When Hell freezes over... (Imperial Knight Cadets - Survival Training)

[Aleksander Tarkov]

Having just enjoyed a seven day leave after returning from active duty on Corellia, Aleksander Tarkov had been expecting that he and his men would be sent home to Wayland to assist in the training of the new recruits. Instead, they had been ordered to remain on Coruscant and make their way to the Citadel. As the Irregulars marched up the great steps, it hadn't escaped the young Sergeants notice that one of the last times soldiers wearing Clone Trooper armour, as he and some of his men did, made this climb, had been during Operation Knightfall.

"Hold there, Sergeant."

"Troop halt!" He barked, turning to face the Knight that had addressed him and holding out his dispatch, "Sir, Colour Sergeant Tarkov, Wayland Regiment, 165th Legion. Reporting as ordered, sir."

The Knight, older, with greying hair and looking like most of the right side of his body was cybernetic, reached out and took the papers from Tarkov, inspecting them carefully.

"All seems to be in order, Sergeant. The Training room is prepared. Sublevel E, Northeast sector, Room 7T. You may proceed."

"Thank you, sir."

~~~~~~~~~~~

Gathered in one of the large training rooms deep within the Citadel, the Irregulars waited for the Cadets they had been assigned to train. Some, out of habit or boredom, were performing routine maintainance of their weaponry, while others chatted among themselves.

Corellia had been tough on them. Engaged in near constant guerilla warfare, it was a miracle they had all made it out of their alive. Some of the men had spent their weeks leave in Bacta tanks, but they were eager to get back into the swing of things. Sitting around unable to do anything was torture for a soldier.

"Alright lads, helmets on, blasters to stun, safeties off, pass the word. We don't know how these Cadets are going to react," Alek said, quietly, inspecting the modified air intake on his helmet before placing it on his head, "Crosscheck your seals. Einar, get ready with those controls."

There was a sudden bustle of activity as the soldiers prepared. Aleksander felt uneasy and tense, as if he were about to poke several sleeping Nexu with a sharp stick...

[Jeryd Redsun]

"Okay, I think I've got this..."

Jeryd had the look of a man about to take a plunge into frigid waters; excitement, trepidation, and determination all pulled his face into a mask rigid with focus. He took a breath. Neb, his short and unassuming friend, ran a hand through his thick nest of curls, and prepared himself. His hand raised, middle finger poised tentatively on the thumb, and then... snap.

"Damn! I thought I had it, for sure," said Jeryd, opening his right eye, "How long was I out?"

"Seconds." Neb shrugged, like it was no big deal, "You're getting better, man."

Jeryd wasn't finished. He lowered himself until he was eye-level with Neb, and gave him a pat on the arm, "Come on. Again."

"Fine," he sighed, "Just... focus."

He gave another snap of his fingers.

"Woth tha-" Jeryd immediately retracted his tongue, and scrunched up his face in frustration, "Gorram mindtricks!"

Neb was laughing, "See, Jed, that's your problem. You're thinking about it too hard. Just clear your mind, and focus."

"You sound like Knight Jibral," suddenly, his demeanour changed into something cold, and calculating, and his tone of voice became deadpan, "Clear your mind, and focus; hard as stone, fluid as water; man who go to bed with itchy bum, wake up with smelly finger."

"That's gross, man."

"One more go."

"Jeryd..."

"Come on! One more!"

"Fine. You ready? Okay."

Snap.

When Jeryd finally surfaced from Nebbil's mindtrick, he discovered he had his finger lodged up his nose. Neb was already doubled over against the wall, in a fit of laughter. Jeryd unplugged his nose, and swept down on him, attempting to wipe his slimy digit on the prankster's freckled face. Neb writhed wildly, laughing, and howling in protest, as he attempted to escape. And, it was at that moment, when the pair of them were caught in a tangle of limbs, giggling like schoolboys, that the first wave of cadets arrived for the afternoon's PT session. Included amongst them, was a very familiar pink-skinned half-Twi'lek newbie.

As quickly as possible, Jeryd and Nebbil pushed each other away, and straightened up, properly, to wait outside the training room.

"Hey, Onika."

[Onika Zepparah]

Onika wavered for a moment on the point of pretending not to hear. It was crowded, after all, and who knew how well those weird membranous ear domes actually worked, right? But Jeryd hadn’t actually given her a reason to distrust him aside from being human, teenaged, and male, and since she hadn’t made any progress on the door locks, she was going to need allies.

Not friends, of course. This wasn’t the place for those. But you didn’t last long as an alien in an Imperial boarding school without some understanding of quid pro quo.

“Hey, Jeryd.” She angled toward him and his perennial hanger-on, what was it - Nebbil. The poor kid was all freckles and teeth. It occurred to her, for an unpleasant moment, that Jeryd was making a collection of hard-luck cases.

She leaned against the wall outside the training room to look over the other incoming cadets. “Please tell me it’s not Darth Otter this morning.”

Onika didn’t actually know what the nickname meant, but it was on the lips of every cadet who had been witness to Vissica’s brutal discipline. So far she had escaped anything worse than a contemptuous gimlet glare. But complaining about teachers was one of the surest ways to build camaraderie, as long as it wasn’t one of Jeryd’s favorites. It had to be worth at least a few points.

[Halajiin Rabeak]

"Okay, seriously, you have got to stop picking the Z-95, dude." Hal's voice was heavy with exasperation as he walked, maintaining a slower pace than usual so that Khoovi could keep up. "I know that fighter's got some sort of sentimental value for you, or something, but they are literally flying circles around you in the sims. Nobody uses Headhunters anymore, and you need to learn how to deal with more modern, faster craft."

The little Shistavanen puppy did not appear impressed, and he replied, "At least I'm picking a fighter that exists. You keep picking ones that are just blueprints."

Hal fought to keep his upper lip from sneering, and he instead vented a sigh, "Yeah, because I know the real things are coming. We have to be ready to deal with them, instead of living in the past." The argument wasn't getting anywhere, nor was it actually helping either of them deal with the fact that they kept getting blown out of the virtual stars in the Baron's flight sim classes. "How about we compromise? Next time, you and I both pick TIE Interceptors? I'll have to get used to not having shields, you'll have to get used to speed and agility. Sound good?"

"I... I guess," Khoovi shrugged.

To that, Hal reached an arm out around Khoovi's shoulders and tugged the boy in close against his side, ruffling his headfur with his other paw. "That's the spirit!" Hal laughed before letting him go. "We stick together and we'll get through this. I'll watch out for you, you watch out for me, sound good?"

"Aren't we supposed to all watch out for each other?" the puppy asked, smoothing out his headfur for the ninth time that day. "We are supposed to be a unit, after all."

Hal shrugged, looking back ahead as they walked together to their next class. "Well, yeah, but as they keep saying, not all of us are going to make the cut. I want to make it, and you do, too, so why not help each other out? Besides, the two of us are a lot better Knight material than some of our classmates, wouldn't you agree?"

Khoovi opened his muzzle to reply, but they were already rounding the corner into class, where others might hear him. Still, his silence said enough.

Smiling, Hal waved hello to Nebbil, then nodded to Onika before a cross-eyed, goofy stare was leveled at Fartmaster Jeryd. And with that, he let his humor die down. Fun could be had in the hallways, but in class, decorum was expected, and Kyle Rayner would give it.

[Jeryd Redsun]

“Please tell me it’s not Darth Otter this morning.”

"Somehow, I can't imagine Lady Vissica leading us through cardio and calisthenics in a cute pair of PT shorts." Jeryd folded his arms to emphasise his biceps. He afforded Onika just enough of a smile, "Not with that tail."

And speaking of people looking cute in uniform, somehow, Onika made even the boring cadet grey-and-whites look good. Sure, her pink skin provided a dazzling contrast to anything on the Imperial colour spectrum - indeed, she practically shimmered and glowed, compared to her fellow cadets - but it was in the way she carried herself, with grace and a sort of quiet strength, that really caught his attention. He wasn't even sure if she liked him, yet, or if she was just being polite. Maybe she thought he was a total nerfherder. And it wasn't like there weren't other pretty girls in the Citadel - Jeryd had eyes - but there were none half as interesting.

"You know, Onika-"

More voices. Damnit. There was Rayner, and Wan, bearing down on them, looking for all the galaxy like the best of buds. Khoovi was an odd one: a real prodigy, but he was just a kid, and his inability to switch off put an unhealthy distance between himself and the other cadets. At least Rayner looked out for him, which was decent, for an asshole. Just the sight of him made Jeryd tense up an imperceptible fraction, just enough to put him on alert in case he tried to make him look bad in front of Onika. And there it was. A goofy stare was innocuous enough, but what if it was just the start of his games? Jeryd stepped forward, and raised a hand to scratch his chin. It turned into a discrete, but obscene gesture, for Rayner's eyes only.

"Okay, it's time to sweat."

Unwilling to risk open warfare with the wily Nehantite, Jeryd advanced into the training room. The heavy doors parted with a whine, and the sight that greeted him stopped him dead in his tracks. Clone troopers, what looked like an entire platoon of them, were assembled in formation around the room. The gaping surprise transformed into a smile with ease. This was more like it.

He resumed his advanced, tossing a glance back to the others, "Looks like PT just got interesting."

[Jensen Par'Vizal]

Jensen was among the last to arrive, just in time to see the doors parting as Cadet Redsun boldly led them into the training room. His little comment was caught and Par'Vizal found his face contorting in mild curiosity before it could be stopped. Interesting was rarely used as an actual positive endorsement around the Citadel, though that smile plastered on Jeryd's face might actually have meant he was actually aiming for the correct usage.

Following the others in and finding himself and his other cadets facing a group of armored troopers however certainly didn't give the red haired cadet the same feeling as it must have done to Redsun. The aged yet well cared for armor they wore was scrutinized, as were the stances and overall way the squadron carried themselves. Aside from the obvious strangeness of their simply being present, Jensen couldn't help but feel that something was off. They were armed, for one thing, outnumbering the cadets who looked for places to shuffle into to await instruction. He wasn't the best at feeling the emotions of others, and silently cursed the fact he couldn't see their faces to get a read on their expressions, but even then he could see there was a certain tenseness about them.

It may not have been the most courageous of moves but Jensen found himself stepping towards and behind the cadets who seemed the most physically imposing; who thankfully seemed to cluster nearer to those who had already proven they were capable of defending themselves with The Force in other lessons. If this was going to be a lesson on how to respond when outnumbered and outmatched, he'd let some of the others take the fall first.

[Onika Zepparah]

Onika filtered in at the same pace as everyone else, content once again to be one more face in the herd. But the moment she saw the armor arrayed at the other end of the hall, she took in a sharp breath and backpedaled. Someone swore and shouldered her aside, and she ended up on the outskirts of the clump of cadets, away from Jeryd and Nebbil. The troopers' uniforms looked only vaguely familiar until she remembered images from their military history text of the Clone Wars.

Clone Troopers. Hadn't they purged the Citadel before, back when it was the Jedi Temple?

Stupid. Of course they weren't here to purge the Cadets. But something about the situation had Onika on edge. She could feel the attention of the troopers pinging on and off of her as they surveyed the assembly. It felt like being in Chiba, when two gangs were sizing one another up for a fight.

Something was wrong. She wanted to leave. Now.

[Korsh Irana]

Only discipline kept Korsh from snarling in disgust. Children, the lot. Even Rayner, who while not of adolescence was childlike and obnoxious. Now he was a Cadet again.

Korsh had been a Shipman Specialist in the Navy. He had neither the temperament or inclination to lead others. He had been injured thrice in the line of duty, and thrice the Empire had stitched him back together again. This time they had been more careful. It was not field medicine to replace Korsh's upper skull and left arm. The Imperial Navy Medi Corps had replaced his artificial leg again, but this one had superior mobility over the previous two iterations, and he could feel his posture returning to it's proper place. His optical implant had been upgraded. The skin grafts itched like fire ants. The Medics were dubious if he would fully recover, but Korsh simply insisted he return to duty.

He was sent to Imperial Center and informed he would receive special training in the Force. To be on of the Empress's Knights. Korsh had not believed it, and yet he should have died.

When the Clone Troopers came, Korsh did nothing and waited for Orders. This was an opportunity to learn his new limbs.

[Aleksander Tarkov]

Aleksander watched carefully as the Cadets entered the room, analysing each one of them and doing a mental head-count.

"Einar. Now."

Einar nodded, grinning beneath his helmet as he tapped at his wristholo. The heavy doors hissed loudly, slamming shut as the Irregulars raised their rifles. An series of audible clunks echoed through the room as the locks of each access point fell into place.

Silence fell for a moment as the Cadets exchanged panicked looks. Then they heard it. A quiet hissing as the vents in both the floor and ceiling started spewing a thick, white gas. Knockout gas, to be exact.

One of the bigger Cadets, whether motivated by fear or anger, tried to charge at Aleksander, who was stood closest to the group. Two shots rang out and the boy crumpled, slamming into the floor and sliding a metre or so before he finally came to rest.

[Jeryd Redsun]

The apprehension with which the squad of armed soldiers had been met left Jeryd baffled. At first. Narrowed eyes searched the faces of his fellow cadets, as if he could glean from their guarded expressions the truth behind their unusual behaviour. In his disbelief, he turned away, and, once again, regarded the rows of silent faceless troopers. Yes, he supposed in a civilian environment, they would have been considered an intimidating presence, but they were in the Imperial Citadel, for star's sake, in the very heart of the Empire, itself. What did they have to fear?

Even as every door sealed with the deep resounding clunk of durasteel locks, he wouldn't believe it. As one, the group became rigid, as if an electric current had just passed through each of them. Behind, the synchronised clap of shouldered blasters made the hairs on his neck stand on end. So, it was some kind of challenge, then. A test. That was it. Still, it was only out of the corner of his eye that Jeryd dared to watch them, deathly still in their gleaming plastoid armour. When the hissing began, the panic followed in earnest, and, for a moment, Jeryd was frozen to the spot, as the bottom fell out of his world.

He barged through the cluster of cadets scrambling for the door, sucking shallow breaths below the rapidly descending cloud of gas. There was no instruction, no words at all - his thoughts were too incoherent, and his mouth was too dry. Instead, he took it upon himself to hammer at the terminal, which buzzed denials under his fist. Next, he moved onto the door itself; first, there was shoving, then wrenching, until he was clawing at it like an animal. It felt tragically in-character. Together, they had been herded into the perfect kill zone, like banthas for slaughter. The truth of the Imperial Knights was revealed, at last, and in devastating clarity.

Despair reached up, grasping, like a hand around his neck. But it was anger that was first to surface, in a rabid gnashing frenzy. Jeryd turned fully to face their betrayers, and shoved his way past a couple of obstructing cadets. He saw them react, but it was too late. In a single bound, the distance was closed between himself and one of the armed soldiers. They met with a crunch of plastoid, that sent the soldier hurtling into the nearest wall. And, before he crumpled to the floor, Jeryd had already moved onto his neighbour. A boot was enough to dislodge the rifle in his hands, giving him enough time to tear off his helmet. They danced in an ungainly semi-circle, putting the trooper firmly between his attacker, and the sights of friendly blasters. The helmet came loose at last, revealing the haggard, war-torn face beneath, it was used to swat aside the righted blaster rifle, and render the bearded man unconscious with a crack to the temple. Jeryd reached for the rifle.

[Aleksander Tarkov]

Tarkov smiled. He was glad some of the Cadets were putting up a fight. He took special note of the one who had confidently led the group into the room. He'd been tempted to put a stun bolt into the younger man's back while he was clawing at the door, but had been distracted by another upstart in the meantime. When his attention found itself back on Cadet Redsun, one of the Irregulars was down and the second one was about to be on the receiving end of a piece of his own armour, used in club-like fashion.

He set off at a sprint, closing the gap just as the youngster reached for the fallen weapon. Had the Cadet taken a second to check his surroundings first, he might have seen the Sergeant towering over him, or the gauntleted fist that proceeded to smash into his temple. The impact sent Jeryd sprawling, but Tarkov was not done yet. He knew his opponent was still a threat, therefore he wasn't about to give him a chance to recover.

Abandoning his own rifle, Alek reached down with both hands and plucked the stricken Cadet from the ground, spinning him so they were face to face and holding him at arms length.

Alek smiled once more, his visored gaze locking with the Cadet's somewhat dazed stare.

"Not bad, kid. You might do well."

With that unexpected compliment, Alek let his head go backward, then forward once more, dragging Jeryd toward him as he did so. With a sickening crack, plasteel collided with skull and the Sergeant released his grip, allowing the Cadet to slump to the floor once again.

[Onika Zepparah]

Onika had spun for the door the moment the gas began to flow, but found herself shouldered aside by larger cadets with the same idea. Of all of them, Jeryd prevailed, and she watched him helplessly as he raged against the unyielding door. There had to be another way! She turned her eyes upward, but the only vents she saw were choked with gas. But her senses were opening up. She could hear the vents, each ringing with its own distinct metallic note. Maybe the flow was slower in one of them. Maybe she could tear off her sleeves, soak them in water, and stuff them against her nose and mouth as she crawled through. Maybe...

The lights overhead, once a flat, sterile glare, began to flicker like strobes as she became aware of their power cycles. Fear rose up in a literal stench from the other cadets, the stink of sweat, adrenaline, norepinephrine. And the voices. A stampede of panic, echoing and rebounding all around her, like blaster bolts caught in an endless ricochet. Shouts of fear. Of anger. It was too much! Her senses weren't just opening. They were hemorrhaging. And she was sensing things that should have been impossible. Unspoken fears. Silent prayers. Raw, trumpeting emotions. They piled up around her like the gas itself, just as invasive and twice as toxic, choking her brain instead of her lungs, squeezing away her ability to think, even her ability to feel her own feelings. Her eyes rolled up in her head, and she sank to her knees, her arms shaking at her sides.

Until a resounding CRACK cut through the haze, and she saw Jeryd tumble into a senseless heap in front of one of the faceless soldiers. "No!"

Two irregulars turned toward her, rifles ready, and she reached out with the only thing she had at hand - emotion. The same torrent of feeling that had already overwhelmed her. Her hands thrust out, her face a pale white-pink mask of blank terror, and the two troopers before her lurched to a halt as if all the joints in their armor had frozen.

One wrenched his weapon into firing position. Onika crossed her arms in front of her, and like puppets with their strings cut, the troopers fell in a cruel tangle of limbs on the gymnasium floor. There they began to seize, plasteel clattering loudly as their arms and legs convulsed like beheaded serpents. Onika stared at the ghoulish display with her mouth open in a silent scream.

At last a blue halo of energy struck her in the back, and she crumpled to the floor.

[Halajiin Rabeak]

Hal heard it before the others - well, perhaps everyone other than Khoovi - the gentle whisper of a compressed gas under controlled release into an air duct; something like a tender, gentle reassurance that everything was going to be all right. Of course it was going to be all right, this was a training exercise, after all. He'd seen what the Empire waged against those it called an enemy, as they had thrown their full might after himself, once, and this was a mere annoyance compared to such a force. Paw firm on Khoovi's shoulder to reassure him, Hal surveyed the soldiers, but looked beyond them to trace the source of the sound.

He found it just as it made itself apparent to the others, a white gas pouring in through all the vents, roughly equal in its distribution all around - an obvious controlled flow. What was uncontrolled, however, were the reactions of his fellow cadets. Hal pulled Khoovi back to protect him as one cadet was blasted by a stun ray, then Jeryd went namanas on a few of the soldiers before being dispatched. Around him, the gas began to take effect, and he knew he had only moments to act.

Invisible tendrils of focus snapped out from his core, seeking to know the gas at its most basic, elemental level. As it danced through the air, the Nehantite studied its build, its makeup, running elements through his mind until at last he identified its full structure: methoxyflurane, a sleeping gas. That clinched it, this was a test, not a threat, so he gently let go of Khoovi to allow the boy to act at his own will instead of being controlled. Hal had other things to focus on, anyway.

Within the molecules of atmosphere about him, Hal quietly filtered out the offensive gas from the air he breathed in, simply standing as he watched chaos theory come to life, only to gasp in shock at Onika's unexpected attack. Was it an attack? He'd never seen anything like it in person, but as she went down as well, there was no more time for questions. It was time for action.

Outside of the telekinesis discretely supplying clean air to his lungs, Hal simply acted upon what all he had learned thus far at the Citadel. First step in neutralizing a threat was to identify its source, and from the looks of things, that source appeared to be the soldier which headbutted Jeryd. To be fair, Jeryd deserved it, but this was a case where cadet unity seemed to be a more important thing than petty rivalry. Thoughts turned inward to focus upon his body, his reactions, and most of all, his speed. A near hallway of clear air was left in Hal's wake as he burst from the heart of the cadet pack in an instant, and his paws found themselves locked around Alek's neck as he drove him into the durasteel wall. There Hal held him, his grip like iron, pink eyes having flared red with anger staring directly into Alek's visor, nearly nose-to-nose with what he presumed was the head soldier, before the Nehantite winked, a smile working across his muzzle. With that, Hal threw his head back, abandoning his flow of clean air to suck down a deep breath of the gas in dramatic, intentional fashion.

As expected, the dose worked its magic with ruthless efficiency, and he could feel his vision darkening as he tipped back, falling to the floor with grace and a smile. The back of his head was saved from harsh contact with the floor by Jeryd's crotch.

No-win scenario, my ass.

[Jensen Par'Vizal]

It was hard to think straight amidst the panic and chaos that was consuming the room. As the doors locked, Jensen found himself no doubt with the same question that others had - Was this how the Empire dealt with the failures? But no, not with who was in the room with him. Jensen may not havefelt any real attachment towards some of his fellow cadets but he had known strength and ability when he had seen it; this was far from a batch of rejects. There was no time for further evaluation of the reason for their situation though as the tell tale hissing erupted from the vents. Gas, then - to be backed up with, as Jolee expertly demonstrated for the benefit of everyone else - firepower.

Jensen forced himself to swallow his own rising sense of panic and pulled the collar of his shirt up as he bent his head low to catch the fabric over his mouth and nose. It wouldn't be much protection, but it was a start. Other cadets pushed past him on their way to the door and Par'Vizal followed but at a slower pace. No need to get caught up in that madness and end up trampled while he was trying to figure things out. A glance to his side showed that Zepparah was similarly trying to think things through... Or she was frozen in place. No matter, there was nothing Jensen could do to aid her at the moment, his own safety had to come first.

It was when one of the troopers hit the wall near him that finally shattered the calm he was desperately trying to keep. His head snapped over in the direction the Trooper had come from just in time to watch Redsun backhanded. The sickening crunch of skull meeting helmet followed and Onika's shout barely registered over the sound of Jensen's heart beating.

Par'Vizal's arms shot out to either side of him, his hands wide and fingers splayed as he pushed. There was no thinking, no considering whether it would work or not, instinct had taken hold. The white gas that came towards him met an invisible barrier, billowing around the rough shaped bubble the cadet had managed to create. At the edges of clarity he saw two troopers violently spasming on the floor and Rayner heading towards the trooper who had taken out Jeryd. The moment was brief, however, and he was lost to his own uprising of anger at what was happening around him. Was this the same situation his sister had found herself in? Had she been penned in by opposing sides before her demise?

One of the troopers caught on to his defense against the gas and took a step towards cadet Par'Vizal, rifle leveled to take a shot at the red haired teen. Jensen's forward hand spun, outstretched fingers clawing inwards as the blaster was pulled from the trooper and sent across the room with no regard for where the now projectile would land. There was no need to run towards his target as he felt his reach extending, wrapping around the armored figure to roughly pull the helmet from his head. The gas all but forgotten as the cadet took the final few steps and then leapt at the trooper, The Force following with him, knocking the armored man to the ground as Jensen's fingers reached forward and his thumbs pressed heavily into the man's windpipe. As the man struggled he was forced to the ground, all the pressure and weight that Par'Vizal could imagine baring down upon the man. He watched with wild eyes and mild satisfaction as the trooper's lips began to turn blue.

Then a sound, distant and yet so near as one of the trooper's comrades came to his aid. The energy bolt collided with his back and Jensen was only vaguely aware of his would-be victim's fist colliding with his face before the world turned black.

[Korsh Irana]

Colorless, odorless and odious. Korsh was operating on one natural lung, so his absorption of the gas was much slower than the other Cadets. He slid under the aim of one of the troopers and hit him with his new arm. The man's knee buckled from the blow. Unless one's threshold of pain was excessive, dropping the blaster was the logical conclusion. The Pantoran savagely ripped the helmet away and placed it over his own head. Korsh hit the man in the head, this time with his natural limb. He had no desire to deprive the Order of a perfectly good trooper, and based on the impact to the knee, a blow from the artificial limb might well have killed him. Now that his immediate adversary was unconscious, Korsh collected his weapon. He managed to mount an offense, stunning two more of his adversaries before he was hit stun fire.

Korsh did not simply collapse from his position, but his limbs were sluggish and would not respond. His artificial eye could see, but his brain could not summon a cogent reaction. The troopers shot him once more, and the red-scale image faded into darkness.

[Khoovi Wan]

The trooper walked up to him.

"This is nothing but trouble, you know," Khoovi sighed, shoving his hands into his uniform's pockets. "A little elaborate for a bunch of students."

The trooper paused.

"I've been holding my breath," Khoovi admitted with a small wry grin. "So go ahead. I won't be sleeping for another minute or so."

The blue ring was the last thing he remembered.