Starkiller didn't need to be threatened. He didn't worry about the consequences of failure. To him, that wasn't even a possibility. He lived to serve his master, so there could be no other outcome.
600 credits. That was all that was asked of him this time. It was a seemingly straightforward task—survive in Galactic City and have the money in hand by the end of two weeks. Starkiller worried. He knew that there would have to be a catch. He knew that this would end up being another exercise to bring him closer to his darkest emotions. Dwelling too long on such thoughts made him feel hopeless.
Starkiller curled up beneath the single blanket that was thrown carelessly across his bed. He pulled his knees closer to his chin, still feeling the chill of the night air through the fleece material. The room swayed slowly as the Executor floated through space. Starkiller felt himself beginning to fall asleep, so he shut the lantern next to the bed and closed his eyes. He was too exhausted to speak his birth name, as he did every night, so he visualized it and repeated it in his head. It looked strange and unsettling. Foreign, almost.
Morning came too quickly. Starkiller washed his face and avoided looking into the mirror. He was only seventeen, and yet he felt that he appeared older. The last time he had seen his reflection, he was shocked by how ragged he looked. Not dirty, but worn. Worn and empty.
He entered the hall and awaited his master. Outside the window was nothing but darkness speckled with stars. He thought of it as a metaphor for his life, except without the stars.
He bowed as Vader approached from the far side of the hallway.
"Good morning, master," Starkiller said.
"Go to the escape pods. The ship is directly above Coruscant's orbit," said Vader, striding past the boy with little concern.
"The escape pods? I'm going to...crash?"
Vader whipped around and stepped towards Starkiller.
"Do not question my authority. You are to do as I command you."
"Yes, master," said Starkiller. He rushed towards the east wing and did not slow to walk until Vader was out of sight.
The escape pod was frustratingly tiny. Starkiller sat with his back following the curve of the wall. He hadn't measured himself in years, but he guessed that he was almost six feet tall by now. He felt awkward and unloved.
The pod ejected from the ship without any warning. Starkiller cried out as he tumbled around in what little space was open in the capsule. He could feel himself racing towards Coruscant faster and faster as the planet's gravitational pull became more intense. Smoke billowed around the pod and obscured the windows. Starkiller grabbed onto the handles above him and shut his eyes.
He crashed. It was a lot less painful than he thought it would be. A small airbag popped open three feet away from his face, and he grumbled at its uselessness. He pushed open the hatch towards the top of the pod and stuck his head out. His body ached from being constricted for so long.
The city was overwhelming. Speeders floated by overhead in lines, almost like ants marching. The glistening buildings were so tall that he had to strain his neck to see the tops. Starkiller recollected himself quietly. He stretched out each individual limb in an attempt to get rid of the achiness he was still feeling from his journey. He was thirsty.
Starkiller jumped to his feet and made his way toward what appeared to be a strip mall near the main road. Crowds of people pulsed in the direction of a building covered in flashing lights. A club, maybe.
The corner of the street was home to a decrepit little place called the Dewback Inn. A single wooden sign swung along with the breeze just above the entrance. Starkiller pushed the door open and made his way inside.
It was a cantina. Damn. Starkiller wasn't old enough to drink, and his presence near the bar would soon draw suspicion. He made his way over to the steps, stooping low to avoid attracting attention. The bartender poked his head up from behind a stack of glasses.
"Can I help ya, kid?" he asked, aggressively mixing a drink.
"Uh, yeah," said Starkiller. "I need a room. I mean, do you have rooms? I don't have money. I'm sorry, I—"
"You don't got money? Hell outta here, kid. Come back when you can afford it and the room's all yours. 30 credits a night. I'd love to help ya out, but this recession's got me in no mood for generosity. Door's that way."
Starkiller fought back tears and left, slamming the door shut behind him. He went back to the only place familiar to him now, and that was the dented escape pod.
Only weak men cry, scolded a voice inside his head. Your tears are a sign of cowardice. Demand what you deserve.
Demand what you deserve. What did he deserve? He needed a place to stay, but he wasn't sure what he had done to deserve that.
You are the apprentice of one of the strongest Sith known to this galaxy. What other qualification could you need?
No. That didn't feel right. His title did not make it acceptable for him to use violence to get what he wanted. Or did it?
Demand some money while you're at it. 600 credits, right? In two weeks? That's almost 45 credits a day. You have to get it somehow.
Starkiller leaned on the outside wall of the cantina. He pictured his birth name and repeated it in his head.
Stop that. You are not him anymore.
He visualized the face of his father. It was becoming harder to remember with each passing day.
Go inside and have another word with that bartender.
Starkiller put a hand on his lightsaber, which was tucked securely into his belt.
Yes, good. You won't have to fight everyone inside. When they realize who you are, they will fear you. They will respect you. And then you will be one step closer to completing your task.
Starkiller moved his hand away from his belt. He shoved the cantina door open and went back inside.