Sith have a long memory.

We never forget

And we never forgive

-Victus

T'shere was in a fouler mood than usual. In fact, it was probably fair to say that she could not remember the last time she had felt so pissed. And she knew with crystal clarity the source of her ire.

The damn smug know it all.

Ever since the Jedi had shown up into her life, it had become a parade of disasters, each worse than the next. From her first encounter with him in the tavern to her ignominious defeat in the hidden alley. It finally culminated with the verbal sparring during his capture, which somehow resulted in further embarrassment for her.

To add insult to injury, Lucidae had twisted her arm, forcing her to work with the wretched creature using a broken promise. Working with a Jedi...the very notion made T'shere feel unclean. Her teeth almost shattered when she said Mysteel should go with Revan on his mission.

All I need is Malleus to shit on me, and it'll be the perfect day.

Without further recourse, she took out her rage in one of the few cathartic ways she knew how.

In the bedroom.

After that...farce in the mess hall, she grabbed her bewildered sniper and dragged Kynes towards her chambers. When they had arrived, she had set upon the sniper with a ferocity born partly of lust, but mostly of anger. It was a good thing the walls were built so sturdily, otherwise her guards would have thought someone was being tortured.

After the fifth time, the human was exhausted, wanting only to pass out in bed, but after a lot of physical coaxing and whispered words, they went at it again like rutting animals. A few more minutes later, and after a fair amount of screaming, T'shere finally flopped onto one side of her mattress. Exhaustion had replaced her rage then, the inner rage inside her temporarily sated. Both of them were sweaty and panted breathlessly, the air misting in the pale yellow gloom of her room.

Eventually Kynes rolled to her side and looked at the Arkanian.

"Hmmm, not that I'm ungrateful for all that, but there are easier ways to kill me you know," smirked the sniper.

She cupped T'shere's flushed face tenderly with a velvety soft hand. Kyne's fingers were incredibly nimble, able to send shivers down T'shere's spine when she cared to. She could also use the same fingers to snap a person's neck effortlessly like a toothpick.

"Something on your mind?"

T'shere turned her back on the other woman, not wanting to share her innermost thoughts at the moment.

Unperturbed, Kynes traced the Arkanian's spine with tip of her fingernails, sending shudders of pleasure down T'shere's back.

"Come on, you know you can't hide anything from me...after I've seen so much." purred the dusky haired woman. Kyne's voice was usually curt and professional among other members of the team. But the Arkanian had found a totally different side to the normally stoic specialist during their pillow talk. She had an inner hunger as well, not the same way as T'shere did, but born from a killer's instinct. It was one of the reasons why she found the sniper so alluring.

"Hmmmm. Don't stop. Can't you guess what my problem is?" murmured the Arkanian. "He's only been a pain in my butt ever since I laid eyes upon him."

Kynes gave a lazy smile as she continued to stroke the other woman's backside.

"You were thinking about the Jedi during our 'session'? What a coincidence. So was I."

The sniper's smile became a wicked grin as her hand traveled down an area slightly below T'shere's waist. "I must admit, it was a real turn on watching you and Revan snap at each other during interrogation. Put two Alpha males in any two rooms and you're bound to get fireworks."

T'shere chuckled softly before asking.

"Did you find anything useful about him afterwards? Is he hiding something like I suspected?"

Kynes assumed a thoughtful look while she stroked.

"Hmm, I have nothing to tell you that you don't already know. But he's certainly...different than what I expected from a Jedi. Doesn't miss or give up much, that's for sure. I'd need more time to get a full picture."

She sounded almost respectful, much to the commander's chagrin.

"I wonder what Lucidae would say about Revan...he's a Master isn't he?"

"Was a Master." corrected Tshere quietly. "He gave up that title when he left the false order."

It was clear from her tone that Tshere didn't want to talk about Lucidae anymore. Kynes shrugged her shoulders before changing the subject.

"Well you should probably turn in for the night. Tomorrow's operation will be...interesting. And I agree, I don't feel comfortable entrusting the operation to an outsider. Especially somebody who looks like they just took off his training wheels."

That got her another laugh from her companion. Smiling, Kynes continued.

"But who knows? Maybe he can pull it off. The Jedi did get that pervert blubbering faster than a Sullustan. Granted, I'm not as smitten as Mysteel, but so far I'm impressed."

At the mention of her sisters name, T'shere gave a soft hiss of annoyance. It was barely detectable but with her acute hearing, Kynes expression suddenly became shrewd as understanding dawned upon her.

"This isn't just about the Jedi is it? You're pissed because Mysteel vouches for him."

That hit a nerve. The silver skinned beauty rolled over to face the other woman with an angry glare

"This has nothing to do with her," T'shere stated flatly, trying to keep the hostility from her voice. Kynes arched an eyebrow.

"Really? Then why do you look like you're going to implode every time she glances his way? Our little golden nugget is obviously impressed by his talents,"

"She's just playing with him, like she does with all her targets!" She spat the words like venom, utterly failing to cover up her resentment for the other man.

"What happened today...it doesn't mean a thing for the future."

The Arkanian tried to add conviction to her voice. Kynes wasn't fooled for a second. She stretched languidly like a cat after a very satisfying meal.

"You think so? I haven't seen your sister that excited since she saved that baby Togruta from the fire on Savant V."

The sniper smiled at the memory, while idly fondling one of T'shere's ample breasts.

"I thought we'd never get her to let go. 'So soft and warm' she said. Like what I have in my hand right now."

Kynes chuckled throatily but Tshere did not share her amusement. She slapped the other female's hand off her and turned over again, taking away most of the blankets.

"You're not helping,"

Her bed buddy sighed. "Is it such a bad thing for her to be friendly with someone outside of our motley group? Force knows it's about time she found someone warm her bedsheets." Kynes leaned close and blew a husky breath on T'shere's neck. "Don't you think it's a little hypocritical for her to miss the pillow talk we have?"

"Their partnership is a one time thing," growled the Arkanian, in a tone that brooked no debate. She still would not look at Kynes.

"I won't allow this...farce to get any further than it has to. We find out what the Sith are after, kill them and go our separate ways. End of story. The Jedi won't get to take advantage of her."

The commander lapsed back into silence. Kynes looked at T'shere with concern, unused to such coldness from her. "And you're okay with this operation? I know you wouldn't send Revan unless Lucidae forced your hand."

T'shere didn't deign to reply, pretending to fall into a dozing sleep.

"Wake up."

Matarl's eyes snapped open from his unexpected slumber. It took a few moments for him to re-orient himself to his surroundings. He was strapped to a wooden chair, with black manacles chained to his wrists. His weapons along with his belt had been taken away.

Where am I?

Matarl couldn't be sure. The room around him was dark, the cloying scent of blood and incense thick in the air. There was broken furniture around him but he didn't think he was still in the Minx. Judging by the dimensions, it looked like a common apartment room, the dull grey paint flaking off the walls in chunks. And there were bodies lying around him too, probably the former unfortunate tenants. Some looked partly liquefied, others were hunched against the walls.

A huge wooden table stood in front of him, slick with the blood of a freshly butchered corpse. The chest cavity had been cracked open to reveal the organs inside, except none of them remained save for a few stringy ropes of intestines. It seemed like some horrific pagan ritual had occurred while he had passed out.

How…How did I get here?

Matarl struggled to recall the last few moments before he lost consciousness. He remembered the fight...the blood, the Sith Lord ripping Racquile to shreds. Most vividly, he remembered the anguished screams of the once brutal mercenary.

Victus...

The thoughts of the monster sent his blood pumping furiously again. He tried to rise from his seat to escape, but the manacles kept him bolted to the chair. After a few seconds of struggling, he fell limp, his head pounding from the exertions.

Matarl froze suddenly even as he felt the chill presence of the monster responsible for the debauchery. Victus made no sound as he glided into the Rutian's line of sight, to stand right in front of him. He was hooded again, but Matarl did not need to see his face to know that the Sith Lord was smiling that secret smile of his.

"Hello again." said Victus like nothing was amiss.

"Get away from you me, you freak!" snarled Matarl. He railed uselessly against his restraints, fear flooding his battered body with new strength. The Sith Lord sighed and reached out with his metallic hand, gripping the Rutian's jaw. The cold tangy grip forced Matarl into silence.

"Stop that. If I wanted you dead, I would have left you for my aspirants."

It was then that Matarl realized they were not alone. While he had initially thought all the bodies were corpses, some were actually hunched figures stirring restlessly in the dark. A few of them sat on top of bodies with suspiciously few body parts.

Did…did they come from their ship?

Like Victus , their faces were obscured but they wore the same pallid fleshy clothing. And he could bet that they were all leering at him with voracious hunger, tempered only by the hand of their leader. He could hear them muttering in some language he didn't recognize, the consonants harsh and sharp against his lobes. Matarl shuddered before he mustered the courage to ask a question.

"Why...why am I still alive?"

Victus seemed surprised at the question.

"Why would I kill you?"

"You killed Racquile...his men."

"True, but I doubt you lament their loss. And as I recall, I made a promise to tell you why my Master finds you so interesting. It is only fair you know your role if you are going to help us."

Despite his unenviable predicament, Matarl actually let out a bark of laughter.

"You seriously think I'll help you, you freak of nature? After what you did?"

"Of course." said Victus matter-of-factly. "My Master said so."

"And why would he say that?"

"Because he dreamt of you."

"...What?"

Matarl stared at him, wondering for a moment if this was not just another one of his macabre jokes.

Victus took a chair that still had four legs and sat himself in front of the Rutian. He unhooded himself to look at his captive straight in the eye. The Twi'lek shied away but something about Victus' stare made him keep eye contact.

"My Master... " said Victus slowly. "...has a special gift. What he dreams becomes reality. Many touched by the Force will claim to have this ability but that is a lie. They are mere spectators and their dreams can be misinterpreted to see only incomplete facets of the greater truth. The Reborn has never been wrong. He sees the future with perfect clarity. There are nights where he thrashes for hours as his mind is filled with the reality that will be, a waking dream that is a real as anything you and I can see. You could say he wills these images to be true. His cries are often unintelligible, but to those possessed with a fraction of his wisdom, one can glean the truth."

Matarl became skeptical. "And...what? You're saying his dreams...led you to me?"

"Precisely. I still remember the words being burned directly into my brain. '...and the skies will be bathed in oblivion, horror descending from the heavens like locusts of death. But before one cycle can begin anew, the scorned one must complete the first..."

Victus trailed off ominously. Matarl had no idea what any of that meant. It just sounded like meaningless rhetoric to him.

"And what could he possibly want with me? I'm just a lowlife mercenary."

Although Matarl couldn't see, Victus grin widened.

"Oh really? Before you decided to pay allegiance to an evolutionary travesty for scraps, what were you?"

"Nothing special." said Matarl curtly, not wanting to relive the moments of his past life.

"That's not what I've been told." replied Victus enigmatically. He leaned forward uncomfortably close and placed his distinctive metal hand under his shaking chin, forcing it still. Matarl thought he was going to do something unpleasant to his face, but Victus only reached out with his other hand to show him a photo. It was old and frayed but the picture was clear enough to show four faces.

"Tell me. Do you recognize these people?"

Why would I-recog...wait...

Matarl's stared at the picture for a long moment, trying to make out the grainy features as recognition tickled the edges of his brain. A few more seconds and his eyes widened in surprise. He did recognize them. Especially her. Granted, they were a lot younger in the image but the resemblance was unmistakable. And the last one...

"Well?"

Matarl nodded numbly. How could he forget those faces...they were the reason his life was condemned to...this.

Thalia...you bitch. Because of you, I live on piss and worms that I shit more often through my mouth than my ass.

Matarl realized that Victus was expecting more. He spoke in a hoarse voice.

"Yes. These people th-they are part of a...rebel faction. The Rutian woman is Thalia Vao and the younger ones are her adopted children. The Arkanian...her name's T'shere. The younger Twi'lek is Mysteel. The last...he..."

You had no right to judge me you bastard. You're aren't even a real Jedi.

Matarl took a shuddering breath and said. "I heard your Master utter his name so you probably know. Lucidae. He is the leader."

The Rutian looked back up at the Sith Lord in surprise.

"How did you...?"

"Know them? That is not your concern for now." Victus put the picture back into the folds of his flesh cloak.

"You have a...history with these individuals, do you not?"

"I...yes. I was once part of their group. But...but they kicked me out over a disagreement."

Matarl's memory went back to when he was still a member of the resistance himself. Looking back, life back then was a luxury compared to now. He felt his hands clench into fists so tight they drew blood.

You condemned me...in one fell swoop you condemned me to hell.

Victus saw and felt the Rutian's inner rage. He gave a flensing smile.

"You hate them. For what they did to you."

"Yes!" spat Matarl, bloody spittle launching from his mouth. "Dammit yes! They took everything from me! My money, my reputation, my ch-!

Matarl's mouth clamped shut suddenly, fearing he had revealed too much to his interrogator.

"Who are these people to you? If you want me to help you, you'd better bloody well tell me that."

Despite his better judgement, the Twi'lek was extremely curious. Matarl could imagine the antagonistic relationship any Sith would have with Lucidae. But what did they want with the females?

"The one you call Lucidae. He took something from us. It caused my Master great anguish." Answered Victus quietly.

The Sith Lord jerked his hand, forcing Matarl's eyes to look at his dark pits. He cringed but managed to hold the stare.

"Tell me Matarl, would you like to see them suffer? Would you like them to feel what you now show in plain sight?"

Matarl's expression changed slowly back from fear to curiosity.

"Yes...Yes! Of course I do."

"Excellent. Then help me find them. In return, I promise you all of them will experience more pain and anguish than you can possibly imagine."

His heart sank again. Matarl looked at the Sith Lord helplessly. "Look, not that I'm not interested. But it's been a little more than two years since I saw them. They can be anywhere in the galaxy by now. The group tends to move a lot, and not always together."

"Oh, don't worry. You won't have to look far. In fact, all you have to do is search this very city."

Matarl's eyes widened in surprise.

"They're here? H-How do you know that? Because your Master saw it? How can he know what he saw is happening now?"

Victus tilted his head to one side. "I could explain it in abstract terms...but you wouldn't understand. Simply put, it is the hand of synchronicity. Destiny if you want to call it that. When he met you, he knew it was a sign that the ordained time drew near."

The Sith Lord turned back to Matarl.

"We have need of your...knowledge. We want to you to penetrate their inner sanctum."

Matarl's felt his anger drain away to something close to eagerness for the first time in ages. They were here! He could finally make Thalia and her freak shows pay. Still he was cautious not to look too willing.

"Wait...couldn't you do it yourself? I mean, your master's visions. Couldn't you just go to where he saw them?"

The Sith Lord chuckled.

"It doesn't work that way. Yes, I could eventually find them, but that is not the truth he saw. What we do now triggers the events to come. And he sees you being the ultimate catalyst. For the finale as it were."

"What finale?"

Victus put a finger onto his own shriveled lips. "Trust me. It's better not to know. I can only promise it will be...climatic. Now, what say you?"

He stared at the Rutian expectantly. Matarl struggled internally for many moments, wondering what he could possibly do or say. He had no reason to believe anything the Sith Lord said.

And yet if there was a chance...even a slightest chance of revenge...

His eyes flashed as he came to a decision.

"...All right. All right, I'll help you. I've still got some contacts around who will tell me if there's been any unusual activity. And I remember their more permanent hideouts on this planet. If they are here, like you said, I can find them."

The Sith Lord seemed to relax at this response, stepping away. Matarl immediately felt his anxiety wane at the other person's withdrawal.

"It gladdens my heart to hear you say that. I couldn't eat another bite."

It was meant as a joke but the words only made the Twi'lek more uncomfortable. Victus shrugged and pointed a bony finger at him. Matarl's manacles split open. The Rutian stood up as he rubbed his wrists gingerly.

"Get going." commanded Victus.

"How will I get in touch with you in case…well anything?"

"Don't worry, we are always in touch." replied Victus cryptically.

For some reason at that moment, the dull black patches of Matarl's skin started to itch. He decided not to press the point. "Fine... And what will you be doing in the meantime?"

A sharp hiss emanated from every corner of room as the aspirants started arguing amongst each other. They sounded…hungry. Victus hissed at his restless subordinates in their own guttural language. He probably told them to shut up because the group eventually subsided. The Sith Lord stared at them a moment longer before turning back to reply in an ominous voice.

"We have unfinished business with your...former employer."

Matarl saw how Victus did business. He remembered the piles of corpses heaped on the killing ground in the Minx. A day ago, it was one of the most popular establishments in the Blood District. Now it was a charnel house. With that in mind, Reeka would be a green smear on the wall by the time the Weeper was through with him. Not that Matarl cared. Still he saw the flaw in that plan.

"I think that would be hard to do, since you killed the only people who could get you to the auction."

"Oh, don't worry, I know where it is."

The Rutian's face scrunched up in confusion.

"You know...? But how?"

"I didn't eat Racquile's brain just for the taste". Victus replied. The Sith Lord spoke with such perfectly measured timbre that Matarl believed him. He shuddered. The image of the Weeper splitting Racquile's skull like a soft shelled crab would haunt him forever.

He looked at his new employer in fear, wondering how the wretch could possibly glean such information from a corpse.

Victus stared at him for a few seconds before erupting in harsh laughter. Even his followers laughed. The sound was bone chillingly horrible.

"A jest Matarl. A bloody jest. You really have no sense of humor. But to answer your question, I didn't kill everyone back at that lovely establishment. After all, I needed to know where I was going. And I am capable of diplomacy when it is needed."

His underlings chuckled at their leader's choice of words. Matarl just looked at him.

"It's true." Said Victus, sounding affronted at everyone's skepticism.

"I even managed to convince the survivor to provide me with their security codes and keys to their transport. Too bad he expired shortly after the fact telling me."

The Rutian followed Victus' gaze to the table where the freshly carved body lay. Blood still pumped from several of the exposed arteries where the heart used to be. He returned his accusing glare to the Sith Lord.

"What? I only took out his heart after he went into cardiac arrest. I am civilized after all. Don't look at me like that. It's not like he needed it afterwards. But to be fair, I might have 'facilitated' his said accident."

More grating laughter blew over him, none louder than the Weeper's. Matarl shook his head in mute reply until another thought occurred to him.

"Wait...if they are here, the rebels I mean...isn't there a good chance they know about this auction? That might be the reason they are back in the first place. Lucidae's dogs are always trying to thwart schemes like these."

"I think you've missed your true calling as a logistician," Remarked Victus dryly. "But no, the Reborn did not mention their meddling in this event."

The Sith Lord came close and held up something in his hand. It was his belt, along with his dual set of blasters. Matarl took the proffered equipment and strapped it onto his waist, feeling more comfortable already. Victus then brought his metal hand up towards his new asset, wiping a smudge of blood running from his nose. This time Matarl didn't cringe.

"Yes...very nice. It's setting in quicker than I anticipated." whispered the Weeper.

"What?"

Victus ignored the question. When he thought the Rutian looked presentable enough, he pointed at the apartment door to the far end of the dark room.

"Go. Time to make destiny a reality."

Matarl nodded, almost eagerly. Ignoring the sniffs and whispered taunts of the Weeper's followers, the Rutian walked out the door to begin his retribution.