Hello there - welcome to this KOTOR II one-shot. I wrote it several years ago, let it gather dust, and got the urge to publish it with minimal edits for reasons unknown lol. It's by no means perfect, but it's what I imagined my KOTOR II MC was like before the events of the game. Hope you enjoy it.

"Proof of identification," the Ithorian drawls, the jaded tone of his voice evidence of a sentient being in desperate need of a new, more stimulating new job.

The refugee who has stepped up to his counter is one of many, faceless and insignificant among the horde that streamed off starships. The human female wordlessly places a small tablet on the scanner. She then removes her left-hand glove, revealing tanned hands with worn skin, callused knuckles, and short nails. For a few moments the console hums and shrills, electrons within the machine accessing bytes of data via Extranet to verify that this human with empty green-grey eyes and an equally unexpressive countenance is not a wanted criminal in a system on the other side of the galaxy.

A green dialog box pops up on the screen. Upon the appearance of it the Ithorian becomes the very definition of Pavolov's akk dog, his hand rising reflexively to wave her onwards dismissively. "You're free to go."

The traveler nods as she gloves her hand once again. The tablet is slid wordlessly into a tattered shoulder bag hidden within the folds of a hooded poncho that time has beaten the color out of. A few heavy steps with her sturdy, secondhand boots propel her through solid gates that look durable enough to serve as cover in a blasterfight. And with that she has officially set foot in Dar'len: a small Outer Rim moon with a smaller spaceport barely important enough to be put on a handful of starmaps.

What does she care, though? It is another moon, another job to keep her occupied and fed. She is a jack-of-all-trades and a quick study, courtesy of her past experiences; finding a job will not be difficult. She does not require much sustenance to stay alive. As long as her hands are busy her mind is tethered to the present she will keep living.

Or is the correct term "existing?" On other planets she has heard sentients argue the difference between the terms on giant holoscreens. The jaded part of her brands the attempt to bring about some cultural revolution as a façade, an effort to make a name for themselves so that they would not be swallowed up and forgotten by time.

According to those speakers, if one has no cause, one does not live; they exist.

The present her has no cause. There is no enemy to fight, no moral indignity to correct; no home to return to, no-one to yearn her absence and welcome her back.

What keeps her moving? What has kept her moving these ten years? She does not know, and simultaneously knows that she does not care. Because for the current her, the connotations of words does not matter—simply continuing to breathe is enough.

"Samma!"

The woman turns at the sound of the voice: alien, but child-like. A patter of feet travels by her and she catches three eye-stalks, orange skin covering a body that barely comes to her waist. A Gran youngling. Such a common sight, yet today that is enough to disturb the bottom of the clear pool that is her mind. Memories are dredged up, disturbed. Fragments frenetically dance and cloud up her mind.

=o=

Swish of blades. Smooth steps into a posture. A voice that says something, a chorus that echoes it back. This is…home. Where she belongs. Surrounded by people like her. People who feel the same things as her, who believe in the same things as her.

Here, she is supposed to thrive.

Here, she is supposed to be reborn.

Here, her already frail memories of before are eroding, replaced by mantras and beliefs and teachings and forms. Faces are harder to remember with each passing day, voices she knows loved her grow faint in her dreams. Do not forget us, do not forget us, they cry.

But other voices tell her that she must.

…

Here, she realizes that rebirth is painful.

=o=

A blink later the memory is gone, the silt has settled. The chaos of the present returns, deafening, heady. But she remembers a time when she felt something more. When she felt undercurrents and overcurrents and tangled, intermingled threads. When life was more…vibrant.

Now, she feels nothing. Stimulus is recognized by her sensory neurons and sent to her brain. Nerves fire, chemicals and electricity translate them into things that cluster of cells in her skull understands. But one sense is lacking, the most important one that not everybody has.

But she is used to this. She appreciates this. For this disconnect saved her; this exile saved her.

The nothingness kept her sanity intact.

…

…

She assesses that she is sentimental today; atypically so. Her monthly bleeding has ended, so the cause cannot be physiological. Whether this is a good or bad sign, she does not know.

As long as it does not drag her back to her personal hell, she will not worry about it.

A shock to her shoulder sends jolts her from her reverie. A pale human with short dark hair, dressed in a leather jacket and dark trousers. The stench of juma that cloaks him; the dark circles under his eyes, and the unkempt stubble coalesce into a conclusion that this man is a habitual drinker currently inebriated beyond reason. The man glares at her darkly.

Her body shifts, expecting retaliation.

But the man simply mutters profanities under his breath and keeps walking. Once he is far away enough the traveler walks to the side and reflexively checks her messenger bag.

Nothing is missing. An honest collision, then…for once.

Good. She has no desire to chase down a thief today.

And that's it, really.

I got this idea in college that a Jedi disconnected from the Force was like a Tranquil in the Dragon Age series, and it blossomed into a series of snippets that would lead up to the events of Peragus. I imagine it being a few years before events of the game. And yes, that was Atton :)

For those of you who know me from Lattices - I am still working on the sequel, and it's 75% done. That finally 25% is turning out to be a b**** though. Regardless, I am determined to finish it, so keep an eye out.

Thanks for reading!

Rhyss