Kar was ripped from his slumber by a static-flavored voice.

"This Yavin IV. Unidentified vessel, please identify." Kar opened his eyes with bleariness at the voice, or more accurately, the ship's intercom system. The voice, despite the static which flavored it, held the same military discipline he was used to from the troops main rebel base. It mattered little to the intelligence officer the system awoke; the young man took his legs and swung them over the edge of the cot, the pair of feet burning against the cold durasteel of the ship he rode. It was at that moment Kar realised he didn't know what the ship was called, let alone all of its functions. Straightening his slumped back, Kar rose, ignoring the pop of each of his spine's vertebrae.

Running a few cold-to-the-touch fingers through his hair, the intelligence officer let out a yawn that echoed around the ship, earning him a dirty look from the pilot. Kar, of course, didn't realise this, too drowsy to identify such things. He realised halfway to the cockpit that he was walking without any footwear. Turning sluggishly, he eventually found his standard-issue combat boots on the floor several feet away from the cot he rested on. Bending over, and ignoring the stabs of pain his spine rewarded him with, he picked up the dust-caked articles and slipped them over his feet. The boots clicked and clacked against the polished floor of the prototype vessel.

The trip to the cockpit was one Kar used to truly examine the ship; rusted chairs with moth-eaten cushions stood at their vigils in before various consoles, some on, most not. Those that were on mainly had fuel or power consumption statistics on their displays, something that Kar normally would've taken interest in, but didn't, promising himself he'd do so later. With his half-awake inquires on the ship finished, Kar reached the cockpit and said a bleary 'Hello' that drew the pilot's attention. Her upper lip curved into a wolfish grin.

"Have a good sleep?" She said, grey eyes mischievously gleaming. Kar didn't notice this.

"Yeah, fi-" His 'Fine' turned into a shriek of terror as the ship tilted violently to the left, sending him crashing into the side of the copilot's chair. The Pilot's sharp chuckles of amusement caused him to glare.

"You did that on purpose!" he accused, sounding like a child disturbed. The pilot laughed again.

"You needed to wake up, kid. Mon Mothma wants to meet with you," She said, causing Kar's glare to morph into a displeased grimace.

"'Could've done it in a better way," he muttered, his irritation only rising when the pilot responded,

"Would you rather have me splash some water on that bush on your head?" She quipped. Kar would've retorted, but thought better of it. In light of how the pilot had been acting doing so probably wouldn't serve him well. Instead the intelligence officer opted for a dignified silence. The pilot's mouth still held a smile of amusement when the pair touched down on a landing pad. Kar saw several rebels fan out the ship, all armed with E-11 blaster rifles. What Kar assumed was an officer, based on the yellow bars adorning his collar, stepped into the ship as the boarding ramp descended.

Two rebel troopers - corporals or sergeants, by Kar's estimation - flanked him, each carrying an E-11 of their own, in opposition to the officer's blas-tech DL-22 blaster pistol. High-powered and customizeable, it was popular among rebellion officers - Kar himself owned for a time, but he never needed to use it. It was still tucked inside his uniform, as a matter of fact. The officer approached the cockpit just as Kar turned his chair and rose, snapping to attention before the man. The officer quirked an eyebrow.

"Identify yourself," he ordered simply, and he felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth when Kar said,

"Intelligence officer Kar Ogettson, sir." Kar stood at full attention, his discipline and rigidness of his stance making the rebellion officer give a nod of approval.

"At ease, son. Where's the rest of your unit?" The officer inquired, causing Kar's mouth to go momentarily dry; he hadn't thought about the rest of his unit - the 15th intelligence division - much since they made the ultimate sacrifice. He had pushed the memories of his friends away in his work and panic, and now they were coming full force onto him. Kar felt his eyes water.

"T-they're dead, sir. I'm the only survivor," The officer's eyes held empathy.

"Take as long as you need, son." He said, putting a hand on Kar's shoulder, "The ship seems to check out, so you can stay as long as you want." Kar nodded and slipped past the officer, flattening himself on the cot once more. He made no sound as he wept.

About an hour later Kar was standing in the main room for the Alliance To Restore the Republic. Usually a buzz of activity and consoles running the most recent holonet and rebellion statistics, it was almost devoid of any being. With only the rebellion's key leaders and a small corps of the rebellion's best and most loyal forces. Kar felt anxious as he spoke.

"My cell - the cell that was on Mat-neema - has been destroyed. But I'm sure you already knew that," The young man said, the heat rising in him becoming more pronounced at the gazes leveled at him, "I, and the pilot that flew me over here, are the only survivors." a nod came from senator Bail Organa.

"A tragic loss, and one that I hope wasn't in vain." the senator said, several of his colleagues nodded in agreement. Kar took a breath.

"the 15th intelligence division was decimated on Mat-neema's moon - I am the only remaining member." Kar paused, then continued. "Before they died, Captain Maryk uploaded a file onto my chrono," Kar raised his right arm, the device activating as he did so. "It was something we found while digging through old imperial files; it, and the data disc I gave when I arrived here, contain the location of an abandoned CIS outpost that as schematics for a possible super weapon - codenamed 'Mors Stellata'." Mon Mothma shook her head.

"What does that mean?" She inquired. Kar shuddered smally, causing expressions of apprehension to spread across several faces in the room.

"Death Star."

Silence reigned in the room before Bail Organa spoke up again,

"What do the schematics say of the weapon's capabilities?" He asked, regretting the question immediately as Kar's face went grim.

"I don't know, senator."

Ezra ignited his lightsaber, smirking smally at the weapon's snap hiss. The stormtroopers wouldn't know what hit them. He saw Zeb's face sporting a smirk, as well. Ezra's feet carried him to the point the stormtroopers saw the youth as no more than a blur. Ezra reached the first one and sent a kick to their helmet, cringing slightly at the moan that came afterward. Nonetheless, he continued on. Ruby bolts flew past the jedi to-be, accomplishing nothing to stop him. Ezra plunged his golden blade into a trooper's chest, paying no heed to their agony.

The trooper adjacent to the one he impaled fired, the bolt getting deflected with casual ease. At another time, Ezra would've had to focus to block it. At another time, he wouldn't've killed. Those time was no more. Twirling away from the stormtrooper's second shot, Ezra deflected the third and sent his blade horizontally through their neck. Their head rolled to the ground, eerily silent. The third, and final trooper threw their hands up, shouting:

"Okay, you've got us, jedi! I surrender!" Ezra's pace slowed, and he approached the trooper, menace emanating from him, hate motivating the action. ZEb and Sabine exchanged glances and began to raise their weapons. The golden blade dipped slightly, and in the dim lighting of the warehouse, Ezra's eyes almost appeared golden. When he was stabbing distance away, he raised the blade to neck level.

Do it.

Ezra's blade dipped again. That kriffing voice again. It seemed to have taken leave of him. He was wrong. At that moment Ezra realised what he'd almost done; he'd nearly executed what was now a prisoner. His gaze flicked over to Zeb and Sabine, who had each of their respective weapons raised not at the trooper, but at him. With the anger and power draining, Ezra deactivated his lightsaber, shame and horror flooding him.

"I-i'm sorry." he mumbled, more to Zeb and Sabine than the trooper. Affixing the blade to his hip, Ezra approached the barrels of fuel they came for and heaved it up, and headed to the Phantom.

About forty five minutes later ezra sat in the common room of the Ghost, kneeling infront of a hologram of Kanan.

"Tell me what happened, Ezra." The hologram said, its tone more worried than reprimanding. Ezra sucked in a breath and said,

"I-i don't know what happened, master. I was using what you taught me; form III, IV, but when I approached the final trooper...I don't remember clearly." The hologram shifted in disapproval.

"Yes you do. Tell me exactly what happened, Ezra." Ezra's head drooped in shame.

"I felt...anger - hatred - I wanted kill the trooper like I've never felt before. Then this voice told me Do it. At that point, I realised what I'd done and the power just...faded." Ezra knew the explanation wasn't very believable, judging by hologram-Kanan's crossed arms, he found it the exact same way. The hologram sighed.

"Well...I've heard worse. Just remember the exercises I taught you. And I want you to do them in the common room, so I'll know if you did them or not. Okay?" Ezra nodded.

"Thank you, master. I'll do exactly as you ask." At that the hologram switched off, and Ezra got up off his knees and straightened his back, heading to his joint cabin with Zeb. On the way he passed Sabine, who's face suggested questions, but if the mandalorian had any, she kept them to herself. Ignoring the hiss of the cabin door as it slid out of his way, Ezra laid down on his bunk, not even bothering to put away his lightsaber.

On another ship a being called home, the Savage, its sole occupant sensed the youth's slumber and grinned evilly; It was time for another round.

AN: Yeah...I think this story has earned it's T rating. Oh well. It won't get too dark. Yet. ;)

Since I haven't thought up a different outro, any reviews/follows/favorites will be duly noted. - Raging Celiac