(Prompt: Person A returns from a mission. Why is there a trail of wet muddy footprints heading into their galactic stronghold?)
Out of Mind
Nine vaults off the speeder almost before it's stopped moving.
The rain was in her face the whole way from the spaceport to her apartment, the wind plastering strands of hair across her eyes; she slicks it back with one hand as she crosses the landing platform toward the door. Another day on Dromund Kaas. Pulling off one glove, she starts to raise her hand to the bioscanner and-
The scanner's powered down, the door standing ajar with a line of sodden, mud-spattered footprints marring the white marble tiles of the foyer.
Eyes narrowed, she reaches back, drawing her knife. She wasn't expecting company tonight, particularly not of the caliber to track mud and- stars, is that blood, there on the doorframe? So much for her plans for a quiet night and a warm bath.
She pushes the door the rest of the way open. The entryway's dark; as her vision adjusts, she scans from wall to wall. No movement, no noise but her own footsteps, bootheels clicking softly on the floor. Nothing out of place so far as she can tell. She takes another step, then a second, further into the room.
The mirror above the console table shatters as she moves past it and she startles, jumping away from the shards of glass that fall to the floor as she watches, the remnants still in the frame looking for all the world like someone drove a fist into the center. There's no one there, she's sure of it; she lashes out at the air with her knife, even so, before the peal of mocking laughter from the next room begins.
"Nice place you've got here, Cipher." She knows that voice, but- "Pity."
No. No. Impossible.
Another crash from the next room, metal on metal this time, and the wet slap of bare feet on the floor moving quickly away-
She gives chase. As she runs through the next room she can see her housekeeping droid in pieces on the decorative carpet, the fireplace poker protruding from its sparking chest. "If you're here for me," she says into the darkness, following the trail of footsteps across the floor, "come and get me. But I know that isn't you, Hunter. You're dead."
"Am I?" More laughter from the kitchen, and a crystal decanter whipping past her head to smash against the wall. "Are you sure?"
Is she sure? She takes a deep breath, willing the bile rising in her throat back down. "You can't control me. I made sure of that."
The kitchen's empty when she crosses the threshold, a dark stain on the counter radiating outward from a tipped-over bottle of wine.
"But you still did it to me, didn't you?" A different voice, now. "You knew how much it would hurt and you still said it. You made me kneel-"
She freezes, then. A black shape darts across the windows, the outline of a slight figure, hooded- and more wet footprints in front of her even as she watches. "I killed you too, Vaylin. You didn't give me a choice."
"You could have let me win." It's- it's in her ear, she'd swear it, and she strikes out again but her blade hits nothing but empty air. "You took everything: my mother, my brother, my ships. And you didn't even want them. You just didn't want to let me win."
"You didn't give me a choice," she says again, louder. The balcony door opens, the draperies billowing inward toward her as the wind catches them and a jagged bolt of lightning splits the sky.
"Of course I did." Yet another voice and this time she can see him, outlined on the far side of the balcony with the storm at his back, his arms folded across his chest and the white silk of his robes like a cloud around his body. "I gave you a great many choices. But you refused them all, little Cipher, and look what happened."
When Valkorion gestures she can feel it in her gut, and when she presses her hand against her shirt it comes away wet with blood, just for a moment, before she steps out into the rain and it washes away in slick red rivulets. She can hear all of them, now, voices echoing in her head.
It's so loud and oh, it hurts and she can hear Hunter laughing, Vaylin's howls of rage and above it all, his laughter, mocking her pain-
She drops to her knees, vision blurring, her knife slipping out of her fingers.
Two more footprints in front of her, a figure solidifying.
"Nine? Nine, look at me."
"Theron?" She looks up, trying to focus. Why is he- he shouldn't be here, not on Dromund Kaas- it isn't safe-
She opens her mouth to tell him that.
She feels the barrel of the pistol press against her forehead at the same time she hears the shot and-
She sits bolt upright on the cot, the ghost of a scream dying on her lips as she tries to orient herself. Clutching at the metal frame, heart racing, she presses herself small against the wall of the cabin as someone steps into the room.
"I thought I heard you awake. We're an hour from Copero," Lana says, then stops, frowning, when she sees her. "Are you all right? You look as though you've seen a ghost."