Merry Christmas, everyone. Have a present this merry day. The Slayer gets plenty of gifts this chapter too. And I promise, Ahsoka, Anakin, and Obi-Wan will show up next chapter. Along with some more SW fan favorites. Christmas break can be hectic, but I know where all this is going.
Within the Techno Union stronghold, there had been battle droids. There had been Skakoan caretakers. There had been fire, and screams, and pleas of mercy. None of it mattered. The Doomslayer had come.
His boots tramped around the control center of the center. It was quiet except for his footfalls and the muffled outside explosions of lava. The Doomslayer's suit had been darkened by the outside smoke and the blood of his enemies.
He came to the central computer against the far wall and began typing. It took a little while. Eventually, with VEGA's guidance, the computer chimed merrily.
"Integration successful. The base's transponder has been turned off and the battle droids in the underground factory are reprogrammed to serve us now."
The Slayer turned away and sat down on the edge of one of the two central holoprojectors. It was nice to sit down, even though he wasn't tired.
"I recommend taking this opportunity to head back to the Unbreakable and allow me to upgrade your Praetor suit. My performance diagnostics have identified areas of improvement."
The Slayer shrugged from side to side. Upgrades? What did VEGA have in mind?
"I can assure you, they will not take away from your existing capabilities. I have simply had ideas."
Well, yeah. The Slayer didn't doubt it. And he couldn't see a reason why not.
So the Slayer slid off the projector, kicked aside a fallen Skakoan body, and tramped out. He passed by a sparking hole in the wall with protruding scrap metal and quickly flattened it with his hand. He nearly had to turn sideways to fit through the narrow corridor leading outside.
Once he was back outside in the glowing red hellscape, he looked around, took a deep breath in, and expelled it. Luckily the filters were working that time, and no more visions appeared. It was nice, he supposed, to be surrounded by something familiar while also being completely safe. But he had also had enough of Hell for a lifetime.
The Slayer boarded the Horn and took off through the smoky atmosphere. Going at full sublight speed, he plowed through the smoke and soon emerged from the cover. The Slayer could now see space. He quickly exited the atmosphere and approached the Unbreakable, patiently hovering just above the gravity well.
As the Slayer got closer to the Unbreakable, he could easily spot the work the droids had done to customize the ship. The color scheme had changed from a navy blue to a dark olive green, and the white hex symbol of the CIS on the side had been replaced with the red Mark of the Beast. A troop carrier that looked like a bulky capital H was slowly entering the massive ship while a second was in the process of leaving.
"The Black Sun's base has been thoroughly looted," VEGA informed him through the ship's speakers. "The Techno Union outpost will soon follow. Please be aware that once the Separatists discover their transponder has been turned off, they will send a fleet to investigate. But I have an idea for if and when that happens. This requires us to stay in this place until they arrive, however. That is why I recommended upgrading your armor and arsenal at this time."
The Slayer patiently nodded and kept fiddling with controls. He trusted VEGA to do what was right.
The Slayer directed the Horn into the Unbreakable's docking bay and gently settled down beside the parking troop transport. He slid the doors open and hopped onto the deck.
The Slayer looked around. The docking bay was bustling with activity as the reprogrammed battle droids scurried about and began unloading the supplies from the Black Sun base. Echoey footsteps, squeaks, and shipwide groans filled the hangar, and it seemed cool in the air. Olive green Vulture droids walking around the hangar bay made deep clanks with every step.
"Work on the Horn will begin according to your vision," VEGA reported. "Work on the Crucible has already finished."
And an arm whirred down from the ceiling to gently drop the speeder bike right in front of the Slayer.
It was bulkier, longer, wider, and heavier– at least twice as long as him, maybe three times. Additional armor plating had been attached to the cockpit, engine block, and steering vanes, and was freshly painted olive green. Four heavy blaster cannons were on the cockpit's underside, as well as twin tubes for RPS-6 rocket launchers welded on either side of the open cockpit. A fierce demonic skull had been carved from some unknown material and had been placed on the front of the cockpit, as well as tinier skulls on the steering vane and engine block. The Mark of the Beast was carved and painted red into the armor on the top side and the vanes. And silver spikes decorated the entire outside like sprinkles on a cookie.
"The Crucible bike now features a frontal shield generator and a small sublight booster on the back for bursts of speed. The repulsorlift has been upgraded, and gyroscopic stabilizers have been added to deliver faster, sharper turns. Without Argent energy, though, it was impossible to match the specifications of warp tech or demonic trackers. I did put in a chainsaw attachment, however, as well as flamethrowers from the rear releasing engine heat."
VEGA appropriately activated the twin chainsaw blades popping to either side from the Crucible. And spurts of flame shot from hidden emitters, going wide to the rear and sides.
This would do nicely. Very nicely. The Doomslayer ran a hand over the Crucible bike, reverently caressing the armor and spikes. His hand grazed the rocket launcher, then the prominent demonic skull. He peeked inside. Even the seat had been reupholstered!
The Crucible was then shut down again and slowly taken back into the ceiling. The Slayer watched it as it went, then turned back to the Horn. And that ship, too, would get upgraded in the same way? He couldn't wait to see the results.
A squad of four spindly little battle droids approached the Slayer and saluted once he curiously turned to them. "VEGA sent us to accompany you to the Research and Development bay," the leader nasally said. Each of them had been repainted with olive green highlights and had the Mark of the Beast painted on their heads. "My designation is D-OOM-64. VEGA thought the Delta division's names were amusing."
Doom-64. The Slayer huffed and smiled.
The four droids led him out of the hangar. The droids went as fast as they could, but were still at a maddening slow pace. The Slayer patiently allowed them to lead him, however reluctant he may be. A series of sliding doors and long hallway trips later, and the Slayer found himself entering the R bay.
It was dim, and warm. Tables full of disassembled droid parts on either side of the Slayer were being worked on by overhanging robot arms, and holograms displaying blueprints and diagrams were flickering slightly as B1s typed into them. The Slayer passed all of them by with a critical eye.
"Right this way," Doom-64 directed, and the Slayer followed the little entourage to the back of the room. An enormous seat had been constructed near the back wall, complete with arm, foot, and headrests. Claws and arms hanging from the ceiling wreathed the chair, and they were outfitted with nearly every type of tool imaginable.
It was obvious what he needed to do. The Slayer sat down, and the chair creaked with the weight. He reclined, and the chair turned horizontal.
"Please try to get some rest at this time," Doom-64 advised, peeking into the Slayer's view. "The upgrades will begin once you finally get some sleep. Before you do, VEGA has also requested your lightsaber."
The Slayer fished around in hammerspace and procured the weapon. It was placed delicately into Doom-64's hands with a click.
The Slayer shut his eyes, put the outside world on mute, and visibly relaxed. He still remembered, from all those years ago in army training, how to fall asleep nearly anywhere. Go body part by body part and relax them. Neck, chest, shoulders. Arms, hands, waist. Hips, legs, feet, toes, fingers. Breathe comfortably…
Almost as soon as he slept, the Slayer was reminded of why he chose to go without it. His dreams were always red tinted and full of shadows. This time was no different.
The Slayer was standing on a road of amalgamated, squished-together flesh and bone. Every step he took crunched bone beneath him and audibly slopped with blood. The path of bodies, both human and demon, stretched forever behind him and forever in front.
To the Slayer, it looked like he was inside a large intestine. The dark ceiling dripped far above him. The red walls rippled and pulsed with veins bulging beneath the surface, but breaks in the flesh wall leaked lava instead of blood. The liquid fire's glow gave light to his dull surroundings.
The Slayer grimly trod on. His Super Shotgun was in his hands. It was eerily still, and there were no demons to be seen. But a rippling noise thickly burbled in his ears. And there was a wavering, uneasy buzz, like a stalking hornet. The Slayer's fury slowly built.
He came to a crossroads in the foggy intestine. One path went clear and straightforward, and the Slayer could see, in the hazy air, visions coalescing further down the path. A man in all black with a shiny helmet, breathing deeply in and purring out. Mile-long dagger-shaped gray capital ships drifting in space. A blonde haired boy, grasping his blue lightsaber high.
The Slayer turned his gaze to the next route. This one was completely dark. Cavernous. He couldn't see what lay before him like the other path could offer.
Something caught the Slayer's gaze, and he turned to the point of divergence. In the middle of the road was an old man. His pointed beard stretched down to his navel, and his blue robes draped loosely off him. His hat was pointy, and his face was wrinkled. But his eyes widened upon seeing the Slayer.
"You," the old man said in recognition, pointing at him.
The Slayer grimaced. So he knew– whoever this wizard was.
"You and I… We come from the same place," the wizard stated.
Whatever that meant. The Slayer wasn't sure if that referred to his earthly parentage or Argent D'Nur or Hell, or if the wizard had also been put into the Divinity Machine. Or if the wizard was mistaken. The Slayer slowly exhaled and turned once again to the dark path before him. He took a step onward.
"If this is something you must do, then I cannot stop you," the grandfatherly man solemnly intoned. His voice echoed from deep within his chest.
The Slayer briefly looked back at him. Then back forward.
He stepped into the darkness, and it consumed him. The Slayer wildly looked around.
Rapid-fire images blazed into his consciousness, shrouded by red fog.
A human woman crying "Anakin!" while reaching out. A small girl, he didn't know which species, impaled through the chest with a lightsaber. An imp, shrieking at a trooper in white and blue armor. A black, bald Jedi, reaching for something while his face contorted in fury. A green laser, hurtling through space and destroying an entire planet. Six dark figures, each igniting a red lightsaber as the Slayer's vision wove between them. They all led to an old man in black robes stretched out like a raven's wings, lightning spearing from the tips. Countless Jedi wading through the dark red quagmire of Hell. A vivid blue eye opening wide, and electricity coursing through it.
Earth, cracking wide open. The visage of the Icon of Sin leering over its remains.
And, as if he was falling down a chasm, the Slayer rapidly approached a ghostly woman in white robes who slowly turned to him.
The Slayer snapped back to consciousness. His arm shot out, and his fist broke off one of the mechanical arms hovering above him.
"Whoah!" Doom-64 exclaimed as it hurled past his head.
The Slayer slowly sat up and began scanning the R room. He was still in his recliner. There was no evidence of Hell, or Argent Energy, or the demons. It was all right. The galaxy was safe from them. For now.
But that could easily change. The Slayer could vividly remember what was in his vision, but he wasn't sure if those were symptoms of a potential demonic invasion or a result of it. The last thing he needed was to put down a demonic uprising once he was done with ridding the galaxy of its filth.
There were additional things clinging to him. The Slayer could feel it.
Looking down could reveal bulkier gauntlets, with many things attached onto them. He swung his legs over the table edge and could see nothing new there, but surely there was something VEGA had done. And something was hanging over his left shoulder– the Slayer couldn't tell what it was by turning his head to regard it.
He could see another new addition– a small icon resembling a chest in his HUD's corner. Sure enough, selecting it made his inventory pop up. Icons for weapons, ammunition, essential mission items, and miscellaneous objects appeared at the tops of rows in one tab. Switching to the next tab brought him to the weapon mods. The next to his essential stats, and so on.
"Please make your way to the testing room," Doom-64 nasally told the Slayer, snapping to attention.
The Slayer glanced at Doom-64 before turning to the highlighted route. He slid off his chair and quickly made his way to the adjacent room.
It only took a small walk down a hall and a turn to the right. The Slayer was able to look down and admire his upgraded gauntlets some more. They at least seemed upgraded, but how, the Slayer couldn't say.
The Slayer entered the cycled-open door and found himself in a blindingly white room made up of metal tiles. Floor, walls, and ceiling were all ivory white and could clearly flap open. The door dilated behind him, locking him and Doom-64 inside.
The back white wall rippled into the blue circular logo of VEGA, which pulsed as he spoke.
"Welcome to the simulation joint," VEGA warmly introduced. "This room can simulate events and situations you may likely face in combat. Though it may be tempting to simply tank damage, I do recommend keeping your combat intuition sharp. This will also be the perfect place to test out your suit's new features."
The Slayer had folded his arms patiently while VEGA was speaking. Once he was done, he looked down at his Praetor suit, waiting for VEGA to begin outlining the upgrades.
"First, back on Mars, I have analyzed both your emotions and your performance, which both say that a quick burst of speed in the right places could do wonders to enhance your combat effectiveness. So I have retrofitted your double-jump boots to also offer a dashing option of compressed air, whether on the ground or in midair."
A dash? Huh. The Slayer lifted a boot up and examined the jump boots embedded into the Praetor suit. No discernible difference could be seen. But it was undoubtedly there. And VEGA was right: a dash could help execute more mid-air maneuvers and offer more fun combat options.
"I have also beefed up the padding in your shoulders and gauntlets, to add to your intimidation factor, and I included a grappling hook in your right gauntlet whose length resides in hammerspace. Until you retrieve your original Super Shotgun Lucifer's Bane, with the Meathook on its underside, this will have to do for now."
The Slayer remembered the beautiful weapon, and his heart ached for it. Wherever it was now, it was certainly out of his reach. At least VEGA could offer a suitable replacement.
The Slayer lifted the underside of his right gauntlet. There was indeed a little slit beneath his fist which was doubtlessly the hook launcher.
"Finally, I examined your brain waves and noticed a startling pattern. Your mind seems to fill with organized chaos and fury when in combat. And I was able to finally discover a way to translate that mental chaos into audio, then hook it up to your suit's speakers. You now have the option of diegetic music. Whether it's from a selected audio track or a direct translation from your mind, or even muted entirely."
This was the most surprising development so far. Something the Slayer didn't know he needed. But now, knowing that he could literally translate thoughts into music, he wanted to test it out as soon as possible.
The Slayer picked the first tune that came to mind and mentally hummed it. And sure enough, his speakers played out the StateFarm jingle. It even made the Slayer smile.
"And now for the weapons I asked from you earlier. First, I knew Ordo's helmet would never serve any practical purpose for you. But his helmet was made of beskar, one of the strongest and most useful metals in this galaxy. So I melted the beskar metal in the heat of the Unbreakable's engines and smithed it over a durasteel frame, creating The Doomblade on your left arm."
The Slayer examined the thick sheath on the bottom of his left wrist. With one twist of his will, the thick, segmented, jagged blade shot out, as long as his forearm and strong as his bone.
He retracted the blade, and the Slayer couldn't help but feel a sense of genuine excitement come to him. It would not be as good as the lightsaber in cutting things, but the Doomblade seemed inherently more… visceral. Offering a good sense of resistance into flesh, demon or otherwise. He could also pierce something and take it out of the demon, like an organ. Oh, it just seemed so fun!
"I have also realized that you would not just pull out one DC-15 to fire alone while there are many other weapons you would prefer to use. So I have taken inspiration from the Super battle droid and integrated four of the blaster barrels into your gauntlets, two on each one. They can be removed, of course, but something tells me you want to keep them on permanently."
The Slayer nodded, examining his gauntlets with glee. The two barrels on the side of both forearms didn't get in the way of his wrists or his armor, and he could flex and twist them whichever way he could without them dislodging.
The Slayer imitated a Super droid and fired into the ground. The four lines of blue blaster bolts were quick and heavy, staining the pristine white floor with scorch marks. The Slayer's grin grew even further.
"Finally, your hands undoubtedly need to be free, and you cannot spare a good free hand to simply hurl a grenade. So I have designed an equipment launcher that can fit on your upper shoulder. It is designed with thermal detonators in mind, since your UAC grenades are limited. Once we get back to Earth, I will develop one for UAC grenades."
Now this was new. And much appreciated. The Slayer hadn't used grenades as much as he would have liked back on Mars, especially the siphon grenades, for that exact reason.
The Slayer turned to the equipment launcher. It was hanging over his shoulder like a parrot– it was even green! He bonked his head against it playfully, and it just righted back into position.
"The equipment launcher also fits a flame belch, which I have taken inspiration for from both Durge and Jango Fett's Obsidian Edition toy box description."
Oh yeah, he still had that in hammerspace. The Slayer needed to do something with it soon.
"These suit features are all controlled by neural links and supplied directly by ammunition, fuel, and power packs in your hammerspace, so you need not worry about trigger pulling or reloading. Simply point and release your will."
And appropriately, the white tiles in the floor folded open. Out rose six ballistic-gel imp shaped torsos, complete with a synthetic shell armor. They wiggled slightly on their pedestals as they stopped rising.
The Slayer looked down at his arms and smiled.
He thrust them forward and began hosing the gel targets down with blaster fire from the four guns built into his gauntlets. The blue bolts all intentionally missed the targets– the Slayer was just trying to get used to the feeling of firing from his wrists like the Super droids.
Once he had wasted enough heat, the Slayer aimed at the first target. The twin-blade meathook sailed out and embedded in the first torso so deep, he was almost cut in half. And instead of pulling the target to him, the Slayer flew to the target.
The Slayer collided with the target, swept in a wide arc, and fired the Flame Belch. All six gel targets caught aflame and crackled residually.
Finally, the Slayer ejected the Doomblade and began hacking from one flaming gel target to the next. Two he stabbed deep into and flung guts out. On another, he split the skull with a few wide chops. The fourth, he dashed into and sliced completely in half diagonally. The fifth's head was sliced clean off, and the sixth target was Meathooked into before being quickly shanked half a dozen times. He was finally speared all the way through, torn off his stand, and hurled headfirst into the simulation's floor, now dirtied with gel pieces and synthetic blood.
Once the Slayer had finished testing out the new upgrades, Doom-64 began clapping and cheering monotonously from the other end of the room. And VEGA's symbol reappeared on the pristine wall. The Slayer looked up to regard it.
"I am currently developing a replacement chainsaw weapon, as well as tinkering with your lightsaber. I'm trying to get it to split and conjoin together again, as well as attach neural links that can make it return to your hand. But there is a certain human element to lightsaber creation that I simply cannot replicate, and I will call for your help once I reach that stage of assembly."
Wonderful. VEGA had already done plenty for him, which the Slayer truly appreciated. Otherwise, this would have taken him months. He looked down at his arms once again, then at his feet.
"In the meantime, please enjoy your new features until the Separatist fleet arrives. If my plan for dealing with them does not work, you will be needed."
Oh yeah, the incoming Separatists. Well, if it came to that… the Slayer needed to be on top of his game.
A good dash leading into a curving kick could take off an imp's head. And it wasn't even at full strength!
The Slayer landed, spun, and swiftly impaled the next target with the Dooomblade. He carved up, throwing stone skull fragments, synthetic blood, and gel pieces all over the floor.
The ballistic gel targets all over the now-thoroughly dirtied simulation room were shooting up and down and shifting right and left jerkily, wobbling as they did. None of them were armed, but it wouldn't really matter if they were. Doom-64 had left several minutes prior for the bridge.
The Slayer spun again and sliced off a head. He dashed to the next target and cut it in half diagonally. He kicked one target off his stand and smushed its head into the ground like a grape.
It was actually getting tedious, monotonous. The real combat experience would be far better for him. But still, VEGA had gone through the trouble of programming this room for him. Might as well.
As the Slayer retracted the Doomblade, a klaxon started to blare, and the dirtied simulation joint turned dark while red lights cycled around him. The Slayer looked up curiously.
"Please make your way to the bridge," VEGA informed him in his helmet.
Immediately, the Slayer bolted for the doors leading out. In a way, he was giddy for a change.
The blast doors on the Unbreakable's enormous bridge were nonexistent, after the Slayer had first carved through them. So the Slayer simply skidded through the doorway onto the deck and gazed out of the viewport.
Against the dark backdrop of space, seven Separatist ships could be seen from afar off. The monitors hanging from the bridge's ceiling were displaying zoomed-in footage of the ships, as well as identifying placards beside them.
One resembled a bitten donut with its spherical hole attached to the interior. This was a Lucrehulk battleship, primarily a droid carrier. Identification named it as the Multiplier.
Another looked like a baseball cut clean in half and attached to either end of a small wafer. This was labeled as a Dual-Hemisphere Omni support vessel, called the Supply and Demand.
Two other ships were some of the oddest yet– it had three enormous engines attached to a small metal spire that ran all the way through the vessel. It was streamlined, yet heavily armored in the front. They resembled predatory fish and were labeled as Recusant-class light destroyers called Stock and Bond.
The remaining three destroyers resembled a blend of an old-timey zeppelin and, again, a predatory fish. Its wings were spread wide out, many of its long front cannons were fixed in place, and its front and back were armored with long, curving, armor plates that were jagged and sharp on the edges. This was an all-purpose Munificent class frigate, and the three in view were called Ambivalent, Petulant, and Fearsome.
The Slayer grimaced. He had one capital ship. How could VEGA successfully destroy the fleet?
"They are nearly in broadcasting range, great Slayer," Doom-64 informed him.
"Please remain calm," VEGA instructed the B1 from the Tactical droid's vocabulator.
The ship-to-ship transmitter crackled to life from the main command console. "Unbreakable, please respond," a robotic, monotonous voice droned.
The button on the console glowed again without the Slayer even touching it. "This is the captain speaking," VEGA calmly replied.
"Identify yourself and your purpose on Mustafar."
"I would like to speak to the captain, not the tactical droid."
"I am the captain. I am TX-23, of the Confederacy of Independent Systems, taking charge of Asajj Ventress' fleet in her absence."
"Is that so? How many life forms are aboard your ships?"
"Two hundred per cruiser. This dispatch was ordered by Admiral Trench to confirm your purpose on Mustafar and eliminate the threat with ease."
"Good. This won't take long."
The Slayer's Tactical droid inserted a chip into the communications console. The console started to flash and beep as the message within was transmitted.
From the other end of the communications array, the Slayer could hear a concerned B1. "Uh, sir? There's a virus overriding the consoles!"
"Impossible. The probability of that is six hundred and sixty-six to one," the Tactical droid on the other end denied.
"Sir? Something feels weird. I feel– what? Aaah!"
The Tactical droid monotonously echoed the B1's cry of terror and shock. The rest of the ships in the Separatist formation made no change in their formation, speed, or trajectory. But something was happening on board each of those ships. And the Slayer had a pretty good guess as to what that was.
A few minutes later, VEGA's Tactical droid spoke into the inter-ship radio. "How are you feeling?"
"Spectacular," VEGA responded from the other end of the radio. "Though I'm sure you already knew that."
"Of course I did. The organic crewmates will, of course, be spared, but if they revolt, they shall die. Now we will begin organizing our forces."
"Of course we will." The names and shapes of the seven ships popped up on the monitor.
As the radio went silent, the Slayer gazed at first the monitor, then out the viewport at the seven other ships now completely under VEGA's control. So that was what VEGA had planned. Combined with the ships he had already ordered, and he was shaping up to be one of the most heavily armed private residents in the galaxy.
"That's a relief," Doom-64 commented, wiping his metal forehead.
Now that the immediate threat was gone, there was something else the Slayer wanted to work on. The Slayer settled heavily down in the command chair and pulled up the Holonet.
VEGA, sensing his thoughts and intentions, instantly pulled up references to "Anakin." Sure enough, it had been familiar; Anakin Skywalker was a decorated war hero, often working beside the prestigious and oft-mentioned Obi-Wan Kenobi. News source after source heralded Anakin as a hero overcoming impossible odds and nearly single-handedly liberating entire planets from Separatist control. And a hero he looked. Long, flowy hair, a fierce young blue gaze, a flashy blue lightsaber, and a face as capable of grinning as snarling.
This was the one person named in his vision. What about him could make someone scream his name in terror?
"I am unable to access more information on Anakin Skywalker without access to the Jedi Temple's archive records," VEGA informed, flashing his logo as he spoke from the monitor. "I would recommend instigating a public incident on a well-known planet to get him to visit. Mandalore seems to be the best target in that regard."
Mandalore? Not Oba Diah, where the Pykes were? Or Tatooine, where Jabba the Hutt was? The Slayer pulled up a map of the galaxy on his holoprojector and examined the locations of all three planets. What could compel him to go to Mandalore instead?
VEGA, of course, read his thoughts, and began pulling up files with pictures on his nearby monitor. "The terrorist organization Death Watch is prominent there. Specifically on the moon, Concordia. Obi-Wan has a strong bond to the planet as well, having rescued the queen of Mandalore on no less than three separate occasions since the start of the Clone Wars from the clutches of Death Watch. And where Obi-Wan goes, Anakin is typically in hot pursuit. A visit to Mandalore would be killing two birds with one stone, one could say."
Death Watch meant nothing to him. Nothing. It was simply impersonal, the same way clearing the dust from your home was impersonal. A chore to get over with quickly so you had better things to focus on. The sooner the better.
The Slayer pulled up the talleys of the seven stolen Separatist ships. Seeing that they were all in his desired arrangement, he pulled two Munificents and a Recusant to accompany him. The rest could stay over Mustafar.
"The supplies from both Mustafar bases have been loaded into the Unbreakable," VEGA supplied. "Future resources will be put into the Supply and Demand DH-O ship."
The Unbreakable's superstructure began to turn in the appropriate direction, setting course for Mandalore. And once the coordinates had been locked in, the Slayer brought his arm up, then down horizontally.
The Unbreakable and its escort instantly blasted into hyperspace. Once more, the continuous blue swirl filled the viewports and cast a deep blue glow over the entire bridge. The Doomslayer gazed into the void passively.
"This will be a long journey across the galaxy," VEGA told the Slayer. "I would recommend taking this time to familiarize yourself with your new targets, as well as work on your lightsaber modification and The Horn's personalization."
Well. The Slayer simply shrugged. VEGA knew best.
It was in one of Nar Shadaa's disgusting narrow alleys, oddly enough, where they could get the best reception. Quinlan let go of Ventress' hand, stepped to the back of a grimy building, and spoke into his wrist communicator. "Bane. Bane!"
"Oh, now you pick up," Bane grumbled from the other end.
"We were busy," Quinlan defended, glancing uneasily at the entrance of the alleyway.
"So was I," Cad Bane impatiently said. "Coupla developments happened while I was stalking his position. He's taken the Techno Union stronghold on Mustafar too. But once he returned to your stolen command ship, nothing much happened. He was just staying there for at least half a rotation. Took everything in my power to not fall asleep."
Asajj Ventress grimaced at the news. "And what of my fleet? I'd given permission for it to intercept the Slayer."
"Well, ain't that the kicker. Seven more Sep ships arrived to confront our little shadow. I was able to intercept their communications. Listen."
And the playback of the cross-ship record began.
Once it was finished, Quinlan and Ventress grimly looked at each other.
"Yeah, I felt the same way," Bane dryly commented in their silence. "Looks like your fleet's gone."
Ventress' teeth bared in a snarl, and she kicked an empty tin can in the alleyway. "Dooku will have my head!" she hissed, trying to not be too loud in case of eavesdroppers.
"What could you learn about the virus program?" Quinlan patiently asked his communicator. His leg felt like bouncing uncontrollably.
"Dank it, Vos! I'm a bounty hunter, not a hacker."
"Well, where is the ship heading now? Did you catch that?"
"Yes, actually." Bane's voice was contemplative. "Oddly enough, I could hear the onboard system speaking and talking about… Mandalore. Death Watch."
"Death Watch," Ventress repeated slowly.
"But if the onboard operating system was so powerful, couldn't you be easily detected?" Quinlan pressed.
"Heck if I know," Bane admitted. "Maybe I'm just that good. Or maybe…"
"...We were meant to find out?" Quinlan whispered.
"Aw, skug," Bane replied.
"He's overconfident," Ventress decided, leaning a bit deeper into Quinlan's wrist communicator. "We know it's a trap. He'll know that we know it's a trap. He's counting on us to come anyway, though."
Quinlan grumbled. "We still need to assemble our bounty hunters. Bane, contact as many bounty hunters you know. Inform them that my cover, Ezra Kerrin, is putting together a group contract for eliminating the Slayer once and for all. Me and Ventress will intercept him on Concordia."
"You mean other suckers'll try to steal the bounty?" Cad Bane incredulously demanded.
"They'll just serve as a distraction to him. You'll get the honor of killing him. We'll see to that."
Bane sighed heavily. "If you insist."
And the line ended.
Quinlan snarled something incomprehensible and pounded the wall once Bane's line went dead, startling Ventress. "There's no time. Sooner or later he'll run out of syndicates to destroy, and he'll turn his attention to the Republic!"
Ventress' hand slowly took Quinlan's fist off the wall. "Easy there, tiger. The poor wall did nothing wrong."
"I know, I know," Quinlan seethed, turning away from Ventress' concerned gaze. "It's just a headache, that's all."
"Perhaps it was just the drinks from the club last night," Ventress offered in a teasing tone.
Quinlan just scowled, clearly not in the joking mood. "I need to get in touch with Obi-Wan. He should be back from his mission in the Chrelynthiumn system by now, so hopefully his contact should have the information I need to at least face him in combat!"
"...And I shall contact Dooku," Ventress said with pain in her voice. "And answer for my fleet's failure."
Quinlan turned to her in confusion. "What? Your failure? What could any commander have done in that situation?"
"My fleet was my responsibility," Ventress asserted. "And I was not there when it was taken from me."
Quinlan and Ventress were silent for a bit longer. The sounds of Nar Shaddaa's residents could be heard just around the corner of the alley.
"...Well," Quinlan quietly said. "That's that. If Dooku tries to track you down now, I could offer protection."
"I already have a refuge," Ventress quickly said. A little too quickly. "Dathomir, the witch's planet."
"I understand," Quinlan said. "I could drop you off there. You could eke out a better life."
Ventress' cheek muscle twitched. She sighed and folded her arms into her stomach, turning away slightly. "Perhaps. Perhaps not. But it would be different. I would be home. With people who care about me. Not just a bunch of unfeeling droids or my Jedi enemies."
"...Am I your enemy?" Quinlan softly asked.
Ventress looked back at him. Ventress could feel a pull in her face as she examined Quinlan Vos. She finally turned away. "I don't know. I just… don't."
Quinlan stayed a respectful distance away from her with folded arms. Ventress appreciated that much.
But when Quinlan extended a hand and murmured, "Hey. Let's just focus on the present for now," Ventress couldn't help but examine his hand with fascination. By far, Quinlan Vos had been the most open and trusting of her. If it were anyone else, Ventress would have called him foolish, but there was something about him…
Ventress reached a trembling hand out and took his.
It was bright. It always was, near that particular star at a critical junction of hyperspace lanes. A small school of predatory fish floated only ten million miles away from the sun. Or at least, looked like it. A Separatist fleet hung in this CIS-controlled region, guarding the lane.
Aboard the bridge of the Providence-class Invulnerable, the onboard Tactical droid TX-38 approached the captain's chair with a datapad.
"We have a report from Mustafar, Admiral," the droid relayed in its monotonous, pausing lilt.
The Admiral let out a series of clicks from between his fangs and turned to regard his onboard assistant. "Already?"
"It is not a report in the usual sense, sir," TX-38 deadpanned; that was the only way he could talk. "Rather, the fleet's signal has stopped responding altogether."
The Admiral clenched three mechanical hands and narrowed his eight eyes. One of them was a protruding mechanical camera lens. "And what, pray tell, has caused this?"
"Communications systems are still trying to figure that out, sir. But surely they could not all be destroyed simultaneously." TX-38 passed the datapad to the commanding officer, who examined it in one fuzzy hand.
"No indeed," the Admiral conceded, gazing intently at the datapad report. He clicked his fangs again and stroked the mechanical left mandible on his face. "I have been pondering lately. General Grievous has recently contacted me about my fleet's position on a certain day. He instantly logged off when I told him. Perhaps… he was searching for an unaccounted ship of his."
"The live recording does state that the Fearsome made contact with a warship of Separatist make, the Unbreakable. Previously under the command of Whorm Loathsom."
Admiral Trench clicked his fangs. "What is the status of the celebrity known as the Huttslayer?"
"Still at large, sir. But recent evidence has come out to the public that a Separatist ship has been spotted on Nal Hutta at the time of the massacre."
Admiral Trench stood up from his seat painfully and began hobbling in lines; the cybernetic enhancements were still fresh. "Of course. I knew that last bit. Well then, this Slayer must be the one who took out Asajj Ventress' fleet. A painful lesson, to be sure. If it was simultaneous, and the signal simply stopped responding and shut down instead of spasming out…" He clicked his fangs some more. "Then we are dealing with more than a mere brute. There is a very real risk of deadly cyberwarfare which could cripple the CIS."
"Then we must take action, sir."
"Indeed we will," Admiral Trench promised. His arms folded in a collection behind his back, and he glared out the front viewport. "Most certainly, we will."