If you're reading this, much love. This is my take on how a regular person might be able to be trained in how to mind trick the ultimate mind trickers; Jedi Knights. It takes place in the Legends canon, sometime around the time after Jacen Solo had been killed and his reign of terror ended. It is gonna get violent, so let that serve as your content warning, now.
ENJOI
…
Level 1313. The stench of urban decay and desperate living filled the young mercenary's nostrils as he dredged through the filth underfoot. Pieces of trash, like soiled clothes, discarded food wrappers, lager bottles, and used condoms littered the ancient durasteel girders he walked on like an unholy, hellish jungle. The light here was scarce, most of it originating from broken glowlamps or the occasionally flickering neon holo-sign. The rust and corroded duracrete walls filled out the visage of broken world, making the whole undercity around him seem as hopeless as it's occupants truly were.
Jarren muttered a curse as he kicked a muja fruit peel that had to be at least a decade old from his Galactic Alliance issue boot. Wiping his grimy hands on his worn Army BDU's, he fiddled with the wedding band on his left ring finger. He sneered unconsciously, but despite himself, he still left the damnable thing on. Coming upon his destination, he smeared more underworld filth on his cargo pants, straightened his tight, v-neck shirt and unclipped the holster of his blaster pistol. The weight of it on his right hip was comforting; the only thing in his life left that was really familiar. He ran his fingers across the wroshyr wood grip for a moment, reveling in the feel of something that was still his.
His, and his alone.
Shaking his head, he pressed the buzzer for apartment 1313-26d, and waited for his caller's reply. He pondered what his "friend," the young, street-thug wannabe Squib, could possibly want. The fox-like little rodent's day job was working at a seedy undercity spaceport, "inspecting logistics." What he really did was ensure that smuggled goods made it through official-like. Due to this illegal side-job, Quirrle felt that that gave him "street cred," and because of that attitude, his mouth was always getting him into trouble. Jarren being the poor, broke-ass former soldier-turned merc saved his purple tail more times than he could count, but because Quirrle managed to get Jarren out of one bad situation...
Now he thinks Jarren owes him the galaxy.
As Jarren weighed out the possibility of just leaving, telling Quirrle to kriff himself to the Force, Jarren remembered the comm message the Squib left him. The furry man's voice was a barely audible whipser, whose hushed tones and quivering voice bespoke of fear, true and deep and very, very real. It was a horror that Jarren heard in the voices of Corellians during Jacen Solos reign of terror, in Alderaanian refugees tones when they spoke of the Death Star. It begged him to help, and if there is one thing Jarren never could say no to was a person in need.
He wished his daddy had raised him differently.
After ten minutes of standing outside the dilapadated apartment complex, Jarren started to fidget. Standing still in open spaces made the GI in him squirm, and staying out on the streets of lower level Coruscant wasn't a good idea to begin with. Jarren stabbed at the buzzer again, several times. When no answer came, a creeping-crawling sensation surged down his neck and he looked around cautiously. Something wasn't right. Jarren looked up, left and right, hoping to find a fire escape or handhold of some sort.
The deranged duracrete wall showed no such apparel, and Jarren found himself running out of options. He tried to just open the door; unfortunately, after millenia, it's security features still worked. He rapped at the transparisteel door. Probably blaster-proof, if the dull knocking was any indication.
Jarren gazed around before slipping a hand into his back pocket, fumbling with the crumy old datapad that held his basic hacking software. He was no computer whiz, but had an old Bothan bunk mate from his Galacatic Alliance Army days who had set him up with basic code that could bypass a lock or five. Luck would have it, however, that a spindly old Twi'lek woman was walking out of the apartments.
"Ma'am, would you be miffed if I went in? My friend needs help, and he isn't answering his buzzer."
"Gurroff," the hag muttered, never answering him. She just kept talking to some imaginary person. "I told that boy three days ago to change his oil, I saids. Blow his engine, he will I saids!"
Taking her insanity as permission, Jarren let her shoulder past him, and even held the door for her as she shuffled past, continuing her rant. She threw a bag of collected trash into an old, wheeled shopping cart and started walking down the road. She stroked the plastic bag lovingly, like a mother would the cheek of her child. Jarren shuddered at the sight.
"Hawk-bats!" She suddenly screeched, swatting at her wrinkled brain tails, shooing away invisible creatures. "This is what happens when you don't change the oil, Des'suric!"
Paying her no more heed, Jarren breezed into the foyer and set up the stairs. After three flights of cramped, creaking stairs, he reached Quirrle's floor. Finding the furry man's door, he pushed the buzzer on it's control panel. When it didn't beep, he tapped at it, determining that, like most things, finally broke. So he knocked.
"N-no one's here!"
"Sounds like it," Jarren replied, smartly. He pinched the bridge of his nose "Open the door, Quirrle."
"No one here," Quirrle chittered quietly from the other side. "No one by that name, stranger. Move along, please. I'm busy, yes, yes I is, quite busy!"
"Busy with what, daydreamin about that Falleen bartender?" Jarren shot back. This was typical. Whenever the Squib got scared or anxious, he'd ball up and lose any sense of proper linguistics. "It's me, Quirrle."
"Who me?"
Sighing, Jarren unsheathed his trusty old knife and jammed it into the door's control panel, forcing the rusted barrier open. Quirrle squealed as the door swished open, and bolted from his bed and dashed underneath it, as if hiding down there would save him from some terrible force. Jarren shook his head, hit the inside control panel to close the door and reached under the bed. Swatting the Squib's claws away, he grabbed the small, furry man by his collar and yanked him from his hiding hole.
Quirrle screamed, kicked, clawed at his human attackers hand and bit at his fingers as Jarren shook the tiny man violently. "Quirrle!"
"Aw, shit, Skylark" Quirrle muttered as he calmed down and looked Jarren in the eye. "It's you! Thank the Gods!"
"Of course it's me," Jarren huffed, still holding the short, purple furred fox-man by his neck and took a look around the tiny, one room apartment he was living in. "You expecting someone else? I don't see how anyone would want to visit you here."
"Hey, screw you Skylark, it done beats dat dumpster I found you roughin' in."
"There he is," Jarren shot back, tossing the Squib back on his cot. Quirrle balled up and looked up at Jarren with wide, fearful gold eyes. His gaze didn't hide much, and he stared at Jarren expectantly. "The Squib I know and loathe. So, you called?"
He nodded, his long snout frowning and whiskers twitching. "Ya, I did, Skinny."
"You sounded scared."
"I is, Skinny."
"So... what's up?"
Quirrle shook his head. "I kriffed, Skinny. I think I done made a deal the devils themselves, man."
"Aight, don' freak out on me or anything-"
"What did you do," Jarren spoke less as a question, and more as a demand, feeling the creeping sensation in his neck again. It shivered down his spine, and he tried to keep his composure.
"Promise me, Skinny, don't freak."
"Alright, alright, I promise I might not freak out."
Quirrle shook his head despondately, apparently accepting his answer. "I... think I might have done taken a gig working for-" His voice trailed off, the last word he spoke turning into a nearly inaudible whisper, as if he was afraid to say it too loud.
"Working for what?" Jarren asked, annoyed.
"Sith," Quirrle muttered a little louder.
"The Sith!?" Jarren exploded, coming close to back handing his friend. The Squib backed off the little bed and nearly fell to the floor before recovering, swatting at Jarren's arm insistantly.
"Shut up, will ya!? Ya can't broadcast dat!"
"What the hell were you thinking!" Jarren hollered back, going for Quirrle's neck again. "You stupid, rabid, money hungry rodent! You know what they are!?"
"I done know who da hell dey are, Skinny! You promised, man!"
"Maybe! Maybe to not freak! Emperor's black bones, Quirrle!"
"Look, Skinny, I need ya, man!"
"What am I supposed to do!"
"Help me!" Quirrle insisted, gripping and shaking Jarren's arms in his petite claws.
Jarren fell back, hitting the wall next to the door and falling down. He shook his head. "How? How do you I get you outta this?"
"Ya tell me, Skinny. Ye're da one with dat black ops training and shit."
Jarren shook his head again. Seriously? The Sith? Jarren knew he should have stayed home tonight. Even now, he felt that sickening, crawling feeling worm down his back. His palms started to sweat. The Sith were bad news. Like Jedi, but not just powerful. Evil and powerful. How did Quirrle expect him to get him out of this?
"Tell me what happened."
"It happened a week ago, now. I was done working my shift at da 'port, y'know, business as usual. A load of bacta, a little spice with one of the crewman on da side to hit Corellia's booming market. Den dis guy, creepy looking sob, decked in black, comes to me from da Bossman's office, and says, he says, 'I heard ya da guy to talk to about discreet shipping.' I say ya, I'm yer guy, cuz, y'know, Its what I do. I figgered he one dem boys who works for some rich guy, or some higher up crime boss er something. I thought I make a few more creds dan the yoose. So I gives hima price, see, and he just nods, hands me a credit purse with the exact amount I asked for, like he knew I was gonna ask for, and stalks off without another word. Den, den a day later I finds this note I does, on a crate near the punch-clock."
Quirrle pulled a wrinkled piece of flimsi from his pocket and practically throws the paper at Jarren. Jarren uncrumpled it and immediately noticed the elegant, looping handwriting. It was almost like as if his ex-wife wrote it, it was so precise. Jarren swallowed down the thought of her, and read through the note.
My item needs to be delivered to Mos Eisley spaceport on Tattooine with all due haste. My courier, who has already paid you handsomely, will deliver my package to you tomorrow morning at 0600 eastern Coruscant time. Be there, at your post promptly.
Do not open that box.
Regards,
VK
"Who is VK?" Jarren asked, dropping the note in his lap and looking up at Quirrle, who shrugged.
"Dunno, Skinny."
"Well, what happened next?"
"Same guy was dere next morning, like da note says. He hands me dis box, bout yay big," Quirrle makes a box shape with his hands about ten centimeters wide and tall, and about half a yard long. "Real ordinary looking, like da t'ing belonged on a courier freighter er someting."
"Did you open it?" Jarren asked, hoping the problem was as obvious as he thought.
"Gods, no!" Quirrle rushed, looking around. "Ya crazy? I got standards, man! I dunwanna know hwat dese nuts are sending out there."
Jarren bit his tongue, fighting the urge to tell the Squib how moronic it was to possibly be transporting things like bombs or chemical weapons or anything else considered a terrorist's wet dream. He motioned to Quirrle to continue, holding his hands up in defense instead.
"So, ya know dat Skinny I got on that parts freighter, that goes out to Tattooine all da time?"
"Quintin?" Jarren asked, less from not remembering and more to keep the story going. He and Quentin didn't get along real well. Jarren thought the wannabe smuggler was a greasy, misogynistic ass. Quentin thought Jarren was a do-gooding cop's son who had too many standards to be a good mercenary.
They were both right about each other.
"Ya, him. Had him run it, see, since he's freighter's heading dattaway anywho. But, see, he don't come back."
"Oh, no," Jarren muttered, feeling his gut sink already. He'd heard of smalltime smugglers get killed after a delivery, in the name of cleaning up "loose ends." It happened all the time.
"Ya," Quirrle agreed, his long, pyramid shaped face bobbing up and down. "His crew make it back, and he's not dere. I asks his skipper, I does, 'Yo, Squiddy, where's my Skinny at?' He says, he does, 'Done don't make it back,' he says, 'He done got himself killed.' He says he found Skinny behind a loading dock, cut in half and burned. Not even a drop of blood was dere, Skinny..."
Jarren felt his heart sink further, convinced. He watched a Jedi slice a man in half with their lightsaber, back when he was still a grunt. Cut in half, burnt and no blood sounded exactly like a lightsaber.
"Den, y'know, I was on my way back to da pad the next day when I see some Skinny, leaving Bossman's room. He... killed him, he killed him dead! Da Supe found him cut... in half... no-"
"No blood, just burned," Jarren finished, shuddering. There were few things he feared more than a rancor with supernatural powers and a laser sword. He thought about it for a second, taking stock. He had a blaster pistol, a fifth of Dobri's cheapest whiskey, and a lingering hangover. His skills as a commando were useless against a crazed, homicidal anti-Jedi, so there was really only one option left available to them. "Okay, we need to get off planet, now."
Quirrle nodded his agreement, standing up and grabbing a small knapsack. He and Jarren both paused, however, when they heard the apartment's buzzer ring.
They had company.
…
Nadia Dell rolled her shoulders for the hundredth time, trying to work out the kink in them. She had a really, really bad feeling about this assignment Master Horn gave them. Some low level spaceport junkies were being murdered, and from what the rumor mill had been circulating, a man with a lightsaber had done it. They talked to the dock workers at the spaceport, and they pointed them in the direction of some street level thug, a Squib named Quirrle. They were told he talked a big talk, but couldn't fill the shoes that walking the big walk required. Finding him and pumping him for information should be easy, but Nadia still had her doubts.
When the old Jedi master had assigned them to investigate, Nadia felt like something was off. From the moment they set foot on this wretched level, with its putrid streets and seedy population, she knew like something was definitely off.
"It's probably just the air," Bender, her Cerean fellow Jedi, tried to assuage her.
You're being paranoid, Grindley, their other teammate, persuaded.
Nadia didn't really feel comforted by Bender or the female Wookie's assessment of the situation. After all, they were hunting a Sith, one of the same Sith from the group who took over the Galactic Alliance from the shadows. She really just hoped that this investigation into the Undercity didn't pan out.
"Relax," Bender continued, stopping their walk and grabbing Nadia by the shoulder, softly. "Breathe, use the Force, like Master Solusar taught us. With it at our side, nothing can stop us."
Nadia nodded, swallowing down a reply about how inheritently arrogant that statement was. They were teenagers, just kids. They hadn't even mastered the Force nearly as much as they liked to think, and were chasing down leads on a fellow, more evil Force user with probably years more experience and training than them.
"We're just going to talk to some Squib, Nadia. I doubt he'll even manage to be a threat to us."
"If you say so," Nadia sighed, injecting enough dismissal in her tone to tell her teammates to drop the subject.
Nadia wrinkled her nose as they stepped by a rusted out dumpster, whose belly had long ago bursted open like a disembowled bantha. The stench was awful, even though half of the contents had rotted away to dirt. Her boot squished into something soft and semi-liquid; she forced herself not to look down, and with some effort, pulled her heel free.
Literally everyting stank about this assignment.
The three Jedi made good time to the dilapidated apartment complex, which did nothing to make Nadia feel better. With each step, her anxiety seemed to worsen. He pressure on her shoulder blades got worse, and her mind was starting to fog. It took deep, meditative breaths to get her blood pressure under control, and when she came back to the moment, she was almost shocked back into an anxiety attack.
Her partners were starting to show signs of stress. Bender, sagely and wise looking, had a deep frown cowling his face and he rubbed his hands together every moment or so, nervously. Grindley, the proud and stout Wookie, was growling under her breath with her keen, predatory eyes darting back and forth in anticipation, her paw cradling the lightsaber on her belt ever so anxiously. It was like the cream-colored Wookie wanted a reason to draw her weapon.
Nadia was about to say something, when Bender ran forward, suddenly, and crouched behind a darkened street corner. He motioned Nadia and Grindley to do the same. An old woman, a Rutian Twi'lek, it appeared, ambled by with an ancient metal cart, rambling on about oil changes and rancors.
Real threat, there, Bender, Grindley grumbled sarcastically. The Wookie stood up and kept walking, growling and rumbling about Undercity psychopaths and paranoid humanoids.
But Nadia heard Bender's quiet rebuttal, barely just audible under his breath. "I knew I felt something... evil."
The pressure in her shoulders turned into an ache.
Nadia and Bender followed Grindley up to the frot door of the apartment complex of Quirrle Destare, the Squib they were looking for. Grindley impatiently jabbed at the buzzer for his apartment, and waited a eternal ten seconds before jabbing at it again, mulitiple times.
"Hey, hey, chill out!" a male voice, definitely not a Squib's, called out through the speaker. "Who the hell is it?"
Jedi, now open up," Grindley woofed, her tone menacing. The man on the other end missed out on that, however.
"I don't speak hairball. Now go away, I'm trying to sleep."
Grindley roared a response, and stabbed at the buzzer incessantly. When he didn't reply again, Nadia and Bender had to jump back.
She took her lightsaber to the door and cut it down.
…
Jarren heard the snap hiss and the crash of the door from Quirrle's small, one bedroom apartment four floors up. Shaking his head, he yanked more of Quirrle's belongings into his go-bag.
"So much for the legendary Jedi subtlety," he sneered, tossing the bag at Quirrle, he caught it and fell backwards from the force. "Get under the bed and stay quiet. Try not to think."
"Think, Skylark? Seriously?"
"Shut up and do as I say, fuzzball. You and me might actually survive tonight."
Quirrle scampered beneath the bed, and Jarren positioned the bag in front of the small cot to better hide the purple-furred Squib's presence. He promptly unclipped his combat belt and tossed it on Quirrle's dresser, hiding his blaster into the back of his pants as he did so. He untucked his tunic and mussed his hair messily and rubbed his face, trying to make it dirty and disarrayed. He laid down quickly, eliciting a grunt from Quirrle.
"What da hell ya doing, Skinny? Getting comfortable?"
"Shut it," Jarren grumbled quietly, hesitantly putting his head on the grungy pillow. His neck started crawling again, as the adrenaline from the Jedi's arrival left his system. "The best actors get in character before they have an audience."
"Great, maybe we can to da Galaxies Opera House after this, and you can audition for the play!"
"Shut it, Quirrle!"
A minute went by, then five. Jarren did his best to calm down his pounding heart, while simultaneously running through his mind how to fool the Jedi into thinking Quirrle wasn't there. It just kriffing figured, he mused, that when a Sith shows up and makes a mess, a Jedi would follow. This revelation shouldn't have surprised him, but they showed up just too damn fast. He shook his head, trying to clear it.
How do you lie to a Jedi? How do you get them to think everything's on the level when they have that damn mind-reading trick? He dug up the memory of his old Black Ops handler, who lectured him and his fellow operators about handling nosy Jedi.
The old Nikto, who was a lot more intelligent than he looked, likened lying to Jedi like fooling a lie-detector test. "You think, in your head, about the truth," Old Horns had preached. "In your mind, that's the answer you're giving them. You got to convince your head you're giving them the answer you want. But the trick of it is, you gotta convince your mouth to say the direct opposite, and not think about it. It has to be instinctual."
Jarren tried his best to get his mind in the right frame, and kept saying "Quirrle isn't here, Quirrle isn't here," while at the same time thinking, Quirrle is here, Quirrle is here.
Five minutes turned into ten, the fifteen, before finally, the distinct roar of a Wookie reverberated down the hallway outside, followed by a pounding at the door.
…
Nadia and Bender stood shoulder to shloulder as Grindley pounded on the apartment door. With each passing step, Grindley got more and more agitated, Bender got more and more nervous, and Nadia's shoulder ache got more and more painful. They had followed Grindley wordlessly as the Wookie pounded on doors demanding for the Squib, lightsaber still lit and threatening. Nadia's stomach turned sour when the Wookie held it up to the throat of a scraggly, salt-addicted Arcona who told them he hadn't seen the Squib in four days.
"Grindley," Bender said softly, trying to sound calm. "Let me handle this... Ok? You need to remember your training, this isn't you..."
Grindley turned and stared at Bender angrily, her usually brown eyes seemingly glowing amber in the dark light. But the Wookie relented, thankfully, and Bender stepped up to the door as the same man from before answered.
"What is it, now?" his voice sounding tired.
"My name is Bender," the Cerean answered diplomatically. He looked back at Nadia apprehensively, who gave him a reassuring nod. Something about this stank. "I'm a Jedi Knight. I'm here with my partners, Nadia and Grindley-"
At the sound of her name, Grindley went berserk again, and she pounded her free fist on the door, her natural strength denting the durasteel plate. Nadia heard the man on the other side fall backwards on the other side. After some shuffling, he came back to the door, sounding even more agitated.
"Whattaya want, his voice demanded, but Nadia thought she detected a trace of... fear?
"We are looking for a Squib, by the name of Quirrle Destare?"
"Ain't nobody here but me," came the terse reply. A new flash of fear buzzed for a moment in the room, and Nadia couldn't the Force's insistance any more. Something was wrong. She took a deep breathe and pushed out with her feelings. She sensed that the man was telling the truth, but it felt like a fake truth. She couldn't put her finger quite on it, but it felt like he wasn't telling the truth, but something more like his truth.
Unfortunately, it appeared that Grindley had made the same assessment.
With a single movement, she shoved Bender out of her way and jammed her lightsaber into the door and started cutting.
...
Jarren took a deep breathe to calm himself down, and made a show of getting up like he was tired. It was less a performance for anyone as it was to get him into the mindset of a grumpy apartment tenant, sick of being disturbed from his rest. He shuffled up to the door, feigning grogginess and keyed the door panel.
"Who is it now?" he demanded into the door mic, injecting a slur into his words to further his act.
"My name is Bender, I'm a Jedi Knight," a smooth, well eloquated voice answered. Most would probably say the man sounded soothing. Jarren thought the guy sounded scared. "I'm here with my partners Nadia and Grindley-"
He was cut off by the Wookie, who roared something in her(Jarren assumed it was a she,) native language, and it sounded neither soothing nor calm. The Wookie then proceeded to pound on the door, and Jarren actually took a step back from the door, convinced for a moment she'd break it down.
"Whattaya want," Jarren griped, trying to sound fearless and agitated, but probably failing. His instincts screamed at him to run, and he shivered as a fresh wave of tremors creeped down his neck.
"We're looking for a Squib, by the name of Quirrle Destare."
Quirrle is here. Quirrle is here. Quirrle is here.
"Ain't nobody here but me," Jarren replied, swallowing the lump in his throat that wanted to say otherwise.. "Now go away."
A blood curdling bellow filled the hallway outside, and Jarren was confident that Vader's remains on Endor heard the Wookie's outcry and rolled over in his grave. He rubbed at his temples to fight a burdgeoning headache, and he kicked at the bed as Quirrle whimpered underneath it, fearfully.
"Tell your walking carpet to shut up, will ya," Jarren muttered through the mic, sending the Wookie into a new wave of rage-filled barks and howls. "Your Squib isn't here, Jedi, now leave!"
"I apologize for the inconvenience, sir," Bender spoke again, his calm, soothing voice tinged with agitation. Jarren heard him mutter something, probably a harsh reprimand to the Wookie, before addressing Jarren again. "You don't know if he used to live here or where he went, do you?"
Quirrle lives here. Quirrle lives here. Quirrle lives here.
"I've been here for years and ain't ever seen a Squib 'round here. Now go away, or I'll blast you through the door myself!"
That threat, it appeared, happened to be a mistake. Within a moment the Wookie's crazed roars turned into a lightsaber slicing through the rusty durasteel door. Jarren cursed and fell back, nearly getting sliced in half when the acid-yellow blade thrusted through. Choking on the smoke and gritty, base smell of burning metal and ozone, Jarren drew his pistol and shot wildly through the hole the crazy Jedi had made. An ear-splitting roar pierced the commotion, and Jarren knew he hit the hulking woman, somewhere.
"Stop, dammit, I said stop!" Bender cried, his voice desperate. The sound made Jarren shake. It didn't sound natural, and made him feel like the world was going to crash down. Even Quirrle couldn't help but shudder at the sound. "Grindley, please stop!"
The deranged Wookie had fully gone of the rails, however, and the feral woman hacked another slice through the door. With her yellow blade blazing, she kicked Quirrle's apartment door in, sending Jarren tumbling to the floor beneath it.
Jarren's face took the brunt of the force, and felt his nose crack. Coppery blood flowed from the fractured cartilage and the edges of the sliced down door burned at his right arm and leg. Dazed, he shoved the door off of him in time to see the Wookie woman, dragging a Cerean man and human female on each shoulder, tear through the small apartment. Quirrle, in his defense, didn't make sound until the rampant Jedi ripped the cot from the wall and flung it across the cramped room.
"Grindley!" the woman, a pint-sized brunette with wide green eyes screamed. "Stop it!"
"You need to calm down!" the Cerean man, Bender, agreed. "Use the Force! Quiet your mind!"
The Wookie's guttural response told Jarren she had no intention of stopping or slowing down. The Wookie, with her bright yellow lightsaber in one hand, her fellows practically hanging from her shoulders, grabbed Quirrle by the scruff of his neck with her free paw and held him up to her eye level. The purple Squib quivered fearfully and simpered, avoiding her gaze and struggling to squirm from her grip. She roared again, and he froze with fear. As Grindley raised her lightsaber to the Squib's throat, Jarren too raised his weapon, and less on rational thought and more on instinct, aimed at the Wookie and fired.
It happened in slow motion to his concussed brain. The blaster spewed forth orange-red fire from its barrel and traveled forth. The Wookie was dead before she even heard the shot, as her instincts as a angry Wookie ignored her Jedi training and any warning from the Force. The bolt pierced the side of her skull, illuminating the soft tissues of her eyes, nose and mouth as it tore through her cranium. Her eyes. Jarren watched as the fire died inside her brain, it's damage done, and her features stopped glowing and went blank. Her lightsaber, acid yellow and burning, died with her as it fell from her slack grip. She, it and Quirrle fell to the floor in a single, heaping thud.
Jarren swallowed and shakily tried to stand. Wiping the sweat from his brow with a free hand, he leveled his blaster on the Cerean man and motionioned him towards the ruined doorway. The Cerean held his hands up and moved quietly towards the door, motioning the human woman to do the same. She was shellshocked, however, and Bender had to gently shake her to bring her back to reality. Trembling, she looked at Jarren in shock, her jaw quivering in fear, or shock, or-
"I'm sorry," Jarren stated simply but softly. "I had no choice. She was going to kill my friend."
"I understand," Bender replied, holding his hands out. "Look, just lower the blaster, we can talk. We didn't mean you or him any ill will-"
"Tell dat to me and my apartment, cone-head!" Quirrle roared, gesturing wildly to the trashed living space.
"Quirrle!" Jarren snapped lowering his blaster a fraction and shooting the Squib an angry glance that told him to shut up. Quirrle snapped his jaw shut and hugged his go-bag to his chest. He leaned against the wall furthest away from the Jedi, behind Jarren, and fell to his haunches.
"I don't know what happened," the woman finally spoke, her voice small. She looked at the dead Wookie, smoke wafting from the hole in her head, filling the room with the smell of half cooked meat and burnt fur. It mingled with the sickly-acrid-sweet scent of urban death and decay and it gave Jarren a headache.
"She lost it," Bender tried to comfort his partner, but failing. "It's this place, it's evil. Don't you feel it?"
"I told YOU!" the woman finally broke, reeling around on the Cerean and pushing him away. Bender held a hand up when Jarren leveled his blaster on her. Jarren didn't lower it. "I told you this was a bad idea! But you wouldn't believe me! Why wouldn't you two believe me?"
Jarren and Bender shared a hopeless look as the woman fell to her knees and sobbed. It was obvious the Jedi were falling apart, at least to Jarren. Quirrle stared at the Jedi like they were insane teenagers, which... Jarren had to admit, they were young. But that didn't matter. They were Jedi, unstable, and that was a bad equation.
"You lied," Bender croaked.
"Yeah," Jarren admitted, still keeping his blaster leveled on the woman's forehead. He'd already killed one Jedi. He wasn't afraid to make it two.
"You had us fooled."
"Yep," Jarren again agreed. "Two for two, Jedi."
"Are you the Sith?"
Jarren actually laughed. "Yeah, I'm a Sith," he sarcastically snapped. "A Sith who lives in the Undercity, carries a blaster instead of a laser sword, and defends hapless street-thug Squibs in my free time. Totally."
The Cerean shook his in distaste. Apparently he didn't appreciate Jarren's humor. "We just came here looking for information on a Sith. We didn't want to hurt anyone."
"Your Wook shot that to shit, now, didn't she?" Jarren muttered. He ignored the sobbing woman as she elicited a fresh wave of cries. "Seriously, I thought you Jedi were supposed to keep yourselves together at all times, what's gotten into you?"
Bender shook his head. "Something... in this place, it's strong in the Force. It's..."
"What?" Jarren demanded, narrowing his eyes in dreadful confusion.
"Corruptive," Bender finished, looking down at his shaking hands. He wrung them like as if he was trying to wash them clean of some unseen filth. "It's telling me things the Force never has..."
"Dat's bat shizz, conehead," Quirrle grumbled. "You's be crazy, Skinny, dey're crazy!"
"I know, Quirrle, I know," Jarren sighed, nodding at Bender. "You Jedi are falling apart. The hell sent you on this?"
"Our master," Nadia, still on the floor, spoke up. "We were just supposed to investigate..."
"Hell's bells," Jarren sighed. "You people ever hear of warrants?"
"We didn't want to break in," Bender insisted, looking at Jarren pleadingly. "Something's going on, and its affecting all of us! We just wanted to talk to the Squib, I swear! Look, we know there's a Sith around, and that he's hunting down the Squib. We just wanna know why!"
Jarren turned to Quirrle. Quirrle shot a questioning look. "You wanna tell them what you told me?"
Quirrle gave him a look that told him exactly what he wanted to tell the Jedi. Jarren rolled his eyes. Quirrle's eyes pleaded, but Jarren's stony expression made him conceed.
"Fine, fine-"
"HAWKBATS!" the sudden outcry started all four of them, and they turned to see the old Twi'lek woman standing at the threshold, batting at the ruined doorframe with her cane. "Told you a million times to get rid of the those HAWKBATS!"
"Who da hell are ya?" Quirrle asked incredulously.
"You don't know her?" Jarren asked, suspiciously. He thought Quirrle knew everybody in his apartment.
"Hell nah," Quirrle muttered, looking at the crazy old woman incredulously. Jarren noticed the Jedi staring at her in horror. His neck bristled again.
"I thought you knew everyone who lives here..."
"I do. She ain't one of 'em."
The woman stared at Quirrle for a moment behind hooded eyes, and Quirrle, staring back at her, golden eyes getting larger by each passing second.
"You're him," Quirrle stated. It was the most courageous thing the Squib had ever said, Jarren was sure. The Jedi's lightsabers were activated in an instant, as if they instinctually knew what he meant. Jarren gripped the