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In a galaxy far, far away....

Nar Shaddaa, Warehouse

Leinad Nietsnebur, a male Nikto, was an infamous mercenary. He was infamous, most lately, for an embarrassing encounter with a rookie bounty hunter, of which his two companions, Anatmon Elab ( a Weequay) and Onurb Zehcnas (a Gamorrean), liked to remind him for amusement. Otherwise, he was known for being the leader of the Enforcers, a trio of bounty hunters that worked exclusively for the Anjiliac clan on a high dime. At the moment, they were fulfilling a bounty on a smuggler that acquired quite a large sum of debt to the Hutt Anjiliac clan. As far as the Hutts were concerned, it was time he paid up in more ways than one.

"That better not be the Hutts' money you're gambling with their, Oiluj," Leinad said with a smile

"Well... Well, the Anjiliacs have a pretty whacky idea about what their money is, now don't they?" Oiluj countered.

Oiluj, a human smuggler, was sharing a table with four other humans. They'd all been playing sabacc before the Enforcers broke into their warehouse and interrupted their game. Now, all of his guests were watching nervously as Leinad was pointing two holdout blasters at the table at large. Leinad leaned over so one of his guns was more aimed at Oiluj than the rest of the table.

"Oiluj, after all the Anjiliac clan has done for you, this is how it's going to go?" Leinad asked.

"I can't believe this... They... They... They left the system!" Oiluj snapped, frowning. "The Anjiliac's left the system! They're supposed to protect this system when the Black Sun moved in, and they evacuated! This isn't fair! They send you Enforcer guys to muscle me? Like I'm some kind of... I don't have it! I don't have it! I'm not paying!"

"Which is it?" Leinad asked. "You don't have it, or you're not paying?"

"I think either way..."

"Either way..."

"We've heard it all before," Anatmon said.

"Tale as old as time..."

Onurb squealed loudly from behind Leinad and Anatmon, drawing a crowbar out from his belt. Oiluj, Leinad and Anatmon all turned to look at him, stunned. Onurb saw the look on all their faces, lowered his crowbar, and mumbled something unintelligible.

"No..."

Onurb grunted in apology. Regaining his composure quickly, Leinad turned back to Oiluj and pointed one blaster at him. He sighed, smiling.

"Now, you're just a cautionary tale, Oiluj," Leinad said.

Oiluj swallowed hard. Leinad tightened his finger around the trigger. As he pulled, his wrist jerked up, sending the blaster bolt just over Oiluj's head. Kal had just telekinetically saved the deadbeat's life. He jumped down from the dark, metal rafters of the warehouse, landing hard on the table and sending sabacc players scrambling backwards.

"Blasters, blasters, blasters... Always with the blasters... You know what they say?" Kal asked rhetorically. "They say that a blaster is just a substitute for..."

All of the sabacc players, except for Oiluj, pulled out a blaster, some of them aiming to fix their sights on Kal.

"Never mind, then..."

Kal leaped off of the table and propelled himself over and past the Enforcers. Blaster fire followed him.

"Oh, man, it's... It's him again," Leinad said, remembering that rookie bounty hunter.

CORELLIA, cantina

A bit young for this place.

The thought drifts out from the crowd to catch her attention and she frowns; she is twenty-two now (at least, she is somewhere around there -- she never really bothers to keep count). A bit young? She isn't too young for anything. She's already done everything, in any case. Torture, murder - the whole nine yards.

It is lucky for the Rodian that he hadn't put voice to the thought - the first time someone commented on her age, she'd snorted with amusement (and then kicked him - a low, dirty blow for a low, dirty Human), and her tolerance has only withered since then. There was a time when she would've killed the first speaker with a thought and without a compunction, and a time after that when she wouldn't have even been here in the first place. But this time is neither of those, though she aches for either (she isn't picky).

Shrouded in a dimly-lit corner (cliche, her mind whispers snidely) which is only illuminated periodically by the pin-point ember that burns brighter when she takes a long drag on the spicestick, Isani Loren supposes she does look a bit young in the dark and through the haze of smoke. (That doesn't mean she'll forgive stupidity.)

Spice has been her vice these past five years - at least, that's what anyone who knows her thinks. (We should just name this Isi's corner and be done with it, eh?.) In truth, the Force burns out its effects before they even start taking hold, and Isani is as much an addict as a newborn. It's a damn good cover, though, and once or twice Isani has let the spice take its hold rather than clear it out.

Kashyyyk had been easily left, but the memories etched in blood and fire had refused to stay behind. (Don't forget me, Isani. I'll be with you, in the Force.)

She'd traveled around after that, commandeering ship after ship to reforge acquaintanceships that had faded when she'd put on the brown robes of a Jedi before returning home to where her intelligence base had been made in a spice den years ago. Corellia.

Don't forget me. (How could she?)

Her man there, Yoro, had been ambivalent towards her arrival but she'd soon reminded him why he served her. (Blood and lightning, and sweet, sweet lies). He's a tall, lithe human with black hair, olive skin and grey eyes, as well as wealthy -- and he's a spice dealer, the biggest in his relatively big pond. Isani had made him one, years ago; it is one of the surest ways to own your informant's minds, and to keep your own identity hidden. An addict doesn't remember who they report too - no faces, no names. Just the spice, and the message they need to deliver in order to get it.

The smoldering end of her stick burns briefly in a flare of red, and then Isani lets out a breath and watches the smoke rise and add itself to the already thick haze.

"Eyetooth just came in, Isi," Yoro says by way of greeting, sliding into the seat across from her.

Isani twirls the spicestick in her slender fingers, and fixes the man with a cool stare, dark green eyes nearly black in this light. In his early thirties, Yoro really a handsome man, with high cheekbones and a sharp nose -- as he keeps reminding her. Isani laughs him off every time.

Don't forget me.
I would never dare.

"And?" she asks archly. She holds out her free hand expectantly, and Yoro places a small piece of folded flimsiplast in it.

The message is written in code, but Isani had been the one to write it. "Interesting."

"Do share."

"It would seem our restless friend on Nar Shadda has been acting up again."

Yoro grins in the dark. "Has he, now?"

Isani tilts her head to the side, still staring at the note.

Restless indeed -- though she has hardly been more calm. She's been extending her network, solidifying it. It is small but reliable, with snaking tendrils that reach even the Black Sun, though she wouldn't compare her small operation to them. Isani's work is for her own gain, and the Black Sun sells their information and services. They need more men and more information to sell high, and Isani just searches for what she wants and deals with what needs dealing with..

And even as she focuses on that, she's haunted by the nightmares. Blood and fire, and don't forget me, Isani. When she'd felt Ali's signature fade into the Force - I'll be with you, in the Force - she'd fled as the Darkness she'd kept at bay with Alliandre Kigarin as her anchor rushed in, wrapping her in fury or apathy. Either is welcome, so long as they kept the grief - gnawing and bitter - from her mind. Apathy is better - the disconnected, calculative mind reminds her of her old self, before the Light; she wears her smiling masks and works methodically, and is all cold efficiency. But fury is welcome, too; clenched fists, pale-faced, and viciousness...

Don't forget me, Isani.

Ali would disapprove -- but what does Ali know of Isani's grief? Grief for Ali settled deep but faded with time. Grief for Isani claws at her very being, and never settles, and never fades. (You have a good heart, Alliandre Kigarin. Better than mine. Sleep, now. The Force is with you.)

Isani hadn't even sworn to seek vengeance because though it is what she wants, it was Ali's unspoken dying wish. "Don't avenge me, just mourn," the Knight would have said. Besides, she wouldn't know where to start (but that's a lie -- she knows perfectly well that suicide is a good place to begin, for it was Isani's delusion that she could be a good person that had gotten Ali killed. And Kal Rem after that, for setting the place afire and breaking Ali's heart. And the Jedi after that, for teaching Ali all her goddamn moral values and scrupulous ways and blind loyalty. But Isani first; the majority of the blame lays at her own feet. It was, after all, her life that Ali died trying to save despite her soul-deep wound.)

Don't forget me, Isani.

"Isi?"

Yoro's voice cuts through clearly, drawing her back. "Yes - he's been quite restless. And..." Isani trails off, staring back at the message.

"And?" Yoro prompts.

Isani presses the end of her spicestick into the table's top, dousing the small flame and no doubt adding yet another burn mark to the hundreds already there. Tossing the still long spicestick to the side, she stands abruptly and makes her way out of the cantina, leaving a surprised Yoro behind.

She has places to be.

Advent, Y'Toub System

It was amazing how quickly news spread in this galaxy. It hadn't even been 24 hours since Kal had delivered the Enforcers to their masters, alive, as per his contract, and already, Kal knew that Leinad Nietsnebur was still alive. He knew that he was still alive by the fact that Kal now had a 60,000 credit bounty on his head, to be brought before Leinad himself, dead or alive. Not that anyone could probably successfully cash in on this. To capture or kill Kal would be like if an Imperial captain managed to capture or kill Darth Raven. The odds of it happening were...

The Advent's COM system bleeped, and the yellow light next to the tiny holo-display blinked yellow intermittently. That meant he'd just received a one-way transmission. The recording was waiting to be watched and/or listened to. Kal set his ship on auto-pilot and shifted his chair so he was fully facing the holo-display. He played the recording.

It was fully aural. There was nothing to display with the message. Kal understood it well enough, though. 387 Gotals were dead. The reason behind it was a Force-sensitive.

A client he'd acquired under tenuous circumstances after the Brood incident wanted him to go to Antar 5, the place where the Gotals had been massacred, and root out the Force-sensitive. Kill him or her. This was supposed to be quick and quiet. If Kal were to accept the job, he was supposed to reply with a coded transmission to Republic ID: CSB-45838354.

Was a Sith behind this? Why would a Sith Lord be on Antar 5? Of course, there was also the possibility that this entire thing was a setup. Kal gets a price put on his head, and almost immediately, he's lured to a remote mining outpost? It certainly sounded sketchy.

Kal wouldn't go down easily, if at all, however. And Kal also knew the source of this message to be legitimate, so unless the sender stole could speak Doneer and was trying to be their best in-character... Yeah, right. Like a wise-guy out to get Kal would be desperate enough to steal from Cole Barranks. The chump would probably end up in the brig for a week and be tried for treason if they couldn't come up with half-decent reason.

Kal replied in the affirmative to his contract holder, giving him a quote of 25,000 credits. Chump change for a job like this, but Kal knew that his client didn't have a lot of credits on hand, and if too many credits were allocated from the Republic Navy to pay for a small-time contractor, questions would surely be raised among the Republic's brass. Now, all Kal needed was response agreeing to the charge. Knowing he probably wouldn't get one for a while, Kal swiveled back to the pilot's controls and took over manual control of the ship again.

Antar 5

Kal brought the Advent down on a plateau nearly a kilometer off from the supposed massacre. He left his cloak in his quarters, presuming there would be nothing here he'd need to conceal his identity from. Stepping down the boarding ramp, he could already see signs of destruction ahead of him. A small mining outpost, there was smoke billowing from broken machinery, and a few overturned vehicles, just from what Kal could see. He couldn't spot any bodies from where he was, but he knew he'd probably find some as he went closer.

Kal sprinted to the end of the plateau, leaped, and flew the rest of the short distance to the mining spot. As he arrived over it, he probed for any sign of a Force-signature. He felt nothing dark, light, or in-between. Nonetheless, though, his target could have been hiding his signature. Feeling nothing meant nothing. He circled the outpost twice, only noticing something that might have been a body on the second pass.

Kal slowed and stopped. On a catwalk was a bit of flesh and clothing, and a bloodstain on metal grating. Kal stared at the sight for a moment, confused, and then glanced around. There was nothing body above, below, or adjacent to the catwalk that even resembled a body, but as he looked, it occurred to Kal that there were several dark stains, scattered around the outpost. What Kal took to be just be patches of dirt or dark rock from a distance, Kal could now see were actually scattered bloodstains all around the camp.

There must have been dozens of dark spots. Kal wondered what he would find if he moved down to the ground. Certainly not any bodies. These people had all exploded. They all exploded, and because there wasn't any damage to ground or facilities that the stains were on, that meant that they weren't blown up by ordnance. Someone had used a technique that the Sith called 'Combustion' on these Gotals. Kal didn't feel sick to his stomach, but he was certainly appalled.

And immediately, he spread out his best use of Force Suppression as far as he could reach with his mind. He didn't want anyone blowing him up from any vantage point. Reluctantly, and knowing he probably wouldn't find anything more from up in the sky, Kal lowered himself down to the gravel and scanned the area from below. Nothing popped out at him. There was no immediate attack. Only an eerie, still silence.

Kal looked this way, and that. Still nothing. Taking in a deep breath, his next action was to check the buildings. He stepped up to the nearest one, calling in his lightsaber. A curved-hilt saber, with two emitters-- one jutting out of the side, and the other in the place where it would normally be, Kal held the saber so that the main emitter was facing down, and to his left. There was a deflector ring on the hilt that prevented his arm or fingers from accidentally brushing an active blade from the side. Switching his lightsaber on in a flash, Kal stepped into the first building.

It was a small building, dark on the inside, with only the natural light from the outside and the glow of Kal's green and silver lightsaber to show Kal the way through. There were lots of bloodstains here. The whole place reeked of it and rotting flesh. Kal stepped through a room with tables, past a staircase, and into an office. No property damage in here, per se, but there was a deep stain on a once-nice wooden desk. The chair behind it was covered in blood. That made Kal sick.

After exploring the upstairs and finding nothing new, Kal stepped back outside and proceeded to explore the next building. And the next. And the next after that. Not much more than exploded miners. Kal was actually queasy by the time he'd finished checking the place out. He'd never seen this many dead bodies in here before. Or perhaps just deceased, as there were no bodies here. It was morbid to think about.

There was still yet one central location Kal hadn't checked at this mining outpost, though: The actual mine shaft. There was no guarantee that anyone or anything new was down there, but Kal had a strange feeling that his target was down there somewhere. With grim fear, Kal decided to dub his feeling a sense of precognition. This wasn't just a gut instinct for him.

Kal stepped up to the mineshaft. The elevator was missing, most likely at the bottom. It was very dark. Kal let go of his lightsaber and floated down the shaft closely. It went down, and down, and down, and down, and down... Until Kal couldn't see the light that it emitted anymore. An irrational panic came over him, and he pulled it back up hastily. He slid the saber into his hand as it came up to him, and looked down the shaft again.

That was a looooong way down. Kal didn't want to go down there. He didn't have any other choice, though. Taking a deep breath again, he jumped off the loading platform and descended. He fell and fell, orienting himself so that he was in a diving position and his lightsaber was held forward, like a lantern. Then he slowed, knowing he had to be at the bottom in a moment. He slowed and slowed until he was moving no faster than a lazy bantha. The bottom had to be coming soon...

Kal's estimate was a little off, though. Kal didn't dare increase his rate of descent, lest he accidentally crash himself into the bottom, but he didn't reach the bottom for several minutes time. When he touched down, all around his was dark, save for a few feet around him in all directions because of his lightsaber.

Abandoning his eyes (although, keeping his lightsaber on), Kal stretched out in the Force, searching for any sign of life or a Force-connection. He felt nothing... Wait... Off to his right, a good distance away... The connection was faint, but it was there. Sighing and opening his eyes, Kal took his first slow steps, deeper into the mine, and continued toward his acquisition.

Antar 5, Mine Shaft

"I said get out of here!" the Gotal snapped.

Kal snapped off his lightsaber.

"I mean it!" the Gotal shouted. "I mean it! You're going to die if you don't get out of here!"

"Not today, I won't," Kal said.

The Gotal gaped at Kal, stunned at his calm demeanor. Kal simply stared back at him. Slowly, something seemed to dawn on the Gotal's face.

"You... You look familiar," the Gotal said.

"Yeah, I stood side-by-side with the Grand Master of the Jedi a few years back," Kal replied.

"You're... Oh, stang!" the Gotal cried. "You're a Jedi!"

"That's debatable," Kal said. "My name is Kal."

"By the Republic..."

"I'm suppressing your Force connection," Kal explained. "You won't make me explode."

"Suppressing... What... What are you doing here?" the Gotal asked.

"I'm here to talk to you," Kal answered.

"Me..."

"Yes..."

Kal slowly began to walk towards the Gotal.

"How... How did you find me?" the Gotal asked.

"You have a Force-signature," Kal said. "I tracked you here."

"Force... I'm a Force-user?" the Gotal asked.

"Yes..."

The Gotal gaped at Kal again. Kal had stopped walking. It seemed like this might take a minute to explain.

"Yes, you are a Force-user," Kal finally said exasperatedly.

"It... It was me then?" the Gotal asked, frowning. "I think... I think I killed my boss."

"Yeah..."

"I'm a Force-sensitive?" the Gotal asked.

"Yes..."

"I... I... I... I killed people," the Gotal said. "All those people died because I'm Force-sensitive?"

"They died because, apparently, you can't control your use of it," Kal clarified.

The Gotal was crying now. Truly, this was not a massacre. This was an impossible scenario that had somehow become... Possible. This was a nightmare.

Tython Space/ Tython Orbital Station

"This is Tython Orbital Station clearing Grand Master for takeoff. Flight log has been filed and authorization to Shadow Prison granted, may the force be with you."

Docking clamps hissed as they released the old ship and allowed it to hover on its own repulsors. The hanger bay had been cleared of all personal as the ship slowly made its way out of the dock and into open space. With a few pushes from the repulsors to right the ship it began to slowly move away from the orbital station and move towards the desired coordinates for light-speed travel.

"This is Defender I am cleared of the station and set for light-speed flight," the Jedi moved his hands to check the coordinates for his jump to light-speed and then began preparing the ship for the jump, "This is Jedi Grand Master Ronyo Storm jumping to light-speed, see you all when I get back."

With that Ronyo grabbed the leavers that would engage the hyperdrive engine and pushed them steadily forward. The Corellian class light-corvette accelerated quickly as it made its way up to light speed and then shot off like a blaster bolt. Ronyo gave a sigh with the ship now own its way to the Shadow Prison located in the debris of Malachor V.

The prison was designed shortly after the end of the Great Galactic War, or as many had called it the Brood War. The orbital station was created to house one occupant and just one. The facility had several force inhibitors placed throughout the station making it a complete force dead zone. On top of that the guards had all be outfitted with special Exo-tech helmets designed to cancel out telepathic signals from reaching areas of the brain. The location of the prison made it difficult to locate by scanners with the asteroids and debris from the aftermath of Malachor, along with small subtle particle fluctuations from the chaotic energy the long forgotten planet used to give off. To add even more to the facilities defenses the outer hull had been coated with a highly reflective material that made visual acquisition almost impossible. Which meant the station could only be accessed with specific coordinates given to the pilot which changed randomly as the station moved about the asteroid field.

It was a long flight, but a necessary one from Ronyo's point of view. He had been making visits to the prison on almost a regular occasion to see to the single resident and how she was coming along. He wasn't sure what could be done with the woman but he felt something would let itself be known in time. It had been enough of a fight to get the prison made and not just have the current resident simply executed by the Jedi Council. The old Jedi Council anyways. With many of the Orders high ranking members either dying in the war or deciding to step down and lead simpler lives for their final years the council had been going through changes of its own. Needless to say things had been going from odd to normal, to crazy, and back to odd. The position of Grand Master came with its perks but also with its own headaches and duties.

Ronyo had managed to make his visits to the Shadow Prison a scheduled ordeal so he could have a small amount of time to meditate and rest himself, on top of seeing what new insight and knowledge he could gain from the captive. With a stretch that caused more than one joint to pop Ronyo made his way to the meditation chamber where he sat legs crossed and eyes closed. In a short amount of time he had achieved a reverie that allowed him to gain back energy and stay in a force meditation at the same time, a great technique he had learned from his first trip to Tython. Slowly Ronyo allowed himself to flow into the force and see what the galaxy was up to.

Shadow Prison.
Detainee...

xxxxx░░░░░░░▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ▒▒▒▒ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒
Passion, choke the flower
till she cries no more.

▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒ ▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒▒░░ ░░░░░ XXXXX



Laying on the floor, inky black hair pooled around her like water, she stares at the ceiling. There is nothing in particular interest to her upon it - nor is there on the walls, the floors, or the windowless corridors she is permitted to walk - but her eyes stare unblinkingly upwards. Moments such as this, Mabysyn tries very, very hard to control the rage, fueled by finely honed starvation, because she knows from countless attempts that there is no way off of this station. Out, perhaps, but not off.

She's stopped touching the walls, knowing that there is an outside beyond them is insult enough to instigate anger and anger makes her even more hungry - a sensation that is now beyond unbearable. Yet, she continues to bear it.. she impresses herself every day.

Today the Grandmaster will come. She does not need the foresight that the force inhibiting prison withholds from her in order to ordain it, she simply needs her head on her shoulders. Despite having no access to communication devices or any contact with the outside world, not even conversation with the damned mute Jedi guarding her prison that she occasionally glimpses with their damned, ridiculous looking helmets, her mind is as sharp as ever - perhaps sharper, honed by her devastating need to feed.

It took only one attempt, a fine one, to feed in order to teach her what this place was and what it would do to her. Force inhibiting, it meant that she was stripped of her means to feed through the force as well. It also meant that she was reverting back to the creature she was before she was taught to feed.. not that any of these Jedi seemed to care. As long as she was kept locked up like a good galactic citizen, not out and about murdering anyone or inciting any Great Galactic Wars, they were apparently perfectly happy to keep her here.

She wondered if it was because they enjoyed watching her cling to her cognitive abilities, bright as they were and bright, too, as a star before it dies, before they dissolved as the rest of her mind surely would as the hunger took it. Soon she would be nothing but feral, like the many on her home world (if it still existed out there), but worse because, unlike them, she could not satisfy her hunger even briefly.

The former-Sith Lord tapped her fingers on her abdomen impatiently, raising her knees but remaining on her back, and debated with herself which would come first - freedom, or the void.