CHAPTER 7

Double Vision

"You need a little bit of insanity to do great things."

Nur, 14 BBY

Fortress Inquisitorious

"So, he's alive," the Grand Inquisitor mused, quietly laughing to himself. "I'm almost impressed."

Trilla was not feeling so amused. The zabrak's reemergence had not only wrestled Cal Kestis from her grasp, but also ripped open patched wounds within her that she had thought were long healed. For a time, she had control of her hatred, anger, and emotions in general, masterfully maintaining the upper hand against all of her adversaries…and then one man subverts her knowledge, and before long she had lost all control. Totally unbalanced.

She kept her arms crossed as the Grand Inquisitor continued to pace his chambers, his gloved hand running along his chin.

"How could he have possibly orchestrated something so…intricate?" he questioned, rhetorically, she figured. "The resources and knowledge necessary to achieve such a deceptive feat…amongst inquisitors no less…masterful indeed."

Trilla was becoming disgusted. "He has joined with the Jedi, Cal Kestis, and his companions. We have a few leads on their next destination."

"You have leads," the Grand Inquisitor echoed, pacing back to his personal chair and taking a seat. "Second Sister, it is quite apparent to me that Xur Eon is out of your league."

For him to say something so…blasphemous…it was difficult for Trilla not to lash out then and there. "Ridiculous. I know him far better-,"

"Xur Eon not only bested you once, but twice, according to this report. He inspired half of your own personal squad to defect from your command, thwarted your attempts to capture Cal Kestis, not to mention the fact that you never beat him in this very training dojo when he was certainly holding back," he listed off his fingers. "I believe I can say with finality that Eon not only has the upper hand but seems to know you better than you know yourself."

She seethed, but she only looked away with no comment of defense.

He shook his head. "I am not going to dispose of your talents on an obvious suicide assignment. You will continue to track Kestis, yes, but Xur Eon will be the responsibility of another."

"Grand Inquisitor, I insist you reconsider," Trilla nearly plead, desperately desiring revenge. "I am the best equipped of all inquisitors to deal with him. You even said it yourself before," she leaned in, her hands planted on his desk. "I'm the best you've got."

"The words of a foolish girl, who has overstepped her bounds, and now drowns in her own failure."

Trilla's teeth grit and she turned to the new voice, greeted to the towering image of the First Sister; a diabolical and ancient hag whose time had long passed. Her mask covered whatever wrinkled features remained of the dying vermin before her, and her dark hood covered the rest of her head entirely.

"Insult my name again, hag, and we shall see who is the foolish one," Trilla threatened.

"Your threats are as empty as your soul, slave," she spat. "They will only lead you to your own ruin."

"Sisters, please," the Grand Inquisitor urged, his hands raised, and Trilla at least turned back to him. "The First Sister will be taking control of the hunt for Xur Eon."

Trilla stepped towards him in a fit of rage. "That is insane."

"It is not my decree, Sister."

She paused, halting dead in her tracks, and her rage dissipated. The world collapsed around her, and she was back in that moment…back in that place. Her legs began to tremble, her mind unfocused, clouded…

Clouded by fear.

Trilla swallowed. "I see. I-If that is what is decided…"

"Good," he smiled, tipping his head. "If we are understood, then you are dismissed, Second Sister."

Trilla tipped her head in a bow, and left his chambers, not paying any mind to the First Sister as she passed.

She needed to get away from here.


Zeffo, 14 BBY

Landing Pad

Cal ascended the loading ramp of the Mantis, weary and desperate for a place to rest. After nearly a day of travel, and also without proper channels, it had taken his Jedi resolve to fight through the raging emotions within him.

Once he saw Cere, he found himself nearly bursting.

"Cal, you're alive," she greeted, meeting him as he stepped inside the ship. "We've been without comms this whole time; I feared the worst."

He said nothing, and BD took the chance to hop off his back and scuttle away, its power cells drained. Greez waltzed past the droid, leaving the smell of food behind in the kitchen.

"Hey, kid," he smiled, chuckling to himself. "Had a moment there…you know…thought you might be dead."

"I'm fine," Cal assured, not sharing the enthusiasm, and the footsteps behind him brought about shocked looks from his two companions.

Cere reached for his shoulder. "Cal, behind y-,"

"It's alright, Cere. He's with us," Cal eased, stepping aside to reveal the red-skinned zabrak, his inquisitor gear drenched and soiled with dirt and greenery, not to mention his black hair that was beginning to shag. "This is-,"

"I know who he is," Cere stopped him, her eyes locked on the man who didn't look as enthusiastic to see her, which was mutual.

"Master Junda," Xur greeted, keeping himself behind Cal.

"Eon," she said back, and the two of them kept their gazes upon each other, the distrust projecting itself through the Force…which Cal assumed she could no longer feel, but…who knew anymore.

"He helped me survive the Imperial ambush, and…held off the Second Sister for me," Cal explained, and Cere's unease became more apparent. "But not before she and I had a chat."

The former Jedi Master looked away, and the anxiety within her rose by the minute. "What did she tell you?"

"The truth," Xur answered for him, and stepped forward, past Cal. "Did you betray her? Don't lie to me."

"Hey, hey," Greez chimed in. "Look buddy, you look scary and all, but don't start wagging your dick out on my ship," he pointed, and Cal reached out, pushing the zabrak back.

"Let me handle this…please?" he asked, and Xur gave him one look, before crossing his arms and snorting in annoyance. Greez nodded to himself, feeling a bit of pride in his words.

"The Second Sister, or Trilla," Cal continued. "Told me you betrayed her to the Empire," he revealed. "Is it true?"

She sighed, turning away and walking towards the couch and table, and Cal's own annoyance only built with her inability to answer. "Cere, is it true?"

Cere took a moment, taking a seat and hunching over, before taking a deep breath. "Yes."

Cal paced forward, glad that Xur had held himself at bay for now. "Why?

Her eyes faded away, and he almost felt sorry for making her delve back into that moment, but he needed the truth, and if she and Xur were going to get along, he did too.

"When I was captured by the Empire…I resisted," she explained, and Cal noticed Xur's distrustful feelings dissipate somewhat. "I swore to myself that I would die before I would talk…but," she continued, and her fear suddenly spiked. "This dark shadow came…and he was worse than any nightmare I could've imagined."

Xur seethed and stepped away, looking towards the cockpit.

"But I still…fought," she recounted, the resistance she had given clear in her tone. "But in the end, I came apart…and I…gave them Trilla," Xur then turned to face her, and she shook her head. "And I know there is nothing I can do to make that right. But Eon-."

"I was there, Cere," Xur stopped her. "You don't have to prove anything to me. It's…not your fault…not entirely."

"What do you mean you were there?" she questioned.

"You think I'm in this uniform…for fun?" he shrugged. "I faked my death and assumed the identity of the Second Brother after I had killed an inquisitor…who used to be an old friend of mine. A Jedi named Kaidan Alko."

Cere's head drooped. "I remember him."

"I swore that I would destroy the Inquisitorious, no matter the cost, and the best way to do that was from the inside," he recounted, and then Cal sensed his emotional despair reach the boiling point. "But then…it was in the training dojo…when her helmet came off, and I saw her face…a stranger," he wheezed, eyes beginning to water. "Taking pride i-in hurting people, and her words, each armed with daggers, cutting into your soul. Trilla…" he sniffled, wiping the tears from his eyes. "Trilla was gone…but I couldn't just…carry on. I felt like I had to try, that I at least owed it to her."

He scoffed, sniffling again. "Six months I was there…nothing changed. I failed."

"Xur, I…I know how you felt about her," Cere fighting her own emotions, better at it than the zabrak. "I'm sorry."

"I'm not…angry with you, Cere," he assured. "If you went through the same thing she did…then I can't hold you responsible…that's not reasonable…or fair."

Cal found it hard to even step in the moment, and Greez was only looking on, trying to avoid an awkward comment with a subject he couldn't understand. But, this despair, this hopelessness…it's what Tri…it's what the Second Sister wanted, by using this to divide them when they needed to stand together.

"Maybe there's still a chance," Cal suggested, and both of his broken companions looked up to him. "She can still let go of her hatred."

"I don't know, kid," Xur shook his head. "It's…rooted into her. I don't think she'll ever forgive Cere."

"Our whole journey here, I could sense your anger with her, and while you may have an advantage at dissipating your anger…you forgave her."

The zabrak paused, and Cal knew he had hit the right spot.

"Before you showed yourself to Trilla," Cal pressed. "She was confident, at ease. During our duel, I could sense how balanced she was, despite her perversion to the Dark Side…but when you showed your face to her…she didn't look the same. Something within her…snapped."

"Yeah, she looked like she became more pissed off," Xur shrugged in dismissal.

"That's not what I mean. I could feel it. When she taunted me through the earpiece, it was forced confidence. I didn't notice it then, but now…I know she was struggling. I think seeing you again, after thinking you were dead, made her feel insecure."

Xur's head slowly nodded. "When I was there, she and I worked together a lot. One thing I tried was goading her into a challenge, trying to get her to reexamine herself…to get her to realize that she wasn't the one pulling the strings."

Cere finally spoke. "An interesting approach…but not unfounded. Strife invites change, and if she's begun to question herself, she could question her own anger…but to let it go, that's another matter."

"I think it's worth a try," Cal nodded, turning to Xur. "You've come this far alone. You don't have to be anymore. Can you join us?"

The zabrak mulled for a moment, but eventually picked himself up. Cal could see his weariness, but he felt that his words had rung true within the battered Clone Wars veteran.

"I'll join you, but you still owe me that sit rep."

Cal smiled. "We'll get you caught up," then turned to Greez, who seemed less anxious than he had when Xur arrived. "Could you whip us up something? I'm starving."

"Yeah, you got a fresher? I smell like bog rat shit," Xur asked, pulling his arms up in disgust.

"Yeah, yeah, in the back," Greez pointed. "Just uh…you know it's not too hard to find…and uh…sure kid I'll get something started for you."

BD-1 chirped from the couch.

"Clean oil?" Greez grumbled. "What is this, a luxury liner? Credits don't appear out of thin air!"

As the others moved about the ship, Cere stayed put, her eyes distant, and her feelings…

Outward.


ISD Valkyrie, 14 BBY

Inquisitor's Quarters

Trilla stared, her back hunched over, her rear planted on a hard durasteel chair, her hands clasped before her.

Stared at her helmet.

Its cuts were precise, the duraplast finely tuned at perfect angles created to entice maximum intimidation and instill near instantaneous fear in whoever observed it. Since she had first donned it, the helmet had served her very well. For many Jedi, it had been the last thing they ever saw until joining the ashes with the rest of their kind, and she had always been proud to say it had given her an advantage when she needed it most.

Until it laid its gaze upon Cal Kestis.

For the first time, it had failed her, not only partially, but utterly and completely.

She felt balance before, despite how she had become the Second Sister, feeling in complete control of every situation, intelligently finding her way to victory each time. Every opponent she ever faced, she had broken before engaging, resulting in their slow and humiliating defeat by her hand. Now she felt unsure of herself, fledgling, broken.

All this time I was right beside you, and you had no idea. None of you did!

Her eyes shut, allowing them the sweet relief of remoisturizing themselves. A master manipulator like herself had been fooled into believing that the man beside her was an ally, and if not that, a professional partner. Her face drained every time she realized it, and the cold shiver she had long feared returned, the sound of metal stomping against metal, mechanical breathing creeping into the depths of her soul.

Trilla's jaw shuddered, and she wrapped her arms around herself, rocking back and forth in her chair.

"Do not…go…gen-," she shuddered again, unable to recite the poem, just as she had been unable to since…that moment. The horrid sound returned to her, the whirr of machinery energizing, and the spine-chilling anticipation of what came next.

She has forsaken you.

That voice. Not that voice.

She has abandoned you.

Her chin shivered, and whimpering came next.

She has betrayed you.

Her head slowly nodded, and she whimpered to herself, her eyes watered. "Yes."

He cannot save you here.

"No one can," she answered monotonously, her emotions beginning to fade.

You are mine.

"I am yours."

Her fear faded, and her rocking stopped, just as it always did. That voice was here to protect her, to shield her from harm, and to intensify her power, and every time she remembered it, she felt happiness…whole.

Balance had returned.

It was good to be with you again.

Her jaw shuddered once more.

I promise to free you from this cage the Empire has thrown you in.

Trilla's hands pressed against her ears, trying to silence the new voice that challenged the old, but it continued, compounding itself into a chorus of chaos…passion.

Love.

She screamed, and in a moment of insanity, she slashed forward with her drawn blade, the superheated beam cutting through the helmet with ease, along with anything else in its way. The blaze of the bleeding kyber crystal reverberated through her quarters, the red hue covering all the light could reach, and she breathed, uneasy and heavy.

Leaning back, her elbow butted into her cape, and she frantically growled, ripping the fabric from her suit and tossing it aside. Without any control, she reached forward with her saber and set it ablaze, letting it burn beside her.

"No cage contains me," she seethed as she rose from her chair, exiting her quarters, leaving her severed helmet and burning cape behind. As she passed through the hallways, she grabbed ahold of a passing protocol droid. "There's a fire in my quarters. Deal with it."

It scrambled off, and she could hear the extinguishing chemicals fire from the droid's arm, the sound dropping off as she marched down the hall.

Her balance was broken, and many would die before she got it back.

Starting with Cal Kestis.


"Feeling any better?"

Effa turned her head to the right, laid out on a medical bed, her healing leg still held together in a splint. "You're back again?"

"I never left."

The blonde closed her eyes, letting a blissful smile slide across her lips. "I thought I told you to leave me alone."

"Leave you alone? Now? Look at yourself."

Effa looked at her leg, and then turned her head to the left. "Shhh. Go away, go away," she sang.

"You can't turn me away. I made you. You're still alive because of me."

She continued to hush and sing. "Go away, go away."

"Your body is broken. You know what your masters do with broken things, especially to useless trash like yourself."

"Shhh. Trilla is my friend…my very, very, very best friend. She'll always protect me," she sang.

"Trilla is not your friend. She's nobody's friend."

"She is my friend."

"No. She doesn't even love Xur anymore. She doesn't love anyone."

"I love her."

"She doesn't love you. She hates you. She hates everyone."

Effa covered her ears with her hands. "Go away, go away, go away."

"She's going to kill you."

"Go away, and never come back."

"Who are you talking to?"

Effa's senses focused, and her mind became singular once again. Dropping her hands from her ears, she turned to the side of her bed, and Trilla was sitting, leg over another and leaning back.

The blonde beamed. "Trilla. You're here."

The brunette's yellowing eyes paced away in confusion. "No shit."

Effa paused, her eyes locked on Trilla's face, searching for something in her expression to prove herself wrong. "Trilla…do you love me?" she asked.

This time, Trilla totally looked away, grumbling to herself. "We're not doing this again, Effa."

She let a tear roll down her face. "Please Trilla, what would it take for you to love me again?"

Her counterpart rolled her eyes and rose to her feet, marching to the medical droid, reactivating it with a wave in front of its eyes. "What did you put in her?"

The droid's eyes flickered to life, mechanically straightening itself from its droop. "Activating…please wait…one moment until I may process queries."

Trilla crossed her arms in annoyance. "Blasted fucking VI."

Since the Empire had upgraded most droids to the more advanced virtual intelligences, their processing power had increased, but many of them spoke more like computers, as opposed to droids who could develop their own personalities over time.

Which made them much more frustrating to deal with.

"Scanning," the medical droid spoke, running its optics over Trilla. "Identity confirmed, Second Sister. You are entitled to privileged access to many-,"

"Of course I am, you dumb cunt, now what meds did you give the Third Sister?" Trilla snapped.

"Retrieving file…," the droid stopped, its eyes flashing. "The Third Sister suffered multiple fractures, a broken tibia, and also a case of post-traumatic stress that thus resulted in Dissociative Identity Disorder. In order to-,"

Trilla grabbed ahold of the droid, pulling it in with her teeth bared. "Just tell me what you put in her!"

The droid simply flicked its head. "The Third Sister was injected with multiple doses of ketamine, as well as other medications that I am not permitted to-,"

Trilla's saber was ignited, and the droid flopped over in two pieces as she cut it down.

"What are you doing to my droid?"

Trilla whirled but stopped once she saw who had entered. "Admiral Vorchenko."

The Imperial admiral stepped towards the droid, observing the sparking torso where her saber had cut through. She snorted, keeping her arms behind her back. "Do you have any idea how much these cost?"

Effa laughed almost hysterically. "She…she cut it down because it wouldn't tell her what drugs it gave me!" she giggled, rolling over.

Vorchenko gave Effa one look before returning her blue-violet gaze to Trilla, her durasteel expression nearly a match to the inquisitor's. "Effa Azulia has an unusually high tolerance to ketamine, which is why she is in such a…state."

Trilla's arms crossed. "You know her name."

"She's on my ship, Trilla Suduri. I know every name of everyone on my ship," she replied. "And right now, you owe me another medical droid."

The Second Sister begrudgingly looked away, while Effa chuckled and pointed at her in mockery. Anyone else had come at her so harshly, and she would've stomped them back in their place…but this was a woman she admittedly had slight admiration for, and times for Trilla were…different for now.

"I apologize," she huffed.

There was a moment of silence between the two, until the admiral shrugged. "Acceptable. Now, inquisitor, I'd ask that you come with me. There are matters we need to discuss."

Trilla didn't submit so easily, focusing her gaze on Effa. "Regarding?"

Vorchenko turned to face her directly. "Matters you will find very important…unless you'd prefer I order you to follow me…but believe me; I can help you, and you can help me."

Her demeanor was profound, to say the least, and Trilla found it difficult to deny her request…almost wishing to be under her command. The admiral's very tone projected brilliance and intelligence, certainly a match for her own.

Not to mention she seemed competent, a quality sorely lacking in the Empire.

"Very well," Trilla accepted.

Effa gasped. "Is she being…nice to people now?"

"For fuck sake will you shut your hole?" Trilla growled.

"Commodore, I need someone to attend to the Third Sister," Vorchenko keyed into her wrist-comm.

"Copy that, ma'am," it called back nearly instantaneously.

"Appreciated," she replied, and keyed it off, looking to Trilla. "Suduri, if you'd follow me."

Trilla was becoming increasingly annoyed at the admiral's use of her real name, as well as somewhat insecure, but she followed in her wake, nonetheless. They paced out into the hall, passing by armed stormtrooper squads and naval officers.

"Tell me: is there a reason your quarters were on fire earlier today?" the admiral asked, Trilla following just beside her.

The inquisitor grumbled to herself, unable to answer.

Vorchenko didn't seem to mind her silence. "We all have our moments, inquisitor, but I'd insist you save mental breakdowns for outside my ship."

"I did not come for you to patronize me, Admiral."

"Nor did I ask you here to do so."

They walked the halls for what seemed like half a day to Trilla, which she figured was because how uncomfortable she felt walking among Imperial soldiers without her helmet to cover her face. It would be simple to replace it, but she was done hiding. Whenever someone crossed her, they would lay their eyes upon her face for the last time, knowing not only what, but who they had trifled with.

Vorchenko lead her to the bridge command elevator, and they both slid inside the small space, the admiral waving off anyone else who tried to enter. Once the doors shut, and they had begun their ascent, Vorchenko pressed the emergency stop.

Trilla's hand twitched towards her hilt. "What's this?"

The admiral said nothing, keeping her eyes fixed on the door. "Are you sure it was him?"

"Who?"

Vorchenko rolled her eyes. "You know."

Trilla shook her head and crossed her arms, her hand making its way up to her mouth. "It was him."

The admiral grumbled to herself in annoyance. "That complicates things,"

Now, things were starting to come together in Trilla's head. Admiral Vorchenko was only Admiral because of her role in Xur Eon's seemingly staged demise…which meant she now had a loose end to close, or…

Trilla's head slowly turned to Vorchenko. "Tell me, Admiral: when was your last contact with Xur Eon?"

Vorchenko turned to meet her gaze. "Consider your next words, carefully, Inquisitor."

She could almost imagine how easily she could cleave the woman in half just for threatening her in such a way…but that would gain her nothing, and without proof, she'd only be digging her own grave.

"You said you could help me?" Trilla reminded her.

"I can, yes," she nodded. "You are correct to assume that Eon being alive creates…issues with my current promotion. I can already smell the vultures circling as we speak."

Trilla shrugged. "I fail to see how this concerns me."

Vorchenko cocked her head. "You think I'm the only one they'll begin to question? The Empire knows everything about him. Now that he is alive, they'll look anywhere; his former allies, his allies' allies, his acquaintances, his travel path during the Clone Wars," she then turned her entire body to face Trilla. "His relationships."

Trilla met her stance. "This'd better not be blackmail."

"It's a warning. We're all just tools in the end, Suduri. Do you honestly think the Empire cares whether or not you've committed to them? If they can't find him, they're going to use you to find him."

The Second Sister looked away for a moment, trying to shake off the admiral's true words. "What's your proposal?"

Vorchenko stepped back. "I can tell you exactly where Cal Kestis will be, and Xur Eon won't be far behind."


Rhen Var, 14 BBY

Errant Tavern

Brutis hated rum. Instead of granting him a satisfying and smooth finish after fighting past the initial bitterness, it ravaged his insides and never bestowed that calming swallow that a proper drink did.

Although the buzz it left behind was enough for now.

Rhen Var would certainly freeze his balls off if he allowed it to, which was why he took the time to warm up in the climate-controlled paradise of the Errant Tavern…the only place that served drinks on the whole planet. It was placed at the base of the Rhen Var Citadel, an ancient tourist attraction that Brutis knew nothing about and could care less.

He just needed a fucking drink.

Brutis hadn't removed his purge trooper garments yet, and he figured it would buy him some peace before the inquisitor bitch came after him. Of course, she'd send troops first, but they wouldn't last long against him.

All there was to look at through his own eyes was the fireteam of purge troopers sitting among the tables, one of them with a teenaged boy in chains. He could only imagine why, and for some unknown reason to him…it made him angry.

Shaking it off, he took another drink, but the rum only bothered him more.

One of the purge troopers who kept looking his way, a rifle slung over his back, seemed to find what he was trying to discover. "I know you!" he blurted and stood. Brutis prepped himself, already analyzing the fight, and angling his back to pull out his hammer. "You're Commander Brutis!"

Brutis lost his tension, and the trooper walked quickly over his to lone table, taking the opposing seat and removing his helmet. He was subtly built, but skinny appearance-wise, and his mustache and shaggy black hair were his most defining features.

"Captain George," he introduced himself, dropping a credit on the table and turning back to the alien bartender. "Get this man another drink!"

Brutis wasn't in the mood to chat, but it was far from his choice now.

"What brings you out here?" George asked, while the alien poured him another shot of rum.

The massive human's eyes paced to the boy, and then back to the Captain. "I could ask the same of you. What are you doing out here?"

"Rounding up traitors," he shrugged, as if it was obvious.

"No need. They're all dead."

"So they say," he admitted, turning back to his men and flicking his head, who in turn grabbed ahold of the chained boy and dragged him over to the table. "Xur Eon killed on Iridonia, and the Second Sister tailing the first we've seen in a while," he then chuckled as the boy was placed face-down on the table, his face bloodied from abuse. "But I don't need to tell you that, do I? You've been right in the middle of it, while I've been stuck out here…finding little skugs like these."

Brutis saw the boy's blue eyes, ravaged with fear as the gag around his mouth trembled with his own.

"What are you going to do with him?" he asked.

George scoffed, and grabbed ahold of the kid, dragging his cheek along the table. "Take him back, of course, to the Fortress. Let them add another to our ranks."

The boy trembled, and Brutis noticed that his arm had been broken, probably from resistance. George smiled and jerked his thumb back to his men. "You should come with us. Our squad would be invincible with you around, and think about it, there's nothing standing in the way of the Empire now."

Brutis huffed. "I'm not going back to the Fortress."

"We can do whatever we like!" George insisted. "We're the Inquisitorious, and with another one of these, we'll certainly rise in the ranks."

Screams echoed in Brutis' head, those of the last he had to watch the Empire torture in their barbaric contraptions. The first he ever saw still remained burned in his brain…a girl…no older than 20, begging for the pain to finally stop.

"Fuck the Inquisitorious," he spat.

George's face fell, and the entire tavern fell into an eerie quiet…and even the boy had stopped whimpering. Brutis took the shot he had been poured, fighting off the taste, but never allowing his eyes to leave George.

"When I heard that the Second Sister's hound had shit his britches and run from the chase with that Jedi, I didn't believe it," he said, his look intense. "Yet here you are."

"Here I am," Brutis echoed, and flicked his head back to the bartender. "Bring me another drink."

George held up his hand, and the bartender stopped in his tracks, eventually backing away. "So…you're a traitor too…like this one?"

Brutis snorted, and slowly allowed a mocking smile. "You like to talk, don't you? Little shits like you are the reason I'm here now…fuckers who think that torturing little kids makes them men," the tall man let his brow slant, and turned back to the bartender. "Another drink."

The Captain turned back to his men, and Brutis knew he was telling them to ready themselves. "You don't seem to understand the situation."

"I understand that if you say another fucking word…I'm going to have to make sure you never say another one again."

The pause that followed was sickening, slow, and almost painful. No one made a move, and Brutis waited for his chance to end the blathering cunt once and for all.

George titled his head. "You're one of our best…you're going to die over another drink?"

"No," Brutis shook his. "You are."

His adversary hesitated, and that was all the time Brutis needed to know what would come next.

George drew a combat knife from his chest-slung sheath and lunged over the table, but Brutis' massive hand grabbed ahold of his wrist and forced the knife back into the man's throat. He choked as blood sputtered all over the table and onto the boy's face, and the hulking human stepped around the bench, holding George's dying body in front of him as his men opened fire. Not able to worry about the boy for now, Brutis drew his DC-17 blaster and hit a perfect headshot that seared through one's brain, killing him instantly.

Only two remained, and Brutis heaved George's dead corpse towards them, the body hitting one, and the blood splatter doing enough to stagger the other. Taking his chance, Brutis drew his electrohammer and charged it, brining it around for a heavy swing that knocked the blinded one's blaster from his hand. His adversary was smart, however, and tackled Brutis before he could come back around. Despite the quick thinking, Brutis quickly recovered, grabbing ahold of him and rolling, pinning the man to the ground with his immense strength, before brining the hammer down onto their helmeted head, cracking open duraplast and splintering bone, blood covering the brunt of his hammer. He swung again for good measure, this time flattening his head completely.

A blaster bolt ripped through his shoulder and he let out a low-pitch scream, but quickly shook off the pain and turned, firing his blaster pistol at the remaining blood-soaked trooper. The shot landed through his thigh, dropping him on one knee, before Brutis charged, winding up and swinging the hammer through the man's helmeted head, ending his life immediately.

Brutis ended the charge on his hammer, doing his best to wipe the blood and guts that covered it. The room smelt of charred flesh and scattered feces, but he was unaffected, turning his attention to the boy trying to free himself from his bonds. As he approached, the boy shuddered and growled through the gag, fighting until Brutis pulled it off his mouth.

"…et away from me!" he yelled, but then yelped as his arm flared in pain again.

Brutis sighed. "Let me guess, you're one of those Jedi kids."

He grit his teeth. "What's it matter to you?"

"Because I could absolutely pound your face in right now," Brutis warned, displaying his hammer. "But we're here talking…so talk."

The boy gulped, his eyes pacing away as he was still unable to pick himself up. "Y-yes…I used to be a Jedi youngling."

"That's what I thought," Brutis figured and drew his own knife, making the boy rear back in fear, only to watch him cut him free of the bonds. "What's your name?"

The Jedi grunted as he pulled himself up, careful not to use his broken forearm. "P…Petro."

Brutis tipped his head. "Do you want to live, Petro?"

He nodded. "Yeah."

"Come with me, then," Brutis stood, sheathing his hammer, noticing the boy covering his nose from the rancid smell. "Men shit themselves when they die, Jedi. Bet they didn't teach you that."


Mostly a set up chapter, and maybe you can tell that I'm debating going absolutely off the rails of the Fallen Order plotline. I just felt like after the events of Chapter 7, Trilla's mentality would be severely affected, and would in turn affect herself entirely.

Thanks for the incredible support thus far. This is by far the fastest-growing story I've ever written, and I hope you're all enjoying this thus far. Please let me know how I'm doing! It only inspires me to continue bigger and better.

Thanks for reading!