When I Wake

Prolouge

I was cleaning my armour when he calls.

Despite my best efforts, the blood from my earlier interrogations had dried on. The Captain had taken longer than I expected. He had wiped the terminal when he heard me massacring the troops and coming his way, so it was back to old fashioned methods. Eventually, he told me the location of the covert Republic base here. And the security codes. Didn't need him after that. Suppose I could say I gave him a clean death at the end, only I had made too much of a mess of him in the three hours earlier.

Would have gone after the bounty straight away but it's day outside and dried blood is harder to clean off then wet. I'll go after the target at dusk. Isn't more than two clicks from here. I look around at where 'here' is as I search for my holo. The cave is dark and a little damp; it seethes through the bottom of the tent like a poison. I don't mind. I'm at the back of the cave, traps set all down the cave from the opening to here. Nothing will make it to me alive.

This bounty shouldn't be too hard. These bounties are a waste of my talents. But I suppose I need to prove myself good enough for the Great Hunt somehow. Hope they are good enough to attract attention. And I was in the area anyway. Had some personal business to take care of. I'll hit the underground base tomorrow night.

I accept the call. The tiny, blue flittering figure that appears is a man. He's middle aged. Human. Bald with hard creases around his mouth. Still in rather good shape, otherwise.

'So do you want in? I have a team ready; we only need a hunter.'

Guy said his name was Braden. Suits him. He has a team ready for the Great Hunt and wants me to be their hunter. Opportunity I'd been waiting for. Not much else suits my talents but hunting. Guess I also want to prove I can do it on my own: my targets, my rules and my money. Don't know why it should matter, though. General's dead. And I've been killing for ten years, so capability to kill is proven. So I suppose I just want to burn my name through the stars as a warning to the Republic of what is to come.

This is the twelfth planet in the five months. But I don't want to be an unknown force to most of the galaxy, unheard of to those who aren't in the Organisation. I want fame. I want the galaxy to know who burns their Empire and Republic. I want them to despise themselves for the monster they created; the beast their leaders, soldiers and scientists crafted and fashioned.

I want to make this galaxy as ugly as I am; to shatter and break their charade of beauty, of justice and of good. And then I want them to beg for mercy. No one deserves to live.

The prisoner begged in between screams. They continue when I stop. I decided to change tools. Tired of this one. Need something smaller to get the teeth at the back.

When I approach her again, she thrashes; head wildly shaking from side to side; her hair slaps her in the face, making her eyes tear more. Her cocoa irises are surrounded by blood shot white. They are wild and insane now, all sense of sanity and peace removed like a splinter from a foot. I clamp her mouth open and tighten the strap around her forehead. I begin filing her back teeth into small, sharp points. Her agonised screams are merely frenzied gurgles.

Hours later, when all her teeth are tiny pointed, perfect pyramids and I am satisfied with the job, I remove the clamp. I loosen the strap around her head by a few centimetres. I return it to the work bench and pick up a thin long metal rod. The point at the end is sharp.

My footsteps reverberate in the damp concrete room. The echoes create echoes until it is nothing but an undefinable noise. All else is silent. She has screamed her throat raw. Her breathing is nothing but a haggard gasping thing.

I walk to the corner and pick up the small wooden stool. I drag it over and put it close in front of her. She watches me with suspicious, tired eyes. I hold up the long needle and test the point on my finger. No blood appears, despite it being far under the surface.

'Do you know what this does?' She tries to speak but as her tongue touches her teeth she makes a high pitched wail. I smirk. Guess I did make them sharp enough after all. 'Do you want to find out?'

She shakes her head as well as she can.

I tell her anyway. There is too much life in her eyes. 'You know, this is actually my favourite. We all have favourites here, you know. Most in the Organisation don't like the common torture droids. Too impersonal, though some like to watch. And let's face it, droids really are just for amateurs. Even the most advanced droids just doesn't have the same touch or feel as a real person. We like our prisoners to know that we are giving them our special, undiverted attention.'

I leer at her and continue as she begins to sob. 'Like right now and for the past ten hours. Haven't you felt special? Hasn't no one else ever paid you this much attention? Don't you feel like I understand your pain and am listening closing to your complaints?'

I frown at her lack of reply and consider hitting her as she continues to cry. But I reject that, and continue. 'Some like electrocution, other's the old fashioned cutting slow; some like to make people hang from hands and legs for days on end, other's like to feed people boiling water or food with too much pepper and salt after they had spent hours cutting and scorching the inside of their mouths and sometimes removing all the prisoners teeth. But I like this simple needle. There's so much you can do with it. Do you know how many things?'

She doesn't move. And she doesn't look at me. So I slap her hard on the face, her teeth cutting the inside of her cheeks. She dribbles blood. 'It's rude to not look at someone when there talking to you.' I hit her again. 'It's rude to not answer a person when they are speaking to you.' I hold her neck in my hand and squeeze. My steel grey eye is a dagger that stares into her, cutting her soul and leaving it in bloody, long strips. 'So answer my question, please.'

She looks into my eye with an exhausted loathing. 'I don't know.'

I nod and let go of her neck. 'Good girl. The only limits to it is your imagination.' I lean in closer to her and speak in a fervent, conspiring whisper. 'And I have a very good imagination.' I lean back again. 'Do you want to me to show you some of the things it has come up with?'

She shakes her head, the movement turning into a spasm that brings short, squeaking coughs.

'No? So you are ready to talk?'

She nods her head. She is silent. She spits out some blood, but it falls short and dribbles her chin, joining the rest. Dignity doesn't exist in this place. Hard to retain some when sitting in your own shit and piss.

'Good. Start by telling me...'

'You got yourself a hunter. Just tell me where.'

Braden smiles. It's relieved. 'Hutta. Great Hunt starts in two months. When can we expect you?'

'Be there in three weeks. Got a few things to wrap up here.'

He frowns a little. 'Can't be sooner? Cutting it a little close.'

'I like it close.' I hang up.

Great Hunt, huh? Opportunity all bounty hunters and most Mandalorians want. It's an annual tournament held by Mando's to determine the greatest bounty hunter in the galaxy. All targets are high profile and hard to get. Each target has two bounty hunters going after it. Hunters must eliminate the competition and the target. Failure to do so is death. The victor receives wealth and fame. Both mean little to me.

I live for revenge. I hate this galaxy. And I just like a challenge.

I hum as I clean the blood off my armour. Everything according to plan.