Chapter 20: When a Man Goes Mad with Reality
xXx DATE: 2/10/45876 (Two months since Coruscant's infection) xXx
"Move."
The order came in a whisper, low but urgent, and it swept through the mild jungle bosky like a machete. It left no room for protest, for argument, or even for response. Barely gave time to think but fortunately, he's been trained not to. Not in these situations, not when anything reaches his ears in that tone. He didn't need the additional "Move now," that came seconds behind the first one, because he's already moving. Jumping up from his position in damp, mildew scented soil, boots sliding along wet ferns leaves, and launching himself into a sprint as his rifle was thrown over his shoulder. And then he was, indeed, moving.
Something cried out at the sudden movement: a sharp screech that was ripped from the bottom of one's gullet, barking through the air like a wounded animal dying. There was a shuffling noise, a gurgle; the pattering of fast footsteps that were soon giving chase, audible as they hit rocks and moved clumsily along. Only a few feet behind – he didn't know how they'd gotten so close without him knowing; he blamed the earlier rain showers, how the damp earth muted most of his own footsteps as well. He didn't risk turning around though. He tore along several more feet, hearing another garbled cry fill the air much, much closer than before.
And then there was the sound of a single shot being fired, ripping through big leaves and branches; that cry was silenced suddenly, and it the blaster fire was followed by a thud seconds later. When Ben finally turned around he found himself facing the mangled corpse: a former human female, one eye missing, jaw distorted as it extended almost an inch too far up and out of her lips. The shot that had put the mutt out of its misery had torn through the back of the skull; the smoking groove visible easily – the woman had no hair left.
He finally looked up and away from the body when he saw movement up ahead, and then the ordering voice appeared, with his blaster still sending out a tendril of smoke. Ben was greeted with a dry, "And that's why you don't come out here without a scout, dumbass."
Ben's expression was a cross between relief and pleasure to see the blonde man that stepped out of the dense jungle, and a disapproving frown. "What the hell are you doin' out here?"
He received a snort as an answer. "Saving your kriffin' life, obviously. Snipers don't go without a scout out here…"
"Max is out of the picture, broke his leg yesterday…"
"…and if the scout is injured, you ask for another one to be assigned to you…"
"…I was out here for fifteen minutes…"
"…or I report you to the commanding officer, who happens to be Dad, and you probably get stuck on packing med kits for the next two weeks. Can't risk officers panicking and goin' rogue at this point."
Ben blinked at that, staring at the other and then rolling his eyes. "Rogue? You've gotta be shittin' me."
The younger man smirked slightly, and gestured with his hand back in the direction he'd come from. "Good, you were listenin'. Maybe it'll stick this time. Dad wants us back in camp now, Kain's actually gone a bit rogue, went runnin' off into the caves off in the east for who knows what reason and we gotta get him back."
"Spice stash? Doesn't want to leave it behind?"
"Probably. Dad probably has better details, let's just get back and figure out from him."
Getting back took less than twenty minutes on foot, and only three more mutts made their presence known; they were eliminated immediately. So far, the perimeter didn't seem to be suffering any major breeches despite the dwindling number of staff and guns to guard it, and the landing pad was calm and rather scarce when the pair stepped onto it. Republic and native gunships and other vehicles being prepped in one corner but not in a panicked haste – things were going smooth.
The auburn-haired man waiting for them matched the smoothly-efficient atmosphere surrounding them, despite the deep frown that his partner – a silver-haired, older man with narrowed blue eyes – was wearing. The former remained silent despite this, while Captain Allyn was the one to greet them. "We have a rogue gunship, aimed towards eastern cavern area, near the bay." Straight to the point. "Three individuals, armed; presumed not a threat to the force but we are still going to go in muzzles first – these individuals are to be taken in alive and well. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
"I'm assigning you both on point, you will lead a five-man team in." The Captain, orders given, was already turning about to speak to a lanky, skinny man rushing up with a data-pad, presumably with a report to give. "I want you back in no more than five hours. Keep your radios on."
"Yes, sir." Ben's voice perfectly synchronized with his brother's as the Captain did fully turn away, leaving the pair alone with the older gentleman whose frown had lessened only slightly during the short exchange. He turned to the blonde first, nodding his head towards the nearest gunship. "Go make sure everythin' is ready for take off."
There was a slight pause, the young man looking between the two briefly before he nodded, and moved off to carry out his orders. Ben now alone with the other man he sighed and clasped his hands behind his back, waiting.
He didn't have to wait long. "The Captain was requesting your presence," he stated flatly. "I told him you and your brother were out coverin' for Blue Team since Red was running a bit late. Then I had to send him out there to find you before you were either found to be out solo, or worse."
"Fifteen minutes, Dad…"
"Sir. We are not at ease."
A pursing of lips. "Sir, fifteen minutes, Red was running fifteen minutes late and Blue was needed back at base."
"Yes, but you didn't have a scout. After what happened in the city did you really think that was acceptable?"
Ben's pause only lasted a few seconds but the man took that as his response and continued, "I have enough shit to handle with Kain runnin' around like a stray blaster bolt. You need to stay focused on your team. On you brother. His arm still isn't 100% up to par and he needs to be kept on your watch, understood?"
It only took the slightest mention of the younger man for Ben to nod sullenly but firmly. "Yes, sir."
"Watch yourselves; and keep an eye on his arm. He's struggling, you pull out." The man clasped his own hands behind his back, lips pressed into a thin line. "And drag your uncle's ass back here so I can beat it."
The slightest – just slightest – hint of a smirk crossed Ben's lips, but his response was cut off by the Captain looking over from where he was still standing reading a report, and barking out at him. "Derek! Get your ass in gear, now! I want your team off the ground yesterday!"
Ben Derek took that as a hint to start moving, shifting and already beginning to move to the gunship even as he looked over at the other. "Don't worry. We'll be fine." With that, he spun around, and jogged over to where Cal was finishing helping the team prep the ship.
They were supposed to be fine.
They weren't fine.
xXx DATE: 5/17/45876 (Present Time) xXx
"What do you think?"
The crimson flag fluttered in the hot Coruscanti breeze, thick and dry, as always; four pairs of eyes remained trained on the tattered cloth, not daring to tear their gaze away lest it somehow make the object disappear. A signal… painfully obvious. Strategically placed, to be seen from Standards, but not the upper area of the neighborhood; including the Forsaken's former headquarters. Kenobi had stated that this had been purposeful, perhaps the flag had been placed by some members of the group that had been displeased with the kidnapping of fellow living souls.
Honestly, to Derek it merely looked like a piece of laundry blown into the wind during the evacuation, or the empty months following it; but he wasn't going to outright condemn Obi-Wan Kenobi's theories. Not when the man somehow managed to stay so calm and collected, with just the right stem of hope threaded through everything he did and said.
He preferred the term ambition over hope, seeing as goals didn't die out flat without putting up any fight at all like the latter did, but he also kept those thoughts to himself.
Currently, Obi-Wan was in the middle of pondering the Yaazix-5 soldier's query with a few thoughtful, firm strokes to his beard, fingers playing along his lower face as he squinted through the harsh sunlight at the beacon that had summoned him, Derek, Josh, and Lynn out here in the first place. The answer didn't come immediately, it never did, and while the Jedi Master thought things over Derek pursed his lips, and signaled for Josh and Lynn to make sure their weapons were locked and loaded, and keep watch on both the left and the right.
"We can't risk abandoning any sort of lead we might gain, no matter how ridiculous it may seem," Obi-Wan finally respond, expression grim as he finally turned his gaze away from the brutal yellow skies. "Two need to go inside; the others will stand guard out here."
Derek nodded slowly, gaze flickering over to the abandoned restaurant; probably a well-known, fancy establishment with table cloths and polished, glimmering chrome serving droids. The windows were now bashed in completely, a few chairs strewn across the pavement outside; one of those shiny serving droids, headless, hanging out of what had once been revolving doors. They were now empty, open, and skeletal metal frames. "A'right then. Who goes in and who's on point?"
Normally, Obi-Wan would respond with Derek remaining with whoever didn't accompany him – always keeping one of the superiors with the other members at all times. However, this time was different; the pressure was on, more and more problems piling up. "The Colony needs to learn to function without always receiving direct orders," the Jedi mused aloud, lips pursed as stormy blue eyes slowly turned to where Josh and Lynn lingered, blasters drawn, one on each end of the street. "You and I will go inside. They can stay guard."
A brow cocked as Derek shifted, hands cradling his rifle still, safety off but weapon not lifted. "You sure?"
"Yes. From what we've learned, we won't always get a choice as to how we're separated." The Jedi moved, and took his lightsaber off his belt; still worn next to the blaster that had seen much more use during the past several days than the beloved sword. "Give the order, Derek."
Only a moment more of hesitation rolled past, before the other man nodded, whistling to get the other's attention and then walking over; he gave them vantage points on where to position themselves and syncing their comlinks before returning to Kenobi. "Somethin' happens, they'll give us a headsup. We're linked to Nate back in Central if we need back up. Kid's head ain't a completely sack of bantha poodoo anymore, I can say that much."
The slightest of amused smiles almost appeared across Obi-Wan's lips, before fading back into the resting frown his expression naturally fell back into nowadays. "Good. Now then, let's see what our friends in there have to say." The lightsaber's weight feeling natural and familiar in his hands, Obi-Wan stepped forward and led the way inside.
The first thing that touched Kenobi's senses was the smell – putrid food, rotting about and strewn along the ground in ghastly, abstract exhibits. Somehow, it was an entirely new sort of unbearable smell, different than the constant stench of dried flesh that swept through Coruscant's streets with every burst of wind. He wasn't the only one to make it a priority observation either, because he could hear Derek curse behind him. "Smells like a gundark climbin' outta the ass of another gundark," was the flat comment, and once more, Obi-Wan almost smiled despite it all, though he only turned to face the other when Derek added on, "Look here."
Turning, the Master soon found himself gazing upon a series of boot prints, clear in the grime-covered, filthy flooring. Clear – as clear as it could be – and slowly he nodded. "Fresh."
"Like spring rain," was the confirming response. "This way."
The footsteps led them down the dirty corridor, boots crunching against broken glass and dry tufts of dirt and slime as they moved. There were no other sounds, no voices calling out – no sign that anyone was even here. Kenobi still seemed pretty damn sure of himself though; and so when Derek asked if it seemed like anyone was inside, there was simply a nod.
"I can sense them."
"How many?"
"Uncertain. Less than a dozen, for sure. Maybe less than half a dozen." There was a pause. "The Force has been… clouded, ever since this all started." Clouded, and when it wasn't, the galaxy felt insanely empty. A rather grim expression came over the Master, as it always did whenever he truly did focus on the sacred energy and all it told him; and on cue, Derek fell silent. Their footsteps continue to muffle and make their way down the hallway, until finally they reached a hall ending in large, double doors. The entrance to a conference room, perhaps, or a recreational center. There were no windows in this hall; and so the harsh sunlight that must've been pouring into that room showed easily in the crack beneath the doors; and with it, were also visible the feet moving about.
Whistling quietly, Derek raised his blaster, and nodded at the door. "Ya see that?"
"Indeed." This time, it wasn't his blaster that Obi-Wan reached for. It was his lightsaber, the beloved weapon still hooked loyally on his belt, and it brought a slight wave of nostalgia. He ignored it as best he could. "Stay close. There are maybe four or five inside." The closer they got, the easier it became to discern the presences in the room. "I don't think they're hostiles."
"Yeah, well, corpses ain't supposed to be hostile neither," Derek responded, slipping behind Kenobi to let him take point as he tightened his grip on his weapon. "You go high?"
"I'll go high." Their voices had dropped into mere whispers, and as they spoke, they pulled up just outside the doors. Not a sound from behind them, and the feet had stopped moving from inside as well. "Ready?"
Derek didn't answer; he just nodded, seeing as Obi-Wan was looking over his shoulder to look the other man over. And, seeming satisfied, he gave a nod of his own.
And then, using the Force, the doors blasted open with a flick of his wrist, and they moved through.
xXx ((the Forsaken)) xXx
Sirens. They were loud, in an octave that somewhat resembled a dying creature screeching out one last call for help… and now that he thought about it, it was no wonder that it never worked to say "Stay calm" while these horrendous things blared through your mind, intruding every thought, and instilling the one thing people always tried to prevent in a catastrophe: panic.
They started blaring now, and right on cue, cries began to fill the air, shrilled, alarmed shouts from the people the first eight (except for the pacing man, who didn't even look up, mumbling catatonically and rubbing his chin like a business man trying to mull over a contract). The cheering from the balconies above heightened, following by the mirth-filled pounding of fists against the thick glass, and the stomping of eager feet. Anakin had seen less-rowdy crowds at pod-races.
Cold water continued to slosh at his feet; droplets flying up to his back as well as Inya came up behind him, slender fingers grabbing at his arm, yanking at the sleeve; steel-blue eyes flickered down to her, and then darted back up; at the stormy interior, the cheering audience, and the three mutts racing forward. Water sprayed into his face and he lifted a hand to block it, realizing that whatever had been in front of him, shielding his face, was now gone.
The Togruta. She'd vanished within seconds.
"Anakin!"
Blast it.
The first mutt crashed into group before anyone had time to slosh their way out of the cage. Immediately, the screams heightened, and the sirens continued to roar. Anakin, standing off to the side, yanked Inya violently to the left, out of the way of the charging monster that tumbled head-over-heels and immediately began screeching and flailing. A former human woman-thing, with patches of brunette hair torn from the skull, lips that were once full and plump pulled back to bare its teeth. This spurred everyone into moving, small waves from panicked movements rising from the floor as the red lights blinked. Several got out of the cage and began moving forward, immediately tackled and approached by the other mutts. Inya fell into the water, on her side, coughing as Anakin dropped to his knees to help pull her up. Glancing up just in time to see the mutt and the mumbling man standing face-to-face, the man's pallid face an impossibly pale complexion, gray eyes as wide as saucers, double-chin jiggling with more murmurs.
"I… I don't wanna play… I don't wanna… go away… please just go away…"
Even as the Jedi jumped to his feet, yanking Inya up with him, the mutt seemed to smile with gaping, sharpened teeth, and fell upon the man. Artery in the neck immediately pierced, the man finally seemed to react, a guttural howl of agony ripped from his throat as he began to flail uselessly, falling backwards into the water; screams became muffled as the waves crashed over him, water filling choking lungs, clouds of red with each spasmodic pulse dying the waters as the mutt continued to tear into its fresh meat.
After a moment of lingering horror, just a moment long, Anakin shoved Inya forward, out of the room and into the open, where two bodies floated in the waves, being jostled and tossed about by the other mutts. Several figures disappearing into the tunnels, and one person sobbing in the middle of the room, cradling a shoulder ripped open with tissue hanging from the ghastly wound, flapping about, the middle-aged woman's sobs turning to screams as one of the mutts turned to her and hissed, changing its position.
The Jedi and Inya stumbled away, and raced for the left tunnel. "MOVE!" Anakin roared, continuing to force Inya ahead of him as they pounded through the water on the ground, heading for down the corridor. There was a screech, and the Jedi turned in time to see one of the mutt's having noticed them, racing forward. Blast. Inya turned, and saw the creature as well, crying out and then stumbling, slipping on the wet floor beneath the small little waves and crashing face first into the murky streams. BLAST.
Anakin didn't break stride. He kept on forcing his way forward, heart pounding, chest heaving as he leaned down and caught onto Inya's upper arm with his mechanical hand, wrenching her up and forward so hard she cried out. But she was on her feet. And soon, they were moving forward again, together. "Come on!" Towards the left tunnel they went, and soon, they were encompassed by its darkness. The shadows closed in on them so suddenly it was like being hung from a noose and Anakin's eyes moved frantically around them. Catching glimpses of steel walls, and hearing the water still pound down around them. However, it wasn't for another several yards, until a lone, flickering white bulb brought eerie light to the tunnel. And then another, several more feet away. His head spun slightly, a bit of nausea bubbling in his gut. Cut off from the Force, he felt hollow, almost sick; but at least Death wasn't there. Wasn't whispering in his ear, or peeking her face out from the corners.
However, he could almost – almost – hear her voice taunting him even now, the spirit engraved into his brain: "Are you afraid of the dark, little Chosen One?"
He clenched his jaw, and kept running. By now, his hand had released Inya's, though she kept up with him. Struggled, but kept up. Anakin thought he could hear choked sobs mingled with her heavy breaths. He didn't need the Force to feel her panic, her desperation. Anger. Terror. The dread that this was indeed the end. If he could sense her, Anakin was sure she'd be a raging ocean. A swirling whirlpool. A cyclone.
And Anakin? Well, Anakin felt numb; and not just because of the Force-suppressants. Not the sluggish kind of numb either, like when grieving shock renders one's body useless. He could feel… anger. Fury. His own desperation. But more than that, he was just numb. Cold, more accurately. Like a rock. A frigid rock, found somewhere buried beneath the snow and ice on Hoth.
Because that's what pure, 100%, unhindered, undisturbed, horrifically-perfect fear does to you.
It freezes you, and buries you in the grave before you even take your last breath.
xXx ((Derek and Obi-Wan)) xXx
"…I've had more hospitable greetings delivered by the Hutts. And trust me, that's saying something…"
Derek wasn't sure which stunned him more. The casualty with which Han Solo – the scruffy-looking humanoid from the Forsaken who'd defended the honor of Wookies with an odd passion – spoke to them; or the fact that it was a Forsaken member at all who stood before him. And it wasn't just him alone either. Han, Hadrian, and even the "proud Separatist" Madeline all stood there with two others there in the big empty room, which must've once been used for conferences and dinner parties. It had a massive, empty interior, filled only with some old chairs lined up against the walls. The windows were intact but caked in enough dirt that both Derek and Obi-Wan had to squint to make out all of those inside. Han stood in front of all the others, a stark contrast from when he'd just smirk and snort from the back of the groups earlier, and Obi-Wan now couldn't help but consider that it had all been intentionally. It's always the quiet ones, and while Han certainly hadn't been quiet earlier, he'd definitely…
Well, he hadn't been this. Front and center, arrogant smirk resting naturally on dry, cracked lips, and eyes sparkling as he held a blaster aimed directly towards the Colonists' heads.
Obi-Wan himself wasn't worried about that. His saber hummed contently in the dusty air, shimmering and casting a blue coloration upon his own face and Derek's. The old Jedi Master wasn't rusty enough yet where he doubted his ability to deflect any blaster bolts and keep him and the soldier beside him safe from harm. However, even he had to admit that five against two in a post-apocalyptic world, in a building they'd probably scouted out and he hadn't, weren't ideal odds. Impossible? Not even close. But the Negotiator would wander into conflict only if absolutely necessary.
That was why he didn't move any further than he had when he'd first stepped into the room. Why he'd held out his free hand to keep Derek back and from firing as well, even when he'd caught sight of the anger immediately flash in the other man's eyes. Derek was just as determined to drag Anakin back, alive, as his own Master was; Obi-Wan just had to make sure no judgements were clouded by desperation or emotion.
"We're quite sorry to intrude -" That silver tongue immediately began to work its magic as Obi-Wan forced his posture to relax, his back to straighten, his saber to lower just slightly. Hell, his lips might've upturned just a bit to ghostingly mirror Han's own smirk. "- we didn't realize there'd be quite so many… guests joining us today."
"Guests? Don't know what you're talking about." Han's gleaming eyes spoke otherwise. "For all we know, this could be some kind of assault on the Forsaken."
"No, trust me." This time, it was Derek that spoke up in response, blue eyes narrowed and rifle resting naturally in his arms. He was experienced. "If we were avenging the shit you did to our friends, you'd be long dead by now. This is…"
"A negotiation." Obi-Wan finished the sentence with a definite smirk of his own now, the Force ringing clearly throughout his very being. Except for Han, no one else had their weapons out. The darkness, while ominous, unintentional – of course it was, there was no power in the entire planet. Five was more than two, yes; but unfavorable odds could easily be handled if one were equipped enough, and he and Derek were more than prepared to deal with far more numerous opponents. The odds were in their favor; and the Forsaken obviously knew that.
Han was all for show, and this was confirmed when the man snorted and finally lowered his weapon, shaking his head. "Negotiation, huh? Sounds too civilized for anyone else left alive on this rock…"
They weren't here to cause harm but that didn't mean tensions still weren't high in the air. Obi-Wan immediately noticed Derek grip his weapon tighter as Madeline suddenly stepped forward and rather roughly shoved Han aside, her eyes sparking with anger. Anger that masked fear, Obi-Wan could tell. "Enough playing around," she growled at both parties, hair frazzled all around her chiseled face. "We don't have time for this you imbeciles. Children." Her words seemed mostly directed at Han, before those dark eyes snapped onto Obi-Wan, and Obi-Wan alone. She, unlike Han, wasted no time in getting to the point of this entire meeting, spurred on by a piece of laundry flapping in the breeze. "Kolic took two of your people."
Derek stepped forward so quickly that Obi-Wan almost didn't catch it in time. "Kriffin' knew it," he growled, stopped from going further solely because of the Jedi's arm that suddenly flashed out and stopped the soldier right in his tracks. "Easy, Derek," Obi-Wan commanded, his own eyes still steadily on Madeline as he pursed his lips. "Where are they?" he asked, firmly but without hostility; for now. "Anakin and Inya. Do you have them?"
"Do you see them here?" Inya snapped, as if he'd asked the most stupid question in the world. "No. Kolic took them just as we'd decided to finally bail out of his kriffin' insane asylum. No point in sticking around now that we knew there were Jedi here on-world. Didn't think he'd be dumb enough to try anything against a group with Jedi in it. Guess I underestimated his stupidity."
Kolic was an enemy. These people weren't followers of him. They were trying to leave. Anakin and Inya were in danger. All of this information just quickly swept through Obi-Wan's mind to be registered as he shook his head. Lightsaber fully at his side now but still activated. "Where are they then, where did Kolic take them?" "Why did your asshat leader take them?" Derek added on, his own gun lowering now – but mainly because Obi-Wan continued to hold his arm out, signaling that they were to cease fire for now.
"They're at the Stadium. Kolic's private little coliseum, where he throws all of his feasts and parties. The Show would've started by now, but only by a few minutes." Someone must have decided Madeline was good at getting to the point but not at explaining, because the only other woman in the room was the one to answer both questions now. Brunette hair cascaded over shoulders guarded by armor. There was a blank, trained expression on her face to school exotic but hardened features. "One of them is a Jedi – Anakin Skywalker. I doubt they're out of the Show yet. Get there in time and you can end it before it gets any worse."
Obi-Wan didn't know what the Show was, or why it was held in a coliseum. But the very words sent chills up his spine, and made his gut turn in a way that he knew the Force was warning him. There was a darkness in the air. "What is the Show? Why does it involve us?"
"Because our crazy-ass Twi'lek friend hadn't had contenders in months, not since the last group of survivors that were killed," Han drawled, thumbs hooked onto his utility belt. "Five of them, put inside the Stadium. Four were killed by the mutts they had to face inside there without any weapons or any idea of what was going on."
"That's how the games go," the brunette humanoid continued, jaw clenching. "Contenders go in and face the Mutts throughout the tunnels as entertainment for the Forsaken. They have cameras or look out spots all around the place. It goes on until there's only one left."
Inya and Anakin were both in that Stadium, but only one winner could be left… Obi-Wan was frowning heavily now, but he knew damn well that his apprentice would be the last one standing. And that he'd do his very best to keep Inya at his side as long as he could. "And then what happens to the winners? Are they added to the Forsaken, set free…?"
And it was at that moment that Obi-Wan heard one of the most chilling sounds he'd ever heard his entire time here. The cold, cruel, broken laugh of Madeline as she nearly doubled over at the Jedi's words. A disassociated heart and a cracked, icy soul could be heard in that laugh. It somehow, miraculously, managed to be more prominent in Kenobi's mind than any of the mutt screeches he'd had to listen to ever since the original outbreak.
Madeline's laugh went on for several long, uninterrupted seconds, before the woman finally straightened and crossed her arms over her chest, a hollow smile on her lips. "A fairy tale ending that only a Republic General could hope for. That's now how the world works anymore, Jedi." She inhaled a deep breath, and then sighed. That ugly smile faded back away, fortunately, once more into seriousness. "Kolic holds onto the ancient Shilian beliefs that had died out long before the Republic was even formed. That the strength of the soul can be physically attained; that courage and power and survival are as simple to gain for oneself as water weight. The apocalypse must've driven him mad, if he hadn't been already. The fool doesn't free the winner of his Shows.
"He eats them."