1.
"I don't care what the sensors are saying. Get me an accurate reading on that phenomenon. Now!" Captain Harett stormed away from the sensor technician's station, muttering under his breath about discipline, or lack thereof. He briefly noted his reflection in the great windows as he stood before them. A tired man, peering out into the void. The grey in his hair was starting to match the grey of his uniform, and though he commanded an Imperial Star Destroyer, there were moments he felt utterly powerless.
Truly, the inexorable march of time did little to reassure him of his significance in the galaxy.
"Captain, I've recalibrated the sensors and run several diagnostics, but I can't make heads or tails of this… aberration. Everything is telling me this shouldn't exist, and yet, it does."
Harett sighed and turned away from the infinite black behind him to rest his glare on Specialist Technician Gorunn.
"I want results, not excuses. The Emperor does not brook them and neither shall I. Either do your duty, or find yourself breaking large rocks into smaller ones on some forgotten-"
"Er, Captain-" His tirade was cut short by another technician behind him. Gorunn let out a small breath in relief as Harett spun around.
"Captain, I… ah… sir, if I didn't see it happening before my eyes, I wouldn't believe it, but sir, you need to see this. The phenomenon. It's… getting larger."
Harett stormed over to this new development and stooped forward to regard the screen. Indeed, the phenomenon appeared to widen, like a sarlacc had made its home in the very ether and was opening its prodigious maw.
"Is there anything in the databanks that match such a thing?"
"None, sir. I've cross-referenced every cosmic happening that we have information for. This is something entirely new, I'd wager to guess."
"Your job is not to wager, Specialist, and I'd advise you to keep that sort of talk in check before you find yourself chained next to Gorunn over there. Bah! Very well. Log it, make a note of its coordinates, send a missive to the nearest Imperial science station. Whatever it is, I'm sure we will find a way to bend it to the will of the Empire." He turned to a nearby console and pressed a button. "All hands, prepare for hyperspace." He pointed at his navigator. "Set a course for the Molavar system. We shall resume our patrol. I'll not let it be said that the Aggressor failed in her duty, nor any of her crew. Jump on my mark." He strode to the windows again and clasped his hands behind his back.
Though he would never admit it to the rank-and-file, he secretly delighted in the jump to faster than light speed. The novelty never waned for him. And the view is yet better from the bridge of an Imperial Star Destroyer, he thought to himself.
"Mark." And here it comes now, the stars stretching their little points of light into smears, the momentary weightlessness, the blue tunnel of-
Nothing happened.
"I do not care to repeat myself, navigator, but since it appears this incompetence of yours is a special occasion, I'll indulge you." He spun again on the spot, staring daggers at the helmsman. His words were clearly enunciated, but coated in the kind of venom only veteran Imperial officers were capable of producing. "Jump. To. Light. Speed. Now."
The navigator quailed. "I, ah, sir, I don't understand. The hyperdrives aren't responding. All systems appear functional, I don't-" Harett stopped him with a raised hand and spoke into a console-mounted commlink nearby.
"Engineering, this is the bridge. Kindly report on the status of the hyperdrives before I vent your entire compartment to space."
"Engineering here, sir, we're not sure what to make of it. Something is keeping the drives from achieving critical phase. There's some kind of strange energy signatures enveloping the cores, sir. I've got a team working on it now. We'll have them operational momentarily." Despite his stated confidence, the engineer's tone was anything but. There was doubt in his voice, oozing through the commlink.
"Do it. You have one hour to get the hyperdrive back online or I'll be making good on my threat, engineer. Do not fail me."
"Of course not, Captain." The line cut off.
Harett returned to the windows and cast a glance at the small speck of light off the port bow. It was more of a purple smudge now, where it had been but a dot before. His eyes narrowed and his head tilted forward of its own accord, as though the extra inch might somehow reveal something more. Is it larger now? He wondered. Perhaps my mind is playing tricks on me. Too many months in the blackness can drive a man mad. He shook the thought off and turned away again, striding toward the wide doors at the other end of the bridge.
"I'll be in my quarters. Inform me the moment the engines are back online. Lieutenant Reth, you have the bridge. Oversee this little delay and send me disciplinary recommendations once we are under way."
"At once, Captain," came his lieutenant's clipped reply.
The doors had barely begun to slide closed when sensor technician Gorunn shouted after him. "Sir! We have a new contact! It appears to have come out of the phenomenon! Unknown class, unknown tonnage, unknown configuration - sith spit, it's massive. Look at the size of that thing!" The awe in his voice was impossible to disguise.
Harett turned again, relieved to have orders to give. He hated waiting.
"Alert all commands. Scramble TIE fighters and charge the turbolasers. All hands to battle stations. I want every last cannon trained on that ship, and if its intentions prove to be hostile, we will scatter its ashes among the stars." Harett moved again to the fore of the bridge as the crew sprang into action, the din rising as orders were relayed to their appropriate departments and duties were carried out. Harett smiled. His crew worked well under pressure, especially when they knew failure was unforgivable.
It took no more than three minutes before the first TIEs were launched, screaming into space after the interloper. Whatever hole it had burst through was now closing and fading, its purplish and pinkish hues turning deeper blue until they blended perfectly with the blackness beyond. No trace of it remained.
"Get me a channel to the TIE squadron commander. I want visual assessments."
A moment passed before the crackle of incoming comms hissed into the bridge.
"Dagger One here, Captain. Awaiting your orders."
"Dagger One, you are to create a fighter screen. You are clear to fire if you deem it appropriate. Intercept any and all smaller craft the unknown ship may launch. Send an element to recon and report back."
"Affirmative, Captain, I'll lead the recon element myself. Dagger Two, Dagger Three, you're with me. The rest of you - primary screen formation Omega. Weapons hot, fangs out. If this is some kind of Rebel trick, we won't let them catch us sleeping."
Harett watched as three TIEs peeled off from the main group, heading toward the unknown ship.
"I want an open channel to this… thing."
A junior communications officer tapped a few keys on his console. "Channel open, Captain."
"Unknown vessel! This is Captain Jeron Harett of the Imperial Star Destroyer Aggressor. You are trespassing in Imperial space. Power down your engines and weapons and state your intention. You have one minute to comply or be subject to immediate sanction. Respond."
Nothing. A faint hiss could be heard on the link. Sixty agonizing seconds passed without response or even acknowledgement of the threat.
"Very well. By Imperial law you are hereby branded as hostile actors and will receive no mercy. Long live the Empire." He made a throat cutting gesture and the open channel ceased. "Dagger One, report."
"Starting our run now, Aggressor. This thing is… utterly alien. I've no words to describe it. Architecture is unknown. It would have to be some shipyard to have built this though, it's massive. I'm getting a reading on some kind of shield deployed - ray shielding for sure, but I can't get an accurate assessment of strength. I… can see it though, that's strange. A shimmer. Looks like nothing I've ever encountered."
There was a moment of utter silence on the bridge, every ear straining to hear what was coming next. The uncertainty was tortuous.
"Is it a warship?" Asked Harett. He had a gut instinct already, but a secret desire to be wrong.
"Visual scans appear affirmative. Turrets, and what appear to be cannons mounted abeam. Huge. Unbelievab- wait. Something's happening. Movement, port side. I'm detecting what look like torpedo tubes opening."
"Confirmed, sir," said Gorunn. "Port side tubes are opening, and- launch! We have multiple launches! Torpedoes incoming!"
"Dagger One, withdraw! All gunnery stations - open fire!"
The Star Destroyer erupted, bolts of green streaking the darkness. The other ship was engulfed in a colored spray of fire as the lasers hit home. Through a lull in the fire, Harett's heart sank as he saw the enemy ship still hanging there in the blackness, absorbing all the fire directed at it. It was taunting him. His despair turned to anger.
"Thirty seconds to impact!" Came a shout from behind him.
"I need a trajectory on those torpedoes! Helm, evasive action! Maintain fire on the target!"
The destroyer groaned as it turned, engines straining to move its prodigious bulk. The turbolaser batteries continued to rain unrelenting sheets of cannon fire across the void.
"Torpedoes are still incoming! They're matching trajectory to intercept. Fifteen seconds to impact!"
"Dagger squadron, your targets are those torpedoes. Defend this ship!"
"Aye, sir. Dagger squadron, on me. Accelerate to attack speed. Watch your spacing and pick your shots." Harett watched as the swarm of TIEs turned as one to interdict the torpedoes, streaking fast toward the hull of the Star Destroyer. Smaller bolts of fire seared toward the torpedoes, desperately trying to knock them down before they could inflict any harm.
Emperor on Coruscant, those torpedoes are enormous! Harett thought. The size of those warheads would pulverise even an Executor-class! The spectre of powerlessness again seized Harett, knowing that this was the end. At least the view was good. He chuckled bitterly.
"Ten seconds!"
"All hands, brace for impact!"
The TIEs tried valiantly to shoot down the torpedoes, but they seemed unfazed by the relentless fire. When they struck the Aggressor amidships, the resultant tremor was felt by everyone aboard.
But after that, nothing happened. No detonation. No sudden flash. Nothing.
The bridge was quiet again for a moment. Harett's mind raced. Duds? No. That many? Unless the enemy is a poor craftsman of weapons… wait. His heart stopped.
"Stormtroopers to those impact sites, now! All hands, prepare to repel boarders!"
2.
Stormtrooper Sergeant Fandau Skell, designation TK-669, was coming off his guard shift when the klaxons sounded. He had barely removed his helmet and was placing his blaster rifle into the rack when the alert came to brace. There was a sickening lurch as something struck the ship, and Skell barely had the presence of mind to keep his feet. Looking out into the corridor, he saw other platoons mobilizing and hurrying to and fro. The clatter of plasteel armor and weapons charging rose to a din as he shouted for first squad to form up. Luckily, they were berthed across the corridor, so it took little time to muster them into formation and get them moving.
"TK-669 to Operations. Situation report."
"TK-669, we have multiple impact sites across several decks. Suspected boarding craft. The nearest one to you is up one deck, three sections forward. You are clear to fire on any suspected intruders. Stun any you can for interrogation, but the priority is the safety of this ship. Understood?"
"Affirmative, Ops. 669 out." He turned to his squad. "Boarding action. Rebel scum are getting bold, aren't they?" He smirked. He was a veteran of security actions on Tatooine, Hoth, and Nar Shaddaa. Harsh places, to be sure. But they were on his turf now. "Up one deck, three sections forward. That'll place us in the astrogation section. Any questions?"
"Any idea of strength, sarge? Weapons, numbers?" The squad's newest trooper, Rixella Vors, designation TK-44355 piped up, the anticipation making her voice tremble.
"Sorry, Vors. They weren't nice enough to send that information beforehand, so we'll have to go ask them ourselves. Watch your corners, clear your sectors, and stay close. We'll give these nerfherders a fight they won't soon forget."
They nodded. He motioned to his assistant squad leader, Tharander Kiel.
"Move out. Kiel, you're on point."
The squad made its way down the corridor, up the lift, and started forward. They linked up with second and third squads two sections beyond. A young lieutenant was in command here, and the clarity and ease with which he gave orders belied his command potential, in spite of his apparent youth.
"TK-669, Sergeant, reporting."
"Sergeant, deploy your squad up front. Looks like the boarding craft has rammed itself into a T-junction. We're going to take it from three sides. You're going up the center with me. The other two squads will pincer from opposite directions. Second will be on your left, third on your right. If there's a breakout, we'll try to push them toward the droid maintenance bay at junction fifteen dash seven. There's no cover in there, and no exits. Womp rats in a trap," he said with a wolfish grin.
Skell saluted and formed his squad up in front of a blast door. He had Vors on the control panel, ready to move on the lieutenant's orders.
"All squads in position. Execute."
Vors hit the panel and the blast doors slid open. Skell covered the aperture as it widened, scanning for targets. The door open, they stalked forward, alert for any possible threats. The corridor here was badly damaged. Lights flickered, sparks fountained from damaged consoles and panels. Fifty meters before them was the junction, shrouded in red emergency lighting. The flat prow of the boarding torpedo was barely visible in the wan light, forced through the bulkhead and into the corridor. There was some kind of sigil painted on it, of a type Skell had never seen before. Not Mandalorian, not Hutt, not even Rebel. This one was new, a two-headed eagle, its wings splayed across the prow. No matter, he thought. Doesn't matter who the bastards are. They picked the wrong ship. They had a clear shot at it, and second and third squads would have excellent flanking positions. Nothing is getting out of here alive.
"Take cover. Move up on my signal," the lieutenant said. First squad deployed behind cover, blasters trained on the torpedo. Breathlessly, Skell placed his finger into the trigger well of his E-11, and waited for the order to advance.
A loud hiss emanated from the hulk then, accompanied by the expulsion of gas which filled the air in front of them. Through the gloom, Skell saw the ramp thump down onto the deck, a dark and foreboding void beyond.
Three pairs of red eyes stared out of it.
Skell's world exploded.
Whoever they were, they were huge. Armored like tanks, standing eight feet tall. The armor was coal black, but the pauldrons and helmets were a deep, venal red. Skell caught a glimpse of the device on one of their shoulderplates as they advanced. A saw-toothed circle, with a blood drop sigil in the center. Skell might have reconsidered facing them had that been the only thing he had seen. As it was, he could do little else. They were fast - faster than anything that large had a right to be. The deck shook violently as they thundered forth.
The troopers didn't even wait for the lieutenant to give the order. Everyone fired at once, filling the corridor with eye-searing blaster fire. The giants seemed to shrug it off as they advanced, like rain to a Kaminoan. Two peeled off left and right, sprinting toward second and third squads. The third came forward, a whirlwind of death. In its right hand, it leveled a bulky slug thrower at the stormtroopers, and its hellish bark deafened him. The report reverberated in Skell's bones. A millisecond later he felt, rather than heard, the lieutenant explode. He turned to see what was left of a torso and legs crumple to the floor. The ringing in his ears had subsided just in time to hear a new and altogether horrific sound. The thing is its left hand was a sword, of sorts. It had metal teeth on a chain that coursed madly along the length of its edge. It emitted a low, guttural rumble that iced Skell's blood and turned his spine to glass.
This was not a weapon of war. This was a weapon of murder.
The slug thrower spoke again, and Vors went down with a scream. The colossus was among them, moving too fast for the eye to see. The cruel blade roared and Skell could only watch helplessly as Kiel was rent limb from limb in a welter of blood. It was as though he wasn't wearing armor at all. First his right arm, then his left leg, and before the trooper had started to pitch toward the floor, the warrior buried the sword into Kiel's chest. The teeth bit savagely into armor, then bodysuit, and finally flesh and bone. Skell gawked in horror as screams turned to wet gurgles. Blood poured from beneath Kiel's helmet. The armored nightmare lifted Kiel bodily, then whipped the sword downward, casting what was left of Kiel into a bloody pile at his massive feet. Chips of white armor tinged with arterial red sprayed Skell, who had scarcely a moment to register screams coming from the other squads down the corridor as a massive blackened blur descended upon him. He turned and tried to run.
His last seconds were agony.
3.
"Report. Damn you, report! What is going on down there?!" Harett was frenzied. The situation was deteriorating rapidly. The commlinks were filled with shouts and screams of dying troopers and crew. Snatches of comm traffic filtering to the bridge and breathless, shell-shocked runners seemed to tell of armored monstrosities who were slaughtering all in their path. No one could say if they were droids, Rebel soldiers, or something else entirely. They seemed to be all of them and none of them. It was maddening. The only thing that was consistent across all reports was their unrelenting brutality.
"We've lost contact with forty percent of deployed trooper companies, sir. The intruders are advancing toward the engineering section and the last report we got from the detention center indicates that some of them are heading for the command section."
"Forty?" The incredulity undercut his air of authority for a fleeting second as Harett pondered the deaths of hundreds of Stormtroopers. He composed himself. "Send in reserves. Maximum heavy loadouts. E-Webs, thermal detonators, power up the damned AT-STs in the hangars if you have to. Stop them!"
Harett could do no more than listen to the reports as they came in over the next half hour, all of them bleak. The armored intruders could not be stopped. Some of them carried upscaled versions of the handheld slug throwers that spat death faster, at longer range, and shredded whole platoons in seconds. Worse still were the reports of flame units being employed to burn out smaller compartments. The flames were unbelievably hot, rendering everything that they were turned on into slag.
One particularly chilling report spoke of a group of troopers who tried to surrender to two of the giant warriors. The enemy never spoke. They did not even acknowledge the attempt but to simply trade each other a glance then proceed to butcher the troopers en masse with massive swipes of their lethal chainblades.
Merciless. Inexorable. Inevitable. What manner of beasts are these? Who unleashed them upon the galaxy? How will we stop them? How can we?
Harett's skin blanched when he finally heard the distant but unmistakably alien sound of the slug throwers. They were closing in on the bridge.
"Close the blast door. Seal it." He reached for the ship-wide commlink, a lump in his throat. "All hands to escape pods. We are scuttling the ship. Long live the Empire. Long live the Emperor." He clicked the commlink off and turned to Lieutenant Reth. "Initiate core overload. We'll take the bastards with us." Reth nodded grimly and turned to a control panel to start the override sequence.
"Ten minutes until overload, sir. We can hold them for that long, I think. I've ordered what's left of the trooper garrison to bottleneck key junctions leading to the command deck. The E-Webs and heavier ordnance seem to slow them."
"Very good. You have served me well, Lieutenant. You would have made an imposing captain one day."
"Pity, sir. At least we'll avenge ourselves against these monsters. Glory to the Empire."
Harett smiled weakly and turned to address his bridge crew one last time.
"Servants of the Emperor. You have acquitted yourself with the tenacity and-"
"Sir." A trembling voice came from behind him.
"Gorunn," he said, turning. "What is it?"
"They're in the engineering section, sir. They're setting charges of their own. They mean to destroy the ship, sir."
"They'll never get the chance. The overrides have been initiated. Even if they withdrew now they'd never make it back to their craft in time."
"Sir, one of their number is attempting to slice the computer systems. They're trying to stop the overload."
"Kill that one, do you hear me? Send whatever is left to stop them! Now! Do it!" He screamed. He felt the panic was overtaking him, his chest tightening. Their victory would be snatched away from them, meagre as it was.
"I'm sorry, sir. We've lost all contact with engineering."
Turning back to the great windows and peering down across the hull, he watched as some of the escape pods started to launch, relieved that some of them would make it off this forsaken ship. Some of the turrets were still firing, too. That was a good sign, even if they hadn't been able to penetrate the shielding of the enemy vessel. Some of them were still putting up a fight. Hopefully the survivors would report back to Imperial command, and they'd find a way to stop these beasts. He looked out again, toward the position where the anomaly had beckoned them out of hyperspace. It seemed like a lifetime ago, though in reality it had been a few short hours. The unknowable ship still hung there before him, inscrutable and menacing. There was only one course of action left to Captain Harett. He unholstered the blaster pistol at his belt and turned it over in his hands for a moment, contemplating oblivion.
He had finally mustered the courage to raise it to his head when the blast door exploded, showering slag and debris across the bridge. He whirled around in time to see no fewer than seven of the great armored fiends burst onto the bridge. Time seemed to slow as Harett watched the massacre unfold. Saw-toothed machine-driven blades rose and fell, slug throwers pounded out a rough staccato as bodies were pulped and strewn about. A flash of blue fire enveloped and incinerated a tactical officer, his baleful screams echoing even after he had been reduced to ash.
"Oh Emperor, no!" He screamed as he watched the black and red-clad titans butcher his crew. They moved in a way no human could move. He could not reconcile their size and speed. He was transfixed, completely helpless, half his brain screaming at him to take cover, move, do anything, the other half utterly mesmerized with dread.
The carnage ceased. It had taken no more than the space of a few heartbeats to kill twenty-two people. Smoke ebbed slowly away, revealing the charnel house that was once his bridge. Gorunn was gone from the waist up. Lieutenant Reth had been bisected savagely as he charged one of them and lay in bloody ribbons near the blast door. What was left of the navigator's head was a smoking crater in the wall behind him. All were dead, save Harett. The stench of blood, oil, seared flesh, and ozone was overwhelming.
"Emperor, have mercy, please," he heard himself saying as one of their number thundered over to him. The captain's voice was weak, small. It sounded as though someone was speaking from another room. He tried to back away and found himself with his back to the window. Nowhere to run.
The armor-clad warrior towered over him, but this one was different from the others. Instead of a sword, this one carried a heavy mace, its flanges sculpted into eagle wings and gilt all over. A deep red crystal blood drop sigil the size of Harett's fist adorned the haft of the great weapon. It pulsed with malevolent energy. Lightning seemed to crackle around the armor of this warrior-sorcerer as he peered down at Harett. His helm was open.
Harett was face-to-face with the monsters who had been killing them.
It was a man. A human. A human of prodigious size, certainly, but familiar nonetheless. His face was a ruin of scars. Embedded in his shorn scalp above his left brow were two metal studs. His eyes danced with a blue-white flame. His gaze was almost as terrifying as the violence he had visited on the crew of the Aggressor. Harett could scarcely bring himself to look up. The fire in the man's eyes might even have been beautiful, had Harett not been completely petrified. The captain opened his mouth to speak, but could say nothing. His grip tightened around the blaster. Perhaps... he thought. The giant's stare bored into him for a moment as though he could see into Harett's mind. He suddenly slapped the blaster from Harett's hand. The movement was languid, almost careless, but the captain squealed in pain as he felt all the bones in his hand and wrist break. The blaster clattered to the deck ten meters away.
The giant spoke then, his voice ragged and deep, as though hoarse from centuries of shouting orders. The scarred mouth didn't move, though. The voice wasn't echoing in the room. It was in Harett's head. Everywhere and immutable.
"Whom. Do. You. Serve." The voice was clipped and accented, and not one that Harett recognized. He mustered every ounce of courage he had left and looked up at the terrible visage, cradling his useless right hand in his left and wincing as he did so. Let it not be said that Jeron Harett would ever shrink from his loyalty to the Empire.
"I serve the Emperor," he rasped finally. "As you should. As we all shall. His legions will avenge us. You cannot win." He straightened somewhat at this, the sound of his voice giving him a small measure of courage. He ventured a self-satisfied smirk. "Long live the Galactic Empi-"
An arm shot out too quick for the eye to register and a heavy plated gauntlet seized Harett around the neck. His eyes bulged as the breath was suddenly and violently wrung from him. The warrior lifted the hapless captain from the deck as though he was a child's doll. Harett grabbed feebly at the hand that held him with his good hand, trying to pry the thick armored fingers from his neck. He kicked out, the toe of his boot barely grazing the winged skull emblem hammered into the blackened chestplate before him. The room was starting to dim. His brain was desperately trying to keep him alive, though utterly in vain. His eyes started to roll back in his head as he heard the voice again.
"Your Emperor… is false."
The fist tightened, snapping bones like dry twigs. The corpse of Jeron Harett hit the floor with a sickening thud. The warrior turned and strode from the bridge. The others, these angels of death, followed in his wake.
Epilogue.
[BEGIN TRANSMISSION]
Imperial Security Bureau Report: Compartment Omega
Top-Level Clearance Required
Not For Transmission Over Unsecured Channels
Report and transcript compiled by Capt. Bolian Drast, ISB
My Lord,
Three standard days ago, Imperial-class Star Destroyer Aggressor, Capt. Jeron Harett commanding, was boarded and destroyed by a force as yet unknown to us. Aggressor managed to launch escape pods during the battle, though we were only able to recover one. All others are missing or destroyed. Pod recovered contained data recorders and telemetry data, though it was badly damaged when the pod made landfall on a moon of Rothana. Initial recovery operations were conducted by Imperial science station officers on that moon. ISB agents were soon dispatched and took over the recovery operations and initiated subsequent sanitation of that site.
The data we were able to reconstruct beggars belief, my lord. All salvageable audio and video files are attached. We have no record of any Rebel or Imperial project that could produce such soldiers, nor have any of our contacts in the criminal underworld been able to corroborate reports of such a venture by any known actor. Analysis of the debris of Aggressor suggests that the core was overloaded or sabotaged, resulting in a catastrophic containment failure and destruction of the ship. No foreign craft or technology was discovered.
We recovered a single survivor from the pod. Transcript of her debriefing is attached, though I wish to include what I consider to be the most important element. Most of her account is rambling and unhinged, save for this. After this, she collapsed. She is being treated at a secure medical facility, but the medical officers report she is catatonic and has not spoken a word since.
INTERROGATOR: What happened then, TK-44355?
TK-44355: It- he... he spoke to me.
INTERROGATOR: He spoke to you?
TK-44355: After they killed us. One came back. Saw I was alive. This one was different. I saw his face. His eyes. [GASPING] Told me to relay a message.
INTERROGATOR: What did he say?
TK-44355: H- he... [inaudible]
INTERROGATOR: Speak up, please, TK-44355.
[SUBJECT APPEARS TO GROW AGITATED]
TK-44355: Those EYES. The FIRE. HIS FIRE. HIS VOICE. INSIDE.
INTERROGATOR: What did he tell you?
TK-44455: HE SHOWED ME THINGS. HE SHOWED ME THE WARP. HE SHOWED ME WHAT LIES BEYOND. HE'S STILL IN MY MIND. HE SPOKE.
INTERROGATOR: Yes, I know, what did he say, trooper?
[SUBJECT STOPS MOVING, STARES AT INTERROGATOR FOR SEVERAL SECONDS]
TK-44355: The Emperor protects.
INTERROGATOR: What?
TK-44355: GET IT OUT OF MY MIND. GET IT OUT GET IT OUT GET IT OUT-
[SUBJECT SCREAMS]
[SUBJECT COLLAPSES. MEDICAL STAFF IS CALLED TO DEBRIEFING ROOM]
INTERROGATOR: Get her awake. Now!
[RECORDING ENDS]
This report is submitted for your consideration, Lord Vader. Glory to the Empire. Long live the Emperor.
Your loyal servant,
Bolian Drast, Captain, ISB
[TRANSMISSION ENDS]