After many long, grueling years of editing, remaking, editing, remaking, and more editing and more remaking, I have finally produced a version of this story I'm actually satisfied with. Withought further adieu, I present the definitive version of "The Dark Side, Or The Light?"

-The Dark-

The 'tip tap' of Imperial boots echoeded along the hallway, the officer nearly tripping over a mouse droid as he scurried to a new office door. Guarding the door were two uniquely but heavily armored, deadly-looking troopers. Their design obviously Imperial, but far from regulation.

As the Imperial stood in front of the door, he dusted himself off and straightened up. The troopers identified the officer then allowed him entrance into the office.

Shape-wise, it was practically a standard Imperial office, but read like a 'mild laboratory.' As in: it was like an office, but the person this office belonged to took some work with him. There were shelves of study books, tables with experiments of both the mechanical and chemical kind.

Mythus Pzallon was no regular Imperial. Many thought he was eccentric in his ways, but he maintained a proper Imperial persona around other fellow Imperials. Actually, he was very run-of-the-mill compared to other ranking officers; but he was very devoted to and secretive about his work, so when he talked -and he tended to be ominously vague about it- about his work, he stood out amongst the others.

Here on Lothal, he steamrolled with his work; others were aware of what he did because of firsthand experience, so that instilled a sense of fear amongst the others. No one had questioned Mythus's leadership or failed him. For the record, there was hardly any rebellion on the planet anymore; but Mythus had been cooking up something big. Something was imminent.

Well, that much was obvious. Mythus had requested the next highest ranking officer to gather a few dozen local citizens in the street in front of the Imperial Complex; and Mythus was holding a needle of some sort, spinning it around his fingers.

"Sir, the, citizens are gathered." The officer reported.

Mythus held up the needle. "Have Roscoe ready." He told the officer.

The mention of even Roscoe's name sent absolute shudders up the officer's spine and stiffened his entire body. Roscoe was Mythus's tool for total domination on Lothal; he was a device of terrible carnage that put fear even into Imperial minds, which coerced them into more than obedience. The fear that Bando Roscoe inspired made the Imperial faction on Lothal nearly perfectionists. And with the Ghost crew gone, the citizens fell in line at a much higher rate. But that wasn't enough for Mythus.

"Yes sir." The officer answered with near hopelessness, before turning and exiting in the fashion of a stiff protocol droid. This officer was higher up in the rankings, too, just below Mythus. He worked with him a lot, too. He didn't regret his work, but he still feared Mythus. So much so that Mythus' reputation nearly mirrored Darth Vader in a certain way.

The officer was very visibly uncomfortable when he traversed the halls. Stormtrooper TK-626 took notice and immediately knew what it meant. What was now about to be unleashed upon Lothal couldn't be allowed to happen; the Ghost crew needed to return. He'd make his move when his shift ended. He could only hope that wouldn't be too late.

Mythus strided along the hallway, his movements so stiff he could've been a robot. He made it to an elevator. The elevator panel had a special hole under the buttons for Imperial code cylinders. Except only half a dozen people -Mythus included- had cylinders to access that port. Mythus entered his cylinder, and an access light above the elevator glowed, signalling special access.

He stepped inside the elevator and waited. An overhead voice spoke out, "Special access granted. State your name and special access code."

"Mythus G. Pzallon. Special access code 825014."

After a moment, a light inside the elevator glowed green, and the elevator began moving down. The elevator moved down even past the storage basement at the bottom of the base. The door opened and Mythus traversed through an ominous hallway, lit only by dim red lights.

Mythus walked on for a few moments, his hand held out before he came upon a secure door. He put his code cylinder in again, and the door opened. Inside was a more well-lit experiment room. The other five people who had access were there; four were workers with head implants; they moved and talked like robots. The implants removed much of their independence and was replaced with necessary information. The last one was the officer Mythus had talked to earlier.

In the middle of the room, there was a large containment tube, much like a bacta tank. Inside was a body hooked up to many machines. A helmet covered the head, as it had been damaged severely, many years before. There were even tubes and other gadgets hooked up to the helmet. No one completely understood the experiment other than Mythus, but they didn't bother asking.

"He's ready sir." The other officer told him.

Mythus pulled out the needle he was fiddling with earlier and approached the tube. He leaned in within an inch of the tube, eyeing where Bando Roscoe's eyes would be and said quietly, "Don't worry; I won't have need of you much longer. It will all be over soon." He then inserted the needle into an injection hole in the tube. He then closed a lid over the needle and pushed it down into the tube.

"Begin injection." Mythus said.

The workers did their thing, making the machine purr. The particular elixr Mythus used was extremely fatal if too much was inserted too quickly.

"Time to open your mind." Mythus whispered, putting his palm flat upon the glass of the tube, closing his eyes.

-in another time-

My name is Aang Drakkar. I am a Force-sensitive Besalisk, born shortly after the start of the Clone Wars. I raised myself, knowing nothing but the Force. I don't know how or why, but I'm glad it was so. I don't know where I was born, but I know it's not here. Lothal.

Fast forward almost two decades, I find my self quite exceptionally self-trained. The Empire has an iron grip around this planet, supposedly. I never wanted to get involved, and I evaded all possible attention when necessary. Everything went smoothly, until the Empire left.

At least I thought they did.

I remember Grand Admiral Thrawn and Lothal's Governor Arihnda Pryce's last days in charge of this planet. An Imperial facility's fuel supply went down, which gave the rebellion the advantage it needed to chase the Empire off. Lothal's Imperial Capitol Building was launched into the sky and decimated, while Thrawn's fleet was dragged into the unknowns by some kind of sky whales. Purgill, if my memory serves correctly.

Lothal shined again.

At least that's what I remember.

I went to sleep later that night after a casual celebration party. I had the best sleep of my life, and then I woke up.

I went out into the streets, feeling confident in myself. I was confident in my identity as a Jedi. Then I looked up and felt my insides sink. They were back. Star destroyers and TIE Fighters patrolling the skies, and stormtroopers on the streets. The Imperial Complex was still there.

I asked around about what happened. No one seemed to remember the Empire leaving or anything. The fuel pods were gone, I noticed. But neither Thrawn nor Pryce had any presence on Lothal for a long time, according to some other locals.

Could I have been dreaming of Lothal's liberation? Did I party harder than I thought I did? I couldn't have. I remember everything so vividly.

The Force has been going haywire inside my head. Something is DEFINITELY wrong. I'm going to find out what.

Aang closed his journal and set out.

-present day-

Local citizens of Lothal were forcibly gathered in front of the Imperial Complex. There was a podium in front of the crowd, and almost the whole division of troops surrounding those gathered. Everyone noticed an unusually dark and clouded sky blocking the sun.

The Imperial Complex opened up, and two officials came out and stepped up on the platform. Bando Roscoe stood in the spotlight, and Mythus only stood beside him. There was a camera nearby, pointed at Bando's side profile; it was being operated by another Imperial.

"My dear citizens," Bando spoke with such a booming voice. It was so deep and so vivid, it crackled through the air, "For nearly half a decade, rebel insurgence has cursed your planet, and almost nothing has been done about it." His tone sounded sympathetic, but his words obviously weren't. "I'm here to fix that." He said ominously. "A plan's already in motion to rid the galaxy of the Ghost crew, the rebellion. . . and their sympathizers."

Bando went and grabbed the camera. "This message goes out to the Ghost plague: their blood is on your hands." Bando turned the camera towards the crowd.

-The Light-

Aang had isolated himself on the other side of Lothal, as far away from the planet's capitol as possible. He found a cave that intrigued him; along the walls of the cave, there were paintings: people, Jedi, and Loth-wolves were displayed in white all over the walls. Aang felt a connection and decided to camp there. Ever since he woke to that change a few days before, he knew something was wrong and found himself again not confident about getting involed.

Today he decided to meditate inside the cave. He found a small circular room inside the cave, similar to that of a meditation chamber. He sat down, cross-legged, and began his daily training.

Several parsecs away, aboard the Ghost, Ezra Bridger meditated. The Ghost crew had just survived a fate-deciding battle above Scarif. Afterwards, Ezra felt the Force call him again; but he had a bad feeling about this one. And he was about to have an even worse one.

At the same time, Aang and Ezra felt a major upset in the Force. The same way Aang felt it "go haywire," Ezra now felt it too. And then they sensed something happening. Probably the worst thing they'd ever felt. It was more than the dark side; it was the coldest, darkest evil they'd ever known. And yet something more mysterious. The next thing they knew, they had both passed out.

Ezra regained consciousness on his bed. The rest of the crew was present, and none of them bore pleasant expressions. "What happened?" Ezra asked, surprisingly calmed and composed, although quiet as if suspicious.

"Ezra, it's. . . Lothal." Hera said, obviously holding back several emotions.

Ezra's eyes widened a little bit, waiting for Hera to continue before speaking himself.

Hera sighed, unsure how to phrase what the crew witnessed across the holonet. "The people. Citizens-"

"Hera, what happened?" Ezra asked urgently, sitting up.

"The Empire, brought someone new." Sabine chimed in, her voice not too chipper either.

"It looked like the entire city was gathered," Hera took in a big breath. She was trying to word it as casually as possible, but the trouble was trying not to vomit. She let out her breath and just simply told him, "Ezra, he did something unspeakable." Hera drew out the last word and emphasized every syllable.

"Everyone, is gone." Zeb said darkly, struggling to contain his emotions.

"The Empire just did something similar to Jheda's holy city. What's happened differently that's making you guys react like this?" Ezra asked, his stomach beginning to churn. Sabine was even shaken up, he'd noticed. He knew Mandalorians see a lot of crap in their lifetimes, and Sabine was possibly the toughest person he knew; so something that disturbed her this deeply was definitely an urgent matter.

And then there was the matter of Ezra's meditation. He remembered the cold and the evil he felt before passing out. Whatever happened on Lothal was definitely the cause of the shift he felt. 'What could have possibly happened?' He thought.

Ezra stood up out of bed and boldly said, "Show me." Then heading to the lounging room.

Zeb placed a hand on his shoulder before he left and said softly, "Uh, just brace yourself, kid. There's no preparing for what you're about to see."

Ezra looked back and noticed all eyes on him, except for Chopper's. Even Chopper was distraught; he was leaning forwards, facing the floor. Ezra had not a single good feeling in his body.

Ezra sat in the lounge and watched the recording, then returned to his cabin feeling sick. 'Sick' was the first word that came to his head, but he was feeling a bit differently than a normal sick-to-the-head person would. There were definitely some overwhelming emotions in him that he hadn't felt before. Or, had he?

He was suddenly reminded of his experiences a year ago. Chopper Base, the holocron, Reklam Station. 'Reklam Station.' He thought. He'd been doing his absolute best for the rebellion, and it nearly got his friends killed. He almost died too. The dark power he received from the holocron had changed him, and it came with a cost. At the time, his emotions got the better of him.

Even now, what he saw was happening, he felt the dark side knocking at his doors once again. No, it was pounding and slamming in his head. The absolute massacre he witnessed made him want to do things too. He retreated so he could escape the mindset.

Everyone else was still in his room; obviously they needed to decide a course of action. Ezra's blunt face piqued their curiosities.

"You okay?" Hera asked, putting a hand on Ezra's shoulder.

"We've never faced any one like this before." Ezra got off his chest. "What're we going to do?" He then asked more seriously, as if he just brushed off what he saw.

Hera sighed. "I don't know much." She said, answering a different question. "Back in the day, General Organa, Commander Sato, and Ahsoka had heard reports of disappearing populations; there were additionally rumors that one person was the cause of such actions. There was never anything beyond that, because there were never any witnesses. I guess it's true."

"Is that all you know?" Ezra asked urgently.

"Even if I knew more, Ezra, it wouldn't be enough. How can we fight this?" Hera answered.

"The same way we fight everything else. He's killed so many already, he's removed any bargaining chip they could've used."

Ezra made a good point, albeit a little morbid, but a good point. So many citizens gone means significantly fewer possible liabilities. They could unleash all of their nasty business on the Capitol. Zeb's ears perked up. "I agree with Ezra. Let's show 'em we mean business." He growled, pounding his fist into his palm.

The way Ezra seemingly brushed Hera's voice off so easily worried her.

-Lothal-

They may have been Imperial, but they were still human. After Bando was released on Lothal, some of the Imperials (troopers, officers, and pilots alike) had woken up to the Empire's true villainy, and those who had heard of rumors of Bando's exploits formed a secret Imperial rebellion of AWOLers. Said rebellion hadn't yet lifted off the ground due to extremely limited resources and members; that, and some of them feared Bando Roscoe too greatly to think about defying the Empire yet.

Through a thoroughly-set-up network of defectors, they were able to establish a base in the middle of nowhere on the plains of Lothal in the tall rocks, just as the Ghost crew had done before. Or had they? Either way, TK-0946 knew a decent amount about the crew and studied a decent amount about them to mount his own soon-to-be rebellion in a similar manner.

The now-former trooper, numbered TK-626, followed a set of coordinates he received mysteriously in his barracks at the Imperial base. He came upon a small field of boulder-shaped mountains; upon entering the field, he was confronted by two blaster-wielding men.

"Tee Kay Six-Two-Six?" One of them inquired.

"Yes?" 626 replied cautiously. He had no idea neither what nor who to expect.

"TK Oh-Nine-Four-Six is expecting you."

"I have, no idea who that is." 626 replied flatly.

"No worries, brother. He will answer your questions." One of the men said while the other one was patting 626 down.

"Clean." The other one confirmed when his pat down was finished.

626 was taken deeper into the field when he saw an in-progress base being built. Some people were wearing Imperial uniforms. "Others!" He accidentally exclaimed aloud.

"There are many of us that have finally realized the damage the Empire has been causing, and this 'Bando' guy's deal made firm our decisions. The Empire's made a planet-killing weapon called the Death Star. It's been the most recent breaking report ever since it was forced to fire upon our occupation on the holy city of Scarif. And only shortly after that, the Empire reported to the Senate that it was a 'mining incident' destroyed Jedha. The incidents are not only so coincidently close together, but the damage done is identical. It didn't take us long to connect the dots about that atrocity." The man turned around to face 626 when he was done explaining; he found 626 facing the ground with an astounded expression on his face. "It was a lot for us, too. You'll get through it."

The two men led 626 further into the mountain base which stretched through several of the connected mountains. There wasn't anything yet founded that was completed; but on the other end of the base, there was a doorway that led to TK-0946's temporary office space.

"Over there." One of the men pointed to the office.

626 went through the door and found 0946 listening in on radio chatter. There were no windows on any of the walls; the room was lit only by some lamps strung all around the room. "Six-Two-Six?" 0946 inquired when he looked up at him.

"Why does everyone know me?" He asked himself quietly, subtly confirming himself.

"I'm glad you could find it in yourself to join us." 0946 put down the headset he had partially on and stood up to put an arm around 626. "Have a seat." 0946 suggested, gesturing to the chair on the other end of the table he was sitting at.

They both sat down, and 0946 got straight to the point. "Straight to business, how many encounters have you endured with our local rebels of the Ghost crew?"

"Oh, uh, only twice. I was only a patrol guard at a TIE base; the one known as Sabine Wren caused trouble for us on both encounters. I've long since changed positions, so it's been a while; why do you ask?"

0946 assessed the answer before asking for clarification. "We are both here for the same reason, yes?" He leaned his head on his hands, crossing his fingers over his mouth.

"So I've been told."

"Well, I've been listening in on radio and comm chatter, waiting for news on the Ghost crew's whereabouts since the transmission was targeted at them. I wan- we all want to enlist their help to take Bando out."

626 raised his eyebrows, the expression on his face not doing his shock any justice.

"I know that look, brother." 0946 said. "We are far underequipped to take on this matter alone."

"That crew is only four people and a droid. How much more help are they going to be?"

"Those five alone caused our entire planetary occupation endless trouble for years. Well, at a time, six." The sudden memory of the death of Kanan Jarrus settled guilt into 626; he almost didn't hear what 0946 proposed next. "If we can enlist the Ghost crew, Phoenix Squadron will follow. It's a surefire way to kick the others off the planet."

'These guys have fully renounced the Empire.' 626 thought. Then one little detail resurfaced in his head. "How come those guys out there are still donning Imperial attire?" He gestured a thumb in the direction out the door.

0946 leaned forward, moving to rest his chin on his hands. "What do you know of the Fulcrum program?"

"Never heard of it." 626 replied after giving a moment's thought.

"Hmm. For the time being, a short time, some of us will still work within the Imperial army. We have TIE scouts here, so they won't be reported missing for being out here so long."

"And for those that aren't scouts?"

"As far as the Empire's concerned, they're dead. They'll be here working on the base."

"So, what was it you were asking about. . . what was it? Fulcrum?"

"The Fulcrum program is a system of anonymous intelligence providers for the rebellion. The most recent Fulcrum was outed as our very own ISB Agent, Alexsandr Kallus."

'So that's where he's been.' 626 thought. "So, what'll we be doing here?"

"Overall, preparing for war." 0946 answered dramatically.

A war within the Imperial army.