Chapter 1 : Taris (Upper City)

Or; Racist City, the condensed version

Voldy's pink teddy – I always intended to, but I suppose every story that is not a one-shot does.

BluEyedMalak - I always thought that someone so awesome as to turn the tide of a war and then slaughter a galaxy-wide Republic would be too awesome to just… Get wiped out. This is her as I imagined.

Anyways.

Again, Dark Side Female Revan. AU in that Revan's memories weren't erased very well. Mostly because I don't think the Council actually had the experience to do such a thing, particularly to this Revan, who is a Sith Lord/Jedi Counselor and most likely set up a bunch of blocks against any unwelcome visitors. She isn't at full power though, because being nearly killed and having a brainwashing attempt, however effective, are not something to be taken lightly. And also, I don't want to make up a bunch of characters where I could still keep the old ones.

If you think the description changed, you're right. I tried to fix it, so I got as much as I could out of 255 characters. I will probably continue to do so as the plot progresses, although I'll try to give you guys a heads-up. The character slots also changed, as Revan & Bastila makes it seem like a slash fic.

Revan examined the pilot. Against all logic, he still lived, the Force or his willpower or something else keeping him clinging to the vestiges of life. Mustering some of her medical training, she examined his eyes, opening one and looking at the pupil, which did not respond. She laid her hands on him, letting her eyes flutter shut and instead feeling, first with her hands and then with the Force. She could feel the knot of anger and guilt, lodged within a vortex of Light. She focused on where it was disturbed, where his life drained away, and sensed the damage, a cracked skull and a damaged brain.

She considered just letting his life flow away from him, watching it leave or giving him a painless death. In her current condition, she could only heal the worst of the damage. He'd suffer from memory loss, or some sort of brain malfunction with the damage. He might not have if she had some specialized equipment, or if she had more than a flicker of connection to the Force, but it was not to be. It reminded her of her own accident, and she shivered again.

About to step away, to reach for the vibroblade, the Force nudged her, flowing in and filling her.

If she'd been walking she would have stumbled, and she blinked again, remembering him trying to help her to the escape pod, not just leaving in it. She saw flashes of a life not her own, a lovely woman with a rounded stomach, a boy with a sour face, the woman again, on the verge of death, the guilt she'd seen before, a face that she vaguely remembered from her own life, the emotions pouring through her system. Along with the memories came smells, a hint of perfume, the acrid smell of blood and burning metal, the heavy stench of alcohol. A need, burning like a fire. For vengeance, for a purpose. An empty life that had only two goals, their importance thinly balanced, with only the guilt weighing one higher than the other.

She gritted her teeth, pulled all the Force she had been given, and most of what she had, and started mending his wound.

…

Sometime later, Revan was utilizing every ounce of patience she had left to search the Force. She had nothing left to mend Carth with, and he was only halfway healed. She couldn't afford to let him die, not when it was made so obvious that the Force, for whatever reason, needed him. She was not in any sort of shape to ignore it.

Images buzzed beneath her mind, as she looked for healers for the pilot. She saw mere flashes of people at the present, going around on their daily business. Some flashes of kolto, but not many. She focused, using the experience born of sorting through her memories to look for something. She didn't know what she was looking for, but it was the Force's job, not hers.

Finally, a flash she almost missed, but she quickly grasped it and dragged it kicking back to her. A soldier, only barely alive and dressed in a Republic uniform, floating in a tank. Others floated nearby, in separate tanks. A kindly, worn looking old man was monitoring their vital signs. She opened her eyes after memorizing the feel of the scene, a direction encased in her mind.

Grabbing her vibroblade, she started walking.

…

Revan meditated quietly, focusing all her once immense power on a single lump of metal. Unfortunately, her power, while still immense in raw form, was busy reinforcing her slightly damaged body and very damaged mind, and all the experience in the world would only go so far when most of her mind was off limits, and some of it wasn't even hers. She grumbled silently to herself and searched for the patience to calm herself down.

Unbidden, a fractured memory flew to her, one that both calmed and revolted her.

There is no emotion, there is peace.

Letting out a low growl, she pushed the thought away, cursing the Jedi in her thoughts, and looked for the opposite code in the wasteland of her thoughts, as she had done so many times before and especially in these past months.

Peace is a lie; There is only passion.

This seemed far more appropriate. Not what she wished was the truth, but it summed up this moment far more accurately than she'd have ever thought. Unless, of course, you replaced passion with chaos.

Through passion I gain strength.

As she repeated the first part, the second drifted to her, an unexpected but welcome addition to her thoughts, helping to balance out the pink bantha in the room that was the Jedi Code, which she remembered entirely too clearly.

She tried to push, looking for the rest, dimly remembered something, a flash of anger and fear that was not her own and satisfaction, but however hard she focused, nothing more came to her. Growling to herself, this time out loud, she was only snapped out of her dangerously aggressive brooding by the metal lump hitting the floor with a metallic clank that seemed much louder than it was. She stared at it furtively, then gave in to her raging anger and grasped it, channeling the anger and frustration into heat, and strengthening her limbs.

This was much easier than the mediation, although short-lived, and she stared at the mangled lump with vicious satisfaction. The stupid Jedi code might have slumbered in her mind intact, but the Dark Side still ran through her like a wildfire. It was so much easier to channel, requiring little control and lots of emotion, both of which she possessed now, the opposite of what she'd once been.

She had had both sides of the Force before, in some measure, but now it was hard to say which was dominant. Smoothing it over into a nearly round, very smooth ball, she reluctantly shut off the flow of Dark, which was burning through her, and tossed it in the air, catching it with practiced ease. Her muscle memory was intact, though her muscles had atrophied a bit. She had to remember that. She couldn't be consumed by the Dark, or Light. Not until her mind was her own again.

However satisfying it would be to go around destroying Malak and the Council with her bare hands, she would probably not succeed and almost certainly die, if she didn't have another "accident".

She shivered, a chill creeping down her spine.

The reminder of the accident was like being dunked into a freezing spring, and she emerged with her typical cold personality, with the emotion all washed away for the moment.

She sighed again, and drifted back into quiet emptiness, where there was nothing but the Force and her own ravaged mind.

With only a metaphorical needle to mend millions of scraps of tattered memories, she did her best nonetheless. She would fix her mind if it was done with her last breath.

…

After a day or so of this meditation, she decided that she needed to go and figure out more about where they were at, where Bastila might be, and any obstacles that might stand in her path. Using a stealth generator, she walked unseen, eavesdropping for things that might be important.

"What were the Sith thinking, with their giant blockade! I've got a schedule to keep!"

"Did you hear about the new guards at the elevator to the Lower City? I don't see why they didn't do it before. There's nothing but swoop gangs and aliens down there. Good riddance."

"There's a lot of outworlders here, trapped by the blockade. I hope it lifts soon. Some of them look like they wouldn't blink twice if someone started a fight three meters from them. Not to mention the Sith."

"The cantina is boring, nowadays. The band is mediocre, and the dueling ring is static. The only thing good about it is the Pazaak. And the ladies, of course. Still, I'm not sure why I still go."

Other talk on the same subject repeated itself, all the way down. There was some more common gossip, but the majority of people were focused on the Sith occupation. Ducking into a corner, she powered down the stealth unit. Now that she knew what was going on, she walked over to the droid and asked it some questions. Mostly it just gave out basic information, but under questioning it directed her to a weapons shop and a cantina.

At the cantina, she looked around and bought a Pazaak deck from an old man. Playing a couple games with a nearby gambler, as well as purchasing some cards, she drifted off into the crowd with her winnings.

Stopping to examine the band room, a man with the sort of air you saw from someone who was trying to con you grabbed her wrist. She didn't respond to his gibbering about the band and how she could meet with it at first, except with narrowed eyes.

They made him nervous, but he didn't stop. She finally resorted to an old trick, taking hold of his pinkie and pushing it back, while holding his hand at the wrist. He jumped back with an exclamation of pain and shock, and she slipped back into the crowd.

To her surprise, this cantina also had a dueling ring. She watched a rather pathetic fight and then examined the room. In one corner a twitchy looking Rodian eyed everyone else with an air of excitement and superiority. On the other, a bunch of people who seemed to be the duelists were hanging around. She also noted and walked up to the Hutt in the room, as he obviously wasn't a duelist.

After a short talk, he signed her up to fight. The first fight she ripped through, it being extremely easy, and the second one as well, but the third one was difficult, and she stopped there. She doubted she'd get the fourth one. Pocketing what she'd won from the fights, she headed off to the weapons shop. Most of the stuff was confiscated, but Wynna got some nice armor and a few things to use on her vibroblade, along with some medpacks and a thermal detonator. Ducking out, she decided to try searching for Bastila, closing her eyes to aid in focusing.

Then she groaned. It seemed that she couldn't just find out that her charge (or the other way around, depending on who you asked) was hiding in some abandoned apartment like themselves. She was far down, and with a neural scrambler on. Wynna grinned at the irony, then frowned. She'd have to break her out. Bastila grabbed onto the bond as a focus, and Wynna watched as the Padawan became partially aware of her surroundings, getting a bad stench and a visual of a guard eying her through the bars of a cage.

It wasn't a force cage. So not the Sith, Wynna decided, pulling away and letting Bastila slip back into her comatose state. Something with less tech and money. But who? And where? Hopefully just the Lower City. She dimly remembered the Under City. Not a pretty place, swarming with rakghouls and the stench of despair.

Then she nodded again. There was hardly any electricity down there. Yep, Lower City scum had her.

'Now to get her out.'