4 ABY. Twenty minutes after the Emperor's death.

"Hello there, Anakin." The old Kenobi replied, sitting forward, out of the shadows, arms resting on his thighs. "It is good to see you again."

Anakin's arms. Unburned. Intact. His legs were his own, his robes, the same dark fabric he wore during the Clone Wars. Orange light spread over the high council chamber, every detail just as Anakin remembered. The floral circles on the marble floor were pristine and vibrant. The chairs, designed for each council member's unique anatomy, sat exactly where they had been, so long ago.

"Where are we?" Anakin asked as his hosts silently watched him.

"Dead, you are." Yoda finally explained, pointing his cane for Anakin's chest. "Obvious, I thought that was."

"Then it is over." Anakin replied. "Am I to fade away? To become a fleeting memory like the Sith of the past? Is that my fate?"

Qui-Gon was next to speak, his voice calm and mellow, just as it was in Anakin's faded memories: "Anakin, when I found you, I knew there was greatness within you. It was tethered to your very essence, but in the end, you were just a boy, and I pushed these thoughts into your mind too readily. I did not see all the paths, and what I had done. I pushed you to the dark side with talk of greatness and destiny. That was foolish, and I didn't realize just how foolish until I became one with the force. I am sorry for the part I played in your story. Yet, destiny is not yet fulfilled."

Anakin could barely look into the old master's eyes. "Have I not done what you said? Have I not brought balance to the force?"

Qui-Gon shook his head, a solemn frown hidden under his beard. "You have done the galaxy a service today, but you have not brought balance. You merely tilted the scales towards light."

"I don't understand." Anakin muttered. "What is it you want from me?"

Now, it was Kenobi's turn to speak. He rose from his council chair, barely recognizable from the days of his youth. He walked as if a heavy burden sat atop his shoulders, and his grim expression held secrets only death could reveal. "We want you to go back."

"Go back?" Anakin repeated. "Am I not dead?"

"You are caught between two planes." Kenobi explained. "Take one path, and Darth Vader will fade into oblivion. Take the other, return to the galaxy, and you may yet find Anakin."

"Am I not redeemed by my actions?" Anakin asked. "The Emperor is dead by my hands!"

"Think one good deed if enough, do you?" Yoda added from his chair. "Think Alderaan's citizens agrees, do you? Think Leia agrees, do you? Agree, I do not. To find peace, atone, you must."

"Palpatine showed me the methods by which I might become like you." Anakin argued. "I shall find my own way without you. I shall become one with the force, my own way, alone, just like I've always been."

"Agree, the force also does not." Yoda mumbled. "So many younglings, dead because of you-"

"Anakin," Qui-Gon, always compassionate, interrupted. "Right now, your- spirit- consciousness- whatever you may call it- is drowned in the dark side. Even now, your choice to slaughter the Emperor, while well-intended, was an act of hate. It was an act of everything you have suffered these long decades. That cannot be undone in a single act, young padawan."

"Padawan..." Vader repeated, contempt oozing from his words. "What padawan could do what I had done? The entire Jedi order could not do what I had done! I destroyed the Sith with my bare hands! Could the same be said of you, Qui-Gon?"

Qui-Gon sighed. "And that very mentality is why you cannot join us. Not yet."

"You have the opportunity for something none of us had: a second chance." Kenobi urged. "Go back. Find the old friend I knew. Find yourself. I would very much wish to see him again."

Anakin pondered the idea. Was it even possible to become better than this? Faces of those he killed now filled his memories, including the many that died in this very temple by his command- by his own hands. Was he ready to die with this as his only legacy, when there was still so much bad in the galaxy? How much evil could still be traced to him? How many acts of barbarism were made in his name? How many in his master's name? He truly had no choice. "If I return, will you grant me one wish?"

"The force is not a diety, Anakin." Qui-Gon answered. "It does not grant favors."

"Forgive that I'm curious." Kenobi mentioned. "What would you wish for?"

"To make me whole again." Anakin begged. "That suit- my face. I wish to breathe real air again, look with my own eyes again. Will you free me from that damned suit?"

"That suit is as much a part of you as your memories." Kenobi said, offering a weak smile. "Even if we could make you whole, take away all the scars, Vader would still be there. Only you can escape that man. Only you can remake the suit into another symbol of something better. Hopefully, soon, you will come to learn that."

5ABY. Planet Nal Hutta, capital of the Hutt's criminal empire.

People didn't go very far on Nal Hutta. Maybe that was why the Hutt Terraformed it so long ago; to keep the slaves from running too far. Where would they go? The only thing waiting for them, when and if they escaped the Hutts' gluttony, were barren bogs, greasy rain, and insect-ridden grasslands. The cities were the only source of security from the planet's lifeless filth. No need for specials security, no need for gates or fences or other needless costs; the slaves remained of their own volition.

One slave in particular was named Yana, a Twi'lek under Durga the Hutt. Durga's palace was her life. Every speck of dust, every statue out of place, every lazy maid beneath her was her responsibility. Everything had to be spotless, and in a Hutt's palace where debauchery was the only gospel, spotless was an impossible task. Her days were long and hard, but her loyalty had granted her certain boons.

For one, her quarters were her own, and sat at the penthouse of the Palace slave's apartments. No bunkmates or prying eyes. Still, even with these blessings, the slave quarters were still on the edge of the city, closest to the industrial neighborhoods, were the pounding, creaking, squealing and revving of industrial machinery kept her up until the late hours. Sleep was just as much a resource as food in that place.

Yana couldn't complain, however. How could she, as head maid? Morale was also her responsibility, and so it was her job to be in a good mood at all times. She would greet the apartment's ration clerk with the usual smile, where she was granted certain extra pleasures: time with the holotelevision, dessert rations, and even, if she saved up enough, the occasional box of death sticks.

Sickly-yellow light poured in through her blinds, as it always did. Dishes were piling up. Dirty laundry littered the floor. How could she bother with her own problems when she was so often solving the problems of others? It could wait until the next day, and so she pushed the laundry into a bin, opened her window and drew a death stick. It couldn't be any worse for her than the Nal Hutta air itself.

The smoke tingled, but the effects were quick. The nauseating yellow and brown sunset became a refreshing natural red and orange, like a twilight evening on Naboo. Her boring furniture came alive, dancing to the well-timed tune of the mining equipment outside. It was an artificial reprieve, but a welcome one. Though, auditory hallucinations were a new experience for her. Either that, or the mechanical breathing coming from her kitchen were the sounds of an intruder. It was hard to tell.

"If that's you, Tork," Yana spat, grabbing her holotelevision remote as a weapon, "I swear to whatever god you pray to, I will throw you out the window. I told you a million times, I ain't interested!"

She came nearer. There was no question: there was a figure in her kitchen. A sturdy wall of black, a hood obscuring the details of its face. It didn't dance like the usual hallucinations. Fear wrapped its tendrils around her when she asked, "Who's there?"

Now that she spoke to it, the figure moved into the light. Every step it took struck her heart with fear. It must have weighed a ton for how firmly its boots shook the floor. Its face, a ghoulish triangular mouth, with eyes as empty as black holes, all hiding beneath a low-hanging hood. It then spoke, in a dreadful baritone that permeated every corner of the room: "You know who I am."

Yana blinked once or twice, trying to clear the hallucinations from reality, but she could not, and so she reasoned, "They must have spiked these death sticks. You're impossible. You're dead. Besides, what the hell would you be doing in my apartment? That's just ridiculous."

The figure came nearer. Yana tried to run, to attack, to do anything, but invisible forces held her petrified. She could feel its cold, machine hand clamp down on her shoulder. "It would seem you have a choice to make. I have some questions for you, and it would be safest for you to answer them. If I am not here, you are perfectly safe to ignore me, but if I am here- then you must choose very carefully how you wish to test it. You work for Durga the Hutt, do you not?"

Yana winced from the chill of that dreaded gloved hand. "I would call it work. More like servitude in exchange for my own life."

"What is your position?"

"Head maid, nothing worth your time."

"Through the course of your day, how often are you within earshot of Durga? If you know who I am, you know I can sense any deceit."

The Twi'lek cleared her throat. "Look, I don't know what game this is-"

"Answer the question."

Reluctantly, she replied, "Often enough to hear this and that."

"I have an opportunity for you. A chance at freedom, to strike back against these creatures who exploit your kind so viciously."

Yana rolled her eyes. "I've heard that before. Freedom this, hope that. Most of 'em found themselves dying for Durga's entertainment."

"I am not most."

"What do I gotta do?"

"I would have you do but one thing." Vader explained, pulling a small tube from his belt. "Inside this capsule is a camera, small enough to fit on your eye. You will wear it in the mornings, then report to me. I shall return at the end of every day. There is nothing at risk for you but what may happen, should you refuse."

Yana pursed her lips. "You've got mind tricks, don't ya? Hypnotize the ration guy to give me extra deathsticks, and you have yourself a deal."

"You are in no position to-"

"I wasn't born yesterday." Yana interrupted. "You obviously want something from Durga, and I'm a link straight to him. You kill me, you lose your link. Wastes time. If a guy of your stature is looking for my help, that means you don't have your legions to call on anymore. You're alone, aren't you?"

Vader didn't answer, and so Yana carried on. "Sweetening the pot will get you far on this planet, honey. All you gotta do is help me out, just as teeny, weeny, itsy bit, and I'll wear your damned wire."

The Sith lord seemed to ponder the idea. "With each piece of useful information on his habits, his routine, and his security detail, you shall have your habit satiated. You have my word."

"What is it you're planning?" She asked.

Vader exhaled. "Something I should have done a long time ago."

The plan was simple enough. Secure intelligence, instill distrust between Hutt leaders, isolate them from each other, infiltrate, and finally, once they have pushed away any allies, kill each quietly, and quickly. All without civilian casualties. No doubt with Imperial morale waning across the galaxy, the last thing these slugs would expect is a threat to their power.

Yana did as they were told, the data from her infiltration transmitted straight to Vader's helmet. In return, a simple mind trick from the shadows was enough to persuade the ration clerk into giving Yana her due. A troubled mind was one easy to manipulate. That much, Vader had learned well. He listened to the crime boss's conversations, the video and audio playing in his helmet. Routes in the palace, servant's corridors, chambers, number of guards, details on their politics. Nothing of terrible note. Profits, new routes of trade, new relations with distant worlds, enemies dealt with, rats silenced. Nothing to help him turn the clans against each other.

Then, an unexpected conversation between Durga, the scarred Hutt, and a human, dressed in Imperial uniform. This, Vader did not expect. The officer wore the rank of high command, yet nothing about his stature or his presentation suggested any connection to such a status. They were trying too hard to take the role of sophistication.

Durga spoke in his native Huttese tongue, which Vader's suit translated well enough: "I trust my people have made you comfortable, General?"

"They have, thank you." The officer replied, removing their cap and gloves and sitting across from the Hutt. "To business, then?"

"To business." Durga replied. "I have searched Jabba's palace for those Imperial data codes, but have found nothing useful. Nothing like you promised."

"Then perhaps we require a change in strategy." The officer suggested. "I suggest a move for peace with Coruscant."

"Peace with-" The mere idea forced a chuckle from the Hutt. "Imagine, a Hutt shaking hands with your bureaucrats."

"And with your people in the heart of the Empire," The general explained, "You would have access to the best-kept secrets in the galaxy, something that could tip the clan's balance in your favor- should the help really be here for this?"

"I suppose not. Yana! Out!" That was it for useful information.

Vader had renovated his shuttle into a long-range headquarters. He had replaced many of the seats to make room for his meditation chamber, which he would use during times of rest. He had landed his shuttle far from the city, deep in the marshy outlands, so that no one might come across it, or try to claim it as their own.

Inside his chamber, he meditated on his next move. He knew that no matter how many Hutts he assassinated, another Hutt would take their place. Their empire spanned entire sectors, and could call upon entire armies, should he reveal himself. Still, this news about Durga's plans to infiltrate Coruscant was interesting. Instead of fighting head-on, he would take a page from Palpatine's book, and first sew doubt between the factions. There were other species under Hutt command: Rodians, Trandoshans, Weequay. They would defend their leaders to their dying breath. Such was the loyalty among criminals. It would be their undoing. And so, from his meditation chamber, Vader sewed slivers of doubt into the lower-ranking criminals. How would he do such a thing at a distance? In the same way Palpatine had done to him, so many years ago: in their dreams.

Planting nightmares took great concentration, even against the weakest minds, yet all it would take is a single thought: "Durga is planning a coup against the other Hutts." That was all it was. A single sentence, just enough to form into a cancer among them.

Now, Vader took a lesson learned from the rebellion. Sew doubt from on high, and instill hope in the people. Hope, it seemed, was the Empire's missing key, but it was something the Empire could never offer. Vader had forgotten how to instill such a thing as hope. How could he give people something he never had? He turned his meditation towards the cities of this world. He felt no hope there. Not even a spark.

Vader also saw children in the cities. Humans, Twi'leks, Bith, Quarren, all suffering. These were his true targets. He couldn't help but recall the promise he made to his own mother, Shmi, so long ago. Freedom. It was a failed promise, framed by Jedi teachings. 'Let go of everything,' they warned. 'Love is a tool of evil, so easily manipulated and twisted against you.' He should have ignored those warnings. He could have saved her. He could have avoided so much pain, if he had simply disobeyed.

Then, thinking back on his own mother, his mind was pulled to the slums of the Nal Hutta cities. He sensed pain there, the fear from a child, whose own mother was being taken away, happening at that very moment. The mother's own pain felt just like Shmi's, before she died. No child deserved to know that pain. He had failed his own mother, but if he was quick, he could still do something to change another family's fate. At once, Vader donned his helmet, removed himself from the chamber and took his speeder to the edge of the city, to the slums he saw in his visions. He hoped he was not too late.

The streets were silent, such that the only sounds that could be heard were his own footsteps, and the weeping from the distant hovel where the crime was being done. At this late and dangerous hour, few dared remain outside, and so Vader made his way, for the most part, unseen. For those who saw him, most were too intoxicated to believe their own eyes.

Vader followed the commotion, and upon reaching the hovel in question, burst through the door. He was met with four Rodian men, dressed in garments expected of successful criminals: jewelry of gold, well-tailored clothes, weapons, and armor made from various scavenged pieces. In their hands and being dragged toward the exit, was a human woman, dressed in the rags of slavery, her arms reaching out for some dark corner of the hut, tears streaming from her eyes. Her age, her hair, her hopeless eyes, all reminded Vader of Shmi, just at the moment he found her, strung up in that tent. Never again.

At the sight of Vader, the gangsters let go of the woman. Confusion rippled through the air, as ripe as the gangster's body odor. Vader might have asked questions, but this was all too personal for the old sith. Rage gripped too tightly for thought, or for mercy. The gangsters might have begged for that very thing, if they had the chance. Vader made sure their jaws remained closed through it all.

By the time it was over, the gangsters were nothing but husks, every bone in their alien bodies broken, teeth removed, eyes crushed, barely even recognizable as humanoid. There was silence then, broken only by Vader's rage-filled breaths.

"You," Vader announced to the woman in the corner. "Are safe."

The woman could barely be seen, whimpering from the horror of what she witnessed, hiding her child in her arms. It was a boy, no older than six. When Vader approached the woman, she only held the boy tighter.

"You both are safe." Vader explained, offering his mechanical hand at first, then choosing the other. "Your son shall not be without a mother tonight."

The woman did not take Vader's hand, but with trembling eyes, slowly inspected the carnage, and with quivering lips, explained, "Those men-"

"They are gone." Vader replied. "I will dispose of them. You have nothing to fear."

The woman snapped suddenly, "Nothing to fear? I have only fear now."

"I don't understand."

"Look."

The woman pushed the boy into the light. Pale skin, sunken, yellow eyes, and black fingernails. Vader had no knowledge of diseases, and only now that his rage had subsided, could detect the boy's lifeforce, flickering like a candle in the wind.

"They promised medicine for him in return for a night with me." The woman explained. "Now, what can I do? I cannot stay. These men will eventually be missed. People will come looking for them! How will I explain this to the masters? Three Black Sun members are dead on my floor. If you clean this up, people will still come looking for them. They will ask questions. You may as well have killed us yourself."

"If you come with me-"

"If there is no one person to blame, the Hutts will punish everyone." The woman replied. "Everyone will be put to the torch. I've seen it before. We protect each other by not protecting each other. I must stay and take the blame. At least then, only me and my son will be made examples."

"If you come with me, we can find a cure for the boy-"

"Just-" The woman snapped, before grief overtook her, and the tears returned. "Travel would kill him. Just let me spend my last night with him in peace."

"I will not leave you to this fate." Vader explained. "I can't."

The woman sneered. "Why do you care so much?"

Vader looked away. "I was once a slave, as a boy. I know what it's like."

The woman scoffed. "Obviously you've forgotten. This, whatever you thought you were doing, was for you. You alone. Not for anyone else, and certainly, not for us. I've seen it a million times from our masters. Whatever slave was once in you, he is gone, replaced by one who would carry the lash rather than fear it."

Vader replied with this vow: "I am sorry."

"No you're not." She said, knowingly. "You feel bad because your good deed ended up just a monster's fury against another, and we were just stuck beneath your feet. I know who you are. I don't know what you're doing here, why you chose to come to our rescue, but no matter the reasons, that part of you, the beast sent out to crush the small, is still here, with a heart as black as the armor it wears."

Vader then sensed something he didn't expect in the woman: relief. Before Vader turned to leave, to respect this woman's wish, she followed him with one last sentence, "In a way, you have set us free. I've been hopeless for a long time. This…mess…will finally be the answer to my fears. Now, I know for certain that my son, that I, will meet my end here on this cursed world. I can make peace with it. I've been waiting for it. You better go, before the hounds pick up your scent. The scent of metal and machinery."

A plume of smoke rose from the slums the next morning; a warning for anyone else who would dare try to fight back. Vader looked on from the marshlands, winds pushing against him, bringing the smoke closer. He thought to go back, to kill every gangster who set foot in those slums, but he knew that would only lead to worse retaliation. He had acted out of anger alone, and the cost was much too high. The woman was right; he was no savior, but she was wrong about one thing. He was still a slave, but his masters, his lash, could not be defeated by the crushing of bones.

Seeing the smoke rise from that place brought an old feeling from the depths of his spirit: grief. It was a feeling he had pushed down for so long, but now, as the woman and her child's cries reached him through the force, he could bear no more. In the hopes that his meditation chamber might distract him, he retreated into his shuttle. Try as he might to focus only on his anger, to focus on his goal to oust the Hutts from their seat of power, to free the slaves under their rule, he could not hold in the grief he felt.

Tears began to fall. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry- Kenobi, please- I need help. I am ready to be the apprentice again. I can't do this alone. I never could. I haven't changed. The only lessons I learn are by the suffering of others. I am not ready."

Like a half-remembered dream, a familiar voice replied to him through the fog of the force, "That, itself, is your first step."