"Again! One, two, three, PUSH!"

"Arrrrghh!"

"Again! One, two, three PUSH!"

Arbokk slumped to the floor and leaned against the wall, exhausted. "Forget it man, that door is not coming open."

Alan turned and scowled at the Twi'lek. "Giving up isn't going to do us much good."

Bakurra turned against the door and leaned against, catching his breath. "Hey, why ain't the droid helping? He could probably rip the door to pieces, right?"

Quarros stood in silence, unmoving, unfazed.

Alan pulled a toothpick out of his belt and began chewing on it furiously. He'd given up deathsticks and cigarrios over a year ago, but in times of stress the cravings always got worse. "He doesn't take orders from us. And his programming doesn't work that way anyways. You tell him you want out, he'd probably try to blow a hole in the door instead of open it. He'd kill us all without half trying." He sighed and rubbed his temples. "No, this is on us. We gotta figure a way out."

Barrow and Akator were keep themselves busy in the cockpit. Akator had taken what materials he could scavenge from what was available and rigged together several small explosive devices. Barrow had carefully arranged them on the door in what he had determined to be its weakest points.

"I'd like to point out, Barrow, that this is a terrible idea."

Barrow was attaching the last bomb to the door. He turned and grinned at Akator. "What? You feel like being stuck in this cockpit forever?"

Akator shook his head. "No, but your plan is flawed in various ways. We are much more likely to damage ourselves and the ship than we are to simply demolish the door."

Barrow sat back in the copilot chair. "Alright. How do you figure?"

Akator gestured towards the door. "Given the design of the ship, and the projected magnitude of the explosions that we intend to create, there is a very high probability that the blast will simply kill you immediately, and likely separate the cockpit itself from the rest of the ship. The separated pieces would be propelled away from each other with tremendous force."

Barrow stroked his chin, in a mocking gesture of appearing thoughtful. "Yes yes, I see." He eyed Akator suspiciously. "Kill me immediately? Not you?"

Akator shook his head again, a gesture that he was fearing was beginning to lose its impact for his companion. "With my enhancements, I would likely survive the blast. Then I would be adrift in this cockpit with nothing but a corpse for company for the rest of eternity."

"Well...it'd be a very attractive corpse, if you could look past all the burns."

"That provides little consolation to me."

Barrow chuckled, and sat forward in his chair. "Listen, kid. Something bad happened here. I don't know about you, but I smell sabotage." He pointed towards the door. "That means that the rest of our buddies are trapped somewhere on the other side of this door with someone who means to kill them. Now, I can't stand by when there's a chance that we could maybe get out of here and go do something incredibly stupid and heroic!"

Akator frowned again. "We are not Heroes, Barrow."

Barrow sighed, and his smile faded. "Listen, kid. It's part of the territory. You're a Halcyon now, like it or not." He grinned. "Light side, Dark side, Empire, Republic. It doesn't matter. We're heroes. It's just what we do." He lifted the makeshift detonator. "Now, let's get the stupid out of the way first."

Akator sighed and braced himself. Barrow took position next to the nav terminal, hoping to shield himself from the worst of the blast. "Alright then. Here we go. It was nice knowing you, kid."

"One..." Barrow flicked open the safety release.

"Two..." He put his thumb on the ignition switch.

"Thr-"

The door opened with a whoosh and Rodeo stuck his head in. "You guys okay?"

"Kark!" Barrow dropped the detonator in surprise. He immediately realized his mistake and looked down in horror as the detonator fell to the floor.

Akator and Barrow held their breath as it struck the floor and bounced twice, landing on the pommel each time, the ignition switch thankfully never touching the floor.

"Hey, what's that?" Rodeo asked.

Akator released a nervous squeal, simultaneously the most human and inhuman action he had made since coming on board.

Barrow looked at Rodeo in shock. "How'd you do that?"

Rodeo looked confused. "Do what?"

"The door! How'd you get it open?"

Rodeo's expression of confusion lingered. He slowly raised his hand and pointed to the door switch. "Emergency release?"

Akator and Barrow stood dumbfounded.

Asmodeus opened his eyes and groaned. His body ached as though he'd been thrown from a moving speeder. His shoulders were bruised and he could feel a sharp pain in his side, indicating at least one broken rib.

He tried to lower his arms, but found himself unable to move. He opened his eyes wider and stretched his neck to view his surroundings. He was in a very plain room, dark gray and metallic. He was fastened into some kind of restraining apparatus, his arms chained over his head and his ankles shackled. He was leaning forward at a slight angle and suspended high above the floor. He had been stripped of his armor, which lay in pieces on a table near him. Even his beloved helmet was cracked in two, a sight which would have broken his heart had the situation not demanded his full attention.

He struggled against his bonds, and was immediately shocked with an electric current. He yelled in anger and pain as the shock continued long after he had given up his resistance. After a moment, the room went quiet again, and Asmodeus struggled to find breath as steam rose off his body.

After a moment, a dark and eerie voice came over the intercom. "Asmodeus, of the Baccalek Nebula."

The sith groaned and opened his eyes again, searching for the source of the voice. It continued after a moment of silence. The voice was soft, delicate, almost feminine, but with an undertone of malicious intent.

"How did it feel, passing through the Rift the first time? Entering a galaxy that had no Nexus, no source for the power within you to feed on?"

Asmodues opened his eyes wide in shock. Whomever had taken him prisoner, they knew far more than they should.

"You took a pretty severe depowerment, is that correct? You had to relearn all your Force abilties and talents? I cannot imagine how miserable that must have been. The power to destroy a galaxy, infinite power, stripped away from you. It must have felt like you had been brain damaged..."

Asmodeus licked his lips, which were chapped and burned. His voice cracked when he tried to speak, but he soon found his voice. "I adapted."

"You did, didn't you? Responsible for the murder of millions, and suddenly any hotshot with a fifty credit blaster could end you. Must have been humbling."

Asmodeus coughed, and blood spattered on the floor beneath him. "Humility...is not...the worst vice...to learn."

The voice turned sour. "I'm going to have to disagree with you there."

Another shock came through the shackles, and Asmodeus roared in anger.

"I'm fascinated by you, my friend. Many galaxies share the legend of the great demon Asmodeus. Slayer of Galaxies, that's quite a title. You'd have made an wonderful Reaper."

Asmodeus lifted his eyes in anger. "And what is a Reaper?"

The voice seemed to ignore the question. "Ah well. Your fault for being born on the wrong side of the Fault."

Another shock. Asmodeus restrained himself from making any outward noise, but gritted his teeth as his body was wracked with convulsions.

"Asmodeus. I'm going to find out what makes you tick. I'm going to push you and push you and push you until I am satisfied. And then? Then I'm going to see how you respond to death."

The tone of the voice lifted, as though the speaker were smiling. "You and I are going to have such great fun together."

Foster struggled through the corridors, sprinting as fast as his injured leg would allow him. The beasts followed in pursuit, their demonic giggles echoing through the ship. They pursued him, but they were toying with him. Foster had the impression that they could have caught him long before now. Every now and then, one would catch up to him and nip at his heels. He would turn and shoot at it with his sidearm, but the blast would barely scratch the beast before it giggled and disappeared into the darkness. This was truly a nightmare.

He did his best to throw down debris to slow his pursuers, but they were so much faster, so much more nimble than he was, that anything he did was only stalling the inevitable moment when they caught and consumed him.

He turned left, nearly towards the crew quarters. If he could just reach his footlocker...

A tentacle wrapped around his injured ankle and pulled him to the floor. A nightmare beast giggled and began dragging him towards its horrible mouth, that sphincter-like opening of teeth and terror.

Foster kicked and kicked as hard as he could, but the creature drug him along the floor, tired of the chase and hungry for a meal. Foster slashed at the tentacle with his field knife, but it refused to loosen its grip. He pulled his sidearm and fired several times directly into the creature's mouth. Its tongue caught fire and the beast screamed in agony and released its grip. Foster scrambled to his room and slammed the door closed.

He let out his breath, and panted heavily. Almost immediately the door pushed back against him as the rest of the beasts had sensed that they were in danger of losing their meal and began forcing their way into the room. Foster bolted the door to give him a moment, and slid his footlocker out from under his bed.

As the door groaned and bulged against the pressure put against it, Foster pressed the release on the locker, which opened on a mechanical swivel, with multiple layers distributed out to the sides and above, each layer storing a different long range rifle. Foster grabbed the first one he could, a large white Regulator model. He jammed a charge pack into it just as the door shattered under its own weight.

"Oh, yeah, here we go." He fired several times into the mass of tentacles and teeth that waited on the other side. Three blasts in rapid succession made contact with the beasts and passed completely through them, demolishing them from within. The rest of the pack howled in anger and redoubled their efforts to get into the room. Foster emptied his clip into the doorframe, the bodies piling up as each new beast climbed on the one before it.

After a moment, he pulled the trigger and got no response. He struggled to grab another pack quickly, but it was too late. In that split second, several creatures had entered the room, and by the time Foster had a charge pack in his hand, they were upon him. He closed his eyes and prayed that there would be little pain.

One creature in particular towered above him, his horrible mouth flexing and salivating. It reached down to take the first bite when-

thunk

Foster opened his eyes in surprise. The creature hovered above him, frozen in place. Just above the mouth, a stab wound appeared out of thin air. Foster could hear, but not see, the weapon slide out of the wound, and the creature slumped to the floor.

kssssssshhhhhhhhh

Smoke filled the room. Foster recognized it immediately. It was the same smokescreen pellets that were given to him on his first day in Intelligence. The smoke rose quickly, and the creatures howled in anger, looking for their new attacker.

Sounds of combat came from all sides of the room. The familar thunk of a vibroblade cracking through bone, the sharp pew pew of blaster bolts, and at the end, a final crack as boot met neck. Foster loaded his charge pack into his rifle as the smoke cleared and Oryon pulled his vibroblade from the body of the final beast. He turned to Foster, "Are you injured?"

Foster stood and offered a salute, which was promptly returned. "Yes sir. Sprained ankle, various scrapes and bruises. But I am combat-ready, sir."

Oryon nodded and pulled a kolto pack out of his coat for Foster's leg. "We must hurry. Something is very, very wrong."