Foreword: This is an original story featuring original characters set in the universe of Star Wars: The Old Republic. Events depicted take place a decade prior to events in-game. Story features depictions of violence and violent themes, as well as minor romantic scenes. (This is a followup to 'The Academy: Acolyte Ascension', but follows a new group of characters. Reading the first story is not necessary to enjoy this one, but references are made to past characters and events). Feedback is welcomed and appreciated.

0 ATC. Dromund Kaas.

The Sith Empire was adapting to the new galactic climate. One of peace. The Great War had ended and, in their minds, they had won. All their years of planning, all their years of waiting to reveal themselves, and in a few short decades, the Empire brought the Republic to its knees. Coruscant burned, and would have been reduced to nothing had their conditions not been met. The Republic's capital was in ruins. The Jedi Order had no place to call home. There were celebrations to be had, but also preparations to be made.

The Empire's borders and holdings had rapidly expanded as a result of the Treaty of Coruscant, the once-tucked away and hidden nation now controlling roughly half the galaxy. But even in victory, their forces had waned, and were stretched perilously thin. It was the fear they had stricken into the hearts and minds of the Republic and the Jedi that protected them. But that fear would not last, especially without a war to propagate it. Thus, it fell to the Empire and its leaders to rebuild, to strengthen, to cement the ideal of superiority in their every facet.

But whilst the Dark Councilors and Ministers planned for the future in the halls of the capital world's Citadel, the common man saw fit to indulge in a bit of revelry. Within a cantina deep in the heart of Kaas City, those who had fought, those who had shed blood, sweat, and tears in their crusade against the Republic finally found a moment of reprieve. Far were the treacherous jungles that surrounded the walled metropolis. Absent were the perpetually dark and storming skies, replaced by gray ceilings and red neon. Distant were the memories and wounds of battle. They were victors, each and every one of them. Lowly grunts who had marched on their enemies in the name of their Lords now celebrated with a hearty drink with their comrades. The decorum and cold efficiency associated with the Imperial Army had been promptly shed. These were men and women whose sacrifices had finally been validated by means other than duty and obligation. They won the war. If that wasn't a good enough excuse to get drunk, there would never be one.

Amidst the loud banter and clacking glasses, the soldiers gathered and boasted to one another, dominating the room and setting the atmosphere. Despite the cold and gray architecture of the cantina fitting in with the rest of the capital city, the inhabitants and their spirits instilled a sense of extravagance amidst the usual Imperial conformity and rigidity. The calls and cheers shared amongst the citizenry were enough to challenge the perpetual storms that filled the dark planet's skies.

But amidst the revelry was a lone figure, a Human, cut off from the celebration as he sat on a stool at the bar. The majority of the cantina's occupants wore loosened uniforms and fatigues, but the lone man looked more like a spacer than a soldier. Thick trousers and a jacket covered his body, black, both lined with pockets and pouches. Despite his rather civilian garb, however, the man appeared to have gone through more than any of the gathered soldiers.

He possessed a rough countenance, not through age but conflict. Scars graced practically every inch of the man's tanned skin, ranging from small cuts to gashes that stretched across his entire face. His hair was unkempt, dark, and short. A thin layer of stubble covered the lower half of his face. As he sat upon his stool, he leaned forward with a cold, dead stare, gloved hand firmly gripped around his drink.

Slowly raising his glass, the man was about to bring it to his lips when one of the celebrating soldiers bumped against his back. There was enough force behind the blow to just knock the glass free of the loner's mouth, sending a few droplets splashing upon his chest. The standing man staggered for a moment before righting his stance, placing a steadying hand upon the loner's broad shoulder.

"Whoa, sorry about that, buddy," he said with a slight slur in his voice.

The loner offered the gentle wave of his free hand, signaling no harm done, maintaining his perpetual forward stare.

"Hey buddy, what's the matter?" the man asked with drunken concern. "Why you moping over here by yourself? It's a time for celebration. We freakin' won, man! We beat those Republic bastards!"

With each word, the soldier's hand tightened on the loner's shoulder, slightly shaking him. But the loner remained stilled, unmoving, unshakable. With a calm hand, he gripped the drunkard's and politely removed it from his shoulder. The loner was now free to enjoy his drink. But not for long.

"Me and my squad, we were on Coruscant," said the soldier, taking a seat on the empty stool next to the loner. "Some of the first with our boots on the ground. And man did they put up a fight. We woulda been dead if not for Hesker. You heard of 'im? Guy took charge. Rallied us to victory. Saved our asses. Now we all got commendations. Hah!"

"Congratulations," the loner muttered, utterly stoic.

"What about you, where'd you serve?" the soldier asked.

The loner took a slow sip of his drink. "I'm not military."

"Well that explains it!" the soldier bellowed. The drunkard gave the loner a hearty slap on the back. "Don't worry, not everyone's got the stones for military duty. I'm sure you served the Empire in your own way. What's your field? Production? Transit? You look like a pilot."

"You make it a point to bother people trying to have a drink?" the loner bluntly asked.

"Whoa, I'm just trying to strike up conversation, buddy," the soldier shot back, noticeably insulted. "Unlike you, I was out there fightin' for the Empire. The least you could do is show me a little respect."

"Respect ought to be earned," the loner muttered. "Somehow I doubt we'd suffer without your gracious contribution."

The drunkard's face churned before finally settling on a harsh scowl. The loner's gaze permanently set forward, he didn't notice the man reach behind the counter, retrieving a glass bottle. Hand firmly gripped around the bottle's neck, the soldier brought it down upon the loner's head with a mighty swing, shattering the glass into countless tiny shards.

The loner didn't even flinch as the alcohol contained within washed over him. The instigator however, released a harsh yelp as he clutched at his bloodied hand, glass shards embedded in his palm. Though the loner showed no emotional response, he was not unaffected, bits of broken glass buried in his scalp, streams of blood flowing down the back of his head.

Preoccupied with his own injury, the drunkard didn't notice the gloved fist heading straight for his face. With a firm left hook, the loner sent the man tumbling to the cantina floor. By now, all eyes were drawn toward the altercation. The floored soldier's comrades had already removed themselves from their seats on the other side of the room, quickly making their way toward the loner with inebriated pride in their eyes.

Taking a single step away from the counter, the loner patiently waited for the soldiers to bridge the gap. One of the uniformed men released a wide swing of his fist, aptly blocked by the loner's raised forearm. Replying with a single strike, now two men found themselves squirming on the floor. The rest of the group tried to swarm the indomitable man, lashing out with a myriad of sloppy punches. Their fists bounced ineffectually off the loner's tough hide, not eliciting a single ounce of pain in the recipient.

Slowly but surely, he dealt with the attackers, whittling them down one by one, as the rest of the cantina watched from a distance, not impeding the brawling space. No effort made against the scarred man proved effective, and the attackers slowly realized they were trapped in a losing battle. Some tried to scurry away, others thought to bring the implacable man down however they could.

Gripping one of the attackers by the collar, the loner threw the man to the ground before delivering a quick blow to the head, knocking him out cold. Straightening out his stance, he turned just in time to see another bottle flying toward his head. A moment before impact, the bottle simply stopped, as if suspended in time, floating loftily in front of the scarred man's face. Near the counter, the thrower stared at his target with wide eyes, frozen with fright.

"Damn…" he muttered, before finding the bottle thrown right back. Not with an arm, but with the Force. The glass bottle remained intact as it struck its original thrower in the head. A loud thud rang out at the first impact, and another when the attacker collapsed onto the floor.

The final aggressor dealt with, the scarred man began patting himself down, wiping off whatever traces of alcohol he could. Panning his gaze across the distant witnesses, the loner gently prodded the back of his head. Seeing blood on his fingertips, the man let out a low sigh.

"Graves!" a voice called out from the cantina entrance. The loner turned toward the source, spotting an impeccably dressed officer standing in the doorway. "You've been summoned."

"The hell is that supposed to mean?" the loner muttered.

Deep within the black halls of the Citadel, home of the Empire's various governmental bodies and organizations, the scarred man sat in a compact, suffocating chamber. Occupied by a single desk, a single chair, and a single light hanging overhead, the loner sat in the dim glow, still stained with blood and alcohol. His back to the room's entrance, he didn't budge when he heard the door move into its recess. What followed was the heavy sound of boots against the floor, carried with an uneven gait.

"Mr. Graves," a low, raspy voice spoke up.

His gaze still forward, the scarred man watched as a tall figure walked into view. Clad in black robes, the alien was cloaked in the dim lighting of the room, but his features were easily distinguishable. He had rough, leathery orange skin, and two large horns sprouting from his cranium. Curving downward, one came to an end with its tip beneath his chin, the other stopped short with a flat stump, its tip having been severed.

"Welcome to Logistics."

"Come on, men! Get that squee generator secured so we can move it to the new thread!"

The sounds of scurrying intensified within the cramped engine room.

"MOVE IT!"

One of the Jawas spoke up. "Sorry, boss! Generator broke. No parts to fix."

"Awright, we'll have to do this the old-fashioned way." The man in charge starts turning an rusty crank, rotating the stator assembly manually. The Jawas see what is happening and start oiling the assembly, careful not to splash the delicate Squeetronic crystals.

Here we go, boys. I think it's about to...

SQUEE!

"And who are you?" Graves asked, voice smooth and deep.

"Syrosk," the alien bluntly answered, a contrasting grit dominating his voice. "But you'll come to know me as Executor Zero."

The scarred man narrowed his gaze as he looked up and down the robed figure. The horned alien possessed a strong physique, one masked by his numerous layers of loose robes, as well as his minor slouch. Syrosk kept his hands neatly folded behind his back whilst his shoulders were held forward at a slight dip. His face was rough, seeing its fair share of battle, but it did not approach the Human's overt scarring. His skin was leathery and wrinkled, though whether it was due to age or heritage, Graves did not know.

The alien exuded a subdued presence, but there was no question that the man was a Sith.

"Okay…" the Human muttered between pauses. "I take it you're the one who summoned me."

"If you want to get technical about it, the esteemed Darth Vowrawn of the Dark Council summoned you," Syrosk said with his usual rasp, albeit a slightly more pedantic one. The alien put the bare minimum effort into emoting, offering little more than a cold and heavy stare.

Graves maintained his silence as he looked up and down the man across from him, a peculiarity in almost all aspects. An alien within a xenophobic Order, working for one of the twelve most powerful and influential Sith beneath the Emperor.

"What would a Dark Councilor want with me?" Graves asked.

"I'm honestly not sure," Syrosk answered, slightly dipping his head. "I've read your file. Wasn't that impressed. But Darth Vowrawn thinks you'd be a prime candidate for his new organization. The Executors of Logistics."

Graves paused, looking up and down the alien, almost studying him. "Which, given your title, I take it you're a big part of."

"Astute."

"And what exactly is the purpose of this… organization?"

Syrosk took a step closer, bending ever so slightly to move his face closer to that of the seated man. "To keep the Empire alive."

"I didn't know the Empire was dying," Graves admitted.

The horned alien straightened out his posture, or rather, returned to the slightly less hunched stance he possessed prior. "No. No one ever does. Our purpose is to keep the infrastructure of the Empire intact. A task made far more difficult now that the war is over. Restructuring for peace. Recuperating losses. Overseeing new territories. Logistics now requires a workforce. One supported by the might of the Sith."

"You want Sith doing Logistics work? Like monitoring traffic? Watching factory output?" Graves asked, a hint of befuddlement shining through his stoicism.

"Production and Logistics has always lacked a direct influence when it came to Sith enforcers. The Executors will remedy that," Syrosk explained. "Whilst others monitor traffic, they will go out and destroy anything impeding it. Whilst others watch factory output, they will ensure anyone who lays a hand on that output loses that hand."

"Hmm."

"Ours is the Sphere of Influence upon which all others are built," Syrosk added. "Without us, the Empire ceases to function. And with the Executors, we can finally take an active role. As Sith who desire something more than personal gain."

"And how many people you got in this… organization of yours?" Graves asked.

"Few," said Syrosk. "The foundations have only just been put in place. You'd be amongst the first to join… and possess special privileges accordingly."

"Special how?"

"Executors operate in groups, overseen by handlers," Syrosk explained. "Handlers are typically high-level Ministry bureaucrats. For you and your group, however, I would act as your handler."

"No disrespect, but it's not really jumping out at me why one of those would be preferable to the other," Graves offered with a shrug. "But that's beside the point, because I don't really work in groups."

"It would only be three of you," said Syrosk. "One of whom is already here, and the third is currently on her way. We could go meet them if you wish."

Graves let out a low sigh and shifted in his seat, eyes drawn to the floor.

"What have you got to lose?" Syrosk rasped. "You leave here, you go back to drowning your sorrows, getting into bar fights whilst you slowly waste away. What I'm offering is not perfect. But it is something to put your talents to use. Something to give you purpose. Does that sound like something you'd want?"

The scarred man maintained his focus on the floor, glaring at the point between his feet. He unconsciously began tapping his boot, the light thuds echoing throughout the compact chamber.

"You said… the others are here?" Graves muttered, still looking downward.

"One is. The other will be soon."

The scarred man finally lifted his gaze. "Alright. I want to see them."

"Then follow me," Syrosk directed, making his way toward the door without a moment's hesitation. The Human sluggishly lifted himself from his seat and followed. Together, the odd pair walked through the interior halls of the Citadel, the oppressive atmosphere surrounding them at every corner. The government building was equal parts constricting and open, various passageways giving way to either grand chambers or suffocating offices. Every surface was composed of dark and gray metals, polished and angular. Sharp, yet orderly, and adorned with countless flags and banners basking in the glow of red lights. A perfect picture of Imperial aesthetics.

As they walked side by side, Syrosk set the pace, one that lacked all sense of urgency, mostly due to the alien's lumbering, uneven gait. As they traversed the narrower halls of the Citadel, the Human couldn't help but study the horned figure.

"I can tell you've a prosthetic leg," Graves casually stated.

Syrosk momentarily turned toward the Human before resuming his forward gaze. "It was severed on Coruscant."

"Took part in the Sacking?"

"In a manner of speaking."

"Combatant?" Graves asked.

Syrosk nodded. "I fought, yes."

"Who did it?"

"A Sith," Syrosk explained, maintaining his usual calm rasp.

There was a pause in the conversation, but not in the movement as the pair continued their trek through the Citadel. "I see," Graves finally said. "You kill him?"

"One of my apprentices did," Syrosk replied.

Graves turned toward the elder Sith. "You have apprentices?"

"Had. Not anymore."

"I see. How many did you have?"

"Eight," said Syrosk.

"They all die?" asked Graves, not an ounce of emotion attached to his question.

"No. We simply parted ways after the war. Their training was complete."

"Huh," Graves muttered as he returned his focus toward the path ahead. "Didn't know that was possible for a Sith."

"They weren't normal Sith," Syrosk declared.

"Neither are you, as evidenced by that pair of horns. Or is that a Pureblood trait I'm unaware of?"

"No, I'm an alien. And have been treated as such for the past many decades of my life."

"But working with a Dark Councilor… seems you're doing pretty good for yourself now."

"Seems so."

The pair came to stop outside a discretely marked door. They hadn't gone far, and Graves could tell they were still in the same sector of the Citadel despite little time spent within the corridors of the grand capital building himself. The various gray slabs that made up the majority of Imperial architecture had the tendency to blend together, but those who had spent enough of their lives around them had a way of noticing their various subtleties.

"Your prospective teammate trained on Korriban much like yourself," Syrosk stated as he hovered his hand over the controls to the room's entrance. Graves kept his attention focused on the Executor as the door lifted into its recess. "The man's name is-"

"You!" a shrill voice rang out from the room's interior.

Before he could even turn his head, Graves found himself knocked back, the other man launching himself from the room, driving his shoulder into the loner's gut and tackling him into the opposite wall. Graves' back impacted against the solid wall of the corridor with a loud thud, but that was all that would be heard from him, even as the attacker kept slamming his fists into the scarred man's ribcage.

Syrosk watched the rowdy scene unfold from his previous spot, unmoving, offering only a low sigh at the exchange. The aggressor had Graves pinned to the wall for a few seconds as he delivered blow after blow to his midsection, when finally the Executor decided to step in. With a firm hand, the alien grasped the back collar of the attacker's black robes and tore him free, sending him stumbling back into the room he had previously occupied. Graves took a moment to right his stance, crinkling his neck as he patted himself off, no worse for wear.

The Human who had thrown himself at the loner planted his feet, unmoving, a harsh scowl upon his heavily obscured face. The man wore a full set of pitch-black robes, fitted for martial combat so that they contoured to the wearer's lean frame. But wherever flesh might be exposed, none was. Instead, all one could see was the white wrapping that covered the man's skin across his entire head and torso. The cloth strips tightly hugged his flesh, but allowed for free articulation and movement. Atop his head, the errant tuft of black hair would peak through the wrappings around his scalp. Brief glimpses of skin could be seen around the man's eyes and mouth, but it was damaged, having been burned long ago.

The two men stared one another down as the alien calmly passed his gaze between the marred pair.

"I take it you two possess a history," Syrosk rasped, purposely stating the obvious.

"This bastard burned my face off!" the attacker harshly declared.

"Some might consider it an improvement," Graves calmly stated, maintaining his utterly stoic demeanor.

The burned man lunged forward once more, this time stopped by Syrosk placing a hand out, lightly pressing against the man's wrapped chest. He could have continued had he desired, but there was an ethereal feeling emanating from the alien's palm. Whatever force the Executor was exerting, it was subtle, but it spoke of an inner power that its wielder could not even be bothered to display. One capable of doing far more than bringing a man to a simple stop. Still wearing his harsh scowl, the aggressor slowly backed down, but remained poised to attack.

"How's things, Asher?" Graves casually asked. The burned man gritted his teeth, a subtle growl slipping past his charred lips. Ignoring the loner's inquiry, Asher turned his attention toward the alien.

"If you think I'm working with this guy, you can forget it!" Asher declared, his voice significantly higher than the other Sith's.

"I would advise you to withhold your decision until you been given all the details," Syrosk stated. "But if you wish to walk away, you're free to do so. Just know that you'll be on your own again. Without the backing and protection of a Dark Councilor's influence."

The burned man's eyes sharpened as he stewed in silence. From beneath his bandaged facade, he passed his gaze between the alien and the loner. They both offered only cold, blank expressions in response. Asher released a soft grunt as he impatiently wrung his hands, rubbing his wrapped knuckles with some mixture of anxiety and hidden pain.

"Fine. I'll hear you out," Asher muttered.

"Then, if the both of you would kindly step inside," Syrosk directed alongside the gentle wave of his hand. As Asher blocked the doorway, he remained motionless, continuing to stare down Graves, but was eventually forced to concede. Breaking his lock on the loner, the burned man turned inward, heading toward where he had previously waited, Graves following shortly behind. The two prospects now inside, the Executor put a hand to his ear, engaging a compact earpiece. "You can skip the interim. Bring her directly to the conference room."

A word of acknowledgment discretely rang out in the alien's ear. Lowering his hand, the Executor entered the room, the door shutting behind him. Inside, while far from grand, the chamber was sizably larger than the room Graves had previously been in. And in its center rest a sizably larger table. The long table stretched horizontally in front of the entering Sith, three chairs waiting on the opposite end. The fixture could have easily accommodated a dozen seats on either side, but still it featured only those three solitary chairs.

Stepping around the table, Asher and Graves took their seats on the outer chairs, leaving the one between them vacant. Syrosk stood at attention opposite them, placing himself between the table and the chamber's entrance, patiently waiting with his hands folded behind his back. "There was nothing in your files that indicated a common history, aside from both of you receiving your training at the Korriban Academy."

"Had the same Overseer for a while," said Graves. "We were candidates for apprenticeship under Lord Traer."

"I eventually got it," Asher boasted.

"Intriguing," Syrosk muttered as he rubbed his chin. "Overseers aren't known for letting more than one acolyte survive their trials."

"I'm hard to kill," said Graves, utterly nonchalant. "Asher left Korriban with his new master. I was put in another group under another Overseer. Got myself apprenticed to Lord Drath a few months later."

The burned man began to crack up, releasing a steady chortle as he leaned back in his chair. "No way! You got picked up by Drath?"

"There something wrong with that?" asked Graves.

"Other than the fact that he was notorious for going through apprentices, of which he's had at least a dozen… no nothing at all," Asher sarcastically replied.

"Well, I outlived him, didn't I?"

"You totally did. You're the best Sith ever," said Asher, completely deadpan.

"Well, you both must have done something right to earn Darth Vowrawn's attention," Syrosk interrupted.

Asher shrugged. "Don't know why. My master wasn't in his Sphere or anything. And if they had dealings, I sure as hell didn't know about them."

"He believes you both talented and well-suited for the work we have planned," said Syrosk.

"I noticed you weren't exactly forthcoming with what that work entailed in our first meeting," Asher admitted.

Syrosk narrowed his gaze toward the chatty Sith. "I was planning to wait until your third arrived before going into detail."

Behind the Executor, the room's entrance shot open, and the inhabitants quickly turned their attention toward the rescinded door. Beyond stood an intimidating man, a Pureblood, bald of head, Sith rune etched onto his face with black ink. One of the Empire's chosen people, the red-skinned humanoid possessed a powerful and domineering image, one helped by the thick armorweave that encased his sturdy frame below the neck. Looking into the room, he offered only a cold, deadened stare.

"Did you bring her?" Syrosk asked. The Pureblood gave a brief nod before stepping to the side.

A woman walked into frame, and immediately humbled her escort. A Human of superb physical prowess, she stood tall, taller than any of the other Sith. At over two meters, she surpassed even the Executor's impressive height without the aid of armor or footwear. Her hair was long and dark, restrained in a singular braid that reached her lower back. Her body was toned and muscular, chiseled into a strong and dexterous form unburdened by an ounce of excess fat. A fact that was made all the more apparent by her attire. Her tanned arms went exposed and her core was covered by a black, form-fitting shirt. The sleeveless compression garb was tucked into a pair of cargo pants, of which neither it nor its belt seemed to possess an attached lightsaber.

"Fay. Glad you could join us," Syrosk rasped. Extending his arm, he directed toward the two currently seated Sith. "Meet Asher and Graves."

Peering into the conference room, the tall woman saw the two men sitting on the opposite side of the chamber. The two sides stared at one another in silence, neither eliciting the same heated response as before. This time, the parties introduced were unaffiliated strangers.

As the third prospect studied her fellows, they remained stilled and silent until finally, the burned man slowly raised a white-clad hand and offered a gentle wave.

Fay took her first steps into the room, each one echoing through the deathly quiet chamber. Just outside, the Pureblood walked back into view, casting his dulled gaze toward his superior. Syrosk offered a brief, silent nod, relieving the escort of his duties. He replied with a nod of his own, stepping away and disappearing into the halls of the Citadel. The door closed once more, sealing in the four Sith from the outside world.

"Take a seat, if you would," said Syrosk toward the tall woman. She kept silent, making her way around the table, forced to take the middle seat.

As she approached, the others caught a quick but clear glimpse of her face amidst the chamber's dim lighting. She looked to be in her late twenties, same as the other prospects. But the first thing the other Sith noticed was the pristineness of her visage. She wore not a single scar nor blemish upon her face. In fact, she possessed not a single visible mark on her entire body. A stark contrast to the three battered and scarred men before her. But her expression had more in common as she wore a stern facade, slowly panning the room with her sharpened eyes. The peculiarity of the other Sith was readily apparent, especially with the one covered in a layer of blood and alcohol, but it did little to shake her dominating stoicism.

With Fay taking her spot between Asher and Graves, the three Sith had finally been gathered. The Executor passed his discerning gaze between the trio, each completely different. Completely unique. He sensed power within each of them. About as much as one could expect of a set of apprentices with their age and background. Nothing particularly outstanding. If they possessed hidden potential, they were doing their best to keep it hidden. But it wouldn't be the first time a set of motley Sith managed to surprise him.

"Asher. Fay. Graves," Syrosk began. "The Firestarter. The Kineticist. The-"

"What's a Kineticist?" Graves interrupted.

"A type of Force specialist," Asher answered. "You know, kinetics? Motions. Pushes. Pulls."

Graves calmly wafted his hand. "Yeah, yeah, I get it…"

"You asked," Asher snarked.

"You know, I'm sitting right here," Fay spoke up, quiet but not timidly so. Her voice was that of restraint, and yet each word was firm in its delivery.

Asher gave an exaggerated shrug. "Oh, really? I didn't see you there."

The woman offered the stern arch of her brow as she sat in her chair, arms crossed, unwilling to expend the necessary energy for anything close to a response.

Meanwhile, Syrosk released a low, droning sigh as he began to rub his brow. "I do not like being interrupted."

"And I don't like being dragged into the Citadel by people who say their working for people who say their working for a Dark Councilor with nothing to show for it," Asher shot back. As Syrosk continued to rub his brow, he slowly raised his other hand, showing his palm to the burned man as if express a silent 'pause'. "And if you expect me to-"

Asher wasn't even looking at the Executor when he flicked his wrist downward, telekinetically grabbing the burned man's head and slamming it into the cold, hard table. The Sith's bandaged cranium bounced off the solid surface with a thud, eliciting a soft, drawn-out groan from the reeling prospect.

"I bet that hurt," Graves said, completely deadpan.

"What would you know?" Asher barked, clutching the side of his head.

"May I continue?" Syrosk asked, an expediency accompanying his usual grit. The burned man offered a silent wave of his free hand, urging him to proceed. "My name is Algo Syrosk. My boss is Darth Vowrawn of the Dark Council. Not my 'master'. My boss. We are extending an invitation to you three to join a new organization, the Executors of Logistics. You will serve as a specialized task force capable of handling problems within the Sphere that others cannot. Providing security and maintaining order amongst the Empire will be your primary objectives. I will be your handler, serving as your mentor and guide whilst dispatching you on missions. I, too, will be your boss, not your 'master'. You, in turn will be employees, not acolytes or apprentices. Your first and only title will be Executor. You'll remain Sith, but will exist outside the standard hierarchy of Lords and Darths. No more backstabbing. No more power bases. No more spoils of war. You will belong to the Executors. You will follow their rules. In return, you will receive the backing and protection of the institution and its founder. That is in addition to a steady paycheck and benefits. You'll never have to worry about housing or transportation again. But most importantly, this is your chance to help yourselves as well as the Empire."

"Any specifics on the types of missions we'll be carrying out?" asked Graves.

"If something needs fixing, you'll fix it. If something needs breaking, you'll break it," Syrosk explained. "You'll be handling assignments that the other Spheres cannot handle themselves or devote resources to. Pushing back incursions into Sith territory. Destroying threats to Imperial trade, whether they be Republic or independent. If a rising Sith proves to be a threat to the stability of the Empire, it will fall to you to end them."

Asher finally ceased rubbing the side of his head. "How's the pay?"

"Unfinalized and negotiable," Syrosk replied. "It will be comparable to highly skilled, high-risk security work."

"Why us?" Fay bluntly asked, arms refusing to budge from their crossed position.

"Having read your files, you each possess a number of common traits with those we hope to recruit," said Syrosk. "You've displayed a certain level of competence and skill. You've lost your masters and your standing after the war. You've stagnated, with few opportunities to improve your station by yourselves."

"So you just swoop in to give us a new life? Just like that?" Asher asked, unconvinced.

A simple nod from the Executor. "Pretty much."

"And that doesn't sound the least bit shady or exploitative to you?" Asher continued.

"Targeted recruitment to ensure the health and efficiency of the organization," said Syrosk. "You're right, we did seek out those with nowhere else to go. If you think that's us taking advantage of you, then go ahead. But I'm a Force-sensitive alien living in the Sith Empire. I do not make the offer of a new life lightly."

"Alright, but why us specifically?" Fay asked. "You said Darth Vowrawn wanted us three working with you. Why us? Why you?"

"Vowrawn is a very calculative man," Syrosk explained. "Your actions at your respective academies managed to earn his attention. He seems to believe you possess a certain potential. As for me, he believes I have the potential to see that potential realized."

"And why might he think that?" asked Graves.

"Because I recently trained eight apprentices," Syrosk replied. "They were aliens, slaves, and outcasts. Once considered filth just like me. I taught them, lost them, regained them, lost them again. But in the two years of training I provided, they displayed vast improvements, partly due to their inherent skill, partly due to the unique nature of their training. Vowrawn believes my expertise rests in handling Sith while in groups."

"Well, I don't really work in groups," Graves repeated.

"I know. And ironically, you're not alone in that fact," said Syrosk. "My apprentices worked in pairs, not all of them appreciative of the fact. But those that were? Those that embraced the notion rather than rejected it? They became some of the most capable Sith I know. If you choose to stay, I can promise that you will only become stronger."

"What's the point of becoming stronger if we're not actually Sith anymore?" Asher asked. "I mean, if we're 'outside the standard Sith hierarchy', why bother?"

"Your tenure as an Executor is as permanent as you desire," Syrosk replied. "If you want to leave and give up the protection and backing we provide to pursue your own goals, you will be free to do so."

The prospects were silent, stewing in their own thoughts.

"But I'll make this clear. You're not like the other candidates," Syrosk declared. "Vowrawn wants you three for this group. He doesn't seem keen on telling me why, but I will fulfill his wishes and guide you to the best of my abilities. You will be treated fairly and given every opportunity necessary to succeed. I'll give you a moment alone to talk it over amongst yourselves."

With that, the Executor turned and headed out the door without another moment of hesitation. The prospects were somewhat dumfounded as they watched the entrance open and close behind the alien.

Now they were alone. Three Sith, sitting at a conference table under a dim light. The burned man. The tall woman. The scarred loner.

"So. Any thoughts?" Graves began.

"I don't know," Asher muttered. "It doesn't sound like something that should exist. I mean, isn't being a Sith all about unrestricted freedom? Why populate a Logistics organization with them?"

"Because I can measure on my hands how many Sith that 'unrestricted freedom' has actually worked out for," Graves casually stated. "Meanwhile there are probably hundreds of low-level Sith serving someone they hate, looking for an out. This way, they stay within the Empire rather than trying to run away."

"So you think it's a good idea?" Asher asked.

"I think it's an understandable one," Graves clarified. "What about the guy's stories about his apprentices? That'd mean he was at least a Lord before becoming Executor. And they don't typically let people like him become Lords."

"I don't know, he seems pretty old," said Asher. "Maybe he was grandfathered in by some old rule before the war."

"What about his apprentices?" asked Graves. "He said they were aliens and slaves too."

"You know, I heard something about a group of students on Korriban who didn't belong there. Like, secret ones, in the lower halls," Asher declared. "In fact, I heard something about some alien straight up killing a guy on the Academy steps, and no one did a thing to stop or punish him. If that's him, he's the real deal."

"I don't recall anything like that," Graves admitted. "Was it during our time at the Academy?"

"No, afterwards. Like, right before the war ended," Asher explained.

"I thought you left Korriban for good after finding a master," said Graves. "Were you keeping tabs on the place or something?"

"No, just… sometimes you hear some things," Asher replied. "What about you, Fay? Hear anything about that?"

"No," Fay admitted. "Then again, I trained on Ziost, not Korriban."

"I see," Asher muttered, scratching his bandaged chin. "So… do they grow 'em all that big on Ziost?"

The tall woman turned to the burned man, offering only the silent, judging arch of her brow.

A smirk appeared on Asher's lips. "Ah, the strong and quiet type, eh?"

"No. Some people just don't like talking to you," Graves said in his usual stoic manner.

"And yet you conveniently continue to do so!" Asher barked, the playful warmth immediately leaving his visage.

"Now, now, no need to get fired up," Graves calmly offered.

The burned man gritted his teeth. "Don't you even-"

"If you haven't noticed, Fay, he's a bit of a hothead," Graves continued.

"I swear, by the Emperor… gah," Asher muttered before devolving into a series of low grunts.

"You're an emotive little thing, aren't you?" Fay bluntly asked.

"He's just angry because there's nothing he can do to hurt me," said Graves.

"And you're not one for humility," Fay added.

"No. He's actually right. I literally can't hurt him," Asher admitted. "He doesn't feel pain. As evidenced by his apparent lack of a desire to duck."

Turning her head, the tall woman saw the scarred man still wore the aftermath of conflict upon himself. Fresh cuts etched into the flesh atop his head. Streaks of crusted blood he had missed when wiping himself down stained his scalp. All accompanying litany of other partially healed scars from days long passed, barely concealed by the bedraggled hair surrounding them.

Fay slowly bounced her gaze between the two men. "So, I take it you two know each other then?"

"We were rivals on Korriban, both after the attention of same master," Graves explained. "He only wanted one apprentice, so…"

"We were constantly fighting one another," Asher continued. "Eventually, it was just us from the group the Overseer had gathered."

"And who won?" asked Fay.

Asher jut an enthusiastic, boastful thumb toward his chest. "I did. And all it took was taking off one of his arms."

"Our last duel ended with his upper body burnt to a crisp, though," Graves added.

"How'd that happen?" Fay asked.

"Asher couldn't beat me in a straightforward duel, so he had to utilize some tricks to get by," Graves explained.

"Vibrating particles at a molecular level isn't a 'trick'," Asher quickly replied. "It's as genuine an application of the Force as any other."

"Yeah, but other Sith don't carry a flask of combustible fuel on their belt," Graves said.

Asher offered a flippant shrug. "They would if they were smart."

"Says the man who had his face burned off when his own ploy backfired," Graves replied.

"A minor setback," said Asher.

"You're still completely wrapped with bandages," Graves plainly stated.

Asher shrugged. "Kolto treatments took care of most of the damage. The scarring is mostly aesthetic."

"So you simply wanted to look like you just stumbled out of an ancient Sith tomb?" Graves asked.

"Wouldn't you? Better than looking like some random spacer," said Asher. "I evoke a certain image. A good percentage of being a Sith is cultivating a certain look. I mean, just ask 'Muscles' here."

"Excuse me?" Fay quickly replied.

"I'm guessing genetics blessed you with a large frame, but there's little reason to train your body to such a degree, especially if you consider yourself a Kineticist. I mean, at a certain point, additional muscle becomes superfluous when you've got the Force."

"You wanna see how superfluous these muscle are?" Fay asked, almost at a whisper. A harsh, stern whisper.

"Hey, if you're offering me a look…" Asher wisecracked as he reached into the folds of his robes, giving the other prospects the bare minimum of his attention. A moment later, the burned man's hand returned with a slender cylindrical object between his fingers, a paper shaft wrapped around an assortment of dried, packed herbs. Placing the cigarra in his mouth, the burned man snapped his fingers, producing a small arc of electricity between his fingertips and held it near the object's outer tip.

"It almost seems like you actively want people to hate you," said Graves.

"That would imply that I cared," Asher replied, the Force lightning between his fingers setting the cigarra tip aflame. The paper glowed a bright orange, burning further as the man drew in a deep breath. Exhaling, Asher released a plume of smoke into the compact room.

Carefully raising her hand, Fay placed her fingers level with the burned man's face. Holding her index finger and thumb together, she offered a quick, effortless flick. Beneath Asher's eye, the tip of his cigarra fell to the table below, the other half still resting between his lips. Split by some invisible force, the two parts had not been crushed or torn apart, but sliced as if by the sharpest and finest of blades. Looking down, Asher saw the still-lit half of the cigarra lift itself from the table before telekinetically crumbling and compressing into a tiny ball of crushed ash. Not a moment later, it fell, striking the table with a light bounce before settling.

"Nothing about me is superfluous," Fay emphatically declared.

"Point taken," Asher said with a growing smirk, removing the remains of the cigarra from his mouth. "So. A Firestarter. A Kineticist. And a Man Who Feels No Pain. Someone thinks we'd work well together. A Dark Councilor in fact. One who's apparently been keeping tabs on us since our time in the academies. He thinks we're special, but wants us basically doing grunt work for his new organization. We get a paycheck and a chance at retirement in exchange for promising not to try and betray and kill one another. That sound about right?"

"Sounds about right," Graves offered.

"So, who wants to ride this thing until it inevitably comes crashing down around us?" Asher asked.

"You're not one for great first impressions, are you?" Fay replied.

"Nope. But think about it. That just means it's all up from here," said Asher.

"Uphill, more like," Graves commented.

Fay offered the lightest of sighs. "Are you two going to be at each other's throats this whole endeavor?"

"I'm willing to put the past behind me if he is," Graves declared.

"Sure," said Asher, before leaning closer to his scarred fellow. "Just remember. I'm just as capable of taking off the other arm."

"Didn't stop me the first time," Graves stated with a wave of his left hand, its cybernetic nature concealed beneath the numerous layers of black garb.

The prospects were interrupted by the chamber's door rising into its recess. Slowly, Syrosk walked back into the room with his lumbering, uneven gait. Stopping just on the other side of the table, the alien passed his sharpened gaze over each individual one by one.

"Have you made a decision?" Syrosk calmly asked.

The room fell silent. None had an immediate response. The prospects looked around, studying one another, trying to glean some measure of their thoughts.

"Alright. I'm in," Fay eventually spoke up.

"Same here," Asher quickly stated.

All eyes fell to the loner, scarred and stained. Graves kept his gaze affixed to the table, staring in silence as the others did the same toward him. He release a heavy sigh and a noncommittal shrug of his shoulder.

"Fine, I guess," Graves muttered.

"Then let me be the first to officially welcome you to Logistics," Syrosk declared.

"You already welcomed us to Logistics," Asher stated. The alien narrowed his harsh gaze upon the burned man, whom raised his hands in half-hearted apology.

"Then let me congratulate you on your new positions… Executors."

The three new Executors followed their boss as they all made their way through the dark halls of the Citadel. The aged alien set the pace with his hastily sluggish gait. Their destination was unknown, but the three followers offered little protest.

"I will be filling the role of both a mentor and coordinator," Syrosk explained as he walked. "When you aren't on a mission, I will be training you."

"So... we are your apprentices," Asher spoke up.

Syrosk kept his unwavering gaze forward. "If you are so insistent on such a designation, then yes."

"What kind of training?" asked Fay. "We're rather beyond the standard fare of the Academies."

"Yes. You are," Syrosk rasped. "There's little more to be instilled in you that won't be achieved in the field. Your minds, however, will need to be conditioned for your work."

"I think we're ready for the horrors of Logistics field work," Asher joked.

"I'm concerned with security, not mental health," Syrosk curtly replied. "Your thoughts must remain your own. If you cannot resist interrogations and probes of your mind, you'll not only endanger yourselves and your teammates, but the Ministry and the Empire itself."

"Well, we got a guy who can't feel pain, so we'll just let him take our spots in any torture scenarios," Asher stated, jabbing his elbow into Graves' side.

"Pain is neither the only nor an effective means of extracting information... Murel," Syrosk rasped.

A cold shiver immediately shot up Asher's spine.

Graves turned toward his burned teammate. "Your real name's Murel?"

Asher folded his arms. "It's the name of an old war hero, shut up. Besides, he probably just read it off my file."

"Perhaps," said Syrosk. "But your file would not have told me that you decided on your moniker when an acolyte said your last name with a broken jaw your second week on Korriban."

Asher ducked his gaze as the walked. "It might have. I've never seen the file."

The horned alien released a low sigh. "Even so, I am not the only telepath in the galaxy. Few may be as effective as I, but they do exist. Amongst the Sith. Amongst the Jedi. You'll be dealing with both and we cannot have you divulging information, whether you even realize it or not."

"Good to know we're planning on keeping secrets from our fellow Sith this early in our venture," said Asher. This time, it was unclear whether the burned man was speaking sarcastically or not.

"Logistics operates on information," Syrosk declared. "Lose control of that information and the operation falls apart."

"Alright, anything else in store besides the mental lockdown?" Fay asked, a hint of curiosity in her voice.

"Darth Vowrawn seems to believe you each possess unrealized potential," Syrosk replied. "It's my duty to see it brought to light."

"Yes, yes, you've already said as much," Asher said, accompanying his words with the flimsy waft of his hand. "We're special. You're special. We get it. But what exactly are you going to do with that?"

"I don't know," Syrosk bluntly stated.

"You don't know?" Graves spoke up.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Fay added.

"Much like Logistics, I operate on information," Syrosk explained. "I cannot properly train you until I know more about you, until you know more about each other."

The burned Sith cocked his head to the side. "So, what, we're all just going to pal around for a while?"

"You will. I won't," Syrosk rasped. "I already have a mission lined up for you."

"Don't missions usually come... you know, after training?" asked Asher, scratching the back of his wrapped head.

"I need to know if you're worth training in the first place," Syrosk declared.

"The word of a Dark Councilor not enough for you?" Asher teased.

"No. It is not."

The motley group continued through the halls of the Citadel. As they headed deeper and deeper, the Executors could feel the weight of the other denizens' passing gazes. They were each out of place, despite belonging nowhere else. The Imperials and Sith of the capital saw only what rest upon the surface. The alien. The spacer. The mummy. The giant. None of them fit with the locals' notions of what a Sith was, but Sith they remained.

Enduring the errant stares and prolonged trek through the halls of conniving Sith and Imperial bureaucrats, Syrosk came to a stop in front of a door that spoke of a far grander chamber than the small waiting rooms the recruits were accustomed to.

"This is our base of operations," Syrosk explained. In response to his presence, the door automatically lifted, granting the group of Sith sight into the chamber beyond. The large door oversold its grandeur.

The room on the other side of the entrance was compact, especially compared with the headquarters of other organizations within the Citadel. No high ceilings. No foyers or redundant spaces. No room for statues or banners. Every wall was covered with consoles and databanks. In the center, a holoterminal displayed a galactic map, small blips firing off at regular intervals. Around it, a small group of uniformed Imperials bustled about, bumping each other's shoulders as they navigated the tight quarters. The men and women, all Human, all 'normals', had their eyes glues to the datapads in their hands, lifting their gazes only if more pertinent information flashed across the screens attached to the terminals around them.

"It's not exactly on par with the Intelligence headquarters, is it?" said Asher, with a healthy dose of snark.

"It serves our purpose... for now," Syrosk rasped. The alien stepped inside, as did the other three shortly after.

"My lord, you've returned," a soft voice called out from deeper within the base. A woman stepped from the controlled chaos that embroiled the chamber, rushing to greet the four Sith. She was a picture of Imperial decorum, clean cut and orderly while still possessing a relative youth. "Operations are proceeding on schedule. No word of complication from X1 or X2."

"Very good," Syrosk replied, a modicum of praise slipping past his usual rasp. "If there's nothing more to report, I'd like you to handle the induction of these three recruits."

"Of course, my lord," the woman said with a respectful bow of her head. Upon raising it, she looked upon the three Sith standing behind her boss. She remained silent for a moment, trying to formulate her own thoughts, before softly biting her lip. Carefully, she leaned in close to Syrosk. "I'm sorry, my lord, but what position are they filling?"

"They are Sith," said Syrosk. "They've been handpicked by Darth Vowrawn to be Executors."

Her eyes widened as she shot back up, stance rigid as the recruits cast their disinterested gazes upon her. "My apologies, lords. I did not realize..."

Syrosk offered a dismissing wave of his hand as the woman bowed her head once more. "It is of no trouble. Just have the applications ready."

"At once, my lord," the woman shot off before ducking back into the organized chaos that persisted deeper in the chamber.

"What happened to 'no longer being lords' and such?" Asher asked.

"Whatever our positions, we will always be regarded as Sith," Syrosk replied. "There's no changing that."

"I'm just surprised they all seem content to work under an alien," Graves admitted.

"I've proven myself, as have they," said Syrosk. "We all serve the Empire here."

"Of course we do," Asher half-heartedly replied. "But I assume we don't all serve the Empire from here, right? I mean, not insulting your base or anything, but, uh, there doesn't seem to be very many amenities. It seems like we'd just be taking up space... one of us in particular."

The wrapped Sith winced at what felt like a fist driving itself into his arm. Turning his head, he saw Fay staring at him, eyes sharpened, but entirely motionless. Her arms crossed beneath her chest, she had either moved at a blinding speed, or not at all.

"No, we're just here to formalize your entry into the organization," Syrosk stated. "As Executors, you'll be expected to operate out of a mobile base."

Before Syrosk could explain further, the woman from before returned with a datapad firmly clutched in hand. "Alright, my lords. I need your full names so that I can enter you into the system."

"Asher."

"Fay."

"Graves."

"Uh..." The woman's hand hovered over the datapad, hesitant to input the information. Once again, she softly bit her lip, passing her gaze between the Sith before settling on Syrosk, eyes silently begging for assistance.

"Those are sufficient enough," Syrosk assuaged. The employee offered a dutiful nod as she entered the recruits' information. "We already have their files, I just need you to confirm their entry."

"As you wish, my lord," the woman stated. "I'll need some time to... oh."

"'Oh'?" the three recruits shot back almost simultaneously.

"It would seem you three were ready to be confirmed," the woman revealed. "But... that usually doesn't happen until we have a handler ready to-"

"I'll be acting as their handler. Darth Vowrawn's wishes," Syrosk explained. The woman puzzled for a moment, but took her boss at his word.

"Then I suppose everything should be in order," the woman said. "Your designations will be Executor Five, Executor Six, Executor Sev-"

"When you said there were only a few of you, I thought you meant lower dozens," Asher interrupted. "Not four."

"The other four were my first picks for inclusion. You three were Vowrawn's," Syrosk stated. "Like I said, ours is a new organization and you are amongst the first to join."

"Well then, shouldn't we be, like, numbers one through three?" Asher suggested. "Especially since we're being overseen by number zero?"

"Everyone is overseen by number zero," Syrosk curtly replied. "But it matters not, your number does not denote your rank nor skill."

"Then there's no reason to not bump us up the list a little," Asher said.

Syrosk released a low sigh as he began to rub his leathery brow.

"You really care about what other people think of you, don't you?" Graves calmly asked the burned Sith.

"If that were true, he wouldn't talk as much," Fay added.

"We cannot alter the designations of Executors already in the field," Syrosk rasped. "But..."

"But?" Asher pressed.

"X3 and 4 have not yet been formally initiated, nor do they have the luxury of a Dark Councilor fast-tracking their progress," said Syrosk, almost regretfully. "Should you succeed in your first mission... then you can have numbers three through five."

"Dibs on three!" Asher called out.

"It would have likely been alphabetical, so the gesture is moot," Syrosk stated, taking some solace in taking the minor victory away from the burned Sith.

The tall woman offered a brief shrug. "No protests here."

"Fine by me," Graves added.

Syrosk offered the Imperial who had been standing nearby, frozen and silent, a brief nod dismissing her to her previous duties. "Then if there are no more objections, we can proceed."

The alien slowly made his way deeper into the headquarters, the new recruits following. Spreading out around the galaxy map, the other Imperials gave the group a wide berth.

"Following the war's end, certain sectors were thrown into chaos as numerous planets turned themselves over to the Empire due to the terms of the treaty," Syrosk explained. "We've managed to keep things controlled for now, at least on the macro scale. But spreading our focus over the newly gained territories has caused certain affairs to slip beneath our notice. A number of Imperial facilities have gone dark. Most were simple ag-settlements and manufactories, but one was a weapons research facility."

"Is there an explanation?" asked Graves.

"Independent parties taking advantage of the current climate," said Syrosk. "The war may be over, but both sides are scrambling to keep their affairs in order, allowing pirates and scavengers to hit lesser targets with impunity."

"Someone got cocky and hit an arms facility," Fay suggested.

"More than that, a particular group is broadcasting their exploitation of the situation to the entire galaxy," Syrosk continued. "They say they've got schematics for something big we've been working on, and are looking to sell. They've invited everyone, the Republic, the Cartel, even us."

A quick chuckle from Asher. "How kind of them to sell our own goods back to us."

"Do we have any confirmation they actually have what they're trying to sell?" Fay asked.

"You three are in charge of getting that confirmation," Syrosk stated.

"Seems an odd job for Sith... or Logistics," said Asher.

"The sellers are operating aboard a large freighter tucked away in a debris field," Syrosk explained. "Not cost-effective to send a cruiser or fighter squadron, so we're sending in a strike team."

"Strike team? I assume that means we won't be negotiating?" said Fay, no intonation for her preference.

"Correct," Syrosk replied. "Every Ministry wants an example made of them. They don't want the rest of the galaxy to think we're unprepared to endure the peace."

"And you're entrusting this to us as our first mission?" asked Graves.

"There's a chance they possess nothing and are using this as a ploy to draw gullible parties into a trap," Syrosk explained. "Either way, nothing about the group shows them to be a threat to the three of you, giving your histories and skills."

"I might take that as a compliment if I knew more about them," Asher admitted.

"You'd probably take it as a compliment no matter what," Graves stoically offered, his lack of tone making it difficult to discern whether that was an insult, a simply tease, or a genuine statement of fact.

"What details do we have about them?" Fay asked. "Their numbers? Their vessel? Their armament?"

"The group operates with roughly thirty crewmen," Syrosk replied. "They've almost nothing to warrant an Intelligence profile. Low-level criminal operation based out of a single ship."

"Seems a bit beneath us, but your wish is our command, master," Asher declared with a mock bow.

The alien released a low grumble beneath his breath. "The sellers haven't moved since their initial announcement, so they'll likely remain until they've accomplished whatever their goals are. We won't rush in, but we won't waste time either. You'll move out tomorrow, so rest up and prepare."

"How exactly are we going to meet them?" asked Fay.

"You recall me mentioning Executors working out of a mobile base? Well, you'll be using it to dock with their freighter," said Syrosk.

"Don't tell me you're planning on shoving us into some dank shuttle," Asher muttered.

"Not exactly."

"Okay... that's impressive," Asher admitted. The burned man and his fellow recruits stood side by side, looking up with wide eyes. Surrounding them was one of the larger single-ship hangars of a Logistics starport. In front of them was a pristine Fury-class interceptor.

The vessel sat its large chassis upon three struts attached to its belly. The thing was immense, dozens of meters worth of dark metals stretching in every direction. Standing beneath the craft's engines, the Sith could not even properly see the other end of the starship. The engines themselves each had a diameter surpassing the height of each figure standing beneath them, even the remarkably tall Fay.

The Fury was dominated by black and gray metals, contorted and folded into sharp designs. The ship possessed a flattened shape, but was still tall enough for its interior to function as an expansive domicile. The interceptor itself was larger than the three recruit's apartments put together. But it was more than an assemblage of rooms given the ability of flight. On either side were large cannons attached to the pronged wings. It was a military vessel through and through. A ship made for Sith.

"Why didn't you tell us you were giving us a freakin' cool ship?" Asher blurted out, unable to contain his excitement.

"It's more than a ship," Syrosk declared. "From now on, it will be your new home away from Dromund Kaas."

"My home's a piece of crap compared to this," Asher admitted.

"Well, you'll be glad to know that as Executors, you now qualify for premium housing adjacent to Kaas City's market district," Syrosk stated.

Asher continued to stare at the vessel, unable to wipe the smile from his face. "A steady paycheck. An apartment that isn't half buried in the Kaas Ravines. A freakin' starship! How in the hell do you only have four other Executors? I'd think you'd have Sith signing up left and right for this."

"We're still in the formative stages," Syrosk plainly stated, enduring the burned Sith's exuberance. "Other groups likely won't receive the same exact boons as you three."

"Their loss," Asher blurted out. "Man, I almost don't even want to go home tonight. Can I just sleep in the ship?"

"You'll get nothing if you aren't prepared for the mission tomorrow," Syrosk coldly reminded. Immediately, the warm Sith simmered down. "Treat your task no different than if you were marching into battle. Be ready for conflict, not a day off. Other than that, you're free to leave. Return to the Citadel tomorrow morning. You'll be given more instruction then."

The alien curtly turned his back on the younger Executors, silently making his way for the hangar's exit. Eventually, the elder Sith had disappeared, leaving the other three alone in the shadow of their new vessel.

"I guess he's not much for goodbyes," said Asher.

"You make it a habit of trying to piss off your superiors?" Fay bluntly asked.

"Only when appropriate," Asher replied, no guilt on his part. "The guy came to us with this dream offer. I had to make sure it was genuine."

"I wouldn't consider being an enforcer for the bureaucracy a dream of most Sith," said Fay.

"What I mean is, when something sounds too good to be true, it usually is," Asher explained. "Honestly, we were handpicked by Darth Vowrawn? One of the twelve most influential Sith in the entire freaking Empire? Can any of us explain that? Because I sure as hell can't. But if Syrosk were lying to us, he would have been far less tolerant of us."

"Of you," Fay corrected.

"Whatever," Asher dismissed. "But he's genuinely following the orders of a Dark Councilor. One who wanted us to be a part of this thing. He specifically chose the three of us. Now we just need to figure out why."

"Considering how quickly we agreed to join his organization, I'd say that was reason enough to choose us," said Graves.

"Sith don't start groups and not fill them with their own lackeys," Asher stated. "We aren't the only down-and-out Sith after the war ended."

"Maybe we're that perfect mixture of directionless and skilled that he wanted," Graves suggested.

Asher's head dipped. "It sounds rather depressing when you put it like that."

"Whatever the underlying reasons, not having to deal with another 'master' makes it more than worth it," Fay declared.

"Now, that's not a very Sith thing to say," Asher teased. "You can't become the strongest warrior without a master trying to undermine you all the time."

"One, you can. Two, what makes you think I'm interested in being the strongest?" asked Fay.

The burned man arched his brow, passing his eyes up and down the tall woman's developed, muscular arms. "Oh, no reason."

Fay offered a quick shrug. "I'm done for the day. I suggest you two get some rest. I'd hate to have this ruined for me because one of you dies tomorrow."

"D'aww, I'm hurt," Asher replied alongside an exaggerated pout of his burnt lips.

"I'm not," Graves added.

The burned Sith shot his gaze toward his scarred cohort. "Was that a joke, or were you just stating the obvious?"

Graves raised his hand before giving it a little wobble, denoting a little of both.

Turning his head back, Asher saw Fay already making her way toward the hangar's exit. Even from a distance, the definition of her back was noticeable through the tight black shirt that hugged her torso.

"You know, she's kind of cute when she's pouty," Asher casually said.

Graves paused. "I'm usually not one to advice caution, but..."

"What? I'm not intimidated by women bigger than me," Asher declared.

"That's good, considering most women fall into that category," Graves replied. Asher cast his sharpened gaze toward the stoic Sith. It wasn't the words that upset him, but the constantly dry delivery. "Besides, I'm not referring to her size."

"Then what are you referring to?" Asher asked, entertaining his fellow.

"Tell me, when was the last time you met a Sith that managed to survive the Academy without accruing at least one scar?"

Asher arched his brow. "I know it may be a strange concept for someone like you, but most acolytes make it a point to try and dodge at least some of the blows sent their way."

"Someone as large as her would have a target painted on her back the moment she stepped foot in the Academy," Graves suggested. "And she doesn't seem the sort to make it by through favors. She had to fight. A lot. And to walk away unscathed after years of conflict... she's something else."

Asher offered a half-hearted shrug. "Maybe Ziost works differently than Korriban. Why, are you afraid of her or something?"

"I'd just advise not doing anything to piss her off, " said Graves. "Unlike Syrosk, she doesn't have a Dark Councilor she's trying to appease."

The burned Sith remained silent, head slightly dipped as he briefly scrunched his face beneath his bandages. "Well, I guess I've always got you to vent my frustration on."

"I guess you do," Graves replied, completely deadpan. Asher let out a low sigh at his inability to provoke an adequate response out of the scarred Sith. With nothing more to converse about, the burned man made his way toward the hangar's exit, eventually returning to the streets of Kaas City.

Graves stood alone for what felt like minutes, staring at the starship that sat before him. Slowly, he took first step toward the hangar's exit, followed by another. With a heavy gait, the scarred man began his patient trek home.

Passing over streets of dirt and pavement, Graves made his way through the capital's interior. In every direction, gray buildings rose from the ground, stretching toward the darkened skies. Darkened not by night, but by the persistent storm that made up the planet's atmosphere. Nature itself had become a reflection of those who presided over this world, twisted and unburdened by the light. As the chaotic skies churned, the numerous spires that populated the capital diverted whatever lightning may have been cast its way. Within the city walls, the streets were safe. The Empire had established control amidst the chaos of the jungle planet, and that fact was apparent in every facet of its structure.

Using only his two legs, Graves passed through district after district of the grand metropolis, eventually arriving before an apartment complex hours away from the starport.

The Sith walked with a determined gait, legs untiring, eyes unwandering, perpetually driven forward without a second thought. Entering the complex, he ascended numerous flights of stairs, walked down constricting halls, before finally stopping in front of his home. Unlocking the door, Graves made his way into the compact abode.

No Sith of actual worth would have been content with such a measly domicile as their home. All that greeted the apartment's owner was a sparse living area with an attached kitchenette and a shadowed hall leading to the other half of his home. It conformed to simplistic Imperial designs, dark, uniform materials composing much of the walls and furniture. The walls themselves went completely unadorned and unoccupied. In fact, the only piece of extraneous decoration was a framed picture sitting on the counter separating the living room from the kitchenette, a photo of a diminutive feline resting behind its pane of glass.

Slipping off his heavy jacket, Graves tossed the alcohol-stained garment onto the nearby couch. Without his outer layer, the Sith's asymmetry was revealed. His right arm of flesh. His left arm of cybernetics. The prosthetic resembled hardened musculature, as if the outer skin had been removed, leaving only sinew and underlying bone. The entire arm was composed of gray materials and ended at a graft point around the Sith's left shoulder.

Removing his gloves, his hands matched the arms that preceded them. One of flesh. One of skeletal metals and plastics encased in protective plating. Under the cover of standard garb, the cybernetics were adequately hidden, filling the same dimensions as their natural counterparts.

Journeying deeper into his home, Graves navigated the one brief, unlit corridor. At its end, it branched into two rooms. A bedroom and a restroom. The Sith entered the door on his left and was greeted with a sink and mirror. Looking over his reflected visage, he saw some dried blood still graced the fringes of his head. Running his organic hand under the sink, he began dabbing himself down, trying to clean the effects of the day's earlier confrontation.

Dipping his head, he began examining his scalp, searching for any shards of glass still buried in his flesh. Combing over the surface, he had trouble discerning new indentations from old ones, discerning organic from inorganic material. When he finally saw a piece in the reflection, he would hover his hand over the spot, and the shard would be telekinetically plucked out with the Force.

After a few minutes of trial and error, a few red-stained shards of shattered bottle rest on the sink's edge. The Sith didn't even give them a second thought as he shut off the light, leaving the bathroom in favor of his bedroom.

Sitting himself down on the edge of his meager bed, Graves did nothing but stare at the opposite wall, resting his weight upon his thighs as he leaned forward. For minutes, he simply continue to cast his gaze forward toward the blank, unadorned surface.

Eventually, his eyes left their spot, passing over to the nearby closet. Lifting himself from the bed's edge, the Sith walked over and swung open the doors. Inside, a deconstructed suit of armor lay upon the floor in a disorganized heap. Thick, black armorweave protected by heavy plates. Every single piece possessed countless scratches and scars earned in battle. Gauntlets. Boots. Pauldrons. Chestguard and greaves. The attire of a warrior.

Graves knelt down, staring at the disheveled suit. Extending his hand, he began parsing and separating the pieces before finally reaching behind them. When his hand returned, he held in his grasp a gray hilt.

"It's been a while..."

The sun had begun to rise above Kaas City, as unapparent its journey was behind the ever present dark clouds that consumed the sky. In the early hours of the morning, the new Executors had returned to their cramped headquarters, ready for instruction from their handler, boss, and master.

Standing around the galaxy map that graced the center of the compact chamber, the Sith looked upon an image focusing somewhere in the Outer Rim. The group's targets had placed themselves amidst neutral territory, just beyond the borders of Imperial or Republic space. Drifting amongst the void, the sellers positioned themselves away from any worlds or space stations. Instead, they surrounded themselves with nothing more than asteroids and debris.

Syrosk remained garbed in the same attire as the day prior, loose-fitting black robes covering him from the neck down. The other Sith however, had prepared themselves for the inevitable conflict.

Graves' was the most drastic change. Trading in his plainclothes attire, he now resembled a proper Sith warrior. He was practically encased in battle attire, armorweave beset by hardened, heavy plating. The black and gray ensemble featured scratches etched into practically every visible surface. Within the suit, the cyborg had retained some measure of symmetry, his prosthetics wrapped and encased in the same armoring as his organic parts. Meanwhile, his scarred head remained completely on display, the suit's protection ending at his neck.

Asher's garb was a set of black robes much as they had been the day prior, albeit with a few alterations. The tight, form-fitting attire had been exchanged for a more baggy set. His pants were tightly fastened around his waist, but hung loose around his legs, puffing out before being constricted beneath the tops of his boots. The burned Sith's torso was covered by multiple layers, a set of black under-robes beset by a heavier, baggier outer coat. The coat was worn loose, apart from the lower extremity secured to his waist via a belt. Its baggy sleeves ended at the Sith's wrapped wrists, and its hood was raised over the wearer's bandaged head, casting it in some modicum of shadows. The ensemble bloated the Sith's frame, hiding the dexterous figure beneath.

Fay's attire had changed the least. Her upper body was still covered only by the black form-fitting compression garb. Her arms still sprouted from the sleeveless shirt, proudly displaying their honed musculature. Her long legs were still covered by a pair of thick cargo pants. Her feet were still encased in a pair of sturdy boots. Her hair was still worn in a singular braid that dangled toward her lower back. In fact, the only difference was the addition of a pair of fingerless gloves. While far from thin, the article possessed little in the way of extra padding or plates, merely serving as covering for the Kineticist's palms.

As the three Sith stood side by side, they were prepared, in both body and mind. They all looked upon the display in front of them with some measure of discipline and duty.

"Our target hasn't moved for the last six days," Syrosk began, his unwavering gaze affixed to the holographic image. Though his voice was neither booming nor domineering, it managed to fill the chamber, equally gracing the ears of all who surrounding him. In his stilled stance, Syrosk stood with his usual upright hunch, arms neatly folded behind his back. The horned alien offered a captivating presence even as he remained motionless, holding the attention of the Imperials, as well as his fellow Sith, by voice alone. "From a defensive perspective, the spot they've chosen puts them at a firm advantage. The surrounding debris field prevents ships from dropping out of hyperspace too close, as well as providing natural cover from aggressors. Can't swarm them. Can't overpower them. Not without them getting away."

"So we play by their rules," Asher suggested, noticeably more level-headed than the day before. "At least, until we can get onboard their ship."

"Precisely," Syrosk replied, eyes still glued to the terminal's image. "You'll show up on their sensors long before you begin your approach. Don't give them any reason to flee."

"What do we do once we're onboard?" asked Graves.

"First priority is determining whether or not they actually have what they say they're selling," Syrosk replied.

"The whole ruse of us being buyers might be hard to maintain once they actually see us," said Asher.

"It falls to you three to figure out how to handle things," Syrosk bluntly stated. "This is your test. How you perform here determines your future as Executors."

"Great, so you're sending us in blind," Asher muttered.

"On the contrary, you'll be given all the information you need," said Syrosk. "It's just up to you to figure out how to use it."

Asher offered an exaggerated roll of his eyes. "Oh, well, in that case…"

"In all likelihood, this is just some ploy to scam interested buyers out of their credits or their ships," Syrosk admitted. "But there's always the chance it's not."

Asher head dipped. "Great."

"We can handle it," Fay declared, firm and direct in her tone.

"I expect you to," Syrosk replied. "You can review the mission aboard your ship. Any questions?"

"We going to stay in contact?" asked Asher. "Or is this a 'radio silence' kind of thing?"

"You can always reach the base through your ship's communicator," Syrosk explained. "But barring any emergencies, you won't be receiving additional support."

Asher cocked his head to the side. "What qualifies as an emergency?"

"Don't know, we've not had to deal with one yet," Syrosk plainly stated.

The burned Sith arched his brow, even as it lay hidden beneath a layer of wrapping and shadow. "Is that a good thing… or a bad thing?"

"Neither. It's just the truth," Syrosk rasped. "Though I'd prefer it to stay that way for the time being."

"Makes sense," said Graves.

"Anything else?" Syrosk asked of the three Sith, some level of insistence in his voice.

Asher perked up. "Yeah, who gets to fly the ship?"

"I'm sure that'll be sorted out once you're onboard," Syrosk rasped. The other three Executors shared a series of passing glances.

"Damn…" Asher muttered.

"Greetings, masters," an overbearingly polite voice spoke up. "I am Astromechanical Logistics Droid 512. It is my duty and privilege to provide you transport wherever you may desire."

Waiting to greet the Sith aboard the Fury was a droid, its humanoid chassis resembling the other protocol and factotum droids used by the Empire rather than the waist-high rollers that typically accompanied starships. Matte gray finish, lanky metallic limbs, a pair of bright red 'eyes' upon its large head.

"Huh, never had a droid before," said Graves.

"Well, I assure you, master, your life will only be enriched by my presence aboard your ship," ALD passionately stated. "Every fiber and circuit of my being is dedicated to serving you in whatever capacity my programming allows."

"What are you programmed for?" Graves patiently asked.

"It has the word 'astromechanical' in its freakin' name, I'm pretty sure it's our pilot," Asher blurted out, voice tinged with disappointment.

"I am capable of more than that, masters," ALD declared. "Since you will be living aboard this vessel, I will gladly maintain your new home and do whatever I can to ensure it is up to your discriminating standards. If you would like, I could give you the tour before we lift off."

Asher let of a brief sigh. "I think we can figure it-"

"Sure," Grave's interrupted

ALD joyfully raised its metallic hands. "Wonderful. If you would follow me, masters." The droid turned its back on the Sith and began making its ways deeper into the vessel.

"Well, go on, follow the droid," Asher muttered, offering a flippant wave of his hand.

"I'm sure if you ask nicely, the droid will let you fly the ship," Graves said, completely deadpan.

Asher released a low huff. "Very funny."

"Wasn't a joke," Graves stoically replied before following the droid deeper into the vessel.

The burned man muttered an inarticulate word beneath his breath, gritting his teeth. Looking up, he saw Fay looking down on him with a firm arch of her brow.

"What?" Asher barked.

"Nothing," Fay calmly replied. Not a moment later, the tall woman made her way deeper into the vessel, leaving Asher standing alone atop the ship's entrance ramp.

The burned Sith released yet another grumble before tapping a nearby control panel with his clenched fist. Slowly, the ramp raised itself, eventually locking in the ship's occupants. Hearing the sounds of the chamber sealing itself, Asher finally made his way deeper into the vessel, passing through a compact passageway before standing side by side with his fellows, ALD patiently waiting in front of them.

"This is the comm room," ALD warmly stated. "It also serves as the ship's shared living space."

The Sith looked with wide eyes at the open chamber. In its center sat a sizable holoterminal, capable of intragalactic communications, but surrounding the device was a sparsely populated floor, little more than the occasional couch lining the nearby walls. The ship's interior possessed the similar aesthetic as the outer chassis. Black and gray metals. Simultaneously sharp and smooth. Angular and domineering. From the red lights to the exposed pipes beneath grated floors, there were touches of Sith and Imperial designs etched into every visible surface, all capitalized by the banners that hung from the chamber walls. And this was all just a single room.

"Thing's bigger than my entire home," Asher muttered.

"Same," said Fay.

"Yup," Graves added.

"Attached is the ship's medical bay, cockpit, and primary bedroom," ALD continued. "From here, the left and right wings are separated by bulkhead doors. If you'll follow me." The droid led the Sith through the open door to the right, walking down the unconstricting passageway beyond. "The right wing is dedicated to storage and engineering."

The corridor emptied into two rooms. The one closer to the ship's rear featured a mechanical console as well as direct access to the Fury's right engine. The turbine of energy and metal churned as the room was bathed in industrial sounds even as the ship sat idled. The second room that extended forward into the right wing was a storage bay, home to lockers and bins as well as a number of panels built into the floor and walls, hiding even more empty space beyond them.

Reentering the comm room, the droid led the group toward the left wing. Before reaching the next bulkhead door, two rooms sat adjacent to the shared living space. Nearer the ship's entrance was a compact medical facility, home to a couple of beds as well as a standing kolto tank, large enough for the full submersion of any injured person. Nearer the ship's cockpit was a bedroom, home to a bed more than capable of comfortably containing even the largest Sith.

"The left wing features more living space, as well as a conference room," ALD stated as he passed through the open bulkhead.

This ship's left corridor mirrored its counterpart, opening into two rooms. The one nearer the ship's rear featured a number of stacked bunks inlayed with the wall, storage panels built alongside them. The room that extended deeper into the left wing was a meeting room featuring a number of chairs situated around a large table.

"Of course, this ship has not yet been fully stocked or furnished, but I assure you, masters, it will far exceed your expectations in time," ALD declared.

"It already has," said Graves.

"The only question is, who gets the luxury bedroom?" Asher asked.

"Best choice would be no one. Better to gut it and turn it into something more practical," Fay plainly stated before a pause. "But I don't think I'll be fitting any of the bunks."

"Hey, if you want to share a living space, I'd be happy to oblige," Asher brazenly replied.

"It's a ship," said Fay. "We're sharing a living space no matter what."

"How modular are these rooms?" Graves asked of the droid.

"Modular?" ALD repeated, processing the inquiry. "I suppose nothing in the left wing is truly unchangeable."

"Any meetings can be held in the comm room," Graves suggested. "How about we gut the conference and bunk rooms, turn them into private quarters. That'll give us three bedrooms that we can change to suit our preferences."

"Not a bad idea," Asher admitted.

"Fine by me," Fay added. "Of course, none of this matters if we fail our mission."

"Then let's not waste any more time," said Graves. The scarred man turned toward the droid. "Has our boss sent you the details of our task?"

"Yes, master," ALD declared. "Would you like me to prepare for launch?"

Graves nodded. "Go ahead."

"At once, master," ALD replied with a dutiful dip of his metallic dome. The droid made its way toward the cockpit, leaving the Sith alone with each other once more.

The three Executors looked to each other, locking eyes with one before turning to the second.

"So I guess we're all roommates now," said Asher, no intonation in his voice. "Weird."

"That's the weirdest part of all this for you?" Fay asked.

"Is this where you saw your life heading a few days ago?" Asher replied.

"Fair point."

The ship seemed to come alive around the Sith, the sounds of the engines priming and roaring filling the vessel's chambers.

"I guess we're taking off," Graves stated. "About to pass the point of no return."

"Were you planning on turning back?" asked Asher.

"Not at all. You?"

"Eh. I wanted to get a good look at the ship first," Asher admitted. "I think I can stand to bust a few pirate heads for Logistics if this is what they're offering."

"A man of simple tastes," Graves stated.

Asher gave an exaggerated shrug. "What can I say? I like what I like."

"Are you two done?" asked Fay. "We have a mission to prepare for."

"She's right, let's go over the data from Syrosk," Graves suggested.

"What's to go over?" Asher asked. "All he's given us is a target and a destination."

Fay gave the burned Sith a stern arch of her brow. "Since we're working with so little, it seems prudent to have a plan of action then, doesn't it?"

"Plans only work when you've got a foundation to build on," Asher explained. "If we had more information, sure I'd be all about making a plan. But with what we've got, chances are it'll just fall to pieces the second we step off this ship."

"Kind of a defeatist attitude," Fay replied.

"It has nothing to do with defeat, it's merely statistics," said Asher. "Too many variables to account for, especially aboard an enemy ship. Did you know that a majority of Sith fatalities that aren't low-level grunts occur in space?"

"And that fact makes you not want to formulate a plan?"

"It's because things never go according to plan in space, so why bother with a plan? Keep your mind so focused on sticking to some arbitrary guidelines you've set for yourself and you die, plain and simple. Being somewhat prepared for everything is better than being totally prepared for one thing."

"Is the ability to set things on fire your way of 'being prepared for everything'?" asked Graves.

"Considering the amount of flammable things in the galaxy, yes," Asher stated.

A quick sigh from Fay. "If you're going to set anything on fire, please warn us ahead of time."

"I can do that much," Asher replied, gently rubbing his chin.

The vessel shook as its engines kicked into action. Moving beyond the threshold of the Kaas starport, the Fury propelled itself into the sky, soaring above the capital city and the surrounding forests. Higher and higher it ascended, passing through the dark and crackling skies, not ceasing until it was past the planet's perpetually chaotic atmosphere.

Within the ship, the three Sith maneuvered themselves toward the cockpit. Inside, the droid had positioned itself in one of the three seats situated around the vessel's main console. Beyond the central viewport, the starry veil of the endless void stretched out in front of them. Even as the mechanical pilot had connected itself to the console via a cable, its metallic hands darted across the ship's controls. From its single seat, it controlled every aspect of the vessel's being. Always monitoring. Ever regulating.

The cockpit was a dazzling array of readouts and lights as seemingly every surface was occupied by some console or terminal. The displays presented their readings, information firing off like the ship's nerves. Within the cold blackness of space, within the cool grayness of the cockpit, there was a warmth. A sense of fulfilled purpose. Every individual piece was working in tandem to drive the vessel forward. Each light a spark. Each sound a cheer. A display of function.

And standing amongst it were the Executors. Three misfits in the eyes of the Empire. In the eyes of the Sith. Three individuals defined by their physicality. Three individuals of differing mentality. Three individuals, individuals no longer.

"Masters, shall I make the jump to hyperspace?" ALD asked, still manipulating the ship's controls.

The Executors looked to one another, each sharing a confident nod.

"Hit it."

Beyond the viewport of the Fury's cockpit, the swirling tunnel of hyperspace surrounded the vessel as it covered the distance of star systems in a matter of minutes. As the ship's mechanical pilot guided the interceptor toward its destination, the three Sith remained close by, patiently waiting for their return to realspace.

Asher and Graves had planted themselves in the two unoccupied seats of the cockpit whilst Fay stood resolutely behind them, arms tightly crossed. As the armored warrior and the Kineticist remained utterly stilled, the burned Sith couldn't help but fidget in his chair.

"Trouble, Asher?" Graves asked.

"Can't get comfortable," Asher muttered. "Seat needs padding or something."

Graves stared as the burned Sith continued to jostle. "You want to make a request when we get back? As long as we're making modifications to the ship…"

"You could always just stand," Fay bluntly stated.

"How are those high ceilings treating you, Fay?" Asher deflected.

"Just fine, thanks for asking," she replied, deadpan, still maintaining her rigid upright stance.

The burned Sith shifted in his seat, accompanied by the sounds of rustling robes as well as a few subtle clinks. Finally the hooded man released a low growl as he pushed himself up and out of his seat. "You know what? Standing's fine."

Asher maneuvered around the now empty seat, standing beside his towering teammate. Side by side, there was a remarkable height discrepancy between the pair, the hooded man's head not even reaching above the Kineticist's shoulders. The discrepancy slightly grew as Asher slumped where he stood.

"Now what's wrong?" Fay asked, more inquisitive than concerned.

"Oh, nothing," Asher muttered, before turning toward the droid. "How long until we arrive?"

"A matter of minutes, master," ALD answered, exuberant as ever.

Asher's head dipped further as he rubbed his brow. "I'd prefer actual measures to niceties."

"The nature of hyperspace makes accurate measures difficult, even for a droid," Graves stated.

"I suppose one emotionless machine is enough for this team," said Asher.

"I'm not emotionless," Graves stoically replied.

A brief chuckle from Asher. "Not going to deny the machine part?"

Graves raised his left arm. "I literally have machine parts."

"Got me there."

"Technically, you 'got me there'," said Graves, waving his mechanical limb.

"Am I the only one who finds it weird how friendly you two are?" Fay asked. "I mean, you cut off his arm. You burned off his face."

"Well, we have to work together now, so it's not really worth fighting anymore," Asher declared. "You weren't there yet, but we weren't exactly cordial when Syrosk introduced us back at the Citadel."

"It's just that I've seen Sith start vendettas over far less," said Fay.

"I guess we're not normal Sith," Graves plainly stated.

"Don't get me wrong," said Asher, "if Syrosk came to me and said I'd get a ship if I killed him rather than worked with him, I'd agree in a heartbeat."

"I can't question his logic," Graves admitted.

"Would that extend to me as well?" asked Fay.

The burned Sith began scratching his chin, smirk growing wider. "That depends, could you offer me anything better than a ship?"

"You really want me to hurt you, don't you?" Fay muttered.

"Given your size, I think I'd be hurt regardless of my wishes," Asher warmly said, not backing down. "But what is pleasure without a little pain?"

Fay released a single chuckle. "What makes you think you'd stand any chance with me?"

"What makes you think I wouldn't?" Asher snarked.

"Weak men don't rank high on my list of potential mates," Fay declared.

"Is it the 'weak' part or the 'men' part?" Asher teased. The tall woman simply offered the silent arch of her brow. "Or maybe you're one of those 'beat me to bed me' types of Sith?"

"If that were true, I'd wind up dying alone," Fay replied, wearing a smirk of her own.

"Humble."

There was a subtle shake as the hyperspace tunnel collapsed around the vessel. The Sith watched as the streaks of light across the astral void shortened, until finally returning to starry dots upon the infinite black canvas. Ahead of the Fury, a debris field of asteroids and scrapped warships weightlessly drifted amongst the vacuum.

"Nothing puts the mind at ease like seeing a field of wreckage in front of you," Asher snarked.

"Our sellers didn't cause this, or rather, they didn't destroy these ships," Fay suggested. "The amount of Imperial and Republic vessels suggests they're casualties from the war."

Graves leaned forward as he stared out the forward viewport. "Seems like an odd place to have a battle."

"There might not have been one here," said Asher. "With enough time and effort, all you need is a tractor beam and you can create your own debris field."

"So they've surrounded themselves with scavenged corpses," Fay stated. "Seems like a lot of effort to scam potential buyers. But also a lot of preparation for a simple handover."

"Maybe we really should have come up with a plan..." Asher muttered. The other two Sith stared down the burned man, Graves turning around in his chair to do so. Asher let out a light snicker. "Kidding. We've got nothing to worry about."

"Masters, we have an incoming communication," ALD sounded off.

"Well, that was quick," said Asher.

"Let them through," Graves directed. The droid went to work opening up a channel with the unseen sellers.

"Unidentified vessel, state your name and purpose." The gravelly voice filled the cockpit, pouring out from a number of speakers. The three Sith looked around, scanning the surrounding walls and consoles.

"Uh, do we even have a comm in here?" Asher asked. The droid extended its metallic hand, pointing toward a nondescript panel on the wall behind them. Moving himself closer, the burned Sith readied himself to reply. "Alright, let's do this."

"Is he really the one we want speaking on our behalf?" Fay asked.

"Too late," Asher blurted out as he held his finger on the panel's switch. "We're agents of the Sith Empire's Ministry of Production and Logistics. You know why we're here."

The Sith spoke firmly and directly, not wasting a moment between words. There was a pause on other end of the communicator.

"Smooth," Graves quietly said before receiving a hushing wave from Asher's hand.

The gravelly voice returned. "If you were looking to make a deal, you wouldn't have arrived in a warship."

"Every ship in the Empire is a warship, it's kind of our thing," Asher bluntly stated. "We can power down our weapons. We just want to keep our schematics ours."

There was another pause. "Alright. We're transmitting a vector now. Follow it, and prepare for further instruction."

Asher lifted his finger from the panel and greeted his compatriots with an flourished bow. "And done."

"Impressive," Graves admitted.

"Be too nice to pirates and they know something's up," Asher explained. "Gotta be firm, but accommodating."

"Of which you're usually neither," Fay sternly replied.

"I'm all about putting on a face," Asher said with another dip of his hooded head. "You ready to move, droid?"

"I've received the seller's instructions," ALD stated. "Moving out now."

The engines pushed the vessel forward, over and around the numerous pieces of debris that were scattered in front of the ship. The pieces of rock and metal floated and drifted, threatening to crush unwary travelers, but the trajectory provided by the sellers guided them through the field with ease. After a few short minutes of sublight flight, the target was within their sights.

A single vessel sat comfortably in the middle of the debris field, none of the surrounding pieces nearing the safe haven around it. Idling amongst the void, the ship was larger than the Sith's, but far smaller than anything nearing a capital ship. The vessel's boxy frame and utilitarian design suggested its function as a heavy duty cargo freighter, but the aftermarket turrets affixed to the various surfaces spoke of something more than simple trading.

The Sith watched as the droid guided them ever closer, but as they neared the other vessel, they realized it didn't possess anything resembling a hangar.

"I wonder how they expect us to dock," said Graves.

As the Fury slowly drifted closer to the freighter's side, the interceptor aligned itself parallel with the sellers, only a barely measurable gap resting between them. Breaking the silence was a familiar voice sounding off over the cockpit's speakers.

"Have all occupants exit the ship and be prepared to surrender any weapons you might be carrying," the gravelly voice instructed.

"Are we actually going to do that?" asked Asher.

"We have to," Graves declared.

"Not really, we can just storm the place now if we wanted."

"Just do what they say for now," Fay suggested.

Asher shot a sharpened glance toward his teammate. "Easy for you to say, you don't need a weapon."

"You're Sith, you shouldn't either," Fay replied.

Asher released a huff as he made his way out of the cockpit. "Whatever, let's just go."

"There's still the matter of getting on the ship," Graves stated. "We haven't latched onto them yet."

"Actually, master," ALD spoke up, "the ship is showing a seal around our exterior hatch. It should be safe to exit."

"Should be?"

Graves slowly lifted himself from his seat. Together, he and Fay made their way toward the rear of the ship, rejoining Asher. Passing through a bulkhead door, the trio of Sith found themselves standing in the rear chamber of the Fury, which was occupied by nothing more than a series of stairs and a raised entrance ramp.

"Surely there are safety overrides that wouldn't let us lower the ramp in a vacuum, right?" Asher hesitantly asked, hands hovering over the ramp's controls. He received no reply. "Oh, well. Here it goes."

Punching the panel, there was a soft squeal as the ship's pressure released and the entrance ramp slowly descended. As the exit cracked open, the Executors were relieved at the distinct lack of all the air rushing out of the chamber and them being sucked into the void. As it descended further, the Sith caught a glimpse of the endless blackness that was space between the two ships.

"That's… new," Asher muttered. Taking a careful step down the ramp, the burned Sith saw that as close as the two ships were, they were not physically connected. At the bottom of the ramp, as he felt himself being less controlled by the Fury's artificial gravity, it was as if the Sith was standing in the vacuum of space. Examining his surroundings, only by focusing his eyes could he see the slight shimmer between him and the surrounding void. Opposite the lowered ramp, a single hatch lay open on the freighter's exterior hull. A walkway slowly extended itself from the opened hatch, stopping just short of contact with the Sith's ramp. "Rather ingenious."

"What is?" Graves asked from the top of the ramp.

"They've raised a forcefield between the two ships," Asher explained. "You know the barriers hangars use to keep in atmosphere? It's like that, only a bubble instead of a wall."

"So we can get over?"

"Yeah, just… watch your step," Asher called back. The burned Sith attempted to step onto the thin walkway that bridged the two vessels, but the weakened gravity make it troubling to do so. Instead, he pushed himself off of the ramp, gliding over and into the exposed hatch of the freighter. Graves followed, making his way down and over with an uncoordinated stumbling. As Fay made her way down the ramp, however, she kept her feet in full contact with the solid surface below. With the power of the Force, she was able to push down on herself, securing her boots to the walkway as she calmly walked into the open hatch. Rejoining her fellows, she found Asher shooting her a sharpened glare.

"Show off," Asher muttered. Suddenly the hatch began to close behind them, effectively cutting them off from their vessel. "Pretty well-organized operation they got going on here."

"I think we may have trouble returning to the ship," Graves stated, absent any emotion.

Asher cocked his head as he starred at his scarred fellow. "Oh, really? You think? All they have to do is lower that field and we're stranded here."

The three Sith now found themselves sealed within a compact chamber. The walls lacked the Fury's sleek designs, instead possessing an industrial feel. Unsymmetrical panels, exposed pipes and wiring, brown and gray metals dominating every surface. The boxy room had two reinforced doors opposite each other. One opened into the emptiness of space. The other connected the chamber to the ship's interior.

The Sith readied themselves as the interior hatch slowly parted, revealing a small group of armed men. Garbed in mercenary attire, the roughened figures lacked heavy armoring, but were outfitted with tactical gear. Thick clothes, bandoliers, rifles shouldered and at the ready. Three men to match the three Sith, as oddly matched they were.

One of the pirates stepped forward.

"Who in the hell are you?" the lead pirate sternly asked.

"We're from Logistics," Graves answered.

The pirate sharpened his gaze. "You're Sith."

"We're Sith from Logistics," Asher clarified.

The pirate was visibly, and soon audibly, upset. "Why didn't you say you were Sith?"

"You didn't ask," Graves plainly stated.

The pirates remained silent, keeping their weapons trained on the stalwart group of Sith. As the lead pirate sharpened his gaze, one of his cohorts leaned in close, whispering something into his ear.

"Shut it," the pirate quietly shot back. The group leader's eyes passed over each of the Sith one at a time, pace increasing with each individual. "This doesn't change anything. Sith, surrender your weapons."

Graves was the first to comply, almost immediately reaching for his weapon. As the armored figure's hand drifted toward his belt, the pirates pointed their rifles toward him, cautious of his every movement. The scarred Sith proceeded slowly, making sure not to startle the gunmen. Extending his hand, Graves offered the plain hilt to the greeters without any fuss.

"Now, you two," the lead pirate barked. With a heavy sigh, Asher reached into the folds of his robes and retrieved the black hilt that was his lightsaber. With the two men holding out their sabers, the pirates focused on the tall woman who remained stilled, her arms crossed. "Give us your weapon."

"I don't have one," Fay declared.

"Raj, pat her down, make sure she's not hiding anything," the lead pirate said to his subordinate. The gunman to his left bounced his gaze between the woman and his boss. Fay's eyes sharpened as she stared down the hesitant pirate.

"Uh, I don't know, boss…" the underling muttered.

"Do it!"

The underling lowered his weapon, taking a hesitant step toward the towering Sith.

The powerful figure looked down upon him, making him shrink under her equally powerful gaze. "Lay a hand on me… and I'm keeping it."

"Uh, I think she's clean, boss," the underling said, turning back toward the group's leader. "I mean, she's got like, four pockets, none of them big enough to hold a weapon."

The pirate leader released a hardened grumble beneath his breath. Lowering his weapon, he stepped forward, taking the lightsabers from the Asher and Graves and clipping them to his belt.

"So, you have what we asked for?" the group's boss asked the Sith.

"We're here to negotiate," Asher declared.

"Well, we're not," the pirate sternly replied. "Do you have the credits or not?"

"We do. But they stay aboard the ship until we know you have the schematics," Asher explained.

"Anyone else aboard your ship?"

"Just our droid pilot. Kind of annoying," Asher admitted. The pirate sharpened his gaze, letting the silence consume the room. "Look we're in a hurry. Believe it or not, we're needed elsewhere."

The pirate's face contorted, bordering on a snarl. "Fine. Follow me. Don't do anything stupid.

Lowering their rifles, but keeping them firmly in hand, the pirates slowly backed out of the chamber. The group's leader continued walking down the connecting corridor, whilst his underlings took pause. Only after the three Sith moved inward did they begin to follow. Pirates to their front and back, the Executors offered no protests as they were guided down the rustic passageway.

The six figures journeyed toward the freighter's core, surrounded by the unsophisticated designs of the neutral vessel. The corridor was tight and constricting, Fay almost having to duck to comfortably maker her way through. Though the freighter was larger than the sizable interceptor the Sith had arrived in, it wasn't grand enough to allow long treks within its halls. Soon, the pirates had led the trio to the vessel's primary cargo bay.

Passing through a set of parted, reinforced doors, the group stepped into an open chamber filled to the brim with storage containers. A square panel the size of a starfighter graced the floor, warning stripes gracing its borders, the primary means of loading and unloaded cargo. Surrounding it, crates were stacked upon each other, forming walls and towers just shy of touching the bay's high ceiling.

"Oh, I wonder which of these crates contains our electronic schematics," said Asher, oozing sarcasm.

As if on cue, a number of pirates emerged from the shadows. Stepping from behind the stacked crates, more than a dozen gunmen walked into view, each outfitted with the same garb and armament as their brothers. Soon, the Sith found nearly twenty barrels pointed toward them, ready to release a flurry of bolts at a moment's notice. The chamber went quiet, until the silence was broken by a series of calm, steady footsteps.

Stepping from the shadows on the opposite side of the cargo bay, a lone figure made himself known. Unlike his fellows, he did not possess the same uniform appearance. Instead, he was garbed in a reinforced longcoat that dangled to his knees. The Human's head was shaved, his face grizzled and home to a barbed tattoo that covered his left cheek and descended beneath his neckline. The handle of a heavy blaster pistol peeked up from his belt.

"I am sorry to say… but I'm afraid there are no schematics," the figure declared. He spoke with the sardonic charisma befitting the captain of a band of pirates.

The three pirates that had led the Sith into the chamber circled around them, never letting them out of their sight as they joined their fellows near the stacked crates. The Executors were now staring down a firing line, overseen by a longcoat-wearing, tattoo-having, pirate-leading captain.

"I'm starting to think this was a trap," Graves calmly stated. The others remained silent, Asher opting only to rub the brow beneath his hood.

"A Fury-class interceptor. Now that's what I call a get," the captain spoke up, every word tinged with a smugness and superiority. "Raker, board their ship. Make sure there aren't any surprises waiting for us."

"Well, we can scratch ship-thieves off the list," Asher muttered.

The pirate that previously led the first group the Sith encountered broke away from his fellows, following his captain's command. The Executors' weapons still clipped to his belt, he calmly made his way toward the chamber's entrance whilst the rest of the pirate crew maintained their positions, keeping their rifles drawn upon the Sith.

Stepping past the trio, the departing pirate almost reached the connecting hallway before stopping dead in his tracks. Tilting his head to the side, the captain puzzled over his stilled underling. He stood frozen, as if in mid-step.

"Raker, what's the hold up?" the captain shouted.

There was no answer. And as the cargo bay slowly became consumed with silence, the subtle sounds of a man struggling to draw breath filled the chamber. As the pirate was slowly being asphyxiated, he could not even clutch at his throat as an invisible force enwrapped every fiber of his being, slowly crushing him.

Their focus drawn to their suffering compatriot, no one noticed the tall woman's eyes growing sharper as they maintained their forward focus, her fists clenching tighter and tighter.

Amidst the shadows of the crate-laden cargo bay, the pirate underlings struggled to contain their brewing panic as they watched their compatriot slowly buckle under the crushing weight of the Force. Eventually, the hardened criminal collapsed, hitting the metallic flooring with a heavy thud, utterly stilled. Even as they stood shoulder to shoulder, their weapons raised and at the ready, fear began to creep into the pirate crew as they focused on their now lifeless compatriot. Their grips faltered and their legs shook, all the while the three Sith maintained their unfaltering stances, wearing faces of stone.

Just as silence threatened to devour the chamber once more, the cargo bay was filled with the sounds of a single man's slow clap. Stepping forward, the pirate captain possessed none of the trepidation or fear that had been instilled in his crewmen. Instead, he wore only a smarmy smile upon his grizzled face, continuing to petulantly clap his hands together.

"Well done, Sith," the captain spoke up, each word painfully drawn out. "Color me impressed. Fortunately, none of us liked Raker that much. Unfortunately, you've still got a score of rifles ready to cut you down. I know you Sith like to think you're the greatest thing this galaxy has to offer, but you're not blasterproof. I should know. I've fought my fair share of your kind. You see…"

Whilst the captain captivated his crewmen with his stirring monologue, the Sith remained less than enthused.

"Asher," Graves whispered, keeping his head forward facing. "I notice you don't have a flask on your belt."

"Stopped using the flask a while ago," Asher whispered back. "But I take it you want some fire?"

"We could use a distraction," Graves quietly suggested. "Fay, can you get us our sabers?"

"They're already unhooked. Just need the signal."

"Can you handle gunmen without a weapon?" asked Graves.

"Not an issue," Fay quietly, but firmly, declared.

"…and for that one, I didn't even have my trusty blaster," the pirate captain prattled on, blissfully unaware of the Sith's musings as he paced and pontificated. "Only had a knife. Guy had a freakin' laser sword, and he couldn't stop me from plunging my blade into his neck. And as I watched him fall, as I watched him squirm…"

"Are you still talking?" Graves interrupted, a slight bite to his usual stoicism. The pirate captain stopped his pacing, shooting a harsh glare at the Sith. They stood unmoved, unimpressed, standing as they always had with their arms crossed. But even as dozens of eyes fell upon the Sith, none of the gunmen noticed the hooded figure's fingers slipping beneath the folds of his outer coat.

As the captain's face twisted into a snarl, he forced out a harsh cackle. "If you're so eager to die, then so be it. Men! Ready... aim..."

"Fire!" Graves shouted.

On cue, Asher removed his hand from beneath his robes holding a small ampoule between his fingers. The thumb-sized casing was clear, cylindrical, and contained within it a dark, murky liquid. Winding his hand back, Asher flung the container toward the pirates. Time slowed to a crawl for the Sith as the ampoule flew through the air with a precise arc. Focusing his mind, the burned Sith drew in a quick breath as he clenched his fist.

In an instant, the ampoule shattered, the liquid inside expanding into a cloud of mist guided by the Force. The scattered droplets of fuel moved in accordance with a mixture of gravity and the Sith's pressing will. The reaction was already underway, fumes from the concoction supplanted the surrounding oxygen. In a matter of moments, the cloud had spread amongst the pirates, even as their fingers still sought out their blasters' triggers. The first to release a bolt would have ignited the cloud, but the burned Sith would not let another steal that privilege.

His eyes closed, his mind focused, his hand extended, only now did Asher exhale. And alongside his exhalation, came the quick snap of his fingers. A spark originated in the center of the cloud. Not lightning. Not something connected to the Sith's digits. A spark willed into existence by Asher, ready to ignite its surroundings. The conditions were perfect for the flame to spread, and the conditions were perfect because of the creator's calculating mind. The point of origin, the size of the cloud, the fuel-to-air mixture, all born from Asher's subtle manipulations. It wasn't a storm of dark energies or moving the unmovable, but it was a display of the Sith's Force prowess.

No more than three seconds had passed since the burned Sith released the ampoule and already the other side of the cargo bay had been overwhelmed with flame. The fireball lacked the concussive force of an explosion, and the fuel would soon be consumed, but the intense flash of light and heat forced the pirates to shield their faces from the blast.

Unfazed by the display, the other Sith had made their move. Holding out her hand, Fay secured a telekinetic grip on the lightsabers still gracing the nearby corpse. With a precise sweep of her arm, she flung the hilts through the air and toward their respective owners. Hands held high, Asher and Graves took a firm grip on their weapons as the sights and sounds of two red blades of plasma leaving their hilts filled the chamber.

By now, the fiery plume had run its course, leaving little more than light singes in its wake. But now, the pirates were staring down three primed and ready Sith. Gone were the upright, stoic beings that stood before them prior. Now, three powerful figures had their weapons and hands raised, eager to put them to use.

"What are you waiting for? Kill them!" the pirate captain shouted, wrapping his hand around the heavy pistol tucked beneath his belt. Before the first gunman squeezed their trigger, the Sith were already on the move. Launching themselves into the fray, Asher, Graves, and Fay went to work cutting and knocking down the pirates nearest them as yellow bolts of energy left the pirates' weapons.

Asher moved in accordance with his smaller, slighter frame, ducking and weaving his way forward. His saber movements utilized dexterity over raw power, precise jabs coupled with flowing arcs that allowed neither an opening nor a wasted motion. Saber in one hand, the other moved in tandem with the Sith's rhythm, disrupting and offsetting the pirates for the ensuing blow. The burned Sith's fingers would grace the barrel of a rifle, shoving it out of the way and clearing a path for the beam of plasma to effortlessly plunge itself into the gunman's torso.

Graves, by comparison, was a sluggish brute, but no less effective. He bridged the gap between himself and his target with a lumbering charge, raising his weapon high before bringing it down with a heavy swipe. His wide open swings would have been criticized by anyone considering themselves a proper duelist, but they served the scarred warrior just fine. Whilst he dodged most of the bolts sent his way, those that did manage to strike the Sith prompted no response. No signal of pain, not even an altered step of the charging warrior.

Fay proceeded with a remarkable mixture of physical power and grace. Without a weapon, her only tool was her body and the Force, both of which she put to expert use. Gliding along the floor as she approached her target, she aptly dodged the first blaster bolt sent her way, deftly moving her large frame out of its path. Reaching out with her hand, she took a firm grasp of a pirate's shirt, effortlessly lifting him into the air. A moment later, she single-handedly threw him toward his compatriots, her first target having been turned into a projectile. The flung body found itself propelled by a mixture of muscle and the Force, slamming against its fellows with deadly impact.

The first members of the pirate crew had already fallen at the hands of the Sith and more would soon follow as they methodically made their way toward the other end of the chamber, dodging or enduring blaster fire, cutting down or crushing their foes.

With a snarl, the pirate captain held out his pistol and took careful aim at the sloppy warrior that was slowly cutting a path through his men. The marksman directed the barrel toward the scarred Sith's unprotected head and released a single bolt.

As the shot flew toward the target, Graves saw only the approaching glow out of the corner of his eye. But before he could even react, another light had interceded. Stepping between the armored warrior and the blaster bolt, Asher deftly deflected the shot back at its source. The bolt surged back across the chamber, striking the weapon that had released it. The ensuing blast destroyed the captain's weapon and almost blew off his fingers.

The sounds of hearty cursing filling the background, the armored Sith cut down the pirate in front of him before looking to his savior.

"Thanks," Graves calmly called out.

"Don't mention it," Asher shot back, returning to the fold with a quick step.

Lifting one of the many stacked crates with the Force, Fay sent the heavy box crashing into another grouping of pirates. As she sought out her next targets, she saw the pirate captain slinking out the back of the cargo bay, clutching at his injured hand.

"Captain's making a run for it!" Fay declared.

"I'm on it," Asher shouted back, pulling his blade out of an impaled gunman. Keeping his head low, the hooded Sith made his way toward the back of the cargo bay with a series of quick, yet calculated, steps. Ducking and weaving through the pirates in his path, the dexterous Sith effortlessly made his way across the chamber, ready to follow the retreating captain.

Less than half of the pirates remaining, Graves and Fay continued without Asher, taking down the still-standing gunmen. Through Force pushes and waves, the Kineticist sent anyone who stood in her way flying across the cargo bay, slamming them into the nearby walls and stacks of crates. As her final target rest within her sights, he pointed his weapon not toward her, but the armored warrior. Thrusting out a hand, she focused on the rifle's barrel just as its wielder pulled the trigger. Manipulating the gun rather than the gunman, a bolt of energy tried to leave the barrel but found itself impeded by an invisible blockage. With nowhere to go, the energy dispersed outward, causing the rifle to malfunction and explode. Shaken but narrowly avoiding injury, the pirate dropped the shattered heap of metal to the ground. As the tall woman slowly made her way toward him, the unarmed pirate threw his hands into the air, trying to suppress the fear readily apparent on his face.

"I give up!" the pirate wailed. As Fay came to a stop in front of him, she towered over the pirate, casting upon him her stern glare. Not a bead of sweat gracing her brow, the Sith's visage seemed utterly unaffected by inconvenience.

"I'm sure you do," Fay calmly stated. Before the pirate could react, he found the back of the woman's hand lightly striking his forehead. Despite looking like nothing more than a simple tap, the blow sent the pirate crumbling to the ground, unconscious. Turning toward her companion, Fay saw the last of the pirates had been dealt with by Graves. As the armored warrior righted himself, his attire was home to a new batch of scuffs and scorch marks, but the scarred man seemed unaffected, calmly shutting off his saber and returning it to his belt.

Looking around, Graves surveyed the cargo bay. More than a dozen pirates lay stilled upon the metal flooring. Some had been cut and pierced, others lay crushed against the wall or beneath a disrupted pile of crates. The chamber had returned to a state of silence.

"Do you think Asher got him?" asked Graves.

Stopping at a branching path, the hooded Sith hastily looked down each hallway, wrapped face basking in the red glow of his lightsaber. Almost missing it, Asher saw the tail of the captain's longcoat as he turned a corner deeper into the vessel. Rushing after him, the Sith ran down the constricting corridor, the tip of his saber sparking against the nearby walls.

Rounding the same corner, Asher saw the captain running down a straight. Following him, the hooded Sith was slowly but surely bridging the gap with his superior speed. Before he could catch up, however, the pirate leader passed through a door at the end of the hall. Sealing it behind him, the captain had cut himself off from his pursuer in the freighter's cockpit. Unable to halt his stride, Asher slammed into the locked door with a solid thud.

"Damn it," Asher muttered, clutching at the shoulder that had absorbed the impact of the metallic surface. Looking up and down the reinforced door, the hooded Sith remained calm as he carefully inserted the tip of his blade into the barrier. Molten metal surrounded the beam of plasma as its wielder slowly carved a man-sized circle into the door.

After a minute of cutting, Asher kicked in the heavy slab, gaining sight and access into the freighter's cockpit. Backed into a corner near the ship's controls was the pirate captain, eyeing his pursuer with a mixture of hatred and trepidation. As the Sith carefully maneuvered through the still-molten hole he had cut out of the door, the pirate released another of his trademark cackles.

"You're too late, Sith," the captain snarled.

Asher offered a dismissing scoff. "Yeah, yeah, whatever. I'm sure I can undo whatever it is you think you've done."

"You think you can come onto my ship? Kill my crew and get away with it?"

"Hey, you invited us," Asher replied. "You don't want the Empire knocking at your door? Don't go around saying you stole from the freakin' Empire!"

The captain's lips curled into a knowing smirk. "You weren't the first people we lured here, and you weren't the last."

Asher offered a curious arch of his bandaged brow. Before the Sith could inquire further, the captain reached behind his back, returning with a blade in his hand. Brandishing a top-of-the-line vibroknife, the pirate readied himself.

"Someone else will deal with your friends," the captain muttered. "I'll take care of you myself."

Asher released a low sigh, lowering his saber, holding it at his side. The pirate puzzled as the Sith seemed utterly disinterested. In one deft movement of his free hand, Asher reached beneath the folds of his coat and returned gripping a holdout blaster. Panic washed over the pirate for a single moment before a red bolt released from the compact pistol planted itself between the captain's eyes. The pirate fell back against the ship's primary console before slumping lifelessly to the ground.

Just as quickly as he had brandished it, Asher returned the blaster to the holster hidden beneath his baggy robes, simultaneously disengaging his lightsaber. Behind where the pirate leader had been standing, the hooded Sith noticed a blinking light. Nudging the pirate's corpse out the way, Asher began studying the vessel's controls. Everything seemed in order, nothing out of the ordinary. The Sith suspected the captain might have attempted to cut him and his group off from the Fury, but every display showed the fields connecting them were still raised. In fact, another had been raised on the opposite side of the freighter.

Looking over the nearby terminal, Asher saw a transmission had been recently made. More recently than the communication the Sith had received upon their drop into realspace. Studying the console, the Sith's eyes widened when he saw that a guiding vector had been just been transmitted to a newly arrived ship. One currently making its way toward the freighter with intent to dock. The terminal displayed an electronic model immediately recognizable to the Sith. Light corvette. Defender-class. The ship of a Jedi.

"Crap."

I would just like to say you are doing a great job so far and...S*** IS ABOUT TO GO DOWN!!!

S***'s about to get real.

Oh, and SQUEE.

Pacing about the quiet cargo bay, Fay and Graves occasionally stopped beside a fallen pirate for a closer look.

"Some of them are still breathing," said Graves. "What should we do with them?"

"Killing them doesn't seem worth the effort. Besides, without their captain they don't seem capable of much."

"I suppose we could use anyone who wakes up to spread a message," Graves suggested. "Put the fear of the Empire back into the underworld so something like this doesn't happen again."

As the armored warrior righted his stance, he noticed one of the unconscious bodies sliding across the cold floor, seemingly of its own accord. Looking to Fay, he saw her making subtle movements with her hands. The Kineticist was guiding multiple pirates toward her, eventually leaning them against a nearby crate. Lined up along the solid surface, the unconscious pirates seemed oddly comfortable in their concussed stupor.

As Fay looked upon her work with her arms crossed, she picked up the faint echo of a voice in her ear. Focusing her mind, she turned her head toward the other end of the cargo bay, hearing what sounded like shouting from the corridor beyond, quickly becoming louder with each passing moment.

"Do you hear that?" Fay asked.

"It's Asher, I think," said Graves.

A second later, the hooded Sith stormed into the chamber, nearly stumbling as he tried to stop himself. "We gotta go! Now!"

"You made the ship self-destruct, didn't you?" Graves stoically suggested.

"What? No, I couldn't find the option," Asher muttered. "But we got a bigger problem."

Fay slightly cocked her head to the side. "Did you manage to kill the captain?"

"Of course I did!" Asher shot back. "But we got another ship on the way."

"More pirates?" Graves asked.

"Jedi," Asher plainly stated.

"What?" the others simultaneously replied.

"One of their Defenders dropped into the system," Asher explained. "The captain transmitted the docking procedure before I could catch up to him."

"They don't need someone to actually let them onboard?" asked Fay.

"System's automated," Asher stated. "Didn't want to mess with it and wind up cutting ourselves off from the Fury."

"So what do we do?" Graves calmly asked.

"Uh, I think it's obvious. We get the hell out of here," Asher declared. "Mission's done. We can leave."

"No," Fay sternly replied.

"No?" the other two offered with contrasting levels of emotion.

"Suppose we leave, get back on our ship, try and navigate our way out of the debris field..." Fay calmly said. "What's to stop the Jedi from just shooting us down?"

Asher's jaw fell. "Have you seen the Fury? Thing's more than capable of-"

"Are any of us pilots?" Fay interrupted. "Do any of us know how to properly engage in a space battle? We can't focus on attacking the enemy and navigating the debris field simultaneously, even with the droid's help."

"So, what, you want to just stay here?" asked Asher. "Just welcome the Jedi with open arms?"

"Yes," Fay bluntly answered, taking a seat on a nearby crate. The other Sith weren't sure how to respond as their compatriot patiently sat, adamant in her position.

"We don't even know who's going to show up," Asher declared. "We don't know how many there's going to be. They could be Knights, they could be Masters, they could be-"

"Whomever they are, there's nothing they can do," Fay stated. "The war is over. We've done nothing wrong. If they want to fight, then so be it. But I'd rather it be here than somewhere I can't fight back."

The burned Sith threw back his hood, running his hands over his bandaged scalp as he paced about the chamber. "Look, you want to stay here, fine! But you can't stop us from leaving."

"You want to test that theory?" Fay sternly asked, almost at a whisper, but nonetheless piercing the recipient's senses. Asher froze as the Kineticist's sharpened gaze fell upon him with its burdening weight. Turning toward Graves, the burned Sith looked for some measure of support.

"Eh. She's right," Graves calmly stated with a shrug of his shoulders. "No point in running."

"There's plenty of points!" Asher shouted alongside the wild flailing of his arms. Bouncing his gaze between the other two Sith, the burned man's stance drooped amidst the others' resoluteness. He shot back up the moment a brief siren filed the freighter's halls.

"I think that means they've docked," said the scarred man.

"Do you? Do you really, Graves?" Asher squealed. Releasing a low grumble, the burned Sith gripped the borders of his hood and raised it, resigning himself to his fate. The three Executors waited, eyes toward the cargo bay entrance they had been led through. Any worthy Jedi would be able to sense their presence and seek them out.

The siren faded as quickly as it had arrived. In an unfamiliar space, under unfamiliar terms, the Sith could do nothing but mentally prepare themselves.

Minutes passed by in dead silence. Fay remained comfortably seated on a crate toward the side of the chamber. Asher took his position leaning against the opposite wall. Graves stood unwaveringly between them, wide open in the center of the cargo bay. Their eyes remained affixed to the corridor beyond the chamber's large, parted doors.

The enduring silence was interrupted by the presence of unseen footsteps. They were soft and numerous, belonging to a group of people light of foot. Stepping into view was a lone figure, garbed in conservative brown robes. He was soon joined by two similarly garbed figures behind him. There was a moment of hesitance in the lead figure's movements as he peered into the occupied chamber, but it was evident he was putting all of his energy into maintaining a calm facade.

Cautiously, the three Jedi passed through the threshold of the cargo bay, stepping into the revealing light.

The middle of the three seemed the eldest, but was still only a few years into adulthood. The Human male possessed an athletic build, but nothing outwardly strong. His youthful visage had been hardened by the trials of the Jedi and the war. His head was absent of hair, clean shaven across both his chin and scalp. A monk, whose mark of distinction was his lack thereof. Leading the other Jedi forward, he maintained his stoicism in the face of the Sith.

The Jedi to his right was the smallest, and youngest of the group. A Human female, aged just beyond her teens. Her face was soft, unburdened by scars or fatigue born from a life of battle. Her light hair was kept short and worn clean, accentuated only by the singular braid that hung behind her ear. The girl's frame was slight, its capabilities hidden beneath her encompassing Padawan's robes.

The Jedi left of the others was the most distinct. Resembling a Human in all aspects but one, a decorative band of cloth covered the male's absent eyes, denoting his species as that of a Miraluka. He too appeared to be just beyond his teenage years, but possessed a more mature visage than his female counterpart, despite his still youthful features. His head was topped with long, dark hair that fell to his shoulders like silk. His frame served as a middle ground between the other two Jedi, standing between them in height and figure.

All three of them possessed a lightsaber clipped to their belt.

The six figures looked to one another, none daring to break the silence, both sides frozen in place. Just as the tension was about to reach a boiling point, Graves made the first move.

"Hello," the armored Sith calmly said alongside the gentle wave of his hand.

The Jedi remained silent, offering only puzzled looks amongst their usual stoicism. Trying to get a hold of the situation, the Jedi noticed the hooded Sith to their left silently rubbing his brow. But more worthy of their attention, was the litany of motionless bodies littering the cargo bay.

"Sith…" the lead Jedi spoke up, his voice deep and utterly calm. "What is your purpose here?"

"I thought that'd be painfully obvious…" Asher mumbled beneath his breath.

"We came to retrieve data stolen from the Empire," Graves calmly explained.

"So you slaughtered the entire crew. Typical," the Miraluka chided.

"Didn't give us much of a choice," Graves replied. "They intended to kill us and steal our ship. There never were any schematics."

"And why should we believe you, Sith?" the Miraluka asked.

Graves remained utterly still, utterly calm. "What reason would we have to lie?"

"Since when do Sith need an excuse to lie?" the Miraluka barked.

"Well, he's got us there," Asher muttered.

"And why are you here, Jedi?" Graves patiently asked.

"We were investigating the sale of weapons schematics," the lead Jedi replied. "Our intent was to keep dangerous information out of dangerous hands."

"Would those be pirate hands or Imperial hands?" asked Asher.

"Doesn't matter, there never were any schematics to begin with," Graves explained. "It was a trick."

The blindfolded Jedi's nostril's flared. "And how do we know this isn't another one?"

"You don't," Fay sternly declared, still atop her crate. "There's nothing that can be done about it now. The pirates are dead. Most of them anyway. There are some survivors over there if you want to wait for them to wake up and give you their side of the story. But challenging us now is pointless."

"Pointless?" the Miraluka barked. "Your kind are a blight on the galaxy. You know nothing but death and destruction. Schematics or not, your continued existence only puts more lives in danger."

"The war is over," Fay said, growing firmer in tone. "You've no reason to fight us."

"There are plenty of reasons!" the Miraluka shouted alongside the wild flailing of his arms.

Asher offered the flippant wave of his hand. "Overly dramatic, isn't he?"

"Enough," the lead Jedi interrupted. "Jaruss, calm yourself. We needn't lose our heads. But I'm afraid he's correct, Sith. Regardless of your actions here, we cannot permit you to leave." The bald Jedi wrapped his hand around the hilt at his waist, unhooking it. "It's obvious you three are a danger to the galaxy."

"How is it obvious?" Asher spoke up as he pushed himself off the wall. As he did, his foot accidentally nudged the severed arm of a fallen pirate, its host unknown and unseen. "Oh."

"You'll be breaking the treaty, you know," Graves calmly stated, not even reaching for his weapon.

"We're in neutral space," the lead Jedi coldly replied. "The treaty has no sway here. Allow me to say we take no delight in this. It is simply for the greater good. Jaruss, take the man on the left. Nami, take the woman on the right. I'll handle the one in the middle."

The Jedi took their first steps toward their foes, drawing their weapons as they did. As Asher and Graves hovered their hands over their sabers, Fay calmly shoved off of the crate she had been patiently sitting atop. The youngest Jedi approached her opponent, her steps slowing as she recognized the Sith's immense stature. The Kineticist stood tall, towering over the young Jedi more than any of the other men, the top of the girl's head barely reaching the bottom of the woman's chest. Fay stood across from the Jedi, arms crossed, eyeing her with a sharpened gaze.

The disparity between the two was instantly recognizable, and in more ways than one. The Jedi was a girl before the woman. A child before the adult. A students before the master. But despite the differences between the two, the young Jedi would not back down.

"Draw your weapon, Sith," said Nami, almost struggling to vocalize, her voice as soft and small as she was.

"Don't have one."

The declaration baffled the young Jedi, but she remained firm in her stance. "Don't… don't think that means I'll take it easy on you."

"Tell me," Fay spoke up, dropping her usual sternness. "Is this what you want?"

"What?" Nami softly muttered.

"Your name's Nami, right? Mine's Fay," the tall woman introduced. "I'm asking if this is what you want. To fight us? To fight me?"

"It's not about what I want. It's about what's right."

"And you think this is right? Trying to kill people you know nothing about?" Fay asked.

"I know enough, Sith. I know you slaughtered these men," Nami replied.

"These pirates," Fay emphasized. "They lured people aboard their ship, killed them, then stole whatever vessel they arrived in, likely to pawn it off at the nearest port. They tried the same with us and we defended ourselves. You cannot say the same."

"And what other blood is on your hands? How many did you kill during the Sacking?"

"That was war. This isn't," Fay declared. "If you truly seek vengeance, I will not deny your pursuit. But do not throw your life away at the behest of these men."

The woman's words caught the attention of the eyeless Jedi from across the room. "Vengeance? This is justice. Don't listen to her, Nami. She's manipulating you."

"And these men aren't?" Fay asked of the young Jedi. "Did they consult you? Did they ask your thoughts before throwing you into battle?"

"She knows her duty," the lead Jedi interrupted.

"Well, if that's the case," Fay muttered. The Kineticist threw her arms out to her side, causing the young Jedi to flinch. When she gathered her senses, the girl saw the towering Sith remain motionless in front of her, arms extended, defenses lowered. "Go ahead."

Nami looked to her open foe before turning back toward her comrades, silently begging for guidance.

"Do it, Nami," the lead Jedi calmly advised.

"I… I don't…" Nami stuttered. Passing her gaze over the other Sith, she saw that none of them seemed particularly interested in battle. The scarred and burned men hovered their hands near their belts, but neither thought to ignite their sabers. "I can't just kill her."

"She's dangerous, Nami. All of them are," the lead Jedi firmly declared. "Remember Coruscant? Remember the temple? You have to do it."

"You don't have to do anything," Fay stated. The young Jedi froze, legs trembling.

"Damn it, Nami," Jaruss growled, making his way toward the right side of the chamber. With a flick of his wrist, a blue blade of plasma extended from the Miraluka's lightsaber. "If you're too weak to do what needs to be done…"

Jaruss raised his weapon high before bringing it down with a hasty swipe toward the defenseless Sith. Just as the blade was about to make contact, however, it stopped dead in its tracks. The beam of plasma hovered close enough to the tall woman's face to heat the very air she breathed, but it did not budge from its locked position. The young Jedi looked upon the Sith as she basked in the blue glow, unaffected by the halted strike. Her stance unaltered, Fay's arms remained outstretched to her sides, only now, a tightened fist had replaced an open palm.

"Inaction is not weakness," Fay firmly declared, maintaining her invisible control on the Jedi's blade.

"You see, Nami?" Jaruss growled as he tugged at his hilt, unable to move it. "It was a trick. She never dropped her guard."

"You couldn't have known that," said Nami, almost approaching a shout. "And I'm not weak!"

"You're right. You're not," Fay softly stated, face still basking in the blue glow, not a single bead of sweat present. "Not only are you a capable fighter, you possess the strength of free will."

"She's just telling you what you want to hear," Jaruss muttered, still tugging at his saber's hilt.

"I'm telling her what she needs to hear," said Fay before turning her gaze toward the young Jedi. "These people don't want what's best for you... they want to control you..."

Nami's head dipped. "No matter what you say… the Sith are still evil. You kill…"

"People kill. Even Jedi," Fay replied. "A Sith's actions are the actions of an individual. How we use our strength is up to us. My two compatriots and I, we belong to an organization dedicated to bettering the Empire. We are not soldiers. We're not monsters. We're people, doing what we can with what we have."

Lowering her arms, Fay forced back the Miraluka's blade with her mind. Finally regaining control, the Jedi stepped away, trying to maintain his composure.

"You don't understand," Jaruss spoke up, addressing the Sith rather than the young Jedi. "Nami, she's not-"

"That's enough, Jaruss!" shouted the group's leader, dropping his previously calm facade. "Nami, go back to the ship and wait for us there."

The girl's eyed widened. "But I…"

"That's an order, Nami," the lead Jedi barked.

"You're not my master, Leron," said Nami, almost whispering.

"That's because your master is dead," Leron sternly replied. "Killed, by Sith just like these. If you don't want to fight, fine. We'll handle things here."

The young Jedi's head lowered, her eyes focused on her feet. She took only a single step toward the chamber entrance before stopping. After a long pause, she turned on her heels, returning to position herself beside Fay. Shoulder to much shorter shoulder, the women now faced the same direction, opposing the two Jedi.

"No," Nami softly, but firmly, declared.

The two Jedi went pale as they found themselves staring down one of their own. Their attention so focused on the two women, neither noticed Asher awkwardly scratching his head.

"Wait… what the hell just happened?"

The two male Jedi tensed as they struggled to maintain their composure under the combined gazes of the Sith as well as one of their own.

"What do you think you're doing?" Jaruss muttered through gritted teeth.

"What's right," Nami replied, her voice still soft, but now possessing a confident backing. "I'll not just stand by and let you kill these people."

"Nami… think about what you're doing," Leron calmly, yet firmly, said.

"I am. I did," Nami declared. "A Jedi does not seek violence. A Jedi does not needlessly take the life of another. A Jedi does not work against peace."

Leron narrowed his gaze. "A Jedi does what must be done."

"Which is what I'm doing," Nami replied. "I'm not leaving until you do. I'll not let you compromise the name of our Order."

"You're the one standing next to a damned Sith!" Jaruss barked.

"And? I swore to defend all life. I will not break that vow for unjust vengeance," Nami declared.

"Unjust? Have you forgotten everything their kind has done to us? Look at them!" The Miraluka thrust his arm out, directing a pointed finger toward the hooded Sith. "Do innocent people look like that? He probably burned down an orphanage!"

"It wasn't an orphanage…" Asher muttered, keeping his gaze lowered.

"They burned Coruscant to the ground!" Jaruss shouted.

"You can't even imagine the state Coruscant would be in if not for our mercy," said Fay. "The invasion was but a scratch on the surface, and in the end, concluded a war that would have utterly destroyed both of us."

Jaruss offered a sarcastic chortle. "A Sith speaks of mercy? You destroyed our home. Ruined our Order. You've wanted nothing more than the extinction of the Jedi ever since your return."

"And you've sought nothing but ours for past millennia," Fay replied. "You seek not only our defeat, but the annihilation of our history and culture. You want to erase every trace of our existence from the galaxy. If there is an Order of oppressive dogmas, it is yours, not mine."

"That's not true!"

"Oh? Because as far as I recall, my allies and I have shown no hostilities toward your group," Fay stated. "You, however, shoved a lightsaber in my face."

"She's right," Nami softly added. "There's no reason for any of us to fight. No one has to die."

"Do not be taken in by her kindness, Nami," said Leron. "It is a facade that only serves herself. Jaruss, tell her what you truly see in them."

The Miraluka paused, returning his weapon to his belt. Passing his eyeless gaze over the three Sith, the Jedi saw them not through organic means, but through the Force. Focusing his mind, the Miraluka saw the world through an array of colors and flows incomprehensible to the normal senses.

Each individual that stood before him possessed an aura about their frame. Surrounding the young girl, a lambent display of the purest light. The Sith, however, offered more sullied displays. Subtle in their dimensions, none of them possessed a particularly dominating presence. In actuality, each Sith displayed only a soft, murky aura around their disparate figures.

"They're… unclear. It's obvious they're masking their true natures," Jaruss explained.

"We're not hiding anything," said Fay. "This is who we are. No tricks. No lies. We're not perfect, but we're honest. Asher in particular."

"It's true," Asher briefly spoke up, not budging from his position.

"See? There's nothing more for us to do here," Nami said. "We can just go our separate ways."

Jaruss scoffed. "And have them follow us back to our base? No way."

"We don't have a way of tracking you through hyperspace," Fay admitted. "And even if we did, we could leave first if you'd prefer."

"So you can destroy our ship while it's docked?"

"If we wanted to kill you, we'd do it here," Fay coldly stated. "And believe me, we could if we wanted to. But we don't. Not unless you intend to keep us here indefinitely, in which case, we will go through you if we must."

"Just try it, Sith!" Jaruss barked, drawing his blade once more.

"Stop it!" Nami shouted. "We can't win this, Jaruss!"

The Miraluka snapped toward the girl. "We could if one of our own wasn't working against us."

Nami recoiled. "Working against you? I'm trying to save you. You've seen what she's capable of!"

"Hey, we're here too," Asher muttered, arms folded, foot gently tapping against the metallic flooring.

"Our best course of action to just get back on the ship and leave," Nami continued.

"Unfortunately," Leron said, his stoicism bitterly cold, "I'm not sure there's a place for you on that ship anymore."

"What?" Nami whispered, almost at a whimper. "What are you saying, Leron?"

"This isn't the first time your commitment to the Order has been called into question, Nami," Leron declared. "Your former master may have tolerated your eccentricities, but he's not around to protect you anymore."

"I don't… I don't need to be protected…" Nami muttered, eyes shaking as they drifted toward her feet. "I'm just… I'm just doing what's right."

"What's right?" Leron repeated. "You think it's right to interfere with our mission? You think it's right to defend Sith? Master Kyros was doing you a favor by taking you in. And this is how you repay him? I doubt you'll find such hospitality in the arms of the Empire."

The girl's lips began to tremble as her eyes watered. A soft whimper rang out within the otherwise silent chamber as the youngest Jedi struggled to maintain a hold on her emotions. Just as she was about to reach her breaking point, she felt a firm hand planting itself upon her shoulder. Lifting her gaze, she saw the tall woman looking down with what resembled a smile. In the shadow of the towering Sith, the Jedi found an odd sense of comfort.

"If you want a home, we can give you one," Fay whispered. A smile began to stretch across the Jedi's face, even as tears pooled beneath her eyes. The whimpers faded and the girl offered the Sith a soft nod of her head. Fay broke her focus on Nami to look toward the other Jedi. "I'd step aside if I were you. You're outnumbered and outmatched."

Leron and Jaruss remained where they stood, hands balling into fists. Even the stoic monk of the group struggled to maintain his composure. Fay maneuvered herself in front of the girl by her side as the other Sith took a step forward. The three Executors stared down the two Jedi, resolute in their stance, adamant in their presence.

The Jedi were powerless to oppose the combined might of three foes by themselves. With great hesitance, Jaruss lowered his weapon. Without utterly dropping their guard, the two Jedi receded. Slowly, they slinked to the side, never taking their eyes off the Sith.

Looking back to the young girl, Fay warmly beckoned her to follow. The girl turned to face the retreating Jedi, who offered only their cold stares in return. Without another moment of hesitation, Nami took her first step, following the towering Sith toward the cargo bay's entrance. As the two women approached the connecting corridor, the other two Sith calmly made their way out of the chamber. Just before passing beyond the threshold, Asher paused, turned toward the stilled Jedi and offered an aggressive juke of his chest toward them before continuing toward the ship.

As the Sith disappeared from view with their former comrade in tow, the Jedi remained silent and still, unsure of how to proceed.

The Fury still docked outside the freighter, the four men and women carefully made their way back onboard the parked vessel. Finding the manual controls for the exterior hatches, the Sith bridged the almost weightless gap between the two ships, joined by the young Jedi. As a group, the four figures made their way to the Fury's cockpit. Passing through the connecting corridors and rooms, Nami looked upon her surroundings with wide eyes, in awe of the Imperial ship's interior.

Stepping into the cockpit, the group was greeted by the ship's ever pleasant droid attendant.

"Welcome back, masters. I assume your mission went well," ALD warmly stated. The mechanical being's head turned toward the unfamiliar face gracing the cockpit. "I see you've brought a guest onboard."

"She's a friend," Fay declared. Looking toward the Jedi, the tall woman saw her shying away near the chamber's entrance, focus drifting toward the floor. "Go ahead and set a course for home."

"At once, master," ALD replied, spinning around in his chair to manipulate the ship's controls. Graves took his seat in the central chair in front of the main console as the vessel prepared to pull away from the freighter. The sounds of the ship's engines filled the occupants' ears as the surrounding terminals displayed an array of flashing lights.

Watching everything come to life around her, Nami's breaths grew more and more rapid as her eyes darted around the cockpit. Eventually, as the ship trembled, she did as well. "Oh no," the young Jedi muttered. "What have I done? This isn't right. This isn't-"

She was interrupted as she felt the familiar presence of a hand on her shoulder. "Don't worry," Fay assuaged. "It'll be alright. I promise."

"I can't… I can't just become an Imperial," Nami whimpered.

"You know, she might be right," Asher bluntly said as he took the remaining seat in front of the ship's main console. "I mean, I don't know if we can just show up on-"

"It'll be fine," Fay quickly replied. "We're Logistics after all. We'll just talk to Syrosk. See about making her an Executor."

"A what?" Nami mumbled.

"That's what we are. Executors," Fay explained. "Force-sensitives serving the public good outside the typical Sith hierarchical system. It'd be a great place for you."

"You think so?"

"Like I said, we're not perfect. But we can give you a home," said Fay.

"She's a Force-user," Asher reminded. "I think defectors still have to be put through one of the Academies."

Fay paused. "I'm sure Syrosk can-"

"That's okay," Nami said, brimming with a subtle confidence. "I've already passed most of my Jedi trials. I can handle more training."

"Girl, this isn't normal training," Asher bluntly stated. "The Academy's about survival. It's supposed to weed out the weak from the strong."

"You're not weak, are you, Nami?" Fay warmly suggested. The young Jedi emphatically shook her head. "She'll do fine."

"If you say so," Asher muttered.

As the vessel carefully navigated the debris field surrounding the freighter, it prepped itself for a jump to hyperspace. Putting the final piece of scrapped metal behind it, the Fury pointed itself toward its proper bearing. ALD engaged the hyperdrive and the stars beyond the viewport began to stretch. Soon, the interceptor was traveling faster than the speed of light, surrounded by the swirling tunnel of hyperspace, heading toward Dromund Kaas.

As the cockpit stewed in silence, the towering woman noticed the girl at her side almost shriveling, keeping her arms firmly at her sides.

"You should probably get to know the others," Fay calmly suggested. "Nami, this is Asher and Graves." The two Sith offered respective waves of their hands as they kept their attention focused forward. "And I'm Fay."

"It's… nice to meet you all," Nami hesitantly stated, trying to keep a straight face.

"Don't be put off by their appearance," Fay assuaged. "They're not that bad when you get to know them. Asher's annoying, but he's capable when the time calls for it. All in all, we make a fairly good team."

"How long have you known each other?" asked Nami.

"Two… maybe three days," Asher casually stated.

"Well, Asher and I knew each other back in the Academy, but we went our separate ways before meeting up again" Graves added.

"Not before he burnt most of my upper body off."

"Not before he cut off my left arm."

The young Jedi was puzzled by the lack of emotion behind the two Sith's words. "And you two work together?"

"No point dwelling on the past," Graves calmly stated. "And it helps that Asher thinks he looks cooler like this than he did before."

"And it helps that Graves can't feel pain," said Asher.

The young Jedi's eyes went wide with interest. "Is that some sort of Force technique?"

"No," Graves plainly answered. "Ever heard of Kinson's Disorder?"

"Um… no," Nami replied.

"Not surprising," Graves admitted. "Doesn't exist outside of Imperial space. It's a rare genetic defect that affects Humans with small amounts of Sith blood in their ancestry."

"Really? You have Kinson's?" Asher offered, genuinely surprised. "Didn't know it could turn you completely numb."

"It typically doesn't," Graves admitted.

The hesitance in the girl's visage was all but washed away, replaced with a budding curiosity. "What does it do?"

"It affects the nervous system," Graves explained. "In light cases, all it causes is an increase in pain tolerance, actually making it a desirable trait amongst military families. In moderate cases, however, it can lead to early blindness, deafness, and an overall dulling of the senses. Extreme cases cause someone to slowly lose control of their bodies until they completely shut down. Those cases don't survive past infancy."

"So which are you?" Nami softly asked.

"Don't know," Graves admitted. "Lost all feeling by the time I could speak. Shouldn't be able to move. Certainly shouldn't be able to use cybernetics. And yet I can."

"How do you explain that?" asked Nami.

The armored Sith offered a gentle shrug. "The Force?"

"It's explained weirder things," Asher admitted. "What's really odd is the fact that, despite not being able to feel pain, he's probably the most traditional Sith out of the three of us."

Nami's head slightly tilted. "How do you mean?"

"Well, I'm what you call a combat pragmatist," Asher revealed, taking delight in his own designation. "And Fay doesn't even use a lightsaber."

"Really?" Nami stared at the tall woman in awe. "Like… never?"

"The Force is the only weapon I need," Fay emphatically declared.

"And thighs that could crush a man's skull," Asher muttered. The tall Sith cast her sharpened gaze toward her hooded companion. Rather than endure the stare, the burned man spun around in his chair, pointing himself back toward the forward viewport.

The four men and women continued to converse whilst the vessel journeyed through hyperspace. With the passage of time, the young Jedi felt more and more at ease amongst the odd Sith she found herself with. Everything that had been instilled into her by the Jedi was being slowly unproven. Fay had shown her a kindness she'd not experienced since her master's passing. Since the war's end, she felt isolated. Cohesion and unity were a distant memory. Her fellow Jedi had grown cold. But in the strangest of places, amongst the strangest of fellows, she felt warmth for the first time in months.

After hours of travel, the tunnel surrounding the vessel collapsed as the Sith dropped back into realspace. Sitting beyond the Fury's viewport was Dromund Kaas, the chaotic orb of storms and darkness. Whilst the droid handled the ensuing approach, silently communicating with the starport planetside, the ship's passengers readied themselves for the landing.

Asher and Graves lifted themselves from their seats and the four of them made their way into the comm room. As the vessel passed through the atmosphere, the four men and women stood in a tight circle nearer the ship's exit.

"I know it may sound strange coming from me, but I suggest we proceed with caution," Asher calmly stated.

"Don't suppose any of us know the proper procedure for this kind of thing?" asked Graves.

"You mean spontaneously bringing a Jedi into the heart of the Empire? No. No I don't," Asher snarked.

"I…" a soft voice rang out beneath the Sith's notice.

"We're Sith operating under a Dark Councilor," Fay stated. "I think we'll be fine."

"No, we're Executors who belong to a fledgling organization run by an alien Sith Lord turned bureaucrat," Asher corrected.

"I don't…" the soft voice rang out again.

"Hey, you wanted to test whether Syrosk and Vowrawn really wanted us in their group," Fay declared. "Now we'll know for sure."

"They wanted us because they think we have potential," Asher replied. "That doesn't extend to Jedi we happen to bring in, on our first ever mission I might add."

"I don't feel…" the soft voice struggled to speak. Before the Sith could continue their heated discussion, they were interrupted by the sound of a loud thud. Turning around, the Executors saw the young girl had collapsed.

"Nami!" Fay shouted, taking a knee beside the stilled body. Carefully placing a hand behind the Jedi's head, she raised her partially upright for a closer examination. "She's unconscious."

"Ah. Should have seen this coming," Asher admitted, scratching his wrapped chin.

"What are you talking about?" Fay asked, momentarily tearing her gaze away from the girl.

"Dromund Kaas is pretty seeped in the dark side of the Force," Asher explained. "People not accustomed to it are subject to weakness or sickness. So for someone like a Jedi…"

"Who's likely heavily attuned to the light…" Graves spoke up.

"Precisely," said Asher. "Boom. Unconscious."

Fay carefully wrapped her hands around the fallen Jedi, picking up her entire weight with ease. Gently, she guided he stilled body over to one of the couches populating the communications room. Just as she did, the vessel offered a sturdy shake as it rested upon its struts.

Graves panned his gaze about the chamber. "We've landed."

"If we want, we can contact Syrosk," Asher suggested. "This just might qualify as an emergency."

Placing her head near the Jedi's chest, Fay focused her mind. "Her heartbeat's normal. So is her breathing. Seems like she's just exhausted."

"So what do you want to do with her?" Asher asked. "We can't drag her through Kaas City. At least, not with those robes on."

"You're right," Fay plainly stated. "Give me your coat."

"What?"

"We'll take her to Syrosk, maybe he can help," said Fay. "But for now, it's best she doesn't look like a Jedi."

Asher tightly folded his arms. "One piece of cloth isn't going to fix that."

"It'll help," Fay declared. "Coat. Now."

"Fine," Asher offered with a huff. Unsinching the belt around his waist, the hooded Sith soon wasn't as he slipped his arms through the outermost piece of clothing covering his torso. Removing the hooded robe, the other Sith looked to the wrapped Sith in amazement.

"Wow," Graves muttered. Beneath his outer robe, Asher had a hidden array of devices strapped across his torso by various belts and bandoliers. Beneath his right shoulder rest a compact pistol resting within a holster. Across his left breast, a row of ampoules lay strapped to a bandolier. At his side, a single metallic orb was attached. "Is that a grenade?"

"Yeah," Asher plainly answered as he handed his coat to Fay. The tall woman went to work removing the bulky brown robe that made up the Padawan's outer layer.

"When did you get a grenade?" Graves asked.

"Back during the war," Asher replied. "Why?"

"It just seems an odd thing for a Sith to have," Graves stated.

"Sometimes you need more than a Force-assisted fireball. When that time comes, I'll be prepared."

"Did someone give it to you, or…"

"Took it from an outpost I was stationed in," Asher replied.

"Took it?" Graves repeated. "Like, took it, took it?"

"Yeah, why?"

"I just don't think the soldiers would appreciate you stealing their supplies," said Graves.

"Oh, if only we had fifty grenades instead of forty-nine we would have won that battle," Asher offered with a mock despair. The two men were interrupted by a low sigh emanating from their female partner.

"You're right, I don't think this'll work," Fay declared, handing back the coat.

Asher snatched the piece of cloth, slipping his arms back through the sleeves. "Told you. We should probably just leave her here for now. The ship has a bedroom. Go tuck her in there until we return to base. Lock this place down, make sure she can't-"

"That's it!" Almost with epiphany, the woman jumped to her feet and made her way toward the Fury's primary bedroom. The other Sith merely offered confused stares as heard the faint sound of rustling fibers past the threshold of the chamber.

The entrance ramp of the Sith interceptor descended and Asher and Graves cautiously made their way down, scanning the surrounding hangar as they did so. With the area clear, they waved for Fay to follow. Stepping down the ramp, the towering woman held the Jedi's unconscious body over her shoulder, the young girl wrapped head to toe in a black bedsheet.

As Fay made her way down and toward the hangar's exit, utterly unburdened by the weight upon her shoulders, Asher could only rub his brow in frustration.

"This is such a stupid idea…"

"This is such a stupid idea..."

But those were great chapters. Reminds me of something similar in the Sith Warrior plot (trying not to spoil). That was a great read and I can wait for the next one to see how they explain this.

I would just like to say you are doing a great job so far and...S*** IS ABOUT TO GO DOWN!!!

S***'s about to get real.

 

Oh, and SQUEE.

Loved this chapt.

Glad to see people are enjoying this one. Been trying to keep a healthy balance of seriousness and humor, action and inaction, without the whole thing spiraling out of control. I'm also happy that I've manged to put out chapters without weeks (or months) in between. Hopefully everyone enjoys what's to come.

But those were great chapters. Reminds me of something similar in the Sith Warrior plot (trying not to spoil). That was a great read and I can wait for the next one to see how they explain this.

Any similarities between Nami and certain other Padawans/Apprentices are not entirely unintentional. Though there are reasons why her 'friends' were willing to let her go, but that will be addressed in the coming chapters. And I love the fact that you can't wait for the characters' explanation rather than the author's. Makes me feel like I've created something truly interesting.

I already have the next couple of arcs planned, set to involve some new places and some familiar faces. Thanks for reading everyone.

"This was such a stupid idea…" Syrosk rasped with his head hung low, furiously rubbing his brow.

The elder Executor stood in his personal quarters, joined by his new charges as well as the unconscious Jedi. The young girl sat limp in a chair, still wrapped below the neck in a black bedsheet whilst the four Sith hovered around her.

"What were you thinking? Bringing a Jedi here…" Syrosk growled, struggling to keep his emotions contained. "Do you have any idea the trouble this could cause? For you? For me?"

"I take it this would be a bad time to discuss renovations for the ship?" Asher asked, the gravity his superior possessed utterly absent from his voice.

"Yes, it would very much be a bad time," Syrosk replied. "What part of your mission entailed taking a Jedi prisoner?"

"She's not a prisoner," Fay plainly stated. "She wanted to join us."

Syrosk snapped toward the tall woman. "And she's unconscious because?"

"She passed out when we touched down," Graves explained. "Kaas probably overwhelmed her."

A low grumble slipped past the alien's lips. "Never should have brought her here. Why didn't you contact me before bringing her planetside?"

"You said the comm was only for emergencies," said Fay.

"You wouldn't consider this an emergency?" Syrosk replied, raising his voice to a level previously unheard of by the younger Sith.

"See? Told you," Asher whispered.

The elder Executor narrowed his already sharpened gaze toward the burned Sith. "You're all equally responsible for this!"

"Did I give the impression I wasn't taking responsibility?" Fay bluntly asked alongside the arch of her brow. "She wanted to defect, so I brought her here. I thought if anyone could help her, it'd be you."

"Even if I could, you don't just smuggle an outsider onto the Empire's capital!" Syrosk declared. "And you definitely don't walk a Jedi through the streets of Kaas City!"

"We wrapped her in a bedsheet, what more do you want from us?" Asher muttered.

"You honestly think no one saw you?" asked Syrosk. "What would you have said if someone stopped you?"

"We were 'escorting' our friend, a newly promoted Sith Lord, home after a night of 'celebration' at the local cantina," Fay calmly explained. The alien continued to rub his brow as he released another wordless grunt beneath his breath.

"If it makes you feel any better, the mission itself went pretty well," Graves spoke up. "Confirmed the lack of schematics and took out the pirates."

"The mission… was to be a test of cohesion," Syrosk stated, slowly regaining his composure. "With your skills, it was never a question of whether you'd succeed, but whether you were capable of cooperating."

"Considering we came back with an extra teammate, I'd say we're the best at cooperating," Asher bragged.

"An extra teammate? Is that what you think will happen?" Syrosk asked, suitably baffled.

"You recruit Executors, right? Well, she's a recruit," said Fay. "I don't see the problem, Jedi have defected before."

"They are put through the proper channels first," Syrosk replied. "Given oversight. Made sure they're not spies or infiltrators."

"The Dark Councilor for Logistics is your friend. I assumed you were the proper channel," Fay admitted.

"He's not my friend, he's my boss," Syrosk clarified, forcing an extra helping of grit into his words. "I hope that does change after all this."

"Look, this was the best course of action," Fay firmly stated. "She boarded the pirates' freighter with two other Jedi. We could have killed them all, maybe causing an international incident in the process. Or we could have brought one of them over to our side."

"And these other Jedi, what became of them?" asked Syrosk.

"They're still alive," Graves quickly replied.

"And they just let you take one of their own?"

"Well, there wasn't much they could do about it," said Asher, brimming with confidence. "We could have beaten them even if they weren't down a member. "

Syrosk's eyes almost glazed over. "So you met a group of Jedi and, over the course of a single conversation, convinced one of them to abandon her home, to leave her entire life behind, to become a Sith?"

"From the way the others talked to her, it didn't seem like she had much of a home amongst the Jedi," Fay explained.

"I believe the word 'eccentricities' was used," Asher added.

"I promised her a new home," Fay continued. "She accepted. She knows what's expected of her."

"Does she?" asked Syrosk. "Inquisitors are going to want every scrap of information she possesses."

"Why? The war is over," Graves replied.

"For some, it'll never be over," said Syrosk. "If she knows something, others will want to know as well."

"What are they going to ask her, the location of the Jedi's nonexistent home?" Asher snarked.

"She's a Padawan, I doubt she knows any secrets," Fay stated.

Syrosk released a raspy sigh. "That's not for me to decide."

"Isn't it? You're in charge here after all," said Fay.

"What would you have me do?" asked Syrosk.

"Maybe take her as an apprentice."

"Assuming she survived the Academy, I still couldn't," Syrosk stated. "I already have three Sith that require all of my time and effort, if you haven't quite yet noticed."

Fay shrugged. "Then let her join our group. Make her Executor Six or whatever."

"You three were put together for a reason," Syrosk replied. "I cannot willingly change your group's dynamic."

"And what if I were to quit? Would that change our dynamic?" Fay asked, a tangible bite to her delivery.

Syrosk visibly recoiled. "And you'd be willing to do that for some Jedi you've just met?"

"I was willing to fight alongside Sith I'd just met," Fay stated. "Don't see why not."

"Why? What do you find so special about this girl?" Syrosk asked.

"I've spent most of my life surrounded by zealots, of both the Jedi and Sith variety, and it's grown somewhat tiresome," Fay declared. "You, you seem alright. These two guys, they seem alright. But let's face it, we're in the minority. If there's someone fit for this group, it's her. She's strong. She belongs with us."

Syrosk drew and released a deep breath before turning his horned head toward the other two Sith. "And you think this as well?"

"Well…" Asher muttered, scratching the back of his head.

"Sure," Graves plainly said. "Better she be with us than back with the Republic. And she seems capable enough."

"You call that capable?" Asher asked, jutting his thumb toward the slumped Jedi.

"She'll get used to Kaas eventually," Fay stated.

The burned Sith released a sigh. "Then… I don't know… I guess? Allies we can trust aren't exactly abundant."

"Can we trust her though?" asked Syrosk. "How do we know this isn't a trick?"

Asher leaned in close to the young Jedi's unmoving body. "That's a pretty good trick."

"We can trust her," Fay declared, utterly confident.

"You'll understand if I don't take you at your word," Syrosk muttered, moving himself closer to the unconscious Jedi. Gripping the young girl's chin with his rough hand, the alien began softly rotating her head back and forth as he cast his discerning gaze upon her soft face. Carefully, he straightened her posture in the seat as well as he could, before holding his hands to either side of the Jedi's head.

"What are you doing?" asked Fay.

"Taking a look at her thoughts," Syrosk replied, maintaining his focus on the girl. "Someone's going to have to dig through her mind, might as well be the one telepath in the Empire with an ounce of finesse."

Fay bounced her gaze between her superior and the unconscious Jedi. "This won't hurt her, will it?"

"Not if I can help it."

"So, this means we're helping her?" Fay asked.

Syrosk released a low sigh. "I can see about getting her into one of the Academies. Beyond that, there's not much else I can do. But before I do anything, I'm going to make sure she's not a threat to us. Now, if you would please give me some space… and some silence."

The other Sith complied, taking a few steps back. Within the compact chamber of the alien's home, Asher, Fay, and Graves pressed themselves against the nearby walls as their boss calmed himself and closed his eyes. Under the younger Sith's gazes, the two figures appeared frozen, neither acting in the slightest. Not even through the Force could much be gleaned from the exchange. Everything that was occurring was known to Syrosk and Syrosk alone.

"This… this can't be right," Syrosk muttered, maintaining his hold on the girl's head.

"What is it?" Fay spoke up.

"Never in my life have I seen such a guarded mind," Syrosk admitted.

"You seen many Jedi's?" Asher asked. "Maybe theirs work differently from ours."

"Any mind can be defended from intrusions, but something like this would require decades of training and a conscious effort to maintain," Syrosk explained.

"Maybe she's just naturally gifted," Graves suggested.

The room seemed frozen in a moment of time. The five figures were stilled, three closely observing the unfolding scene, two sharing a mental and physical link. As Syrosk failed to even scratch the surface of the Jedi's mind, he did not notice the young girl's eyes shooting open.

In an instant, the robed alien found himself flung back, crashing into the nearby wall with tremendous force. The entire chamber shook as a wave of kinetic energy washed over the occupants, upsetting the other Sith's stalwart balance. The young Jedi's hands tightly gripped the arms of her chair as she hastily scanned the room.

Across from the Jedi, Syrosk lay slumped at the bottom of the wall. Beside him, Asher struggled to regain a proper footing. "What the hell was-"

Before he could finish his thought, the Jedi had pushed herself up and out of the chair, flinging off the black bedsheet whilst simultaneously flinging herself across the chamber. Ending the hooded Sith's sentence was the young girl's balled fist slamming itself into Asher's nose. The burned Sith stumbled backward, clutching at his injury as blood began to pour from his nostrils. Graves was closest to the Jedi, but before he could even react, she was on the move. Darting for the door, she had almost made her escape when the towering woman interceded. Maneuvering behind the fleeing Jedi, Fay reached out and wrapped her arms around the young girl's shoulders. In an instant, the tall woman lifted the girl's insignificant weight, halting her escape. The Jedi's legs lashed out and kicked as they dangled, but Fay maintained her grip, trapping the girl between her arms and chest.

The young girl struggled to break free, but had no hope of surpassing her captor's strength. Wriggling and writhing, the girl began to release disoriented screams and shouts.

"What is this?" the Jedi barked. "Where am I? Who are you people?"

The young girl continued to offer nondescript growls and grunts as the others picked themselves off the floor.

The alien patted himself down as a snarl crept across his face. "Not a threat, you say?"

"Maybe Kaas had a bigger effect on her than we thought," said Graves, still utterly calm.

"This wasn't Kaas' doing," Syrosk declared.

"Then what was it?" asked Asher, voice sniveling and nasally as he gripped his injured nose.

"Let me go!" the Jedi shouted. "You're Sith, aren't you? Don't think you can keep me here!"

"Calm down," said Fay, still maintaining her grip. "You wanted to be here. We're trying to help you."

"Like a Sith would ever help anyone!" the Jedi barked.

"Well, she's obviously lost her mind," said Asher, the bandages wrapping his face stained with a red flow. "She was much nicer aboard the freighter."

Arms still clamped around the Jedi, Fay shot a harsh glare toward her boss. "What did you do, Syrosk?"

"This wasn't my doing either," Syrosk rasped.

"She's like a completely different person," said Graves.

Reaffirming her grip, Fay tilted her head as the young girl continued trying to break free. "What's your name, Jedi?"

"Mina," the Jedi shouted.

Maintaining her hold with one arm, the Kineticist pulled the other one away, balling its hand into a fist. Fay delivered a quick knock to the side of the girl's head and her thrashing came to an abrupt end. Holding the once-more unconscious body of the Jedi, the other Sith looked to one another with confused stares.

Asher, Fay, and Graves shared quick glances, each unsure of what to say or do.

Deep within the heart of Republic space, floating weightlessly upon the astral sea, was the Enduring Light. A Valor-class cruiser, the large capital ship was surrounded by an array of support vessels and currently served as one of the interim homes for the Jedi Order. Without a temple or world to call their own, the fragmented group was forced to adopt temporary shelter even months after the war's end.

Within the grand corridors and chambers of the capital ship, the Jedi onboard struggled to replicate their lost temple. Masters trained and instructed their students surrounded by the sterile white environment of the military vessel, forced to live out of the various hangars and barracks. Though the galaxy was at peace, the Jedi were not. The Order was not of one mind, countless mentalities plaguing the Jedi in the months following the war's end. Some thought accepting the treaty a necessary evil, others opposed its stringent concessions. With many of their best and brightest lost to the Sith Empire, the Order's voice was scattered. There was little to guide them in their darkest hour, but all they could hope to do was persist.

Gathered in one of the capital ship's mess halls, a number of figures garbed in conservative robes were receiving their day's ration of food. Sitting across from each other at a folding table, two elder Jedi conversed amidst the soft rabble of their congregating fellows.

"Not much to these meals," one of the men muttered with a low drawl. The Jedi was wrinkled and bald of head, a Human in his later years. Staring at his food with heavy eyes, he offered the occasional prod and poke with his utensil.

"Food is food, Verdon," the other plainly replied. The other Human's head was topped with short, graying hair, and though he was aged, he still had a few decades before matching the man across from him. The roughness worn on his face was born from battle rather than an excess of wrinkles.

"Direct as always, Kyros," Verdon offered with a chortle.

"Someone around here has to be," Kyros replied. "People are far too content to sit around and do nothing. If only the war hadn't taken Master Joren from us."

"There's little we can do without a proper home," Verdon stated. "Be patient. Master Shan will come through. She has the Force guiding her."

"Meanwhile, the rest of us go without guidance," Kyros declared.

"We are never without guidance, Kyros. Whether we realize it or not."

"I don't know about you, but the Force has been frightfully silent in our time of need. It doesn't tell us where to go or what to do. Those decisions fall to us, but apparently we lack the resolve to make said decisions."

"In due time," Verdon calmly added. "Answers will come. We just need to be patient."

"Patience does not necessitate inaction," Kyros muttered. Interrupting the pair's conversation was a muffled electronic ringing beneath the younger Jedi's robes. Reaching beneath his coat, Kyros returned with a small holocommunicator in his hand. The silver device flashed and the grainy image of two men appeared. "Leron. Jaruss. How goes your investigation?"

"Master, I'm afraid we have grave news," Leron said, a forced calmness in his voice.

"What's the matter?" Kyros asked, possessing a stoicism far beyond that of the Padawan. "Where is Nami?"

Leron dipped his head. "That's the thing, master. I'm afraid we lost her."

"She's dead?" asked Kyros, maintaining his calm.

"No. When we arrived, the pirates were already dead at the hands of Sith. We tried to block their escape but… the Sith manipulated her, turned her against us," Leron explained.

"We tried to stop her, master," Jaruss added. "We did everything in our power to convince her not to go, but the Sith's hold was too great. We couldn't risk hurting her, and with her condition…"

"I understand, my students," Kyros stated. "You did as much as could be expected of you. Are you two safe, at least?"

"Yes, sir," Leron replied. "We're on our way back now."

"Very well. We can discuss our options when you return." The two Jedi on the other end of the device offered the dutiful bows of their heads and the communications ceased. As the holographic images faded, Kyros released a low sigh as he returned the communicator to his robes.

"You don't seem that upset," said Verdon.

"Any loss to the Sith is regrettable, but this one could have been avoided," Kyros bluntly stated.

"We cannot foresee, nor prevent, every loss."

"We could have prevented this one," Kyros declared. "She never should have been let into the Order to begin with. She was a danger to herself and those around her. Only her master was capable of keeping her in check, and without him, she's unstable. Never should have agreed to pick up her training."

"I know I said we're never without guidance, but that doesn't mean we can just discard Padawans that don't turn out perfect," Verdon scolded.

"You don't know this girl, Verdon. Some people are lost causes," Kyros declared. "But it matters not. She's not our problem anymore."

The elder Jedi was taken aback, stewing in silence as the younger man lifted himself from his seat. Kyros straightened out his thick robes, leaving Verdon alone without a second glance. As he left without another word, the tail of his heavy coat bounced along each step, the long hilt of his double-bladed lightsaber dangling from his belt.

The Sith were left standing in a dumbfounded circle, silence overtaking the chamber as Fay still held the unconscious Jedi in her arms. None willing to speak, the only sound filling the room was its owner's labored breathing. As Syrosk cast his deadened stare upon the young girl, it became obvious that the blow she had stricken him with had taken its toll. As did the one delivered to the burned Sith, who still covered his leaking nose with his wrapped hand.

"Someone want to explain what just happened?" Asher nasally barked, words muffled by his hand.

"For once, our thoughts align," Syrosk rasped.

"You heard what she called herself, right?" Fay asked her compatriots.

The alien arched his brow. "What significance is that?"

"She used a different name," Fay explained. "When we met her, she said her name was Nami."

"So… different name, different disposition, different personality," Graves stated. "But why?"

"If it wasn't Kaas, and it wasn't Syrosk..." Asher muttered.

"We can't rule either of those out," Fay firmly stated.

"Yes, we can," Syrosk replied. "I know madness. This was no madness."

"She just up and attacks us, forgets who we are or why she's here, and you don't think that's madness?" Asher barked, words still muffled by his now blood-soaked palm.

Syrosk turned toward the tall woman still holding the unconscious Jedi. "You're telling me she showed no signs of such behavior prior to arriving here?"

"She was calm, soft spoken, diplomatic," said Fay. "She trusted us."

The alien released a low hum, somewhere between a curious grunt and a tired growl. The elder Executor scratched his leathery chin as he took a closer look at the unconscious girl. "I'll need to take another look into her mind."

"Because that worked out so well for us last time," Asher snarked.

"This time I'll know what to expect," Syrosk replied. "Bring the girl and follow me." Not a second after his direction, the Sith turned on his heels and started walking deeper into his residence. Pausing before passing into the next chamber, the alien looked back to see an unmoving Fay. "What are you waiting for?"

"I'm not going to let you root around in her brain," Fay declared. "It's obvious you did something and she responded."

"All I did was flip a switch," Syrosk explained. "Whatever the cause of this… it existed long before she arrived on Kaas. As fortified as her mind was, I'm starting to believe it wasn't to keep others out… but keep something in."

"What the hell does that even mean?" Asher blurted out, waving his free, non-blood-soaked hand.

"We won't know until I take another look," said Syrosk. "Now come. Let us get this sorted before she wakes up. Because next time, you might not catch her… and if she makes it out that door, she's as good as dead."

Fay conceded to the unrelenting Executor, shifting the girl's weight in her arms. Reaffirming her grip, she carried the young Jedi's limp body deeper into the alien Sith's home. Beyond the simplistic foyer they had stood in prior, the group found themselves in a room of function. It possessed the same dark colors and facets as the rest of the Citadel that had preceded it, but catching the guests' eyes were the terminals and cabinets lining the walls. A quaint repository for Sith knowledge and possessions.

But tucked away in the corner, rather than a chair, was an angled slab. The metallic fixture possessed a roughly humanoid shaping, as well as electronic restraints where an occupant's wrists would rest.

Syrosk gestured toward the slab. "Place her here."

"Should we be concerned that you have something like this in your home?" Asher said through his injured nose.

"This place was repurposed upon my becoming an Executor," Syrosk explained. "Prior to becoming my residence, it belonged to an Inquisitor."

"Was it a place of business, or...?" Asher trailed off, receiving no response from his fellows. Brushing past him, Fay carried over the unconscious girl and placed her upon the slab as gently as she could. The young Jedi's small frame seemed even smaller upon the cold, oppressive fixture.

"Put her wrists in position," said Syrosk as he made his way toward the nearest terminal.

Fay crossed her arms, shooting the alien a tired look. "Is that really necessary?"

"Do it."

The tall woman released a quick sigh before complying, gently maneuvering the girl's wrists into position. Hovering them over the 'arms' of the slab, the elder Executor punched a command into the terminal. A moment later, bands of energy wrapped around the Jedi's forearms, locking them in place.

Fay took a step back, joining her fellows as they watched Syrosk scurry about the chamber with his uneven, yet surprisingly quick, pace. The alien circled around the restrained girl, examining her without getting too close. The three younger Sith stood shoulder to shoulder, casual observers to what was about to occur. Just as Syrosk reached out with his rough, leathery hand, Asher took another step back. Fay and Graves turned toward their skittish companion, casting the arch of their brows.

"What? I don't need her screwing up my face a second time."

"I thought she already screwed up your face for the second time," Graves said in his usual deadpan manner. Asher offered a brief, sarcastic laugh as he continued to clutch his nose.

"Quit being a baby," Fay chided.

"Easy for you to say, you didn't get punched in the nose."

"That's because I wouldn't let myself get punched in the nose."

"Well, that's because I doubt her fist could even reach your face all the way up there," Asher muttered as he gently prodded his nose. "Can't even heal the thing until I get it set-"

The burned Sith was interrupted by Fay batting his hand away. He could only watch with wide eyes as the towering woman pressed her thumbs against his injured nose. With a quick application of strength and the Force, the woman straightened and cleared out the wrapped Sith's nasal passages, prompting him to release a harsh yelp. Removing her hands, Fay watched Asher contort his face before raising his wrapped finger to soak whatever poured from his nose.

"Better?" asked Fay, more stern than concerned.

There was a pause.

"A bit," Asher admitted.

"Any progress, Syrosk?" Graves asked, still focused on the elder Executor. The others turned to see the alien clutching at the girl's temples with his eyes closed, locked in the same trance he had been in prior.

"Only skimming the surface," Syrosk replied. "The barriers in her mind seem more like partitions. I can't go deeper without upsetting her mental state."

"I'd say her mental state is already pretty upset," Asher snarked.

"As rigid as her thoughts appear, they also seem to be shifting of their own accord. Unconsciously moving toward some natural state," Syrosk explained.

"Then maybe the next time she wakes up, she'll be normal again," said Fay.

"Normal…" Syrosk dwelt upon the word. "Normal may be beyond her reach. This girl seems to possess two identities, each with their own personality and memories. Distinct, with no overlap. One always in control."

"Is that… natural?" asked Graves.

"The mind is a curious thing," Syrosk rasped. "Easy to break, hard to mend, and harder still to comprehend."

Asher's head dipped. "So, what, she's actually two people?"

"Depends on how you define a person," Syrosk replied. "The girl possesses one mind, it's just comprised of two self-sustained halves."

"What could cause that?" Graves asked.

"I'm not sure," Syrosk admitted. "Perhaps a childhood trauma caused her create one of the personalities as a defense mechanism."

"Well, the one we just saw was pretty damn defensive," Asher muttered.

"Would that mean Nami's the original identity?" asked Graves.

"It's unclear," Syrosk rasped. "Both identities seem to exist in equal parts, one had simply been suppressed. It's likely the Jedi saw her condition as a corruption to be healed through the Force. When they were unable, they instead locked away one of the personalities as a means to 'fix' her."

"Gotta love that Jedi wisdom," said Asher.

"Then again, we don't know anything for sure," Syrosk admitted, backing away from the unconscious girl.

"Then we wait for her to wake up," Fay suggested. "That's the only way we'll get answers."

"If she has any answers to give," Syrosk rasped.

"She will," said Fay, utterly confident. "Just wait."

"And how do we even know who we're getting when she does wake up?" Asher asked.

"We don't," Syrosk declared.

The four Sith fell silent as they each cast their gaze upon the slumbering Jedi. Unconscious, the young girl's unassuming figure spoke nothing of the mysteries hidden within. On the outside, she appeared to be nothing more than a normal Padawan in traditional garb. Unburdened. Without scars. Soft faced and still holding onto her youth. But it was becoming abundantly clear that there was something more to her.

And so they waited. Time slowed to a crawl as the group did nothing but watch the secured Jedi, unwilling to be caught off guard again. It was a brutal, agonizing wait, but the minutes eventually passed, one by one, each bringing the Sith closer to the point of awakening.

Suddenly, just as time was about to lose all meaning, a soft grumble passed through the young Jedi's lips. The Sith immediately shot to attention, stepping forward and surrounding the restrained girl. Her head sluggishly turned upon the metallic slab before her eyes fluttered open. All she could see was four shadowed figures hovering over her.

As she quickly regained control of her senses, the young girl struggled to get a full grasp on her surroundings.

"Where…" the Jedi mumbled as she shifted upon the slab. Just as she attempted to move, she realized that she couldn't, her wrists firmly locked down with bands of energy. "What? What is this? Where am I?"

The girl's breathing hastened as she tried to wriggle free. The first clear figure she could lay eyes upon was that of the horned alien, casting his cold glare upon her. A soft squeal slipped past her lips as she shrunk with nowhere to go.

"Fay? Fay?" the girl called out, soft but with an increasing panic.

"She's back to normal, turn off the cuffs," Fay called out. The alien heard her, but remained right where he stood.

"What's your name?" Syrosk coldly rasped. The Jedi remained silent, shying away upon the slab. Fay quickly took a step closer, making sure her face was illuminated by the room's lighting.

"It's okay," Fay assuaged. "Just tell him your name."

"N…Nami," the young girl eventually said, almost at whisper. The tall woman immediately shot her determined gaze back toward her boss. Syrosk received the glare with little alarm, slowly making his way toward the nearby terminal. With an absence of haste, he punched in the command to power down the restraints.

The bands around the Jedi's arms dissipated and the girl immediately clutched at her wrists. Fay reached out with her hand, offering it to the young girl. Nami looked at it for a moment before accepting, carefully stepping off of the cold slab.

"What's going on? What happened to the ship?" Nami softly asked.

Fay slightly bent her legs, inching her face slightly closer to that of the Jedi. "You don't remember anything that happened since arriving on Kaas?".

"No. All I remember is feeling really sick, then I woke up here," Nami explained. The girl maintained her grip on the tall woman's hand, and Fay was not about to rip it away. The Kineticist paused as she formulated her next words, but quickly found herself overtaken.

"Would you mind telling us about Mina?" Syrosk bluntly asked.

Fay could feel the Jedi's grip tighten around her hand. The girl's breathing, which had since calmed down, slowly began to ramp back up. Her eyes grew wide, wider than Fay had ever seen on the girl, as they slowly began to shiver. As the inquisitive eyes of the four Sith fell upon her, Nami grew increasingly uncomfortable. But as she tried to shy away, she was overcome by a stinging feeling in the back of her head. Prodding the sore spot with her finger prompted a sharp wince in the girl's face.

"Ow…" Nami mumbled.

"Sorry, had to… you know…" Fay politely offered before mocking a quick backhanded motion.

"So it's really true…" Nami said, almost whispering, eyes drifting toward the floor. "You met Mina…"

"I wouldn't call it much of a meeting," Asher stated, words muffled by his raised hand. "You just knocked us around and tried to bolt out the door."

"No, I didn't! That… that wasn't me."

"Then who was it?" Fay asked, her words both calm and patient. "Help us understand."

"Mina, she's… she's been a part of me as long as I can remember," Nami explained. "But I'm not her, and she's not me."

"You just share a body?" Fay suggested.

The girl nodded. "Yeah."

Fay offered a quick nod of her own before straightening out her stance. "And how often does she take over?"

"Almost never! At least, not since I began training with Master Daedan. He taught me how to stay in control. But... he's gone and... sometimes I can't help it..."

"Like when you're in danger?" Fay suggested. The girl offered a hesitant nod, to which the tall woman gently scratched her chin. "Well, how are you feeling now?"

"Pretty normal," Nami admitted. "My head still kinda hurts…" The girl's voice trailed off as her gaze slowly panned over toward Syrosk. Eyeing the elder Sith, the Jedi offered a look of trepidation, laced with a bubbling interest.

"This is Syrosk," said Fay, jutting a thumb toward the heavy-eyed alien. "He's our boss."

"I… didn't know the Sith had aliens amongst them," Nami admitted, a softness continuing to lace her words.

"They typically don't," Syrosk bluntly stated, maintaining his harsh glare.

"Well, it's… nice to meet you," Nami struggled to get out.

The horned Sith released a low grumble. "Do you have any idea what you've gotten yourself into? If not for Fay, you'd be dead right now."

There was more than one way for the Jedi to take his words. Fay's refusing to fight aboard the pirate ship. Fay's willingness to take her in. Fay's prevention of her escape when she lost control. Raising her gaze to meet the tall woman's, she decided upon the meaning that brought her most comfort. But the comfort was fleeting amidst the girl's current circumstances.

"What's done is done," Fay declared. "What matters is where we go from here. Do you still want to join us, Nami?"

The girl offered a silent nod.

"That's not for her, nor you, to decide," Syrosk rasped. "And besides, does she truly know what she'll be put through if we take her in? Does she have any idea what it means to be a Sith?"

"No less than what you know it means to be a Jedi," Nami replied.

Maintaining his cold stare, the rough alien leaned in close, his pointed horn nearly catching the girl's robes. "I know exactly what it means to be a Jedi. I met enough of your kind during the war to know how you think, how you act, and how you live. I have suffered pain and prejudice at the hands of my own brothers and sisters for decades now, and still I would rather continue suffering that burden than associate myself with your Order."

"I may have been trained as a Jedi, but I'm not one of them," Nami quietly admitted. "Not anymore."

Syrosk released a brief harrumph. "You can keep telling yourself that. You left because they rejected you, not the other way around. Deep in your heart, you remain one of them. You know nothing of our methods, of our culture, of the dark side. Stepping foot on this planet literally rendered you infirm."

"She didn't seem that weak when she flung you into a wall," Fay declared, arms crossed beneath her chest. "And she seems to have acclimated rather quickly, wouldn't you say? Even you must find that impressive."

The elder Sith straightened his posture, diverting his harsh glare toward the tall woman. "For someone so intent on defending her, you seem keen on sending her to her death. What do you suppose will happen when she enters the Academy? Once the other acolytes realize her past? Do you honestly think they won't break every rule they can in order to see her killed? Only the strongest can survive the trials, and that's when they don't have a giant target painted on their back."

"Every acolyte has a target on their back," Fay firmly stated. "If she wants this, I'm sure she'll find a way to succeed."

"She's right. I want this!" Nami confidently added. "Sith are about strength and freedom, right? I want to be strong. I want to be free."

"Freedom comes only to those willing to take it," Syrosk replied, an extra chill behind his usual rasp. "Are you willing? Willing to kill? Willing to deceive? Willing to betray?"

"I thought the entire point of the Executors was to avoid the normal trappings of the Sith," Fay admitted.

"The Executors, yes. But I've no influence over the Academies. Not anymore," Syrosk admitted. "You will not find a more rigid institution in all the Empire. You do not bend its rules without heavy consequence."

"Maybe we don't, but you know someone who could," Fay declared.

The alien's eyes sharpened. "I am not going to ask Vowrawn to grant her special privilege!"

There was a heavy silence as no one opted to speak.

"And that is why…" Syrosk struggled to say, almost mumbling, "I would ask for your… assistance… in this matter."

The Executor stood alone in his home's interior chamber, accompanied only by the flickering projection above the room's holoterminal. The fuzzy electronic image of man looked down upon the horned Sith, their features masked by the shoddy device. Little more than the outline of a fairly thin figure garbed in extravagant robes could be seen, but still the Dark Councilor for Production and Logistics managed to exude a powerful presence.

"They brought back a Jedi?" the voice of Darth Vowrawn poured out of the terminal's speakers. It carried only the slightest hint of surprise, instead possessing a charming regality instilled into every syllable. His words were smooth, an utter contrast to the raspy grit that poured from the alien, despite belonging to a man of similar age.

"Yes," Syrosk hesitantly replied.

"On their first mission?"

"Yes."

"And she wants to become Sith?"

"Correct," said Syrosk as calmly as he could.

Suddenly, the electronic image leaned back, and a chortle poured out of the speakers. As the Darth partook in a short fit of restrained laughter, the alien looked upon his superior with abject bewilderment.

"Sir?" Syrosk softly spoke up as the image of the jovial Councilor returned to a calmer state.

"I pride myself on my ability to expect the unexpected, Syrosk," Vowrawn admitted. "But this…"

"I understand it's less than ideal..."

"On the contrary," Vowrawn interrupted. "I believe this served as an effective measure of the Executors' skills, did it not? We need problem solvers. We're not the Ministry of War, for Emperor's sake."

"It's one thing to turn a Jedi to our side, it's another to sneak an unprocessed one into the heart of our capital," Syrosk rasped.

"You were the one that requested your people be given priority clearance on transit."

"So you've no objections to their actions?" Syrosk asked, slightly taken aback. "None at all?"

"Assuming the Jedi is genuine in her desire to join us, then no, I haven't," Vowrawn admitted. "Of the countless troubles I face on a daily basis, I'd consider this one fairly innocuous."

"So, just like that, we welcome a Jedi in our fold?" Syrosk muttered through gritted teeth.

"Do you have any idea how many Jedi we've placed in the Academies since the war's end?" Vowrawn asked. "Ideology doesn't mean much when you've no home and the chance to join the winning side. She'll be tested like all the others. If she survives, she'll find a place amongst our Order."

"A place within your Sphere?"

"I suppose it would be a good addition," said Vowrawn, the Councilor's fuzzy image scratching its chin. "Vengean has his defectors. Baras has his spies. It'd be nice to have a fallen Jedi of my own."

"The trio you gave me... they wanted her to be an Executor," Syrosk explained.

"Hmm," Vowrawn muttered, still scratching his chin. "It'd be months before she made it through the Academy, assuming she possesses some semblance of skill. I suppose when the time came there'd be a place for her in the organization. Operations will have likely expanded by then."

Syrosk fell silent as his head dipped, hesitant to speak. "Fay… suggested letting her join their group. Your group."

"My group?" Vowrawn shot back, removing the hand from his chin. The alien offered a brief nod. It was now the Darth's turn to fall silent as his image came to a halt. "And it was Fay that suggested this?"

"Correct."

"Was it a suggestion of necessity or desire?" asked Vowrawn.

"The woman seems quite attached to her for some reason," Syrosk explained. "She's done nothing but try and accommodate her since her arrival, perhaps even prior."

"Is that so?" Vowrawn mumbled, a slight increase in the Councilor's pitch.

"Don't tell me you're actually considering this," Syrosk rasped as he leaned forward, palms gripping the edge of the holoterminal.

"Would you be capable of handling a fourth?" Vowrawn asked.

"I thought the entire point of this group was the fact that these three were special cases?"

"They are. Which is why we cannot risk losing the trust of one of them this early," Vowrawn declared. "It is a minor concession to ensure the health of the group moving forward."

"A minor concession?" Syrosk repeated, mouth almost hanging agape.

"What is one more to a man who once trained eight apprentices?" Vowrawn asked, bordering on teasing.

"As atypical they were, none of them were former Jedi!" Syrosk firmly stated.

"But they were aliens, slaves, outcasts… people who had no right learning the ways of the Sith. And yet, you taught them. You brought the best out of them. Which is what I expect of you now. And if you must do it to a fourth to accommodate the first three, then so be it."

"And what shall we do whilst the girl is put through one of the Academies? Hmm?"

"Wasn't your plan to train the Executors after they succeeded on their first mission? I'm sure you'll still have plenty to do for the time being," said Vowrawn.

"These Sith are capable. They'll be ready to proceed long before the Jedi makes it through her trials," Syrosk declared.

"Now, I'm not entirely sure of that," Vowrawn replied. "I've a rather firm presence on Ziost. I could always expedite the process. Certain Overseers there are known for their… efficiency. The challenge is greater than usual, but the results are rather potent. Of course, the only way she'll officially graduate the Academy is with a Sith Lord ready to accept her as an apprentice."

"I'm sure you've enough Lords within your Sphere to find one suitable," Syrosk rasped.

"Of that, I have no doubt," Vowrawn stated. "But most would want her for themselves. There's really only one way to ensure her a spot within the Executors. A spot in the group."

"You're not suggesting that I…"

"Make her your apprentice?" Vowrawn cut the alien off. "It would solve all of our problems, wouldn't it?"

"Not all of them," Syrosk mumbled.

"Is there something I should be aware of?" Vowrawn asked as the electronic image cocked its head to the side.

The alien softly shook his head. "No. But what about the fact that I'm no longer a Sith Lord?"

"You'll always be a Lord, Syrosk," Vowrawn replied. "Your title of Executor merely takes precedence." Syrosk's head dipped as began gently rubbing his brow. "Don't worry, this is just a formality as she moves through the system. Once she's out of the Academy, she'll be an apprentice in name only. She'll be an Executor just like the rest."

"How do you think it's going in there?" Graves asked.

Situated nearer the entrance of the alien's domicile, the three Sith and their Jedi friend stood patiently near one another, bouncing their gazes between themselves and the shut door that obscured their boss.

"I can sense the subtle shifts in tone, but nothing definitive," Fay admitted, arms crossed, back against the wall, eyes shut.

"So… he's really talking to a member of the Dark Council in there?" Nami softly asked. "Like, one of the leaders of the Empire?"

"That's who he works for. And that's who we work for," Fay explained.

"Technically, every Sith works for at least one of the Councilors, it's just matter of how long the chain of command separating you is," said Graves. "Everyone in a particular Sphere of Influence can eventually be tied to its respective Council member."

"What sphere do you belong to?" Nami asked.

"Production and Logistics," Graves replied. "But that's a recent change for all of us."

"Where were you before?"

"Defense of the Empire," said Graves.

"Military Offense," Asher spoke up, his nose having ceased its discharge.

"Military Strategy," Fay stated.

"Really?" Asher and Graves offered in unison. The tall woman opened her eyes, only to offer a brief shrug of her shoulders.

"The Spheres don't really come into play until you become a Lord. Until then, you're just an agent of your master's will," Fay explained. "Besides, everything tied to the Ministry of War sort of bleeds together anyway."

"I see," Nami muttered, processing her brief insights into Imperial culture. "But with the war over, you were forced to join a different group?"

"In a manner of speaking, yes," Graves admitted. "Until a few days ago, we were still a part of our respective Spheres. Even in peacetime, the military Spheres are alive and kicking."

"But since our masters died, we didn't exactly have much to do," Asher stated. "We had affiliations, but no one wanted to affiliate with us."

"Until we got word that someone from Logistics wanted us," Fay added. "That's when we met Syrosk."

"The alien?" Nami asked.

"The alien," Fay replied. "Now we're Executors. Fixing the Empire from within, and apparently saving Jedi from themselves."

The young girl bit her lip. "Do you think they'll let me join you?"

"Well, you're Human, so at least you've got that going for you," Asher snarked.

"I'm sure they will," said Fay, paying the burned Sith no mind. "For some reason, Syrosk and his boss seem intent on keeping us happy. Which means if they don't want to see me angry, they'll find a place for you."

"But isn't it dangerous to stand up to them like that?" Nami softly asked. "Would you really risk your livelihood just for me?"

The tall woman let out a brief chuckle. "Risk starts to take on a different meaning once you become Sith. This is nothing, trust me."

"Speak for yourself," Asher muttered. "Everything we've been given can just as quickly be taken away, and I don't fancy losing my new starship."

"Your new starship?" Graves spoke up.

"Fine. Our new starship. Speaking of which, if it's going to be housing a fourth, we definitely need to renovate it."

"We can ask for some upgrades later," Fay dismissed.

"Later?" Asher shot back. "You're willing to brute force a Jedi onto our team, but asking for some furniture is too much?"

"Yeah, got a problem with that?" Fay sternly replied, casting her sharpened eyes toward the burned Sith. Saving Asher the trouble of responding was the sound of the chamber's interior door opening. Stepping from the confines of the domicile's communications room, Syrosk joined the group, his head held neither high nor low.

"So what's the verdict?" asked Fay.

"Come with me. All of you," Syrosk instructed as he made his way toward the exit with his heavy, uneven gait. Without another word, the elder trudged out of the domicile and into the halls of the Kaas Citadel. The other four were left standing around, dumbfounded as they quickly shoved off of their respective walls. The Jedi and Sith left the chamber, following the Lord without a second thought.

As the group caught up the with hasty yet sluggish alien, they saw only the back of Syrosk's head as he continued to march forward, stopping only once he had reached the Executors' headquarters. His leathery hand hovering over the entrance's control panel, the Sith Lord finally turned to face his underlings.

"Before we continue, answer me this," Syrosk began, casting his cold gaze upon the young girl. "Your condition. Can you control it?"

"I think so," Nami hesitantly offered.

"You either can, or you can't. Which is it?"

"I can," Nami quickly replied with a firm nod.

"Good. From now on, it stays between us," Syrosk declared. "No one else is to know about it, understand?"

Nami gave another nod.

"Then we can proceed," Syrosk muttered. With nary a pause, the Sith Lord opened the door before him and stepped into his organization's heart. Following him, the three younger Sith soon found themselves amongst the same terminals and monitors as before, in the company of the same bustling Imperials hastily crossing paths on their way between stations. For the fourth, however, it was a brand new sight.

There was something intriguing about the scene. People with no true understanding of the Force, operating with some measure of organized chaos. There was a procedure to be gleaned from the erratic motions for any who cared to study them. There was also a vibrancy amidst the cold, gray environment as lights flickered and flashed, each carrying its own distinct meaning.

"My lord, you've returned," a woman's voice called out from the compact assemblage, soft yet confident, the posh Imperial accent immediately recognizable to the young Jedi. The clean cut youth stepped toward the entering Sith with datapad carried firmly in hand. The gray uniform that covered her slender frame maintained its pristine order amidst its wearer's enduring urgency and haste. "Is everything alright? You were gone for quite some time."

"Everything is fine," Syrosk calmly stated, somewhat of a return to his usual gritty stoicism. "I need you to make a tentative entry for Executor Six."

From behind the alien, the young Jedi perked up, her eyes growing wide. Turning her head, she looked up to see Fay offering a reassuring, confident smile. Meanwhile, the datapad-wielding Imperial leaned past her superior's shoulder to see the increasingly giddy girl that stood behind him. She could only puzzle at the sight of the young girl in bland, beige robes.

"Executor Six, sir?" the Imperial asked for confirmation.

The elder offered a brief nod. "Her name is Nami. She'll be receiving the same treatment as the other three."

"Understood, my lord," the Imperial offered with a dutiful dip of her head. "Is that all?"

"For now," said Syrosk. "The girl will be training on Ziost for the foreseeable future. I just want an entry started in the meantime."

"Very well, my lord," the Imperial replied. "Shall I retrieve her file for review?"

"Don't bother. She doesn't have one."

The Imperial offered an arch of her brow as she peered over toward the young girl, whom offered a warm wave of her hand. "I'm afraid I don't understand…"

"You're not alone," Syrosk rasped. "Nami. Executor Six. Tentative entry. Understood?"

"Of course, my lord," the Imperial replied, tapping away at her datapad. As the woman disappeared back into the bureaucratic fold, the Sith were left to tend to themselves at the chamber's entrance.

"Did you say Ziost?" asked Fay.

"That's right," Syrosk replied. "Logistics has a heavy presence there. Vowrawn is going to pull some strings, get Nami on the fast track through the Academy."

"That's good right?" Nami offered alongside a beaming smile. For once, none of the others reciprocated, not even Fay.

"In a Sith Academy, an instructor's mission is to teach and prepare acolytes for the trials to come. An Overseer's mission is to give said trials and whittle a group of acolytes down to one capable apprentice," Syrosk explained. "The process of moving between training, evaluation, and apprenticeship can takes months. In reducing that timeframe, you'll be forced to face even greater dangers than usual."

"You're handing her off directly to an Overseer, aren't you?" asked Graves.

"That is the intention, yes," Syrosk replied.

"But Overseers only evaluate acolytes for interested Lords," Fay stated. "Does that mean…?"

"Yes. If she succeeds, she'll become my apprentice. Just to give her a formal position before becoming an Executor."

Fay placed a warm hand on the young Jedi's shoulder. "Hear that? Already moving up in society."

Asher scratched his chin, wrappings still stained with red. "But wait, if she fails, doesn't that mean you're stuck with whoever beats her as an apprentice?"

"She won't fail, right Nami?" Fay asked.

"Right!" Nami replied, matching the tall woman's confidence.

"Do not speak with such certainty," Syrosk rasped. "The Academy is dangerous to all who step within its boundaries. Your trials will be especially great. If you are to succeed, you must prepare."

"Prepare how?" asked Nami.

"It will take at least a week before you're entered into the system. Your training will not begin until then, so prior to your induction, you will receive training," Syrosk declared.

"You're going to train her... to prepare her for more training?" Asher snarked.

"Not I. Vowrawn is not the only one with friends on Ziost," Syrosk muttered.

"Maybe I can help too," Fay offered. "I trained there, and I'd be more than happy to lend a hand if she needs it."

"No. You're needed here. As am I," Syrosk declared. "I'll escort her to Ziost. From there, she controls her own fate. If she desires a place amongst the Sith, she must walk the Sith path." The horned alien cast his heavy stare toward the young Jedi. "If there's anything you'd like to say, now's the time to say it. You won't be seeing each other again for some time."

The young girl looked to the trio of Sith, and the woman who had granted her this new life. Her lips began to curl into a gentle smile. "Goodbye, Fay."

"This isn't a goodbye," Fay warmly stated. "We'll see each other again. I know it."

The girl offered an appreciative nod before finding the Sith Lord's hand shooing her toward the chamber's entrance. The girl offered one final wave of her hand, which Fay and Graves reciprocated, before disappearing alongside Syrosk into the halls of the Citadel.

Standing shoulder to shoulder, the three Sith were left alone, backs to the persistent movements of the uniformed Imperials behind them. Taking a deep breath, the tall woman released it a moment later, turning toward the scarred man at her side.

"Thanks for going along with this," said Fay. "It was kind of selfish to spring this on you and Asher."

"Saw no reason to object," Graves admitted. "She seemed nice. Though given recent revelations, are you sure she won't be dangerous?"

"A dangerous Sith? What would that be like?" Asher snarked.

"It'll be fine. She's strong. She'll adapt," Fay firmly stated. "She just needs a home. And a purpose."

"Understandable," Graves stoically offered.

Turning his head, the scarred man had expected to see his two fellows beside him, but was surprised to see only one. The burned Sith had already stepped away, but not toward the chamber's exit.

"Oy, miss!" Asher called out, waving his hand across the small sea of attendants and monitors. The woman from before, the young officer carrying a datapad, noticed the call and quickly made her way across the room.

"Yes, my lord, can I help you?" the Imperial patiently asked.

"Yeah, we need to, uh, requisition some improvements for our ship," said Asher. "You're the person to talk to about that, right?"

"Uh, I suppose so," the Imperial admitted, "but I'd need to hear from Executor Zero first-"

"Well, this is coming straight from Darth Vowrawn," Asher declared.

"Darth Vowrawn?" The Imperial perked up at the mere mention of the name. Her stance went rigid, straining in its attempt to be as upright as possible.

"That's right," Asher stated. "The big guy says we need to maintain a certain level of operational efficiency, and to keep up with our duties, we need to make some renovations to the Fury."

"Renovations? Like what?" the Imperial asked, datapad at the ready.

"Oh, you know..." Asher coyly began, "a more evenly distributed living quarters, onboard refreshers and showers, padded seats in the cockpit…"

As the burned Sith spoke, the Imperial dutifully jotted down notes on her tablet.

Just found this thread and have read it all in one sitting :-)

Really good story and characters, especially the idea of not all sith being 'sithlike'. Can't wait to see what happens in the future!

"I'll… I'll put in your requests at once, my lord," said the dutiful Imperial. The uniformed woman took a step away from the burned Sith, datapad cradled in her arms, eventually disappearing into the rear folds of the Executor base.

With a brazen smile upon his face, Asher turned to face his partners, who offered only their silent judgment.

"Looks like our new home's getting some upgrades," said Asher, oozing with accomplishment.

"Hopefully Syrosk doesn't take them all away when he gets back," Graves replied.

"It's all for the good of the organization, right?" Asher casually stated. "Besides, the officer didn't offer any objections."

"That's probably because she was approached by a charred Sith in blood-soaked wrappings," said Fay. Asher's eyes went wide as he brought a finger to his mouth. Prodding the material beneath his nose, he noticed that they possessed a copious amount of dried blood wrought from his previously busted nose.

"Oh..." Asher muttered. "Does it look stupid or menacing?"

"Does it really matter?"

The burned Sith looked around before leaning in close to his partners, whispering, "I don't want to look bad in front of the Imperials."

"You care about what they think?" Fay asked.

"He cares about what everyone thinks," said Graves.

"Shut up. No I don't," Asher mumbled.

"Do you care about what we think?" asked Fay.

Asher ducked his gaze. "We have to work together. You two are different."

"So is that a yes, or a no?" Fay pressed.

Asher averted his gaze, crossing his arms. "Well…"

The burned Sith was cut off by a harsh chirp emanating from the room's central holoterminal. The motions about the cramped headquarters went into overdrive as the officers and coordinators swarmed around the terminal.

"We're getting a distress signal!" one of the attendants called out. Another of the uniformed Imperials rushed to the central terminal's controls, inputting a series of quick commands. All errant information was purged from the three-dimensional display above the device and it was slowly replaced with maps and ship diagnostics.

"It's the freighter X1 is stationed aboard," another voice called out.

"Open a secure channel," a female instructed, instantly firm in her delivery. Pushing her way past her fellows, the datapad-carrying Imperial from before approached the holoterminal, a determined glint in her eyes. She was composed, even in the face of trouble, marking her demeanor as more than simple Imperial conditioning.

Meanwhile, the three Sith stood near the chamber's entrance, watching the small collective of officers rigorously tend to their duties. Amidst the ordered chaos, amidst the constant motion and flow, they were stilled, wearing dumfounded expressions upon their faces.

"Syrosk is probably still in the building… should I go get him?" Fay asked of no one in particular.

"We can handle things ourselves, my lord," the woman replied, balancing candor with respect, eyes glued to the blooming stream of data being projected. The image of a stock Imperial freighter appeared above the terminal, a sturdy, stocky vessel designed for the transportation of cargo. Limited offensive or defensive capabilities. The current stream of data spoke of even greater limitations.

"Channel secured," a man called out from one of the wall-bound terminals. "Communications opened."

The maps and models above the central holoterminal parted, giving room to the image of the freighter's primary pilot. The electronic figure was seated, encased in an all-encompassing flightsuit, arms darting across the controls in front of him.

"This is LTF-5993," said the pilot, frantic yet methodical in his delivery. "Our ship was intercepted between hyperlanes by a lone pirate vessel. We lost primary and auxiliary power. They hit us with some sort of ion cannon."

The Imperial woman narrowed her gaze. "Acknowledged. Can you repair the damage?"

"We could barely get communications and sensors back online," the pilot explained. "The engines could take hours."

"And Executor One, is he with you?"

The pilot looked over his shoulder before returning to his console. "Yes, he's-"

"I told you, I can handle it," a soft voice called out over the communications channel from off-screen. Executor One. Male. Utterly calm. Almost flippant. "Tell them everything's under control."

"The pirates are closing in," the pilot relayed, ignoring the voice behind him.

"Do they intend to board you?" the woman asked.

"I don't think so," the pilot muttered. "They aren't directly aligned with any of our ports. I think they're going cut into our hull and space the cargo. Salvage what they can from the outside."

"Well, I guess they're screwed," Asher declared. "It's not like a Sith escort is of much use now."

"Who said that?" the off-screen voice called out. The burned Sith froze, unaware his voice would be picked up on the communications channel.

As the eyes of nearly a dozen Imperials fell to him, Asher released a light scoff and haughtily stepped toward the holoterminal. "Executor Three."

"Curious. You don't sound like Dev," Executor One said, his voice containing not a sliver of worry.

"Don't know or care who that is," Asher replied.

"My lords, please," the datapad-toting woman interrupted, trying take control of the conversation whilst affording the Sith some measure of respect. "This is not the time to lose focus."

"Like I said, I've got things handled over here," said Executor One. "Just ask my handler or Syrosk. They'll vouch for me."

Just then, the officers huddled around the holoterminal focused on one of their brothers, one of the nondescript Humans amongst nondescript Humans.

"Uh…" the handler mumbled. "Syrosk says he's pretty good."

"'Pretty good' doesn't mean much when you're stuck in a depowered ship," Asher snidely offered.

"Was that 'Three' again?" Executor One asked. The off-screen voice then release a soft chuckle. "Don't worry about us. I'll call after I've handled the pirates."

Another figure appeared in the holoprojection for only a brief moment, reaching past the seated pilot. Afterwards the transmission ceased. The image faded, and the gathered Imperials were left with only maps and the freighter's model to look at.

"Sir, he closed the channel," the handler nervously spoke up.

The datapad-wielding woman released an almost inaudible sigh as she gently rubbed her brow. "Everyone, return to your stations, but stay alert. We'll wait for X1's call."

One by one, the uniformed Imperials dispersed, until only the woman and the mysterious Executor's handler continued to monitor the central holoterminal. The three Sith were once more left to themselves.

"Do you make it a point to antagonize everyone you meet?" Fay asked the burned and bloodied Sith.

"Whatever, it's not like he's coming back," Asher muttered. "Remember what I said about most Sith fatalities occurring in space?"

"We seemed to do pretty well against our batch of pirates," said Graves.

"That's because we were in the same ship as them," Asher replied. "A Sith can't do anything with a vacuum between him and his targets."

The flightsuit-encased pilot stared speechlessly at the hand that had intruded in front of him. The one that had just cut off communications.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" the pilot barked, dropping all pretense of respect.

The Sith slowly pulled back and the pilot could only watch as the red sleeve left his view. Spinning around in his chair, the Imperial had hoped to see something upon his escort's face. Some measure of hate or fear or expressiveness befitting a halted craft sitting in the sights of a band of pirates. Instead, he only found a calm, gentle smile upon the Human's visage.

A man in his mid-thirties, the Executor possessed an oddly vibrant youth about him. His complexion was flawless, absent of any scarring or corruption expected of a man in his line of work. The golden hair atop his head was worn short and clean, parted with a casual formality. In all things he was smooth, but never soft.

"We're stuck out here," the Executor calmly stated. "There's no chance of reinforcements arriving before the pirates rip us apart."

The pilot froze. There was nothing more he could say. Nothing more he could do. With those words, the Sith had confirmed his fate. And yet, there was something soothing about them. The Executor carried an unwavering charisma that seemed almost capable of overcoming the dread steadily consuming the stilled Imperial.

"I can handle this, but I need your help. Do you understand?" the Executor asked, tranquil in his delivery.

"I… of course, my lord," the pilot whimpered, dipping his head.

"Alright. Which hatch are the pirates nearest?"

"My lord, unless they dock, there's nothing-"

"You just have to trust me," the Executor assuaged. The pilot paused. Only after gazing into the Sith's steady eyes for a few seconds did he spin his chair back toward the cockpit's console.

"Hatch number four. Rear of the ship. Port side," the pilot stated.

"The hatches still work under emergency power, correct?"

"Yes."

"Good. Stay here. I'll be back in a few minutes," the Executor declared, stepping away from the pilot.

"What… what are you going to do?" the pilot asked.

The door leading out of the cockpit parted, granting the Sith access into the freighter's central corridor. There he stood, clad in black armor beset by a vibrant red coat, shooting a quick glance back to the sitting Imperial.

"I'm going to kill some pirates."

Back in the dark halls of the Kaas Citadel, two figures slowly made their way through the oppressive corridors. Syrosk and Nami. The alien and the Jedi.

The elder Sith set the pace with his uneven gait, the girl following closely at his side. Whilst Syrosk kept his focus unerringly forward as he trudged along, Nami couldn't help but observe her unfamiliar surroundings. The nearby walls and fixtures spoke of a rigidity baked into their aesthetic. It was an unwelcoming place for unwelcoming peoples. As evident by the cold stares cast their way by all they passed. The girl visibly shrunk under the burden of sharpened eyes and sideward glances, ducking her head and shielding her face.

"Should I have changed into something different?" Nami whispered to the Sith at her side. The Jedi was garbed in her Padawan's robes, simplistic and of earthen tones. Drab, yet still a contrast to the Imperial designs that surrounded her.

"Don't worry," Syrosk curtly replied, more a command than appeasement. "They're not looking at you."

"Really? 'Cause it doesn't seem that way," Nami whispered, still shielding her face.

"You've no reason to stand out so long as you act as if you belong," Syrosk rasped.

"What, is that supposed to be my first lesson?" Nami quietly asked.

"If it means you take it to heart, then yes," Syrosk begrudgingly replied. "If you don't wish to be perceived as weak, as an outsider, as a Jedi… don't give anybody a reason to do so. So stop acting like you have something to hide."

Nami dropped her hands to her sides and straightened her posture as well as she could. Putting on a strong face, the girl tried to shut out her surroundings, but couldn't help but notice every errant glance sent her way. However, as more did, she slowly realized her new master was correct. They were primarily focused on him, not her.

"They're staring at you. Why?" asked Nami.

"Because no matter how much I act like I belong here, I can't disguise my being an alien."

"Which they don't like?"

"They don't care for it, no," Syrosk bluntly stated.

"But you choose to endure their… distaste?"

"Correct," Syrosk plainly answered.

"I see," Nami mumbled. "I'm sure you've your reasons for doing so. I'll not inquire further."

The Sith Lord turned as he walked, casting an arch of his brow toward the young Jedi. "Perhaps you are less like your former fellows than I previously thought."

The pair moved beyond the threshold of the Citadel, stepping into the open air of Dromund Kaas. Landing platforms and walkways stretched out in front of them, ready to welcome the best and brightest of the Empire into its coldly warm embrace. Beyond, a deep and cavernous ravine separated the two travelers from the rest of the city. Above, the dark and crackling sky of the perpetually storming atmosphere filtered the light from the stars beyond. The shadowed haze kept the grounds below subjected to dim days and harsh nights.

In the distance, to the rear and the sides of the Citadel, skyscrapers lay nestled within the various valleys and ridges that populated the area. Amidst the planet's natural chaos and disorder, there was control. The denizens had dug a home for themselves upon the surface of the dark world. They had conquered the harsh jungles that surrounded them. It was not merely a place for Dark Lords to preside over and call their sanctum. There was life here. Citizenry. People who knew nothing of the Force living amongst the shadows, unburdened by the planet's darkness.

"Wow…" Nami whispered to herself, stopping to take in the sights.

"There'll be time to admire the view another day," Syrosk rasped. "We need to keep moving."

The Executor marched forward, his cold eyes set upon a taxi docked at the end of a nearby walkway. Snapping out of her momentary daze, the girl rushed to catch up with the Sith Lord.

"Hey, wait!" Nami called out.

"Wait, you can't be serious!"

The sharp voice of the freighter's pilot spilled out of the room's speakers, filling the compact chamber Executor One found himself in. The Human stood alone, lit only by emergency lighting. Behind him, a simple lever. Ahead of him, hatch number four.

"We can still open and close this hatch right?" the Executor shouted toward the ceiling.

"Uh… yes," the pilot relayed through the ship's comm.

As the panicked words of the pilot graced his ears, the Human in the red coat was growing increasingly calm. Pulling a simplistic hilt from his waist, the Sith firmly grasped the lightsaber in his right hand, reaching his left toward the switch behind him. Planting his feet, the Executor closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath before evacuating the air from his lungs.

Just as the pilot was about to throw out another query, the Sith tugged on the lever behind him. As it flipped, the exterior hatch of the Imperial freighter quickly opened. In a matter of moments, the wall opposite the Executor had parted, exposing the chamber to the vacuum of space. The air swiftly left the once-sealed chamber, threatening to drag the Sith along with it. But through sheer force of will, the Human managed to keep his feet planted. And it was that same will that would protect him as he drove himself forward.

Kicking off the wall behind him, the Human launched himself past the open hatch and into the cold void of space. Soaring weightlessly through the vacuum between the freighter and the nearby pirate vessel, the Sith ignited the hilt within his hand, extended its crimson blade. With a lightsaber and the Force, he had his weapon and his shield.

To the Sith's right, pirates encased in deep-space miner's suits had maneuvered beside the freighter's hull, modified laser cutters in hand. As the thieves magnetically secured themselves to the Imperial ship's exterior, they were attached to their own vessel by way of cords and tubes that served as their lifelines. So focused on cutting their way into the cargo bay, the team didn't see the unprotected Human fly past them toward their vessel.

The pirate ship was little more than a large brick with aftermarket weapons attached to its belly. At one point in its life, it might have served as a freighter similar to the Imperials' own, hauling cargo across the vastness of space. But its current crew had repurposed it into an assault vessel. A capable craft, its most notable feature was the open bay on its left face that, while incapable of holding even the smallest starfighter, could serve as a launching point for a small group of infiltrators. Against standard opposition, it was certainly capable of defending itself. But there was nothing standard about its opposition that day.

The Executor had no senses to call upon. He was deafened, blinded, unfeeling, all of his own volition. But whatever information he needed, he found though the Force. After almost twenty seconds of drifting through the vacuum, the Sith twirled about, putting his feet ahead of him just in time for them to impact against the viewport of the pirate vessel's cockpit. With a plunge of his blade, the Executor cracked the seal. Exacerbating the mechanical wound, the Sith clenched his left fist, and swung his arm wide, telekinetically ripping the viewports asunder, spacing the lone pilot alongside a stream of shattered windows and metal.

As the consoles and controls within sparked and fizzled, the ship slowly lost control, rotating along its central axis. Pressing down upon himself with the Force, the Executor ran along the pirate vessel's side, unburdened by the lack of gravity or atmosphere. Approaching the assault freighter's leftward bay, the Sith released his grip on his lightsaber, throwing it with a controlled arc. The crimson blade twirled with grace across the vacuum of space, severing the cords and tubes connecting the distant scavengers to their vessel. The lightsaber circled around, guided by the Force, back into its master's hand as the disconnected lifelines spurted and flailed.

Alongside the Imperial freighter, the pirates who had been cutting their way through the outer hull found themselves without air and were quickly losing pressure in their mining suits. Their magnetic grips began to fail and one by one they clutched and grabbed at their own throats. Those who managed to turn around, caught a brief glimpse of their vessel floating lifelessly as their vision turned black.

Running back along the pirate vessel's hull, the Executor took a mighty leap, soaring through the void back toward his own freighter's open hatch. Drifting through the vacuum, the Sith maintained his focus as his red coat gently undulated amidst the zero gravity. Second after second passed, his will the only thing preserving him. Floating through the open hatch, the Executor crashed into the floor as he was once more taken hold by the freighter's artificial gravity. From the ground, the Sith reached out and telekinetically flipped the lever back into its upright position.

The hatch closed behind him. The chamber began to seal. Pressure began to equalize. Air began to flow.

Slowly, the Executor lifted himself from the floor, drawing his first breath in minutes. Calmly patting himself off, the Sith appeared no worse for wear as he gently rubbed his eyes and nose.

"My lord? My lord, are you alright?" the pilot's voice filled the chamber.

The Sith let out a breathy chuckle. "I'm fine. The pirates have been dealt with."

Soaring above the dark metropolis, Syrosk and Nami sat in the back seats of a taxi, chauffeured by the airspeeder's droid pilot. The skylane upon which they traveled was low, lower than the usual urban travel the Jedi had known. The reason soon became obvious.

As the dark and crackling sky loomed above them, bolts of lightning would come down with reckless abandon, only to be intercepted by the spires that dotted the city's skyline. Conduits. Safeguards. Lightning rods. More evidence of the Imperials' willingness and ability to conquer the chaotic environment they called their home. But danger awaited any who would dare to stray too far.

Nami peered over the open speeder's edge, gazing toward the gray streets below. Rigid. Methodical. Controlled. The numerous walkways were populated by citizens and security in equal measure. Guards patrolled the streets, outfitted like full soldiers rather than simple police. Large battle droids watched over key intersections, constantly scanning their surroundings for emergent threats.

Beyond the city's denizens, there was an evident pride etched into every surface. Banners hung from the sides of skyscrapers, brightly flying the flags of the Empire. Monuments and memorials rose like obelisks, giving form to histories passed. Every face on every corner spoke of a discipline and patriotism.

"I expected to see more Sith," said Nami.

"Most Sith confine themselves to the Citadel or operate abroad," Syrosk explained. "Some have personal manors and estates further into the jungle."

"The stories we heard about Dromund Kaas, we all thought it was a military world."

"It is," Syrosk plainly stated.

"But… not everyone looks like a soldier," Nami muttered. "And I see markets… museums… eateries…"

"The Empire does not distinguish between soldier and civilian the way your Republic does," Syrosk rasped. "Military instruction is mandatory for every Imperial citizen. Every adult you see down there, from merchant to chef, knows how to properly clean and cycle a blaster."

"That's… impressive."

"The Empire values its discipline," Syrosk replied, no intonation in his voice.

"Really? That's not exactly the impression I get from the Sith," Nami declared.

"The Sith… are a different beast altogether."

"You make a distinction?" asked Nami. "Between Imperial and Sith?"

"You'd be a fool not to," Syrosk rasped. "Besides, it's not as if Jedi are held to the same standards as those outside their Order."

"But we had more rules, not less," Nami explained.

"You say that like it's something to be proud of."

"Oh right, I forgot. Sith hate rules," said Nami with an almost playful roll of her eyes.

"On the contrary. The Sith love rules. If they didn't have them, how would they prove their superiority by constantly disregarding them?" Syrosk replied, completely deadpan.

The young girl in the adjacent seat released a soft chuckle. "Funny."

"I was being serious," Syrosk rasped.

"Yeah, I gathered that," Nami replied, almost teasingly. "Still, rather curious."

"Not really. It becomes quite simple if you think about it."

"No, the fact that you used 'they' instead of 'we'."

"I did?" Syrosk paused. "A minor slip."

"Was it? I mean, many of your peers think you're not one of them. Maybe a little part of you does as well."

"Speaking from experience are you?" Syrosk growled. "And the people who have problems with me aren't my peers. Sith are individuals. Each unique. Each with their own thoughts. Their own desires. Their own methods. It's not about belonging. It's not about fitting in. It's about the ability to get what you desire."

"And what if 'what you desire' is belonging and fitting in?" Nami asked.

The alien Lord released a low chortle, momentarily breaking his stoic facade. Just as he was about to shoot back a witty, sardonic response, Syrosk realized he had none. Stroking his chin, the Executor dug deep for some barb, some quip to denounce the young girl's childish desire. But the well that had served him for more than sixty years was dry.

"You possess a wellspring of untapped power… a source that if drawn upon could grant you the ability to shape worlds and nations… and all you desire is friendship?" Syrosk asked, suitably befuddled.

"Well, it's not all I desire," Nami mumbled, slumping somewhat in her seat. "I mean, I want to be able to defend myself and others. I want to be strong and independent. But I don't want to be alone. Otherwise, what's the point?"

"I was under the impression you were never alone," Syrosk rasped, tapping a finger against his brow.

The girl quickly turned her head in a huff. "I also want to be in control of my own body."

"Oddly enough, not an atypical desire for some Sith."

Nami pouted, firmly crossing her arms. "I know, but the fact that I don't want to cut myself off and hate everything makes me weird in your eyes, doesn't it?"

There was a beat as Syrosk let the conversation lull.

"Do not presume to know my thoughts," he rasped.

"Look, I know what you people hold core to your 'brand'," Nami declared, uncrossing her arms to make finger quotes. "I know I'm not really Sith material. I know I'm expected to befriend and betray and kill, in that order. I know the chances of me walking away from any of this are slim to none, but it's my only shot, alright? I've been kicked out of home after home after home… but then I found someone I thought genuinely cared about me. Someone who'd take me in despite the fact that I don't belong here just as much as any of the other places I've tried. I know the things the Sith and the Empire have done. Let's face it, on my list of people I want to be associated with, you're pretty freakin' low. I'm no Sith. Then again, I'm no Jedi. In fact, I'm nothing. I'm just a stupid girl who can't figure out that nobody wants her."

Syrosk turned to see tears falling down the young girl's cheeks.

"But who cares? Right?" Nami whispered. "Who cares about belonging and fitting in. Who cares if you're alone? Who needs friends? Who needs family? Jedi say attachments lead to the dark side. Sith say attachments make you weak. For all their differences, you people are exactly the same where it freakin' matters. They didn't want me. I know for a fact that you don't want me. You're just going along with this because you don't want to upset Fay. I'm just a burden. Like always. But it all makes sense, right? I mean, what kind of idiot would rush headfirst into mortal danger, just because she thinks she might make a friend. Months, training under the kind of people who only want to see you killed, to gain one friend. Yeah, that's totally sane, says the girl sharing her head with some other person she can barely control."

The girl leaned forward, burying her face in her hands, releasing muffled whimpers shortly thereafter.

"These are the things I care about," Nami mumbled, face still buried. "But Jedi aren't supposed to care. Sith aren't supposed to care. We're supposed to think, to consider… but never care."

Syrosk watched as the girl remained hunched over, sniffling and whimpering into the palms of her hands. He stared, with his usual cold, deadened stare. He breathed, with his usual calm, raspy breaths. He thought, with his usual deep, dwelling thoughts.

"Do you know what I was… prior to becoming an Executor?" asked Syrosk.

Nami pulled away from her hands, wiping her face with her sleeve. "I don't know… a Sith Lord?"

Syrosk looked upon the girl, staring into her watery eyes. "I would like to share a story with you."

"I mean, it's going to take a while for Syrosk to get back," Asher said to his comrades. "There really isn't any point in staying here."

"So, what? Go home for the evening?" Graves suggested.

"What you do is up to you," Asher replied with a flippant shrug. "Go home. Go drinking and get another bottle smashed over your head. The choice is yours really."

As the burned man took a step toward the Executor base's entrance, an electronic chirp rang out from the central holoterminal.

"We've got an incoming transmission!" a male attendant called out. "It's from LTF-5993!"

There was a rumbling of murmurs and footsteps as the other officers scurried toward the holoterminal. The three Sith watched with piqued interest.

"That's the same vessel from before," said Fay.

"Huh. Maybe the pirates just left them for dead rather than blowing them to pieces," Asher muttered, taking a step away from the chamber entrance.

The images being emitted above the holoterminal shifted and parted, making way for the image of the Imperial freighter's pilot. The flightsuited Human was in the same seated position as before, only this time, his movements seemed far less panicked.

"This is LTF-5993," the pilot relayed, calm but audibly exhausted. "Our ship is still immobile, but the aggressors have been dispatched."

There was a quick passing of excited gasps and cheers from the gathered Imperials. Graves and Fay appeared suitably impressed, even if their body language remained particularly rigid.

Asher, however, could only furrow his wrapped brow at the declaration. "No freakin' way. I guess the pirates tried to come aboard after all."

From off-screen behind the pilot, an enthusiastic voice sounded off over the transmission. "Hey, is 'Three' there?"

The burned Sith tensed as he found dozens of eyes fall upon him for the second time. "Yeah, I'm still here."

"I believe you said something along the lines of me not being much use? Was that it?"

The projected image expanded as another figure stepped into frame beside the pilot. Human male, mid-thirties, thin-but-protective armor beset by a heavy coat, the red vibrancy of which was lost over the blue hologram.

Asher let out a quick scoff. "Well, we assumed the pirates weren't stupid enough to try and come aboard, but obviously-"

"They didn't," the Sith on the holoterminal stated, calm, polite, and without an ounce of spite.

"What?"

"Oh, they were cutting into our hull from the outside," the Sith explained. "So I had to go out there and meet them."

"Impressive," Fay spoke up.

"Now that's an unfamiliar voice," said Executor One. "Who might you be?"

The tall woman looked to her fellows. "What did we decide I was? Executor Four?"

"Well, you certainly don't sound like Jeren," the Sith on the comm offered with a playful chuckle.

"The name's Fay. The catty one is Asher," the tall woman revealed. The burned Sith's eyes sharpened as he cast a harsh glare up toward his comrade.

"And I'm Graves," the scarred man spoke up, awkwardly out of sync with the conversation.

"And he's Graves," Fay repeated.

"I take you're all the newest Sith to join our organization?" said Executor One.

"You got it," Fay plainly replied.

The polite Sith released another chuckle. "Ah, well, the name's Vai Thorel. I'm sure we'll get the chance to meet in person soon. But for now, we still have some systems we need to get back-"

"Whoa, hey," Asher interrupted. "Is it me, or are we glossing over the fact that you somehow dispatched a group of pirates outside your ship?"

"Well, lightsabers work in a vacuum," Thorel calmly explained.

"Yeah, but people don't."

"It's not that outrageous," said Fay. "Exposure is only dangerous in certain areas after a certain period of time. Breathing isn't a concern for a sufficiently trained Sith. One can overcome zero-gravity. The biggest hazard would be pressure."

"Nothing a full-body Force-barrier couldn't handle," Thorel playfully stated. "Though there might have been some light boiling around my eyes… or maybe it was freezing. I don't know, it all happened rather quickly."

"Is that being humble or bragging? I can't tell," Asher muttered.

"It's impressive either way," Fay stated.

"I'll take your word for it," Graves added. "You don't seem the type easily impressed."

"Experiment with the Force like I have, and you'll see the skill required in certain applications," said Fay.

"Um.. excuse me, my lords," a woman interrupted. The datapad-wielding officer had taken her position directly in front of the holoterminal, the other officers crowding around her. "But if we could get an official status report, I would appreciate it."

Thorel's image offered a respectful dip of its head. "Sorry. We're still recovering from the initial hit we took. We're getting the systems back online one by one, but it'll take a while before we're ready to move out."

"Are you in danger of any more attacks?" the female officer asked.

"No. Well, not here at least," Thorel declared. "You never know where pirates might pop up down the road, but I should be able to handle them too."

"Showoff," Asher grumbled.

"Thank you, X1," the woman offered with a deep bow. "Did your cargo sustain any damage?"

"Everything looks intact," Thorel stated.

"What were you hauling?" Graves asked.

The holographic figure shrugged. "Don't know. Crates? It's just my job to protect it."

Asher arched his brow to the fullest. "You jumped out of an airlock, and you don't even know what for?"

"Oh, I know exactly what for," Thorel replied. "It's my job."

"Yes, yes, I'm sure all the Imperials are swooning for you right now."

"You were the one fretting over whether you looked stupid or menacing to them," Fay muttered under her breath.

"I wasn't fretting," Asher growled, also under his breath.

"Well, look, these engines aren't going to fix themselves, so we'd better get to it," Thorel declared.

"If you'd like, we could dispatch a repair vessel to your location," the Imperial woman suggested.

"We've got it handled," said Thorel. "You can go back to worrying about X2 and the newbies."

"Who are you calling a-" Asher managed to get out before the image faded and the communications ceased. Cut off from his intended target, the burned Sith could only stew in his frustration, releasing the occasional wordless grunt.

"Please don't tell me you're going to be picking fights with the other employees," Fay muttered, arms as crossed as they could be.

"He started it," Asher grumbled.

"Tell me. Tell me how he started it," Fay pressed.

Asher's eyes sharpened as the burned Sith once more cast his harsh gaze up toward his comrade.

"I would advise caution when dealing with the other Executor, Asher," Graves calmly offered.

"And why is that?"

"Think about it," Graves suggested. "We're three Sith. We were grouped together to achieve maximum effectiveness."

"'So?"

"So… what kind of powerhouse do you suppose you have to be to be sent out alone?" Graves asked.

"We're different. We're special," said Asher.

"Still. He was the first. The first person Syrosk picked. The first person to be considered and approved by Darth Vowrawn. That's got to account for something."

"Also, he's an ally," Fay explained, as if stating the obvious. "I don't know, maybe that should be reason enough not to antagonize someone."

The burned man offered a quick shrug of his shoulder, to which the tall woman released a low sigh.

"How do you think they know each other?" Graves asked.

"What do you mean?" Fay replied.

"Well, if we assume we were Vowrawn's picks for the Executors, and Vai was one of Syrosk's… what do you suppose their relationship was before all this was set up. An alien Sith Lord and a… well, I guess we don't know his rank, but he seems like a rather powerful Sith. And oddly polite."

"He wasn't polite to me," Asher muttered.

"Who could be?" Fay asked.

Asher offered a quick shrug as he crossed his arms. "Whatever, I'm sure it's a boring story anyways..."

There was an awkward silence as Syrosk and Nami soared through the Kaas City skyline. As the young girl calmed herself, she expected the elder Sith to speak up, but found him oddly quiet, stewing in his own thoughts. Scratching his chin, it would be a few long moments before he broke the silence.

"When I was a child, I lived on the streets of Kaas City. Alone," Syrosk explained. "I knew nothing of who I was or how I got here, having no memories of my life prior. I lived in back alleys, hiding from the public. But one day, a Sith Lord found me."

"And then what happened?" Nami asked, suitably interested.

"He made me his apprentice, right then and there," said Syrosk. "Eschewed the system and traditions. Took the risk."

"Why would he do that?" Nami bluntly asked. The alien turned his head, shooting the girl a sharp arch of his brow. The young Human recoiled from the glance, hanging her head low.

Syrosk released a quick chortle. "A valid question. One I asked myself constantly. I was an amnesiac alien in the heart of the Empire's capital. Any other Imperial, any other Sith, they would have had me killed. But Omnus, he saw something more than just a blight. He recognized my talents, my skills, my potential. And so he trained me, to be a Seer, like him."

"A Seer? I didn't know the Sith had those," Nami admitted.

"It's not a formal designation," Syrosk stated. "But he helped me hone my natural affinity for telepathy and precognition. He was a recruiter for the Academies, finding Force-sensitives that slipped through the cracks because they didn't even realize they were Force-sensitives. He was training me to not only follow in his footsteps, but surpass him."

"And did you?"

"Yes," Syrosk declared. "I became a Seer, and I used my talents to fill the Academies just as he had. And though I may have stopped being a recruiter long ago, I still work to improve the Sith and the Empire to this day."

"But… why serve people who look down on you just because of your species?"

"Because… here, I get to decide the kind of person I am," Syrosk rasped. "You need to realize that no matter where you go in this galaxy, there will always be someone willing to hate you."

"Yeah… I know," Nami softly admitted.

"But here, you've an opportunity to rise above your station if you put in the effort. No one controls you but you. Others may try to manipulate you, influence you, block your path, but you are ultimately responsible for your own fate."

"Is that worth the disrespect? The pain? The hardship?" Nami muttered.

"That which goes unchallenged grows weak," Syrosk plainly stated.

The girl lifted her gaze, staring longingly across the Kaas City skyline. "I… I don't want to be weak."

"Then you might make it as a Sith after all," Syrosk declared. The girl looked to the Executor, finding an odd glint in his eyes. The face surrounding them was still the rough, scowling visage she was used to, but there was something more. Beneath the grit, beneath the hate, beneath the darkness, there was a genuineness. A care, not wholly selfish.

The taxi began to slow and descend as it neared its drop off point. The speeder settled down near more of its kind, and the Jedi and Sith stepped onto the streets of Kaas City. Steeling herself, Nami drew in careful breaths, wiping the signs of previous troubles from her face.

Wasting not a moment, Syrosk began to move out, taking his first step toward the grand structure before them. A starport.

The young girl gazed up at the simple yet impressive building. Eclipsed by the spires circling it, the wide structure blended in with its surroundings, its muted materials doing nothing to stand out from its neighbors. Squads of soldiers patrolled the starport much as they did every other street in the capital, and two large battle droids flanked the entrance ahead.

"Keep up," Syrosk rasped as he journeyed toward the building.

"Do you… have a ship?" Nami asked, easily matching the alien's pace.

"I've more ships than I know what to do with," he muttered.

A short ramp greeted the two travelers prior to the personnel entrance, as did two mechanical guards. Standing on a trio of thick struts rather than a pair of legs, the machines were little more than mobile turrets passing their discerning electronic gaze over those who passed before them. With large cannons in place of hands, the battle droids were more than capable of vaporizing unauthorized personnel or contraband.

As the Jedi and Sith neared the starport's entrance, the metallic sentinels pivoted upon their waists, slowly rotating in tandem with the pair's movements. With each step, Nami could feel the harsh red glow of the droids' eyes beating down on her. Dipping her head, she moved as close to the Sith as possible, walking in his shadow.

Syrosk, meanwhile, paid them no mind, continuing his trek without a second thought. Passing through the building's threshold, the young girl thought herself free from the public eye, but soon found herself mistaken. Moving through a series of winding corridors, the pair found themselves in a monitoring station, a grand room of flight officers and coordinators overseeing the comings and goings of every freighter and shuttle that passed through.

As the pair came into view, the Imperials occupying the chamber momentarily shifted their gazes away from their instruments. Syrosk raised a quick and calm hand, and the staff immediately returned to their duties. Approaching a nearby desk, the elder Sith stood before a seated Human, the only one who hadn't noticed his arrival.

"I need to know of any shuttles leaving for Ziost," Syrosk declared. Tearing his gaze away from the small monitors at his station, the inattentive young Human looked up, seeing only the horned head peaking above the counter. Studying the alien visage before him, the young Imperial offered the stern arch of his brow.

"Are you sure you're allowed to be here?" the man snidely asked. The Sith reciprocated the Human's arched brow, offering one far more cutting. The sound of boots scampering against the cold tile rang out as another officer scurried behind the desk. Older, the other Human shoved his seated fellow aside, taking his place before the Sith.

"My sincerest apologies, my lord," the Imperial stammered. "He's new, a recent transfer, he didn't know-"

"It is of no trouble," Syrosk rasped.

"Thank you, my lord," the elder Human said with a bow of his head, before shooting a sharp glare toward his subordinate. The younger one slinked away, his head hung in shame. As the elder Imperial returned to his forward gaze, he spotted the top of the young girl's head peaking above the counter. Leaning forward, the uniformed official saw the gentle figure standing at the Sith's side. "We weren't expecting you, Executor. Should we have prepared a third hangar? We didn't receive word-"

"No, I simply require transportation to Ziost for me and my student," Syrosk explained.

"I… of course, my lord," the Imperial dutifully said. Pouring his eyes over the small monitors in front of him, the Human scanned the various upcoming departures. "I see a shuttle leaving in an hour. Everything's prepped and ready, so I should be able to expedite the departure for you."

"That will be fine," Syrosk declared. "Thank you, officer."

"It's my pleasure, my lord," the Imperial confidently stated. "The shuttle is in hangar A-7. I'll inform the pilot of your arrival."

"Come, Nami," Syrosk rasped as he stepped away from the desk. The Jedi and Sith vacated the monitoring station, departing down one of the many corridors connected to many more hangars that populated the starport.

"Why are we taking a shuttle and not one of your own ships?" asked Nami.

"We cannot afford to mismanaged perceptions and expectations at this juncture," Syrosk explained. "I don't expect you to fully understand, but this will legitimize your arrival on Ziost more than being personally ferried by a Sith Lord aboard a Sith Lord's starship."

"I… see," Nami stated, a hint on untruth to her words. "You know, that isn't how I expected things to go back there."

"How so?"

"Well, from what I know of Sith, don't your kind usually Force-choke people who disrespect you?"

"If I choked every person who disrespected me…" Syrosk began before trailing off. As he continued to walk down the starport corridor, he fell silent for a moment. "I do not believe it necessary to act on every slight. Nor do I believe it in our best interest to needlessly injure and berate those not blessed with Force-sensitivity."

"But isn't the fact that Sith are superior in every single way baked into every facet of your society?" Nami asked.

"Superiority does not necessitate constant displays and reminders," Syrosk replied. "Only those afraid of losing their grip on their subordinates resort to cultivating fear. Respect and recognition are just as powerful motivators. The best Sith give those around them something to believe in. A strive for success rather than a fear for failure."

"Are there many like that?" Nami asked.

"Yes, even amongst the more militant sects. Imperials operate on discipline, a reliable and admirable trait if there ever was one. But there are limits. Push someone past their breaking point, and they'll push back. More than a handful of Sith have been put down by a blaster bolt to the back of the head after ordering the sacrifice of their troops. To inspire loyalty, one must first inspire confidence. To inspire confidence, one must prove their effectiveness. To prove their effectiveness, one must balance selfish desires with the good of the Empire. The Sith are not beholden to the Empire like your Jedi are to the Republic. But neither can we afford to leave our citizens defenseless or downtrodden. There is give and there is take. Sometimes… Sith tend to lean more towards take. Our job will be to deter such actions."

Passing through the curved corridor, the pair saw a label near a hangar entrance. A-7.

"The shuttle should be in here," Syrosk stated, continuing his trek without pause.

Passing through the threshold of the surface hangar entrance, the pair found themselves in a well-organized, well-tended chamber holding a single vessel. The gray brick of a ship sat loftily on its landing struts, its rear engines prepped and ready, emitting their red luminescence. Folding out from its side was an entrance ramp, beside which stood a pair of black flightsuit-clad pilots. The vessel itself stood only a few meters tall and wide, far smaller than the flying domicile that was the Fury-class interceptor. In its hind end, however, the passenger and cargo bays would prove more than sufficient for its expected holdings.

Nearing the shuttle, the Sith and Jedi watched the two pilots snap to attention.

"My lord," one of the pilots called out, her voice electronically tinged as it passed through the all-encompassing helmet's speakers. "How might we be of service?"

"Just make your usual route to Ziost. I intend to enroll my student in the Academy."

"We'd be honored to fly you there, my lord," the copilot followed up. "The ship is ready to go when you are."

"Then let us not waste another moment," Syrosk rasped, a touch of warmth in his otherwise cold voice.

The pilots supplied a pair of confident bows of their heads before stepping onto the shuttle, disappearing into the cramped innards. The Jedi and Sith followed soon afterward, taking their place in the passenger bay. Empty, the travelers had their pick of seats from either of the two rows that hugged the inner hull. Syrosk sat himself down in one of the many unoccupied chairs, his student taking her place in the one adjacent to him. They patiently waited as they heard sounds of the shuttle coming to life.

As the engines roared, the ship offered a quick shake as it lifted itself from its struts and made its way out of the hangar. Passing through the chamber's magnetic barrier, the shuttle transitioned into the main airway that the other hangars circled around. Moving in sync with directions from the starport's monitoring station, the vessel lifted itself higher into the air, unburdened by contestation from other starships.

Soon, the shuttle was passing through the planet's dark and crackling atmosphere, well on its way into the vacuum of space.

"So… what's Ziost like?" asked Nami.

"Cold," Syrosk bluntly stated. "I'd say it's similar to Korriban, but I doubt you're familiar with Korriban so… I'll just stick with cold."

"Oh. Are you sure I shouldn't have changed clothes?" Nami asked.

"You'll receive a new set of robes when you're admitted to the Academy," Syrosk explained.

"But what about before I'm admitted?"

"Just consider enduring the cold your first trial."

The pair fell silent. Journeying beyond Dromund Kaas' gravity well, the shuttle pilots plotted their course and made the jump to hyperspace. Traveling faster than the speed of the light, the trip through Imperial space would still take some time. Time spent in relative silence.

Nami still possessed so many more questions. About the Sith. About the Empire. About her future. But she hesitated to disrupt the quiet. As much as she had come to grow comfortable around the harsh alien, she did not want to test his hospitality. He was still the growling Sith that had accepted her only after numerous protests.

And so the pair waited patiently for the vessel to arrive at its destination. Syrosk enjoyed the silence, drawing relaxed breaths within the empty, yet still somehow cramped, passenger bay.

As the Sith sat beside his student, he cautiously reached out with his mind, stealthily trying to glean whatever information he could from the peculiar girl. But still he found her mind an unassailable fortress, only the most surface-level emotions able to be read. Luckily, the girl had calmed since her earlier exasperations. Syrosk recognized the potential in her. The potential for passion. The potential for strength. A potential that frightened as much as enticed. He had seen countless acolytes and apprentices walk the halls of the Korriban Academy. He had seen countless younglings prior to their admission during his time as a recruiter. But this girl was wholly unique. And not simply because she had been a Jedi. The Sith considered himself a master of the mind. To encounter something he did not fully understand disturbed him deeply.

Looking to his student, the alien saw her slightly slumped in her seat, seemingly napping. Despite having spent much of her recent visit to Dromund Kaas unconscious, the girl was still physically and mentally exhausted. It was odd, sharing the space with someone so peaceful. He only hoped that when she awoke, it was Nami that would be sitting beside him.

His hopes were realized as the shuttle dropped out of hyperspace and the girl was shaken awake. The same reserved, quiet girl he had boarded with stirred in her seat as the vessel made its way toward Ziost's surface. As the shuttle touched down, it did so amongst similar circumstances as its point of origin, guiding itself into a hangar of a Logistics operated starport.

"Come on," said Syrosk as the shuttle's hatch opened. Nami quickly rose from her seat, following the Sith out onto the hangar floor. The pair were surrounded by familiar surroundings, the interior of the starport resembling its Kaas counterpart in just about every facet, signifying a uniformity that extended beyond the nation's capital.

The pair made their way toward the hangar exit, Syrosk once again setting the pace.

"So, where are we going?" Nami asked.

"We're going to visit some of my former apprentices," Syrosk replied. "They're instructors at the Academy here. They're going to help you prepare for your trials ahead. Or rather, we're going to ask for their help. There's really no guarantee they'll agree to lend a hand."

"I see…" Nami muttered, a heavy trepidation in her voice. "What are they like?"

As the Sith continued his march, he did so in silence. The young girl awaited an answer, but none came. She thought he was being unforthcoming, but in truth, Syrosk didn't know quite how to describe them, even after serving as their master for years.

What should have been a simple walk from the starport was rendered bothersome by the constant winds that buffeted the pair as they ventured toward the outskirts of the city. At least, bothersome for one. Whilst the girl shielded her face from the air's icy flakes, Syrosk marched undeterred.

The wintery settlement that surrounded them possessed a gray malaise. It was a place of blocks stacked amongst blocks, the familiar architecture of Kaas City presenting itself, albeit with a covering of frost and snow. The streets and paths were bare, Imperials and Sith alike seeking the bastion of internal dwellings. Structures rose tall and stretched wide, but none drew particular notice. The place was plain, as plain as an Imperial world could be. Military and logistics offices dotted the landscape. The Sith's sacred institution of learning sat high on the horizon, upon one of the planet's numerous icy peaks. Aerial defense batteries lined the countless ridges, perpetually setting their barrels toward the sky as icicles hung from their tips. The thick cloud cover masked not only the midday sun, but the numerous vessels that soared overheard carrying citizens to and fro.

As a whole, the place lacked the grandeur of its brothers. It was one of three worlds the Sith Empire could call their ancient homeworld, but it was content to be a place of purpose rather than presentation. There was no blatant reflection of the dark. No perpetual storms of lightning. No jungles filled with harrowing beasts. Just a constant chill, and the ever present sense of order that surrounded any settlement of Imperial make.

Reaching the end of their journey, Nami and Syrosk found themselves standing in front of a quaint domicile built into the base of a high ridge. First, a knock on the door. Then, a wait. Second after second passed, forcing the young girl to rub her hands in an attempt to stay warm. The Sith, meanwhile, remained motionless, braving the cold without any apparent effort. The simple metal abode inlayed in the frosted, gray stone remained stilled, no signs of life emanating from within, until finally the singular door swung open.

Stepping into view were two figures fighting for dominance in the doorframe, unable to properly accommodate both of their masses. One, a reptilian humanoid rivaling Fay in height. The second, a noseless, leathery humanoid of average height and build. A Trandoshan and a Nikto.

Syrosk passed his calm gaze between the two aliens. Between his former apprentices. "Nesk. Vurt."

There was a sharp clattering in the adjacent room as Syrosk and Nami sat on a constricting couch. The room they found themselves in was dark, utterly unadorned, and cold even by Imperial standards. Across from them, the Nikto had taken his seat within a simplistic armchair, casting his calm, deadened gaze upon his guests. The younger of the two leathery, orange Sith in the room wore a face absent of emotion or expression. A fact that did nothing to lessen the growing unease in the young Jedi.

Vurt was no older than the trio of Sith that had taken her in, but his species' rough and wrinkled features forced a haggard appearance and etched a permanent scowl upon his noseless face. A fact the Nikto did nothing to rectify. Small, stubby horns sprouted from his brow and chin, but it was his eyes that would continue to hold the girl's attention. His cold, unwavering, beady eyes.

Eventually, Vurt's gaze stopped passing between the two guests, focusing solely on the young Jedi. Her hands neatly folded upon her lap, Nami struggled to keep herself still. She had escaped the outside cold, but something else forced her arms to continue trembling as shivers ran up her spine.

Breaking the tension, the Trandoshan stepped into the room, a metallic tray in his bulky, three-digit hands. Upon the platter balanced a pair of cups that clinked with every motion the intimidating Sith took, threatening to spill their contents with each step. As he set the platter down upon the table in front of his guests, the murky liquid within jostled, a few drops managing to push past the cups' rims.

Straightening his posture, the Trandoshan dominated the space of the room. But despite his size, Nesk managed to cut a sharp figure, his powerful musculature hidden beneath thick, sandy-brown scales. His hands and feet went unburdened by coverings as the rest of his body went wrapped by simplistic black robes. As Nami studied the imposing figure, she couldn't help but notice that one of his hands possessed a lighter shade of scales that the rest of his body.

"Here… drink," Nesk bluntly spoke. Whether the scaled Sith was offering a description or issuing a command, the young Jedi did not know. He spoke with a firm enough grasp of Basic, but every sound that slipped out of his snout seemed dominated by a snarling dialect.

Without a word, Syrosk reached out, taking one of the cups in his rough hands, silently urging the girl beside him to do the same. Nami grasped the small container with both hands, welcoming the touch of warmth. Bringing the black beverage toward her face, her nostrils were assaulted by a sharp, pungent odor. As Syrosk moved his cup to his leathery lips, taking a sip that could only be described as dainty, the young Jedi opted to maintain her grip at a safe distance, forcing a smile as the two other Sith continued to offer their beady stares. As the Nikto continued to sit, Nesk opted to stand at his side.

"Syrosk," the Trandoshan muttered.

"Nesk," the Sith Lord replied.

"How is the leg?" Nesk asked.

"Serviceable," Syrosk declared. "How's the hand?"

Nesk raised his right hand, the one possessing a lighter shade of scales compared to the rest of his body. "Regenerated."

"That's good to hear," Syrosk offered, taking another sip of his drink.

"Why has it come here?" Nesk asked.

Syrosk pulled the cup away from his lips, everything about him steady, if not sluggish. The silence hung heavy for the moment as the elder Sith waited to respond. "I need your help. The both of you."

The Trandoshan and Nikto looked to one another, before reaffirming their gaze upon their former master.

"With what?" asked Nesk.

"With her," Syrosk replied. The two Sith turned, casting their gaze on the girl who was doing everything she could to keep from squirming. "She's to become a Sith. My new apprentice. She's entering the Ziost Academy directly into the hands of an Overseer, competing with other acolytes, but I'd still like you to offer some prior instruction."

Nesk refused to tear his gaze away from the girl. "Why? Is it weak?"

"No. But she is a… special case," Syrosk calmly stated.

"How so?" Nesk asked.

"She is a former Jedi," said Syrosk. Another chill shot up the girl's spine as she felt the Sith reaffirming their gazes. As unexpressive as the rough pair were, it became plainly obvious that they were capable of arching their brows. "As expedited as her training will be, I intend for it to fulfill every standard of the Order. When she becomes Sith, there cannot be room to dispute her."

"But it still seeks an advantage?" Nesk asked, turning back toward his former master.

"I merely seek to offset the disadvantage of being a Jedi amongst Sith," Syrosk replied. "If she has truly turned her back on her former Order, then I'd not see her efforts here disrupted. She needs to spend as little time in the Academy as possible, whilst still being able to say she graduated the Academy."

The Trandoshan began scratching his chin, the sounds of claws against rough scales filling the room. "How long until it is given to Overseer?"

"No more than a week," Syrosk replied.

"Cannot do much with one week," Nesk admitted.

"She's already more skilled than your typical acolyte," Syrosk said. "I just need you two to give her some conditioning. Making sure her skills can be utilized in an Academy setting."

"Why make it compete with others?" asked Nesk. "Is possible for Overseer to judge single acolyte for Sith Lord."

"She'd break under the scrutiny. Any Overseer given a Jedi to test would do everything in their power to keep them from becoming an apprentice, especially to a Sith Lord of my caliber."

The Trandoshan released an unsure groan. "Why not just give it to Lorrik?"

"As many liberties as we're taking with the system, we still abide by its rules. I need this to appear as legitimate as realistically possible," Syrosk admitted. "You two are instructors. You can train her here without drawing notice. Were she to associate with someone like Lorrik, we'd both have inquisitors from Philosophy breathing down our necks."

"Is it worth the trouble?" Nesk asked, shooting a quick, but sharp, glare toward the young Jedi.

Syrosk turned toward the girl, who looked to him with wide-eyes. "That remains to be seen." Nami's head dipped. The warmth that once graced her hands was slowly fading, the cup's contents adapting to room temperature. "But, nonetheless, she deserves this chance, I suppose."

A gentle smile graced the girl's lips. Meanwhile, the two Sith across from her turned to one another, sharing a series of silent looks. Eventually, a soft groan emanated from the Trandoshan's snarly mouth. "Fine. If it wants a new apprentice, it will have a new apprentice. Owe it that much."

Syrosk offered a polite dip of his horned head. "I appreciate it. And I won't forget this."

"Knows it won't," Nesk muttered, stepping away from the gathering. As the Trandoshan disappeared deeper into the dwelling, the remaining three figures were left with the heavy silence.

"Is… is that it?" Nami whispered, leaning in close to the elder Sith. "Just like that?"

"As needlessly complicated Sith affairs can be at times, they can often be rather simple," Syrosk replied. "A fact that is neither good nor bad."

As Nami dwelt on the Sith Lord's words, she couldn't help but still feel the sting of the Nikto's cold, enduring glare. "Does that one ever speak?"

"Not often, no," Syrosk plainly stated, voice absent of judgment. "But he'll prove an effective tutor, as will Nesk."

"Is there much they can do with a week?" asked Nami.

"You'd be surprised," Syrosk admitted. "They may be tougher on you than the Overseer."

"I thought the entire point of this was because an Overseer might be too hard on me," Nami softly said.

"The entire point of this was fairness," Syrosk admitted. "I'd see you rightfully judged. That does not mean I'd see you untested. If you want to be a Sith, you still must prove yourself. I just know that these two will treat you fairly. Harshly, but fairly."

Another distant sound of jostling metals echoed through the dwelling, but this time, it did not come from the kitchen. Emerging from a shadowed corridor, Nesk stepped into the view of his guests. Upon his back, two full length blades lay strapped upon his back, utterly black and utterly sharp. Accompanying the dueling swords, a long rucksack was held over the Trandoshan's shoulder, a unknown collection of solid materials resting within.

"Its training begins now. Come," Nesk quickly spoke up, thrusting his head toward the door.

"What? Like, right now?" Nami muttered.

"It has only a week. Maybe less. No time to waste," Nesk bluntly explained. "If it wants to be Sith, it must learn Sith ways. Come."

The young Jedi turned to the elder Sith, who offered only a dismissive shrug. "I'd listen to him if I were you."

Nami set her cup on the tray in front of her, still filled to the brim, its contents untouched. The girl carefully stepped away from the seated Sith, moving toward the Trandoshan. Standing at his side, she couldn't help but stand in the imposing figure's shadow. Having already basked in the presence of Fay, Nami was used to height discrepancies, but Nesk possessed a far-different aura about him. Whereas the woman she had met exuded a calm, collected countenance, the Trandoshan's apparent calm seemed only a facade. A fiery passion rest beneath his eyes, beneath his scales, one that wanted nothing more than to be released.

Nesk approached the home's entrance, inviting a brisk chill as he opened the door. The girl turned back to the elder Sith, but he offered nothing. His expression blank, his eyes cold, Syrosk seemed to purposely offer as little as he could that might make the girl want to stay. Without protest, Nami followed her new instructor out into the cold of Ziost's exterior, unsure of her destination or fate.

As the door resealed, the two silent Sith remained sitting in the quaint dwelling's central room. Syrosk and Vurt offered each other their own unique brand of cold, emotionless glares. Breaking the silence and stillness, the Nikto leaned forward, thick fingers interlocked as he rest his elbows on his thighs.

"I assume there's something more to this," Vurt spoke up, almost whispering, voice utterly deep and smooth.

"There always is, isn't there?" Syrosk slowly replied, setting his cup on the tray in front of him.

"I never expected you to take another apprentice," Vurt declared.

"Neither did I," Syrosk admitted. "But I didn't have much choice in the matter."

"But you still want her to succeed," said Vurt. "If you wanted to be rid of her, you wouldn't have brought her to us."

Syrosk's head dipped as his eyes drifted toward the floor. "She is skilled and wants to become Sith. I'd not see her talent wasted because of whatever prejudices are present in the Academy and its staff."

"You've trained aliens, slaves, and now, fallen Jedi. Did you ever think to do things normally for once?"

"That's what I thought I'd be doing with Logistics," Syrosk muttered, before a pause. "It would seem even there I cannot escape the peculiar. Even discounting the girl, the other Sith I'm overseeing are anything but normal."

"You know, you never told us her name," Vurt stated.

"I guess I didn't," Syrosk replied, leaving it at that.

The Nikto sharpened his gaze as he stared at his former master. "What aren't you telling us about her?"

"A great many things," Syrosk whispered. Without another word, the elder Sith rose from his seat and stepped toward the home's entrance. The Nikto remained seated, barely turning his neck toward the exiting Sith. As Syrosk stood at the door, he paused, hand hovering over the nearby controls. "I'll stay in contact."

"We'll call if she dies," Vurt bluntly said, not even facing the exiting Sith Lord.

With that, the exchange was over. Syrosk stepped into the cold exterior of Ziost. In the distance, the Sith Lord could see the Nami and Nesk growing smaller and smaller on the horizon. Walking a path of cracked stone, the motley pair journeyed out into the wilderness, toward the lands untouched by civilization, toward the veil of wind and fog. Wherever their destination, it did not involve the local Academy.

Leaving the domicile of his former apprentices, Syrosk set out back toward the nearby starport. The cold wind continuing to kick the tail of the Sith Lord's black coat, he pressed forward, intent on returning to Dromund Kaas.

Time passed. Hour after hour came and went in silence. Syrosk traversed the lines of transportation, briefly interacting with the Logistics workers whom operated along his path. Boarding a shuttle, he sat alone in a constrictive passenger bay as the vessel traversed the atmosphere, the stars, and hyperspace. On route to his base, Syrosk had only his thoughts with him. Thoughts that turned to the girl he had left on Ziost. Thoughts that turned toward the future. There were countless possibilities. Countless outcomes. Many of which he knew he had no hand in influencing. Soon, the system would take hold. The infallible system. The system he willingly submitted to following the war's end.

Oddly uplifting, was the thought. And yet, it was simultaneously burdensome. He had let go. The matter was out of his hands. Whatever happened, happened. Matters were left to fate. And yet, they weren't. They were left to each individual. They were left to him, to Nami, to Nesk and Vurt, to the Overseers, to Vowrawn. If he relinquished control, someone else would assume it. And that same truth existed in every other facet of his life. Of every Sith's life.

Eventually, the shuttle ferrying Syrosk touched down amidst the familiar capital after hours upon hours of travel. Beneath the darkened and crackling skies. Amidst spires and monuments to the glory of the Empire. How long it had been since his original departure, he did not know. How long it had been since he last slept, he did not know. Dromund Kaas had finished at least one rotation in his absence, during which, the gears of bureaucracy had turned without him. Logistics continued to operate. The Empire continued to exist. Little was forced to change or adapt to the missing Executor.

Emerging from the gray shuttle, Syrosk offered an appreciative nod to the bowing pilots before making his way through the hangar. Like clockwork the starport operated, the Sith Lord the lone piece of dust drifting between the cogs of the machine. Ascending the lift out of the hangar, Syrosk drew a heavy breath, wondering what awaited back at the Citadel. Part of him wished for everything to be operating at its peak. And yet, another wanted something to be amiss, some measure to validate his continued presence there.

Stepping off the lift, the Sith Lord trudged along the curved walkway that made up the starport's main surface corridor. Passing branch after branch, lift after lift, Syrosk paid no mind to the various movements and operations of technicians and administrators. That is, until he noticed a peculiar amount of activity surrounding one of the cargo elevators. The one he knew led to the hangar belonging to Asher, Fay, and Graves.

A repulsor-assisted loader carried crate upon crate onto the lift. The boxy containers differed in size, but all bared the labels of Production and Logistics.

Taking another step toward the lift, an overseeing Imperial wielding a datapad took notice of Syrosk's approach.

"My lord," the Imperial shot off, straightening his posture. "This is the last of the supplies you've requested."

Syrosk paused, passing his gaze between the Logistics officer and the bundle of crates. After letting the silence hang for a few moments, the Executor finally spoke. "I see. Thank you."

The Imperial offered an appreciative nod before hastily stepping onto the industrial lift. Before he could descend, the Sith Lord followed, taking his position beside the assemblage of stacked crates atop the hovering loader. The officer bit his lip as he buried his face in the datapad, keeping silent as he urged the lift downward.

As the lift came to a stop, the Executor was granted sight into a bustling hangar. In its center, a Fury-class interceptor sat, being tended by an abnormally large group. Imperials garbed in work clothes carted crates up and down the vessel's lowered entrance ramp, full boxes going in, empty ones coming out. Meanwhile, three figures stood out from the rest, standing watch over the entire proceedings. Syrosk stepped off the lift, an unusual haste to his otherwise sluggish advance.

Near the parked interceptor, three Sith watched as the starport workers carted supplies onto their ship.

"Alright," Asher called out, to no one in particular. "We don't exactly know what sort of timetable we're working with, but let's get this done, people. Remember, these requests come all the way from a Dark Councilor."

"They do, do they?" a chilled rasp emanated from behind the wrapped Sith. Asher jumped, spinning on his heels to find the cold stare of his boss planted directly on him.

"Syrosk! You're back. How's things?" Asher asked in his most diplomatic tone.

"I do hope you're not going to make me ask for an explanation," Syrosk plainly stated.

"Well, we figured the ship needed some renovations, especially with a fourth joining our team," Asher explained, trying to maintain his calm. "I mean, have you see what passes for sanitary fixtures on a stock Imperial vessel? We just made a few requests to better serve the organization."

"He uses the word 'we' very loosely," Fay bluntly said. "This was practically all his idea."

The burned Sith snapped toward the tall woman. "Wow, just throw me under the shuttle, why don't you?"

"If I wanted, I could literally do so," Fay replied, maintaining her stoic demeanor.

Behind the Sith Lord, the loader carrying the last batch of supplies came to a stop alongside its attendant, who kept his gaze lowered in the presence of the four powerful figures.

"Excuse me, my lords, but where do you want us to put the exercise equipment?" the Imperial sheepishly spoke up, almost afraid to bother the four Sith.

"The left wing is fine for now," Fay politely offered. Without another word, the Imperial ducked away, bringing the loader with him. As the man slipped away, the other three Sith looked to the tall woman. "Alright, it was only mostly his idea."

A low grumble slipped past Syrosk's lips as he rubbed his brow.

"How did things go on Ziost?" Graves spoke up, changing the subject.

"As well as expected," Syrosk admitted. "Nami's in the hands of my former apprentices. They'll prepare her for her trials in the Academy."

"What do we do until she graduates?" asked Fay.

"The same thing we were going to do prior to you bringing home a wayward Jedi. Work," Syrosk rasped. "Now come on, we've wasted enough time."

The Executor quickly turned on his heels and began making his way back toward the lift, his underlings following soon after.

The world was a gray haze.

The air was thick with an icy fog, suffocating the light provided by Ziost's sun. The wind carried flakes of snow that stung the flesh, until it would inevitably become numb. In the throes of a harsh winter, the planet punished any who strayed beyond the protection of its settlements. But there were those who would voluntarily brave the unforgiving wastes. For there was strength to be found there. To be earned there.

Two figures marched across the frozen wasteland, feet sinking beneath the top layer of snow, robes fluttering under the constant barrage of wind. Ziost was home to every manner of Imperial influence. Government offices were stacked upon each other, surrounded by their urban kin. Military bases dotted the landscape, testing the mettle of soldiers amidst the unforgiving climate. Tombs stretched high and low, carved from the frozen stone countless generations ago. The Academy stood atop its lofty peak, casting its shadow over the surrounding grounds.

But the two figures had need for none of that. In whatever direction the Empire's roots on the planet spread, they moved toward the opposite. They had no interest in what the Empire could provide. They sought gains from the emptiness.

Nesk led the way through the haze, stomping across the gray flatlands with nothing to guide his path. He followed no maps. No beacons. Only the knowledge that rest firmly in his own mind. Trailing the Trandoshan, Nami struggled to keep up with her indomitable instructor. She had nothing but the robes upon her back, and the lightsaber clipped to her belt. She trudged, panning her gaze as she struggled to maintain the feeling in her extremities. In all directions, all she could see was fog. Turning back, she could only see a brief series of footprints before they were consumed by the gray haze. No mountains sprouting from the horizon. No hints of the city they had left behind. Returning her gaze forward, the girl saw only the faint silhouette of the large Sith ahead. With a shivered curse, the Jedi pushed herself forward, eager to catch up.

There hadn't been a word exchanged between the pair since their departure from Nesk's home. Since leaving Syrosk's side, Nami had thought to ask a question. Where were they going? How much further would they have to walk? What were they going to do once they got there? But she decided it was folly. No answer could possibly sate her curiosity. If anything, it would only prove disheartening.

As the girl mindlessly pressed forward, she constricted her frame, hands constantly rubbing her arms in an attempt to stay warm. She bundled into herself, forcing her sleeves past her fingers, keeping her head concealed beneath her hood before the wind would inevitably blow the brown cloth backward. Her only concern was staying warm. A concern that dominated her so much that she didn't even notice her instructor stop.

With an inaudible thud, the girl walked into the back of Nesk, colliding with the wrapped bundle of supplies he wore upon his back. Nami stumbled backwards, whilst the Trandoshan refused to budge in the slightest. The girl shook her head, trying to regain her composure.

"Are we… are we here?" Nami asked, lips quivering and numb.

"Yes," Nesk plainly stated. As the Trandoshan kept his eye glued to the forward horizon, the Jedi moved around his side. Just as she was about to take another step, she found a firm, clawed hand clutching at her shoulder. The girl paused as her eyes grew incredibly wide, only now seeing what lay ahead.

Beneath the fog, the flatlands that seemed to stretch into infinity had come to an abrupt stop. Only a few steps in front of the pair, there was a shear drop into a sharp, unforgiving abyss. The fissure stretched to the left and right, its extremities fading beneath the gray haze

As the Trandoshan released his grip on the girl's shoulder, Nami took a couple of careful steps back. Nesk, meanwhile, quickly slipped the long rucksack over his shoulder, letting it fall to his feet. The heavy bag sunk into the snow, rattling with a series of metallic clanks.

"Now, we train," Nesk declared.

"How?" Nami softly asked.

"We fight," Nesk plainly answered. "Does it have a lightsaber?"

"Yes."

"Give it."

The girl reached beneath her robes, returning with a simple gray hilt in her hand. The Trandoshan held out his palm, his motions rigid and unshaken by the surrounding cold. Nami complied, placing the metallic cylinder in her instructor's large hand. Nesk clenched his grip, turning the weapon over to examine its every facet and curve.

Without warning, the Trandoshan pulled his arm back before tossing the lightsaber with a powerful throw. In a matter of moments, the weapon disappeared into the rocky fissure, falling into the darkness below. All Nami could do was stare, mouth agape.

"Is Jedi thing. It doesn't need Jedi things," Nesk declared.

"Did you have to… throw it over a cliff?" Nami muttered.

"No ties to old life. Only new one. Besides, cannot enter Academy with lightsaber. Too dangerous," Nesk explained. "Cannot appear too strong. Be strong on inside. Not outside."

"So how are we… supposed to train?" Nami asked.

The Trandoshan lowered himself to the ground, knee digging into the snow. Opening the rucksack, the instructor revealed two metallic rods the length of an extended lightsaber. Unlike the training sabers the Jedi was familiar with, they were simplistic, unshaped and without energy arrays.

Wrapping his clawed digits around one of the rods, Nesk picked up the simple tool and tossed it toward the girl's feet. Nami jumped when the piece of metal slammed into the ground, leaving a perfect imprint in the snow as it collided with the stone beneath with a loud thud. Reaching down, the Jedi wrapped her cold fingers around one of the rod's end, only to find herself incapable of lifting it with a single hand. Reinforcing her grip with her other hand, the girl released a soft groan as she picked one of the ends into the air, the other still sufficiently dug into the snow.

"What the heck is this thing made of? Durasteel?" Nami muttered as she managed to lift one end of the rod past her waist.

"No. Durasteel not heavy enough," Nesk plainly stated. The girl looked up to see the Trandoshan palming the second of the rods he had packed. In one, swift motion, he single-handedly lifted the rod into the air, before resting its length against his shoulder.

"Is this what Sith use as training sabers?" Nami asked, slowly raising the tip of her rounded bar off the ground.

"Not Sith. Just Nesk. Training sabers not put fear of blade into it."

"I already know what happens… when you touch a lightsaber," Nami declared, almost offended. "Is this really necessary?"

"Was Jedi learning. Only Sith learning from now on," Nesk replied.

The girl released a grunt as she raised her rod upright, struggling to keep it balanced within her grip. "Getting hit with this… could still kill someone. Why not just use a lightsaber… if the end result is the same?"

"Is easy to swing lightsaber. Should take effort. It is still soft thing. If it can swing that, it will be ready to continue," Nesk explained.

"Okay, but-"

Before Nami could finish her thought, the Trandoshan was upon her. With a primal snarl, Nesk raised his weapon high into the air, before bringing it down with a cascading swing. The Jedi barely stepped out of the way as the heavy rod imbedded its tip into where her feet previously stood. Nami stumbled in the snow, struggling to maintain her balance alongside the heavy object in her hands. As she secured her footing, her eyes went wide as she stared at her instructor. The tip of his weapon still embedded in the ground, the subtle sounds of still-crackling stone managed to overpower those of the passing winds. All the while, the Trandoshan stood completely still, beady eyes burning a hole through the girl's psyche. Only a single hand wrapped around the rod, Nesk pulled his weapon from the ground, holding it as he would a saber as he took another step toward the student.

Back in Kaas City, Syrosk led his three underlings through the constricting halls of the Citadel back toward his home and office.

"So, we already got another mission lined up?" Asher spoke up, trailing the uneven gait of his boss.

"Not a mission," Syrosk replied. The other three Sith offered a series of arched brows. "I need to test you before you're sent back into the field."

"Is this because of Nami?" Fay asked.

"No. This was always intended to be a part of your induction into the organization," Syrosk admitted.

"Mental conditioning, right?" said Graves, recalling their initial talks with the Executor.

"Correct," Syrosk replied. "You proved yourselves capable of action when you successfully completed your first mission. Now you need to prove that your thoughts can stand up to forceful intrusions."

The group came to a stop in front of the door leading to Syrosk's dwelling.

"We don't have to lay on your weird inquisitor's slab, do we?" Asher bluntly asked.

"No." The door lifted into its recess, granting access to the dwelling. Just as the three younger Sith were about to step inside, the alien offered a halting hand. "I'll be dealing with you individually. The rest can wait outside. Now, who wants to go first?"

The three subordinates looked to one another, bouncing their gazes time and time again as silence overtook them.

Only after a few long moments was the quiet broken by the burned Sith releasing a droning sigh. "Fine. I'll go first."

"Wonderful," Syrosk rasped, completely deadpan. With that, the Sith Lord escorted Asher into his home and office, leaving Graves and Fay alone in the empty hallway. The tall woman and scarred man looked to one another, unsure of what to do. Eventually, Fay decided to leave against the nearby wall, and Graves did the same shortly after. All they could do now was wait.

Inside, the alien waved his hand toward the chair that once held an unconscious Nami. "Take a seat."

Asher complied, setting himself down. As he did, Syrosk circled around to the seat's rear, disappearing from the burned Sith's view.

"Now, close your eyes," Syrosk directed.

Once more, the Sith complied, without a fuss.

"Now, open your eyes."

Asher did so, only to find himself no longer within the Executor's domicile. No longer within the Citadel. Instead, he stood in the middle of an infinite white void. The burned Sith spun on his heels, only to see Syrosk standing behind him, the only other object occupying the vast emptiness that surrounded them. Together, they stood on some immaculate, perfect surface. Unfathomably smooth. Unfathomably clean. A thing of dreams rather than reality.

"Neat trick," Asher dismissively offered alongside a shrug of his shoulders.

The Sith Lord stood across from him, only the smallest of gaps separating them. As the alien looked up and down his subordinate, he offered a single arch of his brow.

"Curious," Syrosk rasped.

"What?"

"I thought you might have looked different," Syrosk admitted.

Asher looked down to see his torso went unclothed, but not unwrapped. The various robes and coats, the various pockets and bandoliers, they were all missing. The only thing the Human wore was a simple pair of black trousers, and the only thing covering his upper half were the all-encompassing bandages that hid his burnt flesh. Asher raised his hands, turning them over as he examined his form.

"This is the mental representation you've created for yourself," Syrosk explained. "I didn't know whether it'd be burned or not."

"Let me guess, that means something, doesn't it?" Asher asked, already knowing the answer.

"It means this is who you are. Who you want to be. This is your most satisfactory form."

"So, we're in my mind, huh?" Asher calmly said, looking around the blank void. "I thought it'd look different."

"This is but a piece of your mind. A piece I have partitioned. A piece I control," Syrosk rasped.

"Yeah, yeah, telepath. I get it," Asher dismissed. As he once more held his hands before his face, the Human's eyes went wide as he watched a budding flame blossom from his palms. The fire grew and spread, eventually traveling up his arms and dancing upon his shoulders. "Pretty cool."

"This is not a time for playing," Syrosk declared.

The other Sith offered a slight pout as he mentally extinguished the flames crawling up his body. "Alright, what are we doing, then? Am I supposed to be trying to force you out right now?"

"If you were able, it would mean putting a stop to this," Syrosk stated "You could get up, walk out, have the rest of the day to yourself."

"Fine." Without another word, the burned Sith closed his eyes and concentrated. He was a part of himself within a part of himself. He didn't know exactly how to proceed, but his trials had conditioned more than his body. The Sith looked inward, and outward, and inward again, trying to pinpoint what exactly was occurring within his mind. There was an intrusion. A foreign body. A foreign mind. There had to be a way to excise it. Devoting his energy to pushing Syrosk out of his mind, Asher gritted his teeth before exhaling the breath he had inadvertently been holding, despite the fact that he no longer needed air to function on the peculiar mindscape.

Opening his eyes, Asher could only stare as he saw himself no longer within the white void. Only, he wasn't in the Citadel either.

A cold, metallic platform stretched beneath the Sith's feet, its edges hanging over a rocky cliff. Beyond, the orange crags and skies of Korriban. As a shuttle lifted off in the distance, Asher quickly realized Syrosk no longer stood in front of him. But neither was he alone. Ahead, a figure stood out in the Sith's mind amongst the group of acolytes that surrounded him.

A teenager. Human male. Slightly diminutive height. Dark, unkempt hair. Soft, fair skin. A hooked smile upon his face. A set of gray robes wrapping his body. Murel Azer.

"I wasn't sure if your form would more resemble that," said the voice of Syrosk. Immediately turning his head, Asher saw that the alien now stood at his side, casting his cold gaze forward. "So these are your most cherished memories. Ones not of family or childhood, but of the Academy."

"I don't know if I'd call them cherished," Asher muttered.

Before his eyes, the scene shifted, wiping away only to be replaced by another. Gone was the landing platform, in its place one of the dueling circles that populated the Academy grounds. Teenagers fought one another with training sabers under the stern gaze of an instructor. Two figures were locked in combat, the larger utilizing wide, brutish swings, the smaller deftly ducking out of the way. Every time the metallic rods would meet, the energy bands running their length would spark, simulating some weak facsimile of actual lightsabers clashing.

"Why wouldn't they be?" asked Syrosk. "The Academy gave you everything you could have possibly wanted. Before Korriban, you had nothing. You received nothing in the way of admiration or love from your parents, even when they discovered you were Force-sensitive. It was expected of you. Being a Sith was literally the least you could do in their eyes. But what you never received from them, you finally found from your fellow acolytes."

Asher released a scoff and a roll of his eyes as the scene faded once again, now taking the form of the Academy's interior halls. "Oh yeah, I received tons of admiration from the other students."

"Not admiration. Attention."

In front of the pair, a lone Sith sat at his desk, a series of tools spread out in front of him. Under the light of a small lamp, the acolyte labored away, tinkering with his training saber, its casing opened and its innards on display. Circuits were rewired. Energy arrays were bolstered. Components were pushed to their limits.

The environment wiped away again, returning to the dueling circles outside the Academy. Two acolytes found themselves at each other's blade under the glare of an instructor once more. The larger combatant was unable to land a hit on the smaller foe, but neither could the shorter fighter land a direct strike. But he didn't need one. One light slash with the enhance training saber, and its target began howling in pain. A wide gash presented itself in the larger acolyte's robes, and underneath lay charred and blackened flesh.

"You knew there was little room for friendship amongst your fellow Sith," Syrosk continued. "But you weren't content with simple progression. Simple superiority. You wanted to prove yourself. You wanted to be noticed. You did everything in your power to not be forgotten."

"So what?" Asher muttered. "Obscurity doesn't get you out of the Academy. You have to get people to notice you if you want to become an apprentice."

"It wasn't those above you that you were interested in impressing though, was it?" Syrosk rasped. "This was about more than proving how skilled you were. You wanted everyone to know how smart you were. How creative you were. How unique you were. How special you were. Things a child expects to hear from their parents."

"Is the psychology lesson over yet?" Asher dismissed, crossing his arms.

Syrosk released a low chortle. "But you finally found something, didn't you? Or rather, someone."

The scene shifted, but the environment endured. Only its occupants changed. As years passed, the rock and stone of the Academy grounds remained a rigid and unforgiving constant. Its denizens, however, displayed palpable change. The Human acolyte from before had exchanged his gray robes for a darker set. Exchanged his classmates for a new batch. Exchanged his instructor for an Overseer.

Standing out from the rest, a sturdy figure. Human male. Tanned skin. Hair kept short. Face populated by an array of scratches and scars.

"You found a rival," Syrosk continued. "Someone to finally give you the attention you so desired. Someone to hate. Someone to hate you back. Someone to give more than the cold ambivalence offered by your fellow students, by your instructors, by your parents. The man you knew only as Graves."

In front of the Sith, the acolytes began to fade, one by one, until only two remained, staring one another down under the brutal Korriban sun.

"You were competing for the apprenticeship of Lord Traer. But the Sith Lord was the last thing on your mind," Syrosk rasped. "You had found someone able to keep up with you. Someone able to match you. Someone able to combat your intuitiveness with raw determination. As each of the other acolytes were eliminated, you prayed he would be the last to go. You had seen how calm he was. But as you prodded him, he gave you precisely the response you desired. He was a mirror, dishing out as much as you could put in. When the day came for Traer to choose his apprentice, there was an emptiness inside you. You knew what awaited as an apprentice. You could not test a Lord as you would a fellow acolyte. You knew how worthless you were to a superior. Traer could never give you what the Academy offered, but neither could you stay. So, you fought, ready to kill the one person with whom you shared a bond with."

Before the observing Sith, the younger versions of Asher and Graves stood opposite each other, under the watchful eyes of a cloaked Sith Lord. The dark figure stood shadowed even under the enduring light of the Korriban sun, visage concealed beneath a black hood. All that shone through was a crooked smile.

Asher and Graves drew their blades, actual lightsabers gifted to them for their final duel. The blades shined with a harsh crimson, their tips directed toward their opponent. With the drop of the Sith Lord's hand, the two charged one another, meeting with a resounding clash. Graves was the slower of the two, lashing out with sluggish, but powerful blows. Asher kept his head low, ducking and weaving around the swinging blade, darting around the dueling circle. The lighter Sith offered only cursory jabs of his blade, piercing the outer edges of his opponent's frame.

The blade's tip would pass through the other acolyte's robes, singeing the flesh beneath. But the scarred combatant continued undeterred. The two continued, dancing around one another with varying degrees of martial grace. As the duel progressed under the invested eyes of Lord Traer, he studied his potential apprentices, reveling in the display.

Despite Asher's countless jabs, he was unable to fully pierce his opponent's guard. The unarmored Graves possessed dots lining his robes, holes where his foe's saber had shallowly imbedded its tip. But the warrior was unaffected by pain. Asher thought the tiny injuries would eventually bring his opponent down, but there he stood, unwavering. Reaching toward his waist, the smaller Sith revealed a flask clipped to his belt, hidden under a flap of his robes.

In one swift motion, the Sith removed the lid with the flick of his thumb. Thrusting his free hand forward, a globule of liquid vacated the flask, flung telekinetically toward Graves. The warrior raised his guard just as his opponent offered a snap of his fingers. The liquid dispersed and ignited, surrounding Graves in an explosive fireball.

The fiery plume encircled the warrior's upper body, but was halted by the acolyte's defenses. An invisible sphere surrounded Graves, one that kept the flames at bay. The Force barrier had blocked the attack, but as the flames dissipated, the warrior found his opponent rushing toward him. His free hand extended, Graves could do nothing to prevent Asher from lopping off his left arm just below the shoulder.

As the limb fell to the hard ground, Graves stumbled backward. His other hand still wrapped around his weapon, the warrior saw no need to clutch at the cauterized wound. Instead, he remained standing, burning a hole through his opponent with his eyes. He was not beaten. Not yet.

But Asher would not allow his foe to remain standing. He reached toward the flask at his waist, emptying the remaining contents into the air. As the fuel moved between the two Sith, Asher's eyes went wide as he saw the one-armed man on the offense. He had no time to react as Graves closed the gap, swinging his crimson blade between them. The plasma ignited the fuel, engulfing the pair in a fireball. The barrier that surrounded Graves protected him. Asher was not so lucky.

The burned Sith stumbled back, his torso aflame. The surrounding air fueled the fire. The black robes provided the means to spread. Falling upon his back, he possessed not his opponent's tolerance for pain. Attempting to release a harsh yelp, the acolyte found himself choking on the fire and smoke that engulfed his upper body. Rolling upon the hard stone beneath him, Asher attempted to snuff the fire as his opponent simply stood over him, watching.

Graves was frozen. Despite his nerves offering him no feedback, his body did have its limits. He was exhausted, even if unburdened by pain. As his grip loosened, the weapon fell from his hand, deactivating at it struck the ground. The warrior fell back, colliding with hard stone with a loud thud.

Asher continued to writhe on the ground. The flames were gone, but the lingering effects were not. Blackened cloth stuck to blackened flesh. Only now could the Sith breath. He should have collapsed. Should have expired. But something kept him going. Gone was the fair skin. Gone was the hair atop his head. All that remained was the scorched form of an enduring acolyte. Clawing at the stone beneath him, Asher clenched his fists as he attempted to rise. His arms supporting his weight, they bounced between numbness and excruciating pain. But still he rose. As screams slipped through gritted teeth, the Sith pushed himself up.

The sounds echoed throughout Asher's mind. The howls, the screams, the yells, all his, overlapping and intensifying with each passing moment, drowning out all else. Watching his scorched form lift himself up, Asher clenched his hands and teeth, shutting his eyes with all might.

Until finally, they opened.

Gone was the void. Gone was Korriban. All that stood before Asher was the quaint office of Syrosk, and the Sith Lord himself positioned in front of him. The subordinate's hand were clenched around the chair's armrests as his eyes darted across the room, his breathing quick and heavy.

Meanwhile, Syrosk appeared almost nonchalant.

"You can tell the next one to come in now."