Zalia Bronwyn stormed out of Harkun's sight, her hatred of that man radiating out in waves.

So what if she'd been a slave? She wasn't anymore!

Muttering vindictively to herself, she almost missed her comm beeping.

"Zalia." She said, hoping it was something good.

"Acolyte Zalia, your patient is awake, restrained, and sedated. Please come soon." The medic's voice was hoarse, and he coughed before hanging up with a click.

Raising a curious eyebrow at the device, she shrugged, shoving it into her pocket.

Shreave could wait, and it wouldn't kill him. Assuming that he'd be meeting with his overseer as well, she would have had to wait, so screw him.

Walking quickly to the medcenter, she arrived to find the medic from the night before massaging his throat, which looked severely bruised.

The other nearby medics were all in various states of mild injury as well, bruised and bleeding.

"What happened here?" She demanded, and the medic coughed slightly, before croaking, "Your Twi'lek friend dislikes his current state."

Brushing past them into the room with the Twi'lek, she saw him strapped to the table, nearly a dozen straps across each limb, and doubled across his chest.

His right arm was gone, replaced with a cybernetic limb, and his head wrapped with a bloody bandage.

Raising the table to near vertical, Zalia quickly untied most of the straps holding him down, calling to the medics to close and lock the door.

Switching off the machines that kept him sedated, she stood a dozen feet away, directly in front of him.

His head dropped forwards, and a second later, he groaned, attempting to move his mechanical arm, though she'd left most of the straps holding it down in place.

"Hello, redskin." She said, the deep red Twi'lek snarling at her.

"My name is Eryon Massarde, woman. Learn it." The Twi'lek spat, and Zalia smiled faintly.

"You should treat you Master with more respect, Slave." She said, drawing out the final word mockingly.

Eryon lunged forwards, pointed teeth bared, though the restraints held him down.

"I beat you, Eyron. You are less than nothing to everyone here." She explained, and the Twi'lek growled angrily.

"You are an acolyte, nothing more!" He snarled, thrashing powerfully in the restraints, which were quickly coming undone.

"What does that make you?" Zalia asked mildly, and Eryon froze.

"I saved your life. I took your titles. I own you, Twi'lek, and no one will raise a finger to save you." She said, her nose an inch from his pointed one, and his violet eyes widened in horror.

"But, I was free…." He almost whispered, before his snarl came back. "And by beating you, I will be again."

Ripping his arms forwards, and tearing frantically at the ones around his legs, Eryon pulled free, glowering at her.

She raised a single hand, slamming him back into the wall, before sending a writhing mass of lightning into his chest.

He screeched in pain, before dropping to his knees.

Seeing him attempting to rise, Zalia raised her other hand, driving him to the ground.

Gritting his teeth in impotent fury, he ground out his surrender, though it apparently physically hurt to do so.

"M… Master. I yield." He gasped, and Zalia smiled.

"Good. You will serve me, and you will obey me." Eryon jerked his head angrily, but nodded.

"Follow me." Zalia said, turning her back on the furious Twi'lek, and leaving the room.

She felt his sudden flare in the force, and turned, her hand coming up, and matching his Force Lightning jolt for jolt, before pushing the collision point back towards him.

He gave ground, and, as it reached him, let out a horrible cry of pain.

Seeing him crumpled on the ground, Zalia shrugged. "Come to the training grounds when your tantrum is over, Eryon."

She left the Twi'lek huddled in the med center, and strode easily past the terrified medics.

Quickly trotting up the stairs, she found the massive Pureblood lounging out front of the training room.

"How's the wait, Shreave?" She asked, and he curled his lip mockingly.

"How's the wait? Where were you Zal?"

She smiled slightly, and said, "I had to go visit Eryon. He's heading up once he's done pouting."

"That bad tempered Twi'lek? Oh joy." Shreave said, grimacing, but she shrugged.

"He's powerful, Shreave. Don't underestimate him. What did your overseer want?"

His gaze darkened again, and he said, "I've got to judge some prisoners, probably murder most of them."

She sighed, and said, "I'm supposed to torture another acolyte until he breaks. Fun times, right?"

Shreave chuckled dryly, and said, "Wonder if Psycho will do it for you?"

She shuddered, then shook her head sharply. "We're training to be Sith, Shreave. We'll have to do far worse to far better people in the future. Better get used to it now."

Shreave looked a little sick, and muttered, "Hope I never do, to be honest."

She patted his arm slightly, and turned to see Eryon striding towards her, wearing the pair of shredded pants he'd been wearing in the tomb, but without a shirt.

"No shirt, Eryon?" She asked, looking at him curiously.

"Kriffing medics cut it to ribbons." He grunted, and then said, "They also said I had no weapons."

"Ah. Right. Back in- Huh…." She muttered, thinking quickly.

"You can use my old blade." Shreave offered, and she looked up in surprise. "My shirts are going to be too big, but you can use them if you want."

Eryon glanced at the large Pureblood, curling a lip. "What will I have to do? What will I owe you?"

Shreave looked surprised. "You former slaves are all so twitchy and suspicious! I'm just being friendly!"

Zalia laughed, and said, "Shreave, no one gives anything for free around here. You are the strange one, not us."

He shrugged, and said, "Take it or leave it, Eryon. Your choice."

With muttered growls of rebellion, the Twi'lek followed Shreave up to his bunk, though he only took the weapon.

When they'd returned, Zalia led the way into the prison block, moving towards the back room, towards the horrible screaming, followed by a happier looking Eryon, while Shreave said, "I'll just wait for you, if you don't mind."

Rolling her eyes at the Marauder's squeamishness, Zalia stepped into a back room, where a obese, tattooed Sith stood contemplating a bruised and terrified acolyte.

"Ah, you must be Harkun's acolyte. I'm Inquisitor Zyn. Harkun gave me very specific instructions for you."

Rolling her eyes, Zalia muttered, "Of course he did."

Ignoring her interruption, Zyn continued. "You may have once been a slave, but you must discard those traits, and learn to control others. And I have a fitting task. Meet your victim, Alif."

Zalia curled her lip slightly, and said, "Honestly, I dislike the term 'victim', inquisitor."

The man gave a long-suffering sigh, and replied, "I do as well, acolyte. I much prefer the term 'subject', but some cannot comprehend my work in anything but the crassest terms."

He shot a judgmental look at Eryon, who was studying Alif with a hungry, wolfish look in his eye.

"A short while ago, there was a murder, here at the Academy. An apprentice struck down another without reason, and we must find out who. Alif here saw the whole thing. Do what you must, acolyte. Torture, whatever you must, but get that name."

"Must I torture him, Inquisitor? May there not be a better way?" Zalia asked, drawing a disgusted look from Eryon.

Zyn let out a deep sigh. "Already, you are a disappointment to me, but Harkun made no mention of torture being a requirement, so I suppose not."

Nodding thankfully, Zalia moved over to the twitchy apprentice.

"N-no! Please… No more…. Don't hurt me!" Alif stammered, shivering in fear.

"It's fine, Alif. I'm not here to hurt you. I just want to talk." Zalia said, staring deep into the Acolyte's eyes.

His blue eyes widened, then narrowed in suspicion. "Why should I trust you?"

"Alif, I just want to help you. If you work with me, then you'll be free and whole. If you don't…." She quietly gestured to Eryon, who was going over the finer points of lightning torture with Zyn.

Alif shuddered, and said, "If I say anything, I'll die, or worse!"

Zalia grimaced, motioning to Eryon again, and said, "Worse is here anyways, Alif. Trust me, please."

The injured acolyte sighed, shaking his head. "They really did pull you out of the slave pens, didn't they. You're nothing like any of the Sith I've ever met."

She smiled slightly. "You should meet Shreave. He practically offered the clothes off his back to Eryon there, just to be nice."

Alif stared, and said, "I'll tell you, just please, promise me you'll get justice. Don't let them kill me."

Zalia nodded, and said, "I'll do all I can, Alif. Who was it?"

"Essor Kayin. He's some high-and-mighty apprentice. I saw him kill the other acolyte outside the library on the second floor. His Master… I think he's on the Dark Council. Kayin won't be punished, and he'll hunt me down and kill me."

Alif looked more terrified than ever, and Zalia gave him a reassuring smile. "Let us worry about that, Alif."

"I hope you know what you're doing," Alif muttered, and Zalia patted him on the shoulder before rising to speak to Zyn.

Zyn sounded regretful, and before she could speak, said, "I heard the name, though I sorely wish I hadn't. Essor Kayin. His Master… I won't oppose him. Your trial is over. Return to Harkun, with my seal of approval."

"What about Alif?" She asked, looking curiously at Zyn.

Zyn narrowed his eyes at her, and said, "Concern for matters that are none of your business is a weakness that will get you killed. I suggest you remove that trait quickly, acolyte."

Zalia shrugged. "At least smuggle him out of the academy. In the wilds, he may be able to hop a shuttle. Here, he's a sitting duck for Kayin."

Zyn rubbed his chin thoughtfully, and nodded slowly. "Yes, yes. That could work. He'd no longer be Sith, but he'd be alive, which I suppose is enough for some."

Zalia nodded thankfully, and said, "Thank you, Inquisitor. Eryon, let's go."

The Twi'lek pulled back from Alif, whom he'd been terrifying for fun, and followed her without complaint, though his mutinous expression remained.

Shreave was waiting, and as they emerged, walked over to Zalia.

"How bad was it?" He asked, and Eryon sneered, "She didn't even touch the coward. She just talked to him, and then he told her the name. You'll never be Sith with an attitude like that."

Shreave smiled, and pulled her into a one armed hug. "I'm so proud of you Zal."

"Get off me, you giant idiot!" She snapped, tossing his arm off, and heading into his room, a secondary holding cell block with only a couple cells.

Shreave cut her off, entering first, and motioning for them to back off a little.

"One more chirp from you, little bird, and you'll regret it." A deep voice was saying as the three entered the room.

The man was staring at a young blue Twi'lek, who had a formidable looking shock collar on.

With a cheerful smile, she said, "Chirp, chirp chip!"

Chuckling grimly, the jailer pressed the activation button on his remote, and the collar crackled to life, causing the Twi'lek to cry out.

Shreave growled low in his throat, and took a step forwards, pausing as the Twi'lek regained the power of speech.

"Ow, jerk! If you didn't like that, just say so! I can do other animals too. Dire-cat, frog-dog, Kowakian monkey-lizard. You name it!"

Shreave chuckled, and said, "I'd like to hear an angry Nexu."

The Twi'lek looked up, smiling slightly, as the jailor turned with a glare.

"Don't encourage her. I'm Jailer Knash, and I run these cells and the slave pits. You're the acolyte Tremel sent, hm? He thinks highly of you."

Shreave nodded in thanks, and Knash gestured to the cells. "Let's get started."