Sector Seven, Blackwing Station
Sector Seven was very different from the rest of Blackwing Station. The rest of the station was shabby, dirty, and marred by the wear and tear of months of hectic research work hunkered down in an isolated, stealthed space station. Power conduits snaked across the floors, lights flickered and threw sparks from time to time, and most of the transparisteel viewports were caked with a mixture of dust and coolant residue.
Few knew that it was actually meant to be deceptive; a humble, run-down exterior that housed a dark and terrible secret, like a simple Naboo pear infested with a hive of razor scorpions. No one would think to investigate their little operation here. And those that did…
Well, he preferred not to think about that.
But compared to that deceptive outside, Sector Seven could not be more different. As it was part of the research division — the literal and figurative "heart" of the station — everything was kept immaculate and sterilized. Bright lights pulsed overhead, shedding purest white illumination across the spotless white-polished floors and walls. The hallways were wide and unmarked by any of the safety signs or graffiti that adorned the rest of the station. Gattor had heard the research wing had been designed to take after Kaminoan cloning labs, and it certainly showed.
He keyed open a door, marked on his HUD as Dr. Torch's location. The entryway sheathed open to reveal a spacious meeting room dominated by a large U-shaped conference table and several plastoid chairs. Gathered within the pristine room were four stormtroopers – all of whom outranked Gattor by several stations – and two white-clad researchers. Gattor was easily able to identify the bearded Dr. Torch and his pretty, fragile-looking assistant, Eli Monro. All were gathered around a solitary figure bound to one of the conference chairs by a pair of electro-shock binders.
They all looked up at his approach and the troopers leveled their rifles at him. Gattor instantly raised his hands lest his entrance get him into any serious trouble.
"Who are you?" one of the troopers demanded.
He was about to speak, but Dr. Torch gestured for them to lower their weapons. "It's all right, Captain. I asked him to come. He may be able to help us."
"Why do we need a grunt from the external security force help us?"
"Hopefully," Torch said, "we don't. But precautionary measures are never a bad idea. Now, Sergeant Rigel, please join us."
"All right," Gattor said as he entered. His hands slowly came down, matching the pace of the rifles as they, too, were lowered. His confusion was mounting with each passing second. "I'm here, quick as can be just like you asked, Doc. Care to explain what's going on?"
Dr. Torch stroked at his beard, glaring at the cuffed figure in front of him. He then motioned for Gattor to step closer. When he spoke, however, he spoke to the other troopers.
"Fill him in, Captain. Tell him what you told me."
One of the other stormtroopers nodded reluctantly, obviously unhappy at the prospect of bringing in outside help. His rifle, Gattor noted, was only about half-charged; evidence of a recent firefight. His armor was scuffed and burned in several places, suggesting he had also taken fire.
"We caught this infiltrator poking around in the storage bays," the captain reported. He pointed an accusatory thumb at the figure bound to the chair. "She was trying to steal samples of the Blackwing serum for Force-knows what reason. We detained her, but she's not talking yet."
"The storage bays?" Gattor's heart dropped into the pit of his stomach with uncomfortable speed. "That's a potential contaminant risk, right?"
"We've sealed the bay for the time being," Torch said, "but we're also trying to keep this quiet. A security breach of this magnitude, with Lord Vader himself conducting an inspection…"
He didn't need to finish. Gattor knew the consequences of such a drastic failure. They'd probably all be killed before they could finish explaining themselves. He took a step closer and gestured to the prisoner.
"So who is she?"
Torch was about to speak when the prisoner interrupted him. She was thin and wiry, wearing some kind of black composite armor with a high collar. Her hair was shaved down to stubble, revealing a twisting scar behind her right ear. When she looked up at them, her blue eyes flashed dangerously.
"My name…" she said, spitting out a mouthful of blood onto the pristine white floor. She had obviously not come quietly once caught. Her right eye was almost swollen shut, her lip was cut, and she had a quickly-forming bruise on her right cheek. The other stormtroopers had done a number on her before cuffing her to the chair.
"My name," she repeated, "is Kalyn Farnmir. And if you don't let me out of these cuffs, you're going to regret it."
"And why is that?" Gattor cocked his head.
"Because if you don't, we're all going to die." She smiled at them, almost sweetly. But the blood staining her teeth from her cut lip transformed the motion into a macabre and unsettling one. "Because when the dying starts, you're going to want me on your side. And I can't kill bad guys if I'm tied up in this chair."
She jerked her head at Torch. "And you. Fancy-pants doctor. You might want to tell your white-job stormtroopers to be a little gentler when they're chasing people through chemical factories."
She looked up and held his gaze with a suggestive sneer, raising a single eyebrow expectantly. What she was waiting on, Gattor could only guess. But if the telltale fire in the woman's eyes was any judge, it wasn't anything good.
Torch stared back for a half-second before something clicked. His eyes widened. His face drained of all color. His mouth fell open in shock. He let out a short, strangled gasp of, "Oh my god."
Then, without another word he turned and sprinted out of the room. Gattor started and hurried after him, hefting his rifle into a more secure position against his shoulder. Torch had roped him into this mess after all, and he'd be damned if he didn't get some real answers soon.
"Doc!" he called as he drew even with the researcher. "What's the rush?"
"We need to see," Torch panted. He was not a military man by any stretch, and was quickly drawing into his fifties. Gattor found it easy to keep pace with him. "Need to make sure… if it's gotten into the air ducts… if it's been released…"
"Care to speak Basic? What's going on?"
"Airborne contaminants!" Torch gasped. He skidded to a halt outside of the security substation, keying the door open and gesturing frantically for the resident stormtroopers to vacate their posts. "If a stray shot punctured the virus canisters…"
Gattor's heart plummeted into his stomach. "What do you mean airborne contaminants? I thought you whitecoats were working with a fluid. Black, gooey, kind of gross-looking?"
Torch shook his head and didn't answer, throwing himself into the main security station's seat while the stormtrooper guards looked on with confusion. The doctor began ruthlessly hammering commands into the substation's keypad, eyes raking across the screens in front of him.
Gattor watched with bated breath as Torch brought up the security feed of the storage station. He rewound the footage almost an hour, until the stubble-haired woman appeared onscreen. She poked around the bay for a few minutes, producing a vial and syringe from her belt. With quick, careful motions she extracted a canister full of the dark, viscous Blackwing serum. She filled the syringe and transferred its contents into the transport vial.
She didn't make it far before the stormtrooper guard discovered her. Blaster fire began streaking across the screen, popping against the walls and spraying out showers of sparks that made the recording flicker and jump with short, jerky motions. The woman drew a silver-plated pistol and returned fire, wasting no time in overturning a desk and taking cover behind it.
Torch breathed a sigh of relief, even as deadly laser fire streaked by the screens before him. "Thank the Emperor. They're nowhere near the virus canisters."
On screen, the stormtroopers advanced on the woman with rifles raised. The woman had nowhere to go and she knew it; before long she stood from behind the table with her hands raised in surrender, her pistol lying at her feet. The troopers acted before she could have second thoughts, tackling her to the ground and shoving her onto her belly to cuff her hands behind her back. The vial of serum, tucked securely into a slot on her belt, was ground against the permacrete floor under the weight of an armored human and the two stormtroopers that pinned her.
It strained, then crunched.
A low, strangled sound bubbled up from Torch's throat. His eyes were so wide Gattor was almost afraid his eyes would pop out of his head and dangle down on his cheeks like some horrific children's cartoon.
But the good doctor didn't do anything so ghoulish. Instead he burst into motion, tapping more commands into the keypad. The security footage fizzled out, replaced by scrolling lines of code. He continued tapping away, his face drained of all color. Then he reached up to a lever next to the console, smashed the glass cover with a paperweight from the desk, and pulled it hard.
All the lights went out with a crack and a whir of machinery powering down. They were quickly replaced by a wash of scarlet light and a blaring claxon.
"Emergency," a smooth female voice said over the stationwide comm speakers. "Station lockdown engaged. Containment protocols enacted, priority level Alpha. All security personnel, proceed to designated stations. This is not a drill."
Torch shoved away from the station and rounded on the stormtrooper guards. Though his face was drawn and already beaded with sweat, his actions were smooth, measured, and steady; definitely not the motions of a man in panic. Gattor, on the other hand, felt as jittery and shaky as a Rodian gunslinger.
"Send word to the other guards," the doctor ordered. "There has been a containment breach in the storage supplies. By now, the airborne toxins have seeped into the ventilation systems and are probably dispersed throughout the station."
The guards glanced between themselves. "Sir, you don't have the clearance to—"
Torch shoved one of the troopers hard in the chest, so hard he staggered back and crashed against the wall. "There are superweapon-level airborne contaminants flooding every supply of oxygen we have on this station! By now, we've all been infected with it!"
The troopers glanced nervously between themselves again, but Torch wasn't finished. He began fishing on his belt for something while snapping, "Within the next ten minutes, the symptoms will start to show. Within twenty, we'll probably all be dead. So if you want to survive those next twenty minutes, you will relay my orders and then get to the nearest medical bay for inoculation!"
He glanced up and saw the two troopers still standing there, as stiff and dumb as posts. He glanced between the two incredulously, then shouted, "Go!"
The troopers flinched and took off down the hall, disappearing around one rounded corner. Gattor watched them vanish through the flashing red lights, then turned to Dr. Torch. He got the idea those orders hadn't applied to him. When he spoke, his voice felt small and squeaky as an irritated mouse droid. "W-what do you want me to do?"
Torch finally pulled two hypospray injectors from his belt, both loaded with a clear white liquid. He offered one to Gattor, then quickly pressed the remaining one against his neck and depressed the trigger. There was a sharp hiss of air and he grimaced at the pain, but the clear liquid vanished from the hypo.
Gattor was not so excited to inject himself with strange chemicals. "What's this?"
"A vaccine," Torch explained, rubbing his neck. He gestured for Gattor to follow suit. "It's no guarantee that it'll stop the virus, but it's your best chance to survive the exposure."
"And we've all been exposed?"
Torch nodded grimly. "Those idiot troopers didn't secure the storage bay after they detained our infiltrator. If they had, they would have noticed the spill and sealed off all ventilation ducts from the storage area. Stupid, stupid, stupid…"
Gattor removed his helmet and pulled down the skintight collar of his undersuit. The hypospray stung when he pressed it against his neck, but the pain was quickly overwhelmed by a flood of cold tingles as the serum spread from the injection site.
"By now," Torch continued, heading out into the hall again, "we're all infected with the virus. Those who don't get this serum within the next ten minutes are as good as dead."
Gattor rubbed at his neck as he replaced his helmet back over his head. The hiss of his suit repressurizing was not as comforting as it usually was. "What do you mean, as good as dead? What's going to happen to them?"
A cold, haunted look entered Torch's eyes. "They'll cease to be men. They'll become fiercely aggressive, powerfully violent, and as rabid as animals. They'll attack anyone or anything they come across and not hesitate to maim, murder, and cannibalize their prey."
"Kriff me," Gattor murmured. He followed Torch out into the hall, shouldering his rifle. Already, the shadows had become a dark and dangerous place. He booted up his helmet's low-light systems just in case something was indeed lurking just out of sight. "Just what the kriff were you guys cooking up in that lab, Doc?"
That was when the first scream interrupted them; terrible, terrified, and wholly inhuman. Both the doctor and the stormtrooper jumped and spun toward the sound. Gattor's imagination quickly got to work conjuring up horrid ideas of just what tortured creature could make such a sound. His rifle snapped up and charged with a high-pitched whine.
The scream continued longer than he thought possible, echoing through the spotless empty hallways like the wail of some lonesome cavern creature. It was a man, crying in agony at some unseen wound. After a few endless moments, his cries died away into pitiful, desperate little moans. There was a rattle behind his breathing, a harsh and unnatural wheeze that sounded sick and disgusting. Gattor found himself preferring the screams.
"We created doomsday," Torch said hollowly. "The end of life as we know it."
Strange things happened in those precious few minutes preceding a catastrophe. One could feel it in the air, could smell it on the breeze. There was a tightness to existence, a taught kind of tension just waiting to be broken. It washed over everything, quickening the blood and sharpening the senses.
Kalyn knew the feeling well. She remembered feeling it when news broke about the Battle of Geonosis and the start of the Clone Wars. She remembered feeling it in the hectic moments before doing battle against the Zealots of Psusan. She remembered it most vividly when Cian, her longtime partner, had turned traitor and pulled a gun on her.
It was the feeling that things would never be the same again. That everything was suddenly, irreversibly changing.
The world seemed to hold its breath during these moments, waiting on the inevitable adrenaline-fueled plunge into utter chaos. Before the drop, everything seemed frozen in a strange, lightheaded bubble that confined those connected to the chaos. Kalyn was in that bubble now. And that's why she knew she was about to die.
It happened slowly at first. A twitch here, a cough there. The stormtroopers began itching at the exposed undersuits of their armor, at the seams in the wrist, underarm, and neck. They began to sniff like they had caught cold. By the time their brains finally processed that something was wrong, it was too late for them.
Kalyn felt it too. Her throat was tight, sinuses suddenly clogged. Her stomach was unsettled and nauseous, as if she had just flown on the galaxy's bumpiest ride through the Skyllian asteroid belt. She found it difficult to draw full breath, and beads of cold sweat broke out across her forehead and chest.
The virus, she thought with a sniff. It's gotten into the air ducts. I'm infected. We all are.
Kalyn knew she was about to die, but she'd be damned if she keeled over while cuffed to a chair. So, while the troopers were busy coughing and snorting behind their rotund white helmets, she sent a small electrical charge down through her gauntlets. Her cuffs buzzed, then shorted out and clicked open.
Fate apparently decided to smile on her, because as soon as her restraints clicked open the lights went out.
Kalyn was up and out of her chair before the troopers could blink. She moved fast, driving her elbow into the nearest man's throat and doubling him up with an armored knee to the gut. The man toppled, sputtering in confusion and pain.
The lights returned, blaring red as an alarm rang throughout the station. A synthetic woman's voice said something over the comms, but Kalyn was too focused to pay attention. She reached down and scooped her confiscated pistol from the fallen stormtrooper's belt. It clapped into her palm with a reassuring weight and she spun and brought it to bear on the other guard. A single bolt to the forehead dropped him where he stood.
She wasted no time after that. She'd heard the scientists talking, knew they had synthesized a cure. She needed to get to the nearest medbay, needed to snag a syringe before she was too far gone. She didn't have much time.
She hadn't given the troopers much credit; they were poorly-trained grunts, far from the cloned warriors that had patrolled the galaxy during her yesteryears working in the Republic. They were a nuisance at best.
But what she hadn't counted on was Nurse Monro. To be honest, Kalyn had forgotten the quiet, well-mannered woman was even there. After all, Monro was a civilian and civilians were weak. Civilians panicked and screamed and blubbered for their lives. They couldn't put up much of a fight, much less pose an actual threat to her.
But when the whine of a charging E-11 blaster rifle froze her in her tracks, she found herself rethinking her position.
She slowly raised her hands, knowing that a shot to her back might cripple her if not kill her outright. She slowly turned to find the pretty doctor's assistant crouched behind the conference table. One of the fallen stormtrooper's rifles was clutched in her hands.
"Don't move," the woman said. Her voice was calm, level, and unafraid. Kalyn found herself impressed by the blond woman's constitution. Not many civilians could watch two soldiers get gunned down in front of them without barely blinking an eye. But impressed or no, Kalyn still had a mission. And no one — especially not a civilian — was going to stand in her way.
"I'm leaving this place," she said. "And you can't stop me."
"I can," Monro replied evenly. "And I will if you make me."
Kalyn narrowed her eyes, finger tightening over the firing stud of her weapon. The silver blaster glinted in the flashing red emergency lights. She didn't want to kill the woman, but she'd come to terms with the necessities of survival long ago. If she had to step over Monro's corpse to get to freedom, then so be it.
"Containment has failed," Monro said, slowly inching her way around the table. "It won't be long before the Blackwing virus starts contaminating and converting those exposed. That includes us."
She slowly reached down to her belt and produced a hypospray. "Unless we both get a shot of this, we'll both be dead in minutes."
"Ha!" Kalyn scoffed. "You really think I'm going to let you stick something strange in my neck and walk away? I've seen enough of your Project Blackwing to know that's a bad idea. I'll find my own way."
"Look.." Monro hesitated, then lowered her blaster. She set it on the table next to her and took a step away, holding her hands up in surrender. "I need you to trust me. I don't want you to die, I really don't. But if you don't get inoculated quickly, you will."
She took a step closer and Kalyn tightened her grip on her blaster, sighting in on Monro's pretty blond head. The nurse didn't stop and she didn't lower her hands.
"I bet you're already feeling the side effects, right? I am too. The tight throat, the stuffy nose. You're probably running a fever and before long your lungs will fill with fluid. After that it won't be long before you find yourself getting more aggressive."
"She took another step closer. "It'll start slow. Your temper will get shorter, your attention will be sharper. You'll start to pick fights. Throw punches. And that temper will grow and grow until you kill someone. And after that…"
Kalyn narrowed her eyes. "What? What happens after that?"
"Complete behavioral degradation," Monro said matter-of-factly. "We've witnessed a whole slew of antisocial behaviors in our test subjects. Cognitive dysfunction, motor disability, extreme rage…"
She hesitated and added, "Cannibalism."
"Kriff me," Kalyn hissed. "Cannibalism? What the hell were you assholes cooking up in here?"
Monro took another step closer. "Unless you want that, please let me administer this hypo. We don't have time."
The huntress hesitated, then gestured with her pistol. "You first."
Monro sighed at her continued suspicion. But, to her credit, she didn't argue. She raised the hypo to her own neck and depressed the trigger. The ensuing hiss made her wince, but there appeared to be no other side effects. The nurse stretched her neck, rubbing at the irritated injection spot, then held the hypo out for Kalyn.
Farnmir took it, slowly and cautiously. Her eyes raked over Monro, searching for any sign that she was lying or trying to trick her. She found none. So, with a sigh and a muttered curse, she pressed the hypospray against her own neck and pulled the trigger.
There was a hiss and her neck stung like she'd been bitten by some insect. Then cold sensations began to ripple out from the entry point, spreading through her body and sending a chill down her spine. The hypospray was quickly tossed to the ground and the silver-plated blaster didn't leave Monro.
"So what now?"
"Now?" Monro straightened her labcoat. She seemed very calm about all of this, given the circumstances. "Now we get to a secure area, preferably guarded by stormtroopers. Those who haven't received the antidote will turn before long. We don't want to be here when that happens."
Kalyn scowled at her and didn't lower her gun. Every instinct was telling her to cut and run before things got out of hand any further. She wanted to shoot this woman, seal the conference room, and run for the hangar bay and the nearest ship.
But I can't do that, she found herself thinking. The only reason this stuff got out was because I was caught snooping. I owe it to them to try and fix this.
She cursed at the nagging voice of her conscience, which didn't know when to leave well enough alone. Then, with an explosive sigh, her pistol lowered and was returned to its holster.
She wiped cold sweat from her forehead. In the little time since receiving the antidote, she was already feeling better. She scowled deeper at Monro, who looked more than a little relieved that the guns had been removed. "Fine. We'll do it your way. Where do we go?"
Monro was about to answer when the door suddenly hissed open behind them. Kalyn instantly drew her weapon again and whirled to face the intruders. She wasn't surprised to find Dr. Torch and the other stormtrooper – Gater or something – staring at her with wide, surprised eyes.
The doctor quickly took stock of the situation – and the two dead stormtroopers lying on the floor – and a grim look crossed his face. He looked to Kalyn with narrowed eyes.
"Did you do this?"
"Yep."
"Were they infected?"
"I think so."
"Have you and Eli been inoculated?"
"We have," answered Monro from over Kalyn's shoulder.
"Good." Torch let out a sigh of relief. "People are already turning all across the station. It won't be long before they send this whole area into lockdown."
"We have to move before they do that," Kalyn said. "Where's the nearest outgoing comm unit?"
"Comm unit?" Torch echoed as the taller huntress pushed past him. "They're all in the security wing, probably locked down. Why?"
A scream echoed toward them from down the right hallway, followed by several loud blaster shots and the sound of something heavy crashing to the ground. Gattor instantly swiveled to face the sound, rifle raised. Kalyn gestured for him to lower the weapon. She hazarded a glance up and down the hall, wary for any further surprises.
"I have to make a call," she said. "Much as I hate to admit it, we're going to need more than me if we want to survive this."
