Trial of the Flesh: Chapter 1 (KOTOR fanfic, DSM Revan/Mission, NSFW)

Disclaimer: Knights of the Old Republic belongs to Lucas Arts, the plot belongs to me.

Summery: Oneshot. Love was blind, even the simple crush of a silly girl. Mission Vao was unable to see it. Even as she witnessed her friend begin to change from Kerry Crowly, and become the one known as Revan. Revan/Mission Warnings: Violence, Rape, NSFW

XX

That was the thing about them. It was that one fact they all shared, that was the one thing they all had in common. They always end…

In tragedy.

Crushes, the pox of the mind, the plague of the heart, burden of the blood. Perhaps the Jedi were right in their beliefs. Bodily attachment, lust, love… were they wise to sever all ties with such things?

To be taken from one’s family, to be brought up by the Masters at the Enclave. Brought up never to fear death, there was no death, there was only the Force. Never to feel love, never to satiate lust, never to know family. Was that really any way to live? The vibrant blue skinned Twi’lek didn’t think so, and neither did he, the man before her. They had always agreed on that, on everything…

Well, not quite everything.

But the Jedi’s beliefs were their own, after all.

There is no emotion, there is peace.

That was it, the first part of the Jedi code, and the only part Mission Vao knew, the only part she could remember. While incomplete, that lone fragment summed everything up perfectly. She had heard it on Dantooine while that man had been preparing for his trials, studying hard to achieve the lowly rank of Padawan, to please the seemingly unappeasable Masters. Master Vrook, in particular. Mission had never liked him, with his ‘you do not know the code this’ and his ‘you do not know the code that.’ He was a broken record.

Was following the Jedi code the right way to live? Mission wondered. Perhaps love was unnecessary in order to live a rich and full life. Perhaps loose friendship and comradeship was enough. Mission had survived on her own.

Okay, so that was a lie, but she had been alone until she’d met Zaalbar. Now the great, furry, brown, bear-like wookie was the closest thing she had to family, or at least he had been until that fateful day when those two had entered Javyar’s Cantina in the Lower City of Taris. Two men. Each older than her, possibly old enough to be her father. Each clearly strangers to life on Taris.

From the first moment she’d seen them, she knew there was something special about them. They were no common lower-city dwellers, the looks on their faces were clear evidence of that. She was certain. They were not your average off-worlders.

She had not been wrong.

Carth Onasi, a veteran pilot for the republic, and his companion, the reason they had all been traveling from system to system, planet to planet, searching for the elusive and all-important star maps. That was what had brought them here, to this dead, sand-covered rock, the planet Tatooine.

Oh yes, that man. He was the cornerstone of everything that had recently happened in the young Twi’lek’s life. When they met, and through his actions up until the untimely destruction of her un-native home world, she saw many things. She heard the meaning in his words, saw the life in his eyes, witnessed the desire in his actions. He was lively, aggressive, and passionate. Not compassionate, though. No, far from it in fact. Perhaps it was true. Perhaps that man was destined to be a Sith. He seemed to be an accurate portrayal, a human personification of the code of the Sith…

Peace is a lie, there is only passion
Through passion, I gain strength
Through strength, I gain power
Through power, I gain victory
Through victory, my chains are broken
The force shall free me

That seemed to sum up her friend rather well. The purpose of conflict was to strengthen one’s being. The definitive goal in life? No different from the ultimate goal of war: Freedom. To be free of restrictions. The restrictions placed on one to bind them, enslave them, weaken them. The metaphorical chains, the heavy cuffs, the shackles of bondage. Metaphorical, yet real as those used by the Czerka slavers on Kashyyk. The restrictions of oneself, the restrictions of others, the restrictions of the Jedi. To be free of them, that was the desire, the goal of the Sith, the goal of the man before her.

She had witnessed darkness behind his eyes, beneath his actions, but she had also seen good in him. He couldn’t be a Sith, could he? Not completely. He was loyal to his friends and companions. He wouldn’t abuse or mistreat them. He couldn’t. Mission trusted him completely, as did they all, for the most part.

When the crew of the Ebon Hawk had freed themselves of the Sith Flagship, the Leviathan; when they had found out the truth of the heart of their crew, when he had found out the truth of himself, of his past self; when Carth had been so quick to rally the crew against their strong, charismatic leader, Mission had been just as quick to jump to his defense. That man, whichever name he went by, he was their leader, and the young Twi’lek trusted him. There was no way he was a Sith, not anymore. The Sith were evil.

The leader of their crew was not an evil man, he couldn’t be. Sure, he may have had his dark moments, but what did that prove? He had his good points too.

When they’d met on Taris, he’d been with Carth. They had stepped into the Cantina just in time to observe the show of Calo Nord, the infamous bounty hunter, as he blatantly, and In cold blood, murdered several of his own fanboys, simply because he wanted to be left alone.

X

In the noisy Cantina, the sound of live music from the lounge room traveled and mixed with the racket of those drinking, playing a few rounds of Pazak, and generally having a good time.

Amongst their own merriment, nobody bothered to notice the two off-wordless enter the establishment, their attention too busily focused on the intimidating figure at the bar. Off in the distance, several aliens of various species sat at their table with drinks, their eyes focused on that infamous person, that bounty hunter. Their conversation was kept to the Rodese dialect, though each of them could speak Galactic basic. There weren’t many aliens around that didn’t know basic, though many tended to stick to their own indigenous dialects, with many others switching to Huttese, particularly those trading in the black market.

These three seedy looking aliens spoke with one another, their conversation unintelligible to any possible eavesdroppers over the background racket of the cantina. Watching the infamous bounty hunter, they saw their chance. As the object of their curiosity finished with his business and headed toward the exit, they quickly stood to join him, to walk with him.

“Hello,” one of the aliens greeted, speaking in Galactic basic, a feat that showed the immense level of respect they showed for the man.

“Go away,” the bounty hunter dismissed, but before he could leave, his alien fan club quickly spoke to defend themselves.

“Not so fast,” one of them replied. “We just wanted to come over and show our respects for the great bounty hunter, Calo Nord.”

“One,” the hunter said.

“Hey, what’s he doing?” one of the three aliens asked.

“Two.”

“Hey, is he counting how many of us against him? It’s three against one, bounty hunter. You can’t take us on by yourself. Don’t be so hostile.”

“Three.”

Before anyone could see what was going on, the hunter drew a flash Grenade and tossed it on the ground, at the feet of the Rodian directly in front of him. In the back of the room, a certain blue Twi’lek and her Wookie companion were sure to look away with eyes closed tight, but as for anyone else…

By the time any others had caught on, the grenade had exploded in a blinding flash of light, and before the eyes of any witnesses and onlookers could recover, Nord had drawn his dual heavy Mandalorian blaster pistols and taken care of his three pests, permanently.

While anyone in the vicinity could have easily heard the gunshots, they saw nothing. Calo Nord had concealed his pistols and was on his way by the time any of the civilian aliens regained their sight.

What he hadn’t expected on, however, was to run into two strangers on the way out, two strangers that had seen everything.

Carth Onasi, and his companion, the Taris Dueling champion. The man who had beaten the retired Mandalorian duelist and bounty hunter, Bendak Starkiller, in the upper city dueling ring. In a death match no-less, and now carried the legendary ex-hunter’s pistol to prove it. He now found himself standing before a Republic war hero, as well as the one the citizens of the upper city hailed as ‘The Mysterious Stranger.’

“Nice,” the Mysterious Stranger complimented, admiring Nord’s handiwork.

“Go away,” the bounty hunter replied to the duelist, speaking in an all-too familiar speech pattern. What should have evoked fear and concern, only brought a smile to the stranger’s face.

“Now now, Laser brain,” he taunted. “There’s no need to be like that. I just want to talk.”

“One.”

“I’ve taken down one infamous bounty hunter today, and we went down easily enough. Do you really think you’ll fare any better?”

“Two.”

“Oohh, scary,” the stranger teased, his smirk widening, hand reaching for the hilt of his vibroblade. This was what he wanted. This was the challenge he thirsted for. Just like Bendak. He just needed that final count so he could begin.

But to his disdain, the next sound he heard, was not that glorious number three, it was instead, a gruff, throaty sound. the sound of Carth coughing, or purposefully clearing his throat. This was the second, no, third time the republic soldier had gotten in the way. Through the man’s throaty assertions, the stranger distinctly heard three words. “Low  profile, remember?

Low profile, they’d already made quite a number of messes up in the upper city, not to mention taking care of the Black Vulkers’ welcoming committee as soon as they stepped out of the elevator. Taking all into consideration, the Mysterious Stranger decided that this was not the best place. While certainly fun, a bar fight would not help their cause. In a worst-case-scenario, it might bring the Sith to investigate the disturbance, which was something the two didn’t need right now.

“Frag this!” the stranger exclaimed, releasing his grip from the hilt of his blade and returning his arm to his side. “Fine then, off you go. Go spice yourself, laser brain.”

Nord looked at the stranger, his eyes lingering on him for a moment, until they moved over to Carth. “Smart,” he commented before walking past the pair.

“Happy?” the stranger asked the soldier.

“Not particularly,” Carth replied.

“I was about to gut that bounty hunter scum.”

“And cause a scene… I know.”

“Why am I even working with you?”

“Listen, you said it yourself. He’s a bounty hunter. For all we know, you may get another chance to fight him, but not here. Don’t put your own restlessness before the mission. We still have to find Bastila, remember?”

The stranger agreed, begrudgingly. Carth was right, on both counts. If they were lucky, they’d see Calo Nord again, and he would fall just as easily as any other foe.

“I don’t believe this place,” Carth said, pulling the stranger down from his thoughts.

“What is it?”

“Look over there.”

Following Carth’s eyes to the focus of their sight, he too noticed it.

“Well then, perhaps there’ll be a bar fight after all.”

“I know what you mean. It’s not like I want to rush in there and show everyone who we are, but this city… we can’t just stand by and watch this, can we?”

They watched on as the scene before them unfurled, as a young Twi’lek was harassed by a group of Rodians. They spoke in their native dialect, as most aliens did, but the Mysterious Stranger was multilingual, and could easily follow along with the conversation.

The Rodian hooligans seemed to be making a big deal about the Twi’lek being allowed in the Cantina, given her age. While it was true that  she was young, what she did was hardly business concerning the Rodian punks. On the other hand, the stranger didn’t think that the Rodians had righteous conservatism on their minds. It was quite obvious that they were looking for trouble, and if anyone were to deprive them, the stranger would be more than happy to deliver it in shiploads.

“Hey, get out of here, bug-face. Your breath stinks of Bantha poodoo.”

“fetiţă ar trebui nu vi înăuntru bucată. Acest periculos loc in colo fetiţă,” one of the Rodians replied. He had just advised the Twi’Lek to leave such a dangerous place as this. It was an obvious threat.

“I already told you to leave me alone!”

“Let’s go,” Carth replied, evidently having seen enough. He stepped forward, only to have the Mysterious Stranger hold him back, an amused smirk playing upon his visage.

“Not so fast, I want to see where this goes.”

“Are you kidding me? Let me guess, you’ll only attack guys who don’t deserve it, right?”

“Hey, those drunks had it coming. If I think the Twi’lek’s in danger, I’ll take care of them in an instant.”

“Alright, but don’t let things go too far.”

“Relax, Carth. I’ve got a good feeling about this one.”

“Hey, Big-Z,” the Twi’lek called out, “Do me a favor and get over here, would you? I have some insects I need you to rip the legs off of.” Looking around, the Stranger found the one the young alien was talking to, a large Wookie standing a little ways away.

The great sentient beast roared back his response, something about being preoccupied with his meal, until the Twi’lek’s complaints convinced him otherwise.

“Nostru ceartă cu fetiţă, nu mare wookie!”

“Too bad,” the Twi’lek taunted. “If you’ve got a problem with me, then you’ve got a problem with Big-Z here,” she added, referring to the Wookie that now stood beside her.

“fetiţă lucky femelă proprietar de mare prieten.”

As the alien punks departed, the stranger eyed them. “Fraggin’ cowards,” he muttered. “They even offer a hanging threat as a parting gift. I’d admire them if I didn’t despise them for it.”

“Wait, what just happened?” Carth asked. “Where are they going, why are they leaving, what did they say?”

“They pretty much just said you’re lucky you’ve got a friend with you. They may as well have said ‘one day when you least expect it, I’m gonna put a blaster bolt in your back.’”

“They are cowardly.”

Walking over to the Twi’lek, the stranger kept up his grin.

“Hey, what can I do for you?” she asked, flashing him a confident smile.

“I saw the whole thing, with those Rodians. You know, you’ve got quite the mouth on you.”

“So, what of it?”

“Nothing, you don’t have to get defensive, I’m just stating an observation. But perhaps there is something.” Something behind the man’s eye intrigued the young Twi’lek. “I like your style.”

“Oh, really?” the alien asked, her grin returning. There was something about this human. She didn’t quite know what it was, but she liked it.

“You know,” Carth interjected, “you showed a lot of courage standing up to those punks.”

“Thanks,” the Twi’lek gratefully replied. “Those Vulkers think they’re so tough.”

“Vulkers,” the Stranger asked, “is that what they call themselves? Vulkers…” he said thoughtfully. “Hey, Carth, wasn’t that pedunky who attacked us, with the Black Vulkers?”

“Probably,” the Twi’lek answered. “The Vulkers are at war with the Hidden Beks. Honestly, they’re out of control. They’ll shoot down anyone, just for walking down the street.”

“As opposed to…?”

“Hey, it wasn’t always like this. When Gaddon and the Hidden Beks were in charge, things were a lot better.”

“And the Beks would be another gang, I presume?”

“Yeah… are you new around here?”

“Yeah, actually. This is my first time in the Lower City.”

“Well then, it looks like Zaalbar and I are you’re official welcoming committee. I’m Mission, Mission Vao,” the alien said, introducing herself.

“Glad to meet you Mission, I’m Kerry Crowly,” the stranger replied, using his real name. He saw no harm in it.

“So, if you’ve got any questions, I’ll be happy to help any way I can.”

“That’s very obliging of you, Mission.”

“Hey, we’re not all like the Vulkers.”

“Clearly…”

X

They stood before a cave. Something was going on, but the Twi’lek’s senses were presently unavailable. Her eyes refused to see. She couldn’t hear, couldn’t feel; she felt as though she stood in a haze, a shroud. A cloud. Even as the dragon appeared from his lair to greet them. Even as they were in danger. Even as the gigantic beast leered down at them.

She must have reacted, for the man had said something to her, smirking as though she were a child endearingly cowering from the thunder. She didn’t hear what he said, she didn’t hear the blast from the landmines as the massive Krayt dragon set off their trap, but she could feel the ringing in her ears from the explosion.

Her thoughts were on other matters, more important matters, personal matters.

His appearance had changed somewhat over the short time that she’d been with him, particularly his eyes. They had brightened significantly, from their once dark brown, to an ominous gold. His skin had paled and several of his veins were now visible through the skin of his forehead. His shoulder-length brown hair had grown a little over their months of voyaging the galaxy. Their search for the star maps, as well as the unknown fate of Bastila had clearly taken their toll on the young Twi’lek’s friend.

When they had first met, he’d been so handsome. He still was, in a way, but something was different now, wasn’t it? The change had been so gradual that Mission hadn’t even noticed. He was tall, muscular, and as physically appealing as Jolee Bindo was bald.

Love was blind, even the simple crush of a silly girl. Perhaps it was her fault for not noticing. Perhaps the signs had always been there, of something dark. Brooding, festering away within the mind of her friend. Even as it unfurled before her very eyes, Mission Vao was unable to see it. She was incapable of comprehending the ex-Sith’s transformation. Even as she witnessed her friend begin to change from Kerry Crowly, and become the one known as Revan.

She had ignored it.

She had not believed.

She had been caught unaware.

Even as he had shown signs of the dark taint within him, the cruelty behind his smirk, his eyes, in his actions. She had ignored.

Should she have intervened? These despicable acts were not right, were they? Her friend was a Jedi, they were supposed to defend the vulnerable and help the innocent, not exploit them. Sure, maybe corrupt corporations like Czerka deserved to be played every once and a while, but not innocent civilians.

Kerry had done many a cruel deed in their time together, and Mission had stood by, simply ignoring the situation.

Just like now.

But she couldn’t stand by and let this happen, could she? She had to say something, do something. Anything. She couldn’t have her friend betraying people like this. What if he betrayed them? Turned on them? Mission didn’t want to believe in the scenario Carth’s paranoia had birthed, but seeing this, really seeing it, it didn’t seem too far off. Something had to be done.

“Uh, Kerry… you…”

“Sorry Mission, did you say something?” Kerry wasn’t looking at her, he was staring defiantly at another. A male, green Twi’lek, likely older than any of them.

“You can’t betray this guy!”

“And why not? I did all the work; I should get all the reward. Wouldn’t you say that’s fair?”

“But you didn’t do all the work! You didn’t lay the mines, you didn’t plan this all out, you just brought the bait.”

“And took all the risks, don’t sell us short, Mission.”

“But this is wrong, just let the hunter go.”

“HK,” Kerry asked his assassin droid. “Do you think this is fair?”

“Proud answer:” the droid answered, his metallic plating shimmering under the harsh Tatooine suns. I interpret your path as the best course of action, master. Eager Statement: I would be all too happy to blast this meatbag into nonexistence for you, master.”

“Well then, it looks like it’s two against one. Sorry Mission,” Kerry apologised, ignighting his lightsaber. The exotic weapon hummed to life, emitting a blade of pure light. It shone with a violet hue, the sunlight making it seem more pink than purple.

“But, you can’t!” Mission protested, and it was now that the hunter in question began to join the argument, barking something about not going down without a fight, rather generic for one in his position. He spoke in his native dialect of course. Most aliens, although understanding Basic, all preferred to use their native dialects. Mission was the exception to the rule, having been raised on Taris.

Without blinking, Kerry swiftly twirled his wrist, bringing the blade of his lightsaber into contact with the green Twi’lek’s arm. With a searing hiss from the charring flesh and a cry of pain from the alien’s throat, he was involuntarily parted from his hand.

“Hey, what are you doing?”

“Don’t worry; I’ll put him out of his misery soon.”

“This is low,” Mission retorted in a low voice. “Even for you.”

“He had it coming.”

“What do you mean he had it coming? What could you possibly –

Mission’s argument was silenced by the sound of a blaster shot.

All eyes went to the now dead alien sprawled out on the sandy ground.

“Did he…”

“Coy statement:” HK47 spoke, breaking the tense atmosphere, “My apologies, master. It would seem I was premature.” Kerry smirked.

“Oh well, no harm done… moving on, let us see if this cave was worth all the trouble. I wonder, is there really a starmap in here?”

“I can’t believe you did that,” Mission spoke, her voice unheard by all.

X

“What’s that, slug breath?” Kerry viciously threatened.

“Uba tener faillido, Kerry Crowly.”

“Listen, Motta. How about we make a trade. I’ll give you a Krayt Dragon pearl. How does that sound? Eh?”

“Eso hace nobata cubrir tu la deuda.”

“My debt? How much could I possibly owe you?”

“125,000”

“Frag that… well, is there anything we can trade? I mean, you could send bounty hunters after me, but I’d honestly just kill them.”

“U kalle rah doe kankee kung, Kerry Crowly,” the Hutt laughed – You are my kind of scum. “Tal vez nosotros podria el comercio.” Kerry smirked. Was this banthabrain for real?

“I already suggested that we trade, and you shot down my idea. Remember? Or is your brain damaged from being suffocated by all that blubber?” Negotiations with Hutts were always troublesome. The trick was to not let them push you around, to show them who the truly dominant one was. They were gangsters more than anything, and Kerry Crowly had dealt with many of those in the past.

Despite knowing the truth, he was still used to introducing himself by that name.

As their conversation went on, Kerry had managed to settle on a small piece of middle-ground with the grotesque slug. While a pearl wasn’t valuable enough, sentient life was. What the Hutt wanted, were Kerry’s companions. The ex-Sith didn’t like it, but this could be turned to his advantage. Yes, his cunning mind was already moulding ideas into a devilish plan. This would work out perfectly.

“Jee tener to Wookie shag,” Kerry suggested. – I have a wookie slave. It was time to really cash in on the life-debt Zaalbar, Mission’s wookie companion, had sworn to uphold.

The Hutt thought about that briefly, until his sight was drawn elsewhere, to where mission was talking to one of the swoop racers in the back of Motta’s office.

“Que jee necesitar es to Twi’lek chik youngee.” Kerry’s eyes narrowed at those last three words. Twi’lek dancing girl. The ex-Sith had grown attached to Mission, and he abhorred the idea of Gammorian pig-slime hands pawing her smooth blue skin as she moved about in one of those tight little dancer’s costumes.

“Will you accept no other? I have a cathar you can have. Come on, take her off my hands.”

“Y por qu`e se jee hacer eso?”

“Because her kind are much rarer and more valuable than a simple Twi’lek.”

“Verdadero. Tentador, pero nobata.” – tempting, but no.

“Very well, you festering sleemo. You win. Let me just take care of some business first. I won’t leave the planet.”

“Tagwa, me jewz coo, Kerry Crowly.” Kerry thanked the grotesque slug and departed, motioning for Mission to join him.

“We need to talk to your brother one last time,” he muttered to her.

“Okay, I’ve gotta go,” Mission replied to the Twi’lek swoop racer she had been talking to. The female racer replied in understanding and Mission hurried to join her friend.

“So what did you discuss with the Hutt slug?’ the young Twi’lek asked curiously.

“Just business,” Kerry, replied. ““You probably won’t want to hear about it.

“Okay, have it your way,” the alien replied, not wanting to press matters too far. She was just making conversation. “Well then, what about Griff? What do you need to see him for?”

“The same thing.”

“It’s all business with you today, isn’t it?”

“True… for the most part. I thought you might like to see him one last time, to say goodbye.”

“You’re making it sound like I’ll never see him again… well, maybe you’re right.”

“He’s a slime ball mission, you should just forget about him.”

“Then… why are you dealing with him?”

“Because he owes me credits.”

“Yeah, you and the rest of the galaxy,” Mission joked.

Of course, the humour wore thin once they arrived at the Czerka office to find it spectacularly Griff-less. It was then that two minds began to piece together the rather suspicious fragments of evidence.

“Mission,” Kerry spoke aloud, “could you tell me where in space your worthless brother is?”

“Hey, I’m not his keeper.” It was then that they were called over by the Czerka merchant behind the counter, a Rodian.

You’re that friend of Griff’s, right? I’m afraid he’s gone.

“This doesn’t sound good,” Mission commented.

“I don’t suppose he’ll be back?” Kerry asked.

He won’t be back.

“Where did he go?”

I don’t know, he said the Tach gland was ruined and he wasn’t waiting around to face that guy from the exchange, then he hopped on the next shuttle off Tatooine.

“Griff, won’t you ever learn?” Mission audibly complained.

“Any idea where I can find him?”

Guys like that know how to disappear. I don’t expect you’ll run into him again. Personally, I’m glad he’s gone. He was the worst employee I’ve ever had. He was always on a break, he mixed up orders, and I think he was stealing from me.

“Well then… good riddance, I suppose. But… what about my money? That sleemo owes me credits!”

“Hey, that’s what you get for trusting his quick talk, quit complaining!” Mission criticised. Kerry had to grin at the response.

Oh, I almost forgot, he said to tell his sister that he’s sorry.

“Blast! Now what?” Kerry looked to Mission. “I’m surprised your taking this so well. Don’t you care that he walked out on you again?”

“What do you mean?”

“Griff, when things get hard, he runs for it. Think about it. Guys like that never learn. They never change. He’s a loser and a cheat. This is just like what he did on Taris. He brought you there because he needed to escape, then when things got tough again, he left. What’s worse, he left you behind, alone. I know your capable,” he said before the Twi’lek had the chance to interject, “but to do that… the only reasoning I can see is that he blamed you for all his problems. You were his scapegoat, just like Lena.”

“Maybe…”

“You’d still defend him?” Kerry asked.

“I… I need time to think about this. I don’t know how to feel. He’s my brother, but…”

“He didn’t act like it. A brother would have toughed it out.”

“Yeah… You know what, your right about him. I don’t need someone like that in my life. All I need is Big Z. As far as I’m concerned, he and I are no longer family.”

“And about my money… never mind. I’m sure you can take care of that for me.”

“Me?”

“Of course, since I won’t be getting my money from Griff… I’ll just have to take it out of you. “That remark was equally as disturbing as the smirk that accompanied it.

“Uh, why are you looking at me like that?” Mission asked the sly human. Something in his gaze made her uncomfortable. She couldn’t place it, but there was something different there, something dark and scheming. For once, she didn’t like it. It made her feel as though something were going on, something she didn’t know about, something she didn’t want to know about, something she wouldn’t like.

X

“Her price has gone up, slug breath.”

“Kerry Crowly, we have a deal. You cannot back out of this.”

“Either we discuss a new deal, or I walk, and I take your coveted would-be dancing girl with me. You got that, slug breath?”

“What do you want?”

“Free access to this swoop track, including both official and recreational runs; an invitation to your palace; and the chance to be one of your smugglers.

“You want a job? That can be arranged. Anything else?”

“Yes, while I’m here at the interplanetary bank of Motta, I’ll be withdrawing 20,000 credits.”

“You are greedy, Jedi. All of that is far too much for a single dancing girl. I will give you the smuggling job, but that is it.”

“In that case, I demand entrance to your palace from time to time.”

“okay, but why?” Kerry smirked.

“That Twi’lek girl is mine. I want to be able to see her.”

“Very well.”

“Okay then, you can take her now, but I’ll be around to see her before I leave the planet, got that?”

“Why should I allow this?”

“Because if you don’t…” Kerry’s hand slowly, but threateningly reached for the metallic hilt of his lightsaber, “I have no problem with gutting you and bathing in your slimy, wormy, entrails.”

“You are brave, human. I like that. Your terms are accepted. Come by any time. The Rodian by the door will download the location to your datapad.” Kerry nodded and turned to leave, gesturing to Mission. He didn’t want to leave without her knowledge. He wanted to see her reaction. It would be priceless.

After stopping to download the map from the Rodian standing by the door, Kerry was ready to step out.

Mission moved to join him, and was surprised to say the least, when several arms reached out to hold her back.

“Hey, let me go, worm lovers!” the Twi’lek demanded, but the arms refused to comply, instead griping her tighter. “Uh, a little help here?” she called out to Kerry, who simply stood back and watched. What was he thinking? Now was not the time to look smug.

“Sorry Mission, I can’t help you here.”

“What? Why?”

“Because, I owe the grand slug over there credits, just like Griff owes me credits, just like you owe me credits, or did, anyway.”

“What are you talking about?” Kerry laughed.

“Don’t you get it, Mission? Motta there just bought my debt.”

“Hey, you never –“

“There’s no use talking about it, Mission. It’s done.”

“Why? How could you do this? To me, of all people?”

“Why not you?” Then it struck her. Everything, anything she had ever felt for the man before her, it was all one-sided. She knew this but… she had kept it hidden. Nobody knew. Nobody suspected that she may have had those kinds of feelings for one of the Ebon Hawk’s crew. She was happy to remain his friend, but not this. Was this what friends did to one another?

“The others! They will notice that I’m gone.”

“Yes, they surely will, but I doubt they will care too much.”

“What?”

“You’re not even important to the mission, Mission. You can’t even do anything that T3-M4 can’t do better. Let’s face it. You’re kind of a waste of space.”

“How can you say that? Especially after everything we’ve all been through, after all the places we’ve gone.”

“If you recall, Mission, nobody actually asked you to come along. You and Zaalbar both invited yourselves. Sure, you were useful that one time in the sewers, but since we left Taris, you’ve been getting in our way. This is for the best. Getting rid of you will help us in our quest, and the payment I’ll receive will be an added bonus.”

“What payment?”

“I haven’t gotten it yet, but I will.”

“You won’t get anything. Haven’t you ever dealt with Hutts before?”

“Yeah, but Motta’s never dealt with the likes of me. Let’s just say I have a few surprises in store.”

“Well… I hope it was all worth it.”

“Now now Mission, what’s with that dead tone in your voice? You were always so positive before. You’d better do something fast if you don’t want to become that slug’s newest pet.”

Then he turned and left, left the speechless Twi’lek behind. There was nothing more to be said, at least for now. He’d let her sweat for a while in that slug’s festering slime pit before he went to see her. Oh, the look on her face, it would be priceless. There would be surprises. Indeed, surprises all around, for everybody. He let out the building laughter as he made his way back to the dock.

“You’re back,” Carth greeted. “Did you find the Starmap?”

“Yeah. It was in the back of a Krayt Dragon’s Cave.”

“A Krayt Dragon? Well, The Ebon Hawk’s resupplied and we’re all ready to go.”

“Right. I’ve got a few things to take care of first.”

“Okay, we can leave whenever you’re ready so… wasn’t Mission with you?”

“Yeah, she was.”

“Well, where is she now?”

“She’s…” Kerry replied, thinking fast beneath his calm mask of a face, “with her brother.”

“Brother?”

“Yeah. Her brother, Griff. He works at the Czerka office. She hasn’t seen him since he left her alone on Taris, so they could take a while to catch up, you know?”

“So, she’s forgiven him for everything then?”

“Maybe.”

“Well, that’s her choice. I don’t think I could be so forgiving. I’d never trust him again after doing something like that to me.”

“You wouldn’t trust him anyway,” Kerry retorted to the paranoid soldier with the short brown hair.

“Very funny,” the soldier in question humourlessly replied. “Maybe we should leave and come back for her after we destroy the Star Forge.”

“Perhaps… we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. Anyway, I just came back to get HK-47. I’m going to be heading out to the desert later.”

“Do you want me to come? If you’re heading out there, you might need backup.”

“No, but could you something for me here on the ship?”

“What do you need?”

“I have the location of the Star Forge on my datapad.”

“That’s great!”

“Yeah. If I copy the data from the starmaps over to your datapad, could you programme the coordinates into the Ebon Hawk’s Navicomputer while I’m gone?”

“Well yeah, I mean I’m not really a mechanic or technician, but I suppose I could do that for you. But wouldn’t Mission or T3-M4 be better suited for that job? Why don’t you have the droid do it?”

“Yeah, I suppose so. Never mind. Just, take it easy while I’m gone then. I don’t know how long I’ll be, but I should be back before the days out.”

“You got it.”

X

Before instructing HK-47 to leave the ship with him, Kerry had made sure to set T3-M4: the short, white utility droid to work; having it update the Navicomputer with the coordinates and subsequent hyperspace route required for the Ebon Hawk to reach its destination, the Star Forge.

Before they left however, Kerry still had business to take care of. He’d spent the remainder of the day relaxing, drinking in the Anchorhead cantina, enjoying several games of Pazak, placing bets on Swoop races, even racing a few using the bike on board the Ebon Hawk.

Something interesting of note in the Swoop office: When Kerry returned, he noticed that Mission was absent. She’d been taken somewhere, but so was Motta the Hutt. The overeager slug had apparently wanted to get started with his newest dancing girl as soon as possible. Of course, this wasn’t unexpected in the least, but the sinister brunet found it amusing.

Smirking, he sat in the cantina and raised his drink, as though making a personal toast to someone or something. “Enjoy her while you can, slug breath, because soon, she’ll be mine again.” Kerry had no intention of letting the Twi’lek in question go for long. The main question was: how long should he wait before going in to see her? Should he follow Carth’s idea and come back for her after defeating Malak? The only problem with that was the fact that he just didn’t know how long that would take. Could he afford to leave things here unattended for that long? For however long it would take to sort out the Sith and the state of the Galaxy? He just didn’t know. There were so many uncertainties. So many unknown variables, so many things to consider.

All of these were pushed temporarily to the back of his mind as a young man, younger than he, sat down by the bar at the stool beside his.

“Is that your droid out there?” he asked the Ex-Sith.

“Droid?” Kerry asked.

“Yeah, he’s standing outside, holding a disruptor rifle. I thought he was a protocol droid, but with that rifle, maybe he’s a combat model.

The young man must have been talking about HK-47, Kerry thought.

“He keeps addressing everyone as ‘meatbag.’”

Yes, that was him.

“Curiously,” Kerry asked, “out of all the people in here, what makes you think he’s mine.”

“Oh, I don’t, I was just wondering whose it was. You saw it on your way in, didn’t you?”

“Yeah. I know it.”

“Is it yours?”

“If it is?”

“Well, if it were mine, I’d do something before the Czerka officials do.”

“What in space are you talking about?”

“The way he’s talking to everyone, he could be labelled a threat and a menace. The Czerka may take him away, they could confiscate him.”

“Can they do that?”

“To keep the peace, they might have to.”

“I see… I must leave now.”

“Yeah, I’ll bet,” the young man smirked in a smug, knowing way.

“Damn droid,” Kerry muttered as he made his way out of the Cantina. Shielding his eyes from the change in light as he stepped outside into the sun, he searched left and right until he saw the assassin droid standing by the city gate, standing next to the guard.

“Ah, it’s you. Your droid has been harassing people nonstop since you went into the Cantina. I suggest you take him and go.”

“Don’t worry, I intend to.”

“So you’re heading out to the dunes then?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, I’ll just let you pass. Good hunting out there,” he offered as ‘goodbye’ as he opened the gate for the man and his droid.

“What may I ask what you were playing at?” Kerry asked the droid as they traversed the dune sea. He kept an eye on the map given to him by the Rodian in the Swoop Registration Office as to ensure they didn’t get lost out in the endless dunes.

“Query: What are you talking about, Master? I was simply doing as you instructed, waiting outside for you.”

“I didn’t say you could start threatening people.”

“Condescending Statement: I am sorry Master, but you did not specify that as a parameter of your order, so technically, I have done nothing wrong. Consider it fortunate that I did not blast every one of those pitiful meatbag corpses.”

“Those were not corpses, HK, not yet at least.”

“Statement: A droid can dream, Master.” Kerry didn’t see the point in arguing the fact that droids didn’t actually have the capacity to dream, so he let it slide. He wondered what had possessed him to build and program such a chatty droid in the first place, but settled on a reason that was probably the very one that had run through his past mind: It was amusing, and the idea of him infuriating Malak didn’t seem like a big sacrifice, either.

On their tedious trek through the desert, they passed a few desert wraid and the pair each indulged in what HK had once referred to as unadulterated violence. They also passed a Gamorian hunting party, one who just so happened to be hunting not mere Wraid, but had other targets in mind, targets of a more sentient nature. Other than that, though, the walk was quiet and dull, with only prospects and expectations to keep excitement levels up.

Eventually, the man and his droid arrived at the end of their trek. The exterior of Motta’s palace lay before them, its massive stone walls standing up from the sand, a great, bland display of dull brown.

Why did Hutt’s have to live in such appallingly bland headquarters? Perhaps they simply had no need for the colours that exist to stimulate human senses.

Logically, that could just make perfect sense. Of course, there could be another reason. Perhaps the outside walls were designed to be overlooked, though the palace’s sheer size would more than give it away.

As they approached the massive structure, they saw several aliens. Duros and male Twi’Leks, mostly, but there were also a few Rodians and Gamorians. Slaves and their handlers, most likely. They were all working, in some way or another. Most of them seemed to be loading and unloading cargo from small freighters. Spice, weapons, bounties, slaves, even salvage. Perhaps the Hutt dealt with Jawas, selling them scrap. Who knew? though the Jawas seemed to prefer dealing with the merchants of Anchorhead.

Passing them by, not a single one gave the lone human and his single droid companion even a simple glance. The workers were much too busy to be caught slacking off, and the guards were there to ensure the workers kept busy. They were not positioned to keep watch for guests, be they invited or otherwise. There were security personal in place for that purpose, but they were positioned within the Palace itself. These guards on the exterior were merely to maintain order and discipline within the ranks of the grunt workers, and, of course, to prevent at all costs, the minute possibility of an escape.

The ex-Sith walked ever closer to the mammoth stone structure, HK-47 walking behind him, covering his rear, disrupter rifle at the ready, all-too-eager to start blasting any and all organic life the very second one of these pitiful meatbags foolishly decided to threaten his master.

Knocking on the large door, the ex-Sith didn’t have to wait long before a slit in the door opened up and one who was assumed to be a bouncer appeared through the opening.

“Business or pleasure?” he asked the human on the outside of the door.

Business or pleasure? Kerry was here for both. “I am a guest of Motta. I sold him a dancer earlier today. I was told I could see her.

“This is highly irregular.”

“Very well, I’ll just go then. I wouldn’t want to be around when Motta has you disembowelled, stuffed, and hung up in his trophy room.”

“What are you talking about, human?”

“You mean this Hutt doesn’t punish insubordination? I find that hard to believe.”

“Very well, human. You have made your point.” The slit closed and after some stirring from within, the great door opened. The bouncer was revealed to be a muscular, violet skinned Twi’lek. “You’re droid will have to wait outside,” he instructed.

“He is my translator,” the Ex-Sith replied, nudging the Twi’lek’s mind lightly with the Force, forcing him to believe the obvious half-truth.

“Very well, but you will both need to go through a weapons check. Outsiders, guests, and non-security employees are not permitted to carry weapons within the Palace.” He stepped forward, but before he had the chance to act, Kerry nudged him once more with the force, using the standard Jedi Force persuasion technique.

“That will not be necessary.”

“That will not be necessary,” the alien spoke, sounding as if in a trance, reciting the words that the Jedi had placed in his mouth.

“You’re sorry for the inconvenience.”

“I’m sorry for the inconvenience.”

“You will take me to Motta now.”

“I will take you to Motta now.”

Upon allowing them entry, the bouncer led them deep into the heart of the palace. The bouncer, who Kerry discovered was Motta’s right hand man, head of security. It was good to know the greedy slug’s life was in such competent hands. They passed many alien employees, most of them carrying conventional blaster, ion, or, like HK-47, illegal disrupter rifles. These were evidently Motta’s security forces and were comprised mostly of Rodians and Twi’leks, though there were a few Gamorians here and there, brandishing large Battle Axes.

“Quite a fierce militia Motta has,” Kerry commented.

“Statement: Not to worry master,” HK-47 replied, “this Hutt has clearly focused his forces on the side of quantity, rather than quality, an expensive ideal, and not very prudent, If I do say so myself.”

“Perhaps you are right.”

The group arrived in Motta’s chamber. The large round room was filled with aliens. The usual security guards were of course present, but the majority happened to be guests enjoying drinks and watching the dancing girls on the stage.

There were tables all around the room with droids serving refreshments and beverages. On the stage in the centre were a quartet of Twi’lek singers and dancers backed by a band of Bith musicians. It was different from the usual act. Twi’lek females were generally seen only as dancers. Kerry had never seen one perform as a singer before. They each acted as both lead singer and backup dancer, switching between the two positions, their transitions smooth and invisible, none of the group upstaging the others.

At the back of the chamber sat Motta, four girls tethered to him, their love and lust for his attention pushing ecstasy through their non-human veins, though whether this was legitimate bliss or simply skilled acting, would likely never be known.

Kerry instructed his droid to remain in the chamber as he accepted a drink and sat down at one of the tables.

This audience chamber, it was made to appear like a shifty, dodgy cantina. The ex-Sith was willing to bet that most, if not all of the others seated at the tables were either bounty hunters or smugglers.

As he took a sip from his drink, the human’s gaze momentarily drifted over to Motta and the gang of thugs who stood before him. The horrid-looking, green lizard men – Trandosions, were likely discussing some kind of business with the Hutt. Kerry would have been interested in hearing what it was that they were talking about, but knew better than to eavesdrop on the dealings of a crime lord, especially whilst out in the open like this, with all these bounty hunters and guards on the premises.

While the Ex-Sith had no doubts as to whether he could take them all out, he required Motta’s trust, and such a vehement bloodbath would certainly shatter the foundations of whatever business-related relationship he’d smoothly deluded the slug into believing they currently shared.

Several drinks passed through the lips of the human as he watched the singing dancers as they sung unfamiliar and exotic songs in their native Twi’leki until their act was over.

It was true that Kerry had never seen or heard anything like it, but it inevitably came to an end, and after a brief respite, the Bith musicians kicked in once more with a sultry number as a pair of Twi’lek women with yellow skin and seductive movements took the stage.

Kerry had heard of illegal, underground clubs in which such dances were common. He’d also heard that bribes to the owner of such establishments could be used to purchase ‘private dances.’ Whatever that meant was between dancer and client.

Oh yes, Kerry had heard of such things, but to a Jedi, be they servants of the light, the dark, or even the grey. or even to a Sith, such things had carried little interest.

Until now.

The pair of aliens had on such revealing attire, they may as well have been wearing their skin, although that would have spoiled the illusion. That would have ruined everything. The idea was to tease, to tickle the male fancy, but not to reveal all. With no coverings, there was no eroticism, there was only a foolish alien dancing about unclothed. While there were some who preferred that, they were generally impatient, and without shame.

When run correctly, full contact, and especially full nudity were always reserved for private dances, and were performed in separate rooms, not on stage, and not at the tables.

Private dances would take place with those girls who were done with their stage time, such as the yellow pair, once their short, yet sultry number was done with.

It had apparently been decided for the rest of the dancers to mingle with the guests, and Kerry kept his eye out for a hint of blue, but there was none.

Other eyes, however, were on the yellow Twi’leks who had recently disembarked the stage. Dia’sun and Ree’sun, also known around here as the Sun sisters. A local favourite of the regulars here, and while many would be all too happy to be in possession of their attention, they had both made a beeline for the human, the one they’d never seen before, utterly forsaking each and every regular.

They joined Kerry at his table, one sitting on each side of him.

“We’ve not seen you here before,” one of them greeted.

“What’s your name, handsome,” the other asked. They spoke seductively, in voices and manners that would drive the inexperienced wild. Kerry, however, had reserves of both patience and self-control, so had nothing to worry about. He could also ignore the many stares and jealous glares that were being directed at him.

“You both speak basic?” he asked them.

“That’s right, handsome. We are skilled in many…” she giggled before continuing, “tongues.”

“I was expecting you to speak Huttese.”

“Oh, we do, but your kind prefer us to speak your language, don’t you?”

“Well, I don’t mind either way, but you do speak it well.”

“Yes, our mouths are very skilled,” one of the aliens replied.

“We could show you more, if you like,” the second, Ree, offered.”

“Yes,” Dia agreed. “We could show you many things. Perhaps you’d like to go somewhere a little more private?”

“Not right now.”

“Oh, you needn’t be shy.”

“Oh, I’m not,” Kerry replied.

“Very well, but if you change your mind, let us know, and we’ll show you why Twi’leks are considered galaxy-wide, to be the pleasure-slave of choice.”

“We could show you things that would blow your mind,” the second added.

“I’ve been around,” Kerry sceptically replied.

“But you’ve never been with us.”

“True… but could I ask you something?”

“Not many of Motta’s guests come here to talk. Do you really wish to waste time asking questions?”

“This won’t take long, and there would be a substantial tip in it for you.” The aliens’ eyes widened.

“Very well then.”

“I’d like to know if Motta has acquired any new employees recently.”

“You’ll have to be a little more specific, I’m afraid.”

“Did any new dancers arrive recently?”

“Well… there was one,” Dia replied.

“She’s not exactly ready to start working yet though,” Ree replied.

“Why not,” Kerry asked.

“She just got here today. She is a little traumatised, poor girl.” Kerry raised an eyebrow at this.

“You sympathise?”

“My younger sister is a little soft,” Dia replied.

“She’s younger?”

“Not by much,” Ree argued.

“Technically, I’m older.”

“So, I’m the nice one.”

“I wouldn’t brag about that, dear. I’m the desirable one. Remember that.”

“No, you’re the easy one.”

“And you’re not?”

“Evil twin,” Ree insulted.

“Goody two-shoes slug lover,” Dia replied.

“Slug sucking Schutta.”

“Hey!” Kerry called out, reminding the twins of his presence. They each turned their brown eyes to the human and awkwardly apologised.

“Sorry,” Ree said, “that doesn’t usually happen between us.”

“But when it does, it’s usually war,” Dia added.

“So, this new dancer, who is she?”

“I don’t know her name, but she’s a pretty young thing,” Ree answered.

“A blue Twi’lek,” Dia clarified.

“Why is she not ready? Could you not force her?”

“We could force her to come out and dance for everybody, but then her heart wouldn’t be in it, and besides, she has no dancing experience. It will take time to learn and perfect the moves for even the simplest routines.”

“Who’s in charge of choreography then?”

“We are,” the twins spoke simultaneously. “We are the oldest of the dancers and have been here the longest.”

“But we’re not too old,” Ree assured the human male, as if concerned he would become worried about such matters.

Kerry smirked as he looked them over. It was true that they appeared more mature than the other girls in the room, especially the ones tethered to the Hutt in the back. The sisters were similar in appearance, implying that they were identical twins. Each had the same yellow skin and brown eyes. Also, like all of their kind, they each had a pair of Lekku that sprouted from the rear of their heads and draped down over their shoulders, their ‘head-tails’ as many a crude human would call them. Simply from this casual sight of them, Kerry could tell that they were longer than those of Mission.

Even their costumes were similar. They had the usual style of headdress, common with females of their kind, though the colour was dark red. They wore small, revealing costumes that showed a lot of back, mid-rift, and leg. The red top of the two-piece was sleeveless, and covered their generously ample chests, while offering large amounts of cleavage, as well as displaying their entire abdomens. Dia’s costume seemed to be tighter, much tighter; barely able to hug her massive bosom and keep it contained. Ree wore slightly more modest attire. More modest, slightly, but not by much.

The faded brown shorts they wore cut off at the top of the thigh, giving unobstructed views of the yellow skin of their legs, until said view was terminated by matching knee-high leather boots.

Even with the difference in their costumes, it was clear that Dia had a significantly larger bust, as well as wider hips, and a well-rounded behind. Other than these differences however, they were identical. In bodily appearance, at least.

Dia turned to signal one of the serving droids, and Kerry was able to catch a glimpse of a large, unrecognisable tattoo that transcended her back, and ran down her right arm.

It was true that these two girls were older than the others, but they were not too old, and their well-carried age was not exactly a bad thing. They were mature, experienced.

They were a local favourite. That had to mean something.

Neither of them were the one he had wanted to see, but no matter. Perhaps they would serve their use.

“Could you take me to see her?”

“The new girl?” Ree asked.

“That’s right.”

“What’s wrong, handsome?” Dia asked. “Aren’t we enough for you?” she turned to her sister. “I think he’s trying to insult us.”

“Of course not,” Kerry argued. “I just thought we could have a little fun with her. It could be a part of her training.”

“Training?” Ree asked.

“Yeah, to begin showing her the ropes, to initiate her.”

“I don’t know.”

“It’ll be fun,” Kerry tempted.

“Well, we do like fun,” Ree finally agreed. That was it. He’d gotten one of them to agree. He didn’t even need the older one now. However this played out, he’d be paying a visit to Mission.”

“I think I like this newcomer,” Dia commented.

“So you’ll join us?” Ree asked.

“It’s against Motta’s policy to do something like this,” Dia replied.

“That’s okay,” Kerry replied. With only two of you, I’ll be satisfied. You won’t be missed.”

“Oh, you expect to dismiss me that easily? You’re obviously new around here. I’m coming.”

“Suit yourself,” Kerry replied with a smirk. Oh Mission, he thought, what a reunion this will be. It was all he could do to contain the cruel snicker that desired nothing more than to bubble up to the surface like gas beneath an old bog.

Kerry drained the remainder of his drink and allowed the Sun Sisters to lead him away, to what was believed to be a private room. He followed them slowly. Taking in all the envious glares he was receiving from the other jealous patrons, and returning them with contemptuous smirks. These so-called bounty hunters were pathetic. They all wanted what Kerry had, yet not one of them had the nerve to try and take it from him.

Pathetic, truly.

They were beneath his revulsion, unworthy of his abhorrence, unworthy of his hate. Space them, let them rot, let them die. It was what they deserved. It was the will of the weak to be slain by the strong, to fuel them, to strengthen them further, to be used up and thrown out. Only then would their worthless lives mean anything. Only then would their existence be justified.

They did not deserve his condescending gaze, so he would leave them. Erase them from his mind… until he returned. Then he would erase them, and erase them again.

He followed the two Twi’lek twins out of the main chamber and through a series of hallways until they arrived at the Dancer’s Quarters.

Luckily, their present location had been home only to one, a very surprised, very young, very blue Twi’lek by the name of Mission.

She looked up and a number of emotions flashed across her azure features. Surprise, anger, hope, relief; resentment, desperation, happiness; all so sudden. She was speechless, for a time.

“Kerry!” she exclaimed. “You came back for me, I knew you would.”

“Is that so,” the human smirked.

“I… knew that deep down, you wouldn’t let this happen. You couldn’t just sell me off like some slave. You’re my friend. You wouldn’t do that to me, right?”

“The girl presumes too much,” Dia commented.

“Um, Kerry?”

“What is it?”

“I have to say this. There was a moment when I did lose faith in you, just for a moment. I thought that maybe you were really going to sell me to that slug and leave the planet.”

“And miss this opportunity? How could I do that?”

“This opportunity? What do you mean,” Mission asked, notably confused. In response, Kerry merely laughed, a cold, cruel laugh. The laugh of a Sith. This was not the Kerry she knew standing before her.

“I’ve seen your actions, heard your words, read your thoughts.” Mission’s eyes widened.

“You’ve been reading my mind?”

“Skimming over its contents at best. It was merely an instinctual affair. I was not trying to invade the minds of my companions, but your thoughts have been inadvertently screaming out their own properties to me. Even without Jedi Senses, I would have been able to tell. It was obvious.”

“Oh…” Mission knew it. This was going to be awkward.

“I know how you feel about me, Mission, and I’ve known it for some time. You know I’ve always liked you, and if this is to be our last meeting, I want it to be memorable.” Mission’s mouth suddenly went dry. “I know your feelings, and I’m ready to return them, in the way that I feel is most desirable.”

Mission couldn’t believe this. There was once a time, perhaps, that those words would have filled the Twi’lek with excitement, but now, it simply made her feel nauseous, anxious. She felt only dread. Something was wrong with this situation. This was not the Kerry she had known. This was somebody else. “No… you, you’re wrong. I don’t… I don’t have those kinds of feelings for you. I don’t want…” She was cut off by Kerry’s vicious smirk.

“It’s not a matter of want, Mission. It’s more like… necessity.”

The Twi’lek’s mind was screaming at her to escape. This was wrong, oh so wrong. The warning bells in her head were deafening her, giving her a migraine. She had to get out of this room.

She wished Zaalbar were here. She wished her friend were here, and not this despicable Sith.

“Leave us,” Kerry spoke to the two yellow Twi’leks.

“What? But…” Ree protested. She didn’t understand. She and her sister had brought this human here, at personal risk, no less. If Motta’s men found out about this, Ree’sun and her sister were sure to be punished, not that it mattered. Being a self-proclaimed masochist, she didn’t mind, but what really upset her was the prospect of missing out on the aforementioned fun that was promised her.

“You promised us! You said we could all have fun with the young new dancer together!” Mission would have paled, had her pigmentation allowed it.

“Leave us,” Kerry said once again, louder and more forcefully this time, nudging the golden skinned dancer with the force to allow his words to take deeper root within the mature Twi’lek’s mind.

“I apologise. Forgive me, I must be going now. Come, sister,” and with that said, she made her way back to the Palace’s main chamber, leading her older sister, taking her with her and closing the door behind her as she departed the private quarters, Leaving Kerry and the young, blue Twi’lek utterly alone in the room.

“Wow, it must be nice to have Jedi mind powers,” Mission spoke bitterly. This wasn’t a tone Kerry was accustomed to hearing from the girl. “I’ll bet you could trick anyone into doing anything.”

“Not anyone,” Kerry corrected, “but I’ll admit, the ability does carry its own unique charm.”

“Yeah, I’m sure being able to manipulate people with ease makes you come off as real charming. Let me clue you in, Bantha brain. It doesn’t.” Kerry smirked his response.

“You see, that’s what I like about you, Mission. So willing to speak your mind. No reservations!” as he spoke, he lunged forward and delivered a powerful backhand slap to the fourteen year old alien, sending her plummeting to the ground, landing on the other side of the room with a small, girlish squeal. “You say and do whatever you like. No hesitation, no restrictions. So much like me.”

“We’re not alike,” Mission spat, beginning to push herself back up to her feet, looking at the human with eyes filled with animosity. “Don’t insult me.”

“No, I suppose you’re the only one who can hurl insults around, hm?” Kerry asked, violently pulling Mission to her feet with a yank of the arm.

“Don’t touch me,” she demanded.

“No snappy comeback? What’s wrong? I’m disappointed in you. But I suppose that’s where we differ. While you have vulgar creativity when it comes to insults, I’m the one who can back up his words with actions.”

“You wouldn’t dare do anything if the others were here.”

“Are you implying that I fear them? I’m the one in charge of that ship. Not Bastila. And certainly not Carth.”

“If any of them found out about this, they would lose all respect for you. They wouldn’t follow you to hell and back anymore. They wouldn’t even follow you to the local cantina.

“If you think we are alone, you are quite mistaken.” Mission’s eyes widened and she paused, taking her time to reflect on this, to digest the hard-to-swallow information. This revelation surprised her, astounded her, amazed her. How could this be? Who had he brought? Who was it that would allow him to go through with it? Surely nobody would condone this series of circumstances. What of Canderous? No, not even that battle-hardened Mandalorian would stand by and watch this. He especially, would not stand by and allow this dishonourable travesty to take place… would he?

“Who… came with you?”

“HK is with me. He’s standing out there in the main chamber, waiting for me.”

“Oh, great,” That explained everything. HK-47 was a droid, a particularly nasty, cruel droid. That machine probably spent the entire time up until now commending his master for his excellent decision of selling the alien girl off to the Hutt as a slave. “Now what happens?”

“Well, I’m sure we can come to some kind of arrangement, can’t we?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Despite appearances, selling you was never my intention, but Hutts can be stubborn little Gizka when they want to be. I tried convincing him to take Juhani or Zaalbar, but he wouldn’t go for it.”

“You would have sold Zaalbar? He swore a sacred life debt to you, and you would have sold him to a slaver!?”

“He’s a wookie, Mission.”

“Czerka scum,” the Twi’lek cursed.

“You misunderstand. He’s a wookie. Therefore, he can take care of himself, I’m certain. I could have tracked him here and met up with him later.”

“What about Juhani?”

“I defeated her at the grove. I could easily have killed her, but I didn’t. I spared her.”

“Only because the Jedi council would have reacted badly had you taken her life. That was all just a test for you. Your mission was to remove the taint, not kill it.”

“Indeed, but the fact remains. She may or may not acknowledge it, but regardless, I saved her life. Therefore, it belongs to me. It is mine, to do with as I will.”

“That both an interesting and disturbing outlook on life. You’ve taken the Wookie life-debt and twisted it around to…” Kerry’s smirk cut the girl off. “Do you see all of you comrades as expendable?”

“Not at all. You’ve completely misunderstood. Juhani is a Jedi. Combine that with her camouflage abilities… she’s capable, even without her lightsaber.”

“Did you expect her to trust you after that?”

“Perhaps… that would have made things easier, but even if she objected to my actions… I defeated her once. I can always do it again. She may be a formidable opponent our enemies, but I was the Dark Lord of the Sith, as well as a hardened military leader and Jedi Guardian. No mere Padawan is a match for me in one-on-one combat. In such a situation, I would break her, and if I could not, I would simply kill her. As I said, her life is mine to do with as I will. She belongs to me, as do you.”

“What was the meaning of all this? Why sell me to Motta the Hutt, only to… follow me here?”

“This was never about you. It is merely a matter of business between Motta and I. A matter of which must be resolved. Your part in this is to be a tool at my disposal.”

“So you used me to… set up a meeting with slug-breath out there?”

“Precisely. I’m glad to see you’ve caught on so well.”

Mission was beginning to piece this all together. They were all falling into place; the corners, the edges; all that remained was that all-important central piece and the problematic jigsaw puzzle would be complete. “What did you need to see him about?”

“That slug dared to cross me. I made the mistake of dealing with filth such as him, and in return, I found myself indebted to him. Selling you was the only way I could break even.”

“What did you mean when you said I was a tool?”

“You are the key, my link to this place. With you here, I have an excuse to arrive unannounced.”

“But what do you plan to do?”

“My my, aren’t we curious today?”

“Can you blame me? I think I have a right to know for what purpose I was betrayed.”

“As I already explained to you, I need to resolve this problem with Motta. With blood, if necessary. He thinks I’m here to take on a series of smuggling jobs. He’s quite mistaken. In fact, I think he’ll find that he’s brilliantly ignorant on a great many things.”

“So you’re a smuggler now? Funny, I pictured you as a bounty hunter.”

“Well, I was promised a place on the Genoharadan, but a combination of them betraying me and my hunting down and killing each and every one of their overseers more or less put an end to that possibility.”

“What are you talking about? Geno-what now?”

“Never mind. Your ignorance is understandable. You can’t be expected to recognise the name of an organisation that is supposed to be liquidated, and now is.”

“Wait… let me get this straight. You’re doing all of this for revenge? Just to get even with Vogga?”

“Not even,” Kerry corrected, “I aim for a natural twenty.” Mission understood. He was aiming to win, not tie. It was a Pazak analogy. “My intention is to bleed that Hutt scum for every credit he put me out. With interest, of course, to cover the inconvenience he’s put me through.”

“What about me? Where do I come in?”

“You? Your part in this is over.” Mission felt shock, relief, rage; but then her nervousness returned, force fed down her gullet by Kerry’s sly smirk. “But I must repay you for your services thus far.”

“What are you…?”

“I told you already, didn’t I? I am here to return you’re feelings. Your lust and attraction.”

“Lust… no, you’ve got it all wrong! I don’t –“

“My perceptions beg to differ. Ever since you joined me, back on Taris, you have been speaking to me. I didn’t pick up on it right away, but that doesn’t change the fact. You have. Your actions, reactions; your speech patterns. They speak to me.” A low chuckle escaped the vile human’s diaphragm. “Do you know what they say?” Mission was in no way timid or cowardly. She knew how to take care of herself. In combat, and in life. She was street smart and had bravery enough, yet even she was afraid to ask what it was that Kerry’s selective hearing had deduced from her actions. “They tell me that…” he stepped closer and reached out his arm. “In actuality…” his claw of a hand enclosed around the girl’s left lekku, fingers crushing as they closed in around the sensitive organ with vice-like pressure.

Mission’s eyes snapped shut and her body’s every muscle immediately tensed to the point that it hurt, adding to the euphoria of agony she was facing. Kerry’s grip sent waves of intense pain shooting through her entire body. It was too much, more than anyone could bare. She acted instinctively, her throat tightening, diaphragm pushing, heaving, coming together to produce a sound for her pain, a sound for her physical anguish. The scream was loud and high in register, yet it did not deter the human. If anything, it pushed him on, pushed him further. His smirk widened. That sound, that sweet, orgasmic sound. He had to hear it again. He had to make her make it, produce it. He wanted to devour it, savour it, taste it, taste her. Hear her, smell her, feel her…

She was his, his to command, his to control. His friend, his lover, his pleasure slave. The adrenaline coursing through his veins, the excitement, the chemical reactions within him. Coherent thought was all but impossible. He relied entirely on instinct. He was blind, yet he could see, deaf, yet he could hear her screams of suffering, numb, yet he could feel the ‘head tail’ within his grasp. And he would have more, wanted more, needed more.

He would not, could not stop. Not now. This hunger, he would satiate it.

His hold tightened on the girl’s lekku. He enjoyed the feel of it in his hand, as he did the reaction of its owner, much to her utter disdain. He used it as a handle to swing her around in a full circle, to spin her about him, to add dizziness to her already fearful, pain stricken self. Using this motion to his advantage, he released her, allowing physics to do the rest.

Mission let loose another squeal as inertia slammed her into a wall.

Still paralysed by the pain of Kerry’s assault, Mission had no chance to react, to counter-attack, or escape. She was at the former Dark Lord’s mercy. The pain was unbearable. She could barely think. The attack had left her barely conscious. She didn’t know if she would be able to fight off her aggressor.

Advancing on her, Kerry uttered his next sentence, a continuation of his prior revelation, a mere three words.

“You wanted this.”

A hand reached down and Kerry’s fingers enclosed around the smooth, soft, skin of Mission’s throat. Kerry wasn’t sure how he knew that his assault on the girl, as well as the abuse he inflicted on her Lekku would immobilise her. He just knew it. The knowledge had somehow clicked into place, as if a voice in his head had told him to go for it. Perhaps something similar had happened prior to his capture, before his memories had been stripped from him.

He could tell by looking at her that she was struggling to do something. Perhaps she wanted to fight, or object verbally. Maybe she was trying to move, or simply to remain conscious. Whatever her intention, it was clear she wouldn’t be capable of denying his advances for at least several minutes. And while that wouldn’t exactly make them fun, the nature of the actions he was taking would surely make up for that.

Kerry took this opportunity to relieve the young Twi’lek of her outer garments. While it would have been more entertaining to have her fighting against him during this, he objectively resolved that this way at least would be faster and allow for a more intimate struggle when she came to, assuming she regained full consciousness in time. For now, she had no choice but to endure. Kerry wasn’t sure if Mission could feel his touch, but she was certainly aware of what was going on.

For some reason, Mission had been kept in the same clothing she’d sported the last time Kerry had seen her. They had not dressed her in the standard clothing of the cantina dancer. In a dodgy place like this, where everything fell to new lows, that was somewhat unusual.

The alien’s boots were the first to be purged, followed closely by her jacket, then the black t-shirt underneath. Left with only her generic, uninteresting grey underwear, these items were soon also cast aside, giving way to a much more interesting sight. Mission’s full, uncovered form was now at the human’s disposal, and she could do nothing about it. The look on her face said it all.

Kerry wondered how long it would take for her to once again become capable of putting up any amount of resistance. Her eyes told that she did not like this. How would she react when the pain emanating from her head gave in and her desire to repel him broke through? It would be interesting to see. Until then however, he’d have some fun with her.

He’d play around with her body, and see its natural reaction. He didn’t want to simply go ahead and penetrate the girl right away… or did he? He weighed up the options. Should he do it now while she has no measure of resistance available to her, or should he wait until she is able to fight him off? Which would be more traumatising, more painful, more entertaining? Entering her without consent whilst she is most vulnerable would certainly be the most effective method, but on the other hand, should he not wait until she is no longer numbed by the pain he had already inflicted upon her?

Would impatience serve him here? Could he use it to break the young Twi’lek? Perhaps. But is that what he wanted? To break the fourteen year old girl? What would she be like without her spirit? He liked the way she voiced her opinions and fought against him when she disapproved of his actions or methods. Over time, he’d come to greatly rely on her as a source of entertainment. Even now, as he weighed his options, it was to determine how best to elicit the most entertainment and amusement out of her, at his own discretion and at her expense, of course. Not so dissimilar to the way he had with Bastila, until the Padawan in question had put a stop to their little shenanigans, that was. Of course, Kerry had never gone this far with Bastila. The opportunity had never presented itself. Even if it had, would he…?

Kerry pushed the thought aside. There was no reason to bring that person’s memory into this. Kerry had no need for distractions as his hands traversed the smooth, solid sea of tight blue skin that covered the Twi’lek’s body.

The corner of his lip pulled into a grin. The girl who lay before him was forcibly willing, a helpless sacrifice presented to him as if he were the armoured fist of ruling deity. For all intents and purposes, she was his. A snicker erupted within him.

“All mine,” he sneered.

A curious hand travelled northward, traipsing up the nape of the girl’s neck, thumb caressing her cheek, her lip, her mouth. He watched her eyes for the reaction, gauging her disgust, measuring it. She could at least show her emotions through facial expression. That was something. She’d be ready within the span of a few minutes. Kerry was sure.

Fingers forced themselves into the girl’s mouth, moistening themselves on the Twi’lek’s tongue, gathering a second skin of moisture, lacking a membrane, but covering nonetheless.

With wet fingers, he touched her, groped her. Her mask was one of revulsion and anger, but he would crack it. The porcelain painted aqua, he would break it clean down the middle, or failing that, he would shatter it. He would smash it to pieces so small, they would bleed him dry. They would shred his skin, entering his body from beneath his fingernails, and for all the pain they would cause, it would be worth it.

His still moist hands turned their attention to the girl’s frontal mounds, her developed breasts. He played with them, toyed with them, one for each hand, amusing himself with her. She was his greatest ever toy.

Ever since his recent awakening, the ex-soldier, Jedi Guardian known as Kerry Crowly had always been forced to deal with an insatiable level of blood thirst. It had been difficult to balance his appreciation for battle and violence with his need to be diplomatic and practical, but now it was time for something different. On this day, he would give into lust of a different kind.

He took the tip of her right breast in his mouth, adding his own saliva to that which was already collected there, courtesy of the spreading actions of his hands and fingers. As he flicked the dark nipple with his tongue, he set his left hand on her other breast while his right hand worked her right lekku. He’d seen what harsh treatment of the sensitive organs could do, so was curious as to what reaction a gentle kneading would produce.

As he worked, he closed his eyes and emptied his mind. He lost himself in the moment, in the rhythm. He couldn’t tell how long he kept at it. All sense of time and space was lost to him. Blocked by the softness of young Twi’leki skin. The feel of her breast against his lips, his tongue; the sensation of the lithe lekku in his tender grip.

This was not how he had planned to spend this day, but the activity had its merits.

Changing his approach slightly, Kerry changed from swirling his tongue around such a small nub, to a less focused, less specialised method. Widening his mouth, he was able to slip more of her inside his facial orifice.

His mouth salivated at the mere thought of that which he was practicing and his tongue danced on her flesh, sliding down the azure slope of her breast, spreading the product of his desire, coating her soft, heavenly lump in his drool, his hands working harder than ever on their respective assignments.

As his head withdrew from its assault, his hands ceased their ministrations. The corners of his lips turned up in a smirk. He couldn’t help but sneer at the thought that had just crossed his twisted, depraved mind.

Snatching a glance at the alien’s eyes below him however, he was surprised. By what he saw, his grin had to widen. There was no choice.

The young Twi’lek’s eyes appeared glazed, unfocused. They stared straight up at the ceiling, but there was no activity behind them. Perhaps Kerry’s Massaging was to blame. Perhaps his stimulating of her lekku had sent the girl into a comatose relapse, but Kerry knew better.

Reading the limited vocabulary that her body language possessed, Kerry knew the real story, the true story, and it was amusing. It made him smile. It made him smirk.

“Well well. Is my little Mission enjoying herself?” he taunted. She had been so indignant before. Now, however…

Since Kerry had relented, Mission was no longer at his disposal, no longer under the spell of sensation. The loathing had returned, along with mingled guilt. She shouldn’t have enjoyed those things he had done to her. In her mind, she knew it was wrong, but once he started, that feeling… Her body wanted it, craved it. It betrayed her. Her body was equally as guilty as the vile human who stood before her.

She hated him, and she hated herself for it, but part of her, a tiny fragment, but a shard nonetheless, had been in bliss during those countless moments. She had relished the sensation, bathed in it, but that was not to misinform. One should not misunderstand. Such would be a grave misfortune and error, for Mission did not want the man to go further. More than anything, she wanted to be far away from all of this. Away from these slave quarters. Away from this planet sized sand trap. And away from the one she had once called friend.

However, life would not be so kind. Not all the scoundrel’s luck in the world would be enough to save this street urchin from what was to pass. She was trapped, and once again, or rather still, at the utter mercy of one Kerry Crowly.

“Well now, Mission, you seemed to enjoy that, now let us see how your lower body reacts.” At hearing that, the girl’s eyes instantly widened, and she was able to make herself talk in her desperation to make her unconsent known.

“No!” she cried, in a strained, hoarse voice.

“So, the slave can muster the will to speak, and speak out against her master no less.”

“You can’t call yourself my master… not after selling me to the slug out there.”

“Merely a technicality, I assure you. One of which I intend to take care of in due time, but you are recovering faster than I anticipated.”

“Sorry to disappoint you.” Kerry smirked as he looked around the room for a solution.

Finding what he needed, he walked over to a table near the back wall and picked up a pair of slaver’s handcuffs.

Mission’s eyes widened at the sight. “What are you doing with those?” she asked hurriedly. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want any of this, but she especially didn’t want those things on her.

“With you getting more mobile, I think restraining you is a prudent measure. After all, I wouldn’t want you fighting me off now, would I?”

“Wouldn’t you? I thought the struggle was what made it worthwhile. You know. The thrill of the hunt and all that.”

“True… and I had contemplated letting you attempt to fend me off, but it seems I’ve changed my mind. So sorry.” Without a moment’s hesitation, he crossed the room, approaching Mission and rolled her into a prone position, crossing her arms over her back and snapping the handcuffs into place. They were uncomfortable, bulky, and they nipped the young Twi’lek’s skin, but she refused to give Kerry the satisfaction of knowing she was in discomfort.

With the cuffs secured, Kerry roughly rolled the girl onto her back where she lay uncomfortably with her arms below her. “Please tell me you have the key for those,” Mission grumbled.

“You’re the security expert, I’m sure you’ll figure it out.”

“Wow, that’s reassuring,” Mission dryly stated. It was almost as if the two were having a regular conversation, just like old times.

While Kerry’s lip curled upward, Mission could only give a sigh. Hadn’t she been subjected to enough for one day? She seriously didn’t want the human male to continue, but it was an inevitability. Kerry would get his own way, there was no stopping it. And there was nothing Mission could do.

Once again, Kerry lay his hands on her soft, blue frame. And this time, his hands moved downward. They glided along her abdomen, sliding around and slipping below her lower back. The human glided them down to the girl’s buttocks, lifting them in his palm, holding them, until the pale, fingered appendages continued on their way south, caressing as they went.

Kerry moved them along the girl’s outer legs, moving down the thigh, around the kneecap, and then back up.

He separated the girl’s legs as he explored her inner thighs, dividing them, widening them. Throughout all this, of course, Mission remained helpless. She could barely force herself to talk. Moving the muscles of her lower body was a virtual impossibility for her right now. What else could she do? She’d have no choice but to endure, for now, and hope that he would take his time. Perhaps if he took long enough… maybe she could find an opportunity to escape from him. It was all she could hope for.

As for Kerry, he was still deciding what he should do. He didn’t want to take her while she was catatonic, because that would have been like attempting to mate with a corpse: fruitless.

Now, Mission was more responsive. She was able to think strait, and she could talk. Kerry wondered what else she could do. Was she fully recovered yet? Or not? Perhaps he had stalled long enough. Should he continue to amuse himself with her until the symptoms of her abused lekku clear up?

He didn’t want to be too easy on her. After all, the human wanted Mission to remember this, and what better souvenir was there than pain? He wanted to hurt her. Not wound her, but harm her. Physically, more so than mentally.

As his fingers continued to feel and grope their way around the lower portions of the alien’s body, they slowly made their way back up. From caressing the backs of the girl’s legs, he made his way closer to his ideal target.

“I wonder…” he mused aloud. Mission didn’t say anything, but she looked over, so that their eyes met, if only briefly. “You grew up on the streets of Lower Taris, didn’t you, Mission?”

“Yeah?”

“Well, even if you are only fourteen…”

“What are you getting at?”

“You said it yourself, you’re not a kid. You’re fourteen. Maybe I wouldn’t be surprised, even if you weren’t a virgin.”

“What… what are you saying?”

“Someone in your position can’t exactly afford to be sentimental, can you? Even if you did happen to be pure.”

“Stop it already!”

“No, I’m afraid not.” If the girl was not a virgin, Kerry would soon find out, and if she were, it would not matter. She would not be for much longer.

From the top of the girl’s legs, a right hand found its way to a very much coveted spot. Brushing a finger over the hairless slit of her opening, a curious eye remained on her face, eager to see any reaction, but there was none. Her expression was equally as dead as her bodily movements.

Slipping a finger inside her, he saw her eyes widen, an expression of utter dread plastered on her face. “You can’t pretend you don’t want this, Mission. I know you’re really quite excited.”

“Bite me,” the girl retorted.

“Careful what you wish for, Mission,” Kerry tauntingly replied. “Be careful what you wish for.”

“It’s not as though things can get much worse for me,” the girl grumbled. Before she could say more, had it been her intention, Kerry decided to distractingly plunge his finger deeper inside her, noting the warm tightness of her. He couldn’t help but think how much better this would feel if it were another, significantly more sensitive part of him being tightly hugged by the young alien’s body.

Slowly, but surely, he pushed his index finger into the tight space as far as physics would allow, all the way to the third knuckle. While he could have spent a great deal longer here, he quite simply lacked the patience. His own mounting excitement was rising faster than his usually limitless fortitude could withstand, as evidenced by the gradually growing tightness within the black leather pants he wore beneath his similarly coloured Dark Jedi robe.

He had wasted enough time, and could wait no longer to satiate the growing feeling within him. It was time to do this… now.

Kerry silently undone his leather pants and allowed them to slip down his toned, muscular legs; level with his shin-high black leather boots. There was no need to disrobe completely. Once he was done here, he’d have an over bloated slug to deal with. Removing the remainder of his clothing would only serve to slow him down. His attire also made a statement. It set him apart from the rest of the Jedi Council’s pawns. He wore a black undershirt below a grey outer tunic and a black leather tabard which served as armour, offering a small amount of protection in melee combat. Over this, he wore a long, flowing, black hooded robe. Around his waist, he sported a black leather belt, on which he clipped his dual, connectable lightsabers.

With his pants out of the way, the full length of his erection was able to come out and play. It knew what he wanted, just as he knew its longing desire. It craved the soft hug of flesh, the tight hole of the girl before him.

Without wasting any more time, he placed his steady hands beneath Mission’s relaxed, limp shoulder and lifted the alien into his arms, her lower body colliding against his, his, parts of him twitching knowingly, impatiently, almost crying out in pleasure at coming into contact with her smooth, soft, azure skin.

His legs intertwined with hers, Kerry awkwardly moved backwards and hauled Mission roughly onto the table by the wall. It was an ideal height for the situation.

Lying Mission on her back, her feet facing him, the human moved forward so that he stood between her legs. Gripping and relocating them with more force than necessary, he pinned her knees to the table with his hands and positioned himself over her. Her legs forcibly lay apart, kept wide open, vulnerable. The priceless expression on the girl’s face excited him. It egged him on. He needed more. More of her. The cold hardness of the bench-like table would serve to remind her of this day as much as the pain of the traumatising experience. After all, why should he bother with her comfort? The worse this was for her, the better. The worse her treatment, the better it would stick in her memory.

The human bore no grudge, but his sadistic tendencies demanded that he make her suffer. They had been comrades. Friends. Perhaps she had even looked up to him. The fact that they had been so close emotionally only made this that much better, that much more thrilling, exhilarating, satisfying. This day would forever be a highlight of his quest.

Lining himself up with her, Kerry aligned his tip with the opening of the alien’s soon-to-be-desecrated entrance, pushing into her lightly, readying himself. His hands releasing their claw-like grip on her legs, Kerry stretched forward and leaned over, reaching for the back of her head, lifting it while his other hand covered her mouth.

Her body was still unable to fight him off. She was unable to resist him. It was a physical impossibility.

Keeping an eye on Mission’s face, he thrust into her with as much force as he could manage, given his position. The feeling was unimaginable. His action had been mechanical, mindless. He had forced himself into her like a kath hound, utterly obliterating all barriers and destroying all forms of resistance.

The girl’s muffled scream of utter torment was to die for.

Kerry had thought that Mission’s scream from earlier had been orgasmic, but this one, it was so much more primal, so much deeper, so much harsher, more distorted, less clean, more pained. The muffled effect had also improved it to endless heights, and since his palm had been the one to do the muffling, he had not only heard her cry of agony. He had felt it.

“Well, Mission… it seems you were a virgin, after all,” Kerry casually stated, nonchalantly, offhandedly, ‘were’ being the primary keyword of the statement.

Mission’s eyes would not offer him a response. They were shut tight, leaking some kind of fluid. Tears. Of pain, perhaps. She was crying, or so it seemed.

Releasing her, Kerry’s hands returned to their place at the girl’s legs. And gripping tightly, he withdrew from her, pulling back slowly… before pumping into her… again and again, increasing his speed, building a steady, mechanical rhythm.

The feel of her was exquisite, like nothing else. Like nothing he had ever experienced before. At least, nothing he could recall. The helpless way she lay, arms bound behind her back, legs spread. The way her breathing deepened with his movements. The way her flesh hugged and squeezed him.

His grip on the girl’s thighs tightened, and his speed increased. As did his velocity, his ferocity. His desperation. His eyes closed as he surrendered to the sensations on offer by the defenceless body of his slave.

He was utterly lost in the moment, so was caught by surprise when he noticed Mission’s body begin to make its treachery known. It betrayed her. Against her will, more likely than not, her body began to respond to Kerry’s actions.

He noticed her breath heighten. She bit her bottom lip, the way she always had when she was nervous, not that the emotion was one she shared with many. Body language didn’t lie. Even if she didn’t like it, it was obvious that she was getting into this. The thought amused him, and urged him to press on.

His movements grew faster, harder, less concerned with the one to whom he was joined. As his body pounded against hers, the violence of it all, the repercussive inertia caused her to reciprocate the human’s motions, to almost vibrate against the table, in a sense. It doubtlessly added to her discomfort. The rustic iron handcuffs surely dug into her back. They would surely give her the pain to combat whichever sensation Kerry was currently bestowing upon her with his primal, bestial act.

He noticed her chest moving with the momentum they were creating. The blue mounds on the torso of her petite frame seemed to bounce back and forward as Kerry forced her to share his rapid, repetitive movements.

He watched them, the Twi’lek’s modest, shamelessly uncovered breasts. They moved, bounced; repetitively, rhythmically, hypnotically. Kerry was mesmerized. He couldn’t make himself look away. That spellbinding sight, along with the moist tightness that embraced his twitching length.

Despite the fact that he was presently within his enemy’s compound, he was in paradise.

Then he heard it. Mission’s breath had been mounting, gathering, waiting for a chance to escape. The girl had been chewing on her lip, being unable to exhale, her lungs taking in more and more air until they were overinflated.

There had to be a release, and inevitably, an uncontrolled breath escaped her, coming out in an accidentally vocalised form. The slightest of moans escaped her throat. Strangled, starved, and lamented.

It pushed Kerry further than ever. His grip tightened on his lover, his slave, his victim; and he thrust into her faster and harder than before.

The young Twi’lek’s face contorted in protest. In pain. And in something else.

Stretching the girl’s legs back against her body, Kerry forced himself deeper inside her.

He kept up his steady rhythm until he felt a pressure growing from within. A pressure that desired to be released, and yet felt too good to relinquish. He resided himself to hold onto that feeling for as long as he could.

As he persisted, he noticed her body responding to his efforts. The greatest response yet. Her breathing quickened and hitched in her throat. The feeling was unbelievable. He couldn’t take it. It was too much to handle. He lost all sense of rhythm and control.

All about him, Kerry witnessed the world fade to black, his vision obscured, his senses overloaded. Blinded. Deafened. Dumbed. He detached himself as he submitted to his body’s will. Ripples and waves of undeniable pleasure crashed through him and his entire body tensed.

As Mission finally gave into the irrefutable sensation she had suffered all this time, forsaking her sense of righteousness and forgetting her inhibitions, Kerry likewise released the mounting tension that had been gathering in his nether-regions. The feeling simply grew more and more unbelievable. It was unexplainable, incomprehensible.

He snarled like a beast as he came, the sound guttural and grotesque as he shot his seed deep into the girl’s fourteen year old womb. By the time he was done, he had allowed himself to collapse on top of her, his entire weight sandwiching her to the table.

There he lay, in silence, after who knew how long. Still lying on top of her, a blue leg emerging from either side of him. Still inside her, his receding member having been cleansed of its burdensome ejaculate. Mission had been sure to help him with that, be she willing, or not so.

When Kerry finally pulled out of the young Twi’lek, he was followed by a musty mixture of semen and blood. Ignoring it, he backed away and bent down to retrieve the black leathery material of his pants, and secured them with his belt, tightening it at drawing a single lightsaber.

Reaching for Mission once more, he grabbed her by one arm and roughly tossed her to the ground, flipping her onto her front with his boot.

Cringing from the harshness of the cold, dusty floor, Mission unconsciously bit her tongue. The reality of the situation was all too real. If it had been lessened or distracted at all during the past moments, it was all coming back now. She was covered in the old Dark Lord of the Sith: Darth Revan’s spit, and filled with something worse. The smell was suffocating. The horror of it all was unendurable. Surely things could get no worse… could they?

Her eyes closed tightly, and her breath caught in mid-gasp as she heard the oh-so familiar sound of a Lightsaber’s ignition. He wouldn’t… Revan wouldn’t seriously kill her now, would he?

The Lightsaber’s low hum journeyed closer and made contact with something. Mission felt her arms being moved as the Lightsaber’s pure energy blade cut through something, and the next thing the alien’s dread-filled mind knew, the previously flawless skin of her back had suddenly been soiled. But that in itself was incomprehensible. All she could contemplate at that moment was the pain.

Two red hot ends of a freshly cut metal chain suddenly came into contact with the solid membrane sea of her skin.

After severing the chain, Kerry disengaged his weapon and clipped it on his belt.

“I removed your handcuffs… in a sense, but you should be able to move freely. There will be a key for them somewhere.”

“Now…” Mission began. “What now?”

“Now… that’s up to you. I have some business to take care of. When I’m done, I’ll be heading back to the Ebon Hawk. Join me or stay here. Perhaps there is a future for you here as a dancer. Who knows?”

“But… What about Zaalbar?”

“He travels with me as always. If you wish to remain near him, you will have to do the same. Make a choice. What is more important to you? Your love for your Wookie friend, or your own selfish desire to keep away from me?”

“What if I tell him? What if I tell everyone what you’ve done?” Mission’s tone was dead and lifeless. It did not waver in pitch, and she spoke lower than usual. It was as if something in her had died, or gone into hibernation, turned dormant.

“Ask yourself one question. Who would believe you? I’m on a mission to crush Malak. Why would I take time out for a physical excursion with you? Even considering my recent actions of the past, there is no justification for such actions.”

Was that true? Could it be true? Clearly, Mission had never expected anything of this nature to occur, but what about the others? “Zaalbar will believe me.”

“The shag carpet follows me because of his people’s foolish code of honour. Even if he did believe you, what could he do? Forsake his life debt? Strip himself of all honour? Take up the role of ‘Mad Claw’ once again? What kind of friend would place him in such a taxing predicament?”

“What?”

“If you want to spread nasty rumours, go right ahead, but remember this. There is no one on board our ship that I couldn’t slaughter in a heartbeat. Even if you rallied them against me, you’d only be bringing them to their death. They’d be better off living, in ignorance. But I don’t particularly care one way or another. I have the coordinates to the Star Forge already. It’s not exactly like I need any of them anymore. Think about it, my little Mission. Weigh your options and consider them carefully. You have much to contemplate.”

With all said and done, he turned and left the girl alone. The pleasure aspect of his visit was over. Now was the time for business. As for Mission, a small part of him hoped she would return and travel with him again. She had always been fun to mess with, just like Bastila, but similarly to everyone else on board his ship, the Twi’lek was expendable. He wouldn’t force her to return, but if she intended to stay, then she would play by his rules.

Smirking, Kerry made his way through the semi-familiar halls to the main chamber. It was time he scheduled a meeting with Motta.

As he walked through the main chamber, he noticed those two Twi’lek twins from before. They were sitting on either side of a male Duros, their arms around him, caressing him. Kerry walked past them, his eyes remaining locked on the Duros in question. The alien looked back at him, a smug expression on his face.

Oh, Kerry thought, that explains it. That Duros was one of the ones that had looked upon him with envious eyes. Giving a last dismissing glance, he looked away and continued on his way towards the Hutt.

He was neither surprised nor concerned when the Twi’leks utterly abandoned their companion for him. He didn’t need to look back to feel the duros’ glare on the back of his neck. If looks could kill, I’d be a dead man, but since they don’t, that bounty hunter will have to try much harder. “Waste of space,” he uttered, barely audibly.

“Excuse me?” Ree asked.

“Dia’sun, Ree’sun,” Kerry replied, ignoring the question completely. “I need to discuss something with your master.”

“That should be alright,” Dia replied.

“Good, because I wasn’t asking for permission. He will see me now.”

“I agree, he will want to talk with you, but you should put away the arrogant attitude for now. Motta won’t like it.”

“I couldn’t give a Gamorian’s hide about what Motta wants.” Increasing his pace, he approached the great, grotesque slug.

“Chowbasa, Kerry Crowly,” it greeted.

“Achuta, Echuta,” Kerry replied. “I’m going to need my slave back.”

The slug’s indignant, misunderstanding roar was comical. As was his pitiful attempt of an argument.

As the conversation drew on, Kerry succeeded in breaking Motta’s composure, while keeping his own relatively cool, until…

“Killee Jeedai!” That was the order Kerry had been waiting for. Drawing a lightsaber, he ignited its violet blade. Wielding it in a two-handed stance of the basic Shi-Cho form, he stared down the repulsive alien.

“So sure of that, are you?”

“Me pee kasa.”

“I doubt that.”

Launching himself into a backflip, Kerry held his blade in his right hand while drawing his second with the other. He spun one hundred and eighty degrees in mid-flight as he swung his lightsaber in a downward, diagonal position, searing the flesh of the security guard before him, causing him to double over and scream out in pain. His second lightsaber was in his left hand, resting against the top of his shoulder, emitter pointing behind him.

As Motta barked another order, an entire militia of Gamorian security guards surrounded the human Jedi, ready to separate his head from his shoulders if need be.

One of the creatures behind him spoke in his Gamorian tongue. It sounded like nought but grunts and squeals, but Kerry understood plainly what was said. “We gots you good now, hume.” It was not the first time a Gamorian had said that to him, and he knew just how to respond.

“Oink oink, little piggy,” he uttered coolly, activating his second lightsaber. The violet blade pierced the swine’s face, exiting through the back of his head. This had served as more than enough provocation.

“Ne choo, sleemo!” a male Rodian exclaimed, drawing a poison-tipped longsword and charging into the fray of battle. As he did, the Gamorians all arched their battle axes for a massive vertical swing while the many bounty hunters drew blaster pistols and took aim.

The Gamorians were the biggest immediate threat. To avoid their simultaneous, mass attack, Kerry’s only direction of evasion would be up.

Allowing the Force to assist his actions, he jumped up, almost reaching the ceiling; and dove down to slice at the overzealous Rodian.

Spinning in mid-air, Kerry arced his arms in circular motions, crossing them over in a figure ‘x.’ Timing his attack perfectly, he was able to narrowly avoid the Rodian’s assault while countering with two simultaneous diagonal slashes, cutting all the way through him, slicing him into three separate, moderately equal portions.

Deciding to improvise a bit, he stuck out his blades, holding his arms outstretched to either side, he switched his left blade to an unorthodox reverse grip and spun around to face the Gamorians behind him, taking one of them out as he did.

The next thing that came to his attention was his force sense alerting him of an attack from the side. Blocking the swing of a battle axe with his left blade, he thrust with his right, directly into the green alien’s throat, all the way to the hilt.

Disengaging his lightsaber, he stepped back, allowing the fresh cadaver to fall before igniting it once more.

Reverting once more, to standard grips, he crossed his blades over his chest, slashing them out in horizontal arcs, initiating a Sai tok on two more victims, slicing them in half at the waist.

The remaining Gamorians, he mopped up with his own two-handed variant of Ataru: the Aggression form, utilising force assisted acrobatics and speed to outwit and outmanoeuvre the grunt-ish Gamorian guards. He switched his off-handed blade back to its reverse grip while raising his good arm over his head in the opening stance. Beckoning them with an eager smirk, he waited for them to come to him.

That was all they saw of him. He moved so fast that they completely lost track of him the instant he implemented his first use of the Force Jump ability.

With Motta’s personal guards defeated, he had only the bounty hunters left. He flourished his off-hand blade as he deactivated and clipped it on his belt, as one might spin a blaster pistol about their finger before holstering it.

Raising his one remaining blade above his head in a two-handed reverse grip, he launched into a force jump. Hopping from body to body, he was able to take them each down in a single blow, jumping towards them and delivering a fatal shiak from above, stabbing each and every corpse through the heart.

Once he was done, he was surrounded by only corpses… almost.

“And then there was one,” Kerry taunted, approaching the lone bounty hunter. The only one remaining. That envious Duros.

“You may have found these armatures easy prey, human, but I won’t go down so easily.”

“You speak basic,” Kerry observed.

“I speak many languages. It is common courtesy that the last words one should hear before they die are familiar.”

“Indeed. I’m glad I’ll be able to humour your final desire, bounty hunter scum. Draw your weapon.”

“Very well, though I believe that you are confused as to which one of us is going to die here. If it is your wish to face your grave here and now, I will not deprive you.” As he spoke, he drew his vibrosword and held it vertically in a two-handed stance.

“You speak the galactic tongue well for an alien, even better than some humans.” As Kerry made his observation known, he too shifted his stance, holding his blade in both hands, placing his right foot behind him, in an offensive-ready stance.

The Duros stared him down, studying his form before circling around him. The only sound that emanated was that of the lightsaber’s low hum. Kerry rotated so that he would be continually facing the alien who circled around him as he approached. Finally, the Duros thrust his blade towards Kerry’s left side.

Violently blocking with a downward motion of his lightsaber, Kerry was able to throw the Duros off guard. Furthering his advantage, he extended his left arm, pointing his palm toward his intended target and unleashing a jolt of the Force at his body, sending him backward and temporarily immobilising him, at least long enough to gain an immediate advantage.

Using this to his benefit, Kerry unleashed a rapid flurry of aggressive horizontal attacks, keeping his foe on the defensive. After his fourth slash was blocked, Kerry switched to a one-handed reverse grip, holding the blade in his right hand, outstretched to the side and swung it around horizontally, turning his back to his opponent. Then, he lunged forward. Since his back was turned to his opponent, his blade was thrust in the wrong direction and as such, missed, but the simultaneous left kick he sent behind him did not.

With the Alien momentarily stunned by the blow, Kerry spun around and slammed the blade of his lightsaber into the side of his head, disengaging it at the last moment so that the hilt connected in a physical bludgeoning attack, reigniting the blade once there was no risk of ending the fight prematurely. He followed this by backhanding the Duros’ face with his lightsaber’s hilt and finished up with a powerful left uppercut that popped him up into the air long enough for a merciless kick to send him flying through the air, and tumbling on the ground.

Ready to end this little squabble, Kerry turned and ran headlong toward his downed foe, raising his blade above his head in a two-handed grip, jumping, and swinging downward in what would have been a killing blow, had the Duros not evaded by rolling to the side.

Rolling backward, the Duros balanced on the balls of his feet and sprung forward, holding his vibrosword in one hand, moving it in a stabbing motion.

Kerry adjusted his stance accordingly and prepared for the incoming attack… but it never came.

Instead of the movement he’d anticipated, The Duros changed his attack at the last moment and rotated his sword in a figure eight motion, catching the ex-Sith off guard.

This, he followed up with a lunge and several diagonal slashes.

Frag! Kerry internally criticised. It was a feint. I should have seen through that… I was too damn reckless. Too damn reckless.

Studying the alien’s motions, Kerry realised that he knew this form. It was a variant of lightsaber combat form two: Makashi.

“Where did you learn that?” the human asked.

“Learn what, my fighting style?”

“Yes. You’re using one of the seven forms of Lightsaber combat recognised by the Jedi Council, although it’s been heavily modified and adapted for melee weapons. Who could have thought you that?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about… but suffice it to say that I studied at the foot of a great master of the sword.”

“I see,” Kerry said, blocking several more fast paced attacks. The duros was gradually and inevitably pushing him back, and his makashi wasn’t strong enough to go head to head with this alien. He’d have to stay on the defensive.

Keeping his expression plain and neutral, he moved quickly to parry each and every attack his opponent made. Though he seemed calm, Kerry was growing frustrated with this fight. He hated being kept on the defensive. He preferred aggression and speed. Kerry hadn’t the patience to stand by, acting defensively while waiting for an opening.  What was the point in blocking or simply deflecting blaster bolts when they could be redirected? What was the point in blocking attack after attack when opponents could be disarmed, limbs dismembered, weapons destroyed?

As the Duros came in for a powerful blow, Kerry held his blade vertically, hilt above shoulder height, and tilted his violet blade, pointing it in a downward diagonal position in time to block the strike to his left side.

Caught in a sabre lock against the alien’s reinforced, lightsaber-proof vibrosword, Kerry put an end to it by disengaging his blade and stepping aside to evade the now-clumsy attack. Next, he utilised the force-push ability and charged.

Running toward his foe, Kerry held the hilt of his deactivated lightsaber behind his back. Jumping, he brought the weapon out in front of him, holding it diagonally at forty five degrees, gripping it in both hands. Using that momentum, he through his weight in and utilised the inertia of his swinging arm to twirl himself about in the air, swinging the weapon’s lethal arc down at a diagonal angle to the right side of his enemy’s upper body, engaging his blade just in time to make it connect.

Once again, the Duros evaded.

The blue-grey skinned alien was forced to drop to the ground to avoid the critical strike.

While he was down, the Duros hooked his ankle around Kerry’s right leg and pulled, tripping him. Then, while his balance was momentarily lost, the Duros quickly rose faster than a rocket and, with sword in hand, directed a diagonal power attack at Kerry’s lightsaber, loosing it from his grip.

Once free of his hand, the lightsaber was thrown several metres through the air, the blade disengaging, visibly retracting before it hit the ground.

With a vengeful glare, Kerry instantly regained his composure and drew his second lightsaber and ignited it, keeping it in his left hand. Holding it horizontally, he moved it behind his back and swung it around and down, slashing at the Duros’ lower leg, only to have his attack parried and deflected.

Switching tactics, Kerry held his blade vertically and rotated, crouching lower as he moved in an unfamiliar corkscrew motion.

When he finally struck, catching the Duros off guard, he butted him with the hilt of his lightsaber while rotating in a full circle, and while gripping his hilt in both hands, delivered a shallow cut, arcing diagonally up from the alien’s right side.

Crying in pain as the blade of pure violet-hued energy seared his flesh, the alien stumbled back.

Seizing his opportunity for victory, Kerry raised his lightsaber above his head and placed his right leg behind him. Stepping into the attack, he swing his blade down in a vertical power attack, only to have it blocked.

Feeling restless, Kerry resolved to end this. Now. This fight had gone on long enough. This alien had to die.

Caught in yet another sabre lock, Kerry felt the tension building within him. The internal pressure was blinding, explosive. The dark side swirled within him, begging him to give in and strike this fool down, filling him with raw power, giving him strength.

He felt the Duros’ blade begin to buckle under his superior power, and soon the lock was broken.

Placing the blade horizontally behind his back, Kerry swung it around, smoothly passing it around his right side. Gripping the hilt in both hands as it passed in front of him, he struck at the location of the Duros’ left side, but missed.

As the duros ducked, he spun and swung an attack at Kerry’s feet.

Sensing this, Kerry jumped strait up and scissor kicked the duros in the head, first with his right foot, and them with his left, knocking the alien down.

As he returned to his feet, Kerry approached and swung his lightsaber in one hand, forging a figure eight toward the rising alien, slicing off his opponents dominant hand first, them his off hand, effectively disarming him like a good Jedi.

Without the slightest moment of hesitation, or so much as a predatory glance, Kerry spun around one hundred and eighty degrees, turning his back on his defenceless opponent, switching his blade to a reverse grip, holding it in two hands, and mercilessly impaling his pathetic victim through the abdomen, thrusting the blade behind him. Thinking nothing of the usually satisfying scream of agony that emanated throughout the chamber.

He spun around once more to face his dying foe, held his weapon in a two-handed grip, and swung it. Quickly, harshly, horizontally. Right through the Duros, right along the waist.

Continuing his spinning motion, Kerry utilised a powerful, high, roundhouse kick, effectively removing the alien’s torso from its legs, finishing the job of his earlier sai tok.

The decimated corpse toppled lifelessly to the ground in two pieces.

With that taken care of, Kerry outstretched his empty hand and called to his discarded lightsaber through the force, summoning it to his hand, holding one blade in each hand, feeling complete again.

Once reaching his grip, the metre long violet blade sprang to life. Kerry flourished his twin blades, twirling them in his hands as he disengaged them, before returning them to his belt. Now was the time to finish his business with Motta. The blundering coward had no more defences. He would crumble and his blubber would seep through his skin.

“What is this?” a voice asked, pleaded.

“What is this?” Kerry responded. “More fun?”

“What have you done, why are you doing this?” Turning around, he saw the two Twi’lek Twins, Dia’sun and Ree’sun, approach him. One looked absolutely terrified. The other, calm and collected.

“It’s simple, really. Your master tried to cross me. He claimed that I owed him a vast number of credits, trying to manipulate me the way Hutts usually do with their absurd numeral system, no doubt. I’ll admit, I made a few bad bets on some Swoop races, but I didn’t lose that much. There’s no way. I never wager with assets I don’t have, so I know the slug over there is full of poodoo.”

“But why do all of this? If you wanted money, why not just threaten him?”

“Because empty threats are worthless. I had to –“

“Master?” the voice of HK-47 enquired.

“I’m in the middle of something, droid. This had better be important.”

“Statement: I notice that the violence seems to have ended, Master.”

“Let me guess, you feel left out.”

“Affirmative answer: Yes Master, that is correct. Statement: When you engaged in hostilities with these loathsome bounty hunters, I was obligated to back you up, but you proved to me that you did not need it and I did not wish to disturb your slaughter. Lamenting statement: Now however, it seems that I have missed my chance.”

“Very well, HK,” Kerry replied. “You have my permission to purge this palace of life. Go ahead. Kill and Maim to your processor’s content. Just one restriction. Keep this in mind. If you happen to find Mission, leave her. Even if she is no longer a comrade of mine, I want her left alive.”

“Grateful answer: Thank you Master. I shall leave at once to fulfil your highly pleasurable, reasonable request.” The sound of his clanking footsteps announced his departure, and Kerry turned his attention back to the two lovely slaves before him.

“Now,” he continued, “As I was saying, I had to do this, you see. Hutts can be very stubborn creatures. Unless I prove my resolve, he will never believe a word I say. That is why I did this.”

“I see. You did all of this,” Dia spoke, “You killed everyone here, simply for petty revenge. That says a lot about you. It may not speak well of your character, but nevertheless, it says a lot.”

“Indeed it does. And now, the two of you, I think it is time I made up for earlier.”

“Made up?” Ree asked nervously.

“Yes. Tell me. What do you know of the Jedi Trials?”

“Nothing,” the twins truthfully answered in unison.

“The most well-known are the Trials of skill and spirit, but there are more. The trial of courage. And perhaps the most barbaric of all is the trial of the flesh.”

“Trial of the flesh?” Dee repeated thoughtfully.

“There are many ways in which this particular trial can be given, depending on the Master. Some Masters shoot their students with bursts of Force Lightning. Others sear their students’ flesh with a lightsaber, while some dismember them completely. After all, what’s the price of a finger or toe next to the reward of being a slave of the Jedi Order? Some masters, however, go for a different approach. The trial is to suffer pain… or loss. It needn’t be physical. One could have something taken from them. A possession, a belief… a person.” The Twi’leks’ eyes widened. “A loved one. A sibling, perhaps.”

“No,” Ree protested, to which Kerry smirked cruelly.

“Ironic, isn’t it? The Jedi are seen as incarnations of peace, wisdom and justice… which is true, I suppose. After all, their arrogance is exceeded solely by their self-righteousness. Now, to make up for abandoning you all before, how about we have some fun right here and now?”

“What… fun?” Ree asked, utterly mortified.

“How would you like to be a Jedi? Even if you can’t sense the Force, I could give you the trials, make you an honorary pawn. How does that sound. The trial of the flesh… I’ve never been on the giving end of it before. To purposely harm a student in order to strengthen them… well, what do you know? It appears I have. Drawing his weapon’s hilt and igniting it, he pointed the blade directly toward Ree’sun. “Have you ever wondered what it would feel like to be violated by a lightsaber?” he sadistically asked.

To the twins’ grimaces, he laughed.

“How can you…” Ignoring them, Kerry continued.

“Just look at it. An entire metre in length. And such a pretty colour, too.” Smirking, he drew his other lightsaber and likewise, ignited it, pointing it towards the other sister. “I have one for each of you.” Gasping in feigned realisation, he snapped the hilts together and locked them in place, combining them into what some referred to as a saberstaff, a double-bladed lightsaber. “Look, they are even connectable. Now it’s double-ended, if you’re into that kind of thing.” The insane look in Kerry’s eye gave them only one option.

Run!

The sisters knew that they had no hope of survival if Kerry caught them, so they had only one choice at their disposal: To split up. They scattered and fled, running for their lives in different directions so that one of them might escape this madman and survive, never mind the fact that the human’s equally sadistic machine was currently patrolling the area, just waiting for any sign of life it could exterminate.

Watching the Twi’leks run was beyond entertaining for the merciless human. Grinning, he threw his lightsaber, keeping it ignited and controlling its movements telekinetically through the force.

Guiding it directly forward, directing it away from him, he sent it in an upward motion like some kind of aerodynamic throwing stick before causing the two lightsabers to separate, split, and fly off in different directions, one heading after each of the Twi’leks.

He controlled the two simultaneously. Luckily, his proficiency for telekinetic lightsaber combat was limited to controlling two lightsabers simultaneously, which suited his requirements perfectly.

Sending one after each target, he heard their screams, one being in a higher octave than the other, as his lightsabers grazed them, searing their skin and permanently marking them.

With that done, he returned his lightsabers to his hands and reconnected them, creating a double-bladed variant of his lightsaber once more. Then utilising Force Jump, he was able to quickly cross the entire room and slash at Dia’sun from above. Twirling his blade as he landed, he cut through her entire torso below the shoulder and finished with a sai cha, decapitating his opponent. The scream that emanated from his first cut had been music to his ears, though not the best he had ever heard. Looking down with pride at his work, he noticed a pair of boots, and traced them up with, following the body, tracing it up to the blue-skinned face, staring directly into the brown eyes of Mission Vao.

Offering her a silent, knowing smirk, Kerry turned and walked away, heading towards his intended target: Motta the Hutt, leaving Mission to follow at her discretion.

Approaching the grotesque slug, Kerry ignited a single drawn lightsaber and stared at him. “Now that the hostilities are over, perhaps we can get back to business.”

“Chuba! Haku pronombre ella abverbio aqui?” the Hutt demanded – What is she doing here?

Kerry didn’t need to look behind him. He knew what this was. “It’s a sign, Motta. Mission no longer wishes to be in your service. She is leaving here, today.”

“Haku!?”

“It’s true,” Mission replied in a calm, collected tone. “One way or the other, I’m leaving this place. You can let me go, or you can die here.”

After careful deliberation, the Hutt declined.

“Motta, you don’t have many options. Your security is dead. My droid is currently on a search and destroy mission to wipe out any remaining life within this palace. You saw with your own eyes what I did here, unless of course your eyes are failing you?”

Motta remained silent.

“Revan,” Mission called.

Kerry turned to face the Twi’lek.

“If I leave here, will you let me, or will you turn on me? Will you betray me again, like you have so many others?”

After a long, unendurably drawn-out pause, Kerry spoke. “…no,” he finally answered. “I gave you a choice. You may come with me, or leave here in solitude, but Zaalbar and the others will remain on board the Ebon Hawk. That choice remains, but before we get into that, I have one last annoyance to take care of.” He raised his lightsaber to the grotesque alien. “Try to cheat me, will you? Space-damned grotesque fragging slug.”

“Is that necessary, Revan?” Mission asked. As she spoke, Kerry noticed a change in her. Her voice, her stance, even her eyes. It was as though she were dead, yet still living. She was like a Jedi blind to the force. It seemed that she would no-longer sit idly by and watch as he committed acts that she viewed as atrocities. This experience had changed her. For the better, or the worse; who knew?

Pushing that aside for now, Kerry returned his attention to Motta the Hutt. Taking a step closer, he readied his lightsaber for combat, and with a sideways smirk, he uttered one final threatening remark, one more rhetorical question.

Holding his lightsaber in a Shi-cho grip, he spoke. “Any last words, slug breath?”

XX