Disclaimer: This humble author takes no belief of ownership of the aforementioned copyrighted materials and characters presented in the following text. All preexisting characters, events, locations and background are property of their true owners (Lucas Arts). Further no proceeds will be made from the following work of fiction.

Whew, safe.

Dissecting the Dark

I

The transport Rogue Shadow slipped through the unfathomable expanse of void space with all the grace and projected lethality of a nocturnal predator consumed by the hunt. Pith black painted dura-steel hull and wicked looking forward mounted turbo cannons only served to reinforce the comparison giving the cursing vessel the feeling of utmost malevolence, sure to strike fear in any who witnessed it's passing. Not that they would ever catch site of the elusive hunter due to the on-board stealth systems that worked endlessly; bending light and rerouting heat emissions, effectively rendering the Shadow invisible to both the naked eye and all but the most advanced scanners. The perfect killing tool; fast, agile, silent and utterly lethal. In an ironic twist of faith, so too could these words be used to describe the ships sole organic occupant.

The enigmatic being only known as Starkiller grunted with exertion as he continued to pound the well worn canvas bag with a nonstop series of precise and powerful blows. The air around him smelt of sweat and blood, the latter emanating from the red tinged cloth bandages wrapped tightly around his knuckles and the former from the toll on his stamina his continued assault was having on his body.

He was bare chested; his pale alabaster skin shone with a heavy layer of sweat as he moved his body in an fluid and deadly dance. Once in a while he would throw a kick or knee and his worn heavy boots would impact with a satisfying thud. At 1.85m and all coiled muscle, Starkiller was no pushover in the physical department and this was currently being showcased without any noticeable effort.

The training room he currently occupied was dimly lit, but the scattered weights and other fitness equipment visible in the dark showed obvious signs of repeated use. Over to one corner was an impromptu circle drawn out of chalk, in which several deactivated training drones lay dormant and seemingly scrapped; scorches and blaster pockmarks evidence of the little spherical machines constant defeat.

With his breath just starting to become slightly labored, the secret apprentice's flurries increased in intensity until suddenly the weakened chain holding the bag finally splintered and warped with a sickening crack. Freed of it's restraint the 40kg dead weight smashed into the bulkhead in an explosion of sand and tattered cloth.

Annoyed, the young assassin growled under his breath as wiped himself off with a towel that was hanging off a nearby weight rack. This was becoming more and more of a problem and general pain in the rear. As his training advanced, he was finding it harder and harder to find equipment that would keep up with his new prowess without breaking down. Already he had to replace the heavy bag multiple times and the training drones he simply bought in bulk. Truly the only thing that could give him a truly worthy challenge anymore was...

The Dark Side energy that naturally flowed through his being surged almost painfully, alerting him to the incoming danger. As it was the angry hum of a lightsaber passed by uncomfortably close to his face as he dropped to the floor, supporting his weight with one arm and raising his other to guard his exposed front. Reacting without thought his own weapon sprung from his belt and into his raised hand. With a quick press of a button, his blood red colored blade ignited; barely stopping a second strike had been aimed at severing him in twain. Reacting instantly Starkiller repelled the pressing saber physically, pushing his adversary's weapon away with his superior space to create room. Then utilizing the telekinetic nature of the Force he created a powerful shock wave that sent his opponent and a bunch of loose exercise equipment flying into the adjacent wall with a sickening thud.

Springing to his feet, Starkiller dropped into an instinctual defensive posture, lightsaber pointed front and low with both hands, feet spaced a tad bit more than should length apart with a forty five degree bend at the knees. His whole body would tight of a spring he would be instantly able to attack or defend, dodge in any direction and maintain his ground against heavy blows. Not that he would have to, if the way his opponent was jerkily trying to raise himself off the ground where he had fallen.

Snorting impatiently, Starkiller extinguished his weapon and strolled casually over to where his aggressor, formerly in the shape of a tall dark skinned human, now revealed to actually be a medium sized stripped down droid which continued to struggle and try to right itself. However due to the amount of damage it had sustained it was having a hard time with simply getting up. From where he was the young assassin could see that the droid had taken a nasty hit to the head, to the point where one of it's ocular sensors was merely hanging from a protruding wire.

'Probably fried his gyro-scopic interface again.' Starkiller mused, more intent on the pain of repairing such a complicated piece of tech than the effect it was currently having.

"Oh master, it seems I underestimated the ability of my current form to weather your abilities. My apologies." a cheerful yet apologetic voice issued from the droid's blinking falsetto mouth. "In the future I will have to be sufficiently upgraded in order to complete my secondary protocol and terminate you."

"Proxy, you couldn't kill me even if I spent my last credit upgrading you to do just that." Starkiller spoke gently, the corners of his mouth slightly turned up in what on anyone else could have been mistaken for a smile. As it was it came out as a sarcastic smirk. Picking up the skeletal droid he brought it to it's feet, catching it quickly as it almost toppled over, the extent of damage to its sophisticated inter-workings painfully obvious. "But perhaps I should limit myself to no weapons. Provide a better challenge."

Fortunately by this point the droid by this point had regained some semblance of balance, probably by falling back on secondary systems, and was working on reattaching it's dislocated eye. " That would be delightful master, much easier to kill you if your unarmed."

Regardless of how detached from what would be considered the "normal" range of emotions, Starkiller couldn't help but internally laugh at his sole companions cheerful admission of murderous intent. Anyone else would have been mortified to hear such things spoken by the being that had basically raised him, but being a staple part of his and Proxy's relationship for the past 18 years he wasn't overtly perturbed by it. If anything it gave him a comforting feeling, the honesty in the statement was always refreshing after a lifetime of study in deception and it's various uses. All in all he would take Proxy's cheerfully homicidal playfulness over the almost suffocating dark aura projected by the Dark Lord of the Sith any day.

There had up until recently been a second source of companionship available to him, but that too had after been taken away from him. 'Juno' even his thought was a whisper, a fitting tribute to the strenuous and as of yet un-deciphered relationship that had formed between the two of them.

The mere thought of the blond hair woman's name brought a surge of barely controlled anger to the forefront of his mind that he had to work to push back into its proper dormant place. But unlike the seething reserves he naturally had accumulated throughout his Sith training this special little section had found itself inexplicably dedicated at his masters ominous black armored form. Though he had noticed the more he thought about the whole situation the greater and more precise that wedge of anger would become.

Up until recently Juno Eclipse had been the pilot assigned to ferry him around on his masters somewhat random seeming bidding. However after the last bout of training at the abandoned Jedi temple on Coruscant (where he had once again defeated an ancient Sith holocron "somehow" left active in the wake of the temples utter destruction) he had been contacted by his master via hologram to discuss his successful completion of the mission and prepare him for the next.

He remembered kneeling before Proxy's hologram encased body and feeling a sort of unease in the Force that he was totally unfamiliar with. But always the obedient student he had knelt and awaited his masters bidding, the only audible sound the hum of the Shadow's engines and the raspy methodical breathing that more often than not gave new life to his reoccurring nightmares.

"Starkiller" Darth Vader, right hand man of the Emperor, the Empires black fist, finally broke the silence. Starkiller was slightly surprised that he could actually detect hints of anger in the Dark Lord's voice as he spoke; which was usually more or less completely apathetic while speaking. On the rare occasions that he had tasted his dark masters displeasure it would usually lead to a severe beating, often times within that of his life, or worse the Sith Lord would express his disappointment in his performance. For a man trained since age 4 to live or die unconditionally on his masters word it was understandable that approval meant a lot to him.

"I trust your mission was successful?" The question brokered no tolerance for failure and Starkiller responded simply with an affirmative.

"Yes my master." He whispered, never once raising his eyes off the ground. Never speaking loudly, to the untrained observer one would be led to think that the young man prostrated before the hologram was exceptionally shy or lacking in self esteem. Nothing could be further from the truth of course as years of harsh training had honed the idea of constantly retaining situational awareness and avoiding unnecessary attention to oneself.

Not to mention when your only constant companion is a murderous robot bent on sending you on to the next life your need for communicating takes backseat to more pressing issues.

"Good." his heart jumped at the single word of approval, but immediately crashed as Lord Vader continued, if he was truly satisfied he would of said nothing at all. "However I have heard some disturbing things concerning your current state of readiness." Mentally Starkiller cringed.

'What does that mean?' the thought crossed his mind and for the first time in a while he was unsure of himself. As far as he had done nothing wrong, and his mission had been completed to the specified standards. Furthermore he still could feel the dark side flow through him like a raging river of molten rock so there was no way he had been irrevocably tainted. However he wisely decided to not voice his thoughts and instead waited patiently for his master to continue.

"You cannot let anything get in your way of crushing your enemies!" the anger in his master's voice truly took him by surprise, he hadn't felt him this angry since he found that holoflick that his 8 year old self had smuggled onto the Executor. His master continued without pause and his spite and disgust grew with every word.

"There must be no hesitations, no barriers or distractions as you let your hate flow through you! You have once again failed me!" Vader didn't shout as much as he projected, his displeasure hitting Starkiller like a iron curtain. Suddenly he felt himself struggling to breathe as if the gravity in the cabin had suddenly increased tenfold. Angered at these false accusations, he attempted to voice his objections, but the powerful being on the other side of the link sensed the outburst and squashed it mercilessly before it had even formed.

"Fool, I watched your progress in the temple, your feelings of attachment led to hesitation, which could of cost you victory!" Vader gestured with one hand and suddenly Starkiller's mind was flooded with information.

He had once read that before their downfall, Jedi and their Padawans had had the ability to establish a sort of link between their minds to share and create stronger emotional bonds of trust. There was however no sharing involved in this process, just a vicious one way rape as images were forcefully inserted into his mind and he was forced to view his failures through the disapproving eyes of his master.

The images themselves were blurry, but overall recognizable, viewed third hand. First from his masters red tinted perspective, then through some sort of security camera system that had recorded his latest mission to the Jedi Temple. He observed thus his duel with the simulacrum depicting Darth Phobos, the ancient (if long dead) Sith master.

During the battle his semi-holographic enemy had used various tricks and illusions as well as lightsaber combat in attempt to distort and confuse his senses and cloud his mind. Creating perfect copies of itself, teleporting around wildly and causing him to temporarily robbing him of his vision. However potent he had managed to defeat all these tricks, relying on his tremendous connection to the force and his emotional strength. These petty tricks exhausted the ghost had changed tactics attacking him where he was most vulnerable though at the time, and ever now, he would never admit to that.

The hologram had disappeared, leaving him to search carefully amongst the ruined remains of a holocron library. After many minutes of fruitless pursuit, he had considered leaving, assuming he had defeated the specter. However he could still sense the ghost's presence in the Force so he continued the search.

After a few more minutes of search he felt his patience beginning to wear thin, his concentration dropping in lieu increase in his base of emotions. He had just finished slashing a few priceless relics to pieces when a low sound had caught his ear. Immediately on guard, impatience forgot, he listened carefully for the source to give away it's position. Soon enough a plaintive moan issued from somewhere in the trashed library and he quickly turned to investigate, somersaulting over a low bookcase and landing in a fighting crouch. Whatever he had been expecting however, this was not it.

"Help me." the voice repeated again and this time he had no trouble identifying and placing it as his friendly pilot. She lay there lower torso concealed under an immense pile of rubble, her petite supine form looking incredibly vulnerable. Warily he approached, searching for any sign of a trap. As he got closer he noticed the unmistakable pool of crimson liquid seeping out from her concealed lower half, its slick surface reflecting the dim lights that shone overhead.

Just from the amount of blood present at the scene he could tell she would not be long for this world and there would be nothing he could do to prevent that from happening. It felt strange.

"Please help me!" she cried, reaching pathetically for him, tugging on the hem of his robe in a final request for aid.

Now logically he knew Juno was safe back piloting the Rouge Shadow with Proxy waiting for him to return and this must just be another one of Phobos' tricks. But as he raised his lightsaber up to finish it once and for all he found himself frozen in indecision.

He had never considered what the loss of a companion would feel like. While the sharp, clinical side of his mind demanded that he end this farce, his much undeveloped, un-utilized emotional half was caught up in an understandingly opportune internal discussion on the merits of "friendship." It was there at that moment that he unwittingly convinced himself of the nature of reality and sunk into Phobo's trap.

Looking up at him pleadingly, those beautiful blue eyes, that promised eternal happiness should he just be allowed to stay under their possession for just a little longer. Those slightly parted and oh moist lips that promised so much more if he would just let out his emotions and find the will to possess them. The dreams of finding something more to life than to simply answer the beckoning of another and to instead exist in tandem with another kindred spirit. It was intoxicating and...

He couldn't end it. His lightsaber lagged, dropping from it's raised position to a drooping relaxed posture. Sensing her distraction had succeeded, the disguised Phobos burst into action, dropping Juno's form and striking out with her formerly concealed lightsaber. Immediately jostled out of his internal fantasy was momentarily put on the defensive before once again gaining the upper hand at which point their battle resumed.

The deluge of images stopped and Starkiller grabbed his head as he fell off his knee and rolled into the fetal position. The pain from the transfer was a immense, spreading from the back of his skull to the back of his eyes and he wiped away a trickle of blood that had leaked from his nostril.

"What use is a tool that cannot differentiate between reality and a simple illusion? It is obvious that attachments have made you brittle and weak, akin more to the pathetic Jedi than my apprentice." for someone who was raised their entire life to hate that ancient order it was a low blow, however the Dark Lords was not done expressing his extreme displeasure at his apprentices failings. "It seems you have forgotten all that I have taught you, you who would be no more use to me at my side than a cripple. The Emperor would destroy you with less than a thought. You are less than a tool, you are a hindrance and I am beginning to question why I ever considered you a worthy apprentice." Allowing what he had said to sink in for it's full effect the master continued with his judgment.

"I'm afraid this failure has resulted in the need for your continued service to be reevaluated and for certain measure to be taken to prevent this failure from ever occurring again."

Pulling himself upright, Starkiller acknowledged this turn of events with pragmatism. He had always knew there was a possibility of ending like this, tossed aside and discarded like an old burned out droid. After all the one reason for his continued existence had been taken from him as he was no longer fit to serve. Bowing his head in defeat, he awaited the crushing presence of his master's Force grip around his throat, as he had witness him do to countless Imperial officers when they failed him. There was no point in fighting it. "As you wish my master." he whispered his acceptance.

"Very well my foolish apprentice, it is done." Vader dismissed the whole issue with a wave of his hand and Starkiller blinked in confusion.

'What?'

Not giving his apprentices puzzled look any notice his master continued on as if nothing had happened.

"Recently I have been sensing a great disturbance in the Force. It is a great enough anomaly that I am going to send you personally to investigate." At this point Vader paused, whether to let his apprentice digest the information or dramatic effect he would never know. "The planet in question is called Felucia. It has become an abomination of light, acting as a relay and sending those energies far into the nearby systems. If left unchecked this could have a detrimental effect on the dominance we have gained in that sector and thoroughly unbalance the dynamics in the region." Something tickled at the back of his head at his masters sudden change of tune but he couldn't identify what it was.

"Therefore your next mission is to travel there and at any cost correct this nuisance. You will be receiving a data packet on the specifics as well as the coordinates of the transport where you will receive your new pilot. Do not fail me again, you will find my leniency to be less accommodating next time." The last remark was punctuated with a threatening chop of the hand, letting it be known that further negligence would not be tolerated.

However his masters threats meant nothing as the niggling feeling behind his masters easy dismissal of his previous failure suddenly clicked. He waited until his master's imaged faded and Proxy returned before racing through the ship's dura-steel corridors to the cockpit. Possibilities of what he may find swirled in his head as he increased the speed of his steps with the force, taking the last few steps in one stride. Once inside though it was painfully obvious that no matter how fast he had gotten there it wouldn't of made a difference. His masters will had already been enacted.

He guess he should be thankful that his master had been merciful, whatever means he had used to kill her had been quick with no signs of a struggle. Some sort of implant, understandable after the high rate of desertion and attrition that his pilots seemed to go through. Briefly he wondered if he had such implant in him, though at this point it wouldn't do any good to guess.

Hey eyes stared blankly off into space from where she lay, her crisp uniform still unwrinkled and fresh. The utter professional, that was what she had been, but still it hadn't been enough to warrant her continued service and byways her continued survival.

Though he had smelt the unmistakable smell of recently deceased before it seemed to affect him more and he had to steady himself and breathe deeply to keep from retching. This was wrong, though he didn't know where that thought had come from. Perhaps because he had felt a sense of ownership for the efficient pilot, maybe ever a bit of responsibility. She had saved him before on multiple occasions and he didn't think this was an appropriate thank you. In fact he was angered by the whole situation and something else had wormed it's way into his heart but he couldn't place it. With a heavy sigh he picked her up perhaps a little too gently and brought her to the rear airlock. It didn't seem right dragging her like a sack of protein cubes so he made sure to be gentle when he set her down, even closing her eyes.

He hadn't bothered with any sort of ceremony, not because he didn't feel anything at the loss but because he didn't have the remotest idea what to say. And since he wasn't able to contact any Imperial forces for burial he doubted her family would ever be informed of her demise. That is if she had any. Now that he thought about it he didn't really know, he had never thought to ask and suddenly he felt that maybe he should.

It didn't make him feel better but actually for the amount of time they spent together these past months he really didn't know anything at all about her. In the end for all their pleasantries (mostly on her behalf) and their daily interaction he had never actually had the time to just sit down and talk. No that wasn't true, he had had the time but once again he had never bothered. Again that sting of an unfamiliar emotion tugged dutifully at his heart.

He pressed the button that initiated decompression, he had a sudden feeling of being ungrounded as if as the still form behind the glass was lost in the void of space so did a small part of him. It was not a good feeling and he almost considered canceling the venting process just so he could have some more time.

Almost. With a whoosh the outer door opened and it was done, turning away without a second glance he proceeded back to the training room, an almost sad aura surround him.

But in the end he found comfort on old habits and he reminded himself of the brutal lessons that had forged him into the weapon that existed to be. It was true excess in these useless emotions would only lead to hesitation and stagnation of skills, something he could never afford if he was to fulfill his ultimate purpose in life. If he didn't keep unbreakable faith in this philosophy he knew he would surely be struck down by the most unworthy of foes and prove his master right.

So instead of wallowing in self pity and defeat like a weakling Jedi, he turned his efforts to the ritualistic and familiar systematic buildup of loathing that would serve to bolster his connection with the Dark patron. Taking up his usual meditative position seated on the floor, he held his ignited lightsaber a mere fraction of length from his face. Looking deep into the crimson blades flowing depths and ignoring the painful burning sensation of its proximity, he concentrated on building his wrath, urging his anger up to new levels in a twisted parody that laughed at the ineffectual peaceful act of meditation. He knew this would make him strong and in this sea of never ending violence he could forget he ever felt those feelings of emptiness.

Though curiously now for the first time ever when he channeled his hate, using the potent vessel of his subconscious, the pure hatred he felt wasn't stemming from his insecurities and past failures. Nor was it from the innate fear of failing, of not performing well enough to garner the attention of an indifferent sadistic master. Instead his wrath was directed solely focused upon his black cowled master. This was a new feeling and although he couldn't possibly hope to comprehend the effect this would have on his future, it felt surprisingly good, surprisingly right and he felt his contained power jump two fold.

'I could get used to this.' For the first time in what he could remember a true smile found it's way onto the secret apprentice's face and only the galaxy could tell for certain of the outcome of this revelation.