The more Sabine studied the outpost, the more she was curious. The walls were had a small amount of rust, mainly in the corners. The flag of the confederacy still hung on a few of the walls they passed; a tattered memorie of a time forgotten. Sabine had studied her military history (she wouldn't have become an officer before she was sixteen if she didn't) and the clone war always interested her.

The mandalorian couldn't fathom how Kanan was reacting to the outpost - he'd fought in the clone war. But as had been doing in the past weeks, her mind drifted to Ezra.

Overall, he'd been the little brother she'd never had. Except this brother flirted with her, wasn't an empire loyalist, and was force sensitive. The flirting had faded after about six months of being shot down (he was persistent, she'd give him that). When it stopped, they were more brother and sister after that, with occasional looks coming from Ezra - something Sabine always caught. It was, when Sabine looked back, part annoying and part entertaining.

Entertaining when it was looked back on, but annoying when it was experienced. Thankfully by fifteen the flirting had stopped. Ezra's parents had been killed by the empire, so he certainly wasn't helping them anytime soon. The force sensitivity though…

It confused the everliving kriff out of Sabine.

The mandalorian wasn't raised in an environment that valued it. The "force" as Kanan and Ezra called it, was only accessible to a select, seeming random few beings. From what Sabine could tell, this was completely random and up to chance. Often she wondered-

"Sabine, plant a charge on that door." Kanan's voice cut into her thoughts. Sabine nodded, barely focused on the charge or the door it was meant to destroy; her thoughts were already drifting back to the past.

Ezra, though, was worried. Worried not because of anything obvious - it was what wasn't obvious that kept the youth worried.

The force was enigmatic, endless confusing to even the most experienced of masters. So, to the fifteen year-old, the vibe emanating from the outpost was unnerving, to say the least. Kanan sensed this, asking,

"Ezra, what's wrong? What do you sense?"

The aforementioned youth shook his head, his hood shifting silently.

"I...don't know. It's just...I can't say - it's like, l-like something's watching." Ezra responded uncertainly, Kanan gave his apprentice an appraising look behind his hood before focusing on the hall ahead; several indentations had been made in the walls, something Kanan recognized were made for blast doors. Sabine and Zeb seemed to notice this, yet Ezra was preoccupied with figuring out exactly what he was feeling through the force.

The stride the four shared was boring to Ezra, who barely noticed where they were going to a crossroads in the hallway. Three different options, three different possibilities. Ezra honestly planned to just follow Kanan; he trusted the former jedi than himself at the moment.

The youth's mind began to drift, settling itself out of the mission, blindly following the group. They were nearing the end of the hallway when Ezra felt something. Not a vague sense that something was off, no.

This was as certain as the permacrete he was walking on.

Ezra's forward movement stalled; Kanan immediately turned to face his apprentice.

"Ezra, what's wrong?" He asked, urgency clawing at his tone. Sabine and Zeb, for their part, turned to face the teen as well. The trio of beings all stared at Ezra, Sabine the first to speak.

"Ez, what's going on?" Ezra blinked: that was an old nickname, for sure. Zeb had similar sentiments, voicing them similar to his mandalorian counterpart. Kanan simply stared, attempting vainly to enter his apprentice's mind. He encountered one problem though: Ezra had sealed his utterly.

"Ezra, what's wrong?" Kanan said again, legitimate fear rising now.

Ezra simply stared at his crewmates, eyes darting wildly between them; an insidious shiver ran down his spine. His hand drifted toward his hip, fingers wrapping firmly around the handle of his lightsaber. A pain in his head starting to spread. Within seconds the outpost before him began to swirl, like water when hit by a pebble; The faces of his comrades were soon replaced, eerily, with the masks he'd come to associate with inquisitors.

Sabine's wildly painted armor turned black, as did Zeb's jumpsuit. The black cloak Kanan wore was still there, though now his hand was at his side. Ezra's eyes widened, staring at the three with disbelief and complete terror. Taking a step back, Ezra's hand darted to his hip. The lightsaber he'd crafted all those months ago offered a small comfort. Kanan, Zeb, and Sabine all took steps towards Ezra simultaneously, only furthering the teen's will to flee.

Ezra backtracked several times more, his crewmates- what he saw as inquisitors - mimicking him. Sabine looked toward zeb in confusion; something Ezra saw as conspiratorial. More steps back brought Ezra to the middle of the cross section.

Three different options, three different possibilities.

Maul felt sweat sliding down his forehead. The altar before him was made the same twisted stone was the cave he resided in; a dull, yet emanating gray had a half of hemisphere cut into it. It wasn't made by physical labor; It had been made by magic.

Dark magic, if Maul was to be precise.

The liquid that filled the altar was customary dathomirian water. Maul raised a hand to his forehead, preparing for the next step of his attack.

This would be indescribably difficult, and would probably exhaust Maul very quickly: This step was taking control.

This wasn't an easy task; a mind was a holodisk to be read. It was a complex set of nerves, memories, and in the case of force-sensitives, intense resistance. Ezra's could've been cracked within days, Maul was sure. Yet the dathomirian had hoped his apprentice would eventually be forced, out of necessity, to use his inner darkness to defend his mind. The boy had surprised maul in the first few days, and even more as a week passed; the youth learned after every night, making that extra bit of difficult for him.

That one week turned into two, when Maul had grown weary of playing the metaphorical game of mouse and lothcat. So he pushed, broke Ezra, and had waited.

Maul had only chosen now because he saw what the outpost had to offer: the security forces, while not particularly dangerous to Ezra, might just exhaust him enough so that Maul could finally take control.

All the youth needed was some pushing.

And Maul was perfectly willing to push.

AN: Ah. Mentally torturing my favorite characters. It never gets old. The dynamic between Maul and Ezra is just so much fun to write! I hope this chapter was enjoyable to read; any reviews/follows/favorites will be duly and happily noted. - Raging Celiac