Located in the seamy twilight depths of Denon's planet-wide cityscape, in the heart of a district known by locals as the Gnaw due to its high scurrier population, the Blue Nebula Cantina was well-known in the criminal underworld as a discrete hangout for all manner of scum and villainy. It was a place where business could be conducted without fear of eavesdropping or interruption, and almost as important, the glasses in which refreshments were served were clean. Owned and operated by a Black Sun operative named Beriska, a tall, muscular Feeorin woman, the cantina was just one of countless such business-fronts owned by the criminal syndicate scattered up and down the Corellian Run.
From the outside, there was no sign it was a tavern, just a square, glazed black tile painted with an electric blue spiral galaxy above the door. Inside, however, the door was guarded by a hulking Barabel named Sala, and was shadowy and crowded with a motley assortment of rogues and scoundrels drinking and talking quietly. Illumination came from the lumi-lamps in the booths along the right-hand wall, and the soft white glow of the table-tops in the middle of the oblong cantina. Above the bar itself on the left-hand side was blue neon tubing spelling out the name of the cantina in fanciful Aurabesh script. Streamers of blue tabac smoke wafted through the air, mingling with the smells of alcohol and unwashed bodies.
Drifting in and around the crowd were numerous serving girls of varying species, all of whom wore slave collars and the barest outfits seemingly designed to reveal the most skin possible while still providing a modicum of modesty. One tall, statuesque Togruta stood behind the bar, serving drinks to the thirsty patrons with a grin. She wore a tiny leather jerkin with a low-cut front and lace-up sides that looked strained to keep covered her considerable assets, which she flaunted outrageously as she leaned over the bar to flirt with the customers.
Schutta, Mika thought disdainfully, shaking her head at Danya Kotaro's shameless behavior. Given a choice, she would never wear the white one-piece body stocking that hugged her own slender form. It's fabric was nearly sheer, and it was open on the sides from under her arms down to the garment's thigh-cuffs, and in the front, a deep V dipped well below her navel, showing off far more blue skin than Mika was comfortable with. Danya, though, seemed to relish the attention from the leering abos that patronized the Blue Nebula.
Scowling, she flicked her lekku at the Togruta dismissively, then loaded the tray with three mugs of beer and headed to the table with a trio of Balosars already in their cups. A pair of humans grinned at her as she glided past, not bothering to hide their leers.
Her face grew hot as she studiously ignored them—she hated working in the bar area, and insisted on outfits which covered her back. Thankfully, Beriska had agreed to her wishes; no need to flaunt that disaster. She'd die of embarrassment if she had to come down here with her back exposed, an ugly reminder of a past she was doing her best to forget about.
The Balosars were laughing about something as she came over, and reeked of machine grease and starship fuel. They didn't look like mechanics, though; she'd yet to meet a Balosar who did an honest day's work. Judging by the bulges of hold-out blasters in their jacket pockets, they were probably thieves or smugglers, though in a place like this, such professions weren't mutually exclusive.
"Drinks up," she said, setting the mugs down. "Six credits."
The Balosar on her left grinned and tossed a twenty-credit note on the tray. "Stay 'n keep us company, and there's more for ya," he slurred drunkenly.
She tucked the cash under her chan'dar, or headdress. "I'll pass," she said, rolling her eyes.
"Aw, c'mon!" the Balosar on her right said. "Nothing wrong with a pretty girl in yer lap!" He reached out to grab her, but she deftly stepped aside.
"Keep your kiffing hands to yourself," she growled, her anger bubbling to the surface, "or I'll feed you to Sala." She started to turn away and jumped with a yelp as the Balosar on her left slid a hand through the side opening of her body stocking, groping her backside and pulling her towards him.
All three of them laughed.
Mika, however, felt her face burn in humiliation as she fought the urge to simply end him where he sat. Rage filled her, and she snarled as she grabbed one of the Balosar's antenna-palps and twisted, making him cry out in pain.
"Ow! You stupid—" he began to howl.
"Shut up!" she hissed, squeezing harder. "Take your hand off my choobies before I rip this off and feed it to you!" She yanked once for good measure.
The Balosar, eyes squinted in agony, withdrew his hand.
Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Danya at the bar, looking over the heads of the crowd to watch her, along with several other patrons who'd taken an interest in what was happening, adding to Mika's embarrassment. "You kiffing lizard!" she spat, shoving his head away and stalking off. The sound of the other two Balosars laughing and making snide comments followed her, only adding to her sense of humiliation.
"Are you all right?" Danya attempted to ask as Mika stormed past.
Mika ignored her and walked into the employee refresher unit, then locked herself into one of the stalls and sat on the lid of the commode to try to calm down. She fought back the tears, but the memories of a Zabrak grabbing her the same—doing far worse, in fact—came rolling back onto her like a wave, and she exhaled a wavering sigh as emotion swept over her.
She'd been with Beriska a full year, now, and still had no friends, none she trusted, or even could trust. If they knew what she really was, they'd turn her in and not think twice about it. The loneliness was crushing, but she would deal with it, same as everything else.
Just then, the door to the refresher opened. "Mika?" a familiar voice asked.
She sighed wearily. "Go away, Danya."
"Beriska wanted to know if you're okay," she said. "Listen, if you—"
"You mean, you wanted to know," Mika answered. "Just leave me be." Sometimes, she wanted to just slap that silly Togruta. The only reason she was working behind the bar, safe from the customers and their roving hands was because of her impressive chest. Put her out among the patrons and let's see how long she'd go without getting groped!
"Whatever," Danya said, quickly leaving.
"Nosy bantha," she muttered, taking several deep breaths as she sought the center of calm within herself. She unclenched her fists. Even having to deal with sleemo customers, she was still better off with Beriska, who didn't beat her or humiliate her, or try to break her as others had. She had her own bed, not some filthy, lice-ridden mat in a dark corner; she could bathe whenever she wanted, and she had clean clothes, and she was well-fed on real food, not scurrier-on-a-stick or something equally repulsive. Plus, she was paid a modest salary, and was given a modicum of freedom to go out and do as she liked on her free time. It was far better than things could have turned out, or how things had once been.
She stared at the six five-centimeter long scars in a row on the inside of her left forearm. One of the scars was still scabbed over, and she was tempted to add a new one, or deepen an old one, but she didn't have her knife with her. Looking at them, she could feel the heaviness settle over her shoulders again. Unlike the ruined mess that was her back, these scars were made by her choice, not forced upon her at the hands of a vengeful Farghul. It was a pain both delicious and terrible because the temptation was always there to keep going deeper, to feel that pain a little keener. When the blue blood would well up and her arm would throbbed with a high, thin, thrumming note of aching pain, it was a reminder of all that she'd endured, and she was still alive despite it all.
Beriska had found out about the scars early on from Isara, a small human woman with short, spiky hair the color of copper who worked nights displaying her tattooed chest for the customers to leer at. Mika had wanted to blacken her eyes when she'd found out that Isara had been the one to snitch on her. Beriska had been furious, and threatened to beat her if she ever caught her cutting her arms again. So Mika had stopped, but the drive to feel that cleansing pain was getting strong again.
She decided to risk training tonight. Try to focus on the ones she lost, the ones she loved and had vowed to one day find again—her parents, her sister—the ones she'd give anything to see again.
She listened to make sure no one else was in the refresher, then unlocked the stall and went over to the sink. She rinsed her face with warm water, then looked at herself in the mirror. Her dark eyes held shadows, and looked tired.
As she made her way through the kitchen to pour herself some cold gizer ale, she could hear the jukebox blaring out the Corellian Boogie. At least it wasn't that other idiotic song, Dance of the Barefoot Twi'lek. Every time it came on, all the male patrons would start laughing and want to get handsy, and then she would start to get punchy. She hated that kiffing song.
"There you are," Beriska said, stepping out of the hallway to her office. "What were you doing in there?"
"Using the facilities, or isn't that allowed?"
"Don't crack wise with me, girl. You should be thankful someone is concerned."
Mika was about to continue past Beriska, but then Danya stepped out from behind the Feeorin. The Togruta glanced at her arms and sighed.
Instantly, Mika's rage exploded, and it was all she could do to not simply snap her neck. "You kiffing schutta!" she snarled. She lunged to blacken her eye instead, moving with a speed that surprised even Beriska.
Beriska was faster, still, and snatched her up in a bear hug before she could get to the very surprised Danya. She spun Mika around, putting her against the wall to pin her, but Mika fought like a Corellian sand panther, trying to kick free and managing to knock some pans off a metal rack which clanged loudly to the floor."
"You fat nerf! You scurrier! You—"
"Enough!" Beriska shouted. "Stop it!"
She almost managed to twist free, and shouted, "Don't even look at me anymore, you filthy rycrit!"
Danya fled around a corner.
"Knock it off, girl!" Beriska grabbed her by her collar and slapped her.
Shocked, Mika sagged and held the side of her face as tears welled up. The pain was nothing compared to the humiliation of the loss of control over her rage.
"What in the flaming void has gotten into you, girl?!" She grabbed Mika's arm and pushed her into the office, then closed the door behind her. "Sit down!"
Mika sat on the soft, bantha-leather couch as told, and angrily wiped away the tears. The office had always been a place she'd enjoyed visiting, with its large aquarium behind the desk filled with an amazing variety of colorful fish, and the soothing, muted earth colors of the walls. Now, though, she just wanted to run away. Worse, the fear of consequence grew in her and she began wondering if Beriska was going to sell her off to be someone else's problem.
Beriska leaned back against her desk and crossed her arms, focusing her glower on Mika. "What am I going to do with you? What should I do?"
She looked away, wrapping her arms around herself as the fear gnawed at her. She'd learned long ago that when your owner was deciding your fate, it was better to make yourself as small as possible.
"Let me see your arm."
She darted a glance at Beriska, but said nothing.
The Feeorin sighed and grabbed her arm, but not too roughly, and inspected the scars. "I meant what I said. If I find fresh scars on your arm, I will take you over my knee." "I'm not a child."
"Sure act like it sometimes." She released her arm. "When you do, I'm going to treat you like one."
"I haven't done anything, no matter what that lying schutta says."
"That's enough!" the older woman snapped suddenly. "I'll not have you running around calling her a whore! She is no such thing, and is probably the best friend you could have in here, if you'd only give her a chance." She leaned back against the desk and crossed her arms once more, though her glare softened.
She'd disliked Danya even before this. The Togruta was about forty-five centimeters taller than her, and was always talking down to her. "Whatever she said was a lie."
Beriska scoffed. "What, that you were in the refresher because some sleemos groped you? Don't give me that look, either, because that's exactly what she said." "Why are you covering for her? I know that she came running in here to tattle like a little girl." She jumped when Beriska slapped the desk with an open hand.
"Don't insinuate that I'm lying to you! So help me girl, you're on a razor's edge." Her tentacles twitched in agitation. "For your information, Danya came in here to tell me to bounce those Balosars because they were getting a little too free with their hands, and that when you ran into the refresher, she went after you to see if you were okay, and you told her to get out." She grabbed Mika's arm. "She said nothing about these. I asked because for some inexplicable reason, I actually like you, though the Divine knows that you don't make it easy!"
Mika glowered at the floor. She found it hard to believe that the Togruta wouldn't snitch her out, just like Isara had done.
Asha, a younger green-skinned Twi'lek slave, knocked on the door and poked her head into the office. "Um, Beriska? We need to replace the kegs on a couple of the taps." She darted a glance at Mika, who stared back flatly.
"Have Sala help you. He toss the Balosars yet?"
"Sure did, and they weren't happy about it either."
"Too bad. The rules are posted."
Asha nodded and closed the door on her way out.
Beriska sat next to Mika and wrapped an arm around her. "Look, Mika, I don't know much about you because you won't talk about your past." She stiffened.
"Relax. I'm not Drafulla or any of your other previous owners. Your secrets are your own so long as they don't interfere with my business or security here. Eventually, though, you're going to have to trust someone. You've been here a year, and have yet to make a single friend."
"Friends are overrated."
She chuckled. "Sometimes, they are a pain in the ass," she agreed. "Just remember that Danya and the others aren't your enemies. I don't want to hear about you fighting with them. Izzie doesn't need another black eye."
Mika laughed scornfully. "She should have kept her mouth shut." She would've done more than blacken her eye if she hadn't run away.
"No, she shouldn't have!" came the angry response. "I don't want you scarring yourself." "I haven't been."
"And if you gave Danya and Asha half a chance, you might change your mind."
"Pfff." She rolled her eyes.
It was Brisk's turn to sigh. "It's the end of your shift, so go upstairs and relax." She stood up and opened the office door.
"Can I go out for a while?"
"Go on," she said, nodding towards the door and turning her attention to the stack of flimsiplast on her desk.
Mika went upstairs using the back staircase. She wanted to shower before going out, and dress in something a little more appropriate for what she had in mind—dark colors so that she'd blend into the shadows of the city nightlife.
On the second floor were a series of rooms arranged around a circular centra room with a holoprojector at its center. Around the holoprojector were several couches and overstuffed chairs, and there were several girls lounging in them, including Asha. They all quieted as Mika came in—she hated that. She knew they'd been talking about her by the guilty looks on their faces. She ignored them and walked around the periphery of the room, past a billiards table, and through a door to the dorm, flicking her lekku in a rude gesture as she exited the room.
Their dorm was long and narrow, with a large refresher room at the far end and a bank of high, curtained windows on one side that admitted the wan gray light of the fading day. Two rows of bunk beds ran down the length of the room, each with a double locker at their feet. Several girls were asleep, snoring softly and trying to catch up on slumber on their off days. Mika's bunk was the one in the corner near the refresher room door.
As Mika prepared her things to go shower, Danya came out, a towel wrapped around her. She froze when she saw Mika, who studiously ignored her. The Togruta hurried to her bunk several beds down.
She shot a glare at Danya's naked orange back as the woman dried off, then dismissed her and donned her robe before shrugging out of her body stocking. "No need to put her backside on display and invite ridicule. It would only give those catty nerfs more to talk about.
After luxuriating in the sani-steam, she dressed in an outfit consisting of a plum-colored durasilk shirt; tight, black durafiber pants; a clean but worn pair of sneakers; a black leather jacket she'd picked up in a thrift store; and a soft, brown leather chan'dar to hold her long and shapely lekku in place.
Checking to make sure no one was watching, she reached up under the frame of the bunk where she had a vitro-knife with a fifteen centimeter blade in a leather sheath taped to the underside. She tucked the blade into the back of her pants; she never went anywhere without it. Weapons were prohibited by Beriska, but Mika had lived on the streets of Nar Shadda, and knew better than to go unarmed in the Gnaw, especially at night.
Outside, the cantina, night had fallen, and the Gnaw was lit up with street lights and gaudy neon signs advertising all manner of diversions meant to appeal to the senses, from cheap booze to live shows featuring exotic dancing girls. Airspeeders whisked past above and below the level of the sidewalk, just beyond its edge. A good number of pedestrians were out and about, some walking like her, others had stopped to window shop or talk. The air was chill and reeked of airspeed exhaust and fried food from the greasy spoon diner up the block. Worst was the constant dampness that was ever present, adding the aroma of wet pavement to the mélange of city smells.
She walked past numerous hawkers selling everything from fake expensive chronometers to burn-out credit chits. Anyone fool enough to use them deserved to get busted by the Imperials, she thought, looking at the shoddy fakes. She moved on, blending into the crowd again and leaving the Blue Nebula behind. Her collar barely raised an eyebrow as slaves were common enough this far down, though in the higher levels, the Imperials had banned the practice. At least, where humans were concerned; aliens they didn't give a flying nerf about.
She stopped at a street vendor selling roast bantha sandwiches, her stomach growling in anticipation. She hadn't eaten since breakfast, and it wasn't good to train on an empty stomach. Plus, the smells were mouth-watering. "How much?" she asked the Besalisk vendor in accented Basic.
"Two credits," he rumbled. Two of his hands were busy preparing extra sandwiches and setting them aside while the other two wiped themselves on a towel. "Three for five."
"Deal." She pulled out a bill-fold from her pants-pocket and handed him a five-credit note.
"Good bantha," the vendor said amiably. Besalisks loved to chit-chat. "I've got a connection with an importer top-side." While he tucked the money away with one hand, the other three went to work bagging up three sandwiches in a white paper sack for her, along with a wad of napkins.
"Thanks," she said, accepting the bag and moving on back into the crowd. She doubted the Besalisk had any such connection top-side, or even anywhere near the upper reaches of Denon's cityscape. The higher one went, the more affluent the neighborhoods became. Still, the sandwiches smelled tantalizing, and while she didn't like spending her hard-earned money as she rarely got tips, she hadn't wanted to hang out to eat in the cantina's kitchen where she would undoubtedly run into Isara, who was working the night shift.
She ducked into an alley and climbed a fire escape, sitting on the stairs and remaining motionless for several long moments, watching to make sure there was no one around. Old habits die hard, and she didn't like eating where other people could find her. Back in the depths of Nar Shadda, the Smuggler's Moon, she'd lived as a teenager in a disused storm drain and learned to hide her food when she ate so other vagrants wouldn't try to steal it or take it by force.
The sandwiches were indeed delicious, and the bantha surprisingly high-quality. She made a mental note to visit that Besalisk again as she licked the juice from her fingers. Much better than the scurrier kabobs she'd steal from a Toydarian who lived two storm drains over. She tore into the second sandwich and grinned as the juice rand down her chin. She was glad the Besalisk had included napkins. The short order chefs hired by Beriska had nothing on these sandwiches.
She froze. Something had rattled below her, a can, maybe. She slowly glanced down and squinted. A grubby human girl came into view, dressed in rags, unaware that she was being observed. She looked around cautiously, then lifted the lid off a dumpster and poked around inside.
How often had that been her? Mika thought to herself. It was all too easy to remember how she'd done the same, half-crazed with hunger and paranoid of any sudden noise. Shaking her head, she hissed.
The girl's head shot up instantly, quickly gazing around for a threat.
"Hey, you hungry?" she asked in Basic.
The girl looked up, fear in her eyes.
"Just a bantha meat sandwich. Still warm, too." She held up the wrapped food, then tossed it down to the girl, who snatched it out of the air and bolted. Sighing in contentment and feeling pleasantly full, she stood up and tossed the bag into the dumpster, then climbed off the fire escape. Moments later, she was just another face in the crowd.
The air had continued to grow cooler, so she turned her collar up and put her hands in her pockets. At a corner, she took the stairs down two levels, then crossed the sky bridge to another block and hurried on. The crowd thinned out as she walked until she was alone in a more industrial area. She hoped no one had been in her spot—squatters were almost as numerous as the scurriers
that gave the Gnaw its name. Her gear was well-hidden, though, or the important stuff was.
She suddenly felt like she was being watched and darted a glance behind her. It wasn't impossible that some would-be stick-up artists might try to bother her, but most would see the collar and think twice; most slaves down in the Gnaw were owned either directly or indirectly by Black Sun, and taking what belonged to Black Sun was a good way to wind up missing.
Mika didn't see anyone who looked like they might be following her, though the feeling persisted. She changed her route to the warehouse, taking a meandering path until she was sure no one was tailing her, and then continued on.
On a darkened street, she quickly darted into the inky shadows of a narrow alley, her sensitive eyes adjusting and mitigating the darkness. The alley was little-used, which suited her just fine, and branched off into a small cul-de-sac barricaded with a rusty cyclone fence. She avoided stepping in several oily puddles and hopped the fence, landing nimbly on the other side.
The warehouse was built into the side of one of the massive buildings that comprised the majority of the structures on Denon. She'd found the place while wandering around one night not long after Beriska had purchased her from Drafulla the Hutt, and had been coming her once or twice a week ever since. The entrance was a sliding door that she'd recently fitted with a new chain and shielded lock the size of her fist. She pulled out a code cylinder and opened the lock, then removed the chain and went inside, closing the door behind her. It was pitch black inside so she dropped the chain and pulled out a small glowrod.
There was no electricity to the warehouse, but she didn't need it, having searched out and memorized its dimensions. It was approximately fifteen meters wide, thirty long, and twenty high, with a large office complex off to the right along the side. Dozens of empty crates a meter on a side had been left behind and are thickly coated with dust and grime; it had been many years since anyone had been in here but her.
From what little she had been able to ascertain from the local vagrants, the warehouse had once been used as a processing facility to package droid parts, but had been abandoned decades ago, most likely right before the Clone Wars. It served her purposes well enough, and luckily, the building it was in was warmed by geothermal ducts which passed under the floor, keeping its interior warm.
She quietly made her way into the office structure, the light from her glowrod reflecting off the broken glass in the door to the office. She gingerly pushed it open, and was swallowed by suffocating darkness. Her shoes crunched the glass shards, and she was forced to duck under a broken light fixture hanging from the ceiling by a single wire that she'd deliberately left hanging to alert her if someone had been in here; if they had, the light would most likely be on the floor. There was litter everywhere, too—scurrier droppings, clouded flimsiplast that disintegrated at a touch, bits of plaster and broken ceiling tiles, and rusted furniture.
At the end of the narrow hallway with a door on either side was the office she wanted. Inside was more debris, along with a battered metal desk and a couple of chairs. She picked one up after putting the glowrod in her mouth, and set it against the wall under an air duct, then hopped up on the chair and lifted the grate to reach inside. Finding what she was looking for, she then quickly went back into the main part of the warehouse—she hated the claustrophobic darkness of the offices, but it was the best hiding place for a secret cache that risked her very life.
Most of the crates in the main area of the warehouse had been stacked two and three high by her in a ring approximately ten meters across. In the center of it was a smaller crate with a fusion lantern on top of it. She flicked this on, and a few seconds later, the ring area was lite up. From outside of the ring of crates there would be only a faint glow to be seen. Inside the center crate were a few supplies—several days of old gleb-rations, a medical kit, bottled water, and some blankets and towels, along with a hold-out blaster she'd stolen from one of the patrons of the Blue Nebula. It was always good to have a back-up plan, she mused, tossing her jacket over the crate; she knew she wouldn't need it while exercising.
A flick of her thumb brought forth the green blade of her lightsaber with a snap-hiss.
Before being enslaved a second time, she'd had a chance to spend several years with Cal Shara, a human former Jedi who'd studied under Jedi Master Niko Tyris after he'd left their vaunted order. Unfortunately, their time had been cut short by the attention of the Inquisitorius, and in the ensuing melee, she'd been captured by Drafulla the Hutt, who'd quickly sold her to Beriska. She'd managed to hide the lightsaber hilt, and after being sold to the Feeorin, retrieved it with a permanent scar a few centimeters to the right of her navel. It would be the last time she smuggled anything under skin.
No one knew—Beriska, or any of the slaves. Beriska because Mika actually cared about the Feeorin and didn't want to give her any more to worry about; and those catty schuttas because they didn't need anything else to fuel their disdain for her. Beriska, though, would undoubtedly go into Corellian overdrive if she ever found out that one of her slaves was a Force user with some small skill, and then who knew what would happen? Would her owner claim the bounty on her? It was unlikely, but Mika couldn't take that chance.
No, the plan was simply to buy her freedom and move on before anyone could discover her secrets because if the Inquisitorius ever tracked her down again, her options for escape would be pretty limited with a slave collar around her neck; and if the others hunting her down found out…she shuddered at the thought of that.
Taking a deep breath, she closed her eyes and launched into a series of blindingly fast combat maneuvers, the lightsaber humming as it flashed this way and that. Thrust flowed into slash, slash into block, and block into feint. She back-flipped off a crate at the periphery of the ring, spinning the lightsaber behind her as she landed and blocking high, then spin-slashing into a downward-angled sweep.
Cal Shara had called the style Ataru, and said it was an ancient lightsaber form that the Jedi had used for millennia to train their padawans, or apprentices. She'd assured Mika, though, that in the hands of someone who'd mastered the form, it could be one of the most lethal forms to use. Mika found the style simplistic, but in its simplicity was an economy of movement she found absolutely perfect for her smaller size—no motion was wasted, and every attack could easily be turned into a defensive move.
For her, it was a form of meditation, and with the blade in her hand, the Force seemed to flow through her more easily; there was no vulnerability in the flow, and she could forget about the cantina and all of its troubles for a little while. For her, the lightsaber training had come very easily, a natural extension of the dance-training that her Farghul owner had forced her to endure to entertain her guests. It certainly came easier than learning to direct the flow of the Force to do other things.
She feared this was because anger came to her so easily, and Cal Shara had warned her that such ease could lead to the Dark Side; fear instead it coming too easily, she'd said. Illusory effects came easier than physical effects for her, but her strength was still growing. Besides, she preferred using her lightsaber to deal with problems.
A light sheen of sweat formed on her skin as she pushed herself harder and harder. Her focus narrowed until there was only the hum of the lightsaber and its green blade flashing, making the shadows waver drunkenly. Her muscles began to ache, but she pushed through it. The rhythm of movement, the pattern of motion, and her steady breathing all heightened the meditation. Her movements blurred from speed, and all her thrusts and blocks and slashes were flawless. If she hadn't yet mastered the style, she was close.
"Mika?"
Her heart seized in terror as she startled and spun, landing in a crouched stance, lightsaber held in a defensive block. Her eyes widened in shock as she saw whom the voice belonged to.
She was trapped.