White.
Everything was bathed in a glowing white.
Her field of vision was endless. Yet, she perceived them-the barriers enclosing her. She sensed the walls and the corners. Felt the ceiling looming above her head. The room wasn't there, but it was. The invisible cage flooding her sight with nothing but the bright light.
She heard a constant ringing. A low ringing. It had no point of origin. Yet, it was all around her. It engulfed the area. She heard it inside of her, heard outside of the walls. It consumed her mind. Made her feel lonely. She was used to being alone.
Yet.
She wasn't alone.
There was the never ending white.
There was the unceasing ringing.
There was the presence of another.
"On your feet."
She swiftly followed the hushed orders. Followed the being of energy through the expanse.
A trio of forms emerged, the light retreating from them.
Her posture perfected. They expected perfection. They understood nothing less than perfection.
The masked and robed figures approached her. The one in the middle spoke in a voice barely audible. "Your...unusual talents can finally be used for our gain."
She recognized the voice, but she couldn't recall a name. Couldn't recall a face. She never saw their faces. None of them retained identities here. Not even she had a name. They were all the same here. They all served only one purpose here.
"There's a mission for you. Do you accept?"
"I accept every mission that benefits our cause."
"Very good. Remove your mask."
She obeyed the command. She obeyed every command.
The three figures moved ever closer with outstretched arms. One by one, they placed their hands on her, fingers digging into her skin.
Her head lurched back with the amount of power they forced through her.
She shot off the floor, gasping for air. Splitting pain coursed through her left leg. She cried out. Glanced down at her knee as she breathed rapidly through clenched teeth. Unable to catch her breath, she dragged herself to a wall and leaned against it. Buried her skull into it.
A wall, yes? It was a wall. Walls were good. They kept the unwanted outside. Walls were also bad. They kept the wanted inside.
Her face contorted with the aching in her leg, as a new pain crept into her left temple. Walls. Why walls? Walls were not the enemy. Why must she think about walls? Because the walls were all she knew. Walls were the only ones that befriended her. Walls knew all of her secrets.
"Harboring secrets will get you killed without hesitation. Remember this."
She looked up. Eyes squinting at the dim light as she searched the ceiling. She knew that voice. It was her master's voice. But which master? She had many masters. They all spoke with similar voices. They were indistinguishable from one another. But she knew she had many masters. She had seen them together. Was the student of many at one time.
Shaking, her eyes squeezed shut against the pain.
"Pain is an emotion. We can never show emotion. Which means you can never show emotion. Not even in the privacy of your room."
Her eyes opened as she sucked in a breath. Tears brimmed her eyes. This wasn't her room. This place was dark. Her room was light. Wasn't it? Or was it dark? No. Her room was on a ship. Yes? No.
What was going on? The masters...her head tossed back and forth. No, she had no masters. She only had her father, her buir. And Devick. And the clan. She was restoring her father into the clan. This was her life's mission.
Mission. She had a mission. What was the mission? There was a mission, yes? No?
The Artificer. She must find the Artificer. The Cube was the key. It would give her everything she and her father needed. It also kept the artifact out of Sith hands, as it would be safe under the careful watch of the Guard.
She frowned. Tensing under a spike of pain shooting up her leg. What guard? The clan didn't have guards. They were their own guards. They were their own warriors. Even if their numbers dwindled. Because she almost single-handedly wiped out the clan. No, she improvised that story. No. It happened. It was real. She watched them all die. She was plagued by their screams. No, they were fabricated. No. Their deaths were on her hands.
"You will pay for your treachery, Noce! You will both pay. I should make you pay with your lives, but you will suffer a worse fate. Unless you can prove your undeniable loyalty to this clan, you will be banned for the rest of your lives. I will make certain no other clan claims either of you. Dar'manda. (A state of being not-Mandalorian. One who has lost their heritage and therefore, their identity/soul.) Now. Make me an offer I can't refuse before I change my mind."
It was one of her masters. No. It was the clan leader who roared that at her.
She lifted her hands into view. They trembled uncontrollably. What had she done? Why did it matter? It was all a lie. But it was real? Everything was real. And everything was not real. None of this made sense. No, it made perfect sense.
How? How did any of this make sense?
Her chest heaved with erratic breaths as she searched the walls with wild eyes. Was the room closing in on her? Did the walls threaten squeezing her in? She poorly wiped sweat off her face. Glanced down. Not the walls. It was this armor that suffocated her.
With a grimace, she ripped off the durasteel piece by piece. Exclaiming every time she moved. Threw the armor across the small room. She attempted steadying herself when she was done. There. That was better. She could breathe now. However, it didn't stop her perspiration. Or calm her heart.
She slumped over onto her side. Closed her eyes while she embraced the coolness of the floor.
A gauntlet...a vambrace rolled toward her.
Her eyes opened, and she stared at the red black color scheme. She picked it out. Picked out the planet she was from, picked out the armor, picked out the colors. No. The armor was given to her by her father. It had been passed down his line. She was Mandalorian. She was Cathar.
Then why couldn't she feel her tail?
Because tucking it into her armor for long periods of time often caused a loss of blood circulation. She knew this. Nothing to fret over. She'd regain feeling in it shortly. Her eyes fluttered.
"Build your temporary identity. You may find this difficult, since you've never had an identity before. You have two days for research. Analyze all options, pursue all angles. Choose what you think will be best for this mission. Choose wisely. You only have one chance at this."
She stiffened with a gasp. She knew that voice. It was her headmaster's voice, not her father's. No. It was her father's voice. They had the same voice. Her eyes snapped wide.
They had the same voice.
Pushing herself to her hands and knees, she screamed in pain at the floor. Straightened her damaged leg. Her fists clenched under the weight of her torso. Two long, coral braids sliding around her shoulders. She released a whimper. Where was her purple hair? She shoved herself onto her butt. Hands feeling her head. She had a mess of wavy, above-the-shoulder hair with the pair of braids dangling down her chest. There was no shaved side of her head.
No. No, this couldn't be. She was...she was Slixe. She was Mandalorian. Her trembling increased, searching for her feline ears. They weren't there. Where were they? What was going on? Where were her ears?
"You are my ad (Child), Slixe. Aliit ori'shya tal'din. (Family is more than blood.) What happened out there...it doesn't change anything. You are still my ad. Even if we're dar'manda (Not Mandalorian), you will have me. Tion'ad hukaat'kama (Who's watching your back?), hmm? I will never leave you. Nothing in the galaxy can separate us. Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum." (I love you; lit: I know you forever.)
Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum.
She wrapped her arms around her chest. Rocked back and forth. Her voice a hoarse whisper. "I'm so sorry, Buir. I failed. I failed. I failed us both."
"Do not fail us. Not only are we keeping this artifact away from the Sith, we're keeping it away from the Order. Jedi as we are considered, the Council must not know of this mission. Do you understand?"
Her head twitched. "No. I am no Jedi. I am Slixe. I am Cathar. I am Mandalorian."
"Do you know what it means to be Mando'ad, Noce? Do either of you know what it means? We are one. We are one aliit (Clan). Our clan is one living, breathing entity. That stunt you allowed your ad to pull? That doesn't benefit the aliit; that benefits the di'kut (Useless individual; lit: Someone who forgets to put their pants on). Many of my best verds (Soldier/Warrior) are dead because of one di'kut. You want me to believe it wasn't done on purpose? You want me to believe it was an accident? Look around you, Noce. Manda'yaim (The planet of Mandalore) is torn. Aliit are betraying one another left and right. Explain to me how that was an accident."
She continued rocking. "I'm so sorry." She clasped a hand over her mouth. Pulled it away as she tried looking down at her voice. The overbearing edge she normally carried was replaced with a gentler tone lined with a thick accent and a subtle rasp. "I don't, I don't understand. What happened? What am I? Who am I?"
"This is not an easy life, young one. Even though you are but a child, you must understand. You are not an individual. You are part of a whole. We must all look the same. There are no exceptions. You will wear the robes. You will wear the mask. You are everything to this temple. You are nothing as an individual. Remember this."
She shook her head. "No. No. I am Slixe. I have a name. I am my own person. You're lying. Get out of my head."
"You have seen the other younglings, have you not? Seen their joy, heard their laughter? Those are emotions. Emotions you are not permitted to entertain. We must be detached. You will no longer play with them, no longer train with them. Do not yearn for their companionship. The Temple is all you need."
Her hands covered her face. How did she remember those words? Those words spoken to her so long ago? No. Those weren't real words. She was, she was...she couldn't remember who she was.
"You are nothing as an individual. Remember this."
She barely spoke louder than a whisper. "I have a name. It's...I can't remember. But I have a name."
The Mandalorians, the Cathar-it wasn't real, was it? No...she did the research. Never once slept as she scoured the databases for information on all of the registered planets and species. Never once ate or drank. Not until she compiled her profile.
Her masters, they evaluated it. Spoke of nothing until they finished scrutinizing every detail. Then they sent her away. They reviewed her decisions, reviewed the story she created for this persona. And they only summoned her when they reached their verdict.
She stood among the three of them. She looked just like them, in uniform. They approved. Approved of everything. Commended her for her extensive studies. And they asked her to transform. Yes, she picked unusual colors for the Cathar, but they were bizarre enough she could hide in plain sight. Especially under Mandalorian armor. Since she couldn't decide on an appropriate clan, not having a crest was as easy as modifying her story.
If it came to the worst during her mission, she'd improvise. Say she stole the armor and wore it as a trophy. Similar to her interaction with the guards on Canto Bight.
Hunched over and hugging herself, she glanced around the room. It appeared more like a holding cell or storage closet than an actual room. Was she even on Canto Bight? Did her masters find her and take her back to the Temple? Why couldn't she remember the Temple? Was her psyche altered by her shapeshifting?
She stopped rocking. Sat perfectly still. The shapeshifting. The Jedi hated her for it. Not because it was a trait of her species. Because she used the Force for her transformations.
The Force.
Her trembling ensued. She had the Force? She was no Force user. She was Mandalorian. No. She decided she wasn't. But if she wasn't a Mandalorian, what was she? She couldn't be a Jedi. The Jedi were revered peace keepers of the galaxy. She was...she was nothing.
"You are nothing as an individual. Remember this."
"I am an individual. I have a name. It's not Slixe, but I have a name."
The masters. The three masters in the white room. She remembered them. In fact, they were the last thing she recalled. They went over her mission one last time. Bid her farewell. Assured her the Force would be with her.
The Force.
They used the Force on her.
She tried leaving in her new form, but they trapped her in a room. She confronted them. Her headmaster apologized, claimed it was necessary. The mission was too important. They couldn't afford any failures. Her position as a Force user couldn't be discovered, lest it attract unwanted company.
That's when they converged on her.
That's when they manipulated her mind with the Force. Made her believe she was Slixe Noce, had always been Slixe Noce. They erased her Temple life and replaced it with the very story she developed, letting her mind fill in the blanks as it saw fit. All of this she wouldn't have to devote brain power into maintaining her appearance. So she could focus solely on the mission.
She braced herself on her hands. Stared at the floor of this strange room. A ball of anger formed deep within the pit of her core. Her masters betrayed her. They promised they would let her keep her mind, but they didn't. They lied to her.
Her breathing turned erratic once more as the anger grew. They betrayed her. Her own masters. Even though she never saw their faces, even though she never knew their names, she trusted them. They were all she knew. The Council feared her Force abilities. The Temple Guard didn't care, so long as she performed her duties without question.
"You are my ad, Slixe. Aliit ori'shya tal'din. What happened out there...it doesn't change anything. You are still my ad. Even if we're dar'manda, you will have me. Tion'ad hukaat'kama, hmm? I will never leave you. Nothing in the galaxy can separate us. Ni kar'tayl gar darasuum."
A lie. They let her believe her own lie. They let her believe her own lie so much, she forgot her true self. The Guard didn't give her an identity. She made one for herself. She gave herself a name. And they stripped her of everything. Even now, they stripped her of her sanity.
Did they know? Did they know what their alteration of her mind would do to her?
She unleashed a primal scream, a shockwave of pure energy emanating from her.
Alarms sounded, and lights flashed.
Maul dropped his meditation, instantly on his feet. He called his lightsaber into his hand as his ship stopped quaking. He scanned over the controls. Turned off the noise. The disturbance came from inside his ship. Not outside.
The Mandalorian.
He entered the lift. Braced himself as another wave battered the Infiltrator. He paused. It was Force energy. Raw Force energy registering as neither Light nor Dark. From the Mandalorian? There was once a Mandalorian Jedi, so it wasn't entirely possible for another to be a Force user.
Then again, she may not be Mandalorian at all. He watched her appearance change. She could have stolen the armor, presented lies to get what she wanted. She could be anything. She could be anyone.
Weapon gripped tightly in his hand, he exited the lift. Opened the holding cell on the tube's left. He glanced down first. Armor pieces were scattered across the floor, rolling from the impact of the blasts. He surveyed the female.
She yelled incoherently at the ground. Unaware of his presence.
He frowned. Although she remained as having no signature within the Force, she clearly used it. Threatened damaging his ship with it.
"Get out of my head," she screeched, clutching either side of it. "I know who I am." The Force pulsated once more from her.
His arms crossed his arms in front of him as the barrage slid him back a meter. He glanced over his shoulder. His brows furrowed. This female grew all the more curious. It wasn't uncommon for Mandalorian armor to be stolen. It sold for quite a bit on the black market, and the best armor could withstand lightsabers.
Maul briefly lowered his gaze. Activated his lightsaber and plunged a blade into a pauldron not pushed out of the cell by the Force. The plasma ate through it like everything else he contacted it with. The durasteel didn't even attempt distributing the energy of his weapon.
Durasteel wasn't lightsaber resistant, but the Mandalorians typically augmented their armor with dispersing technology. Especially if it wasn't beskar. It allowed them to stand longer in battle. This armor wasn't made by a Mandalorian. He kicked the damaged piece toward her.
She paid it no heed.
He didn't think her mind was present at all. Her eyes were glazed over, and in between her shouts, she mumbled strings of unintelligible words. From what he could interpret, she fought between two seperate egos. This piqued his interest.
The shapeshifters he encountered before had no qualms about maintaining their own personality through their acted one. This female may not even be a natural shapeshifter, then. But it still didn't explain the Force.
"Betrayers," came her next exclamation.
Betrayers. Plural. She wasn't working alone. Whoever betrayed her could've imposed the transformation on her. It was also safe assuming they were the ones who modified her memory, as well. Hopefully, she remembered the location of the Artificer.
He wanted answers, and he wanted answers now. However, he chose patience. She wasn't like this before. Not until he rendered her unconscious. Someone had tampered with her psyche. It didn't help with his mission, but it made things more interesting. She was a Force user, and it was not easy, meddling with the internal affairs of Force users. He knew from first-hand experience. It could be done, yes, but it required a great deal of energy.
Also, he felt fairly confident this female had nothing to do with his master. With the Dark Side, maybe, but his master had no hand in this matter. Why, he still couldn't say. The more he contemplated the fact of the Force having its own goals, the more it satisfied him.
If only because the Force was more powerful than his master, who was nothing without it.
The female continued screaming, "get out of my head."
His lightsaber found his belt. He felt compelled. Compelled to witness this mental breakdown unfold. He crossed his legs underneath him, sitting and observing in utter silence. He would probe her for information once this episode passed. If she was strong enough, it would pass, and she would still be able to speak.
All he had to do was wait. And he waited. Unmoving, unblinking. Just watching and waiting.