The Clone Wars.

That is what people had started calling it. Even on a ship in the farthest reaches of space from the cultural hub of the Galactic Republic, rumor and word spread fast when a war had officially begun. When lines of territory were drawn, and both allies and enemies were made apparent in less than the blink of the proverbial eye. It came as no honest surprise to most, or at least, not to Sakajin. She had been part of the faction who had been preparing for war for years before. The question had never been IF there would be a war, but WHEN the strings of tension would finally snap.

Sakajin celebrated her 18th birthday three weeks before the first battle on Geonosis. Though, honestly, it wasn't much of a birthday by then to her. Not because she had nobody to celebrate it with, but because she'd long forgotten the actual day she was born and simply started going off the date that the Count had taken her in when she was just barely a young adult.

Two years in an orphanage did that-why would one bother spending the energy to remember that sort of thing anyway? Not Sakajin, apparently, though she did regret knowing at least that personal fact about herself. She was, more or less, 18 years old.

18 years old when the war began. And even for someone so young, relatively speaking, she found no surprise when the first battle broke out, or when her need as a mechanic was suddenly called upon with more frenzy and chaos than it ever had been before.

She no longer repaired droids, simply because there were so many coming in and going out of the Black Halo that it would hardly make a difference if she fixed one, only for a shipment of another hundred come in. At that point, it wasn't even worth it-just recycle the metal and scrap.

Instead, the young mechanic had become quality control. She was the one who toured the new platoons that were assigned to the ship, making sure every single droid was without a concernable flaw in the eyes of the 'Separatist Cause' as Dooku had put it in his brief. Concernable. It made things sound as if there was a margin of error that was allowed. That certainly wasn't the case.

Feh. Concernable flaw.

Everything was an issue, everything was a problem. One loose bolt, if she missed it, would be nothing but pain funneled through her still-ongoing sparring with Grievous, if he ever picked it out. It happened rarely, but often enough that Sakajin always had some bruise that was tender to the touch on her body somewhere.

Of course, one could believe that her sparring hadn't lessened. If anything, it had increased.

Not her skill-oh, that improvement was marginal-but her time spent sparring? That was another story. Personal time was kept to a minimal, sometimes just enough so that the woman could fall into an uneasy, exhausted sleep in her personal quarters, then wake up to the sharp alarm going off beside her bed, an alert that Grievous was summoning her again.

The cycle had become chaos.

Quality control. Spar. Eat. Sleep. Repeat.

Honestly, she didn't even feel like calling herself a mechanic was even appropriate anymore-Sakajin couldn't honestly remember the last time she had actually 'fixed' a droid, or even tinkered with some scrap parts. And seriously, with a war going on, she was absolutely appalled that Grievous still had time to torture her in his one-sided sparring matches. But thank the stars that she had, at least slightly, improved.

She would have loved to say it was because of her own wit. That the universe had shown her in a dream, or her inhuman instinct in sensing movement and vibrations in the air had finally turned into some sort of super-power. But absolutely none of that was true-she no more taught herself the new combative skills than she taught herself how to speak Ryl: she didn't.

General Grievous taught her the skills keeping her from becoming spotted in bruises and burns. Yes, as surprising as it was for her, the droid general had somehow, through his bitter insults and mocking compliments, had managed to teach her several useful techniques, stances and skills. But there was only one thing more surprising than that: the skills worked. Sakajin could actually use them, make them as fluid in her clunky, in-progress fighting style and make herself better.

Imagine that.

Parry, block, side-slash. Block, roll to the right.

The heat came close to her leg when her body somersaulted, but not close enough to hurt that time. But her tail was another matter-no pain, but that smell was harsh enough to make the woman scrunch her face up in disgust, even in the heat of battle. There was nothing worse than the scent of burning fur.

She landed with some ease on her feet, off-balance for a moment, but keeping upright, body moving on instinct alone to pull herself back into a ready stance, like a rubber-band bounding back into it's original shape after being stretched.

He rushed at her like a freightship at full speed, but Sakajin sensed it, and sensed exactly where his last step would put him, and she reacted appropriately. Months before, she would have jumped away again, feeling only panic in how quickly the strike came flying towards her head. Months before would have seen a Sakajin who didn't know how she could still block the strikes without succumbing to every ounce of the general's weight.

That's how well the skills had improved her.

She blocked his strike at an angle so she could counterbalance the end of her electrostaff contacting the lightsaber with the opposite end, thereby focusing the pressure evenly to her arms, back, and legs. To some degree, even the counterweight of Sakajin's tail helped, just enough mass to give her body the one second it needed to fluidly move into the next step of the dangerous, intricate, complicated dance.

With one sharp snap of a sound from her electrostaff, Sakajin twisted, kicking her body up with one solid push from her powerful legs. The motion sent her, leg outstretched, leaping towards her target: Grievous' chest. It was the center of his mass. If she could land one solid blow, it would be enough to force him back, maybe even knock the general off balance.

But the woman had made an error by the rashness of her judgement.

Grievous was proficient with up to two lightsabers at a time. She was only keeping one blocked by the push of her body's weight and the strength of her jump. Just because he had been using only one of his weapons since the beginning of their match, it didn't mean he couldn't use the second.

Which he did. Painfully so; the only warning she got was the telltale sound of a second saber flicking to life.

The following four or five seconds was a blur, a painful muddling of colors and sounds that left the girl laying on the metal floor of the sparring arena, holding one of her legs up to her chest, and almost whimpering at the long, stinging burn up the side of her thigh, almost to the hip. Her electrostaff clattered to the ground in what was the end of that match.

Sakajin didn't honestly know what was worse at that point-the pain in her leg from the strike of Grievous' lightsaber, or the burning disappointment in herself that had already started to gnaw on the edges of her mind. She had seen a false opening, taken the bait that he had wanted her to see, knowing fully well that the younger fighter had a tendency to rush in without thinking her technique through.

It was one of the reasons Sakajin knew her skills were still very, very sloppy.

By the time she had pulled herself back up to her feet (leaning on her good leg, but steady nonetheless), Sakajin could feel her superior's glare like a knife. She waited for his insults.

"You move like a child," he growled. Her head was bent low, but she could hear him stalking around her, like a beast waiting for the right moment to pounce upon dying prey. "Without any thought to the consequences-have you no sense of what it means to be a warrior?"

"..." She stood, silent, unsure if the question was hypothetical.

"Talk, girl!"

Apparently not. Sakajin winced as his voice rose.

"I...I do." She said, if only for the sake of giving him an answer, even if she didn't entirely understand what he meant. His sneer, an audible noise of disgust, rumbled in the air of the room.

"No, you do not."

Sakajin's body froze when she felt, rather than heard him approach her. His footsteps were heavy, but rhythmic, getting closer with each one-she could feel it through the metal floor.

Step. Step. Step

"A warrior knows his enemy," He whispered. The sound was barely a foot from her head, and Sakajin knew that if she moved her head even a millimeter, she'd brush one of her frond-like ears up against his mask-and that only terrified her enough to keep so locked up and still that her muscles hurt. Her leg screamed, burning and stinging in what rivaled some of her worse lightsaber-induced injuries. Grievous neither noticed nor cared about how the girl was fairing to his intimidation-he just continued to growl. "He knows them as well as he knows himself; their strengths, their weaknesses. The fact that you could forget so easily that I am a fully-trained fighter in using multiple lightsabers is….disappointing."

The word stung. Grievous always managed to say it in such an odd sort of way-the kind where it felt like a knife was slowly jamming into her chest. Disappointing. Oh, but he didn't leave it there-the general was never one to leave an insult so plain.

"I've even been using two of them for the last several sparring sessions between us." Grievous finally backed off from Sakajin, but the proximity didn't make her feel more comfortable with lowering her guard. "I would think someone so highly praised as a mechanic would be intelligent enough to figure that I'd continue using the same number of weapons."

The knife was in her chest. It was white-hot, searing at every little nerve enough that it made the injury to her leg feel like nothing more than a little singe. It wasn't so much a blow to her pride-Sakajin didn't have all that much left-but it sure did make her feel like crap. More than usual, at least. Her intelligence was the one thing that kept her alive, and there was something belittling, something so instinctively painful with that intelligence being put up for a verbal slaughter.

Sakajin didn't like feeling ignorant, dumb, or feeble. Grievous often made her feel like all of the above.

He seemed to enjoy it, most days.

"It was a simple mistake," Sakajin said, too low to be firm, but too firm to be a whisper. She was already risking a smack of his hard, metal hand by her wording, but she didn't want to let him steal away something that made her intrinsically her. "It won't happen again." She had her head bent, but Sakajin wasn't cowering. Even when she had every ounce of her body bruised and cut up, she made the choice never to cower, never to beg.

Grievous didn't say anything; not at first. He paced, stepping over to where Sakajin's weapon had fallen onto the ground. The ends had turned off, leaving the crystal cores visible within their cage, a gentle glow of pink as they waited for the push of their ignitor so they could burst to life once more.

The droid general stared at the weapon for a few moments, turning it over in his hands.

He dropped it with a hard, loud crash to the floor. The noise was loud enough that it made the air shake around Sakajin's head, which in turn made her flinch. Grievous didn't notice her movement, but strode back to stand in front of her, hands behind his back, and his eyes staring into her own.

"It better not," He said, slow, and threatening. "The last thing I desire is to hear the Count's disappointment when you get shot for not being observant."

"...I don't think I'm going to get shot on the Black Halo," Sakajin murmured, not sure if she was trying to talk back to him or not-the exhaustion in her tone muffled a lot of the kick if she was. But, being one not to bring undo pain (usually, since it always seemed to find her anyway), the girl tacked on a quick, "Sir." at the end of her sentence.

Grievous stared at her a moment. His eyes, golden, held a look of...surprise? Amusement? Whatever the expression was, it honestly unnerved Sakajin, who didn't know why her response would get that expression. It didn't help that she was within his reach if he wanted to haul her off her feet by the collar.

"Ah," The General purred mockingly. "It doesn't seem that Dooku informed you of some rather important details."

"Details?" Sakajin asked. Her heart didn't know if it should freeze or start thundering in her chest-what sort of fear should she be feeling? What did Grievous know that she didn't? That was enough to make the woman's blood run cold, already thinking the worst of what he could possibly mean. Grievous must have been in a relatively good mood, because he didn't linger on the moment.

Grievous reached into the shadows of his cloak, returning his lightsaber to a pocket before letting the material fall back around his form like a shroud. "You've been assigned to a mission with me," he said, tone as matter-of-fact as the general could be, but seasoned still with a sense of hostility. Belittlement. "To a base on the edge of Separatist-controlled space."

"What would I need to do there?" Sakajin asked, absolutely befuddled for her worth at such a place. The question was abrupt, but her confusion seemed just, as Grievous didn't berate her for her tone being so firm. "I'm a mechanic who specializes in droids-Is there a droid factory there?"

The silence that fell between the two was thick and awkward-moreso on Sakajin's end, much to her dismay. The question seemed completely relevant, but she didn't understand why he was staring at her with eyes that didn't seem to understand what she meant. But then, something seemed to click for the General.

And he laughed.

"I wonder if the Count is taking pleasure in your ignorance," The general said. "I would not put it past him, though I would have broken the news to you more...appropriately if I had known your lack of….information."

He was talking about things that went straight over the mechanics head. She narrowed her eyes at him, leaning her body just enough so that her leg started to scream in fresh pain from the burn on her thigh. She winced, and Grievous watched her twisting expression of muted pain for another second before finally breaking the news she still had yet to understand.

"You are not coming to the planet as a mechanic. I hardly think you would find much use for yourself even if you did," He paused, and stepped closer. Too close, encroaching within her bubble of personal space that was still intact, eyes and mask hovering several inches from her own as he finished the sentence in a raspy, low growl.

"-my little, foolish apprentice." He backed away after letting the words sink in, and his tone of voice shifted back into what it normally was; just a little less of a growl. "The Count's logic is far different than my own, it seems. Perhaps even a sick sense of humor."

It took a second for the woman to absorb the information.

When she finally did understand what he was actually saying, her stomach started to knot up. It didn't make any sense, certainly not to her, despite all that she'd been surprised with before in her life. It certainly made her blood run like ice, her limbs stiff and leg aflame with pain.

Apprentice?

She'd call him a superior, yes, but she wasn't anything more than a sideline punching bag. Fighting had become a mandatory hobby, in the loosest sense, due simply to the convenience that she wasn't a droid and didn't come with as much of a worry of breaking. She was just a punching bag. And suddenly, for what seemed like no reason at all, she was being called an apprentice.

The woman felt the sudden need to correct him, despite the fear of backlash. She needed to make sure that it had only been a miscommunication-because that word, simple as it was, brought on so many cascading meanings that a mere burn on her leg was only the tip of her issues that could come forth from it. Her life wouldn't be so simple anymore, and Grievous wouldn't be just a superior any longer.

"Sir," She said, taking a step forward, all four of her eyes wide with horror that she couldn't hide. "There has to be some mistake. I'm not an apprentice-I can't be-I-" It was like trying to tell a computer that one plus one equalled three. It simply didn't run through any form of logic that Sakajin held dear to her. She held her hands up, fingers unfurled and palms up, not knowing what else to do with them anymore in the heavy layer of confusion that settled over her vision and thoughts.

Being an apprentice almost meant being a slave. Being an apprentice meant being forced to do whatever he willed.

She could practically feel the years being taken off of her life.

Sakajin didn't want to die.

She stepped closer still, confusion blocking out most other thoughts in her mind that would have otherwise told her to keep some distance from the general-but she didn't have the sense to listen. She just wanted to know why. Why? Didn't she have the free will to agree to something that would control the rest of her life?

Those were the questions she would have asked, had the woman's brain thought of them with a little more clarity. But she didn't get the chance to get them out from her mouth-

With a flash and a sizzle, she froze. A lightsaber hummed inches from the bottom of her chin, threatening to hit her throat if she so much as leaned forward. And Grievous snarled, his eyes sharp and hard, obviously finding some end to his tolerance of her questions.

"Accept your new place in life," He said, so low and cold that it made Sakajin shiver despite the lightsaber at her throat. "Or accept a slow, miserable death. My lightsaber is still on low power, apprentice. I can always change that."

She finally backed away, slowly, still shaking from fear and anxiety for a decision about her life that she had been given absolutely no choice in-no forewarning, no idea, and it meant that everything else in her life would have to crumble beneath her feet. Being an apprentice meant she wouldn't be allowed the constant, safe walls of the Black Halo.

Being an apprentice meant she couldn't pretend she was an innocent bystander in a war-she would have to actively participate in it.

But why Grievous?

Why anyone? Though it seemed so annoying and repetitive to anyone, Sakajin found herself just asking that simple, little question in her head-because it didn't make any sense. And for a woman whose entire career and life to that point depended on understanding little, minor details or risk destroying days upon weeks of work, having the answer to that question withheld wasn't something she could get over with a sigh and a shrug of her shoulders. Especially when it stole away from her everything she found comfortable and happy.

For years, Sakajin had spent her life on the ship, growing complacent and happy with her new life. Grievous had done plenty to knock the sense of normalcy around, but she still found a joy in knowing she had a solid job and a bed to return to every night-a bed that was always in the same place.

It was a safe bet to say that Sakajin didn't like change. She already had too much in her life and, maybe stupidly, assumed she had already gotten her share of it when Dooku took her in.

She wasn't sure what to feel about it, or even if she could feel something about it yet. The information was so new and so appalling that it was like trying to get power from an overloaded outlet.

Well, she could at least feel pain, and there was a lot of it coming from her leg; when the adrenaline from the news started to wear thin, the burning, stinging pain managed to wiggle its way through her thoughts and bring her to the ground and on her tail. Her leg simply couldn't take anymore weight without giving out, but she was already left dumbfounded enough that sitting on the ground meant all the same as standing up.

A soft sizzling sound hummed through the air as Grievous' lightsaber blade disappeared. He put it back in his cloak and stood above her-his form looked even more terrifying from her angle.

"We will continue our training tomorrow. See a medical droid about your leg," There was no sympathy in his words, no care in his tone. "If you choose not to, I can guarantee our trip will be far more painful than it would be otherwise. For you, of course."

Sakajin sat there in a daze, letting her worry begin to morph with her pain, trying to absorb the gallons and gallons of worry and anxiety that flooded into her. Though she noticed exactly what he told her, it wasn't until the general had turned and started walking out of the room that her mind finally came together for the first genuine, non-denial question that popped into her thoughts.

"Then when am I going to get a lightsaber?"

Grievous stopped. He turned, golden eyes shining even through the slight darkness near the doorway of the room, where there were far fewer lights. He had no mouth, no visible features to speak of, but even Sakajin felt as though he was smiling at her.

It wasn't a good smile. In fact, Sakajin could have sworn she felt the feeling in the air shift again, just for a moment. Tense and thick.

"Let's see if you can get that far in training," The cyborg said, in a voice too soft and curious that seemed too similar to the whisper of a nightmare. "I don't particularly like to waste pieces in my collection."

And then he left. The door shut behind him, leaving Sakajin on the floor to collect her thoughts on how in barely ten minutes, everything in her life had flipped upside down. Her thoughts were chaos, her anxiety was through the roof, and the pain from the burn in her leg had swallowed up the whole limb, even almost up to one side of her hips.

But even still, after several minutes of mulling through the growing weight of misery, Sakajin lifted herself back onto unsteady feet, and took the time to put her electrostaff back against the wall before limping out of the room, and to the direction of the small medical bay.

Like it or not, she was General Grievous' apprentice. She'd rather be stranded on another planet, forced to work near the engine bays, anything but the fate she was given. It changed so much of her future that she couldn't begin to think about what was going to happen to her.

Apprentice was a big word that means a lot of different things to a lot of different people, and it scared her.

Nothing was going to be the same anymore.