AN: Originally posted this as an interlude in the main story. That was not well received. So based on feedback, I'll slowly release what I've written of Mirror Tyson's story here.


Star Trek: The Mirror Gamer

Episode 5: Taris

Stardate: 41184.
Earth Standard Date: March 08, 2364.
Location: ISS Enterprise, Sol System, Orbit of Earth, Mirror Universe.

"Tyson's Personal Log stardate... Computer, what's the current stardate? 41184.3. You heard the lady. Since this is my first log entry I'll start from the beginning. 11 days ago, Q, dropped me in a cargobay on the ISS Stargazer, Yes, ISS, not USS. Not gonna say anything more about that, my Computers skill should make this log secure, but you never know with Data around. Q thankfully gave me a leg up. I've got Gamer abilities, and a secondary power called Corruption."

"So 'the Gamer'. I've got an Inventory, Stats, Skills, Levels, and everything else you'd expect. It's pretty wicked, allowing me to quickly adapt to the technology here and giving me a leg-up in combat."

"Corruption is the second power that I possess. It manifests as a pool of violet energy that I can use to 'infect' creatures or objects. If I expend my entire Corruption Pool, it forms a 'Corruption Seed' in the target, which gradually amplifies the target's Corruption level. Reaching climax during sex automatically generates a Corruption Seed… shocker.

All entities seem to possess a 'Corruption Threshold', a limit that, when reached or surpassed, grants me an advantage in interactions with or against them. During combat, I can choose to inflict Corruption damage, incrementally pushing the target closer to their Corruption Threshold. However, the Corruption Threshold varies across individuals and objects. The first fight I was in was against Vulcan slaves, and they had low thresholds of 12. On the other hand, the Enterprise has a threshold of 171,200, an insurmountable number in comparison to my Corruption Pool of less than 400.

Using Absorb Corruption, I can draw out Corruption from creatures to acquire their attributes, even to the point of lethality. Although, I've yet to utilize the power in that way."

"But enough about Corruption. I've already hinted at what I've been doing since arriving. The Stargazer was a beat-up Constellation-class vessel. I donned an Ensign uniform I found in the cargobay, and just started wandering the ship, acting like I belonged. I found main engineering and while trying to blend in, got singled out by 'Inquisitor Troi' an assistant to Captain Picard. She dragged me in front of the Captain and before I know it I was preventing Lieutenant Yar from destroying a slave convoy ship that was having a Vulcan uprising. To quell the uprising I had to beat down a bunch of Vulcans, and ended it by taking out their leader and a child… I didn't kill them, the child was returned to slavery and the leader was given to me as a reward."

Tyson paused, thinking about the words that came out of his mouth. "It sounds worse when I say it like that, but it's better than death, right?" Noone was around to respond, so he continued, "Anyway, the Vulcan leader was Selar, she's kind of a doctor and we're close now. But we had difficulties with Lieutenant Yar. She took that shit personally when I stopped her from destroying those convoys. Later, the Stargazer detected a lone Cardassian Galor-class with a malfunctioning warp engine and we engaged, but the ship was too strong for the Stargazer to defeat. We lowered its shields, but one more hit from the Heavy Spiral Wave Disruptor would've destroyed us. Picard was prepared to withdraw when I suggested boarding. Data, Yar, Selar, and I beamed over, and disabled the ship's weapons while the Stargazer towed it deeper into Terran space."

"Terran space still feels weird for me to say. The Terrans only control the Sol system currently, they've been pushed back by the Klingon-Cardassian alliance. When we arrived at Utopia Planitia to turn over the Galor, the reception was lukewarm. Data and Picard discovered that a top-secret warship was being built, and recruited Geordi LaForge, who'd been working on it to assist in usurping its command. The coup was pretty easy, with no casualties, but we ran into a snag when the Terran fleet approached us. Luckily, with the help of Corruption, I was able to convince Jellico, who was the appointed Captain of the Enterprise, that working with Picard was better than dying. We were almost off the hook when a Cardassian fleet approached. Gul Dukat was leading and began posturing with Picard. It was strange considering the Terran Fleet outgunned the Cardassians. Oh, did I forget to mention the Enterprise is a Galaxy-X class, it's insanely powerful."

Making a tense situation seem routine, Tyson recounted the space battle. "Dukat was so uppity because he had cloaked Klingon backup. The Enterprise got the jump on the Cardassians, acting before the Klingons started their ambush. With the Terrans firing the first salvo, the Cardassians were disabled pretty quickly. The Klingons put up a bigger fight, but in the end, the Terrans captured half the Alliance's fleet. We've already dragged the ships to Utopia Planitia for salvaging. Supposedly the most intact ones are being refitted while the Terrans prepare for a push out of the Sol system.."

"So now I'm an Inquisitor. Dope title, equivalent to a Commander, making me the highest-ranked person currently on the ship. Jellico is gone, having been reassigned as Captain of another vessel. Technically Riker is the first officer, but I beat his ass in the arena. He attacked me after I slept with Deanna… go figure. So in the eyes of the crew, I'm above him. I have a few Corruption traits that take advantage of this. People I've Corrupted can't take hostile actions against me, as long as I don't attack first. Also, they look at me in a better light and are compelled to follow my orders if I outrank them. So I don't have to worry about Riker, Troi, or Yar plotting against me."

"Selar has supported me and proven her loyalty. She knows about my abilities and she's the person I trust most in this universe, which is kinda sad given she's my slave. I found that I could use Corruption to increase her abilities and stats. I don't trust the others completely. Inquisitor Troi found out about the Gamer because she's a telepath, not an empath like I believed. I fucked that one up. It was a lesson not to assume I know everything. Regardless, I've Corrupted her. Either something is blocking her from reading my mind to find out about Corruption, or for some unknown reason, she allowed it to happen. I'm still unsure if I can trust her, but she hasn't acted against me yet."

"Now, Picard has been invited to the Emperor's Palace on Earth. He's being recognized as the Captain of the Enterprise officially and promoted to Commodore. First, he's on the surface meeting with Emperor Quinn personally to receive some kind of gift of recognition from the man. Word is, meeting with the Emperor is a big deal, secretive and all that. Quinn's name rang a faint bell in my head, but I still haven't been able to pin down why. But, it's time for me to make my rounds. Need to ensure the loyalty of the crew. Long live the Empire, and all that… Computer, End Log."

Tyson found himself wandering the extensive corridors of the Enterprise. The brig, his assigned area remained empty and there'd been no reports of disloyalty that needed his attention. This Enterprise had an arena, which he became acquainted with during his fight with Riker. It was a strange and brutal addition that had no counterpart in the prime universe. Curious to see what else was different in this version of the ship, and without any active duties that needed attending, Tyson went exploring. He didn't find any other starkly unexpected facilities. But he did wander across the doors of what appeared to be a holodeck. As he approached, an unfamiliar prompt materialized in his Interface.

Instant Dungeon Discovered!

Holodeck A7.
Used to create Instant Dungeons.
Stronger Instant Dungeons may be created at higher levels.
Current Available ID List:
1. Zombie.

A shiver ran down his spine. Dungeons were dangerous zones filled with enemies and traps, but also potential rewards and upgrades. Could the holodeck function in a similar way?

With an air of anticipation, Tyson reached out and activated the door controls, wondering what challenges and rewards this mysterious 'dungeon' might hold for him.

[System Alert: Error 0xP4R4LL3X: Parallel Universe Overlap Detected!]
Compensating….

Instant Dungeon Zombie Evolved!
Instant Dungeon: Ghouls Unlocked!

[System Alert: Error 0x-3X1S74NC3: Creature Absence Detected!]
Compensating….
[System Alert: Error 0xMUL71V3R: Multiverse Intersection Detected!]
[System Alert: Logic Error Resolved!]

Instant Dungeon Ghouls Evolved!
Instant Dungeon: Rakghouls Unlocked!

Now Entering… Rakghoul ID.

~~Star Trek: TMG~~

The blackness surrounding Tyson was replaced with a grim atmosphere. He blinked, slowly acclimating to his new surroundings. He was within a cavern of rusted steel, stagnant waste, and grime. The air was a pungent concoction of refuse, dampness, and an undercurrent of something unnervingly primal. The metal walls around him seemed to bleed years of neglect, and beneath him, the ground yielded with a sickening squelch. Sparse tendrils of green light filtered through the bioluminescent fungi clinging to the crumbling infrastructure, casting shadows across the worn surfaces.

The oppressive silence bore down on him, the only respite was the sporadic sound of liquid pattering against hardened metal. He began walking, each footfall an intrusion against the silence. As Tyson moved, he focused on lightening his steps and controlling his breathing. His motions were measured, to avoid the squelching muck.

Skill Unlocked!
Stealth (level 1) - This skill allows you to stay hidden and move silently to avoid detection, allowing you to sneak past foes or strike from an unseen position. Skill level cannot exceed governing attribute, Dexterity.

He froze, his eyes narrowing on a form in the darkness. The creature that emerged was an abomination. It stood tall and monstrous. Its skin was a sickly pallor of grays and greens, mottled with dark patches that mirrored the corroded metal around them. Taut muscles rippled beneath the ghastly hide, contorting with raw, predatory anticipation. Its face bore a maw filled with jagged stained teeth.

Rakghoul (Lvl 3)
{Corruption - 0/78}
Defense: R: 16, F: 13, W: 10.
Hit Points: 26.
Bite: +4 (1d6+4)
Claw (2): +5 (1d4+4) Attributes: Strength 14, Dexterity 15, Constitution 17, Intelligence 1, Wisdom 10, Charisma 2.
Skills: Athletics +9.
Rakghoul Disease: When a rakghoul successfully damages a living creature with its Bite attack, the target may become infected with the Rakghoul Disease.

Observing the creature, Tyson's mind cataloged every gruesome detail. He saw the rippling sinew beneath its skin, the lethality of its claws, and the ravenous hunger in its stance. Suddenly, the rakghoul stirred. A shudder ran through its grotesque body as its empty eyes locked onto Tyson. Time seemed to freeze in that moment, as predator and prey acknowledged one another. Then, with a guttural roar that echoed through the caverns, the rakghoul charged. Its massive form barreled towards Tyson, and its roar reverberated off the walls.

Time seemed to stretch in the instant that the monstrous rakghoul lunged toward Tyson. He launched himself into action. In one fluid motion, he whipped out his Corrupted Cardassian disruptor from his Inventory. The weapon hummed with ethereal energy as Tyson aimed. His fingers curled around the familiar grip, feeling the pulse of the weapon's internal mechanisms priming themselves. He willed the weapon to spread his Corruption, activated Rapid Shot, and squeezed the trigger just as the rakghoul was almost upon him. The disruptor kicked in his hand, and a beam of intense purple light burst from the weapon, slicing through the gloom toward the rakghoul.

The light struck true, searing through the creature's mottled hide. The rakghoul bellowed a guttural cry of surprise and agony, its charge faltering. The underbelly of the beast briefly illuminated before the beam cut off, plunging the area back into darkness. Tyson swiftly sidestepped the momentum-ridden creature as it crashed past him. His disruptor hummed again, the weapon discharging into the creature once more.

He turned, ready to fire another round if needed. But the rakghoul looked weak, barely able to move. The purple haze of his Corruption surrounded it, like violet chains hindering its movement. One final shot disabled the creature. Wisps of purple, so dark they were almost black, rose from its body as it struggled to breathe.

Energy Weapons skill Increased! (13)

Tyson stood before the weakened form of the rakghoul, the monster's once formidable presence reduced to a pitiful husk. He sensed a deep, pulsating thrum within the creature – his Corruption, an insidious power that seeped into his being when he arrived in the Mirror Universe. It called to him, beckoned him. He'd heard it before, when he fought and when he made love. But for the first time, he surrendered himself to the call. Tyson reached out to the Corruption within the rakghoul, and let his Absorb Corruption power loose. The world around him seemed to slow as he reached into the rakghoul's life force, pulling its essence into himself.

There was no pain, no resistance. Instead, there was a rush of power, a surge of indescribable strength that flooded his body. The rakghoul's life force integrated itself into him, each attribute that the creature possessed over him, was added to his being. The effect was immediate, his body responding, changing, and adapting to this new power. His muscles swelled, each sinew and fiber stretched, growing stronger, tougher, and more resilient. His body hardened, adapting to the new strength he now possessed. He felt the creature's power coursing through him, invigorating him, pushing him to new heights. His teeth elongated into points as he ran his tongue over them.

Power Activated: Absorb Corruption!
Attribute Increased! Strength (14)
Attribute Increased! Constitution (17)
Skill Increased! Athletics (9)
Trait Added: Rakghoul Bite.
Rakghoul Bite: (3d6 Damage) Roll 1d4 on 4, and the target creature becomes infected with the Rakghoul Disease. You gain Immunity to the Rakghoul Disease. Minor Action against Grappled Targets.

+200 Exp (845/7000)

~~Star Trek: TMG~~

Tyson's Corrupted Cardassian disruptor hung loosely in his grip as he pushed forward through the sewers. Its lethal hum was a comforting reminder of the power he wielded in the oppressive darkness. His boots sunk into the fetid grime that carpeted the labyrinthine passages of the sewer. The smell was a nauseating mixture of decay and chemical waste. His dark eyes scanned the labyrinth of tunnels, always alert, always wary.

It was a grim sight that greeted him around the next bend. Soldiers, clad in gleaming armor, were strewn haphazardly across the dank corridor, the chilling permanence of death carved onto their features. Silver plate armor reflected the dim light: It's black under weave, designed to be unobtrusive, ironically helped to hide the vicious bite marks that had ended the soldiers' lives.

They had been ambushed and slaughtered by the rakghouls. Tyson knelt beside one of the fallen soldiers, his gloved hands tracing over the dented armor and the still-drying blood. Carefully, methodically, he began to salvage what he could, his Gamer instincts kicking in. The corpses yielded a treasure trove of items. He unearthed a compact medical kit, a handful of credits, and most importantly, their armor. Though damaged, the armor was salvageable, a welcome addition to his arsenal.

Then, something else caught his eye. A small, nondescript container, filled with a dozen vials. Tyson picked it up, squinting at the faint inscription on the side - 'Rakghoul Plague Cure'.

Each item was quickly stashed away in his Inventory, hidden from sight but never far from reach.

Tyson held up the silver armor, now identified as 'Sith Armor' by his interface. It was elegant in design yet menacing in appearance. The interface, floating in front of him in soft neon-blue lines, revealed its stats.

Sith Armor (Common)
Damage Reduction: 2.

Tyson compared his currently equipped armor, the Cardassian Armor, the name and stats neatly displayed beside its Interface representation.

Cardassian Armor (Common)
Reflex Defense: +2.

He chewed on his lower lip, his mind churning with thoughts. Which offered a better advantage? Was it better to endure the blows with reduced damage, or dodge them completely with a higher reflex defense? Tyson decided - he'd keep the Cardassian Armor equipped. It would give him the edge he needed - The agility to avoid strikes was more valuable.

As he ventured deeper, a chilling chorus of gnashing teeth and bestial grunts echoed through the tunnels. Tyson considered turning back, but the memory of his easy victory and new strength urged him on. His grip tightened around the disruptor as he chose to delve into the threat.

Stealth Skill Increased! (2)

He moved as stealthily as he could, each step silent and calculated. His eyes darted around, his senses peeled for any sign of the monstrous creatures. As he drew closer, he spotted a trio of the ghastly beings huddled together, their attention focused above them, on a spot just out of their reach.

Clinging desperately to a metal pipe above them was a young girl. Her blue skin starkly contrasted the gloom, and two tails streamed from her head twitching nervously. Her terrified eyes were locked on the snarling creatures below.

Tyson's heart clenched at the sight. The girl was trapped, a mere moment away from becoming their next victim. Her situation was precarious, and at any moment, her grip could falter. Tyson knew he had to act, but the scene confirmed something he'd been thinking. Rakghouls did not exist in Star Trek, even in the Mirror Universe. The Sith armor was a dead giveaway clue, but finding a Twi'lek was the nail in the coffin. He couldn't avoid the conclusion any longer, he'd been brought to the Star Wars Universe.

Realizing he was in another new universe, he wouldn't let the first sentient creature he encountered be killed by rakghouls. Decision made, he sprang from the shadows, disruptor raised. His intent was clear: Tyson would not abandon the young Twi'lek to a grim fate. Engaging his Rapid Shot and Autofire traits on the Corrupted Disruptor, he unleashed a spray of destructive energy that blanketed the vicinity of the rakghouls. The purple beams of his disruptor sliced through the darkness, striking at the monstrous creatures. Tyson barely had time to blink before his second volley was let loose. The disruptor vibrated in his hands as it spewed forth a wave of purple destruction. Each bolt found its mark, striking the horrid creatures. The screams of the rakghouls punctuated their deaths under the violet disruptor fire.

Critical Hit!
Energy Weapons Skill Increased! (14)

+600 Exp (1445/7000)

The silence that followed was deafening, the barrage the Gamer had unleashed left only Tyson standing. His gaze then shifted upwards to the young Twi'lek girl. She was still clinging to the pipe, her wide eyes locked onto him. Carefully, Tyson sheathed his disruptor, the weapon dematerializing into his Inventory. He took a cautious step forward, raising his hands to show he meant no harm.

"Hey there," he called out, his words echoing through the eerie silence. The Twi'lek girl was still terrified. He stowed his weapon and softened his voice, aiming to coax the terrified Twi'lek down from her perch.

"Hey, it's okay," he reassured, extending his arms. "You can let go. I promise I'll catch you."

Social Skill Increased! (12)

For a moment, the Twi'lek girl hesitated, her wide eyes moving between Tyson and the trio of vanquished rakghouls. Then, with a nod, she let go. Tyson caught her with ease, her lightness was unexpected thanks to his newly-absorbed Strength.

Once he set her down, he had a better look at her. She was dressed in a loose, mismatched ensemble that hinted at a life of scrappiness and resourcefulness. Her two head-tails, or lekku, were adorned with a set of beads and fabric wrappings. Her eyes, still wide with residual fear, bore a glint of steel that hinted at resilience and spirit.

"I'm Tyson," he introduced himself, offering a small, reassuring smile. He extended his hand. She studied him for a moment longer, before accepting the offered hand with a tentative grasp.

"Mission," she introduced herself in a soft voice. "Mission Vao."

Mission Vao (Lvl 4)
{Corruption - 0/132}
Defense: Reflex: 19, Fortitude: 17, Will: 14.
Hit Points: 33.
Melee: Punch +3 (1d4+2)
Attributes: Strength 10, Dexterity 17, Constitution 12, Intelligence 14, Wisdom 11, Charisma 10.
Skills: Computers +9, Energy Weapons +6, Engineering +9, Stealth +10, Social +7 (May reroll take second result)
Traits: Sneak Attack (+1d6 Damage), Point-Blank Shot, Sniper Shot.
Negative Status Effect: Rakghoul Plague (Stage 1)

~~Star Trek: TMG~~

Tyson picked up on the ragged edges of Mission's breath. Her cyanotic skin glowed with sweat under the faint light. Was it from the ordeal of clinging to the pipe, or was it something more sinister?

Tyson gently asked, "Were you bitten, Mission?"

Moistness welled in Mission's eyes, glistening with fear. Her sobs resounded in the confined space, echoing dread and despair. She was bitten. The Rakghoul disease. A death sentence delivered by the creatures lurking in the depths of the Undercity. Those bitten would eventually turn into mindless, ravenous creatures. The cure was a precious rarity, only carried by the Sith troopers. They had it, but they didn't share. Not with the likes of her. A single tear escaped from Mission's eyes, glimmering as it traced a path down her pale cheek. She was doomed.

"Everything is going to be fine," he told her, his voice a balm to her spiraling fear.

Reaching into his Inventory, he manifested the Rakghoul Plague Cure he'd looted from the defeated Sith patrol. It reflected the gentle overhead lights, a beacon of salvation. For Mission, that moment was a revelation. Tyson's assurance ignited a spark of hope within her. She was bitten, but she wasn't dead. Not yet.

Tyson extended the vial of cure towards Mission. She hesitated, her normally fiery eyes clouded with doubt. The cure was within her reach, but she was stilled by questions. Was the cure stolen? Was Tyson in league with the Sith, or had he procured it through some clever ruse or bribe? The thought churned in her gut, but did it matter? Here was her lifeline, her only shot at survival.

Her gaze flicked to Tyson, the stranger who had shown her a glimmer of hope. Her voice was a husky, raspy whisper, "What's the catch, huh? What is this going to cost me?"

Tyson was taken aback. He hadn't expected any form of compensation. But he sensed Mission's underlying stubbornness, her self-reliant spirit that shunned handouts. He knew he needed to give her something tangible, something to balance the scales.

Meeting her probing gaze, he spoke, "I'm not from around here, Mission. The Undercity and this planet are alien to me, I'm worse than a tourist here. I need a guide, someone who knows the ropes. And, well, there's strength in numbers. I think we have better odds if we stick together."

Mission's gray eyes lingered on Tyson, assessing his offer. After a moment that felt much longer than it was, her hand slowly reached out, fingers wrapping around the vial. With a nod of affirmation to Tyson, she downed the cure in one swift motion.

Her gaze returned to Tyson, scrutinizing him anew. His features were indeed foreign, unlike anything she had seen on Taris. The pointed tips of his ears and the series of ridges that lined his face and neck set him apart, defining him as something unique. But she didn't find these differences repelling. On the contrary, they made him intriguing, alluring in a way she hadn't expected. His skin was a warm olive tone and the ridges added an intriguing touch to his otherwise smooth features; breaking the monotony and drawing attention to his strong jawline and the firm set of his mouth. And yet, they fit him perfectly, complimenting his eyes and the strong line of his brow. The beginnings of a goatee were forming, which looked somewhat out of place in its current stubble form. But when it fully grew in, it would soften his jawline. Mission found herself fascinated by his strange allure. He wasn't handsome in the conventional way the suave rogues of Taris were. No, Tyson was a different breed entirely. His looks were rugged and exotic, and they had a charm all their own.

It wasn't a bad bargain, she supposed. A guide for a cure. It felt... fair, but heavily weighed in her favor. She had to admit, Tyson wasn't a bad sight to guide around. Maybe she'd find another way to even their scorecard.

"Can you tell me where we are, Mission?" Tyson asked. The question seemed to center Mission, her wide eyes refocusing on him as she took a moment to gather her thoughts. Her lekku twitched, an unconscious tell that she was about to speak.

"We're in the Undercity," she replied, her voice echoing slightly in the dank and grimy tunnel. "The worst place on Taris." Her gaze darted around them, as her fingers played with a strand of her lekku, an action Tyson interpreted as a nervous habit. "I got separated from Zaalbar," she explained further. Her voice dipped, a wave of worry washing over her features. "He's my best friend, a Wookiee. We were scavenging when a pack of rakghouls ambushed us. We ran, but I tripped and twisted my ankle. Zaalbar tried to hold them off while I escaped, but we lost each other in the chaos. I thought I'd be safe climbing up that pipe, but you saw how that turned out."

The regret in her eyes was palpable, and Tyson could feel the heavy weight of her concern for her friend. "You're new to Taris?" Mission asked, a sense of surprise creeping into her tone. The confusion was clear on her face, she had no idea how he ended up with the Undercity being his first introduction to the planet.

"Alright, Tyson. Strap in, because Taris is a story in itself," Mission began to pace slightly, her movements filled with animated energy. "Taris... well, it's a city-covered planet, just one giant cityscape, but it's more than that," she started, her arms waving around as she spoke. "See, Taris is a world of contrasts - there's the rich on the top and then, well, there's the rest of us." She paused, turning to Tyson with a sobering look. "Up there, it's all skyscrapers and fancy apartments, swoop races, and high society parties. But as you move lower, things start to get rough. You've got the Lower City filled with gangs and shady dealers, and then, well," she gestured around, "you have the Undercity. Outcasts, rakghouls, and not much hope." Her voice was matter-of-fact, the harsh reality of life on Taris presented without sugarcoating. "It's not an easy place to live, especially if you're new. But don't worry," she gave a small, confident smirk, "you've got me. And I know Taris like the back of my hand."

There was a brief silence as Mission finished her explanation. Tyson nodded, absorbing the information. Despite the grim picture Mission painted, Tyson felt he was ready to face the challenges that Taris had to offer.

"Follow me, Tyson," Mission commanded with an authoritative tone, an unexpected shift from the scared girl he had just rescued. She seemed to morph before his eyes into a confident, savvy survivor.

A floating notification materialized in the corner of Tyson's vision, accompanied by an urgent chime.

[System Alert: Leaving Instance Area. Return Immediately or Face Potential Consequences.]

Tyson eyed the warning but followed Mission's determined stride. Pushing aside any trepidation, Tyson disregarded the System Alert and continued.

Surprisingly, the expected punishment didn't come. There were no sudden attacks, no penalties. It seemed that in this instance at least, the System Alert was more bark than bite.

Soon they emerged from the sewers, the oppressive dampness of the tunnels replaced by the open air of the Undercity. Mission didn't hesitate as she led him into the collection of decrepit structures and makeshift shelters.

[System Alert: Instant Dungeon: Rakghoul Closed. Holodeck access denied until completion of scenario - Escape Taris.]

A chilling sense of change washed over Tyson as he stepped out of the Instant Dungeon. It was like breaking the surface of the water after being submerged for a long time. His world turned on its axis, the boundaries of his reality abruptly torn asunder. It felt like stepping out of a vivid dream. And with the sobering hit of reality, came the stark realization. There was no going back. The Star Trek universe, the Enterprise, was beyond his grasp now. Selar and Troi... they were unreachable, separated by the unfathomable gulf of realities. The reality of his situation took hold. His world was now the undercity of Taris, its dangerous inhabitants, and Mission, his new guide.

Mission led the way, oblivious to his plight, as she navigated the sprawling slums with familiarity. Tyson followed behind, his eyes taking in the sprawling chaos that was the Undercity. Shoddy makeshift shelters, a sea of desperate faces, and the oppressive stench of poverty and despair permeated the air. It was a far cry from the glamor of the world above that Mission had described.

"Zaalbar should be here somewhere," Mission mused, her gaze sweeping the dilapidated structures. Her fingers absentmindedly fiddled with a bead on her lekku, her worry for her friend evident.

"We should start with the refugees," she suggested. "They know the Undercity better than anyone. Someone must have seen Zaalbar."

She took the lead, moving with surprising grace through the chaos of the Undercity, Tyson on her heels. As they moved deeper into the Undercity, Tyson couldn't help but admire Mission. Here, in the underbelly of Taris, her true colors shone brightly.

~~Star Trek: TMG~~

Their search was for naught. The refugees hadn't seen 'Big Z', neither had the gang members Mission questioned, or even a Sith patrol she risked asking. If she couldn't find him, he must still be in the sewers.

Tyson hoped for a system message saying he was reentering the Instanced Dungeon as they trekked back into the sewers. He was left disappointed but tried to pay it no mind, his attention drawn to the maze-like network of tunnels. Mission led them swiftly, weaving through the labyrinth with an almost eerie certainty. Tyson, on the other hand, had no clue about their location or direction.

Their journey was interrupted by a guttural roar echoing through the tunnels, followed by the sounds of battle. Tyson and Mission exchanged a glance before picking up their pace. Rounding a corner, they stumbled upon a terrifying sight. Zaalbar, the hulking Wookiee, was surrounded by five rakghouls. His mighty roars echoed through the tunnel as he swiped at the creatures, but they were relentless.

Mission gasped, her eyes wide. "Zaalbar!" She cried, instinctively moving forward.

Tyson mumbled to the girl as he paced with her. "We need a plan, Mission." But her friend was in danger and every second mattered.

In one fluid motion, Tyson tossed his Corrupted Cardassian Disruptor towards Mission. The Twi'lek girl caught the weapon with nimble fingers. Tyson accessed his Inventory, his hands closing around the grip of his Corrupted Vulcan Katar.

"Cover me," Tyson growled, his voice barely audible over the growls and roars echoing through the dank tunnel. He glanced back at Mission, her blue skin pale under the flickering lights, but her grip on the disruptor was firm and steady. Tyson launched himself into the fray, his katar whistling through the air. His objective was clear – pull the rakghouls' attention away from Zaalbar, who was visibly flagging under the relentless assault.

The rakghouls snarled and hissed, turning their attention to Tyson. Their teeth bared as they lunged toward him. Behind him, the hum of the disruptor filled the air. Purple beams of energy lanced through the dank atmosphere. Mission's shots were precise and controlled, her focus unwavering as she provided the much-needed cover for Tyson. Despite their efforts, Zaalbar's strength was waning. The Wookiee's roars of defiance began to weaken, the fur around his wounds soaked with blood, his movements sluggish. As a rakghoul lunged for a final, desperate assault, Zaalbar collapsed under its weight.

"No!" Mission cried out, her voice ricocheting off the sewer walls. She fired off a flurry of shots, taking down the beast atop the fallen Wookiee.

Reacting instinctively, Tyson met the rakghouls head-on. His Katar plunged into the first rakghoul, earning a screech of agony, its monstrous form collapsing in a heap. The second rakghoul lunged, but Tyson was quicker, his Katar slicing through its hide. The third and last rakghoul lunged. With a final, swift strike, Tyson plunged his Katar into the beast.

Critical Hit!
Melee Weapons Skill Increased! (6)

+350 Exp (1795/7000)

"Zaalbar!" Mission ran to her fallen friend, her hands trembling as she examined his wounds. Tyson stood a few feet away, his chest heaving, the taste of victory bitter on his tongue. They had won the battle, but at what cost?

Grimly, he joined Mission by Zaalbar's side. The cold reality set in as Tyson scrolled through his Inventory. He withdrew the medpac looted from the Sith patrol, it was a single-use item that offered a small bonus to his Medicine skill. But his skills were not up to the task of reversing the course of Zaalbar's fate. The Wookiee's breath grew shallow, his great body trembling under the strain of his injuries.

Mission's hands stilled as she looked up at Tyson, her eyes wide and horrified. A silent understanding passed between them; Zaalbar wasn't going to survive. The Rakghoul Cure and Tyson's basic first aid wouldn't be enough to prevent the Wookie's grievous wounds from ending his life.

She reached out, her fingers brushing against Zaalbar's fur, the giant Wookiee grunting in what could have been reassurance or simple acknowledgment of his fate. She leaned in, her voice quiet as she spoke in the Wookiee's language, her words a soothing cadence in the grim sewer.

"Zaalbar," she began, her voice shaking. The Wookiee growled softly, a low, mournful sound. Zaalbar's voice was weak, barely above a whisper. The Wookiee words sounded more like a growl to an untrained ear, but Mission understood him perfectly.

She forced a shaky smile, fighting back tears. "You're my best friend, Big Z. You've always been there for me."

The Wookiee growled again, the tone somber and full of regret. Mission's voice broke as she replied, "Me too, Big Z. Me too."

A heartbreaking silence filled the air as Zaalbar took his last few breaths. Mission whispered in the Wookiee language, her words a blend of goodbye and gratitude. With a final, shuddering breath, the Wookiee's eyes slowly closed, his spirit departing from the harsh world around him.

Tyson couldn't understand the Wookiee's language, but he didn't need to. The bond between Zaalbar and Mission was palpable in the quiet moments of their farewell. He heard the Wookiee's low response and saw the young Twi'lek nod as she choked back tears. When the conversation ended, there was a heavy silence. Mission turned away from Zaalbar, her body shaking with silent sobs. Tyson took a step forward, closing the distance. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her into a comforting embrace. Behind them, Zaalbar's body lay unmoving. Mission's sobs grew quieter, replaced by a painful acceptance. Tyson tightened his hold on Mission, offering the only comfort he could. In the darkness of the Taris sewers, under the haunting echo of their victory and loss, they held each other.

Her body shook with sobs as she grieved the loss of her Wookiee companion. With Mission cradled in his arms, Tyson rose, his eyes scanning their surroundings. They needed to get back to the refugee camp. His gaze fell on the endless labyrinth of tunnels around them. He'd been entirely dependent on Mission's sense of direction and right now, she was barely hanging on. But as he began walking in what he thought was the correct direction, he felt a soft tug on his arm, pulling him in another direction. He hesitated, then changed his course, moving in the direction Mission was guiding him. Her instructions were subtle, small gestures and soft murmurs, yet she was leading them.

The path was long and silent, filled with only the faint echoes of their footsteps and the drip of sewer water. Despite the situation and surroundings, the sound of Mission's breathing gradually became steadier, her grip on his arm growing firmer.

After what felt like an eternity, they emerged from the sewer's darkness, stepping into the relative safety of the refugee camp. They were back, but they'd left something in the sewers of the Undercity.

Mission trailed quietly behind as Tyson walked to Gendar. He was the leader of the ragtag group of refugees. Gendar's face was weary, the burden of leadership etched in the lines of his forehead.

"Zaalbar didn't make it," Tyson started, his voice low, heavy with regret. The old man's eyes widened slightly, a faint gasp escaping him, but he remained silent, waiting for Tyson to continue. "The rakghouls got to him. He fought valiantly, but...it was too much."

The silence that followed was painful, stretching on until Gendar finally nodded, a deep, heavy sigh escaping him. "He was a good one, that Zaalbar... You have my condolences, child," he said, his gaze drifting to the silent Twi'lek behind Tyson.

Tyson cleared his throat, "This place... it's not good for her," he motioned at Mission, "We need to move up, to the Lower City."

Gendar raised an eyebrow at that. "It's not as simple as walking up to the gate," he stated with a hint of caution in his voice. "It's guarded heavily, and even if you make it past, the Lower City isn't much better. Gangs, crime... it's all a mess."

"Regardless," Tyson interjected, his tone firm, "It's a risk we have to take."

The old man sighed heavily, running a hand over his weary face. "I won't pretend to understand what you're going through," he started, "but we could use your help down here."

Tyson held up a hand, cutting Gendar off before he could continue. "I have my own problems, Gendar. We can't stay."

A moment of tense silence passed before Gendar finally nodded, resignation clear in his eyes. "Alright, alright. I can't force you. You need to head to the north exit from the Undercity, there's an old service lift there. It hasn't been used for years, but it's our only way up to the Lower City. But be careful, the lift is surely guarded."

Tyson nodded, thanking the old man before leaving, Mission following closely behind. He couldn't help but hope that the Lower City would be a step towards better things.

As Tyson and Mission navigated their way through the maze-like Undercity, he could feel a subtle shift in her demeanor. The heavy silence started to dissipate, replaced by Mission's careful but increasingly steady voice.

"The lift ain't easy to get to," she started, her lekku twitching slightly as they moved. "Black Vulkars control it. They're one of the toughest gangs in the Lower City. And it ain't just because they're mean. They got numbers and they got firepower."

Tyson glanced at her, his eyebrows raised. "And they just let the refugees use the lift?"

Mission shook her head, her mouth set in a grim line. "Nah, they got it guarded heavy. Only let you up if you're working for them. Or if you pay them enough." She fell silent for a moment, her eyes distant. "There's been talk, though. Rumors, mostly. About them capturing a Jedi."

"A Jedi?" Tyson echoed. He mumbled a curse to himself. It'd been a long long time since he recalled this story. The details his mind glazed over were starting to return.

Mission shrugged, her expression nonchalant. "That's what they're saying. Not sure why a Jedi would be on a dump like Taris, but I guess stranger things have happened."

He mulled over this new information. A Jedi would be a powerful all, especially if it was the one he anticipated. Tyson found himself considering the possibilities, but he knew he couldn't afford to rely on Mission's rumors and his half-remembered videogame playthrough. The only certainty was that they had to reach the lift and confront the Black Vulkars.

As they continued their journey, Mission started opening up more, sharing more about her life on Taris. Tyson couldn't help but admire her resilience, her ability to keep moving forward despite the hardships.

Tyson slowed as Mission's chatter dwindled. He chanced a look at her; her face was more composed now, the trace of her past tears no more than glistening streaks against her blue skin. He could see the determined set of her jaw, the flicker of a spark in her eyes. It was a small change, but a significant one. Mission was regaining herself.

"How are you doing, Mission?" Tyson asked, his voice softer than usual.

"I've been better," Mission admitted, but her voice held a surprising steadiness. "But I've also been worse. This ain't the first time I've lost someone."

She fell silent, and Tyson waited, keeping his gaze forward, giving her the space to speak at her own pace.

"Before Zaalbar… there was Griff, my big brother," she began slowly, her voice echoing off the ancient walls. "We were inseparable, Griff and me. He looked after me when our parents...well, they weren't around much, let's put it that way. But then he left. Just up and disappeared one day."

Tyson didn't interrupt, simply offering her a quiet, comforting presence as she revisited a past she had likely tried to forget.

"I was mad at him for the longest time," Mission confessed, "I felt abandoned. Betrayed. But eventually, I realized Griff was just doing what he had to. It wasn't his choice, his girlfriend made him do it. He was seeing this woman, she was forcing him to make bad decisions... I don't blame him, I blame her."

The words hung in the air between them for a few moments, the silence filled only by the quiet hum of the Undercity around them. Just ahead of them, a group of tough-looking individuals stood on guard around a large, metallic structure – the lift Mission had spoken of. Their approach did not go unnoticed; the gang members turned their gaze toward them, their eyes hard and unfriendly.

Tyson and Mission moved cautiously toward the gang members guarding the lift. Their faces were twisted into hard, merciless sneers that promised violence for those who crossed them. One of them stepped forward, a burly human with a scar running down his face, his eyes fixed on Tyson.

"You want to use the lift? It'll cost you," he sneered, a grin twisting his scarred face in a sinister way.

Tyson's eyebrows shot up, thinking the 5,000 credit fee was excessive. But before he could respond, Mission spoke up.

"Hey, don't you think that's a little steep?" She asked, her voice smooth and unassuming. "We're just trying to get topside, noone in the Undercity could scrape together that many credits."

The burly thug guarding the lift grinned malevolently, his eyes raking over her small frame. "You could always pay with something other than credits."

The atmosphere turned icy in an instant. Mission recoiled from the crude suggestion, revulsion radiating from her. "I'm only 14, didn't know you Vulkars were into that," she retorted.

Laughter erupted from the other gang members nearby. The taunts flew, striking the lewd thug like physical blows. His face turned a shade of dark purple, and the embarrassment was replaced swiftly with a simmering rage. He reared back with his hand balled into a fist, and took a threatening step toward Mission. But he never reached her. Tyson, who had been silent until now, was suddenly in his way. The thug swung his fist at Tyson. But the Gamer effortlessly sidestepped the clumsy attack, countering with a swift, measured punch that connected with the side of the thug's face. The force sent him sprawling to the ground, unconscious before he even hit the dirt. Tyson didn't bother wasting his Corruption on such a weak opponent.

The other thugs watched warily, their laughter dying in their throats as they took in their fallen comrade, then the formidable figure of Tyson. The air was thick with tension, each waiting for Tyson's next move, their hands inching towards their weapons.

Meanwhile, Mission, ever the peacemaker, stepped forward, her hands raised in a universal sign of peace. "Hey, guys, let's not get carried away," she began, her voice calm, her tone reasonable. She pointed at the unconscious thug. "He was out of line, but we didn't want any trouble. We're just trying to get topside, okay?"

Her eyes met each of theirs in turn, pleading for understanding. The girl might have been young, but she was no stranger to the harsh reality of street life. She knew the right words, the right tone. The tension deflated somewhat, the thugs easing back, if only slightly.

"I heard something about a big swoop race coming up, right? The whole city's buzzing about it. Must be some prize if even the Black Vulkars are interested," she mused. Mission shrugged, "Just curious. I mean, a Jedi as a prize? That's some heavy stuff. You wouldn't know anything about that, would ya?"

Mission's unyielding charm seemed to work its magic. A Rodian leaned back, resting against his swoop bike.

"Suppose there's no harm in talking," he finally grumbled, his voice still edged with suspicion.

"Yeah, the race is the biggest thing happening," the Rodian admitted gruffly.

"And what's the deal with this Jedi?" Mission pressed on, her tone casual, yet inquisitive.

The Rodian leaned in closer, a smirk on his rough features. "That's the big prize. Bastila Shan, they call her. Some high-and-mighty Jedi who crashed landed here during that battle in the sky."

"Shan, huh? Can't say I've heard of her," Mission claimed in ignorance.

He shrugged, "Well, she's the talk of the town now. Whoever wins the race gets her, so you could say it's a race for a princess."

Mission chuckled, "Fairytales in Taris, who'd have thought?"

The Rodian didn't return her humor, merely grunting in agreement. After a moment, Mission pushed herself off the wall she'd been leaning against. A flicker of interest sparked in the thug's eyes. "And what's it to you, lekku-girl?" he grunted.

Mission shrugged, the picture of nonchalance. "Oh, nothing. Just that I've got a friend here who's pretty good on a swoop. Might be worth letting us topside to compete, don't you think?"

Tyson watched as the gears turned in the thug's head. He could see the calculations in his eyes - the potential of Tyson winning the swoop race, the prestige it would bring to the Black Vulkars.

Finally, the thug spat, "Fine. But the fee still stands. You win, you pay us back double."

Tyson didn't hesitate. He handed over the credits, considering it a small price to pay.

-5000 Credits (1,055,868)

"Well, it's been informative, fellas. Thanks for the chat."

"Don't mention it," the Rodian grumbled, turning back to his group. "Just don't let us catch you snooping where you shouldn't."

"Wouldn't dream of it," Mission replied with a wink, leading Tyson into the lift.

Tyson fell into step alongside Mission, glancing at the Twi'lek girl. A fleeting moment of silence slipped between them as they entered the left. As it began to raise, he finally voiced the question that was nagging at him. His Natural Telepath had picked up on her lie, so he inquired. "So you're only 14 huh?"

Mission faltered for a second before a sheepish smile graced her lips. "Well... no, not exactly." Her gaze flitted off to the side, focusing on something in the distance. She seemed hesitant, almost embarrassed. "It's just a thing that I say to get guys off my back. It happens a lot when you're a girl in a rough area. And pretty much everything below the upper city is a rough area."

"I guess that makes sense..." Tyson replied. He'd never had to deal with situations like that, it was never something he'd considered. His eyes narrowed in contemplation. "How old are you really, then?"

Mission sighed, her eyes flicking back to meet his. "I'm sixteen, alright?"

Tyson replied, "Try again." His Telepathy registered the lie.

She wore a slight smile as he again caught her deception. "Not that it matters much in a place like Taris. Age doesn't mean anything when you're just trying to survive… Fine, I'm 19… I'm just short for my age, okay."

She spoke with a kind of hardened resignation, a stark contrast to her usual spunky demeanor. Tyson couldn't help but feel a tinge of sympathy for the Twi'lek girl, who had been thrust into such a cruel environment at such a young age.

"Well, Mission," Tyson started, "Age might not mean much down here, but it does say something about your strength and resilience. You've survived this long, and that's something to be proud of."

Mission glanced at him, an unreadable expression on her face. Then, she broke into a small, genuine smile. "Thanks, Tyson," she murmured, a soft warmth seeping into her voice. "I appreciate that."

~~Star Trek: TMG~~

Mission's sweet-talking got them into the Vulkar base. The gang was notorious for their ruthlessness, but Mission kept her confidence intact. She approached one of the Vulkars, a green-skinned Twi'lek named Kandon Ark.

"Hello there," Mission greeted casually, leaning against a nearby wall as if they were old friends. "Heard you're the guy to talk to about the upcoming Swoop Race."

The Vulker looked them up and down, eyeing Tyson suspiciously. "Maybe I am, maybe I ain't," he grumbled. "Who's asking?"

"I'm Mission," she said cheerfully, "And this here is Tyson. We're interested in participating."

Kandon laughed, a harsh sound in the grimy surroundings. "You two? It's not a game for a kid and a… whatever you are."

Ignoring the jibe, Mission continued, "We're serious, Ark. What do we need to do to qualify?"

Ark leaned back, examining them again. "We can't let an unknown race. You're still a newcomer, with no reputation to speak of. Come back when you've made a name for yourself."

Mission frowned but nodded, knowing arguing would be fruitless. Tyson gave Ark a curt nod, a silent promise that they'd be back.

Tyson turned to Mission, curiosity etching lines into his forehead. "What's next, Mission? How do I raise my reputation here?"

Mission tapped her chin thoughtfully, her vivid blue eyes taking in the bustling Lower City around them. "Hmm... there are a few ways, I guess. You could help out folks around here, maybe take on a few jobs. There are always people who need a hand."

"But... there's also the Dueling Arena," she continued, her voice taking on a cautious note. "The duelists are well-known around Taris. If you could win a fight or two, that might give you a significant reputation boost."

Tyson considered this, his gaze following a group of boisterous spectators heading toward what he assumed was the arena. He could hear the distant roar of a crowd, a primal sound that stirred something within him.

"Dueling, huh?" Tyson mused, a spark igniting in his eyes.

Mission gave him an encouraging smile, her worry replaced with a flicker of excitement. "Let's show them what you're made of!"

Mission led Tyson through the Lower City, her azure skin blending into the neon haze of the urban night. Eventually, they reached a bustling district in the Upper City where the ambient noise of the crowd and the scent of adrenaline was almost overwhelming.

"There it is," Mission pointed to a large building across the street, the hub of activity around them. She flashed a quick smile at Tyson before guiding him through the throng of eager spectators. Inside, the noise was deafening, but the energy was contagious.

"This way," Mission said, her voice barely audible above the din. She led him to a heavily-muscled older man standing by the entrance of what Tyson assumed was the dueling ring.

"Hey, Marl!" Mission greeted, her youthful exuberance cutting through the surrounding noise. The burly man turned to her, a slow smile spreading across his craggy face.

"Mission, you little scamp. What're you doing here?" he rumbled, a glimmer of fondness in his eyes.

She gestured towards Tyson, excitement practically radiating off her. "Got a new contender for ya. This is Tyson."

Marl turned his steely gaze to Tyson, sizing him up with a thoughtful hum. "Is that so? Alright then," Marl began, leaning back against the wall. "First off, duels are one-on-one, to knockout. No killing, we keep things clean here."

He pointed to a series of holographic screens across the room, each displaying a fighter with statistics floating beside them. Tyson's eyes flickered across each one, taking in the assortment of combatants and their respective rankings.

"You'll be starting at the bottom, naturally," Marl continued. "Your first opponent will be Deadeye Duncan. Don't let the name fool ya, he's a bit of a pushover, but he's what we've got for the newcomers."

Mission chirped in at this point, her optimism a bright beacon in the seriousness of the situation. "Don't worry Tyson, I've seen you fight. You'll climb the ranks in no time!"

Tyson turned back to Marl, a determined glint in his eyes. "Alright, Marl. Sign me up. I'm ready to fight."

Marl, a grizzled veteran of the dueling circuit, led Tyson and Mission through the winding corridors of the Cantina. They passed by noisy crowds, hushed card games, and shady dealings before reaching their destination: the office of Ajuur, the Hutt Duel Organizer. Ajuur, a monstrous creature of bloated flesh and beady eyes, greeted them from his perch behind an overladen desk. The creature's mouth stretched into a smile, showing off rows of pointed, yellowed teeth. Tyson could feel the Hut's calculating gaze rake over him, evaluating him like a piece of fresh meat.

After a brief negotiation, Tyson was led to the grand Taris Duel Ring. The dueling ring was an expansive, cylindrical enclosure under the cantina. Its rusted iron walls seemed to swallow up the surrounding noise, focusing all attention on the well-worn fighting area. Enclosed, elevated seating surrounded the ring, tiered and filled with a lively crowd that thrummed with anticipation. The audience was a mishmash of aliens and humans, rich and poor, all drawn to the visceral thrill of combat. Bookies moved among the spectators, taking bets and stoking the crowd's excitement.

Mission, fit right in among the boisterous crowd. She gave Tyson a thumb's up as she took her seat. With that, Tyson stepped onto the battleground of the Taris Duel Ring, ready to fight.

~~Star Trek: TMG~~

"Ready for a beating, newcomer?" Deadeye shouted, though his voice trembled slightly.

Across the ring, Deadeye Duncan positioned himself, his eyes nervously darting to and fro. Tyson merely smiled, positioning himself calmly as the announcer gave the signal to start the duel.

The fight began with a deafening roar from the audience, their bloodlust palpable in the air. Deadeye charged forward, firing off shots with his blaster. His nickname wasn't for his accuracy though, but rather for the lack thereof. The bolts fizzled into the surrounding walls, far off their mark. The crowd erupted into laughter.

Tyson advanced leisurely, deftly sidestepping another poorly-aimed bolt. With a swift charge and a decisive strike, he sent Deadeye sprawling onto the hard floor of the ring. The crowd roared in excitement, the outcome clear.

+100 Exp (1895/7000)

"Wow, Tyson, that was amazing!" Mission cheered, jumping up and down in her seat, her youthful enthusiasm echoing over the din of the crowd. Tyson gave her a grin and a thumbs up, to which she responded with an excited wave.

"Well, that was an... interesting duel," said the announcer, his voice booming over the loudspeakers. "Congratulations, Tyson, on your first win! But don't get too comfortable, there are many more challenging opponents ahead!"

As Tyson stepped out of the ring, he couldn't help but feel a wave of anticipation. The fight had been easy, but the thrill of the duel, the excitement of the crowd, and Mission's infectious enthusiasm promised more thrilling bouts to come.

"Good fight against Deadeye, Tyson," Marl started, "But don't get too comfortable. Your next opponent isn't going to be so... forgiving."

He gestured to the other end of the bar, where a muscular figure stood alone, idly cleaning a blaster with a cloth. "His name's Gerlon Two-Fingers," Marl continued, following Tyson's gaze. "Don't let the name fool you. He's a sharpshooter, one of the best in this ring. Lost two of his fingers in a firefight, but that hasn't slowed him down any. He's quick, deadly accurate, and has a knack for predicting his opponent's movements."

Tyson nodded, taking in the information. He was confident in his abilities, but he knew he couldn't underestimate this opponent.

"He's a tough one, alright," Mission chimed in, her eyes fixed on Gerlon. "But I think you can take him, Tyson. You just need to stay on your toes."

Tyson gave a nod, a determined look in his eyes. He was ready for the challenge.

"Mission, how would you like to be rich?" Tyson asked, capturing her attention from the chaotic hustle of the arena. She turned towards him, her grey eyes sparkling with intrigue.

"What are you talking about?" She asked, folding her arms across her chest, an expectant look on her face.

Tyson leaned in closer, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, "I want you to place a bet on me. The odds are against me winning."

"A money line bet?" Mission questioned, an eyebrow shooting upwards. She was street-smart, and glanced at Tyson, her interest piqued, "You're confident you'll win?"

"As certain as the twin suns of Tatooine," Tyson replied, a wry grin adorning his features. "Twenty-five thousand credits should be a good start?"

Tyson's proposition took Mission by surprise, her lekku twitching slightly with intrigue. Where had he acquired so many credits? She gave him a sidelong glance, her eyes shining with a mixture of excitement and disbelief. "Twenty-five thousand credits? Are you for real?"

Tyson simply shrugged, a mischievous grin playing on his lips. "I'd say the odds are in my favor."

Mission took the offered credits, her hands barely able to contain her excitement. She looked at Tyson, her eyebrows raised in amusement. "Well, aren't you full of surprises? I don't usually gamble, but when the odds are this good, I'd be a fool not to."

She pocketed the credits, her eyes never leaving Tyson. Then, with a flirtatious wink and a grin that mirrored his own, she added, "Don't worry, Tyson, I won't spend it all in one place. But if I win... you owe me a drink."

With a final playful smirk, she turned around and walked away, her steps light and full of anticipation. Tyson could only watch her retreating figure, his mind already focused on the upcoming fight.

The dueling ring came alive with thunderous anticipation as Tyson strode into the center, his Corrupted Vulcan Katar held in a comfortable grip. Opposite him, Gerlon Two-Fingers, a seasoned fighter with a wound that he refused to allow to define or hinder him.

The crowd's roar dimmed as the gong echoed through the hall, signifying the start of the duel. Tyson swiftly closed the gap between them, the razor-sharp Katar gleaming ominously under the harsh arena lights.

Gerlon, too, lunged forward, his two-fingered grip around his blaster firm. He fired in quick succession, the crimson bolts slicing through the air. But Tyson was quicker. He deftly avoided the incoming barrage and closed in on his opponent. His Katar came down in a lethal arc, but Gerlon dodged just in time.

The audience was breathless, the exhilaration of the fight fueled an electric atmosphere. Mission stood amongst them, her gaze glued to the spectacle below, her faith in Tyson unwavering.

With a swift movement, Tyson unleashed a flurry of attacks, a masterful display of skill and precision. Gerlon could barely keep up, his defense crumbling under Tyson's onslaught. The Katar struck true, cutting through the air and landing against Gerlon with decisive finality.

The crowd exploded in cheers as Gerlon stumbled backward, defeated. Tyson stood tall, his victory indisputable. Mission couldn't help the grin that spread across her face as she looked down at the arena. Tyson had won, and he had done so handily. And he had earned the respect of the crowd.

Melee Weapons Skill Increased! (8)
+450 Exp (2345/7000)

The chaotic clamor of the duel ring dissolved into a moment of quiet celebration as Mission launched herself at Tyson, a look of exhilaration in her eyes. She landed in his arms with an excited giggle, her fingers gingerly opening the small pouch of credits, her eyes widening with amazement.

"This is... this is a fortune, Tyson!" she gasped, disbelief clear in her vibrant gray eyes. Her gaze darted back and forth between the heavy pouch and him, "With this, we could live in the upper city for months!"

Tyson held her weight easily, a lopsided grin on his face. "Well, we're not done yet," he replied, looking down into her surprised face. "I haven't even taken a hit yet. I'm going for one more round. Bet it all on me again."

Mission pulled back to look at him, her jubilant expression quickly replaced with worry. "But Tyson," she started, her grip on the pouch tightening, "What if you lose? We'd lose everything!"

He met her gaze steadily, his confidence unwavering. "Mission," he said, his tone more serious now. "I won't lose." His promise hung in the air between them, Mission hesitating for a moment longer before she let out a sigh of resignation. She gave him a stern look, pointing a finger at him. "Alright, Tyson," she said, her voice firm. "But if we lose these credits, you're going to be in big trouble."

With that, Mission darted off back to the betting counter, her small figure swallowed up by the bustling crowd. Tyson watched her go, promising himself he would not lose.

Energy Credits: +75,000 (1,130,868)

~~Star Trek: TMG~~

Marl, his stern face creased with age and battle-worn scars, leaned back on the metallic bench, crossing his arms as he surveyed Tyson. The dueling arena echoed with the clamor of a thirsty crowd. The smell of oil, sweat, and fervor hung heavily in the air, the intense anticipation before a fight palpable.

"Ice," he began, his voice gravelly but sure. "That's who you're up against next. The girl's got a cold exterior, but she's got the fire of a bantha in heat when she fights."

He paused, his gaze sharpening on Tyson, "Don't let her nickname fool you. Ice is lethal in the ring, fights with precision, and a chilling calm. She's got a rep for being unflappable, nothing seems to get under her skin."

"She favors a vibroblade, and a blaster, alternating seamlessly. She's quick, she's agile, and her strikes... let's just say they'll cut deeper than you'd think. She has a reputation for precision."

Marl shifted his weight, uncrossing his arms as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "Her defense isn't her strong suit, though. If you can find a way to get past those blades and land a hit, you might just have a chance."

The veteran duelist then leaned back again, observing Tyson with a critical eye. "You've been doing well so far, but Ice... she's a whole other level. Are you sure you're ready?"

Ice might be a formidable opponent, but he was not one to back down from a challenge.

The excitement was palpable as Tyson stepped into the dueling ring, across from him, the steely gaze of Ice met his own. She was a renowned fighter, known for her deadly accuracy with a blaster, and equally feared for her proficiency with a vibroblade.

The announcer's voice echoed around the ring, "In this corner, the newcomer showing promise, Tyson! And in the other, a fearsome veteran, Ice!" Then came the final words, the trigger that launched them into combat, "Fight!"

Ice wasted no time, her blaster was already in her hand and it spat out deadly beams of energy. Tyson moved swiftly, his every step precise and calculated. Two beams grazed him, their searing heat barely registered. A thrill ran through him as his health points ticked down slightly - this was real combat, high stakes, high reward.

Ice, seeing Tyson closing the distance, holstered her blaster and drew her vibroblade. The weapon hummed ominously as it cut through the air. But Tyson was prepared, his Katar at the ready.

Her vibroblade connected, a lucky hit that drew a line of pain across his side. But Tyson barely faltered, he was now within range. His Katar swung in a vicious arc that Ice barely sidestepped. The crowd gasped in surprise, but Tyson was relentless. He pressed his advantage, his movements a blur. His Katar whirled, slashing, piercing, each hit reducing Ice's health further and further. Ice struggled to keep up, her normally accurate strikes barely grazing Tyson. He was a whirlwind, his Katar slicing through the air.

Then, finally, one last swing of his Katar, and it was over. Ice staggered back, her health depleted. The crowd erupted into wild cheers, but Tyson barely heard them. His focus was still on Ice, who was looking at him with newfound respect. He offered her a nod of acknowledgment, his breath coming out in short, victorious gasps.

The announcer's voice once again boomed around the ring, "And the winner is... Tyson! Ice is knocked out cold! Looks like we have a rising star; but how high can this star soar? You'll just have to watch and see!"

Mission's cheers were the loudest, her earlier worry replaced with a proud grin. Tyson had kept his promise. He didn't lose.

Melee Weapons Skill Increased! (10)
+1100 Exp (3445/7000)
Energy Credits: +200,000 (1,330,868)

After Tyson's impressive victory against Ice, the atmosphere in the Duel Ring was electric. As he exited the fighting pit, he spotted Mission pushing through the crowd to meet him. Her eyes were shining, a wide smile on her face, but she held back from her usual exuberant leap into his arms, wincing slightly at the visible injuries he sustained during the fight. "You were amazing out there!"

"Thanks, Mission," Tyson replied, wincing slightly as he touched his side. "Looks like our plan worked out."

"I knew it would!" Mission's voice rang out, barely able to contain her excitement. "We have so much money! Let's get a room in the Upper City, someplace swanky. And buy expensive clothes and eat expensive food!"

Tyson chuckled at her enthusiasm. But he wouldn't deprive her of this new experience. "Alright, Mission. Lead the way."

The rest of the day was a blur of sights and sounds. They had traded the dark, grimy tunnels for the brilliant, glittering lights of Taris' high society.

Their first stop was an extravagant clothing store. Tyson watched, amused, as Mission dashed between aisles, her hands skimming over luxurious fabrics. She held up a vibrant blue dress against herself, looking over at Tyson with sparkling eyes, to which he responded with a nod and a thumbs-up. They left the store with bags full of new, expensive clothes.

They next ventured to a high-class restaurant with a stunning view of the city. The scents wafting from the kitchen made Tyson's mouth water, and Mission looked like she was in heaven. She ordered the most expensive dishes on the menu, savoring every bite as they laughed and chatted, their worries momentarily forgotten.

As the sun set, bathing the city in a warm, golden glow, Tyson and Mission found themselves in the most lavish suite they had ever seen. They looked over the cityscape, the twinkling lights below seemed like distant stars. The excitement of the day seemed to catch up with Mission as she yawned, nestling into the plush couch, her eyes half-closed.

With a soft chuckle, Tyson draped a blanket over her. "Get some rest, Mission. We've had quite the day."

Energy Credits: -10,000 (1,320,868)

~~Star Trek: TMG~~

~~Lemons Begin~~

The next morning golden beams of sunlight spilled into the opulent hotel suite. Tyson slowly blinked awake, taking in the alien elegance of the Upper City's architecture. For a moment, he allowed himself to bask in the plush comfort of the king-sized bed. But his tranquility was punctuated by a sudden realization - he wasn't alone. He could feel a warmth on his right side, and hear the soft, rhythmic breathing of someone fast asleep. He tensed, immediately thinking he was in danger, but no attack came.

Gently, he shifted his arm, lifting the lush blanket. His breath hitched slightly as his gaze fell on Mission Vao, asleep at his side, her arm slung over his waist and her head resting on his chest. Her blue-skinned face was peaceful, her lips parted just slightly as she breathed.

They'd just recently met and she had somehow already found herself in his bed. It was both surprising and amusing. With a wry grin, he pondered the impending awkward situation. He could try to slide out of bed without waking her. Or he could stay put and wait for her to wake, which might end in a hasty explanation and a lot of embarrassed blushing. In the end, he decided to remain still, letting the moment play out in its own time. After all, there were worse things to wake up to than an attractive Twi'lek in your bed.

Tyson's intentions of maintaining a gentlemanly demeanor were being severely tested as Mission shifted in her slumber. Unaware of her movements, the lithe Twi'lek rubbed subtly against him, creating a tantalizing friction. His heartbeat quickened as her hands explored in unconscious wandering. It was a battle of will not to react. He reasoned with himself that she had no idea what she was doing, that her touch was purely accidental. But the logical part of his mind was losing the battle against the tide of arousal coursing through him. Despite his best intentions, his body was responding.

"Oh come on…" he whispered under his breath, his eyes squeezed shut as if the lack of vision might somehow diminish his current predicament. But there was no escaping the reality of the situation. Innocently, without any malintent, Mission was systematically dismantling his composure. The absurdity of it struck Tyson. Here they were in a luxurious Upper City suite, on possibly the most comfortable bed he'd ever occupied, and he was barely keeping his composure thanks to the unconscious actions of a sleeping Twi'lek. He laughed lightly at the scenario.

Resolving that it would be best to wake her before things advanced any further, Tyson nudged Mission lightly. His voice, husky with restrained desire, he murmured, "Mission... it's time to wake up."

Her long eyelashes fluttered open, her gray eyes peering back at him, glazed with sleep and confusion. Realization soon dawned, and a faint pink tinge rose to her cheeks, a subtle contrast to her vibrant blue skin. Her eyes widened for a moment, but then she composed herself.

"Heh, I guess I got a little...comfortable," Her gaze didn't waver from his, a hint of mischief dancing within her eyes. "I didn't want to be alone, y'know?"

Her honesty hit Tyson like a blow, her words echoing within the silence of the suite as he recalled the day's events before their celebrations.

"And, hey," she continued, her voice dropping to a murmur. "Thanks, Tyson. Thanks for... well, everything. For not seeing me as just some street trash from the Undercity. For showing me what it's like to feel... valuable."

Tyson expected her to retreat then, to withdraw from his personal space. But Mission did the exact opposite. As her words hung in the air, she moved closer, her body brushing against his in a deliberate move. The thin fabric of her nightshirt did little to shield him from the sensation of her body pressing against his.

He found himself at a loss for words, his brain struggling to process the shift in dynamics. But for the moment, Tyson was perfectly content to let this unexpected turn of events unfold.

Mission was a contrast of soft curves and lean muscle. Traces of her street life were etched into her petite frame, visible in the wiry strength of her arms and the agility that graced her movements. Her chest was modest, yet it was her waist that truly caught Tyson's attention, the gentle swell of her hips leading into slender legs. Her lekku, the head-tails characteristic of her species, fell past her shoulders in a graceful arc. They moved with a life of their own, expressing their emotions in a silent language.

Her face was as much a work of art as the rest of her. High cheekbones framed a pair of expressive eyes that danced with untamed spirit. Those eyes, a piercing gray that sparkled with mischief, courage, and an underlying innocence that Tyson was reticent to steal. It was her smile, though, that was her true undoing - a sight so genuine and full of life, it made the world outside seem a little less daunting. Tyson found himself helpless against the captivating allure of Mission Vao.

Mission moved with a soft confidence that defied her age, her gray eyes holding a glint of mischief mixed with deeper, profound emotion. Her hands traced a tantalizing path down the sides of Tyson's face, leaving trails of warmth that tingled through his skin. She leaned in closer, her lips just brushing his, an intimate whisper of what was to come.

Tyson's hands had found their way to the waistband of her shorts, fingers tugging lightly at the soft fabric. He paused, his gaze questioning her silently. She nodded a quiet signal that sent a rush of anticipation through him. Gently, he slid the shorts down, revealing her form to him in its feminine entirety in a moment of beautiful vulnerability.

His hands were explorers, tracing the contour of her hips, skimming the small of her back, and then venturing further, cupping her asscheeks, eliciting soft gasps from her. She arched into his touch, encouraging his exploration.

Mission, however, had a fiery impatience that echoed in her movements. She took hold of Tyson's member, her fingers guiding him to her lower lips. His breath hitched as he felt her heat engulfing him. She moved slowly at first, taking him in bit by bit. Tyson could feel himself being enveloped by her, every inch a new territory claimed, an intimacy that left them both breathless. She began to move, riding him gently, with her lekku swaying behind her back.

Tyson's gaze was locked with Mission's. He could sense her vulnerability and her trust, encouraging him to allow her to dictate their rhythm.

As she moved above him, Tyson traced his hands along her silhouette. His fingers gently kneaded her hips, while his thumbs traced tantalizing circles on her thighs, each motion coaxing out soft gasps from her lips. He admired the fluidity of her movements, the way she arched into him, how each tiny whimper of pleasure escaped from her lips.

Tyson felt her tension mounting, her breath coming in short, uneven gasps. He moved with her, matching her rhythm as they surged towards the precipice together. He didn't hold back his climax, letting it crash over him. Their bodies shuddered together, united in shared ecstasy.

But as the waves of Mission's climax receded, there was still a flicker in his eyes, a promise of more. Her breath hitched as she realized he wasn't stopping. Her eyes widened in anticipation. Her previous climax had left her sensitive, each of Tyson's touches ignited her skin. The second act of their lovemaking began a slow dance of mutual exploration and shared desire that promised to be as intoxicating as the first.

Tyson had let Mission guide their first encounter. He learned her body's rhythms, her shy inclinations, and the contours of her silhouette. He knew what set her alight, what caused her to gasp and clutch him closer.

And now, it was time for him to take the lead.

Mission remained astride him, her lithe figure bathed in the soft morning glow filtering through the suite's grand windows. Tyson's hands found her hips, gently coaxing her into a new rhythm. She moved with him, her eyes meeting him in a silent affirmation. His pace quickened, each thrust driving deeper, stirring the smoldering embers of her arousal back into a flame.

Then, with a boldness that surprised her, Tyson captured her hands, drawing them behind her. His eyes held a gentle dominance, a silent request for her to surrender control. And surrender she did, a small smile curling on her lips as she let herself be taken, wholly and completely.

His control over her brought a different sort of pleasure, a heady combination of vulnerability and trust. Her body yielded to his vigorous movements, each thrust sending shivers of pleasure radiating through her. Tyson held her, not as a street-smart Twi'lek girl or an Undercity survivor, but as a woman blooming under his touch. Their bodies danced, oblivious to everything except each other. As Tyson quickened his pace, Mission's breathing grew erratic. She gave in first, her body clenching in rhythmic waves as she succumbed to an overwhelming orgasm. Tyson's name was a whisper on her lips, her sweet surrender sending him spiraling into the throes of his climax. Together, they rode the crashing wave.

Once the afterglow of their passion began to fade, Mission attempted to lift herself off him, her lekku twitching with exhaustion. Tyson, however, still wasn't finished. A slow grin spread across his face as he pulled her back down. He rolled them over, positioning himself atop her.

"Again? No way," Mission breathed out in disbelief, her voice a low murmur.

But Tyson, drawn by the allure of her flushed cheeks and heaving chest, did not hesitate. As he re-entered her, she gasped, her body instinctively responding to him. The shock and sheer intensity of their prolonged union seemed to drive Mission past her limits. She came once more, twice more. Each climax was more powerful than the last, ripping through her with a fervor that left her breathless. Tyson kept pace with her, his pleasure amplified by the sight and feel of her beneath him. He finally surrendered to his peak once more, his body shuddering against hers.

As their lovemaking drew to a close, a soft purple glow radiated from the Twi'lek's skin. To Mission the glow reflected the intensity of their shared ecstasy, a pulsating beacon in the otherwise dimly lit room. But Tyson knew it was the otherworldly glow of overwhelming Corruption. Exhausted, spent, and basking in the afterglow, they lay intertwined, their breaths mingling in the tranquil silence.

~~Lemons End~~

~~Star Trek: TMG~~

Hidden Quest Complete!
Roddenberry's Universe VI - Two Lekku, One Heart.
Stepping out of your universe can be thrilling. There's a reason so many Twi'leks are kept as pleasure slaves… Lekkujobs, anyone?
+1 Social skill (13)
+1 Perform skill (13)
X6 Corruption Pool Modifier (534)
Corruption Power Unlocked: Corrupted Bite.
You can make your bite cause any disease you've absorbed. In place of disease, you can spread a Corrupted Seed. This power is of limited use.
Hostile Creature: Once per round in combat. Non-Hostile Creature: Once per Perform check during Intimate encounters only.
Non-Hostile Creature: Once per Perform check during Intimate encounters only.

The shared energy of their lovemaking still hummed in the air around them. As they lay tangled in the sheets, Mission traced lazy circles on Tyson's bare chest, her lekku twitching with each whispered word.

"So what now?" she asked, her eyes bright with curiosity. Tyson's brows furrowed in thought. He wasn't sure if she was asking about their newly forged intimacy, their future, or something else entirely.

At his puzzled expression, Mission couldn't help but laugh. Her laughter, light and unrestrained, echoed warmly in the room, chasing away the uncertainty. "I mean with the dueling ring," she clarified, her finger still drawing patterns on his skin. "You're probably famous enough for the swoop race now."

A mixture of curiosity and concern played across her face. She felt a change in the atmosphere around them. It was as if Tyson had shifted from their shared, blissful moment to something more serious.

Taking a deep breath, Tyson turned to face her fully, his face etched with a decision. He had been mulling over this moment for some time and now seemed as good a moment as any.

"So, before we keep going, I need to tell you about myself. You know how Jedi have powers… Well, I have powers too, but they're different." His voice was steady, but there was an undercurrent of apprehension.

Mission blinked in surprise but remained quiet, giving him the space to explain.

Tyson went on to describe his powers. He told her about 'The Gamer', an ability that allowed him to experience life as if it were a game. It gave him advantages in battle, analysis, and even negotiation. His life was quantified, he explained, with statistics and levels.

He also revealed his power of Corruption. He spoke about how it allowed him to spread his influence, absorb abilities, or enhance allies.

Throughout his explanation, Mission listened attentively, her lekku twitching in tandem with her swirling thoughts. She asked questions - about his powers, their origin, and what they meant for him and her. Despite the oddity of it all, she asked these questions with an open mind and genuine interest. His revelations brought a new depth to their relationship. Tyson shared his secret, his strength, and for Mission, this only served to further cement the bond they had been building.

Mission's eyes widened as Tyson's revelations took an unexpected turn. "Wait," she interjected, her voice betraying a mixture of humor and unease, "Did you say you release a Corrupted Seed during sex?"

Tyson's face twisted into an expression of discomfort and guilt. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly as he confirmed, "Yea, that's one of the ways Corruption manifests."

Mission's lekku twitched in a sign of her surprise and amusement. She shot Tyson an accusing look, her lips curling into a mischievous smile. "We had sex like 3 times! With that many seeds, am I going to have a Corrupted baby?" she teased, poking him playfully on his chest.

Tyson's face turned an interesting shade of red as he stammered, "Ummm..." His eyes darted around the room as if searching for an escape.

Mission burst out laughing at his flustered reaction, clutching her stomach as she tried to contain her mirth. "Just kidding," she managed between her laughter. After a few more seconds, she sobered up and turned her gaze back to Tyson, "Unless it's going to happen…" Her eyes shimmered with curiosity and anticipation. "But you can make me stronger, right? Show me."

Tyson, visibly relieved, nodded and prepared to demonstrate the extent of his powers. The revelation of his secret had turned their day in an unexpected direction, but Mission's acceptance and curiosity about his unique abilities brought him a sense of contentment he hadn't felt in a long time.

Tyson extended a hand, reaching out to the pulsing purple aura surrounding Mission. Concentrating, he visualized the very essence of her being, pulling forth the intangible threads of Corruption he had gifted her. As he did, an overlay appeared before his eyes, a floating menu of his system.

Within the digital display, he allocated 20 units of Corruption, choosing to enhance her Wisdom and Dexterity. Her Wisdom ascended from its prior 11 to 12, while her Dexterity raised from a commendable 17 to a remarkable 18, evening the numbers to reach the next milestones. His actions prompted a subtle shift within her, her aura brightening.

Mission watched in fascination to the changes to her body as Tyson continued. He poured another 220 Corruption into her Strength and Charisma, raising both to 12.

Her muscles subtly toned and her posture became more commanding, her body adjusting to the increased stats. Her face, an example of youthful cuteness shifted slightly toward an adult beauty more befitting her age. She looked down at herself in astonishment, her lekku twitching in unison with her surprised gasp.

With a mental command, Tyson initiated the process to Absorb Corruption from her. From the corners of his vision, her Corruption value waned, while his rose. A stream of purple mist stretched from Mission and arched towards Tyson, drawn in by an invisible force.

Her eyes were wide as she watched in awe as the ethereal mist disappeared into Tyson. The room hummed with the residual energy of their shared connection.

"Whoa, Tyson," Mission whispered, her hands tracing the outline of her improved muscles. "This... this is wild."

Power Activated: Absorb Corruption!
Attribute Increased! Dexterity (18)
Attribute Increased! Wisdom (12)
Skill Increased! Stealth (10)

Tyson looked at the remnant glow of Mission's corruption, a deep, vibrant purple hue that resonated around her. With a decided nod, he focused on her once more, selecting a new ability for her from his extensive list. Natural Telepath. Her Corruption drained as the trait took effect, and for a moment, their minds connected on a level more profound than any conversation.

'Can you hear me, Mission?' Tyson sent the thought through his telepathy. His voice resounded in the depth of her mind, a presence both familiar and startling. She looked at him in surprise, her eyes wide.

"Wha- How...?!" She stammered, her eyes scanning Tyson's face in disbelief.

"I gave you the Natural Telepath trait," Tyson explained, a smirk playing on his lips.

"I'm like a Jedi now. Oh my god!" She leaped to her feet, a mixture of awe and excitement swirling in her cerulean eyes. Her energy was infectious, and Tyson couldn't help but share in her glee.

Her excitement, however, quickly morphed into a mischievous gleam, her mind already plotting and planning. "We're going to win so much money in the dueling ring," she declared, her gaze piercing Tyson's, "Then you're going to win the race and save the Jedi. Then you're going to do this to her, so I can be a Jedi."

The intensity in her voice gave Tyson pause. Her resolve was unflinching, her intentions clear. There was no room for argument in her statement. She spoke with the confidence of someone who had been given a new lease on life and was ready to seize it with both hands.

Before Tyson could respond, she grabbed his hand, pulling him up from the bed. "Come on, Tyson, no time to waste! Let's go to the cantina for a duel!" She was already dragging him toward the door, her newfound strength evident in her grip.

Mission Vao (Lvl 4)
{Corruption - 252/132}
Defense: Reflex: 19, Fortitude: 17, Will: 14.
Hit Points: 120.
Melee: Punch +3 (1d4+2)
Attributes: Strength 12, Dexterity 18, Constitution 12, Intelligence 14, Wisdom 12, Charisma 12.
Skills: Computers +9, Energy Weapons +6, Engineering +9, Stealth +10, Social +7 (May reroll take second result)
Traits: Natural Telepath, Sneak Attack (+1d6 Damage), Point-Blank Shot, Sniper Shot.
Negative Status Effect: Corrupted Seed (x3)