"No! This can't be happening!" In the last two minutes Mission's world had turned completely upside down. Denial was the only thing that made any sense.

Carth was leaving and telling her to run too.

It had to be a nightmare. If she tugged on her lekku, she'd wake up and probably hit her head on the low bunk above hers. But that would be okay. She'd gladly trade in this insanity for a bruised forehead.

No, it was a drunken vision. Griff had always told her she was too young for Tarisian Ale. Maybe he was right. She'd found a bottle on the Hawk, downed it all in three large gulps and this horrible dream was her punishment. She was face down on the cargo bay deck, unconscious and most likely drooling. She'd wake up in a few hours with a horrible hangover. But that would be a fair trade too. Anything but this.

Really though, it was awfully hot on this crazy world. She was just delirious from too much sun. That had nearly happened on Tatooine. Trekking through the dune sea under the burning suns, she'd started to see the banthas prancing on their hind legs. Sara sent her back to the ship with Jolee and Zaalbar to cool off and calm down. It happened there, so why not here?

Mission could handle anything but the truth.

Sara was a good person. She'd rescued Griff and freed Zaalbar's village from the Czerka slavers. Sara wasn't Darth Revan. She just couldn't be.

And Bastila. You had to admit she could be a little snotty and annoying, but she wasn't so bad really. Not bad enough to turn to the dark side.

They just couldn't have. It wasn't possible. Sara and Bastila could not have fallen.

But they had.

The cold reality crashed through every theory Mission's mind desperately threw up in defense.

The women she'd loved as friends, as family were Sith.

It used to be fun to tease Bastila, to try to make her angry. Mission wouldn't dare now. The woman looked meaner than a rancor and twice as deadly.

And Sara wasn't Sara anymore. The once vivid blue eyes were glazed over and narrowed as if she'd never laughed before. Bastila might have been the one shouting orders and making proclamations, but anyone could see Sara, Revan now, was the one in charge.

Denial forced back the severity of the situation again. Sara wasn't really Darth Revan; she couldn't be.

"Follow Carth, Mission, we don't want you here. Go away." There was no emotion in Revan's voice, but the words alone were enough to give Mission hope.

Darth Revan would have just killed her. A real Sith Lord would never show mercy. Mission had learned that lesson well enough.

Sara was giving her a chance. The woman was practically begging to be rescued from turning into Darth Revan. If only Carth hadn't run away so fast, he could have helped. Now, it was up to Mission. She would rescue her friend from the dark side. She had to.

"You won't kill me." Her conviction in the words rang through. "I know you, Sara. You're not Revan and you won't hurt me. Not like this. Not if I don't attack you."

The Sith Lord shook her head. "You're wrong, Mission. Zaalbar, kill her."

The Wookiee refused and Mission gained a little more confidence. "Looks like you'll have to do your own dirty work."

"Fine. I'll kill you both." Mission flinched at the wrath that burned in Revan's eyes. But the woman's calm voice scared her even more.

Zaalbar roared and pushed her roughly behind him. Mission had never seen such rage from her usually reserved friend. She'd seen Wookiees angry before, but never like this.

She stumbled back, falling in the dirt at Canderous Ordo's feet. He slung his huge repeating blaster over his shoulder and nonchalantly turned his back on the battle ripping the crew apart.

Zaalbar had the advantage of height and strength and maybe even fury, but he didn't have the Force. Even an infuriated Wookiee was no match for two very powerful Sith.

Mission pulled herself up from the sand while Zaalbar fought before her. He was a giant, a hero eclipsing the sun. Bacca's blade crashed against lightsabers. Sparks flew as the weapons met again and again.

But by the time Mission regained her footing, Zaalbar was dead. The fur she had lovingly suggested combing was matted with grime and gore. Patches were scorched down to the flesh from the lightsabers blows. His blood oozed from partially cauterized wounds into the sand.

Mission fell back to her knees digging her finger into his fur. One last time, she buried her face against his chest. She knew then that she was about to die. But it was sure as a Hutt was ugly not going to be on her knees.

Slowly she let go and stood up. She retreated back until she felt the sun-warmed hull of the Ebon Hawk against her shoulders. Zaalbar's sacrifice had given her clarity. Time crawled as her eyes captured every detail they could. Through her tears, Mission saw Revan callously step over her friend's body to reach her.

Beyond that she saw Bastila smugly crossing her arms. The woman's lips curled into a sadistically satisfied smile. Canderous was lighting a cigara probably impatient to get to the real fighting. If droids could grin, HK-47 was doing it. His metallic shoulders hunched slightly up as he snapped his weapon in a ready position. Only T3 seemed at all dejected. His dome tilted slightly to one side, main photo receptors pointed to the ground.

Beyond them all she saw Carth. Shielded behind a boulder at the top of a hill, he looked down on the gruesome scene. Mission could read the horror and sorrow in his face even over the distance. She guessed it was probably a reflection of her own. His hand was outstretched holding his blaster. She knew it was aimed at Revan.

"No," she screamed. Let them think she was begging for her life. It didn't matter anymore. As much as she didn't want to die, Mission wanted someone to rescue Sara even more.

She saw Carth's hand shake before he dropped his arm. Mission would never know if he heard her and stayed his hand or if he just couldn't do it.

"This can't be happening," she whimpered.

And Revan cut her down.