above I hadn't planned this for Nat/Thorns, I had really wanted to keep things simple *sighs*

This New Dawn's Light: "I flip through the models. It's mostly lightweight polyfibe. I can appreciate that. Most of it seems to be form-fitting catsuit style, which I can't. It's supposed to keep me alive, not show off my ***."

A woman who is going to wear decent armor => I think we should talk again about this proposal of yours

And getting dressed in the new armor right away? I already like your BH!

@alaurin: Great! For a nexu in my shower I'd get drunk, too

Who of them is going to claim he'll never drink alcohol again, and how long will it take till he forgets it?

@Bultitudes_Loke: I wonder if these two will be in for a surprise. Looking forward to find out.

There was a tentative knock at the door. “Come in!” Nik called.

The door opened and Ragan entered. “Hey!” The greeting was diffident. After a quick glance at the bandage around Nik’s head the Twi’lek’s gaze dropped. Shoulders hunched, lekku limp he looked everything but his usual cheerful self.

“Hey!” Nik returned the greeting with a smile his friend didn’t notice. Nik realized he had missed him.

Ragan stood in front of the hospital bed, looking forlorn and miserable. The box he turned in his hands was wrapped in paper with blue and yellow stripes, no ribbon. Without looking at Nik he put the wrapped box on the tray table hovering above the bed. “I got you something.”

“You shouldn’t have.”

“I wanted to say I am sorry.”

Nik sighed. “We were both careless.”

“Well, I didn’t nearly lose my eye.”

“From what Mariella told me, ‘nearly’ might be worth skipping the extra duty you’re doing.”

“She was here? Of course. The rest probably too. I should have come earlier, but… yeah, the extra duty kept me busy.” It was an excuse, and they both knew it. A guilty conscience had kept Ragan away. He gave the box a little push. “Don’t you want to open it?”

“You really shouldn’t have,” Nik repeated, but he took the box from the tray table. It was quite heavy. He tore the striped paper away to reveal a cardboard box. After he opened the lid he could only stare at the content. His heartbeat quickened. This was it. The last piece. The one he had admired on the holonet so often. Carefully he took the gift out of the box, turned it over. The serial number was etched into the underside, clearly readable. This was an original, matching series even. He had been saving his credits for half an eternity and still hadn’t been close to being able to afford a fair copy.

“That’s the right one, isn’t it?” Ragan asked.

Nik swallowed. Even so his mouth was dry, so he only nodded.

“I could install it. We could do a test drive once you’re out again,” Ragan added, nearly stammering.

“No!” Nik exclaimed. He looked up fast enough to see the shimmer of hope fade from the Twi’lek’s face. They couldn’t look inside each other’s head. Maybe he thought Nik was angry despite anything he had said.

“I see. Well, it’s already late. And I need to get back on duty. So…” Ragan was already heading for the door.

“Ragan, wait! That would be great. But I can’t accept this.”

His friend turned back towards him. “Why not?”

“I just can’t.” Nik knew Ragan’s family wasn’t exactly stinking rich, but Ragan was far from dependent on a grant. Come next month his friend probably wouldn’t miss the money.

“You think I am trying to buy your forgiveness?” Ragan looked at him, frowning slightly, the corners of his mouth drooping.

“B***s***, there is nothing to forgive! That’s one more reason I can’t accept this.”

“So the main reason is it’s price.”

Nik tried to protest but Ragan interrupted him. “I know we both were careless, I do. But that still doesn’t make this feel right, you getting hurt and me not. But that’s my problem and I should have come sooner. I wasn’t sure what to get. Knowing you, you’re certainly studying by use of the holonet, and probably more than the doc approved of. So no books. You don’t like sweets. The idea of bringing flowers was ridiculous.” Ragan grinned. “I decided to bring you something to look forward to. Something we both can look forward to. I wouldn’t have bought the thing if I hadn’t wanted to, or if I thought it was too expensive. Actually I didn’t even think about the price until now. And I’d appreciate it if you’d drop the subject.”

Nik put the gift carefully back into the box and closed the lid. “Okay,” he said, “under one condition.”

“Which is?”

“We do the assemblage together, and I buy the beer!”

“That’s two conditions! You sure the brain scan was okay? Did they even find anything?”

Grinning, Nik threatened to throw the box.

Ragan raised his hands, feigning to protect his head. “That’s a bad idea, I’d only end up in that empty bed beside yours.” He laughed.

Nik thought there could be a worse fate.

Something claws at my neck and I try to take a breath to start screaming, but there's nothing there. My head explodes with pain, the sutures in my skull rupturing with every beat of my heart. The pressure drags at me with crushing emptiness, and I feel like scraps of me are ripping away as I fall some unimaginable distance. It's all happening again, and nothing will ever be right. All I can feel is the blood in my eyes, building up until I feel like they're going to burst unless I can breath. And I can't breath. I can't breath!

And then I wake up. It's always the same. My clothing clings to me, my whole body's damp and shaking furiously. Sometimes there's someone beside me to protest being disturbed. More often, though, I come back to myself alone, which is easier. I don't have the dream all that often, but I do hate people seeing me weak. It's bad for business, and worse for my pride. The poor thing's barely patched together as is. It took me a second to realize that the incessant pounding in the back of my skull was coming from the com by my bed. Beep beep beep. Beep beep beep. I swore loudly, though I'm ashamed to say not particularly creatively, and grabbed the little bastard. “Yeah? What is it?”

“Hey, Angie. I need a favor.”

I recognized my sister's voice, and swore again. “What did you do this time?” I growled.

“What? Why do you think I did anything?” It was almost a reflex, the way she answered.

I let my annoyance slip into my voice. It's easy with Kitzi. “Because you're breathing, dear sweet baby sister.”

“It's all a misunderstanding and anyway, none of it was my fault.” I could hear the laugh in her voice. “But yeah, Garom might be mad at me. A little. And you know he likes you! You're pretty much his second... Third... One of his favorite bounty hunters. Anyway.”

“Kitz. You know I love you,” I inhaled very, very slowly. I could feel a splitting pressure in the back of my head that really, really wanted to erupt.

“You always say that just before you start howling at me.” Now she was pouting.

“Maybe if you didn't try to double-cross your way into getting more than your share out of every karking deal, I wouldn't yell!” I realized on the last breath that I was screaming.

“Yep. Yelling. Hey, here's my coordinates.” She hung up on me. I stared at my commlink in disbelief. I really wanted to throw it up against the wall, but that'd be letting her win. Or something. She was on Nar Shaddaa, of course. I inhaled slowly, realized I was crushing the com in my hand, and forced myself to let go. There were red marks all over my palm. Instead, I stumbled over my armor and went through my morning routines. Kitzha Irons has a way of getting under my skin. I love her, but she's always playing the angles.

Then I brought the Wolf around and headed for my sister. I settled her into one of my favorite hangars, a place that's maybe a bit pricey, but they take care of your ship, don't go inside, and don't ask questions. I looked back at the old girl and felt a sigh building up. She really needed a full cleaning. Her hull was getting a bit pocked, and I could see some carbon scoring along her stabilizers.

I met my sister in a little hole in the wall that happened to serve food. She tilted her hat back and gave me her best smile, all flash and freckles, her dimples showing. She didn't look much the worse for the wear, actually. It didn't surprise me much. Kitzi has a way of landing on her feet, be it gangsters or remembering to call our mother on her birthday. My baby sister may be double-dealing wheedling scum, but she makes it look so harmless and fun that you can't help but be charmed by her.

I tugged my helmet off and sat down in the opposite booth. She shoved a bowl of soup towards me. I shot her a bit of a glare as I caught the smell coming off the bowl. “Dafarin? Now I know you're in deep.”

“Maybe I just remembered that my beloved and short sister likes foods that curl your eyebrows. Eat up.” She's not more than a finger taller than I am, but stars above, I'll never get to forget it. I've lived too long to turn down free food. Especially spicy mushroom broths that reek of a home I haven't seen in too long. I took a spoonful and blew on it, watching the steam curl across the table. I thought about taking the Wolf home, seeing my mother, seeing what'd become of the old streets and the tree I'd climbed before I had any grey hairs at all. And then I thought of me and my mother in the same house. Sooner or later, one of us would say something stupid we didn't mean, and the other would shoot back, and it'd be a mess. Easier to just stay away. Safer, too. It was easier to love her at a distance, and I'm sure the same's true for me. Except my damn fool sister kept trying, in her disruptive way. Or else she just figured I was an easy mark.

It was good soup, though. I finished it, listening while Kitzi lied to me about how she'd gotten on Garom's bad side. Oh, I'm sure she'd say every word was true, but I would bet my fullest credit chit that a lot of pertinent details were being left out. My sister's the biggest flaw in my professionalism. Otherwise, I'm a pretty solid, reliable hunter with a reputation for honest and efficiency. Not flashy, but I get my jobs done and I'm never unprofessional – not backstabbing, no bribes, nothing sloppy. No biases. Every time Kitzi calls me up to bail her out, she makes me look bad, and I really wish she cared a bit more about that.

Eventually, I found myself slurping up the last grainy dregs of my meal. I inhaled, trying to take in the moment with the air. Hot food in my stomach, warm air around me, safety and strength wrapped around me, and my baby sister behaving herself perfectly for five whole minutes. Then I pulled my helmet back on. Kitzha left a chit behind for her meal and tilted her hat lower. Without speaking, without needing to, we fell into step beside each other.

It was a good feeling, no doubt about that. Armor and guns, credits and danger, striding out through the half-empty streets like we were ready to take the universe for a drive, me and my sister. If only she was a little more... If only I was a little more... Zeedor says I brood. I prefer the term ruminate. It leads to better jokes and doesn't make me sound like a fluffed up bird with a bad attitude.

Kitz had a new pair of blasters at her side. The handles were something reflective and expensive looking, polished to a shine. My sister's hard on most things, but she really loves her guns. And her hat. I jerked my head at them and made a questioning noise. Kitz shrugged. “Took these babies in payment for... actually, a little something in your line of work. Though it may actually just have been an assassination.”

“You didn't ask if it'd been sanctioned by anyone?”

“Angie. Credits.” My sister grinned at me, and I felt some of the pounding rage melt away. Of course she wasn't going to register, or fill out paperwork, or check on the legality of the contract. Hell, there probably hadn't even been a contract. That wasn't really how my sister did things. I have a thing about getting tied down. It's part of the reason I stay professional. A professional is always a free agent, and has a ready excuse for why she's not leashed to this government or this gangster. It's a job. She'll take the next one when it comes. Well, my allergy to being brought to heel was downright virulent in my sister. Half the time, she doesn't even drop her real name, and I've seen her in more ships than she has freckles. She must be damned good at running, because she's still alive.

I guess she could figure some of the thoughts rumbling under my helmet. “So, Angie... What's with you and the Sith?”

I let out a noncommittal grunt. “He pays me.”

“No, seriously. You've been guarding him a long time... And you know, he's kind of cute.”

“Kitz!” I growled in exasperation. I inhaled, letting out a slow breath. “He's too damn young and starry-eyed for me. But he always pays on time, and it's pretty good money.”

“And?” she wheedled, eyes glimmering with mischief.

“I like him. He's not a bad kid. He fetches up against a lot of scary things and scarier people. I...” I guess I was starting to think maybe Zeedor needed me. That he deserved a decent guard who'd stick her neck out so that he didn't die like way too many good kids who wind up in the Imperial meatgrinder. That I'd saved his life a lot and he'd saved mine probably almost as much, and that maybe he deserved a bit of loyalty... Kark.

Kitz let out a long, slow whistle. “Damn, Angie.” She quirked her eyebrow, then barked at me. I shouldered her a bit harder than I needed to, and she stumbled, missing a step. My sister started laughing, and I did my best to ignore her.