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

Lemon Warning: Scattered throughout this chapter. Mostly fade to black.


Star Trek: The Mirror Gamer

Episode 6: The Force

Stardate: 41187.2
SW Date: 3956 BBY
Earth Standard Date: March 09, 2364
Location: Upper City, Taris, Star Wars: Knights of the Old Republic Universe

Tyson stepped into the dueling ring, his gaze meeting that of his opponent, Marl. The grizzled, seasoned duelist stood tall on the other side of the arena. Marl was a sight to behold; his muscular frame spoke to his countless battles. A dull gleam shone from the vibrosword gripped tightly in his hand, its subtle vibration hinting at the deadly power it held.

Tyson, in contrast, held a Cardassian Disruptor. Its sleek design and the soft hum it emitted marked it as a dangerous weapon. The Gamer intended to use this fight not only as a means to defeat his opponent, advance in the dueling ladder, and earn credits, but also to advance his skills.

As Marl was his opponent this time, he hadn't consulted the man for advice. They were no longer a mentor and an inexperienced newcomer, but equals, two duelists standing on the brink of battle. In the crowd, Mission watched with a gleam in her eyes. She'd placed a significant bet on Tyson's victory. Her faith in him was unwavering, she believed in his ability to emerge victoriously from the duel without doubt.

The crowd roared in anticipation, the two combatants exchanged one last glance, each silently acknowledging the other. The air between them was thick with expectation and unspoken promises of a thrilling battle.

Marl (Lvl 8)
{Corruption - 0/600}
Defense: Reflex: 23, Fortitude: 22, Will: 18
Hit Points: 75
Melee: Vibrosword +8 (2d6+7)
Attributes: Strength 12, Dexterity 17, Constitution 14, Intelligence 10, Wisdom 11, Charisma 16
Traits: Double Attack, Dodge

The crowd murmured excitedly as the announcer's voice echoed throughout the cantina. His words whipped up the spectators into a fever pitch, the energy in the room nearly tangible. "Ladies and gentlemen! Prepare yourselves for a spectacle unlike any other! Our veteran, the fearsome Marl, faces an unlikely challenger today! The man who's been making waves in the dueling ring, Tyson!"

A loud buzzer marked the beginning of the match and Tyson was quick to act. He fired his Cardassian Disruptor. Its energy beams streaked across the space between the duelists, striking Marl twice in quick succession before the veteran could reach him. Tyson didn't stand still, he deftly moved backward, maintaining the gap between himself and Marl. His disruptor continued to fire, bolts of energy weaving around him, forcing Marl to move in a dogged pursuit. Tyson employed the ageless Gamer skill of 'kiting', using a ranged attack while retreating from your enemy. Kiting caused a penalty to his accuracy, but with his rising Energy Weapons skill and his Corrupted disruptor, he was still able to reliably hit Marl. Each shot that hit didn't seem to harm Marl beyond the initial few, instead, they suffused him with the pulsating, purple energy of Corruption.

Tyson's Energy Weapons skill incrementally increased, until finally, it maxed out. Switching tactics, Tyson stowed his disruptor into his Inventory and equipped a different weapon, his Corrupted Vulcan Katar. Its edge gleamed ominously in the artificial lights of the cantina. He launched himself into the fray. Marl was a seasoned duelist and managed to land a few blows. Each successful attack Tyson made transferred the familiar purple energy into Marl. His Melee Weapons skill kept climbing with each passing exchange, until finally, it too reached its maximum level.

Tyson stowed his Katar, and in a surprising turn of events, reached out to grab Marl. The Gamer was strong, thanks to the Vulcan Strength trait and his Strength attribute, stole from a rakghoul, coursing through him. He held Marl in an iron grip, tilting his head and sinking his teeth into the man. His action released a Corrupted Seed into Marl and placed him above his Corruption Threshold. The once formidable duelist seemed to visibly weaken, a gasp escaping him.

The crowd watched in stunned silence as Tyson used Absorb Corruption. Purple energy streamed into Tyson. As the miasma faded, he dropped Marl to the ground, the gladiator collapsed in a heap. Using Absorb Corruption in this way didn't kill Marl, but the trait Tyson stole, would be forever lost to the gladiator.

Tyson stood victorious, leaving Marl defeated and the crowd utterly speechless. The announcer's voice boomed, "Ladies and gentlemen, I...I am without words! In an unprecedented turn of events, Tyson has claimed victory over our very own Marl! He's used tactics we've never dreamed of, employed weapons we've never seen before, and shown us a spectacle like no other!"

Energy Weapons Skill Increased! (18 - Maxed)
Melee Weapons Skill Increased! (14 - Maxed)
Martial Arts Skill Increased! (12)

Power Activated: Absorb Corruption!
Trait Added: Double Attack.
Double Attack: You can make a second attack, but both take a -5 penalty to the attack roll.

+1800 Exp (5245/7000)
Energy Credits: +2,600,000 (3,920,868)

~~Star Trek: TMG~~

The neon-lit streets of the Upper City were alive with music, laughter, and the chatter of countless languages. After the heart-pounding duel, Tyson and Mission decided to spend the afternoon exploring the vibrant and upscale neighborhoods of Taris. Lavish restaurants, high-end boutiques, and lively cantinas lined the streets. Evening came, and with it, a feast of exotic cuisines from across the galaxy. Mission, a little too eager with the free-flowing alien cocktails, became giggly and a bit unsteady. Her head lulled on Tyson's shoulder, a content smile on her face as she mumbled something incoherent.

A mild inebriation glazed Mission's eyes, but her intentions were crystal clear. As soon as the suite door slid closed behind them, her hands reached out, tugging at Tyson's clothing. A sly smile played on her lips, her words slurred just slightly from the alien cocktails.

"Watching you in the ring... it's... it's something else, Tyson. You're so strong. I want more... make me strong too."

Her voice was a soft purr, desire heavy in her tone. Without hesitation, he surrendered to her advances. Their lips met in a fiery kiss, fuelled by the unspoken electricity between them. Tyson's hands roamed her body, each touch stoking the fires within them. Their clothing was quickly discarded, leaving a trail to the plush bed. The world outside ceased to exist, its sounds replaced by the rhythm of their bodies. Their lovemaking was intense, a maelstrom of pleasure that swept them up and refused to let go. Once, twice, thrice... they reached their peak together, each climax stronger than the last. Their bodies intertwined until finally surrendering to the delicious exhaustion only such intimacy could bring. The suite fell silent save for their heavy breathing and the occasional soft murmur of contentment. They drifted into a peaceful slumber nestled within the luxurious sheets.

Tyson awoke to a blissfully warm sensation. His breath hitched and he looked down, realizing Mission was the origin of the unexpected but delightful rousing. She looked up at him, her eyes sparkled with mischief as her mouth enveloped his cock.

She broke the intimate contact for a moment and spoke, her voice husky and teasing. "Wakey, wakey," she murmured, a playful grin spreading across her face. "You're gonna fight the champ today. I can't have you thinking about anything but the fight, so I'm going to take care of you." Her intentions were clear, the purpose twofold. To ensure he was relaxed and focused for his upcoming fight and to bring them both more of the intense pleasure they had shared earlier. Mission added with a gleam in her eyes, "Then you're going to go win us millions!" Her words carried an air of certainty as if their victory was already assured.

The morning sun cast a soft light on them, their shared heat mingling with the warm rays filtering through the window. Mission ceased her oral pleasure and they embarked on another round of passion-filled intimacy. Their bodies moved in rhythm with each other as they lost themselves in their shared desire. As the previous night, they reached their zenith several times in shared passion, each climax left them breathless and craving more.

Their heart rates finally slowed as they lay spent in each other's arms. Their spent passion created an intimate cocoon around them, a world where nothing else mattered. But the Mission completed her goal, and the world wouldn't wait forever. After one last languid kiss, Tyson pulled away to prepare himself for the impending battle.

Mission Vao (Lvl 4)
{Corruption - 3456/132}
Negative Status Effect: Corrupted Seed (x9)

~~Star Trek: TMG~~

Twitch (Lvl 10)
{Corruption - 0/920}
Defense: Reflex: 28, Fortitude: 26, Will: 23
Hit Points: 92
Melee: Vibroblade +8 (2d4+6)
Ranged: Blaster Pistol +13 (4d8+6)
Ranged: Thermal Detonator (1) +12 (8d6+5 AOE)
Attributes: Strength 14, Dexterity 16, Constitution 14, Intelligence 12, Wisdom 12, Charisma 8
Traits: Dual Weapon Proficiency, Evasion, Trigger Work, Collateral Damage

Underneath the arena lights, the expectant buzz of the crowd grew louder. The announcer's voice boomed, drowning out the clamor. "Ladies and Gentlemen!" he bellowed, his words echoing through the speakers in the vastness of the arena and the bustle of the cantina. "In this corner, we have our reigning champion, the lightning-fast gunslinger, Twitch!"

A cheer erupted from the crowd as the lean, wiry Rodian, Twitch stepped forward. His green skin shimmered under the lights, and the scales around his eyes twitched in anticipation. He held two blaster pistols which he deftly spun around, a move that both amused and terrified spectators.

"And in this corner," the announcer continued, turning towards the other side of the arena, "our rising star who has taken the dueling world by storm, Tyson!"

As Tyson's name rang through the arena, another wave of applause followed. He stood calm and collected, his eyes locked onto Twitch. In his hand, the Cardassian Disruptor felt comfortable and familiar.

The moment the signal was given, the arena erupted in a symphony of blaster fire. Tyson and Twitch engaged, the Rodian's blaster bolts danced through the air, a dazzling display of offense. Twitch was quick; to attempt to match him in speed would be futile. Before the match, Marl advised Tyson to not allow Twitch to fight at range. He duel-wielded blasters with deadly efficiency. Heeding the man's advice, Tyson decided on a different strategy. With a burst of speed, he closed the distance between them, firing his disruptor as he transitioned the battle from ranged to melee combat.

The crowd watched in anticipation at the shift in the duel's dynamics. The fight had entered a new phase. Tyson utilized his katar in a rhythm that outmatched Twitch's prowess with his vibroblade. The Vulcan weapon in Tyson's hand moved in fluid arcs, each of his swings a threat to the Rodian champion.

The crowd held their breath as Tyson saw an opening. Darting in, Tyson's move was unexpected and it took Twitch by surprise. Instead of stabbing with his katar, an awkward movement in such close proximity, he bit down on the Rodian. The impromptu attack delivered a Corrupted Seed. Twitch jerked back, his eyes wide in shock.

The crowd erupted, but the two fighters weren't done. Tyson pressed his advantage. His strikes landed more frequently now, his slashes and jabs overpowered Twitch's defenses. With each strike, the crowd's excitement built up, and their cheers echoed around the arena. Then, in a move that noone saw coming, Tyson closed the distance and grabbed the Rodian in a powerful bear hug. With Twitch firmly in his grasp, he activated Absorb Corruption.

The audience watched in amazement as strange energy enveloped Tyson, his form radiating with an ethereal purple light. Twitch's knees buckled, and his strength left him. Tyson let go of the Rodian, stepping back as his opponent fell to the ground. The audience erupted in a deafening cheer, a mixture of shock, awe, and excitement. The underdog had won. Tyson had defeated the reigning champion.

"Ladies, gentlemen, sentient beings from all quadrants! We've just witnessed a spectacular upset, a match for the ages! Our newcomer, the mysterious Tyson, has triumphed over our reigning champion, Twitch!" The announcer's voice echoed around the arena, barely audible over the thunderous applause.

"We've all been wondering who could potentially unseat our long-standing champion, and tonight, we found out. Tyson is not just a new face, but a force to be reckoned with in the dueling ring. Congratulations to him on this momentous victory!"

"Ladies, gentlemen, beings from all walks of life, let's hear it once again for the new champion of the dueling ring!" The announcer's voice was drowned by the crowd's deafening cheer, the energy in the arena palpable as the audience celebrated the rise of the new champion.

Power Activated: Absorb Corruption!
Trait Added: Dual Wield Proficiency
Dual Wield Proficiency: When using a full-round attack action, you can attack with an offhand weapon, at a -5 penalty.

+2300 Exp (545/19000) Level Up!
Energy Credits: +9,000,000 (12,920,868)

In the aftermath of the duel, Mission leaped into Tyson's arms. Her exuberance was contagious. She nestled her head into the crook of his neck, her lekku warm against his skin. "Nine million credits, can you imagine?" she whispered, her voice carrying a tantalizing lilt that sent shivers down Tyson's spine.

With the adrenaline of the fight subsiding, Tyson retreated to their room to recover from his injuries. His sleep was heavy and rejuvenating, the fatigue of the fight gradually leaving his body.

When Tyson finally stirred from his slumber, the first thing he noticed was the enchanting aroma of Mission's perfume wafting through the room. Turning his gaze towards the source, he watched Mission busily getting ready for a night on the town. She carefully applied makeup, her fingers deftly highlighting her exotic features.

The dress she wore was a striking vision of sensuality. It clung to her petite frame like a second skin, accentuating the curves of her lithe body. The rich sapphire blue of the fabric complimented her vibrant blue skin, while sparkling sequins captured the lighting and sent playful reflections dancing around the room. Her lekku were adorned with delicate chains of silver and pearls, giving her an almost regal air. The dress had a backless design that showcased the length of her lekku and forced her to go braless. It's deep, plunging neckline drew attention to her delicate collarbones and hinted at the pert breasts beneath, a shadow of her nipples was visible through the thin material. The hemline was daring, a few inches above her knees, showcasing her shapely legs and her elegant, silver-heeled shoes.

Seeing Tyson awake, she cast him a flirtatious glance over her shoulder, her gray eyes glinting mischievously, and new flecks of purple danced within her iris. Mission looked stunning, and Tyson couldn't help but admire her transformation, his heart quickening at the sight.

Mission grabbed Tyson's hand and with a playful smile on her lips, she led him out of their room. The upper city was alive with sounds and sights, glittering lights illuminating the skyline, the stars themselves seemingly within reach. The hum of conversation and the distant beat of music filled the air as they stepped into the bustling cityscape.

Throughout the evening, Mission guided Tyson from one attraction to another. They wandered the city streets hand in hand, soaking up the nightlife, stopping at various stalls to look at trinkets, the hum of the crowd surrounding them in a comforting blanket of sound. They sampled an array of exotic dishes at a high-end restaurant, the rich flavors an exciting exploration of the city's culinary delights. She then led him into a lively cantina, its vibrant atmosphere buzzing with energy. As the band played a catchy, pulsating rhythm, Mission pulled Tyson to the dance floor, their bodies swaying together to the mesmerizing beat. The Twi'lek moved with the natural grace of her species, her hips, and lekku swaying rhythmically to the music. Tyson was drawn to her movements, their bodies entwined in an enticing dance. Mission's laughter was infectious, filling the air around them as she led him in the rhythmic dance.

As the night grew late, they found themselves in a more secluded spot overlooking the city. The vista before them was breathtaking, the city's lights reflecting off the metallic structures in a cascade of vibrant hues. Mission, beautiful in her sensual dress, snuggled closer into Tyson's embrace, the intimacy of the moment amplifying the heady rush of the evening. Tyson pulled her in, the warmth of her body against his causing a gentle shiver to run down his spine. Their faces were close, he could see the stars reflected in her gray eyes, and at that moment, he was overwhelmed by the depth of his feelings for her.

Back in their room, they fell into each other's arms, their evening deepened the bond between them. Their intimacy and the softness of the bed beneath them were the perfect conclusions to an unforgettable night.

~~Star Trek: TMG~~

The morning after Tyson and Mission's latest passionate rendezvous was interrupted by an unexpected knock at their door. Tyson was roused from slumber, his eyes flicking open to meet Mission's as she nestled against him.

"Give me a minute," Tyson shouted, his voice carrying to the figure waiting outside. He gently extracted himself from their tangled limbs. He swung his legs off the side of the bed and scrambled to collect his discarded clothes. Giving up on the mess of clothes, he just equipped a backup set from his Inventory.

Mission, in her playful and casual manner, slipped from the sheets and scampered off toward the bathroom. With a flirty glance thrown over her shoulder, she teased, "Don't keep me waiting too long," her voice carrying a melodic, joyful lilt that was characteristic of her youthful exuberance.

Tyson chuckled. Their quiet interlude was over, and the stark reality of the outside world was knocking at their door. Upon opening the door, he found himself facing Marl. The gladiator now held an air of solemn gravity about him, the usual mirth in his eyes was replaced with a stern intensity. The atmosphere between them instantly shifted, a serious aura replacing the languid tranquility of the early morning. Tyson had apologized for his tactics after their match, and the man didn't hold any hard feelings. Marl had even given him some tips before he faced off against Twitch. But his expression now was a far cry from his attitude the previous day.

"Bendak Starkiller," Marl began, his voice heavy, "The former undefeated Mandalorian duel champion, wants to fight you... to the death." His words hung in the air like a looming specter, the severity of the announcement causing immediate tension to envelope Tyson. "Gonna be honest, I wouldn't do it. You're good, really good. But Bendak is on another level."

Tyson's morning had begun with a serene, intimate closeness, but the day it seemed, held challenges of an entirely different kind. His gaze lingered on Marl for a moment, his mind wrestling with the daunting proposition. He nodded slowly, acknowledging the gravity of the information. "Let me talk it over with Mission. I'll meet you at the Cantina later to let you know my decision," he said, the corners of his mouth twitching up in a small, grateful smile. "Thanks for letting me know, Marl."

As the door closed, Tyson let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. The thought of facing Bendak Starkiller, a dueling legend, was intimidating. However, he knew he couldn't let this overshadow the morning's earlier tranquility. He made a conscious decision to put the worry aside, focusing instead on the moment and the captivating Twi'lek awaiting him.

The soft hum of running water reached his ears, a clear invitation from Mission. Tyson moved towards the bathroom, storing his clothes in his Inventory as he went. As he stepped into the steamy enclosure, his worries were momentarily forgotten, replaced by the sight of Mission standing beneath the cascade of warm water, her lavender skin glistening. He joined her with a playful spark in his eyes as he closed the distance between them. Their bodies melded together in the heat of the shower, hands exploring familiar contours, lips meeting in a hungry dance. The sounds of shared pleasure echoed within the bathroom, their world reduced to just the two of them. It was a blissful reassurance of their connection that washed away any lurking apprehension he had, for the time being. Tyson was determined to cherish every moment with Mission, even in the face of the looming challenge.

After the shower, Tyson and Mission retreated to their room, basking in the post-coital glow. With an air of solemnity, Tyson broached the topic that had been on his mind. "Mission, I have to tell you something... Bendak Starkiller has challenged me to a fight," he stated as he met her surprised eyes.

"Bendak Starkiller?" she echoed, the color draining from her face. "Tyson, he's a legend. Even in the Undercity, people talk about him. The guy's never lost a single duel...ever."

A pause ensued as she let the revelation sink in, her fingers fidgeting with the fabric of the sheets. Her expression was contemplative, worry creasing her forehead. "When he retired, it was only because they banned fights to the death," she continued her voice an octave lower. "He's hardcore, Tyson. Everyone who's ever fought him is dead."

Her gaze returned to meet his, her violet eyes clouded with concern. "If you go against him, the odds won't be in your favor," she said, a note of fear creeping into her voice. "Sure, the payout will be massive if you win, we could even bet all our credits and become obscenely rich...but Tyson," she reached out, gently cradling his face in her hands. Her gaze was intense, underscored by a vulnerability that was rare for the usually brazen Twi'lek. "I don't want to lose you," she confessed, her words hanging heavy in the air between them. The playful glint that usually accompanied her banter was notably absent, replaced by a genuine, heartfelt worry. Despite the potential riches and glory that lay ahead, it was clear where Mission's priorities lay - not with the potential fortune, but with Tyson.

The weight of Mission's words hung heavily in the room, adding an unfamiliar tension to their comfortable surroundings. Tyson considered her concern, understanding the gravity of the fight and the impact it could have not just on him, but on Mission too. He sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair as he gathered his thoughts. "I've taken down every duelist I've come across," he stated, his tone carrying an undertone of stubborn resolve. "I've never even needed to go all out. If I went full force against Bendak, I could beat him. I could kill him before he got the chance to even touch me."

Mission's gaze searched his as she considered his words. The fear still lingered there, but it was matched by a stubbornness of her own. "But are you willing to bet everything on that?" she asked, "Millions of credits, your life, and my well-being? Is that a bet you're willing to take?" She moved closer, her hands still gently grasping his face, forcing him to look at her. "You've uplifted me from the Undercity, Tyson," she said, her voice trembling slightly. "You've made me feel valuable, cared for. If you lose, you'll be leaving me behind, just like Griff and Zaalbar."

He could see the tears welling up in her eyes, threatening to spill over. His heart clenched at the sight, shame washing over him for having been so reckless with not just his life, but hers too. But before he could speak, she placed a soft kiss on his lips, a moment of comfort amid their conversation. "But I believe in you, Tyson," she stated, her voice firm. "If anyone can take down Bendak Starkiller, it's you." She tightened her grip on his hands, the message clear: she was with him, no matter what.

~~Star Trek: TMG~~

Bendak Starkiller (Lvl 12)
{Corruption - 0/1152}
Defense: Reflex: 30, Fortitude: 29, Will: 25
Hit Points: 96
Ranged: Heavy Blaster Pistol +15 (5d8+10)
Attributes: Strength 15, Dexterity 18, Constitution 16, Intelligence 14, Wisdom 14, Charisma 14
Traits: Armored Defense, Skirmisher, Indomitable

Standing in the arena, Tyson found himself facing a figure that seemed larger than life. Across the ring, adorned in distinctive Mandalorian armor, was Bendak Starkiller, his very presence radiated a chilling sense of danger. The polished surface of his helmet masked any expression, but Tyson could feel the cold intent emanating from the man.

The thunderous chatter of the spectators diminished into a hush as the announcer's voice boomed through the stadium.

"Ladies and gentlemen," the announcer began, his voice carrying an uncharacteristically somber note. "Today, we bear witness to a fight for the ages. A clash between two champions. On one side, we have our prodigal champion, Bendak Starkiller! Undefeated, relentless, a reaper of the arena whose name resonates with every soul in this city!"

There was a deafening roar from the crowd as Bendak raised his hand, the glinting armor shimmering under the bright arena lights. The applause and whistles echoed through the coliseum, sending a bone-chilling thrill down Tyson's spine.

"But," the announcer continued, his voice rising over the cheers, "on the other side, we have our rising star, a newcomer who's proved himself time and time again in this very arena. A man who's climbed to the top, defeating all who stood in his path. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you, Tyson!"

The crowd erupted again, the cheers and chants echoing Tyson's name through the arena. He raised his hand, acknowledging the crowd, his gaze unwavering from the Mandalorian across the ring.

"The rules are simple: a death match, no holds barred. May the best fighter win!"

And with that, the crowd roared once more, the air filled with palpable anticipation. As the cheers echoed around them, Tyson found himself locking eyes with Bendak one last time, the tension mounted between them promised a clash that would go down in history.

Tyson squared his shoulders, setting his stance as he activated his Rapid Shot and Double Attack traits. His hands settled over his Cardassian Disruptor, an icy determination replacing the previous worry in his gaze.

"And in 3...2...1... Fight!" The announcer's voice boomed in the silent coliseum, the tension reaching its peak.

Even before the last echoes of the announcer's command had faded, Bendak was a blur of motion. His draw was rapid, a feat of unparalleled skill that caused an audible gasp from the crowd. His heavy blaster was trained on Tyson in an instant, a bolt of deadly energy flying towards Tyson, missing by a hair's breadth.

It was Tyson's turn. His fingers squeezed the trigger of his disruptor. Two beams of energy streaked from the disruptor, their paths unerring as they slammed into Bendak's armor with a concussive force. There was no release of Corruption; Tyson knew that he needed to bring down the Mandalorian legend fast and hard. The distinctive purple of Corruption was replaced with the disruptor's natural green beams.

A return shot from Bendak found its mark, grazing Tyson's side. The protective layer of his armor was penetrated, but the damage was minor. He retaliated, ignoring the injury, his body acted on pure instinct and honed skill. Tyson's disruptor hummed as he fired, again dual beams of energy lanced out. The crowd watched in stunned silence as they found their mark.

Critical Hit!

A full-power Disruptor blast between the seams of Bendak's armor didn't just kill the man. He was vaporized, his skin, bones, muscle, and everything in between were turned to ash, leaving only his equipment in the aftermath of Tyson's attack. It was as if he became one with the Force.

The coliseum erupted into a frenzy of cheers and gasps, the magnitude of the moment echoed in every corner. Tyson stood tall in the center of the ring, the victor of the most unprecedented duel in history. The din of the crowd was deafening, but the announcer's voice rang clear over the chaos. "Ladies and Gentlemen," he began, his voice echoing throughout the coliseum. There was an edge of disbelief to his tone, mirrored by the stunned expressions of the spectators. "What we have witnessed here today is nothing short of historic!"

"Tyson! The underdog, the outsider, the newcomer to this arena...He just defeated a legend! Bendak Starkiller, a name that echoes throughout the annals of dueling history, has been killed, right here, today!"

As the crowd continued to roar in a frenzy, he turned to the spectators, his voice rising above the noise, "Remember this day. Tell your grandchildren, you were there the day when the impossible became reality! The day when the new blood overthrew the old guard, the day when a new star was born in our arena!"

Pausing, he swept his gaze over the crowd, his voice full of emotion, "This is the spirit of the duel! This is the excitement, the risk, the glory! Today, Tyson has written his name in the annals of Taris. He killed Starkiller, he broke the unbreakable streak! I present to you a new Legend… Tyson Starbreaker!"

The crowd's cheers reached a crescendo, the deafening roar of approval echoing through the coliseum. And through it all, Tyson stood tall, the victor of an unprecedented duel, the man who had defeated a legend.

+2900 Exp (3445/19000)
Energy Credits: +108,000,000 (111,920,868)

Neo-Crusader Light Mandalorian Armor (Rare)
Defenses: +6 Reflex, +2 Fortitude
Low-Light Vision

~~Star Trek: TMG~~

The day of the Swoop race dawned, vastly contrasting from the tension of the dueling ring. The atmosphere was imbued with energetic anticipation, punctuated by a roar, not of a crowd, but that of high-powered engines and the heavy scent of burnt metal.

Tyson, the victor of the dueling ring, confidently prepped for the race, trusting in his superior Pilot skill and the edge provided by the Vulkar's stolen Prototype accelerator.

As the race kicked off, Tyson maneuvered through the chaotic race track, the Prototype accelerator proving its worth in power and performance. Tyson's Pilot skill had been absorbed from Riker. The Gamer had memories of dogfighting and hundreds of hours of flight simulation. None of it was on a swoop, but the system considered the skill similar enough that Tyson's hands felt familiar on the vehicle. Navigating the racetrack was a test of agility and precision. With his high skill and incredible prototype, the race was disappointingly easy. Once clearing the pack, he proved his mettle by holding the lead position. He crossed the finish line to the loud cheers of the crowd.

His victory was celebrated by Mission, her face alight with the thrill of the race. "I knew you'd win, Starbreaker" she voiced out, clearly exhilarated by his triumph. The energy that radiated from her was infectious. Tyson was about to respond when she silenced him with a kiss. Mission, not one to shy away from expressing her emotions, guided Tyson to their room. Mission took control, guiding Tyson on a different sort of ride. The wins of the day translated into a night filled with passion. His victory, it seemed, extended beyond the race track.

Mission Vao (Lvl 4)
{Corruption - 6660/132}
Negative Status Effect: Corrupted Seed (x15)

~~Star Trek: TMG~~

The dawn came with the promise of a new day, and Tyson and Mission found themselves on their way to the Black Vulkar base. As they walked into the base, the atmosphere was dramatically different from their initial visit. Suspicious glances and cold looks were replaced with nods of recognition and respectful glances. Tyson's victory at the dueling ring had won them an unspoken regard, and his success at the swoop race had changed the tide of the criminal underworld entirely in their gang's favor.

Mission, who usually was quick with a sardonic quip, kept her lips tightly sealed, her gaze roaming over the Black Vulkar members with newfound confidence. Tyson stood by her side, emanating a quiet strength and authority that even the most stubborn Vulkars seemed to recognize and respect. They navigated through the dimly lit base, the anticipation building in their chests as they approached the cage. The Vulkars had wisely placed the Jedi prize in a heavily guarded area. Tyson steeled himself as they approached the Jedi's cell, aware that the next phase of their mission was about to unfold.

Within the cage stood a slender figure, her lithe form seemingly misplaced amidst the mechanical and brutal aesthetic of the surroundings. Her Jedi garb was a tailored mix of earth-toned fabric and sturdier material. The crude glow from the nearby consoles cast an eerie light across Bastila's face, illuminating her delicate features. Her russet hair was pulled back into a complex array of plaits and braids, with faint bangs framing her almond-shaped eyes and pouty lips. The presence of a neural disruptor collar around her neck was a stark reminder of her predicament. Yet, even in such adverse conditions, Bastila Shan exuded an uncanny sense of serenity and strength.

Bastila Shan (Lvl 17)
{Corruption - 0/2159}
Defense: Reflex: 33, Fortitude: 30, Will: 31; Block, Deflect
Hit Points: 381, Force Points: 8
Melee: Double-Bladed Vibroblade +21 (2d6+9) and +21 (2d6+9)
Attributes: Strength 13, Dexterity 18, Constitution 12, Intelligence 10, Wisdom 14, Charisma 17
Force Powers (Use the Force +21): Telekinesis, Battle Strike, Mind Trick, Rebuke, Slow, Surge, Vital Transfer
Skills: Use the Force +21
Traits: Force Sensitivity, Accelerated Strike, Dual Weapon Mastery III, Force Training (3), Rapid Strike, Block, Deflect, Improved Battle Meditation, Jedi Battle Commander, Lightsaber Defense, Multiattack Proficiency (Lightsabers), Riposte, Telepathic Link
Negative Status Effect: (None)

Tyson's gaze met hers, his eyes scrutinizing her condition. He wondered how she'd been captured in the first place. Observe revealed she was overwhelmingly strong. They must have captured her while she was unconscious because she could likely defeat this entire base, while unarmed… and blindfolded.

He stepped forward, his voice echoing in the quiet cell, "Are you okay, Master Jedi?" His words were gentle. "I'll be freeing you from your captivity in a moment."

The corner of Bastila's lips quirked up slightly. Her gaze softened as she responded. "Your concern is appreciated," her voice held an air of composure, "but as a Jedi, I've learned to endure whatever circumstances I find myself in." Her eyes glanced at the collar around her neck, the only visible sign of her imprisonment.

"I trust that you have a plan," Bastila added, her gaze returning to Tyson's, a glint of intrigue in her eyes. It was clear that despite her situation, the Jedi's spirit remained unbroken, her faith in the Force unwavering. Tyson found himself admiring her courage.

He nodded at Bastila's words, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "The plan has already been executed, milady. The remainder is merely a formality," he said, the hint of amusement in his voice belying the seriousness of the situation. He gave her a wink. Bastila, understanding the gesture, gave a slight nod. A small, almost imperceptible smile tugged at the corners of her mouth.

Turning to the Vulkars, Tyson proclaimed, "I, Tyson Starbreaker, Grand Champion of the Taris dueling ring have done much for the Black Vulkar gang. I handily defeated your competition in the swoop race, and have come to claim my prize." He allowed his Social skill to settle on those in the area. "Now. May I have the key to her cage and collar?" The request, though expected, was still a large ask. The Vulkars had a brutal reputation, and regardless of what was promised, it was still under question whether they'd follow through.

There was a pause, then an approving nod. "Anything for the champ," one of them answered, extending the requested keys to Tyson.

After freeing Bastila, Tyson stored the cage and collar in his Inventory. If it could hold a Jedi of her power, he wouldn't be leaving it here with these gangsters. He turned back to the Vulkars, a thoughtful expression on his face. Since he had their respect and attention, it seemed a good time to gather some information. "Do any of you know of a way off this planet?" he asked. With Bastila now freed, their immediate task was to find an escape route and make their way to safety. Their adventure on this planet had been a whirlwind, but Tyson knew that they needed a way off this world if he wanted to return to the Enterprise.

One of the gang members, a wiry individual with a scruffy appearance, stepped forward. "To get off Taris," he began, leaning against a nearby wall, "you're going to need planetary clearance codes. The only way to get those is to either steal them or bribe them from the Sith. And they're not exactly giving them away."

Another, a bulky character with a rough voice added, "And even with the codes, you'll still need a ship. Davik, one of the local crime lords, has got a pretty fast one. A real beauty, calls it the Ebon Hawk. But he's not the kind to lend out his toys, you'd have to steal it."

Their words painted a rather daunting picture. Not only would they need to defy the Sith to secure the clearance codes, but they would also need to cross paths with a formidable local crime lord. Yet Tyson knew, they had no other choice. This was their only viable path off the planet, a difficult and risky path, but one they had to take.

"Steal clearance codes from the Sith and a ship from a crime lord," Tyson repeated, a determined glint in his eye. "Sounds like a plan."

~~Star Trek: TMG~~

As they began their journey back to their temporary accommodations, Tyson decided it was a good time to get to know the newest member of their little team. Bastila Shan, after all, was an entity shrouded in mystery, a Jedi with a reputation that preceded her.

"So, Master Jedi," he started, a slight smirk playing on his lips, "I'm curious, what brings a high-ranking Jedi like you to this lowly place?"

Bastila returned his gaze, her eyes displaying calmness and wisdom beyond her years. "I was on a mission," she replied, "The details of which are classified, of course."

"Of course," Tyson echoed, acknowledging the boundary she'd set, but not deterred. "Well, how about this then, what's the most exciting adventure you've been on?"

Mission chimed in from behind them, her youthful curiosity unmasked. "Yeah, we want to hear some thrilling Jedi stories!"

Bastila allowed a small smile to cross her lips. It was clear she wasn't used to this kind of banter. Yet, as they continued their walk, she opened up a bit, telling them about some of her Jedi training, of her studies on Coruscant, and of the places she'd been to across the galaxy. Tyson couldn't help but notice the way Bastila's eyes scanned the area around them. Her body language was taut, alert to her surroundings. He realized she must be exhausted, and yet here she was, ready for action at a moment's notice. He admired her strength, her discipline. But it was also a reminder that she was still learning to trust them.

"You must be hungry," Tyson ventured, attempting to draw her into more casual conversation. "Mission, why don't you lead us to that restaurant you were talking about the other day?"

"Sure thing, Tyson!" Mission replied her exuberance a stark contrast to Bastila's guarded demeanor. "You'll love it, Bastila. They have some of the best nerf steaks this side of the Corellian sector."

As they navigated the bustling streets, Mission took the lead, filling the air with her chatter. She talked about their experiences in the dueling ring, the swoop race, the seedy underbelly of the city, and even their triumphs and challenges. Tyson could see Bastila listening attentively, though she remained mostly silent, only occasionally interjecting with a question or brief comment.

When they finally arrived at the restaurant, a quaint little place tucked between two towering buildings, they took a seat at a quiet corner table. The aroma of exotic spices filled the air, and Tyson hoped the familiar comfort of a meal would help to ease Bastila's cautious demeanor. Throughout dinner, Mission continued her role as the main conversationalist, speaking with an easy-going enthusiasm. She encouraged Bastila to share her own experiences and her own stories. Slowly, and somewhat surprisingly, Bastila began to relax. She still held onto her inherent caution, but there was a noticeable softening of her demeanor.

After a hearty dinner and the gradual thawing of Bastila's reserve, the trio headed back to their rented room. The soft chatter of Mission and the subtle hum of city life outside accompanied their journey back. Once inside, Tyson pulled up a holographic map of Taris on the room's console. Bright lines of light illuminated their faces as he pointed out key locations: Sith patrols, Davik's heavily fortified estate, and potential escape routes.

"So, our main objective is to get these clearance codes and nab Davik's ship," Tyson said, his gaze focused on the glowing hologram. "It's not gonna be a walk in the park, but we can do it if we plan carefully."

Mission's head-tails twitched in thought as she leaned forward to examine the map. "I've snuck into places before," she chimed in, the energy in her voice undimmed. "We'll need disguises, maybe some kind of diversion. If we time it right, we could slip in unnoticed."

Bastila nodded, her expression pensive as she studied the display. "The Sith presence will be heavy," she remarked, her voice steady. "They'll likely have advanced security measures. We need to be prepared for anything."

With that, the planning began in earnest. Tyson relied on Mission's street smarts and first-hand knowledge of Taris, while Bastila provided insight into Sith operations and defenses. It was a long night, filled with discussion, argument, and eventual agreement. Despite the tension and the potential danger that lay ahead, Tyson found himself appreciating the camaraderie that was growing among them. They were a Jedi Knight, a dueling champion, and a street-savvy teenager. They'd been brought together by fate and circumstances, but the beginnings of bonds of teamwork were starting to show.

~~Star Trek: TMG~~

As the first rays of dawn filtered through the cracks in the blinds, the trio roused themselves from their rest. Tyson and Mission shared an intimate glance, still charged with the remnants of their passion from the previous night. Despite their attempts at silence, the faintest tinge of blush on Bastila's cheeks made it clear their efforts at discretion hadn't been successful. None brought it up, instead focusing on the task ahead.

"All right, we all know the plan," Tyson began, his voice a low, steady murmur that did little to disturb the morning quiet. He reached into his Inventory and pulled out three sets of Sith armor, laying them out one by one on the room's table. The armor gleamed under the pale morning light, sleek and imposing.

"Got these off a Sith patrol when I first landed on Taris," he explained, seeing Bastila's questioning glance. "It's perfect for our disguises." Mission grinned, her lekku twitching in amusement, as she picked up a helmet and turned it over in her hands.

"Hey, we'll make pretty convincing Sith, don't you think?" she asked, her voice full of mischief as she held the helmet up to her face. Bastila's blush deepened slightly, but she gave a small, almost reluctant smile.

"Yes, I suppose we will," she conceded, looking at the armor with newfound interest. "It's a clever idea."

Mission stepped forward, shrugging off her jacket with a devil-may-care grin. With an enticingly casual flick of her wrists, she loosened the clasps of her vest. The vest fell to the ground, revealing the toned and slender expanse of her torso, contrasted against the pale blue of her skin. She tossed her shirt to the side, clad now only in a simple undergarment. The playful light in her eyes never dimmed as she bent to pick up the Sith armor, her lekku swaying with her movements. Tyson too began to shed his clothes, revealing his well-built physique.

Bastila was initially hesitant, a slight blush creeping on her cheeks as she watched the pair undress. But, in the face of their easy confidence, she straightened, her Jedi training instilling her with calm resolve. With a graceful, fluid movement, she unfastened her belt, allowing her brown Jedi robe to pool around her feet. Underneath, she wore a simple bra and leggings, a stark contrast against her sun-kissed skin. She slowly bent down removing the leggings and revealing her matching underwear. It was a plain garment, but couldn't distract from the perfect swell of her hips and the roundness of her ass. Her amber eyes met Tyson's for a brief moment, a flicker of something passing between them before she turned her attention to the armor. She carefully picked up the Sith uniform, her delicate fingers brushing against the cold metal. As she slid into the armor, the sleek, dark material hugged her athletic form, creating a striking juxtaposition against her fiery hair and vivid eyes.

Their transformation was complete, from ordinary citizens to disguised Sith. Despite the underlying tension, there was an unspoken sense of camaraderie among them, a mutual understanding that they were in this together.

As Tyson and his party strolled into the Sith Base, its imposing architecture and military efficiency couldn't dampen the noticeable lack of enthusiasm from the lone receptionist. The yellow-skinned Twi'lek sitting behind the desk barely glanced up as they entered. Tyson could practically feel her misery radiating from behind her professional facade. They had planned to take out the person at the entrance before they could raise the alarm, but Tyson couldn't bring himself to do it.

Taking a different approach, Tyson ambled over, he disabled the voice modulator of the Sith armor's mask. "I'll give you 1000 credits if you leave now," he offered in little more than a whisper.

She looked up, her gaze flicking between him and the credit chip he held out. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion, but then relaxed, replaced with a glint of something resembling hope. Lowering her voice to match his conspiratorial tone, she replied, "1000 credits? You've got a deal. The Sith have made my life a living hell ever since they took over this base. It's about time someone stood up to them. Just do me a favor and wait until I'm out of here before you start blasting the place up."

She accepted the credit chip from Tyson and exited the base in a hurry, leaving them alone in the reception area. From the corner of his eye, Tyson saw Bastila Shan studying him with a thoughtful expression. "It was kind of you to warn her and give her a chance to leave," she commented, her tone filled with approval.

Beside her, Mission chimed in, her voice carrying a hint of weary knowledge. "No one likes the Sith here. Some people work with them because it's the only way to survive."

Her simple statement cast a sobering insight. It reminded Bastila of the harsh realities of life under the Sith's control. It was a comment that served as both a reminder of the forces she was fighting against and the people she was fighting for.

Tyson moved toward the interface of the reception terminal. The screen glowed with an icy blue light as he gently tapped a sequence of keys, his fingers deftly moving across the keys. The Computers skill, though absorbed from a different universe, felt second nature here. Lines of encrypted code ran across the screen, each door needing to be unlocked. One by one, Tyson tackled them. His fingers danced across the keyboard in a well-practiced rhythm, each keystroke bringing him closer to his goal.

He gained access to the security system first. One by one, he disabled the security protocols and sentry droids, leaving the base as defenseless as possible. The normally watchful cameras were next, now set to a loop that would allow them to move unseen until their ruse was detected.

Next were the planetary clearance codes. His fingers moved faster, but the system was too secure, sealed behind a firewall that even his skill couldn't breach. The access to the codes was locked away, only available to the Sith Governor.

Tyson let out a sigh of frustration. Mission, who was watching over his shoulder, let out a low whistle. "That's some serious security," she commented, her eyes scanning the lines of code on the screen.

"Indeed," Bastila's gaze flickered between Tyson and the screen. "It appears our path leads us to the Sith Governor."

Using the terminal's internal mapping system, Tyson plotted the route to the governor's office that would avoid any scheduled patrols. As the blueprint of the base with their path highlighted appeared on the screen, Tyson turned to his companions, "Let's move."

As the trio neared the office, Bastila abruptly halted, raising a hand. The intense look on her face signaled the importance of her next words. "I can sense him," she declared, her brow furrowing as she concentrated on the force swirling around them. "The Governor is Force Sensitive. A Sith Apprentice, most likely."

Tyson frowned, glanced at the door, then back at Bastila. This new revelation complicated things. Bastila was right. If she went any closer, the Sith Governor would likely sense her, and that would be the end of their deception.

After a moment of deep thought, Tyson had an idea. "Okay," he said, formulating a quick plan in his mind. He turned to Bastila, giving her a reassuring look. "Stay here. You don't have a weapon anyway. We'll coax the codes from him and get out of here, no problem."

He then handed Mission his Corrupted Phaser. The small, purple-black weapon was unassuming, but Tyson knew its power. He held his Cardassian Disruptor firmly in his grip, ready for whatever came next.

"We'll get the codes," he said, his gaze steady and focused on Mission. She gave him a nod, her eyes glowing with determination. "Just direct any wanderers away from the office."

As Bastila nodded in understanding, Mission, and Tyson approached the door. Mission knocked softly, her fingers rapping lightly against the metal surface. There was a pause before a gruff voice granted them entry. They stepped into an office adorned with Sith emblems and propaganda. The Governor was sitting behind a grand desk, his brow furrowed in annoyance as he looked them over.

"Why didn't the receptionist announce you?" he questioned, his voice echoing off the high ceilings of the office.

Tyson cleared his throat, quickly coming up with a plausible excuse. "Uh, she... uh... had some bad food. She's sick in the bathroom," he said, managing to keep his voice steady despite the lie.

"Well, that's unfortunate," the Governor grumbled, leaning back in his chair. "What brings you here, then?"

Tyson forged ahead, doing his best to keep his cover intact. "Sir, there are a few business requests for food and other trade that require the codes for space travel. If it's not too much trouble..."

The Governor's eyes narrowed. Even in his irritated state, he was sharp enough to detect the irregularity in the protocol. There was tension in the room as the Sith Governor rose, his hands reaching behind his desk to retrieve an object. Tyson's eyes widened at the sight of the double-bladed vibrosword that glinted menacingly under the office lights.

"So," the Sith Governor growled, holding the vibrosword with an experienced grip, "Breach of protocol and non-standard issue weapons… It's a trap then." His voice echoed ominously, his declaration marking the end of their ruse and the beginning of a confrontation they had hoped to avoid.

Sith Governor (Lvl 11)
{Corruption - 0/1089}
Defense: Reflex: 20, Fortitude: 20, Will: 22
Hit Points: 99
Melee: Double-Bladed Vibroblade +7 (2d6+5) and +7 (2d6+5)
Attributes: Strength 12, Dexterity 17, Constitution 14, Intelligence 10, Wisdom 16, Charisma 12
Force Powers (Use the Force +8): Telekinesis
Skills: Social +19, Computers +13
Traits: Born Leader

In the tense standoff that ensued, Mission pointed her weapon at the Governor, her finger hovering over the trigger. However, before she could take the shot, the Sith Governor casually raised his hand, palm outwards. Unseen energy coiled around Mission, making her gasp.

"Tyson!" she managed, struggling against the unseen bonds. "He's...doing something! I can't move!"

The Sith Governor's lips curled into a smirk, basking in the fear he'd instilled. "Surrender now, and I might spare your lives," he offered, his voice dripping with a cruel sense of humor.

Tyson responded, not with words, but with action. He lifted his disruptor, firing twice in rapid succession. The powerful energy blasts struck the Governor's armor, the force of the impacts broke his concentration and released Mission from his grasp.

"Fall back, Mission!" Tyson yelled at the outmatched Twi'lek. "I'll handle this."

Mission was torn between her instinct to fight and her trust in Tyson. But remembered how Tyson had defeated the infamous Bendak Starkiller in the dueling ring. This Sith, despite his powers, was nothing more than a politician. Mission backed away, retreating towards the door and out of the office. She had faith in Tyson. He'd ordered her to fall back, and she would follow that order. After all, they were a team, and she trusted him with her life.

Tyson raised his disruptor and pulled the trigger twice in quick succession. The bolts slammed into the Governor's armor, each impact emitting a sizzle of energy that permeated the air. Undeterred, the Governor charged forward, the double-bladed vibrosword hummed in the still air. There was a blur of motion and the whirring blade bit into Tyson's side.

The Governor was confident of his advantage, given his opponent wielded a blaster. Simple tactics dictated he should close the distance to remove his target's ranged advantage. But he was greeted with an unexpected sight as he approached. Tyson's disruptor simply disappeared from his hand. The Governor barely had time to react before Tyson lunged at him. Powerful hands grasped the Governor's arms while sharp teeth sunk into his exposed flesh. The Sith Governor let out a cry of surprise and pain, his dark eyes widened with shock as he struggled against Tyson's unexpected assault.

Despite the Governor's desperate attempts to free himself, Tyson's grip was ironclad. His teeth remained clamped down onto the Sith, the unexpected savagery of the attack proving too much for the overconfident Governor.

Tyson, still clutching the Governor, bore down hard with his teeth a second time. The Sith let out a hiss of pain, his face contorted as he desperately attempted to break free. His muscles bulged with effort and, with a sudden jolt, he succeeded in wrenching himself free from Tyson's grasp.

A disappointed frown crossed Tyson's features when he realized his Corrupted Bite didn't activate. He wasn't gentle with his use of Corruption, he'd allowed his bite's normal damage to continue being dealt. The metallic tang of the Governor's blood still lingered in his mouth, but the advantageous ability he was banking on had failed to trigger.

The Governor quickly recomposed himself, his breaths were ragged and uneven as he once again raised his double-bladed vibrosword. The usually arrogant Sith was visibly wary now, his eyes darting around in caution as he assessed his strange opponent. With a swift, fluid motion, Tyson materialized the Vulcan Katar into his grip. The Governor, visibly shaken by Tyson's peculiar abilities, swung his vibrosword wildly, but his attacks lacked the precision and finesse they once held.

Tyson weaved around the poorly-aimed slashes, driving his katar deep into the Governor's defense and scoring a direct hit. Then, just as quickly as he had summoned his weapon, Tyson made it disappear again, freeing his hands just as the Governor stepped within his reach. He wasted no time, swiftly seizing the Governor once more. His teeth sunk into the flesh beneath the Governor's armor, each bite eliciting a groan of pain and surprise from the Sith. After the third bite, something seemed to change. The Governor jerked suddenly, his eyes widened in shock. Purple wisps began to seep into the wound, curling into tendrils that reached through the marks left by Tyson's sharp teeth.

The Governor managed to wrench himself free from Tyson's grasp once more, but Tyson could tell that the damage had been done. His Corrupted Bite had taken effect; the Corrupted Seed had been planted. Tyson grinned, unnerving the Governor as his teeth were stained with the man's blood.

There was a sudden, eerie stillness as the Governor rallied his energy. Then, with an ominous raising of his hand, he seized Tyson with the Force. The Mandalorian armor offered no protection against the Force's universal energy. He was abruptly hoisted off his feet, suspended in mid-air like a marionette dangling from invisible strings. His body became rigid, his muscles locked under the Force's powerful grip.

Determined to exploit this sudden advantage, the Governor maneuvered himself toward the exit while Tyson was stranded in the air. His intention was clear - to escape while his opponent was incapacitated. But the man's respite was short-lived. His concentration waned as he tried to maintain control over Tyson while moving towards the door. The invisible grip around the Gamer faltered and then abruptly loosened. Tyson was free.

Wasting no time, Tyson yanked out his disruptor. His finger squeezed the trigger in rapid succession. The resultant energy pulses surged forth, blazing toward the retreating Sith, searing his armor and hobbling his retreat.

In an act of sheer desperation, the Sith gathered his energy and reached into the recesses of his dark powers. His hands, steady and controlled, formed an invisible grasp around Tyson's throat, hoisting him into the air once again. This time, it was in a deadly chokehold, the air around Tyson condensed into a crushing force. The Governor's eyes took on a sinister yellow hue – the telltale sign of a Sith succumbing to the dark side's pull. His face was a mask of malice as Tyson writhed in his clutches, choking and gasping for air. Tyson fought with every ounce of his will, struggling against the Force's brutal grasp. His vision started to blur as the lack of oxygen began to take a toll.

And then, just when the Sith Governor's confidence was at its peak, his ability waned. Maintaining his chokehold required a stronger connection to the Force than he could muster. His grasp loosened, his control faltered, and Tyson plummeted back to the ground.

Gulping in much-needed air, Tyson didn't waste a second. His disruptor was back in his hand in a flash it released two more searing bolts of energy. The Governor crumpled under the onslaught, hitting the floor with a resounding thud.

In the chilling silence following the battle, the Sith Governor lay sprawled on the ground. Wisps of an ominous, purple smoke curled from his form, a noxious signature of Corruption seeping from the very pores of his being. It hung in the air like a toxic miasma, an ominous harbinger of the power it held within. It was a sweet sight for the Gamer, a promise of power. The time had come to do what needed to be done. Tyson extended his arm, his fingers splayed wide. The eerie purple tendrils responded, shifting towards him like serpents drawn to a piper's tune. They slithered across the room, an almost palpable sense of malevolent sentience in their movements.

A whirlwind of miasma filled the air, a resonance of dark power as Tyson began to Absorb Corruption, sucking the life force out of the Governor. The man's body spasmed involuntarily under the relentless drain, a grimace of pure agony froze on his face as he was drained of his vital energy. His once commanding eyes dulled and dimmed, the life fading from his gaze until there was nothing left. Each pulse drew more of the man's life away, reducing him to nothing more than a husk. The spectacle ended as abruptly as it began, the last of the purple smoke fading into Tyson's outstretched hand. A wave of finality washed over the room as the Governor's lifeless form lay discarded on the floor.

Athletics Skill Increased! (14 - Maxed)
Martial Arts Skill Increased! (14 - Maxed)

Power Activated: Absorb Corruption!
Attribute Increased! Wisdom (16)
Skill Increased! Social (14 - Maxed)

Trait Gained: Born Leader!
Once per encounter, as a Free Action, you grant all allies within your line of sight a +1 insight bonus on attack rolls. This effect lasts for as long as they remain within line of sight of you. An ally loses this bonus immediately if their line of sight is broken, or you are knocked unconscious or dead.

Trait Gained: Force Sensitivity!
You are Force-sensitive, allowing you to call on The Force and learn to draw on its powers. Unlocks, Use the Force skill.

Skill Unlocked: Use the Force!
You are attuned to the Force, the mysterious energy field that binds the galaxy together. Your connection to the Force allows you to perform extraordinary feats. You gain a daily number of Force Points (FP) Equal to 1+ (Use the Force skill/5) + Wisdom Modifier. Force points are required to activate or increase the strength of certain Force Powers.

Skill Increased! Use the Force (8)

Force Power Gained: Telekinesis!
You've gained the ability to move or lift objects using the Force. Make a Use the Force check. The result of the check determines the maximum size of the target you can lift. Spending a Force Point will increase the maximum size of the target by one category and deal additional damage. If the target is a creature that resists your attempt, your Use the Force check must also exceed the target's Will Defense. You can hurl the target at (or drop it on) another target in range if your Use the Force check exceeds the second target's Reflex Defense. Both targets take damage determined by your Use the Force check result. You may use Telekinesis to lift yourself, effectively levitating with movement speed determined by your check result.

With the last traces of the purple mist seeping into him, Tyson found himself awash in an unfamiliar surge of power and information. It coursed through him like an electric jolt, cascading images, emotions, and thoughts tearing through his consciousness with a force that took his breath away.

His senses were flooded with fragments of the Governor's life. The stringent regimen of political education he'd endured, the subtle machinations of diplomacy, and the undercurrents of intrigue that came with his training. Tyson could almost taste the anticipation, the tension, and the victory in the successful negotiations, the thrill of power as he navigated the labyrinthine workings of Sith politics. But there was more. Tyson could feel something else, something profound. The Force. It felt as though he'd been flung into a turbulent ocean of invisible energy. It was intangible, raw, and unrefined, an ethereal wind that swept through his being. Every atom of his existence seemed to pulse in time with this incredible energy, the Force permeating through him like a cosmic melody. It felt like a vast, boundless field of energy, teeming with life, with emotion, with intent. It was raw, untamed power, a chaotic storm of ethereal threads intertwined, woven into the very fabric of existence itself.

A rush of euphoria swept over Tyson, the new sensations almost overwhelming. He could sense life around him, feel the energies of the building, the residue of emotions, the echo of the past, and the hint of the future. His consciousness expanded, growing, enveloping. He was more than just Tyson now. He was part of the Force, a piece of its infinite puzzle, and he reveled in it, the unfamiliar power pulsating within him. As he absorbed the Sith Governor's connection to the Force, he too absorbed his training. This knowledge allowed him to ground himself, to prevent from being lost in the strong pull of the cosmic Force.

~~Star Trek: TMG~~

A tremor passed through the Force, a sharp and sudden disruption that seized Bastila's attention. The Sith Governor's presence, a malevolent beacon, abruptly snuffed out. Her heart sank momentarily. She'd stayed back in hopes that the deception would be successful, and lives would be spared regardless of the man's maliciousness. However, a new Force presence rose to replace the extinguished one. It was raw, unfamiliar, an unformed power flickering into existence. It was different, not imbued with the simmering darkness of the Sith or the tranquil peace of the Jedi. It was wild and unrestrained. As the new presence grew closer, a chill ran down Bastila's spine. The moment the source revealed itself, her shock could not have been more profound.

"Tyson...?" she stuttered, her usual composed demeanor faltered. She had sensed something in him, yes, but to think he could become a vessel for the Force… His gaze met hers and she could see it now - the ethereal aura that the Force-sensitive held. It was swirling around him, as raw and as wild as a storm.

Mission looked at Tyson, a worried furrow creasing her brow. "Tyson? Are you... okay?"

"More than okay, Mission," Tyson managed, his voice shaking, "I can...I can feel it. I can feel everything."

Mission and Bastila took in Tyson's condition. Even encased within the Mandalorian armor, the signs of struggle and pain were unmistakable. A glance at his status revealed he'd been reduced to a perilous thirty percent health. Mission darted to Tyson's side, her nimble fingers finding the areas where blood was starting to pool around the metallic joints of his armor. He was hunched over, leaning heavily on one side as a visible limp marred his usual stride. The metallic taste of fear gripped her throat as she stared at the red stains - too bright, too real - painting his armor.

"Tyson!" She exclaimed, her voice high and filled with worry, slipping under his arm to take some of his weight. "You're hurt..."

Bastila, despite the whirlwind of revelations, shook herself from her stupor. She saw Tyson sway precariously on his feet, Mission struggling to keep him upright. Her Jedi training kicked in; emotions had to be put aside. He needed help, and that was what mattered now. She moved forward, her normally commanding voice softened, "Tyson, let us help. You've sustained serious injuries." She lent her strength, coming to his other side, and together, they steadied the warrior.

The usual jokes, playful banter, and cocky assurances were absent from Tyson's lips, replaced by a grimace of pain that he couldn't hide.

Tyson was on the brink of consciousness when a weapon appeared in his hands as if materializing from the air itself. The sight of the double-bladed vibrosword took Bastila aback, her mouth parting to voice the questions swirling in her mind. She grasped the weapon, but before she could utter a word, Tyson's knees buckled. His body went slack in their arms as he succumbed to unconsciousness.

"Tyson!" Mission cried out, her grip tightened around his waist as they struggled to keep his armored form from crashing onto the cold floor. His head lolled against her shoulder, the visor of his helmet reflecting her worried face.

Bastila, quickly reasserting herself, nodded to Mission, "We have to move." The women maneuvered Tyson's unconscious form between them, his arm slung over each of their shoulders.

The normally bustling crowds seemed to part for them. Under other circumstances, the sight of two people half-carrying, half-dragging a captive would have drawn attention. But the Sith armor they donned served as a powerful deterrent, a symbol of authority and fear. No one dared to question them, and if they did, they were met with the cold, piercing stare of Bastila's mask. They navigated the labyrinthine streets of Taris, their journey unnoticed by the late-night crowd. The looming towers and neon signs served as a harsh backdrop to their grim procession. To any onlooker, this was just another night on the Sith-controlled planet, just another unfortunate soul taken in by a Sith patrol.

Once inside the safety of their temporary apartment, they eased Tyson onto one of the low couches where the man remained unconscious.

Bastila and Mission went about removing Tyson's armor, revealing the battered and bruised body underneath. Each piece clattered to the floor with a resounding thud, but it was Bastila who broke the silence that hung in the air. "Mission," she began, her voice laced with uncertainty. "What happened back there? One moment he was just Tyson... then he became something else. Something more. I could feel him in the Force, something I couldn't do just last night. This...this is impossible."

Mission paused in her task, her hands halting mid-motion on a gauntlet. She bit her lower lip, her young features pulled into a contemplative frown. She needed to tread carefully here. Bastila wasn't just a tag-along; she was a Jedi. Instead of answering directly, she posed a question of her own. "You've been on Taris for a while, but you haven't talked about why. I may be from the Undercity, but even there we hear rumors. They say you're fighting the Sith and that it's not going well. Instead of worrying about what happened with Tyson, shouldn't you be thinking about how you can use it?" She gestured toward the unconscious man on the couch. "Tyson's strength isn't normal, it's true. But have you seen him fight? Within a few days, he went from being a complete unknown squaring off against rakghouls in the Undercity to killing an undefeated Mandalorian gladiator and a Sith governor with Jedi powers. Maybe, instead of questioning it, you should be figuring out how to channel it."

The room lapsed into silence again, the echo of Mission's words reverberating within the Jedi's mind. For a moment, Bastila didn't respond as she stared at Tyson's form. When she finally spoke, her voice was quiet, a mere whisper in the heavy silence.

"Perhaps you're right, Mission. Perhaps we should..." She let her sentence trail off. Bastila found herself again in silent contemplation, her gaze drawn to the man on the couch. As she watched, Tyson's wounds began to close, healing at a pace that defied all conventional understanding. His body seemed to hum with an energy all its own, a mysterious power that healed even the deepest of cuts. Mission's words echoed in her mind. The Twi'lek was young, raised in the bowels of Taris' Undercity, ignorant to the wider struggles of the galaxy. Yet there was a kernel of truth in her words. The Jedi and the Republic were losing at an alarming rate. The Sith Lords seemed unstoppable, their dark influence creeping further with each passing day.

Was Tyson the answer to their problems? Could this strange, enigmatic man be the weapon they needed to turn the tide of the war?

Bastila knew she was hunted, a prey sought by the Sith for her unique Force ability. But she also knew she had a duty to fulfill, as a Jedi and as a warrior for the Republic. She would need Tyson's help, and perhaps in return, she could guide him and shape him into the force of good that the galaxy so desperately needed. But that path was fraught with danger, for both Tyson and herself. A Jedi's duty was to maintain balance, to serve as a beacon of light in the face of darkness. But here she was, contemplating using a man with a power she did not fully understand. Yet, what choice did they have? If they were to prevail against the Sith, they would need every advantage they could get. And perhaps, Tyson was the unexpected edge they needed. The Force worked in mysterious ways, and right now, it had presented them with a possibility that was impossible to ignore. Tyson was their wildcard, and for better or worse, Bastila had to gamble on him.

~~Star Trek: TMG~~

As the first rays of the morning sun streamed into the apartment, Tyson's eyes fluttered open. His wounds and aches, from the brutal encounter with the Sith Governor, had faded, only lingering within his memories.

His eyes fell on Mission, her lithe form curled up on a loveseat, a peaceful expression on her face as she slept. She'd kept vigil all night. Nearby, his armor lay neatly arranged. With a flick of his wrist, he activated his Inventory and watched as the pieces disappeared from view. Tyson approached Mission and gently laid a hand on her shoulder, waking her. She blinked her purple eyes open, looking up at him with a mixture of relief and joy.

"Tyson, you're okay." she breathed, her arms wrapping around him in a warm embrace. She drew him closer, her lips meeting his in a tender, sweet kiss. It was a display of affection that sent a flutter of warmth through Tyson's chest, but it was also a kiss that hinted at something more, a deeper longing that Mission seemed eager to explore. He could feel the shift in the mood, a shift that made him pull back slightly. "Should we be...?" He began, but she quickly cut him off, placing a finger against his lips.

"Shhh," she whispered, a mischievous smile playing on her lips. Her finger slid from his lips, tracing a path along his cheek, her eyes locked onto his. She effectively silenced his protests, leaving him caught in the moment, the world around them forgotten as they surrendered to the burgeoning desire within them.

In the predawn hush of their shared apartment, Bastila found her solace in the familiar routine of a Jedi's morning exercises. The time she had spent captive had taken a toll on her body, rendering her muscles tight and weakened, and this ritual was her way of slowly regaining her former strength. Her body moved with a graceful fluidity, her form silent on the plush carpet as she flowed through each stretch and pose. By the time she finished, her body was lithe and relaxed, a sheen of sweat gracing her brow, proof of her efforts. The room stood in silence, punctuated only by her soft breaths.

But then, she heard it. The faint rustling from outside the room was a disruption in the quiet harmony of the morning. She approached the door, seeking the source of the noise. She hoped Tyson had fully healed and they could move on with their plan to leave the planet. What she found, however, was far from anything she could have imagined. There, in the soft glow of the morning light, she found Tyson and Mission in a passionate embrace. Their bodies moved in sync with each other in an intimate dance. The sight was unexpectedly sensual, the raw display of their affection making her heart skip a beat.

Bastila stood frozen in the doorway, an unexpected observer of the intimate scene. The world seemed to stop at that moment, the only sound in the room was the soft gasps and sighs of the lovers. Her cheeks burned, the heat of the situation seeping into her, but she found herself unable to look away. It was a moment of pure, unadulterated intimacy, and as much as she knew she should respect their privacy, Bastila found herself captivated by the sight. As she stood there, silent and unseen, the taboo thrill of being an unwitting voyeur gave way to a flurry of complex emotions.

Then, without warning, the crescendo hit. A climax, raw and powerful, that seemed to shake the lovers. It was then that something extraordinary happened. From within Tyson, a surge of luminescent purple energy emerged, wrapping around Mission like an ethereal cloak. Bastila's eyes widened in fascination, her breath hitching in her chest as she took in the stunning spectacle. Tyson bent down, his sharp teeth gently grazing Mission's skin in an intimate embrace. Yet, no physical mark followed. Instead, streams of that same captivating purple energy flowed from his mouth, seeping into the Twi'lek's skin without leaving a trace. It was a sight both terrifying and enthralling, holding Bastila captive with its otherworldly beauty.

Bastila's heart pounded in her chest as she watched, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts and questions. She had seen many things in her life and faced many challenges, but nothing had prepared her for the unsettlingly sensual scene before her.

Amidst this passionate frenzy, Mission's eyes fluttered open. Her gaze which was soft and unfocused in the throes of ecstasy, locked onto Bastila's. The shared gaze was a moment frozen in time, two women connected by an experience as strange as it was erotic, a silent exchange that said more than words ever could. She was caught, locked in the gaze of Mission whose eyes glowed purple with the same energy Tyson had just released into her.

Mission's eyes beckoned her, a siren's call, luring her into the depths of the captivating spectacle. The unspoken message was reinforced by a voice in her head. 'Stay'. The intention was clear, its tone, that of the enthralling Twi'lek. Bastila had used the Force to hold unspoken communications with other Jedi, but this was different.

Different, but similar, and clearly understood by Bastila. With a subtle step back, she allowed the darkness of the doorway to envelop her, masking her presence while affording her a discreet view of the fervor unfolding before her eyes.

Tyson was relentless, his motions smooth yet assertive. His hands roamed with reverence, tracing the contours of Mission's form as if it were a map leading him to undiscovered territories. With each peak, a torrent of that mysterious purple energy seethed forth, cloaking Mission in an otherworldly aura. Now and then, Tyson would lean forward, pressing gentle love bites onto her skin. As earlier, there was no wound left behind, but instead, more of the mystical energy would flow, seeming to meld with Mission.

Bastila found herself caught in a tableau of passion unfolding before her eyes. Her gaze fell upon Tyson, a picture of raw masculine energy, his muscles rippled in the low light as the alluring Twi'lek, Mission, straddled him with graceful enthusiasm. The sight was hypnotically sensuous. Bastila could see Mission's eyes flickering towards her, a silent invitation reflecting in their depths. The Twi'lek's gaze held Bastila captive, creating an invisible bond, a thread of shared desire, connecting the three of them in a tantalizing triangle of forbidden temptation. Ensnared by the illicit spectacle, Bastila's hand drifted down instinctively. Her fingers, roughened by years of combat training, reached into her undergarment and grazed against her sensitive nub. The touch sent a jolt of pleasure through her, amplifying the surreality of the scene she was covertly witnessing.

As the rhythmic undulations of Mission and Tyson accelerated towards a fevered crescendo, Bastila's pleasure mirrored their intensity. The shared energy of their climax reverberated through the room, pulling Bastila in. The Jedi's breath hitched, a silent gasp escaping her lips as her body trembled with the echoes of her own climax. Her release was intimately linked to the erotic spectacle before her. It was a shared euphoria, witnessed and experienced in the secrecy of shadow and silence.

Then, as if a spark ignited in the very fabric of the Force itself, something stirred within Mission. It was subtle, like a seed sprouting its first roots, but to Bastila's finely tuned senses, it was as clear as day. Mission had a Force Presence.

The revelation struck Bastila like a thunderbolt, the implications of it swirling in her mind. She had witnessed something more than just the physical culmination of their shared passion, but the birth of a new Force-sensitive being. The moment was intensely intimate, an experience so profoundly personal that Bastila couldn't help but feel like an intruder. Yet, as she crept back into the room, careful to be silent as she closed the door, she also recognized it as a beacon of hope in these dark times.

Mission Vao (Lvl 4)
{Corruption - 5540/132}
Defense: Reflex: 21, Fortitude: 17, Will: 16
Hit Points: 120, Force Points: 3
Melee: Punch +3 (1d4+2)
Attributes: Strength 12, Dexterity 18, Constitution 12, Intelligence 14, Wisdom 12, Charisma 12
Force Powers (Use the Force +1): Telekinesis
Skills: Computers +9, Energy Weapons +6, Engineering +9, Use the Force +1, Stealth +10, Social +7 (May reroll take second result)
Traits: Force Sensitivity, Natural Telepath, Limited Combat Precognition, Sneak Attack (+1d6 Damage), Point-Blank Shot, Sniper Shot, Autofire, Rapid Shot, Double Attack, Dual Weapon Proficiency, Vulcan Strength, Vehicular Combat
Negative Status Effect: Corrupted Seed (x21)

~~Star Trek: TMG~~

A sense of normalcy hung in the air as Bastila emerged from her solitary meditations to join Mission and Tyson for breakfast. The room was filled with the enticing aroma of a Tarisian spread that Tyson had thoughtfully delivered; conveniently covering the scent of their earlier lovemaking. They sat in comfortable silence for a while, each lost in their thoughts as they savored the various delicacies. Then, Tyson set his utensils down and shifted the conversation toward their pending mission - to steal the ship from the clutches of Davik, a notorious crime lord.

Tyson leaned back in his chair, an idea sparkling in his eyes. "Why not recruit the Black Vulkars?" he suggested. "We could use them to create a diversion."

Mission perked up at Tyson's suggestion, quickly processing the implications. "You mean, get them to distract Davik's goons while we sneak in and grab the ship?" Her eyes widened with the daring audacity of the plan, her lips curving into an excited smile. "That might just work, Starbreaker!" The girl tried Tyson's nickname again, not sure how it felt on her tongue.

Bastila, on the other hand, was initially taken aback by the proposal. It was a distinctly un-Jedi-like plan. But as she pondered over it, the strategic potential became evident. Seeing the thoughtful expression on Bastila's face, Tyson nodded. "Davik would never expect an attack from another gang to be a distraction. In the chaos, we get the ship." His eyes flickered with confidence and unspoken excitement, and Bastila couldn't help but get caught up in it.

Tyson, Mission, and Bastila headed into the heart of the Lower City, navigating the maze of grimy alleyways and bustling streets to reach the Black Vulkars' territory. The gang was infamous for its brutality, making them a perfect choice for a distraction.

As they entered a dimly lit dive bar filled with an eclectic crowd, they felt the raw energy of the place. Tyson led the way, the confidence radiating off him a clear signal that he was not a man to be trifled with.

"Let's do this," Tyson murmured to Mission, a glint in his eye that revealed his excitement for the task ahead.

As the duo navigated the bar, they expertly engaged the gang members in conversation, weaving a narrative about Davik's wealth and vulnerability. They played on the gang's greed and ambition, making sure to drop hints about the vast riches and power that could be theirs if they could take Davik down. Mission leaned into one of the Vulkar leaders, her words intoxicating and daring, "Davik has been living high and mighty for too long, don't you think? It's time someone showed him his place."

Tyson backed her up, his voice strong and compelling. "Davik's time has come. You can be the one to bring him down. What do you say?"

The Vulkars drank in their words, their interest piqued. The promise of loot, power, and prestige was a tantalizing prospect they couldn't resist. The room erupted in a wave of excitement. The gang was fired up, ready to charge Davik's estate and claim what they believed to be rightfully theirs.

Bastila watched in silent admiration as Mission and Tyson manipulated the gang into doing their bidding. Their charisma and influence were formidable, and she couldn't help be surprised they were able to execute such manipulation without using the Force. As the Vulkars roared their approval and set off to take on Davik's fortress, the trio knew they had successfully set the stage for their heist. Now, they just had to execute it.

After visiting three more spots the Vulkars frequented, doing the same rousing speeches, the group watched from the shadows as the Black Vulkars stormed toward Davik's estate. The estate was a stark contrast to the surrounding grimy cityscape; it's high-tech defenses and elegant architectural design exuded a dangerous sophistication. The towering edifice was bathed in artificial lights, their cold gleam casting long shadows on the cobblestone streets below. Its imposing durasteel gates and looming, watchful turrets served as a stern warning to any who might dare to defy Davik's authority.

As the Vulkars charged, the peace of the night was shattered by the roar of blasters and the clang of vibroblades clashing. It was a violent spectacle that drew the attention of the entire district.

"Stay low," Tyson instructed in a low whisper. He led Mission and Bastila toward a side entrance that was now vulnerable due to the guards being drawn away to fight the invading gang. Mission, nimble and quick, dashed ahead and started to work on the electronic lock of the door. Her fingers danced over the keypad, her Twi'lek upbringing in the Undercity having given her a knack for slicing through security systems. Meanwhile, Bastila kept a watchful eye on the ongoing battle, her fingers twitching slightly, ready to wield the Sith Governor's vibrosword at the first sign of trouble. As the mob escalated it provided the perfect cover for their covert operation. They went unseen and unnoticed, a phantom presence within the chaos.

"Got it!" Mission announced triumphantly, the door sliding open with a soft hiss.

They slipped inside, leaving the outside world and its turmoil behind. The interior of Davik's estate was as grandiose as its exterior, with gleaming marble floors and walls adorned with exquisite pieces of art that reflected the crime lord's refined taste. The hallway was dimly lit, creating an ambiance of luxury that was disrupted only by the faint sounds of chaos seeping in from outside.

Tyson took point, his eyes scanning the opulent surroundings warily. His every muscle was on edge, ready to respond to the slightest hint of danger. Bastila nodded to the elegant staircase that led to the upper levels. "Davik's private hanger is on the top floor. We need to make our way up there."

Mission grinned, twirling a lockpick between her slender fingers. "Leave the security systems to me. Let's just hope this place doesn't have any nasty surprises."

As they moved deeper into the estate, their footsteps were muffled by the plush carpets. Bastila could feel the tension in the air, and it wasn't just the imminent danger that had her nerves on edge. She could still sense the new, subtle flicker of the Force within Mission and Tyson. It was a mystery she would need to unravel later. For now, they had a mission to complete. They navigated Davik's mansion, avoiding rushing guards and disabling security measures with an efficient quietness. The chaos outside the estate was their ally, a diversion that kept most of Davik's forces engaged and off their path.

After what felt like an eternity, they finally reached the door leading to the private hangar. It was heavier and more fortified than the other doors they had encountered. Mission stepped forward, her fingers dancing over the security panel with renewed fervor. The door slid open, revealing the prize they sought - Davik's ship, the Ebon Hawk, rested in the middle of the hangar.

Inside the cockpit, Tyson and Bastila worked with a synchronized rhythm as they brought the ship's systems to life. Tyson's fingers danced over the control panel, initiating the ship's powerful drive system while Bastila quickly keyed in the necessary coordinates.

Mission's voice crackled through the comm system, "Engines are purring like a contented nexu. We're good to go."

Tyson shot Bastila a quick, victorious grin. "Alright then, let's see what this bird can do."

He eased the ship's throttle forward, and the Ebon Hawk responded instantly. With a hum that was as much felt as heard, the ship ascended smoothly, the hangar receded rapidly beneath them. As they broke Taris' atmosphere, Tyson punched in the sequence for the Sith Governor's planetary clearance codes, his fingers flying over the controls with system-granted confidence. The codes worked, and they passed through the planet's defense grid without a hitch. A sigh of relief echoed through the cockpit, only to be drowned out by the triumphant roar of the Ebon Hawk's engines.

Looking out of the cockpit's viewport, Bastila and Tyson watched as Taris receded into the distance, becoming just another point of light in the galaxy's vast expanse.


AN: Favorites, Follows, and Reviews are always appreciated!

Sorry if you're a fan of Carth or Canderous… I couldn't fit them in with the size limits I set for these interludes and didn't feel they were necessary additions to the story. I hit my word goal almost perfectly but skimmed through some sections. Did it feel rushed?

Reviewers.

1. Why Do Mirror-Tyson here when he has his own story?
Hmm… I wonder why I would tell the KOTOR story here. +1 Collar Pip to the reviewers that know where this is going.

2. The Emphasis on Mission's Age
Absolutely intentional. In KOTOR Mission states she's 14, likely why she isn't available as a romantic partner in the game. I wanted to head off any negative pedo reviews and make it clear that she was not that age here. I felt it would be in character to have her lie about her age for survival's sake.

3. Went back and edited chapter 1 to reflect my current writing and take out the specifics of the Gamer System and him telling Picard about his abilities. It was a minor part of the story and people kept complaining about it in the reviews. So whatever. I might go back and edit the rest of the chapters prior to Episode 5 one day, no promises. I like writing but hate hate hate editing.


Tyson "Starbreaker"

Title: Inquisitor (Commander)

Race: Corrupted Hybrid
Level: 3 (7545/7000)

Energy Credits: 111,920,868

Hit Points: 10 x 12 (Con) = 170/170
Corruption Pool = Cumulative Attribute Score x6 = 558/558
Force Points (FP) = 1+ (Use the Force skill/5) + Wisdom Modifier (3) = 6

Armor: Neo-Crusader Light Mandalorian Armor (Rare) - +6 Ref, +2 Fort, Low light vision.
Reflex: 10+ 3(Level) +4(Dex Mod) +2(Precog) +6(Armor) = 25
Fortitude: 10+ 3(Level) + 3(Con Mod) +2(Armor) = 18
Will: 10+ 3(Level) + 1(Wis mod) +2(Precog) = 16

Strength: 14
Dexterity: 18
Constitution: 17
Intelligence: 14
Wisdom: 16
Charisma: 14

Unspent Attribute Points: 2

Luck: 1

Status Effects: (none)

Languages: Basic, Cardassian

Traits: Corruption: (Absorb Corruption, Corrupted Seed, Corrupted Takedown, Corruptive Inquisitor)
Force: ('Force Sensitivity: 1089 CP', 'Telekinesis: 1089 CP')
General: ('Born Leader: 1089 CP')
Racial: ('Vulcan Strength: 11 CP', 'Natural Telepath: 600 CP', 'Limited Combat Precognition: 600 CP')
Ship: ('Vehicular Combat: 12 CP', 'Vehicular Evasion:960 CP')
Weapon: ('Autofire: 84 CP', 'Rapid Shot: 84 CP', 'Double Attack: 600 CP', 'Dual Weapon Proficiency: 920 CP')

Skills: Athletics: Lvl 14 (Con, Str, Dex - Maxed)
Computers: Lvl 14 (Int - Maxed)
Energy Weapons: Lvl 18 (Dex)
Engineering: Lvl 14 (Int - Maxed)
Heavy Weapons: Lvl 6 (Str)
Martial Arts: Lvl 14 (Dex)
Medicine: Lvl 1 (Int)
Meditation: Lvl 3 (Wis)
Melee Weapons: Lvl 14 (Dex, Str)
Perform: Lvl 12 (Cha)
Piloting: Lvl 3 (Dex)
Social: Lvl 14 (Cha - Maxed)
Stealth: Lvl 2 (Dex)

Perks:
'Out of Nowhere'
'Corruption'

Drawbacks:
'Q and U'
'Dark Mirror'

Attacks:
Phaser: +13 (15 Damage)
Disruptor Rifle: +13 (3d8+13)
Punch: +11 (3d4+11 Damage)

Attack Modifiers:
Rapid Shot: -2 Attack, +1 damage die.
Autofire: -5 Attack, 2x2 area damage, Half damage on a miss.
Corrupted: +10 Attack, +10 Damage.
Double Attack: -5 Attack, Make a second attack.
Dual Wield Proficiency: -5 Attack, Attack with an off-hand weapon.

Meditation: (0.1 * 3(Skill level) * 284 (Pool)) = 85/hour.

Companions:

Mission Vao (Lvl 4)
{Corruption - 5540/132}
Defense: Reflex: 21, Fortitude: 17, Will: 16
Hit Points: 120, Force Points: 3
Melee: Punch +3 (1d4+2)
Attributes: Strength 12, Dexterity 18, Constitution 12, Intelligence 14, Wisdom 12, Charisma 12
Force Powers (Use the Force +1): Telekinesis
Skills: Computers +9, Energy Weapons +6, Engineering +9, Use the Force +1, Stealth +10, Social +7 (May reroll take second result)
Traits: Force Sensitivity, Natural Telepath, Limited Combat Precognition, Sneak Attack (+1d6 Damage), Point-Blank Shot, Sniper Shot, Autofire, Rapid Shot, Double Attack, Dual Weapon Proficiency, Vulcan Strength, Vehicular Combat
Negative Status Effect: Corrupted Seed (x21)

Bastila Shan (Lvl 17)
{Corruption - 0/2159}
Defense: Reflex: 33, Fortitude: 30, Will: 31; Block, Deflect
Hit Points: 381, Force Points: 8
Melee: Double-Bladed Vibroblade +21 (2d6+9) and +21 (2d6+9)
Attributes: Strength 13, Dexterity 18, Constitution 12, Intelligence 10, Wisdom 14, Charisma 17
Force Powers (Use the Force +21): Telekinesis, Battle Strike, Mind Trick, Rebuke, Slow, Surge, Vital Transfer
Skills: Use the Force +21
Traits: Force Sensitivity, Accelerated Strike, Dual Weapon Mastery III, Force Training (3), Rapid Strike, Block, Deflect, Improved Battle Meditation, Jedi Battle Commander, Lightsaber Defense, Multiattack Proficiency (Lightsabers), Riposte, Telepathic Link
Negative Status Effect: (None)

Inventory:
Sith Armor x3
Rakghoul Cure x11
Terran Phaser (Energy Weapon: 15 Damage)
Cardassian Disruptor (3d8 Damage)